persimmon
social justice cleric
i thought i'd throw this intro down, seeing as i never got to use it but would really like to! the basic idea, if you choose to accept it, is that a short-sighted emperor had a gate to literal hell created to stop 'evil' once and for all.
unexpectedly, the plan backfired and kickstarted the end of the world. anatol wolffe is my character, a pompous ass (and powerful wizard), who is ambushed whilst escaping and seriously injured. your character can be anyone, from any walk of life, though i'd prefer to make it a m// pairing. i'd love to discuss what happens when they meet and what they do to stop (or avoid) the apocalypse. my intro is below, please PM me if any/all of this seems like something you'd enjoy c:
unexpectedly, the plan backfired and kickstarted the end of the world. anatol wolffe is my character, a pompous ass (and powerful wizard), who is ambushed whilst escaping and seriously injured. your character can be anyone, from any walk of life, though i'd prefer to make it a m// pairing. i'd love to discuss what happens when they meet and what they do to stop (or avoid) the apocalypse. my intro is below, please PM me if any/all of this seems like something you'd enjoy c:
Declaring war on Hell itself always seemed like an incredibly foolish and shortsighted idea to Ana, but then he wasn't anything but the Emperor's Wizard Chancellor and Overseer of the Magical Arts -- what could he possibly know? Still, the Emperor was hell-bent (Ana always took the time to laugh at his own jokes) on eradicating the demon threat and once the Emperor made his mind up on something it wasn't up to the likes of mages or advisors or anyone, really, to try and dissuade him from making terrible, terrible mistakes. Not for lack of trying. They'd spent five years toiling away (well, Ana hadn't actually lifted a finger, but that was entirely beside the point) to create a real monstrosity of a portal leading to the literal depths of Hell; it came with all the expected, ominous bells and whistles such as spooky sounds and blood-red light pouring from it day and night and it generally just seemed like something from a horror story, yet the donkey-headed man still insisted on sending all his toy soldiers through because 'light always overcomes darkness' or some shit like that.
Last time Ana saw his boss, the Emperor, his pretty head was stuck firmly on a spike mounted over the main gate of the city. There was a nihilist somewhere in him jumping up and down (quite lethargically) and crying, 'See? Struggle is pointless! Death comes for us all!' But Ana himself was quite content to take the post-invasion evaquation in stride, after all, his position of Chancellor and Overseer earned him a cushy seat on a cushy caravan bound for faraway lands, with plenty of food and drink on board. He could have just as easily been heading for a seaside holiday, and not escaping the mindless, bloodthirsty demon hordes. Sure, outside his pretty, cushion- and gold-lined box, people were being brutally slaughtered and the entire country was slowly being razed to the ground, but... what does the outside matter from the inside?
Until your pretty, cushion- and gold-lined box is smashed open by a twelve foot tall, ugly son of a bitch wielding a tree for a club in his meaty demon-hands, and you yourself are lifted by the scruff of your neck and inspected much like an hors d'oeuvre is before it's casually gulped down.
Which is, coincidentally, what happened to Ana before he remembered that he was, in fact, one of the most powerful mages in the country - and though he couldn't kill a living, breathing demonic mountain with one spell, he could definitely trick the stupid thing into thinking he was still in its hand while he ran off into the forest. Though, with his palace-dwelling constitution, it was more of a lively, hundred metre sprint before he turned into a wheezing wreck, paused for a while, then limped along. As the adrenaline wore off and feeling returned to his limbs, he realized a number of things. One, his leg was decidedly more bloody and mangled-looking than usual. Two, he had splinters and cuts of varying sizes everywhere. And three, he was in more or less excrutiating agony. Upon realizing this third and final fact, Ana promptly fell face-first into the dirt and lost his grip on consciousness.
He awoke in the darkest depths of the night, unsurprised to find that the pain hadn't lessened and that, if anything, it was much worse now that it had had a chance to acquaint itself with the various inhabitants of a forest floor and he could swear there were at least a million bugs crawling into every crevice of every wound but he didn't dare check, Gods no. Thanking his own incredible magical prowess for keeping him from bleeding out and studiously ignoring every thought of every bug in every crevice of every wound, he managed to limp on through the trees, though he'd never acquainted himself very well with this part of the country and in either case, who the hell would be able to tell the difference between this and that tree in the middle of the night with wounds of various severity covering most of their body?
Ana, loath as he was to point out faults in himself, would in this situation admit that he could not.
