Recent Statuses

2 days ago
Current His name is heard only in the wind. Some say one day he will return to his realm, to set right what has been made wrong in his absence. Most believe him vanished for good. His name? Mahz.
14 days ago
Aw man. Eddie Van Halen just died.
11 mos ago
I just looked at an RP that looked really interesting, took a step back and thought to myself 'do I have the time on top of my other obligations?' then said 'no' to myself. Am I an adult now?
2 yrs ago
Roleplay man, roleplay man, does whatever a roleplay can. Does he write? Not at all. He brings plots to a stall, look out... He’s a fucking ghost.
2 yrs ago
I just sat down to write a reply, accidentally held the 'a' key down, watched as I wrote 'a' several hundred times, then calmly closed the tab.


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Most Recent Posts

"Speaking of peashooters." Till would return his attention to the C96 that had been discarded in the fighting, hefting it up and pulling back the bolt so he could feed it fresh rounds. "MP40s are rather nice weapons. If you find yourself lacking a gun, you could do worse. I'll stick with this." With the gun reloaded, the Pole would re-attach it to a strap and heft his jacket back over his shoulders, tugging at the hem until it had settled properly. Like this, even with the broomhandle on the gun, it was almost impossible to tell the firepower he was concealing.

"Thank you." Reaper's snarl contorted into a humourless smile, frothing rage barely concealed. For those unaware. My name is「(Don't Fear) The Reaper, and I can make anything sharp. Knives. Sticks. Raindrops. And unl-"

"That is quite enough Reaper." It seemed that despite it's independence, Reaper couldn't quite manage to stay out when its user didn't want it to stay out. "Too much of what he said sounds familiar to me. Bluthund protocols. Donner and Blitzen Krieger... It's as if they're on the tip of my tongue."

"These are the weapons we have made. The weapons we must keep. Techpriest-junior, ignite the rad-incense. Runepriest, are the spirits asleep?" Talos's arm indicated only vaguely towards the people as he spoke to them, and speak he did for it was clear one of them was unmodified enough to require it. Calling them a 'techpriest-junior' was a compliment, for they hardly seemed to have replaced any of their form at all, and they certainly bore no red robes.

"Yes, brother-foreman." Incense burners would be brought out, Talos igniting his with the plasma igniter of a mechandrite, swinging the censer back and forth slowly. The irritating, purifying stench of the chemical concoction within the skull shaped vessel would fill the air, and the small group would descend, deeper and deeper into the bowels of the foundry. Security doors would pull aside as if a sea parted, until finally, in a reinforced blast room at the centre of the facility, they would halt. "Brothers. Bear forth the weapons we have created. Do not wake them." A hymn of tranquillity would start throughout the room, red robed figures carefully lifting out dozens of warheads and aligning them carefully for inspection.

It was not difficult to see what kind of weaponry they were. Each and every warhead had an angel-like trefoil emblazoned on the side of it, and the Magos' in built Geiger counter would imperceptibly begin to tick up as more of the weapons were unveiled. "Behold brother," Talos would electronically send. Blessed Atomics.

Stanislaus would have sensed the briefest of hesitations in the two men, but almost as one they acted. It was a small move; so tiny, so innocent... And so difficult to stop. A push of the lounge, a crunch of the jaws, and their lives would slip away, the foam around their mouths the only sign of what they'd done. That, of course, simply intensified the mysteries of this site. Specially operating armsmen, with night vision goggles and fanatical devotion enough to kill themselves for the cause on a remote black site in the upper atmosphere? Their voxbeads were no use either- they ran on a closed circuit with each other and nothing else. It was like the whole station had been designed to blind invaders. The men and women carried little on them; extra ammunition, flak jackets, one or two held explosives they had clearly been cautious to use for fear of damaging the hull of the ship. Whatever personal effects they had lay elsewhere aboard the ship, the room that the squad found themselves in scorched and shot apart to the extent that it was hard to tell what its original purpose was.

No further sound came from the hallway. The whirring was still there- a constant, steady sound, without interruption or pause, but there was no tramping of feet, no half-muffled orders, not even a whisper to imply that there were more of these shadowy armsmen preparing to push the squad out of their temporary respite. Of course, it wasn't as if they needed to; for the moment, the Tombstone was still firmly in enemy hands, and the only way that would change was if Stanislaus' forces made it so.

