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Steam Name:
Edgar
Steam ID:
Will retrieve if needed.
Why do you think you should get this whitelist?:
I don’t believe one should have to state why they are more capable then the next in terms of acquiring a character, I believe the quality of the application should be the determining factor. Not if I am liked IC, OOC, if I am a good RP’er, or if I’ve been doing it for years. I prefer to keep the reader neutral and let them decide for themselves.
How long have you been roleplaying for?:
It is hard to say how long I have been roleplaying for, I’ve been doing it for at least six or so years? Not continuous of course, I do often take breaks, and try my hand at other games capable of holding RP on them.
Write the backstory of your character [No minimum or maximum length, use common sense and discretion]:
Life was swell, life was grand, and life was gay, hence my use of was. My life was everything you could have pictured. I had a girl, I had the looks, I had the moves, and I was on my way up to the very tippity top of loving life. I should probably start from the beginning or else this will get all very confusing and you might end up walking away. I lived in the fabulous crazy city of New York during what we folk called the roaring twenties. Every joint you walked into was playing jazz, every street you turned down on a dark night you could hear the sounds of music and feet shuffling along the floor. My girl and I loved doing the Breakaway in a small rundown jazz joint right dead in the middle of New York. You could smell that putrid yet delectable smell of all those automobiles roaring past you filled with business man, musicians, gangsters, and just about everyone else. Everywhere you looked you could see pillars of steam rising up from the ground, rushing out from the open doors of those chink run washing machine shops. It was a glorious time indeed, and here I was a youngster around his twenties named Jacky madly in love with a dear ol’ gal named Diane. Oh how she looked in those plaid skirts that barely covered her knees, my parents thought she looked risqué with something that short, her bobbed hair, and oh boy could she smoke and drink me under the table any day.
I still remember the first thing she ever said to me; we bumped into each other at a dingy little nigger joint named the Saxton and we got to dancing, no talking, no looking, just right into doing the Charlton. You know what she whispered into my ear right after we were finished, “Baby, you got me all balled up and my chassis all wet. Why don’t we go struggle buggy in ya flivver.” That was the best and dirtiest thing I had ever heard out any dame before, and I stuck on her like you wouldn’t believe it. Every night, every day, every week we were inseparable, and I was head over heels gay for that dame of mine.
At least that is what my life use to be like; that was all before I met a fellow named Wickle. I was down by the canals of ol’ New York drinking up my nights worth of bootleg after I caught that hussy spooning out with a nigger, and the nerve on her she was all dolled up for a nigger too. I swiped some bootleg off the joint and hit tail for the night. I wasn’t about to let some dame get me all down, I was going to celebrate being unhitched once more, and by getting ossified.
An’ways about that fellow Wickle that I met, I was sitting there on that dingy lil sofa and enjoying my drink when this whack man comes up and asks for a smoke. Now when I say whack, I mean he was way whack. Skin was all grey, like a nigger’s but unnatural, had a wicked hunchback and his nails were like as long as his damn fingers. I ain’t one to be chicken shitted but the heck was he terrifying, I barely handed him a drag before I realized I could see my own breath in the frigid night but he had no breath, maybe he was just warm.
He introduced himself as Wickle and asked me why I was so glum. I told him the long story ‘bout my best girl necking with a nigger, how I felt betrayed, and how shit this bootleg tasted. You know what his response was? He heckled at me, and said if I wanted to see something. Just any bimbo who only wanted to look tough, slick and talk ‘bout himself the whole time, well what the heck, I had all night and I could use the chitchat even if it was from this creepy fellow.
This is the part of my story where I should have said no, and beat it. He turned around to face me and opened his trench coat, I swore he was about to flash me but what was beneath it was terrifying. Beneath is trench coat was nothing but skin, and by that I mean he didn’t even have a knocker or two bells, it was smoothed over, his skin looked dry and would break apart if I touched. Then his kisser opened and I saw it, all his teeth were pointed, long and fit in between each other perfectly except for the two fang like bitters on either side of the top of his kisser. I shat myself right there and then I think, I could barely get two words out before I suddenly felt the need to vomit. Except the only vomit spurring from my kisser was curiosity. I asked him what happened, and how he came to be like that. He told me it all, said I could even become like him for a price, and damn if I wasn’t impressed.
