forum Bury Me Face Down - (O/O) STALKERS WELCOME
Started by @Exis

people_alt 54 followers


This roleplay focuses on a twisted theocracy of sorts. This society is run by a church known only as the Church of the Reapers, or just The Reapers for short. This church preaches a religion that’s long been in the making, from a time when actual reapers ceased to exist and humans started to become less susceptible to death.

No one knows why or how exactly it happened, but some theorize the true reapers tired of their job and quit, while others think it’s the earth’s magic struggling to maintain balance. Either way, humans were suddenly walking expiration dates. There was no way to tell when, exactly, your time would come, but no longer were these what most would have considered “fair deaths” in the old days. Children, teens, people in their prime—it doesn’t matter. The mark appears at random, but the outcome is the same for all who wear it.

After all, the Church of Reapers demands it. All with the Mark must be disposed of.

I can’t find the actual prompt I pulled the inspiration from, but it went something along the lines of: There are no more reapers. Instead, when you’re meant to die, a mark appears on your wrist and it’s up to the rest of the population to get rid of you.

So in this adaptation, the mark is a red, brand-like scar that encompasses the left wrist of whoever’s meant to die.This mark progressively becomes more black the longer a person survives after they’re meant to die. This mark will also appear on the wrist of anyone who is already dead, whether or not they were meant to die. It’s impossible to remove or cover up in any way other than clothing. Because of this, most public places like stores or restaurants refuse to offer service unless you show them your unmarked wrist.

Now in terms of what happens to those who are Marked, that part is simple. Whoever kills a Marked will be rewarded by the reapers. Alternatively, for those with weaker wills stomachs, you can report someone who is Marked to the Reapers, and they’ll send a trained assassin to take care of them, instead. There’s another catch, however—the longer a person tries to escape death, the blacker the mark becomes. The blacker the mark, the more painful a death the wearer is delivered. Failure to dish out the “necessary” amount of pain will result in the remainder of the rest of that pain being inflicted upon the killer. Those who help the Marked will receive the same punishment of the Marked they helped.

It’s a perfectly unjust efficient system.

Of course, there are many people who don’t agree with the Reapers at all. Those who were lucky, the ones who were told stories by their surviving ancestors, passed down from a time when death was natural and unpredictable. This considered, it should be no surprise that there’s an Anti-Church known as simply the rebels.

They’ve managed to create a sanctuary far away from the city of the Church of Reapers—the only problem is getting there.

ADDED: Magic is also acceptable in this society. It's common, but not everyone has it. Almost ever Reaper does possess some kind of magic, though, and they're been trained to harness it, unlike normal civilians whose magic is subpar at best.

So basically my character is Marked by death, and I’m looking for someone to play the helpful, unMarked ally that’s trying to get them both to the sanctuary. Bonus points if they were originally an assassin, but not required!

I am going to ask for a writing sample if I don’t already have a roleplay going with you!

If you have any questions feel free to ask me—I’m sure I didn’t cover everything lol.


(I'm pretty busy atm but this DOES sound like a phenomenal rp so if no one else comes or lives up to expectations, count me in.)


(Also if you're interested in this roleplay in general, I recommend giving this song a listen! Kinda fits the whole theme on top of being a vibe.)


(Sure, or you can post it here! I don't have a preference. Also it doesn't have to be long, and you can pull it from a previous rp if that's easier!)


Character Template:

Gender & Pronouns:
Age: (Preferably between 15-20)
Appearance: (Picrew is fine, if you'd rather do that!)
Background (optional):

I'll be sure to upload my character in the morning!

Also, I honestly forgot to mention, but I figure I should say it now in case anything could be triggering—this roleplay will probably have anywhere from a little to a lot of gore and/or language. Is that okay with you? If not, I can cut back on some of it, I don't really mind!


Name: Dante Vitali
Gender & Pronouns: Male, he/him
Age: Seventeen
Sexuality: Bisexual
Appearance: Picrew (Note that he also has burn scars over his wrist after a failed attempt to permanently get rid of his mark.)
Background (optional): Dante lived a pretty normal life considering the world he grew up in, the only difference between him and other kids being that his parents would shield his eyes and shelter him from much of the commonplace murders. Normal, that is, up until he glimpsed a mark on his sister’s wrist and she disappeared the same day along with his mother. It wasn’t long after, maybe a year, that his father’s wrist bore the same mark. Dante’s father reported himself so that his son wouldn’t take the blame of hiding a Marked, and the consequence of that decision was being killed in front of him. When Dante turned sixteen, he got his very own mark. He’s been on the run ever since, but patrols of Reapers have prevented him from ever getting close enough to the city’s borders to escape. As time progressed, his mark grew darker and darker, and now it's nearly pitch black with only traces of red around the center.
Personality: Years of trauma overshadow a lot of what used to be a bright and creative boy, but glimmers of who Dante used to be still shine through. He still gets overly excited at little things, and his ingenuity has long since become a survival skill in avoiding Reapers and other civilians. He’s naturally naive and trusting, but tries to counter this with an unhealthy amount of suspicion.
Likes/Dislikes: He loves food, warm weather and music. He dislikes cold weather, Reapers, and most people in general. (Spoiler alert, he doesn’t hate people—he’s just afraid of them for obvious reasons.)
Other: His name basically means ‘Enduring Life’, which was only halfway accidental.


