I sure as hell am, checking regularly and whatnot.
Turbowraith
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The Ghost of Christmas Fast
- Last Seen: 5 yrs ago
- Joined: 9 yrs ago
- Posts: 185 (0.06 / day)
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- Turbowraith 9 yrs ago
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Most Recent Posts
In
Hellscapers! [PRETTY MUCH ALWAYS ACCEPTING EXCEPT WHEN WE HAVE TEN PEOPLE (WE DON'T)!]
→
8 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
"Holy shit, he did it! The madman! He actually did it! We're number fucking one!" Grog yelled and shook raised his fist in approval, nearly ecstatic... "You blew up the fuckiIING--" ...But was cut short as the Inca-Mayan behemoth flung him over his back, causing his stomach to wrench violently and send a bit of vomit up to his mouth, though he secured him right after with a pair of ancient-looking chains. Before the dazed Grog had any time to process what happened, a pair of fucking AA12 automatic shotguns flew upwards.
Time ran slower as these beauties ascended, and Grog's eyes widened in unhinged glee. Snatching one with each hand by the grip, the boozer slightly raised them and pointed them towards the sky. Instead of usual bellowing, Grog hissed:
"Shit. Now we're cookin'."
As his mighty mansteed moved through the hole and engaged in the pinnacle of 80's-tier tough talk, Grog couldn't help but feel delighted at the chaos inside. It was a long, long time since he saw a prison riot up close, and despite a couple of oddly alarming stomps and crashes, that couldn't have possibly been made by the rioters, it made the young man feel like home. Amidst the ruckus, he saw a peculiar armless demon with a couple of shiny glow-hands floating through the air, but not before creating a miniature fucking sonic boom. Whatever the case, the impact pushed Grog against his safety bindings, releasing a shock of searing pain all the way up his spine, and severely pissing him off. He extended his right arm and fired a couple of shots that proved useless, as they bounced harmlessly from the demon's magical arms. Raising his guns upwards again in a safe position, Grog looked down towards the warrior.
"Alright. Take us where we need to go, my trigger finger's itchin'."
Time ran slower as these beauties ascended, and Grog's eyes widened in unhinged glee. Snatching one with each hand by the grip, the boozer slightly raised them and pointed them towards the sky. Instead of usual bellowing, Grog hissed:
"Shit. Now we're cookin'."
As his mighty mansteed moved through the hole and engaged in the pinnacle of 80's-tier tough talk, Grog couldn't help but feel delighted at the chaos inside. It was a long, long time since he saw a prison riot up close, and despite a couple of oddly alarming stomps and crashes, that couldn't have possibly been made by the rioters, it made the young man feel like home. Amidst the ruckus, he saw a peculiar armless demon with a couple of shiny glow-hands floating through the air, but not before creating a miniature fucking sonic boom. Whatever the case, the impact pushed Grog against his safety bindings, releasing a shock of searing pain all the way up his spine, and severely pissing him off. He extended his right arm and fired a couple of shots that proved useless, as they bounced harmlessly from the demon's magical arms. Raising his guns upwards again in a safe position, Grog looked down towards the warrior.
"Alright. Take us where we need to go, my trigger finger's itchin'."
In
Hellscapers! [PRETTY MUCH ALWAYS ACCEPTING EXCEPT WHEN WE HAVE TEN PEOPLE (WE DON'T)!]
→
8 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Grog hastily wiped his goggles, removing the majority of the red dirt that was stuck on them from when he was crawling around, carefully pouring absynthe on the ground. A circle of damp soil stretched for a few meters, with a dry spot in the center where Grog was slouched. Before him stood the massive tribesman-looking dude from his team. And he brought good news with him.
"Sure fucking thing man!" Grog replied, his eyes lighting up with a profound frenzy. "I just need one thing. I left my bucket and Beatstick back there." Grog pointed at a rock laying about ten meters back with his thumb. "If we can just get to those, I promise it'll be worth your while. Bucket's got my special extra-sticky apply-on-weapon napalm. I was planning on using it for my bat, but you should pour it on your big-ass sword instead. Save some for knight man too, there's enough for everyone."
Damn, first a knight, then this guy. Grog wondered whether or not he had a dragon too. Or if he pulled out hearts while lowering people into volcanoes. Yeah, that'd be cool. Maybe he was a sickass cult leader guy with fifteen wives or whatever. Grog didn't like that last part. Marriage, he thought, was, after all, an obsolete concept created for different socioeconomic conditions, most certainly not ones matching for the twenty-first century. But the dude was ancient. Anyways, his thoughts on modern anthropological issues had to wait, for time was of the essence or whatever.
