Sword Breaker

Well, I'm not suprised that the majority were 11-15. Frankly, I also find my love for anime... waning. I origonally joined Otaku when somone on another forum posted a quiz "What sonic charecter are you?" Which contained a link to the Otaku quiz of the same name. I was bored, so I decided to explore a bit. I played all the quizs, then browesed a bit of anime whatnot... Finally I just clicked on OtakuBoards, since it seemed like a forum or somthing, and joined. Well, I am mad grateful to the guy who posted the link, otherwise I woulda been... ya know, bored. No one likes being bored. Excpet the amish.

Well, I started this thread because... well, I was wondering how old anime lovers got, and just how old in people on the Otakuboards are. I'm just kinda curious. If you want, you can remain anyonamous.

Well, recently I had a new most painful experiance that blows the slapshot to the balls away. (THAT HURT LIKE HELL >_

Frankly, nothing bad happens due to gay marrage. Recently, Paul Martin passed a bill that allows gay marrige in Canada, and thingsa are just fine. Hell, things are better! Besides, gays aren't harmful in the least! Somthing I really don't get is why people think that others shouldn't be politicians if they're gay! Like the senetor/guy who stepped down a while ago, because he said he was gay. That doesn't make sense! I still don't understand that. Is it because there are to many homophobic people? Anyway, I don't live in the US so I have no idea. Confuses me, to say the least.

[FONT=Book Antiqua][COLOR=DarkRed]Heheheh... :flaming: Name: Robbie Spalding Age: 16 Gender: Male Appearance: Robbie is rather tall, around 6.3", with well defined muscles. He's a overall handsom person, with strong legs from wandering across the UK. He has a very handsom face, with deep blue eyes and a chizzled jawline. His hair is long, brown, and very soft. He is rather broad chested, with very large arms. Love Interest: N/A as of yet. Personality: Taylor is quite the party animal, loving nothing more then under-age drinking and having fun. Not one to miss out on a fight, Robbie jumps at the chance to knock some heads beside his friends. Overall a well-humored person, Robbie is very fun to be with. Bio: Growing up in northen Scotland, his father was a lumberjack, and Robbie often helped him, thus accounting for his musculer arms. They made very little money, and his dad was rather abusive of his mother. One day, she left him. Just picked up, and left. After that, Robbie's dad stayed in his room for days on end, crying and screaming how sorry he was. Eventually, he recovered, and continued to work the lumberyard. When Robbie was 11, his dad was struck down by a falling tree. He died in hospitals later that night. Alone, and without anyone to take him in, Robbie looked to his only option. He was going to find himself, but not in Scotland. So, he decided that he needed to head the Great Britan. His dad had no car, so Robbie decided simply to walk. So, from northern Scotland, he trecked his way through the hills of Scotland, eventually coming into the lowlands of Hexham. He stayed in Hexham for several days, and left for Durham after a few nights. He left Durham, and walked to Northampton, where he decided to stay. He stayed in Northampton for three months, before he concluded that there was notihng for him here, and left again. He walked south, towards Dorchester, where he, once again, stayed for several months, then left, heading for Manchester. Unfortunatly, he was chased out of town for saying "What's Manchester United?" and had to outrun nearly 400 soccer hoolagins, and had to run for 34 KM before they gave up. So, out of ideas, he headed to the ever-obvious London. After three long years, Robbie finally found a place to live. Over the years, he had saved up quite alot of money, from doing odd jobs and other tasks, and managed to buy himself a flat downtown. He eventually enrolled in a school, but his troubles would yet begin. Due to the fact that he had missed out on a full 3 years of edjucation, he did not really understand what the teachers were saying. He did, however, understand what the coaches were saying. After walking for three years, Robbie had become quite strong. Fast, too. He played Football (Soccer) and soon became the star player. He had found himself afterall, he was a football player. Due to his increasing fame, people flocked to be his friend, and he soon had many people to call friends. Heheh... ohhhhright[/COLOR][/FONT]

[FONT=Book Antiqua][COLOR=DarkRed]Cold watched angerly as Subzero Explosion turned to ash. Greater even then Cold? Morgan must have been a fool, Cold thought to himself. He also watched, form his perch atop a tree, as Morgan scuttled into the darkness, and the pyrokenetic's conversation with the Masked Phantom, as he called himself. Then, as the girl took flight, Cold decided to pay the man a visit. To late, however. "Cold." The phantom said, without turning his head. Cold, unwavering, lept from his percharious perch, landing, mid stride, onto the rooftop. "You." Cold replied venom in his voice. "You wish to fight me. I can tell." The phantom replied, turning to face Cold. "I wish for a challenge, if that's what you'll give me, then yes, I want to fight you." Cold said, sliding the Wintermaul form its thong. "Excellent." The phantom said, before he drew his blade in return. Then the two men clashed. OCC: Well, I was in the mood for a fight...[/COLOR][/FONT]

