Ellven'and

[SIZE=2][FONT=Times New Roman][CENTER][I]There were limits, they were always told. Limits to what a human could and could not do outside of their teachings. To utter one word wrong in their ritualistic deeds could render them no better off than dead, to be blunt. But in order to follow these limits, to abide by the rules, one had to be sane. And in a world where sanity is merely defined as being able to confide in one's ability, was it possible for everyone to stay within the thin lines of society? Was it not possible that one man could change all that? With but a few simple words, the boundary would cease to exist. Everyone knows it. And yet, few act upon it. But there is a cult, a secret organization within this supposed utopia which is dedicated to the proposal that, "nothing is apparent, enforcable, or believable until it is destroyed." It is this cult that is responsible for the spark of insanity that now courses through everyone's mind. In this society, there are rules against three simple acts: Aeslithga, magic of instantaneous destruction; Furiagara, magic of undeath; Samaenish, magic of possession; and yet, there are those who would go against those rules. The cult formed by those who possess intent to use this forbidden magic is called "Aguriast Ekuitophs," "Anguished Escape." Troubled times call for troubled saviors, they say. Forbidden are the words that speak or act against the boundary of magic. Utterance of these words means only one thing--death, in all forms. But somehow, one can slip past the eyes of the ever-watching Keeper of Magic. Nothing, however, can slip past one's own conscience . . . . ~~~[/I][/CENTER] To join this RP, please use the form below when creating your character. Fields marked with an asterisk (*) are optional. [B]Name:[/B] Character's full name [B]Title:[/B] Rank within Aguriast Ekuitophs (first five characters shall be Magisters; my character is the Demiurge; characters after the fifth are to be Initiates [i.e. Magister Numero Uno]) [B]Nickname*:[/B] Name that other characters will call your character [B]Gender:[/B] Male or female (yes, female persons may have male characters and vice versa) [B]Race: [/B]Anything ranging from human to elf, demon to angel, vampire to lich, orc to ogre, giant to gnome [B]Age:[/B] Character's age; should be somewhere around the age of Demiurge (slight fluctuations are allowed, but nothing like four hundred year jumps, ok?) [B]Appearance:[/B] If not described in full here, please attach a photo or describe them later in the story [B]Weapon of Choice*:[/B] Character's preferred weapon (or weapon type) [B]Abilities:[/B] Magical abilities (if any) [B]Preferred Forbidden School(s)*:[/B] Aeslithga, Furiagara, or Samaenish (details of magic from Forbidden Schools shall follow a simple PM to myself) [B]Biography:[/B] A short background story as to how your character got to be involved with Aguriast Ekuitophs and how they are involved with their magics and Forbidden School (if applicable) I have only one thing to say: should you create a god character, I am not wholly opposed to the idea, because in essence Laegehr is invincible; the only thing he can't do is get blasted to pieces and reassemble himself. But be careful with your descriptions because, should a character turn come into play wherein I send another character (or my own) to fight with yours (not that it would happen often, if at all) I would study your character for weaknesses and would exploit them at all costs. And one more thing: should you wage war against another character, make sure that it is a mutual agreement. If one party comes to me with a complaint, I shall step in and destroy your character. Thank you in advance. My sign-up follows: [B]Name:[/B] Laegehr Dehcorspe [B]Title:[/B] Demiurge Laegehr Dehcorspe [B]Nickname:[/B] Corpse Lightning [B]Gender:[/B] Male [B]Race:[/B] Human (Acquired Immortality) [B]Age: [/B]616, but retains his twenty-year-old look [B]Appearance:[/B] See attached photo; imagine character with pale skin on his face, dark eyes--nearly black--and bony cheeks. [B]Weapon of Choice:[/B] Black, crooked staff (as shown) [B]Abilities:[/B] Able to conjure the six elements (earth, wind, fire, water, light, darkness) and use them at his will; able to bend reality, causing confusion and disorientation; necromancy; divinations including relocating lost things or persons, astrology, and predicting the future [B]Preferred Forbidden Schools:[/B] Aeslithga, Furiagara, [U]and[/U] Samaenish [B]Biography:[/B] "Corporeality is such a dull business, don't you think?" he said to his brother standing next to him, who had also come to the lair of the undead lord. They now awaited the king of liches, who would grant them their long-awaited power. The doors swung open. A dank pall filled the room, along with the stench of rotting flesh. Before them stood the Lich King, the master of undeath, his Tome of Forbidden Words levitating before him, opened to the center. "This is it," Laegehr said. "From here on out, we're no longer mortal." The lich king raised his hand, and a black light engulfed them. Laegehr's eyes went dark. When he awoke, he was lying on the ground outside his home, face-down in the dirt. He stood and instantly felt a calm center within himself that he never felt before. He went inside himself, briefly, and touched the new calm center. From his fingers shot a fan of fire which scorched across his wall and lighted his house ablaze. He touched the center again, and a wave of water from the heavens, accompanied by a breeze and a tremor, doused the fire. He smiled to himself and went inside to bed, for it was getting dark. It was nearly a week after that he learned of his brother's usage of a Forbidden School and of his being put to death by the government. From that day, he vowed to destroy the government with their Forbidden Schools. And from that day, he trained in the arts that each Forbidden School had to offer, eventually mastering each one some two hundred years after. Having been "blessed" by the Lich King, he now had eternal life and was in essence a lich, the only difference being that he was more whole in body than a lich. Soon after his mastery of the Forbidden Schools, Laegehr gathered a group of others that had done the same as he had--gone to the Lich King and received higher knowledge and power--and put together a sort of cult. Almost a week later, they came up with their name--Aguriast Ekuitophs--from an ancient language which had been outlawed in society but which they had discovered through bribing the Keeper of Texts in the library. Now, this cult of his seeks to destroy the government using their Forbidden Schools, to restore power to the people and to allow anyone to practice what they will. However, day in and day out, as they battle against the government, so too must they battle against themselves, forever struggling to keep their sanity. [CENTER] ~~~[/CENTER] To start up, I would like five recruits to serve as the Magisters. In actuality, the story begins just before Laegehr gathers the recruits for Aguriast Ekuitophs, so write accordingly and we may immerse ourselves in what may become one of the most interesting RPs you have played! If there are any questions, please PM me and I will answer them as fully as I may.[/FONT][/SIZE]

