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I'm Feeling Lucky

Searching for: Posts from Interna_Chaotica.
Posted: Sun, 04/02/2024 06:00 (2 Months ago)


xxxxxSo... Not a wonderful week, this last one. Terrible to report, but relieving to share. Let's start most recently, and go from there.

-I was forced into attending a small, exclusive country music concert that was put on by a famous man I'd never heard the name of. The room was too small, the acoustics were hellish, and the speakers were far too loud. The small room reeked of spirits and was stocked far too full with drunken adults. I was the only person under twenty that was there.

-The school week was painfully slow, and neither classes nor play practice were at all enjoyable. I went from an intolerable class to an aggravating drama practice this past Friday in a matter of seconds. I also gave up on an idea for my senior project, but I've found potential in another idea.

-I've just been feeling generally low. I've had to take a few leaves of absence from communities I'm usually very active in due to some minor mental strain, and the guests to those communities don't make it better.

-I haven't been performing as well as usual, in terms of the games I play... It's only been this week, and it seems as though it's a mixture of the previous point and my... Less than incredible internet connection.


xxxxxSo.. My week, summed up. I wish it had never happened. On this Saturday night, I've felt a little low; I keep spotting things that make me think of people, but when I go to check in on those people I find an unpleasant surprise; they've vanished, or they've manifested hate for me in some form... It's an odd feeling, in all honesty. Leaving for months, then returning to something you never even knew had happened. I don't even have the smile for a signature this week... Something small, that's all there'll be..

Cheers,
Chaotica

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Posted: Sun, 28/01/2024 05:26 (2 Months ago)


xxxxxSaturday again, hm? Time is flying, over here. I swear, I was just writing that last post a few hours ago... I guess it's just been rough, trying to settle into the new shcedule of Semester II of my senior year. It's gonna be hell this year, I can feel it. Well, this semester. Last semester wasn't so bad. I got the freedom that came with having a free period in the afternoons, I got to go home as soon as third period ended... I figured I'd have a similar scenario this year. But now, I've also got a free period for first period, not on the same day as the other free period I've got. That, let me tell you, was a total mistake. I'm struggling to figure out if I can sleep in or not half of my days, and the other half I'm usually late to class. Not like I'd want to go to my first period class. It's Probability and Statistics, an advanced math class. And it's full of the worst people in my school. Homophobes, racists, misogynists... And they hate school. Hate it. They only show up so that they can skip their later classes. They don't listen to the teacher, they don't respect her, or all the work she does to teach us. They mess around, play phone games, tell her off, cuss her out... All because they took one of the two available math classes. The other math class? Accounting, with a different teacher. Simple, extremely simple. The only reason any of those guys aren't taking it is because they can't figure out how a computer works... It's... Sad, honestly. They fried their brains with whatever they're buying off the highway, and now they're taking it out on that poor teacher... She didn't work for a Doctorate's degree for that long to be disrespected by high schoolers with no future...

xxxxxHappier topic now, hey? I'm finally getting back into the roleplaying scene, after such a massive absence. Of course, I had to go to the first Hunger Games roleplay I spotted... And as luck would have it, it was one that involved supernatural abilities, a nice little callback to TGGAkane's Supernatural HG RP series. That was a fun time, when those ran. I could almost always count on clicking the forums and seeing one either active or starting. Another one I've signed up for, made by ~Fahrenheit~, is getting delayed, but we've all got hopes that it's starting pretty soon (Hey, Fahren, if you read this - I hope you're doing alright, and nothing's been too stressful). It's going to be a new sort of roleplay for me; a sort of slice-of-life, if that life you're slicing is a fashion model with a major personality flaw behind closed doors. I can't wait, it's gonna be really fun. I've seriously missed getting to write with the people here... On that note, a shameless plug before I sign this off...

I've got a massive project underway, I'm opening it to the public for sign-ups really soon; come check out Sea Beasts, and "sea" if it catches your interest!


