Doc Doctor
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The Fight Doctor
STATUS: Moved to Discord. Visit my YouTube channel (ArtyPickles PvP) at m.youtube.com/channel/UCVer… 3 yrs ago
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Moved to Discord. Visit my YouTube channel (ArtyPickles PvP) at m.youtube.com/channel/UCVer…
Bio
Call me Doc. I'm open to just about every form of roleplay at any time, so if you want to have some fun just toss a P.M my way.
I do prefer RM, URM, or low tier fights, with human or peak human hand-to-hand and swords & sandals being my speciality.
Challenge me to a match just any old time!
Arena Characters: http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/87852-docs-characters-no-posting/ooc#post-3105991
Most Recent Posts
@Terminal
Just so you know I really don't plan to try and kill every NPC we come across. I hope Donny isn't ruining the progression of the plot by being so insistently volatile towards strangers!
Just so you know I really don't plan to try and kill every NPC we come across. I hope Donny isn't ruining the progression of the plot by being so insistently volatile towards strangers!
@Terminal
Donny tensed up as the Rolls Royce approached, quirking an eyebrow at Kael as he did so as if to suggest he ready up for trouble. The hitman's half lidded eyes and wickedly arched brows suggested a limitless capacity for violence, lips pursed with anticipation. A cigarette smoldered at the corner of his mouth, the last one having been near imperceptibly replaced. Kael, being the little calculator he was, probably knew what that meant. Donny's right eye twitched as Ariett made calming motions at him, and for a moment he looked like he was going to go after her too for showing weakness... Only to grunt in admission a second later, his posture slackening as he seemed to shrug the malice off. The car rolled up, the window rolled down, the fellow inside scrutinized the group and began to speak. Donny interrupted him.
"Hawld awn, jus' a quick question. Haow manuh bluebirds does it take tuh sing?"
Donny's left hand flickered out of his coat, a shadow of a blur. Unless the gentleman driving the Royce had the reflexes of a boxer and the instincts of a soldier, he'd scarcely be able to react to the small object being tossed through his open window, a hard, ovular thing which could easily roll under a seat. He'd probably have no idea what it even was until he saw Donny plug an index finger into each ear and curl into himself as he fell to the side, shoulders hunching up to cover his neck, which would be all the time it took for the explosive to detonate. Concussion grenades have a far smaller lethal radius than frags, but are no less useful. Perfect for minimizing collateral damage whilst clearing out small rooms or, say, a vintage automobile. The shock would pulverize the windows, force a smoky kinetic halo out of the ground around the car, and undoubtedly kill everyone inside. Of course the grenade could be tossed back out before the 2.5 second fuse expired, but that was assuming the passenger was as sharp and clever as a cat and that the device didn't land in an awkward spot. Why the sudden attack? Donny had his reasons. For one thing he didn't trust tinted windows. He also knew that he could check the bodies and car for information, and of course he already had someone to give them information. It just takes one captive to talk. Even if the folks in the Royce knew a few things the thug didn't, Donny wasn't in the mood for allowing anyone to approach so brazenly. If help were meaningful, he figured it could come in a far more modest and unsuspicious fashion. If Donny's assault went well, he'd deliver the punch line once everyone's ears stopped ringing.
"Only one."
Donny tensed up as the Rolls Royce approached, quirking an eyebrow at Kael as he did so as if to suggest he ready up for trouble. The hitman's half lidded eyes and wickedly arched brows suggested a limitless capacity for violence, lips pursed with anticipation. A cigarette smoldered at the corner of his mouth, the last one having been near imperceptibly replaced. Kael, being the little calculator he was, probably knew what that meant. Donny's right eye twitched as Ariett made calming motions at him, and for a moment he looked like he was going to go after her too for showing weakness... Only to grunt in admission a second later, his posture slackening as he seemed to shrug the malice off. The car rolled up, the window rolled down, the fellow inside scrutinized the group and began to speak. Donny interrupted him.
"Hawld awn, jus' a quick question. Haow manuh bluebirds does it take tuh sing?"
