STATUS:
PMing everyone on this website individually and asking “do you think my statuses are funny?” with an attached stock photo of a man (super buff) crying.
2 yrs ago
Current
PMing everyone on this website individually and asking “do you think my statuses are funny?” with an attached stock photo of a man (super buff) crying.
9
likes
3 yrs ago
The people who wrote the instructions for my sister's new printer failed to consider that I might be tripping balls while trying to help her set it up.
2
likes
3 yrs ago
I'm in the lab, cooking up a status that will make every mad at me, together. I can heal this website by being as wrong and annyoing as possible.
6
likes
3 yrs ago
Met a guy yesterday who looked and sounded exactly like Hank Hill. Made my week. Logged in today and realized yesterday was this accounts sixth birthday. The universe gave me a gift for the occasion.
4
likes
3 yrs ago
Finally getting to that age where I realize that I'm becoming my dad. Called some guy at work "old boy" because I couldn't remember his name. If I order any ww2 books just put me down like a dog, man.
In a world covered by dangerous wilds and unforgiving tribal warfare, there is only one sanctuary. The sprawling city of Allisaria, an industrial state existing in the western mountains of the world, reminiscent of Victorian London or Steampunk cities of fiction.
Allisaria is ruled by King Allard Alliser II and his family. They are descendant from the first King of Allisaria, Declan Alliser I. While the Allisarian kings were, for the most part benevolent, there was no love between Allard and his people. He's raised the taxes and gave the city watch unprecedented power. He ruled the city with an iron fist, and the people responded in kind.
After a reign of only four years, Allard, his wife, and two of his children were captured and executed by the Revolutionary Forces. One of his children survived, spirited away by some of the few Loyalists in the city. It wasn't long before the Rebels caught them. While Allard's child managed to escape, the Loyalists weren't so lucky.
The last of the Allisers found themself in a tavern, using the last of their coin to hire a guard to escort them out of Allisaria.
An overpopulated, industrialized city modeled after Victorian London. Pipes carrying steam, the lifeblood of Allisaria, line the walls of most every building. The city is shaped like a large circle, with the Alliser Palace in the center. The nobles live around the palace in a thin ring called Declan's Strip. Then, there's another ring of upper-class housing and businesses. The fourth ring, the largest is full of factories, mines, and boardinghouses for workers. The fifth and last ring is made up of sooty wooden shacks housing the unemployed. The "borders" of the city are nothing more than large expanses of farmland.
Technology is mostly like that of Victorian England. The only thing that sets it apart is the wide use of steam power.
Factories are mass-producing for the first time in history, made possible by steam machinery.
So-called "Horseless Carriages" are cruising the cobblestoned streets propelled by steam.
Flintlock is still the primary form of firearms, however, new repeating "Clockwork Weaponry" is the absolute top of the line. Swords and knives are still the most commonplace weaponry.
(Fill this out if your character is Allard's last child)
Name: (The last name will have to be Alliser. You can throw a "III" or a "VI" or something onto the end if you so desire.)
Age: (I say 'child', but the character can be as old or as young as you wish)
Gender: (Exactly what it says on the tin)
Appearance: (Picture or detailed description. If you use a picture, be sure to include a very brief description of the things your picture can't show. Height, weight, scars, ink, that sort of thing.)
Personality: (What are they like?)
Bio: (What was their childhood like? Did they get along with the other Alliser children? How did they like the royal life? What did the people think of them? Did they disagree with their father's choices? Things of that nature)
Skills: (An heir(ess) learns all sorts of things. Question is, how many of those things will be useful? Did they train with the captain of the guard? Were they fond of hunting or horseback riding? Did they tinker with steam machinery? Were they a great cook? How intelligent are they? Things of that nature)
Anything else?: (Any other interesting info? Habits, fears, quirks, facts and the like, as well and anything else that doesn't fit into the above sections.)
Name: (Can be anything you so desire)
Age: (Go wild. Teenage? Elderly? Young Adult? Middle-aged? Up to you!)
