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The Hummingbird

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The Hummingbird last won the day on July 25

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About The Hummingbird

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    Penguin Overlord

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    Writing, drawing, reading, sleeping
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    Expert Charcoal Wielder, Conte Crayon Adept, Surveyor of Acrylics

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  1. With a harsh caw, the raven landed on his outstretched arm. It folded its wings, shuffling its feet in an irritated manner until a hand landed gently on its back, imparting calm and a silent command. He lifted the bird close to his face and waited. Mumbling, the raven turned its head sideways until one eye, black as a starless night, met the grey eyes of its handler. Fields. Food. Humans. Real. Unreal. Strange winds. The stranger tilted his arm and cast the raven upward. It took flight, wings spreading to catch the upper winds with ease. Wheeling once, it joined a gathering flock of crows and ravens gathering overhead. As one amorphous body, they called to one another and began their return flight to the fields and strange winds they said was nearby. Eyes on them, he followed their path from the ground, walking at a brisk, measured, efficient pace. Strange winds. His name was Varisho Kadav, and when the birds asked who he was, he could not answer, for he was not sure. He wore the guise of a human, all in black and accessories of bleached bone, but he knew this was only a mask. One that was bound to fall at some point… possibly, a point not of his choosing. Other than that, he had only his name, and even that felt unsteady, wavering on his tongue when he dared speak it aloud. The birds distrusted him, suspicious of his unfamiliar way of speaking to them and understanding them in ways no one else did. But they were a people of their own kind, too, with feelings and undeniable instincts. They felt drawn to him. Soon in time and far ahead, the mass of crows and ravens descended once again on, yes, a sown field filled with young plants and animal dung. They landed everywhere, even on the inefficient scarecrow built to fulfil a duty the birds were not stupid enough to fall for. They resumed their pecking and foraging, dredging up the seeds and eating whatever else they found. Varisho stopped at the edge of the field. Strange winds. What did they mean?
  2. Welcome back. The garden gnome isn't bad, but here's my idea: A sentient blue ooze named Jackson, ruler of His people. Jackson is the epitome of chaotic good, His Ooziness seeking out evildoers and petty thieves of office pens alike, slowly oozing toward them as they tremble in mock fear of His Sliminess. But despite His efforts and pure intentions, Jackson fails to do enough to save His world and His people. He sinks into depression and considers sliding into the nearest body of water and letting Himself turn into watery jelly. Then one day, that all changed. Jackson was teleported by the Ooze God to Valucre, where evildoers run amok and petty thieves steal more than just office pens. The Ooze God says this is Jackson's ultimate test of fortitude and strength. By accepting and succeeding in a quest of defeating great monsters and the occasional sentient spoon, Jackson will become the King of Slimes He was always meant to be, Supreme Guardian of the Universe and Ultimate Ooze. Get to it, Doctor.
  3. 2. Varisho Kadav Epithet: God of Ravens and Stillness, Overseer of Carrion Moniker: Varisho, Var Title: none Visual Age: 31 years Ethnicity: Genesarian? Race: unknown, appears human Alignment: Neutral Gender: Male Class: Sorcerer, avatar physiology Hair: Long, black, and straight Eyes: Blue-grey Height: 6’ 3” Weight: 175 lb Voice: Baritone Build: Slim Condition: Perfect clothing • Wearing nothing too extravagant, Varisho wears a simple, but fine tunic of black, silky fabric with slacks to match. An overcoat of the same solid color completes the array, accented with little chains at the shoulders and a tribal design in dark silver on the back. He also wears a necklace with long beads carved out of bone and a single left earring of the same material, though what animal can only be guessed. Black straps are wrapped around his right wrist, and his right hand fingers are adorned with claws, a dangerous assortment of bone and steel. skills • The God of Ravens, Stillness, and Carrion, Varisho commands not only ravens but also other birds of carrion and death, such as crows and vultures. He is capable of manipulating some amount of sound, bringing quiet and stillness to his surrounding area, cancelling all sound of nature and artificial sounds as well. Those who step outside it find that returns in gradual levels. He is able to transform into a very large raven, but seems to prefer his human appearance. Varisho holds a powerful healing ability that extends both to himself and others. He is able to stabilize critical wounds, after which the victim will heal in matter of days, even if he or she was near death. For himself, he can regenerate from critical wounds, and may heal completely in a day or so. A very old and forgotten god, Varisho prefers not to fight, talking in a slow and thoughtful manner. When forced to conflict, though, he uses the claws on his left hand, which seems to puncture through even the most elaborate armor. He aims to bring death as quickly as possible when there is no other recourse… but the old tomes have described a much harsher punishment. inventory • Nothing as of yet.
