Good for a Second Try
Apr 11, 2010 21:23:48 GMT -7
Post by ||Yuuku|| on Apr 11, 2010 21:23:48 GMT -7
Application
- Name: Dr. Yuuku/Brenden
- Age: 22
- Gender: Male
- Desired Position: Assistant/Moderator
- Experience:
- NFRP
- Head Moderator
- Moderator
- Assistant
- Head Moderator
- Other Websites
- Admin of a LOTR website
- Moderator of a Harry Potter Battle Website
- Admin of a Bleach Website
- Dr. Yuuku's Workshop Admin
- Admin of a LOTR website
- NFRP
- RolePlay Experience:
Posted for nearly 9 years at different websites, not only have I posted in formal RPs, but anything from casual to detailed RPs I have been involved in. I love to RP, but in recent years have taken to more casual RP. I however LOVE moderating websites, and miss NFRP. I will casually RP, but preferably I would like to get back to Assistant or Mod work, cause I miss checking profiles, TP, helping out, customs. Ohh I miss all of it soo much. I can start from the bottom and work my way up, but I miss it.
From deep within the machine and engine bays of the ship could be heard the pleasant mumblings of the ship's gentle giant and pilot, Varyn Borell, "Unappreciative...son of a...I aught to...with a...". He was still fuming over Bal's "sense of humor" and his constant quips about his inadequacies as a pilot. Though Varyn knew Bal was just joking, he needed something to keep his attention away from boredom, so he grumbled, and grumbled as he marched around the ship. Everywhere the tall man went people jumped out of his path. Bal may have been the captain of the ship, but noone stood in Varyn's path when he was in a sour mood. His "grumblings" could be heard down the bulkhead and in every part of the fuselage of the ship. He was nicknamed Titan for a reason. At 6'5" and 250lbs, Varyn was enormous, and scary when in one of his sour moods (that he always seemed to be in) Varyn stopped at a computer terminal, clicking a few buttons here, pushing a switch there before what seemed to be a grunt and a word mixed pierced the silence, "s'all good". Pulling a computer pad out of his pocket, he tapped on the screen a few times and then swiped down with his finger on it.
What he held in his hand was his personal "Technical Orders" on the ship. He had written them in case he ever died or was lost. They had chapter after chapter on how to fix, fly, and maintain the ship including checklists, fault isolation trees, and safety warnings. He had setup the pad so that it synced with the memory and computers of the ship. Anytime they landed or flew, the pad reset the necessary checklists so that they had to be redone at the first opportune moment. This insured that the ship was maintained and checked properly each flight. The little pad would beep if one of these checklists had not been done. As he finished the internal landing checklists for the ship, he made his way back up to the pit. He was wearing his old military cargo pants, patterned in urban/desert camo, his black leather boots, and a tan cloth t-shirt. Upon reaching his chair in the pit, he pulled his tool harness across his chest, the diagonal belts across his chest carrying little tools and devices he had invented for use on the ship, and stuffed his .45 magnum into the holster on the harness beneath his armpit. After throwing on a jacket that barely fit over the holster and his barrel chest, he grabbed his short barreled shotgun, and strapped it to his thigh. Both weapons were well maintained and fully loaded. On his holster he had ammo to reload with and plenty of firepower to protect the ship. Strapping a black sheathe onto his wrist with a long easily accessible combat knife inserted into it (and not the only such knife on his person), he pulled his black fingerless gloves onto his hands.
Finally grabbing his sunglasses from under his chair and tossing them on, he turned adjusting them onto his eyes before grabbing a comm device and throwing it into his ear, thumbing the device on then speaking, "This is Titan, Do you read me?" and the voice of the comm/nav officer, whose name he couldn't remember because everyone called him 'Hawk' due to his avian features and shrewd attitude sounded over the earpiece, "Hawk here, Loud and clear. Heading out for external checks, big guy?". Grunting at the affirmative, Varyn stepped out of the cockpit and into the corridor leading to the ramp. His right hand rested on the grip of the shotgun at his side and the other held his Technical Datapad. Pressing his thumb down onto it several times, turning it on silent so as to ignore the beep it was still making due to unfinished work, he flipped to the external checklist and stepped onto the ramp. He was glad he wore his sunglasses today, it was a little bright outside. His hand left the grip of his shotgun for a moment to wipe the beaded sweat off of his bald head then moved to his chin to scratch his beard. Smiling he placed it back onto the gun before walking outside.
