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About Catsmeat

  • Rank
  • Birthday 01/16/1986

Role Play Details

  • Favorite RP Genre
    Era fantasy
  • Role Playing Style
    Forum, e-mail or chat. In forums I post often, up to once every day. In chats I post relatively slowly.
  • Favorite Character
    John Roman
  • Current Roleplays
    The Kirpan Dagger

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  • Gender
  1. PG-13 The Kirpan Dagger [OPEN]

    A cloud perhaps previously covering the sun's rays must have slowly drifted aside as the scene around them lit up once more - an effect too subtle even for the druid's otherwise indefatigable perception to consciously register. As Mr. Stone stood hurriedly from his seat and excused himself from Ms. Greene's presence with an intense glower altogether dissimilar to his cheery introduction, Roman pursed his lips in quick contemplation. If this man was after information why would he leave so early? Were this a round of 5 Card Draw it would be as though the man had folded his hand despite the option to check and remain in the game... Had the girl's simple utterance moved him so profoundly? The druid studied the man's retreating back for a moment before turning to his valet Henry, who still sat across the street. Their eyes locked and with the barest gesture of his chin after Mr. Stone, Roman impelled his valet to follow the receding stranger. Henry, a squat, bald bear of a man dressed in his immaculate uniform of black suit and bowler hat, stood slowly and followed after Mr. Stone while staying on the opposite side of the street, merely one of a dozen other Sunday perambulators unworthy of a second glance. Roman turned his attention back to the girl, sure that his man Henry would follow this Stone as needed. "Pay him no mind," he advised the girl, who seemed confused and possibly hurt by the man's sudden departure, no doubt fearing that her pronouncement had upset him. "I think you're just the person I need." When her eyes hesitated to return to Roman, instead lingering on Stone's retreating form, the druid slapped the flat of his hand against the table with a loud smack, making the girl jump as she swung back to face him, green eyes flashing with astonishment. "Forgive me my outburst," he entreated. "Time is somewhat of the essence. I am looking for a man, or more specifically an object I believe to be in his possession. I will reward you handsomely for this small endeavor but only if you are able to do so quickly. Now, what can you tell me about this man's whereabouts," he asked, leaning forward after reaching into his pocket and retrieving a small photograph, sliding it with two fingers along the table toward the girl. The photograph revealed a man in full formal dress with a dinner coat of a style more in keeping with the end of the previous century fashion, complete with cravat and top hat. Obfuscated by a rather impressive handlebar mustache was a young planar face, beset with small glimmering eyes beneath an expansive forehead. He stood with one booted foot propped upon a small boulder, a set of field tools in the foreground. "His name is Abaddon Serat, a notable anthropologist." He did not add that Abaddon Serat was a suspected warlock and member of the Slovakian crime syndicate known as the Ruthenia, nor that the girl's involvement in a search for Serat involved no small amount of risk to her. Roman knew that he was being watched by both those who wanted Serat found and those who wanted him to remain hidden. Either way the druid was in the crosshairs so to speak. Refraining from using his magic would help to keep his movements unclear, although at the expense of the innocent Ms. Greene's safety. "And this is the object that I believe to be in his possession," Roman continued, withdrawing yet another picture and sliding it across the table. The picture was of a curved dagger, obviously more ceremonial than functional, seemingly made of gold, or at least plated with it. Sanskrit symbols were etched into the blade. "It's called a kirpan, and is a valuable artifact." The girl took both photos and held them up before her, scrutinizing one then the other, back and forth again. Finally she put them both down and slid them back across the table. "I'm sorry, Mr. Roman - these don't mean anything to me. There's... just nothing there to look for." The druid nodded as he secreted the photos within his jacket once more. "Understandable. It seems then that a trip is in order." He angled his long body out of the chair, then fished through his pockets to pay for his coffee, finding and clicking a dime onto the table. He then withdrew an envelope and handed it to the girl, the envelope containing a neat stack of twenty $5 dollar bills. "Return home and pack your bags immediately. When you are ready ring this number," he advised, "and my chauffeur will pick you up. Pack warmly, Ms. Greene," he added as he turned to leave. "Prague is cold this time of year..." ***** ***** Despite his heavy frame and slight limp as he worked the cold-induced stiffness out of his bad knee, Charles Henry moved with a certain competence as he followed behind the tall stranger from the cafe. Not that he was sneaking, or making any effort to be hidden - he simply followed from a decent distance while remaining on the other side of the street, so that the man was never out of his sight for more than a moment or two after rounding a corner. If the man were to slip into any of the side buildings during these brief times when he was out of Henry's sight then the valet would simply report this back to Roman, who if needed could no doubt pick up the trail from there. It was during one of these moments after letting the target out of his sight, while he walked alone through a smaller side street connecting two main avenues that Henry first noticed that he was not alone. He glanced back behind him, and seeing nothing, continued on his way. When he was unable to shake the feeling, however, he surreptitiously reached into his jacket to place a hand on the butt of his Webley revolver. He moved to one side of the street, resting his back against the wall so that he could scan his eyes down either side of the street. He couldn't see anything, but being unable to break free of the sensation of being watched, Henry slowly withdrew his old service piece, opening the top-break action to inspect the loaded rounds before snapping the break closed and giving the cylinder a quick spin. It was then that he noticed what else was moving in the side street along with him - the shadows. Creeping along toward him from any which direction in defiance of the sun's angle or any other nearby light source, the shadows moved like outstretching fingers aiming to clutch at him. "What in the hell...?" the burly valet grumbled, leveling the revolver in the direction of the nearest creeping shadow. He squeezed off two shots aimed at the ground several paces away, where the shadows danced. Henry had served under John Roman for too long to be spooked by the supernatural or inexplicable, but neither was it an every day occurrence for him to battle shadow monsters. Shuffling sideways with his back still to the wall, Henry took another two shots as he considered retreating or pressing onward.
