Baron is dragging the massive object around, writing a letter to somebody as he does so
Wandering through a field nearby, his boots crunching on the leaves, is a man wearing a black cloak. On his back is a spear, the tip is an orangish-red. He wears black boots, grey pants, and a reddish orange t-shirt. His hair is short and blonde and he has warm hazel eyes. He hums to himself as he digs in the satchel hanging from his shoulder.
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Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
Baron is dragging the massive object around, writing a letter to somebody as he does so
Wandering through a field nearby, his boots crunching on the leaves, is a man wearing a black cloak. On his back is a spear, the tip is an orangish-red. He wears black boots, grey pants, and a reddish orange t-shirt. His hair is short and blonde and he has warm hazel eyes. He hums to himself as he digs in the satchel hanging from his shoulder.
Baron sniffs the air. His face still hidden by the skull mask
Baron is dragging the massive object around, writing a letter to somebody as he does so
Wandering through a field nearby, his boots crunching on the leaves, is a man wearing a black cloak. On his back is a spear, the tip is an orangish-red. He wears black boots, grey pants, and a reddish orange t-shirt. His hair is short and blonde and he has warm hazel eyes. He hums to himself as he digs in the satchel hanging from his shoulder.
Baron sniffs the air. His face still hidden by the skull mask
There is the smell of ashes and burned wood.
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Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
Baron is dragging the massive object around, writing a letter to somebody as he does so
Wandering through a field nearby, his boots crunching on the leaves, is a man wearing a black cloak. On his back is a spear, the tip is an orangish-red. He wears black boots, grey pants, and a reddish orange t-shirt. His hair is short and blonde and he has warm hazel eyes. He hums to himself as he digs in the satchel hanging from his shoulder.
Baron sniffs the air. His face still hidden by the skull mask
There is the smell of ashes and burned wood.
"Hmmm. Still alive I believe.' he steps into his own shadow, appearing in the man's "Good day to you sir.'
Baron is dragging the massive object around, writing a letter to somebody as he does so
Wandering through a field nearby, his boots crunching on the leaves, is a man wearing a black cloak. On his back is a spear, the tip is an orangish-red. He wears black boots, grey pants, and a reddish orange t-shirt. His hair is short and blonde and he has warm hazel eyes. He hums to himself as he digs in the satchel hanging from his shoulder.
Baron sniffs the air. His face still hidden by the skull mask
There is the smell of ashes and burned wood.
"Hmmm. Still alive I believe.' he steps into his own shadow, appearing in the man's "Good day to you sir.'
Apollon doesn't move. "Hello." he says softly
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Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
There is an executioner's sword sticking out of the ground. It seems to have bees buzzing around it, despite it never being the season for bees here. The hands and feet of some humanoid buried in the earth are sticking out around it, and a silk top hat with bits of honey crystal on it hangs from the weapon's crossguard.
*Some of you might recognize this. Most of you will not.*
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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.
There is an executioner's sword sticking out of the ground. It seems to have bees buzzing around it, despite it never being the season for bees here. The hands and feet of some humanoid buried in the earth are sticking out around it, and a silk top hat with bits of honey crystal on it hangs from the weapon's crossguard.
*Some of you might recognize this. Most of you will not.*
Apollon slowly approaches it, looking very curious.
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Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
Apollon is wandering, looking for something to fight as a challenge.
*I saw your pm, it’ll be fun!*
”Looks like someone is looking for a scrap.” says a voice from a tree branch above your head.
Apollon looks up, tilting his head. "So what if I am?" he asks.
An unusually large raccoon sits perched among the dying leaves. Stretched across his face is a wicked grin. “Careful who you provoke. You might could get a hiding you’d regret. There’s some nasty fellers round these parts. Some right nasty fellers.”
There is an executioner's sword sticking out of the ground. It seems to have bees buzzing around it, despite it never being the season for bees here. The hands and feet of some humanoid buried in the earth are sticking out around it, and a silk top hat with bits of honey crystal on it hangs from the weapon's crossguard.
*Some of you might recognize this. Most of you will not.*
Apollon slowly approaches it, looking very curious.
One of the hands twitches. It slowly points to the sword, more honey crystals breaking off of the withered appendage.
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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.
Apollon is wandering, looking for something to fight as a challenge.
*I saw your pm, it’ll be fun!*
”Looks like someone is looking for a scrap.” says a voice from a tree branch above your head.
Apollon looks up, tilting his head. "So what if I am?" he asks.
An unusually large raccoon sits perched among the dying leaves. Stretched across his face is a wicked grin. “Careful who you provoke. You might could get a hiding you’d regret. There’s some nasty fellers round these parts. Some right nasty fellers.”
"I've killed more powerful beasts and creatures of the night." he says simply. "The next one I hunt shall perish as well."
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Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
There is an executioner's sword sticking out of the ground. It seems to have bees buzzing around it, despite it never being the season for bees here. The hands and feet of some humanoid buried in the earth are sticking out around it, and a silk top hat with bits of honey crystal on it hangs from the weapon's crossguard.
*Some of you might recognize this. Most of you will not.*
Apollon slowly approaches it, looking very curious.
One of the hands twitches. It slowly points to the sword, more honey crystals breaking off of the withered appendage.
