DeLarge

[center][SIZE=1][B][U][SIZE=2]Salvation Backstage [/SIZE][/U][SIZE=2][SIZE=1][SIZE=2]Current Cast:[/SIZE] [/SIZE][/SIZE][/B][SIZE=2][SIZE=1]DeLarge as [B]Lazarus Cade [/B]Afro as [B]Sparhawk Zephyrus [/B]Muuh Puar as [B]Fabian "Bedlam" Zephyrus [/B]Omega as [B]Caelus "Cael" Nebulous [/B]Raiha as [B]Trance Megelani [/B]konske as [B]Feirska Cellan [/B]Bone Machine as [B]Gaizka "Clockwork" Nebulous [/B]Allamorph as [B]Robert Cephas [/B][pending Writing Sample] [SIZE=2][SIZE=1] [SIZE=2][B]Organisations [SIZE=1]The Global Theocracy [/SIZE][/B][SIZE=1]- an oppressive, religious regime with full control of Salvation City. Led by Grand High Magister Victor Damascus and his army of Inquisitors, headed up by the cruel and sadistic High Inquisitor. [B]The Heretics - [/B]a group of revolutionaries dedicated to fighting the Global Theocracy with everything they have at their disposal. Led by the enigmatic and elusive figure known only as "Saxon" and his second-in-command Kitos Cade, who delegates many of his duties to his son, Lazarus. [/SIZE][/SIZE][/SIZE][/SIZE][/SIZE][/SIZE][/SIZE][SIZE=1][SIZE=2][SIZE=1][B][SIZE=2]Major Events [/SIZE][/B][SIZE=2][SIZE=1][none so far][/SIZE][/SIZE][/SIZE][/SIZE][/SIZE] --- [SIZE=1]I will be editing this opening post as the RP continues. Here is the place to ask me any questions you may have, let me know any ideas you have, and generally discuss the RP. I shall endeavour to respond to your questions as quickly and fully as possible. The RP thread itself will be up tomorrow sometime. Have fun! [/SIZE][/center]

[SIZE=1]Good characters - all are accepted thus far. I reckon we can probably start this thing up in the next couple of days, and I'll leave the sign-ups open while we run it. I'll sort out a Backstage thread tomorrow and then hopefully the actual RP should be up Sunday or Monday at the latest. Thanks for your interest, guys! I hope we can make this a good'un. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]Great jobs on the sign-ups, guys. One little thing, Muuh Puar, you need to tell me where your Heretic tattoo is located. --- [B]Name: [/B]Lazarus Cade (usually referred to by his surname) [B]Age: [/B]22 [B]Gender: [/B]Male [B]Appearance: [[URL="http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b16/Blayze54/News-BBC-Heroes-Season-3-On-Set-Spo.jpg"]Theocracy Surveillance Photo of Cade[/URL]] [/B]Cade usually wears his hair slicked back, a little more loosely than in the picture, allowing it to fall down into his eyes a little. He normally has a rough growth of stubble on his chin as shaving equipment is not readily available. His eyes are dark and penetrating, and his gaze can be seen by some as a little cold. The scar across his face is from a fight he got into with an Adept at a young age - the Adept slashed right down his face with a long knife before Cade smashed his head against a wall, killing him - the first man he ever killed. He is tall and well-built from a life on the run, and wears a tight black t-shirt with a dark blue long-sleeved t-shirt underneath, jeans and chunky leather boots under his knee-length black leather jacket. He wears a black leather strap around his left wrist, and several strings of beads, both wooden and metal on his right, as well as a metal pentagram pendant on a black string around his neck. He has plain steel rings on his right ring and little fingers, as well as the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. His Heretic tattoo is on the back of his neck, in black script with a red outline. He has several other ornate, curving tattoos running down his right arm, in a twisting tribal pattern. [B]Personality: [/B]As cool, calm and calculating as they come, Cade is a born leader, destined to take over when his adoptive father dies. He never knew his real parents, and as a result he has become detached and distant from other people. He is utterly dedicated to the Heretics' cause, and prepared to do anything in order to carry out Saxon's will. He has no problem stealing, murdering or participating in any other illegal acts. He drinks, takes drugs, has casual sex and does all those things that make a true Heretic. Everything he does is a calculated assault on the Global Theocracy, because he truly despises them and everything they stand for. However cold and distant he seems, however, he is also intensely connected with his team of Heretics, comprised of Sparhawk, Bedlam, Cael and many others besides. They respect him as a leader, and he values the loyalty of each and every one of his team. [B]Short Bio: [/B]Abandoned mere hours after his birth, cold, alone and unnamed, the child that would grow up to be Lazarus Cade was taken in and brought up by Kitos Cade, the physical front of the Heretics. He was never exposed to life under the Theocracy as many other members were, and as such he was always taught to be totally loyal to the revolution and opposed to the Global Theocracy. He was raised as a soldier of the uprising. He grew to be a strong man, his hatred for the Global Theocracy only growing as he did. He has seen many of his friends in the Heretics die as a result of the Theocracy's violent oppressive regime, and it has made him grow cold and distant. He is also one of very few Heretics to have spoken to Saxon directly, albeit over a remote audio link. This is, however, the closest anyone has ever gotten to meeting Saxon. [B]Weapons: [/B]Cade most often uses a shock baton purloined from Inquisition soldiers. At about eighteen inches long fully extended, the retractable baton has an electric charge running through it which can, if placed correctly, knock a fully grown man unconscious. He also carries a pair of eight-inch long thin-bladed knives and an Inquisition-made custom handgun. However, he is proficient with many other kinds of weapon, and can handle anything he can get his hands on. [B]Special Skills: [/B]Cade is an excellent hand-to-hand and long-range combatant, and also a quite proficient at a number of other things, including lock-picking, espionage, communications and infiltration. He can be described as a jack-of-all-trades, but he is by no means a master of any of the above. Kitos has put him through an extensive and gruelling training regime from an early age, and it shows - he is strong, powerful and well-built. [B]Vice: [/B][I]Sins of the Flesh - [/I]Cade indulges in sex, drugs, alcohol and violence, all the things that a true Heretic should rightly immerse himself in. Living outside the Theocracy's rule, he has never experienced life without these, so he doesn't view them as Vices. [B]Writing Sample: [/B][will finish later - too spaced out to finish] [/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]Hmm. Tricky one. Anomaly's was happy all the way through, whereas Shy's was a little sad but with a really heart-warming moment that lifted it right up at the end.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Shy's was more straightforward, whereas Anomaly's was done in an interesting way, from a fairly unique point of view. Interesting, though, that you both took love, or relationships as an umbrella topic, to be the most heartwarming and uplifting thing you could think of. Shy, yours was pretty cheesy, but Anomaly's gave more of an impression of a real relationship - it wasn't a fairytale story of love, and I think that kind of swung it for me. Kudos to you both, they were both really good fun to read, but my vote goes to [B]Anomaly[/B]. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]That was close - 799 words! It's all done - I'm not totally happy with it, but it was the best I could come up with in the time (you had to pick my busiest week to hold the contest in, didn't you Mykul?). I went for broke and tried something different - I'm not used to writing in the present tense, and I'm hoping it worked. I also kind of feel that I relied too much on conventional creepy stuff - I'm interested to see what Vicky comes up with. Like I say, hopefully it worked. If not, it was quite fun to write anyway. Looks like everyone else is leaving it to the last minute, just to make it more exciting. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]Here goes nothing: He coughs and splutters back into consciousness, sitting bolt upright in his cold hospital bed, the stained sheets pulled up in a crumpled heap around him. Wiping the cold perspiration from his numb skin, his fingers brush across the tube inserted into his left nostril. He panics, his hand shaking as he wraps his lifeless fingers around the tube and pulls with all his ill-conserved strength. Feeling resistance, he pulls harder. Eventually, the tube finally comes free, all eighteen inches of it sliding up his throat and out of his nasal cavity with a gush of blood and mucus. Choking, he yanks the IV line out of his arm, wiping up the blood with a corner of his sheet, and gets to his feet, shakily. The laminate floor is freezing cold and hard under his bare feet, and his head is swimming. He summons up enough of his intelligence to grab the chart hanging on the end of his bed, and flips it open, trying desperately to focus his eyes on the print inside. [B]"Ch...Charles Galloway..."[/B] he mumbles, his voice croaking as he manoeuvres his dry tongue and vocal cords over the unfamiliar words. Something in his memory seems to stir, but it is swiftly obscured by a strange, chemically-induced fug. He shakes his head, as if to try and dislodge something, then runs his hand over his close-cropped hair, his hand coming away sticky and warm. Struggling to focus on his hand, he sees the thick, crimson fluid dripping from his fingers, appearing slick and shiny in the harsh neon light of the ward. He has a visceral physical reaction, feeling the hot bile run up the same course as the tube had earlier, and ejects the contents of his stomach onto the floor, the hot liquid burning the inside of his throat, mouth and nose. He retches until he is choking on the stale air of the hospital ward, and then forces himself to his feet and through the swinging doors of the ward. The lights in the hallway flicker erratically, if anything inducing more nausea deep in the pit of his stomach. Shadows dance and play over the walls, the light in between them illuminating the dark red stains and smears across every surface. He staggers through the visions, forcing himself onwards, his willpower strong even through the strange half-life he finds himself in. Feeling something sludgy underfoot, he looks down, and sees congealed blood seep up between his toes. The metallic tang of blood fills the air, mingling with vomit and the stench of death and decay. He breathes in, the acrid smell of burnt flesh lingering in the back of his nose and throat. [B] ?Hello??[/B] he chokes through the overwhelmingly pungent aromas, his voice echoing, lonely and isolated through the empty hallways, [B]"Hello??[/B] Staggering onwards, his foot hits something soft, lying in one of the pools of shadow. Crouching down slowly and steadily, he reaches out. Tentatively, his hand creeps across the floor towards his foot, and feels something spongy lying on the floor. He moves closer, peering down at the bizarre object, then recoils in horror, feeling the bile rise up in his throat once more. Lying in front of him, twisted and contorted into a grotesque shape, was a human body, the mouth curled into a grimace and the limbs forced into physically impossible positions. Bright white teeth poked out between dry, flaky lips, and the skin was decomposing, rotting under the corpse?s ragged clothes. He clamps his quivering hand over his mouth, but can?t hold it in. Moving away from the cadaver as quickly as possible, he releases a torrent of liquid from his mouth. Hot tears stream from his eyes as his mind begins to comprehend the situation he is in, and as the bile dries up once more he notices a splash of scarlet flowing across the floor. Wiping his hand across his mouth, his fingers come away bloody. [B]?No...?[/B] he gurgles through a mouthful of blood. He drops to the floor, the crimson liquid dribbling from the corners of his mouth and running down his cheeks. He feels the warm fluid begin to run from his nose, every trail of blood mingling, sticking his hair together in clumps. He coughs and splutters, splashing blood and saliva across the walls, slumping to the floor. Every ounce of energy drains from him, and his stomach and chest begin to convulse roughly and violently. Wracking pain jolts through him, and he feels the darkness engulf him slowly and agonisingly. His final thought is one of pain: he is dying alone and isolated in this hellish place, with no memory of who he was or any of his loved ones. With a final bloody, stabbing convulsion, he stops moving and breathing. Alone. [/SIZE]

[center][IMG]http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b16/Blayze54/SalvationCity-1.jpg[/IMG] [CENTER][I][SIZE=1][Art by Audic][/SIZE][/I] [/CENTER] [B][SIZE=3]SALVATION[/SIZE][/B] [SIZE=1][B]WARNING:[/B] [I]This RP will contain violence, drug use, sex and strong language, among other things. It also contains references that could be seen as portraying monotheistic doctrines, particularly Christianity, in a negative light. If you subscribe to any form of religion and are likely to be offended by generally anti-religious writing, please don't join this RP.[/I][/SIZE] [SIZE=1]For the rest of you, on with the show![/SIZE] [SIZE=1]---[/SIZE] [B][SIZE=1]Salvation City, 2072[/SIZE][/B] [SIZE=1]Steam billowed up from the vents on the rain-slicked concrete, the puddles rippling with the rain falling from the sky. The glaring neon lights advertising new consumer-based products created gaudy reflections in the standing moisture, and created an artificial daylight, even after midnight.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Droplets of water splashed upwards as the young woman's red sneaker slapped through the pool, running breathlessly for her life. Her dark red leather jacket billowed out behind her, and a film of perspiration covered her forehead, causing clumps of her muddy-brown fringe to cling to her skin.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]She rounded the corner into an alley, clambering quickly and gracefully up and over the chain-link fence that blocked her way. She landed hard, the impact bruising the soles of her feet, but she kept running through the pain anyway. Slight pain was preferable to whatever was following her.