Jump to content

Ruins

Members
  • Posts

    4,772
  • Joined

  • Last visited

Everything posted by Ruins

  1. I've just remembered how much I hate Minesweeper.
  2. My character is still waiting for a reply and is stuck. I have nothing to do.
  3. ((Kickin' this up to the top so people see it.))
  4. If we worked out a system of differentiating between the two and explaining why they were different, sure.
  5. I have no idea what one of them is (three year hiatus, ohboy) but okay. Someone needs to clarify the Help page, methinks.
  6. Is it possible to send one PM to multiple users? I looked on the Help page and it says "If allowed, you may also be able to enter in multiple names in the box provided, will need to add one username per line." which doesn't make any sense to me. There's no option of multiple lines in the recipient box.
  7. [[OOC: We have our stage, we have a nice amount of players. Let's get this flying circus on the road. It's still open until the plot is well and truely underway. You can just be a bit late to the party.]] Somewhere in Scotland... The clock on Doctor Perry Doch's mantelpiece struck half past seven, a flurry of chimes interrupting its steady mechanical tick. The man at sitting at the bureau stilled his pen and looked up, a small smile crossing his face as he took in the time. Even under the ticking of the clock and the weather outside, Dochs could hear the kitchen bustling with activity downstairs as the staff prepared the guest's meals and footsteps as the table was prepared and last minute adjustments were made to the dinner table and decorations. The first guests should be arriving soon - he knew that it simply wouldn't do to be late to a party like this, no matter how far from civilisation it was. Not unless you were what they called 'fashionably late', of course. He had never understood the idea, himself, being of the mind that being exactly on time made you late at the very best. But he supposed that all minds worked differently - in some places, events merely happened when they happened to happen, with no attempt at sticking to any sort of schedule. And the best laid battle plans rarely survived the enemy, especially not when you were out in the African bush and the enemy was Mother Nature herself and all her fickle whims. Not that he hoped that anything like that would occur tonight, of course. He had planned this night - this event - for months now and he wouldn't stand to see it ruined by chance and weather, and definitely not by sloppiness and laziness. Speaking of which, it was time to prepare himself to receive his guests. Dr Dochs ceased his writing and put his pen to one side, letting the ink dry on the page before folding up the sheet of paper neatly and sliding it into a crisp white envelope, which he placed into one of the bureau's cubbyholes. He rose and stretched, wincing as his bones protested in a chorus of clicks and pops. Oh, his doctor was right, his age was getting to him. A life of excitement and adventure hadn't been kind on his old bones; his back was starting to ache in the mornings and his knees liked to complain when the weather turned bad. Sometimes he could still feel the dull, stabbing pain where a gorilla poacher had landed a lucky shot in the meat of his leg in Rwanda back in '78. Or was it '87? It was getting harder and harder to remember these days... The thought sent a shiver down his spine. 'How easily things are forgotten,' Dochs mused to himself, 'even those things that we swore to ourselves - or even to others - that we would never forget. Gone, as if washed away by the tides or the waters of the Lethe. At least I know this evening will be one they'll never forget...' With that thought in mind, Dr Dochs went to put the last finishing touches on what promised to be the Halloween party of the year - or possibly the decade. Elsewhere in Scotland, but not too far away... Car headlights sliced through the darkness as the car, a sleek dark Aston Martin barely a year old, made its slow but steady way down the single-lane road to Doch's mansion. (What was it called again? She couldn't remember. Something pretentious, no doubt, or hideously tasteless in a posh sort of way.) Jane Maple scowled out of the window as the car bumped its way down the path, her own sour face reflected back at her on the glass. Her arms were folded across her chest and the mask of her costume lay on her lap, discarded in the warmth of the climate-controlled car. It was dark outside, the Sun having set almost two hours ago, and the wind was starting to pick up; it whistled around the car like a chorus of ghosts. She swore she could hear rain on the roof - or