The Harlequin

[font=gothic][color=crimson]For a minute there I thought you'd gone strange and started writing song lyrics for some reason... I'm not one for that kind of mentality, but I appreciate the quality.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]From the bar, Rali watched the girl look past him several times before she attempted to blend into the dance floor. Rali unfolded from his chair and followed her in. To the untrained eye, the dance floor was a labyrinth. The walls were invisible, small bubbles around individual dancers, but they were palpable. They were not violated without good reason. The people here being what they were though, good reason was found reguarly. After a few missteps that resulted into a misunderstandings, the girl finally worked it out. Having a seven foot tall female with more metal sticking out of her face than one sees in your average factory think you're taking a pass at them does that. And not because they refuse you in a nasty way... Rali glided through the crowd with practiced ease. He came up behind the girl as she futilely scanned the dark corners. She was lucky she couldn't see what went on in there. Some of it even got to Rali at times.... He tapped her lightly on the shoulder. She spun, raising her hands in an involuntary defensive position. Rali smiled grimly, and slowly circled her. His face never left hers, though she had no way of telling where his eyes were. His mouth however, was clearly visible, and he enuciated the words of the song currently playing.[/I] "I watched you change Into a fly I looked away You were on fire I took you home Set you on the glass I pulled off your wings Then I laughed" [I]With that last word, he stopped and folded his arms. A slight area had opened up around them, expecting a display of violence, sex or dancing. Or, given the nature of the place, all three. Rali looked side to side, and gave a slight hand gesture to the negative. Like water, dancers flowed back into the opened area. Within seconds, they were almost being stifled by other people. Rali measured the girl a while longer, then spoke.[/I] Rali: I'm needed. Why?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]I've heard of the ones you suggested Semjaza, and they aren't anything special. As for people not knowing what a StuffIt file was...they just deserve to be shot. Haven't heard of iSwipe though. May bother to check it out.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Sephiroth turned his head slightly away from the silver shrapnel assulted him, but otherwise ignored it. He could not be harmed by such a paltry attack. The purpose was served though. He made no move to catch her as she darted away, though it would have been simple to do so. Sephiroth allowed bothe the girl and the demon their triumph. How soon it would all turn to...well, oblivion. The thought amused him somewhat. Let her namesake take her. She was of no use to him. Oh, he could certainly break her will, but without it, she would not have the mettle he required of his tools. So she could run. Very rarely did the spider cut his silken threads.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Graphic violence, dark subject matter...mmm....standard fare. Birth name: Rali Kreigyr Subject name: Quietus Age: 23 Appearance before: Six foot tall, slightly more slender than average. Shoulder length black hair. Dark grey eyes with black flecks.Pale skin. Appearance after: Six foot tall, and even more slender than before. Now appears to be a complete stick figure. Same hair and eyes, even paler skin. A lot of scars. A hell of a lot. Bio: Rali came to the project willingly, on the condition that his mind be wiped. He hated his past, he hated life as a whole. So he wanted nothing more than to leave it. Rather than kill himself, he gave his body up. During the injections though, Rali suffered violent trauma. He had an unforeseen reaction to several compounds, with startling effects. His mind was partially shattered, leaving large gaps in his memories. Not enough to give him peace, but enough to allow him to live. His emotions were left void. Overstressed synapses and neural connections disintergrated. Rali can't feel a thing except pain anymore. And as such, pain is savoured. Sensation is so fleeting.. The physical damage was more extensive. Muscles ripped themselves apart, a permanent adrenalin surge left the body in a constant heightened state, and on the verge of total collapse at all times. His heart became fatigued within days, and his nerves were stressed from dealing with rampant sensation. He was dubbed Quietus as a grim joke. He was thought to be the potential death of the project. Rali recovered after a week or so. And was sewn up. Scars traced lines along most of the muscles in his body, and several internal functions