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1 mo ago
Current Bought Helldivers 2 because of the online hype, didn't expect that much. Ended up putting 5 hours into it on my first session. For Super-Earth and Managed Democracy! Oorah!
5 likes
2 mos ago
As Co-GM, I'd be remiss not to rep a post-apocalyptic southern gothic RP that's currently recruiting: roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
3 mos ago
*Inexplicable Weezer - Buddy Holly riff.*
4 likes
6 mos ago
I have no idea how someone can see my posts with 'Thembie Supreme' above my name, propose a 1x1 with me and then say 'there are only two genders' and act surprised when I want to play an NB character.
5 likes
2 yrs ago
Merry Christmas and keep the change, ya filthy animals.
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Most Recent Posts

And another month has passed. Anyone else up for some writing?
Madame Morvanne

Talking to Fumiko@Antediluvixen


The Outsider entered her little wagon, and Morvanne took up her place by the teapot like a good host... Only to find that her gesture had clearly attracted some attention from this strange, foxlike creature. "The symbol?" She tried to help with the woman finding the right word, then sighed a little. "For protection. Keeps away... Bad energy." She framed it in a way that would hopefully come across as simpler and perhaps less offensive than its true purpose: to keep whatever twisted energies swirled around the woman from taking a hold of Morvanne, or anyone else in the caravan for that matter.

The occultist still hadn't forgotten the nihi in the air when she had first arrived. The way that the forest fought against this unnatural presence, and the way the Glory must have rejected it, for it to sail down from the sky in the way it did. Gadri, bless their heart, had done nothing wrong by their own knowledge, but she knew better. This woman was a threat. Perhaps not herself, but at the very least by herself.

"Tea?" She gestured towards the kettle now keeping itself warm and took a well-cushioned seat facing the door, carefully setting a small earthernware cup atop a saucer and sliding it across. The house she'd served in so very long ago had had porcelain for guests... But such an expense would be crippling for a small-scale merchant such as herself, unless perhaps she was buying it wholesale with the intent of making a profit.

Gadri Abzan

Talking to Knossos Dreamwalker @Crusader Lord


Gadri breathed out a slow sigh of relief. Most folks had left them on their own, which was a much, much better outcome than the absolute crowd the dwarf had managed to gather previously. This was doubly good, because the sun had almost reached its zenith, and Gadri had taken far, far too long to get into the city with the horde surrounding them. Just as they were about to quietly slink away though, Knossos arrived, asking a surprisingly normal set of questions.

The elderly mage was one of a vanishing slim number of people in the caravan who the dwarf didn’t see as a child, and so they supposed they could spare a few moments of their time. To help them out. "I am not intimately familiar with this particular hold," they began, "but broadly speaking, my siblings hold themselves to the same standards regardless of whom they happen to serve. As for yourself, mushrik, I'd be cautious. Ka-outsiders are given leeway in our lands because they're not of the faith, but your spirits will not be welcome in public. In all other matters, defer to the guards, conduct yourself peacably, and as for the rest... There should be a merchant's quarter and any number of coffeehouses. Should you visit one, do let me know if they offer nutmeg; I've been wanting a proper bre-" Before they could finish their sentence, a cry went up from the towers and rooftops across the city, echoing off the walls and reverberating through the streets.

The astronomers were singing. The sun had reached its apex. It was time for prayer. Gadri offered a hurried bow to Knossos. "Apologies. That call means I should be at a masjid now. Best of luck to you."

Malleck 'Freepaw'

Talking to Thozna Scrapblast-of-Norplain@Smike and Athulwin@Tortoise


"Believe what you will then. One of our peoples know true loyalty." The fur around Malleck's neck puffed out even more as they spoke, a single flash of an elongated canine bared to the gnoll before his lip settled back over it. On his own, Malleck knew Thozna could easily kill him, but if she wanted to come, ask him for help, then spit in his face? "Besides, you're one to talk of slaves, hauling about a half-orc like you do. I'm sure he joined you on your travels willingly."

The bubbling argument was mostly dissapated by an incredibly peculiar arrival however, all the signs of Malleck's aggression vanishing at the appearance of an oddly-speaking floating mask. He cocked his head to the side to try to make better sense of it, but neither eyes nor nose were able to give him much more information than that the bare minimum he had already gathered. "Does he... Frequently use such weird messengers?"
Rapid fire this time.
Caleb ‘CC’ Carr

Woke up this mornin’… Got myself a gun.


