Author Topic: Not a Crimbimbal -- by Grey Area  (Read 3615 times)

Nyr

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Not a Crimbimbal -- by Grey Area
« on: February 16, 2014, 11:19:23 AM »
This is a medium piece for the first submission discussion.  Please see the rules before replying!

Link to find the material:  http://www.armageddon.org/original/type/Logs/search/crimbimbal

We will also copy and paste the log itself below for your convenience.



Quote from: Not a Crimbimbal by Grey Area

In which an officer demonstrates modern law enforcement techniques and a half-giant is justifiably proud of his superior intellect.



The willowy, grey-streaked man has arrived from the north.
The vibrant, bead-tressed brunette has arrived from the north.

The Main Room of the Bard's Barrel [NSW]
   A myriad of grinning skulls, each painted with bright colors laid
over the pallid bone, stare down from the broad wooden shelf that lines this
spacious room at eye level.  Splashes of blue, green and red cover the clay
brick walls in an enthusiastic but inexpert abstract mural, some spatters of
the same paint dotted across the red tiled floor.  The room is filled with
clamor: the clink and clatter of dishes and drinks, instruments being tuned,
scraps of song, and a general constant roar of conversation.  A small wooden
stage sits along the northern wall, two ragged velvet curtains framing it,
looped back with blue-dyed ropes.  A wide archway leads out onto the dusty
street, while a smaller one to the west provides a glimpse of a smaller,
quieter chamber. 
A wall here is designated as a message board.
The vibrant, bead-tressed brunette is standing here.
The willowy, grey-streaked man is standing here.
The hulking, ebon-skinned half-giant looms here.
The slight, indigo-whorled woman is sitting at a boxy wooden bar.
The coffee-tressed young woman is sitting at a boxy wooden bar.
A lean, grey-eyed bard leans against the stage.
A lean, spike-haired elf drums softly in the corner.
A tall, amber-eyed woman polishes glasses behind the boxy wooden bar.
The husky, weatherworn dwarf is here, seated at a large table, drinking ale.
The huge, sun-bronzed man surveys the room casually from a table here.
The bald, muscular woman slouches at a large table, drinking ale.
The small, dark-haired man sits at a table in the back, staring into his drink.
The solemn, club-footed man limps slowly along here.


The hulking, ebon-skined half-giant begins to lick his large, sugar coated hand free.
The willowy, grey-streaked man looks down at the slight, indigo-whorled woman.

Squinting one eye, the willowy, grey-streaked man looks at you.

The vibrant, bead-tressed brunette stands in the doorway next to the willowy, grey-streaked man, a thumb hooked in her leather swordbelt.

As he continues to lick his hand, the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant looks down at the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette.

The coffee-tressed young woman shrugs.

The hulking, ebon-skined half-giant looks down at the willowy, grey-streaked man.

The willowy, grey-streaked man exhales irritably, taking a slow look around the tavern.

Pointing over at the willowy, grey-streaked man, voice rising, the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant says, in sirihish:
     "Hey!  You can' have your sword o... oh.  Um, nevermin Paryils."

The hulking, ebon-skined half-giant begins guarding the coffee-tressed young woman.

The hulking, ebon-skined half-giant sidles a bit closer to the coffee-tressed young woman.

Amusedly, the willowy, grey-streaked man says to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "Exactly."

The coffee-tressed young woman gives the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant's meaty arm a pat.

With a chuckle, the scarred, ashen-haired man reaches up to pat the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant's elbow.

The willowy, grey-streaked man asks the coffee-tressed young woman, in sirihish:
     "'ey there, Agent. You mind terrible if I borrow one'a yer hunters fer a moment?"

The slight, indigo-whorled woman looks up at the willowy, grey-streaked man.

With a girlish grin, the coffee-tressed young woman asks the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
     "Do I get 'em back when you're done with 'em?"

The willowy, grey-streaked man says to the coffee-tressed young woman, in sirihish:
     "Jest about good as new. Promise."

Chuckling, the coffee-tressed young woman says to the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
     "Fair enough."

The scarred, ashen-haired man's teeth flash in a quick grin.

Glancing sidelong, the willowy, grey-streaked man says to the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette, in sirihish:
     "Pick one."

The figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak has arrived from the north.
The sinewy, weather-worn man has arrived from the north.

