Ozzy sat in the dimly lit warehouse, a stale piece of bread left unattended to from that mornings attempt at breakfast. He new he hadn't been taking care of himself as much as of late, evident in his now gaunt skin and face, his cheekbones much more evident. He sighed, sitting up and cracking his back, feet tapping against the floor. He hadn't originally designed them to feel more normal than his organic legs, but it was nice to actually feel what was going on in his lower limbs for once. He looked around for a moment, brought back to himself by the momentary break.
Scattered blueprints lay on a work table, unilluminated by the broken bulb of the lamp above them. He made a mental note to get a replacement when he went into the market again, along with something other than bread as food. It had worked fine for a couple days, but as days stretched into weeks of isolation, it wasn't easy to eat that same thing over and over. Infront of him and to a side were half finished projects, the main one he was working on being an odd quartz heart. It was anatomically correct, with odd filter like grates inside its tubing. He smiled and chuckled to himself, it looked ridiculous.
The moment of minor bemusement was interrupted as he harshly coughed, spattering blood on his hand and desk, hand shaking slightly as his body tried to stabilize itself. Not much time left, he thought. He groaned, burying his head into his hands after wiping them on his shirt, leaving a bright red smear from the blood. He had known he wasn't going to last long, it was already a miracle that he had survived past 16, let alone to his early twenties.
He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth for a moment. Why couldn't he make it work? It was supposed to heal him, deal with his disease somehow. But it wasn't functioning. He had looked over everything hadn't he? In a moment of odd anger he grabbed a half finished project, some sort of music box, and pitched it full speed at the wall of his workshop. Watching the half finished box shatter against the stone, clattering to the floor in loose piles, Ozzy groaned softly, slumping down in his desk. This wasn't the first time he had lost hope, sure, but back then he wasn't on the verge of death with every waking moment.
He stayed like this for almost a full half hour, before he stood and went to clean up the music box. He brushed past a long cylindrical object, it's purpose not known yet. Stooping down, he swept the pieces into his shaky hands as best he could, slowly more frustrated as the proccess proved difficult. He stood, dumping the pieces in a box, filled with the results of similar incidents. Standing there silently, he absent-minded sifted trough the components.
The metal cogs and springs of the music box were un-dented, only plastic and thin wood laying in splinters now in the box. The metal was strong, he had made sure of that. Everything he made was meant to stand the test of time. Well, except him it seemed. He chuckled to himself at his small joke, before once against being hit by a coughing fit, splattering blood onto the pieces inside the box, nearly brought to his knees.
He gritted his teeth, slamming his fist against the desk. Damn it, what was wrong with him? He couldn't stand here making jokes all day. He needed to find a solution to what plagued him. He looked at the box of blood spattered mechanics once again, a grim smile, crossing his face after a moment. Maybe, maybe there was a way that he could fully fix himself
People are meant to improve themselves aren't they? He turned, slumping back into his chair with a bit more energy. Maybe it was time to be done playing with this bundle of meat. Each and every day he could feel the weakness in his flesh. Each coughing fit, moment where he passed out, or moment he couldn't get up a flight of stairs thanks to his reliance in crutches. He picked up a drill that was set beside some medical equipment, watching it whir to life. So what if there was weakness in his flesh? He could just take it out and replace it with something better afterall.
Ozzy sat in the dimly lit warehouse, a stale piece of bread left unattended to from that mornings attempt at breakfast. He new he hadn't been taking care of himself as much as of late, evident in his now gaunt skin and face, his cheekbones much more evident. He sighed, sitting up and cracking his back, feet tapping against the floor. He hadn't originally designed them to feel more normal than his organic legs, but it was nice to actually feel what was going on in his lower limbs for once. He looked around for a moment, brought back to himself by the momentary break.
Scattered blueprints lay on a work table, unilluminated by the broken bulb of the lamp above them. He made a mental note to get a replacement when he went into the market again, along with something other than bread as food. It had worked fine for a couple days, but as days stretched into weeks of isolation, it wasn't easy to eat that same thing over and over. Infront of him and to a side were half finished projects, the main one he was working on being an odd quartz heart. It was anatomically correct, with odd filter like grates inside its tubing. He smiled and chuckled to himself, it looked ridiculous.
The moment of minor bemusement was interrupted as he harshly coughed, spattering blood on his hand and desk, hand shaking slightly as his body tried to stabilize itself. Not much time left, he thought. He groaned, burying his head into his hands after wiping them on his shirt, leaving a bright red smear from the blood. He had known he wasn't going to last long, it was already a miracle that he had survived past 16, let alone to his early twenties.