[FONT=Book Antiqua][COLOR=DarkRed]Marcus, returning from his bout with the Fallens, was rather pissed. The rain agitated him, and he was in no mood to fly about in such weather. So, he decided to rest on the rooftops until the weather died down. He landed ontop of an apartment complex, with a massive bilboard int he center, a squat building facing a strange building, lined with wicked gargoyals. Marcus was unsure of why the gargoyals had enticed him to land here, but he felt safe under their unwavering gaze. "Nice day, isn't it?" A soft voice rang out. Marcus turned in suprise, for he had seen no one when he landed. It was an angle, a unfarmilliar one, perched percariously on the edge, his wings outstretched. "Quite." Marcus snapped, his voice showing his contempt. "Heheh, your rather venomous." The soft angle replied, flashing a light smile. Marcus seemed to ignore him, as he flexed his wounded arm painfully. It would be some time before he would have full use of his sword arm again, and it would be rather unsettling to use his right hand. The blood had long since stopped flowing, but his white tunic was stained deep. Turning to avoid any more conersation, Marcus stalked behind the bilboard, where he came to a rest. Then the angle screamed. There was the sound of flame coming to life, of steel from it's scabbered, and, finally, steel on flesh. Then a wicked laughter. Marcus peered around the edge, and saw the angles lifeless body, headless, lying on the rooftop. Shit, Marcus thought to himself,there was an enamy right here! He could not fight him, could he? Yes, he had to fight him. No fallen could be spared it's fate. And thus, Marcus drew his flachion.[/COLOR][/FONT]

[FONT=Book Antiqua][COLOR=DarkRed]Caress of Steel These are dark times, very dark times. In the land of the north, a land known as Murr?n?gul, a strange dark portal has emerged. It is a gaping thing, who?s darkness has consumed all of Murr?n?gul, and turned it into nothing but a dark breeding ground for demons. It is unsure what who, or what, has mounted this ungodly attack, but it is sure that no army, be it Human, Dwarf, Elven, or even Troll, can stand against this mighty tide of demonic might. Some tried, the noble nation of Bree were amongst the first to be destroyed, their glorious knights charging into battle. Unfortunately, they were no match for the twisted being of the demonic horde, and were slaughtered in the masses. None were spared, not women, not even children. Now, facing the greatest peril in over an age, the lords of the remaining kingdoms gathered in secret. They discussed any options they had. Some said they should rally their armies, and fight the enemies under one banner. This was nothing but foolishness, the wiser ones said, fore the demons could not be defeated while countless thousands streamed through the portal every day! Thus, they the opted for a different plan. Arrange a team, no ordinary team, but a team of the best. This team had to be far superior to anything ever assembled before, they had to be good enough to infiltrate Murr?n?gul, seal the portal, and defeat the one leading the Demonic horde, whoever that may be. Simple, right? And thus, the search is on. The search to save the world. [/COLOR] [/FONT] Ok, I really hope this works. [FONT=Book Antiqua][COLOR=DarkRed]Sign ups: Name: (Fantasy only please) Age: (Make it fit with your race) Race: (Pretty much any creature of myth, but don't go overboard, like no Dragons and such.) Appearance: (Picture of discription) Personality: (Your character's quriks, strengths, and just how it acts on a regular basis.) Bio: (A brief summary of your characters life, why he was chosen, etc.)[/COLOR][/FONT] Ok, I really, really hope this works. It should be fun for anyone who loves action-packed RPGs, with, hopefully, some funny moments and such.

