Talon

[color=crimson]This is just a brief listing of all of the enemies, as well as their known weaknesses, that your characters are likely to come in contact with in the early days of the RPG. Please take note that this list is -not- comprehensive, and will be updated as the RPG expands. Also, to establish setting, every character in the RPG will be travelling, or be in the process of obtaining that travel, to a currently unspecified location to deal with an outbreak. Now, to the list. [center][b][u]Undead[/b][/u] [i]Rots:[/i] The classic zombie, ghoul, whatever you wanna call it, these things died and shoulda stayed that way. They're strong, mostly unintelligent, and they have a mean bite. You'll almost never see one of these things trying to live someone else's life, or trying to get into politics. These are the grunts. Watch out, though: some of these things have been spotted with an odd black 'liquid' visible in their wounds, their blood, and even sometimes in their 'aura'. We don't know what it is, but this crap makes them strong, aggressive, resilient, and God help us, intelligent. Susceptible to fire and silver. [i]Ghosts:[/i] The one undead normal mortals -can't- see, and they're a big problem to us all. They can possess mortals, they can hurt Hunters on a physical level, they can phase through most physical materials, the only damage they take is from Edges, and they're even intelligent enough to take hostages. Most of them aren't all that aggressive, but damn if they ain't annoying. The same black stuff that can be seen in a few rots can be seen in some of these ghosts; it makes them -nasty-. Note that they can't phase through iron; it does hurt them. [i]Skeletons:[/i] Rots that finished rotting. Mindless, aggressive, and weak, these things are barely worth noting unless you see that black crap on them. They can't speak, and normals see them as homeless people most of the time. We don't know why they get back up; no Hunter has ever seen them attack normals or try to eat anything. They attack Hunters and other Supernaturals on sight. [i]Vampires:[/i] These things are the nastiest of the nasty. Aggressive, powerful, and intelligent. They can hypnotize you, they can break you in two with little effort, and they can turn you into one of them with a little bite to your neck. They don't often go to the trouble, though. Most of the younger ones just want to eat and kill. They're susceptible to garlic, silver, sunlight, stakes, holy water, and fire. Watch it, though; the older they get, the more they realize those weaknesses are just in their heads 'til sunlight's the only way to bring the hurt. They seem to have a class and clan structure, but damned if we care. [b][u]Supernaturals[/b][/u] [i]Werewolves:[/i] Quite possibly the biggest danger to us next to vampires and demons, simply because once they take on a human shape, even Vision Edges are mostly ineffective in identifying them. Good news for us is, not all of them can look human all the time. Mostly aggressive, but some have been known to side with Hunters in purging outbreaks. Keep on your guard, though; if there's a werewolf around, you can be -damn- certain there's nastier nasties then them around, too. Weak to silver and massive damage. [i]Demons:[/i] Not too much known about these things. They can apparently inhabit the dreams of mortals and wreck their lives from their. No Hunter's gone up against a demon and lived to tell about it, as far as we know. Luckily, there ain't too many of these around.[/color][/center]

[quote name='Indi'][COLOR="Indigo"]I have some questions but first, I removed the rating Talon. That’s no longer used for rpgs though you are welcome to put it as a disclaimer at the beginning of your post. Anyway… I’d like a clarification on the edges if you don’t mind. First of all do they have to have some word to activate or can that be a combination depending on the actual edge? Like some only requiring a thought or the person to concentrate to activate it instead of actually speaking. Also, starting with seven seems like total overkill to me so what are your thoughts on a character having only three that they use and four “potentials” that have yet to be unlocked? The character might not even know they have that ability yet until later on. If you could answer that I’d appreciate it. Thanks.[/COLOR][/QUOTE] [color=teal]To answer your first question, the Edges can be activated by any combination of three components: somatic, verbal, and intentional. That is to say, they may be activated by a gesture, an incantion or phrase, or even a word, or by pure intent to activate. I appreciate your questions, Indi, because it has come to my attention that I need to address an issue about Edges real quick. Edges are -inherent-. They are not trained, and as such, the names listed on the sign-up sheet for them are simply for the Players' benefit. There is no list of Creeds, Virtues, or Edges on Hunter-Net. Hunters simply realize they have supernatural abilities to see and combat certain things, and put their experiences and questions up on Hunter-Net to hopefully try to get some questions. What I call 'Cleave' might be called 'Fireblade' or 'Burning Brand' by a player character in the game. As for beginning with seven Edges, Indi, the reason I selected so many for us all to begin with is simply because I wish to expand the RPG to encompass a tremendous scope. If you wish your character to have three actives and four possibles, that's your choice. Your character -could- be recently Imbued, for instance. But it -is- my full intention for characters to begin unlocking new Edges later on in the RPG. That being said, have fun, I look forward to seeing your sign-up.[/color]

[color=slategray][b]Name:[/b] Ser Raven Sol-Harkinian [b]Race:[/b] Almost pure Hylian; he knows not from where the black of his hair comes from, though scrying has revealed no Human or Gerudo within him. [b]Gender:[/b] Male [b]History:[/b] Named 'Raven' for the darkness of his hair and the amber of his eyes, Raven was the last scion of a family of retainers to the crown of Hyrule, hence the addition to their last name. Born and bred to fight, he holds no love for the arts of the mage, though the arts of the seer and wisdom do hold some small measure of appeal for him. He has spent the last seven of his twenty-two years learning to wield all manner of swords so that he may earn his place as Captain of the Royal Guard. He bears several scars on his back from an encounter with a wolfos; the scars are a reminder of his failure. His mother fell to the evil beasts before he could even begin to rally a counterattack. This has given him a drive and fierce determination; unlike many of the other soldiers of Hyrule, he takes his dedication seriously, and refuses to allow the men of his company or himself to fall to the sins of cowardice and sloth. It is unclear whether he is a racist or not; he is quite tight-lipped and reserves his voice for the training field. It has been said that Raven holds the Three Virtues in equality in his heart, though upon hearing any legend of the Hero in Green, a fierce grimace may be seen to reach his eyes. [b]Image:[/b][IMG]http://i74.photobucket.com/albums/i275/AgriasNesme/Raven.jpg[/IMG][/color] [size=1][b]Note:[/b] Not my sketch! Can't draw worth a damn! Ignore DW's lies! *hiss* Thanks for the vote of confidence, DW, but I can't draw stick figures. V_V This was a commish done -ages- ago by someone on one of those sadly-defunct Zelda-land websites that I miss. They had this really, really nice one of Link with a tat and water up to his knees that I can't find anymore.....[/size]

[center][color=crimson][i]There are things out there, things normal people can't see, can't understand, or even begin to comprehend. You could call them demons, freaks, vampires, zombies, whatever floats your boat, but in the end, it doesn't amount to a damn thing. People are sheep, they follow the leader, live by the flock. It's basic psychology. And basic psychology says 'If you can't see it, it can't hurt you.' They're all dead wrong. These things can hurt you. They can kill you with nothing but a thought, if they're powerful enough. And a lot of them are. Those monsters you read about in those horror novels you used to keep in the bedside drawer? The demons in your worst nightmares, taunting you, laughing at you as they tore you to shreds? Vampires, zombies, werewolves, ghosts, imps, giant hulking monsters that want to eat your face? Yeah, they're real. And they're out there. You can't see them, or when you can, they look like normal people. They're into politics, they're in the White House, they control the economy. And there's nothing you can do about it. That's where we come in. A long time ago, before this age of Man, this Darkness rose from the depths against the Creator, and so he gave the race of men great power, the ability to become Heroes. Man defeated this Darkness, and so lost the one thing they could all mutually focus their power on. They turned their powers to Greed. The Creator, disgusted, turned his back on Man. His Servants felt sorry for us, for our inability not to embrace the dark side of the heroic gifts He gave us. They gave us a gift of their own, for they knew the Darkness was going to rise again. They gave us the Messengers. Shards of divine intelligence, of pure magic, of retribution, whatever they are, they're strong, and they've become our only hope of fighting off the nightmares you're so convinced only exist in storyland. And we need every advantage we can get in this fight. They wake us up, give us the strength we need to fight....to protect you from falling into your own Darkness. Nobody knows if the Messengers are sentient or not, if they have a plan, or if they just hit randomly. There is one thing we do know, though. The Messengers are what turn us into The Imbued, the Hunters of the freaks you refuse to acknowledge. They give us our Edges, lend us their strength, and clear the fog of blind faith in reality from our eyes. They turn us into weapons against the darkness. Even if we don't want to heed the call. We're here, whether we like it or not. And so are they.