To my awareness we had not been by default, @Hekazu. However, we can chose to do so if that is what you prefer or recall. Unless anyone else knows, believes, or thinks otherwise?
The Harbinger of Ferocity Member
STATUS: Masses are always breeding grounds of psychic epidemics. 4 yrs ago- Last Seen: 2 yrs ago
- Joined: 10 yrs ago
- Posts: 3754 (1.04 / day)
- VMs: 0
-
Username history
- The Harbinger of Ferocity 10 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
Dixie Fiend,
TokyoPewPew,
Punished GN,
Blizz,
Darth Cognus
Status
Recent Statuses
4 yrs ago
Current
Masses are always breeding grounds of psychic epidemics.
4 yrs ago
The highest, most decisive experience is to be alone with one's own self. You must be alone to find out what supports you, when you find that you can not support yourself.
1
like
5 yrs ago
One cannot live from anything except what one is.
5 yrs ago
The slave to virtue finds the way as little as the slave to vices.
5 yrs ago
The core of an individual is the mystery of life, which dies when it is 'grasped'. That is also why symbols want to keep their secrets.
Bio
The Harbinger of Ferocity
Agent of the Wild, Aspect of the Ferine
Nature, red in tooth and claw.
"There is, indeed, no single quality of the cat that man could not emulate to his advantage."
- Carl Van Vechten
I am, at my core, a personification and manifestation of those things whose blood and hearts run red with the ferocity of the animal world. It is this which convicts and controls my works, my writing, my being; the force and guidance in which I gain wisdom from. It is what inspires me as a creator and weaver of words, the very thing I admire as an author.
My leanings, savage as they are, are of the feline sort as there exists no greater lineage of beasts whom can be drawn from. No others captivate and motivate my talent and skill as the greatest of cats do.
Most Recent Posts
In
Printed guns, melded metal - An experimental GM-less Cyberpunk RP
→
6 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
The muzzle flash was what caught his attention, then the distinct snap of bullets as they cracked by through the air and their impacts against the environment. This was the stimulus for action people were regularly not capable of, at least not modded or tooled out somehow, and the deceptiveness of a hunter not appearing outwardly machined-up had some perks. Theron broke into a dead sprint, boots pounding the concrete and easily pushing the movement his body could take on a sprint, either way it wasn't human in the slightest and that made for a bit more advantage than the shooter probably hoped for; trying to lead a running target took practice, trying to lead a target that suddenly exploded with an enormous dash resulted in hasty firing. So it came, another burst of lead filling the air and taking off bits of the old roadway and concrete barriers.
By then the target dropped prone, hand and knees catching him as he sprawled out and made himself almost razor thin, maybe a tenth of his previous profile. The hunter slid a bit from the sudden transfer of momentum, the impact of throwing himself down to stop the shooter's aim was worth it all however, especially as he leveled the hand-cannon back in the direction of the muzzle flash. Thinking at blinding speeds, the height of an adrenaline rush and being boosted by a metabolism not meant for the body, all of him was going faster than he could register; everything was just reactionary now. All his eyes could look for was the red sight as it fell roughly on where the shots were coming from and an opposing, unusual shape to the environment. A harsh breath and a few more shots cracked the slide back, gas venting from the louvers that flanked the barrel.
There was no time to hesitate there or admire any hits or curse any misses, only roll several times over to the right. It was a ploy to keep the aim off him and allow further jacking-up of the ganger's shots; mobility and speed were his strengths in between making himself small. The positive to this was at least this weapon wasn't automatic like the last, the volume of fire was livable, but damned if it did not keep slowing him down, especially after he already had enough problems with a walking tank. Speaking of said killer cyborg, the dull thud of an explosion, a grenade, rattled the narrow alleyways down below; probably one of an entire handful and the sole thing the boosters might be carrying to really even hurt the solo fighting off their little squad. Regardless, it put a lull into the gunfight down there as it moved and kicked up a storm of dust as its fragments ricocheted and rabbited wildly against the bricks, making a hazy, nasty gun battle on the lower level more chaotic.
