BingTheWing

Futuristic Penal Colony on treacherous planet.

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Soviet Amerika - Alternate History Invasion of the USA

Would like to join, as long as it is in Casual. I don't think I can do any sort of Advanced or anything else outside of Free or Casual.

Legend | Book of the Dragon Order

The gnome once again extracted his head from the robot's torso. The day was getting on, he needed some new parts and spare ale, ale most importantly. Since the recent tensions about magic, business hadn't been as good as it was before and it was really getting down on him. Maybe a trip to the tavern would do him some good. And a wider range of clients would be there, too. He had also heard that the inn offered some new, private study rooms where he could concentrate on his blueprints. The gnome donned a nice black trench coat, a silver knapsack and a scroll case which looked like it had carried significant amounts of rolled-up parchment. Of course, before going anywhere, Thom hung a simple sign on his door on which were painted the words GONE FISHING.

When the gnome stepped into the tavern, it was loud, noisy, boisterous - the usual. He said a kind hello to the landlady whose daughter was out serving drinks to the guests. Her daughter was a beauty among the regular tavern-goers, he'd heard - for better and for worse. Her attractive body often made her the subject of many drunks with... urges. Suddenly, a brown-bearded dwarf swathed in a leather coat residing to the left of the tavern suddenly stood up, knocking over a few flagons of ale. "Thomas, my little man! Have a drink with me!"
Thomas knew that voice all too well - it was Bjorn Frosthammer, a famous smith in Porthsmouth and one of Thom's good friends.
"Good to see ya, Bjorn." Thom enthusiastically embraced the dwarf's bulky frame - just enough for his fingers to touch. He sat down, relieving himself of his silver knapsack and worn scroll case.
"Now, Bjorn. Let's get down to business. You wouldn't have a spare 3'7 brass cog on ye, would ya?"
"3'7, 3'7..." The dwarf rummaged in his fairly large leather satchel and pulled out a brass cog slightly larger than his fist, which he slid across the table to Thomas. In return, Thomas slid back five gold pieces.
"Ah, thank you for that, Bjorn. I'm still working on Maximus. Something happened and my last cog holding his left arm together snapped in half."
"That old robot? Still?" The dwarf counted the pieces. "Oh, yes. I forgot. The Annual Tinker's Convention is in a month's time, no?"
"Indeed." The gnome adjusted his glasses to better magnify his eyes, which had a slight sparkle in each blue pupil. "Maximus is going to be the star of the show. Have a look at the plans." Thomas unlocked the brass hatch of the circular case and rolled it over to Bjorn, who immediately started poring over the blue paper.
"Hey, isn't that old Tinker Tom?"
"Looks like ye've got some visitors, mate." Bjorn looked up from the blueprints and smiled. "Might wanna give 'em a little show."
Thomas stood up and walked over to the patrons who had recognized him, knapsack in tow. "Perhaps you would fancy some toys, sir?" Thomas reached inside his silver knapsack and pulled out a small clockwork chicken. He winded it up, and the chicken started walking around in his palm, complete with lifelike bawks and cock-a-doodle-dooes. "Brilliant!" "More, Tom, more!"
"More, sir? Alright, I've got plenty more tricks up my sleeves." Thomas smiled. Ah, the true joy of tinkering - seeing people enjoy what you've made.

When the Flames Die

"What are they doing now?"
Rat's whispered words seemed to ricochet from every brick in the grimy alleyway just beside the Crossroads Inn. Another cloak had an ear up to the window, dressed in full black mask and hood. His crossbow was slung over his back.
"They're moving upstairs into Room 201, sir." The cloak effortlessly and silently bounded up to the respected window. He was soon holding onto a ledge with one hand, careful to maintain his head just outside the window's edge.
"Keep quiet. These are the only eyewitnesses of the Taggerung we've picked up, and we can't afford to lose another one. There's also a member of this Faceless Legion balderdash that's there. Is he?"
"I think so. I hear him." The cloak pressed his head against the wall slightly tighter. "They're just talking about some emotional claptrap, sir. Is this really necessary?"
"Keep your bloody mouth shut and observe. After a few hours they usually loosen up the important information."
"Where's Adrian, by the way?"
"Oh, I forgot. You weren't there. Apparently he was followed by a.. girl to Fourteen who we soon learnt was part of those Arcarti Scout dung. Girl escaped and now he has to do recon work until next week."
The cloak smirked. Adrian had always been a bit of a buffoon. He chuckled silently to himself for a moment, then resumed his surveillance.

The Relics (No Plot/Fantasy/Character Driven/Worthy of Skepticism)

Found a theme song for Bor, check the Character Directory.

The Relics (No Plot/Fantasy/Character Driven/Worthy of Skepticism)

WilsonTurner said
Character: (Other people should do this! I'm bored)

Hi. I'm Bor.

My life story?

You think I can just give out my f*cking life story to just anyone I meet?

~Subject was last seen stabbing the interviewer in the face while unsheathing his battleaxe.~

Legend | Book of the Dragon Order

I wonder how people are gonna run into Thomas' shop.

The Relics (No Plot/Fantasy/Character Driven/Worthy of Skepticism)

Bor found himself seated in quite comfortable conditions. Plush red couch, gilded armrest, nice view of the stage, all because he had paid a few extra gold pieces. Whoever knew that one chunk of the glowing green wood paid this handsomely. He craned his neck to his right and found Derry the Baker conveniently seated beside him.
"H'lo, Borgrund."
"Aye." The woodsman settled himself in his seat. "I overheard snippets of that story you were enthusiastically blabbering on about to your patrons. Apparently, the location of your secret dough ingredient has shifted from the wild mountains of Alber to the treasure trove of the dangerous pirate by the name of Blackblade, who - surprise surprise - he doesn't exist."
"I'm not invincible, Fellhallows! Telling the same story to the customers does wears them out a bit, you know."
"O, how the mighty have fallen."
The two merchants shared a quiet chuckle.
"Oh, by the way, Bor. About that glowing green Mystra wood you sell."
"What about it?" Bor struggled to contain his interest.
"I think I know what it does."
Bor widened his eyes and stiffened. "Go on."
"Well, there have been a few tongues waggin' about Old Man Crimson, one of your regular customers I believe."
Bor slowly nodded. Crimson was an avid buyer of Mystra. Bor often asked what it was good for, but the man simply handed over the money and wouldn't say.
"Well, word is that he goes into his laboratory, plops the wood into a great big cauldron and-"
"Oi, Derry! Get your blabberin' mouth over here! Haven't seen ya in a month, you big bollock."
"Forgive me." Derry abruptly finished his tale and went over to the seat of to an equally fat man garnished in jewels and purple robes. Bor sighed. He was so close.. but he did have to try boiling the wood which Crimsom unsurprisingly advised him to never do. Bor had only found the tree a month ago. He had to know why it fetched a handsome price among.. certain persons. He didn't notice it, but Bor felt something was up. He should've brought his axe. Almost instinctively, his hand strayed to his hunting knife hidden within the folds of his bearskin.

Lost Fleet - Lost Squadron

Idk wat dis is but it's sci fi and it lookz okey.

The Relics (No Plot/Fantasy/Character Driven/Worthy of Skepticism)

Everyone keeps asking me about the wood...should I tell y'all how it works now?