@ImportantNobody
I hope for her well being and wish you good luck.
I hope for her well being and wish you good luck.
- Last Seen: 6 mos ago
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
- Posts: 4919 (1.08 / day)
- VMs: 2
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Username history
- LeeRoy 12 yrs ago
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Lalliman,
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Recent Statuses
6 mos ago
Current
I published a book! jlbrightman.itch.io/ko-luhn…
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likes
7 yrs ago
Discord crashed lads. Can't get back in.
1
like
8 yrs ago
I've opened art commissions up, anyone who wants relatively cheap art PM me here or on Discord: LeeRoy#8459
1
like
11 yrs ago
[quote=@Rilla] DID YOU JUST TRY AND CLOTHESLINE ME, YOU LITTLE SHIT [/quote]
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Bio
"If you kill a man, you scorn his wife. If you kill his wife, you scorn her child. If you kill her child, you scorn his village. If you kill his village, you scorn the kingdom. If you kill the kingdom you scorn an empire. If you kill an empire, then who is left?"
Most Recent Posts
@MelonHead
I've got Scottish family and I picked up on it, but only when I'm angry. So I do this weird mix of American Southern accent combined with Scottish. Dunnaman is literally just Scottish but with a slice of Swahili bread thrown in.
I've got Scottish family and I picked up on it, but only when I'm angry. So I do this weird mix of American Southern accent combined with Scottish. Dunnaman is literally just Scottish but with a slice of Swahili bread thrown in.
Within the three seconds that it took for his eyes to adjust, he had a life changing experience. For the first time in his life, so far, he was absolutely speechless. Somehow this man that he had not met in this life had filled him with a primal and inexplicable fear, his heart stuck in his throat and choked him for a moment. Dunnaman stood there with fear in his widening eyes, if he were a more flighty fellow he would have dropped his arms and ran.
Every fiber in his being pulled at him, tearing him away from this situation. Something about this man drove Dunnaman's mind to only one solution, flee. Terror and primal urgest wiped almost all thought from his mind, but for some reason, he didn't run. For some reason, another emotion flooded him shortly after the fear. Another emotion that was more compelling and driving, something that normal emotionally adjusted people would ignore.
But Dunnaman isn't a normally adjusted individual.
What emotion, you might ask? Confused recognition. Dunnaman had managed to put two and two together, and realized that this man was someone he recognized. Even though he didn't know why or how he knew someone he had never laid eyes on before. This man was familiar in an almost dream-like sort of way. A person you've never met but have always known.
It took him a moment to speak, terror sweats beading down his face, as he managed to spew a few words. "Ah'm Dunnaman. Dunna who ah'm but ah've buhn trahvlahn fer a short tahm. Ahnly a couple weeks aht most." After he had managed to open his mouth to speak, he was able to bring himself to actually explain himself.
His accept peeped through particularly thick right about here, and he would have felt embarassed if he didn't have other more confusing emotions on the brain. "Ah had a rahn in weht thas harr scout shep. Thah ahttacked meh and ah retahlahyated. Had ter dahfend mahself, ya'nah? Sahry ehf they whar yah pahls."
Every fiber in his being pulled at him, tearing him away from this situation. Something about this man drove Dunnaman's mind to only one solution, flee. Terror and primal urgest wiped almost all thought from his mind, but for some reason, he didn't run. For some reason, another emotion flooded him shortly after the fear. Another emotion that was more compelling and driving, something that normal emotionally adjusted people would ignore.
But Dunnaman isn't a normally adjusted individual.
What emotion, you might ask? Confused recognition. Dunnaman had managed to put two and two together, and realized that this man was someone he recognized. Even though he didn't know why or how he knew someone he had never laid eyes on before. This man was familiar in an almost dream-like sort of way. A person you've never met but have always known.
It took him a moment to speak, terror sweats beading down his face, as he managed to spew a few words. "Ah'm Dunnaman. Dunna who ah'm but ah've buhn trahvlahn fer a short tahm. Ahnly a couple weeks aht most." After he had managed to open his mouth to speak, he was able to bring himself to actually explain himself.
His accept peeped through particularly thick right about here, and he would have felt embarassed if he didn't have other more confusing emotions on the brain. "Ah had a rahn in weht thas harr scout shep. Thah ahttacked meh and ah retahlahyated. Had ter dahfend mahself, ya'nah? Sahry ehf they whar yah pahls."
@MelonHead I'll be posting tonight, sorry for the delay.
@Alphakoka
That's respectable too, I'll accept that.
@Absolis
*Knocks over the trash can as he is thrown towards it, as he is too large to fit.*
Fite me nerd
That's respectable too, I'll accept that.
