This is why we don't all have OP characters. [OPEN]

Wed Jan 21, 2015 9:40 pm

Delayna sat back on her throne of the gods, beckoning more wine for her palate. Today, she scanned the world for more survivors to crush, looking down on the puny humans as they scrambled to assemble like ants. Even more like ants would she crush them. Perhaps even more easily. The only ones that truly posed a threat to her now were other gods. The most dangerous of which being the Absolute God, god of all things ever. Though he was never hostile, to anyone really. Perhaps he was interested in the affairs of the mortals? Ever giving hope, that one. Delayna couldn't believe it. The second most dangerous, being the God of Death himself... herself? Delayna couldn't be bothered with the details. For the moment, her wine arrived. Wine was a fluid she deemed necessary for any god to continue their existence. An ambrosia of sorts. She was the goddess of drunken delusions, aptly named so, as she clearly was not as powerful as she let on. A minor god of sorts. But it was useful to be able to inflict drunken delusions on mortals. Take that guy down there. See the one with the blue hair? Watch him closely.

The mortal with the blue hair to which Delayna referred was the leader of the worldwide prohibition agency, which swore to put an end to the patron goddess of all drunkards everywhere. Delayna smiled as she watched the fool (Whose name was Sinain) consume in private what he openly stood against. As soon as he finished the small bit of whiskey, she struck him down with the powers of her godhood. He immediately ran outside fully naked and started screaming "I'm not a drunk!" In a slurred voice. A valiant effort, Sinain, but alas, you struggle in vain! Delayna chuckled to herself. Suckling at the bottle of wine as though a babe at a mother's teat, she drained every last drop of her ambrosia with slow indulgence. Victory was finally hers. Sinain, having been a drunkard himself previously, had finally given in to the temptations of his prior lifestyle. Chaos would do the rest and ensure her victory was sealed. Today, a decisive win had been declared for her. She figured she'd pay a visit to one of her most loyal subjects. He that praised Delayna all through the day and night. He was, however, a blathering drunkard, but it was because of this that he had the ability to see her. It was a welcome change, companionship. He had a habit of being so used to drunkenness it at times seemed he was sober. "You there, boy, guess who has returned to bless you with her presence?"

(OOC: If anyone wants to join in, just state your name in a "I have a name"-esque manner. You can be the drunkard :D)

Tue Jan 27, 2015 11:03 pm

The drunkard propped himself up against a brick wall. That lady was back again! The one he only sees when he's piss drunk! Glaring up at her vivacious figure, he saw a glass of wine sitting quaintly in her fingers. Such poise! He thought, smiling up at her. His head bobbed about like a fishing bob above water. "I hash a naem," He struggled, nearly incoherently speaking to her. "An' itsh Morteesh" He slurred. "I know that, boy, you've only told me it a million times." She said, her beautiful, almost heavenly gaze looking down at him. "Why do you only come when I'm drunk?" He stumbled about trying to rise, but at least he managed to stand by himself. The woman was truly an enigma to him. He was able to drink so much without being consciously drunk, but yet, here was a woman who only appeared after he'd had so many drinks. Mortice rather enjoyed the company, anyway. It beat being drunk, and at least he always had a friend to look to, although she may just be a delusion of his, as he was fond of having while sober. The woman didn't respond. "Camm'on! I'm dyin' ta heeer your sheecrit!" He tripped over his words, but it was nothing he couldn't manage. Mortice was, sadly, an expert drunk.

Wed Apr 22, 2015 10:45 pm

"Open your eyes, dove, I'm here to kill you from the inside out."

Lutero couldn't be bothered at the moment. An inky black curtain framed the right side of his face, keeping one his eyes skewered from the gaze of others. The other widened to an extent as it took in the sight her. His dear Delayna. Lutero chuckled deeply at her bored expression from his place in the sky. Leather clad boots shifted slightly in the midst of a sudden burst that deemed the idea of ruffling his clothes amusing. The god grumbled in distraught raising his hands to smooth down his crisp white tank top loosely hanging from his slim frame. Multitudes of tattoos ran up and down his frame marking him for the beast he was destined to be. It symbolized his nature to create fun when there wasn't any. As the god of death he became increasingly bored.

