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1 yr ago
Current Ah, I too am preparing to lose a lot of sleep and gain several pounds hunting monsters in the wilds.
3 likes
2 yrs ago
Fear of long words is hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia. Isn't that messed up?
1 like
2 yrs ago
Star Wars Persistent World, that was a thing that was sort of a thing. Kind of.
3 yrs ago
LongSword is objectively the best main. Objectively.
3 yrs ago
The ones from Calle are usually monthly. I tried to start another one a few years back.
1 like

Bio

I be Bango.

Most Recent Posts

My favorite is a character I haven't actually been able to RP but I made a sheet for him.


I need to go back and edit this to change the name of the Fed and the business about "very powerful beings" as this was for an Arena thread that never started. I'll also play around with it to better fit the format you posted but...

Name: Danger, Danger Fontaine
Hometown: Shitsville, South Dakota
Alignment: Heel who believes he is a Babyface

Gimmick: Danger, Danger Fontaine is a thickly muscled well tanned man and is never seen without an indulgent quantity of baby oil ensuring each and ever muscle fiber glistens under the stadium lights as does his perfectly manicured mustache. His build is best described as mercilessly powerful and massively sexual.

Entrance Music: youtube.com/watch?v=RnU_n5dzYRA or youtube.com/watch?v=U1mlCPMYtPk

Wrestling Style: Powerhouse

Finishing Move:
Danger Drop : This is an Elbow Drop with a lot of unnecessary theatrics tacked on.
Fontaine of Youth : This is a Military Press and Slam with a lot of unnecessary theatrics tacked on.

Signature Moves:
- Epileptic Elbow Drop : This is a Running Elbow Drop with a lot of unnecessary theatrics tacked on.
- Main Attraction Combo : This is either a Chop Combo or a Punch Combo with a lot of unnecessary theatrics tacked on.
- Bear Hug : This is a basic Bear Hug with a lot of unnecessary theatrics during the move.
- Belly to Belly : A Belly to Belly with a lot of unnecessary theatrics after release.
- Pump Up German Suplex : A German Suplex with a lot of unnecessary theatrics prior to the move.
- Unnecessary Theatrics Axe Handle : An Axe Handle (Clothesline) with a lot of unnecessary theatrics.
- Funny Bone Suplex : A T-Bone Suplex followed by him stomping around like a buffoon.

Sample RP:
Danger, Danger Fontaine has inarguably perfected his craft. He is truly the picture of perfection. He is the image of intensity. The epitome of excellence. The physical manifestation of manliness. And also a generous lover, if you know what I mean. His grip is unbreakable, his strikes impeccable, his aerial game im...un...it's also pretty good.

Danger, Danger Fontaine can ignore injuries that would incapacitate neigh any other man. Due to a combination of repeated traumatic concussions, pain killer use and abuse, and his massively inflated ego he can suffer great harm and continue on despite it. He is either numb to the pain due to a combination of nerve damage and pain killer use or simply able to power through it due to his own overpowering sense of self confidence. In short, while he is not actually in any way shape or form invulnerable to injury or damage he is fully capable of ignoring such damage until it becomes fundamentally physically incapacitating.

Danger, Danger Fontaine's massively inflated ego and additive brain damage due to regular traumatic head injury allows him to face adversaries that are clearly exponentially more powerful than he and believe he still has a very real chance of victory.

Arguably all of Danger, Danger Fontaine's power is a result of this aspect of his mind. Despite what absurd circumstance he may find himself in and what inconceivable threat he may face, he will stalwartly believe that he is the Fan Favorite Face of World Wide Wrestling and that this is his shot at the big time. He can hear the roaring crowd. He can hear the commentators expounding over his miraculous musculature and marvelous mustache.

Danger, Danger Fontaine's patina of professional wrestling professionalism fades into oblivion if his mask is removed or his mustache is mussed up. Though he generally plays up for the adoring arena carefully watching his each and every match, when an opponent dares to remove his mask he loses his restraint entirely. As a great man once said, he loses his smile. Much of the posing and smiling fades away and he is left a raving animal,

Danger...Danger Fontaine. A self obsessed obnoxiously narcissistic professional wrestler, his greatest strength is also his greatest weakness. He is loud, because it is important that the millions and millions of fans, all slavering at the bit for just a little more Danger, hear each and every syllable of each and every word. He is self aggrandizing because who knows Danger better than Danger himself? He is light hearted and often cracks terrible terrible jokes, because he is THE MAN. He is the top, the pinnacle, the apex, the peak, the asymptote, the azimuth, the hyperbole, he is the the man and the only way to be THE MAN is to beat THE MAN and the only man who can beat THE MAN is THE MAN, which is him, thus he is unbeatable. Ask anyone, they'll tell you. In the unlikely event he is one day beaten he is magnanimous in defeat because he knows, HE KNOWS, that belt is meant for one man and one man alone. THE MAN, which is him, Danger, Danger Fontaine, aka THE MAN. The Macho...Guy.

