The Harlequin

[font=gothic][color=indigo][i]Well, it turned out that stealing a computer wasn't neccessary, a quick trip to the nearest alley revealed your typical lets sell people small arms because our government is poor and they'll probably use them against the Americans anyway kind of stall. Which, admittedly, Malania, Katarina, and Lutveya had indeed been a large part of previously. If you knew what to look for, it wasn't hard. These weren't KGB though, these were Mafia. Which meant Katarina knew most of them by sight, and one by name. A thickset, black beared man with a shaved head who went under the name Ivan, though Katarina wouldn't be surprised if Ivan was his real name, he was something of a Russian bikie, greeted them by name, though with more than enough caution in his voice. They'd disappeared long enough ago to have changed sides seven or eight times.[/i] Katarina: Ve're SYF. Ivan: What? Malania: Kind of like kids playing detective, just with more guns. Ivan: I vant in... Malania: Sorry, got to be under twenty. Ivan: So, vat exactly you vant with us? Katarina: Ve vant the focking KGB. [i]Ivan and his companions grinned widely. Katarina used that tone a couple of years ago once, then ripped some drug addict's balls off with his finger nails. That's right. His finger nails. They took a little removing first, but it was worth it. Given a Russian mafia member's distrust of anything government related except business, Ivan was more than informative. An hour and a half later, in a different district, Katarina and Malania, who had started to complain about her foot, walked up to a small shop doorway, the kind that normally lead to an upstairs area, and drove a longish knife through the door as soon as it was open. She palmstruck the door, crushing a finger that wasn't pulled back fast enough, then stalked in. The knife arced upwards, and pinned the man's tongue to the bottom of his nose. Katarina dropped it and walked past, walking up the stairs without paying attention to the blood. She'd had worse on her boots. Malania followed silently, her Yarygin loaded and aimed just over Katarina's right shoulder. Katarina had a shotgun in her right hand, and her Yarygin in her belt. The room at the top of the stairs was fairly unremarkable. Parading in main as a tatoo studio, a wall full of designs was faced with a large white, opaque screen. A counter with a single man lounging behind it, watching a small TV. He muttered something, probably to the man he expected to be there. Katarina removed his left ear with her Yarygin, then removed his left arm with her shotgun. Four men burst out from behind the screen, Malania dropping one before he had his weapon out. Katarina took down another with her Yarygin, and flipped her grip on the shotgun around and lunged forward, smashing the butt into the side of his head. He staggered away, and Katarina spun towards the final man, taking off her left foot, and bringing her right around and down in a spinning axe kick. A rather interesting snap rang out as the man's collarbone decided to have a closer liason with his lungs. He fell, choking with a nice little bubbling sound. Malania walked up beside Katarina, dropped her boot onto the throat of the still dazed man Katarina had struck, and expressionlessly dropped her weight. Katarina walked back behind the screen, and found what she was looking for. The ever paranoid Russian KGB had given this cell a vital component. An eraser. A small explosive that would remove all trace people were ever here. And in Singapore, given the recent explosions, it wouldn't cause too much of a fuss. Katarina set the timer for ten minutes, and walked out, Malania leaning on her shoulder for support.[/font][/color][/i]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]OOC: La da da di da, HEY! Let's not get too much more graphic people, by which I mean Raiha and Dave. IC: [i]Katarina awoke, with a rather annoyed grunt, as an outstretched arm slapped onto her stomach as Malania collapsed onto the bed. Assuming that was the general wake up call, regardless of whatever the hell the time was, Katarina threw the arm off her with a little more force than was probably neccessary, but a morning person was not the best way to describe her. Fives rarely were. She rocked her body back so that only her shoulders were on the bed, then threw herself to her feet, immediately grabbing the bed and leaning against it as the lack of blood to the head caused to come incredibly close to unconsciousness. Which really just topped things off. In fact, this rather righteously sucked, and as usual, the best way to express that was with a long, truculent groan, followed by a string of vernacular laced with some slightly more vituperative interjections. Katarina eventually worked up the blood pressure to walk around, and, as with the again quasi-camatose Malania, her first stop was a long shower. That established and out of the way, she returned to the room and sat down on the bed, nudging Malania back into wakefulness. [/i] Katarina: How iz ze fut? Malania: Alright. I can walk, if painfully. Katarina: Then we'll be straight forward about it. Malania: Do we have to do this? Katarina:....How ze hell did zat happen? Malania: That accent, when compared to how you could talk, becomes even more atrocious... Katarina: Vat can zyou do? Ve can kill some focking Russians.... [i]Interesting concept. Katarina leant forward, and pulled her shotun gun case from under the bed. She couldn't take the full ensemble, but a single Waste was normally capable of doing a lot of damage. Malania could take the other one if she wanted, Katarina didn't mind. The more important point was breaking into a computer somewhere and working out where the hell they were headed.