Doublehex

Okay, so I've got one hundred and fourty dollars for my birthday, and I have every plan on spending them on videogames, since I got none for both my birthday and Christmas. Take note I have GC, Xbox and PS2. My current game list can be found [URL=http://club.ign.com/b/list/custom?lid=100018&owner=Doublehex&mode=vown ][u]here[/u][/URL].[list] [*]Soul Calibur III [*]Dead Or Alive 3 [*]King of Fighters '02 and '03 [Xbox] [/list] Any other suggestions?

[[B][COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]Name [/FONT][/COLOR][/B][COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]Siegfried Zukaffachten[/FONT][/COLOR] [B][COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]Age [/FONT][/COLOR][/B][COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]28[/FONT][/COLOR] [B][COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]Nationality [/FONT][/COLOR][/B][COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]Germany[/FONT][/COLOR][COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana][/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [B][COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]Class [/FONT][/COLOR][/B][COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]TheBrutal Knight[/FONT][/COLOR] [B][COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]Weapon [/FONT][/COLOR][/B][COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana][[U][URL="http://img46.imageshack.us/img46/5365/sc3requiem2ad9.jpg"][COLOR=white]Zweihander[/COLOR][/URL][/U]][/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [B][COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]Appearance [/FONT][/COLOR][/B][COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana][[U][URL="http://img358.imageshack.us/img358/7197/sieg800og9.jpg"][COLOR=white]Siegfried preparing for battle[/COLOR][/URL][/U]][/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]A single stare at Siegfried is all anyone needs to know that he is, at his heart, a warrior. The first thing they undoubtedly notice the massive [U][URL="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/52/De-zweihaender.ogg"][COLOR=white]zweihander[/COLOR][/URL][/U] that he wields. The massive blade is taller than he, at a massive six and a half feet. The blade is rigid along its side, almost like a modern day chainsaw. If the sheer force of the blade doesn?t cut through you, the teeth certainly will.[/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]Siegfried?s blonde hair is long, trailing down to his shoulders. Its are not exactly what you would call neat, but its no where close to being something a beggar would be proud of. [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]His face is that of a man who has seen many hells; the biggest indication of that is a scar that trails down his left eye and ends at his cheek. His azure eyes also seem to show little kindness. [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]As for clothing, Siegfried tends to wear a [U][URL="http://img131.imageshack.us/img131/8008/concept40qe9.jpg"][COLOR=white]series of tabards[/COLOR][/URL][/U] from a variety of feudal lords and kings. His history as a mercenary is easily shown here.[/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [B][COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]Personality [/FONT][/COLOR][/B] [B][COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR][/B] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]To describe the way Siegfried acts is not exactly easy. He may have the physique of a giant, with his well built body and ferocious face, but he does have a kind heart most of the time. This can probably be attributed to the way his father treated him. But at the same time, Siegfried can be very uncaring and harsh almost instantly. He can be the kindest wandering swordsman in the world one minute, while the next he?s shouting curses.[/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]The way he acts like this is not known. He just seems to go the way the wind takes him; much like the way he goes off in whatever direction rumors of the Weapon point him to.[/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]The Weapon is his life. He will ignore any and all form of common sense if he feels that it will bring him to the Weapon.[/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [B][COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]Combat Tactics [/FONT][/COLOR][/B][COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana][/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]It is not very hard to describe Siegfried?s style of combat. In fact, it can be done in six words: ?Hit them, and hit them hard!? Head butts, slamming the butt end of his zweihander into enemies, high vertical swings; these are the most common of his maneuvers. He rarely fights to be kind; when he hits you, you are going to know it.[/FONT][/COLOR] [B][COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]Special Skills [/FONT][/COLOR][/B][COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana][/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]Despite the sheer weight of the zweihander, Siegfried is able to wield it with a massive amount of speed, strength and dexterity. [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [B][COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]Bio[/FONT][/COLOR][/B][COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]Siegfried was born into the life of a knight. His father was Fredrick Zukaffachten, a loyal knight of the Count Palantine of [/FONT][/COLOR][COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]Saxony[/FONT][/COLOR][COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]. Fredrick was the descendant of a family of knights who fought with valor and zeal during the Crusades, and thus, the Zukaffachten name had quite a good history behind it.[/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]As a boy, Siegfried was fascinated by the fairy tales of adventurous knights who would rescue damsels in distress, or would perform other heroic deeds. He would tell his father constantly how he wanted to be a knight on some grand adventure.[/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]Fredrick was known as the gentle knight by many, since he was constantly in support of the serfs. He wouldn?t fight any revolutions for them, however. He taught this manner of respect for all classes to his son.[/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]One day, father and son was called to the Crusade. This was the adventure that Siegfried had been waiting for! Now, he will fight the heretics, fight for God, and return a hero![/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]But it was not to be as his dreams would wish it.[/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]While he was out on patrol, he was overwhelmed and captured by a group of rogues. It was not expected; after all, his patrol route was mere miles from the war camp. No Muslim would of have been foolish enough to attack a knight so close![/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]But these weren?t Muslims at all. They were Rogues, neither Christian nor Muslim. They belonged to a Cult that worshipped Gods that no man will eve record. That night, they tortured Siegfried. The session, although mere minutes, seemed to go on for days and days. [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]They gave him a choice. Either sacrifice his soul to their God of Agony, or be fused with a demon, and be neither man nor monster. He will pave the way for the Road of Blood.[/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]Siegfried, in his delusional mind, chose the demon.[/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]When Siegfried returned, he was a madman. He was rambling countless heresies and pagan thoughts. He wasn?t himself at all. He wasn?t even human.[/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]For many months, he would stay at a monastery, being treated daily by the monks there. It would be many years before he was in a normal state, and by then, he was a rogue. He cared for no one but himself. He ran away from the monastery, his wondrous zweihander in hand, and created a group of rouges called the Blood Storm.[/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]For many months, the Blood Storm would raid and kill all they saw fit. None were safe! Villages, temples, all were prime targets.[/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]One day, they heard about a knight that was escorting a trove of treasures. ?We?ll be rich!?, Siegfried remarked. So, they attacked the party, killing everyone in their path.[/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]Siegfried was about to kill the last one, when he saw who it was.[/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]?Father??[/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]Full of shame, Siegfried ran from the group, taking out a dagger and cutting himself down the face.[/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana] [/FONT][/COLOR] [COLOR=white][FONT=Verdana]He became a wanderer, being with no man. He would die alone. He would not allow the beast within to control him anymore![/FONT][/COLOR]

1. Matt 2. 18/Male 3. USA 4. What areas of OtakuBoards you consider to be your strengths and weaknesses? (Choose one or two for both.) It?s somewhat obvious, but my biggest talent is the Arena and the Anthology. I?m semi infamous for going over the top when it comes to detail ? Citius Altius Fortius was 10 pages long in just its sign ups, after all. I?m mainly a writer, however; thus, I tend to post just as many stories as RPs. I still post them, even though not too many people tend to post comments about them. I guess I?m just sort of stubborn like that. My main weakness is definitely Art. I just cannot draw. Period. Stick figures make better poses than my poor attempts at realism. And I can?t do crap with Photoshop. 5. Name one member of OtakuBoards that you consider your friend here. RL or otherwise? xD I would have to go with Kitty. Her use of emoticons is genius, and she?s such a cool person. Whenever I need a pick me up, I just go IM her. 5 minutes later, and I?m as good as new. Seriously, psychologists should employ her for her awesomeness. 6. What one thing would you take with you to a deserted island? Probably best RL friend, RiflesAtRecess. He?s the type of person that can figure out how to make an awesome situation out of anything, even if we were all alone on an island in the middle of nowhere with no food except ourselves. 7. Why do you want to participate to OtakuBoards Survivor 4? I?ve always found Survivor intriguing, even though I think it has long gone past its run. I?ve day dreamed a million and a half possibilities of what would happen if by some wild chance I got into a Survivor game. RPing one is the next best thing! Also, there?s the fact that Otaku Survivor has a sort of history at OB, and as a RPer, I must make it my duty to get in!

