Nothing

Twins of lust. Your lover caresses your hair like the ocean?s current. Her kisses fall like trickling summer rains. You and yours have fallen? Beyond lust? Beyond sex? Beyond desire? Beyond temptation? Beyond limitation? Into a lake of passion. And you have drowned in sweet embrace. She comes to you, bathing in a pool of moonlight, And tells you her choice. It could be harmful? It could be lethal? But it is her will? And it is your love, that stays your hand. Tainted passion, that restrains you from caring. Time and lust makes eternity sweet. But trees must fall? And mountains must crumble? And seasons must fade? And flowers must die. She is limp in your arms, Sweet to the last savoring minute. Apathy is her reaper, and you know that it was love, That could have saved her, But had finally killed her. You set to make things right, To be with her again, To commit the fatal sin. The devil whispers, Is it not she you kill for? Is it not she, that has wrought your downfall? In this aspect, did she not betray you? Did your Judas not die first? Are you exacting her revenge upon you? Stab deep, sweet lover, but you shall not die. You will live, and by my hand, Your death shall come from another. They call you Misery. Black cloaks and pale skin, You are the broken shell That the tide of passion lay to waste. Immortal to one?s self, And dead to all others, How do you find your way to the gates of hell? You bane the world, And await retribution, But as death is your want, So you shall be denied. Does god work in mysterious ways, Or does he sit in idle stagnation, and watch the days roll by like waves on a beach? The word seeths at your reproach. The masses chant in hateful harmony. Misery. Misery. Misery. Misery. They pray for your death. And you join them. You imagine the day of your death a happy one. But you find it in bitter retreat. An insult so vulgar upon the face of your lover, You charge with wreckless ambition. The knife slides in, and for the first time? It hurts? And all you can think of, Is how you have once again? Failed your lover. God doth work in mysterious ways. And his kingdom welcomes you with open arms. But Venus denies you, And in Mars you find yourself. But yours is not the fate of a warrior, And your lover you find, Is nestled in hell. How can they call this wasteland heaven, When even here you are denied. Yours was not a warrior?s life, But in heaven, you find a warriors fall. An Angel?s execution, And the clouds open beneath your feet. Down you plummet, With sadistic grin. God doth work in mysterious ways, For in hell you find embrace. And passion flows too freely, For hell?s fire to penetrate.

I rated this M just to be safe. Here's the idea: When one dies, their soul is transferred to a shadow world, one that does not exist as this world does, but sort of a reflection of this world in another dimension. This world would be called Necro-something. In the year 2050, or something futuristic but not too far away, these dead souls come to earth, by a gateway or something. They take on the forms of terrible mosters, born from our subconcios fear. I imagine them being a pale blue, almost human though deformed, with sadistic qualities, such as sewn shut eyes, needle-pierced throats, and purple buldging veins. Death of a Ghost The first part of this Rpg, would be a post apocalyptic earth, where humans dwindle in numbers, and the dead rule most of the earth. The Earth itself is distorted, bordering surreal. buildings are slanted, fragments float in mid air, and everything is cold, dry, and covered in ice. (no snow, though) Humans fight the dead, but their weapons are completely ineffective-guns, bombs, swords, nothing works. Except for glass, strangely enough, or other rocks with the same qualities (diamonds, obsidian, ice, ect.) Humans live in the sewers, which have long since dried up. They have almost no way of communicating with other colonies. The basic gameplay would be battling and surviving, consisting of small scale warfare with four or five man troups. I can see them using glass, ice, and other similar swords, arrows, and things of the like, though I don't know if glass weapons is a good idea. Death of a Planet This part would be set before the first part, while the dead were first destroying the world. It would be a quiet thing, more human vs human warefare than anything else. The world is quietly turning from ours, to the surreal nightmare it is in the second part. This part is totally inspired by the end of Wolf's Rain, and is extremely rough. I'd love to find people to brainstorm with and pretty much brainstorm the entire thing. I don't even know if I should make this a story or a RP. There's a little more to this than I wrote, but it's mostly in the way of plot twists and secret stuff, that I wouldn't want to just blatantly post for everybody to read. It's basically Underworld style, generic monster killer stuff right now, but I'd like to make something great out of this.

Chains blinked stupidly. Did he just call him...Derrikait? He couldn't have... He noticed MindWraith, suddenly, behind him. "This was a fault of your pride. You must realize this." Chains swallowed his confusion. "I know." "You were expecting one of them to wake up, weren't you?" "No, I didn't think they'd be up for the rest of the day." "A measurement based on what, Chains?" Chains stood silent. "Wishful thinking?" MindWraith asked. He was right. He had been cocky, too sure that everything would go just the way he had planned. He had become too accustomed to having complete control. "I want to hunt them alone." Said Chains. "To make up for my mistakes. I want to bring them back." MindWraith pondered this. "You may hunt them, but I will send out a hunting party, as procedure." "But-" "Chains, you are in no place to argue! This is your mistake, noone elses. I cannot leave this situation to you, as I can no longer tell how capable you are." Chains looked at the ground. MindWraith was right. He should have entered the beasts cave alone. He had put lives at risk where none were necessary. MindWraith turned his penetrating glare onto the Soothsayer. "You may choose your assignment, for I care not." With that she turned and walked away, leaving Chains alone in his regret. Derrikait... he remembered being called that, once. and immediately, he wished to remember nothing at all.

Damn. Chains knew it would come to this, though the extra condition suprised him. A phoenix? Was there even a phoenix on this compound? Yes, Chains remembered. In its child form, he thought. But why would the phoenix be important to the chimera? Then Chains remembered the chant. Misery. Perhaps this could work for Chains. "Fine, I can agree to that." He signaled a disciple. "Release the phoenix by the front gate." He turned to Azuroth. "I suspect that's where the exchange will be made." "Not until the dragon and the sprite are awake." Azuroth said. Chains sighed. This was beginning to wear on his nerve. He should have never trusted such low class disciples for something like this. "No. No more waiting." He signaled another disciple. "Smelling salts. Now." A minute later, the dragon's eyelids parted halfway. It seemed to tired to think, but Azuroth was successful in nudging it to its feet. Azuroth gently laid the sprite on the back of his neck, seeing as the smelling salt would probably suffocate the little thing.