Apollon grabs thee swords hilt, lifting it.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
Baron is dragging the massive object around, writing a letter to somebody as he does so
Wandering through a field nearby, his boots crunching on the leaves, is a man wearing a black cloak. On his back is a spear, the tip is an orangish-red. He wears black boots, grey pants, and a reddish orange t-shirt. His hair is short and blonde and he has warm hazel eyes. He hums to himself as he digs in the satchel hanging from his shoulder.
Baron sniffs the air. His face still hidden by the skull mask
There is the smell of ashes and burned wood.
"Hmmm. Still alive I believe.' he steps into his own shadow, appearing in the man's "Good day to you sir.'
There is an executioner's sword sticking out of the ground. It seems to have bees buzzing around it, despite it never being the season for bees here. The hands and feet of some humanoid buried in the earth are sticking out around it, and a silk top hat with bits of honey crystal on it hangs from the weapon's crossguard.
*Some of you might recognize this. Most of you will not.*
Apollon slowly approaches it, looking very curious.
One of the hands twitches. It slowly points to the sword, more honey crystals breaking off of the withered appendage.
Apollon grabs thee swords hilt, lifting it.
It's slightly difficult, as though it had been there for a long time. The body starts to move now that it has been un-impaled. A large humanoid, possibly an ogrillion, rises from the earth. He wears a frock coat covered in yet more crystals. His head is nearly entombed by them, actually, only the broken-open top of his head is visible, and filled with honeycomb. The fluff on his coat has been completely covered in the crystal.
"Thank you, herr... ah, we haven't been introduced." He picks up the top hat that had fallen to the ground and puts it on, shadowing his face so that only his blank white eyes and crooked-yet-gleaming teeth can be seen through the darkness. "I am Fischer." He gives a short bow. "I expected my Löwe to help me out, but he... seems to be alive still."
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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.
Apollon is wandering, looking for something to fight as a challenge.
*I saw your pm, it’ll be fun!*
”Looks like someone is looking for a scrap.” says a voice from a tree branch above your head.
Apollon looks up, tilting his head. "So what if I am?" he asks.
An unusually large raccoon sits perched among the dying leaves. Stretched across his face is a wicked grin. “Careful who you provoke. You might could get a hiding you’d regret. There’s some nasty fellers round these parts. Some right nasty fellers.”
"I've killed more powerful beasts and creatures of the night." he says simply. "The next one I hunt shall perish as well."
“Who’re you hunting? There’s plenty of valuable marks in these hollers. There’s a slew of hunters to, we like your folk round here.”
Apollon is wandering, looking for something to fight as a challenge.
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
*I saw your pm, it’ll be fun!*
”Looks like someone is looking for a scrap.” says a voice from a tree branch above your head.
Apollon looks up, tilting his head. "So what if I am?" he asks.
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
Baron is dragging the massive object around, writing a letter to somebody as he does so
Somewhere between a genius and a moron.
Wandering through a field nearby, his boots crunching on the leaves, is a man wearing a black cloak. On his back is a spear, the tip is an orangish-red. He wears black boots, grey pants, and a reddish orange t-shirt. His hair is short and blonde and he has warm hazel eyes. He hums to himself as he digs in the satchel hanging from his shoulder.
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
Baron sniffs the air. His face still hidden by the skull mask
Somewhere between a genius and a moron.
There is the smell of ashes and burned wood.
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
"Hmmm. Still alive I believe.' he steps into his own shadow, appearing in the man's "Good day to you sir.'
Somewhere between a genius and a moron.
Apollon doesn't move. "Hello." he says softly
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
There is an executioner's sword sticking out of the ground. It seems to have bees buzzing around it, despite it never being the season for bees here. The hands and feet of some humanoid buried in the earth are sticking out around it, and a silk top hat with bits of honey crystal on it hangs from the weapon's crossguard.
*Some of you might recognize this. Most of you will not.*
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
Apollon slowly approaches it, looking very curious.
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
An unusually large raccoon sits perched among the dying leaves. Stretched across his face is a wicked grin. “Careful who you provoke. You might could get a hiding you’d regret. There’s some nasty fellers round these parts. Some right nasty fellers.”
One of the hands twitches. It slowly points to the sword, more honey crystals breaking off of the withered appendage.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
"I've killed more powerful beasts and creatures of the night." he says simply. "The next one I hunt shall perish as well."
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
Apollon grabs thee swords hilt, lifting it.
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
"What are you doing/"
Somewhere between a genius and a moron.
It's slightly difficult, as though it had been there for a long time. The body starts to move now that it has been un-impaled. A large humanoid, possibly an ogrillion, rises from the earth. He wears a frock coat covered in yet more crystals. His head is nearly entombed by them, actually, only the broken-open top of his head is visible, and filled with honeycomb. The fluff on his coat has been completely covered in the crystal.
"Thank you, herr... ah, we haven't been introduced." He picks up the top hat that had fallen to the ground and puts it on, shadowing his face so that only his blank white eyes and crooked-yet-gleaming teeth can be seen through the darkness. "I am Fischer." He gives a short bow. "I expected my Löwe to help me out, but he... seems to be alive still."
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
*be back on in an hour ish*
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
*Ah, I may have to go soon, but I might be back.*
*Maybe. I hope so.*
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
“Who’re you hunting? There’s plenty of valuable marks in these hollers. There’s a slew of hunters to, we like your folk round here.”