Looking between you and the slight, indigo-whorled woman, the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette says to the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
     "Uh, alright..."

Pointing to you, the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette says to the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
     "Maybe him. I dunno, I have no idea what this is for."

The willowy, grey-streaked man says to the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette, in sirihish:
     "Right. Watch close."

The figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak looks over the crowd and waves to the coffee-tressed young woman.

The vibrant, bead-tressed brunette nods to the willowy, grey-streaked man, watching him.

The scarred, ashen-haired man glances over at the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette, then the willowy, grey-streaked man.

The coffee-tressed young woman watches curiously.

The slight, indigo-whorled woman glances back over to you, brow raised.

The willowy, grey-streaked man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Best not t'struggle, fella."

The willowy, grey-streaked man hastily drops a dragon-etched, obsidian saber.
The willowy, grey-streaked man subdues you, despite your attempts to struggle away.
You stop guarding the coffee-tressed young woman.

Eyes widening, the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:
     "HEY!"

Holding his palms up, you say, in sirihish:
     "Not planning on a fight, Lieutenant."

As he tugs you from the barstool, the willowy, grey-streaked man says to the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette, in sirihish:
     "Fetch m'sword."

Grabbing his arm, the coffee-tressed young woman says to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "It's alright."

Stepping over quickly, the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette picks up a dragon-etched, obsidian saber.

Looking increasingly alarmed, and confused, the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant asks, in sirihish:
     "But!  Bu.. but!  It's!  He won' hurt 'im?"

The sinewy, weather-worn man grimaces faintly as he watches the willowy, grey-streaked man and you and steps off to the side of the northern archway.

The figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak looks at you.

The willowy, grey-streaked man says to the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette, in sirihish:
     "Right. Now hold onto him."

The willowy, grey-streaked man releases you, shoving you roughly into the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette's arms.

Her eyes widening briefly as she reaches for you, the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette says to the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
     "Alright..."

The scarred, ashen-haired man lets himself be manhandled across the tavern into the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette's grasp.

Giving his arm a reasurring pat, the coffee-tressed young woman says to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "Nothing to worry about."

The slight, indigo-whorled woman glances from you to the coffee-tressed young woman, and then back again.

Leaning backwards against the bar, the willowy, grey-streaked man says to the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette, in sirihish:
     "That there fella's a criminal. Hold him tight. Let's see yer arm lock."

The coffee-tressed young woman says to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "It's just practice."

Watching you, only her brown eyes visible from behind her snug, garnet-set ivory mask, the figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak says to the sinewy, weather-worn man, in sirihish:
     "Funny, he don't look like a criminal."

The vibrant, bead-tressed brunette takes a firm grasp of your arms, nodding to the willowy, grey-streaked man.

Dryly, you say, in sirihish:
     "Sorry. I'll try to look shiftier."

The willowy, grey-streaked man stands at a boxy wooden bar.

The sinewy, weather-worn man gives a momentary grimace and then runs a gloved hand across his forehead.

Nodding firmly, the figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak says to you, in sirihish:
     "Yeah, ya autta Milan. Try squintin yer eyes."

Conversationally, the willowy, grey-streaked man says to the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette, in sirihish:
     "Th' weak spots are his wrists an' elbows. Cross one'a his arms over th' other and press it against th' elbow."

The hulking, ebon-skined half-giant shifts nervously back and forth.

The vibrant, bead-tressed brunette shifts her grip, frowning in concentration as she pins your arm across, pressing it tight against your elbow.

The scarred, ashen-haired man grins at the figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak, twitching slightly as the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette digs a finger into a sensitive spot.

Tilting her head curiously, the slight, indigo-whorled woman turns in her seat, watching closely.

Tilting his head, the willowy, grey-streaked man asks you, in sirihish:
     "How'd you rate that hold, fella?"

With a passing glance, the figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak looks at the short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak.

The short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak steps inside, attention immediately coming to the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette.

The hulking, ebon-skined half-giant fidgets his cream and sugar smeared hand upwards, fumbling briefly at the hilt of his long-hafted, spiked hammer before he relaxes.

Struggling futiley to move his hands, you say to the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
     "That... Ooch. Yeah, that's pretty decent."

