nonexistent
Wanderer
- Local time
- Today 3:33 PM
- Messages
- 148
- Age
- 22
- Pronouns
- He/him
Hello there. I'm looking for a 1x1 partner.
As of right now, I am looking for a casual partner. A few solid paragraphs are fine. I prefer being told if you want to stop the roleplay rather than ghosting so that I can find a new partner.
General:
I have been roleplaying for many years now and would say that I can range anywhere from semi-lit all the way to novella depending on many factors. These days, I generally reply with a few paragraphs - more when something interesting is happening, less when it's mainly dialogue.As of right now, I am looking for a casual partner. A few solid paragraphs are fine. I prefer being told if you want to stop the roleplay rather than ghosting so that I can find a new partner.
General:
The types of plots/genres I am interested in range wildly, but I mostly enjoy anything supernatural-related or out of the ordinary. I love vampires, demons, werewolves, and anything else that creeps around in the night. If you want to see the types of characters I create, ask and I shall post their character information for you to look at. They are all nonhuman except for one lol.
-If you're looking for a list of genres/themes I'm interested in, here you go... dark fantasy, supernatural, angst, hurt-comfort, mystery, psychological struggles, characters with (realistic depictions of) mental illness, romance, dark romance, heavy conflict, nonhuman entities, shifters, violence, gore, horror, enemies to lovers, opposites attracting, nonhuman societies, crime, gangs, internal conflict, custom species, sexual activity, imperfect relationships, relationship struggles, d/s relationships, unusual pairings, etc.
-If you're looking for the types of pairings I'm into, here you go): vampire x werewolf (or forbidden love), demon x witch/wizard, vampire x vampire hunter, werewolf x werewolf hunter, scientist x experiment, marine biologist x mer-creature, wounded person x person who finds and cares for them/studies them, bodyguard x guarded, etc.
As for romance and sexual themes, I only do mxm pairings. I am fine with violence between characters, rough sexual encounters, and much more if you would like to discuss your preferences for sexual/violent roleplays.
I am one of few people who doesn't mind if you want to write in first-person perspective. I figure there are so many novels written in first-person, what's the big deal here? I only write in third-person, however.
Plots:
I'm not too good at coming up with plots, so here are some basic ideas that I like. Feel free to suggest anything else you're excited about or want to pursue. I will probably like your ideas better than mine. My plots are only tentative ideas, not solid requirements. I'm open to basically anything, so don't be afraid to just straight up tell me what you want.
-One character who owns a house and a large wooded area is walking through their little forest and discovers a trail of blood. Curious, they follow it to find a hostile/defensive individual (can be some kind of were-species, etc.) who clearly needs help but is very stubborn/scared. They come back every day to help the injured person with their wounds despite the pushback (and possible physical injuries) that come with it and brings food or other things for them. They eventually end up spending more time out with their injured friend, and the previously-hostile person warms up to them enough to be convinced to accept their help and to come to stay at their house to recover the rest of the way. After gaining their trust, the now-healed person eventually goes into the details of how they ended up injured in the first place, and the two now have an enemy to defeat together... or something along those lines. We can come up with literally anything.I'm not too good at coming up with plots, so here are some basic ideas that I like. Feel free to suggest anything else you're excited about or want to pursue. I will probably like your ideas better than mine. My plots are only tentative ideas, not solid requirements. I'm open to basically anything, so don't be afraid to just straight up tell me what you want.
-Alternatively, a creature/supernatural being ends up injured, and is found by a human with far too much curiosity and a lack of interest in their personal safety... the human saves this person's life, takes copious amounts of research notes, and treats them like a test subject for the time they are forced to stay put and heal. Eventually, they begin to bond over these visits and things start to be revealed about what happened the night the human found the injured character.
-Two strangers live across from each other in a shady apartment complex. Each lives alone and has suspicious or criminal things that they do at night. They happen to accidentally meet each other outside one night, making it awkward to greet each other later... but they somehow end up seeing each other regularly, and eventually develop feelings.
-A vampire hunter is hired to take out someone who is suspected to be a vampire. He eventually tracks down the vampire but doesn't find another bloodthirsty murderer that has lost control. He doesn't know what to do when the vampire doesn't resist and instead looks at him with begging eyes to finish the job.