[COLOR=RoyalBlue][SIZE=3][FONT=TimesNewRoman]That He shall rip thine eyes from thy skull; Thy skull from thy body; Thy body from thy reality; Thy reality from time; Time from space; Space from the galaxy; The galaxy from the stars; The stars from the kingdom; The kingdom from the king; The king from his throne; The throne from thy mind; Thy mind from thine eyes; Thine eyes from thy skull. . . And thy eternity from thyself. Save but one detail: [I]"Giving but not receiving: a blessing in disguise, The call of the wind and the Bells' surprise. The gods are all laughing; they've seen your extent And force you to remorsefully repent. Taking is what they do best, And heed you not they, so follow the rest. A martyr; sure, to be so obscure And to receive royalties from this cur- The dog of Hell- so inclined, That can take man and woman from earth entwined, And weave new destiny, carve a fate; But which cannot open Heaven's gate."[/I][/FONT][/SIZE][/COLOR]

[I][CENTER][COLOR=DarkRed][SIZE=2][FONT=Arial]Flittering fingers And snappy dress- Yellows and oranges united in This dance. Emotion asunder, It rises to the heavens And spreads its poison Into the lungs of those that breathe in. It consumes all within, With dazzling heat and color And odors like none before, This ritual. Not even cold can stop This bright sensation, Nor can ice Even touch its tips. It licks the toes of Angels, Tickling them into submission And pulling them into The Abyss. O, how hot this That drags villages into oblivion, And cuts short The lives of good men. This, which demons spew, Devouring all the land, Stops at one thing alone: Water douses Fire.[/FONT][/SIZE][/COLOR][/CENTER][/I]

[CENTER][I][COLOR=DarkRed][SIZE=2][FONT=Arial]Not only do I tell a lie, But also shall the fetus fly. And under skin so crisp It is like a smoky whisp. Not only shall the birds sing long, But also join in Haper's song. And under the Bridge of Light Do Angels and Demons fight. Not only does one call out, But also gives a shrieking shout. And under the feathers of her wings Mother Nature, spring brings. Not only do they write aloud, But also to themselves enshroud. And under the dress of insanity Small children shall forever plea. Not only after the storm, the calm, But also the back hand's palm. And under the nails so yellow Dances the fungus of the mellow. Not only is the Shakespearean language free, But, "Ask not for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee." And under that mask, the reaper calls As under his spell the maiden falls. Not only is death rather bittersweet, But also the cheater is very discreet. And under the pedestal of Judgement, Shall strike the knave a Godsent. Not only shall the gods stand, But also it shall be by their hand That under the red moon dies All that would tell their lies. Not only is the riddle done, But also none shall've had fun. And under the corpse of eternity Shall we three forever be.[/FONT][/SIZE][/COLOR][/I][/CENTER]

[FONT=Arial][CENTER][B][COLOR=DarkRed][SIZE=3]Chapter Two: Faint White[/SIZE][/B] [SIZE=2]He had been running since daylight first broke over the horizon. There was no reason for him to run; and yet, he felt compelled to move at such a high speed. The clouded sky overhead told him that it was going to be a very difficult day; with the cover of the clouds ensuring the sunset would not be crimson, there would be no way for him to move about without detection and to draw upon his supernatural strength. Though he had Feth, it was nearly useless without the crimson light that bathed him in its power. Although he couldn't draw upon the power of the crimson light to give him strength, his own was enough to get by, at least until the clouds cleared up. His speed and stamina were second to none even without the abilities he could gain otherwise. He stopped at the edge of a cliff, peering off into the distance. His destination was clear- he was trying to reach what he saw in the distance, where no other man dare tread. His aim was the gate to Hell. He had heard stories from men at the edge of oblivion, mere idle banter from men he had brought to the brink of destruction, men who had claimed they had been to the gate and had survived. He hadn't believed any of their stories until now. He jumped into the air, using all the leg strength he could muster, and landed on the ground on his knees with a grunt. His ability to perfect such a high jump was also drained with the failing of the crimson light. He ran toward the gates, to where he knew them to be, and did not falter in his pace, did not slow for even one second. His feet pounded on the ground, his heart in his chest, as he ran toward something he knew he may not survive. The clouds parted in a spot directly over his destination, showering the dark and bleak landscape around the gates with bright sunlight. As he approached the gates to Hell, two pillars of fire shot up from the ground in front of him, creating impassible obelisks of burning air and blocking his path. "Damn it," he cursed under his breath. "What the hell do I have to do to get into Hell!?" [I]"You could start by dying, you foolish mortal," [/I] rang a voice from the pillars of fire. Instantly, the fire dissipated, leaving the figure of a man no larger than himself, dressed in jet-black robes and possessing long, yellowed nails on his right hand. Running up and down his right arm were arcane markings, seemingly carved into the flesh and glowing with a red light to reflect the color of the blood beneath. The man had horns on either side of his bare forehead, and his ears came to points at the top. His eyes were a milky-white color, giving the illusion of blindness. Two large, leathery wings sprouted from his back, torn and tattered, and flapped gently in the air keeping the man suspended off the ground. In his left hand he carried a black orb, which gleamed with an ominous light. "Did you think you could get into Hell alive?" "I do not need to live to exist." "So what I see before me is nothing more than a spectre, a mere shade of reality? And what of your weapon, spirit? Is it, too, an illusion?" "You have no right to call me a spectre, demon. You yourself are nothing more than a shadow of life, a crude attempt at the resurrection of a soul through Necromancy. You, demon, are nothing more than a reanimated corpse with a soul made from pure, dark magic. As for my spear, this is the only part of me that is truly incarnated in this realm. I am what was created when the soul in the spear tried to manifest itself in this world. I am only a spirit, yes, but I am more alive than you. This spear is my true body." The demon laughed, letting his feet graze the ground for a quick moment before he shot into the air. the sky turned black, and lightning dropped around Feth. "Demon! Where have you gotten to?" "You cannot kill what you cannot reach, spectre. You will soon see that it was better for you to have stayed in Hell!" The demon dove toward the ground, toward Feth, his lips drawn back and revealing his razor-like teeth. The orb he carried flew behind him, gleaming with a faint violet light, seemingly keeping the clouds from fading. The demon struck at Feth as he narrowly avoided its claws, jumping backward and pulling his spear from his back. It flew into the air again, this time staying in Feth's sight, and stopped for a second before diving toward him again. Feth struck at the demon with his spear, striking only thin air. Feth scowled, jumping from his position into the air while at the same time propelling himself forward. In the middle of his jump, he felt a sharp pain in his back. "A spectre you are, but yet I can still strike you down. Be you physical manifestation or dream, I can still kill you!" The demon cackled, throwing Feth to the ground and landing on his chest. He placed his knees on Feth's arms, preventing him from striking back, and began to strangle Feth. His nails dug into Feth's throat, spilling his blood on the ground. From the corner of his eye, Feth saw something silvery strike the black orb which hovered to the left of the demon. In the distance, flying just above the gates, Feth could barely make out a white winged figure- an angel, he perceived it to be. As soon as the black orb was struck, the clouds overhead broke, revealing the crimson light of the sunset. Feth smirked, disappearing into the air. The demon, both shocked and angered, shot to his feet. Feth pick up his spear from where it had dropped, rushing toward the demon and placing his spear between its feet. He thrust upward, throwing the demon into the sky and causing it to lose its balance. As it rose higher in to the sky, it could only flail about as Feth repeatedly stabbed it from every side, appearing out of thin air and rising ever higher. With each strike of his spear, the demon shot higher into the air. Finally, after several dozen strikes, Feth struck the demon in the chest with his spear, rocketing it downward. It hit the ground with such force that it created a valley where it landed. Feth landed lightly on the ground, and faded into invisibility, charging toward the gate to Hell and silently thanking the assistant who had helped him.[/SIZE][/COLOR][/CENTER][/FONT]