[/font][/color][/i]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]The best way to learn is to participate in a couple before writing your own. Just read a couple of more successful rpgs, I recommend currently SYF or something like that, with experienced rpers in them, and take lots of hints. Other than that, the best advice I can give is don't create threads asking for help.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo][i]Katarina kicked the door open, her hands being rather busy keeping Malania on her shoulder, and more to the point, less than bleeding steadily and aggravating the injury. She was part way up the corridor when she ran into Bradley. He immediately beckoned back the way he had come, and shook his head, making the cryptic comment "Rae and Liam"...Katarina, of course, assumed something different to what actually happened, but anyway. She backtracked and returned to their room another way, jamming the table against the door and stacking several glasses in front of the window. No one was going to get in without a problem. (OOC: Which is a less than subtle hint people. We're busy, come back later.) She lay Malania down on the bed, and walked over to the sink. Cupping her hands with water, she returned to her friends inert form, and rinsed the wound. It wasn't nearly as bad as she had first thought, Malania's white skin making a very good substitute for tendon tissue at a glance. The tendon was scratched, but less than half severed. It would no doubt be sore for a few days, but no permanent damage. She rooted around in the single cupboard for a while, eventually digging out the de rigeur first aid kit that was the staple diet of all forces dormitories. Liability insurance must have gone through the roof recently... Anyway, a nice clean bandage and a rather nifty looking metal splint thing later, Malania's ankle was in much better condition, and chances are, with the foot enveloping splint, she'd be able to walk without aggravating it. And, better yet, she was actually regaining consciousness. Katarina felt better than to expect coherency though. She also had the foresight to have quiet a few heavy duty pain killers on hand. A fair percentage of the pack was gone before Malania felt like talking.[/i] Malania: I got fired. Katarina: I noticed. Don't vorry, I killed ze son off a bitch. Malania: Well, aren't you a doll. [i]Katarina fervently hoped that could be put down to the incoherency and the pain killers.[/i] Katarina: Anyvay, given his prezence, vat say ve go on a little trip tomorro? Malania: Let me guess, you want to extract horrible bloodthirty vengence upon them? Katarina: Zyou could say zat. Malania:This just gets better and better. [i]She motioned to say more, but Katarina placed a finger over her mouth. The one with the ring that had "Whisper" written on it ironically, a moniker no one except Malania knew her by anymore. Katarina removed the heavier, more uncomfortable elements of Malania's and her own clothing, and settled down next to her, making sure she got some sleep and didn't get into anymore trouble. Until tomorrow...then trouble would be good. She'd have to remember her shotgun.[/font][/color][/i]

[font=gothic][color=indigo][i]Katarina stumbled around aimlessly for a while, cursing at the sunlight and large number of people (OOC: Different time frame people), before coming across the right alley. She knew Malania would be around in one of them, but it was one hell of a labryinth, some would say rat warren, of a city, something she had so far become increasingly annoyed about. She ran into a nasty looking Russian agent, his left hand holding a knife, his right clenching something rather tightly. The look on his face told her she wouldn't like him much. Given that, to her, license to act, along with a ...familar...groan from behind him, she stiffened her fingers and thrust upwards, striking his throat, just above the top ring of cartiliage in his neck. The look on his face as he gagged involunatarily was rather comical, even if it did only flicker on for a second. It was replaced by general pain as her other hand shot forward in a knifehand strike to the solar plexus. He flicked the knife hand towards her in a more desperate than aimed slash, she caught it with her right hand and twisted his wrist so the knife pointed towards his. He stood there a second, bent over, fighting her, before she lofted her right leg, then arced it downwards in