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- Walmart Apocalypse Roleplay
- Nightmare Gas Station
- Underrail/Fallout/Post Apocalyptic Roleplay. Codename: Clausterclysm
- Anthromorphic Grimdark Animal Fantasy Roleplay. Codename: Fallowbrook.
- Eldritch Abomination Garfield Roleplay. Codename: Lasagna.
- Infinite IKEA Roleplay. Codename: God Morgon
- Roleplayerguild High School RP. Codename: Highschool Roleplay
- Cyberpunk South East Asia RP. Codename: Straits of Malacca. [CURRENTLY HAPPENING]



Most Recent Posts

“ Got a hit on all our targets, sir!,” Takka whooped out loud. The internal targeting screen that was connected to the front facing cameras on the Merry Go Round’s front viewport became awash with a bloom of bright infrared from the miniature explosions that impacted the Jenner. As soon as he saw the Fists began to make a hasty retreat to the forest line, Aroxy rolled his shoulders in relief and signed. Now, they could get a move onto the convoy before they attracted any further Fists to their position.

Then, that damn Longbow had to ruin their day.

“BRACE FOR IM-,” The words just left Aroxy’s mouth as the salvo of missiles stitched a line across the Merry-Go-Round’s frontal ceramic plating. The entire crew was thrown off their seats, tumbling inside the tank as it shook with a thunderous rattle. Aroxy slapped his ears several times to get rid of that infernal ringing noise. The other members of his crew groaned as they pulled themselves up.

The integrated stress sensors within Merry Go Round had activated for the first time in months, alarms and damage readouts flickering on the ceiling control panel just above the targeting screen. Diodes danced in a haze of green, yellow and red.

Aroxy inched his neck up towards the viewport of his periscope. He could see the fading raptor-like figure of the Longbow disappearing in the horizon. Its subsonic engines burnt a smoldering orange, trailing behind a grey line of smoke and spent fuel. He continued to keep an eye on it to make sure it wasn’t coming back for any more runs before turning back to assess the condition of the rest of his crew.

“ Status report!,” Groans of pain only answered him. Aroxy blinked as flashing sparks dribbled out from an exposed wire that had come loose during the attack. “ I said, status report! How badly were we hit, Takka?”

“ Well, sir ….Takka wiped a drop of blood from a red cut across his forehead. “ Nothing bad happened to our engine or our essentials. In all circumstances, the improvised ablative and composite layers took most of the hit and came out unscathed, save for the food hall we welded on. Real worry is the right tread, though. One of our wheels popped out along with our right return roller. Not a mission kill but….”

Takka didn’t need to say the obvious to drive the implications in. Merry Go Round would be literally driving at a snail’s pace. If they pushed more power into the engine, they would run the risk of permanently disabling themselves or disentangling their treads from the main wheel assembly.

“ Enough time for a field repair?”

The radio then burst to life and Colonel’s Wayne’s order dispelled any notions of what Aroxy had suggested. Aroxy slammed a fist in frustration and took off his tanker helm, hair matted with sweat and cordite. A crippled tank driving in this weather was equivalent to having Takka paint a bullseye on their asses. It would take a miracle for them not to get tagged as they would surely limp behind the main column at their reduced speed.

After some deliberation, the Merry Go Round thrummed to life once more, the small fires on its hull doused by the drizzle as its heavy treaded wheels struggled to gain purchase on the slowly soddening ground.
“ Looks like we got ourselves a talker, gentlemen,” Aroxy grumbled sarcastically. The other crewmembers cackled at the chatter of radio static. They’d long learnt to deal with intimidation and threats during the long course of their campaign. All of it was mere play, mere theater meant to mess with your head. A moment of hesitation or fear was an opportunity to exploit and the Crimson Fist knew exactly what we was playing at.

The entire crew braced for any impact, Takka ready to readjust the bearings of the tank at a moment’s notice. The thick clearing of the forest line was not good tank country but any cover was better than getting skewered by a laser or being blown to smithereens by an LRM. Aroxy couldn’t believe their crew’s luck. In their arrogance, the three Fists had focused on the mechs they had continued attacking rather than the tank. The Wolfhound hadn’t even glanced in their direction. It was the best target rich environment a tank crew could ask for.

Helma didn’t wait for Aroxy’s permission as she loaded another AP round, the chamber coughing out a empty brass shell before her black oil-coated fingers inserted in a fresh round. Ansel meanwhile adjusted the spray of their LMG towards the Wolfhound, sending a hail of round towards the mech as it lumbered towards the Raven Hawk. It might as well have done as much damage as a spitball but it was better than nothing.