"ARBITERS BROUGHT THEIR BITCHES!" One of the enforcers howled out a warning, and suddenly the cyber-mastiffs were receiving an awful lot of attention. An enforcer in bulkier armour and with a tattered cape around his shoulders would level a plasma pistol towards the two baying mechanical hounds. The magnetic field spooled up with lethal energy, but just before it could be released the officer would stumble, half-decapitated by an exitus round to the neck. The assassins hadn't quite given up their position just yet it seemed. Nonetheless, one man was not the entire resistance against these invaders. More and more small arms fire would be poured onto them, and a particularly enterprising individual would scoop the plasma weapon up, hunkering down and firing until the monoblade punctured his sternum.


"That's our cue to be entering the facility. Our thanks for penetrating the first line." XXIII's words came smooth over the vox, and then the channel fell silent once more. Alpha, Beta and Gamma now had mere minutes left before their lives were ended... But if they weren't careful, so did the arbites and guard.
The silence was deafening. When Cassidy's words had finished echoing, the group would be left in silence for a good few seconds, until from somewhere below them the groan of old metal would rumble out. The Borehole was clearly not the most stable of constructions. Torches swept through the gloom, disturbing only dust and long-rusted desks. Had this been an office complex? Or, more disturbingly, an educational facility? Who could tell? Past these, where the lines ran off to, there was a sign. B2. The blue line had encircled it, and then pressed on, forking off in a hallway and darting away both directions.

Neither of which looked particularly promising.

For a start, the entire area was pitch black, barring a single small spot where a thin light streamed down from some unknown location. Underneath this spotlight, a black, withered mossy plant had eked out a living, eating away at whatever scraps it could scour from the dust and dirt that lay in the decaying facility. A torch shone down that direction would show several more doorways and then another fork far at the end, whereas the other direction revealed itself to have but two. A choice would have to be made.
I have discovered a genuinely fantastic fact. During the Vietnam War, US Army Intelligence made a tape of spooky ghost noises to try to scare VC.

Woo! Definitely one of the Fortunate Ones here :)

In The Ward: 13 days ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
The Armory:

Auroch 12: A box-magazine fed 12 gage semi automatic shotgun. Noticeably, the Aurouch also has a pump action firing mode in case of low-pressure ammunition, high likelyhood of failures to feeds or high likelyhoods of misfires. Ten shots per magazine and up to fifty metre's worth of lethal force, along with a toprail for a torch.

IT-SAR: The SAR is a semi-automatic only assault rifle firing 5.56x45mm NATO, with the standard 30 round magazines. Fitted with a siderail for a torch.

IT-MAR: A fully automatic version of the SAR, including an elongated barrel, intergrated bipod and a higher-capacity 100-round C-MAG. Also fitted with a siderail for a torch.

Sidewinder EVO5: A .45 bullpup SMG. Packing a surprising punch for its size and general lack of recoil, it has been fitted with a foregrip and siderail for a torch.

Kanai Silenced: A .22 rimfire subsonic bolt action pistol. Originally developed for vetinary work as a humane quiet and painless way of putting down injured animals in the field, the Warden has given it a new lease of life as a silent killer. That being said though, the bolt isn't designed to be wrenched about quickly; the first shot must disable, and the gun loses stopping power beyond a concerningly short 20 metres. Still, for under 50db of noise per shot, what more do you expect.

Bulldog Semi: Compact but effective, the Bulldog uses the unusual 10mm round to provide high stopping power at acceptable ranges despite the short barrel and small frame of the gun. On the downside, it has very strong recoil and an unpleasantly loud report even when surpressed.
In The Ward: 15 days ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
When at last the descent into the antediluvian depths had ended, the harnesses were released and your small party were allowed to take their first steps unaided by themselves.