Leaning down to the coffee-tressed young woman, in a nervous, loud whisper, the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant says, in sirihish:
     "Um, some'n shoul tell th' Parilys that Firs Hunner Milan ain got no weak spots."

The willowy, grey-streaked man says to the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette, in sirihish:
     "Good girl. Now if'n he tries an' struggles, yer in a good position to drop him by drivin' yer boot into th' back of his knee. Be sure you don't lose yer grip as he lowers."

Glancing over, her grip on your still firm as she stands behind you, the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette says to the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
     "You want me to do that now, sir? I don't want to hurt him."

The figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak chuckles softly to herself and trods over to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, waving a gloved hand.

The hulking, ebon-skined half-giant chews on the tips of fingernails, watching you.

The coffee-tressed young woman gives the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant's arm a pat.

Her tone cheerful, the figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak asks the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "Hey Moorp, good ta see ya! Remember me, Sarge Tola o'Kurac?"

The willowy, grey-streaked man says to the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette, in sirihish:
     "Oh, he'll fall easy enough. Don't take much pressure to do it right, and I don't reckon he'll be strugglin' either."

The big fat man has arrived from the north.

With a wince, you say to the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette, in sirihish:
     "I'm, uh fine with it."

The big fat man looks at you.

Voice picking up briefly, the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:
     "Don' hurt him!  He ain done no wrong!"

The big fat man asks, in sirihish:
     "Whaa?"

The coffee-tressed young woman stands up from a boxy wooden bar.

Quietly, the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette says to you, in sirihish:
     "Alright, then...hang on..."

Voice moving up in volume, the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:
     "Hey!  He lookin more'n more like he hurtins!"

The short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak looks up at the big fat man, squinting.
The big fat man lumbers in, body jiggling.

The vibrant, bead-tressed brunette lifts a knee, pressing it into the back of your knee quickly and pushing you forward and down.

The coffee-tressed young woman says to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "Hey, let's go get you some fruitcake."

Calling across the room, you exclaim to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "I'm fine, Moorp, really... Oof!"

With a thud, the scarred, ashen-haired man drops heavily to his knees, propelled by the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette's well placed kick.

The big fat man looks at the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette.

Laughing gently and shaking her head, the figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak says to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "Nah, he ain't hurtin'im. They're just wrasslin."

The coffee-tressed young woman says to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "I think Cirwen just cooked up a fresh batch."

Eyes going as wide as small plates, the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:
     "HEY!  That wasn' very nice!!"

Grabbing onto his arm, the coffee-tressed young woman says to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "Moorp."

Approvingly, ignoring the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, the willowy, grey-streaked man says to the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette, in sirihish:
     "Good. You feel how easy that is? All manipulation of joints."

Lips twitching faintly, the short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak tilts her head, watching on.

The big fat man watches the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette with a frown, tapping his bone-bladed halberd to the floor as he pads around the large crowd.

The hulking, ebon-skined half-giant crushes his cream-filled pastry horn in his large hand.

The ebon-braided, flint-eyed man has arrived from the west, slipping through the oddly-angled doorway.

Bobbing her head, the figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak says to the coffee-tressed young woman, in sirihish:
     "Yeah. fresh food. Sounds like a real good idea."

As a huge shower of cream particles rains down around him, the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant discards his cream-filled pastry horn.

The slight, indigo-whorled woman lifts her head a bit, watching you with a raised brow and a bit of a grin.

Nodding, now half-kneeling on you, your arms behind your back, the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette says to the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
     "Yes, sir, I see that."

Pulling his arm as she starts away from the bar, the coffee-tressed young woman says to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "C'mon, let's go get some fruitcake."

The big fat man looks at the willowy, grey-streaked man.

Cream still dripping from his hand, not moving under the coffee-tressed young woman's guidance, the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:
     "They're hurtin hims!"

The short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak flicks her tongue out, catching a tiny glob of cream that lands on her cheek.

The willowy, grey-streaked man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Now from here, seein' as how he's bein' a problem, you can pull him into a choke-hold and drag him back to his feet to be branged to th' jail. Try it."

The hulking, ebon-skined half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:
     "Fruitcake not gonna taste good if Milan blood all over!"

