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    • supernal

      Vote for Valucre [August]   05/16/2017

      Voting for the month of August is open on TopRPSites! Vote for Valucre daily and help new members searching for a place to roleplay discover the same joys you have in Valucre. You can vote daily, so make voting for Valucre a habit. Discussion thread

WalkingWarrior

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  • Content count

    417
  • Joined

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About WalkingWarrior

  • Rank
    Security
  • Birthday 09/26/1988

Contact Methods

  • Skype
    theo.wake

Profile Information

  • Gender
    M
  • Location
    Washington State
  • Interests
    Gaming, reading, writing. I love worldbuilding. It's one of my favorite things to engage in and I've been told I'm quite good at it. Feel free to hit me up for anything, anytime.
  • Occupation
    Security guard.
  1. [Flashback] Past

    Theo barely managed to haul himself up from the edge he'd clung to in his tumble, peering over the sill at her as she pressed her small body against the door and threw rather fast-thinking responses to the voice demanding answers on the other side. He squinted at her as she sputtered half-formed questions, each word framed by a desperate sort of air that only lent itself to a dire realization. He was curious. Deeply so. He wanted to know what she meant by it all, who was hers, whose care she was in, all of it. He tried to reach in further, to claw his way back into the room, but the wood he clutched creaked and with a small 'oh' of recognition he found himself plummeting down to the ground below. Had this been a video game he might have escaped any sort of physical penalty by rolling forward as he hit the ground, diverting and dissolving his downward momentum even as he inexplicably executed a full somersault against a stiff wooden wall. But this was not a game, and when he landed and reflexively tilted forward all he succeeded in doing was headbutting the stone wall with a meaty thunk that got a small howl out of him. For a moment he lay sprawled on the ground, clutching his forehead, wondering what he had done to anger the gods like this, but as the voices from Lana's room began to escalate he forced himself to get up and move. His vision was swimming as he made his way down the gravel path in front of the church, determined to put distance between it and himself. He had to have hit the wall pretty hard, by his own muddled reckoning. Hard enough that he'd given himself an injury. He swallowed down a wave of nausea and leaned against a short wall, blinking slowly and forcing himself to breathe. He listened to his heart beat and tried to will his concussion away, but all he managed to do was urge it to throb more painfully. Through the haze, though, he heard a footstep crunch on the gravel behind him, too swiftly to be a walk, and spun around, his brand igniting automatically as his defense mechanisms kicked in. The thief barely had time to gasp before the knife melted in his hand, Theo's blazing grasp tight on his wrist. He screamed, loud and shrill, and Theo let go with a gasp as the would-be killer collapsed to the ground, clutching his burnt arm, writhing and shrieking. Even with a head injury Theo knew he couldn't stay, not now. Lana would have to wait for another day. He turned and began to move, as quickly as his nausea would allow, his still-glowing brand shoved under his coat as he walked along a building, bracing himself on the wooden slats with his other hand. The gods were cruel. Even then, in a moment of pain and confusion, he could muster focus enough to think and spit that oath, his favorite. His binding words. His religion.
  2. [Flashback] Past

    A hard time? The flames flickered higher at her understatement. His lips tightened and his eyes narrowed. Neat. You had a hard time. Yes, so neat, to have been told at age nineteen that his destiny was to carry destruction into the world wherever he went, that the gods had a specific plan for him. He couldn't speak for the rage that threatened to cloud his mind, and his hand closed into a fist as the flames snuffed out and the brand's light shone almost painfully bright. He focused his eyes on his trembling fist and forced his breathing to slow. He heard the owl hooting from outside, and strangely its voice brought his temper down just enough. The acidic burn of it lowered just enough for him to reach his handle on it, and with great effort he buried it and lifted his head to reply. "I don't mean to harm you, Lana, but very few know what I know. Very few know better than I. The gods are cruel. Ares, who wages war and hate... Apollo, who uses humans as his mouthpiece... Poseidon, whose unpredictable moods spark storms and earthquakes alike..." "Lana! I know you're in there, come on out!" Theo leapt nearly as much as Lana, his eyes widening. He glared right at her, though. "You didn't finish everything before you came to t--did you forget I was even here??" He swore under his breath as he snatched his sword and satchel. There was no other way out of the room, he realized, and he looked at the window as the door rattled with more forceful knocking. "I'll tell the Pastor you're shirking your duties again!" warned the voice, and Theo resigned himself to the situation. "Never accept what you're told by anyone, not even me," he said as he stuck his leg out the window. "Form your own opinions, your own insights, and find your tru--oh, fuck!" He'd misjudged the angle, and disappeared with a muted obscenity. His satchel flew from his hand as he tipped, landing heavily against the wall next to the door. She could hear Theo groan from below the window, swearing to himself. "Are you throwing things at me!?" the woman demanded from the other side of the door.
  3. [Flashback] Past

