Stoner's Post Formatting Thread [Do not post or steal]

[BLStoner]

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"Run! Run, Abel!"

The young boy's feet carried him quickly away from the scene, putting distance between himself and the voice that encouraged him though his heart cried to go back. The chilly night air nipped at his young face as he tried to navigate his way in total darkness, being blind at birth a factor that did not help him any. Yet, his outstretched hands sought to help him find his way around, but they only proved to be useful to catch himself as he tumbled over something. Scared and frantic, he felt around around at what had caused his fall, but he only felt something wet at first. Tears spilled down the fair cheeks, afraid of what it was he was touching, but he already knew. He could already taste the heavy iron in the air, almost choking on it as he continued to feel about until he touched something. No, someone.

"P-Papa . . . ?" The young voice shook and cracked, trying to hold back a sob as hands made their way up to the face, the strong cheek bones, thin nose, thick brows, and the thin scar on the chin. Fought against it as he might, the boy couldn't help but let out an anguished wail as he grabbed onto the body and held it to him. How could they do this? How could they kill his papa? What did they do to deserve this? Why? The boy's failure of remaining silent soon brought others to him, their heavy bootfall approaching rapidly, yet he was too lost in his grief to recognize the sound until it was too late. They were just a few feet from him, but he tried to scramble up to his feet and run, though he was quickly halted as something was thrown and tangled itself about his ankles. Hands reached down to struggle to get it off, recognizing that it was bolas and nearly got it when he felt a sharp crack on the crown of his skull. A sharp spike of pain and then . . . Nothing.

That was nineteen years ago, but that had only been the start of it. They had kept him around until he started getting too old for their liking, so after eight years, at the age of eighteen, they had taken him out into the drylands and slit his throat, not once, but three times. Yet, he managed to survive. Maybe because of luck or perhaps it was the skill of the man who had found him and patched him up. There would be no fixing his vocal cords, however, leaving the already handicapped male without a voice. The years managed to alleviate the pain some and he also became decent at playing charades, though doing so with strangers was harder as most of them did not understand. People weren't too fond of paying attention these days to anything but themselves. That was fine with him, however, meant most times he was left alone and for those times that he wasn't, well, life wasn't the only gift his saviour had bestowed upon him. And these thugs standing before him were about to figure that out.

"Did you hear me, you retard? I said-" Thwack, crack. "Jericho!" One of the men cried out before looking to the blind mute, horror on his face as his buddy fell to the ground grasping his throat as he struggled to draw breath, but Abel had broken the trachea. Unless they knew of a good doctor, the man would soon start choking on his own blood and die right where he was. Of course, why bother helping a friend when the three of them could beat the guy who killed him to a pulp? Thug logic. The largest of the trio rushed him, but the blind male was faster, twirling out of the way while using the other end of his staff and drove in into the back of the man's left knee, sending him to the ground before cracking him over the head. Though it wouldn't be that easy to rid of these guys as another immediately came up behind him, Abel shifted his staff back hard to hit the solar plexus before turning on his heel, striking on side of the man's head before twirling the staff around his back only to slap the other side of his head before delivering another kick to his chest and sending him into a vendors stall. By then the large man had gotten back up and his buddy, the one who had been in horror moments before, were now both trying to take him on. Perfect.

With a quick flurry of movements, he dispatched both of them, though to say he went unscathed would be a lie. One of the pair had managed to strike him twice with a closed fist to his right flank, but he'd obviously live and if anything, it ached, but it wasn't crippling. However, his problem had been solved for now and if they were smart, they wouldn't try to get back at him. After all, he came here to restock and then move on, not to pick fights with goons who thought they could rob a helpless looking traveler. Maybe it was his face that drew this kind of attention. It wasn't strong and intimidating, but rather it was soft and, while he hated to say it, it was somewhat feminine. No wonder, right?

He followed the main path through town, though it was leading him to the beacon which led him to this settlement to begin with. The Arena. He listened as people went in and out, each eager or disappointed with the events inside. It was so loud and the air around here . . . It was thick with blood. He had only ever heard of it, never seen it. Well, obviously, but he didn't mean it like that. He had just never been here was all. Besides, there was talk of slaves and having once been one himself, hanging around slavers probably wasn't the best idea. Particularly since his brutish ex-masters had imbrued him with their slave mark. If someone saw that, it would certainly spell trouble.



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▌ ｌｏｃａｔｉｏｎ : Settlement located around the arena xxxx▌ ｍｕｓｉｃ : In Balance - Once Again
▌ ｃｏｍｐａｎｙ : No one of importance xxxx▌ ｃｌｏｔｈｉｎｇ : Wanderer's Garb - The Slave's Mark
▌ ｏｏｃ : Sorry, not sorry. But on another note, hello everyone!


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[BLStoner]

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..



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▌ ｌｏｃａｔｉｏｎ : N//A
▌ ｍｕｓｉｃ : Footwork - Overload
▌ ｃｏｍｐａｎｙ : N//A
▌ ｏｏｃ : N//A


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[BLStoner]

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An odd heat rushed to the ashen creature's face, a sign of his embarrassment as the other acknowledged the spider's lack of understanding on certain creative ideals. It was true that their capacity for creativity was capped, limited to only practical solutions rather than fantastical ones, but such was the nature of not only his people, but most beings from his world. Of course if you look through the history there had once been such creatures who were more like the people of this world, able to have nonsensical fantasies, but they had also lacked the necessary means to survive as they were often distracted with new thoughts. Thus is why they are no more. However, he had not lived during their time, but he had once overheard that they had tasted quite delightful, though one would spend weeks afterwards pulling long strands of hair from their maw.

Despite being flustered over his own evolutionary fault, the creature did offer a small smile. "Yes, such seems to be a rather unfortunate case on my end, hence why I am perhaps too overly eager to discover it." He chuckled once more, finding the new expression to become common place in his own interactions, before he raised his tea to his lips and took a slow, but long drink in attempt to finish the warm liquid. After all, there were others to be tasted as well before they grew cold. However, the beast sudden choked on the last bit of his drink when the other offered a solution, though an unnamed one, to answer his many questions. Oh? He let out a short series of quick coughs, all which used the back of his hand to cover until he regain his breath.

"And what-?" He was quickly interrupted by a volatile change in weather. How queer. Yet, the spider seemed less put off by the cold and the wet compared to his companion. After all, this was normal for the long legged creature, though something was peculiar about it. His poor tea was quickly ruined, but the creature licked the precipitation from his lips, noting the salty taste mixed with something that was more than just a flavour, but a feeling. Grief. How strong it must've been to create a situation as this. It was as if the sky itself mourned rather than released excess moisture buildup. Now this was interesting. "I wonder . . ." He mused momentarily before hearing the other's request. "I second it." He unwillingly set his no longer viable cups of tea upon the bench before .



