The Harlequin

[color=indigo][font=gothic]Which leads to people with a good thirty or so small annoying little faces in there, I've noticed. Which is never a good thing, and definately something that should be remedied in my opinion. I mean, sure, if you want to use a little picture to give emphasis, fine, but writing "My favourite smilies!!!" And having it followed with a large number of them is pretty pointless, not to mention annoying. But then, personally, I think smilies should never have blighted the face of the internet... I'm quite interested to know why you would feel the need to use an image link to display a small, rather insignificant face like thing though.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Can we have a little more effort here people? Short, basically contentless posts are considered spam in the adventure arena, and they're not really much use in an rpg anyway. So, can we all take a few extra minutes to write something with content?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Warren Zevon is one of those artists that nobody recognises by name, but everybody knows the songs. In Zevon's case, thse songs would be Werewolves Of London, Raspberry Beret (Not that just about everybody hasn't done a version of this, but still), Life'll Kill Ya, Things To Do In Denver When You're Dead and Roland The Headless Thompson Gunner. (Trust me, you'd all know them. Or you should...) But despite my assertations, I'm still quite interested to know whether anyone else here actually realises that Warren Zevon did an album entitled "Genius" for a damn good reason...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]I've heard a few songs by Butthole Surfers; Pepper of course, and their version of Hurdy Gurdy Man by Donovan, and that thing they did with Moby, Tiny Rubberband or whatever. However, not once have I seen an album in a store. I blame that entirely on Australia. Blind Melon...that brings back way too many memories.[/font][/color]

[color=indigo][font=gothic]OOC: Hehehe, don't worry about it Sage. The only reason I got sharp was because I'd spent nearly an hour dealing with annoying posts. Being a Mod is a hard job at times....but I've got a lotta karma to burn off. IC: [I]The sheer amount of time Qyrain sat motionless should have spawned some kind of reaction, simply due to his annoyance with this kind of behaviour. Despite rampant bouts of depression and melancholia, Qyrain had never moped. The temptation was there to pass this motionless daze off as brooding, but that was an easy answer, and easy answers tended to be excuses. And excuses tended to be lies. Qyrain was forced to sigh at the thought that it became so much harder to lie to yourself when you considered that in lying to yourself you were lying to two different entities. That sigh was all it took to jolt him into some form of activity... Even if his inital activity was simply standing up, pacing back and forth, and ranting to the rather unimpressed sky about how much life hated him. The horses that pulled up behind him seemed pretty unimpressed as well...Though their riders were vaguely cautious. The myths about madmen being god-touched and protected died hard. Qyrain stopped his rather self-deprecating tirade and surveyed them. By the look of it, it was those bandits he'd thought about earlier. He stretched a few major muscles, basically unconcerned with whatever their intentions were. A burly red-haired man with a wall-eye and an apparently aversion to anything that wasn't caked in blood and dirt nudged his horse forward. The ill-favoured beast whickered evilly and did so, attempting to keep one eye on Qyrain, one on the bandit leader. The others hung back; this was probably some kind of bandit leader.[/I] "Why do you walk our lands madman?" Qyrain: Because they're in my way. And madman I am not. Severely aggravated man I am. "What's yer point! I'm Roald Blackbane, Bandit Lord of these areas, so hand over yer gold and we'll let ye live!" [I]The speech sounded rehearsed to Qyrain. The men behind the brigand seemed delighted with it however, and rattled rather shabby swords at him a while and shouted imprecations and threats. Qyrain sighed, and removed the waveblade from its sheathe. The four foot, flamberge like weapon cut through the air with barely a sound, despite the blinding speed with which it moved. The rogue sneered at him, and the horse, sensing its rider's mood, pulled its lips back from its teeth and stamped a few times. Qyrain shifted his gaze to the equine annoyance, that gaze one of disbelief and indignation.[/I] Qyrain: Now what the hell did I ever do to you? [I]The horse seemed to consider that for a moment, then shook its head and made a snorting noise, as if shrugging the question off as irrelevant. Qyrain sighed, and raised the blade, pointing at at the man and went by what was probably an alias, Roald Blackbane. Qyrain vaguely remembered hearing some old tale about a man named that...Couldn't remember the details though. The man raised a weapon, a rather crudely made long sword, fashioned of cold iron, and sent his horse charging towards Qyrain. As he drew close, Qyrain ducked to his left. The waveblade snapped out. Even as Qyrain ducked his head back to avoid a clumsy strike, his own blade shot upwards, through the man's forearm. Qyrain jerked the tip downwards sharply, a good half a foot of the blade past the man's shoulder; the horse wasn't that tall, severing the arm. The blade then crossed across Qyrain's body for momentum, and swept back, cleanly disemboweling the man. All this before the horse had gotten past him. The other would-be plunderers were staring in amazement. Qyrain spun the blade around him in intricate arcs like a quarterstaff, spinning the blade itself through his fingers on a few occasions. The men in front of him stood dumbfounded. At last, Qyrain snapped the blade back into an easy grip, and absently let the tip fall to the ground. The smile he shot at the men was dazzlingly confident, and no small part amused.[/I] Qyrain: And for my next trick, I'll need a volunteer.... [I]The men got the point, and made a point of leaving in a hurry. Qyrain let them get a safe distance away, and promptly doubled over laughing, his faith in the universe suddenly restored. This was, of course, until he received a sturdy, though in no way painful, prod to the shoulder. He turned around, to find the wicked looking horse glaring at him.[/I] Qyrain: Oh come on, he provoked it. [I]The horse looked back at its now empty saddle, then over to the fallen man. Qyrain sighed, and started to remove the saddle. He jerked his hand back with a sharp oath, as the horse went for his fingers. Qyrain shrugged, if the ill tempered thing wanted to remain like that, so be it. He started to walk away, only to have the horse follow him.[/I] Qyrain: Fine. We'll do it your way, and see if you reconsider. [I]He attempted to mount the horse. The horse allowed it, but as soon as Qyrain was firmly in the saddle, threw him off. Qyrain landed easily on his feet and glared at the horse, and started to walk off. The horse again followed him. Qyrain sighed and stopped.[/I] Qyrain: So you want to come along, but you're too much of a contentious bastard to allow me to ride you? [I]The horse gave an enthusiastic snort. Whichever wizard had imbued this creature with intelligence had better not cross Qyrain's path any time soon. It was nearly midday, Qyrain having been motionless in contemplation for hours. His hopes of Corus having been unfounded, and with a new responsibility on his shoulders, he set out for his second option, the Mage Tower in Exile. If he remembered rightly, there was an entrance somewhere around here....[/font][/color][/I]

