Iraltiphos watched the creature’s reaction with a grin. The longer the awkward silence dragged on, the wider his grin became. By the time the creature responded with his own bit of sarcasm, he began laughing so hard that it was at first silent. Ever since his death sentence, he had given up on caring and if he caused enough trouble to meet his end sooner, it would have been a victory for him. With his collar and restraints, the creature could have easily killed him if he wanted to, but instead he played along. Iralitphos understood now that they needed to both be alive at the end of the battles, or they would both lose. He could tell his partner wanted to get right down to business, and he didn’t know how else to react but to laugh. There truly is a way out of here, he thought. I could have been paired with any one of the dimwits here, but I got the dragon that can speak sarcasm and bullshit.
“Sorry, I uh…,” he began, his laughter subsiding. “A trick. Like, you breathe fire right? Is that what the tube is for? To prevent you from doing that?” he asked, glancing at the wall the tube was coming from. “You see, I punch things,” he said, clanging the chains restricting his hands. “So hard, in fact, that I’m not even allowed to move freely anymore.”
He cleared his throat and looked around the cell awkwardly. He felt like he was waking up from a long dream and still needed to adjust to reality. Maybe there was a catch. Maybe even after they won, they’d be killed like the rest of them. “Fighting is my life,” he said, as though responding to his own hypothetical. “Part of why I’m here is because some lunatic tried to take that away from me, but that’s neither here nor there. How does this crap work? How many do we have to fight and when do we start? How do we know they will fulfill their promise to let us go? What if you get killed in a battle that I won by myself?”
He wasn’t new to relying on others to some degree to get things done, but he knew nothing about this one. Despite the collar, he could still determine how strong he was and wasn’t disappointed, but he valued skill just as much. “My name is Iraltiphos, by the way. I know, unpronounceable. Most just call me Iral anyway.”
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Haha, whoa! You'd read all 800 pages? At that point, the GM certainly has an obligation to get you up to speed. If they, for whatever reason, tell you to just read it all, my advice would be to give them the finger and find another RP =)
“Make sure that thing is on correctly,” one of the guards said, referring to the mechanical collar that was fastened around Iraltiphos’ neck.
“Indeed. Can you imagine if I got my hands around one of your necks again?” Iraltiphos said with a sneer, which was met without any acknowledgment. Although he had only arrived about two weeks ago, it became quickly apparent that he would be trouble if appropriate measures weren’t taken. He had been sentenced to death and had an ego the size of a star, so he naturally refused to take orders and cooperate as most newcomers do, but the standard procedures to get him to comply never worked. He’d fight back when physical force was used and would win every time, and attempts to stun him with various weaponry tickled him. The only thing that ‘worked’ was to tranquilize him, in which case he’d be sent back to his cell and avoid the physical labor he had been protesting against in the first place. Any guard that got within reach of his arms would suffer a serious head injury.
The facility was plenty prepared for beings of extraordinary strength. There were plenty of ten-foot tall beasts with arms the size of pillars also on death-row. These beings were applied the collars Iralitphos now wears before they are ever detained, which would restrict their energy level and leave them on an equal playing field. However, he was no beast. He was a six-foot flat, 180 pound humanoid. Those in charge never saw it coming. Since the collars were only ever used for extraordinarily big creatures, they never fit him. He had to be tranquilized multiple times a day for a week before they built a collar specifically for him. The rest of the inmates might have considered him a hero if he weren’t an asshole to anybody he viewed as beneath him (which was everybody). It was impossible to have him in the same cell with anybody else. He’d taunt them until they got angry enough to retaliate, in which he would proceed to beat them down.
Iralitphos woke up one day after being tranquilized for possibly the hundredth time to find that a collar was finally made for him and fastened around his neck. However, the guard’s hatred for him at that point went further than wanting fairness, so his legs were bound and his hands bound behind his back. And for payback for all the trouble he caused, they proceeded to beat the ever-loving crap out of him. That was the idea at least, but with every punch thrown at him, he laughed and taunted. This was when the guards realized that his strength wasn’t the only thing out of the ordinary with him, but his skin was tougher than most humanoid creatures. It often took more than one slash from a sharp blade to make bleed and took quite a bit to bruise. Certainly punches weren’t enough. Not unless you were particularly strong.
