Bork Lazer

The Mithril Chef [QUEST]

YOU: At least, they didn’t steal your wok. You gently hold the master-crafted implement in your hands. The smooth ebony handle grips nicely to your calloused hands. Whorls of runes are etched on glossy steel. You flip it around to examine the bottom. The sigil of a pot filigreed in gold with two cherubic angels on either side of it. The mark of Kauldron Emporium.

CONNOISSEUR [EASY: SUCCESS]: Kauldron Emporium is the foremost smithery of dwarven forged cookware in the Western Occident, their specialty residing in heat sensitive equipment. Its creator, Roil Belloweather, became frustrated after being forced one too many times to repair their family’s communal pot from his wife’s horrible concoctions. Thus, a profitable venture was born.

YOU: You trace the bottom. The lack of charring from extended use is a testament to the craftsmanship of the western dwarves.

TEXTURE [EASY:SUCCESS]: Your body heat leeches away from your skin like a sponge. You can almost feel the currents of cold and hot pumping within the wok, an intricate web of heat dissipating through it like a tidal wave.

TECHNICAL RUDIMENTS [EASY:SUCCESS]: Light, accurate and deadly for frying. Just the way you like it.

YOU: You take care to tie the wok carefully around your bindle and take stock of your other belongings. All your bare necessities are still there: spare clothing, a waterskin made from goat vellum and your trusty grease-splattered apron.

Staring wistfully back at the door, you think for a moment that maybe, there’s a chance you could go back in and ask them for your belongings back.

ENTERPRISE [FAILURE]: Who do you think you are? Every tavern cook here has more reputation in their left pinky than you have here. After that miserable performance, you’re lucky that they still left you alive as it was.

RAISON D’ETRE: Didn’t you listen to what we said before? We. Don’t. Need. The. Guild. D’Cuisine.

YOU: But -

RAISON D’ETRE: No but’s. The mark of a true chef is to persevere through pain. This is just one of the many trials you’ll have to go through in order to reach your precipice.

YOU: I don’t get much of a say in this, do I?

RAISON D’ETRE: You were insane enough to become a chef. Why stop now?

YOU: Signing longingly, you trudge off the steps of the entrance and into the bustling city of Benin around you.

CONNOSEUIR [SUCCESS]: Benin is a humble trade port on the outreaches of the Bruised Steppes, the Azure Mare scything through and dividing it into three halves. It is perhaps the greatest hidden confluence of cuisines from all across the Occident where a burgeoning gastronomic revolution bubbles underneath the cobbled streets…….

Abruptly, a wagon rolls past by you, filled with its quarry of pungent seafood from the riverside harbor. The driver gives you an apologetic wave. The streets are modestly bare around you. A guardsman in the streets takes out his lantern, reminding you that noon is on its way soon. Your stomach then growls to grab your attention.

Palette: It’s in the air around you. A cornucopia of delights. Gnomish pastries, elvish sommeliers, dwarven fare, smoked hydra……

YOU: Letting your palette guide you as you walk around on the streets, you decide to sate your appetite at….

[X] - An inn. Smoke billows out of its chimney in thick fumes and the rowdy noise of brawling customers can be heard from far away.

[X] - A street side stall. A queue of hungry customers stretches outs like a snake.

[X] - A eatery. The tables are bare like a desert oasis and you can spot a white drabbed figure milling about aimlessly, sweeping the litter of autumn away with a broom.

The Mithril Chef [QUEST]

CHEF GIRARD HEARTHSPICE: “ What is this pile of bugbear shit?”

YOU: Those are the last words you hear as you are escorted out of the headquarters of the Guild D’Gourmet. A pair of burly half-orcs take you by the shoulder and toss you out without ceremony. As you stand up and brush yourself off from the dirt, the wide gates slams shut. Even though it's closed, you can still hear muffled peals of laughter at your expense.

CONNOISSEUR [EASY: SUCCESS]: Gaining membership into the esteemed culinary authority of the Occident is no small feat. The selection process is strict and consists of three phases. You made it halfway through the first which is better than most chefs can say.

YOU: The head examiner, a geriatric gnome, barely even tasted your dish before deciding it was the worst sin since well-done unicorn steak.

RAISON D’ETRE: Who needs the advice of a couple of old dinosaurs anyway? You’ve managed to get this far on your own.

ENTERPRISE: No restaurant in the Occident can open without their say-so. Perhaps, partnering with another guild will be of benefit.