[CENTER][IMG]http://img413.imageshack.us/img413/7919/poisignupsxk4.png[/IMG][/CENTER] Through the course of history, there have been tales of a weapon. It comes under many names; Liberator, Destruction, Blade That Carves History. These are just a few of its many personas. It comes under many forms. Some say it is a sword, while others believe that it is a parasite that adapts to the user?s dreams. They all different tales, but they are all true. Also through out history there have been those called the Seekers. Their backgrounds are just as abundant as their population. They share very few things in common, but one thing is true among them all: they all seek the legendary weapon. Seekers, and The Weapon, have shaped the course of history countless times. The Weapon has turned peace into war, and vice versa. Its powers are as versatile as the wishes of man. It is now the 15th Century. Seekers are once again searching for the Weapon, for whatever purpose. You are one of them. [CENTER][CENTER]*[/CENTER][/CENTER] [CENTER][CENTER] [/CENTER][/CENTER] This RP will be different from others in several ways. First off, there will be a pairing RPing system. Everyone will choose a partner (up to two) that they will be their main RP companions. Only three people can be grouped at a time ? if you want another person to join, and you have three already, someone will have to leave. This is so emphasis the theme of competition between everyone to find The Weapon. Secondly, there will be a specific order system. Each team will designate an order in which they will post in. This is so people aren?t rushed; they can take their time. That way, the RP won?t face an untimely death. Since this is 15th Century Earth, we are still in the middle ages. Kings still rule as Divine beings sent from God, the Church is all supreme, and Japan is full of samurais and geishas. Those who go against the powers will most likely face an untimely death. How you will have Asia and Europe meet each other is entirely up to you. Racism should be a major factor, however. I suggest you do some Wikipedia-ing to find out the society and rules of the time period. [CENTER][CENTER]*[/CENTER][/CENTER] [CENTER][CENTER] [/CENTER][/CENTER] [CENTER][CENTER][B]Sign Ups[/B][/CENTER][/CENTER] [CENTER][CENTER][/CENTER][/CENTER] [B]Name[/B] [B]Age[/B] [B]Nationality[/B] [B]Class [/B](Basically, a sort of title that is a bit of your character?s profession and fighting style. Example would be The Lone Knight) [B]Weapon [/B](What weapon you use) [B]Appearance [/B](You can use a picture, but EVERYONE must give a good two or three paragraphs) [B]Personality ([/B]Two paragraphs are a must) [B]Combat Tactics [/B](Explain how your characters acts in battle. Only a single paragraph is needed) [B]Special Skills [/B](Any ?over the top? techniques your character possesses) [B]Bio[/B] (This should be 500 words at the very least. VERY, VERY detailed)

[quote name='NIKI12345']Well I have been writing a book and I was wondering if anyone could help me make up characters names for my story. It?s an old time Japanese story so I need Japanese names. If you have meanings to those names please list. Thanks. :animesigh[/quote] Maybe you should tell us a bit about the characters first.

