Ashifili

In Hunting Beasts and Nightmares

Something else got her, huh? Roless mused, rubbing the back of his neck. Three of the dog humans had also gone missing when he was doing his corpse-collection run, even though it should have been impossible for people to not notice that someone was dragging them away. He didn’t spend any time looking for signs that would indicate where those dead mutts disappeared off to, but…well, he was a Hunter, not a detective or whatever. Storing away his thoughts into the part of the brain reserved for superfluous information, the brunette nodded at the old man’s instructions.

“Don’t catch a cold and die,” he said to the sack of bones. With brisk, ringing steps, he walked out of the Church of the Absolute, back into the dreary, dilapidated town of Iredele. The temperature had dropped significantly, but it was a small mercy that no winds passed. Frost had already began to develop on the opaque windows of a few houses, and yet, most of the civilians chose to continue their routine as if nothing had happened. They shivered and sneezed, but like the perfectly disastrous marionettes they were, they followed the script to a t.

It sorta made Roless want to shoot them in the head and harvest their blood for usage in the near future…but that old man was busy enough as it was. No point in tossing more work in his direction, after all, even if Rotting Bone would have to deal with those deaths eventually.

His long, black coat wrapped tightly around him to ward off the wintery temperatures, Roless grit his teeth to stop them from chattering like a jackhammer, pushing his way into the lukewarm atmosphere of the Winter Wolf Tavern. Few looked in his direction as he arrived, too immersed in either their drinks or the barmaid, and it was only a single individual that stood out in that lifeless crowd.

Well, two individuals.

Maribel, the resident creepy little girl, and a new face that looked sorta like a zombie.

It was really clear who the Hunter was, but, despite that, Roless really couldn’t suppress the urge of kicking at least a little bit of shit up. Taking in a deep breath, he called out loudly, hands pressed to the sides of his mouth, “Good morning meatsacks! Which one of you is a Hunter?!”

In retrospect, he realized that the Hunter the priest had been referring to was probably a new arrival, and that he’d probably have to do babysitting for the poor sod.

Welp, probably just payment for the monster blood.

In Hunting Beasts and Nightmares

He’s going to exchange at least a few quips with Rotting Bone before going out and doing other things. He actually likes the old skeleton man after all, so if you think that small talk is worthy of a collab, then yeah, let’s do it.

In Hunting Beasts and Nightmares

Or maybe she’s a monster so savage that she eats even her own kind, and that’s why they run away from her. She masquerades as a human for her own amusement, watching those pathetic mortals scamper for their lives at the sight of lesser beings, when the worst of them is walking right alongside them.

Because everyone's a monster, and Maribel's probably not an exception~

Yeah, I recalled that rule after I saw Spriggy's OOC post. Would a collab be more appropriate in this case?

In Hunting Beasts and Nightmares

Dragging the dog-men towards the most rot-filled corner of the Temple, with a blood-stench so bad that even Roless was reflexively repulsed at the scene, the Hunter tossed those sacks of flesh and blood into the corner. He drew out the retracted variation of the Harvest out afterwards, the dull blade reflecting no moonlight as it was poised over the hearts of the corpses. A quick jab, and then, blood flowed as Roless’s magic got to work. The crimson liquid flowed up the blade, and then the shaft of the folded spear, sliding into the folds of the hunter’s dark coat and disappearing from sight. Soon, the two mongrels were white as bone, and Roless turned back to face the priest.

“Suppose that you’d like someone to get that dead bitch out of the well too, before you get more dead people to purify? Or do you already have someone on that job?”

“What a way to go though,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “Trying to take everyone else down with her and all.”

In Hunting Beasts and Nightmares

"I hate cloudy days." [+]

Name: Roless
Gender: Male
Age: Somewhere around 16 to 19, but, like most of himself, he’s unsure.
Appearance: Roless stands at 5’11, with messy brown hair and vibrant amethyst eyes. His skin is of a light tan, and his hands, like the rest of his body, are full of small scars, barely noticeable nicks in his skin. It is most likely due to the nature of his Blood magic that such marks are present, but then again, who knows? He has a sturdy build despite his lankiness as a teenager, and his voice is cheerful, that positivity often accompanied by a sing-song tone. The Hunter carries himself in a lax manner, and prefers wearing long coats despite his habit of accidentally stepping on the ends of that coat.

His steps are announced with the clink of metal against metal.

Magic: Roless uses Blood Magic in a different way than most Hunters. It’s neither a boon to his allies nor a bane to his enemies. Instead, it is fuel in a world where oils are rare and gasoline rarer, a fuel that can be consumed by machines and humans alike. Mechanical weapons roar to life when filled with it, and firearms devoid of ammunition can fire once more, shooting out bullets of hardened blood. These bullets of magic-drenched blood are corrosive to the flesh of unholy monsters, not only penetrating, but also melting. A powerful counter to beings with regenerative capabilities, if enough bullets had been pumped into them.

But what goes around comes around, and Roless is also capable of purifying monster blood to an extent, injecting it into himself to give him the same bestial strength as the beings that he opposes. It’s a dangerous game to play, as the same rot that his blood bullets cause to monsters will start to ail him as well, but…it’s a fun game, isn’t it? He can generally recover from the negative effects of monster blood after half an hour, with the bestial strength lasting him ten minutes per injection. And thus, the ratio is this: each injection gives him 10 minutes of strength and thirty minutes of suffering, as his human blood poisons him. The more blood injected, the stronger he becomes, and the more he suffers.