He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth for a moment. Why couldn't he make it work? It was supposed to heal him, deal with his disease somehow. But it wasn't functioning. He had looked over everything hadn't he? In a moment of odd anger he grabbed a half finished project, some sort of music box, and pitched it full speed at the wall of his workshop. Watching the half finished box shatter against the stone, clattering to the floor in loose piles, Ozzy groaned softly, slumping down in his desk. This wasn't the first time he had lost hope, sure, but back then he wasn't on the verge of death with every waking moment.
He stayed like this for almost a full half hour, before he stood and went to clean up the music box. He brushed past a long cylindrical object, it's purpose not known yet. Stooping down, he swept the pieces into his shaky hands as best he could, slowly more frustrated as the proccess proved difficult. He stood, dumping the pieces in a box, filled with the results of similar incidents. Standing there silently, he absent-minded sifted trough the components.
The metal cogs and springs of the music box were un-dented, only plastic and thin wood laying in splinters now in the box. The metal was strong, he had made sure of that. Everything he made was meant to stand the test of time. Well, except him it seemed. He chuckled to himself at his small joke, before once against being hit by a coughing fit, splattering blood onto the pieces inside the box, nearly brought to his knees.
He gritted his teeth, slamming his fist against the desk. Damn it, what was wrong with him? He couldn't stand here making jokes all day. He needed to find a solution to what plagued him. He looked at the box of blood spattered mechanics once again, a grim smile, crossing his face after a moment. Maybe, maybe there was a way that he could fully fix himself
People are meant to improve themselves aren't they? He turned, slumping back into his chair with a bit more energy. Maybe it was time to be done playing with this bundle of meat. Each and every day he could feel the weakness in his flesh. Each coughing fit, moment where he passed out, or moment he couldn't get up a flight of stairs thanks to his reliance in crutches. He picked up a drill that was set beside some medical equipment, watching it whir to life. So what if there was weakness in his flesh? He could just take it out and replace it with something better afterall.
Zenix sees a very nicely dressed man outside. He is feeding the birds, which is strange for a man in such fine clothes. his cane is leaning against the bench beside him/
Truesight:
This is a Yaun-Ti Anathema. Or at least, a similar creature. It seems to have been warped by Biomancy to make it even stronger. It is obviously very rich, judging by its tailored designer suit, and lying beside it is an enormous ivory staff.
Zenix tilts his head, not able to use truesight. He slips down from the roof, standing slightly to the side of the man, "Good Morning." He says, watching the birds eat
"Oh, hello there! Aren't these birds lovely? I'm trying to memorize them. We don't have these ones where I come from. Just buzzards and vultures."
He smiles, nodding, "I understand that. We've only got ravens, maybe the occasional crow, where I'm from."
Ozzy sat in the dimly lit warehouse, a stale piece of bread left unattended to from that mornings attempt at breakfast. He new he hadn't been taking care of himself as much as of late, evident in his now gaunt skin and face, his cheekbones much more evident. He sighed, sitting up and cracking his back, feet tapping against the floor. He hadn't originally designed them to feel more normal than his organic legs, but it was nice to actually feel what was going on in his lower limbs for once. He looked around for a moment, brought back to himself by the momentary break.
Scattered blueprints lay on a work table, unilluminated by the broken bulb of the lamp above them. He made a mental note to get a replacement when he went into the market again, along with something other than bread as food. It had worked fine for a couple days, but as days stretched into weeks of isolation, it wasn't easy to eat that same thing over and over. Infront of him and to a side were half finished projects, the main one he was working on being an odd quartz heart. It was anatomically correct, with odd filter like grates inside its tubing. He smiled and chuckled to himself, it looked ridiculous.
The moment of minor bemusement was interrupted as he harshly coughed, spattering blood on his hand and desk, hand shaking slightly as his body tried to stabilize itself. Not much time left, he thought. He groaned, burying his head into his hands after wiping them on his shirt, leaving a bright red smear from the blood. He had known he wasn't going to last long, it was already a miracle that he had survived past 16, let alone to his early twenties.
He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth for a moment. Why couldn't he make it work? It was supposed to heal him, deal with his disease somehow. But it wasn't functioning. He had looked over everything hadn't he? In a moment of odd anger he grabbed a half finished project, some sort of music box, and pitched it full speed at the wall of his workshop. Watching the half finished box shatter against the stone, clattering to the floor in loose piles, Ozzy groaned softly, slumping down in his desk. This wasn't the first time he had lost hope, sure, but back then he wasn't on the verge of death with every waking moment.
