The Harlequin

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Lacroix: You'll adjust soon enough. Besides, I can [I]catch[/I] fish, but do you have any idea how bad a cook I am? Not just of fish, but of anything? That's part of the reason I'm so thin. I can't eat my own damn cooking. And I normally don't eat much anyway, but that's beside the point. Alastuin: You want me to be your housewife? Lacroix: No, I was just pointing out I can't do [I]everything[/I]. Alastuin: You still come too damn close. Lacroix: I'm a survivor. I have to do everything. [I]He looked down at her, and actually managed a smile. He held her closer, resting his head on hers. They stood like that a long moment, before he briskly pulled away and got down to business.[/I] Lacroix: One, you need a long, dark cloak. And we need to work on your manner... Alastuin: It's all about your image isn't it? Lacroix: It helps keep me alive. More importantly, it makes people stay away from me. Alastuin: Point taken. [I]Lacroix wandered over to a foot locker beside the bed, and drew out a long black cloak, made of some soft material. It seemed a few inches too short for him, so it fitted Alastuin perfectly.[/I] Lacroix: You feel like a walk? Alastuin: I think it would be best. Besides, I imagine you have work to do in Spielburg. Lacroix: Why not. Coming? [I]The walked out of the cave, Lacroix pulling undergrowth back over the entrance. The set off towards Spielburg, saying little, but walking very close together.[/color][/font]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Lacroix was silent a long moment. Before speaking, he got up, and stalking back and forth, gesturing as he spoke, in a calm, measured voice.[/I] Lacroix: Why? The question that has plagued drunkards and sages alike since man's existance began. Why do I want you to stay? Do I think about going into a partnership, and believe you could be a fitting match for me? Do I believe that you are a useful tool? [I]Lacroix suddenly spun back to face her, and when the words came out, they were strained, and he had a wild look on his face.[/I] Lacroix: Or may it be that I desire your companionship! Allow me to inform you of something, something that may just bind you and blight you beyond perdition. When I saw you, at first, and still since, something unbeknownst for years struck me harder than any mortal being ever has. [I]I felt a measure of emotion![/I] I felt... a sympathy for you...that deepened into an ...affection, I suppose the word is. Here you are, daughter of fisherman, having corrupted and perhaps irreparably weakened the bastions of solitude I surround myself with, the walls of silence and unemotional mentalities are coming down like a tree stricken by rot at its core. What say you, to the knowledge you, at last, have made me vulnerable?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Lacroix sat, surprised for the first time in years, before murmuring to himself softly.[/I] Lacroix: The past can never be just that. [I]Without thinking, he swirled his cloak on, checked his knife was loose, and bounded out after her, cloak flowing out behind him, though it never flapped or made a sound. For some reason, she had walked away from the city, further into the forest. He followed swiftly, surprised how fast she was moving. When he found her, she was in a small clearing, surrounded by tangled undergrowth, and completely covered by the thick, dark canopy. A favourite site for ambush. Sure enough, there were three brigands standing there. Two had weapons pointed at her, but were not advancing. The third was stumbling around, holding his eye with one hand, and his groin with the other. Lacroix winced in sympathy, he knew how sharp her nails were. He strode in to the clearing, noting the lack of surprise on Alastuin's face, in contrast to the shock on the two coherent brigands. The first yelled and attempted to stab Lacroix with a rusty sword. Lacroix tangled it with a delicate flick of his cloak, then responded with a knifehand strike to the throat. His right hand followed, with a knife to the throat. The next bandit tried to run, before running into an invisible wall. He was lifted off the ground, and suddenly started screaming. The screams slowly grew higher, than drained into a low gurgle. His mouth opened, and a rush of blood fountained out. He collapsed to the ground, boneless. The third bandit was lying on the ground, getting kicked repeatedly in the head. Lacroix walked over and bent down. He picked Alastuin's foot up, looked at her, and said in an almost conversational tone,[/I] The Archon: You do it like this. [I]... before bringing her foot down hard on his throat. He choked, flopped once, then died. Lacroix stood, and absently brushed himself off.[/I] The Archon: My apologies your plans did not quite go as expected. Are you coming or not? [I]For some reason, she followed him as he returned home.