Pulling up his pants and buckling them tightly so as to keep them over his still-warm bony pelvis, Grog turned on his belly, and secured his beloved mug on a special clip. He rolled around once more, booze-soaked soil sticking on his leathers, patted his jacket and belt pouches for a few seconds as if to hastily locate something, and a not a moment later gave the Mayan two thumbs up and a big goofy grin before raising his booze-soaked mask.
"Let's roll and ro-"
"Rock and-"
"Fuck."
"Also, it's Grog. Like the word for grog."
"Sure fucking thing man!" Grog replied, his eyes lighting up with a profound frenzy. "I just need one thing. I left my bucket and Beatstick back there." Grog pointed at a rock laying about ten meters back with his thumb. "If we can just get to those, I promise it'll be worth your while. Bucket's got my special extra-sticky apply-on-weapon napalm. I was planning on using it for my bat, but you should pour it on your big-ass sword instead. Save some for knight man too, there's enough for everyone."
Damn, first a knight, then this guy. Grog wondered whether or not he had a dragon too. Or if he pulled out hearts while lowering people into volcanoes. Yeah, that'd be cool. Maybe he was a sickass cult leader guy with fifteen wives or whatever. Grog didn't like that last part. Marriage, he thought, was, after all, an obsolete concept created for different socioeconomic conditions, most certainly not ones matching for the twenty-first century. But the dude was ancient. Anyways, his thoughts on modern anthropological issues had to wait, for time was of the essence or whatever.
Pulling up his pants and buckling them tightly so as to keep them over his still-warm bony pelvis, Grog turned on his belly, and secured his beloved mug on a special clip. He rolled around once more, booze-soaked soil sticking on his leathers, patted his jacket and belt pouches for a few seconds as if to hastily locate something, and a not a moment later gave the Mayan two thumbs up and a big goofy grin before raising his booze-soaked mask.
"Let's roll and ro-"
"Rock and-"
"Fuck."
"Also, it's Grog. Like the word for grog."
In
Hellscapers! [PRETTY MUCH ALWAYS ACCEPTING EXCEPT WHEN WE HAVE TEN PEOPLE (WE DON'T)!]
→
8 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
"God-damn fucking shit-smeared holy mother of FUCK that hurt." Grog screamed at himself, as he fell on his now bony ass, the last of his fireworks sputtering, while the speakers were finally losing power, and turning to dust. Hey, wouldya lookit that. He even got a guard with his babies. He hadn't actually expected to hit anyone with them, just make a show. Sure, the fireworks were spruced up to the point of being weaponry, but hell, he still used them like fireworks. Mentally patting himself on the back, he thought about his options. They were rather limited.
It was a pretty hilarious sight, in all honesty. Him laying there, pants down to his knees, jacket pushed up to his chest, and a blackened, smoking pelvic bone where his precious jumblies once stood. His mind was working on overdrive, thinking faster than most men would ever think, trying to finally come up with a solution.
"Power pint! Gimmie some beer."
Yep, that was the stuff. Grog was once more relaxed. Sure, the pain was searing, but it could've been worse. Most of his nerve endings were probably singed anyways. Dangling the pint a breath above his head, and smelling his damp, liquor-soaked mask, he awaited for the inevitable outcome of this whole operation, be it positive or negative. Truth be told, he couldn't really care either way.
Then, out of nowhere, an idea struck him in the head like a sledgehammer.
"Hey Pint, give me your most balls-to-the-wall absynthe. And a whole -lot- of it."
A sinister grin creeped into Grog's face as he retrieved his lighter.
It was a pretty hilarious sight, in all honesty. Him laying there, pants down to his knees, jacket pushed up to his chest, and a blackened, smoking pelvic bone where his precious jumblies once stood. His mind was working on overdrive, thinking faster than most men would ever think, trying to finally come up with a solution.
"Power pint! Gimmie some beer."
Yep, that was the stuff. Grog was once more relaxed. Sure, the pain was searing, but it could've been worse. Most of his nerve endings were probably singed anyways. Dangling the pint a breath above his head, and smelling his damp, liquor-soaked mask, he awaited for the inevitable outcome of this whole operation, be it positive or negative. Truth be told, he couldn't really care either way.
Then, out of nowhere, an idea struck him in the head like a sledgehammer.
"Hey Pint, give me your most balls-to-the-wall absynthe. And a whole -lot- of it."
A sinister grin creeped into Grog's face as he retrieved his lighter.
In
Hellscapers! [PRETTY MUCH ALWAYS ACCEPTING EXCEPT WHEN WE HAVE TEN PEOPLE (WE DON'T)!]
→
8 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Grog hung the tankard back to his utility belt, as the poison spirit expressed his thoughts on the matter. He hastily tucked a couple of fireworks that were left non-concealed back under his jacket, and weighed the situation. Just how did Villiam know he was about to use them? He was a smart bastard alright, but he was civil enough, perhaps too civil, to Grog. Even though he was sure that something was off about that spirit, he quickly dismissed the issue after hearing Villiam's view on his explosives. He let loose a disconcerting but gleeful chuckle, and puffed his chest, maniacally shouting an in-depth explanation of his invention, his tone oddly jumping from cheerful to somewhat annoyed.