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▌ ｌｏｃａｔｉｏｎ : Unknown World: Streets
▌ ｍｕｓｉｃ : Night - Hunter
▌ ｃｏｍｐａｎｙ : Katal.
▌ ｃｌｏｔｈｉｎｇ : The Arachnid's Garb
▌ ｏｏｃ : N//A


Quote:

[BLStoner]

← x ↑ x → x ↓ x ← x ↑ x → x ↓ x ← x ↑ x → x ↓ x ← x ↑ x → x ↓ x ← x ↑ x → x ↓

Puppet Master: BLStoner
Name: ❝. . .❞
(Which is wildman for 'Hi, my name's Crane'. Or something like that. I don't know, I'm not a wildman.)
Age: ❝. . .❞
(Thirty years old, but if you wanna go for dog years, he's hella old.)
Species:❝. . . Woof.❞
(He means he's an animal kin, in case it wasn't obvious enough.)
Abilities: ❝Grr . . .❞
(Which is Crane for possessing immense strength, not just in his body due to his size and weight, but his jaw enabling him to crush the bones of most creatures as well as get a good grip on his enemies. So his bite really is worse than his bark. Nice change, huh? He also has glands coupled with his salivary ones that produce a series of cells, much like the ones used to heal wounds, but are able to do so at a far superior rate. However, they cannot regenerate limbs and only so much can be produced at one time. Once exhausted, it takes time for him to utilize these cells again. So, if you get hurt, get the big guy to slobber all over ya. Sure, it's gross, but better than infection, huh?)
Weapons: ❝. . .❞
(The brute generally uses whatever he can get his hands on, but he likes to make his own weapons if he can, usually sticking with bows, arrows, staffs, small knives, or spears. If not using a weapon, he resorts to using his own natural strength and trust me, you don't want to get caught in this guy's hold when he's mad.)
Weight: ❝. . .❞
(Three hundred ten pounds of pure hunter.)
Height: ❝. . .❞
(Seven foot three inches, which makes him terrible at hide and seek, but perfect for being a walking not so much into talking watch tower.)
I am Attracted to: ❝Hmm . . .❞
(He means men of any race, though he does couple with certain female animal kin when they're going through a heat cycle, but only because he can't help himself.)
Personality: ❝. . .❞
(Crane is a frightening and predatory creature, or at least he appears to be if you don't know the man. For the most he's pretty harmless, but very curious. He is primal in the sense that he is heavily reliant on touching, tasting and smelling to grow familiar with someone, so, get ready to be man-handled. Though, don't think that just because he's not as verbal as the rest of us that he can't talk, he just prefers not to. Apparently some people prefer to communicate like cavemen. But talk or no talk, it doesn't take much to win Crane's loyalty and once you do, you have a friend for life. Not only that, but Crane likes to look after others, willing to put his life at risk to protect others or going out of his way to obtain desired gifts.)
Bio: ❝Grr . . .❞
(Fine, if he won't tell you, I will. Crane was born in what was once known as the Carpathian mountains of Romania where his parents Anya Lupei and Virág Scylixis built their home. They were an odd pair if there was ever one, but they were a perfect fit. His mother was a wolf kin who stood at seven and a half feet and built like a fortress (Even putting shame to the now full grown Crane) while his father, a sheep kin, was small and petite for a man, but his heart was much bigger than his tiny frame. Personally, I bet that wasn't the only thing, ya know?
Many of Crane's earlier years were spent playing in the woods, either chasing after wild animals or befriending them, such as the hares that often hopped about the land and then eventually became dinner. What? Not like they were hippies who ate only the plants around them. Yet, as he grew, he had adapted the ways of these creatures, learning to hunt and track as they did. . )
Turn Ons: ❝Hmm . . .❞
(.)
Turn Offs: ❝Hmm . . .❞
(.)
Flaws: ❝Hmm . . .❞
(.).
.

This Is My War
Got Your Six
Far From Home
Warrior
The Vengeful One X
Volatile Times X






x

▌ ｃｌｏｔｈｉｎｇ : Dystopia
▌ ｍｕｓｉｃ: Vengeful - Times
▌ ｌｏｃａｔｉｏｎ : N//A
▌ ｃｏｍｐａｎｙ : No one

[BLStoner]

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How far down do you think it is? Pale hues glanced to the ground five stories below, figuring the difference from where he stood to the pavement below would be somewhere between sixty to seventy-five feet. Definitely a fatal fall if he were to take such a leap. Though he was considering just that. Why not? No one would miss him, no one would care. Perhaps someone would be sad just for a few minutes, but then they'd go back to their lives never even giving him a second thought. Besides, the only person he had left this world the day prior. Did you know that the dead didn't look any different than a sleeping person? At least until the lividity began to set in, pale flesh beginning to turn purple. It didn't take long either. Now if anything about death would traumatize you, it would be that. You wouldn't think it, but as someone who had witnessed it, there was no doubt in Anthony's mind that it was the worst part of the experience. Not even watching them gasp like a fish out of water, totally unaware of your presence, and too weak to squirm from the pain was as bad as that. Amusingly enough, that had been his biggest fear, to watch them go through that and to know that he had missed his chance to tell them how much he loved them. He always said it when they walked out the door, but that day he didn't. He hated himself for it.

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▌ ｌｏｃａｔｉｏｎ : N//A.
▌ ｍｕｓｉｃ : My Mama Said - Paint It Black
▌ ｃｏｍｐａｎｙ : N//A.
▌ ｃｌｏｔｈｉｎｇ : Day One
▌ ｏｏｃ : N//A


Quote:

[BLStoner]

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"Eeyyaaaaaa!" A shrill cry escaped the young man as he groped at the now brightly colored locks atop his skull, face flushed cherry red with rage and embarrassment from this horrible mishap. He should've known better than to trust the tiny creature to actually help him, but .



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▌ ｌｏｃａｔｉｏｎ : N//A
▌ ｍｕｓｉｃ : x - x
▌ ｃｏｍｐａｎｙ : N//A
▌ ｃｌｏｔｈｉｎｇ : x
▌ ｏｏｃ : N//A


