Recent Statuses

3 mos ago
Busy times at work, so to all my players/writers, I'll be back on soon!
3 mos ago
RIGHT! Tomorrow is going to be my writing day (on the blood of my ancestors), so please be patient until then.
4 mos ago
Why wear loincloths when you can go commando?
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I am Jbcool (known as McScottish on the Total War Centre); Scotsman by birth, roleplayer by my own hand, and lover of literature. I am also an amateur historian, a reciever of a Bachelors degree in Ancient and Medieval History - quite a useless degree, actually - and would like to think that I'm a fair, honest and open guy.

As far as RP'ing goes, I'm pretty open to most things really, all you need to do is ask! :)

So, if you've ever any questions for me, wish to speak about RP's involving myself or run by myself, or simply feel like a chat, don't be afraid to get in touch.

Most Recent Posts

@Drunken Conquistador@Laduguer@Amaranth@DeadDrop@Hank@Cash78

Right, as Hank (once again), seems to have deserted me...I'll get us going again, probably tomorrow.

Thank you all for your saint-like patience.

“All of them?”

“All of them, sir.”

It was desperate now, the majority of the PDF garrison having been torn apart by the civilians of the Hive, dogged on by some sort of preacher and his Sororitas guards; the unknown Inquisitor was behind all this, that much Van Der Schartz knew and it vexed him far more than anything ever had in his life.

“They will come for us next,” he stated half to himself and half to De'Shard, “secure this area with whatever we have left, I do not want anyone getting in or out!”

Desperation bred paranoia but also caused the Colonel to feel like a rat backed into a corner, the NCO barracks cordoned off by a ring of only his most loyal soldiers – some armed only with their lasguns, and at least two heavy weapon emplacements behind sandbags, one las-cannon and one heavy stubber; all-in-all it would be dangerous for anyone to assault the place, unless you were a highly trained servant of the Imperium.

“She said we would be safe...she promised we were doing His work...” muttered the Colonel as he paced back and forth, “why would they want to kill us? We are only carrying on His work!”

De'Shard made sure that one fist was wrapped about the laspistol at his hip, concealed under the table he sat at but within easy reach. His CO was losing it now, and soon enough he may try to take both their lives, but the wily Vox-Operator would make sure that only one of them did not walk out of here.

“Horacio and Sister Procyon should be bringing the cavalry any moment,” Kliment noted with a smile – old Earth adages being something he studied in his spare time - “we must make a move before then, I believe.”

Making sure that all his Sisters were gathered about him, and whipping an =][= shaped rosette from somewhere, he held it up as he strode out of his cover, twisting his head briefly to hiss back at his protectors, “if they begin to fire, kill them all, but I want their commander alive.

“I am Inquisitor Kliment of His most holy Inquisition, and you are all in violation of his will,” announced his baritone voice to all within earshot, “drop your weapons now and no-one need die. Resist, and each of you will be executed as a traitor.”

Holding his rosette up high for all to see, his other hand not far from his own weapon, Kliment noted the conflict coming over some faces. More than a couple of PDF troopers looked to another, seeking some way to get out of this situation, but unfortunately for them there truly was none.

Without warning a streak of crimson las whipped past his head, Kliment already moving as the stubber opened up on where he had been stood, the surprisingly nimble agent tucking himself into a diving roll and ending up behind the wall of a nearby building. Almost unconsciously he slid his pistol from his hip, looking back to where the Sororitas were squatting, before waving his pistol toward the NCO barracks.

“Kill them, kill them all!”
Interested. As a further question, what period of feudal Japan might this be based? Kamakura, Sengoku, Edo/Tokugawa, Early Meiji/Boshin?

Good question, and most likely one of two (weigh in if you like), those being either the Late Sengoku into Early Edo period - so the intersecting years between the two - or the more general Edo period, essentially when the act of musha shugyō became prevalent due to the arts of war and swordsmanship becoming organised and categorised into schools. I'd also consider the Late Edo period, which would probably end up leading to a 'Last Samurai' sort of thing...without Tom Cruise.

