0ber0n the Neko

(Digging the idea. Hope it goes far.) Name: Donner Skyclan Gender: Male Race: Terran Age: Looks somewhere around his late 20's. Appearance: [URL="http://www.chamberofhorrors.com/Merchant2/graphics/00000001/cs214.jpg"]http://www.chamberofhorrors.com/Merchant2/graphics/00000001/cs214.jpg[/URL] Personality: Generally reserved, which gives those around him the impression of arrogance. Though, word is he's got reason to regard himself highly. Abilities: Donner's not a very complicated man, but he's able to make a weapon out of just about anything in a scrap. He's also an accomplished gunslinger, marksman and spacer, skills he picked up while working for a Space Forces black ops unit, which was disbanded shortly after a crucial truce with the Ctarl-Ctarl. His most powerful asset, however, is his arsenal, which consists of several weapons that, were he not specially licensed and authorized for their use, he would be sent to a lifetime in prison for merely possessing. Weapon(s): Skyclan's personal armory is vast, most of the weapons ranging from high-caliber pistols to heavy solid-round projectile weapons. His more prized possessions are a pair of modified flintlock-style pistols (modifications - Automatic fire, expanded magazine, special ammunition) that he's never seen without, a pair of low-grade light-shields, and a long heat-knife. His armory also possesses several special weapons that use experimental technology (personal laser rounds, unstable biochemical compounds, etc.), but he knows better than to rely on such shaky odds during a shootout. Bio: Donner joined the Space Forces when he was 16 years old, having graduated from a prestigious 'Force academy. He displayed admirable skill and was put into training for a new division of the Space Forces. The project was top-secret, and initiated in response to the growing aggression of the unaligned Ctarl-Ctarl tribe-nations. However, after many years of intense training in the arts of skillful weapon use and espionage, a crucial treaty was signed between the Terrans and the renegade tribe-nations, calling for their withdrawal and peaceful trade within Terran spheres. The squad's usefulness had run out, and its members had been honorably discharged from service. After leaving the Space Forces, Skyclan was unemployed, and sought bounty work, mostly with a pirate clan whose rivals were numerous and in need of culling. When rumors of his training began to circulate, he was almost immediately outlawed from all officially Terran nations, though his access to experimental and dangerous weapons remains unhindered. Today his bounty work is done, after hearing of a place in space where wishes can be granted...

I'm also pretty sure that either my character got ignored post-landing, or is being called "Nick" XD

Nate Winston leaned on the cool, possibly disease-ridden handrail that lined the walls of New York's small-craft airport. His eyes were set on the horizon, waiting patiently for any sign of the craft that carried the "witches". He spat, catching an irritated look from the security guard nearby. He shrugged, lighting up a cigarette, watching as perturbation turned to horror. He leaned once more against the rail, a long drag of smoke filling into his lungs and then slowly breathing out. Before the security guard reached him, perhaps to accost him for his disregard for the "No Smoking" signs strewn about the terminal, an attractive, middle-aged man smiled up from behind him - Adrian Veidt. The guard seemed almost in awe, his face both pleading and frightened as he shuffled back to his post. "Winston, you need to put that out. Security won't give us trouble about it, but that doesn't mean we should exploit it," he commanded, with an edge of pleading on his voice. Nate shut his eyes, sighing heavily as the cigarette burned quietly between his fingers. "Look, Veidt. You're the reason I have to babysit a buncha freaks for their next mission. You can suffer me a cigarette." Adrian frowned, looking at Nate's apathetic face, which blew smoke rings into the noisy air. "Please, they're people too. Don't call them 'freaks'." Nate didn't reply, still staring off at the horizon, waiting for the last rays of the sun to twinkle off the silver craft that carried his new assignment. Any minute now. Adrian looked as if he'd try to speak, but then thought better of it, gazing over the dancing rays of a beautiful sunset. A ray of light glinted off a craft in the distance, and Nate shifted his weight, standing up and walking towards the terminal. His hands darted into the deep pockets of his trenchcoat, his eyes now set on the landing craft, and the crowd that spilled out from it. "Just another one of these kinds of days, eh, Louis...?" he whispered, hearing them clamor up the hallway to receiving. "Just another one of these days..." OOC: I know this might come up - my character wouldn't openly admit his slight hostility towards magic-users in any tangible way other than apathy. Looking forward to trying something new, guys. Best of luck.

