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phantasms member of RPG for 10 years

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93,750 words written.
137 total posts.
684 words per post.
3 posts per roleplay.
49 average days in a roleplay.
42 universes joined.
10.75 INK received in tips.

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Sat Jun 07, 2014 4:49 pm
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Wed Apr 17, 2024 7:24 pm
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Fairy Tail - A New Generation
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Wrote over 80,000 total words!


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Universes Created

Tales of Ae

Space adventureeeeeeeeeeee? [{Accepting}]


“Oh, you can't help that,' said the cat. 'We're all mad here.” {(A SOUL EATER ROLEPLAY)}


Testing RP Code

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4.00 INK received for post #2817591, located in The Tower:

Her glare continued to persist, her sharp eyes unceasingly peering into the soul of her poor recipient until distracted by the movement of a dry piece of steak. She was initially drawn to the smoky scent but the swaying, pendulum like movements of Art's arm captured her attention for an extended period of time, similar to a feline's attention on a cat toy..or more appropriate, a bull's huffing gaze on a dancing crimson rag.

However, her focus broke as he dropped it into her hand. At this point in time, she was seconds away from biting it out of his hand, but this method, at least, was much more civilized (not that Sibylle cared). Focused on the jerky piece, she took a small nimble before gorging it whole. Allowing the smallish portion to snake down her throat without the need to even chew. While she wasn't at all picky with her food, she could at least process that what she had just consumed was traditionally delicious for the brief moments that it waned where her tongue could taste it.

Turning to receive more, these idyllic moments would come to pass, quickly broken as the group wandered their attention to a catgirl and her human companion. She donned a vicious look aimed towards the Ten Families perpetrator before following after the two. Her tail swaying with a slight flick as she walked shortly behind them.

As always, she took a passive role in their conversation, walking past Therion and standing in breathing distance to Art only to turn her head and look over his shoulder. Painted with a perpetual uninterested expression, her glance shifted into a childish glare as she watched Art's hand attempt to pet the smaller looking cat's head.

Perhaps she had been irked by a tinge of jealously.

2.00 INK received for post #2817690, located in The Tundra:

Few dare venture deep inside the forest that Ciara had made her dwelling. Her presence and the perpetual corruption that had seeped into lands once verdant had turned the once thriving wood into a heart of tainted evil. Of course, there were ones who choose to live near her despite the danger, their mutations more prevalent as a result, but the lands were extra inhospitable to travelers, with the inhabitants also sharing a similar sentiment to these unwanted guests.

Ciara, however, didn't mind the company. While most of the forest dwellers were grumpy and unpredictable, they recognized the Ciara as a generally harmless swamp lady who wandered about and willingly listened to the plights of anyone once she had chosen a place to sit for the night. It was her peaceful drifting that allowed her to receive multiple..electronic device thingies from willing targets and essentially put herself in the running for her next prospect.

While most would be content with never being picked for the competition. Ciara had been quite literally waiting for the opportunity as soon as she heard of it. Despite the stock-pile of identification devices she had amassed, her ageless wait had spanned many years. Until the moments of motionless stay were cut through by a ringing buzz that crumpled her measured heap of electronics.

Sauntering over, she listened intently at the words. Forming a slight smile at a sight that would seemingly scare most, her type of wait had finally come to a close. Processing the words that illuminated the screen, the chipper electronic voice reconfirming the meaning as both light and sound cut through the dark and the quiet respectively.

"ID-4230911, please remain where you are. A shuttle will come to transport you up."

Crawling out from below the canopy that made up her dwelling, it did not take long for the forest to be greeted by the descent of a futuristic spacecraft. Sweeping over the swaying verdant with a wind that dissipated as soon as the shuttle landed, the side of the vehicle opened and pushed out a ramp after a few expectant moments. A march of white clad soldiers trickled out from the entrance. Spotting Ciara from the clearing, they walked up to escort her.

"ID-4230911, make your way towards the ship." Only answering with an uninterested yawn, the girl obediently followed the group of soldiers after presenting her identification device. With an almost unsettling form of calm, she walked through and sat at an open seat. Silent and not even acknowledging the other participants that came inside to fill the shuttle. Her stare remained equal parts tired and uninterested and while such a deep pondering look could only lead to theory as to what she was exactly thinking, her mind was truly blank in this moment. Her head filled with air instead of thought. She did however notice participants straying away from sitting next to her, though she also didn't seem to mind.

Traveling with the crowd, Ciara went where she was told without question. Undertaking a perpetual sleepless sway that reverted her reactions to mere nods, her daze led her to the gathering room though promptly ceasing at the smell of something buttery and sweet. Her everlasting wander brought her to the impressive refreshments table were she proceeded to gorge herself without much care for etiquette or even passable manners. Her aura from earlier was sure to sway the people who arrived with her, unknowingly acting as the guardian of the snack table as she proceeded to clean it out.

