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14 hrs ago
Current being non american, halloween is mostly just a reason to log into games i haven't played for months to check out the cool events
4 likes
3 days ago
"my basement"
2 likes
3 days ago
most of them are looking for something quite specific
1 like
19 days ago
I did. Part of advertising for my Sonichu memorabilia resale business.
2 likes
19 days ago
Even with that new data I could still beat up a trex
1 like

Bio

If you enjoy my posts then consider pressing here to see my 1x1 interest check. Now listen to the tale of a man far from home longing to see its greens again.



About me:
Where do I begin. I'm from Belarus, and fairly proud of it. I've been RPing about a decade starting mostly with chat stuff and some LARPs/reenactments, doing the stuff of this site for maybe half a decade now. I'm a former serviceman, and while I was conscripted I make sure to stay in related circles. As a day job I'm a programmer letting me usually work from home even when we don't have coronavirus forcing us to do so and thus I got a lot of time for RP.

Most Recent Posts

tentative interest
The Shieldwall of the Rangers held against the many volleys of the Asrai before their own return fire was let loose. It wasn't accurate with the Dawi forced to protect themselves with their shields, but it didn't have to be. A war of attrition was exactly where they excelled, and the day would be their's. Though only one of ten of their crossbow bolts hit the nimble Wood folk, the Rangers had each brought dozens while holding fast themselves, armour stopping the arrows their shields could not. They cheered as they lowered their shields to find the corpses of the elves strewn across the battlefield, archers and war dancers alike looking as porcupines full of bolts.

But they raised their crossbows in cheers and celebration far too early as upon a green dragon descended one of their Spellweavers. In a single burst of flame almost half of the Dwarfen formation evaporated, and the rest that launched bolts had them harmlessly clatter off of the foe.

Though prideful, Dwarfs know well when to retreat and this was a clear case when that was advisable as the Rangers scattered as fast as their stumpy legs would take them. But though faster than most Dwarfs, Rangers were not faster than a dragon. It swept across the battlefield causing a true carnage. Only a small pack of the original Dawi remained running, heading towards the cave they had emerged from. They had nearly come to safety when the dragon again descended, the Elf upon it smiling smugly upon the Dwarfs. She began a taunt in the Khazalid she had mastered thousands of years ago to helpless Dwarfs, but she paused half way through it noticing their shite-eating grins. She turned to look back far too late to see the Shard Dragon coming, her only warning being a feint glow of the runes that the midgets had carved into it.

The ugly, misshapen and enslaved dragon crashed into her glorious beast, its thousands of dark spines impaling her green mount. The Rangers wasted no time getting in close to hack at the stricken foe with their axes, the Shard Dragon wasted no time in gobbling up the mage herself to satisfy its unending gluttony. But the woman knew she could not end it like this, and so as the venom running through the organism of the monster began to destroy he she released all the power she could muster from the winds of magic.

A horrible explosion happened within the throat of the Shard Dragon, and the runic collar that bounded it to the will of the Dawi burst half-broken. Though of free will, its mind was still broken by the remaining pieces of runic gromril biting into its flesh. It roared, spasming momentarily before burrowing into the ground.

The Dwarfs looked between each other grimly. "Shit." One of them said.




"I challenge you to a duel then, Sir Roderick!"

"So it shall be!"

The drunken Imperial and Brettonnian Lords both drew their own longswords. Neither could remember exactly what had started their argument but by now it hadn't mattered. Their duel was a pitiful sight with swords clanging seamlessly flat to flat and edge to edge. But gasps erupted when Sir Roderick after parrying punched his counterpart. This was not allowed.

Roderick was very surprised to find two arms grasp his shoulders. Sobriety hit him like a truck when he was informed he would be taken into the local stockade for his most horrible trespass. Kuno Wolfenburg - the only other Imperial guest present at the party - kept quiet. An outburst now would serve nobody. Most likely Roderick would not be set free, but by Sigmar when he would return home and explain what happened he would make sure that the frogs paid for applying this silly and indeed local rule to a man who knew it not.
Pretty based this is in the advanced section
I have like a zillion ideas I didn't go through with (yet, anyway)

I planned an RP in renaissance/post-medieval Europe wherein the many superstitions of the lands such as werewolves, vampries, witches, the loch ness monster, chicken-footed houses, basilisks, daemons, banshees, etc. are all real. But I thought there's not enough of a crossover of people who are interested in history and supernatural shit to make me get a nice audience.

