bad wolf
do you love my insides? the parts you canโt see?
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
โกcoded by uxie, from the wonderful mind of dreamglowโก
-
If your recruitment thread involves completely going off site with your partner(s) then it belongs in the Off-Site Ad Area.
-
This area of the site is governed by the official Recruitment rules. Whether you are looking for players or looking for a roleplay, we recommend you read them and familiarize your self with them. Read the Recruitment Rules Here.
Realistic or Modern ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐
- Thread starter bad wolf
- Start date
bad wolf
do you love my insides? the parts you canโt see?
logastellus
here you are friend. (:
STATE OF BEING
inspired by The Old Guard
It is some strange addiction: time. You find yourself bored of it one minute and then craving it the next, having too much and then too little. The first time we die, we're struck with its diminutiveness. We fight to keep our eyes wide open, like a child before bed begging for another story. Our greedy hands cling fast as we bend our knees in silent prayer and cruse whatever god gave us such small lives.
Give it a few deaths and the charm runs its course, the well runs dry and life seems a chore. I've seen the undying step off cliffs thinking they could fly, fill their pockets with heavy rocks before wading into rivers. They make easy sport of merciless ends and rise again only to do it all over. It becomes some temporary pain to an existence which runs on and on and on, a fleeting thrill to the endless din of immortality.
We are not sure who dictates this, who writes the book, who grants us more and more time, but we think they know we grow to despise it. That is why they gave us each other. Our dreaming runs together like watercolor, pulling us towards one another, hints to our past lives and whereabouts. We fit the pieces together like a puzzle, decipher the message and seek each other out. We conquer mountains and cut through jungles, transverse tundra and desert just to welcome another undying into this world.
Even after the fall of mankind -- roads overgrown and cities in shambles, polluted skies and radiation sickened animals, entire civilizations claimed by rising oceans.
It has barely put a hitch in our step.
The only reason we falter now is because the next undying is themselves, a child, born into destruction and risen a god and only twelve years old.
ROLES
The First: As the oldest of our company, they may be the most experienced with time. Thousands of years, falling unkindly upon the shoulders, its weight unbearably heavy. It's a shock of another kind. One that lingers and turns the mind to rot. You become something else, unhuman.
The Successor: They have taken on the responsibilities The First once managed. They lead, they worry, they keep everyone talking. When they come together, decisions are made final by their word. The Successor has not yet gone the way of The First, but they feel their mind slipping. A worry made worse by the slowing of their regenerative capabilities.
The Solider: They have met Death on the battlefield more times than they can rightfully count. They've been more places, fought in more wars, and seen more people come in and out of life than any other immortal. One might argue that they've become numb to it, uncaring and cruel. They think The Soldier sees it as a game to be won, this living.
The Healer: Medicine and surgery, mending broken bone and torn flesh. These skills might be lost on the immortals, but it keeps them close to those still living their best life, their only life. The Healer is perhaps the most connected to the way things were or ought to be. More human than the rest combined.
The Wild: The lull of time, dragging on for an eternity. Idleness eats at the brain, makes one mad, aching, shaking at the dullness of it. Laying about. Doing nothing. They fear what The First has become. They are unforgiving of it, spiteful of it. There's nothing in all this world that will hold them back from experiencing every bit of everything they can.
The Idol: They have found themselves a home, someplace stationary to hang up their coats. Worshiped by those they serve, some think they do it for the attention, and others just think them pacified by all this time. They know the area and its people. The last thing they'd want is for other immortals to disturb their peaceful little corner of existence.
The Progeny: Children of the immortals, the undying. They age slowly, reaching hundreds of years of age, and though they possess the same regenerative capabilities, they do so more slowly. They can even meet their ends if the severity of the injury becomes too great to overcome.
RULES
1. As always, RPN's rules must be followed. Any OOC conversations should still abide by those rules. Bullying and bigotry will NOT be tolerated. If a problem should occur, don't hesitate to message me and we'll work to resolve whatever the matter is.
2. Due to the themes this rp may include, I please ask that any prospective joiners be 20+ years of age. Content warnings should be used for posts containing any sensitive/graphic descriptions.
3. This rp is a collaborative effort. Sharing your ideas for the plot and maintaining a steady presence both in-character and out is expected. Come prepared to share your ideas and engage in conversation. It is a requirement that you have Discord as this is where a majority of our conversations will take place.