Oh, balls. Me and not reading underground threads...

May 5, 3018 To Whom it May Concern, Today marks the death of one of our greatest field agents. I regret to inform you all the Louis DeGallant has died, subject to arcane forces beyond his control. It is unclear whose side he was on when he passed, but he was a superb agent, and an even closer friend. His funeral will be held on May 30th, in his hometown of New Los Angeles City. After the burial, there will be a wake at Louis' previous residence, where refreshments will be served. I understand that relations had been strained between him and the rest of your group, especially as he began to lose control to the entity known as "logos". Please understand that you have no obligation to attend, but that we will require you to attend a meeting to re-evaluate your team structure in the light of your recent loss at your earliest convenience. Best wishes to you in your time of mourning, Adrian Veidt, Director of Operations

Alright, this here is the official Background thread for We Were Patriots Then... The main thread is being pushed back to tommorrow or monday night (I'm negotiating with a rather taxing work schedule, 10 hour days are pretty brutal.) This way, Godot is able to post a little earlier. Also, bear in mind the following- This might be a bit slow-moving. We're not going to sack and burn the entire opposing army in a night. I'm going to try and make this a little slower, and a little more intellectual. So, be prepared! Regards,

OOC: Did Louis get help? I'm assuming he didn't. Louis' eyes swept over Jinx and Damo, and he felt the arcane weight grow stronger. His face visibly contorted, attempting speech, but ultimately failing. He breathed heavily and tried to move himself, but to no avail. Damo cast a leery glance at him, "Having trouble, are you?" Louis's eyes met his, pleading and heavy before suddenly going dark. Something was wrong - this sort of thing had never happened before... Blackness swept over Louis as Damo and Jinx faded from view. It wrapped itself around him, lifting the weight of the arcane, but still leaving him helpless, trapped in a world of dreams. He stood amidst the darkness, feeling naught but a presence inside him stirring. "Hello?" he ventured delicately, peering out against the shadowy shapes that dotted the horizon. [i]"Hello, Louis..."[/i] a voice that seemed to come from all directions replied. [i]"It appears you are forsaken by those you once called 'comrade'..."[/i] "Who are you, exactly? What am I here for?" Louis responded, looking around him but seeing nothing. [i]"You know who I am, Louis. It should not come as such a surprise to you that I should be the one to... tend to you... in your weakened state."[/i] The voice laughed, slightly. Louis felt suddenly cold, remembering a sensation he'd thought dead long ago. "You have not told me for what purpose I was brought here, Logos. By what power did I come?" [i]"By your own power, Louis..."[/i] the voice seemed to breathe heavily on his neck, predatory and sensual all the same. [i]"It was not I who brought you here, but you who came of your own volition. Is that surprising to you?"[/i] Louis set his teeth, knowing that no fear could save him from what would surely come. "Do not lie to me, Logos. I know it is you who brought me here, I have not the power to visit the plane of shadow." The voice laughed, echoing with sinister intent about the walls, [i]"You fool! Do you not see the powers you possess? These books that you surround yourself with - they are worthless compared to what I can offer to you!"[/i] Louis' eyes were cold. "You can offer me naught but a swift death, Logos." Suddenly, lights flashed, sparks of color flitted across his vision. The dark world around him seemed to collapse. The voice, growing softer, laughed, [i]"Remember my offer, for there will soon come a time when you want it - when that time comes, I will be here. Farewell, Louis DeGallant..."[/i] A flash of light blinded him, and he awoke, hands around Damo's throat. His mind caught up with him, and he released his grip. "Damo, I'm..." he began, eyes frightened, "Damo, I didn't mean-" Damo seemed to visibly hold back his rage, "Of course you didn't..." he growled, turning to Jinx. "Looks like he's better now. Come on, let's get out of here." Louis looked down at his hands, unsure of what had passed. He lay in bed awhile, staring at the door as it slammed, leaving him alone, confused, and afraid.

