(Also chillin'. Watchin' some She-Ra right now and eatin' some leftovers. Wanna rp?)
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Hi guys! This is my desktop alt account. My mobile one goes by the name of AgateElk8337, so maybe you've heard of me? Who knows! For those who don't know, I'm a demiromantic, very socially awkward he/him from the Sooner State. I'm also an unofficial therapist on Onions Are LIke Worms.
"Meddle not in the affairs of dragons, for thou art crunchy and taste good with barbecue sauce."
The Dome begins to drop in temperature until the entire arena is covered in a thick layer of frost. Suddenly, a column of eerie black flames burst forth from the ground, and out walks an armored figure holding a long, flaming whip glowing with infernal power, and a gleaming trident infused with pure divine energy. The figure themselves has a large buckler strapped to the hand with the trident and enormous black wings like those of a raven's. They stand at around eight feet tall and wear a long cloak with a hood that covers their face, and underneath the cloak can be seen pitch black plate armor that seems to absorb the light around it. They crack the whip, leaving a ringing in the ears of all those who stand witness, and stand there silently, daring any to come close.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Hi guys! This is my desktop alt account. My mobile one goes by the name of AgateElk8337, so maybe you've heard of me? Who knows! For those who don't know, I'm a demiromantic, very socially awkward he/him from the Sooner State. I'm also an unofficial therapist on Onions Are LIke Worms.
"Meddle not in the affairs of dragons, for thou art crunchy and taste good with barbecue sauce."
The Dome begins to drop in temperature until the entire arena is covered in a thick layer of frost. Suddenly, a column of eerie black flames burst forth from the ground, and out walks an armored figure holding a long, flaming whip glowing with infernal power, and a gleaming trident infused with pure divine energy. The figure themselves has a large buckler strapped to the hand with the trident and enormous black wings like those of a raven's. They stand at around eight feet tall and wear a long cloak with a hood that covers their face, and underneath the cloak can be seen pitch black plate armor that seems to absorb the light around it. They crack the whip, leaving a ringing in the ears of all those who stand witness, and stand there silently, daring any to come close.
A man walks past the figure, seemingly ignoring him. He wears black business attire and has slicked back blonde hair. His tie is a crimson red, the same color as his eyes. He seems unconcerned by all that goes on around him, yet his aura of pure bloodlust is immense, to the point that anyone around him starts imagining gruesome scenes of bloody murder, though they disappear as quickly as they had onset
The Dome begins to drop in temperature until the entire arena is covered in a thick layer of frost. Suddenly, a column of eerie black flames burst forth from the ground, and out walks an armored figure holding a long, flaming whip glowing with infernal power, and a gleaming trident infused with pure divine energy. The figure themselves has a large buckler strapped to the hand with the trident and enormous black wings like those of a raven's. They stand at around eight feet tall and wear a long cloak with a hood that covers their face, and underneath the cloak can be seen pitch black plate armor that seems to absorb the light around it. They crack the whip, leaving a ringing in the ears of all those who stand witness, and stand there silently, daring any to come close.
A man walks past the figure, seemingly ignoring him. He wears black business attire and has slicked back blonde hair. His tie is a crimson red, the same color as his eyes. He seems unconcerned by all that goes on around him, yet his aura of pure bloodlust is immense, to the point that anyone around him starts imagining gruesome scenes of bloody murder, though they disappear as quickly as they had onset
Upon seeing the visages of gruesome homicide, the figure seems to incline their head in delight. They then turn their head to face the man, the weight of thousands of staring eyes suddenly resting in his subconscious, and the air around him becoming colder and sharper.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Hi guys! This is my desktop alt account. My mobile one goes by the name of AgateElk8337, so maybe you've heard of me? Who knows! For those who don't know, I'm a demiromantic, very socially awkward he/him from the Sooner State. I'm also an unofficial therapist on Onions Are LIke Worms.
"Meddle not in the affairs of dragons, for thou art crunchy and taste good with barbecue sauce."
The Dome begins to drop in temperature until the entire arena is covered in a thick layer of frost. Suddenly, a column of eerie black flames burst forth from the ground, and out walks an armored figure holding a long, flaming whip glowing with infernal power, and a gleaming trident infused with pure divine energy. The figure themselves has a large buckler strapped to the hand with the trident and enormous black wings like those of a raven's. They stand at around eight feet tall and wear a long cloak with a hood that covers their face, and underneath the cloak can be seen pitch black plate armor that seems to absorb the light around it. They crack the whip, leaving a ringing in the ears of all those who stand witness, and stand there silently, daring any to come close.
A man walks past the figure, seemingly ignoring him. He wears black business attire and has slicked back blonde hair. His tie is a crimson red, the same color as his eyes. He seems unconcerned by all that goes on around him, yet his aura of pure bloodlust is immense, to the point that anyone around him starts imagining gruesome scenes of bloody murder, though they disappear as quickly as they had onset
Upon seeing the visages of gruesome homicide, the figure seems to incline their head in delight. They then turn their head to face the man, the weight of thousands of staring eyes suddenly resting in his subconscious, and the air around him becoming colder and sharper.
He turns around, his crimson eyes piercing. The figure can tell this guy isn’t normal. He carries the air of a confidant murderer, yet a sense of simplicity
The Dome begins to drop in temperature until the entire arena is covered in a thick layer of frost. Suddenly, a column of eerie black flames burst forth from the ground, and out walks an armored figure holding a long, flaming whip glowing with infernal power, and a gleaming trident infused with pure divine energy. The figure themselves has a large buckler strapped to the hand with the trident and enormous black wings like those of a raven's. They stand at around eight feet tall and wear a long cloak with a hood that covers their face, and underneath the cloak can be seen pitch black plate armor that seems to absorb the light around it. They crack the whip, leaving a ringing in the ears of all those who stand witness, and stand there silently, daring any to come close.
