Angelus_Necare

What? A picture thread? Okay! Here's some older and newer stuff: [URL="http://dh03.anonlb.info/_pleasantlyplump/images/1252/sexyme_anonib.jpg"]Put on an angry sexy face.[/URL] [URL="http://dh03.anonlb.info/_pleasantlyplump/images/1179/1001071416_anonib.jpg"]Now just be cute...[/URL] [URL="http://dh03.anonlb.info/_pleasantlyplump/images/1179/1001071417_anonib.jpg"]...and stupid.[/URL] [URL="http://dh03.anonlb.info/_pleasantlyplump/images/1173/1001071137_anonib.jpg"]And wake up.[/URL] [URL="http://dh03.anonlb.info/_pleasantlyplump/images/1171/1001071131_anonib.jpg"]No, go back to sleep...[/URL] [URL="http://dh06.anonlb.info/_pleasantlyplump/images/1305/1008071934_anonib.jpg"]And be even more... Stupid.[/URL]

[SIZE="2"][CENTER][FONT="Garamond"][COLOR="DarkSlateGray"]-Silas Birch- The evening was still and cold. Not even at the devil’s hour would a creature dare stir in the fog-choked streets. The only sign of life it seemed; were those of the gas lanterns that flickered loyally for anyone who would happen to pass beneath on their way home. Yet, in this land baron of men, the rhythmic cadence of slow footsteps and the gentle tick of a cane heralded the approach of a lone, well-dressed gentleman. For being assumed as a nightwalker at first glance, the man was very dapper and well kempt in his appearance. From what any eyes that would have happened to catch glimpse of him could see that his top hat was hardly out of place, soft, golden curls were set clean against his pale skin, and his evening cloak swayed to and fro with his gentle advancement up the street. In all honesty, anyone could assume that this gentleman was merely on his way home from the theatre, likely home to a wife and three children, retiring for a late night before he had to be back to the office in the morning. Yet, as much as an innocent gaze could imagine, it could be fooled without fail. For there was much more to Silas Birch than what meets the eye. It was true that he was returning from an evening at the theatre, but also from the parlor of one George Chauncey. And the beautiful evening attire was on loan to him, used to doll up the young, pretty Silas, so that he could be paraded before the higher society gentlemen, before the highest bidder swept him away to a dusky parlor where he could put his services to good use. But he didn’t regret it; Silas loved his way of life. It allowed him freedom to walk the streets at night, make money, and feel accepted. Even though he was often abused and degraded, that small inkling of acceptance, perchance love, was what he thrived on, nay, [I]lived[/I] for. And in all twenty-four years of breathing, he wouldn’t even trade that feeling for his salvation in the afterlife. He could easily have left the exclusively male brothel business at any time he wished, pay off his pimp and disappear without another word exchanged between the two. He could just as easily be plain old Silas Birch. But this second life was exciting, lavish and privileged, he couldn’t only be a just a decent yet borish upstanding citizen. Wouldn’t dream of it! It was his lust of acceptance and false notions of love that kept him tied to the soft underbelly of the Victorian men’s kinks at nights and released into an average man by day. A rank stench wafting through the air faltered young Silas’ steps and reverie. It carried the peculiar odor of alcohol, bile, and something much more pungent. The further he had advanced, the worst the smell had become, until the gas lamps brought light to what lay in the street before him. Silas was by no means a brave man, but he wasn't a blithering, and panicky coward either. It merely only took a glimpse of a still corpse, haloed in blood to send him striding onward into the night. In the haze he could see rats scattering about, already feasting on what he assumed to be a fresh kill. Murder wasn’t uncommon in these streets, but if one were to lounge about long enough, they would find that their body would be added to the newspaper’s count as well. And without the presence of a coroner, or a policeman, it was likely that this kill was very, very fresh. Thus Silas would hurry on his way home, where he would feel a little bit more comfortable, albeit not much safer… When he had arrived at his humble flat, a familiar figure was found hunched at his steps. If his hackles hadn’t been raised enough already, the appearance of his pimp wasn’t going to help the matter much. Upon Silas’ arrival, the man stood, his grin glinting in the lamplight. He was a man of considerable size, intimidating and quite rough around the edges. He was by no means handsome, or well kept for that matter. But the man was a smooth talker, highly persuasive, and ran a very lucrative business. Silas only knew him as Jack, and had decidedly refused to be bullied or by him a long while ago. The young man really wasn't easy to fool or jest upon. He was cool, calculative, and incredibly secretive. When other people knew his business, it certainly wouldn't do. And he often would become short tempered because of it. Yet Jack had seen potential in him, because Silas could turn coat for the right situation, becoming the most pleasant, and charming young man one could meet. His sugar-coated pleasantries had made them both a lot of money. “’ave a good night then Silas?” He asked while tilting his sporting cap in jest, watching the younger man ascend the steps past him, jangling the keys for the door with flustered fingers. “Wotsamatter wif you lad?” Jack asked with little concern, and then followed, “Got me money do ya?” “Yes,” Silas said, taking only a moment to dig a roll of notes from his breast pocket, quickly handing them to the man behind him. “Fanks Silas, did a right good job on ol’ George didn’ ya?” He grinned, noticing that the much paler younger man wasn’t really listening, and was more focused on getting inside, “Look live yeh’ve seen a ghost lad.” “I’m sure you could say that, Jack.” Silas had finally opened his front door, removed his hat and stepped inside, “Something foul is on the streets tonight. And if not for my distaste for you I’d warn to keep that wandering eye of yours pointed both ways.” “A good evenin’ to ya then me pretty Silas.” Jack wasn’t easy to put off, but knew when his stay was overextended, “Now mind ya, thems fancy fings go on back to Rodger in th’ mornin’, aye?” Silas didn’t answer as he shut and locked the door, listening to Jack’s heavy steps amble him away up the street. Sleep would have been suggestible, but such a horrid image racked on his mind, he thought that he would go out again, not very far mind you, to a certain acquaintance of his whom he could indulge in for a little while, to merely forget. Donning his hat once more, Silas Birch left his home once more, against his better judgment. [/COLOR][/FONT][/CENTER][/SIZE] EDIT: Silas' vice is basically an addiction to sex, but going a little deeper into it isn't the act itself, but the passion it brings. He thrives off of knowing that someone wants him and accepts him, even if it is for unspeakable reasons, because he feels in his own mind that it's "love". And I imagine that he would be tied to the Barton case as a randomly chosen citizen to be placed in the jury. Silas isn't a supporter of crime, so anyone who could convince him well enough that someone was guilty would have his vote.

