Avatar of BurningCold

Status

Recent Statuses

2 mos ago
Went from 0 RPs to 4 in the span of 3 weeks. Nice.
17 likes
3 mos ago
This just in: FINALLY fixed my bio up.
3 likes

Bio

Synopsis

I like telling engaging stories with cool people :)

Collaboration and teamwork are very important to me when telling a story- I could write any genre as long as the group dynamic is healthy.

If you're chill and understand grammar we'll probably get along!


Details

  • 22
  • Male
  • Filthy American
  • I like video games
  • Comics and novels
  • TTRPGs (mainly D&D and Fate but I'll try anything)
  • The natural world (especially the ocean)
  • Poetry
  • Aspiring author (poor)



Some Things I Wrote

Too many to share but have a sample platter of poetry









RPs I'm In



Language is the tool I use to connect myself to the world around me and to the people that I care for.
@POOHEAD189 taught me how to play D&D

Most Recent Posts





Breathtaking. Arcade had arrived in Loudon early in the morning, and spent all the time that he could walking its paths before the scheduled meeting. There was something uniquely charming about this little town caught between past and future that Paris lacked. He loved the city. He loved the people and he loved the changing times and all the new possibilities that they brought. Yet, much of his upbringing was in the fields and forests outside the city. The light filtering in through the trees, gently dappling the forest floor in a golden hue. The gently flowing streams that ran stones so smooth you'd struggle to find silks more pleasant to run your fingers across. And away from the forests, the fields of green grass and the proud, rocky hills that dotted the verdant landscape. Many of his paintings were an attempt to capture the mystique and grandeur of the natural world. By Arcade's reckoning, he failed every time. Such was the beauty of the world, and such was the inadequacy of his paintbrush to capture it.

Here, in Loudon, he felt connected to both man and nature in a profound way. So in a word: breathtaking.

Many memories within the city and without also came to mind as he walked the cobbles and climbed the hills of this charming town. Seeping like black oil into the recesses of his mind and spreading from those buried places in slow, oozing dribbles. So much shouting. So much confusion. So much pain. Try as he might, and try Arcade did, he could never fully excise those foul-minded remembrances when they reared their heads. Better to accept the washes of guilt and grief without resistance, and be glad when they passed.

As Arcade smiled with only a trace of grimness up at the sun as it rose to prominence in the sky, he reflected on the irony of finding pain and solace in the exact same things.



The meeting with the executor had gone well enough. Arcade was gracious and polite, but had to hide a trace of disappointment at the news that not only were none of the individuals gathered relatives of his, but that indeed he had no surviving relatives in Loudon. Six-thousand francs went a ways towards settling that disappointment, however. The business was thriving, but the extra currency would buy security for the grandchildren his mother was already making remarks about wanting. It wasn't… a prospect that displeased Arcade, but neither had he given the subject much thought. His own family as it currently stood had quite the broken history, and only freshly on the path to something that resembled healing. Could he bring a wife and children into his world without continuing what seemed to be a generational tradition of failure as both husband and father? He thought so, but neither was he entirely sure.

When offered the cognac, he hesitated before politely accepting, though he took only the faintest of sips from his glass. If his father were alive today, he would hide him for having even that much.

The individuals gathered were an eclectic bunch, including the rather flamboyant Monsieur Herbachet himself. The other inheritors themselves were quite striking figures in their own rights: an American that spoke with a noticeably aureate diction, and excellent command over the French language aside; an Englishman, a tinkerer apparently, with a fluency in French that Arcade would have lauded as impressive if not for the woman to speak directly before him; and an impressively dressed woman that Arcade assumed by her dress and sour attitude had possibly suffered a recent loss. M. Herbachet seemed to recognize this apparently pious woman, despite suggesting everyone gathered at present had no surviving relatives within Loudon.

The picture painted itself, really, although there was a hostility, or perhaps a coldness between the two, that puzzled Arcade.

When it came time for him to make his own introductions, he found that compared to the others assembled, he felt rather ordinary. He also felt suddenly self-conscious of the saber at his hip, and briefly wondered at the irony that he should have such a thing on his person while his brush stayed behind in Paris. Perhaps he was cutting an image of himself that wasn’t entirely truthful to his core.