A man walks past the figure, seemingly ignoring him. He wears black business attire and has slicked back blonde hair. His tie is a crimson red, the same color as his eyes. He seems unconcerned by all that goes on around him, yet his aura of pure bloodlust is immense, to the point that anyone around him starts imagining gruesome scenes of bloody murder, though they disappear as quickly as they had onset
Upon seeing the visages of gruesome homicide, the figure seems to incline their head in delight. They then turn their head to face the man, the weight of thousands of staring eyes suddenly resting in his subconscious, and the air around him becoming colder and sharper.
He turns around, his crimson eyes piercing. The figure can tell this guy isn’t normal. He carries the air of a confidant murderer, yet a sense of simplicity
The figure tilts their head inquisitively. They then raise their trident and point it at the man, and his entire life flashes before his eyes. The figure lowers their trident, letting it come to rest on the ground before returning their head to its normal position.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Hi guys! This is my desktop alt account. My mobile one goes by the name of AgateElk8337, so maybe you've heard of me? Who knows! For those who don't know, I'm a demiromantic, very socially awkward he/him from the Sooner State. I'm also an unofficial therapist on Onions Are LIke Worms.
"Meddle not in the affairs of dragons, for thou art crunchy and taste good with barbecue sauce."
The Dome begins to drop in temperature until the entire arena is covered in a thick layer of frost. Suddenly, a column of eerie black flames burst forth from the ground, and out walks an armored figure holding a long, flaming whip glowing with infernal power, and a gleaming trident infused with pure divine energy. The figure themselves has a large buckler strapped to the hand with the trident and enormous black wings like those of a raven's. They stand at around eight feet tall and wear a long cloak with a hood that covers their face, and underneath the cloak can be seen pitch black plate armor that seems to absorb the light around it. They crack the whip, leaving a ringing in the ears of all those who stand witness, and stand there silently, daring any to come close.
A man walks past the figure, seemingly ignoring him. He wears black business attire and has slicked back blonde hair. His tie is a crimson red, the same color as his eyes. He seems unconcerned by all that goes on around him, yet his aura of pure bloodlust is immense, to the point that anyone around him starts imagining gruesome scenes of bloody murder, though they disappear as quickly as they had onset
Upon seeing the visages of gruesome homicide, the figure seems to incline their head in delight. They then turn their head to face the man, the weight of thousands of staring eyes suddenly resting in his subconscious, and the air around him becoming colder and sharper.
He turns around, his crimson eyes piercing. The figure can tell this guy isn’t normal. He carries the air of a confidant murderer, yet a sense of simplicity
The figure tilts their head inquisitively. They then raise their trident and point it at the man, and his entire life flashes before his eyes. The figure lowers their trident, letting it come to rest on the ground before returning their head to its normal position.
They see 33 years of sadness and suffering. Learning to walk before he was even a year old, being trained in the art of combat the moment they turned 5. No friends to have. No games to play. Only brutal training. His first confirmed kill at age nine by causing a man to explode. Then finally, after 25 years of training, fighting and killing, he finally snapped. The entire family mansion, burned to the ground. Each and every member of the clan brutally slaughtered. All but one. A 11 year old boy, looking much like him with blonde hair and crimson eyes, a large gash running down his face. The man pauses, feeling the tiniest bit of pity for the boy. He turns around, leaving the child surrounded by corpses of his family, the rubble of the place he was called home. Then, for 8 years, the man became an assassin, wearing a catlike oni mask, know for his near guarantee killing ability, able to vaporize just about anyone with little more than a touch. No one knows his name anymore, but the figure hears a whisper in the back of his mind. Just one single word. “Kira.”
The Dome begins to drop in temperature until the entire arena is covered in a thick layer of frost. Suddenly, a column of eerie black flames burst forth from the ground, and out walks an armored figure holding a long, flaming whip glowing with infernal power, and a gleaming trident infused with pure divine energy. The figure themselves has a large buckler strapped to the hand with the trident and enormous black wings like those of a raven's. They stand at around eight feet tall and wear a long cloak with a hood that covers their face, and underneath the cloak can be seen pitch black plate armor that seems to absorb the light around it. They crack the whip, leaving a ringing in the ears of all those who stand witness, and stand there silently, daring any to come close.
A man walks past the figure, seemingly ignoring him. He wears black business attire and has slicked back blonde hair. His tie is a crimson red, the same color as his eyes. He seems unconcerned by all that goes on around him, yet his aura of pure bloodlust is immense, to the point that anyone around him starts imagining gruesome scenes of bloody murder, though they disappear as quickly as they had onset
Upon seeing the visages of gruesome homicide, the figure seems to incline their head in delight. They then turn their head to face the man, the weight of thousands of staring eyes suddenly resting in his subconscious, and the air around him becoming colder and sharper.
He turns around, his crimson eyes piercing. The figure can tell this guy isn’t normal. He carries the air of a confidant murderer, yet a sense of simplicity
The figure tilts their head inquisitively. They then raise their trident and point it at the man, and his entire life flashes before his eyes. The figure lowers their trident, letting it come to rest on the ground before returning their head to its normal position.
They see 33 years of sadness and suffering. Learning to walk before he was even a year old, being trained in the art of combat the moment they turned 5. No friends to have. No games to play. Only brutal training. His first confirmed kill at age nine by causing a man to explode. Then finally, after 25 years of training, fighting and killing, he finally snapped. The entire family mansion, burned to the ground. Each and every member of the clan brutally slaughtered. All but one. A 11 year old boy, looking much like him with blonde hair and crimson eyes, a large gash running down his face. The man pauses, feeling the tiniest bit of pity for the boy. He turns around, leaving the child surrounded by corpses of his family, the rubble of the place he was called home. Then, for 8 years, the man became an assassin, wearing a catlike oni mask, known for his near guarantee killing ability, able to vaporize just about anyone with little more than a touch. No one knows his name anymore, but the figure hears a whisper in the back of his mind. Just one single word. “Kira.”
