ColourDeaf

((OOC: People take statements so seriously here)) Valentine relaxed as he tore through the city streets, his car screaming with power. He spun the wheel hard and the car raced around the corner. He looked back at the girl in the back sea, and smiled slightly at her face, half fearful and half furious. "Relax, darling, there's clothes in the bag by you." "...why the hell do want with me?" "I want some questions answered, but not right now." He heared a few loose rustles of clothes being donned. He yawned and took a hand off the wheel, running it through his hair. He looked at her face in the rear view mirror. "Oh, don't look so bloody concerned, girl. If I wanted you dead I would have finished you off back in the house." She still looked frightened "Oh get over yourself, I'm not going to rape you." "Then what the hell was that voyeur bit back there, sicko?" "I was being honest, people shouldn't have to stop on account of someone bursting in with a gun. God knows it never stopped me." "Plus, I don;t swing that way." "You mean your..." "For the moment. Is that a problem?" She was silent. "Anyway, rape isn't an act of attraction, it's an act of anger. And as you can see I'm perfectly calm." "That doesn't mean shit." "You've got a bit of a mouth on you, don't you?" he chuckles and stretches slightly, noting the van moving up behind them... "You friends are here." She spins and looks out the back window, shouting at them. "Wouldn't bother, love. Bullet proof windows, sound proofed and tinted. They can't see you at all. Security based on paranoia, best damn thing." He scans the road ahead and spies a large parking lot. He turns into it and spins to a stop in the middle of it. He gets out and walks to the back, opening the door for the woman and bowing as she gets out, swaying to the side as she punches him. "I knew you'd bounce back. Girls like you always do." "Girls like me?" she says, kicking high, and h casually blocks it with a forearm. "Sloppy. Girls that hang out with criminals with bounties on their heads. Criminals like Ryu Hanz." he dances back to avoid another punch. "Never heard of the guy." "Really? I think your lying." he blocks another flurry of blows. The girl has talent, she could make a good bounty hunter. "So that wasn't the guy you were hanging out with? Ryu hanz, bounty head, possible accomplice of a $30 million thief. The guy that nearly broke your ribs." "What?" "Ask him, if you see him again." He grabbed her hand as she punched him, pulled her towards him and locked her arm behind her back. she looked fairly fetching in his spare clothes, simple jeans and a hoodie, when he wanted to go incognito. He looked into her eyes and she into his. Blood still dripped from his shoulder wound. He smiled and winked at her. He broke off and walked away, grabbing a bag out of the passenger seat of his car and walking into the shadows. "Take the car, something to remember me by." he walked off, leaving her staring after him. In her pocket sat a small business card, printed with the words "Song Bird." The van pulled intot he parking lot as he disappeared... (Hope this is alright. I might not be able to post in the next day or so...just warning you.))

Name: Tetsu Hidari Age: 27 Gender: Male Weapons: 9mm Handgun, standard issue army suirvival knife Appearance: Tall and ruggedly handsom, with a face thinned by hunger rather than choice. His hair is jet black, falling in rough spikes around his face. His eyes are a dark brown, thin and tired. Athough young, his face already shows wear and tear of hard knocks. He is fairly muscular, but his right arm has been cut off just below the shoulder, giving him a somehwat lopsided look. He normally wears a dirty brown duster coat, over a black T-shirt and black cargo pants, with regulation brown army boots. The right sleeve of his coat has been folded up and pinned to the shoulder. Bio: Tetsu was born into a locing family, with a history in the military. His father was a decorated pilot, and his mother was a fully trained army surgeon. As Tetsu grew up, he was torn either way about joining the army, and lied a normal life. In high school, he was fairly popular, but was in love wih a girl, Fuyuma. They were good friends, having known each other since Middle School, and were pretty much inseperable. One day, Tetsu declared his love to her, expecting her to fee the same way, the way he had always felt. Instead, she just looked at the ground and apologised, before runnng away. Later, Tetsu found out she was in loe with someone else, and laughed, he had ruined his best friendship, and alienated the only person he truly cared about, over his own selfish felings. He wouldn't be selfish anymore. As soon as he turned the age, he joined the army. He had barely spoken to Fuyuma since that day, and they had both avoided one another, but he had left a note at her house the day he didn;t turn up for school. He explained that he was joining the army to protect her, and everyone else he cared for and even if he could not be with her, he would not let her come to any harm. Tetsu was a gifted soldier, talented both in the practical side of it and the theoretical side of tactics. He was skilled in battle, and a superb marksman. One day, however, when his patrol was sweeping through a building, they were abushed by a group of enemy soldiers. They fell back and responded as best they could, but they were brough down one by one. As Tetsu fought, he felt a pain tear through his right arm, and it go numb, ignoring it he drew his side arm and continued firing, killing half a dozen enemy before they fell back, and he was alone. The corpses of his comrades were scattered around him, but he could not mourn them. He collected their dog tags and got back to the camp as best he could. On arriving her tried to feel is right arm, to see how extensive the damage was. And discovered it wasn't there anymore. He was honourably dichargd from the army, since there was no use for a one armed solder, and sent back home to Japan, wracked with guilt at not being able to protect Fuyuma any longer. He trawled the city, trying to find her, but she was nowhere to be found. She and her family had moved away just before the end of the year Tetsu had left. He never quite got over the fact that he would never see her again, never talk with her again, never laugh with her again, and fell into a spiral of depression. It was then he heard of the Guardian Angels. If he could get one of these weapons he could protect Fuyuma, his family, everyone, despite being a one armed cripple, and the army be damned. And so he searches for them.

[CENTER]Five Reasons You Should hate DragonWarrior 1) DragonWarrior smells funny 2) DragonWarrior hid your car keys 3) DragonWarrior once ate a hamster (we have witnesses) 4) Sexy Tea Parties make you blind! (It has been proven by our scienticians!) 5) This recent comparison...(see attachment) Vote PIROMONKEY (and save you soul...)[/CENTER]

[B][FONT=Comic Sans MS]"My Anime Wish" by ColourDeaf (glee :D) It's a dark alley, and you being mugged by 3..no, [I]5[/I] burly thugs, and then, suddenly, [I]I[/I] bust in wielding a zanabatou. And I'd be like "Whoa." And they'd be like "Whoa!" And you'd be like "Whoa..." And my wise mentor would be like "Get in there, my son!" ...And then we'd drink sake till the sun came up. THE END.[/FONT][/B]

Brieflg oignt onto the Fantastic 4 movie, I was under the impression that the entire project was scrapped because they couldn't get the Thing to look right on camera. Is there any truth to this?

Valentine pulled up to the house, his car purring to a halt. He watched the firgure move into the house, having to help the woman that was hit earlier. He took a deep breath and opened the door, stepping into the rain and dancing nimbly to the front door. He waited a few moments, making sure they were nice and settle, before peeking through one of the front windows of the house. He saw the injured woman lying on a couch, facing away from him, and the two others walk upstairs. They had left the door open and were kissing. [I]Feisty...I like that[/I]. He walked to the door and knelt down, examining te lock. He reached to the small of hi back and drew the thin main guache he kept there. With the skill of a terminal kleptomaniac he slid the dagger insiade, feeling around with it's slim tip, and picked the lock. The door let out a soft click, and he pressed down the handle, opening it slowly. Taking his time he creeped over to the couch and looked over th injured girl. He quickly clapped a han over her mouth and placed the dagger across her throat. Her eyes shot open and Valentine leaned to her ear, whispering urgently, sensually. "Get up." The girl complied and he wrapped an wrapped his dagger arm around her, placing the tip of it right against her jugular. "I'm going to move my other hand now. Scream and I'll be forced to shuffle hyou loose this mortal coil. Understand, love?" The girl nodded as best she could and Valentine took the hand off of her mouth. He quickly checked her for weapons, and drew one of the daggers she had secreted about her person. "You could put an eye out with this thing, you know..." he said, dropping it on the floor. He walked her over to the bedroom, soon hearing the shouts and moans of two people in action. [I]Bloody hell. Doesn't waste time, does she?[/I] He drew his slim necked revolver and walked to the door, still holding the girl. The woman was on top of the man, and they were going at it like rabbits (he would normally have though of a more...elegant phrase to put it in, but that was a fairly apt description). He coughed and pointed the revolver at them. They stopped and stared at him, deadpan. He looked innocent and motioned briefly with the gun. "Oh, don't stop on my account, sweeties. I'd normally have to pay for this sort of thing..." He thumbed a button on the back of the revolver, and the red dot laser sprung into life, a point appearing on the woman's ample...assets. OOC: Is this good?