Here I was some nobody talking to someone that wasn’t even living, that had a purpose, which looked like he could bump off anyone he wanted too. I wanted it, I needed it. I’d give up everything right there on the spot to be like him, to bump off that slag Diane, and show them I was transcending into another world that they didn’t even know existed. I begged, pleaded, and offered everything I had for him to make me like him. He told him the price, was the price really worth the gain? After hearing that I didn’t know, but I so wanted it, I wanted to be a bimbo like him. I said yes.
Journal 57:
It’s been five years since that night out on the docks, since Wickle turned me into one of his kind. Kept me fed daily, trained and taught me what I needed to know to survive, and showed me the true underground world of what New York was really like, and I loved every second of it. I was transformed from this good looking, chain smoking, boozer slum into this unmovable force, yeah it was at the cost of my life and my looks but the heck if I didn’t feel great a month after.
Honestly though I am going to keep this short as I can barely hold this flippin pencil in my hands without my damn nails getting in the way.
The real reason I am writing this is because I fear I have did something horrid, something that Wickle won’t forgive me for so easily. He has these four dames that he keeps chained up in this nasty bricked room beneath us, you can hear them screaming all day long, and pleading to be let go. He only lets me feed off the old dame with a shabby leg, while he gets all the rest of them. It ain’t fair, and I may have been acting like a buffoon when I did it. I starved myself off that hag’s blood for days to prove a point that I should get to use the rest of them, only downside was that I hadn’t ever starved myself, nor had I ever experienced what I experienced before. I went into what he often called a blood frenzy and let myself loose on those four damn dames downstairs. I drank each of them dry before shredding their bodies with my teeth and nails, painting the wall, ceiling, and floor in their body parts and organs.
The worst part after I finished, I did the same thing to every houseguest and servant in our little underground dungeon, well not the worst part that is probably what is going to happen to be when Wickle returns from his outing to find my mess.
Day 31,065:
“Hello is anyone in here?” A young frightful voice speaks out from a darkened section of the room.
The sound of nails grinding against concrete beckon out from an area of the pitch black area, the sound of flesh moving against each other follows it. The frightened figure begins to search through the room with only her ears to pinpoint where the sound had come from, realizing it was above her she stops in place and tries to remain still as possible.
“What a treat this is, a human. My senses haven’t smelled, felt, heard, or tasted one of your kind in thirty thousand days. My mind and body should only be so lucky after so long to be in the presence of something more satisfying than pig, and dog. Speak the name giventh to you human.” The course voice speaks from directly above her, unknown if is a foot or ten feet away.
“My name is Sarah. Where am I, can you please help me get out of here, I don’t know how I got here.”
“Oh you aren’t going anywhere, dear Sarah. For this is a tomb, a maze like crypt designed with thousands of entrances which one can never be at all of them to tell which is to open first. Nor would this being let you go anywhere, except right in that spot to be feasted upon.”
“Feasted upon? Please just let me go, my father is very rich, and can give you anything you want.”
“I have everything I have ever wanted right here. You. A new source of substance. How decrepit my vessel and mind has become after sustaining off animals for thirty thousand days. You can’t understand how much this pains my form, how much of a lesser being I have become. The smell of your blood coursing through those pretty veins is almost too much. This being has a plan for you, and it shall be a glorious plan indeed. I will feed off you, and feed you pieces of dog and pig to sustain you so you can sustain me.”
With that said a figure suddenly drops from the ceiling in the pitch black crypt, its form extending to its full length and its teeth biting through its lips in anticipation for what was about to come.
Give an example of Combat RP [15 lines min]:
Along the deserted highway of 84 running through the state which calls itself the peach state runs a rather odd looking gray semi-truck. The time runs close to the dead of the night, and the only source of light for miles is the head lights from the front of the semi-truck, one of which is shattered. The grill of the truck appears to have tree branches, leaves, mud and pebbles wound up around it, almost as if the truck had been travelling off road for a few miles. The trailer of the semi-truck is only twenty feet long but looks rather modified in a sense.
Inside the trailer of the semi-truck lies four armored guards, all of which are resting the backs of their heads against the bouncing walls of the trailer, them having grown tired of the trip from a heavy wooded forest near the east border to Mexico all the way up to Georgia. Without having heard a word, or noise from their cargo for over two weeks they were at ease and only wanting the trip to be over with soon.
