Watch out, here comes Do'Karth!
He does what he wants bruh
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
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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
He does what he wants bruh
In
The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)
→
10 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
When the dingy hit the water, Do’Karth tensed to the point where he wasn’t sure if his back would snap under the pressure. The small boat rocked violently on the waves, in ways that the ship managed to largely negate, and despite the preferable chance to escape, the ordeal was harrowing, and frosty ice water splashed the occupants as their strong rowers fought against the waves to bring the boat to shore.
“You know what they say; never put all your Khajiits in one boat.” R’ihanna joked nervously, and Do’Karth wished he could have found the spirit to at least offer a humoured chuckle, but even his throat seemed to have been paralyzed as they fought to reach land. The lady khajiit almost immediately called out a potential landing spot, to which Do’Karth looked towards with eager eyes. Landfall happened shortly after, and Do’Karth regained his sense of self as he helped drag the boat onto the beach, only for the survivors to have been immediately accosted by a group of dunmer in strange naturalistic armour. He didn’t concern himself with what exactly an Armiger was, but he gathered enough from Trius’ concerned voice that they were some kind of elite warrior, or feared raider.
Do’Karth had regained his sense of self now he was on dry land, and he was confronted with a situation he was rather comfortable in dealing with. When one of the dunmer glared at Trius and declared him a traitor, Do’Karth spared a glance towards their companion to gauge his reaction. There was a story there, to be sure, but one to be told when danger had passed. A tug on the bottom of his budi caught the khajiit’s attention, and Solveig was sitting next to the boat, having gained consciousness at an awful time; wide eyed and pale, she was afraid. She pleaded for him to stay out of the fight, largely because he was useless without armour and nothing more than a staff. Do’Karth grinned at Solveig, looking far more at ease now than he had for days on sea. “Ah, Solveig. It wounds me that you think a true khajiit warrior needs armour. This is what Do’Karth was born to do, he has a duty to his friends.” He said, stepping away from Solveig and towards the Armigers, beginning to spin his quarter staff with the same warm up motions he did before every fight to limber up his limbs, the impressive display of flourishes announcing that his foe was about to engage a skilled warrior who was as much of a part of a weapon as any other part of his body.
An Armiger with a spear squared off to fight Do’Karth who uttered a quick prayer, “S’rendarr, the Runt, this one’s god of mercy, guide Do’Karth’s strikes so his foe may live; this dunmer knows not whom he fights.”
The Armiger thrust, something Do’Karth sidestepped easily with quick, light footwork, and a second thrust was knocked aside by the clockwise rotation of his staff, which he brought the end up and thrust towards the chest of his adversary in a flurry of jabs, which the Armiger skillfully stepped back and pivot to avoid. As the dunmer brought in for a hard thrust, Do’Karth leapt towards his opponent in a handless cartwheel, bringing his staff down hard with the momentum, his circular motion giving a hard impact with his weapon, which smashed against the top of the bonemold shoulder plate, prompting the Armiger to shout in sudden pain; his shoulder likely wasn’t broken thanks to the ample protection, but the blow was enough to destabilize him and bring him off balance. Do’Karth landed into a roll which he brought his staff into a short, impossibly swift swing that smashed into the dunmer’s helm, knocking it clear off the mer’s head and causing the Armiger to collapse to his knee in pain, desperately clutching his neck.
The khajiit didn’t have time to celebrate or continue to work on his foe, and he brought his staff up behind his neck to avoid the cleaving of a blade. Holding his staff in position, the khajiit made his way to his feet again swiftly, breaking the weapon lock with the sword by keeping the staff between himself and the blade while bringing his weapon into motion towards the Armiger’s head, who was forced to duck under the swing and bring his shield up to block the downwards strike that followed, giving Do’Karth a moment to take several steps back while keeping his weapon in motion, giving himself the opportunity to put power into a strike if his adversary charged. The first Armiger he’d engaged struggled to his feet, his face contorted with pain and rage.