  2. PG-13 The Kirpan Dagger [OPEN]

    [Thanks for joining, and thanks for the info. I'll definitely make sure to be more descriptive of plot/direction/etc in future rps, and the discussion board sounds like a great way to stir up interest. As for this rp, I can give you the opening plot if you'd like, but since I'm more of a gardener than an architect, I don't have a specific path in mind for what comes farther down the road. The rp is going to involve the search for an object known as the kirpan dagger, which will be an artifact historically linked to a long-dead Persian society known as the Khalsa. I plan on having the psychic lead the druid to the current owner of the dagger, with complications arising such as other people/groups either out to find the artifact for themselves, or intent on destroying it or keeping it hidden. I have more thoughts beyond this of course, but I like to keep them vague even in my own mind in case the rp goes down a different path than what I might have originally thought. As far as your character goes, I really like him, so no changes needed. I'd prefer it if the group he's working for isn't the Khalsa, but beyond that I'm fine with whatever direction/motives you give him.] "Hello, Mr. Roman? I'm Gospel Greene - I understand you have need of my services. How can I help?" Roman stood to meet the young woman with a handshake before helping her into her seat. A quick glance from his keen brown eyes noted with a certain dissatisfaction her young age, certainly no more than 25 and perhaps a few years younger. All men despair over the newest generation, and the druid had lived to see more than his fair share of successive generations. This current batch was filled with a frivolity that left in his experience little room for competence, and his quest was too important to entrust to a child. He would test her, then, and verify if her psychic abilities were indeed as potent as had been claimed. "A pleasure to meet you Ms. Greene. I was told that you have a talent for perceiving what others--" he cut off with a quick glance at a sudden newcomer, who approached and introduced himself excitedly to Ms. Greene before presumptuously taking a seat. At the newcomer's approach, the druid noticed his valet Charles Henry standing from his spot on the bench across the street, preparing to make his way over with a look of determination wreathing his features. The druid waved him back with a nonchalant gesture, content to study this man on his own without Henry's involvement. That this man, this Thomas Stone, was lying there was no doubt. Roman had done his own research on the psychic before contacting her, and considering the absolute dearth of articles either penned or published by her it was unlikely that she had any fan outside her immediate family. Still, whatever the man's agenda, by introducing himself into the puzzle he'd given the druid yet another piece to work with towards a solution. "A fellow reporter!" Roman declared, matching the man's gaiety. "With what paper? How fascinating. Sit in if you insist, however it isn't Ms. Greene who will be asking the questions just now. As I was saying," he returned his gaze to the young woman, "I have heard that you have a talent for perceiving what others cannot. As you mentioned I have need of such services, but first I would like to verify this talent of yours to my own satisfaction." He delicately stamped out his cigarette in the nearby ashtray, then leaned forward in his chair. "Tell me something about myself that a stranger would not be able to deduce based on my physical appearance. Be as specific as you can." He would listen to her response impassively, and then turn to the man beside her. "And now the same for Mr. Stone," he requested. Were the girl to be as powerful a psychic as he required she would be able to give him something of use on this man's true identity or motivations. Of course she would also have just done the same regarding Roman, but the druid was not worried about this man learning some such thing about him. Roman no doubt had a whole litany of faults, but chief amongst them was certainly arrogance. ***** ***** Gospel blushed furiously as she was accosted by the man who introduced himself as being her biggest fan. A fan! Of course her passion for journalism was based on a strong foundation of curiosity and a deep interest in understanding how the world was shaped and by whom, not because she wanted to become famous. But... a fan! After beaming at the man who took a seat beside her, Gospel composed herself with a quick adjustment of her jet-black bob, tucking a wayward strand safely behind an ear. "How wonderful to meet you Mr. Stone." She glanced from beneath her bangs at John Roman across from her, afraid that the man would be skittish about relating his problem to her in front of another stranger, and a journalist at that. As much as she adored the unexpected recognition, Gospel had a desperate need to eat some time this month, and Mr. Roman was looking to be her best chance to do so. Luckily for her however, the man seemed to have no such compunction whatsoever as he continued with his request. Gospel gave Stone a sheepish look. She didn't want her biggest fan to think of her as some sort of crackpot, but she'd come this far to meet Roman and it was too much to ruin a chance at paying some of her bills simply for dignity's sake. Besides, perhaps she could explain to Stone that her 'psychic talents' were simply a ruse she used while