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Post by Swag Cat » Sun Aug 02, 2020 12:01 am

Last edited by Swag Cat on Mon Aug 03, 2020 2:22 am, edited 3 times in total.

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Re: [RP] Survival of the Fittest: The Weaponmaster Trail

Post by Azra » Sun Aug 02, 2020 5:17 pm

Roselyn Revolutionia the memories dwell in a dream of calling the name out, of telling one to stop. But why stop? The memories are lucid and almost tangible. That feeling of confinement of not being able to move the body in any real way, there's a desire to end it all. The head pounds, the pain spiking through the mind is soothing but there isn't enough. The walls are soft and the skull won't crack. She can't recall where she was or why, it was just white on white she just remembers the limitations.

There's a cold metalic taste in the mouth. There's a fear to it, a thought the pain might be to much. Hard to know if the choking was on the iron barrel or the thought of what it means. The red and blue lights speak though of freedom. That this was the ticket out. She knows who she is and who she wants to be, and any consequence is worth it to be free...

Waking up she finds herself cast in a jade glow a pentagram on a floor is her bed. A sea of blue locks cascades down from her head. She laughs cause it tickles but also just from the delight of color. It felt like it'd been so long sense color was close that it was more then just those telling lights. Her nails are violet which only makes herself giggle more, she couldn't remember the last time she'd been allowed to paint her nails. Was thoughts she might try and use nail polish as a poison.


She didn't remember much of who she was or why she felt now like their was a piece of her mind missing. She did know however poisons and drugs was not her weapon, that wasn't her no she was...her hands found it.

She wasn't just inside a pentagram but surounded by a ring of iron. A metal wheel with jagged points and a lovingly sharp edge. It wasn't right, a chakram was what it was closest to but those were not the size of a hoolahoop. For all its oddity though she felt at home as her hand touches it. This wasn't just a blade but what completed her, or at least whoever she was in the now. Her mind seemed a crater and felt on fire, until she touched the cool edge of the silver ring.

Rose gets to her feet she stretches and as she does she gives her right hand a spin. The ring of death spins along it the sound of a buzzsaw echoes in the chambers as the blade rotates. The owner gitty at the sound of the weapon, of the trail of silver that dances with the motion. She lifts her hand as if reaching for the stars and as she does the blade falls down her figure. Rose becoming a spinning visage of death and giggles. Her movements almost rythmic and more befitting a dancer then a killer, but the hymn to come from her was just the sound of a rotating blade hungry to chew through flesh and bone. Only in death did the Rose feel not so alone.

"My team is chaos it's the only way to be free outside of through death. As for who I am I'm Rose so long as I draw breath." She remarked rather amused by it all as she let her blade slowly come to stop, the dancer of the macabre resting in a lean slightly against the flat of the blade of hers.

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Re: [RP] Survival of the Fittest: The Weaponmaster Trail

Post by HighVoltage » Sun Aug 02, 2020 9:12 pm


That was the first sensation.

The screaming agony as liquid fire coursed through his veins, the pain skyrocketing, the singing screams of sweet, blissful, agony. It flowed through his veins and into his body, his arms and hands and legs and feet, eyes and mouth and skull all ablaze with this wondrous pain. It felt as though every atom in his body was being annihilated.

It felt like bliss.

And then it was gone.

Replaced by this yawning emptiness, this void that felt as if there was nothing except a single spark, that only the right fuel could turn that spark into a fire. And he craved that fuel, wanted it, needed it more than anything in the world. To set that spark alight and feel the burning once more, to give his body to the primordial flames of agony that so desperately completed him. But in order to do that, he needed to be somewhere, sometime.

A sharp inhale filled his lungs, the scents mixing around. Cloves, allspice, juniper, honey, myrrh, rosebud, snakeskin, cinnamon, dandelion root, and a hundred more scents flooded his nostrils, breathing life into his body as he inhaled his first breath. His chest expanded painfully as the tincture brought his body to life, the leather of his coat creaking as his body rose at an unnatural angling, joints popping as stiffness was melted away. He let out a sigh, the void filling him once more. His breathing steadied, and his eyes focused through their lenses. He observed the pentagram surrounding him, its light a sickly green against the dark brown leather of his outfit. He noticed the vials of liquid attached to his body, the same sickly green as the light from the pentagram.

He had several of them, in many forms. Syringes and beakers and odd glass canisters, all of them glowing slightly with the concoction. He grabbed one of the canisters and peered inside to inspect the liquid. He felt a lurch in his body, the whispers of the liquid reaching his ears. It yearned to be released, to cause pain, to cause paralysis, to cause death and suffering. It called to him, begging him to release its destructive potential. He knew it in his heart.

This was the fuel.

Placing the vial back and pulling out a syringe filled with the same liquid, he spoke up, his voice crystal clear despite the hooked mask upon his face. "I choose Chaos. Revenge is unnecessary, while disorder allows for so many more test subjects." He raised the syringe, flicking it a few times to remove bubbles as a single spurt of fluid came out. "You may call me the Doctor, but Doc will suffice." He crossed his hands in front of him, his gaze shifting to stare at all his new experiments in waiting.

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