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Everything posted by Yoda
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[B]Character Name:[/B] Toma [B]Signature Attacks:[/B] [I]Rail Cannon[/I] ? An attack developed by Toma when he was but a youth. Twin orbs of yellow Ki are charged in each hand as his arms arc adjacently to his hips. Bringing his arms together infront of him, hands in opposite vertical positions, the orbs are forced together, the magnetic pressure from which catapults energy outwards in the form of a magnificent yellow beam. [I]Reavium[/I] ? Toma creates a bladed field of deep blue Ki around one, or possibly both hands, and uses them as sabres. Impact with a reavium blade is almost certain to penetrate the skin and cause severe internal damage. Sufficient force behind a reavium blow almost guarantees complete severing of the impacted area. [I]Demented Shell[/I] ? Toma?s most powerful attack. This highly explosive orb is formed with Toma placing one hand over the opposite shoulder. The orb gained the name ?demented? due to it?s highly unstable appearance and nature, seeming as a black ball of energy crackling and ripping itself apart from the mass of kinetic internal force. The orb, once thrown, will explode with tremendous force upon contact with the first thing it meets, resulting in tremendous and often fatal damage. [B]Special Abilities:[/B] [I]Oozaru[/I] ? Upon direct contact with a moon, or an artificial form of moonlight, Toma?s body morphs into that of an enormous ape-like figure. In this state, his power is increased ten-fold, though his mental state is reduced to that of an animal with a feral bloodlust. The process can be reversed by either removing the source of the moonlight, or Toma?s tail itself. [I]Quicksilver[/I] ? Increases Toma?s speed for a short time to the point that he becomes almost inconceivable to the eye. Often seen using this to deliver a rapid succession of blows to an opponent, or to deal with a group of opponents when severely outnumbered. The attack is usually signified by his Ki aura switching to an elegant silver from its normal electric blue. [B]Character Chronicles:[/B] At times? he wondered why he still followed him. This was one such time. Toma watched as the Pod door closed and sealed with a sharp hiss. Through the tiny, tinted viewport he could see Bardock climbing into his own Pod. They exchanged glances, and in that instance he knew the answer all over again. He saw no malice, no fear, nor joy in his companions face. He saw the burden of a man bearing the weight of a thousand worlds on his shoulders. A man who, despite his stalwart build and jaw set in stone, was perhaps beginning to lose that glint in his eye, the glimmer of hope he had held onto for so long. For every world that they saved, tens more fell. Three proud warriors were no match for a galactic army? and they were beginning to run out of places to hide. In that instant, as in many before, he realised that he couldn?t leave Bardock, even if he wanted to. Toma sighed, half out of concern, half out of exhaustion. He tapped in a few instructions on to the navigational controls, and re-tied his short pony tail as the Pod levitated slowly into the atmosphere. Another world saved, as best they could muster, and then the monthly journey onto the next world to liberate. Rinse, repeat. They all felt it in the depths of their soul, a leech sucking at their Saiyan pride. Running was not in their blood, and they were all getting very tired of it. Arguments were becoming more frequent, and each was slowly becoming more irritable and impatient. Toma felt it with every passing breath? the proud Saiyan trio?s last stand would be soon. [I]?Seripa, Toma, confirm prep for launch.? ?Standing by.? ?Same here.? ?Copy. See you in about eighty days.? ??Bardock?? ?What is it Toma?? ??We?ll find him.? ??I know.?[/I] Toma?s soul eased slightly. As they departed on the final hurdle to find Bardock?s son, Toma knew that it would soon be over, one way or another. His blood rose, bringing a smirk to his lips. He knew that Earth would finally be the place where he could show Frieza?s armies what a Saiyan warrior could really do.
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Hank McCoy sat hunched on the balls of his feet in the centre of one of his finest creations, the Danger Room. Infamous among students at Xavier?s School for the Gifted for its ability to injure as well as educate. At only twenty four, perhaps the only thing more surprising than Hank?s large, blue furred frame was the heightened intellect that lay behind it. His navy eyes stared into the abyss as one clawed hand gently stroked the thick blue hair on his chin. As usual, he was lost deeply in thought. He was about to become the first victim to his latest modifications to the Danger Room. The fact that he was always the first test subject of his own work never failed to produce a satisfyingly deep irony within him. ?Are you ready Beast?? He was shook from his meditations suddenly by the calm yet assured voice of the leader of the School, the infamous Charles Xavier. ?Am I the only one that finds the term ?Beast? slightly derogatory? Especially considering present companies? credentials? Professor.? Hank had, over time, grown accustomed to the name Beast, and even grew to enjoy the affection in the voices of some of the younger students who called him by such a term. Yet, he never passed on an opportunity to nudge the Professor in the ribs at every available opportunity. It seemed satirical that of the two people in the School with a Doctorate, one would unfailingly be called Professor for the duration of his years on the Earth, where as the other would be given the title of a mindless savage creature. ?Not now Hank. I don?t have time for your banter today, as enjoyable as I find it. My time is limited.? ?Point made Charles. I am, as ever, ready for whatever my work wants to throw at me.? ?Then lets begin?? The overhead and floor lights dimmed to total darkness for a few moments. As they re-lit, Hank allowed a moment for his eyes to adjust, and found himself in a small forest outcropping, complete with overcast skies, and pounding rain. ?Remind me Charles when this is over to thank you again for testing the weather simulators? which I may remind you have not been altered in my latest upgrades.? Hank was aware of the task ahead of him already. He had, after all, designed the programme. He was to rescue a trapped figure from a cage, and in doing so would have to overcome a variety of hostile targets. The task, set in the jungle, was designed to improve special awareness and periphery. Soon enough, about two hundred yards ahead, his enhanced sense of hearing picked up a low rumble as a cage began to rise from the ground. It was your stereotypical zoo cage, a prism shaped structure lined by vertical steel bars on all sides. The cage rose completely out of the ground, to reveal a figure lying at its base. Hank couldn?t help but utter a gasp of shock, for he found himself staring into the face of his racist father. Charles had a knack for introducing elements into the Danger Room that would cause you to lose focus. Through Cerebro he had calibrated vast amounts of information on each of his students and colleagues, and so was aware of certain events, situations or people that could cause them to falter. For Hank, he had decided to use the most prejudice figure of his childhood, the man who had hated and taunted him even before he had developed his elongated ears, fangs and claws, and had been covered in blue fur. Then he had just been a boy with a huge, hunched, muscular frame and enlarged hands and feet. Hank allowed a moment to collect his thoughts, Charles was not going to divert his attentions so easily. He leant back slightly further onto his toes, digging his clawed fingers into the ground, then sprang forward, charging towards the target on all fours. Though his figure was often likened to an ape, he ran more similarly to a large cat, and was, at a full bound, able to reach a speed of up to forty miles an hour. The fur on his face and arms and short, scruffy navy hair on his head swayed in the force of his run, and suddenly a 50mm cannon rose up out of the ground roughly 30 yards ahead, aiming straight at him. The guns were designed to release a small canister of a highly viscous substance that would trap you in place, effectively neutralising your efforts. The cannon fired, but Hank was already in the air. He planted two hands on a tree to his left, his claws digging in as the canister passed under him. As the cannon altered its trajectory, Hank brought his legs between his planted arms and sprang forward, feet first. The target was only half was to finding Hank when the full force of his frame launched a two footed kick into the cannons chamber, denting it heavily as it ripped apart at the base. As the cannon crashed skidding several feet away, Hank sprang backwards from the kick, leaning back, grasping the ground with one hand as he flipped and landed in a graceful crouch on both feet. As he did so, two more cannons rose from the ground adjacent to the frame of the cage. [I]Simple trig[/I], Hank muttered to himself as he sprang forward into a handstand, two canisters criss-crossing the area he was but moments ago. He landed in a spot of ground directly infront of the left cannon, then immediately went into a one handed cartwheel to the right as the left cannon fired into a tree some yards off. This manoeuvre had left the right cannon tracking him, and as of yet unable to fire. His cartwheel, however, had brought him to a spot directly between the two cannons, with the right one significantly closer now to acquiring him than the left one he had just avoided. Just as the chasm of the barrel met his glare he launched into a backflip, with first his feet, and then his hnds gripping the cage, leaving him in an upside down position, his head arcing upwards from the floor just in time to see the canister from the right cannon, originally intended for him, strike the swivelling left cannon, clogging the hinges and leaving it jolting in vein as it tried to move. A few moments later the motors burned out, leaving it dead, for all intents and purposes. Hank did not have time to witness this however, as he was already in the air. He had pushed up with his arms, bringing him up into a horizontal position about ¾ way up the cage, his legs retracted. Using the full force of his massive leg muscles, he pounced headlong as the remaining cannon. His arms wrapped around the frame in a tackle, the force snapping the base as a child would crack a match between thumb and forefinger. Still airborne, Hank released the now useless cannon, letting it fall to the floor as he landed in a foreward roll. Combined with his intelligence, his enhanced agility and reflexes made him a lethal weapon indeed. Immediately there after, Hank sprang into a backwards arc, his hands gripping the upper frame, forcing his body into a sweep, allowing him to land on the roof of the cage, where the door was. Wrapping his toes around the end bar of the roof, he wrapped his large, burly hands around two bars and began to pull. The veins in his arms dilated, his eyes whitened and teeth clenched. The unmistakable screech of contorting metal wrang through the trees as suddenly the door ripped from its hinges. Were it not for Hank?s superior balance and full pedal dexterity he would surely have been thrown from the cage. He managed to retain control of himself, and tossed the door aside as he dropped elegantly down to land next to the figure of his parent. ?Well father, at least this time your ignorance is not entirely your fault.? With one hand Hank easily picked up the much smaller frame of his father and propped him up on his shoulder as he, in a single jump, cleared the cage and landed back on the soil outside. His attentions were interrupted suddenly by a voice seemingly from the abyss. ?Okay Hank, that?s enough for now. Everything seems to be in order, and I?m afraid my attentions are required elsewhere.? In a sweeping low moan, the canopy of trees and grass suddenly moulded into curves of steel and titanium as the Danger Room reverted back to it?s neutral state. Hank shook as a wet dog would, sending water flicking off him. He was beginning to curse the day he?d ever installed weather simulators. ?It seems I have no choice but to hit the showers.? Hank uttered sarcastically as headed towards the exit.
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[quote name='Gavin][SIZE=1']As for the earlier question about whether or not Boba Fett would be able to defeat Grievous, well the reason Grievous' chest plates were more visible were because of an earlier battle with Mace Windu and Obi Wan's literally tearing them further open. In a straight battle, I reckon Grievous would make mince meat of Fett, I'm a Boba Fett and Clone Trooper fan, but in fairness let's not have flights of fancy here. As for Fett versus a Sith Lord, well if Grievous would have killed him, then I'd hate to see the poor SOB after a Sith Lord was finished with him. [/SIZE][/quote] Boba Fett's biggest asset has always been his cunning and intelligence, not the small armoury he wears over his body. In any situation I have witnessed him in, save the Sarlacc incident, he always has several tricks up his sleeve. You can guarantee that he would know of Grevious, his temperament and personality, and be able to manipulate him accordingly. Grevious' legend was made due to his sheer ruthlessness and bloodlust, not through any strategic genius, and so I'm sure if and when they did fight, Boba would have a trap set for Grevious, and he would walk right into it, as so many have done before him. I liken it to Fett's rivalry with Bossk. Not saying that Bossk is in the same league as Grevious, but they are both characters physically superior to Fett who operate on anger and rage, and no-one was better at turning this against Bossk than Fett. Against Grevious, I'm confident it would simply go the same way. As for Fett fighting a Sith Lord... well it's fairly well documented that Fett has battled Darth Vader some time between ANH and ESB. Now, I don't know the specifics of the battle, but judging by the fact that Fett is alive in ESB shows that he was competant enough to atleast survive a bout against one of the galaxies most famous Sith. Having said that, if he fought Sidious, it would be a different story. Sith Lightning - lightsaber or Yoda's power = crispy Boba. Plus, the last time I checked, metal is a conductor of electricity... and I don't think that Mandalorian battle armour is made of rubber.