“ Finish off that son of a bitch Wolfhound and get a lock on that chickenshit Jenner that’s harrassing us!,” Aroxy shouted. As if on cue, the SRM batteries on the Merry Go Round’s cupola popped out, aimed at an upward angle towards the swerving Longbow. The barrel was already in the process of aiming towards the crippled Wolfhound.Takka had already seem to read Aroxy’s mind before the words had even left his mouth. The familiar sound of Merry-Go-Round’s cannon made his ears bleed. The acrid smell of rocket fuel then hit his nose as a barrage of SRMs were let loose towards the damaged Jenner.
The forest line broke apart in a spray of splinters and Aroxy hitched a breath at the sight of the three mechs. Two lights, one heavy. Only one faction on this planet could bring this much force to bear. The Crimson Fists. There was no warning as they began savagely ripping into their contingent of mechs without mercy. Aroxy watched from the safety of the Merry Go Round as molten plating dribbled off their Ostroc and their entire column of supply trucks was shrouded in a fog of smoke and fire. Now, they were being ambushed. The universe had a sense of irony.

Still, they’d all forgotten the Von Luckner half a kilo behind them.

“ Right, let’s give them our reply.” Aroxy began barking out orders at a rapid pace. “ Alright, Helma. Give me a round of AP. Takka, let’s make sure that Wolfhound goes back crying back home to his commander. Elma, man those LMGs and become a gnat on the ass of those light mechs.”

“ Sir, yes ,sir!,” The entire team went to work, man and machine fused in a singular harmony as chambers were filled with artillery, the engine throttled and belts of bullets were dragged to be loaded. The twin sponson-mounted gatling guns whined before unleashing a rain of bullets upon the two light mechs. They weren’t going to do much damage but it was better than pissing in the wind and hoping for a miracle.

The Merry Go Round’s turret then craned to the right, directly towards the Wolfhound.

“ Loaded!,” Helma shouted.

“ Fire!,” Aroxy ordered, slamming his hand on the steel interior walls, sweat beading down his forehead.

“ Ontheway!,” Takka replied back.

The recoil shook the Merry Go Round back at a few feet, the round hurtling towards its target. The Wolfhound only had a second of warning before the AP shell smashed into its right shoulder. The frame of the mech swiveled as the inertia of the impact made it sway on its feet. The Wolfhoudn tried to move its right arm but it suddenly snapped off, revealing a tangle of power cables and hydraulic tubing. It hung onto the Wolfhound limply, the maimed limb and integrated gun now dead weight to the heavy mech.
“ Alright, double-time, Takka, let’s move it or lose it!”

The radio transmission stuck out like a canopian chihuahua barking its ass off. Such a powerful transmission was comparable to lathering yourself in barbeque sauce and diving into a pit full of lions. Everyone knew where their HQ was and it didn’t take an idiot to put two and two together to find out that one of their supply warehouses was being attacked.

Aroxy waved over to Helma and Ansel who ran back to the safety of the Merry Go Round like their lives depended on it. The Von Luckner was already crawling at a slug’s pace, its engine slowly starting up, as the two crewmembers clambered onto their hull. Latching on like mice, they scrambled into the porthole and sealed it off.

“ Did we manage to get any LRMs?,” Aroxy questioned out loud whilst Helma began opening ammunition chambers, sliding shells inside.

“ Only a few, captain! It’s not going to be enough for extended combat.”

“ Let’s hope we won’t need it. Keep that turret inclined up, Helma. If we can’t get a lock, we might as well try and swat them out of the sky.”
To the victor goes the spoils.

Aroxy saw the aftermath of war too much when the smoke had cleared and the air stung of cordite and burnt propellant. He knew many soldiers and mercenaries who saw looting as a means of coping with the brutality. After all, what better hobby was there for murderers than to keep mementos of their past glories? Aroxy wasn’t the type to engage in it. The Merry Go Round was the only memory he needed. The nicks, scratches and age of the war engine contained immeasurable wealth within it.

Here, though, the looting was purely for the sake of survival. The Merry Go Round grounded to a halt a good 100 feet away from the convoy of supply trucks. Aroxy clambered out of the port-hole and turned around to raise his hand against the face of a confused Takka who had climbed up after him.

“ Stay in there,” Aroxy commanded. “ We need an eye out for reinforcements and you’re both qualified to both gun and drive. If you’re nervous about gunning, you can let the auto-loader do the work for you.”

“ You sure that’s the only reason, Major?,” Takka grumbled.

“ No,” Aroxy said. “ But now’s not the time to chew you out. We have priorities to focus on.” The tone of finality ended the discussion between them both as Takka climbed back in without a complaint.

