DELETED jdl3932

Sheet Critiques and Free Hugs

<Snipped quote by ZAVAZggg>

Regarding your writing a long backstory; it's actually one of the things that I liked the most about your sheet because it showed me immediately how passionate and into the character you are. While I've critiqued it, yes, your level of detail shows that you have this character really thought through. I can guess that you've played out his story in your mind many times and I love that. As a GM, I tend to push my players to scale back but that is simply my own preference and nothing more than that.

I can see from this sheet that you really care about this character, and that's half the battle when roleplaying, in my opinion. So many times I've thought of a concept for a character and I create the sheet and it just lacks that... Zest and without the zest the character has no longevity, and I grow bored of playing them. Your sheet is crammed with zest and I love to see it. :)

@Stormflyx

Well, I'm glad I was able to imbue him with such zest, and I know how you feel. There's been many times where I'll make a character that I like at first, only to have my interest fluctuate because they weren't as fleshed out as I thought, or because they lack that certain element that makes them fun to play.

Also, thinking it over, I decided to change his nickname to the Butcher of Caelora. Edgy and extremely ominous I know, but to be fair that's probably what his people would call him once word of his crimes had spread. Like how we have nicknames for notorious criminals here in our world. It won't be permanent or used incessantly of course, but I figured it would make more sense given the things he's done.

As for how they'd know he committed the crime, well that might be a bit of a stretch now that I think of it. Although maybe one could connect the dots and see that it was him orchestrating the whole thing, and not just some random raid.

Sheet Critiques and Free Hugs

I thank you for both the kind words and feedback. To be honest, I had thought of a possible nickname, but got caught up in possible elvish variants to the point where nothing really materialized, hence the bit on the Ta'viri and their naming conventions. Although I will say "The Herald" is rather fitting. Not only for the reasons you stated, but also because he is technically a vessel to a demon and thus a herald of sorts for its power.

Now, to clarify some things.

In regards to things like how he found the demon, while I had it planned out as him hearing rumors of its trail of destruction and following that, I think I'm probably going to change that to make it more plausible and less... convenient.

As for not revealing some things in his sheet, while I know you would like to see more in the CS, I personally find leaving things like favourite foods and such unknown works better, in my case anyway, as it lets me think it out more in advance and then reveal it through interactions as the roleplay progresses.

Also, I do agree that some parts of the history section can be trimmed down quite a bit. That's always been a problem for me though. I usually stray into writing more than is strictly necessary, or bloat passages with tons of details, most of which don't technically matter in the long run.

Finally, as for his motivations, I have them as a very twisted form of nietzschean philosophy. Living in a frozen waste, he slowly had the worldview embedded in him that being strong is better than being weak, as being weak would essentially invite death. While this wasn't always the case, and there are many Ta'viri who are not strong by his definition, he still sees the world this way because he's sort of stuck in that close minded state. One similar to a tyrants, where they can't or don't realize they're wrong until it's far too late. Of course, for the sake of character development, I will have him question his rigid stance on strength vs weakness, as well as what he considers strength and what he considers weakness, but that will be done in the RP itself.

Sheet Critiques and Free Hugs

Hmm. Well here's a sheet I feel isn't complete ass. Granted, I myself feel the history could be polished. As for the rest, it's for a non dice rolling D&D adventure RP that's about to start soon, hence why there isn't too much detail in those regards.

Faelyn Ta'vir

"The weak of this world perish so that the strong might have a better foundation on which to forge their fate."

Age: 220 years old, naught more than a young adult in the eyes of other Ta'vir.
Gender: Male.
Race: Elven. Ta'viri specifically.

