BCTheEntity

In a huge publicity stunt by your favorite video game company, you find out that your favorite character, the avatar above, is gay. How do you react?

Clearly, you didn't see the end credits for Homestuck.

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

<Snipped quote by Dannyrulx>

Negative on the Seraphim, we're Battle-Sisters, although that includes Dominions and so forth. I.E. We're on the ground, not in the air.

@Jbcool

So just to clarify, every AdSor character is playing as a "rank-and-file" Battle-Sister of the Order Militant, which includes specialist troop ranks like Dominion and Retributor, or an equivalent rank from an Order Hospitaller, Famulous, Dialogous, or whatever other Order type is viable, am I correct? (And to those who want to know what said ranks actually are, here's a handy-dandy link.)

A Good Old Dungeon Spelunk (Full currently, check back later!)

What volume that... man? It could just as easily be an undead abomination, but it sounded male... and what volume he-slash-it had to his-slash-its voice. Loud enough, at least, to apparently shock the pale tall dwarf into leaping behind a bookshelf, and to have the short tall dwarf start... talking to herself in her head? No, to another being, who it seemed was some sort of spirit. And speaking of head talk, what in blazes had happened with her internal privacy? She hadn't realised before, but she could hear everyone else's thoughts, and inevitably they would be able to hear hers! Drat and blast! What would happen if she accidentally revealed how attractive she found Masrith's body to everyone?! Why, it was entirely possible that she'd already...

'Oh, wait, oops,' she muttered quietly. Pretending she'd thought nothing of that sort, and in fact blaring the equivalent of loud "BLAH"s through her headspace to try and shut down any further intrusion into her mind however futile the effort was, she began sneaking forward a few steps, grabbing two pistols with a hand each in case the protection was needed, and using another two to take and open up a book, skimming through a few of the pages just to get the jist of whatever it was about before placing it back in its proper location. Now was, alas, rather a bad time to start reading these tomes, but she could refocus herself quickly enough if events suddenly began speeding up.

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

@The Fated Fallen Ha, you think that's a tale? Compared to what the Elves go through every year, inviting a Dragon over for Christmas is as simple as baiting fish to bite a hook.

The most famed of Elves, of course, are the Silver Elves, and as everybody knows, their civilisation is rife with magic, and every year their displays of Christmas cheer are glorious to behold... for any non-Elven individual, that is. For an Elf, and in particular a Silver Elf, magic means all such Christmas decoration is but common fare by their standard, even boring to some. They struggle to find any joy in their decorations, as the average Silver Elf has "seen it all", so to speak, by around their fiftieth year, leading them all to try and develop wilder and wilder decorations with every passing Christmas, their civilisation for a good month every year turning into a wonderland of glorious festive colour, incredible displays of runecraft and power, sometimes verging on the dangerous as they attempt to outdo themselves again and again and again. Indeed, the royal households more than any other are often the most wondrous to behold, for even compared to other Silver Elves it is hard to find a display of magic and power that the monarch and their family have not discovered, rich and powerful as they are.

But of course, they are not the only Elves to discuss. The Wood Elves, evidently, often find their lands accosted by those who would cut down trees to decorate their homes, and being that they live in those trees, they tend to be hard-pressed to defend their territories around this time of year from all sorts, ranging from Humans to Dwarves to Gnomes, and even Drabarians at times, many of whom are great mages in their own right. Their Woadian counterparts, of course, help protect the trees from their Northward territories, but every year the available forested land gets less and less, even considering how their greatest mages are capable of regrowing lost trees to full size. Meanwhile, their cousins to the East of the Great Clans have even more work to do: many of their seasonal traditions are quite different to those that are generally considered "standard" for this time of year, and that's not considering that some of their number even celebrate both the old and new traditions at once, to the point that various points of both clash quite terribly with one another. Inter-familial warfare is rather common between the Great Clan Elves at Christmas time, any Christmas gifts that are given tend to be some form of dried foodstuff, and you would be hard-pressed to find any Clanself who experiences more than a modicum of joy in the festive season, high-strung as the season oft is for them.

And yet no other subspecies is quite so hard-pressed as the Dark Elves and those who live amongst them at this time of year. One wonders that they even have the goodwill to celebrate Christmas, for all their hedonic impulses and cruel actions by the standards of their untainted cousins, and yet somehow they all manage to pull themselves together and set up celebrations of "The Red Time" that are often surprisingly cordial. Deaths dealt to one another drop by at least 50% at this time of year, and for the most part, one might even mistake the Dark Elves as being briefly happy... but it is of course a façade, for they all know what comes next, be it at the very start of the season or the eve before the big day. You see, certain aspects of their celebrations are often somewhat sacrificial in nature, and of course when one sacrifices enough life in a short enough timespan, you tend to end up accidentally summoning... rather nasty creatures. Indeed, even if this weren't the case, they would still be put upon by none other than the being that cursed them to begin with, for it happens that Bal'thamon finds their celebrations pleasing to it, and inexplicably winds tendrils of its being into every Dark Elf's home in an effort to experience what they do.

