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11 days ago
Current Repping a brand new NRP that might seem familiar to the regulars: That's right folks, Gateways is back! roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
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7 mos ago
As someone who lost a parent before their time... It's never a bad time to give your folks a call and see how they're doing. One day you're going to say goodbye for the last time.
5 likes
8 mos ago
NRPs are also usually advanced level with tons of writing per post. I co-GM'd one that ended up being the length of one and a half LotR books. That not only takes time, but also makes them fragile.
2 likes
10 mos ago
Bought Helldivers 2 because of the online hype, didn't expect that much. Ended up putting 5 hours into it on my first session. For Super-Earth and Managed Democracy! Oorah!
5 likes
1 yr ago
*Inexplicable Weezer - Buddy Holly riff.*
4 likes

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Time for gambling. Time, for Voiddin. The rules of Voiddin were very, very simple- he made them up as he went along, under the guise of a simple card discarding game. The entire game, from top to bottom, was custom made for him to win (and to make out like a bandit with everyone's bets.) Flicking the cards out with a practised hand, he would explain the brief basics (play cards that were higher, lower, or the same, any suite,) before getting to work.

As he dealt out though, he noticed a large, burly shape on the edge of the campfire, holding up a card. "Ey there! Wha' you be doin' hidin' over there like? Playin' Voiddin', git here!" He flicked out a fresh set of cards for the newcomer (if he didn't end up playing he'd just fold them back into the draw pile,) crack his knuckles and get to work.

Alas though, he hardly had time to clear anyone's bets before his diminuitive Cadian translator was off like a shot, along with her bet. "Oi! Gi-" He cut himself off as he saw what spooked the trooper, gulping as he saw the distinctive uniform of a commissar crest the edge of the campfire. Placing the cards down on the table, he would quietly stuff his hands in his pocket.

Sure, he hadn't been on the surface for long, but he knew more than enough when it came to these particular scary-looking individuals. Paramilitary, right to execute at any time for any reason, could dish out punishments worse than any captain... Then, she stepped into the light and he was confused. Commissars were all black, this woman was in navy. His brain ticked over the information provided, until he came to the logical conclusion that this was not a commissar.

She was, in fact, an officer. Fingers crossed the cards wouldn't be confiscated then, he supposed.
Talking to @Reia




No luck with the tribals understanding him... But hey, would you look at that, there was someone that did get his accent. "Wagwan sista!" The lho being stuck out towards him was especially nice, the man opening his mouth and plucking it straight out of her fingers. Raising a lighter to his lips, he would strike it alight instantly, breathing the smoke in nice and deep before letting it slowly trickle out of his nose. "Now dat be wha' I been lookin' for dis entire time, y'get me?" This woman seemed like something of a dream, if it wasn't for the fact that there was but one problem he had.

"And eh, sista, don't get mi wrong, 'preciate wha' y'been doing fi me, bu 'dirtyboy?'" He shook his head, the dreadlocks which were the exact reason he had been given such a name tumbling about his head. "Call me rudeboy if ya gotta use a nickname, else be calling me Telaci. Telaci vast." The lho-stick in his mouth jumped and bounced about with each word he spoke, but the next thing she said would quickly perk his interest. Mess kit and more lho sticks. He could take them, yes he could.

"Say, mess kit and the lhos. 'ow much you be wantin' fi dem? 'Can offer ya someathis." He would place one of the bottles he had so recently acquired down on the ground closer to her, before then remembering something. She was selling scrap metal, and hey- he had scrap metal as well. Just happened to come in a weird shape. With the booze and his medals combined, it was an easy deal, and he'd put his new mess kit down on the ground, and his new lhos in a pocket of his.

