Member
Terin said
OH MY GOD. Yes. You know, I was thinking about that, but then I wasn't sure. That's great. He's a chef now. Gonna put that there now.
Or maybe you could serve as Mildred's personal fireplace.
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- tchtkrmkc 10 yrs ago
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8 yrs ago
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Or maybe you could serve as Mildred's personal fireplace.
Adjectives said
@ tcht - Fantastisch! Great character, the whole ghost thing is an interesting twist. Can't wait to see him in action. (I am also mildly pleased Mildred is in your bio)fuckitimeditingquickly.
YAY HE LYKS ME
In
Hunters and Tamers and Students OH MY. (Supernatural academy)
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10 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
The warm rays of sunlight extended their way through the leaves of the willow tree. The tree was like any other tree in the woods surrounding the academy in all ways but one. On this specific tree sat a boy. The boy was busy cleaning his sniper rifle, humming a mellow tune. Darren had found this tree somewhere back in his first year at the academy (he was now starting his third year), and it has become his secret hideout ever since. Any day he wanted to be alone, this is where he would go. And this was one of those days. Darren wasn't really into the whole "mingling" thing, and preferred solitude. He thought that maybe later he might go see what his best (and only) friend was up to. But for now, he would stay in his tree, watching the academy and its inhabitants scurry around and "mingle".
In
Hunters and Tamers and Students OH MY. (Supernatural academy)
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10 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Hey, guys, does anyone want to be my character's best friend?
Name: Gendry Hudderston
Age: 42
Appearance:
Biography: Gendry grew up on a small, isolated farm in southern New Mecixo. As a kid, he attended school until 6th grade, when he left to help his parents work on the farm. For his 10th birthday, his father bought him a Ruger Old Army revolver. He would shoot it every day in his free time, and over time he got to be a very good shot. When he was about 17 years old, his father was killed in a bar brawl. His mother was heartbroken, and weakened, when finally, she succumbed to sickness. Gendry decided that he had had enough of the farm life, and he went off to live in the big city of Albuquerque. He sold his farm and his horse, and with the money bought a run-down second-hand car.
After arriving at the city he began searching for a job, but because of his very limited education, he was having a hard time. The only job he managed to be accepted to is a firearm instructor. He worked there for more than two decades, leading a poor lonely life. But being alone for so long drives even the strongest to depression, and soon enough, Gendry turned to the liquor in the bottle. He would get drunk at the bar almost every night, trying to forget the pain.
About the time when rumors of a deadly virus spreading throughout the world, Gendry started to notice some very odd things happening to him. His dead father started appearing to him. When he would tell people about this, they would call him crazy, but he could tell it was not insanity. At first he was very frightened of his dead father speaking to him, but in time he started answering his father's calls. His father would tell him about life after death, and what is was like to be dead. What his father couldn't explain, was why he was back on earth, although only Gendry could see him. His father guessed that he was here to guide Gendry through the hard times ahead of him.
A few months later, zombies started arriving in town. Gendry took up his sniper rifle and two pistols from the gun range he worked at, and started fighting the zombies off along with the rest of the people. Gendry noticed that his accuracy improved hugely, and at times it seemed as if he could slow down time, allowing him to tear through waves of zombies with ease. His father now was always next to him, giving him tips and warning him of incoming threats, although his father couldn't seem to get too far away from Gendry.
But even with these new abilities the zombies were too many, and after a few weeks, the whole town was full of them. Gendry remembered that he had an aunt somewhere in Philidelphia, so along with a few other survivors he fled east in hopes of meeting up with her. The journey was a long one, even with an RV, and in the end all of his fellow survivors perished. Sometime shortly after his last companion died, his RV broke down. He was in the middle of nowhere, with no sign of civilization in sight. So, with no other choice, he continued east, although this time on foot. After 2 days he was on the brink of death, when suddenly he saw something in the distance - a town. His last hope of survival. With the last of his energy and his father's ghost urging him on, he walked to the town.