[FONT=Arial][COLOR=DarkRed][B][SIZE=3][CENTER]Chapter One: The Crimson[/SIZE] [/B] [SIZE=2]He looked up to the sky, which was now turning that all-too-familiar shade of crimson. "The perfect time for us to come out, isn't it Feth?" He cast a playful look to his right shoulder, where rested the head of his spear. "The crimson is our signal." He knelt close to the ground, scooping up a handful of dirt and slowly sifting it through his long fingers. As he stood, he lightly brushed his hand over his long, white robes, not hard enough to dirty them, but just hard enough to get the dirt off his hand. He leapt into the air, higher than any normal man, and rocketed toward his destination. He landed on the ground on his toes, his right handle knuckle-down in the dirt, and sprang into a sprint. He was but a blur in the slowly fading evening light, and he moved as a river - unerringly and smoothly. He suddenly came to an abrupt halt in the center of a small village. As though nothing were out of the ordinary, the villagers continued about their ordinary business, paying no heed to this new stranger to their lands. He smirked. "They cannot see us in the crimson, Feth." He brandished his long glaive, and leapt high into the air again. The wind swirled around him as he flew into the air, creating a sheer around him which kept him above the ground even if his jump should halt. He pointed his spear downward, toward the crown of a villager below, and dove head-first toward the ground. The villager looked up just as Feth glinted in the fading sunlight. The spear skewered him through the mouth, exiting through his bowels and dripping with his blood as it held its master above the ground. He grinned, maniacally, as his victim coughed and sputtered with his last breath before slumping to a heap on the end of Feth. Landing lightly on the ground, he threw the man off the end of Feth, watching as his limp body smashed against the side of a small house. The villagers entered into an uproar. Panic-stricken, they ran about screaming and flailing their arms as though they could keep away the spectre that had wrought this deed upon them. He smirked, admiring his handiwork, and shifted into invisibility, for, as the crimson light faded, so too did his image.[/CENTER][/SIZE][/COLOR][/FONT]

[B][I][SIZE=4][COLOR=RoyalBlue][FONT=Arial]Stream[/COLOR][/SIZE][/B] [SIZE=2][COLOR=DeepSkyBlue]Symphony of bitter petal paradise: luscious eternity together. And there you incubate, like delirious music; shine and remember, and speak not. Their languid hearts ricochet near to him. Ask always: "What sweet mouth said, 'beat like a stream'?"[/COLOR][/SIZE] [B][SIZE=4][COLOR=RoyalBlue]Ecstatic Winds[/COLOR][/SIZE][/B] [SIZE=2][COLOR=DeepSkyBlue]Sound of a river was a soaring goddess, powerfully sleeping with wicked rhythm; yet men flood machines and drool repulsive milk. You hear ecstatic winds murmur, "Down with the man who screams like wet dreams."[/FONT][/COLOR][/SIZE][/I]

[COLOR=DeepSkyBlue][SIZE=2][FONT=Arial][I]Cold,[/I] she thought. [I]So very cold...[/I] She whirled around. The ground was white all around her, and the air was frozen to the touch. She shivered against it, and could see her breath. Her bare flesh did not help at all; the flames in Hell were so hot that she did not need anything more than her flesh. But here, in the mortal realm, she would need something to cover herself. She stretched herself before walking on; though Mikhail had carried her from Hell to Earth, she felt as though she had made the entire trip herself. She shivered once again, and headed, aimlessly, into the winter night. As she came to a group of people, Lilith smirked. [I]Looks as though I can have myself a little snack,[/I] she thought to herself, kneeling close to the ground and listening to their conversation. [I]"In principio, creavit Deus caelum et terram. Terra autum errat inanis et vacua et tenebrae..."[/I] she heard a short man say. This man was wearing a brown robe and holding a book, apparently from which he was reading. Lilith hissed, covering her ears. "The Holy Scriptures! He is reading from the Bible!" She leaped into the air, landing on the priest's back and grabbing hold of his neck with her legs. She carried him into the air a short way, dropping him to his death and watching, cackling all the while, as his body hit the ground and slumped to a dead heap. Diving faster than the others could perceive, she tore through the gut of a man, spilling his crimson blood on the white snow. A woman that was cowering before her was beheaded by her sharp nails, and she lifted a small child that had tripped off the ground, gently setting him down before punching through his gut and ripping out his entrails. "Damn mortals," she hissed, viciously eating the throat of another man. "This will teach you to follow that fool God of yours!" As she cackled, blood flowing freely all around her, strange whispers floated on the winds around her. She ignored these whispers and flew off again, eager to find more humans to kill, and no longer affected by the cold.[/FONT][/SIZE][/COLOR]

