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Peter Lukeson

"Don't worry everyone, the greatest person to ever live has arrived!"

0 · 347 views · located in Kyrik

a character in “Just A Child's Tale”, originally authored by Quakernuts, as played by RolePlayGateway




⌠ “The sun may rise and fall, but I’ll bring light to wherever my gorgeous mug happens to be!” ⌡

|| ARTIST ; Take it from me - Kongos ||

【ɗιαƖσgυє cσƖσя: #3333ff ▮ тнσυgнт cσƖσя #00ace6

FC: Adrien Brody


Peter Lukeson
.: The Stone :.
.: The Rock :.

Pete, Petra, Luke


June 2nd

Ultimately, Peter always had a thing for being the hero, and not necessarily for the right reasons. He always envisioned himself swooping in to save the life of some beautiful maiden who would then reward him with things that should remain unwritten. You could say that he’s very much like that now, leaping in to protect not just ‘fair maidens’ but other people as well...if he can see a reward in doing so. Nothing in the world is free, and his adult self started tacking that onto every thought he ever had.



If you were to ask Peter, he would say that he himself is the best feature. Those who seem to be able to tolerate his ego tend to say that they like the relative smooth features of his face. It somehow initially masks his...rambunctious personality.

The first thing that people complain about Peter is his ego. It’s massive and nearly impossible to bring down to a tolerable level. There are those around him who seem to think that his rather inflated personality is a cover for what could potentially be a very withdrawn individual. A couple people have noticed that when he’s not surrounded by people, he tends to calm down to a reasonable level, but if it’s ever brought up in conversation Peter tends to steal the words out of people’s mouth and transform them into self-directed compliments.

Peter is of rather average height, standing at 5’11 and weighing in at just shy of 190lbs. His hair is usually kept slightly long, bangs covering his eyes but easily swatted aside by his hand in an instant. He grows different facial hair to suit his whims, ranging from a moustache to a full beard to a goatee. His skin, while not as tan as he would like it, isn’t pale. His brown eyes rarely if ever seem dark, instead seeming to produce a ‘light’ for lack of a better word that makes them seem brighter than one would assume of them. In terms of his body, there’s nothing to really comment on. Scars are non-existant, he’s fit and capable, and more than once he’s called himself an ‘avatar of sexiness’.

Clothing wise, Peter tends to dress up regardless of the situation. If one were to catch him wearing a t-shirt and shorts, that person should take a picture because the chances of it happening again would be low. Peter likes to keep himself up to date with loose business suits and dress clothes that seem to fit ‘just right’. This means he’s spent a ton of money on them, appearance is nearly everything to him. From time to time, you could catch him wearing a fedora matching his suit, but it’s uncommon.



The most common description you’ll hear for Peter by anyone who knows him is “Peter is Peter”. To say that he’s an outgoing narcissist would be putting it mildly, as he doesn’t seem to have any problem reminding people about how good looking, fun, or outwardly awesome he is. His personality seems to almost suck the energy out of everyone, as people often find themselves tired just by being around him. With his nearly infinite ability to praise himself comes a determination and excitement for trying everything and anything that happens to pass him by. This can range from jumping over a fence that seems to be too high, to going skydiving and throwing the parachute out first. In his mind, he’s not ‘bad’ at anything, he’s simply not great at it yet.

Many people, right from the get go, are usually annoyed or outright angry at the way Peter conducts himself, especially now with his age. He’s 32, and acts like a high school senior who got with the cheerleader the night all times. People have done their best to bring him down, either gently or by outright trying to destroy him emotionally and nothing appears to work. It would seem, at least to the outside world, that he has the most indestructible ego on the planet. Yet the same thing that drives people away is also the thing that pulls people to him.