The figure emits a deep, booming chuckle that makes the temperature drop even further, frost now attempting to climb up the man's shoes. A voice, barely louder than a whisper, yet as commanding as any general, penetrates his thoughts. "You would fit right in in the Hells, wouldn't you, mortal? I could send you there if you wish."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Hi guys! This is my desktop alt account. My mobile one goes by the name of AgateElk8337, so maybe you've heard of me? Who knows! For those who don't know, I'm a demiromantic, very socially awkward he/him from the Sooner State. I'm also an unofficial therapist on Onions Are LIke Worms.
"Meddle not in the affairs of dragons, for thou art crunchy and taste good with barbecue sauce."
The Dome begins to drop in temperature until the entire arena is covered in a thick layer of frost. Suddenly, a column of eerie black flames burst forth from the ground, and out walks an armored figure holding a long, flaming whip glowing with infernal power, and a gleaming trident infused with pure divine energy. The figure themselves has a large buckler strapped to the hand with the trident and enormous black wings like those of a raven's. They stand at around eight feet tall and wear a long cloak with a hood that covers their face, and underneath the cloak can be seen pitch black plate armor that seems to absorb the light around it. They crack the whip, leaving a ringing in the ears of all those who stand witness, and stand there silently, daring any to come close.
A man walks past the figure, seemingly ignoring him. He wears black business attire and has slicked back blonde hair. His tie is a crimson red, the same color as his eyes. He seems unconcerned by all that goes on around him, yet his aura of pure bloodlust is immense, to the point that anyone around him starts imagining gruesome scenes of bloody murder, though they disappear as quickly as they had onset
Upon seeing the visages of gruesome homicide, the figure seems to incline their head in delight. They then turn their head to face the man, the weight of thousands of staring eyes suddenly resting in his subconscious, and the air around him becoming colder and sharper.
He turns around, his crimson eyes piercing. The figure can tell this guy isn’t normal. He carries the air of a confidant murderer, yet a sense of simplicity
The figure tilts their head inquisitively. They then raise their trident and point it at the man, and his entire life flashes before his eyes. The figure lowers their trident, letting it come to rest on the ground before returning their head to its normal position.
They see 33 years of sadness and suffering. Learning to walk before he was even a year old, being trained in the art of combat the moment they turned 5. No friends to have. No games to play. Only brutal training. His first confirmed kill at age nine by causing a man to explode. Then finally, after 25 years of training, fighting and killing, he finally snapped. The entire family mansion, burned to the ground. Each and every member of the clan brutally slaughtered. All but one. A 11 year old boy, looking much like him with blonde hair and crimson eyes, a large gash running down his face. The man pauses, feeling the tiniest bit of pity for the boy. He turns around, leaving the child surrounded by corpses of his family, the rubble of the place he was called home. Then, for 8 years, the man became an assassin, wearing a catlike oni mask, known for his near guarantee killing ability, able to vaporize just about anyone with little more than a touch. No one knows his name anymore, but the figure hears a whisper in the back of his mind. Just one single word. “Kira.”
The figure emits a deep, booming chuckle that makes the temperature drop even further, frost now attempting to climb up the man's shoes. A voice, barely louder than a whisper, yet as commanding as any general, penetrates his thoughts. "You would fit right in in the Hells, wouldn't you, mortal? I could send you there if you wish."
He speaks in a monotone voice, as if he’s no more than a tired salaryman “I have no wish to leave. I simple want to tie up some loose ends and live a peaceful life.”
The Dome begins to drop in temperature until the entire arena is covered in a thick layer of frost. Suddenly, a column of eerie black flames burst forth from the ground, and out walks an armored figure holding a long, flaming whip glowing with infernal power, and a gleaming trident infused with pure divine energy. The figure themselves has a large buckler strapped to the hand with the trident and enormous black wings like those of a raven's. They stand at around eight feet tall and wear a long cloak with a hood that covers their face, and underneath the cloak can be seen pitch black plate armor that seems to absorb the light around it. They crack the whip, leaving a ringing in the ears of all those who stand witness, and stand there silently, daring any to come close.
A man walks past the figure, seemingly ignoring him. He wears black business attire and has slicked back blonde hair. His tie is a crimson red, the same color as his eyes. He seems unconcerned by all that goes on around him, yet his aura of pure bloodlust is immense, to the point that anyone around him starts imagining gruesome scenes of bloody murder, though they disappear as quickly as they had onset
Upon seeing the visages of gruesome homicide, the figure seems to incline their head in delight. They then turn their head to face the man, the weight of thousands of staring eyes suddenly resting in his subconscious, and the air around him becoming colder and sharper.
He turns around, his crimson eyes piercing. The figure can tell this guy isn’t normal. He carries the air of a confidant murderer, yet a sense of simplicity
The figure tilts their head inquisitively. They then raise their trident and point it at the man, and his entire life flashes before his eyes. The figure lowers their trident, letting it come to rest on the ground before returning their head to its normal position.
They see 33 years of sadness and suffering. Learning to walk before he was even a year old, being trained in the art of combat the moment they turned 5. No friends to have. No games to play. Only brutal training. His first confirmed kill at age nine by causing a man to explode. Then finally, after 25 years of training, fighting and killing, he finally snapped. The entire family mansion, burned to the ground. Each and every member of the clan brutally slaughtered. All but one. A 11 year old boy, looking much like him with blonde hair and crimson eyes, a large gash running down his face. The man pauses, feeling the tiniest bit of pity for the boy. He turns around, leaving the child surrounded by corpses of his family, the rubble of the place he was called home. Then, for 8 years, the man became an assassin, wearing a catlike oni mask, known for his near guarantee killing ability, able to vaporize just about anyone with little more than a touch. No one knows his name anymore, but the figure hears a whisper in the back of his mind. Just one single word. “Kira.”