OOC: Don't worry, Apherion, we haven't forgotten your character. [I]"We can't spare another disciple."[/I] MindWraith said into Chains' mind. "You can't run with a hostage on four legs. You must have realized this." Azuroth growled. "Change us back into humans, I said." Chains shook his head. He knew how this would end. Now he was just prolonging the inevitable. "That man's life is only worth so much. I cant change you back, to do so would mean finding the disciples who changed each of you. And each disciple has changed...hundreds." The disciple in Azuroth's grasp yelped as the beast's grip tightened. "Do it." Chains flicked his bangs, keeping an air of cool apathy. "His life isn't worth the trouble." Chains tried to sense the chimera's emotion, but there was too much anger to see what Azuroth was thinking. Those eyes...Chains knew he had met this chimera before, but again he could not remember. "The three of you can go, and that's all." "And you will not hunt us again?" Azuroth growled. Chains could tell he was weighing his options carefully, but beyond that this chimera remained a mystery. "Like I said, I doubt you could run effectively with the disciple. And as soon as you abandon your hostage, my word means nothing. You know this."

Chains shook his head in contempt. "If they were all as primally ignorant as her last one, then the beast may very well try a hundered more times before she makes it out of her cage." He turned towards the soothsayer. "Do you have those reports for me?" "Yes sir." The soothsayer handed Chains a thin packet of detailed reports on the compound. He took them, and flipped through with little interest. Something strange caught his eye. "Misery?" He asked. "Nobody knows why." The soothsayer began to explain. "When the dragon broke free and the chimera made a run for it, the avons and the felines began...crying in harmony. It was the strangest thing any of the guards had ever encountered. Some of the disciples who could understand the beasts, said they were chanting the word 'misery.' Even the avon in solitary began." Chains stood silent for a long while, processing this. He then handed the packet back to the soothsayer. "Give this to MindWraith." "Sir?" Oh, right. Chains had forgotten that he was the only disciple who knew where to find MindWraith when she wasn't hunting. "Just...drop it off at the entrance to the compound." He thought for a moment, and added, "And don't worry about going to the warehouse, we have everything we need here. We're just reinforcing the current protection. And at this rate, we should be done by morning. That is, if these beasts don't wake up." The soothsayer nodded and went on her way. Chains closed his eyes, and felt MindWraith crawl into his mind. [I]"This is a waste of valuable time, Chains. Nothing you're doing effects these beasts directly, and will mean less than nothing if they escape the compound."[/I] MindWraith said into his mind. [i]I'm well aware of this.[/i] Responded Chains, taking out a short knife. [i]But I have something just for that.[/i] He lifted the chimera's arm, and cut a small, penny-length slit into its armpit. He removed a small plastic bag from his pocket, and dumped two microchips into his hand. [i]"GPS?"[/i] MindWraith pondered. [i]"Oh, Chains, you have been clever."[/i] Chains smiled to himself, and placed the microchip inside. He then placed a cream over the wound, sealing it, and masking it almost completely. The soothsayer returned just after Chains had finished doing the same to the dragon.

Chains examined the lillypad, and saw that she had been correct. He then looked over the soothsayer with a wary eye. "Head of security? Who authorized it?" "Both Vlad and MindWraith." The soothsayer responded. Chains nodded. If MindWraith authorized it, he had nothing to worry about. "I'd like to get these beasts behind some descent cages, which is going to take quite a while. While I'm occupied here, ask the morning patrol for his report on the rest of the compound. And send a Disciple down to medbay, to check on the disciples who were injured in the breakout." "One of the disciples was fatally wounded by the dragon, of that I'm sure." Said the soothsayer. Chains nodded. "Do you happen to know where the Chimera was held before he was transferred here?" The soothsayer shook her head. "No, but I can find out. I believe this particular chimera has a... history, of attacking disciples." "Find out as much as you can on the three."

Chains surveyed the drugged animals with bitter content, paying close attention to the animals who had broken out earlier. "The sprite must be asleep." Chains said to the former head of security. "We should take this time to do something about her voice." The second of security paused. "We could use Gerhass powder to tighten her throat." Chains snorted. "That would [I]close[/I] her throat, and kill her. If I wanted her dead, I'd just walk in and step on her." There was a long silence, as the second of security pondered another idea. "If we only use a little, are you sure it would kill-" "Are you sure you were ever qualified to be the head of security?!" Chains snapped. He sighed, pushing his long bangs out of his face. "I hate to waste the opportunity, but there's nothing we can do. Reinforce the interior of the cage, and gather about three men to come with me. I want to inspect the dragon and chimera." ** The gate swung open, and Chains and a dozen Disciples entered. A few carried steel bars to reinforce the cage with, and the others nervously carried shock sticks in fear of the chimera waking up. Chains made sure to pick the disciples who had been attached by it before, in order to keep them on their toes. Chains kneeled down by the chimera, nudging the heads around in order to inspect it better. The snake head hissed once, tired and sluggishly, and then thumped to the ground again. "Where have I seen you before?" Chains mumbled to himself. He was sure he hadn't purified this one, but still... Chains nudged a foreleg of the dragon to inspect its claws. It was pity he couldn't just clip the damn things. "Sir!" Shouted one of the disciples. "We can't find the sprite." Chains looked around the cell. The disciple was right--she wasn't sleeping on the ground. "Stand by the door. If you hear anything at all, slam the door shut and phase through the bars." Chains shined a light on the pool. "She's probably just sleeping at the bottom, but keep alert anyways. Unless you fancy becoming snacks."

