The Harlequin

[font=gothic][color=indigo]People, I recommend we all go back and re-read the sticky thread at the top of the Recruitment page. Questions are handled by PM, unless they're relevant to a) the rpg and b) other people. "Can I have a frying pan" doesn't qualify. And sign ups, people, have a degree of content. It's not a SRI test, you can write more than a few lines. In fact, people had better start writing more than a few lines...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Yo Annie! Cut the spam, or get stabbed in the foot with a proverbial fork...Or something. Chichiri's Girl, handle stuff like that through PMs. Inuyasha7575, by the look of it you would benefit from rereading the apparently less than much vaunted sticky thread at the top of the forum. As for anybody intending to sign up after this post...it had better have a damn lot more content than those previous. And it would be rather beneficial if certain members edited their sign ups so that they actually contained enough information to be worth anyone's while. I mean, really people, we've been over this several times. It should be rote by now, and quite a few of you should know better anyway. Really erinzyger, this thread's lifespan is looking limited.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]People, sign ups without substance don't cut it. I recommend we all run off and re-read that sticky thread I put somewhere near the top of the page, and then try again. And Okhami...I don't know what the post was...but don't do that again unless it's neccessary...Check that. Just don't do it.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]I have three basic sleeping patterns, I think. One of them is going to bed at about 10:30, going to sleep from there at about 1, waking up at about 3:30, going to sleep again normally about an hour later, waking up again at 6:30, then getting up. That's the normal school day one. The average holiday one is normally getting to sleep at about 4, waking up at ten, and staying in bed until at least midday because I'm incorrigably lazy... The third is going to bed and sleeping at four, and getting up at six. That's for when I actually have something to do with my time though...Which is very, very rare....[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo][i]The problem with dark, scary, probably haunted forests wasn't that they were dark, which didn't bother Leorik because he could see perfectly, nor that they were scary, because he was at the moment completely apathetic to just about everything as per usual, nor was it that they were haunted, because the only ghost he'd run into so far hadn't had a clue what the hell it was on about. He ruled out immediately that the problem with forests was that they were forests. He felt that was being distinctly unfair to the social urges of trees. Anyway, he decided the problem with dark, scary, probably haunted forests was that you kept going in circles... He knew that for a fact, because he'd passed by a rather upset looking small humanoid twice now. Once when it had jumped and shouted. He'd been about thirty feet away, had had no idea the being was there, and had nearly brained himself on his axe getting it off his shoulder. The second time had been hours later, just as the thing had stopped snivelling, and gotten up and walked off, in a rather definate direction, one that Leorik knew lead towards the nearest town. Not that that meant a lot. He didn't give a damn about whatever it was, simply because emotional problems were rarely a concern of his, much less any kind of forté, and he hadn't had a lot of luck with other sentient beings anyway. What currently was his concern was shelter. And his lack of it. He'd been wandering around for hours, and it was closer to dawn than dusk, and that annoyed him. Because it meant he'd failed rather miserably at finding anything. And it meant he was stuck here was the various aggravating creatures this forest seemed to spawn. He sighed, and decided to make do. Finding three convenient trees, a few quick heaves uprooted the two smaller ones, both several times his height anyway, and nearly as round as he was, and some careful balancing against the largest of the trio had him a makeshit tripod structure. Finding another tree, one with nicely abundant foliage, he gripped it as high as he could, and slid his hands down the trunk, effectively stripping it of rather leafy branches. These he placed over the gap in the two leaning trees. He did the same for one of the open sides between a leaning tree and the ground. That left a single opening into a very makeshift, but still semi-effective, shelter. That done he remained resolute that he would pay absolutely no attention to anything else that happened that night, unless it was something he could rather easily hit with his axe. That established, he tried sleeping for once.[/i] OOC: My aplogogies for the absence, etc etc. By the way people, no-one run into me just yet. I have to write that particular scene; I owe Shinkoru a favour.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Seriously man, you do the crazy depressed eloquent poet thing better than I do...And really, I mean that as a complement. And as for the subject of the second one, let me make it clear now. I don't want to know.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]OOC: My internet 's been dead. Not that it really matters. You dirty capitalists seem to have kept your side of things up... IC: [i]Liam, of course, made the mistake of being the first out of the room. Katarina and Malania followed quite quickly, with innocent looks on their faces, so of course he had his suspicions. But when covert glances failed to reveal any kind of hidden lump that might be worth a lot on the street, he put it up to sheer Russian oddity, and simply led them off to find Matt. When they did find him, he was talking to Callum. He broke off and raised on eyebrow at Liam, trailed by his quasi-bored looking Russians.[/i] Liam: In a rather interesting turn of events, someone ran across the interesting idea of leaving 30 million dollars worth of cocaine stashed back there. Other than that, the place is rather uninteresting. Matt: Thirty million? Liam: Well, I left the numbers to my assuredly more knowledgable escort. [i]They gave him a thinly veiled smile that almost begged him to enquire further. It probably wasn't hard to choose not to though.[/i] Matt: Why would they do that? Liam: I have no idea. It certainly doesn't make any sense though. Matt: Some kind of cover up? Liam: Maybe if they wanted the local authorities to run into and destroy some evidence they thought we might need. I mean, really, "Drugs left behind on purpose" probably wouldn't appear in your average law enforcement officer's vocabulary. [i]Matt considered that a moment, then had a quick word to Callum, who calmly sauntered off.[/i] Matt: Alright then, you three just continue to skulk around in there and make sure there aren't any other interesting surprises, and we'll keep you informed. [i]Liam nodded, and turned to go, catching sight of two pointedly blank Russian faces. He got two steps before Matt interrupted, in a voice that was mainly glass daggers.[/i] Matt: And how much is that worth Liam? [i]Liam half turned in confusion, only to have Matt pull one of the bags out of some apparent hiding spot in Liam's gear. He looked at Liam in disgust, cast a sidelong glace at Katarina, and walked off. Liam turned to the other two in rampant accusation.