The Harlequin

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Here we go again.... Name: Lacroix s'Xalerian Gender: Male Age: 847 Race: Lythanoid Shadow Weapon: None. Ye Olde Teeth, Claw and Fang Armor: Natural toughness. Character Background: All relevant stuff is below, rest will unfold during story. Appearence: A lythanoid is a demon-like creature raised in the bowels of the earth. Six foot tall, but incredibly slender. Bat-like wings, with four arms, each tipped with a set of four claws. The reptillian head is set on an abnormally flexible neck. In fact, a lythanoid's entire body is abnormally flexible. This is because lythanoid's possess no bone structure at all. Instead, the possess specialised muscles, incredibly hard, yet still supple. Thus, while lythanoid's possess the obvious advantages of having no bones, they are unfortunately vulnerable to any piercing kind of damage. If these specialised muscles, called [I]scyeiphs[/I] in the lythanoid's native tongue, are severed, the relevant portion of anatomy seizes up, becoming completely immobile. The scyeiphs however also make lythanoids physically powerful. When a lythanoid dies, the normal procedure is the complete decay of the body, leaving no trace whatsoever. Certain alchemists, mages, and athe usual lot of insane scientists have considered the lythanoid's unusual body structure a matter of interest, and have attempted to study them. Lythanoid's being somewhat adverse to this, the normal recourse is to kill the specimen. This however, leads to a limited time for study. So, a certain alchemist, by the name of Vi Duku, came up with an idea. He captured several lythanoids, and attempted to suck the life out of all of them. He reasoned that, in undeath, and thus domination, the body would not only remain intact, it would also be bidable. To do this, and avoid the slow decay that afflicted the normal zombie, he had each lythanoid bitten by a vampyre. His premise however, was somewhat flawed. The lythanoid religion is one of darkness. A race of nyctophiles. When a lythanoid dies, the spiritual process is one of return to darkness. They become shadows. Normal, inert, unliving shadows. In the Unlife however, the shadow is alive. And three dimensional. And aware. And less than happy... Vi Duku assumed he would be able to control Lacroix with an array of necromatic focuses. His pet vampyre however, intervened. Killing Vi Duku, the vampyre sought his chance to escape. Lacroix never heard from him again. Anyway, Lacroix is an undead lythanoid. What does this mean? Well, he's resistant to physical damage, regenerates, and has a severe problem with any kind of light source. Shadowhood and vampyism do that to a person/lythanoid/living other. To put it bluntly, he can't exist in it. Covered in a specially made robe, he can move around, but he has had quite a few incidents involving sudden delimbing due to a bright torch. The regrowth was incredibly painful.... Beast Name: Alqwerik Beast Type: [I]Diablos nycto-ophilous[/I] (Shadow/demon serpent). Description:A tame creature in the lythanoid world, considered a gift from, and an avatar of, their deity, commonly known as the Great Darkness. Of course, it is black. It has large bat like wings similar to a lythanoid's. It is about 10 metres long. It has two clawed feet, set about two metres behind the wings. When on the ground, it walks around bipedally. Serpentine body, far more agile and graceful than any dragon, gryphon, bird, bat, or airborne sloth could hope to match. Taking liberties, I'm aware, but you seemed to specify that was allowed.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]What exactly does it have to say? Inanimate objects have so much more time to ponder things, they're so much more opinionated. I once had an existential phone. You know how you get that? As soon as you plug it in for the first time, hit redial....[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Well, here we go... with me playing so many roles now... God damn it. Why do they always start like this? Anyway, to reiterate, do whatever you like storyline wise for the moment. Let us see.... Currently, - Arithon s?Ffalen, Lysear s?Ilessid, Elaira, Kevor s?Ilessid, The Fellowship Sorcerors (Sethvir, Asandir,Kharadmon, Luhaine, Traithe and Davien. Ciladis isn?t relevant) .... maybe some of Ath?s Adepts. So if I start going on with something not previously mentioned, don?t worry about it. If any one wants a map, ask, I?ll post one in a few days. [B]Midwinter, Third Age year 5676[/B] [I]A storm was brewing in Eltair Bay. Airthon stood on the battlements, Elaira at his side, as he watched the waters before him seethe, whipped up by the winds. He planted a soft kiss on Elaira?s head, thinking over the events of the past years. He ordeal in Kewar Tunnel was over. The Fellowship Sorceror Davien, author of the Tunnel, and formerly incorpreal, was once again a force in the land, and an ally. Arithon?s stay at his mountain residence had been most profitable. Lysaer had no idea where he was. His mage talent was unimpaired, and Elaira was given reprieve from the Koriani?s stirct rules. Surely, life had taken a turn. As soon as the thaw started, he?d travel north collect his brigantine[/I] Khetienn, and collect Dakar and Fionn Areth, before . He turned slightly, viewing the city behind him. More traditionally a Koriana stronghold than gripped by Lysaer?s Sunwheel Alliance, caution was still paramount. Holding Elaira closer, he turned, returning to the Inn where he played for lodging. As usual, there was a large crowd. Word that the masterbard had taken residence had spread, largely at the connivance of the innkeeper... Trestles were packed, and there was little room to work. Despite this, Arithon played as he always did. For himself, and for Elaira. Elaira sat on a small stool, off in a corner, a smile on her face for her beloved?s talent. The men and women around them were getting deep in their cups, and a fight had already broken out. Elaira wondered how long Arithon would let that go on. His talent could stop such proceedings dead...