Unless of course you are pregnant with a Leprecaun's baby, in which case... well good luck with that.
I see we'll have no shortage of fan fiction
[OOC] The Sunday Group - Bumps in the Night Page 2
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POOHEAD189 The Abmin
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I see we'll have no shortage of fan fiction
BurningCold Magical Bastard
Member
Seen
2 yrs ago
I think an RP centering around a child custody battle between a decent working gal and a deadbeat leprechaun sounds like a great time.
Rapid Reader
Member
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3 yrs ago
It's all fun and games until agents of the supernatural ACS show up because you couldn't afford a pot of gold for your Leprecaun baby.
This Girlie Broken Goods Incoming.
Member
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4 yrs ago
@This Girlie Still accepting yes. Assuming we have more applicants then spots ill pick from the best concepts after a reasonable interval, several days at least.
Okay, well looks like you'll get at least 4. lol Yeah so I'll just wait to drop my app for the secondary branch of investigators then.
GM
@This Girlie its not first come first serve, so if you make a character sheet you have as good a shot as anyone!
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POOHEAD189 The Abmin
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Juggling between being an old wizard or a young guy with a temper who sees ghosts
Juggling between being an old wizard or a young guy with a temper who sees ghosts
The world needs more Gandalfs. Go for it! :)
Still thinking about mine.
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POOHEAD189 The Abmin
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Name: Edgar "Stormraven" Stormhrafn, known as the Azure, also called Alfrikr
Age: 206
Appearance: With the look of a healthy man of around 65 to 70 years, Edgar bears himself like a man of importance. People often give him a wide berth as even their inept senses can perceive a quality of power about him, and he frequently appreciates others stopping to listen to his wizened voice when he speaks. Despite that, he's not a striking man; save for his grey iron eyes and well groomed, white beard. The mystic wears a worn, long sleeved jacket; dark blue in color. He collects most of his shirts and trousers from shelters and thrift stores. Apart from his navajo belt and two rings, most of his trinkets change daily depending upon a variety of factors. He also uses a Shillelagh as a walking stick.
Concept: Elderly Wizard
Powers/skills:
- The Norse practices of magic: Galdr & Seidr
- Alchemy
- Basic military training from time served in the Schleswig Wars, and WW1.
- Practiced in melee combat, particularly blunt weapons like the Shillelagh.
Things Your Character Wants to Happen (probably wont):
- To find the secrets of immortality.
- To find a successor worthy of his patience.
- To tame a Sea Serpent
- To speak to one of the old gods.
Things You as a Writer Wants to Happen (Maybe will):
- Any of that stuff above would be sick.
- Dispelling curses/aberrations/demons.
- Beating up young people.
Writing Sample?
You have my resume.
DJAtomika Second to Most
Member
Seen
4 mos ago
Oh hey this is back up again, I'll throw my hat into the ring once more! EDIT: I found my old sheet from the previous iteration of this RP, throwing it in here!
WHAT IS YOUR NAME?
HOW OLD ARE YOU?
WHAT IS YOUR PROFESSION, SKILL OR LIFESTYLE?
HOW ARE YOU BEST RECOGNIZED IN A CROWD?
WHAT IS A STRANGER'S FIRST IMPRESSION UPON MEETING YOU? HOW DO SEE YOURSELF?
WHERE DID YOU GROW UP? WHERE DO YOU FEEL AT HOME?
WHO ARE THE MOST IMPORTANT PEOPLE IN YOUR LIFE?
WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR STRENGTHS ARE? WHAT ARE YOUR ACTUAL STRENGTHS?
WHAT ARE YOUR FEARS, FLAWS AND SECRETS?
IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY SUPERNATURAL ABILITY, WHAT WOULD IT BE?
SHOW US A SAMPLE OF YOUR WORK.
WHAT IS YOUR NAME?
"David. David Sawyer."
HOW OLD ARE YOU?
"Forty four years old, as of this year."
WHAT IS YOUR PROFESSION, SKILL OR LIFESTYLE?
"I am a photographer. A former journalist and international correspondent for a big Boston news agency. I've been around the world, covering many different stories, about war, famine, pestilence and death, and of life, love, prosperity and glory. I spent the last twenty or so years of my life writing stories to go with the pictures I've taken and the things that I've seen and experienced for myself. You spend as much time as I have behind a lens, you learn to live with a camera in every aspect of your daily life. A camera lens and my laptop were my best friends during those twenty odd years and when I retired, I left a great big gaping hole in that news agency's office. I've learned since then that there hasn't been a new photojournalist in my office since."
