Dot! You may or may not recall me. You played a hot blind healer for me when I had the user name Fateless. Fun times.
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GM
AmongHeroes ♤ LOST ♤
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9 days ago
Welcome back Dot and Clumsy! It's great to have you both back with us.
Also, Unlit, I really liked your character concept. Bravo.
Also, Unlit, I really liked your character concept. Bravo.
GM
AmongHeroes ♤ LOST ♤
Member
Seen
9 days ago
Ok, I've updated the 'Cast' section with links to the CS's. If I made a mistake in the links or missed someone, just let me know. Dot and Clumsy you'll of course be added when I have something to link to :).
If you're still working on a CS, again don't worry, there's a lot yet to be done before anything crazy happens. I'm starting to work on the first IC post as we speak.
If you're still working on a CS, again don't worry, there's a lot yet to be done before anything crazy happens. I'm starting to work on the first IC post as we speak.
Clumsywordsmith
Member
Seen
3 mos ago
Righto -- haven't really changed much from the original, aside from a brief blurb to vaguely cover whatever happened at the end of the prior RP.
And it's good to see so many familiar faces back again. I didn't think we'd be back in business so soon.
Name: Nestor Grimsley
Gender: Male
Age: Appears to be in his mid to late thirties, actual age is closer to four hundred and fifty years, give or take a few.
Creature Type: Demonspawn; a human with the soul of a demon.
"I can remember many things. I have done many things. And in no matter how many ways I try, I can't quite seem to successfully commit suicide"
Nestor Grimsley
What then of these demonspawn? Who and what were they? I do not believe we know ourselves, and if any did, most would doubtless keep it to themselves. Enough to say that each is consumed with the insatiable burning of a demon's soul, and yet left with the mind and body of a man; it is said we might live for an eternity, though few are those who live more than a lifetime without being wholly consumed by their own inner self and thus – in the end – devouring themselves to break free of their humanity.
Of those that survive, and somehow find balance upon the precarious brink between the two halves, it could hardly be said that they ever live a life of comfort or are given a moment's peace. The desire to feed might undo even the youngest of vampires, and how much more so a creature who finds itself twisted to the point of consuming its own soul?
Appearance: Generally prefers to dress quietly, with moderate tastes and mostly to the period. Granted, a few old habits remain: he seems quite possessive of an old gold pocketwatch that he keeps with him constantly, and his hair is left long -- though tied back tightly and kept well free of his face.
When she should choose to show herself, Nestor's demonic soul most often takes the form of a crystalline, vaguely humanoid being; it is generally unclear – perhaps to Nestor just as much as anyone else – what her motives might be, and her choices or feelings do not always reflect those of Nestor's humanity. Still, to see her as a separate entity entirely would be incorrect, as the two are are inexorably linked.
Skillset: Nestor Grimsley, as with most of the company's more 'unstable' operatives, tends to work on the basis of a subcontractor with a per-job contract arrangement, and the mutual understanding that his services – while beyond adequate and backed fully with a curriculum vitae that extends for several centuries – will be called upon only when absolutely necessary. While he remains one of the few demonspawn who has managed (apparently) to stave off the constant gnawing of his demonic soul for nearly as long as the company itself has been around, such assets are considered at best a usable tool for especially difficult (or clandestine) jobs, and at worst a recipe for a multinational shit-storm and mass grave cover-up should things go really wrong. Thus, perhaps an asset best kept off the books. Somewhere Nestor would prefer to remain.
Though he does, admittedly, wield a respectable bit of power in the case of need, Nestor prefers to present his strengths as an academic and general renaissance man of the 21st century; a glorified jack-of-all-trades, though perhaps that would be a term best used behind his back. And out of earshot. A sane, civilized and cultured demonspawn is still a demonspawn, after all. Despite having failed so spectacularly whilst on assignment for the company some two centuries ago, Nestor found himself contacted once again for a contract of an especially delicate nature – surprising, considering the extent of the fallout caused years prior. To the great relief of his employers, no doubt, disaster was (in some cases rather narrowly) averted, and for the first time in two hundred years Nestor finds himself again on the Company's short list.
Still, some might consider it a question of when and not if he might lose control again.
Background:
A slow smile creased his face; boot heels crunched in the wake of each methodical step, splintered shards of colour and glass sent strewn, scattering across the floor toward an ever growing pool of blood. He was amidst it now, black leather cutting furrows through the ebbing tide of the dying -- a sword, clasped lightly in the hand, snaked behind him with angry intent.
