Noxious

The Texanis 63rd: A Humorous 40K RP

So I started one, but the reality is that I am having a hard time keeping up with my current RP's and need to focus on that. However, if @Noxious throws in or something, I'll finish the WIP.

@HeySeuss

LOL. Typecast. You see 40K and Texas and immediately assume I'll just come a running?

okay, well, I am here and you do have my interest. Let me look it over and see what people already have cookin'. It looks like a lot of good players, but I am in a similar boat not wanting to overload. Would a post a week be acceptable or are you wanting faster pace than that?

P.S. HeySeuss, you know very well I planned to sand and paint a dresser today, how dare you sidetrack me with something I couldn't resist. It's like putting BBQ and Pecan Pie in front of someone trying to diet.

ςнαяαςтєяş × яøℓєρℓαчş

Buor'Kut

B ᴜ ᴏ ʀ ' K ᴜ ᴛ "ᘜᖇᗴᗴȠᔕ" O ' D ᴏ ɴ ɴ ᴇ ʟ ʟ

^{A tree is known by its fruit;
a man by his d e e d s.
An acted deed is never lost;
and he who sows shall reap.}

A ᴘ ᴘ ᴇ ᴀ ʀ ᴀ ɴ ᴄ ᴇ

________________________________________________________________________
<sup>He’s unsure of his age, but appears somewhere near 50 and tends to respond to the
question of such in kind. The first thing people usually notice about him is his size and
the immense degree to which it fills a room. At 7 feet it’s hardly a surprise. To continue
the exaggeration of a man his arms stem from his torso like trunks of a weathered yew
tree and reach a length a bit awkward for average, flaring out into fists reminiscent of a
sledge hammer head. What’s more, there is a certain grace about the giant, a slow
and gentle step that’s intentions are mirrored in considerate and concerned eyes the
shade of maple bark. His hair was once a darker shade, but has grown peppered in the
recent years; though his facial hair and incessant stubble betrays a color kin to his
eyes. Another oddity in the behemoth's possession would be the judgemental monkey
that makes Buor’Kut its perpetual perch, tail about his neck. .

There is, of course, another Buor’Kut. The mask isn’t a complete denial of his traits, but
his true visage is a well guarded one of bark and leaves, crisping with the calling of time.
The bark tends to be more prominent in the points where his joints meet and the leaves,
shades of saddle brown to eucalyptus, scatter wherever one might expect to find hair.
His nails are dense, made for churning into the earth. His eyes, while retaining their
color, are tinged with an inconsolable sadness that almost breeches on a loss: be it of
self, sanity or solace… it would be hard to say. His nose and lips become slightly lost in
his true appearance, there, yet diminished in importance and projection. .</sup>

O ᴄ ᴄ ᴜ ᴘ ᴀ ᴛ ɪ ᴏ ɴ

________________________________________________________________________
^{The Owl In The Tree : Tea Shop & Apothecary}

P ᴇ ʀ s ᴏ ɴ ᴀ ʟ ɪ ᴛ ʏ

________________________________________________________________________
<sup>While at first he may appear and act as a simple extension of his petite companion [he
lets her do most of the talking], he is not without his own shaded and mortally flawed
past and endeavors. His is a calm and steady personality, one not from nature but
rather intense nurturing. A life of many wrong turns grasping at a chance to finish clear
of blistering debts that slash across his soul and surely mark him for damned. This lends
itself to his almost inability to refuse a request for help. He is a sucker for a good story,
especially if it is coupled with a beer and a pleasant ending. .

But then, no one finds redemption easily. There are times, deep into a bottle, when he
begins to wonder if all this pinning for absolution is even worth a damn and it is Joselyn
who usually steers him back to the path. Sometimes on her part this is a simple touch,
other times it is a week of hiking around in the badlands to find the oddly possessed
brute. There lies within great potential, though for what it will be Jobs burden to unearth.

