The Harlequin

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Jesus Chicken, I didn't pick you for a damn good reason. You have a life. And I'm assuming you'd want to keep it. We all know I don't, nor do I wish to acquire one. Cloricus, I'm surprised, confused and somewhat alarmed. And we aren't always joined at the mouth. That would be far too inconvenient. And the Tara jokes are getting out of hand. And make your own god damn sig up! 4th time...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Yeah, I've done the card quest several times over in my earlier games. This was just a random query. I'd use summons rather than limit breaks in many cases because I simply couldn't be bothered wasting the auras. And considering the Island Closest To Hell/Heaven is not the best place to be running around with low hit points. God damn Ruby Dragons... Duel however requires using Zell. Zell deserves to be shot. I really don't think I know a more annoying person in any game I have ever played.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]From his position somewhat outside North Corel, Vukodlak was too far away to hear the explosion. The smoke however, carried fairly well. Considering the dumpy North Corel was, it was unlikely that there was anything there except the tram to make an explosion of that magnitude. That considered, Vukodlak found it grimly amusing that he wasn't there...[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Ah, why does it feel like I've read all those before... Anyway. I guess I do the same thing. What was I saying? Ah yes. Depending on numbers. Or something. Depending on how many(if any) people sign up in the next few days, I'll take nine at the most. I doubt I'll get three more, but hell, I got this many. So basically, Sunday at the utmost latest.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Does anything know of any items, asiding a LuvLuv G, that raise compatibilty with Eden? And where the hell can I get them? I mean really, it's a great summon and all, but it's just too damn slow. Takes far too long to get faster as well.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Poetry writing is easy. String a bunch of phrases together. Writing [I]good[/I] poetry however is something else. It was that good.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Normally, to get my opinion, it has to be wrenched out of me with heated iron wire. But this time, I'll concede it was good. Maybe not to my taste, but then, what is. [/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Jesus Chicken, you have no taste. At least, no good taste. Of course, coming from a goth, that probably means little... 3rd time.[/font][/color]

[img]http://www.otakuboards.com/attachment.php?postid=247212[/img] [font=gothic][color=crimson][B]A barren stretch of coast, in what is to become present day Dhruigalia. 1500 years ago.[/B] [I]The wind howled against the cliffs, bruising the air with its ferocity. The sound of the gusts whistling through the crannies reminded the watcher eerily of the cries of the damned that had echoed through the ground itself during the catastrophe. He shivered, wrapping his cloak around him tighter. A hand on his shoulder caused him to turn. â??You should not be out here Jalan. The weather gods are angered with us.â??[/I] Jalan: I know Cythan. But it helps if I face it sometimes. Cythan: It wasnâ??t your fault. You know that. Jalan: Yes, I know that. But I should have done more. Cythan: More. More? It wouldnâ??t have mattered. If you had done more, how many of us would have died as well? We couldnâ??t win. If there was anything you should have done, it was to lead us away earlier. [I]Jalan turned, unwilling to face the bitterness that etched so many of of followerâ??s faces. Cythan spat at his leigeâ??s feet, before stalking off again. Jalan sighed, a wrenching, bitter sound, as he looked over the jet black ocean. The very elements had risen against them. What could he have done? He had lead his people to safety. But a warrior race, the Dhruigals required more of their leader. But Jalan had never been what they wanted. Ever since birth, he was to weak for them. His wings were not large enough. His arms to thin. His body too sickly. His father had told him to be shaman. Let the kingship pass to his younger brother. He had not listened. He had insisted on his right to rule. And the enemy had won. The demonoid figure that stalked out of the Mire one day, or had slithered, in many cases, had beaten them back. The beasts, entwined with the living planet, had sent birds, animals, elements, against the proud warriors of the Dhruigals. And they had slaughtered Jalanâ??s people. Jalan muttered a curse against the twisted earth, never aware that 1500 years later, his prophecy of destruction aimed at the seemingly sentient swamp that had ravaged his people, would be uttered anew by another stricken world.