IC D&D PbP RP ['IC' Thread]

[Okor]

There was a brief moment of unnatural peacefulness, a moment of silence and calm settling over the dim room, even the minuscule vibrations of atoms seeming to cease.

Like all good things, this served only to contrast to the immediate retribution for daring to think something positive could happen.

The door burst inwards, a filth-caked boot crashing against the wooden door of the domicile, the inhuman strength of the intruder threatening to crack the omnillium-reinforced portal. The divine king of chronomancy rose from his table, sputtering indignation from beneath his crimson robe as another youth turned from his introduction to regard the giant stepping out from the noxious miasma seeping from his every pore. Dangling from his cadverous mass, hanging alongside the dirtied bone of his skull-trophies, was a collection of air fresheners, the mint-green pine trees withering and screaming their silent howls of agony as they attempted to hold back Nurgle’s gifts.

“W-what the fuck, man! The door wasn’t even fully closed!” Shouted the sanguine-clad master of the game, wildly flailing arms struggling to fully express the frustration they were experiencing.

The rusted, horned helmet of the Chosen tilted, looking quizzically at the man who had called them together. ”That is how... you properly open doors. How would you have me open them?” Okor spoke, an entire swathe of the aromatic forest shrivelling in an attempt to spare his companions from an unfortunate poisoning.

Pale hands pressed themselves against a hooded face that was finding itself unable to fully comprehend the concept that a ten-thousand year old warrior had kicked down every door that had the nerve to stand in his way.  “Just… Just sit down. I’ll be sure to, uh, keep that in mind.” A pencil scrawled across the page, subtly adjusting the lethality of doors.