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?"
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?"
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 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.
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."
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.
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 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.
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."
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."
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?"
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?"
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 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.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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They stop, frowning. Got it. You a winged teifling?
Hi everyone! I'm working up the will to finalize my signature, so... I guess this will be the signature for now
"On what?"
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.
"Do you view the works of the Judge not worthy?"
Hi everyone! I'm working up the will to finalize my signature, so... I guess this will be the signature for now
Obviously.
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.
Eventually his seemingly random strummings and humming coalesces into this as he starts to sing quietly.
*sorry*
"Hm? No, I'm fine" Deception: 30 "But 'I think' isn't going to cut it."
She/They/it
Keep in mind I'm in the UK so my time zone's GMT.
Definitely not an undead.
Her face twists in contempt. "No being should decide when one should die. That is the decision of nature alone."
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.
Nice to meet you
They start to circle them
Hi everyone! I'm working up the will to finalize my signature, so... I guess this will be the signature for now
"Got any way to check?"
Hi everyone! I'm working up the will to finalize my signature, so... I guess this will be the signature for now
"On what happened to lose your rank." No judgement is in their voice, no disdain, or nothing negative, just curiosity.
She/They/it
Keep in mind I'm in the UK so my time zone's GMT.
Definitely not an undead.
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.
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.
"Um... Yes, exactly."
Hi everyone! I'm working up the will to finalize my signature, so... I guess this will be the signature for now
"Really? Since when do tieflings have wings?"
She/They/it
Keep in mind I'm in the UK so my time zone's GMT.
Definitely not an undead.
"Like it? Compared to trancing."
Hi everyone! I'm working up the will to finalize my signature, so... I guess this will be the signature for now
"We're very rare."
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.
"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."
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 tilts her head, looking at him. "What?"
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.
"No, but your uncertainty, & the fact that it exists, won't let me believe that you're 100% okay."
She/They/it
Keep in mind I'm in the UK so my time zone's GMT.
Definitely not an undead.
"What is your position on the judging of life and death?"
Hi everyone! I'm working up the will to finalize my signature, so... I guess this will be the signature for now
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.