The Hematophagous Battlemage
Name: Auriel Blythe
Gender: Male
Race: Half- human, half-Baobhan Sídhe
Age: Twenty-Eight
Snap shot: link to you characters picture/s here
Height and weight: weight and height of character here
Magic: Battlemage's Arsenal: Majoring in destruction while minoring in alteration, restoration, and conjuration magic.
Racial Traits: As a half-bred Baobhan Sídhe, Auriel is able use all schools of magic if he studies them and is able to speak any language due to a very low level of telepathy as long as he is in range of the knowledgeable party. Considering his diet consists of blood from a living person, as well as normal food, Auriel can transform his fingers into long and sharp talons to cut open his prey as the Baobhan Sídhe do not have fangs. He can also glamour himself for short periods of time and help exude pheromones to help lure in his prey. This carnivorous nature also make him stronger, faster, and heightens his senses, though the latter is more prevalent when he is in need of blood.
Weapon/s: Auriel's main weapon is a b*****d, or hand-and-a-half, sword which appears to be made of a translucent glass, though anyone sliced by it knows otherwise. Created by the Baobhan Sídhe, the blade holds captive five spirits of fallen soldiers, each rune etched into the fuller of the blade represents these gallant souls and will illuminate when a soul has been summoned. Unfortunately, the spirits don't hold form in the physical world for long and often disappear at the end of battle. As for the hilt of the blade, the ends of the guard are sharpened, allowing for more effective half-swording against armored enemies. The grip is wrapped in a dark leather, though allows for a comfortable one handed grip before tapering off into a pear shaped pommel that enables two handed wielding.
Other items/ tools: Carries about a coin-purse and a leather bota bag.
Sexuality: Homosexual


Born to a strange union of Baobhan Sídhe and a human soldier, Auriel's life was not one of ease. His half bloodthirsty nature made it difficult to live among others, often leaving the boy and his father to wander from town to town in order to avoid being caught and executed. This fear for his young son's safety forced the old man to teach his son the way of the sword, his natural talents making him quite proficient, even having gotten better of the man a time or two. Yet, try as he might to protect his son from the world, he could not protect the boy from what he was, but he did his damnedest to make it easier.
It was not the soldier's way to take the lives of innocents, so when word of trouble came from the lips of those in need, the soldier and his son would see to take care of it and in doing so gave young Auriel a chance to sate his hunger. It was not easy to live this way, but it was all the man could give unto his son. Sadly, there would be a time when the man could give no more for the chill of winter would steal him away in the dead of night.
At the young age of twelve, Auriel would find himself alone with no direction and no where to go, thus he roamed aimlessly trying to find his way. The practices his father had taught him helped keep him alive and out of trouble, only hunting those who caused harm and misfortune upon others. Yet, as fate would have it, it would be one of these ventures that would lead him to a place where it all began. To the Baobhan Sídhe, a bloodthirsty beast and his mother.
It would be a cold night when the moon was at its fullest that a maiden in a long green dress with golden locks and eyes of amber would appear before him, a form he recognized from the bedtime story his father use to tell. She oozed charm and elegance, beckoning the young male to draw close and dance, but knowing better than to fall under such a spell, Auriel daringly drew his blade against her. With a hearty laugh, the fae seemed to cease her attempt to ensnare him and addressed him, making it known she had long awaited the day her spawn would come back for her, though she had not anticipated it so soon. Nevertheless, Auriel would challenge her still as she harmed innocents and needed to be dealt with. Amused by this she proposed a deal. If he could land a single scratch on her, she'd leave, but if he could not, he had to come back every night until he could. Of course, Auriel accepted.
Every night for three years, Auriel faced defeat again and again, never once landing a blow. She was much too skilled for him, that much was clear, but every fight, the creature seemed to teach him something new. It was if she desired to make him a better fighter, to teach him things about himself that only the Baobhan Sídhe could share with him. In the end, he learned he was naturally proficient with magic and improved many of his skills. He was never sure how to feel about the situation, but it never stopped him from trying to do as he promised. That night would come, however, on the day of his seventeenth birthday. His blade would nick her shoulder, drawing blood for the first time in years. This would be surprise and impress the creature.
As she promised, the Baobhan Sídhe gave up and admitted defeat for now, promising not to return here, but before she would go, she would present her rival with a gift, a sword unlike any other. It's translucent appearance made it seem so fragile, but no blade, steel or otherwise, would compare to its strength. Of course, that was not all that made this blade special, the runes etched into it would summon companions the boy would need along his journey to aid him in his time of need, one which the male would be very familiar with. Despite the gift, Auriel declared he would one day truly defeat the Baobhan Sídhe, the fae laughing .


Played by,
BLStoner

[BLStoner]

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"Eeyyaaaaaa!" A shrill cry escaped the young man as he groped at the now brightly colored locks atop his skull, face flushed cherry red with rage and embarrassment from this horrible mishap. He should've known better than to trust the tiny creature to actually help him, but he'd never been in this neck of the woods before, in fact, this was his first time in the kingdom of Zigat at all. So far, despite its obvious beauty, this place wasn't making the best impression on the young Baobhan Sídhe. Well, half-Baobhan Sídhe, that was. Nevertheless, he was going to have to do something about this, but what? He could set the small creature aflame or even freeze it where it fluttered, giggling at him all the while. That's when an idea popped into his head, a malicious grin on his face as he opened his mouth to utter a single phrase.

"Nullum artes magicae*."

The tiny creature was silenced immediately it felt all the energy siphoned from it, its tiny features contorted in horror of what the half-breed had uttered. He might as well have ripped off its wings, for that would've been a far less horrible fate for the pixie. Oh, what a cruel boy! A deafening wail escaped the being, its piercing cry forced Auriel to cover his ears in order to not take the full brunt of it. Damn these things, they were just awful. Hopefully it would shut up soon, but it only seemed to get louder and louder. Maybe he should get out of here before its cries summoned others and who knew what the collective would do in order to seek vengence for one of their own.

Turning tail, the male ran as quickly as he could from the scene, probably driving himself further and further into the forest. Man, why did his day have to play out like this? All he wanted was to reach the city of Hightower so he could find the person he was looking for, but no, he just had to have such bad luck! Ugh. Speaking of which, there was no way he was going to be able to fix his hair now. He hadn't even the slightest clue where to start spell-wise. Maybe glamour it for now? No, no. That would waste his strength and he wouldn't be able to use his magic as needed. Damn it. Seems like he would be stuck with it until it grew out . . . Or would it? What if it was always going to be pink? Oh, man!

With his mind still caught up in his hair color dilemma, Auriel failed to pay attention to the ground before him, thus, hooking his foot on a large root . . . Or even notice the steep hill beyond it. "Dragon's breath!" He exclaimed in place of the expletives he wished to declare so loudly before he found himself rolling down, down, down that hill through the brush and over an assortment of obstacles. It seemed his only share of fortune today would be reaching the bottom with his skull cracked open or any broken bones and at this point, he'd take it as a sign that his trek wasn't entirely doomed. Just many portions of it were.

Taking a few moments to get to his feet, the half-breed soon found the trees parted ways and some distance off stood his destination. From what he could see, it was absolutely breath taking compared to some of the cities in his homeland, but he had to remind himself beauty could be deceiving. His heritage alone told him that much. The thought made him shake his head before deciding to push forward. Just an hour or so more on foot and he could find a place to rest.

Reaching the city, it seemed to bustling despite the fact that there was something heavy in the air, forcing a chill to crawl up his spine. Too often was this a sign of distress, but even then this place kept face. Interesting. He didn't let it deter him from seeking food and shelter, many whom he asked spoke of one popular place in particular. Supposedly it was the oldest one in the city, a sort of pride for the people here. Yet, with such recommendations, how could Auriel resist going? He had some spare coin on him and could afford to splurge a little. Besides, he was certain he could find work here if needed later on. For now, however, he would sate his needs and take in the sights.

