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Current Vanjie......Vaaaanjie. VAAAAANNNJIE!
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Silly me silly me, for tuttling like we could make something beautifully. And the hands of my man, dusted in bedlam and false promises --while I delved in with love abundances
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Surprise bitches, betcha thought you'd seen the last of me

Bio

I think I'll come back to this relatively soon...but then again, knowing me, I probably won't.

I guess the main point of this is to say: damn, I was gone for over a year from this place. I spent a good bit of inconsistent time on Iwaku, but I kinda missed my roots and the place I originally called home.

Most Recent Posts

Well, it looks like Bounce and I posted at the same time. So:

Merry Monday and get a twofer y'all!

Hot off the shelves, it's Old Man Grayson & Robin!

And mucking it from the swamps of Florida to the Empire state, it's Baal!



Issue 1.02 – Building Churches in the Wild Pt. 2 - Human Being in the Mind

The Everglades, Florida:


The shriek of metal ripping sounded through the chop shop.

Gerald Duggar resisted the budding urge to shiver from the bead of sweat caressing the curve of his nose. It plinked onto his exposed thigh, the sound deafening to him in this din of silence. His leg still ached from almost being broken. Light filtered down on him, coming from the circular pane of slightly translucent grime that had once been a window. The stale air inside the chop shop mixed with dust particles, along with the smell of oil and ozone.

It had been about a minute sense that crack of thunder outside. Since the light had pulsed under the flaked and rusted bottom of the metal door. Why was it so goddamn quiet? Gerald shook his head. Kept his eyes trained on the shed door. Strained those eyes to ignore the dust. “Don’t blink, just breathe.”

The sliding door gave one last screech of metal admitting defeat, before it was taken from its track and tossed aside.

“Hold the steel steady. Look a bull square between the eyes,” his father would say. “Look ‘em dead
center, and fire true.”
That’s all it took.

But, Gerald couldn’t fully look at the eye’s of the man in the doorway. Knew he would have preferred a bull. Mud splatter covered his red suit like it was a painter’s smock, and yet there was a lack of concern for it.[BI] No grit in this guy’s dark jaw nor clench in his fist. The way Gerald saw the guy[?], faint sparks fritzing across his body—the set of his eyes, leveled and dull—he appeared irritated.
The way the man considered the chop shop, noting the grayed and splitting support beams, patchwork of metal panels, the work of his Pa over years? The slight upturn of his lip? The dismissal of all Gerald knew? It was enough to send Gerald’s hand down the pump of his rifle, breaking the silence. Punctuating it with the clatter of a copper shell on concrete.

Baal was brought back to the present by the clang. His eyes rested on the boy with yet another firearm was leveled at him. This pattern was becoming too familiar. The insolence. Then the boy spoke.

“You.” The word, made an accusation. A whisper resonating into a growl.

Baal tasted real rage, none of the pomp from the mortals outside. Finally, something genuine. Small bolts leapt from his eyes. He took a slow step forward. There was only the grinding sway of rusted chains for a moment.

The humidity and sweat slicked Gerald’s grip, but he tried to ignore it. Tried to mask the shudder in his breathing. Focused on those dark eyes cracked with blue sparks. Uppity smile and that smell of burnt skin. “You. You killed ‘em, didntja?”

Baal flicked his wrist, checking his watch. A gold flash glinted that made the mortal blink. Baal was officially late. “Check for yourself.”

The sharp inhale and contraction of his eyes betrayed Gerald, but he took a quick step toward Baal, his voice raising. “Fucker, I’ll kill you right here n’ now.”

The scratched black of the rifle’s metal was leveled at Baal’s chest. He stared at Gerald.

“Fuckin’ answer me!”

Baal stepped into the muzzle. It pressed against his suit. He recognized this one as the mortal whose leg he considered breaking before the other 8 mortals surrounded him. Then that false king. This boy had heard those sounds outside. He could taste the air. Yet here he was, breath steadying. A square in his shoulders. Muscles taut and the muzzle of his rifle lifted up. Baal knew madness. Had woven it into mortals for years. But this wasn’t it. Back on his Earth, he hadn’t interacted with the mortals in this way for some time. Had nearly forgotten this side of mortals. Countless incarnations since he’d seen it. This mortal was ready to die. He had a warrior’s resolve.
Baal shrugged. “You probably fancy this your last stand. You, the narrator of your story—strengthened by indignation, rage and revenge. Avenging your Pa, or whatever the term is. Your own personal war. But you kid yourself, Backwoods.” Baal grabbed the muzzle and directed it toward his forehead. The boy stumbled back, slipping on a pool of oil. “I started war eons before you drew your first of many unnoticed breaths.”

