Losing Faith

Name: Achilles Veine Age: 17 (please excuse the upping of the age. It fits with my character's background) Gender: Male Appearance: A tall, well-built young man, Achilles has dark features. His light, misty blue eyes stand out from the long brown hair that falls around his face. His forehead is scarred down across the bridge of his nose, the statement of a very primitive class of Chip Insertion. His muscular body possesses many burn scars from where the 'scientists' attempted to tame him with cattle prods. He is handsome in a rather feral way. Bio: Achilles was definitely not one of the first children experimented on. On the other hand, he was one of the first to survive their military testing. A chip that increases his agility, speed, muscle mass, and potential for learning battle tactics, as well as physical manuevers for hand to hand combat. As most of brain mass is not used, his was one of the more radical in the early tests. The lobes used to control sight, as well as hearing, were 'short circuited' by the small chip inserted in his brain. The chip conformed to his brain after doing so and slipped to the frontal lobe. Upon it's activation, the computer began to expand his supernatural senses, and, as stated above, his physical abilities. Though he feels little for most humans, he believes himself responsible for all the children like him that are younger than he. He makes it a priority to protect them and has taken multiple lives over it.

They spoke in whispers of the man placed in the corner, his dark clothing draped around him in quiet ripples. The shallow green of his eyes was distant. His eyes took them in. Took everything around him in. But, had no concern for the things of man. Those eyes, so long ago, had seen people twisted to death, gnawed upon as they scrambled to escape. Those eyes had not been a part of the armageddon. They had simply seen it's completely unbridled wrath. While the young man sat there, staring off into space, the whispers became fiercer. They had heard of men that served the Dark Ones in their silent war. Their silent war...that seemed deafen all those that lived in it's path. They had [I]seen[/I] the blazing rumors of such servants. The ruined homes of people that did not suspect every man that seemed a little cold in their eyes. The moved for him. And, by the end of the night, their families would fend for themselves. Their bodies were left in the street, stripped of any valuables he could use. He left the place, just as he left all places before. And, behind him, came a force many could not look at. It called itself 'Hunira'. A man's body. A beastly , cold disposition. It consumed all that had seen the one with the silent eyes. It needed to know more of him. It hunted him. It needed him. Soon, Hunira, the first lieutenant of Mriakal herself, would have the one called Mercy. He was the key, She said. The grain of sand that would tip the scales in their favor. But, he could easily fight for the other side. It was [B]vital[/B] that Hunira find him. Lest he suffer the punishment sent out by Mriakal. The Goddess of Destruction.

Dark Fauns are the things of dreams. Who wouldn't want to meet one? ::soul soul::

This seems like it'll be a nice RPG. I do hope none mind my joining.. Name: Est Verum Gender: Hermaphrodite Race: Nephilim Age Group: Young Alliance: Nuetral; fights whenever his life is in danger and supports whomever will help further himself in the Land. Appearance: Est Verum has a strange appearance. His hair seems to have a metallic tinge to it. 'His' eyes, coldly aware of everything, have an indifferent, frosty grey color. His skin is tremendously pale, off set by the dark colored make up and tattoo ink placed on his body. Biography: Est is the child of an angel, a rather sadistic, fallen angel, and a human woman. Throughout his childhood he was rejected by his angelic father. His mother died giving birth and drove the single minded angel insane. The result was a *highly* socially dysfunctional boy. He possesses the physical attributes of an angel, and, unfortunately, his psyche is constantly tortured by the magnified pain his soul feels. He is constantly aware of the pain of others and, as such, feels that pain must be expressed through bodily harm of his person. He is psychotically daring, a self mutilator, and his severe distortion of reality shows through his behavior. Riddled by scars, tattoos, and body paintings; Est Verum is a truly horrific sight in battle, or, in his fury. He carries a scythe and multiple other wicked weapons. Specifically, his chain whip with sickles attached to each end. He is a wanderer, searching for one as twisted as he; one that can balance him.

I'll try this out.... Name: Romeo, Hunter AC Name: Requiem Advantages: Speed, Agility, Melee Combat, Sniping Weaknesses: Armor Points, Medium Range Weapons, Missile Combat, Mental Imbalances Main Weapons: Long Range Sniper Rifle, Dual Beam Swords Backup Weapons: Hand Blaster, Welding Torches in Palms, Hand Talons Background: Romeo is the product of severe military testing and conditioning. An expert in all infantry firearms, as well as hand to hand combat, Romeo is rather new to the advanced AC tactics he comes across when he joins the Ravens. Discharged from the military for disobey orders, Romeo has a dark past that none truly know about. His potential is what got him in the Ravens, not what they know of him. He is a wild card; and, frankly, is considered quite expendable. Colors and Insignia: A silver body with black, runish markings, the Requiem is marked on either side by a Dark Raven eating a human eyeball.