-A slightly-mad wizard who has been put asleep for 1,000 years under a spell accidentally gets released when a human (who may or may not have dormant magical abilities) touches him. This human must deal with the aftermath of what they have just released into the world...
-Werewolves and vampires are known to hate each other. What happens when two happen to fall in love?
-A witch/wizard/human summons a demon/other creature, but they messed up the spell and accidentally link the two together. If one dies, the other does too.
-Alternatively, a witch/wizard/human summons a demon/other creature and the two make a contract - the supernatural does a job in exchange for the witch/wizard/human's soul.
-A marine biologist who is working to save endangered species from poachers and to study them is on a work trip with his research partner over the open ocean. What he doesn't know is that this research partner wants him dead, and is secretly in the hunting business for the same rare species the marine biologist is trying to save. Said research partner is simply exploiting him for information. The marine biologist ends up fighting with his homicidal research partner and is thrown overboard, where he is presumed dead. He ends up being rescued by a mer-creature of some sort, and the two end up falling in love. The homicidal research partner can eventually find out about said mer-creature and the marine biologist being alive, and we can all guess where that goes...
-A crime boss decides to hire a bodyguard, and will pay them copious amounts of money for their job. The bodyguard is just in it for the money, but can't seem to quell their curiosity as things get out of hand
-A promiscuous vampire (my character) works as a prostitute at an underground bar made for supernatural creatures to gather. He is secretly miserable and looks for dangerous people to sleep with in hopes that they will kill him, as well as being horny for adrenaline. Another character either grows interested in him and continuously goes back to see him, or conversely kidnaps him and keeps him as a pet, where he eventually becomes enamored with his captor
-In a world of heroes/villains, who is truly morally just? In this world, the heroes are secretly corrupt and have everyone convinced they are good through propaganda and information control. The villains are a type of freedom fighters wanting to expose the heroes and rebel against them. But the heroes generally think they are in the right, and are chosen at a young age and are indoctrinated into their roles. A villain and a hero go head to head, and the hero gets to see a glimpse of reality, questioning his actions. Interested in each other, they end up continuing to meet, and each of their worlds is destroyed as they learn more about the other side.
-In a world where androids walk among humans, there are many different robots with many different purposes. A human (bottom) is out exploring the city limits one day when he finds a damaged android (top). Curious, he decides to bring it back to his home and fix it. He finds that it does not have a serial number or any other identifying markings - even when plugged into the proper software, he cannot figure out the model. Once the android wakes up, he begins to learn that this is no ordinary robot. It seems to be more alive than any piece of code could ever will into reality. Just what is this mysterious piece of technology? The android has lost some of its memory, and cannot recall how it ended up abandoned and damaged. Together, they find that some shady, dark shit has been going on, and things get dangerous.
Roleplay Sample:
I apologize for only having old samples! I hope they will be satisfactory. I think my old samples are actually better than my current writing...
I apologize for only having old samples! I hope they will be satisfactory. I think my old samples are actually better than my current writing...
Apos' long, flexible fingers struck pearl and obsidian, gliding effortlessly across the keys of a carefully-crafted Bechstein with masterful precision. His eyes were gently closed, his brows furrowed only by a hair in concentration as he traversed through a slow-paced melody. The sheet music settled above the keyboard went untouched, remaining open on the first page of a song that Apos had finished playing long ago. His hands were guided solely by muscle memory, his fingers waltzing with indistinct melancholy. They were entranced in a solo dance of their own. In a time that had felt as if it had been but a few moments and that he wished could have stretched into eternity, Apos delicately pressed down the final keys, the concluding notes ringing out in the empty studio room. Apos exhaled slowly and deeply, his tired eyes opening as he awakened from his music-imbued trance.