Baal gestured around him. He let sparks jolt from his eyes and fingertips. “You smell that all around? How even a deep inhale buzzes your nose? That’s me. That’s Power. Consider it the new fragrance.”

Baal crossed over to the mortal, gripping the sweat-stained collar of his shirt. The sparks almost danced in his eyes now. “Your life—based on what you do here, or anywhere really, won’t matter.” The sparks died down and his tone leveled. “The only difference is how much of it you see.”

He dropped the boy. “You won’t kill me. But you can work for me.” Baal finally noticed his car and made his way toward it.
Gerald slumped to the ground. The puddle of oil now soaked into his dirt crusted jeans. “Work for you? You come in here, kill the folks I love, an’ you want me to work for you? You ain’t never loved someone. Have you!?”

Baal paused as he was opening his door. His muscles tensed again, tightened with memories of pleasure he would never experience again. “In that simplistic way you love? No.” He let his shoulders relax once more. “And they ‘ain’t’ dead outside. Scraped it, yes. But not dead. Even though, you lot stole my car and tried to prevent me from getting it back. 3 of them will never walk again, and your father won’t speak anymore. I made sure of it.”

Baal opened the car door. “Fire the gun. Or don’t. My patience is gone and your father is the one who took it. He had 8 armed men under his belt. You are barely one.” Baal looked back at him, “But I can make you more than one.”
He slid into the driver’s seat and the sharp tone of leather filled his nostrils. Even in this new Earth, certain comforts could bring him back. He found his phone glinting in the center console. It was long dead, but that wasn’t a problem for Baal. Tapping a spark onto the screen with his finger, it was a few minutes before the screen lit up, the phone booting up. After a moment, his fingers set to work dialing a number and he placed the phone to his ear. Before he stepped out of the car, he grabbed something from the glovebox. He gestured to Gerald to come over as a voice picked up.

“Yeah. It’s me. Yes, apologies. A…situation came up that kept me from my phone. Do you still have time?...I didn’t ask if you had other clients. Do you still have time? Right then, be there in 5.”

He turned to Gerald again. “Backwoods. Got a job you can do.” The keys shown in the light as Baal tossed them to Gerald. “Get this up to New York. Onboard nav’ll have the addy. You’ve got until tomorrow. 15 sound good?”

Gerald stared at Baal, stuttering almost-words before finally: “You tryna get me to chauffeur you up the east coast for 1500? Fucker who do you think—”

“You’ve got one more pass, with this ‘fucker’ nonsense,” Baal told him, cracking his fist. He added a sizzle of electricity for emphasis. “And 15 thousand, Backwoods. The hell do you think I am?”

Baal walked outside of the shed to the clearing, Backwoods (Gerald) in tow. The men were still unconscious and the cicadas were buzzing again. “Just run the car for me. There’s 400 in the console, it’ll get you there. I might even have a follow up job for you if you do this right. You do it wrong, I’ll show you what happens when you piss me off.” He now stood in the center of the clearing, hands outstretched, considering the sunset sky.

“But waita—hold on! How you getting up to N.Y.?”

Baal smiled at his new assistant, letting sparks fill his eyes and cast a glow. The power jumped from his veins and began drying out the air. “As I said,” Baal started, above the growing hum in the air. “I’ll show you why you don’t want to piss me off.”

There was a slash of light cutting through the dusk of the sky. It struck Baal, followed by Boom! and the sky god was gone.
THE ABSOLUTE BREAKOUT CHARACTER
  • @Stein with Baal
    • Given how little I know about the source material, I wasn't particularly certain of Baal in the initial character proposal. As soon as I read the sample post, I was hooked and I am so excited to see how Baal fits into the universe as a whole. Electrifying start to such an interesting character.


Eeey! Someone's got some love for the sky god :D I high key didn't think many people were reading Baal just yet because he is more obscure. Really, thank you, Web! You've galvanized me to step it up with Baal.

Y'all comin' in clutch for this newbie trying to figure out where to dip his godly toes in






P O S T C A T A L O G:

A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed arcs and stories.




