Forum Search
I'm Feeling Lucky
Searching for: Posts from Interna_Chaotica.
Interna_Chaotica OFFLINE ![]() Forum Posts: 51 |
Posted: Wed, 10/01/2024 21:31 (1 Year ago) |
Age: 17 Gender: Male District: District 6, Transportation Power: "The Gladiator" ![]() An ability that allows the user to
enter a state of supreme speed and agility, if only for twenty
seconds or so. The ability also lends the user immediate, though
temporary, knowledge of whatever weapon or tool they’re holding,
making for a very lethal opponent when faced in battle. However,
with the lethality of the ability, it comes at a brutal and
dangerous cost: Stamina and energy use of the user is nearly
quadrupled, leading to much faster exhaustion and near-unavoidable
downtime. For example, if the user works up a light sweat with
Gladiator active, then they’ll be soaked with sweat when it wears
off. If they find themselves trembling at the joints with the
ability active, they’ll find their lunch coming up when it wears
off. And if they throw out their lunch with the ability, the chance
they’ll enter an exhaustion-caused coma arises; in games such as
these, where power is dangerous to both oneself and one's enemies,
a coma induced by exhaustion can be lethal. Also dangerous, though,
is knowledge. The ability can, if used with the same weapon or tool
enough, leave permanent knowledge of the uses of the item in the
user's mind, a sort of delayed emergency learning for tense
situations. Though, the ability cannot be used consecutively,
making these bursts of power and learning few, and far
between.
Strengths: Wade is a skilled and efficient inspector and observer, a skill gained from years of working alongside others in District 6 and inspecting the work of those individuals, though quite unofficially; Wade had always been an observant young boy, but he always had the feeling he would be killed if he did so much as touch parts of the products produced by District 6. Nonetheless, he was fascinated by the little pieces that went into the transportation for the Capitol which his own neighbors made. He learned to see as they did, spying the smallest flaws in the largest work, though always being too timid to bring it up... After all, an officially employed inspector would see it further down the line. The skill, though, developed and grew into a keen, terrifying sort of vision that could spy the tiniest flaws in anything; a painting, a building, a railway car, a weapon... The people around him.. As Wade grew, he realized another talent developing. He could find a way to make nearly anyone speak with him, and at least pretend they enjoyed it. He didn't realize, but the real term was charisma. Wade was becoming charismatic. He thought it was strange, how he could strike up a conversation with anyone that caught his eye, but then found it useful. He spoke with the highest ranks he could find among his working fellows, spoke with people with something he wanted... He secured not only excellent friends and powerful associates, but a good job as well, working alongside the neighbors which he'd watching years ago, working tirelessly to create more to move people to and from the Capitol. Weaknesses: Wade's body is, admittedly, extremely reliant on his unique ability. While there are abilities that enhance a person's physical status, none seemed to influence their mind. Wade's taught him everything, as long as he could get a hand on what he wanted to learn. If he repeated the use of the ability, he could sometimes retain information that Gladiator would teach him. At first, he thought nothing of it, until he first mastered the tools which he worked with. He became unimaginably efficient, true, but he felt something missing... So much reliance on the ability had crippled his ability to learn naturally how any tool was best used. In addition, he had learned to use the ability to grant himself a burst of speed or strength, often both. Though, as he came to find out, that reliance also began to cost him dearly; his body, without the ability, began to grow more voracious, as did his metabolism. To keep up with his ability, he needed to begin eating more, almost doubling his required portions in a few short months after turning 17. His physical body, though strong, was far too lean to be any threat to an unwanted opponent; he wouldn't risk letting it atrophy and leave him merely skin and bones. The District 6 Gladiator, while being durable, tough, and well capable of running for miles, was admittedly.. Not immensely strong without the use of his ability. He always trained himself to be able to power through exhaustion for the sake of his ability, not caring to think about how vulnerable he was when it wore off and left him exhausted and without any decent form of self-defense, save for the empty lie of a threat of activating it again. Yes, while Wade could run for as long as he liked, he could not find a way to protect himself using brawn; for, due to his shortsightedness, he had no brawn. Appearance: Wade stands relatively lower than many, at five feet and eight inches precisely, or about 173 centimeters. He wears long, blonde hair in a ponytail that hangs only to the base of his neck, if a few inches further. His eyes bear a soft, green-blue iris, the color seeming to change from blue to green in different levels of light. His shoulders are not wide, but rather average; nothing special, nor is his build. He is thin, with small dips beneath his ribs, where his accelerated metabolism has taken toll. His legs are built to run, with powerful muscles from hip to ankle keeping him steady and upright at all times. Often, he wears a shorter-sleeved garment and tough, rip-resistant trousers. Other: Wade is terribly proud of his family name; He claims to bear it from an ancient language, and translates it as "Famous Wolf". [Read more] |