Name: Isla Smyth
Gender & Pronouns: Female, she/her
Age: 18
Sexuality: technically she's bi, but she leans towards men
Appearance: (Idk how to do a picrew so I'll just describe with a Pinterest link) This is Isla She has calm blue eyes framed by fairly long lashes and chocolate brown hair that only falls to about her collarbones. Normally it's up in a low bun. Along with that, she has a defined jawline and a straight nose. She's about 5'8" and thin, almost nothing for chest or any curves. Always seems to look semi put together and tends to wear darker clothing just because it hides blood better.
Background: She doesn't bring it up much, but to put it simply, her father became marked when she was about ten, and he fled only to be caught. Because of that, her mother started to help other marked flee, though after a few years she was caught and killed for her work. With both of her parents dead, she threw herself into work and became an assassin, only showing pity to those who had attempted to help a marked. Up to this point, she's never followed her mother's path to help others, but it's a choice she wants to make daily.
Personality: Fairly silent but overall a nice person. It's only when she's working that she becomes ruthless, any other time and she channels more of an exhausted student vibe than anything. She works well under pressure and isn't one to be easily phased by most things. Far more traumatized by her past experiences and her job than she lets on.
Likes/Dislikes: Dislikes people who beg, coffee, insects / Likes: Sleeping in, music, any food that is sweet
Other: Eh nah


I love her, although dang, I want to give them both hugs… Moving on, I already have a starter ready, so once we agree on the magic thing we're discussing in pms, I'll go ahead and post it!

And for anyone stalking, I'll edit the initial post so it explains what I'm talking about, once we're fully decided.


It was a young girl this time. She couldn’t have been more than eight, and yet that didn’t stop the Reaper from neatly slitting her throat in front of a crowd of desensitized people. Most people didn’t even spare a glance for the young girl who’d been listening to stories from the old homeless people the day before. Hell, it was probably one of those homeless people who reported her for the chance of a good meal.

It felt as if someone was squeezing Dante’s heart as he dug his nails into the sleeve covering his own mark, pointedly looking away from the body of the girl that was now being loaded onto a nearby death wagon. The worst part was the small feeling of relief that it hadn’t been him. That he was safe for now. He tried to justify it, reminding himself that her mark had still been bright red and her death close to painless, but it only served to make him feel worse.

He forced a deep breath, and started moving again. He couldn’t stick around much longer, as his sentence would be much less merciful if he was caught.

About an hour later he made it back to his ‘hideout’, aka the basement of an old warehouse. He only stayed for the shelter from the cold weather and because it had three possible exits at all times, but even then he knew it wasn’t ideal. Water constantly dripped from the floorboards above him, and although it made for a decent water source, the floor was constantly slippery and cold because of it. Not a good combination for escaping quickly, which he’d already had to do on four separate occasions.

Damn looters, he thought to himself bitterly, walking over to his ‘nest’ underneath a desk of rotting wood and rusted metal. He was about to curl up in his damp, sad looking heap of blankets and just try to forget the events of the day, when he heard it.

The telltale creaking of the stairs.

Now there were three exits, yes, but if the person had already managed to make it to the stairs, there was no way for him to escape unnoticed through either of the other two. By the time he tried, he'd probably already be caught. His best bet would be to hide and hope they didn’t check beneath the desk.

Don’t be a Reaper, he pleaded inwardly, feeling sick with dread.


(Ok super quickly, I’m at a football game right now, but as soon as I get home I’ll post my response. It’s half done but I didn’t get to finish it before I had to leave)


(No problem, I've been refreshing the unread section literally all day for the various rps I'm involved in—a little longer on this one won't kill me. Have fun at the football game!)


(I'm backkk)
Two kills in two days. Church help her she was sick of killing. Especially children, like both of these deaths, had been. Isla had personally killed two children, and these two were far from her first. It made her sick to her stomach, and that was exactly why she had a dangerously full bottle of alcohol hanging from her fingers.

She sighed, rubbing her eyes with the palm of her hand and tugging her hair out of the tight bun it had been in. Yes, she was supposed to be getting back home, or to accept her next mission, but she had to take a break. And she would be personally murdered by the Reapers for drinking at her age. Isla sighed once more, wandering through the abandoned warehouse she normally used for her drinking endeavors. No one checked here anyway, especially when she took up a spot in the basement like she normally did.

Isla headed straight for the stairs to the basement, ignoring the creaking as she walked down, busying herself with picking leftover dried blood off the back of her hand. Surprisingly, she hadn't gotten terribly messy, and only a few splatters of dark liquid showed through on her entirely black outfit.

At least that was something she could be happy about.

Blood brought her back to the focus of the now-deceased children, and so she steered from that topic. She had come here to drink. Not wallow in pity for them. Pity did nothing to solve the problem of their death; drinking, on the other hand, made the recent events fuzzy. And that helped her mental state much more than thinking things through did. Especially if she tore her way through the entire bottle like she planned to.



Dante's heart pounded as the person approached, loud enough in his own ears that he was struggling to hear the footsteps over it. He forced himself to slowly, silently, expel all the air in his lungs, and then inhaled at the same pace, repeating the actions until he'd calmed to a more functioning level. He curled a little more into himself, ignoring his freezing, trembling fingers and attempting to peer through a gap of the water-worn wood of the desk.

He could see just enough of the woman's outfit and the blood on the back of her hand to deduce she was, indeed, a Reaper.

Dante's breath caught in his throat as he instinctively backed away from the image, forgetting too late to keep his head down. The back of it bumped into the top of the desk lightly, but the sound it produced may as well have been deafening in the enclosed space of the basement.

He froze, listening, one hand clamped over his mouth while the other twisted itself into one of the loose blankets under the desk.