DeLarge

[QUOTE=Boo][SIZE=1]I realised the character of Owen the Welshman stars in the 1934 Errol Flynn film of Robin Hood as captain of the archers in the archery competition. Actually the guy was the captain for the Duke of Lancaster and was serving in France, but no one cares about those details right? Everyone knows the 1934 version is what all versions should be based on! So, if its okay, I wouldn't mind being this "captain of the archers" for Nottingham Corp. Owen Welsh sounds modern enough and all[/SIZE].[/QUOTE] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode]Sounds great, Boo. The Errol Flynn version is indeed the ultimate adaptation, so I'm happy to have any references to it within this RP. Also, just to let everyone know, Dragon Warrior is signing up as two separate characters. This has been approved by me, due to the fact that Joseph Sheriff (his first character) is more of a "behind-the-scenes" character - with this second character, he'll be within the action a little more. So don't get all freaked out when his sign-up appears. [/FONT]

[QUOTE=silpheedpilot][SIZE=1][COLOR=Silver]Hey, this RPG is definitely one of the better ideas I've seen in a while and I was wondering if I could still toss a sign-up for the character Guy of Gisbourne? What I'm wondering is how sadistic, or crazy you're wanting him to be? Ruthless, as well, I'm assuming?[/COLOR][/SIZE] [/QUOTE] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode]Absolutely, my friend. The only limitations I'm putting on this character are that he is Sheriff's chief of security, and is a cold, sadistic figure. So I'm not looking for crazy, so much, but the more sadistic the better. And yes, a good healthy dollop of ruthlessness is perfect. Thanks for the interest! [/FONT]

[FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode]Great to see you're interested, DW! You can have as much freedom as you like when creating the character - the only limitations I put on it are that Sheriff should be around middle age, fairly ruthless and the head of Nottingham Corporation. Other than that, you're free to go mad with it! Out of the influences you listed, I'd say V for Vendetta is the kind of thing I'm looking for - still noir-esque but more grounded in reality than Sin City and I suppose a little less dark than Gotham. One of the main things I'm looking for in this RP is a decent splash of dark humour (and that point goes for everyone involved). So create the character and whack it up in the Auditions - if there's anything "inappropriate" as you put it then I'll let you know. Nice to have you on board! [/FONT]

[FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode]I've decided to start the RP without Sheriff and Gisbon for now. If no-one has signed up as either character by the time they are introduced, then we'll continue with them as NPCs. The opening thread is up [B][URL="http://www.otakuboards.com/showthread.php?p=837432#post837432"]here[/URL] [/B]and it contains details of what everyone needs to do. However, just for clarity's sake, I'll list them here: [/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode]- Jason: using intimidation to get information from Nottingham soldiers regarding facility locations, numbers of guards and levels of security etc. - Scarlet: acquisition of weaponry, both small and large-scale, though whatever means necessary. - Allen: reconaissance of high-ranking Nottingham officials - locations, personal details etc. - Tucker: using his religious associations to get information from high-ranking Nottingham officials directly. - Marian: attend secret meeting with Robert to discuss options for what she can do to help. [/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode]As always, any questions, comments and feedback are welcome in this thread. Enjoy![/FONT]

[center][SIZE=4][FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][SIZE=1][IMG]http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b16/Blayze54/HoodBanner2.jpg[/IMG][/SIZE] [/FONT][B][U][FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode] Hood[/FONT][/U][/B][/SIZE] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][I]November 19, 2020[/I][/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][I]Outside Nottingham Corporation Headquarters, London[/I][/FONT] [/center] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode] Crowds of people milled around in the dull half-light of the dreary morning. Rain misted down, only serving to anger the people further. Bright red banners emblazoned with the Nottingham Corporation logo hung from the grey concrete walls of the building, fluttering slightly in the breeze. Nottingham soldiers, dressed in dark, padded armour, armed with automatic rifles and short swords hanging from their belts patrolled the edges of the crowd. Their gruff demeanour suggested that they were fully prepared to open fire if the crowd became a mob. A squeal of feedback howled out of the PA speakers, and a man in a sharp grey suit walked out of the front of the building, flanked by black-suited security guards, and up to the podium set up in front of the doors. [B]"Ladies and gentlemen,"[/B] his voice boomed out of the speakers, gravelly and coarse, [B]"As we all know, our war with various terrorist factions in the Middle East continues. While our brave soldiers fight on, the cost to all of us becomes greater and greater. Many of you have lost husbands and wives, fathers, sons and daughters, and that is a loss which cannot be recovered from easily. "However, to keep our soldiers supplied with the weapons, equipment and support they need, we must, regrettably, raise our taxes."[/B] A chorus of boos echoed throughout the crowd, feet stamping and voices raised in anger. [B]"This is obviously not the ideal solution,"[/B] said the Nottingham representative, raising his voice to combat the swelling noise of the crowd, [B]"But it is necessary! There is no other solution which can combat the losses we are suffering in the Middle East!"[/B] A rush of air whistled over the heads of the crowd, and an arrow, it's tip flickering with flame, slammed into the banner to the left of the representative. Within seconds, another flaming arrow struck the banner on the right, and moments later, both banners were blazing, the fabric blackening and curling as the crowd cheered and the Nottingham soldiers mobilised. --- Atop the building opposite Nottingham Headquarters, a lone hooded man slung his custom-built bow onto his back, turned from the scene with a smile and ran, full pelt, towards the other edge of the roof. With a quick vaulting movement, he leapt over the edge and onto the window cleaner's motorised gondola which hung just over the edge. Slamming his foot down onto the brake and releasing it, he grabbed onto the edge of the gondola tightly as it sped down towards ground level. He ducked as a bullet pinged off the metal floor of the gondola, and looked up to see two Nottingham Corporation soldiers levelling their rifles at him and firing. Muzzle flashes burst through the drizzle, and bullets whizzed towards him. He smiled and gave a tiny wave, as the gondola stopped abruptly a few feet above the pavement, allowing him to leap out and drop the short distance to the ground. Dashing across the road into the alley opposite the building, he signalled to the shadowy figures lurking in the darkness. They moved, and a pair of bright headlights flashed into life, followed by a large pickup truck screeching out of the alley and swerving in front of him. [B] "Jump on, Rob!"[/B] shouted the young, bespectacled man as the hooded man swung onto the back of the truck. The vehicle sped off, tyres squealing on the rough tarmac. --- [I]Sherwood's Bar[/I] Beer bottles and pint glasses clinked as the outlaws raised a toast, the TV blaring out reports of the "terrorist attack" on Nottingham Headquarters. [B]"Bloody hell, that was some fancy shooting, Rob,"[/B][/FONT][FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode] said Allen, clearly genuinely impressed, as he twisted a battered cigarette into the corner of his mouth. [B]"Absolutely,"[/B] added Scarlet with a smile, [B]"Looks like we made an impression on those bastards." "Following this heinous and unprovoked attack on the Corporation, a nationwide manhunt has been issued for the terrorist cell which carried out the act. A reward has been issued by Joseph Sheriff himself for any information regarding the identities of the attackers,"[/B] the news reporter stated in a dull monotone, as shaky handheld camera footage of the burning Nottingham banners was displayed, along with a grainy, unclear photo of Robert's hooded face. [B]"We need to be more careful,"[/B] said a calm, deep voice from the corner, as Tucker stepped out of the shadows, a glass of water in his hand, [B]"You nearly got caught, Robert." "But I didn't,"[/B] replied Robert, getting to his feet, beer bottle in his hand, [B]"Tucker, I realise this was a risky move, but we needed to get their attention. By broadcasting this on national TV, we're getting a healthy dose of free publicity, and you know as well as I do there are people out there who support what we're doing. It was risky, yes, but necessary."[/B] He put his hand on Tucker's shoulder, and smiled at his old friend. Tucker placed his hand on Robert's, returning his smile, and nodded. [B]"Thank you,"[/B] said Robert in softer tones, then turned back to the TV. [B]"We'll be back right after this,"[/B] said the newsreader, and the image faded out into the commercials. The image which replaced it was that of a gorgeous young woman in a flowing, backless dress, walking towards the camera, the expression on her beautiful face sultry. The bar went quiet, and everyone's attention turned to this stunning woman on the television set. She seemed to glide down a set of marble steps, her flowing brown hair and dress fluttering in an artificial breeze. The music behind the images built to a crescendo, and the name of an expensive brand of perfume appeared next to the young woman. Her name faded into view in the corner of the screen, the script curling and ornate: Marian May. [B]"She's beautiful, Rob,"[/B] said Scarlet, his tones hushed as he placed his hand on his leader's shoulder. [B]"Yeah, she is,"[/B] replied Robert in a whisper, his eyes glistening with tears. [B]"That truck is a bastard to park,"[/B] Jason boomed as he burst through the front door of the Bar, shattering the awed atmosphere. The gang turned to him, and Robert wiped his eyes with his sleeve. [B]"So what's our next move?"[/B] Jason asked, beckoning to Frank Sherwood, the bartender, who poured him a pint and handed it to him. [B]"We've got their attention,"[/B] said Robert, now all business, [B]"Now we need to start hitting them where it hurts. I'm talking fuel depots, weapon silos, deposit boxes - anything we steal from them goes straight back to the people. Allen, I need you to do a little recon - find any high-ranking Nottingham officials and find out where they operate. Scarlet, we need more weapons - I know you're good at stealing them, so go do your thing. Tucker, if you have any contacts anywhere near the higher echelons of Nottingham then squeeze them for any information they might have. Jason, get to any Nottingham-affiliated bar and start hunting for information - we need locations of facilities, numbers of guards, anything you can get."[/B] [B] "What about you, Robert?"[/B] asked Tucker as the others moved off to their various assignments. [B]"I need to go see Marian,"[/B] he replied, pulling his jacket on and heading to the door. [B]"Re-convene here at midnight. Tomorrow, we take the fight to Nottingham."[/B][/FONT]

[FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][SIZE=2]Sign-ups are looking great thus far, people, and you're all accepted. Hood's Gang is look pretty strong now, so we could do with a few Nottingham-affiliated characters, particularly Sheriff and Gisbon. The Backstage thread is up, so feel free to take a look and post any comments, queries or suggestions there. It's right [URL="http://www.otakuboards.com/showthread.php?t=60411"][B]here[/B][/URL]. Keep 'em coming! [/SIZE][/FONT]

[center][FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][IMG]http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b16/Blayze54/HoodBanner2.jpg[/IMG] [SIZE=4][U][B]Sherwood's Bar [SIZE=2]Hood Backstage [/SIZE][/B][/U][SIZE=2]Welcome to Sherwood's Bar, with fine ales, home-cooked food and great atmosphere. Feel free to grab a table and peruse our menu while enjoying our fantastic range of beverages. --- This is the Backstage thread for my new RP "Hood," the neo-noir re-imagining of the classic Robin Hood legend. This is the place where we will discuss important plot points, and you can ask questions about the story. I will also post various bits of information that might help the story along, so it'd be a good idea to keep an eye on this thread. --- [U][B][SIZE=3]Dramatis Personae [/SIZE][/B][/U][B][SIZE=3][SIZE=2][U]Hood's Gang:[/U] Robert "Hood" Locksley - [/SIZE][/SIZE][/B][SIZE=3][SIZE=2]DeLarge [B]Marian May [/B]- Raiha [/SIZE][/SIZE][B][SIZE=3][SIZE=2] Jason Little - [/SIZE][/SIZE][/B][SIZE=3][SIZE=2]Drizzt Do'Urden [B]Will "Scarlet" Blood - [/B]Omega [B]Allen Dales [/B]- PJ McKrafty [B]High Priest Tucker [/B]- Afro --- [SIZE=3][U][B]Important Information [/B][/U][SIZE=2][None available yet][/SIZE] [/SIZE][/SIZE][/SIZE][/SIZE][/SIZE][/FONT][/center]

[SIZE=1]I think that three posts each is probably sensible. Any fewer and the fights would probably be over too soon, any more and the fights would probably drag on. And as for the judges, it seems sensible to have a limited number of judges per round (3 would seem the most sensible to me - don't ask why, it just seems right to me), otherwise it'd just be a free-for-all, and it'd get messy. I do like the concept that the victor posts the finishing blow - everyone loves finishers! The word limit seems to make sense, although I can't think of a sensible limit to set, so I guess that's up to you in the end. This looks like it'll be a good'un, I'm looking forward to having a rumble. [/SIZE]

