Epixdemics

help me im underneath a caucasian woman
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Complimentary Quotes
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Trisolis999: Do something you ****ing african american birch tree with maple leaves and a mexican gardener.

potato(soem numbers): epix you pervert
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Roleplaying Character: Naxis, Revered God of Darkness, Light, Destruction, Creation
The ultimate being rises from the ground. his being existing purely as a cataclyst for the passing events that shall occur. The microcosm of destruction itself rains above the peasants of the earth as it raises into the air, daring to bleed it’s acidic blood into the planet’s many beings. He is armored in large plates, all of which being crafted from complete, solid steel. His cataclysmic power brings fear into the many gods that oppose his being. His deity-like power rises above most to dare I say, creator like power. It walks among the earth, analyzing the peasants that he lives among. His species is unlike them, much smarter and stronger. He is the last of his kind, and clearly fits the job. He had a helm that resembled that of a gladiator’s and a knights, with horns coming out of the sides of the beautiful, obsidian coated helmet like a buffalo’s own. It gleamed in the horizon, along with his grey, matching colored armor. It was smooth in texture, and felt like the cold side of a longsword. He had large pauldrons that didn’t even compare to his actual shoulders, though they were still quite large. If we speak on blades, he wields a sword that can kill the supernatural. He names this blade, “Naxis.” After his own. He takes off the helmet, revealing his rough skin. His eyes were medium sized, above average at most, and his nose looked like a T. His mouth was curved down naturally, giving him the slight frown some have. His hair was down, unkempt and wavy. He pulled out his blade and let it fall to the ground, him weakly limping down as the weight of the weapon holding him down. Despite his strength, voluminous amount of power and history of mortal domination, he had been weakened by his idle state. He had panted, lifting the blade back up as he conquered his weakness, just as any of his battles would progress. He put it back, mumbling, “I must use to my blade once more..” The blade had been deteriorated as it was in similar idle state to his own. He took a few nervous looking yet confident steps, his head up and his hands forward as the clinkling of his armor against his skin didn’t disturb him one bit. Curious, he had explored before speaking to any natives of the planet.
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A simple peasant. Holds splinterwood and wears rabbitskin garments. Slim and weak.
Status: Bleeding from thumb as a result of removing splinterwood.
Class: Peasant
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An angry soldier. Holds 5 foot Goridor and wears Chain-held Demonmail armor.
Muscular and Strong.
Status: Ripping apart enemies on the battlefield.