That's it for now; no deep-dive into the past this time, only some good news and some awful scenarios.

Continuing Later, And Signed,

Interna_Chaotica

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Posted: Wed, 24/01/2024 02:01 (3 Months ago)

Wade Marwulf



xxxxxFootsteps. Scuffing shoes, boot heels. Bodies, wandering in the streets, too reluctant to go, but having nothing better to do. There was no energy this day. For the first time in about a year, the entire district was listless... Lifeless... The sun warmed the streets and the faces that looked up at it, the hairs of different colors which the light brandished gentle, hopeful attention at.. Yet none felt that hope. None felt the eagerness that the cheery sun felt, none felt the joy that the close star greeted the cold side of the planet with. Not a single soul smiled, nor gave any hint of anything positive. All was dark, aside from the sun. The Reaping, the infamous meeting of the whole district, was slowly growing, getting larger and larger, each member of a family holding their breath already, desperate to hear any name but their own. Wade approached that ominous gathering with a confused, suddenly fogged mind. Six. His name was in the drawing a mere six times. He'd needed to bring no extra food to his household, as they'd all been so willing to cut back heavily on what they ate after that death; half a decade prior, and it still shook them to their cores. Wade shuddered as he stood before the stage, staring emptily at it.

xxxxxIt was nearly as empty as he felt. That stage, bare and plain, with only a few things that stood out. A microphone. Two massive glass orbs. Several chairs behind all of those. Wade filed in slowly to his place among the other boys of his district. Masses of them all, lined up neat and orderly. Peacekeepers, all around them. In the center, leading up to the stage, an aisle, enforced by two lines of peacekeepers; they stood statue-like in the sun, their white uniforms pearly despite the dust that covered the entire district. Across that aisle, the girls of the district; many faces that Wade recognized. More that he didn't. They'd be called first. Then would be that chance. That tiny, horrifying chance. Six. Six out of... How many hundreds? Or even that many? Had any of these boys needed to take tesserae this season? Or the seasons before? How many boys had luckily turned 19 before the Reaping? How many had sadly turned 12? It was sickening, thinking about it all. Wade lifted his right hand, stared for a moment at the tiny wound left on his first finger. They'd taken his blood, just minutes ago. He didn't understand it. He didn't care. Six empty chairs. A microphone. Two glass bowls. District six. [/i]How ironic[/i], Wade thought. Six times, and the sixth district. He hated that. He'd be the twelfth Tribute, if he was called. If those foul six times added up. Eleven other people, children, would be sentenced to potential death. And if not death, then guilt.

And if not guilt, inhumanity.


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Posted: Tue, 23/01/2024 02:46 (3 Months ago)
Clarifying Post / Explanation

My apologies for being gone so long, and letting this die out; This will be an example post to guide the Captains through the process of the previously posted ship form


The J.L.C. Valhalla

Ship Appearance

Armament: Heavy ram; a projection of the hull extended just above the waves, at the very front of the ship. Two total cannons, one at the bow and two at the stern; each with three barrels, firing a shell size of 127 mm at a rate of one shell every 15 seconds, per barrel. A dozen crew-operated machine-guns on port and starboard sides, firing 13 mm bullets at a rate of 100 bullets per minute - used only for close combat, due to low range. Eight total torpedo tubes, fixed in place; four facing directly forwards, four facing directly back, launching torpedoes of 288 inches in length and 21 inches in diameter - once fired, the torpedoes were entirely unguided, carrying a payload of 494 total explosive, plus any leftover fuel.
Hull Color: Gunmetal Grey
Hull Length: 116 Meters
Beam: 13 Meters
Figurehead, If Present: A Snarling Wolf Head, seeming to leap from the metal of the ship
Command Style: Closed Wheelhouse

Internal Information

Crew Size: 62 - The Captain and First Officer, as well as various crew working weapons and ship operations.
Cargo Space: Stable Floorspace - Appx. 1700 Sq. Meters across all decks
Brig Space: 25
Living Accommodations: Well

