AdobeFlash

Ologies: A Study of Arcane Specialists {Paranormal Investigations and more}

@AdobeFlash sarcasm? otherwise yeah it's in the news and a lot of the casual roleplay page

@jasonwolf

Not sarcasm, just hadn't notice because I just lurk on advanced. Yeah, it's pretty bad.

Ologies: A Study of Arcane Specialists {Paranormal Investigations and more}

I also just noticed the site has a we bit of a spam problem (they've even got it into the news section which im fairly certain is mods only). I suggest keeping an eye out for if we might have to update credentials.

@Polyphemus@fdeviant@Wraithblade6@shinigami94@dragonmancer@HeirloomRoses@Austronaut@Witch Cat@AdobeFlash@R31GN

@jasonwolf

Spam problem? I haven't noticed.

Broken Circle: Radio Outcast [urban fantasy][Mystery]

@Hellis

;^) did u notice the preacher icon

Ologies: A Study of Arcane Specialists {Paranormal Investigations and more}

I'm alright. Not sure what I can add to the investigation/ summoning at this point, so just waiting to see what happens.

So what's everyone listening to at the moment? I have this on, because I'm a million years old.

@Polyphemus

I've been listening to quite a bit of Sting, actually

Quite topical.

One Rainy Night in Chicago

Shit I made a shit post. R.I.P. Now Sting is trying to make friends after I make a post with little to no dialogue and poor formatting. Time to lower the expectations. Woop

I've been tired all week so all my posts have been garbage.

One Rainy Night in Chicago

Undisclosed Garage, 5:30 pm

The smell of motor grease permeated the small office. A crowded room, inside there was a man. Sitting behind a desk. Less of a desk, more of a folding table. Less of an office, more of a closet. Less of my employer, more just a man. Because I had just been fired. Terminated. Pink slipped. Bada bing. Bada boom. There were other garages, sure. But the environment here was what made it special. The run down building had been sitting here since '65. The man running it, my employer, was an Italian immigrant. Somehow had retained the accent after 50 odd years. His business had been slower lately. It was just him and I at this garage, and he couldn't afford to keep paying me. Nobody owns a muscle car anymore. We were the main purveyors of muscle car parts, until the trend fell flat. I suppose this was inevitable, but yet somehow I believed it would last. It had been 8 years since the Recession. Maybe old Pietro would hold out.

I walked home, to begin my second job. Crap apartment. No job. I guess vigilantism is all I have until my medicine career takes off. Or he gets a brand deal. "Buy a Sting figure, with real almost causing fires via 9 volt action!". The musician would sue for sure. But I had a job to do. Rummaging through my 'vigilante box', hidden behind 3 locks, I pull out the mask. It's time.

Fuller Park, 6:30

Sting wasn't all that good at parkour. He had decided to leave the generator off tonight. With those godforsaken Iconoclasts roaming about, stealth was of the utmost importance. Slinking from alleyway to alleyway, he decided to move towards the explosions rocking the neighborhood. Shithole. Whatever. Deviating from his normal route, he noticed the neighborhood. He didn't come over here all that often, but when he did it was considerably dangerous. But he had friends here. So if they died...well, he would probably off himself. Maybe an exaggeration. Maybe not. Mental unbalance was common in the business, as evidenced by the nutcase shucking molotovs at local businesses. As the explosions grew closer, he noticed something in the alleyway. Dear lord.

The trucker vigilante. What was his name? Big Rig, was it? There was his truck. Sitting there. Alliances weren't something he usually looked for, but Sting had been a mechanic. Maybe they could tag team. Fix up his truck. Who knows. Then again, Big Rig might had been doing vigilante work as a cover for drug smuggling. Distract the cops, hide the coke in the back, bada bing. Bada boom. It was for the best to investigate. Who knew. Cleaning up the city one step at a time, yes? Sting figured it was no use to hide himself, and knocked on the door. Hopefully he didn't get his head blown off by that damn shotgun.

One Rainy Night in Chicago

Really loving that this is coming together, folks. Just going to give @SomewhatAverage and @AdobeFlash a little more time to post before I make any other moves, given that it's a holiday weekend.

It'll be interesting to see who teams up and who beats the stuffing out of one another.

