I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) goofin' around on the interwebs Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult) I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3 Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, undead cutie pie, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees, TheGatoLover, (and hopefully more)
Mauric is in the heavenly city, trying to send a message back to Nick or Felix.
Riotan is pouring concrete on a body.
*Actually I want Riotan too.*
He would find places where telepathic connections can be made, of course these have prices attached. The Aasimar clerk of the location sitting, waiting silently.
Thane makes his way over, watching Riotan silently, his eyes as vacant as always.
Mauric is in the heavenly city, trying to send a message back to Nick or Felix.
Riotan is pouring concrete on a body.
*Actually I want Riotan too.*
He would find places where telepathic connections can be made, of course these have prices attached. The Aasimar clerk of the location sitting, waiting silently.
Thane makes his way over, watching Riotan silently, his eyes as vacant as always.
“Uh, excuse me?” He inquired politely. “May I contact a friend of mine on the Material Plane?”
“Hey hey!” Rio says cheerily, tossing the encased carcass into the river and getting to his feet. “What can I do for you?”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
Mauric is in the heavenly city, trying to send a message back to Nick or Felix.
Riotan is pouring concrete on a body.
*Actually I want Riotan too.*
He would find places where telepathic connections can be made, of course these have prices attached. The Aasimar clerk of the location sitting, waiting silently.
Thane makes his way over, watching Riotan silently, his eyes as vacant as always.
“Uh, excuse me?” He inquired politely. “May I contact a friend of mine on the Material Plane?”
“Hey hey!” Rio says cheerily, tossing the encased carcass into the river and getting to his feet. “What can I do for you?”
He looks incredibly tired, rubbing his eyes after taking off his glasses, his voice equally tired "Who might you be? Are you even real? I haven't slept in ten days."
He adjusts his bowler hat, rubbing his hands together, stressed "T-the Valentines. They are coming... for you... for me... for Sparrow... all of us."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
Inside the dimly lit tavern, the soft notes of a piano waft through the air, mingling with the low murmur of conversation from the patrons. Samaritan reclines in a sturdy chair by the piano, a thick cigar clenched between his teeth, his eyes fixated on the musician at the keys. The player, a human male, presents a peculiar sight—his body is a patchwork of mismatched flesh, sewn together in a way that hints at a troubled past.
His short brown hair, styled in a mock mohawk, draws attention to his defined, square jaw, which is adorned with a light stubble that gives him a rugged appearance. A brand, burnt into his skin, decorates the back of his neck, unmistakably bearing the infernal symbol of Gluttony, a mark of his dark history.
Dressed in a crisp white button-up shirt and a tailored black vest, paired with sleek black dress pants, he exudes an odd blend of sophistication and rawness. His fingers glide over the piano keys with practiced precision, producing a hauntingly beautiful melody. Though his movements are somewhat rigid, he immerses himself in the music, singing softly to both himself and Samaritan, filling the tavern with an atmosphere that is at once enchanting and unsettling.
"Don't wanna call you in the nighttime, Don't wanna give you all my pieces, Don't wanna hand you all my trouble, Don't wanna give you all my demons. You'll have to watch me struggle from several rooms away but tonight I'll need you to stay."
Samaritan chuckles, stubbing out the cigar on the bottom of his boot "Getting used to the new body huh? Good to hear you speak at least William." he nods. William chuckles "I'm trying at least, the body still has a bit of rigor mortis but nothing bad."
Mauric is in the heavenly city, trying to send a message back to Nick or Felix.
Riotan is pouring concrete on a body.
*Actually I want Riotan too.*
He would find places where telepathic connections can be made, of course these have prices attached. The Aasimar clerk of the location sitting, waiting silently.
Thane makes his way over, watching Riotan silently, his eyes as vacant as always.
“Uh, excuse me?” He inquired politely. “May I contact a friend of mine on the Material Plane?”
“Hey hey!” Rio says cheerily, tossing the encased carcass into the river and getting to his feet. “What can I do for you?”
He looks incredibly tired, rubbing his eyes after taking off his glasses, his voice equally tired "Who might you be? Are you even real? I haven't slept in ten days."
