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3 yrs ago
Current is sexualizing Pokemon a variation of bestiality?
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3 yrs ago
lol. lmao
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3 yrs ago
JOHN TABLE!
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4 yrs ago
hearing rumors that rebornfan is storming the US capitol, looking for whoever's responsible for everyone ghosting his RPs
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4 yrs ago
you got a fat ass and a bright future ahead of you. keep it up champ
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G R A V E S

• Tʜᴇ Dᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ •



Tension laced Graves's form. His every digital muscle was taut with stress and anxiety. Ready to strike out the instant another monster deigned to show it's ugly mug. Tight, cramped corridors, with his back all but pressed against the party member behind him, wreaked havoc on his fortitude. Blood still dripped from the head of his halberd's ax from the last scout that Graves had managed to catch. Others fell to the chains of Tessa, or the arrows of their ranger- several, though, were too quick for any to catch. The monsters were watching them. It was the only explanation for it. Since when were monsters programmed to perform reconnaissance? They knew exactly where their party was. An ambush could've been waiting around the corner. Or maybe it'd just come right from underneath them.

This...this didn't feel like a game anymore. Not with their lives hanging on the tip of a needle. Not with the creatures of the dungeon acting the way they were. Graves was a wreck. His heart was racing a thousand miles a minute. Everywhere he looked, he thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye. The relative silence of their march made things all the worse. Graves found himself glancing backward to check on everyone else- making sure they were alright, and that they were still with him. At the very least, the Blood Knight could say he was lucky that he had others around to make him feel secure when the warning came from the devs. He didn't want to imagine what it'd be like to be in this kind of situation alone. Knowing his usual playstyle, it was a miracle that hadn't happened to him.

Thankfully the labyrinth of tunnels ended, at least for a short while, as they came upon a cavernous room. A ceiling so high that sunlight could be seen peeking through the grates at the top. Far...far out of reach. Chains hung from above like vines, thick and metallic. And there were odd channels dug into the floor around the room, where a thick, sapphire liquid flowed. What was most apparent between the heavy pillars and chains, though, were the three doors, one that led in each direction.

Graves tore his gaze away from the tiny speckles of sunlight that leaked down into the darkness, his eyes shifting over toward the first of the crew to really speak up in the last twenty minutes. Tif had her humor about her, somehow. Graves hadn't the heart to draw up a smile, his lips still twisted down into an uncomfortable frown. "Well, we're not splitting up, so nobody even fuckin' suggest it." There was no way Graves was letting any of these idiots out of his sight. The second they took a few steps away from him, they'd end up dead; and really, Graves didn't want to have to live with that on his conscience.

The more he looked around, the more uneasy the tank felt. This room had the looks of a boss room. And though this dungeon shared little in common with other games, or even the rest of Pariah, Graves couldn't shake the feeling that they were going to be dealing with an attack imminently. It kept his grip on his polearm tight, and head on a swivel. He didn't really care what direction they decided to take. They were going to end up backtracking anyway, more than likely; so it wasn't too important. "Everybody holdin' up okay?"
G R A V E S

• Tʜᴇ Dᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ •



Tension laced Graves's form. His every digital muscle was taut with stress and anxiety. Ready to strike out the instant another monster deigned to show it's ugly mug. Tight, cramped corridors, with his back all but pressed against the party member behind him, wreaked havoc on his fortitude. Blood still dripped from the head of his halberd's ax from the last scout that Graves had managed to catch. Others fell to the chains of Tessa, or the arrows of their ranger- several, though, were too quick for any to catch. The monsters were watching them. It was the only explanation for it. Since when were monsters programmed to perform reconnaissance? They knew exactly where their party was. An ambush could've been waiting around the corner. Or maybe it'd just come right from underneath them.

This...this didn't feel like a game anymore. Not with their lives hanging on the tip of a needle. Not with the creatures of the dungeon acting the way they were. Graves was a wreck. His heart was racing a thousand miles a minute. Everywhere he looked, he thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye. The relative silence of their march made things all the worse. Graves found himself glancing backward to check on everyone else- making sure they were alright, and that they were still with him. At the very least, the Blood Knight could say he was lucky that he had others around to make him feel secure when the warning came from the devs. He didn't want to imagine what it'd be like to be in this kind of situation alone. Knowing his usual playstyle, it was a miracle that hadn't happened to him.

