Angelus_Necare

What? A picture thread? Okay! Here's some older and newer stuff: [URL="http://dh03.anonlb.info/_pleasantlyplump/images/1252/sexyme_anonib.jpg"]Put on an angry sexy face.[/URL] [URL="http://dh03.anonlb.info/_pleasantlyplump/images/1179/1001071416_anonib.jpg"]Now just be cute...[/URL] [URL="http://dh03.anonlb.info/_pleasantlyplump/images/1179/1001071417_anonib.jpg"]...and stupid.[/URL] [URL="http://dh03.anonlb.info/_pleasantlyplump/images/1173/1001071137_anonib.jpg"]And wake up.[/URL] [URL="http://dh03.anonlb.info/_pleasantlyplump/images/1171/1001071131_anonib.jpg"]No, go back to sleep...[/URL] [URL="http://dh06.anonlb.info/_pleasantlyplump/images/1305/1008071934_anonib.jpg"]And be even more... Stupid.[/URL]

[SIZE="2"][CENTER][FONT="Garamond"][COLOR="DarkSlateGray"]-Silas Birch- The evening was still and cold. Not even at the devil’s hour would a creature dare stir in the fog-choked streets. The only sign of life it seemed; were those of the gas lanterns that flickered loyally for anyone who would happen to pass beneath on their way home. Yet, in this land baron of men, the rhythmic cadence of slow footsteps and the gentle tick of a cane heralded the approach of a lone, well-dressed gentleman. For being assumed as a nightwalker at first glance, the man was very dapper and well kempt in his appearance. From what any eyes that would have happened to catch glimpse of him could see that his top hat was hardly out of place, soft, golden curls were set clean against his pale skin, and his evening cloak swayed to and fro with his gentle advancement up the street. In all honesty, anyone could assume that this gentleman was merely on his way home from the theatre, likely home to a wife and three children, retiring for a late night before he had to be back to the office in the morning. Yet, as much as an innocent gaze could imagine, it could be fooled without fail. For there was much more to Silas Birch than what meets the eye. It was true that he was returning from an evening at the theatre, but also from the parlor of one George Chauncey. And the beautiful evening attire was on loan to him, used to doll up the young, pretty Silas, so that he could be paraded before the higher society gentlemen, before the highest bidder swept him away to a dusky parlor where he could put his services to good use. But he didn’t regret it; Silas loved his way of life. It allowed him freedom to walk the streets at night, make money, and feel accepted. Even though he was often abused and degraded, that small inkling of acceptance, perchance love, was what he thrived on, nay, [I]lived[/I] for. And in all twenty-four years of breathing, he wouldn’t even trade that feeling for his salvation in the afterlife. He could easily have left the exclusively male brothel business at any time he wished, pay off his pimp and disappear without another word exchanged between the two. He could just as easily be plain old Silas Birch. But this second life was exciting, lavish and privileged, he couldn’t only be a just a decent yet borish upstanding citizen. Wouldn’t dream of it! It was his lust of acceptance and false notions of love that kept him tied to the soft underbelly of the Victorian men’s kinks at nights and released into an average man by day. A rank stench wafting through the air faltered young Silas’ steps and reverie. It carried the peculiar odor of alcohol, bile, and something much more pungent. The further he had advanced, the worst the smell had become, until the gas lamps brought light to what lay in the street before him. Silas was by no means a brave man, but he wasn't a blithering, and panicky coward either. It merely only took a glimpse of a still corpse, haloed in blood to send him striding onward into the night. In the haze he could see rats scattering about, already feasting on what he assumed to be a fresh kill. Murder wasn’t uncommon in these streets, but if one were to lounge about long enough, they would find that their body would be added to the newspaper’s count as well. And without the presence of a coroner, or a policeman, it was likely that this kill was very, very fresh. Thus Silas would hurry on his way home, where he would feel a little bit more comfortable, albeit not much safer… When he had arrived at his humble flat, a familiar figure was found hunched at his steps. If his hackles hadn’t been raised enough already, the appearance of his pimp wasn’t going to help the matter much. Upon Silas’ arrival, the man stood, his grin glinting in the lamplight. He was a man of considerable size, intimidating and quite rough around the edges. He was by no means handsome, or well kept for that matter. But the man was a smooth talker, highly persuasive, and ran a very lucrative business. Silas only knew him as Jack, and had decidedly refused to be bullied or by him a long while ago. The young man really wasn't easy to fool or jest upon. He was cool, calculative, and incredibly secretive. When other people knew his business, it certainly wouldn't do. And he often would become short tempered because of it. Yet Jack had seen potential in him, because Silas could turn coat for the right situation, becoming the most pleasant, and charming young man one could meet. His sugar-coated pleasantries had made them both a lot of money. “’ave a good night then Silas?” He asked while tilting his sporting cap in jest, watching the younger man ascend the steps past him, jangling the keys for the door with flustered fingers. “Wotsamatter wif you lad?” Jack asked with little concern, and then followed, “Got me money do ya?” “Yes,” Silas said, taking only a moment to dig a roll of notes from his breast pocket, quickly handing them to the man behind him. “Fanks Silas, did a right good job on ol’ George didn’ ya?” He grinned, noticing that the much paler younger man wasn’t really listening, and was more focused on getting inside, “Look live yeh’ve seen a ghost lad.” “I’m sure you could say that, Jack.” Silas had finally opened his front door, removed his hat and stepped inside, “Something foul is on the streets tonight. And if not for my distaste for you I’d warn to keep that wandering eye of yours pointed both ways.” “A good evenin’ to ya then me pretty Silas.” Jack wasn’t easy to put off, but knew when his stay was overextended, “Now mind ya, thems fancy fings go on back to Rodger in th’ mornin’, aye?” Silas didn’t answer as he shut and locked the door, listening to Jack’s heavy steps amble him away up the street. Sleep would have been suggestible, but such a horrid image racked on his mind, he thought that he would go out again, not very far mind you, to a certain acquaintance of his whom he could indulge in for a little while, to merely forget. Donning his hat once more, Silas Birch left his home once more, against his better judgment. [/COLOR][/FONT][/CENTER][/SIZE] EDIT: Silas' vice is basically an addiction to sex, but going a little deeper into it isn't the act itself, but the passion it brings. He thrives off of knowing that someone wants him and accepts him, even if it is for unspeakable reasons, because he feels in his own mind that it's "love". And I imagine that he would be tied to the Barton case as a randomly chosen citizen to be placed in the jury. Silas isn't a supporter of crime, so anyone who could convince him well enough that someone was guilty would have his vote.