They are called Seerlians—Iraltiphos’ species, that is. They are humanoid creatures from the planet of Vulban, with a particular fascination for the energy that is inherent in all living things, mainly because they were born with a particularly high amount of it. However, they weren’t known to be melee fighters like Iraltiphos. Most of them used their energy to communicate with other energy signatures, sometimes just to have a friendly conversation, but other times to manipulate it. In other words, most of them were adept in telekinesis. He, on the other hand, decided to reject this use of his energy and decided to merely use it to increase physical potential. A six-foot tall and 180 pound man who knew how to fight would be nothing to sneeze at by itself, but he also often used his energy to hit harder and move faster than one would expect. In reality, his strength was tripled what he appeared to be. The only ability he shared with his kind was the ability to detect nearby energy signatures, which included being able to determine how far they were from him and how much energy they possessed.
So their revenge failed and the guards decided the next best thing would be to put a muzzle on him to prevent him from speaking, since the trash he talked could fill 12 dumpsters in just an hour. However, they still needed some kind of revenge, so they unbound him only when he was ordered to do physical labor and sent him off. They expected him to refuse and were ready to beat him down, with more than just fists this time. But he did more than just refuse. He started humming beneath his muzzle—a very annoying tune that the inmates found amusing that stopped their labor to hum along. It became the ‘I aint doing any work song,’ and a lot of people were beat that day in order to maintain order. Iraltiphos laughed beneath his muzzle all the way through, even as he was beat (and badly bruised this time), and was put into solitary for the rest of his time there. Until today.
“Because the last time I had my hands around somebody’s neck, they couldn’t breathe very well,” he said, speaking without his muzzle for the first time in almost a week. He knew that the removal of the muzzle meant something important was about to happen and, although he wondered why, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to say hi. “And I never understood why because that’s how we greet people on my planet. They breathe just fine. Are you all just a bunch of weaklings?” By now the guards knew not to reply, knowing reactions only encouraged him. After they confirmed the collar was on correctly, they carried him out of solitary and began taking him to another cell. They chained him to the wall and left him with a big dragon-looking creature. Iraltiphos grinned. What’s going on, he thought.
The dragon greeted him and indicated that they were teamed up. He had heard rumors of the tournament that could be a ticket out of this place, but he didn’t know what to make of it. Considering his assurance that he’d win such an event, he found it to be too good to be true. It explained why they would remove his muzzle, though. “It would seem that way,” he replied, immediately mocking his choice of words. “But I think it’s much more likely that I’ve been awarded a pet for my good behavior. I’ve always wanted a fairy. How did they know? What tricks can you do?”
“Indeed. Can you imagine if I got my hands around one of your necks again?” Iraltiphos said with a sneer, which was met without any acknowledgment. Although he had only arrived about two weeks ago, it became quickly apparent that he would be trouble if appropriate measures weren’t taken. He had been sentenced to death and had an ego the size of a star, so he naturally refused to take orders and cooperate as most newcomers do, but the standard procedures to get him to comply never worked. He’d fight back when physical force was used and would win every time, and attempts to stun him with various weaponry tickled him. The only thing that ‘worked’ was to tranquilize him, in which case he’d be sent back to his cell and avoid the physical labor he had been protesting against in the first place. Any guard that got within reach of his arms would suffer a serious head injury.
The facility was plenty prepared for beings of extraordinary strength. There were plenty of ten-foot tall beasts with arms the size of pillars also on death-row. These beings were applied the collars Iralitphos now wears before they are ever detained, which would restrict their energy level and leave them on an equal playing field. However, he was no beast. He was a six-foot flat, 180 pound humanoid. Those in charge never saw it coming. Since the collars were only ever used for extraordinarily big creatures, they never fit him. He had to be tranquilized multiple times a day for a week before they built a collar specifically for him. The rest of the inmates might have considered him a hero if he weren’t an asshole to anybody he viewed as beneath him (which was everybody). It was impossible to have him in the same cell with anybody else. He’d taunt them until they got angry enough to retaliate, in which he would proceed to beat them down.