Statistics

Maximum Speed: 34.5 knots - Appx. 39.7 MPH - Appx. 63.9 km/h
Maximum Carry Weight: Appx. 900 tons
Maximum Armor: Belt Armor - 280 mm, Appx. 11.02 in; Turret Armor - 320 mm, Appx. 12.60 in; Main Deck - 80-130 mm, Appx. 3.15 in - 5.12 in
Minimum Armor: Wheelhouse, frontal half, made of tempered glass - minimum armor, less than 20 mm. Below the Belt Armor, towards the lowest point of the hull - ranging from 80 mm to 100 mm. Top deck, entirely unarmored, made of mahogany wood - extremely vulnerable to falling shells - No Protection.


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Posted: Mon, 22/01/2024 19:25 (3 Months ago)


xxxxxA bit delayed, by two to three days, depending on the location of the reader. That's my bad, I lost track of time. Last week was midterms for the school, so my sense of everything was thrown violently off. That being said, I had a total of seven credits available to earn from passing those tests, and successfully earned seven credits this past semester. I expected a horrible failure in a few classes, considering I only had vague ideas of what I was reading, but I never got below an 80%, which is.. Splendid. That's a B average, for the American grading system I'm stuck in. Not much happened, aside from those midterms in the last week, so... Not very much to report on for the past week. However, there was a pretty fun event before today. It's been going on for a while, since I've been nearly obsessed with the Global Trade Station. I've actually been circulating my wealth, not sitting on it, so I've been gathering more materials, beasts, rare items... It's been great.

I suppose that's it for now, since I've nothing more to report. Maybe next week, I'll go a bit further into the past. A couple years, maybe?

Continuing Later, And Signed,

Interna_Chaotica

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Posted: Mon, 22/01/2024 05:49 (3 Months ago)

Wade Marwulf



xxxxxThe Morning, a hateful time. There was no time worse than the morning. The morning was the time where the warmest of bedsheets were sacrificed for the chill of the morning air, a full night of the wood burning stove being perfectly unattended, the flames within having devoured the fuel fed to it hours before, and died out slowly. Without the fire to heat the space of the house, the air grew angry and chilled, the hateful feeling of the morning embodied. It was there that Wade found his groggy, rather aggressive awakening, interrupted by the desperate urge to simply lay down and close his eyes again. Alas, his sleep way rudely interrupted by the shock of cold air stunning his skin. He gasped and sat upright, his eyes flicking quickly open, flinching at the beam of sunlight warming his face.. Covering his eyes, the gladiator squinted at his room, then saw his warm blanket on the floor next to him, cast aside by a tiny, insignificant movement in a nap he didn't know he'd taken. Groggy still, only now covered in goosebumps from the cold, Wade swung his legs out of bed, caught his blanket and tossed in back onto his bed, and stood to stretch. After a few audible pops from joints and the odd vertebrae, the unknowing competitor-to-be took a few brief minutes to change out of loose shorts and into his common work apparel; loose-fitting jeans, colored a lovely faded green, and a long-sleeved shirt which he rolled up to uncover his pale forearms. Wade made his way out of his own room, a relatively small space, and into the main space of his home, shared with his parents only. They were both still asleep, but they'd be along shortly. Marwulf stopped by the front door, tugging on a pair of black boots and tightening them, tying them and standing.. He seized some "breakfast", a slice of wheat bread with butter smeared across it, and made his way out the door. In a few moments, he was headed back in the door, looking around the entire house, aside from the room of his parents, eventually leaving once again with a small slip of forged steel. One end was slammed into a vague, crude screwdriver, the other end into a similar wrench. The multi-tool was tucked into a pocket, and Wade was gone again, vanished out the door.