He had always found happiness within the earth. There was something about digging
your fingers into something as old as time, touched by galaxies and stroked by Gods of
long forgotten civilizations. And this had become a piece of his niche in Arcadia. His
keeper had formed him with the strength of elementals, a passive gardener with a
heart capable of destructive natural chaos. A mountain containing a dormant volcano. .</sup>

H ɪ s ᴛ ᴏ ʀ ʏ

________________________________________________________________________
<sup>His life before Arcadia was inconsequential and recalling life within is pretty heavily
laced with ramblings and roads better not traveled. Best to just say he wasn’t heavily
burdened by issues of morality or familial ties. His past actions sit on his bulky shoulders
like a burden of cement blocks, but it is upon his shoulders alone and rarely discussed,
even with his closest companion. He returned to this plane, already a capable adult by
any culture’s view. Of course, he hadn’t been sent here to remain. Rather he was sent
to collect something for his keeper, a death, and not for the first time. Arguably, a death
is a death, and one was offered, though it was not the youthful budding power but
rather her mother that was sacrificed by his crushing palms. There had been
something, a spark there, a recognition that rippled like flames over his fae dulled mind
and recalled something, home. This was his home and as mother wept for daughter as
no one had ever wept for him he did something he had dared not for decades, he made
a pledge to the woman in exchange for a spark of hope in those tear laden pools. This
was not a petty mortals promise, this was a binding vow with fate that wove into the core
of his being and offered him enough sustenance to withdraw from the Hedge, a hope of
permanent release, a hope of something better. When Joselyn found him, sap pouring
from deep regret that he felt stronger than any emotion had ever touched him as a
human, it sealed his path. She had become his: his burden, his family, his purpose,
when only days ago he had had none. .

To stay with the young girl was a double edged sword. His keeper would surely search
for him, even if it was just to rip apart his soul to amuse herself after his treachery. But
if he were to leave her there were many evils in the world that would tear apart such a
young girl. He decided to stay, partly due to the calming and healing effect the girl had
on his forever altered mind. He had fervently explained to Joselyn the troubles with
Fae and detailed reasons for her to stay detached from them. They were unpredictable
and cruel, and he hoped that would be enough to keep her from them. He knew better.
But he trusted her, even if he was usually quite over protective. There were times when
he would venture out on errands, searching for something that Joselyn seemed either
oblivious of, or knew better than to ask and it was on one such journey that a thought
struck him-jutting into his chest with such a ferocious swiftness that it was moments
before he could breath. He immediately returned to Joselyn’s side and prepared her to
leave. .

He had been sharing a drink with a companion from the Court of Summer, having
found kinship amongst their ranks when he worried he may not be enough to keep
himself and Joselyn safe. They were discussing their old Keepers and their dislike and
then it dawned on him: his Fae keeper had never allowed escape, had never faltered
in her cunning and intelligence. She had seemed like a God, ever present to catch a
misdeed- eating before being allowed, speaking in hushed whispers with other captives.
Did his keeper know exactly what would happen? Did she purposefully allow him to
"escape" with Joselyn? Is she watching them now? And it was for that reason he knew
they must leave. And it was, with a healthy paranoia, they came to America. They
traveled about for a bit before it was finally Buor’Kut who stated, in no uncertain terms,
he had found a place for them to call home, a place to set up roots: Job, Nevada. .</sup>

T ʜ ᴇ H ᴀ ɴ ᴅ D ᴇ ᴀ ʟ ᴛ

________________________________________________________________________
Personal cards: 1 [tentative]
Hand: currently none
Mysteries: The Case of the Bovine Butcher; Main Mystery [current]

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

Hopefully infiltration means we don't need a healer, but infiltration/distraction balance might be a little less intense. It'll work either way. The cast is a strong mix with really diverse paths.

I can't decide if I'm more excited to start with IC posts or seeing Rockette's character/aeon art.

Job, Nevada (Supernatural Western/Mystery)

Posted my, might I say, dashing Earth Bones changeling. Let me know if I need to change anything. I'm still contemplating the card I PMed you before and may add another one. I promise I'll get with you about those shortly.

