Messages

2751

Forum Games / Re: Praise the above poster!

« on: March 05, 2009, 07:09:32 PM »

Very, very funny.

2752

Forum Games / Re: Make up a Crazy Lie about the Above Poster

« on: March 03, 2009, 10:01:26 PM »

Is tied up in the boot of my car.

2753

Forum Games / Re: Comment on the Previous Signature.

« on: March 03, 2009, 07:35:28 PM »

Strategic, intellectual, visual, naturalist...

With a BOOMSTICK.

2754

Off The Wall / Re: This is why you're fat

« on: March 03, 2009, 05:59:20 PM »

...Deep-fried black pudding?

...

Oh god YES. SCRUMPTIOUS.

2755

Off The Wall / Re: Alien sounding names

« on: March 03, 2009, 05:55:14 PM »

I just sit and think of weird names that fit the species, e.g. Skriik, Vov, Xeng, Nknknk. Or just take the names of places from wherever you live and throw in some reliable ol' apostrophes or hyphens, e.g. Li'Merikk, Taa'Laagh or Longa-Fordo.

2756

Forum Games / Re: Make up a Crazy Lie about the Above Poster

« on: March 03, 2009, 05:49:49 PM »

Jumped over some o' mah buses.

2757

Forum Games / Re: Praise the above poster!

« on: March 03, 2009, 05:49:22 PM »

Appreciates literature.

2758

Forum Games / Re: Comment on the Previous Signature.

« on: March 03, 2009, 05:48:37 PM »

Together we can
Overcome all the odds
It's never as hard as it seems,
Everyone can do something special,
The secret's in sharing your dreams~

2759

Forum Games / Re: Comment on the Previous Signature.

« on: March 02, 2009, 10:38:57 PM »

Go go Power Rangers super fighting robot Mega Man!

2760

Forum Games / Re: Add a caption to the previous poster's avatar, ROUND TWO!

« on: March 02, 2009, 10:37:46 PM »

Wholesome literature flavour~

2761

Forum Games / Re: Praise the above poster!

« on: March 02, 2009, 10:36:34 PM »

Will snipe you. With her BOOMSTICK.

2762

Off The Wall / Re: See ya later!/Welcome back!

« on: March 02, 2009, 10:35:32 PM »

I'm back after my maybe-kinda-sorta-is-it-isn't-it hiatus. No particular reason why I haven't showd up in some time, I just didn't have the desire to post. But the combined sexiness from everyone here forced me back. I hope you're satisfied.

In short: I POST MORE NOW NYAHAHAHAHA =D

2763

Fan Creations / Re: The Super Groovey Thread of Stuff - It Rises From The Grave! Again!

« on: February 16, 2009, 07:04:43 PM »

More story. Optional background music provided. Enjoy.

---

(click to show/hide)

"This is her," Murphy said, gesturing to the grey slab of stone that served as a grave. Delicate white flowers were laid on the soil, but they were withering and old, as though they had been laying there for years.

Eli was at a loss for words; he was never good around dead people. After all, the ones he usually dealt with tended to be carried away in body-bags. Often he was the one who shot them.

"This is your wife, huh?"

"Yup. Eileen O'Connel, the love o' me life. She passed away before I was arrested, so it's been a while."

Eli felt uneasy, but decided to sate his curiosity anyway. "Why are the flowers so nasty-lookin'?"

Murphy explained through action, plucking a fresh rose from the bush beside them and holding it in front of Eli: within seconds, the once-lovely flower began to decay and lose colour, until it was black and withered.

"I bring death with me, lad," Murphy explained, "Whenever I touch a flower, it dies. I can't handle animals without hurtin' 'em. An' everybody that tries to beat me, well...you know."

Eli nodded. They both dealt in the same business. And yet, here they were, two professional killers, engaging in civilised conversation. Something didn't add up.

"Why aren't you tryin' to kill me?"

Murphy glanced at Eli. "Eh?"

"We're enemies, ain't we? I shot you in the eye, and you nearly broke every damn bone in my body. Ten minutes ago, we were tryin' our best to make sure the other guy didn't walk out in one piece; now, we're talkin' about your dead wife. What gives?"

