Member
@Necroes As opposed to the giant bursts of psychic energy just unleashed by the Ork and the Heretek, which are obviously less likely to be noticed by comparison. Obviously.
- Last Seen: 5 days ago
- Joined: 9 yrs ago
- Posts: 3012 (0.91 / day)
- VMs: 3
-
Username history
- BCTheEntity 9 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
Strosivadan,
Fetzen,
gammaflux,
Gordian Nought,
Enigmatik,
pollo,
LemonZest1337,
Bartimaeus
Status
Recent Statuses
10 mos ago
Current
RAIN OF SPIDERS (SPIDERS spiders)
4
likes
2 yrs ago
It seems today, that all you see,
2 yrs ago
Holy Spirit Activate
1
like
2 yrs ago
Remember the indigenous people of the Americas today.
5
likes
3 yrs ago
Critical Role? More like Crunchical Hole, haha. But yes, it's pretty uh... well, the Mercer Effect exists for the same reason people think porn is an accurate depiction of sex.
1
like
Bio
Hello, I am me from the internet. I migrated here from Kongregate's Forum Games Forum, so feel free to look for me there if you wish to follow a career in internet stalking people. (ಠ_ಠ) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
A link to some of my past characters, which I need because static tabs do not take up internet.
“I really don’t follow how your faith believes its perfectly acceptable to doom 4,000 years plus of sentient beings, on a pre-set path of no escape from sin, just so their descendants can be offered the ‘chance of salvation’ when the god murders its own son.”
~vikaTae
“Don’t be an ass or a pussy, ’lest you get screwed by life. Being a mouth or a hand is somewhat safer, and an eye socket is pretty much sacred in this regard, so always keep a look out.”
~BCLEGENDS
A link to some of my past characters, which I need because static tabs do not take up internet.
Infamous Quotes From People Who Exist
“I really don’t follow how your faith believes its perfectly acceptable to doom 4,000 years plus of sentient beings, on a pre-set path of no escape from sin, just so their descendants can be offered the ‘chance of salvation’ when the god murders its own son.”
~vikaTae
“Don’t be an ass or a pussy, ’lest you get screwed by life. Being a mouth or a hand is somewhat safer, and an eye socket is pretty much sacred in this regard, so always keep a look out.”
~BCLEGENDS
Most Recent Posts
I admit, any psychic activity on the part of the telepath Lucius has adopted is as a result of my not knowing how far-reaching an Astropath's telepathic power is, and not really considering it as a factor. For this, I apologise. That said, I think the blast of warpfire and whatever Zuriel did is probably going to be a bit more noticable than some tiny blip of psychic beacon anyway.
In
An Unholy Mass: Warhammer 40,000 RP [Black Crusade Inspired] [Mature Content] [Seeking Heretics!]
→
7 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
There once was a man of little social substance named Darran Parthe. Tall and handsome, possessed of dark brown hair and blue-green eyes and light skin tone, he used to be quite a popular individual during his youth, but as time passed, he found himself drawn into his work as a surgeon more and more. Though he seemed externally to remain as charming as ever, his social life vanished, his internal world shrank and corroded, until it seemed the man piloting the body was rendered all but heartless, connecting with others but barely for the facade he put on, his imagination filled only with how to better his work, to ensure he and the machines he worked with and upgraded never failed to save a life.
And yea, he might have continued on in this work for centuries, for his clientele was always the rich of the world, rich enough that he could afford the gene treatments to keep himself young; but with wealth often comes boredom, and one day, a client of his asked of Darran a most unusual treatment. "A hole implanted into my belly," they asked, "that one might use as they'd use the female genitalia." And whilst very odd, Darran had no reason to deny the client what they asked, not when they were offering twice as much money as for any normal surgery, and despite the uniqueness of the operation, it was performed exactly according to plan.
The client promised to bring in more patients for future surgeries of this ilk, and keeping their word, new members of the upper class soon began to roll in, requesting an odd implant here, and a cosmetic patchup there, and a queer device attached just so, in addition to the doctor's more usual surgeries. He acquired more and better surgical devices, using his wealth to get into the good graces of his clients, and his own skill to eventually implant his tools into his very body, for though incredibly precise, mere machinery could never match the skill of a human mind unless it was controlled by a human mind.