The scarred, ashen-haired man winks at the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant from his kneeling position on the floor.

Tugging at his arm, the coffee-tressed young woman says to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "They're not hurting him."

The hulking, ebon-skined half-giant's jaw drops as he watches your face.

The coffee-tressed young woman asks the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "Those raptors did much worse, remember?"

The big fat man looks up at the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant.

The figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak looks at the big fat man.

The vibrant, bead-tressed brunette nods to the willowy, grey-streaked man, quickly moving one hand up and around your neck and beginning to pull you up as she rises.

The coffee-tressed young woman says to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in sirihish:
     "See, he's alright."
The sleepy-eyed, ebon-tressed woman has arrived from the south.

Immediately perking up, beaming brightly down at the coffee-tressed young woman, the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:
     "See!  He's jokin!  I told jas!  Firs Hunner ain got no weak spots!"

Watching the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette with his arms crossed before him, the sinewy, weather-worn man says to the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Don' worry.  Ah'm sure Milan could put up a much better fight than this if he had the urge."

The sleepy-eyed, ebon-tressed woman looks up at the big fat man.

The willowy, grey-streaked man asks the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette, in sirihish:
     "There y'are. You see how it's done?"

The scarred, ashen-haired man is dragged bonelessly to his feet.

Quickly glancing around at the crowd before looking back to him, holding you in a chokehold now, the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette says to the willowy, grey-streaked man, in sirihish:
     "Yes, sir."

The willowy, grey-streaked man says to the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette, in sirihish:
     "Good enough. You can let 'im go now. Turns out he ain't a criminal after all."

The vibrant, bead-tressed brunette releases you, and you immediately move away.

The sleepy-eyed, ebon-tressed woman sits at a boxy wooden bar.

The figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak slaps her palms together in applause.

The big fat man clucks at the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette like a jozhal.

The willowy, grey-streaked man taps two fingers on the bartop, glancing over at the tall, amber-eyed woman.

The tow-headed, pallid young woman has arrived from the north.

Rubbing his throat as he finds his feet again, you say, in sirihish:
     "That sure is a relief."

With a wide smile as she takes her hands from you, the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette says to you, in sirihish:
     "Thanks, Milan."

The tall, amber-eyed woman trades a miniature barrel to the willowy, grey-streaked man.

The coffee-tressed young woman looks up at the big fat man.

The short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak gently tugs her hood down further to hide her face, idling at the entrance.

Sliding it across the bartop, the willowy, grey-streaked man gives you his miniature barrel.

With a snort, finally moving towards the coffee-tressed young woman, the hulking, ebon-skined half-giant says, in sirihish:
     "Hmph.  Paryl ain so smart as Moorp.  Moorp knew he wasn' a crimbimbal all th' time."
Paint on a mustache and be a dude for a day. Stuff some melons down my shirt, cinch up a corset and pass as a girl.

With appropriate roleplay of course.

Nyr

  • Red Fangs
  • Posts: 9033
Re: Not a Crimbimbal -- by Grey Area
« Reply #1 on: February 16, 2014, 11:43:04 AM »
I thought this particular log and scene would be a good start for this sort of discussion.  It is accessible, it is amusing, and it shows good roleplay.  The half-giant in question (as best I can tell) was a slave NPC of Kadius.
Paint on a mustache and be a dude for a day. Stuff some melons down my shirt, cinch up a corset and pass as a girl.

With appropriate roleplay of course.

Saellyn

  • Posts: 2505
Re: Not a Crimbimbal -- by Grey Area
« Reply #2 on: February 16, 2014, 11:46:40 AM »
I think it's hilarious, for sure. I remember reading about this log, I think. Good demonstration of proper RP, especially the way the half-giant just jumps from starting to get angry to going "Oh yeah, see I knew he was joking the whole time!". Definitely a great example of HG rp, whether it's an NPC or not -and that's something that other HG players (would-be and otherwise) could do to learn from!

Pale Horse

  • Posts: 4257
Re: Not a Crimbimbal -- by Grey Area
« Reply #3 on: February 16, 2014, 11:50:00 AM »
Wow..I started reading this and immediately had a wave of nostalgia.  I had the opportunity to play with practically every PC that showed up in that piece, all of whom I enjoyed.

