Posts by draconic

i have decided to make druxy a former knight instead and dAMMIT @ myself because ive been wanting to create a knight character and it topped the warlord idea. though, i can always make him one later side he'll be in an anti-clan first and it'll warp his views

yeah

i can work with this

ahh, welcome, welcome! can't wait to rp with y'all and your babies <3

get in here thot Decaying

ff doesn't notify me when to replied to my responses on your profile

so you can sit here

life was a strange thing.

never had the events to unfold before the man of sinful priest and poor woman occurred in wandering mind. not in the slightest. not when small hands were stained with muck and grime, empty belly that cried for food, and chilly nights in squalor alleys curled against tattered and world worn mother. no warm or recognition from father who selfishly lied through crooked teeth, denied touching such filth, much less have a son with someone of low status. a terrible deal of cards in life's cruel and twisted deck. but mother and son had taken dealt cards with pride, steadfast and decided, rolling through the ruthless ride of rapid waters life created. they didn't need gleaming jewels and fancy clothes to find happiness. to fill the void of vacant love which faux smiles and cold eyes could never offer.

having each other was enough.

I SAW JOHN AND IT HAD ME 👀👀

and cosmicshadow too since i was checking blizzclan out since i'll have bib join there after awhile

im in the serein copse, the ruins, and soon to be in the exiles

but seeing john makes me want to bring mike back but :,c i have no muse for them

they at least need a thread together one day

but i'll definitely have to make bib's visiting thread so cosmic and bib can meet

you're right

the worst he'd do is call him "sir" and do some playful teasing on occasion

life was a strange thing.

never had the events to unfold before the man of sinful priest and poor woman occurred in wandering mind. not in the slightest. not when small hands were stained with muck and grime, empty belly that cried for food, and chilly nights in squalor alleys curled against tattered and world worn mother. no warmth or recognition from father who selfishly lied through crooked teeth, denied touching such filth, much less have a son with someone of low status. a terrible deal of cards in life's cruel and twisted deck. but mother and son had taken dealt cards with pride, steadfast and decided, rolling through the ruthless ride of rapid waters life created. they didn't need gleaming jewels and fancy clothes to find happiness. to fill the void of vacant love which faux smiles and cold eyes of greedy families could never offer.

having each other was enough.

they had a home among shabby streets and dilapidated buildings. plenty of beckoning vendors of diverse wares and foods who wanted to sell, sell, sell. rundown and underprivileged, but that's the life they lived. there's no joy when tyrant king ruled with iron fists and unlawful practices of the church harmed the penniless. any fortunate enough to be privileged were corrupt to the core. a cycle the young boy of ragged clothing and stomach pains had grown accustomed to. and then came rebellion. wild. erratic. forceful. violent. a massacre. where once lively towns were painted red and littered with bodies that contained life once upon a time. raging fires who brought blistering heat and burning down homes, paving its own path of destruction amidst soul rattling war cries and throat aching screams of innocents slaughtered.

red. so much red.

a shout and a shriek. ( hush. hush, dear boy. it's going to be okay. ) heavy breathes choked by body racking sobs as blood trickled out of the sides despite tiny hands pressing down hard on the jagged gash on dying mother. a broken beg for her to stay, stay with him, and not give up, but it's no use.

there's too much. too much. too much–

she's gone. gone and left him in the burning world collapsing on itself. there is no time for grief. to shed tears freely. war was happening. firm in its grip, a hand landed on scrawny shoulders which belonged to a stranger not native to their wrecked town, tender eyes and concern expression. it had been that day druxy learned how wicked a ruler could be towards struggling inhabitants. the day he learned life wasn't all conniving higher ups and dead eyed civilians waiting the sweet release of death.

in a distant kingdom far, far away, the orphaned boy had learned honor, justice, and freedom in their knightly order. no longer had worries of when next meal would come or sleep on ancient cobblestone. but it didn't stop constant wariness towards luxuries he was unused to, mostly fearing of becoming those slick weasels he left behind. even so, the inquisitive boy had been taught modesty and humbleness; learned this code of honor and respect it. trained in various styles of combat and happily accepted tips and pointers. came to learn about terrain of all types and how there's much more than people. dragons, drakaenoni, wizards, elves, fae, and a lot more. without hesitation, druxy deemed it a good life.