I wanted a Fallout RP set in the massive OWB Mod setting, but I struggled to somehow think of a way to bring all the content I wanted to show from Mexico the land of Titans to the Northern land of God and Cannibals. Perhaps some sort of copy of the cancelled fallout tactics story except less silly.

More whacky, I wanted an RP where people can sort of let out their inner power fantasy from all the edgy books and dusty 90s/00s animes out there of intergalactic barbarians and knights and wizards and prophecies. It was to be very lighthearted of course, players more or less givne free rein to one-up their enemies in B-movie tier twists where you reveal some hidden power. Just cheesy nonsense

I also wanted to do a more grim RP in the world wars. For WW1 like some KuK conscripts that hardly know each other's language desperate to not get pummeled at the Isonzo by artillery or on the East beheaded by Cossacks, or if the second world war then follow some Tommies on their road to drive the fascists from France.

On an ending light hearted note I thought of some absurdist RPs. Either an arena style battle royale where players are dropped in a walmart and must slaughter each other with its contents, or alternatively chronicle Florida/Polish/Brazilian men as they have a huge acid trip. Also perhaps a joke/meta RP chronicling the more memetastic eras of RPG personifying the free section as a crossover of a huge kingdom and an anime convention, the advanced section as some sort of snobby country club believing itself to be a great nation unto itself, etc.
Meanwhile only writing dudes makes your a God-tier writer 😎




>>>Wednesday January 16, 1991

>>>UN

As the Brazilian speaker finished his speech the different members of the Soviet delegation looked between each other, and almost as one erupted into laughter, several Warsaw Pact comrades joining in the guffawing. Rules of etiquette were thrown out the window as one of the delegates asked for Fyodor Vladimirovich through his giggles to quietly send a message to the Warsaw pact and other brotherly nations to not make any objections to this, to let the Brazilians have their infantile fun. The only one unhappy amongst the group was the military attache, Maxim Konstantinovich. His face was somewhat grim and thoughtful as he started to write notes to later send to the Premiere. The Brazilian satellite wasn’t even a potential nuisance, let alone a threat. But that was the exact problem. The Americans had their own space program that was a far greater threat and it was quite likely that NASA was having the same reaction of condescending laughter. This was an expensive toy that would take away a great many resources from Brazil’s reasonable defence of its borders from the Americans and Washington would know this very well. So too would ordinary Brazilians who would look to the sky to see a great sink of money that might just make them decide maybe the Americans couldn't be much worse than this. The man shuddered. He knew they had to be spoken to about this but Maxim also knew that much like chihuahuas and other breeds of those insufferable tiny dogs it was the small nations that had the greatest pride which would be wounded when one pointed out their follies. The fall of Brazil would be a very dire event for Soviet geopolitics as it would insure all of America’s attentions could be put towards Cuba and the other oases of anti-American thought. This would need a great deal of attention from Soviet leadership.



>>>Wednesday January 16, 1991

>>>Soviet-Afghan Border



Holy shit it was fucking hot. Gabriel Antonescu had heard it could get this bad and he believed it but he did not think it would feel like this. Moldova was warm enough, the whole nation having a wondrous tan there that many lower class Soviets went to try and receive as well. But here along the border with Afghanistan was truly something else. If he could just about weather the climate as it was by itself there was also his gear. Oh the Soviet Union in its military reforms had spared no expense even for the greenest of conscripts as himself. But whether or not that was a good idea was a question he was more and more intent on raising. On his head was a heavy helmet with goggles upon which he was yet to put on the designated camera and low light goggles. But of course before that he was to take it off and don his balaclava and active headset. Back in the training fields in Northern Russia the kit was heavy but felt nice keeping him warm, but here along Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan it felt as if his brains were boiling inside the kettle of his skull and gear.

