[chanhee.]

username: nezushi
name: Sora
gender: male
personality(100 word max):
Sora is a deranged soul. After a life of thievery and three months in a pit with nothing but the sound of bugs being crushed between his fingers or the rain falling through the cracks in the wood keeping him from escaping, his mind warped from one of just surviving to one of sadism. He wants to get revenge for all those people did to him, and he has no problem killing to get what he wants. He's warped and twisted, but that's all just in your head, right?


short story(500 word max):
In a room with no windows or door, some may be driven to insanity. That's just the case here. One boy, thrown into a pit and left there with nothing to live off of but rain and bugs. It's cruel, they know, but that's life in this small town.

Sora was known by the villagers as the shadow. The one who stole and pillaged their homes in the night, when they laid in their beds. He would leave a key, though, with every robbery. Many tried to find what said keys unlocked, but they never found it until Sora was captured and thrown away. All of the keys unlocked the same thing. The lid to the pit he was contained in. Many chose to ignore it, to throw the keys away and forget about it, but a few came back time and time again, listening to the sounds from the pit.

At first there was nothing, then there was crying. As weeks led on there was screaming and sobbing and terror all in the dark hole. Many in the village thought he was dead, that he had starved or dehydrated in the pit, but with the rain they got he managed to stave off thirst and eat bugs that came to the water he drank.

After three months of listening, one let him free, wanting to end this torture, but he was paid with a quick death as Sora fled, grabbing the key before he left.
((hhnnnnnnnng this is really bad why do I put off writing till I feel like I'm going to pass out??????????))

[gojo]

mark, noice noice.

[Ovacalix]

username: Mute
name: Troye
gender: Male
personality:
short story(500 word max):

No one makes a lock without a key...

[koegami]

vince


reserved

[Max]

❝ ＴＨＥ ＴＲＩＣＫＳＴＥＲ ❞

username: max
name: kyro {cure-oh}
gender: male
personality(100 word max): kyro can be quite deceiving. he knows how to manipulate and outwit others, often leaving them outraged at his sneaky tricks. some call him a liar, however he thinks of himself as more of a respectful con artist. he will most likely take advantage of those who attempt to befriend him. aside from kyro's shenanigans, he is generally a very sarcastic kalon, and pretends things are really cool and interesting when in reality he couldn't possibly care less. he has yet to befriend a kalon who actually interests him and doesn't speak of pointless things that he doesn't care about.
short story(500 word max):
"Welcome. Please, take a look around."
The young couple each exchanged a tentative glance before slowly closing the heavy wooden door behind them. The shop was a bit creepy, to say the least. Whoever owned it certainly didn't care for dusting. There were shelves full of odd-looking knick-knacks, rusted wind chimes hanging from the ceiling, and strange porcelain dolls on display. The kalon with a lock around his neck watched as the couple took a look around.
The first kalon spoke up.
"So we just bought a new house, and we were just looking for some things to decorate it."
The second kalon nodded.
"Yes, and we thought your shop was just perfect for the kind of look we're going for."
The strange kalon listened carefully, and nodded. Suddenly, making the couple flinch, he stood up from where he was behind the counter and walked towards the couple.
"Tell me exactly what you are looking for."
The first kalon spoke again.
"Anything really, but we are a bit short of things to put on the wall."
The strange kalon considered this for a moment. "Follow me." He said, finally, after a few moments of silence. With that, he turned around and headed towards a door at the back of the shop, not bothering to hold the door open for the couple. They followed.
What was inside of the room looked much like a storage room, small, with everything stuffed together. He strange kalon took a nice looking antique clock off of the shelf.
"That is gorgeous. How much is it?"
"$199."
"199?!"
"With tax."
"It's fine." The other kalon chimed in. "We'll take it. Thank you."
And with that, they paid.
"What was that about?" The first kalon asked once they were out of the store.
"I just wanted to get out of there. That place was giving me the creeps." The other one responded.

The next day, the couple spotted an identical clock in another store as they were looking for more decorations for their home. They discovered that the clock was $129, not $199.
Outraged, the couple returned, looking to give back the clock. However when they arrived at the shop, the doors were locked and the place was empty, with nothing but a "FOR RENT" sign on the window.

EPILOGUE
"Hello, we were just wondering if you could give us the name of the kalon who recently rented that store at the very end of Spearmint street? The one with the dark shutters?"
"I apologize ma'am, but that store has not been used by anyone in nearly a year." The kalon on the phone responded.
"That's impossible, there was just a kalon there. Messy dark brown hair? Key around his neck?"
"I apologize but there's no sale in our records that show this."
The kalon sighed. "Okay. Thank you."
"So that's it? He's just gone?" The other kalon asked.
"I guess so." They respond, with a slight shake of their head. "Come on, let's go."

[sheepuns]

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

ｕ ｓ ｅ ｒ ｎ ａ ｍ ｅ - Ittam
ｎ ａ ｍ ｅ - "Call me Lokei Cage."
ｇ ｅ ｎ ｄ ｅ ｒ - Agender
ｐ ｅ ｒ ｓ ｏ ｎ ａ ｌ ｉ ｔ ｙ

"Poor me, I'm just a pitiful caged bird!"