One life never truly was enough for Lutero. Sure enough, he began to taunt others. To whisk inky shadows into the creases of their minds to change them. To see if they could resist his stroke of death. His lifeless kiss of deterioration. Some called him the Grim Reaper. Or the Devil. Or Lucifer. But he was and always has been Lutero Kaminski of Death. No qualms kept him from his ever present hunger for excitement. And for that, he truly did hate humans. Perhaps it lied within their ability to become so gathered into these electronics in front of them. It angered the god beyond just simple fury. It tormented him into this blood curling, homicidal rage.

Moments such as these often lead to the decent a herd of well-fed horses. While he enjoyed each and everyone of the majestic creatures, he took a particular fascination to war.

War changed humanity in ways he'd dream. Pulling, pushing, shoving, tasting, tearing, searing, burning, drowning- asphyxiation! How wondrous humanity twisted when in the midst of War's hooves. Inevitably, no matter which herd he sent, the herd of Death accompanied. Death embodied him to 'T' were it not for their tendency to become bland. It is Death, after all, how does Death develop a routine? The herd of horses were honestly too kindred, most likely because of their age. Or the time they spent with that little fairy doll, Lana. Either way, he enjoyed using them. Ironically enough the god never needed to lift more than a finger to ignite battle- to see brother pit against brother.

Delayna appeared for her newly found companion much to his amusement. He wanted to play, too. And who knows? Lutero is death after all, and this man seemed to be treading steadily along the lines of consciousness or the ever present lurking inkiness of nothing.

And another one bites the dust.

Without another word, the God descended from the skies at rapidly approaching speeds. Totals of at least 15 people in separate areas meet their untimely demise. Deformed, disfigured cloaked creatures would sink into the walls of their homes to drag them back to Lutero's home in order to sort their souls. Keep the ones that were worth something and send off of the ones that Lana wished to have for herself. He landed some few yards away from the bickering pair.

His crimson iris gleamed with the sight of the drunkard. Oh, how he could smell the rotting flesh on his form. What would have been on the whites of his eyes appeared as dark as his shaved head and rippling tattoos. The God of Death couldn't have felt better in all of his millennium. A small grin graced his lips deceiving those on the outside looking in. They might believe that he's younger than what he truly is, but Delayna would surely see past his 'friendly' facade. She knew him too well. She knew the god for what he was created to be.

"Oh, Delayna," he gasped, his slender pale hand reaching forward to delve into the soft locks of wheat colored hair. "It has been far too long, hasn't it? Oh! And who do we have here? How rude, did I interrupt? No matter. I am Lutero Kaminski of Death and Destruction. You must be...?"

Wed Apr 22, 2015 11:44 pm

"Open your eyes, dove, I'm here to kill you from the inside out."

"...you fool. I should smite you now."

His head snapped towards her then, his eyes narrowed in this steely gaze he only reserved for her. For his lovely little Della-chan. He shivered at the thought of how he'd been cold towards her during his collection of souls. Lutero worked damn hard to keep his place on his high horse. Ruling over death was no easy matter. Even his mere existence possessed such trivial trials, he could have wished it upon himself thousands of times in that moment. But, oh, when he looked at Delayna. When her hair fell into place to accent the ringed horns atop her delicate head, he felt that his trials as the God of Death and Destruction paid off.

But that wasn't the entirety of the truth. Was it, Lutero?

The other goddesses were incredibly easy to please. And by incredibly easy, we mean, incredibly easy. No one posed as a challenge for the god. Boredom haunted him every step of the way. Della threw in a game changer. The first time they met she was just the exceptionally ungraceful, demi-god that everyone believed her to be. There was this look in her eyes, however, he could recall. How she blinked at him slowly before attempting to reach up to touch his pierced lip. Of course, his 6'7 stature never allowed for her minuscule baby mitts to touch him. He felt to privileged to let the moment pass away. The clear frustration dawning on her clear features.

Perhaps he had happened to be drunk, too.

Like all love cliche love ballads, they had sex. Fucked. Smashed. However those boring humans described it..

When the sun arose to highlight their bodies, he awoke then to find this tiny creature full of stubborn audacity and a drunken grace. Too weak to fight on her own, but to strong willed to rely on others. Such a memory possessed him in that moment, cleansing his body of the sudden awkward air strangling them. The memory of his slender palms stretching out across a land of twisted sheets to pull her close. She smelled of a French vineyard. So sweet. Oh so sweet...