Edit: ugh my formatting looks like shit on an iPhone and it's going to bother me. I'll fix it later.

Job, Nevada (Supernatural Western/Mystery)

Buor'Kut

B ᴜ ᴏ ʀ ' K ᴜ ᴛ "ᘜᖇᗴᗴȠᔕ" O ' D ᴏ ɴ ɴ ᴇ ʟ ʟ

^{A tree is known by its fruit;
a man by his d e e d s.
An acted deed is never lost;
and he who sows shall reap.}

A ᴘ ᴘ ᴇ ᴀ ʀ ᴀ ɴ ᴄ ᴇ

________________________________________________________________________
<sup>He’s unsure of his age, but appears somewhere near 50 and tends to respond to the
question of such in kind. The first thing people usually notice about him is his size and
the immense degree to which it fills a room. At 7 feet it’s hardly a surprise. To continue
the exaggeration of a man his arms stem from his torso like trunks of a weathered yew
tree and reach a length a bit awkward for average, flaring out into fists reminiscent of a
sledge hammer head. What’s more, there is a certain grace about the giant, a slow
and gentle step that’s intentions are mirrored in considerate and concerned eyes the
shade of maple bark. His hair was once a darker shade, but has grown peppered in the
recent years; though his facial hair and incessant stubble betrays a color kin to his
eyes. Another oddity in the behemoth's possession would be the judgemental monkey
that makes Buor’Kut its perpetual perch, tail about his neck. .

There is, of course, another Buor’Kut. The mask isn’t a complete denial of his traits, but
his true visage is a well guarded one of bark and leaves, crisping with the calling of time.
The bark tends to be more prominent in the points where his joints meet and the leaves,
shades of saddle brown to eucalyptus, scatter wherever one might expect to find hair.
His nails are dense, made for churning into the earth. His eyes, while retaining their
color, are tinged with an inconsolable sadness that almost breeches on a loss: be it of
self, sanity or solace… it would be hard to say. His nose and lips become slightly lost in
his true appearance, there, yet diminished in importance and projection. .</sup>

O ᴄ ᴄ ᴜ ᴘ ᴀ ᴛ ɪ ᴏ ɴ

________________________________________________________________________
^{The Owl In The Tree : Tea Shop & Apothecary}

P ᴇ ʀ s ᴏ ɴ ᴀ ʟ ɪ ᴛ ʏ

________________________________________________________________________
<sup>While at first he may appear and act as a simple extension of his petite companion [he
lets her do most of the talking], he is not without his own shaded and mortally flawed
past and endeavors. His is a calm and steady personality, one not from nature but
rather intense nurturing. A life of many wrong turns grasping at a chance to finish clear
of blistering debts that slash across his soul and surely mark him for damned. This lends
itself to his almost inability to refuse a request for help. He is a sucker for a good story,
especially if it is coupled with a beer and a pleasant ending. .

But then, no one finds redemption easily. There are times, deep into a bottle, when he
begins to wonder if all this pinning for absolution is even worth a damn and it is Joselyn
who usually steers him back to the path. Sometimes on her part this is a simple touch,
other times it is a week of hiking around in the badlands to find the oddly possessed
brute. There lies within great potential, though for what it will be Jobs burden to unearth.

He had always found happiness within the earth. There was something about digging
your fingers into something as old as time, touched by galaxies and stroked by Gods of
long forgotten civilizations. And this had become a piece of his niche in Arcadia. His
keeper had formed him with the strength of elementals, a passive gardener with a
heart capable of destructive natural chaos. A mountain containing a dormant volcano. .</sup>

