Guest Thomas the Lost Posted July 14, 2002 Report Posted July 14, 2002 First I'm just going to make a character description. Later I'll begin a short story or something (once i get more input from you). OK....Here goes: Thomas was a stout young man, his features strong yet teetering near slight chubbiness at times. More tough than he was tall (about five foot seven if you want to push it), a small number of scars lingered on his skin. Despite the markings of battle, Thomas was actually relatively attractive with his deep red hair slightly held back by a dark brown bandanna with a silver sword backed by a pair of outstretched white wings etched into the center. His hair often stretched lazily over his hazel-green eyes. Most of the time he wore either dark green or black trousers with a dyed green leather tunic, and of course a long black cloak for those rainy days. Of course every traveller must carry protection while traveling, and Thomas always carried a stout broadheaded spear with him. For some reason, he had always had a natural talent with polearms. You see, he was also known as Thomas the Lost, for he lost all of his memory as a teenager. All he remembers was waking up on a beach, alone, so he began wandering, looking for his past. He had one clue, his large, golden-brown wings. He was of the winged race Seraphim, whom were originally thought of as angels when they and the other inhabitants of the world first interacted. It was soon discovered, though, that they were plain mortals after all and so became respected members of society. With this knowledge constant in his mind, Thomas began his search for the answers of his past.
Guest Thomas the Lost Posted July 15, 2002 Report Posted July 15, 2002 RolePlayer? Sure, I guess. Anyway, that character description was just something to get me started, get the gears crankin in my head. When I right, I enjoy comedy, sometimes too much, but I'm also good descriptively. So...as a start to my application, I'll open up with some, how to say? Strange-ness, or something like that. Thom stood panting heavily, leaning his wieght on the butt of a spear. Around him, four men lay lifeless on the blood-stained sand of the arena's battlegrounds. They lost. Thom grinned wearily as he wiped sweat and blood from his forhead with a grimy hand. Grinning wearily, he thrust his spear into the air, proclaiming himself victorious. The crowd began cheering loudly, they loved him. As he was busy basking in the glory of his most recent victory, he neglected to notice the cheering had died down, or the eager look of the spectators awaiting more bloodshed. Only when it was to late, did he realize there was another opponent on the feild. He turned only in time to see a large, white, feathery mass hurtling towards him. The agonizing blow left Thom dazed, face first on the ground. 'Where did that come from?' he thought to himself, amazed as he scrambled to his feet. He now could clearly see his opponent glaring maliciously in his general direction. The malicious glare, of a South Dakota corn-fed chicken. It was dangerous, only two and a half feet tall, but dangerous. Thom had heard tales of such beasts, long ago. It was said that once one got a taste for human blood, they hunger for nothing else, and when they were hungry, they began to frenzy, tearing flesh and dismembering bodies. It is said that a flock could decimate an entire city. Thom threw off his mythril breastplate. Nothing could stop the peircing beak of a corn-fed chicken, especially one from South Dakota, they ate steel for breakfast (but only if human flesh is hard to find). Twirling his spear menacingly, Thom prepared to rush the beast. 'Maybe if I catch it off guard, I can defeat it,' he thought. "Falon!" Thom shouted his battlecry as he leapt forward, swinging his spear in a menacing arc. Just before this sure deathblow struck, the chicken threw up his wing. A loud *CRACK* could be heard as the spear snapped in two and the head shattered. Thom recoiled in fear. He was helpless, frozen by terror. The chicken lowered its wing and gazed at, no, gazed into Thom. It could smell the horror, taste it. Spreading its rock hard wings, it half jumped, half flew at Thom. "Buc-buc-bucaw!" It screeched. Thom tried to scurry away, but the poultry of pain struck him with its formidable talons and tossed him on the ground like a rag doll. Pinned by the fowl...Fowl, Thom lay at its absolute mercy. "No, please!" He begged. Yet the chicken pressed its claws down hard into Thoms arms, "Aaaagh..." he wailed in pain. The chicken was going to finish him, "Wait!", Thom exclaimed. It listened, he had one chance to save his life. "Um...hey! Why dont we work together. We would be unstoppable together. Whaddya say?" The chickens response was simple. "......Bucaw!" Without any further delay, it raised its head high, and brought its sharp curved beak down on Thom. "NOOOO!!!!" he screamed in agony as the beak pierced his body again and again. Then he awoke to find a small farm chicken pecking him lightly. He leapt to his feet, screaming. He kept screaming. Soon though, he regained control of himself and noticed the chicken staring innocently up at him. Slowly and cautiously Thom grabbed his spear. The chicken cocked his head to the side, confused. "Falon!" was the last thing it heard before it experienced the butt of a spear jammed in its face, sending it to the afterlife. After stuffing the chicken in his pack, Thom set off once again in the search for answers, singing "I feel like chicken tonight." Thanks for reading. My e-mail is pancakes219@yahoo.com Pancakes is my something my friends call me for no apparent reason, ask Falcon_2001 Edited by: Thomas the Lost at: 7/15/02 5:52:50 pm
The Portrait of Zool Posted July 15, 2002 Report Posted July 15, 2002 Ha! Chickens are funny! VERY funny... ~Zool~ Ancient, The Pen is Mightier than the Sword. Bard of Terra, Patron Saint of Aspiring Bards. Master of Magic and Mayhem, The Moonlit Realm Elder than dirt, more foolish than a jester, able to trip over the smallest logic in a single step. It's... Oh, you know.
