The Harlequin

[font=gothic][color=crimson]I'm with Jesus. To heck with it. Whatever "it" is.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Lacroix sat silently beside Wind, inside the military jeep he had earlier dumped the bodies of two soldiers under. It was a particularly jolting ride, yet Lacroix ignored it. Wind was somewhat more voluble. The size of the ditch or bump could be measured by the amount of profanity that came out of his mouth. Eventually tiring of it, Lacroix attempted to engage him in conversation. Being somewhat inept at that field, and searching for a subject, Lacroix latched onto the only area that seemed relevant.[/I] Lacroix: Any further information about what I'm doing? [I]Without a word, Wind pulled over, and turned the engine off. He sat silently a long moment before answering.[/I] Wind: Despite what Riggs said, chances are you'll never see a Soviet. [I]Lacroix too was silent a long moment, before erupting with a very annoyed series of exclamations.[/I] Lacroix: That's it! I'm going to kill him! I'll cut him open, hang his guts on a fence, and let him watch as the vultures devour him! Wind: Calm down. He didn't know any better. What you're really doing is coming with me. Lacroix: What for? Wind: Simple. From what I've heard of you, patriotism is not a major part of what drives you. Lacroix: State your point. Wind: I'm quite sure however, chaos appeals to you. Lacroix: It offers opportunity. Wind: Then what we are going to do is destabilise the region. Lacroix: Just the two of us? [I]Wind didn't answer, just got out of the jeep, and pulled two large black containers out of the area behind the seats. Opening them, there were several weapons inside. A katana, a wakisashi, and four handguns, semi-automatics by the look of them. Wind looked at Lacroix, silently gesturing for him to arm himself. Lacroix did so, the weapons disappearing about his person in short order, asiding the katana, which was strapped to his back, and two of the guns, which he left for Wind. Wind got back in, turn on the engine and driving off the trail into the wilderness.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Leave a diary, typed out, unsigned, about how you're planning a massacre on the day. No incriminating evidence, leave it in a place he can find. Even if he does still make you come to school, get a large number of people to follow him around whenever possible. I assure you, it works. Tried it at my old school once, on one of the teachers. He left after a week of it. But then, we didn't have the diary... Cloricus, don't say dude within my hearing for any reason.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Lacroix dropped to the ground, taking the sentry out with him. The high metal fence, now behind him, rocked slightly as the body hit it, then settled. Lacroix monkey ran to the left, heading for the largest building in the compound. About twenty metres away from the single door, Lacroix stopped, alighting beside a military jeep. He could see two pair of boots, about 17 metres away. Lacroix silently got to his feet, ducking back into the shadows. Calmly, he waited. Several privates walked past him, only three metres away, laughing and talking amongst themselves. None of them noticed a thing. Lacroix looked up, estimating the time of night. About time for a watch change, certainly. Some high ranking officer walked past, and the sentries snapped to attention. Lacroix sidled closer, keeping low. The sentries stayed fast for several moments after whoever he was left, in case he should look back. Lacroix took his chance. The first guard spun at the slight scraping noise behind him. he was greeted by Lacroix's foot. Lacroix had rushed in, leapt, and snapped off a right leg turning kick in the air. The guard's head snapped back, and the fool brought it up just as Lacroix spun, his left leg trailing, to strike the man's temple with his heel. Lacroix dropped and rolled, coming up in front of the second guard. The man hesitated, and Lacroix smashed the side of his head with a right inner crescent. As his foot touched the ground, he leaped off it and spun, a right outer crescent taking the second man down, hard. Lacroix gathered the two bodies up, throwing them under the jeep. Both seemed alive. The next two sentries would merely assume their predecessors had left early. Lacroix opened the door slowly, and darted inside. Three corridors opened up in front of him. Without thought, he took the centre one. A large, important looking door stood at the end of it, unguarded. Lacroix leapt, and the door shattered inwards under a side kick. Lacroix rolled, and came up with a drawn katana. A spin and a lunge put his blade at the throat of a surprised looking general.[/I] Lacroix: That makes it me 7, you nil, my esteemed General Riggs. [I]The general pushed the point of the sword away and stood up, looking rueful.[/I] Riggs: Alright, you win. Wasn't it best out of seven originally? Then you stopped playing and did it for real... Lacroix: Basically. And you still lost, even without orders not to kill. Riggs: That said, did you kill anyone? Lacroix: There are three unconscious bodies out there. One near the fence, the other two underneath that jeep out there. Riggs: That a record? Lacroix: No. Fifth time I got in here, I came in without having to incapacitate anyone. Riggs: Did you have to this time? Lacroix: No. I was just cutting down the odds.