Issue 1.01 – Building Churches in the Wild

The Everglades, Florida:


In Baal’s defense, he’d only raised an eyebrow when asked the first time. The doe-eyed young woman behind the hotel counter appeared winded, while other resort staff bustled around the marbled lobby. It was busy, she was flustered. She was forgiven for her mistake.


These thoughts beguiled him, buzzing a smile on his lips, as he took in his current surroundings once more. Around 300 meters of cleared swampish area. Mixture of mudded sinkholes and tufts of grass and dirt. Discarded portions of rusted cars litter the area, half embedded in the ground. A modest shack, complete with sagging porch roof and dull wood. The metal roof splashed with rust of a large shed sat just beyond the shack. Immediately surrounding him, 8 men with various guns trained on him. Grime mixed with their faces. Their hair was matted with sweat and dirt. They reeked of bayou and sweat. Each set of eyes stayed focused on Baal; grimaces chiseled into their faces. No matter. Whether eyes watched him or not, the outcome would be the same. But he could enjoy the performance leading up to his debut.

Squeaking back and forth on the shack’s front porch by the shift of his weight, was the source of Baal’s amusement: a mortal doing an apt job of entertaining him. The mortal paced and stroked the bush of his beard. The creak of his footsteps on the sagging porch mixed with the continuous chorus of cicadas in heat. He prattled on, something about power. Making archaic points that Baal taught his worshippers a millennia ago.

“…y’see, when you got power like this,” The mortal continued, gesturing to the clearing and men surrounding Baal, “land to keep, men followin’ yer word n’ such. Well, ya can’t let certain things slide.”

He was looking at Baal now. The wiry mass of overused muscle, wrapped in sagging skin the color of a newborn babe. This man spoke to Baal of power like a child spoke of philosophy he’s learned that day in school. It was adorable. Endearing, really. Baal didn’t hide his smile. Maybe this trip wouldn’t be so unamusing after all. “Power and respect,” this sagging-man said, “they go hand n’ hand. You get what I mean? How do I keep the respect of my Bayou Boys if I let your disrespect pass unchecked?”

The second time, the restaurant host might have been injured. A small myriad of sparks had tumbled down Baal’s arm. Even reached his clenched fist. That doddling fool was audacious in his slack-jawed gaze. And Baal—still relented, extending a patience to the thin-lipped pissant for which he was not known nor worshiped for. It was something Inanna would want him to do.


Baal glanced skyward. Pressed his hands together in front of him, looking up at the cloudless sky. Not yet. He met the man’s gaze again and said nothing.

“Not one for pleading, is you?” The man asked, leaning on his rifle. Baal stifled a snort. Pleading? What use did he have for that? “Guess I can respect that,” the man continued, “Y’all ain’t never been the regretful type.”

The mortal was entertaining Baal less. His actions were traipsing from entertaining into being a chore for Baal to sit through. He had an appointment to keep and unfortunately, the flow of time was one area he did not preside over.

“Now I ain’t gonna ask why you came here. Don’t much really care. Gotta give it to you though, walking through that marsh and road, slick dressed as you are. You had a mission, didntja, boy?”

The smirk on Baal’s face flatlined. His brows knitted together.

“Y’hurt my son. Broke that arm clean with intent, now. That’s my blood, and I damn sure can’t let that pass. You fuck with a powerful man, you bound to get fucked yourself.”

Baal rolled his eyes. The novelty of the ape had long since expired. He focused on the metal shed, trying to discern inside.

“You will look at me when I’m addressing you!” The man shouted, making a quick gesture. The 8 men surrounding Baal raised their weapons. “Clearly, you don’t understand who I am. I run these glades. Every bubble that damn swamp pushes forth, I know. Ain’t a damn drug deal, arms trade, dead spouse or dead whore that goes down here that I don’t know about.” He shouldered his rifle now. “Ain’t a single marshal in the area who’ll find or look fer ya, not if I say so. You better take note. I rule this area.”

The dull sound of an overhead plane brought Baal’s eyes to the powder blue of the sky again. Not yet.
The man raised his gun, firing two shots in the air. Two birds struck the ground. The man roared. “I’m the Bayou King.” He pointed a finger at Baal. “So now, before you die, I wanna know: who the fuck are you?”

But this third time, Baal would—well, put simply: he could only be so lenient before his judgment requires a searing swiftness. Baal didn’t announce himself.