was it small stones pinging off the bodywork, chipping and ruining her car's gleaming paint? Jane's scowl deepened and she leaned forward to address her driver, a tall and gangling man with many freckles (far too many, Jane thought; he looked like an underfed cheetah) called Sean. "Careful along this road, Sean!" she said tartly, pronouncing it 'seen'; Jane had almost no accent at all, Sean had long since noticed. It had all been trained out of her. She sounded like an old-fashioned BBC newsreader. "I don't want my paint getting chipped - the price of repairs will be coming out of your next paycheque if it is." Having said her piece Jane leant back, giving him a warning look that promised him a role in her next book if he messes up - as an idiot who gets gruesomely murdered. "I will, ma'am." grumbled Sean, wondering what he did to deserve such a foul old witch as an employer. Not to mention how someone younger than he was managed to seem five times his age sometimes; she reminded him of his not-so-dear departed mother-in-law sometimes, she really did. "And it's 'Sean', ma'am, pronounced 'shawn'." "Right. And it's 'Jane', pronounced like 'I don't care'. I pay you to drive, Seen, not chat, so keep your eyes on the road. I don't want to end up dying in a fiery wreck because you were too busy nitpicking my use of the English language." Sean sighed deeply, rolling his eyes in the secure knowledge that even a witch like Jane Maple couldn't see through the back of his head. "Yes, ma'am." "And don't roll your eyes like that - I saw you in the rear view mirror!" "No, ma'am." Sean reached across to the radio and turned it on, hoping to drown out his employer's foul temper. He'd have thought that being invited to a swanky do in a real mansion would sweeten her a little, especially a Halloween bash being held by none other than Doctor Perry Dochs, but she seemed as bitter as ever, if not even more so. He had to wonder why she bothered to turn up if all she was going to do is complain about it; he had to feel sorry for all the others who got invited and lumped in with this sourpuss. 'Talk about a killjoy...' he thought sympathetically. Meanwhile, the radio hissed and crackled as it struggled to find a signal so far away from a mast. 'He shoots, he scor- Cshhhhhhaaa... A wandering minstrel I, a thing of... Cshhhha... gale force eight imminent.' "For God's sake! Turn that thing off!" And for once, Sean was glad to do what she told him to.
  8. Hey guys! Good to see this party's guest list filling up nicely. You can actually have BOTH of your characters marked as killable, but that would put you without any way to play if both of them somehow ended up dead. So making one keepable would insure you always had a hand in the game, so to speak.
  9. Dear [Your Name Here], I, Doctor Perry Dochs, request the pleasure of your company at my manor for a Halloween party on Sunday, October 30th at eight o'clock in the evening. There will be a dinner at nine o'clock before dancing until midnight. Come in costume. Rooms are available overnight on request. Please RSVP by October 20th. Dochs Manor, [insert address here], Scotland You're not sure what, exactly, you did to earn a party invitation from the famous Dr Perry Dochs - adventurer, naturalist, botanist, millionaire eccentric, champion wrestler, tuba player, and Shakespearian actor - but there's no way on Earth you're going to turn it down. You've heard of Dr Doch's amazing parties and his grand mansion, stuffed the gills with beautiful artifacts from his wanderings all over the globe. The stories you've heard of his adventures almost beggar belief and you just know that he has far more exciting tales to tell. Some part of you had always hoped to attend, even if you'd known that there was no hope of being invited. Well, you suppose, that was then and this is now. Maybe he's heard of your achievements and wants to meet you in person, or maybe he'd scouting out members for his next exploring party. You have no doubt that there's going to be some famous faces there and it could be your chance to really put yourself on the map. Now, the only question is: what costume are you going to wear? This is going to be the social event of the year, a party to die for. Perhaps literally... Plot Your cliche 'go to a party and someone dies' story (I love them so much) with maybe a little twist. Who knows. Think Dangan Ronpa but with adults and a Halloween party instead of kids and a school. Or that Hercule Poirot story of the same name. Or Cluedo. Anyway. You're a person highly skilled in and perhaps famous for something - authors, athletes, singers, scientists, whatever - and you've received an