"I started this line of work when I was young. Cameras interested me in my teens and I always sent in my pictures to our local newspaper's photography contest that they held every few months. Only won first place once and that's when I knew I had a knack for it. For a while, I bummed around a few places, sending in my photos and building a resume that I could use, and finally my local news company took me in to see what I could do behind a keyboard. The years flew by, I left the small-town newspaper gig and went to Boston to work. By that time, I had enough under my belt to consider myself a photojournalist, but some part of me wanted more. It wanted adventure and travel and so when I got a job at a big Boston news agency, I jumped on the chance to be an international correspondent after showing off my resume. That's how I got to travel to war-torn third-world countries to document starving children, African prairies to take pictures of lions, I even managed to photograph the aftermath of that bombing at the Boston Marathon."
"But the years weren't kind. Work got to me, as did every other sordid, tragic story I was sent to cover. And after about twenty years of just enduring all of it, I knew I had to leave. Otherwise I was gonna go crazy. After I retired as a professional journalist, I took up photography again, my old hat. Nowadays I don't write stories for my pictures; I let them tell their own tales. My curiosity and drive to see and document the unknown has led me to many places in search of the unreal, the mysterious and the supernatural. I let my camera speak for me and capture the moments that words fail to describe. I've traveled the country over this last year or so, letting my curiosity guide me as I document the United States of America in pictures. It's been rather relaxing, really."
"I like to live my life from moment to moment, contrary to what most people do at my age. Always looking for that next adventure, although nowadays 'adventure' in my book means a flight across the country to take pictures of some supposedly 'haunted' house or something else. Still, at least I like to live my life slightly dangerously, less so than my job was."
"I started this line of work when I was young. Cameras interested me in my teens and I always sent in my pictures to our local newspaper's photography contest that they held every few months. Only won first place once and that's when I knew I had a knack for it. For a while, I bummed around a few places, sending in my photos and building a resume that I could use, and finally my local news company took me in to see what I could do behind a keyboard. The years flew by, I left the small-town newspaper gig and went to Boston to work. By that time, I had enough under my belt to consider myself a photojournalist, but some part of me wanted more. It wanted adventure and travel and so when I got a job at a big Boston news agency, I jumped on the chance to be an international correspondent after showing off my resume. That's how I got to travel to war-torn third-world countries to document starving children, African prairies to take pictures of lions, I even managed to photograph the aftermath of that bombing at the Boston Marathon."
"But the years weren't kind. Work got to me, as did every other sordid, tragic story I was sent to cover. And after about twenty years of just enduring all of it, I knew I had to leave. Otherwise I was gonna go crazy. After I retired as a professional journalist, I took up photography again, my old hat. Nowadays I don't write stories for my pictures; I let them tell their own tales. My curiosity and drive to see and document the unknown has led me to many places in search of the unreal, the mysterious and the supernatural. I let my camera speak for me and capture the moments that words fail to describe. I've traveled the country over this last year or so, letting my curiosity guide me as I document the United States of America in pictures. It's been rather relaxing, really."
"I like to live my life from moment to moment, contrary to what most people do at my age. Always looking for that next adventure, although nowadays 'adventure' in my book means a flight across the country to take pictures of some supposedly 'haunted' house or something else. Still, at least I like to live my life slightly dangerously, less so than my job was."
HOW ARE YOU BEST RECOGNIZED IN A CROWD?
"I always carry my camera on a strap around my neck. I've also got a brown leather satchel that has my other essentials, lenses and water and whatnot. I like to wear this black leather biker jacket too, fur-lined. Keeps me warm."
WHAT IS A STRANGER'S FIRST IMPRESSION UPON MEETING YOU? HOW DO SEE YOURSELF?
"I... I'm not sure, I've never been asked this question before. I guess I'm a sort of...calm person? I like to socialise with others, y'know, talk about stuff we like and whatnot, but I'm not much of an outgoing type. I can talk for long hours about subjects we both like, but don't expect me to start the conversation myself. If a stranger first meets me, I guess they'll see the gruff, worn exterior and think I'm some sorta guy who's seen a lot, and frankly they wouldn't be wrong. But I'm just a man that did his job until the job made me quit, so now I'm an average man, not a globe-trotting photojournalist any more."
WHERE DID YOU GROW UP? WHERE DO YOU FEEL AT HOME?
"I was born in Arlington, Massachusetts, to a pair of loving, doting parents that never thought I'd grow up to be a journalist. I moved to Boston after I scored my big news gig and that's where I've lived ever since. I feel most at home behind the lens of my camera, capturing pictures and telling stories through still images. To be able to show someone the story of a life, or the emotions in a scene through pictures...that's the greatest pleasure."
WHO ARE THE MOST IMPORTANT PEOPLE IN YOUR LIFE?