Valentine had been watching the little action sequence from a place in the shadows. He had raised an eyebrow at the people's somewhat...dubious method of evading the police. He hadn;t been fooled, of course, but he was smarter than the general officers. If they were all as clever as he was, he'd be out of a job. Honestly, the thought of cops actually catching the more elusive criminals. He nearly laughed out loud. the cops were moving, trying to piece together a situation. He quietly slipped through the throng of bodies and followed the three figures as they shambled away from the police. He used all of his subtlety ad shadowing skills learnt from a lifetime of criminal actiities to avoid being noticed. He hid around the corner and peeked around, watching the little drama between the two men and the woman, ending with one of the men hitting the woman. Twice. Well, at least he hadn;t punched her in the face. She was fairly pretty, from what Valentine could tell. He leaned against the wall and considered his options as the two men walked away. 1) Follow Ryu (he had heared the name mentioned several times. Apparently he was knee deep in it), and try and grab some quick cash from the bounty. or 2) Follow the woman, find out what she knows about the man (and possibly the thief Mr. Yamazaki had hired him to take care of) and then...oh, the night was young... As he pondered this another woman came and started to help the first. He leaned back and watched the brief conversation. The other woman broke off and disappeared from his view, but quickly returned and walked the woman away. As Valentine followed her, they entered a car and started to drive off. Noting the license plate, Valentine reached into his pocket and drew out his cell phone, before walking to his car. "Charlie, darling, it's Valentine. I need you to run me some plates." Charlie worked in the DMV, and was a total cokefiend. [I]"...yeah, alright, I suppose I owe you one."[/I] "You owe me more than one, sweetie. It's B93D TCF" Valentine pulled out his keys and stepped into his car, a custom built street racer, ass subtle curves and sudden flares, blood red. [I]"...the car belongs to a Jack Johnson, no special in particular, works some Managerial job."[/I] he spouted off an address. "Thank you kindly, Charlie, remind me to give you a big kiss when I see you next." Charlie laughed, nervously. He was sure Valentine would do it. Valentine gunned the engine and sped off, hoping to catch Mr Johnson's car... OOC: Hope this's alright

Alright, you're all looking good so far, but could you guys finish you bios when you have time. But SephirothX could you just clarify to me why it is you have venom in your war form (considering that Komodo dragons aren;t venomous). I might just be nit picking, but if you just Pm me that's be great. Cheers ColourDeaf

Beside him, a white and red bird sung in it's golden cage. Valentine smiled as he toyed with the end of his walking stick, his hands rubbing the silver rose end with gently consideration. He watched the worldf rom under his eyelids, the Spur sapping his energy for the time being. The club was smoky, and the scent of the roses that adorned the wall mixed with tobacco and the Iho stick of the man on the other side of the room. Valentine tipped his wine glass and slowly took a sip of the dry chardane. "Don't you think it's sad?" the yound woman next to him asked, she leaned in closer to him. "Why?" "Being all locked up in here...I'd go insane." He smiled and placed his glass on the table inf ront of him. He brought his hand around, gently held her chin and turned her to face him. His eyes burned into her like twin green flames. "Darling...if I were in a cage, I would have everything I want. Food. Drink. Air. Security. I could lay back and sing to my heart's content. A bird in a cage is not to be pitied, but envied." the smile grew wide and he let go of her chin, standing up with the lazy grace of a languid cat. "Where are you going?" the woman asked "Out. We're not all trapped, sweetheart." he replied, not turning back as he walked out of the door. The woman sighed, stood up and started dancing in her golden cage again, waiting for the next person to hire the Private Booth. ---------- As Valentine exited the [I]Song Bird [/I] two shadows seemed to detach themselves from the walls and follow him. They were two men, both in dark crimson business suits, and their strides were powerful and dedicated. "What do you want, Dimitri, Tobias?" "Mr. Yamazaki is having theif problems again, sir." "Dear Lord protect me." Valentine murmured, eyes rolling skywards, "Again?" "Not directly," Dimitri, a large black fellow with a deep scar bisecting his face, "several of his associates have been stolen from." "And exactly how much has been stolen?" "Aproximately 30 Million. In cash and gold." Valentine unconciously raised and eyebrow and smiled. "Well, gentlemen. I do believe you have just piqued my curiousity..."

[CENTER]"Thrity generations they shall sleep. And their young shall walk among The flock and the herd. And when they rise The forest shall be of steel and fire, And the ground shall shake With the footsteps of the kin. And they shall look upon the world With eyes young and innocent. And they shall smile. They shall hunt And they shall fight And they shall drink and eat and laugh. For those that walk with two skins Shall be born again." - last prophecy of Poldarn[/CENTER] Werewolves. The word conjures up images of howling, blood lusting monsters tearing through the forests of old, killing and eating the flesh of the dead. They are the embodiment of what humans truley fear, that though we have mastered fire and technology, we are but prey in the eyes of nature. They struggle to control every detail of the enviroment to their own specifications, but that makes them all the more afraid, deep down, of being stranded in a hostile place under the control of something larger and stronger than them. Something with fangs and a taste for meat. Humans have always feared, even hated, wild animals, particularly those stronger than them on some level.. But they have always envied their strength at the same time. In the earliest times, prehistoric humans wore animal skins and bones and prayed to somehow become as swift or keen eyed or strong as the animals with which they shared the world. Even today, people wear clothing, jewelry, even tattoos depicting animals they respect in a sort of unconcious desire to borrow those animal's power. And they tell stories of humans who can take animal form (and vice versa). We always have, from the Americas to Europe to Africa to Asia. They are the king of stories. They are the stories of the Shifters, the Skinchangers, the Were. [B]Lycanthropy: Then and Now[/B] Since the earliest times the were have been amongst humans, hunting them, guarding them, guiding them. They are a mistake of nature, a creature that is two things at the same time, a mutation in the base genetics of humans. This flaw is passed down through their human offspring, letting them take on the were trait. The trait itself is as people think it, the ability to change into the form of an animal. However, unlike most people think, the creature is not always a wolf, and not always predatory. Werehorses have always pounded across the plains of America, and even Weresparrows have been knwonto exist. They can be any species of bird, mammal or reptile (the only known insectile Were is the Werespider, and there have never been any accounts of fish Were). However, duing the late 14th century, the Were seemed to have disappeared. For unknown reasons, the were trait became recessive, and the offspring of the were became...well...human. The were parents could never tell a human about their true identity, and so they lived, oblivious to their heritage. for six hundred years, the skinchangers have walked amongst us, with no idea of the primal strength they hold in their hearts. Only three species of Were have not gone into genetic recession. Known as he "Three Kin Alliance," they are the Werebear (the nurturer), the Wereraven (the guiders) and the the Wererat (the watchers). For the past six hundred years they have tried to control humanity as best they can. Werebears try to protect the forests and places of nature and power from the mountains of steel the humans call 'cities,' but they are one of the rarest of the Shifters, and they feel it is a losing battle, with so manyof their elders still in their Great Sleep. The Wereravens have guided humanity from the shadows, a word in the ear here, a greased palm there, a swift stab in the back...but human nature is too stubborn for them. Wererats are the great warmongers, they put the tyrants in power, they release the plagues, they do everything they can to cull humanity without giving away their true identity. However, the Others have returned. Over the pst few years, there have been more and more cases of "animal attacks" or "extreme gang violence" that has actually been the cases of young humans suddenly changing into their Were's war form, a traumatic experience te first time. The Three Man Alliance has celbratd this, for it is the return of the other species of Were to the world. The Wereraven have hunted down those with the trait about them, and have tried to teach them what it truely means to be one of the Skinchangers. Unfortunately, the majority of the new Shifters are teenagers, making this task slightly more...difficult, than first thought. Some of the new Were go slightly insane when they learn of their true identity, while other revel in the idea, joiningin groups of like-formed creatures (this is especially true with pack and herd Weres, such as the Werewolf), and fighting of gangs of humans and Were. This is the story of the Were of Sakura Falls High. The drama, love and fury of the new, young Skinchangers. ----------------- Sign up sheets Name: Nickname: (Optional - This can be a school nickname, a gang alias or, in the case of the Three Man Alliance, a pseudonym of the werespecies) Age: (Keep this is the teens, but you can be of any age in that category) Gender: Species: (Your Were species can be any reptile, mammal or bird, but cannot be a mixture of two or more animals, or a mythical creature) Appearance - Human: (How your "everyday" face looks, clothes go here as well) Animal: (bear in mind that a fair few of the newer Were dye their fur for aesthetic reasons ;) ) War Form: (This is the in between form, the hybrid form of man and beast, and the most famous form of the Were) Personality: (The characters personality is dependant ever so slightly on their species) Bio: (Your history. Has you character adjusted well to being a were, have they even changed yet - that makes for an interesting story - what groups have they joined since, if any) Here's mine Name: Ikaru Reisuke Nickname: Dustsheen Age: 17 Species: Raven Human: Tall and lanky, he carries himself slightly stooped. His hair is exceptionally long and pulled into a functional ponytail. his face is long and sharp, with piercing bdark brown eyes and a thin mouth. He's not classically handsome, but has a look that says he doesn't need to be. When not in uniform he wears a hooded grey sweatshirt underneath a black denim coat with the sleeves torn off, black trousers and sneakers. Animal: He looks alike a slightly large example of a normal raven. However, his feathers do not have the normal glossy shininess exhibited by the normal examples of the species, rather it is more of a matt finish, with tints of grey in it. War Form: Iruka's arms turn into a strange hybrid of wings and arms, with long fingered, clawed hands at the joint, these can be used for clumsy flying (although they are more commonly used to extend leaps). He grows an extra 6 inches in height, and his hair turns into a long, feathery crest, and a plume of small feathers around his shoulders and the base of his neck. In this form he is stronger than a human (But only just), but has hollow bones, allowing him to jump more mibly and run faster. Personality: Quiet, sardonic and wise beyond his years, Iruka is a strong believe in using one word instead of two. He seems fairly distant, and is not very noticable, preferring to stay out of the way and watch from the shadows. He is not a great fighter (preferring to put his talents to better use), and will normally simply dodge blows rather than openly fight, and batter his opponent with verbal blows. He is a reluctant, but good teacher, and has a soft spot for new Were's who are alone and afraid. Bio: Iruka gew up in a small town in the countryside called Hiruma. He was never a particularly happy child, and changed into his Wereform at a young age of 12. After that he spent weeks in his animal form, not talking to anyone and ignoring the advice his parents and the other Wereraven of the village offered him. All he did was perch on the roof of thevillage's small shrine, staring halfway bewtten the horizon and the sky. One day, however, he spied a creature stumbling along the field outside the shrine. It was a werewolf, a young girl barely as old as he was. He called to the other Wereravens int he village, and they quickly took her in, cltohing and feeding her, gently telling her about the Skinchangers. She was badly traumatised by the whole experience, having gone slightly insane. Iruka felt a great pity for her, and talked to her. They became good friends (although it was clear that should could never bring herself to leave the village, or perhaps even the small house where Iruka and his parents lived). After her, he has always held a place in his heart for new Were. He has been sent to Tokyo to keep an eye on the students of Sakura Falls, teaching any Were about what it means to be what they are.