Thankfully the labyrinth of tunnels ended, at least for a short while, as they came upon a cavernous room. A ceiling so high that sunlight could be seen peeking through the grates at the top. Far...far out of reach. Chains hung from above like vines, thick and metallic. And there were odd channels dug into the floor around the room, where a thick, sapphire liquid flowed. What was most apparent between the heavy pillars and chains, though, were the three doors, one that led in each direction.

Graves tore his gaze away from the tiny speckles of sunlight that leaked down into the darkness, his eyes shifting over toward the first of the crew to really speak up in the last twenty minutes. Tif had her humor about her, somehow. Graves hadn't the heart to draw up a smile, his lips still twisted down into an uncomfortable frown. "Well, we're not splitting up, so nobody even fuckin' suggest it." There was no way Graves was letting any of these idiots out of his sight. The second they took a few steps away from him, they'd end up dead; and really, Graves didn't want to have to live with that on his conscience.

The more he looked around, the more uneasy the tank felt. This room had the looks of a boss room. And though this dungeon shared little in common with other games, or even the rest of Pariah, Graves couldn't shake the feeling that they were going to be dealing with an attack imminently. It kept his grip on his polearm tight, and head on a swivel. He didn't really care what direction they decided to take. They were going to end up backtracking anyway, more than likely; so it wasn't too important. "Everybody holdin' up okay?"
For the briefest interval of time, tensions reached a crescendo. Two of the blindly faithful Guardsmen did indeed lift up rifles, though they chose to turn them upon their saviors. A man of gaunt features and of unshakable loyalty to a broken system led the mutiny, 'demanding' of the Major evidence to prove himself a speaker of truth. His insanity was backed up by the woman who deigned to call all who lifted a las-gun traitors. It was preposterous, in the eyes of Steiner, for these two to choose to side with the Inquisition. They hadn't a clue what was actually going on, only the barest knowledge possible;- all of which was provided by the men they called traitors.

"For the love of-" The medical officer grunted. He didn't raise his gun up in defense of the Major. For all of his prattle, Franklin didn't have a real dog in this fight. None of this political bullshit mattered. Not when there was a firefight going on just outside that room. He couldn't care less about shadow organizations, secret wars or whatever the hell else had sparked this whole thing. All he wanted to do was stay alive. Why was that such a difficult concept to grasp for these guardsman? Steiner swore some of them must've had a death wish, the way they went around flashing firearms at everyone that helped them out of a tight spot.

Thankfully for Doc's sanity, Bohman wasn't going to stand there and let two troopers way out of their depth get themselves killed for the men that tortured them. He revealed the nature of the enemy they fought against. These were not normal Tempestus Scions of the Inquisition, but...mutants. Heretics, touched by the cursed magic of the Ruinous Powers, and deformed by their damnable existence. Chaos, as Frank had originally surmised, was actually responsible for what was going on. "I called it. If we're keeping score." He muttered under his breath, no matter how inappropriate a comment it might be in the moment.

If that wasn't enough for the grunts, the Major also produced an item of incredible value. A talisman, bearing the icon of the Ultramarine Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes, apparently given to the leader of the Shadow Order by the Primarch himself. Steiner held back a sarcastic whistle. It was a fancy little trinket. Really, it was. And if Bohman had really received it from Guilliman, than his path was certainly the 'righteous one.' As righteous as the Imperium could be. However. If the gaunt, robot-of-a-man and his babyfaced partner in crime refused to acknowledge that the Inquisitional Stormtrooper with a horrifically mutated face was sufficient evidence against their 'theory' that Bohman was a traitor, Steiner very much doubted that a necklace would do much to help Bohman's case. Though, on further thought, icons and items were important in the mind of the loyal guardsman; all it took was the symbol of the Inquisition to turn them against their rescuers, after all.

Thankfully, though, it was enough. Both decided to lower their weapons, joining the Shadow Order on their righteous crusade to purge that voidship of it's ruinous infection. Steiner let the tension in his muscles visibly relax. A firefight in this tiny room would end in several bodies falling. Steiner didn't want to be among them. "Thank the throne."

Next came the hard part: actually clearing the remainder of the ship. Stormtroopers, those infested by Chaos especially, were a bitch to kill. Their armor was stubbornly hard to cut through with a standard las-gun, unless one managed to land a clean shot. To make matters worse, all of the guardsmen of the glorious Imperium were practically naked. All they had were some cloth to cover their naughty bits. Steiner could shrug off the draft, his body hardened to the freezing temperatures of his icy homeworld. But a las-bolt or two to the chest was a little harder to ignore.

