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TheWilySpookster

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About TheWilySpookster

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    Liberator of Knowledge
  • Birthday December 29

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    thewilyspookster

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    Male
  • Location
    Mission Viejo, California
  • Interests
    Writing, Film, The Great Old Ones
  • Occupation
    Part-Time Deity

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  1. Somar reeled in pain as kick after ferocious kick was delivered to his body, the speed at which they kept coming, and coming left no opportunity to retaliate. When she finally ceased her assault, the battered mage lied sprawled out on the floor, breathing labored as he gazed up into Cecile's eyes, a look of puzzlement and disbelief showing through the map of blood and bruises his face had become. "W-Wh...why?" He watched as she grabbed a barstool, lifting it up to the heavens as she made her intentions clear with a sickening delight. The irony was not lost on him. As these words registered with Somar, something seemed to change. His pained look of confusion dropped, as his face went blank. He tensed up, as everything seemed to go a bit quieter. The laborious beating of his heart suddenly became quite audible. He looked up at Cecile again, just as she prepared to bring the stool down on his right leg, and came to a conclusion. It was a conclusion that he hadn't reached in years, one that for the sake of his personal relationships with his friends and the law, he avoided at all costs. But this was a special occasion, one that seemed worthy of the poor, broken mage going a little berserk. Somar began to scream and shout like a wild animal, as he rolled away from the incoming barstool, but still found his left foot smashed beneath it. He was almost certain he felt something break, but was too focused on the task at hand to care. His body dissolved quickly into sand, rocketing upwards for a few moments, before slamming down full force into the mad nun, returning to his human form moments before impact. Somar slammed into her with enough force to send her toppling back, both of them landing on the floor. Determined to make sure she didn't get any more hits in, he wasted no time delivering a blow of his own. He raised his head up high, and smashed it into her own, trying to daze her. "I will fucking destroy everything that you are and ever will be!" Pure anger rushed through him, as he grabbed her by her golden locks, stood himself up, and began dragging her over to the table. "I will violate you in ways you could have never imagined." He may not have been entirely sure if he could deliver on these promises, but there was no doubt in Somar's mind that he would gladly watch her die trying. With a monumental pull on her hair, Somar lifted her onto the table, and slammed her down for good measure before relinquishing his grip. Sand began to flow from his sleeve into his right hand, where a glass knife began to transmute and form. He leaned over her, eyes filled with hate as he looked down at her. "I think it's about time I showed you just how little my heart has 'wavered'" He raised his hand high, the glass blade now complete. "I'm too good to die by your hands, little Sister? Well you're absolutely goddamn perfect for what I've got planned. Now..." He climbed up onto the table, hanging over her with the knife ready to strike, yet not bothering to actually pin her. "Do I start above?" He twirled the knife around her face, before pointing it to her hips. "Or below?"
  2. "You're a what now?" "A Triumvirate." "Triungulate?" "Triumverate." "Triangulate?" "Triumvirate "Cryoxolate." "Alright, now I know you're fucking with me." "Pfft, yeah." The bartender chuckled as the crystalline golem lightly punched him in the shoulder, a smiling face appearing in the front facing facet of his gem-like head. "Alright, so what exactly is a Crystal Triumvirate, anyway...B.G, right?" "For now. And to answer your question..." The golem stood up from his stool, and leaned forward on the bar, his baggy sweater and jeans covering all but the almost blinding light shining off his mirror-like form. "A triumvirate is exactly what it sounds like." "What does it sound like?" The golem, B.G, was silent. The grinning bartender watched his happy reflection warp itself into a slightly bemused one, his real visage mirroring it moments afterwards. "Consider the prefix." "Uh...tri. So like, three?" "Yes, like three. Look at the clever little bartender." He gave him a teasing look. "Pfft. Whatever. So three. Three what?" B.G. pushed himself back from the bar, standing upright. After a moment spent clearing whatever passed as a throat, the golem struck a pose, bursting into brilliant blue light that practically blinded the bartender. When his eyes adjusted, the golem was wearing nothing but a denim jacket, a pair of ripped jeans, and a blond mullet wig. He struck another pose, this time radiating a deep purple glow. Afterwards the ensemble changed to a sparkling white suit, riddled with holes revealing the golem's shiny exterior. The wig was long and brown now. Then, yet another pose was struck, an angry red flash of light exploding outwards, the only clothes on his body now just a tight pair of cut-offs, his wig now gone. At last, he returned to his casual stance, arms at his side as he flashed white, and returned to his baggy clothes from earlier. "Ohhhhh...so you're like, you're like four people." "Three." "But I saw like, four different outfits." "Yeah, but it's still technically just three guys, I'm like the intermediate between them." "Aren't you a personality separate from the other three?" "I mean, yes, but I'm not at the forefront." "But you're still one of them, so you should start calling yourself the Crystal...Quad...umvirate?" "Honestly, I'm perfectly fine with being behind the scenes." "Hey, don't say that! You're just as much a part of that...thing, as they are. You deserve recognition." "Well maybe I don't want recognition! Maybe I don't want to put myself out there! Ever think about that, asshole?! Ever consider that I may want to stay out of the fucking spotlight?!" B.G. slammed his fist on the counter, rattling a couple drinks. He slowly pulled his hand back to his side, looking down at his feet. "Hey...B.G, I'm sorry man, I didn't mean to upset you." "Don't worry about it man. Just uh...just get me a drink to go, and I'll be outta here." "Hey, don't go running off like that man. Tell you what, to make up for it, how about I give you some free backstage tickets after the Razor's Edge show tonight?" "Are they any good?" "Eh. Good enough." The bartender ducked below the bar and began rummaging about, until he came about one of the tickets in question, putting it down on the bar. "There you are. Hope you enjoy." B.G. looked at the ticket for a few seconds before scooping it up, smiling at the bartender as he did. "Thanks man, I really appreciate it." "No problem." "Could I still get that drink, though?" "Oh, yeah sure." The bartender quickly filled a glass with some whiskey and slid it over to B.G. "Say, how, um...how are you gonna drink that?" The golem chuckled at the question as he turned around to face the stage. "We have our ways."
  3. The Wily Spookster has found Cthulhu. Long live Valucre. Long live Roleplay.