Not sure that actually answers the question, but I am open to opinions and so on.
@Rithy Fair enough.

@Rithy As much as I liked the post, I have to say this - that was possibly one of the most annoying posts I have read; if Adrienne was capable of feats like that, why were the rest of us even there? She appears to have the close-quarter abilities of an Astartes, the jumping skills of a Warp Spider and the psychic clout of an Eldar Warlock.

Next time I'll just have Nergui wait at home, shall I?
I'd be interested in this. An excellent RP idea.

Why thank you, I'm actually very honoured to have that coming from you; I always wanted to join the Avalon RP, but I think 14 characters was enough. I think I only ever got to 12 as my highest, and that was enough.

I'm quite interested in this idea!

Again, my thanks! Nice avatar as well, classic Riddler is best Riddler.

@Jbcool Sure

Thank you very much. :)
Not a terribly exciting post, but it got us another twenty metres or so ahead!

I liked it, very good.

Only @BCTheEntity left.
America, it truly was the New World. After the Great War had ended it had entered a period of prosperity and somewhat of a 'boom' as they called it; homes and lodgings were built, families able to grow without much worry, jobs plentiful for all. Perhaps the only thing making his walk through the Chicago cityscape was the weather – torrential downpours like this always reminded him of death; bodies hanging on barbed wire, the feeling of a corpse beneath your could never get dry, never.

There it was! The headquarters of the Chicago Police Department, not much to look at if truth be told, but this was where he had been heading and this is where his already weary feet had bought him.

He took the steps into the building in pairs, brushing the rain off of him as thoroughly as possible when he entered the foyer of the station; behind the central desk was a quite bored officer, his brown eyes looking up from his paper only briefly enough for William to grimace at him in return.

“Waddya want?”

Well, it was not how he would have been greeted in Britain, but he was not in Britain. Mores the pity.

“Yes, well,” he managed to cough, removing his sopping beige trench-coat to reveal a pinstriped suit that fit his form quite finely, a tie done neatly about his neck and his pocket square slightly dampened by the sheet volume of rain. As he took another step forward he felt a weight upon his brow, one hand reaching up and removing his fedora; it was only when a puddle seemingly appeared from thin air and splashed all over the floor that he realised just what the weight had been.

“Now why did you have to go and do that, pal?” Questioned the officer, finally paying the veteran some actual attention, “as I said, what do you want?” His question was more emphasised now, every syllable dripping with an unspoken curse on the man who had just wetted his tiled floor.

“Um, my apologies. I would like to speak with a Detective Stone if I may, I heard he was investigating a case of much interest to me. He was a friend of mine, you see?”

“One moment,” instructed the officer, a telephone in his hand and his eyes never leaving the newcomer even when he spoke, “damn limeys.”

“Hello...yes...there's a man here who'd like to speak with Stone. Uh-huh...uh-huh...yes...alright then.”

After instructing William to 'hang tight and dry off' it as a matter of moments before a woman appeared, once more asking him what he wanted and receiving the same answer as he had given the desk Sergeant. The woman certainly was snippy, but not altogether bad to look at, as far as older women went.

“I will go and see if the Detective will see you, please wait here.”

Subdued voices could be heard, discussion no doubt, and his eyes moved over the unpicturesque interior of the station as he waited for time to pass. Boy was he glad he'd never joined the police force, although the army had gotten him shot.

More moments followed as he was ushered into the room, the door closing with a soft click behind him, and he was finally allowed a moment to look upon the Detective. A nondescript gentleman in his middling years, of classical Irish stock by the looks of him and his facial features, closer to Ireland than America in his bloodline. Oh yes, there was certainly something to Stone, possibly the way he held himself like a fighter?

“Detective Stone, thank you for seeing me.” It always helped to be amicable to a new person, and the smoothest tone he could muster rolled off of Williams tongue, a hint of aristocratic enunciation presenting itself as he finished his words, “I was a friend of the late Alois Goldman and recently heard of his demise, although the details are still concealed from me. I would be awfully obliged if you might clear a little of that shade away, that I might discover what you know and maybe help in turn?”

