Avatar of Dervish
  • Last Seen: 12 mos ago
  • Old Guild Username: Dervish
  • Joined: 12 yrs ago
  • Posts: 5991 (1.32 / day)
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  • Username history
    1. Dervish 12 yrs ago
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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

Cool sheet Dervish. Question though: does your character's mechanical knowledge stop at droids or can he also work on the ship's engine and stuff?


He's a ship engineer mainly, the droid tinkering is mainly his giant nerd hobby/ unwilling labour force. His goal is to let droids take over most of his workload so he can focus on other things than boring ol' work.
I'm working on a--

Wait...


A sheet approval?

Aw, you shouldn't have!
Before you know it the Griks will be turning tails and running scared, chased by hungry looking grunts with saliva dripping from their mouths



Oh god.

What if they're the field rations?
<Snipped quote by Fisticuffs>

Don't be crazy, Griks smell like freshly baked banana bread. I am now accepting this as canon and no one can change my mind.


I assumed that they bleed jello, as well. They're just giant evil, albeit delicious, pinatas.
@Roughdragon1 Quick fix, no worries!
Part Deux





29th of Sun’s Height, Sundown - Steelhead

In comparison to being aboard the Courtesan for her first time, the twisted knots in her stomach had seemingly disappeared. ‘Thank the gods.’, Sevine mused. She had emerged above deck just moments ago, one hand fingering the new axe Do’Karth had gifted her. The other toyed with the amulet around her neck.

An irritable itch clung to her, she blamed the weather, what with its overcast skies and eerie fog. She knew it was her nerves. The idea of fighting filled her with apprehension. Her thoughts circulated around the Battle of Nightgate. From Do’Karth, and the others, she had learned their stories of the Kamal, of the attack in open water, of those they lost. Would she meet the same fate on this voyage? She prayed not. Her eyes peered into the shroud of white vapor that swirled and danced across the surface. The waters were menacingly dark, almost black without the light of the sun.

Sevine headed to the side of the ship, one hand clung to her axe, while the other curled around the wooden railing. Her eyes narrowed into slits while her mouth sunk into a frown, there were enemies in the fog, shadows that were there, but weren't.

Do’Karth sidled up beside Sevine, resting his “elbows on the gunwale as he stared into the looming fog. He was starting to find his sealegs, much against his will. It seemed that the gods had deemed him to be one of the company’s go-to marines, which seemed to be somewhat cruel for one who was deathly afraid of the open ocean and freezing to death. Still, he was much more relaxed, understanding what a ship could and couldn’t do, and having been on ships that were on the verge of sinking, ones that were intact and deciding that residing above the surface was preferable weren’t all that bad.

“This one feels like he is looking into a mirror when he sees your expression.” he smiled, looking over at his partner. “At least we were not separated this time. It is much more reassuring to know where you are.” Do’Karth said, surprised to find his stomach aching for food rather than emptying its contents into the choppy waters below.

“This will hopefully go better than our voyage out to Winterhold.” he observed.

“Mmm.” She said with a nod of her head, “that was a disaster. Those mages brought about their own end. Even when there is chaos, order can still be found.” She clenched the railing harder, only to release it seconds later. Her hand traveled to his back, where she let it rest.

“The dark-elf… Niernen, I think her name is. She seems to avoid you. What happened? On the last mission…” Sevine turned now to face him.

If the Khajiit were capable of blushing, he would have. Turning away for a moment to compose himself, worrying that this question would have eventually found its way into the open, he reminded himself, No secrets. We deal in truths.

“It seems that Niernen had grown rather fond of this one after fighting alongside one another in Windhelm and the kindness Do’Karth showed her. After she was captured by the Kamal, she immediately sought this one out when she heard he was on the assignment. She expressed her feelings and thoughts to this one in confidence, and Do’Karth was rather flattered but confused about what to do in that situation. He chose to be with you, Sevine, and nothing is changing that. Niernen, bless her, accepted this and has decided, this one presumes, to give him space so she isn’t a disturbance between you and this one.” he said, staring down into the waves below. “Do’Karth cares about her, just… not like she feels.”

There were no words that would come, her tongue laid heavy in her mouth, like a pile of wet sand. Moments passed before she began to chuckle.

“Forgive me, my love. I did not expect you to be such a ladies man.” She teased, a smile forming for the first time that day.

“Who knows… if she has not had the chance, perhaps I will point her in Leif’s direction. Hearts scorned often have an uncanny way of finding friendship in unlikely places.” She sighed, “I do not jest… I know you have a good heart, that is why I chose you. And I am not mad… perhaps a bit jealous, but nothing more. I have other matters on my mind, and that is making sure you and I stay alive.”