  4. The Wily Spookster has found Jesus after years and years of living as a heretic. Roleplay is sin, a machination of the Devil, and will not be trifled with any longer. I shall stay in this den of depravity only to lead other lost souls back into the light.

    Refer to me no longer as The Wily Spookster, but as the The Righteous Spookster. God bless, and may he have mercy on your black, roleplaying souls.

  5. I'm skipping this round.
  6. As he watched his circular storm of glass shards shave away at the Kaantus' scales, a splitting headache suddenly threatened to overtake Somar, his right eye suddenly feeling as if a white hot ice pick had been driven through it to pierce and lobotomize him. But despite the pain, he only increased the speed, watching as the larger chunks managed to root themselves underneath the beast's armor. He shouted in triumph, and found he couldn't hear himself. Or anything for that matter. His neck began to feel sticky and wet, whatever it was already feeling to thick to be just sweat. Staying strangely composed, he reached a hand up to feel it, not reacting to the sudden and loud crash of the glass shattering even further into dust from the sonic shriek that had unwittingly deafened him. As he suspected, it was a deep red. "Well...that's a little bit worryi---" Though he didn't hear it, he could feel the crash of the Kaantus barreling towards him, clawed arm extended to deliver a crushing blow that at this point was likely unavoidable. Time almost seemed to slow down then. He could see the end approaching, albeit very, very slowly. The hand was perhaps a foot away. He looked at the interlocking plates that covered those hands, locked together like the strongest of man-made armor. The claws, short but razor sharp. Ten inches now. His eyes darted up to its face, looking into its eyes, eyes covered by a seemingly opaque membrane, adding to its horrific visage. Five inches now, Somar couldn't help but notice the sudden appearance of a coiled sword entangling the legs of the creature, but surely not quickly enough. The hand was now in contact with his chest, claws facing away, but the force surely enough to kill. It wasn't until he felt the pressure that he let himself go. Where the hand collided, Somar's body collapsed in on itself, before fully dissolving into sand and blowing off every which way. Moments passed, the Kaantus continued its advancement, the success of the impediment of its legs was yet to be seen. At least by Somar. He had reformed somewhere off to the side of the current battleground, lying on his back, facing away from the action as he tried to control his breathing, which we was finally beginning to hear again. "Why...did I wait so long? What the fuck...was I thinking?"
  7. I'll be posting tomorrow
  8. "Wh---" Before he could respond to Cecile's joke, and make his complete and utter surprise over what was happening known, Somar collided with the ground, landing hard on his back with the mad woman atop him, hands gripped tightly on his arms, and legs straddling him so he couldn't move. There was nothing that the sorcerer in his bondage could do, except look his warden in the face. The left side of her head was soaked in blood and still dripping, some of the drops falling onto his clean, if dusty trousers. He flinched, and tried to move his arm to wipe off the blood, almost as a reflex, but stopped as soon as he remembered that his arm wasn't going anywhere. Looking back at her, he focused less on the sticky crimson ruining his clothes, and more on Cecile herself. She looked like a complete lunatic, looming over him with eyes that could cut like knives. But then again, he probably didn't look much different. And despite that insane gaze, he couldn't help but like the way she looked. "So, you've fallen for me then?" So many women in the past, just about every one he grew to hate, though rarely for good reason. Always either too naive to know better, or too emotionless to care. But this psycho bitch pinning him down in a crowded restaurant, she seemed like she could actually work. "You'd sure as hell be the first."
  9. dark-tower.jpg?w=683

