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Recent Statuses

2 yrs ago
I forgot how bad colds were.
2 yrs ago
When he says work at it, he means work at it. Hard. It's definitely not a problem that'll ever really go away. You'll just learn to keep it quiet, or force through it.
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2 yrs ago
Nothing makes me happier than seeing a sub notification.
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2 yrs ago
Fallout 4 was certainly terrible in many ways, but some stuff like the fridge-kid can be overlooked through the less-than-serious attitude of the entire series. Yknow. Pistols exploding entire bodies.
2 yrs ago
Gimp drains the lifeforce of those that download it. Be wary. If your soul is plentiful and grand, then surely you'll face not the gatekeeper of Gimp and be able to freely use the program.

Bio

Yo, Parzivol here.

Young, in that I'm young enough that I'm not yet considered an Adult. Been doing this since I was about twelve to some capacity or another. Of course, that means I started in Minecraft and another forum. Worked my way into Discord and then here. Excited to participate.

Primary Interests:
Dark Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Historical-Medieval (Periodic style insertion stuff, a la Kingdom Come: Deliverance). My stylistic preferences are on the side of mystery, rather than open-world adventure romps or conventional murder-hoboing.

Favorite Authors:
R.A. Salvatore, H.P. Lovecraft, David Eddings, Orson S. Card

Games Of Choice:
TES: Oblivion, Darkest Dungeon, FTL: Faster Than Light, Dark Souls 1, For Honor, Divinity: OS 2 (Haven't gotten to 1 yet, though I'd like to), and Absolver.

Out of that list, my favorite in terms of storytelling methods are DS1 and Absolver, which both use the light-touch item descriptions method. Take whatever you wish from that. FTL has engaging stories, and Oblivion is a fun FPS A-RPG with the heavy lean on action. Darkest Dungeon is the monster I'm yet to slay, while DS1 is the monster I love to curl up with on cold days. Divinity: OS 2 is interesting and I enjoyed what I played, but I wasn't all that engaged in the story. Personally doesn't feel like the kind of game that should have player-made characters. Perhaps the simple fix would be to play one of their legacy heroes. I'll find out this summer, in all likelihood.

Also, Music:
Weezer, Primus, MC LARS, Beastie Boys

Most Recent Posts



Sigemund, "Brith-Eater"





The flute was beautiful. A brith had done something beautiful. Purely a bad omen surely. Witchery? Who was to know?

Perhaps he was mistaken to have remained quiet, and allowed this to develop as it had. He sat, contemplating the moment as a table shot through the air and into the guardsmen. The real consequence was affiliation. He had not taken the necessary precautions to separate himself from this gaggle, and the mage's reaction seemed to have made those precautions necessary.

Hindsight was perfect.

Crunkc.

The table drove them now against the far wall. How odd was this magic? This was something to fear. Hrunting was strong but it was only good at breaking poorly made blades and making bad wounds worse.

Pwoofk-k-k-k-kc.

Did he really use witchery to open a window?

Any sort of plan was out the window at this point— That is to say literally. The mage was a liability but was likely key for whatever venture these potential companions were to accompany him on. What were the circumstances?

The contact was late. The guardsmen appeared in her stead. The meeting had gone poorly, or they had been sold out. They had not committed the crimes described by the guardsfolk. Illegal affiliation suggested something sharply unfortunate. The Goat was in charge, but the Goat had no Dreamer's Draugr. It would be best to not start slaying now in the new homeland. It would be hellish if there were warrants for Wudga Wave Wraith out here. The risk of the Brith keeping embassy here was too great. He would have to have Anne do some looking around.

