4.0 Dedicated to its Members and Fans of Pokemon A Pokemon Sandbox RP
Pokémon Dubstep (ft. Lindsey Stirling)
W
elcome Adventurer to EPOCH! A Pokemon Sandbox Rp set in the original region of Nue. Everything you need to know will be in the Guidebook and PokeDex 101!
EPOCH uses the Manga and is built on the Original ideas suggested by our members.
We are more than just a Pokemon RP, we're a friendly community with a goal on being a memorable experience for those that look in.
Golden Rule: Treat others as you wish to be treated. If you find yourself content with being an asshole EPOCH and its members will not tolerate you.
RULES
Understand We're All Human. Respect the staffers as well as your fellow members and guests. We all have flaws, tempers and quirks. Be patient with one another, but if issues involving other members come up please don’t just grin and bear it. Contact a staff member, informing them of what's going on so they can address and resolve the situation. The staff won't know what's bothering you unless you tell them.
EPOCH is PG-13. Proboards’ Terms of Service:
Sex; When you get under the clothes, fade to black.
Violence; Do not go into extreme nauseating detail.
Cursing; This is so fucking allowed, but don't go overboard.
Suggestive Content; In avatars, signatures and templates can attract the wrong kind of attention. So be careful.
Post by Erin Caulfield on Jan 11, 2014 14:09:41 GMT -5
Disclaimer All passages used to test my templates have been thought up and written by me, unless otherwise stated. Or unless it's plain dummy text. Some of the stories can also be viewed in my deviantArt account. As for the pictures used, I will occassionally throw in some content of my own creation, and so would appreciate them not being taken for use elsewhere, although most isn't.
You're free, however, to use any of my templates in any way you please, as long as I am notified in advance and they all stay in this forum. The only two exceptions would be templates in which a character is tagged, and templates that do not have any credits on them. I would discourage you from using codes as messy as mine, but to each their own. If you were to require help adjusting them, don't be afraid to ask, or post here.
Now, for a quick list of templates I actually encourage to be used: [googlefont="Montserrat"]
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Notes: Display not working, I hate tables with a burning passion, how to vertical-align without tables, figure out how to use online fonts on PBv5, try out a newclass version, make an image source list, stop being so messy. Just stop. Kill everything.
[attr="id","messageidr"]Hello! Message would go here unless otherwise stated; but let's be honest, I'm lazy and that won't be happening, so all messages will always go here.
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Coded by Quixotic
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❝White. Everywhere you look, a sickening, blinding white blurs your vision. Your eyelids lower ever so slightly, and then they are back up again. A shudder runs across your spine, despite the many layers of wool you’re wearing underneath the heavy coat you were forced to put on while still half-asleep. Your skin looks paler than anything that could possibly be considered healthy, your knuckles are incredibly red, and you are certain the same fate has befallen on your nose. You’re about to suggest going back inside, when you notice the blissful expression your dark-haired friend is wearing. Eyes shut, softly glowing blush and angelic smile in place, she looks the very image of Euphrosyne, Grace of Mirth. Those annoying spots of white fall on her face, hair, coat, slowly enveloping her, consuming her breathtaking carmines, yet she doesn’t seem to mind. She doesn’t look bothered by them in the least. You were pretty sure she actually reveled in the contact—as if she were a goddess weaving the fates of her mortal creations, creations she was fascinated with—though exactly why you could not understand. She had suggested this trip to the middle of nowhere only two days prior, insisted on going through with it despite your various protests, and on top of that practically dragged you all the way out to the lake before sunrise. Speak about conceited. But your worries are more focused on Aoife, having to tag along on her sister's mad misadventures. With her brunette hair nicely tied into two cute pigtails and a thick, yellow scarf surrounding her neck, she stands by her sister's side, firmly holding onto her hand through a pair of pink mittens. The look of adoration in her bright, innocent eyes is evident even from the small piece of earth your feet seemed to be fixed on, a parcel that had strangely remained unexposed to the vicious white, a good three meters away from them. Her little body trembles in both excitement and discomfort. You stifle back a smile. Apparently, the kid was, even in this weather, having more fun than you. Shifting back to the sight your two companions were admiring, you sharpen your platinum gaze. In the far distance, you can begin to spot the dull outlines of leafless trees and, beyond them, the elegant bearing of a hill. Where rock and crust reach a summit, land ends and sky begins in a soothing mix of blues and cyans, golds and oranges. You can't avoid the gasp that forms in your mouth at the unexpected scene. If you closed your eyes and forgot the bite of the breeze for a minute, you could almost picture— you could feel the sedative atmosphere of your homeland. Your beloved homeland. This time your smile isn't muffled or subdued. It occurs to you that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't such a bad place to be, after all, and that your friend might just be looking in your direction.[attr="id","scroll"][newclass=#scroll]overflow:auto;[/newclass][newclass=#scroll::-webkit-scrollbar]width:8px;height:8px;[/newclass]
Trying to avoid the ogre’s gaze, Kanibal leaped for a nearby rock. He peeked over from behind it. So far, so good. He tightened his grip on the candy cane he had snatched from a field on his way to the Highest Hill. The boy had done so thinking that it could serve as some sort of weapon against his enemy. Now, he wasn't so sure. It was a big, hairy creature and, by merely looking at its turned back, he could tell it was as ugly upfront.