His chest felt rather ironically to be the best of it all. The water cooled suit given alongside the heavy armour was very heavy but it also kept him mercifully cold. Of course there was also the armour itself, a composite solution of soft and hard armour covering his arms from the elbows and knees up alongside his torso from both front and back with thick plates to make bullets and shrapnel alike strike harmlessly. That was far from the whole story of course as he was given an AK-74M with optics, folding bayonet, laser and flashlight combination, and grip. For a sidearm was a modernized TT chosen over the Makarov derivatives for the renovated pistol from the world war’s greater ability to defeat soft armours so often worn by the illegal stalkers crossing the border. The two weapons insured that the rig built into his armour had a total of a dozen magazines in it in combination with his multitool and grenades

There were then his gloves, his boots, so on and so forth that even in the air conditioned barracks made Gabriel feel as if he had all his bones broken, and now mended was still covered in a sweaty cast.

When he tried to take these concerns up with his Colonel he called him a faggot. Then to add injury to insult he made him also carry a backpack of ammunition for his squad which they were of course thankful for. But they were absolutely not thankful when the Colonel said that for the next patrol the air conditioning in their IFV would be turned off “for diagnostics”, the machine’s logs showing if they tried to disobey the order once they were deep in the wild.

The good part was that the Officer was also watching a movie on his TV, and in an eagerness to shoo the offending conscript away had not forbidden him and his team from setting on top of the vehicle. Though he had initially thought of this work-around to save himself, the looks from his comrades made it clear he would be driving the BMP while they enjoyed the fresh air.

Thus far the squad had not seen much on its patrols, the worst they dealt with was a shoot out between some sort of smugglers that had turned into a bloodbath as the explosive shells from the vehicle’s 50mm cannon turned them into puddles of red. They had then agreed to not drive up any distance to examine the scene because they enjoyed their dinner staying inside their stomachs.

In general none of them wanted to see conflict and if they heard noises akin to gunshots they tended to drive slightly around them. Indeed in this evening mist they reckoned coming upon trouble was an impossibility.

But not everything could be avoided. As they approached the border village of Aradlik, shots rang out. One of the men snoozing on the roof of the vehicle cried out as they struck him. Absolutely nobody in the squad had been paying attention and in a panic two of the soldiers fell off the vehicle, while others struggled to scramble over one another unsure of where the shooting was coming from. Though the bullets that hit the vehicle would not have any chance of hurting Gabriel the rattle of metal and the sound of panicked cries broke his nerves in an instant.

He swerved and several more men fell off of the vehicle who were rather lucky to not be flattened by it. As muzzle flashes illuminated the landscape to contrast the darkness of the setting sun, it was revealed that the gunmen were hiding behind some boulders parallel to the road. It was hard for Gabriel to actually hear anything with the man that was shot accidentally activating their mutual mic contact, and screaming in it. It was nevertheless hard to stifle a laugh when it turned out the man hit was Garik the Georgian, and none of the bullets had actually gone into his flesh instead flattening upon his armour. But his laughter very quickly ended when something explosive hit the outside of his vehicle. Four shots struck directly whilst two detonated nearby. “Grenade launcher!” Cried out Niklaus. He was an odd fellow, a bit obsessed with the military shite and knew more than any of the other conscripts about what was out here. Indeed, he was the only one who had not slept through half of the training lectures. It was said the Karelians were built different.
Rather narrowly the vehicle was missed by a rocket that curved its path, the guided missile only failing to hit its mark by the panicked and erratic movements of Gabriel. Along with the rest of his squad went down into a ditch by the rode where they would be covered from the enemy’s assaults.

Conscript Styopa peered over the edge of the sand a bullet grazing his helmet after a few seconds. “You fucking idiot get down!” Gabriel said over their line. Hopping into the vehicle Stjopa looked to Gabriel for a moment before getting to the vehicle’s electronics. “Stalkers. A lot of them. High end gear. We didn’t see them they should have avoided us. Something has them spooked. I’m calling the Colonel.”

Though Gabriel knew this would result in a massive arse-chewing with punishments like using their tooth brushes to clean toilets, it was clear this was the best move. Thus he only nodded, and patched the vehicle through to the command center of the Soviet base. A video feed opened with the Colonel who was looking very angry. Still in the corner of the vision was a hastily moved beer bottle still visible in the foreground along with the glowing embers of a cigar and a movie the man was watching placed on pause. “What do you want? There’s important administrative work being done here.” the Officer demanded, the edge of his mustache still coated in some indeterminate sauce.