\ [I]Riggs sighed, and looked around. He pointed to a stern looking gentlemen seated at the far end of the table. The man got up, and walked up to Lacroix, looking at him in disgust.[/I] Man: You think you're a bit of a hotshot, don't you? Well, I must say a few years of intense service might give you a bit of reason to claim that. [I]Lacroix smiled ironically, and the man kept talking.[/I] Man: You realise I could kill you, right now, without any diffic.... [I]He looked down at the knife poking into his solar plexus. The man looked incensed for a second, then relented, and started laughing.[/I] Man: Let me guess, as I was walking over to you, when my eyes flicked over at General Riggs here. Lacroix: Yes. The one up my other sleeve came out when you reached me though. Man: But you're not in a position to strike with it... [I]Lacroix nodded once, and looked at Riggs.[/I] Lacroix: Well? Riggs: This is Wind. He's your new superior. [I]Lacroix looked back at "Wind". He was slightly taller than Lacroix, about 6"1. He had blond hair, unfashionably long for the military. He was quite thin, yet moved with an easy grace. His eyes took in Lacroix's gaze for a second, then surveyed the rest of the room within his arc of vision. Lacroix suddenly spun his hand up and out, a looping backfist to Wind's head. Wind caught it an inch away from his face, and twisted. Lacroix went with the move, throwing Wind over his head and freeing his hand.[/I] Wind: You're right, he is good. So, when do we get started? Riggs: Now. Lacroix: Started? Riggs: You're aware the Soviets have been giving us some problems. You're part of the group that is going to fix them. Lacroix: Pain in the ***. Forget it. Riggs: What else do you have to do? Practice breaking into this place? Lacroix: ...shut up.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]I've read a book called The Dark Portal, but it was a Fighting Fantasy book. I'm asuming it's not the same one?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Why would I want to take over the world? Far too much paperwork. As for your advice Cloricus, I recommend you think long and hard about just who it should be applied to. And I don't want to know why you think you know what I was doing at age five... Anyway, onto something relevant. I personally dislike most futuristic fantasy immensely. Mainly because it has an even lower element of realism. When you read say, medieval style fantasy, there are always common elements, monsters, species, etc. I realise that a lot of people claim this makes futuristic fantasy better, because it's more from the author's imagination, but the downside is, you can't relate to something you run into immediately. Unless you're dealing with an exceptionally good writer. The reason I like books is storyline progression(not neccessarily the individual aspects) and characters, so something I can't relate to just doesn't interest me. Of course, personality may play a part in that. But hey, who cares.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]About the only problem with them is that they get repetitive after a while. Their storylines seem to mirror each other. And the whole Zifnab/Bond/whoever he was thing went too far, funny though it was.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Actually, I thought it was the worst Bond movie Pierce Brosnan(whatever his name is) has ever done. It was corny, overdone to the nth degree, completely lacking in subtely, and food for the paranoid. The storyline wasn't all that interesting, and wasn't even an original idea. It relied too much upon five second surprises, which gives it the illusion of being fast paced. Most of the others Bond storylines have also been quite dodgy, I'll admit, but this one was far more cliche. The graphics, I'll admit, were good, which was the movies only good point. [/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Sinistrad just looked right back, one eyebrow tipped up slightly. Siren made no further motion, just continued glaring. Sinistrad absently stretched, wings gracefully unfolding. He leapt into the air, slowly ascending.[/I] Sinistrad: Well, someone lead the way...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Year 5. Not age 5. Which meant I was 9 at the time. I could have read it at age 5, but I didn't have it at the time. Personally, I think the best series Weis and Hickman did was their Death's Gate Cycle. It was a lot more amusing to say the least.