If nothing else, he is never boring. Always there with a new idea, something else to try, or even just to brighten one’s day. Despite the fact that a lot of what he says is directed at how amazing a person he can be, sometimes he does prove that fact. He visits his sick friends in the hospital, he plans birthdays and parties, he hosts social events for people who just had a great achievement. To be a friend of Peter means that, despite everything about him, he does pay attention to you...even if it is just to show how much of a caring individual he can be. Even then, he can turn it into something that can be used to his advantage.

Digging deeper into Peter’s psyche, and you start to see the cracks where the darkness has begun to fester. Peter wasn’t always this way, he wasn’t always this outgoing egomaniacal individual hell bent on having a good time or dying trying. He used to be an extreme introvert, afraid of social interactions of all calibers. Everything above the surface could be considered a mask, a shield put up in order to protect himself from the fears of rejection and ridicule. To protect himself from ever being forgotten.

Peter adopted a persona long ago and has held onto it for so long that he eventually became that persona. He didn’t want to be forgotten, so he made himself loud. Rejection was a natural part of life he hated, so he simply chose to accept himself no matter what happened. If people decided to ridicule him, he might as well beat them to the punch and turn it into something positive. Every one of his fears, hates, and general annoyances were rolled into one giant man suit that he then donned in order to become the Peter he is today.

A shrink would call it a severe case of a dissociative disorder if they managed to compare the Peter from now to the Peter of his childhood. The problem with that is he’s shattered most of his links back to his past. No friends from his childhood, no teachers with good memories, hell, even his parents and sister are no longer around to give a shit about him.

For now, he’s Peter the egomaniac, and he’s perfectly fine with that.

┍━━━X LOVE X ━━━┑

Hard Liquor: “You get yourself some nice scotch, or maybe even a finely aged whiskey and bring it to me. I’ll be your friend for the night.”
Sharp Clothes: “They say the clothes make the man, but I beg to differ. These clothes are better because I’m wearing them.”
Smoking: “Sure, it’s bad for you, but even life kills you in the end so don’t preach to me!”
Parties: “Parties? They’re the best way for everyone to get a dose of me. No one has to wait, everyone can bask in it.”
Trying New Things: “Trying everything keeps things interesting, which keeps me interesting.”

▶▶ Eνєяутнιηg уσυ ωαηт, вυт αт α ρяιcє ◀◀


Being Forgotten “Not everyone can be expected to know me, but those who do better not forget.”
Beer: “It’s piss in a bottle or a can...can’t stand the stuff.”
Being Talked Down To: “You’re not superior to me, nobody is. So shove that shit back where it came from!”
Ripping his clothes: “One of you better be a fucking tailor! There is no ‘or else’, one of you BETTER BE A FUCKING TAILOR!”


Talks in the third person from time to time
Attempts to pull conversations towards himself
Tugs at cuff links when nervous

Determined In spite of, or maybe because of the way Peter is, he’s not content with simply being ‘ok’ at something or doing an ‘ok’ job. Everything needs to be great because a great person is doing it.
Adaptable Having tried so many things in his life, Peter is so used to switching gears that it’s become second nature. Typically speaking, it doesn’t take him long to pick something up and have a quick understanding of how it works/how to use it.

Narcissistic Peter’s biggest flaw is his ego by far, and can’t stand it if he’s not the center of attention at all times of the day. He will actively seek out attention if none can be found.
Lack of Focus While Peter is adept at picking up new skills, you’d be hard pressed to see him still using the same technique from a week ago. He switches ideas, methods, and practices whenever the fancy hits him.

Being Forgotten
Being Alone
Failing at something important
Shattering his lie



Peter’s history, to most, is a fairly large mystery. Most of the people who claim to know him can’t really explain where he was before 10 years ago, then it seemed that he was just...there. In reality, Peter was born the youngest of two children. His sister, Maria, was 2 years older and whether his parents at the time wanted to admit it or not, was their favorite. Peter was often left with all the chores as he got older, punished more harshly for his trespasses and yet seemingly forgotten about at the same time. Much of his childhood was a repetition of this, until his parents got bitten by the wanderlust bug, and took off one night with his sister in tow. Even if you got Peter to talk about it, he couldn’t answer you why they did it, where they went, or where they are now. One night he went to bed, the next morning the house was empty...and save for Peter, it remained that way for several weeks.

