Halide

WHY IS THIS THREAD STILL HERE. Celestia's mane WHY IS THIS STILL HERE.

And why is it so bloody huge.

Also, #5555 GET. I will now watch Daft Punk's hour-long music video, as seen

I will only care if Spielberg's characters go up against any of Faust's.

Though, yeah, putting Joker up against pony-Q just isn't fair. There's not even a decent analogy to describe how unfair that is.

Pain was something that, when one lived alone, one had to pay some attention to. Pain was the body's way of telling somepony that something was going awry, and when living in solitude, it was best to figure out if this current mishap was something that would pass on its own, such as a scrape or a pulled muscle, or whether this problem would develop into serious crippling injury unless given proper attention, such as an ulcer, an infection, a pinched nerve, a broken bone, or any other number of problems.

The problem Mirthbane had today was not, as he thought, one that would just 'go away' without posing some serious detriment to his future well-being. Yes, he was better at wilderness survival than most ponies, but really, there was only so much one could do when it came to being chomped on by a hydra. He had the definite advantage of being an apothecary, and as such he'd administered some measure of painkillers and salves that would aide in his healing, but he hadn't any concoctions that would simply fix a broken leg, nor was he entirely certain that his hovel was a particularly sanitary place to apply wound dressings.

As such, rather than risk crippling himself by doggedly refusing to take assistance from a Celestian, he decided to rather temporarily re-immerse himself in society. Carrying himself along with his own magic, he made his way out of the Everfree forest, looking quite worse for wear. The coal-black unicorn was wrapped in somewhat dirty bandaging here and there, some of it stained with red. His cloud-white mane was grey and brown with dirt, mud, blood and hydra spit, as well as a smattering of Aloe Vera. All in all, he looked quite a mess, though he moved under his own power. He didn't smell much better - it had been some weeks before he had access to enough clean water to waste it on bathing himself. That all aside, he was also up past when he normally took to resting - he was nocturnal, more often than not, and being up this late after dawn wasn't his usual routine. However, he wasn't looking to make good impressions, nor was he on the lam, nor was he trying to bring his findings to an accredited institution of study; he was injured, and he was in need of medical assistance, much as he preferred being without company.

It was with a pained, somewhat unfocused expression on his face, a grimace deep enough to be measured with a ruler, and a magical glow about his body keeping him upright that he entered the tent. He didn't enter with any demands - for that matter, he wasn't entirely sure what to say in this situation. A blithe remark about hoping that he still had medical coverage seemed a bit flippant, though were it only the broken leg, it might have been adequately cynical. Instead, he just forced a "Help me. Please." through gritted teeth. It seemed appropriate, if a little desperate.

UNLESS IT'S A FARM

This thread.

Man alive, this thread.

This is possibly the biggest thread on these forums.

I doubt it will ever stop.

WHOOP NEVERMIND Statement redacted.

I didn't think that anypony would actually be born with such a dour name as 'mirthbane', it's simply what he calls himself. Edited slightly, added in a bit of explanation towards that front.

IMO? No big deal. MLP's a perfectly innocent thing to enjoy, albeit an unorthodox one for the 18-25 male demographic. Point out that there's likely moral integrity involved in it than much of reality television - Jersey Shoreand much of MTV come to mind. It's far less gruesome and violent than the majority of war-related movies or horror films, and a lot less likely to desensitize you to excessive violence.

Well, if you feel the need to defend your enjoyment of the show, that is. Heck, point out some of the variuos 'okay, I'm a brony' videos on youtube - the normal ones from unorthodox fellows, rather than the odd ones. Again, if you feel it requisite to defend your choice.

Honestly, though, it's probably no big deal, and any sane person will get over it on their own, with or without prompting.

Yeah, my bad on that. Put too much focus on results of his lack of trying to fit in, not enough emphasis on the fact that he's largely doing it to himself - whether he means to or not. Don't know -what- the heck I was thinking with having one of his educators trying to sabotage his records, that was just bad writing.

Anyhow, thought things through better, tried to put more logical reasoning behind them rather than simply having them 'happen', and added a bit more to the 'transitional' bit of his backstory. Hope it doesn't break canon. >_>

Actually, the mods are usually pretty good about checking the ones that were created first that they still haven't looked at. It just takes them a few days, so no worries.

Just a heads up - it can take around two to five days for any official response to drop in and provide commentary - usually, feedback happens more readily on apps that need work. Though I am currently a little addled with a headache rightnow, I'd say this application is probably fine; it's well-thought-out, quite reasonable, interesting, fairly distinct, and rather well-written! Looking forward to seeing how this character turns out in various threads!

Just a minor note - you use the term his 'fillyhood'; filly is basically the FiM equivalent of teenage female. You might either want to use the term 'colt' (male teenager) or 'foal' (gender-nonspecific small child).