[FONT="Garamond"][COLOR="DarkRed"]I think I keep coming back because I'm chasing my younger, happier memories on the net. I used to lurk here and there all the time, write in RPGs until my fingers were tapped out, and maintain a little bit of a relationship with the members here (those who remembered me?). Now I'm here because Demonchild prompts me to check in every so often. That and I like what James has done with the site. '02 represent![/COLOR][/FONT]

[FONT=Garamond][COLOR=DarkSlateGray][i]I feel like I'm floating. But it's cold. All I hear is water. This is strange.[/i] The thoughts skipped across his mind with a certain vagueness that one would hold between the sates of consciousness and deep sleep. Feeling rather foggy and dizzy at best, rolling over again to go back to his dreams seemed like a good idea at the time. That is, until a rush of seawater flooded over him, filling his nostrils and deafening his ears. With a sputter and a yelp, he sat up in the shallows of the cold receding wave, scrambling to his knees in the wet sand as another foamy wave rushed around his aching sides. Despite how comforted he felt a few moments before, he now felt as though he had been out on an all night bender. What did he do, go out drinking and pass out on some random beach only to be awoken by the incoming tide? Following that train of thought, he paused. Since when did he drink? Or live near a beach? Did he actually live anywhere near the ocean at all? And why was he there? Better yet, who the hell was he? Panic slowly began to set in and the young man scrambled to his feet. Splashing through the shallows to the shore he couldn't help but notice that there was no one else around, as far as he could see anyway. He rubbed at his bleary eyes, thinking that the salt water impared his vision, when in actuality he couldn't see at all. At least he knew which way land was, and aiming for the white smear of sand that lay in the distance he trudged onward, frowning at the discomfort of wet clothing sticking to his skin. Once he had reached the shore, he dragged his feet a few more steps and collapsed face first onto the warm and dry sand. "Ow..." He murmured, wincing as something hard pressed against his chest, rolling over lazily, he patted the front of his white cotton shirt, fingers digging into a chest pocket and pulling on the first thing he felt. It was a pair of horn rimmed glasses. He eagerly pushed his sandy hair from his eyes and slid the glasses onto his nose. A perfect fit, and the scenery was now crystal clear. With the notion that other usefull things would be hidden somewhere on him, the young man began digging at all of his pockets, only turning up wet scraps of paper that had runny, unreadable ink upon them. "Damn..." He tossed the scraps aside into the sand, placing his hands in his lap to look at the ocean before him. It would have been beautiful had he not been dumped in the middle of nowhere without a clue as to who he was or why he was there. He was about to hang his head low when he noticed that something was fastened around his neck. On further inspection, a flat tag made of metal was attached to a chain hanging limply around his neck. Hope seemed near until the young man glanced over the seemingly random numbers printed onto the cold steel. They didn't make any sense to him at all, but perhaps they would hold a clue as to what was going on around him. He would commit it to memory as he forced his thin wiry frame to stand. [i]01000101.01110010.01101001.01100011.[/i][/COLOR][/FONT] Jeez, that seemed a little longer than it was supposed to be. Ah well, neat concept!

