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5 yrs ago
Current Discord crashed lads. Can't get back in.
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6 yrs ago
I've opened art commissions up, anyone who wants relatively cheap art PM me here or on Discord: LeeRoy#8459
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9 yrs ago
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"If you kill a man, you scorn his wife. If you kill his wife, you scorn her child. If you kill her child, you scorn his village. If you kill his village, you scorn the kingdom. If you kill the kingdom you scorn an empire. If you kill an empire, then who is left?"

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Continuing westward away from the river, Mosi's nose tracked the smoke of cooking until he was fully outwards from being downwind. A considerable distance of dozens of meters away, there was some disturbance of wind between the other four of his allies and the prey they hunted as a pack. It was far too far from him to concern himself with it, they would manage their own games, and he would kill the others one after the other. The wind, however, was changed so he could only use his spatial awareness to continue navigating in relation to the assumed position.

If only Mosi could hear the thoughts of those he hunted. It would take an absurd abstract killing for him to gain that ability, and so it was truly unfortunate that he could not mock Senko for believing her sight protected. Certainly, her sight was protected from sensory overload. However, Mosi was not capable of overloading senses, instead he was capable of something much stranger.

As the strange awareness of the woman, Senko, extended into his region. Mosi bore witness to it, seeing it as a slithering film of mucous that crept across the landscape. Infiltrating that which could be, and granting her the strange sight necessary to detect them all. It was a very solid decision, observation of one's foes is certainly a valuable asset on the battlefield. With the expansion of the observational field of energy, the woman had exposed herself to Mosi.

He stood erect, stepping in match with the approaching energy, avoiding it as only he could. He danced westward, moving in a crescent to evade the groping, grasping, clawing extension of Senko's self for as long as was possible. By the time he was touched by the Chi sense, he was almost fully southwards of the central structure. He was just slightly off the southwards road, and could look down the road through the brush of the forest.

Crossing the road in two leaping strides, he continued along the edge of the road directly up towards the central structure. As far as he knew, there was no one along this path, the indicators all pointed towards his four allies engaging with the other targets. However, the goal of the wayfaring hunter was to circle around and find weaknesses in the enemy's positions. One such weakness became apparent as he came closer to the structure.

Mosi was low, one hand pressed against the ground as he made long crawling strides. From the brush he spotted the concealed armor clad being known as Yuske. He was on the second floor of the structure, Yuske was the only one around. Both parties, it seemed, had a single loner which had opted for the furthest position from their groups. The difference in personality and efficacy showed in where and how they did so.

The chi radiance did in fact continue up towards Yuske, as Mosi's eyes traced the line of it. There was only one logical course of action to follow, Mosi turned his spear towards the radiation of chi, and his eyes narrowed into slits. There, he saw the concepts, the fundamental makeup of the radiance that permitted the adversaries to see him and his allies. So too did he see a layer of protection, a strange thing. Conceptual protection, a shield between him and the chi that helped connect and empower his adversaries. It was novel, to be sure, little divinities playing at God. They thought they had power. Mosi smiled, his apish teeth peering through peeled back lips of glee.

Mosi raised his spear overhead and plunged the leaf shaped blade into the concept of the Ryuusei Chant. Like some wicked blade plunging into the dreams of children, cleaving the goodness from them and leaving them in a nightmare, Mosi raised his spear again and plunged it back down into the Ryuusei Chant. The first layer of protection, the chant that was meant to guard against attack, was itself under attack by Mosi. If there were a being which was representative of, or solely responsible for, the Ryuusei chant it would be as if they were being stabbed by an unseen assailant.

Worse still, they could do little but retract their sense of him or have the protection stripped away. It was not as if the concept was capable of defending itself from being killed. As he raised his spear again for the killing stroke, it would be up to the woman to withdraw it.
A small boat arrives traveling from the east, coming to a stop at the western edge of the riverbank. It runs into the silt and slides to a slow creeping halt, and its sole occupant steps out. He was a large man, wide in the shoulders, standing few inches taller than the average man. His body was rippling with naked primeval force, and his strength and dexterity was clearly visible on his body. When his foot made contact with the river bank, his toes sank into it as he made no sound. Even his breath was hushed by breathing long and slow through his large nostrils.

