In another world, another plane, a figure disappears, leaving nothing but blood-slick earth and a steel tipped feather behind.
Entropy.
A person appears. An elf. She has bags beneath her eyes, long dark hair, and eyes as black as death. In her hand she clutches a staff.
The staff is a simple affair, an black iron rod topped by a crescent of sharp, polished black steel. It clicks quietly against the ground as its wielder moves slowly across the earth towards the tavern.
The elf stumbles halfway there, her hand flying up to a gash across her torso. It leaks black blood. She lifts the blood up, staring at it intently. The staff pulses with a dark mist, and the wound closes slightly.
Lowering her hand, she continues to close the gulf between her and the tavern.
Lysander waves to her. "You okay? Need help?"
"I am fine, Orakliir."
"I see... May I have a name?"
"I assume you do. Orakliir is merely the category for ones such as you: that is, ones who should, by the natural order, be dead."
"And why have I been judged to be dead?"
"By all rights you should be dead. You have died multiple times. But every time, a higher entity intervened... so you are not an Arvlandiir."
"Do you view the works of the Judge not worthy?"
Her face twists in contempt. "No being should decide when one should die. That is the decision of nature alone."
"Um... Yes, exactly."
She tilts her head, looking at him. "What?"
"What is your position on the judging of life and death?"
"On what happens after death? I have no opinion, and I couldn't care less."
"No, I mean on who should die?"
"Everyone should die, eventually."
"And who should decided when they die?"
"The Cycle."
"Not nature?"
"Is that not what I said? The Cycle is pure nature. Beyond anything else."
"And the Judge is nature as well."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Hi everyone! I'm working up the will to finalize my signature, so... I guess this will be the signature for now
In another world, another plane, a figure disappears, leaving nothing but blood-slick earth and a steel tipped feather behind.
Entropy.
A person appears. An elf. She has bags beneath her eyes, long dark hair, and eyes as black as death. In her hand she clutches a staff.
The staff is a simple affair, an black iron rod topped by a crescent of sharp, polished black steel. It clicks quietly against the ground as its wielder moves slowly across the earth towards the tavern.
The elf stumbles halfway there, her hand flying up to a gash across her torso. It leaks black blood. She lifts the blood up, staring at it intently. The staff pulses with a dark mist, and the wound closes slightly.
Lowering her hand, she continues to close the gulf between her and the tavern.
Thaemrys watches from next to a tree near the tavern. *is there any death or undeath with this character?*
*She radiates necromancy, but is not dead. Also, does Thaemrys have truesight?*
*No, just a feel for death in general, also meant to type The Reaper, even though Thaemrys is their name.*
They stare at the person, moving their head with the person's movements.
The elf stops moving. "Who are you?" She doesn't turn her head, but it seems she is watching.
"I should ask the same, along with what exactly do you do with the dead?"
"I am the killer, the one who ensures no one cheats death. I fought with Jergal, bled with Jergal, and was betrayed by Jergal. I am the Angel." The staff pulses.
They kneel, knowing they are below the one they talk to "I am a Reaper, one who ensures souls get to Fugue Plane, & devoted to Kelemvor."
The elf smiles bitterly. "I have no rank any longer. I merely try to complete the mission I was given, even though none know of me any longer."
They get up, "Could I get an explanation?"
"On what?"
"On what happened to lose your rank." No judgement is in their voice, no disdain, or nothing negative, just curiosity.
"I was betrayed. My master, my friend, abdicated his throne and left me. I would not let those disrespectful younglings command me, so I left."
"So you lost it when Myrkul claimed throne?"
"Yes. Myrkul would have sent me to eliminate those who did not deserve death, not yet, and held me back from my sacred duty. When I left, I lost much of my power, but in a way it was preferable to what would have been."
"He was a disgrace to the throne."
"Agreed." She spits on the ground, grimacing. The staff pulses and dark mist pours off it.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Proud member of the Spider's Guild (y'all should join!)!
Join Cafe [Redacted], people! I play Treble in it. Isn't SCP stuff awesome?
*I kinda imagined her automatically letting them ride on her back.* "Sure!" She stops for a moment.
*Well you don't want to jump to conclusions, especially with dragons* "Thanks!" Gwen says, mounting them
She takes off back to the tavern.
Gwen gets off. "Ready?"
"YES!"
Gwen turns to Lumen, and plants her feet and lets out a roar. From her mouth a dazzling and disorienting stream of prismatic and iridescent... gas? smoke? air?
