I have so many ocs for this one popular fandom and I wanna RP them but at the same time theres no way I'ma be the way to make a forum for it cuz I'm a coward. (Also I wouldn't exactly be the best mod y'know?)
I have so many ocs for this one popular fandom and I wanna RP them but at the same time theres no way I'ma be the way to make a forum for it cuz I'm a coward. (Also I wouldn't exactly be the best mod y'know?)
Please elaborate I would like to hear more about this fandom
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Yo, I'm Himy (He/him) not as active as I use to be, but I'm here from time to time. I don't got much else to say.
"From the stars of the inner sea, from the tower of insight, from the four corners of paradise, let them know; their story is filled with blessings. Only those free of sin may pass... Garden of Avalon!”
”The elements coalesce, amalgamate, and bring forth the star that interweaves all creation. Bow down with death! Enuma Elish!”
YALL I wanna do a summer camp RP will someone help
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Haiiiiii, I’m Druid! (he/they/it/moth/fae/star) I'm a smol insane queer lil' mess with a terrible mental state! I'm also a therian and furry :3 My current obsessions are The Amazing Digital Circus and Hazbin Hotel, so if you ever wanna chat about that, I'm always happy to! GIVE ME YOUR MONSTER.
"Oh no! Looks like I've taken Ragatha... AND DROPPED HER IN THE DEEP FRYER!" -Jax
YALL I wanna do a summer camp RP will someone help
Quinn! I’m really sorry about last night, I don’t know what I did but it clearly hurt you so I’m sorry.
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My titles are the great Silver Dragon Lord of the Sky, Second in Command of the Dragon Cult, High Warlock of Cynophobia, High Cultist of Jeff, The Lightning Mage. I’m a ✨Chronically online teenage boy✨, and one of the most active posters on the forums (MORE THAN SALEM AND GONZALO). Always open to talk if you’d like to shoot me a PM! Please don’t hesitate to tell me I’m being a jerk or overbearing, I love helpful feedback! Love y’all!
After years of hunting, after countless sacrifices for this quest and this one alone, you stand before him: One of the three leaders of the cult. And despite all the bodies left in your wake and the rage in your eyes, the vulpes doesn’t seem afraid in the slightest, sitting sideways in his throne, legs hanging over the arm as he reclines. He takes a drink from his brass goblet, a crude facsimile of what your church uses for its holy feasts, with blasphemous imagery across its surface. He chuckles as you shift your grip on your greatsword.
“Monster,” You start, “You are charged with blasphemy, heresy, and murder. The penalty for such crimes is-”
“I don’t care.” He loses his good humor for a moment. You’re thrown off guard for a split second, enough time for him to close the distance. His brightly colored cloak, more suitable for a jester than a priest, is almost blinding when this close. He locks his chipped, rusted, and cracked sickle against your sword as he places a hand on your waist. The goblet lies discarded on the floor, its wine feeding the grass and flowers that have sprung up between the floorboards after decades of feasts and festivals. “Have you ever danced before?”\
You try to shove the freak off, but he’s already begun pulling you along. “C’mon, this could be your last chance… wouldn’t you like to do something fun one last time before you die?” You growl and unhook your blade from his, shoving him as far as you can. He moves like a drunken ghost, every move weightless and accompanied by the jingling of innumerable bells all over his costume. He laughs as he lands on his feet, your throw barely affecting his balance.
He twirls and dances, seemingly oblivious to your men notching arrows in the rafters. I’ve got him, you think. Your rangers, the only ones experienced enough to survive the nightmarish conditions and the onslaught of spirits, unleash a volley of arrows upon the fool.
Not a single one lands. The cultist moves effortlessly, so fast and so nimble that you almost forget that he’s cloaked in dozens of pounds of fabric. Arrows stab into the floor around him as he spins and sways toward you. One of the rangers attempts a plunging stab from above, only to lose his sword- and his hands- from a single off-handed slash. You attempt to hack into the jester’s chest while his sickle is out of the way, only for him to back up the instant before you swing, as though alerted by some foul premonition.
