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1 mo ago
Current Star Wars Persistent World, that was a thing that was sort of a thing. Kind of.
4 mos ago
LongSword is objectively the best main. Objectively.
7 mos ago
The ones from Calle are usually monthly. I tried to start another one a few years back.
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7 mos ago
If you feel like you need help no shame in going out there and getting it. Take care of yourself.
7 mos ago
I think you can develop a flair. A personal style. Words and phrases you like. That's why I don't get using Grammarly for word suggestions.


I be Bango.

Most Recent Posts

The message had come through his DynaTech v17 Pager. A simple message, as it had to be. It was just a fancy alternate future pager. He was to bisect the tempoverse he had been bumming about in at the ZK Axis at 2763 hours precisely and then recursively corpusclate counterspacewise until he reached well...here. And so here he was. Somewhere. Set to kill a few weirdos and then probably get a really cool reward. That probably should have been hashed out with whoever sent him that message, but he had just jumped at the chance to womp some randoms. Ah well. Next time.

The vantablack semipermeable membrane of spacetime folded into itself behind him, once he had sufficiently cleared the event horizon. Without delay Dangerrutito Fontainuixic got his Hexx Texx-Goggs both Hexxing and Texxing. Picking up life forms to the South and South West. Weebs it would seem. It was always weebs.

"Breaker Breaker One Niner I got like four bogies. All weebs. I repeat all weebs. Come in you guys. My call sign is Omnissiah. Over and out."

It was a reference to a guy from Warhammer. Which is a thing for nerds. But not weeb nerds, normal nerds, which are marginally less nerdy. But it was kind of a fitting reference. Omnissiah. That dude was like a magic technology dude. The rest of the squad would be able to hear his equally informative and nonsensical ramblings thanks to a particularly potent combination of "magic" and Future Russian technology. Called it a Thaumic VocoRecordoer, patent pending. The neat thing is worked both ways. Again magictech. Very technical, very magical.

Situation at hand. Temple thing. Lake dealie. Paths. Trees. Weebish Target rich environment He had seen this before. It was like a Dungeons and Dragons encounter. But with robots and weebs. Therefore it was superior to Dungeons and Dragons. He liked it.

A dumbshit grin spread fully across his dumbshit face in a split second. This was going to be fun.

Hexx-Texx Goggs self modulating their Muon Capacity and scanning through several different viewmodals to best optometrize the battlefields. Thaumic VocoRecordoer thaumically vocorecordoering for them all. Aromatic Polyamide Weave suit weaving all his polyamides very aromatically. Also it was hugging his every curve and crevice like a jilted lover finally reunited with her Romeo but for one night only and then never again until the next time her Romeo gets stood up.

In addition to that, the almost pornographic tightness of the suit I mean, it was adapting to Dangerrutito's environment to help him remain undetected. Not via some sort of Adaptive Camouflage system, although it probably maybe could do that too, but because it was tied in through some mysterious means (quite possibly Dangerrutito's ass) to his mind. Responding to his desire to be just stealthy as fuck. All kinds of sneaky.

Likewise the soul of his banished bastard boy B-Rad responded to the hum of blood and adrenaline through Dangerrutito's body. It couldn't respond much, being just a soul and a soul trapped in a sword at that, but that sword, Trilobieskni by name. Yes, yes that Trilobieskni, the very same. The Blade of Legend. The Sword of Myth. The Katana of Dread. The Loosener of Shackles. The Remover of Bras. The Sabre of the Downtrodden. The Zweihander of the Einhanded. Fucking Cool Sword Bro. That sword. It hummed, metaphorically, very much eager to be let loose upon a weeb or two. Also to get a body again instead of being trapped in a sword.

In summation, as Dangerrutito Fontaniuxic methodically moved through the brush and whispered his sightings to the others, through his Thaumic VocoRecordoer, he was ready. Very ready. To Rumble.

