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Praetorian last won the day on July 7 2019

Praetorian had the most liked content!

About Praetorian

  • Rank
    Hero of Daydreams
  • Birthday 07/14/1988

Profile Information

  • Gender
  • Location
    Trapped between dreams and reality.
  • Interests
    Information, conversation, coffee.
  • Occupation
    Professional Deflector

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  • Discord

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  1. “Dragons.” His answer to Dew is minimal, his attention too focused on his hands as they frantically work down his body, fingers dancing over his shirt and pants as he tries to figure out exactly what he is wearing, when his attention is drawn toward Ainsworth’s statement. “I suppose for someone you traveled with a caravan; you haven’t seen a lot.” The retort is leveled with a hint of smugness. “The world is vast, each region different. Even those that are similar, have their own unique idiosyncrasy… flavor… personality if you will. Seems like you look but you don’t see.” Seeing, yes, he needs to see what the hell he is wearing. Farkis sits up, his gaze firmly affixed on his feet. What he finds is boots, flat black shin high leather with a higher gloss decorative lattice fabric on the toe and heel. He can’t remember the last time he wore boots. Just above that, in the glow of the campfire, he can make out darker blue-grey pants, definitely not wool, maybe cotton? “Who the hell dressed me like this?” He wonders aloud as disgust and shame start to bubble up from deep within. His attention shifts once more when Torie mentions hunting, and it prompts him to work his gaze over the gathering. Although he can’t remember the last time he ate, none of them look particularly appetizing. Plus convincing them to let him devour them would probably take more energy than he’d get out of the transaction. “Someone should catch a dragon, that would be entertaining.” He offers up the idea, if only because it might be more thrilling than a rabbit, deer, lion, or bear.
  2. The numbers grow, and yet with each new addition his facial features remain frozen. The tree morphing into a person, a talking cat, some old guy decked out with sword and mace, and a guy with flame breathe, these things are no more abnormal or unusual than the dragon-kin flying overhead. His gaze, haven broken from Torie, is transfixed on a cluster of dragons circling overhead. Although they are little more than shadows among the backdrop of the starlight, their silhouette is both too large and too distinctive to be mistaken for a bird. “What am I?” Farkis finally repeats the question back to her, his gaze leveling in the process. “I thought the proper protocol was I give my name, and then you introduce yourself? But if we are just jumping to intimate personal matters like that…” he pauses, his mind alive with a hive of answers all buzzing to be uttered. “Depressed, I suppose that’s what I am… and you?” With the answer he falls backward, his eyes catching one final clear glimpse of the stars before the orange glow of the campfire pollutes them. Comfortably on the ground, fingers laced behind his head, he takes a moment to listen to both the people and the world. The crackling flames and crack of wood splitting as the water inside begins to boil, adds a suitable and enjoyable ambiance that he can almost appreciate. “Huh, I’m in Genesaris again?” His mind churns back to the last thing he can recall. Something about three brothers voltroning into a purple ogre, in Last Chance. Before that was Orisia and a vampyre punching him in the face. How long ago was that? The thought is whispered along the ground as slithering tendril that serpentines its way toward Dew, starting out in large lazy coils that work their way closer, forming tightly wound concentric circles. His right hand lazily swats through the air, as if to shoo away a pest, dissipating the wayward thought. “Anyway, I am not from here. But there are supposedly merits to visiting places and cultures that are not your own. So, I guess you could say I’m sightseeing.” The question of why is here occupies a small portion of his mind. It is a recurring question that is never answered, so it no longer matters. His hand falls to a light grey shirt, landing to straighten out and smooth a necktie that isn’t there. The hell am I wearing?
  3. So we resolving this with a riot or what?
  4. I'll post after @AngryCacti Should give me some time to finish waking up.
  5. I'll go ahead a apologize for the lack of coherence and long windedness. TBH, I'm a little (extremely) rusty (there may not be enough WD40) at the moment. It might take me a few round to organize my rambling thoughts into something succinct. So please bear with me.
  6. Laughter reverberates off brightly colored banners, that are stretched across dull stone walls, and twists through murmuring crowds to smack into the senses with all the subtlety of a bull. The harsh trill does nothing to stop the swirling of color as elegant dresses spiral outward from around the dancers. And yet even at the height of the joviality, there he is… alone… unwanted. The music, the joy, the bright colors, they all stand in stark contrast to him and within the depths of his mind there is only one way to obtain reparations for this slight against his sensibilities – blood. Their blood, their kin’s blood, their friend’s blood. All of their blood. He blinks, drifting from one moment to the next. The warmth of countless bodies is replaced with the fall breeze, and the smokey artificial lights with pale silver moonlight. There is a brief pause in his steps, for evidently he had been walking, and he finds himself wondering where he’d been wandering both mentally and physically. Within the depths of his mind hundreds of voices unify together into a soft whisper that becomes his most surface level thoughts, was it a dream or a memory? Is this a dream…. Or reality? Was that reality? Whatever serious consideration might have been brought to bear against