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Little Bill male Member

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User has no bio, yet i consume the greedy. i rob the thieves. i kill the killers. nobody wants me. if you don't have me, nobody will want you. what's my name?

Most Recent Posts

In Ardacia Sheets → 9 yrs ago Forum: Character Sheets









In Ardacia Sheets → 9 yrs ago Forum: Character Sheets
@Inkarnate @ethanjory @Sloth @SunsetWanderer
In Ardacia Sheets → 9 yrs ago Forum: Character Sheets
For as long as men have lived, there have been two moons -- Eirtu and Elonar. Eirtu has always been known as "The Great Moon" and the physical embodiment of the god of the world's dominant religion, whereas "The Lesser Moon" Elonar has faithfully orbited Eirtu as a physical manifestation of their goddess. That all changed recently when Elonar crashed into Eirtu, leaving nothing to prove it had ever existed but a sizable crater.

Predictably, the realm hasn't responded too well.

In the capital, tensions have been minimized to church leaders being busy handling the influx of converts and pleas of the frightened devout, whereas in the more rural regions of the world, low lords are being slain in the streets by hordes of peasants who believe that their goddess has died and that the end is very much nigh. With the royal army being a shadow of what it once was and practically abandoned because of the centuries of peace with other nations, chaos will definitely be one of the themes in play here.

Is this a post-apocalyptic medieval RP? No. By and large, I think most people will have calmed down about the moon exploding a few months into the RP when they've seen that the world isn't going to be swallowed into hellfire, but the point of this cataclysmic event is to spark off a power struggle that we'll deal with for the rest of the RP. Some will rise to power on the backs of those initially fearful about an apocalypse, others will use the tension to destroy old alliances and create new ones, and so on. This moon hoopajoop is designed to create the interregnum for our story that replaces Robert Baratheon's rebellion and death.

The roleplay itself will have its fair share of combat and war, but for the most part, I'd like to focus on intrigue and relations more. "Petyr is an honorless liar" is one thing, but implying Petyr is guilty for something by saying "Surely, I hope you don't take into account Petyr's past as you cast judgement" is even better. I've seen too many Nation RPs where characters just blatantly say shit that would be taken as a declaration of war every other post, so try to not do that, unless your intention is to play a character destined to die because of their ignorance of politicking. Anyway, now I'm rambling. All I want to do is scratch that Game of Thrones itch in time for the new season, man.

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IC Information




In After the Spring: A Game of Thrones Roleplay [AU] → 9 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


where da sheets @
In <Animorphs> → 9 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
<Animorphs>
Chapter One: Autumn Years


The town of Erie is memorable for its proximity to one of America's Great Lakes, the long freezing winters brought on by the lake, and remarkably little else. Sidewalks are decorated with tall statues of frogs, though there are not many enough for it to be an "Art Town". Restaurants all ride on the quality and reputation of their "Greek Sauce", though for a town's signature food, it is not different enough from a Sloppy Joe to put it on the map as a "Food Town". Aside from the few strange differences that separate it from any other highway exit town, Erie was just another blue-collar Rust Belt town. A quaint town where the serial-killer craze of the seventies and crack head homicides of the eighties hadn't stopped young boys and girls from having paper routes to buy ice cream, where teens can still be found at arcades congregating before youth organization meetups to share math homework and trade CD's, and where everybody's balding father roots for the same local football team, drinks the same local beer, and voted for the same local mayor. The kind of wholesome place you move to to get out of the city and have kids, only to find that your kids become teens and think it's too boring to stay. To visitors who would read neon green highway signs, Erie was "The Sunset Town", because they wanted to encourage sentimental old people to retire by the lake. To local townies, it was known as "The Mistake by the Lake", because there weren't enough jobs a robotic arm couldn't start doing in the eighties to support the population that had put down roots there by then.