[/I] The Mire is expanding. The Humans, Elves and Orcs refuse to believe the Druigals when they are informed of the dangers. They never knew. The Dhruigals were the first race to awake. They remember. Too well. The humans are too arrogant to heed them. The elves to firmly believing nature will shelter, not attack them. The orcs just too stupid. A place of death for centuries, where no life has ever appeared, The Mire is regarded by the other races as a curiosity, nothing more. Nobody and nothing lives there. Nothing comes out. Until now. The humans, the shortest lived of all the races, tend towards brash, happy-go-lucky attitudes. They focus on offensive magic, using elemental properties. Wanton destruction is often embraced by their mages and scientists. They tend towards weapons such as swords, axes and use armour such as chain mail. A few hardier humans will wear plate mail, while mages wear robes. They disdain bows, although will occasionally employ crossbows. Humans rarely live past 70, and tend to be enfeebled once past 50. The elves live at one with nature. They use little armour, wearing leather at the most, which suits their lithe bodies. Their main weapon is a bow, and they never use anything longer than a dagger. Their magic embraces the living earth. As such, their spells tend to run more towards things such as summoning animals, or using the wildlife to attack. Elves live for up to 500 years. The orcs as the largest and strongest of the races. They use two handed weapons, such as great swords, heavy axes, or warhammers. They wear heavy platemail. The exceptions to this is the shamans. The number of magic using orcs is small, perhaps 1% of the population. They focus on magics such as inspiring a warrior to a berserk rage. Shamans wear light robes, and tend to use quarterstaff like weapons. Orcs live for an average of 80 to 100 years. The Druigalâ??s are humanoid in figure, covered in a layer of light brown hair. Bat like wings protrude from their back. However, due to the lack of feather, Dhruigals are unable to fly, although short glides are possible. They can also hover a few feet above the ground for short periods of time. They tend to be bulkier than humans, but not as large as orcs. Their magic users, the Loremasters, array of incantations consists of spells that attack the mind. They use long swords or spears, and carry small bows. Such weapons are generally chosen as to be employed while hovering. A Dhruigals lifespan is usually between 120 and 200 year. Abominations: Throwbacks from the last time The Mire spawned. After pushing the Dhruigals back to the southeastern continent, they were thought to have disappeared. It is about this time that the other races came into being. Soon however, it was revealed that abominations had escaped to the arctic regions, and crossbred with virulent success. They are humanoid in figure, but the resemblance ends there. Everything mutation is unique. They live in the arctic regions of the world, as they tend to be better at resisting the chill temperature. Abominations do not use weapons or magic, but their natural abilities and armoury. The lifespan and disposition depends on the beast. Around The Mire, strange sounds tear the night, and the blackness is wrought with bizarre, misshapen figures. In the catastrophe that is to come, individuals, governments, leaders, nations and races will rise and fall. The tides of war are no longer being reined in by their hands. The Desolation has come. Name: Lacroix Vukodlak Age: 263 Race: Elf (dark elf) Appearance: 6 ft tall, with inky black hair that falls to his shoulder. Lacroix wears no armour, it interferes with his agility. He cloaks himself in black, usually keeping the hood up. Underneath he wears black pants and a black shirt. Bio/History: Lacroix is the only living thing, asiding plants, in The Mire. He was chased out of his home at the age of 80, about 17 in human years. This exile was caused by his fascination with the darker side of the elven race. Dark elves tended to be more interesting company, or that was always Lacroixâ??s opinion. Eventually, caught talking with one about forbidden drow magic, Lacroix was banished. He travelled for a few years, before renouncing the world and settling in The Mire. As such, he in the only living expert, asiding the Dhruigal Loremasters, on the nature of The Mire. He was the first person to see the