4. This rp is not first come, first serve. You must apply and be accepted. I left the roles deliberately pretty vague so that your muse/ideas could better define them. Applications will be accepted based on their compatibility with the overall cast.
LINKS
OOC | IC | CS
inspired by The Old Guard
It is some strange addiction: time. You find yourself bored of it one minute and then craving it the next, having too much and then too little. The first time we die, we're struck with its diminutiveness. We fight to keep our eyes wide open, like a child before bed begging for another story. Our greedy hands cling fast as we bend our knees in silent prayer and cruse whatever god gave us such small lives.
Give it a few deaths and the charm runs its course, the well runs dry and life seems a chore. I've seen the undying step off cliffs thinking they could fly, fill their pockets with heavy rocks before wading into rivers. They make easy sport of merciless ends and rise again only to do it all over. It becomes some temporary pain to an existence which runs on and on and on, a fleeting thrill to the endless din of immortality.
We are not sure who dictates this, who writes the book, who grants us more and more time, but we think they know we grow to despise it. That is why they gave us each other. Our dreaming runs together like watercolor, pulling us towards one another, hints to our past lives and whereabouts. We fit the pieces together like a puzzle, decipher the message and seek each other out. We conquer mountains and cut through jungles, transverse tundra and desert just to welcome another undying into this world.
Even after the fall of mankind -- roads overgrown and cities in shambles, polluted skies and radiation sickened animals, entire civilizations claimed by rising oceans.
It has barely put a hitch in our step.
The only reason we falter now is because the next undying is themselves, a child, born into destruction and risen a god and only twelve years old.
ROLES
The First: As the oldest of our company, they may be the most experienced with time. Thousands of years, falling unkindly upon the shoulders, its weight unbearably heavy. It's a shock of another kind. One that lingers and turns the mind to rot. You become something else, unhuman.
The Successor: They have taken on the responsibilities The First once managed. They lead, they worry, they keep everyone talking. When they come together, decisions are made final by their word. The Successor has not yet gone the way of The First, but they feel their mind slipping. A worry made worse by the slowing of their regenerative capabilities.
The Solider: They have met Death on the battlefield more times than they can rightfully count. They've been more places, fought in more wars, and seen more people come in and out of life than any other immortal. One might argue that they've become numb to it, uncaring and cruel. They think The Soldier sees it as a game to be won, this living.
The Healer: Medicine and surgery, mending broken bone and torn flesh. These skills might be lost on the immortals, but it keeps them close to those still living their best life, their only life. The Healer is perhaps the most connected to the way things were or ought to be. More human than the rest combined.
The Wild: The lull of time, dragging on for an eternity. Idleness eats at the brain, makes one mad, aching, shaking at the dullness of it. Laying about. Doing nothing. They fear what The First has become. They are unforgiving of it, spiteful of it. There's nothing in all this world that will hold them back from experiencing every bit of everything they can.
The Idol: They have found themselves a home, someplace stationary to hang up their coats. Worshiped by those they serve, some think they do it for the attention, and others just think them pacified by all this time. They know the area and its people. The last thing they'd want is for other immortals to disturb their peaceful little corner of existence.
The Progeny: Children of the immortals, the undying. They age slowly, reaching hundreds of years of age, and though they possess the same regenerative capabilities, they do so more slowly. They can even meet their ends if the severity of the injury becomes too great to overcome.
RULES
1. As always, RPN's rules must be followed. Any OOC conversations should still abide by those rules. Bullying and bigotry will NOT be tolerated. If a problem should occur, don't hesitate to message me and we'll work to resolve whatever the matter is.
2. Due to the themes this rp may include, I please ask that any prospective joiners be 20+ years of age. Content warnings should be used for posts containing any sensitive/graphic descriptions.
3. This rp is a collaborative effort. Sharing your ideas for the plot and maintaining a steady presence both in-character and out is expected. Come prepared to share your ideas and engage in conversation. It is a requirement that you have Discord as this is where a majority of our conversations will take place.
4. This rp is not first come, first serve. You must apply and be accepted. I left the roles deliberately pretty vague so that your muse/ideas could better define them. Applications will be accepted based on their compatibility with the overall cast.