Two months later
Gendry had already given any hope of finding his aunt, and he had a pretty good life here in Barclay. He didn't really like the mayor, but she was doing a good job protecting the town. She was especially happy when she found out of his special abilities. Although he didn't think she knew about his father yet.
Ability:
- Enhanced accuracy - His shots always hit their target.
- The ability to slow down time for himself, although he can do this only for a few seconds - It drains his energy.
- He can communicate with his father's ghost, who is invisible to anyone but him.
Physical mutations: N/A
Standard weapon: Two Desert Eagles, and a McMillan TAC 308 Sniper Rifle.
Age: 42
Appearance:
Biography: Gendry grew up on a small, isolated farm in southern New Mecixo. As a kid, he attended school until 6th grade, when he left to help his parents work on the farm. For his 10th birthday, his father bought him a Ruger Old Army revolver. He would shoot it every day in his free time, and over time he got to be a very good shot. When he was about 17 years old, his father was killed in a bar brawl. His mother was heartbroken, and weakened, when finally, she succumbed to sickness. Gendry decided that he had had enough of the farm life, and he went off to live in the big city of Albuquerque. He sold his farm and his horse, and with the money bought a run-down second-hand car.
After arriving at the city he began searching for a job, but because of his very limited education, he was having a hard time. The only job he managed to be accepted to is a firearm instructor. He worked there for more than two decades, leading a poor lonely life. But being alone for so long drives even the strongest to depression, and soon enough, Gendry turned to the liquor in the bottle. He would get drunk at the bar almost every night, trying to forget the pain.
About the time when rumors of a deadly virus spreading throughout the world, Gendry started to notice some very odd things happening to him. His dead father started appearing to him. When he would tell people about this, they would call him crazy, but he could tell it was not insanity. At first he was very frightened of his dead father speaking to him, but in time he started answering his father's calls. His father would tell him about life after death, and what is was like to be dead. What his father couldn't explain, was why he was back on earth, although only Gendry could see him. His father guessed that he was here to guide Gendry through the hard times ahead of him.
A few months later, zombies started arriving in town. Gendry took up his sniper rifle and two pistols from the gun range he worked at, and started fighting the zombies off along with the rest of the people. Gendry noticed that his accuracy improved hugely, and at times it seemed as if he could slow down time, allowing him to tear through waves of zombies with ease. His father now was always next to him, giving him tips and warning him of incoming threats, although his father couldn't seem to get too far away from Gendry.
But even with these new abilities the zombies were too many, and after a few weeks, the whole town was full of them. Gendry remembered that he had an aunt somewhere in Philidelphia, so along with a few other survivors he fled east in hopes of meeting up with her. The journey was a long one, even with an RV, and in the end all of his fellow survivors perished. Sometime shortly after his last companion died, his RV broke down. He was in the middle of nowhere, with no sign of civilization in sight. So, with no other choice, he continued east, although this time on foot. After 2 days he was on the brink of death, when suddenly he saw something in the distance - a town. His last hope of survival. With the last of his energy and his father's ghost urging him on, he walked to the town.
Two months later
Gendry had already given any hope of finding his aunt, and he had a pretty good life here in Barclay. He didn't really like the mayor, but she was doing a good job protecting the town. She was especially happy when she found out of his special abilities. Although he didn't think she knew about his father yet.
Ability:
- Enhanced accuracy - His shots always hit their target.
- The ability to slow down time for himself, although he can do this only for a few seconds - It drains his energy.
- He can communicate with his father's ghost, who is invisible to anyone but him.
Physical mutations: N/A
Standard weapon: Two Desert Eagles, and a McMillan TAC 308 Sniper Rifle.
In
Hunters and Tamers and Students OH MY. (Supernatural academy)
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10 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Question: If my character is 18 yrs old, I should be in my 4th year, right? And if so, shouldn't I be a an an experienced hunter already? How does it work?
In
Hunters and Tamers and Students OH MY. (Supernatural academy)
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10 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
deadpixel101 said
Double posting to say IC is up, and to check if people sill care...
I care <3
No Bite and All Bark said
Mount team getting just a big, is it? What, is it 6 in mount compared t the 3 on ground? or am i counting wrong?