creatures that came out of it. Equipment: Twin reaper knives. The diamantine blades on these knives channel the powers of darkness effortlessly, making them a focus crystal in their own right. They also are enchanted heavily, with a few other abilities here and there. Lacroix's cloak, Soulshroud, contains a temporal phase warp, basically allowing to shift on a planar level. This can mean anything from time travel, to teleportation, to invisibility. Unfortunately, it was created by a mad wizard. Pretty random effects. It also opens the wearer to the power and influence of otherworldly beings. Such as dead people. Can have interesting effects. Lacroix's carries an enchanted version of the signature drow weapon, a pistol crossbow. The bolts this crossbow fires are made of cruel metal, a type of metal that once inflicted on a being, continues to injure. The wounds fester almost instantly, and grow at a steady rate. Spells/Abilities: Faerie fire. (Outlines the target, whatever it may be, in strange slight.) Gentle Beast: Charms a beast, to follow the casterâ??s will. May work on some abominations. Soul Lance: A dark elf spell, causes the targetâ??s soul to rend them apart from the inside. Soul Charge: A dark elf spell, creates an aura of death around the caster. Warning: Not user friendly. Not those in proximity to user friendly. Starting position: The Mire. I will be screening sign ups people, regardless of numbers.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: 4.30? Hah. If at least half the people here aren't insomniacs I'll be very angry. Unless you've been up for at least a week, don't call yourself a freak. IC:[I]Lacroix, realising that everyone was probably more caught up in each other than anything else, decided that he really didn't like the behaviour, especially on a mass scale. Affection, and the showing of it, had never come easily to the drow. To any drow. There was always an ulterior motive. Besides, if someone was close to you, than there was always the chance they would be torn away. Contrary to what many who knew him believed, Lacroix was ot reluctant to make friends due to a lack of emotion, or introversion. They were a large part of it, but not all. Lacroix, as a child, indoctrinated harshly into the living furnace that is the drow world, had been dealt an annihilating lesson in survival, watching those he had befriended betray, attack and disdain him. Even his family had been willing to exploit him. Lacroix feared to ever return to that state of vulnerability. Lacroix was self-sufficient. He couldn't exist any other way.[/I] OOC: Sorry for posting nothing but character insights people. A habit of mine.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Still grimly amused by the dragon's unlife ending, Lacroix paid no heed to the skittering forms that stalked him through the undergrowth. He was Power. He was a darkness to blight the soul and life of any that opposed him. Worse than demons, deadlier than dragons... Lacroix tore himself away from such thoughts. Whenever he engaged shadow mastery, the thoughts always returned. The begged him to be at one with his darker side. They whirled around him, tugging at his suppressed desires. The conflict in his soul outshadowed even the violence done to his body. As much as he hid his scars, Lacroix was always under pressure to force down his drow instincts. With the knowledge he had gained on the surface, failure to do so would result in wanton destruction. Lacroix was fervent that that would never happen. The presence of those that dared to call a drow friend could become the last bastion of his sanity, but until then, he was content to merely enjoy their company. Lacroix closed his eyes, shimmered, and appeared beside his companions. Far enough away that hey could not detect his teleportation though. Had to keep a few secrets after all... Strangely enough, when he approached them, they didn't look surprised.[/I] Lacroix: Well. That was...fun. Elsyan: You have a strange sense of fun, from what Ilythiirtar told us. Lacroix: So? I believe people were just leaving.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: This could almost get repetitive... Name: Lacroix Vukodlak Age: 21 physically. Mental, several hundred. Height: 6 ft Weight: 75 kgs Eyes: A strange, roiling colour, like broken moonlight on dark water. Hair:Shoulder length, inky black. Class: Assassin. Spells: (if any) Levitation: Normal drow spell. Faerie Fire: Normal drow spell Soul Charge: Unique to Lacroix, uses the souls of the damned to create a radius of death. Warning: Not user friendly. Not friend of user friendly. Batteries not included. Soul Lance: Twists an enemies soul around them. They are consumed from the inside out, all their shadows taking on material form to rend them. Equipment Weapon(s): Two reaper knives. (Cross handle, blade coming up from either side. Shaft runs down forearm ending in barb.) Armor: Mithril Chain Mail. Clothing: All black. Hooded cloak to conceal a tortured self, a tortured past. Symbol: His eyes basically.