Engel

[color=darkslategray][size=1]Trevor. Been a while, aye? Anyway. [b]Name.:[/b] Akujo Xannxa Sarrhiel. Often called "Kujo" or "Xan" or "Sarr", as people are too lazy to say his name. Also nicknamed "The Shifting Sand". [b]Age.:[/b] Twenty three. (23.) [b]Gender.:[/b] Male. [b]Appearance.:[/b] [url=http://hyung-taekim.org/displayimage.php?album=13&pos=0]Akujo.[/url] With a face always wrought in grim determination, he hardly smiles at any given time, even at times ment to be happy. At the best of times, he lets his soft frown turn into a gentle look of relief. [b]Weapon of Choice.:[/b] His bare fingers and a sword called "Ashkandi." Ashkandi is an elegant, long one handed sword laquered in a black liquid-blackish red, in fact- up to the hilt. The handle is guarded by an intricate weaving of steel thorn shapes. The edge of the blade jaggs out at the end, becoming sharp and untamed. This is it's "Normal form." Another nickname for this sword is "The Fang of the Faceless.", as it has no true shape from the nature of Akujo's magic. [b]Magic.:[/b] Silver. Akujo uses his power of the soul in a dark and cold way, manipulating both blood and steel to make what he wants. Able to bend any metal he wants if he focuses long enough, he can separate the atoms in a metal to their base forms, even. Able to change the shape of Ashkandi to anything he likes, it is a new and unknown fight every fight. As silver magic influences the blood and the soul, Akujo can render himself immune to any of three magics at a time, but he will be vunerable to the fourth. Extremely vunerable. Nothing is quite known about how much control he has over this, and it is often passive and changes with the flow of the battles. Akujo can also enter the mind of an opponent temporarily to make them do what he wishes, but this is known to backfire. Akujo also posseses the ability to manipulate his own or other's blood with great control. The glyph is inscribed upon his eye, as a matter of fact, as it is said the eye is the window into the soul. [b]Personality.:[/b] Akujo is cold and impersonal upon first glance, fixing you with a cold stare and his soft grimace that he always wears. However, the demeanor is nothing once you know him, because you learn exactly what has inflicted this psychological state upon him. Never one to actually hate someone, it's hard for him to kill at times even though he seems to be uncaring. However, if he did hate someone, he would hunt them down to the ends of the earth until he couldn't hate them anymore...because they weren't there. To the few women that he's ever been with and loved, Akujo has a passonate side, and is a man of the arts, also. He enjoys fine literature and always carries around a pair of reading glasses. [b]Character Snippet.:[/b] [b]"Close the door, please."[/b] A young man with hair colored snow white looked at the intruder. He was stunned in his footsteps, holding a short sword called a Jambyia, with a hooked and curved blade. The young man, owner of the home, looked up from his book with a shining silver eye. A glyph was inscribed upon it. The retreater began to backpedal, knowing he chose the wrong house to try and break into tonight. Akujo drew his left hand up, holding a longsword out and the theif looked at his hand. He seemed to hold it unskilled, not knowing how to use the blade. If he could strike fast eno- With a flick of his wrist, Akujo killed the man as the blade returned to his hand, having shot out at impossible speeds. He muttered something and removed the blood from his carpet, using the silver glyph on his eye to direct it into the sink and down the drain. He looked at the corpse and gave a kind of "meh." sound. The person had obvious intent to kill Akujo, so it was survival of the fittest. Sighing and standing up, he reached one hand down, picking up the corpse. Not in his usual clothing, the squish of soft and torn flesh met his hand. He didn't wince or grimace, even though he was in naught by a pair of slippers and his boxers. Pulling the man off of the floor, he threw it out into his trash. It would be picked up tommorow after all. Sighing and stretching his back out, he went back and washed his hands off, humming an unknown tune as he did so. He soon came back out and sat back in his chair, picking up the volume he had been reading and putting on a small bit of music. There was a crash outside and Akujo ignored it. Another one. Another ignore. Finally, the windowpane nearby shattered and two people fighting came into the room, hands ripping out hair, punching teeth, doing anything to hurt the other. Akujo could smell the liqour pooling out of them. Growling, he looked one in the eye and made him stand up and pull the other one up with him. Sifting through the man's slow concience, he found the source of the problem and made them end it, having them walk out while laughing and giggling and stumbling. [b]"Oh, it's a wonderful night in the neighborhood..."[/b][/color][/size]

[color=darkslategray][size=1]Because ya'll seem to get off topic anymore... [b]Yes, I would.[/b] I'd like to meet Epsilon, ULX, 'Zeke, and a few others, like Sean. Those that I've known for nearly two years now, (Two very special years. ULX and I barely speak anymore though. Maybe that'll change in the summer.) would be the best to meet. Yeah, short post. Sue my arse and send me the bill via paypal or somethin'. :P[/color][/size]

