PL: The EPIC OOC - closed thread

[Relikai]

Just a heads up Miyuki's still here, basically chilling out in the clinic while her human throat adapts to its magical ability.

[Torsiedelle]

Just a heads up Miyuki's still here, basically chilling out in the clinic while her human throat adapts to its magical ability.

Shit, right.

Why not have her follow along with Torii and Sterling?

[Relikai]

Just a heads up Miyuki's still here, basically chilling out in the clinic while her human throat adapts to its magical ability.

Shit, right.

Why not have her follow along with Torii and Sterling?

Yep will do. Gotta settle work first -.- Just woke up haha

[Chedastan]

Still in my overnight ordintation, I'll respond sometime tomorrow night, as they have us until 5 tomorrow

[Tiltjuice]

lol Cer and TNEL.

Nice, Min.

Soz, Pony crew. Busy IRL atm. Will try to post sometime this week.

[Northwest Slobovia]

IF you don't want in on the Xeno jungle thing, send your character through Alpha gate. This will free them up for the Building or for your own stories. Talk it out here so you all can open the gate and step through on your next post. There are tubs at the Gatehouse still, so they can take one to the village and rejoin the cast.

IF you want in on whatever odd story Cer has planned, have them brace themselves. His posting schedule is pretty slow, so the pace won't match stuff at the village or Building.

I face an IC vs OOC conflict here.

IC, there's no reason Sandy should leave the team to the tender mercies of large hairy (scaley) things in the jungle.

OOC, I've got things for him to do, places for him to be, and stories to run.

What I'd like to break the deadlock is a slowly-developing medical crisis that will provide an IC reason for Sandy to leave. I'm not sure what that should be, and it never needs to materialize, just loom on the horizon for long enough for Sandy to leave.

[Cerillium]

IF you don't want in on the Xeno jungle thing, send your character through Alpha gate. This will free them up for the Building or for your own stories. Talk it out here so you all can open the gate and step through on your next post. There are tubs at the Gatehouse still, so they can take one to the village and rejoin the cast.

IF you want in on whatever odd story Cer has planned, have them brace themselves. His posting schedule is pretty slow, so the pace won't match stuff at the village or Building.

I face an IC vs OOC conflict here.

IC, there's no reason Sandy should leave the team to the tender mercies of large hairy (scaley) things in the jungle.

OOC, I've got things for him to do, places for him to be, and stories to run.

What I'd like to break the deadlock is a slowly-developing medical crisis that will provide an IC reason for Sandy to leave. I'm not sure what that should be, and it never needs to materialize, just loom on the horizon for long enough for Sandy to leave.

I'll make it easy on everyone: won't be much of an adventure in the jungle. I've been sternly reminded of my 2014 promise to get IAPA off the ground for the summer. Failure do to so will result in Swith morphing into Segata Sanshiro and kicking my ass: "You must play IAPA! You must play IAPA!"

[Northwest Slobovia]

I'll make it easy on everyone: won't be much of an adventure in the jungle. I've been sternly reminded of my 2014 promise to get IAPA off the ground for the summer. Failure do to so will result in Swith morphing into Segata Sanshiro and kicking my ass: "You must play IAPA! You must play IAPA!"

Oh, OK: Sandy will take the red pill and see how shallow the fanged-rabbit hole is.

[Giovenith]

Will have Groundtown reply up tomorrow. Sorry for the wait.

[Altito Asmoro]

OPERATION: HARKER
DIMENSION: 134A
LOCATION: EARTH
TEAMS: DELTA, TANGO

---

He was concerned about Harker insisting to stay though, but he could respect the reason explained. "Don't worry Minerva, I'm not abandoning you yet." He then called over to her to confirmed from the cargo bay.

I was about to worried that one of them or at least one of them (Either one of you who involved in the operation )would be angry at Harker for trying to stay, even with the reason explained.