Donny's left hand flickered out of his coat, a shadow of a blur. Unless the gentleman driving the Royce had the reflexes of a boxer and the instincts of a soldier, he'd scarcely be able to react to the small object being tossed through his open window, a hard, ovular thing which could easily roll under a seat. He'd probably have no idea what it even was until he saw Donny plug an index finger into each ear and curl into himself as he fell to the side, shoulders hunching up to cover his neck, which would be all the time it took for the explosive to detonate. Concussion grenades have a far smaller lethal radius than frags, but are no less useful. Perfect for minimizing collateral damage whilst clearing out small rooms or, say, a vintage automobile. The shock would pulverize the windows, force a smoky kinetic halo out of the ground around the car, and undoubtedly kill everyone inside. Of course the grenade could be tossed back out before the 2.5 second fuse expired, but that was assuming the passenger was as sharp and clever as a cat and that the device didn't land in an awkward spot. Why the sudden attack? Donny had his reasons. For one thing he didn't trust tinted windows. He also knew that he could check the bodies and car for information, and of course he already had someone to give them information. It just takes one captive to talk. Even if the folks in the Royce knew a few things the thug didn't, Donny wasn't in the mood for allowing anyone to approach so brazenly. If help were meaningful, he figured it could come in a far more modest and unsuspicious fashion. If Donny's assault went well, he'd deliver the punch line once everyone's ears stopped ringing.
"Only one."
@ImportantNobody
Sounds good.
The bogle only spawns if the target's fear can be represented by a tangible entity. Being afraid of a concept doesn't count, so the Magna Pater is summoned. The Magna Pater of course is called by the spell because it stands at the top of the fear echelon. The only reason it doesn't pop up all the time is because few have ever met it and come away capable of telling stories.
Sounds good.
The bogle only spawns if the target's fear can be represented by a tangible entity. Being afraid of a concept doesn't count, so the Magna Pater is summoned. The Magna Pater of course is called by the spell because it stands at the top of the fear echelon. The only reason it doesn't pop up all the time is because few have ever met it and come away capable of telling stories.
@mdk@Terminal
Donny's eyes widened and the cigarette dropped from his sagging mouth. He slowly licked his lips, left hand twitching out from the safety of its pocket. Between his gloved fingers was a folded note. He held it up before his face and opened it. He remembered quickly copying down the information, he actually remembered it. A look of confusion so strong that it resembled severe disgust warped Donny's features. He read the note over again, and yet again after that. He felt something like a heavy vice clinching his aorta. Despite himself, Donny's eyes drooped back into their usual position as he allowed himself a dry smirk. How long had it been? He could scarcely remember when he had last felt genuine fear uncoiling its cold, scaly length within him. Under his breath, barely audible, he murmured a greeting.
"Hello, old friend."
Donny paused, huffed, and repeated himself. This time he forced his accent.
"Hello ol' frahnd..."
Of all the weapons he hid, of all the violence humankind implemented, Donny knew which one was deadliest. Fear, fear, fear. It was fuel for war, fuel for ambition. Donny could feel it like a broiling energy, energy that sharpened his mind and cleared out his senses. A cold shower had nothing on this. Everything went into crystal focus. He turned to where Luca had landed, crooking a finger at the boy and calling him over. "Son, c'movah heeyuh. Ah wanna ask yuh few things."