The figure emits a deep, booming chuckle that makes the temperature drop even further, frost now attempting to climb up the man's shoes. A voice, barely louder than a whisper, yet as commanding as any general, penetrates his thoughts. "You would fit right in in the Hells, wouldn't you, mortal? I could send you there if you wish."
He speaks in a monotone voice, as if he’s no more than a tired salaryman “I have no wish to leave. I simple want to tie up some loose ends and live a peaceful life.”
"I see. And if I may ask, what are these ends? How will tying them up give you peace?" The figure quickly adds, "May I ask what your name is?"
(Gotta go. I'm fixin' to hop in bed. Wanna finish this tomorrow?)
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Hi guys! This is my desktop alt account. My mobile one goes by the name of AgateElk8337, so maybe you've heard of me? Who knows! For those who don't know, I'm a demiromantic, very socially awkward he/him from the Sooner State. I'm also an unofficial therapist on Onions Are LIke Worms.
"Meddle not in the affairs of dragons, for thou art crunchy and taste good with barbecue sauce."
The Dome begins to drop in temperature until the entire arena is covered in a thick layer of frost. Suddenly, a column of eerie black flames burst forth from the ground, and out walks an armored figure holding a long, flaming whip glowing with infernal power, and a gleaming trident infused with pure divine energy. The figure themselves has a large buckler strapped to the hand with the trident and enormous black wings like those of a raven's. They stand at around eight feet tall and wear a long cloak with a hood that covers their face, and underneath the cloak can be seen pitch black plate armor that seems to absorb the light around it. They crack the whip, leaving a ringing in the ears of all those who stand witness, and stand there silently, daring any to come close.
A man walks past the figure, seemingly ignoring him. He wears black business attire and has slicked back blonde hair. His tie is a crimson red, the same color as his eyes. He seems unconcerned by all that goes on around him, yet his aura of pure bloodlust is immense, to the point that anyone around him starts imagining gruesome scenes of bloody murder, though they disappear as quickly as they had onset
Upon seeing the visages of gruesome homicide, the figure seems to incline their head in delight. They then turn their head to face the man, the weight of thousands of staring eyes suddenly resting in his subconscious, and the air around him becoming colder and sharper.
He turns around, his crimson eyes piercing. The figure can tell this guy isn’t normal. He carries the air of a confidant murderer, yet a sense of simplicity
The figure tilts their head inquisitively. They then raise their trident and point it at the man, and his entire life flashes before his eyes. The figure lowers their trident, letting it come to rest on the ground before returning their head to its normal position.
They see 33 years of sadness and suffering. Learning to walk before he was even a year old, being trained in the art of combat the moment they turned 5. No friends to have. No games to play. Only brutal training. His first confirmed kill at age nine by causing a man to explode. Then finally, after 25 years of training, fighting and killing, he finally snapped. The entire family mansion, burned to the ground. Each and every member of the clan brutally slaughtered. All but one. A 11 year old boy, looking much like him with blonde hair and crimson eyes, a large gash running down his face. The man pauses, feeling the tiniest bit of pity for the boy. He turns around, leaving the child surrounded by corpses of his family, the rubble of the place he was called home. Then, for 8 years, the man became an assassin, wearing a catlike oni mask, known for his near guarantee killing ability, able to vaporize just about anyone with little more than a touch. No one knows his name anymore, but the figure hears a whisper in the back of his mind. Just one single word. “Kira.”
The figure emits a deep, booming chuckle that makes the temperature drop even further, frost now attempting to climb up the man's shoes. A voice, barely louder than a whisper, yet as commanding as any general, penetrates his thoughts. "You would fit right in in the Hells, wouldn't you, mortal? I could send you there if you wish."
He speaks in a monotone voice, as if he’s no more than a tired salaryman “I have no wish to leave. I simple want to tie up some loose ends and live a peaceful life.”
"I see. And if I may ask, what are these ends? How will tying them up give you peace?" The figure quickly adds, "May I ask what your name is?"
(Gotta go. I'm fixin' to hop in bed. Wanna finish this tomorrow?)
“I need to deal with some unfinished business. Once it’s taken care of, my stress will be gone. And you don’t need to know my name.”
The Dome begins to drop in temperature until the entire arena is covered in a thick layer of frost. Suddenly, a column of eerie black flames burst forth from the ground, and out walks an armored figure holding a long, flaming whip glowing with infernal power, and a gleaming trident infused with pure divine energy. The figure themselves has a large buckler strapped to the hand with the trident and enormous black wings like those of a raven's. They stand at around eight feet tall and wear a long cloak with a hood that covers their face, and underneath the cloak can be seen pitch black plate armor that seems to absorb the light around it. They crack the whip, leaving a ringing in the ears of all those who stand witness, and stand there silently, daring any to come close.
A man walks past the figure, seemingly ignoring him. He wears black business attire and has slicked back blonde hair. His tie is a crimson red, the same color as his eyes. He seems unconcerned by all that goes on around him, yet his aura of pure bloodlust is immense, to the point that anyone around him starts imagining gruesome scenes of bloody murder, though they disappear as quickly as they had onset
Upon seeing the visages of gruesome homicide, the figure seems to incline their head in delight. They then turn their head to face the man, the weight of thousands of staring eyes suddenly resting in his subconscious, and the air around him becoming colder and sharper.
He turns around, his crimson eyes piercing. The figure can tell this guy isn’t normal. He carries the air of a confidant murderer, yet a sense of simplicity
The figure tilts their head inquisitively. They then raise their trident and point it at the man, and his entire life flashes before his eyes. The figure lowers their trident, letting it come to rest on the ground before returning their head to its normal position.
