Holy shit is this depressing. I'm interested.
NickTrano
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The Hero You Deserve
STATUS: Can't figure out how to set my timezone. This is getting frustrating. 9 yrs ago- Last Seen: 8 yrs ago
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- NickTrano 9 yrs ago
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9 yrs ago
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Can't figure out how to set my timezone. This is getting frustrating.
Bio
I like fantasy and sci-fi. Some of my favorite series include Wheel of Time and the Stormlight Archive. Also, Terry Goodkind sucks. Just read Ayn Rand if you want to read Ayn Rand.
RP's I'm currently involved in:
Blood Debt (Fantasy, rebellion lead by a group of rangers).
RP's I'm currently involved in:
Blood Debt (Fantasy, rebellion lead by a group of rangers).
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2245 AD (Nearly Complete) (Sci-fi, Semi-Realistic) (Over 60 Pages of Unique Lore) (Comments Wanted)
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9 yrs ago
Forum: General Interest Checks
In that case, Seuss, shall we continue with our own scene tomorrow? If Naril chooses to wait for Gunther's return to move them to the back room, then we might as well. Either way the others have as much time as they want until they choose for Joren to come get them, and as the narrative stands right now Masef's been there for a grand total of fifteen seconds.
Forgot to tag again. Also, done posting. If you're up to it, Seuss, I'll be around for another hour or so.
@Naril@POOHEAD189@Gunther@NickTrano@AirBender@HeySeuss
@Naril@POOHEAD189@Gunther@NickTrano@AirBender@HeySeuss
Varrick's hand reflexively went to his sword when he heard the footsteps coming toward the door. He only allowed himself to relax when he saw who had come. Masef, Varrick thought, he's grown up. But then, Varrick supposed they all had. Masef was one of the closest of Brand's children to Varrick in age, but the similarities stopped there. They hadn't ever been the best of friends, but they were brothers. In times like these, I suppose that's all I can ask for, Varrick thought.
Masef's complexion had darkened over the years, and his eyes gave off an air of many more years' worth of wisdom. In other times, perhaps Varrick would have called it unnatural; but things being what they were, he didn't give a damn. When Masef extended his hand, Varrick clasped it and shook.
"It's been a long time, Masef." They released the handshake, and Varrick went back to his spot leaning against the wall. "I hope we're all here," he said, crossing his arms and meeting Masef's eyes. "You know what happened. We need to get to work."
@Naril@POOHEAD189@Gunther@NickTrano@AirBender@HeySeuss
Masef's complexion had darkened over the years, and his eyes gave off an air of many more years' worth of wisdom. In other times, perhaps Varrick would have called it unnatural; but things being what they were, he didn't give a damn. When Masef extended his hand, Varrick clasped it and shook.
"It's been a long time, Masef." They released the handshake, and Varrick went back to his spot leaning against the wall. "I hope we're all here," he said, crossing his arms and meeting Masef's eyes. "You know what happened. We need to get to work."
@Naril@POOHEAD189@Gunther@NickTrano@AirBender@HeySeuss
Sounds good. These won't be particularly long posts, anyway. Posting...
Heh. Not his favorite?
EDIT: So, I take it the rest of y'all are going to spend some time in that common room. That clear me and Masef to keep talking, or do you guys want me to hold off on posting?
EDIT: So, I take it the rest of y'all are going to spend some time in that common room. That clear me and Masef to keep talking, or do you guys want me to hold off on posting?
I'm glad I'm not alone in using the IC posts to poke fun at the contrivances necessary for a roleplay to work. :P
Posted. Forgot to tag everyone, so here is your alert that I've posted.
@NickTrano@Naril@Flagg@R31GN@AirBender@HeySeuss@poohead189
@NickTrano@Naril@Flagg@R31GN@AirBender@HeySeuss@poohead189
Well, since we're both in Blood Debt and it looks like I might be doing some more writing tonight, I'll try to have the CS finished sometime tomorrow. Tomorrow night, at the latest.
<Snipped quote by NickTrano>
An Inquisitor- or a warrior type within another Inquisitor's retinue would work fine. It would just be good to have a good portion of non-Astartes characters, but that's not a hard and fast rule.
I'm good to start this as soon as folks finish their CSes.
The back door was locked, but Varrick knew where Joren hid the key. He ran his hand along the wall, to the right of the door. One, two, three, he counted over the boards. The fourth one popped out of place if you hit it right. He rapped the board with his knuckles and, sure enough, there was the key. Glad the old man hasn't decided to up his security, Varrick thought.
