Avatar of Spoopy Scary

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Recent Statuses

1 mo ago
Current i hear dies irae bells ringing in my ossicles every time i claw from the dirt and peer wistfully through the rpg tomb doors thinking, "one last job..." another bony finger of the monkey's paw curls up
3 yrs ago
i can't believe it's already christmas today
2 likes
4 yrs ago
*skeletal hand emerges from an unmarked grave* the drive thru forgot my side order
2 likes
4 yrs ago
Imagine having an opinion on rpg dot com
4 yrs ago
Let’s play a game where you try to sext me and I call the police
1 like

Bio

Maybe the real plot was the friends we made along the way. [Last Updated: April 3, 2022]


I'm 26 years old and I have learned not to share too much of my personal life on the internet. I work as an English and writing tutor at a local college.

I love literature and poetry, and I also enjoy writing, and I like to think I'm not half bad at it. I first started writing as a hobby with online roleplay at the start of 2010, and I've slowly drifted away from it in recent years. I enjoy most genres, but if I had to pick a couple of favorites, they would be sci-fi and high fantasy—heavy emphasis on the high fantasy. Some of my favorite characters have come from Elder Scrolls roleplays, since it appeals to the D&D nerd in me.

I have a tendency to get carried away with making my character sheets. I like telling their stories in the sheet sometimes even more than the roleplay itself, which depends on the roleplay itself of course. I want my readers to know how their background influences them as a person, how their personality bleeds into their appearance, and I love watching characters overcome their personal tragedies and finding their true selves as their identities shatter and reform like kintsugi. I've always been a fan of characters overcoming their weaknesses and obstacles and I try to make that show in many of my characters. Therefore, many of the narratives I explore come from a place of vulnerability, but I try to balance the heavy themes with light whimsy.

I also try to research whatever it is I'm writing about so that I'm not just spitting into the wind - unless that's what my character is doing, in which case I try to make sure that's made clear in my writing. It’s kind of hard to define my style, as I’m influenced by all sorts of literary movements and schools of criticism; dark romanticism, modernism, post-modernism, Marxism, feminism, post-structuralism—I have a lot of isms in my pocket. Nathaniel Hawthorne is one of my favorite dark romantic authors, Dickinson is one of my favorite naturalist poets, Judith Ortiz Cofer, Langston Hughes, and Robert Frost—they’ve all in some ways informed my writing, as well as many others. I even tend to look to some of my fellow guild mates for inspiration or analyze what I like about their writing and see what I can do to improve my own through their example.




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Currently in no roleplays.

Most Recent Posts

<Snipped quote by Spoopy Scary>

Well, he still does have the crossbow. He'd go from knowing how to use it, even if mediocrely, to having no damn clue.


Good point. I have a better idea,

You'd expect an athlete to have a high proficiency in athletics, not a beggar who is fast on his feet. I'll move it down one tier. I'd then have two slots available for somewhat in addition to the crossbow: acrobatics, since he'll do a bit of climbing and jumping - and it was revealed he was destined for the college, so maybe a touch of illusion, as has been revealed,
It's still early, and I'm figuring that replacing marksman as a somewhat proficient skill with acrobatics would make more sense. Is that alright?


Wrote with my phone, so the post is not very bulky.
From chains to freedom, as quick as the splash of blood of his captor. All night he had feared the unscrupulous lord's decree, that his execution was nigh, ignoring all the others to come to grips with his fate. He would do anything to escape that fate so that he may pursue his plot, to finalize that impossibly ambitious idea. Oh, how wondrous it was to hear that vulture man's words, that they'd be spared if they would just do one little favor on behalf of a patron. The fear subsided.

Until, that is, the splash of blood.

Finch reeled - the spitting, the spurting, and the gushing! It bubbled between his lips, the sanguine ooze. It prompted a retching feeling in his gut and chest, but he contained it. Now he just had to control the dizzying head rush - keep himself conscious and about his wits.