[FONT=Book Antiqua][COLOR=DarkRed]OOC: K, I'll be the first angle to post, I guess. Marcus had been amongst the angles in the ambush. There were only four angles, but their enamy had no more. The ambush had taken place over the Atlantic ocean, where a hig ranking Fallen Angle was returning form a failed hunt for the Key. The angles had waited in the clouds, and had charged downward from above, blinding their enamies as they smote them. Marcus has shrieked with glee as the enamy scattered under the suprise attack, and the four angles each picked a target. Marcus had chosen a girl, a fierce little vixen wielding a vicious spear. Marcus' powerful wings pumped him forward, as he brought his flachion down. She brought her spear up to defend herself, and the flachion hit her with stunning force, sending her realing. Her small yet powerful wings helped her to recover quickly, and she lunged again. Marcus' breat plate held strong, defelecting the blow to the right, giving Marcus the chance to rush her. He knocked the spear off to the right more, before his powerful wings shot him directly at her. She cried out, as blade bit deep into her left arm, and screamed louder as Marcus' backhand swing sliced into the base of her wing. He severed it at the base, sending a jet of dark blood erupting. She screamed, as Marcus knocked the spear from her hand. Unable to stay afloat on one wing, the girl plumetted into the ocean, a torrent of blood and screams following her. Marcus shrieked with glee, before sliding his blade into it's scabbered. Marcus turned, and was shocked at what he saw. The skies were empty. Then, a sword fell from above him, slicing into Marcus' shoulder, blood erupting from the wound. Marcus reeled back, spinning to avoid the followup blow that would have killed him. He clutched at his wounded shoulder in pain. His left arm, his good arm, was out of the battle, its tendents had been severed, and it would takes days to recover. He awkwardly drew his flachion with his right arm, and faced his new challenge. "Heh, so you are the great Azreal I have heard so much about." Marcus laughed, anxious for a challenge. "Shut your mouth, angle scum!" The girl shouted, as she rushed forward. She had not escaped her battle unscathed, and was bleeding from a sychted wrist, several stab wound to the torso. She was in no condition to battle, and was breathing heavily. He charged towards his wounded enamy, and raised his flachion for the killing blow. A sudden scream, and blood spurted across Marcus' frozen face. He twisted away, avoiding the obsidian blade jutting from Azreal's chest. He hovered angerly, as his face contorted with anger. "You stole my kill!" Marcus screamed, pointing his flachion at Gabriel. Gabriel was sielnt, as he slid the obsidian blade back into the scabbered. "The one you injured, she may escape." Gabriel said coldy, before coming to hovor, facing Marcus. "She's dead. No one could have survived those wounds, not even you." Marcus said, before slidding his own sword back into its place. "I didn't think I'd have to tell you this again. Fallen Angles are difficult to kill, she may already be swimming back to her master." Gabriel said impaitently. "Yeah, whatever." Marcus replied, before he turned and flew off into the white sky. OCC: I hope you don't mind Gab, but I went ahead and did that. [/COLOR] [/FONT]

"How many are left." Cold asked heartlessly, dissapointment and venom in his voice. "100, and most of them are severly burned or injured." Morgan replied. He had survived the battle relitivly unscathed, a few minor cuts and bruises. "How many can fight?" Cold replied, frowning. "37, and most of them abandoned us after the battle. In all, I have 10 men ready to fight, not including myself." Morgan frowned aswell, as he scratched his beard anxiously. "So, a direct battle is out of the question." Cold replied, disappointed. "Aye, but the 10 men be the best of the best." Morgan said proudly, before pointing to the small group. One of them was the man in the gas mask. Cold air flowed trough the mask, in time with his breath, and made a very strang mist. "The man in the mask, what is his name?" Cold asked, rubbing his chin. "Strange fellow, that one. Goes by the name Subzero Explosion. He's a ice master, one of the best. Maybe even better then you." Morgan said seriously, letting his heavy axe-hand fall by his side. "Bring him to me, I have a job for him." Cold said anxiously. ___________________________________________________________________ "It is an honour, master Cold." Subzero Explosion said, bowing low. "I hear you are a master of the ice, no?" Cold said, experementally. "Some call me that." He replied in his weak, scrapping voice. "I saw how you acted on the battlefield, and I judge you worthy of this mission." Cold said, smiling wickedly. "Mission, master?" "Assassination. The enamy is in possesion of a extremly distructive weapon, a girl, pyroteknic, quite the fearful one." Cold said. "Simple." Was Subzero Explosion's answer, before he bowed, and lept into the sky, disapearing amongst the roof tops. "Excellent." Cold said, before he turned to Morgan. "Folow him, prepare to ambush the girl, should he fail." OOC: Ok, things are going to get very cool.