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Voss paced almost frantically towards the Council chambers, with Taj bobbing comfortably behind him; the longer legged being finding an easy stroll was fast enough to keep up with her Chiss master. The morning sun beamed down from the Eastern window onto Voss? face, illuminating half of his figure into an almost sky blue, while in shadow his face was a deep purple. A look of cynicism was on his face as was usual when he was sent to the Council. Taj and he were less than revered for their negotiation and debating skills, whilst their combat abilities had received much praise. As such, Voss had noticed them being sent on missions where violence was an almost certainty, which had naturally made him concerned for his Padawan. Whilst she was more than capable in battle, she had inherited her races trademark clumsiness, which concerned him at times. The large bronze doors to the Council chambers slid open before them with a calm hiss, and Voss strode calmly into the centre of the room, his Padawan only a pace behind him. Twelve sets of eyes bored inquisitively through his sole, and, as always when he stood before the Council, he felt a sense of nakedness. The Council, though very warm and intelligent as individuals, always seemed to be probing and patronizing when sat as a dozen. This often led Voss to question whether pride was something that could seep into even the highest ranks of the Jedi, a thought that he had, of course, not mentioned to a soul. [B]?Master Voss, welcome. Congratulations are in order, your recent trip to Dosha was most successful.? ?Thank you Master?. ?Unfortunately, events have swayed are hands, and we regret to inform you that we must send you out again, much sooner than we first expected.?[/B] Voss? face retained its composure, though he could not prevent feeling the slightest twinge of scorn, which would have hit the Council through the Force like a slap in the face. He saw no signs of reaction from them, but the sudden concern he felt directed from his Padawan confirmed that his feelings had been made known to the people in the room. [B]?No doubt word has gotten to you Master Voss of the recent troubles stirring in the Brak sector?? ?Yes Master, and I understand its importance.? ?You and your Padawan will be part of a small task force of Jedi sent to the system to restore order? and peace.?[/B] Voss did not speak, but instead bowed slightly to the council, confirming that he understood and accepted the mission. Taj, following her Master?s lead, bowed also, but much deeper, allowing her gangly ears to flop down over her face. Voss half expected her to lose balance, which she didn?t. However, when she rose, she flicked her head back in a whipping motion, causing one of her ears to swing round on course with Voss? cheek. Voss tilted his head left as the ear passed him, feeling only the rushing air surrounding it. Taj responded with an awkward, toothy, Gungan smile. [B]?May the Force be with you both? ?And you Masters.?[/B] With that, Voss turned and began making his way to the exit. He met Taj?s eyes as he passed, and winked at her, which was often his cheeky response signalling he had actually found her latest clumsy act quite amusing. Often, it was quite the remedy he needed when feeling stressed. As he reached the door, he was stopped by a Council member addressing him once more. [B]?Oh, Master Voss, you?ll be pleased to hear than an old friend, Asi-Mar-Umdal, will be accompanying you on this mission.?[/B] Voss nodded again, and there was a hint of a grin as he proceeded out the Council doors and into the adjacent passageway. Every instinct in his body told him that this mission was going to prove very interesting indeed.
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[B]Name:[/B] Krauv?os?seoni (Is called by the abbreviation ?Voss?) [B]Age:[/B] 27 [B]Species:[/B] Chiss [B]Gender:[/B] Male [B]Appearance:[/B] Despite a very humanoid form, a combination of the universal secrecy of the Chiss and many Races? religious views on evil means that Voss is often aesthetically compared to a demon. He has the intimidating deep blue skin and glaring ruby eyes of his race, and has allowed his navy hair to grow scruffily down to shoulder length, covering a scar extending from the upper left of his forehead to the temple-side of his left eye. Voss is quite tall for a man of his species, standing at 1.82 metres. He is of medium build, and like most Jedi has an exceptional level of physical fitness, reflected in his body. If not for his race and thus skin colour, he would not stand out at all in a crowd. However, his striking appearance gives him a somewhat dark aura, one that many people would find quite unsettling. Voss wears what would be considered very dark attire for a Jedi, as although he wears the traditional attire of a Jedi, they are black in colour. Though this only augments Voss? somewhat sinister appearance, he would feel more uncomfortable wearing anything with a light tone. [B]Personality:[/B] As a Chiss, Voss has been conditioned to temper feelings of anger, fear and revenge, as they were considered self-deprecating by his species; limiting their ability to focus completely on their field of work. This would seem to be the perfect racial match for a Jedi lifestyle, were it not for a Chiss? natural air of superiority, which, unfortunately, Voss also exhibits. Though he battles against it, he was cultured with a natural cynicism for other races from birth, and though he would never speak it aloud, he subconsciously blames his companions? race for their shortcomings. Most would consider Voss a somewhat distant and brooding character, though not shy. His eyes are a mirror to the workings of his mind, which seem to constantly be analysing and calculating; another trait of the Chiss. His tendency to see the harsh logic of every situation mean that often his Jedi responsibilities conflict with what is mind is telling him is the sensible solution. As such, some situations can quickly become frustrating for Voss. Voss? cynical and commonsensical mind do however aid him greatly in battle. He has a brilliant tactical mind, and is expertly able to exploit an enemies greatest weakness; their confidence in their strengths. This is exemplified in his Makashi fighting style, which uses precision and balance to turn an enemies attack on its head. [B]General Overview:[/B] A Chiss child is born under the flag of one of four major families, and Voss was born to the Leoni clan. As per most Chiss, his name is comprised of three parts; his clan name, his given name (Voss), and also a pre-curse, which is Voss? case was Krau, a play on the Cheunh word for gifted. The four rival families often lived in concern that their line may be wiped out by another, and so they would breed shadow children; Chiss babies whose identity and very existence would be kept secret from all but the most essential people. Voss was one of these children, and if not for this fact, he would never have been allowed to become a Jedi. Some 22 years ago a Republic Vessel was shot down as it flew unauthorised through Chiss space. The crewe was taken captive and treated as criminals, which in essence they were. This Chiss held no affiliation with the Republic at this time, and due to their secret nature, were most unwelcoming to alien craft. The Chiss treated this as an act of disrespect, and demanded their contempt be heard and noted if the prisoners were to be released. As it were, a Jedi was dispatched to Csilla to amend the dispute. Whilst there he met with the Head?s of the four families, all of which came supported by their own personal guards. The Leoni Head was guarded by Tristh?un?kleoni, and the Jedi could not misplace the scent of the force on him, thought it did not come from him. When the opportunity came, the Jedi confronted the Chiss male, inquiring about his child. The male was perplexed and naturally defensive that this Jedi knew of his child, as he had been kept a secret from even the head of the Leoni family. The Jedi played on the Chiss? incline towards logic, suggesting that he would be nowhere more secret or more protected from enemies than in the hands of the Galaxies peacekeepers. This is how Krauv?os?seoni came to be a part of the Jedi Order. [B][U]Jedi Overview[/B][/U] [B]Lightsaber(s) Appearance:[/B] In his pursuit of precision, Voss has made only two lightsabers in his life. The first he made when he was a Padawan, it was very basic in design and function. However, to further his prowess in the Makashi style, Voss made a lightsaber with a curved hilt soon after he reached Knighthood, which he has been constantly tweaking and upgrading ever since. The casing is made of dallorian, an alloy that is almost as light and strong as it is expensive. The inner curve of the hilt is made of etched graphite; allowing superior grip, which is essential as Makashi favours a one handed style mostly. At the base the hilt bulges slightly into an orb, where Voss keeps twin power packs, one as a back-up incase the primary one fails. The alloy gives the hilt a very light-silver sheen, which almost gleams when held in his dark hands. [B]Lightsaber(s) Type:[/B] Most practitioners of Makashi use Dual-Phase lightsabers, the Dual Phase function used as an initial, pre-emptive strike to surprise an enemy and throw them off balance. However, Chiss believe pre-emptive and unannounced blows to be most dishonourable, and so Voss chose not to include this function on his lightsaber. As such, he stuck with the standard lightsaber build. [B]Lightsaber(s) Crystal/Colour:[/B] Voss uses a very rare Eralam crystal in his lightsaber, renowned for producing a very defined and sharp blade of sky blue, making it lighter than the blade produced by llum crystals. Voss saw this crystal as the clearly definitive choice for a Makashi practioner. [B]Lightsaber Combat Style:[/B] Voss uses the Makashi style in order to minimise his own weaknesses, by specialising in enhancing his opponents weaknesses. Using Makashi?s focus on precise strikes and balance, he can quickly make the strong seem sluggish, the quick seem erratic, and the focused seem asleep. [B]Favoured Force Power(s):[/B] Voss? tendency to turn his opponents attacks against them naturally was started when he developed this power as a Padawan. He seemed to have a natural affinity for the Force Immunity power, which is able to de-direct an opponents attack back at them Voss has also been studying the dangerous technique Morichro, despite the fact that it is frowned upon by the council. This technique allows him to slow the heart-rate, breathing and metabolism of either himself of an opponent. Used on himself, it allows feats such as holding his breath for longer or halting poison in the blood stream, but it could also be used to inflict nausea, unconsciousness and even death upon others, and as such draws dangerously near to the dark side of the force. [B]View of the Force:[/B] Voss views the Force as an enhancement of self, much like, say, an extra pair of arms, which is an extension of yourself that allows you to reach greater levels of achievement in whatever you pursue. This is how he rationalises the light and dark sides of the force and the way different beings strive in different areas of the force, as it is an extension of the being you are; your personality, your strength and your weaknesses.
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Okay peeps, the RPG is up and running in the Square, so get yourselves over there and start posting. Also, I'm happy to say Gavin and Muse's sign-up have been accepted. Everyone welcome them to the team. Sign-up's will remain open for a time. This RPG never had a set limit for players, so I don't really feel it's necessary to close them at this time.