This was a town where the wealthy channeled their unspent energy from having little to do in being invested in sports and television, competing with their neighbors over the dimensions of bushes, and the superior quality of their car and wife to their neighbors, despite each being equally as worn-out and faded. For the poor, the dearth of activity or blue-collar work was channeled into bars, liquor stores, petty crime, and the two crack houses in Southside. Rich or poor, however, there was remarkably little to do in the quiet town this time of year for those uninterested in hayrides, cider, or football. Fortunately, the latter of the third kept the town from having a little more intrinsic value than a town built for bomb testing. It was September, and there was a damp chill already in the air -- Too cold for the fireworks and barbecues of small town summers, and too hot for sledding, snowball fights, and other wintertime comforts the town had from late November to early March. According to the Bargain Lumberjack, an animated caricature who would appear on local access commercials, it was just cold enough to put chains on your tires, especially if you want to do it at Bargain Lumberjacks, where they've got so many bargains, they store them in cords. That was the type of thing that sold in Erie, after all. Mascots, appeals to those who keep firewood in their backyard, and cheap tire treads. In many ways, some could say the only thing to do in the fall in Erie had remained the same since it was populated by men with buckles on their hats: Prepare for Winter.

Fortunately, it was still autumn, and Erie's autumns were far more pleasant than the winters. Rows of tall deciduous trees paved the sidewalks and caged the streets like the ceilings of cathedrals, filling the parks with red, orange, and gold leaves that filtered the last bit of the year's warm sunlight like a tea strainer. The remnants of the long summer were slowly disappearing, and every day there seemed to be fewer and fewer plastic pools and trampolines decorating lawns, and more and more gourds and bundles of dried flowers decorating doors. Although the sleepy town was far from buzzing with excitement, it still wasn't half bad to look at, if you were outside to look at it. Most of the residents in Erie had long-since settled for indoor activities by now -- The arcade, museum, L.E.M.O.N.S, and the many coffee shops and bars throughout the town were progressively getting less business as people opted to stay home more. At least the folks at Blockbuster and Little Caesar's were doing well. Them and the mall. The mall always did well, especially now that The Sharing practically camped out on the front doors armed with pamphlets and punch.

Today was a Saturday, which invariably meant different things in different parts of the town. In Perry Square, this meant those stubborn enough to refuse the gathering cold could grill and throw around a football. In Cedar Hills, it meant that the liquor store opened an hour early and closed an hour late, if you came to the backdoor. Saturday was the best day for the cafes downtown, and an even better day for the Lemon by the lake. For Strong Vincent, it meant room 404 -- located at the top of the school for God knows what reason -- held Saturday detention. There were two students at the back of the room who respectively argued with a teacher and defended the other student's argument, who were there for their sole missed weekend. A tall young man sat at the side of the room closest to the window, there for the first of his two-saturday punishment for rear ending the principal in the parking lot. In the middle sat a girl, on her second of three detentions for smoking in the girl's bathroom, and a boy next to her who simply intended to make up a test that was on a day he had skipped. Finally, at the front of the room, right next to the teacher's desk, sat an irate young man who essentially lived at Saturday School, fourth floor or not.

The six had little in common. A few shared friendships and acquaintances, but were by no means a team, or even a cohesive group at that. After detention, they collectively began walking home in a group out of chance, all having to walk essentially the same route to a bus stop, before small-talk gradually pervaded through the awkward silence. Friend and friend, acquaintance and acquaintance, classmate and classmate. Before long, these conversations all convened into one; The looming abandoned construction yard between themselves and the bus half of their group was headed towards. Cutting through it would save a good ten minutes, given that it spanned two blocks that had to be walked around, but at the same time, there was a sense of danger to the place. It was where a third high school was being built a decade ago, until some reason or the other shut it down. It was a place of shadows now. The type of spot teens dare each other to spend Halloween night in, until the wind rattles the fences and echoes throughout the empty concrete halls. It was an ivy-laden hotspot for tetanus and homeless derelict stabbings, and worst of all, it was private property. A misdemeanor if they were caught, which was not impossible considering what little the police in Erie had to do on any given day.
In 𝐀𝐁𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐄 → 9 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay


Poole did not have the fanciest room aboard the Magnitude, but to be fair, Poole was not her fanciest member. There were no decorative posters or lights, no desks or chairs, nor any sort of semblance of his personality outside of his most bare needs. In a way, this too fit Poole. He was more a man of function than form, and his room functioned. It functioned so well, Poole spent days at a time holed away in his room, as if trapped in a cycle of exercising, eating, and then sleeping. Lynnette once told him that was common in ex-cons, though he hadn't been able to tell by her tone if that meant it was something he should stop. Regardless, Poole, and his room, were functional for the purposes they served, form be damned. Of the four walls Poole had, one wall was decorated with a wooden crucifix about the height one would place a painting or clock, and nowhere else. Not a crucifix in the sense of having a little Jesus hanging out on it, Poole had voiced a distaste for those seemingly every time he encountered them, but a simple lowercase T made of two thin planks. Other than his crucifix, the only "decoration" that could be found was Poole's robotic canary, which tweeted peacefully on a small pipe jutting out of the ceiling. It would fly around the room once every thirty minutes, and then return to its perch to tweet until bedtime.

He had a single bed -- a mattress and wire frame which creaked tremendously when fitting his oversized bulk -- and a mini fridge with the foods that amounted to Poole's five food groups; potato salad, egg salad, chicken salad, Spar-Letta soda, and rye bread. He wasn't a man of steak and lobster. He was a man of cold salad, and with the money he made that wasn't stored away, he made darn sure he had salad. This moment, he was not eating any kind of mayonnaise-based salad, but was wrapped up in his pre-mission prayers, or at least the excercise-infused bible study Poole had. He called them contemplations, which he claimed was like a more serious prayer. He invited the crew to join him every time he performed them, and every time, they declined. By now, it had become almost like a jingle. Want to join me for a prayer, guys? No thanks!

This was fine to Poole. In a way, he preferred the solitude. Twenty years could acclimate you to anything, including sitting in a dark room by yourself.

"Blessed is the Lord, my rock."

If he had a slow day, such as this, Poole's pre-prayer bible readings were broken into chin-up reps, with a tiny paper bible propped between his chin-up bar and the ceiling. He wondered for a moment if he had always been a man of so many scheduled pre-activity activities, or if that was another quirk he picked up in the slammer.

"Who trains my hands for battle,"

Poole did two more chin ups, grunting with exertion, giving his bird a look-over. He enjoyed Bird's presence -- It kept him from getting lonely, without having to be fed or pooping on his floor. That, and he didn't have to cage it up at night. That was always something that didn't sit right with Poole, even before incarceration.

Why do we buy flying pets to put them in cages? he thought to himself, pulling himself up another three times.

"And my fingers for war."

Poole pulled himself up twice more, keeping a steadfast watch on Bird.

"He is my loving ally, and my fortress."

He grunted once more, dropping to the floor for a moment's rest, sitting on the bed to catch his rest, before lying down and shutting his eyes. In actuality, he had memorized this passage years ago -- being one of six he enjoyed reading to prepare for missions -- and only used the Good Book as a focal point for chin-ups.

"He is my stronghold and my deliverer. My shield, in whom I take refuge." Poole quietly said to himself, closing his eyes and clasping his two hands together over his stomach. He caught his breath for another few moments, before rolling to his side and standing up with a heave. He placed two giant hands together in contrition, shutting his eyes thoughtfully in prayer. He didn't pray out loud, that was another rule of his. As he had explained to his crewmates when asked on the subject, God was kind of like Professor X.

He continued his prayer for another few moments, encompassing his request for safety and courage on his mission, better luck than his opponent on the draw, the starving kids to be fed, and so on. When he was done, he opened his eyes and hands, rolling his shoulders back in forth as if starting his day anew. He had everything he needed for the mission already; His wrist-bow, which he carried with him everywhere but the shower these days, and Jesus.

As if by clockwork, he heard the familiar buzz his communications earpiece made right before receiving transmissions. His room had no windows, and yet he knew they were at the A.L.C, and that the captain would be telling him to get to the airlock. Sort of like Professor X. It was either the healthy breakfast he had that morning, or that prayer session, but something about what was in the air had good day written all over it. To Poole, that hitman could consider himself as good as incarcerated by now.
In <Animorphs> → 9 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay

Pete Przybyszewski


What's your name?