were damaged. Rali's convulsions during the reaction had burnt away every fat deposit in his body. Muscles however were somewhat wiry, but wound around his bones like steel wire. His lack of emotion left him pliable. They trained him to fight. To kill. He did so admirably. With his hands whenever possible. On several training occasions, Rali tore several other aspirants quite literally apart. The doctors sat back and applauded. Rali you see, was a military experiment. A super soldier. Desensitised, ruthless, deadly. It was somewhat unfortunate, for the military, that Rali's father had been a General. He had wanted Rali to be in the army. Rali had refused, and had had his life made miserable because of it. Rali's father came in one day, to gloat over how his son was finally doing something productive. One of the few areas in Rali's mind that actually existed anymore clicked. And Rali's father died. Painfully. After he was finished pulverising his father, Rali left the compound. No one tried to stop him. Rali has no purpose in life anymore, but he simply doesn't care enough to end it. He drifts, finding solace with those who, like him, find pain to be the only outlet for that dull emptiness inside them. In this day and age, those people are becomnig more and more plentiful. Now you're going to find a problem with it right?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]His sleek black vehicle set down in an alleyway. Rali climbed out, locking it with a negligible thought. The stairs to the night club were a few metres around. He gave a slight nod to the doorman, who knew him well, and descended. Music assulted his senses. Good music too. He walked in, passed the bar, heading straight for the mosh pit. All around him were people dressed in typical gothic black. His kind of place. A circle had opened up in the centre, with people dancing in the centre in show. Rali watched from the outskirts a few moments, then stepped in. Most of the regulars clapped enthusiastically. The newbies just glared at him. Rali didn't dance for the attention though. He danced as a release. As a way he could be free. Unhindered. The DJ knew his tastes, and Babylon belted through the speakers. Rali stood, silent and still, through the first verse. There were a few mutters, but they were quickly silenced. As the second verse, and the heavy, fast paced drumbeat, kicked in, Rali exploded into action. He danced the way he fought. Graceful, sinuous, fast. A collection of almost erotic agile movements strung together in a chain that flowed like water. Silence reigned about him as Rali moved to the music, every eye on him. He didn't notice. The only reality was the song, the adrenalin through his veins, the movements of his limbs. As the last note rang out, Rali leapt into a slow falling, graceful blackflip, and landed on one knee, staring at the floor. Cheering broke out around him. He ignored it, and faded into the background as others tried to equal the show. The music changed pace slightly, Change coming through the speakers. Rali sat by the bar, talking to the attendant, a small skinny man named Mykkael, who was as fast as a cobra in a bar fight, when the group walked up. There were four of them, and they were dressed differently to everyone else in the nightclub.The Crescent Moon catered to exclusive clientele. What these people were doing here was beyond him. Jeers followed them. Apparently not many people here respected break dancing. The front man, who was obviously the leader, spoke first.[/I] Man: You think you're pretty damn good don't you? Rali: I get by. Man: Ha! Don't play smart with me *****. [I]Rali stood up. He knew where this was going. He took a single slow step forward with his left foot, his body ending up side on to the four. His left hand came over and reached under his coat. They backed away nervously. Instead of a sidearm, he drew out a small black beeper, with a flashing red light. He looked at it a moment, then threw it high in the air. As it came down, his right foot shot out faster than the men could follow in the dim lighting. The beeper flew through the air and shattered over the lead man's head. There was a stunned moment of silence.[/I] Rali: Are you still here. [I]A moment later, they weren't. Rali sat down, rearranging his glasses slightly. A few regulars sat down with him, and they started a typical conversation. They spoke, Rali listened. All parties satisfied. Rali thought on the beeper he had shattered. They didn't really need his presence, no matter what the beeper said. He was certainly unique, but not inexpendable. Anyway, they had no idea where he was, and he'd just gotten here.[/font][/color][/I]