When Sevine bellowed out a war cry that Do’Karth mistook for agony, he looked over to see her bring the axe down into her foe’s wrist- and buying time for Do’Karth’s own adversaries to press their advantage. Advancing swiftly, shield raised and weapon alongside it to thrust, the swordsman moved in on Do’Karth, trying to negate the range advantage of the staff. Meanwhile, the spearman moved to get to Do’Karth’s flank. Driving his staff into the shield to halt the advance momentarily, Do’Karth spun around to face the spearman once again, whose movements were sloppier than before, likely from his head having been considerably rung by the strike. He was hesitant to advance on the khajiit, remembering all too well what had happened the first time. Clutching his spear tightly, the Armiger thrust at Do’Karth in quick motions, trying to heard him towards the swordsman who was preparing to advance again. Do’Karth made to knock the spear aside to bring his staff down into the spearman’s neck, who pulled his weapon back to block a hit that never came; instead, Do’Karth dropped to a knee and continued his swing into a low, 180 degree arc that the swordsman never saw coming behind his shield; his staff crashed behind the man’s knee, sweeping his feet.
With the swordsman on his back, Do’Karth stared down the spearman with narrowed eyes and ears back. Letting out a feral hiss, Do’Karth charged his foe, intent to knock the weapon aside and close the distance.
“You know what they say; never put all your Khajiits in one boat.” R’ihanna joked nervously, and Do’Karth wished he could have found the spirit to at least offer a humoured chuckle, but even his throat seemed to have been paralyzed as they fought to reach land. The lady khajiit almost immediately called out a potential landing spot, to which Do’Karth looked towards with eager eyes. Landfall happened shortly after, and Do’Karth regained his sense of self as he helped drag the boat onto the beach, only for the survivors to have been immediately accosted by a group of dunmer in strange naturalistic armour. He didn’t concern himself with what exactly an Armiger was, but he gathered enough from Trius’ concerned voice that they were some kind of elite warrior, or feared raider.
Do’Karth had regained his sense of self now he was on dry land, and he was confronted with a situation he was rather comfortable in dealing with. When one of the dunmer glared at Trius and declared him a traitor, Do’Karth spared a glance towards their companion to gauge his reaction. There was a story there, to be sure, but one to be told when danger had passed. A tug on the bottom of his budi caught the khajiit’s attention, and Solveig was sitting next to the boat, having gained consciousness at an awful time; wide eyed and pale, she was afraid. She pleaded for him to stay out of the fight, largely because he was useless without armour and nothing more than a staff. Do’Karth grinned at Solveig, looking far more at ease now than he had for days on sea. “Ah, Solveig. It wounds me that you think a true khajiit warrior needs armour. This is what Do’Karth was born to do, he has a duty to his friends.” He said, stepping away from Solveig and towards the Armigers, beginning to spin his quarter staff with the same warm up motions he did before every fight to limber up his limbs, the impressive display of flourishes announcing that his foe was about to engage a skilled warrior who was as much of a part of a weapon as any other part of his body.
An Armiger with a spear squared off to fight Do’Karth who uttered a quick prayer, “S’rendarr, the Runt, this one’s god of mercy, guide Do’Karth’s strikes so his foe may live; this dunmer knows not whom he fights.”
The Armiger thrust, something Do’Karth sidestepped easily with quick, light footwork, and a second thrust was knocked aside by the clockwise rotation of his staff, which he brought the end up and thrust towards the chest of his adversary in a flurry of jabs, which the Armiger skillfully stepped back and pivot to avoid. As the dunmer brought in for a hard thrust, Do’Karth leapt towards his opponent in a handless cartwheel, bringing his staff down hard with the momentum, his circular motion giving a hard impact with his weapon, which smashed against the top of the bonemold shoulder plate, prompting the Armiger to shout in sudden pain; his shoulder likely wasn’t broken thanks to the ample protection, but the blow was enough to destabilize him and bring him off balance. Do’Karth landed into a roll which he brought his staff into a short, impossibly swift swing that smashed into the dunmer’s helm, knocking it clear off the mer’s head and causing the Armiger to collapse to his knee in pain, desperately clutching his neck.
The khajiit didn’t have time to celebrate or continue to work on his foe, and he brought his staff up behind his neck to avoid the cleaving of a blade. Holding his staff in position, the khajiit made his way to his feet again swiftly, breaking the weapon lock with the sword by keeping the staff between himself and the blade while bringing his weapon into motion towards the Armiger’s head, who was forced to duck under the swing and bring his shield up to block the downwards strike that followed, giving Do’Karth a moment to take several steps back while keeping his weapon in motion, giving himself the opportunity to put power into a strike if his adversary charged. The first Armiger he’d engaged struggled to his feet, his face contorted with pain and rage.
