Avatar of Bork
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Status

Recent Statuses

3 yrs ago
Current Auld Lang Syne, everybody. roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
4 yrs ago
Vote in my new quest, Mirage, a RP quest set in the far, far future roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
5 yrs ago
Kink-Shaming. Kink-Shaming Never Changes.
3 likes
5 yrs ago
roleplayerguild.com/posts/5… Vote for Dead in Depression. The mechanics of the quest have now been posted!
5 yrs ago
Voting is open until the end of the week! Please come and vote! - roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
1 like

Bio




Most Recent Posts



Now, I'm getting to work on my character. So expect another post from me in a hour or two... or three.



@Whoami

I edited Jimbo's profile to take into account the suggestions that you have made. Thanks for the review by the way.

Once the other members of the squad have been confirmed, I'll start working on Squad Relations.
Yeesssss.

Question. How big exactly was the platoon that our characters are in?
The gameplay system I'm toying around with doesn't involve chances to hit. For the player characters, hits are guaranteed. It's more of a matter of restricting the amount a character can do per turn so as to limit killing sprees and give all characters a chance to contribute. It would also apply limits to how much a character can carry. Additionally, damage and HP would exist so enemies actually pose more of a threat than just being red shirts.


Alright, then. Well, it's up to the decisions of the rest of the members (and potential members) of this RP.
I'm open to the idea of both but I'll go with free-form since I know that everyone isn't a big fan of gameplay systems. I know that if we have a gameplay system, this will most likely happen which might break immersion (depending on what type of system we have.)



I agree with the idea of making a Discord from Captain Briton, although, Discord's do end up distracting people from making IC posts.

In the mean-time, I'll be working on sprucing up my character sheet because I rushed it in a manner of 2 hours.



Regeneration was painful. The feeling of regrowing all of your body parts, your flesh melding and being stitched back together without your permission was far from comfortable. Arnold was still dumbfounded by the mere existence of the crumpled bullets on the white tiled floor of the dining room, flecks of dried blood and spilt wine underneath it. They were still hot to the touch, cooling rapidly as they hit the ground.

Arnold had never been in a proper fight before. Back on the streets of Nevada, schoolyard scraps and playground poundings unfortunately made up a large part of his childhood. The Diablos Pequenos taught him how to punch without injuring himself, how to brawl and how to hurt. Never kill, though. That privilege was exclusively reserved for the adult members of the gang.

It was all instinctual, the primordial inclination of human beings towards violence that guided him. No matter what powers he had, experience overcame power. The armed mercenaries kept on firing at him unabated, merely adapting to the situation, no matter how unnatural it was. Arnold grunted in annoyance as the hail of bullets peppered off his skin and ripped the fabric of his jacket. The group of hostages screamed as Arnold kept taking the fire, making sure to not move towards the hostages.

He reached the first mercenary nearest to him, the hand reaching out towards him. The man then pulled out a wicked looking combat knife, glinting eerily in the dining room, with his cybernetic arm, knees bent in a combat stance. He swung out a haymaker. Telegraphed. Easy for a person with military experience to counter. The mercenary side-stepped to the right, turning his body and then, jabbing his knife directly towards his face. He lurched backwards, a yelp of pain as a black curtain came over half of his vision. The mercenary began to wedged the knife further into his mutilated pupil, pushing the back of the pommel while the hydraulic actuators of his prosthetic whined loudly. Every nerve in his head felt like it was being slowly crushed by a hydraulic clamp. He stumbled, grabbing onto the nearest chair for support whilst pulling the knife out his socket unsteadily, his eye hurriedly growing back in layers like an onion whilst the salvo of gunfire returned once more to keep him off-balance.

“ Look out!”

He paused, Killian’s voice distracting him for the mere moment, before the mercenary came at him again, charging at him with another knife that he had procured out of his - How many knives did this guy have? - and stabbed it into his other eye, rendering him blind. The man was now straddled on top of him, his cybernetic arm keeping him flat on his back to the ground like an anvil. He could hear the click of something; a pin perhaps, as something was shoved into his mouth. The taunting words of the mercenary came out slowly, as he waved his arms at the man uselessly, only seeing a void of darkness.

“ Nothing personal between me and you. Although, me and the boys are betting whether or not you can heal from a grenade in your mouth, freak.”
I'm waiting for someone to make a post in the hotel to react to my actions so that it doesn't feel awkward making another post right off the bat.
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