Lugubrious

I Became a Monster, But Why?!

Apologies for my delays; I'll post before long.

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

<Snipped quote by Krayzikk>

Who helmed your mission? I wish to speak with them...

@harinezumikouken

It's me. By the by, the Manticore hasn't really been fought yet, the fight is beginning. I could still give you a gauge of its strength, however. Pitted against to that jet with that enormous chaingun, I'm inclined to think that the Manticore would lose because the jet's flying high above and much faster. It could just loop around and keep putting bullets into the thing until it's Swiss cheese. If anyone is wondering why that hasn't happened to this Manticore: nobody with a jet and enormous chaingun knows about it yet.

Phoenix Wing (A Fairy Tail RP-Always Open, Open)

@lugubrious So who Ymir again? Did you mean my character Riona Ynnir?

@Oblivion666

Whoops, yeah. That's what I meant, completely.

Phoenix Wing (A Fairy Tail RP-Always Open, Open)

Frenzy Plant – Inquest at Belka

@liferusher@caits@oblivion666@lunarlors34@raijinslayer@zarkun@hatakekuro

The celestial spirit’s pulling at strings to be offended and find ammunition to use against him did not surprise Sanders at all. No creature given that sort of power and loftiness over humans would ever consent to being wrong. Only something without a brain could have actually not understood that the hospitality to which Frenzy Plant’s general referred was that of the people of Belka, not the soldiers of Frenzy Plant, so naturally Leo was misinterpreting on purpose. His mention of ‘action’ drew a raised eye from Sanders. Did the egotistical creature truly think that if he challenged a warrior guild, he would not be annihilated in mere moments? One of the S-rank soldiers alone would be equal to or greater than him in power, Sanders judged; if he attempted to take on an entire guild at once, perhaps imagining that a group of over thirty might not attack simultaneously in a display of foolish sportsmanship, then it would be returned to the spirit world far sooner than it thought.

Silently the General watched Leo go, and a look from him caused the soldiers who were watching to disperse about their duties. For a few moments while Gabriel set up his temporary habitation, he considered strategies to go about the guild’s inquest at Belka. When Gabriel emerged, however, Sanders stood before him. ”Your spirit makes a good point. Since he’s not a part of my army, I have no official authority over him. Of course, the authority brought on by age, experience, and sensibility would mean nothing to an inhuman being. As such, you, private, are one-hundred percent responsible for his actions. Insubordination is not tolerated in this guild. If your spirit steps out of line, you will bear every consequence. This includes punishment up to dishonorable discharge. By now you know that Frenzy Plant is a guild where authority and discipline are absolute; that is the path you have chosen by joining us. Do I make myself clear, private?” The old man’s voice held steady, without malice, but with assured intent.

Sanders remained with him only long enough to hear an affirmative reply. Any sort of excuses, explanations, or accusations would brook not so much as acknowledgment as the General then went to see to what came next. While the majority of the soldiers awaited his commands, the guest Damian took the initiative. ”You have anticipated my plan of action, Mr. Gerard. I’ll trust you not to appear suspicious, and to that end, please take Lieutenants Eliza and Rensa with you. They are both quick-witted and quick on their feet. After taking a look at the cinders, please proceed to the graveyard at the other end of the town and take a look at Willard’s grave.” He glanced upward, and found the sky on the verge of gray. Another color filtered through the darkened heavens, however: a sickly sort of yellow. Such phenomena typically heralded twisters. ”We might be in for a storm.”

He turned to the assemblage of soldiers nearby. Crossing his arms, Sanders told them, ”There’s been a change of plan. I wanted to wait for several hours before attempting anything, but I do not like this coming wind. Ymir, Fortinbras, Riven: please go to the schoolhouse where the nobleman, Evgeny, is purported to be. Inquire about recent events in Belka. Enma, Mercury, and Gabriel, head to the market under the pretense of buying food. Keep an eye out for anything suspicious, and stick together. Thor, Saxum, and Johnson, I ask discretion of you. Peruse the outskirts of the town, where the buildings are sparse and the trees plentiful. Tsubano and Graham, leave town and find Argus and Kilo immediately. Frenzy Plant’s demon is in great danger if his power remains unchecked, and he may invite greater danger by releasing it even outside the city. Brand him with a Seal of Denial and return with him to this spot. Brass and Rewman, take Isla with you as you seek out the cleric in his church near the graveyard. We can leave no option unexplored. Let’s move, soldiers.”

”Yes, sir!”

The Horde of Evil - Tresspassing through treacherous tribes' territory! (RP closed)

I'm glad I could be a part of it, and I am sorry that I have not contributed more.

Dark Souls, Kingdom rebuild.

I'm sorry to say that I've been pessimistic about this RP's chances. So you know, Lucius, there's a plan in the works that I'm helping to make, and I can give you more information if you're interested.

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

Hmmm, maybe I will instead use the ash for a weapon, as I want the avatar to be a reminder of what has happened and the battle to come, and represent an... ideal(?) to not allow such things to happen again.

...I'm finding it hard to decide on stuffs.