"Gee, I've never been asked that question before. Truth be told, there weren't a lot of people in my life after my folks passed on and I got into journalism as a career. I would probably say... Jeffrey Nolan, my editor. He was like a brother to me, up until I resigned. We still talk regularly and I like to send him the best snaps of my overseas trips from time to time. And there's also Ian Malcolm, my co-writer and proof-reader. We were office buddies, basically brothers at that point. I wrote the stories, he helped me make sure they weren't abject shit on paper."
WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR STRENGTHS ARE? WHAT ARE YOUR ACTUAL STRENGTHS?
"My strengths, they probably lie in observation, analysis and creativity. I know how to handle a camera, how to frame a shot. How to read people, watching for their emotional tells, knowing when is the perfect moment to push the shutter and capture a frame for eternity. I know how to write well enough to encapsulate a story, to tell the reader what is going on with a specific picture, yet leaving enough gaps for them to fill in the blanks. Alongside that, I... I haven't done anything athletic in a while, but I'm hardy enough to survive the occasional sprint or hike."
WHAT ARE YOUR FEARS, FLAWS AND SECRETS?
"I have many. Years in the life as a journalist covering the worst that humanity has to offer has left me rather emotionally traumatised. Some therapists I've seen have diagnosed it as a milder form of PTSD, and I believe them. After all the work I've done in documenting the human story, how much can one mind take? I baulk at loud noises, don't feel much pain or revulsion at viewing particularly gruesome things...saddening as it may be, I've had to fortify my mind against my own emotion at times purely so I could capture those of others. To show to the world what suffering exists."
"I keep many secrets. Stories that I cannot bear to tell because of how horrible they are. Whatever you imagine is the worst of humankind, I've seen it. Locked away behind closed doors, covered by tarpaulins and buried in the ground. And no matter how much I wish to share them with the rest of the waking world, to tell someone that these things exist and something needs to be done about them...I keep quiet. I know that, if these stories are told, the men behind them will come after me and the people I know and care about. They will stop at nothing to ensure that their private lives remain a secret."
"I keep many secrets. Stories that I cannot bear to tell because of how horrible they are. Whatever you imagine is the worst of humankind, I've seen it. Locked away behind closed doors, covered by tarpaulins and buried in the ground. And no matter how much I wish to share them with the rest of the waking world, to tell someone that these things exist and something needs to be done about them...I keep quiet. I know that, if these stories are told, the men behind them will come after me and the people I know and care about. They will stop at nothing to ensure that their private lives remain a secret."
IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY SUPERNATURAL ABILITY, WHAT WOULD IT BE?
"Out of the blue, huh? Well, maybe the ability to freeze time? To be able to catch every shot, in the millisecond that it happens, without missing a single heartbeat or movement. To be able to frame the perfect shot without having to compromise on quality or be constrained by time. But right now, I have to settle for this weird... Well, I call it my Sixth Sense. It's a weird vibe for the supernatural that I have. I guess it's part and parcel of my journey into the supernatural world. But whenever I step into a place that's supposedly haunted, this Sixth Sense of mine comes to life like a radar for ghosts. I can't detect exact locations but this Sense leads me to places that have high concentrations of...stuff. Paranormal stuff."
SHOW US A SAMPLE OF YOUR WORK.
"Well uh, I've got a small story from a town I visited a few months ago. It was a story that led me to you guys and it was in a town called Duskwick."
With a big mug of coffee by his side, David sat in a corner of the diner, idly tapping away at his Macbook as he processed a folder of photos he'd taken of the countryside surrounding the quaint little town. His camera laid next to his mug and underneath that sat a single missing persons poster. A plate stacked with pancakes and bacon sat nearly untouched on the other side of his laptop. The hubbub in the diner was rather quiet, given the time of day, and as he took a swig of his strong, black coffee, he took in the familiar small-town sights and sounds. It was comforting, very homely and warm. Felt like safety, even though he knew he was here for the complete opposite of that.
David had only just reached the town of Duskwick; he'd spent the better part of the day before driving to the town itself and he'd spent the rest of it resting in the town's only motel. Now he was here, having an early brunch while he sorted through his pictures. He'd risen a little earlier and had done a small walkabout around the park, taking photos of the early morning sun and the scenery, which was all very quaint. Except for the slightly upset man who'd ripped off half the remaining missing persons fliers off the notice board in the diner. Some sort of uppity youth wearing that dumb looking Google glass thingy on his face.
He just couldn't resist.
As one of the staff walked out from behind the counter to confront the man, David took up his camera, framed the shot from his chair, and pushed the shutter.
Zzsh-click.