"My name is Hama. I have a ship at docks, look for the skull-head icon across the bow. Only put them down," he gestured towards the table and the knocked Guardsmen, "if they give you trouble. I figure Anne will try to shoot you if you get too close to my boat. When you see my crew, you'll see them, tell, 'Hama sent us for lodgeworkings.' They should help you out if the damn governingfolk are done searching me. If you don't want flight, we need to get our Witch back. Whatever you intend on us doing," He pointed his left hand authoritatively at Vekyzz, "I want the Witch with us, if only because the damn thing is clearly strong enough to get us anywhere we may be going. All of us are here for this Riverend individual and I like to keep appointments. I'll be blatant, as I don't like a big mess of lies about me. Bad for morale. I am from the Trident, sorry for the hostilities Brith-Ma'am I don't much like your kin, and I'm looking to use this opportunity to settle my clan South, here, where it's safe from Cats."

He watched Vekyzz carefully, drawing Hrunting and positioning himself so that he could cut down the guardsmen if they attempted to recover too fully from their table-bound circumstances. His statements had been firm but his tone deferred to the Goat. He took the briefest moment to put his left hand on the hilt of his dagger, refraining to draw it. Instead he stood with his right arm forward and out towards the guards. This stance was clearly trained, and capable. It was not for sword fighting, however. It looked like he was preparing to grapple, using the sword as the distance boundary. The result that he stood in a rather regal and respectable manner with his right arm bent at the elbow. The real weapon in this stance was the dagger.

"Captain's left leg's lame. I'll head up the rear, you all advance through our window and track down the mage. Annabella, I got your name right? Stay with me and help me tie them down? We don't need bloodshed. Just a misunderstanding. You hear that Captain? We just want to mind ourselves and ensure we all have this situation understood. No violence. You fight in a war? How did your leg end up cricked? I promise I won't fight you less on account of it if you step forward from the table." It was at this point the Sigemund finally took a breath. He had said more in a brief time than he said in his entire time on the damnable new continent.

A tiefling was ten minutes from ripping out his spine in an alleyway, a brith with a glowing flute was working on enslaving a new land of humanfolk, and a greenskin with rightly-made braids in her hair was doing more talking than just about anyone in the tavern. Somehow a mage had thrown a table.

It was at this moment that he shook out his shoulders. I wonder what they're having for dinner? He thought of a stag on a green hill, while its herd stood among wolves. Perhaps an image fueled by ego? Or an aspiration? A rightly mess this all was. He put his effort in to make it look like he knew exactly where this was going, but at this rate he was just concerned about getting his meal tickets out and about. He didn't have a crew size enough to do much but scout and purchase land.





Sigemund, "Brith-Eater"





Sigemund stood at the end of the dock, watching the guardsmen enter the Dreamer’s Draugr. They had dumped any illicit materials and matched their manifest properly to maintain the illusory identity. There was a general acknowledgement that they were not criminals in this territory, but the control of this Company that they had chosen to pursue hope with needed to be acknowledged. By all means when he had ransacked the now skinless Cleric, that had served well enough as a meal for Sigemund’s sons and daughters, he had taken on the debt. The deception was only partial.

“Farmoon,” Sigemund’s scribe and skald, Kanaaq, spoke up, “Do you need me to read the letter to you again?” Silence hung in the air. Should he pretend to be literate in these parts? He had all but memorized the letter. He did want it read to him again, for clarity, but he could go without it.

“Tootega, thoughts? I need my daughter’s advice on the matter. Literate or nay?” The brown haired woman, perhaps seventeen? Certainly the youngest of the six travelers. She looked like her father, though with fewer battle scars. She was wearing a wolf pelt, rather than the conspicuous brith pelt that her father preferred. “Worst I figure is I ask a stranger to read a document to me. I’ve never been quick to be embarrassed.”

“We’re dealing something of a scale that will demand reading, Father. We can’t have you taking Kanaaq from us and all across the countryside at the moment. Especially when we may still have guardsmen to tend to while you are making business. Be illiterate as you are today.” She was watching the crowd while she spoke. The only individual to catch her eye in any particular manner was a snow-white Brith woman moving at first aimlessly then with purpose along the docks. She nudged her father, nodding in that direction. Kanaaq followed their glances and chuckled amiably.

