pugbutterI'm not too worried about the mechanics of the setting, myself. I'd just be happy to watch some guy from the real world figure out wtf he's supposed to do.
And also play my character, obviously.
And also play my character, obviously.
Reia Member
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
Actually, that makes me ask a question, too...
Are characters in this world AWARE they have levels?
Are characters in this world AWARE they have levels?
I was thinking of 'Wererat' being the class, and it being a disease lore-wise. The idea was some sort of halfling or other small species wererat using a sword. Nothing special there.
And yeah, I am DEFINITELY worried about committing to an RP! I'm running one and I'm in one, so if I officially join one more that would probably have to be my limit.
EDIT: To be clear, it wouldn't be an "I'm glad I'm a therianthrope" situation, but a "Well, crap. I guess I'm stuck like this" situation. >.>
And yeah, I am DEFINITELY worried about committing to an RP! I'm running one and I'm in one, so if I officially join one more that would probably have to be my limit.
EDIT: To be clear, it wouldn't be an "I'm glad I'm a therianthrope" situation, but a "Well, crap. I guess I'm stuck like this" situation. >.>
I'm interested! I'm thinking of making a therianthropic character. Perhaps a wererat?
Of course, the big issue I see right now is I'm working on my own RP at present, and it's a big project. I am interested nevertheless, however.
I haven't watched any animes/shows about characters stuck in MMOs, but as we're just playing normal fantasy characters I don't see a problem. I'm also not sure how the mechanics will work, but I'm not too worried about that.
1/week posting minimum seems very reasonable!
Of course, the big issue I see right now is I'm working on my own RP at present, and it's a big project. I am interested nevertheless, however.
I haven't watched any animes/shows about characters stuck in MMOs, but as we're just playing normal fantasy characters I don't see a problem. I'm also not sure how the mechanics will work, but I'm not too worried about that.
1/week posting minimum seems very reasonable!
Letting everyone know there are three days left to finish applications!
If I haven't gotten back to you, I may have forgotten or missed a message. Please message me again if this is the case! And again, if you need the Discord for any reason, let me know.
I will be busy for the majority of tomorrow (the 16th), so expect delayed responses then.
If I haven't gotten back to you, I may have forgotten or missed a message. Please message me again if this is the case! And again, if you need the Discord for any reason, let me know.
I will be busy for the majority of tomorrow (the 16th), so expect delayed responses then.
In
Warhammer 40k: It's A Wonderful Life! An Imperial Guard (40K) RP
→
4 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Interacting with: @Eisenhorn @Irredeemable
It had been a productive haggling session for Private McDinny. Having traded the weight of her medals and obscura for some credits, the shrimp of a guardswoman was in a fairly good mood. Sure, the oh-so-legal traders hadn't carried any alcohol on them - apparently they'd already bartered it all off to other guardsmen - but Charlie did nick a porn mag that had been left unattended by one of the men when he had gone to refill his recaf. Such magazines were a currency in and of themselves. The one she'd nabbed had a cover that looked exactly like that of THE IMPERIAL INFANTRYMAN'S UPLIFTING PRIMER, so it had the added benefit of making whoever was reading it look dutiful as they enjoyed themselves.
It was as McDinny was scanning the contents of the 'primer' and finding its contents sadly lacking anything for the female gaze that she felt a familiar tingle in her forehead.
Private McDinny always got tingles when something interesting was happening. Of course, 'something interesting' could mean the sort of situation that demanded hiding inside of a closet, such as when thugs were hunting for her, when mortar shells were dropping, or when the Commissar was in a particularly bad mood. But there was also a tingle in her forehead that McDinny got when the fun kind of interesting was happening, and that good tingle was sure a-tingling as she left the troop transports.
Not one to want to miss out on anything fun going on, McDinny made her way around the troop transports, around the hab units, and eventually saw a fire in the distance. It looked like there were people (and a growing number at that) jumping around, laughing, talking, and drinking. That last part was what piqued her interest, and Charlene realized that must have been where all the booze wound up. Properly motivated, it didn't take Charlene long to join the party.
