Do we have to play as band members?
HHShetland Member
STATUS: Please note: I feel like I'm not cut out for RPing, so I've chosen to leave. Will log off now. 10 yrs ago- Last Seen: 9 yrs ago
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 445 (0.11 / day)
- VMs: 1
-
Username history
- HHShetland 11 yrs ago
Status
Recent Statuses
10 yrs ago
Current
Please note: I feel like I'm not cut out for RPing, so I've chosen to leave. Will log off now.
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
I do intend to get up a post today, but I just got out of bed. Give me a few hours.
I like Lighthearted fantastical fare. I'll consider it, as long as we don't have to be Human. Because I'm HH Shetland and I never play as Humans 'less I have to! :V (Plus, I happen to have a Rapping Imp character who could fit in well)
Also, what's this about your username?
Also, what's this about your username?
Will Chapter Two be less action-oriented?
As the battle raged on, Gherken had been able to turn her attention to her comrade, about to be splattered by a Bandit with an axe. Unfortunately, it seemed like she should have finished the other Bandit she'd just disabled, since he was being quite a nuisance for the Argonian.
Always one to make herself useful, Gherken ran up to the distracted Axe bandit and, with both hands, swung the top of her own Axe into one of his shoulders. The Axe easily penetrated his flimsy leather armour, but got lodged into his bone. To set it free, she placed one foot on the Nord's other shoulder and pushed him away, his arm only barely connected to the rest of his body. When the Argonian nodded to her as thanks, she nodded back.
With that out the way, she swivelled around to see if the archers had been taken care of, and caught a very brief glimpse of yet another new figure fighting them at close range; a Dunmer, she guessed, from his grey skin, but before she could think any further, she saw a great fat mountainous bastard appear in her line of sight, waving about his colossal hammer as if it was a Baby's Rattle. Her attention having been diverted, the Orc chose to get out of his way ASAP, jumping backwards on both feet.
Edging close as the bearded bastard attempted to squash the Argonian into paste, she was about to try and cripple him like she did with the Bandits. Unfortunately, he swung his Hammer back to deliver a third and final blow to the Argonian, forcing Gherken to jump back again; the spiked back part of the Hammerhead scratching her armour. If she'd been half a second late, she would have been sent flying into a wall.
Recovering from the impact of that fact, she noticed three arrows fly in from of the other side of the ruins, piercing his back and sending him tumbling to the ground like a toppled statue, complete with a mini-Earthquake. Her eyes widened again; she was surprised those arrows could have pierced his fatty hide.
"Awww, Gods..." She lamented to herself, out loud. "...I was lookin' forward to cracking this fat bastard's slaphead." She said sarcastically, with a chuckle and a kick to the man's head, just to see if he was alive. Didn't seem like it... especially since he'd fallen backwards, causing in the arrow in the back of his head to go straight through his brains and out the front.
Gherken looked aside for a moment to observe an Imperial-looking Mage type go to the Argonian's assistance. Good for her. Healing and grief counseling weren't exactly Gherken's forte, even if she had more than enough experience with grief counselors in her early twenties. Instead, she stayed focused on the mission at hand, and surveyed the ruins, sheathing her Battleaxe.
She vaguely remembered there being six Bandits charging at them, and four archers. She could see two corpses a distance away, next to what she knew now was a Dunmer, and five charging idiots, six if you count the fat bastard, were pretty damn dead or near death. That left one unaccounted for...
"Oi!" She yelled, instinctively, as she saw the missing Seventh idiot at the corner of her eye; couldn't have been anyone else, since it was obviously a man in cheap fur armour, rolling about on the floor, with no weapon. Poor bastard must have been knocked aside by fatty. Hearing her shout, the unarmed Bandit scrambled to his feet and tried to run, but had a hard time thanks to a nasty limp.
Not that it mattered, since he barely made two paces before Gherken had sprinted over to him and grabbed him by the collar. Baring her tusks ever-so-slightly, the Orc punched the man in the face with her armoured gauntlet, knocking some of his teeth out and decorating his cheek with more blood. She dragged his slightly limp form back over by the gate and set him down against the wall, intending to make their mission quicker.