conducting actual investigative journalism. In any case she had to clear her head of such thoughts and focus on Roman. Her green eyes locked onto his own gaze, and she let all distractions around her fade into the distance as she reached her mind toward him, to touch his. It was difficult to describe what she normally saw or felt when she 'read' someone like this, but she often thought of it as being like watching someone else's dreams and seeing a dozen fantasies and nightmares all together. Their passions; their fears; their childhood; sometimes even their future. What she saw when she looked into that darkly intent stare of his was more like a house of mirrors, distortion reflecting distortion. Different faces looked back at her from behind those mirrors, and whenever she focused on one it slipped into an inchoate haze. In the center of the house of mirrors lay a steel box bound in chains, though with beams of light bursting from within the keyhole. "I, uh, think you may be mad," she mumbled. "But if not..." she trailed off as she noticed that the beam of light occasionally illuminated an otherwise fog-obscured mirror. "You bought a Bentley roadster six months ago but haven't driven in it yet," she declared as she snapped back into her own mind, glad to restore some walls between herself and him. "And now the same for Mr. Stone," the man requested, without giving a hint of a reaction to her declaration. Gospel turned to the man beside her and, locking her eyes with his, went to 'read' him too. [i'll let you describe what if anything she observes!]
  3. PG-13 The Kirpan Dagger [OPEN]

    It was a good thing that she was unable to see her own future, because if when her talents had first manifested themselves when she was in her early teens and she had seen herself ten years down the road, living alone and virtually destitute with only the occasional freelance writing assignment keeping her off of the streets, Gospel mightn't have had the resolve to follow her passion to become a journalist. Perhaps instead she would have followed her mother's insistence and married that Daniel McAllister, raising his children and settling into that comfortable middle-aged aplomb that was so often the scourge of the inquisitive mind. By no means a dissatisfactory life - many of her childhood friends were already well on their way down this road and happily so - but to Gospel's mind it seemed more like one was giving up on life, when there was so much out there in this world to discover and embrace! Unfortunately while she was once in a position to disparage such a lifestyle, an empty bank account and an emptier stomach now forced the young woman to confront and reevaluate her choices. If she was to be unable to make her way in this world as a respected journalist then she would have to embrace her other talents to survive - and whenever she found herself with more bills than beans, more and more she turned to her inexplicable talent for 'reading,' or discerning and interpreting a person or object's aura. Obviously the world was full of people who were eager to sell you your fortune and yet were overwhelmingly fraudsters and cheats, but Gospel's talent had so far proven reliable enough that she was occasionally sought out by those in need of answers that couldn't be found by conventional means. "Hello, Mr. Roman?" she greeted as she approached the lone man outside the cafe. "I'm Gospel Greene. I understand that you have need of my services?" She suppressed a slight shiver as the cold morning wind temporarily cut through her white Mackintosh raincoat, and wondered why the man preferred to remain outdoors in spite of the steady drizzling rain. Taking the open seat across from him, Gospel met the man's stare with what she hoped was a disarming smile. Most of her clients, and especially men, were very uncomfortable asking for her particular kind of assistance, and she assumed that meeting here like this had to do with such reluctance. Well, she was both young and attractive - two proven palliatives for a man who needed to be set at ease. "How can I help?" When the waitress came by to take her order, Gospel politely declined. A hot cup of tea would have done wonders for her perpetually frozen hands, but such expenditures could come after this Mr. Roman paid her. Judging by his opulent appearance, if she played her cards right she wouldn't have to worry about rent any time soon... [sorry to post again, but I want to see if by getting the ball rolling a bit I can entice someone else to join in. I plan on this rp being a blend of fantasy, mystery and action, and this setting is pretty open to all types of imaginative, fantastical characters, so if any of that sounds interesting to you then definitely feel free to jump right in! I know I've just posted as the psychic here, but if that's a role that you're interested in playing then I'd be more than happy to void this post and let you introduce your own character. Or if you'd like to join in from this point but as a different character, this rp is definitely open for other roles. Perhaps your character is a friend or acquaintance of Roman's whom he asked to join this meeting, or maybe you're someone who is after the same thing that he is, but our purposes aren't aligned. Or a flat out enemy and the two of them are being forced by circumstances to join together if only temporarily. I have a story in mind but I'd love to collaborate with someone on it. Thanks for reading - hopefully you enjoyed it!]