Wow. I must say, seeing new posts in this signup caught me completely off guard. Thank you all for signing up, I found no problems in anybody's signup (though I found many things I liked). I shall begin this either Tomorrow, or on Tuesday of next week. To answer your question, Lyuann, I don't think I ever tried this Rpg before. And I apologize to those who signed up earlier (Ellimist, Darker Alucard, Israfel, Tyler) That I did not put this up earlier. As for now, I've decided that Alucard should be an NPC(non-player-character) since there are a few characters with ties to him. Here is my primary character: Name: Dazerik Maxwell (aka Max) Age 33 Gender male Description Black hair, cut short except for the bangs, wich hang around his Green eye. His left eye is covered by a black eyepatch(see death). Dazerik usually wears brown slacks, a black shirt, and a black and red jacket when on or off duty. One sleeve of his jacket bears the logo "Survival on the Streets of Incinserity" in brown stitches. Organization: GHOST Race: Vampire, bitten Death: Once a member of the French Special Forces, Max was sent by chopper on an anti-terrorist operation into a forest on the outskirts of Southern France. Max flexed his sweaty hands as he nervously awaited his chance to descend to the ground from his Heliocopter. The team leader patted his shoulder as he began a short descent to the ground. Through the thick trees below, he watched as his uniformed commrades took on a hundered unorganized terrorists, who had been caniballizing woman and children near the forest. Everywhere they left their mark: The Right Chaotic Hand of Lord Cthulu It was easy to tell that the terrorists were outnumbered, outgunned, and outtrained. But if that was the case, why were Max's commerades getting slaughtered? Max touched ground in a large clearing, and ran into the thick of the trees. He signaled for a few others to join him, and together they ran through the trees, avoiding the main sounds of battle in hopes of flanking the enemy and breaking their lines with the explosives one of them had brought along. But they misjudged how many terrorists there were lurking about. Fifty steps into the forest, they were ambushed by a party of twenty terrorists. In seconds, the five men Max had come with were dead. He himself had only survived because of a tree he had used for cover. Max turned out to open fire on the terrorists, and was repaid with a shower of bullets. He felt them rip into his legs and arms. Then suddenly... time stopped. Max found himself unable to move a muscle in his body, as he stared directly into a bullet that froze directly in front of his face, close enough for Max to read its calibur. A white form floated through the trees, whom he later learned to be Icarus. Whether Icarus had been searching for Max, or whether he had just been lucky, Max will never know. Icarus looked at him, and whispered to words: Dead man. The ghostly vampire floated to Max, very close, and put his fingeres around the bullet that would have killed him. Then he turned the bullet, ever so slightly, so it faced Max's left eye. "I give you this, and bind you to me forever." Icarus put his wrist to his own mouth and made a cut with his teeth. He let a few drops of his blood drain into Max's mouth, and instantly dissapeared. Time resumed, and an excruciating pain filled Max's head, as the bullet tore through his right eye. The next thing Max knew, one of the terrorists had straddled him, and pinned him to the ground. Even through the bloody vision of his watering left eye, Max could make out the features of a vampire as it bit into his neck. When Max regained conciousness, he was laying in a GHOST medical facility. And changed forever. Biography: Dazerik Maxwell grew up in London, and moved to France when an "Incident" involving Hellsing forced him to move. Twenty years old without a home, Dazerik joined the military, excelling in both marksmanship and hand to hand combat. He rose to Special Forces in seven years, and had been serving there until his "death."

"Why didn't you subdue the dragon as you were told?" Chains stood silently in front of MindWraith. "You saw what happened. It quelled itself--there was no reason for me to get involved." MindWraith turned a page in the ancient tomb in front of him. Reading in the dark, as always. "I saw you stop when you reached the ground. Something caught you off guard. What was it?" Chains was silent for a moment. "Don't hide this from me, Chains." Warned MindWraith. "I'm showing you a great deal of respect by not searching your mind myself." Actually, MindWraith already knew the reason behind Chains' hesitation. He wandered the corridors of his mind freely now--his mind did belong to MindWraith now, didn't it? "A...sprite." Chains admitted. "I caught a glimpse of one, before I approached the dragon. You yourself told me to be wary of its song, and finding myself asleep at the jaws of a raging beast did not sound...intelligent." MindWraith nodded solemnly. Chains spoke again, stepping forward. "How can I protect myself from this? I can't quite quell a dragon while under a damn fairy's command, can I?" "Calm down, Chains." Said MindWraith. "I'll look into devising protection myself. In the meantime, you can probably resist its song at least partially by becoming transparent. And don't forget your will training--it can buy you at least a few minutes against the sprite's melody." Chains nodded, and folded his arms. "I don't like those three being in the same cage together. It could cause trouble." "That will take time, to find empty cages for the chimera and the dragon, and the manpower experienced enough to transport them." "How much time?" "A week, maybe more, maybe less. It all depends. I think it would be a good idea for you to take head of security of that particular sector, for the time being." MindWraith said, turning another page. "What?!" Chains asked angrily. "Head of security? I'm a hunter! I can't be bothered with babysitting!" "You can, and you will." MindWraith commanded. Chains started to say something else, but thought better of it. "Alright. Fine." Chains nodded once, then turned to walk out of MindWraith's lair. ** Chains walked about the farm, gazing in at the impures in their cages. "You there." He called to a disciple walking with a wheelbarrow of raw meat. "Are you in charge of feeding these beasts?" The disciple nodded, trying to show as much respect as he could. It wasn't often a hunter remained at a farm. "I want you to mix gunpowder into the meat. Enough to keep these animals drugged. Understand?" The Disciple nodded. "Yes sir."