It was only after he had finished speaking with the seated Detective that he realised they were not alone, not having bothered to peer anywhere else in the room, his eyes falling on a much lovelier creature than the one he presently addressed.

“My apologies,” he began to say by way of both greeting and excuse for not seeing her earlier, “William, William Cavendish-Blake, at your service.” He glanced briefly back to Stone, “at both your services.”

Yes, she really was lovely, that face...that fiery hair, shame about the bun...

It was so easy to get distracted in the presence of a beautiful woman.

For what felt like an age he had simply weathered the torrent of fire, squatting down in the bunker (or what had once been a whole bunker), and sheltering himself as best he could from the incoming fire of the savage enemy. Now, his armour scorched, scratched, chipped and dented by various calibres and forms of munitions, Nergüi recognised swiftly that there was only really one enemy left worth caring about, and that enemy was the huge one making his way toward them.


His blood began to boil within him even as the firepower of the Ork, classification 'Nob', blew further sections out of the rockcrete construct all around him. This had to stop, and soon, for the White Scar – a member of the venerable Deathwatch for many years – knew one overwhelming fact about their current foe; where there was one, there would always be more before long.

Shutting his eyes for the briefest moment, he conjured in his mind the wide expanse of his homeland – the vast and almost infinite plains of Chogoris – picturing the empty space, feeling the calm breeze of the wind upon him even within his armour, and focusing on his breath. One...two...three.

“Cover me,” he told the others, already shifting toward the exit from whence they had entered, speaking loud enough for them to hear him over both gunfire and storm.

Pausing for the briefest of moments, his bolt pistol already in his hand, he looked to the – probably extremely annoyed – Celestian and gave a curt nod of his head, “you may chastise me if I return; if I should die, tell my Chapter and the Deathwatch that I died fighting the enemies of Mankind.”

Like a bullet from a bolter he sped from the bunker, the White Scar just slightly less speedy on foot than he would have been on his favoured mount, the bolt pistol rising and firing as he launched himself into the admittedly scant cover of a nearby hab-unit. Surely there was nothing thick enough here to halt even Orkoid ammunition, but that was not what he had in mind.

Silently cursing himself for leaving the missile launcher loaded and ready back in the bunker, he unclipped the frag and krak grenades from his belt and tossed them in the direction of the war buggy. A satisfying thrump could be heard, the angered yells of Greenskins not far behind, and Nergüi counted off in his head how long it would take the Nob to turn and fire when considering the state of the sodden terrain it now slogged through. He'd be a fine distraction, if nothing else.

With a sharp intake of breath, his twin hearts banging against his chest as he moved, the Apothecary raced from the ruin and straight at the war buggy; it had not been completely disabled, but his aim had been true enough, the cockpit of the vehicle in ruins and two scorched bodies now being thrown out by several more lively Greenskins.

"For the Emperor and the Khan!" Came the battle-cry of the White Scars, bullets whizzing past him and glancing from his ceramite armour with sparks, Toof Dakka-Armz unleashing another fusillade at the far more spry Astartes. It nevertheless did little to slow the Marine, few of the shots making it anywhere near him, his Reductor becoming active about his right-hand wrist as he drew his tulwar in one fluid motion.

Faster than any mortal could manage, fuelled by the very essence of his Progenitor embedded within himself, the curved blade whipped through the air so swiftly that it left a faint blue trail behind it; choppas attempted to stop its passing, green flesh carved and gored by it, overdeveloped bodies dropping into the saturated mud of the planet moments after barring his path.

The last act of the Apothecary was to throw himself behind the vehicle, waiting for the inevitable heat of a flamethrower or the ordnance of a tri-mounted dakkagun to pierce vehicle and armour. That, or for his comrades-in-arms to fell the monster while his attention was elsewhere.
Right, gonna be making a post, so no-one else post for a moment. Gracias.
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