[INDENT]Hooray up for updates! Okay, I changed the Prologue a lot, so you can re-read it if you desire. It was mostly be just adding some detail on Kaname, as well as fixing some typos 'like lame and capitol'. Everyone, thanks for you feedback. Really, it helps me alot, and encourages me even more. So, continue with the criticism, good and bad! Well, with that out of the way, onto the first Chapter.[/INDENT] [RIGHT][RIGHT][B]Chapter One[/B][/RIGHT][/RIGHT] [RIGHT][RIGHT][B]A Frosted Day[/B][/RIGHT][/RIGHT] [RIGHT][RIGHT][/RIGHT][/RIGHT] Within the next two month, the month of the Dragon, all of Disbakao found that their Marajin?s suspicion was true. It was indeed a very cold season. The Country of the Flame, as its name suggested, was not known for having snow. That?s not to say it was barren ? on the contrary, a good portion of the landscape was made up of forests and lakes. But for some reason or another, the Country of the Flame just did [I]not[/I] get snow. So, as one would suspect, Disbakao was in a glorious celebration over the white particles. Children were outside, in as few or many clothes as they had, throwing snowballs at each others. Many shops were closed, and adults were taking part in the celebration one way or another. But there were those who did not have any part in it. It could be because in just a few days, those who were given graduation notices were to become hajin ranked shinobis, and they were getting ready for it. The notices were sent out a month prior, and the week following many clans and families were holding small parties for the graduates. It could also be because tomorrow would be the day that the graduates would be given their ?wasuka?. In the world of shinobi, nothing can be so well known, and yet, just as mysterious, as wasuka. Wasuka are, in the plainest terms, an item, where they would be a weapon or an ordinary item that housed a spirit which acted as a mentor, teacher, and friend to each shinobi. But the wasuka was much more than that. Wasuka was an extension of oneself; it reflected an individual?s philosophy, personalities and virtues. It was a physical representation of the usually secrets that are kept within a man?s heart. It evolved with the shinobi; it grew with them. As the shinobi became stronger, the wasuka would gain the ability to activate three additional stages, beyond its passive stage, the bakhan. The wasuka was the reason why Shinji Zukachi chose to, so typical of himself, stay in his apartment rather than enter the frosted realm. The boy was scared of his wasuka?of what his would be. He was scared because he had no idea what it could be, and the orange haired graduate was petrified of the unknown. He hated not knowing things, to be weak in one retrospect. To not know what item would represent him made him fearful. He wanted to know how people would view him when they first set their eyes on his wasuka. Would they think of him as the lover, the madman, the conqueror? Perhaps he could be the thief, the persuader, the warrior. He could be a million things. And he didn?t know a single one of them. With a sigh, Shinji rolled over off of his bed, and fell softly onto the floor. He went to pick up his jacket, a grayish-green variant with a hood, crumpled on the floor, as well as a black shirt. He slipped both on, as well as a pair of black pants and blue-yellow shoes. Shinji scratched the back of his pale neck before deciding to bring along a pack of the iconic shinobi knives, kunai. The blades of each kunai were shaped like a small arrow, with a rod extending from the blade, a ring merged at the end. It was a very versatile weapon; although commonly used for long distance strikes, they also served as a quick replacement for swords and other hand to hand weapons. When the citizens of Disbakao saw the pale skinned Shinji walking the streets, most ignored them. Not only was a foreigner, but one that purposely decided he was too good for them (or, at least that?s what they wanted to think). A few, however, started talking amongst themselves. ?That good for nothing brat, that?s what he is?, said Madame Suucho. She was the wife of the fruit merchant Kuruso, and was a well respected man at that. ?He keeps to himself, because he thinks he?s away from here. Look at how he walks! ?I am better?, that?s what it says!? ?You are right there, Suucho?, a man scrapping ice off from a window agreed. ?They?re all like that ? proud good for nothing ingrates, the lot of them. But that boy keeps away from both sides; immigrants and us!? They were outside a small bar, and its owner, Jutcho Kurase, was a well known spreader of tales. He was held in high regard within twenty blocks of his fine establishment; many believed his stories were true, if only because they were so well told. Everyone believed him to be a fine example of story tellers (him included!). Once Jutcho heard the two talking about Shinji, he decided it was time the story of the boy (as he declared) to be told. So, he gathered everyone that was in ear shots of him ? children, adults idle or buys, beggars, it didn?t matter ? into a circle, got a small crate to use as a seat, asked for a cup of sake, and began his tale. ?That boy you see?, he began in a hushed whisper, ?is Shinji Zukachi. He comes from some small city not too far from here. You could walk there in a couple of days if you were some normal folk. His parents weren?t no honest folk, though, like you fine ladies and men and myself! No, his father was in charge of a whore house, and his mother was one of them!? Disgusted whispers instantly rose from the crowd. ?I think we all know how that boy was born?, he said in a dark tone. ?The father slept with the bitch in a one night stand!? ?Dishonor!? ?What place does filth like that deserve being with us?? Jutcho hushed them down. ?For some reason ? maybe pity for the woman, or disgrace over himself ? the father married the mother. That boy was born on a clear sunny day, that?s the truth! But life with a bastard and a whore was anything but blessed. The woman was beaten just as much as Kuruso gathers fruit! The whore slept with men like I spread tales of truth! One day, the father did what was expected: he killed the mother in a gory display. Her death was so horrific, I will not tell it, in fear of dirtying the minds of the children here. But she died a gruesome death all the same!? ?Then how did the boy survive?? ?Why wouldn?t the father kill fruits of his lust?? ?What about the father?? ?I?m getting there!? Jutcho declared. ?Patience, everyone!? He tucked his tangled hair behind his ears. ?Now, the father was found by a wandering shinobi. He had just finished some business in the city. When he saw it, he killed the father, on sight! The bastard died a death that was barely fitting of him. It was quick, and to the point.? ?Should have made it slow, at least?, someone thought out loud. ?Feeling pity for the brat ? although why he would is beyond our common sense, I?m sure ? he took him back here, and declared he was a student of the Academy!? ?Should have left the boy in the house.? A few agreed with the commenter. It would be long after Jutcho had finished the tale when Shinji found his way to the Academy. The giant complex, the namesake of Disbakao, was the size of a small town. The doors were unlocked, but even then, it was as empty as a haunted castle. That was to be expected, considering the arrival of the mythical snow. Shinji shook the goose bumps off of his arm before he walked through the familiar halls. Even if they were eerily silent, they still felt like home. It wouldn?t be long before he found himself in the recreational section of the complex. It was in the exact center of the Academy; the brown buildings surrounding a small park with a lake in the middle. Shinji followed the frozen pathway to a small oak tree. Usually full of green leaves, now it was frozen. Biting his lip, Shinji created kounen around his fingertips. He kneeled on the ground, and moved his hands over the snow that was near the tree. The snow melted instantly. Satisfied, Shinji took his place on the now warm ground. He looked at the frozen lake, thinking about many things, for a long time. When he finally decided that it was time to go home, it was night time. [CENTER][CENTER]*[/CENTER][/CENTER] [CENTER][CENTER] [/CENTER][/CENTER] When Orochi, with his long, raven hair and his ghostly pale skin, woke up that same morning, it was already the afternoon. He had stayed up late, not doing or thinking much of anything. It would appear that he stayed long past his usual hours just for the sake of staying up late. Orochi?s clothes lay folded up on the floor. It was a gray robe, with no decorative touches minus purple linen on the end, and black shirt and pants. The shirt itself did not cover most of the body; it was sliced down the middle until halfway. As a result, unless Orochi decided to wear something beneath that shirt, one would see most of his torso. But Orochi almost never wore a shirt to cover his chest; this somewhat irritated his fellow Clan members, especially females. The shirt had long sleeves though; long enough that you couldn?t even see his fingers unless he lifted his arm. Orochi put on the clothes at a medium pace. He wasn?t one to rush at all, even if he was late. Well, he would rush just a little today. He began the day by visiting a grave. It was a typical grave, with it being a slab of rock rising from the ground, and a body length pile of dirt in front of it. The name of the person, as well as their birth date and the date they died, was inscribed on the grave. It was not a very fancy grave; it was modest, simple. Orochi had done it this way on purpose. He had cherished this person greatly; enough that he would actually talk to the grave not just stare at it and remember memories. He said many things, but the first was that he missed the person, and the last was he?ll come back soon. When he was done, he clutched onto his gray kimono and returned to the clan quarter of the Hebi. As Orochi walked the streets back to the Hebi Clan Hall, he noticed almost everyone staring at him. Shopkeepers, thieves, citizens, prostitutes, it didn?t matter: everyone was above a Hebi, especially one who did Orochi?s ?crime. Even if they hid it behind longer than usual collars, walls, or conveniently placed shoulders, he knew they were all showing hate at him. He wasn?t surprised, really; after the scandal a year ago, he returned abruptly and suddenly. No one expected him to come back, his own Clan included! They had listed him as ?lost son?. A few of them were grumbling amongst themselves. Orochi didn?t care; he had heard all of the stories before. Rapist, pervert, thief, murderer and assassin, he was all of these things. He didn?t really care; they weren?t real. Only his Clan, the Marajin, and a few select Instructors knew the truth. The others could gossip amongst themselves to their heart?s content. Back at the Clan Hall, Orochi encountered some very distant relatives. They were so distant, in fact, that one could claim they were related only because they were all part of the Hebi. They talked briefly, with them usually asking about how he felt about his wasuka. ?I get a wasuka one way or another. Me thinking, or talking, or worrying about it won?t make it come any faster. Being so worked up about it is rather stupid, don?t you think?? And like everything he said, he said those words with a small smile. So, they didn?t know if Orochi was criticizing them for bringing up the topic, or some other meaning. Orochi departed from the group, saying it was nice to see them again (although he was not sure if he had ever met them before in the first place), and went back to his room. He didn?t have much planed for the day, so he decided to just watch the snow fall onto the ground from his bedroom. Simple things like that, or watching it rain, or just tapping randomly on wood, calmed him. Once he thought about it, he remembered that his important person was always annoyed about that. It was stupid, that person thought, how Orochi could just watch the rain [I]all[/I] day and be satisfied. To that person, it was the most obnoxious and idiotic thing they had ever heard. When the person told him this, Orochi would just laugh it off, and tell the person appreciate simplicity. But not today. Instead, he decided to read a book. It would have satisfied that person. Even if that person is not alive, it would have satisfied them all the same. Orochi was by no means depressed over the death of his important person. Death is a stage of life. Its something that just happens. One can?t feel misery over something that is a natural development. To do so would be to already be dead. You can mourn, you can miss the person. But to destroy your whole life because just a single person died?that was sheer stupidity. So, Orochi read a book that day. [CENTER][CENTER]*[/CENTER][/CENTER] [CENTER][CENTER] [/CENTER][/CENTER] A boy stood half naked on the streets. His hair was dark, long and untidy; his bangs covered half of his face. His lips were blue, frozen over from the cold. His body was slowly turning blue. People who passed by him did their best not to look at the thing. He didn?t shiver. He wasn?t human. A snow flake landed in the boy?s open hand. The boy watched as it melted. Izumi Tensun closed his hand, crushing whatever water was caught in his palm. He stayed there for another minute before shrugging the snow off of his back and returning back to his apartment. He did not feel any pain. He wasn?t sure if he was human. He relished in that fact. If he was a monster, then his heart would be satisfied. [CENTER][CENTER]*[/CENTER][/CENTER] [CENTER][CENTER] [/CENTER][/CENTER] It was with long strides that Kaname went through the streets of Disbakao. It was late afternoon, and by now snow was cleared off of most of the streets. So, it was easy enough for Kaname, who was the foster daughter of the recognized shinobi Take Uzuki, to walk proudly. It was almost in the way that an arrogant monk would walk; it was the sort of ?I am better because of my background?, sort of walk. That didn?t exactly describe Kaname though. Did she feel that she had a sense of superiority because of the woman who raised her? Yes. But she didn?t feel like that alone made her better; it helped, but that wasn?t the only cause. She knew she was a beautiful woman, with her smooth skin, and her long, silky hair. Her body was the type men lusted after constantly. And she used that to her advantage. She loved to play with the feelings of teenage boys ? the way her shirt went up to her breasts, and then curved around her side, and dipped behind the shoulder blades. The way the silky gray pants were long on one side, and cut short on the side where intricate tattoos went down the side of side of her leg. And for some reason or another, they just couldn?t avoid notice how her long pant keg was cut at the ankle, so that it would flow behind her, along with her long sleeves. When her geta sandals clanked on the semi smooth ground, a few woman turned to her. They grunted in disgust at her suggestive attire. Kaname loved to piss of old people as well. Now that she thought about it, she loved to drive people crazy. If she acted like a boy, with her tough attitude, honor attaining men and respecting women were driven half way to insanity by her rudeness. She frequently talked in a suggestive way to a boy, just to make them think she wanted him. And the boy, probably scared half way to hell by his attractions, would ask her if she would like to go somewhere. Kaname loved the look on the boys? faces when she would tell the boy to fuck off. When they discovered that she was playing them for fools, it was absolutely [I]priceless.[/I] Now, Kaname didn?t try to think of herself as a bitch. She would rather put it as a past time that people did not necessarily understand or agree with. That, and she wanted to be different. Too many girls were so respectful these days. They would bend their ass over if some Lord asked them to. Kaname didn?t want to be a girl who did whatever she was told. She was going to follow her own path, society be damned! And today?s path involved her drinking lots of sake at some random bar. [CENTER][CENTER]*[/CENTER][/CENTER] [CENTER][CENTER] [/CENTER][/CENTER] As day turned into night, many went to bed with a child?s sense. Something as simple as snow, for one reason or another, made people seem so in touch with the child within. Perhaps it was [I]because[/I] snow was so simple, that people couldn?t help but have joy and gleefulness overwhelm their senses. On the other hand, others saw the unexpected snow was some sort of message from the heavens. Before, they didn?t know the Marajin seemed so intent on thinking that those graduating this year were going to do amazing things. But, after the snow fall, they began to believe him. Maybe the soon to be hajin were blessed by the Gods, in a sense. Maybe something marvelous was to happen, some great historical event perhaps. And these hajin would be at the front of it. Or maybe it was just people thinking too much.

