The Harlequin

[font=gothic][color=darkslategray]On the subject of Jet being less than original, I recommend we listen to Are You Gonna Be My Girl, then have a bit of a flashback to Iggy Pop's Lust for Life. Of course, to be fair, Iggy Pop did rip that off a group of Cubans, but that's digressing. Personally, bands like Jet, The Vines, The Strokes, The Hives, The White Stripes (hell, they've all got idiotic names for god's sake) and the rest of this new age "dirty rock" genre simply aggravate me. It's like listening to a bad pub cover band writing their own songs, and I swear more a couple of the solos are done on pedals while strumming a single chord. I stand by the fact that Got You On My Mind (Powderfinger) should have gotten Triple J Hottest 100's number 1. There's just no musical talent present in Jet or the twenty or so identical bands out there.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=darkslategray]Well, I basically always like your poetry, except for that one about your brother. This one, however, was probably exceptional, mainly due to the subject. I've always been one for freedom of choice. On that note though, you do realise you're meant to talk to people, namely me, when you feel like that, don't you...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=darkslategray]Yeah, Australians tend not to really care enough to bother with hazing. Hell, most of the time it's the younger generation giving the older hell. Except for in the Navy...but we won't talk about that. About the closest thing I've ever run into was at my old karate class, and that was just throwing you against people you couldn't beat until you howled. But they kind of had to do that, so it doesn't really count.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=darkslategray]Sure, Salvatore's Forgotten Realms books were good, but the Crimson Shadow series was shocking in comparison. Personally though, the best books Salvatore had anything to do with was the War Of The Spider Queen series, and hell, I've only read the first two.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=darkslategray]Personally, it's all about storyline and characters for me. However, I play rpgs/adventures almost exclusively, quite often with music on the background. I also read a hell of a lot. So I'm not too concerned by what the physical reality is; the sound or graphics or whatever, it's how well the game fits inside my head, how much I can relate to it. It's the mental conception of the game that matters, especially when you're playing for long hours. You can only hear the same effect or piece of music so many times, and graphics do tend to be less impressive after time. In my opinion, a well constructed storyline tends to outweight those things. Secondly, characters. Even if it's something like NWN or Icewind Dale, something with very minimal character development, it's still important, because the character is basically an extension, a creation. As James mentioned, you can fit yourself into that character. Sure, there aren't a lot of games that go past the idea of "levelling up" when it comes to character to development, but those that do tend to be very good ones. But hey, I'm an introverted nutcase who has reads more than he talks. Don't take me on faith.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=darkslategray]If it's a Catholic School that doesn't allow that kind of material (like mine), start talking about Lilith, Adam's Apocryphal first wife who ended up being the mother of a host of demons...Trust me, they'll hate it. It's wonderful.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=darkslategray][i]Mikhail grinned across the table, the woman on the other side returning a more toothy smile. They gripped hands, set elbows, and went at it. The crowd cheered, the two strained...Mikhail was not a large man, so the idea of an arm wrestle with an Amazon was more ridiculous than usual. Still, he did have certain advantages when it came to heightened respiration rates, thus more ATP, thus more energy in his elbow...but he wasn't using them this time. He felt it would be demeaning, and since the content was only for the last round of the night, and he'd had plenty, he wasn't too concerned...Even if he couldn't really focus. He was fairly sure she could though, so he peeled back his lips and ran his tongue salaciously over his upper teeth. Startled, she lost concentration, and he slammed her hand down. There was a moment's cheering, and more than a few groans from those who'd wagered against him. Then quite a bit of silence. Mikhail was about to vacate his seat, and the building, rather hurriedly, when a strong hand clapped onto his shoulder. He winced, as he had a fair idea who it was.