thewizardguy
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- thewizardguy 12 yrs ago
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Bio
Just a random guy, doing random things.
Main RP: Hell's Coffee Lounge
Current RPs change often enough that it's too much effort keeping a list of them updated.
Most Recent Posts
Ima try and keep this alive if at all possible.
The Judge's eyes were, for the most part, just for show. While most living beings used a set of organic senses, the Judge's physical eyes, and, in fact, most of the senses used by organic beings, were nonfunctional. Seen from a purely physical perspective, the Judge was both blind, deaf, and completely numb. And yet, with perfect clarity, he could observe the world around him, if not by any means that would be familiar to most of the multiverse's inhabitants. His senses, completely alien to most beings, was perfectly normal for a being of his type, and yet one could not be blamed for not realizing it. For even as the Judge saw the long path of destiny warping, every sentient decision forging a new possible world, his senses honed in by the changes being constantly meant by the beings around him. The constant warp in the future caused by free will, a power granted to all sentient beings. The ripples of every miniscule decision, echoing through his mind.
"Merely two? It would seem presumptous for you to make such a statement." The Judge, of course, already knew who stood behind him. He would turn around, normally, even if it were only for show. After all, his senses weren't limited by direction, or by the movements of light. The only reason he had the organs at all was because of his task of interacting with organic beings, an appearance crafted to allow him to fit in to a certain degree. To a strong degree, he was a showman, putting up a display of normality to hide his true self, conforming to the norms of those attached to linear time and space, to movement in 3 dimensions, to the simplicity of existence within a relatively straight forward and basic set of physics. Had one of these beings stepped into the Outer Fringes, dimensions where rules such as time and space lost all meaning, they would have been lost forever. "I don't suppose anything I say will prevent a monologue, will it?"
"Merely two? It would seem presumptous for you to make such a statement." The Judge, of course, already knew who stood behind him. He would turn around, normally, even if it were only for show. After all, his senses weren't limited by direction, or by the movements of light. The only reason he had the organs at all was because of his task of interacting with organic beings, an appearance crafted to allow him to fit in to a certain degree. To a strong degree, he was a showman, putting up a display of normality to hide his true self, conforming to the norms of those attached to linear time and space, to movement in 3 dimensions, to the simplicity of existence within a relatively straight forward and basic set of physics. Had one of these beings stepped into the Outer Fringes, dimensions where rules such as time and space lost all meaning, they would have been lost forever. "I don't suppose anything I say will prevent a monologue, will it?"
The Judge watches the exchange with an almost impassive calm, with the air of one watching a squabble between children. A deeply annoying superiority, and a degree of sympathy, as if he was dealing with the unfortunate victims of a debilitating mental condition. It bled into his stance, his voice, and the very feeling of his aura, and, most infuriatingly, it was genuine. "Clinging on, unthinkingly, unchangably. It cannot be helped. You are two-dimensional beings, stuck within your own frame of mind. Can you not feel the corruption that permeats the very existence of this plane? Is the nature of reality not that of change, and should it thus not change even in it's most funadamental basics? A system of life and death, broken by fools who cheat an incompetent reaper. Is it not better simply to.... wipe the slate? To erase all the mistakes, all the foolishness, all the petty emotions and survival instincts that have broken the will of our creator?"
The judge steps forward, and as he does so, a ripple of power flows through the remains of the dimension. The white ground, formed from the manifested fabric of reality, neither matter nor energy, seemed to be falling away into darkness. Sucked into the void, strands of existence torn from the weave. With every step, the area remaining grows smaller, the edge of reality creeping ever closer to those who would stand against that Judge. "You who would stand against the end, clinging to fragments of a life steeped in failure and mistakes, know that it is with pity that I end your pathetic existence. Unable to comprehend the true reality, which underlies this world formed from sound and smell, the basic building blocks of this world, you hold on to that which you can feel, fearing the unknown." His smile quivers for a moment, as the darkness seems to flow through the cracks in the ground. The Void, realm of Omega, the Primal of the Apocalypse. It gathered in his hands, as his very existence shimmered, power gathering and multiplying, as he prepared to wipe out those who stood against him. "It will be over soon, dear children."