[color=indigo][font=gothic][I]As per usual, Lacroix didn't bother with sleep. Rather, he simply distanced his mind from his body, relocating it to another plane. The veritable stasis his body underwent was enough for it to heal, rest, recuperate, get over what was currently annoying him, and this way he didn't have to worry about having his mind fogged when he awoke, and this way the slight chance of actually being surprised while asleep was even more minimal. As usual, he respected privacy, and kept his thoughts away from the various nighttime behaviours of his companions...Hell, he'd seen a fair bit worse in quite a few places. His mind this night chose the Astral Plane, the realm of the celestials and the cold, unfeeling stars. Lacroix was certainly known there...but like most planes of existance....he was hardly welcomed. With his mind linked to a physical entity however, there was little the purely incorpreal celestials could do about it on this plane. They could always take a trip to the Prime Material and do away with him, but he somehow judged that that was an unlikely event. After all, they'd rather rail at him and tell him how annoying he was. They weren't too unlike mortals in that regard, now that Lacroix thought about it. The spiritual chuckle that evoked was cut short as disturbance. Once again, one of Lacroix's old friends had gotten themselves into trouble. But dealing with that kind of thing was never Lacroix's forté. After a quick mental survey, his body never twitched, he assumed that as per usual someone else would take care of it, and he once again left this realm, seeking out some of his old contacts. After all, he did owe a few people favours, and nights tended to be his best times to get those out of the way, even if he wasn't able to interact physically on most quantum realms.[/font][/color][/I]

[color=indigo][font=gothic]This kind of thing tends to go in the recruitment arena. That people actually know that it's the start of an rpg rather than one with an established set of people involved. Thread moved.[/font][/color]

[color=indigo][font=gothic]Ilmiwyrth: Yeah. Life'll kill ya. [I]Lifé just glared at him. That was getting to be a rather disconcerting habit. Ilmiwyrth rolled his eyes and leapt down, landing beside her. He looked at her curiously a moment, before his hand snaked out and intercept hers, bringing it up. He curled back all her fingers except the middle one, and looked at it closely.[/I] Ilmiwyrth: I don't see the relevence. [I]She jerked her hand back with all the indignation of a drenched feline. Ilmiwyrth gave a rakish laugh and shook his head.[/I] Ilmiwyrth: Oh come now, you did offer it.[/font][/color]