He adjusts his bowler hat, rubbing his hands together, stressed "T-the Valentines. They are coming... for you... for me... for Sparrow... all of us."
“I’m real. My name’s Mauric Tabrahain.”
“Ooh, how scintillating!” Rio looks excited.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
Inside the dimly lit tavern, the soft notes of a piano waft through the air, mingling with the low murmur of conversation from the patrons. Samaritan reclines in a sturdy chair by the piano, a thick cigar clenched between his teeth, his eyes fixated on the musician at the keys. The player, a human male, presents a peculiar sight—his body is a patchwork of mismatched flesh, sewn together in a way that hints at a troubled past.
His short brown hair, styled in a mock mohawk, draws attention to his defined, square jaw, which is adorned with a light stubble that gives him a rugged appearance. A brand, burnt into his skin, decorates the back of his neck, unmistakably bearing the infernal symbol of Gluttony, a mark of his dark history.
Dressed in a crisp white button-up shirt and a tailored black vest, paired with sleek black dress pants, he exudes an odd blend of sophistication and rawness. His fingers glide over the piano keys with practiced precision, producing a hauntingly beautiful melody. Though his movements are somewhat rigid, he immerses himself in the music, singing softly to both himself and Samaritan, filling the tavern with an atmosphere that is at once enchanting and unsettling.
"Don't wanna call you in the nighttime, Don't wanna give you all my pieces, Don't wanna hand you all my trouble, Don't wanna give you all my demons. You'll have to watch me struggle from several rooms away but tonight I'll need you to stay."
Samaritan chuckles, stubbing out the cigar on the bottom of his boot "Getting used to the new body huh? Good to hear you speak at least William." he nods. William chuckles "I'm trying at least, the body still has a bit of rigor mortis but nothing bad."
*guess who’s back*
*back again*
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
Inside the dimly lit tavern, the soft notes of a piano waft through the air, mingling with the low murmur of conversation from the patrons. Samaritan reclines in a sturdy chair by the piano, a thick cigar clenched between his teeth, his eyes fixated on the musician at the keys. The player, a human male, presents a peculiar sight—his body is a patchwork of mismatched flesh, sewn together in a way that hints at a troubled past.
His short brown hair, styled in a mock mohawk, draws attention to his defined, square jaw, which is adorned with a light stubble that gives him a rugged appearance. A brand, burnt into his skin, decorates the back of his neck, unmistakably bearing the infernal symbol of Gluttony, a mark of his dark history.
Dressed in a crisp white button-up shirt and a tailored black vest, paired with sleek black dress pants, he exudes an odd blend of sophistication and rawness. His fingers glide over the piano keys with practiced precision, producing a hauntingly beautiful melody. Though his movements are somewhat rigid, he immerses himself in the music, singing softly to both himself and Samaritan, filling the tavern with an atmosphere that is at once enchanting and unsettling.
"Don't wanna call you in the nighttime, Don't wanna give you all my pieces, Don't wanna hand you all my trouble, Don't wanna give you all my demons. You'll have to watch me struggle from several rooms away but tonight I'll need you to stay."
Samaritan chuckles, stubbing out the cigar on the bottom of his boot "Getting used to the new body huh? Good to hear you speak at least William." he nods. William chuckles "I'm trying at least, the body still has a bit of rigor mortis but nothing bad."
*guess who’s back*
*back again*
*I love Reincarnating serial killers for the soul purpose that he is going back to working in a an Archdevils kitchen.*
Inside the dimly lit tavern, the soft notes of a piano waft through the air, mingling with the low murmur of conversation from the patrons. Samaritan reclines in a sturdy chair by the piano, a thick cigar clenched between his teeth, his eyes fixated on the musician at the keys. The player, a human male, presents a peculiar sight—his body is a patchwork of mismatched flesh, sewn together in a way that hints at a troubled past.
His short brown hair, styled in a mock mohawk, draws attention to his defined, square jaw, which is adorned with a light stubble that gives him a rugged appearance. A brand, burnt into his skin, decorates the back of his neck, unmistakably bearing the infernal symbol of Gluttony, a mark of his dark history.