    Excited squeal

    1. Mickey Flash

      Mickey Flash

      Squeals with you!

    2. supernal

      supernal

      I like that it's Idris

    3. TheWilySpookster

      TheWilySpookster

      As do I. And McConaughey as Walter, just perfect.

  10. Somar narrowed his eyes at her, twisting his face into a grimace before he had a chance to start laughing. He didn't like where this was going. Well, that wasn't exactly true. As the situation unfolded, Somar found himself more intrigued than he would have liked to be. She was making him laugh, yes, but she was also making him question his plan of action, and even the motivation behind it. Maybe it was time for him to give this whole date a second chance. He was prepared to lift the gun from her head, but suddenly remembered her words from earlier. Her heart wasn't wagering, but perhaps his own was. She was calling him a coward, wasn't she? This was all part of her game. She'd make him look weak, make him bow to her by proving he didn't have the balls to kill her. Well she couldn't be more wrong. "Alright. I've got one. Knock knock." Who's there? "The Guy." The Guy who? Somar's hand lunged forward and grabbed Cecille by the throat, holding her in place while he put the gun directly by her left ear, firing it off into the sky and yelling into the other immediately afterwards. "The Guy who isn't fucking playing! If you think I'm some kind of pussy, some kind of limp-dicked coward who'll let you walk all over him, then I got news for you Ms. Cecille, Mr. Somar Goddamn Pulventum doesn't take kindly to such accusations. Mr. Somar Goddamn Pulventum has killed more people than you can count, ruined more lives then there are stars in the sky, and has left many a pretty little girl like yourself lying in a ditch, missing something she would've much preferred to be still attached to her whore body. Keep that in mind while I've still got the gun, and thus the upper hand." Most of what Somar said was mere boasting, so he hoped that he seemed convincing enough to inspire a bit of fear into this woman, and then maybe things would go his way.
  11. Somar narrowed his eyes at her, twisting his face into a grimace before he had a chance to start laughing. He didn't like where this was going. Well, that wasn't exactly true. As the situation unfolded, Somar found himself more intrigued than he would have liked to be. She was making him laugh, yes, but she was also making him question his plan of action, and even the motivation behind it. Maybe it was time for him to give this whole date a second chance. He was prepared to lift the gun from her head, but suddenly remembered her words from earlier. Her heart wasn't wagering, but perhaps his own was. She was calling him a coward, wasn't she? This was all part of her game. She'd make him look weak, make him bow to her by proving he didn't have the balls to kill her. Well she couldn't be more wrong. "Alright. I've got one. Knock knock." Who's there? "The Guy." The Guy who? Somar's hand lunged forward and grabbed Cecille by the throat, holding her in place while he put the gun directly by her left ear, firing it off into the sky and yelling into the other immediately afterwards. "The Guy who isn't fucking playing! If you think I'm some kind of pussy, some kind of limp-dicked coward who'll let you walk all over him, then I got news for you Ms. Cecille, Mr. Somar Goddamn Pulventum doesn't take kindly to such accusations. Mr. Somar Goddamn Pulventum has killed more people than you can count, ruined more lives then there are stars in the sky, and has left many a pretty little girl like yourself lying in a ditch, missing something she would've much preferred to be still attached to her whore body. Keep that in mind while I've still got the gun, and thus the upper hand." Most of what Somar said was mere boasting, so he hoped that he seemed convincing enough to inspire a bit of fear into this woman, and then maybe things would go his way.