Murphy paused, and Eli braced himself for a sock to the nose. Instead, Murphy just sighed harshly.

"Back in the bar, you almost got me. If I wasn't an undead bastard, you'd've broken me neck just like that. That made me realise somethin'. I've been in this fightin' an' beatin' crap for years, an' I used to love it. But now...nah. If that's I'm s'posed to do fer the rest o' me life...er, undeath, I'd kill meself. Wait, that doesn't make sense...point is, I'm sick o' singin' these drunken lullabies. I had a...bugger, whatcha call it?"

"An epiphany?"

"Yeah, one o' them. My epi-whatever made me think that you're not like those other gits that come bargin' in, lookin' to empty me boots an' get himself in The Game. Nah, there's somethin' about you that's different."

"Like what?"

"Well, you don't take [parasitic bomb] from no-one," Murphy said, half-chuckling. "Aye. Yer a right oul' prick, but yer the damn finest oul' prick I've ever laid me hollow peepers on."

Eli, for once, was unsure of himself. Was that even a compliment?

"Now, lad. Havin' said that, there's somethin' I want ya to do fer me," said Murphy, grasping his grubby jacket and tearing it wide open. Eli stared at his armourous chest and mentally thanked his lucky stars he didn't accidentally punch that. Murphy looked down at his foe-turned-friend. "I want ya to kill me."

Eli was taken aback, which in his style meant the sides of his frown widened. "Say that again?"

"Kill me, lad. Get me to kick the bucket, push up the daisies, meet me maker, go six feet under...I can go on all day, lad."

"That's crazy," Eli snarled, hand held idly onto his gun, "From what I gathered, you can't be killed. Or did me bustin' your neck make you lose your pot o' faerie gold?"

Murphy ignored Eli's cultural stab and got down on one knee. He uttered a quick "Our Father" - being a strict Catholic - and gently scooped up a handful of soil from his wife's grave. He then raised his fist and threw the dirt into the air, letting it sprinkle down onto him.

"Me one weakness, lad," Murphy explained, little specks of dry mud on his sinister face. "The only thing that'll weaken me enough to let meself get killed: soil from the grave of someone who's pure at heart. Ain't no-one purer 'n me lovin' wife."

"Sounds like an old wive's tale," Eli muttered, pulling out his revolver, "You Irish love your folklore, don'tcha?"

"Aye." Murphy stood tall and proud, head held high, skeletal chest bared for all to see. "Finish the job fer me, lad. Let me go home to me wife. She'll be waitin' fer me."

"You sure you're goin' up there?" Eli asked, almost joking.

"I can hope, lad."

Eli aimed his gun at Murphy's chest and looked at the dirt scattered around him. Knowing it to be Murphy's will, Eli pulled the trigger...

Black Murphy's good eye dilated once the bullet struck; but he was happy. He placed his hand on his heart and smiled, a warm smile that broke past the skeletal grin he was forced to wear.

"Thanks, lad. Thanks..."

Patrick Murphy fell to the ground, laying on his wife's grave, and died happy. Whether to insult him or respect him, Eli knelt into a genuflecting position and performed the sign of the cross on himself.

One down, he thought, A lot more to go.

---

2764

Fan Creations / Re: The Super Groovey Thread of Stuff - It Rises From The Grave! Again!

« on: February 15, 2009, 04:57:51 AM »

The next part of the story is done. Enjoy.

N.B. Please, don't get offended by the character in the following chapter. He is Irish and he likes to drink and fight, but he is not intended to insult people from Ireland; I'm Irish myself, after all. I'm just putting this here so nobody will berate me and say I'm trying to be prejudiced, because I'm not. Don't get offended.

Okay, that aside...enoy.

---

(click to show/hide)

The village was a quaint little one, the kind of town you might see on a postcard. The dry roads of cobbled stone, abundance of mature oak trees and streets of humble stone-and-wood buildings (complete with chimney and signs hanging above the doorway) lent it a certain homely feel. Eli would probably have felt the urge to sit down and drink some home-made apple cider, had he not a job to do. He could get to the cider-drinking afterwards.

Eli glanced up at the sign hanging from the building he was standing by. Written on it, in bold black letters, was: BLACK ROSE BAR.

"This's the place, alright," he mused, and pushed the door open.

