Kenso

[size=1]My OB name is actually an original name that I just came up with one day for an RPG character. I use it here because I wanted something different here than my other boards, because OB is nothing like other boards I'm on. My usual name is MaverickWolf, or some variation thereof. The wolf part is fairly self-explanatory. Wolves are some of the single most gorgeous creatures on the face of the planet, and I want one. Maverick has two separate meanings: One, I'm a HUGE fan of the movie Top Gun. If you've been living under a rock for your entire life and haven't seen it yet, do so. I love how Maverick flies, just flat-out crazy, whatever's got to be done, so I think he's awesome. And by technical definition, maverick means someone who doesn't do things the way people expect them to. You know, someone who does things different. I'm...unorthodox, to say the least, in many things I do, so it's appropriate. When I first started on the 'net, I was LonewolfMaverick, but I've since ditched the Lone part, as it felt cliche and boring (and I've learned to interact with people a bit more). [/size]

[size=1]Kenso watched Clyne drive away, a slight smile on his face. He turned back to the garage, deciding it was time he went home also. He settled on a [URL=http://www.motorcyclespecs.co.za/Gallery/Kawasaki%20ZX10R%2006%20%203.jpg][u]Kawasaki ZX 12R[/u][/URL] for the ride home. It was a slightly longer ride for him than the rest, as he'd never left the house his parents had bought so long ago. His parents had been sure to buy a house as far away from the other districts as possible. It was usually quieter that way. His mind wandered as the wind tore through his hair, flying down the highways on his bike, weaving in and out of traffic. [i]What would Mom and Dad think of me now? Hell, they were cops, all about holding up the law, making the world a better place...Me, I kill for a living. OK, I'm not always killing, but I usually am. Maybe most of them do need to die, but would my parents approve? Probably not. Dad always wanted another cop after all. But I'm not cut for that. There's no point in it in this world. Maybe Mom would, I don't know. I guess in the long run it didn't matter. They were gone, and it was my life. I have to do it my way.[/i] It was a fairly normal sequence of thoughts for him, one of the reasons he focused so much on his work. If he didn't, he let himself wonder how his parents would respond to it. He'd loved his parents, and it mattered to him, but he knew he'd made the best choice he could for his own life. Once he was home, he wasted no time in getting to bed. ---------------------------------------------------------------- Kenso rolled over, his open palm slamming down on his blaring alarm. He peeled his eyes open, reading the still blurry time. 4 am. He wonder if Clyne was at HQ already. He smiled at the thought. Probably. She was ALWAYS the earliest, it was just the way she was. Kenso figured she never slept. Not necessarily a problem, that...Left more time for other things... With images of those other things dancing through his head, Kenso pried himself from the bed, leaving a trail of clothes behind him as he headed for the shower. He shuddered as the cold water found his skin, shocking him awake before he eased up the hot, slowly turning the ice cold to a soothing warmth that loosened his muscles, making him feel alive again. It was 4:30 by the time Kenso got out of the shower. He always took long showers. His pay as a mercenary more than covered the bill, so he enjoyed it. He headed for his room, pulling his urban BDUs out of the closet and slipping them on. He was always glad he'd kept his military uniforms, though they weren't really that hard to obtain thanks to surplus stores. It was just nice to have these ones. It was an almost sentimental thing. After dressing, Kenso made himself a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs with ham and cheese and some toast. As far as he knew, he was the only member of SN who ate breakfast, or at least ate more of a breakfast than something you grabbed on the way out the door. He never understood how the others went without. He quickly brushed his teeth, then headed for his bike and took off, probably waking more than one neighbor as he headed for the highway. Virgil pulled up about the same time as Kenso. [b]"Lonely night?"[/b] Kenso glanced over. [b]"Good morning to you, too. What's that supposed to mean?"[/b] Virgil smiled. [b]"Well, by my observations last night, you were stuck sadly alone, and it didn't look as though that was likely to change." [/b] A slight chuckle. [b]"Well, it didn't, but I won't be alone tonight. I actually asked her."[/b] Virgil didn't say another word until they were inside. Kenso's words had actually caught him by surprise. The crowd of people around a DOG of all things caught him by far more surprise. [b]"What in the hell?!" [/b]Kenso didn't even have that many words, at least until Clyne came off with, [b]"Bite me, buddy." [/b]Upon hearing that, he walked up behind her and whispered into her ear. [b]"Now where's the fun in having him do that?"[/b] before walking towards the dog, still rather confused, but then deciding it wasn't worth it. [/size] [size=1][b]"Hey...it's time to go wake up sleeping beauty in his mobile home. Since we're all here we can get started."[/b] Kenso said, looking at his watch. [b]"Mm, you're right. Lysander has some briefing to do. Clyne has already informed me that our suspicions of the validity of Mrs. Fairfield's identity have been confirmed,"[/b] Elliot said, reverting to his mission-mode as he set Kyo down onto the floor. [b]"Yes...Lysander will tell you the rest,"[/b] Kenso said, as the three of them walked to the garage where Lysander did his usual sleeping. [/size][font=Verdana][size=1][color=black]Noise erupted in the garage around 6:15am. Lysander rolled around in the back seat of his Lamborghini, and looked up, seeing Elliot through the window. Clyne and Kenso stood by Elliot, looking as if they never went to sleep.[/color][/size][/font][font=Verdana][size=1][color=black] [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=black][b]"So you have a report for me?"[/b] Elliot said through the protection of the window. He said it with a tone like he'd been out there for hours.[/color][/size][/font][font=Verdana][size=1][color=black] [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=black][b]"Y-yeah. Hol-Hold on for a second."[/b] Lysander said, wiping the drool off of his mouth. He opened the back door closest to Elliot and handed him the documents. [/color][/size][/font][font=Verdana][size=1][color=black] [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=black]Kenso was almost annoyed to see a man sleep in a one-of-a-kind car such as Lysander's. But it was Lysander's car, and he did have the second largest pistol in the room (Elliot claiming the prize for first, of course), nobody would be saying that to Lysander anytime soon.[/color][/size][/font][font=Verdana][size=1][color=black] [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=black][b]"That's everyth-"[/b] Lysander began to say as he gave Elliot the information but Clyne cut him off quickly.[/color][/size][/font][font=Verdana][size=1][color=black] [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=black][b]"What the hell is that smell?!"[/b] Clyne said, angry from the scent.[/color][/size][/font][font=Verdana][size=1][color=black] [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=black][b]"What smell?"[/b] Lysander said. This time Elliot smelled it too, putting the documents over his nose.[/color][/size][/font][font=Verdana][size=1][color=black] [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=black][b]"Jesus man!"[/b] Elliot yelled. [b]"Go brush your teeth..."[/b][/color][/size][/font][font=Verdana][size=1][color=black] [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=black][b]"Now!"[/b] Clyne and Kenso stated; Kenso had gotten a whiff of the odor as well, not that it could possibly be missed. Kenso had to wonder how Lysander even managed to sleep closed into the car with that smell.[/color][/size][/font][font=Verdana][size=1][color=black] [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=black]Lysander checked his breath in front of the three. Smelling the pure evil inside of his mouth, he silently sulked away into the garage bathroom while the three discussed the plans [and Lysander's breath].[/color][/size][/font][font=Verdana][size=1][color=black] [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=black][b]"We'll be ready to go when you're finished!"[/b] Elliot stated.[/color][/size][/font][font=Verdana][size=1][color=black] [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=black][b]"And brush your tongue too!"[/b] Kenso added.[/color][/size][/font][font=Verdana][size=1][color=black] [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=black][/color][/size][/font][center][font=Verdana][size=1][color=black][b]==========[/b][/color][/size][/font][/center] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=black] [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=black]As the four drove to the A.S.P.E.N. HQ located in Section 5 of Traydor, they prepared for their mission, though the woman who asked them to do the mission was a liar in terms of identity. Nevertheless, SN took the majority of their cases for money, especially this one. Hopefully, they would find a clue about the killing of Mr. Fargo as well. Lysander and Clyne were in the getaway vehicle while Elliot and Kenso were in the weapons SUT. All were ready to begin their mission. Clyne radioed in to Elliot via walkie talkie.[/color][/size][/font][font=Verdana][size=1][color=black] [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=black][b]"Ready to rock?"[/b] Clyne said into the intercom.[/color][/size][/font][font=Verdana][size=1][color=black] [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=black][b]"Ready to Roll."[/b] Elliot replied. [b]"...Oh, and check to see if Lysander brushed his teeth. We don't want his 'scent' giving our position away."[/b] Kenso was heard laughing in the background.[/color][/size][/font][font=Verdana][size=1][color=black] [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=black][b]"Breath check."[/b] Clyne said to Lysander as he puffed air from his mouth onto Clyne. Clyne got back on the walkie talkie with Elliot.[/color][/size][/font][font=Verdana][size=1][color=black] [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=black][b]"His breath's good."[/b] Clyne said, sighing from the fun that the boys were having in the other vehicle.[/color][/size][/font][font=Verdana][size=1][color=black] [/color][/size][/font] [b][font=Verdana][size=1][color=black]"Brave girl, doing that." [/color][/size][/font][/b][font=Verdana][size=1][color=black]Kenso said. [b]"I don't think I'd be crazy enough to let him breathe on me after that." [/b]Elliot laughed this time. [b]"I doubt it. We're all a little crazy in here after all. Besides, it's still less dangerous than getting shot at." [/b]Elliot paused. [b]"I think." [/b]With that, both Kenso and Elliot burst out laughing. Kenso spoke after he recovered. [b]"Got to make this one a quick one." [/b]Elliot glanced over, a questioning look on his face. Kenso chuckled. [b]"Got a date with Clyne tonight." [/b]Elliot stared. [/color][/size][/font]

