Post by necroRevivor on Jul 23, 2015 20:03:29 GMT -5
I AM still NOT GOOD WITH BIOS HOW DID I GET HERE?
Ublich Dopant
{Spoiler}Your name is UBLICH DOPANT and as far as you can tell you are at least 9 SWEEPS old. Your blood is PURPLE and as such you are expected to be an enforcer of sorts for the royal caste. However, you've taken to a life of isolation. You've felt your time and efforts could be best spent on perfecting your craft as an APOTHECORRUPTOR. A title suited for one with your kind of MEDICINAL talents. So you have little to no involvement in Highblood-Royalblood relations, yet. You spend countless nights and sleepless days toiling away inside your insidious HIVE trying to uncover the secrets of ALTERNIA's organic lifeforms. This, of course includes the troll population.
Speaking of your hive you are cozily located far from prying eyes in your SWAMP. Where your only worry are the odd FLARPER that ventures too deep and the filthy GYPSIES that hide away in it. A few of which who have become subjects for your EXPERIMENTS. For the sake of PROGRESS, nothing can be considered too heinous or immoral. In fact, you seem to have thrown morality completely out the metaphorical window. This lack of medical morals has left some with a poor OPINION of you. Calling you INSANE behind closed doors.
Let none say you never gave your VICTIMS a chance, though. You fancied yourself a GAMBLING troll and always let them attempt a chance at winning their LIVES back. This generally involved traditional games of your region. Poker, black jack, dice, and roulette respectively. You not only were LUCKY at them but were a skilled CHEATER as well. You have yet to lose a bet or patient.
At some point in your life you've taken a hobby of HABERDASHERY, enjoying the crafting of fine HEADWEAR. It was a coping mechanism for when you've become frustrated with work. But soon grew into another horrible obsession, The method you used was ARCHAIC at best and the chemicals used has cause you to take on the symptoms of MAD HATTER disease. Your body left WEAKER than the regular HIGHBLOOD and your pan hazy and CONFUSED at times.
With your memory dwindling because of this, you've become dependent on JOURNAL entries. You feel as if you pour your LIFE into these JOURNALS. Chronicling every experiment, meal or encounter as to prevent your life from unraveling during your lapses in memory. Some nights you catch yourself spending hours relearning your EARLIER YEARS, a nostalgic ritual of yours to say the least.
Despite your disabilities, you fancy yourself a ROMANTIC. But alas, you have quadrants as bare as a red-blood's pantry. Once, long ago, you had your SPADE stolen. This particular troll is the first ever to fall into your hive-trap and ESCAPE. Not only damaging your EGO but also breaking your HORN in the process. You had decided to HUNT this troll down which brought you to a quaint CAFE where you met several trolls you had not expected to find. Including a new SPADE...for now
In your lonesome quadrant and friendless life, you've come to find comfort in lady luck and an actual spiritual guidance. Your DECK OF PLAYING CARDS being your most favorite possession. You've gone so far as to make them your Strife Specibus. Giving you a keen aim and nimble wrists. Your nimbleness further improved by your love of tricks and the art of SLEIGHT-OF-HAND. In fact you rely on your deft hands all the time with your SLEIGHT-OF-HAND Modus. Though, sometimes it becomes a burden when you find your self pulling out, once again, 20ft of tied together handkerchiefs or a dead hopbeast. You swear you've never captchalogued them and yet there they are.
Your trolltag is confusedHaberdasher and you type “[| slyly with a slight HATtention to HATs, mon ami.” while your laughter can be heard echoing in the swamps.
Speaking of your hive you are cozily located far from prying eyes in your SWAMP. Where your only worry are the odd FLARPER that ventures too deep and the filthy GYPSIES that hide away in it. A few of which who have become subjects for your EXPERIMENTS. For the sake of PROGRESS, nothing can be considered too heinous or immoral. In fact, you seem to have thrown morality completely out the metaphorical window. This lack of medical morals has left some with a poor OPINION of you. Calling you INSANE behind closed doors.
Let none say you never gave your VICTIMS a chance, though. You fancied yourself a GAMBLING troll and always let them attempt a chance at winning their LIVES back. This generally involved traditional games of your region. Poker, black jack, dice, and roulette respectively. You not only were LUCKY at them but were a skilled CHEATER as well. You have yet to lose a bet or patient.
At some point in your life you've taken a hobby of HABERDASHERY, enjoying the crafting of fine HEADWEAR. It was a coping mechanism for when you've become frustrated with work. But soon grew into another horrible obsession, The method you used was ARCHAIC at best and the chemicals used has cause you to take on the symptoms of MAD HATTER disease. Your body left WEAKER than the regular HIGHBLOOD and your pan hazy and CONFUSED at times.