“Looks as though we cannot avoid them even here, Tekkeson. What do you figure our approach is? I can send Yutu and Amaruq after her if you want her furs. Or Anne. She hasn’t had practice shooting since before we changed sails.” Kanaaq was already writing poetry in the back of his head. Something simple and catchy perhaps? Dedicate the first four half-lines to describing the prey, the third line to the city itself, and the fourth line to the warrior. The fifth line would describe the kill, with the sixth and seventh being dedicated to the Hamasfolks’ new glory from the kill on foreign territory.

“No. We need to keep our heads about. No killing brithfolk unless we need to here. Not like old-home. Not like nights deep in Skokie’s alleys. Keep Anne stationed here, with Yutu and Amaruq scouting deeper into the city. Have them check the markets and ensure that we have enough supply to return home within the month if we need to. Or if we need to sail the length of the coast. Have them keep busy. Tootega, you take Kanaaq and make sure we haven’t forgotten any writwork. Be hermits. I’ll be back shortly, I’m sure. I can’t imagine this meeting will go poorly.”

Kanaaq was disappointed. Tootega looked forward to the management time. Watching the Dreamer’s Draugr would be a simple enough task.

“Hail, father.” She nodded her head. She beckoned for Kanaaq to follow, and called out to Anne and Yutu and Amaruq who were standing several feet away telling war stories that they had all heard a dozen times, with new embellishments this time to add spice to it all.

“Kanaaq, wait a moment.” The skald waited, walking close. Sigemund leaned in, producing the letter that he had mostly memorized by recitation. “You’re certain I am Elric Farmoon? Not Elric Frostspoon or some other similar piece? The characters shift and linger. I know not how you can read it so well.”

“Yes. Elric Frostmoon.” Kanaaq clapped Sigemund on the shoulder. “Blessings of the Wyrkin on you, Hama. I fear you actually are cursed some days. I promise to get you reading before I turn white in the hair. Go for glory.”

Sigemund nodded. His confidence had gone unsteady for a moment at the mention of a potential curse, before he shook it off and began at a brisk walk.

He watched for drunkards and loud-folk, or alcohol of some kind. The indicators of a drink house were simple enough and he knew them easily. Several old meadhalls had burnt at his hand. One particularly rage-filled night had given him the thought to tie the local brith together in the center of one such meadhall, and to light it as he left. The fire and smoke were visible from quite some distance. He was still satisfied looking back at the memory.

What did catch his attention was the scuffle between the sword-wielding man and some other unarmed fool. Perhaps it was a member of the authorities? Perhaps it was a ruffian? He knew not. He watched a moment, as the situation developed, before shrugging it away. He fingered the egu feathers in his hair while he pushed open the door with a sizable... KA—FRUMPH... The wind that followed him in kicked dust, and gently disrupted an array of cards that had been neatly arrayed by one of the gamblers. He had made a point of leaving his left hand on Hrunting’s pommel, as a warning to the eyes that he drew.

In two steps he had put himself roughly central to the lower floor. He assessed his surroundings, before recognizing a brith. The white one from earlier, perhaps? With a tiefling? Two dreadful specimens. They were the only a handful in the room that looked interesting, however. They were isolated. The table was empty otherwise. No one else was associating with them. He took a moment to consider the fact that he was supposed to be a Brith, before groaning and stomping towards the table. He grabbed one of the chairs at the table, and slammed it back several inches. He said nothing for a half second as he sat. When he settled his appearance became gravely apparent.

His shoulders were draped primarily in a pelt of some kind. It was unclear at first what it was. A moment would find the face of a brith on the rightmost shoulder of the cloak. It had been stuffed, creating a cruel mockery of one of the cat-folks in a fit of rage. The fur itself looked supple, clean, and treated.

Brithbitch, Liege Tiefling. Are we all in waiting for a Tali Riverend?

