BCTheEntity

A light in the Darkness (Warhammer 40k, Astra militarum rp)

I'll certainly keep an eye on this one. Joining may be another matter, but we'll see.

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

@The Fated Fallen Oh hey, Alice is talking to Argon and Geradin, too. That's neat.

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

Finally posted as Sett, fellas. If there's anybody who still needs to post and hasn't said they can't, I'd suggest pumping that out before it's too late.

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

Unbeknownst to a lot of the rest of the party, or so he hoped, Sett had not spent his whole time sleeping as the others had. Partway through the night, or what he supposed was night, he'd managed to awaken himself with the good old-fashioned clock of bodily urges, light as his sleep often was; once those were handled, he returned to his tent and drew forth from his elven bag his prizes from the day before: the helmet of the Rog he'd slain, and the Dark Elven stave, carefully hidden until now. In hindsight, the helm was perhaps a bit large for his skull... not that a bit of padding couldn't fix that issue, only he'd need to figure out what to pad it with in the first place.

But that wasn't the point of his awakening. He'd intended, earlier, to bless the helmet and cleanse it of its bloody past - or something to that effect, he honestly wasn't fussy as long as he could make sure it was just a helmet after all - but the second was a difficult proposition. Magically potent, for sure, but what sort of magic? Usable, or just vile? Two Dark Elves had slain each other over it, Fineki apparently wanted him to bear it, and so bear it he did. What more could he do, but pray that it didn't fail him?

For the next hour or so, he spent his time quietly praying over both objects. "Blessing them", arguably, though in his church, his blessings had always been as shallow as a puddle, and he had very little idea about the process of imbuing a true blessing into an item at all. In the helmet's case, then, he prayed that it would shield him from harm when worn, that it wouldn't fall off, and that the others wouldn't realise where he'd gotten it from. For the staff, he prayed that whatever power it held wasn't... well, evil, or corrupting, or anything like that, and that whoever owned it wouldn't come after him to get it back. He had enough of those problems with the Valdium sword, after all.

Sharp hearing and keen awareness of his surroundings were what brought his prayers to a halt. Something was moving around - and from the sound of things, entering everyone's tents. Shit, were they under attack again? Well, they'd have to try harder than that to catch out Settionne Maralanna the Inconsiderate! As quickly and silently as he could, Sett packed himself and his stolen goods beneath his sleeping blanket and feigned restfulness, one hand on each of the daggers at his side, ready to be drawn and swiped at whatever chose to target him, to take them as hostage, to slay them, whatever was appropriate.

It turned out that whatever it was, it was bipedal, apparently interested in breathing on him- no, smelling him, and as it happened smart enough not to try either to attack him or steal anything before leaving. Though he eventually fell asleep again, his items by his side until he stuffed them back into his bag again, it wasn't until the morning rolled around that it clicked for him - the trespasser was the newcomer, named Aeryn according to the girl herself. He did wonder what her motivation there was.

But, it mattered not. She was apparently able to lead them out of the caverns they had found themselves in, and with her at the head of the pack, and both Geradin and Argon at the back, Sett was more than happy to stay roughly in the middle of the group. To pass the time, he figured he might as well chat with the dwarf and the lizard. Was that not what a good priest did for his flock, after all? Though much of it was meaningless, intended merely to get them blathering about themselves so that he could avoid discussing his own past, he at some point asked the both of them these two lines of questioning: 'What made you decide to take up the warrior's path?' and 'What opinion do you hold on the gods? Are there any in particular you prefer over others?' Whatever answers he received, he'd store them away in his mind for later reference. Perhaps they'd be of use.

Soon enough, the previous night's prediction proved true: Aeryn's skills did indeed prove useful, upsetting a swarm of bats that they might show them the way to the exit of the cave, a show of animal handling that Sett himself had little awareness of. How impressive of her... and, to wit, he couldn't disagree with Ursaren's insight into the nature of sunlight on his skin, embracing the sunlight as though for the first time again. Not that he'd know what his first time in the sun had been like. Unlike the average Dark Elf, he'd lived most of his life above ground, thank you very much.

'Aeryn, my lovely lady,' he exclaimed, strolling to her side and patting her on the back, 'your expertise is matched only by your beauty. It's as I said yesterday: your ability in all regards will be much appreciated in our journey.' Did he need to specifically point out her appearance? Not at all. But then, he hadn't had a chance to say so earlier on, either, and he had always had a womanising streak, as he was sure the Elven nobility they'd interacted with knew full well. Gosh, had it only been two nights since their journey began? Time sure seemed to slow to a crawl when one was attacked in rapid succession by ogres, Rogs, and Dark Elves.

