A young man in his twenties with a boyish face and fluffy brown hair sits in his cell, strumming on his lute, playing a melancholy tune. It seems he hasn’t noticed the door is open yet-or isn’t leaving for some reason. His armor is hardened leather, well buckled and tight with the emblem of a wyvern on it, and a cloak rests next to him, serving as a sheathe for his rapier.
*Is he going to leave the cell or is he waiting for someone else?*
*he’s waiting for someone else*
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he/they/washing machine. Roleplay and worldbuilding fiend.
I don’t actually use the pronouns washing machine in case anyone is that serious, I like washing machines tho.
Roomba Knight, Architect of the Cataclysm, Kitsumiho! Dubbed The Fluffy Bowman by Golden. They/Them.
Theatre Kid, Ravenclaw, bookworm, DM, Lego fanatic, flautist, mythology nerd, pedantic about spelling. I also love foxes, cats, otters, and red pandas!
I love Korean Mythology. If you want to ask me about something, send me a PM!
Aig amannan bidh mi air mo ghlacadh ro mhòr an-dràsta...
*may make another character cause I’m bored. Already got a bard so maybe a swashbuckler, hexblade, or cavalier. Or a shepherds Druid so I can live out my Pokemon trainer dream in dnd…*
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he/they/washing machine. Roleplay and worldbuilding fiend.
I don’t actually use the pronouns washing machine in case anyone is that serious, I like washing machines tho.
A figure sits sharpening his sword, the rasping sound of his blade not unlike his ragged breathing that echo's through his cell. He is large, but sits almost entirely obscured under a shabby cloak, managing to blend in with the blackness that surrounds him. He see's the upon cell before him, yet he seems to lack the courage or the will to leave, preferring the comfort of the darkness rather than explore the unknown beyond.
A rusted warforged sits in a cell wearing leather armor, its bronze skin covered in dust. By its side is a rusty scimitar, and a few small mice scutter around it.
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he/they/washing machine. Roleplay and worldbuilding fiend.
I don’t actually use the pronouns washing machine in case anyone is that serious, I like washing machines tho.
A young man in his twenties with a boyish face and fluffy brown hair sits in his cell, strumming on his lute, playing a melancholy tune. It seems he hasn’t noticed the door is open yet-or isn’t leaving for some reason. His armor is hardened leather, well buckled and tight with the emblem of a wyvern on it, and a cloak rests next to him, serving as a sheathe for his rapier.
*Is he going to leave the cell or is he waiting for someone else?*
*he’s waiting for someone else*
*:P*
Xavier opens the cell door and roughly says "Come on lets go."
A young man in his twenties with a boyish face and fluffy brown hair sits in his cell, strumming on his lute, playing a melancholy tune. It seems he hasn’t noticed the door is open yet-or isn’t leaving for some reason. His armor is hardened leather, well buckled and tight with the emblem of a wyvern on it, and a cloak rests next to him, serving as a sheathe for his rapier.
*Is he going to leave the cell or is he waiting for someone else?*
*he’s waiting for someone else*
*:P*
Xavier opens the cell door and roughly says "Come on lets go."
"Ah!" The guy jerks backwards and wields his lute in a position for smacking. After realizing it's another person, he sighs in relief. "O-okay. I'll follow you. This seems sorta... dangerous, though. What's your name? I'm Sparrow... It's a weird name, I know. Parents named me it because... eh, that's a fact for another time." He sighs, having not stopped a beat in his words, and finally turns to look at Xavier. They're in the hallway now, and Sparrow looks at the door in front of them with fear.
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he/they/washing machine. Roleplay and worldbuilding fiend.
I don’t actually use the pronouns washing machine in case anyone is that serious, I like washing machines tho.
A rusted warforged sits in a cell wearing leather armor, its bronze skin covered in dust. By its side is a rusty scimitar, and a few small mice scutter around it.
*Sure, I got a drunken monk and a mentally disabled fighter*
A tall man sits in his cell surrounded in a half-dozen bottles he somehow has with him.
A rusted warforged sits in a cell wearing leather armor, its bronze skin covered in dust. By its side is a rusty scimitar, and a few small mice scutter around it.
*Sure, I got a drunken monk and a mentally disabled fighter*
A tall man sits in his cell surrounded in a half-dozen bottles he somehow has with him.
The warforged's eyes creak open and it groans. "W-where am I? Where are you? Where's Spirit???"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
he/they/washing machine. Roleplay and worldbuilding fiend.
I don’t actually use the pronouns washing machine in case anyone is that serious, I like washing machines tho.
A young man in his twenties with a boyish face and fluffy brown hair sits in his cell, strumming on his lute, playing a melancholy tune. It seems he hasn’t noticed the door is open yet-or isn’t leaving for some reason. His armor is hardened leather, well buckled and tight with the emblem of a wyvern on it, and a cloak rests next to him, serving as a sheathe for his rapier.
*Is he going to leave the cell or is he waiting for someone else?*
*he’s waiting for someone else*
*:P*
Xavier opens the cell door and roughly says "Come on lets go."
"Ah!" The guy jerks backwards and wields his lute in a position for smacking. After realizing it's another person, he sighs in relief. "O-okay. I'll follow you. This seems sorta... dangerous, though. What's your name? I'm Sparrow... It's a weird name, I know. Parents named me it because... eh, that's a fact for another time." He sighs, having not stopped a beat in his words, and finally turns to look at Xavier. They're in the hallway now, and Sparrow looks at the door in front of them with fear.