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Name - Lacroix s'Xalerian Allegiance - Allies (Though he's by no mean a patriot) Military - Working with the American military, but only on his terms. Age - 27 Description - Lacroix is six foot tall, with shoulder length black hair that shimmers silver under certain light. Lacroix had steel grey eyes, with black flecked irises, hardened by time and experience. Very few people can hold his emotionless gaze. He has a hawklike nose, and a thin mouth. He tends to blacken his lips and eyes. His skin is bone-white, due to his intense dislike of sunlight. .. Lacroix wears a silk black Chinese shirt on most occasions. Under this is a black long sleeved t-shirt, tight fitting. He wears black cotton jeans. Tattooed dragon on his left wrist. Bio/History - Lacroix was born in France, in the country. He was modestly educated by his parents, who spoke only English to him. He lived this way until he was twelve. His parents then moved to California. Lacroix was enrolled at a public school, where he was revealed to be quite intelligent. Socially however, he was non-existant. Long hours of solitude had made him somewhat bookish, and he was completely inexperienced at dealing with other people. He was foreign, and had a country upbrinding. As such, he was immediately labelled an 'inky', among other things, and was constantly picked. Quite often, due to his habit of never standing down, he was severely injured. At fifteen, Lacroix, after several broken bones and countless doctor visits, took up traditional Taekwon-do. He double graded on most equations, and was a second Dan with two years. During the last year of highschool, Lacroix nearly killed several people, after they attempted to harass him. He graduated with an extensive assault record, though was never charged with any offenses. Lacroix excelled at English and Biology. Despite this, he did not seek a career in either field. Instead, he opened up a small Taekwon-do school until he was 23. By this time he was a fourth Dan black belt. During that year, Lacroix was often wandering off into the wilderness alone. He ran into a routine military operation by mistake, and put several commandos down before anyone realised he wasn't hostile. The Captain in charge immediately referred him to his superiors, who offered him a job. Lacroix started training Special Forces applicants in self-defence, and basically how to kill people quickly and quietly. He also trained several CIA agents. Lacroix didn't do this for the money, or to help his country, it was because in every face he saw, he saw a reflection of those who had once tormented him. Lacroix was as solitary as ever, more so in fact, and when not on the job, was not seen for weeks on end. He quite often turned up in unexpected places. He cracked the headquarters of the training facility seven times in under a year, among other things. In fact, when he was 26, Lacroix started training one of his primary school bullies, a no-neck, sloping forehead style hulking brute by the name of Jimmy. Lacroix humiliated him every chance he got, quite often kicking him around the dojang for nearly an hour. Eventually, Jimmy attacked Lacroix with a knife. This was the only excuse Lacroix needed. The now eighth dan Taekwon-do master simply took the knife out of the man's hand and quiet literally fed it to him. Lacroix was abruptly arrested, and languished in prison for six months, before being released early, for some unknown reason. He found out after a week of freedom he was released on the Government's orders. Lacroix was abducted by several agents, two of which he had trained, and taken to a military installation, where his situation was explained to him. His martial arts skills, combined wih his stealth and solitude, made him a perfect infiltration unit. Lacroix was educated in Ninjitsu, as well as Western methods. Lacroix used this to turn and escape several times. He continued to do so, coming back several days after his depature, on a regular basis, till he impressed upon the military officials that he would only do this on his terms. Supplemental - Lacroix's solitary nature, and months of government conditioning, lead to him being introverted to the point of ignoring all else unless it concerned him, and completely emotionless. Lacroix doesn't reallt care for life, he just couldn't be bothered ending it. Lacroix has very little skill with any type of firearm, excepting handguns. However, he is exceptional with traditional weapons like katanas and quarterstaves.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Sorry Sara, I've beaten you yet. I was reading before I went to school, and I too started with the Hobbit. I'd had it read to me when I was three, and I read it myself in the first term of school. The first three books of Narnia the next few terms. I hadn't really picked up my reading pace yet... Currently 500 pages in an hour on average. Anyway, Lords of the Rings two years later. David Eddings came around same year, Anne Rice in year 5 (a little early for that kind of thing). Also in year 5 was the first few Tamora Pierce books, some Melanie Rawn stuff (also a little early for that kind of thing...), Sara Douglas, a lot of Dragonlance and Forgotten Realms books and Janny Wurts (In my opinion the greatest fantasy author around). Year six a took a shot at Stephen Donaldson, but couldn't get into it. Then Terry Goodkind turned up. And Raymond Feist. Started pretty late on him, in my opinion. Robert Jordan in year 7. Katherine Kerr, and Julian May(though I never got into her much) came up in year 8, when I got access to a new Library. Now just whatever I can get. A lot more Forgotten Realms, as well as rereading a lot of old stuff. I've read Magician (Feist) twelve times now. Still a classic book. I've probably missed some, but still... However, I have not, and will not, touch Harry Potter should my life depend on it, no matter what anyone says on the matter. I really want to meet someone who reads as much as I have/do. Just for comparison purposes.