[FONT="Garamond"][COLOR="DarkRed"]I think I keep coming back because I'm chasing my younger, happier memories on the net. I used to lurk here and there all the time, write in RPGs until my fingers were tapped out, and maintain a little bit of a relationship with the members here (those who remembered me?). Now I'm here because Demonchild prompts me to check in every so often. That and I like what James has done with the site. '02 represent![/COLOR][/FONT]

[FONT=Garamond][COLOR=DarkSlateGray][i]I feel like I'm floating. But it's cold. All I hear is water. This is strange.[/i] The thoughts skipped across his mind with a certain vagueness that one would hold between the sates of consciousness and deep sleep. Feeling rather foggy and dizzy at best, rolling over again to go back to his dreams seemed like a good idea at the time. That is, until a rush of seawater flooded over him, filling his nostrils and deafening his ears. With a sputter and a yelp, he sat up in the shallows of the cold receding wave, scrambling to his knees in the wet sand as another foamy wave rushed around his aching sides. Despite how comforted he felt a few moments before, he now felt as though he had been out on an all night bender. What did he do, go out drinking and pass out on some random beach only to be awoken by the incoming tide? Following that train of thought, he paused. Since when did he drink? Or live near a beach? Did he actually live anywhere near the ocean at all? And why was he there? Better yet, who the hell was he? Panic slowly began to set in and the young man scrambled to his feet. Splashing through the shallows to the shore he couldn't help but notice that there was no one else around, as far as he could see anyway. He rubbed at his bleary eyes, thinking that the salt water impared his vision, when in actuality he couldn't see at all. At least he knew which way land was, and aiming for the white smear of sand that lay in the distance he trudged onward, frowning at the discomfort of wet clothing sticking to his skin. Once he had reached the shore, he dragged his feet a few more steps and collapsed face first onto the warm and dry sand. "Ow..." He murmured, wincing as something hard pressed against his chest, rolling over lazily, he patted the front of his white cotton shirt, fingers digging into a chest pocket and pulling on the first thing he felt. It was a pair of horn rimmed glasses. He eagerly pushed his sandy hair from his eyes and slid the glasses onto his nose. A perfect fit, and the scenery was now crystal clear. With the notion that other usefull things would be hidden somewhere on him, the young man began digging at all of his pockets, only turning up wet scraps of paper that had runny, unreadable ink upon them. "Damn..." He tossed the scraps aside into the sand, placing his hands in his lap to look at the ocean before him. It would have been beautiful had he not been dumped in the middle of nowhere without a clue as to who he was or why he was there. He was about to hang his head low when he noticed that something was fastened around his neck. On further inspection, a flat tag made of metal was attached to a chain hanging limply around his neck. Hope seemed near until the young man glanced over the seemingly random numbers printed onto the cold steel. They didn't make any sense to him at all, but perhaps they would hold a clue as to what was going on around him. He would commit it to memory as he forced his thin wiry frame to stand. [i]01000101.01110010.01101001.01100011.[/i][/COLOR][/FONT] Jeez, that seemed a little longer than it was supposed to be. Ah well, neat concept!