Unlike his adventure here, the young man avoided getting lost this time and found the establishment with ease. Ah, finally get to kick our feet up and relax. No more getting lost or stupid pixies. He thought to himself with a soft, delighted sigh, though such comforts were starting to slip away as he stepped into the building, finding there was a small crowd gathered around a particular table. Oh, was he intruding on something? He took a moment to look about, uncertainty on whether he should stay or go written all over his face as clear as his hair was vibrant. What did I walk into this time?


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▌ ｌｏｃａｔｉｏｎ : Forest > Hightower: Tavern
▌ ｍｕｓｉｃ : x - x
▌ ｃｏｍｐａｎｙ : Puckish pixie > a sea of unknown faces
▌ ｃｌｏｔｈｉｎｇ : x
▌ ｏｏｃ : Sorry if I offend any Latin speakers out there with my poor translation, but I'm doing the best I can with what I've got. Also, I'm sorry about my poor writing. I'm a little rusty.

[BLStoner]

▌ ｌｏｃａｔｉｏｎ : X XX▌ ｃｏｍｐａｎｙ : X XX▌ ａｔｔｉｒｅ : X

Jonathan Meyers. That's who he was suppose to be on this little venture he got himself mixed up in, but how could he not take the chance to earn himself a fresh start? Not like the real Jonathan would need the money either, considering he had slipped out of the tub and broke his neck. Now how would he know that? Well, when the papers start piling up on the porch it was a sign that nobody was home and for a homeless individual like himself, that meant a chance to rob the place in order to obtain drug money for his next fix. After all, not all of his dealers enjoyed nor wished to partake trading drugs for a little 'special service'.

Any who, having broken into the house, he had found the body and took his time figuring out how to deal with it whilst rummaging through the place. You'd be surprised how boring this guy was given the numerous collections of trains, bottles full of tiny boats, and books of stamps he had. It was as if the man had no life at all, but if that were so, then who would think to notice his absence? It was an ideal place to squat for awhile given it had a warm bed, running shower, and food to eat. Plus, no one would bother him. Of course, that was the plan until he found the envelope with the letter inside. Could anyone say no to such an offer? Though he was beginning to wonder why he thought to take the chance in the first place. It simply could have been one of those scam letters seeking to steal your information and then rack up debt, but in that case it wouldn't have affected him personally. He wasn't Jonathan, after all. Though one might be curious how he got in here if he wasn't who he claimed he was. That was easy enough.

When it comes to personal information, all the things we need to commit identity theft are easily found. Scrapbooks and photo albums are just records of your whole life, notes often scribbled on the same paper or the back of the image itself. With that alone, one could learn the names of the people in your family, where you lived, where you went to school, and so on. As for the more important details like social security cards and birth certificates, those were easy too and often kept together in a special file cabinet, a lockbox hidden in the closet or the bed, or just about any other place would consider 'safe'. Wanted a medical history? Then take the former items and call the doctor's office. Wasn't a difficult process to do over the phone or even online if you had the option. Though don't even get him started on the gold mine that was social media either. Lesson is, if you know what to look for, becoming someone else was a piece of cake.

However, all these things took time, which was fine for him. He used the time he had to wait for certain records to detox, albeit that nearly left him like his friend Jonathan. Might have been better off though, but dying never seemed to be an option, not even when he begged for it at times. Still, torment and suffering seemed to be the theme for his existence, but such explanations were for another time. As of right now, he merely had to pass the introduction portion of things. Everything was flawless for the most part, even the fact that the men appeared to be quite similar when it came to their general appearance, save the fact that Mr. Meyers was a healthy looking man and well, he himself was a little on the emaciated side. If asked about it, he would simple state it was the Methylphenidate HCl, better known as Ritalin, he was taking for his ADHD. Or, well, Jonathan's ADHD. He wasn't concerned about how the other's mental health might affect his chances in this program, though. This was a study for instincts and the likes, no doubt there would be two groupings here, health minds versus those who had disorders of the brain. Seemed highly plausible given they would have denied his application otherwise.

Yet, all this talk of Jonathan Meyers, but who was he? Well, he was a nobody, but his legal records stated he was Michael James Warren. A homeless junkie with a dark history as a victim of extreme physical, sexual, and psychological abuse as a child. Yes, one of those boo-hoo stories every vicarious monster sopped up like vampyres lapping up fresh blood. Tch. How romanticized such a life was. Disgusting. Nevertheless, he didn't share such stories with people. There was no need considering he had little care for other people, so talking to them was always out of the question unless they had something he wanted. Of course, the unfortunate thing was that he would be forced to socialize here. Hmm. Well, he could do that given it would not be his own personal life he would be discussing.

A long sigh finally escaped thin, pale lips as the slender digits pushed through the freshly cut locks of ebony. Part of this act was having to clean himself up to look more like the man he was portraying. He couldn't even remember the last time he had his hair cut or even shaved, but to be able to feel the wind on his neck chin and neck left him feeling somewhat naked. Then again, he was also impressed he didn't look like some eight year old cut his hair or that his face didn't look like a lawn mower ate it. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself at the thought. Even more amusing was the suit he had donned as well. Could you believe it? Him? In a suit? It was almost like some sort of bad joke with an even worse punchline.

Before the male could further find something else to jest about, those who had invited him and the others present to partake in their little experiment had made themselves known, greeting the group and inviting them to follow along to where they would be prepped for this little venture that awaited them. Michael merely grumbled softly to himself and followed, finding they would endure an introduction to what was going on before all being chipped. By god did it hurt like ******** hell, but if he was going to be paid the full amount they promised, then they could run him through with a rebar for all he cared. Although he was starting to consider such an option as they continued on, soon given a short tour of the facility as to give everyone a general idea where things would be and that they would have eyes on them at all times in case of emergency. Of course, something about that line left Michael with a bad taste in his mouth, but fortunately he didn't worry about it long enough as the scientists soon departed, leaving the group unto their own devices. Finally.

"Well, let the games begin." He said jokingly, hands moving to his chest to seek out the pack of cigarettes he had brought with him, soon pulling the familiar red and white Marlboro packaging. Whether or not anyone else disapproved of this didn't matter, what did was the fact that he could feel the cravings for other things starting to well inside him and this would be the best he could do the quiet them down. Besides, going fully cold turkey on everything would have been too much to handle and he had enough trouble as it was. Now, where was that stupid lighter of his?

ObscureOurConsciousness┋┋┋ Would hate for this to die so soon. Seems like a great concept to roleplay to!


•Michael James Warren
•Thirty-nine years old
•Male
•Homosexual
•Test Subject
•Generally sane ○ Minor concern ○ Cravings
•The Abused becoming the Abuser

[BLStoner]

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† .