[/i] [b]~~~~~~~~~CREEDS~~~~~~~~~[/b] [b]Defender:[/b] Tough, strong, and dependable. You are the ultimate in security. Armor, wards, sheer determination, there's nothing that can take you down. However, you tend to be single-minded. As the Judge would say, dependable, but slow and stubborn. [u][b]Virtue:[/b][/u] Zeal [b]Innocent:[/b] Admittedly, you detest violence. You often reject carrying a gun, but when you do, it's normally to keep the Avenger from carrying it. You tell yourself that nobody needs to get hurt, that nothing needs to end in blood. You tell yourself they should be studied, first. Maybe the creatures are just trying to survive, like wild animals? Sure, you keep on saying that to yourself. You might just believe it, someday. The rest, even the Visionary, refer to you as "bait". [u][b]Virtue:[/b][/u] Mercy [b]Avenger:[/b] You want nothing more than to kick the monsters' asses for even -thinking- they can come onto your turf! This is -your world-, and you don't want them anywhere -near- it. If it doesn't breath, kill it. If it's got too many eyes, kill it. If its skin's too furry, kill it. Decayed? Kill it. Screw the Redeemers, you can't save what's already dead! You're strong, fast, but you tend not to think about what the consequences of your actions would be. There are few exceptions. [u][b]Virtue:[/b][/u] Zeal [b]Martyr:[/b] Come on out and say it. You want these things gone, and you're willing to pay the ultimate price to get them -out-! You fight on and on and on, trying to take as many of these things out before they hurt anyone else, without regard to yourself. You're resilient and agile, but seriously, -you- oughta be the "bait"! [u][b]Virtue:[/b][/u] Mercy [b]Visionary:[/b] One of a kind, you're the type that believes the monsters and Hunters are the next evolutionary step for mankind. Siding with the Innocent, you believe that the zombies should bear scrutiny before death. Excellent intelligence, but low in strength. You have one slight problem, though. How much intelligence does it require to know that the thing dripping blood from its fangs is out for -blood-, not a walk in the park?! [u][b]Virtue:[/b][/u] Vision [b]Judge:[/b] You are the judge, the jury, and the executioner of those freaks, and you let them know it. Your decisions affect the party, whether you like it or not. You side with the Avenger, though. Kill them all if they're guilty! And they are. Mostly. But you gotta lighten up, or you'll go insane! [u][b]Virtue:[/b][/u] Zeal [b]Hermit:[/b] Lost Creed, and with good reason. The Messengers talk to you, tell you what to do and where to go and why you need to be there, but you get serious static around any supernatural. Even other Hunters. Migraines, absent-mindedness...you stay where you are, far away from the freaks and the rest of us, so you can do your job. Here's a cell phone, man. Keep me posted. [b]Virtue:[/b] Vision [b]Redeemer:[/b] What the hell is wrong with you?! These things are dead, most of them want your head on a damn platter, and you want to -save- them?! Good for you. You can try to reach out and touch these things, get them on your side, but really, are you -stupid-? Getting right in the middle of a den of evil werewolves to try to show them the light? Why aren't -you- the bait?! Yours is a noble cause, perhaps the noblest. Please, just try to bear the burden of your job. It could be your last. [u][b]Virtue:[/b][/u] Mercy [b]Wayward:[/b] You can't turn it off. You see them all the time, everywhere you go, when you eat, sleep, cry, laugh, they're -always- there. No vacation time for you, and it's left its mark on you. You're just freakin' nuts, man. All you care about now is killing every last one of the freaks you see, consequences be -damned-. This is the Avenger on 'roid-rage. Bystanders, buildings, cars, gas lines, who cares? You killed a freak! Lucky for us, there ain't too many of this Lost Creed around. [u][b]Virtue:[/b][/u] Vision ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Edges, Your Weapons Against the Darkness! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ [b][size=5][u]Mercy Edges:[/b][/u][/size] [u][i]Redemption[/u][/i] [b]Bluster:[/b] Hey, over here! Throw your voice to confuse an enemy, making an attack of theirs miss you or your friends. [b]Insinuate:[/b] 'What have I done?'. You inflict a freak with profound feelings of sorrow, guilt, and remorse, making it difficult for them to move, let alone attack. [b]Respire:[/b] Heal yourself or your friends of all injuries over a period of time. Even lost limbs regrow. This Breath of Life restores vitality in Hunters and mortals, but it takes the 'breath' out of the freaks, and you gotta be careful; this Edge will tire you out! [b]Becalm:[/b] Everyone's on Prozac. Life's all right. You put out a field of instant calmness, making it difficult for -anyone- to become hostile at -all-. Even the Wayward. [b]Suspend:[/b] Spy check! It's like a magic EMP; nobody can use otherworldly powers in a certain radius from you, but nobody can use those powers to spy on you, either. Even works dimensionally; useful in sealing portals. Watch out; it deactivates Edges, too, but that's what God made shotguns for. [u][i]Martyrdom[/u][/i] [b]Demand:[/b] At the cost of some pain, you can suddenly bring the hurt. It's like steroids with instant gratification and instant damnit. [b]Witness:[/b] Costs a little of your life, but suddenly, you know that freak's weakness is his heart, and he locked it in a chest somewhere. You even know the last contact or two it had with mortals; like the banker he gave the chest to! This one tells you of the actions and contacts of a specific freak up to within a certain timeframe. Pay attention, and you might find out what makes it tick. [b]Ravage:[/b] Gas mask, anyone? Nah, that won't help. You begin emitting an extremely potent gas that is lethally corrosive to monsters. Gotta watch out; normal mortals might be paralyzed by extreme nausea or even emotional distress. Takes a lot of your health, though; watch it. [b]Donate:[/b] Sacrifice some of your own physical well-being to restore a friend's health. Even works on mortals. [b]Payback:[/b] She's a bitch, and she's bringin' friends. You inflict human frailty on even the strongest of freaks. Turn 'em into a human with bits of skin hanging off of an eyeless skull, then pop'em a good one. Makes 'em so much easier to deal with, but it makes -you- easier to deal with, too. Saps your health like a semi-turned-pizzeria. [u][i]Innocence[/u][/i] [b]Hide:[/b] You can hide on a flat plain in broad daylight. Just don't attack anybody. Hell, you could get past Fort Knox security as long as you're careful! [b]Illuminate:[/b] It looks like a rot, it smells like a rot, but you're still not sure it's a rot. This thing lines the auras of any freaks you see with a certain color. Each color corresponds to a certain type of freak. Guess what. It's a rot. [b]Cleanse:[/b] Poison's got nothin' on you. 'Nuff said. [b]Radiate:[/b] The freaks all go blind. You and your buddies give off a bright aura of light that only the freaks around you can see, making it much harder for them to hurt you. Useful for grabbing some unwanted attention, though. [b]Confront:[/b] Stops an enemy's combat action by infusing them with the image that you are what they loved most. Some enemies succeed at attacking through this, but they do so with extreme heartbreak and reluctance. [b]Blaze:[/b] That bonfire just got hot, man. Take a source of light, any light, and turn it into pure pain for freaks. Simulated sunlight; useful on the older bastards that won't die by normal means. [b][size=5][u]Zeal Edges:[/b][/u][/size] [u][i]Vengeance[/u][/i] [b]Cleave:[/b] You either manifest a glowing red melee weapon that you and all Hunters can feel, or you can enhance a currently held one with fire-based damage. And we all know how the freaks hate fire......the weapons can be one-handed, two-handed, or even two weapons, one to a hand. you can even enhance your FIST with it! [b]Impact:[/b] Your weapon, for one swing or shot, has the attack force of a tank moving at Mach 10. Ouch [b]Trail:[/b] It's a GPS scanner that only you can see. You put this on a freak, and they'll start leaving a smoky trail for you to follow their movements. Useful in tracking where they've been. Maybe they'll go to a nice little den of their friends? Oooh, a nightclub..... [b]Smolder:[/b] Who turned out the lights? You start putting out a cloud of thick, black smoke that blocks most senses, but you see through it clear as day. Useful trick for surprise attacks after the fact, or for running away. Watch out for your friends; they're stuck if you're not careful with it. [b]Surge:[/b] Give something up to get something else. For a brief period of time, you lose a little strength, stamina, health, whatever you want, for a lot more strength, stamina, health, whatever. Put a little oomph behind that punch; you'll have bloody knuckles, but that freak doesn't have a face anymore. Fair trade? Fair trade. [b]Smite:[/b] Point and snap boomboom. You cause spontaneous zombie combustion, but you cause interference in electronics, too. Watch out. [u][i]Defense[/u][/i] [b]Ward:[/b] Erect a barrier to keep the freaks at bay; it stays up as long as you focus on it, but it'll put you out like a light if you hold it up too long. Useful for running away or bottlenecking. [b]Rejuvenate:[/b] You need to stay in the fight, this is your ticket; it's a little taxing, but it's great to watch that freak's eyes widen when the gash on your chest closes right back up. [b]Brand:[/b] Paint a bullseye on one of the bastards. Anyone that's been Imbued can see this sucker clearly at a thousand yards, even if it goes invisible. The mark fades away after a certain period of time, depending on just how much energy you put into this. [b]Champion:[/b] Holy hell, you look like shit. Well, that's what you want them to think. Suddenly, you -look- like the appetizer, like you couldn't lift that cannon you have tucked into your jeans pocket, and every single one of those freaks is looking at -you-. Lunch, anyone? Feed 'em their teeth when they try to take a bite. [b]Burn:[/b] Your blood is replaced by magma, the air you breathe replaced by pure heat. Anybody touching you is burned. Badly. [i][u]Judgement[/u][/i] [b]Discern:[/b] Where would a fighter be if they couldn't feel their enemies around them? From sensing that a hand doesn't leave heat on a desktop to noticing that the weird guy in the corner has really sanguine breath and hasn't touched the drink in front of him. Even grants you perfectly clear sight, despite any debilitating conditions like pitch darkness. Or having your eyes torn out. [b]Burden:[/b] Put the world on a freak's shoulders. You stare at them, and bam; they can't walk at all. They can shift their weight a little at a time, if they have any, but they're stuck in place until you look away. Here's a nine-iron; can you say 'fore'?. [b]Balance:[/b] Level out the playing field. Turn off their power switch, and watch 'em flail. They can't turn invisible, change shape, they're stuck fighting you hand to hand. Er...claw. Whatever. [b]Pierce:[/b] Any lie told within ten minutes stings you like an arrow. Even works on that white lie your wife told you about "dinner with Ralph. Think that hurts worse than the arrow, though. It also allows you to see the last memory of any supernatural you touch, or a specific memory about a time or place. Or person. Like Ralph. [b]Expose:[/b] This one's nasty. See that politician up there, the one rallying for president on a gay-pride, pro-life, equality campaign? Yeah, that one, the one without a head and the freaky-ass tail. Guess what everyone in the crowd, everyone watching T.V. at home, can see? That's right. This freak's on candid camera. [b][size=5][u]Vision Edges:[/b][/u][/size] [b]Foresee:[/b] You know exactly what taking -either- pill will end up doing. Blue one; hey, I'm normal and I have a well-paying job. Red one; damnit, I'm a dead hero. This lets you see the outcome of an A or B situation. [b]Pinpoint:[/b] Ding! Hit him in the left shoulderblade with a silver bullet. This highlights the weaknesses of a monster, one at a time. [b]Delve:[/b] 'He really did know kung-fu.' This lets you see the past of a given place. Useful in determining whether or not the butler actually did it. [b]Restore:[/b] This one's a doozy. You regrow lost limbs and mangled tissues and organs in -seconds-. Rejuvenate? No thanks! [b]Augur:[/b] 'You will grow old, have seven children, and marry a hot actress. Just joshin'; you're dyin' in two minutes. Of bloodloss. *clickclack*' This lets you see the future of a person, place, or thing. Don't use it on yourself. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Rules! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1. Police are -not your friends-! Remember, to them, a corpse is a corpse, even if it was a zombie to you. Be reasonable with your gunfire, unless it's suppressed. You think they'll believe you killed that upstanding citizen because he was a vampire? Also, you never know just what the freaks have their hands into. Like the police. You know, the guys in blue with the captain whose zombie pal you whacked last week? Yeah, them. 2. Seven Edges apiece. You must have at least three Edges from your Creed Specialization, barring anyone with the Visionary Virtue, and your Creed Virtue must have the most Edges, or be even with another. Say you're a Judge, you can have 2 Mercy, 2 Zeal, and 3 Vision, so long as the two Zeal are Judgement Zeal. Or 6 Zeal and 1 Vision Edges. Not 4 Mercy and 3 Zeal. 3. Don't use your edges if you don't have to. Supernaturals, if they're near, can sense the use of certain Edges that can sense -them-. They can especially sense Edges like Cleave and Ward. And remember, -all- of the Martyr's Edges consume health to use. If you're a Martyr, you're hurting even if you use a heal on yourself. 4. Carry cash, preferably in thousands. If you do get caught by the cops, you're ninety percent of the time likely to be able fork over some serious dough and be done with it. Unless he's one of those heroic "Hah! I am Copman, here to save the day!" types. Just don't waste them. You -really- don't want to put that hair up the department's collective ass. Besides, cold hard cash doesn't leave a paper trail; you want to stay off the grid. 5. Don't kill other Hunters. End of story. Unless they've gone psycho, they're your allies. Mostly. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Stats (the annoying required junk) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ [b]Name:[/b]Your name. [b]Hunter-Net Name:[/b] One word you'd use to sum up your character, followed by the number that indicates when you became a member. I.E. Witness1, the founder of Hunter-Net, was the first member, and saw himself as a watcher. [b]Age:[/b] Anywhere from 13 to 45. Younger, go insane by whatcha see. Older....I'd like to see a seventy-year old wield a gatling gun..... [b]Hair:[/b] Duh. [b]Eyes:[/b] Double-duh. [b]Height:[/b] Duh. [b]Weight:[/b] Sorry, girls. [b]Creed:[/b] Lost Creeds are specialties; one of each, and only in the hands of a dedicated, intelligent roleplayer. PM me first, please. Otherwise, have at. [b]Weapons:[/b] Modern (Not eighty years from now) guns, but be reasonable. Swords, daggers, and wooden stakes are also advisable. For silent, deadly kills. [b]Edges:[/b] Your Edges over the monsters. Seven max, read the rules, and try to include what you do to activate them. [b]Appearance:[/b] What you look like and wear. Remember, armor can save your life! [b]Biography:[/b] Events up to just before your Imbuing. That is, when you became a Hunter. [b]Imbuing:[/b] What happened around you when you were Imbued? Did you murder a zombie that was trashing a crowd? Or maybe you healed the freak from his ways? Mercy Virtues tend to have a healing experience, be it human or otherwise. Zeal tends to have a bloody battle, especially a Judge, with mulitple freaks in the mix, and Vision Virtues tend to have a sight-lending Imbuing. Like learning what kills -that- thing. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ My Stats ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ [b]Name:[/b] Chase "Wolf" Tala Amadahy [b]Hunter-Net Name:[/b] Shield223 [b]Age:[/b] 23 [b]Hair:[/b] Black [b]Eyes:[/b] Brown [b]Height:[/b] 6'6" [b]Weight:[/b] 205 lbs. [b]Creed:[/b] Defender [b]Weapons:[/b] Depending on the hunt, the weapons he carries varies. He always, however, carries a loaded Colt 1911 sidearm with two extra clips of silver bullets, a collapsible spear with silver head, and several combat knives and a katana with a silvered edge. The bandolier he wears on a hunt usually has a second sidearm, several vials of blessed water, some garlic, and at least three white oak stakes. His station wagon also bears a small armory within his trunk if a hunt's objective should change unexpectedly, and all of his safehouses are stocked with ordinance and ammunition. He also always wears a thick leather coat over his outfit, both for storage and concealment, as well as a fully weighted kevlar body vest, kevlar 'knees' in his thigh-high leather boots, and titanium-plated fingerless gauntlets. It should be noted that, while not a 'weapon', Chase is highly skilled at parkour and defensive arts, including Tai Chi and CQC. [b]Edges:[/b] [i]Cleave[/i]- A flaming tomahawk manifests itself in Chase's hand. [i]Ward[/i]- Chase extends one hand, uttering the word "Back!" forcefully. [i]Discern[/i]- Chase closes his eyes for three seconds while taking a deep breath. [i]Burn[/i]- Chase loses himself in his anger and will to fight, focusing his emotions into himself before erupting into a fierce, red glow. [i]Smite[/i]- Chase holds aloft the rosary he wears on his wrist and thrusts it in the general direction of his target, usually with an incantation. [i]Rejuvenate[/i]- Chase rests his hand over his heart and utters the phrase "Not yet." [i]Burden[/i]- Chase stares at an enemy for a moment, whispering "Cast in the name of God, let the first stone be thrown by the innocent to spill the blood of the guilty." [b]Appearance:[/b] Standing at an even six and a half feet of height, Chase has been considered an imposing figure with his stern eyes and rough dusting of facial growth. His hair, cropped short save for a single braid than hangs down over his right temple, is as black as the ravens his Native American heritage respects so much. The braid is decorated with eagle feathers and turquoise beads, while the rest of his body is extremely fit, and very athletically built. [b]Biography:[/b] Born half-Native, half-Irish, Chase lived in a world that wouldn't truly welcome him. His mother, a Native that had gone against her father in marrying an Irish visitor, had died during childbirth, and his destitute father could not afford to take him in. Chase was then given to his grandfather, a man who took Chase and raised him under very severe conditions. Chase found respite in reading letters and entries in his mother's diary, where she spoke to him of love and her poor health at the time of his birth. Thanks to these letters, he found the strength to go on and prove his worth to his abusive, angry Cherokee grandfather. He joined the Army at the age of seventeen, and spent four years bettering himself and growing stronger. He was never put out on an assignment, but he learned well how to handle weapons and deal with urban situations under his fellow-Cherokee commanding officer, Johnathan Beartalker, who gave Chase his nickname 'Wolf'. After rising through the ranks and achieving the rank of Staff Sergeant, he found himself approaching the age of majority and the end of his term. He was preparing to return home following his discharge on his twenty-first birthday when Beartalker approached him in the barracks and took him out to 'The Watering Hole', the only bar on base. It was there that both men were Imbued, along with most of their company. [b]Imbuing:[/b] At a bar, celebrating the end of his term and his birthday as well as considering a re-up, when without any warning, the bartender and many of the patrons of the club suddenly transformed from normal, happy people into decaying, rotting people with rictus-grins and missing limbs. Startled to find several similar creatures in the ranks of Easy Company, their company, Beartalker and Chase stood quickly and began backing against the wall and heading for the door, discovering to their much-needed relief that all of the rest of their company were similarly affected by the revelation. Realizing that an entire company of armed soldiers could see them for what they were, the base's commander ordered an attack on the men without realizing the bar had a closed-circuit camera surveying the action. Following the massacre, most of the base's chain of command lay dead and a good portion of the men of Easy Company lay dead, though most of those dead were arguably already suffering from that condition before the battle began. Beartalker and Chase were notable among the survivors of the bloodbath, and were, pending study of the bar's security tapes, commended for actions against 'a fellow serviceman and commanding officer gone astray'. Both were issued promotions, though Chase's was only evident on his final service check. He and Beartalker remain in close contact and joined Hunter-Net at the same time, under the names 'Shield223' and 'Sword224' respectively, though Beartalker remains in the service with the Hunters of Easy Company, which has been renamed 'The Hellhunters' following a company vote. [/color][/center] ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ An old idea of mine I'd revamped, retooled, and generally completely redone. I hope anyone who joins has fun and enjoys themselves; I've already got a sequel planned out if this one goes well. -Talon