[color=darkslategray][size=1][b]Name.:[/b] Zerstoren Eifersucht. [b]Age.:[/b] Thirty-two. (32). [b]Gender.:[/b] Male. [b]Place of Origin:[/b] Germany. Saxony-Anhalt, Germany, if you really want to know. [b]Known History.:[/b] Raised in a lower district in a low class town, Zerstoren wasn't a socialble person. Prefering to keep to himself about things, never talking to the other children his age. Indeed, his parents were incredibly worried about his lack of social skills. At an early time in his life, his parents took him into a free psychologist on the eastern side of town. After the poking and prodding, he looked up from his mess of dark hair and said quietly. "I'd like to ignore your cynicism." His parents were confused. Happy, but confused. They left with him a few minutes later. As he was growing older, he wondered why his parents had done what they had done. They coddled him and loved him so. The real world was simply not that way. He loved them for it, but knew they were mistaken in the way they were letting him grow up. At the age of eighteen, he kissed his mother on the lips lightly, hugged his father, and then walked out of their lives forever. A cold smile on a colder face, he went out to face the world in all of it's ugliness. He had no job of his own until nearly two months after he left. Zerstoren went to live with a friend in Western Russia for a while, doing things for him to earn enough cash to buy his own place. At the age of twenty seven, he was finally settled into a real life. He worked as a musician by night and a police officer by day, earning money from both. After a show at a local nightclub, he was involved in a bit of drinking before happily passing out on his comfortable couch, to not wake on his own property again. [b]Personality.:[/b] Zerstoren can be cold and quiet, minding his own buisness at his time. Whenever he's had a beer in him, however, he relaxes and gets quite talkative about anything and everything. Sometimes it doesn't even take the little nudge of achohol to get him talking, if you're nice-or good looking enough-to interest him. If you anger him, he smiles and just literally puts you on an ignore status until he stops seething. [b]Apperance.:[/b] [url=http://img235.imageshack.us/img235/3054/trent2uf.jpg]Zerstoren.[/url] With hair as dark as his soul seems at times, smiles are used as rewards for him, as he rarely uses them. Preferring blue jeans and a shirt, usually with some logo or just plain, he sometimes sports a jacket. With steel blue eyes, everything about his persona emanitates a feeling of [i]cold.[/i] [b]Animal Genes.:[/b] Loxosceles reclusa. Brown Recluse Spider. [b]Hybrid Abilities.:[/b] [b][i]Venom.:[/b][/i] Brown Recluse have very special venom. Their bites can cause necrosis of flesh. These necrosic ulcers can take years to heal, and very rarely do heal. Zerstoren can spit this as a projectile or insert a tiny amount into fluids and solid food to effectively necrosify the throat and mouth upon contact. However, the poison may take several doses to fully work. [In process.] [/color][/size]

[color=#AFF7234][size=1]Well, let's see. That my former username was Rosenrot, which I should probably take out since no one liked that guy anyway. :P It also has a neat-o banner made by myself (I need to stroke my ego!) of Pyramid Head and a couple of victims. And the most important part, the Epsilion+Aizen. Much love. And then "Someone's in the Wolf" is just ment to be there to confuse you and make you think, "WTF?" Yeah.[/color][/size]

[color=darkslategray][size=1][b]Name.:[/b] Cain Ijji. Either called Cain or J by friends. Called 'Mr. Ijji' in his novels. [b]Gender.:[/b] Male. [b]Age.:[/b] 24. [b]Apperance.:[/b] [url=http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y50/YamatoVergil/Cain.jpg]Click here. Minus the gun, please.[/url] Cain has brilliant blue eyes. That is the first thing people notice when he walks into a room. The people stare into his eyes, the shining blue in stark contrast to his dark attire. [b]Persona.:[/b] Cain is quiet, reserved, and mellow. Never quick to raise a hand in anger, but always quick to slap another down. He's easily closed off to society, often engorging himself into his writing works. His last novel, "Cigarette Burns", was an extremely good seller. However, it was regarded as an graphic, grizzly book. When he called Azalea, who he harbored affection for, for an absurdly long time, he made sure to joke with her. If he does open up to someone, he can be calm and funny at the same time, carefree. [b]Biography.:[/b] Cain was born in a small apartment in Tokyo. This is small by Japanese standards, not Western. Growing up with little space, he shyed away from other people and withdrew into the art of writing at a young age. English was an easy subject for him, he could write a term paper in an hour or maybe two. This academic success was well noted by his teachers and they often pushed him to do more. However, that would mean separation from Azalea and Abel. he couldn't take that. He stubbornly clung to his classmates and the teachers soon backed off. Around the eighth grade, he realized something. Azalea was getting to be more of a friend in his mind. He often caught himself staring at her a little longer than normal. He forced himself deeper into his academic and atheletic studies, to get away from Azalea. Abel had joined the kendo with him for three years, and that was some of the best times he ever had. He loved it when he was young. Too bad he'd never get those times back. The times of innocence. When he graduated high school, he went off to live in the United States. Taking up residence in Minnesota, in a quiet town, he began to write. He wrote pages upon pages, turning out best sellers as fast as he could. His fingers were deeply calloused the next time he picked up the phone, calling a familiar, yet foreign number. She still sounded the same. About the time "Cigarette Burns" was being turned into a film, he had decided to take his residence to Japan, to his hometown. His parents had died the previous year, and he had attended the funeral. The cherry blossoms were still stained to the windows of their house, which the purchased after he gave them the money to do so. Too many memories of his mother and father. Picking up his suitcases, he made his way off to a streetside, to find a cab. When he rang the doorbell at Abel's house, he told Cain that there was no room. He had to be able to work in peace. Cain saw that sincerity in his eyes, and something else. Was that pain? With a long, hard bear hug, they left each other alone. Cain pondered his movements. Go back to his house, or ask Azalea if he could stay with her until he found a place to live? He chose the second. She smiled softly and let him in. Three weeks later, Abel was dead. [b]Relation.:[/b] Best friend of Abel's and Azalea's. Helping with Azalea on Abel's death. [b]Involement:[/b] Found the scene of the crime, realized it was irregular, trying to find out the real cause.[/color][/size]

[color=darkslategray][size=1]Rainer held a placid and slightly surprised look on his face. He wore a secret smile. This sounded...fun. He smiled and retired to his room, going pass Emma with that same placid smile on his face. He patted Van on the shoulder, motioning for him to follow. He didn't know if Van did, but sighed and left. It looked like she was finished for now. Sitting down in his favorite chair, Rainer glanced at Van. [b]"I don't know about you, but I'm gonna do this. Being a priest is so...boring at times."[/b] Van looked at him incrediously. He never thought Rainer would be bored with his job. He seemed to love it so much, the way he read passionately. Rainer looked at him over the rims of his glasses. [b]"Can't believe it? Meh...It gets boring. More and more of the same. I love those that are faithful, but I'm starting to lose faith myself. How could such a god let Carolyn die...?"[/b] His voice trailed off. [b]"This is not in the realm of God. This is where my job as a priest ends...and my new future begins. I only hope you'll support me through this. I need a friend."[/b] Rainer clasped his hand on Van's shoulder, sitting up, and leaving. Van looked at him softly as if he couldn't believe it. This day was shaping up to be quite a day. The footfalls of the priest could be heard down the hall a short distance until he dissapeared around a corner, the only sign he was ever there was his ripped in half bible, with a note he wrote long ago hanging out of it. A note to Carolyn. --- Rainer sat in the cafeteria. The rations had become incredibly tiny. It was stupid, he picked up what was the start and what was left of his meal and ate it slowly. His stomach growled, but he stroked it with his fingertips and sighed, squealching the sound. He still wore his priestly garments. He'd have to change out of those soon. Standing up, he dropped the plate slowly into the sink, sighing and running a hand through his hair. It was time to get ready for this. He returned to his room, turned around, and locked the door behind him. It was time to get to work.[/color][/size]

