Status

Recent Statuses

1 day ago
Current "Give it to me! I'm so f*cking wet! Give it to me now!" She can scream all she wants, I'm not giving her the damn umbrella.
8 likes
3 days ago
Never criticize someone until you've walked a mile in their shoes. That way, when you criticize them, they won't be able to hear you from that far away. Plus, you'll have their shoes.
5 likes
16 days ago
My drug test came back negative. My dealer sure has some explaining to do.
3 likes
2 mos ago
Once my dog ate all the Scrabble tiles. For days he kept leaving little messages around the house.
1 like
2 mos ago
I hate when I think I'm buying organic vegetables and, when i get home, I discover they're regular donuts.
6 likes

Most Recent Posts


RYDER SHAW :+: RED HOOD :+: MENTIONS: NONE


Ryder looked to Finlay as his trainees began to disperse, trying to get a sense for how the senior Hood felt about his presence. Uncertainly was the only emotion Ryder could pick up. The fact that Ryder wore red already meant that Finlay should be able to trust him, but there was a hint of suspicion in the way Finlay looked at him. It was the same look one would give to a strange dog, unsure if it would bite if you attempted to pet it.

The recruits, or rather the Yellow Hoods, who passed did so without many words spoken. To those that were still gathered, Ryder gave a reluctant nod. "It's Shaw, by the way. Ryder Shaw." Finlay gave a comical scoff, unimpressed with the timing of Ryder's introduction.

"Sure," he mocked. "Now tell us who ya are." Ryder glared at Finlay, burning holes into him with his eyes. They were already off to a great start. "You and I have some talkin' to do, Shaw. I'll see you before we feast, ya?" Ryder responded with a subtle nod. Finlay looked at his people once more and suddenly stood up very straight before pounding a fist over his heart with a single audible impact. A sign of respect to the new Hoods. A salute. He then turned to Ryder and did the same, the latter reciprocated but with much less fervor. Finlay then took his leave, heading who knows where within the keep. Once Zeke had handed out all of the cloaks, he disappeared into the shadows as well. Ryder hadn't had a lot of direct contact with Zeke in his time earning the red. He was still curious what the giant looked like under that black hole of a hood.

Ryder took in a big breath and let out a slow, airy sigh. He opened his mouth to start to speak, but then stopped, unsure what to really say. He'd been traveling for weeks, slain his beloved's murderer, and carried news of impending doom to the head of the most elite force the world had ever seen only to be tasked with babysitting. Then, suddenly, the words he wanted to speak came to him.

"I need a drink." He gave his head one violent shake, cracking his neck, before taking his leave of the group and heading toward the keep's tavern.

Ryder's pace was slow and even. Each step brought with it a new, haunting thought. Step. What now? Step. You've completed what you set to accomplish. Step. Why does it still hurt? Step. What am I doing here? Ryder's fists began to involuntarily clench, his fingernails digging into his skin just enough to smart. He forced his thoughts to cease, focusing mainly on the floor, on his feet, on each step. Part of the training, or at least part of his, was to separate emotion from function. If you fight with emotion, you fight without focus. You mess up. You slip. To execute your mission to the best of your ability, you must do so devoid of feelings, of self pity. The mission is to make it to the tavern. The method is walking. There ought not be anything else to it. Stop thinking, Ryder silently told himself. One foot after the other.



The Keep's Tavern was located across the courtyard in a stand alone hovel off the to corner. Crudely etched into some wooden boards above the entryway were the words "The Stumbling Ass". As Ryder opened a door leading toward the courtyard, he continued his journey right to the bar, swinging the door out wide and immediately taking in the smell of smoke and alcohol that flowed through the open passage, escaping and polluting the otherwise fresh air outside.

The bar was small, having been built to serve only a select type of patron, and was surrounded with various wooden tables. Some of the people were playing cards in the corner while others were testing their might with an arm wrestling match. At yet another table, one could bear witness to a red hood so drunk he had fallen passed out, draped over the table as if he were it's cloth. Ryder rolled his eyes and honed in on a barstool, taking a seat right by the tender.