It was definitely the sort of party McDinny had been hoping for after the parade.
There were all kinds of different guardsmen present, though the figures at the center of the show seemed to be big, burly, tribal-looking men with the sorts of bodies that McDinny wouldn't have minded finding inside the porn mag she'd stolen. There was alcohol, and a lot of it; always the sign of a good party. There were stories being swapped, warm campfires (which weren't made in burnt-out, busted trash barrels!), and lots of faces with genuine mirth on them. Even the awful little scamp was able to relax. McDinny normally was tense about most situations surrounded by people that could throw her across a field like a nob could hurl gretchin, but something about the air and the faces that she saw made her feel calm. Well... calmer, anyway.
For once, McDinny didn't steal anything or cause any mischief. The mood was too sacrosanct. She went from group to group, listening in, drinking whatever she was offered, and grinning like a fool. Eventually, she came upon a group of confused looking tribals trying to understand what the Hell a greasy, bow-legged, octopus-haired boogieman was garbling at them.
Being a greasy boogiewoman herself, McDinny came to the rescue of the tribals, thrusting a lho-stick at the friendly voidsman.
"First one's free!" the small guardswoman chimed in cheerily. "Second one'll cost ya, ya ken?"
As she spoke, the private turned toward the rest of the group. "Dirtyboy here's just musing about how right cheery it is to not have a trigger-happy Commissar squinting at us while the kegs and bottles are popped. He was a-wondering if perchance you chums might want to play some cards or if anyone's been on a big spaceboat'r summat.
"Oh, and by the way," the huckster added, "might some'a you gentrified individuals be a mite interested in acquisitions?" Without waiting for a response, McDinny starting pulling the mostly legal objects out of her flak vest. The porn mag, the mess kit, silverware, scrap metal, extra duct tape, lho-sticks... "I got the goods, I do!"
Really, there was no good reason for a simple guardswoman's uniform to fit everything she was pulling out.
In
Warhammer 40k: It's A Wonderful Life! An Imperial Guard (40K) RP
→
4 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Charlene had begun the day with her daily prayer, the one she had been using ever since she'd first hid inside a trash can to avoid the smog gnats as a twelve year old. It was a prayer that had served her well over the years, one that had never failed her yet. There were variations of it, but it always sounded something like this:
"Oh, Emprah, please don't let me die today! T'morrow would be so much better!"
As the orks let out a thunderous "WAAAAAAAAGH!" in front of her, Charlene briefly pondered if the Emperor had decided not to listen to her prayer that morning.
The whole battlefield was a cacophony of violence. Lasguns were being fired desperately. Heavy Bolter rounds hammered into the ork ranks - well, they were less ranks so much as a wild mob - from their mounts on the armored vehicles behind the Imperial infantry. Grenades were being thrown; stikkbombz were thrown back; and big, ugly critters who were all mouth and no brain pounded the ground with their feet as they raced at the guardsmen. Some had bombs strapped to their backs. The rubble and rock on the ground bounced as the ork horde charged forward. Explosions were everywhere. Screams were everywhere. People were dying.
Frankly, Charlene was pretty sure she was going to have to help the Emperor help her.
Charlene fired wildly at the throng of orks, missing spectacularly. She panicked, then fired some more, missing again. Her lasfire smacked walls, rocks, a broken down car, a braindead pigeon that was watching the battlefield curiously, but not a single ork. Charlene's hands shook. They were still coming.
"Dammit, Charlie!" snapped the soldier next to her, her squadmate: Biff. "Who taught you how to shoot?!" the man demanded in a confused, angry voice.
"NOBODY!" screamed Charlie in answer, equally confused and angry.
The girl started firing, turning her head away and closing her eyes. She fired on pure, blind instinct. It was the stupidest thing Biff had ever seen. He actually had to stop shooting a moment to gape at the absolute buffoonery happening beside him.
That's when her shots finally landed on something: one of the squigs.
The squig took a hit to the leg, which sent it spiraling to the side. It ran into one of the orks, who was in the midst of throwing a pair of stikkbombz. The explosives flew out from his hand and landed next to a bomb carrying squig charging alongside a couple of orks on warbuggies, all bearing right down on Charlie's position. Then the stikkbombz exploded.
