The Harlequin

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Rali took a quick glance at the screen, quickly finding it boring. He'd seen combat before, and an undisciplined, uncontrolled frenzy like that was shaping up to be held very little interest. Combat at its finest was an art form, a dance proscribed, simply because you knew exactly what you're opponent was going to do, and reacted an instant before he'd started the move. Naturally, he was generally considered a perfectionist. He was interested to see if that remark was repeated if he performed some of his kama routines though... Maybe later. He walked around basically aimlessly, looking for a decent book. They seemed rarer and rarer these days. A small, stashed library of his offered some solace, some escapism, from a world that was increasingly not worth feeling for. A few classic titles, Peril's Gate, Warhost At Vastmark, Redemption of Althalus, and the rest. A collection of books he'd read countless times. One more round wouldn't hurt.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Hmmmm. Playing an evil god eh.... About time I received my due! Ahem... Name: Yami Kami Age: Unknown Gender: Male race: God description: Yami Kami can absorb any form he wishes. In normality, he takes the guise of a tall, thin man dressed in black. When pressed or annoyed, he reverts to a state of pure spirit flux, an energy channel through the threads of existence. bio: Vell zen! Shalt ve make zis a little more....intrestink zan yor average bio! Or something. Yami Kami came into existence at the dawn of creation, living, or existing would perhaps be the better term, in the dark spaces of the universe. The anti-matter, the void, the areas devoid of all, these were home to him. Why? Because among gods, he was reviled. Among mortals, he was considered too dangerous, and thrown out by collective force. Among darkness, he was accepted. Alone, he was unchallenged. Silent, he was unquestioned. In his own private reality, he was the literal god. Years, centuries, Yami Kami slowly transcended his own mind, feeding himself into the subflux of the universe, permeating every speck of matter, in those small areas of nothingness inside atoms, where the electron spins endlessly around the nucleus, tunneling through and resuming its orbit. Yami Kami infected whole worlds, like a vicious leech crawling into dark holes in search of a meal. People, plants, or rocks, it mattered not to him. Life on these planets withered slowly, as Yami Kami drew back his tendrils of infernal desire, bringing with them something of those they had touched. Eventually, when he grew gluttonous, he snapped all his evil antennae back in a huge rush. Entire planets, entire solar systems, were ripped apart. But Yami Kami had made his fatal mistake. Among gods, he was now powerful. But gods gain power through inflection, reflection, introversion, the gaining of wisdom. Yami Kami drew his power through necromantic aura manipulation, and was himself scarred. He writhed for aeons in torment, unable to bring his mighty power to bear upon the festering canker inside him, spawned by the death he had feasted on. In his blind rage, energy spat from him like solar flares, causing wonders and horrors all over the universe. Many phenomenon have no explanation other than this. At last, quietude. Lassitude. The pain receeded, and Yami Kami's body, made up though it was of particles of the ethereal, unfathomable nature that characterises the mystic, the arcane, the transcendantal, healed. His mind stayed scarred, and in his madness, he took control of many of the beings he had spawned, seeing them as beautiful, though many were misshappen. He saw them as proof of his omnipotence, even among other immortals. He saw himself as Supreme, as the Overgod, the primal cause of all. He conveniently forgot his earlier existence. He now seeks to dominate what he considers his rightful due. planet: Not exactly relevant.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Name: Rali Kreigyr Age: 23 Weapons: Twin kamas, shang gao. The shang gao is the hooked sword, kamas the hand held scythes. Appearance: Six foot tall, slender. Black hair left long, and normally worn free. Wears a black dobuk. Personality: Introverted, and nastiyl secretive. Doesn't like people to pry into what he considers anathema. Which is basically anything before the time you meet him. Despite the secrecy, he's not at all pretentious. Certainly, he's not just pretending to be all shadowy and mysterious. He just doesn't find his past very interesting, and doesn't like the idea that people judge him on what he did years ago. An interesting philosophy for one as young as he...