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Ducking behind a dumpster, she stopped to regain her breath and her composure. She attempted to slow her heavy, ragged breathing and steady her heart rate, and keep her shaking hands still.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]The fence clinked and rattled, and she heard a pair of heavy footsteps land on her side of it. Her heart rate sped up again, her hands began to shake uncontrollably - he had found her.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]His footsteps slowed - he knew she was here, so he had no need to run any more. The heavy leather boots he wore on his feet were loud on the concrete beneath them, and his long black trenchcoat rustled as he moved. His breathing was shallow and regular, unlike the girl's, but his was amplified into a terrifying, blood-curdling noise by the voice box he wore.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]She looked under the dumpster, and saw the boots walk past the other side. Panic spread through her veins like icewater, and she closed her eyes, trying desperately to delay what she secretly knew was inevitable.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]When she opened them again, she found herself looking directly into his mask. From the nose down was a chunky, semi-circular grille, through which he breathed and spoke, his voice altered by a synthesized voice-box contained within the grille. From the nose up, there were two perfectly circular spotless black lenses where his eyes should have been, made of special glass meaning that he could see out of them, but no-one on the outside could see in. Covering the rest of his head was a heavy black hood which rose up from inside the high, upturned collar of his trenchcoat. Clouds of vapour billowed out of the grille as his breathing came through steady, but scratchy and electronic.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]"Wh-who are you?"[/B] she asked shakily through a dry mouth, staring directly into the blank lenses.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]"Who am I?"[/B] he replied, his voice an electronic growl, [B]"I am the High Inquisitor, and you have been found guilty of many sins, Kana Foster."[/B][/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]"Sins? What sins?"[/B][/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]"That is of no importance. What is important is that you shall pay for each and every one of those sins in the everlasting inferno."[/B] He rose to his feet, an enormous and imposing figure silhouetted against the neon jungle. Unbuttoning his trenchcoat slowly and purposefully, he never took his gaze off her terrified face, tears now running down her cheeks and dripping off her chin.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]As he reached the final button, he let his coat fall open, revealing a black t-shirt with a white cross emblazoned across the front, and dozens of cross-shaped knives hanging from the inside of the coat.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]"Stand,"[/B] he said, his voice cold and emotionless, even through the voice-box, and she did, somehow compelled to obey this man. He drew one of the long, sharp and elaborately decorated knives from his coat, took her left arm and slammed it against the wall of the alley, watching her flinch as the bones shattered. With one immensely strong hand, he forced her fingers apart and pressed her palm against the wall. With the other, he drew back the knife and with a single, impossibly fast strike, slammed the blade through her hand and into the wall.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Her scream pierced the night sky, and thick rivulets of blood gushed[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]from the wound, pouring down the wall. He never hesitated in grabbing her other arm and slamming that against the wall, the pain of these bones breaking simply adding to the ever-increasing well of agony she was suffering. With a quick motion, he drew a second blade and stabbed it through her right hand, more blood gushing from the point of impact. [/SIZE] [SIZE=1]She choked on her pain this time, finding herself unable to scream any more, as the Inquisitor stood back to look on the pain he had caused.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]"It seems unfit that you should die as our saviour did,"[/B] he growled, pulling a third object from the inside of his coat. This one was a jet-black object the size and shape of a fountain pen, which he held in an upturned fist. As he raised it in line with her head, two prongs shot out of either end, tiny radio transmitters which produced a high-pitched whine.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]She began to roll her head back in agony, her eyes rolling backwards into her skull, and blood began to pour from her nose and mouth, running down and dripping from her chin as the tears had done earlier. [/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Her eyes screwed up in pain, until eventually she lost her grip and slumped, still suspended against the wall by the blades.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]As soon as he was sure she was dead, he retracted the prongs back into the device, and placed it back in his coat, which he buttoned up firmly. His work was done, and he turned from the body and walked away without a seconds' thought.[/SIZE] [/center] [SIZE=1] --- This world is a very different place to the one you know. In the early 21st Century, governments across the world collapsed, almost simultaneously. Economies crumbled, systems of parliament and power all failed, and every country across the world was left without a leader. It is in times of trouble that the large proportion of the world turns to religion. More and more people signed up to the religious doctrines of the world for some semblance of help or guidance, and religion once more became power. The three main Abrahamic religions - Christianity, Judaism and Islam - all had the largest numbers of followers. But there was still no real leader, and that was what the world needed. A war followed between armies following each of the three religions. The Great Holy War, as it was known. Entire countries were scorched, entire civilisations destroyed, all in the name of God. After eight long years of fighting, the victors finally emerged, and the world was united under a single Christian rule. Thus, the Global Theocracy was born. As with historical precedent, the Believers, as they became known, travelled across the globe in the Great Crusades, converting everyone they could and killing those who could not be converted. And soon there was no-one left to fight, and everyone was united. The Global Theocracy began to rebuild cities, bigger and better than they were before - they were cleaner, purer societies, free of the filth and sin that comes with normal civilisation. At the centre of the world was Salvation City, the capital city of the Global