Please excuse the double post, but it's been long enough that an edit never would've been noticed. It could be two days before I can post on the RP itself. Something nailed my computer hard at home, and right now we can't seem to get the 'net running (I'm on my gf's laptop at her house right now). If I can't post at my house, I will got over to my gf's on Monday to make a post. Hope I'm not messing things up too much. Later.

[size=1]Just making my own quick post on about the RPG here: 1.) I'm glad to say that the writing I'm seeing is some of the most promising I've seen in an RPG in which I'm actively participating in a very long time. Keep it up, everyone. 2.) This is the first RPG I've ever participated where any degree of other characters was imparted to the players. Please excuse me if it takes me some time to adapt to it. I'll do my best though. [/size]

[size=1]Elliot's call sent Clyne in an opposite direction from Kenso, who headed for the garage as they concluded their quick meeting. He wondered if he should grab any additional weapons, considering the new information they had, but then figured if anyone wanted extras they'd get them on their own. It was fairly typical on a team mission for members to go grab a couple of extra weapons based on personal taste anyway. He glanced over his shoulder for a little bit, his eyes drinking in Clyne's soft curves as she headed up the stairs towards the main CPU until she disappeared from view. Clyne was the only one of the group besides himself who could come anywhere near functioning as a wheelman. He smiled slightly. She loved her fast cars almost as much as he and Ghost did, and she could drive them. No, she wasn't as good as he and Ghost, but no one else in Sinister Nation was. Driving was their job for a reason. But Clyne came real close in the right car. As he arrived in the garage, the smile widened. His [URL=http://www.supercars.net/Pics?viewCarPic=y&source=carGal&carID=3388&pgID=1&pID=17071][u]Pagani Zonda[/u][/URL] quickly came into view, always a pleasure to look at, and an even bigger pleasure to drive. It was a thing of beauty, one no other SN member touched, not even Jack, the only thing he could think of that might just look better than Clyne or Eva (though that remained debatable). Unfortunately, being a two-seat roadster, it was utterly useless for team missions. After taking in his usual fill of the gorgeous vehicle, Kenso proceeded further into the garage. It was stocked with a large number of vehicles, pretty much leaving you with a guarantee of finding what you needed. Tonight, Kenso was looking for a good weapons vehicle. Something with some space to fit their stuff in, but nothing overly obnoxious either. No Hummers for Kenso. He always found the things to be a little gaudy and rather ugly anyway. He quickly settled on a black [URL=http://www.leftlanenews.com/2006/01/31/gm-announces-2007-chevrolet-avalanche/][u]Avalanche LTZ[/u][/URL]. This particular model was a 4x4 with ALL the options, a throwback to the good old days of cars, when engineers actually worried about making new cars instead of new weapons. Cars any more were just remakes of older models, sometimes with actual new technology. This was one of those ones with new technology, as was the Pagani. Most of the cars in the garage were. They didn't skimp on the money they spent on them. Of course, being in this garage generally meant they were further modified, but that was entirely beside the point. He smiled slightly as he heard the entrance to the garage open. Staircase, not elevator. That meant Clyne had finished with her computer business. [b]"Pick a car yet?" [/b]she asked, her voice echoing playfully through the quiet garage. [b]"Nope. Picked a truck. Figured I'll handle the weapons vehicle. I can use it to getaway anyway." [/b]He turned to face her, a slight smirk on his face. [b]"I do hope whatever Elliot just dragged you away for was important. I'd hate to have to hurt him for spoiling my view for some nonsense thing. By the way, you might want to pick a getaway car. Make sure it'll fit all of us, just in case."[/b] [/size]