((Thank you for your comments, Ruby. I appreciate them. :) )) None knew his name. They only knew that he came from the City of Ashes. The 'Burning Place'. The place the Demons had struck at first in their apocalyptical war. He was a pale boy; skin of ivory character. His hair was a flaming black. His eyes; they were empty. He seemed mute. Many that met him believed him daft. They did not know him well enough. He spent his years roaming; caring not for the war. Wounded in battles, scarred by the hell fire carried by the Demons and beasts he met with sword and spear, the boy learned to fight through trial and error. By the time he hit nineteen, he had earned a name. A name among warriors, but, a name none the less. His blades and fists crushed through the life of all enemies that stood before him. He fought like a devil; swift death to any foe. His name was Mercy. And, his soul was cold. Who better, then, to play the hero in our little drama of life and death?

i can still feel your breath. your hands. soft and (cold). i can still feel your power. your lips. vicious and (bleeding). for you, to me, what you did was a natural thing for you, to me, pain never left it's scars i can still feel the hate. my soul. shattered and (vengeful). i can still feel the rage. my spirit. flaming and (living dead). for you. to me. the screams are eternal. i can't wash the (filth) of your body (off) for you. to me. your hurt will never end. better start (figuring the pain)

The city of Trisal was a marvel of human architecture. From a distance, it sparkled a silvery blue. It mocked the skies; blending in with the surroundings of the beautiful continent it had befriended so very long ago. The people were just as wondrous as the city. Their skin was a dark hue, making the sun shimmer and dance across their lithe, graceful figures. Their hair was a stark contrast; blazing white. Their eyes were a swirling, glacial green. They regarded all others with a cold, distant demeanor. Just as their city did. In the Days of Dreams, the city of Trisal and her people...they were the most beautiful things in all the world. And it was all gone one day. Turned to ashes; ashes that floated on the wind. Ashes that sadly spoke their parting to Trisal and her home of mountianous trees. The Days of Dreams had perished in the flame; exterminated in the raging inferno that birthed the Age of Nightmares. The Age that brought the human species to the brink of extinction. Battles screamed throughout time. Roared day and night; month and year. The wars were vicious. Continuous. Strange creatures poured down from the sky, rose up from the bowels of the Earth. There were Angels. There were Demons. The Sidhe ventured out, spears in hand. The Ancients were there. Thousands of fabled races fell upon the Earth; tearing into it as if they were starving beasts. Men died. They died horribly. Burning alive in fires that weren't truly fire. Children were pierced by unseen knives. Women were torn apart from the inside; their stillborn infants the vessels for vicious creatures come from the abyss. Man was obliterated; his home the battlefield of gods. Hope was forgotten, a word that no longer had any depth. It was a word used by fanatic generals whom dared humans to run from their caves and fight the monsters of old and new. But no man could fight these things! No man could fight them...they were the stuff of legend. The things so awesome, so awesome that mothers told stories of them to frighten naughty children into sleep. Battling for survival? Feh. That was ridiculous. There was no battle now. There was running. Running forever. No man could stand against things that took the bodies of young ones born dead and lived through them....it was impossible. Impossible. Trisal was burnt to the ground. Hope was shallow. Chaos was breathed in daily. And, in the ash, there lay a child with 'Destiny' written upon his flesh. His eyes were wide. His soul scarred.

I doubt anyone here remembers me, but, well...I'm back. :) Hi, everyone. Hope y'all been doing well. ::smiles:: Uh. Just wanted to say howdy.

He floated there, virtually standing on the colony. His eyes danced across his screens, awaiting for these pitiful things that called themselves pilots to show. He had placed a small Jamming Device on one of the jutting buildings about a half a click away. They would come to investigate, he knew. And that was when he would strike. If all went well, he was certain he could claim their frames within the hour. His blades were at the ready, awaiting the chance to strike. Something blared in his ears, reminding him of his mission. Objective One: Claim all enemy Orbital Frames intact. Destroy pilots. Objective Two: Claim Colony intact. Gas all inhabitants. Salvage all weaponry and radar equipment by calling in Salvage Team. Objective Three: Retreat if all else fails. Disrup Colony defense systems during retreat.