*Int Save*
6
They would of taken 38 psychic damage. The must subtract a d6 from any attack roll or ability check for the next minute or so.
Lumen freezes then slowly topples. "Brain freeze..."
Gwen rights her and sets her down gently. It will pass in a bit
O-O-OK.....
Gwen waits for a bit. How does it feel?
BRAIN. FREEZE.
Gwen, not know what to do, gently pets Lumen
Lumen just lies there, frozen.
Gwen waits for the minute to pass
Lumen slowly stirs. "Mwaaaaaa......."
"Need some food?"
"Yes..."
They get some cupcakes. "Want some? Or something else?"
"Yes!" Lumen gobbles hers down.
"Feeling better?"
In answer, she starts writing down the experience.
Gwen looks over, seeing what she is writing
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Hi everyone! I'm working up the will to finalize my signature, so... I guess this will be the signature for now
In another world, another plane, a figure disappears, leaving nothing but blood-slick earth and a steel tipped feather behind.
Entropy.
A person appears. An elf. She has bags beneath her eyes, long dark hair, and eyes as black as death. In her hand she clutches a staff.
The staff is a simple affair, an black iron rod topped by a crescent of sharp, polished black steel. It clicks quietly against the ground as its wielder moves slowly across the earth towards the tavern.
The elf stumbles halfway there, her hand flying up to a gash across her torso. It leaks black blood. She lifts the blood up, staring at it intently. The staff pulses with a dark mist, and the wound closes slightly.
Lowering her hand, she continues to close the gulf between her and the tavern.
Lysander waves to her. "You okay? Need help?"
"I am fine, Orakliir."
"I see... May I have a name?"
"I assume you do. Orakliir is merely the category for ones such as you: that is, ones who should, by the natural order, be dead."
"And why have I been judged to be dead?"
"By all rights you should be dead. You have died multiple times. But every time, a higher entity intervened... so you are not an Arvlandiir."
"Do you view the works of the Judge not worthy?"
Her face twists in contempt. "No being should decide when one should die. That is the decision of nature alone."
"Um... Yes, exactly."
She tilts her head, looking at him. "What?"
"What is your position on the judging of life and death?"
"On what happens after death? I have no opinion, and I couldn't care less."
"No, I mean on who should die?"
"Everyone should die, eventually."
"And who should decided when they die?"
"The Cycle."
"Not nature?"
"Is that not what I said? The Cycle is pure nature. Beyond anything else."
"And the Judge is nature as well."
"Mm. If you wish to believe that, then I will not disabuse you of that notion."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Proud member of the Spider's Guild (y'all should join!)!
Join Cafe [Redacted], people! I play Treble in it. Isn't SCP stuff awesome?
In another world, another plane, a figure disappears, leaving nothing but blood-slick earth and a steel tipped feather behind.
Entropy.
A person appears. An elf. She has bags beneath her eyes, long dark hair, and eyes as black as death. In her hand she clutches a staff.
The staff is a simple affair, an black iron rod topped by a crescent of sharp, polished black steel. It clicks quietly against the ground as its wielder moves slowly across the earth towards the tavern.
The elf stumbles halfway there, her hand flying up to a gash across her torso. It leaks black blood. She lifts the blood up, staring at it intently. The staff pulses with a dark mist, and the wound closes slightly.
Lowering her hand, she continues to close the gulf between her and the tavern.
Lysander waves to her. "You okay? Need help?"
"I am fine, Orakliir."
"I see... May I have a name?"
"I assume you do. Orakliir is merely the category for ones such as you: that is, ones who should, by the natural order, be dead."
"And why have I been judged to be dead?"
"By all rights you should be dead. You have died multiple times. But every time, a higher entity intervened... so you are not an Arvlandiir."
"Do you view the works of the Judge not worthy?"
Her face twists in contempt. "No being should decide when one should die. That is the decision of nature alone."
"Um... Yes, exactly."
She tilts her head, looking at him. "What?"
"What is your position on the judging of life and death?"
"On what happens after death? I have no opinion, and I couldn't care less."
"No, I mean on who should die?"
"Everyone should die, eventually."
"And who should decided when they die?"
"The Cycle."
"Not nature?"
"Is that not what I said? The Cycle is pure nature. Beyond anything else."
"And the Judge is nature as well."
"Mm. If you wish to believe that, then I will not disabuse you of that notion."