Why? Why was there a raid? Why now? He just wanted this chapter over with, and at every turn, death seemed to be awaiting him. Is this the punishment of the gods? A test? He was about to walk down a corridor of darkness and blood, was this a warning of what it entailed? Was he ready? Worthy? Who was he to spill blood; he who would recoil at its sight?

Finch, once squeezing his eyes shut, opened them, layed them on the dying vulture man. Bore them into him. To take in every detail, analyze every bubble in its growing pool.

'Take a nice, long look, Pharasius. This is what's waiting for me. This is what I've chosen. Lay in the bed you've made. Do you think there's room for weaklings there?'

Finch shuddered as blood was shed all around him. This innocent little hamlet, being slaughtered, in the name of what? They weren't even given the opportunity to surrender or give themselves in. It was senseless. Callous. Is this what it took to be an assassin? Or was there something more, something that made these brutes to be but murderers? Finch thought that, at least, he would acknowledge the value of life, and of the lives he'd take. Or is that a foolish, naive thought?

Their new captor showed himself, a Rivenspire noble. This was his orchestra, this mayhem its chorus. As he would have it, no witnesses, not even this hamlet's count. He would also have these prisoners be his pit dogs, and break his brother from prison. Finch could do it. Easily, and he would - at least for the count, but not for this man. The others saw no other choice it seemed, neither did Finch, but Finch was looking in a different direction entirely. He waited for their new master to leave.

"If he would massacre all these innocents,"Finch began thoughtfully to argue the Breton, but did so in hesitation, for the Reachman had made a reputation for his aggression, "and the count too, just to tie loose ends... why should we think he'd treat us any differently? Because we save his brother? Because so did the count he killed. He delivered us to him."

A shrill scream made Finch's head snap away, looking to where it came. An axe had gutted a woman, and her insides were spilling over her killer's boots. Finch immediately looked away and shut his eyes.

"We'll do our part like how the count did his, a-and then this'll be us!"

The young beggar would have no part of this. Despite the man man's claims, there would be no one to trace Finch back to. He wasn't going back to Daggerfall. He'd press forward, maybe to Northpoint. Who would recognize an urchin like him? But he had to get something first: the book. It was the key. He mustn't let anyone here find out he has it, or let them know what it is.

He sprung to his feet and made a wild dash for the barracks. His stuff was buried just behind. Maybe after he can go in and take some of the off duty clothes the guards wear. After all, many of them weren't going to be needing it anymore. These rags smelled offensive, even to him.
Dervish is all funny with Cedric and then there is my post with Finch, like... wat.

"Watching these three go at it is like watching three skeevers fighting over who gets to sit on top of the tallest dreugh turd."
"I am convinced that Cedric is going to drag and rape me in the middle of the woods."
"Nevermind, that honor goes to Brynn."
"At least the Orc would kill me before he rapes me."
"I think Fiona would understand better than anyone, she was as much a victim of the Dominion as I am, but she came out of it for the better. I envy her."
"Gaela is incredible, I have nothing but respect for the world's healers. I could have taken the same path, had I not thought the Nine abandoned me."
"Cyrendil is an altmer. Maybe I could look past that to see the good he has done. Maybe. It's best he doesn't learn the path I've chosen, though."
"Berich... Pockets too swollen for his own good. Maybe he won't miss just a couple of septims."
"I like Faruq. I like listening to his stories. Being an adventure was always a thing of dreams."
"Kirrala is what I would've been. I was on the way to the college. Except I probably would have looked dorky in robes."

Okay, so a better one like I promised:

"Cedric is a large, boisterous man. A tongue as foul as the worst of them. I don't like him, and I can't trust he won't try to kill me when my back is turned. But I don't think he among this lot is who I have to look out for. I mean look at him, I wonder how he dresses himself on his own. I could take all he has and I bet he wouldn't think to look ten steps past his own feet.