[color=crimson][u][b][i][center]Romania, January 12, 2008[/center][/b][/i][/u] The silver slice of a heavenly crescent slowly rose over the crested mountaintops of the province of Walachia, bathing the landscape in an eerie glow. Near the ruins of an abandoned church under this pale blanket, two figures stood near the south wall, embroiled in some bitter argument. With a shake of the head, the taller, more erect figure could be seen to slump, as if in acquiescence. He spoke, his heavy German accent and the lack of sleep in the night slurring his words. "Very well, Julius. I do not like it, but you are right." The second, cloaked figure nodded sharply; his only answer. "Ach, I shall go, then. We cannot allow...." He sighed as he looked up. The cloaked figure was gone. He gathered his own cloak, setting off away from the church. He needed to be back in Bucharest by sunrise; he needed to catch a flight very, very soon....[/color] [center][b]~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~[/center][/b] [color=teal][center][b][i][u]New Orleans, January 15.[/i][/u][/b][/center] The five o'clock shadows seemed to stretch on forever as the sun's light slowly began to rise in the New Orleans suburb of Metairie. A young man gazed around himself, his eyes slowly adjusting to the growing light even as he approached true wakefulness. He could not say what it was that awakened him. Perhaps it was the lack of warmth at his side, the sometimes-resting place of his girlfriend. Perhaps it was the way the sun's rays slapped him in the face as he turned to gain just a little more heat from his comforter. Or perhaps it was the dreams again. He sat up, trying to banish the images he did not understand from his mind. A glint of silver, a feminine shriek, and a pool of hideous crimson. A pale-faced specter with no expression and no body, wreathed in black. A regal costume, marred by the rents and rips through the bloodless cloth. He shook his head clear and cursed himself for his childish nightmares, stretching the kinks out of his back as he quietly crept from the room so as not to wake his friends from their own slumber. His shoulders slumped further as the blinking display on the answering machine drove a stake into his heart; Riza had not called yet again. Three nights in a row. His mood steadily worsened as he stomped off to the shower, no longer caring about the wakefulness of his roommates. He had to get ready for work, anyway. ------- He entered his home slowly, a yawn escaping him as he threw his wet apron over the back of a nearby chair. He stumbled into the shower, cursing the smell of baked-on grease and industrial strength soap as he always did; he hated smelling like dishes at two in the afternoon. He climbed out of the shower and into a pair of slacks, fishing for a cigarette in his jacket pocket. He struggled with his lighter before a blaze of light appeared before his eyes, igniting the cancer stick and almost giving the man a heart attack. "Uncle Reinhardt!" The tall man simply nodded, a forlorn smile on his face. The older man settled into a chair and studied his nephew. With a sad smile, he broke the awkward silence as his young nephew puffed on his Salem. "It's rather curious that you should smoke this brand, nephew. Your great-great-grandmother, Danya, was killed at those very trials." The young man regarded his uncle with astonishment, his cigarette hanging loosely between his lips. The old man shrugged and continued on. "I apologize; I have such things on my mind, ach." The young man nodded slowly, the ash on his cigarette slowly choking out the cherry as he failed to refresh it. He raised an eyebrow as his uncle began pacing back and forth through the room. "Ach, lad, forgive me. We must go, you and I; we have much to do, and little time." The young man opened his mouth to retort, declaring he had a job, security, a girlfriend; he wasn't going anywhere. But his uncle grabbed him by the shoulders and impaled him with his clear, blue eyes. "Your girlfriend has gone missing, nein? And you have been having the dreams, nein?" The young man choked on the remainder of his dead cigarette's smoke. How could he know?! "It matters not, ach. We must go; your father has entrusted me with this! You are the only one! We MUST go! We must fetch the others, ach!" At this, the young man coolly raised an eyebrow. His father had been dead for years, savaged by a wolf in the forests of Germany. And others? What could he mean by 'others'? "Alone, you are helpless, as you have not been trained. Ach, that your father could not train you! But it is no matter! We MUST go! We must get the other families! Come, come!" With that, the old man grabbed his nephew and dragged him out the door, a half-hearted follower who just wanted some answers. They paused only to lock the door, and they were off..... [/color] [center][b]~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~[/b][/center] [b][color=crimson]Many hundreds of years ago, a great evil arose from the bloodbath of the Crusades. Mocking God and all His works, this evil forced his best friend and comrade to slay his own fiancé simply to gain the power of Immortality. This was the beginning of the struggle between the Belmont clan and Vampire Lord Vlad Dracula, the Prince of Darkness. The Belmont clan has branched into many numerous clans since; the Graves clan, the Baldwins, the Morrises, and the Belnades clan, but only the main heir may use the legendary Vampire Killer whip, the whip that was created when Leon Belmont was forced to kill his fiancé, with impunity. Thousands of years, and dozens of conflicts between them later, the Belmont clan has found itself in a tight bind. The forces of darkness have again gathered, but the last Belmont to wield the whip, Julius, is dead, leaving his untrained son of nineteen years the only heir to carry on the Belmont legacy. This has never happened before; the forces of darkness have broken the laws of balance. To right this wrong, the branches of the family tree and various other forces of good must gather in number, to aid and train the fledgling vampire hunter to rescue his lost beloved and earn the right to take up the legendary Vampire Killer.[/color][/b] [center][b]~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~[/b][/center] [b][u][i]Required Statistics[/b][/u][/i] [b]Name:[/b] Your Slayer's name. [b]Age:[/b] There is no limit to age within reason. [b]Skill Focus:[/b] Your character's particular strength; such as physical strength, magical capability, the ability to summon and control various creatures, etc. [b]Primary Weapon:[/b] Your character's weapon of choice. [b]Strengths:[/b] Your character's best attributes, such as high physical capability, or the ability to break through stone walls with a punch. [b]Weaknesses:[/b] Your character's Achilles' Heel. Low stamina? The inability to handle pain? [b]Clan Gift:[/b] A blessed weapon that has been entrusted to you as the representative of your family, such as the Thorn Whip, the Flame Whip, the Blood Drinker, the Claimh Solais...it is your choice which legendary weapon you wield. But remember; each Gift comes with an equivalent Price. [b]Personality:[/b] A summary of your character's mental and emotional traits. [b]Appearance:[/b] Your character's physical appearance. [b]Biography:[/b] A brief history of your character's life, leading up to the gathering in New Orleans. [center][b]~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~[/b][/center] [COLOR="RoyalBlue"] [b]Name:[/b] Victor Belmont [b]Age:[/b] 19 [b]Skill Focus:[/b] Capable of equipping and harnessing the strengths of certain monsters that lay defeated at his hand; remains locked as yet. [b]Strengths:[/b] Unknown; capable of wielding the Vampire Killer with impunity, and is incapable of being Turned into a Vampire by normal means. [b]Weaknesses:[/b] Currently unable to wield the Vampire Killer; lacks training and focus. [b]Clan Gift:[/b] The Vampire Killer; it is said that this is the only weapon that may defeat the Prince of Darkness for good. However, the cost of wielding it is high; it drains the life of any but the main heir of the Belmont lineage. The cost it exacts upon each heir, however, is different. Its effects on Victor remain unknown as yet. [b]Appearance:[/b] [url=http://castlevania.classicgaming.gamespy.com/Images/Scans/PoR/pic_01.jpg]Victor's Recurrent Destiny[/url] [b]Personality:[/b] Victor is an extremely self-sufficient young man who has trouble trusting anyone. However, when his trust is earned, he becomes your staunchest defender. Combined with this, he has a fiery temper with a very short fuse. This has led to his involvement in very many fistfights, almost all of them victorious. He is a chronic worrier, and as such has become a heavy smoker. He is also highly skeptical of anything magic, and as such, can become extremely unstable when presented with proof that the supernatural may exist. [b]Biography:[/b] Victor's life has not been easy; when he was only ten years old, he was forced to watch as his father was savaged by wolves and dragged away in the wilds of Germany. With his mother long-since having died giving birth to him, Victor was placed in the care of his uncle, Reinhardt. His uncle, knowing the boy could care for himself, and having other matters to attend, left the ten-year-old to attend school and disappeared, though he would frequently reappear with souvenirs for his young nephew. When he turned sixteen, Victor immediately began applying for jobs, eventually becoming a dishwasher for an eat-in lunch diner. Three years later, with few and far-between visits from his wayward uncle, and Victor has grown into a very self-sufficient young man, though his mind is somewhat closed to new ideas. When he was seventeen, he met and fell in love with a young woman named Riza Bathory, a lovely young woman with a cool demeanor and a warm smile. Curiously, she is an open-minded individual who firmly believes in the existence of magic and the supernatural, though her boyfriend does not, though her insistence and his care have begun to eat away at his resistance.[/color] [center][b]~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~[/center] This RPG will contain elements of adult situations and swearing, as well as violence and gore in excess. For those who are familiar with the source material, this RPG disregards 'Aria of Sorrow' and 'Dawn of Sorrow' from the continuity and assumes that Julius Belmont failed to seal Castlevania in the eclipse, and later met his end. Thank you for reading, and may you have as much fun in this endeavor as I did coming up with it.[/b]