Interna_Chaotica OFFLINE ![]() Forum Posts: 51 |
Posted: Fri, 05/01/2024 19:17 (1 Year ago) |
♥ Character Name | Dýrleif Kristjánsdóttir ♥ Aliases | Deer, Bambi, Kristy ♥ Age | 23 ♥ Gender | Female ♥ Pronouns | She ~ Her ♥ Sexuality | Omniromantic, Omnisexual ♥ Appearance ♥ Dýrleif is the spitting image of her nationality, her features delicate, yet stern; as common as they come, from Iceland, but a stunning rarity in her new setting. Dýrleif wears stunning blond hair, which seems nearly white, in a single braid that trails down her back, halting just past her ribs. While she stands at only 166 centimeters, about 5 feet and 5 inches tall, she makes up for her height with her face; stunning blue eyes rest in a softly tanned, unblemished face. A thin brow and light lips give her a sense of equality among her features, nothing standing out, but all blending to make everything stand out. ♥ Personality ♥ ISTJ-T; The Logistician "Logisticians are practical and fact-minded individuals, whose reliability cannot be doubted." People with the ISTJ personality type mean what they say and say what they mean, and when they commit to doing something, they make sure to follow through. With their responsible and dependable nature, it might not be so surprising that ISTJ personalities also tend to have a deep respect for structure and tradition. People with this personality type believe that there is a right way to proceed in any situation – and that anyone who pretends otherwise is probably trying to bend the rules to suit their own desires. ISTJ personalities are also known for striving to meet their obligations no matter what, and they are often baffled by people who fail to hold themselves to the same standard. They can sometimes unfairly misjudge people who don’t match their rigorous self-control, suspecting that someone is being lazy or dishonest when that person might actually be coping with other challenges. While this can sometimes make ISTJ personalities appear rigid or unempathetic, their judgment often stems from their unwavering commitment to reliability and structure. Dýrleif's strengths include a powerful focus, an undeniable urge to complete any task she's met with, an almost frightening efficiency, and a deep respect for her own past, giving her a chance to reflect on herself every day... But Dýrleif's strengths also give way to her weaknesses. That respect for her history, her family and their traditions, are what bring out her sin... "I am a Vikingr, a warrior, at my core and my heart. Some Vikingr were blessed with a rage that they called upon in battle to feel no pain, and to fight on until they accomplished what they needed. And with that, their rage would fade away..." Dýrleif is incredibly emotional, behind her façade of calm composure. She lets nothing show, unless it's through her voice, when she simply states her feelings on something. Because of this, though, she's often snippy during dawn and dusk, when she hasn't enough energy to conceal herself. She becomes a little clumsy, easy to agitate, and brutally honest - the hangman's gallows, for a public face. ♥ Sin ♥ Wrath Some say it's coded into her blood, part of her genes. A brutal, terrifying rage behind an unreasonably calm face. It's hard to tell what might trigger it; she claims it's the will of something beyond her, something within. But sometimes, she simply stands up, paces away, and vanishes to her room. There's been several occasions where she kept herself locked away for more than a day, apologizing after each one and acting as though nobody heard the loud thuds of her fists meeting a punching bag... ♥ Additional Info ♥ Despite being a pretty face for the public and the media, Dýrleif is quite uncomfortable with the process of a single photoshoot - the little touch-ups to makeup she finds unimportant, the prodding and the endless little questions... But, back in her room, she finds herself infinitely more comfortable. It often smells of honey inside, and the decorations seem less than normal; on her wall, she has a Nordic axe on display, engraved on both the steel and the wood with intricate designs. Directly beneath it, she has a small wooden shrine, dedicated to a god who she insists is called Óðinn, despite most of American media depicting him as "Odin." On the shrine, a small candle rests, scented like honey. The reason for honey, as she claims, is that it's an ingredient for Mead, which Óðinn favored above all else. 🤍 [Read more] |
Interna_Chaotica OFFLINE ![]() Forum Posts: 51 |
Posted: Thu, 04/01/2024 00:35 (1 Year ago) |
[Read more] |
Interna_Chaotica OFFLINE ![]() Forum Posts: 51 |
Posted: Fri, 25/08/2023 17:43 (1 Year ago) |
![]() [size=16]Ship Name[/size] [size=14]External Appearance[/size][hr] Armament: (A total list of weapons with the power of destruction to another vessel) Hull Color: Hull Length: (In meters, if you would) Figurehead, If Present: Command Style: (Open-style wheel or closed wheelhouse) [size=14]Internal Information[/size][hr] Crew Size: Cargo Space: (In terms of cubic meters, or square meters of stable floorspace) Brig Space: (The maximum number of prisoners a ship can hold comfortably) Living Accommodations: (Grand, Well, Mediocre, Poor) [size=14]Statistics[/size][hr] Maximum Speed: (In knots, if you would) Maximum Carry Weight: (In Deadweight Tonnage, if you would) Maximum Armor: (For majik, in number of "casual barrage" - That is to say, how well can a majika shield hold up to a rate of one impact every ten seconds, and how quickly it can regenerate without the aid of the crew. For non-majika shields, this would be armor in terms of millimeters or fraction-inches, whichever is easier) Minimum Armor: (These are the weak points of a ship, such as the top of the deck or transparent fronts on a wheelhouse) [/size] [Read more] |