"Why do we give them a choice?" Chains overlooked a wide field of pens, where the impure were kept. "Farms" some of the men who worked for the Disciples called them. This particular Farm had been carved directly into a mountain face, which helped in keeping this particular farm a secret from those who would oppose the Disciples. Chains stoon on a particularly level overhang at the back of the farm, high above the daily bustle of moving and cleaning pens. He had sensed MindWraith behind him when he asked his question. "What do you mean?" Asked MindWraith. "Why do we let them free if they renounce their rebellious ways?" Chains replied. MindWraith joined Chains in looking over the wide farm. "Well, that is how they are truly purified, by going back to the ones who bore them." "I thought turning them to the beasts of their hearts was purification?" "It is, but only to a point. We purify their bodies and spirits by changing them. Only they can purify their hearts and minds." Chains nodded solemnly. "What is it, Chains? What has you so disturbed?" MindWraith asked. Chains fumbled with the words, even as they came out. "Today, I...one of the children I purified..." He seemed ashamed to go on. "I never gave him the choice to change back. I made sure he will permanently be a beast." MindWraith gave something like a sigh. Just then, a commotion broke out in one of the pens. A dragon had pinned down a guard with its massive forclaws. "As punishment, I want you to pacify that dragon." MindWraith said. Chains nodded. He was almost relieved that MindWraith had chosen this over scolding. This, he thought, could actually be fun. Chains held out his arms and instantly became transluscent, his eyes glowing blue and wraith-like wings appearing in his back. He lept down the sheer rock face, and coasted just above the ground all the way down.

here are some thoughts for a tite: Requiem for the Impure Hand of Impurity Purify Name: Derrikait Chainsummer, known as "Chains" Disciple Age: 19 Invovlement: Recruited, if that's what you would call it. Chains had been a decent person at one time, at least in the sense that he had never hurt anyone intentionally. The Disciples saw something within him, though, something that threatened everything they stood for. As Derrikait had yet to discover what that "something," the Disciples decided that killing him would be a simple task-too simple, decided a Disciple known as MindWraith. With his magic, he drove Chains into thinking that everyone he loved was dead, and that his entire life was in ruins. Worst of all, MindWraith forced him to believe, that Derrikait himself had destroyed it. When all was lost in Chains' life, MindWraith appeared before him and told him how salvation lay in the path of a Disciple. Chains had nothing to lose, and accepted without hesitation. Power/weapon: Chains is known for the "essence of a wraith" a power which allows him to move like a ghost and become one with the shadows. Pic or Description: Chains has short red hair with long bangs that cover his right eye. He's pale, thin, and has a sharp look to him. He wears a malicious grin that haunts the impure, while he goes about purifying. Character Snippet: A life in red and grey. As time went by, Chains remembered less and less about who he once was. Everytime he tried to recall a lost detail, his mind was forced into a torrent of blood and fire. Disfigured faces, to horrid for reality, and a realization that was too unbearable to live through. "You shouldn't try to remember who you were." said Mindwraith sitting across the room in an elaborate leather armchair, reading in the dark as usual. "It's who you are right at this moment that matters." As always, he had known Chains' thoughts before he even thought to speak them. Chains smiled, attributing it to the brother-like connection MindWraith and he shared. Ever since MindWraith had brought him from the hellish abyss that was his past, and gave him a new life. "And speaking of this moment," he said, closing his leatherbound book. "I believe it is now dark enough to begin purification." They always purified in the dark, Chains thought. Perhaps to increase the impure one's terror? MindWraith had shown him that the best way to capture an impurity, was to let it psychologically destroy itself. PS What are your thoughts on using some NPC's in this? It might make it rather interesting.

You can't kill logic because it doesn't exist. Interesting.... I enjoyed these very much; I hope you intend to write more. I'm very impressed with the easy-to-comprehend-yet-hard-to-understand way you wrote these, and the philosophes that you depicted. Definitely not something I would expect on the OB. Good work.