“Sir we got ambushed!” Stepan pleaded. “Rockets, grenades, there’s a lot of them.” The Colonel was about to call them out on them spouting nonsense, but something about the fear in the conscript’s voice got to him. The Colonel was a middle aged man who was approaching an informal retirement into a roll like working in the academic field, in his weariness he was oft obtuse and unforgiving to the young men under his command, but he wasn’t a bad man and as a god fearing person he knew he’d die of a stroke in a decade if he let these boys with hardly any facial hair die on him.

He scrambled on his desk, knocking over a lamp and his bottle to put on his cap before rolling his chair over to a terminal. “I’m dispatching a drone. Yuri, get over here!”

The officer’s adjutant ran into the room cleaning a contact lens, cursing under his breath as he failed the first try to get it in. “Get in the seat! The guys are in trouble we’re sending a Yastrib.”

“Yes Sir!”

“Now where the hell are you?” the Colonel asked, inputting coordinates into his program when Stepan replied. The nearest active drone was brought under the man’s control, and its engine roared unheard to get it towards the location of the squad. Very quickly it made out the foe with its infrared scanners.

Though the enemy wouldn’t observe it, the soldiers looking expectantly towards the sky all cheered.

Except nothing.

“Someone throw a grenade.”

“Wh-”

“We don’t have authority to use a missile from the drone if it isn’t worth it. Throw a grenade. It won’t reach them in the middle but it’ll force them back nice and clustered, then we can launch.”

It seemed moronic to the men but they didn’t have time to argue. The Colonel applauded their enthusiasm as they all grasped the frags about their person and threw them until none were left. The vast majority were not nearly close enough to have any effect but to make the enemy laugh at the conscripts, however just enough landed close enough to make the enemy run back.

“Launch.” Came the command, and a single rocket was launched from the drone. It was an anti infantry one with shrapnel in such volumes that some pieces whistled over the heads of the conscripts. Amongst the Stalkers it left a bloody mess of fingers and limbs strewn about. The Colonel of course promptly ordered them to investigate.

The foe did indeed have high end gear with many instances of Western arms, armour and tactical equipment. “Take photos.” the officer demanded. Though who was here was clear, it was still a mystery why they had decided to take this fight.

Fortune insisted that they find out soon. As the men returned back to their vehicle the mist started to clear and they saw coming from the road towards the Afghan border village they had been driving down to a sight brought by the clearing mist. There were perhaps hundreds of them, Afghan tribals that looked… different to how they were typically taken to appear. They had paint on their faces, their clothes daubed with all sorts of nonsense that looked even more like nonsense to the men than Afghan or Arabic.

“Colonel!” Gabriel cried through the still open line. The Colonel had been doing paperwork for the launched missile, and looked up into the feed from the drone. He stuttered momentarily as Yuri zoomed in on the procession coming towards the squad. He started to say something three or four times each attempt stopping before any words truly formed. He knew what was there, he was briefed on the cult many times before. The poor conscripts of course weren’t and the better for them. “Fuck it. Yura, launch the Ad missile.” the man said, rubbing his forehead.

“Yes Sir.”

It flew in a flash, and it left a flash in the corneas of the squad. The Soviets had long spearheaded military thermobarics and the introduction of NLCs into combat Engineering was a rather joyous day for them. More greedily than any earthly flame the shining heat expanded across the landscape such that even the camera of the drone was momentarily rendered useless. But just as the fire came, so it disappeared. There was nothing left of the hundreds of Afghans save a charred landscape with a few bits of promptly formed glass here and there.

The Colonel once again took over control of the drone and flew it some distance towards the village. There they were, drawn on the roof of the small Mosque now desecrated by the cultists; the thousand eyes. With a sigh the Colonel opened the six remaining rocket pods of the drone and launched each one to leave no trace of the village’s existence. Gabriel who had observe the event from the roof of the vehicle fell off of it onto his knees, and promptly vomited as anxiety struck at him like a brick.

