Monster Art Online (OOC)
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January 21st, 2013 (10:39 AM). Edited January 27th, 2013 by Codaq.
Lisbon, Capital of Randomness
Here it is!
What am I supposed to write here? My virtues? Well, I guess that I only have one: I’m italian. People love Italian people because of their fancy accent and quixotic attitudes (Casanovic sounds too weird, so I guess I’ll stick to the classic Spanish examples…). Being a pure Italian like me is having a free-pass to do or say anything I want to, because: 1) no one will try to confront you, because they will think you have a cousin or an uncle that belongs to the mafia; 2) if you say “Ti mangerei” to a girl that passes you on the street, she won’t slap you, because she’s probably thinking that you just complimented her beauty, when in fact you just said that you wanted to … Well, never mind. But yes, I am a really flawed creature: I’m paranoid about everything I want and I can get really ambitious when
thing is somewhat important; pretty short-tempered when things don’t go as I expected them to; I prefer to be alone than to work as part of a team, because I have my own tempo and things are only perfect when I do them by myself; I’m really curious about almost everything and that’s my biggest flaw, because I often get in trouble as a consequence of my stupid and stubborn curiosity.
I started by saying that I had only one virtue, didn’t I? But, now that I think about it, maybe I have one or two more virtues despite my italianism: I can be extremely loyal to those who are in need of my help, but of course, everything comes with a price, and the more you pay, the more loyal I get. In addition, I’m always honest and I say whatever I think without being biting around the bush. So, if you’re seeking a loyal and honest friend, you can always count on me, unless you’re penniless (euroless sounds as weird as Casanovic, so… Long live the English pennies).
My history, hum? Well, it’s nothing interesting I warn you, but if you want me to tell it, that’s okay.
I was born in Milan, my real hometown and place where I spent most years of my childhood, as he second son of a
family of jewelers. Yes, my father and mother share the same profession as jewelers, and I must tell you that every ring, necklace or bracelet you see a count or countess wearing was made by the Castafiore jewelers. My parents’ products are really famous all over Italy and everyone who wants to impress and get fancy knows that the Castafiore jewels are a “must have”.
As you can imagine, these pieces aren’t that cheap and because of that my family always had enough money to buy expensive things for me and my brother. Oh, I forgot to mention that bastard’s name… His name is Giancarlo and he’s something like five years older than me, but since I don’t see him or read from him for about… hum… Five? Six? Ten years? I really don’t know where he is and how old he is right now, because I can’t even recall the last time I saw that
for the last time. But let me get forward on “Vincenzo Castafiore’s Life History of Controversies”.
I wasn’t born the flawed creature I told I am.
No, no, no.
I was born a pretty and lovely boy that did everything like his parents told him to do: not to lie, not to steal, not to disrespect older people, to do the homeworks, not to say bad words, and all those things our parents teach us to do or not to do. But one day, when I was about to turn eight, the
found that the gold used to make the precious Castafiore jewels was being stolen by my parents, to the Count Juromeño – a Spanish count that was a big friend of ours and a pleased customer of my family’s store. This put an end on the first chapter of the “Immaculate Childhood of Vincenzo Castafiore” and started turning me into the imperfect being I currently am.
My parents were judged and condemned to ten years of prison, and as you can imagine, they couldn’t leave two young promising sons alone in this Louis Armstrong’s Wonderful World. Since we had no relatives in Europe, my brother and I were taken to an orphanage. Yes, that was the beginning of my career as a flawed creature, but let me tell more about this orphanage: it was a part of a monastery in Turin (a city near Milan), where abandoned children, from all over the country, were deposited, just like a storage. My brother was already thirteen and didn’t spend that much time at the monastery, because on the second month he decided to run away, leaving the youngest and only brother he ever had, behind.
“Un uomo deve fare quello che un uomo deve fare.” He said like he was eighty years old or something.