OOC: This is my first or second attempt at a story here, and I hope at the very least it interests you. I used a different method to display spoken dialogue than what I would normally use, in an attempt to make it easier to read. I'd appreciate any comments I could get. About this story in particular: This is my attempt at intertwining what seem like completely unrelated stories that meet near the end. Direct Influence: Sin City, Broken Saints (an online comic), Betterman, Gothica, Xin (an online flash series) and Trigun. Enjoy! [COLOR=Indigo] [SIZE=2][FONT=Garamond][CENTER]*** * ***[/CENTER] [I]The jaded shore of Kiton-Holdi. Gnarled stalagmites and lethal creatures made these waters all but useless to man. Many hooks and broken lines lay upon the watery floor, entangled with the skeletal remains of the fools who the water's smooth surface had tempted. The broken masts of wayward ships dot the coast, mossy and curved by nature?s hand. Their warning to stray ships sometimes goes unnoticed, unrecognizable after the passage of years. The shore. A boy. A dream, to merely feel the warm touch of ground beneath his sea born legs. A dozen poisons coursing through his veins, a gift of the merciless sea. The mast of his raft sticks up between two protruding rocks. Another warning for another sailor. Alas, this sailor cannot be saved. Above him, crouches a companion. A man, or what has been left of one. The sun's rays are reflected on his bare, pale skin. The sea's toxins had coursed through his veins as well. Even under water, when their raft had first dived under the sea, this man had tried with all his strength to protect the boy with his own body. It was in vain. The boy was dying. Slowly. The man had emerged unscathed, the sea's poison in his veins drifting out like wind through a storm. Greater poisons than the seas could ever contain coursed through his veins already. The pale man... More beautiful than the gods...[/I] [CENTER][IMG]http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y111/Rainwolf_Graphite/Immortal.jpg[/IMG][/CENTER] [CENTER]*** * ***[/CENTER] [I]The world always makes the assumption that the exposure of an error is identical with the discovery of truth - that the error and truth are simply opposite. They are nothing of the sort. What the world turns to, when it is cured on one error, is usually simply another error, and maybe one worse than the first one. ~H.L. Mencken[/I] [B][U]1~Lies and Veiled Insanity~1[/U][/B] The white halls of the Kertuli Assylum were brightly lit by fluorescent bulbs across the ceiling. Too bright, thought the newest inmate. Tall and thin, with spidery hands and blonde hair. A towering guard escorted him, past the visitor's area, past the minor cases hall, where nobody stayed more than a few hours. Past the Intermediate hall, where patients could still be cured with hypnotherapy, or the right amount of drugs. Through the double doors at the end of the inmates hall, past the steel doors of incurables. Past the sociopaths. Farther than the kleptomaniacs. Deeper into the medical labyrinth than those who had murdered by god's will. The newest inmate was led as far back as he could be led: To the psychotic killers. The serial murderers. To hell itself. The guard paused at a keypad near the final set of double doors, and punched in his pass code. The doors hummed in response, and after a short pause slid open. Another guard waited on the other side. [B]Guard II: This the new guy? Guard I: Yeah. Here's the file. Guard II: And the warden's signature? Guard I: It's all there.[/B] The guards exchanged clipboards and brown paper envelopes. The hallway they were now in was much wider than the others, abandoning the white polished furnishings of the rest of the asylum in favor of metallic surroundings. Catwalks lined the walls, suspended eight feet above cells lined with thick plastic, more durable than bullet-proof glass, and less privacy than a fucking shower curtain, thought the inmate. One of the many impenetrable doors slid open, and the inmate was roughly unshackled and thrown in. The guard couldn't help but notice the rough, infected scars on each limb. They were names, thought the guard. Carved in deep and scarred for life. [B]Guard II: So, what's his case? Guard I: It's in the damn file. Read it yourself. Guard II: C'mon, don't be like that. You know I can't read his file without the proper clearance. Guard I:.......Ian Dellisect. His wife called the police and reported him missing, the house ransacked behind him. Police suspected he had been attacked by that "Red Vlad" gang that's been rioting downtown. What they found, was Ian sitting alone in a farm, screaming, ?they?re dead! They?re dead!? and carving names into his arms and legs with a pair of gardening sheers. When he saw the police approaching, he threw the sheers at them, and proceeded to rub as much dirt into each cut as possible. Guard II: Weird. But that alone doesn't send somebody back here. Guard I: You remember that chain of murders last year, seventeen men and women dead and bodies mutilated? Guard II: Don't remind me. I was lucky enough to see the crime scene photos from that. Guard I: Each victim disemboweled, dismembered, and body parts strewn across the street. The murderer was never found. Guard II: Don't tell me... Guard I: The names this guy was carving into his arms were the names of the victims. Ian was found guilty of all seventeen murders in court last week. Guard II: Jesus...why wasn?t the trial all over the news?[/B] Ian smacked the glass of his cell, making the two guards jump and look at him. [B]Ian: Because it was never a real fucking trial to begin with.[/B] There was a pause, as the guards recovered from their shock. [B]Ian: There was no jury, no lawyers, no law. Just a god damn-[/B] A guard smacked his cell with the butt of his nightstick, making Ian flinch. [B]Guard I: Shut up! You?re a murdering psychopath and that?s all there is to it![/B] Ian stared down the back of the guard?s head as the two walked away, still talking in voices too low for Ian to hear. [B]Ian: [I]I used to live alone, making a living writing articles for an occult magazine. I didn?t [b]kill[/b] anyone. But I can?t prove it, either. Somebody paid a lot of money to connect me to those murders, and a lot more money to keep it under wraps. I don?t have any enemies. Well, none that would do [b]this.[/b] I just went to bed one night, an ordinary guy, and woke up the next morning as a convicted psychopath being treated for wounds and massive blood loss. Question is, [b]why me?[/b] ... I guess I have all the time I need to think about it...[/I][/B] [CENTER]*** * ***[/CENTER] [I]If I make the lashes dark And the eyes more bright And the lips more scarlet, Or ask if all be right From mirror after mirror, No vanity's displayed: I'm looking for the face I had Before the world was made. ~W.B. Yeats[/I] [U][B]2~Light, Dark, and Infinity~2[/B][/U] The river of our lives, never flows in the same direction it did the day before. The water can never be the same, for if it was, if only for a second, all would be lost in an eternity of stagnation. Who is to say, that that second is not our millennia? A second, a lifetime, there is no difference between them, Except in how we see them. I forgot what time was, a long time ago. Majik and Kitchi stand out in their transparency. Looking at them is like looking at a place that someone should be. A place that someone is just on the verge of being. A place that someone is almost in, but has never really quite been there. I can see their auras, though I cannot tell where they end, and the empty space between them begins. Neither of them are human. Though, I doubt even they know what they are exactly. Demons? Angels? nothing at all? Or...everything that matters? I met the red-haired Majik one day ago. It was at a bar I drank at. He saw me across the room, with eyes like glass. [B]Majik: You. Daz. Daz: ...How did you know my name? Majik: I need you to judge a duel another and myself will have. Should one of us fall during the duel, your reward will be more than you can imagine. Daz: What do you mean, a duel? Majik: Come. There's no time.[/b] I didn't have a choice. At least, I don't think I did. I never spoke to Kitchi, but from where I stand, she looks like an angel who forgot her wings. I wouldn't call it a duel that the two now exhibit. I'd call it a dance, except more graceful than I've ever seen. It was over before I had ever seen a blow landed. A two-hour duel without a single hit. Had I not been so mesmerized, I would have wondered why they had picked a lifeless punk like me to judge something so... divine. Majik has fallen, and Kitchi stands victorious. She doesn't look like she's won, though. [B]Majik: ...so, I've lost. Kitchi: There was no other possible outcome. We both knew that before we began.[/B] Majik, having been thrown onto his back, sat up now. He doesn't look like he's lost, though. [b]Kitchi: You remember our wager. You have to give it up now.[/b] Majik stood up, and came very close to Kitchi. Almost close enough to kiss. [b]Majik: I know. I'll do what needs to be done.[/b] In a flash, Majik's arm comes up to Kitchi's stomach. She didn't seem surprised, as she exploded into dust and vapor. Her aura didn't disappear, Majik absorbed it, took it into his own. He stands alone now, as if Kitchi had never existed. He turns, to look at me, with eyes like glass. I can see Kitchi's essence inside them. It is she, that looks straight through my soul... [B]To be continued (hopefully)...[/B] [/FONT][/SIZE][/COLOR]