Name: Captain Laos "Cold Eyes" Finnegan Age: 28 Sex: Male Weapon: Bayonet Gauss Rifle, combat knife, medium caliber service pistol Soldier/Psionic: A stoic soldier, whose marksmanship is virtually unparalleled. He was offered many times to undergo psionic training (as tests show he has the psionic "spark"), but he has adamantly refused it. Nobody knows why, but many are sure that it has something to do with his less than kind regard for psionics. Brief Physical Description: Laos stands about 6' tall, and is well built, showing unmistakable evidence of intense physical training. He has a strong jaw, cold green eyes, and a jagged scar running from his left brow all the way down to his clavicle. He has short black hair, and attractive features. Brief Personality Description: Captain Finnegan is a strange figure. Outside of his platoon, he is known and feared for his strict discipline. Most soldiers, if given the option, would sooner leave the armed forces than serve under Captain "Cold Eyes". However, those who serve under him are often grateful for his strict commands, having often been saved by a lesson taught by his harsh punishment. Reason for Enlisting: A man doesn't need a reason to enlist. All he needs is a reason to win. One distinguishing feature about your character: His unexplained, visibly terrifying scar. One way in which war has changed/will change your character: He's always been sort of an "Iron Man", killing without thought or remorse for the fallen. His patriotism is legendary. However, at the war's end, something will shake his faith in the Red... (OOC: One or two more characters, and I'm starting this thing.)

Louis awoke with a start. His eyes opened and were immediately pained by the light of his room. He sighed, trying to move, but entirely unable. Arcane energy seemed to keep him fast, a heavy weight on his chest that he could neither remove nor negotiate. He cursed himself, letting himself focus before letting a simple spell flow into his mind. He'd often needed this particular charm, as particularly strong magic often left him weakened in the morning. A rune floated softly in his mind, taking several minutes to make a definitive shape, like smoke pulling itself slowly together. Finally, the sharp edges of the rune were clear, glowing and immediately connecting his mind to the nearest to him. "[i]Hello,[/i]" he thought, "[i]This is Louis - I need a bit of help getting out of bed. Do you suppose you could lend a hand?[/i]" Very markedly feminine thoughts trickled back, "[i]Louis? What are you doing in my head?[/i]" they seemed to say, giving just the slightest notion of Jinx's voice. Louis hesitated, breathing in slowly before responding, "[i]It's a charm I often use when I can't move. If you can, please hurry - I can't hold this charm up much longer before it fails.[/i]" With that, the charm wisped away, leaving a painful headache in Louis as it passed. He was now painfully aware that Jinx had most likely accessed his reaction to her voice, and probably wouldn't come because of it. Louis breathed deeply, body weak beneath the crushing weight of his own mana. It would only be a few hours until he could move again, so he waited. OOC: Sorry, I'm a conflict whore. Though, Jinx's player hasn't responded in a while...

As JB charged into the room, the battle was already almost over. The remaining cultists were numbered, but Louis' continued expenditure of magic was making him lose lucidity. "The cavalry has arrived, indeed..." Louis smiled, steeling his mind with the comfort of numbers. If ever there was a doubt that the cultists would fail, it disappeared as crossbow bolts sailed through the air, connecting with terrifying accuracy. Some cultists abandoned their robes and ran, seeing the hopelessness of this battle. Bolts of lightning ran through the crowd, skewering all in their path. Fire, frost, and arcane power sailed into the cultists, crushing them decisively in mere minutes. Swathes of dead carpeted the hall, robes cast off from the deserters lay strewn about, indistinguishable from the blood and gore and mage-flame. A few still lived, their groans of mortal pain gurgled off as their throats swelled up with their own blood, cries were heard, wailing in unending misery. Louis looked over the sea of corpses, unfazed. He turned to JB after awhile, his mind reeling. His mouth opened, but nothing came forward. Instead, he fell into JB, unconscious. OOC: Sorry for being so terse. I figure this would be the best way to end it.