The Killing King, Mosi Musesma, was needed for his unique talents. He had been summoned by a strange glowing tablet whose words could be slid up and down its smooth black glassy surface. The words meant very little to him, he did not care about the why, or the who. He was a prophet of death, and when death called, he answered. It was meant to be that is all that matters.

The two allies who had already arrived, were mechanical men. They were positioned further ahead, and he was by the river outlet presently. He reached into the boat, pulling his five spears out, he looped them into the leather thong that was at the small of his back. Keeping one in his hand, which his fingers squeezed gently. The feel of the wood grain against his palm was pleasant, these were freshly made spears. They felt young and new, they had not tasted blood yet.

He stepped away from the boat, and moved towards the brush, his body bent, his knees pulled him low to the ground. The deep bronze of his skin becoming of one tone with the natural tones of the forest as he slid into the tall foliage. The scent of cooking came from the Northwest, brushing his nostrils as he sniffed the wind. He could smell the individual ingredients, the chef was not to his standard. This was an unfair assessment, as he was once a king, but it was an honest one.
I would like to point out that the actual team name is Team Dark Darker but Darkly.

Dark Darker Butt Darkly*
`Name: Mosi Musesma, The Killing King, The Prophet of the Killing Intent
`Age: Time has become confusing and meaningless in immortality.
`Gender: Man.
`Race: Human, Sahara
`Character Description:
Height- 6’5”
Weight- 380lbs
Reach- 75”
Eye Color- Green
Hair Color- Black
Skin Color- Golden Brown

`Physical Description: A masculine male of Indo-Aryan stock, a sharp hawkish face with a long and tall narrow nose. His cheekbones are high and his brow is strong. He is completely lacking in eyebrows. His face is lacking any sign of facial hair. The hair atop his head is long and flowing with a supernatural lightness. Every single inch of him except his head is completely hairless and smooth, with an almost oily sleekness.

He is muscular but not veiny, his body has a natural grace to its physicality. Everything seems as though it were perfectly sculpted and the muscles and sinew were painted on, rather than evolved or grown. Like he was hand-crafted to be the most exceptional human being. The earlobes on his ears are long and elastic, in the classical depiction of wise monks of East Asian mythology. They touch his shoulders

His hands and feet are large and wide, his limbs sleek and long. His torso and neck are broad and leonine. Everything about him screams predator, even his hawkish green eyes have an unnaturally predatory forward look to them. His teeth and jaw are more sharp and apish than manlike, as if he and his kin had ever evolved away from defending themselves with their fangs. Though this comes with an unnatural curvature of the chin.

He’s uncanny in a beautiful and haunting way, and he has black tattoos surrounding his eyes and running down to his lips.

`Personality Description: He is a prophetic figure, a religious zealot, the sole drive that fills his character is the desire to enlighten all of creation to the truth of the Killing Intent.

He was once a noble emperor, a ruler of a vast desert empire that got lost to time. His nobility and canny upbringing still hold their embers in him, he carries himself as a nobleman. His footsteps are those of a ruler turned savage prophet of the dark and wonderful liberating truth of all things.

`Abilities, Powers, Skills:
Peak Human Physiology: As a default, if there is anything that a human being can do, he too can do it. There is nothing that another man can do that he cannot, and he has the ability to combine these traits together.

The incredible speed of an Olympic sprinter combined with the exceptional strike force of a boxer and the mass of a lightweight sumo wrestler. While the metrics are measured by normal men, the combination of traits that mere athletes can attain elevates them to superhuman levels.

The Master Martial: All Martial Arts are known to him, but he favors simple spear play. Efficient and effective, but when he so chooses he can unleash exceptional technique, armed and unarmed.

The Five Facts: When he was blessed with the knowledge of the Killing Intent, he was granted five absolute facts. These facts are incredible blessings that let him stand as an equal combatant with demigods and deities. These do not make him greater than his foe, for they will always be naturally in their body’s abilities. But it makes him sufficient to fight them.