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[SIZE=1][B]July 1st, 2008. 7:22pm. Alkoli Lake, Alberta, Canada?[/B] ?Look at him. He?s magnificent!? Deep within the Weapon X facility, a doctor and his senior technician watch over their latest project as he lingers in sedation, half naked inside a glass cylinder. The tube is filled with a viscous green liquid, saturated with anti-septics to prevent the severe lacerations inflicted upon him from becoming infected. Of course, they have all since healed. Wires inserted into his arms, legs and torso provide him with sufficient nutrients to encourage recovery, and a mask placed over his nose and mouth allow him to breath. ?What are his vital signs?? The technician shifted her chair over to a monitor displaying a physical read-out of the subject, along with four lines that all convulsed in differing patterns. She monitored the screen for a few moments. ?Heart beat is up to fifty-eight per minute. Blood pressure is one-twenty over eighty. Brain activity is increasing. I think he?s beginning to come around, Sir.? ??Sooner than we expected. Very well, contact division, have them ready the containment cell.? ?Right away Sir.? The technician rose and shuffled away hastily, leaving Doctor Cornelius to muse over his creation. Truly, few would know of the marvels he had accomplished this day, and of those that did, even less would understand. Not only had he been able to harness the unbreakable alloy adamantium in its raw, liquid form, but he had then been able to secure a host capable of surviving the demanding task of grafting the metal to his very bones. He would receive no award this day, no recognition or praise, but he would die in the knowledge that he had just undertaken, and successfully completed the greatest experiment known to science. Next to this, space travel was mere child?s play. Cornelius was startled from his day dream suddenly by a series of sharp, high pitched bleeps. An immediate cause for concern; that was the pitch designated to warn him that the subject?s brain activity had reached levels of consciousness. He took control of the slight panic that had shot through him upon hearing the sound, then bent over towards the comm. panel that was keyed directly to the facilities security force. ?Commander Keyes?? ??Yes, Doctor.? ?This is a Code Blue, I repeat, Blue. Ready your men and get them to the test centre immediately.? ??Understood.? Cornelius flicked off the comm. unit and turned his eyes the circumference of the room. His transmission had attracted the attention of several technicians that had been going about their work, but had been noticeably startled by the command ?Code Blue?. However, once they found themselves under Doctor Cornelius? eye, they quickly recovered themselves and returned to work. Cornelius turned back towards the subject, and took a step back. The panic that had startled him before had returned, amplified now to paralysing levels. Immediately his lip quivered weakly, and sweat began to form on the man?s brow. His mind raced, though no solution or practicality solidified itself. What he saw was inevitable and final. What he saw? ?Were the subject?s eyes staring back into his. As the subject became apparent of his surroundings, he immediately drown in rage. He thrashed around inside the cylinder, ripping the wires from his arms and legs, causing his skin to tear and bleed profusely. A cry of pain, almost a howl, could be heard throughout the facility. The moment subsided; the subject forgot quickly about his already healing wounds, and turned his attention to his glass cage. He balled his fists, and started banging and kicking at the glass with his limbs. When glass meets adamantium, there simply is no contest. The glass first began splintering, then shattered altogether on one side. The subject leapt from the plateau, planting both feet onto the floor. Shards of glass pierced the soles of his feet, but in his state of feral anger the subject barely noticed. His gaze was focused on the scientist before him. He didn?t know how, but he was sure this was the man who had but him through so much pain, such agony, and had turned him into an animal. He grabbed at the breath mask on his face, and yanked it off, breaking the strap around the back of his head. He threw the mask to the ground, and snarled at the man. Cornelius could only stare back in petrified silence. The subject?s anger swelled; his eyes boiled over with fury. He erupted into a scream of pure hatred, and as he did so, six metal blades tore through the skin between his knuckles, gleaming against the lights, and drenched in blood. The subject?s scream quickly turned to a yelp, and he fell to his knees. He held up his hands in disbelief. They were stained with still pouring blood, and between his fingers were knives. Knives that had come out of his own skin. They had turned him in to a laboratory rat, an animal? and they had given their animal claws. His fury reached peak levels as he entered a state of blood lust. He leapt from his knees and hurtled through the air towards Cornelius, driving his metal claws through the man?s chest as his momentum knocked them both to ground. There was a sharp crack as metal ripped through bone and muscle, then a gurgle as the lungs were punctured, and blood began to drown them. The last thing Cornelius saw on this world, as blood and mucus filled his throat and nose, was his creation?s face inches from his, screaming at him in rage. The subject rose from his knees, planting his feet on the floor, then ripped his claws from Cornelius? torso before bracing them at his sides. He let out a snarl as his focus turned on the others in the room. Those who managed to achieve a moment of clarity were already making their way towards the only exit. The subject stalked through the room, as the slaughter of the entire technician team began. Metal tore through bone, punctured organs, tore through throats, gouged faces. The stench of death was pungent. Within moments, there was but one figure left standing. As his mood subsided and he began to calm, an air of claustrophobia took him. He began to feel like the caged animal they had made him, and he thought now only of escape. Frantically, he leapt into a run, and bounded down the stairs of the exit and around the corner, into the cavernous passages of the Weapon X facility. Alarms blared, panic and dread was everywhere, as the predator stalked through corridors and through doors, desperately searching for a way out. Like a cornered animal, he slashed and stabbed at anyone who got in his way, anyone who may hinder his escape. Bodies littered the passages behind him. He bounded along, blind to where he was going, when suddenly his keen nose caught the smell of oil. This was followed by a series of shuffles and clicks. Anyone could tell that sound, it was the sound of a gun cocking. He skidded to a halt near the end of a t-junction, falling to his back as he did so; his bare feet barely able to retain grip. He scrambled back to a crouched position, and pressed his weight up against the wall before the corner. He sniffed the air. There was a man just around the corner, his perspiration was very pungent. As soon as the tip of the soldier?s rifle emerged around the corner, the subject sprang out, crouching low, driving his clawed fist deep into the guards gut. The guard keeled over, blood spurting from his mouth in a coughing cry. The other soldier across the way shot, and a tranquiliser round struck the subject in the shoulder. The subject studied the projectile for a moment, then swatted it from his arm. The soldier immediately began backing up, as he flicked on his radio. ?Commander, subject is in Corridor 314. Sedative rounds ineffective, sw--*transmission ends in several bullet shots, a harsh yelling, then screams, followed by utter silence*. [CENTER]--------------[/CENTER] Commander Keyes and five armed men hurried through doors and along passageways in pursuit of the subject. They were disciplined and efficient, the only sound they made was the tapping of their heels on the tiled floors. Though, against some foes, even that is too much noise. They came to a stop along an L-bend , and the lead man looked back to Keyes. He listened, and could hear the panting and tapping feet of the target as he made his way towards them. With a flick of his hand he gave the signal, and the lead unclipped two smoke grenades and tossed them around the corner. He heard a sharp ?puff? then a hiss, signalling that the grenades had activated. With another signal, four men moved elegantly around the corner into flanking formation, to eradicate the target. After the demise of Doctor Cornelius and the warning from Private Connors that sedative rounds were useless, Keyes had decided it was best simply to eradicate the target and minimise further collateral. Keyes and his second in command waited patiently as the four guards moved into the corridor. Almost immediately thereafter he heard the sound of gunfire, mixed with snarls and howls. A lump began to appear in his throat as the firing slowly began to diminish, then cut out altogether. Flickers of smoke trailed around his feet, and around the corner he could hear the snarled breathing of the subject. His eyes met those of his subordinate, and though no words passed between them, there was a clear and definite understanding between them that they were in serious trouble. Sergeant Marsh raised his rifle and took a step forward. Despite his levels of military training and discipline, he was noticeably tight and anxious. As his heel met the cold floor, the subject exploded around the corner with a snarl; his left claws tearing the rifle in half, while his right pierced the heart of the Sergeant and he drove him backwards into the wall. Blood oozed down the man?s chest as he collapsed to the floor, leaving a thick streak of blackened blood down the wall behind him. Keyes reacted instinctively, firing three rounds from his rifle into the subject?s sternum. There was a howl of pain as the subject dropped to one knee, but moments later sprang into a leap, taking him towards Keyes? position. The subject threw what was designed to be a punch, but with three metal spikes protruding from his knuckles, the act became decidedly more ugly. The blades ripped through the left eye, upper nose, and right cheek of Keyes, through his brain, and out the back of his cranium, spurting blood, mucus, and brain tissue. The concussive force of the punch shattered Keyes already ruptured nose, knocking him in an arch towards the floor as a corpse. Keyes body hit the floor limply, and the three bullets that had penetrated the subject also hit the floor, as the subjects recovery system removed them and closed the wounds. The subject proceeded along the corridor, and he began to detect traces of pine in the air. The subject, realising he was nearing an exit, broke into the run along the corridor. The sound of running water soon followed, as the subject broke around a corner and was greeted by a fire exit. He kicked the door through and leapt out into the open air. Immediately he began to shudder as the cold bit at his flesh. The subject found himself standing ankle deep in show, with Alkoli Lake to his immediate right, the foreground setting for a small mountain range, behind which the sun was setting. To his left were the fringes of some woodland. For the first time the subject raised his hands and examined the weapons coming out of his hands. They, along with his hands, were stained with dried blood. He immediately found it odd that he could actually feel the claws, and that they seemed to have the sensation of touch, as if they were part of him, and not some foreign matter. Dismissing this, and with the majority of his anger having subsided, he, with some effort, managed to retract the claws back into his arms. He watched as the slits they had come out of sealed in a matter of seconds. The subject examined his surroundings, hoping to find a road or path. With no clue as to his position or bearings, his best option was to find a road and let that take him to some form of civilisation. He was surprised to find that almost the entire facility he had just escaped from was underground. On the surface were the broken remains of what appeared to be an old military camp or training facility. There was no sign of any road or access path, which unnerved the subject somewhat. His keen ears picked up activity coming from back inside the facility. In a panic, he took off into the woodland. Wearing nothing but a ragged pair of shorts, he headed off, in freezing cold weather, into a forest as the sun was setting. This night was going to be a very long one for the subject, who had no real clue as to where he was, or where he was actually heading.[/SIZE]
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Okay guys 'n' gals, it's time to post the list of accepted applications so far. I have to admit the general quality of sign-up's has been impressive, and somewhat bolder than I expected. The successful participants are as follows: [B]1. Jokopoko - Damien Kyle (Brightwind) 2. Ozymandius Jones - Theresa Balk (Shadow Stalker) 3. Hinata - Triana Garcia (Trueno) 4. Majin Vegeta - Andrew John Pryde (Shadowcat) 5. Sakura - Sakura Hiwatari (Mirror) 6. ^.^ - Victoria Grenze (Shred) 7. Heartless Me - Tammy Anne Mackenzie (Rapunzel)[/B] Gavin and Revelation will also be given the opportunities to finish their sign-up's before I make a judgement on them. Apologies to those who didn't get in. As referance for the future, it was either poor spelling/grammar, unacceptable post length/quality, or a complete disregard for the rules I set out at the beginning that prevented you from getting accepted. A little time and effort goes a long way. The RPG will hopefully be up and running by the end of the week. Sign-up's will remain open until that time should anyone else choose to sign-up.
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A lot of the sign-up's are looking promising so far guys... if only one of you would actually finish one I could make a far more educated comment. --------------------------------------------- [SIZE=1][COLOR=DarkGreen]Accessing Project: Weapon X subject files? Classified data? Enter password? ******* Password accepted? Accessing files; Howlett, C.D. Level 3 classified data? Enter password? ********** Password accepted? Subject information: [B]Full name:[/B] Craig David Howlett [B]Designated codename:[/B] Wolverine [B]D.O.B:[/B] 03/12/85 [B]Height:[/B] 179cm [B]Weight:[/B] 175lbs [B]Blood Type:[/B] O [B]File Photo:[/B] Please see attached document. [B]?Mutant? abilities:[/B] Like all Weapon X subjects, Howlett possesses an ability to recover from physical injury at an accelerated rate, which he has possessed since birth.. Testing showed immune system capable of combating every disease it was subjected to. Not advanced to the point where lost limbs can be recovered i.e. subject Wilson. Unknown whether accelerated recovery system will retard aging process in any way, thought tests suggest so. Howlett possesses advanced sensory organs, similar to subject Creed; developed during puberty. Field testing showed Howlett able to track subjects by scent up to eight hours old. Eyes contain double that of average light gathering retina in the eye, extending his vision into the infrared portion of the spectrum. Hearing is sensitive to the point where light breathing could be detected in a cave from a distance of two hundred feet. Acute taste sensors able to detect one part foreign matter in ten thousand. X-rays taken shows that Howlett?s forearms house three claws comprised of dense bone matter. Claws remain dormant as subject appears unaware of their existence. Subject has been approved for project X103447: Adamantium testing [B]Psycologic Evaluation:[/B] Subject displays trouble trusting others, probable result of past experiences. As such, seems quiet and somewhat disgruntled towards company, including other Weapon X subjects. Subject often displays signs of antagonism, and will quickly become aggressive should such a situation arrive. Displays signs of physical rivalry with subject Creed, and to describe their relationship as volatile would be doing so lightly. Anger can at points escalate to point of becoming feral in nature. However, in previous contact the subject has displayed signs of fierce loyalty, especially around past associates. [B]Background:[/B] Howlett was born on the grounds of his Estate in Canada to parents David Michael Howlett and Anne Howlett. Difficulties arose during birth; Howlett was taken from the womb feet first, allowing his umbilical cord to wrap around his neck during birth, chocking the infant into unconsciousness, severe lung and throat damage, and what should have resulted in brain trauma and eventually death. Howlett was kept on a life support system for two weeks, three days, before a recovery that can only be described as miraculous. This was the result of Howlett?s mutant abilities awakening due to the infant?s panic, and so his enhanced healing facility was able to give him a complete recovery. Doctors were obviously