Interna_Chaotica OFFLINE ![]() Forum Posts: 51 |
Posted: Mon, 24/07/2023 03:18 (1 Year ago) |
"I will not stay seated for long. Bring me my blade. I've a ship to run, as it is." Appearance Internal Conflict Other/Miscellaneous ![]() Physical Disabilities: Freud's right leg was rendered inoperable after an untimely meeting with an explosion. The leg is now kept straight in a metal frame. Psychological Disorders: Iris is nearly constantly paranoid, usually over two very different things; First, that her crew will attempt to rise up in mutiny. And second, that she will one day wake up to find that her left leg will not move. Rank: Captain of the Juggernaut's Leading Charge Valhalla Armament: Iris wields two powerful rapiers as well as a revolving five-shot pistol; relatively archaic weapons, but powerful and easy to master. Other/Not Mentioned: The rapiers are used both as blades and as crutches for the Captain to get around more easily. [Read more] |
Interna_Chaotica OFFLINE ![]() Forum Posts: 51 |
Posted: Wed, 12/07/2023 00:04 (1 Year ago) |
[Read more] |
Interna_Chaotica OFFLINE ![]() Forum Posts: 51 |
Posted: Sun, 02/07/2023 19:00 (1 Year ago) |
![]() Nobody remembers when precisely when
the world became sea. Those that did are long since ashes and dust
in the plains of the ocean. To find an island in this vast expanse
is rare. To find one large enough to live on, even more so. Due to
this, the centuries have taken their toll. Ships, the most vital
part of this world, are the life of the millions upon this planet
of water. Those born as sailors remain as sailors. Those born on
the sparse lands become sailors. Every man, woman, elder and child
will become or served as a sailor aboard a ship. This is the way it
has been, since centuries before. This is the way it will be, for
centuries after.
Of course, every world with a people has conflict... All those who are able are welcome to serve on a ship. Often times, many ships will host gatherings to trade sailors to their preferred ship, to greet one another under the ease of a full armistice. The ironclads and the woodworks both settle until the sun sets, when all depart and all are once again anxious to spot a flag over the horizon. This conflict isn't a new one. Not to this world, at least. A conflict between belief and science. Between majiks and technology. "Ironclad" is the name given to a ship made of metal dug up from the bed of the sea. Ironclads are powerful, run by the law of the waves on board. Sailors aboard these ships are often raised by a military standard, kept under strict regulation. To attempt mutiny is to flirt with death, as captains aboard these ships rule with fists of steel. These ships are armor and firepower, technological and complex. Upon the foremost part of the hull, an Ironclad bears a masthead, one that might look like anything. To live aboard one is to live in tandem with your role; for you are not merely a pawn on the greater board of the ship, your role is as vital to the ship's running as breath is to your own life. To live on an Ironclad is to live for your uniform; by you uniform; because of your uniform. "Woodwork" is the name given to a ship of majik. These ships are ancient and impressive, made with vast sails and glorious hulls. They bear awe-inspiring mastheads depicting great birds; gorgeous eagles of the old days, wise hawks of the forgotten land, and steadfast albatrosses of the modern seas. In their eyes, gems always sit, for this is the soul of the ship. The ship itself is only a mere vessel; a storage for the power of the majik in the so-called Bird's Eyes. Woodworks are often manned by smaller crews, each individual free to appear how they like. Captains aboard these ships are those who listen to their crew, who take the advice and suggestions for real consideration. To attempt mutiny is only to break the heart of a captain and of a ship, for it is the ship which chooses the captain. Each crew member aboard a Woodwork lives by the code of the ship; where one is needed, one shall be. Each member knows the ship inside and out, knows their duties the same. To live a life aboard these ships is to live one of a vague simplicity, though complex in skill. To live on a Woodwork is to live for your crew and your ship; by your crew and your ship; because of your crew and your ship. These two classes of ship have long competed to find who is most mighty. Where one clan rises in the technologies of destruction, the other rivals it with the majika and mystics of repairs and glorious attacks. Though, there still stands a global code. ``To Crossbreed a Ship of one Sort to that of the Other is to Birth an Abomination...