Going.
...I guess I should also say this is general 'ask for fight' thing from me, least incidentally spam with requests.
...I guess I should also say this is general 'ask for fight' thing from me, least incidentally spam with requests.
Metal Tortoise Member
The RP Testudinidae
- Last Seen: 6 yrs ago
- Joined: 7 yrs ago
- Posts: 137 (0.05 / day)
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Username history
- Metal Tortoise 7 yrs ago
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Bio
I like RP and RP Accessories.
Not new to RP, new to RPGuild, from canons to OC's, I like it all. I like to fight, I like to plan, I like to random, and I like people in general.
Shoot me a PM at anytime, I'm quick to respond and I like to think I'm a swell fellow when not angry.
Not new to RP, new to RPGuild, from canons to OC's, I like it all. I like to fight, I like to plan, I like to random, and I like people in general.
Shoot me a PM at anytime, I'm quick to respond and I like to think I'm a swell fellow when not angry.
Most Recent Posts
A few references:
>>Preacher
>>And his rifle.
>>PreacherPreacher :
{Sunlit.}
A day bright, a day devoid of most life, and a path leading through a long abandoned brick and wood town told the man known as Preacher that somehow, someway, this’d be a day of battle. Immediately or eventually he did not know but his strolling pace was at least absorbing the brightness of the day. Gloved hands sat comfortably within front side pockets of a long somewhat faded black colored unbuttoned preachers coat (which was wound over a white button up dress shirt), dress pant clad legs and booted feet carried him forward and dark eyes, almost hidden behind a messy main of indistinguishable but dark unkempt head and facial hair, consistently peered forward past most things within range. Slung over his shoulder was what he called a ‘Beam Rifle’ with a bayonet attachment, through his coat, though hard to see, a little leather ‘pack’ seemingly jingled small but audible metal clacks as he moved.
Days like these, despite his drab monotone somewhat melancholy personality, were things he quietly enjoyed. The area itself somewhat revived him of more rural areas of home and the day, well, that in itself was wonderful. Near the center of the abandoned town, our Preacher fellow stopped in his tracks. Abandoned oldish looking vehicles lined various chunks of what obviously was a small but stable main street. A particular building at this point in time, a two story thing that was probably a general store, had one of its older stuck out bricks finally break and plop on the ground with a soft thud, something our Preacher fellow bore witness to. Eyes trailed to various one story abandoned buildings of various makes, sizes, and heights and stopped once again somewhere on the road were ahead of him someone had made (a long abandoned one, like everything else) a makeshift barricade. It was an odd thing considering there didn’t appear to be a sign of a struggle anywhere, or skeletal remains for that matter and the barricade itself seemed strangely placed.
“…”
It made Preacher sniff a bit and, that was that really. Licks lipped quietly, our Preacher fellow adjusted himself were he stood but did just that, in a dull fashion; stood in a seemingly aimless fashion. He was thirsty, an eagle cried out in the distance and…none of this is really relevant but, eh, little details while the impending sense of ‘threat’ would not leave our Preacher fellows mind.
@Zyamasiel
{Sunlit.}
A day bright, a day devoid of most life, and a path leading through a long abandoned brick and wood town told the man known as Preacher that somehow, someway, this’d be a day of battle. Immediately or eventually he did not know but his strolling pace was at least absorbing the brightness of the day. Gloved hands sat comfortably within front side pockets of a long somewhat faded black colored unbuttoned preachers coat (which was wound over a white button up dress shirt), dress pant clad legs and booted feet carried him forward and dark eyes, almost hidden behind a messy main of indistinguishable but dark unkempt head and facial hair, consistently peered forward past most things within range. Slung over his shoulder was what he called a ‘Beam Rifle’ with a bayonet attachment, through his coat, though hard to see, a little leather ‘pack’ seemingly jingled small but audible metal clacks as he moved.
Days like these, despite his drab monotone somewhat melancholy personality, were things he quietly enjoyed. The area itself somewhat revived him of more rural areas of home and the day, well, that in itself was wonderful. Near the center of the abandoned town, our Preacher fellow stopped in his tracks. Abandoned oldish looking vehicles lined various chunks of what obviously was a small but stable main street. A particular building at this point in time, a two story thing that was probably a general store, had one of its older stuck out bricks finally break and plop on the ground with a soft thud, something our Preacher fellow bore witness to. Eyes trailed to various one story abandoned buildings of various makes, sizes, and heights and stopped once again somewhere on the road were ahead of him someone had made (a long abandoned one, like everything else) a makeshift barricade. It was an odd thing considering there didn’t appear to be a sign of a struggle anywhere, or skeletal remains for that matter and the barricade itself seemed strangely placed.
“…”
It made Preacher sniff a bit and, that was that really. Licks lipped quietly, our Preacher fellow adjusted himself were he stood but did just that, in a dull fashion; stood in a seemingly aimless fashion. He was thirsty, an eagle cried out in the distance and…none of this is really relevant but, eh, little details while the impending sense of ‘threat’ would not leave our Preacher fellows mind.
@Zyamasiel
...Yeah, looking for a bout. Dunno who I'd use but if anyones down? Hit me up.
Well that sure is a bummer.
...Is there an order to post offhand? I was under the impression first come first er...post or somethin'.
Sweet, been looking forward to this. Good luck every.