[color=darkslategray][size=1]Rainer stood in front of the crowded masses of people, dressed in their "Sunday" clothes. Here, there was no Sunday, as the days were all blurred together. He spoke with a loud, clear, but soft voice. [b]"And the King of Babalyon bade death to thou who will follow Christ, but our Lord in heaven shall redeem those lost, and taketh them into his bosom."[/b] Closing the bible with a final snap, he smiled at the crowd, pulled back his silver-black hair, and stepped down. Rainer watched the crows leave for a few moments, before retiring himself. Brushing back a lose strand of hair, he felt a vibration in his pocket. Why in the good Lord's name would Van be calling him now? Pulling out the cell phone, he pressed it to his ear. [b]"And what shall you want today, my friend?"[/b] Rainer sounded slightly defeated and exhausted, his glasses sliding down his nose. He pushed them back up. [b]"Nothing much. Wondering how the priestly duties are."[/b] [b]"Fine, fine...Can't see why you're interested though. Anyway. I better get going."[/b] He clicked the button and the cell died. Walking off towards the library, Rainer sighed. He had a few books to return, and he never did well at that. Laughing at himself, he stroked the cross necklace. [i]My love...[/i] He breathed softly and walked out, into the library. Upon entering, he was stopped by a woman, her face buried into a book. [b]"Sit down."[/b] She ordered softly, and he straighed his robes, obliging. [b]"What's your name?"[/b] [b]"Rainer...Rainer Eskhandar Atachung. I prefer Father Eskhander."[/b] She wore a mask of surprise, and he looked at her with an eyebrow raised and a soft smile. [b]"What's your name?"[/b] [b]"Emily Dylia...Father Eskhander."[/b] She added after a moment. [b]"I just wanted to ask your name. I can return that book you're holding for you, if you'd like. I'm going to be in here for a while anyway."[/b] She smiled up at him softly. Eskhandar blinked a few times and handed it to her. [b]"Umm...thank you, and may Christ be with you."[/b] He gave a short nod and walked off.[/color][/size]

[color=AFF3823][size=1][b]Name.:[/b] Alexei Kraskinov Arhleck. [b]Nickname.:[/b] Rosenrot. (rose red.) [b]Age.:[/b] Twenty seven. (27.) [b]Gender:[/b] Male. [b]Appearance.:[/b] ||[url=http://img503.imageshack.us/img503/2172/alexeika50je.png]Limited edition of me, personally done. Unfortunately, the camera blurred my guitar and caused it to appear pink.[/url]|| [b]Personality.:[/b] Rosenrot is a melody of passion. One minute, Rosenrot is a loveable bystander, the next he can be an angered, furious fighter. Often described as a man of the arts, Rosenrot is a large fan of [i]music.[/i] Especially those specializing in dark undertones and flurrious guitar rifts. One once said, "Rosen lives his life by the sheer will to listen to more music, and make more music." That's probably true, given his...previous arrangement. If you touch something he asks you not to, you'll likely lose those fingers in a quite painful manner. A possessive, loveable, and at the same time, feared man, Rosenrot is a strange anomaly. [b]Biography.:[/b] [i]Just call me Rosenrot, or Rosen. Or even R. It doesn't really matter, I answer to all three. Since you're asking so nicely, I'll tell you why I'm sitting here with a cherry red guitar in my hand, and have the music playing in the back ground. You may not realize it, but that's Pink Floyd-One of My Turns, on The Wall album, released in the year 2000. It was written about the original lead singer, Pink, who eventually went insane. One reason I love it. Songs and albums with meanings are so much more beautiful...anyway. Let's get on with the show, my friends. I was born in Russia, but my parents soon moved to the town of Arcola, Indiana. It seems we were in fear of something in the Motherland, but I didn't know what at that time. Three years later, I'd find out. My "american" name was Alexander, not much of a difference. I got the call in school. My parents were hanging from the top of a two story apartment building-our house-not even half a mile from the school. Hanging from the ceiling, throats ripped, kidneys and all major organs missing, and the most disturbing? Traces of sexual activity nearly five minutes before death. The sick bastard forced them to make love to him. Their eyes were gouged out, and their sides garrotted. It scared the living hell out of me. I went back to the Motherland to live with grandparents, but they were dead by the time I got there. It went the same for all of my family members. Killed in the same fashion as my mother and furher, (Father.) and then, he went for me. I was eleven. He was a freakish man of small stature, and held a wicked, curved katana that I later found out originated in the eastern part of Japan, made by this midget himself. He had a blade, I had...a guitar. Before I knew it, I held his lifeless head in my right hand, and the guitar string, bathed in blood in my left. The rush was exhilirating. The revenge, for the cruel mistrade. From there, I became a hired killer on my thirteenth birthday. I bought myself a new guitar, made a couple hundred grand off of my music, and then went into the service known as "Assassination." I'm a unique killer, I use my guitar. Music and money is the best trade off of being an orphan-no one can tell me what a mess my life is. I met Her a while ago. He just told me to tell her about myself. It wasn't easy. She had this stare in her eyes, it freaked me out. I managed to keep the lyrics to Mother in my head, and that helped me get through it. Now, I'm in her service. All for the Lady and the music, my friends.[/i] [b]Weapon.:[/b] A cherry red eletric-acoustic Gibson guitar laced with white spirals along the body. Sometimes I use the strings, most times I use the body of it, though. I've also learned a couple of hand to hand-and foot to foot-fighting styles over my years. I mainly use my Gibson, which I affecionately call Rainer, with some fancy footwork. You'll just have to see it. [b]Side:[/b] Black Vipers.[/color][/size]