[color=crimson][i][b][center]You survived. You made it out of that hellish place. The nightmare is over. Or is it? Can you live with knowing that those things really exist? Worse, can you live knowing they could come back? Any moment, any second. It's really a terrifying thought. There's a name for it, this problem. It's called survivor syndrome.[/center][/color][/i][/b] [color=teal][i]It's been a year since that terrifying nightmare back in Raccoon City, since the survivors managed to fight their way free of the freakish hell their home had become. Groups banded together to fight their way free. In the end, that was probably the only way to escape before the nukes went off. But the end of the nightmare was the beginning. It's hard to remember, after all of that, that there's life at the other end. But it's catching up, and fast. Relocating to another city, getting a new job, and acting like living's the only thing on their minds.... Or perhaps they just won't cope. Perhaps the nightmare will be too much for them, and they'll lock themselves in a basement with rations and ammunition fit to fuel a third-world rebellion. Perhaps they'll stay in their little groups, isolating themselves from the rest of the world....or maybe, just maybe, they'll make the worst mistake of all; they'll go back to living their lives exactly as they did before, ignoring the nightmare, and forgetting entirely that death doesn't have to be the end......... It's all up to them.[/color][/i] [center]~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ [b][color=crimson]Required Stuff[/b][/center] [b]Name:[/b] Naturally. [b]Age:[/b] Preferably in the late teens or older. [b]Occupation:[/b] Your job before, during, and after the Incident, if such applies. [b]Appearance:[/b] A description or a picture of your character's physical appearance. [b]Armament:[/b] If your character has become paranoid, or just plain cautious, what weapons do they always carry on them, just in case? Up to two, small weapons capable of being concealed. You DO have to worry about law and order now. [b]Personality:[/b] A breakdown of your character's mental state and personality following the Incident. [b]Background:[/b] This can be anything pertaining to your character's existence, such as a summary of their life, or perhaps a shining example of their role during the Incident. You decide.[/color] [center]~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~[/center] [color=teal][center][b]My Stuff[/center][/b] [b]Name:[/b] Maksim "Max" Ramirez [b]Age:[/b] 23 [b]Occupation:[/b] Firefighter/Group 'leader'/Firefighter [b]Appearance:[/b] [URL="http://ben606.blog.jeuxvideo.com/images/gd/1168372684.jpg"]Max at home with her pet wolf, Armanya.[/URL] [b]Armament:[/b] Carries a jack knife and a .22 in her boot at all times. [b]Personality:[/b] Max is a free spirit with a stubborn streak a mile wide. She always believes she is right, and will follow through, and usually to her detriment, she is more often than not in the right. She never seaqrches for responsibility, but she always manages to assume it when she sees nothing being done. During the Incident, she frequently butted heads with one other person who thought she knew what was best for the group; nine times out of ten, Max was heeded. She would gladly give up her rolse as leader in any circumstance, but she usually finds she cannot, as she is the one best suited to deal with the crisis. She has dealt well with the Incident, and seems to be able to lead a normal life. however, the .22 she keeps in her boot and the knife she always has at her belt show that she will never forget the nightmare, and she will never let it consume her as it once did her friends. Her frosty demeanor, her determined features, and her quick wit prevent too many from trying to get close and finding the true beauty within; a loyal, caring, and lonely young woman who had to grow up far too quickly. [b]Background:[/b] Max's name was given to her by a father in denial; Max's mother died during labor, leaving her the only heir to the Ramirez name. Believing himself to be ruined, Max's father, Bolero Ramirez, retreated into a bottle, leaving Max to raise herself and become the strong woman she is today. Before the Incident, she attained a position on the Raccoon City Fire Department's new rapid response team. Accepting the position involved moving out of her Colorado home and leaving her worthless father to fend for himself, which she gladly did. During the Incident, she gathered together some of her friends and attempted to escape the city; as they fought through the city, Max found herself the only one capable of killing the fallen friends and comrades that returned to life once more, and her fire ax saw far too much use. As refugees joined the little band to replace those that Max was forced to kill, she found herself become a leader of sorts, though she was frequently at loggerheads with another woman in the group. In the end, Max's leadership got them out of Raccoon City three days before the city was nuked; to this day, she lives in Aspen Pines, Colorado, with the remnants of her group. To her constant consternation, her rival stays with her, along a few more people from the group, in a two-story house just on the outskirts of the town.[/color] [center]~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~[/center] That's it for my latest attempt. Please keep in mind that this RP, given the base subject matter, may be very intense and full of language and situations inappropriate for younger participants. Thank you, and please have fun.

[color=grey][b]"This is Zero-One. I'm in position." [i]"Good. You know what to do. Don't screw this up, Zero-One."[/i] "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. Lemme finish this cigarette. He ain't in the suite yet, anyway." [i]"You idiot. Put that thing out before somebody sees the cherry."[/i] "Only thing 'cherry' around here is the mark's escort for the night. Maybe after I'm done with the mark, I'll do something to change that." [i]"Pervert."[/i] "Sticks and stones don't work on metal, babe." [i]"Just shut the hell up and get down there."[/i] "Roger. Zero-One out. *****." [i]"Asshole."[/i][/b] [center]-------------------------------------------------- "And in other news, Senator Reilly was found dead in his suite at The Peninsula Hotel. According to authorities, no evidence of forced entry were found, and hotel security has informed us that no suspicious activities were noticed at any point during the night. Investigators are combing the scene to gather evidence. Investigators are also attempting to track down Senator Reilly's escort, Miss Arianna Gentry, who is reportedly missing. Johnathan Reilly, a New Orleans native and long-time member of the political circles there-"[/center] [i]He shut off the plascreen and looked over at the young woman sleeping calmly in his bed. He still didn't know why he'd done it. He'd just grabbed her and jumped. Of course, it helped that she'd asked him to do it, but still.... It didn't really help him. He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. He needed to go in for maintenance anyway. His biologicals were starting to slow down again. He opened his shirt and looked down at his chest, wincing slightly. Yeah. He needed to report to the team fast. He didn't think the blood dripping down the sides of his ribcage was a good sign. And he needed to keep the girl safe for a while, anyway. His communicator went off. He answered it. He listened for a moment. A new mission was coming in. He needed to report to base, get his team together, and get into New Orleans. Once again, for the good of the world. Some days, he wished he could just damn it all to Hell.....[/i] [center]--------------------------------------------------[/center] It's the year 2289. Mankind has prospered, and the United States has become a formidable force in the world arena. Flourishing beside them are all of the former Superpowers, China, Russia, Japan, the U.K., and others have established themselves as unstoppable forces. They've annexed most of the world's other countries into themselves, dividing Africa, much of Europe, and various islands the world over into little more than well-policed colonies owned by each country. Australia stands as an exception; they've become a form of police in and of themselves, keeping the bigger countries in check. The irony goes unnoticed by all but the new world police; once, Australia was a dumping site for criminals and maniacs. Now, it's the world's strongest military and law enforcement power. And it's a big dog with the power to back up its growls. Even with the Australian World Defense Organization Group, or AWDOG for short, there are instances of radicals who attempt to rise to power, or else become a powerful nuisance to society and the new peaceful age. Senator Reilly was a threat. He was utilizing subliminal messaging throughout his campaign to raise an army of fanatic followers to rise up and take the presidency by storm, and from there, hold his own nation hostage with nuclear weapons while demanding AWDOG's disbanding. Radicals like this exist everywhere. Situations that AWDOG cannot solve alone are always cropping up. Problems that need solutions. Solutions only you can provide. You're a member of a team nicknamed 'Robotica' by those in the know. The reason behind this is simple; the team is comprised almost entirely of robots. Robots are loosely termed in this day and age. They range from anything completely, entirely mechanical to those who can belong to the hateful term 'android'. Most of the world's population is separated into two groups; the robots, and the humans. There are those who fall in between these two distinctions, though they are generally lumped in with robots if their 'steel-to-skin' ratio exceeds 50%. Sometimes, it's even less than that. Robotica's members were all once prominent members of society. Some were strong, military heroes incapable of falling. They fell. Some were geniuses whose wit could not be matched. They were checkmated. Some were political figures with promising careers. The promises were broken. They were recruited, in most instances, to become a part of Robotica. In others, the subjects were 'resurrected'. In almost all cases, Robotica has issued its members with state-of-the-art robotic 'upgrades'. Even the militaries around the world aren't as strong as a well-trained Robotica squad thanks to these upgrades. As a matter of course, in most countries except Australia, those