RAISON D’ETRE: Who needs partners? Let’s be in charge of our own restaurant!

SHOWMANSHIP: The world needs to know your flavor, and we don’t need the Guild to cramp our style.

ENTERPRISE: Intriguing. An independent venture? We can finally manage our salaries!

YOU: I can get more than 10 imperials an hour?

SHOWMANSHIP: Think of the decorations! We don’t have to deal with rotting oak planks anymore or those unsightly barmaid uniforms!

YOU: The price for entry was steep, though. You begin to search through your pockets and the bindle which you carried with you on your back.

TEXTURE [EASY: SUCCESS]: A smattering of small metal coins clinking is familiar to you. You have at most 50 golden imperials, 35 sliver kings, 10 bronze paupers and an eclectic collection of pennies and nickels. You have a few clothes on your back, but where are your kitchen tools?

CONNOSEUIR: As a price for your failure, the Guild D’Cuisine requisitioned all of your remaining kitchenware for their use. It was written in the contract that you signed before the selection process.

YOU: There was one thing they didn’t manage to take though.

[X] - A heirloom knife made of a mithril and adamantium alloy.

[X] - A Kauldron brand, enchanted wok, perfectly smithed to distribute heat evenly.

[X] - Your bottle of toasted spirit cooking oil from the Celestial planes. It’s half empty.

Melsborow Nights II- A sequel to an interactive horror story

The customer

Why I Roleplay Female Characters (As a Cisgender Man)

The gender of the character doesn't really matter per se whenever I think of a concept. It always comes secondary compared to whatever I conceptualize. If the character's identity, race or ethnicity plays a factor in how I roleplay that character, then, I take consideration of that.

Your concerns are far more valid for 1x1 RPs whereby the individual who makes a interest check specifies that they want the character to be of a specific gender (Or hell, in worst cases, the player to be of a specific gender). I often find the latter to be more annoying given the anonymous nature of the internet. Don't ask me to do a psychological analysis of why the heck anyone would want to RP with someone of a specific gender.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Dammit, they’d seen them. Aroxy cursed as he watched their turrets begin to rotate. Just a few more seconds and they would have hit them while they were still blind.

Oh well.

That made the rules of the engagement much easier.

Aroxy grinned as he heard the sound of Takka’s voice shouting exuberantly in the comms.

“ On the way!”

Underneath him, he felt the internal cracking of steel as the autoloader fished a shell into the main firing chamber. The turret beneath Aroxy bucked like a wild horse as the barrel erupted in a flash of bright fire and smoke. Aroxy watched through the telescope as the round sailed in a hypersonic arc towards their target. The column barely had a second to react as the Merry Go Round sank its fangs into its first kill of the day. The first round sliced the main turret of the Scorpion, sending it tumbling off the hatch in a fiery blaze. The round then slammed into the hull of the other Scorpion beside it. A sonorous shriek of plasteel echoed throughout the clearing. The painful pitch made Aroxy’s back shiver as he held up his telescope to survey the situation.

Shit. He was hoping for a vehicle kill at least. The Scorpion was moving slower than before but its turret was still operational. The first Scorpion had deviated the round enough that it only caused damage to the fuselage. The Strikers remained untouched. The shock would only buy them five seconds before their mental discipline would set in.

“ This is Steel Rain reporting. The first Scorpion is down. Second one got tagged but the Strikers are still mission capable.”

Aroxy turned off his radio for a moment and switched to crew comms.

“ Takka, how’s it looking?”

“ I can’t get a clear line on the Scorpion but I can just manage to get a hit on one of those Strikers.”

“ Alright, they’re still trying to wiggle around the wreck. Plant a round in his engine and smoke out those son of bitches.”

“ Roger that,” Aroxy heard the clunking of a shell as one of their last remaining HV rounds entered the chamber again to wreak havoc. “ This is Steel Rain. We are engaging the pair of Strikers now. Repeat. We are engaging.”

“ Fire!,” Aroxy shouted into the comm radio.

“ On the way!,” Takka replied back, throat hoarse.

The cannon erupted again and Aroxy swore as the shell missed by seemingly just a inch, bouncing off the LRM rack. The round smashed through the thick ferrocrete wall, a small section caved in from the force of the impact.

“ Fucking A, Takka. I thought you said you had it!”