[color=darkslategray][size=1]Tapping off on the metal floor of MetalEarth, Ranier Atachung smiled a faint smile and turned down a corner, both hands behind his back. He wore a black robe with elegant talioring, and white gloves with a red cross on each. Finding what he wanted, he tapped in a security code and entered the church. He was greeted with a sort of 'survey.' He groaned. [i]I bet that Van got the same one.[/i] Reaching back to ajust the ribbon in his hair, he pulled a black stylus from his mane of silver-black hair. [b][u]Basic Facts.[/u][/b] [b]Name.:[/b] Rainer Eskhandar Atachung. [b]Age:[/b] Twenty two. (22.) [b]Gender.:[/b] Male. [b]DNA Nationality.:[/b] Germany. [b]Blood Type.:[/b] A-B Positive. (+) [b]Occupation:[/b] Priest. [b]Income Category:[/b] Low-mid. [b]Address.:[/b] Western Quarter, Lvl -31, Room 4659. [u][b]Apperance.[/b][/u] [b]Complexion.:[/b] Pale to fair. [b]Hair Colour.:[/b] Black-silver. [b]Eye Color.:[/b] Grey-red. [b]Height.:[/b] 5'11 [b]Weight:[/b] 83 kg. [b]Distinguishing Marks:[/b] Priest's robes, a cross in each ear and a cross pendant around neck. [b][u]Martial Status.:[/b][/u] [b]Do you have any partners?.:[/b] Wife, Carolyn Atachung, deceased. [b]Do you have any children?.:[/b] None. [b]Are you living with a partner?.:[/b] I wish. (No.) [b][u]Family.:[/b][/u] [b]Father.:[/b] Kaiser Atachung. Deceased. [b]Mother.:[/b] Sahvanna Atachung. Deceased. [b]Sisters.:[/b] None. [b]Brothers.:[/b] None. The AI clinked away when he finished. Pushing up the spectacles on his face, he continued forward without a glance, but to the heavens. [i]Carolyn...I need to do this for you. I'll find a way to make your work known to the world.[/i] --- [b]OOC: Concept picture. [url=http://usuarios.lycos.es/ikcer/Anime/Trinity001/048.jpg]Here.[/url] Carolyn is also seen with him at that time.. Also, I'm signing up as a DNA.[/color][/size]

[color=AFF4173][size=1][b]Name:[/b] Alexei Rushnik Kraskinov. [b]Ethnicity:[/b] Russian. Born in Russia, lived in New Jersey for a half of a year, then the orphanage. [b]Age:[/b] Fourteen. Appears to have the mental understanding quite above his age, however. [b]Gender:[/b] Male. [b]Apperance:[/b] [url=http://img483.imageshack.us/img483/3104/1506665361dt3pn.jpg]Here, a photo is attached to Alexei's profile.[/url] Alexei Kraskinov has made a close friend with one of the other orphans here. He stands around 5'8, and often goes for runs in the morning. The Ukraine is quite cold, and we don't often understand how a jacket and a shirt, with a pair of pants, keeps him warm enough. His eyes are a steel blue-grey, and his vision is slightly affected, so we've purchased a pair of glasses that he wears for lessons.[i] Caretaker Adam.[/i] [b]Personality:[/b] Alexei Rusknik Kraskinov is a unique case. Cold, calculating, and tough. He seems to have a natural ability to lead, with a sharp and demanding voice. Indeed, he doesn't trust many people. When we asked him why, he waited a few moments before replying..."It's to protect them. Everywhere I go, someone dies." The only person he's opened up to is a female patient, who's name escapes me right now. However, in times of relaxation, Alexei can often joke nonchalantly. It's good to see that he can finally open up, if even just a little. [i]Caretaker Alicia[/i]. [b]Forte:[/b] A natural ability to lead, and the art of lockpicking and codebreaking. Able to pick almost any lock in the building, and open any door through the codes, this has helped him get out of quite a few jams. He's also an excellent runner, from years of daily practice. [b]Biography / Writing Sample.:[/b] Child ID 323401358. Dropped off here sometime in the middle of November, as an infant. The father turned up four days later with a bullet wound to the head and his mouth sewn shut. In the autopsy, they mouth was opened and a note was found inside. Most of the ink was worn, but what was legible read, "[i]Nov. 13th 1992: Go down to Sile (The last letters were blurred out here) and to the orphn (We can only assume it's "orphanage.") to talk to Vael (The rest of the name was blurred out here, too. We should of unstitched the mouth sooner.) about the same type of atmos (more ink is missing.) around that orphanage in the Ukraine. (The rest of this note is illegible.)"[/i] This had thoughts provoked when shown to the administrator. Questions sprang up to which there were no answers too. Alexei was left alone, to his own devices. Kind of like a backthough to all of the other thoughts. According to officals, the man was not his father, but from that orphanage in New Jersey. Alexei never knew his parents. For years, he spent time alone, excelling in all of his classes as they came to him. I guess, when you have no friends, things come easier without social distractions. About four years ago, he met another orphan on a daily run, and from then on, they became close friends. You can hardly see one without the other. Unfortunately, Alexei has learned nearly all of the security codes to the building. While this isn't a problem, if he takes things in massive quanities, it might grow to be. We will keep an eye on Alexei Rushnik Kraskinov.[/color][/size]