[/I] ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ [I]On another set of battlements, far distant, Lysaer, Prince Exalted, Lord Of Avenor, stood brooding. His son, Kevor was dead. His puppet wife, married simply to give him a heir, had disappeared. Gace Steward and Cerebald, High Priest of The Light, were completely flustered. Sulfin Evend was suffering doubts about the righteousness of the cause. Arithon had yet again eluded him, and was quite likely embroiled in a new plot to destroy his people, and quite likely had a sorcerous ally in Davien. Both of them were fiends, and opposed to the new order he represented, it stood to reason that they would band together against law and justice. Lysaer turned, disappearing into his private quarters, instantly bathed in lights. He never allowed darkness to enter his sanctuary. With an uncharacteristic snap, he ordered a page to fetch Evend and Cerebald. The fox would be found, and hunted out.[/I] ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ [I]Asandir trotted along easily, Isfarren bearing him lightly along. The black stallion was restless, something rare. Asandir had been away for nearly a year now, dealing with rogue Grimwards. His skin was black in several places, his clothes were singed from the intense energies he was forced to channel. Rather than attempt transfer to Althain tower through the latent energies in a greater drake?s skull, he had come overland, after calming the shade of Alqwerik. He focused his vision on the world around him, mage sight entwining with normal vision to show the auras of everything around him, the very Names of everything in Ath?s creation. Arithon was safe, the fellowship had a chance to be restored. Davien was loose, threatening the balance of the world as he saw fit. Lysaer?s power was phasing. The world was really getting screwed up....[/I][/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]We really need to get that table away from you... Therapy is bad for you. Personal experience leads me to recommend avoiding it. This thing has started, and with it my open invitation for everyone to do whatever the hell they like storylinewise. I seriously don't care for the moment.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]In the modern age Raiha, there isn't much of a difference...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Finally... a newbie who's attitude I like! Asiding the whole blue/white thing, but hey. You know Lethe is evil and wrong... And you better watch it, that table probably agrees with me.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]It could be a lot worse. Twister? Where did that come from?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]I'm talking to Jack and wolf-boy! Oh to hell with it. Everyone, do what you like. I'm playing Lysaer and Arithon, which means all of you are completely and utterly secondary, I'm afraid. You're all just fit-ins! Mwahahaha! Wait... I'd have a lot of trouble, mainly with inclination, writing this myself... damn it.... Alright, forget I said anything. This rpg starts damn soon.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]I've really got to watch how freely I use my name.... Damn Mnemolth... or whatever the hell his name is.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]From the angle I first viewed that picture.... it looked pretty damn wrong...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Tch. *Waves a sign saying "James is no fun" for a while. Then gets hit by a large projectile...* Yeah, I know. But still, I just think that kind of reaction would not only be incredibly amusing, but also validate my inherent mistrust of strangers.... Actually, I wouldn't mind an Otaku Awards. There a few members I respect somewhat, why not stop insulting them and actually show them... [/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Now this has to be said... just for the reaction. Ooohh.... isn't that cute....[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Hmmm. Otaku Awards. Seems kind of frivolous to me.... unless I get nominated for "most delusions of adequacy". I would love to some really big flame war get started over some petty argument to do with this....[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Some one want to PM me when this shifts away from being something that looks as if we could sell it online for large amounts of money to an actual storyline? Until then....