Ironworks Gaming Forum - View Single Post - The Catacalysm- Futuristic RPG

Legolas · 04-25-2004, 08:38 AM

Name: Timorris Rubio de la Veine
Callsign: Daluba

Major: Lockpick (Tagged), Driving and Pilotting (Tagged), Judo, Steal
Minor: Energy Weapons, Large guns, Minor Wounds

Slot 1 Strength-4
Slot 2 Perception- 3
Slot 3 Endurance- 4
Slot 4 Charisma- 10
Slot 5 Intelligence-4
Slot 6 Agility- 6
Slot 7 Luck-10
Implant: Perfect Smile (CHA)

Rations, First Aid, Grenades, Knife, Firewood, Lighter, Pistol Ammo

If your mind has never been a testing site for an endless line of neutron bombs, if you've never felt an agonising throbbing behind your eyes at the sound of wind carressing the earth behind six feet of concrete and metal, if you never woke up not just unaware of where you were, but also far removed from any womenfolk and bars, then you've never, ever, been utterly drunk.

And utterly fortuitous. Only with the best of luck would you have lived to experience the hangover. Only with the knowledge that things would soon improve would you even consider such hell lucky.

There was no way the chief scientists and instructors could prepare a man for this. There was nothing in the world more persistant than the hangover of a drunk frozen in time. His cyrogenic sleep was a need for black coffee just waiting to happen. After all these years, it needn't wait any longer.
There was no denying it. It was there.

The sleeping tank swung open smoothly, and with a flair possessed only by those lacking all sense of balance, out stepped Timorris Rubio de la Veine.

"Wherever this is," he mumbled, dazed, "They better have some analgesics."

Stumbling over to one of the shelves, he swept its entire contents into a conveniently closeby bag.

There are some undeniable truths in the world. On a morning like this, you never can find a matching pair of socks. Someone else always takes the final parking space which you spotted first. Children can get into anything at all, Especially if they aren't supposed to.
Opening a first aid kit is childsplay. It is most certainly not a game for hung-over adults. Even with the best of fortune there was no way he'd open it by trying.

Timorris Rubio de la Veine learned long ago already that there are times when one has to resign himself to fate. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he rose.

For the first time he truely looked around. That was a mistake. It was always a mistake.
An explosion of sounds and colours hit him, and he staggered back up to the wall. One glance at his tank and he longed very much to return to his sleep while its liquids were still cold.

There was no chance at that though. Once awake, head exploding, there was nothing for it but to bite the bullet and carry on. He needed to get out.
After all these years, it was high time for a morning piss.

04-25-2004, 08:38 AM	#10
Legolas Jack Burton Join Date: March 31, 2001 Location: The zephyr lands beneath the brine. Age: 41 Posts: 5,459	Name: Timorris Rubio de la Veine Callsign: Daluba Major: Lockpick (Tagged), Driving and Pilotting (Tagged), Judo, Steal Minor: Energy Weapons, Large guns, Minor Wounds Slot 1 Strength-4 Slot 2 Perception- 3 Slot 3 Endurance- 4 Slot 4 Charisma- 10 Slot 5 Intelligence-4 Slot 6 Agility- 6 Slot 7 Luck-10 Implant: Perfect Smile (CHA) Rations, First Aid, Grenades, Knife, Firewood, Lighter, Pistol Ammo If your mind has never been a testing site for an endless line of neutron bombs, if you've never felt an agonising throbbing behind your eyes at the sound of wind carressing the earth behind six feet of concrete and metal, if you never woke up not just unaware of where you were, but also far removed from any womenfolk and bars, then you've never, ever, been utterly drunk. And utterly fortuitous. Only with the best of luck would you have lived to experience the hangover. Only with the knowledge that things would soon improve would you even consider such hell lucky. There was no way the chief scientists and instructors could prepare a man for this. There was nothing in the world more persistant than the hangover of a drunk frozen in time. His cyrogenic sleep was a need for black coffee just waiting to happen. After all these years, it needn't wait any longer. There was no denying it. It was there. The sleeping tank swung open smoothly, and with a flair possessed only by those lacking all sense of balance, out stepped Timorris Rubio de la Veine. "Wherever this is," he mumbled, dazed, "They better have some analgesics." Stumbling over to one of the shelves, he swept its entire contents into a conveniently closeby bag. There are some undeniable truths in the world. On a morning like this, you never can find a matching pair of socks. Someone else always takes the final parking space which you spotted first. Children can get into anything at all, Especially if they aren't supposed to. Opening a first aid kit is childsplay. It is most certainly not a game for hung-over adults. Even with the best of fortune there was no way he'd open it by trying. Timorris Rubio de la Veine learned long ago already that there are times when one has to resign himself to fate. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he rose. For the first time he truely looked around. That was a mistake. It was always a mistake. An explosion of sounds and colours hit him, and he staggered back up to the wall. One glance at his tank and he longed very much to return to his sleep while its liquids were still cold. There was no chance at that though. Once awake, head exploding, there was nothing for it but to bite the bullet and carry on. He needed to get out. After all these years, it was high time for a morning piss.