baffled, but several days later released the child from intensive care, concluding that he had indeed recuperated. As the child progressed through development, it appeared as though the difficulties sustained during birth had indeed had an adverse affect on him. We have obtained notes on Howlett from the family doctor stating that, whilst the boys displayed an unusual talent for quick recovery, both from physical wounds and illness, he was never the less very frail and physically weak, to the point where his leg musculature was barely stable enough to allow him to run. He displayed no disease that contributed to this, and was given a healthy dietary program by the Estate?s cooks. Interestingly enough, X-Rays taken of the infant at this time showed no signs of the claws that he now houses in his forearms. Howlett was home schooled as a result of his feeble physical condition until he reached the age of ten. A diary of his father?s we have obtained from the Howlett Estate addresses the subject of his sons home schooling, stating; ??his teacher says Craig is a bright boy, but he has a short attention span, and can quickly become irritated if he looses interest in a subject.? We believe this behaviour, which is a major contributor to his current personality quirks, stems from the lack of contact he had with other children as an infant, and as such was unable to properly develop environmental and communication skills. Somewhere around Howlett?s tenth birthday he underwent a dramatic physical transformation, which doctor?s at the time could only reason to be a growth spurt. In the space of a standard month Howlett gained roughly seven inches in height and thirty-five pounds in weight. Report from the Estate?s doctor at the time read; ?Craig has revealed to me that he has felt his strength increasing dramatically during the time, and has found the transformation virtually painless. Strange, as such a substantial and sudden weight gain should have taken a dramatic toll on the body.? This is contradictory to other reports however, especially the diary of his father, who states he heard Howlett?s painful screams in the nights during this time. When confronted, Howlett dismissed them, saying; ?I must just have been having a nightmare.? We believe this to be the second stage in his mutant development, and the point where Craig?s bone claws were developing; a chance in his bone structure which would have been extremely painful. It may be possible, however, that Howlett?s enhanced physiology kept him sedated during these periods of transformation, in order to shield him from a degree of the pain. We can only speculate on this at present. Howlett became determined to take full advantage of his new physical prowess. His parents agreed to send him to a private school where he could meet and interact with other children, and he took up several forms of martial arts including Karate, Judo, and Tae-Kwon Do. The combination of his lack of past peer contact, his new physical prowess, and the feral nature of his mutant powers, however, meant that his school experiences were not to be pleasant ones. The ?new kid in school? often receives a degree of stick from his peers until he is eventually accepted, but very rarely do people react as violently to it as Howlett did. His School Record is littered with reports of fighting and visits to the School?s Head and Psychiatrist. Howlett?s uneasy temperament eventually spread into his household as it persisted and worsened, and so it comes as no surprise that Howlett came to us very much a loner. It is also no surprise, considering his development, that as soon as he was of the conscription age, he fled his household, and joined the Army. His entry into the Army coincides almost perfectly with the activation of Project: Weapon X. We had been given the task of creating the ultimate soldier, and had already taken in several recruits from across the country, and from various backgrounds. Strange that it wasn?t until Howlett that we had recruited someone from our own ranks. We noticed him once he had submitted his application and began his trial for the Marines. Our division was given access to the blood tests of any and all soldiers that we chose, and we were delighted when we found that Howlett contained the ?X? Gene in his DNA. Howlett passed the trials with exceptional results, and was told he was being sent to a Special Op?s unit called Alpha Flight. A half truth, but a necessary one. We anticipated a rivalry between subjects Howlett and Creed, as they displayed very similar personality traits and abilities. However we had not expected it to arise so immediately and intensely. They became intensely competitive both in field missions and theory tests. Coincidentally, they were our leading candidates for adamantium testing. Both possessed certain physical weapons that could turn adamantium into a destructive weapon indeed. Creed was a physical marvel, so big, so strong, and yet so agile, with cat like claws that, if coated in adamantium, could rip through any enemy he should face. Howlett was smaller, lighter, quicker, but with all the aggression and tenacity that Creed possessed. One scientist remarked on a particular mission trip how Howlett?s posture and mannerisms reminded him so much of a Wolverine, which affectionately became his codename. Howlett, however, also had, buried in his forearms, six bone blades. The thought of those fused with adamantium and used as weapons is almost too unappealing to pass up. In the end, the decision was made by the fact that Creed was promoted to leader of the Unit. As such, Howlett became the more expendable member of the team. Of course, neither knew anything of this project at the time, and if Howlett wakes up? when he wakes up, he will have no memory of it either. Such a sweet though? the Wolverine is about to get his claws.[/SIZE][/COLOR]
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[SIZE=1]Mid-morning. The air is crisp, cool, and quiet. At 1407 Graymalkin Lane, Westchester County, New York; two men converse on the grounds of the estate. One man, tall, slender, with a command in his voice and a chill in his stare that exudes confidence and charisma. The other, one of the greatest minds the world has every seen, ironically confined to a chair. The sun, low to the east casts an enchanting glow over the landscape, and as the men stare out into it, they know they may be looking at the calm before the inevitable storm. ?It?s here Charles. The day you always feared. The day the homo-sapiens woke and found they aren?t alone on the planet.? ?It was never the day I feared Eric, but the actions of people on that day; actions that will shape our future? that will shape every day that follow this one.? ?So, once again old friend we find ourselves on a pivot. Humans have always feared what they do not understand Charles, and they will not understand us.? ?Then it becomes our responsibility to give them understanding.? The silver haired man snickered. ?So how do you explain to a parent that their child can burn down the walls of their house with a stare, or convince a husband it?s normal that his wife can suddenly fly?? A sigh escaped from Charles? pursed lips. The task truly seemed almost insurmountable. If his closest friend could not agree with his ideals, how was he to bring the populace to accept his kind? ?They will think us mutants Charles. They will cast us down and out until we are all branded and behind bars. I have seen the brutality of the concentration camp once before Charles? it is an experience I would prefer not to relive.? ?You don?t know they will react that way?? ?Oh come now Charles? if the ignorance of one man could lead to the slaughter of a religion, imagine what the ignorance of a species could accomplish. If they perceive us dangerous, we could quickly find ourselves in a fight for survival. When that fight reached my doorstep, I intend to be prepared.? ?We can co-exist Eric. We will exist peacefully because we must. The planet belongs to two species now. They will understand.? ?No Charles? the planet belongs to us now. We are the future Charles, not them.? Xavier sighed again, turning his eyes from that of his companion. In that moment, both realised they were fighting a lost cause, and both knew that their relationship would never be the same again. ?I am afraid Charles, that this is a subject you and I will never agree on. Goodbye? old friend.? At that, the taller man turned and walked away, his coat swaying lightly in the wind. Charles did not turn, but stared out into the landscape, the only sound the echoing clap of Eric?s soles on the stone patio. As the eleventh hour drew to a close, Xavier knew he was about to face a foe that may be too great even for him. [CENTER]----------[/CENTER] [B]October 12th, 2007:[/B] Reports arise out of Matsusaka, Japan of a girl that can allegedly set herself alight and remain unharmed. [B]December 3rd, 2007:[/B] Rumours begin to arise about Olympic athlete Dikembe Ohalete, that whilst training for the 2008 Beijing Olympics he was seen outpacing an attacking lioness. [B]January 2nd, 2008:[/B] Television footage shows Tennessee native Nathan Hodge lifting a car above his head before a crowd. When interviewed, Hodge insisted his incredible strength had come along very sudenly, and was completely natural. He agreed to be blood tested to find the source of his unusual abilities. [B]January 10th, 2008:[/B] American President George W. Bush refuses to comment when asked about alleged human mutations, addressing the topic as ?mere speculation, at least for the time being.? [B]February 15th 2008:[/B] A public press conference discussing the results of Nathan Hodge?s DNA tests reveals a mutation in his genes that may be the source of his amazing strength. As a result, the general public begins to refer to these super-humans as mutants. [B]March 1st, 2008:[/B] As reports of super-human activity continue to rise, multi-billion dollar corporation Trask Industries chairman Bolivar Trask releases statement condemning these super-humans as mutants and a threat to humanity. [B]March 12th, 2008:[/B] In Freiburg, Germany, Franz Mittelstaedt kills four human protestors who reacted violently when it was revealed he was a mutant. This heightens public tension and protestors grow in number, claiming mutants are indeed a threat. [B]May 3rd, 2008:[/B] Dikembe Ohalete wins Olympic gold in 200 and 400 metre sprints, slashing both world records in the process, previously held by "the worlds fastest man"; Michael Johnson. [B]May 7th, 2008:[/B] Nathan Hodge is admitted to a Nashville hospital with severe injuries after being attacked by "anti-mutant" protestors. [B]May 23rd, 2008:[/B] A mysterious individual attacks one of Trask Industries main military production facilities, causing millions of dollars in structural damage, and the deaths of several workers. Trask employees who witnessed the event claimed the man referred to himself as "Magneto". [B]May 27th, 2008:[/B] A military installation at Alkali Lake in Canada receives permission to experiment on mutants, both as test subjects and soldiers. Project Weapon X becomes active. [B]June 2nd, 2008:[/B] Blood tests conducted on Dikembe Ohalete following his Olympic victories showed that he contained the same mutation in his genes as Nathan Hodge and several others. Immediately there after, protests begin demanding his medals are stripped from him. [B]June 15th, 2008:[/B] Professor Charles Xavier officially opens his "Institute for Higher Learning", though no students have enrolled as of yet. [B]June 20th, 2008:[/B] An anti-mutant organisation, calling themselves the "Anti-Mutant League", converge on Washington D.C., demanding individuals with the "X" gene be forced to register such a fact. [CENTER]----------[/CENTER] Okay boys and girls, the plan for this RPG is that we're going back to the beginning. Mutants are just being discovered, the X-Men are not yet active, and you will be playing the role of a mutant out in the world on his own. Don't worry, your characters will be recruited into the X-Men soon enough. As with all my other X-Men RPG's, I must insist that you pick the [b]power[/b] of a mutant that does exist in the Marvel universe. I do this in order to stop demi-god characters, and it has always worked fine in the past. The most drawing thing about the X-Men, in my opinion, is that they all have weaknesses and so need to work as a team. This also promotes great RPing. You can choose the power of any mutant you wish, and can even use the identity of that mutant so should you choose. However, if you want to take a power and put it in an original character, that's fine by me. The powers of these mutants, however, are off limits: 1. Professor X 2. Magneto 3. Juggernaut 4. Apocalypse 5. Franklin Richards 6. X-Man 7. Onslaught Other than that, you're all set. You want Storm's power? Knock yourself out. Colossus' power take your fancy? It's yours. This is not a first come, first serve system however. If several people apply for the same power, the best sign up will get said power. Now, lets go have some fun. [CENTER]----------[/CENTER] [b][I]Sign-ups:[/I][/b] [B]Name:[/B] [B]Age:[/B] Teens or low twenties are preferred, but not essential. [B]Power:[/B] The person whose power you are taking. A description of said power would also be nice. [B]Codename:[/B] Just because I'm making you use someone's power, doesn't mean you have to use their name. If you can think of a better one, go crazy. [B]Appearence:[/B] Description or a pic, either is fine. [B]Personality:[/B] Is your character a goody two-shoes, or a bit of a *****? Here's where you let us know. [B]Bio:[/B] What brought your character to the point where this RPG kicks off? Here's your chance to get a bit creative and make an impression. One more thing. I will be using Wolverine's power, so if any of you want to try and apply for that, feel free... but I don't like your chances of beating me for the spot. Okay, that's it. Enjoy.[/SIZE]
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I thought it might be an idea to throw up the details for my Padawan here, just so everyone gets a clear picture of him before the RPG starts. [SIZE=1][CENTER][B]Name:[/B] Tessek Vrow [B]Age:[/B] 15 [B]Gender:[/B] Male [B]Race:[/B] Quarren [B]Homeworld:[/B] Mon Calamari [B]Affiliate Order:[/B] Old Jedi Order [B]Rank:[/B] Padawan Learner [B]Class:[/B] Padawan Peacekeeper [B]Lightsaber:[/B] Tessek carries with him twin lightsabres, identical in design. The design of the hilt?s would be considered somewhat heavy-duty to most Jedi. Thick metal casing surrounds the focusing crystal, made of a silver that almost makes the sabres gleam even in the dark. A lack of experience in craftsmanship and perhaps too much desire meant that both hilt?s evened out at roughly 35cm long to compensate for a more powerful energy lens, allowing the blade?s length to be altered. Both lightsabres ignite with a lime green blade when activated, and due to the users focus on pure power, they emit a deeper and seemingly more sinister hiss than most sabres. [B]Lightsaber Style:[/B] Shien [Level 1] [B]Force Powers:[/B] Stun, Force Push, Force Jump, Burst of Speed. [B]Appearance:[/B] Tessek stands at just over 5?2? tall, and has the typical appearance that characterises his race. His skin is of deep tan, and his eyes are a glorious shade of luminescent blue, with four tentacles protruding from his jaw area. He is quite thick set for a member of his species, possibly due to the physical activity he faces every day as a Jedi. He bears a scar from the top of his neck on the left side, to the right side of his chest, a wound that almost killed him. He wears the generic robes of a Jedi, his tunic is a sandstone colour, over which he wears deep brown boots that come up to his knees, and a brown Jedi cloak. [B]Biography:[/B] Tessek was discovered by a Jedi Knight on his home planet of Mon Calamari when he was five years old. The young Quarren displayed a good , and surprisingly attuned affinity for the force even at such a young age, though his personality left something to be desired, as it seemed he had become somewhat of a bully to his peers. However, the Jedi dismissed this due to Tessek?s age, and decided it was in the best interests of the Jedi if this young man was able to achieve his potential. Tessek was introduced to lightsaber combat almost immediately after entering the Academy. Even at such an early age, it seemed Tessek may have been brought in to the Academy at a stage too late in his life. He possessed almost inconsolable traits of impatience and anger, and was unprepared for the refined art of lightsaber combat that demanded focus and calm. When he was unable to accomplish a feat, he would become irate and frustrated, and only through intense guidance by Jedi Master Zarael was he able to quell his emotions, and eventually begin to learn. By the end of Tessek?s clanship, he had seemingly turned a corner, and had become a Padawan with exceptional talents, especially in combat. This would attract the attention of Jodo Kavor, in the same way that his own talents attracted his former master, Doran