There are also a few grammatical errors - 'quite' sarcastic should likely be used, unless 'quiet' sarcasm is what you actually meant. Also, you should probably be using 'they're' in place of 'their' in that last sentence.

As AppleNitrox said, some more information on what he does for a living would probably be a good idea, and it never hurts to throw in a paragraph or two relating to his history!

This will likely be a difficult pony to play, though! Good luck fleshing out this application!

Name: Mirthbane

Sex: Male

Age: Stallion

Species: Unicorn

Pelt Color: Coal black

Mane/Tail/Markings Color & Style: Long, shaggy, dirty white

Eye Color: Emerald green

Cutie Mark: Herbs in a conical flask

Physique: Athletic

Origin: Canterlot

Roleplay Type: Mane

Occupation: Herbologist

Motivation: Discovery, study, remaining a useful part of scientific progress,

Likes: Discovery, cleverness, insight, discussion, debate

Dislikes: Celestia, blind faith, stagnation, high-pitched noises

Character Summary:

Mirthbane is, for the most part, a hermit, and a voluntary one at that. Not that being grouchy and lonesome are considered his 'special talent', but he still seems to succeed at these. The reason for his exile is fairly simple : he has very little respect for the Celestian rule that has control over Equestria, and he let this control his disposition towards those around him. He feels that she has every intention of remaining ruler of Equestria, with little in the way of checks or balances to her power, without any real plan for sharing of her power through bloodlines or abdication, without much room for somepony to become a major player in equestrian politics, and he feels that worst of all that she has something of a 'cult of personality' over Equestria - her name is part of common parlance, her image is found on the currency, she has monuments all over Equestria, and she is often shown as being a fairly major part of Equestrian history. Whether this is correct or not, it is what he believes to be true, and hence he has decided to live outside of the major population centres, exiling himself in a small stone underground hideaway in the Everfree forest.

Born to a somewhat simple mother, and a fairly down-to-earth father; both unicorns, both of them fairly proud of their own lives. An easy existence, though they lived somewhat poorly. He was a third child, with two sisters before him, both fairly normal. His father was quite happy to find out he hadn't a third daughter, once he saw Mirthbane for himself. The midwife and the mother had nearly mistaken him for a daughter, the mother immediately naming him 'Birthmane' in her confusion. However, this failed to stick once the matter of his gender was sorted out, and he took on the name 'Cloudmane' instead.

A fairly normal childhood lead to a normal education in Canterlot – he turned out to be better at magic than his sisters, again to his father's happiness. His mother was happy for him, too, but it was always hard to tell if she was happy -about- something, or just being herself. But, in spite of his talents, he was nothing unique nor above and beyond the bell curve – near the upper end of it, yes, but not much beyond it. Still, it was enough to earn him respect and recommendations into the more advanced classes in school.

His cutiemark, he got in what had been called 'variety class'. An experiment by the teachers, trying to get students to try a large number of things, self-motivated and slightly counselled, in order to see if students could figure out our vocations faster. Though the class had a somewhat mediocre success rate, it still helped a number of the more academically-inclined ponies find their talents. As it turned out, he had a knack for understanding the properties of various plants, both chemical and magical, and as such ended up with his cutiemark - a flower in a conical flask. It seemed that alchemy was what he was best at, and quite frankly he rather enjoyed the subject.

But that aside, as good a student he was, he was also a lousy classmate. He made very few friends, with either teachers or other students. He was described by his classmates as rude, grouchy, and disrespectful, while his professors often described him as solitary, unsympathetic, and at times arrogant. This made him no friends with his classmates - he was an arrogant upstart, full of bluster, cold-shouldered colt, distant to anypony he didn't like, and he was well aware of it. But, dislike him as they might, none of them could fault his academic abilities. It got to the point where he was even accused of plagiarism, out of spite from a group of classmates who simply wanted him to stop acting like he was better than those around him. Knowing this to be a false accusation, however, he fought it and showed through ink analysis that the document he had been accused of 'copying' was possibly newer than his own work. Though his innocence would be nearly impossible to prove, there was also evidence that he wasn't definitely guilty, and so the accusation went unresolved.