[/i] Tarjarian: Attempting to subvert my soldiers again Mikhail? [i]Though the tone was ostensibly friendly, Tarjarian, a seargent he had become acquainted with over his stay here, and not exactly amicably, regarded Mikhail as an amusing nuisance more than anything else. It wouldn't have been the first time she'd had a small chat with him about devilling her guardswomen, or being overly esoteric, or simply indulging in a level of social repartee beyond most of them. The number of them that had walked away shaking their heads in confusion probably did it. If he'd been like every other male lout, and simply propositioned them, she could have just thumped him and that would have been the end of it. The fact that he hadn't, coupled with the fact she had been there when he'd shown up at a training session open to the public that had involved hand to hand combat, stopped her doing so. Besides, Mikhail was fairly confident she liked him more than she let on. If nothing else, he was justifying the existance of her position. He always got on, however well, with seargents. It was the officers he didn't like.[/i] Mikhail: Wouldn't dream of deliquescing away Tarjarian. Merely awaiting a well earned refreshment, at the express bequest of your most fine soldier here. [i]He turned slightly more to face her. The firelight that played over him did an interesting job of giving his skin an appearance somewhere between bronze and tarnished silver, and shadowing his face enough that his grin wasn't too visible, provided he kept his mouth shut. She stared at him a minute, did he notice her gaze playing over his slightly open shirt, before turning to her warrior. She looked uncomfortable, but held her ground. Tarjarian sighed, and covered her eyes.[/i] Tarjarian: Get back to the barracks. [i]Most of the crowd decided to follow a version of the command, and dispersed. Mikhail stood up and stretched languoursly.[/i] Mikhail: Well, I'll absent myself shall I? I don't think anyone will be needing me here further, though be assured my services are at the command of all at any time. [i]In response, he received a slug to the stomach. Truly told, he absorbed most of the blow, but decided to fall down anyway. Tarja frowned as he landed facedown on her feet, moaning somewhat theatrically she though. She tried to move, but couldn't dislodge him; eventually he rolled away, onto his back, and looked up at her, his laconic expression unchanged.[/i] Mikhail: Charming as always. If the guards wish me to avail myself as an ...instructional device, then I'd best do so, no doubt. I'm sure pummeling me several times would be most benefical to all concerned. [i]Tarjarian was convinced he was baiting her. If nothing else, he was baiting her by being innocuous and forcing her to work out whether he was actually baiting her or not. And she'd bet he knew exactly what he was doing as well. Opting, as many others in her command had, for the easy way out, she executed a military spin and....fell over. The bastard had done a marvellous job, while he'd been moaning like a gutted fish given voice (well, he wasn't making pop-pop-pop sounds, was he?), of slipping a bit of strong twined leather around her ankles. Leaving her on her back, surprised, with him somehow restored to his chair, one leg cocked over the arm rest, looking perfectly at ease.[/i] Mikhail: I also know how to untie, or even cut if we want to be crude, leather threaded together, should the situation arise. [i]She growled at him, and snapped the stuff, unmindful of the strange looks she was getting. She stood up, the anger in her face tempered by the gleam in her eyes that grudingly acknowleged it had been a good trick. Mikhail saw it, and one corner of his mouth twitched upwards in triumph. Without further word he rose, gave a monk's bow; hands in a heaven and earth position, eyes upwards, and left. She nailed him to the wall with her eyes as he walked away, stopping only to give a sardonic response to some rake's comment on the way out. She didn't bother to try and pick it up. At least that might disappoint him. Outside, Mikhail's smile turned more bitter, and he gave a self-deprecating, sardonic laugh, more at himself than anything else. It was getting to the point where this facade had stopped seeming simply an amusing diversion, and was indeed starting to be simply a habit. Mikhail tended to avoid that; if it became too ingrained it was hard to get out of; already the subtle idiosyncracies, in word and action, that came with the role were jumping into his head unprompted. Still, if he ended up getting stuck in anything, it would probably be this...Maybe just a little less of a prankster. Besides, he still had big enough spikes coming off his arms to back him up if they happened to misfire.[/font][/color][/i]