Wo?Diin. Jodo, saw that the young Quarren was very aggressive in combat, but was unaware of the emotional problems he had gone through during the start of his clanhood, and so decided to take him on as his first Padawan learner. The joining of these two individuals as master and apprentice proved far more difficult that Jodo had anticipated. With the added pressures and responsibility of a Padawan?s life, Tessek?s emotional twinges again began to arise. Jodo, lacking the patience and experience of old Jedi himself, found it very difficult to teach his student. Tessek, though admirable of his master?s exceptional skill, often found his advice lacking direction. Seemingly, Tessek had developed a very narrow minded viewpoint during his clanship, one that offence and power were the key to being successful as a Jedi and a warrior. Tessek would often find his master in conversation with Master Wo?Diin. He knew that he was the subject of these talks, and this annoyed him, as he felt he was doing nothing wrong. Indeed he proved to be growing very adept in lightsabre combat, sparring sessions with other Padawan?s would often prove short and swift, with Tessek emerging victorious. Jodo saw nothing wrong in this, as it was an exercise that would boost his skill. What he didn?t anticipate was the affect it would have on his ego. This would be further compounded when Tessek was allowed to spar with his master. Tessek?s aggressive mentality and fighting style was unable to penetrate his master?s defence. During the fight his master would give advice and orders, in the same way Master Wo?Diin had done to him, but instead of taking the lessons to heart as Jodo did, the advice would only add to Tessek?s frustration, and increase his aggressive pursuit. As Tessek turned fifteen, he confronted his master about taking the next step up in lightsabre study. Jodo, after much thought and council with his former master, reluctantly agreed, already knowing the style Tessek would choose. He was surprised though, that after choosing the Shien style, he chose to craft an extra lightsaber, to further his attacking prowess. Jodo?s concern heightened, so much that he would report this to the Jedi Council. They advised that he move forward cautiously with his Padawan, and remarked that they would aid by keeping a closer eye on the young Quarren. Behind closed doors, the Council debated on the effect this may have on Jodo himself, who displayed similar traits, if much less prominent, to his Padawan. Tessek now nears his sixteenth birthday. Recently he had become concerned that his teachings have been proceeding far more slowly than he is used to. He has not yet confronted his master about this, who seems to have detatched himself somewhat from Tessek recently. As of now, their relationship is very fragile, and it is very clouded as to how events between them will unfold in the future. [B]Personality:[/B] Tessek is a very intelligent young man, and can often provide deep levels of insight and perception when involved in debate. However, these seem to be too far and few between. Seemingly having kept the traits that made him a bully as a boy, Tessek is never happy if he does not get his way, fast. His narrow minded viewpoint means that he will see everything in black and white, and will then become frustrated, aggressive, and eventually furious if a clear solution is not presented quickly. This carries over to every aspect of his life, be it a mental activity or physical feat. [/CENTER][/SIZE]
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[SIZE=1][CENTER][B]Name:[/B] Jodo Kavor [B]Age:[/B] 24 [B]Gender:[/B] Male [B]Race:[/B] Human [B]Homeworld:[/B] Kiffex [B]Affiliate Order:[/B] Old Jedi Order [B]Rank:[/B] Jedi Knight [B]Class:[/B] Jedi Guardian [B]Lightsaber:[/B] Jodo?s has a single lightsabre, with a single blade. The hilt is slightly shorter than a standard hilt, about 25cm long. The hilt is long and smooth, and apart from the activator, is completely free of ?teeth? protruding from it?s sides, which might have hindered his grip. The hilt is made of a dark, almost black metal, giving it an oily appearance. In one side, there is an oval cut from the metal casing, in which there are ridges of carbon fibre. The lightsabre blade is a rich blue colour, slightly deeper in colour than most blue lightsabre crystals. This is because of the construction of the lightsabre, with the focusing lens and emitter matrix aligned for maximum energy output. [B]Lightsaber Style:[/B] Juyo - Level II [B]Force Powers:[/B] Knight Speed, Force Deflection, Improved Energy Resistance, Throw Lightsabre, Force Whirlwind [B]Appearance:[/B] [IMG]http://www.starwars-universe.com/images/livres/comics/scans/darkness05s.jpg[/IMG] Jodo stands at 5?11? tall, and has a medium build, weighing in at about 175lbs. Due to the combatist temperament of both himself and his master, he has developed a very robust figure through extensive physical excercise. [IMG]http://images.google.co.uk/images?q=tbn:qduxGeysyfoJ:www.3dm-mc.com/tutorials/tribal_logos/tribal_logo_2.jpg[/IMG] He bears this branding on the left side of his chest, almost tribal in appearence. Jodo wears a Jedi tunic generic of many Knights and Masters, but where as most robes are a white or cream in colour, Jodo's is black, with a deep grey undershirt. He wears a gauze like wrapping around his forearms, underneath his robes, that wraps around his hand to the middle of the palm, just above the thumb. He wears black leather boots that come to the middle of his shins, and have worn at the bottom almost to suede. He wears a brown Jedi cloak. [B]Biography:[/B] Jodo was discovered at a young age on his Homeworld of Kiffex. His clan; Kavor, who all sported very strong bonds, were reluctant to give him up. However, after long discussion with the Jedi who had discovered him, they eventually conceded, and allowed Jodo to be taken to the Academy on Dantooine, where his gifts would be best used. The first months of his stay were very difficult at the Academy. No more than a baby, Jodo would spend hours at a time wailing, distort at having been torn from his mother. This lesson was a harsh one for him to learn, but ultimately a necessary one, as this was his first lesson in the dangers of making attachments. Eventually the tears stopped, the wailing subsided, and, finally, his journey through the Force could begin. He let go of his family clan and joined another, entering the stage of his Jedi life referred to as the Clanhood. Jodo?s skills began to flourish very quickly when he was introduced to the basics of lightsabre combat. He seemed to show a natural flair and ability with the weapon, and quickly began to find the Shi Cho form far too simplistic for his needs. It was this gift that took the notice of the Jedi Doran Wo?Diin, who had recently taken his step in to Knighthood, and was looking for a Padawan of his own. Being particularly gifted in lightsaber combat himself, it was natural that these two should be drawn together; as mentor and student. The Force has a will of its own; nothing happens by accident. Jodo approached the end of his Clanhood with same task that beset all of his peers; to construct a lightsaber. It was this act that would reinforce Master Wo?Diin?s confidence in Jodo, and secure their pairing as Master and Apprentice. Given only the basic instruction in assembly, many Clan member?s lightsabre?s turn out slightly crude and very simplistic in design. Jodo?s however displayed unusual qualities for someone his age, drawing the attention of several potential Master?s, but it was Doran Wo?Diin who would become his Master. There was but a single task left before Jodo could become Doran?s Padawan. Together they had to venture into the Kinrath caves, where Jodo would, under Doran?s guidance, be able to choose a crystal for his lightsaber. There was an inevitable awkwardness in their first meeting, with Jodo anxious but eager and Doran unsure on how best to teach his student before knowing more about him. Fate it seems, has a will of its own, and it would be their lightsaber skill that would form the first bonds of their relationship. As Jodo neared the completion of his lightsaber, the pair were attacked by a small group of Kinrath. Doran immediately ignited his lightsaber and moved into a defensive position infront of his student, his goal to protect the boy, who had never seen real combat before. As he readied for battle, he heard the ignition of another weapon, and turned to see Jodo, a steel readiness in his eyes and a lightsabre at his side, ignited with the same blue blade as his own. For the first time they stood together in battle, and it was hear that Jodo?s great potential was first put into practive. Doran did not waste time introducing his Padawan to the art of Juyo. Jodo was very eager to learn such a demanding lightsabre art, as it was finally one that challenged his tremendous potential. Doran, despite his own youth and relative inexperience, still displayed the caution of someone beyond his years in teaching Juyo to his Padawan, who had started to show unhealthy signs of competitiveness and desire. However, Doran decided it was best to trust in his Padawan?s own judgement, and so began his teachings. When Jodo was fifteen, he was meditating, when he began to feel a sharp pain in the left side of his chest. Jodo travelled in to a deeper sleep as he tried to combat the pain, which he felt was coming through the Force. Visions of his mother and his clan passed through his thoughts as the pain grew more intense, and eventually caused him to pass out. He woke several days later in the Academy?s medical bay, and found that, on the part of his chest where he had felt the pain, there were now intricate black markings. He later learned that these markings were the symbol of his clan. The Council was alarmed, as it seemed he had sub-consciously used the Force to burn these markings in to his own skin. Not only did this show that he still had some attachment for his clan, but the act itself required use of the Dark Side of the Force. They chose to inform Doran of this, but kept the information from Jodo himself. The remainder of Jodo?s apprenticeship went relatively smoothly. Jodo had continued to display signs of arrogance in his talents, but these were often very minor, as such were ignored most of the time. He became a Knight at 19, having passed the Trials set before him. The student/teacher relationship he had shared with Master Doran Wo?Diin for so many years had come to an end, and they formed a new relationship, now as friends. Soon after becoming a Knight, Jodo chose to construct a new lightsabre, one that reflected his own personality more than that of his Master?s. He kept the same focusing crystal that he had used as a Padawan, but the new design of the hilt was much more sleek, and one that drew much more focus towards power output. Many Master?s at the Academy have placed praise on Jodo for the level of craftsmanship displayed in making his new weapon. Jodo seems to have been displaying signs of bold impatience recently, that seem to have coincided with Luke?s appearance at the Dantooine Academy. Jodo, more than most, seems to be sick of hiding in the underground, and has had many long discussions with his former mentor in the necessities of staying in the shadows. His lightsabre skills have also developed substantially, and, even at such a young age, he is already gathering a reputation as one of the most combat adept Jedi in the Academy. [B]Personality:[/B] With Jodo?s skills have also come confidence, almost to the point of arrogance. He often shows signs of impatience, wishing to rush in to action at the first sign of trouble. He finds it difficult to understand the pacifism of some of the older and wiser Masters, and sometimes his impatience threatens to grow into anger in especially frustrating circumstances. He has a lot of charisma, and this often displays itself fully when he is placed in positions of leadership. He also has a natural competitiveness, and this is shown when he chose to study Juyo, normally a style considered far too dangerous for someone his age, as it draws very near to the Dark Side of the force. [B]Other:[/B] Jodo has a marking on the left side of his chest; a tattoo. It is the tribal symbol of his family. [B]Final Question:[/B] I didn?t find any problems with the sign-up, but I?m in the same boat as you Gav in that I have extensive knowledge of the KOTOR series, so everything was familiar to me.[/CENTER][/SIZE]
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[B]Mr Burns picks up the phone.[/B] [B]Mr Burns:[/B] Lets see now... Smithers. S-M-I-T-H-E-R-S. There we go... [B]Moe:[/B] Moe's Tavern. [B]Mr Burns:[/B] I'd like to speak to Whelan Smithers please. [B]Moe:[/B] What the? Listen you, if I find out who this is I'm gonna rip your eyes out and shove them down your pants so you can see me kickin' your ***! [CENTER]-------------------------[/CENTER] [B]Mr Burns:[/B] Oh no! They know too much... Smithers, use the amnesia ray! [B]Smithers:[/B] You mean the revolver Sir? [B]Mr Burns:[/B] Yes, and by sure to give yourself a dose when your finished. [CENTER]---------------------------[/CENTER] [B]Moe singing:[/B] Moe Moe Moe! How d'ya like me, how d'ya like me? Moe Moe Moe! Nobody likes me, why wont ya' hug me? [CENTER]---------------------------[/CENTER] [B]Scully:[/B] Homer, we're going to ask you a few simple yes or no questions. Do you understand? [B]Homer:[/B] Yes. (lie dectector blows up) [CENTER]---------------------------[/CENTER] [B]Marge:[/B] Why doesn't the Judge like you? [B]Lionel Hutz:[/B] Well, he's kind of had it in for me ever since I accidentally ran over his dog. Actually, replace "accidentally" with "repeatedly," and replace "dog" with "son." [CENTER]---------------------------[/CENTER] [B]Apu comes back to his store after closing it down for 5 minutes ? Hans Moleman is trapped inside[/B] [B]Hans Moleman:[/B] You cost me 5 minutes of my life and I want them back! [B]Apu:[/B] I am sorry, sir. [B]Hans Moleman:[/B] Never mind, I would have just wasted them anyway. [CENTER]---------------------------[/CENTER] [B]Groundskeeper Willie:[/B] Brothers 'n' Sisters 'r' mortal enemies! Like English 'n' Scots, 'n' Welsh 'n' Scots, 'n' Scots 'n' other Scots! Stupid Scots, they ruined Scotland! [CENTER]---------------------------[/CENTER] [B]Lionel Hutz:[/B] This is the greatest case of false advertising I've seen since I sued the movie 'The Never Ending Story'.
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Jodo walked along silently, his hands lulling at his sides as he monitored the surroundings. Jureel was a few paces ahead of him, and seemed to be paying particular attention to the increasing amounts of unsettled earth that all seemed to move in the same pattern; a classic sign of mass blaster fire. Jureel had always held Jodo with some air of caution, he seemed to have some trouble getting on with creatures alien to his own species. No matter... Jodo was aware that their relationship had, if slowly, been developing over time, and was certain that it would continue to progress positively. Master Kaith was behind the two, and walked some distance close to the base itself, while Kassaen was further back again, seemingly starting to get frustrated at their apparent lack of results. Jodo's attention was caught suddenly by a series of black marks singing the grass and floor, around a very concentrated area. Blaster scoring, which all seemed to concentrate into an area, and suddenly stop in a circular perimeter untouched by any scoring. Jureel seemed to have noticed it also. Jodo turned towards Kaith, whose attention was still directed solely towards the base itself. "Master Kaith" Kaith turned and looked at Jodo with an air of mild surprise, and found him standing perfectly still, pointing towards the mass blaster scoring, which Jureel was already advancing towards. "Found, we have, the beginning of the battle." Kaith nodded as she joined Jodo, and together they walked towards the markings on the floor. Kassaen was jogging behind them to catch up, and Jureel was already down on one knee, examining the untouched circle. "This is very strange Master Kaith..." "What's that Jureel?" "Well, this untouched perimeter here... if it was some kind of shield or force field, then it's barely big enough for one man to stand in. Plus, we've found no other evidence of this in this area." "So that means, either there were several attackers coming from adjacent angles... or..." "Or there was just this one..." Kassaen finished. Kaith's demenour bacame suddenly more grim. She paused for some moments, staring blankly at the untouched perimeter. The students seemed far more on edge, and had subconsciously taken up a perimeter of their own around their master, all very cautios of their surroundings. "It's no matter." Kaith suddenly announced. "Whatever it was, it's long gone now." "This place... strong in the dark side of the force..." Jodo commented. Kaith nodded once, and then drew in a long breath, before turning back to her companions. "Okay, lets move out, see if we can find any thing else that arouses suspicion."