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Ooohhh, come on big Admin argument! *Runs off to get popcorn, realises he doesn't particularly like it, then hits the wall out of frustration caused by bowing to dodgy cliches.* 50th time...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]First off, I want to meet Mnemloth, and Sere Tuscumbia. And then they never be heard from again... or maybe I'll just cut their brake cables... (Inside joke between Jesus Chicken and I.) Anyway, I'd like to meet Mystic's Knight, Etarah's Maverick and the rest of that crew (all what, 80 of them by now?), Raiha (with loud resulting cries of "Where am i going, why am I in this handbasket", resounding from all concerned parties) and Rico, Kinetic, Semjaza (so I can steal all the Tea Party albums), Piro, and I'd probably hunt down James at some point. Not too far away actually....[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Lacroix: Ah, the nightlife. Shall we indulge? Tyrael: We're not here to party... Lacroix: I wasn't intending to. Come, there's a sally port round the side. [I]Lacroix led them off to the east side of the castle, ignoring the sentries that patrolled the area. A few even waved to him... Lacroix eventually reached a narrow gate, with a small gatehouse beside it. Lacroix kicked the door open, and there was a moment of silence. Then the gate was suddenly opened. Lacroix walked out, and beckoned them to follow him. He directed them through several long passageways, ignoring the by-ways which would have been far less conspicious. The few soldiers moving about paid him no heed. The guards at the doors to the great hall however, required a little more convincing. Lacroix looked at them for a moment, a demonic grin rending his face. They stepped aside quickly. Lacroix listened intently for a moment. The Baron was proposing a toast to something, or someone. Lacroix knocked the doors wide, and walked in. A large table, laden with food, stretched across the large room. Several smoky firepits were arrayed along each side. The room was hazy, both with the smoke from the firepits, and from the assorted drugs being smoked... Several scantily clad dancing girls served as waiters. Every place at the table was filled, yet many were already inebriated to the point of falling out of their chairs. Lacroix cleared three such patrons away, and gestured for the others to sit down. Lacroix stood behind the centre seat, leaning casually on its wooden frame. The Baron, already on his feet, was incensed.[/I] Baron: What is the meaning of this.... Lacroix: Ladies and gentlemen, if such exist, my apologies for interrupting your revelries. Should there actually be a full set of wits about the collective in this room, then perhaps you would understand that it would be best if you left. [I]Both Tyrael and Alastuin looked surprised as those able to got up and walked out. Those unable to stayed were they were, oblivious. Soon, the only noise was the snores of the drunk.[/I] Baron: Let me guess, you've finally come to kill me? Lacroix: Not yet. Actually, I believe you're looking for adventurers. You have them. [I]The Baron alternated between looking confused, irate, happy and amused for a while. At last he sat down, defeated. He looked up at them, an almost despairing look in his eyes.[/I] Baron: Care for a drink?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Assuming I can kick Raven off the computer every now and again, and don't get banned for being an antagonistic firebreather *looks apprehensively at the growing number people who are annoyed at him*, I'll be here for quite a while. Probably take a few more extended absences though. I doubt you'll all object...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]You consider that one of the best you've ever made why?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Now, this is going to offend some people, and if you are one of those people, at least be comforted by the knowledge I haven't started going out of my way to offend you yet. I'm a nihilist, and an eremophile. So really, I don't care either way. The government can do what it likes, as long as it leaves me alone. America can attack Iraq for all I care, they can attack Australia for all I care. Doesn't bother me one way or another. Men created monsters over the millenia, and were afraid of the dark, because if they didn't creature beings to be evil and monsterous for them, they'd have to accept that they personified evil as well as good. Most people use their phantoms to do this. There are people however, who go the other way, and accept the darkness within them. These are the people who like to invade other countries, and discriminate against minorities, and manipulate the masses to their own ends. These are people who can be anything from Hitler, to Bush. Or myself really. I'm just too introverted to direct anything feelings I have outwards. 