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Mykkael squinted upwards at the sun, trying to tell the time. Kenratu had done a runner, the entire place was jumping around like a stirred up hornet's nest. And random Shades had started annoying him. And Ulrich was getting restless. A few interesting snippets of conversation did filter through clearly though. Such as someone's remark about the human Mages being useless without a tutor. Ulrich sat bolt upright, his eyes wide. He smiled slowly, and started a low, helpless laughter.[/I] Ulrich: So that's what the hell I'm doing here. They want someone trained to give the people here a chance... [I]Mykkael looked at him incredulously. He looked around quickly. It seemed several Shades had indeed heard. He looked back to the human, shaking his head in disbelief.[/I] Mykkael: You're nearly as good as getting me into trouble as I am. [I]He stood up, interposing himself between Ulrich and several angry looking Shades. They looked uncertain, but kept stalking towards him, muttering about treason or something similarly absurd. He risked a glance back, finding Ulrich was well out of harm's way, and running steadily. At least he was that smart. Mykkael bowed to the youngsters in front of him, and turned and left. A hand fell on his shoulder. He spun, wrenching the hand into a lock and forcing its owner onto his knees. A boot between the shoulder blades left him on his face.[/I] Mykkael: Bad idea. [i]He wasn't really bothered as he caught up to the fleeing human.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Rali stood in the middle of the construct, breathing deeply. Not that he had any need to in this place, but the motion came with the excercises he performed. Instinctive, intrinsical. A flowing stream of events that almost happened in a realm beyond his control. As if, once started, he had no means of pulling it up. [I]Knife hand guarding block left. Backhand punch. 180º spin ito knifehand block, another reverse punch. 90º turn left, low section block. Three high section punches. 270º spin left, high rising guarding block. Reverse punch. Another spin, into high rise guarding block, another punch. 90 degree turn, low, high section block, quick. Three more high sections. 270 degree turn into a knifehand strike, reverse punch. The same in the other direction. Left leg trails around, back to readiness, to equilibrium.[/I] Considered one of the simplest of patterns, but one that was perfect in its simplicity. That it only used upperbody attacks was a cause for the disdain surrounding it. A warrior needed to work with all his body, to synergise his physical capabilities into a single honed force, to meld the flows of whipcrack intensity that ran through his body. Or, Rali had said that, years ago, faced with one older and wiser than he, who had known more what he was talking about. But he was dead and gone. Everything Rali knew was dead and gone. Or, more precisely, he'd never really known it in the first place. That didn't really trouble him. Very little did. He laconically, mechanically bowed, and spun back into the real world. The disorientation was fleeting, as it always was. He was adjusting to this, he supposed. Multiple other people were arrayed around the room, apparently deep in thought. That wouldn't be anything new. Concern was more apparent these days than boredom. And that was a substantial call. Rali moved to one of the unoccupied couches, reclining into it. He close in the corner, drawing one leg up and resting his hands on it, and his chin on his hands, crossing his other leg under the first. Not a position most people would think of someone like him adopting... People always had the strangest ideas about those who knew fighting as well as their own heartbeat. They always seemed to think they always acted cool... Strange that. Rali half considered making a round of sarcastic commentary, but thought better of disturbing the silence. So precious these days. Damn...he didn't even have anything to read...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Well, I'm playing your big scary dragon, because I'm a scary kind of guy...or some other drivel. I don't care. Oh, and I would have edited the stuff you sent me more, but it didn't seem neccessarily. Name:Bahamut Family: Draygnar Weapon: Twin kitanas Armour: Bite me baby. I bite back. Skills: Transform (Big *** dragon thing.) Bio: Born to the Draygnar, Bahamut was to become the most powerful dragon. He fought, fought, and fought to be the best in his clan, but in a battle against his sister, Tiamat, he lost his thighbone, something that really pissed him off. Understandably. Dracula empowered Tiamat, making her the most powerful evil dragon of the world, and Bahamut's goal is to destroy her once and for all, then kill her allies. And anyone else who wants to steal his skeleton... Appearance: Human form: Grey eyes, long raven black hair, falls to his shoulder. Imposing, though not bulky, musculature. Tends to wear long black clothing. Dragon form: Black drake, one of the largest in the world. Ruby eyes. A long, silver scar down one leg. Batlike wings, pinioned. Upswept black horns. Spined tail.