So ready was he, in fact, that he decided he ought to provide his battle brothers, or whatever, with a rousing vocal performance. Whispered of course, Thaumically, via his VocoRecordoer, into each of their brains or ears or some shit. Dangerrutito wasn't super clear on the details of magitech. What he was clear on was the general tune of "Where Did Our Love Go" by The Supremes. Released in 1964. Diana Ross and the Funk Brothers. Dangerrutito was pretty sure Smokey Robinson produced.

A very fitting soundtrack for the lovefest that was about to kick off.


Officer Bobo the HoboRoboPopo, also he is a Bonobo

Race: Monke
Age: Too Old For This Shit
Status: Retired

Blood and oil mixed in the streets of Old New Chinatown. Blood thick and red, oil thin and iridescent. Both reflecting the pulsing neon lights of a thriving palace fit for worshipping sin and debauchery and other fun weekend activities. The bodies had long ago been dragged away to be mulched up or buried respectfully or whatever exactly it was they did with dead hookers these days.

Damn shame. Them hookers. They'd been real lookers.

Large metal feet step slowly, melodramatically through the puddles of water in the alleyway. It had rained last night. Did most nights. More dramatic that way. Kind Film Noire like. That shit was cool.

One boot, neatly polished to a mirror shine. Black like the soul of the city. One metal prosthetic monke foot. Graphite Composite, ergonomic, comes with several different attachments to cover your prosthetic monkey foot needs whether you're chilling on the beach or going to a formal dinner.

Two chalk outlines gradually fading away. No one gave a shit about those girls. Just two more souls lost in this den of sin. The puddles were quickly eating away at the outer edges of the chalk. The oil wouldn't mix with the water. There was probably some kind of metaphor there about the nature of man and all sorts of high minded philosophical type shit. But Officer Bobo wasn't here to philosophize. He was here to solve a mystery.

The water and oil wouldn't mix, the water just crept around looking for a way in. That kept the blood isolated, but it was coagulating. It would be dried up soon and then the oil would cover it and the water would mix and soon this would just be another stained sidewalk outside a dingy bar and a massage parlor that would massage more than your back if you paid top dollar. Officer Bobo inserted a Robo-finger into one puddle of blood, sucking it up then screwing off the finger and putting it in his pocket. He reached into the other pocket, pulled out an empty Robo-finger and did the same with the other blood puddle. Gotta make sure not to confuse the two pockets. He was on thin ice after the string cheese incident.

Camera pulls up a little showing an isometric view of Bobo and the crime scene.

Bobo the HoboRoboPop Bonobo pulls a fedora out of another pocket. Them old timey detective coats are just covered with pockets. Dusting it off he places it on his monke head, his monke ears sticking way out still. Because monke.

"I'll find those bastards" he promises himself as he gives the puddles one last look. No one kills prostitutes in Bobo's district. Except that guy who killed those two dead prostitutes. But he would find them. He just promised himself.

Camera pulls further back and lowers a little so the scene is seen through an alleyway. Bobo. Puddles. Chalk outline nearly gone. Blood and oil and water all one now. A grim reminder of just how fa-

Oh shit. Bobo is jumping around splashing in the puddles. Well he is a monke.

*End Scene*

Suicide Deluxe

The rain pelted down on the neon-lit streets, creating a reflective sheen on the pavement that mirrored the grim reality of Simian City. The stench of corruption hung in the air like a thick fog, wrapping its greedy tendrils around everything it touched. Bareass Jimmy hadn't felt the weight of a case like this in ages, his fur matted and clinging to his sweaty frame as he trudged through the shadows, searching for answers in a city gone bananas.

The dame who walked into his office wore trouble like a second skin, and it clung to her like a banana cream pie in a monkey's paw. She had legs that went all the way up to her tail, a tail that could wrap around a monkey's heart and squeeze it until it begged for mercy. Her eyes were the color of a moonlit jungle, and they held secrets darker than the deepest pits of the banana mines. She called herself Lola Bananarama, and she had a case that could make even a seasoned detective like Jimminy Chimp peel back the layers of his own sanity.

