Avatar of Guy0fV4lor
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    1. Guy0fV4lor 6 yrs ago
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Recent Statuses

2 yrs ago
Current God Bless the USA! Happy 4th Everyone! (though admittedly a day late)
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2 yrs ago
Oh yay-- the status bar has turned into Twitter again... My favorite.
13 likes
2 yrs ago
Damn dude-- don't remind me what's been taken from us.... I seriously miss that game.
1 like
2 yrs ago
Imagine not using maple syrup to sweeten your coffee.
1 like
3 yrs ago
AFTER MUCH TIME-- LIFE RELEASES MINE GONADS FROM ITS CRUEL VICE...... YA BOI RETURNS!
2 likes

Bio

Coming Soon!

(or whenever I get off my lazy ass)

Here's a couple neat memes while you wait:

Most Recent Posts



@Rune_Alchemist

"Y- yeah, I'll be sure not to disturb them. Finnegan replied nervously to the spider-priestess; her inhuman appearance still causing the young Apostle clear discomfort.

Finnegan watched the creature closely as it continued down the hallway beyond, only daring to breathe a sigh of relief after Achel rounded another corner out of sight.

As Finn turned his attention back to the sick and injured, whatever lingering fears quickly being replaced with a solemn sense of pity and a lingering dread that coiled loosely in the pit of his gut.

Without the smell of Funerary incense that seemed to cling to the gravekeeper-- the stench of sickness and blood hit Finnegan full force, nearly causing him to gag. Only the quiet splash of water in the next room broke the barely audible chorus of pained moans and shallow breathing. And with the lack of natural light... It felt more like a room of people just waiting to die than anything else.

In which case the small statuette of Rifelshka would be rather fitting, Finnegan supposed.

Neatly folding his blood-soaked soaked tabard in an empty corner of the room, and washing his hands and arms in a nearby basin of water before making his rounds; carefully examining each patient. With each one Finn passed, his heart sank ever further into the pit that had firmly anchored itself in Finn's stomach. Whoever had been treating these people clearly knew what they were doing, their skills easily eclipsing the basic aid techniques he had learned during baseline training.

Even more demoralizing was the vaguest sensation that someone else had already tried healing these people with magic. Whether it was true? Finnegan wasn't sure-- but the thought still nagged at him.

He stopped beside the bed of a frail, malnourished child; their entire left arm blackened with frostbite... and seemingly prepped for an amputation.

Finnegan's eyes stung as he stared down at child, his thumb tracing nervously around the edge of his cog-shaped scar. What if he couldn't help these people? Only the Prophet heself could wield God's blessing of renewal... If such was a power only held by the very child of God-- why would it be granted to an underachieving footsoldier? Why not one of the Paladins like Commander Railey or Captain Morgan? Why not a member of the Clergy? If he tried to help these people-- would he fail? Be laughed at? Be blamed when they didn't get better? Driven away for being a burden again?

Finnegan's gaze alternated between his palm and the Child before at last setting his jaw, and steeling his resolve.

His dream meant something. It had to. And even if the revelation he'd received was only meant to save his own life...

What kind of person would he be if he didn't at least try to help others with it?


Tentatively, Finn extended his hand; his buzzing palm growing almost warm as it drew closer to the Frostbitten flesh of the child's arm. Closing his eyes, the Apostle would focus with all of his might-- listening for the voices...

And he heard them, more clearly this time... Their dissonant echoes guiding him in an almost familiar prayer-- "Endless is the turning of the wheel-" he repeated after the voices' guidance; the dull warmth beginning to pulsate from his hand and up his arm, "That which begins, will one day end. And that which ends begins again."

The sensation of heat slowly intensified, the rhythmic pulsations trailing all the way from Finn's palm to the core of his chest.

"We the Children of the the shattered cycles; born from the ends of beginnings, your humble servants, your loving sons and daughters call upon you O Holy Father."

The sensation grew hotter, the pulsations gradually intensifying in tempo until it felt almost like bolts of lightning running in and out of his body.

"Blessed Father, mine Silver Lord--"

Sweat built upon Finnegans brow as his eyes clenched tightly shut; fighting to continue the prayer regardless of how much it hurt.

