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dvsn last won the day on February 8 2018

dvsn had the most liked content!

About dvsn

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  • Birthday 12/13/1993

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    Below the earth (all my friends are dead).

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  1. [ I. Phänomenologie des Geistes ] The Man of Many Masks smiled at his own reflection in the glass of the tower, owing his self-admiration to its translucency. Arduous must the primogenitors have been when constructing the spectral tower— a masterpiece that was both artless and incandescent. There was little in the way of intricacy, and that fascinated someone such as Abbot Knight who made it a point to study architecture in all of the realms he beckoned passage to. While the twelve ascetics chanted around the ancient runeology situated in the middle of the circular, opaque floor, Abbot Knight stood still, grinning self-assuredly. A single break in concentration on his behalf or that of the channelers could result in mutually assured destruction but he didn't seem the least bit concerned. After-all, they were hand selected from across Valucre, brought to this world solely to perform these rites of worship. Each word enervated them, and it showed in the desiccation of their bodies practically rotting from the bone. This in-fact betrayed the will of their spirits however, which existed in this strange demi plane separated from the material. “That’s cheating…” a voice echoed beyond existence itself, coming from all and no directions at once. “Should you be here right now? I'm almost back to Valucre. You could...I'unno, die?” Abbot questioned the mysterious presence, though he seemed as aloof as he was before. “This was your plan all along was it not?” <???> “Hmmmmmmmmm?! I have no idea what you're talking about!” <Abbot> “Abbot!” <???> Like glass everything around him ignited and shattered, becoming imperceptibly bright light that marked the change of planar lines. When his eyes finally snapped too, the sight of the natural sun through the Renaissance window to his left was all he needed to confirm he was back “home”. They say home is where the heart is, and Abbot certainly felt his heart was tied to what little family remained. The Knight surname was a complicated one, and of all of the Knight's, he was certainly the most enigmatic and perhaps the most dangerous. Many found this to be hyperbolic especially when compared to his younger brother who was still in his restless slumber, but very few knew just how Abbot managed to acquire the resources and underworld connections that he had. Lifting his pale right hand upward, he flicked his black tresses from his eyes and smirked quietly. The same royal room designated to himself by the Queen, meaning the transference had completed itself without a hitch...of course, it seemed to be a one way trip, but Abbot wasn't all that concerned about leaving as he'd done a lot of work just to get back. “...why am I naked...” he spoke aloud, processing his statement in the same breath. Huh? Son of a bitch. Flipping the four layers of covers off of his bed with a single flick and his fears were confirmed. His body hit the floor in a military roll in the very next second, and a second after that? He'd managed to crawl his way across the crimson and golden trimmed carpet to the closet in the back of the room, and all before a maid managed to knock on his door, inquiring as to the noticeably large thud she'd heard from downstairs. “Is everything okay sir?” “Y-yes- wait what the hell? What did I tell you about calling me that!” “S-sir Abbot, you're back?!” The door swung open and well...she caught a half-dressed man. You can guess which half was dressed and which one wasn't. In-fact...who dresses themselves from the head down? Only a lunatic who had no idea what it truly meant to be human. “S-S-OH MY GOODNESS I PLEAD FOR YOUR APOLOGY SIR!” the maid yelled slamming the door shut and dropping to her knees in the next second. All she got was a boisterous laugh from the other side. “BAHAHAHAHA WANTED SOME OF THE GOOD OL' ABBY EH?!” “S-s...sir?” Why is he acting so different was all the maid could think. The Abbot Knight that the world knew was cold, apathetic, devoid of empathy or understanding of others. He was a shrewd man who cared only for results and the bigger picture, showing an interest in erudition and discarding anything deemed inconsequential. Something was much different about him now. A few seconds later and the door swung open, revealing the casually dressed royal with a mischievous smirk on his face. “Do you think I'm cute Millia?” “I...s-s...” Abbot, standing six foot and five inches, squatted infront of her and stared into her fluffy pink eyes with his own coarse, gunmetal gaze. “Let's go on a date sometime yeah? I'll let you tour one of my cottages.” Millia, a golden-haired maid of the the Nova Citadel, was utterly speechless. Aside from blushing almost uncontrollably, she turned her gaze away and did her best to regain her bearings in a fluster. Abbot all the while stood up and dusted his sable slacks, adjusted his massive midnight black collar, and turned left and right. How much time has passed since I was last here he wondered to himself, losing himself in some kind of deep, methodical processing. “Where is my violent sister-in-law? I hope I'm not too late...”
  2. Gird your loins. We have a lot of work to do.