Gender: (Exactly what it sounds like)
Appearance: (Same as with the Royal. I'm feeling lazy, begging your pardon)
Personality: (Allisaria is home to all types. What are they like?)
Bio: (How did they end up as a hired guard? Were they actually just some random worker looking for coin? Were they a skilled loyalist noble, acting the patriot? So many possibilities!)
Alignment: (Loyalist, Rebel, or "Somewhere in the Between*" Why are they helping our dear Royal?)
Anything Else?: (As with the Royal, this is just a catch-all section.)
*Was a life of which we all dream.
That should be it, contact me with any questions or concerns.
@Blue Demon My character, should he end up accepted, is Declan “Deck” Farraden. Deck is a twenty-something combat medic ranking as a Corporal.
Declan had long since gotten used to the feel of blood. His profession kind of demanded it, he often had his hands pressed to wounds, attempting to stem the flow. What he hadn’t gotten used to was the smell.
It was sickly, which he supposed was only fitting. He had taken to wearing a half-mask, just enough to cover the lower half of his face. It blocked out some of the smell, but not enough. There was many situations in which he would have like nothing more than to flee in terror. Now was one of those times.
There were screams, coming from all around. He had been in a squad of five, though they were now down to three. There was Private Card, the soldier whose boyish, aryan face was, at present, marred by an ugly gash on his forehead as he fired blindly into the woods. The other, Corporal Wooding, though Declan had always called her by her first name, Allison, was dying on the dirt floor of the dilapidated cottage the three soldiers were occupying.
“Hey, Ally, come on.” Declan was trying hard to keep the fear out of his voice as he pressed both hands to the gunshot wound in her abdomen. “You gotta stay awake.”
She coughed. It sounded like there was some blood in that cough, but in the darkness of the cottage, Declan couldn’t tell. His only light source was a flashlight he held between his cheek and his shoulder, dimly casting blue light on the wound. She mumbled. Declan only caught the word “tired” and “hurt.” A bullet from one of the insurrectionists rifles flew past Card and landed in the dirt next to Declan.
“Keep ‘em off me, Card!” He cried desperately.
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Do it better!” He turned his attention back on Allison. The commotion seemed to have roused her a bit. Her face was pale and her eyes had a feverish sheen.
“D-deck.” She said weekly. Declan dug furiously through the hard case attached to his pants, searching for a coagulant.
“Tha-.” His voice broke. “That’s me.”
She laughed, but it quickly turned into a coughing fit. “I’m scared.”
His heart broke. Six years he had served with Allison Wooding. They had trained together, and been on more missions than he cared to remember. This outing to some backwater moon was hardly the most dangerous thing they’d attempted. Not once had she ever been scared.
“Hey now,” He tried to keep the tears out of my voice. “I’m scared too, okay? No pint in both of us being scared, just leave the worrying to me.” He found the coagulant, spraying it onto the wound. The bleeding slowed. Too little, too late. The realization came suddenly.
He couldn’t save Allison Card.
No truth had ever been so harsh. His ears were ringing. The insurrectionists outside were whooping and hollering, and Card’s gunshots echoed loudly throughout the stone shack. Everything sounded muted except his own ragged breaths. His stomach churned. The smell of gunpowder blended with the stench of blood and the decay from their body of their squad leader, lying in the corner.
She gripped his hand, he half-noticed he couldn’t feel her skin through the blood.
“Deck, I-” She coughed again, a thick burst of blood coming from her mouth. “I don’t want to die.”
Declan let out the sob he had been choking back. It was Drowned out by an explosion. One of the insurrectionists had loosed a rocket and blew apart the wall of the cottage. A large piece of stone had brained Card, he lay spasming. His ears rang at a deafening volume. He screamed, but he couldn’t hear it. He laid on the ground. He had been blown a few feet away from Allison, who was now buried by rubble. He could only see her hand, which twitched once before falling into stillness. He saw the insurrectionists march into the remnants of the cottage. There were twelve of them. They were garbed in farmer’s clothes, and were holding civilian weapons.