    Theo shrugged. "When it comes to religion, aye. Anyone who devotes themselves to a deity is deserving of a bit of scorn." He spread his hands. "At the core of belief is a lie. It's that simple, as I see it." He was rapidly reevaluating her. A fool or idiot would have been quick to take offense. She didn't seem to have an angry bone in her body. He wondered at that, quietly amazed that even despite what could be taken as a direct insult hadn't gotten a rise or resulted in short-tempered retorts. He folded his arms again and focused on his own boots, letting his mind wander as he inspected the criss-cross of wear and tear scars on the well-worn leather. Why did he say those things? The answer was simple in his own head. He had met the gods. A few of them, anyway. Enough to know he wouldn't want to encounter the rest. His eyes shifted to his hand, and he decided the best way to properly answer her would be to show her what they'd done. How they had cursed him, and what they wanted his fate to be. "I have insight born of experience," he explained as he unwound the dirtied, scorched fabric from his hand. "In my veins flow the blood of the divine, a claim that inspires a lot of mindless rage in the more devout. I have no doubt your pastor would have been much less kind had he known what I am, or in his mind, what I claim to be." He pocketed the fabric and held up his hand, clenched into a tight fist. Across the back it looked like a brand had been burnt into his flesh, a perfectly circular ring with a small lick of flame in the center, with dozens of tiny lines running out of the main ring and down along his arm as it disappeared into his sleeve. "This was done to me when I came of age. Thirty children were sent into a temple. Twenty-seven of us died. Three survivors out of thirty, so that the gods could say 'we did something real'. Us, their children, their flesh and blood." His voice began to shake as he spoke, and the brand began to glow, as if someone had pressed a flashlight on the other side of it. He lowered his hand and opened his fist, and flames burst into life along his fingers and palm, flickering a foot high from his palm, colored orange and yellow. "So it's a bit beyond me to care if I offend the devout. I've met the gods, and I am subject to their 'care'. Can any pastor or sister in this church say the same?"
  4. [Flashback] Past

    This girl was a complete idiot. He reeled the thought back as soon as it occurred, grimacing faintly at himself as she babbled something about his extreme methods. She wasn't stupid--he hadn't talked to her enough to prove one way or another how smart she was or wasn't. He let her talk as he paced back to the window to lean against the sill, idly absorbing her words as he loosened the strap around his chest and slipped the sword free, scabbard and all. The sheath was particularly unique, less a proper cover and more a protector that only covered the dangerous edges of the blade. Some kind of mechanism sat at the base of the hilt, and the visible portions of the blade gleamed in waving patterns of dark and light grey. He'd never seen a sword like it before, and likely never would again. The thought was fleeting as he focused more on her words, leaning the sword against the wall next to him and folding his arms as he looked over at her. "So you've come to pretend to work for this god and his cronies, but really you're... what, trying to establish a greater sort of reasoning? To tone back what you view as extreme beliefs?" He chuckled bitterly. "Spare yourself the effort, girl. Few are so deluded as the passionately devout. You're as like to change them as the sea is to change the sun." He unwound his pack from his torso, too, and draped it off the pommel of his blade, rolling his broad shoulders to relieve them of the stress of carrying the weight all day. "As for my questions, I've generally figured out most of it. You have some kind of magic, but you're not terrifically capable yet--or at least not in a sudden situation like what you were presented with. I would assume you either need a vocal incantation to perform the magic, or that humming you did with the pickpocket's hand is just how you focus whatever relic you might use to cast spells. More the former, really, considering that odd noise you made before you sent me flying." He paused. "And broke my gun. Have I about figured it out, or are all these suppositions wildly off-target?" He cocked his eyebrow at her, green eyes gleaming with a keen intelligence that hadn't been all that apparent before. Anger and frustration made fools of all men.
  5. [Flashback] Past

    He had taken the few second's time alone in the room to inspect it, briefly noting the bow before he picked up the llama. What the hell kind of heinous garbage was this? It looked as fluffy as a sheep, but its neck was grotesquely extended. He thumbed the glass eyes with a scowl, but he looked up sharply when the door opened and Lana yelped. Her bodyslam on the door made him stare just a bit harder at her, as if he was unsure just what the hell made this girl tick. If anything even ticked at all under that brown mop. He set the stuffed creature back down and took her scarf out of his pocket, showing her the carefully folded square before he held it out. "Your scarf. What is it you wanted with me?"
  6. [Flashback] Past