The inside of the pub was a cacophony of noise, shouting, cheering and jeering, belching, even the sound of the odd fist smashing the odd nose. Drinks were being served heartily by the bartender, a rotund man with a scruffy beard and suspender trousers, and the patrons gratiously accepted them. Off-key tunes were being chanted enthusiastically, and when somebody got their face hammered in by another fellow's beefy knuckle, the two would quickly laugh and share a pint of stout.

Eli had been to bars before, but none like this one: the ones he was accustomed to were the kind of smoky joints where the bartender was slender, cocktails were served, and nobody said anything for fear of getting a blade held against their ribs. This place was different. There was a sense of cameraderie here, almost a familial relationship. Eli could tell that if somebody outside of this unique clique was to have a go at one of "the lads", one of "the other lads" would be all over him like a pack of angry dogs. Unfortunately, his job said that he had to take one of them down, and that was what he aimed to do.

"What'll it be, stranger?" the fat publican asked as Eli took his seat at the bartable. It was clear from his gaze that the barman didn't trust Eli; that was something Eli had picked up from experience. But he could also tell that the barman wasn't the kind of person who would start a brawl for no good reason.

"Just gimme a Manhattan," Eli stated, avoiding the barman's glance.

"Stout it is." The barman turned to the fellow next to Eli, and Eli's gaze discreetly followed him.

The figure next to him was...well, he was hefty. He was wearing a slightly tattered suit of a muddy-grey colour, pinstripe trousers, hiking boots stained by muck and grass, and a rumpled old fedora on his head that had a shamrock in the band. The hat was pulled well down over his face, obscuring his features. Not that it mattered much, because Eli was too busy studying the man's broad shoulders and tree-trunk arms.

"What'll it be?" the barman asked.

"Pint o' Guinness," the man asked, his voice hollow and coarse. There was something not quite right about the voice, perhaps something inhuman, and it sent a slight chill down even Eli's spine.

While the barman went to fetch the drinks, Eli was idly examining the coaster on the bartable, which had a lovely black rose printed on it, and hoping the big lad would fall for his ploy.

"And who're you, then?" the big lad asked, leaning a tad towards Eli. He had fallen for the old 'feign-no-interest' ruse. Now all Eli had to do was answer him, but be vague enough to keep the big guy asking questions. If you're gonna invite trouble, Eli reasoned, best do it at your own pace.

"Eli Faust," Eli answered. He waited for the big guy to register this and say something.

"An' what's a runt like you doin' in a big boy's pub?"

How charming.

"I'm lookin' for a fella, goes by the name of...Black Murphy. You know 'em?"

There followed a chilling, deathly silence, as though all sense of life had been drained from the room. When at last the ominous feeling came to pass, Eli felt a hand on his shoulder. His head turned cautiously to face the fellow next to him - what Eli didn't expect was the fist that slammed right into his face, knocking him off his seat and causing his cheek to bleed something awful. To an outsider, the fact that nobody noticed would have been strange. The barman returned, leaving both drinks down, not even taking a glance at Eli on the floor.

"Cheeky little bastard," the burly man spat, getting to his feet and taking a gulp of Guinness. He was terrifying to behold, easily six feet and built with the stature of a brick shed. What was most unusual, though, was his face: it was that of a tough-jawed skull, a fiery red pupil burning in the left eye socket (the right was covered by an eyepatch). "I be Black Murphy!"

"Y'don't say," Eli muttered, wiping the blood from his cheek.

"You're in The Game, then, aren'tcha?" Black Murphy queried, staring down at Eli like the latter was but a stray dog.

"And if I am?" Eli asked, ignoring how it was bad manners to answer a question with a question. His response came in the form of thick bones serving for fingers wrapping around his throat, pulling him up off the sticky floor and dropping him back on his feet.

"Then I jam me fist in yer throat, stick it down yer gullet and rip yer pansy-arse spleen out," Murphy grinned, delighting in the thought of mauling his opponent. Despite being notably brusied, Eli was quick to get back on his feet.

Gun ain't gonna do me much good, he thought to himself. He stood still, waiting until Murphy threw his fist out again - and blocked it with his own hand.

