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Old Hat
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About _SuitAndTie_

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    Coal Miner

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    Illlion Everion

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  1. (All Blah from the goblin will be translated into common for simplicity for those who cannot understand it) 0900 HOURS As day breaks the darkness through the stained glass of the church, the sounds of freshly polished dress shoes tapping against wood being heard as a Goblin in rather fancy attire with a sharp grimace on his face enters the holy building. His eyes scan from the beautiful works of stained glass to a polished wood confession booth. The Gobbo checks his aurum pocket watch; 9:00 AM, just as planned. He shuffles behind the curtains and says “It is 9:00.” A croaky old voice resonates from the other side of the confession booth, and an even older looking man. “Ah, good.” The Goblin says calmly “I do not want to be here any longer than I have to. Give me the details and I shall be on my way.” “Ah, of course. Well… when Courland invaded Orenia, I lost everything. My family, friends, savings.” “Reasons are irrelevant.” “Right, right. What I wish for you to do is… essentially sabotage the wedding that is coming up. Any method you can. Poison, destroy, murder, bomb. I don’t care. Just don’t connect me to this atrocity.” he’d say nervously, fiddling with his fingers hysterically from the other side of the booth. “The wedding will be highly protected, and the amount of investigation that will go into the bombing… it raises my price significantly.” “Already factored in. I trust in your rather impressive skillset, here is the pay.” The old man would slip a suitcase filled to the brink of bursting with mina, the Goblin taking it greedily as he gleans his eyes over the golden coins, shutting the suitcase. With a small smirk on his face, he’d mutter “Consider it done.” The goblin strides out of the booth with his heavy suitcase bursting with mina. He would hitch a cart out of the city and to the Goblin nation of Golin’Dar to prepare this sabotage. 2 DAYS LATER 1300 HOURS The Goblin had just arrived to Golin’Dar. He had to be quick in retrieving his stashed items, it was nearly night and many horrors dwell in the ancient darkness. He found Boomb huddled around the campfire with the other Goblins. They beckoned for him to join them, only to be refused. He strode into the forest, knowing this specific pathway to the stashed items by heart as he had traversed to his hiding place many times. After a good 30 minutes of walking, he had found it. The scene was a small dot of flat brown dirt in the barren wasteland of the Dreadlands. Picking up the shovel, he dug it into the barren earth, repeating the process until there was a giant pile of dirt to the side and the top of a chest revealed. With all his might, the Goblin heaved it from the earth. Inside lay a giant pile of gold, a gigantic arbalest with a scope attached to it. A sleek chrome garrote of fiber wire, a brown leather suitcase of dynamite, and so much more equipment suited to the job of a paid killer. He wrapped the garrote, tucking it into the pocket of his waist coat. He took the suitcase of dynamite, and some minas for transportation and food. One day this Goblin will think of this bombing as just another job. After all, This is what he does. And tomorrow, Operation Red Wedding shall commence. ONE DAY LATER 1100 HOURS A small, rickety green cart would roll near the city, men in tuxedos and women in long flowing dresses swarming out of them as a Goblin strides out with his suitcase, clenching it tightly as the cries of happiness and pleasure resonate from the Aleksandria church. No one was getting frisked, it appeared to be safe to enter with the bomb. There was no doubt the Goblin was nervous, as no matter how professional, trained, and skilled one is, there is no amount of preparation that can prepare someone for taking a life. Yet he was a soldier, and soldiers follow orders. If he did not complete the contract, he would be seen as a stomachless assassin. To do that would be to tarnish his reputation as a Hit Goblin. Therefore, in his mind, he had no choice but to perform this bombing. As he approached the front of the church, he felt a tight feeling in his stomach; how was he going to smuggle the bomb into the room of nobles without getting detected? Then it hit him: the doors outside the church that lead to the graveyard are not guarded. He quickly shoves past the crowd, they seemed to be preoccupied with a fight outside on the front entrance. The HitGobo quickly ledges up the bottom roof, shuffling near the wall as he listens in on the noble talk. He was sure his suitcase would fit through the crevice of the church wall. He had to act quickly, soon enough the fight would be resolved and his opportunity would have been lost. There was no going back. The Goblin quickly flicks a switch on his suitcase, sizzling being remotely heard from the insides of it as he quickly heaves it into the church through the crevice of the church wall. His heart pumping like never before ever since the Courland-Oren war, he ledges down the low roof, nervously yet calmly at the same time striding away from the church. Soon enough, a horrible yet awesome explosion rips across the upper levels of the church. People were shocked, then horrified. They screamed, wept, young hysterically clung to their mother's’ breast. Dwarven convoys lept out the shattered stained glass windows. No one even suspected or even remotely thought about the tall, bald Goblin stranger with the grimace plastered on his face that strut about with his brown leather suitcase. He slipped in and out cleanly, silently, and impersonally. It symbolized the very essence of his planning, improvisation, and execution in his line of work. Flawless and Perfect. TWO DAYS LATER 1200 HOURS As noon hits the day, Jitz finds himself relieved. He knows he did the job properly, perfect like himself in his line of work. He found himself muttering prayers to Spirits in the skeleton of an ancient creature. Veist, the spirit of thievery and illusions. Shezek, the spirit of stealth and plots. Rolfizh, the spirit of Clandestine and Murder. These are the spirits he prayed to constantly for perfection and guidance. As he finishes, he exits the skeleton, looking to the sharp blue sky. A fire was cooking a boar nearby. He cut off a large piece of meat, from it’s thigh, feasting on it as he sips on some Vodka. He was sketching designs for a new Sniper Crossbow. One with a scope of even more magnification and adjustability, and can be cranked back more easily with the help of gears. He wished he had money. He constantly donates his blood money to Golin’Dar as he believes in it, though a new peg of gunpowder or redstone wouldn’t hurt. Something soft and mushy impacts his head as he’s sketching. Jitz quickly scoops up the material; dove feces. Afterwards, a dove swoops down and drops a letter at his feet. Jitz would scoop it up, reading it. “I’m looking for a HitGobo.” Excited, Jitz scoops up another scrap of parchment. Writing in smeared ink hurriedly, he returns the letter. “I’m Listening.”
  2. I love your profile picture gif

