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Season of Giving 2020

At the end of perhaps our craziest year yet, we choose to celebrate our writing family with that extra touch of gratitude. Tip your fellow authors for a chance to win 10,000 INK, with leaderboards updated daily.

Merry Christmas from RPG! 🎅

User avatar

Ulfhednar902 member of RPG for 1 years

Lifegiver Friendly Beginnings Visual Appeal Person of Interest Tipworthy Author Giver Promethean World Builder

1,133 words written.
2 total posts.
567 words per post.
1 posts per roleplay.
0 average days in a roleplay.
2 universes joined.
12.75 INK received in tips.

Basic Information

Username:
Ulfhednar902
Groups:
Game Master:
No

User statistics

Joined:
Tue Dec 01, 2020 10:42 pm
Last visited:
Mon Jan 18, 2021 6:32 am
Medals:
9
Total posts:
Search user’s posts
(0.00% of all posts / 0.19 posts per day)
Most active forum:
Out of Character
(6 Posts / 66.67% of user’s posts)
Most active topic:
Blinding Lights
(2 Posts / 22.22% of user’s posts)

Contact Ulfhednar902

Elsewhere

Medals

Lifegiver

Lifegiver

Created a character in an RPG universe.

Friendly Beginnings

Friendly Beginnings

You posted your first topic in the Welcome Forum.

Visual Appeal

Visual Appeal

Awarded for adding an avatar to your profile!

Person of Interest

Person of Interest

Created a character that was later followed by another user!

Tipworthy

Tipworthy

Awarded for receiving your first tip from another user!

Author

Author

Wrote your first piece in a universe!

Giver

Giver

Has given a tip to another user!

Promethean

Promethean

Successfully created a universe for others.

World Builder

World Builder

Created your first non-default location in an RPG universe!

Universes

1 created.
0 active.
1 inactive.
0 completed.

Universes Created

A Domestic Arms Race

Western Europe, 1922. Germany won the Great War, but the fatherland is holding on by just a thread, and inside the chaotic streets of Ireland an uprising has begun. The UK has been ground zero for civil conflict, meanwhile Spain is under martial law, and seems to be experimenting on its citizens in a very unpleasant manner.

Most Tipped Posts

6.25 INK received for post #2817083, located in Ancient Europe:

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A silver moon hung low in the clouded sky, winds whipped over the sea, and through the Jarl of Grimstads hair, as he and his men sailed westward. Land would be coming up on them quickly, though they were unsure of what would be left. Rumor of great beasts from beyond the realm of man had begun spreading their way through Northumbria, and Delvin was not one to shy away from a fight. He sent word via carrier pigeon to several other kingdoms, hoping for some support, but expecting none. The true Vikings of Grimstad knew what they were riding into, and they ached for a good battle.

"Fetch the Raven" Delvin barked at a crewman. He quickly jumped down the stairs, shortly thereafter producing a raven, and loosened her from her small cage. "Keep an eye on her, she's our map now, too cloudy for stars" Delvin spoke calmly. The crewman nodded, and watched as the bird sailed west, and began circling an unseen beach. "Drop the sail and arm yourselves men, Glory awaits us all!" Delvin Barked, as they neared the beach. The clang of sword and shield from the two longships was ear-shattering.


Fires burned brightly, as what looked like a small beach encampment slowly came into view. The ships ride cleanly near the beach, as the crewmen dropped anchor and jumped ship. A small welcoming party met the clan as they made their way towards the encampment. "Wine?" said a small man, nervously looking up at one of the Jarl's larger men. Delvin laughed, "I think you mean to turn your attention to me, holy man. I am Jarl Uldthar of Grimstad, and these 20 men are my crew. We come to pledge our swords against the beasts, and our mead towards our newfound companions! Brynjoff, Haldar, fetch the mead barrels. Lufthar, Arik, bring the weapons crate up to the encampment armory, My friend here is going to inform the other commanders of our presence, tell them to come to our camp." Delvin finished his sentence and gazed down upon the holy man. "On any other day my friend, we would be the last thing you see before you met your god. However, this day is not any other day. This day is today, and you need not fear me and my men, we do not cross our gods, or our companions." Now, where might we raise drink, and lie our heads?" The holy man pointed towards an oversized tent.