While you recover from your attack, he closes the gap once more, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pressing against you, preventing you from raising your blade and the archers from being able to unleash any more arrows without skewering you. He looks deep into your eyes and whispers to you, but you don’t hear him over the pounding blood in your ears. You see blood pouring from the rafters as demons drop down.
You’ve lost. He’s made a game of your rage, your conviction, your suffering. All this… for nothing?
You sink to your knees. He gently pats you on the back. “It’s an honor…” he murmurs, kissing you on the cheek. “...why are you so scared?”
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Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
After years of hunting, after countless sacrifices for this quest and this one alone, you stand before him: One of the three leaders of the cult. And despite all the bodies left in your wake and the rage in your eyes, the vulpes doesn’t seem afraid in the slightest, sitting sideways in his throne, legs hanging over the arm as he reclines. He takes a drink from his brass goblet, a crude facsimile of what your church uses for its holy feasts, with blasphemous imagery across its surface. He chuckles as you shift your grip on your greatsword.
“Monster,” You start, “You are charged with blasphemy, heresy, and murder. The penalty for such crimes is-”
“I don’t care.” He loses his good humor for a moment. You’re thrown off guard for a split second, enough time for him to close the distance. His brightly colored cloak, more suitable for a jester than a priest, is almost blinding when this close. He locks his chipped, rusted, and cracked sickle against your sword as he places a hand on your waist. The goblet lies discarded on the floor, its wine feeding the grass and flowers that have sprung up between the floorboards after decades of feasts and festivals. “Have you ever danced before?”\
You try to shove the freak off, but he’s already begun pulling you along. “C’mon, this could be your last chance… wouldn’t you like to do something fun one last time before you die?” You growl and unhook your blade from his, shoving him as far as you can. He moves like a drunken ghost, every move weightless and accompanied by the jingling of innumerable bells all over his costume. He laughs as he lands on his feet, your throw barely affecting his balance.
He twirls and dances, seemingly oblivious to your men notching arrows in the rafters. I’ve got him, you think. Your rangers, the only ones experienced enough to survive the nightmarish conditions and the onslaught of spirits, unleash a volley of arrows upon the fool.
Not a single one lands. The cultist moves effortlessly, so fast and so nimble that you almost forget that he’s cloaked in dozens of pounds of fabric. Arrows stab into the floor around him as he spins and sways toward you. One of the rangers attempts a plunging stab from above, only to lose his sword- and his hands- from a single off-handed slash. You attempt to hack into the jester’s chest while his sickle is out of the way, only for him to back up the instant before you swing, as though alerted by some foul premonition.
While you recover from your attack, he closes the gap once more, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pressing against you, preventing you from raising your blade and the archers from being able to unleash any more arrows without skewering you. He looks deep into your eyes and whispers to you, but you don’t hear him over the pounding blood in your ears. You see blood pouring from the rafters as demons drop down.
You’ve lost. He’s made a game of your rage, your conviction, your suffering. All this… for nothing?
You sink to your knees. He gently pats you on the back. “It’s an honor…” he murmurs, kissing you on the cheek. “...why are you so scared?”
That's quite good, though I don't know the context
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Bang! Bang! Maxwell's silver hammer came down upon her head Clang! Clang! Maxwell's silver hammer made sure that she was dead
After years of hunting, after countless sacrifices for this quest and this one alone, you stand before him: One of the three leaders of the cult. And despite all the bodies left in your wake and the rage in your eyes, the vulpes doesn’t seem afraid in the slightest, sitting sideways in his throne, legs hanging over the arm as he reclines. He takes a drink from his brass goblet, a crude facsimile of what your church uses for its holy feasts, with blasphemous imagery across its surface. He chuckles as you shift your grip on your greatsword.
“Monster,” You start, “You are charged with blasphemy, heresy, and murder. The penalty for such crimes is-”
“I don’t care.” He loses his good humor for a moment. You’re thrown off guard for a split second, enough time for him to close the distance. His brightly colored cloak, more suitable for a jester than a priest, is almost blinding when this close. He locks his chipped, rusted, and cracked sickle against your sword as he places a hand on your waist. The goblet lies discarded on the floor, its wine feeding the grass and flowers that have sprung up between the floorboards after decades of feasts and festivals. “Have you ever danced before?”\
You try to shove the freak off, but he’s already begun pulling you along. “C’mon, this could be your last chance… wouldn’t you like to do something fun one last time before you die?” You growl and unhook your blade from his, shoving him as far as you can. He moves like a drunken ghost, every move weightless and accompanied by the jingling of innumerable bells all over his costume. He laughs as he lands on his feet, your throw barely affecting his balance.
