Everything I learnt about NFTs have been non-consensual
2
likes
5 yrs ago
while(inDream=true) {otaku.salary()+=}
5 yrs ago
I don't know who this Boltzmann fella is but he owes me a physics test and a whole lotta trouble
5 yrs ago
Can someone please explain why my discords are on fire about this forum right now? I just woke up and I don't have enough coffee to read a bazillion status updates
Location: Roadside Ruins Interactions: Akaia @Exit, Vincent @Daxam, Erik @FunnyGuy Mentions:
“Hey! That volume is incredible! No complaints here! In fact, I want to know how you made something so loud! It’s exactly the kind of upgrade I need for my next megaphone! Is it really in that helmet?! By the way, name’s Erik!”
Juice disappeared in a crimson-black mist before apparating in closer and closer distances before promptly standing before Erik, arms wide and the scorch-ridden jacket fanned like a proud plume. The voice flipped over from vaguely interrogative to match Erik's friendly cadence and perhaps to the benefit of everyone, turned back down to normal volume. "Erik! You sound like my guy."
Juice paused, now that he could take a better look at his new visitors/friends/maybe-quite-possibly-murderers. Black hair. Smoking charcoal. Toned. Loud. Bleeding on one arm. A leash-less hound. Dark complexion. Striking white hair. Ash after wildfire. Armed. Outwardly friendly. Not him either. "I'm Juice!" He exclaimed, thumping his helmet and drawing attention to a chicken-scrawl scratched into the metal above the visor. "Short for Juniper short for Cranberry Juice short for Joint Unilateral Interception of Communal Exigents!"
Juice didn't wait for a response as he pranced around the strangers, his gait wavering as if each of his limbs were clambering to get in front of each other. Abruptly, Juice stopped like a rag doll, spun around and tilted his helmet at the duo inquisitively. Duo? Then just as abruptly, he disappeared and reappeared in front of the van, excitedly patting the hood with a thick gloved hand and almost bumping his helmet against the wind visor as he examined the vehicle. "This is a working one? That's amazing!"
Location: Roadside Ruins Interactions: Akaia @Exit, Vincent @Daxam, Erik @FunnyGuy Mentions:
Juice emerged from beneath a pile of rubble, kicking away a sheared metal pipe as wiped away the dust from the helmet visor. He had been setting up an elaborate string of pyrotechnics for his grand 'performance' of his air guitar, when some stupid Lost wandered by and tripped up some incomplete wiring. He looked down at his array of buttons lining his jacket, haphazardly labelled with black marker on black plastic. Or he might have pressed the wrong detonators. He shook that thought out of his helmet - what was he thinking; definitely some dumb Lost. And this idiotic Lost cost Juice his fiery one-man concert, and instead presented him with a sore ass and a concrete bath.
"WHOEVER'S OUT THERE, COME ON OUT! IF YOU MAKE ME COME AFTER YOU, I PROMISE IT WON'T BE PLEASANT!!"
Juice immediately froze his movements, his senses rifling to pick apart what he had just heard. A voice. Male. Human? Comprehensible, but unfamiliar. Not him. In a few short skips he located his baseball bat, shouldering it as he peered around in the direction of the voice. He strained to see across all the smoke and dust that was still clinging unto the air, but there were two, three figures in the direction of the outskirts road. Two taller ones and one shorter one, plus a vaguely bright square object behind them. Not Lost, by the way they stood, and at least one VERY loud person. What were they doing here, anyway? Surveying? Scavenging?
Juice reached underneath his helmet, thumbed a dial to push his voice volume up and shouted back a thundering response, rivalling a megaphone. The voice synthesizer crackled between the words as it struggled to keep up with the volume.
"ARE YOU COPS?! YOU HAVE TO TELL ME IF YOU'RE COPS!"
Juice paused and pondered what he was saying. Hang on, if they were cops...
"ALSO IF ITS A NOISE COMPLAINT I'M NOT LISTENING!"
A helmeted figure patted the tee down amongst the ruined concrete, topping it off with a small white sphere with the delicate deliberation of a practised hand. He stepped back, and lifted a dented but lovingly polished baseball bat off the side of a crumbling concrete wall. He did not seem to be burdened neither by the motorcycle visor nor the countless tinkling cylinders within his leather jacket as he stepped gingerly around, scanning his environs. He was atop an apartment building, lying broken on its side and setting the stage for the champion's greatest shot yet. A heavily synthesized voice started to narrate his movements, heavy with anticipation.