"A shot. I don't care what, as long as it's strong." The barkeep, an elderly, hefty man who looked like he was in the twilight of his life, gave a pleased nod. The man's face was covered in a patchy white beard that had very obvious holes in it, giving him a very scruffy look. His head, however, was as bald as a baby's bum. The light from the torches all around gave a shimmering reflection off the old man's cranium. Ryder wasn't sure what the man's real name was, but everyone who ever came him always just called him "Bud".

"Here y'are!" Bud said with with an eager smile as he placed the shotglass down.

Ryder looked at it at first and could see some remnants of something floating in the liquid. He looked around the room again and resigned to the fact that sanitation was not this place's strong suit. Screw it, he thought as he picked up the glass, tipped it at the barkeep as a sign of appreciation, and slammed it back down after inhaling it. He shook his head and let out a disgusted gag, unable to even stomach his own saliva after that taste. His spit to the wood planks on the ground, wiped his mouth with the back of his arm and looked at Bud with angry eyes. His pupils were fire. He leaned in a little bit and, between bared teeth, he said, "Another."


"Good night! What did you do in there," Finlay blurted out, looking to Kiri and Colin's group. His face was painted with disgust as he covered his nose and mouth with a hand. The smell escaping the room was dreadful. Before an answer came, he quickly did a head count, his eyes bouncing from one initiate to the next. "We're short one," Finlay declared with a softer tone and an heir of disappointment. "The new one."

"Looks like you took some casualties, too," Trent made sure to point out with a slight sneer, the delectability he took in Finlay's shortcomings was lost to no one. Finlay looked at the others as they emerged as well, his head bobbing in a small nod as he met his charge's eyes. Of those who walked out, there was an undeniable sense of pride and esteem coming from Finlay. Of course, he would never admit to it.

"Took ya all long enough," he said finally, his grin subtle and crooked. "But good on ya. You went is as mere dobbers. Amateurs. Ignorant. Stupid. Blind. But now you've emerged as something new. Dobbers with a piss sash. Congratulations. You're yellow hoods." Zeke, the seemingly silent sentinel, slowly moved to each survivor, a pile of folded yellow garments gathered atop his presented arms. A hood for each initiate. A symbol of their status within the organization. "What's mine is now yours," Finlay continued. "Our resources are your resources. But there is a cost. You will train with us on your off time and when you're not training, you will be sent on missions. You will be placed in dangers far less controlled than what you've just faced, against foes who we couldn't catch and contain. It only gets more challenging from here, kiddos." Finlay's crooked smile turned into a full grin as he glanced at them all. "Look around and get familiar with these people because you're gonna be spending a lot more time with 'em. It's all of you and me from here on out."



"And me," Ryder called, his voice devoid of interest or excitement as he stomped heavy-footed down the hallway, his red cloak waving behind him with each stride. His dark, shoulder-length hair flowed back as he moved. His face gave away the fact that he hadn't shaved in quite a while. What wasn't a part of his beard was covered in stubble. He moved with intention and resentment.

"What's that," asked Finlay, bewildered and slightly annoyed for his moment being interrupted.

"Commander says I'm also tasked to this group." Once Ryder was finally standing at Finlay's side, he looked the teams over, soaking them in. The people gathered were certainly eclectic.

"You're not taking this group from me. I've already seen 'em through to the Tria-"

"Not interested," Ryder interrupted. "You're running this. I'm just here until I'm not." His lack of motivation was obvious. He had no intention of being a counselor or a trainer, no desire to water the next crop. It's what he was tasked to do. What he had to do. "I'll admit it's impressive to see this many people walking out through those doors," he said, addressing the teams. "On my day, it was just me. Welcome to the Hoods."