"Good. Now, what should I refer to you as?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Hi everyone! I'm working up the will to finalize my signature, so... I guess this will be the signature for now
*I kinda imagined her automatically letting them ride on her back.* "Sure!" She stops for a moment.
*Well you don't want to jump to conclusions, especially with dragons* "Thanks!" Gwen says, mounting them
She takes off back to the tavern.
Gwen gets off. "Ready?"
"YES!"
Gwen turns to Lumen, and plants her feet and lets out a roar. From her mouth a dazzling and disorienting stream of prismatic and iridescent... gas? smoke? air?
*Int Save*
6
They would of taken 38 psychic damage. The must subtract a d6 from any attack roll or ability check for the next minute or so.
Lumen freezes then slowly topples. "Brain freeze..."
Gwen rights her and sets her down gently. It will pass in a bit
O-O-OK.....
Gwen waits for a bit. How does it feel?
BRAIN. FREEZE.
Gwen, not know what to do, gently pets Lumen
Lumen just lies there, frozen.
Gwen waits for the minute to pass
Lumen slowly stirs. "Mwaaaaaa......."
"Need some food?"
"Yes..."
They get some cupcakes. "Want some? Or something else?"
"Yes!" Lumen gobbles hers down.
"Feeling better?"
In answer, she starts writing down the experience.
Gwen looks over, seeing what she is writing
A comprehensive journal of what the experience felt like.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Proud member of the Spider's Guild (y'all should join!)!
Join Cafe [Redacted], people! I play Treble in it. Isn't SCP stuff awesome?
In another world, another plane, a figure disappears, leaving nothing but blood-slick earth and a steel tipped feather behind.
Entropy.
A person appears. An elf. She has bags beneath her eyes, long dark hair, and eyes as black as death. In her hand she clutches a staff.
The staff is a simple affair, an black iron rod topped by a crescent of sharp, polished black steel. It clicks quietly against the ground as its wielder moves slowly across the earth towards the tavern.
The elf stumbles halfway there, her hand flying up to a gash across her torso. It leaks black blood. She lifts the blood up, staring at it intently. The staff pulses with a dark mist, and the wound closes slightly.
Lowering her hand, she continues to close the gulf between her and the tavern.
Lysander waves to her. "You okay? Need help?"
"I am fine, Orakliir."
"I see... May I have a name?"
"I assume you do. Orakliir is merely the category for ones such as you: that is, ones who should, by the natural order, be dead."
"And why have I been judged to be dead?"
"By all rights you should be dead. You have died multiple times. But every time, a higher entity intervened... so you are not an Arvlandiir."
"Do you view the works of the Judge not worthy?"
Her face twists in contempt. "No being should decide when one should die. That is the decision of nature alone."
"Um... Yes, exactly."
She tilts her head, looking at him. "What?"
"What is your position on the judging of life and death?"
"On what happens after death? I have no opinion, and I couldn't care less."
"No, I mean on who should die?"
"Everyone should die, eventually."
"And who should decided when they die?"
"The Cycle."
"Not nature?"
"Is that not what I said? The Cycle is pure nature. Beyond anything else."
"And the Judge is nature as well."
"Mm. If you wish to believe that, then I will not disabuse you of that notion."
"Good. Now, what should I refer to you as?"
"I am the Angel of Death, although you may refer to me as the Angel, or just Angel."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Proud member of the Spider's Guild (y'all should join!)!
Join Cafe [Redacted], people! I play Treble in it. Isn't SCP stuff awesome?
*I just love it when theres something you have to randomly do around the house, and for some reason it takes 10x longer than it should.*
Sharlene is chilling on a couch, drinking.
V is sitting on the roof.
Wolfe is playing her guitar to herself at a table while drinking.
Iralias is sitting on a low branch of a tree near the tavern, playing his guitar and humming to himself.
Yazrin is practicing on the dummies outside.
[Open Slot]
*Already got V in two different interactions right now, sooo...*
Wolfe stops to take a break, taking her drink outside.
Iralias notices her from his perch in the tree and smiles slightly. He continues playing and humming, not really caring if she hears or not; simply playing for the joy of it.
She climbs up to the roof, takes the final sip from her current bottle, and starts playing to herself on the roof.
He smiles a little more, but continues playing, not exactly trying to draw attention to himself, but not trying to hide either.
Wolfe is basically doing the same, just in her way by playing this.