[size=1][b]"Ugh, you guys are pathetic. She's not even hot!"[/b] Clyne said, as she spun all the way around in her stool, now looking in Elliot's general direction. With that, Kenso was inclined to agree, but hey, it was fun anyway. It's not like they were the ones doing her. She was too blonde, too much of a wall decoration, too Barbie. Just not Kenso's type, unless he was having a really bad week. [b]"Well, maybe if we got you to pose instead, the pictures would look better." [/b]In an effort to save his nerves, he ducked behind Virgil. He was just playing with Clyne, and everyone knew it, but he still didn't want to get hit again. That was the disadvantage of hanging with a bunch of assassins. They all knew exactly where to hit. Kenso kept one eye on Clyne as he looked away, a fact that did not slip Virgil's attention. [b]"You could just ask her out you know." [/b]Kenso glared at Virgil, but said nothing, and the glare didn't hold much conviction. Kenso never could decide whether he preferred Eva or Clyne for looks, but he'd long ago decided that he'd never want to date Eva. She'd be fun for the occasional romp, but not to date. Clyne might just be worth the effort. He downed the whiskeys. [/size][size=1]Elliot turned to Lysander and Kenso. [b]"You guys stock the cars and put together the goods for tomorrow. Mrs. Fairfield wants us on an early start,"[/b] he said to them. [b]"Don't worry 'bout a thing, I'll smooth out the details and we'll be ready to go whenever. You just relax for once, alright?"[/b] Lysander replied, giving him an assuring thumbs up. Clyne looked over at them from her stool and rolled her eyes. [b]"You know you guys should probably turn in early today too, if we're going to do this on time."[/b] she said, adjusting the goggles on her head. [b]"Us? What about you?"[/b] Kenso inquired. [b]"What do you mean what about me? I'm never late, you guys on the other hand..."[/b] [b]"We'll be fine! I just bought a new alarm clock,"[/b] Lysander said in a joking tone. [b]"Hm, unless it has an arm that reaches out and bashes you on the head to wake you up, I don't feel too reassured."[/b] Clyne said, placing her right hand on her hip. Kenso chuckled. [b]"I think they still fail to make them to avoid getting sued. It's too bad, as Lysander here could really use one."[/b] Kenso watched as Elliot left. At least someone would enjoy the night. He felt a nudge from Virgil's elbow. [b]"Now or never."[/b] Kenso stood and left the bar, heading for the office he knew the planning would be in. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ [/size][font=Verdana][size=1][color=Black]An hour after Elliot left with Eva... [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=Black][b]"Okay,"[/b] Lysander said to Kenso and Clyne in a secluded office on the second floor. The office was always used as a place to talk about the mission at hand or for members to get a few hours of sleep when just coming back from a mission. [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=Black][b]"This is what we know so far. the woman's name is Natalie Fairfield; she's the daughter of a powerful Mafia man who's main purpose is to have his great-grandaughter, Serena Fairfield, killed for stealing one of his rare and valuable possessions."[/b] [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=Black]Kenso interrupted, calm as ever. [b]"How do we even know that Natalie's grandfather is even in the Mafia? I haven't seen the slightest hint of Mafia activity since I've lived here." [/b][i]And if this Mafia's half as bad as this story hints at, there's no way I wouldn't've noticed something.[/i] [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=Black]Clyne also added input. [b]"Plus, from the brief you gave me, Natalie sounded too calm when telling you that she wanted her daughter dead. Combine that with the number of zero's to complete the job and warning bells go off in my head immediately."[/b] [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=Black]Lysander nooded. [b]"True, she didn't even break down. No more than a sniffle or a single tear. She sounded almost..."[/b] [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=Black][b]"Serene."[/b] Kenso stated, cutting Lysander off. He had a pretty good feeling he knew this was heading towards something, but he was still buzzing a bit from downing both whiskeys so fast, so he was a little slow on the uptake. [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=Black][b]"Exactly."[/b] Lysander said, banging his hand on the oak table from the exact thought Kenso and Lysander had. [b]"She was definitely 'serene' about the ordeal."[/b] [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=Black][b]"...Isn't the girls name Serena?"[/b] Clyne interjected. [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=Black]Kenso and Lysander looked at each other before looking at Clyne. Now it clicked, even through the whiskey. Lysander beat Kenso to speaking. [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=Black][b]"You think 'Serena' is a fake name?"[/b] [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=Black]Kenso thought about it.[b] "If it is... then her entire story is fake as well."[/b] [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=Black][b]"..."[/b] [b]"Clyne, can you do me a favor and go to the main computer where all the information is being kept? I want you to cross-check her facial records with an identity. I know she told us her name but chances are that name is fake too."[/b] Lysander said. [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=Black][b]"No problem."[/b] Clyne said, already going to the third floor to the main CPU. [b]"The whole story sounded kind of fishy anyway." [/b][i]Kind of fishy? I'd say more than kind've, but whatever.[/i] [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=Black][b]"And Kenso, can you gather up the equipment we'll need for the mission? Grab Clyne a sniper rifle too if you will."[/b] [/color][/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=Black][b]"No problem."[/b][/color][/size][/font] [size=1] Kenso left the room quickly, following Clyne until they reached the staircase, then going down. It was one of Kenso's quirks. He never used elevators. They left you too vulnerable, too open to attacks and sabotages. It used to be that he'd never use them on missions, but for the last 3 or 4 years, he'd just stopped using them entirely. He smiled as he entered the armory, breathing in the scent of the well-cleaned, oiled weaponry. His first order of business was Clyne's sniper rifle. He chose a [url="http://www.snipercentral.com/longbow.htm"][u]Dakota T-76 Longbow[/u][/url], a nice accurate model with an absolutely crazy range. It was one of the better looking sniper rifles, and to Kenso, aesthetics mattered. Beyond that, it was typical fair. He grabbed two smoke and two percussion grenades for everyone, then four additional fragmentation grenades, plus grenade belts. He doubted they'd need the fragmentation grenades, but one never knew. He grabbed three more pairs of the goggles like what Clyne wore. For some reason, Clyne wore them all the time, which was somehow strange but cute, but on missions, they really were useful, especially when they didn't truly know what they were going into. He headed for the multitudes of sneaking suits in the armory, but stopped, remembering that just about everyone in SN kept one in their closet, including Kenso. Beside, this mission was likely to end up a guns-blazing type, so there probably wouldn't be a point. Kenso himself was more likely to go in wearing slightly modified and fitted urban BDUs. Normal weapons he didn't need to grab. Everyone kept their preferred weaponry with them or in their own bedrooms at all times, for protection reasons. He did, however, grab four [url="http://world.guns.ru/smg/smg63-e.htm"][u]Brьgger Thomet MP9s[/u][/url], with 9 additional extended clips for each, plus one pre-loaded, all with full accessories [the second picture in the link]. Kenso didn't usually believe in carrying so many weapons, but this looked like it could get really messy. Kenso left the armory carrying a rather large box and a sniper rifle on his back. He made his way up the stairs, heading to the third floor and the main CPU. As he approached the door, Virgil's words echoed in his head. [b]"Now or never."[/b] He walked in the door, pulling up a seat next to Clyne. [b]"Find anything interesting? And, well, would you be interested in maybe going for dinner tomorrow night?"[/b] He knew he should be working on the cars, but he did have time yet, and he wanted to know who else was driving, or if they wanted him to drive and they were going in with something bigger. With this crew, it was usually him driving, but he thought they might want at least one other person driving so they could use faster vehicles, just in case it got messy. [b]"Oh, and do you want to drive a second car, or are we just going to use me and a truck?" [/b]He knew he could handle one of the bigger vehicles (all modified of course) well enough to escape, but he also knew that sometimes other SN members just didn't want to trust in one wheelman. [/size]

[size=1]I'd also like to let you know I will be posting something soon. I just moved and I' in the process of setting things up in the house, so I'm kind of slow on the 'net right now.[/size]

[size=1]Name: Kenso Lairn Terenitio Age: 19 Blood Type: B+ Battle Type: Drive - As a driver, Kenso can respond to nearly any situation. His preferred drive is a dual-wielding gunfighting form. Magic Type: Copycat Magic - Kenso prefers to mimic the abilities of others, but to this day hasn't entirely mastered his magic (he doesn't retain most abilities permanently). Weapon: [URL=http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v389/Maverick_Kossuth/Keyblade.jpg]Keyblade Picture Here[/URL] Abilities: Kenso's magic is based on what's been used around him. He can't hold onto any magic as a permanent form yet. [i]Shadow Strike[/i] - Kenso focuses his energy into a quick dash and slash, leaving an afterimage for his opponent to dodge while appearing behind him and attacking. [i]Shadow Speed[/i] - Shadow Speed is Kenso's version of a haste effect. All of his movements are followed by a dark shadowy aftereffect. [i]Shadow Shield[/i] - A defensive technique Kenso only uses in the direst of circumstances, the shadow shield is capable of blocking almost any attack. However, Kenso has not yet come into his full strength, and Shadow Shield is an exceedingly draining technique. To Be Learned [/size][size=1][i]Dual Shadows[/i] - Kenso creates two afterimages in varying directions and distances from himself. The afterimages seem to move of their own accord, but can are actually controlled by Kenso, who must keep them in view. They're only used as a diversionary technique, and Kenso cannot damage an opponent with the after images. [/size][size=1][i]Shadow Swallow[/i] - Kenso forms a dome of darkness around his opponent blocking his opponent's sight. Kenso is quite capable of seeing through this darkness, as is anyone else beyond the original target. [i]Shadow Crush[/i] - Kenso forms very real afterimages of his keyblade in a sphere around his opponent, which then proceed to rush in at him in a piercing ball of death. ((Ultimate Attack)) Personality: Kenso is a relatively happy guy. He wasn't at the beginning, was even rebellious (hence the somewhat high age), but he's grown used to life at the academy, grown accustomed to his classmates. He's free-spirited and loves to have a good time. He's also very athletic, and loves sports, especially races. History: "A strong heart is required for a good life." I used to wonder what that meant. It was something my father always used to say, but it never made any sense to me. Until that day. They showed up. Military people of some sort. They wanted my father, said they needed his 'abilities'. I'm not sure he had a choice. I was just short of my 13th birthday. I got angry, really angy. There was just a flicker, that was it. A flicker of light in my hand. It looked like it tried to solidify, but I was so surprised it vanished. But they saw it. They said my heart is strong too, and I was going to come with them. Not to go to war, not yet, but I was going to go with them all the same. My father said that it was my destiny, as it was his. "There are responsibilities that come with a strong heart." That's what he told me. And so, I was dragged away to the Academy, to the rest of my life... Appearance: [url="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v389/Maverick_Kossuth/SinisterNationPic.jpg"]Kenso[/url]. Kenso's eyes are actually a very bright green, but that's the only difference. [/size]