    He caught it before it fell, blinking down at the white fabric. What a strange little cleric. What a strange day. He considered just tying the thing to the door and leaving the town entirely. He was hungry, thirsty, frustrated, and no doubt hunting and eating some sort of small woodland animal would solve at least two of those problems. He sighed, though. His gun was broken. He couldn't exactly hunt with fireballs, not unless he wanted to risk lighting up the entire countryside, and as much as the merchants and thieves annoyed him he wasn't entirely keen on burning an entire town to death over mere annoyance. --Smoking craters covered the fields, the houses were burning, the people in them dead or too scared to speak-- No. He forced the memory back, back, back, down, down, down, away from the forefront of his mind before it consumed him. He focused on the scarf instead, stubbornly forcing out every other thought except its texture, its color--or lack thereof--it's length. He studied the strange object with singleminded intensity until he sensed the memories fading, until he could allow himself to let them drift back down into the darkness of dreams and subconscious. The girl. Lana. Honey hair, hazel eyes, talkative. She wants to talk to me. He couldn't imagine why. She was a healer, a cleric, in the service of one of the myriad false gods of this decrepit world. What business would she have with him, of all people? His right hand flexed automatically, curling into a fist before relaxing again. What could it hurt? He had to get the scarf back to her anyway, she'd made sure of that. He heaved out a sigh and turned to walk away, carefully folding and pocketing the scarf alongside his gold. First things first... An hour later he returned, carrying a half-eaten loaf of bread in one hand and his canteen in the other. It had been alarmingly simple to obtain a coin once he'd calmed down, and once he'd known the local stamp and shape all he had to do was take HIS gold and make some... minor adjustments. He'd nearly forgotten about Lana in his eagerness to eat and drink, but he'd come wandering back anyway, compelled to follow the lead of a particularly noisy owl. Said bird was perched up in a windowsill now, looking down at him with steel-grey eyes. He frowned at the bird. "Don't give me that look." The owl hooted back and disappeared inside, and Theo grimaced as he clipped his water back to his belt and took a bite from the half-gone loaf. He could try climbing--but he wasn't all that nimble to begin with, and heights didn't sit well. He briefly considered using his fire like a jet, but doing so would almost certainly kill him, aside from being virtually impossible. In the end he simply walked into the building through an unsecured door and crept on silent feet to the room the owl had gone into, or so he thought. He cracked the door open, but there was no sign of the bird. "Oh, don't tell me..." He pushed it open all the way and stepped inside, crossing the spartan chamber in three long strides to peer out the window. This was definitely it... but the owl was just gone. He even saw claw marks on the windowsill where it had perched. He sighed once more. "Bloody bird."
  7. [Flashback] Past

    "It's not that I doubt your ability, there's just nothing wrong--" he tried to explain, but she was off and on her own tangent now. He folded his arms and resigned himself to simply listening, one eyebrow cocked at the girl as she spoke. Ninety-nine is a good percentage, but I'm sure I'd fall into the one, whispered the cynical voice that persisted in sharing its pessimistic nonsense at every turn. He clapped a hand on her shoulder when she got distracted and spoke loudly, projecting his voice as much as he was able toward her ear. "I'm no vampire or undead, girl, I can assure you of that. I'm not injured. That's why I don't want your help. Besides which, the blood of demigods doesn't take to tampering. You might end up getting hurt, and I'm not in the business of harming others." Without cause, anyway. Which brought his focus back to the thief, and the pastor named Donnel. Maybe it was just Theo's pessimism, but the pastor looked like he'd be happier with a pitchfork in hand and a pot on his head than the garb of a holy man. The warrior put his hands on his hips as he sized the pastor up, his eyebrow inching upward once more. "You've got quite a talkative sheep here, shepherd," he greeted, unable to quite hide the mild disdain he felt for all religious figures. It wasn't overt, just a slight tone in his voice that implied the man had no real idea what divinity meant despite how close he may have professed to be to it. The pastor only blinked at first, then he moved, steering the unwilling thief forward with his gentle-yet-iron grasp. "How better spread the faith than by word of mouth? Disciple Celes is a valuable member of our faith, even with her shortcomings. It is godly to accept all parts of a person, even the less pleasant ones. More often it paints a larger image, one more pleasing to the eye than a fraction might be." It took half a sentence, perhaps less, for Theo to realize he had no patience for this man. Sweeping religious types never failed to irritate him--but then, what didn't these days? He went from arms akimbo to arms folded, and his eyes glassed over as the man spoke. "Fine. Sister Celes is fantastic, I'm sure. Are you going to punish that thief?" "Punish? That is not my way--only the Lord may punish wrongdoing. But I will certainly see to it that he is given time to reflect on his actions and adjust his mentality accordingly." It was all the warrior could do not to roll his eyes. The 'Lord'? Any god he knew would waste no time at all in simply killing the thief--except perhaps Apollo, who was known to favor scoundrels. "See that he's got his fair share to do so, though you'll find the only real cure for a thief is removing his tools permanently." The thief whimpered in fear and protest as Theo eyed him, then turned his gaze to the honey-haired girl. "Healers have no place working in a house of the gods. The gods are cruel--you are kind. Don't let them use you like a damned plaything." It was very likely she wouldn't have even listened to him, but he found that didn't particularly concern him. He shouldered his sword a bit higher and turned to leave, his hand pressing over the holstered gun as he began to ponder the best way to repair the weapon.
  8. [Flashback] Past