  4. The Druid "Mens sensus prudentia intellectus cogitatio." Name: John Roman Title: The Druid Race: Human* Age: 42* Sex: Male Height: 6'1" Weight: 166lbs Hair: Brown, sleek Eyes: Brown, keen Description: Roman stands tall, and is handsome if gaunt, with slicked-back brown hair framing somewhat hawkish features. His keen brown eyes may evince the intense scrutiny that his prodigious intellect is capable of, but besides this his features are often studiously blank. He wears bespoke outfits for nearly every occasion, often favoring a grey wool herringbone three-piece suit and matching flat cap, with either walking stick or umbrella at hand. Known in some circles as a reserved, though eminently-polite, high-society gentleman, John Roman spends as little time as socially possible at the various parties and gentleman's clubs that his peers expect, preferring, it seems, to spend his time either in his expansive library or touring the world for weeks at a time. In much smaller circles it is known that Roman's library is full of occult tomes and items of which he is impressively knowledgeable, and that his frequent world tours are spent either procuring more, or alternately attending and hosting lectures on their origin and meaning. Known only to a very exclusive few, Roman is the current iteration of the druid - a magical being of unrivaled discipline and ability who uses both his innate skills and impressive collection of magical items in his battle to keep this world in balance with the other realms, both higher and lower. As the druid, Roman is gifted with a millennium of occult knowledge and power, passes down to him from every prior iteration, and as such is one of the more versatile and skillful mages on earth. Along with the collective knowledge of his forbears, the druid's mantle diminishes for Roman many human failings such as hunger, exhaustion, disease and aging, at the cost of human triumphs such as fraternity, compassion, love and progeneration. Seen In: The Kirpan Dagger Sample/Vignette: The rain had started just minutes before the two set out -- a poor omen for the night's task. The taller of the two, handsome if gaunt, wore a gray tweed overcoat, the collar upturned so that it overlapped the flat cap pulled low across his brow. In one gloved hand he carried a flashlight; in the other, a shovel. Beside him walked a shorter, wide-shouldered man wearing no coat, his white dress shirt sticking translucent to his skin with the rainfall. He handled a pick-axe and a satchel. The two walked in silence, their breath rising as heavy fog. The tall man's flashlight beam bounced up and down the gravel road ahead of them, then scaled up a locked gate as the two approached it. The gate was as wide as the road, after that it became a stone wall in each direction, sturdy enough to stop an automobile, and high enough to dissuade climbers. "You care about noise?" the wide-shouldered man asked, regarding the chain locked about the gate's bars. "I suppose not," the taller man replied. "The dead don't wake that easily." The coatless man nodded, dropping the empty satchel. He brought the pick-axe down with a powerful, two-handed overhead swing, striking the lock cleanly, popping the shackle from the body. Each man grabbed a wing and pushed, letting the chain slink along the bars before dropping to the gravel. The graveyard was small but not well-kept, as though the proprietors wished to forget their estate. No gravestone was free from ancient, clinging vines, and the two men had to cut each stone free to examine the name. Realizing the onerosity of their task, the taller man handed his flashlight to the other, advising that they split up. "Guess you can see in the dark too, uh?" the wide-shouldered man grumbled, rain falling freely from his bald head, down his dour features. His voice rumbled with the chesty congestion of a deep-set cold. The taller man shrugged, and went his own way. Nearly half of an hour passed, bringing the time around 2:30am, when the wide-shouldered man called out -- "John!" -- in a harsh, carrying whisper. "Roman! Found him!" The druid appeared beside the grave suddenly, silently, and the other man jerked involuntarily, surprised. Roman crouched easily, and peered at the gravestone's markings. "Well done, Henry. 'Mr. Bruce Archdeacon -- 1856-1892. Precious Lord take my hand.' A fine epitaph." "Settle for it on my own," Charles Henry agreed. The two men set to work, Henry's pick-axe breaking loose the soil, Roman's shovel taking deep bites from it.