They scattered about, one of them shooting Card in the head, he must’ve still been breathing. That same rebel stood over him, and level a revolver at his head. His breath caught. Declan closed his eyes. The bullet never came. When he forced his eyes open, it was not a rebel who stood over him, but a federation soldier. His hearing was beginning to return, and he heard the soldier shout to unseen comrades. The rebels were all dead, slumped over the rubble. It seemed as though the Federation reinforcements had ambushed them just as they had ambushed Declan's squad.
“This one’s still alive!” As they picked him up and put him on a stretcher, Declan was only mildly surprised by the fact that his left arm was no longer attached to his torso. There was another, more pressing realization.
I'm gonna cry in the corner now that my guy is being compared to a simple lasagna-face with brother issues...
He's got momma issues. It's a whole different world.
I'm honored that my writing is comparable to that of a morbidly obese geezer that makes a hit by making fantasy a rehashed history book. Also joking around on this.
I mean, "...dog of the Royal Family."
But for reals, I dig Ebenezer. What would an RP be with the resident badass?
Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit. Gareth thought as he sprinted through the streets to the assigned place. Why in the hell did I not set an alarm?
He supposed it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t have heard the alarm anyways, he had a tendency to become so enraptured by whatever he was doing that he blind to his surroundings.
And time, apparently.
He gave me superpowers and I can’t be bothered to show up on on time?
Apparently not. He sprinted through the back roads and alleys, trying to use the shortest route to the Doctor’s. He found himself moving by instinct, as though he had trampled this route a thousand times. He was still new to the town, new to Straider. He had perused a map of the town, and he was shocked to realize he must have subconsciously memorized the map. He had certainly never been the type to memorize something on his first time looking at it. He wondered if this was because of Rohrbach’s pill.
Eventually, he broke onto a main street to find a student he recognized as one of Rohrbach’s other chosen students.
He saw him conjure up a skateboard and felt a pang of jealousy.
Why does he get the cool ability?
Then he remembered. He saw him do it, he could use his cool ability too, if only for a time. He ran back over what he had seen in his head, the way the boy had done it. He felt his mind analyse the memory at a blinding pace and, before he knew it, he could conjure.
He rode his artificial board about twenty feet behind the boy, whose name he remembered to be Ambrose. His board broke apart before Ambrose’s did, but he was expecting that, with his ability being a facade of the real thing. He leapt off the board and sprinted the few remaining yards. He stepped into the building and was greeted by a god-awful smell. He began to feel dizzy, and dodged outside and buckled to his knees. Then, he retched. He had never before regretted eating something as much as he did then.
”I’m fine.” He called weakly to those inside the building.
I like the sound of The Royal Guard. Specifically, I'd like to play the fleeing princess. Let me know if you're interested!
OH JOY! Terribly sorry for the late reply, I've been terribly busy. I'll set up a thread. I'm glad you chose The Royal Guard, Verdaux did as well, but he's playing the guard. This gives me a chance to play both roles.
What writing style do you prefer, Nev? I am interested, but I only do advanced-casual and up, and strange character development along with realism is a must for me.
Well, I'm honestly game for whatever. I've done some free, I was in one advanced, but I've mostly done Mid-casual. While realism isn't a must for me, I do think that characters and, by extension, character development, are the most important part of any RP or Story.
Appearance: A robust man standing at 6'4, Ebenezer was regarded as taller, but not nearly the size of a giant. Still, his broad shoulders made him seem as though he were a bear, and the fact that his face always seemed to be locked in a stern expression made him difficult to approach. The passage of cruel time has only made this harder; scars from harrowing brushes with death have left their marks in the form of scars on his brow and across his left eye (though undamaged). His limbs and torso brand bullet wounds, stitchings, and nicks from a life steeped in war so that all tell the same story : he survived, someone else didn't. His hair, unlike many others, is a vibrant carrot hue with bright cerulean eyes to boot, all embedded into a relatively pale canvas of skin. He cuts his hair short so only a few bangs jut out over his forehead; it's tough to grab, and it's aerodynamic. It would be easy to tell him out of a crowd in spite of the length, which is why he has a preference for covering his head whenever possible. That, or getting to places where people couldn't see him at all.