[COLOR=BLACK]-Name: Matthew Camien -Age: 25 -Gender: Male -Nationality: American -Rank: Captain -Appearance: [URL=http://img483.imageshack.us/img483/851/ffximalexoraninorbbynekau0.jpg][U]Matt hanging around with a fellow pilot[/U][/URL] Matthew is of a mixed Irish/French/Italian/German descent. Its so varied that he dosen?t know the percentage anymore. Thus, its safe to say that he got his tanned skin from a lot of hours in the sun generated rooms. His scarlet red hair was dyed ? red is his favorite color, after all. He tinted it with brown and black to make it look natural, and the procedure worked. Most are surprised when he tells them his hair is naturally brown. His chin has a small scar creeping up it, a result from a fight he got in his teens. He usually boasts about it, joking he got it from a battle, even though the Crusade VII has not even seen any battles in its hundred or so years in operation. -Personality: To be a Captain, you would expect Matthew to have the following: dignity, respect, a clear head, respectful to his superiors, and a love for his countrymen. Matt doesn?t have any of these. He is one of the most laid back, womanizing, alcohol tolerant captains to ever grace the halls of the Crusade VII. If he isn?t drunk, he?s with a woman. If he?s not with a woman, he?s probably drunk. If he?s both drunk and with a woman, you can guess that he?s going to have sex. Matthew does have a sense of some dignity, however. He knows how important the Crusade VII is. He knows how its mission will affect the future of mankind. He knows that if the Crusade VII falls, humanity falls along with it. Thus, he does act serious when the need arises. Despite that, he loves to show off. He knows that he?s one of the better sharpshooters the Academy has trained, and he loves to boast. Not to the extent where he?s better than you, but to the point where he wants to get most of the action. -Chosen ?Knight? module/description: [URL=http://img240.imageshack.us/img240/5310/vayeateou2.jpg][U]The Hercules[/U][/URL] [Power] When they realized they were lacking in a mech that was capable of both long ranged and close ranged combat, the Hercules was put into development. Although something of a failure in the close range combat department (its only weapon is its rifle), the Hercules seceded expectations in its long range compatibility. A navy blue, the Hercules was built for battle. Its armor has four layers, an extra beyond the usual three. This is because it overheats quicker due to its oversized weapon; the fourth layer holds a cooling system larger and more expansive than the norm. -Berserk mode: Covered along its back are multiple ?ray discs?. These discs serve two purposes: to add to the firing power of the Hercules? weapon, as much as tripling it if pushed to the limit. The secondary purpose is to create a shield that absorbs any laser-based attacks that come its way. When entering the Berserk mode (which requires A level clearance), the Hercules? firepower is capable enough to destroy half of a small army?if the pilot is skilled enough and the Hercules doesn?t implode by then. -Special ability: Matt is a fighter. It?s as simple as that: he loves the feeling of kicking somebody?s behind. He loves the feeling of blood dripping down his face. It gives him a purpose; a reason to go on. As a result, Matt has what you could call a sixth sense ? he knows when somebody is itching for a fight, and he can sometimes see an enemy?s future moves. It would be better to say he?s better at staying a step ahead than the average man. -Weapons: Matthew finds him in more fights than an asteroid encounters space dust. Thus, he has learned not to rely on conventional weapons, like guns or knives that can break or shatter. If you want to really win a fight, you?ve got to use what God has given you. In short, Matt uses his fists. Matt?s fighting style can easily be compared to how he invites women to his bed: short, sweet, and to the point. He doesn?t go for fancy moves, agile maneuvers, or chivalry. He kicks peoples in the balls if he feels like it, he head butts them if he?s in the mood. It?s the type of style a thug would use. But it works. -Bio/Snippet: [The gray nicotine smoke filled the bar. The dark, deep drunken voice of the patrons echoed off of the steel wall. The Crusade VII may have been a military cruiser, but its bars still looked like bars; dirty, smelly, and full of drunken soldiers on their breaks. A soldier named Matthew Camien was in the center of it all. He loved bars; they were the most freedom soldiers ever got. In their halls, there were rules. In their quarters, there were rules. When they were shitting in the bathroom, there were rules. In the bars, there were no rules. Just drink, get drunk, and drink some more! Matt puffed lightly on a cigarette. Then he drank some beer. Then he puffed the cigarette again, letting out a large fume this time. He was shirtless; he felt too damn hot to be in uniform in a bar. Beside him was one of the hottest girls he had ever met. She was just in a tank top and a long skirt. Her brown hair made her sexy. Her eyes made her pretty. Her lips made her lustful. Her boobs made her his. They talked for a long time, Matt pulling off all the pretty words a professional screwer pulled. He told her she had the cutest eyes; he told her hair looked might fine this evening, or whatever the hell it was. He asked her where she got her exercise from. It wasn?t long before she asked if they could go to a room. Matt liked his lips before he told her yes. [/COLOR]

I just want to say that after reading the Sign-Ups, I will defenetley(sp?) be posting. This has 'Homeworld', one of my favorite PC Real Time Strategy Games, written all over it.