Registering the physical stimuli of being tapped on the shoulder, she turned her head over and subsequently down as her gaze met the eyes of a feminine figure. Halfway through a half-bitten scone in one hand and finger-sandwich in the other, she paused to register the figure before turning back and continuing her meal. Most likely forgetting the person that graced her sight before being tethered back by a stronger poke.

"AY! Don't f*cking ignore me!" The feminine figure yelled at Ciara with an unmatched fury. Bringing their head close for a moment of scrutinization, they finally spoke with a regular tone as soon as they were certain that they had Ciara's attention. "You're 4230911, right?"

Processing the simplistic question for a few moments, she paused for what seemed like would be a lengthy ponder before turning her attention to them and nodding. As soon as Ciara answered their question, her head craned back for the regularly scheduled programming of stuffing her face in.

Hearing a huff and sigh from her left, Ciara was quickly pushed from in front of the table until they were in more of a clearing in the room. "If that sassy child assigned me a slow one..then I'll bite her f*cking throat out.." Mumbling to themselves, the individual's anger faded now that Ciara's attention couldn't possibly find a way to distract herself. "I am your manager which means you'll follow my orders without fail. Understand?"

Making a show of considering their order, Ciara finally turned her attention back onto them before nodding.

"Good~, let's go then. First stop is a wash, you smell like a mix of raw sewage and stray chemicals." Pushing Ciara out of the room and through the hallways, they eventually led her to a futuristic booth. "Take your clothes off and stand still. No squirming."

Following their orders, Ciara stripped and walked until she was in the center, almost unwavering to the cold water spraying at her sides and the steam that coated her skin. Fortunately the temperature was not too unbearable in either direction, Ciara able to stay formed as Celty relayed more information through the intercom.

"I'll need to make you presentable, otherwise the multi-colored midget is going to have a cow. Fortunately you have a nice face, so I'm just gonna dress you in something fancy and set you on your way. You'll be able to meet others contestants if ya wish but I have a feeling you'll be booking in towards the food. Just..don't make a mess."

Allowing the scented steam to settle, Ciara's bare form walked from out of the stall. Celty looking her over before throwing her a bathrobe to cover herself with. "Put this on..and I didn't get your name."

After holding the robe for a few moments, she simply nodded and threw it over herself. "Ciara." With a soft, quiet tone, she answered their question with her first word.

0.25 INK received for post #2817387, located in The Tower:

The senseless mumble guided her to his location, coupled with him popping out from cover to aim his weapon at her. Her lack of caution was not exactly born from spouts of draconic arrogance, but more-so her own precious naivety. Walking with an aura of the upmost nonchalance, she entertained her own stubborn curiosity, ignoring the man's increasingly louder pleas and cries in favor of a continuous stroll that would seemingly not stop for nothing.

Similar to how he was studying her, Sibylle's intrusive eyes laid focused on him. His outwards appearance didn't scream abnormal, and he certainly didn't move like a trained warrior. Her instincts told her to dig deeper, but her own stubbornness seemed to tell her to dispose of the normie and attend to other matters. Her own seemingly casual bloodlust manifesting as she aimlessly continued her saunter over to the cornered man. Turning a blind eye to the giant-slaying that was occurring behind her, she eventually met the distance until she was well into breathing distance. Bringing her hand up and out, her motions made clear her intention to punch him into a coma.

However, she seemingly stopped in her tracks at the mention of a single word. One ingredient she had plucked out of a sentence of smooth charisma. Human speech was not lost on her, so it was only natural that she clung onto the meaning. A single utterance of the word "girl". Was he referring to her? It certainly was a time of great unfamiliarity. Showcasing her limited spectrum of emotions as it was made apparent that his panicked attempts to compliment her have seemingly broken through and yielded results better than he could have ever imagined.

As quickly as it came, her bloodlust drained as quickly as beckoned. Her previously simple but stoic expression growing soft at the mere mention of a single word. She had never been called a girl, more accustomed to being referred to as a beast or simply an "it". Furthermore, the compliment did well to confuse her, unmoving as she let her simplistic mind work in an effort to process the charmer's words.

At this point, it was unclear how they stood at the moment, up until an unnamed warrior leapt from a top the rock and brought his sword down in an attempt to slice them both clean in two.

Surely, she could move quick to dodge, but it seemed that she wanted to protect the source of flattery for a few moments longer. Leaping into the air, she knocked aside the attack and subsequently the weapon before bringing her claw around the assailants neck. She flew higher before letting go and turning her body, utilizing her strong tail to smash the poor perpetrator back down onto the earth. After the spectacle, she flew back down to meet Art, hovering a few feet in the air and bringing her hand on his head. Here she spoke her first words since her arrival.