He stayed like this for almost a full half hour, before he stood and went to clean up the music box. He brushed past a long cylindrical object, it's purpose not known yet. Stooping down, he swept the pieces into his shaky hands as best he could, slowly more frustrated as the proccess proved difficult. He stood, dumping the pieces in a box, filled with the results of similar incidents. Standing there silently, he absent-minded sifted trough the components.
The metal cogs and springs of the music box were un-dented, only plastic and thin wood laying in splinters now in the box. The metal was strong, he had made sure of that. Everything he made was meant to stand the test of time. Well, except him it seemed. He chuckled to himself at his small joke, before once against being hit by a coughing fit, splattering blood onto the pieces inside the box, nearly brought to his knees.
He gritted his teeth, slamming his fist against the desk. Damn it, what was wrong with him? He couldn't stand here making jokes all day. He needed to find a solution to what plagued him. He looked at the box of blood spattered mechanics once again, a grim smile, crossing his face after a moment. Maybe, maybe there was a way that he could fully fix himself
People are meant to improve themselves aren't they? He turned, slumping back into his chair with a bit more energy. Maybe it was time to be done playing with this bundle of meat. Each and every day he could feel the weakness in his flesh. Each coughing fit, moment where he passed out, or moment he couldn't get up a flight of stairs thanks to his reliance in crutches. He picked up a drill that was set beside some medical equipment, watching it whir to life. So what if there was weakness in his flesh? He could just take it out and replace it with something better afterall.
*For some reason, this is giving me Elden RIng vibes. Awesome!*
Ozzy sat in the dimly lit warehouse, a stale piece of bread left unattended to from that mornings attempt at breakfast. He new he hadn't been taking care of himself as much as of late, evident in his now gaunt skin and face, his cheekbones much more evident. He sighed, sitting up and cracking his back, feet tapping against the floor. He hadn't originally designed them to feel more normal than his organic legs, but it was nice to actually feel what was going on in his lower limbs for once. He looked around for a moment, brought back to himself by the momentary break.
Scattered blueprints lay on a work table, unilluminated by the broken bulb of the lamp above them. He made a mental note to get a replacement when he went into the market again, along with something other than bread as food. It had worked fine for a couple days, but as days stretched into weeks of isolation, it wasn't easy to eat that same thing over and over. Infront of him and to a side were half finished projects, the main one he was working on being an odd quartz heart. It was anatomically correct, with odd filter like grates inside its tubing. He smiled and chuckled to himself, it looked ridiculous.
The moment of minor bemusement was interrupted as he harshly coughed, spattering blood on his hand and desk, hand shaking slightly as his body tried to stabilize itself. Not much time left, he thought. He groaned, burying his head into his hands after wiping them on his shirt, leaving a bright red smear from the blood. He had known he wasn't going to last long, it was already a miracle that he had survived past 16, let alone to his early twenties.
He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth for a moment. Why couldn't he make it work? It was supposed to heal him, deal with his disease somehow. But it wasn't functioning. He had looked over everything hadn't he? In a moment of odd anger he grabbed a half finished project, some sort of music box, and pitched it full speed at the wall of his workshop. Watching the half finished box shatter against the stone, clattering to the floor in loose piles, Ozzy groaned softly, slumping down in his desk. This wasn't the first time he had lost hope, sure, but back then he wasn't on the verge of death with every waking moment.
He stayed like this for almost a full half hour, before he stood and went to clean up the music box. He brushed past a long cylindrical object, it's purpose not known yet. Stooping down, he swept the pieces into his shaky hands as best he could, slowly more frustrated as the proccess proved difficult. He stood, dumping the pieces in a box, filled with the results of similar incidents. Standing there silently, he absent-minded sifted trough the components.
The metal cogs and springs of the music box were un-dented, only plastic and thin wood laying in splinters now in the box. The metal was strong, he had made sure of that. Everything he made was meant to stand the test of time. Well, except him it seemed. He chuckled to himself at his small joke, before once against being hit by a coughing fit, splattering blood onto the pieces inside the box, nearly brought to his knees.