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Rali waited, eventually one of them was bound to move. Sure enough, one of the men finished a cigarette, and walked over to throw it in a corner. Right under the window. Rali slipped forward and almost pencil dipped downwards, falling silently. DFA. Just before he hit the man, he kicked his heels back sharply. The struck his shoulders, propelling him face first into the wall. He was unlikely to die unless he struck wrong, but then he wouldn't be doing anything for a while either. The move also served to make the upper half of Rali's body lean forward. He went with it gracefully rolling forward over his shoulder before coming to his feet. Without the slightest pause, so that he could use the momentum, Rali sprang upwards. It appeared like a cartwheel, but his hands never touched the ground. His right foot, which struck the next man first, hit his head, jolting it sharply downwards, snapping his neck instantly. His left foot, striking half a second later, struck the man's spine as he fell, and Rali pushed himself off what little leverage he could get. The man's body slammed into the ground, Rali landed easily on his feet spinning around with an outer crescent that hit nothing but air. The man he had intended to hit lay on the ground, his throat spraying blood. Rali looked away to spare his eyes the shower. Ryan coldly wiped his knife off on the man's forearm. Nothing absorbed blood like skin.[/I] Rali: Shall we go wake our friend up?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: Just a short note, I'm kind of stuck at the moment, so don't think I've run off and died. Think Arikel has...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Just out of curiousity, was that PM Sarsy sent me about the Yami Kami position sanctioned, or just out of the blue?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Interesting amalgamation... I'll play one of the lesser evils. [B]Name[/B]: Qixith, or occasionally goes by Vindicare. Lord of Vengeance. [B]Appearance[/B]: Human form is six foot tall, with long black hair. Skin is grey naturally, though it looks like makeup. He wears black cotton jeans, a black long sleeved shirt, and black combat boots. Demon form (the interesting part): Skin is jet black, excepting the face. His face has a slight, internal grey glow. This glow emits no light, but makeshis face readable. He is seven feet tall, and very slender. Four arms, each terminating in a set of five taloned and figners, and membraneous, batlike wings. They are not directly suited for flying, for reasons that will be discussed further onwards, but can be used for short glides. Qixith's body is reptilian by the way, their skin is scaly, excepting the face, which is flesh. As such, he does have hair, which is a strange metallic, almost glossy silver. He possesses the usual infernal strength, despite his slender appearance. [B]Powers[/B]: As a force of vengeance, many of Qixith's powers are mental, rather than physical. Subversion, turning people against each other over long forgotten slights, using their own emotions against them, and other such tactics that either break morale, cause infighting, or cause a mindless berserk rage. His straight damaging powers are basically the etheric equivalent of a Death Brawler's. He sends etheric spikes into people, unstringing their aura. Can have ...interesting effects. [B]History[/B]: Qixith is the youngest greater demon in existance. He was brought into existance when Leoric cursed Lachdanan and his knights, calling upon powers of darkness. Qixith was created out of the Diablo's pique, they intended to see Leoric's curse fufilled, but only because it amused him to corrupt someone of Lachdanan's virtue. So, unable to intervene directly in the mortal realm due to his weakened state, Diablo used his power to send a message to certain factors in Hell, who combined to create a being of power, a rare event in Hell. Qixith performed his task admirably, and continued to sow discord in the mortal realm. The beings that had created him intended to dispose of him immediately, but the flare up of the Sin War, and unexpected defeat of the Three, left them in dissarray, allowing Qixith to make provisions for his own survival, including a permanent two way, personal link between Hell and the physical plane that allows him to phase back and forth at will. A rather classy escape route... He has also recruited a host of lesser demons to his cause, offering them a more devious, more cunning path to destruction.