  4. This is her by the way. She's powerful but worry not, I don't intend to abuse her powers in any way.
  5. 1. Kassandra Le’or statistics Epithet: Kassandra the Darksome One Moniker: Kassandra Le’or Title: none Visual Age: 27 years Ethnicity: Genesarian Race: Human Alignment: Neutral Evil Gender: Female Class: Witch, sorceress physiology Hair: Auburn red Eyes: Green Height: 5’ 9” Weight: 130 lb Voice: Low mezzo-soprano Build: Slender Condition: Flawless clothing • Favors green, often wearing layers including a cloak over a simple, low cut tunic and loose slacks. The material is usually simple and not too rich – plain silk, lambswook and leather for outer wear. She rarely wears any armor, trusting her magical abilities to see her safe and unharmed rather than putting her luck into attire. For events that require formal wear, Kassandra wears a silver-green silk gown, low-cut, form-fitting and richly embroidered with silver threads. Despite the primarily slender cut, it is flowing and loose enough at the bottom to allow for quick movements in case trouble should arise. skills •A witch of the highest caliber, Kassandra dabbles in dark magic, necromancy and the summoning of demons and other creatures of the abyss. Her powerful talent and skill seems largely based around the symbols of religious faith, particularly the crucifix and pentagram. Spell circles featuring such and other, more sinister designs are prominent, appearing around or behind her in mystic light when she casts her more powerful spells. She is able to draw energy from all four primary elements; Air, Earth, Water, and Fire, as well as the two spirit elements, Shadow and Light. From these she is capable of forming weapons and shields. While not capable of raising the dead, Kassandra dabbles in the practice of at least communicating with spirits and ghosts, often holding séances and rituals meant to call on those who should be soundly resting. She has knowledge of corpse preservation, embalming, and the curses and blessings related to the body at death. When in danger and her usual elemental skills and dark magic prove insufficient, Kassandra may summon a creature of the darkness to aid her. These creatures are bound to objects she keeps in her possession, usually stones that hold their souls, with their names and identity bound to her so she may control them. She often refers to these creatures as pets, forming deals and bargaining with them to assure their loyalty. inventory • A round, brittle red stone strung on a chain hangs around her neck. This stone contains Balarizer’el, a dark forest beast she tamed in the wilds of Terrenus. This creature has no particular love for her, but does fiercely protect her when summoned through the stone, having been promised “gold, jewels, and blood” once Kassandra accomplishes her mysterious goals. • A simple hunting knife, made from sturdy carbon steel and impeccably maintained. It is a last ditch weapon for self-protection, or the weapon she uses when magic is not needed. She keeps it in her left boot or strapped to her upper left arm. • A leather satchel to keep various herbs and tools in. • A worn backpack, for the same thing as well as a change of clothes and other curious objects.
  6. My character travels everywhere so location's no problem for me. Perhaps Houndy should start it? That way he can make the setting the way he wants it, since this is technically his rp. If you're working cooperatively with his character, then the order would probably be Houndy, Dabi, and Hummingbird, just to keep things simple.
  7. I don't particularly concern myself with the length of my posts, though I do tend to try and match the length of my partner(s). I'm confident in my ability to be concise while giving enough description, just as I am well aware that sometimes I fall short, even to my own standards, not to mention the standards of others. Sometimes, it's hard to be brief when getting into the description of something, whether it is a person, a house, a city, or a bubble in space. I try not to go overboard, but I love description where description matters - when the mood of the post is set around a looming but morose cathedral, or a bubble floating in the vast emptiness of a cold and starless void, or a simple log cabin. I don't need to know the shape of every pebble on the road than I need to know the exact color of your nails when I'm focused on the King's dreadful assassination during his grand feast. Focus on things that are important, that are relevant. Make it short if you want. Make it longer, if you want. But make it matter. I love the English language because I love how certain words that essentially mean the same thing can yet evoke very different feelings. "Arms outstretched, Kyle was suspended in the air." Sounds a little uncomfortable, maybe forced upon him, compared to, "Arms outstretched, Kyle hovered in the air." Maybe he's flying? In a craft of some sort? I choose carefully what words to use when I'm writing, down to the swear words when I'm writing someone who may be especially cranky. To add to that, I do change my writing to match the personality of the character. This goes down right to the words and punctuation used. Kyle tore the banana from its yellow skin and bit into it fiercely. Chew and swallow, chew and swallow. Goddamit, what the hell was that noise? He couldn't think! He could barely hear himself! "FUCK YOU, SHUT UP!" he screamed, almost choking on his words. Belle peeled the banana from its shell and took a nibble, chewing and swallowing. Where was that noise coming from? She