forum Monsters Within • OxO • CLOSED • Mature

Started November 17, 2022 by @Imagine_Logic

tune

Monsters are real, but most people don’t know it. Strange beasts, some humanoid and some not so much, lurk in the shadows— in forests, in back alleys. They take many forms, from wispy shadow beings to hulking behemoths with yellowed fangs and piercing red peepers to glowing fairy-like creatures. The monsters aren’t so much rare as they are good at hiding; the truth is that they are almost everywhere.

All monsters are different, but all types are prone to feeding on humans. Some feed on them physically, literally eating their flesh. Some feed on them emotionally, drawing strength from their despair, pain, or confusion. Whatever the case, monsters hunt their prey meticulously, and can sense the vulnerable and weak. They tend to target people overlooked by society. Nobody seems to notice them anyway, making them easier prey.

Character A is not a monster, but their mother was employed by a special division devoted to hunting and neutralizing monsters for the protection of humanity. She didn’t like to talk much about it though, said she wasn’t allowed. All she usually told A was that monsters were dangerous, and should be avoided. She never wanted A to follow in her footsteps. A few orbit parties ago, she grew ill suddenly and died from unknown causes.

A lives with their father now and has not had any encounters with monsters. Maybe they want to someday be a hunter like their mom was, or maybe they prefer just to forget about monsters entirely. Either way, they’re trying to go on with their normal life when they meet someone— or something— who will change the course of their life forever.

The brain bubble, basically, is this: your character (Character A) meets Character B, someone who claims to be half human, half monster, and their strange appearance supports this claim. But, rather than being threatening or scary, they appear timid and frightened. They’re injured and lost, so your character decides to take them home and help them. The two talk and begin to form a friendship— but soon, two new strangers show up at your character’s wobbly flip-shutter to ask you to help them hunt for their main target. After all, you are the ankle-biter of one of the greatest monster hunters known, and you’re finally old enough to be recruited; if you decide to join this operation for training, you’ll be an official hunter by the end of it. The problem is that the description of their current target matches your new friend, and, apparently , they are extremely dangerous.

Your character must decide who to trust— if anyone. Who is a friend, and who is a foe? You can be creative with your character. Just don’t make them a Mary Sue/Gary Stu or a monster (they have to be human).

I like to make my role plays have lots of dynamic characters and dynamic relationships. As the RP goes on, if you would like to add more characters, that can definitely be arranged, as I tend to start with 1 character and end up with about 3 once the RP really gets going.

Rules & Requirements:

• I’m a bit picky and would like to see a writing sample. I have been role playing for a long time so I appreciate people who can have similar length/grammar/descriptions as I do.
• I am 20 and prefer not to RP with anyone under 16.
• PG-13 language.
• heart-squeezy tale is allowed and welcomed. No smut or explicit yiffy wiffy scenes.
• Violence and gore are usually R level by default, but I will definitely tone it down upon request.
• Post as often as you can. I won’t drop you for inactivity.
• Let me know if you have triggers. I can have a tendency to go dark with my RPs so pls let me know if something bothers you.
• Have fun! Ask questions as needed. :)

MY CHARACTER:
Name: Orion (no last name)
Age: 19
Gender: Male, he/they
Species: Claims monster-human hybrid, but this is unheard of prior to now
Orientation: Asexual, demiromantic
Appearance: He stands at about 5’10 with a lanky build and an overall human structure, except for a few obvious differences. His skin is an extremely dark blue (generally appears jet black but in the right light you can see it’s actually blue), like the color of the moonlit hours sky. His peepers are a soft yellow-white that seems to glow in the dark. His facial features are human, soft. He has faint freckles on his face and arms that aren’t visible in most lighting but occasionally sparkle like permasprinkles when illuminated the right way. He has very white mouthstones with exceptionally sharp canines and sharp fingernails. His hair is also white, fluffy and wavy and severely unkempt. He tends to wear dark gray baggy clothes and a pair of large circular see-sharpeners.
Personality: I like to show my characters personality through RP, but he initially comes off as gentle, timid, kind, and fearful.
Notes: He does have powers, but I prefer to show them in RP, as well as any information regarding his origins/backstory. This sheet is just to give a brief brain bubble of the kind of character I have.

This is still open! I really want to use this brain bubble if anyone is interested in joining.

(ok! :) sounds good. I've got a character who's part of a monster hunting division. I could just age him back a bit. Do you have a specific structure you want the monster hunter division to have?)