Personality: Severe, strict, wrathful. Ebenezer is a warrior through and through, where every step had to be taken with the mindset of chasing something or being chased by something. Years of hunting and fleeing would do that. Supposing that one could be considered an ally or subordinate, Ebenezer would come off as something of an authoritarian figure. His orders demanded 110% of any normal human capacity, and if they were not met, tirades and thrashings would be in order. But as a companion, a friend of sorts, Ebenezer would become a man complacent with anything one so wished, besides doing something absurdly reckless or stupid.
Bio: Ebenezer, as far as his memories could tell him, was born in the fourth ring. He, like many children at the time, worked in a factory. His particular trade was in the production of cogs and gears of all variable sizes. And, as was the norm for overseers, his overseer had a streak of sadism. Belt lashings to cold hands stiff from working late into the night, lickings and kickings to rouse the body for another day of work. On occasion, as a panacea for cases of extreme curiosity or stupidity, the children would all have a field day to the third ring to observe as to how the pieces were used. The children, more or less, were indoctrinated to believe that the production of such things were above the "petty pursuits of liberty and of happiness." All they needed to live for was to make more gears and cogs; the money, which came at a premium of four pence a month (or its equivalent; still, it's quite generous for the two-hundred-some children), would go to their families, wherever they were. Ebenezer was one of the few to keep money for himself. Miserable, yes, but without parents to cry to and only slightly older children already resigned to their fates as neighbors and cot-mates, there didn't seem to be any alternative to the usual life. The thought of anything else seemed absurd; the children had their part, and the big adults baking bread and artisan watchmakers all had theirs. So Ebenezer spent his money on the small things : food, little baubles, on occasion the desperate worker that needed the money to buy medicine, and so on and so forth. So what child of such simplicity would be so willing to throw someone over the railings of a bridge, into a clock tower's myriad of gears? Over his monthly pay, he stated. The young police officer was known for his frailty, and with it, his boyish cruelty. It wasn't of anger or discipline, nor of reasonable greed; the recruit was envious of everything, and so it stood to reason that he should treat even the littlest ones with contempt, unless they treated him with respect. And money. Ebenezer wasn't one known for his violence, for he was one to tolerate violence very well. But where the recruit was bountiful in his stores of envy, so Ebenezer was in wrath. When asked why he had killed the recruit, he stated that he had upheld the law where the recruit would not : he had punished the deed, where the recruit had committed it. When asked if he would do it again, Ebenezer stated he would do it for a thousand times over, if necessary. In this manner, such was the way how the first of the Spitz Brigade came to being. Young children would be scooped up from the fourth and fifth rings by plainclothes recruiters to be trained in a private expanse around the border. A bootcamp and school, if you would will, to transform them into little fighting "dogs". Ebenezer, in his small class of 19 members, became Captain for his inclination to manage everyone else's health, well-being, and disposition to one another in the first few months that the Spitz Brigade actually functioned. Granted, he wasn't familiar with the usage of a belt from the inflicting end, so his second-in-command Alan would do the deed. Alan was everything opposite to Ebenezer but in the extent of which punishment should be carried. Where Ebenezer was taught terror was utilized to maintain law and order, Alan saw terror as a more basic, hands-on tool : he could corral dissidents and criminals into an ambush set up by his lackeys. Ebenezer learned how to pull toenails and cover faces with wet cloth to keep the terror very real in an offender's mind. By the time Ebenezer and Alan were 18, they were "graduated" from the Spitz Brigade. Of the 19 children that came in, only 12 graduated alive. The dozen remainder became Regis Lupi when Allard's firstborn came into the world, as the King needed a personal hand that would last long enough until the next princes and princesses could care for themselves. Over the first few years, Alan began to think for himself, and Ebenezer thought