"This place is only dangerous if you let down your guard" Xavier says as he walks towards a large door
A young man in his twenties with a boyish face and fluffy brown hair sits in his cell, strumming on his lute, playing a melancholy tune. It seems he hasn’t noticed the door is open yet-or isn’t leaving for some reason. His armor is hardened leather, well buckled and tight with the emblem of a wyvern on it, and a cloak rests next to him, serving as a sheathe for his rapier.
*Is he going to leave the cell or is he waiting for someone else?*
*he’s waiting for someone else*
*:P*
Xavier opens the cell door and roughly says "Come on lets go."
"Ah!" The guy jerks backwards and wields his lute in a position for smacking. After realizing it's another person, he sighs in relief. "O-okay. I'll follow you. This seems sorta... dangerous, though. What's your name? I'm Sparrow... It's a weird name, I know. Parents named me it because... eh, that's a fact for another time." He sighs, having not stopped a beat in his words, and finally turns to look at Xavier. They're in the hallway now, and Sparrow looks at the door in front of them with fear.
"This place is only dangerous if you let down your guard" Xavier says as he walks towards a large door
"Well I'm kinda bad at not letting down my guard! And you never told me your name! OWwwwwwww!" Sparrow yells as he slams into the door, having taken a second to look to the side. "Ow ow ow ow!"
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he/they/washing machine. Roleplay and worldbuilding fiend.
I don’t actually use the pronouns washing machine in case anyone is that serious, I like washing machines tho.
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*he’s waiting for someone else*
he/they/washing machine. Roleplay and worldbuilding fiend.
I don’t actually use the pronouns washing machine in case anyone is that serious, I like washing machines tho.
Ability scores: 14 14 16 14 17 15 (Cause why not)
Extended signature
Ability scores: Ability scores: 15 14 11 13 10 10
Hiya! You can call me Link. Here’s a bit about me:
Roomba Knight, Architect of the Cataclysm, Kitsumiho! Dubbed The Fluffy Bowman by Golden. They/Them.
Theatre Kid, Ravenclaw, bookworm, DM, Lego fanatic, flautist, mythology nerd, pedantic about spelling. I also love foxes, cats, otters, and red pandas!
I love Korean Mythology. If you want to ask me about something, send me a PM!
Aig amannan bidh mi air mo ghlacadh ro mhòr an-dràsta...*may make another character cause I’m bored. Already got a bard so maybe a swashbuckler, hexblade, or cavalier. Or a shepherds Druid so I can live out my Pokemon trainer dream in dnd…*
he/they/washing machine. Roleplay and worldbuilding fiend.
I don’t actually use the pronouns washing machine in case anyone is that serious, I like washing machines tho.
*my stats shall decide my character!*
Ability scores: 12 6 13 12 9 8
(>call me void for it is what i am<)
(|he/him|)
PM me the word AVACADO
*hey balthorian, can i use gunslinger?*
(>call me void for it is what i am<)
(|he/him|)
PM me the word AVACADO
Pokemon trainer is becoming a reality...
Ability scores: 12 10 13 13 15 15
he/they/washing machine. Roleplay and worldbuilding fiend.
I don’t actually use the pronouns washing machine in case anyone is that serious, I like washing machines tho.
*Sure*
Extended signature
A figure sits sharpening his sword, the rasping sound of his blade not unlike his ragged breathing that echo's through his cell. He is large, but sits almost entirely obscured under a shabby cloak, managing to blend in with the blackness that surrounds him. He see's the upon cell before him, yet he seems to lack the courage or the will to leave, preferring the comfort of the darkness rather than explore the unknown beyond.
*Wow, now those are some good stats.*
*I'll make one more for now*
Ability scores: 11 15 15 12 16 14
Alright, I'll make these work.
*Tell me when you guys want to explore*
Extended signature
*anyone wanna team up with Mist or Sparrow?*
A rusted warforged sits in a cell wearing leather armor, its bronze skin covered in dust. By its side is a rusty scimitar, and a few small mice scutter around it.
he/they/washing machine. Roleplay and worldbuilding fiend.
I don’t actually use the pronouns washing machine in case anyone is that serious, I like washing machines tho.
*:P*
Xavier opens the cell door and roughly says "Come on lets go."
Extended signature
"Ah!" The guy jerks backwards and wields his lute in a position for smacking. After realizing it's another person, he sighs in relief. "O-okay. I'll follow you. This seems sorta... dangerous, though. What's your name? I'm Sparrow... It's a weird name, I know. Parents named me it because... eh, that's a fact for another time." He sighs, having not stopped a beat in his words, and finally turns to look at Xavier. They're in the hallway now, and Sparrow looks at the door in front of them with fear.
he/they/washing machine. Roleplay and worldbuilding fiend.
I don’t actually use the pronouns washing machine in case anyone is that serious, I like washing machines tho.
*Sure, I got a drunken monk and a mentally disabled fighter*
A tall man sits in his cell surrounded in a half-dozen bottles he somehow has with him.
The warforged's eyes creak open and it groans. "W-where am I? Where are you? Where's Spirit???"
he/they/washing machine. Roleplay and worldbuilding fiend.
I don’t actually use the pronouns washing machine in case anyone is that serious, I like washing machines tho.
"This place is only dangerous if you let down your guard" Xavier says as he walks towards a large door
Extended signature
"Well I'm kinda bad at not letting down my guard! And you never told me your name! OWwwwwwww!" Sparrow yells as he slams into the door, having taken a second to look to the side. "Ow ow ow ow!"
he/they/washing machine. Roleplay and worldbuilding fiend.
I don’t actually use the pronouns washing machine in case anyone is that serious, I like washing machines tho.