[QUOTE=Fall]Rasmus are a good rock band with a lead female singer. "In The Shadows" is a hit that they produced a while ago. [/QUOTE] ...isn't the lead singer of the Rasmus male? I don't particularly like them, so I might be wrong, but... Well, if you want to find good female singers, I could spout off a dozen names of old school jazz and blues singers, but few people like jazz any more (kids today...).

In the middle of watching Witch Hunter Robin right now... Name: Domonic Greaves Age: 23 Gender: Male Craft: Smoke Maniptulation (Increases the amount of smoke a source gies off, can allow smoke to gain mass ect.) Appearance: See attachment History: (Still working on it)

Personally, I'd like to see a movie based on a "what if," an alternative version of a well known superhero. I feel the best one would be the alternate version of Superman (probably the most well known of all the superheroes) from agraphic novel called "Red Son." The "what if" is what if Superman had landed on earth as a child about 8 hours later, thus landing him in the heart of russia. Since the original superman landed during the 50's, he would have grown up during the communist regime. His loyalties would be switched, and he would stand for Stalin, International Socialism and the glorious Five-Year Plan. Of course, it would have no actually hollywood credentials, but it would be a nice, edgy (if somewhat geeky) hypothetical question. Cheers ColourDeaf

The one thing I really find depressing is that not only have people not read some of classic books (from every genre), they haven't even heard of them. There are people who haven't even heard of 1984 (one of the most influencal books of the 20th century), and still watch and adore big Brother (ironic, no?). And with the film "I, Robot" coming out soon, I thought people could at least look at the Isaac Asimov book it is based on (although he only gets a tiny corner in the credits for his contribution), but people still think it's a knock off of the Second Renissance from the Animatrix (curse you!). One of the greatest sci fi writers of all time vs. a good movie with bad sequels...why do people always go for the latter? And SephirothX, iwould suggest reading "The curious incident of the dog in the night time." It's an awesome book.

Name: "Valentine" Age: It's not polite to ask...darling Gender: What would you like? (Male) Weapons: A slim necked revolver complte with red dot laser sight, pearl handle and chrome finish. A rapier hidden inside a pearl-inlaid walking stick (pure cosmetic, of course...) and a main gauche (off-hand dagger) with a simple hand guard. Appearance: Valentine is the epitome of grace. He is snow-white, long and willowy of limb and slender of finger, his face is sharp as a dagger (or, as one might say, as alluring as a serpent), and handsome...no...beautiful. His lips are thick and lucious, painted a deep crimson against his canvas-white skin. His hair falls in thick locks, slick with aromatic oils, and the ends brsh his shoulder blades. He wears a pure white business suit, save for a red cravat around his neck and pocket handkerchief in his breast pocket Short Bio: Nothing is known about "Valentine;'s" childhood. He appeared on the criminal scene when he was a tender age of 16, learning at the feet of a crime syndacate boss (rumors conerning their...relationship were rampant, but none were ever confirmed). As he grew he gained higher ranks in the syndcate and became more and more ambitious, openly insulting his superiors with veiled barbs ad wicked jabs, and his appetites became more exotic. As the leader of the syndacate, his mentor (rest his soul), died in a mysterious back alley stabbing, Valenine took it upon himself to lead the group into a new age of crime. He lived a life that people could not dream of, he could have any woman (or man) he desired, no drug was far from his hand and the finest wine was never far from his lips. He revelled in the sheer...experience of it. Yet he wanted more. He wanted to risk his life. He wanted to be more than he was. He wanted to reach greater highs and deeper lows. He wanted to risk his life and laugh in the face of death. Well. There was only one thing he could do then, isn;t there? He became a bount hunter. He has grown in infamy in the bounty hunter circles. ruthless to the last, pumped up on battle drugs and ready to take on the whole damned world. He uses his high and low contacts to find his man, and takes him down with brutal efficiency. Now, a $30 million bounty would suit him nicely, wouldn't it? Personality: [I]"Still swinging both ways, Valentine?" "Darling, I swing[/I] every [I]way[/I]" Valentine is a hedomist to the last. He loves every dizzying high and terrifying low the world has to offer. From murder to hunting to sexual conquest, nothing is taboo for him. He walks with an air of invulnerability, and shines wth charisma and devilish charm. He is a borderline psychotic, almost literally getting off on danger, and laughing when bullets are zinging around him, licking the blood from his own (and his bounty's) wounds. To put it simply...try to stay out of his way, or at least out of his bed. [B]Bounty Hunter[/B]

To be perfectly honest, i feel that you couldn;t make FLCL last much longer than 6 episodes, it was just too insane. I feel that a few anime should only last a few episodes, as long as they are good (such as the Kenshin OVA - love, betrayl and all that - was only 4 episodes long but it rocked, whereas I felt the series Kenshin lasted much too long and was...fairly kak, in my humble opinion). But let's look at FLCL, shall we? - A kicking sooundtrack - Absolutely great character designs - Awesome animamation - Off the wall visual effects (changing drawing style in between scenes, turning into a manga in the firs episode....) - The Gibson EB-0 1961 model (Mmmmm...) - The sound of a robot being smashed over the head with a bas guitar (which, you have to agree, is the greatest sound ever to be produced in an anime) - A robot with a TV for a head. What's not to like?