Now, picture the size of such an extradimensional entity, however it might try and mostly fail to fold into three-dimensional space. Picture the effort it must go through even to manifest but tiny fragments of its being into our world, and then imagine how insatiable such a beast must be, and how angered it becomes when, on the day of Christmas itself, it is inevitably disappointed by its patron race's inability to feed it. Picture the impossible, unnatural force such a creature can exert to flick a Human-sized body across a room, or into an unnaturally-gaping maw as it were. Any Dark Elf would laugh to hear the Dwarven tradition of attempting to feed a dragon; they would respond "try exhausting your food supplies entirely and still failing to feed the thing that has invaded our world". Naturally, though their natural rate of attrition drops substantially beforehand, the eldritch monstrosity that attempts to ingratiate itself into their homes almost always takes the lives of thousands, even tens of thousands of Dark Elves every single year, and even once it is vanished from our dimension, the utter loss of food leads to mass famine over the next few months that of course lead the Dark Elves to become rather crabby, setting off their cycle of infighting all over again, and consequently to excession and hedonism once the available food is back to normal levels. And yet that all fails to smother the sheer existential dread that lurks in the background constantly, peaking as the Red Time approaches... no wonder, then, that Dark Elven civilisation is so heedless of the good of others, when they hardly have goodness enough to share amongst themselves. Do not pity the Dark Elves, for they damned their kind when first they summoned Bal'thamon... but have a thought for them, nevertheless, and be glad you are not amongst them at Christmastime.

And of course, a Merry Christmas to you all.

Into The Dark: Mercenaries (Heroes of Fame and Fortune)

'Right. Thanks.' Taking the food and drink in hand, Nuva put off moving for as long as he dared without invoking Morek's wrath- the gods knew how protective he'd be over the bounty in this vault- then reluctantly turned and re-entered the hall where the elf had caught up with him. Things had gotten... weird, in there. Aside from anything else, there was inexplicably a horse being chased around. Where had the gnomes gotten a horse? Why were they chasing it? Who knew. Either way, Secret was still talking to the gnome; since he had to, Nuva walked over to her, handing her the wine with a gruff 'Here,' only to hesitate about moving away. The desire to know how much she knew of him was still present, and realistically, he'd only figure it out if she told him herself. No, he had to know, if only to soothe his own worries.

'Find me later, when there aren't so many people about.' Keep things brief, don't get caught up in another conversation he'd rather not have at that point. With that sentence uttered and the wine delivered, he promptly turned and left with his bag of food in hand, heading out of the hall- at the same time as the gnomes and whatever dog they were chasing, incidentally- for one of the less occupied corners of the castle. If he was lucky, he'd get that uninterrupted conversation with Secret during lunch. Otherwise, it'd be an anxious wait for him.

@POOHEAD189@rush99999

The Three Realms War [A DMC, Bayonetta and Darksiders RP]

@Sho Minazuki I'm afraid I'm going to have to drop out of this game, at least for the time being. I've obviously not been keeping up with posting, and I don't think I'm going to improve much in the near future. If you need Iscah and Iacobos to vanish and never be seen by the main cast again without explicitly confirming their deaths, they're evidently in a good position for that at the moment, so... yeah. See you around, maybe.

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

Yes, I am interested. We'll see how the Bolter Bitches plot out. Yes, plot. Plot is important for a story like this. Plot... plooooot.

Hellscapers! [PRETTY MUCH ALWAYS ACCEPTING EXCEPT WHEN WE HAVE TEN PEOPLE (WE DON'T)!]

And of course the enemy Cambion thought he was one of his own prisoners. Perhaps he also believed Deprave was some rank amateur, to be mutilated and tossed aside like rubbish. Had he not led his tribe to conquest over much of the Americas, to transformation into a true nation? Had he not made his way to the top of his gang and transformed it into a small army all its own? And was the piece of concrete that Nefas had torn from the wall readily dodgable? Well, Grog certainly wouldn't be dodging it from where he was, so Deprave dodged for him, sidestepping as the solid lump was flung, and in theory allowing it to pass to the left of his passenger's head.