[FONT=Garamond][COLOR=DarkRed]Well, let's brag some. I like to think I'm a very funny and socially adept individual, taking the punches as they come and getting almost anyone to like me. I'm friendly, approachable and as witty as they come. I find that I'm incredibly smart in almost any subject I put effort into, with plenty of talent to boot. I play the guitar, baratone, was first chair trumpet in band for two years and have a rather nice singing voice. I have insurmountable artistic abilities, rising above and beyond my fellow classmates in art college. I can ride horses, fight and drive standard cars, along with being able to bull-**** my way out of anything. And on with the not-so-pretty. I really, really have a low self esteem, my added weight throughout my younger years left me quite emotionally scarred. Sometimes I can be terribly shy or guarded, saying hurtful things when it's not called for. I have a very low tolerance and little faith for other people when I'm out in society, I constantly remind myself that the world is slowly going down the drain. I don't feel sorry for people who are locked in a battle with drugs or alcohol, nor do I have any sympathy for people with gambling problems. When I see someone who weighs more than I do, I think "Better them than me." I lie a lot, I don't always brush my teeth and I'm a huge fake when it comes to people I don't trust. I wait a long time to do my laundry, I use all the hot water in the shower, I pick at my nails and toenails too. I hardly apply myself to something I don't find interesting, which explains why my grades suffered in high school. I have horrible road rage, and am driving a car that likely wouldn't pass inspection. Sometimes I wish my workplace would burn to the ground. I dunno if that made me feel better or worse. Seeing the bad part larger than the good part isn't very comforting either...[/COLOR][/FONT]

[FONT=Tahoma][COLOR=DeepSkyBlue]*grunt*[/COLOR][/FONT] [COLOR=Darkred][FONT=Garamond]Name: Eric Tudor, Son of William Tudor Gender: Male Age: 18 Town: Taunton Future Occupation: Gunslinger Preferred weapon(s): Polished brass six shooters, Lance. Appearance: At a young age, Eric was an oddly proportioned boy, teenaged years sending his limbs into a growing frenzy while the rest of his body struggled to catch up. In his later years, before he fully gained his full man's growth, he still stands tall and lanky, his figure slender yet taught. His hair is dark and messy, grown long and cinched at the nape of his neck. The black fluff of his bangs usually hangs in his brilliant blue eyes, but doesn't go as far as hidding his lopsided grin. His wardrobe is simple and yet functional. Dusty denims mixed with cotton shirts, and the occasional flat-brimmed hat would be stuck atop his head. Biography: [will edit/brain fart][/FONT] [/COLOR]

[COLOR=RoyalBlue][FONT=Garamond]Right-o! The long awaited signup has been added in the Inn, and you're probably sniffing around here for the available towns to add to your sign up. There are only three listed here so far, and if you have any preferences to be located somewhere else, do let us know. Anything else that I forget to mention here, or if you want to research anything from the Dark tower books can be found [URL=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Dark_Tower_(series)]here[/URL]. I find Wikipedia to be rather helpfull, but I warn anyone that has any interest in reading the books, or who hasn't finished them yet to skip the Character's section. If a town is a little vague in description, elaborate on it with your own imagination, make the town significant to you. [B]Gillead-[/B] A town found within In-world, a prosperous province of a town that appears to have many noble families that consist of Gunslingers. Gilead was the birthplace of Roland Deschain, Son of Seven Deschain. While this Rpg will likely take place years before either existed, there should be no reason to include either chatacter. This town lays to the east of Taunton and the furthest from the ridgeback mountains. [B]Taunton-[/B] A smaller locale than Gilead, the number of gunslingers and their families is small, and the suburban village seems to be rather dreamily quiet most of the time. It is a bit more of an exported goods town rather than one that attracts anything more than the occasional traveler passing through. The two named teachers of the young gunslingers are Sai-Anbell, the man that acts as somewhat of a school teacher, and then Sammson, a spry yet older instructor, willowy and blind, he is the training teacher for all young gunslinger boys in Taunton. [B]Farrow-[/B] The town that lies beneath the Dragon's ridge. This town is rather open for anyone's shaping. Not much is known about it since there are very few who dare travel as far over the great plains between Taunton and Farrow to take their chance against the impossibly long line of mountains that stand above it. A few other FAQs: [B] What's with all this "Sai" stuff?[/B] "Sai" is a polite way of addressing someone in Mid-world using their last name. If someone were to say "Hello Mr. Smith" Here, in Mid-world it would be said as, "Hello, Sai-Smith" Or as a variation "Smith-sai". [B] What are these Trials DC is talking about?[/B] Gunslinger boys at a certain age in their life (between the ages of 18-25 commonly) take their Gunslinger trials, in which they face off against their master in a violent duel. If the young man happens to win, he earns the right to wear his father's guns, thus stepping into manhood and finishing his apprenticeship. Boys who succumb to their master's skill and loose are turned to exile, forced to leave their families and friends, wandering forever as an outcast. The event of a boy taking his trials is usually a grand event, and veiwed by many people within the boy's family and town. [B]Can we use other weapons that our guns?[/B] You certainly may, but remember, as a Gunslinger, your primary weapons are your two hip shooters. Other common weapons are Bows, Bahs (crossbow), Slings, Poles, knives, and Oriza dishes (mainly used by women). Most Gunslingers can use more than one weapon, but it is not entirely needed. [B]What about women? Can they be Gunslingers too?[/B] No. The art and tradition of being a warrior under the gun is reserved to men only. There have been rare instances however, when young girls decide to strike out on their own, taking a weapon of choice and leading the life of justice and adventure. [B]I'm pretty confused, who can I turn to?[/B] You can either Ask DC or I for any help that you may need. We're friendly and don't bite too hard. PM us anytime you have a question! And that should wrap things up for now. If other issues or questions arrise, I'll make sure to post them here.[/FONT][/COLOR]