With your memory dwindling because of this, you've become dependent on JOURNAL entries. You feel as if you pour your LIFE into these JOURNALS. Chronicling every experiment, meal or encounter as to prevent your life from unraveling during your lapses in memory. Some nights you catch yourself spending hours relearning your EARLIER YEARS, a nostalgic ritual of yours to say the least.
Despite your disabilities, you fancy yourself a ROMANTIC. But alas, you have quadrants as bare as a red-blood's pantry. Once, long ago, you had your SPADE stolen. This particular troll is the first ever to fall into your hive-trap and ESCAPE. Not only damaging your EGO but also breaking your HORN in the process. You had decided to HUNT this troll down which brought you to a quaint CAFE where you met several trolls you had not expected to find. Including a new SPADE...for now
In your lonesome quadrant and friendless life, you've come to find comfort in lady luck and an actual spiritual guidance. Your DECK OF PLAYING CARDS being your most favorite possession. You've gone so far as to make them your Strife Specibus. Giving you a keen aim and nimble wrists. Your nimbleness further improved by your love of tricks and the art of SLEIGHT-OF-HAND. In fact you rely on your deft hands all the time with your SLEIGHT-OF-HAND Modus. Though, sometimes it becomes a burden when you find your self pulling out, once again, 20ft of tied together handkerchiefs or a dead hopbeast. You swear you've never captchalogued them and yet there they are.
Your trolltag is confusedHaberdasher and you type “[| slyly with a slight HATtention to HATs, mon ami.” while your laughter can be heard echoing in the swamps.
{Spoiler}
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Semoce Hoglaz
{Spoiler}Your name is SEMOCE HOGLAZ and you are SEVEN AND A HALF SWEEPS old. You are the master failure of FEAR.
Sadly you fall in the worst possible position in the RED caste. But hey on the bright side you have been hatched with the exceptionally useful ABILITY to psychically fill a victim with FEAR, it is simply a SHAME there hasn't been a troll hatched low enough to fall susceptible to it. But did this stop you from pursuing your rightful place as the MASTER OF FEAR? No, but the other trolls who enjoy grabbing you and stuffing STRAW into your clothing has certainly put a major SPEED BUMP on the road to TERROR KING. When not being TROLL-HANDLED ROUGHLY by your PEERS you often abuse the beasts in the wild with your power to entertain you and fuel your fragile EGO.
Because of your power falling victim to the HEMOSPECTRUM you have developed nothing but scorn and hatred for it. This however does not mean you've gathered the COURAGE to say anything about it. It's hard to start a rebellion when ever your PEERS look down on you. You long for the day when all colors bow before you in TERROR. Which of course will happen some night soon, right?
Too make ends meet you work on a NUTRIENTS FARM scaring off small FEATHERBEASTS away in exchange for ceagars. While being a living SCARECROW humiliates you causing said beasts to run in fear of you brings you one of your few joys in life. This pay fuels your lonesome hobby of reading STORY BOOKS. You enjoy them so much that you are sometimes known for QUOTING them. With your harsh life on ALTERNIA their fictitious ESCAPES is all you have to keep yourself relatively SANE. Your favorites of course being all in the HORROR genre though you hold a specially place in your blood pump for the EDGY FAIRY TALES OF BAD ENDINGS. Some call them wrigglerish and silly, but to you they are a golden treasure of a golden age of SADNESS.
Keeping you alive is a FEATHERBEAST Lusus. This specific FEATHERBEAST is very RAVEN like if it had been compared to human birds. Well if you ignore the three eyes. It often wonders how it raised such a failure of a troll. One would think constantly scaring the DICKENS out you would teach you a thing or two on how to behave. But no, you drive your Lusus to drink and wish he chose another.
Your fetch modus is MURDER. Haha! No silly, you are not murdering anyone! All your inventory flocks together in such a lovely mess it's like a murder of crows in there. Good luck finding anything amongst all those captcha-cards. In the violence department you wield the fearsome FORKKIND. Well it would be fearsome if the only viable weapon in the kind you own wasn't a silly old PITCHFORK.
Your trolltag is ornithoPhobiac and when you laugh you tend to get a little out of CAWntrol, CAW CAW CAW CAW!
Sadly you fall in the worst possible position in the RED caste. But hey on the bright side you have been hatched with the exceptionally useful ABILITY to psychically fill a victim with FEAR, it is simply a SHAME there hasn't been a troll hatched low enough to fall susceptible to it. But did this stop you from pursuing your rightful place as the MASTER OF FEAR? No, but the other trolls who enjoy grabbing you and stuffing STRAW into your clothing has certainly put a major SPEED BUMP on the road to TERROR KING. When not being TROLL-HANDLED ROUGHLY by your PEERS you often abuse the beasts in the wild with your power to entertain you and fuel your fragile EGO.
Because of your power falling victim to the HEMOSPECTRUM you have developed nothing but scorn and hatred for it. This however does not mean you've gathered the COURAGE to say anything about it. It's hard to start a rebellion when ever your PEERS look down on you. You long for the day when all colors bow before you in TERROR. Which of course will happen some night soon, right?