the inquiry is dismissed with both a mental and physical shrug. The truth is, he’s long given up on trying to distinguish between the two. “It’s not like there is a meaningful difference anyway.” The words roll from his lip with an empty apathy that draws the moisture from the air and condenses it into a faint cloud. The unified chorus of thoughts that permeate his being unravel from one another and cascade around him. This unseen mass slithers and writhes kicking dead and dried leaves into the air, while crushing sticks, and bending grass. Within this physical manifestation of his inner maelstrom he can taste the brown of the tree some feet to his right, feel the decay around him, and smell the silver of the moonlight that showers him. Within this moment he harbors the most minute amount of appreciation for the natural world, however the ever-pervasive sense of not belonging almost immediately overwhelms it. Whatever underlying beauty might exist is miniscule compared to both the vast dullness and depthless cruelty of creation. It is a lesson he regularly relearns as well as teaches. Confident that his mind isn’t about to drift again, he once more starts up his trek. This time, with purpose… or at least as much purpose as aimlessly wandering can have. His footfalls carry him through thickets that part around him, and past trees that bend away, sometimes the ground shudders in objection, repulsed by the revolting idea of having to touch him. It’s only after he steps into a clearing that he once more gives pause. Golden brown locks of hair dance in the gentle breeze, fluttering around indigo specked golden irides that melt and swirl around the all-consuming abyss of his pupils. The flawless stoic features, possibly crafted of marble or porcelain, appear to transition from stone to liquid, preventing creases from forming even as his visage morphs. Pale lips part, as he questioningly mouths the word kitten, his left hand rising up to brace against his chin as his head cants to the side. “No, not kitten.” He corrects himself a second later. His left index taps along his cheek bone as he searches through a databank of words, desperately trying to find the one that best fits the situation. “Panther, maybe?” His hand drops and clasps with the other in the small of his back as he begins walking toward Torie, “Panthera Tigris…. Tiger?” The word tastes correct, and yet he feels dissatisfied with the designation…. If only because tigers don’t talk. “Cat.” The word is general enough to be at least temporarily suitable for the situation, because short of tigger he is at a loss and this particular cat doesn’t appear to bounce. His brows furrow and his nose scrunches as the realization that he is being rude strikes him. Although, in most circumstances, he never talks to his prey, only at them, but cat is not a desirable food item. And so, with only another second’s delay, he plays back the events in his mind, this time ignoring himself in favor of the other. “Thank you, I think I will.” The answer is dry and monotone. But it isn’t insincere, and he does sit, cross legged on the opposite side of the unlit heap of wood and kindling. “And no, I’m afraid not. Not skilled at much, truthfully.” There is a moment of pause as he considers which part of his statement is the lie. “I am Farkis, by the by.” The titan makes no attempt to offer a hand, because cats probably don’t shake hands... probably.
  7. @Venus Sprite Not that my opinion necessarily matters, but I have no objections to @AngryCacti joining us.
  8. When are we looking at getting this one started?
  9. The comfort of darkness gives way to the slight notion that there is something more than the nothing. Steadily the emptiness peels away and Beatrice becomes aware of herself. There is a brief lag in thought but eventually this awareness becomes a conscious thought the echoes within the depths of the darkness. I’m awake. Her eyes flutter open, the world is an ebony haze that clears into a series of black and grey silhouettes with vague hints of muted colors. As if on a time delay, while her eyes work through the surroundings, a sharp and sudden jolt of pain works its way from her forehead, through the back of her skull, and down her spine. A dull ache echoes through her body, radiating from her face, and permeating every ounce of her being. It prompts her to touch her head, where she discovers matted fur with crumbling dried blood. “Must’a been a helluva party.” The words are muttered as she rolls from her stomach, onto her back, and then sits up. “Not the worst hangover I’ve had.” Her voice sounds muffled, distant, and abnormally deep, to her. It’s only then that she becomes aware of the throbbing in her ears. With all the speed of a sloth, she stands up and gathers her bearings, finally noticing Ek in the process, and stumbles toward her companion. She remembers why she is there, and she remembers why he is there, but despite her best efforts she can’t remember how she got to this exact moment. “The fuck happened?” The sincerity of the inquiry is corrupted by the unspoken accusation of ‘what did you do?’.
  10. This is useful for finding any of your threads but is super useful for character sheets. In the sub form you want to search click sort by, then custom search, then click the drop down box for filter and either select "Topics I've started" or "Topics I've posted in", followed by clicking search. Topics you've posted in will give you the most results.
  11. I'm pretty go with the flow at this point so I don't really have a preference. I will probably decide on which character I'll use once we decide on what we are doing. Chance encounter is always the easiest though, because you don't have to try to fabricate a relationship between characters with no history. It also has some easy dialogue options. But once more, I'm extremely flexible and am down for whatever.
  12. I've never rped with either of you as far as I know, and low stress sound legit. So if you'll let me, I'll join.
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