OOC (Out-of-Character/Non-Roleplay) Post:It is best that for these particular forums ‘Pedobear’ goes unused, because it represents pedophiles – thus the ‘pedo’ in ‘Pedobear.’
WyvernLakai, please do not advertise your roleplay thread on someone else’s roleplay thread. It simply is bad form. However, I have viewed your thread and it looks interesting. I look forward to roleplaying with you.
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IC (In-Character/Roleplay) Post:(
Sorry that it is so long; it’s just to help open things up. Later posts from me will be much, much shorter.)
Far, far away, amongst the peaks of the looming mountains and on the crest of Mount Hobo, a flash of gold briefly glints from amid the grey of stone and the white of snow. The glimmer only lasts a moment before vanishing, as if swallowed up by the falling snow. It had come and gone so quickly, it might seem as if it had never been there…
Ailios throws himself against the metal door, using the weight of his armor to force it open. Bitterly cold wind and snow lashes around him and forces their way through the doorway, spilling into the hallway. The Zephyrgeist manages to force the door open just enough for him to squeeze himself inside, the sides of his armor scraping against the entryway’s metallic edges. Once fully entered, he turns and heaves himself against the door again to wrestle it shut. Leaning his full weight against it, he waits until he hears the click of locks…the sign that the entrance has fully snapped shut. Exhaling, he straightens and shakes himself as he takes a large step backward. Although made of wind himself, the Miscrit found too much forceful wind to be uncomfortable…especially when it is freezing, because cold air tends to expand. Glancing down at himself, Ailios forlornly pats his stomach; within the few months that he and Emily had been on Mount Hobo, he had gained several pounds due to cold-induced air expansion. Sometimes being made of wind has its downsides.
The gusts emanating from his body blows stray snow off of his armor, but does little to help his ice-coated helm. The Zephyrgeist lifts his large hands to grasp his helmet and, lifting it off his head, he holds it out in front of him. Small slivers of ice stand out like needles from its curves and indentations, and with a sigh, he uses his giant fingers to brush away the hoarfrost. As he cleans the helm, he turns and begins to stride down the long hallway.
The hallway is dimly lit, with the only lighting coming from small yellow bulbs embedded in a low metal ceiling. Pipes, bolts and bars stand jaggedly out from broken walls, or lay flat on the floor – the signs of damage. Or, rather, the signs of building in progress. Ailios stiffly stares straight ahead as he walks past several bolted doors, from which behind come muffled sounds of: machinery humming; shrieking wind (or voices?); and other things he can not identify. Although his face is invisible, his expression shifts into an unhappy one. His ears flattening against his skull, he closes his eyes briefly: He was a noble warrior, not a villian; yet he stands in the halls of a criminal’s secret place, aiding in diabolical and insane plans.
He keeps walking until he comes to the end of a hallway, where another doorway greets him. Slipping his helmet back onto his head –as if it can protect him from whatever madness he is about to face--, he presses his giant hand against the door and warily pushes it open. As it swings silently inward, his armor clanks as he steps inside. He finds himself in a small room filled with gutted computers and machinary, with electronic parts and wires scattered all over the floor. Crouched on the floor over some unidentifiable mechanism with her back turned toward him, a scruffy teenage girl fiddles with…who knows what. Her long hair is unbrushed and wild, and her clothes disheveled; but the rigid posture of her shoulders hints at some inner, unwearied steel.
Although the sounds of his armor and the sudden gusts of wind in the room should make the Zephyrgeist’s presence apparent, the girl does not acknowledge him. She only mutters feverishly beneath her breath, her hands jerking as she twists the object violently in her hands. Feeling some alarm creeping into his heart, Ailios’ ears swivel forward as he strains to hear what she is saying; and, as she snaps the item in half, her whispered words become clear:
“
Jana must pay.”