I, too, enjoyed seeing a good display of Giant-ish behavior.  The quick way they moved from one emotion to the other, never quite "getting it," is what I've come to expect.
Quote from: Dalmeth
I've come to the conclusion that relaxing is not the lack of doing anything, but doing something that comes easily to you.

Wish

  • Posts: 393
Re: Not a Crimbimbal -- by Grey Area
« Reply #4 on: February 16, 2014, 11:59:16 AM »
Paryl would always do that for his soldiers - run into taverns with a whole passel 'o recruits, subdue a random person, and show everyone the proper way of handling criminals.  I saw him do this many times, and I always thought it was very clever.  It was not only a great interaction/talking point for the clan, it was a fantastic way to teach the subdue skill, and had the added bonus of stirring up the lives of the terminally bored tavern sitters.
Quote from: Gimfalisette
The rest of you, if you see a blingy, buff brunette-blonde pair hanging out together pretty soon at your local bar, just...it's nothing. Move along. (Do not hit on them.)

manonfire

  • Posts: 4027
Re: Not a Crimbimbal -- by Grey Area
« Reply #5 on: February 16, 2014, 12:03:28 PM »
Damn, that was like flipping through my highschool yearbook.



Wish

  • Posts: 393
Re: Not a Crimbimbal -- by Grey Area
« Reply #6 on: February 16, 2014, 12:14:11 PM »
Ok - I just noticed this:

Quote
The big fat man clucks at the vibrant, bead-tressed brunette like a jozhal.

HAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Quote from: Gimfalisette
The rest of you, if you see a blingy, buff brunette-blonde pair hanging out together pretty soon at your local bar, just...it's nothing. Move along. (Do not hit on them.)

ale six

  • Posts: 1222
Re: Not a Crimbimbal -- by Grey Area
« Reply #7 on: February 16, 2014, 12:45:07 PM »
Paryl was pretty rad. He (and Laila) did an awesome job making the AoD a cool place to be for soldiers back in the day. This being a new forum and all, I'm not sure how much dirt I'm allowed to give up on the guy! But I'll echo what Wish said - he definitely kept things interesting. He was for sure one of the best "officer" PCs I can ever recall seeing.

Nyr

  • Red Fangs
  • Posts: 9033
Re: Not a Crimbimbal -- by Grey Area
« Reply #8 on: February 16, 2014, 10:54:23 PM »
That kind of training style is pretty cool.  I'm a fan!  I'm almost curious whether or not a Byn Sergeant could be crazy enough to attempt guard and rescue drills on the fly in a city-state...

As for giving up dirt...if you have logs that you have (or know have been) already submitted, we can look at one of those.   If you have logs that you haven't submitted, polish 'em up and get them ready for when the tool is up and happy again.  Regardless, elaborating on Paryl or any of the other characters in this scene probably isn't terrible--we're trying this out, after all.
Paint on a mustache and be a dude for a day. Stuff some melons down my shirt, cinch up a corset and pass as a girl.

With appropriate roleplay of course.

BleakOne

  • Posts: 2674
Re: Not a Crimbimbal -- by Grey Area
« Reply #9 on: February 16, 2014, 11:26:04 PM »
I like how the half-giant has difficulty with concepts such as pretending and such. Half-giant minds don't work too well with fine points like that.

Also, half-giants don't know they're stupid, so it's cool that he got all smug after being proven right.  :D
Vennant doesn't appear to age because he serves drinks at the speed of light. Now you know why there's no delay on the buy code in the Gaj.

ale six

  • Posts: 1222
Re: Not a Crimbimbal -- by Grey Area
« Reply #10 on: February 17, 2014, 12:10:39 AM »
Sadly, and much to my regret, back around Paryl's time was before I had learned how to set up autologging in Armageddon. :( So I don't have logs, but I'll call out some events I recall, and maybe someone else can point to some logs? I do have a bio entry that talks about Paryl being demoted, but I'm not sure if those are fair game or not, since the rules talk about original submissions only. (Although it'd be pretty cool if we could post related biographies too!)

- There was an arena event in earlyish 2006, before the Copper War, that Paryl won. If I recall correctly, PCs were actually fighting each other with live weapons, and fleeing at low HP, so it was sort of exciting. Paryl had a bunch of cool emotes he must have typed up in advance and threw out during his fights. He was so impressive my noble considered concubining him briefly, but he was just a Private at the time.