“ Someone’s grounded…..,” Greta mused as she climbed out of the hatch followed by Hansel. The blonde driver took off her helmet and ran her hand through her straw hair, loosening the tangles and frayed knots. Hansel meanwhile rolled his arms and gagged at the scent of burnt human flesh in the air.

“ Greta, Hansel.” His two other crew members stood at attention. “ Coordinate with the supply trucks and see what we can fit on the Merry-Go-Round. We need 120 mm shells, SRMs and LRMs stat. We don’t want to be caught out here by the Guard with our pants halfway down.”

“ Roger, major,” Both chorused as they ran to the warehouse. Aroxy took out his comm radio and spoke into it.

“ This is Steel Rain. Merry Go Round is keeping an eye on the horizon. Any who can assist my crew members in finding ammunition would be appreciated.”

NIM NOM: As the last syllable leaves your lips, the tiny hooded chef begins to break into a flurry of excitement. The furious speed at which he’s moving transforms him into a multi-armed demonic god of epic culinary proportions.

TIMING: Yet, in the chaos, there is a symphony of execution. Every chop, every move that he makes is a ballad, an ode to his skill. A method in the madness is still present, in spite of his unorthodox methods.

NIM NOM: The vertically challenged chef slams a hunk of kraken tentacle onto the counter. It’s still squirming. He takes out a knife and begins making a series of rapid scores through the meat, barely visible to the eye.

TECHNICAL RUDIMENTS: Every cut he makes, it isn’t just for show. Every cut is exactly placed in order to prevent the meat from curling up, a common tendency amongst cephlapods. You wouldn’t expect to see something so ingenious in a street stall.
NIM NOM: Once he’s done, he places the prepared tentacle into a wok. He takes a pouch and dusts a mixture of spices and herbs over the still-cooking meat. Under the broiling heat, the skin begins to crackle into a nice brown crust.

PALLETE: The smell of cardamom, cane sugar, dried firepeppers blending together…..

NIM NOM: He then produces an amber bottle of foul-smelling liquid and drizzles it into the wok. Immediately, a gout of orange-blue flame swallows the bowl before dying down into a coat of trickling fire. The inferno slides off the crisp meat. He throws a sprinkle of pine nuts that cloy onto the sticky meat. He shimmies it onto a palm leaf and then hands it towards you.

You inspect the dish curiously with a pensive eye.

VISUALIZATION: The presentation is a little lacking…..

PALETTE: But taste is often the better indicator of talent

Eventually, you take a bite. It’s a war of contrasting flavors as you piece together the culinary puzzle that has been assembled before you. The meat is cooked well, having a tough satisfying bite that demands your attention as you chew it. It straddles the line between being too rubbery to eat and being too soft to enjoy. The notorious gaminess of kraken meat has been balanced by the earthiness of the pine nuts and the mysterious glaze that the chef used.

If a street chef can incorporate such refined methods, perhaps, you could too?


Ingredients are special boons that offer you unique stat bonuses when interacting or options within certain encounters.

NIM NOM: “ Oi, knife ear.” the chef pipes up. “ You block line. Move.”

VISUALIZATION (FAILURE): A knife-ear? Has he spotted a ear infection?

CONNOSEUIR: A knife-ear is the common informal term for half-elves. It’s typically used by orcs, trolls and…

Kobold. You should have figured it out. There’s only one race in all of the Occident that gravitates towards street food.


RAISON D’ETRE: However, as you look at this Kobold, you realize that he has something that you don’t have at the moment. A purpose and livelihood to strive towards.

What sparked your journey towards culinary ascendency?

[X] - A rivalry between you and a chef of another house.

[X] - To fufill an oath you swore to your former Chef de Cuisine

[X] - To pay off a debt to a plane entity.

[X] - Write in

Name: ???

Background: ???



Raison D’Etre : ???

Experimentation: ???

Brigade De Cuisine : ???

Showmanship: ???





Technical Rudiments :???


Gastro-Alchemy: ???



Visualization: ???

Texture: ???



The Ingredient Shelf


- A Kauldron-brand cooking wok

The idea of drinking your sorrows away with a mug of ale sounds promising as does having the opportunity to taste local Benin cuisine. However, the street food appears to be the perfect balance between expenses and expectations.

SYNTHESIA : How could you turn up your nose to street food? That raw smell that brings you back to simpler times, the hubbub of children chattering together, adults conversing together while waiting? It is the glue that binds a village together in times of dismal hope.

CONNOISSEUR (SUCCESS): During the aftermaths of the 4th and 5th Iridescent Wars, street food blossomed in popularity as eateries and taverns closed down in the wake of King Arlo’s tariffs on grain, meat and other imports from the East Twilight Principality. If you wanted to eat cheap, hawkers were more likely to be your friend than the local garrison.

