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Praetorian last won the day on March 6

Praetorian had the most liked content!

About Praetorian

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    Hero of Daydreams

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    Everyone's favorite something.

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    Praetorian #5153

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  1. That is pretty amusing. At the end of the day what makes Valucre, Valucre isn't the website and it isn't the name. It's the people and the stories. As far as I am concerned PGRPG is Valucre 2.0 It's a direct upgrade with improved quality of life features and the only reason it isn't called Valucre is because the domain is already taken. That's my headcanon anyway. The current software has a lot of limitations that create unnecessary overhead, things are being streamlined to resolve. Unfortunately, the amount of time and effort that it would probably take to try to migrate all of the stories and the sheer volume of data, from one to the other (if even possible) isn't feesible for a website that is run entirely by volunteers. So, archiving it and making it read only, and starting fresh with the ability to link/reference back is the most efficient option. People who refuse to migrate would be equivalent to someone deciding to leave Val because of a cosmetic change. That's silly.
  2. Everyone is saying "Goodbye", when we are literally just stepping from one theme park to the next. It's only goodbye if you refuse to migrate.
  3. I don't have much to add to this, but after some thought I decided there was something I could contribute. Ladies and Gentlemen, the bar is closing, you do not have to go home, but you can't stay here. The party isn't over, the venue is just changing. All of you friends, all of your characters, and all of your stories are waiting for you on the other side. This isn't an end, it's an upgrade. You are standing at the threshold, all you have to do is take a step, and in doing so you gain a level of power and freedom that you could never have previously comprehended. We will be there, waiting for you. All you have to do is take the step.
  4. Ashton’s cast ends, entirely unsuccessful although not fruitless. Although he’d done nothing to meaningful harm the demon, his prone position in the snow had afforded him a few moments of observation and thought. At the moment, three possible solutions are slowly formulating within the back of his mind, the details in a fledging state. The first option, they congregate together at the edge and bait it into rolling off a cliff. The second, they trick it into melting itself into a hole too steep for it to climb out of. Both of these options lack the finality to ensuring that the magma ball dies. The third option, which might very well better suit Dia’s personality, was for the werewolf to chuck Dia (or something equally sharp and dense), sword first at the thing while it paused to reacquire its targets. That of course would require impeccable timing and some impressive precision. The obvious choice is the simplest. “Punt the damn thing over the edge!” The redhead calls out, as he pushes to his feet and begins a half assed dash through the snow, his feet unable to find sufficient traction, as he runs breadth of the airship, straight across the demon’s line of sight.
  5. Dunno. I should have an answer for you, but I don't. I, without googling, can't tell you the difference between boat and ship. And from a legal and technical writing standpoint they are usually called vessels. "Recreational vessel, commercial vessel, etc" Sometimes the term ship gets used when you need to be more specific: tankship, container ship" because vessel includes self propelled and nonself propelled watercraft, whereas ship is almost exclusively used for self propelled. But even in legal writing that isn't consistent. The term boat is almost never used professionally, with the only exception I can think of being lift boats. I'm sure there is a nuanced difference between the three, and each probably had a specific use at some point, however I can't tell you why something is a tank ship, another is a lift boat, and another is a towing vessel. My best guess is that it's regulation incorporating the language of the regulated, which has resulted in technical meaning being lost.
  6. The would be allies making up the raiding party flawlessly ceased the opportunity that Ashton had created. Almost immediately his reservations, about a group of total strangers successfully working together, dissolve. He allows himself to cling to a glimmer of hope that this isn’t a simple fluke but rather a reflection of their competence. With the initial assault being swiftly routed, Ashton drops his upraised arms, assuming that at this point no further contribution is required on his part. With a sudden change of air pressure, brought on by the abrupt opening of portal, Ashton’s assumption is proven wrong. Glancing up the redhead watches with mild interest as a rock drops from the sky. Absentmindedly he reaches down by his side, grasping at something that isn’t there, perhaps out of habit or maybe instinct. As Dia takes a few pop shots, clearly hoping to score a hit on the exposed eyes, Ashton starts to take a few steps forward. His left hand rises toward his neck, unclasping the cloak and allowing it to fall to the ground. His foot falls hasten as he transitions into a jog, eventually repositioning himself from the others near a hanging edge of the airship. His lack of proximity to the larger group affording him a few extra seconds to contemplate as the boulder tries to steamroll them. Within feet of the edge he hits a patch of ice, his left foot slipping out from under him as he falls face first into the snow, serendipitously avoiding the volley of spikes. As the bombardment of projectiles sail overhead and crash into the deck around him, Ashton draws a glyph in the area with his left index. From it a searing beam of what erupts and slams into the spinning mass of rock. Although the initial hit seems to glance off, sending arcs of light bouncing and ricocheting along the shell, and the spinning ensures that the attack strikes a larger surface area, steadily a one inch band of heated rock begins to glow into existence.
  7. Don't wait on me, go play with Jotsy!
  8. Sitting in the snow, frustrated with the situation, Ashton briefly abandons self-pity to take a moment to assess the situation. In that moment he gazes upon Samuel, only to have a puppers gaze back, and immediately his mind floods with a level of conviction he seldom feels… I… will… boop that snoot. The invigoration brought on by the realization that a doggo is on the team is fleeting, and with the arrival of the horde his mood is smothered within the depths of depression. All at once the cold becomes the cupcake of evil, the swarm of bloodthirsty fiends little more than soured icing and moldy sprinkles on the disappointment cake. With Dia darting off to hack, slash, and blast her way through a swarm, perhaps fueled by insanity or death wish, Ashton notes her obvious lack of a plan and holds back. Not because he’s worried, but because experience has taught him to weigh his options and leverage his efforts in the most effective manner possible. Effectiveness usually means combining efforts, not dividing, and at the moment they are both divided and outnumbered. Pushing himself to a stand, his left and right hand ascend, fingers dancing wildly as his wrist twist, streaks of iridescent amethyst light forming merging glyphs that unfold into a web of runes. By the time both arms have married above his head the individual formations have assimilated into a coherently coded construct. From it humming, whizzing, and sharp cracks as innumerous objects rocket from a depthless two-dimensional plane. A volley rises, and a volley falls. Countless near translucent black orbs descend from the sky; peppering the top of the ship in a near perfect line that travels from the winged fiends, through the charging line that is bull rushing Vassago, zigzagging across the three heads of the largest monster, before falling scatter shot among the horde that Dai is trying to bathe in. The individual explosions are unremarkable, akin to a firecracker, perhaps strong enough to maim a human’s fingers, but certainly incapable of doing appreciable damage to demon spawn. That, however, isn’t the point. Between beating wings the small explosions disrupt airflow and create downward force, throwing off the cadence of flight and forcing those in the air to descend. For those looking to bullrush it’s a sudden distraction immediately in front of them momentarily pausing their charge. To something with multiple heads processing three times the sensory information, it is a sudden blinding and deafening flashbang that robs them of their awareness. And for the horde, it’s chaos mainlined directly into their minds as a sword swinging lunatic carves through their ranks. Admittedly, the redhead doesn’t normally play support. However, with the heavy cloak, shitty traction, and the general cold sapping his motivation… it is the best fit, for now.
  9. I don't have a particularly strong visual imagination, so I don't do a lot of visualizing. It's probably part of the reason why I seldom to never use a lot of details and spend more time focusing on what is happening rather than how things look. When I do any type of "visual referencing" it's just that, referencing. And it would be pretty close to whatever source material I'm trying to emulate.
  10. Hi and please even if you honestly don't know what your username image / avatar shows can you give me your best educated guess? It would please me greatly and make me feel appreciated like a stunt double in one of those James Bond films

