Avatar of Sarpedon
  • Last Seen: 8 yrs ago
  • Old Guild Username: Sarpedon
  • Joined: 12 yrs ago
  • Posts: 1097 (0.24 / day)
  • VMs: 2
  • Username history
    1. Sarpedon 12 yrs ago

Status

Recent Statuses

10 yrs ago
Current I'M BACK! Hit me up!
10 yrs ago
Leaving 20 September until 30 October. Going to be a shitty time in the field. Probably going to be a week after that before I even think about writing again.
1 like
10 yrs ago
Going on exercise as of 19 September. Not sure if I am going for 3 or 6 weeks...
10 yrs ago
Vacation time! Will try to keep posting, but can't guarantee anything, please be patient.
2 likes
10 yrs ago
RIP in peace, Bauble. We barely knew ye...
1 like

Bio

ATTENTION:
Course is over! Whoop! Whoop!
I have no fucking clue what the fuck is going on.
Posting speed and availability is subject to change without notice, and I won't have internet when my vacation ends, which is tomorrow...
Thank you, have a nice day!

Most Recent Posts

((Did I seriously make you wait eight days for a reply? Holy fuck I am sorry. I thought I replied days ago.))

The first mistake was nearly their last. The Duchess Gambit drifted into the range of it's quarry's claws, and they thundered in response, a dozen guns volleying at the circling ship. Ceres was quick enough to stop seven of the shots, an impressive move by any standard, but not good enough. Suddenly the swordsman his albatross had brought along showed his own worth, swinging that blade of his like it was some kind of magic, and it even worked. He only stopped four more of the hurtling cannonballs, however. Captain Cuttlam only had the time to curse violently before the last shot crashed into the deck. A thirty-six pound cannon was gone in a flash, its crew dead with it. He growled. It wasn't supposed to go like this.

Now they were down a cannon, and a crew, and they still hadn't holed their enemy properly. No one seemed pleased with the gunnery skills of the only people in the fight at the moment. The warlord had to do something. He knocked his current gunnery captain out of the way and seized control of the nearest cannon. "The man on that ship could sink us in one volley if he wanted. He just doesn't know who he's up against." he growled in warning to the man he'd put in charge of his artillery. He produced his familiar, and had the beast latch onto the cannon barrel even as he watched a second volley hurtling toward them. He hauled the muzzle upward and aimed it carefully, before screaming "Fire!" as loud as he could, hoping the crew was still paying attention.

Thankfully they were, and the cannon went off just in time. The thirty-six pound cannon roared between the teeth of the monster, and the cannonball rocketed into one of the incoming projectiles, knocking it into another, and sending all three of them clear of the ship. Cyrus could have stopped them all. He just hoped Ceres and Ace could stop the others. Whether lead rained down around him or not, though, the pirate lord was moving to the next gun. Once more his canine daemon hefted it, and once more he demanded someone fire the gun. But this time, rather than aiming for incoming cannonballs, he sent the projectile into the hull of their target. And this time, the round thundered into the bow of the ship to good effect. It shattered its way through the hull right next to the keel. The forward motion of the ship would quickly flood the magazine and hopefully they'd be able to board the vessel before it sank. Not one to take risks like this, though, Octavius headed for the next usable cannon. He intended to ruin his enemy's ship, as there was only one person on it that he cared for...
Ricky - Old Jefferson, Suburbs - Chae, Miguel, Moksha

It was clear, after only a second, that there was no plan. Chae, which seemed to be the woman's name, suggested they close the door, and that was accomplished easily enough. Then she suggested they charge out the front before the house got surrounded. Thinking that was better than anything he would come up with at this point, Ricky joined in happily. He shoved a chain under the door handle to make it harder for the zombies to get through before he followed his new friends toward the front. There he was instructed to lead the way. "Honestly, I'm better at stabbing gators than anything..." he offered with a shrug. "She'll do a good job, though..." he trailed off as he gripped his knife tighter. The smaller bowie knife on his hip stayed where it was. He wasn't used to fighting it with, so he decided he would be safest with his much larger toothpick.

And since no one seemed to have anything else to say, he opened the front door. There didn't seem to be as many undead out front, so he got himself as psyched up as possible and then nodded. "I'm going to lead, but you've got to navigate, eh?" he told the woman who'd be tucked in the middle of their little escape train. "If you don't, well... We'll get somewhere I guess..." he chuckled, thinking that "somewhere" might end up being the headwaters of a creek of faeces, where paddles were prohibited. Right now, though, that might be a better place to be than in the middle of a zombie swarm, so before second thoughts could grab anyone, he led the way, hoping someone one was following.

