I wouldn't say a thousand blades, but that's nit-picky, i like the story and I'll run with it! Accepted @AtomicNut
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youtube.com/channel/UCkcTwbl..
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youtube.com/channel/UCkcTwbldNqmSuf0KB.. Im on youtube.
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@AtomicNut i'll be curious to see what you come up with
@AtomicNutIts based on an AU story, so you are free to do more of what you want, taking bits from both
Somewhere in the depths of the underground, where the sewage flows into long forgotten rusted out tunnels. The bricks moistened and mossy with the rot of long forgotten years. Amidst the rats crawling around seeking what little food they can find and the roaches that happily munch on the carcasses of the dying and sick. Exists a small, ever so small, crack… somewhere in the long miles of corroded stone work. Behind this crack is a workplace, one of disreputable men.
The entire area reeks of rotting flesh, the unique scent to that of man. If it weren’t bad enough with just that, the odor of mold and mildew lingers in the air so powerfully you can taste it upon your tongue when you speak. Here in this hole that exists behind the crack in a long series of endless winding abandoned tunnels… is the lair of a man most foul. His face obscured by a surgical mask, whether to block out the stench of the rotting flesh that fills the room; or to simply keep what semblance of sanitation there exists in this place, remains to be seen.
The mans fingers work diligently as he scribbles and scribbles on a few scrap of paper, strewn about a desk filled with his books and assorted nick-knacks. The man scribbles down formulas, alchemical in nature and he scribbles them quickly. He writes with the passion of a man on fire and his eyes never leave the gaze of his page. They never touch upon the man, sitting in a cage mere feet from him. They don’t look upon the mans face, beaten and dirty. Mouth bound with old cloth from who knows where and his eyes hidden behind a thick blind.
No they don’t look upon the man’s naked form or his matted hair. They keep their gaze locked upon the paper, scribble and scribble that forms. He never speaks a word, he has no need for this… caged beast to hear his thoughts aloud. Once his mad scribblings are done, the man, dressed in the outfit of a scientist working with harsh chemicals, moves to the next phase of his plan.
He retrieves a small piece of chalk he had hidden in his coat pocket, lord knows where he got It from. The man’s hands were on a mission, working at a diligent pace, reproducing the circle he’d scribbled on the paper. Once more he did it with a fiery passion, he was a man on a mission and this mission, well… The auto-mail resting in the corner gave hint to that.
With circle done, he dragged the naked man from his cage and carefully tossed a few of the auto-mail limbs onto his body. He groaned and grunted, but they were ignored, this was science after all.. in a way at least. The scientist, if one could call him that, moved his hands to the outer circle. With a strong press, lightning began to erupt all around, coursing over the circle, the man, and the auto-mail.
It crackled and hissed as the man’s body began to mold and fuse into the metal parts. The doctor, if you can say he was, said nothing; he merely watched wide eyed and in wonder. Once the screams had ended, he let out a sigh, he said nothing: he walked over to his papers and simply threw them away. Another failure, another mess to clean up…
----
The Fuhrer was content with sitting as his desk this afternoon. It was quite the lovely day out, the sun was rising nicely over the city and he could see all of the people bustling about. His coffee was fresh and warm as well, a little cream and an extra lump of sugar. His assistant knew he kept sugar cubes in his desk and decided to give in to his little joys, giving him extra sugar in his cup. It was his favorite moment of the day, peaceful and serene. There were little things that had bothered him as of late, being Fuhrer meant being the ruler. He had to be sure the entire country was running smoothly and, minus a few uprisings here and there, things were looking well.
That was until, the report came in… As he sat there, enjoying his daily ritual, HE, came in. The doors erupted as though a bomb had blown them, a scraggly, weak, pole of a man bust in with his chest heaving. His breath was like that of an asthmatic in the midst of an attack, hacking and wheezing. “Fuhrer...” The man could barely speak and the Fuhrer honestly had no time for this.
He let out a sigh, stroking his near ash white beard as he turned around. “Yes, yes... what is it now?” The bean-pole man brushed back his black hair and stood at attention. “Fuhrer Sir!” The man was like a frightened kitten, his entire body shaking as though he was to be shot at any moment. “Yes? Go on.” The Fuhrer’s eyes narrowed on the man, they were a deep stony brown and lead to his reputation as being like such, a stone.
