The Harlequin

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Name: Lacroix s'Xalerian (Sinistrad) Type:Reploid Age: 27/ 4 weeks Desription: Attachment, about six foot tall. Not many people know exactly what is under that armour... Bio: Lacroix was an experiment, a sentient being left under observation in a hostile environment, in an attempt to refine the model. (This was in the early days) Very little happened. Lacroix dismembered, brutually, anything he came across. He was eventually removed from the environment, and shut down. Now Lacroix had been brought back into active service and tuned up, taking on the name Sinistrad, meaning dangerous or ill-omened. Sinistrad's main advantage is speed, and agility. He was re-engineered to be as fast as possible, both movement-wise and with weapons. Weapons: Close- Platinum longsword. Distance- Armalite automatic cannon, fires depleted uranium, with underslung grenade launcher. Defense- High tensile armour.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: I don't know about anyone else, but I tihnk EFK is probably the only person I've ever met with a fetish for near death experiences.... Some kind of necrophilia? Oh, and by the way, here's a pic of what [I]I[/I] think Henry should look like... IC: [I]Henry sighed in disgust as, once again, he felt the soulstream around him flicker as one he knew well entered it.[/I] Henry: Which one of them is it this ti- [I]He broke off as the flow was reversed.[/I] Henry: Good. Saves me doing it... [I]Henry latched onto the rapidly returning flux of spirit energy, using it as a trace. He sighed again, and started off. Couldn't they keep themselves out of trouble for a moment? These damn youngsters, etc... Henry stoppde himself from such lines of thought abruptly. He wasn't that old yet... His somewhat irritated musings had distracted him. When he looked around, he realised he was right outside the house. Unconsciously, his mind had followed the signal. He opened the door and stalked in.[/I] Henry: Alright, you people have whatever impending crisis is about to destroy us all under control, or I will be [I]most[/I] annoyed... [I]The silence dripped with animosity....[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Told you I was right about the whole Notch thing.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: Oh for christ's sakes people! Are none of you able to carry out your own storylines? I specifically said that that would be an integral part of this rpg. I haven't been posting much due to internet problems, and you all took that as a signal to follow my lead? Your storylines are your own for the moment. If you can't deal with that, you shouldn't have bothered joining in the first place. And Faris, I know it's frustrating, but don't double, much less triple, post. IC: [I]The four looked edgewise at the raised cloud of dust. Lacroix sighed, turned and beckoned the other three. Without words, they turned and disappeared into the forest. The reivers were quickly off in another direction. Still, the four moved cautiously, using every quirk of landscape for cover without sacraficing speed. The keep moving steadily until dusk, before setting up another hurried camp. Their low fire burns steadily into the night. Given the circumstances surrounding today, they eschew a sentry.[/I] Lacroix: What next? [I]The comment caused a slight shuffling, but no real reaction. The four moved through life with barely a purpose. Ryana stirred, and looked away to the North. Unbidden, the gaze of the others followed hers.[/I] Asandir: Why not? We've yet to explore the area, and this place is getting a little crowded. [I]Still wordless, they retired, content with the knowledge that monotony would not yet become part of their existence.[/I] OOC: I know it's crap, I'm busy.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]By the way, here's my pic of Lacroix and Alithiel.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Well, been a while since I bothered to in this forum. Especially considering this is such an annoying style of topic. Yet here I am.... James, more for putting up with people like me for this long than anything else. Having to stop Cloricus and I arguing is something that definately deserves respect... Jesus Chicken (of course), for keeping me sane this long, and for so many other reasons. Raven: For the above, and everything else. Raiha: For reason I can't really put into words, and for carrying on our rather exotic style of friendly rivalry. Liam: For giving me a bit of a spin view on life. (don't ask) Phantom, EFK, MDE and the rest of that crazy bunch calling them the ES clan, or who ever they are now. Made things incredibly more interesting for me here. Oh, and I absolutely resfuse to be respected by anyone, as I fully believe that all I have done here is antagonise people and create arrogant characters in rpgs. 31st time...