The explosion knocked Charlie off her light feet. When she pulled herself back up, her squadmate was staring at her, and the orks that had been about to murder the Hell out of her were giblets.
Biff stared at Charlie incredulously. Charlene, in turn, reached into one of her hidden pockets in her vest and pulled out a flask of amasec.
"Praise the Emprah?" the little imp said cheerily before taking a swig.
It was Charlene's only significant contribution to the battle, truth be told. She'd spent most of the rest of it hiding and missing shots and... well, otherwise being awful at her job. She also didn't die, which was something she was supposed to do, probably. It felt good not to be dead.
Still, apparently Charlie was getting medals. Sure, most of them were just for participation, but she was getting medals along with everyone else. Her regiment wasn't exactly complete, and neither was the 88th Cadian Mechanized Infantry (which her regiment wound up being meatshields for). But Private Charlene McDinny was alive, so she decided circumstances were pretty good, all things considered.
Unfortunately, the parade had turned out to be incredibly boring. Some old guy in fancy-looking clothes was prattling on about heroes and heatstroke and commendation. Charlie distinctly remembered being told he was a 'General Municipal' or something? General Munitions? Maybe he was the quartermaster's boss?
As General-Whatever Dough Van Gogh continued to talk, Charlie started to get... bored. There'd been a man that had talked before him, and another before him, and she wanted to skip the talking and get to the fun part of the parade. The little gremlin began to slouch. Then she yawned.
"Charlie!" whispered Biff harshly. He nudged her sharply in the stomach with his elbow.
"Oi! Piss off!" Charlie answered, nudging him back with about a tenth of the force.
"No! What are you doing?" Biff demanded. "You don't- don't yawn while the Rupert's giving his speech, you twit!"
"Oh, go suck on the Commissar's pistol, twat!" Charlie whispered back, annoyed. "When's the old guy gonna shut up so we can party?"
"What- what?" Biff asked. The other guardsmen in formation next to Charlie were starting to stare at the both of them.
Charlie didn't get a chance to explain because it was at that moment that the Commissar started looking in their direction. Charlie stiffened up like a board just a second before he did, grinning like she'd just passed gas. The Commissar narrowed his eyes, but thankfully looked past the pair.
"What party?" Biff asked in frustration and confusion.
Charlene's heart sank.
There was, indeed, no party or free food after the whole event. But Private McDinny was an optimist at heart, and she knew how to make the best of things.
The young woman was taking stock of her various bits of loot. There were the medals, firstly. They seemed pretty useless, but she figured someone would want to buy them. She'd nicked another guy's messkit, and she really only needed one, so that was as good of loot as any. The scamp had also scrounged up some obscura and some lho-sticks, both of which she figured she could trade for more amasec and maybe a new helmet... or just more credits. Credits were always good, after all. And she'd found some dingy jewelry and electronic-looking bits while looting after the last battle, and she'd snatched from screws and a big knife from one of the blown up orks. Surely she'd be able to buy something with that junk. And there were the fake cred sticks, and...
Eventually, Charlene finished inspecting all her stuff. It was good stuff, it was. She wanted to get more stuff, which usually meant finding what wasn't nailed down and claiming it as "acquisitions," but she was tired and hungry and worn out from all the standing around doing nothing. The young soldier concealed her stash again (mostly on her person, which was a feat that betrayed both organization and barbarism to be quite frank), then sat down on her cot and opened a ration pack.
As she ate, Charlene thought about the war finally being over. That was a good thing. She didn't know what that meant, but it probably meant she could stop being a soldier. Maybe she could find a nice planet without a smog-filled sky to call home, then beat up some posh lady and steal her clothes and pretend to be her. That would be nice.
Charlene was about to drink from her bottle of amasec when she realized it was empty. She cussed aloud. Why'd her amasec supplier have to go and get shot in the head during the fighting, anyway?
With a heavy, weary sigh, the ne'er-do-well dragged herself off her cot and stalked off to go find a new supplier.