[color=indigo][font=gothic]OOC: So you do something with them Sage. I don't particularly care what. But since I've been yelled at a few too many times, I'll skip the large number of posts I intended to be a semi-intro, and get straight into the start of the story line. It won't make much sense, since I haven't had time to explain a few things in greater detail, but feel free to get involved in some way with what I'm starting with here. IC: [I]Morning broke over Qyrain like a wave, in stark contrast to the night that had crept up on him. He awoke with the first false-dawn, the world a rather pleasing colourless greyscale around him. Colours did not dare to intrude on this more simplistic impression of a world, leaving it perfect in many ways. In Qyrain's opinion, but then, that wasn't worth a lot in these matters. He rose quickly, covered the few remains of his firepit, redid his pack, and moved towards the hill, cresting it with his body kept as prone as possible. Corus, below, was in ruins. Buildings, made in most parts of a soft white stone common to these parts, seemed almost to be rotting in some parts, and there was no sign of any attempted repairs. On the other hand, it did not seem to be infested either. Qyrain rose fully to his feet and sighed. Isolation would dog him yet again, it seemed. He surveyed the ruined hamlet a bit more, hoping some spark of life had eluded him, but was dissapointed. He turned his back on the city, and sat down, looking moodily out over the he had covered yesterday. For several minutes, it eluded him, wrapped as he was in morose thoughts. A stray tangent of speculation crossed a line he was previously unaware of, and the realisation struck him. By his very nature, he was not alone. As the single entity in existance that was comprised to two identically Named beings, as whole, he could not possibly be anything other than in the presence of another, whether from the physical or the mental point of view. Perhaps certain aspects of both had been repressed, but they were still there. Suddenly struck, he tried reaching for the mental half of his physical body, scouring his aura with an exacting gaze, knowing that it had to hide somewhere inside him. He found absolutely nothing. Stunned, he went for the easier, but less rewarding course. He attempted to return to his "physical" body; the one occupied by his extra-planar mental self. Again, he met with nothing but failure. Now intrigued, Qyrain's mind went through exhausting loops of conjecture and logic, and came up with only one option. Somehow, rather than the previously assumed duality phenomenon, he had merged the beings into one. Which left the question that perhaps, somewhere, possibly in the void itself, the other halves of his selves existed together. But surely, if these two halves of beings existed together, some link must exist between them? Though what kind of link could possibly exist between the veil that separated existance and non-existance? That frightening thought was interrupted before it could continue by a sudden explosion in front of him....[b]coupled with a loud crashing sound behind him, from Corus[/B]. Qyrain looked to his left, a smoking crater now existed, about three metres squared. He looked to the source, and in profound shock, was greeted with a Vahnati staring at him, its strangely expressionless face locked onto him, already in the process of another spell. Qyrain rolled away as lightning arced in to kill him. The actinic glare momentarily blinded him, but he shot to his feet anyway, erratically running his way towards the creature. He listened intently, and heard a soft, almost inaudible chanting to his left. Without pausing to check any further, he leapt in that direction, leg piercing outwards in a flying side kick. He was rewarded with a warbled cry and a loud crack. His vision cleared as he landed, and he found the Vahnati lying a few feet away, its collarbone splintered. Frail creatures... Qyrain ducked and rolled to the side, sure that some other Vahnati would seek to take his life. Nothing happened. This one must have been alone, no matter how uncharacteristic that may have been. Nevertheless, Qyrain approached the body at a crawl. For his luck, the Vahnati had been enough of a fighter to carry a waveblade and a few razordisks. Waveblades, the typical Vahnati weapons, were six foot long swords, obviously waved, that due to their thinnnes, and some strange property of the metal they were forged from, handled like a dagger. Qyrain appropriated the weapon, and left the razor disks behind. At the moment, he remembered the loud crash that had come from Crous when the fireball had hit. He jogged to the top of the hill, and survey the town. One of the larger buildings was now quite a bit smaller. The very uppermost part had broken, but the lower part was intact. And from what Qyrain could see, it certainly wasn't the foundations of the building that now touched the ground. In fact, a now broken window touched the ground. From what he could remember...that window had been about three metres above the ground. That struck him. He looked closer, and noticed small details that had previously eluded him. The building itself was only about two metres wide on that side. For half a metre on either side, the pavement was clear of rubble, and smooth. Glass smooth. Three metres squared..The same size as the crater destroyed by magic...The building didn't appear burned though...Merely like it had, disappeared. Qyrain sat down again, confused. Thoughts at last came to him, but they weren't comforting. Magic....Magic had always been the silver threads that tied the various planes of existance together. Certainly, magic had been a factor involved in his transfer from non-existance to existance, in the form of the constant energy flux present in the body of an archon. That link he had previously worked out must exist... That link, combined with the greater than normal magic use going on due to the war with the Vahnati....Magic the thread that tied the realms together.... Those ties were getting tighter. This realm, perhaps all existance, was being drawn into non-existance. They would come into contact...and nullify the entire multiverse. The perfection all creation had sought since separation anyway.... It occured to Qyrain that he potentially had the blood, fluid or whatever of all creation on his hands. It occured to him that if creation was indeed nullified, he had provided the vehicle for it. It occured to him that after all, it was probably his responsibility to stop it. It occured to him that doing so would most likely somehow involve retransferring the separate halves of himselves back together. The physical shadow and the mental archon in the void, the physical archon and the mental shadow in the material realm, the one he currently was. Suddenly, the grey lack of colour around him was a lot more depressing.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=indigo][I]Lacroix, having been uprooted from the dimension he was calmly and rather contendedly sequestering himself around in, was somewhat less than happy. And somewhat less than completely orientated. And somewhat certain that if this was some prank of Ilmiwyrth's, he'd lynch him where he stood, regardless of whether he was standing under a tree, beam or other such object conducive to the time-honoured, and also Lacroix-honoured, practice of lynching. A quick scent to the air revealed that it was most likely not Ilmiwyrth, considering Ilmiwyrth's aura and Eve's aura were very dissimilar. Still, Lacroix suspected Ilmiwyrth out of habit. Looking around, Lacroix was outside a rather shabby looking inn. To be sure, he'd stayed in infinitely worse, but he'd stayed in infinitely better as well. With a sigh, he walked in. A familiar musical sound greeted him, abruptly twinned then cut off by a shout and a large thump. The innkeeper walked up beside him, wringing his hands with concern. Lacroix looked down at him. Otik. Egads.[/I] Lacroix: They'll live. [I]Otik looked up at him, confused as to his identity. Lacroix shook his head in amusement, and enlightened him. Recognition dawned for a moment, then was replaced by anger. Lacroix started walking up the stairs, as Otik yelled something along the lines of "What did I tell you would happen the next time you walked in here!" Lacroix stopped, and turned around.[/I] Lacroix: Otik, as I remember, last time you tried to throw me out, I burned more than half of this place down around you and your heavies, and then I was pulling it. You know perfectly well I'm not that bad for business, no one here even remembers me. And this time I won't be drinking. So calm down. [I]As Otik spluttered in indignation, Lacroix turned and continued up. There were a few concerned noises coming from one of the rooms; he chose that one. If he walked into the wrong one, he'd live. He was confronted with what appeared to be Eve, a dryad, and someone lying on the floor. Eve looked up, puzzled a moment, then gasped, her eyes going wide. Next thing Lacroix knew, he was knocked back several steps by an exuberant dark elf. His response, typically, was a guarded grumble.[/I] Lacroix: Ilmwiyrth, if this is you're way of admitting your feelings, the charade was unneccessary. Eve: Who the hell is Ilmiwyrth? Lacroix: You'll do. [I]Lacroix hugged her back a moment, then firmly but politely disengaged, looking at the semi-unconscious man. He looked somewhat familiar, but considering the sheer numbers of beings Lacroix had run into over the last century or two, that was unsurprising. He looked to the dryad, who was eyeing him with amused interest.[/I] Lacroix: Professional hazard that. Was there anything else?[/font][/color]

