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Foster Member
STATUS: A roleplay not for the timid: "The quest to restore the abandoned Waffle House" 15 days ago
- Last Seen: 18 hrs ago
- Old Guild Username: Foster
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
- Posts: 4119 (0.90 / day)
- VMs: 33
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Username history
- Foster 12 yrs ago
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15 days ago
Current
A roleplay not for the timid: "The quest to restore the abandoned Waffle House"
4
likes
1 mo ago
I do agree with Yandere's sentiment that words not wording workingly do be a problem this time of year.
1 mo ago
Scratch that, place your bets on polymarket.
2 mos ago
Looks like I'll be working on memorial day weekend. And no, this does not mean place any bets on polymarket.
3 mos ago
due to a typo on my part I was nearly convinced I owed the IRS nearly $3000 in excess taxes this year.
5
likes
Bio
-There will be delays in replies. Largely due to working overtime, voluntary obligations; other RPs and online-things may compete for my attention.
'Bout me:
Started RPing (badly) back in '05, mostly doing nation-RPs with an emphasis on technology and strategy, later edging out to character-espionage and military-tactics before doing "less serious" character roleplays that were outside of the 2005-2008 continuity.
That's when I went to Dead-Frontier, and found the RP community there, joined a clan, did some pretty good roleplays and pretty much loosened-up my online-personality. When the clan-leader decided to move her RPs here, most of the clan followed.
Took a course in technical-writing back in '08, so now I may sometimes use the semicolon correctly.
In 2010 I dusted off the old nation-RP continuity I had, doing a few hetelia-esque RP-shenanigans there..
RP-Habbits: I tend to geek-out on little technical-details, and sometimes infer how those details would impact the background of the roleplay. Great for world-building, not so great when you had a perfectly good plotline and I just MacGyver it off the rails (though I usually er to the side of amusement, sometimes it creates very grim side-stories).
'Bout me:
Started RPing (badly) back in '05, mostly doing nation-RPs with an emphasis on technology and strategy, later edging out to character-espionage and military-tactics before doing "less serious" character roleplays that were outside of the 2005-2008 continuity.
That's when I went to Dead-Frontier, and found the RP community there, joined a clan, did some pretty good roleplays and pretty much loosened-up my online-personality. When the clan-leader decided to move her RPs here, most of the clan followed.
Took a course in technical-writing back in '08, so now I may sometimes use the semicolon correctly.
In 2010 I dusted off the old nation-RP continuity I had, doing a few hetelia-esque RP-shenanigans there..
RP-Habbits: I tend to geek-out on little technical-details, and sometimes infer how those details would impact the background of the roleplay. Great for world-building, not so great when you had a perfectly good plotline and I just MacGyver it off the rails (though I usually er to the side of amusement, sometimes it creates very grim side-stories).
Most Recent Posts
<Snipped quote by Ellri>
It's been more than once that I have omitted images altogether for lack of finding the right one.
Or simply not bothering to even look at all, because you know you'll likely get distracted and fail the mission.
In
These are the voyages of the Heavy Hand; Foster and Murasaki
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: Tabletop Roleplay
Due to Adria's skill, she had managed to offload the hab-module onto the deck and prep the ship's-boat for launch in a measly 10 seconds, barely enough time for Isaac to drop-anchor and power-down the drivetrain while Dr Knells ushered Mutan towards the hangar and the awaiting ship's boat for a drop-launch into the sea.
All around, there were onlookers, cheering upon her arrival and hoping for her to acknowledge their existence while the media filmed nearly every second of it.
To assist in keeping-up appearances, Isaac left the bay-doors to the boat open, allowing the salty air to wash over the passengers as they motored towards the Godie-estate, a large French-colonial influenced bungalow; where upon the pier stood a duo of their most trusted servants to show Mutan's friends a crash-course in etiquette and grooming if necessary.
(@Murasaki note: I wanted the estate to look like this but scaled-up only to find that 90% of homes with that roofline don't look very good anymore)
All around, there were onlookers, cheering upon her arrival and hoping for her to acknowledge their existence while the media filmed nearly every second of it.
To assist in keeping-up appearances, Isaac left the bay-doors to the boat open, allowing the salty air to wash over the passengers as they motored towards the Godie-estate, a large French-colonial influenced bungalow; where upon the pier stood a duo of their most trusted servants to show Mutan's friends a crash-course in etiquette and grooming if necessary.
(@Murasaki note: I wanted the estate to look like this but scaled-up only to find that 90% of homes with that roofline don't look very good anymore)
I am back. Sorry, I disappeared like that. I had a family emergency that came up.
Just to note, I'm having complications with my laptop and am unable to get on it so I am on the family computer at the moment. I won't be able to get on it except at night until my laptop is fixed and maybe during the day when my step-dad takes a nap.
Go to paper & pencil draft-work on posts so you can still work on replies.