Iralitphos woke up one day after being tranquilized for possibly the hundredth time to find that a collar was finally made for him and fastened around his neck. However, the guard’s hatred for him at that point went further than wanting fairness, so his legs were bound and his hands bound behind his back. And for payback for all the trouble he caused, they proceeded to beat the ever-loving crap out of him. That was the idea at least, but with every punch thrown at him, he laughed and taunted. This was when the guards realized that his strength wasn’t the only thing out of the ordinary with him, but his skin was tougher than most humanoid creatures. It often took more than one slash from a sharp blade to make bleed and took quite a bit to bruise. Certainly punches weren’t enough. Not unless you were particularly strong.
They are called Seerlians—Iraltiphos’ species, that is. They are humanoid creatures from the planet of Vulban, with a particular fascination for the energy that is inherent in all living things, mainly because they were born with a particularly high amount of it. However, they weren’t known to be melee fighters like Iraltiphos. Most of them used their energy to communicate with other energy signatures, sometimes just to have a friendly conversation, but other times to manipulate it. In other words, most of them were adept in telekinesis. He, on the other hand, decided to reject this use of his energy and decided to merely use it to increase physical potential. A six-foot tall and 180 pound man who knew how to fight would be nothing to sneeze at by itself, but he also often used his energy to hit harder and move faster than one would expect. In reality, his strength was tripled what he appeared to be. The only ability he shared with his kind was the ability to detect nearby energy signatures, which included being able to determine how far they were from him and how much energy they possessed.
So their revenge failed and the guards decided the next best thing would be to put a muzzle on him to prevent him from speaking, since the trash he talked could fill 12 dumpsters in just an hour. However, they still needed some kind of revenge, so they unbound him only when he was ordered to do physical labor and sent him off. They expected him to refuse and were ready to beat him down, with more than just fists this time. But he did more than just refuse. He started humming beneath his muzzle—a very annoying tune that the inmates found amusing that stopped their labor to hum along. It became the ‘I aint doing any work song,’ and a lot of people were beat that day in order to maintain order. Iraltiphos laughed beneath his muzzle all the way through, even as he was beat (and badly bruised this time), and was put into solitary for the rest of his time there. Until today.
“Because the last time I had my hands around somebody’s neck, they couldn’t breathe very well,” he said, speaking without his muzzle for the first time in almost a week. He knew that the removal of the muzzle meant something important was about to happen and, although he wondered why, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to say hi. “And I never understood why because that’s how we greet people on my planet. They breathe just fine. Are you all just a bunch of weaklings?” By now the guards knew not to reply, knowing reactions only encouraged him. After they confirmed the collar was on correctly, they carried him out of solitary and began taking him to another cell. They chained him to the wall and left him with a big dragon-looking creature. Iraltiphos grinned. What’s going on, he thought.
The dragon greeted him and indicated that they were teamed up. He had heard rumors of the tournament that could be a ticket out of this place, but he didn’t know what to make of it. Considering his assurance that he’d win such an event, he found it to be too good to be true. It explained why they would remove his muzzle, though. “It would seem that way,” he replied, immediately mocking his choice of words. “But I think it’s much more likely that I’ve been awarded a pet for my good behavior. I’ve always wanted a fairy. How did they know? What tricks can you do?”
Whoa, that's heavy. I'm hoping for the best for you.
Okay, what's happening guys? Besides Kirra's post, there hasn't been anything since my post over 2 weeks ago. I need a response from everyone.
Hey Kiddo. I'm a little bored myself and I'd like to try a 1x1 with you.
I've been RPing for about 9 years (on and off) and the bulk of it was what would be considered "advanced" on this site. The bulk of the RPs I've participated in were also high-fantasy genre stuff, but I'm pretty open to anything. I just like writing in general. The only things I don't do are stuff in a school setting or vampire/werewolf stuff. I GM very often and I'm currently working on a new RP that is taking a while to write up, so I'd like to listen to what you have to offer for a plot and offer my contributions rather than pitch an idea at the moment, if that's okay with you.