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Name: Lacroix s'Xalerian Age: 27 Weapons 1. Twin semi-automatic 9mms 2. Executioner sword named Alithiel. Appearance: (I'm not on my computer right now, so I'll post both attachments some other time. Apologies.) Six foot tall, very slender and light, whichs belies his wiry strength. Melancholy, introverted, and emphatically chaotic. Speed: 15,000 Attack: 8,000 Defence: 2,000 Jumping Ability: 5,000 Short Background/Bio: Lacroix s'Xalerian is a terrorist, plain and simple. Specialising in covert operations and assassination (Lacroix is as good a shot with handguns as most people are with sighted sniper rifles), he was hired for expediency. His job is to keep Syae alive, by any means neccessary. He tends not to reveal his past. Clinically insane, and manically depressed.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Lacroix shook his head in amused disgust. He looked around at the rapidly disappearing party.[/I] Lacroix: Screw you hippies! [I]As Alastuin and Raistlin start to go off on whatever is currently cataching them, Lacroix reaches out and collars both of them.[/I] Lacroix: You two are coming with me, come hell, high water or abominations! I would [I]hope[/I] that that is understood.... [I]Lacroix leaves, planning to go with his original plan from however long ago it was. Making sure, of course, to keep Alastuin and Raistlin in tight control.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: Sorry, I've been out of touch here. What's going on?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: As soon as I get my internet connection working (I'm not using my computer right now), I'll show you a pic of what [I]I[/I] think would make a damn good Henry.... IC: [I]As usual, in the confusion of battle, Henry was overlooked. He had long since re-strapped his muskets to his back, and his broadsword arced and fell as it attended to the neccessary, if gruesome task, of making sure everything was dead. It took nearly half an hour, but at last it was done. Henry sighed, death was a release for these foul creatures, yet it pained his heart to take any life at all. He steeled himself for the yet grimmer task that lay ahead.[/I] Henry: Fires of heaven, cleanse these accursed, body and soul. [I]It came out a whisper, a scraped tone like steel on blood-soaked slate. At his beckoning, astral fires scorched earth and sky, eliminating the already decaying husks that littered the ground before him. Then the screams started... The inner minds of the dead, the part that withstood earthly death, and was self-aware, no matter the level of intelligence the being possessed, screamed in dire pain as it was scourged by a firestorm that never lent itself to mercy or remorse. Given no right to defend themselves, against every tenent held dear to the free world, latched onto the only thing that remained stable. Henry. As their murderer in a way they could not comprehend, a master that drove them into shadowed oblivion, their hate, their desperation became fixed on them. Henry's screams echoed their own as they struck out at him with all their fell vengeance. When at last it was done, Henry was a battered wreck. He slapped his visor down, it would do no good for anyone to see him like this. Returned to his task, he left the now barren field in search of someone who could tell him what the hell is going on.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: The Darker? [I]With a strange forbearance, Lacroix waited until Nepenthe was out of ear shot before his oaths rang out with an evil incisive clarity fully trained to strip skin.... 10 minutes later, (in other words, as soon as he started to repeat himself) Lacroix walked back to the common room where he spent most of the night. For some reason, his drink was still sitting there. He looked at the bartender a long moment, who shrugged.[/I] Bartender: You bought it. [I]Lacroix shook his head for a moment, as if trying to clear his mind. Oh well. He slowly picked the glass up, rolling the long, fluted stem through dexterous fingers. He sipped it, and looked around. Everyone else seemed confined to one corner, acting like sheep as usual. They beckoned him over. He walked to them, then straight passed them, out the door. For what had to be the eighth time that day, now that he thought about it...[/I] Lacroix: We [I]were[/I] leaving after all, or did someone decide that such a illogical, premature decision was so horribly ill-aspected that it could not do otherwise but bode disaster for us all, or some other [I]asinine[/I] prediction?