"Mr. Chimp, I've got a job for you," she purred, her voice smoother than aged whiskey and just as intoxicating. "My husband, Don Banana, has gone missing. The last time I saw him, he was as slippery as a peeled banana in a monkey's hand. I need you to find him, Mr. Chimp. I'll make it worth your while."

Bareass Jimmy squinted through the haze of cigarette smoke that enveloped his office. The dame's story had more holes than a barrel of rotten bananas, but something about the way she said "worth your while" stirred a curiosity deep within him. He took a long drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing like the last flicker of hope in Simian City.

"I'll take the case, doll," he grunted, his voice rougher than a tree bark rubbed the wrong way. "But this city is full of deceit, lies, and dirty monkeys. You better be straight with me, or you'll find yourself knee-deep in a cage at the city zoo."

As Lola Bananarama sashayed out of his office, leaving the lingering scent of her perfume hanging in the air, Bareass Jimmy knew he was in for a wild ride. The trail led him through the twisted alleys of Simian City, where shadows whispered secrets and every monkey had a tail to tell. He questioned low-life informants with names like Two-Timing Tony and Slippery Sam, hoping to peel back the layers of the mystery surrounding Don Banana's disappearance.

The city had become a jungle of crime, with corruption crawling through the branches like a plague of locusts. The streets were littered with the fallen, their bodies sprawled out like discarded banana peels. The deeper Bareass Jimmy delved into the case, the more he realized that the missing Don Banana was just the tip of the iceberg. The city's underbelly was teeming with greed, betrayal, and a thirst for power that would make a king cobra blush.

As he followed the trail of clues, Bareass Jimmy found himself entangled in a web of lies spun by a sinister figure known only as the Monkey Kingpin. This shadowy simian controlled the city's underworld with an iron fist, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. Bareass Jimmy knew he was in deep, but he wasn't one to back down. He was a hotshot detective with a reputation for getting to the bottom of things, even if it meant swinging through the darkest corners of Simian City.

The tension in the air was thicker than a monkey's fur in the rainy season as Bareass Jimmy approached the Monkey Kingpin's lair. The rain had subsided, leaving the city glistening with the remnants of the storm. Lightning flashed in the distance, revealing the silhouette of a hulking ape perched on a throne of stolen bananas. The Monkey Kingpin turned to face Bareass Jimmy, a sinister grin spreading across his face like a monkey with a secret stash of stolen treats.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Bareass Jimmy," the Monkey Kingpin sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "You've been poking your nose where it doesn't belong, detective. This city belongs to me, and anyone who crosses my path ends up as monkey chow."

Bareass Jimmy squared his shoulders, his nerves replaced by a steely resolve. "I've seen my fair share of dirty monkeys in this city, but you're the filthiest of them all, Kingpin. Don Banana's disappearance is just the beginning. Your reign of terror ends tonight."

The tension in the air reached a breaking point as the two simians faced off in a showdown that would determine the fate of Simian City. Lightning flashed, illuminating the glint of a hidden blade in the Monkey Kingpin's paw. Bareass Jimmy knew that this would be a fight for the ages, a battle between good and evil in a city gone bananas.

As the first punches were thrown, the rain began to fall again, washing away the sins of Simian City. The streets would never be the same, but Bareass Jimmy had peeled back the layers of corruption and exposed the dark heart of the Monkey Kingpin. The city might still be a jungle, but at least the bananas were a little sweeter without the taste of treachery lingering in the air.

With the Monkey Kingpin defeated and the rain-soaked streets finally breathing a sigh of relief, Bareass Jimmy emerged from the shadows of the city, his fur matted and his fedora pulled low over his eyes. He had left a trail of chaos behind him, but justice had been served in Simian City. As he walked through the desolate streets, he couldn't shake the feeling that the city's troubles ran deeper than even he could fathom.

In the heart of the city, he stumbled upon a dimly lit alley, the kind that seemed to swallow the light whole. It was there, amid the flickering neon signs and the distant hum of the city, that Bareass Jimmy encountered a peculiar figure – Bobo The RoboHoboPopo Banobo. The metallic sheen of Bobo's limbs glinted in the faint light, and the whir of gears replaced the usual sounds of the urban jungle.