"Here he is, the mysterious champion himself, the great Juice on the newly acquired field..."
His mark - a tired gray pillar that held what remained of a parking lot in precarious balance. He raised a hand to the clouded sky, setting a gloved finger to the wind.
"Wind 5 knots downwind. Quite the weather we have, but we'll have to see if he can hit it, Bob."
"Yes, Brent, but he's made harder shots before, he won't fail us now,"
Underneath the visor held an artisan in focus. In flow. The distant howl of some unknown horror, the clanging of broken sewer pipes and the rustling of stalwart trees, all faded away. It was just the ball, the bat, and the great champion. Muscles tensed, fingers twitching, eyes fixed on the target in the distance. Like a spring, his arm muscles coiled backwards, ready to strike.
With one fluid motion he brought his power down and through the metal, hitting the ball so hard the tee tore itself from the ground and for a moment, rocketed through the air along with the ball. Not as fast, not as graceful as the ball itself, whistling into the sky. The man steadied himself from his own mighty blow, tracking the white streak in the sky.
"Three!
Two!
One!"
Just as the 'ball' was about to barrel into the side of the concrete pillar, it ceased to be a ball but a wild light, a brilliant burst of orange and red painting itself across the drab grey landscape. The crack of the explosion rocked through the otherwise still air, shivering remaining windows and echoing all across the building, before being overtaken by the roar of the rest of the building crumbling upon itself. In a few seconds, the parking lot was replaced with a giant dust cloud and a few startled Lost buried under the rubble.
"By Jove, he's done it! He's done it again! The grenade golf champion strikes again!"
"Juice! Juice! Juice! Juice!" The champion threw away the bat and ran around the rooftop in triumph, arms in the air and pumping his fists at the cheers of the 'crowd'. And then, as if a divine hand had enough of such madness and finally found the plug, the helmeted figure abruptly collapsed mid-elation and landed on the floor with a thwack.
Juice murmured something incoherently.
Between rusting cars, an equally incoherent grumble answered, shifting between inhuman and barely human.
He rolled over, staring blankly at the sky. "I'm bored..."
The grumbling became more louder, more insistent.
Juice let out a sigh as he pulled himself up from the ground. "Yeah yeah, I'll get off your lawn." In a series of red flashes, he snatched up the bat, marvelled at his handiwork of a dust cloud, and gave the closest shambling Lost a small wave before disappearing between the ruins.
Out of his many idiosyncrasies and non-sense ramblings, Juice is very, very particular about his appearance. Namely, that no-one knows what he actually looks like. His head is covered at all times with a helmet of some kind. Most of the time he will wear a jet black motorcycle helmet studded with kevlar, spray-painted with yellow streaks and a tanned visor.
The rest of his clothes tend toward practical and protective, with dark overalls mottled with burn marks and shoddy needlework. He wears a large thick fake leather jacket with matching gloves with hundreds of pockets sewn into the inside to allow for a large carrying capacity (of which Juice seems to have some arcane system of organization). When he is out travelling he dons a huge backpack of undoubtedly explosives and crafting materials, various welding tools and wires hanging off the side.
Being constantly buried under several layers of clothes all the time, his overall build is hard to determine. He is very short for his proclaimed age and is quite lithe, jumping around and constantly trying to get into places he really shouldn't be getting into.
"Is it my problem? Probably. Is it today me's problem? Now we're getting somewhere."
| BLOOD TYPE |
Juice has a talent for being able to teleport several times in quick succession, an advantage that he uses frequently in combat to drop explosives at his enemy's feet before jumping to a safe distance, or repositioning quickly between blows in close quarters engagements. Too much exertion leaves Juice exhausted for a long time after the initial adrenaline rush.
| SKILLS / EQUIPMENT |
Two-Bit Brilliance - Is Juice dumb? Is Juice actually smart, pretending to be dumb? Is Juice pretending to be dumb to hide the fact he's actually dumb? No one knows, but he'll have some deep knowledge in disparate, obscure subjects like artificial intelligence persuasion, old world classic literature and gourmet cooking. Rare insights like these surprises everyone including himself, and he doesn't discuss much about how he knows them.
Tick Tock... - Bombs. The love of his life. Juice is positively unparalleled when it comes to making stuff blow up, or making stuff that makes stuff blow up, making cocktails of explosives from scavenged materials. His bombs are particularly compact and tend to leave a lot of shrapnel and fire in their wake, although he can also (begrudgingly) make shaped charges and smoke bombs when asked.