    He gave her an incredulous look as she reached for him. She hadn't heard a word, had she? He folded his arms where he sat, legs splayed out in front of him. All in all he looked somewhat ridiculous, not unlike a six-foot-tall child with the dustings of a beard on his chin attempting to intimidate himself out of a lousy situation. Curious, though. Magic through song. "I'm fine," he snapped as she reached for him. The last thing he wanted was to be pawed at or touched by a stranger--especially one with her power. He could only imagine how the Brand might react to it. Theo pushed himself to his feet with a grunt and folded his arms again, deliberately hiding his bandaged hand. "I asked you a question. What kind of place is this? Why did I get flung out like that?" The thief was staring in wonder at his hand, but Theo had little concern for him now. His gun was back, albeit broken, and the boy's reasons for the theft were of no interest. He was much more interested in this cleric whose voice could mend wounds and--unless that fall had shaken his brains more than was healthy--had managed to fling him a good six feet or so without laying a finger on him.
  9. [Flashback] Past

    One second he was preparing to incinerate the thief into a pile of no-good ash, the next he was flung backward with a resounding CRACK! He slid across the gravel a few feet outside the church proper, the flame quite abruptly extinguished in his eyes and hand by the sheer confusion of the moment. "What the shit!?" he wheezed softly where he lay, winded by the impact. It was a moment before he sat up and reached back to touch the back of his head, dislodging the gravel that had dug into his scalp and tangled into his hair. He shook his head as he got to his feet, scowling as he inspected the bandage on his hand. The fabric was singed, but intact, and he shook out the last vestiges of smoke as he turned his attention instead to the church. "What the hell?" he murmured as he stepped inside again, glaring around reproachfully. A cleric of some kind stood nearby, honey-brown hair loose from her cowl, and he scowled pointedly at her. "You. Is there some kind of hex on this place that repels--" He broke off halfway when he noticed his gun laying on the ground. The thief was curled around his hand, whining and gasping, but the weapon had scorch marks on it. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Theo whispered as he knelt to snatch it up, his experienced eye running over the familiar lines and shapes. "Oh, god dammit," he groaned and sat where he squatted, thumbing the release to open the cylinder. He peered inside and let out a noise that was half grunt, half snarl. "The goddamn firing pin's broken! Oh, of all the shitty churches in all the miserly cities..." He shoved the pistol back into the holster and glared back at where the cleric had been. "Today keeps getting better and better!"
  10. [Flashback] Past