"Well I'll be a monkey's uncle. It's Bobo. You know these are my streets now. You were supposed to retire!"


Of all the rundown prostitute bloodied back alleys he had to walk down this one. Bareass Jimmy. New monke on the beat. Big Time Bareass as they called him. Well as Bobo called him. When he was drunk in the BoboMobile. Parked along the river. In his underwear. Listening to Motley Crue. Solving the mystery of what lay in the bottom of a bottle. Another case solved.

"I'm too old for this Bareass, looks like you are too. Two dead tarsiers. Barely out of their teens. Tragic."

Bobo, the HoboRoboPopo Bonobo, gestures toward the rapidly vanishing remnants of the chalk outline as a few last flakes of still dry chalk are lifted up by the water, oil, and blood, and slowly become sodden and disappear beneath the surface.

"You wouldn't know anything about that would you, Jimmy?"

Bobo had been hearing rumors. The streets had ears. And lips. Not literal ones, it's a metaphor. Word on the street was Bareass Jimmy could be Bought in a Jiffy. That's a metaphor too. And maybe not true. It would be just like those lowlife local chimps to try and turn the department against itself.

Still. It was awful convenient. Bareass Jimmy happening upon this scene just now, just after Bobo had secured potential DNA evidence. Maybe he was meant to stop Bobo. Bobo narrowed his eyes and his monke ears flattened against the sides of his monke head.

"No evidence left when I got here," it was a fib and Momma Chee Chee ain't raise no fool and it just might save his tail, "Who you thinking? KongPin? Don Banana? Ol' One Paw? Hairless George? BattleChimp Potemkin?"

Babbling so, but also trying to gather intel, Bobo the HoboRoboPopo Bonobo tries to casually assess the scene. Dumpsters. Trash cans. Wet oily asphalt. Fire escapes. Lots of doors, probably largely locked. Pallets resting against walls. Lots of potential weapons. Lots of escape routes. If those two tarsier tarts were a little stronger they might have gotten away...wait...surely they could have...
I might have been incorrect in that. Time will tell.

If not, once it's official, I say we declare mutiny and attack each other. With the unwritten understanding that I will come out victorious.
There's been a delay. RL issues. Hopefully soon, but whenever everyone has the time and mindset to be comfortable starting up.

Scratch that, seems other side has two deserters.
I'm interested in joining in. Have a concept of a universe where something something happened to join a different version of the Marvel Universe with the DC universe during WW2, and set some several years after that in a world that hasn't known anywhere near as much peace as ours.

Superman/Captain America except not the Super Soldier from Amalgam
Wolverine/Punisher except sort of neither of them
Joker/Sabretooth/Kraven but from Russia
Bane/Colossus but German
Batman stuff whereby Bruce Wayne is sort of a Rich Indiana Jones type trying to find artifacts from the joining of the universes while his wards handle things.

I'd be fine with writing a bad guy if that would be more helpful or if any of these ideas seem particularly to fill a niche. It's been sort of a group of ideas that came together after I saw this thread and thought hell yeah, I need in.
Name: Dangerrutito Fontaniuxic
Race: Homo-Superior-As-Fuck
Age: Like 40 but possessed a 27 year old Magical Future Russian guy



Through sheer irrational unreasonable confidence the man known as Danger, Danger Fontaine, prior to his transformation into Dangerrutito Fontaniuxic, was capable of sustaining unreasonable damage and persisting through that damage. Decades of steroid abuse probably helped too. The man known as Danger, Danger Fontaine, prior to his transformation into Dangerrutito Fontaniuxic, was able to violate the boundaries of physics and reason and good taste as easily as Bill Clinton does the institution and boundaries and history and that type shit of an Internship by punching harder, kicking also harder, kicking ass also also harder, and just generally being a kick ass muhfuka of a dude.