Within a split moment of the truck travelling peacefully, the driver would suddenly slam onto his brakess and begin to manoeuvre the semi-truck from left to right to avoid having it swerve out of control on him. The cause of his braking likely due to the sudden appearance of a car crashing through the section of forest to his right and crossing the road before disappearing back into the other side of the forest, a strange figure crashing after it by only mere feet.
The driver of the truck realizes he is not able to stop himself from swerving out of control as his trailer begins to slide to the left and jack knife himself as his own truck swerves to the right rapidly and with no way to suddenly slow it down. The semi-truck and the trailer unfortunately begin to roll, and crash alongside of the ditch to the left; the previous attached trailer had slid directly into a series of trees which punctured the roof and walls of the container.
A few seconds directly after the crash a nude and lengthy figure appears in front of the only remaining guard that survived the crash, or at least has survived up to this point. A cold and dry hand reaches down to grasp around the throat of the semi-conscious being, and hoist it directly into the air if not hindered.
The guard being hoisted into the air shows no reaction or attempt to struggle against his attacker likely due to the effects of the crash hindering him partly lucid. Though once he felt the cold hand around his neck, and the long sharp talons prodding into the back of his neck, his sense of being suddenly snaps back to reality and he stares wide eyed at the creature in front of him.
“The one that had you retrieve me from my crypt, and bring my form before his presence. Where might this being find him?” The course and decrepit voice speaks from in front of the guard.
“What crypt are you talking about? I was hired to sit in this truck and guard whatever we were transporting which was apparently you. I can’t help you man.”
“Then what use does this being have for someone of your caliber? Besides for being fed on that is.”
The guard slowly begins to snake his left hand behind himself and slip a freshly cleaned and sharpened knife from the sheath that it rested inside along his back. He’d withdraw the knife and suddenly move to snap his arm and the knife in front of him and move to slice the neck of the creature open.
The being in front of the guard had heard the sound of his hand slipping and reaching for something behind his back, nor did it do anything to prevent him or stop him from attacking its body. The creature merely turns its neck slightly to the right so that the cut is made on the sides of its neck. Its fingers tighten around the guard’s neck, its nail now ripping into his flesh as it moves to slam him against the wall which is now the roof of the trailer.
“Was I summoned before him because I was finally forgiven, or was it because I turned half of the humans fed to me in the last year into one of my own, into a force which to use to break free from the tomb? Or is this form being transported to another crypt because all of the kin I created were slaughtered by your kind inside their very tomb?
The guard is slammed against the roof of the trailer, his head making contact with one of the metal beams that run across it knocking him into a state of unconsciousness.
The creature slowly brings the guard down towards its body and holds the human close against its naked form, its other hand breaking fourth to wrap around his back and hold him tight to its body. Allowing the being to feel the guard’s blood coursing through his body.
Give an example of Feeding RP [10 Lines min]:
Without a second of hesitation the being bends its neck back at a rather unhuman angle and spreads its jaws open, the pointed, sharpened teeth of its mouth split open and allow for its own fangs to take center stage as the most dominant ones. It’d suddenly snap its head back and sink its teeth into the soft fleshly surface of what is the left side of the guard’s neck.
Once its fangs had been deposited into the flesh of the guard, the being starts the process of draining blood from the main vein along his neck. The blood seeping into the beings own mouth and down into its non-functioning stomach where it begins to fill the beast’s stomach and likely to be absorbed into its body after words to quench the overwhelming thirst that had come from not being able to feed properly for almost two weeks.
The being takes enough blood to allow the guard to survive, but enough to put him in the ground should help not arrive within five hours. Its head slowly raises and its teeth are pulled from the neck of the guard, the being snaps its head back and allows for its jaw to come together and for each of its teeth to be placed between each other and out of its way.
Not having any further use of the human, the being pulls the warm human body away from its naked form and cascades his limp body back into the depth of the trailer. Its lips coursing back and forth on top of each other to suck off any remaining droplets of blood leftover.
Give an example of Passive RP [15 lines min]:
The being slowly begins to traverse the wreckage and bodies of the inside of the trailer as it makes its way towards the bent open left barn door of the trailer. Its form dips and bends awkwardly to slip through it as it begins to walk away from the immediate wreckage of the semi-truck.