What was most difficult to look past, though, were the grunts of pain coming from the lady officer that was planning to shoot him a couple of seconds prior. 'Ah, Emperor above.' Steiner moved toward the door, purposefully keeping at least one body in front of him to absorb the first round of las-bolts. He shifted his harsh gaze over toward the loyal guardswoman. "Ay, pup," Frank called to get her attention. "You fallin' apart on us? If yer hurt, I can give it a look. I'm a medic." He informed her and, by extension, the rest of the company, of his skill set. "Sergeant Steiner. Been a real pleasure gettin' to know ya." She was going to shoot him in the back. It was all but guaranteed.
For the briefest interval of time, tensions reached a crescendo. Two of the blindly faithful Guardsmen did indeed lift up rifles, though they chose to turn them upon their saviors. A man of gaunt features and of unshakable loyalty to a broken system led the mutiny, 'demanding' of the Major evidence to prove himself a speaker of truth. His insanity was backed up by the woman who deigned to call all who lifted a las-gun traitors. It was preposterous, in the eyes of Steiner, for these two to choose to side with the Inquisition. They hadn't a clue what was actually going on, only the barest knowledge possible;- all of which was provided by the men they called traitors.

"For the love of-" The medical officer grunted. He didn't raise his gun up in defense of the Major. For all of his prattle, Franklin didn't have a real dog in this fight. None of this political bullshit mattered. Not when there was a firefight going on just outside that room. He couldn't care less about shadow organizations, secret wars or whatever the hell else had sparked this whole thing. All he wanted to do was stay alive. Why was that such a difficult concept to grasp for these guardsman? Steiner swore some of them must've had a death wish, the way they went around flashing firearms at everyone that helped them out of a tight spot.

Thankfully for Doc's sanity, Bohman wasn't going to stand there and let two troopers way out of their depth get themselves killed for the men that tortured them. He revealed the nature of the enemy they fought against. These were not normal Tempestus Scions of the Inquisition, but...mutants. Heretics, touched by the cursed magic of the Ruinous Powers, and deformed by their damnable existence. Chaos, as Frank had originally surmised, was actually responsible for what was going on. "I called it. If we're keeping score." He muttered under his breath, no matter how inappropriate a comment it might be in the moment.

If that wasn't enough for the grunts, the Major also produced an item of incredible value. A talisman, bearing the icon of the Ultramarine Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes, apparently given to the leader of the Shadow Order by the Primarch himself. Steiner held back a sarcastic whistle. It was a fancy little trinket. Really, it was. And if Bohman had really received it from Guilliman, than his path was certainly the 'righteous one.' As righteous as the Imperium could be. However. If the gaunt, robot-of-a-man and his babyfaced partner in crime refused to acknowledge that the Inquisitional Stormtrooper with a horrifically mutated face was sufficient evidence against their 'theory' that Bohman was a traitor, Steiner very much doubted that a necklace would do much to help Bohman's case. Though, on further thought, icons and items were important in the mind of the loyal guardsman; all it took was the symbol of the Inquisition to turn them against their rescuers, after all.

Thankfully, though, it was enough. Both decided to lower their weapons, joining the Shadow Order on their righteous crusade to purge that voidship of it's ruinous infection. Steiner let the tension in his muscles visibly relax. A firefight in this tiny room would end in several bodies falling. Steiner didn't want to be among them. "Thank the throne."

Next came the hard part: actually clearing the remainder of the ship. Stormtroopers, those infested by Chaos especially, were a bitch to kill. Their armor was stubbornly hard to cut through with a standard las-gun, unless one managed to land a clean shot. To make matters worse, all of the guardsmen of the glorious Imperium were practically naked. All they had were some cloth to cover their naughty bits. Steiner could shrug off the draft, his body hardened to the freezing temperatures of his icy homeworld. But a las-bolt or two to the chest was a little harder to ignore.

What was most difficult to look past, though, were the grunts of pain coming from the lady officer that was planning to shoot him a couple of seconds prior. 'Ah, Emperor above.' Steiner moved toward the door, purposefully keeping at least one body in front of him to absorb the first round of las-bolts. He shifted his harsh gaze over toward the loyal guardswoman. "Ay, pup," Frank called to get her attention. "You fallin' apart on us? If yer hurt, I can give it a look. I'm a medic." He informed her and, by extension, the rest of the company, of his skill set. "Sergeant Steiner. Been a real pleasure gettin' to know ya." She was going to shoot him in the back. It was all but guaranteed.