The pause suggested a few things, one being Golemeth was dead - a laughable possibility, but not implausible - or that the fight was just transitioning. Almost assuredly the latter, as either the man, machine, whatever he really was, found some place to set himself up that they couldn't shoot him and had to bombard him with things in the hopes of even nicking his chrome and ironed up muscles without some bigger guns or they had lost him and he was still moving, throwing out the boomers in the hope they didn't get surprised. Theron hadn't the opportunity or the moment to decide which, instead firing a few more shots with a bit of added aim, his arms stretched out before him and the gun doing the rest of the work, pouring it on against the ambusher. His nerves burned like fire in the heat of the moment, every impulse and input shooting back and forth, but the real question would be when he moved again if the shooting would come back from the ramp or if a round downed or disabled them.
No time to wait and find out, only move again, so he hopped to standing with alarming speed and zigged rather than zagged. Theron wasn't a soldier, but corporate killers weren't hopeless or naive; it didn't take some foreign literal trade war to teach you to go where they don't expect you, especially when they beat it into you each time you got it wrong. After all you were their investment and their property, but those were trainers and stun rounds, these were the "hopped-up psychopaths" and "put bloody holes into you where crash out" rounds.
Now if only he could take down the one, Theron could deal with the other and get back to hunting the hulked out freak.
@Terminal
By then the target dropped prone, hand and knees catching him as he sprawled out and made himself almost razor thin, maybe a tenth of his previous profile. The hunter slid a bit from the sudden transfer of momentum, the impact of throwing himself down to stop the shooter's aim was worth it all however, especially as he leveled the hand-cannon back in the direction of the muzzle flash. Thinking at blinding speeds, the height of an adrenaline rush and being boosted by a metabolism not meant for the body, all of him was going faster than he could register; everything was just reactionary now. All his eyes could look for was the red sight as it fell roughly on where the shots were coming from and an opposing, unusual shape to the environment. A harsh breath and a few more shots cracked the slide back, gas venting from the louvers that flanked the barrel.
There was no time to hesitate there or admire any hits or curse any misses, only roll several times over to the right. It was a ploy to keep the aim off him and allow further jacking-up of the ganger's shots; mobility and speed were his strengths in between making himself small. The positive to this was at least this weapon wasn't automatic like the last, the volume of fire was livable, but damned if it did not keep slowing him down, especially after he already had enough problems with a walking tank. Speaking of said killer cyborg, the dull thud of an explosion, a grenade, rattled the narrow alleyways down below; probably one of an entire handful and the sole thing the boosters might be carrying to really even hurt the solo fighting off their little squad. Regardless, it put a lull into the gunfight down there as it moved and kicked up a storm of dust as its fragments ricocheted and rabbited wildly against the bricks, making a hazy, nasty gun battle on the lower level more chaotic.
The pause suggested a few things, one being Golemeth was dead - a laughable possibility, but not implausible - or that the fight was just transitioning. Almost assuredly the latter, as either the man, machine, whatever he really was, found some place to set himself up that they couldn't shoot him and had to bombard him with things in the hopes of even nicking his chrome and ironed up muscles without some bigger guns or they had lost him and he was still moving, throwing out the boomers in the hope they didn't get surprised. Theron hadn't the opportunity or the moment to decide which, instead firing a few more shots with a bit of added aim, his arms stretched out before him and the gun doing the rest of the work, pouring it on against the ambusher. His nerves burned like fire in the heat of the moment, every impulse and input shooting back and forth, but the real question would be when he moved again if the shooting would come back from the ramp or if a round downed or disabled them.
No time to wait and find out, only move again, so he hopped to standing with alarming speed and zigged rather than zagged. Theron wasn't a soldier, but corporate killers weren't hopeless or naive; it didn't take some foreign literal trade war to teach you to go where they don't expect you, especially when they beat it into you each time you got it wrong. After all you were their investment and their property, but those were trainers and stun rounds, these were the "hopped-up psychopaths" and "put bloody holes into you where crash out" rounds.
Now if only he could take down the one, Theron could deal with the other and get back to hunting the hulked out freak.
@Terminal
I have been dyed exactly one time.