[font=gothic][color=darkslategray][i]Now, what Kaarstein really wasn't keen on was the security guard that he'd previously contemplated and ignored. Sure, the guy was more interested in the questionably meaty pie and the wireless he had, and by the looks of it his beer gut in centimetres was exponentially larger than his IQ, but corpses did attract attention. Well, nothing else for it. Kaarstein flipped the nightstick up in the air and transferred his laptop from his right to his left, caught the truncheon, and sauntered up behind the man. A quick rap to the back of his head, and suddenly whatever was on the radio was less interesting. Of course, there'd be a large dark bruise in a few hours, making it obvious someone was messing around, but that wasn't a concern. Kaarstein severely doubted his records were on file anywhere. Normally, moving four times within a year was enough to destroy any trace of you. He'd been basically on the streets for years. There were probably traces of his blood on various instruments he'd used over the years in research, but with no one to match them with, he'd merely be an identity code in a cabinet somewhere. For some reason, that notion was vaguely depressing for a minute. Then he considered that there was an otherwise useless bureaucrat somewhere devoting his life to working out who XY288893233 was, and why he was repeatedly taking and testing blood samples in various labs. No doubt there would be an elaborate model used to predict his movements, and a truly absurd theory linking him to the hostile foreign power of choice. Being someone who you've never met's reason for existance is kind of uplifting...Especially when they're completely and utterly wrong about you and you know you can bring them crashing to the ground in an instant. Kaarstein mentally shrugged sardonically at that, and wandered into the alley currently serving as residence. It wasn't that bad an alley, it was free of rubbish and drunks. It was covered in by an overhang on the other side, there actually wasn't a dumpster of any kind in it, and there was a rather nice little niche in the walls at the back where two buildings didn't quite match up. Chasing out the occasional rat was about all that was required. That and the police. But they didn't count; you couldn't really get rid of them.[/font][/color][/i]

[font=gothic][color=darkslategray][i]Someone was going to get a punch in the mouth. Either that, or he'd have to stop taking public transport. The whole hobo image from some, vampyre from others, was really starting to piss him off. The only good thing was that mothers tended to hide their children's faces when they walked past him on the street, meaning the little shits shut up for half a second. There was something about sentient life that was pissing Kaarstein off more than usual. And that took quite a bit normally. Of course, it wasn't obvious, he wouldn't let it show, he had more important concerns. Besides, yet another failure. The basic idea he was running with was isotopes of iron, haemoglobin being replaced with a large scale version of nicotinamide adenine dinucleotide hydrogen ion carrier, and the conversion of nicotinamide adenine dinucleotide to an oxygen carrying molecule. They could be obtained fairly easily, it was just a matter of getting his body to accept it. That was where he hit problems. For some reason, the Kreb's cycle wouldn't function with the altered NADPH2 present, which meant he might just have to revolutionise biological life as it was known, and find some decent alternatives to adenosine triphosphate. Which meant a complete cellular reconstruction. Which was not going to be pretty. Or easy. In fact, it probably meant irradiation to the nth degree, series of chemicals that didn't exist in anything but a laboratory, and definately a few million changes to the human Genome. In fact, it probably involved a couple more protein structures that currently didn't exist. All in all, Kaarstein had his work cut out for him. Interestingly enough, quite a few other people also seemed to have Kaarstein's work cut out for them. And Kaarstein was more than willing to let them do it for him. Unsuprising really. He checked his watch, it was only a few hours after midnight. He wasn't sure who's laboratory he was in anyway, but that wasn't really relevant. He had a nightstick on the table, and was fairly confident with it. Besides, if any kind of biochemist walked in, and saw what he was doing, they'd be too busy gibbering in shock to actually do anything. Bunch of provincials.[/font][/color][/i]