"Oh, Emprah, please don't let me die today! T'morrow would be so much better!"
As the orks let out a thunderous "WAAAAAAAAGH!" in front of her, Charlene briefly pondered if the Emperor had decided not to listen to her prayer that morning.
The whole battlefield was a cacophony of violence. Lasguns were being fired desperately. Heavy Bolter rounds hammered into the ork ranks - well, they were less ranks so much as a wild mob - from their mounts on the armored vehicles behind the Imperial infantry. Grenades were being thrown; stikkbombz were thrown back; and big, ugly critters who were all mouth and no brain pounded the ground with their feet as they raced at the guardsmen. Some had bombs strapped to their backs. The rubble and rock on the ground bounced as the ork horde charged forward. Explosions were everywhere. Screams were everywhere. People were dying.
Frankly, Charlene was pretty sure she was going to have to help the Emperor help her.
Charlene fired wildly at the throng of orks, missing spectacularly. She panicked, then fired some more, missing again. Her lasfire smacked walls, rocks, a broken down car, a braindead pigeon that was watching the battlefield curiously, but not a single ork. Charlene's hands shook. They were still coming.
"Dammit, Charlie!" snapped the soldier next to her, her squadmate: Biff. "Who taught you how to shoot?!" the man demanded in a confused, angry voice.
"NOBODY!" screamed Charlie in answer, equally confused and angry.
The girl started firing, turning her head away and closing her eyes. She fired on pure, blind instinct. It was the stupidest thing Biff had ever seen. He actually had to stop shooting a moment to gape at the absolute buffoonery happening beside him.
That's when her shots finally landed on something: one of the squigs.
The squig took a hit to the leg, which sent it spiraling to the side. It ran into one of the orks, who was in the midst of throwing a pair of stikkbombz. The explosives flew out from his hand and landed next to a bomb carrying squig charging alongside a couple of orks on warbuggies, all bearing right down on Charlie's position. Then the stikkbombz exploded.
The explosion knocked Charlie off her light feet. When she pulled herself back up, her squadmate was staring at her, and the orks that had been about to murder the Hell out of her were giblets.
Biff stared at Charlie incredulously. Charlene, in turn, reached into one of her hidden pockets in her vest and pulled out a flask of amasec.
"Praise the Emprah?" the little imp said cheerily before taking a swig.
It was Charlene's only significant contribution to the battle, truth be told. She'd spent most of the rest of it hiding and missing shots and... well, otherwise being awful at her job. She also didn't die, which was something she was supposed to do, probably. It felt good not to be dead.
Still, apparently Charlie was getting medals. Sure, most of them were just for participation, but she was getting medals along with everyone else. Her regiment wasn't exactly complete, and neither was the 88th Cadian Mechanized Infantry (which her regiment wound up being meatshields for). But Private Charlene McDinny was alive, so she decided circumstances were pretty good, all things considered.
Unfortunately, the parade had turned out to be incredibly boring. Some old guy in fancy-looking clothes was prattling on about heroes and heatstroke and commendation. Charlie distinctly remembered being told he was a 'General Municipal' or something? General Munitions? Maybe he was the quartermaster's boss?
As General-Whatever Dough Van Gogh continued to talk, Charlie started to get... bored. There'd been a man that had talked before him, and another before him, and she wanted to skip the talking and get to the fun part of the parade. The little gremlin began to slouch. Then she yawned.
"Charlie!" whispered Biff harshly. He nudged her sharply in the stomach with his elbow.
"Oi! Piss off!" Charlie answered, nudging him back with about a tenth of the force.
"No! What are you doing?" Biff demanded. "You don't- don't yawn while the Rupert's giving his speech, you twit!"
"Oh, go suck on the Commissar's pistol, twat!" Charlie whispered back, annoyed. "When's the old guy gonna shut up so we can party?"
"What- what?" Biff asked. The other guardsmen in formation next to Charlie were starting to stare at the both of them.
Charlie didn't get a chance to explain because it was at that moment that the Commissar started looking in their direction. Charlie stiffened up like a board just a second before he did, grinning like she'd just passed gas. The Commissar narrowed his eyes, but thankfully looked past the pair.