"Let thine mercy kiss shut our wounds. Thy benevolence return us to beginning. Thy love shield us from the jealousy of the shunned."

"Make us whole once more."




@Rune_Alchemist@ERode

"W-wait I though- ach! Stop pushing! Hey-!"

Finn cried out in protest as Achel would begin shoving him down the catacomb halls. Though his complaints of being pushed along by the spider-thing instead of Atzi fell upon deaf ears, perhaps such an arrangement for the best...

It had been a long time since a fellow human last made Finnegan feel unwelcome.

Before long, the halls of the Crypt led into those of a small Cathedral; nowhere near as grandiose as the halls of Aventhrone, but well maintained. As the pair would pass several rooms housing the sick and wounded, Finnegan would suddenly find himself growing strangely restless; the tip of his severed finger stinging uncomfortably as he continued on. Rubbing the offending wound uncomfortably, the Apostle would find his right palm softly buzzing once more as it contacted the damaged flesh.

Finnegan's eyes widened.

Well was it known that Rheane could perform miracles of incredible healing, as related to the domain of renewal and rebirth. If he had been given revelation; and granted the ability to heal... Had he been sent to this village to help it's people heal from whatever disaster had struck them?

The Militiaman abruptly stopped in the hallway.

"Hold on-- can I see one of the wounded please? I... I think I'm supposed to help them."



@Rune_Alchemist@ERode

Though he would initially recoil at Achel's sudden approach-- Finnegan's attention would very quickly be directed to the fact hthat the young Militiaman had somehow fixed his own nose in an instant.

His eyes began to slowly widen as his fingers touched about his various wounds; his nose was no longer broken, the various bruises and bites no longer ached... Even the severed tip of his finger had stabbed over in mere moments.

The recollection of the dream preceeding the violent melee made its way back to the forefront of Finnegan's mind as an ecstatic grin slowly crept its way across his face.

"So I really did recieve a revelation"... he muttered with childlike glee as his traced the edge of the cog shaped scar on his palm with his left thumb.

His gaze lifted to Atzi; meeting the burly woman with a beaming smile, "If what the Spider says is true... Then it's gotta be God's will that I'm here! Please-- I'd love to meet the Chief of this Village; I owe the Village my life after all!"

Posturing proudly, Finn put a fist on each hip as he puffed his chest, "It's only right that I give proper thanks before heading back to Aventhrone."


@Rune_Alchemist

Reinhardt paused, briefly regarding Lonan with composed neutrality; "I believe you already know who I am Sir Lonan. If that was all it took to end me... How could I possibly be a true Son of Sigurd?"

The Knight continued forward toward the crater's edge; bending down to scoop a thick steel chain from the ground and wrap it about his chest. Any protest, threat or obstacles would be calmly pushed aside and ignored as Reinhardt came to ridged outline of the blackened pit.

"I'm not sure where Ethelred or the Elf happened off to-- but I don't plan on waiting for them. Giving this beast any reprieve only makes the larger situation more perilous--"

The Knight scowled as he peered down at his hated enemy.

"Thankfully the molten fluids that seem to be its blood haven't started hardening yet..."

Elias straightened, casually yanking a halberd from the hands of one of the Harzelslack footsoldiers.

"When I yell for a weapon-- throw something to me. Doesn't matter what it is. Only that it's made of steel... Call shots before you make them with the seige equipment and I'll do my best to avoid blocking your line of fire."

What was spoken was not a request-- but command; Reinhardt's tone thick with confidence in his methods.

He looked about expectanly-- waiting on the various men to get in position.

And even if they didn't?

Elais jumped regardless.



@Rune_Alchemist@ERode

"Shi-!"

Finnegan cried out as he slammed face first into the floor; his knife and impromptu bludgeon spiraling out of his hands as he would be jerked back suddenly straight into the spider creature’s bosom. The Apostle opened his his mouth to scream; fully expecting the monster to sink it's venomous fangs into his skull, but that too would would be nipped at the bud as a rough grip seized the back of his collar and threw him to the ground.

"Ach!"

Battered and exhausted; the rush of Adrenaline having finally run it's course, Finnegan seemed to deflate-- a low, protracted groan leaking past his lips. Slowly he sat himself upright, left hand clamped tightly around his nose to stem the steady stream of blood that had started to flow forth.