[FONT=Tahoma][COLOR=DarkSlateGray][U][B]Name:[/B][/U] Ethan Newark [U][B]Age:[/B][/U] 29 [U][B]Gender:[/B][/U] Male [U][B]Place of Origin:[/B][/U] Born in Northeastern America, settled as a resident in New Haven, Connecticut. [B][U]Known History:[/U][/B] Ethan Newark lived a humble yet favorable life. Growing up he wasn't coddled by his parents as a spoiled braggart, nor was he the neglected shell of a child that would be defined as a latch-key kid. His family respected him, loved him, and provided whatever resources available as he grew up, that seemed enough. He grew up as a normal, healthy child, one that had some ambition to do well in life and thus persued it. Finishing as the valedictorian in his graduating class, Ethan soon found himself on his way to Yale University as an Archaeological studies major. Such a study and interest left young Ethan a little lacking in his social skills however, but he managed at the occasional mixer and common college shenanigans that came up. He was always the type to live by the book, and at times would appear to be a bit of a bore around his peers. Although he still wanted to provide for himself and a future family, he only saw it as practical. When his term of study ended, he had turned into quite a well rounded man. Later he would find that persuing a teaching profession would be more to his liking than traveling aimlessly around the world digging up artifacts (although a small part of him desperately longed for it). No, he decided to stay close to home, keep in touch with the folks and find a nice girl to settle down with. At the age of Twenty-eight, he still persued his goal of teaching his favored subject with room for little else. A whispered rumor about a position on the board keeps the fires of promotional desire stoked deep within his heart. While there doesn't seem to be much else on Ethan's mind, he still finds time for one Ellen Arden, and would hope to propose to her soon, it would only be the right thing to do after all. [U][B]Personality:[/B][/U] Ethan is an individual who is set very sternly in his ways. He often has objections with himself in doing what is right and what is practical. It makes for a very boring individual, but for as factual and prudish as he is, there is also a liberal side to Ethan Newark. He's never known to be the angry type, but he can rarely get very worked up over something he may feel passionate about or being subjected to an environment he is not familiar with. Most of the time, Ethan is a very pleasant individual, with a restricted sense of humor and a reserved amount of compasion. [B][U]Appearance:[/U][/B] Ethan is a tall, slender man. He is fair in appearance and would probably appear handsome if he smiled more or perhaps carried himself with confidence. Casual buisness attire suits him well and he is rather sharp when he chooses to dress himself up. Ethan has dark, alert eyes that contrast sharply with his short shock of white hair. His pale-colored locks seem to be the only visible effect of his Hybrid nature, and usually gives him an elderly appearance. [U][B]Animal Genes:[/B][/U] Arctic Fox ([i]Alopex lagopus[/i]) [U][B]Hybrid Abilities:[/B][/U] Ethan has the Fox's ability to survive near-zero temperatures comfortably, along with any preadator's heightened senses. He is also subjected to rare instances of cunning, in which his adrenaline and daring push him to do things he wouldn't or couldn't normally do.[/COLOR][/FONT]

[FONT=Garamond][COLOR=DarkRed]Shazam! Your wish has been granted! Instead of buying your weight in swedish Chocolate, you got the super squishy foam mattress instead. Now you're the envy of every geriatric on the block! The downside? The Tempur-pedic is so soft, the damn thing ate you whole! No one sees you again. Sorry! I wish I had an easier Job.[/COLOR][/FONT]

[QUOTE]I wish i was the world's greatest and sexiest secret agent for MI6. Better and cooler than James Bond, 0013. That's double-o thirteen.[/QUOTE] [COLOR=DarkRed][FONT=Garamond]So be it! You are now super-sexy agent 0013. However, your code number works unluckily against you, so does your infamous promiscuity. Durring a routine physical, MI6 informs you that you have been diagnosed with over 72 known STDs, three of which are only carried by sharks (with laser beams attached to their heads or what have you). Better luck next time! I wish the moon was made of Cheese![/FONT] [/COLOR]

[QUOTE]Choose: Destroy the sun (always night) or destroy the moon (always day)?[/QUOTE] [FONT=Garamond][COLOR=DarkRed] Destroy the moon, forever making it day. I'd be a sun worshiper from the very last day, when I'm all cracked and crumbly and everything was withering away on the planet. Choose: Walking [U]everywhere[/U] for the rest of your life. -or- Be restricted to only using wheels for the rest of your life.[/COLOR][/FONT]

[COLOR=DarkRed][FONT=Garamond]Your wish has been granted Dante! Not only are you the first homeless person on your block for shelling out an undescribable amount of money for your new PS3 system, but you've also lost all complete use of your hearing! Looks like they re-hired Mandy Moore as Aerith's Voice actress... Again! I wish I didn't have to pay so much for a car.[/FONT][/COLOR]

[COLOR=DarkRed][FONT=Garamond]Tical has a summon spirit from Tales of Symphonia in their Banner Image. 'Tis my favorite game :animesmil [/FONT][/COLOR]

[COLOR=DarkRed][FONT=Garamond]The Numa Numa kid has to be pretty high up there with the wierdest things I've seen. Along with the Star Wars kid. Oh! And the German Youth that had a mental breakdown when his computer froze. [URL=http://youtube.com/watch?v=M8pR1rZZHEs&search=crazy%20german%20kid][Link][/URL] Other than that, Goatse, nuff said.[/FONT][/COLOR]