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: Manticores? A bit too much deathrap dungeon in my opinion... Egad I've read too much. IC:[I]The shifting whispers inscreased. The forewarned, the predicted, the sent out questing tendrils. They knew him, and he knew them. Something that is ingrained into all living beings. The signature image of their inner self. Impossible to deny. Their siren's wail tugged at Lacroix's soul. "Fly with us. Leave these others behind. We are what you are. We are one with you. You belong with us. Leave these pitiful restraints. We welcome you. Come with us. To the desolation." Lacroix walked on, fighting the relic's call. The near sentient spirits in the relic continued their attack. Realising he could not defend for ever, Lacroix drew them in. In his mind: Lacroix: Why do you want me? Voices: We are you. You are us. We are the two sides to a coin. We are incomplete without each other. Lacroix: Yet I go to find you, and you lead me off. Or try to. Voices: No! We do not! We are you. We would not deceive you. We only want you to become one with us. Lacroix: Not one with you. One of you. Your twisted wraithes, tormented by isolation, seek to encapture all who quest for the relic you were imprisoned in. Wraithes: Not so! Not so! We only want to be one with you. Lacroix: So be it. Lacroix lowered his mental defenses. A howling, seetheing swarm, the wraiths poured in, their hate seeking to possess, to destroy. They had no use for physical matter, but they longed to consume the knowledge Lacroix held. Lacroix welcomed them, led them in. As they reached the inner sanctum of his soul, he brought them in. He used their directed hate in a whirlwind against them. Flamed cyphers of guard and ward rang through his auras. As the roiling mass of wraiths raveaged at the seals, Lacroix turned their power against them. They sank to quiesence. Lacroix: But it is now you, who are one with me.[/I] Lacroix: Well. That was easily enough fixed. Ilythiirtar: Then you are still in possession of your mind? [I]Lacroix looks long at Ilythiirtar, unsurprised that he had telepathically witness the struggle.[/I] Lacroix: Of course.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]As the harsh light of day intrudes upon Harlequin, his thoughts turn to Rico and Valeigh. Had it really been the best idea to leave them? Spyder shifted slightly, and muttered something under her breath. Harlequin looked down sharply, but she was still asleep. He rose up silently, moving towards the bamboo wall. Picking a group of strong looking fibres, he clambers up them. His lightweight body bending, but not breaking, the bamboo. From the top, he has an almost untrammeled view of the bridge and surrounding the land. The sere landscape offered no refuge for any large group of people. There was nowhere to hide. A mountain range jutted into the sky in the distance, the staid energies of stone emanating even unto this distance. The aura's were wrought with disharmony. A number of people and vehicles had passed. One of the people had thrown out subconscious messages of pain so strongly that even the slow, patient stones had recorded its agony and desperation. Had to be Athen. With catlike grace, Harlequin pushed off the bamboo, turning in the air. Landing light next to Spyder, he decides to let her sleep a while longer.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]The denizens of the river are forgotten, as Harlequin focuses on the bridge. As they get closer, he notices movement. Ripping off random bits of vegetation, he snags a heavy branch and holds the boat fast. The slow current makes it easy to keep the boat still. Noting Spyder's almost catatonic state, he vows not kiss her in situations like this. Then smiles. He knows he'll break that vow any chance he gets. He picks her up and slithers onto the branch. He leaves the boat to float towards the bridge. Hopefully it will attract some attention.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Alright. I read all of that. And I have only one thing to say. You're an idiot, and you've seen too many movies. Welcome to the real world. Well, three things then. If people were really as shallow as you seem to put them up to be, and as conforming, then the gene pool would be one big circle. While not an expert on the female, or even human mind, no one is, I still know more than enough to disdain the information out of hand. ...Times broken vow not to post in this forum: 2. On a roll.