Do’Karth’s fingers dug through the short fur on his cheeks and left impressions on his skin as he dragged them heavily downwards before they interlaced tepidly in front of him. “This one didn’t expect he was either!” he exclaimed playfully. “Perhaps he has found his true calling after all.” With a chuckle, he reached over and took Sevine’s hand.

“You have nothing to be jealous of, this one promises. This one is too simple of a Khajiit to wish to entangle himself with such complicated matters as love affairs or entertaining sudden crushes. He just feels bad for her, you understand.” he said, his face growing heavy suddenly as a heavy sigh filled his lungs like the fog. “Imagine being so far from home against your family’s wishes and being caught up in something like this war, and the only thing that kept you going was the thought of one’s kindness that wasn’t anything he wouldn’t have offered anyone else, and then deciding that that feeling was love. She needs time to heal, Do’Karth does not think she knows what she wants other than to have security and comfort with someone she trusts. This one doesn’t know if you were jesting about turning her towards Leif, but perhaps that isn’t such a horrible idea.” he said earnestly.

“I understand. Maybe not equally or wholly, but I can sympathize.” Her own hand moved to cover his. “But no… I did not jest about Leif. Who knows… maybe they have already met?” A half-lipped grin caused her eyes to crease at the corners.

“But tell me this… are you afraid? Are you afraid of these Armigers? I've fought them but once on the shores. What do you know of them?” Her thoughts turned to strategy, towards survival.

A much less awkward conversation. he thought.

“They are skilled, independent fighters that are certainly here because they want to be, not because they’ve been ordered to. They remind me of the Thalmor, if a bit rougher around the edges and more willing to put up with unpleasant circumstances. This one does not fear them; they have the same weaknesses as any other Mer, similar strengths. They probably will fight harder knowing they don’t have anywhere to retreat if they’re overrun, so perhaps there is a bit of fanaticism about them. After fighting the Kamal, they almost seem like a welcome break; Do’Karth can fight them and win, and he will win.” he said confidently, turning so he was leaning against the gunwale with the small of his back.

“Their biggest asset is they are united, ours is we have so many different kinds of warrior that they cannot possibly adapt to our tactics, and we’ve all fought alongside one another enough to trust each other. This one thinks that some of the others are looking to even the score. We all need a win.” he said, nodding towards Dax, who was pacing as if daring someone to confront him.

“That is good news, regardless. I’d rather not have to scale a Kamal like a tree anytime soon… as for Dax… what in the blazes is he doing here? Isn't he suppose to be in jail?” Sevine lowered her voice, loud enough for Do’Karth to hear.

“I've been too preoccupied to approach him.” Sevine confessed, which was the truth.

Do’Karth shrugged. “Best not to ask too many questions. This one isn’t fond of him after what happened with Farid, but better he is helping here than rotting in a cell unjustly. Do’Karth wonders if we’ll even have a Dawnstar to return to. We left it in a rather unpleasant situation.” he said, putting the severity of the brewing situation mildly.

“Aye… I didn't care much for Farid. Bit of an ass really. Too bad it wasn't Cat-Kicker, eh?” Her eyes wandered across the deck, “but you're right. I'd rather him be here than rotting away forgotten in some cell. Always better to have another sword. As for Dawnstar…” She turned back around to face him, a growing habit really. Sevine enjoyed gazing upon him whenever she got the chance.

“Well, let us pray that they come to no harm, and that our comrades can do justice.” She said.

“With that Khazki woman, this one isn’t so sure anything will be done right. She is… not reassuring.” Do’Karth remarked, noticing that the fog was breaking somewhat. A shout from the crow’s next informed them that land was approaching ahead. It was almost time to begin the mission. “Ready?” he asked.

As the prow broke through the waters, a jagged shadow, of what could only be land, appeared through the fog.

“Ready as I ever will be.” Sevine said, her shoulders squared and it seemed as if she grew another inch too.

As night fell, orders aboard the ship were to remain as silent as possible; even the most casual of conversations would carry across the waves and alert any sentries paying even halfway attention on the island. Do’Karth and Sevine helped with the preparations, loading the launch boat with supplies as instructed and soon were descended to the waves, where Do’Karth and a few others took of oars to silently ferry the team across the relatively still waves to the designated landing site, well away from where the Steelhead was last spotted, if it was at all.

After a relatively short time rowing, the bow of the boat dug into the thick debris-filled sands of the beach and Do’Karth and the others leapt out, pulling it ashore with almost practiced precision, carrying it when the waves no longer did, and soon it was squirreled away out of sight of the heights of the island, especially in the dark. Cat-Kicker called a briefing, to which the team gathered around. Despite the mutual loathing Do’Karth had between himself and the Nord, it seemed that at least they were both keen on keeping personal matters and feelings aside in favour of doing a good and proper job. Everyone’s lives were relying on each other doing their part, and despite Cat-Kicker’s terrible reputation, there had to have been a reason for him being one of the commanders, wasn’t there?