an axe kick that dropped her heel onto the back of his neck, putting him down instantly, and probably killing him. No matter. Using the foothold on his head she'd just obtained, she stepped over his inert form, was greeted by a sharp crunch, and finally found her errant friend. In a lot of pain, by the look of it. Katarina grabbed her by the neck and spun her over, before she drowned in her own vomit. She was unconscious, rather unfortunately, but that could be remedied. Katarina hefted her, catching sight of the rather grizzly would in her leg. Holding Malania over her shoulder, with her feet in front of Katarina, gave her ample time to examine it. The tendon wasn't fully cut, but was damaged, meaning she'd be able to walk at some point, but not for quite a while. Katarina absently considered exactly where wherever she was going from here was from here, and set off there.[/font][/color][/i]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Heaven's Cloud [/i] [B][color=indigo]Ahhh, a glorious idea Shy, Pokemon Pleasure Island: watch them battle both in the field and in the bedroom... sounds like the next million dollar idea for a Fox unreality show, heh[/color] [/B][/QUOTE] [font=gothic][color=indigo]...Don't give them ideas. I have to read all that for God's sake.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]I'd just like to point out, as a side note, that rpgs with mature content have actually been around quite a while, and so far I haven't heard any greivously offended complaints...As for the novelty of sex and violence, given my opinion that it isn't quite novel to quite a large percentage of the usual crew in the Adventure Arena, it's not really a question of people trying it out, it's a question of incorporating it. I've received quite a few PMs in the past from users asking whether it was alright to post certain things in the arena (which in most cases I responded positively), so the desire to write that kind of thing has been there for a while (I won't ask why...). Given the rather high, in my opinion at least, potential for that kind of thing to become a permanent fixture, a rating system is probably beneficial, but ironing out exactly what consititutes what rating might be annoying. I know quite a few members who don't give a damn about reading violence, but will avoid sex an cursing at all costs. But hey, I don't know anything, I just work here.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo][i]Katarina neatly sidestepped having a scanner foisted off on either Malania or herself, and dragged her inebriation-suffering vituperative virago of a companion off, muttering something about not considering a large explosion and a couple of fatalities in an overdeveloped, overpopulated city as that major a concern, all things, especially their current status and task. She was mid way through that when Malania interceded.[/i] Malania: You're a racist, heartless bitch you know. Katarina: I'm allowed to be, I payed a couple of taxes a while back. Malania: I must have missed that one. Katarina: Free beer. Malania: For paying taxes? Why wasn't I invited? Katarina: You were too drunk to hear me. [i]By this time they were a good five hundred metres away from the epicentre, and just about to run into the crowd of confused, idiotic onlookers. Of course, that wasn't pretty, considering they were walking in the opposite direction, and Katarina was carrying a large, heavy black case. She stopped to shift her grip, which of course gave Malania a chance to disappear. Damnable.[/i] OOC: No, I'm not that stuck for ideas, I'm setting something up for Raven.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo][i]Katarina leant back against the truck, grabbed Malania by the arm, and sighed. A Dragon next to her looked on in derision. Katarina caught the look, unfortunately for him. She absently picked up the only thing she brought with her on this particular escapade. A rather large case. To the best of her knowledge, only she was so far aware of its contents. She decided it would be best to change that. She set the drunk Malania down, and knelt beside the black piece of baggage, and unzipped the top compartment. A nice shiny bit of black metal greeted her, with a rich, dark brown wood. Double barrel, sawn off, six bullet capacity...and enough power to put your average RPG to shame. The good old Waste Class combat shotgun. Katarina lifted it out lovingly, and its twin shone beneath it. She transferred the first to her left hand, and lifted the second. A black kelvar vest, with long sleeves with odd tubes on the inner arms completed the set. The Waste shotgun, as well as the high bullet capacity, also had the advantage of being loaded from the back of the butt. The strange tubes, hooked to ammo strips that run down her back, could be fed straight into those openings, meaning all Katarina had to do was to flick her arms forward and hold the guns in the right place to reload. She stood back up, checked on Malania, and leant back against the truck. The Dragon, who had probably never had that kind of interesting set up at his disposal, just