[Tiltjuice]

Will have Groundtown reply up tomorrow. Sorry for the wait.

Will reply tomorrow then, beforehand. Ditto.

[Chedastan]

I was about to worried that one of them or at least one of them (Either one of you who involved in the operation )would be angry at Harker for trying to stay, even with the reason explained.

Oh yeah that, I guess the story has to go where it feels like going somehow.

[Tiltjuice]

Will have Groundtown reply up tomorrow. Sorry for the wait.

Will reply tomorrow then, beforehand. Ditto.

Posting after I get some food. Haven't eaten all day.

[Altito Asmoro]

I was about to worried that one of them or at least one of them (Either one of you who involved in the operation )would be angry at Harker for trying to stay, even with the reason explained.

Oh yeah that, I guess the story has to go where it feels like going somehow.

Yeah, right.

[Ganonsyoni]

I'm gonna be gone for the weekend. Comicon in my city. Gonna be busy hanging with friends there and having fun. I'll be back monday. Gonna try to get a post up that day.

[Cerillium]

No problem, Carly. Thanks for the heads-up.

IC post from me tomorrow (Sunday).

[Cerillium]

My mission post is delayed

The Fennec is busy. Busy, busy Fennec. She thinks she can grill. The Fennec is abusing beef. You think I jest? No. No, dear PL family, I do not.

The thing with Fennecs is that they have runty forelegs. How they scratch their own butts is beyond me. And Fennecs have tits. They cover their tits with new teeshirts bearing Sanders logos. Rather than take the shirt off and put on something suitable, this Fennec insists on putting all the meat at the very front of the grill in order to keep her tits from burning while she uses her runty arms to flip things. Flip, Fennec, flip with those runty, runty arms.

The Fennec doesn't understand why the front of the grill doesn't grill as good as the back of the grill. She compensates by turning the flame all the way up to high. The grill takes on a fresh glow. The International Space Stations reports odd flickering coming from our state.

Burn, Fennec, burn the meat with your stunted grill knowledge and vorpal flame. Flip and burn, and burn and flip. That's prime rib. Glorious prime rib, O! I lament your sizzling cries as the juice evaporates from you. Woe, is me, woe, that I should eat shoe leather thanks to Fennecs and Sanders. Damn you, Sanders. Damn you for bearing tit-covering logos on your shirts.

I need a beer. No, I need two.

"Don't you kill my Minerva," the Fennec croons as she slides her sacrifice to Satan onto my plate. The salad beside it snickers and winks at me as if to say We look more tasty, don't we?

I do not want to kill her stupid character. I only want my prime rib to be edible. Breathe, damn you! But this is futile. It will never moo again.

The murderess returns. "Okay, I'm done cooking. I'll be back later. Need anything from the store?"

Cooking? Is that what you call it? The fuck, Fennec? I'm waiting for the leather to cool so I can smack it with a hammer and pour the ash into my beer. A man needs his steak in one form or another. Come Fennec. Look at my ash-beer. Smoke curls from it. I can taste Cthulhu with my eyes. Go away, Fennec. Go away.

And off she went to see her new baby cousin.

I do not know what to write for Minerva. In my famished state, I neglected to ask What comes next for your pilot and the high altitude. I'm stalled. Two hours have passed. Nothing.

So it may turn into a collab for Delta and Tango, if players don't mind?

Will post reply to Pony and Giovenith shorly. Need to hunt down Agy to wrap up that story as well.

[Giovenith]

My mission post is delayed

The Fennec is busy. Busy, busy Fennec. She thinks she can grill. The Fennec is abusing beef. You think I jest? No. No, dear PL family, I do not.

The thing with Fennecs is that they have runty forelegs. How they scratch their own butts is beyond me. And Fennecs have tits. They cover their tits with new teeshirts bearing Sanders logos. Rather than take the shirt off and put on something suitable, this Fennec insists on putting all the meat at the very front of the grill in order to keep her tits from burning while she uses her runty arms to flip things. Flip, Fennec, flip with those runty, runty arms.

