#krpdatabase

FEATURED FOR THE MONTH OF AUGUST. 

Rules for being Featured of the month has changed a little. I’m not having it be one Facebook, then one this. It will be picked RANDOMLY and doesn’t matter on the platform of the RP. For example, there could be 2 Facebook or 2 MeWe.

In order to be entered in, you MUST like this post.

OF THE DIVINE.

As the stories are told, we hear about how they created the sea or lived in the moon, but we also are told about their family life, who they married and how they became who they were. And as time passed we are left to wonder what happened to their bloodlines. We know where they begin but where did they end? And finally, we are faced with the reality that they, might live among us.

They attempted a safe haven, deep near the edges of the water, asked for peace, and were granted it, until a new ruler had come to take over, and their peace had betaken from them. War broke out, millions of the ‘special’ people we slaughtered on the land, bodies buried and burned in a mass grave like animals. They were persecuted for a while, until his reign of terror had ended, they tried a second time, for peace.

                      Semi literate. Descendants of Deities. City RPG.

AN ASIAN GANG THEMED ROLEPLAY. 18+ CONTENT. AU.

There isn’t a silence, here. The wind is gently blowing the sickly smell of rotted garbage from the pitch-black alleys that even the junkies are afraid to go into. There is no silence, and the occasional shadow of a person leaks across the roadway. Silence would be too frightening. But this place has a music all its own. Metal shutters, caked with graffiti, are strapped like plasters over the reinforced windows, and they softly rattle. This place is complete in its incompleteness; the gap in the row of buildings on one side feels like the hole in your gum after a tooth’s just come out.

AN ASIAN GANG THEMED ROLEPLAY. 18+ CONTENT. AU.

There isn’t a silence, here. The wind is gently blowing the sickly smell of rotted garbage from the pitch-black alleys that even the junkies are afraid to go into. There is no silence, and the occasional shadow of a person leaks across the roadway. Silence would be too frightening. But this place has a music all its own. Metal shutters, caked with graffiti, are strapped like plasters over the reinforced windows, and they softly rattle. This place is complete in its incompleteness; the gap in the row of buildings on one side feels like the hole in your gum after a tooth’s just come out.