Appearance: Standing at around an average-for an elf anyway-height of six feet tall, with pale skin, icy blue eyes, almost withered looking snow white hair, the usual pointy ears, delicate features, a muscular physique, and a face that seems to be stuck in a perpetual scowl, Faelyn cuts quite the imposing figure on his own. When clad in his full suit of fur lined plate armor, however, his appearance shifts into something outright draconian as he goes from looking like naught more than a grim wraith, to a herald of death itself. As for the armor itself, it is all etched silvers and dark greys, with a crimson black cloak woven into the upper back portion of the suit and a high collar designed to keep the wearers neck at least somewhat protected.

Favored Alignment Major and Minor Focuses: Chaotic Evil. This does not mean he is a psychopath however. He is more than capable of using logic and reason, and will not needlessly backstab those to whom he is aligned unless it becomes imperative to do so.

Favored Class Archetype Major and Minor Focuses: Frontline Combatant/Divine Spellcaster.

Equipment

• A full suit of steel plate with fur lining.
• One cured leather travel pack containing some medicinal tinctures, whetstones, food, a sealed water skin, and supplies for camping such as a bedroll.
• A steel longsword kept in a sheath wrapped around his waist.
• An assortment of first aid supplies, stowed in a hardened leather case also strapped to his waist, such as sutures, bandages, thread, needles, and the like in case of injury. One cannot be strong with a failing body after all.

Signature Techniques

Xor'laths Fury: Calling upon the power of the demon within him, Faelyn channels its dark presence into his gauntlets, overlaying them with claws of burning shadow he can use to rip his foes limb from limb. He can only keep these in existence for a short time, however, as they loose integrity with each strike.

Xor'laths Bulwark: Drawing upon the dark powers of Xor'lath once more, he summons forth its essence through sheer force of will and converts it into an umbral dome that radiates outwards one foot in diameter, and blocks incoming projectiles. The shield can be worn down over time, and Faelyn cannot move whilst projecting it, as it requires concentration to maintain. This also means he cannot be distracted while using it either, as one break could cause it to drop.

Wrath of The Ta'viri: Digging deep, Faelyn taps into his inner rage and ambition to win, using his blade to pummel foes with a barrage of uncoordinated strikes. While powerful, this technique is far from accurate and leaves him wide open to counterattack.

Stance Shift: Faelyn readies himself to shift into one of three stances. Aggressive, defensive, or adaptive. The first, aggressive, is self explanatory. The second, defensive, is also easy to comprehend, though he uses his sword to deflect attacks rather than a shield. And the last, adaptive, is more of a 'wait and see' approach where he prepares to shift into either aggressive or defensive depending on the circumstance.

Battle Focus: Faelyn, having spent years surviving in the harsh hellscape that is his homeland, has figured out how to tap into a long forgotten technique once used by his peoples ancient warrior priest caste. By looking within and finding a mental void of sorts, they could effectively detach themselves from their physical forms, becoming apathetic towards their own bodies. This, while a great boon to combat, was extremely damaging towards their overall longevity as it would make it all too easy for them to be taken unawares by their foes, since they could no longer feel the bite of stone, iron, or steel on their skin.

History: Born in the frozen expanse of Ayqar in the far north, Faelyn learned from an early age that to be weak was to accept death. So he took this lesson to heart and applied it in everything he did, although not in a way anyone from his hometown of Caelora had expected. First, he sought entry into the local guard regiment. It was far from easy, there were many times when the most lax of their conditioning exercises almost killed the young Faelyn, but he managed to make it in. From their he served for at least one century, gradually working his way up the ranks to captain. While most would have thought him content with this position, anyone with a sharp enough eye would have recognized this achievement as nothing more than the first steps of an even grander plan. One that would take him far beyond the confines of his small mountain village. Taking command of his new contingent of men, along with some of the better equipment he now had access to as a regiment captain, he set out to face his greatest challenge yet.

He ventured forth into the wastes to slay the demon Xor'lath.