[COLOR=DeepSkyBlue][SIZE=2][FONT=Arial][I][CENTER]Bobby James came home; He toted nothing, said nothing. Mother saw him and smiled: A sinister, sadistic curl of the lips. Bobby gave her a strange look. Mother owned a gun... Bang. Father had been out working; He heard not of this, saw not his son. Mother saw him and cooked: A delicious, satisfying meal. Father pulled something from his mouth. Mother disposed of them... Bones. One week passed; Father was worried, Mother was not. Father asked about his son: Questions that would seem normal. Mother picked at her fingers. Father looked into her eyes... Guilt. Father took her in; She was questioned, asked about Bobby. She told them nothing: Answers did not cross her lips. They went home that night. Mother got her gun... Bang. Another week passed; The neighbors came over for dinner. Mother greeted them and cooked: A delicious, satisfying meal. The neighbors thanked her for the meal. They handed her the plates... Fridge. The door swung open; Oddities beyond recognition were within. Mother tried to hide it: The ghastly scene of death. The neighbors turned her in. Mother paid dearly... Death. Their house was sold; Years passed, nothing happened. The family's son was born: Bobby James was his name. They lived peacefully. Nothing too strange... Kitchen. Bobby James came home; He toted nothing, said nothing. Mother saw him and smiled: A sinister, sadistic curl of the lips. Bobby gave her a strange look. Mother owned a gun... Bang.[/CENTER][/I][/FONT][/SIZE][/COLOR]

[COLOR=DeepSkyBlue][SIZE=2][FONT=Arial]Ok, Count, you are talking to Umbra. Of course he understands the meaning of the poem; he was merely giving constructive criticism. Anyway, this is a very good poem. I feel like this with some people... There is nothing I would really change; I would, though, take a look at Umbra's advice and try to follow it.[/FONT][/SIZE][/COLOR]

[CENTER][QUOTE]Demon of the Night. Demon of the Dream. Ancient demon, old like the time. Beautiful demon of divine form, with the body of the woman of twisted comings; in all of your beauty, all is lustful. You are the sin and you are the punishment. If a hell exists, you carry it with you.[/QUOTE][/CENTER] [CENTER][Quote=Webster's Dictionary]Lil·ith Pronunciation: 'li-l&th Function: noun Etymology: Late Hebrew lIlIth, from Hebrew, a female demon 1 : a female figure who in rabbinic legend is Adam's first wife, is supplanted by Eve, and becomes an evil spirit 2 : a famous witch in medieval demonology[/QUOTE][/CENTER] [COLOR=DeepSkyBlue][SIZE=2][FONT=Arial]She spread her wings, the leathery skin rippling in the cold, fiery breeze that stirred around her. "Sent into flame, born of imperfections. Lifeless, yet stirring; bloodless, yet bloodied. Weeping, yet remorseless; innocent, yet condemned," she hissed, licking her fangs and jumping into the dead sky above her. Her wings beat down on the air, sending shockwaves of anger throughout the pit to which she was condemned. Having spent almost her entire existence here, she despised Hell and everything in it. She stared down below her. Demons of every sort roamed about, casting their tortures upon whatever mortal soul happened to be near. She saw her brother, Incubus, and all of his spawns; and opposite he were her sister, Succubus, and all of her offspring. Many of the other angels that had fallen in the war were also there; one-third of the entire population of angels had fallen, and one-third of the entire population of angels had become the shameful abominations called demons. Though she had come to call all of these fallen angels her brethren, she despised them all. She had once had next to great: Eden, and all of its beauty. Now, she had no more than cold fire and the dead. She stopped her flight, landing on one of the only places in Hell without fiery columns rising upward forever into the dark abyss. [I]Samael,[/I] she thought.[I] I must speak with my lord.[/I] She called to the darkness ahead of her. "Samael, my lord: heed my calls. I must make with you an offer; a persuasion to which you must reply. Answer me, O Great Ruler of this Inferno!" The once grand Angel of Light appeared before her, his former glory still showing through in his eyes. His perfect face was so fragile; his eyes, soft; his hair as fair as any maiden's; but his robes and wings tattered. "I shall answer you but one request; make your choice carefully. Hereafter, be forbidden from my presence and from my answers; and that you ask again, my Wrath shall fall upon your shoulders and shall make you long for the cold fires. My daughter, Lilith, my most beauteous of all the Fallen Host, what seek you?" She bowed low before him, her leathery wings wrapping around her and following her bow. As she stood, he approached her, stroking her face and peering into her eyes. "My lord Satan, I ask from you but this one answer: would that you open the Abyss and allow me to the mortal realm, shall I be allowed to wreak havoc upon the mortal realm and reap?" Satan, taken aback, stepped away from her, looking her over before slightly shaking his head. "My daughter, Lilith, my most beauteous of the Fallen Host, you are yet too innocent: this answer I cannot provide; I cannot grant your request. My brother, Mikhail, the high Archangel of Heaven, could once do such things; however, his heart has grown cold to our kind and our kin. None are able to enter to that realm." And with these last words, the once grand Angel of Light disappeared into the black Abyss and left her standing. "Mikhail..." she repeated. "The Archangel Michael..."[/FONT][/SIZE][/COLOR]