It was a ritual of Apos' to play before he took a sinner's life. It set the tone of his job, reminding Apos of his personal duty concerning the fragility of life and death. The return of flesh and bone to the Earth. Apos' fingers often itched to feel the weighted ivory pressed underneath their padded tips. Since he was always traveling, Apos did not often get a chance to fulfill this urge. Wherever he happened to be on a mission, Apos could usually hunt down a music studio and convince them to let him play on one of their pianos for a few hours of rented time if he deemed the quality to be up to par. Otherwise, he would postpone his enactment of judgment to a later time, seeing it as a signal of fate. If Apos could not complete his ritual, he would not be able to go through with his execution. Compulsive? Perhaps. But if he was not in the right mindset, Apos had no desire to go through with an imperfect resolution of life.
Apos paid for the time he had spent in the studio, exchanging cash between hands silently before leaving. His mind was in a steady and focused state, prepared to commit a sin that he was simply constructed to enact. Apos' target was crafty. Elusive. He had been creating his painstakingly crafted artwork for nearly a decade before Apos had ever come into existence, and had likely been murdering under the radar long before his popular debut - or so Apos assumed. It was partially speculation, due to the ambiguity of his prey. Apos' target was careful and precise, making tracking him down a difficult task. It had taken Apos fifteen years to collect and piece together the information he needed, poring over historical records and carefully predicting potential murder sites until he was successful in finding his target. Due to the number of years his target had been killing, Apos had been certain from the beginning that he was of supernatural origin. However, it had taken him quite some time to figure out the male's appearance and species. After that information had been clearly grasped and laid out, all that was left was the simple matter of tracking, following, and killing.
Apos' target had a routine of sorts, which he had learned through careful observation from afar. It varied but became slowly predictable in a few key ways that gave Apos the proper timing to eliminate his target. That was why, as evening approached, Apos walked slowly down the street, avoiding cracked divots with a sort of swaying grace. He wore a dreamy expression on his face as he imagined how the scenario would go down, as he had done day after day for fifteen years on repeat inside of his head. Apos had visualized every possible difficulty that could occur, and every slip-up that could cost him the battle. He even imagined what he would say to the blonde-haired artist if he lost the battle but had not yet perished. Apos had a monologue vaguely rehearsed about how, if the vampire was inspired, he would like to be part of a gorgeous masterpiece... Apos imagined his uniquely black blood splattered and painted with precision, his body strung up in a beautifully tragic and despondent fashion, framed like a piece in an art gallery. The thought of such a scene pleased him, despite the fact that it would mean an end to Apos' life.
However, Apos was getting ahead of himself with such vivid daydreams. From what he predicted, his current job would go as smoothly as the rest. Apos had various honed and perfected techniques for delivering judgement to vampires, none of which have failed him in the past. There was no reason why he could not kill his target this time. Even if he couldn't, Apos could not bring himself to express any form of sentiment concerning his own death. He existed to enact judgment. If he died doing his instinctual job, then that was simply what divine fate had in store for him.
This anhedonia towards his existence was what allowed Apos to walk with a silent, monotonous grace, without a quiver in his heart or trepidation in his gaze. He approached his destination, humming an old melody with low and rich vocal cords. The twitch captured Apos' fingers again, and he clenched his hand into a fist.
"Stop that." He scolded the empty air around him, shaking his head in a disapproving fashion. "You must follow the rules, or divine judgement will come upon you... Understand?" Apos murmured, huffing a short breath. He closed his eyes for several moments, standing still before finally stepping foot inside the shabby 'hotel' that his target had made into his most recent living space. Apos walked past an unnoticeable 'reception' desk if it could even be called that, where a bored-looking teenager was watching some type of clearly pornographic content on a computer monitor, the lewd moaning escaping his cheap headphones. While in such a zombified trance, he did not notice as Apos casually walked past him and to the door that he knew his target was behind, lying in wait. The muffled noise of music sounded from behind the door, its quality poor even from where Apos stood outside.
Apos sighed, reaching to grab the large dagger clipped onto his side with an air of boredom about him. He unsheathed the weapon, glancing briefly at the worn inscriptions that had been carved into the blade of the weapon. The letters were of an inhuman, forgotten language whose meaning had been erased long ago. It was a language that Apos instinctually recognized, yet did not understand.