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Angelic Name: Sinistrad Name in life: Lacroix s'Xalerian Apparent Age: 27 Heroic Last Deed: Lacroix lost his life launching a vicious attack at a cohort of Via'pus. He made this desperate charge alone, to allow his companions to lead the Via'pus into an elaborate ambush. Quite obviously, not the smartest thing to do.... Why you fight: Lacroix fought for one reason. He was tired of life. It meant nothing to him anymore. That much hasn't changed. Sinistrad still finds existance a melancholy torture, but this time he has a purpose to fufill before he can return to oblivion. Background: Lacroix's father was a drunken bastard with no respect for anybody. Lacroix never even found out who his mother was, much less what happened to her. He grew up alone, and resented it. Solitude turned to introversion, introversion turned to melancholy, which led to the destruction of hope. Lacroix never cared what happened to him, and never bothered with human companionship, or normal emotion. When the call to arms was sounded, Lacroix fought because he knew how to, and was likely to die. [/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Lacroix's somewhat aimless walk carried him around quite a bit before depositing him in an uninhabited corner of the common room, which was empty at that hour. He thanked the walk for leaving him there, and looked around quickly. As usual, no response. He really didn't mind where he ended up, as long as it was dark, and away from those other asinine fools. He smiled to himself, replete with the knowledge that he really didn't belong, and didn't want to. His smile turned melancholy, the bitterness he never allowed to show seeping to the fore. He sighed, walked over to the bar, and poured himself a drink. He walked to the door, opening it slowly as not to disturb anyone. He looked out at the celestial vista before him. Unbidden, thoughts leapt to mind, detailing names of constellations, the behaviour of assorted heavenly bodies and the like. Lacroix sighed again. Alqwerik had injected all sorts of insanity into his head. If he hadn't already been insane, he would be by now. Still, Alqwerik understood him, that much was a given. And that was incredibly rare for Lacroix.[/I] Lacroix: As usual, all my demons are heaven sent.... [I]He trailed off, wondering what had inspired him to verbalise the torment he was so familiar with. He raised a glass to the night, and saluted, though not to his lips. Untouched, whatever he had gotten himself, he wasn't sure, returned to the counter. Lacroix returned to his room, and immediately set himself to the task of sleep. When he awoke, daylight was streaming in, and evoked numerous curses...[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]You know my opinions on this. First and foremost, drop the "Notch". Really. No more notches. Anywhere, on anything. Under any circumstances. For any reason. etc, etc, etc. Or something. You know I love everything you write. (Well, nearly everything)[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: *Gives Cloricus another fwap, mainly because he doesn't like Cloricus, and does like the word "fwap".* Sorry.... IC: [I]Ah joy. Running through portals into incredibly dangerous places for basically no reason other than whim.... Wait, I do that for a living. Harlequin's somewhat chaotic thoughts jumped to assorted melees where he had experienced this kind of thing before. Always be prepared. Nothing ever changed, people, no matter who or what they were, never changed. They were also so pathetically predictable. It was incredibly easy to manipulate them, to form the analogous view of their universe through a view of their keyhole eyes. He smiled, his hand interlacing tighter with Spyder's. Life was such a *****. Thankfully, he wasn't a part of it anymore.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][edit]You bet I'm changing this. Oh, and I haven't even [I]heard[/I] of these books, and that takes a bit.[/edit] Name: Kinrade s'Xalerien Age: 27 Class: Glaivewielder (Glaive, guisarme, whatever, they're all poleaxes) Weapons: The demonic guisarme (A type of poleaxe) Rectifier, and a longsword named Alithiel. Both enchanted to various degrees. (I'll post the pic of Alithiel at some point) Spells:None. Kinrade is one of those few individuals who are magically inept, no matter how hard they train. To balance this, Kinrade carries two enchanted weapons. (I didn't think it was fair otherwise) Bio: A rather savage entity, who has been an outcast and a choice recluse for most of his life. A deathknight of the worst type. He was trained in the arts of fighting, which he quickly mastered. He spent far more time performing excercises to improve his agility while wearing armour. As such, it inhibits him not at all. Due to this, when he fought in tournaments as a youth, he always won. This incited arrogance, and blistering displays of contempt. The other trainees in the small area he grew up in began, as is natural, to hate him. In Kinrade's case however, he always backed up his contempt when challenged, and often humiliated those who attacked him. Eventually, he was set upon at night, by a group of four. Despite the odds, he managed to kill three of them. The last was dispatched by another figure, who wielded a large, vicious axe in the