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▌ ｌｏｃａｔｉｏｎ : N//A
▌ ｍｕｓｉｃ : Mystic's - Awakening
▌ ｃｏｍｐａｎｙ : N//A
▌ ｃｌｏｔｈｉｎｇ : Day One
▌ ｏｏｃ : N//A


Quote:

[BLStoner]

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"Hello Mrs. Abernathy, this is John calling from Proctor Financial! How are you today? . . . Oh! Really, that's very exciting! They sure grow up fast, don't they? Actually, that's the reason I'm calling. This call is to inform you that we have agents in your area offering free, no obligation quotes on life insurance because it is never too late to secure the futures of our loved ones. Would you like to see if you qualify for our program? We are-."

Click.

A heavy sigh escaped the the lithe male as he leaned back into his chair, bright hues staring at the computer screen before him which displayed a series of names and numbers of potential clients. He had called quite a few today and as usual, most hung up on him. He didn't blame them either given he hated receiving calls from telemarketers himself, but this was a job that paid his bills and kept him from what he feared most: Other people. One might think it a silly notion, but after everything he had been through it seemed a pretty reasonable fear. Most people would still disagree, but that's because they never experienced the things he had. To be forced to live in a constant state of anxiety about when that one person might jump out from the shadows or be hiding behind ever door, corner, or curtain. That itself was hard enough, but when that day actually arrived, to have your safe place invaded and then to go through such a violation of your body . . . There were no words to truly describe the feeling, no matter how hard he tried. So yes, he was afraid of people, of what they were capable of doing, the way everyone could just hide such a hideous darkness under a charming smile. Would that not terrify you, too?

Lids closed for a moment as he mulled over his thoughts on how to proceed next, not sure if he should take a break or dial another number. It wasn't like it really mattered either way, knowing there were plenty of hours left in the day to meet his daily quota, however, before he could make his choice, his cellphone began to sound with the chirps of a Tufted Titmouse. Perhaps an odd selection for anyone else, but there was a reason behind it. Though, it had been some time since his personal phone had rang, leaving the male wondering who could be calling as he removed the headset and picked up the handheld device, his thumb gently swipe the screen to answer.

"Hello, this is Klaus, how can I help you?" An sigh of relief came from the other end before an elderly voice spoke, "Oh, I'm so glad to have finally reached you. It's Dorothy, you know your grandma's friend from the quilting club? Any way, I've been trying to reach you for over a month, dear. I'm afraid I have some news, so you may want to sit down a moment." Klaus' brain found itself in a bit of a wild whirlwind, lost between trying to put a face to a name and a sudden concern over why this woman was calling him of all people or what news she could she would come bearing. If anything, though, why wasn't his grandmother calling him instead?

"Klaus, honey, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but your grandmother passed away. We tried to hold the funeral off as long as we could knowing she'd want you here, but your mother had her cremated before any one of us could stop her and took everything except the car and a couple small things. I'm so sorry, dear, I really wish I didn't have to tell you like this." The words spoken seemed to not register with the male on the other side of the line, leaving him blinking in stunned confusion. Passed away? It almost seemed like a foreign phrase that he couldn't decipher. He knew by now that his grandmother was old enough that it was definitely something he'd have to worry about one day, but he never thought . . .

"Are you okay, honey? Listen, you don't have to fly all the way back home. I'll have my grandson bring the car and everything else up there to you, so everything will be taken care of, but know you aren't alone. We all miss her terribly." Words . . . Just sounds that didn't make any sense. He was too busy questioning things in his own head to ever acknowledge the other spoke, but even so he managed to conjure up a response. "Thank you. I-I think I need to go lay down for awhile. I don't feel so well. Good-bye, Dorothy." The woman began to say her farewells, but Klaus didn't wait as he ended the call and set the phone on the desk. There was just too much to think about.

It had been a few days since he received that call, but the news that had come with it had all but left his mind. More so now as he sat in the old '69 Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser which smelled of honey and musk though there were sweeter tones as well, such scents belonging to Avon's Sweet Honesty, a perfume his grandmother wore for decades. It made him wonder if she had been wearing it the day she passed. Yet, as the scent of a history long left behind lingered, he also knew this car hadn't been driven in quite some time. Though, that hadn't stopped him from trying to drive it from the lot Dorothy's grandson dropped it off at to the SOS office where he could get everything taken care of. After all, the less trips he hand to make out into the world, the better. Unfortunately, the vehicle seemed to disagree.

The heater had been giving off an oddly sweet smell for awhile now, but it hadn't been something he had given much thought to, chalking it up to be the aforementioned perfume. At least that was until he started to notice the white smoke that started to spew from under the hood. Panic set in as Klaus scrambled to pull off the road, though he probably looked like a maniac behind the wheel. To be fair, he was sort of driving illegally to begin with, failing to have renewed his driver's license back in '04 and only opted for state IDs ever since. So . . . He honestly shouldn't have been driving to begin with.

However, as frantic as he was, he managed to find a safe place to park himself, quick to shut the vehicle off and hurry pop the hood. He wasn't an car genius in any sense of the word, so unfortunately he was left to stand in the cold looking lost and frightened. There was no doubt in his mind that he was probably a pathetic sight, but he did his best to focus on the issue in front of his to keep away the creeping anxiety and fear that threatened to consume him. After all, this was bound to draw some attention to himself and that was the last thing he wanted to do, but the logical part of his brain also knew he needed the help badly. What was a man to do?

Hands found themselves brought up to the rosying cheeks, pressing them flat and forcing his lips to pucker like a fish's as his eyes closed in thought. Such a face was often made when he felt he was in a pickle, but it helped him think, though one might find it quite a sight to behold. Still, such matters were for another time, right now he had to figure out how to deal with this. The obvious answer was to call for a tow truck, but the fees along had him concerned, more so since he still probably had to pay for parts! Woe, such a horrid idea! Yet, this was his punishment for trying to drive this old bat home. Maybe next time he should just do the smart thing and have it delivered to his house instead of being such a paranoid nut.


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▌ ｌｏｃａｔｉｏｎ : Home > Street
▌ ｍｕｓｉｃ : You're - Beautiful
▌ ｃｏｍｐａｎｙ : No one
▌ ｃｌｏｔｈｉｎｇ : Day One
▌ ｏｏｃ : N//A

[BLStoner]

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"Oh s**t, s**t, s**t!" Fair skin was flushed from running so hard, lips parted as he panted heavily though he tried his best to quiet each breath. He should've known better than go through some wonky a** door, but one didn't generally think too much about those things when intoxicated. Of course, nothing sobered one up faster than being chased by a monster and not just any monster either. That thing looked exactly like the creature he wrote about in his book, but it couldn't be the same, could it? It didn't help like he was dressed as his main character who was suppose to be possessed by said creature either, but even so, how was it here? Ugh!