And finally, certain members of his clientele began to open their hearts to him, revealing their allegiances to a force called Chaos. They did not explain directly what it was, but implied that mere association with its members had damned Darran already, barring him from the God-Emperor's light, though in return opening him to the attentions of beings far greater. The doctor remained unfased, for even religiousness had faded in him, be it of the Emperor or of any supposed God of Chaos; what mattered to him now was his work, and ensuring his work was never inaccurate, not even by a fraction of a millimeter. Such inaccuracies had become ever more unacceptable to him. To err was to fail, and so he vowed he would never err again, not if it meant his surgeries were unsuccessful.
The gaze of Slaanesh had turned upon him. And to those who worshipped her and experienced Darran's work, it might appear that she was very curious to see how he progressed.
And yea, he might have continued on in this work for centuries, for his clientele was always the rich of the world, rich enough that he could afford the gene treatments to keep himself young; but with wealth often comes boredom, and one day, a client of his asked of Darran a most unusual treatment. "A hole implanted into my belly," they asked, "that one might use as they'd use the female genitalia." And whilst very odd, Darran had no reason to deny the client what they asked, not when they were offering twice as much money as for any normal surgery, and despite the uniqueness of the operation, it was performed exactly according to plan.
The client promised to bring in more patients for future surgeries of this ilk, and keeping their word, new members of the upper class soon began to roll in, requesting an odd implant here, and a cosmetic patchup there, and a queer device attached just so, in addition to the doctor's more usual surgeries. He acquired more and better surgical devices, using his wealth to get into the good graces of his clients, and his own skill to eventually implant his tools into his very body, for though incredibly precise, mere machinery could never match the skill of a human mind unless it was controlled by a human mind.
And finally, certain members of his clientele began to open their hearts to him, revealing their allegiances to a force called Chaos. They did not explain directly what it was, but implied that mere association with its members had damned Darran already, barring him from the God-Emperor's light, though in return opening him to the attentions of beings far greater. The doctor remained unfased, for even religiousness had faded in him, be it of the Emperor or of any supposed God of Chaos; what mattered to him now was his work, and ensuring his work was never inaccurate, not even by a fraction of a millimeter. Such inaccuracies had become ever more unacceptable to him. To err was to fail, and so he vowed he would never err again, not if it meant his surgeries were unsuccessful.
The gaze of Slaanesh had turned upon him. And to those who worshipped her and experienced Darran's work, it might appear that she was very curious to see how he progressed.
@POOHEAD189 I'll be honest, I thought a lot of people had simply dropped out, since they hadn't put their sheets in the Characters tab yet. That'd leave us with just three players, including you, the de facto GM as of Clocktower basically dropping out, and that's not a whole lot of players to work with. Now, if there are other players who are simply having trouble thinking of something to write, that's a different story... because then it just means I've been doing a sort of procrastination, which I still need to work around.
In
An Unholy Mass: Warhammer 40,000 RP [Black Crusade Inspired] [Mature Content] [Seeking Heretics!]
→
7 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
So what concepts are people thinking about, anyway? In my case, I've come up with an externally charming, yet emotionally dead surgeon who's become way too invested in making sure his surgeries are absolutely perfectly precise to the point of installing his surgical tools into his body, thus drawing Slaanesh's attentions.
@Sophrus@Wraithblade6 Alright, post made. Lucius may or may not be near the rest of the party; I've deliberately made that ambiguous for now, just so interference doesn't occur.
Because he was quite sure he'd have gotten himself furious again if he looked over to Xepherial, and in particular what the blood-red Marines were doing to him, he refused to so much as glance in his brother-Marine's direction as he strode over to one of the various weapon racks in the room. His two blades were all well and good, of course, but as recent events had shown, they were insufficient for requirements. He needed a gun - his own gun, not one stolen from another person - and since this was an old Space Marine ship after all, the ship's armoury was packed with bolt weaponry. Not just bolters, but bolt pistols, and even heavy and storm bolters, though the idea of firing either of the latter two outside of power armour was realistically infeasible even for him.