"You say I drink blood? That I lap like a dog upon the rivulets running bright from a man's throat?" He was closer now, a few strides only, perhaps, from his fallen opponent; the latter, face pale and wan, head hanging as he sought to prop himself against the stone balustrade of the balcony, had one hand clutched to his gut -- blood seeped in a steady flow from the joints between his fingers -- the other fumbling, sticky and red, for the hilt of a fallen sword.
The approaching killer paused now, gave a vicious kick toward his enemy, sent a spattering of his own blood splash against his face, run into his eyes.
"I care not for your blood! Keep it! Keep it all!" A few more kicks, another lunging step forward. "Your body, I leave to you. Your blood, I leave to you, but your soul... the one true portion of yourself that dwells in both worlds at once. That.... that I must have" He was astride him now, bent down now; a hand of deceptively slender proportions reaches forward, clasps the neck and raises the body from the floor. There is a pause, a silence. One booted toe sending the dropped blade ringing across the slicked stone tiles, one arm showing astonishing strength as his...
He glares into me, his eyes... grey.... no blue, no black. Then. Nothingness. Blackness, and teeth in the night. Suddenly, all brightens. I see him again, but he is grinning at me now with the horrific visage of a demon, frozen on his face as it were. Cold... so cold, and a coldness wells up into my soul. The room cools, I feel... faint. The teeth approach, the maw opens. So wide! So... and then... blackness.
With a sudden show of force, the body was flung clear over the top of the rail and sent crashing down to the marble tiles below.
"I am... a little more selfish than all that, actually..." the man remarked, half apologetically, before turning and stooping to select one amongst the hundreds of shards strewn all across the floor. Head tilting back, he held the piece to the sunlight that leaked now through the shattered emptiness above where there was once a window. For a moment he might have seemed almost in a trance, though all in an instant he suddenly slipped the piece in a pocket, his cloaked he took up from the floor and his sword vanished within.
The sound of each footstep resounded with a hollow click through the vast extent of the nave; the steady progression of the rapture and apocalypse flanked me upon either side – eyes, human and inhuman alike, glaring down upon me with the same judgmental stare. I paid care to my steps, though found my stride wandering ever further to the left with each passing aisle. The warm red and glowing amber of some poorly-informed artist's conception of hell seemed rather to beckon, a far cry from the cold blues and greens and painfully brilliant whites that stalked my passage to the right. But my eyes did not waver, bent rather upon the dancing spots and splotches of coulour all in a play before my feet, the two combining into a bewildering kaleidoscope of such confusion that it would have taken a lifetime to determine where one might end and the other begin.
A lifetime. And now I have had several. But still my steps carry me onward, toward the only one being that still drew breath in that godforsaken place. Aside from him, we were alone.
“And so you blaspheme even now, and in such a place as this?” The voice came rolling through the pillared expanse in a soft baritone; as much a question as a statement. But there was no hint of anger, only the sad regret of one who has waited a great many years for only the worst of fates.
“Forgive me, father – my thoughts betray me...” the second speaker might have continued, but the older man cut him off almost at once – though again, in the same quiet voice.
“Forgive you? No, my son; forgiveness for you is a task that is best left to God, and when that day comes your years in full might finally be numbered.” His features, as he turned about to confront the slow approach, very much matched the voice: soft and round, yet old with the wisdom of years hidden deep within eyes that still saw clearly, the depth and breadth of life still vibrant in his tone.
The approaching man kept his head bowed; little might be made out of his features save for a head of dark brown – almost black – hair, pulled taut and trailing a little ways past his neck. His head was bare, and the remainder of his dress was equally as dull. Blacks and browns and greys all that might be visible; the better part of a thin scabbard protruded from beneath the low hem of his riding cloak. He wore no spurs, only a pair of polished boots rubbed to such a sheen that it might have been suspected they had never once encountered a stirrup iron.
“And even that...” the priest continued, breaking the silence – for priest he clearly was, though his dress too was quite plain; contrasting blacks and whites and nothing more – “is doubtful indeed, save what atonement you can seek of your own. Both for what was, and what is, and what is surely yet to come.” With these last words he gazed levelly into the eyes of his adversary, something akin almost to defiance flashing briefly within.
He looked at me then, and it was a gaze that pierced my very soul; I felt the urge to claw at my throat, to pull and pry away the talons that seemed to have latched to my neck, to my innards, to my legs as they dragged me down... down... down to join them in an untold depth below. I forced myself onwards. One step. Two steps.
