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The Cook Member
A Shireling Hobbit.
STATUS: People please I beg you! be creative when creating new RPs! no supernatural school shit!! There's enough already!! and its getting old! be creative! do something no one thought about!!! 9 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 8 yrs ago
- Joined: 10 yrs ago
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- The Cook 10 yrs ago
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9 yrs ago
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People please I beg you! be creative when creating new RPs! no supernatural school shit!! There's enough already!! and its getting old! be creative! do something no one thought about!!!
9 yrs ago
God! can you guys stop posting RPs about supernatural schools!!? Be creative for fucks sake! >.<
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9 yrs ago
peanut butter and jam...peanut butter and jam.
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NAME: Balrog The Conquerer
AGE: 46
RACE: Orc
DESCRIPTION: Balrog has a grim look about him. Blooming red eyes. Intimidating, distinguished canine teeth. His armor made of the finest Orcish steel, mined the Orchish ore himself making sure to bring only the best to his blacksmith. Forged by the best and most expert blacksmith in his region, the armor took 2 days to be completed. Adding some bone ornaments to it made it look even more intimidating. His trusty battle axe, a gift from another tribe chieftain. His over all look intimidating and unpleasant to the eye. Not to mention the amputated head dangling from his waist belt. The head belongs to a warlord Balrog killed in his first raid.
BIO: Balrog lived his whole life in Ghelanard valleys. Ghenron his tribe, baring the fire emblem. His tribe was considered one of the largest and the most powerful tribe in the western valley, yet it was peaceful and political. Balrog was one of the chieftain's sons. He was the oldest of them all. His father never had the vision of ruling over the valley or Rayisa for that matter, he was political and civil with other tribes. His father wanted to unite the tribes into one nation. But it wasn't very successful, there was the conflict of who will rule over that Orcish nation. Eventually his father failed to accomplish that dream of his, due to old age and desperation. Balrog believed in his father's dream to unite the tribes. And so he took it upon himself to accomplish what his father failed to do. Firstly he needed to be the chieftain of his tribe. His father is too old and blunt-minded, his reign is over. By the age of 21 Balrog was old enough to challenge his father, challenge him for his role as the tribe chieftain. Balrog won the challenge, killing his father brought him no pleasure at all. But it had to be done, it's Balrog's chance to prove himself now.
Firstly he announced to the other tribes of his new role as the new chieftain. Winning a fair challenge against his father. His winning was predictable seeing that his father was old and to decrepit to fight. After mourning his father and feasting on his triumph, he began to convince the other tribe's chieftains to unite and become one. But all of his efforts were in vain and useless. Balrog didn't accept rejection pretty well. He tried talking, but it was hopeless. Being civil didn't work out, so he turned to his barbaric side. If they won't unite willingly, then forcefully. He gathered his best fighters and warriors and headed out to the nearby tribes, surrender or burn. Of course no orc surrendered obviously. Surrendering meant selling their dignity and honor.
Slowly over time he conquered the nearby tribes and claimed their lands. Killing their elder chiefs. Through his raids from one tribe to another, many joined his cause, fighting along side with him. Soon he had conquered the seven tribes surrounding his. Hence he was known as Balrog The Conquer.
When news reached Balrog of the king's death. He knew it was his best chance to take the previous king seat, and prove to the other tribes he is ready to unite the orcs and role them. It was a quest he had to do alone. His most trust generals claimed his tribes, making sure no rebellion happens till Balrog's return.
ROLE: A chieftain to seven separate tribes surrounding his own.
SKILLS: Very skilled with axes and heavy weapons. Shockingly great with bows. Expert hand-to-hand fighter.
WEAPONS: His trusty two handed axe. A razor sharp orcish dagger. And a fine short bow.
EXTRA: Balrog grew up with his vicious wild Khattosh wolf breed. These kinds of wolves are specially bred for combat and war. They endure a lot and are loyal to a cause. Motawaheish was the beasts name.
The wolf is a bit larger than average wolves. He's fast and Unrelenting. Vicious and deadly. With a grey to black fur, sharp green eyes. His footsteps are steady and firm. Enduring days without food or water.