  12. "Man...knight's are like...they're just gonna harsh everyone's vibe, man. Knight's've got like, no place around here, unless they're like, super chill man." The barkeep was a rail-thin man, bald with a handlebar mustache platinum blonde in its color, sipping from a wine glass with one hand, and dragging on the familiar pipe with its noxious smoke in the other. His mustache was stained red in the middle of his lip, and every sip seemed to end in a coughing fit that left Whisk's body stained wherever his wine-filled spittle had the misfortune of landing. Whisk was displeased. "Surely there is something you hipp---people...could use a hired sword for. Monsters roaming the countryside, bandits attacking people, anything?" "Nope." "Nothing at all?" "Nothing at all, my man." "Nothing whatsoever." "Nothing wha---" At that moment, the barkeep's coughing chose to be much more violent and wet, covering the left side of Whisk's face in wine, and leaving the material looking a sickly rouge. "---tsoever. Sorry." He certainly would be sorry, considering his outsides were just about to become indistinguishable from his insides within the next few moments. Without really thinking over the repercussions, Whisk reached for his estoc, and began drawing it out of its sheathe. But before he could pull it out halfway, he watched the bartender drop his pipe and wine glass onto the bar, the latter spilling out onto the counter, as he jumped back in fear. Whisk's previous anger quickly subsided, as he slowly slid it back into in, head lowered. "I'm sorry...I overreacted a bit." The barkeep drew forward with caution, not speaking or making any subtle movements for a few moments, before grabbing his pipe and offering it to Whisk. "Take it man, you seem like you need it." Whisk highly disagreed, and was intent on making that clear as politely as he could. "Thank you...but a knight errant such as myself should really try to stay pure and natural." "It's a plant man, can't get more natural than that." "I'd rather not have to suffer any negative effects." "This shit's got none, man." Whisk glanced away for a moment, questioning what to do. "I wouldn't want to take your only---" He turned his head back to face the barkeep, only to notice a second pipe in his hand, which he began sucking on. "Always gotta have a spare, man." He held the spare pipe out again, shaking it a bit for emphasis. "Come on, man, take it. It'll lighten you up a bit." Whisk sighed, shaking his head but finally taking the pipe. "Just...tell me if any job opportunities come to mind." "Sure thing." Whisk walked over to an empty stool near the fire nymph lighting everyone's pipes, and sat down. He eyes the pipe a bit, before jabbing it into his throat until a hole in the fabric formed. He stuck it in far enough to balance without falling out. With nothing else to do, he waited to see what would happen.
  13. Somar's gaze moved from Cecile, to the gun, and back to Cecile. He took a moment to process what she told him, and glanced back at the gun. If his heart was wavering, don't shoot. What was that supposed to mean? His feelings towards her? Was that it? If his feelings for her were questionable, don't shoot her? Somar's eyes narrowed as he looked back at Cecille, wondering what this was supposed to be. It didn't feel right that she would so willingly give up her weapon, and then give him the chance to shoot her. Not that he was planning on doing so. Then again, why shouldn't he? He'd had more than enough, and had an effective way of ending this night and making sure it never came back to haunt him. Without thinking about it any longer, he darted for the gun and pointed it at her. He'd never been very familiar with fire arms, but he knew well enough that the important part was pulling the trigger, all the other technical aspects weren't of his concern, and there was no doubt in his mind it was loaded. He watched for her reaction, and was dissatisfied that there was none. He leaned forward and pushed the barrel of the gun into her forehead, waiting to see if her silent demeanor would waver. It didn't. "You know, for someone with a gun to their head, you don't look too concerned."