As he set down his camera to review the shot, he noticed one of the lights flickering. Probably was something to do with the place's age, but then he spied the blue dragonfly perched on the rim of the lamp. He raised his camera again, zoomed in as close as he could without moving, and took another picture. David put his camera down to review the shot and grimaced. Overexposed because of the light.
Ugh.
He plugged his camera into his laptop and got to work trying to fix the problem, watching over the top of his Macbook as the drama unfolded in front of him. There was some hubbub going on about a missing child. A small, young girl, whose photo was up on the diner's noticeboard. A small town like that had such a thing in their central diner so residents could see what was going on; events, bake sales and forest treks, stuff like that. Her poster was one of the fliers that uppity young man had torn off and some of the townspeople were getting upset. Several other youths added their voices to the whole thing and frankly the entire affair was getting rather noisy. He finished up with the photo open on his desktop and closed his Macbook for the morning, sick and tired of doing hobby work while there was a sumptuous breakfast waiting for him.
Just as he grabbed his fork and knife and carved himself a chunk of pancakes slathered in maple syrup, something caught his eye. There, standing among the arguing crowd, was a little girl. The bright red rain boots she wore were too big for her feet, as was the sweater and scarf wrapped around her neck. She had a light pink glass in her hands, and he saw that it was because of the strawberry milkshake within. He set down his utensils and grabbed his camera again. With the picture framed just right, he snapped a photograph of the little girl amidst the chaos of the morning rush.
Then the manager recognised the girl. All of a sudden the hubbub of the diner turned into silence, almost as if time itself froze. David couldn't move as he watched the moment frozen in space; the older lady with a hand to her mouth mid-gasp, the young girl whose milkshake slipped from her little hands.
The glass shattered and suddenly everything sprung back into real time. The girl ran into the back of the diner, bumping into one of the tables on the way as she barreled into the ladies bathroom and locked the door behind her. There were shouts to call the police and everything happened so fast he couldn't get his camera up in time to capture anything. But he had noticed the girl drop...something out of her pocket as she bumped into one of the patron's tables. David picked up his fork and stuffed his mouth full of pancakes (delicious, fluffy and still warm) as he stood up and walked over to where she'd dropped the picture. The picture was...strange. An old, worn-looking Polaroid of the same blue dragonfly he'd taken a picture of from his seat. Same angle, same light, same...
"...dragonfly."
Things got out of hand very fast after that. Vines began growing from the closed (and locked) bathroom door that absorbed one of the diner's staff. David helped a few others break into the bathroom, only to find the girl missing and the single toilet stall a portal into a different place. A mirrored version of the same town he'd just been in. The events had been a blur and David hadn't been able to remember most of it after he'd entered the strange mirror realm, but he'd escaped. Alive and intact, with a camera full of photos of a place that wasn't supposed to exist anywhere. It wasn't long after he found his car and made his way back home that the Sunday Group contacted him.
David had only just reached the town of Duskwick; he'd spent the better part of the day before driving to the town itself and he'd spent the rest of it resting in the town's only motel. Now he was here, having an early brunch while he sorted through his pictures. He'd risen a little earlier and had done a small walkabout around the park, taking photos of the early morning sun and the scenery, which was all very quaint. Except for the slightly upset man who'd ripped off half the remaining missing persons fliers off the notice board in the diner. Some sort of uppity youth wearing that dumb looking Google glass thingy on his face.
He just couldn't resist.
As one of the staff walked out from behind the counter to confront the man, David took up his camera, framed the shot from his chair, and pushed the shutter.
Zzsh-click.
As he set down his camera to review the shot, he noticed one of the lights flickering. Probably was something to do with the place's age, but then he spied the blue dragonfly perched on the rim of the lamp. He raised his camera again, zoomed in as close as he could without moving, and took another picture. David put his camera down to review the shot and grimaced. Overexposed because of the light.
Ugh.
He plugged his camera into his laptop and got to work trying to fix the problem, watching over the top of his Macbook as the drama unfolded in front of him. There was some hubbub going on about a missing child. A small, young girl, whose photo was up on the diner's noticeboard. A small town like that had such a thing in their central diner so residents could see what was going on; events, bake sales and forest treks, stuff like that. Her poster was one of the fliers that uppity young man had torn off and some of the townspeople were getting upset. Several other youths added their voices to the whole thing and frankly the entire affair was getting rather noisy. He finished up with the photo open on his desktop and closed his Macbook for the morning, sick and tired of doing hobby work while there was a sumptuous breakfast waiting for him.
Just as he grabbed his fork and knife and carved himself a chunk of pancakes slathered in maple syrup, something caught his eye. There, standing among the arguing crowd, was a little girl. The bright red rain boots she wore were too big for her feet, as was the sweater and scarf wrapped around her neck. She had a light pink glass in her hands, and he saw that it was because of the strawberry milkshake within. He set down his utensils and grabbed his camera again. With the picture framed just right, he snapped a photograph of the little girl amidst the chaos of the morning rush.
