The candle light was preceded by light footsteps; not a she-bitch, because the creaking woodwork was a slight too noisy for one of them, but more like a skinny he-bastard. Regardless, Gukb threw himself behind a large upright crate, cursing as he realised his crossbow was still outside on the roof.
"John, are you back here already?" the he-bastard called.
Gukb reached to what passed as his belt, and quietly drew Red Rust from its holey sheath. He didn't want to murder anyone, not again anyway, but he was not above defending himself. Pressing his back as much as he could against the crate, he watched the corner of his cover as the candle light grew in prominence.
"If he reaches for somethin', then I be stabbin', if he runs, then I be runnin' too." Gukb thought to himself, as if the words constituted a concrete plan.
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- SyrianHamster 12 yrs ago
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11 yrs ago
The fishes aint biting like they used to.
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Professor_Wyvern said
Fantastic.
Thanks for finding a way for the goblin to interact with someone. I didn't fancy his chances if I marched him into the market place, waving his hands at everyone like a drunk sock puppet.
Professor_Wyvern said
Oh @SyrianHamster... The temptation to see you poking around in the attic I do business in. Tis a temptation
I'm game.
The tile broke away quietly, and Gukb released a long sigh.
He had found himself atop some fat merchant's home, and was looking to take up residence in the structure's attic. The goblin had often found that when it came to human settlements, it was the rarely used rooms of affluent houses that offered the best protection. Also, he might find it perfectly possible to access the larder through the wall space. He smiled as he remembered the far away taste of salted beef.
"Focus now, Gukb me old boy," he whispered to himself. Now was not the time to get lost in waking dreams of food.
Placing both spindly hands against the exposed wooden board of the extravagant house's roof, he slowly pulled against it. It creaked slightly, and a heavily rusted nail gave way; alas, it was one of many. Not easily beaten, Gukb pulled again, this time in a stop-starting motion. He'd often found it the case, that when trying to budge something heavy, it was all about the shock of impact - or something.
A steady exertion of effort was like pushing in a spring; sooner or later, the tension would get the better of you, and your eye would be impaled before you knew what had happened. If the board came free suddenly, as he heaved with all his strength, then more than likely he'd find himself tumbling to the green finery below. Such a fall would be the end of him.
Upon perhaps the sixth or seventh tug, the board's upper edge came free. Gukb's teethy smile gleamed, and he frantically reached to grab hold of the jutting woodwork. Once he had done so, he pulled again, and the whole thing lurched off its framework.
He was in!
Peering past the dislodged board, he saw only darkness; this was a good sign, because it meant there was little chance of the room having been turned into a bed chamber. Slowly, and cautiously, he crept out of the night and into the warm embrace of someone's attic.
It smelt musty, as if the room was full of old papers - and he was sure that it was - and undesired articles of clothing.
Being a goblin, Gukb's eyes were better suited to darkness than his human peers; though that's not to say that he had night vision. Rather, the shapes of stacked boxes, mannequins, trunks and old furniture were undeniable to his slitted pupils.
"Jack pot," he said to himself, quietly.
He had found himself atop some fat merchant's home, and was looking to take up residence in the structure's attic. The goblin had often found that when it came to human settlements, it was the rarely used rooms of affluent houses that offered the best protection. Also, he might find it perfectly possible to access the larder through the wall space. He smiled as he remembered the far away taste of salted beef.
"Focus now, Gukb me old boy," he whispered to himself. Now was not the time to get lost in waking dreams of food.
Placing both spindly hands against the exposed wooden board of the extravagant house's roof, he slowly pulled against it. It creaked slightly, and a heavily rusted nail gave way; alas, it was one of many. Not easily beaten, Gukb pulled again, this time in a stop-starting motion. He'd often found it the case, that when trying to budge something heavy, it was all about the shock of impact - or something.
A steady exertion of effort was like pushing in a spring; sooner or later, the tension would get the better of you, and your eye would be impaled before you knew what had happened. If the board came free suddenly, as he heaved with all his strength, then more than likely he'd find himself tumbling to the green finery below. Such a fall would be the end of him.