[font=gothic][color=darkslategray]Name: Mikhail (NOT Mike, Michael, or any other such variant. That should be clear at the outset.) von Jarin Age: 27 Hair: Bald as a donkey. That's right. Eyes: Blue/green/gray, depending on spectrum of light. Race: Human Job: Ki spiritualist/monk. Basically like an elementalist mage, but harnesses spiritual energy, and quite often not his own, instead of arcana. Occupation: Something of an itinerant. A bit of "the end is nigh". Probably hasn't done an honest day's work in his life. Weapon: The above, and below for that matter, magic, and hand to hand combat. Specifically, leather bracers that extend half way up the forearm, leaving the fingers entirely uncovered. Reinforced metal on the outer edge of the forearm and hand, and the back of the fist. At the end of the bracer, half way up the forearm, there is a curved hook that extends, parallel to his forearm, back to the elbow, used for catching weapons, or close range reverse elbows. Abilities: Nearly everything in the human body is the result of enzymes. Their presence, or lack of them, controls every biological function. What is commonly referred to as "Ki" is merely an extended control of these functions, forcing both the body to perform as required, and the mind not to interfere. That's basic training for any monk. It takes a real master to start playing with other people's Ki. My god can you have some fun then. The only difference is that you don't have to force someone else's mind into stillness, which, given their lack of training, would stimulate death anyway. So, basically, this manipulation of cellular energy can be used to damage or to heal, or for any number of more esoteric purposes. The main such is to force a build up of adenosine triphosphate, or ATP, the main source of cellular energy. You are then left with a huge store of chemical energy, that doesn't really have anywhere to go. You could, theoretically, release it throughout the body, greatly increasing physical aptitude, but in reality the metabolism rates of cells mean there isn't much of a marked effect. The main use for this pent up energy is all the wonderful mages do; fireballs, lightning and the like. Oxygen has a flash point, and if you incite every oxygen molecule within a two millimetre radius of a person to that temperature...They burn remarkably well, let's put it that way. Appearance: Mikhail is about six foot tall, and typically slender. His skin, including the skin on the top of his head, is tanned, though not really brown yet. His face is either completely still or set in permanent sardonic amusement. He's more muscular than anyone that build has a right to be, but he's not bulky. Just very, very wiry. Tends to wear very loose black pants (think Japanese samuri/deckhand pants), and a loose shirt, laced up the front. A single ring on his left hand, inscribed with runes in a generally unknown language. He doesn't wear shoes. Or hats. Might occasionally don a hood, but only if he thought his head might be a little reflective. Personality: He's fairly sardonic. Tends to be rather laidback, preferring to simply make caustic commentary in a wryly amused tone than actually do anything. It's mainly surface, he doesn't reveal a lot, and that's a front he's fond of. He adheres strongly to the "walk softly, but carry a big stick" precept. Not many have actually seen the stick though. Biography: Mikhail was born into a monastery. A carefully prepared test subject, he had the enzymes in his body accelerated to the point where his brain grew very, very rapidly. He was fully aware and lucid by six months. By three, he was discussing philosphy. That doesn't sound to bad, but you probably haven't spent much time in an infant's body. Mikhail wasn't happy with the situation at all. All he really had to do was devote time to his studies. He was part of a group of experimental monks...strange as that seems. Anyway, there were about tweleve of them, a strange sight to be sure, and they spent most of their days playing with Ki. Needless to say, by the time they were able to start the physical training required by these monks, they were pretty damn good with their brains, and as such, every physical lesson came very easily to them. That had the wonderful effect of annoying their immature fellow students, of course. Anyway, the quietest of these monks, Mikhail, the one no one expected to cause problems, ended up doing a bit of a runner as soon