Glancing about the room, Finnegan resigned himself with a sigh. Even if he were to make another attempt to run, it was obvious he wouldn't make far.

And after witnessing what that spider-thing had done to the undead, the last thing he wanted was to give the two strangers reason to further restrain him.

After listening silently two what the women had to say, Finn would accept Atzi's hand; albeit cautiously. "Finnegan Connors of Rheane's Apostles. Militaman and East Gatekeeper. Came here from Aventhrone on an expedition I think... It's all a bit fuzzy though, can't remember all the details."

Hefting to his feet with a grunt Finn would then look to Achel, "You. Mon- er... Achel? You're a follower of Rifelshka then? I dont know much about your Goddess, but I know she takes promises very seriously. Before I trust going anywhere with either of you-- I want you to swear on your Goddess' name that you dont intend to use in some kind necromantic ritual or want to keep me as some kind of breeding slave like the Valtem."

He approached where his blade lay, switching the hand keeping pressure on his nose as he bent over to retrieve it once more. Finnegan paused as he straighted his posture once more, having become faintly aware of a slight buzzing in his right palm; words he could only barely recall popping into his head as he'd absentmindedly repeat them under his breath.

He turned back to face Atzi and Achel, his hand falling away from holding his nose as he'd address the two.

"Now where God's name am I?"


@Rune_Alchemist

If the trip down was bad-- the return trips were always worse.

Every time he died, no lingering injury would heal until Elias' soul returned from the underworld.

In other words-- Reinhardt would experience his death twice over; once when he would fall, and once upon his return.

The sensation that the knight would be met with upon his ejection from the underworld was an agony like nome he'd ever experienced.

It was like being trapped in a void. Unable to move. Unable to see. Unable to scream.

And despite being trapped in such deprivation; he could feel everything. The crawling itch of tissues reforming fiber by fiber. The stinging of muscle and organ exposed to open air. The burn of lung; starving for even a single breath--

Before his eyelids could even finish reforming, the Knight had already rolled onto his hands and knees; retching from the waves of nausea and pain that accompanied such a horrific return.

Trembling, Reinhardt forced himself to stand; wiping his mouth with a soot-covered arm as he surveyed his surroundings. There wasn't a sign of his allies nor the Wyvern-- only a single sword planted in the earth beside him.

His eyes rose to scan the horizon-- settling on a distant plume of smoke. The Knight's face contorted into a firm scowl as his fingers wrapped the hilt of the single sword that remained in the scorched section of woodland.

It seemed there was still a dragon to slay.



@Rune_Alchemist@ERode

Confidence surged through Finnegan as the first of the undead met it's end-- his adrenal response flipping on it's head the instant his feet were back beneath him.

The ceaseless pounding of his own heartbeat smothered screaming pain of his missing finger to little as the Apostle bared his teeth-- and try as she might; Atzi's words would fail to find purchase before Finnegan would lunge toward the nearest Zombie in a tunnel-visioned fury!

"GRRRAH!"

Decaying chunks of skull and brain splattered across Finn's face and tabard as three consecutive blows caved the temple of the second Zombie. As the second fell, Finnegan reeled to face the third-- only to find it suddenly restrained by an incredibly muscular Woman.

For a moment, his frantic breathing began to slow.

"Ahhh.... hah... Thanks for the help..."

Finnegan nodded gratefully to the newcomer as he bent over to retrieve his knife, "We... haah... Shouldn't stay here too long... Dont know where we are... But if theres undead... I'll bet there's a N-"

The color drained from Finn's face as the words caught in his throat, his eyes locked on the woman who had been behind him from the beginning.

"N-Ne-"

Unnaturally pale skin contrasted against the dark fabrics of a gothic dress.

"A N-N-Ne-"

Glistening, inhuman fangs and predatory orange eyes adorned a sinister grin.

"Ah- A N-N-Nec-"

Finnegan's eyes darted between the two Women rapidly as conspiracies flooded through his head.

Were these two working together?

Why the hell was he here?

What kind of profane ritual did they need to keep him alive for?

