Avatar of Guy0fV4lor
  • Last Seen: 1 yr ago
  • Joined: 7 yrs ago
  • Posts: 979 (0.41 / day)
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  • Username history
    1. Guy0fV4lor 7 yrs ago
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Status

Recent Statuses

2 yrs ago
Current God Bless the USA! Happy 4th Everyone! (though admittedly a day late)
1 like
2 yrs ago
Oh yay-- the status bar has turned into Twitter again... My favorite.
13 likes
3 yrs ago
Damn dude-- don't remind me what's been taken from us.... I seriously miss that game.
1 like
3 yrs ago
Imagine not using maple syrup to sweeten your coffee.
1 like
3 yrs ago
AFTER MUCH TIME-- LIFE RELEASES MINE GONADS FROM ITS CRUEL VICE...... YA BOI RETURNS!
2 likes

Bio

Coming Soon!

(or whenever I get off my lazy ass)

Here's a couple neat memes while you wait:

Most Recent Posts

@Bright_Ops@Hank

With a drunken skipping, Maxie paraded his way through the the station, bragging of his imminent freedom to any that would listen; willingly or otherwise.   He went from bar, to bar, paying off his many tabs with what little money he had saved; though as boisterous he may have been for the years they'd known him, many were sad to see such a perpetually happy face go, as such a friendly figure was exceptionally rare when the living in the drab conditions of Bakka.  Slowly but surely, making his goodbyes, the disgraced former knight eventually reached the part of the station that led up into the more pristine districts, the entrance to which was always guarded by a pair of Arbites, as to prevent the lesser rabble from disturbing the more important and wealthy figures.  The local Arbites knew Maxie well, commonly having to drag him back to his small apartment after the man's frequent drinking binges.  A large, gruff figure of the the two lawmen stepped forward, meeting the drunk with a "Hey there Maxie, shouldn't you be planetside right now? Simmons is gonna be pissed if he doesn't have his best heavy machines operator, and you know how he gets when hes mad."

Looking up at the Arbite,  Maxie recognized him immediately and wrapped the stuck up bastard in a drunken bear hug as he chuckled,  "Jamseh ya big bastard Ima miss ya lad! Fuck Simmons, that posh uppiteh little twat can go suck ah cheap whore's taint fer all ah care." waving off the rookie Arbite that had been ready to club down the unnecisarily friendly drunk, James broke the embrace of his years known drinking buddy and laid down the law; as this was not the first time Maxie had tried to get into the upper districts, "Look Maxie, for the last time-- I'm not allowed to let you past if you don't have probable cause to enter the district. I don't care how many times you claim you've got another vision from the emperor himself and whatnot-"

"But ah do!" Maxie proudly exclaimed, cutting James off as he produced the key card and summons from the the Trader from the singular breast pocket of his jumpsuit.  Looking over the paperwork; now smeared with grime from Maximilian's filthy hands, James nodded, and stepped to the side as he handed the paper and key card back to the filthy fellow before him.  "So you're going with the Rogue Trader eh? Well Maxie, it appears everything is in order. You may pass."

Exchanging final goodbyes with perhaps the only Arbite on the entire station that didn't thoroughly dislike Maxie, he then approached the Winsor suite.  The sights and smells that filled the hallway were like that in the houses of imperial nobility, very nearly reminding Maxie of-- As if it were a reflex, ingrained in muscle memory, the man brought his half empty bottle of Amasec to his lips, immediately forgetting what it was he had been thinking about. But that didn't matter, the was a celebration to be had! Just had he inserted his key card, before the mechanisms of the door had even begun to move, he heard it.  A single word, spoken not with much volume, was drawn to Maxie's ears with the precision of a fenrisian wolf hunting the ragged whispers of its prey under the howling winds of a storm.

The man burst through the door with zeal, hoisting his beverage of choice triumphantly above his head, reminiscent of one of the legendary thunder warriors holding their standard high atop mount Ararat after their final victory of the unification wars.

"DID SOMEONE SAY-- AMASEC?????"