With his other hand, Apos reached for the door handle, grasping firmly onto the worn object. It began to crumble beneath his touch, producing a toxic metallic scent as the knob and locking mechanism slowly turned to dust underneath Apos' palm. On the other side of the door, Apos could hear the remaining half of the handle fall to the floor, no longer having anything to hold it in place. Apos pushed open the door with the tip of one of his black sneakers, his eyes narrowed and expectant. His muscles were tensed and prepared as he stepped inside, the will to enact retribution on his mind.
As he entered, Apos' eyes scanned the room, quickly landing on his target. The previously-muffled music was now clearer, the old tunes vaguely familiar as they rang out on cheap-quality speakers. Strewn about on the floor were papers covered in graphite, the pencil lines formed into morbidly exquisite sketches. Even from afar, the faintly crumpled pieces looked as if they were well-drawn. A thought fluttered past Apos' mind: he decidedly did not wish to damage the papers in their combat. Beautiful things should not be destroyed. A cat's ears twitched at Apos' entrance, its viridian-chartreuse eyes focused on the intruder from its place on a mattress that was clearly past its eight-year replacement date.
The most prominent sensation that invaded Apos' senses was the potent scent of alcohol. His nose crinkled in distaste, iron-tinted eyes glinting with repugnance at his target. The blonde was leaning back in an uncomfortable-looking armchair, a bottle in his hand that had clearly had most of its contents emptied into the male's stomach. From the sight of a second empty bottle on the ground, he was far already into his drinking session. Apos tilted his head, dark bangs falling in suit as he squinted. He neared the armchair, tossing his weapon from hand to hand as his gaze looked the man up and down critically. Even if he were drunk and listening to music that signaled some sort of nostalgia-fueled crisis, he was still the renowned killer that Apos' fifteen-year effort had been dedicated to. This was the moment that he had been waiting for. The enactment of judgment. Even if it were an unconventional sight to stumble upon, it did not change the fact of the matter and Apos' purposeful arrival.
"Kratzer Jäger, hitman and artist of the dead... I will keep this short for both of our sakes. I apologize for the intrusion - but as it stands, I have the duty to slay you." Apos' voice was spiritless as if he were reading straight out of a dull law textbook. He seemed uninterested in what he was saying, his tired eyes glancing at the cat on the bed rather than at the person he was speaking to. The desire to stroke its fur came over him, but Apos silenced the sudden impulse by clutching the hilt of his dagger a little tighter in his palm.
It was a ritual of Apos' to play before he took a sinner's life. It set the tone of his job, reminding Apos of his personal duty concerning the fragility of life and death. The return of flesh and bone to the Earth. Apos' fingers often itched to feel the weighted ivory pressed underneath their padded tips. Since he was always traveling, Apos did not often get a chance to fulfill this urge. Wherever he happened to be on a mission, Apos could usually hunt down a music studio and convince them to let him play on one of their pianos for a few hours of rented time if he deemed the quality to be up to par. Otherwise, he would postpone his enactment of judgment to a later time, seeing it as a signal of fate. If Apos could not complete his ritual, he would not be able to go through with his execution. Compulsive? Perhaps. But if he was not in the right mindset, Apos had no desire to go through with an imperfect resolution of life.
Apos paid for the time he had spent in the studio, exchanging cash between hands silently before leaving. His mind was in a steady and focused state, prepared to commit a sin that he was simply constructed to enact. Apos' target was crafty. Elusive. He had been creating his painstakingly crafted artwork for nearly a decade before Apos had ever come into existence, and had likely been murdering under the radar long before his popular debut - or so Apos assumed. It was partially speculation, due to the ambiguity of his prey. Apos' target was careful and precise, making tracking him down a difficult task. It had taken Apos fifteen years to collect and piece together the information he needed, poring over historical records and carefully predicting potential murder sites until he was successful in finding his target. Due to the number of years his target had been killing, Apos had been certain from the beginning that he was of supernatural origin. However, it had taken him quite some time to figure out the male's appearance and species. After that information had been clearly grasped and laid out, all that was left was the simple matter of tracking, following, and killing.
