Supermaxx

Steampunk ⚙ Big Ass Monsters

@Traps I'm definitely more in it for the story aspect than the game pieces, so I'm supportive of this change.

Pariah Online | Season One

G R A V E S

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• Tʜᴇ Dᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ •

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'You've gotta be fuckin' kidding me.'

Graves was just thanking Landon for the elixir, letting the concoction join the rest of the potions on his belt, when Elian decided to have an outburst. A sigh was on his lips and a grimace across his visage as he turned around, glaring eyes dancing between the near hysterical healer and the lithe tank she chose to call out. This was seriously not the time for them to drag each other through the shit. Yet as utterly irritating as the exchange was, the Blood Knight kept his mouth shut. It wasn't his place to get involved. As much as he might look like he was trying to lead them, that was a...misconception. Graves just wanted to survive. He didn't care how it had to happen. Getting out alive wasn't just his number one priority; it was his only priority. He wasn't their babysitter. If the party wanted to tear itself apart over stupid bullshit, Graves wasn't gonna try to step in and 'resolve' their issues for them. They were adults, most of them. They could handle their own shit without big, bad Graves sticking his nose into every little disagreement.

The bounty hunter impatiently tapped the end of his halberd against the stone floor, his battle worn, calloused hands changing their grip upon the polearm several times over. Graves was tired of waiting. He was tired of listening to everyone whine and complain. 'Oh, we're never gonna get back home.' They cried. 'I'm so sad and scared.' Well no shit, Sherlock, they all were. No point standing around moping all day. They were losin' daylight. If everybody wanted to stand around and cry until they were all mauled to death by the dungeon's monsters, they could be his guest; Graves was leaving, whether it was with them all or by himself.

Thankfully for Graves's sanity, Elian's bait wasn't taken by Rael. She shrugged it off and- hopefully- their healer would just let it drop. It didn't matter. Really. She had misconstrued Rael's attempt at helping as her not taking the dungeon seriously. Maybe it was because Graves thought on a similar wavelength to the other tank, but this might be the first time the bounty hunter hadn't taken El's side in awhile. 'She's just...scared.' He sighed. She had plenty of reason to be high strung, so there really was no blaming her.

"This'd be a hell of'a lot easier if I had that drink now." Graves muttered to Landon, turning his attention toward Rael as she addressed him. "For the love of God, yes. Let's get the hell outta here already. Everybody on my flank. I'm movin' now. If you wanna get left behind, be my fuckin' guest, but I'm ready to go." It felt like the millionth time Graves had to say that. They just weren't moving. Every single time Graves started forward, somebody had to go and say something- delaying their advance yet again. The bare chested tank wasn't keen on waiting any longer. Weapon firmly in hand, he started out of the room and back toward the tunnel they'd just exited. They had a lot more dungeon ahead of them, and couldn't be bothered to wait around here anymore. It was a waste of his time.

Superboy's Shitty Characters

G R A V E S

---

• Tʜᴇ Dᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ •

---

'You've gotta be fuckin' kidding me.'

Graves was just thanking Landon for the elixir, letting the concoction join the rest of the potions on his belt, when Elian decided to have an outburst. A sigh was on his lips and a grimace across his visage as he turned around, glaring eyes dancing between the near hysterical healer and the lithe tank she chose to call out. This was seriously not the time for them to drag each other through the shit. Yet as utterly irritating as the exchange was, the Blood Knight kept his mouth shut. It wasn't his place to get involved. As much as he might look like he was trying to lead them, that was a...misconception. Graves just wanted to survive. He didn't care how it had to happen. Getting out alive wasn't just his number one priority; it was his only priority. He wasn't their babysitter. If the party wanted to tear itself apart over stupid bullshit, Graves wasn't gonna try to step in and 'resolve' their issues for them. They were adults, most of them. They could handle their own shit without big, bad Graves sticking his nose into every little disagreement.

The bounty hunter impatiently tapped the end of his halberd against the stone floor, his battle worn, calloused hands changing their grip upon the polearm several times over. Graves was tired of waiting. He was tired of listening to everyone whine and complain. 'Oh, we're never gonna get back home.' They cried. 'I'm so sad and scared.' Well no shit, Sherlock, they all were. No point standing around moping all day. They were losin' daylight. If everybody wanted to stand around and cry until they were all mauled to death by the dungeon's monsters, they could be his guest; Graves was leaving, whether it was with them all or by himself.

