Robeatics Member
Codename: Fupa
STATUS: My Pathfinder character just hooked up with a sentient beam of light, txt it 11 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 12 mos ago
- Old Guild Username: Robeatics
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
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ChronicleMan
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11 yrs ago
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My Pathfinder character just hooked up with a sentient beam of light, txt it
11 yrs ago
So I'm eating creamy peanut butter instead of crunchy and it's the worst decision of my goddamn life
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I don't know about you, but I tried playing WoW one time and partnered up with someone for a boss quest and my boobs melted off. Plopped right onto my keyboard. Those people are protecting themselves.
Very nice! It both fits the feeling of early morning and animal crossing.
The walk back to the inn from Vargar’s shop had been among the briskest in Urzoth’s life. She did not run for fear of appearing suspicious and thereby being investigated by any guards, yet the information she carried in her brain made her feet feel both far too light and far too slow. The streets went by in a blur, a flurry of noise like a blizzard in the midst of Morshum’s winter, and she was so preoccupied with not sprinting and clanging down the alleys in her excitement that the sagging sign to the inn knocked against the top of her helm and forced her to skid to a halt. She sucked herself back inside, into the shell that responded to General and Champion only, and pushed the door open with a now steeled expression. Durb and Ushtur were sharpening their blades and arrowheads at a table in the corner, and Bulag stood at the counter with his gut pressed forward against its edge, leaning and talking with the unfortunate young bartender. He was swirling a vial between his fingers as his big beard yapped and his neck quivered, and Urzoth could tell the man was bragging. She tugged him out of it with a conspicuous kick to close the door behind her.
Ushtur was the first to look up, and gave Urzoth a reserved smile and a twiddle of an arrow in greeting. Bulag smoothened down his robes after tucking the vial back into its hiding spot. “Champion,” He said, as if to distract from his recovery. “Do you have news from—“
For what felt like the thousandth time, Urzoth interrupted him. “<Hold,>” She murmured in the more common trader’s tongue of the strongholds, “<We cannot trust these other customers. I have found something we will discuss soon.>” She could hear Ushtur abandoning her table to approach Urzoth, and her eyes darted to settle back on a few Redguard dock workers reclining by the further corner of the room. They had stopped their after-work gossip, and now glanced over at the commotion, inclining Urzoth to grip Ushtur’s bicep and pull her into the salt of the midmorning air outside.
“<Did you find out where the Champions are?>” Ushtur looked a little excited, fidgeting with the arrow she still gripped in her fingers, face tilted upward toward Urzoth’s like a child full of wonderment.
“<No. But the man I spoke with was helpful. I wanted to show you something at low tide.>”
By the time Ushtur and Urzoth, as discreetly as they could, made it back from Vargar’s tunnel, Bulag was pressing them both for news outside the inn. It was around midday, and the sun scorched his beading forehead. Urzoth watched him peer over from the chatting Ushtur every so often to give a few frowning glances, as if indignant that Urzoth had taken Ushtur to see the secret passage herself rather than him, her marginally official second-in-command. Ushtur paused to glance between them and seemed to almost shrink down between them, avoiding the crossfire of words sure to follow. Bulag had his thumbs hooked into his thick waist sash, his throat bobbing. “<Are you sure this is not a ruse to have us arrested, Champion?>”
Urzoth both inwardly and outwardly groaned. In Morshum, any questioning of the chief’s orders would have been met with a swift challenge and inevitable beating. For the city Orcs, the rules were different, and so Urzoth had to force herself to not jab a finger right into the silly band on Bulag’s shoulder. “<Yes, he carved out a deep-running entrance into a drainage pipe just so he could lure some unsuspecting goblin-humper into getting arrested. In doing so making himself look like a damn rebel.>” Her tone was harsh, and for Bulag she offered few niceties.
Urzoth glanced down at a pressure at her armor, and saw Ushtur was, oddly, pressing a hand to the belly of her breastplate, as if that would quell the brewing conflict. Ushtur glanced up to Urzoth, her eyes hoping she wouldn’t be punished for the inappropriate familiarity (over the years of knowing one another, any pretenses had been thrown away piece by piece as they continued to save one another’s lives, but Ushtur clung to manners still). She spoke, and the others listened. “<We need to trust the General, Bulag. She knows a thing or two about fighting corrupt leadership and working with rebels. Let’s see what this tunnel will send our way.>”
Ushtur was the first to look up, and gave Urzoth a reserved smile and a twiddle of an arrow in greeting. Bulag smoothened down his robes after tucking the vial back into its hiding spot. “Champion,” He said, as if to distract from his recovery. “Do you have news from—“
For what felt like the thousandth time, Urzoth interrupted him. “<Hold,>” She murmured in the more common trader’s tongue of the strongholds, “<We cannot trust these other customers. I have found something we will discuss soon.>” She could hear Ushtur abandoning her table to approach Urzoth, and her eyes darted to settle back on a few Redguard dock workers reclining by the further corner of the room. They had stopped their after-work gossip, and now glanced over at the commotion, inclining Urzoth to grip Ushtur’s bicep and pull her into the salt of the midmorning air outside.