He kept expecting them to show up at some point, but food started to run out, then the water was turned off, along with the power. Eventually someone noticed that a kid was living out of a broken down house and called social services. From that point, Peter became a foster child and bounced around the system from one home to another. He wasn’t necessarily a bad kid, but it seemed like most homes didn’t find him to be a good fit. He was a very different person back then as compared to now.

It wasn’t any one thing that caused a personality shift in Peter, you could call it a ton of small things piling onto each other. All anyone can say, those that were around at that time, is that one moment he was a quiet kid eating his dinner silently at the table, and the next he was standing on his chair proclaiming himself to be the best at eating beets.

When he was 18 and graduated from highschool, he took off. His latest foster home was just his latest bridge to burn and he made sure it collapsed quickly. He never talked to them again, and instead moved to a bigger city with more opportunities. From there he got a job as a real estate agent, one of the easiest jobs in the world according to Peter. His personality allowed him to ensnare people into using him as their agent, and it wasn’t long before he had amassed himself a nice little bit of money with a high rise apartment and clothes that suited his narcissistic personality.

✄ ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
⋯ ⋯ ⋯
There are so many people that Peter claims to know that placing them here would take a page and a half. Needless to say, Peter knows a lot of people and goes to events on a regular enough basis to keep in constant touch with them.

❖ C R E A T O R ❖
Modified by Shirogane
Permission to use requested and granted

So begins...

Peter Lukeson's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Iris Montgomery Character Portrait: Ryden Burnham Character Portrait: Leonard Hardwick Character Portrait: Caspian Ozpin Character Portrait: Peter Lukeson Character Portrait: Allison Bonneville
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Holding the book in his hands, Ryden watched his two children from behind pages of Atlas Shrugged. They all were bundled up on his bed, waiting impatiently for their nightly storytelling. It was a ritual of theirs to send them to bed with their minds swimming with good stories. Nightmares don't happen if you dream about being a dragon. Setting the book on the nightstand, Ryden leaned in close to his children. Emelia wore a big grin, hugging onto one of the pillows and kicking her feet.

"Since Alex got an A on his test, he gets to pick what the story is about."

There was a mixture of protests and cheers, his son slamming his fists down onto the mattress as he got to his knees, "One about a hero fighting a monster! The little boy exclaimed, his twin pouting next to him as Ryden began his story. It always felt organic, making up a tale that captivated his children. They were always a good inspiration for his novels. They sat there, listening to him intently, their attention never leaving as he painted worlds around them. As he spoke, Ryden caught Olivia in the doorway, a small smile on his lips.

"I think it's time for bed," He said after a bit, causing the twins to protest. "It's a school night, now go and I'll come tuck you in." As the two kids slid off of the bed and left the room, Ryden got up and walked over to his wife. She smiled and placed a quick kiss against his lips.

"I didn't think I'd be at work so late," She said with a quiet sigh, pulling her hair out of a bun, "What did they have for dinner?" Olivia looked drained as she looked up at Ryden. Bags hid noticeably behind her concealer, her movements sluggish and exhausted from a long shift at the hospital.

"Macaroni and cheese," He chuckled, shrugging at her look of irritation, "I'm no chef, Dear. I ordered take out for you, it's in the fridge. I need to go work on my novel so I'll be in my office."

He gave her a gentle kiss on her temple before leaving the bedroom, his shoulders sagging as he heard her muttering about the liquor he hid in his office. He was getting over his constant addictions but it was always easy for him to fall back. It was a demon, coaxing him with a promise of pleasure and a cure for his depression. It wrapped its black fingers around his eyes and forced him to ignore all he cherished. Sinking into a seat in his office, he eyed the bottle of spirits before grabbing it and pouring a small drink. One drink won't kill me. He thought to himself, taking a sip and grimacing at the burn that slithered its way down his throat.