[/i] Liam: You set me up damn it. Just because I had the audacity to suspect two Russians, who both no doubt have connections to the Mafia, of some small drug related activites... [i]As is continued in that vein, Katarina slung a companionable arm over his shoulder. When that didn't shut him up, she sighed and used the same arm to gag him. He kept making small incoherent sounds for a good thirty seconds before getting the point, upon which Katarina let him go.[/i] Katarina: The way your day has been so far, you pansy Australian, I am well and truly surprised that you failed to expect it. [i]Scathing and tone and accentless enunciation aside, the sheer fact that she truly believed he deserved it was enough to reduce Liam to a mere rueful sigh.[/font][/color][/i]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Yeah, I've been unaware of any previous PMing to work out what was going on...I am, however, aware of PMing when it comes to asking questions, you know? Just a hint... Oh, and that was less than 3000 words. Short stuff, really.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Now why wouldn't it surprise me if this rpg ends up consisting simply of the usual crew. Name: Katarina Tarjarian Mydrani Age: 957 Race: Formerly of the Drycaarth. A very isolated race, now extinct, that only ever existed in one place. In the northern most reaches of the world, an icy hell of snow and death, lay a volcano, long extinct. A long history of rockfalls had covered the plug, deep in the candela, and now tunnels and caves honeycombed the entire stone edifice. Within these caverns, a sentient, bipedal species existed, though how exactly they got there, and their eventual fate, is still unknown. In fact, nobody, except one or two intrepid explorers and a single mining consortium that has since been lost to time, ever knew they were there at all. Within that community of sentients, theories abounded over the first issue, for they were themselves unaware. The single clue given to them was that in one of the caves, in the centre of the volcano, was a great library, and near it, a large cave that had been reinforced with huge iron plates held up by massive pillars, containing a massive throne, and various other incomprehensible items. Conclusions were unable to be drawn before the hostile environment eventually forced their extinction. The Drycaarth themselves were probably close relatives of the sidhé. They are without exception tall, the males developing a muscular bulk, while the females remaining willowy. The lifestyle and lack of food combined with a natural tendancy not to run to fat to keep many of them in rather prime physical condition. In fact, fat Drycaarth occured once in a decade, if that. Drycaarth's skin is a coldstruck grey, as would appear in a stormy sky or perhaps a dirty snow storm, and, like that sky, is slightly different on all individuals, and indeed occasionally changes tone in strange patterns on members of certain bloodlines. Again, reasons unknown. In terms of features, they are lean, their ears closely resembling that of a bat, though their eyes do not slant. Their eyes are mostly the colour of their skin, though normal colours are not uncommon. These eyes see perfectly in darkness, as they work on an entirely different principle to any other kind of vision. Closer to a form of echolocation, the eyes, while appearing normal, actually emit constant wavebursts of radiation, rather than sound, meaning they can perceive texture, colour, and indeed details that the normal type of eye could not pick up, because some of the information relayed back is how the particle reacts with the radiation. Distance is not a factor, this radiation move literally faster than the light is transmits. (Reports of Drycaarth being able to stare at people, wave their hands around strangely and say "I'm giving you cancer" and actually doing it are unfounded rumour, the explorer was on something anyway). Lips tend to range from bright red to black, again normally based on bloodline. They also possess a prehensile, astonishingly strong, tail, of about six feet. The tail, unlike the rest of the body, is scaled, and the colour of onyx. The tail is about two and a half inches in diameter at the base, and tapers to about an inch thick at the end, where three bone hooks, almost like a grapnel, protrude. Each forms a perfect quartercircle, and the hooks are about 4 inches long. The bone spurs are immovable however. Drycaath do not have taloned fingers or feet, but the do possess dew claw like appendages of bone, on the back of their ankle, just above the achilles tendon. In physiological terms, they are identical to the norm, asiding a much greater resistance to extremes temperature. Which is not to say they could put their hand in a fire without harm, just that they could walk throw a desert, or swim in half frozen lake, without harm. Obviously, they retain much more water than is normal, and can go weeks without drinking. They are not possessed of any remarkable longevity, their life span being normally about 150 years. They mature rapidly, gaining adult size and mental capacity by age 15. Height: 6?5? Weight: 132 lbs. Hair: Black, falls to about mid rib level, worn free. Eyes: Dark grey, with whorled strands of a lighter shade running through it. Weapons: [B]Sgian Dubh[/B]: Literally translated, the Black Knife. A blade with numerous histories, anything from petty witches, to covetous greater fiends, and always with a bloody end, always causing more death than a blade of it's size should. It's origins, and indeed exact nature, are unknown, but it is known to act as a sounding board for certain types of magic, amplifying power, and also as a receptacle of the etheric nature. The blade, in total, is about 12 inches in length, eight of that blade. There is no cross piece, the blade is obviously dark, made of some unknown, likely extra-planar metal, and double edged, with no blood gutter. The hilt is wrapped in some dark leather like material, of an unknown creature. The pommel is a piece of perfectly spherical, tarnished bone. [b]Verricks[/b]: The only weapon the Drycaarth ever developed, Verricks are paired weapons closely resembling kung saos, or perhaps small scythes. A vertical haft surmounted by a sycthe like blade, that does not appreciably curve, of about 10 inches. The haft itself is two feet long. These are preferred in combat to the knife. [b]Spiked collar[/b]: Not worn around the neck, but rather the tail, just below the bone spikes. Almost appears like a shuriken, with blades curving in a constant direction. Four blades in total. Worn so that if the tail was held vertical, and the bone spikes thus pointing downwards, the collar blades would be horizontal. An interesting side note is that if concentrated on, peristaltic muscle movement can force the collar upwards, and press it against the spike, effectively creating a rather less than dexterous "hand" that can be used to grip simple objects. The use of that for a weapon has not yet been tested. Magic: Necromancy, plain and simple. Amplified by the Sgian Dubh. A few elemental spells, but they're not often used. Education: The library inside the extinct volcano Alqwerik, in main, the Drycaarth hunters, and quite a bit of experience. Masters: Well, the Drycaarth had a couple of people dedicated to training young ones, but they weren't really that experience at it. Biography: The Drycaarth, while not intellectuals, were