Hands fled to the dark locks, gripping them as he shook his head, confused on what to believe anymore. He just needed to find help to escape this crazy place and that horrid thing, once he did, he was going to scrap the whole project. He didn't need his writing to bring this sort of insanity into his life and certainly not something like this. He huffed before deciding to make a break for it, the male peering around the tree he was hunkered behind and took a moment to observe his surroundings. The creature was nowhere in sight, leaving Caine uncertain if he should feel terrified or relieved, but as he listened, he didn't hear anything either. So maybe it was gone?

A slow and relaxed sigh escaped the male before he moved to put his back against the trunk again, but the moment of peace was immediately stolen as pale hues found the source of his fear. The dark beast towered over him, the ocular cavities where one's eyes should be seemed focused solely on the male before letting out an ungodly sound unlike anything Caine had ever heard. It was enough to bring the contents of his stomach into his mouth, expelling it on the ground between him and the beast. Another round was quickly moving through his esophagus, but before it had the chance to get too far, one of the demon's four taloned hands gripped him about the throat, lifting him off the ground. His own gloved appendages grasped at the creature who was cutting off his oxygen supply and his struggling wasn't aiding the issue.

"Ngh, gah! Off! Tck!" He squeaked out, but the other seemed not interested as it brought it's other hands to his face, two of them taking control and forcing the male's mouth open as the final hand forced itself into the oral cavern and slowly pushing further into his throat. Pale hues began to roll back as he choked and convulsed as the demon pushed its way into him, his body trying to fight back against the invader, but the oxygen deprivation would quell his fight, his body slacking as his vision faded into and endless darkness . . .

Dark lids fluttered open, the pale hues exposed and shifting as his vision slowly came into focus. His body felt so heavy and ached as if he had been hit by an oncoming semi, but even so he struggled to move. What was happening? He groaned heavily before finding that despite his physical affliction, he could lift himself to sit upright as he blinked away the last of the blur that distorted the sights around him. The soft glow of candle light emitted from both sticks of wax and carved pumpkins that decorated the streets, though further down the path were streetlamps leading into a residential area. How odd, but how . . His mind took a few moments to stitch the pieces together before he realized what had happened. That thing . . . What had it done to him and why was he here and not in the woods where he had been previously? His body began to shake as his vision again blurred, this time from the tears that began to well up in his eyes. To say he was anything less than scared shitless was an understatement and he couldn't help but let out a few sobs. Could one blame him?

However much he wished to sit here and cry to his heart's content, he knew he needed to seek help and to get away from this place. He just wanted to go home and crawl into his tub to scrub himself clean, then destroy that damn book. He never wanted to see it again. Wiping his own tears away, Caine managed to get himself fairly under control and onto his feet, stumbling his way along the path and into the town. Certainly there had to be someone here who could aid him and set him right. if not, he had no idea what he was going to do.


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▌ ｌｏｃａｔｉｏｎ : Hysteria: Woods > Town
▌ ｍｕｓｉｃ : Night - Hunter
▌ ｃｏｍｐａｎｙ : A monstrous thing! > Alone
▌ ｈ ｉｄ ｄｅｎ ｆａｃｅ : Demon
▌ ｏｏｃ : Hello! And sorry for the weird intro post.

[BLStoner]

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"Where'd that ******** go?" A voice hissed softly, heavy boot fall reverberating down the hall in search of the single armed pest that had daring turned against them. Though said pest had his reasons. After all, they had tried to leave him behind after attracting a horde to their position, but in return Coinín had escaped and stole most of their supplies before destroying what was left over. The trouble he was in now was getting out of the two story bed and breakfast they had holed up in, but with the generator also ruined thanks to Coinín's deviance, his chance's were a lot better than they would have been otherwise.

Waiting until his pursuer passed, the lithe male slipped out from his hiding place and crept up on the other, just in time for the man to turn around. The blade strapped to his single arm slipped quickly into the other's gut before being sharply forced upward to reach the vital organs beneath the breast bone. The other only had a second to gasp before collapsing and sliding off the male's blade, making him the second to fall prey to Coinín. There were still three others he could take care of, but that wasn't his plan. Unfortunate that he didn't have both arms, he could have been done with this by now, but it was too late to waste his time thinking about the impossible.

Taking the stairs to the ground floor was asking for trouble, but the old building was equipped with a dumbwaiter, though the car had since been removed. Even so the shaft was large enough for him to climb down with out too much struggle, then he could head straight out the kitchen door. Easy enough, right? He didn't give it much more thought, already hearing the others making their way up the steps. No doubt the sound of the body dropping had set them on alert. He moved to open the small door and climbed inside, not wasting time as he shimmied his way down into the kitchen. Hmph. Seems no one was keeping an eye out for him down here. Good.

Stepping out, Coinín made for the door, managing to get himself outside and into the woods that surrounded the building. It didn't take long to put distance between himself and them, but even then he could still hear the gunfire resulting from the frustration of those who hunted him. And to think this all could have been avoided if they hadn't tried to abandon him. Idiots.

It had been a full three days since then, Coinín had crossed over from Tennessee to Mississippi, but after that he hadn't a clue where in the state he was. He might have had an idea if his eyes would have just focused long enough to read the signs, but his lack of sleep made it near impossible to distinguish one letter from the next. Yes, he knew not resting was a stupid move, but the risk of the others possibly following and even catching up was too great to chance. Of course, his unfortunate traveling buddy had been the only person to follow him so far and given they were moving the same sluggish pace, he posed no real threat to the tired soul. Then again, such a sight might be odd given Coinín should have just turned around and killed the shambling corpse, but the fellow kept the male on his toes and kept him moving. He'd hate to think what he might do had his companion not been there.


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▌ ｌｏｃａｔｉｏｎ : Tennessee: B&B > Mississippi: Streets
▌ ｃｏｍｐａｎｙ : No one but this rotting companion
▌ ｃｌｏｔｈｉｎｇ : Wanderer
▌ ｏｏｃ : Ah, sorry it's such a shitty post, but my brain isn't at all systems go today. I promise to do better with my next post.

[BLStoner]

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"Smells like something ******** died in here." A disgusted voice seemed to sound off in the distance, forcing pale lids to struggle open, spotting the familiar shades and shapes of the authority figures here in the prison. "Something almost did. This ******** is higher than a goddamn kite. Seems someone like his smack a little too much, isn't that right buddy?" A low chuckle sounded to his left, teal hues shifting to look at the man who was knelt down next to him, the used needle in his hand and waving it for the others to see. "Luckily, this son of a b***h is unkillable. You know how many times I've seen him recover from overdoses? It's like the ******** is trying to kill himself, but Death don't want him." More laughter erupted from the man, but Michael didn't care, finding the weight of his eyelids and his own head too much to hold up. Of course, letting him be wasn't an option for the men in the room.