True that, Lore... How about this? Jehovah's Witness at my door: Would you let jesus into your house? Me: Yeah, but you can [edited] off. Next day (they were busy that week) Jehovah's Witness: Would you let jesus into your house? Me: Actually, he just left, but if you run I think you can catch him... Religious evangelist vs. me Me: So, according to you, how many people will be let into heaven? RE: One hundred and twenty two thousand Me: And how many people are in your religion? RE: about 9 billion Me (walking away): Sorry, I prefer a religion with better odds

How about this? Name: Sueldan Morandes Gender: Male Age: 23 Class: Mercanary Appearance/Bio: The noble yawned as his carriage rolled on past the a local manor, lulled into lethargy by the gentle rocking of the cab and the soft pattering of rain on it's roof. He turned to his Servant, who was sitting quietly opposite him. "When are we going to get there?" "We should arrive there before tomorrow sunset, sir." the servant, a pretty young woman with blonde hair replied, bowing her head at the word "sir." The noble sighed and looked out of the window, propping himself on his elbow. A traveler was walking down the street, not so uncommon, but there was something strange about him... He wore the cloak of one of the local militia, but it hung loose - overly loose, rather - on him, and was clearly meant to be someone else's. He did not stagger like any other Militia-man would do, coming home at this time of night he was more likely to be drunk than anything else, but rather carried himself with a certain grace and dignity, although he still huddle slightly to stave off the wind and cold from the rain, which was understandable. As the coach drew nearer, the man became more intriguing, and the noble struggle to make out details of him. His cloak was that of a militiaman, but underneath he wore incredibly simple, bordering of crude clothes. His shirt was a grey-black tunic of coarse wool, and his trousers were brown and frayed at the bottom, his feet wore heavy boots of black leather, though they were caked with mud. The unmistakable shape of a scabbard hung from his hip, the leaf shape synonymous with Gladiatorial combat. At last the carriage drew next to the man and the noble could see his face. It was young, though fully into his manhood, and heavily scarred on his right hand cheek. His jaw was thick set and held firm. His nose was thin and angular, and his cheekbones jutted out only even so slightly. His eyes... His eyes were as crystals, translucent like a rainbow caught in a teardrop, flashes of colours ever shifting like oil on water, cold and emotionless. Emotionless...all but the slightest edge of fear. Not the sort of fear of a man walking to his death, but of a child, lost and alone without a parent's guiding hand. The eyes turned on the noble and seemed to tear a scar into his soul. They were not disturbing because of the colour, the lack of emotion or anything like that, but they were clear...by God they were clear. The man was completely lacking in deception, he had never lied in his life, or so it seemed. His entire life seemed to be set out in front of him, clear and without guilt. Around his neck was a fine gold chain of Estillian design, all loops and twirls, holding a tiny silver lock just below his throat. The man was a slave. The Noble's wagon rolled past the traveler, and the noble turned away from the window, his eyes only slightly wide, his face the barest touch paler. "Is something wrong, my lord?" the servant asked, her voice seeming far away. "No...No it's fine." he sighed He could still feel the man's eyes boring a hole into his back. ****** The traveler still looked at the carriage as it rolled on past him, walking backwards a few paces before turning once more to the road in front of him. They all reacted the same, every one of them. They all stared at him, as if gawping at a corpse, disgusted yet unable to tear their eyes away from the sight. The traveler, Sueldan, drew the thin cloak around his shoulders tighter, shivering with the damp and cold of the night. His back felt as if it was on fire, it always did in the cold. The scars felt as if they had been made today. He could still feel the scourge tearing across his back, the whip lifting into the air before it- He shook his head as if to dislodge the memories. He plodded on down the road like a tired mule, willing himself to make each step and hold the monotonous pattern, left, right, left, right. He had no food, no water and no money, hunger gnawed at his stomach but his throat was not parched, his thirst slacked by mouthfuls of rain water. Hungry and tired, he carried on down the road, his mind wandering to escape the drudgery and cold of the night. ****** The sounds of the crowds and the smell of blood thundered through his senses. The boy watched as the two fighters slashed and parried and circled, looking at each other for the faintest glimmer of an opening, the slightest edge that could win them the fight. The boy was captivated as he watched the two men twist and dodge their opponent's blows, the way they risked their lives just to gain another second of life, oh, the blessed irony! The two fighters dealt blows that would have left a normal man dead, only to have their sword blocked by a shield lifted at the last second. They were like wrathful gods, the only gods the boy knew or could ever believe in. "Ysp!" a voice shouted from behind him, the thick accent drawing the word out to sound like "Eersp". That name, how he hated it! It was an insult, plain and simple, it was almost literally translated as "living miscarriage, freak of nature." The insult was one you only gave to your worst enemy, or the most heinous of traitors. It was the only name the boy had. His eyes made him a freak of nature, something that should never have existed. They made him Ysp. The boy quelled his anger and turned to the caller, a stocky man with a missing arm and a scar that covered half his face. His name was Nish, and he was the fighting pit's Quartermaster, the man in charge of the fighters and the fights. He was obsessed with his work, working the combatants to the bone in training, punishing them severely for the most petty of misdemeanors, but pampering them lavishly at a job well done, especially when it increased his own standing. The boy stared at the man for a few moments, his breath caught in his throat. Nish only saw any of the slaves for one reason. "We need fodder for the pits, boy." ------------- The boy, no more than 14, stood in the middle of the fighting pit, other slaves, many of them older than him, huddling together for meager protection. One of them, a man that had been serving the fighting pit dutifully for his entire life, had burst into tears, and had curled up into a ball on the sand, his sword forgotten. The boy's hand gripped around his own sylca, a leaf bladed stabbing sword that felt as if it weighed a ton in his hands, until his knuckles turned white and threatened to break. The crowd cheered, the doors open and the Gladiators, number 5 in total against the 15 slaves, marched in. Their swords, finely crafted rather than the rejects the slaves were given, glinted in the sunlight. The pit champion, a mountain of a man name Kahjar the Fearless, marched in front of them, his huge physique and air of menace making him seem like a God calling his wrath upon them. It was a massacre. Many of the slaves didn?t know how to use a weapon, most of them never having held a sword in their life except for cleaning them. The ones who did know how to use their weapons were cut down first, as a matter of principal. Before their bodies even hit the floor the Gladiators were upon the helpless slaves. The crowds screamed in delight, there was nothing like a good bloodletting to get their spirits up. Kahjar the Fearless, the God-made-man of the fighting pit, loomed over the boy, having knocked him over with a casual backhand. His sword was raised to the sky, the boy holding up his sword horizontally in a futile effort to ward off the attack. Kahjar looked down on him, a smirk slapped across his face - And saw his eyes. For the first time in his life, Kahjar the Fearless hesitated. The boy reacted on pure instinct, his sword seeming to be held by someone else. Before he had even registered what had happened, the Point of his Sylca was embedded the Gladiator's chest, the blade torn through his heart. The boy was numb as the crowd screamed, some in delight, some in rage, some just in shock, and the guards rushed in, dragging him off... ------------- The lash came down in a streaking arc, already crimson with the boy's blood. Ysp was screaming in agony that bordered on agony, but would not slip into merciful unconsciousness. "You BASTARD, you WHORESON, you YSP. Kahjar was the best man I had! He could have made me the richest man this side of Cathay! YOU betrayed me, YSP!" It seemed for hours the lash came down upon his back, the insults were shouted into his ears, but when it finished, the last words that came from Nish's mouth terrified him the most.. "You are going to pay for him." ------------- Two and a Half Years Later Ysp sat hunched on the pallet that served as his bed, his back throbbing dully. It was going to rain, he could feel it. his back always got worse before it rained. The skin covering his spine no longer seemed human, but the scales of some monstrous lizard from the far South, the lash scars deep and thick, crisscrossing each other until they terminated at his lower back. The boy was now a young man, his body hard and toned from the constant practicing, the fights leaving a myriad of scars across his entire body. He was a Gladiator. Moreover, he was the Pit Champion, the nameless fighter that never lost. He rubbed his hands, now manacled and tethered by a chain that led to a loop in the wall. Nish said that someone important was visiting, and it was a precaution. The door knocked, and he heard voices outside, one unmistakably Nish. "Yes, yes, he's just through here, my Lord." "Are you sure he's your best fighter, he looked a bit young on the sands." "Ah, his youthful vigor makes him the most eligible candidate for this job, sir!" The door creaked open, and Nish scuttled in, followed by a man who was undeniably an Aristocrat. The Aristo looked over the young man a moment, and turned back to the door, gesturing for someone to come in. A girl walked in, most probably the same age as Ysp, but maybe a year younger. She was beautiful, not pretty that the free Gladiators, the ones who fought for themselves, not for the pit, often bedded, taking them from the local taverns and brothels, but actually beautiful. Her skin was as white as porcelain, clear and unblemished by even the slightest mark. A dress of pale green hugged her figure nicely, loose enough to be free flowing and light, but tight enough to exaggerate the swing of her hips as she walked. Her eyes were a steely grey, and her face had sharp, elfin features, steel disguising velvet. Ysp's mouth went dry and he struggled not to stare. The man walked over to Ysp and put his hand under the boy's chin, lifting it and turning it left and right, examining his face. "What's the matter with his eyes?" "Oh, nothing, sir! Merely a little birth defect." Ysp was shocked, distracted by the girl, he had never noticed how the man had stared unflinchingly into his eyes. "How long has he been fighting?" "Two and bit years." "That little?" "He has already proved himself to be the Pit Champion." "Rather..." the man said distractedly, studying the boy like a corpse at a butchers. "Alright, I'll take him. "Father, I really don't see the need for this." the girl said, her voice was sweet to Ysp's ears, if somewhat pert. "IT is a precaution, my dear. There are so many dangers in this world for a young girl like you it is necessary - nay, imperative - that you have a bodyguard." Bodyguard? "What about one of the guards at the house? They have always been loyal, and I know Nath has been looking for a job like this." "I would rather prefer if he was someone with actual combat skill, and drunken brawls don't qualify." through the entire debate, the man hadn't turned to look at his daughter once. She sniffed disdainfully and folded his arms over her chest. "Do you at least know his name?" she asked, and the old man looked at Nish. "He was never named. It is a formality that is not normally given to pit slaves. I thought the title Pit Champion was enough!" Nish said, chuckling nervously. "Quite...he shall be called...Monach" she said, using the old Estalian word for "Servant" Nish turned to the man, eager to get the deal sorted "Alright, sir, if you will just follow me we can finalize the payments for lovely Tiaan's new servant..." ------------- Ysp had been at Tiaan's house for a couple of months now, and he had settled in as well as possibly could. Few of the people there spent any amount of prolonged time with him, due to his eyes, save Tiaan and her father, and even Tiaan spent as little time as possible with him, normally retreating to her bed chambers, the one place Ysp couldn't follow her (he still thought of himself as Ysp, it had been his name for years, and old habits were hard to break). She was cold and aloof to him, despising the idea of a stranger being in charge of her wellbeing. He didn?t blame her, but he preformed his duty nonetheless, standing outside her door until one of the night watch came to relieve him, following her around when she ventured into the town, wary of any sort of disturbance. And so it went, for three months. Soon after that Tiaan began to settle into the idea of a bodyguard more, and Ysp saw a new side to her, one she normally hid from all but friends and family. She was a passionate girl, with a interest bordering on obsession with the Gypsies, that exiled race of beautiful, murderous people (or so he had been told). She grew closer to Ysp, a rock of loyalty, and often seemed to watch over him more than he did over her. She had had his bed moved into the room adjacent hers, a small cloakroom that was not so different than his other room in the Servant's quarters, they were both cell-like, but at least this one had a window. After a year since he moved into the house, she bestowed upon him the name Sueldan, an ancient Gypsy term meaning "favorite pet," although she never told him, with mock pomp and ceremony. The newly renamed Sueldan had smiled at this, taking pleasure in the knowledge that she was maybe a bit more than his mistress, that maybe Tiaan was his friend. He was still, however, in lover with her. ------------- Sueldan rubbed absentmindedly at the gold necklace around his throat, a sign of slavery, but more importantly of Tiaan's affection. The room was dark, the moon clouded over that night and no lantern to light it. The door creaked open and he turned to it, expecting one of the night watch to stand there, telling him about his new watch rota, but it was still closed. The one that was open was the one that connected his and Tiaan's room, which had been installed six months prior. Her face was covered in tears and she trembled slightly with silent sobs. Silently she walked over to Sueldan, who was sitting on his bed, his back against the wall, and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into his chest, which was bare, though he still had his trousers and shoes on. He started, not sure what to do, but then lay his arms around her shoulders, hugging her gently. "W-...what's wrong." he asked, hesitantly "I feel so trapped here." she mumbled into his chest, pressing her body a little more into his. "But, you're a free woman, Tiaan." "It never feels like it. Everywhere I go it's like there's a collar around my neck tethering me to the house, this aristocracy. I could never leave to do what I want to do. I could never be truly free." "Tiaan, you..." "What would you know about freedom?! You?re just a-" she spat out the words, but choked off the last one, looking up at him apologetically. "A slave." he finished for her, wanting to pull away and just go. He felt as if he couldn't breathe, like he had just found Tiaan's true feelings for him for the first time. "Sueldan, I-I'm sorry." "Why?" he whispered, "It's not like I'm anything else. I just thought that..." "But I don't..." "Don't what?" "I don't see you as just a slave." she said, the apology rushed and slightly flustered "I don't see you as a slave at all! You're possibly the best friend I have!" "Mistress, you don't have to" "Don't call me mistress! It makes me..." she trailed off "What?" "Feel like an old, perverted woman." she said meekly. They both let out a half-hearted chuckle, then lapsed into silence, their arms still around each other. Tiaan hadn't seen Sueldan without his shirt on, he normally had a tunic on even in the hottest of weather, and was shocked at the sheer number of scars that adorned his body. He hands felt a strange texture around his spine. "What's wrong with your back?" "It's nothing, Tiaan..." he started, but she would not listen "Lie down." she commanded, going back to her room and bring a small portable lantern that lit up the whole room. he was lying on his stomach as she examined his back, gasping at the scars. "Who did this?" "Nish." "Who?" "The man you bought me from. He was a severe quartermaster to me." "I see...does it hurt?" "Only when it's wet, or about to rain." He lied; there was always a dull throb. Before he had finished the sentence, he felt cool hand touch his back just below his shoulder blades, wonderfully gentle. Tiaan worked on massaging the ruined skin, the damaged muscle, until it felt loose and malleable. The throbbing was gone, but he knew it would return in a while, he turned over and looked at her, seeing her as he had seen her when they first met, unblemished, pure, beautiful. She looked into his eyes unflinchingly, just staring at them, and leaned down, pressing her lips into his. She kissed him passionately, and he returned it with all the strength of his soul. They drew back, and looked at each other. It could never be. Never be. They wept. "My Sueldan..." ---------------- A month had gone by since then, and they had hardly said a word to each other, with Sueldan pending most of his time simply doing his duty loyally. They were in town now on one of Tiaan's shopping excursions, when she pulled into a back alley and leant close to him, whispering in his ear. "You have to go." A group of young girls giggled behind them, seeing them as two lovers muzzling. "What?" "We can't be together anymore." "Why not?" "I'm arranged to be married." His eyes widen ever so slightly and he grew a tiny shade paler. "It's a social marriage to help my family." "But why?" "My betrothed is rich, he can get me the best protection there is." She pulled a small bag out of his winter coat. "What will happen to me?" "My father's going to sell you back to the Pits. I won't let that happen." She pressed the bag into his chest "Inside here there's a militia cloak and some money. It should last you a short month. Let no one know you're an escaped slave" he went to say something, but she pressed a finger against his lips. "Goodbye, my Sueldan." She swept away from him, around the corner. He leant back against the wall, sliding down it until he was in a sitting position. He pulled the bag closer to him, resting his forehead against it. His life was in tatters and he had lost the woman he loved. He had no idea about the world and he was alone. He wanted to die. Bored...