certainly not brutish or stupid, and debated their existance hotly, in vast public debates. Well...vast for them. Their population was only ever a couple of hundred. They knew what the library was, what the throne was, what various other apparently discarded items were, but they certainly had no idea how they knew. Previous generations, and there hadn't been many, had passed down the knowledge, again without revealing, if they knew at all, how they knew. So, they knew what books were, but they couldn't read them. After a couple of random glances, they gave up. As it turns out, most of the books would have been incomprehensible to them even if they could read Common, or Elvish, or any of the other less esoteric languages. For they were written mainly in the arcane, and many in an arcane cypher only known by the original author. However, as the author's faculties faded, he employed the kind of spell used in trade all over the world. The spell of tongues. Worry not about what the language is, this spell means the words, whether transmitted verbally or written, simply imprint themselves on your mind so you understand them. As well as this, many of these spells have specific triggers, touching a scroll, an exchange of a spelled token, etc...or opening the right book. Katarina, at the age of thirty five, and looking 19 by the standards of most races, didn't give the slightest damn where her species had come from. It didn't bother her, they were here, that's what mattered. She did her duty to the Drycaarth, hunted the bowls of the volcano and the surroundings for various creatures, fought off attackers, though none of them ever sentient, and didn't go out of her way to cause trouble. Her companion since birth, however was fascinated even by Drycaarth standards. She spent hours poring over books she couldn't read, many of them appearing more like picture books because of the strange diagrams and symbols. All her free time was spent in the great library, Katarina often bored at her side. On one occasion, Katarina, more aggravated than usual, walked over to one corner of the library where her friend sat, pulled out a book at random, the book being a black volume, lengthy and old, bound in some unknown, but strangely warm, material, and pulled it open, glaring at the pages, as if to demand to know what the fuss was. There was an explosion of light in her head as the spell rearranged itself to suit her mode of communication, and then she could read it. It ended up being something of a diary. The unnamed author had some rather grandiose plans. A transmuter, he had created the Drycaarth, through means of simple genetic splicing, between several demonic races and a few elvish races. His eventual plans involved the set up of the volcano as a palace, the Drycaarth his willing slaves, his eventual transition into Lichdom, and probably his eventual rule of the entire world. The usual stuff. The entries cut off sharply, no explanation of what went wrong. Katarina looked up, her friend was still nose deep in a book she couldn't understand. Katarina's book still open, the spell was still active, so she could read her companion's book. It wasn't much, just a treatise on binding lesser undead. Unable to accept the fact that her entire species was based on some idiot wizard's delusion, Katarina took the spelled book, and any other one she could find that had a similar cover, and fled. She ended up living in a cave a few leagues away, it was enough. Sure enough, all the books with the warm black covers were enspelled as to allow reading. They ranged from diaries to detailed anatomies, to spell books. After a few months of magically assisted studies, the Drycaarth had their first spell caster. Confident her finds would mitigate any crime she had commited, even if anyone really cared, Katarina returned to the volcano's depths. She found exactly nothing. The library, the throne, and the rest were still there. But all signs of the Drycaarth were gone. Completely erased. There was no sign of struggle, and no divination revealed that they were ever there, even the period where Katarina had lived here revealed only empty blackness, with the occasional scuffling creature wandering around. Interestingly enough, the non-sentient life of the volcano had also diappeared. Perhaps the creator of the Drycaarth had returned. Katarina wasn't sure. She spent a few months futilely searching through the caverns, returning to the surface for food every so often, before giving up. Then, she returned to the books. Contact with the spells had been so prolonged they'd basically imprinted themselves onto her mind, meaning she could read anything she picked up. After a lot of aimless reading about all sorts of irrelevant things, a book fell into Katarina's hand that probably shouldn't have. It was another black book, but this was ice cold. Katarina had missed it in her search before she left. It turned out to be the assembled manual, written by the former tenant, of his intended transition into Lichdom. As well as the arcane rituals required, he detailed the location of a cache, that contained all the items required. Included was the Sgian Dubh. A few weeks later, the Drycaarth had their first lich. It seemed the wizard had made his creations eminently suited to Lichdom. Rather than the skeletal wreckes rather common to many races, or even the slightly emaciated, deathly visage of an elven baelnorn, the change for Katarina was non existant. She appeared as she always had. Mentally, her acuity increased markedly, as did her facillity with the various magics she encountered in her ever increasing study of the great library. For the phylactery, the one weak point in a Lich asiding outright banishment to another plane, or intervention by a celestial, or a couple of other possible destructions, Katarina followed to the letter the idea in the book. Use the powerful, already necromantic knife. Phylacteries of bone were considered best anyway, though many shunned them as they were easily detroyed, but all liches admitted greater power was drawn through them. So the pommel on the blade was perfect. Katarina spent her life in study, here and there improving her surroundings, and every now and then she'd go outside. These forays meant little except to test something she'd picked up, honing her magic skills, as well as the occasional hand to hand battle. Here and there, she'd spend months outside, in an environment that would kill nearly anything, and battled the elements, creatures tough enough to brave these lands, and the Dragon matriach Ixychallath. That was kind of neccessary though, she'd come looking for trouble. That dragon though, was the only sentient life she'd ever encountered, though divination of the realms had left her spending hours poring over villages, and often individual people. Not that she really cared, it was simply study. After about seven hundred years of this, she had basically memorised the entire library, had a host of arcane power at her disposal, and a lot of experience at survival. Unlike every acolyte in every major city however, one thing she'd never bothered with was warding her abode. Late one artic night, only a few months into it, her home was penetrated by some unknown creature. She felt it immediately, and swept quickly towards the library. A humanoid creature greeted her in shock, startled from the book it clutched to its chest. Upon her imperious, rather hostile command to get out, it leapt at her, and buried