@Absolis
*Knocks over the trash can as he is thrown towards it, as he is too large to fit.*
Fite me nerd
@Absolis
LIVER ON A SANDWICH, HOW DARE YOU.
DEGENERATES PUT LIVER ON BREAD. TRUE LIVER COOKING REQUIRES BEANS AND POTATOES
LIVER ON A SANDWICH, HOW DARE YOU.
DEGENERATES PUT LIVER ON BREAD. TRUE LIVER COOKING REQUIRES BEANS AND POTATOES
His heart stuck in his throat when the sounds of the ship landing nearby struck his ears, they weren't just here to obliterate. They were here to investigate. If they were confident enough to not only land their ship but get out and look in person they must be confident in their ability. As he shook the console and jammed buttons with his fingers, the silent sound of long and heavy footfalls came through the door. The sounds of his engine would be a dead giveaway, he couldn't fake that he didn't survive the crash with it running. So he stood there absolutely stunned for a moment, stuck in a fight or flight response. Fear and frustration didn't prevail, however. Instead, logic.
Dunnaman spoke out with a holler to the currently faceless footsteps outside of his ship, the corridors of the ship echoed his strange accent pretty loudly. Unintentionally so, but accidents happen. "Hold ahn! Ah'm commin' oht. Ah'm armed, but ah c'not disarm. Tha thahng is tethered ter mah wayst! Ah've got mah hands raysed ah'll be no trahble!" The heavyset man did as he spoke, raising his arms above his head as a show of surrender. Or at least as a show of non-violent intent. "Ah can explahn everahthun', long'us yah let mah."
It was ultimately unfortunate that he could not disarm, as the mace was tethered to his waist. If he had known what the mace actually implied, then he would not have kept it held so tightly to himself. If he had known that it was of the same make as the Engine, he wouldn't have brought it. But this kind of knowledge was impossible for him to carry, because even if he knew what the Engine was, he wouldn't know the correlation between the two.
Slowly but surely he strode down the hall of the ship, it wasn't too long a hall so it wasn't terribly long of a walk. It took him just a few moments to reach the end of the hall and at the doorway. His elbow knocked both sides of the door as he stepped out into the sunlight, the sweat from before glistening brightly as the sun struck his face. As his eyes adjusted to the sunlight again he was left partially blind, all that stood before him was an imposing figure as tall as himself.
Though his eyes were squinted tightly together and unseeing, he kept his hands raised just in case they were worried he might go for the mace. "Yah say? C'not disarm mahself. Thah chain holds ter strong."
Dunnaman spoke out with a holler to the currently faceless footsteps outside of his ship, the corridors of the ship echoed his strange accent pretty loudly. Unintentionally so, but accidents happen. "Hold ahn! Ah'm commin' oht. Ah'm armed, but ah c'not disarm. Tha thahng is tethered ter mah wayst! Ah've got mah hands raysed ah'll be no trahble!" The heavyset man did as he spoke, raising his arms above his head as a show of surrender. Or at least as a show of non-violent intent. "Ah can explahn everahthun', long'us yah let mah."
It was ultimately unfortunate that he could not disarm, as the mace was tethered to his waist. If he had known what the mace actually implied, then he would not have kept it held so tightly to himself. If he had known that it was of the same make as the Engine, he wouldn't have brought it. But this kind of knowledge was impossible for him to carry, because even if he knew what the Engine was, he wouldn't know the correlation between the two.
Slowly but surely he strode down the hall of the ship, it wasn't too long a hall so it wasn't terribly long of a walk. It took him just a few moments to reach the end of the hall and at the doorway. His elbow knocked both sides of the door as he stepped out into the sunlight, the sweat from before glistening brightly as the sun struck his face. As his eyes adjusted to the sunlight again he was left partially blind, all that stood before him was an imposing figure as tall as himself.
Though his eyes were squinted tightly together and unseeing, he kept his hands raised just in case they were worried he might go for the mace. "Yah say? C'not disarm mahself. Thah chain holds ter strong."
You ever notice how we all congregate to the chat thread, talk a lot, even pitch fights. But when push comes to shove, we're not that active of a board?
I mean it's weird, Skallagrim starts a thread and everyone flocks to it like flies to shit.
Rilla starts a thread and boom we're crawling on it like maggots on meat.
But anyone else? Death sentence from day one.
WHy is that?
I mean it's weird, Skallagrim starts a thread and everyone flocks to it like flies to shit.
Rilla starts a thread and boom we're crawling on it like maggots on meat.
But anyone else? Death sentence from day one.
WHy is that?
A significant amount of time had passed from the Scout Ship's destruction to the message being delivered.