Around the bend, the trail led into a seemingly inconspicuous door, and the tracer passed through it. Louis turned to Duke, breathing heavily as they ran. "I'll be a distraction. I can do a lot more damage without the rest of you in the fray, so all of you will be primarily responsible with the safe recapture of our teammates," Louis continued. He caught a resentful look from Duke, and shook his head, "Duke, I understand you're not entirely happy with taking orders, but save it for the one who's taken Nayomi. Cults are built around a dominant personality, and whoever that is deserves your ire far more than I." Duke's glower deepened, his eyes dark. He began to speak, but Louis cut him off, "Lead the recovery team. I'll keep your flanks clear. And for god's sake, don't look back." The group breathed a collective sigh, each member tapping into whatever powers they could safely muster. Soon, all eyes were on Louis, whose hand rested gingerly on the door's knob, silently removing the warding spell that held it fast. "Ladies, gentlemen - godspeed," Louis murmured, swinging the door open. Behind it sprawled a chasmous room, walls- lined with red banners, floor- white marble. The ceiling was masterfully vaulted, stretching far beyond the realistic constraints of space. A long, blood red carpet flowed boldly down the broad foyer, up twin spiral staircases and up to a pair of large, oaken doors. All along it, hundreds of cultists stared back at them with disbelief. As they fumbled for their swords, alarmed by the sudden appearance of unexpected guests, the group sped forward, towards the doors. Louis stopped halfway there, pretending to twist his ankle. The bulk of the cultists centered around him, an easy target. Steadily, a complex spell weaved itself in his mind, not making itself apparent just yet. Louis only hoped that his comrades were not around to witness it. (OOC: Apologies if I ran ahead too quickly. Whoever wants to can add in some dialogue before we charge in, and your actions after we enter are entirely yours to decide [e.g. you can say you didn't charge for the door, and instead took a big bite out of the first cultist you saw])

I believe that some sort of raid is going on, but things are moving very quickly, and I think some parts of the story aren't fitting right. Perhaps we should break up the action a little bit.

If anyone thinks my character is overpowered, let me know here. I'd be glad to tone it down a bit if necessary.

Louis ran serenely to the leftmost flank of the cultists, Reiku following in perfect step. He summoned a bright flash of arcane light, that turned many of the group towards him, and also began the attack. The stunning flash left many of those around him in a vulnerable daze, and Louis appreciated Nayomi's impressive foresight in sending Reiku with him, as the spell was tangent on one's ability to see it at close range. Louis's hands fluttered and swayed with the emergence of another spell, and he surrendered himself to the arcane energies that sprang forth from the elder grimoires. The runes flashed before his eyes, filling his body with ecstatic delight. He laughed as several cultists were swathed in hellish fire, burning black with vengeance. He could see their eyes wither, their mouths twisted in horror as screams failed them, their breath stolen away by the dark flames. He could see their skin blister and boil as the flames licked and burned it away. The sight was horrifying. Already he was casting another spell, feeling lightheaded as the elder script wrote itself delicately in his mind, white hot and painful. He could hardly wait for the archaic hand to finish its scribing, as needles of ice surrounded him, exploding into the cultist crowd. He had no time to begin casting another spell, as a sword swung towards him, missing him by centimeters. He staggered backwards, casting a very quick spell that disarmed him, the sword floating in the air above the cultist before crashing down point first into his body. Louis stepped back from the swirling melee that the battle had become. He couldn't afford to misfire and hit his teammates with his more powerful spells, instead opting to cast ones that would enhance them. Suddenly, Nayomi was considerably larger than a bear. Her wolf-form had become large, and extremely fearsome. Her eyes and teeth glowed reddish white, and her fur became shiny, almost metallic. Immediately afterwards, a blow intended for Damo was deflected by an invisible shield, the sword shattering and piercing its owner. As Louis concentrated to cast a spell on Jinx, he stopped. The words and scripts were gone, replaced by the image of her smile. He tried to call the spell, but all he could think of was her. He cursed himself, gritting his teeth as he managed to turn his attention to Reiku, causing sonic vibrations within the enemies around him that he could use to harness his power. He sighed at his helplessness to ignore the presence of Jinx in his mind as he continued to support the team, each spell seeming more difficult to cast without the effortlessness of an empty mind... (OOC: I didn't want to make my character seem like a precision nuclear bomb or anything - sorry if the first two spells were excessive. Also, in other news, Louis has emotions! What a twist! :animesmil)

After a moment's thought, Louis nodded, standing from his chair. He walked before the two demons, who eyed him dangerously. He stooped, looking them both in the eyes, as he spoke to Kai. "I know what you mean. Come, I'll present you to the group." And with that, he opened the door for her, gesturing down the hall. (Sorry to make it so short. I just figured I'd resolve that scene. I'm moving out of my dorm right now, so my replies will be a bit sporadic for the next little while.)