Barren wasn't the right word for this. It seemed like a world that had once been lived in and now was devoid of any life. Frowning he felt like something was wrong. The hairs on the back of his neck rose for a second. He didnt like the fact that he was in an open field, a sitting duck. Quickly moving around the ship he checked all the external systems, opening panels with a speed handle and then closing them back up quickly. Not once looking down at the pad, he thumbed through the checklist by memory, checking off each item without even looking down to see if he was hitting the right button. Every few moments he looked around anxiously. His 6 years in the military had taught him to be aware of his surroundings. He had joined the former United States Air Force at age 18, been hired as a mechanic more specifically a computer, electrical, and avionics technician. He had spent most of his days learning all he could about aviation and flying, taking an interest in piloting and spaceships. Never had he thought he'd be flying one, not till that fateful day when Bal had contacted him. He had spent two years on special assignment with a marine detachment, working on Special Forces Helicopters and Transports, and had met Bal and Shey there. He still remembered those days, little did he know how well he'd come to know, and love that pair. How close a bond he would join with them. Finishing up his work he spoke over the comm device, "Titan here, all finished, heading back in" a flustered noise could be heard on the other man, "Hell man, you trying to scare the shit out of me? You spend 20 minutes out there completely silent and then BOOM shriek into my ear like that?" The ex- Air Force Technical Sergeant smiled and shrugged, "Did I wake you from your nap?" and then heartily laughed.
Keeping the hatch opened, he put one of the crew members are guard detail, not wanting to close the hatch in case Bal and Shey needed a quick escape, he headed back to the cockpit where he pulled off the jacket and threw it over the shoulders of the high chair before slipping down into it. He heard a commotion but ignored it, Meditation was key to his mental survival. He had spent many years in his youth learning martial arts but had never known how key they would be NOT to his physical survival but his mental one. He used the meditation arts he had learned in several of the martial arts he had studied to clear his mind and relax. His sunglasses pulled over his eyes, one could even think he was sleeping by how calm he became. He relaxed, a deeper relaxation than anything but sleep could afford.
Suddenly a loud crash sounded overhead, his eyes snapped open, his fingers gripping his sunglasses and shoving them under his seat into a compartment. A red...beam..was the only word to describe it was flashing through the sky. Not bothering to take his gear off, he spoke into the comm device, "Please tell me you know what the fuck that was...." he said, not bothering to use call signs. His body starting to shake he looked out of the canopy and saw nothing, no life forms nearby, he saw dust rising in the direction Bal and Shey had left and shook his head, what kind of trouble were they bringing his way this time? Thumbing the engines on, he started up the ship ready for a quick take-off. Comm devices did not work long range enough to communicate with Bal and Shey, so they had not taken any. They did however have a walkie talkie, grabbing his from his belt loop he depressed the button and spoke, "This is Titan, What the hell is goin on out there?" He saw a hazy purple smoke rising from the planes and thought for a second a residue in the air, like leftover light from a ray of sunshine in the sky. Not knowing what he saw he blinked a few times, looking back at the walkie talkie he prayed they answered soon.The frigid north, a welcome prison for this outlaw. The wind bit at him causing him to smile in acceptance of his own chosen fate.. The snow whipping at him numbing him down to the core. Through all this, his smile never faded. Even when his legs began to slow , nor his hands lose the ability to grip from the hypothermia which rapidly tore apart his motor functions. He bore his weight to the peak of the mountain; his eyes taking in the bright sunlight. With each step he came closer to the sun, but the cold also became more bitter. He would not be able to escape the cold; not even the sun would be able to free him. He did not deserve freedom. Supposedly somewhere beneath his feet the dwarven race had been born. Durin the Deathless and his brothers striding from this sacred mountain to bring life to their prideful race. And it was this pride, this honor, that he had broken. That he had allowed to be destroyed. It seemed only natural that the birthplace of this pride would be where he make a pilgrimage to attempt to redeem himself.