as he was eighteen. So, they hunted him down and brought him back. Took them about a year. Two years after that, he disappeared again, and this time they ignored it, as they were having far two much fun with the other eleven, who were working out new ways to make people explode daily, to really care. Mikhail, rather happy with the turn of events, decided that he really didn't like the sedentary life, and ended up pioneering quite a few ways of greatly slowing down one's metabolism during his itinerancy. Starving isn't that much of a problem sometimes. Well, he was spending a bit of time with the Amazons, lovely people all, when word of an exploding book reached him. That wasn't that exciting to him, he knew how to explode people, after all. What really concerned Mikhail was that other dimensions were involved. See, the order of monks Mikhail disappeared from was one of those crazy isolationist sects that decides they should train to kill people all day, just in case some really big scary space goat or something attacks the collective sentient existance. And Mikhail really didn't want to go back there, so he decided he'd better deal with it himself before they came along. [/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=darkslategray]Category Moderators Cyriel. We call them Team Leaders nowadays.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=darkslategray]Yeah, I thought Probot was pretty good, but my god do a few of the songs get repetive quickly. Mainly the first two tracks, but I found I couldn't listen to them more than three or four times without becoming rather bored with the entire thing. But then, I'm not really that much of a metal fan (yet), due in main to the horrible Australian metal scene.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=darkslategray]This is, if it is not obvious, a human sign up. Surname: van der Kaarstein Given name: Jürgen (Normally goes by Kaarstein) Age: 31 Appearence: Kaarstein is about six foot one, and pale enough that he has in the past been mistaken for a vampyre, but more on that later. Despite his condition, and more on that later as well, he is built solidly, which is entirely his own fault, since he was actually born slender. It takes quite a bit to work up that much muscle on a person of that build, he can attest. Anyway, Kaarstein has dark brown hair, rather shaggy looking, that hangs down to just above his eyes at the front, and longer at the back. A rather rough beard, about down to his collarbone. Tends to be mistaken for a hobo by those that don't know vampyres exist. He has dark eyes, and hard features. Tends to wear heavy black leather pants, and a stormcloud gray short sleeved shirt. Occasionally dons leather bracers, that extend from the elbow to the gaps in between the fingers. Spiked in several places, and reinforced at the knuckles. Old friends from some more reckless days. Personality: Kaarstein's personality is shaped entirely by his genetics. He was born with a bizarre form of what we know as anaemia (yes, he's heard all the jokes). Rather than the typical haemoglobin deficiency, Kaarstein's red blood cells develop and die at a greatly expanded rate, as does most of his circulatory system. In fact, last time he checked, when relaxed he had something like 250 heart beats a minute. Obviously, this causes a lot of blood pressure problems. Kaarstein has spent his entire life on the edge of either dying or haemochromotosis like symptoms, depending on what he happened to eat that particular day. That wouldn't concern him too much, he doens't really have much to do, but the knowledge that most of the cells in his circulatory system live shortened, though frenetic lifespans is worrying for one rather good reason. It may be possible that he could develop a fatigued heart by the time he's 40. Not a nice prospect. Kaarstein has spent the last few years attempting to work out some kind of either cure, or at the very least, a decent artifical heart. He's become somewhat obsessed, though you wouldn't know it too look at him. All of a sudden, Kaarstein finds out about vampyres. Now, it's generally accepted that anaemia and vampyrism are loosely connected. Kaarstein doesn't care about vampyre's attempting to remove their vulnerabilty to sunlight, or any kind of threat to humanity, or anything else. He just wants a couple of vampyres on ice so he can cut them up and look at their blood for a while. [/font][/color] EDIT: When you get right down to it Valen, I don't even know why they still have that up. I mean, it's pretty weak, considering all I do is run the Battle Arena these days. Which is more fun, but hey.

