Redking0380

Graveyard Orbit

If anyone knows the inspiration, I'll be very impressed with how niche you are.

@JFK

Wait, isn't this bassicly that one Hellboy Character uh...Kraus I think?

Graveyard Orbit: A Scifi Western RP Concept

Honestly, really made me think of Firefly this idea does

Dispatch: Heroes of Claremont

Ok can I just come out here and ask like, what was the problem people had with me? Seeing as it was apperntly a lot from what little I've been told.

Wilderness Wonderland: A Mascot Horror Game (Monster of the Week)

Im just over here yet to actually roll or read any rolls lmao

Wilderness Wonderland: A Mascot Horror Game (Monster of the Week)

William Aubergine

---

There is a pause, long enough to see nervous shuffling and twitchy hands.

This is supposed to be an easy choice, just put it aside and save this kid they are talking about. Vengeance can wait, its supposed to wait. Yet it feels so very hard to simply agree with them.
William had doubts they would lie, that urgency with an electronic voice would not be deceit and that woman was snarky enough to be straightforward.

It takes far too much effort to lower his weapon, to let its head scrape across the concrete with a scratch.

”Fine, I will give you your chance to look for this child.”

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴏɴꜱ - ᴛʜᴇ ᴜɴᴛᴏʟᴅ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴀɢᴇꜱ [ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ, ᴍᴜᴛɪɴʏ, ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ ]

_{╔═══════════════╗
◄ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴜɴᴛᴀɪɴ - ᴀʀᴄᴀᴅɪᴀ ►
╚═══════════════╝}

There is scratching in the stones. Separate from that tink, tink, tink, of miners and carts, of steel and ore. No, this was jagged. Inconsistent. Something wholly arrhythmic, stumbling without reason.

Such things are why he was here, why he resides in dank depths in near perfect darkness. For things reside down here that always seek to walk instead of crawl. Things that should not see the light of day, or taste the blood of his countrymen.There has been a scent in the stale air, a rumble of things moving. Enough the unsettle those who have no concept of what dwells, merely that something approaches. Therion had known of such movement, felt how the eddies changed and swirled with the breath of something foreign.

Yet he waits, within a cave of blackness and stone covered in gouges. To venture further would invite things to slip by, to hang further back is to risk others getting to close. This is perfect for one such as he, away from discourse, discussion, and risk. It is better like that. Let him focus, let them work, let things remain simple.

Something still draws ever closer, sound that once merely tricked ears with a touch of magic now makes things rumble in his chest out of sorts from his heart. So he stands, stretching out muscles that had not gone sore but still needed to be moved. A moment of preparation unneeded but for the sanctity of mind instead of body.

It is but another moment before that beast slithers forth from the far left tunnel, one that rarely gets traffic due do its thin nature. This creature is anything but, as round about as his waist but long enough to encircle the room should it uncoil. As it sits, it is bundled like a wire or a snake. Therion would call it a snake if not for the antlers made of arms or the collar of blind eyes.

A Montagrew, rare enough to not be mounted in some half-sane hunters hall and strong enough to kill any who did track it. Not the most mystical creature either, its strength comes from muscle alone. No poisons or strange attributes. Just physicality, and scales that act like stone. But it would be truly mystical if a blade could easily peirce its hide, nothing down here was that soft. Why else would they need a mage to act as a guard?

It makes the first move, he lets it. Springing forth like lightning with a mouth open to snap round his torso, it is a simple enough move to sidestep. Therion grabs its antler like one would a hand shake, firmly before moving it steadily up and down. This slams the Montagrew into the stone floor, stunning it for a split second enough another blow to land, then another, and a third. A flurry of them falling upon it like rocks in a landslide. Unfortunately it is stern enough to recover, tail flying round to wrap round Therion in a mimic of a very aggressive scarf. In turn does the man get it in something like a chokehold, making the whole thing quickly devolve into a wrestling match that rolls from one wall to the other.

He forces the grip to loosen and tighten, climbing higher and higher up its body as it it were a tree and his arms rope. In tune with the flexing of muscles does the ripples of magics flows through those arms, resonating with that beast. There are minute seconds of confusion that merely makes it struggle harder. Not hard enough, for within seconds he has his hands free from body and neck and wrapped round its head instead. In contrast to the several minute long scuffle, this next part is positively easy. A surge of magic, a spark of connection, a flaring of sensation far beyond what any human should experience plus a body wide burning that slowly focused into his arm, and it was over.

Its scales slackened and released him, letting them both roll over and catch a semblance of a breath. Least before a throat is cleared and a light is shown over his form. Flickering flame and a stern countenance, both hurt to look at closely with eyes slit and sensitive. An easy enough fix for the light, not for that face though.