Then the manager recognised the girl. All of a sudden the hubbub of the diner turned into silence, almost as if time itself froze. David couldn't move as he watched the moment frozen in space; the older lady with a hand to her mouth mid-gasp, the young girl whose milkshake slipped from her little hands.
The glass shattered and suddenly everything sprung back into real time. The girl ran into the back of the diner, bumping into one of the tables on the way as she barreled into the ladies bathroom and locked the door behind her. There were shouts to call the police and everything happened so fast he couldn't get his camera up in time to capture anything. But he had noticed the girl drop...something out of her pocket as she bumped into one of the patron's tables. David picked up his fork and stuffed his mouth full of pancakes (delicious, fluffy and still warm) as he stood up and walked over to where she'd dropped the picture. The picture was...strange. An old, worn-looking Polaroid of the same blue dragonfly he'd taken a picture of from his seat. Same angle, same light, same...
"...dragonfly."
Things got out of hand very fast after that. Vines began growing from the closed (and locked) bathroom door that absorbed one of the diner's staff. David helped a few others break into the bathroom, only to find the girl missing and the single toilet stall a portal into a different place. A mirrored version of the same town he'd just been in. The events had been a blur and David hadn't been able to remember most of it after he'd entered the strange mirror realm, but he'd escaped. Alive and intact, with a camera full of photos of a place that wasn't supposed to exist anywhere. It wasn't long after he found his car and made his way back home that the Sunday Group contacted him.
"...and that's kinda how you guys found me. I'd share more, but my memory of Duskwick is really hazy and I wouldn't be able to explain the context of most of the photos I shot in there. But...I'm sure you guys will figure out what happened there. Eventually."
Rapid Reader
Member
Seen
3 yrs ago
@POOHEAD189 Not to presume acceptance, but a cranky old wizard sounds like a great mentor for the DIY alchemist I wrote up.
1x Like
GM
To speak to one of the old gods.
Speak to an Elder God, got it.
Jarl Coolgruuf The Mellower
Member
Seen
1 yr ago
Hey there! Saw the interest check and if it's not too late, I'd like to make a submission.
Name: Clive T. Davidson
Age: 33
Appearance: Clive stands at just under 6'0 with a medium build and broad, angular face. A prominent brow ridge frames tired, yet piercing eyes that seem to read your thoughts when you make eye contact for too long. Other than that, he appears like any other guy and would easily melt into any crowd were it not for his eyes. There's really nothing of note about him appearance wise and that's exactly how he prefers to look. He has a tendency to wear jackets and long pants as often as is feasible if the weather permits in order to conceal equipment on his person wherever he goes.
Concept: Disgraced Texas Ranger who's currently wanted for the murder of a suspect in his custody. What none of his peers know is that what he killed was actually the thing that ate who they were looking for. Of course he couldn't tell them that, he's already a wanted murderer. Adding "believes in werewolves" to his resume would be less than ideal. Since that night, Clive has traveled the country on a one man crusade to find everything that goes bump in the night and shoot it until it stops moving. Recently, he came to the conclusion that he's reached the peak of what he can do alone and has been looking for a team he can work with.
Powers/Skills: Clive is just as human as everyone else. No special powers, no ghost eyes, no dip in the Styx for him. He just knows a lot about a lot of different beasties and he's a clever son of a gun with a big gun. His experience with investigation in a law enforcement setting transitioned very well into investigating supernatural activity (not to mention his firearms training) and he's grown to be very resourceful, using any and all means at his disposal to level the playing field against the creatures of the night. His favorite tool is his smooth bore, pump action shotgun and his handmade shotgun shells, but he also uses a variety of hobo-tier tactics and equipment. Clive is not above sticking an iron shiv into a fey folk's neck. He also plays a mean hand of poker and is worryingly good with a hatchet.
Character Wants: To expand his monster hunting knowledge and perhaps a group to help in his endeavors. Also, a bed. He's gotten more than a little tired of sleeping in his car.
Writer Wants: Looking to participate in an active roleplay with a diverse cast of characters. I also want Clive to grow as a person and make him really work at being a team player in a number of ways such as accepting that his way isn't always the best way, relying on others, etc as well as sharing everything he knows about committing war crimes against monsters.
Name: Clive T. Davidson
Age: 33
Appearance: Clive stands at just under 6'0 with a medium build and broad, angular face. A prominent brow ridge frames tired, yet piercing eyes that seem to read your thoughts when you make eye contact for too long. Other than that, he appears like any other guy and would easily melt into any crowd were it not for his eyes. There's really nothing of note about him appearance wise and that's exactly how he prefers to look. He has a tendency to wear jackets and long pants as often as is feasible if the weather permits in order to conceal equipment on his person wherever he goes.
