14 February 2013 @ 04:40 pm
This change to the City is temporary, yes? That is the way with these impulsive shifts, as far as I have noted.

I do not understand the correlation with this holiday I continue to hear talk of in the streets.

I have established it is a day for lovers, but at what inception and to what ultimate goal I have not yet grasped.

I would research at the library, but I believe we are all familiar with its peculiar sense of usefulness.

Miss Mae has not invited me back, besides. And I did send more flowers.

So, I turn to my fellow... [Ah. There's that smile of his, pleasant, dark eyes mere slits. It masks his superiority complex.] man to please discuss the matter with me.

It is so interesting to be a novice student again.



action;
[ ...You may also find him dumping a body into the canal at some point during the day... The water is murky enough to conceal it, yes? ]
 
 
09 January 2013 @ 03:41 pm
[Despite his pride, Creeping Dust has begun this video with the intent of requesting help. This is not something he would usually do. He is a leader and a loner, and incredibly arrogant when it comes to his self-sufficiency. However, he is also not usually attacked by those he trusts most deeply.]

Excuse me. [His voice is tight, strained.] I--

[Before he can continue, he's forced to jump back in order to avoid the swing of an enormous axe.]

Hawk. [It's a pleading tone, and he receives no reply. The man he's speaking to is twice his size, nearly seven feet with broad shoulders. His skin is brown and tattooed heavily, patterns that may be familiar to those inclined to notice such details.

Another voice makes the necromancer go taut and still,]


You abandoned us, brother.

[And while he is frozen, the axe is swinging towards him again...]


[[ooc; Life is being wrrretched, so I will be a backtagging backtagger on all of my posts. Thank you for your patience.]]
 
 
16 December 2012 @ 05:55 pm
[[ooc; backdated because I was unconscious all day yesterday.]]

[ These dratted rings. Today, High Master Creeping Dust has found himself returned to a period of his existence he really would have been just as well not revisiting. And the library is going to suffer for it. He is spending his time ripping the pages out of books he deems useless in order to scrawl a number of symbols onto the pages. These pages are being adhesed to the windows and walls.

There's also smoke filling the area, incense burning. ]


How many are left...
 
 
04 December 2012 @ 05:19 pm
[[ooc; This post could possibly be considered triggering for its blatant abuse of animals, and general slight grossitude. He's... from a medieval setting. He's also a necromancer. Apologies.]]


[ There... appears to be a man in a very nicely tailored suit escorting a pair of goats towards the fountain. He ties them up nearby, leaving them to drink from it as they like as he rolls up his sleeves.

He then crouches down, loosening the simple cloth satchel from where he had tied it around his shoulders. He unfolds the cloth on the pavement, rummaging through the contents therein. Which are by and large knives. A rather impressive collection, really. (He is an assassin, mind you.)

Upon selecting one to his liking, he really doesn't hesitate much longer than that before slitting one goat's throat and pushing its head into the water, waiting until it stops thrashing. He does not flinch. The second is treated similarly. (No. He really gives no fucks about any reactions to this.)

He then sets about cleaning off his knife, humming something that is probably a prayer. (Ghost Dog this, great Ghost Dog that, the intellect of the afterlife, blah blah blah blah blah. Necromancer bullshit.)

When he is well and truly through, he parks himself comfortably on the edge of the now running-red fountain, sitting back and lifting his face to bask in the weak winter sunlight, with two limp and sodden corpses for company.]



[[ooc; I am in class currently, and can indulge for a bit. I may be back in the evening for tags. If not! Tomorrow.]]
 
 
08 November 2012 @ 06:08 pm
[ This man has not fallen into the fountain, but he is still sopping wet, his black hair in dripping tendrils across his face. The black armor he wears is slick with the rain water, with mud and and blood too dark to really make out against the dark leather. It was raining on the battlefield last night (moment's before) and he is... not amused. He pauses briefly, to use the edge of his sodden cloak to wipe off his face, what little good it does him. He flexes a gloved fist, and then he turns to regard his surroundings.

A portal. Who would have the power for such a portal? A Spider could weave it, could pry it open with the fire of a Crocodile's heart. A Rat could scurry through it, but never spirit him through one so easily. A Dog would not betray him so. He cannot be here. Cannot waste time, cannot be diverted. There are men to lead and men to kill.

He pushes his hair back off of his brow, smiling at a passerby. It's a friendly enough expression, there's something about the set of his lips, a cagey little smile as if he knows a joke and he is not telling. But still, there's something edging its way in, a tenseness around the edge of his mouth and eyes; there if you're sharp enough to see it, but how many of you can claim to know him that well?

He's an interesting sight. Dripping wet, heavily armored, smiling lazily. And he's coming to approach you. He has questions that need to be answered. ]



[[ooc; I'm weak. Also trapped in class and bored. Halp me.]]