@Gallows I take it WH40k isn't big where you live? Because if you're in the same boat as me, online debates and arguements is pretty much the only 40k discussion I get to do because nobody around me really follows WH. So I definitely understand that feeling.
Apologies if there's anything fucky with my post, I haven't had access to a computer and wrote this all on mobile.
The hard heels of Jake's boots struck against the cold metal floors of The Awoken as he marched through it's labyrinthine hallways.  Unlike the The Maiden's Shadow; a much smaller ship within Krynne's fleet, which he'd been working as security on, the amount of passages twisting throughout the ship's vast interior seemed almost countless. Despite the summons he'd received, Jake never even met Krynne himself, as he was an employee of Zek Odessian; Captain of The Maiden's Shadow, thus making him an underling of Krynne by proxy.  However, it still struck him as rather odd that such a man so high above him would summon him for a meeting, let alone know his name, perhaps Odessian had recommended him for some form of promotion.... Or perhaps an execution.

However, before he could venture further into his ponderings, a wretched smell reached his nose.

The moldering chunks of a half eaten corpse littered the hallway, its rank, wet, stench violated Jake's nostrils without fail, nearly causing the man to retch. From his tailcoat, Jake immediately procured a small, travel size humidor. though it was tinted a slight red in some spots; mementos from when it had been 'liberated' from its last owner, the box was otherwise in pristine shape. From this wooden container came a thick cigar which he wasted no time in lighting. The dull orange glow of the cigar's burning tip pressed against his features as he took a long drag; the robust scent of tobacco making the stench just barely tolerable. From what Jake could tell, whatever had done this couldn't be too far from here if the less-than-subtle (and noticeably fresh) trail of pestilent slime trailing through the corridor was anything to go by. Normally, he would've just informed the ship's security team, but hunting down something killing personnel sounded like a much better reason to be late than being outright fucking lost aboard the massive vessel.

Taking great care not to step in the thick sludge or get any on him, Jake followed the creature's trail, as it eventually led him to a large ornate door, seemingly the entrance to a private lounge of some kind. The thought of what a group of Slaanesh devotees might intend on doing with a clearly wet and slimy creature; despite its smell, twisted Jake's face into a grimace as a shiver went down his spine. Granted, he'd heard about Slaaneshi cultists partaking in grand acts of sexual depravity before, including one rumor of a group of planetary governors filling the water supplies of hive citys with enough chems flip the mating preferences of Catachan Barking Toads. He didn't like that in the least.

Ready to take action in the event that this wasn't part of some strange fetishistic act, the wrangler cautiously opened the door, carefully surveying all that lie before him as his cold eyes swept over the room. Numerous large forms filled the chamber; a rotting ogryn with many festering wounds, an even larger crimson figure with horns jutting out its head, and the dark, yet unmistakable armored forms of astartes. At center stage within the room, was none other than Krynne himself; who seemingly had the situation under control. This was clearly the place he was supposed to be. Though unnerved and intimidated to a degree by the size and power of the other individuals in the room, Jake held his poker face strong. With long, calm, deliberate strides he positioned himself noticeably out of weapons' reach of the other larger individuals gathered for this meeting. Facing towards Krynne, Jake held his hat to his chest in his right hand, a warm smile forming on his lips; such that one would typically use when greeting an old friend, as he made a deep bow. "Mister Krynne--" he spoke, his voice deep and coarse, yet his accent carried a sort of charm with it, of welcome and comfort as words flowed like honey, "Jacob Elijah Moore, at your service sir."

Placing his chapeau back in its proper place atop his head, he softly crossed his arms as he spoke once more, "You wanted to see me boss?"

@Lady Selune for some reason I keep reading that name as if it's pronounced "Lady Coitus"
In other news, I'll post for Jake at some point tonight.
*clamps teeth tightly on tongue*
I'm not gonna argue this any further, just let the man do what he wants with his character is all I'm gonna say.
@Andreyich I'm not arguing that its typical I'm arguing that its possible. Like I said, as Angron is a daemon, it is quite likely that he can manifest without the nails, as daemons have control over their appearance when they manifest. However, would Angron care enough to purposefully not manifest them? Probably not. Even in life Angron didnt really give a shit about dabbling in warp fuckery-- that was more of a thing for Magnus. So I doubt that even if he can manifest without them, he likely wouldnt have enough know-how, interest, or practice in manipulating his shape to do so.

However capable one may be of doing something, doesnt mean they ever actually DO it.
@Andreyich I dont recall the mention they still have the nails either. Besides, the nails protruding from Angron's skull are no more than a iconic part of his aesthetic. If he so chose, I imagine he'd be able to manifest without them... Y'know, being a daemon and all.

Again, the question remains-- would the nails even continue to function at all?
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