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sheep last won the day on March 14 2015

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About sheep

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  • Birthday 02/01/1997

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  1. There were scars on the face of the world, there were scars in the heart of men, and from these scars emanated true beauty. As his fingers grace the piano, chaos becomes order, the universe itself sings, rather, it is made to. They move across the keys with a frightening ferocity, brimming with passion, the world is a tumultuous place, but in this hour, in this establishment, it is more. The world fails to notice the brilliance of the man behind the piano, and he too fails to notice their failure. He is enamored, enchanted as his being seemingly melts with each passing moment, his eyes remain shut, for there is no other way to experience a pleasure such as this. There is a precise art to bar music, and perhaps most of it is enjoying oneself. Robyn sat upright as he finished the particular piece, he breathed proudly, smiling. His hands ached to kiss the piano once again, but he was stolen away from his thoughts as he felt a pat on his back. The man opened his eyes slowly, turning around. “That was wonderful.” The guest said. “You’re too kind, my friend.” Robyn smiled, as he left the stool and escorted the stranger towards the bar. “Scott, get us a drink, will ya?” The bartender obliges, light conversation is made and the music resumes. “That was on me, now that I have had the pleasure to talk to you, I must take leave.” Robyn receded, shaking hands, and leaving behind him a seemingly pleased customer. Greetings, smiles, and touch, the holy trinity of customer service. It was not too different than what he did on the piano. At the end of the day, all people cared about was themselves, the forlorn lover, the pious pope, the charitable philanthropist, regardless of who, or what they were. Their love for themselves, their experience was indeed greater than anything else in the vast and beautiful universe, and any man who made their experience richer was of course, a great person. Robyn complimented his employees, and exchanged pleasantries with the regulars as he made his way to the door. He took one final look around as he snatched his jacket from the rack. “Perfect.” He whispered, pushing the door open. A flame flickered against his cigarette as he took a long puff, the smoke filling his lungs. A momentary sense of relief came over him, it left him as quickly as it had come, but there was always the next puff. The man began to move towards his destination, walking merrily. Robyn was a handsome man, and he dressed flamboyantly at times, so it wasn’t too surprising when he caught people staring at him as he made his way through the murky streets, on the lesser side of Last Chance. It wasn’t too hard to find the location. The cigarette crumpled beneath his foot, and another door was pushed open.. “Greetings. Robyn Landon.” He announced as he come to face with the interviewer. He scanned the room, smiling at anyone his eyes might encounter. “Take a seat” The interviewer, gestured. "Of course." “So, let’s not waste anymore time, what would you say is your greatest weakness and why?” Robyn settled comfortably into the chair, as he began to muse. “I worry.” He claimed after a fair bit of thought, “Why? It is not very helpful in situations that demand my complete attention.” “ If you had a team member that was ineffective, incompetent, and disruptive, how would you deal with them?” “Ah, but it is not them that is incompetent, it is I. It is a leader’s job to motivate and discipline his men, to remind them of their mission everyday and of course lead by example. I don’t believe a man attuned to his goals can be either of his things.” He retorted, challenging the woman with a smile, as he relaxed into the chair. “What are your top two greatest strengths, and how do you leverage them?” “Two greatest strengths..” He repeated to himself. “One. I worry. It might put me at a disadvantage, but it is also the sharpest tool in my shed, so to say. I can think of multiple possibilities and how to tackle them.” “Two. I am a master gambler.” “How do you define evil?” “It is that, that sins is evil, isn’t it? To me, a sin, is merely failing to complete the day’s tasks. If one is not good enough to get through the day with success, they are evil.” “What is the worst thing you’ve ever done, and what did you learn from it?” “Fallen in love. I must tell you, it is wonderfully terrifying or terrifyingly wonderful. Have you ever fallen in love?” He inquired, playfully. “What is your greatest achievement?” “Waking up today, of course!”
  2. A clock was a poor excuse to represnt the passage of time. Two hands perpetually spinning to create an illusion they couldn’t possibly. They couldn’t account for the kiss that lasted a millenia, neither for the sorrow of death as it was born anew with each passing moment, or the first cry of the child that would bloom wonderfully and exist for an eternity in the mind of the mother. If there was to be a true measure of life, it wasn’t to be predicated by a mechanical instrument. The ticking of the clock would bring no relief to Belle, and in it’s manical distortion time would weigh heavier with each moment. She’d wait for a single joyful syllable or a nasty cry of irritation to be uttered but alas, all that came was more silence. Yet, in another place, his voice was abundant. He begged and cried, making promises that most men couldn’t possibly fulfil, not in the given time anyway. Maurice leaned against a wall, his eyes as dark as fear itself, and his face overcast by a beastly shadow. Sebastain was painted in black, he stood as silhouette, as the fire crackled in the background. The clock ticked away, slave to the pace it’s master had determined. Maurice on the other hand would feel it much differently, as if he stood in an endless ocean while a giant wave crashed against him, shattering him. There were no moments after and none before, only the crash. “I thought you were a man of your word, Maurice. You know I do not entertain incompetence.” The shadow claimed, nonchalantly. “L..Let me ta..talk to my daughter! I'll get you your money!” Maurice wailed, throwing himself forward, shuffling. “Go ahead.”
  3. So as Mag mentioned we won't be doing clusters no more, we'll be switching to the round system. Everyone will have a given time period in which they can post, no fixed order etc. You can post any number of times in and out of order to maintain the flow of interaction but posting once every round is a must. So we'll be giving @Mag one more day to post, and the new round starts on 15th Nov and ends on the 20th. I think 5 days a good and tight time period though it would be cool if we could squeeze it into 3-4 days since there is a lot of plot to get through, though there is really no need to hurry because fun and good writing are always top priority. If you guys have any suggestions etc, please let me know and if there any problems with the 5 day period we will adjust accordingly! Also, a special post coming up soon! Make sure you pay attention. (I'll also be dropping you some hints in there @Bolt Mulaag @Twitterpated ) AND! AND! AND! The last two LoTE threads are now Elandron canon, so you're making history for real, this is no pretend thing, promise.
  4. sheep