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]After half a night of comforting her, Lacroix was still by no means experienced, so he merely held her as her crying storm peaked, than slowly passed, until it was the grief of gentle regret, as opposed to heartbreaking sadness. He lay her down, and disappeared deeper into the cave for a moment. When he returned, he found her curled up, still weeping softly. He gently say her up, and offered her the cup of tea it was holding. She sipped it, then drank slowly. The herbs took effect quickly. Within a minute, she was again asleep.[/I] Lacroix: Never thought alchemy had uses other than poison... [I]When Alastuin awoke several hours later, she found Lacroix silently regarding her.[/I] Lacroix: What do you intend to do now?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]The Archon waited several minutes before realising Alastuin wasn't coming back in. He cautiously raised his head up, fairly certain he was going to get knifed. Instead, he found her shaking violently, and mumbling slightly. He recognised it immediately. He'd been in far worse mental states. Demons do that to a person... He silently got up, and walked slowly over to her, ready for any sign of violence. He knelt beside her, and touched her light on the back. She shook, but didn't respond. He gathered her up, easily, considering how light she was, and brought her back to the bed. He pulled a spare leather gauntlet out, and prised her teeth apart, forcing the leather in between her jaws. She bit into it, hard, and continued shaking. Then she started weeping. Immediately, he put her arms around her, muttering "You are going to ruin my reputation.", before softly comforting her. Nearly an hour later, she relaxed, and fell into a far deeper, peaceful sleep. He sat there, holding her, and waited.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Lacroix looked at her a long moment. She didn't seem inclined to move. He walked over to her, and took the filleting knife off her...again. This time he stuck it in his belt. That done, he lay down next to her, and drifted slowly into the waking reverie that sufficed for his sleep these days. He absently wondered what her reaction would be when she woke up. [/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Lacroix: Still.... [I]Lacroix took the knife by the point, threw it in the air, caught it by the point, and hurled it away, all in one motion. It struck one of the many skulls lying around. Through the eyesocket. [/I] Alastuin: I'll need that back. The Archon: Later. Now, I have two questions for you. a) are you intending to give me a more in depth history, it would be fair after all, and b), when are you going to get off me?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: Psionicism isn't magic, per se, but more an advanced form of natural physcokinesis. Just a curiousity. Anyway. IC: [I]When the Archon looked up, it was night had fallen. Alastuin had not moved, and was staring at him.[/I] The Archon: You are patient, for someone your age. Alastuin: You can't be that much older than me. The Archon: Perhaps not. There is more than one kind of age however. Alastuin: I imagine so. The Archon: Tell me than, do you intend to attempt to get back to town in the dark? Alastuin: I doubt there is much out there that could harm me. The Archon: You may be surprised. Still, I imagine the forest brigands would be smart enough to leave you alone. Alastuin: Why is that? The Archon: Because of who I am, and I showed an interest in you. Alastuin: Men. You think you're reputation means anything? The Archon: It got you here didn't it? [I]The was a long moment of silence, before the pristine silence was broken by Alastuin's cursing.[/I] The Archon: Ah, the proverbial fishwife. Now, are you leaving or not?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Remotely serious please. If I can do it, everyone else can.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Sinistrad: Three hours in close company with the only people I've encountered so far who may just be so insane. Siren: You do have problems don't you? Sinistrad: Of course. Such as all these little tweaks, gouges and perforation that people seem to think brightens up my day. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll work out how to knock myself into catatonia, without falling. [I]That was Sinistrad's conversation for the remainder of the flight.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Seeing she wasn't about to be persuaded, he sighed, and struck out, knocking the fish from her hands. Binding her psionically, he picked her up like a sack of meal, and started carrying her away. He did leave her mouth free though. Still, she didn't shout, though she did swear a lot.[/I] The Archon: My my. Why should such a girl like you know such words? [I]He laughed sardonically, tossing a wave to the gate guards, who were in stitches of laughter themselves. He sauntered along the forest path, taking his time. Reaching his lair, again, a voice rang out of the darkness.