They see 33 years of sadness and suffering. Learning to walk before he was even a year old, being trained in the art of combat the moment they turned 5. No friends to have. No games to play. Only brutal training. His first confirmed kill at age nine by causing a man to explode. Then finally, after 25 years of training, fighting and killing, he finally snapped. The entire family mansion, burned to the ground. Each and every member of the clan brutally slaughtered. All but one. A 11 year old boy, looking much like him with blonde hair and crimson eyes, a large gash running down his face. The man pauses, feeling the tiniest bit of pity for the boy. He turns around, leaving the child surrounded by corpses of his family, the rubble of the place he was called home. Then, for 8 years, the man became an assassin, wearing a catlike oni mask, known for his near guarantee killing ability, able to vaporize just about anyone with little more than a touch. No one knows his name anymore, but the figure hears a whisper in the back of his mind. Just one single word. “Kira.”
The figure emits a deep, booming chuckle that makes the temperature drop even further, frost now attempting to climb up the man's shoes. A voice, barely louder than a whisper, yet as commanding as any general, penetrates his thoughts. "You would fit right in in the Hells, wouldn't you, mortal? I could send you there if you wish."
He speaks in a monotone voice, as if he’s no more than a tired salaryman “I have no wish to leave. I simple want to tie up some loose ends and live a peaceful life.”
"I see. And if I may ask, what are these ends? How will tying them up give you peace?" The figure quickly adds, "May I ask what your name is?"
(Gotta go. I'm fixin' to hop in bed. Wanna finish this tomorrow?)
“I need to deal with some unfinished business. Once it’s taken care of, my stress will be gone. And you don’t need to know my name.”
*Sure. I’m proud gonna hit the sack too*
The figure chuckles, and more voices begin to invade the man's mind, whispering incessantly, muddling his thoughts, making him lose his focus.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Hi there! My name's Elk. I'm NoiSilverheart's doppelgänger. I'm a demi/grayromantic, socially awkward Okie who may or may not be a pyromaniac. *random confetti blast*
I'm a warlock of the Archcrone, and my patron is TheFriendlyArchfey. I was nicknamed AchatesCervus8337 by VitusW and given the titles "Swashbuckling Scorcher", "The Unpredictable Jedi", "Burning Fury of the Ancients", and "Combustion Knight" by DrummerBoyDragonSlayer.
The Dome begins to drop in temperature until the entire arena is covered in a thick layer of frost. Suddenly, a column of eerie black flames burst forth from the ground, and out walks an armored figure holding a long, flaming whip glowing with infernal power, and a gleaming trident infused with pure divine energy. The figure themselves has a large buckler strapped to the hand with the trident and enormous black wings like those of a raven's. They stand at around eight feet tall and wear a long cloak with a hood that covers their face, and underneath the cloak can be seen pitch black plate armor that seems to absorb the light around it. They crack the whip, leaving a ringing in the ears of all those who stand witness, and stand there silently, daring any to come close.
A man walks past the figure, seemingly ignoring him. He wears black business attire and has slicked back blonde hair. His tie is a crimson red, the same color as his eyes. He seems unconcerned by all that goes on around him, yet his aura of pure bloodlust is immense, to the point that anyone around him starts imagining gruesome scenes of bloody murder, though they disappear as quickly as they had onset
Upon seeing the visages of gruesome homicide, the figure seems to incline their head in delight. They then turn their head to face the man, the weight of thousands of staring eyes suddenly resting in his subconscious, and the air around him becoming colder and sharper.
He turns around, his crimson eyes piercing. The figure can tell this guy isn’t normal. He carries the air of a confidant murderer, yet a sense of simplicity
The figure tilts their head inquisitively. They then raise their trident and point it at the man, and his entire life flashes before his eyes. The figure lowers their trident, letting it come to rest on the ground before returning their head to its normal position.
They see 33 years of sadness and suffering. Learning to walk before he was even a year old, being trained in the art of combat the moment they turned 5. No friends to have. No games to play. Only brutal training. His first confirmed kill at age nine by causing a man to explode. Then finally, after 25 years of training, fighting and killing, he finally snapped. The entire family mansion, burned to the ground. Each and every member of the clan brutally slaughtered. All but one. A 11 year old boy, looking much like him with blonde hair and crimson eyes, a large gash running down his face. The man pauses, feeling the tiniest bit of pity for the boy. He turns around, leaving the child surrounded by corpses of his family, the rubble of the place he was called home. Then, for 8 years, the man became an assassin, wearing a catlike oni mask, known for his near guarantee killing ability, able to vaporize just about anyone with little more than a touch. No one knows his name anymore, but the figure hears a whisper in the back of his mind. Just one single word. “Kira.”
The figure emits a deep, booming chuckle that makes the temperature drop even further, frost now attempting to climb up the man's shoes. A voice, barely louder than a whisper, yet as commanding as any general, penetrates his thoughts. "You would fit right in in the Hells, wouldn't you, mortal? I could send you there if you wish."
He speaks in a monotone voice, as if he’s no more than a tired salaryman “I have no wish to leave. I simple want to tie up some loose ends and live a peaceful life.”
"I see. And if I may ask, what are these ends? How will tying them up give you peace?" The figure quickly adds, "May I ask what your name is?"
(Gotta go. I'm fixin' to hop in bed. Wanna finish this tomorrow?)
“I need to deal with some unfinished business. Once it’s taken care of, my stress will be gone. And you don’t need to know my name.”
*Sure. I’m proud gonna hit the sack too*
The figure chuckles, and more voices begin to invade the man's mind, whispering incessantly, muddling his thoughts, making him lose his focus.
The man seems unconcerned, as if this is a normal occurrence for him "That all you got?"