He didnt know what he would find here, didnt know what to think. He had felt called here, had felt ordered by the very nature of his being to make this journey, to seek sanctification. He wanted cleansing. He looked down at his hands, they were red with blood. Dwarven blood. He could still see the body before him, the corpse of the one he had slain. Tears welled up in his eyes. He looked up into the sky as he reached the pinnacle of the dwarven race, the tip of the Mountain of Gundabad and fell to his knees, crying out in frustration. Thoughts rushed through his mind, ached in the back of his head. He cried out in anger, 'WHY?!?!'. Why would they give him this rage, this deep anger set beneath his breast if he couldnt control it. Why had he been given this fury if he could not leash it. Why would Aule create a broken warrior such as he. His eyes glazed over as the tears flowed down to be frozen upon his cheek and beard. His last thoughts before blacking out was ,'Why?'
*************
He saw before him, a silver stream, flowing through the mountain. His eyes glittered as he looked at the metal flowing before him. All around him he heard a hammer striking an anvil. He looked around. He was standing, surrounded by the mountain, in a small glade. A small room in the mountain, green grass growing on the ground. 'That is impossible', he thought, 'grass does not grow inside the mountain'. As he turned he saw he was standing under a tree, a single tree growing from the ground, it was short but powerful, growing fluidly from the solid rock. The silver stream seemed to erupt from the wall and flow into another nearby. He saw in the center a tall and powerful man, glowing with radiance with a hammer in his hand and an anvil before him. He hammered upon a small strip of silver, his fingers nimbly crafting something that had yet to be molded into its final shape. Several rubies glinted atop the table, probably to be fit into the object later. The man's eyes were deep and mysterious, set against his golden skin and deep red beard, the man's bright red eyes were deeper than the rubies.
The man turned around, smiling at Korrin. His fingers turning the hammer over and laying it flat upon the anvil. "Greetings, good dwarf. I have been waiting for you. " His smile deepened as the dwarf looked at him in a confused manner. The man continued, "You have asked for your soul to be cleansed, to be forgiven and so I have answered. You must find your salvation with each day. You have been blessed with a gift, not freely given to the dwarves of this age. You have been granted the responsibility of being one of the few Dwarves of Fury left in your age. You may hate the taste it leaves with you, but you must bear this gift, with pride. You must use it to bring glory upon your race. This path you will find on your own, this quest you must discover on your own, but you will soon. And you will be thankful for it. Until then, you must bear this hardship with many unanswered questions. I have given you this gift, this rage, and you alone must learn to control it. Korrin Hammersong, you must earn your honor back. Now go. Do this. Find your path and bring glory to your race. Sleep well, dear dwarf." And the dwarf's eyes glazed over once again, his body glowing light as he fell to the floor, his eyes felt sticky as he attempted to open them, his body felt cold all over. He felt the stone beneath him as he drifted into a deep sleep...
*************
His eyes slowly opened, his mouth dry and stinging from a dirty rag being shoved into it. He felt the sores on his back and legs from cuts from rocks. His face was covered in a sticky substance, probably his own blood. He was laying flat on his left side, his arms and legs bound before him, wearing nothing but his tabard and leather armor, his warm clothing, cloak, and all his weapons were gone. Along with this gear, his prized possessions were all missing as well. The rope tied to him was thick and made from strips of leather. His mouth was gagged with a dirty rag probably used to clean with. He tasted oil that would be used in a forge in his mouth. A strong pair of hands gripped his shoulders and pulled him up tight. A ringing noise burst into his ears as he heard a voice speak loud a tongue he had not heard in many years. The Black Speech.
"Get this maggot up off his back, I wantz to talks to him." He was with orcs or goblins of some kind, he thought as he was roughly pulled to his feet. He put weight upon his legs and knew immediatly they were not broken, bruised, but not broken. That nearly brought a smile to his face. To his right stood a tall and powerful orc, his eyes deep and cold, his mouth curled upwards in a wicked smile showing his large fangs. A large axe hung from his back and a spear was in his right hand, his left bore a shield with a deep red eye painted on it. A remnant of the war of the ring. To his left he saw the origin of the voice, a lanky and short goblin, built with thick corded muscles, he was small but powerful looking. On his sides he bore no shield but twin scimitars appearing to be fangs, and on his back was a recurve bow of orkish make. The goblin seemed to be in charge, he must be smart and quick to be in command of a powerful orc warrior.