[RIGHT][B]Prologue[/B][/RIGHT] As the Marajin stared out the window of his private chambers, he began to believe that the Country of the Flame would be going through a very cold season. From the crack in the window, a chilly breeze flew in, confirming his suspicions (as well as blowing some of his hair in front of his face). Annoyed, he forced the gray strands back into shape. As he stared into the evening sky, the Marajin began to think. In the world that was called the Rising Sun, there are seven countries that are world powers. These seven countries control the world; no other country matters, for they are weak and the Seven are supreme. The seven countries are Flame, Earth, Storm, Wave, Frost, Thunder and Wolf. Each country, a member of the Seven or otherwise, was ruled by a Feudal Lord, and he could have as many advisors as a thousand, or just one. Each country chose to, for the sake of power, fund and control a shinobi academy. Each academy (which was essential a city, and thus, considered one) was ruled by a Jin, who was a politically influential as any advisor. Sakurai was the Marajin of Disbakao, the Academy the Flame funded. As a result, he had many responsibilities on his shoulders. The most bothersome one was, despite his old age of sixty seven, he was expected to travel thousands of miles every year to the capital to celebrate a great festival. Fortunately, it was the month of the Horse, and the said festival would not occur for another three months, in the month of the Sheep. When this thought came to his mind, the Marajin sighed. He hated traveling greatly, but he hated the festivals even more. Disbakao, even though it was a city [I]and[/I] an academy of shinobis, was very peaceful. Any time throughout the day, wherever you were, you could see birds chirping, or the swaying of cherry blossom trees in the spring. The festival, on the other hand, was louder than a thousand dragon cannons firing at once. Children squealing like hundreds of pigs destined for the butchers; men whooping like a bunch of hill men after a barbaric feast, and woman moving from one side of the city to the next, their getas not unified in the parade of clanking wood. It?s a horrid experience for an old man like the Marajin who only wants peace and the true laughter of children. That, and a good bottle of sake to calm the nerves. When the word sake came across the Marajin?s mind, his thoughts returned to the topic of responsibilities he had to face. The laws decreed that he was allowed only one bottle of the beloved drink every night. This by itself was not a problem, since normally he drank just a small glass every few weeks. However, at times of great annoyance, such as him reviewing students who wish to graduate the school, his wish for more than a bottle was very troublesome indeed. Remembering his duties, and how anxious he was as a student about the reviewing process, he closed the doors behind him. He lightly, and soberly, picked up the white tokkuri bottle of sake, and poured himself a glass in his ochoko cup. Restraining himself, he took a sip of the beloved drink, and put it back down on his desk before reviewing another pile of students. It had been two weeks since the final year?s classes had ceased and the reviewing process began. That class had six hundred and two students; six hundred and two souls who have been training for the past ten or nine years. The reasoning behind each student was different; why they all wished to be shinobis were not the same. What they hoped to achieve by being a shinobi was different from each other. But the one thing they all shared was they wanted to be a shinobi. And that dream could be fulfilled, or destroyed, by a single pen stroke. The Marajin licked his finger and pulled four sheets from a stack. He neatly placed them across his desk. The specimens were: Shinji Zukachi, Izumi Tensun, Kaname Uzuki, and Orochi Hebi. Of the four, the Marajin was most familiar with Orcohi, since both were from the same Clan. Detested by the majority of Disbakao, the Hebi clan was infamous for having the blood of the snake god, Susanoo. That, and a Hebi?s ability to stretch their body parts beyond what one could be considered human, and you had what some paranoid fools would call demons donning human flesh. In fact, it was a wonder that Sakurai managed to become a Marajin at all, considering his racial history. But to recall the series of events that brought him to where he was now would take a whole night, and he had a job to do. The Marajin began to think about Orochi some more. It was very common for a Hebi to leave the Academy, or kill themselves out of the sheer amount of inner torture they go through just by breathing. And yet, to come so far, to fight against such an overwhelming force of prejudice, and not show any sign of depression, this Orochi had to be a psychologically strong individual. The Marajin didn?t have to read any document to realize that. But a strong shield against racism alone did not make a suitable shinobi. Taking another sip of sake, the Marajin took a look at Orochi. Everything about the young man seemed to fall into what one would call normal until the Marajin noticed the man was missing for an [I]entire[/I] year. Of course, he knew about the scandal; there wasn?t a soul in Disbakao who had at least a slither of the truth (or at least as much truth as was left after all the rumors and gossips). But the only ones who knew the whole truth was the Hebi Clan, himself, and a few of the instructors. Everything else was well told lies, if well told at all. But after his return, Orochi returned to become one of the better students Disbakao had to offer. Not exactly a genius, but he certainly showed skills and intelligence that was above the norm. There were a few other problems, however. One was that he was hard to deal with. The Marajin knew that Orochi was one to cooperate easily with others. The problem was that others had trouble dealing with him; if it weren?t for the rumors, it was his smile. Orochi had what some called a smile of a snake; in almost every situation, he smiled. When angered, he smiled. When insulting, he had a smile. When complimenting, he had a smile. No one knew what his true emotions on anything were. The Marajin didn?t know what to do with Orochi. He had excellent marks, worked well in a team (even if a team didn?t work well with him), and the Marajin had little doubt he would be one of the greater students to graduate from this year. But if a team can?t work with Orochi, then its just as bad if Orochi wasn?t a team player to begin with. With a sigh, the Marajin gave his signature, and pushed him to the succeed pile. He began to wonder if he was being to kind in his old age. Maybe he was just desperate for the Lord to get off his back for not having enough amazing shinobis graduate out of the doors of Disbakao. Then he set eyes on Kaname Uzuki. A very special girl indeed; just by the fact that she specialized in taijutsu (martial arts), one could get a feeling she exhibited ?special? personality traits. If you actually met the woman, your suspicions would be a definite yes. Having been raised by one of the more famous shinobis, Tae Uzuki, Kaname developed quite an over superiority complex. She was also quite the tomboy, acting, moving and talking just as foul (if not worse) than a sake loving grunt. But her skills were extraordinary; she failed in tactics, espionage, and the other quiet traits one would expect, but give her an enemy that needed every bone in their body reduced to dust, and no one would qualify best for the job than her. Well, no one except the next ranked shinobi, but among her classmates, she was an excellent hand to hand to fighter. But the Marajin didn?t know everything about the girl. He set his eyes on the notes her Instructors had written. Most of them were minor, such as she was quick to sleep in class, or was more likely to doodle than take notes. The Instructors were very picky these days. At least they weren?t quick to slap a student like the Marajin?s Instructors were thirty or so years ago. There was a note, however, that caused the Marajin some worry. ?Kaname is very loud, and almost uncaring in the classroom. On the training field, she was constantly trying to do better than her team mates. Her teams would fail most of the tests as a result.? What was he to do? Kaname was a rarity among taijutsu users, but if she can?t work with others, she might as well be an idiot among her pupils. But what if she could learn? Her foster mother was in a similar boat when she was Kaname?s age. And her sensei knocked a few sense into the shinobi. Kaname, under the right teacher, would definitely learn the meaning of the word team. Biting his lip (he had made mistakes before), the Marajin gave his signature. He placed the approved student with the others. With an uneasy eye, he took a glance at the next pupil: Izumi Tensun. Izumi was, in the most plain, inaccurate, bare, and few words as possible, a monster. More accurately, he was a psychopath. He originally came from the Country of the Storm, and was the subject of a few questionable events. These ?events? eventually reached the breaking point where he was ordered to be assassinated. He survived all of the assassinations. When Marajin first heard about this from the Strojin, the Jin of the Academy of Storm, Suvakao, the Hebi could not believe his ears. How could a mere boy survive those attacks? Especially from tajins, who are squad leaders of each choujin team? These were shinobis that were one rank below of a Jin, and thus, are the second strongest shinobis in each country. And a boy, a mere seven year old, killed the ones sent for him? Each and every time? At that meeting four years ago, the Marajin believed it was a sickening joke. But then, he looked into the eyes of that dark eyed boy. He didn?t see someone who was human; he saw a monster. The Marajin at once knew it was a true. Knowing that the boy had a better chance of surviving psychologically in Disbakao then in the world of assassins that was Suvakao, he agreed to buy the poor child. A master of earth based ninjutsu (shinobi magic), Izumi quickly became a noticeable icon of Disbakao. But it wasn?t because of his genius skills. It was because they saw him as a monster just waiting to be released, and unfortunately, the Marajin had to agree with him. He wanted to say they were wrong, that deep down Izumi had a soul; he had ambitions, dreams, he had a heart. But even he couldn?t deny Izumi?s way of the ninja: [I]?I live to see my enemies dead. I confirm my existence as a being of flesh and blood by killing those stronger than me.?[/I] Izumi was a psychopath in every sense of the word. But he could not be disposed of; as a boy, he was powerful enough to kill tajins, but if only because his ?powers? were not easily controlled by will, but by emotion. No child can control their emotions easily; thus, Izumi?s power was uncontrollable. And when fear over rules reason, when power is calculated by that overwhelming fear, it is easy enough to understand how the boy survived. The Marajin bit sharply on his thumb; should the boy pass? He certainly has the skills of a shinobi, but, his mentality is almost non existent. That horrible existence set the path for him to become a monster. And even though he has been able to control his emotions, and thus, to an extent, his powers, can Izumi be trusted with others? Should he be isolated, where he can?t harm anyone? Or will being with people, with having to rely on people (no matter how remotely), will that resurrect his soul? The Marajin contemplated the possibility. It was a slim chance at best. The possibility of the inhuman Izumi actually becoming a being with a heart was barely even calculable. It was hard to see how a man whose eyes along give the appearance of a demon, could find the mutilated remains of a spirit within himself. But if he had that chance, even if it was a slither of a chance, should Izumi be granted it? Or should the greater possibility of Izumi, in some brutal rampage fueled by his bloodlust, killing his team mates take the greater priority? The Marajin with his hands folded below his chin, would stare at the document for a long time. Many beliefs, theories and wishes came into his mind as a result. He didn?t know when it happened, but he eventually gave his signature. With his best wishes, he tenderly placed the document with the other accepted students. He glanced at it for one last time before setting his eyes on the next student: Shinji Zukachi. Of the four students that he had randomly grabbed, Shinji was the only one the Marajin would have to rely entirely on the document for any information. The first thing that the old wise man noticed was the boy?s hair: it was a deep orange. In the Land of the Rising Sun, the vast majority of hair was a deep black, and eyes were brown. Other hair colors, such as blonde and brown, were seen, but they were rarities. Already, this Shinji Zukachi had gotten the Marajin?s attention. With a small bit of excitement, the Marajin began to read the background on him. ?Born and raised up to his fifth birthday in an unstated city outside of Disbakao?. After reading that statement, the Marajin paused to consider the complexity of the statement. Disbakao, despite the propaganda of being the Academy of shinobis of honor and dignity, was an elitist city. Those who were citizens of Disbakao, even if they were not shinobis or related to any, considered themselves better than any outsider, a countrymen of the Flame or otherwise. Those who moved into the city, no matter how old or young they were, were looked on as if they were a bug. When the Marajin read ?Isolated?alone, rarely seen with others. Not seen with citizens of Disbakao [I]or[/I] immigrants?, he was not surprised in the least. Anyone who moved into Disbakao would have to form a community with other immigrants. They had no chance being with a true citizen of Disbakao. But Shinji, he isolated himself from both classes. The Marajin never heard of anyone do that. He read on. The document stated that the boy specialized in Fyuujin-Ru style of fire based taijutsu. It was the iconic taijutsu style of Disbakao, a combination of multiple, somewhat over dramatic punches, and, obviously enough, fire. The user forces their chi to form into fire, or more specifically, kounen (chi created fire), around their hands. Using this, the kounen can become an extended part of the hand, as it were. On top of the burnt damage the target will receive, he also has to deal with the Fyuujin-Ru?s extended range. But just because it was the icon of Disbakao did not mean the Fyuujin-Ru was easily mastered. If you counted the estimated twenty thousand students that entered the Disbakao Academy over a one hundred year period, only six hundred applied just for the class. Of that six hundred, three hundred survived their training without lighting themselves on fire. Of that three hundred, only eighty graduated. It is a style used for those who don?t give a damn about their lives. They risk endangering in just lighting a spark for a candle. To control the kounen, one must have massive chi control as a prime quality. One cannot minor in chi consumption and specialize in Fyuujin-Ru. The two go hand in hand. The training of Fyuujin-Ru was a team effort ? every student was usually paired, usually to compensate each other. This way, they would teach each other what they lack. But Shinji, he isolated himself. The document said he formed no relationships with anyone. It stated he trained by himself. The Marajin read on, expecting to find that Shinji considered him superior to everyone, that he was too proud to train with everyone. ?Why should I train with you?? That was a line he was expecting this Shinji Zukachi to say. But the document proved him wrong. It said that his parents ?left the world? around his fifth birthday. That was when the pieces began to fall into place. The Marajin had seen a few other Shinji?s before; the Loner, the one who lost everything long ago, and would rather walk alone, die alone, than risk facing that pain again. The Marajin laughed. He laughed so loud that he was afraid he was going to wake everyone up in the vicinity. If Shinji wanted to be alone, the Marajin was going to make him be with people. Without even looking at his marks, since to be a Fyuujin-Ru user and be alive this long usually meant you were graded with good marks, he gave his signature and placed the document with the other passed students. ?That?s enough for now?, the Marajin decided. Getting up, placing his quills back in their draw, along with the inkwells, he went for his bed. He had a feeling this was going to be a [I]very[/I] good year. And his assumptions were rarely wrong. [INDENT]As you can guess, this novel was inspired by Naruto. You can spot a few similarities, I'm sure. But if Kenzoku is similar to Naruto, it would be in the same way The Sword of Shanarra is similiar to The Lord of the Rings. Please tell me what you think, with both positive, and negative feedback. Thanks. [/INDENT]