Theocracy, built around the Grand Citadel, a fortress for the religious and the global headquarters of the Theocracy. Life was good again. But human nature always wins through eventually. Corruption and sin began to creep back into existence - an "inappropriate" piece of literature here, a sexual deviant there - and soon the cities of the world were no longer pure religious capitals, but dens of filth, crime and sordid activity, and the Global Theocracy could do nothing about it. Salvation City became home to brothels, crack dens, strip clubs, organised crime and sin and debauchery in general. A mere 67 years, and the world was back to the way it was before. So the Theocracy did something. They took matters into their own hands, and formed a secret police force, dedicated to eliminating corruption within the city. They were known as the Inquisition, and they spread across the city, arresting people engaging in any of the major sins. But soon arresting them was not enough - the sinners kept on sinning and the world kept on turning. So the Inquisition were given the political powers to become judge, jury and executioner to the sinners. They would kill anyone they believed to be involved in any corrupting activities on sight, without a second thought. Everything was policed, and the people were oppressed, scared and running for their lives against the Inquisition. But when you oppress people, it forces them to rise up. And now an underground resistance has formed against the Global Theocracy, dedicated to taking down the Inquisition, and then the Theocracy itself. Viva la Revolution. --- Welcome to Salvation, a gritty, neo-noir tale of oppression, revolution and religion. The Global Theocracy rules over the world with an iron fist and the loyal and brutal Inquisition. You will be playing the part of revolutionaries, aetheists forced to live under an oppressive Christian rule. This group is named "The Heretics," and they are dedicated to overthrowing the Global Theocracy, although some of them have their own, less noble motives. You might need a little bit of background information on the two groups, so here goes: The Global Theocracy was formed in 2013, from the ashes of the Great Holy War, by a man named Fabian Zephyrinus, who claimed the title of Grand High Magister for himself, and took control of the world. In the 59 years since the formation of the Global Theocracy, there have been 16 Grand High Magisters, their reigns of varying lengths. The current Grand High Magister is a man named Victor Damascus, a cruel and violent, yet pious man who created the Inquisition. He rules from the very top of the Grand Citadel in the centre of Salvation City, where he occasionally addresses the world via giant video screens placed in all the major cities of the world. He never makes public appearances for fear of assassination, the cause of death for the previous Magister. He has his own private guard, made up of twenty soldiers on rotating shifts, and controls the Inquisition, through the High Inquisitor (you've met this guy already - he was the one in the intro). The Inquisition are an army of well-trained and better-equipped soldiers dedicated to wiping out the plague of corruption and filth that spreads across the world. Each soldier is known as an Adept, and each battalion or regiment is led by an Inquisitor. Then, every Inquisitor in the world (there are usually one or two in each major city) reports back to the High Inquisitor, a powerful man who hunts down Heretics on his own, as well as co-ordinating the Inquisition as a whole. He never tires, he never sleeps, he never breaks from the job - he is dedicated and willing to do anything to get the job done, and that's what makes him such a threat. The Heretics were founded in 2070 by a mysterious figure known only as "Saxon," a figure nobody has ever seen. He communicates entirely by email or text message, never using his voice or image to contact other revolutionaries. The physical front of the revolution, however, is a battle-hardened fighter named Kitos Cade. The Heretics are growing in number every day, as more and more people turn against the Global Theocracy, and they are prepared to wage bloody and brutal guerilla warfare against the Inquisition, who are far better equipped and trained than any members of the resistance. Each member of the group is given a tattoo of the letter "H" somewhere on their bodies, allowing them to identify other revolutionaries. This method of identification is thus far unknown to the Theocracy, making it a safe and easy way to contact other members of the group. --- Here's what I need from you: [B]Name:[/B] You've seen the kinds of names people have in this world - make it kind of futuristic but still vaguely sensible. [B]Age:[/B] People as young as 14 are snapped up by the Heretics, but anyone older than 65 isn't much use to the resistance. [B]Gender:[/B] Easy one. [B]Appearance:[/B] A picture is great. A detailed description is just as good. Both will get you extra brownie points. Be sure to include your character's attire (think cyberpunk kind of clothing - lots of black, lots of leather and metal, that sort of thing). Remember to include the location of your "H" tattoo (nowhere glaringly obvious, like over your eye or something. Keep it hidden). [B]Personality:[/B] Sum it up in four or five lines, but be as detailed as possible. [B]Short Bio:[/B] Don't go into too much detail here - I don't need your intricate life story, as this will be revealed as the RP continues. Just give me a quick (two or three paragraphs) overview of your life. [B]Weapons/Special Skills:[/B] As far as weapons go, guns are fine, certain melee weapons are good as well. Remember, we are part of a poorly-funded resistance movement, so we won't have state-of-the-art weaponry like the Inquisition does. Keep it basic. As for Special Skills, this can be anything, just no superpowers. I'm talking gymnastics, lock-picking, tactics and strategy, weapons expertise, technological wizardry, not telekinesis or flight. [B]Vice: [/B]You have to have a vice, otherwise what are you doing in the Heretics? Be it drugs, sex, violence or any other of the myriad sins you can think of. [B]Writing Sample:[/B] Give me an idea of who your character is in a few hundred words. They can be doing anything in this sample, but keep it in-universe. We're talking gritty noir, darkness, rain, violence, bloodshed, drug use, sex, the whole spectrum. This is a world of greys - there is no black and white. The Theocracy may be oppressing millions, maybe even billions of people across the globe, but they did, for a short time at least, bring peace. Meanwhile the Heretics fight for what they believe is right, but they do so in an incredibly violent and brutal way, and they disturb the peace to uphold the human right to do sordid and "sinful" things. --- I realise that is a hell of a lot of information for you to absorb, but it's all necessary. I hope you enjoy signing up as much as I enjoyed creating this RP. Also, anyone who may want to make some graphics and stuff to make it all look a bit snazzier, please feel free, I'd be eternally grateful. As always, any questions, please feel free to PM me and ask away! I'll be opening a Backstage thread soon as well. Happy creating! [/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]I swear a lot, I just (mostly) do it in appropriate situations[/SIZE]. [SIZE=1]I never drop the F-bomb in front of my parents, but I use it a lot more often when talking to my friends. I think our prudishness about swearing is diminishing, though. Most people understand that they are just words, and they can't harm anyone unless used in context. It is only when put into a phrase like "I ****ed your sister" that the F-word becomes genuinely offensive - when shouted out as someone drops something on their foot, or panics in the car, it is simply an exclamation, and can't do any harm to anyone else. However, I do entirely agree with the point that has been made about people who can't get through a paragraph without using some kind of curse word. I know a few people like that, and they drive me up the ****ing wall. Well, two out of three ain't bad.