"I'd rather ya toss me into the ocean with nothin' but a piece of driftwood to cling to than make me live in a fookin' cave. I hate caves."




✶ P R O F I L E
BIRTHNAME:
Gashin Kazor

OTHER NAMES:
Captain, Gash, Sea Hound

AGE:
34

GENDER:
Male

RACE:
Half Human, half Dwarf

BIRTHPLACE:
Ryth, Amorynthia

RELIGION:
Worships Zorion, God of Freedom and Will



✶ P H Y S I C A L I T Y
HEIGHT:
4'11 ft

WEIGHT:
123 lbs

APPEARANCE:
Captain Gashin Kazor is a short man, as one might expect. His stature is nearly a foot higher than the average dwarf, though several inches shorter than most men. Gash's origins are clear to anyone who give him a cursory glance. From his brawny, short form to his scraggly facial hair, to his strong accent and even stronger desire for pipeweed and alcohol, Kazor screams dwarf. Yet another look might cause the mind to doubt, for he's too tall to be a dwarf, his beard is horribly short and- strangest of all- he wears the badge of the Amorynthian Navy upon his breast.

Apart from his heritage, the captain's appearance is markedly similar to that of most men of his occupation. Gash's flesh is tanned and leathery from years spent out under the beating sun on the deck of his ship. On his head, the captain wears golden bandanna and a black tricorn hat. On his feet, a pair of dusty old boots. And on his hip, the sheathe for his reliable cutlass. A white, low cut shirt, a golden vest adorned with runes of ages past and a sash of crimson tie together the sailor's attire.

Several scars from boarding hatchet and cutlass adorn his arms and chest; the gnarliest of which rests right over his heart. His hands, calloused and worn by the sea, have several cuts across their dark surface.

Tattoos, too, mar his flesh alongside those wounds of old. A sea serpent coils about his left arm from wrist to shoulder. An anchor, with a mermaid hanging from it's hook, sits in the center of his broad chest. Most important to him, however, are the letters lined upon each finger. Put together they read the name of Kazor's vessel: Saint Leona.

SKILLS, STRENGTHS & TALENTS:

Captain Gashin Kazor, of the Royal Navy's Saint Leona, is a sailor without equal. None commands the high seas with the same tenacity, skill, or vigor of the half dwarf captain. He particularly specializes in Caravels, such as the Saint leona herself, preferring speed and maneuverability to size and bulk. Gashin is a pirate hunter. He chases down the rogues and bandits of the sea with ruthless efficiency, carving out a safe haven for Amorynthia's merchant fleets. Anyone who dares to fly the black flag knows the name Gashin Kazor, and of his damnable vessel, and fears him; those that wish to survive more than a fortnight on his ocean, anyway.

Though ship to ship combat is where Kazor is best known, the Sea Hound of Valdez excels in all aspects of sailing. He can guide a vessel through the sharpest rocks and the narrowest of paths, barely scraping by areas that any other captain would say was impassible. When Gashin must travel across the open ocean in long, drawn out voyages to far away lands, he can reliably guide the Saint Leona using the stars. Kazor rarely gets lost anymore, his knowledge of the heavens allowing him to get his bearings without the need for maps or landmarks.

A sailor first, and a navigator second, Captain Gashin is far from completely helpless when not manning his ship. While he's no master swordsman who dedicated his life to learning the ways of the blade, Kazor wields a cutlass well enough to skewer most who dare lift up a weapon against him in a duel. His training as a marine of the Royal Navy allows him to stand toe to toe against most foes he could expect to face. Alongside his curved blade, Gashin typically carries a boarding axe as a secondary weapon. It works well in tandem with a sword, and as a last resort if his primary armament was damaged or lost. Other weapons Kazor has some experience with are pikes, throwing axes and clubs.

Learned skills and talents are not all that Kazor has at his disposal. The blood of the dwarves runs through his veins, offering him a sturdy form and strapping muscles. He's naturally stronger than the average man, making the half dwarf a frightening wrestler in hand to hand. Alongside his dwarvish heritage, Gash is partially human. This gives him the advantage of height, reach, and agility over a full blooded dwarf.