“Get back to the base. Now!” It was going to be a tough few years before retirement for Colonel Ruslan Kazimirko. The Afghans most certainly would not be happy about one of their villages being vapourized, and the reasoning for this happening he would have to explain to leadership. He’d get a lot more rather nasty responsibilities in the area as there was confirmed cult presence in the border in addition to growing Stalker incursions and the slow expansion of the zone. He closed his eyes, before opening them and shooing Yura out. All this nonsense was later, he had a movie to finish.
To God I speak Tilean, to women Bretton, to men Classic, and to my horse - Riekspiel.
~ Mattheus I (disputed)


Hey fellas, its your boy Andy here with the promised Warhammer NRP. The aim of this RP is to create a very contained but active environment. Within the bounds enclosed of this map you can find dwarfs, skaven, empire, vampires/necromancers, greenskins, beastmen, wood elves, brettonnians, and chaos cultists. I will allow people to take regions outside of this map, but only if either 1) the map is more or less entirely populated or 2) they make a very compelling case, and the group they want is located adjacent to an already filled claim.



It is important to note you do not play civilizations here so to speak. In the year 2501 of his Holiness the first Emperor Sigmar you will not play all of Athel Loren or the Empire. Instead you play as a smaller ruler and their immediate domain. Good examples would be the Duke of Quenelles, the Imperial Governor of Helmgart, the King of Karak Ziflin. Indeed you don’t even necessarily have to hold any static territory. You may represent a family of vampires infesting Brettonnia working both their soft power in covertly corrupting the nobility and their hard power amassing undead legions. You can likewise be a roving band of beastmen or forest goblins. Encounters will be created with me rolling for events for each player and picking the corresponding number from a list. Every time a good event is taken from the list of events, it will be replaced with a bad one. Every time a grand event is taken, it will be replaced with a minor one. Both have their contrapositives true.

The meta rules will be typical NRP ones: do not meta-game, contribute to the RP more than once a month, do not be a dick. If you need clarification on any of these I don’t want you here.



Here is an example CS for Nuln (which will not be played here, at least not at the beginning).



Though it is not necessary to be a massive lore expert of WHFB, you should at the very least be acquainted with the basics of the setting and be ready to learn more.

With that, I hope to hear interest from you my fellows, and I invite you to the discord for any questions, comments, and concerns you might have.
Hey fellas, its me your boy Andy again coming at you with an NRP. This one is to be set in the Warhammer Fantasy Battles setting. Perhaps different from other fandom NRPs this one won’t take place in the “whole world”, but rather we are to be constrained to a rather small area, but a very diverse one! I was largely inspired for this by Total War Warhammer even before the announcement of the third installation in the series but this will I hope create hype for this NRP.

The aim of this RP is to create a very contained but active environment. Within the bounds enclosed of this map you can find dwarfs, skaven, empire, vampires/necromancers, greenskins, beastmen, wood elves, brettonnians, and chaos cultists. I will allow people to take regions outside of this map, but only if either 1) the map is more or less entirely populated or 2) they make a very compelling case, and the group they want is located adjacent to an already filled claim.



It is important to note you do not play civilizations here so to speak. You will not play all of Athel Loren or the Empire. Instead you play as a smaller ruler and their immediate domain. Good examples would be the Duke of Quenelles, the Imperial Governor of Helmgart, the King of Karak Ziflin. Indeed you don’t even necessarily have to hold any static territory. You may represent a family of vampires infesting Brettonnia working both their soft power in covertly corrupting the nobility and their hard power amassing undead legions. You can likewise be a roving band of beastmen or forest goblins. Encounters will be created with me rolling for events for each player and picking the corresponding number from a list. Every time a good event is taken from the list of events, it will be replaced with a bad one. Every time a grand event is taken, it will be replaced with a minor one. Both have their contrapositives true.

The meta rules will be typical NRP ones: do not meta-game, contribute to the RP more than once a month, do not be a dick. If you need clarification on any of these I don’t want you here.

Though it is a work in progress, here is the character sheet we will likely abide by; when the main thread goes up this will most likely be accompanied by an example sheet of Nuln.



Though it is not necessary to be a massive lore expert of WHFB, you should at the very least be acquainted with the basics of the setting and be ready to learn more.

With that, I hope to hear interest from you my fellows, and I invite you to the discord for any questions, comments, and concerns you might have.

I need at least 4 people including myself to start this, at the moment I have 3/4.
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