Theoretically An Engineer - There are unfortunate times when explosions can't solve everything. Although not formally trained in engineering and probably won't be of use in computer-based problems, Juice can rig up some strange but useful contraptions out of duct-tape, corrugated iron and other scavenged materials.
Fun Boxes - Not even Juice remembers all the hidden caches he's left all across the world, mostly filled with explosives, but sometimes also accompanied by food, medical supplies and curious memorabilia. They're marked by a fox symbol spray-painted in yellow to stand out amongst the ruins. Although Juice himself refuses to open the stashes for some unspoken reason, he'll be happy to point them out and defuse the traps that are often rigged around them.
| LIMITATIONS AND WEAKNESSES |
Famine - Without supplies there can be no explosions. Although Juice's bombs are very compact and he hordes and carries as much as revenant-ly possible, a lot of wind will be taken out of his sail when he runs out of them. When this happens, he'll usually resort to just making himself scarce and leaving the scene, even abandoning his allies if things turn dire.
Danger Close - It's hard not to target everyone in a certain clearance distance. Not that Juice is particularly picky.
Not My Problem - Juice has a very simple priority checklist. Does something need exploding? Does it sound like fun? No? Then he's probably not very interested. He has very loose definitions of morality and priorities, and if he's not very interested he probably will have to be forced to help out.
Anonymity Necessity - Juice fiercely defends his real appearance underneath all his masks. If his helmet his knocked off by a strike or an explosion, he will drop every other action to retrieve his helmet or otherwise look for a way to cover his head. He will also avoid anything that might have personal links to him and refuse to answer questions about where he came from or if anyone else would recognize him, save for one name; Rogie.
Out of his many idiosyncrasies and non-sense ramblings, Juice is very, very particular about his appearance. Namely, that no-one knows what he actually looks like. His head is covered at all times with a helmet of some kind. Most of the time he will wear a jet black motorcycle helmet studded with kevlar, spray-painted with yellow streaks and a tanned visor.
The rest of his clothes tend toward practical and protective, with dark overalls mottled with burn marks and shoddy needlework. He wears a large thick fake leather jacket with matching gloves with hundreds of pockets sewn into the inside to allow for a large carrying capacity (of which Juice seems to have some arcane system of organization). When he is out travelling he dons a huge backpack of undoubtedly explosives and crafting materials, various welding tools and wires hanging off the side.
Being constantly buried under several layers of clothes all the time, his overall build is hard to determine. His voice also sounds heavily synthesized, coming off of a speaker built into the helmet. He is very short for his proclaimed age and is quite lithe, jumping around and constantly trying to get into places he really shouldn't be getting into.
"Is it my problem? Probably. Is it today me's problem? Now we're getting somewhere."
| BLOOD TYPE |
Juice has a talent for being able to teleport several times in quick succession, an advantage that he uses frequently in combat to drop explosives at his enemy's feet before jumping to a safe distance, or repositioning quickly between blows in close quarters engagements. Too much exertion leaves Juice exhausted for a long time after the initial adrenaline rush.
| SKILLS / EQUIPMENT |
Two-Bit Brilliance - Is Juice dumb? Is Juice actually smart, pretending to be dumb? Is Juice pretending to be dumb to hide the fact he's actually dumb? No one knows, but he'll have some deep knowledge in disparate, obscure subjects like artificial intelligence persuasion, old world classic literature and gourmet cooking. Rare insights like these surprises everyone including himself, and he doesn't discuss much about how he knows them.
Tick Tock... - Bombs. The love of his life. Juice is positively unparalleled when it comes to making stuff blow up, or making stuff that makes stuff blow up, making cocktails of explosives from scavenged materials. His bombs are particularly compact and tend to leave a lot of shrapnel and fire in their wake, although he can also (begrudgingly) make shaped charges and smoke bombs when asked.
Theoretically An Engineer - There are unfortunate times when explosions can't solve everything. Although not formally trained in engineering and probably won't be of use in computer-based problems, Juice can rig up some strange but useful contraptions out of duct-tape, corrugated iron and other scavenged materials.