@POOHEAD189@Gardevoiran@The Fated Fallen@Fetzen@Stormflyx

Warhammer 40k: Enemy Without, Enemy Within - an 'Ecclesiarchal' RP [Mature][High Casual/Low Advanced]

is patient

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

Alessa Heather: PRT HQ

A lot happened in the next few minutes. First off, Evelyn attempted to take the blame from Alessa, when there was really no point to her doing so, for she couldn’t have known what her projection would wind up doing. She... lost control of it, apparently? And not in the sense of losing control of herself, either; if it was literally out of her control, then she couldn’t be held to fault for that matter. Not the way Alessa could.

Apparently, though, Director Kens wasn’t punishing them for any of it. Or at least felt he wasn’t. To Alessa, being barred from patrolling was certainly punishment, though perhaps not the sort she was looking for - and sure, she understood that her mental health needed to be kept track of, but if that meant crime could just happen, without any possibility that she could stop it? That was just torture.

...was it worse than the memory of that blood, though? Maybe not, when she considered it. She didn’t want to keep going back to that. Why was she still going back to it?

She was jolted out of her trance by Lillian. And, well, the younger girl’s speech got through to her. Sure, okay. Maybe she was putting too much blame on herself for events that, in hindsight, couldn’t really have been avoided. Could they have predicted there’d be villains there? Could they have predicted that... that Dean would...

Everyone else began to filter out. First Lillian, then Ira in tears, then Elliot with a grim expression... Alessa might’ve stood there for a little while yet, if Evelyn hadn’t exclaimed out loud about something before apologising to the director and taking off at a sprint. Which reminded her... she needed to go home herself. Yeah, that’d be... yeah, she ought to do that. She had foster parents. She ought to see them sometime.

‘See you tomorrow, Director... and I am sorry about the warehouse, I am,’ she ultimately insisted, taking her time to eventually step out of the room. She didn’t really want to be on her own, at the moment. Everyone was splitting off, and yet she needed to do something to distract herself... maybe she’d get on with those reports when she got back.

---

Raymond Haywood: Icehouse Hideout

It made sense that the Broker had some interaction with parahuman abilities. That was, perhaps, evident in how he was literally immune to them. What made less sense was his ability to interact directly with their source. “Passengers”, he called them. And apparently, control over a passenger gave one control over the host’s power - not to mention their brain. What a shame about Love Craft. And, in hindsight, about the alternate Whimsy, but then she couldn’t have been helped to begin with.

But, it couldn’t be helped. What could be helped was Ryan’s point-blank refusal to accept fault for his actions. Even a minute of inaction from one of the underaged would-be heroes could have led to a far, far smoother mission; instead, her presence allowed Overrun to draw them all back in, as she’d managed to delay them all long enough for him to appear. Equally, of course, it allowed him to remove Overrun as a threat permanently, or so it would seem. Not to mention, what PR? Surely he knew full-well that the entire thing would be twisted to make out like they had burned down the warehouse? Did the Protectorate even know anything had been stolen? Not if they hadn’t predicted they’d be there to begin with, for certain.

But no, of course Heartless had to justify himself, then storm off to avoid being criticised. Was he being petty about that? No, as the on-field leader, he had to make sure they kept up to standards. Saving potential future threats was not up to standard, something Drake clearly understood very well.

‘You certainly aren’t wrong,’ he clarified once Heartless had vanished. Best to let those who were in the right know they were in the right, it was good for morale. Speaking of which, Sofia seemed... listless. Apparently, he had to offer her morale as well. Well, why not? She’d let herself become a more useful asset in the future if she felt she could trust her allies; that was how it always worked in the army, after all. As she passed him, he put a hand on her shoulder, and merely uttered ‘You did a good job today. Well done.’ Simple, to the point. Something to make her feel good about herself.

By contrast, he didn’t feel good at all. He was still angry with Heartless, still angry about how the mission had barely avoided going off the rails. He needed to do something else... he had some spare money, didn’t he? Maybe he’d ask Matrix about some way of improving his gun some more. Maybe he’d figure out exactly what Matrix’s specialty was, and capitalise upon it... yes, yes, that appealed to him greatly.

---

Alessa Heather: Home

‘I’m home.’

The house wasn’t the most exorbitant in the world. The walls were mostly painted a singular sky blue, and the furnishings were fairly standard for a middle class family, all things considered. It was, however, more than sufficient, considering the family that lived there: a couple who had never gotten around to having kids of their own, and of course their foster child. Herself.