A rush of adrenaline travelled through his veins. With a battle cry not unlike those of popular fantasy heroes, he emerged from his hideout, ready to take on the beast. Were it possible, he would have smacked his head for ruining the surprise factor he had been building up because of one short moment of euphoria. Unsurprisingly, it resulted in the ogre turning around. Kanibal shuddered.
He had been wrong. It looked worse upfront.
It took him several valuable seconds for him to recover from the shock. Seconds the ogre used to shorten their distance. A buzz started pounding in his ears. Stomp, stomp, stomp. Dismayed, he found out it was not some noise nearby, but his own quickened heartbeat.
And so, it finally came to the green quester's view.
It was a fruit almost the size of his head. Big, red, shiny, and held captive by the hands of his colossal, revolting enemy. It was the Freshest Strawberry, with which he would be a step closer to free his very own damsel in distress. He was thrown off his feet with strength that was almost absurd, but he could hardly give it any thought. Oh, sweet Miss Dude! What an ordeal she must be experiencing! What a cruel fate had taken her from him!
With renewed energy, Kanibal jumped. He clung to the ogre’s wide neck firmly. Nothing, not even this ugly monster, would keep him from the lady of his dreams. He striked, kicked, bit, tickled, until, at last, the creature could stand the laughing no more and bent over forward into a bed of white little flowers. The strawberry rolled to his left and away from the fallen. Kanibal deftly picked it up, dusted off the berry, as well as his own clothes, and moved on.
The valiant knight thus retrieved one of the seven items from the seven different kingdoms established on Cakeland Plate that he was tasked with, to rescue his beloved and to gain her favour.
Notes Sugary escapades. It may look like crack, but is, in fact, not.
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[attr="id","pattern"][newclass=#pattern]-webkit-background-clip:text;-webkit-text-fill-color:transparent;[/newclass]this is gospel
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Ñiñ emerged from the water gasping for fresh air. After a big gulp of it, she dived back in. Coral reefs were such a wonderful sight. So brilliant, so full of life... Unlike... She shook her head. An angel fish rushed by mere centimetres from her face. as if noticing she was down and trying to cheer her up, it swam a circle around her before continuing on its merry way. Smiling, she followed.
A minute passed before she reached out for more air, and a whole hour before she felt the warm, pearly white sand beneath her feet, between her toes. Her tanned, slender figure picked a pair of sandals she did not wear and a towel she did not use to dry herself as she headed towards the only house in the periphery, just as the sky changed from orange to purple and finally it became dark.
Painted white, with edges of blue, and an infinity of marine-theme decorations, Ñiñ could only wonder what kind of person had designed the beach house she was staying at. A steel anchor greeted her as she walked into the living room. It was a nice, cozy place, despite its strange design. She couldn't help but fall asleep as soon as her body touched the couch.
When she awoke, her eyes instinctively wandered to the framed picture of a man in a black jacket. Vision still a little hazy, she took a moment to drink in her surroundings. Sitting on top of the fireplace, the frame was one of the few belongings Ñiñ had added to the house's decor herself.
She stared.
Not for long, however. A grumble reminded her of how long she had gone without eating, and she hastely walked off to the small kitchen to prepare something. Fried fish and a bubbly soda later, her stomach was pleased enough for her to return to the living room. She didn't stare this time; she was sick of staring. Instead, she reached for the control and turned on the television.