Donny disliked being treated as a plaything. He offered his services and fulfilled them to the best of his ability, but he always expected his employers to meet certain standards. Right now, he was being used for purposes that had not been in his contract. Platter was trying to double-skunk him. Had Platter merely allowed for the extra details and paid the additional fee required for waging a supernatural battle, Donny would have gladly participated after having done enough research to comfortably handle the job. But no, Platter had taken Donny for a fool, and so were the entities behind this whole fiasco. Even Luca's apparent manager was fucking around, withholding vital information. Donny prided himself on being an out-of-the-box intellectual, one who was able to explore all avenues of possibility. Flexibility and the power to adapt were vital when death was your profession, and at this moment in time, Donny felt particularly lethal. He preferred not to act out of anger. He accepted irritation, but anger was one of the core emotions that drove fools to their doom. Donny preferred to take care of situations such as these in the name of self preservation. If in the world there were things that compromised his job and existence, they had to be dealt with. Luca's manager, Platter, the entities, perhaps the entire town was treating him like a plaything. The thought crossed Donny's mind that he was likely being egotistical, assuming that he could have any sort of influence on the supposedly formidable powers conglomerating in this place. Then again, if he was so insubstantial why then would one side desire his aid? Furthermore, if one does not shoot for stars, how will one ever make it to space? No. That wasn't a Donny-ism. More like a quote you'd find on a cheap middle school poster. Aim small, miss small. Much better. Donny remembered one of the spaghetti Westerns he liked. Everyone had their hand of cards, had laid their money down. Donny's hand was a losing one, and so there was only one thing for it if he didn't want to lose on a bluff. Shove his fears down, kick the table over, and pull out his shooting iron. In the Wild West, the gun determined who won and who lost, who had the final say. Perhaps Donny's Magnum couldn't handle this particular game of poker, but he felt he could utilize something far more powerful with the help of Senior "Astroboy".
Donny's eyes widened and the cigarette dropped from his sagging mouth. He slowly licked his lips, left hand twitching out from the safety of its pocket. Between his gloved fingers was a folded note. He held it up before his face and opened it. He remembered quickly copying down the information, he actually remembered it. A look of confusion so strong that it resembled severe disgust warped Donny's features. He read the note over again, and yet again after that. He felt something like a heavy vice clinching his aorta. Despite himself, Donny's eyes drooped back into their usual position as he allowed himself a dry smirk. How long had it been? He could scarcely remember when he had last felt genuine fear uncoiling its cold, scaly length within him. Under his breath, barely audible, he murmured a greeting.
"Hello, old friend."
Donny paused, huffed, and repeated himself. This time he forced his accent.
"Hello ol' frahnd..."
Of all the weapons he hid, of all the violence humankind implemented, Donny knew which one was deadliest. Fear, fear, fear. It was fuel for war, fuel for ambition. Donny could feel it like a broiling energy, energy that sharpened his mind and cleared out his senses. A cold shower had nothing on this. Everything went into crystal focus. He turned to where Luca had landed, crooking a finger at the boy and calling him over. "Son, c'movah heeyuh. Ah wanna ask yuh few things."
Donny disliked being treated as a plaything. He offered his services and fulfilled them to the best of his ability, but he always expected his employers to meet certain standards. Right now, he was being used for purposes that had not been in his contract. Platter was trying to double-skunk him. Had Platter merely allowed for the extra details and paid the additional fee required for waging a supernatural battle, Donny would have gladly participated after having done enough research to comfortably handle the job. But no, Platter had taken Donny for a fool, and so were the entities behind this whole fiasco. Even Luca's apparent manager was fucking around, withholding vital information. Donny prided himself on being an out-of-the-box intellectual, one who was able to explore all avenues of possibility. Flexibility and the power to adapt were vital when death was your profession, and at this moment in time, Donny felt particularly lethal. He preferred not to act out of anger. He accepted irritation, but anger was one of the core emotions that drove fools to their doom. Donny preferred to take care of situations such as these in the name of self preservation. If in the world there were things that compromised his job and existence, they had to be dealt with. Luca's manager, Platter, the entities, perhaps the entire town was treating him like a plaything. The thought crossed Donny's mind that he was likely being egotistical, assuming that he could have any sort of influence on the supposedly formidable powers conglomerating in this place. Then again, if he was so insubstantial why then would one side desire his aid? Furthermore, if one does not shoot for stars, how will one ever make it to space? No. That wasn't a Donny-ism. More like a quote you'd find on a cheap middle school poster. Aim small, miss small. Much better. Donny remembered one of the spaghetti Westerns he liked. Everyone had their hand of cards, had laid their money down. Donny's hand was a losing one, and so there was only one thing for it if he didn't want to lose on a bluff. Shove his fears down, kick the table over, and pull out his shooting iron. In the Wild West, the gun determined who won and who lost, who had the final say. Perhaps Donny's Magnum couldn't handle this particular game of poker, but he felt he could utilize something far more powerful with the help of Senior "Astroboy".