`` Very rarely, a ship is both; both Ironclad and Woodwork, both Majika and Technology. These ships are forbidden, a volatile sort of taboo of which is scoured and purged from the seas. However, they never fall without a vicious, brutal fight. These destructive vessels are armed like no other, bearing weapons barely even considered by other ships due to their size, their tendency to cause self-inflicted damage... Or their sheer destructiveness. As of late, a new ship has risen to break through the waves and codes. It calls itself the Leviathan, said to be a mythological beast which sinks even the greatest ships before vanishing without a trace. The few survivors of this ship claim it's a brutal destruction; the ship is said to bear an enormous harpoon, used to spear ships and drag them towards their doom; for upon its hull, they say it bears weapons which tear into wood and metal alike, without as much as a dent or a scrape returned to it. It bears a masthead, one carved of metal to appear like a great water dragon. Down the flanks of it, it's painted to appear as though it has scales. In the eyes of the masthead, the forbidden majik sits; one gem of orange, another of yellow, colors unnatural and foul. One report claimed that it was damaged; but that it was never repaired. A second report from the same wreck said that the crew seemed almost to bear the damage like a banner of war - a trophy, the pride of the ship. The rivalry of Ironclads and Woodworks is always abandoned during the hunt for a hybrid ship... For the most part. Your ship is one which suspects the Leviathan is in the area; and you've been told to keep your eyes sharp, for it's time to bring down a beast. Terms, Roles, And So On ![]() Woodwork - A majika-based wooden ship. Ironclad - A technology-based metal ship. Hybrid - A forbidden half-majik and half-technological ship. Call-in - A unique code used strictly by Ironclads. Each ship has a code. Forewarn - In Ironclads, this is the two to four letters before the name of the ship. These mean different things, ranging from S., Scout, to W.A.D.V., Warfare And Destruction Vessel. A Forewarn typically tells other Ironclads the extent of the armament, armor, and crew of another ship. Carty - A moving wooden crate used to carry cannonballs around on Woodworks. Breaker - A nickname for a ship which rams into other ships to cause damage. Bed-Seeker - A sinking or severely damaged ship, called this because it "seeks" the seabed. Laywater - Waters in an area atfer a ship sinks, usually ridden with bodies. Breakwater - Shallow, rocky waters that can break through a ship's hull. Spyglass - A telescope. Seascope - A specialized spyglass used to estimate distance across the surface of the water. Hellfire - A broadside from a Woodwork ship which uses majik. Captain - The top Commander of a ship. Captains arm themselves with whatever they like. First Officer - The Second in Command to the Captain; on Ironworks, the F.O. patrols around the ship and maintains order while the Captain operates the vessel. On Woodworks, the F.O. calls out the Captain's orders to the rest of the ship, and stands beside the Captain. The F.O. is armed with a powerful firearm or crossbow, and occasionally a blade of their choosing. Second Officer - The next rank beneath First Officer. Different sized ships have different amounts of Second Officers. Smaller ships can have anywhere from 4 to 10, larger ships can have upwards of 30. The S.O. is expected to move among other crew members and maintain operation of the ship; essentially, they operate as a foreman. The S.O. are armed with a dagger, a small sword, and usually a flintlock-style pistol of some kind. Spotter - Skilled sharpshooters and climbers, Spotters work in the highest points of the Woodworks. Often times there are multiple, using a spyglass or spotting scope to pick out hazards in the water, other ships, Breakers, or shipwrecks. Usually, they're armed with a long range firearm, specialized crossbow, or a dart pipe. Repairman - An individual skilled in repairs and strictly confined to Woodworks. Mechanic - An individual skilled in repairs and strictly confined to Ironclads. Boarder - A Woodwork crew member who specializes in leaping aboard other ships. Brawler - A crew member of either type of ship who specializes in fighting in hand-to-hand combat. Form ![]() Please note, not all fields are required... Just use common sense. [u][b][size=16](Character Name)[/size] [/u][/b] [u][size=14][i]"Character Quote"[/i][/size] [u][b][size=14]Appearance[/u][/b][/size] [spoiler] [u][b]Height:[/u][/b] [u][b]Weight[/u][/b] [u][b]Hair Color:[/u][/b] [u][b]Eye Color:[/u][/b] [u][b]Clothing Preference:[/u][/b] [u][b]Build Type:[/u][/b][/spoiler] [u][b][size=14]Internal Conflict[/u][/b][/size] [spoiler] [u][b]Age:[/u][/b] [u][b]Personality:[/u][/b] [u][b]Alignment:[/u][/b] [u][b]Gender:[/u][/b] [u][b]Addictions:[/u][/b] [u][b]Fears:[/u][/b] [u][b]Personal Strengths[/u][/b][/spoiler] [u][b][size=14]Other/Miscellaneous[/u][/b][/size] [spoiler] [u][b]Physical Illnesses:[/u][/b] [u][b]Physical Disabilities:[/u][/b] [u][b]Psychological Disorders:[/u][/b] [u][b]Rank:[/u][/b] [u][b]Armament:[/u][/b] [u][b]Other/Not Mentioned:[/u][/b][/spoiler] Ships and Command ![]() The
Leviathan