    LotE: The Descent

    ♦ Excerpts ♦ “They came from places moot and burnt, a desperation fueled sally, Hoping to attain what they yearned, They bickered down The Valley.” - Papa Patricio, (Papa Patricio’s pack of poignant poems) ♦ The Market ♦ They knew not how to live, but in the pursuit of life, they killed. The boy lay, bare in his soul, stripped of all that was worth. A single pearl of sadness sat beneath his eye, waiting to leave its place, but it was stuck, like a boy in a desolate land, like his arms and legs in the clutch of an unlikely ailment, like his friend in the sand. Of all that was comprehensible, most was swallowed by ache, and the rest came in as a blur, of moments, people and words. Sleep and silence clawed at him, until he was snatched away by a gentleman and propped up. “Little young to get married, don’t you think?” His mind scoured to find an odd arrangement of words to the semblance of something witty. It failed horribly. His lips ventured to utter something meaningful, only to fall short and manage a whimper. The silence grew evermore, and the world weighed heavier with each passing moment, yet he stood, until it dawned on him. My legs….? The boy lifted his head, his eyes growing larger, as he cowered under his own weight. A familiar face came into sight, and another whimper, a call for help? The boy tumbled forward. There was a loss of feeling, yet emotion overwhelmed him. @Mag @Wade
  5. ♠♥ In shadows of obscure streets, these men of mystery stood, in dark suits and fancy hats, fat fingers clutching onto slim cigarettes. The stench of smoke and the scents of lavish colognes mingled to emanate a strange smell. It is in these streets, that secrets were sold, where goods were exchanged and empires born. Guns were often carried, any breach of honor was punished severely, and only men absolute to their purpose survived. In the underbelly of the city, these men ran wild. Their hands served the common man, in quite a number of ways. When the common man was distressed, it was they who saw he had the right substances to relieve him, when he needed utilities, they saw he had that, and when he needed protection they saw to that too. To those who were not foolish and blind it was clear, the mafioso were the true friends of the public, not the government. There was power, there was love, there was honesty here, more so than in the facade of society, and whoever sat on throne owned it all. Many desired it, a select few contested for it and even fewer truly deserved it, and amongst the few was Don Sebastian, better known by his moniker ‘Le Bestia’. Plenty a rumor had gained him his reputation, rumors of deeds that scared men surrounded by blood and death. But the foolish never learned, it was not in their nature and it was evident that Maurice was one such man. He had borrowed a hefty amount to further his experiments, which of course men of intellect supported, but it was not in the nature of men of intellect to throw gold at a sinking ship. A single car black car would escort three men through the city, their tinted windows would serve as a fine mask. Their mission: escort Maurice to the man himself. He would be approached politely, and if he didn’t comply, he would learn how to. Anything of value would be brought alongside him and presented to the Don. It was not moments after this reality was ascertained, Sebastian commanded a pull from his lungs to steal another puff off the cigar. The room was dimly lit, and the wooed crackled and cried as fire licked it dearly. Sounds of shuffling and slight struggle echoed in the long hallways leading to his chamber. He sat indifferent, his dark blue eyes set upon the scenery visible through the window, as snow slowly cascaded it. There was a crash and a whimper as a few men stepped into the room. “Welcome Maurice,” The don announced still looking off into the distance. Slow and creaking his chair turned, and the indifference withered giving way to unbridled rage. The man shouted hymns of apologies at the Don, only to be silenced at a sight of his eyes. “Excuse us Lumiere.” The Don announced, and so was the room emptied for the man’s rage to occupy it fully. @Hani
  6. sheep