Two men made their way past, carrying a large crate, 1/3 full with shields, 1/3 full with axes and swords, and the rest, simple woven leather bracers and grieves, along with several spare leather spaulders. The Vikings of Grimstad preferred speed to protection when it came to armour. Two more passed shortly after, each carrying a barrel of mead on their shoulders, headed towards the oversized tent, marked "Grimstad". Delvin left the holy man, with a nod, and proceeded into the encampment, following the mead carriers. The tent was very large, almost deceptively so. A large table lie in the middle, surrounded by several benches, more than enough to seat the entire crew. several smaller rooms were surrounding the table, each with a few small haybeds, covered in skins of various animals. The crew made their way in not too long after, gathering at the table and filling their horns with elderberry mead. The jarl made his way to the head of the table, filled his horn, and sat. "To a short life, and a violent one, and to a quick death, and a glorious one!" He exclaimed, before finishing his horn and slamming it on the table. As the stories began to pour out of his crew, Delvin made his way out of their tent, to learn more of their newfound companions. His eyes met with a stranger peering at him from behind a small tent, looking fit for perhaps one person. The stranger seemed a knight of some sort, the Jarl unable to make a distinction as to where from. He approached. "And who might you be, a knight? a thane? a thrall?" Delvin questioned, curiously.


3.75 INK received for post #2817469, located in Scarmouth:

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(EL-P: Deep Space 9mm) Hex #000000 Outfit

Scott pulled up to the awards ceremony in a fairly run of the mill Lincoln Towncar, looked to be a 2070, a year before they dropped the roof height and shrank the rims by an inch. He did his best to keep his affinity for ancient items hidden. He hopped out and gave the valet a nod before tossing his keys over to the well dressed attendant. "Thanks cuz" Scott spoke softly on the way towards the oversized doors of the building hosting the awards ceremony. Scott wasn't nominated, or a party member, but the words open bar had stuck in his head as he read the invitation just a few hours earlier.


"'Sup Reg" Scott greeted the bouncer on his way into the building. It didn't take long to find the bar, and even less time for the bartender to turn his head towards Scott. "What can I get cha there buddy?" The bartender sounded almost cartoonish.
"Triple of Bushmills Black, one ice cube" Scott spoke distinctly, so as to impose the seriousness of the specificity of the drink. All too often, careless bartenders wouldn't listen, and put two or three ice cubes, destroying the integrity of the liquor, and that was not what Scott needed tonight, free booze was the only reason he came, sitting in a room with these suits wasn't his ideal evening. As Scott turned his head down towards the rest of the hall, he saw a few others who caught his eye. Doubtful they knew him, but he knew who they were. Camilla Rhodes and a Wrenley, he looked over for a split second, hoping they wouldn't recognize him. He ordered a second drink, and approached the stage, taking a seat at an open seat, next to the engineer, Miles. Best cover is being busy.

"Miles the machinist." Scott paused for several seconds, before continuing his sentence. "Wouldn't have expected to see you here. Thought you'd be uptown, back at the lab. You been alright?"

Scott knew Miles wouldn't have survived if he had've turned the Facists down. Then again, dying for what you believe is what made the revolution stronger than the oppressor's. Either way, this wasn't the place for conflicts, so Scott spoke to Miles with respect, albeit Scott wasn't sure he could be trusted, so best to keep it light, small talk, and do everything he can to avoid the gaze of the Wrenley Daughter, as well as avoiding Camilla's eye. Scott was unsure of what they knew entirely, but they knew enough about Scott's involvement on both sides of the coin to have a distaste.