Well, I should probably get a live journal or a MyOtakku site or something for this kind of thing, but since I don't, I'll do it here. As most of you have probably guessed by the big floating name above this post, here I'm calle ColourDeaf. Few of you know me and even less of you could care less, but I just want to let off a bit of steam. Truth is, I'm tired. I'm one of those guys that everyone comes to to vent on. I'm a pyscharatrist, a "Dear Abbey" coloumn, a teddy bear and a punching bag (verbally and physically) all rolled into one. To put it another way, I;m the "nice guy," the non-threatening, neutral friend that sorts out relationships and is the ever present shoulder to cry on (quite often literaly). I've always been able to help people with a smile, a hug and a good joke, or (more often than not) just listening to them for a while, asking the right questions and letting them get a load off their chests. I'm pretty good at it. And therin lies my problem. I'm only the "nice guy." I'm supposed to always be there for other people. I sort out there problems. I make the bad things go away. I've helped people with problems with their parents, with their friends and mended together countless fractured relationships. But I have to be this kind of bedrock, this metaphorical judge absorbing all these problems and making solutions. But [I]I[/I] never get anyone to talk to about my problems. I suffer from mild insomnia brought on by depression. A few of my friends know this but the majority don't. I just want someone I can talk to, you know? My parents are divorced, with my mum just getting out of her depression. I can;t really talk to her, because I don;t want to upset her, and my dad and I...don't have that sort of relationship. My teachers are more friends than anything else, I see a psychiatrist occassionally (there's one at the school i go to), but I feel they just lisen out of politeness than anything else, and I can' talk to God because I don;t believe in Him. even if I did, I'd feel guilty asking about myself, rather than trying toget Him to help my friends. There was this girl who I really liked. No. I loved her, plain and simple. I was always by her when she got hurt, I made her laugh and I was the one she talked to. Last year her boyfriend killed himself, and I was there to get her through these tough times. Unfortunately, this damned me, because after that I could never tell her how I really felt, she would (and I would) feel I'd just be comforting her just to get my own way, and that wasn't right. So now she's off with another guy (they met a couple of months ago), and I'm still here, just waiting for the next problem to come up for me to solve. I suppose I shouldn;t really complain. There are a lt of people worse off then me. I'm just whining... you people don't know me, and I shouldn;t be coming to you for help. I'm very sorry for wasting your time. If you want to post your problems here, that's fine. If the mods want to come and shut this thread down, that's cool too. I probable shouln;t be putting things like this up anyway. Cheers anyway, if you've read through this far, though I'm probably just talking to ghosts. ColourDeaf