49th time...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Lacroix: Which I believe requires us to head to the castle. [I]He rose, and clasped his cloak around his body.[/I] Tyrael: Now? [I]Lacroix favoured him with a grim look and a humourless laugh.[/I] Lacroix: I'm the most wanted man in Spielburg, and I'm about to go the castle, openly this time (Which no one commented on), and allow myself to be surrounded a hell of a lot of armed guardsmen, and anyone else the Baron feels like. You think I don't look forward to this? [I]Alastuin looked over at Tyrael. They shared a confused glance.[/I] Tyrael: You lost me on the sharp turn right there at the end... Lacroix: Simple. This will be the most fun I've had in years. Alastuin: So you do have some emotions. They're just to imcomprehensible to be considered normal.... or even emotions at all by most people... Lacroix: Perhaps that's close to the truth. We'll pursue it some other time if you wish. For now however, I believe we have an appointment.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Lacroix flicked an eyebrow at this.[/I] Lacroix: I've been hired for it twice over already. So yes, I would suppose that suffices as "being in". More importantly however, what the hell are you doing killing people in this city? Are you really that sloppy? Tyrael: Just having a little fun... Lacroix: And fearing execution? I assure you, chances are you'd never even come up as a suspect. Suspicious deaths are generally attributed to the guild of thieves itself, rather than individual members, or more frequently, to me. Didn't anyone explain anything to you? Tyrael: I didn't really hang around long enough for anyone to explain anything. Lacroix: If that is a habit, then your survival to this age should be commended. [I]Lacroix lapsed back into silence, gesturing for Alastuin to fill the gap if she so wished.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Eh. Why not. I can only see one major problem. And that is that nobody, and I do mean [I]nobody[/I], wants to see a naked dwarf. Not even other dwarves. I mean really, there are some areas that should not be touched... bad choice of words there... Oh, and I'm assuming I get to choose my own race though. Name: Lacroix s'Xalerian Age: 27 Sex: Male Race: Vampyre 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. His skin is bone-white, due to his intense dislike of sunlight. Lacroix wears a black brigandine that leaves his arms bare, with runic symbols etched into the back. Black pants, soundless in motion, flow down to just above his ankles, revealing tough leather boots, with strangely noiseless soles, no matter the surface. It is a matter of speculation among many creatures on the Island as to just how many daggers are in those boots... Lacroix's forearms are covered with black leather bracers, each with a design on the upper side. The etched areas are filled with onyx. Over this, he wears a long-sleeved black shirt. Due to his white skin, it is important than any reflective surface, a.k.a. all of him, be covered. When forced into daylight, or meeting an employer, he wears a deeply cowled cloak, with a disguising hood. Affiliation: Evil eremophile.(Obviously not from Evil Island, but I'm there at the start of this) Weapons: Chinese style beheading sword, twin scimitars. Magic: Not exactly magic, but psionic powers are basically advanced physcokinesis. Bio: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 psionic. Lacroix wandered alone for years, testing and perfecting his psionic abilites. Eventually, he turned up on Evil Island, and settled down. With a darkened soul, and an already dark character, Lacroix's gothic nature adapted quickly to the anarchal life of the Island. He found that even the human beings there were as corrupt as any demon, and always needed people, or beings, quietly disposed of, in a fashion they could not be implicated for. With his psionic abilites, and nihilistic, eremophilic nature, Lacroix was the perfect assassin. The guild of assassins on the Island , wary of his power, attempted to kill him several times. Eventually, he destroyed it. Thus, without competition, he is the prime assassin, servicing anyone who can pay the price. Unknown to his employers however, he is somewhat insane, and although he always kills his mark, should be held in deepest caution. His eldritch manners of killing, along with his blackened leather armour, black pants, black hair, deadwhite face and black cloak, earnt him the title of "The Archon", among the Island's populace. Few people trouble him, unless they desire his services. When Lacroix heard about the crystal, he carefully prepared a facade of honour and heroism, for being an emotionless soul, and a gifted actor, he can make himself fit in to any circumstances, and adapt any persona in the blink of an eye. Currently using several aliases, the one under which he is currently travelling in search of the crystal being Lacroix s'Xalerian, honored member of the Vishaki mage clan... Not too much in go I hope...