@Enkryption Well, there you go, you've got a topic and an icebreaker.
Pfft. Depend, if you and Ammo actually want an immortal introvert to treat your characters like a overgrown kitten and lizard. XD
Enkryption Member
Enkoded For Your Safety
- Last Seen: 6 hrs ago
- Joined: 9 yrs ago
- Posts: 897 (0.28 / day)
- VMs: 0
-
Username history
- Enkryption 9 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
The Irish Tree,
Phase,
PaulHaynek,
Lucid Dreaming,
AzureKnight,
The Otter,
Kronshi,
JewelSerket,
NoriWasHere,
Abstract Proxy
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
Pfft. Depend, if you and Ammo actually want an immortal introvert to treat your characters like a overgrown kitten and lizard. XD
@Enkryption I dunno. Your character seems like quite a talker if you count talking with yourself. Do he have any topics he likes talking about?
Pets, actually. He tends to ignore humanoid contact, but has a soft spot for raising animal from infancy to old age; especially, kittens and puppies. He's a bit of issue separating beasts races from their animal counterparts.
@Enkryption If you want to join in, now's not an awful time, as our conversation is mostly finished. But if not, we can always wait for the next scene.
And, do...???
I'll be fine until the next scene.
How, Annalise asked herself, for the nth time, as this random man just happened across her. There was so little in the way of seclusion, as a port town was chock-a-block with travel, but, the well had offered the best potential... and yet, here she was, besieged by another person with no sense of personal space. Back in her dungeon, she knew the layout from the first floor to the tenth, from the extravagant Lobby to Madame Lin Daw's very Bed Chamber, and could never be taken off guard by the routine happenings. Upon the surface, without her sensory puddle, even a weak human could offset her sense, and find her compromised.
Exchanging armor, as she was, she couldn't bring herself to run, 'lest she be chased, and her armor come undone fully in the pursuit, and she be revealed. Unlike most Slimes, Annalise had a flaw that prompted her to always be in a suit of armor; a flaw called: Shame. Feasting on the once, well-hidden phylactery of Madame Lin Daw, and abruptly ending the Lich's reign by sheer accident -- it wasn't her fault the phylactery was a delicious gold urn that was sealed shut with decadent platinum gilding, and placed in her mouth, while she was hibernating. -- had the unintended side effects of, firstly, bringing the death of her Dungeon Master, and, secondly, instilling her with the locked away emotions and thoughts of Lin Daw, before her Lich-ification.
That included, shame of the naked form.
Half-undressed before some random man, Annalise was nearly paralyzed with embarrassment, and did the only thing that came to mind: she leapt into the well.
Fully stripping her armor, Annalise hit the water with a lazy splash, and her thoughts raced to redress herself. She needed to focus on speed over power, in a fight with a seasoned warrior, evasion was better than brutality, as she was always on the clock. Not to mention, a Salamander sounded suspiciously like a Dragon Race, and it was always better to be faster than a Dragon, as they'd few weaknesses. If she couldn't predict the Salamander's element, and she didn't intend to overpower the warrior, then she would pick an armor that was designed around the idea of speed and generic fire defense.
Retching, she threw up the beginnings of the armor...
After three minutes, the random man, should he still be there, or anyone that was, would see a three-jointed, four-fingered hand topped with three-inch claws, as Annalise pulled herself over the mouth of the well in her new armor set. It looked like it was meticulously crafting from obsidian, yet smelt as if is forged of sulfur; encompassing her from head to foot, and letting no part of her show, beyond her luminous silver eyes – now, mixed with a glowing crimson. All too suddenly, a series of vents opened upon the helm and hind of the armor; expelling hellfire in the magical kept design of a pair of ears, long mane of hair, and a flowing tail.
The armor was clearly designed around the imagery of a Hellhound -- or, perhaps, for one -- and seemed almost impossible human to wear, yet held the potential that something human could jam itself in there. Annalise didn't give them much time to think, and she suddenly took off in a perfect bestial gait, and sensed out Magnus.
She didn't want to abandon him. Even if he did push her.
S'fine. I'm just an impatient writer who's bored.
I wonder, if I should do up another post, if scenes are gunna continue, or not, if this is just conversational?
Oooh, ooh, I'll go first then!
...whoops.
I didn't have this section open; just the IC, a PM to myself, and my GD for drafting. Sorry.
Marshall moved in mute silence, taking in the Myconid’s apprehensive judgement of him, and his forlorn expression. He was troubled; by what, Marshall couldn’t bring himself to question or be bothered by it. However, Marshall felt off-put. To be cared for, waited on, by what surmounted to a child? It wasn’t indignity, pride, or even a misplaced sense of masculinity that bothered him, but a whisper of paternal failure.