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Name: Rali Kreigyr Codename: Quietus Age: 21 Height: Six foot one. Appearance: Rali, like most people his height, is overly slender. His eyes are grey, with black flecks. Long, raven hair left fall free. Normally makes his face appear grey, lips black. His emaciated body, covered in wiry muscle, is somewhat more supple than average. He is by no means strong though. He dresses simply, more plainly than most of the others around him, asiding the face make up of course. Simple black cotton jeans, and a long sleeved black leather shirt, open-laced at the front. Despite that, his skin is still dead white. Wears black leather gloves at all times, and black combat boots. Personality: Rali's fairly laid back, with a laconic, sarcastic sense of humour. Cynical to a fault, and pessimistic whenever possible. Tends to be pretty blas_é, about just about everything. Doesn't really give a damn about much, and basically takes the piss out of everything and everyone. Asiding his occasional comment, he's fairly reserved, though a hidden flamboyant lurks just beneath the surface. His persona doesn't change in combat, either. A bit quixotic, and fairly medieval. Shows in his choice of weaponry. For once, Rali is actually completely normal. Preferred Gear: Despises the use of guns, and absolutely refuses to touch them. He will, however, use the following: [I]Hand to hand[/I]: His strong point. Tends to use it whenever possible. [I]Crossbow[/I]: Think the crossbow from John Carpenter's Vampyres. That's as close to a gun as he gets. Arbir: A six foot long quarterstaff with a blade on either end. Weapon of choice when one is required. Twin scimitars: His secondary weapon.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I] After laying his rifle down carefully, Rali drew his knives, Ryan did the same. Almost mirroring each other, they disappeared in opposite directions. The others followed cautiously, levelling guns for covering fire. Not that either of them would need it. Just before they lost sight of each other, Rali winked, and threw a strange salute. Ryan answered with a grin. They were currently even, and this could be the decider. Rali was't sure what Ryan was doing, but he hadn't found much. Chances are, the people inside weren't aware their trap had been detected, so they'd be clustered around the door. As he entered the building, Ryan came silently up beside him. Their eyes met, and they nodded. They both understood what was happening. Rali spread his hands questioningly, and made a few motions. "Get the others in?". Ryan's answering smile was vicious. They set off silently, stopping just outside the doorway to the front room.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]I'm starting to get into them, but not because of that Daredevil movie. Raiha recommended "Bring Me To Life", so I took a look at it. It was damn good, so I got a hold of "Haunted", 'My Immortal", "Fields Of Innocence", "Surrender" and "Whisper". They're not as good, but I still like them. In the vein of my thoughts tonight though....God damn Australia for not having a decent taste in music.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Welcome to Australia my friend. We probably didn't have most of those books in the first place. I recognise a few of them that we've gotten away with, but trust me...Australian libraries are boring. I have to custom order everything from the vault that never gets opened at the library in our capital city...Normally takes six months to arrive. Pain in the ***.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Even if not for the music...The pink pants on the cover were a little out of my league.... More to the point, when you say not exactly new, what time period does that mean? (Basically, has it passed the centuries long time span between being released in the rest of the world and coming to Australia?)[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]The dwarves, unfortunately, had to sing. Rali wasn't sure why, but they did. A low, rumbling tone, that wasn't exactly superb. At least a few of them weren't drunk. He wondered how much they'd imbibed, to get them to this point, considering the dwarvish capacity for ale. They'd most likely have kept that inn in business for the rest of its owner's natural life... It was a strange sight, a six foot demonoid creature in the middle of a group of dwarves. At least he wasn't singing....[/I] [I]Stone and rock, ever cold Filled with gems for dwarves bold Smite our foes with hammer and axe Bring the cave down on their backs[/I] [I]It crossed Rali's mind that they must have prearranged this song. How else would they have pulled it out of the air? But in that case, why was Regarth singing it heartily? He sighed. This would be a long trip. To take his mind of it, and to save walking, he starting limbering up as he went, locomoting by means of kata.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Mykkael looked down, shaking his head in disgust. Ulrich was curled up, rocking back and forth, shaking. He reached downand put a hand on his shoulder... ...and found himself on his back, Ulrich standing above him, in a low, ready stance. Mykkael blinked a few times. It had been a long, long time since anyone, human, Shade, or otherwise, had pulled a trick like that on him. Ulrich was nice enough to offer him a hand up.