  14. The moment Somar caught a glimpse of the Kaantus barreling towards them like an organic missile, in spite of his fellow mercenaries' own attack, a feeling of despair descended upon him. His confident snarl faded into wide-eyed terror, and his previously raised arms dropped to his side. "Noooo...no no no..." He began to slowly walk backwards, never looking away from the abomination that the others faced so bravely head-on. His storm of glass stayed where it was, parting to allow safe passage out of its turbulent path. "Not good, not good at all, this is very not good, and I might even have to go as far as saying it is incredibly bad!" Somar just about turned around to run as far away as he could manage, but stopped himself as he began to pivot. He grit his teeth as thoughts of escape and safety were beaten down by awful notions of loyalty and honor. Against his better judgement, he slowly turned back around, and watched the fight unfold. Sage was running straight for it, fist raised and looking like he was about to deliver a punch right into the Kaantus' stomach. If the Kaantus didn't kill the stupid bastard for thinking he could match blows with a creature of its size and power, then the addition of a storm of razor sharp glass buffeting the two of them wouldn't likely be appreciated. He'd have to be a bit more precise. Which meant he'd have to get closer. "Why...?" He hesitated, shuffling his feet as he made a couple false starts moving forward. He closed his eyes, and spent a few moments psyching himself up, before finally running forward back into his storm. The glass began to condense into a more compact ring that spun around him as he sprinted closer and closer to the Kaantus. Once he was about ten feet away, Sage was already about to deliver his blow, and Somar sent his hand forward as well, a small amount of the glass he had amassed firing outwards towards the Kaantus' throat, forming a ring around it as he hoped it would at the very least wear away at it's scales.
  15. [BASICS] First name: B. G. Surname: Crystal Stage Names: The Looking Glass Man, Priz Mattick, Shattered Ego Alignment: L.G.M.- Neutral Good, Priz Mattick- Chaotic Good, Shattered Ego- Chaotic Neutral. Race: Triumverate of Consciousnesses Within a Glass Construct Marital Status: L.G.M.- Single, Priz Mattick- Married, Shattered Ego- Single. Gender: Male Age: 28 Role: Mage/Bassist [PHYSICAL] Voice: L.G.M.- Tenor(Hard Rock Style Vocals), Priz Mattick- Bass-Baritone(Psychedelic Rock Style Vocals), Shattered Ego- Baritone(Heavy Metal Style Vocals) Eyes: L.G.M.- Green, Priz Mattick- Blue, Shattered Ego- Brown Complexion: Reflective Height: 6'2" Weight: 220 lbs. Build: Lean Wig: L.G.M.- Blond Mullet, Priz Mattick- Long Brown Hair, Shattered Ego- Bald Tattoos/markings: N/A [MENTAL] Demeanor: L.G.M.- Energetic, Flamboyant, Confident. Priz Mattick- Calm, Collected, Suave. Shattered Ego- Loud, Aggressive, Independent. Hopes: Become a Rock Star with his band mates right beside him. Fears: The band breaking up, Selling out, fading into obscurity. Likes: L.G.M.- Money, Fame, Women. Priz Mattick- Expressing himself, Writing lyrics, Women. Shattered Ego- Fighting, Alcohol, Women. Dislikes: L.G.M.- Hippies who think music should be deep. Priz Mattick- Meatheads who are only in it for the money. Shattered Ego- Varies. [GEAR] (All) Bass Guitar (L.G.M.) Jeans Denim Jacket (Priz Mattick) White Suit- Riddled with holes to mimic a disco ball. (Shattered Ego) Cut-Offs Iron Bracelets [WEAPONS] N/A [STRENGTHS] Strong Constitution- B.G.'s crystalline composition leaves him naturally resistant to damage. Immune to Flame- Being made of crystal, B.G. doesn't burn so easily. Breathing and Eating Unnecessary- Exactly what it says on the tin. [WEAKNESSES] Unstable- B.G's multiple personas leave him off-kilter, and prone to instability. Easy to Shatter- Though tough to damage, when someone is successful, they are likely to take a significant chunk off in the process. [SKILLS] Light Manipulation- B.G. can generate and manipulate light in incredible ways, ranging from changing its color and brightness, to warping and reflecting it in different patterns, shapes, and directions. [FAMILY] Unknown B.G. Crystal's life is dedicated to music. Ever since he came into existence twenty-seven years before through mysterious circumstances that no one quite understands, or has bothered to figure out, he had spent all his time training to be the best bassist imaginable. Those who met him always questioned his choice, asking him why he would be a bassist when he could be a guitarist, or a vocalist. Those people would never understand, but B.G. knew deep down he wasn't meant to be the front man. Instead, it was his job to be the soul. Inside his shiny, crystalline body, B.G. Crystal was more than one man. He was three. And each one, despite their differences, was ready to be that soul his band would deserve. Playing the bass, working the crowd, and putting on a light show that would dazzle everyone in sight.