[color=indigo][font=gothic]OOC: Shinkoru, write another post of that length, and I will summarily lynch you. You have [i]no idea[/i] how much I've had to tell people to stop writing such posts. Sage, my recruitment thread clearly said that you should be able to write your own storyline for any amount of time. Go do something strange with the world or something. IC: [I]Nightfall arrived with agonising slowness. Not that Qyrain was all that eager for darkness, but if it was going to come, and he was fairly certain it was, at least it could have the good grace to do it at a decent rate. The sky bled away light and colour like lightly slit wrists in a warm bathub. Not that that analogy would appear relevant to anyone but a person quite like Qyrain, but Qyrain was willing to make sacrafices in the area of analogies. By now, the road was starting to widen, and small indentations appeared in it, the beginnings of wagon ruts. So most likely a city of some size, but one recently established. Corus, as Qyrain remembered, was somewhere around here, though it was destroyed by slime-like creatures after the first Exile war, a destruction his people had attributed to the worms, a destruction the worms had attributed to his people. Ironic that it had, eventually, nothing to do with either of them, but was the result of an interstellar giant slime beast. It was even more ironic, to Qyrain's mind, that it had been a group of rebels from Exile that had eventually defeated it, and other plagues besides. For nearly a year, the world had been populated with all sorts of bizarre monsters. Qyrain hadn't complained much, but apparently quite a few citizens had. He'd bedded down beside the road, rather than brave the possibly infested Corus by night. He had no salves for acid, for one thing. He'd worry about that in the morning. Perhaps Corus had been reclaimed. He seemed to remember hearing something about that, in conjunction with rumours that pools of slime still cut off streets in some places. Upon listening though, he heard none of the sounds that would normally indicate civilisation. Which could mean nothing, considering that Corus was never a major city. Nevertheless, it seemed best to avoid it until morning. Slimes did tend to shimmer after all. Now that the light was gone, the darkness was final. Qyrain's small campsite included nothing more than a deep, well hidden firepit and his pack beside him on the ground, and it seemed more than inadequate protection from the night around him. Not that Qyrain considered himself in a position for needing protection. Still, sleeping tonight seemed a less than intelligent thing to do.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]You've just handed me a page of two line rp posts to deal with. And Kesaki Inedia, I've dealt with you before. I really, really don't care if you think you've got an excuse, this is the last time I'm putting up with it. If someone actually believes that, all things considered, I'm being unfair here, PM me about it, and I'll explain it in greater depth.[/font][/color]