"Huh?" Murphy grunted, unsure of how Eli just did that. His opponent lashed out, cracking the Irishman one in the jaw. Murphy howled and clutched his chin, glaring daggers at Eli. "Oh, that tears it. I'm gonna kill ya!"

"Come get some," Eli coaxed, adopting a combat stance.

Murphy threw a punch, but Eli simply blocked it and, mimicking his previous move, cracked Murphy in the chest. Murphy went for a right-hook, which Eli ducked under. He took a roll to the left and leapt to his feet. Murphy swung his great fist around, bashing Eli to the floor. Eli flipped upwards and kicked Murphy in the face. Murphy snatched at Eli's legs and threw him at the bartable. Bottles fell and crashed. Eli rolled, gripping the edge of the table to he wouldn't fall off. He wiped his mouth and pulled his gun out. With a pull of the trigger, Murphy found a bullet in his shoulder.

"[parasitic bomb]!" Murphy cursed, holding his shoulder; he was undead, so there was no blood. It still hurt like hell. "You cheating git!"

"Sorry, I didn't think we had rules," Eli said dryly. He pulled the trigger again, but Murphy caught on this time - he raised his hand, and let the bullet bounce off one of his knuckledusters. The bullet ricocheted and shot a bar patron in the backside, causing him to leap off his chair. Eli loaded more ammo into his revolver. "I'll pay for that, buddy."

Murphy took advantage of Eli's distraction. He grabbed an empty bottle from a table, lunged at Eli and smashed the bottle over his head. Eli grunted and his finger slipped; the resulting bullet went straight into Murphy's eye cavity.

The blood-curdling howl nearly deafened the bar. Murphy was now holding his "good eye", staggering around like a man possessed, haphazardly sweeping glasses from tables.

"How did that hurt?" asked Eli, hopping off of the bartable, "You don't even have an eye!"

Murphy snarled and grabbed an empty chair. Eli grit his teeth as the chair was cracked over him, shattering into sharrp splinters and jagged pieces of broken wood. The enraged Irishman showed no mercy, continuing to batter his foe with what was left of the chair. Trying his hardest to stay concious, Eli squeezed the trigger on his gun five times. Three shots went astray, but the other two of them managed to shoot Murphy in the foot. He relinquished control of the chair immediately.

Eli pulled the trigger once more, but it just clicked. Damn.

Trying to ignore the severe pain in his chest and shoulders, he held his arms out and struck his wounded opponent with an open palm. Murphy's head was thrown back in a manner that should have snapped his neck. All was still while Murphy, head bent backwards, stared at the ceiling. He seemed to be unable to fight.

That wasn't the case for him. He simply grasped the sides of his jaw - with a sickening, crunching crack, he fixed his head's position. The onlooking patrons groaned, and even Eli frowned. This guy was clearly inhuman.

"Thanks, I needed that," grinned Murphy.

Eli frowned. "What the hell are you?"

"Bloody pissed." Murphy rolled his neck around and cracked his knuckles. "Y'know how I got this eyepatch? Me scar?"

Eli lowered his guard slightly. "I'm listening."

"I was in the Irish Civil War, lad. I was fightin' to free Ireland from the British. An' those Orange bastards...they shot me for it. In the eye! I was killed 'cos I loved me country! That was all over a hundr'd years ago. I'm older 'n your grandpappy, lad."

"So, what's with the...bones?"

"Oh, some bunch o' cultist ponces rose me from the grave. Bastards said I couldn't rest 'cos I was "filled with hatred" an' all that...like I couldn't tell 'em that."

"And?"

"I killed 'em. Snapped their backs, necks, whatever. After that, I came out here, and before I knew it, I was in The Game."

"And that's where I come in," Eli finished, satisfied with the story. He watched Murphy turn around and head for the door. "Where're you goin'?"

"Come with me, lad. Got somethin' I wanna show ya."

Eli hesitated, but decided to follow his enemy. The bar was wrecked, and it didn't seem like anybody cared. The bartender sighed, wondering whether it was good for business to let Murphy keep coming in.

2765

Fan Creations / Re: The Super Groovey Thread of Stuff

« on: February 11, 2009, 04:11:20 PM »

Once again, I break up my art drought with delicious works of...graphite. Graphite on paper. Mmmmmmm.