"Now, this be a good day, fi shure." From the same pocket he had put his lhos into he drew out a pack of cards, emptying them out into his hand and giving them a quick shuffle. "Y'be doin' a pretty good job o' translating mi talk, but one ting ya got wrong was wu 'Voiddin' is. Voiddin' ain't no spaceship, it be a game. A good one too. Anyone up fi a little bita gambling?" Down here? Planetside? Oh he was going to make a killing off of these sods.
Paging @Eisenhorn


Telaci Vast was not a fan of this ceremony. For a start, there was the fact that he looked very obviously out of place. He had never stood in parade stance in his life, his gun was held very casually, he clearly wasn't in the uniform of the fellows around him, and more than that, there were perilously few of those fellows. So many commissars had stared daggers into him that he was starting to wonder if he'd just be shot outright, but none of them had actually seemed to be willing to finish him off, so he supposed he was alright for now. Bloody commissars- that wasn't something he had had to worry about on the Graced Blade, that much was for sure. Hell, he'd been in charge of discipline up there.

Also, there was the fact that he was receiving medals. This, to him, suggested that he would be attending more functions where such medals would be needed to be worn. He did not like this idea. Not in the slightest. It implied that he was to be stuck planetside for far longer than he had any intention of actually being on a planet for, and what's more, it implied he'd be doing more fighting on the ground. The greenskinned bastards he had battled weren't new to him... Well, they were new in person, but not as a concept, but he really didn't want to find out what else there was out there for him to be thrown at.

So when he had two medals pinned to his chest, he felt mighty uncomfortabe. The only thing that kept him reluctantly standing there were the slips of paper in his pocket- when one of the idiots he'd been with had fallen poking his head out of the trench, he'd given him a quick once over and found none other than triple alcohol rations. Up in space, these things were worth more than any credit, but he had a feeling he'd be drinking all of them today. A celebration of his last fight on Vernum. Or whatever this damned rock was called.

When it was finally done, and they were being directed off to 'pick up their personal belongings,' he ignored it. He didn't have personal belongings, because he'd crashed in from sodding space. Hadn't even received a mess kit yet, which had made eating the rations he had been given harder than hard. Still though, even he had to admit that rockrete structures with cots inside was a welcome sight, regardless of how little he had to slam down in that footlocker of his.

A trip to the supply quartermaster (as opposed to the weapon one, which he had stubbornly avoided out of fear of receiving a lasgun like everyone else) and he would learn that he had enough ration slips for a bottle of finer amasec... Or four bottles of cheap rotgut booze. He knew exactly which one he was picking up, the sailor walking away whistling an old tune and swinging two bottles of 40oz liquor in his arms. Now this? This was what he fancied.

Outside, where the ground was mostly rockrete and dry, he could see campfires slowly igniting, people drinking, gambling, talking. Perfect, a little celebration going on, and he had exactly the thing to contribute. As he wandered through the fires, looking for one where he could pull up a pew, he would finally settle on one which seemed fairly welcoming. Vast, bulky soldiers sat around it, and judging by the tattoos that swirled across his body, the armsman would be willing to guess they were more of the feral inclination.

"Ev'nin bruvdems." He would say, squatting down by the fireside. "Nice t' see boys cracking sum and chillin', get me? An' no badman commissar nowehere." He nodded, content, before taking a swig of the potent liquor he had purchased. "Anywan up fi a game'a sumting? Any'ya know 'bout Voiddin? Ah, an any'ya got a fag fi me? Ain' nobody been welcomin' wit a lho."
I think unfortunately I will be withdrawing my interest.
Should have been 65kgs because I'm English and we're weird like that.

@JB Any chance of a discord server?
Sounds good to me! Also, I just received inspiration from an unlikely place, and Vast will now be speaking with an inner city black London accent. This is in contrast to Orks, who speak with an inner city white London accent.
Armsman Vast is not going to impress anyone that likes spitshined shoes. Also, he really needs some CQC buddies.
Not sure if his name is pronounced tel-ack-e, tel-a-si or something else.

@Reia Waiting on JB to confirm, but whilst you folks were duking it out on the ground, the navy had their own fight up in the skies. He just got a bit mixed up and ended up down here.
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