Also, I'm a guy. I only mention that because one of the unintentional consequences of having my username named after one of my favorite songs is people thinking my name is Jennifer or something. I don't lose wars =)
Hope to hear from you soon.
I've been RPing for about 9 years (on and off) and the bulk of it was what would be considered "advanced" on this site. The bulk of the RPs I've participated in were also high-fantasy genre stuff, but I'm pretty open to anything. I just like writing in general. The only things I don't do are stuff in a school setting or vampire/werewolf stuff. I GM very often and I'm currently working on a new RP that is taking a while to write up, so I'd like to listen to what you have to offer for a plot and offer my contributions rather than pitch an idea at the moment, if that's okay with you.
Also, I'm a guy. I only mention that because one of the unintentional consequences of having my username named after one of my favorite songs is people thinking my name is Jennifer or something. I don't lose wars =)
Hope to hear from you soon.
I'm with Ryver. Can't wait to see what the Core is bout =)
Happy birthday, Kirra 
I don't actually watch Tv either, I just download or stream episodes on my laptop. Much more convenient
I don't actually watch Tv either, I just download or stream episodes on my laptop. Much more convenient
“Allow the enemy to get away?” Gilgamesh repeated the woman’s words to himself by muttering. “We had the upper hand?” He was playing a role in an attempt to make anyone watching not realize that the woman was an alien, but her responses made it seem like she truly was a soldier of Earth. She must think I don’t know she’s not from here, Gilgamesh thought with amusement, letting the insults she threw at him bounce off like twigs. His five men were still aiming at the two children, awaiting orders to fire or a moment where it would be warranted without his command. “Nimrod?” he said loud enough for his soldiers to hear and turning his head slightly so that his men knew they were being addressed. They chuckled briefly at the rare moment that their commander demonstrated some humor.
“We can’t let those poets go,” the woman said. And on and on she went, talking about how dangerous they are and a possible plan to trap them, even agreeing to talk after the two children were taken care of. Gilgamesh’s incredible hearing allowed him to listen to her voice at a capacity that none of his soldiers could, which allowed him to determine that she wasn’t acting. Despite this, even his soldiers began to display confusion, knowing that if she were trying to pretend to be a human, she wouldn’t be going out of her way to take control of the situation. So she knew about poets, Gilgamesh thought with awe. Poets exist on other planets.
He wondered what the implications of this were and didn’t know whether to be happy or angry. Happy that there would be more to kill, but angry that he may die one day having not killed nearly enough. Evidently, even on other planets poets couldn’t keep themselves out of trouble. It seemed that this woman shared a common enemy with Gilgamesh. Nevertheless, her portraying the danger of poets and the urgency in her voice to have the children killed sickened and angered him. He didn’t kill poets because he thought they were dangerous. For him, the concern of their danger belonged with the cowardly politicians and the CIA. His killing of poets was nothing short of personal and he considered such public confessions of their danger as a weakness that brought strength to poets. He would know. He himself fed upon the fear of others. It was his life now.
“You fear these children?!” Gilgamesh bellowed as he began to walk toward her at a leisurely pace. He saw his men attempt to go with him, but he signaled for them to hold their position. He never carried or used firearms. He didn’t need them. And his sword was more for show than it was for practical use. He presumed the woman wouldn’t see his approach as a threat, but it didn’t entirely matter to him in the end. Fear was something he instilled in others, not the other way around. “They’re garbage! If they’re not a threat now they never will be!” he bellowed as he paused from walking and quickly drew his sword.
He unsheathed it as though he wanted to cut the air and, although it couldn’t be seen with the naked eye, something erupted from the sword when he did. This fact was made abundantly clear because everything that stood in the invisible force’s wake were cast aside like toys and every particle of dust kicked up, demonstrating the location of the force as it quickly made its way toward the children’s current location. It was like a concentrated shockwave.