[CENTER][IMG]http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y111/Rainwolf_Graphite/AsencionLogo.jpg[/IMG][/CENTER] [B][COLOR=Navy][SIZE=1][FONT=Garamond]In one great swipe of my sword, I, Rueford Maxwell succeeded in destroying the Master of Darkness, Deeltai the Controller. My companions and I watched with great satisfaction as the hoards of his undead whom we had waged an entire war against in one night, fell to the ground in lifeless heaps of bone and ash. What was once said impossible, was now done. The seventy innocent souls that he had murdered and entombed for years inside his own black heart, now came bursting out heaven bound and left the great Master's corpse a dry, lifeless husk. Our lives, and the lives of our countrymen, had been saved. But some things do not end as they should. For several nights, the darkness mourned the death of Deeltai. The wolves howled, and the moon shed tears of blood. Every child of the darkness screamed its horrible sorrows, filling the air for many nights. Theirs was a sadness, a loyalty unknown to the human race. A symphony too horrible for instruments, a deep mourning too sad for words, their cries would be remembered forever. Deeltai the Controller was dead, and would not be forgotten. But an instinct, engrained into the mind of every creature who shunned the light, an instinct crucial for their very survival, would not let them mourn forever. When their cries had ceased, my life became a highly sought target. Every night brought attempts on my life, and every night it became increasingly difficult to survive. It was one such an attempt, a small man in the likeness of a rodent who had slipped through my window whilst I slept, who revealed unto me the consequences of my attack. ?Did you think the throne would stay empty?? It hissed at me. That night I had slept in the servant?s quarters of my house, expecting some sort of attack whilst I slept. A guard woke me in the early hours of the morning, and told me a rat-like man had been caught stabbing my empty bed sheets and cursing at his mistake. Now, with doors locked and windows barred, I stood over my attacker with sword in hand. ?What do you mean?? I asked. The man let out a throaty cackle and hopped from one foot to the other as if the ground were made of hot coal. ?You murdered the Master of Darkness, unto whom every creature born of the night beckoned to. Now that he is gone, every child of the night shall strive to take his place.? It was something I had never thought of before. Wasn?t the Master of Darkness Deeltai?s own personal title? No, like a king of an ancient castle, he had been preceded by many others. ?Without a Master, we can not survive!? spat the small man, getting suddenly bold when he saw that I had clearly never thought of a predecessor. ?How do you think we?ve survived you pathetic humans for so long? Order is life, order is how we survive!? ?Quiet!? I shouted, brandishing my sword to remind him of who was in control. He jumped back and hit the wall, and then looked up at me through hateful beady eyes. Yellow eyes. He was no man at all, I realized, or at least less of one than I had thought. He cackled again, seeing my insecurity. ?First, one must proclaim that they are the future Master of Darkness. Thousands of them will, believe me. Deeltai was the first of many to proclaim himself lord last time, and he killed every single opposer and made their corpses his slaves to make sure. Next, one must capture the former master?s stronghold, or construct his own. And finally, one must prove themselves to us, the children of the night. We decide who our lord is.? He was rambling now, or so I thought, caught up in the thought of seeing a new, more powerful Master rise above a sea of cheering monsters. But it was I who had been caught up in the image, and I realized to late that he was merely trying to distract me. In a flash I was on my back, the rat creature perched on my chest with one bony hand around my throat. I could feel his long nails press into my jugular. ?Hundreds will die before a new master is crowned, there?s always a sea of casualties. And you, Rueford Maxwell, are the first!? He raised his free hand, my own sword enclosed in his bony grip. But I had experience. Years of training took over, sliding the dagger out of my leg sheath, and in the second before he swung, my dagger found a new sheath in his back. So, I had survived. Perhaps I was unlucky, for it was a fate worse than death that I now bore. I had only heard of seventy that Deeltai the Controller had killed. Among whom was my family, a thought which spurred my revenge. And my revenge would cost others their families-- many others. So, faced with the greater of two evils and no will to fight it, what was a nobleman to do?[/FONT][/SIZE][/COLOR][/B] [CENTER]***[/CENTER] Basically, this is my first attempt at an old fashion "Dracula style" Rpg, set in England in the 1800's. You can play either a monster trying to become the next Master of Darkness, unto whom all creatures of darkness (werewolves, vampires, demons, ect.) swear their loyalty, or a human trying to prevent the ascencion of a new master. Actually, you can play whatever you damn well please, I pray for origionality. For those of you trying to become the Master of Darkness, these are the rules as scribed in the Tomb of Damnation: 1: When you first decide to try to ascend to the position of the Master of Darkness, you must proclaim it. All children of the night instinctively know who has and hasn't proclaimed themselves the future Master of Darkness. 2: You must either take control of the last Master's (Deeltai's) fortress, or you must construct your own. It must be worthy of the respect of the Children of the Night. 3: You must prove that you are worthy of the title. Deeltai had the power to make minions from corpses, which he used to make his army. Make alliances if you wish, but keep in mind that there can only be one Master of Darkness. Signups: Name Age Race (human, demon, vampire, werewolf, whatever you want. Make your own if you desire) Purpose/intent: (To become the Master of Darkness, to stop another master from returning, ect. whatever you want. Description: Bio: I'll post mine when a few people have signed up. Enjoy!

Thank you for your quick response! I like them very much.