Its eyes dart back and forth over the concrete road, the telephone posts with wires running over top of them, the horrific scene of the wreck, then finally upwards as it stares at the night sky. A large twisted version of a smile breaks across the deformed face of the creature as it is finally able to see the sky, and the stars that pollute it.
“Thirty thousand, and eighty nine days for one to become free, for one to see this sight, and for one to finally seek and find vengeance on the being that imprisoned it for thirty thousand, and eighty nine days.”
The creature breaks its stare from the night sky and begins to look around itself once more, its eyes flickering between the numerous foreign objects such as the truck and the trailer, the signs that lie emerging from the road. All of it new to something that hasn’t seen the growing and adapting world we all live in now.
Its eyes slowly settle against the sign that lies emerging from the ground to the right of the highway, the beast squints its left eye so that the glare from the remaining headlight of the semi doesn't bother it so much. After focusing on the sign and taking a few steps towards it, the beast begins to slowly sound out the word and speak it. Its memory being a bit rusty due the fact it hasn't needed to read anything in a long time.
"Quitman." The course voice finally manages to speak out after having sounded it out for so long.
"Twenty miles ahead." It'd sound out once more, not quite remembering or caring what the miles parts stand for.
The beast turns its form a few more times and tries to gauge where it might be and which direction it'd be best to start in. Its eyes shut slowly as the senses of the creature begin to heighten, and turn to make out any sounds of civilization nearby. Its ear start to ring slowly at first, the beast moves forward five feet and twists his left ear in the direction of the ringing. A couple more moments and a faint laugh is heard coming from the direction down the road, along with the sounds of something circular hitting the pavement each time they went by.
Its naked form shifts in the direction of the sound as its body begins to crunch together and deform, it's torso and shoulders bend unnaturally within themselves as they produce a sort of hunchback effect. It's body lurches forward so that its legs were behind it and able to get the most force behind them. Its arm straighten out and clutch close to its own torso as its eyes finally snap open.
Within another second the deformed creature starts off in a slow speed and slowly making itself go faster and faster down the stretch of road. It not having been able to run on something other than sand and dirt for so long making it cautious. As the creature runs down the road towards the sound of civilization, a faint section of words can be heard slipping past it's lips.
"Quitman. Wickle. Quitman."
Edgar
Steam ID:
Will retrieve if needed.
Why do you think you should get this whitelist?:
I don’t believe one should have to state why they are more capable then the next in terms of acquiring a character, I believe the quality of the application should be the determining factor. Not if I am liked IC, OOC, if I am a good RP’er, or if I’ve been doing it for years. I prefer to keep the reader neutral and let them decide for themselves.
How long have you been roleplaying for?:
It is hard to say how long I have been roleplaying for, I’ve been doing it for at least six or so years? Not continuous of course, I do often take breaks, and try my hand at other games capable of holding RP on them.
Write the backstory of your character [No minimum or maximum length, use common sense and discretion]:
Life was swell, life was grand, and life was gay, hence my use of was. My life was everything you could have pictured. I had a girl, I had the looks, I had the moves, and I was on my way up to the very tippity top of loving life. I should probably start from the beginning or else this will get all very confusing and you might end up walking away. I lived in the fabulous crazy city of New York during what we folk called the roaring twenties. Every joint you walked into was playing jazz, every street you turned down on a dark night you could hear the sounds of music and feet shuffling along the floor. My girl and I loved doing the Breakaway in a small rundown jazz joint right dead in the middle of New York. You could smell that putrid yet delectable smell of all those automobiles roaring past you filled with business man, musicians, gangsters, and just about everyone else. Everywhere you looked you could see pillars of steam rising up from the ground, rushing out from the open doors of those chink run washing machine shops. It was a glorious time indeed, and here I was a youngster around his twenties named Jacky madly in love with a dear ol’ gal named Diane. Oh how she looked in those plaid skirts that barely covered her knees, my parents thought she looked risqué with something that short, her bobbed hair, and oh boy could she smoke and drink me under the table any day.
I still remember the first thing she ever said to me; we bumped into each other at a dingy little nigger joint named the Saxton and we got to dancing, no talking, no looking, just right into doing the Charlton. You know what she whispered into my ear right after we were finished, “Baby, you got me all balled up and my chassis all wet. Why don’t we go struggle buggy in ya flivver.” That was the best and dirtiest thing I had ever heard out any dame before, and I stuck on her like you wouldn’t believe it. Every night, every day, every week we were inseparable, and I was head over heels gay for that dame of mine.