“ The wind threw me off!” Aroxy heard the frustrated slamming of a fist against a console. “ If only they turned the ECM on just a little later - “

“ Don’t give me excuses, give me results!”

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

The mist reminded Aroxy of looking into a thick bowl of soup. Back during his time in the civil war, the infantry units often used to throw a c-bill into your gruel and pray that you would survive tomorrow. They believed it was better than eating what amounted to a tasteless gruel that had the consistency of concrete. Now, Aroxy believed he could have thrown a hundred c-bills into the fog and it wouldn’t make a difference. Luck wouldn’t achieve victory. Tactics and strategies did

Eddies of gray swirled around in the dawn’s chill, beads of dew clinging to the turret of the 120mm cannon he was currently situated on. A gale came in from the south and the morning mist briefly parted to reveal the base on the horizon. It was well fortified for a base of that size but it was easy pickings for their company, even at a quarter of their strength.

Aroxy didn’t even need to bark an order to his crew as the cannon swiveled on his command towards the small tank column. They needed to get closer to ensure that the round didn’t swerve off too wildly but Takka knew the gist. Cripple the tank in front of the line and the rest would come to a swift stop. It was as simple as that.

A Von Luckner like Merry-Go-Round could take on those four tanks for breakfast.

If they had enough ammo.

Aroxy switched on his comms and spoke into the radio in a firm voice.

“ This is Steel Rain. We got our sights lined up on the column. Ready to fire in ETA 30 seconds. Awaiting response. Over.”

One Universe: Unlimited - A Marvel/DC Comics Roleplay

---

…………On the 60th anniversary of D-Day, we take this time to recount a folktale from French villagers who were present during the invasion. Whilst accounts vary, one consistent element remains. A man in golden armor on a white winged horse soaring in the skies. There have been scatter-shot anecdotes of locals supposedly seeing the same horse for the last half century, although historians have chalked this up to seaside illusions or hallucinations from dehydrated sailors …….”

---

Shining Knight

Fellowship 2.2.2

---

Justin curled his fists, legs bowed in a half-squat, as he watched Victory paw the straw with his hoof. The horse’s sloping shoulders were raised. Justin knew that behind that matted fur was over 500 pounds of pure muscle that could snap his spine in half. Justin inwardly marveled that Victory was still in peak condition after all this time. He looked the same as he had fifty years ago and bore no signs of the damage they both took during the landing on Verdun.

Bitterness then rose up in his cheek as he shook his head, signing to himself. Why did he expect any different? Victory had been with him for over nine centuries. He was one of the original horses that drank from the shores of the sacred lake. The same curse of immortality that had anchored him to the Earth for millennia had stricken him as well. How foolish had he to be to believe that Victory would die like any other horse?

No, he’d left him to rot at Verdun.

But, was fighting truly the way to settle their differences?

Justin opened and closed his palms, trying to relieve the tension in his fingers, before letting his arms fall back to his sides. Victory tilted his head to the side, confused at what his former master was planning.

“ This is stupid,” Justin crossed his arms, ignoring the horse’s braying as he walked closer. “ Do you really think that I’d let you goad me into a fight that easily? This isn’t going to help the both of us, Victory.”

Victory chuffs and leans his sinous head forward. Justin doesn’t blink at the sensation of the horse's breath, warm and humid, on his cheek. He can hear the grinding of jaws rubbing together like saw teeth.

They both stand there for a while in silence. Justin with his arms crossed and Victory’s head leaning over his shoulder, trying to see any fear within him.

Justin gives him none.

So, Victory gives him a hoof.

Stars dance in over his head as Justin bowls over. It takes a moment for him to realize that he isn’t dead and a few more seconds to figure out how his limbs work again. The pain then hits, throbbing and dull. His fingers scratch his dome, checking to see whether anything is cracked. It’s hard for him to read Victory’s expression but Justin can’t tell whether the horse is grinning at his misfortune.

“ Got that out of your system?” Justin asks wearedly.

“ Right. Let’s figure out where you’ve been all these years.”

Victory replies in a chortling neigh.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

The crowd broke up and so did the crew of the Merry Go Round with them. An electric atmosphere had seemingly suffused the very air around them and Aroxy was no stranger to it. The beginning of every new campaign always had a sense of eerie anticipation to it all. Combined with the fact that the mercenary company had been cooped up in this mine for several days on end, Aroxy knew several men and women who were just itching for the chance to strike back at the Crimson Fists. Whether it was for revenge or honor, Aroxy didn’t care. Such feelings distracted from the task at hand and were more likely to get you and others killed on the field than contribute meaningfully in any way whatsoever.