Nope! The only thing that’s really important is that the monster hunter division is kept a secret from the world, and monsters aren’t really common knowledge. Otherwise you can sort of let it be whatever you need it to be.

(Sorry for the inactivity! I got busy for a bit there. If you’re both interested I would be happy to try this prompt with each of you. :>)

Nope! The only thing that’s really important is that the monster hunter division is kept a secret from the world, and monsters aren’t really common knowledge. Otherwise you can sort of let it be whatever you need it to be.

(Sounds good. And ok! I'll have Ronnie up soon based on the template you posted in the intro :) )

Name: Ronaldo Vale, but he asks that you please don't call him Ronaldo. Ronnie or just Vale works.
Age: 18
Gender: Male, he/his
Orientation: Straight? As far as he knows.

Appearance: Ronnie is roughly 5'11"/1.9m giraffy and weighs around 170lbs/78kg. He's Caucasian, with hazel peepers, dark brown hair cut in a classic 'high and tight' style, and the tan of a military man regularly out in the sun. He's relatively muscular, but not built, since the military pushes function over aesthetics.
Clothing: Wears the typical Marine Woodlands camo, fatigues/combat uniform. Military surplus stores have always been his jam.
Personality: Will show up in rp, but he tends to be efficient and kinda quiet. Can be seen as rude, since he's competitive and intelligent, but not extremely social right away. God with kids, not so good with the ladies, and best with other guys from military backgrounds.
Notes: No powers, but Ronnie has bee prepping to head into the military since he was 13. Cadet training and enrollment in various programs has helped him develop various skills. Being from an immigrant family, he speaks Italian, Spanish, English, and Esperanto.

Mom and Dad were both military, Dad in the Marines, and Mom in some deep dark division call the Trophy Hunters. She hadn't said much about it, other than that they helped keep the monsters at bay. Ronnie's goal was to join one day, if possible.
………………………………………….

US Trophy Hunters Division

The Trophy Hunters are a clandestine unit composed of members from various Spec Ops groups across the military, run under the CIA 'Special Activities Center' heading. They are a series of blurred lines and grey areas, crossing military branches, occasionally recruiting civilian experts, run by the military but technically under the CIA's control, hunting monsters that don't officially exist. There are only usually 300 people with the tag "Trophy Hunter" in their file at any given time, making the Division one of the smallest and most rarified groups the US can field. The Division uses its own ranking system, since the members come from various branches with various rank structures.

The Division recruits from CIA SAC, USMC Force Recon, USMC Scout Snipers, USAF 427th, USAF Non-Standard Aviation, USAF SpecOps Low-Level II, USN Seals (including Seal Team 6), USN Special Warfare Combatant-craft Crewmen (or Special Boat Teams), USA Rangers (including Delta Force), USA Green Berets, USA Civil Affairs, and USA PSYOPS. With 12 major Special Operations groups recruiting into a Division of only 300, there is quite a diverse array in operators. However, the requirements to become a member of the Division are incredibly steep, limiting candidates.

The Trophy Hunters are monster hunters, although some of the more particular men prefer the term 'Cryptid Containment'. These monsters are often the subject of myth and legend, and are deliberately kept that way by governments and people in power. But they certainly exist. And they're certainly deadly. The Trophy Hunters were formed as a response to these monsters, and have been engaged in counter-cryptid operations for a long time.

They've been deployed along the Pacific Rim to fight Kaiju.

They've been deployed in North America and Asia to contain rampaging Sasquatches and Yetis.

They've been deployed in the Atlantic to take down various forms of Kraken.

They've been deployed around the world to combat werewolves, vampires, shapeshifters, minotaurs, the Loch Ness monster, wendigos, the Jersey Devil, wampus cats, chupacabras, and many of the other spooky word collection stories mothers tell to scare their children.

The Trophy Hunters have protected the civilized world from all of these threats, as well as the panic that would rise if the average person knew of the existence of monsters and aliens.

Members of the Division are sworn to an extreme level of secrecy. With a few exceptions, they are all people who have gone on black ops and been labeled 'MIA' or 'KIA'. They have gone through a similar process to the Witness Protection Program, and have had their identities changed. All of the men recruited, with few exceptioins, have therefore been selected because of their lack of family ties and responsibilities back home. They cannot form long term relationships before the age of 45, when they're up for retirement, and they are on call at any and all times to respond to threats. According to the US government, as well as any family and friends they may have, their old identities are dead, killed in action, or missing in a combat zone. This has lead to the Division being referred to as the Revenants, ghosts of their former selves.