[color=#c64040][size=1][b][i]Loyalty and Power. [M-VSL.][/i][/b] [i]Part One.: [b]War.[/i][/b] For years, humankind has fought and killed each other. This has been tradition, almost an animalistic right. Mankind has been inventing new things, and they claim, "It's for the good of the human race." But what else has advanced so far, but the weapons of which these wars start? Nothing. What kind of rage could drive a man to build bigger, better weapons to just kill each other? The kind that is inspired by revenge, love, hate, and most of all, fear of the unknown. 1930-1946. The sixteen years of the most destuctive war this world has ever seen. The massacre of over six million Jewish people alone, and the war casualities. Broken hearts and broken bones, and the blood of the innocent on the hands of everyone. The world begins to rebuild itself up from this, and shake off the mantle of the dead. Things go well until nearly sixty years later. 2000-2006. The war in Iraq. The center of attention. Starting off with the proclamation of weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, and later scorned. Protesters start up, their cries going unanswered by the President of the United States. Saddamn Hussein is taken into custody, and the militants still attack. Eventually, this ends with the assassination and dismemberment of President George Bush and his Cabinent, dismantled bodies strung across the lawn of the White House like some sort of sick decorations. 2012. The Year of Regret. Nuclear war has been declared by Korea upon the rest of the world, and eventually, they get their way. So many deaths that it isn't fathomable. However, nuclear effects have changed the face of Humanity. It started as a singularity. The enlargement of the canine teeth and fingernails, and the narrowing of the eyes. Increased night vision and speed, along with strength. His name was Estramus Johnson. A normal man with a normal life, working a white collar job. However, he couldn't ignore the new changes of his body. His lanky form was refined into something that women would adore and bodybuilders could only dream of. 2028. The Age of the New. War has been non-existant. It seems like the world has finally learned it's lession. Advancements in music and the arts have been great. The only kind of fighting is seen in books or video games, or the practice of swordplay and such. Any type of gun has been nearly wiped off the face of earth, and most are now collector's items instead of actual weapons. The genetic difference of Estramus Johnson has spread outwards, changing the lives of many people. We've come to call these things [i]Venoxi.[/i] Most of them are normal, like humanity, but some...some are those that would incite war. 2034. The Rebirth of War. It finally happened. Someone snapped, and life became militaristic. Humans make up 90% of the world now, with [i]Venoxi[/i] filling up 9%. The last 1%? Something...different. Something like [i]Venoxi[/i] and what people fantasize as a magician. They have been used as weapons of war for the last 6 years, and they've loved every minute of it. However, petty conflicts and war aside, a new threat has arose. Racism. Humans who see the [i]Venoxi[/i] and the [i]Qiraji[/i] (The special [i]Venoxi[/i]) as something unnatural, even though we all stem from the same genetic order, [i]Homo Sapien.[/i] The new people have the nerve to call themselves [i]God's Chosen.[/i] Those who still respect the [i]Venoxi[/i], [i]Qiraji[/i], and normal human beings have taken up arms with them. The old weapons of war are now obsolete. Hand to hand combat has been the choice of this, the greatest and most devistating of wars. --- Okay, ja, ja. First RP in a while. I hope I can get some sign ups. You can either be one of [i]God's Chosen[/i], or a Loyalist. This may seem very simple at the start, but it does get more complicated as it goes on. --- [i]Sign ups.[/i] [b]Name:[/b] Pretty much everything goes here. [b]Age:[/b] Make it reasonable. [b]Gender:[/b] [b]Appearance:[/b] Picture, written description, or both. [b]Allegiance:[/b] [i]God's Chosen[/i] or the Loyalists. [b]Race:[/b] Human, [i]Venoxi[/i], or [i]Qiraji[/i]. Only accepting a limited number of [i]Venoxi & Qiraji.[/i] [b]Weapon:[/b] Close-range combat is preferred, only one or two may have any projectile type weapons. [b]Powers:[/b] [i]Qiraji only.[/i] What kind of power do you control? This is what sets you apart from the [i]Venoxi.[/i] Keep it in moderation. [b]Personality:[/b] 1 paragraph. How does your character act? [b]Biography / Snippit:[/b] You can give me a life report, or a snippit. Either is fine.[/color][/size]

[color=AFF9230][size=1][b]rAphaEl.:[/b] It definately is one of 'Zeke's works. (Don't worry, that's a good thing.) Raphael looks as venomous as always, in his alternate costume (3rd player? I haven't played SC3 in a while) and the quote is good for the colours. The only thing I don't like how it seems like there's too much contrast on the image, so it's too dark. 8.4 (Yeah .FOUR)/10.[/size][/color]

[color=darkslategray][size=1]The sky was deathly black and desolate of stars that night. Baal moved forward, peering at people from behind his glasses, fixing them with a hard stare. They were all demons and angels, and they were all headed towards [i]The Leather Angel.[/i] Not seeing Uroborus around anywhere, he surgged and decided to slip in alongside a pair of undersexed angels. He'd have to change that. It itched at the back of his mind, and he casually cast his arms around the shoulders of the two angels. One was a brunette, the other a deep, blood red. They turned their faces inwards to see Baal, but they simply smiled and moved closer to his body. [i]Too easy. I cannot believe that Belial would have such lax security. They must not recognize me...with the glasses and the new outfit. Good. This'll serve well for me.[/i] Turning his azure gaze upon the brunette, he spoke a couple of words into her ears and she turned a light shade of scarlet. [i]First timer in a bar. I'll keep her alive...so there's the possibility of murder later.[/i] Repeating the same thing to the redhead, she responded only with a tounge delving into his ear and a nip on his neck. [i]Yeah, this one gets to die.[/i] Wearing that same grin-the one that dripped charisma and innocence, mixed with a hint of sadism and sexuality-he ordered three drinks. All for him. Then, after taking those easily, he leaned back and fingered the cross on his necklace as the Angels cutely sipped at the drinks he had ordered them. Such prisses. Seeing Baal's gaze, the brunette went too hastily with her next round, and started to choke. Placing his fingers on her back and tapping lightly, her lungs were instantly cleared. A limitless lifespan was more than enough time to learn all of the pressure points of the body. She turned around and thanked him. Her name was Loriel. Such a beautiful name...quickly dispersing the thought, Baal decied to end this part of the chain and begin the next part-the bedroom. Leading them away from the heavy rock music that he adored, and the scent of blood and sweat, he would get a treat of his own soon enough. Several hours later, Baal emerged from the shower, removing the final stains of blood that was in his silver-white hair. He rinsed off his blade in the shower as well. Wrapping a towel around his waist, his other arm went to go around Loriel's shoulder. He had kept her alive like he told himself he would. It may have just been that she was so innocent, or that he knew killing her later would be so [i]much[/i] more erotic. It was probably the latter. This is how it would begin. The death of an Angel and the infilatration of a Prince. Soft words formed on Baal's black-red lips. [b]"I want you to be there when my hot, black, rage rips wide open...I want you to watch this go down in flames, Belial."[/b][/color][/size]