fangs into her throat. She stood there, unmoving. It stumbled back, shocked and sick. A word from her, and the book caught alight. She'd seen one or two vampyres in her arcane travels, none of them were spellcasters though. She attempted to burn the creature where it stood, but it rallied, and resisted. As she brought the weight of her mind to bear, it snarled, started to sweat blood, then eventually fled. Katarina let it go, unsure as to whether she could have killed it anyway. It struck her a few days later that the creature acted as if he knew what he was looking for. Which meant he should probably be questioned. Katarina spent a few days over a scrying bowl, and determined her starting point to be an academy of warrior mages only slightly south of her current location. Though the vampyre wasn't there, there were a lot of other rather esoteric beings there, one or two of them even she would step around carefully, that would certainly know something...Besides, the old thrill of battle hadn't been felt in a while, and a pair of verricks, heavily enspelled, and a necromantic knife were strapped to strategic parts of her body.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Same deal as before erinzyger, this has a storyline and a plot other than simple fighting, or it gets moved to the Battle Arena. [/color][/font]

[font=gothic][color=indigo][i]Well, at least the bear was happy. The damn thing, as he was becoming quite fond of referring to it as, had probably eaten two thirds of the carcass he'd carried back up the slope, grinned toothily at him, then gone back to sleep. Leorik had sighed, walked back done to the forest, and dragged some deadfall up. He made a point of lighting the fire outside the cave, simply to keep himself from setting his ursine companion on fire. The meal was typically tough, and less than pleasing, but it was food, and it was better than eating donkeys. Which he hadn't done of course, but his entire tribe held donkeys in contempt, for some unknown reason. Some traditions he did indeed carry on. From his vantage point, someways up above the ridgeline, he was able to, if he craned his neck, see the forest side of the peaks as well as the preferably side. And from what he could see, the forest didn't look very pleasant at the moment. At least, through his albino eyes, things were flickering, and they probably shouldn't be. At least, even if they did flicker physically, they shouldn't damn well flicker when he squinted at them out of the corner of his eyes. That normally signified something strange was going on...And Leorik wasn't interested at the moment. Enough idiot humans and aggravating tree sprites, damn pixies, for one day. Or week, for that matter. Leorik stood up, and kicked the still smouldering remains off the cliff...If he started a conflagration, he'd live. He wandered back up the cave, and dragged the single pack he carried out. He wasn't really sure why he bothered, but he had the feeling that being here any longer would be somehow detrimental to his health, and probably not because of the bear. That aggravating premonition in hand, and a vague notion of what to do next, he decided to keep out of the forest...Just in case it burnt down around him.[/font][/color][/i]

[font=gothic][color=indigo] SECTION A In the following section, please answer each statement with one of five answers: A) Strongly Agree B) Agree C) Somewhat Agree D) Disagree E) Strongly Disagree 1) I find OtakuBoards rules easy to understand and follow. [b]A[/b] 2) I feel that the staff at OtakuBoards understand their job and are capable of performing it appropriately. [b]A[/b] 3) OtakuBoards is easy to navigate. [b]A[/b] 4) OtakuBoards has a friendly atmosphere. [B]B[/b] SECTION B Please try to keep your answers relatively short in this section. 5) How often do you visit OtakuBoards? Preferably daily, otherwise once every two or three days. 6) Do you feel that the rules are too strict/not strict enough/fine as they are? There is nothing wrong with the rules themselves. The various interpretations some people decide to take need work though. 7) Should we continue to uncensor the creative writing areas on OtakuBoards? I believe so. 8) Would you rather a decentralized forum system on OB (more forums, less activity per forum) or a centralized forum system (less forums, more activity per forum)? Depends on the Category. I could see it working for the Anime section, but not for Arena. 9) Would you like to see a closer integration of myOtaku and OtakuBoards? Doesn't bother me, I don't use either of the sites for the anime. 10) Are you signed up to myOtaku.com? Yes. 11) If you are not signed up to myOtaku.com, do you plan to sign up in the near future? Scratch that. 12) Do you read Announcements at OtakuBoards? Yes. 13) Which single Category (Category, as opposed to individual Forum) do you spend most of your time visiting? Arena. 14) Do you think that OtakuBoards should offer an in-built chat system as part of our service? If we included a chat, would you use it? We have PMs. If people can't get their heads around that, or be bothered to use it, I don't think anybody should be bothered to listen to them. 15) If we offered an "OtakuBoards Wireless" service that would be accessible via Internet-capable cellphones, would you use it? No cellphone, thus, no relevance. 16) When we offer a next generation version of OtakuBoards, should we continue to provide semi-regular community events in our Event Arena or a similar forum? Doesn't bother me. If people keep thinking up decent events, then why not. But if you an't pull something decent out, then I wouldn't want to see some random trash pulled out just to fill the space. 17) If you could add one new Category (Category, not Forum) to OtakuBoards, what would it be? Nothing really on the Category level, but some forums...Eh, I'll leave it until later. 18) If you could remove one Category from OtakuBoards, what would it be? I don't see a need for any of the categories to be removed, but Otaku Series could fit into various subforum of Otaku Gamer without too much problem if it came down to it. 19) If you could add anything to OtakuBoards (in terms of a new forum, a technical tool/feature, etc), what would it be? My kingdom for an automatic spell checker! 20) On a scale of 1-10 (1 being the lowest and 10 being the highest), how would you rate your experience at OtakuBoards since you registered? Probably 8. I like the boards, but I don't utilise enough of it to warrant a higher rating.