The Harlequin

[color=crimson][font=gothic]Shook our clothes into the river, never lost a friend. Many times they came and teachers helped me move the sand. In my room I keep my love a tiny rubber band. Now, to business! Is this rpg continued its somewat precarious existence or not?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Lacroix's latest run on the lyranthe finished, sevenths trailing off into a brittle, high note that seemed flowing silver. He sighed, and placed the priceless instrument to the side. He rose, and and surveyed the room around him. The tavern had given him its best room, which stood for little. Rough-hewn logs, some still leaking green sap from the millwright's, were hobbled together in one of the more ramshackle constructions Lacroix had ever seen. Still, the place suited him. His privacy and melancholy were respected, and there were very few people around. The place was in the mountains, and was deep in forest. Perfect for everything Lacroix wanted. Despite his normall itinerant nature, Lacroix wondered how long this place would keep him.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: Glad you people have sorted whatever issues you have out. That will be the [I[last[/I]of it that appears in this rpg, or I will pump you all so full of hsp90 that any offspring you may ever have will be about as evolved as your average bacteria. Time to have som fun then.... [I]Lacroix dived forward, rolling to his feet just in front of the golem-looking creature. At the sign of aggression, the blade that had previously been stilled arced downwards towards Lacroix. Expected, the agile elf ducked in under the arc. From his vantage point, the creature's knee joint was just beside him. Lacroix slammed the butt of his scimitar back, knocking the being off balance. Lacroix grabbed the foot, rose, twisted, and with his foot, hooked the other leg of the being. It fell, face first to the ground. The success of the move was debatable however, as it delivered a brutal kick to Lacroix's ribs. Winded and now wary, Lacroix stepped back, leaving the creature to get to his feet with enemies on both sides.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Alqwerik finally became frustrated with the assorted pathetic, frivolous, annoying habits, and cut through the clamour with a tone that seemed to drip sarcasm.[/I] Alqwerik: [I]If[/I] we are all finished our respective idiosyncracies? While I'm sure these ...lighter moments, serve some fundamental purpose to you socially directed sheep, just maybe, perhaps once, could this little charade be less prolonged than it has to be? I would [I]request[/I] that the assorted generics here stop wasting my time with this god-forsaken, misbegotten, undignified, farcious, duplicitous, debacle of a travesty that I have yet to encounter. [I]The silence that follows Alqwerik's comments is enough to move him to open laughter.[/I] Alqwerik: Now that I have some attention, perhaps it should be suggested that we do something about whatever aggravating pending crisis will just [I]have[/I] to captivate our undying attention? OOC: Just establishing character.... Pessimistic, melancholy, an insufferably arrogant elitist bastard. Me, basically.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Ah, Cloricus, that's a solarized lens flare with a blue lighting effect.... Which is available in psp 4, may I add. And this, rant, of yours, is priceless. Just priceless. So ironic in fact, that I just have to save a copy. As for the beating me up bit... well, shall we just put it on the basis you're welcome to [I]try[/I][/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]I really, really hate to do this, I hate to do it beyond perdition, beyond the infernal fires of Sithaer, beyond what any of you can comprehend, but what the hell is that font of the VI!? The pixelation may have been intended, but that doesn't mean it looks any good.... Should have been a lens flare, probably solarized and a maybe a few other things here and there. Something along the lines of this, just done in more than 30 seconds.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: Step back a moment here. Where the hell am I then?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]I'm not ever going to try. But no, I probably couldn't if I did. Feeling better now?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Yeah, the Tea Party are the greatest band around. Interzone Mantras, their best cd. Anyway. If we're speaking of bizarre music, has anyone here heard any Midnight Sydicate?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]That's not even worth my time. Anyway, this thing has started. And I'm disappointed to say that since nobody else did, I'll be playing the part of the Xirak'Tel myself. This should get a little hectic. So, as I said, the thread is up.