Always one for a pity party, Lokei loves ensnaring others into carrying their baggage with them. They preach that they are a "prisoner of their own mind" and is constantly whining about their "struggles". Lokei actually "struggles" to manipulate others into giving them food and money. Lokei is the kind of Kalon who would frame a homeless person and then stand on the same street corner begging for money. Lokei isn't lazy per say, but they see their opportunities and they pick what they can. Though Lokei is pathetic they are quite an open book. Misery loves company after all.
［１００／１００］

ｓ ｔ ｏ ｒ ｙ
You couldn't believe you were helping them.
It probably was your fault, really. You were running on your way to who knows where and you weren't watching were you were going. You bumped--no, more like tackled, this individual, knocking their groceries into the street to be trampled into the assault as cars made jam out of them. Quickly the brown individual began to cry, and although you weren't one to wear your heart upon your sleeves you couldn't bare to see such a young child cry. Or at least, you assumed they were a child. You were bad at discerning certain ages.

"My entire life savings went into those groceries. Do you know how hard it is to buy what you need? I could only get those things because they were on sale. Poor me, why do I always have such a bad stroke of luck."

You cringed. They were making a scene. Although you couldn't quite believe that was all of their life savings you had some moral obligation to help them out, even if it was only a little bit of help. You offer to at least pay for half the groceries. You honestly did not have much cash yourself but at least you offering could assuage the crowds eyes. After all, there are just so many daggers you can take before you bail a situation.

Before you know it, you are not only all of their groceries but you are also offering them a place to stay.

"BWAH, it was so awful. Grandma died just yesterday and I'm all an orphan now. I haven't eaten in days mind you, and don't even ask me what water is. It's brown right? I've only had brown water. Oh, could you pick up those pickles? They remind me of my twin brother who died in a car accident. Thanks. You really are too kind you know? Where was I? Ah yes. I never drank clean water before. My entire family is poor.

Their whinny voice grated on your ears. At least if you helped them out you'll be doing the entire world a favor. You really were reconsidering letting them stay at your house.

---

You're the one carrying their baggage. By which you mean their groceries, of course.

"I've been on the street all my life and I really appreciate you letting me sleep in your home. I haven't showered in weeks. May I shower? I think I'll shower. Thanks for offering.

You sighed. They actually smelled nice, so you seriously doubt that story is even true.

---

It's Day 8, and they finally left your house. You put your face in your hands as you realized how your mood has been all week. They talked about such depressing things and keep on asking for things you couldn't have said no. You smile weakly at yourself in the mirror. At least now they can carry their own baggage for a while.
［４９３／５００］

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

[Captain Chomp]

username:
name:
gender:
personality(100 word max):
short story(500 word max):

WIP

[merry!]

I'm sorry. I can't write. I legit just wrote a scene.

username: nos-os-fros
name: Door, most people assume it is a nickname for something, it is not.
gender: Male
personality: Door is a petty criminal, in all respects of the word. He's a very strange and eccentric Kalon. He makes fake money, but he doesn't print real bills. He comes up with elaborate schemes just to get a nickel. He's odd and needy. He's the kind of friend who borrows money from you, eats the money and says, "you're not getting it back." and then runs away.
short story:
Connie glanced over the counter at the man, "Door, what do you want?"
"Connie, I-" Door began
"No, I mean what are you getting? I'm a barista, not a therapist."
"I'll have a coffee."
"Great, 'cos that's what I'm selling," Connie did not bother asking what kind of coffee, she knew the man would not drink it. Thunk. Connie placed the coffee on the table. Extra milk, no sugar. The way Connie liked it, not Door because she would probably be drinking it later. Without taking his head off the (very fashionable) reclaimed steel counter Door slid a three dollar bill across the counter. Connie did not mind this was not legal tender, she had a bit of a soft spot for Door and his forged money. "Okay, so now go ahead and tell me-" Connie stopped herself, she already knew what he was going to say, "You got fired."
"How-" Door began
"You're always losing your job, partially because you're a criminal but mostly because you're an idiot." Connie shrugged, Door thought it would be a loud shrug if movements made sound. He lifted his head from the table and replaced it with his fisted hands,
"I am not!"
"Which?"
"Both!"
Connie changed the filter in the coffee machine. It did not need to be cleaned, this was just so she had something to do with her hands, "I'm not going to give you a job, but I bet Moritz would be glad to have an extra pair of hands around the lab."
"Ew, no. No way I am cutting up dead people, and anyway, that guy gives me the creeps!"
"Hey, suit yourself, but I've gotta say, beggars can't be choosers."
"Whatever," Door put his head back on the counter.

[Cleverify]

username:
Cleverify

name:
Salem

gender:
Male

personality(100-word max):
The embodiment of personality is like clay, easily molded at first, but as time goes on, it hardens until only skilled hands are capable of shaping it. Salem's clay has long dried and he is set in his ways, stubborn to the core and unwilling, or perhaps unable, to change. He is aloof from his own kind, drawn into solitude and greatly jealous of his privacy. Without irony, he is indeed the personification of a locked door, one which seems to lack a key and gathers dust and steadiness in its closed state. Like an enigma shrouded in a mystery.