“Fire, brimstone, sulphur and death!” The priest raised both hands now, the light in his eyes flashing to a real and true glow of their own, stabbing outward and arcing to meet the silent man's downcast gaze.
But now I finally glanced up. Met his gaze. Saw the pity entwined with anger, the rage lost somewhere in a sea of love, the overwhelming conviction... it burned... but I kept forward. Step by burning step, until it felt that the very tiles upon which I walked had become a fiery lake, the air ash and each breath a jagged pain.
“I... am.... sorry...” The words seemed to choke in my mouth of their own accord, even as I struggled to stretch forth my left hand. He did not resist. Not physically, at least. Not as any other man may have, but in the very moment that my fingers wrapped about his throat, and I felt my nails dig down into the soft flesh and the hanging jowls press and shift as I lifted....
All vanished in a swirling eddy of colour and light, the figures from the windows seeming to come into life and charge, rushing with a great shout upon us from all sides. We stood there together, a moment passed. An hour. An age. And meanwhile all below us the raging torrent of war passed by, seething masses and swarms of lives throwing themselves upon one another with reckless abandon. Even here, so far above the plain as to see the land curve and vanish into obscurity at the furthest reaches of the naked eye, I still might hear the clash and clamour of death and bloodshed below.
My hand was still tight about his neck, and my soul I felt welling up within me in a great onrushing that I knew I could never contain... yet he spoke. Spoke to me one last time, though the words now were withered, the voice fading as the life seeped from his mortal form.
“Perhaps, in the end, what you seek will be found... though you may try to devour yourself a score of times hence, still... I have done what I can, and what will be will be, though not in a way either might have foretold.”
“Goodbye, old man.”
“It is your only hope, and my last hope, and her final wish.”
“I will not fail you again...”
And then it was lost. Trailing away into a spiral, lost in some chink of my mind that I have forgotten. And I was filled, filled with the glorious and insatiable spite and hunger and overwhelming cold. Such a cold! Such a hunger! It gnawed upon my belly as though I had been picking upon naught but the shriveled bones of the dead since birth. I relished it. The strength, the hunger. I would enjoy this one... slowly... I thought, even as I began to unhinge my jaw.
Suddenly, my eyes flashed open. I gave a start and a cry, jumping up in a panic as I found myself staring into the empty whites of the dead priest's eyes. Then, in that very instant it seemed, the weight of all I had been running from for so long came crashing down upon my shoulders with the crushing finality of the insurmountable. I shuddered, coughed, sobbed... and then, finally, for the second time in just one lifetime, found myself wracked with tears.
And it's good to see so many familiar faces back again. I didn't think we'd be back in business so soon.
Name: Nestor Grimsley
Gender: Male
Age: Appears to be in his mid to late thirties, actual age is closer to four hundred and fifty years, give or take a few.
Creature Type: Demonspawn; a human with the soul of a demon.
"I can remember many things. I have done many things. And in no matter how many ways I try, I can't quite seem to successfully commit suicide"
Nestor Grimsley
What then of these demonspawn? Who and what were they? I do not believe we know ourselves, and if any did, most would doubtless keep it to themselves. Enough to say that each is consumed with the insatiable burning of a demon's soul, and yet left with the mind and body of a man; it is said we might live for an eternity, though few are those who live more than a lifetime without being wholly consumed by their own inner self and thus – in the end – devouring themselves to break free of their humanity.
Of those that survive, and somehow find balance upon the precarious brink between the two halves, it could hardly be said that they ever live a life of comfort or are given a moment's peace. The desire to feed might undo even the youngest of vampires, and how much more so a creature who finds itself twisted to the point of consuming its own soul?
Appearance: Generally prefers to dress quietly, with moderate tastes and mostly to the period. Granted, a few old habits remain: he seems quite possessive of an old gold pocketwatch that he keeps with him constantly, and his hair is left long -- though tied back tightly and kept well free of his face.
When she should choose to show herself, Nestor's demonic soul most often takes the form of a crystalline, vaguely humanoid being; it is generally unclear – perhaps to Nestor just as much as anyone else – what her motives might be, and her choices or feelings do not always reflect those of Nestor's humanity. Still, to see her as a separate entity entirely would be incorrect, as the two are are inexorably linked.