"Now, listen closely, crap-for-brains. Hey... 'ey, listen!" She lightly slapped the side of the injured Bandit's head once he started to nod off... well, nod off as a result of exhaustion and blood loss, presumably, but the best missions are the ones that succeed in under an hour. Get in, get out. No fuss. Them having to nurse the man back to health would class as pretty bad fuss, and he was no prisoner of war, either. No doubt one of her new companions would probably want him dead.
"...Apparently there's s'posed to be some special Mead in this... thriving Imperial fort town." She continued, stern, but not shouting. "Juniper Berry Mead. From the looks o' you, you'd know what that looks like, yeah? So tell us if you've seen any. An' if you haven't, then for the love of Malacath, don't say anything stupid, and I might consider letting you go anyway. Maybe head to Solitude and get a bloody education."
Always one to make herself useful, Gherken ran up to the distracted Axe bandit and, with both hands, swung the top of her own Axe into one of his shoulders. The Axe easily penetrated his flimsy leather armour, but got lodged into his bone. To set it free, she placed one foot on the Nord's other shoulder and pushed him away, his arm only barely connected to the rest of his body. When the Argonian nodded to her as thanks, she nodded back.
With that out the way, she swivelled around to see if the archers had been taken care of, and caught a very brief glimpse of yet another new figure fighting them at close range; a Dunmer, she guessed, from his grey skin, but before she could think any further, she saw a great fat mountainous bastard appear in her line of sight, waving about his colossal hammer as if it was a Baby's Rattle. Her attention having been diverted, the Orc chose to get out of his way ASAP, jumping backwards on both feet.
Edging close as the bearded bastard attempted to squash the Argonian into paste, she was about to try and cripple him like she did with the Bandits. Unfortunately, he swung his Hammer back to deliver a third and final blow to the Argonian, forcing Gherken to jump back again; the spiked back part of the Hammerhead scratching her armour. If she'd been half a second late, she would have been sent flying into a wall.
Recovering from the impact of that fact, she noticed three arrows fly in from of the other side of the ruins, piercing his back and sending him tumbling to the ground like a toppled statue, complete with a mini-Earthquake. Her eyes widened again; she was surprised those arrows could have pierced his fatty hide.
"Awww, Gods..." She lamented to herself, out loud. "...I was lookin' forward to cracking this fat bastard's slaphead." She said sarcastically, with a chuckle and a kick to the man's head, just to see if he was alive. Didn't seem like it... especially since he'd fallen backwards, causing in the arrow in the back of his head to go straight through his brains and out the front.
Gherken looked aside for a moment to observe an Imperial-looking Mage type go to the Argonian's assistance. Good for her. Healing and grief counseling weren't exactly Gherken's forte, even if she had more than enough experience with grief counselors in her early twenties. Instead, she stayed focused on the mission at hand, and surveyed the ruins, sheathing her Battleaxe.
She vaguely remembered there being six Bandits charging at them, and four archers. She could see two corpses a distance away, next to what she knew now was a Dunmer, and five charging idiots, six if you count the fat bastard, were pretty damn dead or near death. That left one unaccounted for...
"Oi!" She yelled, instinctively, as she saw the missing Seventh idiot at the corner of her eye; couldn't have been anyone else, since it was obviously a man in cheap fur armour, rolling about on the floor, with no weapon. Poor bastard must have been knocked aside by fatty. Hearing her shout, the unarmed Bandit scrambled to his feet and tried to run, but had a hard time thanks to a nasty limp.
Not that it mattered, since he barely made two paces before Gherken had sprinted over to him and grabbed him by the collar. Baring her tusks ever-so-slightly, the Orc punched the man in the face with her armoured gauntlet, knocking some of his teeth out and decorating his cheek with more blood. She dragged his slightly limp form back over by the gate and set him down against the wall, intending to make their mission quicker.
"Now, listen closely, crap-for-brains. Hey... 'ey, listen!" She lightly slapped the side of the injured Bandit's head once he started to nod off... well, nod off as a result of exhaustion and blood loss, presumably, but the best missions are the ones that succeed in under an hour. Get in, get out. No fuss. Them having to nurse the man back to health would class as pretty bad fuss, and he was no prisoner of war, either. No doubt one of her new companions would probably want him dead.
"...Apparently there's s'posed to be some special Mead in this... thriving Imperial fort town." She continued, stern, but not shouting. "Juniper Berry Mead. From the looks o' you, you'd know what that looks like, yeah? So tell us if you've seen any. An' if you haven't, then for the love of Malacath, don't say anything stupid, and I might consider letting you go anyway. Maybe head to Solitude and get a bloody education."