Eventually his seemingly random strummings and humming coalesces into this as he starts to sing quietly.
She glances over to him, getting distracted. She seemed to sigh and stood up, moving to a different area of the roof farther away from him.
He chuckles slightly when he finishes the song. Her writes something on a note that Orchid takes and flies over to Wolfe. She sets it on the roof next to her before flying off again. Iralias goes back to playing quietly, eventually settling on this.
Wolfe rolled her eyes and picked up the note, reading it.
Sorry if I disturbed you Wolfe. Just practicing a bit, and I'm trying to keep it quiet so I don't disturb you.
Iralias.
She pinched her nose and just threw the note away, going back to playing her guitar a bit.
Iralias watched this, and sighs, settling for simply strumming his guitar and humming again.
Wolfe eventually settles on playing this to herself.
Iralias smiles slightly and switches gears, playing this more to himself than anyone.
In another world, another plane, a figure disappears, leaving nothing but blood-slick earth and a steel tipped feather behind.
Entropy.
A person appears. An elf. She has bags beneath her eyes, long dark hair, and eyes as black as death. In her hand she clutches a staff.
The staff is a simple affair, an black iron rod topped by a crescent of sharp, polished black steel. It clicks quietly against the ground as its wielder moves slowly across the earth towards the tavern.
The elf stumbles halfway there, her hand flying up to a gash across her torso. It leaks black blood. She lifts the blood up, staring at it intently. The staff pulses with a dark mist, and the wound closes slightly.
Lowering her hand, she continues to close the gulf between her and the tavern.
Thaemrys watches from next to a tree near the tavern. *is there any death or undeath with this character?*
*She radiates necromancy, but is not dead. Also, does Thaemrys have truesight?*
*No, just a feel for death in general, also meant to type The Reaper, even though Thaemrys is their name.*
They stare at the person, moving their head with the person's movements.
The elf stops moving. "Who are you?" She doesn't turn her head, but it seems she is watching.
"I should ask the same, along with what exactly do you do with the dead?"
"I am the killer, the one who ensures no one cheats death. I fought with Jergal, bled with Jergal, and was betrayed by Jergal. I am the Angel." The staff pulses.
They kneel, knowing they are below the one they talk to "I am a Reaper, one who ensures souls get to Fugue Plane, & devoted to Kelemvor."
The elf smiles bitterly. "I have no rank any longer. I merely try to complete the mission I was given, even though none know of me any longer."
They get up, "Could I get an explanation?"
"On what?"
"On what happened to lose your rank." No judgement is in their voice, no disdain, or nothing negative, just curiosity.
"I was betrayed. My master, my friend, abdicated his throne and left me. I would not let those disrespectful younglings command me, so I left."
"So you lost it when Myrkul claimed throne?"
"Yes. Myrkul would have sent me to eliminate those who did not deserve death, not yet, and held me back from my sacred duty. When I left, I lost much of my power, but in a way it was preferable to what would have been."
"He was a disgrace to the throne."
"Agreed." She spits on the ground, grimacing. The staff pulses and dark mist pours off it.
In another world, another plane, a figure disappears, leaving nothing but blood-slick earth and a steel tipped feather behind.
Entropy.
A person appears. An elf. She has bags beneath her eyes, long dark hair, and eyes as black as death. In her hand she clutches a staff.
The staff is a simple affair, an black iron rod topped by a crescent of sharp, polished black steel. It clicks quietly against the ground as its wielder moves slowly across the earth towards the tavern.
The elf stumbles halfway there, her hand flying up to a gash across her torso. It leaks black blood. She lifts the blood up, staring at it intently. The staff pulses with a dark mist, and the wound closes slightly.
Lowering her hand, she continues to close the gulf between her and the tavern.
Lysander waves to her. "You okay? Need help?"
"I am fine, Orakliir."
"I see... May I have a name?"
"I assume you do. Orakliir is merely the category for ones such as you: that is, ones who should, by the natural order, be dead."
"And why have I been judged to be dead?"
"By all rights you should be dead. You have died multiple times. But every time, a higher entity intervened... so you are not an Arvlandiir."
"Do you view the works of the Judge not worthy?"
Her face twists in contempt. "No being should decide when one should die. That is the decision of nature alone."
"Um... Yes, exactly."
She tilts her head, looking at him. "What?"
"What is your position on the judging of life and death?"
"On what happens after death? I have no opinion, and I couldn't care less."