Sadri and Narzul were voluntold to take point, much to Do’Karth’s relief. He had been the scout his share of times, and the longer he could go without putting himself in the way of an arrow or bolt, the happier and healthier he’d be. A part of him felt guilty for thinking so, especially since Sadri hardly needed more scars. The two could handle themselves, he was sure.

Deciding to abate his guilt somewhat, Do’Karth followed after them, keeping a respectful distance, but close enough that his keen night eye would be able to spot threats before they saw him, he hoped.

Trailing not too far behind Do’Karth, Sevine fell in line beside Niernen. She cast a reassuring glance at the Dunmeri woman, better not speak a word until they broke their cover. And by breaking their cover, she hoped it would be by lopping some poor sod’s head off.
Pew pew.
It was still hard to believe that humanity was standing on Pluto, roughly six billion kilometers from the sun. The planetoid was oppressively cold, even with artificial climate control measures that had been in place even centuries before Taran Burke was born. He looked to the pale orb that seemed impossibly far away in the sky, so far away now that its heat that gave birth to the human species back on Earth tens of thousands of years past could not reach Pluto all the way out nearing the extent of its gravitational pull. In a way, the reason that anyone was capable of standing on the surface of such a barren and inhospitable chunk of rock and survive was entirely thanks to the scientific achievements of scientists and technicians who had died long before anyone currently standing in the base were born was symbolic of humanity’s fate; the only way the species was going to survive was by depending on the ingenuity and bravery of each other.

Six billion kilometers away was the reason that Taran stood here now, a worn down old rifle in hand and a combat harness that someone else probably died in. Somewhere towards that pale white dot was Mars, and knowing what kind of thing lurked beyond the stars, it still seemed too damn close. If he could see which way was home, then the Bulwark could, too. And they were coming; and like the tide, they were drawn forward with grim reliability.

And as if Charon’s gravity brought forth the Bulwark, yet another bright orb filled the sky, and another. The attack had started. It would be the fight of their lives, and losing Pluto meant losing each world until eventually they were swarming down Mars’ tunnels and cracking through the protective domes. Watching the artillery shots obliterate the observation towers with a brilliant incandescence that seemed to belong more to a witch’s spell than an alien war machine, Taran grit his teeth in defiant rage. He knew what happened if he lost this fight, and he’d personally blow holes through the bodies of every single one of the alien bastards himself if he had to.

As Taran pulled himself from the dirt he reflected on what he’d always heard about the enemy; once humanity had been a successful interstellar species that had explored the cosmos with pride and self-assurance that they’d never face extinction because they escaped from their home system and had the means to keep ahead of any cataclysm. Then, without declaration of war or escalating hostilities, the Bulwark made it their singular purpose to destroy humanity wherever it had spread, as if burning the roots out from under a tree until only the trunk remained. Nobody knew why the Bulwark wanted to see every man, woman, and child extinguished from the stars, and they got damn close.

No more. Taran thought, charging the bolt carrier on his carbine, the well-oiled and used machine seamlessly picking up a case from the magazine lip and slamming into battery with a satisfyingly solid clang of kinetic force. Others were already in the firing line, sending heavy rounds downrange that slammed into the vanguard of the Bulwark forces; the Grik.

The Grik were roughly humanoid with pale, deformed skin that was marked by several long and ghastly tears, as if the flesh beneath couldn’t be contained by such unsuitable skin. They were deformed, hideous, and a mockery of life itself. Mo, one of Taran’s fellow trainees, called to reload and left her place on the firing line, which Taran quickly took over. As his thumb released the safety and the padded buttstock found its customary spot on his shoulder, Mo shouted, “Give ‘em hell!” to him, feeling the same intensity that gripped him.

“Finish reloading and we’ll send them there together.” He called back, the front post of his sight hovering over the neck of what was soon to be his first kill of the day. The rifle barked, its bullpup configuration comfortably taking the recoil into his shoulder as the muzzle flash nearly blinded Taran to the exploding wound out of the back of the Grik’s neck, the hollow point making substantial trauma to the creature as it slumped down dead. Back when humanity fought amongst itself, there were rules to war. Here, against something bent on their annihilation, the old rules no longer applied and that included mass issuing expanding munitions.

There wasn’t much time to aim, not like the training range, and as soon as a pale silhouette filled the crosshairs the trigger was depressed, and more often than not, some part of a Grik was taking trauma. The 15 rounds were extinguished all too quickly, and by the time Taran was fumbling for his magazine pouch, Mo was back in action. He could only hope that the Grik couldn’t find an opening in the line to exploit; close quarters was exactly where you wouldn’t want them.

Thoughts + opinions = bad, apparently.

Looks like we have a synth in our midst.
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