glared. In fact, Katarina shouldn't have had it either, but a nasty experience with a Canadian bounty hunter with German connections had lead to the interesting find. Which settled her firepower needs most of the time. Malania made some comment about Katarina's overkill tendencies, unfortunately it was cut off by gunfire. Katarina tensed, raising her left gun, her body angled to absorb the recoil. Which meant she ended up being completely side on to the door they were watching. Katarina rather fervently hoped that when someone did come out, it was someone she was meant to shoot. For her sake though, the arrivals were preceeded by a sudden disintegration of the door through gunfire. Several surprised looking Singaporians, suddenly relieved of the neccessity to risk death by pausing to open a door, were somewhat less happy about the sudden removal of the leading two deserters, in one shot. Katarina pulled the trigger again, and caved in another idiot's chest cavity. She was grinning maniacally, waiting for a third chance, when a hail of gunfire moved in the wrong direction. Towards her. She looked left, and smiled. She flicked her German miltary coat away, and another shot erupted. The right shotgun, fired crosswise under the arm. The gunner, carrying a heavy assult gun, had most likely been pretty confident of his advantage prior to that point. Katarina looked down. The Dragon was on the ground, gasping and bleeding. Malania was slumped against the truck, unconscious. Katarina sighed, and slung her guns over her shoulders. Chances are she'd have to give her mouth to mouth again....[/font][/color][/i]

[font=gothic][color=indigo][i]From her more than quasi-asleep state, Katarina vaguely heard Malania leave...Treacherous *****. She was more awake for her return though. A rather disparate collection of thoughts lead to a seemingly worthwhile revenge plan, one of the ones that probably wouldn't seem worth it later. As Malania approached her bed, all of two feet away from Katarina's, she absently stretched her legs out, tangling Malania's, and threw her blanket at her, flicking it and keeping hold of one corner. She pushed Malania onto her bed and bounded to her feet, quickly grabbing the other side of the blanket and spinning it around, wrapping it tightly around Malania. Malania struggled, rather futilely, for a second, then gave up, slowly moving her body around until it was more comfortable. Katarina fell onto the bed beside her, a reproachful look on her face.[/i] Katarina: You could ave just zaid zyou needed to go for a zecond. Malania: It was just easier to put you to sleep. Katarina: Turncoat... So, vat did ze vant to talk about? Malania: My continued presence here. Katarina: Zyou should ave brought me az backup... [i]Malania shrugged, incidently moving her upper arms free of the constricting blanket. Katarina let her up, and sat down on her own bed.[/i] Katarina: So, ze verdict? Malania: I should be staying. [i]Katarina smiled at her a second, then leapt up, spun Malania onto her stomach, and sat quite firmly on her legs. In true Russian revenge, she started doing to Malania exactly what had induced somnambulance in her previously. Of course, she was inspiring Malania to start drooling....Katarina had always been convinced she was a person of more character than her friend...And it was the little things that proved it.[/font][/color][/i]

[font=gothic][color=indigo][i]Malania was in the middle of rather pointedly not taking "later" for an answer when the shot rang out, low and almost indistinguishable from the rest of the raucous street noise. Katarina immediately pushed Malania away, and incidentally behind her foor some reason, and flicked her wrists, Yarygin falling into one, a throwing spike backhand into the other. The alley wasn't a dead end, but that didn't matter much, nobody was really paying enough attention to notice. Which meant no one was paying enough attention to pose anything of a real threat. Katarina motioned to Malania, and ran out the opposite side to the alley they'd gone in. The entrance to the restaurant was around the front. Katarina believed an ambush to be inherently more practical though. Navigating the street was difficult though. For about a minute. Then, all of a sudden, the flow of people seemed to disintegrate. In one case, fairly literally. A rather cliche black van roared through, causing people to dive out of the way. Katarina stopped in her tracks and glared at it. No doubt, they'd been beaten to the jump. She considered, for a second, firing wildly at it, but it was definately too a) Hollywood style, and more to the point b) American. And we couldn't have either of them. Besides, with the amount of people around here, they had a more than sufficent number of human shields. Malania had already retreated as far out of the crush. Despite the hit and run victim rather blatantly sprayed across a portion of the street, the confused crowd was regaining equilibrium with remarkable alacrity, and an even more remarkable lack of altuism....Of course, it probably was an every day occurance they knew better to get involved in. Malania, having drawn the same conclusions Katarina had, had immediately attempted to get herself in a position where she could get to the restaurant more easily. Katarina cut a diagonal through the crowd, a few slower moving cars making the job slightly easier. They joined up just at the back door, which was in fact a loading bay. Liam and Rae had just burst out the door, looking around in frustration. Liam's gaze immediately fell on the two, his voice dripping acid.