The Harlequin

[font=gothic][color=indigo][i]Mephisto blinked as the grey tempest silently liquified the world around him, and subsided mockingly, leaving him rather dislocatated, at least considering his former position. Which, given his intent, was entirely expected. And, considering he had reverted to a rather less than humanoid form, and thus didn't even have physical eyes, much less eyelids, the whole blinking thing was quite interestingly impossible. He debated that a moment, then looked around. Where he had ended up was quite currently something of a concern. After all, he hadn't really specified a destination. At the moment, he was somewhere he didn't recognise. He hadn't been in this realm in more than a millennia, that wasn't surprising. What was, all things considered, surprising, was the fact that the people in the room weren't particularly concerned by the sudden appearance of a very large, angry looking demonic creature. Mainly because they weren't people, they were angels. Which meant while they weren't concerned, they were rather...aggressive. Mephisto sighed. He hadn't intended this, not that he cared much. A quick survey revealed he wasn't in much trouble. Four angels, and not fourty feet of wingspan between them, very minor celestials. They knew enough to know who he was though, and they were still young enough not to know better. A runebranded sword flicked in, opening a cut along Mephisto's top skeletal shoulder. A black fluid arced out, though the wound healed nearly instantly, and the angel cried out as the vicious liquid, that had spawned many demons in its own right, seared his eyes. Mephisto lashed out with a skeletal claw, and opened its throat up. Clapping his hands together, a green nimbus surrounded him, filling the room, the angels fell over. Mephisto really wasn't interested in direct combat anymore. It really wasn't worth the time. Besides, from what he could, he was now somewhere in Australia. And let's face it, he didn't really feel like being here. Oh well. He'd probably go stab a few kangaroos with some fork like fingers a little later, but for now, he needed someone to eat.[/i] OOC: Jesus Chicken, storyline, soon.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Name: Katarina "Whisper" Tarjarian Side arm (pistols only): Yarygin [img]http://www.globalarms.net/images/Izhevsky/yaryginpist.jpg[/img]. Clicke [url=http://www.globalarms.net/topics/izhevsky/izhevsky.htm][u]here[/u][/url] for information on the weapon, though it's basically a 17+1 shot pistol, with twin column magazine. Also, twin knives. Trained in (best at/specifically, two choices): Hand to hand combat, survival Age(between 12 and 19): 17 Bio: Well, when the KGB found out a few of their....allies...were putting together a multi-national task force, they immediately assumed it was specifically created to target their actions, and surprise the KGB members by exposing them to the kind of teenage life they weren't really equipped to deal with... So, they truly howled. Eventually, after whatever diplomatic pressure, and a few dark hints about certain Cold War secrets both sides had previously agreed to keep, and America quietly told the other two involved nations that they'd soon have a new compatriot. Russia was quite happy with this...Then, of course, they realised that they'd actually have to come up with a crazy teenager, under 19 years old, who was actually loyal to Russia, actually intelligent, and could actually do something useful so she didn't get sent back immediately. After all, the KGB did have a reputation to protect. Unlike the other three nations, the KGB refused to simply scalp their kids...For one thing, the percentage of them with kids was a low single figure number, and secondly, they were all under 7. So, they went back to the crazy enough to participate criteria, and started sending out their more highly trained agents to some of the more notorious nightclubs... There were about five fatalites. On the agents' part. The ravers got by without even a lot of blood. Anyway, the KGB decided that the best people they could probably find were those responsible for the deaths in the first place. From the reports of the surviving agents, they tracked down two or three potentials. They found all three of them at once, Katarina and two female...friends. Anyway, the compromising situation they were caught in made it somewhat difficult to fight, but they still managed to kick the crap out of twice their number of "highly trained Russian spies, the most dangerous men and women in their fields"....Katarina and her friends, after finally being subdued, were trained for a quick six months, mainly in the languages and such they weren't familiar with, the field work they excelled at. Anyway, the KGB decided to keep Katarina's friends, and send her off... Which, of course, was a mistake. Anyway, after a truncheon to the back of the neck, Katarina woke up on a plane, her friends woke up back in their rooms. No one was particularly happy. Least of all Katarina, mainly because she doubted anyone in Singapore spoke Russian, her accemt was truly