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo][i]Now, normally Leorik was an even tempered young lad who didn't spin around and take out a huge oldgrowth oak with a single swipe when people spoke behind him, but normally he wasn't alone in an oldgrowth oak forest, and normally he didn't have one of the largest axes in existance in his hands, and normally the voices didn't echo out of empty space behind his ear, which was normally too high up for whispering except by something his own size which he would have heard crashing around, and normally he wasn't expecting one of the largest bears in existance to suddenly try to gnaw on his shoulder blades. He checked that thought a second later, waited until his ears stopped ringing from the huge noise the falling tree made, waited another thirty second while he swore in various dialects about the what had probably happened to his axe, waited a further ten second while he realised the axe was fine, then finally went through with the thought....The bear wouldn't whisper first. He'd be tempted to say they couldn't, but he'd only been around bears his whole life, which was less than a score of years, so it probably wasn't enough experience to fully rule it out. Which was a point he'd debate a few minutes later, once well away from this site. He wasn't aware of the general habitation of the forest, so the possibility of elves, sprites, dryads and other tree-loving, well meaning, generally giant and anything else wielding and axe hating creatures was another one that was entirely plausible, and he wasn't willing to rule out. Who knows, maybe even the bear wouldn't be happy about it. Although...new stump... He waved that away, and hefted his axe. It was probably the damn bear, but the snuffling that now emanated from somewhere in front of him was getting rather loud. What was more unfortuante was the slight flick he caught each time with it. Which meant something reptillian. And given the fact that it was damn cold, it probably wasn't happy. It probably couldn't move, but given his current clothing, Leorik wasn't willing to take that chance. A couple of large, less than furtive steps forward revealed the source: a rather large, prehistoric looking thing, all spines and scales. And decidedly unhappy. It wasn't draconic though, which wa enough for Leorik. It craned a long neck at him, blinked a couple of times, and sprayed blood all over Leorik and the clearing as it's head sheared off.[/i] "Such avid bloodlust...But not that, nor your strength nor your axe, will help you with Eve." [i]Different voice, same jumpiness. This time, Leorik turned around slowly, his axe over his shoulder, at a 45 degree angle downwards. Which meant he had the maximum leverage for an overhand slice, while still appearing casual. Besides, he had no idea who this person was, nor who Eve might be.[/i] Leorik: The wrong person perhaps, spook. "You don't remember your old friend Bleed Lac...." [i]Suddenly seemed to realise he was looking in a rather upwards direction to reach Leorik's eyes, not straight ahead... Why the size wasn't evident earlier wasn't obvious to Leorik. He caught a muttered "What the... Strength? Axe?" then it disappeared. Whoever Lac... was, Leorik didn't really care. He'd seen enough spiteful spirits before, in his Shaman's tent, to really care what another one had to say. Besides, he had a very large lizard to drag uphill. And, of course, once he got there, the bear wanted some. Damn...[/font][/color][/i]

[font=gothic][color=indigo][i]At the moment, there was very little that could aggravate Leorik more than the idiot in front of him... ...He checked that statement as the idiot behind him decided to take a bash at him with a stool. Of course, the stool shattered, hell, it would have shattered striking the remorhaz leathers, much less his body. Leorik half spun towards his attacker, unloading a thunderous backhand that, given Leorik had had to angle sharply downwards to make up for the fact that man was three feet shorter than him, drove him straight into the ground, probably with a broken neck. He certainly didn't bother to groan, anyway. Leorik returned his gaze down onto the first person to accost him, his watery red eyes typical of an albino seeming almost incendiary. His voice a whispered earth quake, he informed the man of his intention to get out his axe in a second. The man took that second to do something as far away as possible. Leorik turned to the barkeep, his voice regaining a normal tone, though still sounding like northen thunder.[/i] Leorik: Do I get that drink now? [i]The barkeep hurriedly snapped his fingers to the stableboys, who had hauled in a hogshead of water. Leorik inclined his thanks, and devoured the water. A spray of small coins on the bar marked his departure. Well, that had been remarkably easy. The small town of Halven's Point had only been a few leagues from Leorik's current abode, and travel had been simple. Once there, he'd immediately strode into the second largest building, his entrance spoiled by having to stoop a rather long way to get inside. Thankfully the roof inside was high enough. Sure enough, this building was the tavern, which, interestingly enough, was where he had aimed for. Not for any express reason, just that it would be easier to take on a hoard of people if they were quasi-inebriated. He didn't really expect outright violence, but he knew he could count on hostility. Sure enough, the moment he'd entered, there'd been shouts of fear and surprise, and an off-duty guardsmen's steel had flown free with a warning scream. As that blade arced upwards to spill Leorik's blood, without any benefit of doubt, Leorik knew that this probably wasn't going to work. He sighed, and flicked his shoulder forward, his leathers catching the point of the blade and forcing it slide off without even scratching. It took far more than natural steel to get past a remorhaz's defences. Leorik's hand shot up with a speed that belied its huge size, and snapped the blade at the hilt. He'd taken two steps forward, no more, when the man startled fumbling for his dagger. Leorik had stated he didn't want a fight, of course, but likely no one had even heard that deep voice over the other shouts. Then he'd been hit with the chair. His original plan was to hire himself out as something of a tavern guard. It was a useful post. Halven's Point, while small, was along the only pass between a range of mountians that separated a rocky, storm tossed waste from verdant forest. Something of a freak of geography itself, foolhardy frontier merchants were common, and with a tavern's guards experience, and his sheer size as credentials, he could have found work as a caravan guard easily. That, however, seemed rather unlikely, given everybody's refusal to listen to reason where nine foot six giants who carried axes bigger than most humans were concerned. Leorik wasn't really surprised, he'd met this response more than enough times before. Having come from a tribe of demihumans that was mostly bigger than himself, he didn't think much of it... An hour's brisk travel had him back on the secluded ridge, on the storm tossed rocky waste side of the mountain of course, that he currently abided in. It galled him a moment, that he should have to squat in a cave like his brutish hill and stone giants cousins, rather than his father's cold, immense ice palace at the roof of the world like all other Storm Giants, or even the long hall of his tribe. But that life denied to him, he swallowed any bitterness, and gave thanks he had some kind of shelter. The cave itself was about 10 feet across at the opening, and twice that high. It widened out further into the rock face, and went for a depth of about 60 feet. Small fare for a creature of Leorik's size...Or the size of the seven foot at the shoulder dire bear he'd chased out of the place to get it. Of course, the thing had come back a day later, rather surprised to find him still there, and promptly ignored him, moving to the back of the cave and lying down to sleep. Given that it wasn't the begininng of winter, he assumed the thing would be gone by the time he got back. He was wrong. It was awake, and lying there, not particularly concerned when he walked into the cave. Leorik was willing to ignore it as long as it ignored him, anyway. Close aquaintance with winter wolves made him rather blind to most of the irrational fear of animals. He leant the massive axe against the