Captain: RaRaRasputin First Officer: Immortes The Myrionymos Captain: Comfygazing First Officer: andrea~ The J.L.C. Valhalla Captain: Gilded_Empress First Officer: Daiko Rules ![]() i) At All Times, Maintain Respect And Courteousness To All Other Roleplayers ii) When You Have An Issue With Any Individual, Bring It To The Host, Gilded_Empress. iii) Please Control Only Your Own Characters Unless Given Explicit Permission To Control Another Individual's Character Or A Non-Roleplayer Character ("NPC"). iv) This Roleplay Will Include Violence, Mild Gore, And Death; If Any Of These Are Upsetting, Please Reconsider Your Decision To Sign Up. In Addition, Please Mark Any Gruesome Posts With A Forewarning At The Top Of The Page. v) Profanity Is Allowed In Restraint; Please Do Not Get Punished For Excessive Vulgarity Due To A Post You make. vi) Please Restrict Romantic Themes Heavily; That Is Not The Point Of The Roleplay, Life On A Ship Is More Siblinghood Than Lovers. vii) This Is A Semi-Lit/Lit Roleplay, If You Believe You Cannot Make Large Enough Posts Each Time, Please Reconsider Your Application. viii) I Have The Authority To Deny Any Individual From Entering This Roleplay; Attempting To Reverse My Decision To Do So May Result In A Blacklist From Any Further Roleplays. ix) No Character Is Immortal; You May Cull You Character If You Decide To Do So, But You May Be Barred From Re-Joining The Rest Of The Roleplay If You Do. x) You Are Not Limited On The Amount Of Characters You Have; Just Be Cautious, As Each Character Will Require Some Amount Of Depth And Detail Individually. If You Fear You Might Not Be Able To Keep Up With Each Character, Be Wary Of Your Count. xi) There Is No Such Thing As A Perfect Sailor; This Is A World Without Land, Consequences Will Come With That... xii) Activity Is Allowed To Be Staggered; This Will Not Be A Vigorous Roleplay Due To The Outside Life Of The Host And Other Roleplayers. [Read more] |
Interna_Chaotica OFFLINE ![]() Forum Posts: 51 |
Posted: Sun, 09/04/2023 14:20 (2 Years ago) |
Apologies for the (though edited) interference. [Read more] |
Interna_Chaotica OFFLINE ![]() Forum Posts: 51 |
Posted: Sun, 02/04/2023 04:37 (2 Years ago) |
[Read more] |
Interna_Chaotica OFFLINE ![]() Forum Posts: 51 |
Posted: Sun, 02/04/2023 04:35 (2 Years ago) |
[Read more] |
Interna_Chaotica OFFLINE ![]() Forum Posts: 51 |
Posted: Fri, 31/03/2023 21:43 (2 Years ago) |
Shh, wait, listen.. Listen.. Shh! Wait, listen, listen.. Wake Up. xxxxxInfigo stared blankly ahead, dead ahead, where nothing moved and nothing stirred. He sat a few mere inches from the bars before him, his eyes vacantly gazing between them, across the room, staring down a particular section of wall which had caught his vague semblance of attention. The maned wolf, though not exactly a wolf, brushed his tail quickly across the floor, positioning it on the other side of his haunches; from cupping his left leg to cupping his right. His ears turned slowly, shifting, catching sound like a radar dish, selecting what to hear and what to ignore; the scuffling of paws, something vital to hear. The screeching of metal on metal; painfully loud, but worth being aware of. The yipping and chirruping of pups... Irrelevant. A voice, two voices, three voices, each one worthy of listening in on. A growl. Infigo's mane stood on end. He picked out the different conversations, where each word came from, as it bounced off a wall and came to him. "-trash-" "-brats.." "I know-" "-impress her." xxxxxHe placed a name to each voice, one at a time, making a list in his mind of which sounded like a foe, and which sounded like a threat. Of course, there were no friends; none here, in this confusing, blinding area. The entire perspective of the place made his fur stand on end, made him feel like his skin was swarming with ants. It reminded him of so long ago, a very long time ago, where they're jabbed him in the belly, where they'd mumbled his name without meaning to. Half of his mind began to wander, trailing alongside his story, calling back the feeling of a painful wrap around his neck, metal pieces jabbing into his flesh. That is, until it was removed, and he understood why it had been painful, and why he'd required the pain; he learned to become like a statue, sitting so still that not even the most observant things saw him in the dark until it was a moment too late. He was made for that, for sitting still and waiting. He could wait forever, if he so desired. After a moment, the half of his mind still obsessing over the reality around him called Infigo back to the world, telling him that something was pacing closer... xxxxxInfigo quietly bared his teeth, his mane standing up fully, like a forest of black fur presenting itself directly off of his back. A canine, smaller than him, had taken a step too close. He stamped his front down and spun swiftly, letting out a loud roar-bark in the general direction of the poor pup that had dashed too close. It scrambled over itself, tumbling in the desperate attempt to get away, claws skittering for a moment before it gained traction and escaped, hiding itself among the familiar faces of its companions. xxxxxInfigo's mane slowly laid down, and he turned slowly, stilt-like legs folding neatly to lower his body back to the steep incline, his withers still held up, though not as high as he held his head. He never let his head hang; it showed weakness, as if he were simply asking to be set to the pitiful place of the Omega. The maned wolf shook his shoulders, rocking them side to side in order to settle his mane fully. [Read more] |
Interna_Chaotica OFFLINE ![]() Forum Posts: 51 |
Posted: Sun, 26/03/2023 20:32 (2 Years ago) |