“C...C...Captain Falkner repor-” He was cut off, “Enough with the damned formalities, You are wasting my time. Spit it out or remove yourself from my presence!” The little kitten swallowed hard, the Fuhrer could swear he heard it from where he sat. “A man was found… Near South City. His body was… Mangled, interwoven between auto-mail...”
The Fuhrer didn’t react in the way the Falkner expected, he let out a sigh, exasperated and prolonged. “Very well, send some men to investigate and get the reports they come in with.” Falkner nodded and quickly dashed out of the office. “And Captain.” The man stopped midway, “Y...Yes?” His lips trembled as he turned around. “Close the door.” Falkner nodded, “Y...Yes Fuhrer.”
The entire area reeks of rotting flesh, the unique scent to that of man. If it weren’t bad enough with just that, the odor of mold and mildew lingers in the air so powerfully you can taste it upon your tongue when you speak. Here in this hole that exists behind the crack in a long series of endless winding abandoned tunnels… is the lair of a man most foul. His face obscured by a surgical mask, whether to block out the stench of the rotting flesh that fills the room; or to simply keep what semblance of sanitation there exists in this place, remains to be seen.
The mans fingers work diligently as he scribbles and scribbles on a few scrap of paper, strewn about a desk filled with his books and assorted nick-knacks. The man scribbles down formulas, alchemical in nature and he scribbles them quickly. He writes with the passion of a man on fire and his eyes never leave the gaze of his page. They never touch upon the man, sitting in a cage mere feet from him. They don’t look upon the mans face, beaten and dirty. Mouth bound with old cloth from who knows where and his eyes hidden behind a thick blind.
No they don’t look upon the man’s naked form or his matted hair. They keep their gaze locked upon the paper, scribble and scribble that forms. He never speaks a word, he has no need for this… caged beast to hear his thoughts aloud. Once his mad scribblings are done, the man, dressed in the outfit of a scientist working with harsh chemicals, moves to the next phase of his plan.
He retrieves a small piece of chalk he had hidden in his coat pocket, lord knows where he got It from. The man’s hands were on a mission, working at a diligent pace, reproducing the circle he’d scribbled on the paper. Once more he did it with a fiery passion, he was a man on a mission and this mission, well… The auto-mail resting in the corner gave hint to that.
With circle done, he dragged the naked man from his cage and carefully tossed a few of the auto-mail limbs onto his body. He groaned and grunted, but they were ignored, this was science after all.. in a way at least. The scientist, if one could call him that, moved his hands to the outer circle. With a strong press, lightning began to erupt all around, coursing over the circle, the man, and the auto-mail.
It crackled and hissed as the man’s body began to mold and fuse into the metal parts. The doctor, if you can say he was, said nothing; he merely watched wide eyed and in wonder. Once the screams had ended, he let out a sigh, he said nothing: he walked over to his papers and simply threw them away. Another failure, another mess to clean up…
----
The Fuhrer was content with sitting as his desk this afternoon. It was quite the lovely day out, the sun was rising nicely over the city and he could see all of the people bustling about. His coffee was fresh and warm as well, a little cream and an extra lump of sugar. His assistant knew he kept sugar cubes in his desk and decided to give in to his little joys, giving him extra sugar in his cup. It was his favorite moment of the day, peaceful and serene. There were little things that had bothered him as of late, being Fuhrer meant being the ruler. He had to be sure the entire country was running smoothly and, minus a few uprisings here and there, things were looking well.
That was until, the report came in… As he sat there, enjoying his daily ritual, HE, came in. The doors erupted as though a bomb had blown them, a scraggly, weak, pole of a man bust in with his chest heaving. His breath was like that of an asthmatic in the midst of an attack, hacking and wheezing. “Fuhrer...” The man could barely speak and the Fuhrer honestly had no time for this.
He let out a sigh, stroking his near ash white beard as he turned around. “Yes, yes... what is it now?” The bean-pole man brushed back his black hair and stood at attention. “Fuhrer Sir!” The man was like a frightened kitten, his entire body shaking as though he was to be shot at any moment. “Yes? Go on.” The Fuhrer’s eyes narrowed on the man, they were a deep stony brown and lead to his reputation as being like such, a stone.