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]The deer jerked once, than collapsed, a spray of blood arcing up from its torn throat. Lacroix carefully wiped his scimitars off, and resheathed it. He motioned to Asandir, and they shoulder the deer and started back to camp. Even before they got within earshot, they noted something was wrong. The world around them seemed indefinably strange, as if nature had fled. Asiding the vegetation around them, it seemed all life had vanished. The picked up their pace, and loosened their weapons. Lacroix was the first to spot it. A pillar of black smoke, unlike woodsmoke, rising from the approximate location of their campsite. Then, a billow, and the smoke cut off. They dropped the carcass of the deer and started running. When they arrived, Kinrade and Ryana were hurriedly packing up the tents. Before any words could be smoken, they motioned for silence. Unquestioning, the other two complied, and started. Within seconds, the four were off. The thick forest masked any sign of peril that stalked them. Yet it was long moments before Ryana clarified.[/I] Ryana: Raiders. The smoke was a signal. Lacroix: Any signs on where the main group is. ???: Right here I'm afraid. [I]The sarcastic voice was followed by a hail of bullets. Shouting and hooting, the rest of the band of savages swept in like a bloody flood. The bullets suddenly stopped, as Kinrade left a gaping hole in the centre of the man's head. He dropped his rife and drew his kris knife, slicing the throat of a reiver with a battleaxe. Lacroix's scimitars exploded out of a man's back, tissue and flesh coating the blade. A disengage followed by a backhand slash took the arm off another. His scream was cut short as Lacroix's trailing hand removed his head. Ryana's quarterstaff swept in, bursting the sternum of a rail-thin raider with a long knife. Her follow up kick struck him in the temple, killing him instantly. Asandir casually toyed with another, his reaper knives forming a wall of steel, as the last of them sought to pierce his guard. In midstroke, Asandir reversed his arm, and drove the barb into his neck. For a long moment, the hapless savage hung there, before gurgling his last, and falling into a heap that seemed boneless. The four looked at each other, and continued on their way.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]May surprise you Cloricus, but I do know how to change the timing. Which would imply, perhaps, that what I have now is deliberate? Just maybe... Adobe Imageready 2.0, if you must know.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: My apologies for joining this late. Or something. What the hell. IC: [I]Apart from the others, withdrawn into his own thoughts and mind, Lacroix takes a firm grasp of his staff, and staggers, and words, thoughts, images flood into his mind. Bidden by a roiling morass, a clamouring of demands by entities beyond human comprehension, beyond mortal cares, mortal frailties. Nearly ripped apart by the ravening claws entering his soul, Lacroix succumbs. Words, reflections of darkness, burst from him in a slow, sonorous voice. Fatal embrace of the bloodred waters The cradle of infinite gloom The spell to master this Earth Carven on an infant's tomb The entities that besieged Lacroix's beleagured mind coalesced into a single consciousness, and entwined with Lacroix's aura. Alqwerik. The name snapped Lacroix to focus, and he willingly stepped his awareness aside, unaware of the chaos that surrounded him. Alqewrik came to the fore, and Lacroix's ascept, both mental and physical, changed.[/I] Alqwerik: Well, at least there is enough to hold my attention for a while.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Lacroix spun, his eight legs giving him a stability and grace unmatched by the others. He bellowed a string of orders to the crew.[/I] Lacroix: All hands aloft, reef main and lateen sails! Reset the aft sails to quarter the wind! Damage crew below, see if we can shore up the damage! [I]Lacroix left the room, and stalked out onto the quarterdeck. Using main force, he lashed the tiller, and retreated below again.[/I] Lacroix: We've another squall line coming into the north, and the fog is getting thick enough to walk on. Best bet is to drop sea anchor and wait it out, assuming we can dredge ourselves off this reef. Which will be most difficult, considering we can't send out a sounding party in the long boat during this storm. [I]They all waited in grim silence for the damage report.