Apos' target had a routine of sorts, which he had learned through careful observation from afar. It varied but became slowly predictable in a few key ways that gave Apos the proper timing to eliminate his target. That was why, as evening approached, Apos walked slowly down the street, avoiding cracked divots with a sort of swaying grace. He wore a dreamy expression on his face as he imagined how the scenario would go down, as he had done day after day for fifteen years on repeat inside of his head. Apos had visualized every possible difficulty that could occur, and every slip-up that could cost him the battle. He even imagined what he would say to the blonde-haired artist if he lost the battle but had not yet perished. Apos had a monologue vaguely rehearsed about how, if the vampire was inspired, he would like to be part of a gorgeous masterpiece... Apos imagined his uniquely black blood splattered and painted with precision, his body strung up in a beautifully tragic and despondent fashion, framed like a piece in an art gallery. The thought of such a scene pleased him, despite the fact that it would mean an end to Apos' life.
However, Apos was getting ahead of himself with such vivid daydreams. From what he predicted, his current job would go as smoothly as the rest. Apos had various honed and perfected techniques for delivering judgement to vampires, none of which have failed him in the past. There was no reason why he could not kill his target this time. Even if he couldn't, Apos could not bring himself to express any form of sentiment concerning his own death. He existed to enact judgment. If he died doing his instinctual job, then that was simply what divine fate had in store for him.
This anhedonia towards his existence was what allowed Apos to walk with a silent, monotonous grace, without a quiver in his heart or trepidation in his gaze. He approached his destination, humming an old melody with low and rich vocal cords. The twitch captured Apos' fingers again, and he clenched his hand into a fist.
"Stop that." He scolded the empty air around him, shaking his head in a disapproving fashion. "You must follow the rules, or divine judgement will come upon you... Understand?" Apos murmured, huffing a short breath. He closed his eyes for several moments, standing still before finally stepping foot inside the shabby 'hotel' that his target had made into his most recent living space. Apos walked past an unnoticeable 'reception' desk if it could even be called that, where a bored-looking teenager was watching some type of clearly pornographic content on a computer monitor, the lewd moaning escaping his cheap headphones. While in such a zombified trance, he did not notice as Apos casually walked past him and to the door that he knew his target was behind, lying in wait. The muffled noise of music sounded from behind the door, its quality poor even from where Apos stood outside.
Apos sighed, reaching to grab the large dagger clipped onto his side with an air of boredom about him. He unsheathed the weapon, glancing briefly at the worn inscriptions that had been carved into the blade of the weapon. The letters were of an inhuman, forgotten language whose meaning had been erased long ago. It was a language that Apos instinctually recognized, yet did not understand.
With his other hand, Apos reached for the door handle, grasping firmly onto the worn object. It began to crumble beneath his touch, producing a toxic metallic scent as the knob and locking mechanism slowly turned to dust underneath Apos' palm. On the other side of the door, Apos could hear the remaining half of the handle fall to the floor, no longer having anything to hold it in place. Apos pushed open the door with the tip of one of his black sneakers, his eyes narrowed and expectant. His muscles were tensed and prepared as he stepped inside, the will to enact retribution on his mind.
As he entered, Apos' eyes scanned the room, quickly landing on his target. The previously-muffled music was now clearer, the old tunes vaguely familiar as they rang out on cheap-quality speakers. Strewn about on the floor were papers covered in graphite, the pencil lines formed into morbidly exquisite sketches. Even from afar, the faintly crumpled pieces looked as if they were well-drawn. A thought fluttered past Apos' mind: he decidedly did not wish to damage the papers in their combat. Beautiful things should not be destroyed. A cat's ears twitched at Apos' entrance, its viridian-chartreuse eyes focused on the intruder from its place on a mattress that was clearly past its eight-year replacement date.
The most prominent sensation that invaded Apos' senses was the potent scent of alcohol. His nose crinkled in distaste, iron-tinted eyes glinting with repugnance at his target. The blonde was leaning back in an uncomfortable-looking armchair, a bottle in his hand that had clearly had most of its contents emptied into the male's stomach. From the sight of a second empty bottle on the ground, he was far already into his drinking session. Apos tilted his head, dark bangs falling in suit as he squinted. He neared the armchair, tossing his weapon from hand to hand as his gaze looked the man up and down critically. Even if he were drunk and listening to music that signaled some sort of nostalgia-fueled crisis, he was still the renowned killer that Apos' fifteen-year effort had been dedicated to. This was the moment that he had been waiting for. The enactment of judgment. Even if it were an unconventional sight to stumble upon, it did not change the fact of the matter and Apos' purposeful arrival.