classified as 'Robots' are granted no rights. This means no robotic upgrades are allowed in military service, civil service, or various other such services. Which gives Robotica an edge. Another edge Robotica has ... Robotica is a secret. The only people who even know about it are AWDOG's higher-ups. And most of them refuse to acknowledge it. Other world governments scoff at the idea that anyone could drop into their borders and enforce 'world peace'. In most cases, only the Prime Minister or President is informed of the truth. Even then, they scoff. Robotica is just a myth. Until they strike. Until you strike. [center]--------------------------------------------------[/center] Welcome to Robotica. Please fill out these forms and make certain all information is accurate and can be accounted for. These forms are for safety's sake, and to help us in aiding you in the future. Have a nice day. [b]Name:[/b] Please fill out your name in this space. [b]Age:[/b] If you have never had a 'black-out', or a period of time in which you were biologically inactive for any reason, then include your chronological age. If you have had a 'black-out', then please list your mental age pending your last remembered birthday. [b]Nationality:[/b] If you have suffered a 'black-out', please list the name of the country you belonged to before your 'black-out'. If you have not suffered a 'black-out', please list the Superpower you most recently claimed allegiance to. [b]Enhancements:[/b] Please list the basic robotic enhancements you have undergone in your own words. You may find a list inside the folder you were provided upon your recruitment. Also, please include the reason you needed these enhancements. Reasons such as fatal injuries must be noted and the nearest technician advised of your previous condition. [b]Primary (Military) Occupation:[/b] Please list your function within Robotica's covert operations center, whether you are part of a field team, a monitor and reconnaissance team, or an administrative politics agent. If your function has not been covered adequately above, please note it in the blank space and describe your main function. [b]Secondary Occupation:[/b] While Robotica is mainly a covert military organization, we are also a stand-alone entity that requires our own facilities and our own residential zones. As such, we require the basic needs of any city, such as local law enforcement, hazard response teams, and general workers. Please list your off-base profession here. [b]Appearance:[/b] Please include a photograph or a complete yet concise description of yourself. Also, please include any instances of cosmetic or therapeutic surgery you have undergone here. Enhancements that are visible are included in this section. [b]Personality:[/b] Please note the highlights of your session with your Personal Analyst in your own words here. [b]History:[/b] Please note a brief history of yourself, including anything you wish, from birthdays to anniversaries. If you feel there has been a mistake, and you wish to leave Robotica, then please place this form back in the bin and ask the nearest technician to take you to the Decommissioning area. Thank you very much. [center]--------------------------------------------------[/center] [b]Name:[/b] Alastor 'Merc' Mercurius [b]Age:[/b] 24 [b]Nationality:[/b] Louisiana, United States of America. [b]Enhancements:[/b] Upper torso reinforcements, bone-to-steel replacements, agility and reflex enhancers, neural and immune system reinforcement and improvement, muscular hyperfiber re-transplant, and the total replacement of the right arm and the lower left leg. Reasons for required transplant: wholesale grenade injury. [b]Primary Occupation:[/b] Primary Field Agent: Recovery, Reconnaissance and Assault Specialist. [b]Secondary Occupation:[/b] Firefighter. [b]Appearance:[/b] [URL=http://www.sfondideldesktop.com/Images-Games/Metal-Gear-Solid-2/Metal-Gear-Solid-2.jpg]Merc with pistol.[/URL] [b]Personality:[/b] Sarcastic, smart-aleck, and rude. Also loyal, intelligent, and caring. Seems to prefer working alone; may have suffered a traumatic loss at a younger age. Reactive and angry when in civilian clothing; judged to be cold and calculating in a work environment. Desires children. [b]History:[/b] I was born in Metairie, a suburb of New Orleans, in 1987. I joined the military at age 19, and excelled in the field as an infantryman. In 2010, I was promoted to Sergeant, and given command of a squad. A grenade thrown carelessly by a friend's squad went off in our trench. I gave the command to jump, leaped onto the grenade, and felt everything go dark. Next thing I know, I'm being unfrozen and praised for my glowing field record, and given the rundown. Best I can do is serve and protect. [center]--------------------------------------------------[/center] That's about it. Thanks for reading this far. Please, join up![/color]

[quote name='James][font=arial']Ahh. But aren't the Maverick Hunters also reploids? So I'm not sure why one group fights the other...unless one group are actually mavericks. I'm probably not making much sense out of any of this, haha. I have become so wound up in the old Maverick Hunter RPGs that I am now not at all familiar with the games themselves.[/font][/quote] [color=teal]The Maverick Hunters ARE Reploids, yes, and so is Repliforce. The Maverick Hunters, however, are a group geared towards fighting only Mavericks, while Repliforce is the military arm of the world at large. In X4, the whole of Repliforce was labelled 'Maverick' as a result of their CO, General, commiting 'actions unbecoming an upstanding member of the military', I.E., the destruction of Sky Lagoon. If that is all, then I look forward to seeing your signup, soon. Any other questions may be sent by PM, please.[/color]

[color=gray][i]He was our commander. He was incorruptible, a role model to us all. He fought to the end, fought no matter how bleak it was. He was invincible. He was our commander. I'll never forget the day he died. The day his spark was finally extinguished. It had all happened so fast, towards the end. We were all dying, one by one, either taken by the virus, or killed by those who were. Everyone fell to it; the 13th Aerial Unit, the 8th Armored, even the 17th Unit was devastated. It all just happened so fast... So fast, even the Special 0 Unit went down without a whisper. We couldn't figure it out, at first. How could so many Mavericks be appearing so quickly? Hadn't the commander all but wiped out the virus? Hadn't we been rebuilding our cities, our homes, our LIVES, for the last few years? What happened? Where did they come from? Why did they wait for HIM to disappear? But they came. It started in Crater City, when a single construction Mechaniloid suddenly went on a rampage. It destroyed seven city blocks before Repliforce managed to put it down. They'd lost an entire battalion in the process; something had made that mechaniloid more powerful. An injured Repliforce liutenant, Salamolten Anderava, had been found in the wreckage of one of the buildings. Within a few days, his battalion began to show signs of restlessness. It was assumed by the Repliforce Commander that, after the taste of the action they'd recieved in Crater City, they wanted more. It never occured to her... They became irritable. The entire battalion was slowly becoming the most infamous battalion in Repliforce, with more indictments for reckless and violent behavior than any other. It culminated one day when the entire battalion took off in a subterranean carrier against orders and began to terrorize Crater City's outskirts. The carrier, along with the rest of the 19th Land Battalion, was eventually put down by the 14th Land Battalion, with heavy losses on both sides. Anderava was never found in the carrier's wreckage. From there, everything began to spiral out of control. The Hunters finally snapped to when countless Maverick signatures were detected within the Repliforce Land base. But by then it was too late... The madness had begun. The fighting went on for months without any end. Our units would return to base only to be given the allcall to scramble once again, without time for anything more than a quick splash with some oil. We began to fall, unit by unit, but the Maverick threat had slowed down, by then. Or so we'd hoped. Everyone remembered the Day of Σ, the day that the former Maverick Hunter commander went Maverick and began a mission to corrupt every Reploid on Earth in an effort to subjugate humanity. Someone at HQ mentioned that name on July 4th, 2245, and it stuck. He was our commander. Now it's just us... On that day, July 4th, the scanners at HQ picked up an explosion of Maverick signatures, centered around Point Σ, the original location of Maverick Hunter Headquarters back before Σ-day. It was an all-out attack, after that. The commander led the charge, taking out as many Mavericks as they had taken Hunters in the past year. He was unstoppable, like a tornado. Then HE appeared. I'll never forget the look in his eyes as he looked down upon the commander. He leaped down, and a wall of force seperated our commander from the rest of us. It was obvious he was the leader, the cause of the Maverick resurrection. And it was equally obvious that he wanted to fight our commander one on one, sabre to sabre. I'll never forget the look in Commander X's eyes when that Reploid drew his sabre. 'So this is it, huh? I guess it was just my time...' The black and white Reploid won. Still, the commander didn't go down without a fight. He put up a valiant front, but it was over in less than fifteen minutes. Commander X fell with a gleaming sabre embedded in his chest. The reploid didn't even look up at us. He merely snorted and left. We stood there, confused and demoralized, before I lifted the Commander's body and took the sabre from his chest. I recognized it; it was HIS sabre; the Z-sabre. So the black reploid had killed Zero, too. It was almost too painful to carry our commander back to base. It was there we received a shock. A purple and silver reploid with a slitted helm stood in our way. He took one look at the commander's body and lowered his head. 'So this is how it ends, eh, X? Damnit...' He left without saying anything more. We buried our commander with full honors and began to pick up the pieces. Ever since the commander's death, the Mavericks have begun to fade out. Just a few days ago, an entire bloc of Maverick signals was recorded to fade out. When we got to the location, we found an entire Repliforce battalion waking up from a blackout. They couldn't remember the last seven months. Even so, the remainder of the Hunters and Repliforce feel that this is just the beginning. We're taking down any Mavericks that pop up from time to time, but everyone has the same question on their minds. 