Andreyich

Frokane's Mildly Politcal Hangout Thread

"I'm intellectually incapable actually giving a legitimate reason but there is one."

Frokane's Mildly Politcal Hangout Thread

<Snipped quote by mdk>

Nah bro, DD almost two years back

Also, advocating for an ethnostate... Not sure how far to go with that, but ensuring that a nation stays that nation by nature of its demography isn't too crazy an idea if you ask me

@ReonenMiruel

wanting to keep your original demographics is evil. I can't explain why or give a legitimate reason but it is

Frokane's Mildly Politcal Hangout Thread

<Snipped quote by Andreyich>

Know what, we can do without that language either, while I'm on my high horse. This is a writing forum. If someone can't think of a better way to express themselves than n-words and gay slurs, someone's kinda a shite writer.

To reiterate: let's not.

@mdk

M8 some of the people here get triggered by a frog drawn in MSPaint.

Mdk doesn't want to make some people uncomfortable? What is he, some sort of arrogant asshole!?

@POOHEAD189

Boohoo

Frokane's Mildly Politcal Hangout Thread

<Snipped quote by Andreyich>

Ouroboros should really consult these guys on the subject of eating themselves, they're certainly doing a better job than he can if he's still going at it! Whole thing is hilarious.

<Snipped quote by Andreyich>

I'm at the point where talking about the whole Russia thing is moot at this point, because you're either gonna believe that there has been collusion on one side or another or there hasn't been (I think that it's more Hillary and the DNC that had "colluded" with anyone but besides the point). I just want to see the evidence and investigations play out, 'cause shit is gonna get interesting in the next few weeks I reckon

@ReonenMiruel

You mean lefties will finally acknowledge they were wrong?

Frokane's Mildly Politcal Hangout Thread

Was gonna add this via edit, but don't wanna sneak it in under a thumbs-up so it gets a new post.

popcorn! popcorn for sale! Get your popcorn!

@mdk

man, those fuckers do not deserve to bear the orange-black ribbon of St. George. It is a holy ribbon that men sacrificed their lives for, that stood their ground for faith and nation. To see these soy drenched cuckolds bearing it makes me pretty pissed off, the real heroes who were awarded it would snap their faggoty spines in a second.

*Tosses this in the thread and awaits denial*

@POOHEAD189

>Posts random claim without anything to substantiate it
>LOL people are going to deny it

Warhammer 40k: Enemy Without, Enemy Within - an 'Ecclesiarchal' RP [Mature][High Casual/Low Advanced]

@jbeil
Bit of both. Arius is a very early reformer in Roman era Christianity who's ideas didn't catch on until many centuries later, however the story itself is from a Jewish tale of a holy man by the name of Ari or something of the sort that a Rabbi told me about.

Warhammer 40k: Enemy Without, Enemy Within - an 'Ecclesiarchal' RP [Mature][High Casual/Low Advanced]

Last to enter and speak would be the Confessor. Horacio had the short interim of peace quite boring. He was privy to all sorts of of hypocrisy and gluttony, even if he didn't take part in it. He saw many an obese Priest or Imperial official in hedonistic acts, which frankly disgusted him. Despite his girth the Confessor ate like a bird and his only real indulgence was recaf so strong one would doubt if an Astartes could stomach it.