And the variety of patterns! Crusade, Tigrus, Umbra, Umbra Ferrox... oh, if a Phobos-pattern bolter presented itself to him, he might just be able to die happy despite everything! Alas, it did not, and he did not see that he had the time or space to check around for one, if he needed to perform maintenance on whatever weapons he selected. Perhaps for the best, since to his knowledge, the Phobos pattern actually used a slightly smaller bolt caliber. Odd, of course, that he could remember minute details such as that, and yet not know so much of his history. So, being forced to pick and choose, Lucius grabbed a Tigrus-pattern bolter and bolt pistol, as well as the holsters for them and enough magazines for both to last him at least a few engagements, if he was picky about who and what he chose to shoot (and that was how he should treat them, of course, for the Tigrus pattern was renowned for its accuracy compared to standard bolter patterns).
One round of gun maintenance later, and it seemed there was little else to do but prepare to enter their new ship. The Mechanicus priest had already left, it seemed, and from the look of things, Xepherial was keen to exit through an airlock, despite his armour's condition... which reminded Lucius that he was still wearing naught but cloth. And with a badly damaged body, at that. He would surely die if he stepped into the void in such condition. But, surely a ship such as this ought not to be so unprepared? Surely he ought to be able to find voidsuits... perhaps, if he was lucky, even a suit of power armour to call his own?
He was not. Mere voidsuits aplenty, for both Astartes and human serfs- he grabbed one for his follower too, not that the wimp really deserved it- but apparently, power armour was in short supply. Not unexpectedly, he supposed, but even so, he might have expected at least a few spare.
And after putting his suit on, he simply followed the route taken by the others in his group, exiting through the airlock, trudging with mag-locking boots across the surface of the enemy ship, and then into another airlock, and ultimately the ship proper. Was it the same airlock? He had no idea, and he didn't see his fellows in the vicinity. All he knew was that his minion had followed him, and once inside refused to just shut up about how grateful he was that his almighty lord master had so cleverly yadda yadda yadda.
'You know,' Lucius began, drawing his bolt pistol, 'now that we aren't at risk of drawing any Genestealers to ourselves, you could put that telepathy to use in guiding us around, perhaps? I'm sure figuring out where the life in this ship is would be useful.'
'Ah- o-oh! Yes, of course, lord sir Scion sir,' the worm snivelled, 'I'll see if I can use it to that effect, though I worry of course that my recent, ah, deprivation may have affected my abilities- just a little bit of course, no setbacks to what I can usually do, of course! Ahaheh...' Admittedly, he did seem a little bit better for being out of the null field. Less pale. Less crying, too. Not an excuse for failure on his part, evidently, though a failure to possess a particular use of a particular ability at all might be questionable as a "failure". Maybe. Either way, without asking whether he was succeeding, Lucius began to wander, weapon ready to kill whoever needed killing. And, hopefully, his physique would hold out for long enough until the ship was under his control. If he was lucky, he might even come across a physician with the skill to heal him who wasn't utterly mad. Wouldn't that be something.
And the variety of patterns! Crusade, Tigrus, Umbra, Umbra Ferrox... oh, if a Phobos-pattern bolter presented itself to him, he might just be able to die happy despite everything! Alas, it did not, and he did not see that he had the time or space to check around for one, if he needed to perform maintenance on whatever weapons he selected. Perhaps for the best, since to his knowledge, the Phobos pattern actually used a slightly smaller bolt caliber. Odd, of course, that he could remember minute details such as that, and yet not know so much of his history. So, being forced to pick and choose, Lucius grabbed a Tigrus-pattern bolter and bolt pistol, as well as the holsters for them and enough magazines for both to last him at least a few engagements, if he was picky about who and what he chose to shoot (and that was how he should treat them, of course, for the Tigrus pattern was renowned for its accuracy compared to standard bolter patterns).