When Sevine bellowed out a war cry that Do’Karth mistook for agony, he looked over to see her bring the axe down into her foe’s wrist- and buying time for Do’Karth’s own adversaries to press their advantage. Advancing swiftly, shield raised and weapon alongside it to thrust, the swordsman moved in on Do’Karth, trying to negate the range advantage of the staff. Meanwhile, the spearman moved to get to Do’Karth’s flank. Driving his staff into the shield to halt the advance momentarily, Do’Karth spun around to face the spearman once again, whose movements were sloppier than before, likely from his head having been considerably rung by the strike. He was hesitant to advance on the khajiit, remembering all too well what had happened the first time. Clutching his spear tightly, the Armiger thrust at Do’Karth in quick motions, trying to heard him towards the swordsman who was preparing to advance again. Do’Karth made to knock the spear aside to bring his staff down into the spearman’s neck, who pulled his weapon back to block a hit that never came; instead, Do’Karth dropped to a knee and continued his swing into a low, 180 degree arc that the swordsman never saw coming behind his shield; his staff crashed behind the man’s knee, sweeping his feet.
With the swordsman on his back, Do’Karth stared down the spearman with narrowed eyes and ears back. Letting out a feral hiss, Do’Karth charged his foe, intent to knock the weapon aside and close the distance.
In
The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)
→
10 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Gun git started on past nao
Tonka was surely a kindergarten teacher in his previous life.
"Alright you little runts, listen up, we're going to learn the alphabet or whatever today. HEY! HAK! PUT DOWN THE UNDETONATED MUNITION UNTIL RECESS!
Ahem.
A is for Aralakh, the burning sun above!
B is for bomb, for which you use to kill all of your foes.
C is for carnivores, which all want to eat you!
D is for destruction, just look around ya!
E is for enormous, which Kalros truly is
F is for firefight, what a time to be alive!
G is for grenade, like a smaller, more personal bomb
H is for human, the only aliens with which we get along
I is for infirmary, what the Arlakht is that?
J is for justice, which the krogan are owed
K is for, say it with me class: I AM KROGAN!
L is for logistics, you need food to survive
M is for machine-gun, when you really hate your foe!
N is for nuclear, like the bombs that trashed our world
O is for Omega, a place we all hold dear!
P is for pyjak, the little shits that roam the land
Q is for quarian, cough on 'em and they die
R is for ryncol, wait until you're grown up, kids
S is for snipers, don't let anyone tell you that's cowardly
T is for TUCHANKA! Our home so great
U is for unification, something krogan will never do
V is for varren, they'll eat you alive
W is for war, a krogan's favourite thing!
X is for xenos, those filthy other aliens
Y is for you, who will grow up big and strong!
Z is for Zebra, because human animals are hilarious.
Now go have fun playing toss the munitions, kids!"
Just gotta wrap up this collab I'm in and we'll be golden to carry on!
Tonka post is up. What whacky adventures await him?
So far the votes are:
Virmire Smuggling Ring: 4
Blue Suns Assassination: 2
Tanya's Loyalty Mission: .5
Drono's Loyalty Mission: 3.5
Tonka post is up. What whacky adventures await him?
So far the votes are:
Virmire Smuggling Ring: 4
Blue Suns Assassination: 2
Tanya's Loyalty Mission: .5
Drono's Loyalty Mission: 3.5
Downtown Nova Principium
After delivering the groceries and the new grill to the Borealis, Tonka set off on his own to return the rental hauler to the service and the groggy turian who had seemed surprised when Khosin and himself walked into the shop. Either it was almost exclusively regulars who made use of the rental shop, or the employee was in dire need of rest given his startled reaction. Transaction complete, Tonka had managed to bring it back under the two hour mark and so the fees were pretty negligible, all considered.
Having some time to himself without having to parade around with his team, Tonka decided he could enjoy some time to hunt down something else that tickled his fancy. Namely, real Ryncol, not that knock off shit that bars and clubs across the galaxy sold to aliens that they could drink. If they tried to drink actual Ryncol and weren’t a krogan or vorcha, they would end up in the hospital almost every time. Tonka wanted something that had a bit more of a kick than even the strongest liquors of other levo-races, which got to him… after nearly an entire bottle. The downside to krogan physiology was that alcohol was metabolised far too fast, an evolutionary by-product of discarding toxins that entered the bloodstream. Being effectively invincible to all but the most brutal of trauma was useful for just about everything except for getting intoxicated; then it cost you entirely too many credits.
After asking another krogan for directions, Tonka was lead to a place called Kahl’s Distillery. The doorway was a large iron door with considerable dents from a krogan’s crest impacting it, and inside it looked more like a drug lab than a respectable brewery. Tonka knew he was in the right place. What looked like a cattle bell sat on the cracked and pitted counter; no consideration was given to aesthetics. By Tuchanka standards, anywhere with 4 standing walls was considered luxury.
