Avatar of Dervish

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Recent Statuses

3 yrs ago
Current Remember, nobody actually enjoys roleplaying if there isn't at least five shameful fetishes uncovered by the 2nd page.
5 likes
5 yrs ago
Somebody stole my mood ring. I don't know how to feel about it.
14 likes
5 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
5 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
5 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

Tenatively interested! Just a couple questions.

1. What's the posting requirements like? Length and quality has never been an issue for me, but I am juggling a few games (plus real life adulting) and would ideally like something that is once or twice a week on average for posting.

2. Are pictures mandatory? I tend to shy away from them unless I either commission a drawing or someone's kind enough to sketch. I'd be more than happy to write up a decent description.

3. Are characters based on motiffs like the show (e.g. fairy tales for RWBY, cross dressing warriors for JNPR)?

That's all I got for now, I love the detail and effort you put into this already and I've always had half an eye out for a RWBY game in Advanced!
I just want to join an RP that doesn't die, damnit.


Look to see if any long running RPs are taking on players. Failing that, pay attention to GMs that have successful games under the belts.

Or you could do what I did and decide to start GMing because I never saw any games I wanted to participate in.
Keegan did what all Nords want the Altmer to do; nope so hard outta Skyrim.
@POOHEAD189

Well THIS took forever. But I finally got it done. That was a long backstory.
For your consideration, my 2nd character




it may just be me but it does grind my gears a little when I get a comment from somebody something along the lines of "I don't like the outfit you chose for your character"
...Well, they're my character and I do like it so just accept that's what I picked? Didn't realise I needed somebody else to decide my characters wardrobe for me.


I have never, ever run into this. That is ridiculous that someone would be vain enough to be bothered by someone else's aesthetic choices.


3 hours after waking up to a complimentary room call from the hotel’s front desk, Rykarn was at the rendezvous coordinates, a location confirmed by the presence of many others in the team already there. It at least confirmed one thing; they all got the same information, so the Spectres weren’t deliberately misleading people. The krogan wondered if any would elect to not show, but so far, it seemed like everyone was on board with this assignment. Perhaps it was the allure of working with Spectres and the prestige that came with it, or the danger. Maybe it was because some people had nowhere else to go. For Rykarn, it was simple; wherever krogan went, exciting things were sure to happen. It sure as shit beat rebuilding a city brick by brick and sticking with the same damn routine day in and day out. It was satisfying for a while, but had the Spectres not come along with the proposal when they did, there was a chance Rykarn would have finished out the month and returned to Anhur to look for work.

His eyes found Sicaria, the turian he’d spent the night with last night, and the lively enthusiasm she’d had since digging out the bodies at the apartment complex seemed to have left her, she was visibly stiff and guarded, and not just as a physical reaction to the aftermath of their stress-relief. When he woke up, she was gone, leaving the krogan with the bill to pay, including damages incurred by their indiscretion. Still, the continental breakfast was adequate and the staff wasn’t keen on being confrontational with a krogan, especially one that readily agreed to incur the costs without a fuss. Out quite a few credits but happier for it, he’d wondered what crawled up the turian’s ass after he did. It didn’t help that the damned Geth was more inquisitive than a landfill-dwelling Pyjak and incapable of tact. Rykarn didn’t particularly care if the connection was made between Sicaria and himself; it was meaningless fun without any of those irritable emotional connections. Why other races put such emotional and sentimental weight into sex was beyond him. For a krogan, it was no different than eating a good meal that didn’t taste like stringy shit or getting in a good fight. If the others knew how many breeding partners a male krogan went through, especially now the genophage had been cured, would probably be incomprehensible.

Reminds me. I need to go back home and do my duty. he thought, standing with the others with his arms crossed, his expression betraying nothing of his thoughts, which were verging on realizing that he missed the clawball finals last night when Partinax appeared, zeroing in on Vella and unleashing vitriol that Rykarn doubted the asari was entirely aware of what was being said. Either it was deliberate defiance or her mental faculties were lacking, either way the turian Spectre made it abundantly clear that she was walking on thin ice that she was periodically smashing with a hammer. That early morning wake-up routine out of the way, the Katabasis team was lead to the waiting shuttles to head up towards the Citadel, which even in the morning sky was still visible with those with keen enough eyes.

~ ~ ~

The Spectre section of the Citadel was somewhere Rykarn had never been to for obvious reasons, despite his previous work with Phrixus’ squad. He tried to not look too obvious looking around after they docked, although the group of N7 operatives standing as a greeting party certainly was worthy of attention. Humanity’s best; Rykarn heard enough tales about them to know that they were more than a match for even hardened krogan veterans. In short, they were not to be underestimated and worthy of respect. This Zander woman clearly had a nasty history with Partinax, whom Rykarn quietly approved of his stalwart refusal to budge in the face of her trying to pull rank, political leverage, whatever non-combative trick she had that her bars afforded. Like waves on a rock, however, it was clear the turian wasn’t going to budge and her efforts were meaningless.