So, Baal didn’t blame the stick of Florida humidity, bringing the scent of hot moisture and the subtle sweetness of decay. Nor the ruin brought to his Italian loafers. The audacity of this Bayou King, though grating, didn’t hold the blame of ultimately fueling his actions. He blamed himself and his leniency. These mortals had to be taught—and the first lesson was always the hardest.

“Well?” the Bayou King asked. A series of clicks and metal jingles fill the air. All the weapons cocked in succession. “Who the fuck are you to anger the Bayou King?”

Baal looked at this Bayou King.
"A god."
Electricity bubbled over his eyes, crackling over the edges.

Before the mortal to his left could grip the gun tighter, Baal’s grip had found the man's throat. Sparks played on Baal’s fingertips, lifting the small hairs around the other man’s neck. With a release and flex of his hand, Baal shot the man through the air. The overgrown hood of a car caught him and the muffled sound of cracking glass followed. Baal turned his gaze toward the false king.

“I’ll give you one moment to lower that toy.” The sparks now danced up his arms, creating small tears in his suit jacket. “But I’m hoping you don’t take it.”

“Supers and mutants don’t scare me none!” The Bayou King’s men had taken a step back, guns still trained. “These bullets drill through concrete. Ain’t no prayer can save you. Ya dead now, boy. Any last words?”

Baal looked up, “Finally.” His shoulders dropped and hands splayed, “All the planes are gone.”

7 bolts came down simultaneously. Striking each man, the bolts arced to Baal and the god pulled the mortals in to him—all before the speed of sound delivered crackling of the bolts. With a flick, he propelled them away. A boom of thunder rumbled as their bodies struck discarded metal pieces and weak cries softened the air.

Baal turned his head toward the Bayou King in time for two bullets to be stopped by his electrical field, their metal still red-hot, spinning in the air. The Bayou King lifted his gun again, only to be thrown off balance. The firearm pulled from his grip, sailing through the air to Baal’s outstretched hand. Baal was upon him now. The Bayou King raised his hand to stop the god. Baal grabbed it, hoisting the man into the air.

“You were amusing, at first. You should know when your jester-like skills have reached their apex. Though, that Bayou King line will always make me chuckle.” Baal ran a jolt through the man’s arm, evoking a weak cry. His vocal cords stuttered from electrical interference.

“Now, Mr. Bayou King. I’ve a question for you:” Baal flung the man from the porch onto a clearing of grass. “What’s a king to a god?”

Before he could stand, four pillars of electrical energy erupted from the ground, bathing the entire clearing in a purifying light. The man was hunched in the crater aftermath.

Baal shrugged. “Simply a servant whose forgotten his place.”

He pointed a finger at the false king. An arc of lightning found its way between the man’s eyes, and he slumped over in the dirt. Lesson learned.

“Now,” Baal asked aloud, “where the hell is my car?”
<Snipped quote by Stein>



Baal is accepted!




Thanks, loves! I'll post ICly right away. Don't worry, I won't try to shake things up too much. Mwah.
Alright folks and GM's,

"Building Churches in the Wild," Issue 1/(CS Sample post) of Baal's adventures is now finished. Check it out!

Xoxo


Oh! I legitimately JUST watched this episode today with my friend on my quest to foster an obsession for anime in him.

Don't be a dick.

This has been a public service announcement from the Board of Truth.


We stan an all-knowing entity.

Hey everyone,

Over the past little while there's been some concerns about the behavior of the group, including the GMs. I've been on the defensive putting out some small fires here and there but it'd be nice to be on the offense for a little bit and take the time to remind everyone that this is a text medium. That said, tone and intent don't always translate through the screen even if you use italics, quotes or lower case letters.

Going forward, I'm all for having fun and a light ribbing here and there but unfortunately taking the piss out of one person repeatedly becomes a bit too close to bullying. We're all in this together and presumably have the same goals to see this through.

So let's not drive each other away, I want more posts damnit!


Fiiiiine.

I wish RPG had a "love" button for that sheet.

Well good golly, Miss Molly I think I'm blushing now!

Dammit, now I have to keep up the good work.

Stein's clearly trying to take my position of best character proposal banner with this obviously mediocre attempt.
That looks really fucking good, Stein. I like it.

Biiiitch. I love a good read.

You're right! I will step my pussy up next time.



<Snipped quote by Hillan>
Yeah. Ernest was a minimalist while I am a maximalist. Good catch.


Oh thanks, gurl. I needed a good laugh for today.

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