AmongHeroes
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- Old Guild Username: AmongHeroes
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Bio
Always Searching For The Next Great Story
Hello there,
I am AmongHeroes, and I'm happy you're here. I am an experienced roleplayer, writer, and fantastical creator.
♠ - I am an adult in my 30's. As such, I prefer to write with other adults.
♠ - Though I am capable of embodying many varied characters, in 1 x 1 settings I prefer writing as a heterosexual male with a generally dominant/masculine aura.
♠ - Genres I enjoy range from low & high fantasy, sci-fi, horror, gothic, romance, dark romance and noir.
♠ - Adult themes are welcome including violence, sexual encounters, etc.
Do feel free to reach out to me for partnership inquiries or for friendly interaction. I look forward to seeing you 𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑒𝑠 we create.
I am made from the stardust of Her heart. Linked beyond time and moons and stars, in every life a soul fitted indelibly to a universe woven in the shape of Her claim.
Most Recent Posts
Also, I'll be posting today/tonight, and I'll be making edits to my last post as well.
Good morning, friends. How you all doing?
Thomas smiled at the report of the cannon, and the ensuing smell of black powder that accompanied it. It was a smell that invoked feelings of power, menace, and riches. It was a harbinger of both death and opportunity, but Thomas forced himself to view it only as the latter in this instance, with his holds full of pillaged Spanish treasures.
His smile, so much a fixture of the Skate’s successful return voyage to Port Royal, only brightened as Antonia’s inimitable voice called out his moniker of “Silver Fish.” He saw her eyes looked to Jax, and he guessed at their taunting intent. The sea-artist had not mentioned any misgivings directly to Thomas, but he had the keen feeling that the age-old sailor superstition of women on a ship being bad luck was at the forefront of the man’s mind. Thomas had noticed that Jax was not the only member of his crew to have these fears, and several had even left the Dusk Skate for service aboard more traditional vessels. To Thomas, it was hard to claim that women were catalysts for ill-fortune when the Skate was about to pull in the largest single haul for Port Royal during the year 1667.
Thomas nodded to Antonia, and responded with, “Aye, the usual place. I’m going to see to the unloading of the cargo first.” This would give Antonia plenty of time to ply her unique trade, and hopefully yield the Dusk Skate with its next lucrative venture.
He stepped away to the bow of the ship, and found Nicki’s watchful eyes upon the operations of the crew. Upon the docks, just a few hundred yards off the starboard-bow, workers awaited the throw lines from the Skate, and Thomas could hear their excited banter even now.
“Well, Ms. Beauchamp,” he said to his First Mate, a sly curve to his bearded face, “is your share of the booty already spent, eh?” Thomas raised a mischievous eyebrow to the woman. “If you have a mind, I’d love to see you try and prove the French curse erroneous by actually not losing your weight in silver at cards.”
He had to admit that he did not know if Nicki was a gambler, but he knew that he was, and any good seafarer should be able to navigate a fast-paced game of gleek, at least in Thomas humble opinion. His question had been in a manner of jest, but there was a hint of genuine challenge in his voice as well. Thomas genuinely trusted his First Mate, the fact that she held the coveted position spoke to as much, but he still knew very little about the beautiful French woman.
“Much of the crew will be at the Black Boar later on this evening, loosened with rum and angered by cards.” He said, “I hope to see you there.”
* * *
Over the next several hours the Dusk Skate set at the North Docks, having its precious cargo unloaded and precisely cataloged by the governor’s customs quartermaster. By the middle of the night all the crew had received their shares, and had dispersed to the innumerable bawdy houses, grog shops, taverns, and gambling dens that filled the waterfront of Port Royal. Though fatigued, Thomas Lightfoot still had much to attend to that evening.
He set out for a small tavern on High Street named the Parakeet. As he made his way through the muddy, stinking streets, he looked forward to his meeting with Antonia. The city of Port Royal was a place rife with rumor and gossip, and a place ripe for harvesting by the skills of one such as his eagle-eyed rogue. This was an invaluable asset for Thomas, and the information she gleaned in turn enriched his entire crew.
Making his way inside of the dimly lit interior of the Parakeet, he took an empty seat in a corner away from the entrance to the tavern. Waiting there alone with his thoughts, he knew truthfully that his main pleasure in meeting with Antonia was for much more selfishly personal reasons than the prospect of gold. With a smile of self-acknowledgment, Thomas set back and motioned for the servant-boy to bring him a tankard of grog, and waited for the grey eyes of Antonia.