H ɪ s ᴛ ᴏ ʀ ʏ

________________________________________________________________________
<sup>His life before Arcadia was inconsequential and recalling life within is pretty heavily
laced with ramblings and roads better not traveled. Best to just say he wasn’t heavily
burdened by issues of morality or familial ties. His past actions sit on his bulky shoulders
like a burden of cement blocks, but it is upon his shoulders alone and rarely discussed,
even with his closest companion. He returned to this plane, already a capable adult by
any culture’s view. Of course, he hadn’t been sent here to remain. Rather he was sent
to collect something for his keeper, a death, and not for the first time. Arguably, a death
is a death, and one was offered, though it was not the youthful budding power but
rather her mother that was sacrificed by his crushing palms. There had been
something, a spark there, a recognition that rippled like flames over his fae dulled mind
and recalled something, home. This was his home and as mother wept for daughter as
no one had ever wept for him he did something he had dared not for decades, he made
a pledge to the woman in exchange for a spark of hope in those tear laden pools. This
was not a petty mortals promise, this was a binding vow with fate that wove into the core
of his being and offered him enough sustenance to withdraw from the Hedge, a hope of
permanent release, a hope of something better. When Joselyn found him, sap pouring
from deep regret that he felt stronger than any emotion had ever touched him as a
human, it sealed his path. She had become his: his burden, his family, his purpose,
when only days ago he had had none. .

To stay with the young girl was a double edged sword. His keeper would surely search
for him, even if it was just to rip apart his soul to amuse herself after his treachery. But
if he were to leave her there were many evils in the world that would tear apart such a
young girl. He decided to stay, partly due to the calming and healing effect the girl had
on his forever altered mind. He had fervently explained to Joselyn the troubles with
Fae and detailed reasons for her to stay detached from them. They were unpredictable
and cruel, and he hoped that would be enough to keep her from them. He knew better.
But he trusted her, even if he was usually quite over protective. There were times when
he would venture out on errands, searching for something that Joselyn seemed either
oblivious of, or knew better than to ask and it was on one such journey that a thought
struck him-jutting into his chest with such a ferocious swiftness that it was moments
before he could breath. He immediately returned to Joselyn’s side and prepared her to
leave. .

He had been sharing a drink with a companion from the Court of Summer, having
found kinship amongst their ranks when he worried he may not be enough to keep
himself and Joselyn safe. They were discussing their old Keepers and their dislike and
then it dawned on him: his Fae keeper had never allowed escape, had never faltered
in her cunning and intelligence. She had seemed like a God, ever present to catch a
misdeed- eating before being allowed, speaking in hushed whispers with other captives.
Did his keeper know exactly what would happen? Did she purposefully allow him to
"escape" with Joselyn? Is she watching them now? And it was for that reason he knew
they must leave. And it was, with a healthy paranoia, they came to America. They
traveled about for a bit before it was finally Buor’Kut who stated, in no uncertain terms,
he had found a place for them to call home, a place to set up roots: Job, Nevada. .</sup>

T ʜ ᴇ H ᴀ ɴ ᴅ D ᴇ ᴀ ʟ ᴛ

________________________________________________________________________
Personal cards: 1 [tentative]
Hand: currently none
Mysteries: The Case of the Bovine Butcher; Main Mystery [current]

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

@NoxiousAmentia and Carmen likely terrify James to varying degrees, though he tries not to let it show when he's around them.

Edit:Which probably doesn't work to well with Amentia, now that I think about it.

@Raijinslayer

She can smell it on him. ;)

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

everyone else had some sort of military training or bej ng badass and he's just a tech prodigy with poor social skills and a terrible decision making.

@Raijinslayer

My character was found in a looney bin. James and his poor social skills are in good company. ;)

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

Lonely no longer Corbyn. Amentia will take infiltration as well.

Job, Nevada (Supernatural Western/Mystery)

@TheMerlinHawk around what year are we shooting for?

Job, Nevada (Supernatural Western/Mystery)

@Noxiousyes. Project: Tallow. It was a Geist, hunter, changeling crossover. It flopped after a few months but it was the progenitor for Job.

@Themerlinhawk

Well darn, sorry I missed it, but I am glad to have found you now. :)

@Gunther Really glad to have the opportunity to play with you again. I always enjoy your characters. I think our characters could have a nod and smile, drink a beer relationship. I plan on making mine a pretty quiet guy, but helpful and *trying* to be a good, normal, person. I'll let you make the call once my character sheet is up.