He stood, silently, as a shadow, along the wall. He watched the two that sparred, his own form boiling with it's want for battle. Liquid smooth, Heretic floated out of the 'room', disconnecting himself from the virtual simulation. He looked around the empty room, stored with tattered remains of Earth's history and humanity's philosophers. He had many video recordings, but, the old, hand-written beauty was something more than he could resist. Hunting thoughts dwelt there, hidden in his recesses. He was patient, silent. He could wait, the mountain moving amidst the hills, and strike when the order was given. But, until the melodramatics were to be acted out, he would read Sun Tzu. The Art of War had always fascinated him... He did not know why.

::giggles like a very masculine schoolgirl:: Thank you very much! ::scampers off to the thread to catch up on the story::

Name: Hunter//Chaser Codename: Heretic Age: One Year Activation Height: 5'11 Appearance: Heretic's dress changes constantly, as his interface with the Matrix is constant (though untrackable). His features are closer to the human subculture 'Irish' than anything else. Shoulder length red hair, bright green eyes, and a thick, muscular body make him seem to be a worthy opponent to any *natural* foe. His face, flawless (unlike the rest of his torn body), is generally hidden under a hood, which is tied around his neck. At least when he's not on active duty. The one thing in his clothing that never changes are the white gloves he wears to cover his hideously scarred hands. These gloves are leather and have a good grip, suiting for the weapon he carries. Personality: Distant, to say the least. Heretic spends his time reading and writing/drawing. He attempts to stay away from the rest of the crew. Most of them don't really...appreciate...him. On the other hand, he can be depended on in a jam, always there for those that his flawed programming forces him to protect instead of eradicate. He is zealous to no end. A failed experiment at combining an Agent's computer mind into a human's body as to infiltrate the Resistance, his programming is tremendously damaged. This is why he *turned* from his mission to exterminate the fighting mammals. He is constantly locked into the Matrix, though the system can't track him. For fear that the humans might discover what he was, the *insert word here* decided not to insert any devices that might show he wasn't a complete organic. He is a perfect match to the human body, with a seriously screwed mechanical mind. Preferred Gear: Long chain, hooked on end; throwing knives; spiked trench knife; compact assault weaponry. Specializes in hand to hand combat. Multiple Martial Arts, boxing styles, wrestling styles, etc, etc, are burned into his system. He is still a machine for destruction. ((My character is very strange and hasn't been completely thought out. But, I'm hoping you'll give me a chance. ::bows out:: Nice day to you.))

Erm. Hi. I'm new here. As you can guess. And. Err. I guess you guys are already good to go, but, I'd like to give it a go. My character idea's a lil' weird and such, and I think you guys have already started. Can I get an okay before I post my idea? Or are you not accepting anymore? Thank you. Good day.

Erm. I do hope this thread is still accepting characters...and this one's okay.. Name- Tamel Illusion Orbital Frame- Mirage Special Weaponry/Attack- Mirror Shift: Mirage's plating is reflective. Many would think this fact to make the slender, silvery Orbital Frame a blinding target. Only one part of this theory is true. The Mirror Shift absorbs light and flashes it out of hidden 'compartments'. These lights are amazingly bright, upsetting an enemy's sense of sight and throwing sensors off balance. Storm Falling: Super-heated blades extend from all sections of the body and allow the Mirage to engage in vicious melee combat. This attack may cause overheating in internal circuitry. Alliance: Evil. Age: 23 Frame Appearance: A constant cloaking field makes the Mirage blend in with his surroundings. With the field off, as it must be when he engages in fire-fights (which he avoids, as he's only armed with light ranged weaponry), he is a silvery grey color. Light generally bounces off of him. The Mirage has a very jagged form, build for up close, feral fighting. Appearance: Tall, slender, and dark; Tamel is quite obviously Native American in origin. His dress is conservative, a loose black velvet sweat-shirt, with pants much the same. His features are almost feminine, making him a rather attractive male. He isn't very muscular, but, is agile and quick. His eyes change color, constantly. Just as Mirage's exterior does. Biography: Tamel Illusion is a mystery. Not much is known about his origins, or his goals. His training is in the elite category. He did not exist in records until the Mirage suddenly appeared in Orbital Frame history. He pilots the beast of a machine with a feline grace and a brute efficiency. He has no home. He has no family. He has nothing to live for and nothing to lose. Bloodshed is his life. ....unless he's deeper than the shallow pool so many judge him to be...