I'd like to request a banner, or some sort of graphic to advertise my latest and (hopefully) greatest project, Tales from the Lilik Mountains. The theme is medival/rennaisance fantasy, which I know there is no short supply of images for. I'd like the title, Tales from the Lilik Mountains to be present on the graphic, as well as the artist's screenname. Besides that, I have no guidelines. If you're interested, i could use several images, or different versions of the same image.(If not, one is great.) What I hope to do is have several stories and rp's of the same title, using the same world, so I'd like a different graphic to go on each thread. Thanks! -Kit

When Icarus first joined CALM four years ago, it was his job to decipher the coded dialect sent by radio between members. Though he had hated the job at the time, he was lucky now to have become fluent in CALM's radio code. It was how he had discovered the Al Bhedian involvement in this new mission, days before Jion had arrived. It was also how Icarus had managed to be in Mechalania, just in time to see his "allies" test their new machina without ever setting foot into CALM's headquarters. Icarus watched with tired amusement in his lime-like eyes, as the machine beside the Al Bhedian, whose name Icarus had not cared to learn, fired off a boxing glove to impress the others. It was a fool?s weapon, thought Icarus, not fit for the battlefield. Was this meager machina all the help Anton could enlist? If it was not for the deal he and Icarus had made when he joined, Icarus would have long since deserted the pathetic resistance. Icarus' eyes drifted away from the Al Bhedian machina, and were almost instantly caught by Spectre's fiery glare. Strange, Icarus didn't think anybody had seen him in the shadows where he stood, but Spectre had no problem spotting him. He assumed the cherry at the end of his long cigarette had given him away. Icarus grinned maliciously, and stepped from the shadows. The summer heat had reduced the majority of CALM members to shirts and shorts, but Icarus seemed oblivious of the temperature. He wore his heavy dark raincoat as always, pale as the moon without a single sweat drop to adorn his face. Spectre said something to Anton, never taking his eyes off Icarus, and he looked over. The hate that burned in Spectre's eyes hardly showed in Anton's; for the most part he looked upon Icarus like a tolerated but unwelcome guest. Jion looked to see what the other two were looking at. Icarus approached with three pairs of eyes upon him. When Icarus came close, he shot a glance at Jion, who quickly averted his eyes. Somehow, he had guessed a big Al Bhedian welcome was not in order here. "Anton," Icarus started. "I wish to travel with Dragus and Meteo. Where are they?" Anton paused before answering. "You weren't at the briefing, Icarus." Obviously. Icarus stayed silent. Finally, Anton sighed, and pointed east. "They went with Kart to Kilika Calm. It's too far to walk-you should either stay with us, or borrow a vehicle and go directly to the mines." Icarus nodded, and looked back to the hover bike he had ridden here. "Why don't you travel with the dogs where you belong?" Spat Spectre, still glaring. She hated Icarus, and for good reason. Icarus had attacked her without warning only two months ago, resulting in two broken ribs. Icarus doubted that Spectre would ever know the reason behind it. Icarus only grinned, showing his menacing teeth, razor sharp. "Call me a dog again, dear Spectre," Icarus said in his cold, hoarse voice. "And I shall tear your eyes from your face." Then he quickly turned around and mounted his bike, which spit gravel as it shot off. It was only as he was leaving, did Jion notice a passenger on his bike--nervous child of fourteen or so, with a heavy rifle strapped to his back. He didn't look like a soldier, but he would fight like one today.

Not much detail in the background, but I like the idea. Name: Icarus age 25 weapon whip descriptions/picture Icarus has dark brown hair that falls to his lower neck. His eyes are a dark green that contrast with his pale skin. He wears a long dark raincoat, and a black dress shirt underneath. His best quality is his height--though he has a light build, he usually towers over others. He has a pair of circular black sunglasses that he only wears at night. bio: A member of CALM for four years, though few members have ever regarded him as an ally. His detatched apperance and unpredicability are very unsettling, and he is rarely called upon in dangerous meetings, even though his whip is a force to be reckoned with. It's common for him to resist fighting in a situation that calls for his aid, although nobody has ever died while fighting in his team. It's been said that his father had once been apart of Neo-SIN, and attempted to drive his son mad when Icarus realized what his father had done. Lately, Icarus has been far more active than usual, fighting in missions he was never assigned to. He has also stopped reporting to any superior in CALM, and rarely shows up at the CALM base unless it is for his own personal gain.

Oh, you're right, Moonlight, no opinion could possibly be right but your own, excuse me. Would you do me a favor and direct your attention to the top of the thread? You might come across a post by RiflesAtRecess, which includes a list of poems. Found it? Good. We're commenting on THAT. Not ME. If you still need help figuring out what you're commenting on, consult a doctor. I stand by what I said

Some of the slang kind of got on my nerves, man, but some lines like "Broken dreams and hateful schemes" were really good. I like the topic, not as extreme as a lot of the material on OB, and something everyone can relate to. 9/10. good work, man.

[I]he treat her like she was his daughter. They group shook there head.[/I] You have a few tarzan sentences, so you might want to read through it once or twice to make some corrections. Also, it's not a lot to go off of--I recommend writing a bit more, to give people a better feel of Cassandra's job, co-workers, ect. On a lighter note, Cassandra was a great choice for a name.