[/i] Liam: I thought you two crash hot KGB agents were on back up duty? [i]The throwing spike ended up a few inches left of his head in the wall.[/i] Katarina: Fock you. You vant me to kill twenty or so people shooting vildly at a moving van with little to no effect, zen vine, I do zat. But until zhyou clear it with Zingapore's authorities, zhyou don't push me. [i]Liam pulled the knife out of the wall and hurled it at the ground in anger. Katarina rolled her eyes, then her shoulders, bracing for a fight. She didn't care whether her point was taken or not, because there wasn't anything they could really do from here. There wasn't a lot she cared to do either. Rae seemed to be taking it more calmly than Liam, but she still glared daggers at the two. Malania raised an eyebrow at her, then slowly opened her mouth and ran her tongue seductively over her teeth. Rae's eyes narrowed, and she deliberately, pointedly, turned away. She muttered something to Liam under her breath, all Katarina could catch was "...Russian idiots..." and "...damned liability...". Which suited Katarina fine. After all, it sure as hell hadn't been her idea to end up here. Liam muttered something in reply, softer than either of the two could pick up, and motioned them over. Katarina unobtrusively flexed her fingers. Nothing happened though. Liam motioned them inside. Katarina lingered a moment to retrieve her knife, then followed the other three.[/i] Liam: There's nothing more we can do here, not in this circumstance anyway. [i]Katarina was profoundly relieved to discover she wasn't the only one capable of seeing the obvious straight up.[/font][/color][/i]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]If I'm writing a story, I tend to use third person, because it's less...well...character oriented. I like being a narrator, because as I'm sure anyone who's read anything I've written, I tend to take a rather wry view on my own characters and like to express it with various ironic comments. First person doesn't really allow that in many cases, because it has to come from the character. You can talk about so much the character in question is blind to in third person, which is especially helpful when you're attempting to develop multiple characters at once. If I'm writing about myself, or relating an experience, I prefer second person in the form of "One" rather than "you". EG: [i]One is somewhat amused to note that your rather idiosyncratic lack of logic fails to decrease as you allegedly continue to think upon a topic.[/i] Of course, that could just be me being strange. Failing that, I simply remain as impersonal as possible. It's easy to dance around naming any kind of identifier if you practice a bit.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Jack, you have seen my CD collection haven't you? We have enough utter crap to shame anyone here... But anyway, I'll admit I am a major Meatloaf fan, still (the piano solo in Bat Out Of Hell stands as the best I've ever heard, and the drums in Gonna Love Her For Both Of Us puts nearly anyone to shame)... And there's that "Another Love Song" by Amiel Other than that, the only bands that several people seem to think I should be ashamed of liking are Bright Eyes, Screamfeeder, Depeche Mode, J Masic and the Fog, Nightwish, and Warren Zevon. Now, I'm firmly convinced all of these bands/artists are acceptable, but you'd be surprised how many people disagree.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]OOC: Hmm Raiha, shall we actually read posts next time? You're not in the bathroom. We threw you out into the hallway, walked over you, then went into another room, locked it very thoroughly, and basically gave you the hint "we're busy, come back later". That's all I'll say at the moment.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]OOC: You did make me do it. IC: [i]Katarina looked at Malania for an instant, their eyes and minds in perfect agreement. They advanced on Zharra, and grabbed an arm each. She looked at them in amusement...apparently misunderstanding. The two Russians suddenly spun, and hurled Zharra across the room. She struck the door, bodily, and fell through, at last leaving it to perdition. Katarina looked at the door critically, and swore. She absently picked up her bags, gestured Malania out, and, stepping over the dazed Zharra, moved to the next unoccupied room, and set her stuff down. She closed the door behind her, locked it, and picked up the chair, bracing it against the door handle. Malania regarded all this with a raised eyebrow.