“Let the civilians worry about how dangerous they are,” he said, sheathing his blade. “The civilians who break our laws against protecting and hiding poets from those looking for them—let them worry about the danger. Then they’ll stop. Then poets will be out in the open,” he explained, making his way to the woman, beginning to see how small she was for a woman who knew how to use a gun. “Then we’ll CRUSH THEM!” he said, pausing from his advance once more and turning to look at the children, the volume of his voice rising higher than it ever had so far. It was unnatural. Windows from nearby buildings instantly shattered from the its volume and the last two words he said echoed in the streets. He turned back to the woman casually, showing no strain from his efforts and finally made it just a few feet away from her before stopping.
“It must be clear that you’re far from home, soldier,” Gilgamesh said, speaking at a volume that she alone could hear for the first time. “But your not acting like it makes me wonder. I think we share a common goal, but I need to know more about you. You should know that this is just a demonstration. The real battle will be elsewhere,” he explained, hoping that he could get some information. “What’s your name, soldier?”
“We can’t let those poets go,” the woman said. And on and on she went, talking about how dangerous they are and a possible plan to trap them, even agreeing to talk after the two children were taken care of. Gilgamesh’s incredible hearing allowed him to listen to her voice at a capacity that none of his soldiers could, which allowed him to determine that she wasn’t acting. Despite this, even his soldiers began to display confusion, knowing that if she were trying to pretend to be a human, she wouldn’t be going out of her way to take control of the situation. So she knew about poets, Gilgamesh thought with awe. Poets exist on other planets.
He wondered what the implications of this were and didn’t know whether to be happy or angry. Happy that there would be more to kill, but angry that he may die one day having not killed nearly enough. Evidently, even on other planets poets couldn’t keep themselves out of trouble. It seemed that this woman shared a common enemy with Gilgamesh. Nevertheless, her portraying the danger of poets and the urgency in her voice to have the children killed sickened and angered him. He didn’t kill poets because he thought they were dangerous. For him, the concern of their danger belonged with the cowardly politicians and the CIA. His killing of poets was nothing short of personal and he considered such public confessions of their danger as a weakness that brought strength to poets. He would know. He himself fed upon the fear of others. It was his life now.
“You fear these children?!” Gilgamesh bellowed as he began to walk toward her at a leisurely pace. He saw his men attempt to go with him, but he signaled for them to hold their position. He never carried or used firearms. He didn’t need them. And his sword was more for show than it was for practical use. He presumed the woman wouldn’t see his approach as a threat, but it didn’t entirely matter to him in the end. Fear was something he instilled in others, not the other way around. “They’re garbage! If they’re not a threat now they never will be!” he bellowed as he paused from walking and quickly drew his sword.
He unsheathed it as though he wanted to cut the air and, although it couldn’t be seen with the naked eye, something erupted from the sword when he did. This fact was made abundantly clear because everything that stood in the invisible force’s wake were cast aside like toys and every particle of dust kicked up, demonstrating the location of the force as it quickly made its way toward the children’s current location. It was like a concentrated shockwave.
“Let the civilians worry about how dangerous they are,” he said, sheathing his blade. “The civilians who break our laws against protecting and hiding poets from those looking for them—let them worry about the danger. Then they’ll stop. Then poets will be out in the open,” he explained, making his way to the woman, beginning to see how small she was for a woman who knew how to use a gun. “Then we’ll CRUSH THEM!” he said, pausing from his advance once more and turning to look at the children, the volume of his voice rising higher than it ever had so far. It was unnatural. Windows from nearby buildings instantly shattered from the its volume and the last two words he said echoed in the streets. He turned back to the woman casually, showing no strain from his efforts and finally made it just a few feet away from her before stopping.
“It must be clear that you’re far from home, soldier,” Gilgamesh said, speaking at a volume that she alone could hear for the first time. “But your not acting like it makes me wonder. I think we share a common goal, but I need to know more about you. You should know that this is just a demonstration. The real battle will be elsewhere,” he explained, hoping that he could get some information. “What’s your name, soldier?”
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