LINKS
OOC | IC | CS
Last edited:
Sylvio
My mind plastered to your screen
You had me at inspired by the old guard
Totally interested!! Going straight for the healer role :3
here you are friend. (:
STATE OF BEING
inspired by The Old Guard
It is some strange addiction: time. You find yourself bored of it one minute and then craving it the next, having too much and then too little. The first time we die, we're struck with its diminutiveness. We fight to keep our eyes wide open, like a child before bed begging for another story. Our greedy hands cling fast as we bend our knees in silent prayer and cruse whatever god gave us such small lives.
Give it a few deaths and the charm runs its course, the well runs dry and life seems a chore. I've seen the undying step off cliffs thinking they could fly, fill their pockets with heavy rocks before wading into rivers. They make easy sport of merciless ends and rise again only to do it all over. It becomes some temporary pain to an existence which runs on and on and on, a fleeting thrill to the endless din of immortality.
We are not sure who dictates this, who writes the book, who grants us more and more time, but we think they know we grow to despise it. That is why they gave us each other. Our dreaming runs together like watercolor, pulling us towards one another, hints to our past lives and whereabouts. We fit the pieces together like a puzzle, decipher the message and seek each other out. We conquer mountains and cut through jungles, transverse tundra and desert just to welcome another undying into this world.
Even after the fall of mankind -- roads overgrown and cities in shambles, polluted skies and radiation sickened animals, entire civilizations claimed by rising oceans.
It has barely put a hitch in our step.
The only reason we falter now is because the next undying is themselves, a child, born into destruction and risen a god and only twelve years old.
ROLES
The First: As the oldest of our company, they may be the most experienced with time. Thousands of years, falling unkindly upon the shoulders, its weight unbearably heavy. It's a shock of another kind. One that lingers and turns the mind to rot. You become something else, unhuman.
The Successor: They have taken on the responsibilities The First once managed. They lead, they worry, they keep everyone talking. When they come together, decisions are made final by their word. The Successor has not yet gone the way of The First, but they feel their mind slipping. A worry made worse by the slowing of their regenerative capabilities.
The Solider: They have met Death on the battlefield more times than they can rightfully count. They've been more places, fought in more wars, and seen more people come in and out of life than any other immortal. One might argue that they've become numb to it, uncaring and cruel. They think The Soldier sees it as a game to be won, this living.
The Healer: Medicine and surgery, mending broken bone and torn flesh. These skills might be lost on the immortals, but it keeps them close to those still living their best life, their only life. The Healer is perhaps the most connected to the way things were or ought to be. More human than the rest combined.
The Wild: The lull of time, dragging on for an eternity. Idleness eats at the brain, makes one mad, aching, shaking at the dullness of it. Laying about. Doing nothing. They fear what The First has become. They are unforgiving of it, spiteful of it. There's nothing in all this world that will hold them back from experiencing every bit of everything they can.
The Idol: They have found themselves a home, someplace stationary to hang up their coats. Worshiped by those they serve, some think they do it for the attention, and others just think them pacified by all this time. They know the area and its people. The last thing they'd want is for other immortals to disturb their peaceful little corner of existence.
The Progeny: Children of the immortals, the undying. They age slowly, reaching hundreds of years of age, and though they possess the same regenerative capabilities, they do so more slowly. They can even meet their ends if the severity of the injury becomes too great to overcome.
RULES
1. As always, RPN's rules must be followed. Any OOC conversations should still abide by those rules. Bullying and bigotry will NOT be tolerated. If a problem should occur, don't hesitate to message me and we'll work to resolve whatever the matter is.
2. Due to the themes this rp may include, I please ask that any prospective joiners be 20+ years of age. Content warnings should be used for posts containing any sensitive/graphic descriptions.
3. This rp is a collaborative effort. Sharing your ideas for the plot and maintaining a steady presence both in-character and out is expected. Come prepared to share your ideas and engage in conversation. It is a requirement that you have Discord as this is where a majority of our conversations will take place.
4. This rp is not first come, first serve. You must apply and be accepted. I left the roles deliberately pretty vague so that your muse/ideas could better define them. Applications will be accepted based on their compatibility with the overall cast.
LINKS
OOC | IC | CS
orpheus.
.๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ ๐๐๐๐.
The Wild or The Idol. Decisions to make, lol
SavannahSmiles
ะผั fฮฑัั ฮนั ฯ ฯ ัฯ ะผั, ะธฯั ัะฝั ะฝัฮฑฮฝัะธั
Oooooo interesting!
Steve Jobs
Died of ligma
Seems fun! Hope this takes off 
SilvernFae
tired poetess who oftentimes forgets how to word