Okay, I have a few things to say, and I'd be damned if I'm not gonna say them. First off, notice that beyond all the M ratings, the people who care about their posts' quality do [I]not[/I] curse every other line. They swear, but its not nearly as much as you make it seem. The ones who do it on a whim, that see it as a way to pass the time, they are the ones that probably curse so frequently. I may be wrong in assuming so, but that's just the way I see it. I don't see how the board should have to suffer for the ill of a few. I also don't see why the board doesn't respond to the inappropriate behavior in a manner that doesn't involve changing the Arena so drastically. Instead of just ignoring it, I say we, as a community of roleplayers, put our arms around the lesser expiernced roleplayers in a warm gesture, and suggest that they lessen the cursing. If they feel that this is what the pros, the people who know what they are doing, and they are being considerate and friendly in the way they state their opinion, I'm pretty sure the new comers will change. Think of it like this: when a new couple moves into the neighborhood, what are you expected to do? Ignore them, pretend they never existed? Isolate them? No, you get them a "Welcome" gift, greet them into the neighborhood. Same philosophy here. Give the new comers a reason to improve. Another thing I noticed (again, I might be wrong here), is that you seem to imply that those that RP are immature, that they need someone to wipe their butts for them. I don't know about you, but I, and a ton of other people, can control the speech of our characters. We know when to swear; we know when we shouldn't. And as for the kids that frequent the boards, I say that we just tell them that its time to brighten up. We should be kind, of course, but if we need to, we should start to be harsh. There are ways to act, online and offline, and censoring will do that no good. By censoring swears, you are harming the kids. They will not learn; they will keep on swearing, even if its all *** and ****. But if we actually talk to them, they will learn; they will mature. They will become better people for it.

[quote name='lostvoice']And the curseing? What would happen to that? It would stay the same. The poeple on the thread have good ideas for decreasing profane language.[/quote] To be honest, there isn't that much swearing to begin with. Now, I'm just referring to my RPs (and I have made quite a few), but you rarely see the F or S word. It happens, but its not too frequent. You do see a much higher usage of the A word and the D word, but they aren't nearly as offensive as others. Now, will swearing go down by having a Teen rating? Probably not. But will the Arena become more organized? That is a much higher probability.

Personally, I think the ratings need to be revamped. The M threads seem to be more along the lines of something I'd see in a T rated videogame. The reason for this is probably because the only thing below it is PG, and that is something that is not even close to being for teens. PG and G is for kids, whereas M is teen and adult. Since most of the RPers and writers write for teen and adult audiences, thats what they go for. If you really want to change things, start with the rating. Replace PG with T or PG-13. You'll definatley see a decrease in M rated threads.

Yes, but we sort of need everyone to participate in the first place (BK, Kitty, KW, Lionheart, Engel, Tekka...) to even get moving a day. Come on people, let's do this thing already!

[color=royalblue]Alex licked his lips nervously as he allowed his right hand to slide along the flat side of the Longsword, his blue eyes staring into the brown orbs of the Lazarus clone. The doppelganger had the appearance of Lazarus, but it still lacked the dark persona of the black mage. Its eyes did not glow with the aura of command that the true Lazarus had. This was [i]not[/i] Lazarus. It had the looks, it may even have the same voice, but it was not Lazarus. As long as Alex knew that, he could beat the thing. The doppelganger brought to its hand seven black cards, the black side covering its true intent. Showing no change in emotion (not to say the mutant had any to begin with), it tossed the six cards upwards. The gambling cards radiated with red chaotic energy as they began to circle the imposter. In a single moment, the cards stopped, and showed their insignia to Alex. Alex did not know what the symbols by themselves represented, but he knew what was happening as a dozen or so roots sprouted from the platform, and wrapped around him. In mere moments, he was unable to move even a muscle. Two of the cards returned to the deck. Five cards began to shine greater than the others, and in a few moments, Alex saw the reason as to why. A blade materialized in the middle of the incomplete circle of hovering cards. The remaining cards returned to their deck. The sword slowly came into the doppelganger?s grip. The imposter looked at it as if it had something to say, and nodded in agreement as if the blade truly did say something. It stared at Alex with eyes showing the lust of murder. It grinned as if it had already won. In a way, it was right. Alex was already hard at work, trying to break free, when the mutation charged at him. He broke his arm free of the roots at the very moment the blade plunged into it. Alex winced at pain. The doppelganger saw its chance, and it tore the blade from Alex?s arm. It swung upwards, certain that victory was in its grasp. Alex grinned in victory. Alex tore his left arm, his sword arm, free from the roots, and swung it in an irregular fashion into the stomach of the doppelganger. It had fallen into the trap. Alex would take an arm over a stomach any day; the stomach was home to hundreds of acids that decomposed food. When the acid was released, it burnt the body from the inside. Already the doppelganger was falling to its knees, the inhuman eyes showing immeasurable pain. Alex charged. He won. [/color]

[font=courier new]December 17, 2036 Thirty-six minutes after two Andrew rubbed his hands as he fastened his Boston Red Sox baseball cap on his head. It was a few days before Christmas, and as would be expected, all of Boston was in lights. Multi-colored ornaments could be found on almost every street building, and the white snow added a sense of majesty to the season. Andrew was in a dark brown sweatshirt, the hood pulled over his face. You could barely see his dark brown (almost black) hair. His sleeves were rolled up to cover most of his semi-pale skin. He had a raspy voice today; he did not have the best night trying to finish some assignments for Journalism at the very last minute. He adjusted his sunglasses, and took a turn into a pawn shop. It was mostly on a whim ? after all of the Christmas shopping that he had been doing, he surprisingly enough had a few hundred dollars to spare. He never was one to save his money; the moment he?d get fifty dollars, he was quick to buy a video game, an anime, or a movie. A bell rang as he entered the shop. The pawn shop was by no means a dusty, dark back alley home of underground dealers. It looked more like a supermarket than anything, minus the fact that it was the size of half an aisle. Pretty much everything (legal) you could think of was seated along the shelves. ?Anything I can do for you?? ?Just looking.? The man raised an eyebrow. Another one freaked out his voice. Andrew cursed in his mind before he started to browse. It was in a few minutes that Andrew found something that interested him; a black note-book with a winged skull printed on it. The words ?Death Note? was scribbled in capital letters. Some Japanese letters were printed beneath the title. Andrew flipped to the back cover of the notebook, given the impression that it was a novel. Nothing. Andrew checked the inside cover. Nothing. Andrew flipped through the pages. The flaps must of have been lost, he reasoned. It?s happened frequently enough. Nothing but empty, lined pages. ?It would make a cool notebook?, Andrew decided. He brought it up to the cashier. ?That?s been here for a while. A few years, I think.? ?Why didn?t you throw it out?? The man gave him a weird look. Andrew sighed, and repeated himself, slowing down his speech. ?Oh. I really don?t know to be honest.? ?How much you want for this?? He said ten dollars. Andrew handed him the amount and walked out of the store, the ?death note? in hand. [center]* * *[/center] It was around ten when Chernobog decided to visit him. Now obviously, he wouldn?t allow Andrew to actually see him. It wasn?t in his nature. But he did allow the rules to appear in the inside cover of the death note. Andrew was scrawling some notes from the computer screen for a journalism project when he noticed something. The notebook got heavier. Andrew shook the notebook lightly, trying to see if something got caught in it ? a loose pen perhaps. That was when he first saw the rules. [center]1. The human whose name is written in this note shall die. 2. This note will not take effect unless the writer has the subject's face in their mind when writing his/her name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will not be affected. 3. If the cause of death is written within 40 seconds of writing the subject's name, it will happen. 4. If the cause of death is not specified, the subject will simply die of a heart attack. 5. After writing the cause of death, the details of the death should be written in the next 6 minutes and 40 seconds.[/center] ?What the hell?? And then Chernabog snickered lightly. [i]Let?s get started[/i].[/font]