invitation to a swanky do at Dr Doch's Scottish mansion. His isolated, out-of-the way mansion in the middle of the countryside, which has no mobile signal (the wi-fi isn't great either) and is only reachable by five and a half miles of lonely one-lane road... But never mind all that, eh? You're here to eat, drink, and be merry, not worry about geography! You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into. Setting Dr Doch's mansion is set miles away from the madding crowd, it's well-tended garden surrounded by a tall stone wall (too tall to climb) and the world kept away by a sturdy wrought iron gate. The garden is generously furnished with trees, bushes, and an ornamental lake sits at the back of the mansion. Staff are sleeping for tonight in a small 'granny annex' in the corner of the garden; they consist of 2 chefs, 2 maids, and 3 waiters. Outside of the wall is miles and miles of heath, sheep, and hills. The nearest town (well, village) is five and a half miles away. Floor Plan - Ground Floor Floor Plan - Upper Floor Rules - DC rules, of course. - Two characters per person. Label them 'keeping' and 'killable' depending on which you see them as. - I'll be playing Dr Dochs, one character, and acting as DM. That means I control NPCs (staff) and will throw puzzles and hazards at you to liven things up (or deaden, as the case may be). - A good mystery is more fun when everyone has something to hide. Giving your characters a secret or a hidden past is a good way of adding tasty drama. As DM, I'd like to know these secrets (don't tell anyone else, though!). - This is all just for fun. So have fun! Form - PM Me! [B]Username:[/B] [b]Name:[/b] [b]Age:[/b] (17+) [b]Looks:[/b] (Remember, it's a fancy Halloween ball! Links to pics accepted.) [b]Personality:[/b] [b]Special Skill:[/b] [b]Other Skills:[/b] [b]Weaknesses:[/b] [b]Kill Or Keep?:[/b] [b]Dark Secret:[/b] Characters Username: Ruins Name: Dr Perry Dochs Age: 57 Looks: Imagine your typical Victorian explorer and there you are. Dr Dochs is a blast from the past, a throwback to another age. He's tall, solid, with a magnificent handlebar moustache and twinkling blue eyes; his dark brown hair, now streaked with grey and white, is cut short and he has a permanent tan. Dochs has scars all over his body, deep laughter lines, and his left index finger is missing. Fittingly, tonight he's dressed as a Victorian adventurer with a pith helmet and all the typical get-up. Personality: Much like his appearance suggests, Dr Dochs is a jovial risk-taker who loves adventure and the thrill of discovery more than anything else. He seems to be channeling the spirit of Brian Blessed at all times; if you tell him a joke, he'll roar with laughter and slap you on the back so hard you might pitch face-first into your dinner. However, Dr Dochs is also an intellectual who knows - and cares - a great deal about the plants and animals of Earth. You might notice there's not a single hunting trophy or animal product in his house. He's also vegetarian. (Some people suspect him of having a deep, dark secret; these types always do.) Special Skill: Being a badass Teddy Roosevelt-esque adventurer. Other Skills: Playing the tuba, acting, swimming, not getting killed. Weaknesses: His age and lifestyle is catching up with him, both physically and mentally. Too fond alcohol for his own good. He takes pills for something, but what? Nobody knows. Username: Ruins Name: Jane Maple Age: 28 Looks: They used to call her 'Plain Jane' at school. She is firmly but not unpleasantly average in height, weight, and looks, with brown eyes, black hair, and a round face. Jane is mixed race (black mother, white father) with brown skin and a corkscrew curl to her neatly bobbed hair. She could be cute or even pretty if she smiled, but Jane always has a look on her face that ranges from sour, mocking, contemptuous, to just plain bored - she can't seem to manage anything more friendly than a sardonic smirk. There's an unhealthy cast to her skin and deep shadows under her eyes. At the party, is dressed as a plague doctor, complete with mask and stick. Personality: Jane is bitter and cynical to the core, unpleasant to anyone and everyone she meets. She delights in playing the gadfly and infuriating others, driving them to fury with a barrage of insults and barbed remarks; nothing escapes her poisoned tongue and nothing seems to please her. She used to be far more pleasant when she first came into the public eye, but the trauma she experienced has taken away her sweetness. They whisper that she has problems with drugs or alcohol and that she's seeing a therapist regularly. Special Skill: Crime fiction author. Jane