There was always cause to celebrate his own excellent sense of direction, though, especially when it was only a short stumble through the forest before he came across a campsite, bathed in light pouring from a camp tended by a very fair looking traveler. Drawing himself up to his full height - which was spectacularly average - he strode into their line of sight with as much nobility and grace as a half-crippled man could muster. In his mind's eye he looked entirely more impressive than he really did - after all, before his cushy box was crushed, he was dressed in the finest robes of the royal colours, purple and gold. His long, dark hair was decorated by braids with golden string woven through, and his full beard was finely trimmed. He was all sharply defined edges and alluring looks, even at the ripe age of 30, but what his healthy-sized ego failed to realize was that almost being crushed, then being shaken around by a giant demon would ruffle anyone, and now his fine robes were all torn and bloody, his beautiful braids were all ruined, and bruises were beginning to bloom in angry, bright colours everywhere from his cheek to his arse.
"The Crown comandeers this campsite and your supplies, traveler," Ana began, bravely ignoring his mangled leg and speaking as any nobleman would - with pompousness dripping from each word. "We are in a state of emergency, after all. Time to help your country."
Last time Ana saw his boss, the Emperor, his pretty head was stuck firmly on a spike mounted over the main gate of the city. There was a nihilist somewhere in him jumping up and down (quite lethargically) and crying, 'See? Struggle is pointless! Death comes for us all!' But Ana himself was quite content to take the post-invasion evaquation in stride, after all, his position of Chancellor and Overseer earned him a cushy seat on a cushy caravan bound for faraway lands, with plenty of food and drink on board. He could have just as easily been heading for a seaside holiday, and not escaping the mindless, bloodthirsty demon hordes. Sure, outside his pretty, cushion- and gold-lined box, people were being brutally slaughtered and the entire country was slowly being razed to the ground, but... what does the outside matter from the inside?
Until your pretty, cushion- and gold-lined box is smashed open by a twelve foot tall, ugly son of a bitch wielding a tree for a club in his meaty demon-hands, and you yourself are lifted by the scruff of your neck and inspected much like an hors d'oeuvre is before it's casually gulped down.
Which is, coincidentally, what happened to Ana before he remembered that he was, in fact, one of the most powerful mages in the country - and though he couldn't kill a living, breathing demonic mountain with one spell, he could definitely trick the stupid thing into thinking he was still in its hand while he ran off into the forest. Though, with his palace-dwelling constitution, it was more of a lively, hundred metre sprint before he turned into a wheezing wreck, paused for a while, then limped along. As the adrenaline wore off and feeling returned to his limbs, he realized a number of things. One, his leg was decidedly more bloody and mangled-looking than usual. Two, he had splinters and cuts of varying sizes everywhere. And three, he was in more or less excrutiating agony. Upon realizing this third and final fact, Ana promptly fell face-first into the dirt and lost his grip on consciousness.
He awoke in the darkest depths of the night, unsurprised to find that the pain hadn't lessened and that, if anything, it was much worse now that it had had a chance to acquaint itself with the various inhabitants of a forest floor and he could swear there were at least a million bugs crawling into every crevice of every wound but he didn't dare check, Gods no. Thanking his own incredible magical prowess for keeping him from bleeding out and studiously ignoring every thought of every bug in every crevice of every wound, he managed to limp on through the trees, though he'd never acquainted himself very well with this part of the country and in either case, who the hell would be able to tell the difference between this and that tree in the middle of the night with wounds of various severity covering most of their body?
Ana, loath as he was to point out faults in himself, would in this situation admit that he could not.
There was always cause to celebrate his own excellent sense of direction, though, especially when it was only a short stumble through the forest before he came across a campsite, bathed in light pouring from a camp tended by a very fair looking traveler. Drawing himself up to his full height - which was spectacularly average - he strode into their line of sight with as much nobility and grace as a half-crippled man could muster. In his mind's eye he looked entirely more impressive than he really did - after all, before his cushy box was crushed, he was dressed in the finest robes of the royal colours, purple and gold. His long, dark hair was decorated by braids with golden string woven through, and his full beard was finely trimmed. He was all sharply defined edges and alluring looks, even at the ripe age of 30, but what his healthy-sized ego failed to realize was that almost being crushed, then being shaken around by a giant demon would ruffle anyone, and now his fine robes were all torn and bloody, his beautiful braids were all ruined, and bruises were beginning to bloom in angry, bright colours everywhere from his cheek to his arse.
"The Crown comandeers this campsite and your supplies, traveler," Ana began, bravely ignoring his mangled leg and speaking as any nobleman would - with pompousness dripping from each word. "We are in a state of emergency, after all. Time to help your country."