“C...C...Captain Falkner repor-” He was cut off, “Enough with the damned formalities, You are wasting my time. Spit it out or remove yourself from my presence!” The little kitten swallowed hard, the Fuhrer could swear he heard it from where he sat. “A man was found… Near South City. His body was… Mangled, interwoven between auto-mail...”
The Fuhrer didn’t react in the way the Falkner expected, he let out a sigh, exasperated and prolonged. “Very well, send some men to investigate and get the reports they come in with.” Falkner nodded and quickly dashed out of the office. “And Captain.” The man stopped midway, “Y...Yes?” His lips trembled as he turned around. “Close the door.” Falkner nodded, “Y...Yes Fuhrer.”
the card alchemist is very much accepted
@deanmachin The platinum alchemist is accepted
In
I wanna be a HERO! - One Punch Man-inspired anime superheroes RP
→
10 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Aye real life can do that to you XD
I did it!
Chirashi was stuck between a rock and a hard place here, He could see pirates and marines duking it out and people running for their lives. “But, I didn’t get any recipes yet...” He thought to himself, That wasn’t going to happen! He wasn’t leaving this place without a damned new recipe! He let out a thick growl and stood up to his feet. “Outta the way bastards!” He shouts, charging through the crowd, knocking over the normal civilians. He knew what needed to be done! He’d just have- “TO STEAL ALL THE COOK BOOKS!”
That was right! Chirashi made it his goal this time! He was going to steal all the cookbooks he could! But not from shops and the like, most of those places sold cookbooks you could get anywhere! Nope, Chirashi, the massive fishman that he was, broke through the doors of restaurants! Snaking his way back into the kitchen, with a grin and a laugh, “Jajajaja! I’ll get the chefs personal stuff!”
Though some chefs were still in the kitchen as he spoke, Chirashi stood there, in a stunned silence. The men standing there, in a stunned silence. You could almost see the look of realization on all of their faces as their eyes widened. Chirashi not expecting the chefs to be in the kitchen… The chefs not expecting a giant fishman in their kitchen.
Suddenly, pots and pans began flying like mad towards the fishman! “Oi! Get out of here!” One man shouts, “What are your thinking!? This is private! Private!” Another screams. “I’m just doing this cause everyone else is...” One chef whispers to a man tossing random bits of plates and cups.
“Ow! Oi! Ow!” Chirashi holds his arms over his face to protect them from the random incoming dishes. “I SAID OW!” He screams, one pot smacking him squarely on the jaw. “Nnngh…. THAT DOES IT!” He screams, tossing the prep table towards the chefs. “I’LL KILL YOU BASTARDS!!!” The chefs quickly flee for their lives from the rampaging fishman. “GRAWR!!!” He screams, tossing ovens and sinks… Tables… anything he could get his hands on really.
That was right! Chirashi made it his goal this time! He was going to steal all the cookbooks he could! But not from shops and the like, most of those places sold cookbooks you could get anywhere! Nope, Chirashi, the massive fishman that he was, broke through the doors of restaurants! Snaking his way back into the kitchen, with a grin and a laugh, “Jajajaja! I’ll get the chefs personal stuff!”
Though some chefs were still in the kitchen as he spoke, Chirashi stood there, in a stunned silence. The men standing there, in a stunned silence. You could almost see the look of realization on all of their faces as their eyes widened. Chirashi not expecting the chefs to be in the kitchen… The chefs not expecting a giant fishman in their kitchen.
Suddenly, pots and pans began flying like mad towards the fishman! “Oi! Get out of here!” One man shouts, “What are your thinking!? This is private! Private!” Another screams. “I’m just doing this cause everyone else is...” One chef whispers to a man tossing random bits of plates and cups.
“Ow! Oi! Ow!” Chirashi holds his arms over his face to protect them from the random incoming dishes. “I SAID OW!” He screams, one pot smacking him squarely on the jaw. “Nnngh…. THAT DOES IT!” He screams, tossing the prep table towards the chefs. “I’LL KILL YOU BASTARDS!!!” The chefs quickly flee for their lives from the rampaging fishman. “GRAWR!!!” He screams, tossing ovens and sinks… Tables… anything he could get his hands on really.
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