So, er, here's a few characters I came up with for a cartoon/comic series I probably won't pursue but like to work on anyway. Enjoy. =3

Mimi
Mimi's a catgirl maid who works in the same town that the other characters reside in. At 16 years of age, she's pretty naive, friendly and good-natured, though she's also the voice of reason and one of the more intelligent members of the cast. She's feisty when she gets angry, though, and the others have come to dread her mighty sweeping brush. She's also a bit of a parody of Japanese anime culture.

Lily the Devil Girl
I'm pretty sure this one might be the most popular of the bunch, knowing RPM. =P Lily and her associate, Mike the Angel Guy, appear as manifestations of one of the characters' desires. Lily represents kinkiness and bondage, and is often shown carrying a whip. She's a sultry, sexy succubus who can show anybody a good time~ Oh, and she's also a lesbian. Hence why she and Mike aren't all over eachother.

N.B. I have nothing against lesbians or people who like bondage and that sort of thing. Don't eat me.

Mike the Angel Guy
Mike the Angel Guy, like his associate Lily, is a manifestation one of the characters' desires. In this case, he represents the character's latent homosexuality. He's constantly optimistic and loves to party.

Cookies if you can tell me why he's named Mike.

N.B. Like I said above, I have nothing against gay people. M'kay?

Random doodles
And some random doodles of other characters. At the top-left is Vingo, a cynical chap who's always on the bottom of the heap and is full of get-rich-quick schemes. He's usually paired with his best friend/constant source of annoyance, Flipsy (not pictured; he looks like Vingo, but happier, and has an F on his shirt). Next to him is a picture of another character I haven't drawn yet, a pumpkin-headed attourney. He doesn't usually look that gleeful. That's another doodle of his face below, looking rather more miffed. At the bottom-left is Vingo again, this time in a Dio Brando-style pose. To the right of him is a "character" named Harry the Happy Toast. And beside the toast is Heinrich Hasanose, an evil aristocrat with a huge nose and BoBoBo-style nasal hair.

2766

Off The Wall / Re: The Avatar / Signature Changing Thread

« on: February 05, 2009, 07:08:06 PM »

One of my favourite scenes in all of FMA. Much as I liked the cute 'net-maid, I think it's time for a change.

2767

Entertainment / Re: At The Movies With RPM

« on: February 04, 2009, 08:04:03 PM »

Gotta love hilarious merchandise.

2768

Forum Games / Re: Praise the above poster!

« on: February 04, 2009, 08:01:43 PM »

Will snipe you. Snipe you goooood.

2769

Forum Games / Re: Praise the above poster!

« on: February 03, 2009, 06:43:30 PM »

Has 999 posts.

...That's gotta be magical, right?

2770

Gaming / Re: The Top 10 Topic

« on: January 25, 2009, 11:18:06 PM »

not as popular? no sir, she's immensely popular at least over here at RPM. everyone except me is fapfapfap over her. and i never really considered Alia or Leviathan that popular either.

Oh, here, yeah. I meant elsewhere. =P I don't many other people who like her.

2771

Fan Creations / Re: Enigma's Stuff

« on: January 25, 2009, 11:08:24 PM »

The way you draw eyes is very Katy Coope.

Aw, now isn't that just a nice little coincidence? I just found a book of hers I purchased a few years ago gathering dust in my basement. I'm hoping to use it to better my art, since I have trouble with some parts (eyes, bodies and hands, mainly).

Posted on: November 13, 2008, 20:03:13Ha! Bet you didn't think this'd be returning. Well, it's back, since I finally decided to get off my ass and get some more stuff done.

Since I'm currently writing a story - which I hope to finish and perhaps get published - I'd like to post it here and get some feedback on it. Still no title. I won't spoil the plot, but here's the intro chapter to whet your appetite.

---

(click to show/hide)

Eli was beginning to get very tired of sitting by his client on the bank and of having nothing to do: once or twice he peeped down the barrel of the revolver he was polishing, but it had no ammunition or rounds in it. "And what use is a gun," thought Eli, "Without ammunition or rounds?"

"I'm really not sure this is the best place to hide, Mr. Faust."

"Eli. Just call me Eli."