Cold water doused Ryden's sleep into a sputtering of curses. Covering his face with his hands, he wiped the water away from his eyes. God, he didn't even want to look up, a pounding against his skull so fierce he thought he was dying. "Get up!" He heard a screech, groaning as the noise made his head feel as if it had been cracked. "I said get up!" The voice boomed again, delivering a hard kick to his side.

"Jesus fuck, give me a minute!" He snapped back, pulling himself into a sitting position before fully opening his eyes. He was greeted with the grimace of an old man, teeth rotted out and dressed in rags. He was sitting in straw, a horse watching the two from its stall. There are no horses in Boston. He thought to himself, gripping at his head. Was he dreaming? What kind of vivid trip was this? Had he relapsed? All these thoughts went through his head simultaneously, the old man yanking him by his shirt.

"Who the fuck 'er you?" He demanded, "Why are you slumberin' with my horses?" The old man asked, a chortle following as he gave Ryden a peculiar look.

Ryden didn't respond, only watching the old man in confusion. "I am terribly sorry, but where am I?" He asked, picking some straw out of his hair. Everything smelled of horse shit, he was now soaked and his skull felt as if it were about to split in half. What the Hell was going on?

"The village of Tiel."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Tiel of Kyrik, boy!" He laughed, the sound turning into a whooping cough, "How much did ya drink to not remember where you are?" Standing up, Ryden felt his heart seize in his throat. He was still in the clothes from last night. The last thing he could remember was drinking a bit while working on his story. "Yer a peculiar looking fellow. You come from across the ocean?"

Shaking his head, Ryden walked out of the barn. He was on a farm, a valley stretching out for miles all around. In the distance was a town, the buildings looking run down and almost primitive. He couldn't help the panic that started to bud in his stomach. He needed to get home to his kids and wife. Hopefully, someone from the town could help him. He started walking towards it, ignoring the geezer as he called for him back. Someone must know what to make of this.


Characters Present

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Peter Lukeson


The night was silent, a soft breeze floated through the trees, freeing leaves from their fragile hold to stability. A few people passed by on the street in silence as they travelled to and from wherever they wanted to, a few cars passed by but this wasn’t an arterial street and traffic was kept to a minimum. No dogs barked, no assholes swore and threw beer bottles, hardly a peep was heard.

Until you looked up and saw the light show happening from the windows of a high rise apartment. That’s where the real action was.

On top of a twenty story building sat a full-floor apartment. Meant for the rich and/or famous, a blaring gathering of bodies was underway with its own light show, entertainment and general rowdiness that one expected of a planned event rather than some house party. Inside was a finely polished hardwood floor, complete with a full bar, more than enough room to get up and dance, a massive living room area complete with pool tables and dart boards, and not to mention a DJ set up in the center of it holding onto his headphones and blasting techno music to the crowd of several dozen attendees.

Women of...questionable integrity danced with less and less clothes by the minute. Men acted like men, drinking lots of beer, ogling the women and testing their strength against each other in a complete hurricane of testosterone and alcohol. Members of both sex acted with less and less inhibitions as the night wore on, until finally a well dressed man stepped up to the podium so to speak, motioning for the DJ to cut the music for a moment. He swept his hair to the side, trying to disguise the sweat starting to slowly bead on his brow, motioning to another to crank up the AC to another level. He clasped his hands together, giving a wide smile as everyone stopped to give him their attention. Oh how he loved this part of the night, where all eyes were on him and transfixed by his very being, as they all should be. After all, he was the host and life of the party.