Either way, he had another issue to deal with: a lunge made by Nefas, accompanied by a straight chop aimed up at Deprave's collarbone. Pah. As it happened, one of the advantages of being a giant was very large hands and arms... and one of the advantages of combat skill was knowing when an attack ought not to be blocked. On the other hand, an attack like this could be deflected very handily; and so, though it was a bit of a rough hit, Deprave moved an arm round to bat the enemy Cambion's arm to the side, making it pass his body and miss the attack entirely, save perhaps a slightly skinned limb. Were he fighting on his own, this might be followed up differently; but with a gun-toting madman on his back, Deprave had had a much better idea, and rather than simply wasting the energy, grabbed Nefas' wrist (the majority of his forearm, really) and continued the half-demon's motion for him, essentially turning his attack against him to throw the warden head over heels, slamming his opponent's back into the ground hard enough to crack it. Almost before the demon impacted, Nefas grabbed the up-ended creature's other arm at the elbow with his free hand, and yelled 'UNLOAD IN HIS EYES, FROG!' as he began to spin himself, and by extension the prison guardian in his grip, round and round and round, heedless of the walls of the hallway.

That spinning motion, of course, was simply to distract Nefas from the real threat. Perhaps only for a second, but if Grant acted immediately, that'd be more than enough. Nefas was thick-skinned enough that he could probably tank most of what Deprave could put out without using Blackgore... but the eyes of any creature are easily one of their weakest points, not readily defended by even the toughest eyelids. And regardless of how tough they are on the outside, a great many shotgun rounds fired into their brain through the eyesockets will put any creature out of commission for an extended period of time. Especially if the skull is hard enough to ricochet the ammo a few times...

@Turbowraith@Turbowraith@Turbowraith

A Tolkien based RP: Out of the Past

Well, I'm also still here, so let's get this train rolling, bruv.

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

Alessa Heather: Streets of Denver

Death god? Xolotl for sure, then. And with that kind of opposition, it was no wonder why Sonar was now "down", whatever that entailed. Unconscious at best, dead at worst. Either way, Margrave was apparently calling 911; frankly, they'd take too long, and Sonar was far too valuable to lose over something silly like that. Walking after Tulpa as she headed back up top - citing that something was wrong, as though she herself weren't strongly aware of that - she tapped the PCE once again, this time calling the PRT HQ. A woman greeted her on the other end; not entirely cognizant of who it was, she responded formally: 'Messiah here. We need emergency services over here ASAP; Sonar is injured, possibly severely.'

Continuing to not really hear what the woman said, and in fact mulling over the injustice of victory essentially being snatched from their grasp in seconds, she climbed up the ladder to the street after Tulpa, a bit more steadily to avoid scraping herself against the sides. It took only a short time to reach topsoil - top concrete, as it were - and just a couple of moments after that to see the damage done to their leader. Which, as it happened, was a lot. Son of a...

'Messiah? I asked what injury Sonar has sustained?' the woman repeated, snapping Messiah out of her funk. After half a second of self-composure (and movement towards Sonar to further gauge the damage done to him), she replied 'Serious head trauma. He's unconscious and heavily bleeding, I'm not sure about skull fractures. If it matters, I think his helmet took a lot of the impact... how should I try to help him?' she asked. What else could she do in this situation?

'First of all, don't move the victim,' the woman responded calmly. 'He's probably sustained a spinal injury alongside the head injury, and moving him could cause further damage. I'd suggest applying direct pressure to the head injury, but if the helmet is still mostly intact and on his head, that's likely applying more than enough already. Secondly, check that he's still breathing, and make sure his airways are clear.' She knelt down on one knee and held her hand over his mouth, and was luckily able to confirm he was breathing through it, though far too lightly to be healthy. After a moment of grossed-out hesitation, she also pushed her fingers into his mouth, widening it just enough to ensure his tongue wouldn't block off his airways, then wiping her hand on her costume as the woman on the other end continued to talk: 'Third, check his alertness and responsiveness to voice and pain: does he respond to questions, and does he move if pinched?'

'Sonar? Are you awake?' Messiah asked, moving so that she now knelt on both knees. No response. She pinched the skin of his arm, possibly harder than needed. Again, no response. 'N-nothing.'

'Alright, you've done well so far. Medical services are on their way. Stay next to him, tell me of any changes in his condition, and again, make sure he isn't moved until they arrive.'

'Will do,' Messiah responded, staying in place beside the unconscious hero, and continuing to check that he was breathing, ready to tell anybody who came near to not touch him. And if she had her way, they wouldn't.

---

Raymond Haywood: Streets of Denver

Well, it certainly sounded like Arsenal was interested, and he only began to appear more interested as he looked over the contents of the envelope. Reading over the man's shoulder, it struck Raymond that part of the deal for him involved providing whatever technology and equipment the man wanted... 'You're a Tinker then,' he muttered quietly into the poncho-wearing man's ear. 'Mind if I ask what field?' He was certainly interested to know, to see whether or not the man might be in any way directly helpful for the mercenary. If not, no loss on his part; but if he was, he could plan around that to acquire improvements for himself, be they to his body or his equipment. Whichever worked best, essentially.