And with one careless remark, the already tense situation exploded into a standoff. As the weapons came out, Rykarn immediately had his Striker in hand; the large weapon and its explosive rounds were authoritative in their own right and in close quarters, it would be outright devastating. No one questioned whether or not krogan cared about collateral damage; it was one of the few advantages of being of a universally marginalized and feared species. No one was going to call your bluff when the threat of excessive force and violence was on the table. If it wasn’t for Anderson’s intervention it was very likely that the team was about to cut their teeth against N7 operatives and find out what they were really made of. Rykarn respected Anderson’s approach to most situations; he was a natural leader and mediator, and his presence had more than once in the past 24 hours had made the difference between a peaceful resolution or a bloodbath. He knew when to use restraint, when to show mercy, and when to disregard it… although, time would tell if that particular bit of luck would last.

With the standoff rapidly eroding, Rykarn slotted the rifle back to his back and grunted, ”Hmph. That’s no fun.” he said, staring down the nearest N7 as he stood down.

Soon, the team was filtered into a large hanger that was shrouded in darkness, only to have the lights procedurally illuminate the ship that Partinax seemed so proud of. Rykarn shot him a bemused glance, he never figured the rigid turian had a flare for theatrics. It was a beautiful ship, one of the sleeker looking frigates the krogan had seen, and it was sizable enough to hold a substantial crew, as he would soon discover. When everyone was crammed into the airlock for the decontamination procedure, Rykarn’s mind wandered to Sicaria’s predicament with Phalanx and let out a mirthful, ”Hah!”, the singular bellowed laugh devoid of context as ionized light scrubbed each of the aliens crammed into the space. If she needed decontamination from the night before, she was in the right place.

The tour around the ship was a whirlwind of names and faces that were going to take days, if not weeks, to fully wrap Rykarn’s head around. He simply resorted to compartmentalizing the crew by general descriptors and roles. Mutant Pyjak, pilot. Quarian, biochem specialist. Talk to the salarian for equipment if you have to. Asari, legal. Lady salarian, gossip queen. Elcor… cook. The krogan reflected, staring at the elcor and trying to figure out exactly the logistics of an alien of that size and lack of dexterity trying to do something like crack and fry eggs.

It was easy to notice that most of the crew were turians, some of them even looking a little rougher than the spit and polish military types you usually got, some even gave off mercenary vibes. Rykarn decided this was likely because Partinax relied primarily on his own kind and if it came down to it, he’d side with them rather than the hired guns they picked up. There was also something to be said about turians being creatures of familiarity and comfort; perhaps it was superstition or bias, but this was a turian ship with a few bones thrown here and there to other species, and it would run exactly as Partinax expected it to. No surprises, no change in doctrine. A routine. The asari psychiatrist was also predictable; it was hard to find that roll filled by anyone else. People had this innate trust of aliens that could get inside your head and be physically attractive and delicate looking to any alien. Their entire physiology depended on reproducing with aliens outside of their species, so the compassion and intuition to other species and their quirks was almost inbred at this point in galactic history. Hearing the announcement that a few of the crew were mandated to have regular appointments made Rykarn suppress a smirk. At least the Specter acknowledged that a few of the team were unstable elements, and seeing them brought to mandatory lessons was almost like seeing a school kid get exiled to detention.

The vorcha was an unpleasant surprise. Seeing it hug Anderson and shake Partinax’s hand caused Rykarn’s face to contort in barely restrained disgust. Years upon years of conditioning vorcha to be cannon fodder came flooding back; he imagined himself grabbing the vorcha by the neck, slamming it into the deck and squeezing until it was within an inch of its life so it didn’t forget its place in the pecking order. Vorcha were barely sentient beasts that were adapted to killing and thriving in impossible environments. It was disappointing that so many were starting to keep them as pets, pretending that the foul little imps were even friends. The fact the team would have to rely on the vorcha was less than appealing of a thought. Rykarn let out a suppressed and irritated huff as he turned away from the vorcha, reminding himself that that period of his life was behind him and he was following a new battle master now. You didn’t step out of line for your feelings on matters unless it was absolutely urgent, and unless he saw a lapse of judgement on either of the Specters, he had to trust they knew what they were doing. Besides, Rykarn was professional. He’d dealt with worse situations before.

When the team was dismissed, Rykarn found a crewmember who directed him to his makeshift quarters on the cargo deck. Accounting for his large size, weight, and bulk compared to other aliens, the solution was a few crates bolted together with a large mattress on top, overly thick wool blankets tucked in military style. A storage locker for his gear was present, and a small foot locker at the end of the crates for personal effects. It was very much like any military or mercenary set up he’d ever seen. It would be somewhere he’d spend little time due to it being a confined space, and Rykarn was not a fan of those. He’d have to requisition some plants and pictures for his quarters to give it more of an open and natural feel, he decided. Slipping his guns away, Rykarn left his quarters and began to pace the ship, as if patrolling his new territory. Finding his way unbarred to the CIC, he stood to the side of the yeoman, Calixta, giving her a respectful distance so she didn’t feel crowded. ”Excuse me, yeoman. When you have a minute, schedule me to speak with Partinax. I like to get to know the bosses before getting too deep into things.”
@MrDidact

I think the whole post got a lot more hilarious when you realized Vella was still black-out and had to be carried by Ellis xD

Now I'm totally mentally imagining an angry Aegon shouting at and tossing an unconscious Vella around the place!


@POOHEAD189 I'll get to it when Spaceballs 2 comes out in theaters.
Ok updated guys. Hope you enjoy the read.


That was a damn fine post. You really managed to capture that magic of discovering your ship in the games for the first time. I look forward to getting a response up!
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