    Interest Check

    Awesome, I'll start the thread in a couple of hours
  7. sheep

    Interest Check

    Hey yeah, totally! I'll kick off the thread tonight, also how do you want the roles to work if there are three of us?
  8. ♦ Summary ♦ After escaping from Isore, the Exarch, along with his companions, stopped to rest in a countryside inn. An assassin, unaffiliated with Byrn, came into the inn and attempted to kill the Exarch. Wieklin and Laim were killed, Lily and Judas were heavily wounded. The commotion in the inn attracted the attention of a mounted patrol from Byrn. Through sheer luck, and the “sacrifice” of Severus, the group managed to escape at the cost of the Exarch taking two powerful blows to his right side and a raging fire consuming the inn and the surrounding countryside. Leaving the blaze behind, the group travels toward The Valley... /Thread
  9. ♦ Summary ♦ From the east, a vast winged horde, wvyern riders from the city-state of Byrn, descended upon Isore. The knights of the Walled City fought as best they could, but were soon beaten back to the palace. At the palace, there was fierce fighting atop the roof and walls. The Exarch himself joined the battle on the roof, bringing along four mages who sacrificed themselves to create a storm to beat back the wyvern riders. During this storm, and after preventing a sneak-attack by throwing his throne, the Exarch, Lily, and the remaining defenders from the roof took a secret passage to escape from the city. /Thread
  10. sheep

    Interest Check

    No problem! Do you want this to be an alternative thingy? I would prefer Valucre but I can roll either way
  11. sheep

    Interest Check

    I would be willing to play the mafia leader or whatever
  12. I'll be posting tomorrow.
  13. sheep

    LotE: The Descent

    ♦ Excerpts ♦ This is a record of the events taking place in Nar Oeste in 28 AO. Alternately, this is meant to be a guide to save the world. Introduction The work might be incomplete, futile or of utmost importance, but if it you hold it in your hands, know that it was an effort of an honest man to tell the truth and break this never-ending chain of disasters that is so prominent throughout the history of the world. ‘The Chronicles of Seven’ is perhaps the only record of the Dragon Wars that has survived the atrocities of time. It details a great deal about the ordeals and sacrifices the heroes had to go through to rid the world of evil. There are pages over pages filled with songs and poems and prose describing the beauty and bravery of the seven, yet it is utterly useless. It says nothing of the nature of dragons, besides describing them as creatures of rage. None of the strategies the seven might have used to defeat the dragons are mentioned, though there are vague allusions to powerful artifacts. There is little to no information about who these heroes were, they appear out of thin air as the world descends into chaos and vanish once they have set it right. It escapes me how no one thought to record all that is of true importance but had the time to paint men as gods. I truly hope they did exist, these bastions of hope, meant to save the world, but the reality is not what I’d wish it to be. When I look around, I see no creature of such perfection and magnificence. The closest we have is eleven old men that have spent the entirety of their lives inside of The Great Library, the most they can do is start a fire, or make stones fly like birds. I know they yearn to be saviors, but I doubt they can even leave the Library. If there is a victory at all, it will be an imperfect one. This work will document the imperfect victory, or the loss. In no way will it be embellished or exaggerated, every last bit of truth I can gather will see itself as ink on paper. For If I have learned one thing in all my time as a historian, it is that time repeats itself and whether we lose or win, there are things meant to be learned for someone, somewhere. I dedicate this to my wife and daughter, may you live to see a world better than this. A Piece of Time (Working Title), Charles Schwartz ••• ♦ The Market ♦ Fate danced like a seductress, it’s intentions never clear. As it does to a thirsty traveler in the desert, the world lies to him, three times it does so. One A boy is promised gold and freedom. He is betrayed. The ill wind takes away all that he truly values, his only friend, the monkey. The curtain lifts, revealing the truth, and the boy is faced with an unnecessary dilemma. He looks back at the jeweler as panic slips back onto his face, yet something steers him forward and the boy continues running, unable to decide. Two. A boy is promised allegiance. He is betrayed. The bullet takes away all he truly values, his senses. The world shimmers like a mirage, and his feet move in ways he had not intended. He is faced with an inevitable truth, he is no longer what he was. The boy tumbles amidst the crowd, his future uncertain. Three. A boy is promised the world. He is betrayed. The crowd takes away all he truly values, their own decency. As the boy collides with the floor, gold sprinkles from his fist and spills from his mouth. Hands, unlikely to ever steal, swiftly pick at the ornaments, like wild crows. With their decency gone, he can no longer live the way he did, there is no social code they follow any longer, no compliance, no invisible hand to keep them in place. The stall too is raided, as the wares lie untended.
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