At least that is what my life use to be like; that was all before I met a fellow named Wickle. I was down by the canals of ol’ New York drinking up my nights worth of bootleg after I caught that hussy spooning out with a nigger, and the nerve on her she was all dolled up for a nigger too. I swiped some bootleg off the joint and hit tail for the night. I wasn’t about to let some dame get me all down, I was going to celebrate being unhitched once more, and by getting ossified.
An’ways about that fellow Wickle that I met, I was sitting there on that dingy lil sofa and enjoying my drink when this whack man comes up and asks for a smoke. Now when I say whack, I mean he was way whack. Skin was all grey, like a nigger’s but unnatural, had a wicked hunchback and his nails were like as long as his damn fingers. I ain’t one to be chicken shitted but the heck was he terrifying, I barely handed him a drag before I realized I could see my own breath in the frigid night but he had no breath, maybe he was just warm.
He introduced himself as Wickle and asked me why I was so glum. I told him the long story ‘bout my best girl necking with a nigger, how I felt betrayed, and how shit this bootleg tasted. You know what his response was? He heckled at me, and said if I wanted to see something. Just any bimbo who only wanted to look tough, slick and talk ‘bout himself the whole time, well what the heck, I had all night and I could use the chitchat even if it was from this creepy fellow.
This is the part of my story where I should have said no, and beat it. He turned around to face me and opened his trench coat, I swore he was about to flash me but what was beneath it was terrifying. Beneath is trench coat was nothing but skin, and by that I mean he didn’t even have a knocker or two bells, it was smoothed over, his skin looked dry and would break apart if I touched. Then his kisser opened and I saw it, all his teeth were pointed, long and fit in between each other perfectly except for the two fang like bitters on either side of the top of his kisser. I shat myself right there and then I think, I could barely get two words out before I suddenly felt the need to vomit. Except the only vomit spurring from my kisser was curiosity. I asked him what happened, and how he came to be like that. He told me it all, said I could even become like him for a price, and damn if I wasn’t impressed.
Here I was some nobody talking to someone that wasn’t even living, that had a purpose, which looked like he could bump off anyone he wanted too. I wanted it, I needed it. I’d give up everything right there on the spot to be like him, to bump off that slag Diane, and show them I was transcending into another world that they didn’t even know existed. I begged, pleaded, and offered everything I had for him to make me like him. He told him the price, was the price really worth the gain? After hearing that I didn’t know, but I so wanted it, I wanted to be a bimbo like him. I said yes.
Journal 57:
It’s been five years since that night out on the docks, since Wickle turned me into one of his kind. Kept me fed daily, trained and taught me what I needed to know to survive, and showed me the true underground world of what New York was really like, and I loved every second of it. I was transformed from this good looking, chain smoking, boozer slum into this unmovable force, yeah it was at the cost of my life and my looks but the heck if I didn’t feel great a month after.
Honestly though I am going to keep this short as I can barely hold this flippin pencil in my hands without my damn nails getting in the way.
The real reason I am writing this is because I fear I have did something horrid, something that Wickle won’t forgive me for so easily. He has these four dames that he keeps chained up in this nasty bricked room beneath us, you can hear them screaming all day long, and pleading to be let go. He only lets me feed off the old dame with a shabby leg, while he gets all the rest of them. It ain’t fair, and I may have been acting like a buffoon when I did it. I starved myself off that hag’s blood for days to prove a point that I should get to use the rest of them, only downside was that I hadn’t ever starved myself, nor had I ever experienced what I experienced before. I went into what he often called a blood frenzy and let myself loose on those four damn dames downstairs. I drank each of them dry before shredding their bodies with my teeth and nails, painting the wall, ceiling, and floor in their body parts and organs.
The worst part after I finished, I did the same thing to every houseguest and servant in our little underground dungeon, well not the worst part that is probably what is going to happen to be when Wickle returns from his outing to find my mess.
Day 31,065:
“Hello is anyone in here?” A young frightful voice speaks out from a darkened section of the room.
The sound of nails grinding against concrete beckon out from an area of the pitch black area, the sound of flesh moving against each other follows it. The frightened figure begins to search through the room with only her ears to pinpoint where the sound had come from, realizing it was above her she stops in place and tries to remain still as possible.