[COLOR=DeepSkyBlue][SIZE=2][FONT=Arial]Though I may be new to the boards, and though you may not yet know of me, I, too, can give you advice on your writing. I prefer not to do it here; such a thing would be trivial and awkward for me. I prefer to give advice through messages. If you ever need anything, don't be afraid to come to Umbra or I for help. I am sure either of us would be more than happy to help you out. Take care, and good night. ~J'orgaan P.S. Don't forget to check out (when, of course, we get it posted) Umbra's and my story that we will be working on together. P.P.S. I knew what you meant, Umbra; I was saying that he could have left those adjectives out because he didn't want the character to seem too outrightly obvious. I do that sometimes; leaving out physical descriptions is not a bad thing, and it does add a hint of suspense.[/FONT][/SIZE][/COLOR]

[quote name='Umbra II']You are right, the stiry is good, but your charactors lack depth. Try describing them with adjetives on the outside that give you a glimps of their personlaities on the inside. Especially the samurai. He is your main charactor, after all.[/quote] [COLOR=DeepSkyBlue][SIZE=2][FONT=Arial]Actually, Umbra, he has something here: he either inadvertently chose to do this so that he could make the characters seem more mysterious, or he has forgotten to do it altogether! If that is the case, then you have a good point there. Either way, it was a nice piece. I am intrigued. If you continue to post, I will continue to come. Of course, I may require some warning as to when this is updated... I suppose I will merely subscribe to this thread and wait for an update... If one should happen to come. You are a good writer, mistakes aside. However, you may want to be a little more specific in your word choices and at least try to clean up the grammar and mechanics a bit to give it more of a fluid flow throughout the piece. As one writer to another, you can always improve, and I am sure that this can be developed into a very interesting story. Good job, kudos, and good luck if you are going to continue it. I will be here if you would like any help or anything. Give me a holler. Take care. ~J'orgaan Ellven'and, Weaver of Dreams[/FONT][/SIZE][/COLOR]

[COLOR=DeepSkyBlue][SIZE=2][FONT=Arial]They have another Fire Emblem game? I did not know this; [I]of this we were not aware.[/I] [I]Won't you expain to us what it is about;[/I] will you tell me what this one is about? I would like to know; [I]we would appreciate it if you could tell us about it[/I].[/FONT][/SIZE][/COLOR]

[CENTER][I][COLOR=DeepSkyBlue][SIZE=2][FONT=Arial]Demonio de la noche. Demonio del sueño. Demonio ancestral antiguo como el tiempo. Hermoso demonio de formas divinas, con cuerpo de mujer de andares sinuosos; todo en ti es belleza, todo es lujurioso. Eres el pecado y eres el castigo. Si existe un infierno lo llevas contigo. Demon of the night. Demon of the dream. Ancient demon, old like the time. Beautiful demon of divine form, with the body of the woman if twisted comings; in all of your beauty, all is lustful. You are the sin and you are the puishment. If a hell exists, you carry it with you. Démon de la nuit. Démon du rêve. Démon ancien vieux comme le temps. Beau démon de forme divine, avec le corps de la femme de venues tordues; dans toute votre beauté, tout est concupiscent. Vous êtes le péché et vous êtes la punition. Si un enfer existe vous il portez avec vous.[/FONT][/SIZE][/COLOR][/I][/CENTER]

[COLOR=DeepSkyBlue][SIZE=2][FONT=Arial]Perhaps my favorite would have to be the first. As they say, the first in a series is almost always the best. And for this, it holds true. That is to say, however, that you are not including the vastly popular FFXI for the computer and the PS2. I realize that this is an MMORPG and that it may not be included because of that fact that it can never truly be "beaten;" but, in essence, since the others are replayed so many times, is it safe to say that they can be beaten? For my choice, Final Fantasy for the Nintendo is definitely the greatest. And the remake for Playstation was just sublime. But, opting for a more open mind, Final Fantasy XI far outweighs any of the others, even the very playable (and replayable) Final Fantasy Tactics. ~J'orgaan Ellven'and P.S. Lord Dante, you are a clever one, referring to the Wizard's First Rule in your signature. Of course, I refer to the devotion said by the people in the People's Palace during Darken Rahl's rule. So, I assume we both like Terry Goodkind?[/FONT][/SIZE][/COLOR]