[/I] ???: Lo, the hero returns with the spoils of war. The Archon: Ah, Virrus, what would I do without your humour. Virrus: Probably nothing different, considering you don't find anything funny. The Archon: At least I bother to fake it. Virrus: And I've never worked out why. The Archon: Because you are a useful tool. Virrus: Gods you're a bastard. The Archon: So they tell me. Leave now, I'm already hired, I have no need of you. [I]Swearing, Virrus disappeared, further up the trail. Alastuin never even saw him.[/I] The Archon: Hard to explain. He gets me contacts sometimes, so I tolerate his existance. [I]He walked into the darkness, and without looking around, unconceredly threw her further in. She landed on a thin bed, soft yet springy. She looked up at him, somewhat annoyed.[/I] Alastuin: As if I want to know the details of your sordid affairs anyway. [I]The Archon's mouth quirked with what might have been the ghost of a smile. In an instant, it was gone.[/I] The Archon: Affairs, that's a very good word for it. Alastuin: You're innuendos will do nothing to unsettle me, oh high and mighty The Archon. The Archon: Lacroix s'Xalerian. [I]There was a shocked moment of silence. Lacroix drew up a chair, and released her mental bonds. She shifted around slightly, but made no attempt to leave.[/I] Lacroix: There. Now you are caught up in my sordid affairs. You want to know why? Allow me to recount something to you. [I]Lacroix slowly started telling her his bloody history, a tale which lasted many hours, and unsettled her greatly. (OOC: I'm not re-writing, so don't mention it. Check my bio if you want to remember it damn it.) At the end, she sat up, and looked at him with a strange expression. He lapsed into silent brooding, staring off into the darkness. Several times, he seemed to gather himself to speak, but each time, he stopped short.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]As always, people believed anything he wanted them to. He followed along at a discreet pace, though made no effort to hide. He was sure Alastuin was aware of him. She damn well better be, unless she had survived to this age by blind luck. He followed her back to her fish stall, and stood silently next to it. All of a sudden, the haggling seemed to stop. People seemed willing to pay much higher prices for some reason. Alastuin just glared at him.[/I] Alastuin: You're taking the fun out of this. The Archon: So what? Do you intend to hit me with a haddock? [I]He caught the fish several inches away from his face...[/I][/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]For some reason, The Archon was less than surprised to see the person he still though of as the "Haddock weilder" had followed him. He absently leap into the trees beside the path, and traversed along them until he was only a few feet from her. Dropping down behind her, a low kick followed by a sweep knocked her off her feet. The Archon stood there, expecting her to be surprised. Instead, she landed, spun and kicked him hard in the shin. Enough to surprise him, though it didn't do any damage. He tipped an eyebrow at her, amused.[/I] The Archon: Do you have any idea who I am? Haddock-weilder: You would be The Archon. The Archon: Amazing deduction. Now, you seem somewhat more intelligent than the average fool walking this world. Tell me, do you have any idea what kind of hell you're attempting to get yourself into, you haddock-weilding minx? Alastuin: My name, is Alastuin. The Archon: Answer the question. [I]His voice had dropped to a whisper, and his stance shifted slightly. The slow rasp of a dagger being taken from its sheath rang out.[/I] Alastuin: You expect to cow me? [I]The Archon looked at her a long moment, then sighed, and leant against the tree he had earlier leapt out of.[/I] The Archon: Alright. Who, when, where and do you want them to know the reason?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: Drool, dare he! We shall see about this! Or something.... Don't worry Dave, you knew it was going to go to hell anyway. Oh, and I'll just explain how I came by that employment I mentioned in my somewhat length bio... IC: [I]The Archon was preceded out of his darkened room by a stream of annoyed invective. He looked around him, and swore a bit more. The thieves guild of Spielburg looked back at him, somewhat apprehensive. The Archon pulled out a long, black dagger. A kris knife, with strange hooks on the tang. He used those hooks to attach the dagger to his right bracer. He looked around him, and raised the knife. Around him, people scattered. Not by choice either. Distracted by his more physical preparations, his building will had escaped their noticed. A shockwave of mental energy sent them all scurrying away. He walked out the door, stepping around several blubbering fools. He slammed it behind him, and stopped to listen.