[color=crimson][font=gothic]Simple. When connecting to the internet... Status: Dialing Status: Verifying user name and password Status: Logging on to network Status: Disconnecting Incessantly. And god damn iPrimus deserve to be shot.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: Good, I can work this into my other storyline too. And this will be the last OOC post for a while, my apologies for the number so far. Unless someone does something stupid. Then I won't be happy. And will comment. And don't call me dear Raiha. IC: [I]Sephiroth dropped the battered, unconscious girl. She had lasted longer than he had expected. But still not as long as he had hoped. She would do though, for now. And she was a useful tool. As was his latest...acquisition. The demon in question, still in incorpreal form, floated hazily above them. He had been watching with interest the entire time. Sephiroth regarded him with inhuman patience.[/I] Chaos: Interesting. I could give you a few tips if you'd like though. [I]Sephiroth gestured eloquently towards the rag doll body.[/I] Sephiroth: She couldn't take it. [I]The form moved closer and slowly moved its head towards Sephiroth. The ghostly kiss chilled even him. Not for the sensation itself, but for the motive behind it. Chaos desired his powerful form to reside in. Oh, the demon was certainly not joking when it suggested such couplings, but that was his primary goal. Sephiroth wasn't sure which was more unsettling. Still, he had freed Chaos, and the demon owed him. And a deal with a demon was still a deal... Blinded by desires of mutliple kinds, Chaos was easy to manipulate. He was often however, not easy to resist. He mentally pushed the gauzy form away. This time, Chaos subsided, chuckling evilly.[/I] Chaos: You know you need another being that can match your perversions. Sephiroth: And it will never be you. Did you speak to him? Chaos: Of course. The fool. Even tried to kill me. After all I've done for him... [I]Sephiroth was somewhat hazy on the relationship between Vincent and Chaos. He knew the man hated the demon formerly within him, but the demon often brooded over him, and then railed at him. He thought Vincent should be thankful for the "help" he had offered. Very much a love/hate dilemma, it took up a large part of Chaos's time. For now. [/I] Chaos: Why that look? Of course I didn't mention your name. He'll probably work it out anyway. He wasn't that stupid. [I]The demon looked down with interest as Lethe half groaned, half whimpered. Sephiroth looked up, but before he could speak, the demon disappeared on etheric winds, leaving behind an ethereal chuckle. Sephiroth hoped that the echoes would have faded away by the time the girl fully woke up.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]By the end of this year, I will be a Radiohead fan. I will also be a fan of Jimmy's Chicken Shack. Maybe even Tool. I make this prounouncement with utmost confidence, because I know Jack will play them to me. A lot. Hell, it worked with the Deftones and the Smashing Pumpkins. For now though...the only songs I really like are Creep, High and Dry and sometimes Karma Police.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Well, I'm using a Mac right now. So.. Anyway, yeah, Limewire is about the best you'll get. Unfortunately, that doesn't exactly mean a lot. If you actually want a decent player too, the best Mac format MP3 player would definately be iTunes, by a long way.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Pizza+dislike=screwed up sail? I don't get it....I've also heard of a jib before now that I think about it. Normally a flying jib....Damn reading crazy books.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]We[/I] like the idea a lot. Applied to a lot of people... But we're like that. Egotistical drama queen bitches from hell aren't that bad....No further comment.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]You'll notice that it's said that he doesn't know what a jib is either. Yes Jack, out of pity....Pity gets you kicked in the ribs these days apparently. And Eddie, it's just fun to be pissed off at you.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]If I'd known it was possible, I would have gone for it in conception, even before you mentioned him. I'm willing to do both though, depending on what Etarah thinks.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]You know, I think he's almost asking us to use it...