The judge steps forward, and as he does so, a ripple of power flows through the remains of the dimension. The white ground, formed from the manifested fabric of reality, neither matter nor energy, seemed to be falling away into darkness. Sucked into the void, strands of existence torn from the weave. With every step, the area remaining grows smaller, the edge of reality creeping ever closer to those who would stand against that Judge. "You who would stand against the end, clinging to fragments of a life steeped in failure and mistakes, know that it is with pity that I end your pathetic existence. Unable to comprehend the true reality, which underlies this world formed from sound and smell, the basic building blocks of this world, you hold on to that which you can feel, fearing the unknown." His smile quivers for a moment, as the darkness seems to flow through the cracks in the ground. The Void, realm of Omega, the Primal of the Apocalypse. It gathered in his hands, as his very existence shimmered, power gathering and multiplying, as he prepared to wipe out those who stood against him. "It will be over soon, dear children."
Across the world, there are many locations with histories that date far back in time. Places that have seen great battles, and enormous wars. Places haunted with fragments of the past, which have become focal points for the supernatural. These places, often hundreds of years old, if not thousands, are where groups of demon hunters, inquisitors, and others involved in the affairs of the supernatural, gather and commune. And among these is the city of London, carrying with it hundreds of years of history. Here, the Ordo Obscurum, the Order of Darkness, has it's roots firmly planted. They faced the many witches and covenants all across Great Britain, and date back to the Empire of the Rising Sun, when Britain was a great power in the world. An ancient group steeped in tradition and religion, said to have fought side by side with angels. Lead by Saint Mathews, this order still now fights the forces of supernatural evil, commanding many outposts both inside and outside Brittain.
In one of the many slums of the great city, as must form in any city, a great secret is hidden. To those who would walk past, not knowing of the darker side of the world, blind to the monsters and demons that stalk the streets at night. Known among the purveyors of the abnormal as the Citadel District, this area holds St. Paul's Cathedral. The burning of London, which was caused by Tsu Amun, a powerful warlock who controlled a horde of fire demons, is said to have destroyed this great cathedral. However, through the magic of Ordo Obscurum's Miracle Callers, it was saved from the flames. It's great doors are always open, through which move a stream of men on important business, many powerful mages or warriors. Each wore the long black coat that signified an agent of Ordo Obscurum, the Pointed Cross emblazoned on their chests. The great spires emanated the power of those that constantly scoured the world, finding the symptoms of the supernatural wherever they might appear.
A small group of initiates, led to this location by personal invitation, stood before this great structure. Upon the front stood emblazoned, in bright golden letters, the motto of those that served the Order. Ardet in Tenebris Lumen Clarissimum, 'Light burns brightest in the dark.' While many among those who had been called from across the world might not yet be aware of just what awaited them, each had been called here to become an official member of the Ordo Obscurum. Each would be sent across the world to fight those that the Order saw as a threat to their perfect world, in the name of God. While not all of it's members agreed with the religious claims of the church, none dared argue against them. After all, those that had seen Saint Mathews call upon the angel Appoloin, Second Sphere Lordship of Destruction, and a host of lesser Angels who followed him into battle. Who could deny the hand of God, when God's wrath was unleashed before them?
A woman with long red hair stepped forward. She was dressed not in the long the long flowing coats that many others of the order wore, but instead attired in a set of authentic looking crusader armor, the cross emblazoned with the spikes that symbolize the Ordo Obscurum's divine wrath. The plate mail steamed in the rain, as if it had been heated to a great extent, drops evaporating the moment they touched the metal. Constrasting the medieval attire, she wore a pair of sunglasses which hid her eyes. She wore no visible makeup, and held herself at the ready. Any experienced warrior looking at her could tell that she stood in a fighting stance at all times. Strapped to her back was a massive black suitcase, covered in symbols and charms to ward off evil and contain power. When she spoke, she spoke with an odd fierceness, her tone switching from high and musical, to almost a growl. "Well then, kids. Who wants to follow me into the big scary house?"