“I can see it.” - The Truth of sight allows him to see even when it should be impossible for a man to see it. In the pitch dark, in the blinding light, through thick fog, and at speeds faster than light.

“I can hear it.” - The Truth of sound, allowing him to hear and speak when it should be impossible. In the void of space, underwater, when his tongue is stricken from his mouth, and when his opponent is deaf.

“I can catch it.” - The Truth of speed, allowing him reaction time to move to avoid any attack, and allowing him movement speed to chase down any foe.

“I can take it.” - The Truth of defense, allowing him to take blows that would kill a normal man. Allowing him to trade blows as an equal tiered combatant to his opponent.

“I can kill it.” - The Truth of life, allowing him to cause harm to all things. The very intention of his actions can cause harm to anything. Material, immaterial, allegedly indestructible, intangible, divine, metaphysical, and even concepts. With his Killing Intent he can destroy and damage anything, as if it were made of solid matter.

-That Which Has Been Killed:
Age: He has eternal youth, and does not age. Time has become meaningless to him.
Fixture to the Ground: When he achieves higher than human ability, he can perform impossible aerial maneuvers. Such as running up walls and jumping in the air.
Weakness: This is how he can perform these superhuman feats.
Breaking Weapons: This is how his weapons do not shatter in his hand when he performs impossible feats.
Fear: There is no authority great enough to bow his head in terror. Not even for a moment will he hesitate in fear of his choices being wrong.

`Character Equipment:
5 5 Cubit Spears: 7.5 feet blade to butt, they’re perfectly balanced and made of flexible wood, the point is a leaf shaped bronze blade. It is razor sharp and keeps its edge uncannily. They are affected by his killing intent and are capable of withstanding the forces he exerts and the blows that he trades. They are extensions of his killing intent, and gain impossible force and killing potential when wielded by him.

A Leather Strap: It wraps from his left shoulder to his right hip, and it has five loops where his spears rest. It connects to his final piece of equipment.

A Graceful Loincloth: A symbol of savagery painted with nobility, it covers his genitals and gives him decency. Despite being impossible, no matter what angle one views him from it will always be perfectly concealing his dignity.

`Character History:
Once the king of a vast desert kingdom, a massive river once fed into a circular nation built into a desert valley oasis. It was a thriving society with seasonal rises and falls of the river water.

An asteroid impact rerouted the river, and shook the world. The river flooded his nation, then starved them of water. There he was emperor, and suddenly for all his prosperity and glory he was laid low, and all his ancestors' works were destroyed.

With his nation lost to the sands, he stripped to a loincloth and wandered into the desert to die in his shame. There, in the wasteland that was growing more and more water starved as the days went by, he saw God.

In the desert he met a man who assaulted him, beat him, laid him lower than he could have imagined, and then lifted him to his feet once more. Healing his wounds and cleaning his feet. They sat and spoke for days, his hunger and thirst gone, and he was taught the truth of the world.

There are no goods, no evils. No coincidences and no accidents. All is meant to happen, and the only supreme authority of the world is Violence.

This authority extends over ALL things, not merely other men and beasts. Physics, natural law, evolution, fate, even death. Nothing is immune to violence, one must truly understand that Violence can control the world, before truly understanding The Killing Intent.

When he learned of the Killing Intent, and the control it conferred, he killed his weakness. He killed his old age. He left the desert and now wanders the multiverse as a prophet, teaching all of creation that the truth of creation is destruction.
This is where the 5v5 between our team and the other team will be held.
Within the approximate area of Dangerrutito, approximately in the air a hundred and some odd feet above and to the left, a small crack formed in the narrative layer. Through this crack bled a spray of energy that approximately resembled a combination of broken glass, television static, and the rainbow that forms on the ground where oil and water mix. It was a weird pastel energetic emission that slowly ate away at the narrative layer and eventually split it open entirely. From this split between reality, unreality, and fiction came forth quite a strange figure. A very large fat giant of a man, heavily bearded with hair that hangs down onto his back. His beard and hair alight with blue flames, and these flames were made out of feathers. Every aspect of this guy was weird. He had no eyes, just the sunken in lids where eyes used to be. Above those eyes, floating in a half-lidded stare, was a projection of a single green eye just in the center of the forehead. A pair of psychokinetic wings, made up of the same blue feathered flames as the tips of his hair and beard.