The Dome begins to drop in temperature until the entire arena is covered in a thick layer of frost. Suddenly, a column of eerie black flames burst forth from the ground, and out walks an armored figure holding a long, flaming whip glowing with infernal power, and a gleaming trident infused with pure divine energy. The figure themselves has a large buckler strapped to the hand with the trident and enormous black wings like those of a raven's. They stand at around eight feet tall and wear a long cloak with a hood that covers their face, and underneath the cloak can be seen pitch black plate armor that seems to absorb the light around it. They crack the whip, leaving a ringing in the ears of all those who stand witness, and stand there silently, daring any to come close.
A man walks past the figure, seemingly ignoring him. He wears black business attire and has slicked back blonde hair. His tie is a crimson red, the same color as his eyes. He seems unconcerned by all that goes on around him, yet his aura of pure bloodlust is immense, to the point that anyone around him starts imagining gruesome scenes of bloody murder, though they disappear as quickly as they had onset
Upon seeing the visages of gruesome homicide, the figure seems to incline their head in delight. They then turn their head to face the man, the weight of thousands of staring eyes suddenly resting in his subconscious, and the air around him becoming colder and sharper.
He turns around, his crimson eyes piercing. The figure can tell this guy isn’t normal. He carries the air of a confidant murderer, yet a sense of simplicity
The figure tilts their head inquisitively. They then raise their trident and point it at the man, and his entire life flashes before his eyes. The figure lowers their trident, letting it come to rest on the ground before returning their head to its normal position.
They see 33 years of sadness and suffering. Learning to walk before he was even a year old, being trained in the art of combat the moment they turned 5. No friends to have. No games to play. Only brutal training. His first confirmed kill at age nine by causing a man to explode. Then finally, after 25 years of training, fighting and killing, he finally snapped. The entire family mansion, burned to the ground. Each and every member of the clan brutally slaughtered. All but one. A 11 year old boy, looking much like him with blonde hair and crimson eyes, a large gash running down his face. The man pauses, feeling the tiniest bit of pity for the boy. He turns around, leaving the child surrounded by corpses of his family, the rubble of the place he was called home. Then, for 8 years, the man became an assassin, wearing a catlike oni mask, known for his near guarantee killing ability, able to vaporize just about anyone with little more than a touch. No one knows his name anymore, but the figure hears a whisper in the back of his mind. Just one single word. “Kira.”
The figure emits a deep, booming chuckle that makes the temperature drop even further, frost now attempting to climb up the man's shoes. A voice, barely louder than a whisper, yet as commanding as any general, penetrates his thoughts. "You would fit right in in the Hells, wouldn't you, mortal? I could send you there if you wish."
He speaks in a monotone voice, as if he’s no more than a tired salaryman “I have no wish to leave. I simple want to tie up some loose ends and live a peaceful life.”
"I see. And if I may ask, what are these ends? How will tying them up give you peace?" The figure quickly adds, "May I ask what your name is?"
(Gotta go. I'm fixin' to hop in bed. Wanna finish this tomorrow?)
“I need to deal with some unfinished business. Once it’s taken care of, my stress will be gone. And you don’t need to know my name.”
*Sure. I’m proud gonna hit the sack too*
The figure chuckles, and more voices begin to invade the man's mind, whispering incessantly, muddling his thoughts, making him lose his focus.
The man seems unconcerned, as if this is a normal occurrence for him "That all you got?"
The man's resistance to the voices seems to pique the figure's interest further. "Hmm. I have never seen a mortal such like you. Many others would be screaming in pain right now. But, it seems you are not like the others, just by looking at your memories. Very well, if you wish for more, I will show your more." The cloaked figure flourishes their wings, leveling their trident at the man and letting one foot step back into a fighting stance.
Initiative: 23
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Hi there! My name's Elk. I'm NoiSilverheart's doppelgänger. I'm a demi/grayromantic, socially awkward Okie who may or may not be a pyromaniac. *random confetti blast*
I'm a warlock of the Archcrone, and my patron is TheFriendlyArchfey. I was nicknamed AchatesCervus8337 by VitusW and given the titles "Swashbuckling Scorcher", "The Unpredictable Jedi", "Burning Fury of the Ancients", and "Combustion Knight" by DrummerBoyDragonSlayer.
The Dome begins to drop in temperature until the entire arena is covered in a thick layer of frost. Suddenly, a column of eerie black flames burst forth from the ground, and out walks an armored figure holding a long, flaming whip glowing with infernal power, and a gleaming trident infused with pure divine energy. The figure themselves has a large buckler strapped to the hand with the trident and enormous black wings like those of a raven's. They stand at around eight feet tall and wear a long cloak with a hood that covers their face, and underneath the cloak can be seen pitch black plate armor that seems to absorb the light around it. They crack the whip, leaving a ringing in the ears of all those who stand witness, and stand there silently, daring any to come close.
A man walks past the figure, seemingly ignoring him. He wears black business attire and has slicked back blonde hair. His tie is a crimson red, the same color as his eyes. He seems unconcerned by all that goes on around him, yet his aura of pure bloodlust is immense, to the point that anyone around him starts imagining gruesome scenes of bloody murder, though they disappear as quickly as they had onset
Upon seeing the visages of gruesome homicide, the figure seems to incline their head in delight. They then turn their head to face the man, the weight of thousands of staring eyes suddenly resting in his subconscious, and the air around him becoming colder and sharper.
He turns around, his crimson eyes piercing. The figure can tell this guy isn’t normal. He carries the air of a confidant murderer, yet a sense of simplicity
The figure tilts their head inquisitively. They then raise their trident and point it at the man, and his entire life flashes before his eyes. The figure lowers their trident, letting it come to rest on the ground before returning their head to its normal position.