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[I]There is no emotion; There is peace.[/I] Jodo sat silently in his chair, eyes closed, meditating. His hands were clasped and lay across his lap, and the only movement he made was the slight convex and concave of his chest as he breathed. [I]There is no ignorance; There is knowledge.[/I] Jodo's mind was an open window. He saw nothing, for his eyes were closed, but he felt the presence of everyone on the ship, they were as beacons on a dark night to him. Some carried an anxiety; a tension that eminated through the Force. Perhaps this was because many expected a battle. Some carrried an anticipation; almost hoping there would be a battle ahead. They were as lightning; jumpy, aggresive. [I]There is no passion; There is serenity.[/I] Jodo let his mind wander further still. He felt the pilot's, the bulkheads, the engines. Outside, he felt the cold recess of space combat with the warmth and energy of the stars. Then, his focus reached the planet... and he felt emptyness. It was as a void... and it gave him a feeling like a convulsion of the lungs. But... that was not all. He felt as if a veil had been thrown over the Planet, like it had been cast in shadow. [I]There is no death; There is the Force.[/I] Jodo's eyes opened suddenly, he felt a presence before him. Opening his eyes, he beheld Master Jedoth staring at him solemnly, his mouth perched into a compassionate smile. The two Whill were silent for a moment, then Jedoth reached out, placing a hand on Jodo's shoulder. "Hard to see... The dark side is, young Jodo." Jodo gave a single nod, and his ears drooped into a look of concern. He was not scared of the threat itself, but was afraid of the symbol it represented. A Sith ready to challenge the Republic publicly meant one thing; that the Sith were now in a position powerful enough to cause the Republic serious threat.
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[B]Name:[/B] Jodo Rade [B]Age:[/B] 32 [B]Gender:[/B] Male [B]Species:[/B] Whill [Yoda's presumed race] [B]Personality:[/B] Jodo, like most of his species, carries a wit and charm that overshadows their diminuitive appearence. Jodo is very reflective of his situations and his companions, the large ears of his species are a symbol of the fact that he likes to listen and reflect more than talk. He is wise beyond his ears, and, despite being very young for one of his species, he is very much respected amongst his peers. He is not a rash character, and is not hasty to draw his lightsabre. However, once he has drawn it, his skills with his blade are almost unparalleled. [B]Appearance:[/B] Jodo, like most of his species, is very small, standing at roughly .65 metres tall. He has dull green skin, with large protruding ears and deep green eyes. He has no hair on his head. His hands have three fingers each, and his feet three toes. He wears a simple black robe (similar to Yoda's brown one from AoTC), and over it he wears a cream coloured cloak. He is always barefoot, and wears no gloves over his hands. [B]Bio:[/B] Jodo was discovered to be gifted in the force by Master Jedoth. Jedoth visited his home planet some 30 years ago when Jodo was not even two years old, and recognised the potential in the infant. He was taken be Jedoth to the Jedi Academy on Kashyyyk to be trained. As with most force sensitive members of Jodo's race, Jodo seemed to exhibit an extreme gift for channeling the living force. Master Jedoth, who displayed a fondness in Jodo as he grew up (possibly from them being of the same race), would often be found tutoring in the ways of the Force, even away from lessons with the other Academy 'younglings'. Jodo found a particular fondness in lightsabre combat once he reached adolescence. Not for the thrill of fighting, but for the skill and focus it demanded, and the necessity to protect. By chanelling the force into his own body as he fought, he could perform contortionist like feats otherwise impossible to a sentient (Form IV). An opponent would encounted an array of dazzling and fast paced lightsabre attacks, behind which Jodo was but a blur. However, his dedication to the peace-keeping nature of the Jedi means that his style is not often seen in combat. [B]Lightsaber colour and type:[/B] Single hilted lightsabre; yellow bladed. [B]Most likely to turn to:[/B] Light side
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Well, my two favorite games since they have been released are Knights of the Old Republic, and Knights of the Old Rebublic 2: The Sith Lords. However, I have been at odds deciding on which is better. KotOR was the original, obviously, and I still remember the feeling of nervous excitement I had when I, after months of waiting and reading every damn article that had been published about it, finally got to play the game. My attention span has a tendency to be quite short, and so this title (as well as its sequal) hold their own as the only RPG's I have played through twice. Though, in fairness, this is basically a given with the light/darkside allignments that the game offers. The story in the first KotOR is superior to that of KotOR2 (I recall grinning wildly when the identity of the main character was revealed). However, the gameplay, in retrospect, now seems limited having played KotOR2, and the characters within the game also seem weaker overall. As Gavin stated, I found myself completely disconnected from most of the games characters (I swear if I had to hear Mission call Zaalbar "Big Z" one more time...). This, however, I feel is KotOR2's strength. The characters seem to have far more depth to them, and overall have a far more attractive appeal to their personalities than the first game (especially Kreia, I especially admired the way her character, one of manipulation and shadow, eventually weeded into the overall plot, though because of the weaker story I saw it coming a mile away). I also thought that Sion was a much more convincing Sith than Malak was. Malak always seemed like a dog who had been let off his leach, and didn't have a clue what to do with all the freedom. Sion was: "We have all but destroyed the Jedi Knights... The Old Republic is crippled." Merciless, hateful, terribly successful, and with one hell of a cool voice. Having said that, I have played through KotOR2, and still have no idea what Nihlius was doing there. If anyone can enlighten me to this, please do. Another aspect I find weaker in the first is the locations used. From now on, any game that goes to "Tatooine" and says it's important to the plot should be shot out of a cannon, into the Sun. I mean seriously, it's a desert. There was, and will never be anything there save Luke Skywalker's former home. Just leave it be at that. They were probably going to go to Endor aswell before one of the developers noticed and changed it to Kashyyyk. Now, in KotOR2 you get to visit far more interesting places that have gained much appeal through the EU, such as Nar Shaddaa and Onderon. Though I wasn't a fan of going back to Korriban and Dantooine. I mean, Dantooine was sensible as it had a connection to the plot, but putting Korriban in there just seemed like they weren't in the mood to design another location and so just churned up one from the original. KotOR2 also carries a more menacing feel than the first, and this is set from the get-go, when you wake up on a mining facility, with it's entire crew dead, and your only clues a series of holo recordings that just raise more questions than give answers. Add to that you soon find out that the Sith are mercilessly hunting you, and the game takes on a very dark motif indeed. KotOR was more plot driven, and didn't seem to rely as much on mood (which isn't a bad thing in any respect). Well, I went off on a bit of a rant there, just shows how much I love these games. With any luck, KotOR3 will blow them both out of the water so that, not only will I have a single favorite game, but also because it would have to be a classic to upstage the first two.
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The stench of unease in the room became almost instantly overpowering. Every being in the room could more than hold their own in battle, but their fear was still evident. Many had become lazy and arrogant in times of peace, and found themselves now caught napping by a force demented and driven by war. Arano sat silently at the head of the table, his head rested on clasped hands, his eyes moving about the room, anticipating any questions that may arise. Orin watched Arano, his calmness similar to that of his father, who sat on Orin?s left, with a look of indifference across his face as he watched the tension build. Arano met Orin?s eyes, and they exchanged a brief nod of understanding, before Orin?s attention was taken. Ares, a man of statuesque build, and a face lined with the creases of stress and war, stood up suddenly, baring down upon Bardock? apparently unhappy with the degree of control with which he approached the situation. Orin, who only now found himself concentrating on the man, had caught him in the middle of his rant, and so found himself slightly out of place. ?And what makes you so confident Bardock?? ?Sit down old man, you?ve had a little too much to drink.? Orin now raised his own mug of beer to his lips, smiling behind frosted glass as he did so. One of the many qualities his father had was that he treated everyone equally? as if they were about three levels below him. ?Don?t joke about with me? Not at a time like this. Are your armies ready? Can they withstand this attack?? ?Ares, just settle down.? Arano commented, his face a pure expression that read ?Here we go again?. ?Why are you concerned? Afraid that you might actually have to fight if they fail?? Bardock added. Orin heard a snigger come from Raditz, who sat the other side of his father. Bardock alone was more than a match for anyone in the room, but it took a brave man indeed? or a stupid one, to pick fights with him when both his sons were present. ?How dare you boy. I was conquering planets when you were sucking on your mother?s tit in the nursery!? ?Too bad you?ve let yourself go old man, your nothing more than cannon fodder now.? Ares, now furious, lurched forward with a raised hand in an attempt to strike Orin?s father. Bardock sat motionless, as inches before the gloved fist reached his nose, it was caught at the wrist by Orin, who had shot to his feet, knocking his chair over as he did so. Raditz was also at his feet, staring at Ares? counterparts. Orin pulled at Ares? wrist, wrenching his face to within inches of Orin?s. Alcohol fuelled aggression conflicted with base logic as Ares contemplated aggression against a man younger, healthier and stronger than he was. ?Put your arm down old man? Before you lose it.? ?Orin, release him!? Arano bellowed. Arano had now risen to his feet, and had planted both fists on the table, a look of frustrated anger upon his face. This meeting had been designed to inform and prepare, not enrage. Again, Arano and Orin?s eyes met, but now they shared a look of respectful anger. Arano maintained his stance, as did Orin remain his grip on the old man?s arm. Distress now spread across the room, as silent terrors spread of two of Vegetasei?s youngest and most prominent figures breaking into conflict only days before the Planet was to be invaded. The tension broke as Bardock rested a hand on the shoulder guard of his son, and with a flick of his head, told him to let it go. Orin complied by throwing the man?s arm downwards, a motion that forced Ares crashing into the table with a demented crash. Arano?s persona instantly calmed, and Orin clasped his pitcher of beer, and drunk it in a single effort. This seemed to calm him significantly, and immediately there after he apologised to Arano for a lack of respect to his hospitality. ?Apology accepted Orin. Gentlemen, this is not the time to bicker amongst ourselves. You are the most gifted and respected military minds upon the Planet, which is why you are here now. I have no doubt each of you will be instrumental in the defence of Vegetasei, and as such, your cooperation is essential. We all need to be on the same page here?? Orin took his seat, and glanced over at Ares, who was recovering from the shot his pride had taken. The dedication and admiration Bardock?s sons had for him often emerged in situations like this? Indeed the young children whom many of the respected powers in the room had once loved as restless youths, were now loathed as they made the transition to arrogant and powerful young men. A shift in dominance was something old warlords found very hard to swallow.
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[CENTER][B]National Army HQ, Eron Base: Outskirts of Varnga Three house prior to meeting.[/B][/CENTER] Orin stared out over a concrete field; one of the many drill areas within the compound. Before him, hundreds of Saiya-jin soldiers stood in rows, braced in a fixed vertical position, awaiting his orders. Orin's demeanour was harsh, disciplinary, one who was on a mission that required no slacking, or it would certainly fail. "Pair off!" Orin boomed. Instantly, every Saiya-jin turned respectively to their left of right, so that every man or woman now directly faced another. Their beings suddenly oozed a tense excitement. They all knew what was coming... "Assume levels!" Now, the soldiers took off with their partners into different levels of the sky, allowing them more room for the task. The floor alone would certainly have been too crowded. A sergeant was assigned to observe each level, making sure no-one slacked. "Assume battle stances!" A vast array of hand gestures and arm/leg positions was adopted by each solider. Cocky or focused faces stared back at their oncoming opponents. Orin looked over them, feeling as the Ki in the area began to swell. "Begin!" Instantaneously, bodies collided in a mesh of fists and feet thrown at their mirror being. Orin watched, arms folded over his chest, eyes flicked constantly among the combatants. One of his sergeants remained at his side. He keyed in a few buttons on the data pad in his hand, then looked towards Orin. "How long are they going for?" "...Until midnight." "Midnight?! But, that's nine hours!" Orin turned his head towards his Sergeant with a scowl, signalling that questioning his orders was something he should not try again. The Sergeant?s concerned demeanour quickly changed to one of reservation. "Ugh... are we allowing them any breaks?" "No. If they stop, it will be because they're dead." The Sergeant nodded once, then took in a deep breath as he turned back towards the sparring. He noted that the Saiya-jins were going all out already, expending tremendous amounts of energy. If they knew how long they were fighting for, they would not be so wasteful with their energy reserves. Still glancing up at his soldiers, Orin commented: "Prepare the recuperation chambers... We'll need them." "Umm... If I may ask Sir, why are we pushing them so hard? Has it anything to do with the attack on the Red Light District?" Orin turned his head again, imitating the same scowl he had displayed earlier. "That it not for you to know, Sergeant." "Apologies, Sir." Orin turned back towards the fighting. Already the combatants had kicked up a healthy amount of debris and dust, which whipped about the training area, dampening fields of vision. Already, the concrete floor they had previously been standing on had been reduced almost to rubble. From the dust, a screaming yellow beam of Ki emerged, heading straight for Orin's being. Otherwise motionless, he swatted the beam away into the sky behind him. He looked at his glove, which now was slightly scorched. Such accidents were to be expected when you stood around in a spar such as this. Satisfied now, a rich blue aura sparked and ignited around Orin, and shortly there after he cannoned off without a word to his Sergeant?s. His orders had been issued, and they would be carried out, he need say no more.