[FONT=courier new][b]Name of your character[/b]: Anthony Camien [b]Age[/b]: 19 [b]Gender[/b]: Male [b]Origins[/b]: Was born in Norwood, Massachusetts, moved to Boston for College. [b]Appearance[/b]: Anthony never was one to care for his appearances. Maybe it was because his mom was a hair stylist, and he wanted another reason to be different. Or perhaps he just wanted to rebel against what society thought was cool ? he already was into books and roleplaying games. As a result, Anthony?s hair is never styled. It certainly isn?t long by any means. It?s cut rather nicely, in his own opinion. It?s just that he never gels it, even if he were to go on a date (which, surprisingly enough, he never has). He just doesn?t care for those sort of things. On another note, you will never see him in a collared shirt, even though half of his wardrobe consists of them. He mostly prefers t-shirts ? especially video game or movie related ones. Despite the fact that they make him a ?walking billboard?, it?s just his preference over clothes that tend to choke you more times than not. [b]Personality[/b]: Anthony is something of a mixed bag. If he?s on the computer, writing or doing research, he is one of the most serious people you can meet. But if he is actually away from the monitor ? which barely happens to begin with when he has no plans ? he is one of the most goofy, hyperactive geeks you can find. [b]How acquired the Death Note[/b]: He bought in a pawn shop ? he thought it was a cool looking notebook. [b]Other Information[/b]: Anthony nearly died even before he was born when he was choking on his umbilical cord. This permanently affected his speech ? he calls himself the ?thinking retard? because of it. He also tends to slur, or talk faster than people can hear. This affected his self esteem greatly. [b]Name and Title of the Shinigami[/b]: Chernabog; The Scheming Devil [b]Appearance of the Shinigami[/b]: Chernabog is without a doubt the most devilish Shinigami you will ever meet. Two black horns sprout from his head, and he sports an angular, crimson chin. His chest is a dark red, with his bat like wings being black. His arms are wrapped in a sort of black leather, whereas his chest is dressed in a sort of black toga.[/font]

[color=royalblue][center]Friday, The 42nd of Estembre; 6:32 PM[/center] One?s opinion on Trolls would have to depend on one?s history of them. If you were raised with a more fantastic background, you would consider Troll?s dumb, vulgar, and perhaps worst of all, ugly. However, on the retrospect, if you were introduced to Trolls via a scientific and realistic background, you would know that Trolls not only had a longer history than man, but they also controlled the largest empire in the world at one point. The fact that they can think up to six times the number of thoughts than a regular human probably contributed to this. To humans, their dialect was inferior and stupid; in truth, it was all the information their brains could relay to their tongue without imploding causing internal injuries. A Troll was a very good opponent. This particular Troll was wielding a large, metal mallet. It was a very cumbersome weapon, one that required a good deal of effort to use efficiently. But if it hit, you were dead. Alex gripped his Longsword, and charged towards the Troll. The Troll analyzed Alex?s attack patterns, and expected him to head straight towards him. The Troll was mistaken. The Troll swing the mallet downwards, creating a gigantic shockwave that would of have had sent Alex flying off of the platform if he had not jumped over it and onto the very mallet. He dashed halfway through the handle, and at the very moment the Troll swing the hammer to shake Alex off, he jumped. He twisted his body, flipping his blade into a stabbing position. He plunged the sword into the Troll?s shoulder. As one would expect, the Troll hollered a cry of pain. Alex swing onto the shoulder, ripped the Longsword out, slashed the Troll?s neck with it, and leaped for the next platform, all in a single moment. Suddenly, Alex felt gravity quadruple. His blade fell to the floor, and soon, Alex fell along with it. He couldn?t move; he didn?t even know if he could blink! Things were not looking good, especially considering he saw Lazarus on a platform above him, staring downward. [/color]

Okay, I need to ask why no one is posting now. I mean, I gave everyone ample opportunities to have as many options as possible, but no one is taking them! So, guys, what's up with that?

[color=royalblue][center]Friday; The 42nd of Estembre; 5:27 PM[/center] Alex pushed himself back on the chair so he could get a clean look at the afternoon sky. He didn?t realize how quickly the sky could turn from clear to gray during the fall. When he left the dorm, Alex was complaining to himself that the sun was too bright in his eyes. But now, he was contemplating to himself how he wished it would stay brighter for a few hours longer, so that he could actually enjoy it after he got out of his final class. Alex?s thoughts wandered to the past week. After his encounter with Monique, things seemed different between them. Before they were indifferent to each other; but now, there was some sort of friction between the two of them. It wasn?t that they necessarily hated each other; it was more along the lines of them just having trouble even looking each other. Alex sighed indifferently. Taking the benefits of a small yawn, he took a quick stare at a digital clock. It was time. Alex picked up his Longsword, and left the dorm room for the Oedipus Complex. Lazarus was waiting. [/color] All right, a week has passed. What does this mean? Well obviously, things have happened in the last week, so you will have to refer to it either through dialogue or some other means. Lazarus, you're up.

I agree with you guys a hundred percent. That is why, after KW, BK and Engel finish their fight, I am going to skip a whole week.

[color=royalblue] [center]Thursday; The 34th of Estembre; 6:52 PM[/center] Cold. I feel so cold. Why? What is this?feeling? Cold. Ice. Darkness. I feel cold. I feel empty. I don?t feel anything at all. I have the sensation that I could plunge my hand into my chest, and touch my soul. If it was there, I mean. ?Don?t disappoint me, Alex.? What is it to you, Lazarus? What did I do to become your friend? Was it because you pitied me? Is that the reason? I don?t want to be pitied. I want to be strong. I want to people to say I am friend because I do not pity you. But when I try to help, I don?t feel strong. I feel weak and foolish. Why? I am weak? Inside? Outside? Or both? Maybe I can become strong. Monique came to visit me, didn?t she? She took the time out of her day to visit a wretch like me. And Lazarus has volunteered to train me himself. I didn?t plead for me to do this; I didn?t drop down on my knees and beg for their kindness. Because they did it because they wanted to. Maybe I am strong. [center]---[/center] Getting up, Alex headed for his dorm room. He eventually found the familiar door. He knocked a few times; his roommates unconsciously opened up for him. They didn?t know that the Alex that left and the Alex that returned were two totally different people.[/color]