Well, everyone wants to in the mounted team, for obvious reasons.
This is the first chapter of a novel I am currently writing. I am posting it here because I want it to be as best as it can be, so please, anything you think needs fixing, please let me know. Enjoy!
Chapter 1 - The Blue Oak
Vincent Tuggleweed was an old fellow who lived in a small village by the Bluewood River. The village was named Beygate, and was loyal to the Lavternian king. Most of the villagers worked on farms and raised cattle.
It was quite close to the border of Trantlos, and every few cycles raiders would come from Trantlos to steal crops and cattle, burn down houses and take hostages. But for the past five cycles the Trantlosians had not attacked nor raided Beygate. Vincent did not know much about politics, but he knew enough to understand that a peace treaty has been signed between Lavternia and Trantlos. He hoped that would stop the raiders for a while.
Vincent wore a white mustache that connected with his long beard at the sides of his . He was very proud of his beard, and would spend hours grooming it. He had a long, wrinkled face with a small nose and a tall forehead.
From the window above his bed, he could see the sun just beginning to rise. To him, that was a sign that it was time for his daily stroll down the riverside. He got his cane, slipped on his worn leather sandals, and opened the door to his humble wooden house. Vincent’s house stood at the very edge of the village, overlooking the river. He liked it that way, far from all of those noisy children, although at times, he would feel quite lonely. So, he was not surprised to find that there was nobody outside besides himself, and anyhow, it was considerably early.
The moment Vincent stepped outside something felt different. During his walk by the river, he liked to close his eyes and listen to the birds’ singing, the rustling leaves and the soft ripple of the river. But now it seemed as though the birds had lost their voice.
Strange, he thought to himself.
Nevertheless, Vincent wasn't about to let something as small as that get in the way of his sacred tradition. Plodding down to the river foot after foot proved more and more difficult with each passing week.
I’m getting older, he thought with a frown.
Once he reached the water, Vincent bent down onto his knees, dipped his hands into the water and washed his face. Grimacing, he then stood back up, and strode slowly down the riverbank path. The grass, usually a healthy green, was now a bit yellow in places. The flowers that used to be bright and colorful were now dull and withered and the bees and butterflies that flew around in their enchanting dance were all gone. He walked in silence, wondering what had happened to this once heavenly place.
At once, he came to a stop. He had reached his favorite place. A long time ago, Vincent’s father would take him here to watch the wildlife roam free, and the flowers glow magically. And when his father passed away, Vincent had buried him here. He liked to think that his father’s soul was living in this place, sitting and reading his precious books. It was for this place he would get up at this hour. This “place” was a small, circular clearing in the trees, with an ancient, gnarled oak tree in the center. But this oak was quite a bit different from all the other ancient oaks. This tree was azure blue. The trunk was blue. The branches were blue. The leaves were blue. No one really knew why it was colored in this fascinating color, but Vincent did not care. His philosophy was ‘What you don’t know can’t hurt you’. Vincent would sit under this oak with his eyes closed, listening to the sounds of nature. It would calm his mind and soul, and he enjoyed these moments greatly.
But when he saw the blue oak laying on the ground, branches snapped apart, twigs and leaves strewn all over the place splintered and broken, he felt as if his heart was being torn to pieces. A small whimper came to his mouth, and he fell to his knees, sobbing silently. A few minutes later, he stood up, grief-stricken, his eyes still wet and his heart still aching.
All of a sudden, he heard a soft thud from behind him. He spun around and saw a man wearing a green hood, holding a drawn bow and arrow, standing a few yards away. “Ranged justice,” said the man coldly, and the man released the string. The arrow pierced Vincent’s throat.
He fell to the ground, dead.
...............................................
“Another mission accomplished,” said Daemon, putting his hickory bow over his shoulder. He walked over to the old man lying face down on the ground, and turned him over. A perfect shot, he thought to himself, seeing that the arrow drilled through the exact center of the old man’s neck. Daemon did not like wasting arrows, so he pictured the arrow hardening. His brow creased as he concentrated on the spell. The reinforcing spell was a basic enchantment that every Archer of the Free knew how to use. He wrapped his hands around the shaft of the arrow, and pulled. With a sickening crunch, the arrow pulled free, splattering blood on Daemon’s hands. He knew that if he would not have used the spell, the arrow might have been damaged.