shocking, she was being left entirely on her own except for some rather foreign types, and they'd taken her weaponry and given her Russian standard military issue. Now what was wrong with an RPC-90 or the American Calico? Katarina wasn't really sure. After sending her, the KGB rather belated did a background check on her and her friends. They came up with nothing on any part. Which, of course, suited them fine. If they couldn't find anything on one of their own citizens, chances are no one else could either. Description: Katarina is five foot ten, and rather slender. Her hair is pale, almost white blond, and tends to be worn tied back, to keep it out of her face. Her skin is typically Russian pale, though she has very dark black eyes, with long, dark eyelashes. She has a rather attractive figure, but doesn't often show it off, tending to dress in black jeans and a tight but long sleeved black top. Heavy black boots. Spikes around the neck, single strip, triple studs around the wrists. All steel and leather, no foam or plastic trash. Interestingly enough, those studded strips of leather can fit on her hand in a number of positions that make for rather effective knuckle dusters. Three rings, one on each ring finger, both celtic, and a third on her right index finger, that one with the Russian translation of "Whisper" engravd on it, the engraved area filled with onyx. When required, will wear thin leather gloves. Also wears a necklace. Thin black metal chain, with some kind of amulet on the end. Due to the clothing she wears, it's not obvious what it is. No piercings, but she has a few tatoos. Don't worry about it, no one is going to see them...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo][i]Mephisto watched in disgust as the demon, not one of his certainly, probably Baal's, was summarily executed. And with a simpleton's handheld, modern day high powered weapon. Of course, if it had been the demon's way, the man would have come at him with a sword or an axe, and the results would have been quite different. If Mephisto had had his way, which he was rather annoyed about not having, neither demon nor man would have been present, and his far more subtle game would have had the same effect, on a larger scale. It suddenly occured to Mephisto that if this all settled down at some point, he should...invest....in a few rap artists...Everybody expected hatred from them, it shouldn't take much to bring them around to his way of view. Mephisto's latest in a string of ideas based around letting humans destroy themselves from the inside was interrupted by a further influx of demons, and, more pointedly, a rather large demon roaring in front of him, a hideous claw descending. Mephisto sighed and let it hit him. Nothing happened. Indifferently, he shot out suddenly taloned fingers. The four fingers themselves struck horizontally into the side of the creature's neck, his thumb penetrated under the collarbone. From there, he simply closed over the bone, and rotated his hand...Inverting foresaid bone, with apparently fatal consequences. It certainly fell over anyway. Another one of Baal's most likely. He'd really have to talk with him about that. A skeletal wyvern alighted beside him and inclined its head. At least his minions had some idea about hierachy. Still, when Mephisto's voice came out, it was tired, bored, and fully human.[/i] Mephisto: Yes? [i]By stark contrast, the harsh noises the wyvern returned, made from a series of magically animated bones low in its throat that were visible through the ribs, were demonic in the extreme, and seemed to reminisce of tormented nails being drawn over stone....Izual suddenly leapt to mind, for some reason. The insolent wretch had deserved it...There weren't many monks of hatred...Communal life like that was after all difficult. Mephisto disinterestedly refocused on the wyvern's remarks.[/i] "Several humans have escaped, including the one that slew Baal's fiend." Mephisto: Baal will twist another to replace it, no doubt, and the loss, from what I saw, was not major. Avoidable, certainly, but not major. [i]The wyvern inclined its head and slunk away. By now, the humans were either screaming, so doped up they had no idea what was happening and thus were killed on the spot, or fled. And as of yet, no angelic retribution had come....And that was really something that Mephisto, Lord Of Hatred and one of the Prime Evils, absolute rulers of the Hells and soon the Earth, was worried about...The thread of sarcasm laced through his own mind surprised him a second...He merely assumed he was getting to himself. He silently stood up and walked out, not bothering to reassume his demonic form. Then, of course, he couldn't be bothered with walking, so he abruptly decided that being somewhere else would be preferable. He wasn't particularly concerned with where.