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Yeah whatever, I'm back etc. Now, I would [I]request[/I] that everybody leaves the theatrics to the storyline. Now, I'm going to get on with this, and you're all going to go along with it, (plus an additional person I believe, don't be surprised), and no one is going to keep on with this crap, or I will not only hunt you all down, I will do a hell of a lot more than "smack" you. Glad to see we're all in an understanding here. IC: [I]Lacroix swore in frustration, and in a certain insufferable arrogance (OOC: Mine as well as his!), and strode in, ignoring assorted attempts to pull him back. His only response was to spin his scimitars in arcs that denied the flights of arrows that lashed to meet him any leeway to strike. [/I] Lacroix: Raistlin, do me a favour and use those Ath-forsaken wings of yours. These arrows are starting to annoy me. [I]Lacroix reached the gate, and dived headlong through the small window in the gate house. The threat of arrows stopped, he picked up the pace of his attack pattern. The three guards inside never stood a chance. The first swung a brutal, flanged mace at Lacroix's head. Lacroix simply leaned back, then snapped his right leg up, until it was basically vertical. The guards chin was also vertical, to the detriment of his neck. Even as the body slumped, Lacroix's scimitars arced in, and drove bloody swaths along the dead man's body. Fifteen cuts, and three limbs severed, before the body hit the ground. The second two guards came in simultaneously, regardless. A halberd and a long sword stabbed at each flank. Lacroix scimitars dove down to an X, that swept the two guards' weapons together. Lacroix flipped his hands, so he was holding his swords like dagger. He swept his arms inwards, and decapitated both guards. He kicked the door open, and strode over the the gatehouse on the other side. He noted the arrows had stopped.[/I] OOC: Now, work with me people, or I'll set every last one of you on fire.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: Out of curiousity, should I be looking to join in whatever fiasco the rest of you are engaging in, or have I the liberty of freedom for a while longer? IC: [I]Among the carnage stood a pedastal. Graven with time and foul usage, it pulsed with an aura of dark satisfaction. Higher than a tall man's shoulders, and broader by half, it filled the room through more than size. It carried with it a sense of presence. Ancient, forbidding, and uncannily aware. Lacroix was wise enough to be wary, though he encountered such structures before. Rather than physically approach the pedastal, and risk unleashing its unholy potential, Lacroix reached into the inner wellspring of soul, and encountered the Eldritch Darkness that resided within him. Drawing on that limitless well, he wove constructs of shadow, forming intricate chains of ciphers and runes, entailing protections and seals to avert peril. For long moments, the only light was the strange purple glow emanating from Lacroix's eyes. Then, light flooded to the room. A hellish, gaseous green glow snaked out from the carved pedastal. Lacroix sighed inwardly. The fool he had killed was playing with wildfire. Eons ago, the forces of hell had nearly succeeded in entering the material world. The last remnants of the cataclysmic battle that had followed where these summoning stones. Endowed with the blood, and therefore essence, of the more powerful denizens of the lower plane, even after these centuries, they could forth the beasts they were chained in spiritual linkage with. Not however without price. Which explained the massacre that surrounded Lacroix. To enact the summoning, one would have to have a soul blighted beyond all imaginable perdition. Lacroix sighed again, and started the ritual of unbinding.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Yes Cloricus, most computers have an "ON" button... And Raven, a banner for you. By the way, what's with the Epssy?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Cloricus, Cloricus. Think, for one moment, before rushing in to attempt to disprove me. 1) This ship was [I]made[/I] for that kind of thing. Surely you think they'd work out a way to stop that from happening, or do you think they'd blindly fail to learn from experience, and continue to destroy planets by aimlessly floating towards them.... I doubt it. 2) Sound travels along a transverse wave. Now, tranverse waves don't sublimate away under vaccuum. As for radiation, well, allow me to put it on this basis. You get that, don't you. 3) Guess what, there are no magnetic fields anymore! Want me to explain? I think you'll need it. If there is a magnetic field, regardless of its polarisation, it will be