@TomeBinder
Come on now, no need to be harsh. I've been in his shoes before, I'm sure. From your description, your multitasking skills are a rare gift. :V
Come on now, no need to be harsh. I've been in his shoes before, I'm sure. From your description, your multitasking skills are a rare gift. :V
@TomeBinder I noticed in No Hope that you were giving out 'Post Or Die' warnings as the AFK deadline approached. Will you be doing something similar here?
Also, I'd recommend you use mentions to get @Butch's attention; or when anyone else enters the RP, for that matter. Just to be safe.
Also, I'd recommend you use mentions to get @Butch's attention; or when anyone else enters the RP, for that matter. Just to be safe.
Love it. Accepted.
Thanks. By the way, someone else posted a sheet at the end of the last page. Just in case you missed it.
Well, I posted him... er, it.
You have no idea how long I've wanted to RP as a killer Car for.
You have no idea how long I've wanted to RP as a killer Car for.
Name: R3 V3 NG3
Age: 25
Gender: ???
Nationality: Japanese-American
Race: Lexus LS400
Appearance:
Backstory: Once upon a time, the car that would become R3 V3 NG3 was just a fairly bog-standard early-90s full-size sedan; or saloon, if you're a Brit. It wasn't even a particularly fancy one. It had comfy seats, a decent sound system for your CDs and Casettes, leather trim, and was one of the first automobiles to have fitted steering-wheel airbags, but at the end of the day, it was just a car with an above-average price tag.
This all changed once the Street Fighter craze kicked off in the USA, where the car, while manufactured in Japan, had found its home. The car's owner happened to be the father of a disgruntled, video-gaming youth who had gotten caught up in the craze. One night, following a party filled with much booze and drugs, the teenager decided to re-enact a bonus stage from his favourite video game. Thus, he tried to beat up the car with his bare hands, and soon ended up in hospital with glass cuts and broken bones, while the car received only a dent in the driver's door and little else.
By sheer coincidence, the hospital where the boy ended up also contained an aging wizard, dying of terminal heart disease. Mocked for years for his assertion that his magic was very much real, he chose to, with his dying breath, implant his magic power within the first inanimate object in sight, cursing it and enacting his vengeance upon the ungrateful, unbelieving public that he had grovelled at the feet of for so long. That object happened to be the hapless Lexus that was parked outside the window.
A few days later, the Lexus was used by the boy's father to transport his now-recovered son back home. Unfortunately for its occupants, the magic implanted by the wizard then kicked off, giving the car sentience. Angry at having been beaten up, the car forced the father out the driver's seat and drove into a deep ravine, horrendously wrecking itself and killing the boy in the back. Later still, the wreck seemingly fixed itself, restoring itself to factory-fresh status. It even had that new car smell again.
That wasn't all, though. The Lexus then drove off on its own, intentionally showing up to street fights in the hopes of drawing out any more evil car-beaters, and then viciously murdering them. With each person it killed, the more powerful it became, absorbing their life force. First it simply ran them over, then it started to strangle them with its seatbelts, then it decapitated them with its doors, then it even deliberately ignited its own fuel tank to blow up a whole building of them. Eventually, its power was great enough to force another would-be victim to get it a personalised license plate:
R3 V3 NG3. Revenge.
It still doesn't realise Street Fighter was just a game. The day when it finally finds and kills the Shotoclones is the day its job is done.
Personality: R3 is a vengeful, vindictive and yet strangely mischievous little bastard of a car. However, if you ignore its murderous streak and burning hatred towards anyone who harms cars (not just street fighters, but also scrapyard workers, tuners and demolition derby participants), it's actually fairly agreeable... or as agreeable as a car can be, anyway. It communicates mostly through the radio, playing a song appropriate to its mood. It likes to mess with people's heads, though, hence the mischievous part. Usually by moving around by itself when people aren't looking. Gives it a good laugh. Dark sense of humour, you understand.
Powers/Abilities: R3 is essentially a Dragon on wheels. It can breathe fire, ice (actually Liquid Nitrogen, but has a similar effect) and carcinogenic exhaust fumes, and it has the ability to repair itself; undoing any dents, scratches, punctures or other minor damages, recovering lost parts or, if necessary, growing replacement parts; however, the time taken to repair increases depending on the severity of the damage. The only way to permanently defeat it would be drain all its magic power, rendering it a harmless automobile once again. Or you could just destroy it in such a way that it'd take years to regenerate, like completely melting it down to slag.