AGE: 46
RACE: Orc
DESCRIPTION: Balrog has a grim look about him. Blooming red eyes. Intimidating, distinguished canine teeth. His armor made of the finest Orcish steel, mined the Orchish ore himself making sure to bring only the best to his blacksmith. Forged by the best and most expert blacksmith in his region, the armor took 2 days to be completed. Adding some bone ornaments to it made it look even more intimidating. His trusty battle axe, a gift from another tribe chieftain. His over all look intimidating and unpleasant to the eye. Not to mention the amputated head dangling from his waist belt. The head belongs to a warlord Balrog killed in his first raid.
BIO: Balrog lived his whole life in Ghelanard valleys. Ghenron his tribe, baring the fire emblem. His tribe was considered one of the largest and the most powerful tribe in the western valley, yet it was peaceful and political. Balrog was one of the chieftain's sons. He was the oldest of them all. His father never had the vision of ruling over the valley or Rayisa for that matter, he was political and civil with other tribes. His father wanted to unite the tribes into one nation. But it wasn't very successful, there was the conflict of who will rule over that Orcish nation. Eventually his father failed to accomplish that dream of his, due to old age and desperation. Balrog believed in his father's dream to unite the tribes. And so he took it upon himself to accomplish what his father failed to do. Firstly he needed to be the chieftain of his tribe. His father is too old and blunt-minded, his reign is over. By the age of 21 Balrog was old enough to challenge his father, challenge him for his role as the tribe chieftain. Balrog won the challenge, killing his father brought him no pleasure at all. But it had to be done, it's Balrog's chance to prove himself now.
Firstly he announced to the other tribes of his new role as the new chieftain. Winning a fair challenge against his father. His winning was predictable seeing that his father was old and to decrepit to fight. After mourning his father and feasting on his triumph, he began to convince the other tribe's chieftains to unite and become one. But all of his efforts were in vain and useless. Balrog didn't accept rejection pretty well. He tried talking, but it was hopeless. Being civil didn't work out, so he turned to his barbaric side. If they won't unite willingly, then forcefully. He gathered his best fighters and warriors and headed out to the nearby tribes, surrender or burn. Of course no orc surrendered obviously. Surrendering meant selling their dignity and honor.
Slowly over time he conquered the nearby tribes and claimed their lands. Killing their elder chiefs. Through his raids from one tribe to another, many joined his cause, fighting along side with him. Soon he had conquered the seven tribes surrounding his. Hence he was known as Balrog The Conquer.
When news reached Balrog of the king's death. He knew it was his best chance to take the previous king seat, and prove to the other tribes he is ready to unite the orcs and role them. It was a quest he had to do alone. His most trust generals claimed his tribes, making sure no rebellion happens till Balrog's return.
ROLE: A chieftain to seven separate tribes surrounding his own.
SKILLS: Very skilled with axes and heavy weapons. Shockingly great with bows. Expert hand-to-hand fighter.
WEAPONS: His trusty two handed axe. A razor sharp orcish dagger. And a fine short bow.
EXTRA: Balrog grew up with his vicious wild Khattosh wolf breed. These kinds of wolves are specially bred for combat and war. They endure a lot and are loyal to a cause. Motawaheish was the beasts name.
The wolf is a bit larger than average wolves. He's fast and Unrelenting. Vicious and deadly. With a grey to black fur, sharp green eyes. His footsteps are steady and firm. Enduring days without food or water.
I'll drop a CS soon :D
I'd would like to join..?
Shit.. sorry for the long post everyone I got carried away..tehe
Just right infront of the entrance, Greg stood there preparing himself spiritually, and mentally. Inhaling and exhaling deeply and slowly. Trying to sooth his nervous mind. "God I wish we haven't abandoned Brandon" Greg muttered. He turned his head a bit, looking over his shoulder, looking at the entrance, wishing he could just enter and never go out to this horrid place. But he couldn't. " I've gotta find Brandon fast. It's probably all his fault, he came up with the idea of using a molotov" He whimpered.