" Whether a choice arrives or not, all possibilities must be considered.. That being said, I'll still have to kill you. " ᴜꜱᴇʀɴᴀᴍᴇ / The_Silvertongue ɴᴀᴍᴇ / Infigo ɴɪᴄᴋɴᴀᴍᴇ / "If" ɢᴇɴᴅᴇʀ / ᴘʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴꜱ - Male / He - Him ᴀɢᴇ / 7 Years ʙʀᴇᴇᴅ / Chrysocyon brachyurus - Maned Wolf ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴘʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇ / Asexual ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄ ᴘʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇ / Aromantic ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ / Infigo is a very down-to-earth sort of beast - despite his legs being as long as they are, making up most of his height. His mind works in a strict order, always towards the success and fulfillment of his assignment, duty, or mission... Whether that be investigation, pursuit, or attack. He speaks as though to a friend at all times, even if he fully intends to bite in a few moments. That being said, his voice is smooth and soothing, always just above a whisper until he grows agitated. When he does indeed reach that point, his voice raises to a harsh growl. During these times, he often calms down quickly; unless, of course, he becomes further agitated by a remaining issue. And once he calms down, his voice lowers back to the smooth murmur, calming the nerves of those who hear it. While he's certainly an independent mind, his respect for authority is unmatchable. ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ / ᴅɪꜱʟɪᴋᴇꜱ - This maned wolf is a very aggressive sort of quiet, often preferring the silence to noise. Aside from peace and quiet, he likes silent obedience, both to himself and to a mission statement, benevolence to a cause, and the feeling of successfully fulfilling a task. As for what he dislikes, among those are noontime, which he vocally complains about sometimes, repetitive loud sounds, backtalk, disrespect, failure of missions, and failure to comply to an order. ᴡᴇᴀᴋɴᴇꜱꜱᴇꜱ / The maned wolf is a hunter, and one that skillfully uses its sensitive ears to find small prey animals underground and in thick undergrowth. Due to this, Infigo is difficult to sneak up on... Though easy to disorient with loud, piercing sounds. In addition, sudden bright lights can cause the maned wolf to flinch and panic until his eyes properly adjust. In addition, the maned wolf is fast - reaching up to 45 Miles Per Hours or about 72.5 Kilometers Per Hour - but only for a short distance before needing to stop and rest. Due to this, Infigo only ever sprints when he needs to; otherwise, he walks, trots, or jogs. ꜰᴇᴀʀꜱ / Infigo is terrified of not being awake of his surroundings. His senses, so sharpened as they are, often fend off this fear. Though every moment, he worries that he may not be able to detect a surprise attack. As an extension of this, he often jumps in surprise when another creature is standing just around a corner, out of sight, and when he notices something he didn't expect, such as a hiding beast. Otherwise, he's quite paranoid, always glancing over his shoulder and up at the ceiling or skyline to ensure he isn't caught off guard and unprepared. ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ / Infigo is a common coloration of the maned wolf - with a black mane along his neck, upper back, and snout as well as upon his paws and lower legs. His face, flanks, lower back, upper tail, and upper face are all a rusty red color, while his tailtip and underbelly are furred white. Aside from fur, he bears a single small scar along his upper right lip, which travels from his nose to the corner of his mouth, leaving a pale line along that side of his muzzle. ʜɪꜱᴛᴏʀʏ / Caution is advised in this point of reading, as it speaks heavily of death and disturbance. Infigo was given his name by a figure he never could identify; a silhouette in his mind that whispered a single word to him, which he made his name the moment he awoke from the dream in which he'd heard it. This was after the culling of his recognizable family, his mother and sibling, due to human attack on suspicion of the two attacking livestock. Infigo watched as their corpses were taken to be made into pelts without making a sound... And following behind the hunters, he managed to watch as the small encampment they'd made was raided, and the pelts confiscated by other humans. It didn't take long before he was seized by the mane and brought to a place he dreaded; a place where he was watched every day, and where blinding lights were flashed in his eyes. Where he was restrained and had foul-scented liquids poured into his muzzle. The liquids, he came to learn, were to strengthen him. The restraints, to protect the few that were trying to force his recovery from malnutrition. For several days after he was first captured, he heard whispers of "impressive" and "odd," each comment murmuring about how well he'd managed to survive. The days melted into weeks, into four months, before he was transferred from the confusing, blinding area to a place that felt more like home, where the grasslands and flatlands welcomed him... He wandered for several days, astounded by the familiar strangeness of it all... Before, once again, he was captured, this time by a program intent on teaching him to frighten, to kill, to chase. And, for several years, he stayed there, until at last he was handed off to another program. One of metallic beasts, too robotic to be dogs, too horrific to be alive... A place that taught not aggression, but obedience. Where a mission was the first thing in the mind, and where it would be the last. A place that he felt his talent of stalking in twilight was put to a better use. A place that filled his mind with a brutal appreciation... The place that he is now. ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ ᴀɴᴅ/ᴏʀ ᴍᴀᴛᴇ / None ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴍᴀᴛᴇ(ꜱ) / None ᴋɪɴ / A late sibling, known only to him by "She" and his parents, who only shared their living range, though lived quite independently of one another ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ / Infigo; Latin, meaning "Impressive." The word shapes his every notion, his every thought, his every desire... ᴘᴀʟᴘᴀᴅ / If you would be so kind, I'd greatly appreciate it [Read more] |