Concept: Disgraced Texas Ranger who's currently wanted for the murder of a suspect in his custody. What none of his peers know is that what he killed was actually the thing that ate who they were looking for. Of course he couldn't tell them that, he's already a wanted murderer. Adding "believes in werewolves" to his resume would be less than ideal. Since that night, Clive has traveled the country on a one man crusade to find everything that goes bump in the night and shoot it until it stops moving. Recently, he came to the conclusion that he's reached the peak of what he can do alone and has been looking for a team he can work with.
Powers/Skills: Clive is just as human as everyone else. No special powers, no ghost eyes, no dip in the Styx for him. He just knows a lot about a lot of different beasties and he's a clever son of a gun with a big gun. His experience with investigation in a law enforcement setting transitioned very well into investigating supernatural activity (not to mention his firearms training) and he's grown to be very resourceful, using any and all means at his disposal to level the playing field against the creatures of the night. His favorite tool is his smooth bore, pump action shotgun and his handmade shotgun shells, but he also uses a variety of hobo-tier tactics and equipment. Clive is not above sticking an iron shiv into a fey folk's neck. He also plays a mean hand of poker and is worryingly good with a hatchet.
Character Wants: To expand his monster hunting knowledge and perhaps a group to help in his endeavors. Also, a bed. He's gotten more than a little tired of sleeping in his car.
Writer Wants: Looking to participate in an active roleplay with a diverse cast of characters. I also want Clive to grow as a person and make him really work at being a team player in a number of ways such as accepting that his way isn't always the best way, relying on others, etc as well as sharing everything he knows about committing war crimes against monsters.
POOHEAD189 The Abmin
Admin
Online
<Snipped quote by POOHEAD189>
Speak to an Elder God, got it.
I have an irking suspicion that Odin is going to be sporting tentacles in this roleplay.
GM
@Fetzen@This Girlie@Rapid Reader@BurningCold@DruSM157
I'm aiming to make character determinations sometime Wednesday night if you are still interested
I'm aiming to make character determinations sometime Wednesday night if you are still interested
Whoops! I'd had this thing near-finished yesterday and forgot to post it. Sorry if the writing sample appears a smidge short, I am capable of writing long-form. I just wanted to give more of a scene describing my style more than my length. So yep, with all these magic folk I decided for a science-guy, sans Bill Nye-itude, and a more unhealthy obsession with the strange, paranormal and creepy-itude.
Name:
Daniel Collins
Age:
27
Appearance:
Daniel Collins does not look like he should be investigating anything. He's thin, with a pasty complexion and a haphazard beard that in inconsistently trimmed. His light brown hair has begun to thin, apparent by his natural widow's peak. He simply "styles" his hair with a touch of gel to keep it parted upwards, without any care how it looks. His nose is pronounced and is probably one of the few memorable features he sports. He usually keeps gaudy double-bridged glasses on.
His clothes tend to be threadbare, clean but in dire need of replacement. His usual attire is simple: a worn black t-shirt, blue jeans, his lucky socks (which have a multitude of holes in them), and worn grey sneakers. When the temperature requires a jacket, he sports a faded black zip-up hoodie.
The only accessory he carries (apart from his inventions) is a worn leather messenger bag with the initials A.N.C. printed over the metal clasp.
Concept:
Inventor and obsessor of the strange and paranormal, with only a tangential connection to the other side. He supplements this by his haphazard inventions, which occasionally work in helping to monitor things beyond his mortal comprehension.
Powers/skills:
Smarts:Daniel possesses a keen intellect buttressed by almost insane creativity. He holds multiple degrees in engineering and design, though he spends all of that brainpower in creating inventions made mostly of junk. The redeeming quality of the junk is that it works, for the most part, unless something shorts, breaks or snaps in the process of investigation.
Journaler: Alongside his inventions, Daniel keeps journals of his findings and any interesting encounters he is involved with. Daniel has multiple spiral-bound notebooks and leather journals with his findings, dating back to his childhood spent with his family as they worked in the Australian brush. Any time Daniel has a chance to gain new information on anything paranormal, be they cryptics, monsters, spirits or demons, he is quick to jot down the information for later. He also has a talent for sketching and has various sketches of cryptids he claims to have seen.
Spiritually Unnattuned: Daniel's connection with the otherworld is tenuous at best. While awake, his senses to the other side are extremely dull. Where even a normal person would feel a chill or have their hair raise in the presence of something unnatural, Daniel feels nothing. The only time he is connected at all is when he is asleep, experiencing some connection to the Dreamtime, a spiritual plane believed in by Australian indigenous peoples.