"Hey, Princess, did I say you can go back to sleep?" A hard slap jolted the drugged man awake, but it made him no more aware of his situation than before, the heroin continued to cloud his head. "Alright boys, here's what we're gonna do. One of you is gonna help me hose him down and then we're getting his a** down to the mess hall. He'll be their problem then." A soft groan escaped the messed up male as his gaze drifted away from the others and to himself, the familiar sight of his stomach's contents and the damp concrete flooring beneath him told his doped out brain all it needed to know. Probably wouldn't be the last time he woke up in this situation either, not when it was so easy to chase the high here. Everybody was involved in the drug trafficking here. Prisoners, the guards, the chaplains. Hell, anyone who walked in the building was carrying something for sale. Why not? Wasn't like anyone in here was going to talk about it, not when there was money to be made. If he could, he would've laughed at the very thought.

Before long, the veteran guard's underlings had Michael all cleaned up and were dragging him down to the cafeteria. His own body was much too heavy for him to support in this state, though the man barely weighed much to begin with. Years of poor living left the male emaciated and dangerously underweight, the drug habits not helping the man's situation. It was surprising he was as physically developed as he was and had lived this long without organ failure. Though, he'd like to think maybe he'd get lucky and his heart would finally give out in the next couple years. Ah, but such seemed to be a pipe dream considering his track record.

The pair finally dropped the human wreck at one of the several tables in the room, almost seeming as if they were doing their own take on Weekend at Bernie's as they tried to get the male to sit up. Only one was quick to face defeat, storming off to go get the inmate his breakfast while the other was trying still to make sure Michael didn't just end up under the table, though he probably would've been better off at this point rather than becoming a spectacle. Fortunately for most, they'd seen this horse and pony show a thousand times before and weren't interested in another rerun. However, the more determined of the two finally called it quits when his partner returned, throwing the tray reckless onto the table, spilling some of its questionable contents. As their boss said earlier, he was someone else's problem now.

With that, the pair left and Michael, who had been like a defective Weebles toy, finally found some semblance of balance, until he slumped face first into his tray, of course. All was not so bad though, at least from this position the man could either snort his breakfast of lap it up like a dog, but given he had the strength for neither right now, he was content with the warmth cradling the lower half of his face. Man, did this feel so nice . . .


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"Vaffanculo!" An angry cry sounded as the American born Italian pulled his woeful blanket over his head. He did not want to get up and join the rest of the scum here for breakfast. In fact, he didn't want to be here at all. He was only here because those minchioni had rescinded on their part of deal because he did not have all the answers they were looking for. And to think he had given them so much already! Ugh! I made him so angry!

There was also the matter of being exhausted, having been transferred from his previously comfy cage to this s**t pit last night. That didn't sound so bad, right? Except the guards here took their sweet time getting anything done around here, subject him to their silly games before they dropped him into a cell to sleep. Or at least attempt to. He knew better than to just pass out in a place like this, knowing his could be a prime target for fresh b***h meat and no ******** way was he letting some homo put their hands on him just to prove they were the big dog around here. EVER.

Unfortunately, his desire to remain here wasn't an option, a disgruntled guard came into the cell and ripped the blanket off the new inmate before grabbing him by the collar as he got into the Italian's face. "You listen here you little ********, you are going to get your a** up and you're going to do it now or I'm going to bust you goddamn skull open like a piñata." Wow. Incredibly racist, but even with the threat of bodily harm, Nico wasn't going to take this sort of behaviour from anyone. So, he brazenly spat in the face of the other man. There was of course some initial surprise, but soon the man was flushing redder than a tomato as a hand wiped away the saliva. "You've got some brass ones, shithead, but you know what, I'm going to come for you tonight and I'm going to bring my friends along, then we're going to teach your a** a lesson in manners." One didn't have to be a genius to figure what that one meant, but Nico wasn't afraid. At least not outwardly.

"Bring it, porco." He countered, quickly finding himself thrown to the hard concrete flooring. ********! By now the guard just sneered and moved on out, waiting for the other to follow his earlier command to get up and prepare to head off for breakfast. Every fiber of Nico's being screamed to rebel, but the young man instead decided that perhaps this one time it would be best to do as he was told. After all, he already had an appointment with this man for later, no need to make it worse.

Similar to his last cage, he watched the cliques form in the cafeteria and determined that for now he was just going to sit and observe for the most part, then make his move. If he could hook up with the biggest and strongest group here, then he'd be set for good. He smirked to himself at such a thought as he moved to sit a currently empty table, Taking a moment to examine what was on his tray and that he wasn't interested in it. If there was one thing Italians knew, it was food, but this . . . This was not anything edible. He could almost hear his parents screaming about this in his head, causing the man to groan as he shook his head, riding himself of the voices. Best not to think about those two nutcase, especially not after the whole exorcism debacle. That was just ******** up.

However, he forced himself to survey the room again, this time noting an unfortunate arrival escorted by two guards. God dam, looked like they pulled that guy from the morgue. Though, the display that followed had Nico soon laughing his a** off, trying his hardest to muffle the sound behind his hand, but not well enough. Oh god, he couldn't breath, that was ******** hilarious. It was like the world's most messed up puppet show and even better yet was when the guy went face first into his tray. That really got him going then, his face becoming flushed as he laughed even harder and smashed the surface of the table as he tried to regain his breath between fits, though easier said than done. Oh, he took it all back, this place was the best.


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▌ ｌｏｃａｔｉｏｎ : Cell > Cafeteria
▌ ｃｏｍｐａｎｙ : Guard(s) > No one specific
▌ ｏｏｃ : Made a lazy two-man format. Sue me. Ha ha.

[BLStoner]