[center][FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][SIZE=4][SIZE=1][IMG]http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b16/Blayze54/HoodBanner2.jpg[/IMG][/SIZE][U][B] Hood[/B][/U][/SIZE] [I]September 19, 2020[/I] Rusted metal creaked as the elderly freighter drifted slowly into the dock, the heavy anchor dropping from the side of the hull into the dark, oily depths of the River Thames. Men in black waterproof jackets and thick, woolen hats rushed about on the deck, and hundreds more milled about below decks, gathering their belongings for their final destination. The ramp slid out, finding it's home with a clank as it hit the concrete dock, and people began spilling down the ramp off the ship, their breath forming a haze of thick vapour around them. Excited chatter pierced the otherwise silent night, and the people streamed off the ship and out into the streets of London until eventually, no-one was left on board but the crew. A pair of boots slapped on the ramp as the final passenger disembarked, slower than the others, as if he didn't have as much of a purpose. He wore heavy black boots, dark blue jeans with ragged bottoms and a black leather jacket with red stripes down the sleeves. His sandy-brown hair fell gently into his deep blue eyes, and a slight growth of stubble, maybe a few days' worth covered his chin. He carried a large black backpack over one shoulder, which seemed to be stuffed to bursting point. [B]"London,"[/B] he said, a faint smile creeping across his face, [B]"Home sweet home." [/B] --- [SIZE=3][B]-Collapse-[/B][/SIZE] Following the global economic downturn of the early 21st Century, all public faith in the British government was lost. The media turned on them, and a propaganda war was waged, resulting in the government's total loss of credibility. Following a series of high-profile attacks by the media, Parliament collapsed, and chaos reigned. Terrorist factions waged war on each other on British soil, the economic system crumbled and the very infrastructure of Britain was threatened. Britain was plunged into a deep, six-year-long depression, from which it seemed they would never recover, until the corporations took control. [B][SIZE=3]-Long Live The King!-[/SIZE][/B] The biggest and most powerful of the organisations was known as the Nottingham Corporation, headed by an eminent and wealthy businessman named Richard King and his business partner Joseph Sheriff. The Nottingham Corporation had divisions in every major British industry, from steel to bio-engineering. Their donations to charity and Richard King's philanthropic work meant that Nottingham was not only wealthy and powerful, but also popular with the general public. However, in September of 2019, four years after the Nottingham Corporation had come to power, Richard King was called away to the Middle East on a business trip, during which time his private jet was attacked and he was declared missing. In the event of King's death or disappearance, all power and control of the corporation was handed down to his partner, Joseph Sheriff, who had very different ideas of what the Nottingham Corporation would stand for. [B][SIZE=3]-Hostile Take-Over- [/SIZE][/B] Sheriff diverted funds from charitable and philanthropic causes to oil and weapons research, as well as the military branches of the corporation. He began to build his own private army, as the country collapsed around him. Poverty was widespread, and people did not have proper medical care readily available. Disease spread, and thousands of people died. Homes were repossessed by Sheriff's corrupt regime, and people were forced into shanty towns along the banks of the River Thames. Britain began to crumble. [B][SIZE=3] -A Surprise Return-[/SIZE][/B] September 2020, exactly a year after King's disappearance, his head of security, a man named Robert Locksley, returned to London on one of the many freighters carrying foreign refugees from the Middle East. He found that his beloved England was a shadow of its former self, and he dedicated himself to putting right the wrongs that Sheriff had committed. --- [/FONT][LEFT][FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode]Welcome to Hood, a re-imagining of the classic Robin Hood folk tale. All the parts are there - an absent ruler, his ruthless and corrupt second-in-command taking control, and a "vigilante" trying to overthrow the corrupt ruler.[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode]All we need now is you, the "Merry Men." What I'm looking for are re-workings of the original Robin Hood characters - Little John, Friar Tuck, Maid Marian, etc. - bringing them into a noirish dystopian future.[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode]I will be playing the part of Robert Locksley, aka "Hood," a vigilante dedicated to bringing an end to the reign of Joseph Sheriff ("Sheriff" of "Nottingham"). The other characters which I need, and their basic characters, are as follows:[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][U]Villains:[/U][/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][B]Joseph Sheriff:[/B] a ruthless, vicious egomaniac, head of the Nottingham Corporation.[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][B]Captain Guy Gisbon:[/B] Sheriff's second-in-command, a sadistic military officer devoted to taking down Hood and his gang.[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][U]Hood's Gang (suggestions of names will be well-received):[/U][/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][B]Little John (or variation on the name):[/B] a huge, incredibly strong man, beaten by Hood in combat, thus earning Hood his respect.[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][B]Marian (+surname):[/B] Hood's love interest; a beautiful, elegant, yet dangerous young woman.[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][B]Friar Tuck (or variation on the name):[/B] a warrior priest, devout yet deadly.[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][B]Will Scarlet:[/B] a young (late teens-early 20s), hot-headed member of the group.[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][B]Alan-a-Dale (variation on the name is preferable)[/B]: a musician and a devious member of the group, excelling in deception and pick-pocketing.[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode]There is also plenty of room for original characters, both as part of the Gang, and (preferably) the Nottingham Corporation.[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode]For now, however, I'll stick up what I'm looking for from you:[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][B]Name:[/B] (an obvious one)[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][B]Age:[/B] (depends on your character - Will Scarlet, Alan-a-Dale and Marian would be quite young, whereas Sheriff, Gisbon, Little John and Friar Tuck would be closer to middle age)[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][B]Gender:[/B] (another obvious one)[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][B]Appearance:[/B] (images are good, description are equally good, both will get you extra brownie points)[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][B]Personality:[/B] (what are you like? Fairly detailed, please)[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][B]Affiliation:[/B] (whose side are you on?)[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][B]Writing Snippet: [/B](for this, I want you to write about how Hood recruited you. Remember you were all opposing Sheriff's new regime, either quietly or violently, so incorporate that. I also want some background on your character in this snippet. [B]IMPORTANT:[/B] Friar Tuck and Marian knew Robert Locksley before he left the country, so they would be more willing to join him. Little John was NOT as willing, and had to be bested in combat before he would join Hood)[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][B]Weapons:[/B] (what do you carry on you? Guns are fine, just keep them realistic, melee weapons are also good)[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][B]Special Skills:[/B] (what is your role within the team, and what skills do you possess to help you in this role? For example, Alan-a-Dale would be a proficient musician and a talented thief, thus earning him a role within the gang. )[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode]That's all for now, if there are any questions I will be posting a Backstage thread very soon, so please direct all queries to there.[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode]Here is my character sheet for Robert Locksley:[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][B]Name:[/B] Robert "Hood" Locksley[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][B]Age:[/B] 23[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][B]Gender:[/B] Male[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][B]Appearance: [URL="http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b16/Blayze54/Hood.jpg"][U]HOOD[/U][/URL][/B] - However, he wears a black leather jacket with red stripes down the sleeves and dark jeans with black leather combat boots, and a thin hooded top underneath the jacket, of which he generally keeps the hood up.[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][B]Personality:[/B] Robert is a jovial, somewhat mischievous young man, who takes great joy in depriving Sheriff of the nation's wealth. He will generally keep his sense of humour and wits sharp by exchanging banter with members of his gang and his opponents in battle. However, he is extremely patriotic, and entirely devoted to bringing down Sheriff's corrupt regime. His loyalty to Richard King, whom he belives is still alive, is total and incorruptible.[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][B]Affiliation:[/B] Hood's Gang, quite obviously.[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][B]Weapons:[/B] Hood carries a professional, custom-made bow, along with a set of specialised arrows (from explosive-tipped to armour-piercing and many more) in a quick-release quiver. He also carries a short sword for melee combat.[/FONT] [FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode][B]Special Skills:[/B] A proficient hand-to-hand combatant, and an expert archer, able to fire multiple arrows extremely quickly. He practices for upward of two hours a day in order to keep his skills honed. He is also an expert marksman, having keen eyesight and almost unerring accuracy. He's not too shabby at acrobatics, either.[/FONT] [/LEFT] [/center]