The orc began untying his gag and he felt the pressure on his neck release as his gag was dropped from him. The goblin pulled both blades and pointed them directly into Korrin's chin. "Whats are youz doing in my kingdom, stupid dwarves!" he spat as he said the word of the race soo accursed by the goblins of these mountains. "We finds you in the snow, nearly buried and barely living. Luckys are we that we found you still warm for the eating. " He snickered as he spoke this and his scimitars dug into the chin of the dwarf, just deep enough to draw blood. Cold hard blue eyes dug into the black orbs of the goblin. Korrin was proud like any dwarf, and would not show anger as the goblin spoke, "Now answers us with truths and you may not die painfully. Why have you come here? Are the dwarveses planning to come here and attack us and takes our home? " Not in recent memory had the dwarves even considered attacking the goblin fortresses at Gundabad. The dwarves were too weak and outnumbered to attempt to clean out the hole here. But it was holy to the dwarves, a sacred place, and the goblins here had never forgotten this. They had built religious shamanistic idols of their own here. Attempted to clean out the dwarven presence to keep the stunted folk from retaking their "sacred" lands.
"I came here, greenskin, because me vala called me here. I know not of any plan to rid your people" frowning as he spoke the words people, cursing silently in khuzdul "Nor have I any plans to attack ye people. I only wanted to see the peak of Gundabad once in my life." he closed his lips, as the goblin stepped back. A wicked smile growing on his face. He smiled and bowed. "Nows that yous seen it, you will die. Once is all you will sees it!" He pulled back his blades. A killing blow prepared for the dwarf. And as the blade lowered the muscles in Korrin's legs twitched. He saw the orc beside him start to step away, clearing himself from the killing strike. Now was his only chance. The dull metal blade flashed in the light of the torch on the wall as the killing blow fell....Cheren's blade slashed down at Lenu when he felt a telekinesis grab his arm..he grinned and pushed down with his own telekinetic might. Being a level 2 he was stronger and his defence also sent the blade even quicker down at Lenu. Instead of helping her, James had caused the attack to move quicker. But this was only Cheren's defense. He kept his blade slashing down and then turned his head to look at James. Smiling he spoke, "A little young to be fighting out here, dont you think?
As the blade began to fall towards Lenu time seemed to stop. He looked over at the boy, a youth he would be eager to crush. The boy was short and scrawny, compared to many dragon youth he had played with as a child. The tall bulgarian, 7 feet tall, with long black hair down his back. The bulgarian was strong, very strong and his eyes were red. almost orange. They were slit like those of a dragon and his nose was becoming more like that of a serpent.
The witchblade on his wrist slashing down at Lenu was a gauntlet with a blade extending from it. It had a crimson ruby on it that gleamed with an inner light. On his feet he wore the wereboots of speed, that gave him ultra quick movements, they were brown leather with werefur trimming. On his head he wore a circlet of leather, the helmet of truth seemed more like a sweatband then a helmet. But the dark brown gem in the front glimmered with magic, his whole head was protected from mental attacks, his whole being defended.
Smiling, he began to use a spell that he had used against James's brother once before, he was going to use the same he used to injure John badly. He spoke quickly, "Things never change! Mutate mei voluntis" and the wand that James was holding would turn into a stinging spurge.
This leaf(a real leaf) found in the south american rain forest would cause extreme burning of James's hand and would numb the hand quickly. Also anything that the spores landed on, which would fall as soon as it turned, would numb and burn. The fun thing was this was not a magical damage..it would remain for 24-48 hours and not go away.
Unless James had an immediate defence for an attack he didnt see coming, his hand would be in trouble. This attack did not shoot a beam of light but instead just appeared around his hand. Cheren smiled as he fought.
Post from Here
Really old NFRP post - Additional Comments:
Really would like to get back to working on NFRP, I miss soo much about it. I loved helping customs, bios, and working with people. I miss it alot and cant wait to help again. I can start from the bottom, work my way up or whatever you want. I plan on being active again. I spent all day yesterday and today re-reading and catching up on rules, and will keep updating my knowledge through the next week. I just moved into a house with internet finally, after two years with bad internet.
[update]Its been 14 days since my last application and now I think Ive proven that Im sticking around. My life is pretty much the same everyday now. Not filled with a monotonous tasks, I got time for NFRP.
