I've got this idea. | RP Idea, might turn into a One-On-One thing-

(This is interesting.)

(I like the gest of this idea. I want to try it out.)

(Although, you've never RPed with me before. So would you like a sample of my writing?)

(Do you have a preferred length you want the sample to be? And would you like the sample to be from a roleplay or just my writing in general?)

(So you want me to just make something up for a small sample?I'm just making sure I'm understanding.)

(It's alright. Here ya go)

He took large strides through the burning scenery, each step making a loud 'slap' against red stone. Tormented screams filled the hot air and a smirk spread across his face. He knew every twist and turn of the place like the back of his hand, including his claws. He loved all these faces he got to see, both new and old. He loved seeing the shake in fear and pain and seeing them scream in agony. It was perfect dissonance. He listened to their cries of "let me out" and their pleads of "I'm innocent." He took it all in with joy. From behind him, he heard one quiet whisper of a new arrival. He turned around, his grin growing sickeningly wide. He leaned forward, his horn gently poked against the new, terrified face. Hot breaths escaped from his mouth and formed four simple words.

"They call me Lucifer."

(Sorry, it's bad. I was having trouble making up something off the top of my head.)

(Thanks. I think I'll be the person who appears in the king's room. Unless you want to be. It doesn't really matter to me, I just chose randomly.)

(Sure!)

Full Name: Athilos Maria Acker

Age: Technically, over 200 years old, but he died at 30

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Homosexual

Appearance: His hair is long and a practically golden colour. It reaches halfway down his back when he wears it long or in a braid as he usually does. His eyes an ice-blue colour and are large. Most people describe his eyes as ghostly and haunting. His skin is a pale ivory colour and is completely free of blemishes. He wears a knee-length, white tunic that has embroidery and whatnot, and over it, he wears a thick, red velvet cloak. Under the tunic, he wears black tights. Despite his age, he has a very young appearance. He is short, standing at a mere 170cm and has a thin and fragile frame. His elegance is enough to instil jealousy into most and admiration into some.

History: TW: He assumed the throne at nineteen-years-old after the loss of his late brother who had been assassinated in his sleep. He spent years in melancholy knowing that has was doing the kingdom no good at all. All he could do was panic and dream of what it could have been like if his brother had lived. Every day, he listened to boos and jeers of unhappy people, it pained him so. He talked to his advisors about what he could possibly do to make the people happy, and his heart dropped when his advisor said "nothing." Later on, in that week, he was found hanging in his room by his bedsheets. He had taken his own life.

Since he had no nieces, nephews, or siblings to pass the throne to, the throne went to his older cousin, Henry Alec Crestor. Whose bloodline has held the crown since, calling the Acker family nothing but "a lot of madmen."

Personality (Optional): He deeply cares about the wellbeing of the kingdom and the people in it and it pains him to see the kingdom before treated unjustly. He is an extremely empathetic person, but his emotions tend to make him impulsive.

Other: Despite his whole "being dead" ordeal, he is a tangible being. At times. He can choose whether or not he can be seen or touched. And although he has the ability to float everywhere, he walks instead most commonly.

(Sorry I took so long, I tend to think out my characters for a while. This is actually one of the quickest times I've gotten a form in lol.)

(There's nothing that I can think of at the moment. I'll probably think of something later on, because that's just how my scattered brain works.)

(You can start! I'd love to hear your starter.)

(Don't worry, my passages are usually something longer than that, so it doesn't concern me.)

Athilos walked through the familiar stone path of the kingdom. A kingdom once his. He missed the sound of his shoes slapping against the cobblestone. Now it was naught but faint wooshes coming from barefoot feet. He looked around at the buildings, the faces were new but the names were old. His eyes were jaded from the memories of what could have been and what there was now. Pain stabbed holes in his ghostly body, the pain of giving up. He couldn't protect this fair kingdom while he was alive, so he felt guilty and as if he needed to do so while he was dead.

He made his way toward the place where the throne resided. A grand chair that he had cherished oh-so-briefly. He hoped with all of his makeshift heart that it had passed over to someone grand who deserved it. Someone just as great as his brother could have been.

He soon arrived, a wave of disappointment washing over him. At the throne, he saw a man and a magician. The magician working himself to the bone and the man, well, just not caring. This "king" didn't smile nor clap, his just silently ridiculed the frightened magician. It upset Athilos quite a bit. He crossed his arms and floated in wait, wait to see some type of demeanor change, a twitch of a smile even.

(is that too long? Would you like my replies to be shorter?)

Athilos watched carefully as the man left his throne. This man showed no empathy whatsoever, he found quite pitiful. Never before had he seen someone so self-absorbed, unconcerned, so… narcissistic. It angered him quite a lot. A huff of air escaped his nose, one only audible to him.

He walked over to the now vacant throne and sat himself in it. It was a vaguely familiar feeling. His memories flashed in and out. They were there, then they weren't. His royal guard, loyal to him to his last breaths. What a shame it was that he never told them goodbye. He shook his head gently, his braid swaying side-to-side slightly. He didn't wish to think about that, he was haunting himself. It wasn't close to pleasant.

He refocused on the king. His ghastly blue eyes widened in shock as he did so. He saw a smile on that man's face, and for what? He was simply looking through a window. Athilos found it quite outraging. That poor magician had given his act his all just for this king to be amused by nothing than his own thoughts?

"Blasphemy!" he yelled to himself, "Complete and utter rubbish! How can this fool live with himself?"

Athilos listened to the king as he traveled on through the hallways. He found himself quite disgusted by the attitude of this so-called monarch. This man acted more like a whiny child than he did a king. It was maddening, to say the least. Athilos was very upset by Agape's remarks of the previous king's love of the kingdom. He couldn't help but wonder to himself how someone could care so little about their home. Something that others had put their all into just to make it great. It's almost as if the work that was done, the effort put in, the blood and tears shed… like it was all to spoil a rotten child.

Athilos looked around at the kingdom that he had loved when he was alive. He smiled sadly at each painting that they passed. His smile only shrinking some when he saw one of himself. He didn't expect it, for the Acker family was hated to their shallow bones by the Crestor family. The smile faded not in discontent, but in confusion. It was quite an odd thing in his opinion.

As he passed the countryside along next to Agape, he smiled brightly. He remembered running around the place when he was younger, nothing but a mere commoner as everyone was in his childhood. It was peaceful and bright. That is, until his parents decided they wanted more power, but Athilos decided not to dwell too much on the past, for he was in the present now. He looked at the kind new faces and the not-so-kind was, appreciating both in their own right. He had missed this place. The place of his childhood. It was a place that meant everything and more to him. He smiled again until three words registered in his head. The three words of the king.

He turned his head in utter shock, his ghostly jaw hanging open like some sort of shelving system. He was in total disbelief as to how someone could say such a thing. "Perfection is underrated"? Why, those were the most ignorant words Athilos had ever heard. He crossed his arm, a thing invisible to the living at the moment, and invisible to the dead that could see through his velvet robe.

"You're overrated," he mumbled, his cheeks puffing up like a child.