"Kratzer Jäger, hitman and artist of the dead... I will keep this short for both of our sakes. I apologize for the intrusion - but as it stands, I have the duty to slay you." Apos' voice was spiritless as if he were reading straight out of a dull law textbook. He seemed uninterested in what he was saying, his tired eyes glancing at the cat on the bed rather than at the person he was speaking to. The desire to stroke its fur came over him, but Apos silenced the sudden impulse by clutching the hilt of his dagger a little tighter in his palm.
Wildflowers bloom in various colors, decorating open fields in bright yellow and orange hues. Their scent is intoxicating, the sickly sweetness of it casting a stupor over all who were unknowingly lured into their trap. As the dart frog alerts predators with tantalizing neon, flowers hold a much stronger poison beneath their surface. Beautiful weeds with the power to conjure a calm and elated feeling in people's hearts. A buzz that is weak and easy to crush. It feels like summer, they'll think to say, with a smile on their face as that lovely poison unconsciously finds its way into their lungs, altering their very perception of reality in a drugged state.
At the detection of the first frost, that antidepressant smog retreats from the air, slowly creeping into the ground undetected for months to come. What is left behind is the flat and grey tones of reality, hanging heavy as a raincloud. The flowers have spread their toxic seeds, and are forgotten with the falling snow until spring when they rise to poison the air once again.
Just as flowers are buried and browned under layers of chilling snow, Azez lay dormant in a hibernation of his own. A lonely world, where consciousness was put weakly on hold but not entirely to rest. He was left at the precipice between wake and rest, where the horrifying something that appears in sleep paralysis staggers towards you and slowly strangles you with long and gangly fingers. Clenching around your windpipe with jagged strength. You can't move or scream, no matter how hard you try. You're forced into that liminal place between worlds, stuck in that state until shocked awake out of the never-ending nightmare.
The sudden pulling and tugging in Azez's chest was what broke him from his stupor. Triggered his movement. He rose slowly from the muck of that which he was sealed beneath, his chest expanding with life. Blooming. Azez breathed as if he had been stuck under the ice, waiting desperately for a crack or split in the white and endless expanse to get one last taste of oxygen before the inevitable end.
He giggled to himself in the dark, the sound echoing in mad disbelief throughout the emptiness.
A summoning. He was freed from the depths of his own personal Hell by a summoning. From the feel of it, it could be assumed that the person on the other side must have quite honed abilities to be able to target and rouse Azez specifically from his slumber. What came to mind was an older man or woman greatly experienced in the arts of magick. He could sense that the summoner was from the human realm. He imagined the kind who could cast a spell simply with the glint in their eyes, not needing to utter a word. At the same time, the summoning felt strangely different from what Azez last remembered. As if something had been done differently. As if something were off.
Casting aside the oddness of it, Azez outstretched a black gloved hand into the empty air and clenched his fist, as if grabbing onto the nothingness. With a moment of focus, he seemed to jog his memory on how to travel between realms in the only way that a Mountebank is able. Azez's other hand rose to a similar and mirrored position. With a quick and even pull, the empty void had been split apart. It were as if the curtains had been pushed aside, revealing a window to the outside world in what had been a room shrouded for years in darkness and cobwebs.
Through it Azez went, traveling in a shadow-like presence toward where the strong pull in his chest was leading him. He began deep in the chill ground, passing by the dead remains of those who had been buried long ago and lie forgotten beneath the soil.
Finally, he had honed in on the right location as that sideways pull in his chest was yanked up strongly, startling Azez briefly as he changed his course. It seemed like a rather violent summoning to be grabbing at him so strictly. Like a magnet attracted to its opposite end, Azez rose through the ground until he hit concrete. Directly above his head was the powerful individual who had summoned him. To make an entrance, Azez needed to change back into his physical form. He wished to make a proper impression on the fool who had likely planned to force Azez to carry out their selfish will (as humans were well known for). They certainly wouldn't be prepared to deal with a Mountebank who would twist their spells and words into a useless knot to play kickball with. Whoever it was they had been trying to summon, Azez had a feeling that they weren't expecting his arrival.
