Twas dusk, the loud inebriated laughter of a small group of men an women could be heard outside the tavern. The slurred merry shout-laughs of a man roared over the laughing group, "Yvoo, Yvoo knwoo, yoovvvvr youvr alriiigh! Bu yoov-bu yoov shhhhool'n goo derrr. Miiiigh, miiiigh misssake yoooov. Liiie- lie... me." Sobbing could be heard, but a deep, roaring, boisterous voice reassures the man, "But I MUST. FOR IT TIS MINE QUEST FOR MINE OWN KITH AND KIN! REST UP MY MERRY COMPANIONS! MAY YOU DREAM OF LARGE CHESTED MILK MAIDS! BUT SIR MONTIQUE MUST CONTINUE HIS VALIANT QUEST!" and with that the door slams open with a thud.
Lovely Bones Member
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Bio
Account Activity Discontinued
I've grown bored and discontent with the site and not wanting to spend more time on something where I am no longer having any fun: I have decided to cease logging in.
Farewell! May your days be full of mirth and substance.
Most Recent Posts
(Quick and clean. No time to polish to a sheen.)
Overview
Meet Sir Montique or what's left of him... once he was a noble of the fabulous Flavious House. Now he's quite dead. Well, quite undead. The same can not be said for his noble line. Risen by some profane ritual and left to meander, he clings to his second chance at life. Searching on daring adventures from the temples in the highest mountain tops to ruins at the bottom of the sea for one thing: THE WORLDS GREATEST BOOZE! And he will find it...
Personality
Loud, boisterous, arrogant, and a bit foolish. He delights in conversation, hearing tales, and toasting drink. An off-putting cloak concealing walking bones though he may be, he is quite friendly and doubly trusting. Willing to open up to just about anybody with interest enough to bother asking. Just don't get him started about fair-folk and their cowardly tactics. Given how he may have fallen... it can get him rather uproarious.
Overview
Meet Sir Montique or what's left of him... once he was a noble of the fabulous Flavious House. Now he's quite dead. Well, quite undead. The same can not be said for his noble line. Risen by some profane ritual and left to meander, he clings to his second chance at life. Searching on daring adventures from the temples in the highest mountain tops to ruins at the bottom of the sea for one thing: THE WORLDS GREATEST BOOZE! And he will find it...
Personality
Loud, boisterous, arrogant, and a bit foolish. He delights in conversation, hearing tales, and toasting drink. An off-putting cloak concealing walking bones though he may be, he is quite friendly and doubly trusting. Willing to open up to just about anybody with interest enough to bother asking. Just don't get him started about fair-folk and their cowardly tactics. Given how he may have fallen... it can get him rather uproarious.
If we can't roleplay as half-mad (awakened?) gunslingers THEN WHAT'S THE POINT OF ANYTHING!
(OOC Notes: I like to set the stage of the setting, I hope you all don't find my pompous rambling too insufferable.)
The Black Weald. A vast, ancient, wall of oak, birch, and shrubbery so thick it is ever shrouded in abyssal dark. As if the weald is in unending twilight. Indeed no light pernitrates the canopy of nigh-skeletal branches of dark oak that rake the sky like groping hands of the dead. The damp air, permeated with petrichor and the faint sickly scent of rotting leaves creates thick mists around the weald floor. Making traversal precarious and scouting by sight nearly impossible. In this place the wild reigns; serpents prowl. wolves hunt, the distant screams of deer are heard, as well as the frequent calls of nocturnal birds of prey no longer shackled by the break of day, and of course there are the calls of things... here-to-unknown. What exactly brought you here is irrelevant, prey or predator the Black Weald has you and is loathe to let you go.
The Black Weald. A vast, ancient, wall of oak, birch, and shrubbery so thick it is ever shrouded in abyssal dark. As if the weald is in unending twilight. Indeed no light pernitrates the canopy of nigh-skeletal branches of dark oak that rake the sky like groping hands of the dead. The damp air, permeated with petrichor and the faint sickly scent of rotting leaves creates thick mists around the weald floor. Making traversal precarious and scouting by sight nearly impossible. In this place the wild reigns; serpents prowl. wolves hunt, the distant screams of deer are heard, as well as the frequent calls of nocturnal birds of prey no longer shackled by the break of day, and of course there are the calls of things... here-to-unknown. What exactly brought you here is irrelevant, prey or predator the Black Weald has you and is loathe to let you go.
Bonjour, hail, howdy!
I am the Lovely Bones, brand new to the site. As the title suggests I have joined with the interest of getting rid of my own boredom! Hopefully others boredom as well. Now, TO THE POINT!
-I have some experience with RP online, but I would hardly call myself a veteran.
-As you may have guessed from my moniker, I gravitate towards darker settings.
-As to my writing... profound literacy and memes can go hand-in-hand, can they not?
I am the Lovely Bones, brand new to the site. As the title suggests I have joined with the interest of getting rid of my own boredom! Hopefully others boredom as well. Now, TO THE POINT!
-I have some experience with RP online, but I would hardly call myself a veteran.
-As you may have guessed from my moniker, I gravitate towards darker settings.
-As to my writing... profound literacy and memes can go hand-in-hand, can they not?
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