[/I] Thief: We should get the new kid onto him! He's expendable after all. Guildmaster: Don't be ridiculous. The Archon is unassailable to us. Thief: We got him last night, didn't we. Guildmaster: He allowed himself to be taken, make no mistake. [I]Satisfied, The Archon straightened and looked around. He was in an alley, of course. A small road led up onto the main street. (OOC: Just what I remember from QFG V) He strode along it, his cloak shielding him from the accursed sun. Wrapped in his own thoughts, he nearly missed the buffoon coming towards him. He was holding his head, and muttering something about pretty women and Haddocks. He ran into The Archon, and received a knife in the ribs for his trouble. The Archon tossed him into the gutter, and looked around. Nobody commented. They seemed to know who he was. They could die later. He continued up the street, paying slight attention to the others around him now. At one point, he stopped, doubled back, and approached a stall. His cloak showed nothing, he certainly did not resemble a normal city denizen, but the women did not seem concerned. The Archon looked at her for a long moment, then gave out a metallic laugh, the sound of one who only cruel humour in life, and that only rarely.[/I] The Archon: I like your Haddocks. [I]Leaving her slightly bewildered, he continued back to his lair, just outside the city. He could have lived inside it, untroubled, in any house he wanted, but that would be bad for business. Never seem too normal. As he reached the cave that concealed his abode, he paused, and sniffed the air. As usual, someone was waiting for him. He walked in, unconcerned. If the thieves were stupid enough to try and ambush him again, that would be a problem quickly solved. He wondered why they had tried in the first place. Probably jurisdiction problems. The Archon entered, his eyes having no problem with the gloom. Seated at the single table was a man clad in a dark blue cloak. A noble of sorts, judging by the weave.[/I] The Archon: Who, when, how, and do you want them to know a reason? Noble: Actually, I need you to complete a quest for me. The Baron is offering rewards for a number of things, I'm sure you're aware of Spielburg's problems. The Archon: I should be. I used to be foremost on the list. I suppose I'll do it, just to reclaim that status. Noble: I thought you didn't care? The Archon: Of course not. But it is good for business. [I]The Archon's wicked smile seemed to unsettle the man. it should have, for the next moment, he was two feet of the ground, struggling to breathe. The Archon was still five feet away, but covered the distance in a blur, slicing his throat.[/I] The Archon: Was there anything else? Didn't think so.... [I]The Archon strode back into town, deciding to pay the Baron another visit, for his business this time, not The Archon's....[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Ha. You got nothing! [Edit]Oh gods I love you.[/Edit] Oh, and to clear something up, my character was in no way derived from anything remotely related to Starcraft....[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Sinistrad: Tirade? You think that was a tirade! I'm just getting started! There I was, comfortably dead, which was how I've wanted to be for oh, all my forsaken life!, when I get myself ressurrected, and it seems I'm here to help save the world or some other absurdity! These damn Via'pus certainly aren't something to get excited about, judging by the stupidity of the ones I've encountered so far. Oh, you're damn right I'm going to get involved, and you can be damn sure you, the near-dead guy, and anyone else I come across isn't going to like it! [I]There was a long pause while Sinistrad calmed down.[/I] Sinistrad: In other words, where to?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Sinistrad's random path eventually took him to the site of what appeared to be a recent battle. The scent of death carried across the land. He sighed, and supposed he would have to get involved. All he found however, was an angelic looking being carrying a body. As the strange being in front of him was about to leave, Sinistrad strode forward, complaining loudly.[/I] Sinistrad: Do not even think of disappearing, until you give me some answers as to a) what the hell is going on here, and b) why the hell do I have to get involved? And if I have to continue this stream of invective for an instant longer than neccessary, then this thrice-cursed entire thing can be killed, evicerated and have its guts strung up on the proverbial fence for all I care. Of the forsaken luck, why am I the one who gets thrown into these messes? If I have to get anyone else out this time, I really am going to set multiple things on fire. Lots of fire. [I]As usual, his outpourings were greeted with silence.