“Well, needless to say I think we’re all having a hell of a time here, in my not-so-modest abode!” Peter said in a clear and nearly booming voice to the half drugged and half drunk occupants of his apartment. He smiled a toothy grin as everyone cheered, some clinking glasses and others chugging whatever beverage they currently had in their hand. “But I need you all to shut up and try to focus for one second here!” Peter waited for the sound to dim down to a manageable level for a moment before continuing in his most serious voice. “We are here to say goodbye to a dear friend of ours. A man, who to us and the rest of the world, is now dead...because that son of a bitch is moving to New York to head up a new law firm! Get the fuck up here Steven!” Peter watched as a very drunk Steven managed to get his way through the crowd and approach him. He gave a hug, but it took a lot of effort for Steven to even do that.

Naturally the crowd, in their drug and booze addled minds started chanting; “Speech! Speech! Speech!” Peter gave a bow to the crowd and joined them although he didn’t start chanting, slipping past all of them to take a seat at his bar. He watched with a lopsided smile as Steven gave possibly the worst speech in history to people who wouldn’t remember it by tomorrow morning. No, they wouldn’t remember this speech tomorrow, and two weeks from now they wouldn’t remember Steven, but they would remember the party. They would remember who threw that party, and Peter felt his heart pump with the excitement of victory. He had gotten what he wanted, once again, while convincing everyone else he was doing it for someone else.

It was somewhere around the two minute mark in Steven’s speech that he decided to redecorate the floor with whatever happened to be in his stomach at the moment. Peter grimaced slightly at the sight while everyone else simply cheered. Peter snapped his fingers at the bartender, pointing at the disgusting pile of stomach juice, and watched the bartender sigh and walk around the counter with a bucket and mop. “Hey!” Peter yelled after him. “I’m not paying you to give me attitude, do your job!” With that business done with, Peter maneuvered himself towards the center of the apartment as the party took off on a second wind, sliding in between two scantily clad women whose names he simply couldn’t remember, placing an arm around both of them and immediately they pulled in closer. He knew it was because of the intoxication, but frankly he liked his explanation better.

It was because he was a God among men, high up in the clouds sitting in his castle.

Peter woke slowly, a dull pain throbbing in the small of his back as if he had been sleeping on a rock. His eyes opened with the associated blurriness of a morning after a party and he blinked several times, sitting up and rubbing his eyes to help with his sight. The pain in his back refused to go away, but it wasn’t until he was actually able to see that he saw why. The room he was in was anything but his. His was filled head to toe with trophies, achievements, pictures of him and his friends, and exactly 5 mirrors so that no matter what direction he was facing, he would be able to see himself both from the front and back.

Instead the room around him was bare...actually not just bare, prehistoric would have been a better word. Everything was made of wood, including the bed. The bedding must have been made of the worst kind of...Peter wanted to say wool. The window hung open, a cold draft picking up as he looked down and realized that he had fallen asleep in his suit. He was more annoyed at that than anything else as he desperately tried to flatten the creases out of his pants and jacket to no avail. Now he just looked like a ragtag desperate door to door salesman. Peter grimaced to himself, looking around the room for a mirror and finding none. Where the hell was he? He didn’t drink that much did he? Did they go to some renaissance fair and pass out in one of their hotels? Where was everyone else? He could have sworn he didn’t go to bed alone, so where were they at least? Maybe everyone got up and left before him? If they did, he’d make sure they got an earful for leaving him behind.

He walked to the door, scoffing at the old fashioned slide lock on it, and pushed on into the hallway. This revealed an aging looking architecture as each step caused a creak, the wood and stone walls looked barely maintained and everything was covered in dust. He had to admit, they paid attention to detail here. Getting to the end of the hall, Peter descended the stairs attempting to fix his hair as best he could, rubbing his face and feeling the tiny bristles of not having shaved yet. He pushed open the door and was revealed with a campy restaurant/saloon area. A couple of people turned to look at them, dressed down in what he could only guess was medieval garb, looking more akin to blankets than actual clothes. As he stepped into the room, he could feel more eyes fall upon him, and while normally he would enjoy the attention, he didn’t feel like this was the good kind. Naturally his instincts proved right as a burly creature of a woman stomped out from behind the bar table.