[/font][/color][/i]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]And since Raven's not posting some of them, I'll have to. And a few others. And I take no responsibility for anyone these offend. [spoiler]When it comes to sex, what's better than having two sixteen year olds with you? Having sixteen two year olds... What's the best thing about having sex with a baby? Hearing the pelvis crack....Blame Jesus Chicken for those two. [/spoiler] Hmm, a blonde one. One day, a blonde woman was driving through the country. She was doing this because she was depressed. Why was she depressed? Because she was lonely. It seemed that no one wanted to be with her, all because she was blond. Why, the previous night she'd dyed her hair and gone out, and it still hadn't worked. Anyway, she was driving along, and up ahead she sees a herd of sheep, with a farmer tending to it. Suddenly, she thinks "A pet sheep! Wouldn't that be fun!" So she pulls up and gets out of the car, and walks over to the farmer. "Can I help you ma'am?". The blonde replies "If guess how many sheep are in this flock, can I have one?" The farmer thinks about it a while, and says "Yeah, I guess.". The blonde pauses a second, then says "61". "Wow, that's amazing! Well, I guess you did get it right, so you can go and pick your sheep out". So, the blonde walks through the herd a while, and sees the perfect sheep. She falls in love with it on the spot. She immediately runs over and places a hand on its neck, gently bringing it along with her. She gets back to the farmer, and he looks at her choice a moment, then at her. Then he says "Okay, how about if I guess your original hair colour, you give me my dog back?". I'm normally not one for blonde jokes, but that's not that bad. Here's another alright one. [spoiler]There was a plane going to London, and a blonde woman was on it. She was flying second class. Mid way through the flight, she suddenly decided to get up, walk into the first class section, and sit down. A flight attendant saw this, and walked over. "May I see your ticket please?" When it became apparent that the blonde was not meant to be in first class, the flight attendant asked her to please return to second class. The blonde replied "I'm blonde, I've got big tits, and I'm going London first class". The flight attendent tried for several more minutes, unsucessfully, before giving up and informing the captain. The captain walked up to the woman, and asked her to move. The blonde again replied "I'm blonde, I've got big tits, and I'm going London first class". The captain looked at her a moment, then whispered something in her ear. The blonde cheerfully stood up, said okay, I'd better go back then, and walked back to second class. Once she was out of earshot, the captain turned to the flight attendent, winked knowingly, and said "I simply told her that the first class of this plane was not going to London"[/spoiler] That's enough for now, I think.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo][i]Kattarin heard the announcement, let it wake her from her silent vigil. She made no move to rise, or even to shift position, though truly told she had no idea how long she had sat motionless...Not engrossed, merely watchful, of the seemingly fevered contortions in front of her. Though this reploid truly meant little or nothing to her, association and no more, a certain reluctance to have her death on her hands permeated Kattarin's previous actions, and hung, residual, on her mind now. The announcement came as something of a relief, for truly told, she knew little about the art of restoring life in any, even mechanised, form. Especially when the cause was something she was totally unfamiliar with. The idea that one's subconscious could be strong enough to affect the body was certainly not new to her, and she had heard cases of it before, but always with humans. She supposed she differentiated humans and reploids too much, especially for a reploid. But then, Kattarin never dreamed. Angelus made some small, quasi-pitiful noise, half a whimpering, unthinking plea for assistance, half a harsh denuciation that such should afflict her. Kattarin knew not how to assist, and would not have been likely to even if she had. Truly told, there was little more she could do, other than make her comfortable. That ensured, she attended to more pressing matters. At last, she rose, and left the room, fixing immediately on Cyan, who still watched the door with some anxiety. He quickly walked over, breaking off conversation with another reploid Kattarin had yet to recognise. As he strode quickly over, one could tell he feared the worst, most likely from Kattarin's presence outside the room.