Post by Death on Feb 11, 2012 0:19:32 GMT
In the beginning there was nothing
and it exploded[/center][/size][/font][/color]
Luck is my middle name
mind you, my first name is Bad[/center][/size][/font][/color]
Name:
Death
Nickname/s:
The Grim Reaper, Bill Door, Mr. Scrub, etec.
Age:
As old as the death of the first living thing.
Species:
Anthropomorphic personification
Gender:
Male
Occupation:
In a word, Death. He guides the souls of the no-longer-living from this world to the next.
Current Residence:
"Mon Repos", Death's Domain.
Lots of people would be as cowardly as me
if they were brave enough[/center][/size][/font][/color]
Likes:
Cats, Binky, curry, life, humanity, games, Susan, Albert, The Rules.
Dislikes:
Cheating, lateness, Rincewind, The Auditors, Schrödinger's cat experiment, his inability to interfere with the natural course of, well, death.
Strengths:
- He is, to put it simply, the personification of Death. While by no means omnipotent, he still wields a great deal of power over human life.
- Good-natured and rather earnest, he is a surprisingly caring individual.
- He can disregard many laws of reality and even time itself. Magic spells have no effect and he is capable of passing through solid objects.
- Death is immortal. As long as there is life, he will remain.
- The owner of Death's Library, which contains a book for every individual that has ever lived.
- One of the Five Horsemen of the Apocalypse, the others being Pestilence, Famine, War, and Kaos.
Weaknesses:
- He is unable to see immortal beings-- as they cannot die, they are not under his jurisdiction.
- Prone to flights of fancy.
- Extremely straightforward.
- He cannot create, only mimic.
- Does not understand certain givens, such as perspective or scale.
- Literal to a fault.
Fear/s:
In his own words, "I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO BE AFRAID."
Personality:
Much more good-natured than one would expect, Death views the world-- and humanity in particular, with all of their emotions, ordeals, and passions-- with a slightly bewildered but nonetheless enthusiastic curiosity.
A far cry from the cold, unfeeling, all-knowing tyrant of legend, Death cares more about the Discworld and its inhabitants than is generally assumed, even intervening on their behalf at times, particularly in matters involving the Auditors of Reality. Despite his best attempts to understand human behavior, his attempts to imitate it are often misguided.
Could I compare you to a summer's day
because...well, June 12th was quite nice...[/center][/size][/font][/color]
Play-By:
Death, Discworld.
Physical Appearance:
Death has been given his form by belief and expectations-- so naturally, for the most part, he's precisely what one would expect. A seven-foot tall skeleton clad in flowing black robes, he more often than not has his scythe in hand.
Drama and pretention are foreign and rather distasteful concepts to him-- neat but straightforward in his presentation, there are no skeletal steeds, flashes of lightning or swirling shadows for this Death, though a skeletal rat might now and again be glimpsed lingering at his feet or clinging to the shoulder of his robes-- The Death of Rats is that single, uninhibited part of him permitted to do as it pleases.
My father is the Emperor of Klatch
and my mother is a small tray of raspberry puddings[/center][/size][/font][/color]
Birthplace:
N/A
Parents:
None.
Siblings:
None.
Love interest:
None.
Children:
- Ysabell (Adopted Daughter)
Other important individuals:
- Mort (Son-in-law)
- Susan Bones (Granddaughter)
- Binky (Steed of Death)
- The Death of Rats
History:
Death has existed ever since the dawn of the Discworld, coming into being upon the demise of the first living creature-- a tiny, single-celled organism. Dutiful, if prone to deserting his post now and then for a flight of fancy, Death has served as the Pale Rider ever since (With the exception of a brief bit of, er, unfortunate misunderstanding). A being who, surprisingly enough, eventually grew lonely, he took on an adoptive daughter-- until she and his apprentice, Mort, eloped and left him alone once more.
I expect I've saved the day
Right?[/center][/size][/font][/color]
Your Name:
Call me Ink. c:
Have you read the rules?:
*****
RP Sample:
[/size]
From a freelance mythology roleplay site.~
Snow drifted slowly, lazily down to London's worn gray cobblestones, blanketing the world thickly in stark, shining white. Inside the bookshop, however, it was warm, and a safe distance away from any of the countless tomes or bookshelves, a fireplace crackled invitingly, casting golden light throughout the shop and reflecting it dimly onto the windowpanes.
Secreted away in the back rooms, the shop's owner was undertaking the difficult task of rebinding a tattered volume of poetry with ceaselessly shaking hands, meticulously reattatching loose pages and fraying backbinding. Slender fingers smudged with glue, intent upon his work and the welcome distraction it provided, he very nearly missed the telltale jangle of chimes that signaled the opening of the door.
A sharp paper knife clenched between his teeth, he plucked his glasses from where they sat atop his head and glanced over his shoulder at the curtain that separated the workroom from the shop. "I'm sorry. I'll be right with you." He called softly just as the little bell on the counter chimed. He dropped the tool, shut the book carefully, and wiped glue from his hands, shouldering the musty-smelling curtain aside and navigating the maze of shelves toward the front counter.
His vision was suddenly blurring, colors melting into monochromatic grey as a wave of nausea swept over him. Freezing, he gritted his teeth. Not now, please not now.
His silent plea went unheeded-- his legs crumpled beneath him without warning, and he snatched desperately at an ornate oaken bookshelf crammed with dusty old encyclopedias, hoping to slow his fall. Instead, in an impressive feat of bad luck and bad timing, his weight tugged the already-unbalanced case down. The massive thing tumbled onto its side with a thunderous crash and an avalanche of pages, quite effectively burying him beneath a mound of reference books.
Perfectly lovely.
A soft little hiss and then he slowly began to sit up, shifting the pile of books away and wincing slightly as an especially sharp corner jabbed him in the ribs.
"I'm sorry, sorry, I'm coming." He managed to rasp, brushing books aside and struggling to stand.
Five exclamation marks
the sure sign of an insane mind[/center][/size][/font][/color]
The application above was created by Malena. Quotes were taken from Terry Pratchett's books.
Do not steal anything, or you will be hung upside down over a scorpion pit!!!!!
Do not steal anything, or you will be hung upside down over a scorpion pit!!!!!