Something caught Greg's attention, something moving, waving?. Greg caught it at the edge of his eye. He quickly turned. But there was nothing moving. "Could it really be him? My god he might have survived." Greg was slightly shocked. Or it could just be a zombie gobbling a nasty rat. Either way Greg is going that Direction. Seeing that there is where the Motel is positioned at. Greg walked down the road with the lance in hand and the combat knife in the other. His M16 dangling at his back, poking him with every step he takes.
A slow walker eked out from a tight alley. With no hesitation Greg launched the lance at the zombie's temple. It was better to kill them from a fair distance, rather than being close using the combat knife or the machete Greg thought. "God, Thanks Horace" he muttered in relief. Greg wiped the tip of the lance with the recently dead zombie's clothing. He rubbed the tip against his trouser making sure it's clean.
Greg stood there for a brief moment, looking down at the rotten corpse. To think that this zombie was once a father or a brother to someone. He had a life. He loved and lived. And now I despise "it" for being what it is Greg thought, as the wind seemed to ease down. The sky was cloudy yet calming and quaint. Greg wished he could just sleep there on the smooth silky clouds. Looking around, the place was so quiet he could just lay down and sleep.
Though the soothing quiet didn't last for long. A roar of an engine sounded from the same direction the motel was at. Greg's heart pounded. "That sonofa bitch.. is he trying to suicide!??" Greg thought as he rushed to the engine-sound source. On the way he stumbled and fell. A zombie crept out from a front door of grocery shop. He was no civilian, the zombie was a marine.
The lance had fallen away from Greg's reach. His combat knife god knows where. Greg reached for his 9mm handgun.. it wasn't there. "Shit..Carter!" He remembered giving it to Carter. Greg took out his M16..by that time the zombie had already reached Greg. The zombie lunged down on Greg's leg, holding it still and going for a bite.
Greg cloaked the M16 and aimed for the zombie's head and shot. luckily for Greg, the zombie marine was wearing a gas mask and heavy gloves. Greg sighed in at most relief. He stood up, searching for his combat knife. It was right under his ass. "Silly me" he whispered. He sheathed it and grabbed the lance.
He found two M16 mags on the marine. And one can of beans. He picked them up and headed straight to the engine sound source. There he saw a woman climbing the fire escape aiding Brandon down. A cheerful smile was on Greg's face.
"Need help?" Greg cried to the both of them. As head towards them.
Something caught Greg's attention, something moving, waving?. Greg caught it at the edge of his eye. He quickly turned. But there was nothing moving. "Could it really be him? My god he might have survived." Greg was slightly shocked. Or it could just be a zombie gobbling a nasty rat. Either way Greg is going that Direction. Seeing that there is where the Motel is positioned at. Greg walked down the road with the lance in hand and the combat knife in the other. His M16 dangling at his back, poking him with every step he takes.
A slow walker eked out from a tight alley. With no hesitation Greg launched the lance at the zombie's temple. It was better to kill them from a fair distance, rather than being close using the combat knife or the machete Greg thought. "God, Thanks Horace" he muttered in relief. Greg wiped the tip of the lance with the recently dead zombie's clothing. He rubbed the tip against his trouser making sure it's clean.
Greg stood there for a brief moment, looking down at the rotten corpse. To think that this zombie was once a father or a brother to someone. He had a life. He loved and lived. And now I despise "it" for being what it is Greg thought, as the wind seemed to ease down. The sky was cloudy yet calming and quaint. Greg wished he could just sleep there on the smooth silky clouds. Looking around, the place was so quiet he could just lay down and sleep.
Though the soothing quiet didn't last for long. A roar of an engine sounded from the same direction the motel was at. Greg's heart pounded. "That sonofa bitch.. is he trying to suicide!??" Greg thought as he rushed to the engine-sound source. On the way he stumbled and fell. A zombie crept out from a front door of grocery shop. He was no civilian, the zombie was a marine.
The lance had fallen away from Greg's reach. His combat knife god knows where. Greg reached for his 9mm handgun.. it wasn't there. "Shit..Carter!" He remembered giving it to Carter. Greg took out his M16..by that time the zombie had already reached Greg. The zombie lunged down on Greg's leg, holding it still and going for a bite.