Of course, in school you learn more than just what happens to be pertaining to one's cutiemark. History classes were where he started noticeably separating from the proverbial herd, with political studies following shortly thereafter. Every week, another antagonizing discussion with the teacher, practically interrogating the poor stallion as to just how much the recounts given by the Celestian libraries could be trusted to give an unbiased account. It was there he started really questioning authority, and there that his whole run of splitting from the common herd started. It got worse, from there - he simply dropped out of history and social sciences altogether, asking the school to simply set him as 'withdrawn' as he felt that he could not believe in what was being taught, which left a worrying stain on his otherwise fairly strong academic records, one which would later bar him from the finer universities in Equestria. It wasn't long after that he joined the Lunar Rebellion – or, at least, a group of clandestine and largely riotous younger ponies who called themselves such. They weren't really pro-Luna as much as they were anti-authority, and as such had little organization or brains behind the following. He quickly found that he didn't much fit in with he group, but it was there that he found companionship, in a few ways. It was amongst this group that he decided upon his 'new' name, as per the rest of the group's coming up with names that weren't entirely orthodox. Out of his own amusement, he decided upon a portmaneu of what he'd been almost named, going by the moniker of 'Mirthbane' rather than putting up with 'Cloudmane' amidst his peers - a name he never really felt fitting, apart from the colour of his mane.

After graduating... well, that's when things starting catching up with him. Due to his student records and his troublesome background, nopony would give him a worthy line of credit, nor a loan, and hence he found himself unable to afford the education for the credentials he thought fitting for his abilities. He started living in rather meagre spaces, considering it somewhat abhorrent, almost as though as the conditions were there to spite his intellect. He had difficulty holding down work while trying to earn enough to pay for what he considered to be his "rightful" certification as an alchemist. Not that those responsible for employment didn't give him a chance - he managed to land himself a number of different jobs, though his ability to keep them was lacking. Those jobs which had him working with customers often went sour quickly, as he let his feelings of disdain effect his moods. He was often unenthusiastic about his work, and from time to time might be overheard muttering rather unflattering comments concerning those around him. Some employers tried to be patient and understanding, while others simply didn't think he fit in with the workplace - and indeed, he didn't. He hadn't the resume or the connections to get a job that would normally require proper certification, and so he was reliant on his own dwindling resume for employment.

Eventually he became so frustrated with his marginal employment that he left Canterlot entirely, deciding to run off to make his own findings and publications. He figured that he could do just as well in the wilderness of Equestria, in terms of making discoveries - even without the advanced education that he had failed to properly afford. However, rather than simply attempt to learn entirely on his own, he used the money he'd normally saved for rent on used textbooks and equipment, affording him a small set of tools and instruments with which to educate himself – this aside, he's also guilty of having 'borrowed' a number of textbooks from a handful of libraries that he has either copied entirely or has no real intention of returning, adding to his collection of references. After a quick burst of petty larcernry and intentional financial irresponsibility - a boost in capital to make his hermithood all the less inconvenient - he left, changing his name to the nickname he'd selected for himself, finding 'Mirthbane' to be somewhat more fitting for his usual demeanor.

His decision on where to try and find somewhere to live was based on both research and myth - he'd heard of the Everfree forest in the manner that most ponies had, as a place that generally inspired fear and was thus to be avoided, but he'd also done some research. He knew of some of the tales surrounding the forest, some of which piqued his curiosity to some extent, but he had also read about some of the species found there, which truly caught his interest. He felt that there, more than most places, he would likely be able to find more potent and perhaps more undiscovered species to work with than in most other undomesticated areas, and given the presence of some of the ruins rumored to be there, he felt there might be some chance of finding the materials to construct some form of shelter. As for his current residence, that was sheer luck - the basement of an old, insignificant and forgotten watchtower, the wooden surface structure having long since rotted away, leaving only a mostly-buried shelter beneath it - not that Mirthbane is entirely aware of the history behind his refuge.

As for the present, he spends much of his time practising both magic and alchemy, relying largely on flora found in and around the Everfree forest for both food and resources. He will, every few weeks, venture back into one of the various cities for various reasons – for small amounts of income, he provides herbs and/or mixtures to some of the smaller shops, and when he thinks he's found something worthwhile, he'll attempt to approach certain professors with his research, though this is rather rare. The money he makes isn't enough to afford a normal lifestyle, but given that he doesn't need to pay rent, it's easier to live off of.

For the sake of his own amusement, and simply to stave off the boredom that comes with being largely alone in one's home, Mirthbane has a small pet of his own : a scorpion named Bitters. Its shell is a blue-black colour, it measures nearly half a foot long, making it fairly large as far as scorpions go, with fairly large pinsers and a rather small tail, and as such it does not posess much in the way of poison. He often lets it scurry about, though he will on occasion keep it in a small habitat when necessary. As one might expect of an anthropod, it is not trained, nor does it really communicate in any way, though it is fairly docile and as such more likely to scurry away from attention than to retaliate. It is approximately three years old, and was simply found skittering about Mirthbane's home during a brief bit of pre-winter reorganizing. Seeing no real reason to get rid of the armored invertibrate, Mirthbane simply decided to designate a small basket as its livingspace and keep it as a pet.