In one of the many slums of the great city, as must form in any city, a great secret is hidden. To those who would walk past, not knowing of the darker side of the world, blind to the monsters and demons that stalk the streets at night. Known among the purveyors of the abnormal as the Citadel District, this area holds St. Paul's Cathedral. The burning of London, which was caused by Tsu Amun, a powerful warlock who controlled a horde of fire demons, is said to have destroyed this great cathedral. However, through the magic of Ordo Obscurum's Miracle Callers, it was saved from the flames. It's great doors are always open, through which move a stream of men on important business, many powerful mages or warriors. Each wore the long black coat that signified an agent of Ordo Obscurum, the Pointed Cross emblazoned on their chests. The great spires emanated the power of those that constantly scoured the world, finding the symptoms of the supernatural wherever they might appear.
A small group of initiates, led to this location by personal invitation, stood before this great structure. Upon the front stood emblazoned, in bright golden letters, the motto of those that served the Order. Ardet in Tenebris Lumen Clarissimum, 'Light burns brightest in the dark.' While many among those who had been called from across the world might not yet be aware of just what awaited them, each had been called here to become an official member of the Ordo Obscurum. Each would be sent across the world to fight those that the Order saw as a threat to their perfect world, in the name of God. While not all of it's members agreed with the religious claims of the church, none dared argue against them. After all, those that had seen Saint Mathews call upon the angel Appoloin, Second Sphere Lordship of Destruction, and a host of lesser Angels who followed him into battle. Who could deny the hand of God, when God's wrath was unleashed before them?
A woman with long red hair stepped forward. She was dressed not in the long the long flowing coats that many others of the order wore, but instead attired in a set of authentic looking crusader armor, the cross emblazoned with the spikes that symbolize the Ordo Obscurum's divine wrath. The plate mail steamed in the rain, as if it had been heated to a great extent, drops evaporating the moment they touched the metal. Constrasting the medieval attire, she wore a pair of sunglasses which hid her eyes. She wore no visible makeup, and held herself at the ready. Any experienced warrior looking at her could tell that she stood in a fighting stance at all times. Strapped to her back was a massive black suitcase, covered in symbols and charms to ward off evil and contain power. When she spoke, she spoke with an odd fierceness, her tone switching from high and musical, to almost a growl. "Well then, kids. Who wants to follow me into the big scary house?"
I'm still waiting on a CS. Sorry Pharont, but I'll be creating the IC post regardless of whether you're done or not. You're taking too goddamn long. If you do finish up sometime within the coming few days, I'll probably find a way to work your char into the story.
SyrianHamster said
Beautiful post Wizard. That was really something quite grand, well done. Am I right in assuming Polvark has a taste for gouging eyes? I wasn't 100% sure that's what happened, so I thought I'd better check.
Yes, yes he does. I have a plan for how this is going to play out, if I can help it. Hopefully it´ll be a sepic in practice as it is in my head.
It was respectable indeed, a man who was able to look into impossible odds with such fire in his eyes. Even injured to such an extent, there was no way Gutra would lose to an unarmed man, no matter what the gods decided. His fists didn't have the oomph necessary to deal any damage, despite the little man landing several decent hits. The pain was negligible compared to his earlier injuries. It would have been sad, had Broding not been able to feel the earnest force behind each blow. His eye broken, his bones shattered, his muscles torn, this man's body should have stopped moving ages ago. The fellow didn't notice it at this point, but Broding was an expert in injuries, both dealing them and recognizing them. Lord Polvark would later realize that by all rights, he should have been unable to move. His body was motivated not by any biological function of the body, but he was held up by sheer willpower. Nothing more, nothing less.
After several unsuccesful attempts, Broding managed to get a hold of the small foe, who had darted in and out of his guard. Holding Lord Polvark up to his face, Gutra looked into those flaming eyes. "The Gods have granted you their favours for your valiance and courage, Polvark. You have earned the title of warrior. Even if you discard every name your feeble empire has bestowed upon you, even if you have lost all the glory you obtained as his servant, know that here you are recognized. You faced Gutra, and you have won my respect. Every man present here knows of your deeds, and you will live on into the realm of legend." The man's fists rammed into muscles like steel, flesh hardened beyond that of most men. It was useless, but he fought until the end. "Know that you have died the best death that a man can wish for, for you died with eyes of fire, and a heart forged in steel."