“<Did you find out where the Champions are?>” Ushtur looked a little excited, fidgeting with the arrow she still gripped in her fingers, face tilted upward toward Urzoth’s like a child full of wonderment.
“<No. But the man I spoke with was helpful. I wanted to show you something at low tide.>”
By the time Ushtur and Urzoth, as discreetly as they could, made it back from Vargar’s tunnel, Bulag was pressing them both for news outside the inn. It was around midday, and the sun scorched his beading forehead. Urzoth watched him peer over from the chatting Ushtur every so often to give a few frowning glances, as if indignant that Urzoth had taken Ushtur to see the secret passage herself rather than him, her marginally official second-in-command. Ushtur paused to glance between them and seemed to almost shrink down between them, avoiding the crossfire of words sure to follow. Bulag had his thumbs hooked into his thick waist sash, his throat bobbing. “<Are you sure this is not a ruse to have us arrested, Champion?>”
Urzoth both inwardly and outwardly groaned. In Morshum, any questioning of the chief’s orders would have been met with a swift challenge and inevitable beating. For the city Orcs, the rules were different, and so Urzoth had to force herself to not jab a finger right into the silly band on Bulag’s shoulder. “<Yes, he carved out a deep-running entrance into a drainage pipe just so he could lure some unsuspecting goblin-humper into getting arrested. In doing so making himself look like a damn rebel.>” Her tone was harsh, and for Bulag she offered few niceties.
Urzoth glanced down at a pressure at her armor, and saw Ushtur was, oddly, pressing a hand to the belly of her breastplate, as if that would quell the brewing conflict. Ushtur glanced up to Urzoth, her eyes hoping she wouldn’t be punished for the inappropriate familiarity (over the years of knowing one another, any pretenses had been thrown away piece by piece as they continued to save one another’s lives, but Ushtur clung to manners still). She spoke, and the others listened. “<We need to trust the General, Bulag. She knows a thing or two about fighting corrupt leadership and working with rebels. Let’s see what this tunnel will send our way.>”
Dervish said
A big problem, I think, is that instead of interacting with each other's characters, a lot of you seem to have decided to turn a bunch of NPCs into pseudo player characters that your character almost solely interacts with.
Eek, yeah, guilty. I figured I could use them as a good train to keep me from just having Urzoth monologue for half of the post while she wanders around Hammerfell looking for her friends. There's a good chance that with the timeskip though I could definitely say that Urzoth sent them down to Orsinium on the way over to check in on the army, report back to the king or possibly even request aid if the situation happens to be so dire in Urzoth's eyes. It all depends! My post should be up in a few.
WittyReference said
Alright, time to knuckle down; here's what's up.My life outside the guild is picking up faster than I've ever had to deal with in my sheltered existence (girls, work, meeting my dad etc.) and I don't know how to manage my time. I try to check into the OOC every once in a while with some anecdote or piece of writing I think might stir something up (it never does) but as for actual posts they don't cross my mind until it's too late at which point I cringe at even checking the Guild because I know what a shit player I'm being which makes me cringe more the next time and it continues. It's why Cub disappeared so often last time around.My two cents on the situation is a final push, sink or swim before Winter. I say round up who's willing to keep going, merge the groups with a timeskip and set it at a place in Hammerfell with a single clear directive. I know it's a bit extreme but it seems like every time we branch off into groups (Palace of Kings in the first one as well as the bandit cavess and the Goblins and Scorpions now) something goes awry. I say one cohesive group and if the characters son't approve, good! Let them complain, plot to leave, rebel, whatever. More people, more interaction, more story.That's what I think.
I wouldn't mind something along those lines, but the work it may require to fill in the blanks could prove to be very tough to compress into a post or two. It's up to everyone! I'm still very new to the dynamics of this specific RP and to many of the faces here, so I'm open to whatever would be best for everyone as far as both catching up and coming together.