of [I]equal[/I] to any other polarisation. So, there will always be a certain amount of "magnetic pressure". Now, take that all away. Bang. Any further questions? But your first and most grievous mistake was ignoring this. It's fantasy, it can be any way I damn well want it to be. Secondly: You've made one rpg to my knowledge. It went nowhere. You're in no position to give me advice. Thirdly: You're one hell more of a control freak than I would ever be. Lastly: Life is weird. Get used to it. Anyway, now that I've indulged Cloricus's rather poorly thought out rush to sound slightly intelligent, I'll take the chance to make a few other comments. To my more recent sign-upees, don't go overboard with the heaven/hell/other dimension thing. I hate religion, don't bring it in to my rpg. Ah well.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Name: Lacroix Kincade Age: 21 Race: Drider (see attachment) Information: Lacroix was exiled from the Underdark by his own kind. As well as the traditional twin axes carried by his kind, Lacroix fights with a bladed quarterstaff. He serves on Roe's crew as bosun. (Mainly because I know how to damn it!)[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Character sheet ((Human)) Name: Lacroix Kincade Gender: Male Age: 21 Dragon Guardian: No Weapons: Twin scimitars, bladed quarterstaff. Description: 6 foot tall. (attachment). Melancholy and introverted. Prefers his own company. Intelligent, but rarely shows it, or any emotion. Past: Lacroix is a travelling minstrel. He's also a herald of destruction. Armed with his lyranthe, and his voice, he spins darkly fascinating tales of horror accross the land. His bardic gifts are quite capable of rending the harmonic auras in a person soul, or reweaving them at will. Lacroix left home at an early age. His parents were the head of the village he lived in. Expected to carry on their authority, Lacroix was educated, and taught to fight. When a shadowy man turned up at the inn one night, and proceeded to stun the village into a stupor through music, Lacroix signed on as an apprentice. Three years later, at the age of 17, Lacroix awoke one morning to find the man gone. Left in his name was a medallion, and a scroll. It read: [I]"I leave you my blessing, and my sanctioned title. Know that you have earned it, and the right to make your own way."[/I] The carved obsidian pendant hanging from the darkmetal chain was the insignia of the rank Lacroix retains. Since then, Lacroix has rarely stopped for more than a day in one spot. He now devotes his life to solitary pursuits.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Take the damn arrows out for one thing. Put a radial blur (zoom), on the red outer lines for another. Another idea would be to put a sublimated lens flare (105mm prime) behind the centre, giving it more of a glow effect. Even up the grey swirls, and enhance the straiting there. You want me to go into more detail?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC:Egad, when did this start up? Ah well. As with many other rpgs I participate in, don't expect me to remember what I had in my sign up.... IC: [I]Lacroix leaned over the edge of one of his more expensive condos. He absently glanced down, taking in the scene before him. He found his rather eccentric, unpredictable interest quickened. He clarified to a needlepoint of focused intent. Eyesight sharpened into a regard reminiscent of a snake's. Among a teeming populace that surged like a tide below him, one individual was singled out. Lacroix pulled the trigger of the Barret M82A1A Sniper Rifle he held. His target fell half a second later. Lacroix leapt off the roof, landing on a ledge about five metres down. Despite its width being only inches, he landed perfectly, with a deadly, pantherish grace. A spin and a strike with the butt of his gun stove in the window behind him. Lacroix leapt in, and ran through the building. He emerged 15 minutes later. As the chief police officer called in to investigate the murder.