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Orin's eyes flicked open, the intensity of the Sun's glare coursing through the Eastern wall of Orin's chambers, which were made entirely of glass, immediately forced him to squint and raise an arm in a dreary protection. Grunting, he tossed his blanket from his form, and slowly sat up. His head thumped like the skin of a drum, nauseating his vision. Responsibility for that was the bottle of empty spirits that now lay in pieces on the floor beside him. Orin stood up, and moves to the South East corner of his room. Both the South and East walls of his room were made entirely of glass, and looked out over an expanse of his grounds. He approached, wearing nothing more than a pair of scruffy shorts, and pressed a button next to one of the glass panes. They parted at the middle, allowing him to walk out onto the balcony. He stepped onto the thick oak floor on the balcony, and was immediately struck be a crisp wind that flicked through his grounds, subtled by the radiance of the sun, which warmed his being, and numbed the severity of his hangover. He placed both hands down, gripping the banister at the balcony's edge, leaning on it, as he stared out over the field below. The grass swayed like a mild sea under the influence of the wind, and the meandering stream at the centre gleamed and glistened below the Sun. Closing his eyes, he let the sweet scent of the morning fill his nostrils. Normally Orin enjoyed mornings like this, it seemed to make everything glorious. Now, however, it just seemed like the calm before the impending storm. [CENTER]---------------------------------------------[/CENTER] Orin, now fully dressed, moved into the kitchen. He was greeted by the smell of warm bread and meat. Several chefs shuffled about busily, one or two acknowledging Orin with a nod if they crossed his path. Suddenly, he felt a pressure on his shoulder. He turned, and saw his father, with his hand pressed on Orin's shoulder guard. With a flick of his head, Bardock beckoned Orin to follow him in to the other room. Orin followed into his father in to a small lounge. The room was very simply designed. There was a window at the far wall, hung with elegant scarlet curtains, matching the rug in the centre of the room. On the rug was a simple oaken table, on which was a decanter filled with a deep brown liquid, and several small crystal glasses, all on a silver tray. Parallel to the table on both sides were large leather couches, deep brown in colour. Bardock took a seat on the far couch that faced the door. Orin took a seat on the one opposite. Bardock raised the decanter, and slowly poured a drink into one of the glasses. He held the drink out towards his son, who, with a slight flinch and a memory of the night before, raised his hand in refusal. Bardock shrugged, and downed the drink in one fluent movement. As he poured another, he began to speak. "Arano has called for a meeting..." "Took him long enough. When?" "6 o'clock tonight. His place." "Okay. What time is it now?" "Just past midday..." "Damn." That meant Orin had slept late again. When Orin was caught up in spaces of peace, he seemed to turn to drink. It was the void of battle that he was trying to fill, and it was becoming increasingly worse. "Orin?" "Yeah..." "Go get some training in... Get you over that hangover. You look like a fucking mess." Orin smirked, and released a snigger. Bardock stood up, and tapped his son on the shoulder guard as he left. Orin admired the room for a second, then stood, and moved back towards the kitchen. A chef moved past him as he entered, and Orin placed a firm grip on his arm, stopping him in his tracks. "Bring some food to my room." The chef nodded, a slight terror in his eyes. Many of these chef's had been with Bardock's family since Orin was a young boy, who had always found great pleasure in terrorizing the servants. Now, as an adult, he engulfed the tiny framed servants, who now feared his size, and his power. He walked from the kitchen, and past him walked a young woman, clad only in a thin gown. Orin watched her as she passed, hair messed from what must have happened the night before, and she smiled awkwardly at him as she passed. There always seemed to be some women in the mansion. Young, powerful, wealthy young men such as the son's of Bardock were never seemed to have trouble finding women. This one must have belonged to Raditz. Orin shrugged it off, and made his way back towards his chambers.
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"The Planet isn't prepared for this enemy, son." "Mentally..." "What?" "Mentally, we're not prepared. How can we be? We know so little of them. But every creature bleeds..." "And you're certain of that Orin? You've taken a blade to their flesh and checked have you? Because if you have, please share any other findings you have with me, because I thought we were out on our asses here!" Orin's eyes narrowed. Respect was something he had for his father, patience was not. "Whatever it is... We can overcome it. You, of all people, should believe that father." Orin took a step back and turned, lowering crossed arms to his sides. A strange tension hung in the air of Vegetasei, pungent in every room, and on every street. Almost... a fear, perhaps of the mystery of the threat, or the strength of it's first impression. Even his father had been sapped of confidence. "Where are you going now?" Orin gripped the door's metal handle, the chill of cool metal seeping through his glove. He raised his head slightly, inclining it to the right, though not so much as to make any direct contact towards his father. "...For a drink." He gently twisted the handle and opened the door. He stared into the hallway before him, crimson carpet centred between white panes of marble. Torches dotted the pristine white walls, allowing an acceptable degree of illumination. "Orin..." Orin stopped, halfway through the door. He turned, facing his father, and flicked his chin up, acknowledging him. Orin allowed himself a small sense of surprise, greeted by a grin on his father's face. "You're going to war with your Dad soon... Make sure you're ready to kick some ass." Orin returned the smirk. "I was born ready." Orin left the room completely, closing the door behind him as he did so. Bardock's grin faded, and he turned back towards the telescreen. He crossed an arm, placing his right hand on left bicep, and his left hand rested across his chin. The burden of responsibility had a way of dampening the most fiery of spirits.
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[B]Name:[/B] Orin [B]Age:[/B] 25 [B]Nickname:[/B] N/A [B]Height:[/B] 6'2" [B]Weight:[/B] 235lbs [B]Appearance:[/B] See attatchment [B]Biography/History:[/B] Bardock's first born, Orin's childhood was spent in mediocrity. Through the idealistic eyes of a boy, he saw his father as a great adventurer, unknown to him that whenever his father would go away, it would be on a conquest of Planets. This soon became very clear to him, however, even as he reached a mere five years old. He possesed unusual power for a boy his age who was born into the lower classes, a power that began to flourish when, at only 8 years old, he played a very small part in the defence of his planet from Furiza's forces. Overwhelmed with pride and adrenaline upon hearing the call of his father, combined with earlier anger from the loss of his new born brother, he raced into the sky with thousands of his bretherin, and took a gaze at the moon. The rest of his part in that battle is but a shadow and a blur. Orin's life from that point improved significantly. His father's part in the defence of Vegetasei had earned him a dramatic promotion, meaning a better quality of life for his family, launching Orin into what would previously had been known as "1st class saiya-jin life". His father, now the Squad Commander of the Royal Guard's Ellite, meant that Orin would, for the rest of his growing days, be subject to only the best trainin, medical and educational facilities. It was under these conditions that his power would be allowed to flourish. By twenty one years of age he had already become a power within the National Army, his reputation only enhanced by the reverance held for his father. Whispers of limitless potential, of the son who would be even greater than his father, were soon common talk in the slums from which Orin had sprouted. His reputation only grew when he was nearly killed in a battle, single handedly defending the National Guards Headquarters. The battle left him with many scars, the most noticeable being a long mark from his forehead, along his brown, and down to his right ear. For his troubles, his father placed his legendary headband on his son's head in an attempt to cover the nasty mark. He also earned promotion to Commander as a result. A man that radiates with confidence, Orin is a man never doubtful of his abilities. His secure demenour and prowess on the field of battle inspires those who fight under him. He is one who salutes bravery, and shuns cowardice, both in himself and those he fights with. He is also never short of tongue, often showing he posseses the arrogance of a saiya-jin at the top of his game. [B]Signature Attacks:[/B] [I]Chaos Cannon[/I] - Channels his Ki aura into an orb, the orb impacts with concussive force, highly explosive. [I]Kai Shin Da[/I] - A move similar in a way to Kaiyoken. It gives him a temporary boost in strength, speed etc. The strength of the move is harnessed from unfocused energy i.e. Ki that is released when he becomes angry and looses focus. As such, the angrier he gets, the stronger Kai Shin Da becomes. [I]Thunder Blitz[/I] - Two orbs charged in outstretched arms, high concentrated energy. Forces them together, the resulting explosion of energy from the fusion throws the attack from his arms in beam form. [I]Omega Sphere[/I] - An orb with the energy of a mini sun, this is charged in one hand infront of the body before is grows too big, then moved above the head and controlled with two hands. Thrown to release... huge explosive output upon impact. [B]Weapons:[/B] N/A [B]Power Level:[/B] 50,000
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The blade oozed with heat, pressing against his neck. The air humid, uncomfortably so, as was the silence that crackled between gasps of breath. Running a hand over the mirror, he wiped away the condensation formed there. He made sure he was watching as he did this? ?Ah damnit!? Once again, he?d cut himself shaving.