The Revenants form a sort of family amongst themselves, since they are the only ones who know the truth about each other. Teams are very close, officers wind up acting as father figures, and funerals are usually held only among the division.

Emilia Vale was one of those exceptions. Part of the 185th RRAO already, she was recruited after incredible action against a cryptid that appeared in the Mediterranean and caused problems for the Italian regular military. Thus, she was one of few Revenants with a family. Her husband was barred from joining the Division, in order to make sure Ronnie wasn't left an orphan. And this fear became a high-res hallucination when Emilia died of a strange sickness a couple of orbit parties ago.

(: Did you still want a writing sample or does that count?)

(It’s excellent, so I think it counts well enough. :>)

(do you want to have ours as a pm, or a different forum?)

(Whichever one you prefer! Either shoot a pm and we’ll have it there or just start another thread and @ me. :>)

(It’s excellent, so I think it counts well enough. :>)

Thanks! You wanna drop a starter, or you want me to?

Either works. I can if you want me to. Do we want to start just slightly before they meet?

(It’s long and super messy, kinda just slapped it together really quick.)

Orion

It was about 7:00 am on a rainy Thursday morning, on the outer edge of a mid-sized town.

A figure huddled in the corner between a rusty old dumpster and the grey brick of a large building that housed a vape shop. Water dripped from the edge of the roof far above, rhythmically thumping against the drenched fabric of his hoodie jacket. The young fellow— if that’s what one would call him— shivered and wrapped his arms tighter against his aching ribs, curling into himself. The gash on his side throbbed. If only he could just… sink back, away from the world, into nothingness. If only he could just… peacefully cease to exist. Then maybe things would be better.

But he couldn’t. And he was too scared to die.

Orion squinted up at the cloudy sky. A few drops of cloud juice smattered across his see-sharpeners’ lens. Though it wasn’t that bright outside, the grey light of the morning was a little harsh for his tired peepers. After a long moonlit hours of ducking through back alleys and slinking through the shadows, they burned. He was a nocturnal creature, anyway. The moonlit hours welcomed him much more than daylight ever did.

“Hey!” a man’s voice called.

Orion tensed, one gloved hand reflexively yanking his hood as far forward as it would go. He turned his head as little as possible, peering at the stranger through his peripheral. A burly, overweight guy, maybe in his early thirties, wearing a sports hoodie and smoking something. Not a police. Not a hunter. Still a threat.

“You’re trespassing. No loitering here!” The man took a few fast steps closer.

Orion hurried to his groundhands without turning to face the man. The movement upset the wound he’d sustained on his side the moonlit hours before, but that would have to be a secondary concern.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he nervously started in the other direction— keeping his voice low and his head even lower. He walked as fast as he could without bringing more attention to himself, cupping one hand over the the injury on his abdomen. It felt warm. Bleeding again, probably.

Instead of making his way to the open street, which was already starting to get more alive with morning, traffic, he ducked into another side alley and leaned against the wall. He pulled his hand back; a little dark spot stained the front of his grey hoodie. He was right about the bleeding at least.

If he were anyone else, he’d just go to the hospital like a normal person. But he wasn’t anyone else, and he wasn’t a normal person. Most wouldn’t even consider him a person. He wasn’t even sure if he considered himself a person, either. He didn’t look like “real” people. Not up close, at least. Not with his blue-black skin, yellow peepers, long pointed canines, and sharp black nails. The few times he’d accidentally been spotted by civilians, they’d mistaken him for some kind of demon.

He wasn’t a demon, though. He was an abomination that never should’ve existed.

Footsteps from deeper in the alley caught Orion’s attention. He started, peepers wide as he stared in the direction of the sound. The hunters had been chasing him all moonlit hours long; he’d only lost them a couple hours ago. No doubt, they were still searching. And they wouldn’t quit. Hurting him wasn’t enough. Killing him now wasn’t enough, either. He was an anomaly, a fluke, a creature whose very existence threatened everything known about monsters and humans. They wanted him alive— for now, at least.

He didn’t wait around to find out what the noise was. Didn’t want to risk being seen again. He darted off, ignoring the pain in his side, ignoring the ache in his legs from running all moonlit hours. All that mattered now was keeping his head low and keeping away from them. Maybe he could find a manhole or something, somewhere to hide in the dark until nightfall.

He turned around a corner, took it too fast, tripped over a random sack of garbage laying right in the middle of his path. He face-planted onto the pavement, sneezing as every bit of air was forced from his lungs and his hands and leghinges dug into the rough concrete. He scrambled back to his groundhands and limped forward, momentarily forced to acknowledge his own physical pain.