Interna_Chaotica OFFLINE ![]() Forum Posts: 51 |
Posted: Sat, 01/10/2022 15:10 (2 Years ago) |
The devil's cry Rise, Rise Take to the sky Derek nodded briefly, showing that he understood what Gwen had said. He said nothing, though, mostly intent on getting to the inn and getting Sylas sober again. The guildsman took his job very seriously, it seemed. How long would Sylas have survived without Derek there? How long would Derek be there? Even then, the curiosity surrounding the drunken foreigner seemed more important.. Why was he here at all, if there was indeed a reason? Fleeing war? Fleeing people? Perhaps, fleeing his past..? [Read more] |
Interna_Chaotica OFFLINE ![]() Forum Posts: 51 |
Posted: Sat, 01/10/2022 14:50 (2 Years ago) |
Rising Dawns Take Up Their Quarrels Become Their Pawns Sylas kept blubbering and mumbling, every word a confused mix of drunken, slurred speech. After a few moments of this, though, he descending back to speaking in his native tongue, the unfamiliar words only sounding more and more confused. He seemed to speak mostly towards Gwen, though occasionally he barked Derek's name to speak to the guard. On one occasion, Derek grimaced and turned to Gwen, speaking slowly as he tried to translate the drunken words.. "Eh.. Hey seys.. Ahh..." Derek turned his head to Sylas, listening carefully.. "Hey seys thar wus a men en th'tavern, hey say-ed hey'd like t'a see y-ew agin, by th'name of.. Err..?" Another brief session of listening occurred as Sylas repeated a single phrase over and over, the alcohol on his tongue making it hard to understand for either of the listening parties.. After a few moments of struggle, Sylas mumbled and shook his head, giving up.. Derek grimaced again, then glanced at Gwen apologetically.. "Wey well feg-ir et ou-wt let'r, hey's not understendible." Translations: "Eh.. He says.. Ahh..." "He says there was a man in the tavern, he said he'd like to see you again, by the name of.. Err..?" "We will figure it out later, he's not understandable.." [Read more] |
Interna_Chaotica OFFLINE ![]() Forum Posts: 51 |
Posted: Sat, 01/10/2022 14:04 (2 Years ago) |
Foul blooded king Raise your stature Bow to the ring.. Sylas let out a laugh comparable to that which an animal might make. He barked out his laugh without a care in the world, being lead out of the tavern with glee. Derek offered a glance towards Gwen out of the very corner of his eye, as if he might understand what she had said a little better. Still, he didn't speak much in the presence of Sylas, knowing just how volatile the drunkard could be... That, of course, didn't stop Sylas from rambling on. "Oh, nawh, I b'rely knew hey'ad been kell't, I on'y found out wh'n I saw hem thur.. We got to a-talking, though, it was ney-ace.. Though, I will a-say... Esserpresing hew many of 'em want'ya t'just.. Let em go..." Sylas droned on for some good time as the three traveled towards their destination, but those few lines were really all that stood out from the blissful drunk's monologue.. Translations: "Oh, naw, I barely knew he'd been killed, I only found out when I saw him there.. We got to talking, though, it was nice.. Though, I will say... It's surprising how many of them want you to just.. Let them go..." [Read more] |
Interna_Chaotica OFFLINE ![]() Forum Posts: 51 |
Posted: Sat, 01/10/2022 01:59 (2 Years ago) |
Too broken to stand But I raise my fist I close my hand Derek nodded almost instantly in response, knowing that any words from him would send Sylas into an uproar of claiming he was perfectly fine, even despite the drunkard's own statements earlier. Sylas, after throwing back another glass of ale, stood slowly, taking Gwen's arm gratefully. In addition, Derek held on tightly to Sylas' free arm, ensuring that he wouldn't stumble or fall.. After a brief moment, Derek whistled two sharp notes. His foxes trotted ahead of the group, darting out from under a table. With that settled, Derek began to lead the way out of the tavern, ensuring Sylas and Gwen were stable.. Syals was droning on in his drunken tongue, mostly stories of far-fetched ideas, lands beyond compare, and seeing the dead walk again... "... en' it w's a byoo-t'fil place.. Decorated with all sorts'v flowers, and I sawr my older br'th'r there, too.. Hey's dead, thoow, so Aye'm sure it w's a dream..." Derek was shockingly unbothered by the story, despite the mention of seeing a dead relative.. Oddly enough, though, the slurred speech described a place very near to Telmar.. A hillside dappled with flowers and sparse of trees... Translations: "...and it was a beautiful place.. Decorated with all sorts of flowers, and I saw my older brother there, too.. He's dead, though, so I'm sure it was a dream..." [Read more] |
Interna_Chaotica OFFLINE ![]() Forum Posts: 51 |
Posted: Sat, 24/09/2022 18:45 (2 Years ago) |