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]After several days travel, Lacroix emerged into a civilised world. The first impression he had, of the outside world that would become his home, was twisted valley, stunted due to lack of sunlight, and some other foul malady upon the land itself. A single figure wound its way along an overgrown path, the debris seeming not to hinder it in the slightest. Lacroix loosened his scimitars, before starting down the rocky trail towards the ruined vale. Lacroix's descent, silent as it was, did not go unnoticed. The figure, now revealed to be a wizened old elf, turned and fixed him with a penetrating gaze as Lacroix caught up with him. In a voice that reminded Lacroix of scales against metal, the man immediately started talking to him.[/I] Man: You one of them freeswords hey? You lookin' ta go get em bastards that bombed us hey? [img]http://www.itsmysite.com/j-otaku/images/Lacroix_Avatar.gif[/img] Lacroix: Bombed? What are you talking about? Man: Ah, ya haven't heard? Well thankee, I'll be the one telling you then. We got ourselves attacked you know. And ya know who did it? [img]http://www.itsmysite.com/j-otaku/images/Lacroix_Avatar.gif[/img] Lacroix: No. But I'm sure you'll tell me. [I]The elf goes quiet, muttering something about Verdun, before shutting up entirely. Whether to do with Lacroix's sarcasm, or something else, is not something Lacroix really could be bothered finding out.[/I] [img]http://www.itsmysite.com/j-otaku/images/Lacroix_Avatar.gif[/img] Lacroix: Well. I must be going. It seems this part of the world will not be so bad after all. At least something to keep me occupied. [I]At this, the man looks up sharply. He takes in Lacroix's worn appearance, his weapons, his mannerisms.[/I] Elf: You're that crazy elf that's been wandering the desert for years! [I]At this Lacroix, who had started to walk away, stopped in surprise.[/I] [img]http://www.itsmysite.com/j-otaku/images/Lacroix_Avatar.gif[/img] Lacroix: Great. Now people know who I am. Fare thee well, O one that is surely crazier than I am at the moment. Elf: Yeah, it changes doesn't it. [I]Lacroix pays the comment no heed, his journey still awaiting him. Remembering the world as he knew it, he kept going east, the capital, Meridion, being somewherre in that direction. But what would he find there?[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Lacroix sat in his usual corner. The darkness eclipsed him. The throng of revellers impeded access to him. And that suited him perfectly. But still, every now and then, some fool would accost him. Or seek him out. Or approach him with a...business arrangement. This would be one such night. Three burly men walked in the door. They look around, for someone or something. After a few seconds, they turn, almost as one. The largest however, spins back. Looking straight at Lacroix. Lacroix smiles. He stands, leaning against the wall. His arms folded. Out of sight, his hands holding his reaper knives. The men confer a moment before advancing. The shove their way through the throng, ignoring the insults and catcalls sent their way. Reaching Lacroix, they spread out in front of him. The one had had noticed him stepped forward. Despite the music, he spoke in a low voice, without a trace of an accent.[/I] Man: You are Lacroix? Lacroix: Yes. [I]The man looks to his companions, slightly wary. He nods once, and they draw weapons.[/I] Lacroix: Oh? Man: You killed some of our guys the other day. Lacroix: Did I? I've killed more than a few I'd say. Tell me though, who are you? Man: You know who we are. Lacroix: Look, I've run up against every gang in the city. I don't know who you are, and I'm not sure I care. Man: Too bad. We were sent to clean you up. [I]Lacroix's eyes narrow. Through the slits, he takes in the man's stance. He is not confident, despite the fact that he appears to hold every advantage. Half a foot taller than Lacroix, the man could easily pass as a bodybuilder. Lacroix yawned, arcing his back, catlike. The other two men, one carrying a long knife, the other a baseball bat step to flank him. Lacroix spins to his right, coming around with his reaper knives to the stomach and chest of the leader. The man doesn't even blink. With surprised speed, his hand shoots out and grabs at Lacroix's lower knife. As fast as he is, Lacroix is faster. Lacroix brought his arm up and back. His other knife shot out to entangle the second gang member's eyes. Messy. But the pop was interesting. Lacroix's cocked arm shoots back, the elbow spike taking out the first man's trichea whole. The tube, the rings of muscle, hang dripping from the spike. With a contemptuous flick, he shakes the mess off. He turns to the third man.