He twirls and dances, seemingly oblivious to your men notching arrows in the rafters. I’ve got him, you think. Your rangers, the only ones experienced enough to survive the nightmarish conditions and the onslaught of spirits, unleash a volley of arrows upon the fool.
Not a single one lands. The cultist moves effortlessly, so fast and so nimble that you almost forget that he’s cloaked in dozens of pounds of fabric. Arrows stab into the floor around him as he spins and sways toward you. One of the rangers attempts a plunging stab from above, only to lose his sword- and his hands- from a single off-handed slash. You attempt to hack into the jester’s chest while his sickle is out of the way, only for him to back up the instant before you swing, as though alerted by some foul premonition.
While you recover from your attack, he closes the gap once more, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pressing against you, preventing you from raising your blade and the archers from being able to unleash any more arrows without skewering you. He looks deep into your eyes and whispers to you, but you don’t hear him over the pounding blood in your ears. You see blood pouring from the rafters as demons drop down.
You’ve lost. He’s made a game of your rage, your conviction, your suffering. All this… for nothing?
You sink to your knees. He gently pats you on the back. “It’s an honor…” he murmurs, kissing you on the cheek. “...why are you so scared?”
That's quite good, though I don't know the context
I left it vague on purpose, so thank you.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
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A quote from the movie?
Artise🖌️🎨
Totally not part Asian🍜
Has cars (cats) 🐱🐈🐈⬛😸😹😺😻😼😽😾😿🙀
it is a pain in the ass to install unfortunately
they/her Always open to chat. Just send me a PM
Whatever it takes
Yeah, take me to the top
I'm ready for whatever it takes
'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins
I do what it takes
I am a microwave
*Turns into microwave*
^_________^
Artise🖌️🎨
Totally not part Asian🍜
Has cars (cats) 🐱🐈🐈⬛😸😹😺😻😼😽😾😿🙀
I’m guessing it uses a lot of data?
Hi, I’m DrakenBrine, here’s my Sig and characters
I am The Grand Envisioner!
Perhaps. Perhaps not.
Hi, I’m DrakenBrine, here’s my Sig and characters
I am The Grand Envisioner!
╮(^▽^)╭
Artise🖌️🎨
Totally not part Asian🍜
Has cars (cats) 🐱🐈🐈⬛😸😹😺😻😼😽😾😿🙀
I must leave
*Flys away as a microwave*
See ya Monday
Artise🖌️🎨
Totally not part Asian🍜
Has cars (cats) 🐱🐈🐈⬛😸😹😺😻😼😽😾😿🙀
no, it's just annoying to get functioning properly
they/her Always open to chat. Just send me a PM
Whatever it takes
Yeah, take me to the top
I'm ready for whatever it takes
'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins
I do what it takes
*see ya*
Hi, I’m DrakenBrine, here’s my Sig and characters
I am The Grand Envisioner!
Well that sucks. I hope technology agrees with you soon.
Hi, I’m DrakenBrine, here’s my Sig and characters
I am The Grand Envisioner!
You want to rp
they/her Always open to chat. Just send me a PM
Whatever it takes
Yeah, take me to the top
I'm ready for whatever it takes
'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins
I do what it takes
I’d love to but I’m going to have to hop off soon, and I don’t want to abandon a rp like that. Sorry.
Hi, I’m DrakenBrine, here’s my Sig and characters
I am The Grand Envisioner!
I have so many ocs for this one popular fandom and I wanna RP them but at the same time theres no way I'ma be the way to make a forum for it cuz I'm a coward. (Also I wouldn't exactly be the best mod y'know?)
Hi! I'm violet, the ultimate silly snake!
Please elaborate I would like to hear more about this fandom
Yo, I'm Himy (He/him) not as active as I use to be, but I'm here from time to time. I don't got much else to say.