[SIZE=1][B]Name:[/B] Echo (it is unknown whether this is his real name, and if it is whether it is his first name or his surname) [B]Age:[/B] 24 [B]Appearance: [/B][/SIZE][center][SIZE=1][IMG]http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b16/Blayze54/Echo-1.jpg[/IMG][/SIZE] [/center] [SIZE=1] [B]Personality:[/B] Echo suffers from ADHD (Attention-Deficit Hyperactive Disorder), meaning he is both impulsive and inattentive. As such, he never stops talking, a constant stream of pop culture banter spewing forth from his mouth at all times. This sometimes works to his advantage, as his opponents are so put off by his inane babble that they are a lot easier to defeat. [B]Weapons:[/B] As shown in the image, Echo wields a pair of slimline katanas, with which he is proficient. However, he is also pretty good with any number of other weapons, both long and close range. He can also throw a decent punch if he is ever disarmed (which, due to the nature of his power, is unlikely). [B]Powers:[/B] Echo calls his power "accelerated probability." This means that Echo is able to react rapidly to situations - to him, time seems to slow down to a crawl, and each of the different options available to him are shown to him in the form of trails of orange light. He can then observe how each option will play out, and make his choice accordingly. However, there is still an element of luck involved in his choice, as sometimes he cannot see the end result of one or more of his options. Due to the nature of this power, Echo can appear to have incredible reflexes and seems to move at tremendous speeds. To most, he just seems to be the luckiest bastard alive, dodging blows and dealing them back out with expert precision and grace. [B]Memory/Aspiration/Manifestation of Memory:[/B] Echo has one memory and one memory only - the sight of a young woman, dead, her pale body slumped in the lukewarm water of a bath long since run. Droplets of blood ooze from the bullet wound in the centre of her forehead, creating delicate spider-web patterns in the bathwater. This is all he remembers. He cannot remember how he felt when he saw this, and as such he cannot gauge whether he was the one who killed her, or if she was taken away from him by another. However, he does keep her bloodstained silver pentacle pendant wrapped around his wrist, to remind him of his true goal in this "competition" - to regain his memory and right whatever wrong had been done in his previous life. [B]Writing Snippet: [/B] Trails of vivid, fiery orange light danced around the battlefield, each one showing the solitary warrior a different path he could take. He took a deep breath, smiled, and launched himself down the trail which seemed to be calling out to him. He memorised every action and every consequence that path offered him, and dashed towards his first opponent, drawing one of his swords from his back in a smooth, swift motion. Time seemed to gather momentum once again as he slammed the blade into the hulking, armoured warrior's neck, the blade gliding through the tiny space between his helmet and his breastplate, a thick gushing spray of blood following the blade as it passed through. Calling on his memory, Echo ducked as a small man in black martial arts garb swung a halberd towards his head, and swept his feet out from under him, plunging the tip of his blade into the warrior's chest as he lay on the floor. [B]"Come on, fellas," [/B]he goaded, beckoning the swarming fighters towards him, [B]"You're not even trying." [/B]They charged the now-grinning man, who leapt into the air and flicked his legs forwards, sending his body spinning end over end in a graceful backflip. His feet slammed into the ground, setting a large dead tree between him and the gathering horde. [B]"Timber!" [/B]he shouted, slicing through the trunk with his sword, using the momentum to spin on his heel and slam his foot into the tree on the return. The force with which he hit the tree sent it flying towards the first rank of warriors, knocking them all to the ground, incapacitated. Leaping onto the fallen tree and crushing away what little life remained of the fallen warriors, he reached towards his back and drew the second katana that had lain dormant until now. [B]"Bring it on, bitches!" [/B]he cried out to the oncoming swarm of opponents. He smiled, and leapt off the tree, his swords flashing in the harsh sunlight as he moved... [B]Judge:[/B] I'd be more than happy to lend my services to the judiciary.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]There was a brilliant TV show over here a while back called "Dave Gorman's Important Astrology Experiment" in which Dave Gorman, a comedian and performer of wacky challenges (his friend Danny Wallace wrote the book that the Jim Carrey movie "Yes Man" was based on), lived by his horoscope for 40 days and tried to find out whether it made him happier or less happy than if he'd ignored them. It was really very funny, and you can find it on YouTube, but I'm not going to post a link because I'm not sure if it violates copyright rules. But type it into YouTube and you'll find it - I recommend you all check it out. As for myself, I read them on occasion when there's a trashy tabloid hanging about (which doesn't happen all that often in my house), just for a laugh. They're usually slightly better than the last fortune cookie I got, which simply read "You are confident and interesting at parties." Thanks for that, fortune cookie. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]Again, I apologise for not posting. I've had an unexpectedly busy week and haven't been able to do much other than check in on what's going on on the site. I'll definitely get one done this week sometime, though.