Greg cloaked the M16 and aimed for the zombie's head and shot. luckily for Greg, the zombie marine was wearing a gas mask and heavy gloves. Greg sighed in at most relief. He stood up, searching for his combat knife. It was right under his ass. "Silly me" he whispered. He sheathed it and grabbed the lance.
He found two M16 mags on the marine. And one can of beans. He picked them up and headed straight to the engine sound source. There he saw a woman climbing the fire escape aiding Brandon down. A cheerful smile was on Greg's face.
"Need help?" Greg cried to the both of them. As head towards them.
Interested
Once Rose entered through those wooden doors. Wu knew it was his cue. "Time to run" he thought. He put down his glass of wine, just right after making sure he drank the whole thing. The alcohol started to take its effect on Wu. He stumbled in his way out, struggling to balance his footsteps. His vision; blurry and vague. Though he did got out. On the way out he gently bumped into the masked man. Wu was so drunk, he apologized to him in Chinese. "I never saw him leave.? Where the hell did he go to?" Wu wondered.
Outside it was chilly and dusty as usual. "Nothing new" Wu muttered. his body started to feel the cold air in his bones. The freezing breeze hit his cheeks, carrying bits of sand along with the cold. As Wu walked away from the saloon's entrance, he noticed Archie standing there, doing god knows what with his revolver. "Shit is about to get down" Wu thought. Wu went straight to his horse, nearly falling off on his way. He patted the horse, and rubbed his head gently.
Wu tilted his head around, Archie was gone. He's probably in the saloon Wu thought. Suddenly the urge of taking a piss hit Wu. He couldn't hold it. With all that drinking he had to take a serious piss. He quickly ran to a close boulder. He stood behind it, hidden in the night's dark cloak. He unzipped and took his male part out. His urine was warm, unlike the weather that didn't bother Wu not one bit. After finishing he zipped up, with a dodder running down his spine and neck. "Woooh" he let out a whimper. Looking down he realized that some drops of his urine splattered on his leather boots. "Damn it" he cursed.
Suddenly a sound of multiple gunshots were heard from the saloon. "Just like I anticipated" Wu thought as he rushed to the saloon. He burst through the doors, just to see that no harm came to both men, or any man in the matter. Wu was a bit disappointed. He walked straight to the bar as if nothing important caught his attention, which absolutely did. He sat on stool near the masked man, watching the felon pull out his gun aiming it to the idiot who stood still. Looking back at Archie he chuckled as he said "huh. He's dead meat".
Outside it was chilly and dusty as usual. "Nothing new" Wu muttered. his body started to feel the cold air in his bones. The freezing breeze hit his cheeks, carrying bits of sand along with the cold. As Wu walked away from the saloon's entrance, he noticed Archie standing there, doing god knows what with his revolver. "Shit is about to get down" Wu thought. Wu went straight to his horse, nearly falling off on his way. He patted the horse, and rubbed his head gently.
Wu tilted his head around, Archie was gone. He's probably in the saloon Wu thought. Suddenly the urge of taking a piss hit Wu. He couldn't hold it. With all that drinking he had to take a serious piss. He quickly ran to a close boulder. He stood behind it, hidden in the night's dark cloak. He unzipped and took his male part out. His urine was warm, unlike the weather that didn't bother Wu not one bit. After finishing he zipped up, with a dodder running down his spine and neck. "Woooh" he let out a whimper. Looking down he realized that some drops of his urine splattered on his leather boots. "Damn it" he cursed.
Suddenly a sound of multiple gunshots were heard from the saloon. "Just like I anticipated" Wu thought as he rushed to the saloon. He burst through the doors, just to see that no harm came to both men, or any man in the matter. Wu was a bit disappointed. He walked straight to the bar as if nothing important caught his attention, which absolutely did. He sat on stool near the masked man, watching the felon pull out his gun aiming it to the idiot who stood still. Looking back at Archie he chuckled as he said "huh. He's dead meat".
Hey y'all, I'm joining the fun it seems.
I should have an IC post up soonish.
Great!
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