Pictures of an incident she knew all too well immediately flashed before her eyes. A dimly lit street, a motorcycle, a black jacket, a blinding light, lots of red. It felt like December 25th all over again.
And then she was back in the beach house, holding a can in one hand and a remote in the other. The screen in front of her flashed a grey-haired news reporter talking animatedly with his coworker, a surely fake blonde, conspicuous makeup and all smiles. They were probably lovers behind scenes, despite him almost certainly having a wife waiting for him back home.
Seven. Six. A big, bright counter appeared on top of the screen. Cheerful voices counted alongside it. Five. Four. Squeals of excitement. Three. Two. They all looked joyous, although whether due to the festivities or their finally leaving the channel's headquarters, she didn't know. One.
A loud boom signaled the beginning of a fireworks show in the same beach she had been swimming in hours ago. It was December 25th all over again.
"All that crap they have in cartoons in the Saturday Evening Post and all, showing guys on street corners looking sore as hell because their dates are late— that's bunk. If a girl looks swell when she meets you, who gives a damn if she's late? Nobody." J.D. Salinger.
[attr="class","clubs"]♣
[attr="class","diamonds"]♦
[attr="class","hearts"]♥
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[attr="id","thread"]Never before had he seen hair as bright and purple as hers. It was hypnotising, almost like a mermaid’s song. He was so fixated on her that she must have noticed, because, for the briefest of moments, she looked his way. Her eyes were maybe grey or blue or green –that, on dent of the asphalt distancing them, he couldn’t tell. And then she crossed. He followed. She turned around the corner and went into a picturesque café. From what he could catch, a cup of black coffee and a croissant was her order. “May I help you, sir?” the waiter asked as he sat himself three tables away from the object of his... curiosity. He, on the other hand, ordered a hot chocolate, a sandwich and, after making sure his identity as its sender wouldn’t be revealed, a peach tart for her. It was perplexing, really. The effect this girl had on him. In just a few minutes, she had infected him in some way, some way he couldn’t understand. And he didn’t even know her name.
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[attr="class","lavender"]♦
[attr="class","lavender"]♦
[attr="class","lavender"]♦
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Infection
[attr="id","thread"]Never before had he seen hair as bright and purple as hers. It was hypnotising, almost like a mermaid’s song. He was so fixated on her that she must have noticed, because, for the briefest of moments, she looked his way. Her eyes were maybe grey or blue or green –that, on dent of the asphalt distancing them, he couldn’t tell. And then she crossed. He followed. She turned around the corner and went into a picturesque café. From what he could catch, a cup of black coffee and a croissant was her order. “May I help you, sir?” the waiter asked as he sat himself three tables away from the object of his... curiosity. He, on the other hand, ordered a hot chocolate, a sandwich and, after making sure his identity as its sender wouldn’t be revealed, a peach tart for her. It was perplexing, really. The effect this girl had on him. In just a few minutes, she had infected him in some way, some way he couldn’t understand. And he didn’t even know her name.
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A rose, they say, is always a rose, no matter its kind. She had only been a bud when he had first met her.
They had both been so little back then. She was about to turn nine; he was a thirteen-year-old. Thirteen and no more than the late Boss’s errand boy. He remembered that day perfectly well. The Boss had just presented her as a new addition to the circus. She was wearing a frilly dress, black, shiny shoes and a timid rosy shade on her cheeks. The staff greeted her warmly, even going as far as to throw her a small welcoming party, for they had not received any new trainees in a long time.
Mission available! The circus crew is preparing a welcoming party for their new recruit, a young girl of pale skin and bizarre clothing named Samzara. Your task is to entertain her while the rest of the crew get everything ready. Extra points for making her laugh. Will you accept?
Rewards: Not being kicked out of the circus Members: Samzara, you Notes: Don't fall in love with her.
As the youngest member before her, he was charged with the most important duty of escorting her around until everything was ready. He guided her through the many tents of their humble abode, stopping at each to point out punctual facts and details that could hopefully help her adapt to her new home. Of course, he left the best for the end: the Big Top.