Or that's what he told everyone else anyway. In reality his plan was to find the demon, who had been tormenting the area for the last six hundred years by this point, and let it possess him. The plan was that he would offer it his physical form, as such creatures were driven by an insatiable urge to walk about in mortal flesh, and then capture its will in a mental vise as strong as iron so that he could use its powers to his own ends. So, with this insane plan secretly festering in the back of his mind, the newly minted commander and co set out, beginning a month long trek into the frozen tundra. Several died during this march, from starvation as the rations ran conspicuously low, or hypothermia as many of the supplies with which they set up camp were lost along the way. After a few more weeks, and several deaths later, the considerably smaller group finally arrived at the cave the demon was rumored to haunt, though for what reason or purpose no one knew.

Venturing inside, the group was quickly overcome by the overwhelming scent of burnt something, and darkness that was deeper than the ever present shroud of steel gray clouds that blanketed the land, hiding the suns glorious face from view for most-if not all-year round. Pushing past it, the remnants of Faelyns squad moved forward, as he had not come this far only to be deterred by mere smoke and shadow. Plunging in deeper, Faelyns men made a great deal of progress before being stopped, a wall of pure solid darkness blocking their way. Searching, but ultimately unable to find a way around the obstruction, they started to turn back when the barrier came to life. Surging toward them, it pierced their armored forms with seething umbral spires, before rushing up at Faelyn, who was unfazed by the whole ordeal.

Everything was going according to plan, after all.

As the wave approached, slamming into the tunnels walls as it writhed forward like some kind of seething beast, Faelyn held his arms out wide in a gesture of welcome to the foul evil as he prepared himself for the mental war that was about to ensue. It felt like an eternity before the mass hit him, but when it did, it felt as though he had been enveloped in a raging inferno. As though he had been cast down into the depths of the abyss itself. More terrifying than this, however, was the ominous presence he now felt lingering in his mind. The presence of Xor'lath. What happened next is hard to describe, and even harder for Faelyn himself to remember so great was the struggle, but it ended with him as the victor. Xor'lath had been defeated, his consciousness buried deep within Faelyns own mind, and his powers claimed. Striding forth from the cavernous depths, the inside still smelling strongly of sulfur and burnt stone, Faelyn emerged a new man. Setting out into the frozen wastes once again, Faelyn made his way back to Caelora.

Alone.

But this hardly mattered to him of course. He had gotten what he'd set out to find. No matter the reaction those he called kin had upon his arrival, it would not make his successes thus far any less sweet. When he finally made it back, he found the reactions of those who called the place home mixed. Some whispered he had led those men out there on purpose, perhaps to silence them for witnessing some secret act they were not meant to see, while others maintained his innocence, writing off the whole thing as a series of unfortunate events that had regrettably claimed the lives of several good men. One thing was unanimously recognized by the inhabitants of Caelora, however.

Faelyn had changed. Where once he was determined, dedicated to surviving no matter the cost, now he had become more lax. Overconfident. As though there was nothing in the world that could touch him. A foolish notion to be sure, one almost as moronic as the individuals that had thought it up. Faelyn was well aware of just how many things in this world could kill him, especially if he wasn't careful. No, he wasn't confident, he was acting. Executing yet another part of his intricate plan. For you see, as he had made his way back towards the village he ran into a party of exiles. Elves considered Ta'viri no longer, and thus elves who were no longer worthy of holding the name. Why they had been cast out he didn't bother to learn. Instead he made contact with their leader, and gave him an offer. In exchange for vengeance and spoils, he would help them destroy the village from whence he hailed, showing them the most efficient way of infiltrating its watch and slaughtering its people once night fell. His reasoning, while mercilessly paranoid and brutal, did make some modicum of sense however. If one were an insanely selfish madman that is.

You see Faelyn felt as though he should have no ties to his former life. Not only because those he had called friends and family would no doubt suspect his hand in deciding the fates of the lost guards, but also because he knew future enemies had a weak point to attack in the form of his parents and siblings. Something that he simply could not allow. So once he had secured the exiled leaders agreement, he had the entire warband follow him back to the town, where they then set up camp just behind one of the surrounding ridges. The perfect spot for an ambush as it allowed them easy access to the village below.