One round of gun maintenance later, and it seemed there was little else to do but prepare to enter their new ship. The Mechanicus priest had already left, it seemed, and from the look of things, Xepherial was keen to exit through an airlock, despite his armour's condition... which reminded Lucius that he was still wearing naught but cloth. And with a badly damaged body, at that. He would surely die if he stepped into the void in such condition. But, surely a ship such as this ought not to be so unprepared? Surely he ought to be able to find voidsuits... perhaps, if he was lucky, even a suit of power armour to call his own?
He was not. Mere voidsuits aplenty, for both Astartes and human serfs- he grabbed one for his follower too, not that the wimp really deserved it- but apparently, power armour was in short supply. Not unexpectedly, he supposed, but even so, he might have expected at least a few spare.
And after putting his suit on, he simply followed the route taken by the others in his group, exiting through the airlock, trudging with mag-locking boots across the surface of the enemy ship, and then into another airlock, and ultimately the ship proper. Was it the same airlock? He had no idea, and he didn't see his fellows in the vicinity. All he knew was that his minion had followed him, and once inside refused to just shut up about how grateful he was that his almighty lord master had so cleverly yadda yadda yadda.
'You know,' Lucius began, drawing his bolt pistol, 'now that we aren't at risk of drawing any Genestealers to ourselves, you could put that telepathy to use in guiding us around, perhaps? I'm sure figuring out where the life in this ship is would be useful.'
'Ah- o-oh! Yes, of course, lord sir Scion sir,' the worm snivelled, 'I'll see if I can use it to that effect, though I worry of course that my recent, ah, deprivation may have affected my abilities- just a little bit of course, no setbacks to what I can usually do, of course! Ahaheh...' Admittedly, he did seem a little bit better for being out of the null field. Less pale. Less crying, too. Not an excuse for failure on his part, evidently, though a failure to possess a particular use of a particular ability at all might be questionable as a "failure". Maybe. Either way, without asking whether he was succeeding, Lucius began to wander, weapon ready to kill whoever needed killing. And, hopefully, his physique would hold out for long enough until the ship was under his control. If he was lucky, he might even come across a physician with the skill to heal him who wasn't utterly mad. Wouldn't that be something.
Yeah, shit got weird fast. And I still need to post, at that... but if Sophrus is about to edit his post, I'd need to edit after that to include his actions, if Lucius winds up being near them. So that's a bother.
Marxello Catchanale
Rebinding the cannibal's hands and feet with rock rather than ice was simple enough. Far harder was convincing his two allies to let him escort the merchant and the prisoner to Ambran alone. He'd pointed out, of course, that if any members of the Order saw him with them, he'd wind up being considered a traitor at best. Apparently, that hadn't dissuaded them one bit. He had explained to the merchant (however little response he gave) that first of all, he wasn't a traitor to the Order, and secondly, he had his ways of ensuring these two monsters remained as docile as possible, even if they were maneaters, which they weren't, but it was still best that he didn't say anything about his being with the monsters to the authorities, as they wouldn't understand the circumstances he was in. That, however, would be meaningless if he couldn't get Syszi and Tue to go back to the guildhouse before they reached Ambran.
But of course, that would also be meaningless if these dwarves killed them all. He was certainly powerful, and he knew for a fact that Syszi was too, but a small army was a bit beyond what he knew they could handle, especially considering they were crossbow-armed, giving them great range compared to anyone else there. Not to mention Tue, who might be anywhere from incredible to utterly useless in a fight. It was a shame that the dwarves felt the need to fight the Order, when their kind were so few nowadays... at least, the unmonsterised tribes.
'Well, this is a bit of an issue. I imagine it'd be best to stay put until the dwarves pass for now,' he suggested to the rest of the group, 'but if they happen to be headed to Ambran as an invasion force, I suppose we'll want to follow on after and ensure the city isn't overrun. Non-fighters excepted, of course,' he added, more for the merchant's benefit than anyone else's.
@PaulHaynek I'm still here. Just been figuring out what to write with @Lady Selune and @Kafka Komedy, is all. I think I'll post as normal, with the content we've discussed.
© 2007-2024