but not all stays happy in fairy-tales, now does it?

war. bloodstained teeth bared in twisted smiles, gasping last breathes for awaited death, spilling forth guts with crimson staining pure soil. a boiling fury to cause pearly whites to grind and lips curl back in threatening snarls. there is no fun or beauty in war. wretched. terribly so. yet it's a cycle. one druxy is all too familiar with. instead of being a poor boy who lost the one who only cared about him, he rose up as a man who held fire in his heart and wielded wrath in his blade. he was born for this. and so he danced along to life's woeful song of sorrow and loss in battle, resolute and calm. no fear at the blatant truth of meeting his marker. everybody dies eventually.

no tears or bat of a sooty eyelash when it had ended, the grinning enemies howling victoriously while they, the unfortunate losers, awaited for execution. guillotine ever patient for its first victim, sharp blade beaming in excitement as the man of fiery hair entered its head stock. a small curl of the lips at harsh barks to beg for mercy, sneering questions if terror clutched him tight, and indulged them in a light remark:

"better to die a hero than live a coward."

a loud whizzing sound of doom falling down then darkness. it's strange. vast nothingness and no whirling thoughts within chaotic mind. stillness. floating yet not floating. only. . . the void. a state of being which is yet isn't all at once but oh, oh-

you will serve me well. go forth, my champion. breathe once more and spread my light.

light. bright and blinding as it took over empty blackness and a shuddering breath, inhaling oxygen into new lungs and sudden stinging pain laced around the neck, a loud grunt and violent cough ensued seconds later. sputtered out wet soil and dry grass and blinked furiously as a noisy gasp left aching throat. "n-ninth divine." hoarse word barely filtered into the still air while shakily standing up, mind muddled while confusion buzzed though tired body.

imma have to ban you, ado

we don't say that word in this good christian household

i'll be damned if i have to make his joining mostly backstory but

that's fine

now i have a better idea of my son

& look at bib's stuff after i finish dru's joining thread

sent the message, so now i can focus more on bib and dru

to-do list:

— respond to private thread with redalert

— create thread of finding a battered doll and making it humanity

— clubhouse au ;^)

— create visiting thread with bib

— create open plotting thread on sc ooc board

— respond to general plotting thread for bib

— respond to a few threads on sc board

— create general plotting thread for dru

— create open plotting thread on the exiles ooc board

— create thread with him finding dawn's light aka a glowing dagger given to him by the eighth divine

— respond to a few threads on the exiles board

— create private with you know who

edit: dropped modernlove

withdrawn <3

Far far away, behind the word mountains, far from the countries Vokalia and Consonantia, there live the blind texts. Separated they live in Bookmarksgrove right at the coast of the Semantics, a large language ocean. A small river named Duden flows by their place and supplies it with the necessary regelialia. It is a paradisematic country, in which roasted parts of sentences fly into your mouth. Even the all-powerful Pointing has no control about the blind texts it is an almost unorthographic life One day however a small line of blind text by the name of Lorem Ipsum decided to leave for the far World of Grammar. The Big Oxmox advised her not to do so, because there were thousands of bad Commas, wild Question Marks and devious Semikoli, but the Little Blind Text didn’t listen. She packed her seven versalia, put her initial into the belt and made herself on the way. When she reached the first hills of the Italic Mountains, she had a last view back on the skyline of her hometown Bookmarksgrove, the headline of Alphabet Village and the subline of her own road, the Line Lane.

Pityful a rethoric question ran over her cheek, then she continued her way. On her way she met a copy. The copy warned the Little Blind Text, that where it came from it would have been rewritten a thousand times and everything that was left from its origin would be the word "and" and the Little Blind Text should turn around and return to its own, safe country. But nothing the copy said could convince her and so it didn’t take long until a few insidious Copy Writers ambushed her, made her drunk with Longe and Parole and dragged her into their agency, where they abused her for their projects again and again. And if she hasn’t been rewritten, then they are still using her. Far far away, behind the word mountains, far from the countries Vokalia and Consonantia, there live the blind texts. Separated they live in Bookmarksgrove right at the coast of the Semantics, a large language ocean. A small river named Duden flows by their place and supplies it with the necessary regelialia. It is a paradisematic country, in which roasted parts of sentences fly into your mouth. Even the all-powerful Pointing has no control about the blind texts it is an almost unorthographic life One day however a small line of blind text by the name of Lorem Ipsum decided to leave for the far World of Grammar.