And so he committed the ultimate betrayal.

Once he had settled back in, he waited till midnight, and gave the signal for the exiled warband to attack. And so they did. Riding down, torches ablaze and weapons drawn, they charged down into the village in droves, slaughtering everyone they came across. Putting homes and other structures to the flame, and causing havoc in general. The local guard tried to fight back of course, but during one of his speeches Faelyn had held a vigil of sorts for the fallen, in which he had given his men a certain type of ceremonial bread that was laced with a potent-yet delayed-toxin that would induce seizures in the muscles approximately one hour after ingestion. This, combined with the suddenness of the assault itself, made any defense they could have mounted useless, and the guards quickly found themselves overrun and killed. When all was said and done, Faelyn and the exiles were the only ones left standing in the razed remnants of Caelora. Their business concluded, each party went their separate ways. The exiles back into the frozen wastes, and Faelyn to the south. To the great cities. Places he hoped would offer shelter from the wrath of the Ta'viri elders, for a time anyway.

Unfortunately for him, Faelyn would find himself unable to complete that journey. About two days into it he saw the lands around him warp and twist, as though one of the gods was having a bit of fun throwing their power around, before settling into a stable state once more. But when they did, he was not on the road heading south, but in another place entirely.

A dark, foreboding, land...

The land of Barovia.

Miscellaneous: The hostile northern conditions Ayqar, the land in which the Ta'viri live, has forced them to become an extremely tight-knit and communal society, something most clearly reflected in the way they name themselves and their offspring. Rather than giving them a familial surname that is passed down from generation to generation, changing slightly with each coupling, Ta'viri children are named after the clan itself. So an elf from their tribe by the name of Nuovis, would have the surname Ta'vir regardless of bloodline. This obviously causes a great deal of confusion amongst those not knowledgeable of their customs, and has led to them becoming the butt of many a joke, especially when two individuals of similar naming are involved.

Although they often fall to violence or exposure more often than old age, Ta'viri are capable of living upwards of a thousand years at least.

During combat, as he becomes more and more exhausted, Faelyn will find it harder to keep Xor'lath under control. This is the main reason he prefers to end fights sooner rather than later, and why he cannot wield the demons powers for longer periods of time.

Although the acts he has committed would see him labelled an exile and stripped of the right to call himself Ta'vir by the elders of the clan, Faelyn still chooses to use the surname. In his mind he did nothing wrong save for tying up a potential loose end-or that's what he's convinced himself of anyway-so why should the name be taken? It was not his fault, after all, that his family and friends had been too weak and trusting to take the prerogative and check into his story. To make sure the man they saw return was still the same one they saw leave.

Deepest Abyss (Conquer the World)

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Location: The Lagoon.
Interactions: @TheWindel.

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"I will set to work making the dog talk," Azrael began, crossing his arms as he stared down at the werewolf in disgust. "But I'm far more skilled with killing than I am causing pain, so do not be surprised if it ends up dead by accident."

Moving over to the wolf, making a sweeping motion with his arm as he manifested his quintessence, he grabbed it by the scruff of the neck and held its throat close to the edge of the burning blade. Leaning in closer, and ignoring the smell of burnt hair that rose to assault his senses, Azrael locked gazes with the wolf.

"First things first mutt," he growled. "Why have you mobilized, hmm? Trouble near the entrance perhaps? Secondly,"-he presses the blade up against the mongrels throat, causing it to whimper slightly as its flesh starts to blacken and char-"I want to know your plans. Patrols, troop movements, that kind of thing."

He continues to stare at his prisoner, his eyes practically boring into the wolves soul.

"Finally, I want to know the safest route out of this place, as well as information on what we can expect upon reaching the entrance. And if you even think of lying to me, then by the Seventeen I will flay the flesh from your bones."