Brynn worries me. I'm as well traveled as the road from here to Daggerfall, so I can't say I've seen plenty like him, but he fits the description of a blood stained bandit. I've seen how he looks at me, he sees right through me. He knows I'm hiding something. It's not the silver and gold you're looking for, mate, just keep your distance. My secret isn't something befitting of your kind's interest.

The Orc, this Maulakanth, he is a threat to
everyone. Even the hunter and the cutthroat. In fact, why am I chained up to him? He's a mean giant, I allegedly stole a book. Come on! I'm not as scared as him as... well, no, that's a lie. He's scary. But I think I can handle a dumb Orc better than the likes of Brynn. By that, I mean run for Oblivion.

Fiona... She... Inspires something in me. I envy and admire her. We have the same kind of loss, we both want revenge, and I think that she more than anyone would understand. But she's stronger than me. She came out of her tragedy as a better person for it. She's the person I want to be, but I'm not, and in that regard... she's attractive to me - beyond mere physicality; but I have somewhere else I need to be.

I see Gaela now and I second guess myself. I could have turned to the Divines for guidance, I could have sought to heal people suffering from the war. But I was so devastated and felt so abandoned by the Nine, I just... didn't. I swelled with revenge. But whenever a priestess of Mara would feed me bread and potatoes in a wee wooden bowl, it would lift my spirits and... Look, I have nothing but respect for the world's healers. Gaela is incredible.

Altmer, Altmer... If only I could get past those damn ears and his... ARGH! Okay, he might be a Vigilant of Stendarr, but that doesn't change what he is. He could be loyal Thalmor agent for all we know. Maybe, just maybe, I could look past that gold skin and see the decades of good he has done, but I'm not putting my guard down. If there was just one thing that pushes me off the edge, it's the pity! I don't need it! You drip with irony, Vigilent of
Mercy. Your pity isn't what keeps me fed at the end of the day.

Berich reminds me of Daggerfall. All of the swagger and swollen pockets, a sheen on his garments, it screams what he really is aloud. He says he's an Imperial, but he's obviously a Breton. Not in the racist sense, but... what else can he be? Rich as he is, the political intrigue, short stature, how he connives like a blasted noble? Clearly, a politician in here for corruption. I'm sure he won't be missing a few of his many, many septims...

Faruq appetizes the child in me. All the stories he tells are something out of myth. It's a small beam of light that creates a bit of fun in the day, but it doesn't change reality. The stories are just that, and all the heroes eventually die. Heroes die... Heroes always die. Being one doesn't necessarily fix anything. It just... creates more room for more trouble.

I was actually on my way to being a college scholar, like Kirrala is. Fun fact. If my education hadn't been cut short, that is. What I was interested in was Illusion - not a one of my fingers ever touched magic, though. Funny. I found interest he branch of magic with the most indirect effect on the world, but now all I can think of is killing Dominion soldiers. While feeling every... ounce... of pressure, hands
clenching... the... ugh, the resistance getting weaker and weaker. Hah... Hah... I'd look dorky in robes anyway."
I did mine on my phone so it is a little sloppy. I'll make a better one once time allows me.
"I am convinced that Cedric is going to drag and rape me in the middle of the woods."
"Nevermind, that honor goes to Brynn."
"At least the Orc would kill me before he rapes me."
"I think Fiona would understand better than anyone, she was as much a victim of the Dominion as I am, but she came out of it for the better. I envy her."
"Gaela is incredible, I have nothing but respect for the world's healers. I could have taken the same path, had I not thought the Nine abandoned me."
"Cyrendil is an altmer. Maybe I could look past that to see the good he has done. Maybe. It's best he doesn't learn the path I've chosen, though."
"Berich... Pockets too swollen for his own good. Maybe he won't miss just a couple of septims."
"I like Faruq. I like listening to his stories. Being an adventure was always a thing of dreams."
"Kirrala is what I would've been. I was on the way to the college. Except I probably would have looked dorky in robes."
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