Skillset: Nestor Grimsley, as with most of the company's more 'unstable' operatives, tends to work on the basis of a subcontractor with a per-job contract arrangement, and the mutual understanding that his services – while beyond adequate and backed fully with a curriculum vitae that extends for several centuries – will be called upon only when absolutely necessary. While he remains one of the few demonspawn who has managed (apparently) to stave off the constant gnawing of his demonic soul for nearly as long as the company itself has been around, such assets are considered at best a usable tool for especially difficult (or clandestine) jobs, and at worst a recipe for a multinational shit-storm and mass grave cover-up should things go really wrong. Thus, perhaps an asset best kept off the books. Somewhere Nestor would prefer to remain.
Though he does, admittedly, wield a respectable bit of power in the case of need, Nestor prefers to present his strengths as an academic and general renaissance man of the 21st century; a glorified jack-of-all-trades, though perhaps that would be a term best used behind his back. And out of earshot. A sane, civilized and cultured demonspawn is still a demonspawn, after all. Despite having failed so spectacularly whilst on assignment for the company some two centuries ago, Nestor found himself contacted once again for a contract of an especially delicate nature – surprising, considering the extent of the fallout caused years prior. To the great relief of his employers, no doubt, disaster was (in some cases rather narrowly) averted, and for the first time in two hundred years Nestor finds himself again on the Company's short list.
Still, some might consider it a question of when and not if he might lose control again.
Background:
A slow smile creased his face; boot heels crunched in the wake of each methodical step, splintered shards of colour and glass sent strewn, scattering across the floor toward an ever growing pool of blood. He was amidst it now, black leather cutting furrows through the ebbing tide of the dying -- a sword, clasped lightly in the hand, snaked behind him with angry intent.
"You say I drink blood? That I lap like a dog upon the rivulets running bright from a man's throat?" He was closer now, a few strides only, perhaps, from his fallen opponent; the latter, face pale and wan, head hanging as he sought to prop himself against the stone balustrade of the balcony, had one hand clutched to his gut -- blood seeped in a steady flow from the joints between his fingers -- the other fumbling, sticky and red, for the hilt of a fallen sword.
The approaching killer paused now, gave a vicious kick toward his enemy, sent a spattering of his own blood splash against his face, run into his eyes.
"I care not for your blood! Keep it! Keep it all!" A few more kicks, another lunging step forward. "Your body, I leave to you. Your blood, I leave to you, but your soul... the one true portion of yourself that dwells in both worlds at once. That.... that I must have" He was astride him now, bent down now; a hand of deceptively slender proportions reaches forward, clasps the neck and raises the body from the floor. There is a pause, a silence. One booted toe sending the dropped blade ringing across the slicked stone tiles, one arm showing astonishing strength as his...
He glares into me, his eyes... grey.... no blue, no black. Then. Nothingness. Blackness, and teeth in the night. Suddenly, all brightens. I see him again, but he is grinning at me now with the horrific visage of a demon, frozen on his face as it were. Cold... so cold, and a coldness wells up into my soul. The room cools, I feel... faint. The teeth approach, the maw opens. So wide! So... and then... blackness.
With a sudden show of force, the body was flung clear over the top of the rail and sent crashing down to the marble tiles below.
"I am... a little more selfish than all that, actually..." the man remarked, half apologetically, before turning and stooping to select one amongst the hundreds of shards strewn all across the floor. Head tilting back, he held the piece to the sunlight that leaked now through the shattered emptiness above where there was once a window. For a moment he might have seemed almost in a trance, though all in an instant he suddenly slipped the piece in a pocket, his cloaked he took up from the floor and his sword vanished within.
The sound of each footstep resounded with a hollow click through the vast extent of the nave; the steady progression of the rapture and apocalypse flanked me upon either side – eyes, human and inhuman alike, glaring down upon me with the same judgmental stare. I paid care to my steps, though found my stride wandering ever further to the left with each passing aisle. The warm red and glowing amber of some poorly-informed artist's conception of hell seemed rather to beckon, a far cry from the cold blues and greens and painfully brilliant whites that stalked my passage to the right. But my eyes did not waver, bent rather upon the dancing spots and splotches of coulour all in a play before my feet, the two combining into a bewildering kaleidoscope of such confusion that it would have taken a lifetime to determine where one might end and the other begin.
A lifetime. And now I have had several. But still my steps carry me onward, toward the only one being that still drew breath in that godforsaken place. Aside from him, we were alone.
“And so you blaspheme even now, and in such a place as this?” The voice came rolling through the pillared expanse in a soft baritone; as much a question as a statement. But there was no hint of anger, only the sad regret of one who has waited a great many years for only the worst of fates.
