I posted, ain't much, but I didn't want to assume too much with this whole crowd thing.
Dervish Member
Let's get volatile
STATUS: Remember, nobody actually enjoys roleplaying if there isn't at least five shameful fetishes uncovered by the 2nd page. 5 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 1 yr ago
- Old Guild Username: Dervish
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
- Posts: 5991 (1.32 / day)
- VMs: 8
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Username history
- Dervish 12 yrs ago
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Latest 10 profile visitors:
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Nyxella,
TokyoPewPew,
Tlaloc
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Recent Statuses
5 yrs ago
Current
Remember, nobody actually enjoys roleplaying if there isn't at least five shameful fetishes uncovered by the 2nd page.
5
likes
7 yrs ago
Somebody stole my mood ring. I don't know how to feel about it.
14
likes
7 yrs ago
Let's be honest, it's far more satisfying and challenging to actually imagine what a character looks like than paste a hundred gifs of a celebrity and call it good.
4
likes
7 yrs ago
So, a team of players who are good at playing as a team in a team-based game are individually bad players. Seems kind of silly when you put it like that, no?
8
likes
7 yrs ago
My goal these days is to have an RP that can actually finish, or the very least, last a few years. I see way too many die on page one to take chances
4
likes
Bio
Lowering the site's value since January 2012.
Most Recent Posts
In
The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)
→
10 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
In
The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)
→
10 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
It was an end to a rather fetching evening, one with a gentle breeze that seemed all too eager to remove the lingering humidity that had enveloped the city for quite a few days. The food, the drink, and the company were weekly comforts that made it all too easy to forget why he was here. Looking up at the sky, the stars were beginning to pierce through the shroud of twilight as the sun retired beyond the horizon, making it a perfect evening were one inclined to pursue romantic interests or even rest upon a patio and indulge in vices. It was a perfect evening, all considered, one he wished he could enjoy to the fullest.
The hovel’s door opened easily, there was no locking mechanism, and the inside remained open to any who might have desired access. More than once he’d found strangers sleeping on his floor or bedding, as was their right, but not once had he had any of his meager belongings disturbed. It cost little to afford his accommodations, and while they were rather humble, they were all that were required.
A metal tray filled with fire salts rested by the door frame with a wick still in place. Igniting the wick, he carried the wick to an oil lantern that rested on the semi-cluttered table in the single room hovel. Touching the wick in hand to the one in the lantern, a soft orange light soon saturated the room and he set the lantern down, causing an unfamiliar glimmer to catch his eye. A silver dagger lay across the hardwood surface of the table with a length of red ribbon tied with care about the grip. His face drew taunt and his pulse quickened.
It was time.
Do’Karth’s eyes sprang open and the now familiar ceiling of the warehouse that sheltered the company hung overhead, as did the sounds and smells of wounded and capable alike. The khajiit drew several long breaths, letting his chest raise and lower slowly as he reached to his eyes to wipe the remnants of sleep away. Looking to his right, Solveig rested soundly, a fresh water skin and a bundled cloth containing snowberries by her side for when she awoke. The khajiit had promised to look after her and return when he could, and he intended to keep that promise. Knowing sleep would not find him again for some time, he took the thick wool blanket he was using and draped it over the woman before gathering his things and setting out into the cool morning.
Finding a relatively comfortable position near the stairwell leading up to the marketplace, Do’Karth rested himself against the wall and found himself having a commanding view of Candlehearth Hall and the towering peaks of The Palace of Kings. Having secured himself some thick parchment and a flat sheet of straight wood for a pair of Septims and some assistance in carrying firewood, the khajiit decided there may not be many chances to mark his stay in Windhelm and so with a piece of charcoal he had sharpened to a point with a blade and used a small leather strip to make a grip, he began the cathartic process of sketching his surroundings.
Some time passed, and an accurate and detailed beginning of the steps leading up to Candlehearth Hall and the general façade of the structure took shape and a dream-like quality, thanks to the smoky and uneven quality of the charcoal. Taking a moment to admire his progress, a sudden commotion broke the relative tranquility of the morning and people were rushing from, and to, the Gray Quarter and rather frantically. “What on Nirn…” Do’Karth muttered, recalling the argonians from yesterday hollering nonsense about their precious Hist. Suddenly, it didn’t seem so ridiculous with the way people were reacting. He sighed, raising to his feet. At this rate the Kamal were going to breach the gates and find most of the populace dead upon each other’s blades after turning on one another.
