Parzivol

No More Heroes

You're the Game Master. It's your world, we're storytelling in it.

Sol City . Modern Slice of Life RP

Seems dope. Count me among the taggables.

A series of adventures

I've had interest in Dungeons And Dragons in the past but never been participated in something executed. Would there be any opposition to another, @manapool1?

8 Days Late

Hello, howdy, etc.

I'm excited to fully remove myself from reality and sink into this fun new environment. My name is Parz1vol, though I left the one out this time around and made it an I. Personally I'm really irked by that but think that I should keep it for the sake of learning to get over stupid things, even though I know full well out to change my username.

According to my bio, I'm a nerd. No skin off my back.

In all seriousness: I've been roleplaying since I was twelve and writing since long before then. I enjoy writing, and I have a particularly peculiar style that often looks directly at common grammar and syntax and what have you and decides that it doesn't care about it. I'm excited to be on another forum after taking several years break from forum roleplay and more recently moving to Discord.

The Dark Ages...but in Space! (Space NRP, name pending)

I've got interest. I'm seeing a lot of cool ideas. The idea that instantly came to mind is a struggling series of systems operated by Humans. Basically space-ranchers and space-farmers. Something along those lines. There's a lot of visual stuff that I'm thinking about that can't properly go into words at the moment. Consider me among the interested if you manage to get this thing feet.

No More Heroes

_{Interacting with @Cerces22@MegaOscarPwn@Utrax@Lauder@LordOfTheNight}

Frederick was unhappy with the situation. This was a hell, for him. Powerful creatures and machines of all various makes and models and purposes and builds. Most of them were significantly more powerful than he, and at least one of them could input direct control over him. The girl with the ice wasn't too troublesome, and the speedster could be managed, but the dark looking human-suit would be more than problematic if its operator thought to push its will hard enough against Freddy's own.

When the Speedster had left, he had grabbed the stranger by the shirt and chest, pulling them up over his shoulder. The man wasn't unconscious, though his confusion and daze were keeping him largely manageable. Didn't matter. As soon as the man was over the Fisherman's shoulder, the shoulder became bristled in small spines that pierced the clothing and skin gently, before shooting up and out. By the time the stranger even had the ability to consider protesting or reacting to the pain, his central nervous system had been mangled beyond function. The process of pumping air into the man's lungs to mimic panicked breathing while the man's insides were slowly torn apart and reabsorbed into their base chemicals was quick but being done on an insignificant scale.

Slow, of course, but it was a process still. He ignored the commotion and slowed.

Since the Speedster was making small talk with the maniacs that ruled the place, he dipped into an alley and lost form for a moment. While obscured in shadow, it consumed the stranger whole. It remained in its natural state for just a moment, letting the broiling surface of eyes and mouths and teeth and claws and protrusions feel around the alleyway. It was calming, for him, to return to his birthed state every so often.

Once it was done with enjoying its food, a process that in the end took less than twenty seconds, it returned to a more decent state. Frederick chewed his nails as he stepped out of the alleyway. An actual Demon and a pretender Demon were playing about while a robot and a fast man busied themselves with existing and feeling inferior to their compatriots (respectively). Great. He wouldn't risk the suspicion of leaving just yet, but he'd be careful. No need to risk throwing his established cover off.

"Perhaps we should actively consider not making a show of this and moving on with things. We should really split up and stop congregating in one central area where we're all easily destroyed by something as simple as an orbital laser or a well cast spell calling on a Great Old One or by some high-powered Death Squad beyond even our own instantly destructive abilities and what have you." The way he said instantly destructive abilities was certainly a mocking one. Either he was making fun of himself or making fun of the others. "Hell, one of us is easily defeated by earplugs and basic magical warding. Damn foreigners is what it is. How many of you are actually Americans in a proper sense anyhow? I hate Ireland. I really do." His grumbling drifted into the profuse whinings of someone who knows far too much for their position and understands all too well why their position is a bad one to be stuck in.

No More Heroes

I'll respond here within the hour.

The Elder Scrolls: Witchhunters' Gambit

Additional question: Two of us have the Atronach starsign. It provides a fifty percent spell absorption passive, meaning half of the spells you're hit with turn into raw magicka rather than inflicting damage. How is that to be handled?

Skyrim does a full absorption on every 1 of 2 spells, but half absorption on all spells may be more reasonable given the medium we're using for play. I just want to be certain come time to be struck with whatever magic is likely to be slung at us at various points.

The Elder Scrolls: Witchhunters' Gambit

Got my first post up. I feel like a good entrance was necessary to breach the already established narrative course for proper insertion, so I went a bit overboard with the hunt.

Also: Working on the Skyrim-established idea that Reachmen are basically a branch of Bretons native to the Reach and the High Rock-Skyrim border territory. It's clear based on his dress that he's a Reachman, but he also looks Breton of lineage because he's a Reachman.

The Elder Scrolls: Witchhunters' Gambit

With no food and no septims, self-sufficiency would be the only answer that made any sense. No, he did not have a bow. No, he did not have arrows. There were always alternatives, however, and he knew one of his favorites to be good for these such circumstances. It took him about a half hour to clean up his camp, pack his bag, fully clothe, stamp out the fire, and pray. In that particular order. The only sign that he had ever been there was a smear of clouded funnel cap paste, drawn in a circle on a stone. The sun was not yet risen.