His smile, so much a fixture of the Skate’s successful return voyage to Port Royal, only brightened as Antonia’s inimitable voice called out his moniker of “Silver Fish.” He saw her eyes looked to Jax, and he guessed at their taunting intent. The sea-artist had not mentioned any misgivings directly to Thomas, but he had the keen feeling that the age-old sailor superstition of women on a ship being bad luck was at the forefront of the man’s mind. Thomas had noticed that Jax was not the only member of his crew to have these fears, and several had even left the Dusk Skate for service aboard more traditional vessels. To Thomas, it was hard to claim that women were catalysts for ill-fortune when the Skate was about to pull in the largest single haul for Port Royal during the year 1667.
Thomas nodded to Antonia, and responded with, “Aye, the usual place. I’m going to see to the unloading of the cargo first.” This would give Antonia plenty of time to ply her unique trade, and hopefully yield the Dusk Skate with its next lucrative venture.
He stepped away to the bow of the ship, and found Nicki’s watchful eyes upon the operations of the crew. Upon the docks, just a few hundred yards off the starboard-bow, workers awaited the throw lines from the Skate, and Thomas could hear their excited banter even now.
“Well, Ms. Beauchamp,” he said to his First Mate, a sly curve to his bearded face, “is your share of the booty already spent, eh?” Thomas raised a mischievous eyebrow to the woman. “If you have a mind, I’d love to see you try and prove the French curse erroneous by actually not losing your weight in silver at cards.”
He had to admit that he did not know if Nicki was a gambler, but he knew that he was, and any good seafarer should be able to navigate a fast-paced game of gleek, at least in Thomas humble opinion. His question had been in a manner of jest, but there was a hint of genuine challenge in his voice as well. Thomas genuinely trusted his First Mate, the fact that she held the coveted position spoke to as much, but he still knew very little about the beautiful French woman.
“Much of the crew will be at the Black Boar later on this evening, loosened with rum and angered by cards.” He said, “I hope to see you there.”
Over the next several hours the Dusk Skate set at the North Docks, having its precious cargo unloaded and precisely cataloged by the governor’s customs quartermaster. By the middle of the night all the crew had received their shares, and had dispersed to the innumerable bawdy houses, grog shops, taverns, and gambling dens that filled the waterfront of Port Royal. Though fatigued, Thomas Lightfoot still had much to attend to that evening.
He set out for a small tavern on High Street named the Parakeet. As he made his way through the muddy, stinking streets, he looked forward to his meeting with Antonia. The city of Port Royal was a place rife with rumor and gossip, and a place ripe for harvesting by the skills of one such as his eagle-eyed rogue. This was an invaluable asset for Thomas, and the information she gleaned in turn enriched his entire crew.
Making his way inside of the dimly lit interior of the Parakeet, he took an empty seat in a corner away from the entrance to the tavern. Waiting there alone with his thoughts, he knew truthfully that his main pleasure in meeting with Antonia was for much more selfishly personal reasons than the prospect of gold. With a smile of self-acknowledgment, Thomas set back and motioned for the servant-boy to bring him a tankard of grog, and waited for the grey eyes of Antonia.
Good morning, good morning, from the road down to the Gulf of Mexico! I'm going to be down south for Spring Break, so I won't be in the OOC as much, but I'll still be posting in the IC to keep things trucking. How is everybody?
^ This.
Derren Krenshaw said
Comment: Veti and Semyon had gone for the construct that charged Anslem, per your previous post, while I believe Adam and Daisy were playing with the one that got staggered by Nestor's mage-comet. Your last post just made it seem everyone had attacked just one of the one.
Thanks for that clarification. I'll have to change it later, but let's assume ultimately that the result is very near the same so people can keep on posting.
Congratulations everyone! I've done some looking, and Pieces of 8 currently holds the third most IC posts of any Advanced RP on this site. To make it even better, our RP is a lot younger than the two ahead of us
. I wanted to say THANK YOU to all of you for putting in such great work and time for this RP. It means a great deal to me to have you here and enjoying yourselves. Carry on!Let's say roughly a hundred feet tall or so.
I think my latest post should solve any issues or doubts about the insta-kill thing.
