Losing Faith

a stoic return to the lands of desire. the ashes, empty embers, of smooth emotion. polarity. threads. sewn. tight. bits and pieces, left like a puzzle, they trail on forever. -LF

((OOC: Duo RPG with Raiha)) Prologue: Jormungand's Pet Ian's body was broken, burning, and screaming. He knew he was dying...and the woman above him only stared, seeming to delight in the shattering of his fragile shell. His memories were trivial, all building up to the cold change that had started an hour ago. He hadn't asked her name. He hadn't even touched her, until she was on him, teeth digging into his flesh, pulling and ripping. Desecrating. She had razors for teeth and nails like claws. Her amber eyes invaded him in his most sensitive thoughts and he knew she was going to do things much worse than know what he was thinking. A scream. A snap. Some part of him knew his spine had just broken and reconstructed itself seven times. Some part of him knew that something hard was jutting out of his back, much further than his shoulder blades should have gone. Some tiny part of him knew that there were sharpened bones where his fingernails used to be... And every other part of Ian Michael McKaid was just concerned with getting the dying over with. But she wouldn't let him...he could still feel her, her warm body slamming his around like a doll. She wasn't like him. He knew that immediately. When her mouth turned into a maw and her grip became a vice...he could only whisper words like 'Beautiful'. Now she was killing him. And enjoying it. But it wasn't killing...not quite. She was keeping him alive. Keeping him alive to play with his writhing, gasping skin-sack. He screamed again, a wickedly powerful hand grasping him by the hair to stop his neck from breaking itself again. The words he spoke were painful and gurgled. Incoherenent to begin with...she was a monster. He knew it. But...maybe an answer for a man that was shattering. He could feel it in his blood already. Perhaps a part of him already knew what was happening...knew what she was and knew what destiny would take him. Or perhaps he was a fool. But he asked anyway... "Wh-wharg...what areee y-you...DOING TO MEEEEE!!!!!?" the words transformed from broken screaming to the vomitting of blood. Something solid began to trail out of his mouth. Entrails. His last intelligible words were lost as his stomach acid burned the top off his tongue.

Broken wings screamed out beside him; his roaring voice the signal of madness trapped deep inside. The mouths of babes twisted in upon their own flesh, as he passed; their mother's milk curdled as he spoke. The shattering power of billions of twisted creations radiated from him; mocking the life in which he had been sentenced to over and over again. All things near him that lived, wished for death. All things dead, lived. Nightmares were real and dreams were false hopes. He hunted, today; stalking Morir, his twin, and most potent of his enemies. Morir rode through the air, recently, near here. His creations, the Dragons, followed him. Gold and silver and all the shining, disgusting colors of the sky and sun chased after that bright being; one of the few Angels left unblinded. Pyrir smiled. Morir would fall, and, with him, the wisdom that could guide his many foes back to the heavens.

Oroyme's blackened eyes sought in the blinding light; sought for something to grasp. The burnt skin near his lids showed the finger prints of many a daemon; the claws of many a beast. His eyes had been clawed out early in the First War. And, ever since, he'd been unable to find a proper set to replace them. Some referred to him as insane; considering the fact that he randomly plucked out eyeballs and tried to fit them to his own ghastly face. He failed, each time, but, in his twisted mind, it was the thought that counted. It'd been years and years since he'd seen light; especially the light of his own exiled land of 'paradise'. Some days, in the dead silence that lay after battle, he cried out in his soul for the peace he had once known. But, the strangeness of his new spirit forbade him peace. As did the Father he had once followed without question... And now, questions were the only things he could depend on. Yet, there were no answers to what he asked. Pyrir hunted him without a moment's rest; chasing him down no matter what fell corridor or bright day he hid in. There was nothing for him.... He touched the hollows of his eyes.

I guess that's all. Will start soon. Umm, Uriel needs to be changed a lil'. PM/IM me to find out what I mean.

His enormous form slammed past one of the bleeding; broken bodies. He growled lightly, as well as his strange voice would allow him to, and bashed one of his cousins into the air; watching it's exoskeleton fall apart. His shimmering eyes bounced light off the wet, glistening cave walls. Blood pooled around the bodies and he sighed; his rumbling, thunder voice shaking the air around him. "It'd be easier if you people just let them eat."