[FONT=Garamond][COLOR=DarkRed]Well, let's brag some. I like to think I'm a very funny and socially adept individual, taking the punches as they come and getting almost anyone to like me. I'm friendly, approachable and as witty as they come. I find that I'm incredibly smart in almost any subject I put effort into, with plenty of talent to boot. I play the guitar, baratone, was first chair trumpet in band for two years and have a rather nice singing voice. I have insurmountable artistic abilities, rising above and beyond my fellow classmates in art college. I can ride horses, fight and drive standard cars, along with being able to bull-**** my way out of anything. And on with the not-so-pretty. I really, really have a low self esteem, my added weight throughout my younger years left me quite emotionally scarred. Sometimes I can be terribly shy or guarded, saying hurtful things when it's not called for. I have a very low tolerance and little faith for other people when I'm out in society, I constantly remind myself that the world is slowly going down the drain. I don't feel sorry for people who are locked in a battle with drugs or alcohol, nor do I have any sympathy for people with gambling problems. When I see someone who weighs more than I do, I think "Better them than me." I lie a lot, I don't always brush my teeth and I'm a huge fake when it comes to people I don't trust. I wait a long time to do my laundry, I use all the hot water in the shower, I pick at my nails and toenails too. I hardly apply myself to something I don't find interesting, which explains why my grades suffered in high school. I have horrible road rage, and am driving a car that likely wouldn't pass inspection. Sometimes I wish my workplace would burn to the ground. I dunno if that made me feel better or worse. Seeing the bad part larger than the good part isn't very comforting either...[/COLOR][/FONT]

[FONT=Tahoma][COLOR=DeepSkyBlue]*grunt*[/COLOR][/FONT] [COLOR=Darkred][FONT=Garamond]Name: Eric Tudor, Son of William Tudor Gender: Male Age: 18 Town: Taunton Future Occupation: Gunslinger Preferred weapon(s): Polished brass six shooters, Lance. Appearance: At a young age, Eric was an oddly proportioned boy, teenaged years sending his limbs into a growing frenzy while the rest of his body struggled to catch up. In his later years, before he fully gained his full man's growth, he still stands tall and lanky, his figure slender yet taught. His hair is dark and messy, grown long and cinched at the nape of his neck. The black fluff of his bangs usually hangs in his brilliant blue eyes, but doesn't go as far as hidding his lopsided grin. His wardrobe is simple and yet functional. Dusty denims mixed with cotton shirts, and the occasional flat-brimmed hat would be stuck atop his head. Biography: [will edit/brain fart][/FONT] [/COLOR]