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]See, I've always thought it's polite to get someone's permission before you start running round gunning down their characters. Guess that's just me and my old-fashioned ways, though. In other news, I'll try my damndest to get a post up tomorrow. This stupid life I have seems to keep getting in the way![/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]So, a few months ago I started writing this little story and posting it on here. It got pretty good feedback, but I sort of drifted out of writing it for one reason or another. I recently started looking back through all my old stories and RPs and stuff, seeing if there were any I fancied another crack at, and this one jumped out at me. So I've tweaked the first couple of chapters, which were already written, and I'm going to post them here. However, after the third chapter, it'll be new material. Hope it's received as well as it was last time. Here goes nothing... [/SIZE][CENTER]--- [U][B][FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode]Another Doomsday[/FONT] [/B][/U][B][FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode]Chapter One: ...Another Devastation [/FONT][/B][FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode]Life isn't like it is in the movies. We've been brainwashed by Hollywood to believe that all of human existence is entirely dependent on finding your soulmate. That when you find him or her, everything that is wrong in your life will magically become better - your crappy job becomes your dream career, your money worries are suddenly gone, your overbearing bitch of a mother takes the rod out of her arse and relaxes, and suddenly everything is cherry blossoms and fluffy bunnies. In reality, finding your "soulmate," the person you're destined to end up with, is next to impossible, and even when you've found them, it opens up a whole new can of worms. I thought I'd found my soulmate three years ago, in a beautiful, intelligent girl named Ellie. She was everything I wanted and more - she could talk for hours about the most interesting things; we liked all the same movies, music and TV shows, and she had this adorable little thing where she twitched her nose when she was thinking. She was tall, but no taller than me, with short, light-brown hair and these amazing sparkling blue eyes, like tiny little sapphires, and slim but not too skinny, with just the right curves. Ellie was, without a doubt, the most perfect girl I had ever met, and I felt lucky every day I was with her. It was incredible even just lying on the sofa with her watching a terrible film on a Sunday afternoon. As cheesy as that all sounds, it was perfect for me. I thought she felt the same about me - she was the first one to say the L word, she was the one who suggested moving her stuff into my flat, she was even the one to ask me out, not the other way round. Which is why I was fairly surprised when she said this: [B]"Scott, I think we need to talk."[/B] Uh-oh. [B]"About what?"[/B] I manage to ask through a mouthful of salted peanuts, and as I did it I regretted it. I realied how gormless I must have looked and sounded, my cheeks stuffed to an amount one would normally only see on a hamster, dressed in an old t-shirt emblazoned with an image of Pete Townshend leaping in the air with his guitar, and jeans ripped simply because I wore them too much, not through any ill-conceived notions of bohemian fashion. A ragged old beanie hat was forced awkwardly down over my muddy-brown locks, I was unshaven and had half a pint of what was supposed to be lager but would have easily passed for urine in my hand. So I guess she beats me on physical attractiveness. [B]"About us."[/B] Damn. [B]"I don't think we're working any more, Scott,"[/B] she said, her voice soft and calm, never scathing or aggressive, "I think we're stagnating." [B] "Stagnating?"[/B] I managed to swallow most of the peanuts, but a few became lodged in my back teeth, and I tried to dislodge them with the tip of my tongue while I listened to Ellie, giving me the appearance of a mawkish idiot. [B]"We do the same things all the time, Scott,"[/B] she replied, the tiniest hint of anger rising in her voice now, [B]"TV, pub, curry, pub, TV, chinese. I'm young! I should be out at art exhibitions, theatre, clubs, dancing, not wasting my life away in this dingy little pub. To be brutally honest, I'm getting a little bored."[/B] Shit. [B]"But Ellie,"[/B][/FONT][FONT=Lucida Sans Unicode] I said pleadingly, grimacing from the feeling of peanut lumps stuck in my teeth, [B]"If you wanted to do something different, why didn't you just say?" "I did, Scott, repeatedly. But you were too busy jamming with your idiot friends to listen." "My friends aren't idiots." "Oh really? What was the name of the guy who stuck his tongue in an active plug socket, and I quote "for shits and giggles"?" [/B]Bollocks. [B] "Hans,"[/B] I replied after a brief hesistation, taking a swig of cheap, overly-fizzy lager. [B]"And what's he doing now?" "He's in a coma." "How long?" "Three months." "Since...?" "Since he stuck his tongue in the plug socket for shits and giggles," [/B]I admitted, feeling beaten down by Ellie's superior mastery of the English language. Or rather, her vastly superior intellect. My friends are idiots. [B]"Exactly. There's too many problems right now, and I've got a busy time at work coming up. To be honest, it doesn't leave a lot of room for you." "Ellie, you're a primary school teacher. The busiest you get is when that "special" child sticks Lego up his nose and pushes it until he feels resistance." "Rudolph has very...unique problems," [/B]she replied, deviating from the topic, then shaking her head and plunging straight back in, [B]"But I really can't be in such a stationary relationship right now. I'm sorry, Scott."[/B] Fuck. [B]"Do I get a say in this?" "No." "Fair enough,"[/B] I concede, too lazy or apathetic or drunk to argue further. I drain what was left of the pint, shuddering as the bitter dregs at the bottom of the glass crossed my tongue. [B]"I'm going to move my stuff out of your flat as soon as possible." "Where are you going to stay?" "I'll sleep on Sarah's couch for a while. Then I might go visit my parents during the summer holidays. I haven't figured it all out yet, Scott." "Do you have to go straight away? You could stay at ours...at mine for a while if you like." "I've done the hard part now, Scott. I might as well follow through and move my stuff out as soon as I can."[/B] I nodded. She'd clearly made up her mind, so there was no point trying to change it now. Might as well watch as the inevitable happened. [B] "I'm sorry, Scott,"[/B] she said sorrowfully, getting to her feet. She wasn't sorry. I nodded again, unable to say anything. This wasn't because I was too upset to think of anything. It was simply because I'm too thick to think of anything poignant and beautiful to say to her as our relationship ended. She left, no peck on the cheek, no hug, nothing. I'm a fucking idiot. [SIZE=1]--- [FONT=Verdana]More details will follow in the next chapter, which on previous advice has been pretty heavily edited. Feedback, suggestions etc. are welcome as always.[/FONT] [/SIZE][/FONT][/CENTER]