They see 33 years of sadness and suffering. Learning to walk before he was even a year old, being trained in the art of combat the moment they turned 5. No friends to have. No games to play. Only brutal training. His first confirmed kill at age nine by causing a man to explode. Then finally, after 25 years of training, fighting and killing, he finally snapped. The entire family mansion, burned to the ground. Each and every member of the clan brutally slaughtered. All but one. A 11 year old boy, looking much like him with blonde hair and crimson eyes, a large gash running down his face. The man pauses, feeling the tiniest bit of pity for the boy. He turns around, leaving the child surrounded by corpses of his family, the rubble of the place he was called home. Then, for 8 years, the man became an assassin, wearing a catlike oni mask, known for his near guarantee killing ability, able to vaporize just about anyone with little more than a touch. No one knows his name anymore, but the figure hears a whisper in the back of his mind. Just one single word. “Kira.”
The figure emits a deep, booming chuckle that makes the temperature drop even further, frost now attempting to climb up the man's shoes. A voice, barely louder than a whisper, yet as commanding as any general, penetrates his thoughts. "You would fit right in in the Hells, wouldn't you, mortal? I could send you there if you wish."
He speaks in a monotone voice, as if he’s no more than a tired salaryman “I have no wish to leave. I simple want to tie up some loose ends and live a peaceful life.”
"I see. And if I may ask, what are these ends? How will tying them up give you peace?" The figure quickly adds, "May I ask what your name is?"
(Gotta go. I'm fixin' to hop in bed. Wanna finish this tomorrow?)
“I need to deal with some unfinished business. Once it’s taken care of, my stress will be gone. And you don’t need to know my name.”
*Sure. I’m proud gonna hit the sack too*
The figure chuckles, and more voices begin to invade the man's mind, whispering incessantly, muddling his thoughts, making him lose his focus.
The man seems unconcerned, as if this is a normal occurrence for him "That all you got?"
The man's resistance to the voices seems to pique the figure's interest further. "Hmm. I have never seen a mortal such like you. Many others would be screaming in pain right now. But, it seems you are not like the others, just by looking at your memories. Very well, if you wish for more, I will show your more." The cloaked figure flourishes their wings, leveling their trident at the man and letting one foot step back into a fighting stance.
Initiative: 29
"Fine by me." He places his hand on his face, when he removes it, the catlike oni mask is being worn. He gets into a fighting stance
Hi there! My name's Elk. I'm NoiSilverheart's doppelgänger. I'm a demi/grayromantic, socially awkward Okie who may or may not be a pyromaniac. *random confetti blast*
I'm a warlock of the Archcrone, and my patron is TheFriendlyArchfey. I was nicknamed AchatesCervus8337 by VitusW and given the titles "Swashbuckling Scorcher", "The Unpredictable Jedi", "Burning Fury of the Ancients", and "Combustion Knight" by DrummerBoyDragonSlayer.
(Also chillin'. Watchin' some She-Ra right now and eatin' some leftovers. Wanna rp?)
Hi guys! This is my desktop alt account. My mobile one goes by the name of AgateElk8337, so maybe you've heard of me? Who knows! For those who don't know, I'm a demiromantic, very socially awkward he/him from the Sooner State. I'm also an unofficial therapist on Onions Are LIke Worms.
"Meddle not in the affairs of dragons, for thou art crunchy and taste good with barbecue sauce."
"You're never fully dressed without a smile!"
Click here for cool art!
*Yeah I’m totally down, you see the new intro I made?*
*Boink.*
The Dome begins to drop in temperature until the entire arena is covered in a thick layer of frost. Suddenly, a column of eerie black flames burst forth from the ground, and out walks an armored figure holding a long, flaming whip glowing with infernal power, and a gleaming trident infused with pure divine energy. The figure themselves has a large buckler strapped to the hand with the trident and enormous black wings like those of a raven's. They stand at around eight feet tall and wear a long cloak with a hood that covers their face, and underneath the cloak can be seen pitch black plate armor that seems to absorb the light around it. They crack the whip, leaving a ringing in the ears of all those who stand witness, and stand there silently, daring any to come close.
Hi guys! This is my desktop alt account. My mobile one goes by the name of AgateElk8337, so maybe you've heard of me? Who knows! For those who don't know, I'm a demiromantic, very socially awkward he/him from the Sooner State. I'm also an unofficial therapist on Onions Are LIke Worms.
"Meddle not in the affairs of dragons, for thou art crunchy and taste good with barbecue sauce."
"You're never fully dressed without a smile!"
Click here for cool art!
A man walks past the figure, seemingly ignoring him. He wears black business attire and has slicked back blonde hair. His tie is a crimson red, the same color as his eyes. He seems unconcerned by all that goes on around him, yet his aura of pure bloodlust is immense, to the point that anyone around him starts imagining gruesome scenes of bloody murder, though they disappear as quickly as they had onset
Somewhere between a genius and a moron.
Upon seeing the visages of gruesome homicide, the figure seems to incline their head in delight. They then turn their head to face the man, the weight of thousands of staring eyes suddenly resting in his subconscious, and the air around him becoming colder and sharper.
Hi guys! This is my desktop alt account. My mobile one goes by the name of AgateElk8337, so maybe you've heard of me? Who knows! For those who don't know, I'm a demiromantic, very socially awkward he/him from the Sooner State. I'm also an unofficial therapist on Onions Are LIke Worms.
"Meddle not in the affairs of dragons, for thou art crunchy and taste good with barbecue sauce."
"You're never fully dressed without a smile!"
Click here for cool art!
He turns around, his crimson eyes piercing. The figure can tell this guy isn’t normal. He carries the air of a confidant murderer, yet a sense of simplicity
Somewhere between a genius and a moron.
The figure tilts their head inquisitively. They then raise their trident and point it at the man, and his entire life flashes before his eyes. The figure lowers their trident, letting it come to rest on the ground before returning their head to its normal position.
Hi guys! This is my desktop alt account. My mobile one goes by the name of AgateElk8337, so maybe you've heard of me? Who knows! For those who don't know, I'm a demiromantic, very socially awkward he/him from the Sooner State. I'm also an unofficial therapist on Onions Are LIke Worms.