[FONT=Garamond][COLOR=DarkRed][B]"Those who live by the sword are shot by those who don't."[/B] Certainly not a quote to live by, and it could be viewed with humor. To me it I think it means that you cannot always assume anything is going to turn out the way you expect or even know as fact. I may be reading into it too. And another quote about life from George Carlin: [B]"You are all going to die, I hate to remind you, but it is on your schedules."[/B][/COLOR][/FONT]

[COLOR=DarkRed][FONT=Garamond]I agree Ezekiel, it wouldn't be fair to any sort of plot (or writer for that matter) to recreate or prolong anything after the events in the seventh book. I do find your idea on parallel events interesting though. And I also found that the early Mid-world was much more interesting and probably needed more credit than it received in any of the Seven Books.[/FONT][/COLOR]

[FONT=Garamond][COLOR=DarkRed]Well, aside from what I've already talked to DC about, I think it would be a marvelous idea. But what if it wasn't centered around the happenings in the Seven DT books and more of a past in what Mid-World was like before it moved on. Perhaps there were other Gunslingers that scratched the surface of what was to come in later years, that something like the Dark Tower could mean a whimper of an end. I find it truly brilliant, and I think if done right with dedicated players, it could be one hell of an RPG.[/COLOR][/FONT]

[COLOR=DarkOliveGreen][FONT=Garamond]The chaos had developed into confusion as Sol struggled to figure out what had been happening to the Golden city. What had occurred between the time of he leaving the lair of Onyxia and now where he currently crouched in an alleyway, Asche prancing anxiously beside him. He had hurt his arm, and already dark splotches of crimson were already seeping through the sleeves of his tunic. The young dragon was ready for a fight, but it seemed that both he and Sol knew than neither of them were absolutely prepared yet. If anything, the boy was terrified. He startled and cowered back against the alleyway wall when a drake screamed a roar overhead. Sol clutched his arm tighter, feeling a flash of pain rip through him as he continued to watch citizens run past, avoiding debris that was crashing down from the sky. Something had to be done about it, and Sol decided it was time to become a true dragon lord as he took one deliberate step into the street.[/FONT][/COLOR]

[FONT=Garamond][COLOR=DarkOliveGreen]Sol raced down the golden steps of the main cathedrall with a huge grin plastered across his face, Asche quick on his heels. He had passed the final test, leapt the final bound and was now a Dragonheart Lord. The feeling was indescribable, but if the day was any notion as to how he was feeling, it would be quite marvelous. The sun always seemed to shine in the Golden city, and the sky always seemed to be a crisp and clear blue. A few white gulls peppered the sky as they flew high overhead, cawing their morning hellos to one another. It seemed strange as though the sea-faring birds were so far inland. Maybe it was an omen that Sol would be returning home to his own city, Milan. A sideglance to Asche made him think that the Dragon felt the same way. A pup so young to be accepted as well was sure to be quite an acheivement. Sol could tell by the way the drake held his head high and proud. The feeling he had himself was far beyond excited. To return home to his family as a lord was quite an honor. But before he raced home he would have to say goodbye to one of his most favored teachers, Master Alno'dra. Although he was sure the man hadn't cared for the way Sol would label him as "master", he was fairly certain that he was keen on the lad. Thus he would seek him out before he went anywhere else. Thus he and his dragon headed towards the training grounds.[/COLOR][/FONT]