[quote name='Anomaly][FONT=Garamond']Am I too late? D: haha it's fine if I am, I really should've checked the backstage as well before posting my place holder in the auditions thread.[/FONT][/quote] [SIZE=1]Not at all - Auditions are still very much open. We'll just introduce your character a little later in the story.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][B]Allamorph:[/B] Doesn't matter too much right now - as you say, Cephas isn't likely to be a part of the unit at present, so we can bring him in as and when you've got your Writing Sample done. I think we'll probably find a way of having him transfer into the unit at a later time. Anyways, all I want for the next post is a little more of your characters going about their business - at some point you get the call from Marcus, and eventually you'll need to wind up at the situation room, but how you get there is entirely up to you. Go and shop, find someone to spend "special time" with, score some drugs, go fight an Adept, whatever takes your fancy. Just end up at the situation room as Marcus is coming out. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]News of Lazarus' death spread quickly throughout the compound - being the son of Captain Cade, he was well-known among the Heretics, and well-liked, too. People seemed to be saddened, but Marcus had no time to grieve - being the new team leader came with all sorts of responsibilities, like taking on all of Lazarus' previous missions and assignments. Of which there were many. He rubbed his eyes as he leafed through the pages of Lazarus' logbook, trying to assimilate all the information regarding the assignments. The harsh, orange glow of the overhead striplight did very little to help matters, but he continued to struggle through. There were so many tactical operations that Lazarus had been a part of, Marcus had never realised before. There was a lot of pressure on being Kitos' second-in-command. The phone by his desk chirped loudly, and Marcus picked it up, glad of a distraction from the acres of paperwork that were piling up around him. [B]"Hello?" "Marcus, it's Talia," [/B]Kitos' assistant - whenever Kitos needed anyone, she was the one who called through, [B]"Captain Cade needs to see you and your team now." "Of course. We'll be right there," [/B]said Marcus with a nod, placing the phone back down on the receiver. With a moment's pause, he picked up the radio that kept him in contact with his team, and flicked it on, broadcasting to all frequencies. [B]"Team, this is Marcus," [/B]he said clearly, aware that his voice would come out crackly and distorted on the other end, [B]"We're needed in the situation room urgently - Captain Cade has called us in. Report to me ASAP. Please respond." [/B]He listened in as each member of his team called in, then he terminated the communication. He threw his leather jacket on and headed over toward the situation room, dreading what was about to come. He knew that whenever the Captain called an entire team in, let alone the team under the command of his right-hand man, something big was going down. As he got there, he was called into the room ahead of his team by Talia, who showed him in with a smile. She was an attractive, curvaceous woman, her dark brown hair coiled in a loose bun at the back of her head, a pair of thick-rimmed square glasses resting on her nose, covering her deep, hazel-brown eyes. She wore a black leather jacket with tight black trousers and knee-high leather boots, and looked good in them. [B]"So, Talia," [/B]Marcus said, his former personality kicking in once again, [B]"When are you and I gonna throw caution to the wind and get it on?" "Like I always tell you - when you become the King of Salvation and wear a big shiny hat. Not a moment sooner," [/B]she replied with a saucy wink that stirred something in Marcus. He growled and slapped her on the rear, signalling for her to return to her previous station, which she did rather obligingly. [B]"That woman will be the death of me," [/B]Marcus said as he came face-to-face once more with Captain Cade, who was looking more and more tired every time Marcus saw him. [B]"I certainly hope not," [/B]replied Kitos with a growling laugh, [B]"We'll let the Theocracy take care of that one!" [/B]To some, it may appear that Captain Cade was displaying a rather cavalier attitude to the news of his only son's death, but Marcus knew that deep down inside, there was a well of sadness. Covering it up with humour was the only way to stop the death from driving you crazy, and both Marcus and Captain Cade knew this. [B]"So what have we got this time?" [/B]asked Marcus, picking up a sheet of paper from the Captain's desk and peering at it, [B]"Adept raid? High Inquisitor has an STI? The Grand Magister is really your brother?" "Wrong," [/B]said Captain Cade, his tone suddenly serious as he snatched the sheet of paper out of Marcus' hand, [B]"Something big's happening. We've recently acquired some intel from one of our Covert Operatives that the Theocracy are planning something." "Something like what?" "Something horrible, but unspecified. Our inside man suggests that they're pumping a whole lot of cash and resources into some kind of shadow department - totally off the books, but there nonetheless." "Any ideas what they're doing?" "Could be anything," [/B]the Captain shrugged, [B]"But the best guess is some kind of weapon. They're just beginning to realise that we pose an actual threat to them, and they're getting scared. Chances are they're developing an endgame." "A way of wiping us all out at once. Looks like we're under their skin," [/B]Marcus replied with a smile. [B]"We might be under their skin, but we're definitely not winning. As much as we've expanded in the past couple of months, the Theocracy still outnumbers us and outguns us. With the kind of money and power they have, we'd better prepare ourselves for the idea that this endgame is a real threat." "So what do you need the team to do?" "I'll go over the exact details once they arrive, but the long and short of it is that we need a team to infiltrate the Citadel." "Do what?!" [/B]Marcus replied, [B]"You realise that we've been trying and failing to get into the Citadel for years, right? We've managed to get fifteen operatives inside the Theocracy in the past four years, and that's only through the employment programme!" "That's why I need your team. You're the best we've got, and right now we need the best. You need to find a way in, no matter how long you have to work for it." "Will we have any kind of support from the internal covert operatives?" "As little as possible. We want to give you as much of a head-start as we can, but we can't risk them blowing their cover. They'll be able to pull strings, but they can't just open up the back door and let you in." "Oh fuck. You don't ask much, do you?" [/B]Marcus sighed, leaning back in his chair. His thoughts were cut short, however, by a sharp knock at the door of the situation room. [B]"Looks like your team is here, Marcus," [/B]said the Captain, [B]"Go and greet them and bring them in here, ok?"[/B] Marcus nodded and headed over to the door... [/SIZE]