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]Weeell, this will be fun, even if I have a sinking feeling that I'm going to lose this one to Vicky. She's obviously far more disturbed than me. Battle of the Mentally-Disturbed Brits GO! [/SIZE]

[I][SIZE=1]In other cities around the world, people have never seen a dead man walking. In Otakusin City, they're ten a penny - there's one round every corner, one every street, in every house, apartment or filthy, disease-ridden squat. I know all this because I am a dead man walking. I started something eighteen months ago, something that I couldn't finish, and it's coming back to bite me right in the ass. I just intend to finish it before I'm finished. The colours haunt me on those rare occasions when I fall asleep. The grey, the white and the crimson, splashing across my vision, infecting my subconscious. The moment they brought those young girls into the room, the white-hot fury consumed me, and I began my life as a dead man. Bone and cartilage crunched under the cold, hard metal of the butt of my pistol, warm blood gushing down the weapon and onto the pale skin of my hand. The man pleads, but I'm so far gone under the weight of my own sins and the chemically-induced fug that clouded my vision and my judgement that I don't even notice, simply pounding away at the exposed, bloody flesh until it was no longer living, just a hunk of dead meat. I stand, panting, clouds of vapour billowing from my mouth, over this lifeless husk of being that lies slumped on the cold, hard concrete beneath me. Blood ran into the cracks in the paving slabs, and mingled with the crisp white snow that seemed to fall more often than usual in Otakusin City. I dragged the corpse into the nearest alley, leaving a wide smear of blood along the ground. I hauled it into the metal dumpster, and stepped away, my crusade done for tonight. [/SIZE][/I][SIZE=1][B]Name: [/B]DeLarge - it is generally assumed that this is his surname, but no-one has ever discovered his first name - it appears to have been wiped from all official records, and he never reveals it. [B]Age: [/B]30 [B]Occupation: [/B]He dabbles in anything available to him, whether legal or illegal. However, he ensures that his nights are always clear, as he has "business" to attend to during the nights. [B]Appearance: [/B]Often seen as "unkempt," DeLarge is pale, with deep, dark rings under his dull blue eyes, and a moderate growth of stubble around his chin. His muddy brown hair is long and unruly, hanging down over his face. He wears dark t-shirts or button-down shirts, depending on what he has clean, a battered black leather biker jacket, faded black jeans and beaten-up Converse trainers of various colours, depending on his mood. [B]Personality: [/B]DeLarge very rarely sleeps, and as such he is constantly wired on a heady cocktail of methamphetamines, pep pills and energy drinks which keeps him constantly awake and alert. Due to this, people find him very difficult to relate to - they just cannot match his high levels of energy and adrenaline. However, he is uncompromising, and will do anything necessary to get results. [B]Family (if applicable): [/B]Daughter (Cerys, deceased) [/SIZE]

[quote=chibi-master] Quote: Originally Posted by [B]Vicky[/B] [URL="http://www.otakuboards.com/showthread.php?p=833334#post833334"][IMG]http://www.otakuboards.com/images/indigo/buttons/viewpost.gif[/IMG][/URL] [I][SIZE=1]Battle of the Brits! I'm half terrified and half excited. Excited because I was actually hoping to face you, DeLarge, because I think our brains work in the same odd, dark and twisted way =p. Good luck everyone![/SIZE][/I] Wait, where's the terrified reason?:confused: [/quote] [SIZE=1]Isn't it obvious? Heh heh heh.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][I]As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster. To me, being a gangster was better than being the President of the United States...[/I] Sorry, I got lost for a second there. My aspirations have gone through many changes over the years. When I was a kid, I went through the phases of wanting to be a policeman, or a fireman, or a racing driver, or a train driver, but I soon realised they were foolish ideas and I moved on to better(?) things. However, I've always had a slight problem in that I'm good at a lot of things, but I don't excel in any of them. I used to draw all the time, and really enjoyed it, so obviously I wanted to be an artist. Then one of the other kids at school started showing me up in art lessons, turning out drawings and paintings that were much better than mine. My dream faded a little, but didn't die until secondary school art lessons sucked every last ounce of fun out of it. For an extensive period of my early teens, I wanted to be an actor. I was good at drama, and thought that it was my calling. When I told my parents, they complained because it wasn't a very steady source of income, and the work was too unreliable, and that affected me somewhat. I'm not saying they made me forget the dream of being an actor, but they certainly didn't encourage me. Then my friends and I formed a band and had reasonable local success, and I thought we were good enough to make it big. Two and a half years later, we split due to "creative differences" (also known as our guitarist being a dick) and that was another aspiration down the pan. Currently, I have three main ideas of what I want to do with my life, none of them particularly stable. I still have the urge to be a musician, but my gut tells me that it's likely to be more for enjoyment than employment (hey, that rhymes! I have an idea for a song...). The second is to be a film journalist - I'm heading off to university to study Film and English in September, so that is looking a little more hopeful. The third, and perhaps the one which instils the most fire in my soul, is to be a stand-up comic. I'm trying as hard as I can to follow through on this one, spending my free time writing material and going to open mic nights, and I'm really hoping that something comes through for it. To be honest, it's the first of my aspirations I'm actually beginning to live up to, and it feels really good, so I'm hoping against hope that something good comes of it. Sorry to pour my heart out over this one. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]It's slowed down because I've been going round hunting down members and nailing their hands to their desks. Just 'coz.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]Ohh crap. I knew I'd end up facing someone good. Oh wait, everyone in this competition has been good! Ah well, let's fight for our honour, Vicky! [/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][B]Name:[/B] Alexander Mitchell (just goes by his last name) [B]Age: [/B]Early 20th Century [B]Gender:[/B] Male [B]Species:[/B] Vampire [B]Alliance:[/B] Loosely affiliated with the Counter-Rogue Task Force as a consultant. He knows the way Vampires work, and that is useful to the Force. [B]Appearance:[/B] [URL="http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b16/Blayze54/Mitchell-being-human-3972968-426-63.jpg"][I]Mitchell[/I][/URL] Mitchell tends to wear the same jeans (the same style, not the same pair), boots, coat and gloves, but he will wear different shirts - sometimes black button-down shirts, sometimes checked, sometimes just a t-shirt. He tries to dress inconspicuously, as he doesn't like to be singled out in a crowd. The only things which change when he feels the bloodlust are his incisors elongate into pointed fangs, and his eyes turn completely black - the irises, the whites, everything. [B] Personality:[/B] Mitchell has been a vampire for (by his standards) a very long time, and he grew tired of the constant infighting many decades ago. As such, he has distanced himself from the vampire community, and the supernatural community as a whole, and become much more friendly to humans than he would be otherwise. He is sociable and friendly, but everyone who knows him and spends time with him can tell there is a great sadness behind his eyes. As a rule, he tries to avoid confrontation - more for the sake of the people he may be confronting than his own - but he is very protective, and will often jump into a fight to defend someone weaker than himself, even if he doesn't know them. As such, he is known as quite a noble and loyal person to his friends, if a little distracted sometimes. His attitudes towards his fellow vampires is totally different, though. He treats them with cold disdain, avoiding them where possible, but if he has to stand and fight one, he will. As for the bloodlust, he tries to deal with it the best he can - his primary job is as an orderly in a hospital, and drinks as much of the stored blood as he can get away with - he doesn't want to rely on any of the vampire-run corporations with their synthetic blood, but at the same time he doesn't want to feed on humans or animals. [B] Weapons:[/B] Mitchell only occasionally carries a revolver for protection - his natural vampiric strength and agility serve him well in a fight, and he doesn't find himself in a combat situation all too often, so he doesn't feel the need to carry one all the time. He has a variety of different kinds of bullets at his apartment, including some silver and some filled with garlic or holy water, specially made for him by the Counter-Rogue Task Force. If it can be called a weapon, he also has a silver spear-head shaped pendant around his neck, which seems to put off werewolves if he ever finds himself around them. [B] Unique Power:[/B] He can't quite explain it, but Mitchell seems to have a special connection to the vampire who sired him. It was almost as if the vampire overlord known as Seraphim left a part of himself within Mitchell when he turned him into a vampire over 100 years ago. He doesn't have a full-blown telepathic connection to him, but he sometimes has strange dreams and feelings, violent flashes in the night during which he doesn't feel like himself. Inherent in this connection are some enhanced abilities: Mitchell seems to be resistant to the aging effects of the Sun, the only sensitive part of him being his eyes, causing him to require sunglasses even when it is cloudy; he also seems to be stronger than the average vampire, and more agile. However, coupled with these enhanced abilities comes a greater-than-average craving for blood. He feels the bloodlust at least twice as strong as your normal vampire, and as such he has to work extra hard to resist it. [B]Writing Sample:[/B] Fear flowed through my veins like icewater, turning every appendage into a numb, lifeless attachment to my useless body. My ineffectual fingers wrapped tighter around the barrel of my rifle, which rattled as my hands shook it. I reached up and adjusted my helmet, as it began to slip down over my eyes, blocking my line of sight. I heard my breathing heavy and loud in my ears, along with the pumping of my blood. A rustling came from behind me, and I whirled around, brandishing my weapon at the source of the noise. The forest seemed to be full of ghosts - sounds and movements that appeared to come from nowhere. The thick, cloying mist didn't help matters, either. I had lost my regiment some 14 hours earlier, and I'd been wandering around this forest searching for them ever since. I was alone, terrified and it was beginning to get dark, which only increased my fear of the place. It stank of death and rotting flesh, and I think I knew deep down that my men were all dead. The search was the only way I could keep myself occupied enough to stop the fear from consuming me. Hah. People always said I had great willpower. That was when I saw them. They were dressed as the enemy, their heads adorned with German army hats and helmets, their greatcoats splattered with dark bloodstains, standing over a pile of men's bodies. My men's bodies. I felt a surge of anger wash over the fear, not replacing it but concealing it for a moment, and I raised my rifle, levelling it at the head of the man who looked most like their leader. Hot, stinging tears of anger rolled down my cheeks, but I blinked them away, desperately trying to regain my clear vision to take the shot. I sniffed, apparently too loudly, and the man's head snapped around to my direction. I panicked and took the shot, but it missed, a tree trunk to the right of him exploding into splinters. Seconds later, he was standing in front of me, his powerful hand gripped on the barrel of my rifle, which he pulled out of my hands and threw to the ground. His skin was pale, his long hair concealed beneath his hat, and his eyes were pitch black. It was the face of the Devil himself. [B]"Y...you're not really one of them, are you?"[/B] I asked shakily. I don't know why I asked this when the answer was so apparent, but my fear-addled mind forced the words out of my mouth. [B]"No,"[/B] he said, with the air of a god addressing an insect, a sneering arrogance dribbling from his words as he looked down upon me, [B]"We're not here to fight in your petty, meaningless war. We're here for...recruitment purposes." "What do you mean, recruitment?"