10+ years later when cleaning the rats-nest of paperwork under your bed, you'll run into those notes, smile, and have second thoughts about throwing them out.
Oh, and just for the record, he re-purposed the rifle sling as a shoulder-sling to his bread-bag (Russian butt-pack) making it into a shoulder-bag, then put all his ammo-pouches in front so it's at about chest-rig/bandolier height.
If it isn't winter, then he probably left the greatcoat behind and I'll need to describe his lower-layers as some sort of other mil-surp button-down shirt like the OG-107 type II, American-issue of the late 60's, or a HBT uniform of 1941 surplus.
Will probably also fashion a crude poncho out of a tarp.
Tarp will be secured by ammo-belt. And yes, I do realize it [the belt] weighs nearly as much as the rifle itself.
His attire doesn't match this website's but the way it is being worn sort of does.
-Except the tarp... see also: how to wear a great kilt/cloak. (the short pleated kilt is about as ancient as the tank-top)
*A brooch is simply a weighted rope.
If it isn't winter, then he probably left the greatcoat behind and I'll need to describe his lower-layers as some sort of other mil-surp button-down shirt like the OG-107 type II, American-issue of the late 60's, or a HBT uniform of 1941 surplus.
Will probably also fashion a crude poncho out of a tarp.
Tarp will be secured by ammo-belt. And yes, I do realize it [the belt] weighs nearly as much as the rifle itself.
His attire doesn't match this website's but the way it is being worn sort of does.
-Except the tarp... see also: how to wear a great kilt/cloak. (the short pleated kilt is about as ancient as the tank-top)
*A brooch is simply a weighted rope.
The night-journey across the rail-cut was with fraught-nerves and tense muscles as her cautiously led the horse and carriage alongside the rails; he knew better than to order the horse to walk blindly down the trail, even though its large eyes could see quite well in the dark, it very much did not like the place it was being led through. At every twig snapping, the pair of heads jerked in this or that direction, straining their eyes to make-out the cause, listening and feeling for any reaction from their partner to cue a fight or flight...
Beyond the dangerous-ground came an intersection, upon which sat an old but still functional feed-mill and granary with a good collection of garage-bays for in-house maintenance. Taking shelter inside one as it started to rain seemed prudent, and William went through the tired but completely necessary motions of checking the interior out.
Aside from the squatter's camp at the airfield, Cleveland appeared to be largely deserted. A FEMA-tag on the granary's door indicated they forced the evacuation of five living individuals over six months ago; tools laid where they were from the time of evacuation, suggesting raiders had largely overlooked this place. So the grain-silos were likely still pretty full...
After a slightly better slumber for horse and rider in some old hay, William loaded about six sacks of feed and oats into the carriage and decided to travel a bit further into town, maybe find a boat.
The daylight stroll further up north along the rails was somewhat more casual, as the trail opened-up a bit as it passed near the international airport, and didn't really see any signs of chaos until he came near the Olmstead Falls Fire Department, where he saw a pile-up on the Ohio-Turnpike and could smell the stench of a late-stage police-roadblock doing its thing to make a stand and slow the spread of infected with what was on-hand... many rotters lay here... some not so dead as William would've liked, but for the most part so badly crippled to be a non-threat.
Up further ahead came the source of the early mob... the commercial district... He took a detour at Bagley-street to check-over a CVS Pharmacy... nothing much worth taking besides some prescription beta-blockers with warning-labels indicating things like an increased likelihood of sudden cardiac/respiratory failure and erectile dysfunction, the sort of things people who didn't need the drug probably would step away from without looking back. He knew that risking his neck for such drugs was a gamble of a gamble, that even if he won would only hold him over for a few more months... but nearly any alternative was better than letting himself become a liability in this world. He put two drops into each of his eyes without hesitation and continued back towards the safety of the now-uncongested rail-lines that created the border between suburbia and Cleveland's largest airport. A quick glance down each street he came to confirmed these places were evacuated, just some stray rovers and mounds of cripples to look-out for...
That happened under the interstate-71 overpass, where he heard something thrashing in the nearby creek... rotters usually go dormant when left alone, so that meant something bumped past this poor sod not too long ago. Likely someone driving a big loud truck on the freeway trying to get around the traffic-congestion. This meant the rotters were now actively searching for prey, but also that he was unlikely to get spooked by any sleepers anymore.
He hopped into the carriage and fetched the Mosin, making sure to top-off the 5th round, but not closing the bolt. Lack of a definite easy-to-use safety either meant he would run with 4 in the mag and an empty (closed) chamber, or 5 in the mag and an open chamber.
Then he heard shots fired up ahead, about one or two miles, several different calibers, but he knew he was walking straight for it, whatever it was. The horse was now getting twitchy... Thankfully, there was an indoor bike-park to hide his equine companion-inside while daddy took care of some business up the rails a bit. A quick check by yelling at the interior of the building confirmed that nobody in their right mind bothered to hold-out here. He failed to notice a bike was missing.