Fun Boxes - Not even Juice remembers all the hidden caches he's left all across the world, mostly filled with explosives, but sometimes also accompanied by food, medical supplies and curious memorabilia. They're marked by a fox symbol spray-painted in yellow to stand out amongst the ruins. Although Juice himself refuses to open the stashes for some unspoken reason, he'll be happy to point them out and defuse the traps that are often rigged around them.
| LIMITATIONS AND WEAKNESSES |
Famine - Without supplies there can be no explosions. Although Juice's bombs are very compact and he hordes and carries as much as revenant-ly possible, a lot of wind will be taken out of his sail when he runs out of them. When this happens, he'll usually resort to just making himself scarce and leaving the scene, even abandoning his allies if things turn dire.
Danger Close - It's hard not to target everyone in a certain clearance distance. Not that Juice is particularly picky.
Not My Problem - Juice has a very simple priority checklist. Does something need exploding? Does it sound like fun? No? Then he's probably not very interested. He has very loose definitions of morality and priorities, and if he's not very interested he probably will have to be forced to help out.
Anonymity Necessity - Juice fiercely defends his real appearance underneath all his masks. If his helmet his knocked off by a strike or an explosion, he will drop every other action to retrieve his helmet or otherwise look for a way to cover his head. He will also avoid anything that might have personal links to him and refuse to answer questions about where he came from or if anyone else would recognize him, save for one name; Rogie.
Jay had hung back near the edge of the driveway, lingering where the gravel met the grass and offering courteous floaty waves as people trickled in. Jay was perfectly still, leaning against a gnarled tree, listening to both the wind breathe through the thicket and observing the nervous expressions of the growing crowd. They all seemed roughly around her age, all wearing roughly modern attire and nothing too outwardly striking other than travelling light. Most of all, they seemed to ask the same sort of question; "Is this for real?" If this was indeed a scam, then she was not the lone fool - though it seemed suspiciously narrow of a demographic. If this was a cult, she'd have a lot in common.
Oh, and by the way; someone had walked through a portal.
Huh?
Jay mentally ratcheted along, slovenly evaluating what she had just seen. A circle of electric blue burned through the air, and seemingly, a red haired woman had manifested in their midst, as if stepping through a doorway never seen before.
Oooh.
Huh.
Jay's head itched from a low drone of a headache, a dull pressure sitting inside her skull. Some kind of beast growling at the entrance of her thoughts, demanding audience. Jay dismissed it with habitual ease.
As if opening a window to a stale atmosphere, talk of strange powers started to sprout amongst the other people. Talking to the dead. Portals. Conjuration. It all sounded like it had been lifted straight from a fairy tale. There was a prevailing sense of being unaware of other users of magic, including herself. They all probably had different powers, judging by the variation. And magic was either a collective hallucination of strange young adults out in the wilderness (in which case help was probably out of reach anyway), or it was indeed, as real as the fantastical tales of old. The latter option sounded more entertaining, so Jay crossed out much of her cyncism. Magic was demonstrably real, and she was going to be a part of a magic cult. Which sounded far cooler than a mundane regular cult.
Jay was going to be fine.
But Alora definitely wasn't. The woman had barely spoken up something about being able to control plants when Jay noticed she grew quiet and rigid. Was her eyes bulging? Difficulty breathing? A panic attack? Jay thawed from her position and made her way through the crowd.
"Are you o-" Jay barely could open her mouth when the gust of wind staggered her, and as if snatched by an invisible hand, Alora and two others closest to the house were lifted to the air before being sucked into the house. The house itself had begun repairing on its own, wiping centuries of solitude with supranatural vigour. It felt wildly disorienting despite Jay having never moved, the gloominess of the mansion wiped clean and replaced with a pristine building, complete with a fresh porch and even a revitalized tree.
Did the house just levitate people? Just floated them up in front of her eyes and suck them right on in? Jay squinted at where Alora stood (not that it looked like she was squinting), then at the mansion that was now humming to itself. Yep. Woop, whoosh. Right on in. It could have been a ghost. Definitely a ghost.
Jay shouldered her backpack, strode up to the mansion porch, and tested opening and closing the door. Could it do that again? "Hello? Mr. House?" She said, tugging on the door handle. If it was indeed a ghost, she had to admit, it would be a rather rude one to have flung people around without properly introducing itself.
Would you need to have a lot of knowledge about DnD for this RP? Sounds like there's a lot of discussion about DnD mechanics and most of my TTRPG is in Warhammer Fantasy (and am also considering bringing a character from Warhammer into Beyond for my submission)