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: Thankyou everyone, for not dragging me into that elaborate farce, whatever the hell you're all up to... Anyway, sorry for joining this late. In an attempt to assuage any discord that could seed, I assure you, I will make up for it. IC: [I][B]CRACK![/B] Life was so fragile, so pitifully weak. Lacroix twisted the inert body, so that it languished in his grasp. As if he had the man in a headlocked, bent backwards, the figure somehow stayed upright. With the arm that held the man to his body, Lacroix reached up, [/I]through[I] the ribcage, and tore out the hapless, dangling creature's heart from beneath. Relieved of support, it fell limp. Lacroix gave it no further though, as his bootheel crushed the skull into a panorama of cerebellum and bone. The flacid, inert heart lay in his hand. He spun, and threw it against the wall. A sickening squelch, and yet another bloodstain was added to the gruesome collection. This time however, the one who had previously made the marks was the donor. Lacroix turned, and studied the body of the vampyre he had just killed. In time, he broke off, and studied the santcum he had invaded. The sick phosphor haze of blood invaded his mind, leaving a darkening stain. Before the bloodlust consumed him, Lacroix cleared his mind and again took in his surroundings. Seven sided, the room languished in darkness that was no impediment to Lacroix. Runic symbols formed a stitched tracery of ciphers and seals, wrought protections and demands. Whatever this fool had been doing when Lacroix had burst in, he had surely been spared a much worse fate. Lacroix faced the second of two exits. The first, he had entered through, the second, a sharply descending spiralled stairway. Without hesitation, he strode down it, his poise mirroring that of a panther faced off against an easily defeated rival. Yet if Lacroix was an insufferably arrogant elitist bastard, he had certainly earned the deadly skill to back it up. The rouch carved handrails stayed untouched, as Lacroix reached the bottom. The grotesque artistry that had shaped the bottom would have caused another being to render their gorge. Lacroix stayed unfazed. Tapestries meshed with delicately hung painting, to spin nightmare and shadow out of colour and thread. Statues reclined in carved niches, guardians seemingly poised to devour mind and soul. Cruel hooks hung from the ceiling. Bodies hung from the hooks. Head down, they dangled. Their burst ankles revealed torn bone and tendon, veins allowed free passage to the outside world. Muscles spasmed and contracted, as air traced a wildfire of pain and sensation over tautly sensitized nerves, exposed and overstressed. Arteries in the lower body stood exposed, as wrought and defined as if carved in stone. Sickly purple, they channeled a ream of black fluid down, as natural laws caused a build up of pressure, that would eventually burst bone, and thin membrane. Cerebrel tissue would unravel, strand by strand forming its own unique cry for mercy as it piled below the victim. Lacroix gave it all no thoughth. He had seen worse. He had done worse. He had experienced worse.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: Lo! The hero returns with the spoils of war! Haven't gone far, have we people.... Change of plans. I'm not sure on timeframe, so correct me if I'm wrong. IC:[I]Lacroix and Alqwerik was startled out of the undergrowth by the tramp of booted feet. Without consultation, they leapt into the trees, Lacroix weaving shadow around them with consumate ease. They waited, with the eldritch stillness and vigilance of stone gargoyles. The source quickly resolved itself, as scores of orcs, lead by several ogres. Alwqerik counted silently to himself, while Lacroix stayed fixated on divining details of the beasts' purpose in the wood. And, the shuffling that came from neither orc nor ogre. Several long minutes elapsed before the slavering ranks passed beyond earshot. The slow shuffling continued its inexorable advance however. Soundlessly, the two dropped to the ground, and parted to each side of the trail.[/I] Lacroix: What kind of creature hunts an orc pack? Alqwerik: The kind of creature that will surely make a fine quarry. [I]Lacroix spun his quarterstaff into lockstep guard, while Alqwerik drew two scimitars. Again, Lacroix mazed shadow, into intricate bindings and wards, set ciphers of magecraft spun in pure darkness. Whatever arcane senses could be employed by the oncoming creature, it would not detect the two hunters. In typical arrogance however, it was forgotten that not all sense were confounded by darkness. Soundless, they could not be heard. But scented, that was their bane. The rush came all at once. Out of nowhere, a shimmering form slid at them with all the force of a raging destrier. Sickle-like claws arced out from powerful back muscles, to rend the foliage in great arcs. Great boles snapped like gale-blown saplings, untempered by time and attrition. Agile leaps saved the two hunters, but could not give space for recovery. Drawn up to its full height, the creature stood revealed. Foursqaure, a creature of claw and fang. Three times the height of a tall man, and broader by several. Like a giant bear or gorilla, it crouched. However, its body resembled that of an arachnid. In place of the extra sets of legs, were the mighty claws that had nearly taken the lives of Lacroix and Alqwerik. And still could. Fangs from the raised maw dripped an acid, that traced a sick phospor haze through the night. The four claws swept out again, two downwards, and two coming inwards. Each giant scythe reached nearly two metres. Even as he leapt away, Lacroix was moved to awed comment.