Then, he busied himself. He needed food, and this region was sure to be plentiful and rich with food. One way or another. The goal was meat, though he'd settle for something else if he needed to. Preparation was simple: a paralysis paste on the tip of the iron short sword he carried. Not the edge. He needed the edge to open a wound on his target, and the paste to keep the thing still after forcing it to turn its neck up. Keep the bleed out quick and efficient, and keep the hunt quick. The goal was to avoid exhaustion while also managing one's stores. He didn't need much paste, which was to his benefit as he hadn't been collecting much while he was coming down South. His goal had been to escape the chaos up North, so slowing himself down made little sense.

The next step for the hunt was the right disguise, followed soon after by the right knowledge. He took some time to coat himself in snow, especially on his shoulders and head. That would enable him to hide in a snow mound and wait, while not fussing so much over details. The information that he gathered next was a trail. He found fresh tracks, which took about a half hour, and then a mound along those tracks. He burrowed into the mound with startling efficiency, then used his hands to dig a little pit out for his eyes. Now, he was obscured and could see the trail. Touch it, if he really wanted to. Then, it was waiting.

When a large male Elk came into view, he could still feel his finger tips. The creature pressed its head into the ground, and pushed away snow. It came up with grass. When it went down again, the Reachman moved. He jerked forward in a practiced manner, he had frequently taken down bandits and Forsworn with this such method, and tackled at the thing. He aimed not for where its antlers were, but for where they would be.

His calloused, fur-clad hands found grip at the bases of the antlers. The animal immediately moved Southwest, while Bruoch pulled himself up onto its back. Twice he nearly lost purchase when the thing stopped and bucked. He, perhaps through luck or his own deep reserves of energy, had managed to maintain a grip while making progress all the same.

It carried him downhill, slamming its side into the occasional passing tree in an attempt to dismount the Reachman. He maintained grip, however, and finally managed to draw out his sword. With his left hand and his thighs he tightened his grip on the creature. Leaning forward, being wary of the antlers, he pulled the blade against the animal's throat. It coughed out a howl of pain. The sun was up, now, and casting light down onto the display. Downhill through the trees rode Bruoch, on the bleeding elk. He transferred his blade to his teeth, and scooted forward on the thing's back. While it jerked its neck around he found his right hand grip once again. Once obtained, he grabbed the Elk by the lower neck with his left leg. His right leg was raised up, pressing down on the Elk's right flank for support.

With his position secured by the odd but practiced lock, he took his blade in his right hand once again. Rather than stabbing down onto the Elk, he readied to stab downwards onto its back legs. In one movement he adjusted, jerking the Deer's head back and tripping it. As the pair fell, both now thoroughly bloodied, he plunged the iron sword's tip into the creature's ass. The rigidity was nearly immediate. It spread quickly, and the Creature lost control as its muscles went tight. Bruoch pulled himself in, hugging tight to the Elk's back, as it cartwheeled about thirty feet down the snowy hill and breached the treeline.

After bouncing once, the creature toppled a headstone. Bruoch, covered in blood and fur and snow, pushed away from the paralyzed deer and scrambled for the nearest stone. He settled on one from a Nord cairn, and moved on the Elk. With three swift strikes, he bashed its head in.

Its limbs began to slowly go limp, as the paralysis wore off of the dead body.

The Reachman looked around, assessing his new environment. When his eyes rested on an Imperial man, an elf, and the Breton girl, he laughed. The energy and flowing enthusiasm left him otherwise speechless. He kicked the deer onto its side, and pulled back his headdress. The ugly Breton-looking man was smiling, and his face had managed to smear itself a bit in the blood of the animal. From his fur belt he pulled a long, thin-looking dirk, and began to cut effortlessly through the deer. His goal at the moment, regardless of the strangers, was to ensure that the meat he wanted was covered with snow and in his bag. These folk looked like they were from one of the settlements in the area, or from settlements in general, but he could never truly tell when Hircine was going to send challengers following a particularly efficient hunt.

After he had made some of the major cuts and rubbed the blood on his face, as he did so often, he pulled his headdress back up. Perhaps rubbing the blood on his face wasn't the smartest idea. His face began to lose a bit of feeling, but he worked through it. The smear was going to wear out here soon anyhow, so he wasn't worried. He'd make due if these folks insisted on conversation. Worst case scenario he was forced to defend himself and hid their bodies out in the woods and claimed no connection to the deaths. Head and fingers would have to be removed. Heart for safety purposes.

No. That was planning ahead. Certainly they'd be more startled than anything. He hadn't been aggressive towards them. Unless, perhaps, they were game-keepers. With that thought, he looked up and scowled, before continuing to open up the deer. If they were game-keepers he'd definitely have to kill them. Hircine's blessing was always upon him, as he was a man of the Reach. There would be absolutely no reason to risk rubbing up against the law and losing supplies and time.

_{@SoulChrysamere@Mixcoatl}