"Don't die." Soft, almost monotone, her voice sounded soothing to the ears, a contrast to her almost horrifying abilities. After her display, she flew back into the air, taking a more defensive position as opposed to flying out. While not directly apparent, it seemed that the fickle dragon was interested in protecting him.

0.25 INK received for post #2817508, located in The Tower:

Her curious orbs blinked twice, the simplistic dragon at least having the scattered awareness that her descent resulted in her stumbling upon an ensuing conversation she neither understood nor cared for. Still, the smell of the Ten Families was particularly pungent with their newfound ally. No matter his history, Sibylle felt the need to keep the man at claws length until he had the chance to prove his intentions.

Her body twitched from instinct as Art strode up to pat her shoulder, the next few pats not drumming up nearly the same jerking response. She could not explain why, but she couldn't help but feel at ease around the orange-locked man. Whether it was an beast's caution to a figure most unassuming or her sensing a kind soul or the ability to cultivate one. Whether the case may be, she could feel a spark from him and despite her simplistic nature, she uncharacteristically wished to see it flourish. She couldn't explain this feeling..but nonetheless, she always trusted her instincts. Sibylle took a deep breath as she noticed her studied gaze on Art had persisted for far too long, focusing her attention on Therion for a few sharp moments before finally relaxing her shoulders. As her arms finally fell to her sides, her tough crimson scales begun to dissipate into raining cinders. Shrunken wings, a smaller swaying tail and two large devil-like horns were the remnants of her draconic features as she shifted back to her base form.

"Sibylle." With a soft voice, she answered his call to introductions. As a slave, all she had was her own name, though she had not had much experience remembering it when her lifestyle changed to resemble that of a beast.

Her stoic expression seemed to shift at Artellis' ramblings, cracking a demure smile as soon as he finished. Whether her shift was due to his small joke, or the fact that he was undermining himself was unfortunately unclear, regardless, Sibylle returned his shoulder-tapping gesture from earlier by patting him lightly on the head once more. Her soft..somewhat demeaning pets acting as a silent reassurance in response to him feeling the need to mention that he would try to not "slow them down".

The same couldn't be said about Therion, however. Every moment her gaze met his, her eyes scrutinized into an almost childlike glare. Her mouth forming a pout at the prospect of being forced to ally herself with a Regular that smelled of royalty. Art's words alone were keeping her in line but it was clear that the dragon hated the prince for something that was well outside his control. Still, her now present lack of claws made apparent that her hatred would only manifest in petty glances and loud exaggerated huffs.

At the beck of what seemed like strategic conversation, Sibylle crossed her arms to show her aversion to contributing. However, her expectant glances with the group's sharpshooter explicitly showed that her vote was with him.

0.25 INK received for post #2822476, located in Father:

"Alrighty! Now repeat what I just said.." Holding a pastry up high, and standing skyward on top of a white-surfaced stool, Celty dangled the bun just out of Ciara's prying hands. The slime woman comedically raising both hands and swiping in fraught intervals. Her manager had made an effort to employ more Pavlovian techniques once they had realized she responded to more primal opposed to something more manageable like common logic. Someone as great as them could surely do much even under such a challenge..but they'd be lying if it hadn't earned their frequent ire.

After a few bitter moments of ultimately futile swings, Ciara finally settled and relented to their rulings. With the upmost confidence, the woman inhaled a steady breath, it almost seemed as if she finally got it. Though as swiftly as a crossing thought, the words that drifted from her mouth only characteristically grasped the base concepts and with no roadmap to connect these otherwise idle words.

"Bike, Stay, Kill, Eat." To reference such as a tasteful summary would be vastly insulting, though Celty, had already overexerted her angry courtesy of numerous occasions pertaining to Ciara's lack of aptitude on a variety of topics. She saw this small improvement as a larger victory. Though, rewarding half-point progress would do no good, especially for someone as effortlessly swayed by either meals or fickle interests. Ciara responded with similar jubilation, undertaking a part-way smug expression as she brought her slightly dipped hand up and out. No doubt to graciously receive the tantalizing rewards the dangled above her.

Celty didn't respond in kind however, instead bringing the carb well past her grasp and slapping her on the forehead with it. "Close but no cigar." A sigh escaped their lips, scowling at their dear competitor before finally softening and tossing them the bounty. Clearing their throat, and inflicting a light chop to Ciara's head, they reached their arms over and pressed the swamp woman's cheeks into a bunch.

"Listen up! I will not repeat myself.."

Stilled inside her rumbling containment unit, Ciara was her standard emotionless self. The white metallic walls, overly pure was a source of discomfort for the slime, though as she heard her specific unit land with a low thud. It was likely she wouldn't have to stay cooped up much longer.