rose to fame at a young age under the penname Garth Christian, penning gripping and gruesome tales about serial killers and other unpleasant characters. Her most famous creation was the White Rose Butcher, who carved his victims up with professional skill and left a single white rose on their body - sometimes between the teeth, in an empty eye socket, or where their heart used to be. Then, in real life, someone began to copy these murders, killing three before vanishing without a trace. The missing heart, tongue, and eye of the victims were mailed to Jane's home in a neatly wrapped box. Jane retired from the writing business for almost two years, taking up the bottle in place of books, but has recently given up drink and published a short story based on her experiences. Fans hope that this means she will be taking up the pen once more. Other Skills: Intelligent, genre savvy, good memory, keen listener, has learnt self-defense. Weaknesses: Physically unfit, unpleasant personality, suffers from trauma, scared of blood and the dark, can't swim. Username: hjy213 Name: Jamieson Milford Age: 32 Looks: Jamieson has short, light-brown hair that is slicked back, blue eyes (from colored contacts, his real eyes are green), and wears cosmetic glasses. He is a white male, with squarish features, and has a little bit a stubble. He has a perpetual smile on his face that bursts with confidence, and moves with the same amount of confidence. He has a toned body, and is fairly tall at 6’3”. He claims to work out to charm the ladies, but really it’s just to protect himself. To the party, he is dressed as the zombified main character of a movie he worked in, who conveniently has the same looks as him with fake glasses and all. He wears a damaged three piece cream-colored suit, and brown dress shoes, all splattered with blood, prosthetic rotting flesh, and some fake blood gushing out. Glasses Suit Personality: Jamieson is a very gentlemanly person, speaking in a well-mannered way, and with suave. He has a lot of charisma, always one to chat with others, though he always skillfully steers a conversation away from himself. He comes off as friendly while doing this, but usually does so for his own benefit. He can be almost sickeningly cheerful, always trying to put a positive spin on things. Special Skill: Jamieson is a world-class makeup artist, having multiple awards under his belt for his work, especially in murder-mystery movies, being commended for his great work at creating incredibly believable wounds. Other Skills: Great at keeping secrets, incredibly analytical, and trained in hapkido. Weaknesses: Has an intense fear of guns, and has very bad trust issues. Username: hjy213 Name: Joan Jung-eun Park Age: 22 Looks: Joan has long black hair that she keeps up in a ponytail, black eyes, and tanned skin. She wears prescription contact lenses for her eyes, and usually has a Bluetooth earpiece in her ear, even when she cannot contact anyone. To the party, she is dressed as Hong Kil Dong, the Korean Robin Hood, not really caring that it’s a male costume. Personality: Though Joan seems like a very altruistic person, she is a bit of a conniving woman. She enjoys speaking with others, and getting to know people’s stories, going so far as to say that she loves the relationships people have, finding them an important part of life, as she has relied on relationships to get to her position. As a very observant person, Joan will always try to say what will make a person feel better, leading to some very elaborate lies. Special Skill: Joan is a very persuasive young woman, coming off as confident with everything she says, and the reputation to back it as a young genius and entrepreneur. She is known for being an inspirational speaker, the CEO of her own touring company and the granddaughter of a high-ranking Korean diplomat, always knowing exactly what to say to get others to work their hardest. Because she is used to being in front of very large crowds, she is also very good at working under pressure. Other Skills: Joan is a skilled pianist, violinist, debater, and is also a practitioner of kendo, though she is not very skilled due to the lack of free time. Weaknesses: Because Joan is very confident and prepared for various situations, when she comes across something she hasn’t learned of, or doesn’t understand, she can break down in reasoning and confidence, leading to a muddling of knowledge in her head. Username: Mephaesto Name: James Age: 22 Looks: James has an affinity for the older dress styles(e.g. Victorian). He has a boyish face with clean cut black hair. He walks with a cane although he doesn't need one. Ever since he was