Status

Recent Statuses

4 yrs ago
Current Masses are always breeding grounds of psychic epidemics.
5 yrs ago
The highest, most decisive experience is to be alone with one's own self. You must be alone to find out what supports you, when you find that you can not support yourself.
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5 yrs ago
One cannot live from anything except what one is.
5 yrs ago
The slave to virtue finds the way as little as the slave to vices.
6 yrs ago
The core of an individual is the mystery of life, which dies when it is 'grasped'. That is also why symbols want to keep their secrets.

Bio

The Harbinger of Ferocity


Agent of the Wild, Aspect of the Ferine
Nature, red in tooth and claw.

"There is, indeed, no single quality of the cat that man could not emulate to his advantage."
- Carl Van Vechten

I am, at my core, a personification and manifestation of those things whose blood and hearts run red with the ferocity of the animal world. It is this which convicts and controls my works, my writing, my being; the force and guidance in which I gain wisdom from. It is what inspires me as a creator and weaver of words, the very thing I admire as an author.

My leanings, savage as they are, are of the feline sort as there exists no greater lineage of beasts whom can be drawn from. No others captivate and motivate my talent and skill as the greatest of cats do.

Most Recent Posts

@Pyromaniacwolf @DocRock
Chapter I
"With prize in tow, you for now relinquish the oddness of the scene and the crowding, concerning thoughts it has permeated your mind with. Batting them away like gulls after your prized catch, you heft the pale text under an arm protectively and begin down the beach, searching as far as your eyes may reveal to you in the hopes of further goods that had gone adrift. Not long after, much to your fortune, do you discover more debris lapping up upon the shore. Hurrying, the eagerness of perhaps more directly useful supplies at hand, you set down your book after ripping off your shirt and using it to cradle the text, and then dash off into the water."

"Wading up to the pits of your arms, feet narrowly floating by themselves, do you manage to grip the edge of the metal and begin guiding it with the aid of the sea. Like the ship it reasonably once belonged to, the large alloyed hunk of grayish metal comes to a rest at the shore with you beside it, walking in from the warm waters."
Once I knew a man who traveled everywhere he went with a magazine of silver ammunition.
Brannor will wait as well unless someone asks something of him. He is not at all convinced this move was in their favor and would much rather kill the creatures rather than hope their noises go unnoticed or die down. That said, he'll be watching and waiting.
The powerfully-built man eased the tension from his bow and with a low, deathly glare he stared with eyes of burning gold in the direction of the halfling woman toting instrument in hand. His long, uncomfortable gaze was dispelled as he methodically strung the bow over his chest, brushing aside his silver pendant as his fingers turned the arrow over into its quiver. With one hand upon his recollected sword, he rose back to his height, uttering to the woman, "I hope you know what you're doing."

Being in the eye of the storm within, the green-cloak had enough restraint to let go of the fevered hunt, if only for now; it was clear in the grim expression of his roughly shaven face that he intended for them to kill these creatures like the rest. If not now, later. There was no redemption arc or story for them, they were monsters through and through, and wounded quarry. Leaving them to suffer and languish here rather than cutting them down was not favorable in the least and he allowed the moment to sink in. Not that Brannor would have, at any point, considered weighing the young bard with the guilt if this came back to bite them in more than one way - those metaphorical and literal - but the moon-touched champion was hardly convinced.

Once he was standing, he adjusted the leather across his chest and brushed his cheek with the back of a gauntlet. This place was more a hassle than it dared need be and how the wilder longed for the fighting they had done nights before where the advantage was theirs, even if it was not a resounding success. Waging war here in this underground wasn't ideal.

@Hekazu@Ryonara@Zverda@Lucius Cypher@Norschtalen
Given the nature of the forum, it would be in the best interest of the topic if you posted an interest check for it in the section you are interested in, in addition to this one. That tends to readily garner more interest and more attention, which is all one can reasonably hope for in this case. I do recall no shortage of instant messenger and forum based roleplay of this kind and there is certainly a place of nostalgia for it.
My identification for alcohol has never been requested. Yes, I do appear that out of my age. While I do not partake, no alarm or concern has ever been raised where present when that was the expectation to so much as be in proximity. This is both ideal and non-ideal for all the reasons one would imagine.
Provided there is an opening for large felids, say in the Casual or even Advanced Roleplay sections, I would be interested at the very least. Do inform if such intentions arise, it would certainly have my interest and emphasis on involvement. As it is, I have been browsing for said material off and on for a time now.
Yes, this subgenre still does exist although it is much less prevalent here on the Roleplayer Guild than one would imagine, no less often only found in the Free Roleplay section. I am unsure if there are any feline roleplays that have been around, although if memory serves a few from that fandom had existed prior, but there are a number of "wolf pack" topics that are still somewhat active, @Foxxandink. It certainly would not be impossible to make one and find an audience in the Casual Roleplay portion of the forum either, as there is a fair amount of overlap in interests between those two.
Shadows movin' without a sound
From the hold of the sleepless town
Evil seems to be everywhere
Heed the spirit that brought despair
Trouble's comin' without control
No-one's stayin' that's got a hope
Hurricane at the very least
In the words of the gypsy queen
Sign of the Gypsy Queen
April Wine, Nature of the Beast, 1981
My relationship with food is less one about pleasure or taste, rather more of a matter of purpose. Not only am I carnivorous, I am ravenously so to the point it becomes obsession, as the longest I had gone without fresh meat in any meal was three days. By the morning of the fourth day, it was all my mind had become fixated upon. Everything else had become secondary and the only desire was to acquire the desired food, in this case a chicken. I recall clearly that I hadn't much register of other conversations or objectives, between being sleep deprived and delirious plus hungering.
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