"Meddle not in the affairs of dragons, for thou art crunchy and taste good with barbecue sauce."
"You're never fully dressed without a smile!"
Click here for cool art!
They see 33 years of sadness and suffering. Learning to walk before he was even a year old, being trained in the art of combat the moment they turned 5. No friends to have. No games to play. Only brutal training. His first confirmed kill at age nine by causing a man to explode. Then finally, after 25 years of training, fighting and killing, he finally snapped. The entire family mansion, burned to the ground. Each and every member of the clan brutally slaughtered. All but one. A 11 year old boy, looking much like him with blonde hair and crimson eyes, a large gash running down his face. The man pauses, feeling the tiniest bit of pity for the boy. He turns around, leaving the child surrounded by corpses of his family, the rubble of the place he was called home. Then, for 8 years, the man became an assassin, wearing a catlike oni mask, know for his near guarantee killing ability, able to vaporize just about anyone with little more than a touch. No one knows his name anymore, but the figure hears a whisper in the back of his mind. Just one single word. “Kira.”
Somewhere between a genius and a moron.
The figure emits a deep, booming chuckle that makes the temperature drop even further, frost now attempting to climb up the man's shoes. A voice, barely louder than a whisper, yet as commanding as any general, penetrates his thoughts. "You would fit right in in the Hells, wouldn't you, mortal? I could send you there if you wish."
Hi guys! This is my desktop alt account. My mobile one goes by the name of AgateElk8337, so maybe you've heard of me? Who knows! For those who don't know, I'm a demiromantic, very socially awkward he/him from the Sooner State. I'm also an unofficial therapist on Onions Are LIke Worms.
"Meddle not in the affairs of dragons, for thou art crunchy and taste good with barbecue sauce."
"You're never fully dressed without a smile!"
Click here for cool art!
He speaks in a monotone voice, as if he’s no more than a tired salaryman “I have no wish to leave. I simple want to tie up some loose ends and live a peaceful life.”
Somewhere between a genius and a moron.
"I see. And if I may ask, what are these ends? How will tying them up give you peace?" The figure quickly adds, "May I ask what your name is?"
(Gotta go. I'm fixin' to hop in bed. Wanna finish this tomorrow?)
Hi guys! This is my desktop alt account. My mobile one goes by the name of AgateElk8337, so maybe you've heard of me? Who knows! For those who don't know, I'm a demiromantic, very socially awkward he/him from the Sooner State. I'm also an unofficial therapist on Onions Are LIke Worms.
"Meddle not in the affairs of dragons, for thou art crunchy and taste good with barbecue sauce."
"You're never fully dressed without a smile!"
Click here for cool art!
“I need to deal with some unfinished business. Once it’s taken care of, my stress will be gone. And you don’t need to know my name.”
*Sure. I’m proud gonna hit the sack too*
Somewhere between a genius and a moron.
The figure chuckles, and more voices begin to invade the man's mind, whispering incessantly, muddling his thoughts, making him lose his focus.
Hi there! My name's Elk. I'm NoiSilverheart's doppelgänger. I'm a demi/grayromantic, socially awkward Okie who may or may not be a pyromaniac. *random confetti blast*
I'm a warlock of the Archcrone, and my patron is TheFriendlyArchfey. I was nicknamed AchatesCervus8337 by VitusW and given the titles "Swashbuckling Scorcher", "The Unpredictable Jedi", "Burning Fury of the Ancients", and "Combustion Knight" by DrummerBoyDragonSlayer.
Extended sig
The man seems unconcerned, as if this is a normal occurrence for him "That all you got?"
Somewhere between a genius and a moron.
The man's resistance to the voices seems to pique the figure's interest further. "Hmm. I have never seen a mortal such like you. Many others would be screaming in pain right now. But, it seems you are not like the others, just by looking at your memories. Very well, if you wish for more, I will show your more." The cloaked figure flourishes their wings, leveling their trident at the man and letting one foot step back into a fighting stance.
Initiative: 23
Hi there! My name's Elk. I'm NoiSilverheart's doppelgänger. I'm a demi/grayromantic, socially awkward Okie who may or may not be a pyromaniac. *random confetti blast*
I'm a warlock of the Archcrone, and my patron is TheFriendlyArchfey. I was nicknamed AchatesCervus8337 by VitusW and given the titles "Swashbuckling Scorcher", "The Unpredictable Jedi", "Burning Fury of the Ancients", and "Combustion Knight" by DrummerBoyDragonSlayer.
Extended sig
"Fine by me." He places his hand on his face, when he removes it, the catlike oni mask is being worn. He gets into a fighting stance
Init: 28
Somewhere between a genius and a moron.
The man disappears in a blur, reappearing right in front of the figure to deliver 6 palm strikes
Attack: 48 Damage: 30 Attack: 45 Damage: 34 Attack: 37 Damage: 36 Attack: 44 Damage: 23 Attack: 39 Damage: 28 Attack: 51 Damage: 20
Somewhere between a genius and a moron.
(Not sure why you're goin' first, but iit's fine by me. Can I ask what kinda damage that was?)
Hi there! My name's Elk. I'm NoiSilverheart's doppelgänger. I'm a demi/grayromantic, socially awkward Okie who may or may not be a pyromaniac. *random confetti blast*
I'm a warlock of the Archcrone, and my patron is TheFriendlyArchfey. I was nicknamed AchatesCervus8337 by VitusW and given the titles "Swashbuckling Scorcher", "The Unpredictable Jedi", "Burning Fury of the Ancients", and "Combustion Knight" by DrummerBoyDragonSlayer.
Extended sig
*Bludgeoning, counts as magical for the purposes overcoming immunities and resistances*
Somewhere between a genius and a moron.