“Message for the Royal mage.”

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴏɴꜱ - ᴛʜᴇ ᴜɴᴛᴏʟᴅ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴀɢᴇꜱ [ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ, ᴍᴜᴛɪɴʏ, ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ ]

Therion

┏━━━━━━━━━┓

◊ Therion◊

Beast of the Depths

◊ Aɠҽ: 34 ◊

◊ ❝ Beware the rumbling, for it heralds something much worse then a simple landslide❞ ◊

◊ Cσɳƚιɳҽɳƚ σϝ Oɾιɠιɳ: ȶɦɛ ʍօʊռȶǟɨռɛֆ - ǟʀƈǟɖɨǟ ◊

◊ Pɾαƈƚιƈҽԃ Mαɠιƈ: Dαɾƙ ◊
The commandment and summoning of beasts and horrors, to infuse the body with the essence of things that have never seen light and project their greatest terrors upon those before him. It is only fitting that one who has plunged into the earth's depths has bound its greatest tragedies to serve something greater. But one must be careful to not let such bloodthirsty minds overwhelm their own.

It's a violent and unsavory magic, unbecoming of a mage who is thought of as a guardian. Yet would it not be the job of such a man to risk everything in their line of duty? Why hide behind shields and blessings when they do little to stop the danger? Laws mean little to tangible efforts of protection, and that is a mindset shared unspoken.

◊ Rҽʅαƚισɳʂԋιρ ɯιƚԋ Rσყαʅƚყ: Protective Family◊

A simple man is all Therion is. He had been raised as a guardian of the kingdom and the things that threaten it from below, without, and within. Many would compare him to a hound, he would not digress. Those who are close enough to see him in court would notice how close he seems to be to the family, not merely as an advisor or friend but something more. The children play round his ankles, and the king would always listen to his soft tone, there is trust there. A bond.

┗━━━━━━━━━┛

ą ɖɛɛ℘ɛཞ ɖı۷ɛ

┏━━━━━━━━━┓

◊ ƈɧıƖɖɧơơɖ ◊

Born feral is what they say. Born under a cursed constellation to parents who romped with as many mules as they did each other. The stories matter little, what facts there were spoke something clearly. That he had been born unwanted and unloved, left to an orphanage that did little to raise him.

The day the guard retrieved him for being a mage was perhaps the greatest blessing for him. He was given food, clothes, a name, a purpose, the old mage of the valleys had even treated him as a son. It was simple, it fit him.
It did not last, as all things do. Deep within those mines that gave their region so much raw wealth did something stir. Beasts lie in those depth, and far too often they are roused. This day was the last day of life for that old mage of the valley, but the start of the beast known as Therion.

Whispers filled the days of his return. ‘He called the worms upon his master's corpse! He commanded the great stone-drakes to eat that old man! He is the beast who bit the hand once collering his nature!’ Words mattered little, what facts remained was he lived and he was not going to leave what passed as his home behind. No matter what they saw him as.

From then on he was always looked upon with more scrutiny than ever before, becoming withdrawn from the public eye. It led to an isolation that was only after broken by the persistence of King Bernard. Perhaps it was pity, pragmatism, or something genuinely caring, but the older man treated him kindly. As a nephew perhaps closer than a son, but as someone close regardless. It was kindness shown to one who truly had nothing but an abstract duty, a moment that gave that duty a form.

One does not simply throw themselves into the depths of black magics for no reason after all, and Therion had been given all the reasons to do so. Even further than his previous master had done.

◊ ℘ɛཞʂơŋąƖıɬყ ◊

One would be hardstruck to find a good word to say about that hound Therion, but only if one asked those strange to him. Those who have had a moment to look upon him closely will find him quiet, lazy even. He toils away at his tasks without a word then wanders back to the lap of his liege to await the next.

It is hard to rouse him with pointed word or jabs, hard to make his face curl in disgust or thought, he would be as a statue if not for his steadfast adherence to that moniker. Many call him a beast, a hound, and like any hound they are protective of their masters. Therion is easy to rouse if one merely says a jape against that royal family that he seems ever so close to.

Yet, separated from his post people find a quiet sort. Not stupid, or simple, but also not complex. He enjoys the simplicity of a sunny day, or the words of a well written book. A man who keeps to himself and is generally unbothered, unconcerned with what is going around. That is until someone does the simple thing of asking for his assistance.
Despite this persona of someone disconnected, truthfully he enjoys helping others perhaps above anything else. Just seeing his help as unwanted most of the time.