[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]We're all so sad.... Damn, that's just wrong. An rpg full of outcasts from another.... Name: Lacroix s'Xalerian Age: 184 Race: Shifter Weapon(s): In human form, uses martial arts. Humanoid Appearance: Lacroix is six foot tall, with shoulder length black hair that shimmers silver. Lacroix had steel grey eyes, hardened by time and experience. Very few people can hold his emotionless gaze. The chaos in his soul reflects out those portal, swirling through the black flecks in the iris of his eyes. He has a hawklike nose, and a thin mouth. He tends to blacken his lips. A flash tatoo winds down the left side of his face. His skin is bone-white, due to his intense dislike of sunlight. This, and his manner of dress, has led many to believe he is of a vampyric origin. That may be so, Lacroix isn't sure, as he quite often has obscure hungers that disappear with his next kill. The difference between emotion and physical sensation is very thin... Lacroix wears a black martial arts style robe (you all know what I'm talking about), with silver Celtic-style knotwork tracery down the sleeves, tied with a belt of some heavy, tough material. Black pants, soundless in motion, flow down to just above his ankles, revealing tough leather boots, with strangely noiseless soles, no matter the surface. Underneath the voluminous sleeves of the robe, Lacroix's forearms are covered with black leather bracers, each with a design on the upper side. The etched areas are filled with onyx. Bio: Lacroix was born with the shifting gene. In fact, he had it before he was born.... He came into this world in a violent and bloody way. Ever since a few weeks after conception, he was aware. He was conscious. He saw through his mother's eyes, heard through her ears. Knew her thoughts.... The doctors knew he had the gene. They told her. After long debate, with herself, and her husband, she resolved to kill the baby rather than let it be born into the world. Aware of this, the infant mind raged, shifting into a beast of claw and fang. On the operating table, ready to abort the baby....nurses and doctors were splattered in blood as the patient's stomach was ripped apart...from the inside. The snarling baby was sedated, and given to a scientific lab. He was the subject of a very interesting experiment. Not what caused the shifting gene, but its limits. Could it only change into a real creature, or was it bound only by the imagination of the person.... Unfortunately for them, it was the later. At the age of 5, Lacroix was a mass murderer. Since then, he has lived mainly in the mountains, always alone. he hasn't encountered an intelligent being for over a hundred years. Yet now he grows bored. The form he has assumed, the bizarre spider/centaur mix that is the drider's chitinous limbs click together as Lacroix descends, ready to sow havoc, or save the world, or whatever the hell he currently feels like. [/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Who other than the archetypal, the perfect, if you will, villian.... I have a feeling my work shall be cut out for me though. Real Name: Lacroix s'Xalerian Nickname: The Archon Posistion in the group: Leader, headman, enforcer, call it what you will. It's all about me baby... Weapon: Twin kamas (kind of like a minature scythe. Foot long handle, blade scaled down) if neccessary, otherwise martial arts. Personality: What do you expect? Heartless, emotionless, sense of humour fit to flay someone with. Manic depressant, clinically insane. Description: (Call me unoriginal if you must, I care not)Lacroix is six foot tall, with shoulder length black hair that shimmers silver. Lacroix had steel grey eyes, hardened by time and experience. Very few people can hold his emotionless gaze. The chaos in his soul reflects out those portal, swirling through the black flecks in the iris of his eyes. He has a hawklike nose, and a thin mouth. He tends to blacken his lips. A flash tatoo winds down the left side of his face. His skin is bone-white, due to his intense dislike of sunlight. Lacroix wears a black martial arts style robe (you all know what I'm talking about), with silver Celtic-style knotwork tracery down the sleeves, tied with a belt of some heavy, tough material. Black pants, soundless in motion, flow down to just above his ankles, revealing tough leather boots, with strangely noiseless soles, no matter the surface. Underneath the voluminous sleeves of the robe, Lacroix's forearms are covered with black leather bracers, each with a design on the upper side. The etched areas are filled with onyx.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Alright, I'll make some concessions. Extended lifespans if you must, whatever type of magic if its neccessary. However, no half human, half whatever else things. Just be a human for christ's sake! I mean really, it's not that hard is it? Raiha: I'd tell you to read my other post, but I kind of defeated its purpose.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Oh I don't know.... Australia is full of Rednecks, and we turn out quite a bit of interesting fantasy.... Gods I hate most of my country's population.....*intense shuddering fit*[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]When was the last time you had black lipstick that I knew of? About 7 months ago.... I'm [I]not[/I] regardless of anything you may say, wearing a black skirt, jewellery I had enough of, I don't remember knowing whether you had foundation make up or not, and the eyelines may go too far... And I know what I'm talking about, so don't argue.