[FONT=Garamond][COLOR=DarkOliveGreen] Name: Sol Kaven Sex: Male Alligence: DragonHeart Location: Milan Appearance: Sol's outward appearance is no different than that of other boys his age. He's slowly chasing an adult's height, his limbs growing ever longer while he still remains somewhat stout. His body is lean and lithe, toned by average boyish activities over the years. A mop of messy black hair clashes with his soft creme skin and hangs in his alert amber eyes. The boy has a few more years to go before anyone could deem him handsome, but he seems to be maturing quite gracefully regardless. Personality: Sol is a carefree and gentle spirit surrounded by a world of adults. He has an uncanny ability to make the best of any situation by making light of all of his mannerisims. And while he clings to what precious childhood he has left, Sol also has the ability to present himself as a young upstanding adult as it is beginning to be socially acceptible of him at his age. Weapon/Skills: Sol isn't yet strong enough nor skilled enough to weild anything such as a sword or a stave. Thus he relies on a series of knives, darts and other throwable items to keep the upperhand advantage in battle. Although such tools are not incredibly powerful, they serve their purpose. The boy also harnesses an ability that he has called a "shimmer". While it is not exactly magic, it is not complicated magic either. It is merely a trick of the eye, a dillisionary tactic that he uses to hide from enemies, that disguises him behind reflected light, offering the ulitmate camoflauge. Power: Sol's dragon has given him little thusfar, as the creature is still young and considered a pup by most breeders. The two have yet to develop any real sort of powerful tactics as of yet aside from some very basic techniques. The pup is oriented with the power of light however, and has aided Sol thusfar by the "shimmer" technique. There are also a few unnamed attacks of theirs that include altering and warping the sunlight around them into moldable energy, although it has not been perfected yet. Writing Snippet: [i]Well this is a bit dull now isn't it?[/i] It was the only thought running through the boy's mind as he sat cross-legged in the large and rather silent waiting hall. He stared down at his reflection between his feet, the spotless and pristine marble floor beneith him. A vague thought skipped accross his mind as to how a floor could be kept so clean with so many Dragons and dirty apprentices such as himself triapsing through the hall every day. As though on comand, Asche shifted restlessly, his long muzzle resting between his claws patiently. The dragon was much smaller and younger than most of the others that passed through here, being only a little bigger than a well-proportioned steed himself. He knew his place, thus he remained quiet and still. Sol turned slightly to gaze on the dragon he rested against, catching his companions pale Ochre gaze set against his brilliant scarlet scales. The boy gave a smile, reaching around behind him to rub against the soft leathery patch of skin that wasn't covered by scales. The young dragon made a low rumbling sound that echoed through his hide and vibrated against the boy's chest. His large glossy eyes slid shut as well while the odd purring continued. It made Sol smile to make his dragon happy, and he was fairly certain the feeling was mutual. The past few years in the golden city had been long and slightly tiresome. And Sol only wanted to make his family proud, comming home as a DragonHeart Hero. He knew the waiting would be worth it. The two also knew they were painfully close to returning home as well, back to Milan and the Ocean. But there was always that chance that they wouldn't make it. There was just one final task in their training, now a game of wait and see. Soon enough there was a voice calling for Sol Kaven and his dragon Asche. The two clumsily shifted to their feet, anxiety setting in as they were called before the great one, the one that would determine their fate. Unbeknownst to the two, they would be returning to Milan after all. Dragons Name: Asche Appearance: Asche is a bit larger than the average sized horse, and is still hitting growth spurts as he ages. He is still a pup by all standards and his bright scarlet scales will soon turn to a deep crimson and he is expected to tripple in his size. Personality: Being as young as he is, Asche has a pups energy, and sometimes a pup's disposition. He can be rambunctious and playfull, as well as being very cheeky with spells of misbehaving. While he is a bit more than a big bundle of energy, he tires himself out frequently, and will spend several periods within the day being a young laxadaisy dragon.[/COLOR][/FONT]

[FONT=Garamond][COLOR=DarkRed]Malik was pleased by the information passed to him, and he imediately calmed again into the charming gentleman that he had always hopped he would appear as. He didn't like to think himself as a cruel, overbearing beast. No, that's what set him apart from his underlings. He gently plucked the lappels of his long coat and walked casually back towards his chair. He sat, crossing his legs casually and resumed his relaxed pose. He waved his fingers at Noals, giving her a pleasant smile. "On the couch please," He flicked his eyes towards the two wakanda that seemed to be sprawled on the floor of the room. Noals nodded, smirking as she picked up the male first with ease, taking time in holding him before she set him (or rather dropped him) on the couch. The Female she wasted no time in as she raised her like a ragdoll and treated her like one before she deposited her next to her twin. Malik smiled at the two of them then, both seemingly glaring daggers at him. He didn't mind in the least, knowing that they had every right to. He had the location of Kalei, and that's what he wanted. He could easily dispose of these two now, but he thought it would be a greater reaction for his soon to be guest, if they were alive and well. He glance accross the small space between them, looking from the female to the Male. His eyes settled on him, smirking a bit as he did. "You're a bit different from the others aren't you?" He asked, curling his fingers into a fist and resting his chin on them, his eyes turned to the pink haired girl for an instant as well "and her as well. What exactly are the Wakanda hiding from me?"[/COLOR][/FONT] Just for future reference, Malik doesn't fly off the handle so offten. Keep him Mellow please. And Alec is down with the prisoners.

[FONT=Garamond][COLOR=DarkRed]Malik had been waiting patiently in his quaters, now sipping a sanguine drink as he calmed himself from the news of Kabira's injuries. He was rather relaxed, a small smirk fluttering across his smile as he anticipated guests of the Wakanda Clan. The two would no doubt tell of their leader's location. And if they didn't, he would take the pleasure of making them regret it. A low chuckle escaped his lips as he swirled his drink and took another sip. He didn't move for another moment until he heard a soft knock at his door. "Enter," He called deeply, setting his glass down and smoothly rising from his seat. A few loyal guards herded in the two Wakanda that he had asked for. The pair looked a bit worse for the wear as Malik imagined that they were beaten in custody or perhaps fighting for their lives. They were bruised, broken, and being carried effortlessly. There was no admiration for this in Malik's eyes for this. Neither of the Wakanda had the pride to walk into the room holding their heads high or to even cast him a curse word. They seemed defenseless and weak, traits that the vampire did not find admirable. Malik smiled at this however, finding that breaking them of their will would be absolutely delightful and easy. He gave a long courteous bow, sweeping an arm towards an adjacent sofa. "Gentleman, please," he adressed his guards, "show them their seat." The two vampires that had carried the Wakanda set them down roughly onto the sofa, turning to leave the room leaving Alec to stand patiently for further orders. He wasn't given one as Malik looked over the prisoners with vague intrest. "Fascinating aren't they Alec?" He asked, a wicked grin on his face as he took his seat again. "Not really sir," Alec grimaced at the male Wakanda, "They snap and snarl like dogs." "It seems they are rather loyal, are they not?" Malik retorted, sending an amused glance in Alec's dirrection. The vampire nodded. "Indeed Sir." "I'll have you go back and keep an eye on the others." Malik sat back in his seat and crossed his legs gracefully. "And these two sir?" "Send Naols she'll keep an eye in here." Alec curtly bowed in his leave while sending a rotten glare at the two Wakanda. As he exited the room in search of the Female vampire he had been sent to retreive, and then he would be off to the dungeons again. Dawn was no where near, and Alec was certain that his lord would gain more than a few answers by then.[/COLOR][/FONT]