[FONT=Book Antiqua][COLOR=DarkRed]OOC: Glad to know the pace has sped up. About time. Cold's armies were still fighting, but his left and right battles had been decimated, and the center had entered the fight to late. As it turned out, the demon army was far more orginized then first observed. Cleaver bastard. Cold let out a howl, as he raised the maul and charged into the battle, shouting for his men on the flanks to reform their line. He would not lose this fight, no matter how many he lost. "Bring them down!" Cold shouted, as the Acolyte army smashed into the demon army. He raised his maul above his head, and brought it down with shattering force. A demon's skull was smashed, another's head taken clear off, and still more simply froze at it's touch. He raised it and let it fall again and again, cutting a swath of destruction into the enamy all alone. A acolyte beside him screamed, as his brains were squeezed trough his nose. Unaware that he should be dead, the man raised his axe one more time, and cut the head from the demon, before falling to his knees, and dieing. A sudden scream from Cold's right turned him, to see a entire battallion of demons swarm around the weak right force. They were overrun in moments. Gone, down to a man. The demon battallion, seeing a new prey, charged the right flank of Cold's force,and smashed them heavily. Then hell broke loose. Flame englufed his entire left force, including the demons fighting there. Then the flame brought itself down on his Center formation, burning the front ranks, and demons, into cinders. Cold's first though was ice. So that's what he did. A massive down of ice, the strongest he had ever crafted, would shield his remaining troops. Several other acolytes skilled in ice had given him aide, but most were to weak to make a differance. One man, a tall figure, with a gas-mask type thing on his face, had been able to form a complete wall on the right flank, single handedly. The flame slammed into the ice, and it held. It did not melt, nor did it crack. But it did cost all of Cold's energy. As the flame dissapaited, Cold let his shield fall, and collapsed to his knees. The demons were gone, either retreated or burned to death, and all that was left was a stream of blood and bodies. And Cold smiled.[/COLOR][/FONT]

[FONT=Book Antiqua][COLOR=DarkRed]Ok, thanks for clearing things up. I'll sign up now, cause I love comical RPGs. Name: Edward Brass (Ed) Age:26 Gender: Male Role: The Guy's Best Friend Appearance: Ed is of average hight, meets eye to eye with most people. His hair seems to stand up of freewill, puffy and orange. His build is thin, with short legs and stockey arms. His face is very soft, and you'd be hard pressed to find him not smiling. His eyes are large, round and green, soft as a pillow. He usually wares a black t-shirt, with a Logik logo on the back, aswell as varying types of jeans. Personality: Frankly, Ed is the exact opposite of James. He is a very light-hearted person, and almost everything makes him laugh. His humor is very bright, a dry wit and a master of . Despite this, he gets along well with James, because both of their different humors play off of eachother extremly well. He really, really likes to drink, his favourite beer Labatt Bleue, imported. Bio: Ed grew up in Montreal, Quebec, and moved to Maine when he turned 20, to attend collage. He made friends quickly, due to his personality, and had a girlfriend three days into collage. He's always been a devious womanizer, the opposite of James once again, and likes to spend alot of times at clubs and bars. He took literature courses at collage, which is where he met James, and aspires to become a writer, one of the few similarities between him and James. [/COLOR] [/FONT]

[COLOR=DarkRed][FONT=Book Antiqua]Sounds cool, I meant to sign up earlier, but I never had the time. Hope im not too late. Name: Marcus Gunifort Age: Angle Sex: Male Age: Indeterminable Appearance: Marcus is of average hight, 6.2". He is well muscled, with a broad chest and strong legs. His face is soft and comforting, with soft blue eyes, and fair golden hair hanging by his shoulders. His skin is very white, but not extremly pale. He has a golden beard-stubble, which gives his face a very appealing and handsom appearance. His face is very soft, with a round chin, rounded nose, and short forhead. His wings are long, whiter then snow, and protrude from two holes in the back of his armour. He wares a stirling silver chest-plate, with a golden rune engraved in it. He wares a flowing white robe under the armour, trimmed with velvet and golden thread. Preferred Weapon: A flachion (A one-edged sword, with an edge as broad as an axe) named St.Gunifort, a blade of angelic steal, and a hilt of magical gold. Its massive edge is desinged for slashing, not stabbing, and can make short work of armor, a shield, or even a head. When it comes to causing direct damage, few weapons can best the flachion. However, it is a cumbersom sword, and often leaves Marcus unable to defend himself after a parry. Backround: Marcus has always held Gabriel as a hero, ever since he was a little kid. He practiced every chance he had to become as good as, if not better then, Gabriel. When he was eligable, Marcus became a soldier, and fought his way up the ranks. Soon, he became a very reveared warrior, and got his chance to meet Gabriel. He found that Gabriel was everything he had imagined, a strong leader, a frightning warrior, and an insperation. He befriended Gabriel, and, when Lucifer led the Fallen Angles from Heaven, Marcus joined the side of Gabriel without a second thought. Ok, I hope that's ok. [/FONT][/COLOR]