“ Are we mission-ready, lieutenant?” Aroxy asked Takka. The tanker crew began to approach the unseemly bulk of the Von Luckner. He began clambering on top of it whilst Takka scratched his chin in concentration.

“ Well, sir, we were half-way done with the repairs. Less functional than we’d like but she’s good as long as we’re not doing any heavy engagement.”

Aroxy nodded once in satisfaction before turning his head towards Morven.

“ Alright, Morven. Give me a headcount of our supplies again.”

“ We got….” Morven swayed on his feet, teeth gritted in remembrance “ 3 rounds of HE, 2 rounds of phospho, 3 rounds of AP, more rounds of smoke than we know what to do with and 1 frag.”

“ I want the chamber pre-loaded with AP and smoke.” Aroxy then regarded Helma who was busy securing an MG-90 to the cupola of the turret. “ Helma, don’t fire your gun until I say so. We are not in an active combat situation and we need to make every bullet count.”

“ Aye, aye, major,” Helma replied sarcastically.

“ Alright, we’re heading out at about ten. We’re going to group up with Dalton and Dascheke. ” Aroxy silenced the amused looks of his subordinates with a snap of his fingers. “ I know we’re not used to being a carrier but with our ammunition supplies at the moment, we need to squeeze the most out of the Merry Go Round for the sake of our company. Any questions?”

Takka raised his hand abruptly which made Aroxy sign.

“ We’re not in basic, Takka. You speak when you want to speak.”

“ Sir -” Takka paused in hesitation. “ - Do you think we’ll make it out of this system alive?”

Aroxy paused, pursuing his lips a bit, before chuckling and patting the side of the Merry Go Round.

“ She’s made it this far with us at her side. A little planetside civil war isn’t going to stop her or us either.”

The crew around him visibly relaxed at Aroxy’s word.

“ Alright, enough of that. Gear up and let’s start getting this show on the road. Let’s see if we can get another tally on this hull, men.”

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

“ Lady, we’re trying to not try to win the hearts and minds of the locals here. We’re trying to get out of this shithole so that this planet can go unfuck itself.” Morven took out another cigar and took a puff of it, blowing out a ring of fumes at Ingrid. “ You’re not the ones driving the supply trucks. You’re just there to make our lives easier and - “

“ Morven, for fuck’s sake, put a sock in it.” Takka groaned, slapping his head.

Aroxy’s crew sometimes reminded him of a squabbling group of children. Aroxy made a loud cough to silence his three subordinates before nodding towards Ingrid apologetically with a sheepish look. He then regarded the Colonel.

“ Colonel, I will volunteer the Merry-Go-Round to be used as a temporary means of transport if the situation is FUBAR. I estimate that we can approximately carry 30 tonnes of material and have space for this given our perilously low ammunition supplies.” He then motioned his hand towards the woods south of the depot. “ As the last tank crew in this company, we have little to no tactical value in being used alongside our surviving mechs without a full column to support us. We have enough fuel to make it to the base and if the worst comes to worst, we’ll hide it out in the trees and scavenge off what’s left in the surrounding areas. I recommend positioning our tank at the back of the line, both for defense and to ensure that we do not become an obstacle in the event we are mission-killed. ”

“ Making my baby into a glorified hauler.” Helma quietly mumbled in horror before taking a swig of her cup of recaffe. “ We truly are fucked, aren’t we?”

“ I’ve got an idea, ólonel.” Takka raised his hand up. “ Fifteen minutes ain’t rubbin me right. Shouldn’t we try to create a false flag at the very least? Fool them into thinking we’re attacking some place else by sending out fake comm messages. Worked for us back during the Free World Civil - “

“ An interesting thought, Gunner Takka.” Aroxy interrupted, scratching his stubbled chin. “ Unfortunately, we are in an untenable position. Alerting the Crimson Fists or the Espian Guard to the likelihood of an attack would most likely prepare them and pose more difficulties to us than achieving a surprise attack. Additionally, we cannot waste valuable resources on maintaining information and communications security. We also do not have a guarantee that whatever techs that the Fists or Guard have in their detail would be able to source the location of our comms and track us back to this very base which could be of catastrophic consequences.”

“ Well, I was just making a suggestion.” Takka hunched up his shoulders whilst looking at the others for support.