  3. "Heroes are remembered throughout history for their acts of valor, their bravery and selflessness. Everyone knows who they are, but assassins? The assassins that are perfectionists are part of a rare breed that are known, yet unknown at the same time. I am the Hit Goblin, this is what I do." For those of questionable connections, rumors have begun to circulate about a specific Goblin. By the posters he has hung up about requests for legal work, it has been discovered that he has a military background in the Oren-Courland war in a special covert operations unit in the Krugmar military. No one knows whether he's killed innocents or not, unknown on how he would react to a contract. Why not make a deal with the devil? ((OOC: So I play a professional Hit Goblin, and I have found nothing back a lack of abundance of jobs. I have taken the initiative to advertise Jitz's services in a non edgy manner. Basically, post in the comments section if you wish to arrange some roleplay with this assassin OOCly. Please don't metagame or troll, the former will be reported and the latter will be removed.
  4. -=- Urukish Activity -=- A fleet of Goblins on the back of Ologs carry letters to every Olog, Goblin, Orc, Uruk, Half-Orc, and Kha, delivering letters. The letter would read, "Please fill out the following form, it doesn't matter if you are with the War Nation or not." Name: Jitz'Ox ((Mc name: XionistKnIGHT Race: Goblin Clan: Ox What Nation or Group you are associated with: Clan Ox As you finish filling out the form, the goblin would take it and flee, never to be seen again as the olog sits down, napping in front of you.
  5. So I saw the post 501 made about the server being back up, but I cannot connect.


    Is there some sort of secret IP I'm supposed to be using?

    1. cablam


      The server isn't up yet, refer to this thread: 


  6. Bring back the server or we riot
  7. He wont give my goblin hitman jobs -1 On the other hand, he's a great guy +2
  8. Jitz'Ox approves
  9. Jitz would kneel down to the writing in blood with a small handheld pick, going to carve out the writing to perform his own investigation.
  10. "What the fook did you just ploughin' say, you little knave? I'll have you know I’ve been involved in numerous secret raids on Necrotics, and I have over 300 confirmed unkills. I am trained in hou zi warfare and I’m the top crossbow in the entire Westerlands. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on Axios, mark my ploughing words. As we speak I am contacting Waldenian Intelligence and your location is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You’re ploughing dead, boy. I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my crossbow. If only you could have known what holy retribution your little “clever” comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your ploughing tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you idiot fool! I will **** fury all over you and you will drown in it. You’re ploughing dead, boyo." Says an iconic blacksmith. Illion widen his eyes, wiping saliva from his cheeks as he just stands there, trying his best to contain his laughter.
  11. Illion, a high elven wizard, cringes. "How ignorant. Do these fools even understand the nature of Arcane and Dark magics?"
  12. I will be teaching the Half-Man how to summon the devastating power of electricity to smite his enemies.
  13. preach
  14. Nuuu! Where am I supposed to get my premium mineman rp now?!
  15. A certain elven wizard by the name of Illion nods in approval, who just happened to be there at the time, saying "Preach"