The sun was beginning to creep over the horizon, which meant that it was time for Caleb to get up. They tossed their unravelled sleeping bag aside and eased themselves out of their cot, stretching a little and working the sleep out of their eyes as they adjusted to the dawning light. Having been with the Jonesgroup for years, they had a routine worked out by now: a risk according to every survival manual they’d read, but you couldn’t live life by how pre-collapse survivalists thought it’d go down. Lord knew that Caleb had broken plenty of old rules and mantras in the past seven years… and they’d be breaking another one this morning, as they did almost every morning at this point.

But first, getting themselves organised. They rekindled their little wooden stove, threw on their clothes and went to fetch water, setting a kettle to boil as they went through the usual morning ablutions to try to keep the grime from getting too bad. Once that was done, they could burp their mason jars, before taking a little of their cured product and carefully breaking it up, sprinkling the green bud down into a multihued glass pipe. They had finished the process just as the kettle began whistling, pouring out boiling water into a metal camping mug and following it up with a spoonful of instant coffee.

Instant. Fucking. Coffee.

There was something almost distinctly dystopian in CC’s mind when it came to the massive tin of instant coffee siting near their stove, still stamped with a faded Walmart symbol. It never went bad, they’d learnt. Tea, kept in cardboard boxes and with its rather fragile, degrading nature, had lost most of its flavour or simply been wasted ages ago. But vacuum-sealed tins of freeze-dried coffee? Consistently terrible, year after year after year after year.

Still. It was caffeine. They couldn’t complain, even if they really wanted to. With the granules dissolving in their mug they set a mess tin of leftover stew from under their cot and set it to reheat, adding a little of the boiling water to get it going a little quicker. With breakfast on the way, they took a home-made match and pressed it against the hot ashes at the bottom of their stove, the pine tar quickly sparking to life. They transferred the flame to their pipe, tossed the match into the flames, then took their mug and stepped out of their small, cramped annex, pressing the glass to their lips to draw in a deep, smoke-filled breath.

Hold it in. One second. Two seconds. Exhale deeply. Around them, the day was rapidly coming to life. Birds chirped, something rustled through the foliage not too far away from where they stood, and a few other early risers in the community could be seen moving about. They took a sip of the scalding instant coffee and swallowed before the taste could become clear over the burn.

Another long inhale. Another brief pause before smoke began to trickle out from their nose. Another sip of coffee. It was a meditative time. Good for contemplation. Good for thinking at what needed to be done, what could be done, and what had to be prioritised. You had to make a list before you could tick it off, after all.

And an excellent time to ruminate on the biggest threat to their little community. The Mounted Skulls. CC couldn’t help but pull a face at the idea of that particular confrontation. On the one hand, there really hadn’t been another option at this point. Their eyes lingered a little on the empty chicken coop, disused since the bikers had taken all the hens as ‘tribute’ during the winter… But they were still… Well… A heavily armed raider group with a methhead for a leader. They wouldn’t be taking ‘Mama’ Jones’ defiance lying down.

Their musings came to an end as the green in their pipe turned brown and their coffee was nothing but dregs. They emptied both out onto the ground, put them back into their annex, scoffed down their breakfast stew and finally got the day’s work started, shutting their door firmly and grabbing their axe, walking away whistling a tune.

Check their traps. Reset their traps. Check for any signs of animals in the night. By the time they’d finished their little stroll the effects of their morning smoke had settled across their mind, a light yet pleasant fog that eased away the physical twinges and the mental niggles. It had been a quiet night – a single hare had found its neck trapped in a snare and another had been tripped but not caught its prey, but the bigger ones were untouched and the only tracks to be found was a slightly worrying rooting trail from a wild hog.

The hare could be dropped off at the main house’s kitchens, to be used as the cooks saw fit, and then it was to the fields. May was a busy time when it came to planting. The maize in the greenhouse needed to be transferred outside, they had to set fresh support for beans, and… Well, that was just the start. Tomatoes, lettuce, carrots and spinach was all in, and they weren’t one to waste time when this much work had to be done.

Their first bout of labour lasted from their walk until what their watch told them was some time around eleven. They were entering the hottest part of the day, and they needed something more than a bit of soup to keep themselves going. With hands covered in mud and endorphins replacing the THC in their system, they’d head for the plantation house, pausing to say their good mornings to ‘Mama’ Jones on their stoop before going inside and seeing who was about and what might be around to eat.
Been a little while, why not another bump?
@SgtEasy The ESMG are actually back in this generation, but now they're a megacorp formed by a mixture of KDD and GRA soldiers/mercenaries.
@Crusader Lord

So, funnily enough, in G1 Easy created a group of monkeys who joined in the pro-democracy side of a civil war, and they introduced the original song to the revolution.
Factions of the Dead South


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For your persual Tort, the Gadsen Bannermen that Caleb tangled with, and a counterpart because sometimes you need a little optimism.




Hehe, first.


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