[100/100]

short story(500-word max):
The night around me hangs heavy, like the fabric of blackout curtains. The silence is oppressive, viscous like thick molasses, clogging my ears with nothingness. Water breaks around my oars, hugging tightly the damaged wood as it welcomes them into it's murky depths. If it weren't for the soft swoosh each time I paddle, I would think I had gone deaf. Rivers are sometimes wide, and sometimes narrow, curving and bending to match Mother Nature's demanding wishes. In this old canoe, I float and wait, never certain what may lay beyond the eerie fog surrounding me.

And then the fog breaks. From it I see two distinct, glowing orbs, their pupils contracted and focused. The eyes are familiar to me. I am not welcome here, I am not safe. And so I paddle on. The river is sometimes wide, the river is sometimes narrow. Always it is my protection. They are afraid of the water.

Bam!

The canoe is jostled, and I balance myself with a hand on either side. Part of me hopes that it was just a rock, driftwood, an old tire. But all of me knows it is not. Sighing, I pull out my flashlight, illuminating just a couple of feet ahead of me as the light bounces off of the mist. I'm wary to waste the battery, but I must know.

The shallows are approaching, and the shore is crowded. The river narrows. Many hungry eyes meet my own reflective gaze, and though the moon is far from me tonight, I can feel it's soft glow around us.

Bam!

Again I am tossed around, and it becomes evident to me that my luck is waning. Sometimes Mother Nature turns down her thumb to the land she governs, and the water becomes no longer plentiful. They are closing in. I am, undoubtedly, the target. As the canoe slides against the sand below us, and slows to a snail's pace, I stand. My hand reaches instinctively for the scabbard at my hip. It is a terrible enemy I face, and an old one. These are the consequences often wrought out by isolation. I am poised, I am ready.

Tonight, I am afforded no sleep.


Tonight, I will not die.

And, until the stars are a distant memory, nothing but a story, I will float down this river and search for forgiveness.

[393/500]

[Painted~Wolf]

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personality:

--------------------------------------------------------- ❭ ❭ ❭ ❭

It can't be too much of this, or too little of that. It has to be just right, and only right. He's kind of like Goldilocks in that sort of way, which is partially how he got his nickname, "Locks." He also gets into other people's business way too often.
Another thing about Easton's personality is he's too solitary and pompous to ever ask for help, so he never does. He's worried it will hurt his ego too much. Especially since he's the captain of a pirate ship.
[99/100] x ❬ ❬ ❬ ❬ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

x"Captain Kendrick. I bring a status report for the mornin'."
x"Aye, let's hear it then."
"The ship's been fully scrubbed: the deck swabbed, the cannons waxed, the
sails dusted--" East slowly rubbed his finger across the railing alongside the
deck. Oily grime became present on his finger, and a mark on the railing where it originally was appeared as well.
"Let me stop you there." East paused for a second and then looked at his first mate, Tyson.
" 'Cause you didn't do it right."

"Captain?" ▁ ▁ ▁ ▁▁ ▁▁▁▁ ▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁ ▁▁
"I should see my face shining in these floors! Now get those sea rotten, dirt lovin', fish smellin' scalawags to it!" East's voice raised so loudly that even the fish below the ship could hear his words. This stunned Tyson a little bit. Immediately, everyone on board dropped what they were doing and grabbed something to clean with. Tyson went for a mop. Captain Kendrick then watched Tyson for a short while as he started to mop the deck, until he interrupted him.
"No, you're doing it wrong." ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆

East pulled the mop from Tyson's hands and began mopping. "Captain, I haven't even--" Started Tyson.
"Shush!" East then stepped back as he showed off his superior mopping skills. Unbeknownst to him, however, he had stepped in the center of coiled ropes which were connected to the mast of the ship. East took another step and the rope once placed neatly on the

deck began whipping through the air, dragging East with it. The massive white sails were pulled downward while East flew the opposite direction. The next thing he knew, Locks was dangling upside down by the rope caught around his foot. He was quite shocked.
East then looked toward Tyson with a look of both surprise and disappointment. Tyson then moved closer to the dropped mop.
"Would you like some help there, Captain?" Tyson asked. He couldn't help but smile. East mumbled the word yes.
"I'm sorry, Captain, I didn't quite catch that. Mind reaptin' it?" Tyson's voice was full of sarcasm.
"I said yes, now get me down!" he began untying the rope until East interrupted him.
"You be doing it wrong." He looked up at East.
"Locks. Do you want me to help you or not?"
"I'd rather you not. I can get myself down."
"Fine." And he started to walk away. He waited for while and then heard a loud thump as he expected. A smile then grew of his face again.
"How serendipitous." xx[412/500]

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- "First Mate Tyson" is another character owned by me. He's a Poculum Warg. He's a pirate as well, but with a larger vocabulary than most people. He still enjoys using slang though.
- Fancy fonts: 1001fonts.com
- The reason I edited this post so many times is because I was experimenting with some coding :)