The khajiit rushed to the Gray Quarter, forcing his way through the crowd with staff in hand. The sounds of a large skirmish were beginning to fill the air, prompting the khajiit to have the bystanders make way. He soon found himself amongst several of the guards and mercenaries as they moved towards the unruly and armed mob. Without thinking for his own safety, Do’Karth made his way to the edge of the brawl and immediately tripped one of the argonians with his staff and shoving the dunmer he was fighting with away from the fallen combatant. “Enough!” the khajiit bellowed. “Have you lost your minds? No one will be going anywhere if you kill one another!”
The hovel’s door opened easily, there was no locking mechanism, and the inside remained open to any who might have desired access. More than once he’d found strangers sleeping on his floor or bedding, as was their right, but not once had he had any of his meager belongings disturbed. It cost little to afford his accommodations, and while they were rather humble, they were all that were required.
A metal tray filled with fire salts rested by the door frame with a wick still in place. Igniting the wick, he carried the wick to an oil lantern that rested on the semi-cluttered table in the single room hovel. Touching the wick in hand to the one in the lantern, a soft orange light soon saturated the room and he set the lantern down, causing an unfamiliar glimmer to catch his eye. A silver dagger lay across the hardwood surface of the table with a length of red ribbon tied with care about the grip. His face drew taunt and his pulse quickened.
It was time.
Do’Karth’s eyes sprang open and the now familiar ceiling of the warehouse that sheltered the company hung overhead, as did the sounds and smells of wounded and capable alike. The khajiit drew several long breaths, letting his chest raise and lower slowly as he reached to his eyes to wipe the remnants of sleep away. Looking to his right, Solveig rested soundly, a fresh water skin and a bundled cloth containing snowberries by her side for when she awoke. The khajiit had promised to look after her and return when he could, and he intended to keep that promise. Knowing sleep would not find him again for some time, he took the thick wool blanket he was using and draped it over the woman before gathering his things and setting out into the cool morning.
Finding a relatively comfortable position near the stairwell leading up to the marketplace, Do’Karth rested himself against the wall and found himself having a commanding view of Candlehearth Hall and the towering peaks of The Palace of Kings. Having secured himself some thick parchment and a flat sheet of straight wood for a pair of Septims and some assistance in carrying firewood, the khajiit decided there may not be many chances to mark his stay in Windhelm and so with a piece of charcoal he had sharpened to a point with a blade and used a small leather strip to make a grip, he began the cathartic process of sketching his surroundings.
Some time passed, and an accurate and detailed beginning of the steps leading up to Candlehearth Hall and the general façade of the structure took shape and a dream-like quality, thanks to the smoky and uneven quality of the charcoal. Taking a moment to admire his progress, a sudden commotion broke the relative tranquility of the morning and people were rushing from, and to, the Gray Quarter and rather frantically. “What on Nirn…” Do’Karth muttered, recalling the argonians from yesterday hollering nonsense about their precious Hist. Suddenly, it didn’t seem so ridiculous with the way people were reacting. He sighed, raising to his feet. At this rate the Kamal were going to breach the gates and find most of the populace dead upon each other’s blades after turning on one another.
The khajiit rushed to the Gray Quarter, forcing his way through the crowd with staff in hand. The sounds of a large skirmish were beginning to fill the air, prompting the khajiit to have the bystanders make way. He soon found himself amongst several of the guards and mercenaries as they moved towards the unruly and armed mob. Without thinking for his own safety, Do’Karth made his way to the edge of the brawl and immediately tripped one of the argonians with his staff and shoving the dunmer he was fighting with away from the fallen combatant. “Enough!” the khajiit bellowed. “Have you lost your minds? No one will be going anywhere if you kill one another!”
NOMNOMPOSTS
Ohey, I made delicious poast.
"He seems fine. I'll get you a distraction though. Make the most of it, yeah?" Alex’s voice came over the comms, somewhat crackly due to the interference of the biotic field. True to her world, the vanguard medic was soon engaging the batarians, drawing their attention in the most devastating manner possible. Peaking out to ensure the coast was clear, Iosef came over the channel.
