Just Bishop, the post was directed at him, after all. However, I'll keep an eye on @Lugubrious as well. I really dislike having to resort to this kind of solution but I can't stand by and watch it all burn because of a couple of people.
Ah, alright then. Well, I must ask that you give my friend Loogoobooprius a bit of a chance. The Loogoo is a swell person, really. I feel what had happened was just a simple misunderstanding because after all, it's hard to detect tone through text on a screen. I would be heartbroken if either the Lubeboob and Lucius were forced to make their exits.
You're out, that's it and I don't wanna see you on any of the RPS that I GM ever again. Furthermore I'll do as I said and report you as soon as I get my hands back on my PC.
Because of your trolling, @liferusher's insane display of lack of tact and @Lugubrious' stubbornness, @TheWindel is exasperated and thinks about cancelling the RP. I worked with him on it and there's many people who will suffer, so before this happens I'll have to drop my softness for once.
Nah, just kidding. When you come to learn my personality, it takes a lot more than that to deter me. Shit, just ask @Lugubrious and @Lucius Cypher, we've been through some rough stuff before. This is child's play.
Like the booming crack of a clap of thunder, the loud raucous gunshot so rudely grabbed the slumbering gentleman and swiftly ripped him into the waking world. His eyes snapping open, he felt as though he were a drowning victim saved from a potential early and watery grave. Sharply gasping for a breath of air as he abruptly woke and immediately wished he hadn't. His head swam and his ears rang painfully as he briefly thought for a moment that he was blind. Coughing violently, the young man blinked a few times as he fought back the urge to vomit from the horrid fetid and rotten smell that had wafted up his nostrils. Shaking his head, he let his vision adjust for a moment and determined that he was thankfully not blind. More alarmingly, it was just an intense darkness. Frowning, he then thought that perhaps he had died and that this was the afterlife. Breathing heavily, he tried to move and found it difficult to do so as he was tightly detained by knotted ropes. Dread filling his heart and causing him to panic, he realized that he was indeed very much so alive. At least, for the moment.
"I'm not dead. I'm captured. More than likely about to be executed if that sound was anything to go by." he thought to himself.
Instead of struggling against his bindings and thrashing about screaming for help, he forced himself to gather his mental faculties and to remain calm. His head still ached with a dull pain, the smell of wherever he was located was just horrible, and his ears were just now recovering from the sound that was responsible for his conscious state. Needless to say, he wasn't feeling too good about himself at all. Shutting his eyes tightly, he thought hard to himself.
"Okay, think. First of all...who am I again?...My name...My name is Paul. Paul Delacroix. That's right. Alright, so how-...how did I get here? What..." Having rediscovered his name, Paul was quickly regaining his bearings. Only problem was, he strained to remember much else other than a few bits of knowledge about himself. Thinking any harder caused his mind more pain. "Ugh...my head. Okay, that's not as important right now. Right now it's very obvious I've been captured and detained. For what reason, I don't know. All I need do right now is to stay calm and think of a way to get out of-.."
The sound of other voices and movement caused his eyes to reopen and he came to the sudden revelation that he was not alone in this blacked-out place. Far from it. It was hard to make out details and shapes, but he was certain there were others just like him moving about and even speaking. Damn it all if his senses weren't taking their sweet time to fully recover. Still feeling hazy and sick, he decided to give himself more time to assess the situation. Straightening himself as best he could, he wriggled his way backwards. Why that particular direction even he wasn't sure of, but when his upper back met with a wall he let out a quiet sigh of relief as he sat up against it. For now, he would take no action. Deliberate information gathering was the name of the game. Eyes flitting to and fro, he used his peripherals to try and make out exactly how many others were there with him. His ears focused in on any spoken conversation, though that was a bit of a challenge as his blood loudly rushed through his veins and washed everything out. Adrenaline and a fast-beating heart the main culprit there. Willing himself to calm down, he futilely looked at his bindings to see if he could somehow work his way out of them. He figured as tight as they were, he didn't have the dexterity and finger strength to free himself through that method. Instead, he maybe thought to use their tightness against themselves. If he could find something sharp or serrated enough, he could carefully rub his wrists against it until freed.
"One thing at a time. For now, stay quiet and observant." Paul told himself. A nervous bead of sweat slowly rolled down the side of his face, his breathing still labored and ragged from fear. "Damn it all if I can't at least get this disgusting taste out of my mouth!" Leaning forward and reaching up with his bound hands, he successfully removed his gag and spat a few times to rid himself of the aftertaste of wherever that filthy rag had been. At least now he could breathe a little easier. For the moment at the least.