A multiverse Iseki rp with an equipment based twisty twist

@ZAVAZggg

<Snipped quote by ZAVAZggg>

Yeah. I definitely like the idea of characters being stuck with crystals, and only allowed to change them at certain locations. It adds a good element of difficulty into the system. Some other drawbacks would be good too. Perhaps there's some form of social stigma for those who use the crystals, or exhaustion, or maybe there's a risk of a character losing themselves to the beings kept within the crystals?

As for the company, they're not really the villains at all. They're more like builders for various worlds. They're neither good or evil. They just sell a service. AS far as how, I'm still working on it, but I'm thinking they're equipped with the fractured remains of the entity who actually created the multiverse, or have said entity's remains in possession and through reverse engineering aquired their abilities. It's still up in the air at the moment.

Edit 1 Yeah. I kind of see them like devil fruits. They're highly sought after and people are constantly being killed just to get a hold of them.

Yeah. That's the thing with sandboxes. It's all a matter of how people play. I mean, yes you can put different stories into effect but ultimately without people then nothing happens. I've seen this go down in both plot and sandbox so its hard to chose.

@malmshodes

Mm. About how the crystals could work, I have given it some thought. Maybe make them semi-organic? Then when people use them, aside from there being a stigma since the last time people saw them used was in mostly destructive ways (Hell maybe that could explain why the crystals exist in the first place, due to fear over what their original owners could do, a fear that warranted taking said powers away and whatnot), maybe you could have them attach directly to the users nervous system? That way the control of said crystals makes some biological sense, as it's wired itself into your brain effectively, and gives real consequence in regards to removal. As for how one would remove them, maybe have it be a natural thing usually, with the user simply wanting to discard the crystal and it doing all the disconnecting so that they aren't harmed. This method would also allow for forcible removals, which could result in death or a vegetable state, and high risk when using them during combat. Losing a limb with a crystal in it would be far more devastating than simply losing a wholly separate object with this approach after all.

In regards to the penalty for their use, make it exhausting if done too many times in a short period, something like that. Treat the crystals like a muscle once they're implanted. You tire and risk damage to your own health if you overwork it.

EDIT: Sometimes posting requirements work for sandbox, sometimes they don't. It depends. Sometimes it's good to have them so no one is inactive for months at a time.

A multiverse Iseki rp with an equipment based twisty twist

This looks interesting. I will offer my two cents here and say that you should make the crystals physical implants. Like you use them but they graft onto your body at skin level. Maybe at Chakric centers or some other place. Then limit just how many a player can have in them at one time, and put limits in so they can't just change a crystal out whenever they feel like. Make them suffer exhaustion and have to rest or something along those lines.

As for the company, if they can do that much, the question is how? Do they also use the crystals? And if not, then are the crystals enough to overcome whatever it is they do use?

See that's the problem with godlike antagonists. They are either unbeatable, or must be nerfed illogically in order for the players to win.

EDIT: For placement, make it random. Have some in the safekeeping of the antagonists, and others scattered. Because lets face it, the chances of these things staying in one place for too long would probably be very low, unless said antagonists are extremely good at what they do.

EDIT 2: As for sandbox or limited, honestly I don't know. Sandbox could work if you allow new players to seek after the crystals used by the old once said old players leave or go inactive, but on the other hand it allows for posting to slow greatly since the plot doesn't really need to be focused on.

Because sandbox.

If you go limited however, and make the goal getting the crystals and overthrowing the antagonists, then the roleplay itself probably won't slow, especially if you have a reasonable time period in which you expect posts. Then again it will need a definite end, be that good or bad, and it would prevent newcomers from joining once it's over.

What Are You Listening To?

Strange Arrivals (A ZAVAZggg & Calle Roleplay)

Alastor shrugged, "Why not? It's not like I'll be tasting the chaotic energy of my home plane anytime soon, so I might as well try this bane of humanity you speak of. I do not know, however, what effect it might have on my body and mind."

