Post by Minyahil on Mar 16, 2009 14:53:21 GMT -5
NOTE: This is probably blatantly obvious to anyone who's read up on anything else here, but Death's RP sample doesn't take place in this world. It's not supposed to, partially because I thought it would be too hard to give an accurate impression of him/her/it in the world of Angelspeaker because of the lack of context, and partly because I didn't want to write something that might interfere with on-site plot.[/u] With that out of the way...
Death
Status: Protected. While NPC's are usually public, Angels are very powerful NPC's and also don't appear that often. As with all Angels, I'd advise familiarizing yourself with the story before messing with them-- give yourself at least a few weeks, and read all the previous posts about the Angel you're going to use, so that you understand how they work and what their agenda is. Admins anf staff reserve the right to alter posts with Angel in them.
One exception: If your character is a Speaker and they're dying, you can use Death in your post-- s/he handles that kind of stuff.
Full Name: Death
Gender: Varies. Death appears to a mortal as the gender opposite from their own. When not on the job, Death maintains the last gender it had.
Age: Unknown, possibly infinite.
Occupation: Death spends most of its time killing notable people whose time has come, or very occasionally deciding to let them live. (Death doesn't have to be there at every death.) There's usually not that much rhyme or reason to where exactly Death shows up-- it's whoever Death takes a morbid interest in.
Angelspoken: Angel (Death, of course).
Appearance: Death appears to dying mortals as a beautiful, idyllic figure, drawn from their own minds. Mortals intuitively understand who Death is as soon as they see him/her. This is typically some form of Angel, but lost loves and the like aren't uncommon. Death's appearance is calculated to make a mortal want to die, and any mortal who touches Death typically does so immediately.
Death's true form seems to be a sweeping collection of black robes, with black boots and gloves. It has wings that look and wave like tattered flags; its feathers are black, white, and a startlingly bright shade of red. An ivory mask floats above the robes, in place of a head.
Personality: Death does not act like a person. It sees itself as on an endless journey, and dedicates itself to enjoying anything along the way. Death sees artistry and beauty everywhere (especially death), and tends to be solitary. Death never chats up mortals, and her only real friends among the angels are Life and Purity.
Likes: Solitary pleasures, death, passing unnoticed.
Dislikes: Melodrama, judgmental people, desecrators of bodies.
Strengths: Death is an angel. Its touch kills mortals, and its supernatural smell and hearing allow Death to deduce the location and health of any nearby living thing. It can also immediately manifest anywhere human dies.
Weaknesses: Death doesn't understand people very well, and usually doesn't much care about offending other angels either. It doesn't plan well, preferring to make decisions by instinct on the spur of the moment. After all, what's the worst that can happen when you're Death?
History: Not really a sensible question for Angels. I may write up Death's relationship with the other Angels here, but I think I've covered most of it.
Character RP sample:
(I'll change setting names later)
Though Death was supposed to be everywhere, he had always considered East End London to be particularly nice. He liked the way his boots clacked on the cobblestones, and while his blank grey eyes could not see his surroundings, the sounds and smells of furtive city nightlife made him feel right at home. In the more squalid section of London, he was in his element: acknowledged as a part of daily life; respected, but not feared any more than he should be. Like most nights, the streets were empty now, and Death allowed himself the pleasure of spreading his wings. Angels were never observed by humans unless they wanted to be, but there was always the chance that someone in a crowd would run into him by mistake.
But I’m late, Death thought. A sudden, pungent smell of blood erupted from a nearby alley. A human could have smelled it—Death could have told you the victim was female and anemic. He walked into the alley, which he distractedly expanded to accommodate his wingspan—let Purity complain to him about the importance of maintaining physics later.
Death saw a half-dressed woman pressed up against the wall. She was clearly a prostitute. A man in a long, brown coat held her there, and was methodically cutting her to pieces. Death was not surprised; he had seen Jack the Ripper work twice before. Death caught the poor woman’s eyes, and felt the last changes in his appearance take place. The black feathers in his wings turned snow white, his eyes cleared in time to see all his garments follow suit. Through his new eyes, he caught the words on her lips (and they were always the same words, he thought): My God. Death smiled sadly and shook his head no. He held out his hand to her, pale and opalescent. Weakly, she took it. Death watched with satisfaction as the blood stopped its violent gushing, the corpse’s body relaxed, its mouth curved in a slight smile.
As the soul went wherever souls go, Death stood watching Jack the Ripper continue his work. The Angel realized he didn’t like Jack the Ripper very much. It wasn’t that he had a problem with murderers, he just found Jack… impolite. The way he always continued cutting after the act was meaningless, the way he never even noticed when his victim died.
Death was annoyed. She was vaguely surprised by this.
“Ahem,” Death said quietly, tapping Jack the Ripper on the shoulder. He crumpled to the ground. As Death walked away, she heard the knife clatter on those smooth, pretty cobblestones.