"No, I mean on who should die?"
"Everyone should die, eventually."
"And who should decided when they die?"
"The Cycle."
"Not nature?"
"Is that not what I said? The Cycle is pure nature. Beyond anything else."
"And the Judge is nature as well."
"Mm. If you wish to believe that, then I will not disabuse you of that notion."
"Good. Now, what should I refer to you as?"
"I am the Angel of Death, although you may refer to me as the Angel, or just Angel."
"Nice to meet you. What brings you to Entropy?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Hi everyone! I'm working up the will to finalize my signature, so... I guess this will be the signature for now
*I kinda imagined her automatically letting them ride on her back.* "Sure!" She stops for a moment.
*Well you don't want to jump to conclusions, especially with dragons* "Thanks!" Gwen says, mounting them
She takes off back to the tavern.
Gwen gets off. "Ready?"
"YES!"
Gwen turns to Lumen, and plants her feet and lets out a roar. From her mouth a dazzling and disorienting stream of prismatic and iridescent... gas? smoke? air?
*Int Save*
6
They would of taken 38 psychic damage. The must subtract a d6 from any attack roll or ability check for the next minute or so.
Lumen freezes then slowly topples. "Brain freeze..."
Gwen rights her and sets her down gently. It will pass in a bit
O-O-OK.....
Gwen waits for a bit. How does it feel?
BRAIN. FREEZE.
Gwen, not know what to do, gently pets Lumen
Lumen just lies there, frozen.
Gwen waits for the minute to pass
Lumen slowly stirs. "Mwaaaaaa......."
"Need some food?"
"Yes..."
They get some cupcakes. "Want some? Or something else?"
"Yes!" Lumen gobbles hers down.
"Feeling better?"
In answer, she starts writing down the experience.
Gwen looks over, seeing what she is writing
A comprehensive journal of what the experience felt like.
"Did you like it? Sorry if I hurt you forever."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Hi everyone! I'm working up the will to finalize my signature, so... I guess this will be the signature for now
In another world, another plane, a figure disappears, leaving nothing but blood-slick earth and a steel tipped feather behind.
Entropy.
A person appears. An elf. She has bags beneath her eyes, long dark hair, and eyes as black as death. In her hand she clutches a staff.
The staff is a simple affair, an black iron rod topped by a crescent of sharp, polished black steel. It clicks quietly against the ground as its wielder moves slowly across the earth towards the tavern.
The elf stumbles halfway there, her hand flying up to a gash across her torso. It leaks black blood. She lifts the blood up, staring at it intently. The staff pulses with a dark mist, and the wound closes slightly.
Lowering her hand, she continues to close the gulf between her and the tavern.
Thaemrys watches from next to a tree near the tavern. *is there any death or undeath with this character?*
*She radiates necromancy, but is not dead. Also, does Thaemrys have truesight?*
*No, just a feel for death in general, also meant to type The Reaper, even though Thaemrys is their name.*
They stare at the person, moving their head with the person's movements.
The elf stops moving. "Who are you?" She doesn't turn her head, but it seems she is watching.
"I should ask the same, along with what exactly do you do with the dead?"
"I am the killer, the one who ensures no one cheats death. I fought with Jergal, bled with Jergal, and was betrayed by Jergal. I am the Angel." The staff pulses.
They kneel, knowing they are below the one they talk to "I am a Reaper, one who ensures souls get to Fugue Plane, & devoted to Kelemvor."
The elf smiles bitterly. "I have no rank any longer. I merely try to complete the mission I was given, even though none know of me any longer."
They get up, "Could I get an explanation?"
"On what?"
"On what happened to lose your rank." No judgement is in their voice, no disdain, or nothing negative, just curiosity.
"I was betrayed. My master, my friend, abdicated his throne and left me. I would not let those disrespectful younglings command me, so I left."
"So you lost it when Myrkul claimed throne?"
"Yes. Myrkul would have sent me to eliminate those who did not deserve death, not yet, and held me back from my sacred duty. When I left, I lost much of my power, but in a way it was preferable to what would have been."
"He was a disgrace to the throne."
"Agreed." She spits on the ground, grimacing. The staff pulses and dark mist pours off it.
"So your mission would be?" They say, moving on.
"Right now? Rest and recuperation." She motions to the wound.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Proud member of the Spider's Guild (y'all should join!)!