Thankfully for Graves's sanity, Elian's bait wasn't taken by Rael. She shrugged it off and- hopefully- their healer would just let it drop. It didn't matter. Really. She had misconstrued Rael's attempt at helping as her not taking the dungeon seriously. Maybe it was because Graves thought on a similar wavelength to the other tank, but this might be the first time the bounty hunter hadn't taken El's side in awhile. 'She's just...scared.' He sighed. She had plenty of reason to be high strung, so there really was no blaming her.

"This'd be a hell of'a lot easier if I had that drink now." Graves muttered to Landon, turning his attention toward Rael as she addressed him. "For the love of God, yes. Let's get the hell outta here already. Everybody on my flank. I'm movin' now. If you wanna get left behind, be my fuckin' guest, but I'm ready to go." It felt like the millionth time Graves had to say that. They just weren't moving. Every single time Graves started forward, somebody had to go and say something- delaying their advance yet again. The bare chested tank wasn't keen on waiting any longer. Weapon firmly in hand, he started out of the room and back toward the tunnel they'd just exited. They had a lot more dungeon ahead of them, and couldn't be bothered to wait around here anymore. It was a waste of his time.

Warhammer 40K: Knives in the Dark - An Only War/Guard RP

'What the hell...?'

Steiner's lips fell downward from the mocking grin he'd held underneath the hood. That sound...It was laughter, of a sort. But no man could utter such a grotesque, high pitched sound. Though the chortle was surprisingly pleasant to the ear, it met with nothing but disdain from the imprisoned medical officer. A distinct, deep-seated hatred, ingrained into his heart from practically the day he was born. Franklin's scarred visage twisted into a grimace, a low, throaty growl escaping from his chapped lips.

"Chaos." He all but spat it out. The very word made his stomach churn. Every vile image of those inhuman monsters blowing apart his comrades came rushing back to the forefront of the Cadian's mind. Every las shot that melted through an old friend. Every crack of an autogun that blew their brains out the back of a soldier's skull. Steiner wouldn't forget the sight of cultists with chain weapons tearing through his lines, chewing apart flesh and spitting out clouds of red mist and gore.

So they weren't pirates. The men that beat and kidnapped him were heretics and traitors to the Imperium. Vile pieces of human garbage and refuse that did not deserve the ground they shit on. Those who turned to worshiping the daemons that destroyed once beautiful Cadia deserved nothing more than a las shot through the eye. "Scum. You're fucking scum." Steiner rasped, fury barely contained by the fact that he held no power here. He'd...never been this close to Chaos worshipers before. Not without bayonet or combat knife in hand, anyway. It was almost a surreal experience to hear that distorted, inhuman voice, as if it came from all around him.

The owner of that otherworldly voice seemed to float before Steiner, making no sound other than it's practiced speech. It spoke of the cold; as if that bothered him. Decades upon frozen world after frozen world had built up an immunity for even the harshest tundra. Fighting with little more than a cloth upon his back in the slush and snow, heated only by the occasional shot of las, was more common for Frank than breathing. His interrogator had captured his equipment already. They knew he was a medic. 'Which means they've got my tags, too. The hell are they asking for my name for, then?' It was a tactic of interrogation. Present Steiner with a seemingly ordinary series of questions, so that the later, more pressing ones come easier from his loosed lips. Frank wasn't a traitor. He was a lot of things. But he damn well knew he wasn't a traitor.

"Lemme have it, then, ya piece of fuckin' shit!" Steiner roared, the needle piercing into his system like a bayonet through the gut of a man. The medic sucked in air between his teeth. It didn't take long for the unknown substance to begin it's work. He was getting...colder. Much colder. It was as if winter itself had been transferred into his body. Frost's cruel maw wrapped around his insides, sinking it's frozen teeth deep into his form. 'What...What is this?' This was different. This wasn't...anything he had ever encountered before. It wasn't a feeling he could adequately describe. Somehow, the cold wasn't numbing him. It continued to bite and eat at his interior. Anguished, pained groans fell from the sergeant. His breathing was ragged and shaky. He dug at the restraints on his arms, bucking and fighting against them, but he made little progress.