He prayed much in the time that was spent in between, but he didn't do it on his knees on a Chapel. No, that was for either those who had faith as strong as his, yet not his status or those who had his status and wanted to make a public show of their piety before quietly inviting whores through the back door of their office. Horacio thought of the old story of Arius and the farmer he learned on some shrine world he couldn't quite be arsed to remember at the moment. There once was a great Priest named Arius, feared by heretics and xenos alike whilst respected and adored by Imperials for his knowledge of Imperial Catechisms. The Priest believed himself to be the most pious man alive, until one night he saw an apparition, something the Emperor himself sent to speak to the man. It told him that he was pious indeed, but there were those more pious than him, one of few such people upon the highest peak of the world he was on named simply Holdten. Arius wasn't sure if he should be outraged or humbled, and decided upon both until he went to the mountain's peak. There he met a humble man, a poor miner with the oldest and rusty machinery to do the Emperor's work. He asked Holdten what was the secret of his piety, of his prayer that made him even more pious in the eyes of the God Emperor of man. He was confused, and bowed before Arius. He replied that he knew of no prayers for he was illiterate, and unlearned. Whenever he had time to go to the Chapels upon the planet he did the same thing as when he prayed at home. The man simply spoke every letter, word, and even mark of punctuation he knew, and hoped that the Emperor would assemble these words for him into his hopes for mankind, and that for him he would simply be given another day in service of his God. Arius at this point realized that from the heart and soul, not from pathetic and purely material things like the brain and memory came one's divinity, devotion and piety.

Horacio rather liked the story. It kept him from arrogance, and it put those people who needed a lesson in humility right in their place. If anything, the story also taught one to be practical. One's prayers to the Emperor were for naught if he didn't serve the God after that. The Emperor protected mankind, but mankind has to protect him.

All of this raced through the Holy man's mind as he awoke that morning, knowing somehow that this day would be different. He looked through a few reports he was too tired to read the night prior that he left beside his rather tiny and cramped quarters. It was on a scroll that had a tendency to go back to it's rolled up state, so he had to place his shotgun on one end and his pistol on the other. He was about to pick up the scroll when he received communication via his vox-bead to check his dataslate. Annoyed, he started to make his recaf and read the small tablet, brightening up at the realization that he had a choice on whether or not to stay upon the world. Adventure called to the man, as chances to spread the word rather than keep it in one place was exactly what he was good at. The Confessor banged his power maul on the door to his quarters which was promptly opened by a scribe who tried to hide a cough at the intense smell of Horacio's recaf. "Inform all pertinent that I shall be leaving the world. This new business has interested me."

With that, the Priest washed himself off as best as he could in his time constraints, put on all parts of his attire and gathered up his other personal items. Satisfied, Horacio went off. As he saw the Sisters he had so recently served the Emperor with, he nodded respectfully and quietly said "Hullo." He did not have any input beyond that, yet. He only knew that some potentially nasty business was ahead of them, for he had not read the whole of his dataslate - he was still busy sipping the last of his vile recaf.

Warhammer Fantasy: The Guild of Esteemed Sellswords - An adventure in the Warhammer Fantasy world!

Waldemar

Username: @Andreyich

Character Name: Vladimir (or Waldemar, which he typically uses in unfamiliar company) Ivanovich Vetrov

Race/Species: Kislevite Human

Gender: Male

Age: 26

Career and Skills: Vlad has spent much time honing magical skills in the Imperial colleges but they are not nearly as good as can be, for there were few other ice mages there to pass on their specialized skills to him. As such, most of his powers are uncontrolled bursts of his ice magic fuelled by emotion, desire or desperation. However, on days where the winds of magic flow truly strong he can manage up to three unique spells of his respective school. From his studies and Noble upbringing he did receive a few more skills. First is fencing and swordplay which he can at least hold his ground in, and is improved by the blood-freezing cold in his blades. The other important skill he got is speech in several languages; both main Kislevite tongues (Ungol and Gospodar), Bretonnian, Reikspiel, and Norscan, all of which he is a good negotiator and fluent in save for the rolled "R"s.

Weapons: The only real 'weapons' in possession of the Kislevite are two familial blades (one a Shashka, and one a Szabla) and a long staff with a crystal of ice or diamond at the top cut to a fine point so the weapon could be used as a spear.

Attire: The man has little in the way of armour, preferring to just wear his round fur hat or 'papapkha,' along with simple trousers, tunic, a heavy fur coat and leather boots with steel caps.