wall, and sat on the tree stump he'd uproot, leaning back against the hard wall. Truly told, it wasn't all that bad. After all, food and water was easily obtainable, even without having to raid taverns for it, he certainly wasn't threatened by anything, the cave faced a sky and sea constantly storm wracked and pure grey, something he found rather fitting given his heritage, and something he rather liked the site of anyway, and apparently he had a rather large watchdog, one that probably wouldn't chew on his leg while he was asleep. Of course, you could never really be certain. Given that he didn't want to test it at the moment, and that walking along the twenty or so metres of exposed rock flat being stung by the spray wasn't that inviting at the moment, the only thing to do was forage. He'd probably better bring something back for the bear as well, just so it didn't get jealous...Or something. He wasn't an expert on ursine behaviour. Still, it didn't hurt to take chances. The irrelevant weight of his axe again on his back, he was slowly traversing the steep slope downwards when a grinding noise behind and above him caught his attention. He turned around, widened his eyes, then dived sideways, as the tree stump he dragged up was summarily pushed back down. He stood up, wincing as all sorts of nasty echoes redoubled off the noise made by the falling piece of wood, and brushed himself up, glaring upwards. The bear looked down at him, rather smugly he thought. As the thing unhurriedly turned away and waddled back inside, it gave out a snorting Leorik would swear was laughter. Damn bear. Not the Leorik minded, it didn't seem to be throwing the rest of his possessions out. It just hadn't liked the stump for some reason. Damn bear... Leorik sighed, and started downslope again, assuredly some big hairy creature with some kind of meat on it would present itself.[/font][/color][/i]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Relevant questions about the rpg are things such as "Is this allowed?" et al. Is so and so signing up can be handled by PM, because it's unlikely to a question multiple people want answered, which is why questions appear in sign up threads. That post, and response, don't count as relevant to a questionable facet of the rpg. I would hope that clears some things up. So don't try and tell me how to do my job.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Katarina: You only missed his eardrums by an inch.... Malania: I knew what I was doing. Katarina: That iz what aggravated me... [i]Malania started, then shook her head. Katarina grabbed Liam's rather short, but still holdworthy, hair, and stood up, yanking him partially upright. No blood, at least. She threw an arm under his, and dragged him outside, gesturing for Malania to fix the tent. She looked around, Matt was busy talking to a bunch of suspected nutcases, probably these "Columbians" she'd heard so much about. Wasn't it some focking American film club anyway? Given that anything more than a five second conversation with Matt would probably have her throwing Liam's still inert form at him, and the one of the newcomers who had caught site of her was already smirking, which would preferably have Katarina starting a riot, she lugged him over to Rae. She caught site of the book...and the discarded cover, and shook her head.[/i] Katarina: Now who did you steal that off? Rae: Hmmm? [i]She'd barely looked up, and probably for good reason, so Katarina dropped Liam beside her. That got her attention. She took in his inert form, and idiot grin, her eyes narrowing for an instant before a brightly malicious smile crossed her face.[/i] Rae: Really wore him out, didn't you? [i]Katarina flicked an eyebrow, and knelt down beside him, turning his head so the rapidly darkening bruise was evident.[/i] Katarina: In Russia, ve call it ze Widow's Kiss, after your Black Vidow spider. [i]Rae stared first at her, then at Liam, not believing her ears. She'd heard the Russians played strange games when it came to that kind of thing, but she somehow doubt Liam had been up for it. Katarina shook her head with a bark of laughter, and turned away.[/i] Katarina: I didn't know vich vas his tent, by ze way. Of course, neither did he... [i]She heard a long suffering sigh from Rae, who was in no real position to move him, and allowed a more rakish burst of laughter to come through. She wandered back over to her tent, which was now in a much better condition. Malania looked up, slightly amused.[/i] Malania: You found his tent quickly. [i]A soft burst of cursing from Rae dispelled that notion.[/i] Malania: She's hardly in a position to move him, you know. Katarina: Vat's what I thought. Malania: You're nasty when you're annoyed. Katarina: Hey, at least he had fun. After all, he got to spend time with two hot Russian chicks. Do you have any idea what we'd be worth on the flesh market? Malania: That depends on how often you decided to stick with the accent. It's not neccessary, is it? Katarina: Actually, it is, for a few reasons. Firstly, most of the time it manages to convey whatever kind of contempt I'm attempting to convey, secondly it keeps me in touch with the Mother Country-[i]She was momentarily interrupted by Malania's indignant retort, but continued unswayed[/i]-, it dissuades conversation with me from most other people, and of course it adds to my appeal as a hot Russian chick. Malania: Hey, I'm getting by fine without it. Katarina: Vat vould be vat iz annoying me about it... [i]Malania groaned, and threw Katarina inside the tent, hoping she hit one of the poles, even if she would have to put it back up...again.[/font][/color][/i]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Valen, you should certainly know better than to post random spam like that, especially given the Cat. Mod's proximity to the thread...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]People, a lot of the posts in this rpg are far beneath the accepted length. I recommend we all re-read my sticky thread, and fix that problem.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo][B]Name:[/B] Leorik Vendirahc [B]Age:[/B] 16 [B]Race:[/B] Rauhvat Barbarian. Which is to say only part human, given the Rauhvat's belief that the blood of greater beings makes the race stronger. And given the Rauhvat's rather surivival based ideals, bigger is better. The tribe is these days more giant than human these days, which explains a lot about Leorik. [B]Bio[/B] (This is being done first deliberately, just so it makes more sense): Leorik is unfortuantely, in the tribe's view anyway, only a couple of inches above nine foot tall. Now, anyone under ten foot tall is considered something of a runt, and is expected to become a shaman. Unfortunately, while Leorik learnt his lessons well, and was actually rather intelligent for one of his tribe, he showed little aptitude for the magical arts. Oh, there was another problem. He's an albino. They were willing to give him a chance because of his parentage though... His father was a Storm Giant, the greatest of the races of giants asiding the Titans, and his mother was a verbeeg, a giant race averaging nine feet tall. Leorik has his mother's height, and his father's broad frame. He's not unproportioned, but he's certainly bulky. He also his the legendary melancholia of the Storm Giants, who believe themselves responsible for the age old Fall of the giant race, when they attempted to displace the Titans for means of their own supremacy, thus