but 8 years old James has always had a fascination with the fantastical and paranormal. Due to this he began to read every book related to the subject. Seven short years later he dropped out of school and became a paranormal and demonology specialist, a master in his field. He even came to go by the alias Delanotus due to it's mystic nature. If you were to look on the inside of his suit coat you would find a plethora of pentagrams and various spells for exorcising spirits. General Appearance Personality: He is a rather closed off person, not really wanting to interact with others although if he should allow someone into his inner circle he becomes a torrent of knowledge and humor. He is also very smart and intuitive often making conjectures and guesses that seem to magically some true. Special Skill: Master of Demonology and the Paranormal Other Skills: able to fix a lot of problems due to his tinkering habit, able to see very well in the dark, can play the violin Weaknesses: His reliance on the acceptance of others is crippling; if someone should outright show their disdain with him he would mentally "shut down." Username: Chrysophylox Name: Aya "Bird" Quinn Age: 23 Looks: Aya was born with platinum blond hair that he dyed light pink with bright red streaks. He usually puts it up in twintails. He's bigender and swaps between identifying as a boy and a girl, and he grew his hair long enough to reach his chest so it would be easier for him to flip between his two genders. His eyes are hazel and can change from green, blue, to a golden brown depending on the lighting. He has a slim figure, but underneath his drapey clothes are still some firm muscles from his years of dancing. He stands at 5'3" (160 cm). His costume is a flowing, black gown with a large feather collar. He has gold eye makeup on and glossy black nail polish. Personality: Aya is a complete flirt, able to strike up a conversation with almost anyone--everyone if he really tries, but he usually doesn't. Aya likes to take risks, usually the first one to jump at the opportunity for an adventure. He doesn't have a very good sense of self control, however, and so he tends to end up in situations that he could have avoided entirely. He doesn't care much for other people's feelings, and he'll say things as they come to mind; he's not entirely tactless, but he doesn't believe in "coddling" people by sugarcoating words. He's also very arrogant and loves to be the center of attention; he hates being ignored. He could be seen as selfish and rude, as a result. Special Skill: Aya is the leader of a dance duo known as Phoenix Rain. The duo is quite well-known, with millions of followers and subscribers all over social media. Other Skills: Near perfect eyesight. Parkour. Quick wit. Sharp, possibly venomous, tongue. Weaknesses: Hot people. Very arrogant. Doesn't care for other people's feelings and can't make or keep many friends as a result. Easily insulted and easily insults people. All-around ***hole? Almost drowned when he was a child and has a fear of large bodies of water, including swimming pools. Username: Chrysophylox Name: Zephyr Hashan Age: 22 Looks: Zephyr has dark skin and glossy black hair. His hair runs down to his chin, and he has a messy fringe as well. He has dark blue eyes and a pair of red half-rimmed glasses. He's more visibly muscular than Aya, but still quite thin. He stands at 5'10" (180 cm). His costume is quite simple, consisting of a white button-down shirt, the top two buttons of which are undone, and a pair of white rolled-up slacks. He has a pair of white angel wings, one of which is loosely wrapped in bandages at the base. The other wing looks like it's been torn out, as the only sign it was ever there is a cluster of feathers. He wears silver contacts, with silver makeup on his right eye. Personality: Zephyr is shy and very introverted, but he talks much more when he's around Aya. He hates the unknown, and he almost never takes risks. He's easy to convince, though, so he often ends up being talked into things that he then ends up being very unhappy about and complains to Aya about. He's very understanding and easy to talk to, despite how socially awkward and anxious he seems. He loves daydreaming, and his short attention span means he often drifts off in the middle of a conversation and loses his train of thought. He doesn't seem to have a lot of interests, only forcing himself to be energetic during performances. Special Skill: Zephyr is the other member of Phoenix Rain. Other Skills: Figure skating. Quick reflexes. Very flexible. Weaknesses: Nearsighted. Weak-willed. Has some form of anxiety disorder. Very afraid of the dark.