Things Your Character Wants to Happen (probably won't):
To successfully investigate and explore the aspects of the paranormal world with concrete evidence, including the existence of multiple cryptids, paranormal creatures, ghosts, and extra-planar creatures. Then to become the de facto authority on the study of said creatures.
Things You as a Write Wants to Happen (Maybe will):
To see Daniel undergo trials as a character. I want to see shit blow up in his hands, force him to come to terms that he is extremely out of his element, and have him step up and still face trials beyond him. To be creative is extremely dangerous situations and allow his inventiveness not to be a deus ex machina that is common with "inventors" but instead be something that helps the entire team.
Writing Sample? -
Daniel Collins
Age:
27
Appearance:
Daniel Collins does not look like he should be investigating anything. He's thin, with a pasty complexion and a haphazard beard that in inconsistently trimmed. His light brown hair has begun to thin, apparent by his natural widow's peak. He simply "styles" his hair with a touch of gel to keep it parted upwards, without any care how it looks. His nose is pronounced and is probably one of the few memorable features he sports. He usually keeps gaudy double-bridged glasses on.
His clothes tend to be threadbare, clean but in dire need of replacement. His usual attire is simple: a worn black t-shirt, blue jeans, his lucky socks (which have a multitude of holes in them), and worn grey sneakers. When the temperature requires a jacket, he sports a faded black zip-up hoodie.
The only accessory he carries (apart from his inventions) is a worn leather messenger bag with the initials A.N.C. printed over the metal clasp.
Concept:
Inventor and obsessor of the strange and paranormal, with only a tangential connection to the other side. He supplements this by his haphazard inventions, which occasionally work in helping to monitor things beyond his mortal comprehension.
Powers/skills:
Smarts:Daniel possesses a keen intellect buttressed by almost insane creativity. He holds multiple degrees in engineering and design, though he spends all of that brainpower in creating inventions made mostly of junk. The redeeming quality of the junk is that it works, for the most part, unless something shorts, breaks or snaps in the process of investigation.
Journaler: Alongside his inventions, Daniel keeps journals of his findings and any interesting encounters he is involved with. Daniel has multiple spiral-bound notebooks and leather journals with his findings, dating back to his childhood spent with his family as they worked in the Australian brush. Any time Daniel has a chance to gain new information on anything paranormal, be they cryptics, monsters, spirits or demons, he is quick to jot down the information for later. He also has a talent for sketching and has various sketches of cryptids he claims to have seen.
Spiritually Unnattuned: Daniel's connection with the otherworld is tenuous at best. While awake, his senses to the other side are extremely dull. Where even a normal person would feel a chill or have their hair raise in the presence of something unnatural, Daniel feels nothing. The only time he is connected at all is when he is asleep, experiencing some connection to the Dreamtime, a spiritual plane believed in by Australian indigenous peoples.
Things Your Character Wants to Happen (probably won't):
To successfully investigate and explore the aspects of the paranormal world with concrete evidence, including the existence of multiple cryptids, paranormal creatures, ghosts, and extra-planar creatures. Then to become the de facto authority on the study of said creatures.
Things You as a Write Wants to Happen (Maybe will):
To see Daniel undergo trials as a character. I want to see shit blow up in his hands, force him to come to terms that he is extremely out of his element, and have him step up and still face trials beyond him. To be creative is extremely dangerous situations and allow his inventiveness not to be a deus ex machina that is common with "inventors" but instead be something that helps the entire team.
Writing Sample? -
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The world was extremely blurry as Daniel groped around for his glasses. Between the sudden wake-up call from the old 1990's clock he'd rebuilt and rewired and the fact that he'd only gone to sleep forty-five minutes ago was enough to have his internal systems screaming at him. Any normal person would be full of piss and vinegar being forced to awaken with such a start. But for Daniel, this means it was another chance to chat more observations. He found his glasses on the floor, and quickly unfolded them, placed them over his face, and then just as quickly removed them. He vigorously wiped the mucus from his eyes, replaced the glasses, and stumbled forward to an old Amiga monitor, hooked up to various open cases with countless wires flowing in and out of them.
He was the Victor Frankenstein of junk, and his monstrosities would help him change the world. He typed in a few lines of DOS, before a graphic interface popped onto the screen, showcasing various numbers. "Let's see," he muttered to himself, his eyes nearly crossing as he scanned the data. The specimen's temperature remained static throughout the tests, it had barely moved and no recordable sounds were coming from the container.
But it did move.
