Arlear

Welcome to Gravetown!

The Rattling Chain, Crypt District

The dull thrum that always came from a busy tavern leeched out into the street in front of The Rattling Chain, the echoes of various voices, as well as the backdrop of cheery Irish music. From on the street, it might have been any normal bar in the world, if it weren't for the fact that they were underground, stalagmites hanging down from the earthy ceiling. Soft light bathed the street, slipping through the rough glass of the windows and a few cracks in the wooden walls.

However, were one to step inside, they would find themselves faced with a nightmarish sight, by normal world standards. The tavern itself looked normal enough- A large hearth at one end of the room on a raised platform for performers, a few tables strewn about the floor, a bar covering most of the left half of the building, shelves of booze behind it. Even a pair of pool tables put off to one side. However, the occupants were what gave this place its hellish atmosphere. Behind the bar, a hunched form stood, rubbing the same spot on the bar with a filthy cloth constantly, occasionally sliding somebody a drink. The figure was wearing tattered rags for clothing, flesh in a mild state of decay, shackles around its neck and wrists with chains jingling from them, likely the cause of the tavern's name. All along the bar sat an array of people- A pair of ghosts at one end, muttering between themselves. A banshee hovered in a corner, idly combing her hair while half-listening to a mummy ramble on about how his arm kept falling off.

On the stage, a strange group stood. Several men of Irish-looking decent, two of them with their heads sitting in their laps. It was from them that the Irish music came, one of them standing up front and singing to the tunes. Not bad for a bunch of dead guys. Everything from ghosts to zombies to mummies sat around the bar nursing drinks at various tables in their own little groups, a shady looking vampire facing off at pool with a skeleton.

One skeleton in particular was drawing a good deal of attention from the crowd, up on stage with the Dullahans. They played their music, as the skeleton hopped back and forth on the stage. He was juggling a trio of mugs and a skull- His skull, to be precise. The jaw moved even as the head went in rings around his body, voice exuding in an unnatural manner over the tavern, tone light and lilting, matching the music playing beside him.

"And so we have the tale of a club-foot knight and a flatulent dragon! Our knight, the greatest vampire in the kingdom! Even with his club foot, none could compare with him as he swung his mighty iron club on the fields of war! The moon shone off of his obsidian armor every evening, blood splattering over its surface with every blow of his club- And mud splattering with every step of his club foot!"

"Now, our dragon is quite the unusual fellow! His brothers and sisters were infamous for their hording of fine jewels, and the fire they spewed from their maws! But Grant the Dragon was different! He refused to leave his treasures laying around, instead ingesting them! This gave the fellow horrible indigestion, and every time he moved to huff smoke or breath fire, he would fart, and it would come out the wrong end! The Flatulent Dragon, while odd among the world, was wanted for a high bounty..."

His story trailed on, full of comical phrases and actions, the hilarious tale of the club footed vampiric knight and the flatulent dragon Grant one of medium length and maximum laughter. Throughout the tale, the skeleton describing it continued to dance around the stage, slowly acquiring more and more objects to juggle, his skull ever in the mix, floating through the tossed rings constantly. Eventually he was juggling a good seven mugs, two skulls- One his own- a femur, and a very irritated looking zombie pygmy, who sat cross-legged, cross-armed, and grumpy-faced even while floating through the air with every flick of the skeleton's wrist, his little hat askew on his decaying features.

Welcome to Gravetown!

Probably in a pub drinking while a crazy skeleton jumps around telling tales.

Welcome to Gravetown!

I'd be happy to set the first scene with Rattle. :3

The Werewolf's Apprentice (Between XxLyraxX & Alear)

Aren gave a proud grin at he lack of flinching or loss of focus. He slung his bow onto his back with a slight nod.
"Good job. Gather up your arrows, take a break for a while."

Even if she wasn't looking at him at the moment, she would hear the tell-tale cracking and shifting of his bones and the few pained grunts that always spoke of him shifting between his forms. After a moment, the human Aren was replaced with the snowy-furred werewolf form that he seemed to prefer. He shook out his mane with a sigh, coughing into his hand to clear his throat, always needing a moment to adjust to the different voice that came with a new form.
"Much better. I'll never understand how people can go around eternally stuck in one form."
Because Aren.

The Werewolf's Apprentice (Between XxLyraxX & Alear)

Sorry, bunch of job interviews and shit have been pounding me. Should be posting regularly again now. ^^;

Welcome to Gravetown!

Name:
Rattle'von'clatter

Species:
Skeleton

Gender:
Male

Age:
One hundred and seventy six.

Occupation:
Self-proclaimed 'Warrior-Entertainer-Thing'.

Personality:
Rattle is... Well, very strange. One of those lucky skeletons with a mind of his own and free will to boot, he proves to be a bit broken- In the most comical of ways. He's always talking, and seems to have issues with sitting still. For a literal bag of bones, he's fairly light on his feet, often jumping around while he tells his stories. While he -is- quite silly, he has the habit of trying to protect random people, thus why he wears his armor. (Seen in the appearance picture. But with plated pants, instead of a robe...) It's light-weight and doesn't offer much in the way of protection, but he claims it gives him confidence in his ability to kick butt, as he calls it. He also carries around a rapier, which, surprisingly, he's rather good with. Not that he gets to use it much, more often sticking to jumping around taverns and telling stories...

Despite needing nothing in the way or sustenance, he has the fond habit of drinking lots and lots of wine, the drink obviously just splattering over his ribs and onto whatever floor he's standing on at the time. His ribs have a permanent reddish stain to them due to this habit...

Bio:
His history is rather simple. He was, obviously, raised from the earth by a lich, reborn from his grave for the soul purpose of serving his new master's whims. He spent the majority of his first century of life running errands, carrying things around, getting smacked in the head, and mindlessly clattering his teeth at the other skeletons in his Lich-lord's service, thus his name Rattle'von'clatter. (He still does a lot of both.)

But, around his ninety sixth year of servitude, his master was kind enough to release him from his bonds, giving him free will and a mind of his own! Both things are points of great pride to the skeleton, and he regularly boasts of how good it feels to not have to do what people tell him to all the time. Though, he has had his fair share of run-ins with the law since his release, as he takes his free will to his non-existent heart, often breaking laws simply because he -can-, now. He has made the decision to try and be relatively good, tell lots of stories, and protect people who he thinks need protecting. Usually in barfights. That end with him in prison, trying to reattach his limbs.

Generally a pretty funny guy to be around in a cell, though.

Stuff you often carry:
His strangely made armor, a rather nice rapier, and a whoooooole lotta toothpicks, which he chews on constantly. He doesn't exactly have anywhere to hold much else, seeing as the toothpicks are kept in a case in his pelvis. Skeletons hold no shame, he says.

Type of magic, if any:
He thinks he can make things blow up. This is false, and his 'attempts' usually end with him sulking in a corner, throwing firecrackers at people.

Anything else:
I love the scent of crushed pine needles.
Rattle loves cats of all kinds. Fluffy, lazy, adorable cats.
And yes. I play for comic relief. :3

Paradise Falling

WHO DISLIKES THE TARDIS!?!?!?!?! *Wrath of Cortex upon you!*

Surviving: The End (character-centric; modern zombie survival)

Funny, Az. XD I already handed in the app, so they have the references they need. Anyhow, you and I can go bum around in the collab for a bit and figure things out. See you there.

Paradise Falling

So Excited! :P

Paradise Falling