[/B] I asked, the fear that had been clouding my mind dissipating for a moment, allowing me to distract the creature with my words as I drew my Bowie knife from it's sheath on my leg. [B] "We're part of an exclusive club, you might say," [/B]he said, and the others with him, now gathered around me, laughed. The man took his hat off, throwing it to the ground, and unfurling his long, silvery hair. I took this moment of distraction to raise my knife up and plunge it into his stomach. He reeled back, stepping onto his back foot, but more out of surprise than pain. He grinned a vicious, venomous grin, and pulled the bloodied knife from the place it had lodged itself. [B]"You're brave, I'll give you that. Bravery is an intriguing quality, and I see something else inside you. Something...something I can't quite put my finger on." "If you're going to kill me, just fucking do it!"[/B] I shouted, the rage, the pain and the fear welling up inside me and exploding from me in a sudden outburst. [B]"Oh, I won't kill you. In fact, quite the opposite. I'm going to give you life. Tell me your name." "Alexander. Alexander Mitchell,"[/B] I spat, wiping my nose with my hand and staring up at this creature with bloodshot eyes. [B]"Well, Alexander Mitchell. Welcome to a new world,"[/B] he said, opening his jaws wide, baring long, wickedly-pointed fangs, and clamping down on my neck. I felt my skin and veins burst open, and my hot, sticky life-blood gush out of the wound and into his waiting maw. But I didn't scream. I felt something change in me as my consciousness clouded over, growing heavier and darker. I slumped to the ground, feeling everything fade away... I didn't know how long it was until I returned to the land of the living, but when I did, everything was different, and the glorious creature that had done this to me stood over me, offering his hand to me. [B]"Welcome, Mitchell. Your life begins here,"[/B] he said, and I reached out and took his hand. --- I snapped out of my daydream as one of the doctors yelled something at me. I picked up my mop and continued my meaningless duties. I thank my lucky stars to this day that I encountered Seraphim Baraccus when I did, back when he was more compassionate and less cruel. If I had met him today, he wouldn't have hesitated in ripping my heart from my chest and leaving me to bleed to death in that forest. Maybe he was a better person back then, or maybe I caught him on a good day, but whatever reason it was for, he exercised restraint and sympathy. Or maybe, just maybe, he really did see something special inside me that day. If I had anything to do with it, I'd never find out.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]I'm not going to be able to post or vote or anything for a week, as I'm leaving for America tomorrow and will have little to no internet access. Sorry I won't be able to vote in round 1.3, but I should be back in time for round 2.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]Fine, you've pushed me. [/SIZE][CENTER][SIZE=1][B]ODD THINGS TO HEAR OVER A TANNOY [/B][/SIZE] [B][/B][LEFT][B][SIZE=1]"You're lonely, aren't you Russell?" [/SIZE][/B][SIZE=1]- Russell Howard[/SIZE] [CENTER][B][SIZE=1]UNLIKELY THINGS TO BE SAID IN PROGRAMME IDENTS [/SIZE][/B][LEFT][B][SIZE=1]"You're watching ITV1...why are you doing that? I've got the listings here, and...we've got nothing!" [/SIZE][/B][SIZE=1]- John Oliver [/SIZE][LEFT][SIZE=1][B]"Viewers of a nervous disposition may be interested to know your television is off and I'm speaking to you from inside your head..." [/B]- Hugh Dennis And a non-MTW one, but by a member of the MTW team. [B]"Can you imagine having sex with Stephen Fry? It would be like getting rogered by Google!" [/B]- Russell Howard [/SIZE][/LEFT] [/LEFT] [/CENTER] [/LEFT] [/CENTER]

[SIZE=1]I get the feeling Gavin might get angry at me about this one, but... [/SIZE][CENTER][SIZE=1][B]THINGS YOU DIDN'T HEAR AT THE OLYMPICS [/B][/SIZE][LEFT][SIZE=1][B]"...And it's a Gold for Ireland!"[/B][/SIZE] - [SIZE=1]Andy Parsons[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]I'll stop spamming the thread with MTW quotes now.[/SIZE] [/LEFT] [/CENTER]

[SIZE=1]I have a few accessories about my hands most of the time, so I often end up either playing with the ring I have on my little finger, or the black leather wrist-strap I have on my left wrist. I'll also fiddle with my phone, as it is a slider, although I'm worried that if I play with it too much it'll break.[/SIZE]

[B][SIZE=1]"No-one will buy the ice-cream truck if you give away the ice-cream for free!"[/SIZE][/B][I][/I][SIZE=1]- my good friend Meg in a very roundabout metaphor for sex. [B]"Later on I'll be telling you how my dangerous and ultimately lethal addiction to various forms of hard narcotics actually saved me from my previous addiction to born-again Christianity." "I love Catholicism: it's my favourite form of mind-controlling clandestine evil." [/B]- both from the peerless Mr Stewart Lee. [B]"If we're so intelligent, how come even the most brilliant mathmetician will sometimes bite the inside of his own face?" [/B]- Dara O'Briain on intelligent design. [B]"Do you think Gordon Brown would be a more popular Prime Minister if he had an eyepatch instead of a glass eye?" [/B]- that one was me! [B]"Friendship is a lot like peeing on yourself - everyone can see it, but only you get the warm feeling it brings." [/B]- I don't know if this is a famous one, but my friend Jonny always says it. He also says: [B]"If love is blind, why is lingerie so popular?" "If you wanna be a big cop in a small town, ******* off up the model village!" [/B]- my favourite line from Hot Fuzz. I'll probably think of more later on. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]I come down firmly on the side of the atheists on this one, if only because of the choice of language. The atheist message was "There's [I]probably[/I] no God," while the Christian message was "There [I]definitely[/I] is a God." At least the atheist version left room for people to make their own decisions - their message was not definite, and meant almost in a joking way, whereas the Christian version seems to be a genuine retaliation, which seems somewhat unnecessary to me. [/SIZE][quote name='Ezekiel][SIZE=1']And you know, considering how overly, stupidly PC we are in the UK (we can't fly our own flag during the world cup in case we 'insult someone' of another religion. Just what.) I'm shocked no one complained about the Christian ads being distressing in the messages they were directing people to look at. Then again, they do seem to be immune. No one wants to upset that lot, apparently.[/SIZE][/quote] [SIZE=1]I can't tell you how glad I am that you didn't use the phrase "it's political correctness gone mad." That saying drives me absolutely spare, and it's generally an excuse for genuine racists (or sexists, homophobes, or other bigots in general) to say something genuinely racist and/or offensive[/SIZE],[SIZE=1] almost like the phrase "I'm not being racist, but..." which is usually followed by something unbelievably racist. However, major props to you for this: [/SIZE][quote name='Ezekiel][SIZE=1']I'm part of the British Humanist Association[/SIZE][/quote] [SIZE=1]Ditto :animesmil[/SIZE]