The men around the fight were silent, witnessing this event. There were few who received praise from Gutra, even among the most skilled of warriors and knights. He had faced far more powerful opponents than Polvark, and devoured their hearts. To see such lavish praise granted to one who could barely wield a weapon was unusual at best, and yet, those present would all know why. The tale would certainly be told around campfires for many winters to come, inspiring the many warriors who would one day challenge Broding for the position of Gutra.
The crimson giant pulled back his left fist, staring Polvark into the eye. Among the Gun, it is dishonorable to turn away from a dying man, for none deserve to die alone. Your opponent is also your companion, and a bond forged with steel is the strongest bond among men. With a final smile, his fist shot forward, aimed straight for Polvark's heart, as soon that spirit would become a part of Broding. Then-
Pain arched across the side of his face, and Broding fell backwards. A guttural roar of agony echoed through the chambers of the fortress, seeming to make the very stones tremble. Blood flowed like a river down the side of his face, covering the hands that clutched the now ruined eye socket. Pain clouded Gutra's mind as he staggered backwards. It shouldn't have been possible, that blow. And yet, Broding realized, that he had been struck in the eye. A wound that would last for the rest of his life, a mark of defeat that could never heal. Dropping to his knees, Broding roared once more, as much from pain as from humiliation.
After several unsuccesful attempts, Broding managed to get a hold of the small foe, who had darted in and out of his guard. Holding Lord Polvark up to his face, Gutra looked into those flaming eyes. "The Gods have granted you their favours for your valiance and courage, Polvark. You have earned the title of warrior. Even if you discard every name your feeble empire has bestowed upon you, even if you have lost all the glory you obtained as his servant, know that here you are recognized. You faced Gutra, and you have won my respect. Every man present here knows of your deeds, and you will live on into the realm of legend." The man's fists rammed into muscles like steel, flesh hardened beyond that of most men. It was useless, but he fought until the end. "Know that you have died the best death that a man can wish for, for you died with eyes of fire, and a heart forged in steel."
The men around the fight were silent, witnessing this event. There were few who received praise from Gutra, even among the most skilled of warriors and knights. He had faced far more powerful opponents than Polvark, and devoured their hearts. To see such lavish praise granted to one who could barely wield a weapon was unusual at best, and yet, those present would all know why. The tale would certainly be told around campfires for many winters to come, inspiring the many warriors who would one day challenge Broding for the position of Gutra.
The crimson giant pulled back his left fist, staring Polvark into the eye. Among the Gun, it is dishonorable to turn away from a dying man, for none deserve to die alone. Your opponent is also your companion, and a bond forged with steel is the strongest bond among men. With a final smile, his fist shot forward, aimed straight for Polvark's heart, as soon that spirit would become a part of Broding. Then-
Pain arched across the side of his face, and Broding fell backwards. A guttural roar of agony echoed through the chambers of the fortress, seeming to make the very stones tremble. Blood flowed like a river down the side of his face, covering the hands that clutched the now ruined eye socket. Pain clouded Gutra's mind as he staggered backwards. It shouldn't have been possible, that blow. And yet, Broding realized, that he had been struck in the eye. A wound that would last for the rest of his life, a mark of defeat that could never heal. Dropping to his knees, Broding roared once more, as much from pain as from humiliation.
pharont said
may i make a cs of a demon?
Go ahead. But I'm going to need a good reason that you're on the side of the humans.
My idea of demons includes a variety of beings formed from nightmares, dreams and human emotion. So you could play the manifestation of Hope or something.
pharont said
do they have to be human?
Hmm...... I might be interested in a non-human character. But realize it'll come with it's own host of problems. Including that no other characters will be watching your back, and you'll be attacked on sight by most folks who don't recognize you as a part of their group.
BB said
Ima app Iskander+Gilgamesh+Nero+An Ork Boy all combined and then sprinkle some 8th grader syndrome on top as my OC in terms of personality.Also Hi.
Well that sounds.... ungodly. If this was chemistry, that mixture would probably blow up the room, and smell awful.
And hi (=
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