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Kryo Recreant

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Posts posted by Kryo Recreant

    So what exactly is an Alpha Squad?

    in General Discussion

    Posted

    Alpha squad or not - the point is the APOSTLE's primary responsibility is to be a teacher and mentor to our cadets

    I would hazard that this is the responsibility of all Alpha Squads, but we in the Apostles take it one step further by offering a team able to train the newest inductees to the Astra division.

    We teach literally, but we need to teach figuratively, too. We teach by right action and good conduct. We uphold the very highest standards of the Ordo Imperialis, but we're not jackasses about it; we're the ones who have the time to dedicate to furthering ourselves and others in the group, we're the ones who set the standard for others to aspire to. The members of the Alpha squads are at the top of their respective games, each an invaluable asset to the group.

    Without being combat effective, or courteous, or upholding the rules and regulations laid out in the best interests of the group, to the best of our ability... what right do we have to teach? We have to be all those things and more to rightfully deserve our place at the very top of the best military on the battlefields of the Grid.

    Quotes of Win

    in General Discussion

    Posted

    [18:22:47] (COM): Jason Backer: Praetorians... POUNCE

    [18:22:56] (COM): Azoth Zsun: all worship the great caffeninity

    [18:22:57] (COM): Crash Silverfall: JASON

    [18:22:58] Kitten Jenkins has left the sim.

    [18:22:58] Mercury: Lost contact: Kitten Jenkins

    [18:23:03] (COM): Kryo Recreant: So when you people say bummer it makes me giggle.

    [18:23:08] (COM): Keller Teichmann: Backer. Saying 'pounce' in a primarily furry community just sounds furry.

    [18:23:10] (COM): Roberick Kungler: I'm going to get a hummer? :v

    [18:23:11] (COM): zanndor Aeon: BUMMER

    [18:23:17] Kei Whitfield is Online

    [18:23:19] (COM): Azoth Zsun: I rageface when people say Hella irl >:O

    [18:23:21] Kitten Jenkins has entered the sim.

    [18:23:22] (COM): Kryo Recreant: YOU'RE A BUMMER ZANNDOR

    [18:23:24] Kitten Jenkins is Online

    [18:23:26] (COM): Kryo Recreant: >:C

    [18:23:28] (COM): Trinity Heckroth: in american slang is not buttsex

    [18:23:29] (COM): zanndor Aeon: I know thats Hella gay, Azoth

    [18:23:35] (COM): Roberick Kungler: I rage face when people say 'irregardless'

    [18:23:37] (COM): Azoth Zsun: >:O

    [18:23:40] (COM): Jason Backer: Damn, I didn't think this one through. OKAY GUYS STOP UNZIPPING CRASH'S SHIRT. I meant kill!

    Zrazor - This is for you

    in Media

    Posted

    Awesome kryo. Awesome.

    <3 but I just had to fix a typo, haha. Glad you enjoyed; read it with the most 'Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels' style cockney accent you can muster up in your head.

    Zrazor - This is for you

    in Media

    Posted · Edited by Kryo Recreant

    My attempt at #4... be kind. ;~;

    So I'm sat here cold and alone; shivering with anticipation in the cloying, atramentous darkness. There's a flicker of warmth nearby but it's nowhere near enough to make a difference to what I am right now, that is, a dull sliver of cold against what most would put to you as the 'warmth of the Season'. Sums up my life perfectly, that does. Christmas Eve and while most will be getting ready to get pissed out of their faces and bollocks up the carving of a turkey, prompting billowing gales of laughter from the obligatory flight of cherubim children... fat faced little wanksplats, the lot of 'em, never a more undeserving, ungrateful bunch of little shits have I had the misfortune to come across... but that's not the point I was trying to make, strayed off a bit there. While most will be preparing to do that whole carving the roast malarkey that's so popular on December the twenty-fifth of every year, I'm out here with Jack Frost nipping me all over, out to spoil it for some clumsy bugger that's left a window open just a smidgen, or one of those couples with 2.4 children, a people carrier and a 4x4 out front, BMW or Merc parked next to it; big, new build house, all that kind of shit. You know the ones, former DINKYs that just couldn't hold off on popping their crotchfruit into the world; the 'good life'. Not a frigging shred like mine. If what I've got can even be called a life, anyway. I just exist more than anything, rarely engage with anything else. Some would complain about depression or that they feel hollow, but this gnarled pathway Our Lady Fate has so graciously thrown down for me keeps me... sharp.