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Rali sank down on his bed, reading the evaluation he had been given on his latest mission. He'd been in the time just before the Inquisitions. Someone had come through for right and justice, thus causing them to be stopped. Rali had been playing a vampyre, a role that had beent thrust upon him as a joke. The sudden influx of "evil" had made the Church more than willing to start burning heathens again. Rali wasn't quite sure why the Inquisitions needed to go ahead personally. But it wasn't his concern. The vampyre idea was though. He dressed in black, didn't like sunlight, and kept to himself. So his name immediately came up. He had performed well, apparently, though his willingness, and skill, for killing had raised eyebrows. He had been there to kill. He had been there to spread death and terror, to prepare the world for the embrace of the Church's fire. He had put a hole in an archbishop's neck, and spread his blood over the mirror in his room, a typical priestly vanity. He had written those that had sought to kill him messages, laughing at them. He had given them demonic invocations to fear. He had given them a reason to believe. Perhaps that was why the Inquisitions needed to go ahead. As much as disapproved, the Church had dragged the world out of the Dark Ages. Rali's eyes fell over one particular line. "It is to be noted that Harlequin (Rali's call sign) has a deliberate skill at torture, and should be monitored carefully." Rali looked up at the camera in his room. He had been reassigned from the time of the fall of Rome for a reason. And now they kept him under tight surveillance. Well, they tried to. Rali might not have liked being thought a vampyre, but he was certainly adept at disappearing into the night. The thought brought a twisted small smile to his face as he casually lay back. As his hand slipped under the pillow, he pushed the button on the small range EMP. The camera went dead. Rali left, dumping the evalutation he shouldn't have in the office he found it in. He left the compound, seeking some of the darker haunts of the city.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]I went over to America recently, and ran into several of their CDs. Heard a bit of a demo, not sure what of, and really, really liked it. The problem is, I didn't buy them there, and, like all good CDs, it's very hard to get in Australia. And I can't download anything right now, mainly because my internet screws up every few minutes.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]You know, if it was anything else, you or I would have come in and told the person to switch their parent's clutch with the accelerator. Well, you would have. I would have done the whole drain the blake fluid thing.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: *Absently thinks about how screwed up and twisted a person Vincent would get into a relationship these days to....Perhaps Chaos* Not right.... Although, I could write some very interesting scenes for it... Some more of Mythic Life perhaps... The main point to this post though is; Why the hell does that pic have flaming ketchup written on it?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Kinrade had left Blaze and Lacroix to their fun, after noting that if this Drizzt was faster than Blaze, it would be inhuman. But then...Kinrade remembered the display he had seen when Lacroix picked up his battleaxe. Now that would be something to see.... Lacroix seemed as fast with that axe as Blaze had been, but that wasn't in battle. With an adrenalin surge.... Kinrade shuddered at the thought of ever fighting an opponent that skilled. He climbed the opposite tower, ignoring the prickling of strong magic behind him...all around him...in him. Unbeknowst to the minotaur, Belaaz stirred within him. He attributed it to other things, eldritch protections Lacroix had summoned. As he looked out over one of the other plains, he noted a dust cloud. Flankers. He quickly descended the wall, running out to meet the attackers. There were half a hundred of them, approaching fast. Kinrade ducked away, wondering what had possessed him to attack alone. Belaaz however, wasn't listening. He wasn't speaking either. He was shouting in Kinrade's mind, ripping through him like a sharp blade. Red edged darkness descended over the minotaur, and rose up, brandishing his battle axe. He tipped his head back, and let out a howl far more reminiscent of a wolf than a bull. The riders pulled up around him. They circled him, until a bristling steel hedge awaited him on all sides. Kinrade was past caring. He held up his hands, dropping his axe. He spread them wide....and flamestruck lances dropped from hands all around him. Several riders also fell. The riders cursed, and drew swords. The first one to come for the minotaur ended up being impaled through the throat by the creature's horns, giving Kinrade time to pick up his axe... When the minotaur came to, his first image was the arm hanging off his right horn. His second was the pool of blood that came to nearly his ankles, and the spray that surrounded the area of the fight for nearly a score of metres. He shuddered, and gripped his wrist. He let go, howling in pain. The mark of Belaaz was red hot, burning into him. He spun, and started a long, loping run back to the walls. This could not get out of control now.