WEAKNESSES & DRAWBACKS:

The Sea Hound of Amorynthia is at his best on the deck of a ship. His ship, specifically. Taking him from that and putting him down in another place takes Gashin out of his comfort zone. Ships larger or smaller than the Saint Leona are alien to him; Kazor can count the number of times he's had to captain another ship for any extended amount of time on one hand. This is not to say he'd be useless, far from it. But a lack of familiarity with his vessel makes the captain less effective in the whole. Other environments- such as forests, deserts and caves- are similarly out of Gashin's area of expertise.

Physically, Kazor's blood is as much a disadvantage as it is an advantage to him. While Gashin might be stronger than a man, he's almost always weaker than a dwarf. He may be more agile than a dwarf, but Gashin's slower than a human. His half breed status means that the captain lacks the all-in strength of either race, while still possessing the weaknesses of each.

Being a half breed is more a curse than a gift in the eyes of society as a whole. Men look down on him for his Dwarvish heritage, throwing him in the same class as the disenfranchised race of stocky slaves and craftsmen. His peers in the Navy view Kazor as a stain on their prestigious institution. More than one concerted effort has been made to force Gashin into an early retirement, though the half dwarf has never given in to the pressure of his fellow soldiers. He has few friends in Amorynthia, but even fewer among the Dwarves. Acting as an agent of the king responsible for the Dwarven Exploitation marks Gashin as a traitor to his own people.


✶ B E L O N G I N G S
ATTIRE:
The attire donned by the Sea Hound is an unmodified uniform of the Royal Navy, marking Gashin as an officer in service of the Crown. A white waistcoat and a puffed shirt of the same color, accented by golden stripes and facings, protected the captain's chest from the rough conditions of the sea. Trousers matching Kazor's long jacket in color and material keeps his lower half warm and himself decent. More lavish is the long jacket that Gashin wears over everything else. Buttons of gold and dark blue linen mark it as a high quality product, though years at sea have sullied it's appearance significantly. Epaulettes, medals, and tassels can be added to the coat for ceremonial purposes, though Kazor's idea of a party involves more grog and fiddles than the a ballroom dance in the capital. The most treasured of his uniform is the old tricorn hat and bandana he wears on his head.

WEAPONS:
Wielded by sailors of all classes, ranks, races and creeds, the cutlass is as synonymous with the men of the sea as their ships. Gashin's cutlass is twenty nine inches long and a little under a pound in weight. A basket hilt embroidered with gold protects the captain's hand. The blade was forged with tempered steel by the venerable smiths of the Amorynthian military, and enchanted to be sturdier and sharper for longer. Named after a young maiden that Gashin courted in his youth, Betsy is a fearsome sword to cross indeed.

Alongside the mighty Betsy is a far less exciting boarding axe. Unenchanted though usually well crafted, Kazor has gone through more than a dozen over his career as a sailor. He has a habit of losing or breaking them, so Gashin likes to carry several on him at once. On occasion, if the situation calls for it, Gashin can use his axe as a ranged weapon.

TOOLS:
Any number of navigation tools are carried in Gashin's pack. A sextant, spyglass, a pocket watch, maps and various charting tools, and Kazor's trusty compass are all kept on his person when he travels anywhere. A short working knife, rope, bandages, rations, a lighter, and a bedroll were included in his equipment when he set off on the king's expedition.

PERSONAL ITEMS:
Golden earrings and a single iron band marked with the symbol of the king are all the jewelry worn by Captain Gash. One of the only personal items Kazor keeps with him is a worn copy of A Kraken's Tale; an old novel about a captain obsessed with killing a sea monster that destroyed his first ship. Gashin has read the book more times than he can count, though he never tires of the narrative and likes to come back to it whenever he has nothing else to do.



✶ H I S T O R Y
Use this space to tell us your character's story so far, from birth to the present day. Write to your best standard, as this section will also be used to assess the quality of your work. This section should also show us what your character's personality is like, and how they became that way.

So you know that feeling where everything you write is inadequate, you think you're under performing, and you can't help but compare what you write to others you believe to be flat out better than you?

Yeah.

Fuck that feeling in particular.
Specifically, what makes a good villain in a Roleplay setting. How do you go about crafting a worthy antagonist for your players? What do you keep in mind while you're creating the big bad, and what differentiates a mediocre baddie from a quality villain?

How do RP antagonists differ from standard antagonists in other fiction, such as novels and film?
@AdvancedJ3lly Nah, it looks good!

I'll probably hold off on replying again until we get through another GM post.
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