In addition, Just about everything outside and inside it has been weaponised, but especially the seatbelts, which have become long, writhing, tight tentacles.
And naturally, being a car itself, it drives with the skill of nine Michael Schumachers and thirteen Dale Earnhardts. Which is to say, superbly well.
Age: 25
Gender: ???
Nationality: Japanese-American
Race: Lexus LS400
Appearance:
Backstory: Once upon a time, the car that would become R3 V3 NG3 was just a fairly bog-standard early-90s full-size sedan; or saloon, if you're a Brit. It wasn't even a particularly fancy one. It had comfy seats, a decent sound system for your CDs and Casettes, leather trim, and was one of the first automobiles to have fitted steering-wheel airbags, but at the end of the day, it was just a car with an above-average price tag.
This all changed once the Street Fighter craze kicked off in the USA, where the car, while manufactured in Japan, had found its home. The car's owner happened to be the father of a disgruntled, video-gaming youth who had gotten caught up in the craze. One night, following a party filled with much booze and drugs, the teenager decided to re-enact a bonus stage from his favourite video game. Thus, he tried to beat up the car with his bare hands, and soon ended up in hospital with glass cuts and broken bones, while the car received only a dent in the driver's door and little else.
By sheer coincidence, the hospital where the boy ended up also contained an aging wizard, dying of terminal heart disease. Mocked for years for his assertion that his magic was very much real, he chose to, with his dying breath, implant his magic power within the first inanimate object in sight, cursing it and enacting his vengeance upon the ungrateful, unbelieving public that he had grovelled at the feet of for so long. That object happened to be the hapless Lexus that was parked outside the window.
A few days later, the Lexus was used by the boy's father to transport his now-recovered son back home. Unfortunately for its occupants, the magic implanted by the wizard then kicked off, giving the car sentience. Angry at having been beaten up, the car forced the father out the driver's seat and drove into a deep ravine, horrendously wrecking itself and killing the boy in the back. Later still, the wreck seemingly fixed itself, restoring itself to factory-fresh status. It even had that new car smell again.
That wasn't all, though. The Lexus then drove off on its own, intentionally showing up to street fights in the hopes of drawing out any more evil car-beaters, and then viciously murdering them. With each person it killed, the more powerful it became, absorbing their life force. First it simply ran them over, then it started to strangle them with its seatbelts, then it decapitated them with its doors, then it even deliberately ignited its own fuel tank to blow up a whole building of them. Eventually, its power was great enough to force another would-be victim to get it a personalised license plate:
R3 V3 NG3. Revenge.
It still doesn't realise Street Fighter was just a game. The day when it finally finds and kills the Shotoclones is the day its job is done.
Personality: R3 is a vengeful, vindictive and yet strangely mischievous little bastard of a car. However, if you ignore its murderous streak and burning hatred towards anyone who harms cars (not just street fighters, but also scrapyard workers, tuners and demolition derby participants), it's actually fairly agreeable... or as agreeable as a car can be, anyway. It communicates mostly through the radio, playing a song appropriate to its mood. It likes to mess with people's heads, though, hence the mischievous part. Usually by moving around by itself when people aren't looking. Gives it a good laugh. Dark sense of humour, you understand.
Powers/Abilities: R3 is essentially a Dragon on wheels. It can breathe fire, ice (actually Liquid Nitrogen, but has a similar effect) and carcinogenic exhaust fumes, and it has the ability to repair itself; undoing any dents, scratches, punctures or other minor damages, recovering lost parts or, if necessary, growing replacement parts; however, the time taken to repair increases depending on the severity of the damage. The only way to permanently defeat it would be drain all its magic power, rendering it a harmless automobile once again. Or you could just destroy it in such a way that it'd take years to regenerate, like completely melting it down to slag.
In addition, Just about everything outside and inside it has been weaponised, but especially the seatbelts, which have become long, writhing, tight tentacles.
And naturally, being a car itself, it drives with the skill of nine Michael Schumachers and thirteen Dale Earnhardts. Which is to say, superbly well.
© 2007-2026