"Tanya, take the MG, got an idea!" he said, and Tanya caught sight of him leap-frogging between cover towards the vehicle. Well, here went nothing. The engineer hurried around to the bed of the vehicle, leaping up to grab the siding and landing with her foot on the oversized tire, and in another quick motion had cleared the side, landing rather ungracefully on one of the bench seats that had been crudely bolted to the truck bed and hitting the deck on a knee and her elbow. The low profile wasn’t entirely a bad thing as it kept her from getting picked off from a stray shot, and she moved forward towards the mounted gun, some turian-made thing that looked large and cumbersome. Activating the weapon, its stock shot backwards and barrel assembly extended. A cushion on the back of the turret ring gave her position to rest her feet on the two pedals that traversed the ring left or right. As she was adjusting to the new weapon, Iosef cried out an expletive as the door slammed shut.
Looking towards where the sound of gunfire was coming from, Tanya traversed the turret to the 9:30 position and took target of a group of the batarians rushing out of the housing complex. There were seven of them, some of whom were clearly quite drunk. One of the more competent ones was on a knee and firing steadily at the truck, and was a likely candidate for the one who shot Iosef. Tanya gritted her teeth, buried herself into the stock, and opened fire on the group. The muzzle flash on the gun was so great that blue flame blinded her ability to see and she only caught fleeting glimpses of where the rounds were kicking up dirt. Two of the batarians, however, were caught in the salvo and the heavy rounds of the heavy weapon tore through their shielding and buckled their armour, ripping ragged chunks out of the their bodies.
The others began to spread out, sprinting for whatever cover they could find. “Iosef, you alright?” Tanya asked, walking more shots towards the larger of the fleeing groups. “Hang in there, we’ll you patched up. How bad is it?” she asked, genuinely concerned. What he did was a brave risk, and it would be a damn shame if anyone were incapacitated, or worse, their first outing as a team. There was no time to think about it. Seeing that the warehouse’s fighting was now indoors, only Twin Star bodies outside, Tanya prepared to send shithead after her targets when a heavy sounding shot rang out and dug into the plating of the vehicle, just left of her chest. “Fucking hell!” She exclaimed, surprised. The sniper’s shot had peeled back a considerable amount of metal, her mind flashing back to Lewis, behind a collapsed wall with his own sniper rifle, saying he had a visual on a sniper, when suddenly...
When the second shot rang out, she flinched, expecting the worst. Instead, Tonka’s gruff voice filled her headset. “You look away for two seconds, and some pyjaak is suddenly shooting from the window you cleared. You alright?”
Tanya found herself breathing heavily, sweating despite her suit’s air condition. She knew if her hands weren’t locked on the heavy gun, they’d be shaking. “I’m… I’m okay.” She lied, trying to will the ghosts to vanish. There was no rhyme or reason of why Mindoir decided to come back to her, and the only respite she had was to try to push it away. “I’m guessing I owe you a drink.” she replied, counting to ten between bursts of machine-gun fire, the heavy gun making a satisfying low fire rate chugging sound.
~~~
“Or ten. You’ve never seen a krogan drink. Heh.” Tonka said, drawing back the manual charging handle to vent the rifle’s heat. When the indicator faded from orange to blue, the krogan resumed his watch. So far his tally was five, most of those window dwelling scum who lingered a seconds too long. A human proverb came to mind, curiosity killed the space cow. Tonka always figured the animal in question resembled Klixen or Keepers more than the bovine creatures that humans had back on Earth, the dumb-looking things, but there was no denying that the generally harmless space cows were prone to stealing from settlers, for whatever reason, and caught a bullet for their troubles. Stockpiles of pilfered goods had been recovered in stashes near grazing grounds for the animals, and nobody knew why the hell the space cows wanted their ill-gotten gains to begin with – there was still a debate if they were even sentient or not.
As Tonka’s mind wandered, a batarian face peeked out from behind the bar’s counter in his sights. He slowly squeezed the trigger after taking a long breath, and on the exhale he watched as the batarian’s eye disappeared in a ragged gash and the wall behind him was coated in a chunky red spray. The bottles of liquour, now covered in viscera, were still quite drinkable, were one willing to overlook the previous owner’s last contribution. As he scanned the bar, his eyes caught sight of an all too iconic white and green chunk of metal.