[quote name='Raiha][FONT=Times New Roman][COLOR=DarkOrchid]Also for DeLarge: Madame X is a drug dealer/enabler, so if you're in fact low, and looking for a nice price, come visit Madame X's teahouse! Corner of Bosemann and Madison! We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.[/COLOR'][/FONT][/quote] [SIZE=1]Wow, that commercial really spoke to me. I feel an urge to rush straight down to Madame X's teahouse on the corner of Bosemann and Madison. Madame X's teahouse: where the conversation is good and the crack is reasonably priced! I'm planning to have my character sort of drift - he's firmly against the Mob but he's none too popular with the Old Town girls either. However, run-ins with either side, as well as the police, are a certainty. [/SIZE]

[I][FONT=Franklin Gothic Medium][SIZE=2]Six weeks ago I decided to kill myself.[/SIZE][/FONT][/I] [I][FONT=Franklin Gothic Medium]But suicide was too easy for me. I had to make it fuckin' complicated for myself[/FONT][/I] - [I][FONT=Franklin Gothic Medium]no sleeping pills, no noose hanging from the rafters, no razor blades slicing through the soft skin and arteries of my wrist, lying in a bathtub half-full of lukewarm water and my own blood seeping through... Sorry. Mind tends to wander. I chose to end it all by butchering seven of the Mob's best men. That kind of thing definitely buys you a one-way ticket to the grave in Otakusin City. There's more to the story than that, but right now I had other things on my mind. Like the blood that was splattered across my tattered, off-white Converse All-Star sneaker. Or the bleeding man lying underneath said sneaker, his nose smashed back into his face, the cartilage shattered and the skin broken. Like I say: mind tends to wander. I met this guy coming out of his apartment. All I wanted was a little chat, but he took a swing at me, and that forced me to retaliate. He was quick, but with the amphetamines coursing through my bloodstream, I was quicker. He groans and struggles a little as I grab him by the scruff of his neck and throw him back through the door of his apartment, hearing a crunch as he lands on the faded hardwood floors. [B]"Riddle me this," [/B]I say, crouching down over him, twisting his head round, forcing him to look directly into my eyes, [B]"What kind of sick fucker does it take to kidnap girls off the street?" "What are you talking about?" [/B]he replies, his voice muffled and gurgling through a mouthful of his own blood. [B]"Fair enough. You want to play games? We can play games, you little jerk-off." [/B]I clamp one hand down on his chin, making sure his face doesn't move, and with the other I pull my H&K USP Elite out of my jacket, and force the muzzle into the bloody mess of his nose. This elicits a scream comparable to the sound of Godzilla raping a tugboat. [B]"Let me ask you again: what kind of sick fucker does it take to kidnap underage girls off the street?"[/B] I find myself shouting this time, flecks of saliva flying from my lips, [B]"And I warn you - if the answer is anything less than "The kind that looks like me" I'm gonna take something a little more precious to you than your fuckin' nose." [/B]I take the gun and press it into his crotch, just to add emphasis. [B]"Fine! Fine, the kind that looks like me!" [/B]he cries, thick tears streaming down the sides of his face. [B]"Good. Now we're playing the game. Now answer this one: who put you up to it? Because I'm sure a whiny little bitch like you couldn't have set the whole operation up, could you?" "N...no," [/B]he whines like the bitch he is, [B]"But I can't tell you. If I do then they'll kill me..." "If you don't, I'll kill you. And rest assured, I can make it last a lot longer than they can." [/B]This seems to be persuasion enough to spill the beans. He breaks down and tells me everything he knows, and when the information dries up, he pleads to me. [B]"Don't kill me, please..." [/B]he whimpers. [B]"Did you give those girls a chance to plead for their lives?" [/B]I whisper into his ear, [B]"Did you let them ask you to spare them before you whored them off to whatever greasy fucker wanted them? Hmm? No, I didn't think so." [/B]I pick him up again, grabbing tightly onto his collar, and haul him over to the window. It's a shitty apartment, so the window's sealed shut. I use his head to smash the pane, then throw him out onto the fire escape. He tries to crawl away as I swing through the window myself, slamming my blood-soaked sneaker into his stomach as I do. I pick him up and wrap the washing line around his neck as he begins to struggle again, pleading and squirming, his voice hoarse now. I block out all sounds, and reel the washing line out across the alley. He's hanging now, his legs flailing wildly in a Gallows Jig. I watch, the rain splashing down over my hair, face and clothes, until he stops moving, his face now purple and blotchy. I pull the small metal case out of my jacket pocket and flip it open. Empty. I need to go visit my dealer. [/FONT][/I]

[B][SIZE=1]The Spirit[/SIZE][/B][SIZE=1] hands-down. Pointless, confused movie that had some of the worst set-pieces I've ever seen (exposition by talking to a [I]cat[/I]? I mean, come on!), and couldn't even be redeemed by Samuel L. Jackson dressed as a Nazi. It's a shame, too, because I thought it was going to be a cool, Sin City-esque gritty neo-noir thriller, but as it turned out it was just an overly cartoony half-baked pile of crap. Thanks a lot, Frank Miller, for poisoning my brain for an hour and a half. [/SIZE]

[B][SIZE=1]What would you tell your 10-year-old self? [/SIZE][/B][SIZE=1]Well, one very specific thing which I don't really want to go into here, as it concerns my personal health (and now I watch as you try to work out what's wrong with me). Other than that, I'd pretty much tell him to get more exercise, and not to waste all his money on pointless things. [B]What would you ask your 10-year-older self? [/B]Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I like the fact that everything in my future is uncertain - it means I work hard towards whatever I want without any pre-conceived notions of what I'm going to end up doing. Plus, I enjoy surprises. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]I once spent two hours in an afternoon trying to see if I had superpowers. If you've never spent twenty minutes staring at your hands trying to make them explode into flame like the Human Torch then I don't recommend it.[/SIZE]