  10. Damien couldn't help but grin wryly at the similarities between their tales. He turned the dragon-bat's (bat-dragon's) words over in his head, comparing it to what he knew of the world. Dragons did live a long time, he knew that, but Damien wasn't sure what Batty meant by 'food source'. Damien knew all too well that many non-humans had a taste for human flesh. It may not be human beings, but it would play to be on his guard nonetheless. "I don't think that would work. I've lived as a wanderer for long enough to know his type - they're so full of fear there's no room in them for any other feeling. And there's nothing more dangerous than a scared, cornered animal - especially a dragon. I've heard of dragons defending the capital during the Cousin's War, stirring up thunderstorms and bolts of lighting." Damien mused. He looked around the room, at all of the crowds filing their way into the door and thought about the promise that this place had offered. "Did you hear, earlier? Or see the slab? They say that this place could grant our wildest dreams? It smells too much of fae-folk for me to trust it, but... if it's true, what it says, then that could be the cure. For both of us."
  11. Damien looked around at the... Actually, he didn't know what it was. What was it, even? A bat? A dragon? Both? Neither? He had no idea how he hadn't noticed something so strange hanging around before. He sniffled wetly, wiping tears off his cheeks with a filthy sleeve. For a second he weighed up the possible benefits of entrusting his story and his woes to another stranger - especially given the disappointment he'd just had - but the temptation to complain about life won out. "This! This is what's wrong!" He poked a finger at the discoloured veins that spread across his face, then at the wood-like flesh that had crept across his arm and torso. "I have been cursed with this contagion ever since some beast infected me with it's venom. It grows, it never stops, and... It hurts. It hurts so much. I was told that that... winged newt of a dragon could help me but all it does is run! Now I'll never be cured. I'd be better off dead." ((Wangst, wangst, wangst.))
  12. I noted Batty's presence, decided to let ES react before I did anything, then plum managed to forget about his presence (my eyes must have skipped over that post) when I finally made my post. I'm a scatterbrain. Sorry about that.
  13. Technically, yes. But I've only had two people express interest and I'm waiting on characters from one of them (no rush, if they're reading). Whether it'll get started and actually become something is another question entirely.
  14. This room shall cease to exist within one hour and those unfortunate enough to be trapped in it will most certainly die. One hour? Good. Damien could wait. After all, what was one hour compared to two years? He sat tight were he was, sobbing silently as tears run down his face. It was pointless, hopeless. He hated being alive. He hated this place with its magic doors and the lies it fed into his head of hope and possibility. Never hope, that's what his years on the road had taught him. Never hope; hope is a lie. The only things in his future if he carried on living were pain, madness, and death. It would have been better for everyone if his parents had put him down like a rabid dog when he'd first been infected. "An hour? An hour?" he called out to nobody in particular. "Why wait? Kill me now and have done with it! Kill me now and let the Exalted Four take my sorry soul to rest!"
  15. What could anyone want with the Soulpeace whose magic kills instead od healing...? I'm no "Divine" - I'm a monster. Damien frowned. The word 'Soulpeace' (or was it Soulpiece? He couldn't tell) meant nothing to him at all, but he understood the killing magic part. "I'm sorry, but I don't know what you- Wait! Come back! I swore on my soul that I wasn't going to hurt you!" he managed to blurt out before the dragon turned and ran away. Again. It vanished behind a knot of people and Damien lowered his hand with a sigh; he winced when he heard a distant thud, almost as if it had ran into something. There was no good in chasing after it. He knew that he wouldn't have reacted well to someone chasing him when he was in that state. Dragons could breath fire, ice, or lightning, and he didn't like the idea of being attacked with any of them. "If he can't cure me, nobody can... I'll be stick with this curse forever." Damien murmured, feeling tears well up in his eyes. All of that searching, all of that pain... It was for nothing at all. He was doomed. At a loss for what to do and overwhelmed with despair, Damien sat down and started to weep bitterly.
  16. It means 'to possess a large purple dinosaur'. But, yes. I am very English. Tea and crumpets, God save the Queen, wot wot. *adjusts top hat*
  17. As far as I can tell, Damien chatted to Laloch before she left; now he and ES are talking. Laloch and Mygon went into a room through a door and are having a barney about things.