Danger, Danger Fontaine dreamed through all of his childhood of becoming a professional wrestler and eventually managed to make his dream come true. Growing up in South Dakota he knew from a young age that he was destined for greatness and the greatest greatness he could envision was becoming a massive slab of tanned and oiled muscle body slamming other, lesser, tanned and oiled massive muscle slabs for the entertainment and adoration of the million and millions watching at home. Happily fueled on by the antics of his wrestling idols, action movies, and neigh every book and training program advertised in the back of comic books, he grew muscleyier and muscleyier as his dream became an inevitable future.

He worked his way up through the indies gaining a reputation as an enormous ass, but an ass who put asses in seats. Which is the best kind of ass. Taking inspiration from his idols from America and the world abroad he fashioned for himself a number of easily recognized moves and a very recognizable physique. Muscles, Muscles, Mask and Mustache. In time he made his way to the premier federation of the United States, World Wide Wrestling, and found great success. As well as he did he faced many injuries and eventually ended up as too big of a liability to the company to remain. This was likely a wise move as his massive ego led to him suffering many injuries that would have sidelined him if he weren't just such an egomaniac. Finally one day his ceaseless, impossibly hyperbolic bragging, and need to pay some bills brought him to Undisputed Pro Wrestling.
I lazed around yesterday but I'll work on something today
Count me in as interested as well
The tavern had quite come to life just recently. An adventure was stirring and, much to the Halfling's delight, several rather burly strangers had seemed to attach themselves to the party of this Johan Sebastian Bock. He meant to join his considerable power, and might, and wisdom, and bravery to their number and in so doing take his own share of the coin and reputation on offer. It certainly helped tha several capable looking men had attached themselves already. One with a massive Flamberge, one with a Warhammer, plus that black-clad knight and a dwarf to boot. Mean looking bastard of a dwarf too, his favorite kind. Though they were all mean looking bastards to Alvin, it was why he was so fond of them.

"Sir," he spoke up, literally, dusting off his fur lined vest and looking up at the scarred visage of the Mayor's messenger and (Alvin hoped) party leader. "My name is Alvin Gammel, Tracker in these parts and seasoned traveler far afield," he continued as he moved toward the growing group discussing Sr. Bock's proposal and his dog trotted up behind him to sit down on it's haunches, "This is my humble steed, Woof. Her brother's waiting outside. We're small Sir, sure, but we're quick and we know these roads. I've a keen eye and they've keen snouts, and we'll all be near to the roads. If you might point us to the ones those caravans were last seen on before they disappeared, or if you know between what cities they were traveling, it would be a good start to the search."

Though his tone still had the musical quality even grown Halfling's seemed to have a difficult time distancing themselves from he had dropped the braggadocio and conducted himself more respectably. His audience from earlier had a mixed reaction to the little man stepping up. In the darker corners of the tavern one or two chuffed at the notion of him going out into the wilds to track whatever bandits had been overtaking entire caravans, but however much they might doubt his ability the majority knew they wouldn't be putting themselves in the position. Not to be publically rejected by the grim visage of this Johan Sebastian Bock, and even worse not to potentially have their offer of assistance be accepted and find themselves attached to this party. It was hard to join yourself to a cause that would likely lead to your death, so much easier to stay in a nice bar. Dry, warm, lubricated. It was the wee man's funeral, not theirs. Let the mayor's militia send more men or let them call for backup from the rest of Reikland, it was their job wasn't it.
I'll have a post up today. Busy time for me, looking like a busy year, but I'm really liking how well you all write. Cool cast of characters too.
Unless someone else wants to I'll have Alvin ask what routes caravans were snatched from, trying to figure out which cardinal direction this bandit group is operating from.

Yeah man I did. I just missed that part.
my bad, didnt see that, ill change it
Alvin Gammel stood on his chair and leaned against the table, gnawing away at a piece of slightly overcooked sausage. He was regaling a disinterested few of the Ogre's Maw regulars with one of his well worn stories of derring do, voicing all the parts himself. As was often the case his telling cast a young Halfling bearing a striking resemblance to himself as the hero. He was just getting to the good part of this tale, in which our handsome and wise Hero convinces his captors to follow him and so becomes commander of a mighty fighting force, when he took notice of the new arrivals. Taking careful measure he marks first where his dog, Woof, lies beside the chair then jumps over him nearly stumbling as he lands. Good ale, generous portions of good ale.

Living as an adventuring halfling one becomes well acquainted rather quickly with what danger and opportunity look like, and Alvin saw quite a lot of each in the new faces tonight. Peeking around seated patrons he tried to assess the situation and right himself. With only the slightest of gestures to Woof the dog makes it's own assessment of the situation and eagerly sets to assisting it's master. Woof's role was clear enough. First impressions were paramount and sausage juice on a young halfling's chin and coat simply would not do, this threat must be subdued. It takes to the task dutifully. It's master once more safe and close as he was like to get to presentable Woof retreated to the corner of the room to conduct careful reconnaissance on the inside of it's eyelids.

Taking a last moment to brush himself off and smooth back his hair he walks ever so slightly unsteadily toward the fireplace.

"Hey kid," he says in a soft voice, "you alright there? You look like shit. Want a potato?"
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