[COLOR=DarkRed][FONT=Garamond]Cordelia Huges was on the late shift again. She rather liked it, and rarely complained of it, because, well, she had a secret. She padded quietly down the hallways, wearing her assigned pale green scrubs and pristine white sneakers. Her bright shock of blonde hair was tied high on her head, a simple ponytail swinging back and forth between her shoulders. Curled in her arms and pressed against her chest was an old yet fairly interesting book. Across the cover, in bold gold letters was [i]Romeo and Juliet[/i]. She walked into the far east wing, where the coma-status patients were kept, slipping silently into the first doorway on the left. Through the dim light, she could see him, her dark-haired angel. Cordelia remembered the day he came in, broken and bruised, two large lacerations on his back. Although he looked worse for the wear, she was instantly smitten. The poor man hadn't even a name. She didn't give him one either, but the nursing staff was adamant on calling him 'John' to fit with the John Doe theme. There seemed to be a flickering of shadow at the bedside, but upon second glances there was really nothing. Just her imagination. She crossed the room silently, smiling down at the sleeping man. She couldn't really stand that long hair he came in with, so dirty and tattered. When they had cut his hair he seemed to look younger, more innocent even. The short frock lay spread and smooth against the pillow, a few stray strands laying ashen against his milky forhead. Cordelia dipped for a moment to brush her fingers over his forhead, clearing his hair away. She smiled brightly, taking a seat at his bedside. "Hello, it's me again." She spoke cheerily, setting the book in her lap, "You're looking well today, I hope you wake up soon, I really can't wait to meet you." She blushed delicately then. Cordelia always had trouble talking to boys she knew, but not 'John', he always listened, never laughed or pointed fun at her for being too shy. No, he was the perfect gentleman. "I brought the book again tonight, I thought I'd read you some more of it." She said, opening the book and beginning to read. It was about twenty minutes later when she stopped on a peculiar passage of Juliet's speaking. "[i]Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.[/i]" She sighed girlishly at that, closing the book for a moment and leaning over the sleeping man next to her. "Oh what a lucky girl," She gushed, then turned to the bed, "I wonder if anyone ever said anything like that to you..." She leaned lower towards the bed, rater close to the patient now. She hadn't noticed the moment before, that he was stirring. "I hope, that maybe..." She blushed again, bitting her lower lip, "That I could call you Romeo, just onc-" She didn't finish her sentence as a hand shot out at her, crushing her windpipe. Cordelia watched with horror as the man she and others had called 'John' opened his eyes and rose from the bed. He turned to look at her expressionlessly, his hand giving no slack to her slender neck. "That is not my name," He spoke flatly, and watched as the young Cordelia Hughes' eyes closed forever. They were the last words she heard. Lucifer looked at his surroundings mildly. He was currious as to how long his human body would sleep. It turned out that it was quite a while. He ran a hand to his hair, most of it was gone, but what remained kept him happy enough. He slilently pulled himself from the bed, and slipped out of the room in nothing more than his hospital shift. He had quietly snuck by most of the staff, and eventually made his way into the street. The rain and cool air seemed to waken him, bringing him back to life and flooding his mind with memories of what had happened. Lucifer winced, placing the heels of his hands on either of his temples, dropped to his knees and screamed.[/FONT][/COLOR]