The Fennec doesn't understand why the front of the grill doesn't grill as good as the back of the grill. She compensates by turning the flame all the way up to high. The grill takes on a fresh glow. The International Space Stations reports odd flickering coming from our state.

Burn, Fennec, burn the meat with your stunted grill knowledge and vorpal flame. Flip and burn, and burn and flip. That's prime rib. Glorious prime rib, O! I lament your sizzling cries as the juice evaporates from you. Woe, is me, woe, that I should eat shoe leather thanks to Fennecs and Sanders. Damn you, Sanders. Damn you for bearing tit-covering logos on your shirts.

I need a beer. No, I need two.

"Don't you kill my Minerva," the Fennec croons as she slides her sacrifice to Satan onto my plate. The salad beside it snickers and winks at me as if to say We look more tasty, don't we?

I do not want to kill her stupid character. I only want my prime rib to be edible. Breathe, damn you! But this is futile. It will never moo again.

The murderess returns. "Okay, I'm done cooking. I'll be back later. Need anything from the store?"

Cooking? Is that what you call it? The fuck, Fennec? I'm waiting for the leather to cool so I can smack it with a hammer and pour the ash into my beer. A man needs his steak in one form or another. Come Fennec. Look at my ash-beer. Smoke curls from it. I can taste Cthulhu with my eyes. Go away, Fennec. Go away.

And off she went to see her new baby cousin.

I do not know what to write for Minerva. In my famished state, I neglected to ask What comes next for your pilot and the high altitude. I'm stalled. Two hours have passed. Nothing.

Sometimes I just stop, sit back, and try to carefully retrace my steps as to how in god's name I got myself into circumstances where something like that would actually make sense to me.

[Northwest Slobovia]

My mission post is delayed

The Fennec is busy. Busy, busy Fennec. She thinks she can grill. The Fennec is abusing beef. You think I jest? No. No, dear PL family, I do not.

The thing with Fennecs is that they have runty forelegs. How they scratch their own butts is beyond me. And Fennecs have tits. They cover their tits with new teeshirts bearing Sanders logos. Rather than take the shirt off and put on something suitable, this Fennec insists on putting all the meat at the very front of the grill in order to keep her tits from burning while she uses her runty arms to flip things. Flip, Fennec, flip with those runty, runty arms.

The Fennec doesn't understand why the front of the grill doesn't grill as good as the back of the grill. She compensates by turning the flame all the way up to high. The grill takes on a fresh glow. The International Space Stations reports odd flickering coming from our state.

Burn, Fennec, burn the meat with your stunted grill knowledge and vorpal flame. Flip and burn, and burn and flip. That's prime rib. Glorious prime rib, O! I lament your sizzling cries as the juice evaporates from you. Woe, is me, woe, that I should eat shoe leather thanks to Fennecs and Sanders. Damn you, Sanders. Damn you for bearing tit-covering logos on your shirts.

I need a beer. No, I need two.

"Don't you kill my Minerva," the Fennec croons as she slides her sacrifice to Satan onto my plate. The salad beside it snickers and winks at me as if to say We look more tasty, don't we?

I do not want to kill her stupid character. I only want my prime rib to be edible. Breathe, damn you! But this is futile. It will never moo again.

The murderess returns. "Okay, I'm done cooking. I'll be back later. Need anything from the store?"

Cooking? Is that what you call it? The fuck, Fennec? I'm waiting for the leather to cool so I can smack it with a hammer and pour the ash into my beer. A man needs his steak in one form or another. Come Fennec. Look at my ash-beer. Smoke curls from it. I can taste Cthulhu with my eyes. Go away, Fennec. Go away.

And off she went to see her new baby cousin.

I do not know what to write for Minerva. In my famished state, I neglected to ask What comes next for your pilot and the high altitude. I'm stalled. Two hours have passed. Nothing.