Steer:
{Am I the only NORMAL guy here?}
So there were plenty of oddballs, weren’t there? All of them seemed tall, some of them seemed medieval, some powerful, some well-armed and then there was Steer Cottonworth. Make no mistake, he was odd in his alright, snow white hair and skin and strange shade of blue eyes and all but some people here took the cake, didn’t they? It also didn’t help the mans appearance was everything that should have been out of place. Having the look of more of a casual tourist of passing by watcher then actual combatant, the whimsical fellow none the less found himself in the entrance lobby of the apparent tournament to be entrance, invite in hand and pale white faced somewhat baffled. Drama seemed to be the word to describe most of the entrances here, confusion to, demands of respect, and well luckily one normal, much like himself. Hands in the pocket of a somewhat fluffy hoody, the chubby five foot ten fellow paced forward when most if not everyone else had done so first. He had received the invite on the tail end of an assignment he got from his work place. A little surveying and excavating and boom, there was this slip of paper. Believe it or not he DID leave early to get here, a transport ship having left weeks before to get him here on this day, and somehow he was still, from what I can see, last to second to last getting here. Aw ell, such was the ways of normal travel without hints of technological or magical based help! Despite the appearance, Steer himself liked a good fight and challenge and Tournaments when he could get to them. He never one the last one, someone always outdid him in the end but that didn’t stop him from trying. The warning on the invite though was headed, and before coming he wrote down the map and location names to his liking, and well, here he was! Red sock and sandal clad feet carried him forward and when he reached the receptionist he nodded.
“Busy crazy day, eh?”
She looked like she had one and a half at that. With a sigh she nodded, smiled and accepted the invitation he provided letting Steer through then blinking and watching him go ‘into the lions den’, so to speak. HIM, in this, with all of THEM? Well, it was his funeral… [i]or perhaps his to win[i]. Such was hard to tell right now, but for the moment, hands stuck in pockets again, a few little trinkets left at home (namely the ten coins…along with imposed limitations Steer mentally was keeping in mind) the chubby smiley fellow could only help but glance at all those involved. In smart fashion, most kept to themselves here, without scoping others out. Normally this would bother Steer, being the social little creature he was but it made sense given the circumstances. Intel gathering, direct and indirect was prevalent and the more you knew, the more you could get a grip with those you could be facing. Steer didn’t exactly like that, most of the time he liked the surprises that came, made him think of ways to react and experience stuff he might not have before BUT he could see why others ‘played it smart’ or so to speak. Finding a nifty little spot to lean against, IE, a wall, the jolly fellow leaned on it, brandishing a ‘Ginger-Soda’ he had stowed in his pocket and sipping through it. Open to conversation, eyes watchful of all those about, Steer didn’t look the part but he was ready to mingle, ‘dingle’ but most importantly [i]tussle[i] when the bell finally rang.
{Am I the only NORMAL guy here?}
So there were plenty of oddballs, weren’t there? All of them seemed tall, some of them seemed medieval, some powerful, some well-armed and then there was Steer Cottonworth. Make no mistake, he was odd in his alright, snow white hair and skin and strange shade of blue eyes and all but some people here took the cake, didn’t they? It also didn’t help the mans appearance was everything that should have been out of place. Having the look of more of a casual tourist of passing by watcher then actual combatant, the whimsical fellow none the less found himself in the entrance lobby of the apparent tournament to be entrance, invite in hand and pale white faced somewhat baffled. Drama seemed to be the word to describe most of the entrances here, confusion to, demands of respect, and well luckily one normal, much like himself. Hands in the pocket of a somewhat fluffy hoody, the chubby five foot ten fellow paced forward when most if not everyone else had done so first. He had received the invite on the tail end of an assignment he got from his work place. A little surveying and excavating and boom, there was this slip of paper. Believe it or not he DID leave early to get here, a transport ship having left weeks before to get him here on this day, and somehow he was still, from what I can see, last to second to last getting here. Aw ell, such was the ways of normal travel without hints of technological or magical based help! Despite the appearance, Steer himself liked a good fight and challenge and Tournaments when he could get to them. He never one the last one, someone always outdid him in the end but that didn’t stop him from trying. The warning on the invite though was headed, and before coming he wrote down the map and location names to his liking, and well, here he was! Red sock and sandal clad feet carried him forward and when he reached the receptionist he nodded.
“Busy crazy day, eh?”
She looked like she had one and a half at that. With a sigh she nodded, smiled and accepted the invitation he provided letting Steer through then blinking and watching him go ‘into the lions den’, so to speak. HIM, in this, with all of THEM? Well, it was his funeral… [i]or perhaps his to win[i]. Such was hard to tell right now, but for the moment, hands stuck in pockets again, a few little trinkets left at home (namely the ten coins…along with imposed limitations Steer mentally was keeping in mind) the chubby smiley fellow could only help but glance at all those involved. In smart fashion, most kept to themselves here, without scoping others out. Normally this would bother Steer, being the social little creature he was but it made sense given the circumstances. Intel gathering, direct and indirect was prevalent and the more you knew, the more you could get a grip with those you could be facing. Steer didn’t exactly like that, most of the time he liked the surprises that came, made him think of ways to react and experience stuff he might not have before BUT he could see why others ‘played it smart’ or so to speak. Finding a nifty little spot to lean against, IE, a wall, the jolly fellow leaned on it, brandishing a ‘Ginger-Soda’ he had stowed in his pocket and sipping through it. Open to conversation, eyes watchful of all those about, Steer didn’t look the part but he was ready to mingle, ‘dingle’ but most importantly [i]tussle[i] when the bell finally rang.
Same cubed...I dont even know if I am allowed to post/fight.
I've been waiting for the go ahead to post or 'nay' to forget about it, personally.
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