I'd be interested, especially in representing muh earthbending.
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Don't Tread On Me
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In
Wallmenders: Defenders of Humanity's last Bastion of Hope
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Interest Checks
Genius.
In
Wallmenders: Defenders of Humanity's last Bastion of Hope
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Interest Checks
Last time I tried that my hard-drive flooded with spaghetti. Not a good call on my part, tbh
In
Wallmenders: Defenders of Humanity's last Bastion of Hope
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Interest Checks
It is because I am a disgusting reprobate.
I have found that there is a strong inverse relationship between frequency of posts and frequency of interaction with the opposite gender.
I have found that there is a strong inverse relationship between frequency of posts and frequency of interaction with the opposite gender.
In
Wallmenders: Defenders of Humanity's last Bastion of Hope
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Interest Checks
Any Chinchin-following Roleplay is for me. I am interested.
Blackmist, I appreciate trying to tie in with me but I figured that Ira and the art teacher were alone in an empty classroom, seeing as it was established that she was waiting through a free period for a class to start. I don't know why Dakoth would be there, and Ira would react with frustrated confusion if you really want to continue approaching her and the art teacher in such a situation.
With Spencer
The barman is happy to have some more respectable, polite company, and talks between tasks about affairs in the Neath. According to him, the Neddy Men [the strong arm of the Masters of the Bazaar] have had more than a few run-ins with the Constabulary, a mostly over fugitives of justice wanted by both factions. A brawl between the two enforcement groups started a day ago just down the road, over some small-time anarchist, who, during the confusion, managed to not only escape but to seriously wound several people with homemade bombs. He continues to regale you with stories and news, pinning you as a surfacer almost immediately. He talks about some love affair in the Shuttered Palace, informs you about the insane and jovial Jack-of-Smiles, whose murder-spree has gone unchecked for months. He offhandedly mentions some new sensation in Veilgarden, a pianist who has the whole bohemian lot singing high praises. Apparently, in their excitement at their new celebrity the unwashed lot of them have been spreading out, and he's had more poets and sculptors in his establishment than he'd like.
Other than the Bar-Keeping Raconteur's ministrations, little happens as Time passes. People come and go, mood shifts and money changes hands, as though these people were not living dozens of miles beneath the surface. What was evidently the lunch rush departs, and you are eventually left almost alone at the eatery, the staff retreating to the kitchen to prepare for the next surge of people. A few stalwarts remain, joined by those whose schedules preclude normal eating hours, but otherwise quiet drifts through the fashionable, if drab, room.
With Miles
The Amiable Taverner is quick to respond, cleaning a glass with a dirty rag as he does so. His voice is soft, yet cuts through the commotion with a practiced ease, a skill one must pick up when surrounded by such cacophony every "day".
"Aye, that's her. Rare beauty, she is. Spends a good deal of time here, and I've no idea why. Those carding gentlemen likely wouldn't mind. The stakes are low here, not like Mahogany Hall or Doubt street. I figure you're a surfacer, aye? Something to remember: besides those two right there" he points to the suited men "and our pianist, the clientele by and large don't have two pennies to rub together. They may look fine enough, but no-one comes to the Mandrake who already has status or patrons. If you're looking to join those gentlemen though, you will need some money. Here, take this." he reaches into a gratuities jar and removes a crumpled sheet of paper, 'One Echo' written finely on it in flowing caligraphy, surrounded by notes and legal matters in much smaller print. "Pay me back when you can. I figure since London gives a poor welcome, I might as well give a good one".
He shifts away, taking an order, his gaze shooting back to the Pianist every minute or so like awed clockwork. The music continues to play, and though the recital lowers in abrasive volume slightly, it continues ever-present, flowing like marble-laced tar.
The barman is happy to have some more respectable, polite company, and talks between tasks about affairs in the Neath. According to him, the Neddy Men [the strong arm of the Masters of the Bazaar] have had more than a few run-ins with the Constabulary, a mostly over fugitives of justice wanted by both factions. A brawl between the two enforcement groups started a day ago just down the road, over some small-time anarchist, who, during the confusion, managed to not only escape but to seriously wound several people with homemade bombs. He continues to regale you with stories and news, pinning you as a surfacer almost immediately. He talks about some love affair in the Shuttered Palace, informs you about the insane and jovial Jack-of-Smiles, whose murder-spree has gone unchecked for months. He offhandedly mentions some new sensation in Veilgarden, a pianist who has the whole bohemian lot singing high praises. Apparently, in their excitement at their new celebrity the unwashed lot of them have been spreading out, and he's had more poets and sculptors in his establishment than he'd like.
Other than the Bar-Keeping Raconteur's ministrations, little happens as Time passes. People come and go, mood shifts and money changes hands, as though these people were not living dozens of miles beneath the surface. What was evidently the lunch rush departs, and you are eventually left almost alone at the eatery, the staff retreating to the kitchen to prepare for the next surge of people. A few stalwarts remain, joined by those whose schedules preclude normal eating hours, but otherwise quiet drifts through the fashionable, if drab, room.