[/I] Mykkael: Was that because you're actually as skittish as a deer, or because you wanted to make a point? Ulrich: The latter. As long as all your friends think I'm a cowering worm, then they won't bother trying to take me down a peg or two. Mykkael: You had me fooled. Ulrich: Wasn't hard. [I]Mykkael conceded the point with a wave. He turned slowly, watching the podium, as, with little fanfare, Kenratu mounted. Now, finally, the part he had been waiting for. The inspiring, dramatic, politically motivated, conniving, underhanded, duplicitious, undignified speech from a low-down, gutless, newt spawn misfit who was going to be first against the wall when the revolution came.... Yes, Mykkael was willing to admit he had opinions. Quite vocally at times...[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Just as a note, Science Fiction is also applied to a lot of books that should be considered fantasy. It's not neccessarily meaning something sciencey... Oh and Liam, you have your triumph. My aunt Karen recommended I start reading Terry Pratchet, so I think I will.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Ulrich cried out in alarm as Mykkael suddenly flickered, and momentarily disappeared. He came back swearing under his breath.[/I] Ulrich: Are we being attacked? Mykkael: No, I'm just being summoned. You'd better come along, that's all. Ulrich: Summoned where? Mykkael: To wherever Kenratu is, I would suppose. This should be good. [I]Despite the amused note in Mykkael's voice, Ulrich, quite naturally, found the prospect somewhat alarming.[/I] Ulrich: You want me to go with you into the middle of your kind? I'll be killed? Mykkael: Not bloodly likely. [I]Without further words, Mykkael grabbed Ulrich's hand, and the world spun around them, like the rotation of the earth had increased exponentially. Ulrich vomited, or thought he did, but when it stopped, he wasn't sure. Shades surrounded them. A lot of Shades. Some of them just glanced curiously. Some of them looked at Ulrich in scorn. One or two looked at Mykkael in disbelief. One of those stepped forward, and the others gave way. Mykkael didn't let him get a word in.[/I] Mykkael: Of all the stupid things you've done, why the hell did you bring me back? Let's face it, its slightly more than detrimental, and I'll be of no willing help to you, and god knows more than one of your young fools here will annoy me into doing something stupid. Kenratu: And what is that doing here? Mykkael: Haven't decided. But he should be useful. Kenratu: For another one of your hidden agendas? Mykkael (Laughing harshly): Of course. It wouldn't do for anything to be understood, would it now. At least, that was the reason I was given. Kenratu: Get out of here. Now. But I wouldn't try to leave the camp. You can keep your pet for now. [I]Mykkael gave an ironic bow, laughing to himself. Ulrich, who hadn't dared say anything, followed quickly. Mykkael led them to the outskirts of the camp, and settled down against a large rock. Ulrich sat down a few feet away, constantly scanning the camp.[/I] Mykkael: Relax. No one will come near you when your with me. Ulrich: I thought no one knew you? Mykkael: Most don't. But we can tell how old one other are, and our powers tend to increase with age. Or maybe its only that those who are strong originally survive the longest. And any who are old enough will remember me, and avoid me. One or two may hold grudges, but I wouldn't recommend they try anything. [i]His following bent of evil laughter made Ulrich agree with him.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Rali, still laughing at the look on Ryan's face, dismantled his rifle with the alacrity and ease of long practice, slinging it a case over his shoulder. He pulled out his standard rifle, and checked his combat knives in their sheaths. They were really standard, being shaped more like a scimitar scaled down than your normal knife, but they were effective when it came down to an outright fight, rather than just stabbing someone in the back. Which was also fun in its own little way... He caught up with the others as they started ransacking filing cabinets. He looked at Marth, he gestured for him to join in. Rali swore softly, but started looking over documents. Most of them seemed to be accounts of some sort, and it didn't seem there was anything untoward about them, so he threw them back. No one really seemed to notice, so he assumed it was the right thing to do. Ah well. It wasn't really his field. He just shot people from long distances.... And snuck into places he wasn't meant to be in. Both, actually, were remnants of a misspent youth...