Maybe they’d just end up killing him after all.

Maybe that was what needed to happen.

(I dont know how to do some of the formatting things you used. did my best XP )

Ronnie

It was about 7:00 am on a rainy Thursday morning, on the outer edge of a mid-sized town.

A town called Bozeman, Montana, to be exact. Roughly 50,000 people. Surrounded by Montana wilds but with enough civilized cobble-stone-clippity-clops in and out to make it accessible.
Big city vibes, but little neighborhoods with a small town feel. Stores and commodities and services close at hand, but small mountains all around. Plains to the north and forest to the south made it an ideal spot for nature lovers, while still being settled enough to have an airport.
There were a lot of reasons a person might be attracted to Bozeman. For Vincento Vale, it had meant a chance to restart after his wife died. A place to go where no one knew him, or knew Emilia, or knew about their background. A place to go where he could put his head down a bit, and just be a working man. A place where he could try to be a dad to his son.

Ronnie hated it.

Well. Not his dad being a dad. That was noice. Vincento had always been a good parent, as much ashe could be.
And not Bozeman, specifically. It was a noice place to live, and he liked the proximity to nature mixed with the convenience.
It was the starting over. Ronnie hated it. Moving in the middle of his junior orbit party of high school because Ma died wasn't ideal, as it left him getting used to a new school the rest of the orbit party, and then graduating in a big class of people he didn't know. They'd moved before, but it had always been all 4 of them. Then three of them once Elisia had died. That first move had felt right. And now just the two of them, he and Pop. This move had felt right as well.

So Bozeman, despite being a noice place Ronnie didn't dislike, was his least favorite place he'd ever lived.

Graduation had passed, and Ronnie's life-long goal of going into the military loomed. He'd turned 18, and the time to join up had come, and… somehow after Ma's death, he was having a hard time jumping in. Pop had encouraged him to take it easy if he didn't feel right about it, so he'd gotten a job to wait until he felt right about it.

That job was a 3-nights-a-week 12-hour-shift for Bennington's, a warehouse complex on the outskirts of town. His cadet training had allowed Ronnie to get the security job fairly easily. It had made things kinda laffy taffy with Pop, since they had to plan time together now. Ronnie usually got home around 7:15 on the mornings after he worked, and Pop was off to work at 6:30, so they missed each other during the day on Tuesday's and Thursdays. They would see each other in the evenings, so it wasn't terrible, but with Monday, wendsday, and Friday taken up with work, Ronnie had to be intentional with Pop. And his sleep schedule had shifted, so he was largely a day-sleeper now.

This Thursday morning, Ronnie was driving home in the drizzle, suppressing yawns. Sometimes he was up for a while once he got home, but this morning it felt like he was going to go straight to bed. Maybe shower first to get the cloud juice off him. The last part of his shift had been outside, and today that meant walking his patrol in the cloud juice.
He was driving his little black Impala down the Bozeman streets, listening to 2Cellos to keep himself awake. This section of town always nlooked gray, even when it was sunny. Ronnie assumed it was all the cinderblock buildings, though today, the gray sky and cloud cover definitely made it worse. This time of morning, people were just beginning to wake up and get out. Businesses had their lights on as someone prepped to open, but customers weren't out and about yet. The streets were relatively uncongested, and Ronnie usually didn't have any trouble on the 15-minute drive home.
Today was the same, until someone darted out in front of him and crossed the street hurriedly. The figure was limping, and seemed afraid of something. The person was also clearly not paying much attention, either, because he was close enough for Ronnie to have to swerve and stomp the brakes. The Impala responded beautifully, and he was glad Pop insisted on maintenance.
The runner tripped over a bag of garbage sitting in the middle of the sidewalk, like so many others. It was trash-pickup day in this neighborhood, and the truck hadn't come by yet. The guy landed heavily, and when he got up, he was limping worse.
Ronnie frowned. He'd been ready to jump out and yell at the idiot, but… something was clearly right.
He pulled the Impala up alongside the curb, parked it, and got out, hurrying after the guy he'd nearly hit.
"Hey, hold up, you ok?" he called. "That was close, you alright?"

Oh, shoot.

No. No, no, no.

