thiscloakisgreen (
thiscloakisgreen) wrote in
towerofanimus2013-01-08 12:32 am
Entry tags:
[OPEN] The king has arrived.
Characters: Victor von Doom--aka Dr. Doom--and whatever characters he comes across
Setting: Any random staircase, shortly after eating
Format: Either is fine, I'll match you
Summary: von Doom has recently found himself in yet another strange dimension. And he is relatively unfazed but clearly very annoyed.
Warnings: None really. Just don't waste his time, otherwise...rated T.
Just outside Room 5-02
...how disconcerting.
While many would succumb to the cold grip of fear or despair, there is a certain king who will not. There's already been a time wherein this king had found himself suddenly in a war--a secret war--that took place on a world far away from any other world one could imagine. Even then, this king came out on top. Or so he likes to think.
That king is Doom.
The central breastplate--what contains the more sophisticated gadgets of his arsenal--is missing. What remains are merely the limb plates and the mask, as well as a spare set of clothing. It shall suffice, if just for now. He was never one for words, so the instant his armor was on, he leaves.
Like a wraith, he almost glides out of the room, a quick yet silent pace that brought a whole new meaning to the word "ghastly". The hair on the back of one's neck might curl on end at the sight of him. Being in his way might cause trouble, a sign brought on by the instinctual level.
"Insolent wretch....Whomsoever placed me here will regret this."
Staircase
At a steady yet slow stride, the cloaked and armored man (as it were presumed) tolerates no hindrances.
Standing in front of him might seem like a terrible idea. His mission is unknown, and what drives this man--if he even is one, his physical appearance was not suggesting he necessarily was human--seems to drive him only on the highest gauge. Purpose guides every step further.
The architecture, he notes, is faulty and trivial. Clearly, it was held together by magic and not machines. A combination, perhaps, but more essence than form. While the hi tech visor and scanning computers were offline within his mask, a mere glance from a seasoned mind could spot that in an instant. The library would suffice, his mind still as clear as a silver brook now that it was nourished.
A strange crowd he would see, every so often. A fast and precise question was not out of the picture were the chance to present itself...
Setting: Any random staircase, shortly after eating
Format: Either is fine, I'll match you
Summary: von Doom has recently found himself in yet another strange dimension. And he is relatively unfazed but clearly very annoyed.
Warnings: None really. Just don't waste his time, otherwise...rated T.
Just outside Room 5-02
...how disconcerting.
While many would succumb to the cold grip of fear or despair, there is a certain king who will not. There's already been a time wherein this king had found himself suddenly in a war--a secret war--that took place on a world far away from any other world one could imagine. Even then, this king came out on top. Or so he likes to think.
That king is Doom.
The central breastplate--what contains the more sophisticated gadgets of his arsenal--is missing. What remains are merely the limb plates and the mask, as well as a spare set of clothing. It shall suffice, if just for now. He was never one for words, so the instant his armor was on, he leaves.
Like a wraith, he almost glides out of the room, a quick yet silent pace that brought a whole new meaning to the word "ghastly". The hair on the back of one's neck might curl on end at the sight of him. Being in his way might cause trouble, a sign brought on by the instinctual level.
"Insolent wretch....Whomsoever placed me here will regret this."
Staircase
At a steady yet slow stride, the cloaked and armored man (as it were presumed) tolerates no hindrances.
Standing in front of him might seem like a terrible idea. His mission is unknown, and what drives this man--if he even is one, his physical appearance was not suggesting he necessarily was human--seems to drive him only on the highest gauge. Purpose guides every step further.
The architecture, he notes, is faulty and trivial. Clearly, it was held together by magic and not machines. A combination, perhaps, but more essence than form. While the hi tech visor and scanning computers were offline within his mask, a mere glance from a seasoned mind could spot that in an instant. The library would suffice, his mind still as clear as a silver brook now that it was nourished.
A strange crowd he would see, every so often. A fast and precise question was not out of the picture were the chance to present itself...

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