[color=red][size=1]I'd do a Stargate RP. But I like idea #1 the best. A whole new beginning and such, ne? I hope you do decide to develop this. -Aizen (Red Masked Man.)[/color][/size]

[color=red][size=1][b]Name.:[/b] Alexei Kraskinov. Either called Alex, Alexei, or Kras. Prefers Alexei and Kras, as Alex is too casual for his liking. Always being different is a vitrue, Alexei says. [b]Gender.:[/b] Male. [b]Age.:[/b] 17. [b]Apperance.:[/b] [url=http://img123.imageshack.us/img123/8725/abelnightroad36mm.jpg][Click here.][/url]. Although unique, his taste is found wonderful everywhere he goes-by the women, at least. Most call his look gothic or emo, but he just walks it off. They don't know anything about what kind of person is, and Alexei is not one to judge by looks. [b]Sphere.:[/b] Fire. Alexei prefers to just call it 'his.' [b]Powers.:[/b] Alexei mostly uses this in a unique way-conjuring a bow of fire and firing off rapid shot arrows. Keep in mind, this is the most base power, and not his only form of using it at his starting level. He can start small fires and heat things with a touch. [b]Country.:[/b] Moscow, Russia. [b]Personality.:[/b] To put it this way, Alexei Kraskinov is a sniper rifle. Calm, collected, cool, and just waiting for the right minute to strike. Slipping his way past someone's defenses-mental or physical-he can make them melt or enrage. When that time comes, it's time for the kill, and then, [i]bang.[/i] You'd expect one with a flamboyant clothing style that possesses the Fire orb to be a hothead, but no. Suave and calm, with a voice like silk and an even softer touch, the only time the fire comes out is when you get him riled up. In case you want to know how to get him riled up, here's two ways. One. Harm any innocents and bystands. Alexei's family raised him with a high moral code, and he intends to live up to his family's name and honor of Kraskinov, even if his great great grandfather was a butcher, of the human sense. Two. Disrespect his family's name. Spit on his family, and you won't have a bottom jaw to hold all the blood and spit anymore. This is something you definately won't want to do unless you're looking for a good fight. Which I don't reccommend. Seven years of military training under his belt-(his father was in the army.)-and an ample form, it'd be quite a mistake. [b]Weapon.:[/b] A brutishly large bastard sword with an ornate design of a chimera breathing fire upon a vampire running down the blade. Alexei has also studied several forms of hand to hand combat. [b]Snippet.:[/b] The chilly night air slipped between Alexei's clothes, but he didn't take notice. He was too busy to take notice, as he watched the inhabitants of the city of Moscow flow about in a blaze of lights and sounds. [i]Hmm...I wonder. Math finals tommorow. Not exactly fun. I wonder if I can get my father to send me out on some exotic mission?[/i] Toying with the thought, Alexei Kraskinov was [i]bored.[/i] It was time to visit the old sparring arena. Leaping off of the balcony and catching a branch, Alexei lowered himself to the ground carefully and set off through the damp and chilly grounds. The only thing bad about living on an estate as large as this was the sheer distance you had to go to leave it. Finally reaching the gates, Alexei Kraskinov was on the streets and headed off towards the old military buildings. As he drew closer, the sounds of fighting grew louder and more intense. It sent a joyful tingle up his spine. Fingering the cross on his necklace, he flung himself over a small wall and ran a hand through his platinum hair. The fighting ceased and all eyes were drawn to him. A grin painted itself on Alexei's face. Although he spoke Russian and English, he preferred English. "What, you all stop because I show up? Then as a penalty, send your strongest man forward. Let's see if a military child can match him." His canine teeth glinted. Using his title as a Military Child as a taunt, when he surpassed most within the first four years of his training? It still goaded them, and they sent a strong looking, brutish man with thick forearms and a rather handsome face forward. He was maybe twenty, twenty five. Walking forward, Alexei extended a hand, and the man met it silently. Alexei Kraskinov, age seventeen, and as cocky as sin. The challenger knew Alexei's past fairly well. Studied many forms of hand to hand combat, and wasn't bad with a pistol or a rifle. This looked dangerous. Glancing down, he saw the shine of metal and edges upon Alexei's boots. Of course. Hidden blades for even more dangerous kicks. The fight began and was over within minutes. Heel on the challenger's neck, Alexei was panting slightly, but wore a smile. Russian air was perfect for fighting, because the cold of the elements and the heat of his passion for fighting mixed so well together. This was what his inner flame was-combat. He lived for it. [b]"Maybe I'll teach you a few new things. Until then, continue to...train, you called it?"[/b] Pulling the man up to his feet, Alexei brushed the dirt off of his chest and legs, running a gloved hand through his hair, then down to push his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose before walking into the light of the city.[/color][/size]

[color=darkslategray][size=1]Yay, Garaa! I love it. Clean cut and simple with a touch of elegance. A small annoyment is the shadow of the face, it seems to me that it tends to slant upwards a bit too much and is a little pixely. Nothing against you, 'Zeke. =D 9/10. Fan of the fading sides, by the way. (And yes, my banner and avatar are made by me this time, w00t.)[/color][/size]

[color=red][size=1] Awh, jeez, 'Zeke. Didn't have to be so mean, did you?