"You've...already got.." Frank muttered, his voice shaking from the freezing cold in his veins. "My tags, right? Y-you've got my name.." Steiner wasn't deluded. He knew how this would end. Captured by the forces of Chaos, he'd be lucky to die in any kind of quick fashion. These 'men' were sadists. They would make the sergeant hurt, even if he gave them everything they wanted. There was nothing Frank could do to stop this, or even slow it down. This...this was happening. He was gonna die, and it was gonna be slow and it was gonna hurt. Nothing could change that. So why give them the satisfaction? Why endanger his comrades by giving up even an ounce of information? It wasn't worth it. "I got enough brains to know...that you don't have anything on me." Steiner's rasped laugh held even greater contempt than the last time, though his strength was rapidly fading in the cold. "I'm dyin' either way. But if I can go down spittin' in the face of your 'gods?' Then that's enough...for me. So go ahead. Do your God damn worst. I can...I can take it."

Superboy's Shitty Characters

'What the hell...?'

Steiner's lips fell downward from the mocking grin he'd held underneath the hood. That sound...It was laughter, of a sort. But no man could utter such a grotesque, high pitched sound. Though the chortle was surprisingly pleasant to the ear, it met with nothing but disdain from the imprisoned medical officer. A distinct, deep-seated hatred, ingrained into his heart from practically the day he was born. Franklin's scarred visage twisted into a grimace, a low, throaty growl escaping from his chapped lips.

"Chaos." He all but spat it out. The very word made his stomach churn. Every vile image of those inhuman monsters blowing apart his comrades came rushing back to the forefront of the Cadian's mind. Every las shot that melted through an old friend. Every crack of an autogun that blew their brains out the back of a soldier's skull. Steiner wouldn't forget the sight of cultists with chain weapons tearing through his lines, chewing apart flesh and spitting out clouds of red mist and gore.

So they weren't pirates. The men that beat and kidnapped him were heretics and traitors to the Imperium. Vile pieces of human garbage and refuse that did not deserve the ground they shit on. Those who turned to worshiping the daemons that destroyed once beautiful Cadia deserved nothing more than a las shot through the eye. "Scum. You're fucking scum." Steiner rasped, fury barely contained by the fact that he held no power here. He'd...never been this close to Chaos worshipers before. Not without bayonet or combat knife in hand, anyway. It was almost a surreal experience to hear that distorted, inhuman voice, as if it came from all around him.

The owner of that otherworldly voice seemed to float before Steiner, making no sound other than it's practiced speech. It spoke of the cold; as if that bothered him. Decades upon frozen world after frozen world had built up an immunity for even the harshest tundra. Fighting with little more than a cloth upon his back in the slush and snow, heated only by the occasional shot of las, was more common for Frank than breathing. His interrogator had captured his equipment already. They knew he was a medic. 'Which means they've got my tags, too. The hell are they asking for my name for, then?' It was a tactic of interrogation. Present Steiner with a seemingly ordinary series of questions, so that the later, more pressing ones come easier from his loosed lips. Frank wasn't a traitor. He was a lot of things. But he damn well knew he wasn't a traitor.

"Lemme have it, then, ya piece of fuckin' shit!" Steiner roared, the needle piercing into his system like a bayonet through the gut of a man. The medic sucked in air between his teeth. It didn't take long for the unknown substance to begin it's work. He was getting...colder. Much colder. It was as if winter itself had been transferred into his body. Frost's cruel maw wrapped around his insides, sinking it's frozen teeth deep into his form. 'What...What is this?' This was different. This wasn't...anything he had ever encountered before. It wasn't a feeling he could adequately describe. Somehow, the cold wasn't numbing him. It continued to bite and eat at his interior. Anguished, pained groans fell from the sergeant. His breathing was ragged and shaky. He dug at the restraints on his arms, bucking and fighting against them, but he made little progress.