His mind drew a close to the memory as he opened his eyes to flash a genuine smile at their location. His brow raised in clear amusement. He'd ignore her question for to instead glance about the room. Just like he remembered. Oh, he remembered that chair she was sitting in, too. Such taunting, delicious memories. Lutero's lips curled into his signature daunting smirk, a very pink tongue curling out from an abyss to flick against his bottom lip. Steady clicks echoed across the floor, ashen grey combat boots steadily closing in on the goddess.

"I can't simply show up to spend time with my little Della?" He purposely chose that nickname to tease not only her, but this squandering human. Whether she took notice or not did not matter. He'd doubt that her poker face had gotten better over his three centuries of wandering.

Close now. Just ten more steps consisting of his long stride.

Lutero's eyes grew to their natural width, "And to think I spent all of this time cleaning up my home for you. I know how my assistants disgust you so."

Suddenly the smell of death vanished from the vicinity of the god only to be replaced by the scents of fresh rain soaked into mud. His true scent. A step to becoming himself. He stopped within arms reach of Delayna, bowing his head in respect then taking to one knee. A pale, porcelain colored hand reached for hers and held it gingerly. Deep crimson irises locked onto the beauties mirroring them, holding her gaze. And with that, he spoke so tenderly, just a whisper of a sentence on a sudden breeze that seemed to appear by magic.

"My dear, no one makes death run wild like you do. If you must question my love then I have not done a good job ensuring my faithfulness to you," pause to cover her small palm in his engulfing paws. "I've never loved another before, during, or after you. Should you never believe a thing I say, you can believe that my Della-love."

His lips twitched to curl into an eager smile. Lutero always felt so elated being this close to her. And it was more than just the liquor tainted air making his head swim.

Thu May 28, 2015 7:56 pm

"Open your eyes, dove, I'm here to kill you from the inside out."

Lutero couldn't resist the chuckle tumbling from his lips at the sudden hoarse context of her voice. He could recall quite a few times why exactly her voice would be hoarse those lone mornings within the confines of his death empire. It took than just a simple shake of his head to keep those memories at bay. She was correct, as she tended to be, about his need for something. A tad bit of information that had somehow fallen into the grasps of her little follower. His suddenly navy irises flickered but a moment to the man gazing distantly at his little dove.

"No, my dear, it is I who missed you," he growled sternly, taking his pleasure at Mortice's discomfort in stride.

The dusty scent of boiled pears, blended grapes, and a touch of something spice based assaulted his senses. Another memory gathered here, of their original battle under the constant observation of Lana. Then another recollection of their last battle; not fought against each other, but fought together due in no small part to his sister Cacilie. Ah, Cacilie. Exactly the reason he stood here today. With all of these thoughts muddling his brain, he didn't quite have the time to pull away when she raked her delicate hand through tufts of hair upon his head. And who's to say that he wanted to move away?

Mighty and all empowering Lutero of Death and Conventional Destruction became putty in all of five seconds at the hand of a tiny little woman. 'My tiny little woman,' he thought possessively, leaning into her touch at just the slightest so as not to scare her away. "[color=red]Three centuries gave us each the time to think, Della dearest," his lips curled hungrily as he pulled away only to tower high above her. "If you mean to ask me how many I've... fucked...then I could e inclined to think that there be a sort of jealousy hovering here. It's a nasty little emotion isn't it? Heartbreak and jealousy?" To anyone but Lutero and the only woman who's known him before his ascent (Cacilie, of course), it would sound like cruel taunting. But if you listened carefully to the god, his words..

Picking apart his words and realizing that he only meant that such feelings were beneath her and left only for the nasty, then one would come to gather a great understanding of Lutero the Death God. "...out here... why not have a drink with Mortice and I over dinner?"

This boyish grin crossed his features making him appear centuries younger. "My dear, you need not ever ask for my company," his voice rumbled equally low, his eyes glinting in a show of affection instead of cruel intentions. His torso twisted, leaning over towards the woman as his lips brushed her cheek. "After all, I've always been yours, my sweet Della. All you've ever had to do is claim me." Laughing, he pulled away immediately and disappeared form sight as he used his shadow step to vanish into the thralls of her meagerly kitchen.

" Now, what to prepare for the little brat and her friend.."

This is why we don't all have OP characters. [OPEN]

This is why we don't all have OP characters. [OPEN]

Re: This is why we don't all have OP characters. [OPEN]

Re: This is why we don't all have OP characters. [OPEN]

Re: This is why we don't all have OP characters. [OPEN]

Re: This is why we don't all have OP characters. [OPEN]