Join Cafe [Redacted], people! I play Treble in it. Isn't SCP stuff awesome?
*I just love it when theres something you have to randomly do around the house, and for some reason it takes 10x longer than it should.*
Sharlene is chilling on a couch, drinking.
V is sitting on the roof.
Wolfe is playing her guitar to herself at a table while drinking.
Iralias is sitting on a low branch of a tree near the tavern, playing his guitar and humming to himself.
Yazrin is practicing on the dummies outside.
[Open Slot]
*Already got V in two different interactions right now, sooo...*
Wolfe stops to take a break, taking her drink outside.
Iralias notices her from his perch in the tree and smiles slightly. He continues playing and humming, not really caring if she hears or not; simply playing for the joy of it.
She climbs up to the roof, takes the final sip from her current bottle, and starts playing to herself on the roof.
He smiles a little more, but continues playing, not exactly trying to draw attention to himself, but not trying to hide either.
Wolfe is basically doing the same, just in her way by playing this.
Eventually his seemingly random strummings and humming coalesces into this as he starts to sing quietly.
She glances over to him, getting distracted. She seemed to sigh and stood up, moving to a different area of the roof farther away from him.
He chuckles slightly when he finishes the song. Her writes something on a note that Orchid takes and flies over to Wolfe. She sets it on the roof next to her before flying off again. Iralias goes back to playing quietly, eventually settling on this.
Wolfe rolled her eyes and picked up the note, reading it.
Sorry if I disturbed you Wolfe. Just practicing a bit, and I'm trying to keep it quiet so I don't disturb you.
Iralias.
She pinched her nose and just threw the note away, going back to playing her guitar a bit.
Iralias watched this, and sighs, settling for simply strumming his guitar and humming again.
Wolfe eventually settles on playing this to herself.
Iralias smiles slightly and switches gears, playing this more to himself than anyone.
*Unavailable.*
Wolfe eventually gets bored and jumps off the roof, walking around a bit.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Want a place to roleplay in your spare time? Here:Lord'sRestInn
Please don't hide your imperfections, if one part is beautiful, it all is.
In another world, another plane, a figure disappears, leaving nothing but blood-slick earth and a steel tipped feather behind.
Entropy.
A person appears. An elf. She has bags beneath her eyes, long dark hair, and eyes as black as death. In her hand she clutches a staff.
The staff is a simple affair, an black iron rod topped by a crescent of sharp, polished black steel. It clicks quietly against the ground as its wielder moves slowly across the earth towards the tavern.
The elf stumbles halfway there, her hand flying up to a gash across her torso. It leaks black blood. She lifts the blood up, staring at it intently. The staff pulses with a dark mist, and the wound closes slightly.
Lowering her hand, she continues to close the gulf between her and the tavern.
Lysander waves to her. "You okay? Need help?"
"I am fine, Orakliir."
"I see... May I have a name?"
"I assume you do. Orakliir is merely the category for ones such as you: that is, ones who should, by the natural order, be dead."
"And why have I been judged to be dead?"
"By all rights you should be dead. You have died multiple times. But every time, a higher entity intervened... so you are not an Arvlandiir."
"Do you view the works of the Judge not worthy?"
Her face twists in contempt. "No being should decide when one should die. That is the decision of nature alone."
"Um... Yes, exactly."
She tilts her head, looking at him. "What?"
"What is your position on the judging of life and death?"
"On what happens after death? I have no opinion, and I couldn't care less."
"No, I mean on who should die?"
"Everyone should die, eventually."
"And who should decided when they die?"
"The Cycle."
"Not nature?"
"Is that not what I said? The Cycle is pure nature. Beyond anything else."
"And the Judge is nature as well."
"Mm. If you wish to believe that, then I will not disabuse you of that notion."
"Good. Now, what should I refer to you as?"
"I am the Angel of Death, although you may refer to me as the Angel, or just Angel."
"Nice to meet you. What brings you to Entropy?"
"Rest and recuperation."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Proud member of the Spider's Guild (y'all should join!)!
Join Cafe [Redacted], people! I play Treble in it. Isn't SCP stuff awesome?
"And the Judge is nature as well."
Hi everyone! I'm working up the will to finalize my signature, so... I guess this will be the signature for now
" . . .alright, but if anythings happens, I don't know what I'll do." She snuggles close.
She/They/it
Keep in mind I'm in the UK so my time zone's GMT.
Definitely not an undead.