[I][CENTER][COLOR=RoyalBlue][SIZE=3][FONT=Arial]First Chapter: Up a Sensei, Down a Sensei[/FONT][/SIZE][/COLOR][/CENTER][/I] [COLOR=DeepSkyBlue][SIZE=2][FONT=Arial][I]That voice! That damn voice![/I] It still plagued him. The coldness of that dark figure's call to him, and the coldness of the death he had only barely escaped. His chest heaved, his heart pounded when he thought of how he was saved by something he could not even see, much less understand. It had spoken a foreign language to him, and though he was proficient in several, that one language was one with which he had no familiarity. [I]German,[/I] he thought.[I] It had to have been German.[/I] He stroked his chin, lost in thought, as he pondered what had happened that day, sweat trickling down his brow and his heart beating faster and faster. [I][CENTER]~~~ "Fool!" he shouted through clenched teeth. "You can't kill me this easily!" He charged for Einsamer, swinging at his torso with his sword. Einsamer dodged, skillfully, and he swung his sword again. This time when Einsamer dodged, he tripped and fell over the edge of the cliff upon which he stood. He just barely grabbed the edge of the cliff as he flew over it. Hanging on by only three fingers, he panicked and frantically tried to get a better grasp on the cliff's edge. He heard his sword clatter on rock as it fell from his side and skidded down the canyon walls. "And now, I will leave you here to die," his opponent cackled. "You dishonor our good name." Einsamer tried for what seemed an eternity to get a better hold of the cliff from which he hung, but to no avail. Suddenly, from the dark, a cold voice rang out. "Geben Sie mir Ihre Hand, Kind, wenn Sie wünschen, zu leben." Einsamer was shocked. Did he offer his hand to the cold voice, or did he fall to his death? "Befürchten Sie nicht; ich bin nicht, befürchtet zu werden." He somehow understood, though he had never heard the language before. Sticking his hand out, something unseen grabbed it and hoisted him up and over the ledge. Standing there, he saw nothing. "Who are you? Why are you here?" he called to the darkness. For a moment, nothing could be heard. Then, from the darkness, the cold voice rang out again. "Wer ich bin, ist nicht Ihre Angelegenheit; Sie müssen sich auf Überleben konzentrieren. Sie sind der Windstreikender." A sword appeared in front of him, floating in the air as though lifted by shaky hands. The sheath, carved from white ivory, bore the phrase, "Blatt vom Toten Himmel." The handle was wrapped in a red leather, and the sword seemed to be enshrouded in a dark energy. "Nehmen Sie dieses Schwert. Es wird Sie schützen, von was Sie sucht." Though he did not understand what the voice said, he knew what it meant. He reached for the sword, but it only floated away from him. He reached for it again, only to have it float away from him again. "I cannot take the sword," he called to the darkness. "I cannot grasp it." The darkness was silent for another moment. "Sie können es haben, wenn Sie bereit für es sind." The sword then dissipated into the air, leaving Einsamer standing there in the dark, alone and battered. "When will I be ready?" ~~~[/CENTER][/I] He shook the memory away, unfolding his legs and straightening his kimono. He untied the rope at his waist, tying a tighter knot and replacing his bamboo pole at his side. He had always thought himself a master of the sword; but, he had never even trained under a sensei. Thus was the reason he had lost his fight: he hadn't the skill to defeat his adversary. Now, he was training daily with a bamboo pole under the guidance of the best sensei he could find - a woman called Tatsumya Neigeyo. "Kampfer-san!" he heard his sensei call. Something about her tone, though, made him uneasy. "Coming, Neigeyo-sensei!" He stepped lightly, making no sound on the ground with his sandals. As he approached the door to the dojo, he gasped and dropped to a kneel, the end of his bamboo pole touching the floor. He wept there, in that position, for his fallen teacher. Tatsumya lay dead, her clothes torn from her body and her naked flesh stained with the red of her blood. A deep cut ran across her throat, nearly severing her head. Her hands were tied behind her back, and her legs spread wide; apparently, from the position in which she lay, she had been raped. A red bandana was tied around her neck, loosely, and looked as though it had been stuffed into her mouth but forced out. [I]At least she fought the bastard,[/I] Einsamer thought. [I]She didn't go without a fight. Just like her, fighting until the very last...[/I] Einsamer rose from his position on the floor, his eyes trailing once more over the body of his former sensei. "She would want me to continue my journey to learn the ways of the warrior," he said to himself as he turned and headed, solemnly, out the dojo.[/FONT][/SIZE][/COLOR] [CENTER][COLOR=RoyalBlue][I][SIZE=3][FONT=Arial]Second Chapter: The Test of the Wind Striker[/FONT][/SIZE][/I][/COLOR][/CENTER] [COLOR=DeepSkyBlue][SIZE=2][FONT=Arial]He had been walking for a week, alone and demoralized. Having lost his sensei, he was without guidance; and now, he had to train himself. He looked up, to the dark sky that now signaled the coming of winter in the countryside of Tokyo. A few snowflakes fell around him, and one landed and melted on his cheek. He could see his breath in the air, and he shivered against the biting cold. [I]Great,[/I] he thought. [I]The snow is going to freeze my feet.[/I] He drew his kimono closer to himself for warmth, adjusted his bamboo pole, and uneasily wriggled his toes in his sandals. He was reluctant to press on, but in order to survive, he would have to, with or without help. He started to run, trying to generate warmth by moving more of his body. [I]"Sie sind der Windstreikender,"[/I] the wind whispered into his ears. [I]"Der Windstreikender..."