Gesticulate: another word for gesture Uluate: a warbling cry Prukket: To play around Breen: a lustful sow All real words

Around February 1848, astronomers would discover a large comet with a peculiar green hue. This comet would be on approach to the sun. No record of this comet exists, or anything similar. It is a scientific curiosity known only in certain circles, and briefly mentioned in the newspapers of the era. However, after it rounds the sun, it tail becomes quite prominent and slowly starts to fade from view, as the comet gains a halo of immense size. The astronomers know that this means the comet is heading directly for the Earth. As it grows in size of the next couple of months, the doomsayers of the past weeks gain more credence. Panic ensues, as people fear that ?the end? is coming. Church attendance reaches all time highs. Governments fall to riots, businesses fail as key factories are burnt, raided, or key employees end up leaving or are killed. Then, just as it appears ready to strike, the moon affects the comet?s course, or so it seems. It misses a direct strike with earth, brushing the atmosphere. Pieces of it do break off and fall to earth, causing damage in South America, China, and Siberia. The immense tail bathes the entirety of earth as it passes, and for 3 weeks following the predicted ?Doomsday?, October 28th, the skies of earth are a pale green in color. Doomsayers still threaten the earth is poisoned, and still doomed. But no such effect occurs. The skies return to normal, and the governments of the world begin to pick up the pieces. It is years later before reports start to increase of people with strange spontaneous disfigurations or fantastic abilities. However these reports are disregarded except by local news sources as hoaxes. They steadily increase, although effecting only a small 2% of the population in some way. As they do, some people hide their abilities, while others revel in them. A few are public, others secretive, depending upon the countries in which they operate. In many primitive or highly religious cultures, such individuals are thought to be evil, dangerous, or worse. They are exiled, captured, and usually killed. In 1860, British scientists release reports of dozens of cases among their citizens now able to lift weights in the tons, some by the power of their mind. Others are able to project beams of fire and other energies from their bodies with no ill effects. One man appears to be invulnerable to all forms of blade and projectile weaponry. Two are found that fly, while another appears able to breathe water. Some of these individuals appear to have physiological changes in their bodies that have adapted them, while others manifest the powers with no apparent change to their physical structure. In 1861, explorers of the Siberian Devastation zone find numerous patches of green plants growing in what should be frozen wasteland. The plants are unusual, appearing moss-like, growing in small 20 to 25 foot square patches, yet have numerous large bulbous seed/spore pouches. If the patch is disturbed in any way, all the pouches dispel a large cloud of fine green dust. Of 10 explorers, one who breathed the dust developed an extra pair of arms overnight. Similar patches are discovered in the Himalayas and atop other mountains. The plants do not conform to the standards for botanical life forms anywhere on earth, as they require little light, bloom only in very cold climates, and seem to need little in the way of soil nutrients or carbon dioxide to survive. They have a hyper-efficient form of photosynthesis in effect that provides near 100% of the plant?s needs. By the mid 1860?s the scientific consensus is proven that the green dust from these plants must have come from the comet - that it is apparently causing the mutations. Traces of the spores are found in nearly all individuals that have ?mutated?. How they are affecting such transformation and changes in the Human body is still uncertain. The British government begins to find and train some of these individuals, and thus furthers their empire worldwide. After the Telepathy riots of the Mid 1860?s, extensive usage in the Judicial branch of Pseudonaturals (generally telepaths) was deemed necessary to prevent the corruption of the legal process due to outside mental influences. This resulted in a high but regulated presence in courtrooms. Order has been maintained, crime has been reduced somewhat, and several benefits have been achieved. Some verdicts have been found to be in error as evidence and individuals have been re-examined. Still, there is some resentment and fear from some circles, including religious ones, as they remain suspect. Unlike some countries, Britain doesn?t force its citizen?s into service based on paranormal abilities, nor does it have any sort of a registration program. However it does have several laws on the books designed to make the use of such abilities in the aid of or to prevent the detection of any criminal acts very serious crimes. [B]Timeline: From ?The Year of the Comet? - Today[/B] 1848 ? Revolt in Paris - Louis Napoleon elected President French Republic ? Revolutions in Venice, Berlin, Milan, Parma, and 4 in Vienna. ? Revolt in Rome - Pope Pius IX dies fleeing to Gaeta. ? Forerunner of Associated Press formed in New York City ? Cometary riots in New York, Paris, London, Edo (now known as Tokyo), Rome, Madrid, Berlin, Boston, and Washington - Much Damage. ? Comet fragments strike China, North Eastern Siberia, and the South American Amazon basin. Multiple fires, floods, and chaos. Mid-Pacific impact causes tidal wave and flooding of Japan, Hawaii, California coastline, parts of the Indies, New Zealand, South China, and Australia. Death toll estimated in the hundreds of thousands. Most vessels in Pacific, in port or in shallow waters are wiped out. Several volcanic eruptions occur shortly afterward, as Pacific ?Ring of Fire? ignites. ? Winter in China results in thousands more deaths as supply routes are blocked to isolated communities - ? Queen Victoria sends several envoys to investigate damage reports of the Pacific, and nearby nations. 1849 ? Explorers in California find Death Valley a small inland sea. Weather patterns slowly change over western United States. ? Major food riots in China as famine reigns - plagues follow; River trade slowed in parts, and halted in others by naturally dammed river - devastated area slow in recovery. Eventually the remnants of China are divided into 4 smaller separate countries. Weary remaining populations concentrate on rebuilding. 1850 ? Livingstone crosses Kalahari Desert, discovering Lake Ngami. ? America attempts the recolonization of Hawaii; near total devastation - most indigenous animal life gone. A small community of natives did survive, having been praying on a mountaintop. However bizarre weather continually plagues recolonization efforts. ? New San Francisco founded. ? China famine over, but new Emperor attempts power grab on neighbors. ? British Royal Navy destroys Chinese Fleet. Coastal China falls to British forces. 1852 ? First attempt at English channel cable succeeds ? First reports of bizarre transformations and ?pseudonatural abilities? appear in the press. ? British forces begin colonization of China. 1853 ? Crimean War begins 1854 ? Telegraphy used extensively in Crimean War. 1857 ? Indian Mutiny against British rule - siege of New Delhi. Reports of Kali worshippers able to animate objects including human skeletons. 8-armed Indian woman found fighting - Died under heavy British fire, demoralized Indians routed soon after. Many losses on both sides. ? First studies of pseudonatural abilities begin - eventually divided into physical alteration, mental mutations, and remote energy manifestation or control. 1859 ? Darwin writes Origin of the Species by Natural Selection. 1860 ? Confederate states secede from U.S. - Civil war begins June 9th. ? British scientists release reports on studies of ?Pseudonatural Abilities and Physical Augmentation of Human Physiology? ? Pony Express begins service from St. Joseph Missouri to Sacramento California. Little known competitor also forms, Mercurian Express using augmented humans at even faster speeds. 1861 ? Use of telegraph ends both Express delivery services for most part. Teleportational Delivery Service developed, issuing long-range package delivery at unheard of speeds connecting New York with Chicago, St. Louis, and New San Francisco, through use of multiple long-range exoteleporters. Expenses prohibit it as being able to be used for anything more than an express service. ? Her majesty forms the Academy of Pseudonatural Sciences. ? Dupostov expedition into remote Siberia finds signs of Cometary devastation reminiscent of China. While in the area discovers strange plant thriving in frozen wasteland. Expedition member suffers sudden transformation after exposure to plant spore-cloud. 1862 ? U S forces utilize teleporters to assist in war efforts. ? The Academy of Pseudonatural Sciences begins the cataloging and categorization of powers and abilities exhibited by those changed. Terms such as Psionics, Telepathy, telekinesis, and others are introduced for the first time. Psionic Powers are classified separately due to their mental nature, higher frequency of appearance, and apparently easier degree of use when compared with other powers requiring training and/or experience. Racial tendencies toward certain abilities are noted at this time. 1864 ? Confederate agents, employing an individual with fire abilities, succeed in setting most of New York City aflame. ? Murder case in London halted after a telepathic Constable from Scotland Yard detected the judge to be under outside mental influences. The story made it to the press and was published in the morning paper causing the first so-called London ?Telepathy? Riot as families and friends of recently judged and sentenced individuals asked for their cases to be retried, claiming they too were victims of telepathy. The individual responsible was found, but could not be prosecuted because of the lack of applicable laws. A whole group of laws were quickly formed to make the influencing by paranormal means of any member of the legal profession, judicial system, juries, or police a serious and possibly capital offense. Also as a result, several telepaths were used to monitor court cases and police, as well as each other, to maintain some semblance of control. Several people were discovered within the next few months to be unwittingly using such talents. By the end of the year, the number of pseudonatural empowered individuals in the law and judicial system had risen to 36. 