xxxxxThe morning outside was fairly busy, though not busy in the typical sense. People shuffled, some dazed, others perfectly awake, towards a single goal. Of course, all knew it was the dawn that bore the Reaping, the haunting selection that terrorized every District at the same time, every year.. Wade was no stranger to it; he'd been selected once before, five years prior. His older brother had volunteered in his place, and died in the games to another victor from District 3. Wade had never forgiven himself. His parents had never forgiven District 3. Both parties were deeply disturbed by the loss, even those years later. Now, the event was a scar in Wade's mind. He recalled the day through a haze of fear every year, especially when the Reaping came to the Districts. The boom of the loudspeakers, his brother's hoarse voice nearly screaming, shoving Wade back.. The announcement of that death sent Wade into a deep hatred for himself. He became careless, self-destructive, obsessive.. That's when he first learned what his parents did, on the work of transportation, and he became obsessed with preparing himself to enter that same line of word...

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Posted: Mon, 15/01/2024 19:42 (3 Months ago)
Oh, is that one of those anime shows? It sounds so interesting, tell me about it!




Mom, I just accidentally conquered a foreign planet again


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Posted: Sat, 13/01/2024 18:17 (3 Months ago)
Firstly, let me state that I, by no means, intend to criticize anyone in this forum, nor do I intend to claim ownership of certain characters unless explicitly stated.

If I do, at some point, betray this disclaimer, please alert me to that through PalPad or PM and I will revise my words to make them clearer.

Thank you.



xxxxxWell.. As with many of my posts, I started by checking the box just above the post button; "Hide my signature for this post". That's a bit ironic, considering I just deleted all the content within my signature a matter of days ago.

xxxxxI've been gone for several months at this point. Four or five, maybe even six. Why did I come back? I guess I felt the need to try and fix the project I'd started, Sea Beasts... So much for that, all the people interested have since unsubscribed from the forum and taken to avoiding it; after all, I bombarded the forum with different forms for a few people in particular, expecting such haste from them filling it out that I wanted to open the signups to public within a few days. Shame on me, for that. Old habits die hard, this isn't the school building I used to wander in, where people would help Fourth-Grade-Me until I could understand it all.

xxxxxI'm not fully sure why I began to write this diary. I've got a personal information storage "Diary" with some so-so abilities that are just rewritten things I found under Creative Commons when I was younger. The ideas stayed for a while, and they popped up when I started to think about abilities; not a conscious effort to rewrite those Creative Commons ideas, but still what happened. It's not like I profited off of them, I just liked those topics so much that I took a liking to them, and wanted to become them briefly, even if just through text.

xxxxxBack to the first try of the last paragraph, I'm not certain as to my own intentions. I suppose I'm just... Scattered. I've been on and off this site for nearly six years exactly at this point; maybe I just thought it was time to take my fingers to the keyboard again and write like I did when I was upset, back in Freshman year of high school. Just write my thoughts, the little ideas that pop up. But this time, I'm not upset. I'm not even agitated. Well, I've got a bit of a headache from caffeine withdrawals and, most likely, dehydration, but I don't feel anything against that. It's just a natural process, no? I keep glancing at my phone, checking for notifications, but it's just games and YouTube alerts, nobody is sending a message my way. Not like I'd respond; I'm already writing something.

xxxxxMaybe I should address the title of this before I end this initial introduction.. "Losing Oneself." I do believe I'm lost. Some of the old friends I had here seem distant, maybe even spiteful. I close my eyes, and I see a little scene. Once, a little beast, assuming itself popular and well-loved from the few friends it gathered. Of course, it could never run for the Mayor of the Town; there wasn't enough support for it, for that. Why not get more support? Go hunt down a terrifying mercenary or monster, something that frightens the town. But then encounter it, and lose an eye. Stumble back to the town, but find that nobody wishes to be near that little beast now. It's hideous now, with that missing eye. Scare it into the woods, up a tree. That's where it belongs, where it can watch, but never partake, for fear of making another mistake.