Appearance: Paul stands at approximately 5 foot, 10 inches. His height approximate due to having 'good back days' and 'bad back days'. Weighing in at a thin 175 Ibs, Paul doesn't look like much as far as athletic ability is concerned. This is supplemented by the fact that he's hardly ever seen standing or moving about due to his constant state of sometimes manageable and tolerable pain. Regardless, Paul in all actuality hides a moderate amount of strength and agility underneath his slim, sharply dressed appearance. He's able to lift a full grown man heavier than him and carry them some distance, and is even able to run for a few miles before having to stop. Not the fastest or strongest man you'll ever meet, he is still a few steps above the average civilian.
He is dressed a little oddly for a Hunter, the attire he commonly wears is entirely monochromatic. Black dress shoes and slacks. Black leather belt with a tasteful silver buckle. Black vest with a white long-sleeved button up shirt underneath finished off with a white cravat in place of a tie. Though he isn't obsessive-compulsive, Paul is a man that cares about his personal appearance and it shows. He can constantly be found straightening himself up. Often smoothing his vest, wiping off his shoes, and dusting off his clothes to maintain some semblance of civility and dignity. A bit nonsensical due to his current...'choice' of employment almost guaranteeing he would constantly be bathed in the blood and entrails of lord-knows-what abominations of the night. But hey, can't stop a man from trying. His jet-black hair, cold gray eyes and deathly pale skin has also more often than not gotten himself confused for one of the Undead. A fond memory from a previous life recalls the unique moniker of “Mr. Gray-scale.”
Magic: No current aptitude in the arcane arts, though he would express an interest the field of Blood magicks. He holds absolutely no curiosity for Dark magicks, however.
Melee:
Walking Cane – Due to a debilitating and degenerative condition involving Paul's spinal disks, he walks with a seldom painful limp. As a direct result of this physical condition, he sometimes requires the assistance of his cane to move about. When twisting the handle, Paul can unsheathe a thin blade from the cane while simultaneously using the other half as a defensive measure or blunt striking weapon. Simple, yet elegant and classic. Not exactly a skilled swordsman, Paul prefers to aim for vital areas and chooses to end conflicts swiftly.
Range:
Percussion-cap Pistol – What's a gentleman to do without a trustworthy firearm at his side for a duel? Holstered on his right hip, he always keeps his pistol with him at all times. Though a decent marksman, Paul is not quick to use it as he expresses a deep-seated hatred for reloading the damned thing. The rest of his kit he keeps along his belt line near the pistol.
Misc:
Rosary and Pendant – On Paul's left wrist, he wears a beautiful rosary of white beads with a silver cross. Around his neck, he wears a similar silver cross as a pendant. Not exactly weapons, but rather two items that bring him a mysterious and unknown comfort.
Personality: To those that first meet Mister Delacroix they could walk away simply knowing that he is a kind, courteous, and polite gentleman. But to those that come to know him better would find themselves a young man who is more than just quiet and reserved. Instead, they would come to learn him as a eternally kind and cordial friend. He reserves judgment of others and is accepting of all who befriend him, regardless of their background or origin. Usually, he keeps to himself. Rarely speaking or reacting unless given reason to, but it could be discovered that there is a intense internal fire within him. Something to his aura that gives off a sense of drive and focus that breathes life into his eyes when otherwise he looks like Death himself walking the earth. It could be learned that he is searching, seeking for something in this dream world and refuses to go quietly into the night until he has achieved his goal. Whatever that goal may be. Not a meek person by any means Paul is a strong-willed, bull-headed, and confident young man. Though he may have a limp, he still walks tall with his head held high. Empathetic to the plight of others, he knows just when to express his emotions in just the right way. Never too serious, never too silly. Even covered in the grimy viscera of beasts, he somehow always finds a reason to smile and carry on.
A frantic, desperate search. Time running out. A discovery is made. Reason and logic thrown to the winds. An agreement. A contract is completed. Needle pin-prick in his arm as he lay on a hospital bed. He consciousness begins to fade away. Cruel, mocking laughter. Words heard before his slumber.
“Good. All signed and sealed.”
Other: Paul has a few addictive habits. He finds enjoyment in smoking tobacco and having a few alcoholic beverages. Though he tries his best not to be rude and get caught, his eyes fleetingly follow after passing fair maidens. To note, only his firearm and cane provide any contrast of color to Paul's look.
Right then, I'll simply accept this as a fundamentally different world than Bloodborne's, which is to be expected really. The central premise of the Souls series is that the world and everything it in it is doomed to entropy, which I suppose doesn't exactly make for a thrilling narrative. Go ahead with your love stories if it pleases you, I only ever meant to ask what I thought was a reasonable question; just don't expect my character to drop her morals and clothes at the first sight of a pretty face in affirmation of the human spirit.