Walking over to the counter, he leaned against it and watched as Andy went about getting the required items. A bottle of amber colored liquid and two glasses, both of which he set on the counter as Alastor considered what he had said. Just how would this beverage effect him? From what he'd learned of his prison thus far, it seemed as though he possessed some natural abilities that normal humans did not, an example of which was his rapid healing rate. If logic held true, then perhaps this healing factor would extend to shrugging off the alcohols effects as well?

There was only one way to find out.

"Either way," he went on, absentmindedly drumming his fingers against the countertop as he nodded towards the bottle. "There's only one way to know for sure."

The Crossroads (Multiverse-Style Battle Royale Crossover RP) (Unlimited Slots, Always Accepting!)

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~VS~

_{Part One: Alucard Is Just Dracula Backwards.}

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"Do you know I've always loved taking long, enthusiastic, walks through the woods?" Alucard asked, staring down at the vampire with a manic grin. Though, perhaps "worthless pile of shit" was a better descriptor for the filth that groveled before him. It was a wonder this thing could even call itself a vampire with how much it whimpered and begged, while just minutes before it had boasted about how powerful it was. How it would end him and then kill the, quote, fuckers that sent him, only to be reduced to a gibbering mess of vitriol tinged cursing.

Alucard shook his head, his disappointment clear, and fired off another round into the vampires good kneecap. An action that elicited a screech from the unliving detritus.

"Very enthusiastic walks," he went on, his smile growing wider.

"Fuck you!" the fledgling spat, his eyes burning with hate.

"Aw, what's the matter? Has your bravado deserted you so soon?" Alucard chuckled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You seemed so confident just a minute ago. I guess all that talk of ripping out my spine and skull fucking my employers was all bark and no bite."

Alucard shook his head once more as he pressed the Jackal's barrel against the undeads forehead. Although his finger rested against the trigger, Alucard did not fire. Instead he locked his gaze with that of the fledglings, taking the time to savor the fear welling up in its eyes. It wasn't as if it could go anywhere after all, what with both of its legs missing, nor could it offer much in the way of a fight. Besides, he'd already given it the chance to try and kill him, and it had failed. This was simply the outcome of that failure.

Emitting a disgusted tsk as his demeanor returned to a more stoic state, he squeezed the trigger, reducing the fledglings skull to tiny chunks of blood, bone, and grey matter. Watching impassively as the lifeless corpse slumped to the floor, Alucard slid the Jackal back into its holster beneath his coat and turned away from the grizzly scene. Stalking off back through the trees, he began making his way back to Hellsing Manor, when he was suddenly engulfed by an impossibly bright light.

"What the hell!?" He exclaimed, taking another uncertain step forward as the light began to fade. Once the illumination had disappeared completely, he found himself standing in a different area entirely. One that seemed to be utterly foreign to the forest in which he had just been standing. Where there had once been trees, moonlight, and nature, now there was only ruined concrete, twisted rebar, and the undisturbed inky blackness of night.

Spinning around slowly, he began examining his surroundings in an attempt to figure out exactly where he was, to little success. If he was still in England, then it was not a part of it he recognized.

"How curious," he mused, finishing his exam. Doing a quick search of his pockets, he found he still had the phone Integra had given him for use while out on missions. Scrolling through his contacts, he found her number and dialed it, only to be met with a special information tone and a prerecorded message saying the number was unavailable.

"That's odd," he muttered, staring down at the device confusedly. "I should be able to reach her... then again..."

He shifted his gaze towards the upper righthand corner of the screen.

"Ah, so that's why. No signal."

Shrugging, he shut the phone off and slid it back into his coat pocket.

"Well, looks like I'm on my own..."

A toothy grin twisted its way across his pale face.

"Perfect."