[/I] "Der Windstreikender," he repeated, stopping on his toes. "What the fuck is 'der Windstreikender'!? Care to give me a fucking clue!?" He picked up his run again, shaking his head and ridding himself of the nuisance that was the wind's voice. Suddenly, he stopped. Something made him halt his pace; a feeling in the pit of his stomach made him quit his run. He wheeled around, scanning the dark countryside for something, anything, that would have given him this feeling. A shadow stood near some trees, staring at him. As he stared back, it charged toward him. Its speed was startling, and it closed the distance between them in a heartbeat. With its katana raised, it struck at his torso, causing him to jump backward and draw his own weapon. Though it was merely a bamboo pole, he could still cause some pain. "Sie sind der Windstreikender," the man in front of him said. "Und jetzt werden Sie mich kämpfen, es zu beweisen." He charged toward Einsamer again, this time swinging the sword around his back and upward toward Einsamer's head. He ducked to avoid the blade, and brought his pole up, clubbing the man in the back of the head and knocking him over. He instantly shot to his feet, smirking and dashing toward Einsamer again. This time, he did not strike with his sword's blade, but instead caught Einsamer under the chin with the end of the handle, carrying him off his feet and throwing him back several yards. "Sie können mich nicht töten. Ich bin der Unterbrecher vom Wind!" the man cackled. A shiver ran down Einsamer's spine as he stood, slowly, a new power coursing through his veins and radiating from his body. He shot his head toward the man, his eyes blood-red and piercing. He spoke in the language of which he had no knowledge, unaware he was doing so. "Und ich bin der Windstreikender. Ich sterbe so leicht, Unterbrecher vom Wind nicht. Sie werden härter als das versuchen müssen, mich zu töten." He charged at the figure, bringing his left arm around the man's. He struck the man's hand with his right fist, breaking his fingers and causing him to drop his sword. Einsamer picked up the man's sword, pointing it at him and smirking. "Und jetzt sterben Sie." The man ducked behind Einsamer, pulling his head back by his hair and whispering into his ear. "Sie sind an dieser Prüfung vorbeigegangen. Aber Vorsicht: ich werde hinter sein, Sie später zu töten. Keiner kann den Unterbrecher vom Wind töten!" As soon as those words were said, the figure dissipated into the air, leaving his sword in Einsamer's hands. "Ficken Sie den Unterbrecher vom Wind," he said, reverting to his normal state and continuing his run into the darkness of the first night of winter.[/FONT][/SIZE][/COLOR] [I][FONT=Arial][SIZE=3][COLOR=RoyalBlue][CENTER]Third Chapter: Head and Heart[/CENTER][/COLOR][/SIZE][/I] [COLOR=DeepSkyBlue][SIZE=2] The sun was just rising on the horizon as he stepped into the city, full of the ancient architecture that was Kyoto. He had been wandering for almost a month, and was starving. He nearly collapsed as he neared the first building, a blacksmith's shop as far as he could tell. The sound of metal pounding on metal rang in his ears as he approached the door and rapped on the wooden frame gently with his knuckles. A burly man opened the sliding doors, standing a head taller than Einsamer. He had a strong and mean face; however, benevolence somehow showed through in his eyes. As he looked down upon Einsamer, he let out a low grunt. "What do you want?" "I have been travelling for a month and a week. My sensei has been killed and I have been looking for shelter and food. Won't you help me?" The blacksmith grunted again. "Come in. I'll get you something to eat." "Thank you sir." Einsamer entered the shop, marvelling at the swords all about, cluttered on the walls and on dissheveled racks all about him. He approached one rack, barely grazing a sword with the sleeve of his kimono. The rack instantly collapsed. The blacksmith shot him a dark look as Einsamer nervously smiled and tried to cover up what he had done. After he had feasted upon bread and rice, Einsamer stretched his weary limbs. "You may sleep in the corner there," the blacksmith said to him as he pointed to a mat on the floor. Einsamer nodded and went to the mat, lying down and sighing. "Do you need a sword?" the blacksmith asked, his voice softening slightly. Einsamer sat up, staring at him in surprise. "You are a samurai without a weapon, no?" He nodded. "Then let me forge you a sword. You need it to protect yourself and to train. I should have it finished by the evening. Rest now; you deserve it." Einsamer lay down, his eyes closing themselves. He drifted into sleep only moments later. [I][CENTER]~~~ "Tatsumya!" he shouted. "Where are you, Tatsumya?" Frantically, he searched for his sensei. "I am here, Kampfer-san." He spun around to meet the dead, cold eyes of his sensei. "Tatsumya..." She stood, naked and bloodied. Her head nearly fell backward as she stood, wobbling on her dead, bruised legs. "Kampfer-san," she said, coldly, "I am here." He stared in horror as she drew her sword and charged. ~~~[/CENTER][/I] "No!" he shouted as he awoke with a start. He looked around, but didn't see the blacksmith. From the open windows through which he could look, he saw that it had become dark while he slept. A sword lay by his side, apparently the sword that the blacksmith had forged for him. He picked it up, drawing it from its sheath and holding it in front of himself, admiring its craftmanship. He sheathed it again, and went outside. He fell to his knees as the smell of coppery blood filled his nostrils. He saw the source for the smell in front of himself as he stared in horror. The blacksmith's body lay severed from his head. The head had been impaled with a pike and stabbed into the ground. In the blacksmith's chest was a small dagger, pinning a note to his dead body. The note was scrawled in blood, and was written in a foreign language. He read, aloud, pronouncing the strange language as best he could. [I][CENTER]"Diejenigen, die dem Windstreikender helfen, müssen sterben."[/CENTER][/I] "What the fuck does this say!?" he shouted to the sky. "Why do they have to write in a foreign fucking language!?" He clenched his fist, punching the ground as hard as he could. The wind picked up as he stood, rage burning in his eyes. He headed to the north, where he had heard rumors of an evil coming to power. As he walked, he didn't notice the insignias scrawled over every building in the small town: that of a red serpent with a man's head clutching a bleeding heart.[/SIZE][/FONT][/COLOR] [SIZE=2][COLOR=DeepSkyBlue][FONT=Arial]Ooh... A filler... Too bad. I had to do this; I had nothing else to write. I am strapped for ideas right now... However, this does open the door for another encounter or something.[/FONT][/COLOR][/SIZE]

