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3 yrs ago
Current Fuck yeah, girlfriend. Sit on that ass! Collect that unemployment check! Have free time 'n shit!
4 likes
4 yrs ago
Apologies to all writing partners both current & prospective. Been sick for two weeks straight (and have to go to work regardless). No energy. Can't think straight. Taking a hiatus. Sorry again.
3 likes
4 yrs ago
[@Ralt] He's making either a Fallout 4 reference or a S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Clear Sky reference i can't tell
2 likes
4 yrs ago
"Well EXCUUUUSE ME if my RPs don't have plot, setting, characters, any artistry of language like imagery/symbolism, or any of the things half-decent fiction has! What am I supposed to do, improve?!"
4 likes
4 yrs ago
Where's the personality? The flavor? the drama? The struggle? The humanity? The texture of the time and the place in which this conversation is happening? In a word: where's the story?
2 likes

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Most Recent Posts

Are you wanting me to play the farmer?


If you don't then I will in my next post, but that was the opportunity I was leaving open, yes.
The witch's mannerisms turned fidgety and frantic as he realized he had no coin to trade, nor the silver rings, both on the forearms and the fingers, which so many northern traders used as substitutes for legal mints. (Money they wore was more difficult for pickpockets to steal.) He did, however, have necklaces, mostly Þórr's-hammers, but also runes engraved into rectangles, and the odd crow or eight-legged horse; so many necklaces! Charms and wards were they, and most Nords deigned to wear one or two, as these were not magics wielded actively, but rather, passive ones worn.

Which one would he offer? Hrífa struggled with this thought: would a large copper one be enough? Brass, pewter? Or would the man demand precious silver instead? Nervously Hrífa picked and prodded at his neck, trying to untangle the thongs from which these clattering metals hung. Ah, and what if the man cared what type of charm Hrífa offered him? The witch resolved then to dig out a fehu rune pendant, meaning "wealth." He struggled for a time, looking more anxious as he continually failed, like the charm would wear away or worse, reverse, as it dangled longer from his scrawny neck. Eventually he drew his knife, a short broken-back seax rusty and grey with use, and just sliced at the leather. Meekly he held the pendant out to the man. "H-here," Hrífa said. He was not visibly sweating, though he looked clammy with how nervous he had become.
[redacted]
Response coming up. I've been pretty busy with visiting family over the holidays. My bad.
My reply is in your inbox.
<Snipped quote by pugbutter>

I still find myself confused on the statement that he is alone, as i think there are more healers around.
I've been following the idea that most "healers" are magical in nature and don't need an infirmary with specialized equipment. Whereas the surgeon will be a guy with a bone saw, a scalpel, various tinctures and ointments; anesthetics. Cabinets full of crap.
I am confused now. I thought the infirmary is shared.

I mean, we had an argument already about not knowing "famous" characters. Rorskoth's app says he's been in the Order for a decade, but apparently, so many people prefer healing by magic over healing by scalpel and needle, the almighty, the legendary, the immaculate Merilia never knew.

@VitaVitaAR I assumed @Mercenary5 and I were gonna say hi to Jarde (@PaulHaynek) once he and we were in the library together. Then someone else chased him away and screamed "NO PAY ATTENTION TO ME INSTEAD." I find this behavior very unbecoming so I'm distancing myself from it.


"Trust me," Gütta panted, breaking into a jog when he felt himself lagging behind. "Your secret is safe with me. Is, uh, is that where you're headed?"

Admittedly he hadn't taken much time to explore the place, once he had found the basic necessities: mess hall, barracks, lavatory, courtyard. If he really needed some new instructions from the Captain, or some clarification on the old ones, then he just needed to follow the noise, and go wherever the crowds had gathered to find her. He had aimed largely for self-sufficiency during his scarce months here, whetting his own weapons, oiling his own leathers, washing his own socks...in no small part because he'd been burned in the past by those people who walked that narrow razor's edge between "pranks" and "sabotage." Though before that, mercenary work instilled in the blood a certain romanticism of spirit, being able to glide over borders and between nations with a silky grace, relying on nothing but gold and camaraderie.
@Raineh Daze You'll survive ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
If you don't like the setting established by the GM then maybe this RP isn't for you. Rather than try to change something that everyone here before you seems happy with it might be more productive and mature to have a go at creating your own RP.

Descriptive, not normative.
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