Not long after, the meeting ended without issue, and Arcade departed for Old Cemetery Road and his lodgings at the Crescent Hotel.



Lying upon his bed at the close of day, he held the ruby ring gifted to him between thumb and forefinger, admiring the way its facets caught and refracted the light from the gaslamp that flickered upon his bedside table. It was a strong red, deep and full, and looked pleasing upon his finger when he briefly tried it on in the privacy of his chambers. The thought of wearing something like it in view of others embarrassed him a little. It’s not that his clothing was particularly cheap or drab, but a jeweled ring was still a level of finery he was ill-accustomed to. Perhaps his opinion on the subject would change with time, but for now, as the rumbling of the train departing the station nearby shook him from his admiration and reverie, he wrapped it up carefully in a handkerchief and placed it upon the end table.

Soon after, the light in the lamp flickered no more, and Arcade fell into sleep.

It was only a few hours past that point that an unearthly glow washed across his room, stirring him bleary eyed from sleep. As he fumbled for the lamp, the scent of putrescence filled the air, emanating from what was moments ago a sweetly smelling bouquet of flowers. Stifling a gag, his eyes watering, he began to dress himself hurriedly. Trousers. Shirt. Vest. Saber? Hm, fine. He would feel himself a poor son otherwise. Saber. Boots. Coat. Grimacing deeply, he snagged the cloth-wrapped ring off the nightstand and thrust it into a pocket before pushing out of the room. Good God, what a foul odor. Not wanting to subject the rest of the hotel to his misfortune, and unsure of where he should even dispose of the offending flowers, he elected to leave the vase behind along with the rest of his belongings for now.

He would take a short walk about town to clear his head, then return to lodge a request for a new room with the proprietor if the smell persisted on his return.

The air immediately outside his room was a significant improvement, but the crisp, cool air of the nighttime here in Loudon was even better. With a small sigh of relief, Arcade stepped out into the gloom.

The Fly of the Needle

Location: The Paradise Interaction(s): @Mcmolly



The car ride to the Paradise was in some ways more disturbing to Marty than the murder scene they had just driven away from. He didn’t have the slightest clue what to even say to this woman. Not that he often knew what to say, but there was a special kind of anxiety that came from being trapped in tight confinement with someone he barely knew. Looking around helplessly, he finally let out an awkward cough before giving up on trying to talk and spending the rest of the ride combing his fronds in the mirror within the sun visor.

“Just so you know,” He grumbled at one point. “The neighborhood we’re headed to is a real shithole. In case you’ve never been.”

One car ride from a place somehow worse than hell later, they arrived at the location.

Hopping the many inches from the car seat to the pavement below, Marty fluttered his wings to soften the blow to his ankles before slamming the door shut and surveying the area. Coming round to the driver’s side, it was apparent that property damage was becoming the running theme of the day. As his focus flicked from the eviscerated concrete to the vaguely door shaped opening ahead of them, his proboscis began to quiver with amusement as he turned to Yam and said, “Talk about a real hole in the wall, amirite? Anyways, let’s uh, figure out what the heaven happened here. Be ready for a scuffle though.” Jokes were great for team building and icebreaking. Everybody knew that.

Marty buzzed his little wings over the majority of the rubble before landing with a soft tmp at the entrance, pausing to let Yam catch up as he peered inside. The place was fucking trashed. Shit was strewn all over the place, barstools were ripped from their bolting, and not even the plastic décor was safe. Then again, decorations that tacky probably classified as attempted homicide all on their own. The gangsters inside looked just as messed up. Probably attempted a lot of homicides as well.

Each of Marty's four hands came to rest inside the pockets of his jacket and jeans as he strode into the place, his head faced forward but every sensory fiber on his body working in tandem with his compound eyes to preempt any kind of ambush, general funny business, or even worse, the return of whatever fucked this place up so bad in the first place. Last thing that he needed was to embarrass himself in front of Yam by getting his ass beat.