I lived there for about eight years with the other kids, the priests, the monks and the ladies that used to visit the monks’ rooms in the middle of night and to who we were not allowed to talk. They were not the best years of my life, but at least I was safe from those who wanted to get revenge on my family, I had food and water, plenty of faith everyday and was taught some sciences that really helped me out in the following years after I left the monastery, namely botanic and zoology. Oh, you thought I had no studies? Stronzo! I have more studies than the Count of Juromeña himself, by now. The monks taught me italian literature, physics, botanic, zoology, Latin and English. Everything a guy needs to know nowadays, if he wants to survive in this world of savages and Carabinieris.
I left the monastery, on the night I turned sixteen, for obvious reasons: first, no one wanted to adopt a teenager whose parents, who stole gold from the most influent count in North Italy!, were arrested and had something to do with the northern mafia families; and second, because I wanted to live outside that captivity and explore the world, just like my brother did. Un uomo deve fare quello che un uomo deve fare.
Six years have passed, since my successful escape from the Monastery of Turin, and I can ensure you that I’m living on the edge! I’ve been through France, Spain, United Kingdom and as you can see I’m currently here at Germany, because I heard you could provide some escape from the real world to another one, where you can do whatever you wish and accomplish great things. Don’t put that look, I told it was not an interesting history. Where can I start?
Albero is 1.75m tall and is the skinny type, not having an exaggerated constitution, in order to match Vincenzo’s appearance. He has somewhat of an unkempt mane, which flows until a little above of his shoulders, gold colored like the jewelry her parents used to make. Wide and observer olive green eyes, glimpse in his face, scanning everything and everyone that passes him. He always puts up a serious look, unless there’s someone that interest him in the surroundings, not to catch other’s attention and keep unnoticed.
Albero’s clothes consist of a grey turtleneck, hidden by a green jacket without pockets. He doesn’t need pockets, because he has a belt with a big case where he can put things like stolen items and pokéballs. He also wears a pair of blue jeans, classic style, with casual black and white snickers.
“Try not to catch many attentions, Albero. You’ll need to keep your low profile if you want to survive this game. These simple clothes will do it; you’re just an ordinary trainer with an ordinary mission. Now put up that smile and head towards your new life!”
at Lv. 10
Iron Barbs |
Tackle, Harden, Rollout, Curse
at Lv. 8
Water Absorb |
Water Sport, Bubble, Hypnosis
I have no roleplay sample in english, but I'll post the first post of my FF:
First Event – The Swamp Thing
When I arrived to Corlake Town for the first time, there was one thing that caught my attention: the lake. Although it’s not as deep and big as Nessie’s lake, it has a considerable depth. And I’m not talking about physical depth; I’m talking about the depth of its existence, of its presence. Once you get to know it, you’re caught up in an invisible orb that makes you feel even more attracted. One might think that the lake is mesmerizing, but that is an understatement. The muddy water, curling at each breeze; the moss in the margins, accomplice of the lake in taking so many unwary lives that slippered into the water; the mist that isolates it from the outside world, creating a world of its own; the evergreeness of the trees that once graced that world… I can almost feel myself walking again around the margins, slippering once and while on the damp moss, inhaling that moisty air that filled my lungs with so many hopes. Back then, that lake was my source of faith, of hope, of passion. It watched me walk, run, fall, think, write, laugh, cry, ask my wife in marriage and walk with my two daughters. That lake was part of me; the part that keeps our memories alive and we fall back on when we lose our reality. But this is more about the lake than about me. The story I am about to tell here is about the first event that I assisted in Corlake Town, the one that started it all and how it changed entirely the course of my life.
It was the year of 1987 and I was starting my career in the police department of Corlake. I was a young and promising officer, still fresh from my years in the academy, and like every other young man, I had it all: strength, vitality, ambition and loads of testosterone that filled my soul with courage. Back in the academy I was very successful at every level and because of that my mentor, Captain Gills, pulled some strings and made me end up filling a “vacancy” on Corlake’s police station, where I would receive a very nice wage for a newbie. It was icing on the cake and for three years my career and personal life were the dream of every rookie officer. Until the day they found that men’s corpse floating on the lake.