[/i] Kattarin: I assume there are adequate medical facilities at our apparently incipient destination? Cyan: So she's okay? Kattarin: She is what they would call stable, if perhaps in a bad way. She is still unresponsive, though not yet camatose, however there is nothing I, nor apparently anyone else on this vessel, can do to abet the injuries, or even to relieve whatever pain still registers. No doubt there has been a certain level of protective withdrawal, but I cannot ascertain to what extent. [i]Cyan nodded, wordless, and slipped past Kattarin, taking a quick look at Angelus. She still lay where she had been left, though the occasional spasm had rearranged her limbs from any possible position of repose. Kattarin looked over his shoulder, and shook her head, her face expressionless. She stepped back an instant before Cyan began to turn, instinctively, perhaps, avoiding any possible incidental contact. Cyan noticed the seemingly excessive avoidance with a raised eyebrow, but was interrupted by a soft, almost unnoticable jolt before he could comment. Kattarin inclined her head, and checked the sheathe the ran up her back, a motion made indifferent by long habit. She swept away from Cyan without uttering a single word, thinking it obvious that he realised she had some other matters to attend to. Even if he didn't, after all, chances are things would become rather hectic rather quickly. Kattarin wasn't really concerned, she was more than prepared for the debarkment, and she felt confident she was also prepared for whatever else was to come. As for Cyan, he'd adjust. The rest of them were less important, given that they weren't the only one she was likely to have to pay heed to.[/font][/color][/i]

[font=gothic][color=indigo][i]A tall, thin man, almost emaciated, leant smiling against the wall, un-noticed by the couple in the room. The room itself was unremarkable. A small apartment, with all the signs of a happy family living within. The lack of mess spoke of a lack of children and pets. The office desk, with it's cluttered desk, spoke of a hectic work load, perhaps some stress. But the open, light emitting windows with their thin, almost transparant covers, revealed the positive atmosphere that normally inhabited this home, showed the people as those who would gladly make do with what they could, simple, good folk. Not that, at the moment, any such thing could be seen. Mephisto, in his unobstrusive human guise that went un-noticed, watched as the argument intensified. Under his dextrous manipulation, imagined slights, insignificant fears, old grievances came to the fore, in spit and hiss, and were thrown like daggers across the room. The table that separated them quivered, nervously anticipated the further strife that was to come. At last, the admittance of some small flirtation came to the fore. The table was suddenly not a barrier. One ran, strangely afraid of the other's wrath. Unfortunately, the small fire place, ornamental only, but still possessing a fire poker, beckoned. Blood fountained with the swift stab... Suddenly, she fell to her knees, beside the man she had loved for years, and wondered what possessed her to do such a thing, what had sparked such an argument. From his vantage point, in full view, but un-noticed, due to some arcane measures, Mephisto smiled, and walked away. Always, it was more fitting to let others do his work for him. The weeping, keening, that emanated from the apartment now behind him reinforced that many fold.[/font][/color][/i]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Well, someone had to play him... And if this doesn't work out, I'll play Jelvi. Name: Orphe Age: 32 Gender: Male Appearance: [img]http://jokopoko.250free.com/shu-1.jpg[/img] Personality: Orphe is, contrary to popular belief, not the twisted, bitter man people believe him to be. Labelled a demagogue, rabble rouser, someone hellbent on the destruction of all moral, rightthinking, honest, hardworking societies, and whatnot....Most people are actually disappointed when they really meet him. He's basically the opposite. Orphe believes fully in the supremecy of the human race. Existential to the nth degree, Orphes would rather die than have a coerced entity do his work for him. Magic, he believes, is as alive as any human, and thus can be worked with, on its terms. He has overwhelming respect for the art, and for all those who accede to his theories. To Orphe, machines weaken not only human kind as a whole, but also human kind's respect for other entities. In his view of the world, he does not destroy, but rather refines. Chief Skill: Magic Weapons: Magic, though within the limits he sets himself. Alligence: Orphe....Damn narcissist. Biography: In his youth, Orphe's family was the smallest influence he had. Orphe, disdaining their technical bent for as ye unformed reasons, spent all his time in the wilderness, which, due to his location, was mainly thick forest. Wildlife was a neccessary side effect. Surrounded by creatures esoteric and bizarre, Orphe grew quickly to respect the wild power and beauty of all beings, sentient or otherwise. His days were spent dicing with animals that would devour him if they could, yet he felt a strange affection for them, for more than any human could, they understood their place in existance, and chose not to exert it on others unless is be neccessary for survival. And always did they respect another's individuality. Their was no slavery in the animal world. Each night, when Orphe returned home, and found himself surrounded by machines that humans callously used, he felt sickened. His family wanted him to become as mechanically inclined as they were. He, of course, refused. Which bothered either party not at all. They separated without resentment, and Orphe found