He ran across the concrete floor of the garage that acted as both a laboratory, a bathroom, kitchen, and bedroom and stopped at a small plastic jar. Inside was a thick, viscous liquid, with a hastily scribbled label that read: Skunk Ape Mucus. Just as the name implied, it had been pungent when he'd scrapped the small amount into the jar last week in the Florida Panhandle. He took out a thick marker and drew a solid black line around the bottom rim of the clear plastic container. If it moved now, he'd be able to record where and how far.
He turned quickly, gripping a thin spiral-bound notebook, flipping pages until he found the entry, and began writing frantically, muttering to himself as he scribbled. "Skunk-Ape mucus possibly trying to return to origin body..." Another thought entered his brain, and he quickly dashed over to a plastic table with various pieces of junk on them. He quickly found what he was looking for, and grabbed it. In his hands was a gray, blocky 1989 Nintendo Gameboy handheld gaming system-or, at least, it once was. Now it had various wires coming in and out of it, as well as a thick incandescent light bulb extending from the top of the device.
He turned the device on, and the light bulb began to grow dim. He began walking towards the mucus, and the bulb grew in power, flickering as he scanned over the container with the bulb like a wand. "Fascinating..." he mumbled to himself, turning the device off and gingerly placing it on top of another surface. "Could the mucus contain trace amounts of ectoplasm?" Was the skunk ape even a living cryptid, or was it something otherworldly?
He'd need to get his gear together and borrow some more money to fill up the van. He had a ghostly primate to hunt in the Florida panhandle.
The world was extremely blurry as Daniel groped around for his glasses. Between the sudden wake-up call from the old 1990's clock he'd rebuilt and rewired and the fact that he'd only gone to sleep forty-five minutes ago was enough to have his internal systems screaming at him. Any normal person would be full of piss and vinegar being forced to awaken with such a start. But for Daniel, this means it was another chance to chat more observations. He found his glasses on the floor, and quickly unfolded them, placed them over his face, and then just as quickly removed them. He vigorously wiped the mucus from his eyes, replaced the glasses, and stumbled forward to an old Amiga monitor, hooked up to various open cases with countless wires flowing in and out of them.
He was the Victor Frankenstein of junk, and his monstrosities would help him change the world. He typed in a few lines of DOS, before a graphic interface popped onto the screen, showcasing various numbers. "Let's see," he muttered to himself, his eyes nearly crossing as he scanned the data. The specimen's temperature remained static throughout the tests, it had barely moved and no recordable sounds were coming from the container.
But it did move.
He ran across the concrete floor of the garage that acted as both a laboratory, a bathroom, kitchen, and bedroom and stopped at a small plastic jar. Inside was a thick, viscous liquid, with a hastily scribbled label that read: Skunk Ape Mucus. Just as the name implied, it had been pungent when he'd scrapped the small amount into the jar last week in the Florida Panhandle. He took out a thick marker and drew a solid black line around the bottom rim of the clear plastic container. If it moved now, he'd be able to record where and how far.
He turned quickly, gripping a thin spiral-bound notebook, flipping pages until he found the entry, and began writing frantically, muttering to himself as he scribbled. "Skunk-Ape mucus possibly trying to return to origin body..." Another thought entered his brain, and he quickly dashed over to a plastic table with various pieces of junk on them. He quickly found what he was looking for, and grabbed it. In his hands was a gray, blocky 1989 Nintendo Gameboy handheld gaming system-or, at least, it once was. Now it had various wires coming in and out of it, as well as a thick incandescent light bulb extending from the top of the device.
He turned the device on, and the light bulb began to grow dim. He began walking towards the mucus, and the bulb grew in power, flickering as he scanned over the container with the bulb like a wand. "Fascinating..." he mumbled to himself, turning the device off and gingerly placing it on top of another surface. "Could the mucus contain trace amounts of ectoplasm?" Was the skunk ape even a living cryptid, or was it something otherworldly?
He'd need to get his gear together and borrow some more money to fill up the van. He had a ghostly primate to hunt in the Florida panhandle.
I'm still interested in this, but just surrendered my progress so far to garbage collection due to various concerns. If I don't manage to get an application ready within the next 24 hours I guess it's simply bad luck on my side.
GM
It will be Wednesday night so 48 hours at least :P@Fetzen
POOHEAD189 The Abmin
Admin
Online
@Fetzen good luck bud. No pressure if you cant think up something. :)
Rapid Reader
Member
Seen
3 yrs ago
I'm aiming to make character determinations sometime Wednesday night if you are still interested
My interest has only increased, so I am still interested.
This Girlie Broken Goods Incoming.
Member
Seen
4 yrs ago
@Penny Don't think I'm up for an Advanced RP right now but thanks for the reminder! Good luck everyone!
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