Organized religion generally leads to downfalls; of the individual, or, the masses. Personally, I'd rather just keep what I believed to myself, or, share it only with people that can believe like me/accept that others are different. I haven't read this whole thread, but, if you HAVE to come out, go ahead. Otherwise, just let it be. 'Cause in the end, everything you do is just everything you've done'.

If it were real I'd kind of...well...be afraid. I put faith in the things I can do, and, if I couldn't do it...well...imagine what it would be like being the person getting tossed around or having forks shot at you. O.o I no likey the idea. But, all things are possible. Wee.

Eclestios strolled forward, as quietly as his massive form allowed. Two of his comrades lumbered along behind him; tails and pedipalps clicking in anticipation. All of them had human blood staining their dark carapaces. Eclestios in particular. He had three humans hanging from his tail as he crunched towards the smell of other clones. All of them were still alive. Moaning. He had had four of them, earlier, but, had need to use one of their bodies. They had come across a small contingent of humans a few moments ago. The burning arcs of flamethrowers had singed his thick exoskeleton; just before he'd hurled the fourth body at them and put them to the ground. After that, he'd simply stomped on them; mushing their bones to powder, their organs to jelly. He slammed his pincers around a corner and lifed a writhing female human into the air; slinging her against a wall with enough force to split her body down the middle. He twisted along; like an insect; and rumbled closer to the scent of fear and desperation. Something clicked and one of his comrades dropped to the ground. The remaining two lifted him as a shield and continued on.

A small thing, just for you all to know. Most of the Angels still live. They are scattered across many worlds and such. They are hunted and destroyed by Pyrir and his servants; or they fall prey to whatever else may take their lives. On the planet we'll be RPing on, there are three angels akin to Oroyme. They do not know of each other. They are easily corrupted/confused.

Excuse me, if you will. This is my first attempt at an RPG on the Otaku. So..don't be too hard on me. *Background* Time is one of those things that you never really think about, until, you're running out of it. You ever notice that? Unless you think about it, it's just like air...you never really pay too much attention to it. I know I didn't. I never did... Agh! I forget. My name is Oroyme. I've been seen all through history and religion, as have my brothers and sisters, so, you should know my name. Shouldn't you? Damnit. I get off subject too easily. (Father used to say that I am the reason ADD came to be). Anyway....enough with the rambling and introductions. I am Oroyme...and you will hear why I am the Last of the Angels. Many millenia ago, one of my closest brothers grew, slowly, to despise our Creator. Personally, I grow rather upset with *him* as well, as time stretches on, but none felt as strongly as Pyrir. Though Father isn't all powerful, he is much more powerful than all of my kind combined. But, in Pyrir's foolish pride, he rose up against our Maker and was cast down as he screeched curses and roared vengeance. The Maker wept for an age, but, all was well. We continued with our creations and our magical existence. But, as was stated, time never matters until you have too little of it... Our brother, Pyrir, had also been at work. And, though Father has eyes that can pierce all that he sees, he sees not all things. And, in this sudden instant, we realized our folly. Pyrir and his massive armies stormed our gates; many of my brothers and sisters showed the blackness that was in their souls, without warning, by turning on us and smiting even our most powerful. The Maker turned his eyes from us as he wept and war was our birth into the evil that he had placed in his own personal children; men. We struck out as we fell, blinded by our hate for the betrayal. Pyrir stood in the heavens, laughing, as all turned black. The last thing I saw, so long ago, was his jagged fingers mocking the Creator's sobbing form. As we struck the many worlds we and the Maker had given breath, we began to understand our error. I, Oroyme, knew the Maker as he shaped Man. He told me his plans for the innocent race. Told me what they were for. His evil was growing daily...his desire to do the things he had burnt into us to never even consider. And, as it went, he needed a way to 'vent his waste'. Man was his way. His own bipedal junkyard, was he making. I was almost shocked, until I saw the beauty of his labors. The vicious beasts he called men appealed greatly to me. Soon, I found myself trying to find that perfect balance between good and evil; order and chaos; etc, etc. But...I never could. And, as I've fallen, I understand why. My kind were his error. The 'rough draft' of man. Not quite good enough to be his equal, not quite bad enough to be his junkyard. He has turned his back on us...and we die. We fall to our traitorous brother, Pyrir, and to the primal animals referred to as men. And, not only this, our very own creations attack us! Or worship us. Either way, we fall. We lose. ...I am the Last of the Angels. And, as it goes, I must find my way back to heaven. *Character Sheet* Name: Age: Species: (I honestly don't care what you want) Origin: Goal: Bio: Relations/Allies: Weaponry, if any: ((Any humans must be in certain classes. PM me if you wish to be human.))