throwing all Giants into war, and allowing the lesser races to take over. So basically, we have an overly melancholy, deformed runt who can't access the tribe's mystic heritage. What do you do? You exile him. Exiled from the frozen north, Leorik made his way down south. After all, there wasn't much else to go, and his instilled sense of honour made lingering unthinkable. Of course, a nine foot tall giant didn't really fit in well with the other races, especially given his Storm Giant heritage. All races, even other giants, are rather wary of them...Except for the Fire Giants. But that's another matter. Anyway, Storm Giants have a long standing preference of solitude, and defend it viciously. Leorik showed most of these tendancies, which didn't help. Anyway, he doesn't really have anything to do with himself, and a Storm Giant's longevity to look forward to. So he's rather laconic. Something interesting should come up. Description: As stated, he's about nine foot three, and built like a mountain. He used to arm wrestle giants, for god's sake. His skin and hair are pure white, his hair falling past his shoulders, in the typical wild, Norse appearing mass. He wears white leathers, well, you could call them leathers, even if they're made from remorhaz (polar worm) hide. So they're remarkably touth, and resistant to cold. A bonus where he comes from. His face is perpetually melancholy, his deep eyes with red irises reflecting an age old sorrow carried by an entire race. The wisdom contained there belies his huge form, and is probably the only thing allowing him to continue with all the prejudice he faces. After all, he knows very well he could drop basically any of them where they stood... Weapons: Asiding his leathers, he carries a typical Storm Giant axe. Nearly seven feet tall, it's a single bladed monster with a head the size of a human warrior's shield. It's gone through a few of those too. [/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Enough random conversation people, especially from those of you who should know better. And Catdemon, in future, just edit the post.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo][i]Their tent set up very quickly, Malania and Katarina lounged around, conversing in Russian, for privacy's sake. No doubt at least three people here spoke it anyway, but not as fluently as natives.[/i] Katarina: This is getting dicey. Malania: It's certainly something of an organisation nightmare. Liam and Rae will be fine though. Katarina: Their wellbeing is less than a concern at the moment. The concern is that this whole operation is working under a fractured command system, and is liable to explode at any moment. Do we truly have any idea what we're doing or what we're up against? Malania: Well...I'm sure Matt would. Any maybe Liam. Katarina: And Liam's gone, and Matt's not talking. We've all got basic details, but that's it. [i]They were interrupted as Bradley unzipped the tent flap and stuck his head in, a cheery smile on his face. That froze pretty abruptly when he noticed twin Yarygins pointed at him. Katarina and Malania took a further second to appraise him, then simultaneously lowered the guns and swore.[/i] Katarina: Vat? Bradley: Uh...Matt said he's going to brief us all in an hour. [i]He left rather hurriedly, Katarina having to redo the tent flap.[/i] Malania: Well, there's that settled for you. Katarina: Settled? Hardly? No doubt we'll be fed a bunch of random jargon and half truths, and then simply sent it and left to fend for ourselves. Malania: Don't they have backup squads? Katarina: So? You know what these Westerners are like. They're afraid of excessive death, and if two wayward Russian chicks happen to get stuck somewhere, they certainly won't expend anyone getting them out. Who'd come after us? The government? After eliminating several KGB units and disappearing completely? They don't even know who the hell we are damn it. Malania: You're the one responsible for that. Katarina: And given our past indiscretions, would you prefer that they knew all about us when they picked us up? Malania: Of course not. But it doesn't help us now. Katarina: And it doesn't help Lutveya in the slightest. Malania: I know, I know. But do you really not trust these people? Katarina: You should already know the answer to that question. I trust two people, period. And only one of them is present right now. Malania: Then what do you intend to do? Katarina: My prefered course of action would be to torture every scrap of information possible out of everybody around here, and them acquire two plane tickets to a rather esoteric location. Given that I can't do that, I guess we'll just to wait around for this "briefing". Malania: We've got several full cases of ammo each, and I'm sure that someone in whatever packtrain they've developed has your shotguns. We'll do fine. Katarina: That could be the biggest problem, you know.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]If people are writing like Kinetic's aforementioned example, or writing three line posts, the rpg should be shut down, or at least the members warned, anyway... This whole fiasco is really getting to the point where members are stepping forward and saying "I think other people may be offended, we need to do something", and "I just don't read it because I don't like it, but other people could be offended", not "I read something I shouldn't have and am now scarred for life". Could be that we're all being a little excessive. As Justin said, we have 12 year old kids writing rpgs on a mature level. There can't be that much wrong.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Amazing. You all managed to survive my less than extended, but certainly crushing, absence. My congratulations to the lot of you. IC: [i]Katarina glanced out the window, interrupting Malania's admittedly rambling diatrabe with a serious of exclamations, certainly none of which were coherent in any known language. Malania looked at her curiously, then out the window, assuming something interesting was happening. She was, of course, disappointed. Katarina had interjected out of pure pique. Malania sank back into her chair, offered a dagger eyed glance to her friend, and took the hint to be quiet. Thirty seconds into that and Katarina started rambling about cholera, a donkey on pseudoephedrine, a rather anonymous, vague entity entiled only "Jimmy", and crop. No further information, just crop. Apparently, to everyone else, it made sense to Malania. However, whether it was just Russian, and sounded like English due to an astonishing coincidence, or a cunning code, or Malania was merely bullshitting for all she was worth, was remarkably unclear. In fact, it was probably about as clear as the donkey... Anyway, or vay, as Katarina would surely have put it given the slightest chance and an accent she already had, thus didn't need to be given, the general chaos inherent in her speech roused a few eyebrows, but didn't elict any kind of visible response, asiding a glare from Matt, which didn't worry Katarina in the slightest, after nearly being hit by a minibus she felt she was owed some well entitled lunacy, but Malania appeared to tire of it quickly. At least, Katarina assumed that's why she was elbowing her in the ribs. Could be a game. Katarina elbowed her back, then relapsed instantly into her chair, drawing her legs up, clasping them, and letting a brooding expression fall onto her face like the proverbial expression. Malania, long