@Terminal
@WiseDragonGirl
Three seconds after he finished speaking, Donny's smug grin dropped right off his face. It hit him like a load of bricks. He had lost his accent. He glanced nervously around, no longer quite so confident. The knight was doing a good job of keeping the enemy busy, along with that Luca kid. Yeah, Luca, the one who suffered from @Terminal severe priapism @Terminal. Donny was still blinking in confusion and quite close to ending the thug purely for stress relief when Andy gave him pause. The hitman sized Andy up, and after a few moments of tense silence, nodded and backed off. He didn't want to hear his own voice, didn't want to admit that things really were spiraling out of his control. Aside from that, just about the dumbest thing he could do was make the only certified medical practitioner among them angry. It never paid to fuck with the medic. Donny knew the basics of taking care of himself, but if he got badly wounded he'd undoubtedly regret having done anything unmoral to the only person for miles who could kiss his boo-boos.
Having found a nice comfy wall, Donny propped the vector up against it before taking a lean himself, legs crossing. He flicked the silver top of his lighter open with a 'chink', and was soon slowly puffing as he watched the goings on. He wasn't taking a break, no. He was figuring things out. There was some trick being played on them, one that crapped on reality. Warm twines of smoke braided peaceably before Donny's eyes as he puzzled over everything they had gone through.
@WiseDragonGirl
Three seconds after he finished speaking, Donny's smug grin dropped right off his face. It hit him like a load of bricks. He had lost his accent. He glanced nervously around, no longer quite so confident. The knight was doing a good job of keeping the enemy busy, along with that Luca kid. Yeah, Luca, the one who suffered from @Terminal severe priapism @Terminal. Donny was still blinking in confusion and quite close to ending the thug purely for stress relief when Andy gave him pause. The hitman sized Andy up, and after a few moments of tense silence, nodded and backed off. He didn't want to hear his own voice, didn't want to admit that things really were spiraling out of his control. Aside from that, just about the dumbest thing he could do was make the only certified medical practitioner among them angry. It never paid to fuck with the medic. Donny knew the basics of taking care of himself, but if he got badly wounded he'd undoubtedly regret having done anything unmoral to the only person for miles who could kiss his boo-boos.
Having found a nice comfy wall, Donny propped the vector up against it before taking a lean himself, legs crossing. He flicked the silver top of his lighter open with a 'chink', and was soon slowly puffing as he watched the goings on. He wasn't taking a break, no. He was figuring things out. There was some trick being played on them, one that crapped on reality. Warm twines of smoke braided peaceably before Donny's eyes as he puzzled over everything they had gone through.
@Terminal
A pair of legs ending in polished black dress shoes scissored smartly past the crippled thug. Figuring that the kid and the knight had the situation covered well enough, Donny strode to what he estimated to be a relatively safe distance from the scene, about twenty yards. From there he brought the vector up and kept it trained on Mr. Arrowknee. The flaccid smile on Donny's face was catlike, nay, closer to leonine in its sardonic arrogance, however the Machiavellian mirth contained in that mug was not reflected in the hitman's eyes. His cloying Maine accent was the amiable purr of a predator in its element. "Stawp there. That pawticulah spawt'll do jus' fine. In light of recent events, Ah've extended yuh time till this moment. Yuh ten seconds stawts naow. Talk."
A pair of legs ending in polished black dress shoes scissored smartly past the crippled thug. Figuring that the kid and the knight had the situation covered well enough, Donny strode to what he estimated to be a relatively safe distance from the scene, about twenty yards. From there he brought the vector up and kept it trained on Mr. Arrowknee. The flaccid smile on Donny's face was catlike, nay, closer to leonine in its sardonic arrogance, however the Machiavellian mirth contained in that mug was not reflected in the hitman's eyes. His cloying Maine accent was the amiable purr of a predator in its element. "Stawp there. That pawticulah spawt'll do jus' fine. In light of recent events, Ah've extended yuh time till this moment. Yuh ten seconds stawts naow. Talk."
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