With Miles
The Amiable Taverner is quick to respond, cleaning a glass with a dirty rag as he does so. His voice is soft, yet cuts through the commotion with a practiced ease, a skill one must pick up when surrounded by such cacophony every "day".
"Aye, that's her. Rare beauty, she is. Spends a good deal of time here, and I've no idea why. Those carding gentlemen likely wouldn't mind. The stakes are low here, not like Mahogany Hall or Doubt street. I figure you're a surfacer, aye? Something to remember: besides those two right there" he points to the suited men "and our pianist, the clientele by and large don't have two pennies to rub together. They may look fine enough, but no-one comes to the Mandrake who already has status or patrons. If you're looking to join those gentlemen though, you will need some money. Here, take this." he reaches into a gratuities jar and removes a crumpled sheet of paper, 'One Echo' written finely on it in flowing caligraphy, surrounded by notes and legal matters in much smaller print. "Pay me back when you can. I figure since London gives a poor welcome, I might as well give a good one".
He shifts away, taking an order, his gaze shooting back to the Pianist every minute or so like awed clockwork. The music continues to play, and though the recital lowers in abrasive volume slightly, it continues ever-present, flowing like marble-laced tar.
Hopefully I just blew your minds.
Twenty years after Naruto became Hokage and saved the world from certain doom, the ninja world found itself at general peace. There were minor skirmishes and pockets of outlaw trouble, but the world was happy and enjoying armistice with the joys of peace and prosperity. One day, while on a routine scouting mission, a group of leaf ninja found a hidden laboratory, full of desiccated corpses and myriad other monstrosities. Before the mysterious hooded madman could be subdued, a portal in space and time consumed the entire structure, and the next thing the leaf ninja knew, they had woken up in an unfamiliar muddy field.
What they didn't know, was that they had been transported into the greatest war in Earth's history.
So, the bizarre contrivances of the set-up aside, the game is going to start on July 6th, 1941, in a nondescript field near the fortified city of Smolensk, the site of the first real battle of Operation Barbarossa. Players will control ninja of high chuunin/low jounin capability and will have to make their way in this new unfamiliar world, or try and find a way back to their homes. The game will be fairly lighthearted, but with a heavy focus on military realism regarding War. The game will be fairly free-form, with characters directing the plot down various avenues, making difficult choices and having to live with the horrors of the most brutal war ever fought.
Twenty years after Naruto became Hokage and saved the world from certain doom, the ninja world found itself at general peace. There were minor skirmishes and pockets of outlaw trouble, but the world was happy and enjoying armistice with the joys of peace and prosperity. One day, while on a routine scouting mission, a group of leaf ninja found a hidden laboratory, full of desiccated corpses and myriad other monstrosities. Before the mysterious hooded madman could be subdued, a portal in space and time consumed the entire structure, and the next thing the leaf ninja knew, they had woken up in an unfamiliar muddy field.
What they didn't know, was that they had been transported into the greatest war in Earth's history.
So, the bizarre contrivances of the set-up aside, the game is going to start on July 6th, 1941, in a nondescript field near the fortified city of Smolensk, the site of the first real battle of Operation Barbarossa. Players will control ninja of high chuunin/low jounin capability and will have to make their way in this new unfamiliar world, or try and find a way back to their homes. The game will be fairly lighthearted, but with a heavy focus on military realism regarding War. The game will be fairly free-form, with characters directing the plot down various avenues, making difficult choices and having to live with the horrors of the most brutal war ever fought.
Ira was just settling into her languid procrastination when she was interrupted by a man's voice. She immediately discarded her half-baked lesson plan, her still-torpid mind grasping at any promise of excitement or salvation from monotonous boredom. She turned her chair and faced the man, extricating herself from her slumped posture and adopting one much more becoming. Absentmindedly flattening her dress, she responded in a voice like bell-chimes, letting tinges of the inferno drip into her timbre. She found it distasteful and vulgar, but evidently some found it impressive or, flames forbid, attractive.
"Indeed we haven't, Wesley. It is a pleasure to finally make your proper acquaintance, especially on the account of such a generous offer. I was afraid that I would go mad from the work. It's happened more than once, in truth." She smiled broadly, and gestured to a spare chair that had been floating around the office for some years no, no-one willing to remove it or claim ownership. Continuing, she spoke again, her eyes never breaking contact in the interim.
"So, you teach art. How are you finding the students, receptive? I've had my share of troubles shaping young minds, as it were, but I would imagine art would be a much more desirable subject for adolescents, isn't it?"
"Indeed we haven't, Wesley. It is a pleasure to finally make your proper acquaintance, especially on the account of such a generous offer. I was afraid that I would go mad from the work. It's happened more than once, in truth." She smiled broadly, and gestured to a spare chair that had been floating around the office for some years no, no-one willing to remove it or claim ownership. Continuing, she spoke again, her eyes never breaking contact in the interim.
"So, you teach art. How are you finding the students, receptive? I've had my share of troubles shaping young minds, as it were, but I would imagine art would be a much more desirable subject for adolescents, isn't it?"
Do it
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