[COLOR=DarkRed][I][CENTER][FONT=Arial]This cold air, this lifeless breath, Which manifests from the newborn death And cuts the soul, slices flesh, But rends not this fragile frame. All through the hills screams a voice Of perilous danger, a hidden choice, That is enough to drive insane The untouched madman's feral soul. Cold and dreary flies it through Open meadows and sinewy yew And within he holds, without embrace, The scars which render his mind useless. The tears, dripping off his nose, Bring his memories to a bitter close, And he clings to forlorn rags, Bearing not a bearable sight. That which he holds so tightly Is stolen from him, nightly, As he lives that fateful night over again, Forever to drift, lifeless, on the Dead Breeze.[/FONT][/CENTER][/I][/COLOR]

[CENTER][SIZE=2][FONT=Arial]A cool, evening wind blew in from the north, sending Nhievh's hair into a flurry of activity as it mimcked the movements of the dancing breeze. He gripped his dagger, smelling human flesh on the wind, and ran in the direction from which it had come. [I]Sinners...[/I] he thought. He came to a small town. A few men, apparently in charge of the defense of the town and the safety of the townspeople, ran from house to house, checking the residents and ensuring that all was safe and secure. They were the first to go. Nhievh charged silently into the small town, unseen, and drew his dagger. Time slowed around him as he quickly cut through the four men that were outside in the open. They all fell at once, simultaneously spilling crimson blood onto the ground. He rasied his hands after placing his dagger back at his side, creating a triangle with his forefingers and thumbs. He chanted in a wispy language, sending smoky silhouettes of words into the air. As he finished his spell, a black dome encompassed the small town. All that could be heard was the deafening howl of the dead as all were brutally slaughtered by the spirits he had conjured. When the darkness lighted, all that was left of the small town was a bare plot of land. ~~~[/CENTER] Here is some info on Nhievh: [B] Age:[/B] 25 [B]Height:[/B] 5'11" [B]Weight: [/B] 120 [B]Appearance:[/B] Nhievh is a dark man, and as such wears only black leather straps which wrap around his entire body and cut off the blood that would flow if his damned heart still beat. His skin is pale and cold; his eye is a grey color. His hair is black and matted, and covers the left side of his face, hiding the missing eye which he had removed himself at the age of 10. Aside from his physical features, a cold wind constantly spreads outward from him, chilling all around him. [B]Past:[/B] Nhievh was kidnapped from his home at the age of five by a coven of witches who were tainted by Satan. He was forced to undertake the study of Necromancy, the magic of death, and was forced to undergo a ritual which permanantly tainted his soul and caused his mind to shift. At age ten, he was forced to remove his left eye and stitch shut the socket as a show of devotion to the dark arts. In doing so, he completed a ritual which completely infused him with the black magic known as Necromancy. At age fifteen, he went completely insane and murdered all but one witch. He never found that one witch, and now spends his life searching for answers to his questions and for some clue as to what exactly happened to that witch. [B]Present:[/B] Nhievh has searched for ten years, discovering only his own true potential and the extent of his magical prowess. He searches day and night, requiring no food, drink, or rest, for some sort of clue as to what he is and why he is. [B]Future:[/B] This RPG will continue in the fasion described above, with Nhievh searching for answers, killing gradually less people, and eventually finding the answers he seeks while slowly realizing that what he did was actually wrong and repenting for his own sins. Many adventures are to ensue before then, and I implore you to help me out on this one. I hope you are all interested in joining this RPG and help me to develop it into a full-fledged adventure! Remember to use the format above and do not be afraid to email me or PM me if you have any questions or comments.[/FONT][/SIZE]

[FONT=Arial][SIZE=2]Nhievh ran his hand over the leather straps that encompassed his entire body. "These sinners actually put up a fight today, Blood Singer," he said to the dagger at his side. "Perhaps it was because they wanted to repent..." He wheeled around, casting one last glance over all the bodies that now lay on the ground before him. He smirked to himself, recalling all the screams that had rung in the cool morning air that day, and licked his fingers, tasting the coppery blood that still dampened them. He lifted his black, matted hair away from his left eye socket long enough for it to feel the warm afternoon air. This socket, which was now stitched shut and empty, had once contained an eye with a beautiful light blue color; however, due to the witches that stole him from his home twenty years ago, he had to remove it and stitch it shut himself. He bent over, low to the ground, and ran, his arms trailing behind him, until he came to a serene spring in the center of the village. A priest lay on the far bank, his head split down the center and his intestines trailing out of his back from where Nhievh had relentlessly sliced him open. Nhievh cackled in his wispy, almost inaudible voice, and a flash of memory came to him. ~~~ "Why are you doing this!?" the priest yelled to him. "You are a sinner, Man of God. You deserve far worse than this. I am merely showing you mercy." "Don't do this! God still loves you!" Nhievh raised his dagger and gracefully brought his arms down, dissecting the priest's face in half. Though no blood fell from his head, Nhievh knew that he had successfully cut the priest's head open; however, the priest did not know this and started to run. As he showed his back to Nhievh, he raised his dagger again and sliced sideways this time, catching the priest in the back and spilling his blood on the ground. His intestines hung out of the gaping slash in his back, and he fell, his face landing only inches from the serene spring and his head splitting in two. "Fuck God," Nhievh said. "He is the one that caused those damn witches to take me from home. I hate him." ~~~ A scowl now on his face, Nhievh took to running the way he had been before he saw the short work he had made of the priest. Coming to a thick forest, he entered, hoping to find more sinners to cleanse.[/SIZE][/FONT]

[FONT=Century Gothic][SIZE=3]'Ello! I would love to join up and enter into your RPG. I think it would be fun. Ok, so first off... My character's name will be Nhievh. His nickname is the Death Singer, and he carries a dagger he affectionately refers to as "Blood Stinger". He is a dark man, with skin as pale as the moon's white glow and as cold as deep space. He wears only leather straps which encompass his body, and they are wrapped so tightly that the blood can never flow freely again. Not that it needs to. His right eye is stitched shut from his own self-mutilation, and his long, dark, matted hair hangs over the right side of his face. His abilities include summoning elementally aligned demons to help him, specifically those of fire and air. His wand gives him the ability to use Necromancy, and he can raise the dead and force them to serve him. He can also tap into his anger for random magical effects which he learns to master immediately after using them the first time. His dagger drains blood from his fallen victims, and uses it to rejuvinate him. His past is long and dark... It starts with him in a small village in the misty moors of Scotland. He was five at the time. A coven of witches destroyed his village, and, when they saw that he was still alive, took him in to teach him their dark craft. At age ten, he was forced to remove his own eye and to stitch shut the hole which it left behind. With this trial came his new tolerance to pain and his ability to recover from injury as quickly as a demon. When he was fifteen, he was sent to retrieve a scroll from an old wizard. The wizard made a comment against Necromancers, not knowing that Nhievh was one, and he was killed. More specifically, Nhievh plunged his hand into the wizard's chest, rupturing his heart and tearing out a lung. He brought both the scroll and the lung to the witches, and slept with the fool's head under his "pillow". When he turned twenty, Nhievh went insane and killed the witches, and took to wandering, slaughtering innocents he called Sinners and disposing of their bodies, but not without replacing one of his own body parts with one of theirs. He is now just a walking conglomeration of several different body parts taken from different people, and he kills without warning and without remorse. He is an immortal, and as such, cares not what happens to him. His personality is that of my own; he is uncaring what happens to him, an Anarchist of sorts, and he is so twisted that not even Hell scares him. Present story: Nhievh wanders in the present day moors of Scotland, killing all that ask him anything, even if they do not even ask but just look at him the wrong way. Apparently, he is taken from this and warped into the land in which this RPG takes place... If you choose to use him. I hope that you will choose to include me in this plan. And I hope, also, that you throw a challenge at us. Nhievh loves a challenge.[/SIZE][/FONT]