Readjusting his glasses, he set off into the wastes, wandering for hours until he finally sensed another person nearby. Well person was inaccurate. It was supernatural, like him. And powerful too.

Very powerful.

"Well now, this is quite interesting," he said, drawing both of his pistols. "Quite interesting indeed..."

Breaking into a full on sprint, he rushed towards the source of the malignant energy, clouds of dust and debris following in his wake as he carved a path through the silent city, his mind set on only one thing...

The possibility that, at long last, he might have finally found an opponent worthy of his skill.

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Dracula watched as the token flew into the air and vanished, seemingly without any further effect. Raising an eyebrow at this, he crossed his arms and waited, tapping his foot against the ground in a rather impatient manner. Wasn't there supposed to be some kind of creature or beast for him to slay? The message on the scroll certainly seemed to indicate this was the case, yet all he'd encountered thus far was the disturbing lack of something to kill. Had the message been false after all? Were these tokens actually useless? If so then Dio was simply wasting his time gathering them and he himself using them. Better to just secure some territory, store up some blood, and then-

Dracula was jolted from his thoughts as he heard the sound of footsteps approaching, each one grinding over broken glass and shattered stone as their owner drew closer and closer.

"Hmm, it appears I was mistaken," Dracula mused as he scanned the surrounding area for the source of the noise, eventually finding it in the form of a tall, broad shouldered, and rather lanky looking man wearing a wide brimmed fedora, heavily tinted sunglasses, white gloves whose backs were covered in arcane looking stars, beneath which were the words Gott Mit Uns or God With Us, an interesting detail to be sure, and a long red frock overcoat that prevented Dracula from identifying whatever else might be hidden underneath. Turning to face the summon head on, he took further note of its gait, which seemed relaxed, confident. He also took note of its direction of approach, which was due north of where he was standing. And most importantly of all, its face.

The creature's face was pale, like porcelain if it were made of flesh. A good detail to be sure, as it told him all he needed to know concerning the nature of his foe.

He was a vampire, and the battle that was about to follow?

A joke. Where some might have been scared, even downright terrified, of such dark beings, Dracula could only view them with apathy. Maybe disgust or hatred if they truly warranted it. He'd killed so many of them, after all, and any sort of trepidation or fear he might have felt towards them was long gone, having fallen into that cold void along with the rest of his human emotions.

"Most of them anyway," he muttered, his mind making its way back to his family and the love he felt for them. A love that, even now, welled up warmly within the cold recesses of his dark heart, to the point where he had to silence the flood of memories that threatened to overwhelm his mind and distract him from his foe. With that done, though, he was finally able to devote his undivided attention to this new immortal. There was one thing about all of this that still confused him, however, and that was the saying he had seen on the mans gloves earlier. God with us. Quite the odd phrase for a fellow creature of the night to have plastered across their clothing, given their cursed nature and all, but perhaps this one was simply more religious than most. Either way it didn't really matter.

God or not, guns or not, this whelp would fall. He would see to that. Channeling blood along his arm, he manifested his Shadow Whip and watched as the other vampire charged towards him, actually eager for the first time in his long existence, for the battle to begin.

Strange Arrivals (A ZAVAZggg & Calle Roleplay)

Alastor, who had arrived back at the apartment several hours prior, looked up from the book he was reading, which was apparently the first of Isaac Asimov's Foundation series. Closing the tome and setting it back in its proper place on the shelf, he shifted his attention over to Andy.

"Welcome back my human compatriot," he exclaimed, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. "I've had a rather informative day learning all about your technology and how its progressed over the ages. You've come far, for primordial ooze anyway."

He turned to gaze out of a nearby window, pushing the blinds aside slightly with a finger.

"Anyway," he went on, crossing his arms as he faced Andy once more. "How's your day been?"

The Laizu paused, the ghost of an amused grin on his lips.

"At least, I believe that is what your kind say to express miniscule amounts of curiosity towards each others personal lives."