Member
@NuttsnBolts makes sense, I'll change it right now
- Last Seen: 8 yrs ago
- Joined: 9 yrs ago
- Posts: 586 (0.18 / day)
- VMs: 0
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Username history
- Catchphrase 9 yrs ago
Status
Recent Statuses
8 yrs ago
Current
Bill Paxton is dead
8 yrs ago
I find dick jokes are often hard and long
1
like
8 yrs ago
I struggle when I roleplay between staying in character and giving in to my inner desires to just fuck with people.
1
like
8 yrs ago
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
3
likes
8 yrs ago
Holy Mother of Fucking Shit, Carrie Fisher is dead
2
likes
Bio
Just ignore me
Most Recent Posts
Name: John Dean
Nickname: The Butcher
Age: 24
Appearance: Average height, average build. Pale skin with red hair. Blue eyes and covered in scars all over. Wears steel toed boots and knee pads, white under shirt with a grey long sleeve shirt and a black jacket. Has gloves with brass knuckles built into them. Wears a leather face mask over his mouth and nose, and nearly always wears a butchers apron that's covered in gore
Personality: Agressive, cunning, friendly and polite while not in combat, ruthless and a bit reckless while in combat
Biography: Not much is know about The Butchers background, even by him. In the few weeks since the disaster happened, he took to taking drugs and liquor in vast quantities. Because of that, most of his long term memory is gone. The only thing he does know is how he got his name, and it isn't because of how he dresses. He basically worked up the name by killing lots of creatures, mutants and raiders, either for money, drugs, sex or even just because. He always tore them to pieces, and always used a meat cleaver when in close enough. However, while he does like a good fight, he always knows when to run when the odds aren't in his favour. If is told to run for it, he will, and he can run for as long as it takes. He joined on with the mercenary group soon after he earned the name "The Butcher", partly because they paid well, mainly because they seemed like fun. And while he has cut back on his drug habit a lot since joining the group, whenever he gets into a fight it gives him a feeling of euphoria that can only be matched with being high as kite. Or sex. Or both at the same time.
Unique Trait: Battle crazy, while in combat he doesn't feel pain from wounds, which can also hinder him if he has a bad wound and continuing on would make the wound worse
Equipment: Gask mask with red splattered on it. A large meat cleaver he calls "Betty" which is made from the finest steel. A .357 caliber pistol which is modified to have as little recoil as possible. Brass knuckles gloves which he uses when he needs to.
Motto: "Im gonna use your skull as a piss bucket."
Nickname: The Butcher
Age: 24
Appearance: Average height, average build. Pale skin with red hair. Blue eyes and covered in scars all over. Wears steel toed boots and knee pads, white under shirt with a grey long sleeve shirt and a black jacket. Has gloves with brass knuckles built into them. Wears a leather face mask over his mouth and nose, and nearly always wears a butchers apron that's covered in gore
Personality: Agressive, cunning, friendly and polite while not in combat, ruthless and a bit reckless while in combat
Biography: Not much is know about The Butchers background, even by him. In the few weeks since the disaster happened, he took to taking drugs and liquor in vast quantities. Because of that, most of his long term memory is gone. The only thing he does know is how he got his name, and it isn't because of how he dresses. He basically worked up the name by killing lots of creatures, mutants and raiders, either for money, drugs, sex or even just because. He always tore them to pieces, and always used a meat cleaver when in close enough. However, while he does like a good fight, he always knows when to run when the odds aren't in his favour. If is told to run for it, he will, and he can run for as long as it takes. He joined on with the mercenary group soon after he earned the name "The Butcher", partly because they paid well, mainly because they seemed like fun. And while he has cut back on his drug habit a lot since joining the group, whenever he gets into a fight it gives him a feeling of euphoria that can only be matched with being high as kite. Or sex. Or both at the same time.
Unique Trait: Battle crazy, while in combat he doesn't feel pain from wounds, which can also hinder him if he has a bad wound and continuing on would make the wound worse
Equipment: Gask mask with red splattered on it. A large meat cleaver he calls "Betty" which is made from the finest steel. A .357 caliber pistol which is modified to have as little recoil as possible. Brass knuckles gloves which he uses when he needs to.
Motto: "Im gonna use your skull as a piss bucket."
So, is my character accepted? Or did I not write it properly?
You guys still accepting?
Mind if I join on in this mercenary group?
@OtomostheCrazy someone pissed them off
Varrus was enjoying himself at the party. The fighting, the drinking, the dancing, it was all so jolly. He drained his tankard and left the table, he'd drunk more than his body could handle and so he needed to find somewhere private. As he left the hall and walked along, he heard the sounds of a fight in the distance, and it sounded savage, "Now this sounds brutal, this I wanna see." So he rushed towards the sounds of fighting, but as soon as the sounds started they were over, yet he continued onwards in the sort of direction it came from. He rounded a corner and saw blood, lots of it. On the floor, on the walls, and even on the ceiling. He saw no bodies, but he did see foot prints leading off into one area, along with some drag marks, and scorch marks of a fireball.
He had no idea what had happened here, no idea who was involved, only that whatever happened was quick and bloody work. He decided upon the only course of action that seemed sane at the time. Sound the alarm. He ran back towards the hall at a full sprint, not even caring anymore that he might piss himself, only that the others need to be warned. As he was running he shouted at the top of his lungs, "Alarm! To Arms! To Arms!" Hopefully someone would hear him and spread the word.
He had no idea what had happened here, no idea who was involved, only that whatever happened was quick and bloody work. He decided upon the only course of action that seemed sane at the time. Sound the alarm. He ran back towards the hall at a full sprint, not even caring anymore that he might piss himself, only that the others need to be warned. As he was running he shouted at the top of his lungs, "Alarm! To Arms! To Arms!" Hopefully someone would hear him and spread the word.
Varrus walked into the hall and saw the state of the party. He saw Aundair fall from his chair, saw two others getting in a fight, and a bunch of others sitting around, drinking and chatting. He even saw a recruit trying to show off in front of his friends, it seemed he was going to try and convince a barmaid into his bed. He whispered in her, had a smug smile, looked back at his friends, and was blindsided by the woman's fist.
"Well now," he spoke to himself, "this is mine kind of party." He strode over to the table that Aundair was at and snatched up a full tankard and drained it dry. "Ahh, much better, anyone got anymore?" He then pulled up a chair and poured himself another drink, "So, anyone wanna explain how the old man ended up on his arse?"
"Well now," he spoke to himself, "this is mine kind of party." He strode over to the table that Aundair was at and snatched up a full tankard and drained it dry. "Ahh, much better, anyone got anymore?" He then pulled up a chair and poured himself another drink, "So, anyone wanna explain how the old man ended up on his arse?"
@TheDarkTemplar thank you very much
@Ace of flames01 please don't, I spent the better part of my school years living with Weasley jokes. It's done, it's over played
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