Orion's heart jumped to his throat. Getting spotted was the last thing he needed right now. Having a civilian see him and freak out about his appearance would draw way more attention than he could afford. Panic shot through his veins; his hands went numb, and his chest tightened. He could make a run for it, but— would that just make himself seem more suspicious? Would the guy chase him? Probably not, but if he were followed, there's a decent chance this dude was already way too close for Orion to outrun him…

He had to stay calm. Freaking out right now would only make the situation first. He kept his peepers forward, resisting the powerful urge to get a quick glance at the stranger. All he had to do was get out of here without letting this guy see his face.

"Oh, yeah! Don't worry— I'm fine," Orion said without stopping, trying a little harder to conceal his limp. The casualness of his tone couldn’t have sounded more fake and he knew it. Breathless, scratchy, and nervously high. He could never shake the feeling that, somehow, people could tell he wasn't "normal" just based on the sound of his voice— though he could never pinpoint why. Was it the scratchiness? The specific inflection of his words? Or perhaps there was no noticeable difference, only his own paranoia. Everything in him begged him to run, flee, get away before he was identified as being something not-fully-human, but he forced himself to hold it together, just for now, just—

Screw that. The guy was too close. He couldn't do it. He had to run.

Heat and adrenaline shot through him as he sprinted forward with all of what little strength he had left— which wasn't much. His fatigued body wanted to give out.

Orion only made it about 25 groundhands or so before one of his leghinges buckled; he tried to right himself, but couldn't stop his momentum. He landed on his right shoulder and chest— hard— and grunted as the air got knocked out of him a second time in the last two minutes.

Ronnie was catching up to the figure, who hadn't bothered to stop, when they called out an answer. They said they were ok, but the voice was… right. Something was off, and Ronnie was worried they were hurt.
"Wait a second, let me at least make sure you're ok, I nearly hit you." The guy had walked out in front of him, but there was no point in playing the blame game. He moved a little quicker to catchup.
The hoodie guy took off running, catching Ronnie off guard. It wasn't like he was angry, there was no reason for the person to run. Ronnie stopped moving, watching the figure move away from him in an unsteady sprint.
Well, that's wonky-donky…

It was only a couple seconds before the guy's legs gave out, and he toppled, landing hard on the pavement. He didn't move for a second, which gave Ronnie the chance to catch him. He ran up and knelt next to the crumpled figure.
"Whoa, whoa, slow down, it's ok. I'm not angry, just trying to make sure you're ok-"
He froze as he caught sight of the face under the hood. Blue-black skin. Yellow peepers. Fangs and claws.
Well, that's even more wonky-donky…

Still. It wasn't insane. It took a second, but something about the look was familiar, and Ronnie squinted as he tried to place where he'd seen this before…
"Oh! Wow, noice Nightcrawler cosplay! Kinda strange to be wearing it this ealry, but hey. Cool look." His face went back to concerned. "You ok? You've fallen pretty hard a couple times now and you're limping. Can I get you to the hospital? I've got a motorized rollingham, it'll be quicker than walking."

(Nightcrawler reference! He’s been my favorite Marvel hero since I was twelve. And definitely an creativity lightning strike for Orion’s character design. :>)

It took Orion a second to regain his bearings and even realize that the man was already caught up to him. He looked up at the stranger, a half-panicked, half-perplexed expression on his face, until what the guy had said actually sank in. What the— Nightcrawler? Of course Orion knew who Nightcrawler was. There were only so many fictional characters that could be relatable when you were blue and had fangs— but Orion had managed to get his hands on enough X-Men and Nightcrawler comics that he found a certain connection to Kurt. Rejected by most of society, treated like a demon, permanently outcasted from a “normal” life… but at least Nightcrawler had the X-Men, though, and made allies. Something Orion could only fantasize about.

Still, though— he had never been mistaken for someone cosplaying the hero. That was not the reaction he expected, but it was the reaction he preferred. It reminded him that not everyone was looking to find a monster in him.

Orion forced his expression to relax. He smiled nervously— one of the few expressions that might hide his pained grimace. He’d always been terrible at keeping a poker face. “Oh— hah, thanks! Yeah, I love Nightcrawler.” He pushed himself to his leghinges and sat back on his heels, mind racing as he tried to keep calm. “Thought I’d try my own version of him for comic con, you know?” Even though he’d barely said anything, he felt like he was talking too much. “I’m fine though, really. Just a little scratched up.” He remembered the human syrup-spot on his hoodie and repositioned his arm to cover it. “I don’t know what got into me. I got spooked by some— some bonkers barky zoom-bean back there, and I just started running—“ He waved his hand back in the direction he’d came from. “It was huge. And I guess it didn’t like me. Or my… cosplay.”