Hey guys, remember me? Well, if you dont, then dont worry about it. But anyway, ive noticed this sight is somewhat dying, and I also remember all of the people that were in those x-men roleplays with me and young justice roleplays. This sight, Heroverse.forumotion.com is just starting off, and we roleplay DC and Marvel and other comics.
I'd hope you come and join us sometime, we'd love you over here. Though we dont wish to take you from here, atleast I dont. I want you to try this sight out and roleplay all you can! You are able to make your own character, several of them. And unlike on here you dont have to make a different character every thread. Have fun.
Part 1. Toby
once upon a time, Cry, Pewdiepie and Toby decided to do a livestream together. Tobuscus had rented an old house from a sketchy man in a black trench coat because he advertised it as being atmospheric and because Toby knew they would need a place no one would find them, so cry wouldn't have to worry about getting a picture taken. as he walked through the dense woods he pulled out his phone and started vlogging. "Audience? wha-? what are you doing walking through a dense foggy forest towards an abandoned house? that is not a smart idea. bahaha, so, um I rented a house out in the middle of the woods because, you know, that's just what I do, ya know. no, seriously though, me and pewdiepie and cry, cry? cryaotic? whatever, who knows, right? we have finally decided to do a livestream together, you guys have been suggesting it for, like, a while now, and I...I am excited. umm, what else...griffin is here, say hi griffin" the screen twansitions to griffin "help help I'm being dragged out to the woods to be killed by axe murderers." quick twansition back to toby "what? no that is not what is happening" back to griffin "yes it is, please help, Toby is a bad owner and he is going to get me killed." back to toby "no..you.shhhhh shut up....Bahahaha umm, the winner of yesterdays t-shirt is annotated at the bottom right of the video, if you wannaentertowinatshirt like and post a comment about..ahhh woods, creepy woods...axe murder.....trees...badadododododododo subscribe outro of darkness then redness then whitness then boop" he sets his phone to post the video to youtube and puts it in his pocket as he finally reaches the old house.
Zev's eyes drift away from the slim girl with the bow and scan the surrounding area with very little interest. Amongst the chaos and bloodshed, he appears almost bored as he watches children fall around him. But no one dares to approach him, he's much too big. In his hands he holds a mace, swinging it back and forth. But nothing seems to take his interest. The others were making short work of the bloodbath. Something does catch the District Two male's eye however; two tributes fighting over a backpack and one obviously winning. He watches as the girl falls back onto the floor, sprawled out on her back, and as the boy leers over her, a knife in hand. It's then that Zev moves, swinging his mace into position as he jogs forwards. "Hey!" the boy's head turns, and Zev recognises him as the District Nine boy. He must have been about fifteen or sixteen whereas the girl only thirteen. The boy's eyes widen and he almost drops the backpack in surprise. He opens his mouth - maybe to scream, but Zev would never know - because a moment later, the mace had collided with the side of the boy's head and he had crumpled to the ground. The backpack flies from his grip and Zev kicks it towards Grey, blinking at her with eyes that lack expression. When she does not move, Zev speaks, "Take it," And that's when she stirs. Hands moving about rapidly Grey takes the backpack between her fingers and with one last look at her 'savior', pushes herself from the ground and runs towards the rocks. Zev blinks after her, feeling just a little sorry for the young girl. She was partially sighted, he could remember at least that. His eyes travel down to his mace and he frowns at the blood still dripping from the spikes. He deserved it, Zev tells himself with a curt nod.
Skene murmurs something incomprehensible to himself. He had wasted time helping that little girl; everyone had already gathered supplies and the bloodbath had truly begun. A backpack would do, a weapon would be even better. Had the little girl gotten out okay? Probably, he hadn't heard her cannon anyway. His eyes move to his District partner, Lyra, as she attempts to leap across the river but slips and land in the fast-flowing stream. She would be fine, but how would he fare? At nineteen years old he was the oldest tribute, but not the most capable. Of course he'd be targeted. Knife. . . His brain conjures the word before he even spots it. Skene's eyes light up as he sees a backpack still left untouched and just a few feet from it, a knife. But his expression falters when the District One boy catches sight of him. Talon, Skene believed his name was. Smirking, the blonde haired boy starts on his way towards the District Eleven male. Skene takes a cautious step back, his gaze moving quickly between the other tribute and the backpack. Talon notices this and steps towards the supplies. Taking the backpack in hand, he continues to smirk at Skene, "You want it?" his tone is mocking, and Skene has to resist the urge to leap forward and strike him with his fist. The District One boy chuckles darkly, "C'mon, we'll fight for it," he takes the knife in his left hand and tosses it lazily towards Skene who catches it with surprising ease, "No tricks, c'mon Eleven. You're not a coward, are you?" Skene glares daggers at the pretty-faced boy in front of him. Arrogant. Cocky. Stupid. Everything Skene wasn't. He didn't even care that all around him, children were falling. He could be next. And so he turns and he runs, much to Talon's dismay. But the District One boy does not give chase; there were bigger fish to fry.
From Thread: SKYPE O3O Sat Jun 22, 2013 1:00:31 AM
Yeah I have Skype but it's only for people that I personally know.That's how it will always be.For me, Skype is just something to resort to when phones are down or somebody's asleep and I don't wanna wake them.All that junk.
Yeah... Well, the only reason that I replied in the first place is because you answered it.... I placed this thread as one of those spammers... There's too much, I tell you...
I guess your right... Sometimes you have to pay attention .... Who knows, they might have a weapon or something and there you are listening to your music... I can see myself spacing out.... Well, in our school, my elementary school anyways, I'm one of those disciplinary officers, if you call it that... man, looking back at it now, I feel like I bullied those poor people... It's their fault anyways, they simply don't shut up. Well, good thing is is that I only punched two people!! Heck yeah!! The first one having a broken tooth... Man, I was nervous when that happened... He had blood in his face.... The second one being throwing our lunch boxes at each other...
Until finally, you feel as though your only escape is it.
I guess I shouldn’t have let it get this far.
But it seemed right at first. . .
Stranger. Gazing at me with vacant, hazy, gray eyes. Their pale lips quiver, parting somewhat just as a droplet of sweat trickles. The perspiration slips past the upper lip, and trembles down the bottom. It travels a lean chin before breaking apart from skin and plummeting to a sink; water running on high to drown out the heaved breaths. The stranger’s entire face is a sickly hue. Papery. Blue veins visible on a drenched forehead – as well as a point for several strands of thinning onyx hair to cling. This face used to be. . . Alive.
I know. Because it. . . it used to be mine.
Vision blurs, and the stranger begins to dissolve. Tears boil over, streaming down cheeks and meeting the same fate as that droplet of sweat. They all collapse within the cracking sink, mixing with water, only to be forced down the drain. My fingers curl against the bathroom counter, hands on either side of the sink. My head lowers, chin connecting with rattling chest. My heart painfully throbs, an irregular rhythm a reminder of my mistakes. Every pulsation causes my ribcage to unnaturally lash against lungs, only to send off more pain receptors. A beat is skipped. My legs give a hefty shake before giving in. Bringing me to my knees.
My hands slide off the countertop, fingertips brushing against the cool marble, passing over a forming crevice. Arms fall limp at sides, head still bowed. Each heartbeat is off. Not one corresponds with the next. It’s an orchestra gone wrong. No tempo to rescue the cacophony. Eyelids are suddenly weighted. Filled with lead. They seal shut, plunging me towards recognizable darkness. I feel so sick. Yet. Not.