Banished Bastard Son:

With the loss of his bastard child B-Rad, banished beyond the realms of sight and sound to a twilight zone, sort of like from the television show called The Twilight Zone, the man then known as Danger, Danger Fontaine bent his will toward achieving more power and doing things more Big Leagueier. Finding that no earthly power could allow him to avenge the loss of his bastard son, and thus his only hope of ever banging his bastard son's mom again (or even remembering what her name was, pretty sure it had an E or an A in it), he sought strength from the stars.

Eventually doing a lot of totally rad type shit culminating in him astrally projecting himself into the body of some very Magical and vaguely Future Russian guy in the future. That guy was also like a Power Ranger or something. Hard to tell. But with that new body he did a lot of deep lore type stuff that culminated in him kinda sort rescuing his bastard child's soul but also kinda sorta fusing his bastard child's soul into a Q-Bramble Blade, also known as a Q-BramBlade, but this specific one was named after his dead and banished and soul fused to a sword bastard son B-Rad. It was named Trilobisekni.

Power Ranger Type Shit:

Magical Future Russian dude was like a Power Ranger, or a God, or Boba Fett, or maybe some kind of tyrannical slave trader or something. Not really clear on that. But now Danger, Danger Fontaine is Dangerrutito Fontainiuxic and has a space ship somewhere in the Double Deep Jeiti and also knows a lot of weird words like Jeiti that didn't exist before but now most fully do exist and it's pretty radical.



Neoborhilliumium Manticulated with obnoxious precision into an Q-Bramble blade, sometimes referred to as a Q-Bramblade, polished to an intrinsically implausible sheen, it was his ultimate adytum. It went by many names. The Blade of Legend. The Sword of Myth. The Katana of Dread. The Loosener of Shackles. The Remover of Bras. The Sabre of the Downtrodden. The Zweihander of the Einhanded. Fucking Cool Sword Bro. Trapped within it the soul of his Bastard Child, B-Rad. Ever pleading in perfect iambic pentameter to be loosed upon the world. It's name was Trilobisekni.

Only one such as he, Dangerrutito Fontaniuxic, could wield such a blade and only with it could any being even dream of performing the famed but also completely unheard of and just super mysterious and secretive manuever known only as the Hiden Doblee Triplut Forbidan Yin Releese Ohm-Mega.

Fontaniuxiciccix 4

Atramentously Vantablack like a hole punched through the otherwise actually quite bright total darkness of deep space, the Fontaniuxiciccix is an Alderson Disk, though Dangerrutito Fontainiuxic sometimes calls it an Alfredo Disk. An astronomical megastructure with absurd near limitless power, alas Dangerrutito Fontainiuxic broke the key off in the door to the Extra-Genocidal Control Room and is now left with less than an Eighth of its facilities. That's still a hell of a lot though. It's like several football fields. It's mass is probably greater than the mass of your sun unless you have just a super humongous sun.

Dangerrutito Fontainiuxic mostly uses it to store his Zord and equipment and trophies and sometimes have a bitching party or two. It also has a really nice snack bar.

Aromatic-Polyamide Weave NOT Power Ranger Suit

All scientifical. Skintight suit of Aromatic-Polyamide Weaved Technical Suit Things. I cannot over emphasize how tight it is. You can see like veins and stuff through it it's so tight. Yet also very resilient. Excellent at heat dispersal allowing him to just plummet from space onto a planet with naught but the faintest, and slightly arousing, warmth.

Like a Black Power Ranger uniform except it's also like hooked into his brain or suit or soul or something (possibly his ass) so it can change colors and designs at his beck and call. It's not alive or anything. Definitely not self aware and slowly consuming his consciousness and biological components for some nefarious future scheme. That's canon, that it's not doing that.

It also has a Recursive Diolunium Dial. What purpose it serves is unclear but Dangerrutito Fontainiuxic is forever fiddle fucking around with it.