[/i] Katarina: Somezing about her annoys me. Malania: Becoming more intolerant, are we? Katarina: Perhaps. I have a right to be zough. Malania: You didn't turn the shower off. Katarina: I don't pay ze vaterbill, I don't care. [i]Katarina looked back at the door, critically, then thoughtfully pushed the table up to brace the chair. Just to be certain. She then locked the door to the bathroom.[/i] Malania: You really look like you want some privacy. [i]Katarina's returned look was withering, and her comment toned exactly the same.[/i] Katarina: Not at ze moment, I vant some sleep. [i]That settled, she gave it her best shot.[/font][/color][/i]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]I like it...mainly because I keep having this sinking feeling (I've read it three times) that it's about either you, Lachlan, or myself, but I can't pinpoint who....Very unsettling.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo][i]Katarina looked up in shock, surprise, and no little pleasure. She jumped to her feet and bounded towards the door, unlocking and opening it with a swift jerk. Sure enough, Malania was outside, a slight smile on her face. Katarina embraced her swiftly, probably coming close to breaking a rib. Of course, Malania didn't go any easier on her. Katarina sheparded her inside and relocked and closed the now quasi-ruined door, before spinning and throwing Malania onto the bed.[/i] Katarina: Shoot at me damn it. [i]She landed alongside her friend, and asked the most pressing question.[/i] Katarina: Lutveya? Malania: I don't know. She was assigned to something else, I don't think they wanted to risk all three of us in one circumstance. No one would tell me where she'd been placed. [i]Katarina blinked in annoyance, Malania's complete lack of accent was already aggravating.[/i] Katarina: Vy can't zyou talk like a dezent Russian for vonce? [i]Malania gave her an arch look, but didn't say anything. Katarina didn't really require her two. She looked rather critically at Malania's clothes, rather torn from her various scrapes during her entrance, and immediately found her something more appropriate. Black leather and sheer velvet. After all, if she wasn't going to talk respectably, the least she could do is use her physical appearance to uphold the reputation at stake.[/font][/color][/i]

[font=gothic][color=indigo][i]Katarina ignored the bantering group, and went immediately downstairs, looking for the dorms. She found them quite easily, and a quick survey showed that someone had had the consideration to make sure the rooms outnumbered the people. Given that license, Katarian walked up to the first open door, only to find someone else's bags on the beds. Two people to a room it seemed. She walked out, and checked each progressive room until she found her own. Sure enough, two beds, two sets of bags. Without checking whos they were, she dumped them outside, kicked the door closed and flicked the latch, again without using her still bound hands, and pushed the beds together. She didn't feel like sharing, and it was pretty obvious it wasn't required. She gave the room a quick survey, and wondered exactly where they dug this place up from. A small bathroom, the beds, a mirror, a table and chair, and a slightly more comfortable recliner. She wasn't sure what this was all about, really. Not relevant for now. She threw herself onto the bed, and moved to put a hand over her eyes, only to remember the cuffs. She swore in exasperation, and lifted her shirt, pulling her pistol out of its stomach holster. The Yarygin was a damn fine pistol. Katarina raised her hands over her head, taking the pistol so her thumb was through the trigger grip. She pointed the pistol at the chain, and wondered whether she should just pick it. Anyway, that considered, she pulled the trigger. The chain disappeared. She absently moved to reholster her weapon, only to hear a pounding on her door, and someone yelling in either anger or concern. Katarina sighed, and took another shot, this one at the top right corner of the door. A spray of splinters, another muttered curse, and the shouting stopped. Katarina looked critically at the hole, slightly smaller than an inch in diameter, but about seven feet off the floor, and decided it wouldn't be a problem. That decided, and her time apparently her own, she decided that it would be best if she got some rest. She glared at the remainder of the cuffs, which clicked softly against the studded bands she wore around her wrists. Damnable.[/font][/color][/i]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]I think the other problem with Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time is it [spoiler]seems to be some kind of outlet for Jordan's repressed life style... I mean, really, the three wives thing was so un-neccessary, and Jordan just seemed to delight in it so much. I swear he's just a repressed old man writing out bizarre fantasies....Of course, that's a long running joke between some friends and myself, and it would take a lot more explaining than that.