"About what you said earlier... Your signal? Not worth the entire prison? Meager explosives!? Now, listen up my fine, semi-gaseous friend. One of these babies I'm carrying right here can illuminate an area approximately five meters wide by thirty meters long. They're compressed roman candles of my own making! They've got gunpowder, various salts and metal powders far exceeding the power of those found inside normal, legal -back on earth at least- fireworks and a cocktail of pellets consisting of WHITE PHOSPHORUS AND THERMITE. They won't just make a scene, they will BLOW. YOUR. MIND. Now, let's fucking RUMBLE!"
Just as he screamed his last few words, he heard chatter coming from his associates' dataslabs. Nifty pieces of machinery, they were. Grog thought about getting one of his own. Quickly diverting his attention towards the prison, the masked hoodlum picked up his pace, and, grabbing his pint, commanded it to conjure a mugful of Boilermaker. He messily downed it as he sprinted in an attempt to catch up with the others, spilling at least half of it on his way. As his speed steadily increased, he found the time to scream his lungs out, spewing nonsensical threats.
"YOU TELL 'EM BOYS! WHO'S STUPID ENOUGH TO GUARD A JAIL, IN HELL? WHERE ARE YOU EVEN KEEPING THEM FROM? YOU'RE ALL A BUNCH OF WEINER-SLOBBERING FUCKS!"
Having reached a suitably close distance from the containment facility, Grog stopped dead in his tracks. He retrieved a couple of fist-sized speakers from his belt, and placed them on the ground, one on each side. Hooking them up with a small walkman shoved in a pocket on his jackets' lining, he stood in silence, eyeing the imposing jailhouse. A gust of wind blew suddenly as Grog closed his eyes and breathed in, contently. A small tag reading "one use only" was carried away, the meager amount of sticky tape holding it in place finally giving way.
And then, a strange parody of a patriotic song began blaring from the tiny speakers, at physically impossible volumes. They were most definitely enchanted.
Wasting no time, Grog unzipped his pants. The leather garment was overflowing with previously mentioned miniature explosives, all connected by a single fuse string. He retrieved a lighter from his pocket and lit it. As the spark neared the payload, Grog lowered his mask and screamed one last insult before unleashing his divine, thermite-fuelled wrath.
His voice was instantly drowned in a whirlwind of pyrotechnics and national pride. The only thing that smelled worse than whatever ingredients the fireworks contained was the ever-increasing stench of burning crotch flesh. Grog spread his arms wide and laugh-screamed as the self-made inferno raged and burned brighter and brighter.
"About what you said earlier... Your signal? Not worth the entire prison? Meager explosives!? Now, listen up my fine, semi-gaseous friend. One of these babies I'm carrying right here can illuminate an area approximately five meters wide by thirty meters long. They're compressed roman candles of my own making! They've got gunpowder, various salts and metal powders far exceeding the power of those found inside normal, legal -back on earth at least- fireworks and a cocktail of pellets consisting of WHITE PHOSPHORUS AND THERMITE. They won't just make a scene, they will BLOW. YOUR. MIND. Now, let's fucking RUMBLE!"
Just as he screamed his last few words, he heard chatter coming from his associates' dataslabs. Nifty pieces of machinery, they were. Grog thought about getting one of his own. Quickly diverting his attention towards the prison, the masked hoodlum picked up his pace, and, grabbing his pint, commanded it to conjure a mugful of Boilermaker. He messily downed it as he sprinted in an attempt to catch up with the others, spilling at least half of it on his way. As his speed steadily increased, he found the time to scream his lungs out, spewing nonsensical threats.
"YOU TELL 'EM BOYS! WHO'S STUPID ENOUGH TO GUARD A JAIL, IN HELL? WHERE ARE YOU EVEN KEEPING THEM FROM? YOU'RE ALL A BUNCH OF WEINER-SLOBBERING FUCKS!"
Having reached a suitably close distance from the containment facility, Grog stopped dead in his tracks. He retrieved a couple of fist-sized speakers from his belt, and placed them on the ground, one on each side. Hooking them up with a small walkman shoved in a pocket on his jackets' lining, he stood in silence, eyeing the imposing jailhouse. A gust of wind blew suddenly as Grog closed his eyes and breathed in, contently. A small tag reading "one use only" was carried away, the meager amount of sticky tape holding it in place finally giving way.
And then, a strange parody of a patriotic song began blaring from the tiny speakers, at physically impossible volumes. They were most definitely enchanted.