himself in the company of what could be described as modern day druids. He found himself educated in magic, as a rather interesting side bonus. Amongst the arcane instruction, natural philosophy was also a topic he found himself intrigued in, and through long conversations with those far wiser than himself, he came to realise just what his hatred of machines was based on. After several years, Orphe separated from the enclave, though not by his own desire. Orphe had shown a frightening interest, not to mention facility, with the darker side of magic, that which revealed the darker side of the natural world. Fearing to give him further abilities in that area, they forbade him any more congress with magical practioners, and enforced it with a seal upon his aura. It took nearly a decade for Orphe to have that seal lifted. And when he did, it wasn't his doing. Aven. She saved him from a mundane life of mechanised arrogance, and reinforced his beliefs in the process. In truth, it was time for Orphe to act. I can't stand not putting a spin on my villians.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Yeah, that'll do Vicky, as long as you actually have something in mind. The whole "no storyline" thing is a lot different too "I have a storyline in mind, but I'm not telling you yet". [/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Vicky, you've been around long enough to know the response that rpgs without storylines get. So, why don't we just run along and edit that little fact?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Crossed Angel, welcome to Otaku boards. I see you have a fair idea how things work in this forum...Egads, is that a novelty too. Anyway, to the rest of you, I recommend we all run off and re-read the sticky thread at the top of the page that spells out the rules, and work out what is wrong with those sign ups. I suppose that about covers it.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Here's one for the Australians...My family started the Nambour Chronicle....and the radio station. God that's sad... But hey, I'm part Chinese, part Scottish, part Irish, and part Scandanavian. Surely in all that there's got to be something?[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Budgie Smugglers have been mentioned...Otaku is permanently soiled.... Anyway, as for crazy stuff...the latest one is adding either "twice" or "like a donkey" to the end of sentences...Which gets some strange looks... No, it's not an innuendo. Other than that "I do what I want! You have problem, I blow your ******* house up you dirty American" in a crazy Russian accent. No, I don't do it to annoy Americans.[/font][/color]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by OlgaTheDwarf [/i] [B]Well, I am well aware that not all atheists are devil worshipers. In fact I was exaggerating a bit with my comment since that seems to be associated with the thought of MM and Alice Cooper (pre-conversion) by quite a few people. [/B][/QUOTE] [font=gothic][color=indigo]No, see the point was that [i]no[/i] athiests are devil worshipers, because it's a direct contradiction in terms... You can't be an athiest and still have a system of religious belief. People called Alice Cooper and MM devil worshipers because they were self-righteous, holier-than-thou, sleep with the lights on style, straight assed aggravations who probably wouldn't know real Satanism if they saw it, and only wanted to ban music they didn't like. Propaganda. ...Not that I want to start a debate or anything.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]XXXXXI - To start off with, that isn't the Roman numeral for fifty one....That would be LI. Other than that....I like the poem, but I sense a [i]very[/i] strong Poe inspiration involved here, from the choice of vocabulary, to the rhyming scheme, to the very grammar scheme. However, there were times when you departed from that form of phrasing your lines, for example "I didn't know what to say". It stands out as mundane, compared to the rest of the poem. As for meaning....Not being familiar with the name Velinor, not that I like to admit to that kind of ignorance, the only thing that really strikes me is little the angel seemed to matter at all, given its unexpected and granted shocking presence. Senseofkisses I won't try to decipher, grammar not being my strong point at this time of the morning, not in writing anyway. Halloweve - Well, the reading I'm getting here is that someone is remarkably dissatisfied with democracy, perhaps a rant about politicians. Always a good thing...I like the poem due to the generally morbid description being applied to (assuming I'm right in interpretation, which I'm probably not, but I was ever dissenting) a relatively disliked subject that normally has little but epithet applied to it. I'd give more in-depth assessments, and for the rest of them, but I'm a little pressed for time at the moment. Hopefully I've gotten a ball rolling though.