In the back of her mind, as if in a dream she’d had the previous night, she wondered if might not have been better to leave him alive, to watch him more before cutting his life short.
After all, she did so love East London.
Writing RP sample: Given that this is the first character, N/A.
(Wyrda?
Death
Status: Protected. While NPC's are usually public, Angels are very powerful NPC's and also don't appear that often. As with all Angels, I'd advise familiarizing yourself with the story before messing with them-- give yourself at least a few weeks, and read all the previous posts about the Angel you're going to use, so that you understand how they work and what their agenda is. Admins anf staff reserve the right to alter posts with Angel in them.
One exception: If your character is a Speaker and they're dying, you can use Death in your post-- s/he handles that kind of stuff.
Full Name: Death
Gender: Varies. Death appears to a mortal as the gender opposite from their own. When not on the job, Death maintains the last gender it had.
Age: Unknown, possibly infinite.
Occupation: Death spends most of its time killing notable people whose time has come, or very occasionally deciding to let them live. (Death doesn't have to be there at every death.) There's usually not that much rhyme or reason to where exactly Death shows up-- it's whoever Death takes a morbid interest in.
Angelspoken: Angel (Death, of course).
Appearance: Death appears to dying mortals as a beautiful, idyllic figure, drawn from their own minds. Mortals intuitively understand who Death is as soon as they see him/her. This is typically some form of Angel, but lost loves and the like aren't uncommon. Death's appearance is calculated to make a mortal want to die, and any mortal who touches Death typically does so immediately.
Death's true form seems to be a sweeping collection of black robes, with black boots and gloves. It has wings that look and wave like tattered flags; its feathers are black, white, and a startlingly bright shade of red. An ivory mask floats above the robes, in place of a head.
Personality: Death does not act like a person. It sees itself as on an endless journey, and dedicates itself to enjoying anything along the way. Death sees artistry and beauty everywhere (especially death), and tends to be solitary. Death never chats up mortals, and her only real friends among the angels are Life and Purity.
Likes: Solitary pleasures, death, passing unnoticed.
Dislikes: Melodrama, judgmental people, desecrators of bodies.
Strengths: Death is an angel. Its touch kills mortals, and its supernatural smell and hearing allow Death to deduce the location and health of any nearby living thing. It can also immediately manifest anywhere human dies.
Weaknesses: Death doesn't understand people very well, and usually doesn't much care about offending other angels either. It doesn't plan well, preferring to make decisions by instinct on the spur of the moment. After all, what's the worst that can happen when you're Death?
History: Not really a sensible question for Angels. I may write up Death's relationship with the other Angels here, but I think I've covered most of it.
Character RP sample:
(I'll change setting names later)
Though Death was supposed to be everywhere, he had always considered East End London to be particularly nice. He liked the way his boots clacked on the cobblestones, and while his blank grey eyes could not see his surroundings, the sounds and smells of furtive city nightlife made him feel right at home. In the more squalid section of London, he was in his element: acknowledged as a part of daily life; respected, but not feared any more than he should be. Like most nights, the streets were empty now, and Death allowed himself the pleasure of spreading his wings. Angels were never observed by humans unless they wanted to be, but there was always the chance that someone in a crowd would run into him by mistake.
But I’m late, Death thought. A sudden, pungent smell of blood erupted from a nearby alley. A human could have smelled it—Death could have told you the victim was female and anemic. He walked into the alley, which he distractedly expanded to accommodate his wingspan—let Purity complain to him about the importance of maintaining physics later.
Death saw a half-dressed woman pressed up against the wall. She was clearly a prostitute. A man in a long, brown coat held her there, and was methodically cutting her to pieces. Death was not surprised; he had seen Jack the Ripper work twice before. Death caught the poor woman’s eyes, and felt the last changes in his appearance take place. The black feathers in his wings turned snow white, his eyes cleared in time to see all his garments follow suit. Through his new eyes, he caught the words on her lips (and they were always the same words, he thought): My God. Death smiled sadly and shook his head no. He held out his hand to her, pale and opalescent. Weakly, she took it. Death watched with satisfaction as the blood stopped its violent gushing, the corpse’s body relaxed, its mouth curved in a slight smile.
As the soul went wherever souls go, Death stood watching Jack the Ripper continue his work. The Angel realized he didn’t like Jack the Ripper very much. It wasn’t that he had a problem with murderers, he just found Jack… impolite. The way he always continued cutting after the act was meaningless, the way he never even noticed when his victim died.
Death was annoyed. She was vaguely surprised by this.
“Ahem,” Death said quietly, tapping Jack the Ripper on the shoulder. He crumpled to the ground. As Death walked away, she heard the knife clatter on those smooth, pretty cobblestones.
In the back of her mind, as if in a dream she’d had the previous night, she wondered if might not have been better to leave him alive, to watch him more before cutting his life short.
After all, she did so love East London.
Writing RP sample: Given that this is the first character, N/A.
(Wyrda?