Panoptic Hex Texx-Gogs

Also known as his Goggles, Goggs, Goggos, Seers, and Oakleys. They allow him to zoom in, zoom out into Third Person somehow, or "Enhance," whatever that means, and have Night Vision, Thermal Vision, Day Vision, and also a Color Blind mode to ensure full accessibility for the differently abled.

Outfitted with a Xeogenix Toggle allowing him to instantaneously manipulate the Muon Input through the full spectrum of Muu, carefully so as to avoid a full on Muonnic Conclipse.

Thaumic VocoRecordoer

Integrated into his suit or maybe chest or throat or something, it allows Dangerrutito Fontainiuxic to make his voice sound like less of a bitch. Vital tech.

Passive Abilities


A secret passed on to the Magical Future Russian guys people, who are Magical Future Russians, they learned it from Secret Alien Ninjas From The Long Distant But Double Futuristic Past, it allows Dangeerutito Fontainiuxic to counter whatever it is you are trying to do. All of the things. Including that. Sadly as the Magical Future Russian he possessed was the last of his kind, and all the Secret Alien Ninjas From The Long Distant But Double Futuristic Past died in an unfortunate Muonnic Conclipse, Dangerrutito Fontainiuxic is the last and only practitioner of the Ultima-Counteruuu. This ancient art will die with him.

Special Moves:

Hiden Doblee Triplut Forbidan Yin Releese Ohm-Mega:

shhhhh, it's a secret, a magical secret


Not quite remembering the series Power Rangers correctly this is the phrase Dangerrutito Fontainiuxic shouts just before doing some weird weebish hand and finger gestures and whistling a tune to summon his Zord. That is a preposterously large inexplicably humanoid shaped robot that does mostly the same things he does but more biggly.

His soul trapped bastard son sword thing, Trilobisekni, also grows way bigger for reasons that are not self evident.

It also has a soul gun (which is powered by the souls of his vanquished enemies or any random disembodied souls he finds wandering around) and is capable of destroying skyscrapers or office buildings in a single shot and/or massive quantities of unarmed civilians if they are all gathered, against their will or otherwise, in a sufficiently small space. destroying entire galaxies in a single shot and/or just like really really messing up your weekend plans. Which would then power the gun up. Very convenient. It is named the Galaxy Gun, due to its power. Or GG for short, which is an acronym.

In this form he is known as Dangerrutito Fontainiuxic Mooora Beeeegaruuuuuu.
I see Rhun as sort of the crusty old hand. Dirty old fuck with a heart of gold.

Cook on the ship, does repairs, talks a lot of shit but also tries to share his wisdom, sometimes just shares his own dumbshit theories, ventures off into the wilderness to scout when we get out into the weeds. Probably gets into trouble whenever we stop at a trading post. Lots of stories to tell in bars. Some of them even true. General rapscallion activities.
Rhun the Halfman aka Mini Han Solo:

One of a nearly extinct now race, bred to be smaller, with a slower metabolism, and longer lived. They were bred this way to serve longer and take up less space on long distance transport ships prior to the proliferation of FTL travel. Physically they fit the purpose well, but they would come to develop a culture and typical personality that fared less well as long term workers. Slaves really though transport conglomerates never admitted to it.

Perhaps due to their inability to make their own choices these people, once the Halfmen, later the Halflings, and then when their usefulness ended the Ratlings, grew (no pun intended) to revere the things they had long been denied.

A home
Good food

Rhun grew up on a Pirate ship, a stowaway at first, and found himself trying to learn as much as possible to protect his position. Small as he was at any time the captain might decide his small living quarters would be better suited to hold a few footlockers of loot or a cask or two of wine.

He failed in many endeavors but succeeded in three. He was an excellent shot, he was good at moving about unnoticed, and he was a neigh unparalleled chef. At least to the taste buds of a collection of dirtbag pirates.

Now, decades later, Rhun the Halfman has a rather outsize reputation for such a small man.
I need to get Rogue Trader and see if that will last me through until GTA 6 and MHWilds genocide my free time.

Hopefully the release of a Warhammer 40K cRPG helps there be a few more RPs here in that setting. Haven't been in one in awhile.
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