"Agreed." She spits on the ground, grimacing. The staff pulses and dark mist pours off it.
Proud member of the Spider's Guild (y'all should join!)!
Join Cafe [Redacted], people! I play Treble in it. Isn't SCP stuff awesome?
Harry Potter stuff is cool.
Homebrew: The BloodBorn; GemBlade Soldiers; Soldier of The Silver Armies. (Comments, Improvements?)
Life is okay, but who knows how long that will last.
They summon wings to be a blanket underneath them. "Just wait. I always reawake." He responds, wrapping their arm around her
Hi everyone! I'm working up the will to finalize my signature, so... I guess this will be the signature for now
"Woah, who named you? I'll definitely be going with V."
She/They/it
Keep in mind I'm in the UK so my time zone's GMT.
Definitely not an undead.
Hi everyone! I'm working up the will to finalize my signature, so... I guess this will be the signature for now
"Mm. If you wish to believe that, then I will not disabuse you of that notion."
Proud member of the Spider's Guild (y'all should join!)!
Join Cafe [Redacted], people! I play Treble in it. Isn't SCP stuff awesome?
Harry Potter stuff is cool.
Homebrew: The BloodBorn; GemBlade Soldiers; Soldier of The Silver Armies. (Comments, Improvements?)
Life is okay, but who knows how long that will last.
She shrugged, sitting back down.
Want a place to roleplay in your spare time? Here: Lord's Rest Inn
Please don't hide your imperfections, if one part is beautiful, it all is.
I don't like rp-heavy games, I LOVE them.
"Good. Now, what should I refer to you as?"
Hi everyone! I'm working up the will to finalize my signature, so... I guess this will be the signature for now
A comprehensive journal of what the experience felt like.
Proud member of the Spider's Guild (y'all should join!)!
Join Cafe [Redacted], people! I play Treble in it. Isn't SCP stuff awesome?
Harry Potter stuff is cool.
Homebrew: The BloodBorn; GemBlade Soldiers; Soldier of The Silver Armies. (Comments, Improvements?)
Life is okay, but who knows how long that will last.
"Mmm, alright," He says, already falling asleep.
She/They/it
Keep in mind I'm in the UK so my time zone's GMT.
Definitely not an undead.
"I am the Angel of Death, although you may refer to me as the Angel, or just Angel."
Proud member of the Spider's Guild (y'all should join!)!
Join Cafe [Redacted], people! I play Treble in it. Isn't SCP stuff awesome?
Harry Potter stuff is cool.
Homebrew: The BloodBorn; GemBlade Soldiers; Soldier of The Silver Armies. (Comments, Improvements?)
Life is okay, but who knows how long that will last.
Annie looks over enviously, but stays put. They think and pass the time while waiting for their lover to wake
Hi everyone! I'm working up the will to finalize my signature, so... I guess this will be the signature for now
Iralias smiles slightly and switches gears, playing this more to himself than anyone.
"So your mission would be?" They say, moving on.
She/They/it
Keep in mind I'm in the UK so my time zone's GMT.
Definitely not an undead.
"Nice to meet you. What brings you to Entropy?"
Hi everyone! I'm working up the will to finalize my signature, so... I guess this will be the signature for now
"Did you like it? Sorry if I hurt you forever."
Hi everyone! I'm working up the will to finalize my signature, so... I guess this will be the signature for now
"Right now? Rest and recuperation." She motions to the wound.
Proud member of the Spider's Guild (y'all should join!)!
Join Cafe [Redacted], people! I play Treble in it. Isn't SCP stuff awesome?
Harry Potter stuff is cool.
Homebrew: The BloodBorn; GemBlade Soldiers; Soldier of The Silver Armies. (Comments, Improvements?)
Life is okay, but who knows how long that will last.
*Unavailable.*
Wolfe eventually gets bored and jumps off the roof, walking around a bit.
Want a place to roleplay in your spare time? Here: Lord's Rest Inn
Please don't hide your imperfections, if one part is beautiful, it all is.
I don't like rp-heavy games, I LOVE them.
"Rest and recuperation."
Proud member of the Spider's Guild (y'all should join!)!
Join Cafe [Redacted], people! I play Treble in it. Isn't SCP stuff awesome?
Harry Potter stuff is cool.
Homebrew: The BloodBorn; GemBlade Soldiers; Soldier of The Silver Armies. (Comments, Improvements?)
Life is okay, but who knows how long that will last.