“What a treat this is, a human. My senses haven’t smelled, felt, heard, or tasted one of your kind in thirty thousand days. My mind and body should only be so lucky after so long to be in the presence of something more satisfying than pig, and dog. Speak the name giventh to you human.” The course voice speaks from directly above her, unknown if is a foot or ten feet away.
“My name is Sarah. Where am I, can you please help me get out of here, I don’t know how I got here.”
“Oh you aren’t going anywhere, dear Sarah. For this is a tomb, a maze like crypt designed with thousands of entrances which one can never be at all of them to tell which is to open first. Nor would this being let you go anywhere, except right in that spot to be feasted upon.”
“Feasted upon? Please just let me go, my father is very rich, and can give you anything you want.”
“I have everything I have ever wanted right here. You. A new source of substance. How decrepit my vessel and mind has become after sustaining off animals for thirty thousand days. You can’t understand how much this pains my form, how much of a lesser being I have become. The smell of your blood coursing through those pretty veins is almost too much. This being has a plan for you, and it shall be a glorious plan indeed. I will feed off you, and feed you pieces of dog and pig to sustain you so you can sustain me.”
With that said a figure suddenly drops from the ceiling in the pitch black crypt, its form extending to its full length and its teeth biting through its lips in anticipation for what was about to come.
Give an example of Combat RP [15 lines min]:
Along the deserted highway of 84 running through the state which calls itself the peach state runs a rather odd looking gray semi-truck. The time runs close to the dead of the night, and the only source of light for miles is the head lights from the front of the semi-truck, one of which is shattered. The grill of the truck appears to have tree branches, leaves, mud and pebbles wound up around it, almost as if the truck had been travelling off road for a few miles. The trailer of the semi-truck is only twenty feet long but looks rather modified in a sense.
Inside the trailer of the semi-truck lies four armored guards, all of which are resting the backs of their heads against the bouncing walls of the trailer, them having grown tired of the trip from a heavy wooded forest near the east border to Mexico all the way up to Georgia. Without having heard a word, or noise from their cargo for over two weeks they were at ease and only wanting the trip to be over with soon.
Within a split moment of the truck travelling peacefully, the driver would suddenly slam onto his brakess and begin to manoeuvre the semi-truck from left to right to avoid having it swerve out of control on him. The cause of his braking likely due to the sudden appearance of a car crashing through the section of forest to his right and crossing the road before disappearing back into the other side of the forest, a strange figure crashing after it by only mere feet.
The driver of the truck realizes he is not able to stop himself from swerving out of control as his trailer begins to slide to the left and jack knife himself as his own truck swerves to the right rapidly and with no way to suddenly slow it down. The semi-truck and the trailer unfortunately begin to roll, and crash alongside of the ditch to the left; the previous attached trailer had slid directly into a series of trees which punctured the roof and walls of the container.
A few seconds directly after the crash a nude and lengthy figure appears in front of the only remaining guard that survived the crash, or at least has survived up to this point. A cold and dry hand reaches down to grasp around the throat of the semi-conscious being, and hoist it directly into the air if not hindered.
The guard being hoisted into the air shows no reaction or attempt to struggle against his attacker likely due to the effects of the crash hindering him partly lucid. Though once he felt the cold hand around his neck, and the long sharp talons prodding into the back of his neck, his sense of being suddenly snaps back to reality and he stares wide eyed at the creature in front of him.
“The one that had you retrieve me from my crypt, and bring my form before his presence. Where might this being find him?” The course and decrepit voice speaks from in front of the guard.
“What crypt are you talking about? I was hired to sit in this truck and guard whatever we were transporting which was apparently you. I can’t help you man.”
“Then what use does this being have for someone of your caliber? Besides for being fed on that is.”
The guard slowly begins to snake his left hand behind himself and slip a freshly cleaned and sharpened knife from the sheath that it rested inside along his back. He’d withdraw the knife and suddenly move to snap his arm and the knife in front of him and move to slice the neck of the creature open.
The being in front of the guard had heard the sound of his hand slipping and reaching for something behind his back, nor did it do anything to prevent him or stop him from attacking its body. The creature merely turns its neck slightly to the right so that the cut is made on the sides of its neck. Its fingers tighten around the guard’s neck, its nail now ripping into his flesh as it moves to slam him against the wall which is now the roof of the trailer.