[/spoiler][/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Here we are people. Name: Qyraij Velmont Age: Relatively irrelevant. Gender: Male Weapon: Asiding certain very impressive natural advantages, carries a rather large flamberge, named Dyrcaarn Myquiar. It translates, rather roughly considering a human mind's inability to truly understand the demon language, which is nothing compared to their inability to pronounce it, to Whispered Requiem. Arcane to the nth degree, to say the least. Element: Mainly shadow, though he dabbles in everything else. Appearance: [b]Demonic:[/b] He's about nine feet tall. Unlike most demons, he possess only the usual number of limbs, and is wingless. His arms and legs are tipped with obsidian, harder than steel claws, and like the rest of his body, are muscled rather intensively as a result of quite a bit of cannibalism, among other necrotic advances in life force. His skin is predominatly grey, haematite grey, with black flecks through it, and is somewhat reflective at times. When it comes to facial features, he possesses fangs rather than teeth, with elongated upper canines, vampyric style. His eyes are white, with black irises and pupils. The rims of white are almost slits, but show up surprisingly well against his dark skin. Flattened ears, pointed, upswept and pressed against the side of his head. He's hairless, but possesses a single row of spikes, about four inches long, across his head, in something resembling an Earthen mohawk. The spikes, already sharp at the tips, have had the edges that run parallel to Qyraij's line of vision sharpened, making them veritable blades. Qyraij also has a tail, a muscled strang stretching nearly six feet, that is tipped with a something closely resembling a scorpion's pincer, only with four sections not two. [b]Human:[/b] In his normally taken human form (though he can alter it at will), Qyraij is about five foot ten, and rather slender. He has a poet's face and hands. Long black hair. Interestingly, a demon's respiration is anaerobic, meaning it doesn't require oxygen, and this transfers into Qyraij's human form. Background: Qyraij ...transferred from the demon realm a few centuries ago, after enforced exile. Basically, he started moving up the ranks a little too fast for certain people above him, so he was promptly sent to Tellspeth as a means of punishment. Basically, he spent a few decades quietly amassing strength...Then started taking over things. Truly told, the arcane nature of Tellspeth worked against him, and he realised that to truly conquer, he needed a force they couldn't control. So, the Song Sovereign. He started the search decades before the being in question was actually born, and unlike every other searcher, had the knowledge, hell, the experience, to realise it might not happen on this world. So, he searched every etheric realm he could, and stumbled over the technically adapt, but rather magically stunted, world of earth. He's watched her nearly every moment since birth. He find's it interesting to note he'd get "arrested" for that in their world. Personality: Well, he's basically a power hungry demon lord, without a lot of respect for life, his own or otherwise. The minions will appear later, I don't want anyone pre-empting them.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]I've read the entire series, hell, I reviewed Crossroads of Twilight, and I've always found myself less than impressed (don't ask why I keep reading them). I mean, I won't deny that Robert Jordan does have no small amount of talent, but he always seems to feel the urge to wrap everything up in very strange names and carbon copied characters. I mean, take the females. More than 75% of them are overly strong willed, opinionated, high browed etc (his words in most cases, not mine). They're all the same. Secondly, his plot-lines tend to run in circles. Rand runs around a bit, converts some people, run into a big nasty Dark One worshipping creature, and there we go. The only exception is the last book, that was simply a set up for whatever he writes next. It could have been done in half a book, and actually put some storyline in it. I really don't care for it much.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo][i]Katarina looked at the remaining Russian agent, still wearing his heavy Grenztruppen Der DDR replica coat (OOC: Sound familiar?), who stared implacebly at her, then down at her wrists. And the nice shiny handcuffs that held them together behind her back. Of course, she had to crane her neck back over her shoulder, which did things to her anatomy she was sure he was rather appreciative of, so he probably wasn't in a hurry to take them off, even if he had been allowed to.