[FONT=Garamond][COLOR=DarkRed]The battle was over, and the vampires emerged rather victoriously. They were pressing their luck however, how they had managed to strike at so many Wakanda at once and survive was beyond any of the vampire's reasonings. There were few who knew it would be futile to try to crawl back to the Villa while wounded with dawn approaching. Those that couldn't make it back vouched to lay low in any place they could sleep for the day that was near by and reasonably safe. There were also a few wounded so fataly that their vampiric comrades had no choice but to put them down. Of the nightwalkers that survived, few carried random Wakanda back to the Villa, feeling lucky enough that most were unconscious. The rest, they left for dead in the wake of approaching sirens. Alec was one of the fortunate few to escape without anything more than a few open (and bleeding) wounds. He didn't find them serious enough to return empty handed and thus walked back to his master's home with a limp and lifeless Wakanda thrust over his shoulder. He had left the estate shortly after his breif confrontation with the fledgling vampire. There was a strong desire within him to shred his newest kin's limbs from his worthless torso, but he knew he was needed elsewhere, namely on the front line of battle. The fight was nearly over as he arrived, and he had the pleasure of aiding in the torture of a firestarter. One who it seemed, singed a number of his allies. It was this Wakanda that he carried over his shoulder now. The man had put up quite a fight, and struck Alec with deep, painful wounds. As he recounted it, he turned slightly, the Wakanda's dangling hands softly hitting the small of his back as he stopped. "I should very much like to leave you to rot right here." He grumbled, currious if the firestarter could hear him, "But I think you'll be of much more use to us alive at the Villa..." He chuckled, his hand sneaking higher around the Wakanda's waist with which he balanced him by on his shoulder, sneaking fingers under his shirt and dragging sharp nails over tender skin. Yes, he'd show to be very usefull indeed. After the prisoners had been taken back to the estate and locked in their respective cells down bellow, the wounded returned upstairs, looking for noureshment and a good place to rest. Dawn wasn't due for a few more hours and the guests were content with waiting for now. Alec had climbed the stairs, licking an open wound on his hand as he searched for Malik, deciding against all reason that he should report that there were prisoners, since the others were hesitant in approaching him. ---- Malik was carrying Kabira in his arms, taking her to their large stone coffin, where she would receive the rest she needed, where she should have been the night before... She had been dressed in fresh white linen, her wounds taken care of for now. Malik imagined that she would need further attention later, when she was coherrant enough to describe her internal injuries. Unfortunately, Vampires were not the leading experts in medical health as they were rarely concerned with it. They could regenerate, yes. But if one were as ill or wounded as Kabira, they would merely kill them, to ease their suffering. Malik wasn't about to let it happen to Kabira however, not at all. He set her down easily within their coffin, sliding the heavy stone lid shut with little effort. He was severely sorry to see her in this state, and couldn't stand to look at her really. Not for the moment anyway. He drifted into a different area of his quarters, one that looked like a parlor where one would entertain guests. He hardly took notice of Alec as he threw himself onto a nearby lounging chair and stared morosely at the floor. "You had best have a good reason for entering my quarters without permission or warning Alec..." Malik grumbled without lifting his gaze. Alec wasn't put off by his warning as he continued to nurse his hand with his tongue and lips. "I have a very good reason I daresay," He quirped happily, smiling at his master, "There are a few prisoners who are just dying to meet you, I came to inqure as to how many I should bring to your council." Malik was silent for a moment, his eyes steady and calculating towards the floor, "Two" He said, and spoke no further as he waved a dismissive hand towards the other Vampire. Alec gave a short, curt bow as he turned and exited Malik's living quarters. He was off to the dungeons now to bring back a pair of Wakanda who would meet his Master's wrath. ---- Alec had slipped into the dungeon, snapping his fingers at the two vampires on guard. He smirked at them, taking a quick sweep down the cells with his eyes. He spotted the Wakanda that he carried back, flashing him a deadly grin. "You two can return upstairs," He said softly, "I can take things from here." The two guards nodded, passing him to return to the others above. Alec gazed along the cells, regarding each Wakanda carefully. After a moment of silence he smirked and gave a propper bow. "Good evening, my name is Alec," He looked up at all of them, "And I'll be taking two of you to my Master very shortly."[/COLOR][/FONT] ------------------------------ NOTE: Only Kairi and Reiku's characters will be sent to see Malik.

[COLOR=DarkRed][FONT=Garamond]The vampires that were occupying the remote spanish villa were growing restless. Without Malik's presence, most didn't know what to do with themselves and were still a bit vague on the idea of why they were there in the first place. Some were going as far as taking an early leave, as though they had better places to be in their afterlife. The gathering's atmosphere was altering slightly from what it once was. What was once charming and thrilling was becomming worn and dull, and few guests were becomming hostile against others in anxiety. Not Alec however, who was enjoying his free stay within the villa. He was ecstatic about the hospitable nature of his host, and would reside as long as he was welcome. It wasn't every day that one could live in such a way that there was little to strive for. His lazy nature was satiated, and that made him one content night walker. Others waited patiently for any kind of word they would receive from Malik, and word did come soon enough. It was early in the evening yet when a bold male vampire descended the stairs leading to Malik's quarters. He was clad in simple black attire, but held the stature of a man dripping with the finest garments. Nose held high, he came closer to all the guests with an air of importance. A minion of Malik's no doubt, who had tasted the better side of servitude and was most likely the favored pet of the evening. With a gentle clearing of his throat, he began to speak. "My lords and Ladies of the night," His voice was pompous, yet clear, "I regret to inform you that My Lord Malik will not be joining you this evening, although he sends his thanks and gratitude for your cooperation in this time of need." The cluster that was listening was silent, as though quietly telling the lackey to get on with it. He cleared his throat again. "I have been asked to explain why you have all been called here. Most of you know of the Wakanda problem we have been going on about for years and years," He paused to chuckle, but silenced when none of the guests joined in, "We did have a prisoner in our grasp, but she escaped the evening previous causing great insult and shame to my Lord." "He has asked that you aide him in this dire time. Go out and wage war upon the Wakanda that litter our world. Bring the strongest you meet back here, kill the weaklings. This evening, we will take back what belongs to us, and dispose of those who think they can take it away." There was a murmur amongst the guests, excited and merry it sounded. A few vampires were already making their way to the back, taking off into the night for some well needed exercise and hunting. Yet up above, in a dark chamber, one was plotting and biding his time. Malik wanted as many of the Wakanda brought here, to lure her back, and make her pay...[/FONT][/COLOR]