After he finished cleaning the arrow and his hands in the grass, he stood up, and put the arrow back in his quiver. He grabbed his bow from over his shoulder, and took out his hunting knife. Using the knife he carved a straight horizontal line onto his bow. Carving lines into the bow was a means of keeping track of the number of missions that were successfully accomplished by each Archer of the Free. Daemon now had seven lines on his bow, and he was only in his twenty-fourth sun. Most of the archers at his age had around three lines on their bow.
Once he finished carving the line, he put his bow across his back once more, and headed out north, on his journey back to the Archers of Freedom’s hideout. It was a long journey that would take a fortnight for an average man, but Daemon was no average man. He was an Archer of the Free, and one of the best at that. He could easily complete the journey in ten days if he wished to do so.
His first stop on his way back would be the city of Ampheath. Ampheath was a small city, with a population of no more than nine-thousand. It had a large number of passersby all the time, because it was the connection between the north and the south of Lavternia. It had a small river running through it, and people would throw coins into the river for luck. They believed the coin was a present to the gods, who would then grant them health and success. Since they had many visitors, they also had many inns and one could always find a room to stay for the night.
The path he was taking was a worn out dirt path, and every hour or so someone would pass him by. But most of the time he walked alone, humming to himself an old poem. Most knew the tune, but few knew the words to go with it. Daemon knew the words of the beginning verse, but no more than that. It went like this:
Night has come, embracing the earth with its black wings
It seems there is no hope, only sorrow and despair
Despair so great, it devours all creatures and beings
If god is existent, why does he not care?
Asked the young boy with the blond hair
It was early evening when Daemon arrived at the city gates.
Thank you so much for taking your time to read the whole thing! Can't wait to hear your thoughts!
Chapter 1 - The Blue Oak
Vincent Tuggleweed was an old fellow who lived in a small village by the Bluewood River. The village was named Beygate, and was loyal to the Lavternian king. Most of the villagers worked on farms and raised cattle.
It was quite close to the border of Trantlos, and every few cycles raiders would come from Trantlos to steal crops and cattle, burn down houses and take hostages. But for the past five cycles the Trantlosians had not attacked nor raided Beygate. Vincent did not know much about politics, but he knew enough to understand that a peace treaty has been signed between Lavternia and Trantlos. He hoped that would stop the raiders for a while.
Vincent wore a white mustache that connected with his long beard at the sides of his . He was very proud of his beard, and would spend hours grooming it. He had a long, wrinkled face with a small nose and a tall forehead.
From the window above his bed, he could see the sun just beginning to rise. To him, that was a sign that it was time for his daily stroll down the riverside. He got his cane, slipped on his worn leather sandals, and opened the door to his humble wooden house. Vincent’s house stood at the very edge of the village, overlooking the river. He liked it that way, far from all of those noisy children, although at times, he would feel quite lonely. So, he was not surprised to find that there was nobody outside besides himself, and anyhow, it was considerably early.
The moment Vincent stepped outside something felt different. During his walk by the river, he liked to close his eyes and listen to the birds’ singing, the rustling leaves and the soft ripple of the river. But now it seemed as though the birds had lost their voice.
Strange, he thought to himself.
Nevertheless, Vincent wasn't about to let something as small as that get in the way of his sacred tradition. Plodding down to the river foot after foot proved more and more difficult with each passing week.
I’m getting older, he thought with a frown.
Once he reached the water, Vincent bent down onto his knees, dipped his hands into the water and washed his face. Grimacing, he then stood back up, and strode slowly down the riverbank path. The grass, usually a healthy green, was now a bit yellow in places. The flowers that used to be bright and colorful were now dull and withered and the bees and butterflies that flew around in their enchanting dance were all gone. He walked in silence, wondering what had happened to this once heavenly place.