[/i] "They're there so you don't live up to your previous record." Katarina: You vant me to kick your *** like zis anyvay? [i]He looked away uncomfortably, then motioned her out of the room and down the corridor. Katarina strode down it, stretching her long legs enough to make the guard hurry to keep up. They got to the indicated door. Katarina looked at a moment, again turned back to regard her bound hands, and decided it was unneccessary anyway. And it would serve to make things clear right at the start. The front kick to the latch raised a cry of alarm. Well, two cries of alarm, if you wanted to be metaphorical. One from the door, one from the guard. The spinning back kick, delivered to a point that was actually above Katarina's normal head level, knocked the door down, without sending it flying. She didn't know the various positions of people in the room, after all. She walked in, over the door, no apology on her face. Haven discharged his most likely unwelcome duty, the guard left abruptly. Katarina looked around, and locked eyes with the one the limited information she had been given identified as Liam. He raised an eyebrow at her, and when he spoke, it was a rather understated, soft tone.[/i] Liam: You could have used the handle. [i]Katarin bowed, or seemed to, then jumped, tucking her legs up and bringing them through her arms, so when she landed, her hands, still cuffed, were crossed in front of her, serenely.[/i] Katarina: You see, zat vas not so convenient. [i]Liam's eyes crinkled slightly. No doubt, the accent. Katarina spat out a string of profanity, in heavy Russian dialect. Liam blinked, clearing his face, then strove to calm it. Katarina gave a quick, scathing glance to the others in the room, and went to lean against an unoccupied wall.[/i] Katarina: Shalt ve get on with this?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]First Name: Flynn Age: 16 Hair Color: Artificially black. Eye Color: Blue/green/grey Height: 175cm Wardrobe: From black cotton jeans I've had for five years (and still fit) and plain black shirts to black samuri pants and a Mandarin shirt. Also black. Personality: Athiestic existentialist, nihilistic, nyctophilic, gothic, eremophylic to no small extent, and not in the least bit remorseful about it. Hair Style: Rather thin at the moment, and normally let go however it wants to, asiding at school. Favorite Music Type: Rock, goth, alternative, classical, it's all the same, provided it's not rap, boy bands, teenyboppers, hip hop, country, Christian rock, and a few others... Favorite musical Band/Artist: Placebo, The Tea Party, Fallen Tears, Tori Amos, Nightwish, Sister Hazel, Bush, Smashing Pumpkins, The Feelers, Marylin Manson, Bright Eyes, Rammstein, whatever. Hobbies: Reading, bass guitar, martial arts, brooding, bitching, the like. I'm with Raven. The hell with it.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]I'm afraid, people, that some of the posts in this rpg are really pushing, if not outright destroying, the barriers of acceptability. Click [url=http://www.otakuboards.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=29599][color=indigo][font=gothic][u]here[/u][/font][/color][/url] for a bit of information about how to improve your posts, and that should take care of any problems. PM myself, Arcadia or Terra for any further information. I mean, really, two of you have been here quite a while, after all.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo][i]Orphe. Not as imposing name, nor did, truly told, Orphe make a greater impression in physical form. Oh, but for reputation...Now there truly told a tale, a tale far more wrong than right. But the history was written by the winners, and Orphe had already completed a first draft. He sank back, low slung chair, a strange weaving of some kind of vegetation over a low, long wooden frame, holding under him without apparent strain. Given Orphe's less than....extravagent physical self, it probably didn't strain. And whoever had made the chairs, he lost track of who did what somedays, had done quite a good job. The tent was currently unoccupied, though Aven's presence still permeated it. Or perhaps it merely permeated him. She'd left more than one mark on him, in many forms, but he was still unable to tell just what seals she had placed over him. Truly told, he was enraptured in her enough that he didn't care, and he had far more important things on his mind. His camp, currently in the middle of Verlyth Forest, was probably the most pressing thing. It was the common problem with revolutionaries of every kind, worlds over. They all had several things in common. They were full of fervour, zealous to a fault, normally self righteous, and almost universally unwashed. Thankfully, his close compatriots knew better. His slightly finicky idiosyncrasies weren't at stake here though. The main problem, as always, was logistics. Everytime they moved, the thirty or so minor flunkies and his closer companions were hassled by the major problem of setting something up that was moderately livable. He'd work that out later though. Right now, he had to work out something of an attack plan, and something of, much more importantly, a rallying cry. Hell, he had speeches to write. All the bad, normally romantically cliche histories he'd ever read never seemed to include that point, the heroes always had inspirations on the spot. Orphe, the man expected to tear the world apart, was aggravated because he had to do some public speaking to convince people of his point of view... Maybe he'd just kill most of them.[/font][/color][/i]