  5. Introduction The Great War was over, and halfway through the 1920s America realized that it was a world power, the world power - and suddenly the steady march of mankind seemed to lurch forward with a frenzied pace as marvel after marvel swept the country and soon after the world. The automobile, the movie industry, radio, consumer goods and appliances, health and medicine... the modern world had become a beacon of light illuminating and enriching the lives of every man, woman and child. However, the brighter the light the deeper the shadow it casts, and in those shadows, foul things once-banished resurfaced and began to foment in the periphery. Demons of nightmare made flesh prowled the night, sowing the chaos on which they thrived; covens of witches and warlocks practiced and perfected the dark arts with every blasphemy and sacrifice they undertook. Vampires, faeries, succubae, ghouls, shape shifters, the undead, werewolves... all found renewed vigor as they slowly yet surely corrupted the unsuspecting mortal realm from which they had once all but disappeared. In the chaos of this modern duality of light and dark; science and magic; mankind and the supernatural - walks the druid, an entity of both worlds. Merely a man, yet the paragon of humanity, the druid is tasked with maintaining the balance between the mortal realm and the planes both above and below it. Gifted with powers to combat the dark forces of the underworld, the druid has existed in countless forms throughout the millenia - with each iteration wielding the total knowledge of his or her predecessors, along with the compounded burdens of such sacrificial service. The current iteration, John Roman has worn the druid's mantle for some decades, allowing himself to maintain an alter ego as an independently-wealthy gentleman bachelor throughout his crusade for balance between the realms. Known in some circles as a reserved, though eminently-polite, high-society gentleman, John Roman spends as little time as socially possible at the various parties and gentleman's clubs that his peers expect, preferring, it seems, to spend his time either in his expansive library or touring the world for weeks at a time. In much smaller circles it is known that Roman's library is full of occult tomes and items of which he is impressively knowledgeable, and that his frequent world tours are spent either procuring more, or alternately attending and hosting lectures on their origin and meaning. Known only to a very exclusive few, Roman is the current iteration of the druid - a magical being of unrivaled discipline and ability who uses both his innate skills and impressive collection of magical items in his battle to keep this world in balance with the other realms, both higher and lower. Although he has successfully defended the balance so far, the turn of the 20th century and the decades since have seen a great resurgence in the forces of shadows and night that even the druid cannot fully stem... The Kirpan Dagger A light drizzling rain borne by a cold wind cut through the streets of New York City. The druid wore a trilby hat that matched his gray wool overcoat, the brim of the hat fluttering against his brow as he turned down 118th. His coat trailed behind him dramatically like a pulp superhero's cape, and the echo of his black Oxfords on the pavement followed him like strafing gunfire. Despite the cold, the wind and the rain, John Roman chose to find seating outside of the small corner cafe, so that there were no unwanted ears eavesdropping on the conversation he was to have here. He took his seat, long thin body angling into the hard wire-wrought chair the cafe offered, feeling the damp of the cushion seeping into his clothing. He lit a Viceroy and was halfway through smoking it when the waitress appeared, walking with a hard look to her otherwise pleasant features, as though hoping a stern gaze would direct this wayward customer indoors. "Coffee, please," he said, crossing one leg over the other. "French-pressed. Another will be joining me shortly. Thank you," he added, excusing her with a slight gesture of his hand. He rolled up his collar, protecting his neck from the cold wind. Across the street on a public bench sat Roman's stalwart valet, Charles Henry. Although only human, Henry had seen action in the trenches of the Great War and had subsequently become something of a friend and confidant to the druid while serving as both his valet and his protector. For today's meeting Henry was required only to observe from a distance, although Roman knew that were there to be any trouble, the Webley revolver in the man's jacket pocket would be ready at a moment's notice. As his keen brown eyes crossed over his old friend, Roman gave him the barest of nods. Although settled deep within the emotionless void of the druid's mantle, Roman still felt a certain distaste at having to reach out to a clairvoyant - the purpose of today's meeting. It was certainly within his capabilities to find the man and the object that he was after - or so he assumed - and it galled him that he was reduced to 'contracting out' to a psychic. Still, he knew that he was in all likelihood being watched, and that any use of his druidic magic would only make his quarry all the harder to uncover. Despite his wounded pride, he knew that a psychic would be the surest line to his prize, provided that he could trust the man or woman that he was about to meet. He settled into his seat, and by the time his coffee arrived he had lit another cigarette as he waited. [i'm looking for someone to play as the psychic, but feel free to post as any other character if you'd rather. Perhaps an innocent, or a friend or enemy of the druid's. Thanks!]