((OOC: Acheron, hope you have no problems with Kenso ending up as part of this mission anyway. I figured he could be about finishing up and returning to the HQ even before you posted.)) ============================================== [size=1]Only the most acute observer would notice the figure on the ledge 6 stories above the alleyway. It was tucked low to the ground, edging along with an almost cat-like grace. A heavy leather jacket shielded the tall figure's body from the biting wind, along with a full motorcycle helmet. On the figure's feet were biking boots, specially double-soled with rubber bottoms for silence, hands protected by full gauntlets, designed to allow maximum movement. Heavy leather chaps protected legs covered by tight black jeans. The figure stopped at about the mid-point of the building, glancing down below him. The figure reached into its jacket, pulling out a handgun and a silencer, which was quickly and methodically attached. It pulled back the jacket sleeve to peek at its watch. "5:00. No more than one hour, in and out. Time to get underway." The voice was soft, low, dripping of sex and very distinctly male, the only giveaway of the figure's gender due to the heavy clothing. He stood, placing his hand against the glass window he'd stopped next to. He leaned over slightly, glancing into the room. His face showed nothing. "One desk, opposite door, which is set in the center of the wall opposite the window. Wall appears to be 30-ft long. Desk appears to be about 7-ft long and 3-ft deep. Chairs scattered throughout room in what appears to be no particular order. Room sparsely furnished aside from expensive art beyond aforementioned furniture. Victim usually found within from 5:30 pm to 7:00 pm. Alone from 5:30 pm to 6:00 pm. Usually joined by two associates at 6:00 pm. Plan: await arrival of victim, 'coerce' into giving information, leave before arrival of two other associates." The window wasn't locked, a soon-to-be fatal mistake on the part of one [URL=http://img106.imageshack.us/img106/2453/bkgriffithyoungsmile22bq.jpg]Horacio Leondra[/URL]. Horacio had never worried about locking the window. It was the sixth floor after all. Who was actually going to get in through there? He didn't know Kenso. Kenso slipped through the window, turning the large plush chair at the desk to face away from the door and sitting himself within it. The dark window reflected the room behind it, and so Kenso simply watched. Kenso permitted himself a slight smirk when he heard the lock on the door click open. Five-thirty on the dot. The man was exceedingly punctual at least. Horacio locked the door behind him before flicking on the light. The young man nearly wet his pants when Kenso spoke. "A lovely evening, is it not?" He was careful to keep his voice calm, low, conversational. He'd found that to be the most intimidating. "Before you answer, I'd advice you to keep your tone conversational and quiet, and not to go for that lock, or both of us are going to have VERY unpleasant evenings." Horacio gulped, but stepped away from the door. One didn't argue with a voice for which no body was connected. "A little dreary, I believe, but I have seen far worse. Who are you?" "I do not believe dreary is the word. Really, it's fairly normal outside. Rain has become so commonplace that it is an everyday thing of beauty now. Who I am is none of your concern. Only what I am here for." "I do not yet view rain as a thing of beauty. I have left this city and seen the sun shining across open fields. Rain is depressing." Horacio, being a fairly intelligent man, had easily gathered that Kenso intended to hold both a casual and a business conversation at once. The intimidation factor was impressive. "What is it that you are here for?" "I have not seen the sun, so the rain is my beauty. The pictures." Horacio swallowed so hard it echoed through the cavernous room. No, it couldn't be. He had pictures of a certain crooked attorney with a crime boss's wife. Names were never mentioned, not even in Horacio thought's, unless speaking directly with the attorney. He had decided to use them to blackmail the attorney for a very pretty sum of money, one he planned on collecting regularly. The attorney had threatened back, but Horacio hadn't believed him. Horacio quickly decided regular conversation was not worth his time. Now he was scared. "I do not believe I know what pictures you speak of." His voice cracked under his lie. Kenso turned the chair to face Horacio, pistol aimed for Horacio's crotch. He smirked, knowing the effect it had, and knowing Horacio was already scared. "That's too bad. I guess I'll just have to jog your memory. Unfortunately, I believe that shooting my current target will actually worsen your memory by removing what few brain cells you have, so perhaps I'll start with something else. Come to the desk and place both of your hands on it, palms down, fingers spread." Horacio didn't bother to argue, but he would not say anything about the pictures. "I don't know what you're talking about." Kenso placed the end of the silencer on the thumb of Horacio's right hand, watching as Horacio's eyes widened. "You know, Horacio, that at this range, the flash of my weapon would actually cauterize the wound, preventing bleeding, meaning I could continue to do it with no fear of you bleeding to death?" Horacio's eyes widened further. "Now, I believe you are in possession of certain compromising pictures in which a client of mine may have an interest." Horacio was inherently a coward, and he was no a coward being threatened by a man he knew he could not best in combat. But he couldn't just give up his blackmailing tool. "I have no idea." Kenso smiled, removed the handkerchief from Horacio's three piece suit pocket, and placed it over Horacio's mouth. Then Kenso pulled the trigger. Horacio was whining as Kenso removed the handkerchief. "I believe you do. And by the way, this is an extended 15-round clip and I always keep a round in the chamber. I also have four additional clips in my jacket. I can do this for a while." "The nude lady to the right of the door. The redhead. Not the blonde one. The natural redhead. They're behind her." Kenso stepped away from Horacio, keeping his gun raised and Horacio in view. It took him a second to find the exact painting, as there were two redheads to the right of the door. Horacio was right though. One of them was a natural blonde. The artist had gone into exquisite detail. Kenso lifted the painting, glancing behind it. Sure enough, a small diskette was tucked in the frame. Kenso inserted the diskette into a pocket PC he produced from his right front pocket, scanning and opening the contents. There was no doubt these were what he was looking for. He knew a few guys at SN would have a ball with these. He copied the files to a hidden folder on his pocket PC before removing the diskette. "Well, I thank you for your cooperation, though I must express my disappointment. I was hoping to enjoy your company a little longer. You gave up quicker than I expected." Kenso smiled, aiming his pistol directly between Horacio's eyes. "And I do so hate to be disappointed." Horacio hit the floor with a look of utter terror and disbelief forever plastered on his face. As Kenso walked by, he dropped a black rose on Horacio's corpse. His client's mark, not his, but it had been requested as a warning. Kenso had only been called in because the client didn't have anyone good enough for this one. Kenso slipped back out the window, glancing at his watch. 5:55. Cutting it close, but no big deal. He headed to the nearest fire escape, quickly making his way down the steps. His weapons were unregistered, unmatchable by ballistics, serial number long removed and changed. There was a reason the members of SN were never arrested. There was no point in doing it, because you'd never hold them. Nearby the fire escape was a jet black motorbike. Kenso hopped on, turned the key, and the engine roared to life. He squealed out, letting the rear end fishtail through a sharp right, then roaring away. Five minutes later, in another alley, he traded a diskette for a backpack. The backpack had his money, counted out in front of him. A cool $50,000 for an easy hit. Blackmail retrieval/assassinations always paid good, and luckily for Kenso, all the retrieval experts had been off on other missions when this one came in. Another ten minutes later, he pulled into Heaven's Gate, passing Elliot as he entered HQ to drop off his keys. Technically, the bike was his, but he let everyone use it. He preferred his car usually anyway. The bike just made for better getaways. Then he made his way back for the bar. He stopped by his office to fill out some paperwork - routine stuff, just to say the job had been done successfully and cleanly. It still took a few minutes. By the time he left, Lysander was already yelling for Elliot, presumably about a mission the gorgeous blonde sitting nearby had presented him with. Kenso vaguely wondered what it was. Kenso immediately spotted Virgil as he entered Heaven's Gate, and he smiled. Virgil was from a different world from Kenso, but the two were a lot alike at the same time. It was always good to hold a discussion with him after a mission, and besides, he had to share the pictures with someone, and Jack and Alex were nowhere to be found. As far as he knew, none of the girls would be interested. The attorney certainly wasn't that good-looking, even if the wife was. "Hey, Virgil," Kenso said, taking a seat at the bar next to Virgil, removing the pocket PC from his jacket. He glanced at the bartender, who was approaching him. "Whiskey, two shots." He opened the folder, then started playing with the PC. "Got me some, shall I say...intriguing....souvenirs from the mission I just did. Interested in seeing them?" [/size]

[URL=http://www.personaldna.com/report.php?k=BauqiEyaxjORPYY-CO-DDDAC-ee39&u=9e3fb0f50383]Test #2[/URL] A Benevolent Experiencer now, apparently...I guess I'm stuck with benevolent. I'm not really sure I agree with that, as I tend to be harsh and abrasive when giving advice to people who are being complete morons, but hey, it's still interesting. But I've still got 100 on my masculinity (boy did the femininity take a drop though).

[URL=http://www.personaldna.com/report.php?k=EPokkEykuiWTHZU-AO-DDDAC-a496&u=768f4de4fd11]My Results[/URL] Not perfect, and a contradictory on some things, but amusing. Of course, I find it amusing that I am the most masculine person available, but apparently have a decent feminine side too (is that just because I've got a sense of fashion?!).