shape of a demonic wing. As the dark knight killed Kinrade's last attacker, Kinrade prepared to defend himself. Readying his own halberd, he anticipated the knight's first attack. Holding his own weapon back hand, Kinrade blocked, wrenched, and disarmed the knight. His follow up underhand strike rent his armour like paper. Stunned, Kinrade stumbled back. There was no body beneath that blackened curaiss. Despite that, something rushed out. Something incorpreal, something disembodied, something that went right into Kinrade. Possessed by some malevolent spirit, Kinrade stumbled away, and collapsed on the outskirts of town. When he awoke, he was chained to the altar of the local church, was an excorcism was performed upon him. When let loose, Kinrade asked for the axe of the knight he had killed, and cold-bloodedly massacred the entire village. Warped by the demon entity that had once ravaged his mind, Kinrade is now a chaotic force who refuses to be quelled. Appearance: The attachment, about six foot 2.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Excuse me Cloricus. Tare panda, your desktop theme.... That's bizarre....[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Alqwerik: Yes, why don't we go throw ourselves into potentially demaging situations became we all define our existences through misery and adrenalian, and a somewhat blind approach to consequences. Orlia: You really don't like being woken up, do you? Alqwerik: Assuming I was asleep. A slight dose of oblivion would be somewhat welcome, given that all I have to sustain me now is contempt. [I]Even as he continues yet another meaningless rant, he shimmers back into Lacroix, who turns and walks off. He also managed to pick up Alqwerik's complaints midsyllable, and continues them as he stalks off.[/I] Lacroix: To hell with this, I'm leaving, again, I believe. [I]Lacroix quickly disappears, for the second time that day, night, whatever.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Lacroix sighed, part exasperation, part amusement.[/I] Lacroix: Now, can we go with the original plan? Alert the main governments for the moment, [I]then[/I] we'll run along and kill a bunch of creepy looking monsters! I would [I]hope[/I] that we're not all too bloodthirsty to see sense? [I]A bit of uncomfortable shuffling, but no response.[/I] Lacroix: Why me?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Oh my ****ing god that is a cool pic...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]God damn it!!!! God damn it to infernal hell! My god we'll see about this! I imagine the ochestra really wouldn't work on a lot of their songs... I can't imagine Cathartik back by an orchestra.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]I'm a good guy aren't I... I'll go kill some evil people or something.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: My apoolgies for such a deplorable lateness people. Or something along those lines. IC: [I]The mass ended, Henry Oldrey stood, the familiar ruin of the beaten old church surrounding him like the comforting arms of a dear friend. He sighed, and drank the familiar sight one last time. He clapped the visor on his helm down, and loosened his broadsword in its sheath. As he loaded his muskets, a furtive noise sent tumbling echoes through the pristine silence. Henry drew his broadsword to a near-whisper rasp of steel. He turned slowly, expecting to see a member from his congregation. Instead, he found a crossbow levelled at his heart. He arced his broadsword out, the reflection causing the attacker to miss his trailing hand. His musket boomed, and the crossbow disintergrated, the components flying outwards, striking the man in the face. As he screamed in pain, a levin bolt flew towards him. The flashpoint of electricity directed into his body left him a smoking husk. Henry sighed, and reloaded his musket. This time, things were going to get nasty.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]I'm not going to have to actually conduct any masses am I? I'm not really up on that kind of religion...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: Finally... IC: [I]The trail of the orcs quickly petered out into a trail of orcs. These ones dead... Lacroix spun his staff into his hands, and resumed his wary stalk. He was quickly lead to a clearing, strewn with bodies. Lacroix gave a quick estimate. This was about it. He swore, unsure of what to do now. It seemed that the orcs had been decimated. Surely there was something else to pique his interest.[/I] Lacroix: Of all the gods cursed misbegotten luck! Why the hell did this have to happen now? [I]Given no surcease for his outburst of frustration, over both lack of direction, and Alqwerik's sudden demise, Lacroix sought solace the only way he new how. His staff was exchanged for his lyranthe, and haunting melodies floating throughout the forest. Lacroix played on, regardless of whatever heard.[/font][/color][/I]