for the society. When the pay started to come in excess, Alan and his friends purchased clothes, food...and on occasion, the service of women. Ebenezer and those more loyal to him spent their money improving the headquarters and hiring secretarial staff. And yet, the two shared these with each other. They were a singular family unit. At least, until 20 year-old Ebenezer was personally selected by Allard to prowl the fourth and fifth rings. Ebenezer deferred the task to Alan, but Allard insisted on Ebenezer's loyalty, and so Alan was left to take care of the pack. In those fourteen years, Ebenezer had taken his lodgings at the old gear factory he used to work at, though it was now repurposed into a housing complex for the children he grew up with so many years ago. The overseer passed and gave the property to one of the eldest workers, a woman fourteen years advanced on Ebenezer's years. The two, upon reconnecting, eventually had some relations, but by happenstance of the noxious conditions of the fourth ring, she could not bear children. She, at least, offered him an opportunity to work in the "worker's syndicate". And so he became at first a courier, then a smuggler, once he gained their trust. For his preference to rooftops and his prowess in combat (often leaving a bloody trail of officers and rivaling syndicate members), he became known as "Red-Tail," after the hawks that flew over the walls. Using his existing identity, he even smuggled things into the third and second rings, and garnered both respect and suspicion from his syndicate's leaders. They ordered the burning of the old factory, but ended up killing his old friends and the landlady instead. Ebenezer assassinated all the heads (tortured them for information prior, of course), and took power of the syndicate. But besides his incredible capability to smuggle and his skill at combat, all his social ties were to the old factory. No one could advocate well for him, and so he could not communicate with other syndicates. His mission turned into an abject failure. At least, he reported the flow of illegal arms to the King, but by then, most had disappeared somewhere. In haste, Ebenezer contacted the Regis Lupi to evacuate the Royal Family, in anticipation of some drastic event. But the letter came too late. Alan and the rest were killed to cover the heir/ess's escape, and the last Alliser child had came into Ebenezer's almost a moment too late. Ebenezer, by then, had lost everything as "Red Tail," the life he spent almost half his years to build. And his years as the Alpha of the Regis Lupi were all wiped away in the storm of the Revolution. He had lost everything, and was considering on drinking himself to death that night, damn the consequences. But if it could be done to spite the very people that had withheld their faith from him, in spite of everything he did on both sides, he had an opportunity to welcome an age of terror far worse than what petty things even Allard could come up with. And yet, death of alcohol could be very enticing at any given moment...
Alignment: Loyalist, but only in name. It just so happens that the Alliser heir/ess has wealth and is worth a pretty penny, on the chance that he could find the right people, and he already had good standing with the Royal Family in the first place. Who better to trust than the dog of the Royal Family?
Note(s): - Ebenezer has a ring usually made for the Allisers, as a gift and proof of his allegiance to the late King. Functions as a double-edged sword, now that the Kingdom's throne has been vacated. - Around the time Ebenezer received the heir/ess, he was wearing "Red Tail"'s gear. It'll function as a disguise, but not for long. Consists of fur boots to muffle the footsteps and tight-fitting cloth under some leather to reduce noise. - He dislikes the taste of alcohol, but tends to drink copious amounts of it if the opportunity is present. - He likes unleavened bread and lean meat over pastries and fatty meats. Vegetables are eaten only out of necessity. - The cello is his preferred instrument to listen to, though he plays no instrument. - Tends to ball up his right hand until his knuckles pop. Usually when bored; less when agitated. - When agitated, he rests his elbows on his knees, with his lips resting on his thumbs. His listening becomes more sensitive and his peripherals become his primary focus. - He is unfamiliar with clockwork or steam weapons; his focus in combat are ambushes and close quarters, and sometimes on flintlock firearms.
Wow, stellar sheet. I like that Sandor Clegane thing he's got going on. 10/10, I'll have mine up tonight or tomorrow.
shylarah
Zoie Hart