‘Hi, Alessa!’ her foster mother called from the kitchen, bustling in to greet her. In her forties, she was, with fair skin and dark hair, and surprisingly spry for her age. Perhaps that came with not having one’s own children, not having to deal with the difficult early portions of raising them properly. Her own mom certainly hadn’t been that perky when she was still alive. ‘I was just wondering if you were alright. I’ve been told what happened, dearie, and I’m SO glad you’re okay!’

‘Yeah. Me too.’

The woman who had claimed her as her child frowned then, clearly distraught by the blunt response. ‘Ah... listen, I know today might’ve been tough-’

‘Yes.’

‘...and, well, perhaps I don’t know in full exactly how difficult the work itself is. I know I couldn’t be a crime fighter, after all, ahaha…’ She coughed as she realised her joke had fallen flat. ‘Well, in any case, you know that whatever you need, if you want to talk about anything, ah, sensitive, then I’m here for you, my sweet.’

Her foster mother’s smile, somehow, was entirely genuine. Alessa ought to respond in kind. It’d be good for her to chat with her once in a while.

‘Not right now. I have reports to do.’

Alessa turned away from her mother’s somewhat distraught face and headed up to her bedroom. It’d be best to ensure the mission report was done by the time she got back in the next day, after all. That way, she wouldn’t forget to hand it in until it was too late, right? Or, for that matter, get caught up in.

In the bodies.

...she started putting pen to paper then. It was a distraction. Not much of one, but a bit of one.

One Piece: New Horizons!

Dirk Messir - First Rule of Furfriendery

Aww, He Really Does Like You! I Knew It All Along!

I too also did know that, Big Guy. Thenk. But, he lied, for his true friend is the furfriend in the fur blanket up on the fur roof. Only that is the real best friend. But it's okay, Dirk can be the second best friend when they are the best friends togewther with each other and do nice friend times with their friends.

You're making excuses to shore up your own pathetic lack of social skills. You're a waste of space.

Shut up, Derek, he's just mad that he can't make his own friends because he's a voice in your head. We can have real times. First, drank the cereal and milk and cereal. It's the thirst quencierest. Wait, not. No. Okay but there's more time to do now!

'Okay but Bonesword,' Dirk says, standing and going around the table to the skellington. 'You need to not lie at me please. I know the truth.' And the truth is the truth Boneswords already knows, so he doesn't need to be told that it is a real deal of a deal real now, does he? He knows, so times for the next phase step, as the Divine Purpose decreed. He grabs him at the spine, then lifts his tiny child skeleton weight, which is simple for a person as STRONG as Dirk is, and then he is thrown body into the badger's hammock, and I said 'KISS' as I tossed him. Yes, this is cool and good. They'll be the best allies. Like the Divine Father and the Divine Mother.

Like them.

...yes, that is when it happened. The BEST FRIEND.

Warhammer 40k: Enemy Without, Enemy Within - an 'Ecclesiarchal' RP [Mature][High Casual/Low Advanced]

@jbeil I'm fine with that. Don't worry about it, fellow Sister of Battle.

One Piece: New Horizons!

Dirk Messir - Friend Schadman Is Actually Cool

Okay, apparently Seizure was now in grabbed me and went to the ship. That wasn't Divine Purpose, but since the that were the Divine Purpose worked anyway, apparently? So it is cool.

Wow, did you actually want to jump into the ocean? You're an utter moron.

And you, Derek, are an utter. You. Yes, that is it. You utter, and not into the feeish.

Anyway, Slap was dead. Wait, no, he just has a knife at his temple. He's okay. Otherwise, Kaptain King Krunch, or LLL for short, pronounced "lll", wants to be very friendly with the people that are my friends. We were just about to head to dinner before we got bowls of cereal for dinner. No, they're bowls of milk. That's no fun. Wait, no, they're food from the fruit food bowl. Empty bowls. Amazing.

You can't eat nothing Dumbass!

Oh yeah?! I'll prove you that you can't do any food eating food nothing, Jamewithaniintheexactmiddle! Because Mon Kapitan Kool Ranch Doreoes just produced hand cereal. Oh. Ew. No. Why would that ever be the a good thing.

...it smelled really nice. And also tasted really nice. Like burgers. It's burger cereal. Oh no. Oh no it's better than Slick's cooking. How, though? Slick was the best chef in the entire planetverse. That's a lie. There was never any there the that when how could grgargsadgghhg

YOU ARE THE [redacted] EVIL NIGHTMARE MONSTROSITY BASTARD

'I-it's good...' Dirk says, crying slightly as he ate it. He distracted his mind from the disconcertion distraction disreprimand that word for things not being how they be are by being existing at each other Kool Whip Buddy that had the existence. There was Smithster Anderson, there was Eighter like that one robut probably, and there was a Waste of Space. Why? Because he was also drunk. But super drunk, more than any Red Rammer in the Red Ram ships ever happened. Dirk instantly hates him.