“Forgive me, father – my thoughts betray me...” the second speaker might have continued, but the older man cut him off almost at once – though again, in the same quiet voice.
“Forgive you? No, my son; forgiveness for you is a task that is best left to God, and when that day comes your years in full might finally be numbered.” His features, as he turned about to confront the slow approach, very much matched the voice: soft and round, yet old with the wisdom of years hidden deep within eyes that still saw clearly, the depth and breadth of life still vibrant in his tone.
The approaching man kept his head bowed; little might be made out of his features save for a head of dark brown – almost black – hair, pulled taut and trailing a little ways past his neck. His head was bare, and the remainder of his dress was equally as dull. Blacks and browns and greys all that might be visible; the better part of a thin scabbard protruded from beneath the low hem of his riding cloak. He wore no spurs, only a pair of polished boots rubbed to such a sheen that it might have been suspected they had never once encountered a stirrup iron.
“And even that...” the priest continued, breaking the silence – for priest he clearly was, though his dress too was quite plain; contrasting blacks and whites and nothing more – “is doubtful indeed, save what atonement you can seek of your own. Both for what was, and what is, and what is surely yet to come.” With these last words he gazed levelly into the eyes of his adversary, something akin almost to defiance flashing briefly within.
He looked at me then, and it was a gaze that pierced my very soul; I felt the urge to claw at my throat, to pull and pry away the talons that seemed to have latched to my neck, to my innards, to my legs as they dragged me down... down... down to join them in an untold depth below. I forced myself onwards. One step. Two steps.
“Fire, brimstone, sulphur and death!” The priest raised both hands now, the light in his eyes flashing to a real and true glow of their own, stabbing outward and arcing to meet the silent man's downcast gaze.
But now I finally glanced up. Met his gaze. Saw the pity entwined with anger, the rage lost somewhere in a sea of love, the overwhelming conviction... it burned... but I kept forward. Step by burning step, until it felt that the very tiles upon which I walked had become a fiery lake, the air ash and each breath a jagged pain.
“I... am.... sorry...” The words seemed to choke in my mouth of their own accord, even as I struggled to stretch forth my left hand. He did not resist. Not physically, at least. Not as any other man may have, but in the very moment that my fingers wrapped about his throat, and I felt my nails dig down into the soft flesh and the hanging jowls press and shift as I lifted....
All vanished in a swirling eddy of colour and light, the figures from the windows seeming to come into life and charge, rushing with a great shout upon us from all sides. We stood there together, a moment passed. An hour. An age. And meanwhile all below us the raging torrent of war passed by, seething masses and swarms of lives throwing themselves upon one another with reckless abandon. Even here, so far above the plain as to see the land curve and vanish into obscurity at the furthest reaches of the naked eye, I still might hear the clash and clamour of death and bloodshed below.
My hand was still tight about his neck, and my soul I felt welling up within me in a great onrushing that I knew I could never contain... yet he spoke. Spoke to me one last time, though the words now were withered, the voice fading as the life seeped from his mortal form.
“Perhaps, in the end, what you seek will be found... though you may try to devour yourself a score of times hence, still... I have done what I can, and what will be will be, though not in a way either might have foretold.”
“Goodbye, old man.”
“It is your only hope, and my last hope, and her final wish.”
“I will not fail you again...”
And then it was lost. Trailing away into a spiral, lost in some chink of my mind that I have forgotten. And I was filled, filled with the glorious and insatiable spite and hunger and overwhelming cold. Such a cold! Such a hunger! It gnawed upon my belly as though I had been picking upon naught but the shriveled bones of the dead since birth. I relished it. The strength, the hunger. I would enjoy this one... slowly... I thought, even as I began to unhinge my jaw.
Suddenly, my eyes flashed open. I gave a start and a cry, jumping up in a panic as I found myself staring into the empty whites of the dead priest's eyes. Then, in that very instant it seemed, the weight of all I had been running from for so long came crashing down upon my shoulders with the crushing finality of the insurmountable. I shuddered, coughed, sobbed... and then, finally, for the second time in just one lifetime, found myself wracked with tears.
GM
AmongHeroes ♤ LOST ♤
Member
Seen
9 days ago
Ok, so I posted the first part of my opening for the IC. Please don't be alarmed! Much is to come to explain the setting, and where your characters can enter into the storyline. Please don't post in the IC yet! I just wanted to give you all a little tease of what is to come.