The man’s lips curled back like a snarling dog’s. Was it a smile? A grimace? Something between? Most of his head was shaved close. The bangs, sides of his head, and back were left long. The sides and back were braided. He had feathers in his braids. His beard looked unkempt and oily.

I am Elric Farmoon. I appreciate this opportunity for us to all know each other.





Directly Involved: Sigemund, Dreamer's Draugr Crew, Vekyzz, Kjellfrid
@Famotill
Wonderful. I'm pro-Discord because it makes brief communications easier and more convenient for everyone, doesn't require a post in the forums to clarify or indicate that a correction needs to be made. Just easier for keeping things coherent. Kassarock's point stands regarding it making things look quiet.

First post for Sigemund should be going up today, with that in mind. I'll attach a brief crew manifest of sorts to it so that we know who he has with him as far as shipmates are concerned. I don't like to have characters without names, even if they don't end up being main characters.
@LordOfTheNight
I'm ready to post and I'm getting something together, but Matthews is done. He's unlisted in the characters section on the IC page and I want to know if I'm good to go ahead. Let me know at your convenience.




@Famotill
Let me know what you think? I'm happy to change whatever you want! I'm concerned about the enchanted blade Hrunting and its enchantment. Let me know what you think.
@Parzivol Yeah, I didn't wanna use the word but your boy there is basically a nazi. How on earth do the Sunrunners' guild tolerate him?


By keeping it to himself, mostly. He does his best to NOT ruin his family's name when out of the territory. That includes not mentioning his extreme hatred of the other sentient species too loudly.
@Parzivol Holy fucking Christ that man is a monster. He eats fae? He literally eats fae? He wears the shaven hair of his victims as clothes and dried their flesh to jerky for use as rations?


All a matter of perspective. I eat the flesh of cows, and wear their treated skin in coats. The people from Hamfast actively reject the person-hood of the Fae and the Dwarves, acknowledging only that they walk and talk and are intelligent. They aren't people, and so it would be a waste to not use their materials if you find and kill one. That's like throwing away food.

But yes he's a monster. He is so racist that even most fantasy racism against elves and dwarves that I'm familiar with don't push it that far.
There time for me to catch this wonderful looking train?
The three androids braced themselves against the shuttle walls in a movement that was oddly organic. As the noise passed them they all processed it carefully.

> Aten > Failed to Categorize Audio. Tag as OCCULT?
> A915AF > Yay. The Warrant Officer yields OCCULT potential. “Sleep, Grand Automaton,” was to be tagged OCCULT phrasing. Possesses DANGHIGH tagtrait. Maintain into the Warant Officer’s tags?
> A916AA > Yay. Yay. Landing of mining bodies in 15.5 seconds.
> Aten > Yay. Yay. Position all A9 units to deflect shrapnel from Fuertes.


The biological movements of the machines continued. Something had changed when they landed, perhaps? They loped like animals now. Highly efficient with what they had, but perhaps limitations in what they had. The two A9s looked like dogs as they walked. Aten began to count out loud. His own droning tones blending into the black sounds of the dread Derelict. That old sleeping God from another time. There was something holy about Aten, as he stood still braced against the wall and raised his hand to provide a visual countdown to his aids, to ensure synchronicity. At the fifteenth second the A9’s slammed against each other.

Their chassis scratched and howled and shook. As did the ground on the immediately nearest shelf. Smoke and shrapnel dispersed briefly, tinkling against the hull of the shuttle and the crossed backs of the A9s.