- During the gith invasion of Allanak (aka the githocalypse, when Borsail's old estate sunk into lava), Paryl was actually in command of a whole unit of PCs assigned to defend areas like the Bazaar. I think he was the only non-noble character in charge of a PC unit. Maybe somebody has logs from that?


Anyway, I really like the idea of this forum!

Wish

  • Posts: 393
Re: Not a Crimbimbal -- by Grey Area
« Reply #11 on: February 17, 2014, 12:33:10 AM »
Oh dang, I have one - Paryl and Laila actually visited Tuluk and attended a party with Muk Utep - how many Arm of the Dragon officers can say they did that!?

There's a log about that in Original Submissions, too!

Grey Area was playing First Hunter Milan of House Kadius in this log, and that guy was always even keeled no matter what happened.  I encountered Milan with multiple characters, and I never once saw him fly off the handle or lose his cool despite how much chaos happened around him or how much bullshit he was forced to endure (it was a lot - a lot of bullshit).  The most stressed out reaction I ever saw from him (during a moment that can only be categorized as completely insane) just involved him staring in shock, taking a look at his spice tube, saying "Well, shit," and sadly putting it away.

I'm pretty sure if dictionaries existed on Zalanthas, Milan's picture would be in it, next to the definition of "laconic."
« Last Edit: February 17, 2014, 12:39:03 AM by Wish »
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The rest of you, if you see a blingy, buff brunette-blonde pair hanging out together pretty soon at your local bar, just...it's nothing. Move along. (Do not hit on them.)

Ourla

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Re: Not a Crimbimbal -- by Grey Area
« Reply #12 on: February 17, 2014, 05:04:30 PM »
Oh dang, I have one - Paryl and Laila actually visited Tuluk and attended a party with Muk Utep - how many Arm of the Dragon officers can say they did that!?

Oh man, I remember that.  I'd forgotten all about it. Most awkward party ever.
The secret to great RP is having the balls to be weird and the brains to make it eloquent.

Scarecrow

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Re: Not a Crimbimbal -- by Grey Area
« Reply #13 on: February 21, 2014, 05:23:39 AM »
I like the big fat man's sdesc. It just makes me laugh.

I liked how the HG acted. Reminded me of when you watch Cops and they're arresting some guy at his house and the guy getting arrested turns to his worried kids and says 'it's fine they're not hurting me' kind of thing.
The Devil doesn't dawdle.

Cale_Knight

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Re: Not a Crimbimbal -- by Grey Area
« Reply #14 on: March 19, 2014, 09:35:19 AM »
This is such a cool log. It's super weird to see your character through the eyes of another player.

I don't remember this scene specifically although I certainly remember doing "training exercises" of this flavor quite often. If I learned one thing playing a PC leader it was that the absolute best thing to do as a leader was to find something to lean up against and let everyone else do the fun bits whenever possible.
Brevity is the soul of wit." -Shakespeare

"Omit needless words." -Strunk and White.

"Simplify, simplify." Thoreau

Cale_Knight

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Re: Not a Crimbimbal -- by Grey Area
« Reply #15 on: March 19, 2014, 09:41:31 AM »
This being a new forum and all, I'm not sure how much dirt I'm allowed to give up on the guy! But I'll echo what Wish said - he definitely kept things interesting. He was for sure one of the best "officer" PCs I can ever recall seeing.

My understanding is that the statute of limitations on me talking about Paryl is long passed, so I'd be happy to talk about the things he did if anyone wants to ask, though it should probably be in a different thread so as to not detract from this particular log.
Brevity is the soul of wit." -Shakespeare

"Omit needless words." -Strunk and White.

"Simplify, simplify." Thoreau

Adhira

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Re: Not a Crimbimbal -- by Grey Area
« Reply #16 on: March 19, 2014, 06:30:56 PM »
This being a new forum and all, I'm not sure how much dirt I'm allowed to give up on the guy! But I'll echo what Wish said - he definitely kept things interesting. He was for sure one of the best "officer" PCs I can ever recall seeing.

My understanding is that the statute of limitations on me talking about Paryl is long passed, so I'd be happy to talk about the things he did if anyone wants to ask, though it should probably be in a different thread so as to not detract from this particular log.