[/I] Man: Hey, hey. We were just doing our jobs, you know. Nothing personal. Lacroix: Of course not. That's why your still alive. [I]Lacroix sheathes his knives, and the man sags in relief. He drops his baseball bat and turns to leave. He reaches the dance floor, and collapses in a pool of blood. The proprietor looks up to see Lacroix standing, still in the corner, his Berretta still aimed at the fallen body. The proprietor shrugs, and sends his bouncers to clean some of it up. At least Lacroix hadn't hung the body parts on the walls again.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: Bleh. I'll do it then. IC:[I]Free of all constraints, Lacroix employed his full power. He crouched low, scimitars swept to the sides. The dragon reared, again employing it's shadow breath. To the beast, Lacroix just disappeared. To a creature of lightning fast reactions and perception, the dragon would have been seen to been hit 17 times before it could have noticed it was wounded. Lacroix flipped backwards, his scimitars trailing a black cloud of bile and ichor. He assumed a guard position, then, as if in ritual, started spinning his scimiatars, reversing the grip. He then proceeded to use them as single handed staves. The intricate patterns held an inherent dark majesty. A dark wave gathered around the spinning weapons. Once sufficient momentum had been gained, Lacroix levitated to head height on the undead dragon. The dragon's maw shot forward. Lacroix snapped his scimitars straight forward, a grim smile on his face, inset with typically Lacroix style words.[/I] Lacroix: Welcome to the desolation. SOUL CHARGE! [I]Lacroix glows, a dark, inky blue that sucks the light from the sky. The only points of illumination are his eyes, stark white against the blacknes around him. The dragon's motion is arrested, time itself stopped around Lacroix. Suddenly, the light appears again. It comes flooding back from an incomprehensible void, carrying with it a sound like a spectral wail echoing up from an eternal abyss. Black lightning snaps a lattice over the sky. Forms, heretofore unknown in this world, spin ethereal designs in their writhing agony. Subject to Lacroix's will, the very damned souls of the universe focus their malice, their power, their pain, on the very cord that ties life to earthly form. Again the world blackens to all other eyes. But this time, it is not light that is eclipsed, but life. For an instant, the world is a barren, lifeless husk. Desolation. Then it floods back. Asiding a stark, featureless void around Lacroix, the world is restored to life, a regeneration formed by spirit, not flesh. The dragon however, suffers a lot more. The cord which connects flesh to life, or death, severed, the flesh undergoes a drastic change. The dragon writhes, as agony and ecstasy war within it. The dragon's psyche takes on a physical form. For an instant, the dragon's spirit is visible. Transposed on earthly being. Then the dragon's flesh is pierced, from the inside, by thousands of black shards. Shadow, or death. No one has ever been able to determine. The dragon's convulsions return anew, despite its lack of mind or spirit. The shards continue to fly out, until merely a bloody pulp remains. Asiding the head. The dragon's eyes flicker once, betraying agony that should not have been survived. Yet still, the flicker of vitality remains, lingering on in the tortured brain. The dragon's spirit watches all this, before being claimed by the damned souls that brought about it's doom. The souls circle around, ever faster, until a palpable vortex surrounds Lacroix and the remains of the great wyrm. The howling reaches a crescendo, then stops. Suddenly. All is silent. The last vestige is the dragon's spirit, a tormented being denied its rightful oblivion. Lacroix smiles bleakly. Wiping his scimitars, he sheathes them, then walks off. Not tossing so much as a glance backwards. Behind him, the last flicker of life dies in the dragon's eyes.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]DAMN YOU JESUS CHICKEN! There's is no way I'm seeing the damn movie now... I'd say the latest Frankie Goes To Hollywood film clip... wait, this is past the turn of the century you say? I'll leave now...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]If I hadn't given up posting in this forum, which I have, I'd swear at both of you. But I have, so I won't. Ahem... damn it. Oh well. I'd be Ravenstorture. Just to blow her mind...