Upon perhaps the sixth or seventh tug, the board's upper edge came free. Gukb's teethy smile gleamed, and he frantically reached to grab hold of the jutting woodwork. Once he had done so, he pulled again, and the whole thing lurched off its framework.
He was in!
Peering past the dislodged board, he saw only darkness; this was a good sign, because it meant there was little chance of the room having been turned into a bed chamber. Slowly, and cautiously, he crept out of the night and into the warm embrace of someone's attic.
It smelt musty, as if the room was full of old papers - and he was sure that it was - and undesired articles of clothing.
Being a goblin, Gukb's eyes were better suited to darkness than his human peers; though that's not to say that he had night vision. Rather, the shapes of stacked boxes, mannequins, trunks and old furniture were undeniable to his slitted pupils.
"Jack pot," he said to himself, quietly.
In
Fallen Realms: The Ruins of Ironshore (An exploration and dungeon crawling based RP)
→
12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Scenario #1 Planting the Flag
Stren's rapier pierced the jaw of a long-dead Elf; its eyes, overgrown with sea algae, exploded as the steel of his weapon caved its head from below.
"Away with yer, dead'n," Stren cursed, kicking the lifeless body aside.
The crowd of the howling dead was thinning, the veteran ensign could feel it in his bones. For all their horror, and that gods awful smell they carried, zombies were stupid. They never held back, they never hid, they never ambushed or laid traps - they simply came at you, willing your flesh to be within reach. If one ever caught you off guard, it was because you yourself were an idiot.
The Kv'Othe woman had found her way to his back, and he thanked his stars that someone had the sense to watch his blind side. Her pistols thundered their grizzly orchestra, and he assumed, rather than saw, that a few of the undead had fallen victim to them. She was a skilled one, that woman, but he didn't trust her. Not because of her reputation on-board the Cutlass as a rather reclusive individual, but because she was a woman. A woman with guns. Lo! What chaos could unfold if her emotions got the better of her.
"Careful yer don't shoot me, Delilah darlin'," Stren said, turning his head to one side to convey his message, but not taking his eyes off an advancing husk.
The one known as Malakaus, the half-orc appeared from the midst of the defence effort, with a handful of sailors at his back. The sailors themselves looked terrified, and Stren mentally cursed that the expedition was not carrying more experienced men. Then again, the more experienced men knew what kind of piss poor voyage the Cutlass' journey was no doubt going to be.
"Join our circle, Master Orc, and let's get ta puttin' tha last 'o these dead'ns to the sword 'n bullet, eh?" Stren said, gleaming a brief - and toothless - smile at Malakaus.
A dozen more the walkers stumbled out of the fog, reaching for their prey with arms poised to receive an embrace. Stren reckoned that'd be the last of them.
Stren's rapier pierced the jaw of a long-dead Elf; its eyes, overgrown with sea algae, exploded as the steel of his weapon caved its head from below.
"Away with yer, dead'n," Stren cursed, kicking the lifeless body aside.
The crowd of the howling dead was thinning, the veteran ensign could feel it in his bones. For all their horror, and that gods awful smell they carried, zombies were stupid. They never held back, they never hid, they never ambushed or laid traps - they simply came at you, willing your flesh to be within reach. If one ever caught you off guard, it was because you yourself were an idiot.
The Kv'Othe woman had found her way to his back, and he thanked his stars that someone had the sense to watch his blind side. Her pistols thundered their grizzly orchestra, and he assumed, rather than saw, that a few of the undead had fallen victim to them. She was a skilled one, that woman, but he didn't trust her. Not because of her reputation on-board the Cutlass as a rather reclusive individual, but because she was a woman. A woman with guns. Lo! What chaos could unfold if her emotions got the better of her.
"Careful yer don't shoot me, Delilah darlin'," Stren said, turning his head to one side to convey his message, but not taking his eyes off an advancing husk.
The one known as Malakaus, the half-orc appeared from the midst of the defence effort, with a handful of sailors at his back. The sailors themselves looked terrified, and Stren mentally cursed that the expedition was not carrying more experienced men. Then again, the more experienced men knew what kind of piss poor voyage the Cutlass' journey was no doubt going to be.