"Right," Finlay said, his voice trailing off slightly as he tried to comprehend this new development. He broke his stare away from Ryder and looked to his pupils once more. "Anyway, the keep is open to you now. The armory, the library, the kitchen, the laboratory, the dining hall, the sparring chambers, the archery yard... hell, I'll even let ya go to the keep's tavern if ya earn your drink during work hours. In the meantime, you're free to get accustomed to this place. I plan on feasting in an hour in the dining hall. You've earned your spots and are welcome to join me, should you have the urge. Otherwise tomorrow morning is Day One. I'm gonna throw ya in the deep water. Ya better learn to swim real quick."
Three rooms, three challenges...

In the first room, Chase, Dragomir, Fendrel and Cohen found themselves up against this creature:





The initiates were quick to notice that the creature may be susceptible to audible attacks, attempting to distract it by tossing objects afar to mislead the beast as to their location, but the creature seemed to hone in on their voices most of all. Some of the crew took on some minor scratches but they ultimately felled the monster when Chase crushed it's skull with the help of a spell.





In the second, Locksley, Hae, Rivington and Celestina were tasked with defeating this abomination:





After trying to stab, shoot and swipe at the creature, their attacks seemed to have little to no effect as the thing kept regenerating and reforming. It wasn't until Kiri managed to hurl sparks at the fowl smelling thing that it became engulfed in flame. Unfortunately, the flaming monster, in the throws of death, took Locksley down with him. RIP Locksley.





In the last room, O'Shay, Nyssa, Whitlock and Album found themselves up against this friggin thing:





The crew made quick work of their opponent, immediately drawn to its eyes. To the surprise of many, Nick revealed that he had a bit of an emergency weapon: a firearm which he used to shoot the creature right in its biggest eyeball. Save for a few scratches, the team came out relatively unharmed.





Between Zeke, Trent and Finlay, all the doors opened once more and the light from the outside hall shined in. The Yellow Hood Trial is complete.
Congratulations to all, the trials are over! All challenges have been conquered! Was planning on getting official posts out tonight, but that will be delayed until tomorrow morning. Thanks for bearing with me on this. I think the changes that took place leading up are for the better and I look forward to the rest of the RP!
Could I please have my name changed to Draven?
Drake “D” Edwards



Interaction/Mentions: @Damo021@webboysurf | Location: Avalon




Drake looked to Cleo and her wound and reality began to set in, his adrenaline offering some clarity of thought. "Dude did you just really quote Dragon Ball Z?" Drake's answer was just a crooked, uncomfortable smile. People were getting hurt. The inebriation was taking a turn from jovial to aggressive.

"Has anyone seen where she is? We need to wake her up!" Nik's concern was real. The bloodshed was real.

Drake blinked for a moment. "She left with the vampire..." Drake offered, his voice a little faint as he tried to reanalyze the situation he found himself in. His gaze went from the demonic looking entity to the back door. His eyes squinted forcefully as he demanded his will to focus. No more time for games. Though his mind was forcefully trying to regain composure, his body was still at the mercy of the chemicals he ingested as well as the sleep deprivation. His vision was blurred and his balance was lacking. If Nik was right, there was no killing this thing. Not really. The only end to it was through Uná.

"We gotta..." He swayed as he tried to stand still, his eyes still bouncing from the back door to the creature. "...split up. Gotta go get Uná. Gotta distract the Big Ugly. Take Cleo. Get her out of here. I can be distragen... distratcher... I can keep It busy." With that, his fists went flame on once more, his glassy bloodshot eyes narrowed at the Thing, as his brows jutted forward. His jaw lowered, exposing his lower teeth in a silent snarl. There wasn't a lot left in the tank, but enough to go out with a bang, if it came to that.

In an attempt to issue an intimidating challenge, Drake called out to the creature. "Fucks with me."


Two weeks ago

The chilling wind whispered through the trees that swayed blissfully in the moonlight. The grass was lightly covered in snow and every breath Ryder took came out as a small vaporous cloud. He tried to breathe as little as possible as he remained perched high in one of the trees, his body eclipsed in shadow as his eyes remained glued to the ground below. He was waiting for his prey. The cold temperature didn't even faze him as he remained still, finding comfort in his stewing hatred.