He loved it there. It was the largest tent in the area, a good fifty feet tall and at least double the width. He dreamed of one day being able to perform in that same place. It was white with red stripes, or maybe red with white stripes; plenty of roses from the last presentation were scattered on the stage. Honestly, it was so mesmerising. She probably thought the same, judging by the awe-struck glint of her eyes. He smiled.
“Samzara,” he savoured the then foreign sound of her name.
Before turning to face him, she crouched down to pick up a black rose and let a few seconds tick by.
“Ya gonna love it ahere.”
Startled by his accent —or so she claimed years after, when he finally asked her about it—, she experienced a quite literal laughing fit. In the middle of the Big Top. He stared. Her laughter was contagious, he soon realised, as he followed her in a more restrained, moderated manner.
The time to celebrate came not late afterwards.
Needless to say, it ended up a mess. A fun mess, mind you, but a mess nevertheless. The clowns mercilessly attacking people’s faces with pies; the acrobats making a show that involved ribbons, hoops and an unhealthy amount of confetti; musicians playing cheerful, though possibly too loud, music; jugglers showing off their skills with anything and everything they found in their way. The shy expression she displayed earlier, during her arrival, was replaced with an overjoyed one.
More than a decade has passed since. She became a talented acrobat; he, the new ringmaster.
A rose is always a rose, no matter its kind. She had only been a bud when he had first met her, yet now she had blossomed into a beautiful rose. His beautiful circus rose.
Erin huffed at the flat screen opposite the couch she was sitting on. The image of a blonde young man stuttering about, clearly inebriated, flashed before her eyes. What a joke of a prince. She shuddered at the mere thought of that same man ruling the kingdom. Preposterous.
He was the eldest of the royal children, the crown prince, yet never once had she seen him act the part of a respectable member of nobility. If a person were to lead themselves by his appearances in scandals alone, he could very well have looked an attention-seeking celebrity. She certainly would have thought so, herself, had she not known better.
It was then that an outsider sound infiltrated the quiet of her thoughts. The telephone on the other end of the room ringed once, before going straight to voicemail. "Hey, Erin? Erin, I've found myself in a— a bit of a pinch right now. I— uh, I need your help. Are you there, Erin? I know you are; you always are. Erin. I really need your help. Call me back, okay? I need you. Please."
So he had said. Silence filled the dimly lit room as the young lady stopped to consider whether the man had sounded desperate enough. He needed to be desperate for her to even think of replying, as he had once again disregarded her multiple requests to address her as her social status demanded.
Finally, she picked up the receiver. "Insolent fools are not at all in my line, but I shall listen to your request this once."
Coded by Quixotic
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Arthmael is resting on a settee, legs outstretched, earplugs on. He holds a thin paperback with such care that it might as well be a treasure of a thousand years. Lumi enters the room with a sad, distressed look. "I hated it. It was nothing like how I imagined it would be. Can't I just drop out? I hated it so much."
"Is that so?" comes his reply, cold, seemingly plain and uninterested. Under her adamant stare, he flips a page, two. Earplugs still on, he flips the pages of his book until there is nothing to be heard but the turning of pages and it feels like he completely forgot about her presence. Neither his voice, eyes or actions gave away any of his thoughts. Finally, shifting his glare from the pages to her down-looking face, he stops. "Come here."
She is still anxious and fidgety, but complies without a moment's delay. She craves physical contact. Holding hands, massaging knuckles, resting on each other's heads, anything to calm her down. Just as she is about to reach him, she feels the weight of her body being pulled down. His hands travel to her arm and waist and skillfully manoeuvre her onto the settee. His blue eyes intensely look down at her every facial feature. From above, he whispers. "How did you expect it to be?"
Her face colours instantly, but not because of the position he had put her in. She was accustomed to this kind of teasing from his part, after all, and the feeling of him caging her to protect her from the world, or maybe the world from her, she wasn't quite sure, wasn't one she was particularly against. Not because of the position he had put her in, then, but because of what he had asked. She could already see the smirk that would form on his porcelain face. With a small, timid voice, she replies. "Like Nash's."
This time, her expectations came into fruition. She is rewarded with a raised brow. "Full of hallucinations?"
Laughter inevitably bubbles out from her lips. "I wasn't referring to that!" she complains between giggles. She knows he knows, and he knows she knows he knows, but right then and there it doesn't matter because the realisation that she loves this man above everything else strikes her and nothing would ever change that fact.