[font=gothic][color=darkslategray]...Hehehehe. I would have eaten you for that post if I'd still been Cat. Mod Cyriel. By altered characters, I mean characters affected by Warpstone, or other forces of chaos.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=darkslategray]Yeah, I picked up a single cd version of Death to The Pixies, and it took forever to find be assured. Quite annoyed that I didn't get the second cd with it. [/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=darkslategray]I don't believe I've seen anyone try a Warhammer rpg yet...Tell me, are we allowed Altered characters? Name: K'yellyth Age: 139 Gender: Female Race: Dark Elf Appearance: Ky'elleth is a tall dark elf, about 5"8, and typically lithe, though muscled. Her hair is atypically raven, falling to her shoulders, making her skin seem storm grey in comparison. She wears long black breeches, and a shirt that covers her arms and the upper half of her torso. In another non-standard feature, she also wears heavy soled boots, though she remains soundless. Leather bracers with hooks adorn her forearms. She fights with the normally cermonial ghlaith and lakelui. A ghlaith is a sickle like implement, used to deliver a paralysing blow to an enemy's spine. The lakelui in this case is a bladed staff. Two feet of handle, one foot of blade, curving backwards. She also carries a wraithen, one of the dreaded dark elven repeating crossbows. War band/Solo: Solo. Starting Quarter: South East. Biography: Taken by Witch Elves as a newborn, and bathed in the Cauldron of Blood, Ky'ellyth was one of the few elves to survive that ritual, and as such was brought up an assassin, the most devoted of Khaine's followers. Originally from Har Ganeth, when she was fully accepted into the Kryrnaa, she ended up in Karond Kar, the city of of the beastmasters that train the monstrosities found in the cold wastes. After years there, eliminating those that the Khainites wished, Ky'ellyth was directed to seach for the wyrdstone in Mordheim, in aid of the Khainites feud against the six convents. It was reasoned that in that place, a devoted servant of the Lord of Murder would fare best. Weaponry: [What weapons do you have? Max of three] : Ghlaith, lakelui, wraithen.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=darkslategray]And of course, Australian fans are left sitting around in annoyance...as with every other band. I'd pick up a DVD should they release one, but I was under the impression a Greatest Hits album was already out.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=darkslategray]Welcome back. Unfortunately Ravenstorture decided to absent herself from our company, but no one has managed to shunt me off into a corner yet. No doubt the time differences would preclude an AIM conversation, so throw me a PM should you wish to talk. I'll always be here to listen, and offer debatedly effective insight.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Then you can leave off posting anything in this thread until said Monday when you finished. It's just a waste of space at the moment. Should be common sense.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]If you're not finished typing, then don't post it...I believe the rules thread at the top outlines that pretty damn clearly. [/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Have you seen Hell's repairmen? They're even slacker than their mortal counterparts; it's natural the gates are in pretty bad shape. And yes, I am rather enjoying myself. I don't really find myself cautioned though, because it's probably a little late for that kind of thing.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]OOC: For once, can't we do an rpg that doesn't read like a bad soap opera...I mean, really people. IC: [i]Hearing the commotion, Xvirran sighed, and walked out of the cabin he'd sequestered himself in since the last fiasco. This was really getting tiring. Interestingly enough though, the skulker who'd been around for a while was involved, though probably not the cause. Xvirran was fairly certain he knew exactly what the hell the problem was this time. He walked in in time to see Neshaia turn up, a rather surprising experience, though not exactly as overwhelming as it tended to be for other mortals. Dragons had deities of their own, after all. He stepped aside as Serenity and Aris walked out, rolling his eyes and rumbling low in his throat. Scanning the room, Xvirran decided it was a damn good thing he hadn't walked in a few minutes earlier, given his fast fading tolerance with mammalian idiocy. A few breaths of a debilitating acid compound probably would have solved the trick, in his opinion. And he wasn't sure of the identity of some of the people here anyway, so it didn't hurt to be certain. Ascertaining no immediate threat, he turned to the nearest curio.