It was only a year ago that she was taken from him. His fiance, Alice, was a good and generous woman. She was kind to a fault and it costed her everything. There was once a time when Ryder was a simple tradesman. That time had passed. And all of this, everything, came to a halt because of one man... one thing.

Ryder's eyes blinked rapidly, his attention sharpening, as his ears heard the sound of crunching snow below. In the distance, he could see the silhouette. It was massive...



As a man, Ryder learned, he went by Godwin Thomas. Now, however, he was known only as the Wendigo. Many, many moons ago, while Ryder was out on a hunt, a withered looking Godwin came knocking on the door of Ryder's cabin. Alice, being the sweetheart she was, quickly brought the man in to warm up by the fire. Godwin thanked her for the hospitality and mentioned that he was ravenous. She offered him a place at their dinner table to dine of whatever game Ryder brought back with him. Little did she know that Godwin preferred a different kind of meat.

Perched in the tree, Ryder stopped breathing altogether as the hulking creature came closer, it's haunting yellow eyes staring straight forward. Ryder wasn't entirely sure of the best way to kill this thing, but he imagined his sword would be a good place to start. He just needed it to get closer...

When Ryder had returned from the hunt, he walked back to his cabin and immediately noticed the door was open. "Alice?" His voice was laced with concern. His fears turned to reality as he made his way to the doorway and peered inside. There she was... in pieces. Her flesh was ripped, her musculature was torn. Eaten. Blood covered the floor and within it were footprints. Shoe prints. This was not the work of an animal, this horrific scene was orchestrated by a man. Ryder wasted no time in trying to track the man down, but he had no leads other than his target was a cannibalistic drifter. The trail went cold until he heard whispers of a man that was possessed with a demon who stalked the woods and hungered for flesh. Ryder managed to find him and nearly died in doing so. He was not equipped for the task, so he found an outfit who could teach him, train him. He became a red hood and, tonight, he would have his long awaited vengeance.

The Wendigo was directly under him now. It was time. Ryder swiftly pulled out his sword and leapt down, his blade positioned like a nail that drove down into the creature's head with a sickening CRACK. The beast roared and bucked, but Ryder's grip on the embedded blade held true. Eventually, the thing fell to the ground, completely off balance. Ryder, with rage in his eyes, planted a foot on its horned skull and withdrew his sword, crimson fluid springing out of the wound like a geyser, covering the man's face and torso in blood splatter. He raised the blade and began hacking away at the Wendigo's head, screaming at the top of his lungs as he did so. Small craters to the skull soon grew into one big cavernous opening, flesh and brain matter flying as the Red Hood's passion hit a climax. The Wendigo stopped moving long ago and eventually Ryder ran out of steam and collapsed in the red snow. All he could do now was stare at the corpse and weep. Softly at first, but it soon grew. She was still gone. He finally destroyed her murderer, but it changed very little. He then looked up at the moonlight and screamed out a challenge, as if to God.

His teary eyes drifted back down to earth as he stared passed the giant corpse off into the far distance of the woods, his mind unable to ease itself. Suddenly he noticed some movement that looked like a group of men slowly approaching.

"Ho there," He called, forcing himself to swallow his sorrow and regain composure. "I have to warn you, you're in for a sight. I've just slain the-" His voice trailed off as the group of men walked under the light of the moon, their faces illuminated.. their lipless, dead-eyed faces. More of them began to appear, coming in from another direction. In the dark, Ryder couldn't really tell how many there were in total, but they were certainly still coming. Too many, for sure. He looked to the corpse of the Wendigo and spat upon it before running off in the direction of his horse, whom he had left at the nearest town over. This was something that would need to be reported. It was time to go back to the keep.

Present Day

Commander Rouge was sitting at her desk in her private chambers when she heard the knock at her door. As she got up, she grabbed hold of a rather large knife before answering. She prided herself in always being prepared for a fight. As the door opened, she found herself face to face with Ryder Shaw who looked older than he actually was, his face weathered. The man looked as though he had never known sleep in his life.