The Portrait of Zool Posted July 15, 2002 Report Posted July 15, 2002 Ah yes. I am reminded of the legend of the Werechicken, specifically. Beware the cluck of the chicken at midnight... MuaHahahahahahaha! ~Zool~ Ancient, The Pen is Mightier than the Sword. Bard of Terra, Patron Saint of Aspiring Bards. Master of Magic and Mayhem, The Moonlit Realm Elder than dirt, more foolish than a jester, able to trip over the smallest logic in a single step. It's... Oh, you know.
Guest Thomas the Lost Posted July 15, 2002 Report Posted July 15, 2002 Man, waiting is the worst part. I know Wyvern takes a while though, so I'll be patient. Ok... By the way: I have nothing against South Dakota (despite the whole south dakota corn-fed chicken thing), I was born there!
Gyrfalcon Posted July 16, 2002 Report Posted July 16, 2002 *Gyrfalcon laughs* That was pretty funny, though I never knew that the chickens I might eat could be so fierce, at least in dreams. *grins* Good entry post, and be patient- Wyvern will get to you eventually. =)
Falcon2001 Posted July 16, 2002 Report Posted July 16, 2002 I officially sponsor him, if that'll help anything...time to trrack down Wyvern...*pulls out his Wyvern-O-Matic, and follows the beeps* Hey, this is leading...to...my...SAFE!!! *runs off with bloody murder screaming* Cioden Darkeye Quill-Bearer - The Pen is Mightier than the Sword President of the Peredhil Fan Club Owner of the Reply Raven - Enemy to all those who never post responses Ashaman - WoT - Blitz II Council - The Hunters - Blitz II Leisure Officer - SFV Ultima - Beta
Wyvern Posted July 16, 2002 Report Posted July 16, 2002 As Thomas the Lost impatiently places his hands on his waist and taps his foot on the ground waiting for the Elder of Initiates to arrive, Falcon2001 franticaly rushes towards his precious safe, dashing through numerous halls and doorways to reach his tower abode. Constantly checking his 'Wyvern-O-Matic' to make sure he's on the right track, Falcon stops at the door to his room, which has been left slightly ajar... Cracking his knuckles and preparing to kick some lizard behind, Falcon pushes open the door to his room and is surprised to find noone inside, despite his 'Wyvern-O-Matic' detector beeping like crazy. Briefly ignoring the rapid beeping sounds of his equipment, the angry Quill Bearer heads straight to his safe only to find it safely locked and unopened. Still suspicious due to his 'Wyvern-O-Matic' beeping, Falcon decides to unlock his safe just to make sure that nothing has been stolen.... Falcon2001's mouth drops open as he opens the safe only to find Wyvern, bound and gagged, struggeling inside of it! "Wyvern...?" But before Falcon has any time to react, a mischievous orangutan pushes him from behind and the shocked Quill Bearer is shoved into the confines of the safe. Uncomfortably scrunched next to Wyvern, a furious Falcon just has time to turn his head and notice Silly the 8th Pen Elder Dwarf letting out an orangutan laugh (*Oooo Oooo Aaaa Aaaa!*) before slamming the door of the safe shut, locking Falcon and Wyvern inside... Sighing dismally to himself and checking a nearby clock, Thomas the Lost's eyes widen as he watches an orangutan run through the Recruiter's Office, chased by the obese Almost-Secretary of Initiates Melba. As Melba passes by, Thomas notices that a small post-it has been pinned to the back of her shirt that reads: "ACCEPTED" (kick me) ;p OOC: A good description and very funny story snippet, Thomas. Application ACCEPTED, welcome to the Mighty Pen! I'll mail you the password info immediatly. [image]http://members.shaw.ca/kea/am/wyvy.jpg[/image] ------------------------------ Almost a Dragon... "My life is one big crime, I try to scheme through it." -Common, "The 6th Sense" Owner of the Decanter of Endless Booze. Edited by: Wyvern00 at: 7/16/02 2:40:27 am
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