[/i] Xvirran: While I'm sure staying hidden for several days was most enjoyable, not to mention effective at keeping you uninvolved in the rather pathetic foibles of these disparate creatures, I must admit I am curious as to any other reasons involved with the choice. [i]She merely shrugged, and he let it go. The other one wasn't his concern, and the remaining two weren't worth talking to. In fact, to hell with this. Xvirran stalked out, seeking the ship's carpenter. Borrowing several stout beams and long nails, he returned to his cabin, barring the door securely. On top of that, he moved the heavy sea chest, previously bolted in place, in front of the door, and nailed it in place too. Xvirran was becoming quite tired of these elvish disputes, or whoever was involved at the time. All he knew was that when it came right down to it, the idea of eating them all was becoming rather attractive. He hadn't yet regretted coming along, it was occasionally interesting watching the constant sparring between them, but they were decidedly foreign. Almost completely incomprehensible, unless you remembered to leave logic out of the analysis. Xvirran sprawled out on the cabin floor, the bed being small and uncomfortable, and went into the deep sleep of dragons, which normally lasted years. He knew the voyage would end in a day or so, but remaining completely oblivious until then definately had its advantages.[/font][/color][/i]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]OOC: ...Why must you people always get me into trouble? IC: [i]Xvirran looked critically at the inert lycanthrope on his bed, then critically at the near hysterical elf hovering over him, basically wringing her hands. He momentarily considered decking her as well, she probably wouldn't want to see this, but decided it probably wouldn't be taken well when she woke up. Or when he woke up for that matter. Still, he'd probably better explain before taking steps.[/i] Xvirran: Most animals have acidic saliva- Serenity:-WHAT THE HELL HAS THAT TO DO WITH ANYTHING! Xvirran: Let me finish! Black dragons don't. Since during mating fights, one male may bite another, he risks receiving a mouth full of acid for his troubles. To counter this, black dragons have evolved alkaline saliva. So I can deal with the acid that currently scalds him, it's the damage already done I can't counter. I'm no healer. [i]Xvirran's abnormally long, forked tongue flicked out, covering his claws in saliva, which he wiped over the affected parts of Aris' body. There was a soft hissing sounds, and a low mist filled the air as the neutralisation reaction occured at a phenomenal rate.[/i] Xvirran: He'll probably never eat salt after this in his life... [i]Though he muttered the comment to himself, it still earned a raised eyebrow from a now calmer Serenity. Xvirran pointed to the small white crystals forming in Aris' fur.[/i] Xvirran: Of course, these are basically fluorine salts, and a few more exotics, so eating them wouldn't be a good idea anyway. [i]As the hissing died down, Xvirran moved to the small porthole, cursing and ducking the ceiling as the ship rocked. He lowered the attached bucket that another species would have used for bathing, and carried it over to the bed. Lifting Aris up by the scruff of his neck, he sluiced him off and gently relowered him.[/i] Xvirran: I've done all I can do. [i]That established, in his mind at least, he proceeded to tend to his own wounds, first dealing with the acid, then giving the actual cuts professional assessment. Aris hadn't been fighting rationally, so they weren't too much to worry about. Xvirran didn't contemplate the force he might have had to use had the drow truly been set on killing him. Apparently Serenity disagreed with his assumption though, for she laid a hand on his forearm...retracting it immediately when it started to sting though.[/i] Serenity: Please, isn't there anything more we can do for him? Xvirran: Unless you have some abilities I don't, then no. I somehow doubt that this ship doesn't have a skilled healer somewhere on it. No doubt one of the disparate entourage he's managed to collect has some ability. I recommend you try there. [i]Apparently unconcered, he returned to literally licking his wounds. As soon as Serenity was out the door though, he turned to the remains of the corpse, actually just a sternum (far too bony) and a few attendant ribs, with some intercostal muscle remaining, and disposed of them through the same porthole. He didn't feel like explaining that until he absolutely had to.