"What is it, Shaw?"

"There's something you ought to know." Ryder proceeded to tell her about the undead and how their numbers had grown to what appeared to be the size of a small army.

"Why were you there? Who was with you?" Commander Rouge's face was nearly impossible to read, but Ryder already knew where this was going. His mission was not a sanctioned one.

"I was handling some personal matters."

"The Wendigo." She stated it as a matter of fact. She clearly knew the answer before even asking the question. "And you did it alone, violating our law." Ryder just stood there. A response at this point would just be a gesture of obedience. They both already knew what went down. "We make these laws, Shaw, to protect our people and our investment in them. If you were killed, that's a year of dedication to you and your craft that would have been for nothing. Vengeance is a dangerous thing. Taking on a creature of that magnitude by yourself is a stupid thing. I don't employ stupid people, Shaw. Is that understood?"

Ryder bit his lip and nodded, forcing himself to remain silent lest he say the wrong thing. Commander Rouge was not one you wanted to anger.

"You've forgotten how to work with people. You need to be retrained."

Ryder scoffed and was about to object but suddenly Commander Rouge's hand was around his throat and he found himself up against the wall. He barely registered the move, she was so fast.

"This is not up for debate. If you want to keep wearing that hood, you're going to play by my rules." She hesitantly let go of his throat before continuing. "The trials are underway. Finlay and Trent have their groups going through them now. The groups are big, or at least they were before the trials. You're going to go over there and help mentor them on working as a team. You're going to show them how to act as a unit and hopefully it will serve as a reminder to you as well." Ryder's face contorted with disappointment, but he dared not speak on it. "If you have a problem with that, you can take it up with Zeke. In the meantime, your pupils are in the trial hall. You best go meet them."

With a snide leer, Ryder took his leave and began heading to the trials, his frustration growing with every step.


In the interest of keeping things moving, and because these PMs only require short responses (though you can do a detailed response if you want), the monster is going to start attacking stagnant players. If its your turn to act and you haven't after 3 days, ya might get attacked and skipped. If it's Person A's turn but they chose to deliberate and are waiting on your response for 3 days, ya might get attacked and skipped. If the gas pedal on your car is shaped like a bare foot, ya might get attacked and skipped. If your idea of a 7 course meal is a bucket of KFC and a sixpack, ya might get attacked and skipped.
As Finlay walked the group down a series of corridors, they found themselves in one that came to a dead end. At the end of the corridor were three great red doors and a small assortment of people standing outside. Zeke stood still, a grim sentinel, looking onward at the doors as if anticipating them to do something. Another younger man clad in leather armor with a red cloak draped about him was leaning up against one of the walls with three people that looked like they had been through war. Their earth toned clothing was riddled with blood spatter, tears and one of them even looked like they had a close encounter with fire, his shirt singed and tattered. The group slowly moved in and expanded into a pool of people as they stood a safe distance from the three doors.



"Finlay," said the other red hood, a whisper of a mustache on his pail face with a small patch of hair on his chin that looked better suited to be located in his nether regions. He pushed himself up off the wall to regard his brother in arms.

"Trent." Finlay's response was devoid of emotion. Someone listening in would not mistake these two for having much love for one another.

"This is your crew?" Trent looked at the people Finlay came with, seemingly unimpressed.

"Aye, and that mangy lot must be what's left o' yers." Finlay looked to the four again. A blond woman with a very muscular physique who skin was a mix of black, blue and red as she clearly took a beating and was littered with open wounds. One of the men had long brown hair, a broken and bloody nose, and a cloth wardrobe that had taken a lot of damage. This was the man who seemed to have tasted licks of flame on his arm. The third man was suited up in light armor. No doubt the armor looked pristine when he walked into the trial. Now the metal was tarnished, dented and, in some places, pierced. The short cropped hair did nothing to hide his swollen right eye and bloody lips.