A few moments later, an unhurried krogan in a clean suit with a number of stains and scorch marks stepped out from behind a curtained door. He looked at Tonka with about the same expression as you would when someone asks you a stupid question.
“What?” he asked.
“Ryncol. You have it?” Tonka replied.
“You have credits?” the clerk said.
Tonka nodded. The clerk stepped into the curtained door frame and came back with a 20 liter fuel canister. It landed on the counter with a thud, explaining its poor condition. “Three hundred.”
Tonka opened a compartment in his armour and produced a few chits, which he counted out and placed on the counter in front of the clerk, who pocked them without so much as glancing at them. “Enjoy.” He said, leaving Tonka to the container. Unscrewing the lid, the hard scent struck Tonka, and he knew immediately it was the legitimate deal. He assumed the clerk used fuel canisters for no other reason than they were easy to buy in bulk and carry around. Hefting the container, Tonka headed out into the streets for the lengthy walk back to the ship.
As he approached the foot bridge he’d passed over earlier in the day, three turian children barred his path, complete with ratty clothing and predatory stares. Trying to step around them, the children moved to bar his passage. “Beat it,” he growled. “You’re not getting anything from me.”
They didn’t respond with words, instead rushing at Tonka, who stepped back out of reflex and nearly tripped over another kid, a human one this time, who had knelt behind him while the older children pushed Tonka with a force that would have made a linebacker proud. Trying to regain his footing, Tonka stumbled and suddenly, grabbing hands yanked the ryncol out of his own and the kids took off at a run. Cursing loudly, Tonka gave chase, charging through the streets after the three kids, who turned the corner and ten more, mostly turians but with a few oddballs like a pair of batarians, another human and a young krogan, ran out at Tonka, deliberately barring his path. “Damn you, I don’t want to clobber you little shits!” He shouted, when suddenly several of the kids were jumping up on the krogan, handing off of anywhere they could get purchase. He tried to pry them off as he continued marching forward, the kids latched around his ankles like cement boots. Struggling but finding his adversaries terrifyingly persistent, Tonka began to thrash about, and throw himself into objects to dislodge the children who were clinging to him and pounding him with fists and rocks. “Fucking… stop!” He pleaded, grabbing one off of his shoulder and hurling him to the ground and another he grabbed by the arm and torso, pulling them tight.
Staring at the child with furious green eyes, Tonka shouted, “You’re going to tell me where your little pyjak friends went with my ryncol, or I’ll rip your damn arm off!”
The assault stopped, the children no longer piling upon him like a varren pack. The kid in his grasp began to cry, and soon a tiny voice called, “There’s the bad man who tried to take Varvus away!” One of the little shits was leading a parade of angry looking adults behind him. This did not bode well.
“Get away from him, you creep!” A woman shrilly yelled at Tonka, her mandibles flapping furiously as she charged him with a cooking skillet, smashing it across his face, the skillet still burning hot as it smashed him across the face, prompting Tonka to lash out in a reflex, smashing the turian woman in the face with an armoured fist, knocking her to the ground hard.
“YOU’RE GOING TO PAY FOR THAT, KROGAN SCUM!” A man shouted, and soon Tonka had a serious crowd gathering. He groaned, trying to step away from everyone approaching. “It’s not what it looks like!” he pleaded, before deciding that he was proper fucked if he stayed. Suddenly taking off with an angry mob at his heels, Tonka charged through the thin part of the crowd, barreling through the break in the crowd and hoping none of them thought to bring a gun. When he managed to break free of the crowd, he breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t find himself suddenly ridden with bullets. It was Omega, afterall; pretty much everyone owned a gun out of necessity.
Managing to run into a distant market district, Tonka swerved around a corner and ducked behind an empty stall and activated his tactical cloak, fading from few as the primarily turian lynch mob approached, giving the krogan precious few minutes to duck his pursuers and head in quite the opposite direction. Doubling back to where he left the kids, Tonka caught sight of them as they disappeared around a building. Giving a stealthy pursuit, even after his tactical cloak expired, Tonka found the kids gathering in the outskirts of the district in a rough-hewn walled section that might have had been scheduled for expansion in the asteroid at one part, but interest or lack of growing population halted it. A bunch of kids gathered around a burning barrel fire, looking like they were a bunch of street orphans.