Too make ends meet you work on a NUTRIENTS FARM scaring off small FEATHERBEASTS away in exchange for ceagars. While being a living SCARECROW humiliates you causing said beasts to run in fear of you brings you one of your few joys in life. This pay fuels your lonesome hobby of reading STORY BOOKS. You enjoy them so much that you are sometimes known for QUOTING them. With your harsh life on ALTERNIA their fictitious ESCAPES is all you have to keep yourself relatively SANE. Your favorites of course being all in the HORROR genre though you hold a specially place in your blood pump for the EDGY FAIRY TALES OF BAD ENDINGS. Some call them wrigglerish and silly, but to you they are a golden treasure of a golden age of SADNESS.
Keeping you alive is a FEATHERBEAST Lusus. This specific FEATHERBEAST is very RAVEN like if it had been compared to human birds. Well if you ignore the three eyes. It often wonders how it raised such a failure of a troll. One would think constantly scaring the DICKENS out you would teach you a thing or two on how to behave. But no, you drive your Lusus to drink and wish he chose another.
Your fetch modus is MURDER. Haha! No silly, you are not murdering anyone! All your inventory flocks together in such a lovely mess it's like a murder of crows in there. Good luck finding anything amongst all those captcha-cards. In the violence department you wield the fearsome FORKKIND. Well it would be fearsome if the only viable weapon in the kind you own wasn't a silly old PITCHFORK.
Your trolltag is ornithoPhobiac and when you laugh you tend to get a little out of CAWntrol, CAW CAW CAW CAW!
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Samael Annapa
{Spoiler}Your name is SAMAEL ANNAPA and you are 6.5 sweep old today! Too bad half wriggling days don't count! Then again, real wriggling days don't mean anything to you either! Your blood color is CERULEAN and You reside north of the swamps and east of the nearest city. You travel to both frequently on your small RIVERBOAT you made yourself. On your journey you try to educate trolls on the AFTERLIFE. Unlike other DEATH obsessed trolls you don't desire to cull in great quantities. You simply wish to prepare trolls for their UNTIMELY DEMISE. The AFTERLIFE has always been a topic of both interest and curiosity to you. You do not fear it, but you also do not live in ignorance of it. Your duty to the AFTERLIFE doesn't end there. You also are a practiced UNDERTAKER. You make it your goal to perform sacred rights and BURNINGS of all corpses you come across lest they RISE UP ONCE MORE. Though you get to meet, befriend, and give final farewells to many trolls] in Alternia this way, your only true friend is your JACKALBEAST lusus. While he doesn't talk much, he is a firm protector to you while you embark on your duties to the AFTERLIFE. You are a curious troll to say the least.
Your opinion on theHEMOSPECTRUM is the same as how you feel about death, it's a part of life. Though, you choose to mask yourself as to lessen the bias of BOTH ENDS OF THE SPECTRUM when doing your work with dying trolls.
You also have found a fondness for certain activities in your travels. You've gotten pretty good at GAMES of the TRADITIONAL variety. Ones meant to be played between two trolls like connect quads and chexers. In fact, you fancy yourself pretty savvy at these sort of games. When in your lonesome on your RIVER travels, you've taken to playing music with the BONES instrument. Music is actually another big part of your life. As many ears as you can talk off about the AFTERLIFE you could do with music as well. Everything in the realm of spirituality seems to find itself on your tongue when speaking with others.
Your strife specibus is LAMPKIND. Specifically the LAMP you use to guide your RIVERBOAT. Not only does it guide the RIVERBOAT but it double for your modus. You guide your inventory out and into the plain of existence. Your troll tag is guidedFerryman and you e☠emPlIfy your devotIon to the afteRlIfe.
Your opinion on theHEMOSPECTRUM is the same as how you feel about death, it's a part of life. Though, you choose to mask yourself as to lessen the bias of BOTH ENDS OF THE SPECTRUM when doing your work with dying trolls.
You also have found a fondness for certain activities in your travels. You've gotten pretty good at GAMES of the TRADITIONAL variety. Ones meant to be played between two trolls like connect quads and chexers. In fact, you fancy yourself pretty savvy at these sort of games. When in your lonesome on your RIVER travels, you've taken to playing music with the BONES instrument. Music is actually another big part of your life. As many ears as you can talk off about the AFTERLIFE you could do with music as well. Everything in the realm of spirituality seems to find itself on your tongue when speaking with others.
Your strife specibus is LAMPKIND. Specifically the LAMP you use to guide your RIVERBOAT. Not only does it guide the RIVERBOAT but it double for your modus. You guide your inventory out and into the plain of existence. Your troll tag is guidedFerryman and you e☠emPlIfy your devotIon to the afteRlIfe.