I have to say, these are really good. though there were a few lines that came off a little odd, I really enjoy your work, ecspecially "This, Like Any Other Story Worth Telling, is All About a Girl..." I didn't like "Dear Michaela" for a title, as while reading the poem, I couldn't help but ponder at how you would pronounce Michaela. here are my ratings, in the order that they appeared in this thread 1. 8/10 2. 9/10 3. 7/10 4. 10/10 5. 10/10 6. 7/10

[CENTER][img] http://home.att.net/~hoo17/Law/ys.jpg[/img][/CENTER] [CENTER][B][I][U][COLOR=DarkRed][SIZE=4][FONT=Garamond]Of Swords and Fallen Angles[/FONT][/SIZE][/COLOR][/U][/I][/B][/CENTER] [SIZE=3][FONT=Garamond][COLOR=DarkRed] [I][b]Tell me a tale.[/b] Whisper it in my ear, sing it from the mountain top. Excite me. Frighten me. Truth is optional.[/I] [b]Welcome to GHOST, a special organization serving to defend the public from the undead creatures of the night. Founded far more recently than both the Hellsing Orginization of England and The Iscariot Orginization of Vatican City, The GHOST Orginization of Sicily perscribes to a tactical, rather than religious, approach to killing the undead. Athough the standard bullets they use are far less effective than the blessed bullets of Hellsing, GHOST holds an unpresidented level of secracy. While members of Hellsing are recruited under an oath of secracy, GHOST locates AWOL soldiers and those presumed dead to recruit, a task only accomplishable by GHOST's supernatural ally, Icarus, the Devolved Vampire. The GHOST Orginization has long since been at arms with the Evangelists Society of Northern France, and has in the past been offered aid from Hellsing; aid that was promptly rejected, under the suspicion that Hellsing would seek to control GHOST. Iscariot has long been aiding the Evangelists, and the higher powers of each side suspect a struggle for territory is not far away. This business is hardly GHOST's prime concern, however, as reports have been gathered on the shores of Sicily that undead creatures, unrelated to vampires, have been appearing in noticable numbers. When Hellsing recieved word of these newer creatures, they immediately pressed to send their own troops into Sicily, with or without GHOST's support. As recently as three weeks ago, brief sightings of Alucard in Sicily have been reported, and GHOST immediately declared that Hellsing would be made an enemy to all of France unless their operatives were pulled back immediately. After many heated confrontations with GHOST, Hellsing has threatened to side with the Evangelists to erradicate GHOST unless their operatives were allowed access to Sicily. GHOST has only accepted two days ago, permitting an unsteady truce between Hellsing and GHOST. [/size][/font][/color][/b] [CENTER]***[/CENTER] [FONT=Garamond][B][U][SIZE=4][COLOR=DarkRed]Signups[/COLOR][/SIZE][/U][/B][/FONT] [FONT=Garamond][B]Name [COLOR=DarkRed]Age Gender Description Organization (only 2-3 Hellsing members. First come, first serve) Race: (If you choose to be inhuman, be aware that their weaknesses will be included. Even half-vampires can't walk in daylight. so says me. Be aware that Harpies, werewolves, the genetically enhanced, the blessed(Like Alexander) ect. are also available.) Death: (Only applies to GHOST members. As GHOST only recruits those who are presumed dead, you must explain just when, where, and why you were presumed dead. Here's where you show off your writing ability.) Reassignment: (Hellsing members only. Hellsing only sent over their best into Sicily; show how you became on of their best. Here's where you show off your writing talent. Be real, though, nobody kills 90 vampires with a slingshot while blinded.) Biography:[/B] Here's the signup sheet for my secondary character, Icarus, who I won't use much during the course of the Rpg. This is an example of what yours should be somewhat like, except noone else can be a devolved vampire. [B]Name: Icarus Chainsummer Age: unknown; has served with GHOST for 2 years Gender male Description: Six feet tall, with white hair and sky-blue eyes. Wears leather armor under a plum cloak. Wears a gold necklace of the Eye of Solomon. huge, leathery wings sprout from his back, which are folded and carried in an immense brown backpack when necessary. claws on left hand that are covered in a glove when necessary. Also wears two heavy steel bracelets, shackles, and a collar. Organization GHOST Race: Devolved Vampire--at one time, vampires dropped their wings and claws to better blend in with their pray. Icarus never made that jump. Death: At one time, Icarus was the leader of a vampiric rebellion in Bosnia, the land of Demons. Greatly opposed by both Hellsing and Iscariot (neither GHOST or Evangelists had been established yet) Icarus led a campaign to make vampires known to the public. Many men who heard his call, agreed that vampires should not be legally exterminated, and joined his cause. When Iscariot decided that he had become too powerful, they and Hellsing launched a joint attack on Icarus. In a long battle mostly consistent of hide and seek (Alucard was far too powerful for Icarus) Alucard shot Icarus three times; once in the shoulder, once in the stomach, and once in the chest, after which Alucard left Icarus for dead. Known only to himself, Alucard had let Icarus live. Since Icarus had been smart for many years and concieled his wings, noone expected him to fly away before anybody came looking. Biography:when creating your own character, this part is completely up to you. If you want your character to have a mysterious past, that's just dandy. Icarus, has no known biography.[/B] Guidlines: *No GHOST member uses blessed bullets. They are inneffective against the undead, but that just makes it interesting. *You can use a sword if desired, but you will need to play with the restrictions of a sword. A man with a gun three yards away from a man with a sword will win. So sorry, but I'm not going to endure 80 sequences of "before Rootle could think to pull the trigger, Mcbobby was already at his throat." *Have you ever been shot in the shoulder/arm/leg/stomach/other non vital area? It hurts like hell. I say this, because it's awfully popular for someone to get shot and then brush it off like a beesting. You're not Alucard, a bullet to the stomach will leave you on your knees puking blood. *As you can tell by the guidlines, this Rpg should be as realistic as possible, even with the supernatural quirks. Give reality a chance. There are only so many Rambo's and so many James Bond's.[/FONT][/COLOR]

Alright: [I]They were cube-ish in shape,[/I] [I]and echoed for a bit.[/I] [I]condense his thoughts into sound waves.[/I] [I]managed to vocalize more sound, let alone words.[/I] [I]?Be thankful I?m showing.[/I] [I]the cubes, as previously described,[/I] [I]?touching? a few commands in,[/I] [I]too fast for the naked eye to discern the exact shape of the object.[/I] [I]From pain to what you ate for dinner[/I] These are the ones that came off weird, of course that's just my opinion.