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Iris, and Big Machine would have to be their best songs in my opinion. Speaking of Big Machine.... Me, The Unholy Newt and Jesus Chicken are playing it for the Downlands Battle Of The Bands next year! And we're going to kick ***![/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]I don't like corrupting books I've read by seeing the movie... Well, no when I'm told the movies are this bad. But the books were excellent. All of them. Now, if I can just dig up Blackwood Farm....[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: I'm not even going to [I]try[/I] to jump in to whichever one of the [Edit, blame "my dear Raiha"] two "situations"[/Edit] currently running here... IC: [I]Sinistrad continued walking away from the others forms he had seen. He really didn't care why he was here, and he didn't need anyone to tell him any different. Several minutes elapsed in this kind of mind frame, until Sinistrad was jolted out of it by the fact that his path was no longer clear. A single Via'pus stood in front of him.[/I] Sinistrad: Look, I really don't have time for this. Via'pus: Ah, but I do. Your death will be a pleasure. Sinistrad: You kill for pleasure you say? Via'pus: Of course foolish mortal! [I]Sinistrad's strange sword flashed out and took the creature in the throat. As it crumpled to the ground, Sinistrad replied almost conversationally.[/I] Sinistrad: Well...I kill for a living, you thrice damned aggravation. [I]Sinistrad stepped over the still writhing body, and continued ignoring everything around him...[/I] OOC: I'll post something more intelligible and useful when I get an opening.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Somebody except me had better write a decent bio/description....[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]I should be getting my internet working decently in the next fews days, and this doesn't look like it is going anywhere, so I'll drag it out of the pit it has already fallen into for you.... I'll even keep it sane, provided Cloricus doesn't get involved. Then I'll do my best to have him lynched or something. Name: Lacroix s'Xalerian, "The Archon" Age: 27 Class: Mage Bio/Description: [Edit]Well, may as well. 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 in the town of Spielburg, and settled down. With a darkened soul, and an already dark character, Lacroix's gothic nature adapted quickly to the anarchal life of the streets of Spielburg. He found that the rich and powerful were as corrupt as any demon, and always needed people quitely 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 in the city , 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 city's underbelly. Few people trouble him, unless they desire his services. The Archon is currently in the employ of an un-named local nobleman, interested in the spoils sure to be had from saving the town. The nobleman hired The Archon to fufill the quests, and give him the gold and such. Having no use for material wealth, The Archon agreed. 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 applying for the quest being Lacroix s'Xalerian, honored member of the Vishaki mage clan... Decent description: 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. 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 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 the underside of the city's populace 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. I'll explain psionicism and such a bit later, depending on what Dave does and doesn't allow.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Name: Lacroix s'Xalerian Class: Druid. Age: 27 Gender: Male Weapon: Warhammer, great sword, war scythe. Spells: I'll let you know when you sign up. Level: 1 Gold: 100 Dexterity:Same as spells Vitality:" " Magic: " " Strength: " "[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Hehehehe. Oh well. My names are just strange... Name: Lacroix s'Xalerian (the " 's " is a shorted version of Teir s', which means "successor to power, in certain languages. Just a bit of trivia.) Age: 27 Rank: Detective. Description: Attachment. About 6 ft tall. Often wears a pristine white trenchcoat with the Chinese kanji for "Dragon" on the back in red. Weaponry & Equipment: 2 x Desert Eagle .45 semi-automatic pistol Waste Class combat shotgun. Nightstick. Badge History: Somewhat apathetic policeman, kept in the force mainly due to an uncanny ability to survive nasty situations, due to a short ex-military history. Tends to keep the reason for his discharge a secret, along with most of his life.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: [I]I'm[/I] confused now. And that normally takes some doing. I'll just drift along until someone points me in a different direction. IC: [I]Sinistrad absently walked off the trail, heading up to the summit of the mountain. He payed no attention to the faint noises drifting up from below. He had no interest anymore. In anything really.[/I] OOC: Sorry, but I really don't know what's going on.[/font][/color]