A solid overhand swing of his knife, on a sufficient angle, wouldn't take the head clean off a zombie, but it would sever the spinal cord, and that was all that mattered. The heavy blade of his knife seemed to bite cheerfully into the rotting flesh of the predators that tried to surround the trio. The chef focused on routes that took them past the fewest number of zombies, and the ones they did encounter he met head on, hacking into their spines and paralysing their reanimated bodies, causing them to collapse and gnash their teeth uselessly at the air, hoping to get a bite of the fleeing humans. Escape was tiring, at least for Ricky, but he knew the alternative was a horrid death, being bitten to pieces by monsters with hardly any teeth. That was motivating enough to give him unlimited energy...
Ricky - Old Jefferson, Suburbs - Chae, Miguel, Moksha

Ricky was a bit confused when his saviour reminisced about a pack of corgis attacking her, but the woman showed off a scar to prove it, and he nodded appreciatively. It looked freshly healed though, which meant they'd gotten here from Florida with some kind of haste. Then again, there were a lot of ways to get places that didn't mean he'd get any benefit from it. He gave up on that notion and chuckled as the woman suggested that only the big dogs survived. That wasn't according to the nature documentary he had watched a while ago. Then again, that documentary hadn't been based on actual experiences, only extrapolation based on facts they had available. And the discovery channel couldn't possibly calculate zombies into the mix. So rather than argue the point, he focused on getting to his feet slowly, and without being too threatening.

before he could, though, he was invited to join them, and introduced to his real saviour, Moksha, the kitten. He smiled at the tiny beast as it was suggested that it probably didn't actually care to save him. Either way, he was still alive, and he was grateful. Then he found himself being interrupted before he could even open his mouth to speak. Having been about to try an introduction or something, he found the third human in their group was now vocal. It seemed the man that had been so impatient before, was now at his breaking point. And that was fair. After so many gunshots, any nearby zombies would be on top of them soon. And indeed, they were already in sight, working on swarming in that most unpleasant fashion they clung to.

Then the chef found himself being offered a hand up, and a question, he accepted the former as he rose to his feet, and nodded at the latter. "I took on six once. It was pretty good." he chuckled as a thought occurred to him, but he kept it to himself. "Oh fuck, there's a lot of them, eh?" he realized, taking a closer look at the horde that was working on descending on them. He popped open his revolver and made a face at the fact that it was nearly empty. He locked it back up and tucked it away in its holster, before drawing the larger of his two knives once more. "So what's the plan, Stan?" he asked, looking like he was ready to take on the entire shambling mass if it was necessary. And idea like that wasn't pleasant, but he figured it wouldn't be much different than one of those really bad hockey fights, where both teams just mob the ice and wail away on each other. Except he wouldn't have a team beside him...
Oh, now I feel special!

I was wondering if you might take my avatar and signature and make the purple a little more... vivid, I guess is the word I'm looking for. But without compromising the rest of the effects. And if you could maybe add a tiny bit of blood splatter coming from offscreen at the bottom right, going toward the top left. But like, don't make it any higher than buddy's hip.

I dunno if that's even doable, at this point, but if you'd be willing to try, I'd be super stoked. I believe in you!
Oh, okay. I won't ask then.
Oh, are you doing requests again?
Ricky - Old Jefferson, Suburbs - Chae, Miguel, Moksha

Ricky was snapped out of the black by a gunshot that was definitely not the .38 special in his hand. Finding himself back in the red, the chef tried to slow his breathing, tried to take in the situation. The dogs were dead or running. The last of the pack having scrambled back under the fence even as his saviour greeted him. A woman with a gun managed a "sup" as his first impression. The man on the ground couldn't help but wonder if he was going to die. He supposed that it was a possibility, but he was hopeful, especially considering that they were in the middle of a zombie apocalypse. The last thing anyone needed was another zombie. He quietly set his revolver down and moved his hand away from it. He was on his back, on the ground, in no position to be negotiating much of anything, so he supposed there was no need to make any sudden movements.

"How are ya, eh?" he managed with a nervous half-smile, in response to his rescuer's greeting. "Thanks, eh? Dogs went fuckin' nuts when I grabbed that bike..." he added. Meanwhile adrenaline continued to pound through his veins, Ricky did his best to slip back toward a normal state of functioning. He found the orange, and tried to take in the situation. It was more than just the two of them. There was a man with her, and he looked a bit irritated. Probably hadn't been all for saving the imperilled chef. They also had a cat, though it was more of a kitten he supposed.

He wasn't much for cats normally, but in a world where even man's best friend had gone crazy, something as cute as the feline tucked in the woman's grip was a welcome sight. Easily distracted, mostly because he was trying to cope with the fact that he had almost died, and wasn't sure if he was actually safe yet, he began to sit up. He grabbed his piece, carefully picking it up so the web of his hand wrapped around the hammer, and his fingers curled around the trigger guard, making it clear that he didn't intend to hurt anyone with it. "So... You two need a third wheel? Or, I guess I'd make four." he tried, drawing attention to the cat, hoping that might make the fact that he was relatively well-armed a little less prevalent. Anything to stay alive a little longer. Richard was beginning to think it would be safer in the swamp, but still needed someone to run a boat for him. He supposed these two could do that if they wanted. Indeed, with three, they could run a larger boat, and maybe even do well in the swamp. Then again, if he could find Greg, he wouldn't need anyone. None of that mattered, though. He was still on the ground, and still hoping he could get these people to either leave him alone, or let him share in their next exploit. Whatever that might end up being...
You'd still need to unscrew the nock and strip the fletching off if you want to pull it out without causing more damage. And depending on what kind of broadheads she's using, and where you got hit, you might not be conscious enough to pull it out... Those expanding broadheads are pretty nasty...
What's the difference between a broadhead and a hunting arrow?
I hate it when that happens, it's all good bro
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