[color=indigo][font=gothic]Three line posts= thread gets closed. I've told everyone so many times it's pathetic. Abide by the rules people.[/font][/color]

[color=indigo][font=gothic]That's wrong "forum", I think, Razzamataz. He's right though, it does go in the recruitment "forum", normally with a sign up form that asks people to list name, bio, etc. At least you're got a back story... And Razzamataz, use the report post to a moderator button. Thread moved.[/font][/color]

[color=indigo][font=gothic]Vicky, if I have to caution you against having private conversations in threads, or encouraging others to do the same by replying to such things, you are so gonna feel some wrath. Use the PM function.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]This is what, the third, time I've caught you double posting. My advice, for your own sake, is don't do it again. Use the edit feature. And if you are going to start an rpg, make sure there is something we in the business call a storyline involved.[/font][/color]

[color=indigo][font=gothic]It's a spinosaurus Vicky. Jurassic, I'm quite certain. I know it's not cretacious, or whatever, at least. In future, please use the edit post button for that kind of thing, and post the attachment at a later date.[/font][/color]

[color=indigo][font=gothic]Daermon_Nashabe, don't double post, use the edit feature. And, for whatever time it is, DO NOT use threads for private conversations. If you want to ask someone something, PM them. And one posts are spam anyway.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Ilmiwyrth: There's a difference between outright lying and mere social courtesy. Lifé: I thought you...didn't have the patience for it. Ilmiwyrth: I recommend you don't attempt to speak anymore. [I]Lifé took his advice. Whether she took it willingly or not would normally be considered debatable, but considering her apparent state, not to mention the rather incoherent noises that seemed almost to bubble from her prone form, she wasn't in much of a position to debate anything. Ilmiwyrth had an uncanny certainty she'd still find a way to voice her probably annoying opinion though.[/font][/color][/I]