[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Rali and the troop of dwarves, about 25 of them in all, were suddenly barrelled into by a group of policemen running in the opposite direction. The dwarves just stood there. The policemen fell over. Rali stepped aside, and the policeman that had seemed to be aiming for him tripped over anyway. The leader, Rali couldn't see his rank, immediately sat up and started blowing frantically into his whistle. The entire squad jumped up and ran off, in the direction they had originally been going. Booming dwarvish laughter echoed after them. The constable, as it was revealed to be, walked over to Rali, most likely because the dwarves were too busy laughing to speak.[/I] Constanble: Who are you, and what are you doing here? [I]Rather than answer, Rali smiled obligingly, and looked past him. He let his eyes widen, and a look of surprise come onto his face. Then he shouted at the top of his lungs.[/I] Rali: He's getting away. [I]Instinctively, the constable turned and ran in the direction Rali had been looking. The dwarves nearly collapsed. The man realised what had happened, and turned around. He walked slowly back towards Rali, his face tight in a dangerous smile. Rali suddenly realised that this man hadn't earnt his rank for nothing. All seeming clumsiness or stupidity was gone, replaced with leashed force. The dwarves hadn't noticed, and the man walked towards Rali unhindered. Rali sighed, and slid his right foot back, spreading his arms out at 45 degree angles like a monsterous spider. The man, though he had no idea what Rali was, didn't hesitate. As he got within range, his sword darted out of its scabbard and came down sharply towards Rali's head. His upper two arms came inwards, catching the blade on his long talons. Rather than throw the blade away, Rali gripped it tightly. His lower set of arms shot upwards, punching the man just under the shoulders, in the root of the pectoral muscle. Chances are, after a few hours, the man would realise he wouldn't be able to move his arms for a week... Rali shoved him away, and he came in again. Rali again caught his blade, this time just shoving him back. The constable stepped forward into a lunge. Rali spun right, his wing knocking the blade of course. He continued the spin, bringing his right leg up in an outer crescent that struck the man's head as he went past. Rali landed easily. The constable landed a fair bit harder, his sword clattering away. He didn't get up. The dwarves burst out in spontaneous cheers. Bregaarn walked over and shook his hand.[/I] Bregaarn: That's a damn strange fighting style ye got there, but damn me if it ain't effective. [I]Rali took an ironic bow, and they continued out the gates, heading for the mine some distance north of the town.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]I like a few of Beck's songs, mainly Loser, Devil's Haircut, Where It's At, and Nicotine And Gravvy, but other than that, Midnight Vultures put me off fairly severely. I'll check this out though.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: By the way...who am I shooting? IC: [I]Rali leant against the wall, absently sighting down the scope of his Barret M2A1A. He new it was perfect, and he didn't need it anyway, but staying alive meant checking. Despite contrary belief, snipers spent most of their time behind enemy lines. Most people seemed to think they just assassinated important people, where as in reality the good snipers simply infused enough fear into the enemy that important people were irrelevant. He checked his watch. 7:03. He had a lot of time. And it's not like this would be a hard set of shots...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Damien: I don't know, but trust me man, you don't want any of it. [I]Rali gave a snort of derision as he slammed the brakes down. Damien looked at him reproachfully, and got out of the car, running into the hospital. Rali followed him, saying something about how it always happened like this in what movies he could remember. Which wasn't saying much. He jogged over to Damien, keeping a close eye out for dog creatures. Damien was standing in the doorway, staring inside in horror. Rali just thought he was on another depression induced, drug fueled, hallucination spree. Blood looked strange on polished white floors. And walls. And desks. It seemed strange to see such a place blistered in carnage. Though there were no bodies, no signs of life. Except the dark crimson fluid that softly waited on every surface.[/I] Rali: I don't know what you're looking for here, but it had better be good.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Mnemmy, Jesus Chicken has spent most of his life around me. Trust me, he's corrupt enough that this is nothing. And I'm quite proud to say quite a bit of that corruption is entirely my fault... ...Ah, doesn't it give you a sense of achievement.[/font][/color]