familiar with Katarina's mercurial habits, and even more unpredictable thought processes, left her alone, which was rather easy to do, considering that when Katarina felt like being alone, it didn't matter how many people were around. The ability to ignore other people so convincingly they knew you had no idea they were there was a useful one, and applied under various circumstances, had quite a lot of benefits. It was the kind of solitude were people didn't assume you were waiting for some benign well wisher to come along and trigger a vituperative concatenation of epithets, which only happened to Katarina when there were young men around, she found. After a few minutes of that, Katarina blinked, and realised it was the first time she'd done that in a while. This rather earth shaking discovery, something she fully intended to ponder for quite a while, was abruptly interrupted by the inconsequential knowledge it was time to jump out of a plane. That being well within both Katarina and Malania's experience, getting dressed up for it wasn't an issue, though Katarina truly believed that going casual was far more polite. Katarina didn't bother waiting for a push, she somersaulted forward into a swan dive. Functionality, pragmatism, and expedience had a lot to be said for them, or very little to be said for them if they applied to themselves, which they chose not to, but there was also quite a lot to be said for ye olde élan. And Katarian intended to say it...Once she stopped thinking about blinking.[/i] OOC: I'm off school. I make no apology for heretofore nonexistant or repressed idiosyncracies.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Yeah Dave, never mind the fact that we fight all the time, go after other people, and generally try to make each other's lives miserable at times... But hey, we're still together...After a bit. Anyway. Given that school's over, and I'll likely forget about this, you're probably safe. Anyway, onto the rather ponderous point, that general pontification that makes me me. Given my history, love is an interesting experience, albeit a rather painful one most of the time. Unlike most of our happy little industrious drones, I have the distinct honour of being, 99% of the time, completely and utterly emotionly repressed. The reasons aren't important, so this diatribe won't feature them. Alright, armed with this knowledge, we sortie further. Given this longstanding problem with emotions, it should be something of a given that I don't deal with them very well, and any kind of pain caused by emotion tends to do quite a lot of damage. Both true. Anyway, at the expressly exciting risk of making this sound like a cliche Harlequin novel (I'm serious, there is a romance series under the name Harlequin. Degrading to a fault.), the first emotion I really expressed, rather than a pale physical reflection of a thought, was indeed love, and it was indeed all Raven's fault. Now, that is all well and good, and it has helped me become a slightly better excuse for a human being (I'm still a remarkably poor one, have no doubt, though I'm sure my willing minions will disagr....wait. Worry not.), on the other hand it did spawn a true viper's nest. Basically I started liking someone else a bit more than I should, which has hurt the three of us in various ways. Anyway, that rather superfluous amount of affection for this other, coupled with a few insecurities I possess, ended up with my being paranoid about how Raven and other actually felt about me, which was in no way abetted by various behaviours exhibited by the two. After several months, more than a few tears and rather long nights listening to depressing music and staring at a wall (I think I'm the only person I know who actually does that when depressed. Normally because there is a wall everywhere I look....), it's apparently alright now. But the point of this quasi-autobiography is that during that period, I truly gave up caring about either person for some short periods of time, though may have gone through the motions, and those periods were the only time when it didn't hurt. So to me, love is basically a way of realising I'm not a self sufficient bastard (Damn!), and a way of telling me to hurry up and work myself out before I do something stupid. Other than that, I agree with Mitch. Nihilism works, nihilism is good....[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Well, I suppose I'd better have a little spin at this. Firstly. I'm 16. And I'm the catagory moderator. So if [i]I[/i] can't read the rpgs, we may have something of a problem. Of course, I'm sure several of you are aware of my propensity for not acting my age (in which direction I'll leave to the discretion of this myriad collection of individuals, who I'm sure in their collective wisdom will hash out something I can selectively like enough to agree with), so obviously I don't consider it a problem. The other point I'd like to make is this. The ratings aren't a means of forbidding anyone anything. They're merely a guide for people who might prefer to avoid certain aspects of the writing. It doesn't really matter with the rating on the rpg is "R", or "18+", or "Coarse language, violence, sexual explicity and rabid bonsai" or whatever else people seem to come up with for whatever reason, the point is that anybody reading the title probably has a fair idea of what they do or don't want to read, and I'm sure they're intelligent enough that if they don't want to read something sounding like your typical Z grade slasher movie or whatever, "R" probably isn't for them. If not, then they can press back fairly quickly. I'm sure the text won't leap of the page and vivisect them. Furthermore on codified ratings, as I'm sure several people have mentioned already, they are based far too much on personal discretion, and there would have to be a separate rating system for each set of iniquities, just to make things clear. There are, for some reason, people who'll happily write about removing someone's achilles tendons with a cheesegrater, but wouldn't swear if their life depended on it, to use that particular tired old cliche. Is tired old cliche one? Anyway, if we were going to codify ratings, we'd probably have to give it a general maturity level rating (NB: Not age rating, though they may end up reflecting that), along with some kind of qualifier (S) for Sexual activity, (L) for language etc. It wouldn't take too long to hash something out, but I'm not reading every rpg to make sure it's content reflects the title, and I certainly wouldn't expect Terra and Arcadia to either. So, it seems to me the best way to deal with this is that if a member is participating in an rpg, and something they believe inappropriate, or something they would prefer not to read, comes up, they can PM the creator of the rpg about it. If the creator of the rpg believes it is too extreme, they can PM myself or the other moderators about it, and we'll have a quick word with the post and poster in question, and that will be the end of it. If the creator of the rpg has no particular objection, then the plaintiff can grit their teeth and bear it or leave the rpg. Of course, we'll have to nose it around that it's not acceptable to leave rpgs for that reason... Anyway, I think that given the individual nature of all cases, and the simple fact that people are more than capable of making their own choices, it's a pretty moot issue. But hey, what do I know. I just work here.[/font][/color]