"From the stars of the inner sea, from the tower of insight, from the four corners of paradise, let them know; their story is filled with blessings. Only those free of sin may pass... Garden of Avalon!”
”The elements coalesce, amalgamate, and bring forth the star that interweaves all creation. Bow down with death! Enuma Elish!”
YALL I wanna do a summer camp RP will someone help
Haiiiiii, I’m Druid! (he/they/it/moth/fae/star) I'm a smol insane queer lil' mess with a terrible mental state! I'm also a therian and furry :3 My current obsessions are The Amazing Digital Circus and Hazbin Hotel, so if you ever wanna chat about that, I'm always happy to! GIVE ME YOUR MONSTER.
"Oh no! Looks like I've taken Ragatha... AND DROPPED HER IN THE DEEP FRYER!" -Jax
Quinn! I’m really sorry about last night, I don’t know what I did but it clearly hurt you so I’m sorry.
My titles are the great Silver Dragon Lord of the Sky, Second in Command of the Dragon Cult, High Warlock of Cynophobia, High Cultist of Jeff, The Lightning Mage. I’m a ✨Chronically online teenage boy✨, and one of the most active posters on the forums (MORE THAN SALEM AND GONZALO). Always open to talk if you’d like to shoot me a PM! Please don’t hesitate to tell me I’m being a jerk or overbearing, I love helpful feedback! Love y’all!
Extended Signature!
Wrote a thing.
After years of hunting, after countless sacrifices for this quest and this one alone, you stand before him: One of the three leaders of the cult. And despite all the bodies left in your wake and the rage in your eyes, the vulpes doesn’t seem afraid in the slightest, sitting sideways in his throne, legs hanging over the arm as he reclines. He takes a drink from his brass goblet, a crude facsimile of what your church uses for its holy feasts, with blasphemous imagery across its surface. He chuckles as you shift your grip on your greatsword.
“Monster,” You start, “You are charged with blasphemy, heresy, and murder. The penalty for such crimes is-”
“I don’t care.” He loses his good humor for a moment. You’re thrown off guard for a split second, enough time for him to close the distance. His brightly colored cloak, more suitable for a jester than a priest, is almost blinding when this close. He locks his chipped, rusted, and cracked sickle against your sword as he places a hand on your waist. The goblet lies discarded on the floor, its wine feeding the grass and flowers that have sprung up between the floorboards after decades of feasts and festivals. “Have you ever danced before?”\
You try to shove the freak off, but he’s already begun pulling you along. “C’mon, this could be your last chance… wouldn’t you like to do something fun one last time before you die?” You growl and unhook your blade from his, shoving him as far as you can. He moves like a drunken ghost, every move weightless and accompanied by the jingling of innumerable bells all over his costume. He laughs as he lands on his feet, your throw barely affecting his balance.
He twirls and dances, seemingly oblivious to your men notching arrows in the rafters. I’ve got him, you think. Your rangers, the only ones experienced enough to survive the nightmarish conditions and the onslaught of spirits, unleash a volley of arrows upon the fool.
Not a single one lands. The cultist moves effortlessly, so fast and so nimble that you almost forget that he’s cloaked in dozens of pounds of fabric. Arrows stab into the floor around him as he spins and sways toward you. One of the rangers attempts a plunging stab from above, only to lose his sword- and his hands- from a single off-handed slash. You attempt to hack into the jester’s chest while his sickle is out of the way, only for him to back up the instant before you swing, as though alerted by some foul premonition.
While you recover from your attack, he closes the gap once more, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pressing against you, preventing you from raising your blade and the archers from being able to unleash any more arrows without skewering you. He looks deep into your eyes and whispers to you, but you don’t hear him over the pounding blood in your ears. You see blood pouring from the rafters as demons drop down.
You’ve lost. He’s made a game of your rage, your conviction, your suffering. All this… for nothing?
You sink to your knees. He gently pats you on the back. “It’s an honor…” he murmurs, kissing you on the cheek. “...why are you so scared?”
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
That's quite good, though I don't know the context
Bang! Bang! Maxwell's silver hammer came down upon her head
Clang! Clang! Maxwell's silver hammer made sure that she was dead
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
I left it vague on purpose, so thank you.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.