"Join our circle, Master Orc, and let's get ta puttin' tha last 'o these dead'ns to the sword 'n bullet, eh?" Stren said, gleaming a brief - and toothless - smile at Malakaus.
A dozen more the walkers stumbled out of the fog, reaching for their prey with arms poised to receive an embrace. Stren reckoned that'd be the last of them.
In
Fallen Realms: The Ruins of Ironshore (An exploration and dungeon crawling based RP)
→
12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
DiamondBlizzard said
What about Romulus?! XP also I don't spam shadow travel, and all physical attacks to him while he's IN a shadow do nothing, magic works however, also I only use shadow travel for individual assassinations or fast travelling in a limited range. (Like you said)
I'm just going to put an accept stamp on this.
If it turns out your character is wholly unsuitable for the RP, then we can always revisit the issue. I'm sure however that you'll be sensible and I'm just having a hard time understanding things.
Take it away!
Oh, oh wait you have another character. *Prepares scepticism"
Spanish? What the- no, no no no no no this is not earth. DENIED.
I've also noticed both characters lack background; surely after six months cooped up on a boat with hundreds of others, your character would have given away some details willingly or not. I imagine an assassin shadow warrior type emits some strange mannerisms when under constant observation.
Rework your Spanish fellow, and try again with him. Let me know when you've made him not from earth.
*Face palms*
PhoenixWhite said
You completely neglected people like myself-- common sense users. Sometimes simply doing what makes sense im combat surpasses any research or real life skill. I fence. I fence rather actively. I rarely fence in roleplays. Etcetera xDBut hm. There will always be a downfall to heavy armor- restricted mobility, the heat (god awful layers they have to wear to avoid rubbing their skin off with that armor, eh?) the easier target... To be quite frank, plate mail would be useless against a rifle shot (internal bleeding and such)- but let's leave this to fantasy, eh? Let us not be too realistic in this wonderful setting Ser Hamster has provided us. I do so love fantasy.//that early morning cellphone keyboard post xD
Too right it's a wonderful setting!
In
Fallen Realms: The Ruins of Ironshore (An exploration and dungeon crawling based RP)
→
12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
DiamondBlizzard said
Oh he can get hit with other magicks then IF detected. Physical attacks will do nothing to him, and yes take a shadow and say it's like quicksand. Amplify the falling by quite a bit, he literally sinks/emerges from the shadows.@Jivusa Assassin! Not ninja! This is my Mythical RP character converted for this RP!
Physical attacks will do nothing to him? wait what? I'm confused. It's 5am over here and all I want is:
For the shadow walking business to be limited to a range of two hundred yards.
For him not to be made out of steel titanium alloys.
For him not to be able to spam the shadow business as a way of killing hundreds of opponents in one instance.
If we have an agreement, then you're accepted.
Anyways, must be off to work, will catch up with you all later.
Ah, I read through the other players' posts with the intent on working out whether it was night or day. Bing's comment must have been buried under the 20 pages of OOC nonsense you guys keep yabbering away. Will correct Gukb's post to night time.
Stefan0620 said
I'll take it, I have most of the character pre established already
Fantastic. Lord knows Jazeer is awful lonesome down there.
"Pissing humans," muttered Gukb as he lashed his teeth at hardened bread. "Always be throwin' out tha' good stuff."
It was a fine day for rooting through unwanted waste, and the goblin descended on Estermere's rubbish mounds with hopeful ambition. He enjoyed humans for their quiet disregard for cleanliness; he'd of never found this kind of stuff on the streets of an Elven settlement, that's for sure.
"An' wa's this?" he said gleefully, reaching into a bundle of soiled rags and pulling out a half drunken bottle of Alwyr Red. "Aha!"
Without a moment of hesitation, the downtrodden footpad had torn off the mouldy cork and was excitedly guzzling the sour liquid. Within seconds, the bottle was empty, and he chucked it aside with a slight fire stirring in his tummy.
"Oi, you there," called a gruff voice, muddled with alochol.
Gukb looked up, and noticed he was not alone in scavenging waste. A human, most likely homeless and down on his luck, was staring at him menacingly. The goblin noted that the man was dressed in shit-stained trousers, and wore no shirt - but that his chest hair was matted with something unwholesome.