[IMG]http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b191/Bklynstyles/link.png[/IMG] The moon rose over the fields of Hyrule as Link ran through it, the night mist of November hiding his swift body. His dirty blonde hair swayed behind him, the northern wind blowing in his face. Link held onto his backpack as if it meant the life to him. In a way; it was; it contained nearly all of his items and treasures he had received from his adventures in Termina, and after. Twenty or so metal and wooden masks clunked together from him, some of them ferocious, while others were very elegant in appearance. Link moved on the side of a wet hill. Out of instinct, he stared upwards, towards the moon. It was still hard for him to believe that eight years ago, the now majestic moon had a devilish face, and it was on its way to crash into the earth. It was a three day race against time in then, and Link was still surprised that he managed to even get close to success. But it was then that he got [i]it[/i]. Link shook the memory out of his head. He has more than managed to control the Fierce Deity. As long as he didn?t even think about that chaotic force within him, it wouldn?t take control. Link swiped some sweat from his face. It was a long hike from Kokiri Forest; it will be even longer to where he planned to go next. He continued his walk, not aware that something was behind him, watching. [center]*[/center] Sakuritzu Forest was probably even more of a harder walk than Hyrule Fields; its countless trees made the atmosphere very muggy indeed. It also made the warrior uneasy. After all, it was the perfect place for an ambush. But Link did not have any intention of showing any unease; that in itself was the perfect invitation for an ambush. Instead, he pulled out an ocarina, and began to play a song. It was one he remembered well; Saria?s Song, a tune taught to him by the song?s namesake. A good friend, he had not seen her for many years?not after she became the sage of the Forest Temple. The ambusher took notice of this. He leaped from tree to tree, silent as a mouse scurrying across a kitchen floor. But Link noticed the assassin?s movements ? one doesn?t become a hero twice by sheer luck. Link drew his weapon, a gilded sword he retrieved from his adventures in Termina. With his left hand, he removed the sprit possessed mirror shield. Sword and shield drawn, he was ready. The assassin dropped onto a lower branch; still out of reach from Link?s blade, bur highly visible nonetheless. As expected, he was draped entirely in black, the only thing shown being the upper half of his face. His weapon was a short sword attached via a chain to a Longsword; an obscure weapon to say the least. No words needed to be said; both knew only one would survive. The assassin raised the short sword, and threw it like a javelin towards Link. The green warrior easily swiped it aside. He fell straight into the dark man?s trap. He pulled on the chain, the short sword swerving straight for Link. He wasn?t prepared for that; the sword was heading straight towards his side. If he didn?t do something fast, the blade would plunge into his ribs. If it didn?t kill him, it would certainly disable him to the point where taking care of the assassin would be nearly impossible. Link barely got his shield raised in time to block it. The sword fell to the ground. The assassin leaped to the grassy ground, intent on speeding towards Link and plunging his long sword into Link?s body. Link flipped the gilded sword onto its off hand position. When the assassin swung his blade, Link parried with it. The intense weight of Link?s counter forced the assassin to step back. Link took advantage of this and slammed the mirror shield into the assassin?s face. He backed off, dazed. Link smirked. Victory was his, A quick swipe at the assassin?s neck and the head would be rolling on the floor. Suddenly, the assassin?s body dissolved into smoke. It was a fake! Needless to say, it was fairly evident that this wasn?t your ordinary assassin. Link turned around in time to see the grueling face of the assassin, his face one that could kill. He swung both of his blades overhead, his intent on swiping into Link?s shoulders. The Hyrulian brought his shield to block the attack. The assassin pushed back, but in the next moment, he leaped onto Link?s still raised shield, and using it as a platform, leaped up. The assassin came down quickly, both blades poised to stab through Link. The green warrior sidestepped the assault just in time. Seeing the opportunity, he cut the assassin down, the bronze blade slicing through assassin. Dead, the black warrior was still clinging onto his weapons, they being the only things keeping his corpse from falling to the ground. Link sighed, sheathing both weapon and shield. ?As valiant as always, Master Link.? Link turned to see a shadowy figure standing before him. He had seen him before?the last time he participated in the Clash of Heroes. ?You again?? ?I have retrieved a letter from Mario. You remember him yes?? ?The stupid red clothed man with the oversized mustache? Yes, I remember him. A little too well, unfortunately.? ?Yes, well, it is vital this time. It is not a mere test of skill. It is a declaration of war.? ?Upon by and whom?? Wars were no mere tests of bravery?they were essentially legalized murder. They were not something to be taken lightly. ?An enigma has declared war on all of the worlds. Mario is gathering everyone together at a place known as Star Hill.? ?Why does it concern me? I was more than glad to take part in the last Clash, but war? Hyrule is not part of it?? ?The tower is already descending over Hyrule Castle. The time is now.? Link sighed, admitting defeat. He wanted to avoid the conflict, but it became increasingly apparent that it was not a possibility. ?Can you control the Fierce Deity this time?? ?Don?t question me.? The figure sighed. ?Very well. I?ll send you there. Just say that one of Mario?s toads found you.? ?Fair enough.? And then, he was gone.

[color=royalblue][center]Thursday; The 34th of Estembre; 5:14 PM[/center] [i]Trust me there won?t be a next time.[/i] Pain. Misery. Humiliation. It doesn?t go away; it doesn?t want to. That familiar feeling returns to you, that emotion rising to the surface of your gut. You feel weak; you feel like you?re about to throw up. You feel like death. [i]From now on, you?re on your own.[/i] You are dead. Society has crucified you, and Monique was your Longinus. Your knees feel weak; you fall to the floor; you?re shaking hand acting as support for your head. It feels like it?s about to just drop off. Every organ in your body feels like dust. [i]Am I a failure, a lost cause? Why does everything I touch rot? Why can?t I help anyone? Can I even help myself? Am I even worth helping?[/i] ?No.? [i]You are a failure. You are a disease. You bring only pain. You are death to yourself. You?re not worth anything. Just rot and die.[/i] ?I?m useless, aren?t I? Just an empty shell?I don?t have a soul. I don?t have emotion; I don?t have ambitions, dreams or desires. I don?t even have lusts, or a simple desire in mind for [i]anything[/i]. I am nothing; absolutely nothing.? And so, like nothing, you remain there, tears flowing down your cheeks until even your eyes are dried up, and the tears are reduced to air. You become nothing. Not even your eyes show emotion. [/color]

I suppose now is as good a time as any to finnaly clarify what I had in mind for the magic system of the magi. First, let me say this: this is not magic as we are used to it. There is no incantations; there's not any hand motions, rune carving, prayers to the gods or anything else of the sort. Magic is [i]not[/i] divine power here. Magic is a science. There a set of rules of how to access the power of the magi; but they are scientific theories and equations, not spiritual words. Keep that in mind when using your magi.

[color=royalblue][center]Thursday, The 34th of Estembre; 5:01 PM[/center] Alex rolled over on his bed. His body still ached from his ?training? with Lazarus, although he wasn?t even sure if the black mage would define it as training. It seemed more like a torture session to Alex. Of course, [i]everything[/i] seemed like a torture session to him. ?Have you heard?? ?About what?? Alex pulled a pillow over his face to mute out the idle conversation. Two of his room mates ? he couldn?t remember their names for the life of him ? were talking about [i]another[/i] fight. He really wasn?t surprised; this is a military academy. Big brawls came with the territory. ?That big fights that?s going on in the arena.? ?There?s a fight? For once?? ?Come on, there?s always a fight going on. I mean, in the last, what, two days, we had three big fights!? Deciding that he wasn?t going to get any sleep (if not because of it being only five in the afternoon, then it would be because of his room mates), he got dressed, and left his dorm. ?Where was I then?? ?Sleeping, what else?? ?Oh shut up.? He didn?t hear the last of the conversation as he closed the door. He started to walk the halls, almost aimlessly. He didn?t have a preset destination. He just wanted to walk. If he got caught for staying past after hours in certain parts of the school, he couldn?t really care less. He never really cared about anything. He took a turn down a hallway and bumped into a girl. ?Sorry?, he muttered, never even taking the chance to take a look at her face. He took a few steps forward, and took a brief glance back at her. He recognized that hair. And didn?t some girl wear that same outfit?the same one that came to visit him when he was in the infirmary? But something was horrifyingly different from that girl that met him in the infirmary. That girl was so full of happy energy that it just radiated out of her ? her wave goodbye was so going so fast and high that Alex was sure it was going to slice into the wall. But this girl was different?horribly so. She seemed miserable. Her depression just seemed to ooze out of her. She couldn?t be? ?Monique.? She turned. ?What?? So it was her. ?Oh, uh, um?? Alex stammered. He didn?t actually mean to say that out loud. It just came out, unintentionally. ?What is it?? Her tone... was dark?full of hatred and rage. She didn?t even recognize him, did she? ?Nothing?, Alex said, flatly. ?What do you want, Alex?? So she did recognize him. How troublesome. ?I-I nothing. I just didn?t think it was you. I was, well?? ?Whatever.? Okay, Alex knew that he was not the number one expert on girls (he wasn?t even an expert on his own sex), and he certainly was not one to detect emotional trauma. But when Monique said ?okay?, he just knew something was horribly wrong. So he said the first thing that popped into his mind. ?What?s wrong?? And for a moment, time froze. ?Everything.? ?Okay.? ?You don?t care, do you?? ?I guess.? He shrugged. ?I don?t know.? ?Then why did you even ask?? ?I...I?I don?t really know. I guess it was just because you came.? ?Just as payment?? ??I guess.? ?Men are dogs.? ?Hey, what the hell did I do? I was just trying to be help..ful?for once?? ?You didn?t want to help me because I needed it. You wanted to as payback.? ?I said I didn?t know why!? ?You just told me, you good for nothing liar!? ?Since when do I know anything? Jesus!? ?Just stop butting into people?s business.? ?Then why did you butt into mine?? That was when things became far too awkward for Monique?s own good. [/color]