'Where is that black reploid?' [b]-Liutenant Commander Arc, Special 0 Unit Commander, End Recording.[/i][/b] [center]-----------------------------------------[/center] [u]It's a time of uncertainty. X is dead, and the Maverick Hunters and Repliforce have been greatly reduced in number. The Maverick threat seems to be dwindling, but every soldier is still needed, and still the number of soldiers falls daily. An investigation has begun in the ruins of Point Σ, to determing the cause behind the recent explosion of Maverick infection, and the Reploid behind them. Questions are being asked, without any answers forthcoming. Still, the human population seems to be safe in their controlled environmental domes, and with the recent development of Soulmetal, the Hunters and Repliforce seem to be adapting to the dwindling Maverick threat. Even so, acting Hunter Commander Siris and his subordinates can't help but be on edge. What if the sudden ceasefire is just a ruse....?[/u] [center]-----------------------------------------[/center] [i]You are a Reploid in either the Repliforce or the Maverick Hunters. You have been given a specific objective pertaining to the investigation of the recent rash of Maverick activity. You need not be assigned to the Point Σ Team. The required information for this RPG is as follows:[/i] [b]Name:[/b] Your name, and if you choose, your rank. You may follow the pattern of the names from the rest of the X series, or you may develop your own. Note that names usually reflect the nature of the reploid. [b]Affiliation:[/b] The force and unit you belong to. You may be a mercenary hired to aid in the investigation. [b]Function:[/b] Your purpose and designation; construction, research, defense, etc. [b]Aspect:[/b] The aspect of your abilities; I.E.- Ice, Fire, Shadow, Gravity, Light, etc. [b]Risk Assessment:[/b] The risk your character runs of becoming a Maverick; either Viral or Free-will. [b]Equipment:[/b] All Reploids are equipped for their function, as well as a small arsenal for personal defense. [b]Appearance:[/b] A description or picture of your character. [b]Personality:[/b] A general description of your character's basic personality programming. [center]-----------------------------------------[/center] [u][i]I've been assigned recently by acting Commander Siris to be the head of the investigation. My name is...[/i][/u] [b]Name:[/b] Lt. Commander Arc [b]Affiliation:[/b] Special 0 Unit Commander, Maverick Hunters. [b]Function:[/b] Agile Infantry and Assault Specialist, Secondary Strategy Specialist. [b]Aspect:[/b] Blade. [b]Risk Assessment:[/b] Low risk. [b]Equipment:[/b] Arc wears a pair of clawed gloves, the blades of which retract at Arc's command. He also has a fine command over various martial arts and a forearm-mounted plasma cannon. He possesses the Original Generation Copy Ability to a limited extent. [b]Appearance:[/b] [URL=http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/7815398/?qo=2&q=Hotsuma&qh=boost%3Apopular+age_sigma%3A24h+age_scale%3A5]Arc's Patrol[/URL] [b]Personality:[/b] Arc is a level-headed thinker capable of analyzing a situation and producing a battle strategy within moments, and is a valuable and loyal companion. However, as an Original Generation Reploid, he bears free-will and emotion, which sometimes cloud his judgement. Based off of the designs for X and Zero, he is a powerful assault Reploid, but he frequently asks himself if things could have gone differently. However, upon the issue of a new mission, he coldly shelves his misgivings and moves into the field. Upon the request for a volunteer to lead the investigation, however, he immediately volunteered in the hopes that he might be given time to think on his bipolarity. He often peruses the records of the Hunter Archives and frequently wonders how many of the listed Mavericks were truly Mavericks in the truest sense of the definition. [center]-----------------------------------------[/center][/color] [center][color=crimson][b][i][u]Woe unto those who look To the Stars, and see their own domain For the Beginning of the End Lay in the Greed of those who Would be God.[/color][/center][/b][/i][/u]

[center][b][u][i]From the dawn of time we came; moving silently down through the centuries, living many secret lives, struggling to reach the time of the Gathering; when the few who remain will battle to the last. No one has ever known we were among you... until now.[/i][/u][/b][/center] [center][b]~~~~~~~~~~~~[/b] [color=crimson]I am Juan Sanchez Villa-Lobos Ramirez, and I am an immortal. My time passed four and a half centuries ago, in a castle in Scotland belonging to my friend, and student, Connor Macleod of the clan Macleod, at the hands of a warrior known only as the Kurgan. I was a casualty of a contest, a game, of sorts. A contest between only immortals. Shall I explain the concept of immortality to you? Very well. An immortal is a being that has arisen again after the shock of a violent death. Once slain, they cannot be slain again, nor may they die of old age. How, then, did my time pass? As an immortal, should your head ever leave your neck... it's over. On top of that, all of your strength, all of your knowledge and memory, shall pass into the one who severs your head. Immortals are not born. They are foundlings, orphans with no origin. And they are all destined to die, or win, this contest, and fight until the time of the Gathering. There may be only one. Or so it was, until the rules changed. A violent immortal, wronged in the past by Connor Macleod, or so it was to him, Jacob Kell, led a gang of immortals against Connor Macleod, and his younger clansmen, Duncan. Through trickery, Jacob Kell gained a vast number of immortal kills, more than twice as many as Connor and Duncan. It was only by Duncan slaying Connor, at Connor's whim, that their strength combined was enough to slay the errant Kell. But the rules have been violated, and the nature of the game changed irrevocably. Ever since the dawn of time, it has been one-on-one, blade against blade. Kell's use of a gang violated those sacred rules, even more so when he slew them all himself to harvest their strength. Now, bands of immortals have gathered together, under team banners in an effort to survive the new storm. A new test, a new Gathering. The winds of change have begun to blow. There may be only one, but that one is to be the leader of the victorious banner. There may be only one. And I have gained my second chance. The banner of the Highlander must not be allowed to fall, the prize must not be given to one of dark intent! There may be only one![/color] [b]~~~~~~~~~~~~[/b] [color=teal] You are a part of a violent conflict arising among the immortals in the world. Now, more than ever, the need for secrecy is critical. Your role, be you Watcher, or Immortal, is vital to the survival of your team. Your team leader shall be the one to gain the Prize; the remainder of the team will be given normal lives, and normal stations, until such time as the Game is begun anew. As a Watcher, your role is to take stock of the team, and note the status of the immortals within. It is your duty to keep them abreast of their skills, and their training. And above all, you are to do so without interfering directly in the coming conflict. As an Immortal, you are gifted with eternal life. Your goal is to be a part of the team, bonded by time and strife and the spirit of camaraderie in your quest to gain the Prize for your team leader, the Highlander. This shall not be an easy victory; immortals have begun to lose strength as those of the past have begun to return, their lives necessary to guide the younger immortals in the ways of the Game. The rules have changed; many fallen have been restored to their blades and lives to take up the sword in the honor of their team banner. Even so, it will be a long, cold night. There may be only one.[/color] [b]~~~~~~~~~~~~[/b] [color=gray] The required information is as follows. [b]Name:[/b] Your name. [b]Age:[/b] Your age in years, centuries, or millenia. Only FIVE immortals are timed to be older than 2,500 years old; Methos, The Oldest Immortal, and Cassandra, The Witch of Dunan Woods. Neither are intent upon the Game, though both rally under the banner of the Highlander. Three resurrected Immortals, the remaining Three of the Four Horsemen, Silas, Kronos, and and Caspian, are a vague match for Cassandra's age. Resurrected immortals count their 'living' age, not chronological age since birth. [b]Affiliation:[/b] Either Watcher, or Immortal. [b]Weapon:[/b] (Immortals Only) Your sword; only blades are used in the beheading. [b]Apperance:[/b] Either a good description, or a picture, or yourself. [b]Personality:[/b] Your general personality. [b]History:[/b] A brief history of your time on Earth, within a few centuries. Even Immortals forget.[/color] [b]~~~~~~~~~~~~[/b] My own signup. [color=crimson][b]Name:[/b] Juan Sanchez Villa-Lobos Ramirez (Tak Ne) [b]Age:[/b] 2,437 living years. [b]Affiliation:[/b] Immortal under the banner of the Highlander. [b]Weapon:[/b] A dragon's head katana, forged by Masamune himself. [img]http://img19.imageshack.us/img19/5800/connorkatana0xq.jpg[/img] [b]Appearance:[/b] [img]http://img100.imageshack.us/img100/3347/ramirez8gk.jpg[/img] [b]Personality:[/b] Generally, Ramirez is a genial, jovial man, his eyes sparkling with just the right mixture of seriousness and mischief. He is a patient and caring tutor, and strives to be the example those around him may look up to. Slightly confused by some of the modern-day devices, he is slowly adapting to the times as the months pass, leaving his abrupt resurrection in Glencoe, Scotland, behind. He has a slow, yet violent, temper, though he fights incredibly well and with a level-head. [b]History:[/b] Beheaded by the Kurgan over four centuries ago, in Glencoe, he has lain dormant within the eddies of memory since his death. Now, with the rules changing and the Prize the coveted cup of a violated creed, the cosmos has restored him to his life at the spot of his death those many years ago to provide a balancing force against the onrush of violence. However, with his resurrection, Ramirez is surrounded by times and conveniences foreign to him, though he has begun to adapt under the tutelage of Methos, the Oldest Immortal, and Duncan Macleod, the 'cousin' of his one-time student, Connor Macleod.[/color] [b]~~~~~~~~~~~~[/b][/center] Thank you for reading; I hope you enjoy it, and join up!