Frightened Soul Take Your Chains Succumb to the Hellfire Derek had slowed down some as he watched Swif enter the tavern, a few unintelligible words coming from the soldier... He walked rather stiffly into the tavern, shedding his helmet once again. The back of his neck glistened with sweat, another potential flaw in his heavy armor; speed would be no strength of his. "Hey es he-er. Swif sme-let her seb-len en the wend. Shey's sum-whar he-er." Derek slowly turned his head, looking around the tavern with a brutal, intimidating eye.. Evidently he did not approve of his client's habits of drinking. Every client to the tavern had glanced towards the door, a few anxious whispers staggering around the wooded room. The presence of the General certainly made a few people straighten up, though a single head stayed lowered. This was the head that Derek seemed most interested in, his heavy footsteps rattling several glasses and bottles within the tavern. The head rose, revealing black hair and an exhausted-looking face.. Calling out in a broken half-language, the man spoke.. This was Derek's client, it seemed. Judging by the two identical foxes sitting around his chair, he was who they needed to see. "Derrik, lesta vin alen... The ale is here to guard me..." "Sey-lis, yew er a fo-oul. Th'aey-ale wu'nt gerd y'a frem en ess-ess-en.." Sylas, the supposed client, waved this off and gestured at a seat next to him. He poured a beautiful amber liquid from the bottle next to his arm, his hands shockingly stable. He poured two glasses, actually, as if suggesting Derek or Gwen take a drink as well. Derek ignored the gesture to the seat, as well as the drink, instead sighing and standing by, like a dutiful guard would.. Sylas took the opportunity to speak once more, though, his language more of Gwen's than of Derek's. "Y'a must be Gen'r'l Gwen, hey? Der las tecki v'divay.. Err.. S'a'pl's're t'a meet you in p'rson.. W'should move t'somewhere quiet soon, I dun'think the tavernkeep'r likes me v'ry much.." Translations: Derek Sylas "He is here. Swif smelled her sibling in the wind. She's somewhere here." Sylas, you are a fool. The ale won't guard you from an assassin." "Derek, leave me alone.. The ale is here to guard me." You must be General Gwen, hey? It is pleasing to meet.. Err.. It's a pleasure to meet you in person.. We should move to somewhere quiet soon, I don't think the tavernkeeper likes me very much." [Read more] |
Interna_Chaotica OFFLINE ![]() Forum Posts: 51 |
Posted: Thu, 22/09/2022 22:39 (2 Years ago) |
Follow the King The Queen's Beloved That Horrible Thing.. Derek shrugged, not speaking much more.. That was, if anything, an invitation. Derek seemed tired, though, as though he hadn't slept for some time.. Donning his helmet at last, he completed the intimidating set of armor he wore. It was almost as though he had completely transformed, become a new man.. His voice sounded odd within the headwear as he spoke, finality ringing through the metal... "Swif, seches Clik." The fox perked up immediately at hearing her name, processing the order much faster than any human might. She lifted her snout towards the sky, sniffing as she walked, often following the way the wind came from.. Her name had been mentioned, and Clik's name had been mentioned.. Perhaps "seches" meant find? Or maybe smell? It would be hard to tell, since the fox was already trotting ahead, and Derek was pursuing quite quickly... The armor was heavy, but Derek seemed to know that, if he didn't keep up with the fox, she would wander out of earshot, and he wouldn't be able to call her back easily.. [Read more] |
Interna_Chaotica OFFLINE ![]() Forum Posts: 51 |
Posted: Tue, 20/09/2022 23:43 (2 Years ago) |
Fallen to the Mace Revive Your Grace Revive Your Sullen Face Derek hardly noticed Gwen marching behind him, though as she caught up to him and spoke, he turned his head to listen. As he comprehended the sentence, which took very little time for the large brute, he shrugged with a might rattle of metal and leather. "Swif mey lid mey tah hem, sence hey's weth her sestar. Thay'ell knew aech-ather's scents. Y'mey't c'm'long, ef ya'd plase, et'ed bey good t'a interedece Seyl's t'a loc'l power." The fox leaping along beside the two had perked up upon hearing her name, though she shortly returned to playfully bounding along, often trotting to an interesting part of the area or a place where some meager sound had arisen from.. Translations: "Swif may lead me to him, since he's with her sister. They'll know each other's scents. You might come along, if you'd please, it would be good to introduce Sylas to local power." [Read more] |
Interna_Chaotica OFFLINE ![]() Forum Posts: 51 |
Posted: Sun, 18/09/2022 17:12 (2 Years ago) |
Deceptive Beast, Come to Take His Claim.. Ruthless Cruelty, Breaking the Strongest Chain.. Given the Choice, There is no Choice, so Bow to The Hellish Pain.. Derek tipped his head at the request, though he seemed more eager to exit the room, uncomfortable with the sudden intensity of his conversational partner. He stood slowly, the chain creaking as the weight was eased from it. He glanced down at Swif, who had tipped the helmet upon to ground into a more stable position.. Derek wrestled his hatchet from his belt, then leaned down slightly and hooked one of the horns upon it, lifting it into his hands. Sheathing his hatchet once more, he nodded to Sage. "Aye'd like t'a considar th'request, ef Aye c-ud. Fer now, Aye'd best git t'a mey cle-int, hey's not one t'a bey left al'n fer too long, else hey begen's'ta drenk too much, sterts t'a sey ghusts, hey kells'em. Aye'm not aw-er ef th'm, thew, Aye be-leave thy're jest a few tew menay drenks.." The bastion bowed slightly, then stepped away from the chair he'd sat upon, which slouched slightly now. "Aye'll bey en contect." He turned and began walking, Swif trotting quickly after him, neither waiting to be dismissed... Translations "I'd like to consider the request, if I could. For now, I'd best get to my client, he's not one to be left alone for too long, else he begins to drink too much, starts to see 'ghosts,' he calls them. I'm not aware of them, though, I believe they're just a few too many drinks.." "I'll be in contact." [Read more] |