could barely hear herself. "Please be quiet," she murmured. (They die at the end) I don't do it perfectly; I slip up quite often, but it's fun and when done right, it's absolutely perfect. When good writers change perspectives, you can feel the personality vibrate through every word. You start to connect with them, and when they end up dying or achieving their goals, you will mourn or cheer sincerely. And when you feel things for the character, dullness evaporates. You may get something very engaging indeed. One of the worst things that can happen is a reader putting the book back on the shelf. Not saying, "It's too long," or "It's too short," but, "It's too dull." "The house stood and then fell." That's nice. That's it? Maybe, and maybe that's all that's needed. But you want to make sure of that, and that it's what you intended. I try to make my writing beautiful and simple to read, and while it's hard, the joy of it is quite profound.
  8. Not a problem. She is not above stealing! Usually, she gets into someone's home under the guise of someone friendly and may pocket the item, but if there's no other way, she'll risk the illegal route.
  9. She's about neutral evil. She doesn't go around causing havoc and plague, but she's selfish and concerned with obtaining power. She's not entirely heartless though, and in fact does find herself doing good things... usually as long as it serves some purpose of her choosing. It's quite possible she deceived someone or hurt someone (if the latter, possibly not truly on purpose) in her quest for knowledge and power.
  10. I was thinking of witch hunters hunting a character of mine, but if you guys would rather be just you two and something else I'll hand it off to Dabi. It's no problem, lol
  11. I often feel like no one likes me. I'm awkward and I make mistakes, so I apologize for all of them, to everyone. I try to be a good person, even though I feel like much of the time it just doesn't matter what I do.
  12. How strange it was that even a High Lord could feel pleasure in this, the most basic of human need and desire. Spread out over his mate with wings falling over one side of the sofa, Zenahriel listened to the beautiful sounds most mortals could not: the sound of rushing blood, of slow, labored breathing, and of the beating heart. These were the rhythms of a life Zenahriel had missed, but more than these mere sounds, he felt the thrumming bond that tied Rafael and him together. With them so close together now, it sang and pulsed. Yet there was something amiss, and Zenahriel heard it threading the words of his King. The exhaustion in his voice was clear, and not from their erotic activity. Again Zenahriel wondered what it was that troubled the King so, the specifics of the origin of his aches that he kept secret from all. It was frustrating to not know what hurt a loved one, when help could not be given nor received. Zenahriel wanted to help, but he was powerless so long as Rafael kept silent. Impotency was something the High Lord loathed. For a long time Zenahriel had convinced himself that his own silence was the only choice he had. He did not want to force Rafael into explaining something he’d rather not and possibly never talk of. But now, he decided, a bit impulsively, that he could keep quiet no longer. He’d pull the secret from Rafael’s lips if he had to pry them open himself. He drew breath to speak. But for good or bad, the initiative was stolen from him. “I have a daughter.” Stillness. Gabriela again. Again? Zenahriel pushed himself up to a sitting position as Rafael finally exposed the source of his pain. The Black Queen’s name brought forth a scowl that rarely deigned to show on the High Lord’s face. She had been gone so long, and so thoroughly that he had nearly forgotten her and the tragedy that followed her in every step of life. The memory of her rejection – her indifference – to him, of him, still brought a stab of pain and anger to his human heart. A dark storm seemed to follow her everywhere, and seeing Rafael submerged within its winds made him want to rage. Only with great difficulty did he manage to focus on the real issue at hand: the daughter she had given Rafael. The daughter trapped as a tiny seed. The thought, the image, the very idea, was sad. Horrid. Rafael asked if he was foolish, and Zenahriel slowly shook his head, seeking those red eyes. “Some are given those things you desire. Some have to fight for it. Because of what you are, who you are, your station in life, in everything, you must fight. And fight harder. And who doesn’t share the desire for what you wish for? Maybe not a family exactly, but a niche where you belong, a place where you can find love to return and receive, and find strength and comfort.” He paused. Then, “You would be a fool, my King, only if you decided you wanted this, and did not fight for it.” He recalled a time, long ago, when a great warrior shattered the unbreakable crystal barrier that held a High Lord in the Great Sleep. When that great warrior fought against insurmountable odds and won. When that great warrior was strong and fierce and wrought with power. Where was he now? Had he become a simple being? “Why didn’t you come to me, Rafael? There is nothing I would not do for you, nothing I would not try.”
  13. I have read up to The Shadow Rising in the Wheel of Time. I took a break because I was getting bored. Don't get me wrong, Robert Jordan's a great writer and the end of The Great Hunt made slogging through the first book worth it... but I think Sanderson's Stormlight Archive is more up my alley.
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