A light tremor rattled and shivered beneath the surface of the Earth as if there had been a localized and targeted earthquake dedicated solely to the basement floor. No seismograph would be tracking it, scribbling away somewhere in a lab. It was not the Earth's doing.
Azez reached slowly above the worn concrete. A shadow forming into a tangible being. A breath of life that should not be. Once his arms had begun to breach the surface, Azez roughly planted his hands onto the floor. Grasping at the smooth concrete with bent fingertips. Pulling himself upwards from the murk below. Black sludge dripped crawlingly from his outstretched hands, as if attempting to worm away from the demon's body. It splatted and leaked onto the ground. It was difficult to discern if the viscous, ghastly liquid was a part of the gloves upon Azez's hands-- or if the gloves on his hands were even gloves at all. The inclination of supergluing the cloth permanently to the skin, taut and irremovable.
His head rose slowly next, as if Azez's form was being steadily pulled from a puddle of darkness that had opened up on the floor. The tearing of reality itself. The sound of bells jingling accompanied the jerky movement as the tips of his hat bounced. The octave that rang from them was low. Distorted. A noise that was not real, yet was heard all the same. If a tree falls in the forest and no one believes the madman pointing at the empty space left behind, does it make a sound?
Gradually, Azez ascended like a man who had dug himself out of his own grave. The last of him to arrive were his boots, dark and shiny and dripping. Striped socks. They were black and white.
A short glance around the room and Azez quirked a brow. The scene lying in front of him was far different than he had imagined it would appear. The circle and candles were oddly placed. Azez could feel there was something wrong with them. It made his brain itch, but what exactly it was that was wrong about it lay teasingly on the tip of his tongue.
Finally, luminescent pupils crept until they landed upon the caster of the summoning spell. The one who wished to see Azez enough to summon him from the depths of that inescapable Hell he had been sealed into. The human was truly the most surprising of all. He was young. Azez could sense no protective energy barriers or signs that experienced practitioners of The Arts held. How curious. A prodigy, perhaps? So proficient it went hidden even from a demon's senses? Or perhaps he was just cocky? It didn't matter in the end. Azez was going to have some fun before showing this human what a mistake he's made.
That lightly blushed face of his stretched into a smile. Uneven and unnerving. The sensation of cockroaches crawling wall-to-wall in swarms. Burning in kerosene flames, legs twitching. A soft voice. It was nearly a whisper as he spoke, contrastingly smooth and gritty at the same time.
"You called?"
At the detection of the first frost, that antidepressant smog retreats from the air, slowly creeping into the ground undetected for months to come. What is left behind is the flat and grey tones of reality, hanging heavy as a raincloud. The flowers have spread their toxic seeds, and are forgotten with the falling snow until spring when they rise to poison the air once again.
Just as flowers are buried and browned under layers of chilling snow, Azez lay dormant in a hibernation of his own. A lonely world, where consciousness was put weakly on hold but not entirely to rest. He was left at the precipice between wake and rest, where the horrifying something that appears in sleep paralysis staggers towards you and slowly strangles you with long and gangly fingers. Clenching around your windpipe with jagged strength. You can't move or scream, no matter how hard you try. You're forced into that liminal place between worlds, stuck in that state until shocked awake out of the never-ending nightmare.
The sudden pulling and tugging in Azez's chest was what broke him from his stupor. Triggered his movement. He rose slowly from the muck of that which he was sealed beneath, his chest expanding with life. Blooming. Azez breathed as if he had been stuck under the ice, waiting desperately for a crack or split in the white and endless expanse to get one last taste of oxygen before the inevitable end.
He giggled to himself in the dark, the sound echoing in mad disbelief throughout the emptiness.
A summoning. He was freed from the depths of his own personal Hell by a summoning. From the feel of it, it could be assumed that the person on the other side must have quite honed abilities to be able to target and rouse Azez specifically from his slumber. What came to mind was an older man or woman greatly experienced in the arts of magick. He could sense that the summoner was from the human realm. He imagined the kind who could cast a spell simply with the glint in their eyes, not needing to utter a word. At the same time, the summoning felt strangely different from what Azez last remembered. As if something had been done differently. As if something were off.