[FONT=Book Antiqua][COLOR=DarkRed]OOC: Ok, lets get the three way battle started!! Cold laughed anxiously at the prospect of his first true battle. He was at the head the force, who had proved to be much more then your traditional gaggle of Acolytes. They had arranged themselves into battle lines, each a professional soldier marching in percesion. The divided into three groups, each marching along the three streets leading to Sierra Manor. Most civillians had the good sense to stay indoors, where they watched with wonder from their windows. Cold could only smile. His first mission would be so easy, they had provided him with such a crack army. No dissarry of demons could stop him, nor the hunters. He had his ultimant revenge on the one who had wronged him. He had his fight. Their plan of attack was simple. The forces to the left and right would attack form the sides, and the demons would be forced to retreat up the middle road, or die on their swords. If they ran into the mansion they would be trapped. If they ran up the road, they would have to confront Cold's forces, and thus be crushed. Simple, yet effective. They were nearing the manor now, the fires burning brightly. Soon he would crush them. "Halt! We wait here." Cold shouted, taking his maul form the leather thong he had crafted. The men obidiantly stopped moving, and drew their weapons. Morgan approached Cold, hefting his flachion. "Shan't be long now, soon them demons'll be running like all hell. It's over" He smiled, before swinging his flachion in practice. Time passed, and Cold expected the harried demon army to come screaming down the middle road. What he saw, however, was not encouraging. He saw nothing. "Forward! We'll come right into their ranks, and rip them to shreds!!" Cold screamed, before smashing his maul into the ground. The men screamed their ungodly war cries, and rushed forward, past Cold and into the searing heat. Cold followed quickly, overtaking the men and rushing out into the open yard of the manor. Their attack had begun, and the Demons would be crushed. Then he stopped dead. OOC: I'm leaving it up to whoever posts next to proclaim the fate of Cold's army, be creative.[/COLOR][/FONT]

[FONT=Book Antiqua][COLOR=DarkRed]OOC: K, this is where it gets fun. "And thus, we need you to bring Boru's uprising down." The emissary recited solomnly, resting his chin on the hilt of his blade. "How man men." Cold replied, anxious for his first real battle. "750." "That's all?" Cold sounded surprised. He had expected a magnificant horde, with which to wipe Boru from the face of the earth. "We apologize, but we were unable to muster a larger force. Do not worry, they are battle-hardened Acolytes, each and every one. We are confident you can defeat Boru." The emissary said, a fake smile creasing his thing lips. "Excellent. Tonight I will crush Boru, just tell me where they are." "Our spies have reported they are moving through the streets, probably destination is Sierra, the suspected head quarters of the Hunters." "Perfect. Bring me my men." ____________________________________________________________________ Cold stood magnificantly in front of his men. They were a roudy bunch, they were. Big and small, men and women, the Acolyte force was quiet the sight. Their talk mixed into one loud, inaudible roar that defend Cold, as he waited inpaitently. One man approached Cold, a large man, with many battlescars and evil eyes. He was clutching a Flachion in his left hand, while his right had been replaced by a vicious axe blade. "Greetings, my lord. Morgan of the Axe reporting for duty." He proclaimed proudly, saluting. "Ah yes, "The Harlequin". I've heard tales of you, a skilled warrior and a faithul subordinant. This is your force, I presume?" Cold replied, a smile creasing his lips. "Aye, she be my war machine. Greatest bunch of warrior you ever did see. We've fought together for 75 years, greatest army to come from the depth since the Blitzkrieg. Unfortunatly,the majority of our force is fighting those damned upstarts in Hell. Fucking zombies." The man said with hatred. "It is a pleasure to fight by your side." Cold said with genuine admiration, bowing his head slightly. Morgan returned the bow, before turning back to his troops. The war machine sent by hell to quell the upstarts had arrived. And the hounds of hell were lose. OOC: Just a note, Harlequin is a word derived from the Norman-French word, Hellequin. It basiclly means The Devils Horsemen, those who's souls are so black that the devil saved their souls and trained them to fight for his armies.[/COLOR][/FONT]

Uhh.... Well, I finished ToS a long time ago. Thing is... well, that pic in Dark Serena's sig was a clip from the Half-Elf village in the sky, right? Well, was that only on the PS2 version or somthing? Cuz in mine, there was a grand total of 3 anime sequences, 2 of which were about 7 seconds apart, at the end. :eek: [spoiler]Also, Zelos didn't betray me in mine... Kratos did.[/spoiler] I was wicked disapointed with Yggdrasil, cuz he was so bloody easy. Made me wanna cry it did. Oh, and that video rapes. Did he hack or somthing? Cuz there is no way that is possible... least not to us normal people. Must of been an Asian. No westerner could have achived such a feat. Why are Asians so gosu? (And wtf was he fighting in the vid? It looks like the tablet from the Exsphere mines. I never seen one of em 'ofor.) Didn't the part where all the people were being 'killed', near the end, piss you off? The first too sounded just like LOTR, when Regal said "You shall not pass" And when the root sprang up and grabbed Sheena's leg... she was all "Go, you fools, I'l be fine" That just pissed me off... LOTR rip. [color=#4B0082]Remember the spoiler tags, man. Some of us have yet to play this game. - [i]Desbreko[/i][/color]