Also, Lugu, where is Slough going? TotallyIsn'tHopingThatSheIsGoingToTheHilt... That I still need to make a sheet for. :\

@Kangutso

I don't exactly want to spoil her location, but she's not going to anything related to Kyre, so that's alright.

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

Powerful and laced with grains of truth as the murmurs of Vestec were, they struggled to resonate with the dry, meat-speckled bones of the accursed corpse goddess. The attack made to him, enough to crumble mountains and reduce to atoms any living thing not granted eternity through godhood, eluded any remnants of sensory power Slough might have had even more deftly than it eluded the laws of physics. Jvan calmed herself to examine Slough, and by an eccentric definition of ‘unhurt’ decided that she fared well enough. On the heels if this pronouncement came a torrent of creative power, exuded from the all-beauty’s consciousness and bestowed upon the lifeless tangle of former plantlife that pervaded the Craglands. Given new strength and purpose they surged to immerse themselves in poison far below, birthing from an association never meant to be a new, waterlogged forest in the grim shadow of the sepulchral cliffs. Even a beast so primitive as Slough understood the animalistic urge to embrace what bettered oneself, so the pursuit of a medium antithetical to needs -be it made by empowered roots or a fleshy aberration beyond nightmares- would have baffled her. Fortunately, the portion of her rotted brain not yet eked out through the holes that signified her ears could not fathom this unintuitive conundrum.

Were it so easy that a soothing deluge, meant in comradeship and love, could negate a virulent curse! When the bones of the Deepwood Ghoul floated to the surface of Jvan’s kindly bath, they displayed an appropriate paucity of life, but their solemn visage masked at least a glimmer of fortune: the bones did not drift apart, and remained united, as any worthwhile testament should. Though faultless in her consideration, Jvan had erred. The pit served as Slough’s prison no more than a riverbed did its river, or the soil the roots of a tree. Around the singular spot where she fell the Forsaken Cragland had arisen to accommodate her; the roots lay as her own bed, and the Aimless Time as a grave sigh, product of her last ragged breath. There lay a question, unasked and unanswered: from where did Slough’s malignant curse originate, if not from Galbar?

Banishing all pretenses, the muse, having arrived, poetically emulated a leaf on the wind, for only whispers and unhelpful flutters accompanied her presence. Even if she could not help the Rottenbone, however, she gave comfort still: in song, at least, Slough could be immortalized. No bard would sing of the brief age of stagnation, but his matron knew, and in memory would preserve she who was responsible.

Next to pay his respects came the lord of time, though he offered his affections strangely. From Jvan’s basin of blue he raised the cleansed corpse, and with no doubt good intentions he wreathed her in incomprehensibility. Into this divine envelope, secured as it was against all outside intrusions, he placed fragments of his power for Slough, like a skittish woodland creature scurrying to a backporch at night, to feed upon. His gifts did not go unnoticed. The cocoon cut Slough off from the world that, more than any god, was her lifeblood, leaving only her most singular and profound essence, that untapped and troublesome life-power, so wonderful in potential and catastrophic in consequence, behind. It devoured bark, and wood, and time—that poor, unfortunate soul.

To Slough, the time and events that passed outside mattered nothing. Perhaps nobody would remember Vestec’s conquest, or Niciel’s gift, or even the horrific despair of Jvan. The circular cocoon of the Rottenbone seemed to be an epicenter for spheres, orbs and eyes both. In truth, it wasn’t long before the egg of life began to crack. No fissures ruptured its surface, however. When the time came, the entire shell simply melted away like ice in the summer, or ash in the wind, or a dream in daytime. In the clearing, empty but for rotten things once called eyes and vigilant motes of light, Slough emerged. Within the cocoon she regained a semblance of her former shape; she was a deer of wood. This gnarled, gnobby, gray-green wood, however, seemed of the Deepwood Sepulcher more than anything fashion by Vowzra. Root spikes were her teeth, branches her horns, and trunks her hooves. From her back extended two great fans of wispy roots, crude and cruel imitations of wings. More unnatural by far was the light in her right eye. This white eye shone with an intensity not of this earth, brighter than the stars in the night sky as Slough turned her head upward to peer at the heavens. She felt a conscious pull to a certain point in the sky, but she began walking south. No time could be wasted on this perilous but necessary journey.

Slough, Fed Up with Retirement

-Slough gets out of her cocoon
-Her resurrection might not have gone exactly as planned
-She’s going somewhere purposefully

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

Understood.

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

Looks like I've messed up pretty badly then. It's not been many times in my life that I've felt my heart sink. Doing badly on tests gets me pretty badly, but I think that knowing that I've screwed up so badly that now people who I care about hate me and that there's nothing I can do to fix it is just about the worst feeling I can have. For a while I was holding out the hope that others were in the wrong, but it looks like it's me. It makes me want to either give up or break down, completely. I'm sorry, for whatever it's worth. Anything I could say in my defense would only make me shabbier. It must seem like a complete lie if I say that I never meant to be an asshole, except for my recent post to Plank. I say I'm stupid because I don't think about what I'm saying online, and what effect it has on people, which is why I tend do go back and edit my posts loads of times. That much is true.

I don't know what to do next. Would it fix things if I were to leave, or does suggesting that make me even more of an asshole? I never thought I'd dig myself a grave this deep.