[QUOTE=Bláse][size=1][color=slategray]I think this all happened ten years ago and the media should get over it. Honestly, doesn't the system have anything better to solve?[/color][/size][/QUOTE][size=1]Dude, do you even realize how severely wrong that statement is? EVERY case, no matter how old, should be solved. Everyone deserves justice in these things. Yes, the media should get over it. On that, you are correct. But the system shouldn't just ignore it because it's an old case.[/size]

I'm throwing in another vote for Spike Speigel from Cowboy Bebop. Come on, have you watched that guy fight? Badass doesn't necessarily mean merciless. Spike just has that attitude that absolutely screams, 'You mean nothing to me. I really don't need a reason to hurt you.' And anyone who can kick your *** without removing his hands from his pockets and never so much as change his expression is the definition of badass. And then there's Zaraki Kenpachi from Bleach. That was doesn't even have to be stated. Death is only part of the fun of fighting? I mean really, how much more badass can a guy get? Yes, it's a whole different flavor of badass from Spike, but it's badass all the same. On a side note: Heero Yuy is WAY too angst-ridden to be badass. That guy drives me up a wall. Duo, on the other hand, is awesome. The whole laid-back, relaxed, comic type going into 'now you've pissed me off...By the way, have I introduced you to Deathscythe' is awesome.

Apparently, no one here watches JAG...Therefore, I hereby submit [b]Catherine Bell[/b] [IMG]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v389/Maverick_Kossuth/CatherineBell01.jpg[/IMG] Go ahead and try to tell me she's not gorgeous, whether she's just Catherine Bell or playing Sarah Mackenzie (the spelling of which I probably butchered). This woman is, in my mind, one of these single most gorgeous women around. Next on my list is [b]Neve Campbell[/b] [IMG]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v389/Maverick_Kossuth/NeveCampbell01.jpg[/IMG] To this day, I haven't quite figured out what it is, but this girl entices me like almost no one else. (By almost, I mean that my current girlfriend and my ex-, and possibly Catherine Bell are the only ones that rate higher.) For the sake of completeness here... [b]Angelina Jolie[/b] [IMG]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v389/Maverick_Kossuth/AngelinaJolie01.jpg[/IMG] Nothing needs to be said here. This woman is way beyond hot. She redefines hot entirely, and that' s just how it is. I'm also throwing in votes for Shakira and Keira Knightley. Three pages to show up is far too many. As for guys throwing in votes on guys, I'm casting one for Hugh Laurie, Johnny Depp, and Viggo Mortensen. I'm straight, but I'd give my right arm to look half as good as any of them. And toss in a random shout to Matthew McConaughey.

[size=1][align=center][b][u]Name[/u][/b] Kenso Loryn [b][u]Nickname[/u][/b] Ace - Actually prefers to go by Kenso [b][u]Age[/u][/b] 28 [b][u]Appearance[/u][/b] [u][url="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v389/Maverick_Kossuth/SinisterNationPic.jpg"]Kenso[/url][/u] [b][u] Weapons[/u][/b] Kenso carries two SiG526R [/size][size=1].40 S&W [/size][size=1]Crimson Tracer handguns. The 526 Series is a continuation of the old 226 series, using lighter alloys and adding recoil absorption technology. Its grip-built laser sight and naturally high accuracy makes for an exceedingly deadly weapon. He also carries dual [u][color=blue][url="http://www.swordsdirect.com/samurai_3000.html"]Samurai 3000 Katanas[/url][/color][/u] with black finish, in whose use he is highly proficient. Like most assassins, he is also exceedingly proficient in hand-to-hand combat, especially military-based CQC style. [b][u]Years as a Sinister Nation Member[/u][/b] 5, nearing 6 [b][u]Specialty[/u][/b] Assassination//Wheel-man ((Wheelman is something of a misnomer for Kenso - He specializes in air vehicles, though he is quite capable on the ground as well)) [b][u]Personality[/u][/b] There are few people more serious than Kenso, at least when on the job. He wastes neither time, ammunition, or movements. Outside of combat, Kenso is a lot more fun. He likes his cars fast, his music loud, and his women a little on the wild side (though even he enjoys a nice, slow, seductive evening every once in a while). He can't help but be intrigued by Eva, whose own carefree attitude towards men always strikes him as mildly promising. Kenso shows very little signs of compassion in most cases, but anything involving a child is sure to set off a protective side of him so huge that nothing is likely to get through him. To him, women are not as defenseless as they pretend to be, as the female members of SN prove so well. Children, on the other hand, usually are, and the ones that aren't need their own kind of help. IN his mind, their are only two things more heinous than injuring a child, and those are rape and homicide, and homicide doesn't always rank higher on his list than injuring kids. [b][u]Background[/u][/b] Anyone can tell you that it's a hard life living in Traydor. It's an even harder life when your parents are cops. That's right. Two cops managed to raise a mercenary. Don't ask me how. They sure weren't trying to. They just wanted a normal kid. My dad even wanted me to be a cop like them. My mom figured it was up to me. But there was one thing I learned from them. I did NOT want to be a cop. No way, no how. Why bother? They don't do anything in this waste. It was a normal life. My parents managed to teach me well before I started school, and I earned myself a scholarship into a private school, which I proceeded to get out of early, moving to the next level of schooling. All total, I graduated three years early. Nice thing about that is that your school is taken care of by colleges. Bad thing about that is that you never really fit in with anyone. Sure, when I was 15 I didn't stick out at all by looks (I was an early bloomer, as some people are), but once someone asked my age, that was it. Until I was 18, I lived with my parents. Simple, easy life really. I didn't bother with a job. There was no need for one at the time. I got my car and started racing it. My parents didn't really approve, but they knew they couldn't really stop me either. I signed up for the military as early as I could, entering basic on my 18th birthday. At first, I got put into evasive driving courses, having previously demonstrated my driving prowess (my recruiter was a fellow racer). Later, I moved into actual special operations. Nothing difficult, just basic weapon use and CQC. But I excelled. I found the weapons I liked and mastered them. Back then I used knives, not katanas. I'm still fairly decent with the knives. I loved CQC, loved the solid feel of muscle and bone clashing against itself, the cracking of bones, the solid thud of a body hitting the ground. And so I mastered that also. But then, it happened. Some fool just out of training made a rookie mistake. He left his safety off, and wound up putting a bullet in my kneecap. God-damned moron. The military didn't want me in special forces after my knee reconstruction. They had enough other potential candidates. They could afford to get rid of me, even if they would have to pay me medical pension. So I was home again, for maybe a year. It was a botched mugging. Never break into the home of two cops and ex-special forces. Unfortunately, my parents were overpowered, only because it had happened so fast. They went down fighting, both killing two of the would-be theives, out of 5. The last one tried to run from me, but I wasn't allowing that. I killed him. The police didn't bother to ask questions. They usually didn't when their own were killed and someone had finished the people who'd done it. But that was when HE found me. Nicholas Fargo. The cops may not have made a big deal of the case, but the media did. The media loved cop-killings. It was good ratings. And you couldn't have a story like this without pointing me out. After all, I'd killed one of the muggers. It was a simple proposition. Get paid better money for the job I used to do, and work with less rules. There was nothing to argue with really. In the beginning, I was a useful contact. I knew cops, could get information legally that no one else could. All those cops are dead or gone now. No one stays a cop for long in this city. Not unless they were completely insane. Work never proposed a problem. Jobs were easy, my 'co-workers' fun for the most part, though for some reason I passed up easy opportunities involving them. Maybe I'd chase down Eva one of these days. But now he's gone...They took him...I don't know who they is yet. I'm thinking the Murdock Brothers, but Methais Corbin isn't exactly off my radar either. I don't think it's Kenji. I don't think he has the guts, not to mention I don't think he'd want to risk losing a good client. I [b]will[/b] find out.[/align] [/size]

[quote name='Aaryanna][color=SeaGreen'] Hehehe! I also nominate John for Captain! And then I apply to be part of the Super Otaku Force! [/color][/quote]I second (or is it third, or fourth) that!! Although the ability of anyone to do that mildly scares me.