[FONT=Book Antiqua][COLOR=DarkRed]Sounds kool. Name: Throgmar Redmane Age: 156 Class: Retainer Tech: Beer Bomb - Throgmar carries several kegs of ale, one of which is brewed to expload when a certain concotion is added to it.(I like to call it fire :) ) Somehow, Throgmar is usually unharmed by the ensueing explosian. Weapons: Massive troll-hunting axe, desinged for decapitation. Homeland: Dwarf Village Appearance: [URL=http://images.google.ca/images?q=tbn:txBgBW0kpLcJ:http://www.artisansedge.com/miniatures/Fantasy/dwarfs/plasticdwarf.JPG]PICTURE[/URL] Personality: Some people describe Throgmar as a dry wit, and a fun person to be with. He is right ready to share his ale, and will always help a friend in need. On the battlefield, he is as merciless as the common soldier, and a fierce fighter. When he is drunk, which is often, itis common for him to start a fight with a stranger; and usally win. Bio: Throgmar grew up the son of a warrior, a skilled one, and one of the kings bodyguards. From an early age, Throgmar was trained to be a warrior. Day in, day out, his father drilled him forcombat, and to protect the king. Eventually, Throgmar's father was killed, on a hunting expoditian. Hungry to use what his father had tought him, Throgmar fought his first battle at age 35. Eventually, Throgmar rose in rank, offically becoming a Royal Retainer by the age of 112. In the wake of a suprise invasion from Altena, Dwarf Village was thrown into disaray. The dwarves fought back, but were no match for the larger armies of their foes. Throgmar, managing to escape the horde, feld to Wendel to seek aid for his occupied homeland. Hope that is ok, I'm not too sure of my knowladge on this game, so if i made any major mistakes, please let me know, since this RPG seems really interesting. [/COLOR] [/FONT]

[FONT=Book Antiqua][COLOR=DarkRed]Waking with a start, Cold shot upright. A seering pain struck through him, sending him rihght back into his pillow. Clutching at his borken ribs, Cold groaned. He had him! Night was his! All he had too do was react faster! Cold thought to himself, cursing his foolishness. "Master." Silra said, bowing at his side. "Silra. Glade too see you again." Cold said weekly, his eyes focusing on her beautiful face. "It is a plesure to see you amongst the living, master." Silra said, her eathral hand resting on his forhead. "I am glad to be back." Cold said, letting out a sigh. "Master. Your wounds will take time to heal, but, in the meantime, I have somthing importent too show you." Silra said, standing. "I'm afraid I cannot move. Bring the object too me." Cold said, closing his eyes. "Of course, master." Silra bowed, and disappeared in a wiff of green smoke. ____________________________________________________________________ Cold's eyes opened to the sight of Silra's beautiful face, smiling a deceptive smile. "May I present too you, Master, the Wintermaul." Silra smirked, resting the massive weapon by his side. It was a gigantic hammer, with a thick, wooden handle, studded with iron bolts. Mounted 3/4's up the staff was a wicked, block of ice. It was a strange ice, like one Cold had never seen before. Apart from, that is, in the grasp of the Ice Spirit. On the block of ice, two letters, written in a language Cold could never hope to understand, made a swirling pattern, dark and mysterious. The whole weapon glowed earily blue, giving it a wicked look. "I-Impossible. This... this is the weapon of choice for the Ice Cardinals, reserved for the strongest and higest ranking priests of the Acyolytes! How... How did you optain such a thing." Cold said, as he stroked the weapon in awe. He sat upright, ignroing the pain, and clutched his new weapon powerfully. "But master, I did not obtain it. It was given to us. A gift from the Ice Realm. They send their regards to the newest addition to the Grand Cardinals." OOC: I was getting borde of using that flimsy old rapier, so now I got a big ol' maul! ROAR!!! (Plus I am a Grand Cardinal!)[/COLOR][/FONT]