I'm a Navigator

¸¸.•´¯`•.¸•..>>--» My name is Jace Braxton, but some people call me Brax, Jae
I am Twenty-Five Years old.
I qualify as A Navigator Because I am well practiced in parkour, a skill that aids in traversing across the city without becoming zombie fodder. And a photographic memory doesn't hurt either, especially when needing to travel.
I am amale psuedohermaphrodite clearly.
I tend to go for men, don't judge me.
I kill zombies with Trench knife, Jessica-x (flat sabre grind) knife, two Ontario 18" military machete, Gerber downrange tomahawk, and a Glock 19 w/ Olight PL-1 II Valkarie attachment, 'cause I'm one bad a**.
My story goes like . . . I was born a little differently than most people. You see, I suffer from a condition known as male psuedohermaphroditism, more specifically, 5α-Reductase-2 Deficiency. I know, big words that don't make a lot of sense to the average joe, but if it makes you feel better, I have it and don't entirely understand what it is either. All I know is that I'm genetically male, but had some developmental hormone issues in the womb so things didn't turn out right. That's the short version of it. Or at least that's what I think is right. I don't know, I don't speak science. In fact, I failed most my science classes pretty hard 'cause I did not understand a thing . . . Wow, maybe I'm just dumb. Huh. Never thought of it like that. Any who, I should probably get back to telling you my story.
I was the last born of Anna-Belle Daniels, a southern bell with big dreams of Hollywood, and Donald Braxton, New York cop. Of course you know I didn't come out normally, but my folks and the doc were all sort of shocked when that things were funky down there, you know? The obvious answer was to cut their loss and make me a girl, or at least that's what the doc told them, which was fine with my mom having raised enough boys as it was. So, they had the hospital's surgeon to do the work. Unfortunately, not everything went smoothly. Despite the surgeon doing a great job on the reconstruction, the dodo left behind the jewels, wink wink, and I don't think anyone really made note of that. That particular hospital was crap with their clerical records. I know this because I went back when I was seven for chicken pox and instead someone wrote small pox into my chart instead. Yeah, they closed down a couple years after that and I'm pretty sure several people had their medical licenses revoked. But that's besides the point.
So, growing up was pretty interesting, most of my childhood is a miserable blur of pink, frills, and hair bows. I cried a lot and was generally unhappy until I was about nine or ten when my parents realized being a girl wasn't right for me. Of course, once I started being myself, my brothers used it to pick on me, but not in a bully type of way. Oh, who am I kidding, they could be bullies, but if they pushed it too far they always apologized and loved me no matter what. Few people get that kind of support, but it was everything that they were there for me. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said about my friends or the other kids at school.
Things got pretty bad around sixth grade when we had to take health courses and despite being true to my chromosomes, I was forced to attend the girl's class. Talking about fuel on the fire, right? It eventually drove me to start having a lot of "headaches", which is code for "I don't wanna go to school today" and because of that, my grades were just terrible, but hey, I got to hang out at the park while my parents were at work and my brothers were busy with high school. It's actually where I met a cool group of guys who enjoyed doing some awesome tricks and s**t. They called it things like "Parkour" and "Free-running", which instantly meant I wanted to do it too. Hey, why not? I didn't have friends and they were cool and I wanted to learn to do cool things with them. Plus, with them not knowing what a freak I was, it was a chance to be normal for once.
Once puberty kicked in, which I was a late bloomer, I began to normalize as a male. Things supposedly dropped, but to where was a mystery, but my voice got deeper, sort of, I had more muscle mass, I had a growth spurt, and all that fun stuff. Except body hair. I have a lot less than your normal guy and to make things better, I can't grow any facial hair. Zip, nada, none. However, it made the high school years a little easier, but a lot of people still remembered the freak and so I continued to skip school and hang out with my park buddies.
After a couple more years and a graduation later, I had since mastered the arts of parkour and free-running and turned them into a career. How? By achieving my mom's dream, making it in Hollywood. No, I wasn't a big star, but I found a lot of jobs doing stunts for B-rate films and television until I landed a big part in a popular action series. Well, more like being the stunt man for the main character of the show. It was definitely a position that taught me a lot and forced me to do a lot of crazy things, like jump out of a helicopter or run through a burning building. It was always fun though, but I never realized it would end up saving my life when s**t got crazy. What, you didn't forget about the dead heads, have you?
When it happened, I didn't know what to make of it other than find it to be the craziest thing I have ever experienced in my life.The dead came back to life and were eating other people, everyone running around like crazy. Just pure chaos. Worse yet was the guy I considered a friend who was suppose to help me and may family get out of the city abandoned us to die there. I couldn't even protect them and ended up losing everyone, but I swore if I ever saw that jerk again, I'd make him suffer for every single one of them before I cracked his head open.
Ah, now for what my current situation is. Well, I managed to travel cross-country, met a lot of crazy people, and then wound up at a six flags turned refugee camp. The folks there were probably the first normal people I came across and after being alone so long, you begin to yearn for some company, you know? So, I decided to stay and ended up as their Scav. team navigator. I'm pretty much the go-to guy for one man trips for supplies or if you need a general lay out in the area. Of course, that's if you can find me. This is the end of the world as we know it, you know? Everyone here might seem nice and I may like the sound of the living, but I ain't trusting no one. That's how you get killed.
People say I'm . . . Hmm, guess I'm a nice guy. I mean, if I saw someone in serious need I'd help them out, but I general stick to myself. People tend to become more dangerous in times like these. Anyways, I don't like to describe myself, but you'll see you who I am soon enough, until then, it's been nice to meet you.
I Like:
❤ Fresh food
❤ Feeling safe
❤ Not being alone
❤ Music
❤ Fire
❤ Sleep
❤ Sounds of people
I Dislike:
☣ Sardines
☣ The dark
☣ The dead
☣ Being completely alone
☣ The cold
Don't tell anyone, but I'm really controlled by BLStoner«--<<..•.¸¸•´¯`•.¸

[BLStoner]

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Long legs carried the six foot five inch frame through the seaside paths, just in time to catch the end of a small spat between two people. Curiosity, a strange beast with no sense of respect, deviated the man from his previous path and instead brought him into the range of said interest. Pale hues fell upon the vision of two men, one already making his way from the scene and the other left to remain. Of course, the other appeared to have made note of his presence and approached him, only then to speak with such a distinct pronunciation that the metalsmith could not help but grin to himself. It was certainly quite befit of the rugged man before him.

"Well, Thorin, I'd be happy to help." Kass' own deep, rich tones weren't so hindered like his new friend's, but even he did not quite match the dialect of Eastmire, though a trained ear would pick up on the man's well practiced modulation in attempt to blend in better. "And you may call me Kastor, or Kass for short." A slight chuckle reverberated from his throat at the thought of the other speaking his name, though perhaps the man should settle down with his small delight, hoping the other would not misread the situation as light mockery. Such was not the case at all, but given the gentleman's demeanor, he was very doubtful he'd see Kass meant no harm.

"If you'd be so kind as to follow me, I shall get you where you need to go." The male waved his hand towards himself, signaling for the other to keep up with him as the man began to reroute himself for the second time this evening. Not that he minded aiding the other in the least, for what else awaited him this night other than a few drinks and the false promises of sleep. No, this was much more interesting anyhow. Though speaking of such devils, the pale orbs found themselves glancing the other man over.

"Mind my asking what this job of yours is?" Whether he answered truthfully or even decided to brush the question off, he certainly didn't look like he was here to play cargo inspector. Obviously the man was a fighter, but that didn't entirely clarify things either, though he was safe to assume being the newest member of the guard could be crossed off the list. After all, he had been witness to his people skills and he had to admit they weren't on par for the the type of work such a position required. Hmm. Perhaps it was just best to wait and see what the man had to say for himself.



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▌ ｌｏｃａｔｉｏｎ : Streets
▌ ｍｕｓｉｃ :Remaining - Shadows
▌ ｃｏｍｐａｎｙ : Self > A man named Thorin
▌ ａｔｔｉｒｅ : Cleaned Up
▌ ｏｏｃ : N//A.