[color=indigo][font=gothic]OOC: I'm sure there are, but considering I was located on an [I]escarpment[/I], which is a [I]vertical[/I] wall of rock, I don't think you'll get many lakes...Unless you've worked out a way to make large bodies of water stick to walls? That would be interesting.... IC: [I]It was not, by any means, delerium, but certainly the overload of sensory information was erratic and misleading. He attempted to ground his senses into solidarity but an already enhanced level of perception spun the action into futility. He sighed, and simply waited, confident that if offered threat or other difficult stimulus, his mind would resolve into diamond edged clarity of thought and physical motion. Probably with painful results. It took about half an hour for his roiled mind to resettle. At the point, he stood up, taking in his surroundings in a jaded attempt at curiousity. It wasn't much different. Grasslands of a sort stretched away in the distance. A few other scattered peaks. Sparse strands of trees. And about a league away, a thin but paved road wound like a river through the high growth. He set off, a practiced, easy lope eating up ground without being a drain on stamina. Not that stamina was much of a problem, but good habits tended not to hurt. The road was, as far as Qyrain could tell, completely deserted, though in good order. Not surprising. The roads had all been made by the Empire, on more than one occasional he'd had to guard a particularly volitile stretch of it while it was being built. They had been well made, certainly, but hadn't been repaired or patrolled for years. They were most likely shunned as a matter of course, considering the constant atrocities that had outbroken at the time of the Exile invasion. For now, the roads were probably safe, but all things considered, old traditions died hard. Qyrain judged he had about three hours left before nightfall, more than enough time to cover a decent amount of ground. Perhaps some lone, audacious trade caravan would cross his path. On the other hand, perhaps roving bandits would as well. No matter, Qyrain was quite certain he'd be able to take care of himself. Truly told, he'd be less sure how to interact with the caravan.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Ilmiwyrth: And despite that, I wasn't allowed to get drunk. Lifé: Just shut up and get yourself inebriated. Ilmiwyrth: Told you it would work. [I]Lifé just snarled at him. Ilmiwyrth shrugged, and took a polite sip. She eyed his uncharacteristic behaviour suspiciously, then ignored it, downing most of hers with one drink. Ilmiwyrth silently gave her one of his, his face expressionless.[/I] Lifé: Don't think I'll be any more pliable when drunk. Ilmiwyrth: That was the furtherest thing from my mind. [I]He took another, longer pull at his own glass, grimacing slightly at the poor quality. Lifé apparently wasn't in the mood for such inhibitions though.[/I][/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]For the last time, more effort in posts, or it gets closed. The sheer level of leniency I've offered here should, all things considered, get me sacked as a moderator, considering how much rulebreaking I've allowed to go on. It's up to everyone here, particularly our newer members, to make sure it doesn't get closed. Five line posts and smaller simply aren't acceptable.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]OOC: Considering the way I described my surroundings, I somehow doubt a small mountain lake would be appearing anywhere near my position, and I'd prefer to remain "unattached" right now. So, basically, leave me alone. IC: [I]Qyrain awoke, a long established reflex born of habit triggered by something intangible. The world around him seemed content, but shimmered with an afterglow of disturbance, as if a presence had crossed his path momentarily and faded away. No matter. Qyrain rose silently to his feet, casting strands of intent into the air around him. It rang back pure, untainted. Whatever presence had been here and since left. He turned back to the rock face. A bare hundred metres covered already, and twice that to go. Still, the physical exertion was a rather useful, is somewhat abject, form of oblivion. The familiar bite of the rock dug into his fingers, as he continued the arduous climb. The leather was starting to wear, he'd need new gauntlets by the end of this. A small consolation would be that for once, he'd be in a position to actually aquire new equipment without having to deal with a cantankerous quartermaster. Qyrain swore as his lapsed attention caused stray rubble to catch under his fingers. He hung there a moment, one arm and one leg fixed to the rock, his other limbs free. He looked up, sighed, and stretched. His body, to all appearances, melted. Like an amoeba, he let his outer skin flow upwards, until he was merely a long, thin line. He firmed the top part of the de facto appendage, and drew the rest of his now liquid body upwards, gaining more than three times his usual distance for a stretch. He repeated the motion, and the top of the cliff took mere minutes to reach, and minimal effort. When he arced his amorphous body over the edge, and onto horizontal ground, he immediately solidifed into his typical human shape. His head was spinning, the residual energy from the flux involved with not only moving his body but keeping his equipment and clothing intact causing an imbalance in his electromagnetic self. The backlash wouldn't take all that long to wear off, but it would remain more than mildly inconvenient. He sat down, hoping that lack of motion would allow a faster restablising of his shattered equilibrium.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Yes, multiple consecutive posts are against the rules. Sign up threads are normally required before rpgs can start. They tend to require some level of back story a.k.a. effort, and don't go here. BUt this obviously isn't getting anywhere. Thread closed.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]People, please use the PM function for random conversation. This is getting to be a habit.[/font][/color]