'I'm Dirk Messir,' he said to the DK Kroo, also called the Dingus Kereal Krew for long, 'and I have a cool idea. Which is that cereal to be tastes cereal.' He'd tasted cereal once, because it fell out of one of the.

Them. Sugureta.

Oh, yes, that guy. And after all that, even he manages to be a better person than you.

Anyway, that was good bowlfood, lucky it isn't mouthbowlfood, and tasted of many sweetness of some sort. Then a badger said hi too. Joanne, or probably Jolyne, Jolyne, Jolyne, JOLYYyyYYYYNE. It was, in fact, a walking talking hammocking badger, who Seashore chatted with. And she was short.

Bonesword was also short. But he wasn't a badger. He was a mushroom. Skeltal. Skeltal with mushroom hat. Short mushroom skelton. You could say he didn't take up mushroom.

Shut up Moron! You can't make jokes Dirk! Oh wait, no, that's your actual name. But it would still work as a- I mean You suck Maggot!

He's Wrong Though! You're The Coolest Guy! And I Liked Your Joke Very Much!

Yes. I am good at making matches. Slick was too, but he turned everything into matches. But that's a different story. Somehow, there were ways of people having the existing men. How indeed to do that all there then... yes. Perfect yes.

'Bonesword, who's the best friend in the land?' Dirk asked, but was eating food and managed to not drop it out of his droplet face. He had the plandea, and the Divine Purpose would tell him he could be that there besto mano. He'll get it. Oh yes I would.

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

Raymond Haywood: Trainyard --> Icehouse Hideout

‘I knew he was a threat.’ Raymond’s words weren’t exactly unwarranted - whilst the drive back to the Icehouse Hideout hadn’t had much incident to it, he could feel Blabbermouth’s ramblings having some sort of effect on him even through the gag (now left in one pocket to be cleaned of saliva later). It was, he realised after the fact, an incessant niggling feeling, the sort of sensation that had gotten him to start ever so slightly regretting putting the gag on the alternate version of his companion.

Nonetheless, he hadn’t even realised it was there until it suddenly vanished, and Broker explained exactly why Blabbermouth was so dangerous: he couldn’t turn his power off at all. In a way, then, he felt quite justified in feeling a need to be brutish toward him at the time, even if Jason smacking him in the side of the head was perhaps mildly excessive.

Then came his death. His, and... well, he supposed the alternate Whimsy no longer needed a name. Headhunter remained unperturbed, minus the mildest of combat-instinct flinches as the initial unexpected shot went off, for he was quite sure she had her reasons for being slain too - excess baggage, if nothing else, or perhaps her power remained always on even with her eyes open, such that she could never eat or drink anything? In which case, her death was a mercy for her - yet the others claimed it was excessive. Well, maybe it was, without context to it.

‘For the sake of easing everyone’s minds, Broker,’ Raymond began politely, ‘would you mind explaining why the alternate Whimsy had to die too?’ Once an explanation had been received, and after seeing the box handed over and listening to Chatterbox’s statement that the Broker’s power interacted with other abilities somehow and the sentiment relating to what they’d agreed upon earlier, he’d simply nod and move over to where Heartless stood, as if to grab his own drink. And ah yes, he had his issues with him, too.

‘Since Mister Dwyer mentioned it, the original Overrun is dead, unless he can regenerate from being blown into giblets.’ Raymond’s mention of his murder was almost casual, and in a way, it was. He was a career assassin. Overrun was but one more kill to add to his tally. ‘It seemed a necessary matter to keep us alive at the time, but apparently failed to stop his power from functioning. As an addendum, I believe some clones were similar to the original power-wise, hence the original’s death not erasing them, whilst others varied in their abilities.

‘On an unrelated note, Ryan, you decided that bullying the Ward girl doing the scouting was the best way of shutting her up, instead of, say, tasing her unconscious? And then you went ahead and saved her life unnecessarily, after she threatened to kill us as a giant dinosaur. Dare I ask, why do any of that?’ Despite his usual whisper, his tone spoke volumes of his displeasure. He’d curbed his desire to actually strike the man, for it’d likely have no particular success if the man simply dissolved into shadows to avoid it. Nonetheless, his fists were tightly clenched, if only to give them something else to do.