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[attr="id","lacey"]He looked older than her, wiser, yet younger and very different from her brother. While her brother embodied professionalism and sobriety, this man carried a cheerful, but comfortable, air about him. Maybe it was the inexplicable familiarity with which he addressed her that made her stop in her tracks, or maybe she was just charmed by his good looks. Whichever reason there was, seeing the person in front of her after so long sent her worries flying with the breeze.
Erin listened as the man she knew as a child told her of his adventures not only in the tropical archipielago, but also in Kanto and Johto. She stopped for a moment, wondering if he had visited her hometown. She didn't ask. Instead, she noticed how much the boy from before had changed. He was in laughing, exclaiming spirits; the whole place seemed to brighten up with him in its midst. He was so different from that tranquil boy who looked for shelter in the house's library and hadn't even thought of naming his pokémon.
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Some sort of quote, maybe? Leave blank to make it disappear.
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[attr="class","scroll"]Dione Honda
[attr="class","link"] Notes and tags can go here. All links will have a nifty hover effect, regardless of where they are, and any overflowing text or images in this particular div will trigger a thin scrollbar like the one to the right. I'd say it looks better without it, mind you.
Yo, I can't write.
So, instead, I will make a list of the dummy text I've put in the different compartments of this template so that you can search for them more easily whenever you want to edit. Also, adding a few details that you may want to consider.
1. Word count should go where "000" is. Do not remove the quotation marks. 2. Link to a Youtube video or any other music tracks where "http://" is. You can change this to any other link you want, otherwise. 3. "Notes and tags can go here," and everything that follows. 4. The bigger image above is sized 500x280px. This one won't resize itself automatically, since it's working as a background, so be careful. "http://i.imgur.com/f58UZW4.gif". 5. Smaller image can be any size, although square images are preferred. It will resize to 75x75px, or to 75px in width. "https://31.media.tumblr.com/1254e1dbd102eb5f542f9ed2a848ad26/tumblr_inline_mzqwvkzOWP1sx1q9j.png". 6. You can remove the newclass wall above the template once you've posted it at least once in a thread page, except for the "button1" tags, which you will be needing to customise word count. 7. "Some sort of quote, maybe? Leave blank to make it disappear." 8. Don't ever check the preview. Please.
What does it mean to be king, anyway? Is it being superior to all but in mortality? Is it being entitled to thousands, millions of lives, each of them subject to his every command? Is it? To a king, is his country nothing more than fungible property? Does it hurt to be king? Is the crown too heavy; is the title a burden?
Who would choose to be king?
Would a king act like this; would a king allow that? Is it honourable enough for a king? Regal enough? Brave enough? How much pain must a king go through, without ever letting his people know? I do not wish to be king. I never wished to be king. You do not understand. Neither of you would understand. Please stop. A king does not ask, does not beg. Just stop. Leave me the hell alone.
orem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Vestibulum varius massa sit amet rutrum malesuada. Fusce eu pellentesque metus. Nunc eleifend, urna id tristique aliquam, tellus enim luctus odio, et venenatis mauris nisl nec augue. Donec sit amet mauris at sem condimentum facilisis. Duis sit amet risus urna. Donec rutrum erat metus, eget vehicula libero elementum ac. Fusce ut mauris vel ante placerat pellentesque. Pellentesque vitae rutrum lorem, at ultricies velit. Nam aliquam libero pretium odio blandit porta sed in justo.
Fusce lacinia mauris non sollicitudin lobortis. Suspendisse potenti. Vivamus ac urna quis ipsum interdum semper. Nam sollicitudin imperdiet purus vitae mollis. Morbi placerat aliquet lorem, venenatis tempor quam interdum vel. Ut placerat libero scelerisque ligula volutpat condimentum. Cras quam massa, ultrices non mi eu, vehicula placerat enim.
Duis semper urna dolor, ac eleifend lectus viverra ut. Aliquam bibendum odio erat, nec feugiat sapien rhoncus eget. Donec vitae magna posuere, consectetur nisi nec, condimentum quam. In iaculis condimentum tortor tempus interdum. Fusce imperdiet hendrerit tristique. Cras dictum, libero vel lacinia euismod, justo lorem sodales arcu, eu volutpat risus nisl vel purus. Fusce suscipit posuere quam vitae porttitor.
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