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: That is so strange, reading the "shaking uncontrollably" bit, after today. IC:[I]Snapped to by the sound of foreign voices, Davien breaks the grasp that holds him, and rolls to his feet in a lightning fast move. His twin viper arcs up, stopping millimetres from Alastuin's skin. She pays it no heed, but continues to stare at him in a concerned fashion.[/I] Davien: I'm alright. Let's go.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Name: Lacroix Vukodlak Age: 22 Height: 6 ft Initial Weapon/s: Twin reaper knives (cross handle, blade on either side. Shaft running down forearm ending in bard.) Semi automatic handgun. Initial Vehicle: ATV Gang Affiliation: None Description: (see attachment). Also wears hooded cloak that in no way impedes movement. Lacroix's body is covered in scars, remnants of his past. Personality:Loner. Introverted and unfriendly. Athiestic existentialist. Due to his past, he is almost completely unemotionless. He tends to be guarded about revealing what he is thinking, or details about himself. Bio/History: Lacroix lived an easy childhood, removed from violence, although he studied multiple martial arts as a sport. At 17, he encountered some people that said they knew him, and claimed they were offering an position in a fighting tourament. They warned that it was expensive and to bring a lot of money. Fired with the idea of some freedom, Lacroix returned home the next night, breaking into his own house. Although it disgusted him, he stole all the money he could find. His parents were wealthy, so it was a lot. Lacroix turned up at the named venue, a nightclub, dark in reputation and clients. As soon as he walked in, he was attacked, robbed and left for dead. Bleeding and maddened with pain, Lacroix managed to run away and get to the edge of town. He escaped into the wilderness, slowly healing. When he returned to civilisation, none of his former acquaintances knew him. He was an emotionless killer, refusing to submit to any law but his own. Contemptuous of other people, he returned to his training and started using weapons. Lacroix nows frequents the nightlcub he was attacked in. His attackers do as well. But they're hung in pieces on the roof. Lacroix was left insane, and there is very little anyone else can do to rein him in.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]I already told you, but just blind him. Make sure you have the Ogre with Zidane. Then use his Soul Blade ability.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: I believe somebody asked for a boss fight. So be it. By the way, isn't that black dragon pic called Nemesis? IC:[I]After several minutes of silent walking, Lacroix motioned Ilythiirtar off on to a side trail. The twisting track lead up a barren path, debris littering the walkway. The two reached a somewhat large cave. Lacroix's unfocused, as if concentrating on something distant, for a moment, before he nodded once and stepped forward.[/I] Lacroix: Alright, this is the last phase of your training, for now. Complete this, and you attain the second level. Ilythiirtar: Second? Lacroix: You're already past the first. What you must do now if focus your aura patterns. To avoid detection, etc. To spin another's attention elsewhere, to make them catch a flicker of leaves, and think it movement, to play an area of calm around you, so animals will not be disturbed. To change the way light channels through you. To change your reactions, speed, strength. At the first level of manipulating auras, we will merely work on concealment. There are balances that are hard to maintain, and even harder to teach, needed for the higher levels. Alright then. Walk into the cave. Go in a goodly way, before halting. Focus your psyche into throwing no emanation. Hide yourself with your mind. I will follow soon. [I]Ilythiirtar nods once and walks in. Lacroix draws his scimitars, confident of what will happen. True to his prediction, Ilythiirtar runs out a few seconds later. On his heels is a creature spun from darkness. Raven black eyes are set into skin and flesh the colour of decaying grey flesh. The nevertheless reptillian body makes no noise as it writhes over the ground, maggots spilling out of rents in the side. The undead dragon raises its head, flicking the air once with a tongue forked like a snakes. The dragon focuses on Lacroix. Its maw opens, sending out, not fire, but a stream of pure shadow to numb the body and chill the soul. Lacroix dodges, and the battle is joined.[/font][/color][/I]