[/font][/color][/i]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]OOC: That's...slightly disturbing. More so far the horrendous accent than anything else though. IC: [i]Xvirran looked around nonchalantly as everybody drifted off, probably to whatever they were doing before, then started helping the crew assigned to disposing of the bodies. He reached down and absently grabbed a man with each hand, and bundled a third up in his cable-like tail. A series of quick flicks sent them overboard. The captain shouted something about more hands being needed, and Xvirran gestured for those around him to attend to their duty, and let him finish this off. There was only a score or so left to do, and he had no intention of throwing them all overboard anyway. He picked another stack of bodies up, noting with interest the small blazoned tatoo on each man's neck. A dark red, almost black rose, crumbling at the edges. One of the corsairs had referred to themselves as the Burnt Rose midway through the fight, as he remembered. Xvirran was unsure about how those things tended to work, but doubted that such a foible would be the work of one captain. Actually, that might be something to check. He finished with all but one of the bodies, and dragged that last down to his cabin, throwing it in for later. He didn't have a chance to eat humans very often, even rather scabarous ones such as this. He was, of course, cirumspect about it. He doubted the other people on the ship, the crew especially, would take well to it. He'd just have to remember not to crunch... That done, he wandered back up on deck, waved a laconic claw towards an enquiring eyebrow, and leapt off the side, making for the small point of light on the horizon. Given the state the ship was in, a dromon that had had it's sail damaged, and the slaves were probably dead from exhaustion, it wasn't hard to catch. In fact, it was outright becalmed, being outside the storm front. He landed on the quarterdeck, and flicked a stray quarrel away, before turning to the captain, who was futilely leaning on the tiller.[/i] Xvirran: Tell me human, does this group limit itself to one ship, or is there something of a fleet lying sequestering in a lee cove somewhere? [i]The man just stared at him. Xvirran sighed, leant over the tiller, and exhaled...A black cloud of hissing gas emerged, melting the tiller into soggy pulp within seconds.[/i] Xvirran: Need I repeat myself? "There be more of us, but not around here, dragon." Xvirran: Excellent. Now, onto the important question. Is there any kind of credentials required to be a pirate? It seems a rather interesting existance to me... [i]The man just stared at him, in something very akin to horror. Xvirran took that as all the answer he needed, and leapt off, making sure to tear another hole in the mainsail as he went past.... Fifteen minutes later, he was alone in his cabin, gnawing happily on a nameless pirate's torso.[/font][/color][/i]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]OOC: Nobody specified what kind of ship we have, (SHIP people SHIP. It's not a boat...) so I'm taking some liberties. IC: [i]Most dragons didn't like water. Xvirran was more than happy to accede to that rule. However, most dragons had obvious problems with being aboard seagoing vessels as well. Xrivvan was just as happy to be an exception in that regard. Hell, he liked being on ship more than being ashore anyway. It was easier on his legs, for one thing... But more to the point, floating over the gaff, the lateen sail billowed out before him, the brigantine flying before the wind in a way that could only be matched by the dragons themselves...Xvirran snapped his wings forward, gusting slightly further up the ship, keeping pace with it through the arcane side to dragonflight. This vantage point leant him an unmatched view, for which fact the captain hadn't bothered to station anyone in the crow's nest, given Xvirran's word he would stand watch with eyes sharper than any human's. The entire ocean was completely devoid of sails, most other deep water keels being traders anyway, and they were out too far to encounter luggers. A weather front was building directly ahead of them, a rather interesting looking storm, at least by Xvirran's standards. His mental catalogue of facts didn't reveal anyone he could think of as suffering from seasickness, but it was still possible. After all, he'd spent most of his time so far exactly where he was, or hanging batlike from a spar, or climbing the rigging with surprising agility for one his size and build. He had a fondness for bad weather while aboard, not surprising given that being washed over board wasn't too much of a problem. The captain shouted for the mid watch to man position, and the dawn watch to go below. Xvirran alighted on the quarterdeck, nodded affably to the man in question, who gritted his teeth at this violation of proprietry, and continued down onto the main deck. He braced himself against the currently unoccupied aft rail (he didn't check if the lee side was occupied. There was always one...) and wondered exactly what the protocol about non-human captains serving under colours was. He was more than willing to turn privateer, but was pretty certain he'd have enough trouble finding a crew as it was. That thought running through his mind, he retreated to his cabin and barred the door, determined that either he'd work out something else to do once this escapade was over, or work out how to steal himself a ship.[/font][/color][/i]