    P.S. My money's on a 1980s RPG desert but eh I've been wrong more than once, especially if we assume "once" means one time after every other time in a million times LOL

    1. Praetorian


      It's from High school of the Attack On Tokyo Academia Shippuden Super 009 Abridged.

    2. Die Shize

      Die Shize

      Google says no 😩:angry:

    3. Praetorian


      Did you try bing?

  11. “It’s cold.” He mutters to himself, gaze affixed to the cloud of condensate that billows from his lips. “I hate the cold.” The whine of his voice is lost to the omnipresent thrum of the engines. Ashton’s head cants ever so slightly to the left, his fiery gaze working the height of the cabin before finally settling on the empty jump seat directly across from him. It isn’t a bitter and unbearable cold or the kind of cold that chills to the bone, but it is both undesirable and uncomfortable. Perhaps, most of all, it is unwelcomed, especially to someone who feels perpetually chilled. “I don’t suppose we could change the venue?” Even with the rise of his voice, his words don’t travel far enough to overcome the noise. Even if they did, it is doubtful that anyone is listening. Certainly not the lady with the headphones anyway. Admittedly, Ashton isn’t sure why they’ve settled on this particular course of action. The airship has nothing of value to retrieve, nor is there a requirement to keep it in place or intact, and boarding it while it’s precariously perched between twin peaks isn’t his ideal approach. No, if he had his way, they’d bombard one of the sides, freeing it of the mountains’ grasp, and send it sliding and tumbling to the valley below, where they could descend upon it while the chaos is fresh and the compliment of demon’s the crew are in disarray. Of course, this isn’t his operation and he’s only here for support. The next few seconds rush together, an announcement that they are making an approach, some lewd music to set the tone, an admission that explosives would have solved the problem, a forgotten lighter signaling future bad luck, and the one woman on the team yeeting herself from the drop door like a child on a waterslide. He’s keeping strange company these days, in uncharacteristically strange locales. Pushing himself from the street, he walks to the opening and peers down to the snow covered ground. He pauses, contemplating something, shrugs, and steps off. In the few moments of freefall the heave brown cloak blows up around him, obstructing his view, and revealing the “lingerie” beneath. Silver plates adorned with glowing runes and glyphs make up the bulk of the armor he’s wearing. There are darker grays of another material, but the moment is too fleeting for a full analysis. Landing unceremoniously on both feet, his knees buckle, he takes a half step forward, stumbles, and by the time the cloak has settled, he’s falling. There is a second of silence, his crimson gaze staring deeply into the white abyss that his married to his face, the abyss unblinkingly stares back. Rolling to the side he sits up, brushes some snow from his hair and eyebrows and then looks toward Dia. “It’s cold.”
  12. I like brevity. 😶 If you'll have me, I'll use Ashton.
  13. AFV thru the 29th.

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