“Was I summoned before him because I was finally forgiven, or was it because I turned half of the humans fed to me in the last year into one of my own, into a force which to use to break free from the tomb? Or is this form being transported to another crypt because all of the kin I created were slaughtered by your kind inside their very tomb?
The guard is slammed against the roof of the trailer, his head making contact with one of the metal beams that run across it knocking him into a state of unconsciousness.
The creature slowly brings the guard down towards its body and holds the human close against its naked form, its other hand breaking fourth to wrap around his back and hold him tight to its body. Allowing the being to feel the guard’s blood coursing through his body.
Give an example of Feeding RP [10 Lines min]:
Without a second of hesitation the being bends its neck back at a rather unhuman angle and spreads its jaws open, the pointed, sharpened teeth of its mouth split open and allow for its own fangs to take center stage as the most dominant ones. It’d suddenly snap its head back and sink its teeth into the soft fleshly surface of what is the left side of the guard’s neck.
Once its fangs had been deposited into the flesh of the guard, the being starts the process of draining blood from the main vein along his neck. The blood seeping into the beings own mouth and down into its non-functioning stomach where it begins to fill the beast’s stomach and likely to be absorbed into its body after words to quench the overwhelming thirst that had come from not being able to feed properly for almost two weeks.
The being takes enough blood to allow the guard to survive, but enough to put him in the ground should help not arrive within five hours. Its head slowly raises and its teeth are pulled from the neck of the guard, the being snaps its head back and allows for its jaw to come together and for each of its teeth to be placed between each other and out of its way.
Not having any further use of the human, the being pulls the warm human body away from its naked form and cascades his limp body back into the depth of the trailer. Its lips coursing back and forth on top of each other to suck off any remaining droplets of blood leftover.
Give an example of Passive RP [15 lines min]:
The being slowly begins to traverse the wreckage and bodies of the inside of the trailer as it makes its way towards the bent open left barn door of the trailer. Its form dips and bends awkwardly to slip through it as it begins to walk away from the immediate wreckage of the semi-truck.
Its eyes dart back and forth over the concrete road, the telephone posts with wires running over top of them, the horrific scene of the wreck, then finally upwards as it stares at the night sky. A large twisted version of a smile breaks across the deformed face of the creature as it is finally able to see the sky, and the stars that pollute it.
“Thirty thousand, and eighty nine days for one to become free, for one to see this sight, and for one to finally seek and find vengeance on the being that imprisoned it for thirty thousand, and eighty nine days.”
The creature breaks its stare from the night sky and begins to look around itself once more, its eyes flickering between the numerous foreign objects such as the truck and the trailer, the signs that lie emerging from the road. All of it new to something that hasn’t seen the growing and adapting world we all live in now.
Its eyes slowly settle against the sign that lies emerging from the ground to the right of the highway, the beast squints its left eye so that the glare from the remaining headlight of the semi doesn't bother it so much. After focusing on the sign and taking a few steps towards it, the beast begins to slowly sound out the word and speak it. Its memory being a bit rusty due the fact it hasn't needed to read anything in a long time.
"Quitman." The course voice finally manages to speak out after having sounded it out for so long.
"Twenty miles ahead." It'd sound out once more, not quite remembering or caring what the miles parts stand for.
The beast turns its form a few more times and tries to gauge where it might be and which direction it'd be best to start in. Its eyes shut slowly as the senses of the creature begin to heighten, and turn to make out any sounds of civilization nearby. Its ear start to ring slowly at first, the beast moves forward five feet and twists his left ear in the direction of the ringing. A couple more moments and a faint laugh is heard coming from the direction down the road, along with the sounds of something circular hitting the pavement each time they went by.
Its naked form shifts in the direction of the sound as its body begins to crunch together and deform, it's torso and shoulders bend unnaturally within themselves as they produce a sort of hunchback effect. It's body lurches forward so that its legs were behind it and able to get the most force behind them. Its arm straighten out and clutch close to its own torso as its eyes finally snap open.
Within another second the deformed creature starts off in a slow speed and slowly making itself go faster and faster down the stretch of road. It not having been able to run on something other than sand and dirt for so long making it cautious. As the creature runs down the road towards the sound of civilization, a faint section of words can be heard slipping past it's lips.
"Quitman. Wickle. Quitman."