[color=AFF8231][size=1][b]SayianPrincessX:[/b] Simplistic and yet beautiful. The avatar and banner repeat itself, but that's always welcome. =D I like the overall sharpness of it, and overall, I can't see many flaws. 9/10.[/color][/size]

[color=AFF1238][size=1][b]Keyblade Wielder.:[/b] Overall, it doesn't look too bad at first glance. Upon deeper inspection, Chi is a bit out of focus and rough on the edges. The background flows well, and the only problem I really have is the size. I think a smaller picture of Chi and a smaller background would look much better. 8.4/10.[/color][/size]

[color=AFF2123][size=1][b]Retri:[/b] Of course she did. I don't HAVE any skill, so there's nothing to diss. XD Anyway. [b]Nomad Tical:[/b] The banner is too small, and too inversed to really tell what the image is. Maybe if you were to enlarge it and maybe Inverse the avatar instead, it would look better. [i]Banner:[/i] 4/10. [i]Avatar:[/i] 6.10.[/color][/size]

[color=#AFF2348][size=1][b]Nomura.:[/b] Your signature is soft on the eyes and tends to use darker colors. It flow easily besides as the beginning, and has a comfortable feel with the rivialry in Naruto. However, at the start, the blue doesn't flow well into the black. 7.5./10.[/color][/size]

[color=AFF4292][size=1][b]Name.:[/b] Baal. Also called Bael, or Ba'al. Baal means 'Lord' or 'Master'. [b]Gender.:[/b] Masculine. [b]Side.:[/b] Agent of Hell. [b]Apperance.:[/b] [url=http://img86.imageshack.us/img86/9268/abelnightroad51kq.jpg][Click here.][/url] The wings may look small and scrawny, but they are quite strong, and most often, a weapon. [b]Fighting Style.:[/b] Baal is a grandiose fighter. Quick, agile, and graceful, he flows like quicksilver from a cleaving blow to a mortal strike. For such a slender build, he uses a slender blade. A fan of the katana of the japanese make, Baal has found a way to incorperate new techniques he developed over his countless years in hell to the form. The strange design of this [url=http://www.moviereporter.net/fotos/final_fantasy_vii_advent_children/Final%20Fantasy38.jpg]blade[/url] allows for a quick and seamless attack and parry, with quick and deadly counterattacks. Baal affectionatley calls his blade Schtiel, which means calm in German. Not only a fan of the blade, Baal has studied many forms of hand to hand fighting and Chinese footwork. Another animal in his bag of tricks is his mastery over the power of Wind and Fire. Sometimes using it alone as separate elements, or twisting them into different types of attacks. No one really knows the extent at which he can combine these elements, but Baal himself. However, using these skills drains his stamina, varying on the power and potency of the attack. [b]Personality.:[/b] Baal is, quite contrary, a kind fiend. He has a charming, charismatic and irresistible personality and stare. He's like a serpent, if you look him in the eyes for just a split second, you'll be lost in [i]his[/i] world. He's sweet, cute, funny, handsome, but won't hesitate to screw you over to further his own means. Baal is a unique demon, almost two personalities made one. He has sympathy for the humans and angels, and yet he loves to see them fail and rise again. It's almost like an opera to him. One of the things Baal loves is music. This is a rather odd fascination, but it's a welcomed one. Loud music is always coming from his dwellings and none seem to be bothered by it. Probably because they knew that Baal would tear their head off. [b]Writing Sample.:[/b] The soft [i]clink clink clink![/i] of shoes on metal carried their way down the hall, resonating off the aluminum walls. Outside, dust billowed around the streets of Bethlehem, striking the faces of anyone on the sidewalk, in the middle of the roas. Baal wasn't in the mood to damage his precious features, or his glasses. The cross around his neck glinted in the sunlight.. A pair of battle-scarred wings stretched themselves-forcefully and painfully-from his back, and wrapping around his body as he stepped outside. Small bits of glass, metal, stone and sand struck the wings, until Baal sighed and drew a small box around himself, the wind quickly rushing to create a barrier against the elements. There it was, a flashing, toxic neon sign that read [b][i]"The Leather Angel[/i][/b]. Two of the bouncers saw leathery wings, and how the wind conformed around him, and shrugged. They stepped aside, allowing him access. Immediately, sound and sight were both pleased upon entrance-[i]Please, leave all overcoats, canes, and tophats with the doorman / From this moment on you'll be out of place and underdressed[/i]-as the music roared out of the speakers and the dancers gyrated their bodies in ways that would make a normal man frothe at the mouth. Angels and demons were almost always beautiful, but Baal seemed to stand out with flame-white hair and a soft, enjoyable smile. He walked up to the bartender and sat down. [b]"Shot of vodka."[/b] His voice was like silk, smooth and confident. Light glinted off of Baal's glasses, making his eyes shine a deathly silver. The bartender's face was laced with a shined, predominant scar that demanded attention to his eye. He glanced Baal up and down with the eye that still did work and soon put the shot glass up. Baal downed it quickly before calmly drawing his blade and slitting the bartender's throat. The dancers stopped, silence encroached. Baal stood up, jumped behind the counter, picked up the corpse and threw it on the ground. [b]"I'm wrecking this evening already, and I'm lovin' every minute of it."[/b] He grinned again before seeing a beautiful, stunning angel with flaming hair and equally flaming lips. [i]Oh, Raphael comes out to play. And...Belial.[/i] Baal poured himself another shot of vodka and downed it, shattering the glass in his fingertips when he was done. He looked at the pair, making their way through the mildy surprised crowd. Soon Baal and Belial stood face to face. Baal extended one hand and Belial shook it lightly. [b]"Bartender up and died on me. You probably don't remember, but my name's Baal, Bel."[/b] That serpent tounge had small effect on Belial. [b]"I remember well enough, friend. What brings you here to my...establishment?"[/b] [b]"Seems that the head man up at Hell ain't too happy with all the demons flockin' to join yer ranks. He loves the place itself, don't get me wrong. So he sent me here to..aah...thin out the ranks with negotiation or bloodshed."[/b] [b]"I see. Unfortunate. You'd make a fine addition here, Baal..."[/b] [b]"Sorry, Bel. I'm only here 'cuz I don't wanna be placed on Luci's headhunting list. You understand, right?"[/b] [b]"Of course."[/b].[/color][/size]