    1. dvsn


      I suppose it's about that time!

  3. I didn't know you had been here all along, lol. 

  4. You still fighting? 

  5. Today is my birthday but I will post soon as I am off work.
  6. I'm down. Will be using this character: click here.
  7. The sour ale burned but was refreshing. It was a metaphor to his life. In the darkness of the closed tavern a lone man drank by himself letting the alcohol bleed him of the pressure in his veins thick as nickel. He was lost. How long had he been this way? For once time felt meaningless. There was a few seconds of pause in-between his lips hugging the glass, and every time such did his mind fall into submission of oppressive thought. For so long he had no idea what it felt like to be human, to bleed, to suffer of loss; it was all so foreign but he savored it like an intoxicated masochist. On the lacquered black wooden bar top to his right was a gun as black as the counter-top, and of the shadows crawling along the edges of the the underground tavern. It made not a sound, but he could feel it. Screaming...crying...roaring in passionate agony. Even after all this time he wasn’t used to its constant, torturing yells, but he understood it. For a long time that had been him there in the very same position, barely able to keep sane, suffering from the pandemic of the one who had made him their owner. The man known by the epithet “Consequence” lifted the glass mug and filled himself with beer once more. Several gulps later the glass was empty, and he was once again lost in his thoughts. Setting it down in-front of him he pushed his right hand forward lazily sliding the glass towards the bartender who rest in the shadows obscuring his identity altogether, but happily obliged confiscating the mug with gloved digits and returning it with ale and a little something extra. Saving himself from his own thoughts and the distraction of the black gun’s psionic shrieks, he lost himself in his own melancholy intoxication. Opening expositions at bars or taverns wasn’t the most original idea, but here it actually had meaning. There was something prolific about sitting here, in the dark, alone, the antithesis to the bustling charisma of the settings usual vigor. For many years Nicholas could hear the healthy banter of mercenaries and vagrants alike all coping with life and the oppression of existential problems beyond themselves by losing themselves in alcohol and laughter. It was bittersweet when they drank down to their last nickel flip or ate all the food they had to spare and was left with a void within that nothing could quite fill. Everything about their struggle was desperate, but as beings given the illusion that they could control their lives, it was equally beautiful. On the receiving end, as nothing more than a weapon born through the vision of a famous weaponsmith long since departed, Nicholas never had free will of his own. All he ever had was suffering. The slave to his owners will. Forced to worship the pain of stretching his materialistic conduits the mind of the sentient weapon had begun to break at some point. It wasn’t so bad at first. Still, when the demon-eyed gunslinger who would become his final immortal owner grasped the immaculately designed weapon...everything changed. So how was he here? Made of flesh, sitting in the darkness of a still tavern that echoed his thoughts like a visionary chamber replaying the past about him. Well it was a place such as this that had his first experience with people, when that gunslinger was very young and still naive. It was a place such as this that he experienced love for another man for the first time, and Nicholas became able to understand his owner to be. Or so he thought. Pink matter was a strange thing. Nothing could prepare him for the disdain that would later fill his heart as he drank endlessly next to the very weapon that was responsible for his agony. “Most raging alcoholics rant about their lives when they get in your mood…” a cacophony of disjointed voices echoed from the black where the bartender stood, yet it was more accurate to say that they echoed from the very underground tavern itself. “Will you not do the same?” “...” Nicholas was silent. Defiant even. There was no real solution to his fragmented psyche, or route that could bring the conclusion of his epic to a true ending. Instead he drank to forget about it all as he remember seeing so many times before. Still...it didn’t help. It just detached him further and brought the tons of weight that could snap a man in to rushing down on him without relent. “You already know it all. Do you take me for a fool?” Nicholas murmured with a voice of calm rationale. It was young, but it was incredibly professional for someone who had been drinking for so long. “It couldn’t hurt to say it out loud…” “...” It seemed he knew of this underground tavern’s legend, although it was less of a tavern and more of a locale for a frightening society of the world’s surrounding murim, where only those often detested but never seen or heard of parlayed. There were wise men in this world who lacked morality, and it was here that they gathered to create some modicum of civility when possible. On this day it was largely silent, and there was no one but himself there...atleast at that moment. Still, this place and the great history of what had occurred there was known very well, and that is why he had come. He felt sadness within him. Though with this sadness came the realization that he still had an obligation to fulfill. Staring at his half-empty mug for a moment his thin lips curled into a sadistic smile. “I am Consequence…” And from there he told the darkness of the tavern his story.
  8. dvsn

    I think it's about that time big bro. 