1865 ? U.S. begins employing teleport-delivered agents into Confederate territory - Several southern cities and military outposts attacked using various preternatural abilities. ? Confederacy surrenders formally on February 28th. ? Rebuilding of New York begins in earnest after war?s completion. ? Lincoln assassination attempt foiled by precognitive vision and ?special? bodyguard. ? Atlantic telegraph connects America with Great Britain. ? U.S. adopts similar psionic and power scanning individuals to oversee the judicial proceedings to insure that they have not been influenced. However police usage of telepaths is curtailed and limited after a case where evidence was gained from the suspect?s mind. The Supreme Court deemed this a violation of the 5th Amendment against Self-Incrimination. ? Several scientific followers of Darwin publish adjusted theories of Evolution, making allowances for ?massive sudden changes? in biological forms caused by ?non-terrestrial contamination?. 1866 ? Atlantic telegraph cable completed, tying America to Europe 1867 ? Typewriter developed (US - Sholes) ? Britain buys Alaska from Russia for 1.5 million pounds. It is set up as a new colony with unique ties to Canada. 1868 ? French Sculptor Debonaise obtains popularity with dozens of fantastically detailed sculptures. ? Indian uprising - several tribes have banded together using augmented abilities for communication, defense and attack. Achieve multiple devastating victories against U. S. Calvary forces. America forced to rethink Indian policies. 1870 ? French Sculptor Debonaise revealed to be using stone shaping powers to achieve his works. ? French Prussian war - France defeated and Prussians besiege Paris. 1871 ? After Prussian war, France enters the period known as the Taint Purges, as Psionics are made scapegoats, as stories of their revealing state secrets are falsely printed. Many French Psis are killed while others flee the country. Many end up in Britain. Possession of Psionic abilities is a crime, and it takes little to ?convict?; such instances are reminiscent of Salem Witch trials. This continues for 9 months, on into 1871, until the populace is calmed down. ? Great Chicago Fire - several attempt to lay blame on former Confederate augmented individuals responsible for the burning of New York. Others question why ?gifted? individuals did not predict the event. ? PT Barnum opens Circus - includes extensive sideshow of freaks, most of which are changed by the spores, but in odd, unsuccessful ways. Most have no ?abilities?, although one has weak but functional wings. ? French Psionic laws are changed to registration, and several Psis work reluctantly for the government - visitors and immigrants are scanned and those attempting to hide abilities (usually minor abilities they may not have been consciously aware of), are turned back at the borders, or imprisoned. 1872 ? Lord Jonathan Baker forms the Pseudonatural Advancement Society [B] Academy of Pseudonatural Sciences[/B] Her Majesty from several different fields of study formed the Academy, although medical and biological formed a great deal of the scientists involved. The purpose is to study the changes from human physiology norms that occur in individuals to determine their nature. This is to aid in the medical profession who might have to treat individuals who appear human, but have different internal structures, or whose physiology might pose problems to standard treatments, such as thick skins, resistance to drugs, etc. It has other purposes as well, to understand the individual effects and how they function so as to detect and/or defend against them. Many powers deal with things the current scientific establishment barely understands; electricity, radiation, advanced photonics, broadcast energy, etc. It is their goal to be able to learn from these effects that otherwise don?t occur in nature, or at least in such controlled circumstances. They have full access to a collection of scientific and medical reports from across the British empire, and several subjects that have submitted themselves for observation or ?cure?, in such cases where disfigurement, inhuman reconfiguration of the body, or powers that adversely affect others or do not allow the subject to be around others. While a cure has not been forthcoming in these cases, there have been several successes in teaching the individuals better control of their powers. All subjects are tracked by the Academy, and most are encouraged to aid the British Empire based on their individual abilities if possible. Academy members are frequently called in to assist in various situations as they have expertise to note when circumstances may indicate paranormal abilities. Scotland yard frequently calls in members if their case seems to suggest such. The Academy has been turning a small profit, as it has been utilizing some willing individuals to work in various areas of industry and science in ways their abilities can be of most benefit. This has lead to several beneficial discoveries and arrangements. [B]Characters[/B] Alright, you shall play as an agent of the Pseudonatural Academy (although your character can be from any part of the world. They are under the guidance of Her Majesty?s service as the British Empire is still in power, and the biggest political and economic power in the world). Remember that the RP is set in the Victorian Period (more information on the Victorian period can be found at you local library ;) ) Sign up sheet [B]Name:[/B] [B]Alias:[/B] (An agent of the Academy of Pseudonatural Sciences must take an alias (also known by the less civilized agents as a ?Code- or Nickname?) to protect the integrity of the agent?s loved ones, and the security of the Academy on the whole. These may be drawn fro the Agent?s power or specialty, or as the Agent sees fit.) [B] Gender Age: Height: Weight:[/B]Physical Description: (In case there should be some search for the agent, in an emergency) [B]Personality:[/B] (For the Academy to find suitable partners on missions. As of now there is no concrete proof as to whether a Pseudonatural?s power is derived from it?s personality, or it?s personality from it?s power) [B]Pseudonatural Abilities:[/B] (Pseudonatural Abilities come in three loose categories; Physical Alteration, Mental Mutations, and Remote Energy Manifestation or Control, or REMC. These abilities must be carefully reported and filed for safety) [B]Country of Origin:[/B] (For research) [B]Biography:[/B] (The agent's history. Again, for research and the finding of suitable partners) [CENTER]My character[/CENTER] [B]Name:[/B] Ian Anderson [B]Alias:[/B] Mountebank [B]Gender:[/B] Male [B]Age:[/B] 28 [B]Height:[/B] 5?11? [B]Weight:[/B] 132lbs [B]Physical Description:[/B] Tall and spindly, with a blandly charming face, with brown hair, pulled neatly into a shoulder length ponytail. His face is dagger-sharp, with a neatly trimmed goatee and pale green eyes. He has wiry muscles, long of arm and leg, what some would say lanky, with long, graceful fingers. His normal attire is a long grey overcoat, complete with leather shoulder capes, a green waistcoat, white shirt and black trousers, with a wide brimmed hat. He carries a walking cane, simple black lacquered wood. [B]Personality:[/B] Shroud carries himself with an idea of invulnerability, casually arrogant. He is a cautious man, careful with whom he trusts and confides in, and while he seems at ease where he is in the world, he is always checking the surroundings, eyes flicking here and there. He is quick to compliment and sharp witted, reveling in the fierce battlefield of verbal conflict, stabbing and blocking with the skill of a metaphorical master fencer. [B]Pseudonatural Abilities:[/B] Ian is a powerful telepath, specialising in the aspect of suggestion. This boosts Ian's natural rougish abilities, making him an incredible confidante trickster. [B]Country of Origin:[/B] England [B]Biography:[/B] Ian has been a trickster all of his life. Born to a poor cobbler, he yearned to be more than his father, and made a tiy penny as a pickpocket. As he grew, he discovered his telepathic abilities, and had soon learned a fair few tricks to boost and substitute his earnings. As he reached early teenagerhood, he had seen where he had to be to get into the big money. The higher class. Through careful manipulation of family and friends, he gained a new persona, the son of a french buisnessman, Guillaume Debount. He blagged his way to stay with the Maxwell family, successful steel manufacturers. he learned the subtle arts of diplomacy, and used his low and high contacts to substitute his funds. He leanred swordplay, gunplay and how to read and write (of course, he simply said that he had trouble reading English, so no questions were asked). As he grew he got more and mor daring with his tricks, frauding banks for money and women out of their jewellry. As he gained more and more enemies he decided enough was enough, and went to the Academy of Pseudonatural Sciences, working as an agent with fraud and tricksters.