“Now who ta fuck are ya? How did ya get up in mah rooms?!” Her voice was slurred and thick, but he didn’t think it was because of alcohol. Peter stared at her for a moment, looking back at the door then back to the woman.


The woman pushed roughly on Peter’s shoulder, even though she only came up to his chest she had some heft behind her arms. “Ya heard me ya skinny white fooker! I dun remember you comin in last night!”

“Well that’s convenient...cause I don’t remember coming in here either.” Peter said, everyone in the bar area looking at him by this point. He noticed that they were all dressed down, and his suit was probably drawing at least half of the attention. The way they glared at him gave him a rare moment of unease, wishing he could be wearing something else for the first time since he could remember.

“Convenient?! Ya fookin spent tha night didn’t ya? That’ll be ten coppa! Pay up!” Peter stared at her again for a moment before shaking his head.

“Ten copper? What is know what, it doesn’t matter.” Peter reached into his jacket pocket and produced a thin black wallet. He pulled out a card and handed it to the woman. “That should cover whatever tab I had.”

“The fook is this?” The woman asked, staring at the piece of plastic as if it were completely alien to her. Peter sighed, gripping the bridge of his nose.

“Look, it’s a mastercard. I appreciate your commitment to the bit, but if you could just swipe that card so I could get out of here and figure out where the hell everyone else went, I would be extremely grateful.” Peter glanced over at her, and she had the most incredulous look on her face. “Don’t tell me you don’t have a debit machine? Oh for the love of…” Peter reached into his wallet once more and produced ten dollars. “There, cash. Can I go now?” The woman gripped the paper, waving it in front of her face before scrunching it up into a ball.

“Ya think ya can just pay me off in papah? Or...whatever this bloody thing is?” The woman held up the card and scrunched it into a ball before Peter could stop her.

“The fuck are you doing? Give me back my card you dumb bitch!” Peter yelled at her, only for her to grip his collar and pull him down with a rough tug.

“If ya can’t pay, ya work off yer debt! In the kitchen with ya!” She started tugging Peter behind the counter, naturally he tried resisting but the woman had a grip of iron. In a fit of desperation, Peter grabbed a bottle from the table and smashed it over her head as he was dragged by. She dropped, groaning slightly as bits of blood started to flow from her head. He dropped the broken bottle, fixing his collar up slightly. He was about to make sure she was alright, even if she was nuts he didn’t want to hurt her like that, but he noticed that everyone in the bar was starting to climb to their feet. He looked at them in surprise.

“You saw her! She assaulted me! She grabbed me by the collar! She dra...None of this matters to you guys does it.” They all started closing in on him as all his hopes were dashed quickly. “Right...fuck.”

A few moments later Peter dived out of the second floor window, landing head first into a muddy road dazed for a few moments. He slowly got to his feet, hearing angry yelling as the people who had followed him up the stairs quickly ran to get back down to the main floor. Peter didn’t wait, taking off like a bullet, not wasting any time to take in his surroundings until he was positive that the bar goers were no longer after him. Breathing heavily from the exertion, he looked down at his suit and found it completely ruined. He slammed his fist into the wall he was leaning against and looked up. He would have to get another made, and while he didn’t mind getting fitted for one, he particularly liked this black model.

Now all he had to do was figure out where the hell he was and get back home. He crept through the alley, and at the end was met with a face full of market square. Horses with and without carriages carried both people and cargo, stalls filled with trinkets, food and other materials played host to salespeople peddling their wares. The square was filled with people of every shape and size, but they all shared something in common. Every one of them was reminiscent of the medieval ages. It took this scene unfolding in front of Peter for his mind to finally grasp the reality of the situation. He wasn’t in Kansas anymore, and his mouth whispered a single phrase.

“Where the fuck am I?”