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Name: Rali Kreigyr Age: 23 Weapons: Mainly hand to hand. When he does need a weapon, he tends to use a five foot long, two handed scimitar known as a flasher. Appearence: Six foot tall, and as slender as a rail. Weighs little enough that it seems he is wasting away. His tight clothing reveals a tight, wiry muscled physique though. His hair is raven black, and falls to his shoulders. His working eye is grey, with black flecks. Clothing is of course black. Skintight black shirt, long sleeved, and somewhat looser tough pants. Wears black leather boots. His left eye has a long, black scar through it, that winds it way down to near his chin. The eye itself is a sickly, dead white, with strange blue/black discolourations that seem to be signs of mortification. Almost imperceptible hitches in certain movements hint at other scars, but Rali doesn't volunteer information. Bio- Rali was born to a Northern tribe, and stayed with them until his mother's death. His father was an outsider, and the reason for his ultimate banishment. His father, you see, was a vagabond jester who seduced his mother, then disappeared. His mother defended him, but the tribe shunned him still. And, they shunned his progeny. Rali's mother always treated him well, as he was the last reminder of his long lost father. Six weeks before his fourteenth birthday, Rali's mother died in a raid. Rali was immediately booted out of the tribe. He was however, given the chance to prove himself worthy. He immediately visited civilised lands, and sought himself an education. His mother had imparted that learning was far superiour to the brute strength his barbarian tribe favoured, and he resolved to find out. He joined an order of monks, The Eldritch Hearts. who taught him all he would need to know. Including combat. A specific style in fact, called Barqu'ino. This style alters mind synapses, and is all about reaction, and killing. It trains one to kill quickly, without hesitation, or even having to think about it. Every part of the body is a weapon. It is lightning fast, and horribly precise. Barqu'ino aspirants are trained to fight multiple armed opponents, and still win. As such, it one of the most rigorous endeavours known. Still, Rali was well suited to a life of hardship, and found it far superior to returning to his tribe. However, Rali eventually left the monks, when a begger child broke in to the monastery, seeking shelter. He walked into one of the dormitories, and shook one of the monks awake. The monk, a high level barqu'ino aspirant, brained the child by reflex. He was commended, as it showed his neural patterns were changing to reflect the drill. Rali, unwilling to embrace the wanton slaughter that was his barbarian heritage, left the monastery. He broke oath. Every now and again, an aspirant, called a [I]do'aa[/I], comes after him, on a life vow, to bring him back to the monastery's justice. So far, no one has managed. Rali sought work as a mercenary, and was on the losing side of a battle with the Five. Rali took it personally, and nows seeks to bring them down.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]I disagree slightly. I really want to kill Jack. Still, your point is somewhat relevant. Still (again), every idea gets out of hand.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]I missed out on SYF, so I'll take a shot at this instead. Name: Rali Kreigyr Age: 25 Appearance: 6ft, and very slender. About 5 kilograms off anorexic. Rali's wiry muscle is belied by this appearance though. He has shoulder length raven hair, worn free. He has well formed, but very, very cold features, an impression heightened by the pair of reflective sunglasses. No one has seen the eyes behind them for years. Certainly no one in the Task Force has seen them, no matter the situation or their rank. Black eye makeup extends from under the glasses, and he wears lipstick of the same colour. Face is always done grey. Wears a skintight black shirt, revealing a tight physique, and a pair of black cotton jeans. Also wears a pair of combat boots. Rali is an intensively private person, so no one is sure, but he is believed to have a number of nasty scars on his body. Bio: Rali isn't quick to share things about himself. What is known is that he lost his parents at a young age, and was raised by a militaristic family. This family was poor, and abusive. Rali was often beaten up by his three elder siblings as well as his father. His mother never had a kind word for him. All that family taught him was aggression. Despite this, Rali is by no means your average grunt. His secretive nature, introversion, solitude and methods of combat show very little. He fights hand to hand when neccessary, but prefers a quick, one movement kill. Rali is slow to anger. Very slow. In fact, moving him to any emotion at all is very difficult. If you did manage it, he wouldn't show it. Rali's missions have always been in Medieval Lore. He spent a week in another, less important area, but was reassigned quickly, for undisclosed reasons.