@Polyphemus

Sorry, I've been a bit busy

💀Grim City- Death To Reapers 💀 (Recruiting~)

Hi guys. I'm sorry about all this. A while ago I went to the doctor and got some news then I completely forgot about this. You guys deserve a proper apology though so here I am, finally. Apologies for this. YOu all were great and have fun rping!

@sakurasan

So is it still going?

Broken Circle: Radio Outcast [urban fantasy][Mystery]

I need a pic

True Name: Adam Dagon
Taken Name: The Roaming Eye
Given Name: Atlas

Age: 21 years
Personality: Enjoys gambling with both dice and the devil. Atlas enjoys taking risks with the demons he summons, after all, what's the point if not to damn yourself for all of eternity. After a rather...traumatic experience with magic when he was younger, Atlas has grown into a twisted man who is just waiting to find the demon who...well, let's save that for the backstory. Through some miracle, Atlas avoided any addictions, excluding one to red meat, but hey. Anyone could relate. Has a vehement fear of the underground due to...past experiences. When not experiencing night terrors or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, is usually amiable. Despises all forms of cat.

Nature of magic: Contracts

Magic practice: Occult Investigator

Brief bio: Atlas had a rather...difficult childhood. An orphan, he was left to a crazed lunatic of an occultist. The man had adopted about 13 orphans, no more, no less. He was following a ritual, in some Satanic Bible or whatever. He rounded all of them up, and began slaughtering them one by one. This ritual was supposed to create an area of Hell on Earth. A large rift. Sacrificing the blood of 13 innocents would awaken the Unnamed, who would tear reality. Fortunately enough for at least one party involved, Atlas was the last to go in the fire. As it turns out, years of wear and tear had smudged the ink on the grimoire, and the man only needed 12. He wasn't ready for the demon at that point in time as he had not finished mixing a potion that would satiate the beast, so things went south rather quickly.

A hole opened on the southernmost wall of the cellar. Fire and brimstone seemingly rained out. Atlas had the intelligence to run and hide, while the demon unleashed Hell into a small basement. The children, 15 in total (The man was not a very good provider) had been under the man's 'care' for quite some time, so Atlas knew where his demon related garbage was. Crucifixes, grimoires, etc. The sheer number of demon vanquishing items would be unsettling to those with the knowledge to identify them. Maybe the man planned on killing the monster, and taking it's power for himself. Those secrets were burned up 14 years ago, however. Picking up a flask, inscribed with ancient runes and symbols, seemingly radiated holy energy. It was taken almost instinctively. Atlas ventured into the hellpit. He was not a particularly bright child, but he knew he had to stop this.

He returned a damaged individual, scarred by what he had seen. The basement had been transformed into a mixture of various circles and versions of Hell, due to the ritual being incomplete. The man had been smart enough to carve sealing runes into the walls of the basement, lest a ritual go wrong. Well, one had. Atlas was running on a mixture of adrenaline and serotonin, and rushed into the basement. Protected by the flask, he ran forth, through the flames and the nightmares, not once looking back. He uncorked the container, and threw it upon the beast that lie in the center of the chaos. There was a flash of light, and then silence. The demon had been vanquished, for now, and Atlas was drawn into the occult. Atlas had been horribly scarred by running through the semi Hell. Mental scars. He withdrew into a shell for about 3 years. The man had food enough for all 15 children, and himself, and that was what Atlas sustained himself on. He read about demons, and how to protect yourself, so he knew what he had to do.

As soon as he was the age of 18, he returned to his former orphanage, found out everything he could about his past life, including name, and committed arson. The small, destitute building went up in flames almost instantly. Atlas kept his personal file, but nothing else. The employees of the orphanage had all but forgotten about him, so nobody knew his name. Well, very few did. Alright, alright, maybe 10 people. Maybe 20. Who knows. Atlas promptly set out to seek revenge for his damaged psyche via paranormal investigations. Maybe, if he began hunting demons, he would find the one that he fought all those years ago. He toured Europe and America, exorcising and the like, eventually encountering Remi. After hearing the news of her death, he knew something was up. Something wasn't right. And somebody, whether it be him or someone else, was going to find out what had gone wrong.

Broken Circle: Radio Outcast [urban fantasy][Mystery]

time to post my CS, my IC, and promptly have my character have a stroke to explain my absence