He gritted his teeth, slamming his fist against the desk. Damn it, what was wrong with him? He couldn't stand here making jokes all day. He needed to find a solution to what plagued him. He looked at the box of blood spattered mechanics once again, a grim smile, crossing his face after a moment. Maybe, maybe there was a way that he could fully fix himself
People are meant to improve themselves aren't they? He turned, slumping back into his chair with a bit more energy. Maybe it was time to be done playing with this bundle of meat. Each and every day he could feel the weakness in his flesh. Each coughing fit, moment where he passed out, or moment he couldn't get up a flight of stairs thanks to his reliance in crutches. He picked up a drill that was set beside some medical equipment, watching it whir to life. So what if there was weakness in his flesh? He could just take it out and replace it with something better afterall.
Zenix tilts his head, not able to use truesight. He slips down from the roof, standing slightly to the side of the man, "Good Morning." He says, watching the birds eat
"Oh, hello there! Aren't these birds lovely? I'm trying to memorize them. We don't have these ones where I come from. Just buzzards and vultures."
He smiles, nodding, "I understand that. We've only got ravens, maybe the occasional crow, where I'm from."
Ozzy sat in the dimly lit warehouse, a stale piece of bread left unattended to from that mornings attempt at breakfast. He new he hadn't been taking care of himself as much as of late, evident in his now gaunt skin and face, his cheekbones much more evident. He sighed, sitting up and cracking his back, feet tapping against the floor. He hadn't originally designed them to feel more normal than his organic legs, but it was nice to actually feel what was going on in his lower limbs for once. He looked around for a moment, brought back to himself by the momentary break.
Scattered blueprints lay on a work table, unilluminated by the broken bulb of the lamp above them. He made a mental note to get a replacement when he went into the market again, along with something other than bread as food. It had worked fine for a couple days, but as days stretched into weeks of isolation, it wasn't easy to eat that same thing over and over. Infront of him and to a side were half finished projects, the main one he was working on being an odd quartz heart. It was anatomically correct, with odd filter like grates inside its tubing. He smiled and chuckled to himself, it looked ridiculous.
The moment of minor bemusement was interrupted as he harshly coughed, spattering blood on his hand and desk, hand shaking slightly as his body tried to stabilize itself. Not much time left, he thought. He groaned, burying his head into his hands after wiping them on his shirt, leaving a bright red smear from the blood. He had known he wasn't going to last long, it was already a miracle that he had survived past 16, let alone to his early twenties.
He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth for a moment. Why couldn't he make it work? It was supposed to heal him, deal with his disease somehow. But it wasn't functioning. He had looked over everything hadn't he? In a moment of odd anger he grabbed a half finished project, some sort of music box, and pitched it full speed at the wall of his workshop. Watching the half finished box shatter against the stone, clattering to the floor in loose piles, Ozzy groaned softly, slumping down in his desk. This wasn't the first time he had lost hope, sure, but back then he wasn't on the verge of death with every waking moment.
He stayed like this for almost a full half hour, before he stood and went to clean up the music box. He brushed past a long cylindrical object, it's purpose not known yet. Stooping down, he swept the pieces into his shaky hands as best he could, slowly more frustrated as the proccess proved difficult. He stood, dumping the pieces in a box, filled with the results of similar incidents. Standing there silently, he absent-minded sifted trough the components.
The metal cogs and springs of the music box were un-dented, only plastic and thin wood laying in splinters now in the box. The metal was strong, he had made sure of that. Everything he made was meant to stand the test of time. Well, except him it seemed. He chuckled to himself at his small joke, before once against being hit by a coughing fit, splattering blood onto the pieces inside the box, nearly brought to his knees.
He gritted his teeth, slamming his fist against the desk. Damn it, what was wrong with him? He couldn't stand here making jokes all day. He needed to find a solution to what plagued him. He looked at the box of blood spattered mechanics once again, a grim smile, crossing his face after a moment. Maybe, maybe there was a way that he could fully fix himself
People are meant to improve themselves aren't they? He turned, slumping back into his chair with a bit more energy. Maybe it was time to be done playing with this bundle of meat. Each and every day he could feel the weakness in his flesh. Each coughing fit, moment where he passed out, or moment he couldn't get up a flight of stairs thanks to his reliance in crutches. He picked up a drill that was set beside some medical equipment, watching it whir to life. So what if there was weakness in his flesh? He could just take it out and replace it with something better afterall.