[FONT=Book Antiqua][COLOR=DarkRed]Cold, reacting quickly, sent Night's latest stab into the dirt, with a powerful downward arc. Standing on the embedded blade, Cold launched a powerful backflip-kick, hitting Night under the chin. Night was sent reeling, flying into the air. Victoriously, Cold landed on the ground, smiling as Night hit the ground hard. Hitting the cobblestone hard, Night slid across the ground, coming to a stop when he hit the wall. "Foolish. I thought I would get more of a challenge from the infamous Night." Cold laughed, as he reached forward, and pulled Night's blade from the earth. "Ironic, isn't it? Your death delt by your own sword." Cold said, as he heffted the unfermilliar blade. Elgenattly, Cold stalked towards the, supposedly, unconcious Night. Standing above the unmoving figure, Cold lifted Night's sword. Thrusting downward, Cold roarded loudly. And met dirt. Cold, taken by suprise, was unable to react to Night's swift roll, which he followed by a kick to the knees. Cold went down, hard, but before he reached the ground, Night slammed both of his knees into Cold's chest, which sent him hurtling through the air. Smashing to the ground hard, which he answered with an approprait grunt. For a while Cold just lay still, feebly clutching his broken ribs. Luckily, Night had not escaped unscathed either, and now lay, propped up againts the wall, blood gushing from his broken jaw. "Shit." Cold muttered, followed by a similer, yet more vulger, comment by Night. The wind rustled, and both of the wounded fighters lay, at the mercy of eachother.[/COLOR][/FONT]

lol, I love that poem-thing, especially the last line "And that's a fucking four-letter word" Goodstuff, make more.

[FONT=Book Antiqua][COLOR=DarkRed]Cold laughed. Laughed like he often did when facing a opponent of this calibur. Night was truely of that calbiur. Watching from one of the many high rooftops, Cold saw Night, sword in hand, burst through the main at an alarming speed. Taking the opertunity, Cold lept. Raising his sword above his head, and came down upon Night like a lightning strike. Landing in front of him, Cold lanced out with his sword. Night parreyed easily. Thrown backwards by Night, Cold toppled to the ground. Quickly, Cold launched himself into the air, just in time to avoid a death-blow by Night. Flipping, Cold landed across from Night. The two men faced eachother, two solemn fighters, two different causes. "Well, well. The infamous Night. In person. I'm honored." Cold said mockeingly, the wind rustling his hair. "I don't have time for you now!" Night shouted, barring his teeth. Ignoring him, Cold dashed again. Slashing upwards, Cold's rapier struck hard. Cold and Night locked eyes, both putting their wieght into their weapons, trying to gain the advantage. Then, suddenly, a bellowing howl broke out from beside Cold. It was a wolf. A black one. And it was charging. Then, a hulking, white figure appeared, swatting the beast aside with it's massive paw. "Master, I wil handle the beast." Silra bellowed, as she pursued the animal into the darkness. Cold's eyes never left Night's. Suddenly, Night gave way, jumping back to avoid Cold's initial strikes. Suddenly Cold realized his mistake. Desperate, he rolled to the side, as Night brought his sword down heavily, in a downward arc. Fortunatly, the blade met nothing but ice. "What's going on here?" It was a girl, one who had jsut come through the doorway. Cold recognized her as the one from before. The pyroketnic. Another followed, this time it was the weak one. "Go! Help Pheonix! I will be along shortly!" Night shouted, not turning his head. Obediantly, yet reluctant, the two girl took off. Landing on the ground, Cold pushed himself of, on a diagonal angle. Twisting, he came floated down. "Now, where were we?" Cold mocked, waving his rapier. OOC: Sorry about the mistake, Silver, I fixed it now.[/COLOR][/FONT]

[FONT=Book Antiqua][COLOR=DarkRed]lol. May I guess... Just so happen to be a fan of One Piece? Cuz this reminds me of OP so much, that I cant help myself. Name: Root Beer (What? It's a ligitement name.) Age: 44 Gender: Male Position: Cook. He fiercly loves cooking, and, frankly, is quite good at it. Appearance: [URL=http://images.google.ca/images?q=tbn:alOg7ZsWFLYJ:http://www.eastblue.net/Gifs%2520Op/wan24.gif]Now imagine him as if he were real :)[/URL] Personality: Frankly, Root is an asshole. Though he can be enjoyable to be with, he is more fond of high-kicking people out of his kitchen, and poisoning their food. (Just to give them dierehha) Outside of the kitchen, Root does the average piarte thing... You know, drinking... eating... pillaging... all that good stuff. Bio: Root is a cook. He cooks food. People eat his food. Because his food is good. And people like good things. And if they like good things, then they like Root's food. And if they like Root's food, then Root gets paid. And that is a good thing. OOC: lol. I did the bio like that on purpose, because I think that a humours RPG doesn't merit a serious bio. Well, if i'm accepted, alot more people will get kicked in the head and lit on fire... [/COLOR] [/FONT]