The young Aposle swallowed dryly, nearly tripping himself over the table he'd laid upon only minutes ago; but managing to keep his balance. For a moment he stood still, nearly frozen in trepidation-- before launching himself over the table and making a mad dash for the door!

"NECROMANCER!"




@Rune_Alchemist

"Shit! SHIT! SHIT!" Finnegan cried out in panic as the Zombies rushed, and promptly overwhelmed him. Cut and slice and stab as he would-- the Apostle's efforts did little to dissuade the living dead from their onslaught; his opposition only serving to catch his knife in the decaying flesh of one of his attackers.

Rotten blood gushed from the wound, causing his grip to slip from his knife as the Zombies tackled him to the ground.

"Fu- fuck!"

Any semblance of chivalrous attitude Finnegan had previously displayed all but vanished as adrenaline surged through his veins. The Militiaman flailed and twisted as he tried to wrench free of the Zombie clinging to his side and the one that currently had hold of his throat.

It was far from enough.

Just as frantically as he was attempting to escape the grasp of the undead; the undead themselves sought to feed upon his living flesh. Though Finn had managed to keep the one on his side at bay-- the one that hung over him; it's undying grasp wrapped tightly around his throat, pulled it's reeking jaws close...

Finnegan fought to push the abomination away from him-- just enough to get out from under it. Every time his left hand reached out to push the creature back, the oil-like slick of blood caused his hand to slip, again and again until--

CRUNCH!

A scream echoed through the halls of the Catacombs as blackened teeth cut through the first joint of Finnegan's ring finger.

A second surge of Adrenaline pumped through the young soldier, sound and smell fading into obscurity as his vision began to tunnel. The sound of his own heartbeat pounded wildly in his own ears as the Zombie clutching his side began to make headway toward his neck as well.

And then a black object slammed into the skull of the second Zombie.

Whatever the Woman might of said-- it never reached Finnegan's ears.

Whatever ornate carvings decorated the black object that had landed beside him-- Finnegan payed no heed.

All he knew; all that mattered-- was that he had a weapon.

His right hand formed a white-knuckled grip around whatever the object was-- and swung it hard into the temple of the Zombie that held his throat!

"RAAAAAAAAAGH!!!"

Again and again, he bashed the Zombie's skull with the odd flail he had been supplied; ravaging it until it's grip would loosen enough to break free! With a violent jerk, Finnegan whipped the pommel of his newly acquired weapon into the face of the second undead as he kicked away from his assailants, scrambling to get back to his feet!



@Rune_Alchemist



Luminous eyes slid open as Finnegan sat up abruptly; pulling free of what necrotic husk still clung to him. A womanly voice from behind the young Apostle exclaimed in disbelief at his sudden revival, eliciting a strange chuckle from the man she had thought dead mere moments before.

"It would seem so Sister!" Finnegan replied cheerfully; his hands vigorously rubbing the sleep from his eyes, "I'm just glad to be back in Av-"

Finn's words abruptly halted as a small box appeared in the edge of his vision. He'd thought it a trick of the light at first-- but now that he looked at it... It seemed to contain a strange depiction of a vaguely familiar woman sitting atop a gear... And were those words?

In a single moment, the surreal feeling that had followed the dream had all but vanished; replaced instead by a surge of adrenaline-fueled panic.

"RHEANE'S TITS!"


Finnegan's fearful scream echoed throughout the catacombs as the heel of his boot slammed into the forehead of the lunging Zombie, throwing it back-- in addition to sending him ass over teakettle off the other side of the table. Hurriedly scrambling back to his feet, Finn took a defensive stance in front of the Woman he had woken with; drawing his hunting knife as the trio of Living Corpses continued their shuffling advance.

Finn's eyes shifted warily between the three undead; gritting his teeth nervously as he tried to remember the basics of CQC.

"If you’re forced into using your knife-- you've already screwed yourself. So you better be paying the FUCK attention!"
Drill Marshal Dearan


He could almost feel the end of the Drill Marshal's cane jam into his ribs as the words reverberated sternly inside his head. Raising his left arm to act as a shield, Finnegan shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet; his knife-wielding hand poised to slash and stab away at whatever got close.

"I'm not sure who you are miss, nor how I got here-- but stay behind me. God willing, I'll get us out of this mess and back to safety!"

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