*For some reason, this is giving me Elden RIng vibes. Awesome!*
*replace the rot with metal, stronger than steel >:D*
"ah"
psychopath ^-^
*Sure! I just introduced a rich Yuan-Ti anathema who is currently in disguise. I also have Oswald Grouper, who you've met.*
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
*oki, ozzy cutscene to set up some new lore*
Ozzy sat in the dimly lit warehouse, a stale piece of bread left unattended to from that mornings attempt at breakfast. He new he hadn't been taking care of himself as much as of late, evident in his now gaunt skin and face, his cheekbones much more evident. He sighed, sitting up and cracking his back, feet tapping against the floor. He hadn't originally designed them to feel more normal than his organic legs, but it was nice to actually feel what was going on in his lower limbs for once. He looked around for a moment, brought back to himself by the momentary break.
Scattered blueprints lay on a work table, unilluminated by the broken bulb of the lamp above them. He made a mental note to get a replacement when he went into the market again, along with something other than bread as food. It had worked fine for a couple days, but as days stretched into weeks of isolation, it wasn't easy to eat that same thing over and over. Infront of him and to a side were half finished projects, the main one he was working on being an odd quartz heart. It was anatomically correct, with odd filter like grates inside its tubing. He smiled and chuckled to himself, it looked ridiculous.
The moment of minor bemusement was interrupted as he harshly coughed, spattering blood on his hand and desk, hand shaking slightly as his body tried to stabilize itself. Not much time left, he thought. He groaned, burying his head into his hands after wiping them on his shirt, leaving a bright red smear from the blood. He had known he wasn't going to last long, it was already a miracle that he had survived past 16, let alone to his early twenties.
He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth for a moment. Why couldn't he make it work? It was supposed to heal him, deal with his disease somehow. But it wasn't functioning. He had looked over everything hadn't he? In a moment of odd anger he grabbed a half finished project, some sort of music box, and pitched it full speed at the wall of his workshop. Watching the half finished box shatter against the stone, clattering to the floor in loose piles, Ozzy groaned softly, slumping down in his desk. This wasn't the first time he had lost hope, sure, but back then he wasn't on the verge of death with every waking moment.
He stayed like this for almost a full half hour, before he stood and went to clean up the music box. He brushed past a long cylindrical object, it's purpose not known yet. Stooping down, he swept the pieces into his shaky hands as best he could, slowly more frustrated as the proccess proved difficult. He stood, dumping the pieces in a box, filled with the results of similar incidents. Standing there silently, he absent-minded sifted trough the components.
The metal cogs and springs of the music box were un-dented, only plastic and thin wood laying in splinters now in the box. The metal was strong, he had made sure of that. Everything he made was meant to stand the test of time. Well, except him it seemed. He chuckled to himself at his small joke, before once against being hit by a coughing fit, splattering blood onto the pieces inside the box, nearly brought to his knees.
He gritted his teeth, slamming his fist against the desk. Damn it, what was wrong with him? He couldn't stand here making jokes all day. He needed to find a solution to what plagued him. He looked at the box of blood spattered mechanics once again, a grim smile, crossing his face after a moment. Maybe, maybe there was a way that he could fully fix himself
People are meant to improve themselves aren't they? He turned, slumping back into his chair with a bit more energy. Maybe it was time to be done playing with this bundle of meat. Each and every day he could feel the weakness in his flesh. Each coughing fit, moment where he passed out, or moment he couldn't get up a flight of stairs thanks to his reliance in crutches. He picked up a drill that was set beside some medical equipment, watching it whir to life. So what if there was weakness in his flesh? He could just take it out and replace it with something better afterall.
*ooo*
psychopath ^-^
He smiles, nodding, "I understand that. We've only got ravens, maybe the occasional crow, where I'm from."
*For some reason, this is giving me Elden RIng vibes. Awesome!*
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
*:]*
*-explodes-*
Theren is playing his guitar in a tree.
Alix is making smoke rings.
-open slot-
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
"Ah, the Shadowfell?"
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
*replace the rot with metal, stronger than steel >:D*
*anyone on?*
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
*ye*
psychopath ^-^
*mk, characters are above*
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
*I am also here for anyone who wants to do something interesting:>*
*hoi*
psychopath ^-^
*interestin*
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
*welp, since it's quiet here's my current stuffs:*
Bonnie is sipping a smoothie
Oddly the flow of corrupted animals has dissapeared after a dragon was seen taking something from that area
Rory is enjoying the sun, walking around outside
Krok is watching a band play inside the tavern, humming to himself
Zenix is carefully sharpening his moonblade to avoid it complaining
Ozzy is secluded in his workshop per usual
There is the smell of honeysuckle from nearby
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
He looks around, sniffing the air for a moment, "It smells sweet..."
A guy standing against a wall smoking seems to be the source
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.