[COLOR=RoyalBlue][FONT=Garamond]Right-o! The long awaited signup has been added in the Inn, and you're probably sniffing around here for the available towns to add to your sign up. There are only three listed here so far, and if you have any preferences to be located somewhere else, do let us know. Anything else that I forget to mention here, or if you want to research anything from the Dark tower books can be found [URL=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Dark_Tower_(series)]here[/URL]. I find Wikipedia to be rather helpfull, but I warn anyone that has any interest in reading the books, or who hasn't finished them yet to skip the Character's section. If a town is a little vague in description, elaborate on it with your own imagination, make the town significant to you. [B]Gillead-[/B] A town found within In-world, a prosperous province of a town that appears to have many noble families that consist of Gunslingers. Gilead was the birthplace of Roland Deschain, Son of Seven Deschain. While this Rpg will likely take place years before either existed, there should be no reason to include either chatacter. This town lays to the east of Taunton and the furthest from the ridgeback mountains. [B]Taunton-[/B] A smaller locale than Gilead, the number of gunslingers and their families is small, and the suburban village seems to be rather dreamily quiet most of the time. It is a bit more of an exported goods town rather than one that attracts anything more than the occasional traveler passing through. The two named teachers of the young gunslingers are Sai-Anbell, the man that acts as somewhat of a school teacher, and then Sammson, a spry yet older instructor, willowy and blind, he is the training teacher for all young gunslinger boys in Taunton. [B]Farrow-[/B] The town that lies beneath the Dragon's ridge. This town is rather open for anyone's shaping. Not much is known about it since there are very few who dare travel as far over the great plains between Taunton and Farrow to take their chance against the impossibly long line of mountains that stand above it. A few other FAQs: [B] What's with all this "Sai" stuff?[/B] "Sai" is a polite way of addressing someone in Mid-world using their last name. If someone were to say "Hello Mr. Smith" Here, in Mid-world it would be said as, "Hello, Sai-Smith" Or as a variation "Smith-sai". [B] What are these Trials DC is talking about?[/B] Gunslinger boys at a certain age in their life (between the ages of 18-25 commonly) take their Gunslinger trials, in which they face off against their master in a violent duel. If the young man happens to win, he earns the right to wear his father's guns, thus stepping into manhood and finishing his apprenticeship. Boys who succumb to their master's skill and loose are turned to exile, forced to leave their families and friends, wandering forever as an outcast. The event of a boy taking his trials is usually a grand event, and veiwed by many people within the boy's family and town. [B]Can we use other weapons that our guns?[/B] You certainly may, but remember, as a Gunslinger, your primary weapons are your two hip shooters. Other common weapons are Bows, Bahs (crossbow), Slings, Poles, knives, and Oriza dishes (mainly used by women). Most Gunslingers can use more than one weapon, but it is not entirely needed. [B]What about women? Can they be Gunslingers too?[/B] No. The art and tradition of being a warrior under the gun is reserved to men only. There have been rare instances however, when young girls decide to strike out on their own, taking a weapon of choice and leading the life of justice and adventure. [B]I'm pretty confused, who can I turn to?[/B] You can either Ask DC or I for any help that you may need. We're friendly and don't bite too hard. PM us anytime you have a question! And that should wrap things up for now. If other issues or questions arrise, I'll make sure to post them here.[/FONT][/COLOR]

[FONT=Tahoma][COLOR=DarkSlateGray][U][B]Name:[/B][/U] Ethan Newark [U][B]Age:[/B][/U] 29 [U][B]Gender:[/B][/U] Male [U][B]Place of Origin:[/B][/U] Born in Northeastern America, settled as a resident in New Haven, Connecticut. [B][U]Known History:[/U][/B] Ethan Newark lived a humble yet favorable life. Growing up he wasn't coddled by his parents as a spoiled braggart, nor was he the neglected shell of a child that would be defined as a latch-key kid. His family respected him, loved him, and provided whatever resources available as he grew up, that seemed enough. He grew up as a normal, healthy child, one that had some ambition to do well in life and thus persued it. Finishing as the valedictorian in his graduating class, Ethan soon found himself on his way to Yale University as an Archaeological studies major. Such a study and interest left young Ethan a little lacking in his social skills however, but he managed at the occasional mixer and common college shenanigans that came up. He was always the type to live by the book, and at times would appear to be a bit of a bore around his peers. Although he still wanted to provide for himself and a future family, he only saw it as practical. When his term of study ended, he had turned into quite a well rounded man. Later he would find that persuing a teaching profession would be more to his liking than traveling aimlessly around the world digging up artifacts (although a small part of him desperately longed for it). No, he decided to stay close to home, keep in touch with the folks and find a nice girl to settle down with. At the age of Twenty-eight, he still persued his goal of teaching his favored subject with room for little else. A whispered rumor about a position on the board keeps the fires of promotional desire stoked deep within his heart. While there doesn't seem to be much else on Ethan's mind, he still finds time for one Ellen Arden, and would hope to propose to her soon, it would only be the right thing to do after all. [U][B]Personality:[/B][/U] Ethan is an individual who is set very sternly in his ways. He often has objections with himself in doing what is right and what is practical. It makes for a very boring individual, but for as factual and prudish as he is, there is also a liberal side to Ethan Newark. He's never known to be the angry type, but he can rarely get very worked up over something he may feel passionate about or being subjected to an environment he is not familiar with. Most of the time, Ethan is a very pleasant individual, with a restricted sense of humor and a reserved amount of compasion. [B][U]Appearance:[/U][/B] Ethan is a tall, slender man. He is fair in appearance and would probably appear handsome if he smiled more or perhaps carried himself with confidence. Casual buisness attire suits him well and he is rather sharp when he chooses to dress himself up. Ethan has dark, alert eyes that contrast sharply with his short shock of white hair. His pale-colored locks seem to be the only visible effect of his Hybrid nature, and usually gives him an elderly appearance. [U][B]Animal Genes:[/B][/U] Arctic Fox ([i]Alopex lagopus[/i]) [U][B]Hybrid Abilities:[/B][/U] Ethan has the Fox's ability to survive near-zero temperatures comfortably, along with any preadator's heightened senses. He is also subjected to rare instances of cunning, in which his adrenaline and daring push him to do things he wouldn't or couldn't normally do.[/COLOR][/FONT]