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Personally, I think it is somewhat ironic that the best banner Cloricus ever made (which still isn't saying much), is one he made for someone else. Interesting, no... As for the Windows thing, if they ask, just ask them if they've never told Windows to go to hell. Then ask the judge if he knows what the time is. When he answers yes, say that you rest your case. It will work! I swear![/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Harlequin led Spyder around the castle, searching for a sally port. This time, the sally port was somewhat larger than the main gate. Harlequin sighed, and walked back around, crossing the drawbridge. He lifted Spyder up, and slipped through the astonishingly large gaps in the porticullis. Harlequin leapt, and did the same.[/I] Harlequin: This is getting ridiculous. [I]In keeping with that, several figures rushed at them. Harlequin's quarterstaff cut down two of them, and the rest fled.[/I] Harlequin: Lightbearers my ***. Spyder: Maybe later. Harlequin: Right... [I]They walked to where the scriptorium would be in a normal castle. Inside, they would a large library. All empty. The shelves were there, and the librarians, but no books. Still, the librarians didn't look up or seem alarmed, just murmured to themselves about people who didn't return loans, and how fast ink seemed to fade these days.[/I] Harlequin: Now I'm getting annoyed. [I]Harlequin grabbed what appeared to be the head librarian, and threw him against a wall. No-one else paid any attention.[/I] Harlequin: Who lives here? Librarian: We do. Harlequin: Alright, who built this place. Librarian: AARON!!!, of course. Harlequin: And where is this AARON!!! now? [I]The Librarian pointed towards a small building on the other side of the courtyard. Harlequin dropped the man, and gestured for Spyder to wait. A minute later, there was a cry of "I am AARO-" that abruptly cut off. Harlequin stalked back in, face grim.[/I] Harlequin: That guy really, really pisses me off.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Lacroix walked in, and surveyed the room. The bar brawl halted. Somewhat suddenly. Just as suddenly, the participants seemed to find a pressing need to carry their recreation elsewhere. They all filed out, entered a tavern up the street, and continued their fight. Lacroix sighed in contempt, and sat at a shadowy table in the corner, his back to the room. Alastuin sat beside him. Lacroix gestured for a meal for them both, telling the tavernkeeper in no uncertain terms it had better not have fish in it. Alastuin looked at him quizzically for the last bit.[/I] Lacroix: You've had fish most of your life. Time to try something new. Alastuin: Right... [I]Lacroix suddenly shot his hand down, and was greeted by a cry of surprise and pain. He sighed again, stood and turned. He looked down at the wouldbe thief. He was holding his thumb, pressing it against the wrist. The thief attempted a kick, which Lacroix caught with his other hand. A kick of his own brought the thief to his knees.[/I] Lacroix: You're obviously not a local. Do you know who I am? [I]There was no response. Lacroix pressed harder on the man's thumb, and received a gesture indicating a negative response.[/I] Lacroix: Heard of The Archon? If not, then those fools at the guild have been lax in their duty. [I]Lacroix pulled the man to his feet by the scruff of his neck. He threw him backwards, and the man rolled over the table, agilely landing on his feet. He took a chair, and Lacroix sat back down.[/I] Lacroix: So who are you, why the hell are you here, and what the hell do you think you're going to do with that dagger? In any order. [I]The thief looked a little sheepish, and resheathed his knife.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]The sandstone castle was, well... either it was an act of mad genius, or some kind of vast, garish mistake. It had a numbewr of minarets, none of which seemed to go in a straight line upwards, or be in logical positions. It had several turrets, one of which attempted to come off one of the minarets, and ended up being a large stone lump with no apparent purpose. It had several murder holes, just on this wall. Unfortunately, several of them were at ground level. Many of the crenellations were only a few inches higher than the surrounding wall. It seemed that someone had recreated a castle, defensive features included, without really understanding what they were for, and believing that their artistry somehow outweighed fact. Harlequin looked at it in disgust.[/I] Harlequin: Two trebuchets, a mangonel, a seige tower and a thousand men, and I could be in there within a week, no matter how many defenders there were, or even if the damn thing was carved of granite. Spyder: Well, there are two of us. Still think you can get in? Harlequin: I'm positive I can. In fact, this will be even easier. [I]They continued towards the castle, ignoring the drawbridge that extended over a foot wide moat. Harlequin wouldn't have been surprised to see a forest of sticks, carved into wooden flowers and such, were the stakes were meant to be.[/I][/font][/color]