[quote=@Naril]
[@Bishop] [@CanisMajoris2] - This isn't a first-come, first-served RP, it's an application-by-audition one. I would suspect you'd be more than welcome to submit characters. :3
[/quote]

If such is the case, I hope to have a sheet up soon. I'll be reading the other sheets here, momentarily, to see if any are too similar to my own, which is:


The character would be a hard, formerly working for a sort of run-down, not so happy-go lucky carnival. The sort of carnival, that bad things happen happen at. Bartholomew, the Bard, formed a pact with the spirits that allowed him to tell otherworldly tales, but the price being that his body is showing very early signs of the flesh becoming none(if you know what plaque psoraisis is, think of it as a very advanced form of that). To aid in his bardy-ness, I'm hoping to have posts done by him in a different manner, mainly as though he's always speaking, and narrating almost all his actions. 
----

Name: Bartholomew

Age: 36

Appearance: Often covered in a thick dark hooded cloak, Bartholomew is deceptively tall and lanky, a fact hidden by the fact he is often seen sitting or hunched over. Beneath the cloak is a dark skinned human, whose pact has left patches of his skin in a dead-like state. Despite this, it has not affected his movements. Beneath the hood, busy black hair, gives it the appearance of being larger than it is, while deeply brown eyes often watch his surroundings to see how his stories are affecting others. 

Concept: The Bard of the Dark Carnival

Powers/skills: Before making a pact with the spirits, Bartholomew was an already accomplished Bard, having worked in the dark carnival under such capacity. He could weave tales upon tales, that enamored the masses with their building crescendo and breath-taking endings. 

Afterwards, in an attempt to increase his stake with the company, he, along with a Madame of the Occult, summoned forth the spirits of those who had not left the carnival in the same state they'd come in. He, in turn, made a dark pact with them, earning the ability to converse with the dead, but that came at a price. It would cost him his skin, over time, until he died as a husk of white meat, bones, and sinew. 

Writing Sample: 

[Hider=Enter the Bard][I]Come one, come all - welcome to the Dark Carnival, where those who enter very rarely leave. Watch as the Bard, Bartholomew, myself, witness you gather and murmur among yourself. Who is this man, whose image hides beneath a cloak of bleak darkness, who watches you all shift warily from left to right, foot to foot? 

He, I, am the reason you stand now - unable to leave this dreary room, captivated by a voice that sounds like honeyed love, and shadowy whispers. I now sit, to bring myself closer to you all, so that my voice may form a fist to grip your heart, with a tale of death and intrigue. 

A group of twenty, much like yourselves, once came to a place with a broken down sign that offered free rides, and free readings, with food fit for a king. I see how you now let the worry cover you like a babe in a swaddle, but fret not - you are safe, we have eaten our fill. 

This particular group had come to the but of a Bard, a storyteller, and hoped that he would treat them to darker tales to befit a dark place. Much like you, they stood there, were said to be safe. But by the end of this tale, much like the last, there will be only a few of you left. I smile now though you cannot see it, for you are all the trapped, subjects of a story of your imminent demise. 

I ride with an unholy haste, for this is my last performance - the insatiable darkness of this carnival has taken a toll on me, and thought I wished to have saved you, I could not. Let my words be the binds that hold you to your various faiths, as you pray for something swift and painless. While it may fall in deaf ears, I must tell you, God and all others like him have forsaken this place of death, just as I do now.'

The Bard turns now, and exits, his voice becoming a a mere whisper drowned out by the inner screams of patrons fated to never return home. His bag packed, ready days ago, for.his journey to his new place of employment - The Sunday Group.

His former coworkers and associates would miss him, and then that emotion would turn into a deep hatred, for what he was going to do would end the Carnival and all their heinous crimes. He sought redemption for a man who was as hellbound as any other killer. 

The road was long, deserted, the wind haunted him with it's breeze. It did as little as possible to soothe the heat that beat down on him, but he did not stop.

Long after, the building for the Sunday Group looked ahead of him, he who faced the hot sun. Would they accept him with his past?

A ghost once told this Bard no, that he saw into the hearts of the living, and to them, he was an abomination. 

Bartholomew would battle this stigma and prove his worth, he told himself, as he reached for the handle of the door.

With a turn, I, your Bard, entered into the Sunday Groups head and shut the door behind him. [/I][/hider]