[center][IMG]http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b16/Blayze54/SalvationCity-1.jpg[/IMG] [U][B]SALVATION [/B][/U][LEFT][SIZE=1]Two pairs of heavy leather boots slapped through the puddles on the ground, the concrete slick with the day's moisture, even at this late hour. Two men ran side-by-side, one with jet-black hair, the other with sandy-brown, both wearing black leather jackets of different cuts. The dark-haired man wore a knee-length trenchcoat, the lighter-haired one favouring a short biker jacket. [B] "These bastards are fast,"[/B] gasped the sandy-haired man, a grin creeping across his face, [B]"How do we do this every night, Cade?" "Because we have to,"[/B] growled Lazarus Cade, pushing the hair out of his eyes as he ran, [B]"Now shut up, Marcus."[/B] Three men followed them, their rifles levelled at the pair as they moved swiftly through the winding alleyways of Salvation City, occasionally letting loose three-shot bursts of fire to try and cut their prey down. Marcus and Cade rounded a corner, only to be faced with a solid, graffiti-covered brick wall. [B]"Fuck," [/B]gasped Cade, pressing his forehead against the wall, [B]"I thought there was a way through." "Maybe there is,"[/B] said Marcus, catching his breath and pointing up at the upper-right corner of the wall. There was a large opening, probably a ventilation shaft, feeding into the building that formed one side of the alley. [B] "You get up,"[/B] said Cade, [B]"I'll follow you."[/B] Marcus nodded, took a few steps back, and ran at the wall, leaping towards it at the last minute, pushing off it with his foot and bouncing back towards the opening of the vent. He caught on with one hand, then swung his other hand to grip on the edge of the vent, and pulled himself up and into the vent. Cade was always impressed with his friend's agility. He turned around, only to see the three Adepts round the corner, their rifles now aimed squarely at him. He met the gaze of their expressionless helmet visors with a stony look of his own, and stood his ground even as he looked down the barrels of their high-powered automatic rifles. [B]"Cade, get up here now!"[/B] Marcus shouted, reaching his hand out for his friend to grab. Cade shook his head a little, and faced the Adepts, one hand reaching into his jacket for a weapon. [B]"Stop! Drop your weapons!"[/B] shouted one of the Adepts, his voice muffled under the heavily-insulated helmet. Cade snarled, and his hand continued it's journey inside the jacket. His fingers curled around the butt of his pistol, and he began to draw it out. [B]"This is your last warning,"[/B] said another of the Adepts, taking a step towards Cade, whose gaze never waivered as he yanked the gun out of it's holster, levelling it and firing it quickly into the blank mask of one of the Adepts. His mask shattered, the bullet piercing both mask and flesh, and blood splattered out from inside the helmet, splashing across Cade's scowling face. [B]"Open fire!"[/B] shouted the second Adept, nodding to his partner, and they took aim, and squeezed the triggers of their rifles. Muzzle flashes blinded Cade as he looked on, and then the first volley of bullets slammed into his chest, knocking the air out of him and sending his own blood splattering across the wet ground. He could vaguely hear Marcus shouting over the noise the guns were making, but it all seemed unimportant now. Marcus watched as his friend was pumped full of bullets, unable to offer any help. Cade's body shook and jerked as they fired more and more rounds into it, and blood splattered out from his back, splashing onto the wall behind him. The Adepts continued to fire, until Lazarus Cade's body slumped to the ground, blood-splattered and smoking, totally lifeless. Marcus drew his handgun, aimed and fired three shots, one slamming into the first Adept's leg, the other two hitting the second in the torso and knocking him to the ground. The first Adept swung his rifle to aim at Marcus' hiding place, and let loose a volley of shots, which clanged and rattled around the metal vent, but missed Marcus himself. He pulled himself out of the vent and dropped to the ground, landing with his knees bent to lessen the impact, and fired two shots into the remaining Adept's skull, blasting it apart in a shower of bone, cartilage and gore. He silently dropped to his knees by his friend's twisted, mangled corpse. It seemed so undignified for a man who had been so noble in life, so Marcus shifted his arms and legs into a more respectable position, and pulled his now-shredded jacket around his body, trying to hide the bullet-wounds. He pushed the locks of hair out of his eyes, slicking it back across his head, and wiped some of the blood from his face. [B]"Bye, mate,"[/B] he said, rubbing his eyes as they burned hot with tears of anger and sadness. He got to his feet and swung himself back up into the vent. The Adepts would have called for backup, and more would be here soon, so he had to get out of there. --- Marcus bent down and twisted the wheel on the drain cover, yanking the heavy old metal hatch open and dropping down the hole, closing the cover after him. He was in a series of catacomb-like tunnels, lit by pale electric lights rigged up along the walls. He trudged along the long, dank passage until he got to a heavy steel door, which he knocked on three times, hearing the knock reverberate around the catacombs. A hatch in the door slid back, and a pair of eyes were visible through the gap. [B] "Show me,"[/B] a grizzled old voice said from behind the door, and Marcus shook his jacket off one shoulder, revealing a short-sleeved black shirt and a tattoo of the letter "H" on his bicep. The hatch slid shut, and after a series of clanking noises from the other side, the door creaked open. Marcus walked through, pulling his jacket back on, and he headed into the Heretics' inner sanctum. He passed men and women, aged from 16 to 70, each with a tattoo of the letter "H" visible somewhere on their body. Some of them acknowledged him, others asked him questions, and some ignored him. Right now, he favoured the third group. Without knocking, he pushed one of the many doors around the place open, and walked into the Situation Room. This room was as dark as any other in the catacombs, lit only by a series of electric striplights over a large square table in the middle of the room. Computers and other pieces of equipment buzzed around the edges of the room, and people were busily moving around, gathering and delivering papers, checking statistics and watching surveillance footage. One man stood at the table, leafing through a series of papers laid out on the surface. He was tall, with short black hair, although there was salt-and-pepper speckling at the temples. A rough beard covered his chin, and his dark eyes were penetrating and intense. He wore a grey jacket with a red bandana tied around the left arm, and a pair of tight dark slacks. The way his white t-shirt clung to his chest showed off how good his physical fitness was, and what good shape he was in for a man of his age. [B]"Captain Cade, sir,"[/B] Marcus said, his voice cracking as he approached his friends' father, and head of the resistance movement. [B]"Marcus! Welcome back, take a seat. Where's Lazarus? Left him out in the field, I imagine,"[/B] he said, welcoming the family friend back. Marcus refused the seat he was offered, preferring to stand on the opposite side of the table to Kitos Cade, facing him so they had full eye contact. [B]"Captain Cade, sir,"[/B] he said, breathing deeply, [B]"Lazarus is dead. A small squad of Adepts found us and gave chase. We got cornered, and they killed him. "Dead?"[/B] stammered the Captain, dropping the stack of papers he had been holding onto the table, "Lazarus can't be...dead. How did you escape?" [B]"There was a ventilation shaft. He told me to go on ahead of him. I...I wasn't quick enough." "Couldn't you have brought the body back?"[/B] Kitos asked, the anger clearly rising in him now. [B]"There was a backup squad on their way. We killed all three Adepts, but I wouldn't have been able to escape if I'd brought the body with me. I'm so sorry, Captain Cade."[/B] Cade slammed his fist down on the table, sending a shudder through the whole structure. After a few deeps breaths, he stood back up straight, removing his hand from the table, his eyes closed as he breathed deeply. [B]"If he's dead,"[/B] the Captain said quietly, now strangely calm, [B]"Then you should go and tell the rest of your team." "Absolutely, sir,"[/B] said Marcus, [B]"If you need time to grieve, sir, I'm sure someone can take command for now." "I don't need time, Marcus. Just go. You're team leader now, don't let me down,"[/B] said the Captain, not dismissing Marcus but expecting him to leave. Marcus nodded, and left the Situation Room, knowing that Captain Cade was now going to immerse himself in his work, just as he did when his wife died. Marcus took a few deep breaths himself and headed over to the barracks, where his team were. Pushing the door open, he saw that his entire team was in attendance - Sparhawk was there, sitting on one of the bunks, talking to Bedlam; the Nebulous brothers, Cael and Clockwork were working together in another corner of the room. Trance lay on her bed reading a tattered book as Feirska sat on the end. [B]"I've got news,"[/B] said Marcus, his clear voice penetrating the noise of the barracks,[B] "Lazarus is dead. I'll be taking command of the team from now on. Any problems, report to me. As you were."[/B] He turned on the heel of his boot and walked back out of the room, leaving the team in stunned silence. Bad day.[/SIZE] --- [SIZE=1]Alright, guys, here it is, complete with the big early twist I promised you[/SIZE]. [SIZE=1]Lazarus was never going to figure in the story, I shall be playing Marcus. I'll whack up a profile for him in the backstage thread as soon as I can. For now, everyone post your reactions to the bad news - remember, inititally you're in the same room, but feel free to move around the Heretic compound - it's like a small town so there should be plenty of things you need/want to do down there. Once everyone's posted I'll get us started properly. [/SIZE] [/LEFT] [/center]

[SIZE=1]Whoah, I got freakin' [I]destroyed[/I]. Congrats Vicky - here's hoping you win the final so I can say I was beaten by the overall winner.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]Bollock-twisting is fine by me, Raiha. Not in real life, mind. Anyway, I'm just preparing the first post, so it should be up soon. Expect a twist straight off the bat. [/SIZE]