So it may turn into a collab for Delta and Tango, if players don't mind?

Go ahead.

[Chedastan]

My mission post is delayed

The Fennec is busy. Busy, busy Fennec. She thinks she can grill. The Fennec is abusing beef. You think I jest? No. No, dear PL family, I do not.

The thing with Fennecs is that they have runty forelegs. How they scratch their own butts is beyond me. And Fennecs have tits. They cover their tits with new teeshirts bearing Sanders logos. Rather than take the shirt off and put on something suitable, this Fennec insists on putting all the meat at the very front of the grill in order to keep her tits from burning while she uses her runty arms to flip things. Flip, Fennec, flip with those runty, runty arms.

The Fennec doesn't understand why the front of the grill doesn't grill as good as the back of the grill. She compensates by turning the flame all the way up to high. The grill takes on a fresh glow. The International Space Stations reports odd flickering coming from our state.

Burn, Fennec, burn the meat with your stunted grill knowledge and vorpal flame. Flip and burn, and burn and flip. That's prime rib. Glorious prime rib, O! I lament your sizzling cries as the juice evaporates from you. Woe, is me, woe, that I should eat shoe leather thanks to Fennecs and Sanders. Damn you, Sanders. Damn you for bearing tit-covering logos on your shirts.

I need a beer. No, I need two.

"Don't you kill my Minerva," the Fennec croons as she slides her sacrifice to Satan onto my plate. The salad beside it snickers and winks at me as if to say We look more tasty, don't we?

I do not want to kill her stupid character. I only want my prime rib to be edible. Breathe, damn you! But this is futile. It will never moo again.

The murderess returns. "Okay, I'm done cooking. I'll be back later. Need anything from the store?"

Cooking? Is that what you call it? The fuck, Fennec? I'm waiting for the leather to cool so I can smack it with a hammer and pour the ash into my beer. A man needs his steak in one form or another. Come Fennec. Look at my ash-beer. Smoke curls from it. I can taste Cthulhu with my eyes. Go away, Fennec. Go away.

And off she went to see her new baby cousin.

I do not know what to write for Minerva. In my famished state, I neglected to ask What comes next for your pilot and the high altitude. I'm stalled. Two hours have passed. Nothing.

So it may turn into a collab for Delta and Tango, if players don't mind?

Will post reply to Pony and Giovenith shorly. Need to hunt down Agy to wrap up that story as well.

That was nice to read, thanks Cer.

And yeah I don't mind doing another collab if we have to.

[Tiltjuice]

My mission post is delayed

The Fennec is busy. Busy, busy Fennec. She thinks she can grill. The Fennec is abusing beef. You think I jest? No. No, dear PL family, I do not.

The thing with Fennecs is that they have runty forelegs. How they scratch their own butts is beyond me. And Fennecs have tits. They cover their tits with new teeshirts bearing Sanders logos. Rather than take the shirt off and put on something suitable, this Fennec insists on putting all the meat at the very front of the grill in order to keep her tits from burning while she uses her runty arms to flip things. Flip, Fennec, flip with those runty, runty arms.

The Fennec doesn't understand why the front of the grill doesn't grill as good as the back of the grill. She compensates by turning the flame all the way up to high. The grill takes on a fresh glow. The International Space Stations reports odd flickering coming from our state.

Burn, Fennec, burn the meat with your stunted grill knowledge and vorpal flame. Flip and burn, and burn and flip. That's prime rib. Glorious prime rib, O! I lament your sizzling cries as the juice evaporates from you. Woe, is me, woe, that I should eat shoe leather thanks to Fennecs and Sanders. Damn you, Sanders. Damn you for bearing tit-covering logos on your shirts.

I need a beer. No, I need two.

"Don't you kill my Minerva," the Fennec croons as she slides her sacrifice to Satan onto my plate. The salad beside it snickers and winks at me as if to say We look more tasty, don't we?