These wings, were, at the moment desperately scrambling in the air to try and get lift or attempt to glide. The mutual attempts of which were not conducive to finding either solution, and if he had just committed to one or the other, he would have succeeded.

So too was his manner of dress strange; On his right shoulder he had an entire goat's skull, complete with horns that curled up and over the shoulder. On his left arm and right leg were strange metal frameworks that seemed to be connected directly to the bones in the limbs. These metal frameworks were spring-loaded and made of some unidentifiable metal that looked tarnished and definitely unsanitary to have as an implant. Around his neck was a necklace made from an eagle's claws and feathers, around his waist was the entire pelt of a tiger excluding the head. Strangest of all, the clothes he wore aside from these odd trinkets, were totally mundane. A cracking graphic t-shirt of a mushroom on a surfboard. The words; "Grandma's In The Hospital Again." are barely legible on it. The pants are heavily worn, tattered at the cuffs, blue jeans with an unidentifiable pattern on the pockets. There's a white plaid jacket that has turned yellow from years of wearing, it is missing all of the buttons on the cuffs but he doesn't roll them up. Lastly, his feet have knock-off crocs with gel insoles, the crocs are black but they've faded to grey.

Why mention all of this? Because it is necessary to outline the oddity of his appearance as he spilled through a hole into a completely different reality, one not usually tethered to this one by any portal or gateway. He flopped and he flailed, flapping and thrashing as he crashed through the air, finding absolutely no providence from his rapid angled descent towards the side of the building that Dangerrutito was standing just outside of. Like a meteorite his immensity of mass and acceleration towards the ground turned him into a projectile, and he crashed into the corner of the structure. Sending a cascade of whatever building materials they use in hell spraying from the point of impact. As well, changing his trajectory so that he crashed bodily into the dirt. Burying his head and right arm entirely in whatever material the ground was made of in hell.

With his impact, he groaned into the earth, and just dangled there. His knees fell down and touched the ground, his other arm came to rest on the ground with the palm facing downwards. The fingers of the free hand swirled in the hell dirt, drawing little spirals.

As he was in such a humiliating position, he would be contraposed by a flickering aura that became visible like a screen-tear of the same pastel colored television static and broken glass. It would grow out from somewhere on his person, pulling an outline of itself from nothingness. Then it would snap back to the body, disappearing once again. The wings on his back of psychokinetic fire, they were slumped against the earth. Their enormity of form contrasting the utterly pathetic and embarrassing position they lay in.

With thus, Rory arrived.
Could I get unbanned from the discord server, all the people who caused me to get argumentative are gone from it. An entire generation of roleplayers has come and gone since then. It's been four years time, I think that's sufficient.
Are there any combat roleplayers left here?

Is there any who still remain?

If you're out there, please add me on Discord. LeeRoy#8459

I have an offer, for all Combat Roleplayers.
For those who wish to help their immediate family, here is the link to the donation page:

Cat and I were close. I had been in a call with them a day before they passed. They were so happy to be out of the hospital, but so unhappy to be a burden on their family. Every day they told me more and more about how the hospital mishandled their treatment, and they were glad to no longer deal with it.

They fell apart near the end, could barely breathe or speak. But they were still concerned with matters of great importance, moreso than the average person worries themselves with. Always an idealist, always a dreamer, to their very last moment they were sincere with their beliefs.

I loved them like family, and wept when their sister called me to tell me the news.

At least to the last moment they were themselves, and never faltered in that. Perhaps that is best, and what we should all strive for.

Never will you be forgotten, Cat. Rest in peace, I'll see you when my luck runs out.
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