[QUOTE=White][font=Tahoma][color=#555555]Wrong. Man, these rules are so simple. Why can't anybody understand them? One of the rules states that once you lose, there is a 20 minute time period where thinking about the Game is okay. This gives you a chance to announce your loss and wipe the thought from your mind.[/color][/font][/QUOTE][size=1]Wait, where's this 20 minute rule? ((And if it does indeed exist, this is still close enough to my last post that I've only lost once.)) Take note that the minute rules are VARIATIONS, none of which have been mentioned to apply here. [/size]

I've never eaten non-instant ramen, unfortunately. My favorite flavor is creamy chicken, and I drain the vast majority of the water before I mix in the seasoning pack. I might try it without draining one of these days.

I lose straight to infinity, as do, by technicalities, all who've posted so far, if all rules were played by. It works like this: By thinking of The Game, you lose. When you lose, you are supposed to post that you lose. By typing up the post for the game, you are again thinking of The Game, meaning technically another post is called for. Submitting said post also brings about thoughts of The Game, meaning for every one post you make, two instances of thinking of The Game occur, meaning two more posts should be made, which thereby should double, etc. So it ends up an infinite chain loop in which you are constantly losing.

[size=1]Here's hoping I might be able to sneak in before this actually gets started. [b]Name:[/b] Vincent Terenitio [b]Age:[/b] 22 [b]Gender:[/b] Male [b]Ethnicity and Place of Birth:[/b] [/size][size=1] Caucasian, Born and raised in Virginia [b]Ability:[/b] Vincent's most dire wish was to be able to hide his curse, and pass it onto others. To this end, Nemesis granted him transmutation abilities which apply both to Vincent and due victims he may choose. Vincent very rarely kills with his own hands, though it is always a messy deal when he does. Instead, he watches his victims go crazy as their family, friends, coworkers, and just the normal people on the street shrink in horror from them, as he often uses his abilities to make people appear as he once did. [b]Appearance:[/b] In his true body, Vincent's left side is a horrendous mess. If viewed from the right, one expects to find an attractive young man, shoulder-length black hair with red highlights pulled back into a ponytail, well-defined, sharp features, andeyes such a dark brown they're almost black. He stands at 6'4" and weighs in at 225 lbs of muscle, with broad shoulders, large, powerful muscles across his chest and arms, and a 34" waist. The problem occurs when Vincent turns to face you, and his left side comes into view. Starting about an inch below his left eye and to the left side of his nose, miraculously curving around his mouth, Vincent's left side suffers from horrendous burn scars, caused by an explosion from a loose gas line in a stove. The scars pull at his good skin, restricting his movement, severely limiting his use of his left side. Vincent very rarely allows this form to be seen. Instead, he uses his power to make his left side match his right. In this form, he is remarkably handsome, a striking figure certain to grab the attention of any female passing by. [b]Biography:[/b] Through most of his life, Vincent was a normal person, well off, his family rolling in inherited wealth. Money was never a problem, and there was never anything he wanted that he didn't get. Unlike most wealthy children, however, Vincent was not spoiled. His parents sent him to a private school, the best available, but told him that if his grades were not kept up, he would be transferred to a public school, to sit with all the regular kids. "Our wealth is a privilege, not a right. You will earn it." As far as Vincent was concerned, that was fair enough. He was naturally intelligent, and keeping up his grades was a fairly simple task. He was not pampered by servants at home. He did not live in a mansion, but a simple four bedroom home. From an early age, he helped with the chores, cleaning, helping with laundry, and even learning to cook. Ah, cooking...Vincent loved to cook. It was his passion, his art. He loved watching the transformation of something nigh-inedible to a decadent masterpiece meant to tantalize and tease with its smells until it landing on one's tongue in an explosion of exquisite taste. It ended up his downfall. Not long after his graduation from high school, he was preparing to cook dinner for the night. It was his parents' 20th anniversary, and he wanted a wonderful dinner for them, and had even arranged to be out with friends after the dinner so his parents could have a night alone. But somehow, the lines in the oven had broke free. As he lit it, it exploded open, blasting him across the room, the erupting ball of flames searing his left side. That was the second worst event of his life. No, the skin grafts hadn't worked. He would never look the same again. Normal people shrinked from him in fear. But not his parents. No, never his parents. They loved him, scars and all. The boy still wanted to cook, still wanted to go to culinary school. But he knew he couldn't, not looking like he did. People feared him. So his parents bought him a personal teacher, paid well to shut up and do her job. The teacher grew accustomed to his appearance, grew to admire his skill. She was young, beautiful, technically fresh out of school herself but having already made a name for herself. He was drawn to her, this woman of such similar tastes to his own, and she, to a point, was drawn to him. It was the scars...The scars that tore her away from him....While accustomed to their appearance, she could not bear to feel them against her skin. She disappeared as soon as he finished his courses. It was then that Vincent truly began to change. How could this be? These, these, these things had torn his love from his life...How could something he'd never asked for, never wanted, rip the most important person to him from his world forever? He started to shrink into himself, knowing his parents would take care of him no matter what. Until that day...That true worst moment of his life. The cops showed at his door. The taller, male cop actually passed out upon seeing Vincent, who wasn't wearing a shirt at the time. The female cop swallowed hard, trying to focus her gaze on his eyes, still perfect and untouched. He dropped to his knees at the news. Dead? How? No, the cop had to be lieing...To the morgue? Why? Identification? Just to be sure? No, they couldn't force him...What choice did he have? He went, forced to look at the shattered remains of his parents. A drunk driver in a full-size pick-up had torn into their sports car, a head-on collision. The driver had swerved into the wrong lane. He was scratched, bruised, a concussion. His parents were dead, their bodies nearly crushed. The cops took a step away from him when he looked up from their corpses. They could see the pain, the anger, the vengeance in his eyes. "Leave me." The tone left no room to argue. The room emptied, the door shut tight behind him. He knew what would happen now. No would would let him be a human. No one would hire him as a cook, not even some fast food place. He was a freak, a monstrosity. And there was nothing he could do with that fact. So he wished. Wished for someone, somewhere, to let him do something about it. [b]What is it you desire most, young Vincent?[/b] The voice was soft, in his head, but there was no denying its existence. Was he going mad? [b]No, not at all. Now please answer my question.[/b] What the hell?! Vincent fought the urge for a second, but what was the point? It couldn't hurt anyway. "I want to be who I am. I only want those I want to fear me to do so. I want to make those who taunt and torture me feel my pain." [b]An interesting idea, to be sure. I can grant you that power.[/b] "For what cost?" [b]Nothing much really. Just that you serve me.[/b] Vincent stopped to think for a moment, then smiled. It couldn't hurt, could it? "So be it." By the time he left the room, his scars had been hidden with his powers. The two cops that had come to his house were the only ones still standing there. The man was found dead the next day, a bullet through his head, his magazine missing a round, his left side a horrendous mess. The female was never seen again, nor will she be. Vincent used her for a sexual toy for a time, but grew bored, and burned her body. The driver that killed his parents was torn to shreds. The coroner could not associate the claw marks with those of any living creature. He never will. [b]Other:[/b] As the sole heir to his parents' money, Vincent has access to vast resources, and is more than willing to use them when necessary. [/size]