[FONT=Book Antiqua][COLOR=DarkRed]OOC: Kool, I always liked me a good crime story. Name: Rey Miomoto Age: 27 Realationship to Mr.Takenawa: Rey's girlfriend, whom he had the greatest affection for, disappeared suddenly, on October 4th, just before Mr.Takenawa retired. All of the evidence pointed too Mr.Takenawa, but, suddenly, the evidence had disapeared, and the case was dropped. Appearance: [URL=http://images.google.ca/images?q=tbn:-SmHB6Qb9XcJ:http://www.kaworu-nagisa.net/Reiki/Tenjou%2520Tenge/chara/bob_head.jpg]Pic[/URL] He is also very tall, and extremly musculer, especially in the legs. He wares a green-white jumpsuit, which is fairly loose-fitting, and dark-blue sneakers. Personality: Rey is a fairly good-tempered person, but, if you manage to make him angery, he can become extremly violent. He is quite quiet, and only talks when necessary. When he does speak, it is usually in a well mannered tone, and his words are not usually used to hurt anyone. That job goes to his fists and feet. Because of his timid nature, Rey is a very likable person. A gentle giant, if you will. Motive: Anger. Because he is extremly sure that Mr.Takanawa was responsible for the kidnapping of his beloved, Rey has vowed to do anything to get revenge. Anything short of murder, or so he claims.[/COLOR][/FONT]

[FONT=Book Antiqua][COLOR=DarkRed]Sounds kool. Kinda reminds me of One Piece, for some strange reason. NP, I love One Piece, so I should enjoy this :) Role: Pirate One Name: Otto Mankroft Age: 56 Gender: Male Bio: Otto grewe up in one of the largest cities in the vast empire (Dont know the name...) known as Penquist. It was a massive industry city, its main inhabitents being factory workers, and those who got rich off of their labour. The majority, including Otto's parents, lived in extreme poverty and crime, in small, extremly cramped houses. Otto's father and mother both worked in the massive metalshops, that provided 50% of the world's refined iron supply. His parents, though they wished for a better future, tried to make the best of thier situation. However, crime eventually took it's course. His parents wer murdered when he was only 14, and he was left alone, broken and scared. As soon as he could, he left the inudustry distrect, at age 24. He left to a small port town, much smaller. People where nice, and Otto found himself welcomed. He became a fisherman, and made many friend throughout this village. His sailing skills were exceptional, and he always seemed to know where the fish would be. One day, a man came into town. He was young, very young, but his ambition was larger still. He called himself Kozi, and claimed the be the son of an infamous pirate. He was looking for talented sailors to man his ship, to carry on his legacy, he claimed. The villagers, reluctent as they were, said that the best sailor they had to offer was Otto, who was now 49. Otto could never figure out why, but he took a likeing to this boy, and he joined his "crew" without hesitation. Appearance: Otto is tall, around 6.0". He was once a very stronge person, but old age has claimed most of his muscles. He still retains his robust appearance, but he does not have much muscle too back it up. His eyes are old and wise, deep and blue, and trustworthy. His skin is quite tanned, a result form spending most of his days at sea. He has a grey beared, large a robust, yet short. He usually wares a bage trench coat, on top of a black sweater, and with long, kakhi pants. Weapons: Wisdom: Otto's only real weapon, his Wisdom is awe-inspiring, and often convinces even the most bloodthirty villan into backing down.[/COLOR] [/FONT]

[FONT=Book Antiqua][COLOR=DarkRed]OOC: Why is the last half of Silver's post in yours, amgoddess? Cold laughed, a low, satisfied laugh. Boru. Legendary Boru. A Malacha'ai, one of the greatest demons still in exsistance. His laugh grew as his shield of ice melted away, the inferno no longer a threat. The entire district was a disaster of charred ruins and broken buildings. "Silra! Track Boru, keep yourself hidden. Notify me if he does anything, I want to know when and where he will be. In the mean time, I will go to the place he called..." Cold pondered for a second. What was it's name... "Regald." Silra said, appearing at his side. "What?" Cold retorted, snarling. "The place sir, it is called Regald. It is in the slums, I believe, a longtime outpost for the hunters." She said, bowing. "Excellent. Go then, Silra, I will call for you. Gather as much information on the whareabouts and activity of Boru, I will see you soon." Cold said, nodding his head. "Of course, master. I will see you soon." She said, disappearing in a puff of smoke. OOC: Sorry so short, I didn't have much that I could do. [/COLOR] [/FONT]