[/I] Lacroix: A drider. Alqwerik: A fine trophy. Lacroix: A dangerous challenge. [I]Banter was sharply cut off. With surprising agility for long, spindly legs, the drider rushed in, the fang-ringed mouth gnashing in horrid delight. Lacroix rolled in, diving under the great, furred body, coming to his feet in a rising slash that neatly sliced open the creature's thorax. Ghastly laughter echoed out to Alqwerik, as more cuts were opened up on the beast's vulnerable underside. Alqwerik circled and feinted, seeking an opening, while trying to avoid the daggers of giants. The drider seemed impervious to Lacroix's rife slashes. Lacroix become ever more confident that the monster was too preoccupied to defend itself. Then, in punishing retribution, the drider flxed its seemingly fragile legs, and leapt into the air, spinning suddenly around. Lacroix was left only moments to avoid the descending rush of bone and carapace. His desperate evasion served little purpose. Though he was spared the red-tinged darkness of the blades reiving his body, he suffered the full weight of the drider striking him. He fell, disorientated. The great maw opened above him... and tilted upwards. For Alqwerik had leapt onto the drider's back, ignoring the wicked peril of the still swinging claws. His scimitars tracked bloody arcs along the back of the creatures neck. His bold stroke cost too dearly. One of the claws swept in. Not to main, but to shock. Lacroix only saw Alqwerik tip forward, [/I]into the waiting mouth of the drider.[I] Given no breath to scream, as acid more potent than wildfire scorched through veins, lungs and windpipe, Alqwerik could only sing his requiem through a gurgling moan. Lacroix lay still within the drider's grasp, too numbed by surprise and a sharp blow to the head to move. Only one fact peirced the shroud of fog eveloping him.[/I] The shuffling had not stopped.[I]Even as the drider turned its head downwards, to finish its first meal, a great, slapping wet sound echoed through the night. In the blink of an eye, Lacroix's clearing vision was met with stars, their pure, dusky harmonics reverbrated through the heavens to his sensitized ears. He cautiously glanced down, without moving. In the clearing hulked a huge, bloated mass. One long, thin leg protruded out of a gaping hole that served as a mouth. Lacroix almost shuddered in relief. A river nearby must have been home to this creature. A lurker in deeper water, an amphibian grown to horrific proportions. But like its far smaller cousins, this behemoth still had a taste for bugs. It shuffled across the clearing, its massive bulk carving deep grove in the ground. It reared up in front of Lacroix, sniffing cautiously. It's long, supple tongue slowly elongated out of its mouth. Lacroix rolled his eyes, and raised his hands. Pure light, magnified to flashpoint intensity, blasted the surrounding forest to char for several hundred metres. The giant creatures fared no better. The levin bolt immolated without recource. No reprieve was granted for mercy. Everything within the radius of Lacroix's firestorm perished. At the nexus, unblinded by the actinic glare, the winged form the still lay on the road rose, and snapped his hands closed. Darkness, like a welcome cloak, returned. Only smoldering remains of vegetation stood to show the former presence of matter. It was several minutes before Lacroix finally moved. Taking cold stock, he was relatively unharmed. But now he lacked direction, guidance and purpose. And he didn't know where those damn orcs were. Not that they would be a problem. He turned, and surveyed the wanton destruction he had engendered. Surely, there would b one hell of a backlash to pay for this.... He laughed ruefully to himself, and shook his head. The movement picked up on a small glimmer. He strode over. For a miracle, there lay, in the middle of where the monster had lain, Alqwerik's scimitars, unmarred in runic perfection. Lacroix thoughtfully stowed them in his pack. While untrained, their mystic properties could prove useful. Given no further reason to tarry, Lacroix continued along the trail set by rabid orcs. Tonight could get far more interesting. [/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]My thanks, for spinning me a challenge. I would have hoped for more, but this shall suffice. This will start soon.[/font][/color]