At once, he came to a stop. He had reached his favorite place. A long time ago, Vincent’s father would take him here to watch the wildlife roam free, and the flowers glow magically. And when his father passed away, Vincent had buried him here. He liked to think that his father’s soul was living in this place, sitting and reading his precious books. It was for this place he would get up at this hour. This “place” was a small, circular clearing in the trees, with an ancient, gnarled oak tree in the center. But this oak was quite a bit different from all the other ancient oaks. This tree was azure blue. The trunk was blue. The branches were blue. The leaves were blue. No one really knew why it was colored in this fascinating color, but Vincent did not care. His philosophy was ‘What you don’t know can’t hurt you’. Vincent would sit under this oak with his eyes closed, listening to the sounds of nature. It would calm his mind and soul, and he enjoyed these moments greatly.
But when he saw the blue oak laying on the ground, branches snapped apart, twigs and leaves strewn all over the place splintered and broken, he felt as if his heart was being torn to pieces. A small whimper came to his mouth, and he fell to his knees, sobbing silently. A few minutes later, he stood up, grief-stricken, his eyes still wet and his heart still aching.
All of a sudden, he heard a soft thud from behind him. He spun around and saw a man wearing a green hood, holding a drawn bow and arrow, standing a few yards away. “Ranged justice,” said the man coldly, and the man released the string. The arrow pierced Vincent’s throat.
He fell to the ground, dead.
...............................................
“Another mission accomplished,” said Daemon, putting his hickory bow over his shoulder. He walked over to the old man lying face down on the ground, and turned him over. A perfect shot, he thought to himself, seeing that the arrow drilled through the exact center of the old man’s neck. Daemon did not like wasting arrows, so he pictured the arrow hardening. His brow creased as he concentrated on the spell. The reinforcing spell was a basic enchantment that every Archer of the Free knew how to use. He wrapped his hands around the shaft of the arrow, and pulled. With a sickening crunch, the arrow pulled free, splattering blood on Daemon’s hands. He knew that if he would not have used the spell, the arrow might have been damaged.
After he finished cleaning the arrow and his hands in the grass, he stood up, and put the arrow back in his quiver. He grabbed his bow from over his shoulder, and took out his hunting knife. Using the knife he carved a straight horizontal line onto his bow. Carving lines into the bow was a means of keeping track of the number of missions that were successfully accomplished by each Archer of the Free. Daemon now had seven lines on his bow, and he was only in his twenty-fourth sun. Most of the archers at his age had around three lines on their bow.
Once he finished carving the line, he put his bow across his back once more, and headed out north, on his journey back to the Archers of Freedom’s hideout. It was a long journey that would take a fortnight for an average man, but Daemon was no average man. He was an Archer of the Free, and one of the best at that. He could easily complete the journey in ten days if he wished to do so.
His first stop on his way back would be the city of Ampheath. Ampheath was a small city, with a population of no more than nine-thousand. It had a large number of passersby all the time, because it was the connection between the north and the south of Lavternia. It had a small river running through it, and people would throw coins into the river for luck. They believed the coin was a present to the gods, who would then grant them health and success. Since they had many visitors, they also had many inns and one could always find a room to stay for the night.
The path he was taking was a worn out dirt path, and every hour or so someone would pass him by. But most of the time he walked alone, humming to himself an old poem. Most knew the tune, but few knew the words to go with it. Daemon knew the words of the beginning verse, but no more than that. It went like this:
Night has come, embracing the earth with its black wings
It seems there is no hope, only sorrow and despair
Despair so great, it devours all creatures and beings
If god is existent, why does he not care?
Asked the young boy with the blond hair
It was early evening when Daemon arrived at the city gates.
Thank you so much for taking your time to read the whole thing! Can't wait to hear your thoughts!
Scarifar said
Pfffft HAHAHAHAHAHAHA Yeah right, Humans banding together against a common threat. Most likely something to do with some sort of place containing a large amount of supplies needed to survive.
Hawlin said
Yeah, I was about to say supplies, weapons, soup and women, the typical needs of most post-apocalyptic "civil"izations. If you have it, someone else wants it.
Good point.
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