"A series of supply caches are being delivered to you to assist with the completion of this task." The Warden's garbled, mechanical voice echoed out from within the tube-like structures that had shunted you down the Boreholes. "Try to avoid being crushed." Sure enough, as soon as the voice had quietened, a soft rumbling could be heard, a series of similar looking devices deposited around you. "Firstly, life support." A soft red glow would shine out from the lower portion of the first of the drops to have arrived, and when approached steel shutters noisily cranked back to reveal bottles, boxes and pouches; similar to those that you might find in a child's lunchbox, but with a viscous, thick internal consistency when touched. "Water. Nutrient paste. Gas mask filters. The gas mask contains a small rubber tube that runs throughout its construction. Attach to the provided straws to consume the contents." The upper area would then open.

"Other pertinent pieces of equipment. Use sparingly, power is limited." Handheld torches, small knives better suited for fabric than flesh, and a single peculiar device that looked like a box with a microphone attached to a wire, if the microphone was a simple silver cylinder. A dial on the front of the device had a needle that currently bounced about on the lowest bounds, but there was only a series of numbers with no appropriate unit to measure those numbers in. There was also what appeared to be a medical kit, complete with a pale grey cross on the front and what appeared to be a small tablet, if said tablet had been crossed with a brick. Lastly, a blocky plastic carrier case held a series of test tubes and stoppers along with syringes of various sizes and a small set of nitrile gloves. "Various tasks will require the use of these. Protect them well. The medical case should be used to ensure a member of the team is fit to continue onwards. Remember, extraction is only avaliable in limited areas of the Borehole.

Then, another drop would open. There were no different compartments here, instead every one of the walls were covered in firearms. "Primary and secondary weapons are located near the bottom. They are designed for quiet and efficient removal of threats. Tertiary weapons are located at the top. They will bring more attention than they remove. Use for large, unavoidable conflict exclusively, ammunition is scarce." The lower bounds of the supply shuttle held eight sets of guns, four copies of two different models. The smaller gun had an elongated surpressor attached to it, and appeared to be bolt action, whilst the second was stubbier and the surpressor was much smaller. "The smaller gun utilises subsonic ammunition. Working the cycle is louder than firing it. Use only at point blank range, and only when a lethal first shot is guarenteed. The second gun is far more versatile." Then there was the 'tertiary' guns. A bullpup submachine gun, magazine fed shotgun, assault rifle and what appeared to be a squad automatic variant of the assault rifle, with an elongated barrel and a larger magazine. In addition, numerous blocks of a marzipan-looking substance had been stacked up, with what could only be detonators pushed inside. If you wanted firepower, this was where it was. Ammunition, unfortunately, seemed scarcer. Even the large squad automatic had a mere three magazines for it, whilst the smaller pistols had entire boxes for themselves. If a large fight was gotten into, it seemed that finishing it quickly was the priority.

"Lastly." The Warden's voice would crackle out. "Many have owed their lives to these tools." The final shuttle would open, and inside were four, identical, peculiar devices. They looked like the bastard child between an axe, a crowbar and a shovel, and it even had a serrated edge on one side for sawing through obstacles. Just below the crowbar bill there was also an elongated spike, allowing the weapon to slash and stab effectively. "Use them well. Your first task; find room Blue 5. It will be locked. The tablet will allow you to spoof access." There was a momentary pause. "Warden out."

With that, you were left to adequetly equip yourselves in silence. Apart from the occasional groans of metal around you the facility was dark and silent, only a few motes of thin light piercing through here and there. Lines traced the walls; red, yellow, blue, each running off in different directions along the unchanging steel of the walls.

None of the operatives sent into France spoke any French? Was British intelligence that bad, or were these just the best they had? Dear Lord. "Madamoiselle," He switched to the Frankish language with fluidity and grace. "I can assure you we are not, and nonetheless, in a contest between us, I unfortunately do not rate you very highly, esepcially without that pistol you have. Please take us to wherever you were going to take our friend here immediately, before the rest of the boche turn up and decide that our flesh would be better suited with many little holes in it."

Then, he turned to Taras. "I know that accent. Don't presume us anything more than allies of convienience Comrade." The word was dripping with sarcasm. "Nonetheless. I think it best we vacate the area immediately. My previous colleagues will be rallying themselves immediately." Before he could continue, Reaper emerged again.

"The Krieger sisters. Donner and Blitzen. Those two reindeer will be coming, and they'll bring with them heavier firepower than the peashooters you just had firing at you."
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