On his belt was about 60 rounds of ammunition (45 rds on stripper-clips), his buttstock held 10, and 5 in the mag plus a loose stripper-clip in his pocket.
Beyond the dangerous-ground came an intersection, upon which sat an old but still functional feed-mill and granary with a good collection of garage-bays for in-house maintenance. Taking shelter inside one as it started to rain seemed prudent, and William went through the tired but completely necessary motions of checking the interior out.
Aside from the squatter's camp at the airfield, Cleveland appeared to be largely deserted. A FEMA-tag on the granary's door indicated they forced the evacuation of five living individuals over six months ago; tools laid where they were from the time of evacuation, suggesting raiders had largely overlooked this place. So the grain-silos were likely still pretty full...
After a slightly better slumber for horse and rider in some old hay, William loaded about six sacks of feed and oats into the carriage and decided to travel a bit further into town, maybe find a boat.
The daylight stroll further up north along the rails was somewhat more casual, as the trail opened-up a bit as it passed near the international airport, and didn't really see any signs of chaos until he came near the Olmstead Falls Fire Department, where he saw a pile-up on the Ohio-Turnpike and could smell the stench of a late-stage police-roadblock doing its thing to make a stand and slow the spread of infected with what was on-hand... many rotters lay here... some not so dead as William would've liked, but for the most part so badly crippled to be a non-threat.
Up further ahead came the source of the early mob... the commercial district... He took a detour at Bagley-street to check-over a CVS Pharmacy... nothing much worth taking besides some prescription beta-blockers with warning-labels indicating things like an increased likelihood of sudden cardiac/respiratory failure and erectile dysfunction, the sort of things people who didn't need the drug probably would step away from without looking back. He knew that risking his neck for such drugs was a gamble of a gamble, that even if he won would only hold him over for a few more months... but nearly any alternative was better than letting himself become a liability in this world. He put two drops into each of his eyes without hesitation and continued back towards the safety of the now-uncongested rail-lines that created the border between suburbia and Cleveland's largest airport. A quick glance down each street he came to confirmed these places were evacuated, just some stray rovers and mounds of cripples to look-out for...
It's when the FEMA-tags stop he had to get worried...
That happened under the interstate-71 overpass, where he heard something thrashing in the nearby creek... rotters usually go dormant when left alone, so that meant something bumped past this poor sod not too long ago. Likely someone driving a big loud truck on the freeway trying to get around the traffic-congestion. This meant the rotters were now actively searching for prey, but also that he was unlikely to get spooked by any sleepers anymore.
He hopped into the carriage and fetched the Mosin, making sure to top-off the 5th round, but not closing the bolt. Lack of a definite easy-to-use safety either meant he would run with 4 in the mag and an empty (closed) chamber, or 5 in the mag and an open chamber.
Then he heard shots fired up ahead, about one or two miles, several different calibers, but he knew he was walking straight for it, whatever it was. The horse was now getting twitchy... Thankfully, there was an indoor bike-park to hide his equine companion-inside while daddy took care of some business up the rails a bit. A quick check by yelling at the interior of the building confirmed that nobody in their right mind bothered to hold-out here. He failed to notice a bike was missing.
On his belt was about 60 rounds of ammunition (45 rds on stripper-clips), his buttstock held 10, and 5 in the mag plus a loose stripper-clip in his pocket.
In the interest of getting my character synched, I'll probably shift the chronology of events on my posts to the night before the start of the RP and work my way to the present.
Will do.
Edit: posted, about 4 miles from your OOCly reported location.
*So if you head for the supermarkets you'll do fine to meet any and all of us.
Made a mention that you driving your truck by the waterfront pissed-off some walkers stuck in the creek.
*Foster doesn't feel like mud-wrestling them.
If someone should wish to notice the Humvee Ambulance traveling by the river dragging a light tower behind it then please do
Will do.
Edit: posted, about 4 miles from your OOCly reported location.
*So if you head for the supermarkets you'll do fine to meet any and all of us.
Made a mention that you driving your truck by the waterfront pissed-off some walkers stuck in the creek.
*Foster doesn't feel like mud-wrestling them.
Everyone's got their own ideas, and it's usually best to work that out with the folks on the other end.
In this case the discussion is moot since he isn't trying to kill you.
In this case the discussion is moot since he isn't trying to kill you.
-is very confused what everyone is talking about-
Discuss: "How not to get shot"
Not sure who mentioned zig-zaggery.
iirc, the way to mess with a sniper is to bound from cover to cover in less time than it takes to yell "Contact front!", and to take turns.
-moving while behind cover to pop-out someplace hard to predict is good, too.
The other part is to make them second-guess whether or not it's you he's aimed at, rather than a twerky-twig.
Or you can wait until dark.
-moving while behind cover to pop-out someplace hard to predict is good, too.
The other part is to make them second-guess whether or not it's you he's aimed at, rather than a twerky-twig.
Or you can wait until dark.
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