The Big Oxmox advised her not to do so, because there were thousands of bad Commas, wild Question Marks and devious Semikoli, but the Little Blind Text didn’t listen. She packed her seven versalia, put her initial into the belt and made herself on the way. When she reached the first hills of the Italic Mountains, she had a last view back on the skyline of her hometown Bookmarksgrove, the headline of Alphabet Village and the sublime of her own road, the Line Lane. Pitiful a rhetoric question ran over her cheek, then she continued her way. On her way she met a copy. The copy warned the Little Blind Text, that where it came from it would have been rewritten a thousand times and everything that was left from its origin would be the word "and" and the Little Blind Text should turn around and return to its own, safe country. But nothing the copy said could convince her and so it didn’t take long until a few insidious Copy Writers ambushed her, made her drunk with Longe and Parole and dragged her into their agency, where they abused her for their projects again and again. And if she hasn’t been rewritten, then they are still using her.Far far away, behind the word mountains, far from the countries Vokalia and Consonantia, there live the blind texts. Separated they live in Bookmarksgrove right at the coast of the Semantics, a large language ocean. A small river named Duden flows by their place and supplies it with the necessary regelialia. It is a paradisematic country, in which roasted parts of sentences fly into your mouth.

Who knew the afterlife could be... Odd. Not in the good sense either. It was beyond strange and I didn't exactly think I'd end up here. With monsters. Monsters. To a college for those that wanted a better life when being reincarnated instead of being some small animal or insect. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's start from the beginning shall we? Back to the day of my death.

War was being waged against the name who decided to become Earth's "ruler". A shitty dictator who was straight up awful all away around and led with an iron fist. A good portion of life had been misery for a lot of the population. Many nights of hearing screaming and cries for mercy. Too many brainwashed people smiling vacantly as if everything was all right despite that fact that it wasn't. Like anyone with any sense, I had gotten tired of having to roll over onto my belly and submit to those who held little care of the citizens they were "protecting". It was horrible to live in such conditions, but it's better to die a hero than live a coward, right? So, I had gathered a good sum of those who had common sense to fight back. Why continue living like this? Why let everyone suffer? I hadn't... Expected to meet my maker as abruptly as I did. No, I had to fear towards death, but it was so sudden that when it came to realization I was dead it seemed... Surreal. One moment I was in a tussle between two guard then felt few sharp pains in the back before blacking out, only to find myself face down and got up. Yet, when I stood up, I hadn't anticipated to find some fellow rebels to surround me, faces pale and eyes wide. I started to question them, asking what was wrong, and got frustrated when they didn't answer me back. Then I saw it.

I saw me.

Face down in the street below, unnaturally still while crimson slithered away from my cooling body, and gaped at the bullet holes in my back– my back. It was as if someone poured a bucket of ice water over my head. A major shock that I couldn't comprehend and had a breakdown right then and there. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, WHAT THE FUCK– Until somebody touched my shoulder and I whipped around, momentarily thinking that this was all in my head, before I saw his face. A tall, lanky pale looking man with dark circles under his eyes, and dark eyes that seemed to be void of all life. Called himself the Grim Reaper and was ready to take my soul to be judged. Like any reasonable person, I panicked more than before until he grew tired, grabbed my hand, and took us popped us inside a grand palace. Gold and ivory interior that had nicely crafted furniture and multiple chandeliers all leading up to someone sitting on a fancy white throne, and a giant ass wheel beside them.

When I was brought ( read: dragged ) up to meet the individual, it came clear that it was a woman. Short, wavy black hair that ended at her chin, sun-kissed skin, and a devious gleam in those dark brown eyes while smoking from a long cigarette holder. Never stated her name or what part she had to play, but asked me a simple question:

"Would you like to go to college or be reincarnated?"