[font=Verdana][color=Red][size=1][size=2][size=1][b]OOC: Now done. Character Snippet can be enhanced if necessary. Name:[/b] Makiru [b] Gender: [/b]Male [b]Age:[/b] 52 (Zoras, like Gorons, appear to have pretty decent life spans, so I'm placing this somewhere between 21 and 26 for a Hylian) [b]Race: [/b]Zora [b]Appearance:[/b] [url="http://hyrulerealm.guardianarchives.com/Official/OoT/Zora.jpg"]Just a typical Zora[/url] The effects of a magical expirement gone wrong, Makiru is actually black in color. The various markings found on Zora are red, a stark contrast on the[/size] [size=1] black, including a line of red down each arm. His number of markings seem to increase as he gains additional magical power. He has yet to determine if this is a trait found in all Zoras not noticed as much due to the similarity of colors between their skin and their markings or if it is unique to him, and another side effect of his magic. He generally wears some sort of clothes when outside the river (which is all the time now), but the type tends to vary greatly. [b]Personality: [/b]Makiru tends to be a little paranoid. Having had multiple magical expirements go wrong due to people sneaking up on him (including the one that left him black), he's constantly on guard, though he actually tends to miss things anyway. He's very fast in everything he does, some say as another side effect of his expirements. He's agile, a quick runner, a sickenly fast swimmer,[/size] [size=1] and all that, but he also talks fast, thinks fast (though not as fast as he talks, which gets him in trouble), and does just about everything else fast. He does not understand the meaning of the word slow. He figures our time in this world is limited, and therefore should not be wasted. When not being overly paranoid (which he generally gets past as long as you introduce yourself to him normally or at least engage in conversation), he's a fairly laid-back, excessively nice guy. He does have a short temper when it comes to anyone who downplays the power of magic compared to technology. This is not to say that he despises technology, unlike most Zoras.[/size] [size=1] Indeed, it fascinates him, and he acknowledges that there are things it can do better than magic, just as there are things that magic can do better than technology (such as his transformative magics). [b]Abilities/Items:[/b] Makiru is a mage, plain and simple. He specializes in finding new spells, and has mastered the art of transmutation magic. He usually uses his magic in more subtle ways, though he will go for a flashy technique when necessary. Fireballs and shards of ice just don't fit him. He doesn't see the point of something that does anything you can already do with a weapon. [/size][/size][/size][/color][/font][left][font=Verdana][color=Red][size=1][size=2][size=1][b]Weaponry:[/b] Who needs weapons when you've got giant bladed[/size] [size=1] fins? OK, that's just what Makiru would like to say. In all reality, he never did get very good with his fin blades, though they work as a last ditch effort and as a shield. Unfortunately for him, it's all he really has, as he currently possesses no weapons. He has seen some multi-part swords that use technology instead of magic that have severely grabbed his attention (think something like Cloud Strife's Advent Children sword on a smaller, more manageable scale, especially as Makiru would like to dual wield, which takes greater advantage of his his agility).[/size][/size][/size][/color][/font][font=Verdana][size=1] [/size][/font][font=Verdana][size=1][color=Red] [/color][/size][/font][font=Verdana][size=1] [/size][/font][font=Verdana][color=Red][size=1][size=2] [size=1][b]Background: [/b]Makiru was born years after the discovery of machines by the Goron, and therefore has actually led a relatively isolated life. When he was younger, things were normal, at least for[/size] [size=1]a Zora. He spent the day swimming, learning, and just hanging out for the most part. Until around age 13 that is. At about that age, he found himself roaming more freely around the Zora world, as though he knew there was something for him to find, that he could feel it pulling him.[/size][/size][/size][/color][/font][font=Verdana][size=1] [/size][/font][/left] [font=Verdana][color=Red][size=1][size=2][size=1] This was when he first stumbled upon the Zora mages. He could only watch in awe as they practiced their arts. Even a simple ball of fire was the greated thing he'd ever seen, and to watch a fellow Zora morph a small amount of water in a dancing flame was beyond anything he could've ever imagined. It was 5 years from that day before he finally got the courage to ask one of the mages of his craft. The elder mage agreed to take Makiru under his fin and began to teach Makiru the basics of magic. Makiru turned out to be a natural, more a sorcerer than a wizard. He caught on quickly, moving to advanced techniques in just over[/size] [size=1]a year. It took only another 4 years for Makiru to reach such an advanced stage that his mentor released him from his apprenticeship forever. Now 23, Makiru was certain there was something more for him, something outside of the Zora world. But it took him another 2 years to actually leave. After all, he was really still just a young one, with another 10 years or so before other Zoras would truly consider him an adult. And the outside world had the hated technology, the people his kind had sworn to never deal with. Once he'd finally gained the courage to go out into the rest of Hyrule, he was very quickly overwhelmed by the wonders of technology. Horseless carriages were wondrous things, though they really weren't as pretty as the horse-drawn ones that were still around. Guns....Guns scared him. Such vicious instruments. They punched through soldiers' armour as though it was made of paper.[/size] [size=1]The thought frightened him, but he could not deny the power associated with them. Electric lights, gun, bombs, horseless carriages. As it all started to sink in (which took a pretty good amount of time, as he had to get over being awestruck first), Makiru actually dropped into a sort of depression...What good was the magic the goddesses had granted them? What use did anyone have for magic when technology could[/size] [size=1]do so much? He returned to the Zoras in this depressed state. The Zora Elders used his depression as further fuel for their campaign against machines. He remained in this state for many long months, until he once again stumbled upon practicing mages. He noticed one's poor attempt at a transmutation spell. That was it! t\That was what magic could do! He'd seen no technology for such abilities. Suddenly, the old Makiru was back. On his own, in his own little study, he starting expirementing. Oh, such expirementing. He quickly started on the unthinkable...Transmuting living creatures. At first it was just flowers, then fish, but then he started on other, bigger things, including a dog. [/size][/size][/size][/color][/font][font=Verdana] [/font][font=Verdana][color=Red][size=1][size=2][size=1] It wasn't long before he was using transmutation spells on himself.[/size] [size=1]At first, they were minor changes, color changes and the like. One of these color change expirements is what left him as he is. He was in the process of dismissing his spell when one of his fellow Zoras startled him. Something went horribly wrong and he surged the power to the spell instead of removing it, and found himself completely unable to remove it at all. He can cast a spell to make him look normal, but he's actually not sure how to make it permanent, and he's also not sure he wants to. However, years later, after much torturous expirementation, many which left him incapacitated for extended times, he managed a full change to Hylian. Makiru was ecstatic. He hated not being in Zora form, but being able to transform himself like that was reason for celebration.[/size][/size][/size][/color][/font][font=Verdana][size=1] [/size][/font][font=Verdana][color=Red][size=1][size=2][size=1] The change to a Hylian was the last straw though. The Zora Elder Mages did not approve of this transmutation magic, and he was exiled from the river. He could return, but never could he cast magic if he did. It wasn't a life Makiru could lead, and so, he went out into the main world of Hyrule. He spends much of his time at Lake Hylia right now, thankful for its abundance of water.[/size][/size][/size][/color][/font][font=Verdana][size=1] [/size][/font][color=Red][size=1][font=Verdana][size=2] [size=1][b]Character Snippet:[/b][/size][/size][/font][font=Comic Sans MS][font=Verdana][size=1] Makiru spared but a single glance back at the river as he walked away. So, this was how it was to be, was it? Well, so be it. To tear away his magic would be to rip what he was from him entirely, so into Hyrule it was. As he walked across Hyrule Field, he glanced around him. Such a huge expanse of land stretched out in front of him... So he did the only thing he could. He started walking. He watched as a horseless carriage headed off towards Lake Hylia from Kakariko Village, warily eyed the long guns resting against the shoulders of the guards standing outside said village (they'd started posting them at the bottom of the stairs too). Well, as long as they weren't pointed at him, he supposed they were OK...He'd have to get used to them after all.... He glanced up at a small bird gliding through the gorgeous blue sky and smiled. Such freedom that little thing had. Even with his magic, he was still stuck on the ground or in the water, at least for now...To soar through the sky would be the ultimate freedom. But there was no machine for it, and no magic truly let you fly (though he'd seen a few spells that could let you float, which was useful for moving large objects, since it worked on them too). For now, he debated. Should he head for the hustle and bustle of Hyrule Town or up Death Mountain to see the inventing process of the Gorons? It really was a difficult decision. But he had no place to stay at either, and he wasn't sure they'd accept a magic-using Zora, even one wishing to learn the wonders of technology, and maybe even to use magic to enhance them... So he, like the horseless carriage, headed off in the direction of Lake Hylia. Even with the visitors it now got regularly, it was a fairly peaceful place, serene and undisturbed. The Zoras had closed off their end shortcut tunnel to it, meaning he would not be bothered, and could comfortably relax under the water as much as he'd like. So off he went, to contemplate.[/size][/font][font=Verdana] [/font] [/font][/size][/color]