A man in purple barked what definitely wasn’t a warm greeting at the pair as all eyes that still functioned came to rest on him and Yam.

Marty felt relieved. Uncooperative lowlifes were so much easier to deal with than coworkers.

“C’mon pal,” Marty buzzed. “You’ve still got one working eye. Let’s uh, keep it that way.”

He withdrew his hands from his pockets as in near unison, the sound of four clicks heralded the sharpened points of four separate switchblades. He mustered up his most threatening sounding voice, which for the sake of both the gangsters as well as his cleaning bill, he hoped was threatening enough.

“We’re just here to ask some questions, mainly about who just trashed this place, but anything you have to offer so that you don’t get turned into sashimi down the line like your pals would be great.” He glanced at Yam briefly. “I’m uh- I’m actually the good cop here aren’t I?” In an instant, the blades clicked shut.

Fellas! Let’s have a conversation!”

That's a good point @enmuni. I've got sort of mixed sources suggesting about 10-30% of the French populace was considered fluent in English during the year 1900.

@Olive Fontaine First off, thanks for accepting me, I'm super excited for this. Secondly, as a business owner/manager how realistic would it be for Arcade to have passable English skills? (I have no idea how much relevance this holds, to be fair.) I doubt he has strong fluency or the ability to write it very competently, but do you reckon he'd be passable in conversation?


Here he is! I haven't changed any stats from my reading yet
@Olive Fontaine I'm still working on mine, it should be done tonight or tomorrow depending on how long commitments go for today
@Lemons Obviously I don't have an answer but I bet you could change it to either something like heat or a hyper specific manifestation of fire pretty easily!

Location: Imperial City Prisons



Veeza recalled long hours in the bloodworks as a child, listening to wounded soldiers entertain him with tales of steel and blood as he tended their wounds. Glorious combats of the arena, the derring-do of treasure hunters and adventurers, all of it paled in comparison to those most legendary of warriors: the Blades. Now they were here before his very eyes, escorting none other than the Emperor himself as some kind of conspiracy moved against him. Veeza was not old, though he was getting older, and he still found himself momentarily enraptured at the thrill of it all.

Starstruck.

Collapsing into his cot at the end of another brutal day of his uncle’s training, thoughts of fighting alongside the Arms of the Throne would fill his head as he drifted into the realm of dreams.

Now they were here. More importantly, Veeza reckoned as his thoughts sobered, they were providing a way out. Whatever chaos was going on in the city above, he wanted no part of it. He had a home waiting for him in Kvatch. Following down the tunnel was an easy choice.

In response to the warnings and commands given by the Blades, a low spoken, “Understood.” was all that was required. They were not here to converse with him, ominous statements supplied by the Emperor notwithstanding.

He dreamed of one of the boozers, brawlers and beggars in this cell? Was it addled ramblings onset by stress and age, or a sign of genuine providence? Veeza supposed anything was possible.

The thought of having a destiny entangled with that of Uriel Septim made his tail twitch. Amidst the chaos of the moment, he was unable to place if the nerves he felt were brought by excitement or apprehension.

In short order, the prisoners in the cell were making their choice: up or down.

He was close to the rear of the pack as they made their way down into the bowels of forgotten passages, the putrid stench of booze and sweat giving way to dust, and damp, and the taste of something bitter in the stale air. By Veeza’s reckoning, it was an improvement. Spaces that had been quiet for decades, if not centuries, were filled with the sounds of labored breathing and boots scraping on stone as they made their way into the gloom; on the other side of that? Talos, Azura, or anyone else that was feeling helpful willing: freedom.

Veeza reckoned that even Oblivion itself wouldn’t be able to get in his way.

I'm still interested for sure. It's been a while since I dropped a post so I should probably start working on one.

@Ryik This is the kind of thing I like collabs for, if I'm unsure how to add meat to a post. Makes having a conversation with another character a lot smoother and lets both writers flesh out character details.
Looking forward to my tarot reading! I know I DM'd you my concept, @Olive Fontaine, but should I fill out as much of the sheet as possible pre-reading or wait for the cards?
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