  9. The Breaker Season III should be released September 2019

    *White girl scream!*

  10. Unexpected circumstances means I'll be limiting my activity here. Sorry for those that this inconveniences. 

  11. o didn't expect what followed but then again he didn't exactly engage Aegis with a conclusion in mind. It was unusual behavior to say the least. The man's response was composed and empathetic, which left the tipsy predator alone on the dance floor of mediocrity. It had all been downhill since then. Figured. Rather than pressing the issue he let the others dialogue drown out the intimidating disposition he'd manufactured in the blink of an eye and before any of them knew it he was...gone. Well not entirely. Only someone entirely focused on him throughout the conversation would have noticed him flicker out of existence, disappearing from the room they stood in and appearing outside of the rickety establishment in a mysterious transparent blur. Where he'd been standing was a note he had written before he'd arrived, one that ensured he would join their ranks on his own accord, detailing confidential information to Eiji regarding a few things within the surrounding lands and beyond. Some fresh air...yeah that's what he needed. The calm breeze of the town dissolved the sweat dripping from his forehead, and the flask in his left hand shook for a moment to check his reserves. There were other matters to attend to and he was already low on booze. It was going to be a long week. One step and then another and the unorthodox giant seemed to blend in with the crowd as if a pedestrian like any other. Just like that, he was gone. Show me what you've got old man...
  12. he Solomonic Dynasty specialized in loquacious, garrulous conversation. Trivial. Their words hung in the air, lethargic as was the humidity of the sky island situated within a fortress of cotton candy clouds in a world of its own. It wasn't hyperbole when the villagers remarked to Almoravid as an empire hovering by the blessings of the greater spirits. The citizens lived joyously unrestrained as pedestrians beneath the ruling clans, and for decades they came to know nothing but peace. This came at the expense of the false idolatry exposed by those who wished better for their people, removing the clutches of the defunct Zenata. On the eve of another glorious day a young man was reminded of their tyrannical oppression in the words of the elders who spoke of rising tariffs and the escalation of security. The secrecy of their trades and imports with the wilds of the surrounding continents was especially troublesome for the economy of Xhaosi. When the meeting was adjourned the twenty-four councilors rose from their polished seats of gold and iridescent cloth cushioned seats and exited in conversation, debating fiercely the future of the country and their people. Zetta however remained seated, his smooth, black face buried into his right hand, enclosed between his elongated fingers. “Does something trouble you?” a voice spoke from beyond, shaking the golden walls of the elaborate skyscraper. “...” “A king should never be seen demoralized.” Modjadji, The Queen of Storms, was ever empathetic as a Greater Spirit personally contracted to Zetta. Unlike the rest, her true power had always appeared to be in her words and not what she was foretold to be capable of. Slowly his face rose from his hand, looking to the rows of thrones descending one after another to the bottom of the room where they spread and made way for the silk white carpet that led to the hallway and the rest of the building. It was this very place that he once revered the very people who led them to damnation. Would he do the same? The burden was far too great to bear alone. “Summon Iblis...no, summon all of my family. Bring them to my abode and ensure that food is prepared.” “You're usually distant from your family...what are you up to young king?” Zetta's voice was young but decisive, backed by power and conviction he spoke without hesitation. When he rose from his throne enamored by wisps of divinity his thin cheek bones rose in ambivalence. The immutable was upon him. Any chance to ameliorate and change the circumstances that had forced them into isolation after their exile from Rosinder would be fleeting: and looking to the mistakes made by Sicamedes, he refused to allow history to repeat itself. “You think I wouldn't notice? The Tree of Sheba is blooming. You and I are closer than you think.” “...Zetta.” “We're one step closer to opening the Doors of Guf. We will succeed where others have failed. Will you stop me?” The influence he had become familiar with dissipated, though he knew she was everywhere within the kingdom always. His smile turned wicked. Everything he'd done with meticulous detail was all to bring him to this point. He had zero need for the approval of the elders. His right hand lifted itself from the throne behind him and combed through his smooth white hair, relaxing his scalp under the stress of his future ordeals. His left hand snapped back and tossed his black cape into the air behind him just as he began his descent down the staircase littered with rows of thrones, his sable dress shoes lacquered and glimmering beneath the dozen glass chandeliers above. It was time.
  13. You must attractive a lot of hot baddies. Where are they?
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