Psyker Landshark said
Honestly, my ability to post has been steadily decreasing ever since the semester started. I'm entirely willing to keep going, but realistically, I know that I'm a slow asshole, and if nothing else, I'm dragging down the pace here.
Oh god, taking the words out of my mouth. I've got about half a post festering in a Word document. ;;
You know what, actually? I'm gonna get a damn post up if it kills me. Stand back, everyone.
EDIT: Okay, going well so far. By tomorrow night it should be finished and up. Sorry about taking so long, we gotta get on it folks! Maybe I can steal from Cairo and write some ironic fanfiction. Who's up for a preschool AU?
I like Karkat, personally. Gamzee can go get his codpiece caught in a blender for what he did to Terezi though. :p
All of that will end up in a doomed timeline somewhere, I'm sure. But I feel like everyone who's now a ghost/has been a ghost will end up grouping together again.
All of that will end up in a doomed timeline somewhere, I'm sure. But I feel like everyone who's now a ghost/has been a ghost will end up grouping together again.
Hey, figured I'd jump in on this. Tell me what you guys think!
Name: Deadfall
Size: Has a 13-foot wide fuselage, about 120 feet in length from captain’s cabin to the very back of the plane. There are two levels, the passenger section and captain’s cabin as well as a forward and aft cargo compartment, both compartments only around 4 feet tall and very cramped. The plane is 25,000 feet in the air above an ocean. Each wing of the plane is about 1,300 square feet.
Properties:
1. The walls of the plane cannot be punctured, penetrated or otherwise damaged, but it has four emergency exits at the front and back of the plane that can be opened. Depressurization would almost immediately suck all but the strongest combatants in the vicinity outside.
2. The plane is slowly descending toward the ocean at a steady rate, impacting in about 30 minutes.
3. There is one parachute pack each in the aft and forward cargo compartments.
4. Combatants, were they to go outside the plane, have no given abilities of flight, but can maneuver and grab for the plane with more control and agility than would typically be afforded under typical circumstances, as far as physics are concerned.
Player Capacity: 2-4 players
Description : An old, 1950s 707 with no pilot and no passengers. The metal on the wings and fuselage is old and rusted, and the engines smoke and emit a droning, immensely loud rumbling that sounds like the distant grinding of a hundred souls. There is a dark, grey storm brewing all around the plane, making it impossible to see where it is going, and through the clouds one can barely make out the sight of black, churning waters below.
Flavour Text: The very existence of this plane is an enigma, its intent and origin utterly unknown. From the ethereal, muffled noises like shuffling entities coming from the underfoot cargo compartments to the pilot’s cabin that emanates an ice-cold chill, any combatants unlucky enough to find themselves battling aboard will be almost instantly overcome with a ghostly sense of anxiety, doom and superstition.
Name: Deadfall
Size: Has a 13-foot wide fuselage, about 120 feet in length from captain’s cabin to the very back of the plane. There are two levels, the passenger section and captain’s cabin as well as a forward and aft cargo compartment, both compartments only around 4 feet tall and very cramped. The plane is 25,000 feet in the air above an ocean. Each wing of the plane is about 1,300 square feet.
Properties:
1. The walls of the plane cannot be punctured, penetrated or otherwise damaged, but it has four emergency exits at the front and back of the plane that can be opened. Depressurization would almost immediately suck all but the strongest combatants in the vicinity outside.
2. The plane is slowly descending toward the ocean at a steady rate, impacting in about 30 minutes.
3. There is one parachute pack each in the aft and forward cargo compartments.
4. Combatants, were they to go outside the plane, have no given abilities of flight, but can maneuver and grab for the plane with more control and agility than would typically be afforded under typical circumstances, as far as physics are concerned.
Player Capacity: 2-4 players
Description : An old, 1950s 707 with no pilot and no passengers. The metal on the wings and fuselage is old and rusted, and the engines smoke and emit a droning, immensely loud rumbling that sounds like the distant grinding of a hundred souls. There is a dark, grey storm brewing all around the plane, making it impossible to see where it is going, and through the clouds one can barely make out the sight of black, churning waters below.
Flavour Text: The very existence of this plane is an enigma, its intent and origin utterly unknown. From the ethereal, muffled noises like shuffling entities coming from the underfoot cargo compartments to the pilot’s cabin that emanates an ice-cold chill, any combatants unlucky enough to find themselves battling aboard will be almost instantly overcome with a ghostly sense of anxiety, doom and superstition.
I need a looong soak in some Act 1/Act 2 rereading. That was so brutal, normally death in Homestuck doesn't phase me at all.
Still working on my post. Slow going. :0
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