In other circumstances, Tonka might have had sympathy with their plight and banditry, but today was not that day. Besides, he was doing them a favour by saving them from liquor that would certainly kill them, wasn’t he?
Activating his cloak again, Tonka charged the pair of turian kids he’d been following, grabbing them by their shirts and picking them up to loud, surprised protest. Tonka hurled these kids at the assembled group, bodies smashing into each other as the child projectiles landed in a groaning heap, giving Tonka a clear path to his ryncol. Not breaking his stride, Tonka slid his feet to slow his pace, grabbed the container by the handle, and ran as fast as he could go until his cloak broke, giving the screaming and shouting horde of angry orphans a glimpse of the krogan’s back as he escaped their vile lair and within a few minutes had a clear line to the docking bays, where the Borealis was perched like a bird of hope, and the krogan made his way up into the cargo bay ramp, hammering in the door code to gain access. Sliding the door closed as fast as possible, Tonka sighed in relief as he was spared the awkward conversation of why a grown krogan was beating children for sport. Composing himself, he walked through the hanger and found Serena and Khosin talking to each other, and the word chess popped out with more vigor and verbal vitriol to the krogan’s ears than the worst racial slur. He groaned loudly as he walked by the two of them. “You are such a nerd.” Tonka grumbled, heading up to the common area to unload his prized booty.
After delivering the groceries and the new grill to the Borealis, Tonka set off on his own to return the rental hauler to the service and the groggy turian who had seemed surprised when Khosin and himself walked into the shop. Either it was almost exclusively regulars who made use of the rental shop, or the employee was in dire need of rest given his startled reaction. Transaction complete, Tonka had managed to bring it back under the two hour mark and so the fees were pretty negligible, all considered.
Having some time to himself without having to parade around with his team, Tonka decided he could enjoy some time to hunt down something else that tickled his fancy. Namely, real Ryncol, not that knock off shit that bars and clubs across the galaxy sold to aliens that they could drink. If they tried to drink actual Ryncol and weren’t a krogan or vorcha, they would end up in the hospital almost every time. Tonka wanted something that had a bit more of a kick than even the strongest liquors of other levo-races, which got to him… after nearly an entire bottle. The downside to krogan physiology was that alcohol was metabolised far too fast, an evolutionary by-product of discarding toxins that entered the bloodstream. Being effectively invincible to all but the most brutal of trauma was useful for just about everything except for getting intoxicated; then it cost you entirely too many credits.
After asking another krogan for directions, Tonka was lead to a place called Kahl’s Distillery. The doorway was a large iron door with considerable dents from a krogan’s crest impacting it, and inside it looked more like a drug lab than a respectable brewery. Tonka knew he was in the right place. What looked like a cattle bell sat on the cracked and pitted counter; no consideration was given to aesthetics. By Tuchanka standards, anywhere with 4 standing walls was considered luxury.
A few moments later, an unhurried krogan in a clean suit with a number of stains and scorch marks stepped out from behind a curtained door. He looked at Tonka with about the same expression as you would when someone asks you a stupid question.
“What?” he asked.
“Ryncol. You have it?” Tonka replied.
“You have credits?” the clerk said.
Tonka nodded. The clerk stepped into the curtained door frame and came back with a 20 liter fuel canister. It landed on the counter with a thud, explaining its poor condition. “Three hundred.”
Tonka opened a compartment in his armour and produced a few chits, which he counted out and placed on the counter in front of the clerk, who pocked them without so much as glancing at them. “Enjoy.” He said, leaving Tonka to the container. Unscrewing the lid, the hard scent struck Tonka, and he knew immediately it was the legitimate deal. He assumed the clerk used fuel canisters for no other reason than they were easy to buy in bulk and carry around. Hefting the container, Tonka headed out into the streets for the lengthy walk back to the ship.
As he approached the foot bridge he’d passed over earlier in the day, three turian children barred his path, complete with ratty clothing and predatory stares. Trying to step around them, the children moved to bar his passage. “Beat it,” he growled. “You’re not getting anything from me.”