At this point, he is unsure of whether or not he wishes to return to a more comfortable lifestyle, or if he would rather continue to enjoy the freedoms his current living affords him. For now, he is rather satisfied with the opportunity to study and research in solitude, though he realizes his lifestyle may be unsustainable under more adverse conditions. Time and outside influence will likely sway his decision on this matter one way or the other, though in the meantime he has little plans to change his way of living. He considers himself free from the reigns of society, and is actually more satisfied with his current lifestyle than he has ever been since graduating. There is no glamour and much less social interaction when one lives alone, especially in the Everfree, but he feels reasonably accomplished in his work and thus he is satisfied.

I'll finish it up as soon as I come up with a cutiemark story that isn't horribly boring

RE:EDIT

Okay, did that, how's it look?

Okay.

Holy fences.

Guys this thread has been going on way too long. There are enough posts here to make a fence out of that would encompass a small town. It is growing out of any semblance of control. It's like the Smooze in post form, only less, um, terrible.

Whyyyyyy?

Okay edited it a bit, still working on it. Cutiemark I'll do tomorrow morning.

...Oh dang, son. Alright, changed the cutiemark up a bit. ...It's less legible now - it's supposed to be a quill writing in a book. That any more distinctive?

Will come up with an update soon, have been rather busy due to programming assignments and other madness. It's okay to give him a 'family' of non-canon characters that haven't been actually written up thus far, right?

This thread will last until some mod closes it, I swear... In the meantime, it is buffering my postcount! Victory or defeat by thread, that third apple will be MINE!

In the words of Harry Partridge....

*Run run run run run*

no You Bucking DON'T!

Yeah, thanks for that, Firefox decided to stop showing me where spelling errors lie, and his particular keyboard seems to delight in skipping the occasional keystroke, I'll fix that right up and see about punching up his story a bit, while I'm at it.

Edit : Fix'd and slightly punched up!

It will be a second apple.

AND THEN NOTHING, BECAUSE THE PRIZE WILL BE MINE!

My poor, lyrical post, buried beneath countless posts vying for victory, smashed upon the rocks of defeat and so pushed there by an ocean of other shorter posts.

Sleep well, fresh prince, we hardly knew ye.

Right, let us make up some INCREDIBLY SILLY and COMPLETELY BALONEY STORIES that are meant to be PATENTLY RIDICULOUS.

I will begin.

Son, lemme tell you about the time I demolished a brick firehouse from the inside with my bare hands.

So there I was, fightin' this brick firehouse - It was me against it, and it wasn't giving up. 'Course, I wasn't about to be beaten by a bunch of brick that man put together! A man made it, a man could unmake it! I thought to myself, what's the biggest weakness a firehouse has? Dalmatians, of course! Didn't have any. So I thought, second biggest? Carpet bombing! Didn't have that either. Third biggest? Tactical artillery strike! Didn't have that either. Got all the way down to seventy-fourth biggest, and that was me, right between hurricaine and an army of men with sledgehammers. Lucky Seventy-four. Year I bought my favourite car, but I didn't know that yet.

Anyhow, I thought, shucks, this ain't gonna be so hard, I just rolled up my sleves and punched that building square in the door! That didn't work. Glass door, maybe, but this was no pushover. This was an 1880 firehouse, and those were gnarly and older and meaner than anything you ever did enter in yer whole life! So I decided to let it think it was winning. I marched right in, plain as day, walking in the door, taking a stroll, remarking on the architecture, all the while in my mind I was playing a little game I learned back when I was two : it's called 'find the load-bearer', and it's real simple. You just go around a building, find the biggest, thickest, solidest pillar in the centerist of the building, and you let 'er rip.

So there I was, me against this brick firehouse, and I was letting it win, just a little. Me, my bare hands, and my brain versus a hundred and thirty years of brick. And then, I thought of it - the guts. You couldn't kill a beast like that by whackin' at its arms and legs and eyeballs and windows. You had to go straight for the belly, reach through it like a hideous lovecraftian nightmare-meal, and grab it by the spine! Show it that even if you got inside it, by god is it gonna regret even thinkin' of lookin' atcha!

So that is what I did. I casually, slowly strolled down to that beast's basement, and I gave it a big ol' hug, right around the central pillar. I could hear it laughing at me, I could hear them old bricks breathing, rasping, wheezing, and I could hear it thinkin' "what's his game?"

And I tell you that is the last thing it ever thought, cuz right then and there, I pulled that whole fifteen-inch cast-iron pillar right out from under it, held it over my head, and that brick monster came tumbling down like a house of cards, louder'n the hooves of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, angrier than every man who ever lost his job, an' harder than the hailstorm of '62.

And that right there is how I saved christmas from the Alien Space-Mongols.

What do you mean, NOPE!? What on earth was wrong with that post!? Sheesh, the nerve.

I do but jest, poison in jest.

And, hey, I got another apple. What es thees? MON DIEU!