It didn't take long to unlock the door, replace the key, and find himself face to face with Joren Muttle. The rear door did open into the tavern keeper's office, after all. If 'office' was the correct word for a liquor store room that also happened to hold ledgers, one of which Muttle was presently poring over. The tavern keeper looked up in surprise, reaching for the butcher's knife he'd always kept at his desk. Then recognition hit him. He stood up, and shouted with arms raised, "Varrick!" The waddling man crossed the room faster than Varrick thought possible, before enveloping him in a hug. "It's been too long, son."
Muttle released the hug after a moment, leaving Varrick to hope that the breastplate had held up and the pain in his ribs was just bruising. "Joren! Good to see you too," Varrick said, a smile creeping onto a face that hadn't done so in weeks.
The smile on Muttle's face died, and he looked away. "You heard about Brand?"
Varrick shook his head, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. "No. Is he still fighting?"
Muttle sighed. "He tried to stay out of it, Varrick." Muttle waddled back to his stool and sat down, suddenly looking very tired. "The King's men got him last week. He put up a fight, but there were too many of them."
Varrick didn't want to ask. "Is he. . ?" he trailed off.
"The King doesn't take prisoners, Varrick." Muttle shook his head and looked at the floorboards. "Not anymore."
Varrick slammed his fist into the wall, broken chips of plaster raining to the floor. "I'll kill him!" Varrick shouted. Then he noticed Muttle shrink, his eyes darting around.
"I hope you do, Varrick." Muttle eyed the door leading to the common area. "But the King's men are everywhere now. I'd keep the treasonous plotting quiet, if I were you."
Varrick sighed, lowering his voice. "Are any of my brothers and sisters here?"
Muttle nodded. "They've been streaming in. Strange that you all decided to show up today."
"Can you get them?" Varrick asked, realizing that even if his siblings weren't yet fugitives, word of him killing three of the King's men - and maiming another - had likely traveled. "I'd like to talk to them, but I'd rather not be seen."
"Anything for you kids, Varrick." Muttle got up and made for the door, turning back before crossing into the other room. "Brand raised you right, all of you," he said, and then he was gone.
Varrick didn't know what he was going to say when he saw them, but he knew that there was only one way this was going to end. Either they all died on crosses, or they figured out how to kill King Harold. Varrick patted the pommel of his sword. Maybe you'll finally get your name, he thought.
@NickTrano@Naril@Flagg@R31GN@AirBender@HeySeuss@poohead189
It didn't take long to unlock the door, replace the key, and find himself face to face with Joren Muttle. The rear door did open into the tavern keeper's office, after all. If 'office' was the correct word for a liquor store room that also happened to hold ledgers, one of which Muttle was presently poring over. The tavern keeper looked up in surprise, reaching for the butcher's knife he'd always kept at his desk. Then recognition hit him. He stood up, and shouted with arms raised, "Varrick!" The waddling man crossed the room faster than Varrick thought possible, before enveloping him in a hug. "It's been too long, son."
Muttle released the hug after a moment, leaving Varrick to hope that the breastplate had held up and the pain in his ribs was just bruising. "Joren! Good to see you too," Varrick said, a smile creeping onto a face that hadn't done so in weeks.
The smile on Muttle's face died, and he looked away. "You heard about Brand?"
Varrick shook his head, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. "No. Is he still fighting?"
Muttle sighed. "He tried to stay out of it, Varrick." Muttle waddled back to his stool and sat down, suddenly looking very tired. "The King's men got him last week. He put up a fight, but there were too many of them."
Varrick didn't want to ask. "Is he. . ?" he trailed off.
"The King doesn't take prisoners, Varrick." Muttle shook his head and looked at the floorboards. "Not anymore."
Varrick slammed his fist into the wall, broken chips of plaster raining to the floor. "I'll kill him!" Varrick shouted. Then he noticed Muttle shrink, his eyes darting around.
"I hope you do, Varrick." Muttle eyed the door leading to the common area. "But the King's men are everywhere now. I'd keep the treasonous plotting quiet, if I were you."
Varrick sighed, lowering his voice. "Are any of my brothers and sisters here?"
Muttle nodded. "They've been streaming in. Strange that you all decided to show up today."
"Can you get them?" Varrick asked, realizing that even if his siblings weren't yet fugitives, word of him killing three of the King's men - and maiming another - had likely traveled. "I'd like to talk to them, but I'd rather not be seen."
"Anything for you kids, Varrick." Muttle got up and made for the door, turning back before crossing into the other room. "Brand raised you right, all of you," he said, and then he was gone.
Varrick didn't know what he was going to say when he saw them, but he knew that there was only one way this was going to end. Either they all died on crosses, or they figured out how to kill King Harold. Varrick patted the pommel of his sword. Maybe you'll finally get your name, he thought.
@NickTrano@Naril@Flagg@R31GN@AirBender@HeySeuss@poohead189
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