Wasting no time, Grog unzipped his pants. The leather garment was overflowing with previously mentioned miniature explosives, all connected by a single fuse string. He retrieved a lighter from his pocket and lit it. As the spark neared the payload, Grog lowered his mask and screamed one last insult before unleashing his divine, thermite-fuelled wrath.
"SUCK
MY
ASS"
MY
ASS"
His voice was instantly drowned in a whirlwind of pyrotechnics and national pride. The only thing that smelled worse than whatever ingredients the fireworks contained was the ever-increasing stench of burning crotch flesh. Grog spread his arms wide and laugh-screamed as the self-made inferno raged and burned brighter and brighter.
Alright. Seems we're picking up speed again. Me, I'm waiting to make a two-part post after our glorious GM overlord transitions the scene, in order to respond to both Horace's appearance and the time-skip to wherever the priests lead us. I suppose Vicus will follow along as well?
Also, when's Wizliz bound to appear?
Also, when's Wizliz bound to appear?
In
Hellscapers! [PRETTY MUCH ALWAYS ACCEPTING EXCEPT WHEN WE HAVE TEN PEOPLE (WE DON'T)!]
→
8 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
A strange squeaking plastic-on-leather sound originated from Grog's pants. He walked with erratic speed, rarely holding the same trajectory for more than five seconds. With one hand, he held his trusty Beatstick, resting it on his shoulder, while, with the other, he carried a bucket that sloshed violently as it swung from side to side, its' contents concealed by a cloth. Various stored materials and tools, as well as his massive, iron reinforced mug rattled from inside his utility belt, completing the cacophony. He whistled a muffled tune merrily as he walked, but was cut abruptly as the party stopped. Laying the bucket down, Grog's first thought was to retrieve his tankard.
"Power pint! Beer!" He commanded, as the cup wheezed, and quickly filled itself to the brim with icy cold stout. It had been ages since he last had a drink, and he needed to keep a clear head, he thought. Guzzling it down with horrifying speed, he exhaled loudly and, now satisfied, turned to face the prison complex. He quickly turned around towards the crusader, as he was about to instruct the rest on something.
"This tent..."
"Holy fuck, I can't believe that there's an actual knight speaking." Grog's inner monologue echoed.
"...then dismantle it..."
"This is the tightest shit. The bee's fucking knees. I bet he has a dragon." He bit down on his lower lip and gleefully grinned behind his mask, lost in daydreams about draconic aerial combat.
"...the vents to get to her."
Grog had paid zero attention to anything that was just said, but wasted no time and quickly spoke up to add his two cents.
"Yeah, cool, this all sounds great. But I think we said something a while back about someone grabbing the prison guys' attention. Attentions. Att- You get what I'm trying to say.
Thankfully, I've taken this time to hatch a plan."
This was, of course, a lie. Grog had been mentally disconnected from the entire space-time continuum for the past two hours, only to form this "plan" of his two minutes ago, after discovering that he was carrying the final remnants of his firework stash.
"You guys do whatever you want, I'll get real close to sing sing over there and you can bet your sweet be-hinds they'll have their eyes on me for a good long while."
"Power pint! Beer!" He commanded, as the cup wheezed, and quickly filled itself to the brim with icy cold stout. It had been ages since he last had a drink, and he needed to keep a clear head, he thought. Guzzling it down with horrifying speed, he exhaled loudly and, now satisfied, turned to face the prison complex. He quickly turned around towards the crusader, as he was about to instruct the rest on something.
"This tent..."
"Holy fuck, I can't believe that there's an actual knight speaking." Grog's inner monologue echoed.
"...then dismantle it..."
"This is the tightest shit. The bee's fucking knees. I bet he has a dragon." He bit down on his lower lip and gleefully grinned behind his mask, lost in daydreams about draconic aerial combat.
"...the vents to get to her."
Grog had paid zero attention to anything that was just said, but wasted no time and quickly spoke up to add his two cents.
"Yeah, cool, this all sounds great. But I think we said something a while back about someone grabbing the prison guys' attention. Attentions. Att- You get what I'm trying to say.
Thankfully, I've taken this time to hatch a plan."
This was, of course, a lie. Grog had been mentally disconnected from the entire space-time continuum for the past two hours, only to form this "plan" of his two minutes ago, after discovering that he was carrying the final remnants of his firework stash.
"You guys do whatever you want, I'll get real close to sing sing over there and you can bet your sweet be-hinds they'll have their eyes on me for a good long while."
XDDDDDDDDDDD
What a wordsmith.
In
Hellscapers! [PRETTY MUCH ALWAYS ACCEPTING EXCEPT WHEN WE HAVE TEN PEOPLE (WE DON'T)!]
→
8 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
@Oraculum Grog will probably gorge himself, vomit, seizure uncontrollably, spend two days comatose and then weaponize Old N's (already weaponized) vegetables.
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