"I've still got two more groups. Only one casualty so far. I'm sure the rest will come though on top." Trent didn't look as confident as he tried to sound.

"No doubt," Finlay said, humoring him, before returning his attention to his own crew.

"Alright, you dobbers, listen up! While we wait for them to pull out the corpses of Trent's group o' idiots, let's go over some things. There are several challenges that you're all going to be faced with at the same time. You'll be split into groups of four. Your bunkmates are also your teammates. The first challenge is Fear. You must overcome fear in all instances. You'll be facing a number of beasts and malicious individuals in your career as a Hood. You're no good ta me if your cowering in the corner or making rash decisions. Fear. Get tha fook over it!

"The other challenge is teamwork. Most Hoods, Red or Yellow, work in groups. If you try to take on the monsters of the wold solo, the odds are going ta be stacked against you. Ever try exterminatin' a pack o' werewolves by your lonesome? Don't! It's a deathwish. Learn to work with your brothers n' sisters of the Hood.

"Third is Adaptability. You've got to adjust to your opponent, to the situation you're in, to your surroundings. Techniques that might fell one beast may be absolutely useless against another and if you can't adapt, yer gonna be paintin' the floor red with yer own blood.

"Behind these doors are 3 different, notoriously hard to kill baddies. You and your mates will be entering these rooms at the same time and we are not opening those doors until the creatures are felled. You might not make it, but don't give up. If you lose your right arm, pick up your fookin blade with you left and get back in there!"

Just then there came a loud, slow knock on the middle door. Zeke went to it and opened it up. A half naked man, covered in crimson from head to... shins, pulled himself out of the room. His feet were gone. In their places was exposed, splintered bone and torn flesh. As he advanced, he left a trail of red like a morbid snail as he dug into the group with his finger nails, determined to inch himself forward.

"Jonathan?" Trent asked the shell of a man on the ground. "Where are the others?"

Through labored weeps, Jonathan answered, "G-gone... oh god, they're all gone!" A smirk began to form on Finlay's lips as he pointed his thumb at the bloody thing.

"See that? That's fightin' spirit! His fookin' feet are off and he's still goin'!" Jonathan's body fell limp on the ground. The two Red Hoods and Zeke all stared at him for a moment. "Well, he was. And that's the type o' attitude I want from you lot!" Trent hesitantly pulled Jonathan's body out of the doorway while Zeke sealed the red door afterward. There was still one group battling it out in the third door.

"These creatures can be extremely difficult or extremely easy depending on how well you strategize with yer team. They all of a fatal weakness, but that weakness is not universal to all of them. You hit 'em where and how it hurts and they will fall. You muck about too much, hacking and slashing randomly as you please and you won't come out of this thing alive." Finlay turned back to the door. "How long has the last crew been in there, anyway?"

Trent looked to Zeke with a worried expression. That was an answer in and of itself. It had been too long. Zeke opened the red door and entered, shutting it behind himself.

"Oh... I hope that beast isn't still in there. He's about to get introduced to the-" But before Finlay could finish his sentence, the red door opened back up and out came Zeke with four limp and bloodied bodies carrying two under each arm. He hurled them all at Trent as if to say 'Here's your trash. Clean it up'. "Huh. Well, Trent, three outta twelve ain't so bad, eh?" Finlay couldn't hide his malicious grin before returning his attention to Team Dobbers.

"Right, well they're gonna reset tha challenge, so to speak. And by that, I mean they're gonna replace the slain opponents. Won't take long. Meantime, let me repeat the groups to ya...

Group One: Dragomir, Cohen, Chase and Fendrel.
Group Two: Album, Devout, O'Shay and Whitlock.
Group Three: Celestina, Hae, Locksley, and Rivington.


"Does anyone have any questions?" Just as someone's mouth moved, ready to ask, Finlay interrupted. "No? Good! I got faith in ya! Work together, conquer your fears, and adapt. I'll see ya on the other side. Now all that's left to do is to pick a door and...

© 2007-2017
BBCode Cheatsheet