    "That's all well and good, but gold is gold. You're honestly telling me you won't take mine over the goddamned stamp on the side?" "S'not local gold. Could've been stolen." "You're not serious." "Serious as the plague, sir. I ain't no liar merchant or bandit fence, you'll not fool me with ill-got gold." "It's not stolen, you thickheaded mule." But the merchant had heard enough and turned his nose up at the traveler, arms folded tightly over a chest that stretched a too-small jerkin wide. The traveler rolled his eyes and pocketed the gold he'd tried to use, then prodded the merchant right on his hairy chest. "You're an idiot and a backwoods fool," he snapped, then marched away as the merchant's ears turned red. Even as his boots snapped across the flagstones of the market he regretted losing his temper. Honey caught more bees than vinegar, or so he'd always been told, but he couldn't help himself. The more obtuse minds of the world had, to his less-than-mature vision, united in their singular effort to give him a massive headache with their pigheaded ways. Theo paused and briefly considered going back to apologize to the merchant, but his pride welled thick and suffocating and he kept right on walking as a fresh surge of irritation buried any potential goodwill he might've pursued. To hell with him, he thought. Other merchants sell food, and none of them will be near as stingy about some bloody stamp so long as the coin's real. As it turned out he had vastly underestimated the wariness of the local merchants. None of them were particularly willing to take gold with a stamp they didn't recognize. He found himself standing on the outskirts of the marketplace with his coinpurse, scowling down at the coins. He was starving, but he supposed there was nothing for it. He'd need to take the coins and melt the damned stamp off--though odds were unmarked coins would probably be even MORE suspicious. He shook his head and closed his fist around the purse, pondering what he could do. He knew the coins weren't stolen--he had earned them, just not here. Or anywhere remotely nearby, for that matter. They WERE strange coins, strange in the sense that none of these merchants could properly comprehend, but Theo had assumed that gold was gold and greed was greed. Why would they assume he had stolen them? The entire situation made no sense in the slightest, and he felt his frustrations begin to manifest on the brand he kept wrapped up on his right hand. Theo closed his eyes and tried to focus on more calming thoughts, flexing his right hand. Just relax. There's a solution. Someone will be willing to give food, for work or gold or otherwise. Peace, Wake. He opened his eyes--and at the same time something slammed into his side, nearly knocking him over. He spun as the kid, barely younger than him, hustled away with a rushed apology. "Watch yourself, dammit!" he snapped and scowled back down at the gold in his hand. Something didn't feel... quite right. He patted his pockets, but all he'd brought to this godforsaken city had been his clothes, his gear, and his gold. His sword was still strapped over his shoulder, his gauntlets in the sack slung at his hip... ... his gun, however, was missing. He spun and caught a glimpse of the thief darting around a corner and broke into a flat sprint, pocketing his gold as he ran, letting the fire in his fist spread through his body and boost his speed. He didn't bother yelling at the little bastard to stop--why warn them that he'd caught on? He slid around the corner and spotted the pickpocket again at the far end of the street, looking right at him. He saw the kid's face go pale and felt a moment of savage satisfaction at the fear he inspired before the thief ran and Theo took off after him. The thief knew the city, but Theo was fueled by sheer outrage--the gun was important to him, a sophisticated device with six barrels and a clockwork mechanism that let him fire as rapidly or as slowly as he liked. He even had a nice stack of custom spelled ammunition to use with it. The more his mind latched on to the sheer gall of stealing it--didn't the little shit know, didn't they have a CLUE how important it was to him? A gift, the last thing he'd got before coming into this hellish reality, it had saved his skin more than once. Before Theo was even fully cognizant of it his brand had begun to burn, curling smoke rising from the fabric he'd tied fast around his hand. The chase came to a head when the thief burst into a large building, the shape and design of which felt familiar to Theo, but he was entirely too angry to care much where the kid had fled. He came to a halt in the open doors, chest heaving, hand smoldering. His green eyes, cast in deep shadow from the sun outside, seemed rimmed by sparks and flame. The thief turned in the lane between the pews, clutching the bulky gun in both hands, and Theo pointed with his smoking fist. "Hand it over, and I'll consider forgetting I ever saw you." "T-to hell with you!" the thief sputtered, and aimed the gun at him, hands and arms trembling and wobbling. It was heavy, too heavy for the kid, but at this range even an infant couldn't miss. Theo's eyes narrowed. "You're making a gigantic mistake," he growled. "Put it down. Now."
  11. Aut viam inveniam aut faciam.

    I will find a way or I will make one.

    God, I'm bored.

    1. Mickey Flash

      Mickey Flash

      Join a thread.  That should help with the boredom. 

  12. God, Tumblr is a cesspit. Why do I even spend any time there? The things we do to ourselves to pass the time...

  13. What the hell is a "normal" sleep schedule, y'all are cute with this crazy talk

  14. Welp. There goes the country.

  15. Time: 2:00 a.m.
    Everyone else: Time to be in bed and fast asleep
    Me: LET'S START AN RP AND SPEND 15 MINUTES REFRESHING THE PAGE TO SEE IF ANYONE REPLIED WHY DIDN'T ANYONE REPLY WHAT'S GOING O--oh. It's 2:15 in the morning. Okay. My bad.

    1. Rin

      Rin

      That's me every day. Lol I know that pain

    2. WalkingWarrior

      WalkingWarrior

      Graveyard life represent. Nothing but pain, the deep dark of predawn, and loneliness. At least we get to share the stage with some of the weirdest people humanity has to offer. Makes for good writing material.

    3. Rin
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