As noted prior on the Discord, welcome to the Roleplayer Guild, @GingaLord. If you have questions, feel free to ask away. We look forward to having you and seeing what topics you have in mind.
In
Printed guns, melded metal - An experimental GM-less Cyberpunk RP
→
6 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
@Terminal, I will have your response issued tomorrow.
The tiger wasted little time blasting across the field after the lone living enemy within its grasp. Rushing past the bear as it cleaved a deadly paw at the dragon fanatic, it stopped only a few steps beyond the designated prey. While not surrounded completely, the presence of two feral foes of very different veins likely drove the mount mad with anticipation, especially as one of the two predators angled in behind it. The weretouched beast of the two attackers it and its rider now faced showed no inkling of ignoring this opportunity and, with sizable hand gripping the sword it carried, prepared to attack at moment's notice.
It snarled violently as it took an advancing step in, the menace not just for show. Brannor for all intents and purposes intended to kill the man, regardless if he so much as surrendered or fought to the last; the vengeful hot blood of a monstrous being possessed by equal fanaticism was compelled to after all. So it became ever more evident the two beasts intended to butcher the glittering, glowing cultist like a lamb cast into a pit of fangs where nothing but tearing claws, hungry maws, and even deathly cold steel awaited.
@Hekazu@Gordian Nought@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Norschtalen
It snarled violently as it took an advancing step in, the menace not just for show. Brannor for all intents and purposes intended to kill the man, regardless if he so much as surrendered or fought to the last; the vengeful hot blood of a monstrous being possessed by equal fanaticism was compelled to after all. So it became ever more evident the two beasts intended to butcher the glittering, glowing cultist like a lamb cast into a pit of fangs where nothing but tearing claws, hungry maws, and even deathly cold steel awaited.
@Hekazu@Gordian Nought@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Norschtalen
I am of the opinion young people should go on some sort of quest and mission to find themselves. Who and what they really are going on into maturity. Something rife with trial and tremendous challenge which they must confront and overcome, so @Gunther's comment strikes particularly close to home for me.
Having looked into it, apparently it seems to be a case of missing words. The suggested solution is to leave it up to the Dungeon Master because there is no official answer for the copy and paste editing splice, @Hekazu.
Its Statistics, other than its size, are the same in each form.
That was the area of issue I came across when I read the ability from the character sheet over again, @Hekazu.
I specifically maintain an office away from the rest of the community that I use for writing. Not a terribly large room, but it is one that has limited lighting, dark, rich coloration, is on the cooler side and perhaps could be called akin to a very, very small library and or museum. I keep to myself as it is, but unless I am out and about from either of my quarters, it is known that I am not looking to be social. The other members do visit from time to time, but more often than not I am left to myself and the environment is generally quiet; the other animals do not venture up to it and are forbidden from it as it is.
On finer days I keep the window open and allow the natural ambiance to work for me, most preferably in the early morning as even a distant roadway sound becomes audible. If I am not opting to write anything I do keep something on in the background, usually something of my interests to study, but as it goes I need quiet and only natural interference to write. Otherwise it becomes a game of tuning the world out to focus on the writing and not attuning myself to even the sounds of the keystrokes. No less, writing with closed eyes functions far, far better for me and consistently allows me a higher quality of work; seeing what it is I write distracts and slows me. Usually my inspiration is just innate and nothing around me is permitted to be distracting or intrusive.
Failing this? I tend not to write at all unless business requires me to.
On finer days I keep the window open and allow the natural ambiance to work for me, most preferably in the early morning as even a distant roadway sound becomes audible. If I am not opting to write anything I do keep something on in the background, usually something of my interests to study, but as it goes I need quiet and only natural interference to write. Otherwise it becomes a game of tuning the world out to focus on the writing and not attuning myself to even the sounds of the keystrokes. No less, writing with closed eyes functions far, far better for me and consistently allows me a higher quality of work; seeing what it is I write distracts and slows me. Usually my inspiration is just innate and nothing around me is permitted to be distracting or intrusive.
Failing this? I tend not to write at all unless business requires me to.
© 2007-2024