Definitely an odd question to ask, but I went with reincarnation. Who wants to go to college when they're dead? My mind had been changed when she directed me to her wheel of fortune and saw the options — if they could even be considered as options — of what I could be in my new life. I doubted anyone wanted to become a slug or an ant and inquired about going to this college instead. The smugness was evident on her face, but I didn't pay much mind to it and quietly listened to her explain the rules. Go to College of Restitution, learn a variety of topics within a 2 year period, meet all of their requirements, graduate, and reincarnate. Doesn't sound too hard, right? Not to mention with the snap of her fingers it was all gone. What do I mean? The wounds. The scars. Scars I had gained over the years were gone and the recent bullets wounds as well and... Original state. That's what she did. She put me right back to my original state before any sort of blemish appeared on my skin, including having my hair go back to its true color: blond. It would be a lie to say it felt wrong and didn't have any time to say much since she shot me a wide, impish grin as she hummed ta-ta! then snapped her fingers.

And there I stood before giant, black iron gates that led to a rather decent looking college behind it. Of course, the movement of someone beside me had spooked me and I jumped, staring at the Grim Reaper as he offered a small smile while lightly placing a finger on my forehead.

"Don't worry. It won't hurt."

Reassuring.

I blinked a few times as we stood there then gasped softly at the slight tingle in my mind. As if fingers were gently touching my brain and sifted through memories with ease. The sensation didn't stop and only increased upon the memories of friends, family, Rayleigh. "Oh–" It's fading away. Fading fast and I try to grasp each one but they slip through the cracks until they're nothing but fuzzy and blurred faces. Unrecognizable then forgotten. Strangers who I couldn't quite place my finger on yet had a feeling I knew them somehow. The nagging that tickled my mind ceased and no longer had a problem, remembering only that I died in a rebellion. My lips curled into a frown as I watched the lanky man step back and nudge me over to the intimidating gates, waiting as they creaked and groaned before opening and ushered me in.

"But–"

When I turned around to ask what to do, he was gone. Poofed into thin air and I let out a soft sigh. What am I supposed to do and where am I supposed to go? Though, thoughts didn't dwell on the matter of what I had to do the second something not right appeared in my peripheral. Turning, my jaw dropped when my eyes landed on a regular human body that has a face on the torso. A face! And it casually strolled on by and noticed there were more. A strange bipedal creature with three eyes on its head and multiple ones on the body. A group of wolfmen. Monsters. I'm attending an afterlife college with monsters. So here we are, story full circle.

I shied away from any of the odd looking creatures that passed me, smiling weakly when some greeted me or got in for a close look. Could I say that I was uncomfortable? Because I was and it didn't look like there were any others like me around. Biting my lip, I looked left and right before spotting what I assumed to be another human in this place. Relief washed over me then took a step back, eyes squinting then widening when I noticed they were coming in my direction.

Shit.

// cfidocfd sORRY for the shitty ass start because it's been a hot s e c o n d since i did first person

and that this isn't the greatest start bUT

it'll get better hopefully vbfiovdf

reed.

YOU GO PLAY DIABLO III AND KICK SOME DEMON ASS

storybook

— agender; strictly they/them

— ghoul; possesses bodies of the living to feed

— died as a child

— hella ancient

— impish and immature

"who you callin' a kid, kid?"

"i'm older than your great, great, great, [insert many greats later] grandmother!"

"eww, look at them kissing! D I S G U S T A N G."

— DO NOT TRUST THEM

— only loyal to and best friends with danny; fuck everyone else, really

— Giant Asshole™

story is a ghoul who posseses the living in order to consume corpses. a lot of the time they don't have a physical body, but do have their spiritual form. spiritual form can look freaky and scary since they always morph into a nightmarish creature when some fool says, "yes, i'll help you get some food."

won't leave once they claim a territory. the only way to keep them from causing too much ruckus any destruction is to strike a deal. once a deal is struck and they're satisfied with the terms ( or, more realistically, in their favor more than the other side ), story is less likely act up and will respect the deal so long as the person who agreed to the terms doesn't break it. the second that happens they won't hesitate to create chaos in retaliation.

storybook / shortstory / fairytale(s) / storytales

skeletonbones / rattledbones

still debating on their name because i like rattledbones only because i can nickname them r a t like the rat they are