Casting aside the oddness of it, Azez outstretched a black gloved hand into the empty air and clenched his fist, as if grabbing onto the nothingness. With a moment of focus, he seemed to jog his memory on how to travel between realms in the only way that a Mountebank is able. Azez's other hand rose to a similar and mirrored position. With a quick and even pull, the empty void had been split apart. It were as if the curtains had been pushed aside, revealing a window to the outside world in what had been a room shrouded for years in darkness and cobwebs.
Through it Azez went, traveling in a shadow-like presence toward where the strong pull in his chest was leading him. He began deep in the chill ground, passing by the dead remains of those who had been buried long ago and lie forgotten beneath the soil.
Finally, he had honed in on the right location as that sideways pull in his chest was yanked up strongly, startling Azez briefly as he changed his course. It seemed like a rather violent summoning to be grabbing at him so strictly. Like a magnet attracted to its opposite end, Azez rose through the ground until he hit concrete. Directly above his head was the powerful individual who had summoned him. To make an entrance, Azez needed to change back into his physical form. He wished to make a proper impression on the fool who had likely planned to force Azez to carry out their selfish will (as humans were well known for). They certainly wouldn't be prepared to deal with a Mountebank who would twist their spells and words into a useless knot to play kickball with. Whoever it was they had been trying to summon, Azez had a feeling that they weren't expecting his arrival.
A light tremor rattled and shivered beneath the surface of the Earth as if there had been a localized and targeted earthquake dedicated solely to the basement floor. No seismograph would be tracking it, scribbling away somewhere in a lab. It was not the Earth's doing.
Azez reached slowly above the worn concrete. A shadow forming into a tangible being. A breath of life that should not be. Once his arms had begun to breach the surface, Azez roughly planted his hands onto the floor. Grasping at the smooth concrete with bent fingertips. Pulling himself upwards from the murk below. Black sludge dripped crawlingly from his outstretched hands, as if attempting to worm away from the demon's body. It splatted and leaked onto the ground. It was difficult to discern if the viscous, ghastly liquid was a part of the gloves upon Azez's hands-- or if the gloves on his hands were even gloves at all. The inclination of supergluing the cloth permanently to the skin, taut and irremovable.
His head rose slowly next, as if Azez's form was being steadily pulled from a puddle of darkness that had opened up on the floor. The tearing of reality itself. The sound of bells jingling accompanied the jerky movement as the tips of his hat bounced. The octave that rang from them was low. Distorted. A noise that was not real, yet was heard all the same. If a tree falls in the forest and no one believes the madman pointing at the empty space left behind, does it make a sound?
Gradually, Azez ascended like a man who had dug himself out of his own grave. The last of him to arrive were his boots, dark and shiny and dripping. Striped socks. They were black and white.
A short glance around the room and Azez quirked a brow. The scene lying in front of him was far different than he had imagined it would appear. The circle and candles were oddly placed. Azez could feel there was something wrong with them. It made his brain itch, but what exactly it was that was wrong about it lay teasingly on the tip of his tongue.
Finally, luminescent pupils crept until they landed upon the caster of the summoning spell. The one who wished to see Azez enough to summon him from the depths of that inescapable Hell he had been sealed into. The human was truly the most surprising of all. He was young. Azez could sense no protective energy barriers or signs that experienced practitioners of The Arts held. How curious. A prodigy, perhaps? So proficient it went hidden even from a demon's senses? Or perhaps he was just cocky? It didn't matter in the end. Azez was going to have some fun before showing this human what a mistake he's made.
That lightly blushed face of his stretched into a smile. Uneven and unnerving. The sensation of cockroaches crawling wall-to-wall in swarms. Burning in kerosene flames, legs twitching. A soft voice. It was nearly a whisper as he spoke, contrastingly smooth and gritty at the same time.
"You called?"
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If you think that we would be good partners or have any questions, feel free to comment in this thread or PM me. I don't mind either way. = )
If you think that we would be good partners or have any questions, feel free to comment in this thread or PM me. I don't mind either way. = )
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