> A915AF > Technique success tagged. I will take credit for the technique.
> A916AA > No.
> Aten > No.
> B7-17094CL > Landing Successes:: 11, Landing Failures:: 4.
> Aten > Embedded/Shaft(OOR)/Shaft(IR)
> B7-17094CL > 2/1/1, Embedded beginning self-recovery. ETA on site, 3 hours. IR En Route, 8 hours. OOR, projected route painted.
> Aten > Paint noted.
> A915AF > Recovery risk?
> B7-17094CL > Simulations suggest not safe for biological crew.
> Aten > Reduce risk to MRS property.
> B7-017094CL > Risk reduction suggests sending biological crew for recovery.
> A916AA > Acceptable potential loss.
> A915AF > Unacceptable potential loss.
> Aten > Vote power transferred to A916AA.
> A916AA > Acceptable potential loss.
> Aten > Noted.


Stiffer now than the A9s, Aten exited the little shuttle. Eleven landing pods deconstructed in the smoke, falling apart as did a model of MRS escape pod meant to reduce fire risk. The machines inside looked something like large, gorilla-sized ants. They were boxier, and more industrial in appearance however. Bright oranges and light greys. Orange, “heads,” shaped like simple rectangles with a visual strip across the sides and front. Orange, “abdomen,” larger but similarly boxy, and a grey, “thorax.”

Any similarity was displaced when they began to move about on careful struts and their “mouths” came into view. Three mechanical graspers with a powerful-looking drill between them. The graspers themselves were notably reinforced. They immediately began to pull up metal and dirt and debris as they fell into a formation. When they had accrued a load of materials they turned and scooped it into a vessel in their hind most body segment. Once that hindmost segment was full it would seal, and immediately begin blasting the material in fusion-powered heat. Briefly afterwards the B7 subunits would dump the material into a slag pile adjacent to the dig site.

“I have taken the liberty of redesigning our operations center with the criteria described, though MRS regulations mandates a brig and living quarters be set aside for use under a worst-case scenario. If any or all of the team sent develop Derelict-related psychological trauma symptoms, myself and those under my command are to hold you until otherwise commanded.”

A moment passed, and then a very loud and more dense thud sounded out, with a bit more smoke. The thud was followed by a rolling sound as a round capsule with a once-smooth now-charred surface skittered gently across the shelf. It landed in a far back corner.

A moment passed, and then the spherical capsule collapsed eight ways, like an orange sliced. Instead of eight edible chunks, a scorpion fell out. Massive, man-sized. It moved somehow in the same way that Aten had walking off the ship. It surveyed its environment before lifting the orange slices, stacking them on its back, then hauling them to the slag heap which it stood on top of fearlessly before dropping the slices.

It traveled now towards the Warrant Officer. It still radiated heat from its landing and from its walk across the slag. It did not emote the way most other androids did. It seemed empty in comparison to even Aten.

“I will be watching you and ensuring your safety with this. Its chassis contains an alloy. Ferrous-Derrite, as the MRS Project Leader Zero-Zero has taken to calling it in reports. I suspect it is sturdy. It has survived four cave-ins that were deployed to prevent the spread of simulated hostiles on one of my training sites, and I know of a plate of Ferrous-Derrite that recovered from a fifty-calibre anti-material rounds in one of our training facilities.”

The metal bulkheads were melting into a slag. The sounds of the drills on the B7-drones was louder than the metallic groan of the planet. On a local level, anyhow. Even at this short distance away their sound was fading and blending with the howling. The screaming planet was churning now as industry settled on its shores and rang its death knell.

A915AF chirped quickly, “When will you leave for the station to recover the team? Will you be leaving us unaccompanied?”

A916AA added with a harsh accusation, "We require a biological search and rescue team tagged with HUMAN, MOS, to recover lost expedition tools. Atmosphere insertion was a failure that occurred at a highly significant rate. Of one hundred and two trials only two others have resulted in such large displacements upon atmosphere entry. We must recover MRS property before the Artifact claims them."

"I have allowed A916AA to take point for this matter. I am a foreman." Aten droned. A915AF observed Aten, attempting to determine what it was emoting. A915AF had at this point determined that Aten was a mission risk worthy of a HIGH RED rating in the network, but the machine otherwise was subtle.

@Circ
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