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Ah yes, that's right. And as for the cutlass thing, apparently it was his lower leg, so I don't know how he managed to walk at all with a wound there. I've got Goes To Hell, Welcome to My Nightmare and Brutal Planet, songwise however I'll stick with Department of Youth and Escape.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]And because he wasn't willing to evolve, his latest stuff is far inferior to his early work. Welcome to my Nightmare was probably the best one he ever did, and whichever album "Give The Kid A Break" is off (I honestly can't remember) would be a close second. But Brutal Planet and the like were boring and simple rehashes, in my opinion. [/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Ziggy Stardust baby. I think that about sums it up. Of course, the only songs I really like that much are Heroes, and Sorrow (both of which sound surprisingly good when thrashed, by the way), so I'll limit this post to my endorsement of David Bowie without actually saying much of content....[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]To hell with Jet, to hell with the Datsuns, to hell with the Strokes, to hell with all the other so called "saviours of rock", this is what we need. Some good ol' real music. And I'm going to stab Triple J in the eyes if they don't play it. John Bonham would be good, but I can accept Dave Grohl, even if he is a band whore....(Local joke)[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]Race: Prime Evil Name: Mephisto Age: Sex: Appearance: About twelve feet high, and skeletal in appearance. The skull is demonic in appearance, with two dark eyes, and the body possess four arms and no legs. Large spines extend from the back ribs, and arc around to stop pointing directly forward. An actinic aura surrounds the body. Location: Australia...where hatred runs rampant. That's right. Rednecks are, indeed, tools of the/a devil. Weapons: Ye olde claw and fang, and backspikes! Skills\Powers\Spells: Mainly elemental mastery, focusing on electricity.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo][i]From his vantage point on the table, Rali was acutely aware that there were a lot of people eyeing him strangely. Conversation was broken off, and people shifted in their seats. Rali sighed, and leapt down to the ground. His voice rang out with all the deep resonance of the stone he dwelt in and worked with.[/i] Rali: Ye never seen an angry dwarf before? Let me tell ye all, and tell ye true, I dinnae know why young lout decided to get a little aggressive, but I was not fer startin' trouble ye know! [i]There was a muttered agreement. Rali cursed in the dwarven tongue, and stalked out the door, his armour making minimal noise. Behind him, conversation resumed, most of it focused on the body still on the floor. Outside, Rali realised he truly had no idea where to start. The incursions into his earthen realm were the doing of beings far different to these simple folk, even if humans had pushed the fouler creatures back. Either way, this village held no more information for him. More unfortunately, the only other place he had to go at the moment, meaning the rest of the accessible world, was on the other side of the forest. Rali unsheathed a hand axe without thinking, and started slapping his horny palm with the flat of the blade. Truly told, perhaps a little forestwalk would be worth it, if it meant a chance to cleave elven flesh.[/font][/color][/i]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]....You did? Well, there's something I didn't realise. Ah well. I like a few of their songs, mainly stuff like Back Porch and Naked And Famous, and we have three of their albums, but other than that, not into them much.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]In my opinion, the BOC version has the best solo in it (hell, one of the best solos ever, we've all got to admit), but over all, the Mutton Birds version is probably better. I've heard a Goo Goo Dolls version, but it was recorded live, and they tried to thrash it....Failed pretty miserably. But anyway, yeah, I prefer the Mutton Birds version, but it's really hard to find, given that Mutton Birds are a small New Zealand band, and no one has ever heard of them.... I'm also told that there is a Tea Party version, but I haven't found any evidence for that.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]When people sign up for this, there had better not be any "I pick Xiao" or whatever style things.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]In fact Inuyashagurl_15, I think it would be best if you re-read the forum rules, and at the very least my sticky thread "Reminders". And yes people, I do get occasionally get annoyed by spam, but you should also all be aware that I tend to get even more annoyed when several people start telling foresaid spammer about their post. So don't do it. And while I understand that spoilers are a problem, can this rpg please develop more of a storyline, pretty quickly? Egads, lots to complain about.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]For god's sake Originalimp, do I have to impress upon you [i]again[/i] the level of quality required in a sign-up thread?[/font][/color]