Oh, it's up to you. I was just offering if you needed a villian.

Specifics, in a PM, if you would, please?

I'll try this...I do hope none mind.. Name: Eclestios Dominicos Age: 22 Gender: Undetermined; believed to be hermaphroditic Race: Scorpion Weapons: Pedipalps, telson; clawed legs and lower arms. Special Abilities: Emits a hormone that throws off an enemy's balance and hearing (this makes hime prominent to the sense of smell); becomes deathly attached to whomever he protects; has frightening agility and strength; is one of the more intelligent Centurions. Enhanced protection to ballistic and melee attacks. High tolerance to heat. May scale walls and ceilings Biography: ((I was retyping this when booted. O.o So, I'm going to make this one short and sweet.)) During the first decade of the Second War, the Clones established, without a doubt, that they needed a creature that could stand up against human weaponry and continue fighting. Though the Elephant and Rhino clones existed, they didn't have a natural 'armor' that could repel ballistic and explosive attacks. Thus, the Clones began the laboring work of searching through DNA types for something that could survive such weaponry and continue fighting at an optimal level of combat effeciency. None of the creatures transported from Earth were suitable. Each of them fell short of the required standards for the desired 'bio-tanks'. Hundreds of tests subjects died, just in the attempts to increase their muscle mass and bone structure. Priceless resources disappeared through the disappointing failure. The need for this new Clone was growing more desperate. Though the Clones survived, it was known that the humans' superior numbers had a hold on them. If there wasn't some breakthrough, the Elders conceded, the project would be cancelled and all resources would be directed to the war. Then, in a rather cliche manner, one of the few scientists of the Clone masses had a breakthrough. On his way to one of the outer cave dwellings, his party was attacked by an enormous cave scorpion. It made his Rhino comrades seem puny with it's strength and durability. He noted the resistance to any archer's attacks or the melee attacks of any insane enough to get close to it. After he arrived back in his labs (and he barely made it) this scientist, one of the more intelligent of the Hawk Clones, began cross checking for Scorpion DNA on this planet. The giant scorpions, the emperor scorpion, and a database of about a dozen other types came up. After years of testing and collecting the data, this 'man' and his team of the most brilliant military minds the Clones possessed, set up multiple incubators to house their slow growing children. After seventeen years, the first of these 'Centurions' were born. There were only about two dozen of them; but, they quickly carved a holding in the military. After fifteen of the major battles of our time, they had only had three casualties. The mixture of scorpion DNA that created their blood gave them enlarged and much more potent venom glands; a telson sharp enough to puncture vehicle armor and inject gallons of poision; enlarged pedipalps with the crushing strength of mythical beasts. Their agility was surprising; their speed, though slow compared to many, was frightening for their size. Exoskelotons that could bounce bullets away and withstand temperatures that would melt steel. Their enhanced abilities left them with few weaknesses. Soon, they distinguished themselves as loyal, if not subtle, servants and guardians. Eclestios, especially. He was one of the smaller Centurions, only reaching nine feet tall and twelve feet long, his black 'skin' is marked by scars and tattoos that set him apart from his cousins. He is an effecient warrior and has rarely failed a mission. Currently, as the Younger he was protecting has died, he has no occupation and is looking for 'work'. Occupation: See Bio

I will ask permission first, but, I would like to play a/the Dark Messenger. I don't know the quality of the RPers (no offense intended) but, it's a solid story and I always love being a villian.