"You've...already got.." Frank muttered, his voice shaking from the freezing cold in his veins. "My tags, right? Y-you've got my name.." Steiner wasn't deluded. He knew how this would end. Captured by the forces of Chaos, he'd be lucky to die in any kind of quick fashion. These 'men' were sadists. They would make the sergeant hurt, even if he gave them everything they wanted. There was nothing Frank could do to stop this, or even slow it down. This...this was happening. He was gonna die, and it was gonna be slow and it was gonna hurt. Nothing could change that. So why give them the satisfaction? Why endanger his comrades by giving up even an ounce of information? It wasn't worth it. "I got enough brains to know...that you don't have anything on me." Steiner's rasped laugh held even greater contempt than the last time, though his strength was rapidly fading in the cold. "I'm dyin' either way. But if I can go down spittin' in the face of your 'gods?' Then that's enough...for me. So go ahead. Do your God damn worst. I can...I can take it."

Steampunk ⚙ Big Ass Monsters

@Traps Ohh, yeah! I do like that idea quite a bit. I look forward to Monday.

Steampunk ⚙ Big Ass Monsters

I was thinking of something that didn't fit into any of the suggested roles, but sounded like it might fit well. A reporter/researcher, there to document the world of Hollow Earth.

Warhammer 40K: Knives in the Dark - An Only War/Guard RP

Darkness enveloped the dreamless rest of the guardsman medic, brought on by painful and unnatural means. His large, battle scarred chest heaved with each wheezed breath- the battering of batons and electrified clubs had done little good for the aging sergeant's body. The freezing air bit at his skin like a swarm of invisible insects, chewing at his exposed flesh with impunity. Though the cold was certainly unappreciated, it was the silence that struck hardest of them all. He could deal with the tendrils of darkness choking out the light. Warmth was a commodity a soldier born on a frozen ice ball could live without, though it was incredibly discomforting. But silence? There was nothing more unnerving for a man of war than to hear nothing at all. Not the whirring of an old spaceship. Not the crunching of forest leaves. Not even the wisping of the wind met his ears.

None of what had occurred before he was unceremoniously beaten and knocked unconscious made much sense to the Cadian warrior. Some mook in his own regiment's uniform showed up to take him away. Somethin' about being recruited for 'special operations.' It caught him off guard. There wasn't nothin' about him that made him think he was worthy for such a post, nor did he know how he'd gotten their attention at all. He was a foot soldier with some medical training, and little more; there were trillions of men just like him throughout the Imperium. Yet for some reason, that bastard came for him. What followed- his arrival in a nondescript space transport, and placement in a fairly cushy room- was mundane. He'd been told not to worry. Thinking back on it, it was a mistake to let his guard down. He still struggled to figure out why it happened. Why had he awoken to the sound of klaxons playing across the cruiser, and men shouting in distress? Why had men in dark garb and masks come for him, specifically, and beaten him to within an inch of his life? Even with the medical officer's physical might, he hadn't held for longer than a second or two. All he'd gotten out was a good two punches before his lights were knocked out.

And now he was here. Wherever here was.

Ice cold water splashed across Sergeant Frank Steiner's body, illicting a gasp from the man. He tried to jump up, but his body was tied down to the chair beneath him. "Shit!" He shouted, his gravely, baritone voice swiftly followed by an undignified series of sputtered coughs. Water was leaking into his mouth and nose, through whatever black cloth was pressed tightly around his face. So it wasn't just dark wherever they were keeping him. Franklin pulled at the binds about his arms. He kicked out with his legs, struggling harshly against them even as the cords bit further into his skin. The soldier of Cadia's breaths were ragged and harrowed, struggling not to drown in the unearthly cold that surrounded him. The water was likely meant to wake Steiner up, though he'd been conscious for several minutes already. A brief interlude of silence was followed by a non-descript voice asking him a series of questions. “Who are you, where were you going, and what are you doing aboard this ship?”

