Wyzilla
New Member
So i just bumped into the site out of the strangest circumstances, so I figured I might as well join as I both love roleplaying and Star Wars: and thus I am here! Wondering what in the seven hells to do! So is this just one big overarching community roleplay, or a bunch of cobbled together individual pieces? And how much can I go on the violence? I can sometimes get a bit carried away sometimes. To give an example-
Updated post with an example to gauge what is considered PG-13, as especially these days I find it a really nebulous term.
Beauty, Grace, Finesse
In its conception these ideals were void. Never did these constructs drift through the mind of the primogenitor in the moment of creation. Its kind was not one born to aestheticism or subtlety. Nay. Its conception only held one ideal: one purpose to which its very being was dedicated towards with every atom of its structure- war. It was slaughter given form, not beholden to the careful artistry of the hashashin but embracing the crude directness of premeditated butchery. Not once in its long period of existence which one could barely describe a life had it tried to hide these facets. Rather it embraced them in the strangest and most inhuman manner possible. No love was held in regard for the nature of its being, or any other being. Not even its existence was held in any preference: it only dodged fire out of basal instincts forcing it to survive. Emotion on a whole was alien to it. It could not conceive of such a state and did not care to enlighten itself on the nature of the subject. It saw reality as a linear series of absolutes, and among these absolute truths was its exceptional skill in slaughter. Not in any specific aspect, but the general act regarding the discontinuation of consciousness.
As the gaunt spectre wrought of steel waded servo-deep through a mire churned of the four fluids, those unfortunates who remained beheld their own personal Thanatos. The avatar stripped them down to their naked ego with its aura of inevitable, inescapable demise. The brave fired their arms in vain hope to strike down the spectre and claim their deliverance. The weak found their legs riveted to the ground with malaise and their brains wracked with hysteria. The insane loosed all inhibitions and assailed the advancing spectre, welcoming hades with gibbering abandon. The spectre loosed a maelstrom of dancing particle beams upon the remaining host gathered before him, and feebly the enemy host attempted to return the sentiment. But where energy harmlessly caromed off the spectre's steely hide and was sent singing into the walls the hides of men were composed of succulent flesh. Their bellies ruptured like crushed fruit as bursts of energy rocked them- broken corpses collapsing into the pool of temperaments without dignity.
In its conception these ideals were void. Never did these constructs drift through the mind of the primogenitor in the moment of creation. Its kind was not one born to aestheticism or subtlety. Nay. Its conception only held one ideal: one purpose to which its very being was dedicated towards with every atom of its structure- war. It was slaughter given form, not beholden to the careful artistry of the hashashin but embracing the crude directness of premeditated butchery. Not once in its long period of existence which one could barely describe a life had it tried to hide these facets. Rather it embraced them in the strangest and most inhuman manner possible. No love was held in regard for the nature of its being, or any other being. Not even its existence was held in any preference: it only dodged fire out of basal instincts forcing it to survive. Emotion on a whole was alien to it. It could not conceive of such a state and did not care to enlighten itself on the nature of the subject. It saw reality as a linear series of absolutes, and among these absolute truths was its exceptional skill in slaughter. Not in any specific aspect, but the general act regarding the discontinuation of consciousness.
As the gaunt spectre wrought of steel waded servo-deep through a mire churned of the four fluids, those unfortunates who remained beheld their own personal Thanatos. The avatar stripped them down to their naked ego with its aura of inevitable, inescapable demise. The brave fired their arms in vain hope to strike down the spectre and claim their deliverance. The weak found their legs riveted to the ground with malaise and their brains wracked with hysteria. The insane loosed all inhibitions and assailed the advancing spectre, welcoming hades with gibbering abandon. The spectre loosed a maelstrom of dancing particle beams upon the remaining host gathered before him, and feebly the enemy host attempted to return the sentiment. But where energy harmlessly caromed off the spectre's steely hide and was sent singing into the walls the hides of men were composed of succulent flesh. Their bellies ruptured like crushed fruit as bursts of energy rocked them- broken corpses collapsing into the pool of temperaments without dignity.
Updated post with an example to gauge what is considered PG-13, as especially these days I find it a really nebulous term.