[color=darkslategray][size=1]Gin giggled, estatic as the bullet tore through air and dust to reach him. Calmly, he rose Shinsou and the bullet clanged against the metal, stopping it dead in it?s tracks. There was little recoil. Syris and the rest of the Illz seemed to stop again in their tracks. Flash Stepping behind the group, he slashed his way down Syris? arm, leaving a gash that began to flow with blood and clot. Shinsou seemed to glint in the sunlight, enjoying the taste of blood and the complete tension of the air. Bullets rang out at Gin. One hit him in the right arm, tearing straight through with a splatter. The others missed. Gin let in a hiss of air and stuck a finger through his arm, watching it poke out the other end. This amused him, and he spent a second playing with the hole in his arm before moving to bandage it. Wiping the blood and bone off on the sandstone wall, Gin moved down to guide his blade against Mino?s arms and shoulders, leaving one large lesion that took a second to erupt with blood over Mino?s shoulders and two arms. [b]?Hehe?I?s gots ya good dere, buddy. Din? I??[/b] Gin was cut short as more shots rang out, one striking Shinsou, and reflecting back on to nick Gin in the face, just below the eye. She was a skilled shot. He almost felt wrong for having to etch her blood into the ground. He had an idea. String her along for a little while more, and then make an offer she couldn?t refuse. If she did, then he could kill her without any qualms. Wiping away a bit of blood from his eye, he popped the end of Shinsou?s hilt off, and a few drips of a heavy antiseptic coated his finger. Applying it to above his eye, the bleeding stopped. [b]?Bandaid covers da bullet ?ole n? all??[/b] He muttered and cast a glance at Syris. There was something about her that was unnerving. Maybe it was that cold stare that she looked on him with. Maybe it was something else. He shrugged mentally and decided to resume fighting. Metal against metal, the stench of blood and sweat, the heated air swirling around dust in everyone?s eyes, it was beautiful. Like something out of a poem in which there was no happy ending. Something like a civil war?but more civil. Before long, Gin decided to inact his plan, and disappeared from everyone?s sight before appearing behind Syris. Gin held his blade against Syris? throat as he felt the barrel of her gun grind against his ribs. [b]?Do yeh real?h wanna see ?itch one of us can kill da other firs?, littl?l lady? ?[/b] Gin had stopped smiling. His accent changed to words that were slow and intoxicating. [b]?What do these people mean to you?when I could bring you power??[/b] He pressed his fingers against her cheek, turning Syris? head to look into his soft crimson eyes and silver bangs. Gin repeated himself. [b]?Tell me?young child of the military officer, what do you need these people for? You are the one that is the distressed genius, which no one understands, burdened with the weight of your less-smart friends. I can bring you to a place where your skills are appreciated and actually put into good use. Seeing as how I, one member of the Virus, can do this to you, imagine what 3 other gangs of people just like me, could do. Make your choice, Syris. I won't wait long.?[/b][/color][/size]

[color=darkslategray][size=1] Excellent, my friend. But I do NOT shed emo-tears over not being invited to a top secret meeting. =P I think that each section should be may be a paragraph or two longer, although the current thing keeps it short, sweet, but still long enough to make it enjoyable and keep you on the edge of your seat. Brilliant work, man. (Letmekillthings, kthnxbaiplz?) *Sharpens up n00b killing weapons.*[/color][/size]

[color=darkslategray][size=1]Gin couldn?t help but look at Syris and the rest of that group, and just smile. Teeth catching the glint of sunlight above, he spun on the hilt of Shinsou and turned to face them with a cheery wave. Moving to stand on his tiptoe, Gin jumped off and landed on his left foot again, before setting the other one down. Reaching back and adjusting his shirt, Gin?s fingers found Shinsou?s hilt, and he pulled it out from the ground. Slinging it across his shoulders, his mouth formed words in that broken, but lovely accent of his. [b]?Time?s up, yawls. Yeh read?h to have fun, eh??[/b] Gin was practically dancing around. If he killed them all here, there?d be nothing to worry about. Guns, though. That?d just make it all the more exciting! Things blowing up, blood flowing through the air in graceful, muddy arcs?yes, it was moments like this that this anti-hero of sorts, Gin, lived for. Without a word, Gin pointed a long and dextile finger at Chase. [b]??Ey, Mr. Cocky?s back, yawls! I remembah?you?s the one that tried ta kill meh? Not like I?m da ?un that kidnapped Mino from yawls anywho??[/b] Rambling on, Gin danced forward, right up to Syris? face. Silver hair tickling her nose, he jumped up into the air and landed behind the group. Syris looked quite?blank for a moment before her face slipped into uncertainty and then an annoyed scowl. Gin was loving every moment of this. A single shot of gunfire rang out from Syris? gun, and it tore a small hole through Gin?s left arm. He didn?t howl out, but brought the wound up to his face and studied it. Pulling up Shinsou, he put it right on the wound and let it conform into a smaller shape, with two needle nose pilers that weren?t very big at all. Grabbing both of the miniscule snakeskin hilts, he locked the miniature pilers around the bullet and pulled it out, before pulling a bandaid out. Patching up his arm, he picked up the bullet and studied it. [b]?Yeppers?I ?us righ? and all. You?s a black arms deala?, young lady. Dun suppose ya?d wanna come ?n work fer littl? old me, ne??[/b] She seemed to look at him for the longest time before Gin decided to make a move, picking up Shinsou again and pointing it at Mino. With a flash, Shinsou uncoiled from it?s metal sleep, twisting around in the air and extending, curling around thin air before striking out at an incredible speed, straight for Mino.[/color][/size]