[FONT=Garamond][COLOR=DarkRed]Shazam! Your wish has been granted! Instead of buying your weight in swedish Chocolate, you got the super squishy foam mattress instead. Now you're the envy of every geriatric on the block! The downside? The Tempur-pedic is so soft, the damn thing ate you whole! No one sees you again. Sorry! I wish I had an easier Job.[/COLOR][/FONT]

[QUOTE]I wish i was the world's greatest and sexiest secret agent for MI6. Better and cooler than James Bond, 0013. That's double-o thirteen.[/QUOTE] [COLOR=DarkRed][FONT=Garamond]So be it! You are now super-sexy agent 0013. However, your code number works unluckily against you, so does your infamous promiscuity. Durring a routine physical, MI6 informs you that you have been diagnosed with over 72 known STDs, three of which are only carried by sharks (with laser beams attached to their heads or what have you). Better luck next time! I wish the moon was made of Cheese![/FONT] [/COLOR]

[QUOTE]Choose: Destroy the sun (always night) or destroy the moon (always day)?[/QUOTE] [FONT=Garamond][COLOR=DarkRed] Destroy the moon, forever making it day. I'd be a sun worshiper from the very last day, when I'm all cracked and crumbly and everything was withering away on the planet. Choose: Walking [U]everywhere[/U] for the rest of your life. -or- Be restricted to only using wheels for the rest of your life.[/COLOR][/FONT]

[COLOR=DarkRed][FONT=Garamond]Your wish has been granted Dante! Not only are you the first homeless person on your block for shelling out an undescribable amount of money for your new PS3 system, but you've also lost all complete use of your hearing! Looks like they re-hired Mandy Moore as Aerith's Voice actress... Again! I wish I didn't have to pay so much for a car.[/FONT][/COLOR]

[COLOR=DarkRed][FONT=Garamond]Tical has a summon spirit from Tales of Symphonia in their Banner Image. 'Tis my favorite game :animesmil [/FONT][/COLOR]

[COLOR=DarkRed][FONT=Garamond]The Numa Numa kid has to be pretty high up there with the wierdest things I've seen. Along with the Star Wars kid. Oh! And the German Youth that had a mental breakdown when his computer froze. [URL=http://youtube.com/watch?v=M8pR1rZZHEs&search=crazy%20german%20kid][Link][/URL] Other than that, Goatse, nuff said.[/FONT][/COLOR]

[FONT=Garamond][COLOR=DarkRed][B]"Those who live by the sword are shot by those who don't."[/B] Certainly not a quote to live by, and it could be viewed with humor. To me it I think it means that you cannot always assume anything is going to turn out the way you expect or even know as fact. I may be reading into it too. And another quote about life from George Carlin: [B]"You are all going to die, I hate to remind you, but it is on your schedules."[/B][/COLOR][/FONT]