I do not want to kill her stupid character. I only want my prime rib to be edible. Breathe, damn you! But this is futile. It will never moo again.

The murderess returns. "Okay, I'm done cooking. I'll be back later. Need anything from the store?"

Cooking? Is that what you call it? The fuck, Fennec? I'm waiting for the leather to cool so I can smack it with a hammer and pour the ash into my beer. A man needs his steak in one form or another. Come Fennec. Look at my ash-beer. Smoke curls from it. I can taste Cthulhu with my eyes. Go away, Fennec. Go away.

And off she went to see her new baby cousin.

I do not know what to write for Minerva. In my famished state, I neglected to ask What comes next for your pilot and the high altitude. I'm stalled. Two hours have passed. Nothing.

So it may turn into a collab for Delta and Tango, if players don't mind?

Will post reply to Pony and Giovenith shorly. Need to hunt down Agy to wrap up that story as well.

Add some glazed walnuts.

[Altito Asmoro]

My mission post is delayed

The Fennec is busy. Busy, busy Fennec. She thinks she can grill. The Fennec is abusing beef. You think I jest? No. No, dear PL family, I do not.

The thing with Fennecs is that they have runty forelegs. How they scratch their own butts is beyond me. And Fennecs have tits. They cover their tits with new teeshirts bearing Sanders logos. Rather than take the shirt off and put on something suitable, this Fennec insists on putting all the meat at the very front of the grill in order to keep her tits from burning while she uses her runty arms to flip things. Flip, Fennec, flip with those runty, runty arms.

The Fennec doesn't understand why the front of the grill doesn't grill as good as the back of the grill. She compensates by turning the flame all the way up to high. The grill takes on a fresh glow. The International Space Stations reports odd flickering coming from our state.

Burn, Fennec, burn the meat with your stunted grill knowledge and vorpal flame. Flip and burn, and burn and flip. That's prime rib. Glorious prime rib, O! I lament your sizzling cries as the juice evaporates from you. Woe, is me, woe, that I should eat shoe leather thanks to Fennecs and Sanders. Damn you, Sanders. Damn you for bearing tit-covering logos on your shirts.

I need a beer. No, I need two.

"Don't you kill my Minerva," the Fennec croons as she slides her sacrifice to Satan onto my plate. The salad beside it snickers and winks at me as if to say We look more tasty, don't we?

I do not want to kill her stupid character. I only want my prime rib to be edible. Breathe, damn you! But this is futile. It will never moo again.

The murderess returns. "Okay, I'm done cooking. I'll be back later. Need anything from the store?"

Cooking? Is that what you call it? The fuck, Fennec? I'm waiting for the leather to cool so I can smack it with a hammer and pour the ash into my beer. A man needs his steak in one form or another. Come Fennec. Look at my ash-beer. Smoke curls from it. I can taste Cthulhu with my eyes. Go away, Fennec. Go away.

And off she went to see her new baby cousin.

I do not know what to write for Minerva. In my famished state, I neglected to ask What comes next for your pilot and the high altitude. I'm stalled. Two hours have passed. Nothing.

So it may turn into a collab for Delta and Tango, if players don't mind?

Will post reply to Pony and Giovenith shorly. Need to hunt down Agy to wrap up that story as well.

Yep, sure.

[Torsiedelle]

Hey, Swith, Cer, isn't most of Chaos and the technopriests in PL more or less bastardized/adapted 40K and not canon 40K? Asking for a reference.

[Ganonsyoni]

I didn't wake up good at all today. Slept too much and now I feel tired... No post tonight, sorry. Hopefully I wake up better and fresher tomorrow.

Also, would like to discuss running a gate adventure on the IRC with an Op/Co-Op. Tomorrow evening or any evening afterward I'm open.

[Fvaarniimar]

Hi, guys! Finally managed to plost. Sorry for the delay.
Blame this critter.