If only Roless was a masochist.
Weapon: Roless carries three weapons with him, two of them being massive enough that it’s an easy testament to his strength.

The first is that is what Roless calls the Hammer. It is a single shot flintlock pistol, one modified to have a frame and barrel strong enough to withstand the recoil of massive bullets. A more accurate description of this would be that of a cannon, powerful enough to turn lesser beings into mush. Though it requires reloading after every shot, it has an extremely potent knockback, and Roless is skilled enough to reload it with one hand regardless. His favorite toy, really, and when combined with his blood magic, it becomes his single most destructive attack, capable of exploding after penetration.

The second is the Rain, an expensive, greedy hand-crank gatling gun with six barrels. Smaller than the mounted variations but still just as deadly, Roless holds it in one hand and cranks it in the other, allowing him to put out 10 rounds per second. As bullets for this particular weapon is rather expensive, he spends most of the monster blood that he harvests into creating bullets of blood for the Rain. Naturally, it wouldn’t have the same corrosive effect as using human blood, but hey, what monster would have time to be happy about that, when ten bullets jam itself into its body every second?

The third is the Harvest, a seven foot spear with a one foot long blade that can fold onto itself to be two feet long for easy travel. While the Hammer and Rain could be considered Roless’s main sources of damage, the Harvest is, put frankly, how he harvests blood to feed his toys. Unlike most spears that have a single blade fixed into the center of the shaft, the Harvest has two blades fixed at either side of a steel compartment placed at the end of the shaft. Top-heavy, and thus, more difficult to swing about until momentum is gained, its true value is seen when a hidden trigger is held at the machine roars to life and the blades spin wildly, turning into saws capable of shearing through flesh and causing grevious, bloody injuries to all those on the opposite end. Though some of that blood is then used to continue to feed the motor, the majority is stored, to be used as steroids or ammunition.

Personality: This Hunter is a happy oddity in the doom and gloom that is the Land of Wasted Dreams. It could be said that he loves his job from top to bottom, from the life-threatening situations that he fights himself out of, to the days spent in the hospital recovering from his injuries, to the times where he lost his mind after too many monster blood injections, to the amount of money he can pile up after a job well done. Roless, regardless of how frightening, disgusting, disturbing, revolting his work is, embraces it fully, with an innocent passion that revolves not around hatred towards the demonspawn lurking in the darkness, but around the thrill of the hunt.

He’s someone to be taken seriously even if his suggestions can become inane. Prone to hatching up nigh-suicidal plans, Roless, to the outsider, would appear to be a fool chasing after his death. But he’s not suicidal, nor has he given up. He’s simply…desperate for simulation. If he thinks too hard about his actions, he’ll start thinking about other things. So he won’t. Roless drowns himself in this image of a jester, relishing in violence, because if he’s not enjoying himself, what else would he be?

So he’ll smile away the shadows, until he forgets that he’s more monster than man now.

Bio: Roless was, like most Hunters, thrust into this broken, two-mooned world with no memories. He knew that he was in a hospital, and knew how weapons worked. He understood the value of money, and held enough knowledge that he could surmise that he was a learned man. But that was the extent of his knowledge, and his emptiness as a human being had shaped much of what Roless was to be. On an instinctual level, he understood that he would have nothing, even if he was to escape from this grimy world, and, on an emotional level, he loved it. He relished the freedoms available to him, and spared no time at all living in the present.

Yet, at night, dreams of peaches and plums, of strands of sunlight, of starlit eyes, those would haunt him with their gentleness.

Battles were the flames that gave him meaning.

But warmth was the poison that made his heart beat.
Other: It's quantity, not quality, that matters.

In Hunting Beasts and Nightmares

There. A post. Not sure where my starting point was, so I thought to just have him go to the church. Also operated under the assumption that the corpses of the dog humans didn’t just go poof after they died.

And yeah, I'll go do that.

In Hunting Beasts and Nightmares

It was a…sad day? A depressing day? Nope, a hilarious day! Not only did that fox bitch drench herself in the stench of a bitch in the heat once more, but there were new Hunters popping up and showing off their superior combat skills, interrupting the town’s rituals in the process! Hell, one of those new kiddos even went out of their way to go back to the church and try to shake some answers out of Rotting Bone!

It really would have been better if the trigger-happy Hunter had actually pulled the trigger though, so Roless could have some human blood to play with as well. Of course, the poison would have to be purified first, and the blood still won’t be quite as effective as his own, but…well, the brunette just wanted to see another display of death-dealing skill from that old man. It had been far too long that he had seen the old man in action, after all. But, alas, the idiot girl wasn’t that stupid, and pretty much gave up, prompting Roless to stop caring as well.

Dropping down from his front-row seats on top of the roof of a building, the Hunter, his steps pronounced with the clink of metal against metal, strode up to the sorry collection of dead dog-humans, selecting the one that was the most whole. Ignoring the glances he received from the townspeople, he dragged the monster alongside him as he headed to the decrepit church.

“Morning RoBo,” he called out cheerily, kicking open the doors of the Temple, “Messy day, eh? Want me to cull some of them to preserve status quo, or are you enjoying the chaos as well?”

In Hunting Beasts and Nightmares

But is it considered fucking up your RP if the character is just acting in character?

In Hunting Beasts and Nightmares

In our modern society standards, everyone’s evil. Let us begin the blood purge and join the side of the monsters just long enough so that we can liberate these humans from their mortal chains~

That being said, just do that then. I, for one, what to see what happens if you do try that.

In Hunting Beasts and Nightmares

Ah, so that’s why there was talk about Zombieman going pedo modu.