Since my first day in Corlake’s station, all that I did was to assist my captain in his cases and fill those nasty reports with the details that the crime scene agents provided. Didn’t I say that I received a “very nice wage for a newbie”? Now, you see why. I wasn’t a detective or a crime scene agent, so my work was simply spending the day filling reports about wives that stabbed their husbands because they suspected they were cheating them, or kids that punched each other because they were from different races. As you can imagine, Corlake is not a big town – you’ve probably never heard of it… – and therefore there were no big murders to solve or serial killers to track. Just ******** crimes. But that day was different…
It was a sunny winter day of February and, as always, I went to work by foot, since my building was fairly close the police station - maybe a mile or two apart? There was no one on the streets, so it was quite quiet. And isn’t that the dream of every cop? To wake up, go to work and find that every single street of the town is peacefully silent? Mine was.
But then, while I enjoyed the deep quietness of the town and when I least expected anything to occur, something rammed me, causing me to fall against the poorly paved floor. All that I could think about was the immaculately uniform that gave me so much work to clean and iron!
«I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Mr. Officer!», a man apologized himself, while he tried to get up from the floor and help me getting up too, «I had…», a breath, «… to run…», another breath, «… to inform you that…», the man’s head was turning into violet by that time, «… that... there is a man floating on the water!»
I still remember the fear that ran through his tears, when he shouted those words. I asked him to calm down a little, because I didn’t knew what to do and that was the only idea that I had, in order to gain some time to think about what to do next. My first thought was to run towards the station and tell the first detective I stumbled upon what the man just told me, but that would be the most coward attitude for a police officer to have. Instead, I ran to the lake, with him in my heels (yes, he was nearly choking), hoping that my silliness didn’t turn me in a frightened chicken being carried to the fox’s lair. It could be a trap, after all. How many ways are there to lure a police officer than to appeal to his duty in a calm and silent morning? Tell one that a corpse is floating on the nearby lake and you just set the best trap of all.
But it wasn’t a trap. When we arrived at the lake, wheezing and gasping ourselves to death, there was no man floating. Not even a leg or an arm! Just muddy and rusty waves of water that soaked our feet as soon as we step the evergreen moss. I looked at the man and he rapidly realized what my thoughts were.
«There was a man floating on the water!», he shouted, hopping that the imaginary floating man came out from his hideout.
«Maybe you saw nothing but a branch.», I said.
«No, no, no!», replied him, shaking his head vigorously, while he stomped the floor, searching for an hatch or something where the man could be hiding from us, «It was there! Right there!», he pointed to a part of the shore, where the land was somewhat different from the one we were standing on.
«It looks like it forms a kind of swamp over there.», I stated, while walking carefully towards the area that the man pointed and trying not to slipper in the moisty moss. That uniform was sufficiently dirty and I didn’t want to muddy it up even more. I tested the area by trampling the boggy soil and felt my shoe being trapped in melted chocolate mud. That was no secure soil to be steping; one false step and I would find myself drowning in melted chocolate, not to mention my precious and delicate uniform being all mucked up. «Yeah, it’s definitely a swamp, over here.», I declared loudly so that the man could hear me, «But I still find no corpse.»
And when I looked again to the place where I left the man alone, there was no one there. I blinked my eyes one time, two, three, four, five, but there was still no man. I moved towards the place where he was supposed to be, but saw no marks or footprints; that man simply vanished from the face of the Earth. Hit me with a bolt if what I’m saying is not the truth! There was absolutely no damn man!
"Over the harsh nudity of truth - the diaphanous robe of fantasy"
The Relic, Eça de Queiroz
Joined Jan 2013
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