    Heh, sorry, couldn't resist that little burst of wit. Oh me, oh my, what a pity my hidden talents are squandered so recklessly. No time to think of that now, though, we're on the move. I'm sure there are streetlights around here somewhere, but I'm still shrouded in this all-pervading black. Nothing to see here, in any sense. Best I stay hidden.

    Now there's one thing I hate about double glazed uPVC windows. It's not the double-bolted locking systems they employ, nor is it that tacky, plasticky look they give to, say, even the most lovingly restored Georgian red-brick mansion. No, it's that resounding, percussive 'crack' they make when they're successfully jemmied open. In the dead of night that fucker rings out like a twenty-one gun salute, and I'm quite naturally at odds with your firearms and whatnot. A bit excessive, if you ask me, not a man's weapon by any stretch. The pursuit of marksmanship is just a lifetime's study in cowardice; your average mélee enthusiast has just the right amount of skill and usually charm enough to back it up, especially those with an affinity for the blade. There's many a cocky sod gets ahead of himself with us and by Heck, does he regret it afterwards. If he lives through it, of course, but I'm rambling again and missing out on what's happening. I'll press on.

    So we're through the window, now, but the scenery hasn't changed. Still the impenetrable veil but the air here has a different quality. I can hear it. You have to, when you spend so much time in the dark as I, you have to listen out for these subtle changes; taste the air, feel it, hear every bloody movement or lack thereof. Can't risk getting caught TOO soon, it dampens the pleasure of a successful infiltration. I'm aware of my movements, can feel myself being inexorably drawn forward at a snail's pace, not risking that one creaky floorboard to wake dear old mummy and daddy, or the pack of ravenous screaming brats who'll be deprived of their overpriced, electronic shite by the morrow.

    I feel a slight drop, ungraceful. Thud, thud.

    Buggery.

    That had better be passed off as jolly old Saint Nick making his rounds. No, there it goes; the telltale squeak of bedsprings, the quasi-asthmatic wheeze of the secret smoker or terminally unfit. The drawn out, thumping scrape of something heavy and solid being grasped in a sweaty, shaking palm, by the one so enraged that somebody else dare encroach upon the territory leased from the bank that he so laughably calls 'home'. And so he descends the stairs, our valiant defender, trying to mask his approach with a soft pair of slippers; clapped out old things, getting replaced tomorrow, no doubt, wrapped in bits of brightly coloured dead tree and emblazoned with sickeningly sweet messages of childhood dependency and wide-eyed adoration. All that pocket money saved up for nothing.

    Skrrrrrp. The dragging of a textile heel across the carpet; the lament of the loosened slipper, and my cue to make a grand entrance to this sorry saga and close the curtain for good on this poor bastard. With a keenness that came through my nature, I was freed from my tenebrous roost with a minimum of effort, suddenly bathed in light. A malicious silvery glint was reflected from my countenance and cast back upon the tree, and the presents laid beneath; those were the target of my partner, not me, the thought abandoned, cast aside like so many brussels sprouts upon the clattering festive plates that would soon be stacked up around the world, as I was once again plunged into more stygian surroundings.

    Oh, but the warmth was exquisite.

    I left with the rushing of vital air, still bathed in the warmth of cruor as it dripped lewdly from my tip. Howling a melancholy of bloodlust during my moment in the faded, though garish light, the last thing reflected in the sanguinary visage I now bore was Daddykin's expression of stark realisation that not only Christmas, but his existence from herein, was cancelled. A job well done, I would think, were it not for the shaking hands returning me to my crepuscule, as though afraid of me because of what they had made me do.

    The thief hurried on, gathering up boxes and making his fleetfooted escape, before he could be caught for his crime.

    I, the knife, had given the family the most important gift they could ever have hoped for; a lesson in the fragile nature of existence.

    Merry Christmas.

    Quotes of Win

    in General Discussion

    Posted

    [12:58] Zero Itamae: :goonsay:

    [12:58] Zrazor Rozenstrauch: :rolleyes:

    [12:58] Zero Itamae: :frogout:

    [12:58] Zrazor Rozenstrauch: :gonk:

    [12:58] Zero Itamae: \o/

    [12:58] Zrazor Rozenstrauch: :smith:

    Posted because nobody will get it. emot-smug.gif

    :smugbert:

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