Sun beaten was almost an insult at this point. Being strong enough to move something, and being in good enough shape to move something, are totally different definitions. Dunnaman's sweat poured down his face causing his eyes to burn.
With terrible effort he dragged the ship out of the crater, dirt and grass were crushed beneath the immense weight of his vehicle. Too much work for too little payoff, he had only managed to drag it a few feet before his grip failed and fell flat on his back with a thunk.
There wasn't much progress so far, he wasn't able to deal with this much weight on his own for long periods of time. In the ten or so hours he's been tugging at this ship, he's managed to pull it about ten yards outside of the crater. Not a good sign. As he lay there, glaring at the sun in response to its own glare, he contemplated how many miserable and confusing moments he's had so far. This one, by far, was the worst. Not the fighting, not the uncomfortable confusion of his lack of memory. The worst moment he's had so far is this, the seemingly never ending work on the ship.
The sun wasn't high in the sky yet, it was only morning, but even now it beat him to death. Was it the fat? Is he just really out of shape? Or is it the sun itself, becuase he really hoped that it was just the sun. He didn't want to feel as fat as he does right now, because it's really embarassing.
Lying there, he narrowed his eyes to keep the sun from his eyes and managed to catch a glimpse of something in the air. It was subtle at first, he didn't think it was anything terrible and incredibly unfortunate. It was a little dot in the sky, looked something like a bird or other flying creature. Only barely visible, until it got closer.
Man he didn't want it to get closer.
He really didn't want to know what it was.
But at this point he already knew.
Tired, aching, possibly sunburnt, and drenched with sweat. Dunnaman jerked forward and leaped to his feet with a colossal thud as his hooves dug into the ground. The man ran to his ship and jerked the door off the hinges, he had to, it was fused to the hull of the ship after the crash. Half limping half sprinting he rushed into the ship and scrambled to find the engine room. Inside he tried his damnedest to kickstart the ship, try and get the weapons system back on. He was strong but he wasn't strong enough to fight an orbital bombardment with his fists.
For a single hopeful moment, the ship's engine sputtered on and the lights burst to life. The holographic projector came on and his hopes were immediately dashed. Emergency power was on, but weapons systems were destroyed. As well as thrust.
And life support.
These were things that he didn't know how to repair.
It would have been more pressing if he weren't under immediate threat from the Angar Ryllans.
Sun beaten was almost an insult at this point. Being strong enough to move something, and being in good enough shape to move something, are totally different definitions. Dunnaman's sweat poured down his face causing his eyes to burn.
With terrible effort he dragged the ship out of the crater, dirt and grass were crushed beneath the immense weight of his vehicle. Too much work for too little payoff, he had only managed to drag it a few feet before his grip failed and fell flat on his back with a thunk.
There wasn't much progress so far, he wasn't able to deal with this much weight on his own for long periods of time. In the ten or so hours he's been tugging at this ship, he's managed to pull it about ten yards outside of the crater. Not a good sign. As he lay there, glaring at the sun in response to its own glare, he contemplated how many miserable and confusing moments he's had so far. This one, by far, was the worst. Not the fighting, not the uncomfortable confusion of his lack of memory. The worst moment he's had so far is this, the seemingly never ending work on the ship.
The sun wasn't high in the sky yet, it was only morning, but even now it beat him to death. Was it the fat? Is he just really out of shape? Or is it the sun itself, becuase he really hoped that it was just the sun. He didn't want to feel as fat as he does right now, because it's really embarassing.
Lying there, he narrowed his eyes to keep the sun from his eyes and managed to catch a glimpse of something in the air. It was subtle at first, he didn't think it was anything terrible and incredibly unfortunate. It was a little dot in the sky, looked something like a bird or other flying creature. Only barely visible, until it got closer.
Man he didn't want it to get closer.
He really didn't want to know what it was.
But at this point he already knew.
Tired, aching, possibly sunburnt, and drenched with sweat. Dunnaman jerked forward and leaped to his feet with a colossal thud as his hooves dug into the ground. The man ran to his ship and jerked the door off the hinges, he had to, it was fused to the hull of the ship after the crash. Half limping half sprinting he rushed into the ship and scrambled to find the engine room. Inside he tried his damnedest to kickstart the ship, try and get the weapons system back on. He was strong but he wasn't strong enough to fight an orbital bombardment with his fists.
For a single hopeful moment, the ship's engine sputtered on and the lights burst to life. The holographic projector came on and his hopes were immediately dashed. Emergency power was on, but weapons systems were destroyed. As well as thrust.
And life support.
These were things that he didn't know how to repair.
It would have been more pressing if he weren't under immediate threat from the Angar Ryllans.
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