Actually this is the perfect place to discuss that PC. And this forum is meant to be where that kind of discussion happens, rather than in other forums.

Just follow along with the rules set out here:  http://gdb.armageddon.org/index.php/topic,47000.0.html

"It doesn't matter what country someone's from, or what they look like, or the color of their skin. It doesn't matter what they smell like, or that they spell words slightly differently, some would say more correctly." - Jemaine Clement. FOTC.

Zoan

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Re: Not a Crimbimbal -- by Grey Area
« Reply #17 on: March 19, 2014, 06:36:50 PM »
"Hi I'm Cale_Knight aka Paryl of the AoD, AMA!"

Hi Cale_Knight. Where did you get such a sweet hat? Did Wish's character throw random things at you and it happen to land on your noggin, and there it stayed?
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solera

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Re: Not a Crimbimbal -- by Grey Area
« Reply #18 on: March 19, 2014, 10:25:56 PM »
OK..questions. What followed on after Paryl kissed His Radiance's ass. Did the memory quickly fade once he got home to his Dragon? Or did he have dreams/nightmares. Or do southrons know how to "forget" too?
(I hope I'm not getting my soldiers mixed up here...one looks much like another)

Cale_Knight

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Re: Not a Crimbimbal -- by Grey Area
« Reply #19 on: March 19, 2014, 11:16:54 PM »
Hats: the hat thing started as one of those little quirks that you add to a new character to make give them a wrinkle, way back when Paryl was a private. I want to say that he stole his first hat from some dude who got killed by a gateguard. For a long time his favorite hat was a big floppy purple one that had a little bit of storage space in it - perfect for keeping a spare playing card. Later on he bought the jade out from Kadius, I think, and he wore that one most of the time, but he had at least a dozen or more in his apartment (and during the Copper War took most of them along on the wagon).

Kissing Muk's Ass: I don't remember exactly how I played it out afterwards. There was no direction from staff one way or the other, so I think I played it that the direct manipulative affects of being in Muk's presence faded with time, and he ended up with a kind of PTSD mainly from the internal struggles of betrayal. What the log on the site doesn't show (but does hint at) is that Paryl and Laila had a staffer echoing that their jade crosses feeling like they were on fire. Otherwise I don't think we had any special echoes to the effect of "you guys are total Tuluki loyalists now," and I didn't have any staff-mandated lingering side affects either. At the moment of that log, though, had Muk actually looked at Paryl and asked him to stay and love him forever as a soldier or slave, I would have said yes and I'm sure Laila would have too, and that's one of the reasons they both got the shit out of Tuluk almost immediately afterwards.
Brevity is the soul of wit." -Shakespeare

"Omit needless words." -Strunk and White.

"Simplify, simplify." Thoreau

Is Friday

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Re: Not a Crimbimbal -- by Grey Area
« Reply #20 on: April 25, 2014, 06:33:49 PM »
Kissing Muk's Ass: I don't remember exactly how I played it out afterwards. There was no direction from staff one way or the other, so I think I played it that the direct manipulative affects of being in Muk's presence faded with time, and he ended up with a kind of PTSD mainly from the internal struggles of betrayal. What the log on the site doesn't show (but does hint at) is that Paryl and Laila had a staffer echoing that their jade crosses feeling like they were on fire. Otherwise I don't think we had any special echoes to the effect of "you guys are total Tuluki loyalists now," and I didn't have any staff-mandated lingering side affects either. At the moment of that log, though, had Muk actually looked at Paryl and asked him to stay and love him forever as a soldier or slave, I would have said yes and I'm sure Laila would have too, and that's one of the reasons they both got the shit out of Tuluk almost immediately afterwards.
Sandy, the banished AoD private with the horrible use of contractions, was at that shindig. I was not expecting to ever have her see Laila/Paryl again. Kind of funny to have them find out that she was a Lyksaen warrior slave. Would have met up with them 1-2 more times (possibly) during all those "super top sekret important end of the world meetings" if she'd kept herself out of raptor territory, too.

Funny how small a world Arm is, yet it can be plausible and work out to be a "whodathunkit" story.
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did you just meet a ridiculously unfuckable psychotic female character? It's 75% likely that Is_Friday is playing it! unfuckable, unwantable, unloveable, poorly played, stereotype-driven, abusive, and shallow!