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Of course it will...as soon as I get edited sign ups. Go PM everyone else should you wish to hasten that event. And PM me to ask that question in future....[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Some kind of flash? Raven does that all the time. She's actually damn good at it. I wouldn't know about being bored in Church though, I've been 5 times in my entire life. We are so off topic here...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]My Name: Flynn Mitchell Character Name: Lacroix s'Xalerian Email Address: [email]the_eldritch_harlequin@hotmail.com[/email] Location: Otakuboards will have to do. That's about it when it comes to conversing with other people online for me. [Edit] Well, here we are. [B]History:[/B] The s'Xalerians are the head of the Vishaki mage clan of the far east. Lacroix was a promising young student, and was tutored by nearly a score of archmages from the age of 5 up until his departure (a.k.a. banishment). He was always a solitary boy, and had few human contacts. Despite his youth, he would often go off alone into the wilderness for days on end. He talked little, though he was far above average intelligence. Thus, he was often contemptuous of others, which, added to the arrogant ease with which he wielded his talent, lead to common retribution. Lacroix quickly learnt to defend himself, which lead to further hatred of him. Despite all this, his instructors warmed to him. Among these was a withered old being named Ski'jul. Now, Ski'jul was a solitary being, who had spent his life studying the more ...esoteric side of arcana. In other terms, he had long walked the Dark Road. Being of a somewhat darker character himself, Lacroix was naturally drawn to Ski'jul, and Ski'jul found an adept and willing pupil in Lacroix. When found out be Rakskini, Lacroix's father and the head of the clan, Ski'jul summoned several hellish creatures, which destroyed the larger percentage of the clan before being killed. Ski'jul then fled, taking with him the 14 year old Lacroix. Lacroix was truly indoctrinated along the Dark Road, and was an experience walker when at last he tracked down by his vengeful father. Set upon in the middle of the night by several Templars, as well as four archmages, including Rakshini. Ski'jul's head was split by a flanged mace, and his soul ripped to shreds while it tried to reach the etheric planes. No ressurrection, or otherworldly contact, would be in any way possible. Lacroix was subdued, and taken back to the heart of the clan. He was exorcised of his summoning ability and knowledge. Attempting to cling to their gate to the material plane, Lacroix's Familiar demons ended ripping his mind apart during the arcane struggle. Afterwards, most of Lacroix's talent was rent asunder, leaving him a far less powerful being than he was, and no memory of his time walking the Dark Road. At this time, he was 17, and shunned and hated by most of the people around him. A year later, on his 18th birthday, which coincided with the darknest, longest night of the year, winter solstice, a huge party was held, for although Lacroix had been corrupted by evil, he was still a member of the s'Xalerians. Prestige can do dangerous things to people. The festivities lasted long into the next day. Nobody noticed that the guest of honor had disappeared earlier though, at exactly midnight. By then, they were all so deep in their cups they wouldn't have cared. Lacroix went immediately to the library, to the great histories of the Vikshaki. His intentions, originally, were innocent. For he merely wished to unearth the reasons he was considered so pernicious. Sure enough, his ordeal was well described and dissected. At this, Lacroix grew enraged. Always independant, the idea that someone would dare interfere with his free will left him in a cold fury. He went straight away to his father's chambers, killing the single guard with a purloined dagger. From his father's private library, he stole several eldritch tomes, whihc he studied in secret for most of the night. The next day, he ran into the great hall and awoke his father, frantically telling him of the dead guard and the theft. His father, afraid, for the tomes contents were deadly, sent most of the clan out to find out what had happened to them. This was perfect the burgeoning murderer. The small remainder left had no chance, mudered by the infernal beasts Lacroix conjured up. The last to die was Rakskini. As he was torn to pieces at his son's command, he despaired, not for himself, but for the toll that would be enacted upon his son. When the searches returned, the place was a charnel house. Lacroix had long fled the scene. A search turned up the stolen books, and Lacroix was immediately hunted down through scrying. Again, he was purged, and this time, set under ciphers of binding and command. At the peril of his life and soul, he was unable to touch the demonic planes. Undaunted, he turned his mind to other planes, other energy sprites, and started to learn the arts of an evocator. Suspicious, the remaining clan members warded him against any otherplanar contact. Lacroix fell into a rage, and attempted to break through the binding, his mind striking at it again and again, as a beast in a cage. As he clubbed himself into unconsciousness, his mental outputs, driven by his restored natural talent, drove a psionic blast into