[B][SIZE=1]"Next customer, please," [/SIZE][/B][SIZE=1]said the squawking electronic voice from the speakers about the queue, signalling the line to inch forward. Everyone in the building seemed depressed, down-trodden and thoroughly miserable. The silence in the room was only broken by occasional shuffles of paper, or mumbled requests at the counters. Little did the occupants of the bank know that the mundanity was about to be destroyed. The front window shattered, shards of glass falling to the ground like solid, glimmering raindrops as a metal fire hydrant from outside crashed through it. Outside, water sprayed in all directions, flooding the street. [URL="http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b16/Blayze54/graemecarpenter.jpg"][B]A man[/B][/URL], dressed entirely in black, his face twisted into a grimace, stepped through what was left of the window, his hand outstretched, a single silver ring gleaming on his ring finger. Security ran towards him, grabbing their revolvers from the holsters on their belts, but with a flick of the man's wrist, the metal weapons flew from their hands and skittered across the floor. He brought his other hand swinging up from his side, and the fire hydrant hurtled towards the guards, slamming into them with an almighty clang and sending them flying across the room. [B]"Everybody stay exactly where you are," [/B]he said, his British-accented voice commanding, [B]"Customers, get down on the ground. Cashiers, put any and all money you have into bags and place it in front of your desks, then get down on the floor. Do as I say and nobody has to get hurt." [/B]Under his watchful eye, the customers got to their knees, and the cashiers did as he asked. He walked towards the desks, grabbed the bag and threw them into the middle of the floor, then vaulted the desk quickly and nimbly. The bank's main vault was behind the desks, an enormous metal door guarding the entrance. He smiled, and stepped right up to the door. Placing his hand on the cold metal, he closed his eyes and concentrated. Metal spoke to the man - he understood how it worked, the energies that were involved in it's creation and the energies that the metal itself gave off. It spoke to him, and he listened intently. The door was about to give it's secrets away, and with a slight movement of his hand, the bolt on the other side slid back, and the door creaked open. He smiled again, and pulled the door open without touching it. [B]"Freeze!" [/B]shouted a strident voice from behind him, [B]"Put your hands on your head and step away from the vault!"[/B] The man complied, placing his palms on the top of his head and turning to face the shouting man. He was in uniform: impressive. The cops turned up quickly this time. He looked deep into the cop's eye, and saw fear and confusion. He didn't understand how one man could have robbed the bank and done so much damage. He began to walk towards the cop, slowly but purposefully. [B]"Don't take another step, or I will be forced to open fire!" [/B]shouted the cop, his voice quivering a little as he spoke. The man in black took another step towards him, and an echoing explosion filled the bank. The cop opened his eyes, which he had squeezed shut, and saw the bullet dangling in mid-air, the man looking intently at it, his eyes completely focused. [B]"Big mistake, officer," [/B]he said, his eyes quickly flitting from the bullet to the man who had fired it, sending the projectile back towards it's source. The tiny piece of metal slammed into the cop's neck, knocking him to the floor in a gushing torrent of thick, red blood. The man flicked a finger, and the gun slid across the floor out of the dying cop's reach. The man stepped over the spasming body and back towards his money. He looked out of the broken window, and saw that the cops had set up a perimeter, but nobody else was setting foot inside. The other guy must have split off from the group, thinking he was some kind of maverick. Or maybe he was the negotiator, there to talk him out of killing the "hostages." Cops with guns were lined up outside the window, behind a barrier of squad cars. [B]"Playtime," [/B]the man said with a tiny smile, and stretched his arm out once again, his palm open with his fingers splayed. He focused his concentration, and pushed, sending one of the squad cars screeching backwards into the rank of cops stood behind it. With a movement of his hand and a change in concentration, he flipped the car end over. Cops began to take aim, but with a sweep of his hand he sent their weapons flying. He twisted his arm so the palm of his hand was facing upwards, and with a visible amount of effort, he began to lift one of the cars into the air. Cops looked on, astounded, as it rose three, four, five feet into the air. Once it had risen to perhaps eight or nine feet above the ground, he released his grip on it, letting it drop back to the floor with an almighty smash. He stopped, dropping his hands back to his sides, looking at the chaos and confusion he had caused, and saw two people amongst the crowd who stood out. While the officers were in uniform and the senior members of the force were wearing dull suits and beige trenchcoats, these two, a man and a woman, were dressed in smart black suits, dark glasses covering their eyes. They looked too calm, too sure of themselves to fit in with the squabbling masses of police, panicking over this incident. [B]"Hello there," [/B]the man said quietly to himself, as the man raised a gun, levelled it towards him and fired. The bank robber smiled once more and raised his hand, but the bullet passed through the magnetic field he had put in place and slammed into his chest, hurling him back off his feet, three or four feet across the floor. He felt unconsciousness coming, and the last thing he saw before passing out was the man and the woman, both so serious-looking, standing over him. [B]"Bloody rubber bullets..."[/B] [/SIZE]

[quote=Ezekiel][SIZE=1][I]READING[/I]. My dad lives there. 8D I actually quite like it when I go to visit. There are a lot of nice areas in easy driving distance to go walking in.[/SIZE] [/quote] [SIZE=1]*jaw drops* OB meet-up, much?[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]A few I've just taken of me and my new best friend. [B][URL="http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b16/Blayze54/DSCF0383.jpg"]Me and Jules[/URL] [URL="http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b16/Blayze54/DSCF0384.jpg"]Jules just doin' his thang[/URL] [URL="http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b16/Blayze54/DSCF0386.jpg"]Me doin' what I do[/URL] [/B]Ain't I pwetty? [/SIZE]

[B][SIZE=1]Trainspotting [/SIZE][/B][SIZE=1]by [B]Irvine Welsh[/B]. I've been thinking for a while that I should start reading more seminal novels, and I really enjoyed the film so I thought I'd give the book a whirl. It's very good so far, although I'm taking it slow at the moment to get used to the accent it's written in. For those of you that don't know, the whole book is written in a strong Scottish (Glaswegian, if I remember correctly - someone please correct me if I'm wrong on this) accent[/SIZE], [SIZE=1]so it's not exactly your conventional novel! [/SIZE]