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Eh, why not. Name: Mykkael. Age: 23 Clan: He's not quite sure, as he was abandoned at birth. He has a feeling he is avian though, as the only animal to show him any respect is the raven. All other animals, even other birds, seem to really, really hate him though. Animals bonded with: Raven, of course. Weapon Of Choice (optional): Two handed scimitar, known as a flasher. About five feet long. He doesn't really need it though. Description (or picture whatever you prefer): Six foot tall, shoulder length black hair. Very white skin. Very, very slender, but with a wiry strength. Wears long, concealing black clothing. Think goth. Very goth. Short Biography: Grew up with a merchant family, after being abandoned by his clan. They attempted to teach him the secrets of trade, but he found he didn't like it. As a tribesman, he was shunned by the more "civilised" races, and was told he would amount to nothing. To prove them wrong, he left, and studied the most taxing pursuit known. Barqu'ino. A style of martial arts that is not about defense, or even offense. It is about killing. It is about killing by reflex. Whether the enemy is single, mulitple, armed, unarmed, or with an arrow aimed at your head. Fast, hard, and unmercifully. Barqu'ino drill alters the way the mind acts. If someone ever made the mistake of grabbing him from behind, they'd have a broken arm before they knew their hand had contacted. Mykkael broke oath with his first master however, when a beggar child stumbled into the camp, and a high level aspirant brained him by reflex. Mykkael trained with a second master, who taught him more, and how to halt barqu'ino reflex if neccessary, even millimetres away from a full strike. Barqu'ine uses adrenalin to the nth degree, and backwash is somewhat...painful. Especially if he is around friendly people. He accidently killed a friend years ago. He had a long wound along the arm, and this friend came up behind him, and lightly touched his shoulder. Mykkael spun, and in an instant, the man's nose was somewhere behind him. Right through his brain... Mykkael worked as a mercenary for many years. In one conflict, he was severely wounded along his left leg, leaving him with a pronounced limp, that still aches in wet weather. It affects his combat significantly, but on most occasions Mykkael has been able to win without moving his legs.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: God damn. When there is that much dialog, why the hell can't you do it in rpg format? IC: [I]Kattarin walked into the room without knocking. Lacroix lay half lying down, half sitting, against the bed head. He didn't look surprised.[/I] Lacroix: Well, as you know, your mother is pregnant again. Kattarin: And? Lacroix: Depends on how much you know about politics. Kattarin: I know anybody who claims to rule anywhere deserves a good kick to the head. Lacroix: Exactly. You know of Cloricus? Kattarin: By reptuation. Weren't you planning to kill him a while back? Lacroix: Yeah, but it didn't seem worth the effort. Still, he is an annoying pain in the ***. So much so that I'm surprised he has any allies at all. Kattarin: I'm sensing that didn't come up by accident. Lacroix: Hell no. There's one, a man I knew years back, named John Cusack. Kattarin: What about him? Lacroix: Well, he did kind of try and kill me, but that was business. He was however, quite intelligent, and now he's sided with that fool Cloricus. Kattarin: You want me to kill him? Lacroix: That's a blunt way of putting it. Kattarin: True though. Lacroix: Point.... [I]Kattarin listened a few moments more as Lacroix related what he knew of the man. Rising from the bed, he embraced his daughter, and let her go. Kattarin would leave immediately, he knew. Geneveive was sometimes intolerable when she was pregnant. Vampyres always were, those that could reproduce that way. Lacroix sank back, thinking how lucky he was to have those two strange creatures in his life. Still, he had better things to do than think. He walked into the training room, and released five or six of the orc slaves. Within a minute, they were all dead. Damn, missed his record by 3 seconds... Kattarin packed a few small items of no consequence, and left, bidding Genevieve goodbye on the way out. The vampyre hugged her, and Kattarin stiffened slightly. Daughter or no, she face was rather close to Kattarin's neck.[/font][/color][/I]