“Shit.” He muttered, pushing himself from the wall and scrambling to move from his position, tipping over the side of the ledge and beginning a descent that was a rough set of slides and bounces off the rock face until he planted hard against the ground, his rifle cradled in his arms. As he looked up, a rocket exploded off the wall where he’d been moments before, showering chunks of rock in all directions. A fist-sized chunk bounced off his helmet, prompting the krogan to curse. A fun fact about shielding was it did nothing to stop low-velocity projectiles, such as those dislodged from a rocket propelled grenade’s blast radius, and the krogan was grateful for his armour’s plating and his own natural resilience. Getting to his knee, and shaking his beat-up rifle free of dust and debris, he raised the comms. “Tonka to all signs, I lost my vantage point. Advancing on foot to share a few words with the pyjaak with the anti-armour weaponry. Iosef, recommend you get that pile of bolts and rust moving, or you’ll be picking shrapnel out of your ass for the next three weeks.” He said, sprinting hard towards the fence, the force of his impact and the combined weight of his body and armour creating a sizable bend in the metal that it sloped enough for the krogan to begin to climb over. It was time to get his hands dirty.
"Tanya, take the MG, got an idea!" he said, and Tanya caught sight of him leap-frogging between cover towards the vehicle. Well, here went nothing. The engineer hurried around to the bed of the vehicle, leaping up to grab the siding and landing with her foot on the oversized tire, and in another quick motion had cleared the side, landing rather ungracefully on one of the bench seats that had been crudely bolted to the truck bed and hitting the deck on a knee and her elbow. The low profile wasn’t entirely a bad thing as it kept her from getting picked off from a stray shot, and she moved forward towards the mounted gun, some turian-made thing that looked large and cumbersome. Activating the weapon, its stock shot backwards and barrel assembly extended. A cushion on the back of the turret ring gave her position to rest her feet on the two pedals that traversed the ring left or right. As she was adjusting to the new weapon, Iosef cried out an expletive as the door slammed shut.
Looking towards where the sound of gunfire was coming from, Tanya traversed the turret to the 9:30 position and took target of a group of the batarians rushing out of the housing complex. There were seven of them, some of whom were clearly quite drunk. One of the more competent ones was on a knee and firing steadily at the truck, and was a likely candidate for the one who shot Iosef. Tanya gritted her teeth, buried herself into the stock, and opened fire on the group. The muzzle flash on the gun was so great that blue flame blinded her ability to see and she only caught fleeting glimpses of where the rounds were kicking up dirt. Two of the batarians, however, were caught in the salvo and the heavy rounds of the heavy weapon tore through their shielding and buckled their armour, ripping ragged chunks out of the their bodies.
The others began to spread out, sprinting for whatever cover they could find. “Iosef, you alright?” Tanya asked, walking more shots towards the larger of the fleeing groups. “Hang in there, we’ll you patched up. How bad is it?” she asked, genuinely concerned. What he did was a brave risk, and it would be a damn shame if anyone were incapacitated, or worse, their first outing as a team. There was no time to think about it. Seeing that the warehouse’s fighting was now indoors, only Twin Star bodies outside, Tanya prepared to send shithead after her targets when a heavy sounding shot rang out and dug into the plating of the vehicle, just left of her chest. “Fucking hell!” She exclaimed, surprised. The sniper’s shot had peeled back a considerable amount of metal, her mind flashing back to Lewis, behind a collapsed wall with his own sniper rifle, saying he had a visual on a sniper, when suddenly...
When the second shot rang out, she flinched, expecting the worst. Instead, Tonka’s gruff voice filled her headset. “You look away for two seconds, and some pyjaak is suddenly shooting from the window you cleared. You alright?”
Tanya found herself breathing heavily, sweating despite her suit’s air condition. She knew if her hands weren’t locked on the heavy gun, they’d be shaking. “I’m… I’m okay.” She lied, trying to will the ghosts to vanish. There was no rhyme or reason of why Mindoir decided to come back to her, and the only respite she had was to try to push it away. “I’m guessing I owe you a drink.” she replied, counting to ten between bursts of machine-gun fire, the heavy gun making a satisfying low fire rate chugging sound.
~~~
“Or ten. You’ve never seen a krogan drink. Heh.” Tonka said, drawing back the manual charging handle to vent the rifle’s heat. When the indicator faded from orange to blue, the krogan resumed his watch. So far his tally was five, most of those window dwelling scum who lingered a seconds too long. A human proverb came to mind, curiosity killed the space cow. Tonka always figured the animal in question resembled Klixen or Keepers more than the bovine creatures that humans had back on Earth, the dumb-looking things, but there was no denying that the generally harmless space cows were prone to stealing from settlers, for whatever reason, and caught a bullet for their troubles. Stockpiles of pilfered goods had been recovered in stashes near grazing grounds for the animals, and nobody knew why the hell the space cows wanted their ill-gotten gains to begin with – there was still a debate if they were even sentient or not.