You want a "different" sort of Superhero character? I got yer "different" sort of Superhero character right here! *shakes fists* Name: Aaron Miller Gender: Male Age: 28 Biography: Once upon a time, a young prince was born in the heart of Key city...his name was Aaron. Unhappily, somewhere in the divine cauldron Where mysterious forces fabricate life, Something went awry for Aaron, And in the soft circuitry of his brain, An infinitesimal welding failed! Oh...it was only a tiny microgap between unconnected tissue... A little cell, perhaps That filed to form Or died too soon! But it left, forever, a flawed engine, An imperfect instrument Inside a healthy body. So Aaron grew up handsome and bright A Princeling who seemed destined To inherit a secure place in the kingdom of humankind. And then, one day in early manhood The chemistry that fuelled his brain could no longer deal with the flaw, And a short circuit occurred, Unfelt, unnoticed by irrevocable! Gradually, unreasoned, terrible fear Mingled with the grandiose dreams in the turgid, boiling plasma of his mind. And this struggle brought him pain. Soon the agony became so debilitating That he succumbed to it...and he withdrew into himself more and more! At last he lost touch with reality. In time...the pain subsided, leaving him With a numb fear of people. Finally, he moved to 55 Droopsie avenue Where he could live his life in an anonymity commonly provided by the tentament walls, And sustained by his a small remittance From a distant relative. In this sanctuary, he could make His own world and populate it With creatures of his own invention. Aaron was now, truly, a Prince In an Enchanted Kingdom! Physical description: Aaron is a man Tall of stature and thick of jaw Handsome, Rugged. He carries himself stooped, Bentbacked, like a shepherd's crook, To protect himselff rom the battering Undending rain of reality Upon his uprotected head. He wears robes of rags, A discarded dustercoat becomes his cape A wooly hat his crown. A man of many mannerisms He gesticulates wildly when he talks. His hair is a rat's nest of blonde locks, Framing a square face, Hawkish nose High cheekbones, And his eyes holds A rupturing intellect Shackled by a numb mind. Personality: Aaron, in his Kingdom, he lived... In a murky world populated by the great, The famous, And the powerful - Aaron engaged in an endless dialogue. Often he wrote long letters of garbled brilliance And convoluted reasoning On subjects of vague import. Letters that were never mailed, but which Nonetheless Reflected a stagnant pool of intellect In an imprisoned mind. And should he speak to people (Though those times Are few and far between), He speaks as if caught in limbo Between hysteric fear And blatant, bold arrogance And as for '[B]them[/B]', The invisible, Sinister spies who maintained An inexplicable surveillance on him?! [B]They[/B] needed watching. So in his magical cocoon, This sanctuary from reality, Aaron dealt with the uninvited thoughts, And the ectoplasmic Mages That filtered out the gloom! Sometimes at night, when he contemplated the magnitude of his infirmity, Aaron addressed God... And always these conversations ended with an exclamation A shout, A scream! And then nothingness... Profession: Prince to an invisible kingdom.

Held her gently as he kised her softly, his lips barely brushing against hers. He broke away slowly and drew a hand down her cheek, his fingertips brushing the subtly curves of her face. Memories flashed in his mind. He had hit her. Oh God, he had hit her. He gently pulled her onto the bed beside him, holding her. He softly pulled her head to his chest, and rested his head on the top of hers. He breathed in her scent, warm, feminine. He held her close to him, pushing the stabbing pain to the back of his mind. It didn't matter, he just wanted to make it up to her, had to make it up to her. "I love you, Suzuki." he whispered. He kised the top of her head and squeezed her gently. He never wanted to let her go, not for the world. He wouldn't let her be hurt again, not by him, not by anyone. On the TV, a similar scene was playing out in some obscure soap-opera. "Am I interrupting?" a strange voice said Suzuki and koji pulled away, and both looked towards the voice. It was a doctor, tal and thin, looking at a clipboard. "Welcome back, Hidari-san. You're not normally this bad, but i kept your room just the way you left it." he said, smiling. koji nodded towards the doctor. "How are you feeling?" "I can't see out of my left eye, and I can't feel my leg..." The doctor walked over and, exusing himself as he leaned over Suzuki, shone a small flashlight in in Koji's left eye. "You've taken a bit of a beating to the head. Your retina has been shifted a bit out of place, but you should be able to see through the eye again in a few days." he looked at him, then at suzuki and laughed slightly. "If you want i can get you a eyepatch, so you two'll match." he moved on without pausing "As for the leg, I've given you a local anasthetic for now, so it'll be numb for a while, but it'll wear out soon. However, you've torn a few ligments. Chances are they'll heal up soon, but take it easy for a while. You might need a cane for a while. I can arrange for something, if you want..." "I'll find something" Koji said, nodding again The doctor nooded and walked to the door, saying the usual spiel of how he was lucky the broken ribs didn't cause any internal bleeding, blah blah blah, but he stopped as he reached the door. "I don't suppose you'll tell me what happened, will you?" "Do I ever, doc?" "Didn't think so. Get some sleep and no...uh...straining yourself." the doctor teased with a wry grin, before walking out. Koji turned back down to suzuki and kissed her fully on the lips, before flinching away as the pain shot through his lip. "I'm sorry, suzuki...I'm so sorry..." he held her cose and buried his face in her neck, tears dampening her shoulder "I never want to hurt you again..."

Take them out, by any means necessary. That was Kid Tao's mission...Weapon of Choice: Hattori carries a pir of kama, a short wooden pole with a short blade angled perpendicularly to the handle. Both are inscribed with a small yin-yan. Age: 32 Appearance: Hattori had one of best known faces in his...circles. Broard, harsh-featured, ugly. Full of character, but already showing signs of many hard knocks. Hanzo had never bothered with even the simplest cosmetic touches, to more his face towards...well, rugged, if not actually handsome. As far as most people knew, the thought had never actually occured to Hattori.. He was short and block, well-muscled by choice rather than neccessity, and so broard chested that in the right light he seemed almost as wide as hew as tall. He wore his jet black hair in a short military cut, mostly so he wouldn;t have to bother with it, shaved when he remembered and had a brief but flashing smile. He'd only just reached his early thirties, but aready there was about him a certain graitas, that made him seem older, wiser; more dangerous. He wore his business suit sloppily, and there was always a button or two left undone, but he never looked one inch less than utterly professional. He had large, heavy-knuckled hands that were never far from the weapons at his hips. He looked...competent,. No matter what the challenge, hattori always looked like he knew exactly what he was doing. Sample: He rolled the cigarette with the skill of a terminal nicotine addict. ?That stuff will kill you, you know.? ?You are in no position to say [i]what?s[/i] going to kill [i]who[/i]? Hattori mentioned absentmindedly, paying meticulous care to the paper and tobacco in his hand. Somewhere, a rat scuttled around in the dark. Hattori Hanzo stood up, pressing the cigarette in between his lips and reaching into his pocket. As he walked towards the other person, he drew out a lighter and flicked it on, setting the end of the rizzler aflame. The other man struggled against the handcuffs that shackled him to the chair. Hattori drew deeply on the cigarette and blew the smoke out, slowly. He crouched until he was eye-level with the shackled man and cocked his head to one side, a crow inspecting a corpse. He smiled suddenly and reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small book, dog eared and well-thumbed. ?Do you know what this is?? ??a book?? Hattori sighed and brought the book around sharply, smacking the man on the cheek. ?It?s a rhetorical question. This is a copy of the [i]Tao Te Ching[/i]. It?inspires me. I mean,? he pauses and flips through the book briefly, before running his finger down one line. ?He who has virtue is like a newborn child, free from attack by those who dwell in the way of nature, the way of the Tao it?s beautiful, don?t you think?? he draws another drag on the cigarette and points the book at the bound man. ?That passage is a [i]personal[/i] favourite of mine. You see, I find it?justifies my business. If you were a man of [i]virtue[/i] I, being one who ?dwells in the way of nature,? would not be able to hurt you. But since I [i]can[/i], it means you are not a man of virtue, and thus need to be eradicated, and fulfilling my-my?my?position as a sort of?karma police.? There was a knock on the door. Hattori grinned, stubbed his cigarette on the man?s forehead (drawing a scream of pain), and drew one of his kama, turning on the door. ?Well, let?s get down to business, shall we??

Extraordinary! i commend you for this monumental feat. I am assuming that major events (I.E. the WWII and the korean War, went on as normal). I will post a sign up sheet, but as for now I'm pretty tired (nearly midnight here), so I'll post tomorrow. Svae me a space, please.