Dressed in a crisp white button-up shirt and a tailored black vest, paired with sleek black dress pants, he exudes an odd blend of sophistication and rawness. His fingers glide over the piano keys with practiced precision, producing a hauntingly beautiful melody. Though his movements are somewhat rigid, he immerses himself in the music, singing softly to both himself and Samaritan, filling the tavern with an atmosphere that is at once enchanting and unsettling.
"Don't wanna call you in the nighttime, Don't wanna give you all my pieces, Don't wanna hand you all my trouble, Don't wanna give you all my demons. You'll have to watch me struggle from several rooms away but tonight I'll need you to stay."
Samaritan chuckles, stubbing out the cigar on the bottom of his boot "Getting used to the new body huh? Good to hear you speak at least William." he nods. William chuckles "I'm trying at least, the body still has a bit of rigor mortis but nothing bad."
*guess who’s back*
*back again*
*I love Reincarnating serial killers for the soul purpose that he is going back to working in a an Archdevils kitchen.*
*me too. are either of them open for rp?*
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
Inside the dimly lit tavern, the soft notes of a piano waft through the air, mingling with the low murmur of conversation from the patrons. Samaritan reclines in a sturdy chair by the piano, a thick cigar clenched between his teeth, his eyes fixated on the musician at the keys. The player, a human male, presents a peculiar sight—his body is a patchwork of mismatched flesh, sewn together in a way that hints at a troubled past.
His short brown hair, styled in a mock mohawk, draws attention to his defined, square jaw, which is adorned with a light stubble that gives him a rugged appearance. A brand, burnt into his skin, decorates the back of his neck, unmistakably bearing the infernal symbol of Gluttony, a mark of his dark history.
Dressed in a crisp white button-up shirt and a tailored black vest, paired with sleek black dress pants, he exudes an odd blend of sophistication and rawness. His fingers glide over the piano keys with practiced precision, producing a hauntingly beautiful melody. Though his movements are somewhat rigid, he immerses himself in the music, singing softly to both himself and Samaritan, filling the tavern with an atmosphere that is at once enchanting and unsettling.
"Don't wanna call you in the nighttime, Don't wanna give you all my pieces, Don't wanna hand you all my trouble, Don't wanna give you all my demons. You'll have to watch me struggle from several rooms away but tonight I'll need you to stay."
Samaritan chuckles, stubbing out the cigar on the bottom of his boot "Getting used to the new body huh? Good to hear you speak at least William." he nods. William chuckles "I'm trying at least, the body still has a bit of rigor mortis but nothing bad."
*Oh cool William's back.*
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
"Any flame can be sparked back to life, but if you don't want that flame back, you won't get it back."
He looks into their eyes, a smirk slowly spread "Do you want to hear that from a liar?"
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12WUcdu6YBH2USIcmf48FCnLwDh_mGHZJZYZWwLLRzhA/edit?tab=t.0 (For when I'm gone.)
hi i have a ref3vr
I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) goofin' around on the interwebs
Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult)
I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3
Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, undead cutie pie, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose
Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees, TheGatoLover, (and hopefully more)
She sighs, resting her head on a hand "Life isn't bout needs though ain't it?"
He sighs again "Fine, not a single cent I'll gamble."
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12WUcdu6YBH2USIcmf48FCnLwDh_mGHZJZYZWwLLRzhA/edit?tab=t.0 (For when I'm gone.)
*Hello and huh?*
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12WUcdu6YBH2USIcmf48FCnLwDh_mGHZJZYZWwLLRzhA/edit?tab=t.0 (For when I'm gone.)
Thirteen is walking back from town, having sent in his latest paper to his publisher.
Mauric is in the heavenly city, trying to send a message back to Nick or Felix.
Vitroze is in their law office, conversing with someone worriedly via sending stone.
Loriche is making caltrops and Czech hedgehogs.
Riotan is pouring concrete on a body.