Steiner let out a harsh, rasped laugh. He stopped struggling against the binds, turning his head about the 'room' despite the fact that he couldn't see jack shit. So he was still aboard the ship. That was good to know. Whatever was going on, it was clear Steiner's life was hanging by a thread. These people had attacked him for an unknown reason, and were now interrogating him. It could'a been pirates. Maybe they boarded the ship, beat everyone down and took over- though Frank thought he'd be dead in that sorta scenario. "I uh, I could answer those questions for ya. I could." Steiner nodded, his metallic fingers scrapping against the chair he'd been strapped to. "But how 'bout you kiss my ass instead?" The medical officer chuckled again. "I dunno what kinda show you're runnin' here, bub, but you're off your rocker if you think I'm telling you a damn thing. What, you think you can strip me naked and toss some water on me and I'll break? 'Oh no, oh please don't do that! I'll get cold!' Get real, you pirates are all the same. Stupid bastards."

Superboy's Shitty Characters

Darkness enveloped the dreamless rest of the guardsman medic, brought on by painful and unnatural means. His large, battle scarred chest heaved with each wheezed breath- the battering of batons and electrified clubs had done little good for the aging sergeant's body. The freezing air bit at his skin like a swarm of invisible insects, chewing at his exposed flesh with impunity. Though the cold was certainly unappreciated, it was the silence that struck hardest of them all. He could deal with the tendrils of darkness choking out the light. Warmth was a commodity a soldier born on a frozen ice ball could live without, though it was incredibly discomforting. But silence? There was nothing more unnerving for a man of war than to hear nothing at all. Not the whirring of an old spaceship. Not the crunching of forest leaves. Not even the wisping of the wind met his ears.

None of what had occurred before he was unceremoniously beaten and knocked unconscious made much sense to the Cadian warrior. Some mook in his own regiment's uniform showed up to take him away. Somethin' about being recruited for 'special operations.' It caught him off guard. There wasn't nothin' about him that made him think he was worthy for such a post, nor did he know how he'd gotten their attention at all. He was a foot soldier with some medical training, and little more; there were trillions of men just like him throughout the Imperium. Yet for some reason, that bastard came for him. What followed- his arrival in a nondescript space transport, and placement in a fairly cushy room- was mundane. He'd been told not to worry. Thinking back on it, it was a mistake to let his guard down. He still struggled to figure out why it happened. Why had he awoken to the sound of klaxons playing across the cruiser, and men shouting in distress? Why had men in dark garb and masks come for him, specifically, and beaten him to within an inch of his life? Even with the medical officer's physical might, he hadn't held for longer than a second or two. All he'd gotten out was a good two punches before his lights were knocked out.

And now he was here. Wherever here was.

Ice cold water splashed across Sergeant Frank Steiner's body, illicting a gasp from the man. He tried to jump up, but his body was tied down to the chair beneath him. "Shit!" He shouted, his gravely, baritone voice swiftly followed by an undignified series of sputtered coughs. Water was leaking into his mouth and nose, through whatever black cloth was pressed tightly around his face. So it wasn't just dark wherever they were keeping him. Franklin pulled at the binds about his arms. He kicked out with his legs, struggling harshly against them even as the cords bit further into his skin. The soldier of Cadia's breaths were ragged and harrowed, struggling not to drown in the unearthly cold that surrounded him. The water was likely meant to wake Steiner up, though he'd been conscious for several minutes already. A brief interlude of silence was followed by a non-descript voice asking him a series of questions. “Who are you, where were you going, and what are you doing aboard this ship?”

Steiner let out a harsh, rasped laugh. He stopped struggling against the binds, turning his head about the 'room' despite the fact that he couldn't see jack shit. So he was still aboard the ship. That was good to know. Whatever was going on, it was clear Steiner's life was hanging by a thread. These people had attacked him for an unknown reason, and were now interrogating him. It could'a been pirates. Maybe they boarded the ship, beat everyone down and took over- though Frank thought he'd be dead in that sorta scenario. "I uh, I could answer those questions for ya. I could." Steiner nodded, his metallic fingers scrapping against the chair he'd been strapped to. "But how 'bout you kiss my ass instead?" The medical officer chuckled again. "I dunno what kinda show you're runnin' here, bub, but you're off your rocker if you think I'm telling you a damn thing. What, you think you can strip me naked and toss some water on me and I'll break? 'Oh no, oh please don't do that! I'll get cold!' Get real, you pirates are all the same. Stupid bastards."

Let's B!tch. I feel it's a healthy release for our roleplay annoyances 2.0

Tfw you get called out for bitching in a bitching thread.