As Tonka’s mind wandered, a batarian face peeked out from behind the bar’s counter in his sights. He slowly squeezed the trigger after taking a long breath, and on the exhale he watched as the batarian’s eye disappeared in a ragged gash and the wall behind him was coated in a chunky red spray. The bottles of liquour, now covered in viscera, were still quite drinkable, were one willing to overlook the previous owner’s last contribution. As he scanned the bar, his eyes caught sight of an all too iconic white and green chunk of metal.
“Shit.” He muttered, pushing himself from the wall and scrambling to move from his position, tipping over the side of the ledge and beginning a descent that was a rough set of slides and bounces off the rock face until he planted hard against the ground, his rifle cradled in his arms. As he looked up, a rocket exploded off the wall where he’d been moments before, showering chunks of rock in all directions. A fist-sized chunk bounced off his helmet, prompting the krogan to curse. A fun fact about shielding was it did nothing to stop low-velocity projectiles, such as those dislodged from a rocket propelled grenade’s blast radius, and the krogan was grateful for his armour’s plating and his own natural resilience. Getting to his knee, and shaking his beat-up rifle free of dust and debris, he raised the comms. “Tonka to all signs, I lost my vantage point. Advancing on foot to share a few words with the pyjaak with the anti-armour weaponry. Iosef, recommend you get that pile of bolts and rust moving, or you’ll be picking shrapnel out of your ass for the next three weeks.” He said, sprinting hard towards the fence, the force of his impact and the combined weight of his body and armour creating a sizable bend in the metal that it sloped enough for the krogan to begin to climb over. It was time to get his hands dirty.
In
The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)
→
10 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
<Snipped quote by gcold>
Playing Sagax as a character is kind of like playing the Spy as a class.
Afraid of literally everything. Even of my own team mates. Fuckers draw fire like nothing else.
THAT IMPERIAL IS SAPPING THIS ONE'S SENTRY
In
The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)
→
10 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
<Snipped quote by Dervish>
I dunno man, I'm just saying that maybe she'd make more friends if she weren't always carrying a blood-covered waraxe with her at all times. She could use her now-free hands to learn an instrument or something, too. She could be a badass violinist!
Real friends are the ones who can see the real you under the viscera of your vanquished foes.
<Snipped quote by Dervish>
I like to make characters who make their own torment. No enemy to defeat but yourself, that sorta shit.
<Snipped quote by Leidenschaft>
I can totally see Sadri trying to win over Solveig in vain with Leif.
Torment is grand, regardless of who administers!
In
The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)
→
10 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
<Snipped quote by Dervish>
In the case of Sevine, yes. For myself, not if I want to be a shieldmaiden x)
Now that is interesting! I didn't know that, but I love fun facts like this. Thanks Derv.
What young woman doesn't want to be Largatha from Vikings? She's just the coolest ever.
You be welcome! I'm a wealth of random knowledge, like a crane game where someone got goodies from like 8 different vendors.
In
The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)
→
10 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
<Snipped quote by Dervish>
Ironically this is one of my favorite songs!
@Frizan Sagax and Roze will certainly keep her on her toes, maybe make her act less erratic even! As I've mentioned before, she gets that protective attitude from her little sister, yet I really need to utilize that aspect, and make her sit her ass down and write a letter, perhaps then we'll see why she's so motherly/mama bear-like.
But, if anything, she won't be putting down that axe anytime soon, not while these two hooligans are off trying to blow one another up!
@Dervish
For Valhalla!!!
I love that song.
And don't you mean For Sovengarde? ;D
Fun little trivia thing: In the Norwegian army, Til Valhall is the motto/ battle cry of one of its mechanized battalions. Hundreds of years after Vikings, they still shine off and flaunt that bit of their heritage. Way to go, Norgies. Way to go.
In
The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)
→
10 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
<Snipped quote by MacabreFox>
Sagax can be the person who reminds Sevine that she doesn't have to always be a raging whirlwind of badassery, and that it's totally okay for her to put down that damn axe for two seconds :P
In what world is it okay to tell people that it's not the best idea ever to be an axe wielding maniac all hours of the day, every day?
You hate freedom and badassitude, don't you?
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