Shaking the eerie thought off, Marshall entered the bathroom, and bade the Myconid thanks, before closing the door. As it shut, he turned the water on, disrobed, soaked himself and his clothing fairly clean, and set them back on. Sighing, he shook his hair once, twice, and turned his attention to the mirror -- driving a fist into his own reflection. Shards of the thick glass stuck, steadfast, in his left fist, unarmored, and blood dripped down into the sink.
Five faces glared back at him, as the mirror shattered like a star from impact...
[Thinking of running away already? That’s a record.] snickered a voice in his head; years upon decades upon centuries of playing host to blood from veritable gods to indomitable vermin had left him with a fragile mind, and voices of old demons, angels, and all between them taunted him. {That is what he’s best at; escaping.} Marshall shook his head, slapping his right cheek with his free hand. (You shouldn’t flee so soon. You’ll sadden her.) Marshall groaned, resisting the urge to look back at up at his reflections. <Do you think he cares? He’s a coward. A thief.> Marshall gasped, as he nearly slipped to a knee for a moment; blood settling, the previous traumatic loss catching up. ｢He’ll die on a cursed pyre. A nobody.｣
“SHUT UP!” Marshall roared, banging his right fist into the sink. “Damned be you all... shut up...”
Shut up...
But, Death was not to be his -- her cold, culling caress was but a phantom wisp upon his cheek; a memory; a wish; a curse. He could feel her fingertips, gracing his skin, and chilling him to the core of his being, as she supped his soul. Primals above, Astrals below, he wanted to see her perfection, and stay. But, he couldn’t -- not with his mistress clinging to his leash on life so tightly; the ugly spider-woman of blindly beautiful light casting him a everlasting shadow to do her bidding from within.
Perfection in the Darkness, Perfection in the Light, and he, Imperfection in their mingling Shade.
“I...” Marshall let the words die in his throat, as he drew his fist from the mirror, and set upon cleaning his mess; glass in the trash; blood in the water; misery in his silence. His damned life pressed on.
A father isn’t to be waited on hand and foot by his daughter...
Shaking the eerie thought off, Marshall entered the bathroom, and bade the Myconid thanks, before closing the door. As it shut, he turned the water on, disrobed, soaked himself and his clothing fairly clean, and set them back on. Sighing, he shook his hair once, twice, and turned his attention to the mirror -- driving a fist into his own reflection. Shards of the thick glass stuck, steadfast, in his left fist, unarmored, and blood dripped down into the sink.
Five faces glared back at him, as the mirror shattered like a star from impact...
[Thinking of running away already? That’s a record.] snickered a voice in his head; years upon decades upon centuries of playing host to blood from veritable gods to indomitable vermin had left him with a fragile mind, and voices of old demons, angels, and all between them taunted him. {That is what he’s best at; escaping.} Marshall shook his head, slapping his right cheek with his free hand. (You shouldn’t flee so soon. You’ll sadden her.) Marshall groaned, resisting the urge to look back at up at his reflections. <Do you think he cares? He’s a coward. A thief.> Marshall gasped, as he nearly slipped to a knee for a moment; blood settling, the previous traumatic loss catching up. ｢He’ll die on a cursed pyre. A nobody.｣
ALONE
“SHUT UP!” Marshall roared, banging his right fist into the sink. “Damned be you all... shut up...”
Shut up...
Just let me die...
Please...
But, Death was not to be his -- her cold, culling caress was but a phantom wisp upon his cheek; a memory; a wish; a curse. He could feel her fingertips, gracing his skin, and chilling him to the core of his being, as she supped his soul. Primals above, Astrals below, he wanted to see her perfection, and stay. But, he couldn’t -- not with his mistress clinging to his leash on life so tightly; the ugly spider-woman of blindly beautiful light casting him a everlasting shadow to do her bidding from within.
Perfection in the Darkness, Perfection in the Light, and he, Imperfection in their mingling Shade.
“I...” Marshall let the words die in his throat, as he drew his fist from the mirror, and set upon cleaning his mess; glass in the trash; blood in the water; misery in his silence. His damned life pressed on.
Instead of being the fast™ I'm going to give enk and gecko a chance to get a post in before I do
unless I decide I'm really bored and want to write anyway
If it weren't for the fact I had work... and spent all morning fixing my Steam login information so I don't lose my account... I would've probably posted this morning. XD
That said, unless you want to wait, go ahead and post. I just got home, so I will post in a few hours, but, in general, Marshall's not about to converse, or concern himself, with two strangers.
Spoiler: He's kinda introverted.
@PaulHaynek & @The Irish Tree
...this is becoming a bad habit. I'm not used to having to ping people in a post. Sorry, again.
It legitimately took longer to make up that header than it did to make up the post.
...this is becoming a bad habit. I'm not used to having to ping people in a post. Sorry, again.
It legitimately took longer to make up that header than it did to make up the post.
© 2007-2024