[b]Name[/b]: Therium Larin Velux [b]Race[/b]: Half-fang Dragon LeShay; The LeShay are an enigmatic race, longer-lived than even the elves, living quite literally forever. Indeed, many speculate that elves are actually descended from LeShay. Remarkably agile creatures, LeShay hold an elven-like grace. Therium is an oddity, in that he is a half-blood LeShay and does not possess most of their abilities, which simply don't carry well unless the child is a pure-blood. [b]Age[/b]: 136 [b]Gender[/b]: Male [b]Faction[/b]: Crimson Blaze [b]Personality[/b]: Therium very rarely talks. He acts. It's not that he's anti-social or anything like that. Indeed, he's quite comfortable in a social atmosphere (especially as his half-dragon heritage isn't actually that readily apparent, aside from his fangs, claws, wings, and eyes). It's just that he feels that actions are far more conductive than words for the most part. There are a few things where he'll talk first, but not many. For instance, he is all too aware of the dangers of acting too quickly with women, and generally resorts to his relatively smooth talking first. In battle, he wastes no time on taunts and clever insults. He just kills. [b]Weapons and abilities[/b]: To sound horrendously cliche, Therium IS a weapon. However, this isn't due to some crazy martial arts ability, though he is highly-trained in various styles, or some weird genetic manipulation. As a LeShay, he creates his own weaponry, quite literally, and his half-dragon nature has enhanced that ability, helping to make up for all the LeShay abilities it actually managed to hinder. He is known for creating exceedingly strange weapons as spur of the moment ideas, and is usually fairly proficient in their use. [b]Bio/snippet[/b]: A test, again. Always tests. Did they not trust my ability? Did they not believe I was capable of holding my own in a real fight? Missions are what I longed for. I wanted to go out into the real combat, do something. I wanted to watch the blood of my enemies running down my blades, watch their bodies torn asunder as I ripped into them. Of course, I knew why. I wasn't like other warriors of the Crimson Blaze. My physical strength, while definitely above that of a normal human by a very high margin, simply didn't keep up with that of most of the other warriors of the Crimson Blaze. The strength of the Crimson Blaze warriors was utterly legendary, and even I as a half-dragon barely kept up. I was almost an oddity. But they did value their skilled warriors most highly, and I was working on proving myself to be one of those skillful fighters. I stepped into a gladiatoral arena complex, fully prepared for some low-ranking Crimson Blaze warriors who'd gotten on someone's bad side. What I found was nowhere near it. Two high-ranking officials, one a human genetic experimentation known as a Juggernaut, insanely strong and fairly resistant to damage, the other a Scouter Gargoyle, a fast aerial expert also known to be capable of resisting a fair amount of damage. Well, ex-high-ranking officials. Both had been imprisoned on counts of treason and were awaiting execution. What the heck were they doing in here? "Therium, this will be your final test. These two officials have been told that they will be released from custody, though stripped of all ranking, if they defeat you. It is a battle to the death. Should you win, you will start having true missions assigned to you. Begin." And they began. Before I'd moved, the huge fist of the Juggernaut official was crashing into my chest. I tried to bend with the blow, lessen the impact, but it launched me instead. The Gargoyle was in the air behind, ready to strike at my back, but that was NOT going to happen. I tucked into a ball, twisting my body to entirely face the gargoyle, then untucked, my wings unfurling as my arms swung out. Chains sprung from each hand and wrapped themselves around the gargoyle's ankles. I yanked on the chains, hard, throwing myself high into the air, launching the gargoyle behind me, allowing the chains to dissipate so I didn't stop its movement. The Juggernaut's next punch was headed for where I had been, and where the gargoyle was. The gargoyle crashed to the ground, its back crushed by the Juggernaut's powerful blow. Two greatswords appeared in my hands. Normally too large for anyone to wield in one-hand comfortably, I had the bonus that they held practically no weight to me, thanks to my weapon-generating abilities. Now I was going to have to use some real force. The Juggernaut charged as I landed. I smirked. They always seemed to charge. Haven't actually finished the snippet, but I'm just not feeling up to it right now (getting tired). Will edit later, unless this is good enough.

[i][font=Comic Sans MS][size=1]I lightly brushed my hand across one of the flowers near me. It was almost comforting. I'd finally switched from a full pair of gloves to a fingerless pair, and while the sensation was indeed stronger than what I'd've expected, it was finally beginning to become tolerable. It no longer hurt just to touch something. I really didn't understand how Proudstar lived with this abilities, but perhaps he had to adjust the same way I am. My glasses were off, so I kept my head toward the ground most of the time, shading my eyes from the harsh sun with my hood, while still allowing myself to be affected by the light. My hearing caught the sound of wings, not quite natural. I glanced up, focusing my sight, trying to ignore the painful sunlight. I noticed Seraphim on a ledge a decent distance from me. Seraphim confused me. At times I thought she was like Sabertooth, revelling in war and destruction. At other times, she seemed more like me, calmly wishing for a more peaceful life. I wondered if there was something in her past that I didn't know about that made her that way. Maybe the fighting was an outlet for other emotions. But no matter what, I got the feeling she didn't belong with the Brotherhood any more than I did. Perhaps when I got Charles Xavier to accept me, she would follow too...Maybe it would do her some good.... It was a dangerous path I was on really. Magneto was not a forgiving man, and I was mildly afraid he might do something to me if I went to the X-Men. He had no patience for Charles Xavier's ways, felt that peace was either unattainable, or just not worth it. I hadn't quite figured that out yet. But then again, the X-Men would probably protect me, right? ((OOC: Really not much, but I"D Like to see where this could go.)) [/size][/font][/i]

[size=1][i]Mimic....Is that who I am now? Or am I still Calvin Ralkin? I glanced at all those around me. Seraphim, the beautiful but deadly young woman with bio-organic wings. M, the one that scares me more than any other from the group. I never want to accidentally learn her power. The idea of having telepathy and possibly not being able to fully control it scares the crap out of me. Sabertooth, a vicious war-lover I couldn't begin to understand. How could anyone enjoy a fight so much. I did have to thank him though. The healing factor I enjoyed so much lately came from his nemesis, who I never would've been near otherwise. Gambit, a suave young man with an explosive touch. That was a cool-ass power. I was kind of worried about not being able to control it though, so I refrained from mimicking it, for now. And Nightcrawler, the worst of us all, at least in trying to stay hidden from the world. His blue skin and various demonic features just made that an impossibility. I felt sorry for him. I guess to these people that was who I am. I am not Calvin Ralkin among them. I am Mimic. I am a fellow mutant who has released his humanity and acknowledged his superiority over mankind. That wasn't entirely accurate, but it was what they all believed. For a long time I've been given time to think about the methods of the Brotherhood and their beliefs. Not purposely given, but given simply because until I controlled my powers I was too dangerous to let out since I might accidentally kill someone. I hadn't complained to much back then. I wanted to deny what I was anyway. Not to mention I was staying with the girl who'd taken me from my house. She was fun to live with. So, so many possibilities. I almost wished I was still there. I turned away from Magneto, walking away at a fairly brisk pace. I needed time to walk off my nervous energy. A mutant....I still hated it. I didn't want to be one of them, didn't want to be a freak. But there was nothing I could do, and so I had to learn to live with it. I just couldn't believe that that meant establishing a complete dominance over every day mankind. There had to be a less deadly, less messy way. That was where Charles Xavier stepped in. Or rather, that's where I'm hoping he steps in. For now, I remain with the Brotherhood. I suddenly stop my walking, having somehow managed to reach the top of a cliff while my thoughts wandered. I looked out across the gorgeous expanse. Trees thicker than any I'd seen before stretched hundreds of feet in the air, reaching for the heavens as though trying to pick the stars from the sky. Even the flowers around me were huge, some coming up to my waist. Theoretically, it was a small paradise, and it'd make a great vacation spot. But it's not for me. This isn't where I belong...Now, I search for where it is I do belong...[/i] [/size]

((OOC: My sincere apologies for the wait. I'm a little anal about my RPing posts, and I just can't seem to get anything I'm happy with....)) [i]I felt rather strange. The sun was shining brightly in the clear blue sky, not a single cloud in sight. The temperature was perfect, aided by the slightly warm constant breeze. I was walking along, a soda in one hand and a hot dog in the other. It just wasn't normal. Why, you ask? My answer is simple. This isn't my life. Well, it's not my normal life. My normal life revolves around the lives of people whose names no one should ever know. Many of these people will never have their names discovered, thanks to me. It's been six years. Six long years since my parents died. I've lost count of those who've died since. I was single-handedly fighting a war with a seemingly infinite organization, whose actual name I still didn't know. I take that back. I no longer fight singlehandedly. There is at least one other, one like me. This one, so I've heard, is searching for the rest of us. I don't know why. But maybe, just maybe, it's time I found out. Then again, maybe he'd just find me first. It'd certainly make things easier...[/i]