"What party?" Biff asked in frustration and confusion.
Charlene's heart sank.
There was, indeed, no party or free food after the whole event. But Private McDinny was an optimist at heart, and she knew how to make the best of things.
The young woman was taking stock of her various bits of loot. There were the medals, firstly. They seemed pretty useless, but she figured someone would want to buy them. She'd nicked another guy's messkit, and she really only needed one, so that was as good of loot as any. The scamp had also scrounged up some obscura and some lho-sticks, both of which she figured she could trade for more amasec and maybe a new helmet... or just more credits. Credits were always good, after all. And she'd found some dingy jewelry and electronic-looking bits while looting after the last battle, and she'd snatched from screws and a big knife from one of the blown up orks. Surely she'd be able to buy something with that junk. And there were the fake cred sticks, and...
Eventually, Charlene finished inspecting all her stuff. It was good stuff, it was. She wanted to get more stuff, which usually meant finding what wasn't nailed down and claiming it as "acquisitions," but she was tired and hungry and worn out from all the standing around doing nothing. The young soldier concealed her stash again (mostly on her person, which was a feat that betrayed both organization and barbarism to be quite frank), then sat down on her cot and opened a ration pack.
As she ate, Charlene thought about the war finally being over. That was a good thing. She didn't know what that meant, but it probably meant she could stop being a soldier. Maybe she could find a nice planet without a smog-filled sky to call home, then beat up some posh lady and steal her clothes and pretend to be her. That would be nice.
Charlene was about to drink from her bottle of amasec when she realized it was empty. She cussed aloud. Why'd her amasec supplier have to go and get shot in the head during the fighting, anyway?
With a heavy, weary sigh, the ne'er-do-well dragged herself off her cot and stalked off to go find a new supplier.
In
Warhammer 40k: It's A Wonderful Life! An Imperial Guard (40K) RP
→
4 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Gonna post in this as soon as I wrap up some stuff now that I'm home. Looking forward to this!
2. Since a war is a-brewing, should we surmise that it's springtime, or at least fast approaching it?
The first blooms of spring are fast arriving. That's the idea, yeah. Rainy, wet, still snowy in some areas, but winter is finally at its end.
1. I've often heard that an army's "regular" pace (not running from an enemy, ordered by the superiors to rush B cyka blyat, or otherwise in a hurry) is more like 25-30 miles by foot? Then more like forty if they're skipping meals, shorting themselves on sleep, and otherwise needing to get the fuck where they're going ASAP. I don't know what "with luggage" means, however, since I'm assuming any sufficiently provisioned group of travellers has some kind of baggage train with it. If "with luggage" means you're carrying all your possessions on your back then fair enough. I've done that and it ain't fun.
So far as I can tell, these are the numbers by researchers based what we know about Medieval Europe.
With luggage is referring to having a backpack full of stuff, right. Bedroll, blankets, winter clothing because of the location, food supplies, cookware, any tools you might need... Don't forget having a sidearm (like an arming sword), a dagger, a coinpurse, rope... There's a lot that you could be carrying.
Minimal luggage is, well, minimal.
I'm assuming these travel times were based off of a leisurely pace, not a brisk / hustle pace. A well-traveled person can probably move faster than the numbers assigned, and modern people whose bodies are well conditioned can indeed go 20 miles a day if taking breaks and stops, 26-27 if they're not.
Considering the terrain, however, I think the numbers I dug up are reasonable.
Double post, sorry.
I got asked a REALLY good question on Discord, which was "Just how big is this region and how hecking long does it take to travel?"
Now, my initial response was to freak out. My second response was to do some research and slap the keyboard a bunch.
You can find travel times and region size discussed in the maps / regions of Ulrania section of the first post. It's under its own hider.
I got asked a REALLY good question on Discord, which was "Just how big is this region and how hecking long does it take to travel?"
Now, my initial response was to freak out. My second response was to do some research and slap the keyboard a bunch.
You can find travel times and region size discussed in the maps / regions of Ulrania section of the first post. It's under its own hider.
© 2007-2024