"Gimme that bottle," the man yelled.
"Shut up, ya big prick," sneered Gukb. "Ya be alertin' the guard, like." The man stumbled forwards, and Gukb hefted his crossbow. "Back away now, 'fore widowmaker makes a ... er, a widow- ah nevamind, just back off."
Realising he'd picked on the wrong cretin, the shambles of a human turned and ran, catching his leg on the corpse of some stray animal and falling over into a pool of muck. Gukb grimaced, half in pity, half in disgust.
Concerned that the ruffian may have been heading to raise the alarm - or gather his friends - Gukb decided it wise to sneak away, and so he ducked into a dismal alleyway. More litter greeted him, and though he wished to sift through it, he decided that the stale bread and the alcohol pulsing through his veins would suffice as a 'good day'. You could never push your luck, leading the kind of life that he led; a stale loaf of bread too far would get you a tummy full of rusted iron.
Staying on the streets as he had been doing was not wise; though the town guard were busy dealing with the town's day to day running of the central square, they were still potentially at large. Further still, if one of the less progressive inhabitants spotted him, then he'd be willing to bet his meagre ten copper pieces on them raising the alarm. He chuckled to himself as he imagined the exchange:
"Guards, guards!"
"What is it, milady?"
"There's a goblin shittin' in my lav."
"A goblin shittin' in your lav? All things holy! To arms!"
Bells across the town ringing, as the town watch mustered in their hundreds to track down the formidable toilet bandit.
"Ya, no thanks," he muttered. "Best be findin' me a place to stay low, so's I can stake out the place. 'Member Gukby old boy, every goblin needs iz castle!"
It was a fine day for rooting through unwanted waste, and the goblin descended on Estermere's rubbish mounds with hopeful ambition. He enjoyed humans for their quiet disregard for cleanliness; he'd of never found this kind of stuff on the streets of an Elven settlement, that's for sure.
"An' wa's this?" he said gleefully, reaching into a bundle of soiled rags and pulling out a half drunken bottle of Alwyr Red. "Aha!"
Without a moment of hesitation, the downtrodden footpad had torn off the mouldy cork and was excitedly guzzling the sour liquid. Within seconds, the bottle was empty, and he chucked it aside with a slight fire stirring in his tummy.
"Oi, you there," called a gruff voice, muddled with alochol.
Gukb looked up, and noticed he was not alone in scavenging waste. A human, most likely homeless and down on his luck, was staring at him menacingly. The goblin noted that the man was dressed in shit-stained trousers, and wore no shirt - but that his chest hair was matted with something unwholesome.
"Gimme that bottle," the man yelled.
"Shut up, ya big prick," sneered Gukb. "Ya be alertin' the guard, like." The man stumbled forwards, and Gukb hefted his crossbow. "Back away now, 'fore widowmaker makes a ... er, a widow- ah nevamind, just back off."
Realising he'd picked on the wrong cretin, the shambles of a human turned and ran, catching his leg on the corpse of some stray animal and falling over into a pool of muck. Gukb grimaced, half in pity, half in disgust.
Concerned that the ruffian may have been heading to raise the alarm - or gather his friends - Gukb decided it wise to sneak away, and so he ducked into a dismal alleyway. More litter greeted him, and though he wished to sift through it, he decided that the stale bread and the alcohol pulsing through his veins would suffice as a 'good day'. You could never push your luck, leading the kind of life that he led; a stale loaf of bread too far would get you a tummy full of rusted iron.
Staying on the streets as he had been doing was not wise; though the town guard were busy dealing with the town's day to day running of the central square, they were still potentially at large. Further still, if one of the less progressive inhabitants spotted him, then he'd be willing to bet his meagre ten copper pieces on them raising the alarm. He chuckled to himself as he imagined the exchange:
"Guards, guards!"
"What is it, milady?"
"There's a goblin shittin' in my lav."
"A goblin shittin' in your lav? All things holy! To arms!"
Bells across the town ringing, as the town watch mustered in their hundreds to track down the formidable toilet bandit.
"Ya, no thanks," he muttered. "Best be findin' me a place to stay low, so's I can stake out the place. 'Member Gukby old boy, every goblin needs iz castle!"
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