Equipment/Other: He has little in the way of equipment other than his old but tough horse "Paul" along with spurs, saddle bags and saddle, reins, and whatever else he will need for the old boy. He always makes sure to have a pot, kettle, tea leaves, sugar and butter with him for a very strong and nourishing tea to help him end the feebleness he feels after using magic.

Physical Description: The Kislevite is of moderate height at 5'11 with pale white skin contrasted by mud-brown hair and icy blue slightly Asiatic eyes, as well as a very ruddy complexion. His face is very elongated and aquiline save for the small nose and small forehead with a low hairline. A distinctive physical features is a scar on both hands where excess thumbs were amputated. Vlad is double jointed at many points in his body (wrists, thumbs, elbows, knees) and has a naturally very lanky build that despite years of hard work driving him to the peak of his muscularity is still not very much above average and is best described as sinewy.

Mental Description/Personality: Vlad is a polite and helpful if somewhat impatient man, that will always put a coin in a beggar's hand. That said he had a somewhat irate and unpredictable personality with mood swings and such. He is still very affected by a longing for home, and the fact that even if he does safely get there he will not be able to see his father is just more melancholic.

Background/History:
Vladimir was born to an affluent Gospodar family outside of Praag doing business with the Ungols of the city. His father was a rather stereotypical Kislevite nobleman; a bulky man with a red face, a beard, a constant friendly laugh verging on a guffaw and a warm heart. His mother was somewhat inverse, an Ice Witch. She married him just as many Ice Witches marry noblemen to make sure their sorority keeps power in the country. She was a stunning lady with the usual charms that let her seduce his father. Yet, everywhere else she was a cold and calculating person with her duty first and foremost in her mind all that time.

As the boy grew he was mostly raised by his father and his tutors having a rather happy but isolated life spending most days hunting, fishing, riding with his father or lazily pretending to do what his mentors desired of him.

However, at some point in the near future things were to change oh so drastically. A raiding party of Norscans had just plowed through a nearby river and was going to a pond where he and his father were. To their luck the family had their body Guards with them which more than stood their ground, but just as the assault happened his father was thrown into the icy water to drown by the Northerners.

As Vlad looked on at his struggling parent with tears, he was overcome with grief and anger, and felt something within as many magically gifted people do at their first exhibition of their power. He screamed and flexed a few fingers to suddenly water under his father freeze and push the man out on a small floe of ice.

At this point the teen boy was exhausted from the magical exertion had had undergone, and lapsed from consciousness. His father however, got out of the water and soon realized what had just happened. The aging man had to think quickly and called home for some of his most trusted men. The boy was re-dressed and put in a coach. When he came to his sense, his father had a long talk with him. It was filled with many tears and much lament but there was no choice. If the boy was to come home it would be at most a few days before either his mother killed him. Two family swords, much money and an old family servant who both knew would defend and help the boy until either of them passed. He was sent off to the Imperial colleges of magic, to most likely never see hearth and home again.

When he arrived in the Empire he was quite surprised, and it took much adjustment. He began his studies working as hard as he could, learning about the winds of magic. Eventually his servant passed away, and this coincided almost perfectly with his money running out. He had to take one work elsewhere to subside properly, menial stuff like washing, or even cleaning privies. However, he got the most he could from his learning until about a year ago when he reached the peak of what the colleges could teach him. When this truly dawned, Vladimir now a young man decided to find his fortunes elsewhere. He saved up for a short time, and now set out to find himself work, fame, glory, and a life that wouldn't have him hunched by his thirties. Thus, he set put for the guild of esteemed sellswords to make use of his unique talents and abilities.

Warhammer 40K: Knives in the Dark - An Only War/Guard RP

@Jbcool
Present and accounted for, Sah!

Frokane's Mildly Politcal Hangout Thread

get it, because it's a MEMEo instead of a MEMo, because they're similar words but different, do you get it,
do you get the joke about the memeo

no i dont