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
*Woah-oh the rot!*
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
*Actually I want Riotan too.*
He would find places where telepathic connections can be made, of course these have prices attached. The Aasimar clerk of the location sitting, waiting silently.
Thane makes his way over, watching Riotan silently, his eyes as vacant as always.
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12WUcdu6YBH2USIcmf48FCnLwDh_mGHZJZYZWwLLRzhA/edit?tab=t.0 (For when I'm gone.)
*The rot? Do I want to know?*
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12WUcdu6YBH2USIcmf48FCnLwDh_mGHZJZYZWwLLRzhA/edit?tab=t.0 (For when I'm gone.)
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
*It turns out I did not want to know, 33 seconds of strangeness. Hello to you too Baalze.*
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12WUcdu6YBH2USIcmf48FCnLwDh_mGHZJZYZWwLLRzhA/edit?tab=t.0 (For when I'm gone.)
“Uh, excuse me?” He inquired politely. “May I contact a friend of mine on the Material Plane?”
“Hey hey!” Rio says cheerily, tossing the encased carcass into the river and getting to his feet. “What can I do for you?”
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
He looks incredibly tired, rubbing his eyes after taking off his glasses, his voice equally tired "Who might you be? Are you even real? I haven't slept in ten days."
He adjusts his bowler hat, rubbing his hands together, stressed "T-the Valentines. They are coming... for you... for me... for Sparrow... all of us."
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12WUcdu6YBH2USIcmf48FCnLwDh_mGHZJZYZWwLLRzhA/edit?tab=t.0 (For when I'm gone.)
Inside the dimly lit tavern, the soft notes of a piano waft through the air, mingling with the low murmur of conversation from the patrons. Samaritan reclines in a sturdy chair by the piano, a thick cigar clenched between his teeth, his eyes fixated on the musician at the keys. The player, a human male, presents a peculiar sight—his body is a patchwork of mismatched flesh, sewn together in a way that hints at a troubled past.
His short brown hair, styled in a mock mohawk, draws attention to his defined, square jaw, which is adorned with a light stubble that gives him a rugged appearance. A brand, burnt into his skin, decorates the back of his neck, unmistakably bearing the infernal symbol of Gluttony, a mark of his dark history.
Dressed in a crisp white button-up shirt and a tailored black vest, paired with sleek black dress pants, he exudes an odd blend of sophistication and rawness. His fingers glide over the piano keys with practiced precision, producing a hauntingly beautiful melody. Though his movements are somewhat rigid, he immerses himself in the music, singing softly to both himself and Samaritan, filling the tavern with an atmosphere that is at once enchanting and unsettling.
"Don't wanna call you in the nighttime, Don't wanna give you all my pieces, Don't wanna hand you all my trouble, Don't wanna give you all my demons.
You'll have to watch me struggle from several rooms away but tonight I'll need you to stay."
Samaritan chuckles, stubbing out the cigar on the bottom of his boot "Getting used to the new body huh? Good to hear you speak at least William." he nods. William chuckles "I'm trying at least, the body still has a bit of rigor mortis but nothing bad."
𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕤, 𝕡𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟, 𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟 𝕦𝕡 𝕒 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝔻𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕'𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
“I’m real. My name’s Mauric Tabrahain.”
“Ooh, how scintillating!” Rio looks excited.
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
*guess who’s back*
*back again*
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
*I love Reincarnating serial killers for the soul purpose that he is going back to working in a an Archdevils kitchen.*
𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕤, 𝕡𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟, 𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟 𝕦𝕡 𝕒 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝔻𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕'𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
He nods slowly "Oh. Okay. Who would you like to contact?"
He looks very worried, adjusting his bowler hat as it consistently tilts "No. Bad. Very. Very. Bad."
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12WUcdu6YBH2USIcmf48FCnLwDh_mGHZJZYZWwLLRzhA/edit?tab=t.0 (For when I'm gone.)
*me too. are either of them open for rp?*
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
*Oh cool William's back.*
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12WUcdu6YBH2USIcmf48FCnLwDh_mGHZJZYZWwLLRzhA/edit?tab=t.0 (For when I'm gone.)