Here we go. Peter Przybyszewski. That's pri-buh-shew-skiy. Yeah. P-R-Z-B-Y-S-Z-E-W-S-K-I. I imagine you don't need my middle name, right? Yeah, didn't think so. Your docket doesn't look like it has that much space left.

How old are you?


Sixteen.

What do you look like?


Uh. Is this for the foreign exchange program? I'm not interested in that. Can you imagine telling immigrants from Poland that you were taking a semester in Europe? No? Alright, fine. I'm the shortest kid in my grade, brown moptop, brown eyes, pale skin. I get burned when I go in the sun, which is most of the time, but it leaves me with freckles, except for the stupid tan-line my retainer's headgear gives me. I have grey braces. I asked the dentist for orange, but he gave me grey. I hate them so much. Anyway, I guess that's it. I wish I was taller. Why are we talking about this, anyway? Do I have to be here? Do you even work at this school? None of the other teachers wear suits or anything. Am I being deported? I better not be, I was born in Florida. We moved to Erie all of a month ago, though.

Do you have any hobbies?


I like to read, but we just moved here and all of my books are still on their way here, so all I have are MAD Magazines and old Polish novels my mom likes to read. And no, before you ask, she's not like Ivana Trump. She's more like Ivana's babushka. I like animals, too. I have every ZooBook, plus the limited edition Crocodile Poster they printed for that Steve Irwin thing. I want to learn how to read computer stuff, and code them like Neo. I hear computer programmers make pretty good money. Other than that boring stuff, I don't think so. I like Morrissey and Queen, I have all their stuff on vinyl from my uncle, but I don't think music counts as a hobby. Maybe it's the Catholic work ethic my pops has whipped into me, but too many kids these days just lay around getting stoned with an album on and think that they're doing something deep. People should read more books. Why is everybody dumb except for me?

What are some things that you especially dislike?


My parents. My pastor. Bigots. Bullies. Believe me, the rednecks in this backwater town treat bullying like an Olympic sport. On the first Friday of school, seniors go around gathering up freshmen guys and beating them on the ass with wooden paddles, and this is just an acceptable part of society. Radio jockeys talk about it, sport's stores have sales on cricket paddles, it's a whole fucking thing. God, I hate Erie. Whatever. I guess Freshman Friday sounds catchier than Smear-The-Queer. Actually, can we skip this question?

What are your goals for the future? Both immediate and long-term.


... That question too, please?

What's your home life like? Specifically, what is your relationship like with your parents?


Jesus. You pick these questions outta my diary or something?

What's your favorite animal, and why?


Uh. Tigers, I guess? Anyway, what's with those qu-

Favorite color?


Blue. No, yellow. Can I leave?

Do you identify with any song or piece of music?


Smalltown Boy's a good one. Seriously though, I'm done here.

Do you believe in aliens?


What? No. Goodbye.

Pete's Relationships


Connor Rice

Who?

Gabriela Mendez

Not ringing a bell.

Noah Ward

Seriously, I've been here a month, you can't expect me to know this.

Ash Fitzsimmons

I fucking hate that guy.

C.J. Makowski.

Once again, I can't know every Tom, Dick, and C.J.
In <Animorphs> → 9 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
To prevent further confusion on the subject, all of the mentioned roles have been filled. I'd still accept a Sixth Ranger in the form of a Nothlit -- someone who exceeds the two hour transformation limit and is stuck as one animal forever early in the story -- but I understand if that's not exactly a coveted role.
In After the Spring: A Game of Thrones Roleplay [AU] → 9 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

In <Animorphs> → 9 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Made a Discord.

It seems slightly superfluous given that only half of the cast is filled, but I promise it's not entirely without reason;

A. I want to avoid repeating the fates I've seen with RPs started with a friend HI SLOTH and keep this from becoming The Noah and Ash Show because we're the only ones bouncing ideas for characterbuilding and such. Yay group discussion.

B. I have too much pride to just bump a thread with 'Bump'

C. NPCs, aliens, and places of importance can be more quickly discussed instead of having to be written out in the same level of detail/coding/formal voice as the rest of the OP
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