They didn’t respond with words, instead rushing at Tonka, who stepped back out of reflex and nearly tripped over another kid, a human one this time, who had knelt behind him while the older children pushed Tonka with a force that would have made a linebacker proud. Trying to regain his footing, Tonka stumbled and suddenly, grabbing hands yanked the ryncol out of his own and the kids took off at a run. Cursing loudly, Tonka gave chase, charging through the streets after the three kids, who turned the corner and ten more, mostly turians but with a few oddballs like a pair of batarians, another human and a young krogan, ran out at Tonka, deliberately barring his path. “Damn you, I don’t want to clobber you little shits!” He shouted, when suddenly several of the kids were jumping up on the krogan, handing off of anywhere they could get purchase. He tried to pry them off as he continued marching forward, the kids latched around his ankles like cement boots. Struggling but finding his adversaries terrifyingly persistent, Tonka began to thrash about, and throw himself into objects to dislodge the children who were clinging to him and pounding him with fists and rocks. “Fucking… stop!” He pleaded, grabbing one off of his shoulder and hurling him to the ground and another he grabbed by the arm and torso, pulling them tight.
Staring at the child with furious green eyes, Tonka shouted, “You’re going to tell me where your little pyjak friends went with my ryncol, or I’ll rip your damn arm off!”
The assault stopped, the children no longer piling upon him like a varren pack. The kid in his grasp began to cry, and soon a tiny voice called, “There’s the bad man who tried to take Varvus away!” One of the little shits was leading a parade of angry looking adults behind him. This did not bode well.
“Get away from him, you creep!” A woman shrilly yelled at Tonka, her mandibles flapping furiously as she charged him with a cooking skillet, smashing it across his face, the skillet still burning hot as it smashed him across the face, prompting Tonka to lash out in a reflex, smashing the turian woman in the face with an armoured fist, knocking her to the ground hard.
“YOU’RE GOING TO PAY FOR THAT, KROGAN SCUM!” A man shouted, and soon Tonka had a serious crowd gathering. He groaned, trying to step away from everyone approaching. “It’s not what it looks like!” he pleaded, before deciding that he was proper fucked if he stayed. Suddenly taking off with an angry mob at his heels, Tonka charged through the thin part of the crowd, barreling through the break in the crowd and hoping none of them thought to bring a gun. When he managed to break free of the crowd, he breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t find himself suddenly ridden with bullets. It was Omega, afterall; pretty much everyone owned a gun out of necessity.
Managing to run into a distant market district, Tonka swerved around a corner and ducked behind an empty stall and activated his tactical cloak, fading from few as the primarily turian lynch mob approached, giving the krogan precious few minutes to duck his pursuers and head in quite the opposite direction. Doubling back to where he left the kids, Tonka caught sight of them as they disappeared around a building. Giving a stealthy pursuit, even after his tactical cloak expired, Tonka found the kids gathering in the outskirts of the district in a rough-hewn walled section that might have had been scheduled for expansion in the asteroid at one part, but interest or lack of growing population halted it. A bunch of kids gathered around a burning barrel fire, looking like they were a bunch of street orphans.
In other circumstances, Tonka might have had sympathy with their plight and banditry, but today was not that day. Besides, he was doing them a favour by saving them from liquor that would certainly kill them, wasn’t he?
Activating his cloak again, Tonka charged the pair of turian kids he’d been following, grabbing them by their shirts and picking them up to loud, surprised protest. Tonka hurled these kids at the assembled group, bodies smashing into each other as the child projectiles landed in a groaning heap, giving Tonka a clear path to his ryncol. Not breaking his stride, Tonka slid his feet to slow his pace, grabbed the container by the handle, and ran as fast as he could go until his cloak broke, giving the screaming and shouting horde of angry orphans a glimpse of the krogan’s back as he escaped their vile lair and within a few minutes had a clear line to the docking bays, where the Borealis was perched like a bird of hope, and the krogan made his way up into the cargo bay ramp, hammering in the door code to gain access. Sliding the door closed as fast as possible, Tonka sighed in relief as he was spared the awkward conversation of why a grown krogan was beating children for sport. Composing himself, he walked through the hanger and found Serena and Khosin talking to each other, and the word chess popped out with more vigor and verbal vitriol to the krogan’s ears than the worst racial slur. He groaned loudly as he walked by the two of them. “You are such a nerd.” Tonka grumbled, heading up to the common area to unload his prized booty.
Actually. I think that while talking to @DearTricksterI kinda solved my charachters motivation problem.
He still commited the crime, but he was never caught. So he needs to leave psot haste, and the party with their gold would "Have to do". xD
@Leidenschaft @Dervish Does that work for you two?
<Snipped quote by Dervish>
Gaela has cured diseases of Dibella, she can help you out there.
Anyone that needed their character healed send me a note about their injuries and how well they want to be healed.
Insert crude gesture towards crotch here.
I should specify newcomers don't need to be charged with a crime, since they aren't original Meir Thorvale folks.
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