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Cheers Gav, it's nice to know my work is appreciated. -------------------------------------------------------- Draft day... one of the most memorable days in a sports personalities life. The day they step out of the shadow of amatuer sports, into the big leagues... the professional stage. It was the day when an NFL team told the entire world that they wanted you on their roster. All the top predicted picks were invited to New York City, to be present when a team's official drafted them. It was a very PR friendly process... they selected you, you acted happy and practically waltzed upto the stage, put on your new team's cap and took a photograph holding up your new teams jersey, with your name on it over the number 1. Michael did not attend the event, but had watched it on TV. [i]"And with the number 2 pick in the 2002 NFL draft, the Carolina Panthers select quarterback Michael Burke of USC."[/i] Michael remembered the sinking feeling in his gut the second his name was mentioned... the overwhelming urge to vomit, to cry, to crawl into a hole and die. This is why he couldn't attend the event. No matter what team had selected him, good or bad, the very thought of stepping back onto the gridiron... to work so hard for so long, only to be drown in misery, sickened him to his core. There was no way he could have forced a smile and a happy demenour; these feelings were in opposition to how he really felt. He thought back... a number 2 pick, and a quarterback no less. That meant a 6 year deal worth over $40 million. [i]Forty million dollars...[/i] Instead, he now worked for $12 on a factory floor outside of Fort Worth, Texas. His girlfriend of over 2 years; Jennifer, had left him, sick of the man he had become; constantly depressed, lazy, unsociable, and increasingly uninterested in her. [i]"Serves your right Mike".[/i] He thought to himself. [i]"You never deserved her anyway..."[/i] He remembered the endless calls from the Carolina Panthers organisation... all of which went unanswered. He remembered the endless speculation in the media... the countless hours of coverage on "Sports Centre", believing it to be a hold out over contract money. Back then, money was the last thing on his mind. It was just... the thought of playing. You play football for the love of the game; the competition, the ambition... the thought of throwing the game winning touchdown. Michael tried to imagine such moments... but every time he did, the only thing he thought about was that one play, and because of that, the only things he associated with football were pain and misery. He remembered the ball leave his hand... the throw was perfect. His heart skipped and his whole body shook with excitement, and then, out of his peripherals, he saw the Safety... and his stomach churned. Then all he could do was watch as two sets of hands grasped at the ball, and the Safety, far stronger than the Reciever, simply ripped the ball from the Reciever's hands... and Michael's world fell apart. Right there, at that moment. Eventually the Panthers stopped calling, and the media stopped speculating, and the hype died down... and Michael went from one of football's most promising athletes, to one of it's biggest busts. Carolina had gone without a 1st round pick because of him... a pick they could have used to draft Canick, or Jones, or Smith, any one of the other top quarterbacks elligible for selection that year. That thought only added to Michael's misery. ------------------------------- Dallas Cowboys head coach Bill Parcells watched as new veteran signing; 41 year old quarterback Vinny Testaverde, dropped back and hit Antonio Bryant on a short curl route. [i]"He hasn't lost a step"[/i] Parcells commented to offensive coordinator Mike Carthon. Carthon nodded. [i]"You think he'll beat out Carter for the starting spot?"[/i] Parcells shrugged dismissively. [i]"The best player will play. Henson's been showing some spark too..."[/i] [i]"What about Romo though... he's looking real rusty. He's got no pocket presence and hasn't improved on reading defences..."[/i] [i]"That's why he's the fourth string QB."[/i] [i]"Yeah Bill, but still, you think maybe we should bring a few scrubs in... maybe we'll find an improvement for Romo. If not, atleast it'll keep him on his toes. It's only camp after all."[/i] Bill speculated for a moment, and then nodded. [i]"Fine, I'll get the scouts on it. More importantly, I have a running game to sort out. How's Julius handling things?"[/i] [i]"He looks sharp, the kid's got some wheels on him. It wouldn't hurt to try and get Eddie George in here if the Titans release him though."[/i] [i]Bill gave Mike a speculative look. [I]"That depends if the price is right Mike. Remember, money is the only reason Eddie isn't still a Titan."[/i] At that moment, an assistant came jogging over... looking introvert and nervous, a condition that came over most people that were around Bill Parcells. [i]"Coach Parcells... Mr, Mr Jones wants to see you in his office."[/i] [i]"Oh God, what is it this time?"[/i] Michael threw open his front door, and it swung wildly into a collision with the wall. The door never would open without a lot of effort. Just another thing in Michael's life that never went properly. He had just arrived home from another shift at work, which meant 10 hours of boring repetative tasks. So, as always, Michael came home feeling grouchy and fatigued. He walked into the living room of his 1 room apartment, kicking off his shoes as he was met by the phone ringing. Michael wouldn't answer it... the phone meant banks, or his landlord, or credit card companies, just someone else trying to take money from him. [i]" Let the money hungry bastards talk to the answer machine"[/i]. He walked into the bathroom, tossing his shirt into the laundry basket as he flipped the shower on. He took a look at himself in the mirror... he was still in pretty good shape, but nowhere near the state he was in college. There he had been built like a rock, but now his chest started to show signs of flab. His eyes looked tired, they always looked tired, and he was more pale now than he had ever been growing up. Michael stepped into the shower, and flinched. The water was freezing. [i]Great...[/i] He thought. That meant the landlord had turned off his hot water, which meant the rest of his night included a cold shower, and another conversation with the landlord where he shouted for half an hour about how Michael never paid his rent on time, and then after that still took half of Michael's new pay check. After a quick shower, he stepped out and threw a towel around his waist. He walked back into the living room and looked at the clock on top of his TV. 6:41pm... He sighed, then walked over to the phone, and hit a button on his answering machine. [i]"You have two new messages...[/i] [i]"Here it comes..."[/i] [i]"First new message:... Hey Mike it's Riley."[/i] [i]"Oh great, the boss..."[/i] [i]"Listen buddy, I forgot to tell you before you left today, but we're going to be a little short-handed tomorrow... so could you come in a little early? If there's no bother, give me a ring and we'll sort out the details. And don't worry, it'll be overtime pay."[/i] Finally, some good news. His social life was basically non-existent, so any chance of overtime he could get his hands on he took. Money was money, after all. [i]"Second new message:..."[/i] [i]"And here comes the message that takes my overtime money..."[/i] [i]"Ugh... Hey, Mr. Burke, this is James Davies with the Dallas Cowboys scouting department."[/i] [i]"Lets get straight to the point guys. Carter's results just came back in, and their positive."[/i] Head coach Bill Parcells reported to the rest of his coaching staff. The atmosphere in the room dimmed. Quincy Carter, last season's starting Quarterback for the Cowboys, had just failed his second drugs test. He and Parcell's had hit a rough patch recently, through personal problems as well as Carter's poor play. Once speculation of Carter's drug addictions had re-surfaced, Parcell's had promised that he would release Carter if he was tested positive. Maurice Carthon, the offensive co-ordinator, looked at Parcell's, slightly saddened. [i]"What are ya gonna do Bill?"[/i] [i]"Oh, he's gone. Me and Jerry already talked about it, and neither of us want him in a Cowboys uniform anymore. In the end, we just can't rely on the kid."[/i] Carthon nodded. [i]"Well, atleast now we've got the QB's down to three..."[/i] Sean Payton, the Quarterback coach, stepped in. [i]"Yeah, but if I'm honest, Romo's not a guy I'd want going in to the regular season as my number three. He's struggling even to manage the practice squad. The only bonus about him is his salary is dirt cheap."[/i] [i]"I thought you guys were bringing in a few QB's to try out?"[/i] Parcells added. [i]"Oh, yea..."[/i] Payton suddenly remembering the only reason he was even in the room. [i]"We found a few undrafters from this year's draft... as well as a guy you might be interested in."[/i] Payton handed Parcell's several files. Parcells quickly paged through them. [i]"Frank Ingram... Theodore Hunter... Michael Burke... Michael Burke?"[/i] [i]"Yea..."[/i] [i]"USC's Michael Burke?"[/i] [i]"The same."[/i] [i]"You... you're serious? The guy never showed up once for the Panthers, why would he come play for us?"[/i] [i]"Hey, the kid's been a Cowboys fan his whole life, plus he's had a few years off... maybe he's got his fire back. I thought it was worth a try anyway, it's only camp after all."[/i] Parcell's shook his head half-heartedly, then smiled, like he couldn't believe what he was about to say. [i]"Fine, bring him in... it might even turn a few heads. Now, on to the running back's. Did Eddie George pass his physical?"[/i] [i]"Sure did Coach."[/i] Strength coach Joe Juraszek commented. [i]"The guy's a machine..."[/i] [i]"Good. I'll get an offer put on the table."[/i] [i]"The Dallas Cowboys? That's great man, this could be your chance..."[/i] Michael's friend Donovan remarked over the phone. Don had become Michael's closest friend since he left college. He had basically left his old life behind after college, including his friends and his family. He had met Don once he started working at the factory, so he had only known him just over a year. Still, this was the only person he could imagine talking to about this... [i]"I haven't played in two years though... I'll only embarass myself."[/i] [i]"So what? That Henson guy they got there has been playin' baseball the last four years, so if you're rusty, imagine the state he'll be in. You were always a better QB than him anyways..."[/i] He was right. Henson had been a good college quarterback... but Michael, he was a great. The fourth highest passer rating ever in NCAA Football, and had led his team to two championship games. Most quarterbacks dream of having that type of career in college. [i]"Atleast Henson's been keepin' in shape all this time though man... I'm in no state to play in the NFL."[/i] [i]"Look Mike, this is your chance. The one chance you might have to get out of that shithole we're working in every day. You seem to be asking me for advice when you already know what you should do."[/i] Don seemed to be able to find sence in everyone elses life but his own. As usual, his advice was flawless, no BS, no false sympathy. It was typical 'guy' advice, no sugar coating, just basically told you to shut up and get on with it. [i]"Oh man, I just hope I don't get drug tested."[/i] This drew a chuckle from Don. Most of the guys on the factory floor were on the reefer. It was something they took that made their lives seem a little less crappy, if only for a short while. [i]"So..."[/i] Don replied. [i]"You're gonna go for it?"[/i] [font=Verdana][/font] [font=Verdana][size=1][color=red]Please do not double post. You should simply edit the original post if you need to add something to it. -- Lady Asphyxia[/color][/size][/font]
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This story is based around the life of an athlete. Just to give a bit of background, Michael Burke was a man who played American Football in college as a quarterback, and had the talent and ability to move onto a professional career in the National Football League [NFL]. Without wanting to give too much away, lets just say that his life took a turn for the worse, and he now finds himself with a lifestyle much less glorious than the glamorous life of a sports personality. I don't know what kind of interest this will gather, but let me say that it will be as much about Michael and the personal journey he goes through as it will sport itself. -A disclaimer before I start. I know very little about college football, so any reference to it is pure fiction, and anything that is actually true is purely coincidental. ================================ [I]"It's not whether you get knocked down. It's whether you get up"[/I] - Vincent Lombardi. [I]"In my mind... I always do it right. I can see everything happening. I call "Hike", and the Centre snaps the ball into my hands. I don't even look at the ball to ensure I grasp it, the motion of the snap between Johnny [The Centre] had been practiced so many times over recent years it was automatic to us, almost like a breath or a blink. I begin to drop back, raising the ball so it's tip is almost at my chin. Nine juggernauts before me; the linemen, begin their battles. The defensive linemen attack, like ravenous wolves, thirsty for my blood. Their only job: to get to me. On the other side is the offensive line, my offensive line, there to protect me... to keep the wolves at bay. Every one of them over 6'3" and well over 300lbs. I was only 6'... but I saw straight past them all. A glance to the left, seeing my Split End fake right, and break left past the Cornerback covering him. A glance to the right, and I see my Slot Reciever cut left to head across the middle of the field. My Flanker is already 3 yards past his Cornerback, streaking straight towards the Endzone. The right-side Linebacker blitzes... another man sent to kill me, but my Tailback moves out from behind me and dives at his knees, taking away the Linebacker's legs from under him, a technique known as 'cut blocking'. It wouldn't have mattered if he had missed the block; the ball was already leaving my hand. The ball left in a perfect spiral, it's oval body cutting through the air as it headed right, in a perfect arc that would meet the Flanker just as he reached the Endzone. Michael and everyone around him on the field were silent, motionless, all watching in horror and anticipation as the ball reached it's apex and began to descend. Defenders praying for a drop, attackers praying for a catch. The Flanker glanced back over his left shoulder, and saw the ball heading his was. His eyes widened and his heart skipped as he extended his arms... and grasped the ball as his feet crossed the line into the Endzone. A moment of disbelief crosses over everyone: the platyers, coaches and fans... and then an eruption of noise fills the stadium. Everyone associated with the Trojans' organisation goes berserk, jumping and cheering for their team: they had just won the Orange Bowl."[/I] Too bad it would only ever be a dream... Michael sat slumped on the couch infront of his TV, watching the tape from that Orange Bowl game. His eyes glazed over, partly from fatigue, partly from boredom, and partly because he had just finished smoking a joint. He had never smoked or drunk his whole life... he had been the model pro when it came to football. But now, because of that one play, his life had turned around. He silently mouthed the commentary as it was announced on the tape. [I]"It's now third and short with the Trojans trailing the Hurricanes 27-21 with only 32 seconds left on the clock. This will be the 12th play of this game deciding drive." "That's right Dan, and Burke has been spectacular on this drive, completing 5 of 6 passes attempted to lead his team into scoring position. Again this kid is proving why he is a top draft pick." "True, but don't lead too much into this yet Chris... the game's not over yet and if Burke has one weakness in his game it's that his judgement seems suspect when the game is on the line. Remember what happened this time last year?" "Ooh, that was brutal on the kid. But now he's a year older and a year wiser, lets hope he can redeem himself here."[/I] This tape was from the Orange Bowl two years ago. Time and use had worn the tapes quality; it skipped and jumped from time to time, but it was still viewable. Michael spurted a cough, and then sighed. There were times when he would have been fighting back tears watching this, but no longer. He didn't know why he watched it anymore. The reference the commentary team made to "last year" was from the Orange Bowl the year before. Michael had lead his team there for the first time, and, with the game on the line, had literally thrown the game away with an interception. It had devastated Michael, he felt as though he had let everyone down. A year later, he was back, in a situation ominously like the previous years'. He had been determined to rectify his mistake... [I]"Burke takes the snap and drops back..."[/I] Michael's gaze was fixed on the screen. A childish desperation inside hoped that this time... this time it would get into the Endzone, and that he would wake up, and everything would be different. Reality hurt... [I]"There's severe pressure on the pocket. Burke pump fakes, and rolls right out of the pocket, narrowly avoiding the tackle from Shaun Payne."[/I] Michael felt a slight tingling deep in his chest. A part of him still longed for the gridiron... for most of his life it had been the only place he felt truly free. Now it had become his prison. [I]"Burke throws down the sideline... Payton has broken away from his coverage, but the Safety moves over and-it-is PICKED OFF IN THE ENDZONE! Taylor takes a knee for the touchback. Unbelievable catch by the Safety there to intercept the ball right from Payton's grasp. That'll be it folks, the Hurricanes just have to take a knee on the next play to run out the clock; the Trojan's have no more time-outs." "And just look at Michael Burke... he is in pieces. He is lying on hs knees on the sideline, his head in his hands. He knows he's just thrown away another championship Chris." "Oh man... you can't help but feel sorry for the kid. Sure he's going to be a top NFL pick soon, and he'll make all the money in the world... but this game meant everything to him. He really wanted to make amends to the team and his fans from last year."[/I] A top NFL pick... that's what he was by title. Right now Michael could be playing football amongst the best players in the world. But that Orange Bowl was the last time he had stepped onto the field.