ENTERPRISE (SUCCESS): It’s the life of the hustle, baby. The glorious financial arithmetic of coin for food is in front of you as of this moment. No special offers. No discounts. No guild inspections or certifications. Just the dreams of an individual bunkered under the need to survive.

The line is slow and long as you trudge forward at the pace of an eptileptic slug. A lumbering troll and a dwarf squeeze you enough that it’s almost suffocating. This all better be worth it.

ENTERPRISE: A street vendor’s life lives or dies by the quality of their food. If there’s this many people lining up, you know you’re in for a good time.

PALETTE: You could have experienced better flavors if you were more willing to be frugal….

ENTERPRISE: A decent meal costs 20 silver kings. Tavern food is overpriced anyway. Being conservative with our culinary investments is the only logical route at this point.

DIRTY STREET FOOD STALL: After a long period of waiting, you make it to the front of the line. The stall is clumsily built together from bell iron and worm-eaten planks of oak. The letters “ N” have been scratched 4 times on the upper most plank. Racks of foul meat, vegetables and stale food hang from flaxen rope. A jar of floating eyeballs in brine squint at you as you come closer.

NIM NOM: Behind the stall, you spot a cloaked tiny figure standing on top of a bag of flour. A stained apron is wrapped around his torso. He’s currently stirring into a wok aggressively with an oversized ladle over a charcoal fire.

TECHNICAL RUDIMENTS (SUCCESS): A spatula would be more suitable for this type of operation.

PALETTE: Each toss brings new flavor. It isn’t just for show. The flecks of aroma that cloy onto every granule of food. The sear. The heat. It’s like smelling a campfire.

He turns around. Bright yellow eyes stare out at you from under a ratty brown hood. He jumps off the bag of flour and waddles towards you.

NIM NOM: “ Welcome to Nim Nom’s Num Num’s. Your order?”

The chef speaks so fast you barely have time to decipher his words.

VISUALIZATION (FAILURE): You can’t quite figure out who this chef is. A goblin, maybe?

“ Excuse me?”

NIM NOM: The chef shakes his head in annoyance and slaps a furry clawed hand on one of the front facing planks to catch your attention. A series of names is written alongside a table of prices. This must be his menu.

“ You hungry, you buy.”

At his insistence, you peruse the list, thinking carefully about what to buy.

[X] - Flochian Flambe

[X] - The Garbage Chest

[X] - Stoned Aboleth
“ Goddamn, they folded already,” Takka murmured into the crew comm, staring out into the burning remains of the small storage facility. Aroxy was inclined to agree. The small firefight had gone surprisingly well with little casualty on their side. Such was the nature of a shock and awe attack. They also owed their victory to the relatively small size of the garrison. The small little patrol gorup of vehicles had been completely demolished as the Mechwarriors mopped up after the initial spearhead that Merry Go Round had provided.

“ Alright, Helma. Park us a little closer so we can put them out of their misery,” The VOX 225 gave a throaty roar as the treads of the Merry-Go-Round sped up, ratcheting up their speed by a few miles or so. It was enough to keep up with the light mechs which were beginning to outpace them by quite a bit. Aroxy scanned the distance before spotting the last remaining Scorpion. The Scorpion was awkwardly struggling to scramble away to a better firing position, but it was impossible with the near catastrophic damage Merry-Go-Round’s AC had done to its fuselage. Aroxy could see the large divot where the round had penetrated clean through. Thick clouds of smog were pouring out from the cracks.

It was a dead tank walking.

“ Alright, Takka. It’s a fish in a barrel. Make sure to kill it this time. Helma, slow down a bit so he can aim properly.”

Aroxy could hear Takka quietly harrumph at his coddling. The turret slowly aligned with the retreating form of the Scorpion, the barrel dead-centre on target.

“ Ready.”

“ Fire.”

“ On the way.”

The cannon erupted. Instead of an explosion, though, Aroxy watched in confusion as the round exploded in a pyroclastic bloom, showering the Scorpion in a bath of scorching napalm. The entire wreck became a bonfire as Aroxy began to hear high-pitched screams in the distance. Within seconds, the damaged tank became an oven as the crew inside were roasted alive by temperatures hot enough to melt through plasteel.

“ Goddamnit, what was that, Takka?!”

“ Whoops, must have loaded the wrong type of ammunition,” Takka replied innocently. “ At least, we saved the HE, right, cap?”

“ You and I are going to have words about insubordination later, Takka.” Aroxy murmured in fury. He watched despondently, taking his eyes off the Scorpion once he saw a crew member jumping off, his uniform half-burnt. Half of his body was cooked, his skin bubbling like tar, before he collapsed onto the grassy field.

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