all around him. He awoke an hour later. Immediately, he was banished, and all arcanic knowledge he had learnt under the instruction of the Vishaki drained from him. He was still in possession of his natural talent. And now, he had the powers of a budding ki-channeller. Lacroix wandered alone for years, a ragged and inhuman soul. At the age of 21, he settled down at the Monastery of the Order Of The Eldritch Heart. Here, Lacroix devoted himself to training, raising through the ranks with skill and ease. Before entering the monastery, Lacroix had mainly defended himself through his mental abilities. The subtle energy ki had manifested strongly within him, and was harnessed to amazing potential. Lacroix is faster, stronger, and quicker to react than most beings have a right to be. However, he quickly picked up the monks' openedhanded style of martial arts, and was foremost in the monastery when wielding twin kamas. A year ago, under such a conflict, with the head of the order, Lacroix accidently drove one of his blades into the Abbot's neck. Understandably, the other monks were less than happy with this... Lacroix, never having actually taken vows of service, was placed under a deathmark, and banished. He currently works as a spy or assassin for anyone who particularly needs it. [B]Description:[/b] Lacroix is six foot tall, with shoulder length black hair that shimmers silver. Lacroix had steel grey eyes, hardened by time and experience. Very few people can hold his emotionless gaze. The chaos in his soul reflects out those portal, swirling through the black flecks in the iris of his eyes. He has a hawklike nose, and a thin mouth. He tends to blacken his lips. A flash tatoo winds down the left side of his face. His skin is bone-white, due to his intense dislike of sunlight. This, and his manner of dress, has led many to believe he is of a vampyric origin. That may be so, Lacroix isn't sure, as he quite often has obscure hungers that disappear with his next kill. The difference between emotion and physical sensation is very thin... Lacroix wears a black martial arts style robe (you all know what I'm talking about), with silver Celtic-style knotwork tracery down the sleeves, tied with a belt of some heavy, tough material. Black pants, soundless in motion, flow down to just above his ankles, revealing tough leather boots, with strangely noiseless soles, no matter the surface. Underneath the voluminous sleeves of the robe, Lacroix's forearms are covered with black leather bracers, each with a design on the upper side. The etched areas are filled with onyx.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Ah. We call them nikkos.... Anyway, that must have made things interesting. I suppose I could try mulberries, if I really got desperate.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Empty. Well ordered. Uninteresting. Completely sterile. Completely useless. Lacroix lowered his weapons, assessing the room in a quick few glances. It was somewhat smaller than he expected, though opulent. A large bed rested in one corner, looking like the covers had been ironed on. A desk sat next to, stacks of paper that he would swear were of exactly equal height resting on it in even rows. The chair was pushed in to exactly the right position. There was a wardrobe or something on the other wall. The place was spotless. The sheer tidiness of the place made him almost physically sick. It also made him very annoyed. He needed a place to sleep, a place to hide. And if anything was out of place in this room, it would stand out like a beacon. Lacroix ran his eyes over the desk, and found nothing resembling a weapon. He turned to leave. There had to be something in on of these rooms. He tried to recall how many there had been. His faculties were less than up to scratch right now. 5 or 6, he was almost certain. At least one of them had to contain some young hotshot who thought discipline was an annoyance. He left, shutting the door behind him and fully opening the handle. May have seemed paranoid, but he didn't want to take chances. Lacroix burst into the next room, in similar fashion to the first. It suited his purposes perfectly. There was a very rumpled bed, and a few articles of military issue clothing lying on top of it. A dresser stood beside the bed, draws half open and clothing hanging out. Several doorways led off into smaller sections. Perfect. Lacroix looked around, searching for something. Sure enough, there was a small bar fridge. A place like this would have it all he suspected. He took out several bottles of expensive wine. He curiously sniffed at one, then set it down. He'd always hated anything alcoholic, it messed with his head too much. He set the wine bottles up against the door in a large stack, and pulled the fridge out of the wall, dragging until it was about a away feet away from the door. It was not heavy enough, or in the right position, to stop the door from opening. But if it was opened, the bottles would fall onto the fridge, giving Lacroix enough time to survive. He lay down, katana clenched in his hand, the blade completely free of any cloth around it. Immediately, worn from constant exertion, he dropped into a deep sleep.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]If I knew what that was, I'd probably go "Bleh". But I don't, so a slightly different shade of "Bleh" is in order.[/font][/color]