  18. Damien eyed the dragon as it flared up and looked around, clearly sizing up its chances to escape. He raised his free hand in a pacifying manner, tucking his scythe behind him as best he could; he knew lugging a weapon like that around wasn't giving out the best impression, but he wasn't willing to leave it behind. Danger could strike at any moment. To be honest, he wasn't entirely sure that Laloch hadn't led him into a trap for her own amusement. "Look, mister... Or miss... Dragon. I'm not here to hurt you. I swear on the Stag and my eternal soul." he said in a low voice, trying to sound as harmless as possible. "I..." He sighed deeply, feeling very tired all of a sudden. "I don't even know where I am, who you are, or what's going on. You're nothing like an dragon I've ever seen before - and neither is that Laloch lady, and she said she was a dragon, too. You're not even anything like each other. I just want to get a cure for my sickness and go home to my parents."
  19. I'm waiting for ES to respond to Damien talking to them.
  20. "Damien...yes? You may know me as 'Laloch Mahmet'su', or simply Laloch. I'm certain...we will meet again." Damien nodded as she turned away, memorising the name. As for meeting again, he wasn't sure about that. He rarely saw anyone he'd met in the last two years again; though that was mostly because he left them, not they him. Although, looking around the room of doors he wasn't sure that they had any other choice - the white dragon had tried to leave and the door repelled him, so it was clear that whoever or whatever was responsible for this place would control their comings and goings. This place was looking more and more like a trap. He considered what she'd said as he headed towards the so-called Divine dragon. He'd never heard of a Manakete before and part of him wondered if she'd made it up to make him leave her alone. The dragon that he'd met looked nothing like either of them - he'd had scales and horns, and his eyes were the colour of fire. Maybe they were some sort of dragon he'd never heard of before. Damien wasn't exactly an expert on the subject, after all. Damien stopped a few feet away from the white dragon, clearing his throat to catch its attention. "Excuse me?" he said quietly, trying his best not to look threatening. "I was told you could help me..."
  21. Damien looked around the 'Divine' that the woman had mentioned, his eyes coming to rest on the panicky lizard-thing as it continued to skitter around in its haphazard way. It was shouting about them wanting to hurt it now, telling them to go away. It almost sounded like him - he had said those words, or variations on them, many times before. Although he had deep doubts that anything like that could be described as Divine, he felt a stab of sympathy for the creature. It was alone and scared. He knew all to well what that felt like. Even if it was a monster, the very reason that he was alone and scared in the first place. He turned back to the woman as she asked for his name. Damien had heard her say something about 'pure lineage' but didn't think much of it. Aristocrats were always a bit funny like that. Except... He frowned as a memory came back to him, a memory of a man with horns and scales who could call down a thunderstorm at will. A man who sometimes wore wings on his back... "Damien Hurnst." he said, biting his bottom lip. "Excuse me, but... Are you a dragon? Is... that a dragon? I've never heard of a Divine dragon before..." ((The man is another OC of mine, who's not in this RP.))
  22. Mine is on rotation and has a lot of my favourite fandoms in it... And one I'm not in anymore (Doctor Who). But I can't be bothered to change it.
  23. ((Damien did yell at ES but someone else got his full attention before they could interact.))
  24. "What have you weathered, traveler, to find you in such a state?" Damien realised with a start that the words were directed at him. He looked at the one who spoke with some alarm, opening and shutting his mouth as he tried to work out how to respond; his lips trembled and his brow furrowed in thought. What did this winged woman want from him? People had approached him in the past, during his search for a cure, but most came out of anger and to tell him to leave. Others wanted to rob him of what little he had, or use him for their cruel sports and mockery. But the worst was the ones who pitied him and wanted to help the poor, pathetic beggar man they saw shivering by the roadside. The ones who reminded him of how far he had fallen. Oh, he wasn't so proud as to throw any aid back in the faces of the few he managed to trust, but it still stung. He swallowed, his mouth dry, and finally found the words to speak - though his voice was still quiet. "I was searching for a cure for my sickness. I have travelled for two years and found nothing." he muttered, his grip tight against his scythe to stop his hands from trembling. Damien hated telling his story, but it was better than being run out of town as a leper. "I was bitten by a monster in the forest and the venom... It spreads. Nothing can stop it."