◊ ơ℘ɛŋ ɬơ ʄཞıɛŋɖʂɧı℘: 3 ◊

◊ ơ℘ɛŋ ɬơ ཞơɱąŋƈɛ: 2 ◊

◊ Pʅҽαʂҽ ҽxρʅαιɳ ყσυɾ ɾαɳƙιɳɠʂ◊

It is hard to say that Therion would not want a friend, merely that he has been so closed off to those he does not know for so long that many give up on trying. The very same issue arises with romance, he is not a stranger to the idea of it or the steps to handle it. Merely he is inexperienced and rather dense, not seeing himself as a person that anyone would just flirt with.

◊ Aρρҽαɾαɳƈҽ ◊



┗━━━━━━━━━┛

Wilderness Wonderland: A Mascot Horror Game (Monster of the Week)

Perhaps a little short and/or hostile, But it should be easy to build on

Wilderness Wonderland: A Mascot Horror Game (Monster of the Week)

William Aubergine

---

Noise that is all that echoes. From Televisions from people, from that…

It is all familiar, a sound this place should know well. It is the banter of people and the artificial cheeriness of robotic voices. But maybe…William looks over at thePlatypus. Perhaps not as artificial as he once thought, even with their history. But this is a place far removed from any of that now, today it is little more than a tomb.

More things of the past try to surface with that thought, only to be shoved back to where they belong. Now is the time for action, to vent a helpless anger, not to fall back into that pit of depression.

"Maybe I should take point.

So he acts, letting that flame spark higher for a moment.

HIs axe, sharp and heavy, finds the television screen. Sparks and shards of plastic wires go everywhere, even more when its torn back out to point at that friend animatronic

“I think, you should get to talking more about this information you have. In fact, I think you all are suspicious for being here at the same time as I am.” The axe once more is swung, but in a general gesturing motion then anything threatening. Who are you to be so friendly with that robot, who are you to come here, why should I not treat you as the strangers you are and go through you to torch this place down?”

Dispatch: Heroes of Claremont

The Princess

---

What Ending was there that night? None for her for certain. A scuffle happened, something ignored. Many left, leaving her alone.

But that night?

It never ended.

None of them do. Merely, they continue seamlessly from one into the next endlessly swirling into something more.

The being known as The Princess would not say she was drunk, even if to an outsider she might stumble around as such. She simply felt…disconnected. As a plant who had been pulled from earth and left hanging midair.

A solution could be found, one between stumbled footfalls. Dancing they could be called, a tango leading with no partner but direction. Leading her to beaches and markets and SDN and finally back onto a path in the woods.

Dirt packed path with skeletal trees round its winding nature. Actual nature further back to provide a backdrop of bushy green. It was familiar and not. Strange in its being.

Steps echo oddly here, as if it was an enclosed hall made from stone. Longer than one could see, but ending before exhaustion could take hold.

A cabin resides here. Hers in name, hers by everyone who knows of it.

It's not.

Inside is bare. Nothing resides in this so-called abode, just a small room with a lopsided table and a door.

Behind the door, opening with squeaky hinges, is a dark stairway that leads down to a dank basement. It's of stone and dirt, its sole decorations being long shattered links of chain. Its only source of light being a barred window with a raven sitting upon its ledge to cast a shadow.

She does not hesitate, for that implies fear, but there is a pause. Consideration? Maybe reminiscence. A step, then she collapses underneath that window, by the chains that felt familiar. Her raven glides down, now shaded and obscured at the entrance. Looming larger than its size should imply, even with how large of a bird it was.

Yet, there is just a lack of…connection. Of loneliness that clawed at her insides, made things growl and struggle to get out. Far too often had this happened, an old friend with terrible motives. One who does not answer.

But her true friend does with a caw and a fluttering of feathers. Its talons dig into her leg as things push out from inside.

Connection is hard, but a drop of blood shared upon a thorn would make her feel…something.

Awareness spreads, she can feel so many things entwined within her.

Yet why is she still so cold?

---

“...Authorities and State Park Officials have temporarily closed down Wildwood Canyon State Park after a recent surge of growth has cut off many of the paths and damaged many of the historical buildings. As of the moment, nearly a dozen rangers have been reported missing in attempts to investigate further. Stay tuned for further updates after these messages.”

---

Thursday came in like a lion. Or a housecat more like. Lethargic and blurry. Princess makes it to SDN, only to slip on ice and faceplant through the doors.

“Oh, hey Princess. You're late.” Dispatch man James stands there. Vaguely irate it would seem, if not for the small kitten on his shoulder. It looks more fierce than the brit anyways.

“Look, here's your coms. Get to work, there's a carnival you need to attend.” A small bud is tossed at her, caught easily.

Several minutes are taken to stand and brush off the floor before she leaves. Walking in the wrong direction.