The Library of Alexandria
The onslaught upon the Anubi was proving to be overwhelming. With the collective might of their assailants, the mammoths of onyx stone were being whittled down like a great oak being riven by termites. The first, the one that been knocked off balance by the initial strike of the hurtling ice-demon, was the first to fall. The fiery sconces of its eyes were mutilated by supernatural lead, and its roar of pain shook a millennia’s worth of dust and sand from the ceiling of the library.
Its arms flailed in an attempt to shake off the werewolf that leapt across its head and body, but without its sight, the Anubi’s remarkable speed was for naught. Disoriented, and already off balance, the stonework ogre tried to step back, only to find that its leg had been struck by an invisible blade of great power, and one that channeled the very essence of death itself. In a shatter of obsidian splinters, the ankle burst, and the Anubi fell with it. As the massive figure descended towards the sandstone floor, its body continued to fragment, splintering into large and razor sharp daggers of black-rock that now fell towards the attackers below. With its last thought, the Anubi longed for his crumbling body to crush those beneath him, and send their souls for their final judgment.
Though his brethren had fallen before him, the second Anubi did not retreat nor cower. The pair had been reckless, and overconfident in the face of their foes. Even with the touch of ancient venom from the god-king, the remaining Anubi did not flinch. The decay and rot that passed up from the bite was followed by an instantaneous wave of bubbling orange, like that of molten glass, that brought the damaged stone flesh back to its polished sheen. What the vain creature had failed to realize was that the Anubi had been wrought from the very will of Set, the god of storms and chaos, and a true god, not one that had to equivocate his name with some egocentric hyphenated title like that of “god-king.”
The enormous eyes of the jackal-headed monster swept down to the creature that had tried to poison him. The man, so distracted by his egoistic blustering, did not see the mighty strike that then befell him. With a force that defied the laws of physics, the Anubi landed the back of a massive hand against the god-king, and thusly sent him hurtling back into the depths of the library. With the minor annoyance gone, the giant leapt back apace, and when he landed he buried the point of his blade into the stone floor with a thundering crack and flash of light.
An immediate and tremendous wave of cascading rock and fire erupted from the contact point of the sword, sweeping in a deadly ring towards the attackers positioned around the library.
The onslaught upon the Anubi was proving to be overwhelming. With the collective might of their assailants, the mammoths of onyx stone were being whittled down like a great oak being riven by termites. The first, the one that been knocked off balance by the initial strike of the hurtling ice-demon, was the first to fall. The fiery sconces of its eyes were mutilated by supernatural lead, and its roar of pain shook a millennia’s worth of dust and sand from the ceiling of the library.
Its arms flailed in an attempt to shake off the werewolf that leapt across its head and body, but without its sight, the Anubi’s remarkable speed was for naught. Disoriented, and already off balance, the stonework ogre tried to step back, only to find that its leg had been struck by an invisible blade of great power, and one that channeled the very essence of death itself. In a shatter of obsidian splinters, the ankle burst, and the Anubi fell with it. As the massive figure descended towards the sandstone floor, its body continued to fragment, splintering into large and razor sharp daggers of black-rock that now fell towards the attackers below. With its last thought, the Anubi longed for his crumbling body to crush those beneath him, and send their souls for their final judgment.
Though his brethren had fallen before him, the second Anubi did not retreat nor cower. The pair had been reckless, and overconfident in the face of their foes. Even with the touch of ancient venom from the god-king, the remaining Anubi did not flinch. The decay and rot that passed up from the bite was followed by an instantaneous wave of bubbling orange, like that of molten glass, that brought the damaged stone flesh back to its polished sheen. What the vain creature had failed to realize was that the Anubi had been wrought from the very will of Set, the god of storms and chaos, and a true god, not one that had to equivocate his name with some egocentric hyphenated title like that of “god-king.”
The enormous eyes of the jackal-headed monster swept down to the creature that had tried to poison him. The man, so distracted by his egoistic blustering, did not see the mighty strike that then befell him. With a force that defied the laws of physics, the Anubi landed the back of a massive hand against the god-king, and thusly sent him hurtling back into the depths of the library. With the minor annoyance gone, the giant leapt back apace, and when he landed he buried the point of his blade into the stone floor with a thundering crack and flash of light.
An immediate and tremendous wave of cascading rock and fire erupted from the contact point of the sword, sweeping in a deadly ring towards the attackers positioned around the library.
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