The measured breathes of seasoned warriors, the lusting twitch of frantic hunters. In comparison, Ciara lacked the bloodlust to kill with purpose, and the deft footwork for her frame to even partially resemble a sprinter's silhouette. A stand that could only lend itself to saunter, the announcements that drifted overhead sounded almost watery courtesy of Ciara's lack of ability to focus, though the swamp woman took careful note of the inflections so she at least was conscious of when she should go.

In these times of silence, she thought to Celty's orders..or their attempts at giving orders before quickly growing frustrated.
As the airy hiss of the sliding doors poured into the soundscape, and the beating sun bit into her sensitive skin, a stroke of fortune had Ciara remember her first task.

With a wide upwards leap, Ciara exited her cage with an almost predatory fervor. She was in no means swift, most likely unable to continue the sprint comparatively to the more trained and better ran but such was trivial to her foremost purpose. Holding her hand outwards, a blackened spear, pulsating with unholy energies and formed from her own slime body manifested in her palm. Midleap, she concentrated to keep the mass solid in the blinding heat and javelin threw the weapon over her shoulder.

It flew overhead the competitors that were well above her in the race but as it arced downwards, it found its way to its true target. One of the hover bikes had been placed close to its neighbors, meeting an unceremonious end as the formed weapon zipped through the air and punctured through the top. The spear melted back into a black tar, dormant for a moment of rest before exploding outwards, unstable as it perforated the inner and outer mechanical workings of the hover bike.

Well unstable, the machine exploded from the damage, causing a smaller chain reaction of imploding bikes that took out an even 10 in a singular explosion. Continuing to pace herself forward and run directly into the fray, she leapt up and threw another blackened javelin to take out a group of 5.

Running headfirst into the chaos of the storm, Ciara fought against the ones who chose to stay convincingly. Her own natural strength allowed her to fling the first unnamed mutant she came across with a simple-expressioned punch several meters out. Her forearms grew into sharp curved blades, and the woman chose specifically to keep fighting until she reached the heart of the battle, blending up unfortunate passerby in the process.

As she had achieved some semblance of a clearing, her vision was rained upon by a dance of pitch black feathers. A precursor to a declaration of war, a besuited horned gentleman swooped down with a blade for the express purpose of lobbing off her head, a deft reaction from Ciara allowing her to block for herself with her forearms and face the man in question.

"To destroy the vehicles of your fellow mutants, you're a interesting sort of barbarian, aren't you?" A perpetual smile painted the man's face, light whitish sparks flying as their blades continued to clash. "Doesn't apply to me..however" Ciara response was only a nod, as if she wasn't listening at all.

The mutant's expression shifted at the sound of a half-muted beeping, growing both louder and more rapid. With a pompous grunt, he disengaged just as a scrap-laden grenade was flung between them. A loud explosion erupted the area with smoke and flame where she had stood.

The sounds of a smaller celebration came from the direction it had been thrown, courtesy of a mutant grenadier with both robotic arms and legs. However, as the dust settled, his smirk swiftly turned to meek surprise. While the woman Ciara did not stand there, a puddle of black goop with a moderately sized lump remained in the center and waited. Like the sounds of squeezing a damp rag, horrendous wet sounds filled the air as Ciara reformed back into humanoid form, equipped with a black spear. A glare formed from her eyes as she shot the javelin straight into the man's chest. The similar implosion occurring in turn to the poor mutant's body, the same type she had subjected to the poor defenseless hover bikes.

Shifting her gaze off of the mess of gore and parts, she was the only one who remained at the end of the battle. All the bikes were either destroyed or missing, and the stench of fresh bloodshed trickled into her nose.

With that, she went towards the smell of her own survival pack, the impressive size selling an illusion of being too heavy to steal and previously stowed comfortably on the sides of the area for no prying eyes to see.

Ciara fumbled open the bag, revealing a bounty of loaves of bread. Eyes gleaming at the drool-inducing sight, she begun to quickly refill herself with the feast. Not leaving a crumb unturned, she finished her meal before orienting herself towards the desert.

Bike-less, she rose from her crouch and ambled her way to that cardinal direction.

Seated in their own personal chambers was Celty, a smile painting their face as it seemed that all was going to what they had planned. Despite the unreliable variable that was Ciara herself and the fact that explaining these simplistic instructions to the swamp woman took multiple instances of trial and error, she had performed within expectation.

First order of business was to take out the bikes, Ciara had no hope in fighting or more so steering on those damn things so forcing the fight on foot and removing the unlucky few's chances to escape would allow her dear competitor to eliminate anyone unfortunate enough to be left behind.

When the battle concluded, Ciara would reenergize herself and wobble her way to the finish line. This step in particular would take longer, but the lack of need for sleep allowed Ciara to keep herself only slightly behind the competition. Sauntering behind the hover bikes to avoid the high-speed combat she was susceptible to and reducing the amount of unnecessary fighting.

And if it was one thing Celty trusted her hopeless competitor to perform expertly, it was to wander.