Derren Krenshaw
Member
Offline since relaunch
AmongHeroes said
Please don't be alarmed!
I'm too alarmed already to stop now, Heroes.
: ) Good to see this starting up! Standing by for the green-light.
Hellis Cᴀɴɴɪʙᴀʟɪsᴛɪᴄ Yᴇᴛ Cʟᴀssʏ
Member
Seen
3 yrs ago
Standing by as well. VERY excited.
Lillian Thorne NO LONGER A MOD, PM the others if you need help
Member
Seen
4 yrs ago
NO LONGER A MOD, PM the others if you need help
1543 posts
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4 yrs ago
in 3964 days
AmongHeroes said
Welcome back Dot and Clumsy! It's great to have you both back with us.Also, Unlit, I really liked your character concept. Bravo.
Squee! I just got back in after far too long out and about and find some returning faces! Hey all!
Unlit, that is a scrumptious CS, he'll be fun.
The Fair Lady
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9 yrs ago
Still recruiting? :)
GM
AmongHeroes ♤ LOST ♤
Member
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9 days ago
The Fair Lady said
Still recruiting? :)
We're getting close to getting full, but I think we can squeeze a few more in :).
And thanks for the kind words, I'm glad everyone is as excited as I am to get under way. I'm going to go make myself some green tea and I'll be back to work at it.
The Fair Lady
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9 yrs ago
So there is space for little old me? ;)
GM
AmongHeroes ♤ LOST ♤
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9 days ago
The Fair Lady said
So there is space for little old me? ;)
Indeed, indeed!
Could I squeeze in too please :D Really interested in the concept of this RP and the caliber of the group forming. Got an idea for a shapeshifter-type character I'm drafting a CS for.
GM
AmongHeroes ♤ LOST ♤
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9 days ago
Crabmeat said
Could I squeeze in too please :D Really interested in the concept of this RP and the caliber of the group forming. Got an idea for a shapeshifter-type character I'm drafting a CS for.
Go for it.
I added a portion to 'The World' section of the OOC. Hopefully that helps those both new and old understand some of the major players in the Veiled World, and also give a touch of needed backstory that would have been cumbersome to explain IC.
EDIT: I also just updated the 'Cast' list with some short explanations and pictures for Archibald Bain, Reginald Hoyle, our creepy secretary, Zoey, and the most loved, Cornelius , the rubber duck butler.
DotCom probably sarcastic
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4 yrs ago
AmongHeroes said No operating your personal dire wolf as an individual character.
D=
Unlit said
Dot! You may or may not recall me. You played a hot blind healer for me when I had the user name Fateless. Fun times.
Fatesy! I remember you. I'd thought we'd lost a good man. Hooray for being wrong!
In Other News:
This caste looks to be, like, intimidatingly good. So good, I had to add an 'e' onto the word 'cast' in order to look more competent.
I'm still scraping Daisy-bits together. I'm pretty seriously considering changing her appearance, because I can. But still with pink hair, obvi.
Heroes, I assume the current IC is the functioning synopsis for where we left off last time? I'm trying to figure out whether or not Artie shall be joining us right away...
GM
AmongHeroes ♤ LOST ♤
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Seen
9 days ago
This episode is taking place at least several months following the unwritten conclusion of the last RP. It'll be wonderful to have Daisy and Artie back!
The Fair Lady
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Seen
9 yrs ago
Is it okay to have a human form for an inhuman race? :D
GM
AmongHeroes ♤ LOST ♤
Member
Seen
9 days ago
The Fair Lady said
Is it okay to have a human form for an inhuman race? :D
Sure!
AmongHeroes said
Also, Unlit, I really liked your character concept. Bravo.
Lillian Thorne said
Squee! I just got back in after far too long out and about and find some returning faces! Hey all! Unlit, that is a scrumptious CS, he'll be fun.
Thank you, sir and mam.
DotCom said
D=Fatesy! I remember you. I'd thought we'd lost a good man. Hooray for being wrong!
You were/are always the life of the party, Dot. Glad to be in one with you again!
Off to read the intro IC...
DotCom probably sarcastic
Member
Seen
4 yrs ago
Oh, stop it. I'm a textbook introvert, I hate parties.
But I love sarcasm, irony, and hyperbole, so I do spend quite a bit of time on internet forums, mostly being pedantic.
But I love sarcasm, irony, and hyperbole, so I do spend quite a bit of time on internet forums, mostly being pedantic.
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