xxxxx"A Recollection of the Recent Times Gone By." On the day of this post, it's been five years years and three-hundred sixty-two days since I made this account. But, counting the odd leap year dropped in the center of that, it's been five years and three-hundred-sixty-three days since I made this account. Of course, on the day of this post, January Thirteenth. Where did the months go? Well, let me check.. They went into a bad relationship, a good relationship, they went to the Emergency Room and into a social life filled with backstabbers. Six years? They went into middle school, surprisingly. The only thing I have left of that place... Thankfully. It's hard for the peers of a middle schooler to appreciate any sort of writing... Aside from certain genres of fiction books, save for the rare case of a middle school genius, who devours every piece of literature in the school library. Six years ago, I hated writing with a burning passion. I always pressed too hard with my pencil, and gave myself lasting pains in the right hand. I blamed the notebook and the graphite in my pencil for it, not knowing that it was simply a flaw in my mind; I couldn't control the pressure I used. In the seventh grade, I first sat down in front of a blank word document and put my hands to the keyboard. I was disturbed, back then, and decided to write a gory tale of a gladiator, whose hand had been sliced away and replaced with a sickle. It wasn't my proudest moment, as a writer, but it started something I never expected. And six years later, I think about that moment. It didn't take long for me to find the forum here, and make my first mistake...

xxxxxI've taken a bit to look back through my old gift log... I got to see old friends, people that have left the site... People that are planning to leave.. My very first plushie was from Zarkesh. It was a Weedle, I'm not fully sure what happened to earn me that bug, but it's an ancient little memory... Farewell, Zarkesh, when you do go. You've changed so many lives here.

Continuing Later, And Signed By My Old, Deceased Names,

Interna_Chaotica
Gilded_Empress
The_Blackguard_Empire
Goat~Mum
Dafitfish5

May you, who identified me in the past, rest easy; you set the stage for this whole thing.

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Posted: Fri, 12/01/2024 01:12 (3 Months ago)

Ah, cripes, I didn't even notice; I've been a bit scattered as of late, my apologies. I'll get a quick change done.

Note; I've edited my form, District 6 now- I did my best to check for another District 6 male and didn't notice any, but.. I may still be blind.


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Posted: Wed, 10/01/2024 21:31 (3 Months ago)
Name: Wade Marwulf

Age: 17

Gender: Male

District: District 6, Transportation

Power: "The Gladiator"
Show hidden content
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".



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Posted: Fri, 05/01/2024 19:17 (3 Months 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.



🤍


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Posted: Thu, 04/01/2024 00:35 (3 Months ago)


G'day! Might I reserve a place for Wrath?


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Posted: Fri, 25/08/2023 17:43 (8 Months ago)
Captains, Please Use The Following Form To Describe Your Ship



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[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]


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Posted: Mon, 24/07/2023 03:18 (9 Months ago)
Iris Freud
"I will not stay seated for long. Bring me my blade. I've a ship to run, as it is."



Appearance

Show hidden content


Height:

Weight

Hair Color:

Eye Color:

Clothing Preference:

Build Type:




Internal Conflict

Show hidden content


Age:

Personality:

Alignment:

Gender:

Addictions:

Fears:

Personal Strengths




Other/Miscellaneous

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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.


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Posted: Wed, 12/07/2023 00:04 (9 Months ago)

Captains And First Officers, Please Post Your Forms



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Posted: Sun, 02/07/2023 19:00 (9 Months ago)
Story


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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

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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


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Please note, not all fields are required... Just use common sense.

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Ships and Command


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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


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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.



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Posted: Sun, 09/04/2023 14:20 (1 Year ago)
Disregard, I've run out of time for roleplays..

Apologies for the (though edited) interference.

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Posted: Sun, 02/04/2023 04:37 (1 Year ago)
Reserve a spot here, please? I'd be very appreciative.

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Posted: Sun, 02/04/2023 04:35 (1 Year ago)
Reservation Sadly Withdrawn... I Have Run Out Of Spare Time

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Posted: Fri, 31/03/2023 21:43 (1 Year ago)
Shh, wait.. Listen, listen..
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.

"Throats-"
"-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.

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