"Yes, of course, Mr. Fau-...Eli," the client corrected himself. He was a narrow man, hair grey and thinning, face coated in bristly stubble. His deep-set eyes were baggy and had a number of dark rings beneath them. The light-grey waistcoat he was wearing suggested he was a man of status, but the fact that he was hiring somebody like Eli struck that notion down. Of course, he may just have been a very unpopular fellow that people wanted dead. So long as he got paid, Eli didn't care much.

"So, what's wrong with here?" Eli asked, still cleaning his gun with a silken handkerchief that had the initials "EF" on them in gold.

"Well...are we not...hiding from them?"

"First," Eli said in his usual tone that was both smooth and yet sharp, flicking his gaze to meet the client's, "We ain't hiding. I call it 'tactical self-placement'. Second, who're 'them', anyway?"

"Who are they," corrected Mr. Client, sighing. "They are...well, it's not really any of your business, is it?"

"To the contrary, it's everything of my business," Eli parried, "Howzabout I just leave ya here an' let 'em toss ya into the river? Howzat sound?"

Mr. Client froze and made a mental note to not say anything more that might annoy his hired aid. "I'd prefer not to say who they are, if it's all the same to you..."

Eli shrugged. "Fair enough. I'm not one for small talk, anyhow."

There was a bang like a firework. Mr. Client immediately threw himself to the ground, nearly tumbling down the gently-sloping riverbank in the process. "Good God, they've come for me!"

Eli placed the handkerchief into his pocket and casually got to his feet. There was another firework-bang, prompting Eli to produce a small amount of ammunition from his other pocket and stick it into the gun's chamber. By now, they were starting to make themselves known: three men, all of a similar build and outlaw-style image, had come over the grassy mound behind Eli and Mr. Client. The central figure had a shotgun of sorts mounted onto his right arm (though, really, it was more of a double-barelled bazooka). Their rage reached frenzy point when they noticed Mr. Client cowering at the stream's bank.

"There's the bastard!" the central figure, who seemed to be the leader, ordered, "Get 'im!"

"Don't just stand there, do something!" Mr. Client yelled at his hired aid. Eli cocked an eyebrow and raised his pistol.

"You're the boss."

Three clean shots was all it took to take down the assailants. Their bodies, which now had one extra bullet in the chest, collapsed and rolled clumsily down the hill. The leader stopped at Eli's feet, and Eli just smirked and said, "Hi, Crowley."

Crowley snarled, clutching his heart area, which was now bleeding steadily. "You son-of-a-[sonic slicer], Eli!"

"Hey, don't be like that, my mom always liked you," Eli said, nonchalantly sticking the revolver into its holster on his belt. Mr. Client staggered over to Eli and looked at the bodies on the ground.

"Are they...dead?"

"Dunno. Armour wasn't too thick."

The client was shocked and disgusted, but mostly puzzled. "Is that all you have to say? You just killed three men!"

"Isn't that what ya wanted? S'either them or you."

The client didn't say anything. He just left Eli turn on his heel and begin to stroll off.

"I'll be takin' a nap under the trees. Just leave the fifty smackers in my pocket, 'kay?"

[Cookies to anybody who tells me what the opening line parodies.]

---

Since I'd like to sharpen my writing skills and get into the habit of writing more, I'll also be taking story requests. So, if you'd like me to write something for you, about your characters or anything you'd like, I'll give it a go. Nothing over short story length, though. I will also be taking art requests.

2772

Forum Games / Re: Time You've Been Logged In AKA The "I Have No Life" Thread

« on: January 25, 2009, 10:22:43 PM »

6 days, 1 hours and 57 minutes.

Six day GET.

2773

Forum Games / Re: Praise the above poster!

« on: January 25, 2009, 10:21:59 PM »

Brutally crushes the spirits of others. And makes them feel good about it.

2774

General / Re: Change my nickname, please

« on: January 25, 2009, 10:18:56 PM »

even though it sucks.

That's not very nice... D=

Seriously, though, thanks. =3

2775

Forum Games / Re: Add a caption to the previous poster's avatar, ROUND TWO!

« on: January 25, 2009, 10:15:05 PM »

Always practice your jutsu beforehand, kiddies.