Voting has reset for the month of March. Valucre is in the top 10 but we aim for the top 3 for maximum visibility when people land on the home page of the topsite. If you want to help new members discover Valucre, vote for us daily.

Welcome to Valucre

Register now to gain access to the World of Valucre. Once you do, you'll be able to contribute to this site by submitting your own content or replying to existing content. You can ask questions before signing up in the pre-registration threadexplore the world's lore in the Valucre Overview, and learn all you need to know in five minutes by reading the Getting Started page.

TheWilySpookster

Members
  • Content count

    944
  • Joined

  • Last visited

About TheWilySpookster

  • Rank
    Liberator of Knowledge
  • Birthday December 29

Contact Methods

  • Skype
    thewilyspookster

Profile Information

  • Gender
    Male
  • Location
    Mission Viejo, California
  • Interests
    Reading, Writing, Gaming, Film
  • Occupation
    Part-Time Deity

Recent Profile Visitors

4,585 profile views
  1. "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 weren'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."
  2. dark-tower.jpg?w=683

    Excited squeal

    1. Mickey Flash
    2. supernal

      supernal

      I like that it's Idris

    3. TheWilySpookster

      TheWilySpookster

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

  3. 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.
  4. 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.
  5. "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.
  6. 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."
  7. 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.
  8. [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.
  9. Somar was dead silent as Celine spoke, his face completely emotionless as he stared into her eyes, only glancing briefly at her gun every few moments before locking eyes with her again. He wasn't sure what to do, other than listen to her talk about Gaia knows what until she decided to let him go. He felt like a captive, a prisoner of war, and this nun was the commanding officer who could choose to shoot him at a moment's notice. Somar didn't say anything in remark to Cecile's joke, and continued to stare. Despite his silence, it was evident that he was processing it. Moments later, he began to chuckle. The chuckling gave way to giggling, the giggling to laughter, the laughter to hysteria, as the line between genuine laughter, and genuine tears became blurred. "...Aha ha ha ha ha, I'm gonna fucking die here..." "H-H-Home? I don't know! I don't really know!" Somar's tearful laughter continued as his hands dug into his scalp. "Home, I think, was a desert wasteland that was hot, and dry, and horrible, and I don't know if I want to think about it, cause it wasn't much of a home. I think a real home would be somewhere safe, you know? Somewhere where there wasn't a gun pointed at me, you know?!"
  10. Better
  11. Hey, that's my thing! How dare you steal my thing, I'll sue you.
  12. @Misty
  13. Show her he was good. Demonstrate to her his worth as a human being. Make it clear to her that he could be anything less than sad and manipulative. How? "O--Okay..." Somar slowly stood up and returned to his seat, gripping the armrests tightly as he considered what to say or do next. Escape seemed like a nice solution to his current woes. He could be out in seconds, nothing but a sandstorm blowing across the ocean, nothing substantial to shoot, and likely too difficult to pursue. Yet for whatever reason, the idea turned sour. What Cecille had said was now cutting into him, and strangely enough, he felt obligated enough to at least try. And if that didn't work out, well, five-hundred dollars of hush money should be enough to keep her off his back. But how would he begin? What was the right way to start? "So, uh...h-how about this weather?"
  14. "Th-The...the first one...I swear it was the first one, it's always the first one, goddamnit!" As Somar stared down the barrel of the gun which could at any moment end his ultimately worthless existence, a look of sheer terror contorting his face as tears soaked into his shirt, he considered everything he had done up to that point, wondering what he could have done differently to not be lying here, sobbing like a little bitch as the gun shoved up against his temple reminded him of his own mortality. This scene, surprisingly enough, was not an unfamiliar one for Somar. In fact, he probably couldn't count how many times he'd found himself staring Death in the face, and rather than give it a smug grin and effortlessly cheat it like he always acted like he could, he would instead cower, and cry, and hope that whatever wanted to kill him could be persuaded, bribed, or distracted long enough for someone to remove them from the picture. "I'm pathetic! I'm worthless! There's no point in killing me, I've been dead all my life! My existence holds no meaning, you'd be doing me a favor by pulling that trigger, so Gods forbid please don't pull that trigger, for the love of Gaia, and Odin Haze, and all those other deities I'd never even thought about up until right now, please don't pull that trigger!" Unsure whether that would be sufficient, Somar glanced towards his pocket. "Take my money! Take it all, there's five-hundred bucks in there! Just take it and leave me alone, and preferably alive."
  15. Somar's body cried out in pain as Sage dragged his limp form up onto his feet. Every fiber of his being that wasn't at that moment dedicated to telling him that every decision he had made up to that point was shitty and wrong, and deserving of white-hot agony, was focused on hating the philosopher who had escalated the his pain from terrible to excruciating. Which was to say that Somar found himself mildly annoyed, as he struggled to stand on his own two feet. Not being one to accept petty complaints when he personally knew that soul searching and self-examination was a completely excusable reason for missing the briefing, Somar prepared a retort. "Listen here you gravel gargling army brat, I'm not going to stand here and listen to you bitch and whine about me missing some stupid fucking briefing after falling face-first off a goddamn airship. I could've died from that fall, yet here you are berating me for missing out on some info you could have just filled me in on? Who in their right mind would demonstrate this kind of inconsiderate, cold-hearted, downright psychopathic behavior." Well, barring himself of course. "Now I expect an apology, otherwise the moment every single cell in my body isn't begging for death, I will gut you like a goddamn fish and then mummify your corpse." Satisfied, he began to speak his mind. "Listen here y---" At that moment, all the piss and vinegar that had built up inside of Somar has subsided. He trailed off, all aggression and motivation following suit. Sighing to himself, he trailed behind the others on the way to the campsite. The moment Somar heard the Kaantus rumbling towards them, the screeching of birds emphasizing its ominous approach, he was on high alert. Arms spread wide and sleeves pouring out sand to form a mound around him, he was prepared for whatever came next. Everything still ached, but that wasn't going to bother him. He had a big target approaching that was perfect for venting his frustrations on. "Completely and utterly." Satisfied with the two-and-a-half foot sand dune that he'd prepared for the time being, Somar started walking towards the sound of the Kaantus' footsteps, whipping up a sandstorm around himself from what continued to flow from his sleeves. "Though I've gotta say, I'm not usually one for brute force, you see." As the storm increased in volume and decreased in visibility, it began to glow. "My style's a bit more...cutting edge." Moments later, the sandstorm ceased glowing, but continued to glimmer slightly as the light shone off of what was now sharp pieces of glass. "That was terrible, I know, I'll pay for that joke later."