[color=teal][i][size=1]Artek scratched his head softly as he looked down at this Eagle. It was mostly complete, now, except for some of the problems he'd had before. He sighed and shrugged. He was sick of working on his Eagle. He still didn't want to head back out, though. He cracked his neck and started walking forward, thinking hard on Rusti's reaction.[/i] [b]"How could she think that about herself? Was it somethin' I said?"[/b] [i]He sighed and shrugged. He shook his head and wrote out a quick note, explaining that HE thought Rusti was date material, no matter what anyone else thought, and quickly aced up the to the Phoenix's cockpit. Rusti'd said something about working on that, next, and so he bounced up and left it atop her control console. As he turned to leave, he thought better of it. He grabbed the letter and turned to get down when he noticed the ladder was gone. He hung his head.[/i] [b]"Crap... I hate doing this."[/b] [i]He turned and ran for the nearest edge on the Pheonix, bending his knees and flipping off onto the floor. He hit hard, and messed up his landing, as he rolled and slammed into a stack of tools in a slide. He stood up shakily, blinking blood out of his right eye. He began to limp out, heading for the infirmary. He stopped only to slide the letter under Rusti's door, unnoticing of the blood trail he left on it, and continued his walk. He needed to get his shoulder and head looked at, and fast As he walked through the door to the infirmary, he began to mentally catalogue the repairs on the Eagle. He wondered if all of the pilots had had similar troubles. Maybe he could recommend his old mechanic to help the guys out...[/i][/color][/size]

[color=teal][size=1][i]Artek sighed, wiping the back of his forearm across his forehead. He looked at the gunshots and the burn marks dotting his Eagle's frame and fingered his acetylene torch. He looked Rusti over, long and hard, and nodded softly. He shot a meaningful glare at Jarek, who settled on his friend's shoulder, still snickering.[/i] [b]"Eagle's pretty messed up, but it's not s'much damaged as most o' the others. Nah, my problem is that whoever put the damn thing together was on meth or somethin'. I'm havin' more trouble fixin' the problems that existed before the fight than the ones the fight added. Once I'm done, though, maybe I could give y'a hand with the Phoenix; that's gonna take aces o' days t'fix."[/b] [i]He watched Rusti out of the corner of his eye as he took a sheet of MechAnima armor and layed it over a bullet hole. He carefully welded it in place, taking care to line the metal and slice it into the hole neatly; he knew only too well that aerodynamics were screwed up royally by a bad patch job. As he worked, his eyes riveted on the torch and metal, he kept thinking of Rusti and Cassidy. A grim set came to his jaw.[/i] [b]"Artek, why did you ask to be called Raven?"[/b] [i]His jaw eased up as he stopped repairing bullet holes. He sat back on his haunches and shook his head slowly.[/i] [b]"Long story. Gist of it is, I flew the Round Table. Seven years. I was a mercenary; best of the best in Nighthawk Squadron. I always flew alone; somethin' you never do on the Table. But I couldn't fly with a partner; not on the Table. Not with Aria gone..."[/b] [i]Artek didn't care that he was being himself right now. It never crossed his mind that the anguish and shame and rage were fueling his voice. He didn't care that his scars, which she'd only noted from the back, were so much worse on his chest. He fingered idly the long, ragged scar that had come from the joystick of his father's plane. It had snapped off and dragged ace for aces across his chest before ramming itself into his stomach cavity. He shook his head and returned to his work.[/i] [b]"If you'd like to hear the whole story, an' then some, I could tell you over dinner. I'd like t'take y'out sometime, if it's a'ight with you."[/b] [i]He almost burst out laughing when he felt Jarek faint and fall from his shoulder. Artek, being bold? Asking for a date? Artek nervously fingered his ponytail, shifting his weight in his moccasins. Why did it matter so much for her to say 'yes'?[/i][/color][/size]

[color=teal][size=1][i]He kept the wrench clenched in his teeth as he bit back a frustrated scream. Oh, sure, he was pissed. Oh, sure, he was the only one in the bay working on the Eagle. Oh, sure, he and Coburn were actually making headway on fixing some of the huge errors in his MechAnima's structure. But damnit, did he have to put up with an eagle nobody but he could see and hear, too?! He lost control. At least he managed not to press the station-call button on his comm, keeping Coburn in the dark.[/i] [b]"Goddamnit, Jarek, can't you shut the HELL up?!?! I'm workin' as damn fast as I can!!!"[/b] [i]With that, he hurled his wrench somewhere in the eagle's general direction, a loud, grinding 'clank' resounding as it bounced off the exposed portion of his Eagle's tail's left winglet. A chirp on his comm let him know Coburn knew what happened.[/i] [b]"Hey, great job, Artek! You fixed the lockleft in the rudder! Awesome job, man!"[/b] [i]It took all of his control not to fall off of the Eagle. As it was, he was twitching like mad. He tried to take deep, calming breaths. Really, he meant to do it. He tried his hardest to ignore the snickering he heard from Jarek. Snickering, honestly. How in the hell does a damn eagle snicker? A sound from the general vicinity of the Phoenix made him lose it. Again.[/i] [b]"Oh, damnit, Jarek, can't you fucking stay still?!?! And stop snickering, ya bastard eagle! Don't think just because people can't see you I won't throw this wrench at you, I KNOW it'll bounce o-er....uh.... hiya?"[/b] [i]His tirade came to an abrupt end as he locked eyes with Rusti. He felt exposed, standing there on top of the Eagle, a wrench in his hand, grease and oil staining the olive skin of his bare chest. He was in jeans, something unusual for him to be in, at least so it would seem to Rusti. Had he EVER worn civvies around her? A blowtorch hung from his belt, and his hair was pulled back from his face in a spiky ponytail. His work gloves fit snugly around his hands, though the right one was half-unbelted, to allow for more ease of motion in his dominant hand. And he'd been yelling at his spirit guide the whole time she was here. She'd think he was nuts. He reached up to scratch the base of his ponytail[/i] [b]"Uh... hi, there, Rusti....hehe...."[/b][/color][/size]

[color=teal][size=1][i]Artek noticed the problem with Rusti's volley and nodded to himself, thumbing the switch to disarm all missiles. They weren't his forte, anyway. He thumbed his vulcans on and twitched his crosshairs over the Wvyern's engine block, his face cool and unearthly as he let loose a blast that should have stopped his enemy's propulsion tanks.[/i] [b]"SHIT!"[/b] [i]The spray went wide, slightly to the left of his intended target. A few holes in the Wyvern's tail, not even close to the engine block. Artek twitched and paled when he saw the craft turn sharply and target him.[/i] [b]"Raven, ROLL RIGHT!"[/b] [i]Two steps ahead of Trysten's order, Artek was already jerking hard on the joystick, slamming his weight to the right. But the stick wouldn't move. Artek could see the missile bay doors opening on the Wyvern's right wing, and his face began to pale.[/i] [center][b][u]"ARIA!!! NOOO!!!!!!!"[/u][/b][/center] [i]He shook off the memory and threw his weight to the left, tucking into a roll and spraying a volley of bullets as he rolled. It was luck, he acknowledged, and nothing else that spared his life as one tracer hit a missile, initiating a chain reaction that left nothing but shrapnel to pepper his Eagle as the Wyvern soared over, the bottoms of both Mechanimas scraping slightly. Artek sighed and slammed his afterburners on. He needed to fix his stick, and fast.[/i] [b]"This is Raven. I've got a lockleft joystick, and my vulcan crosshairs are off by approximately ten degrees to the left. Take note, and watch for similar problems."[/b] [i]He rolled off and took fresh aim, shuddering as he planned a more well-prepared strike on this enemy. His aim was sure until his sixth sense, a battle instinct honed from seven years on the Round Table, forced him to roll and forsake his aim.[/i] [b]"Damnit! Rusti, Clyne, somebody tell me who's on my tail!!"[/b][/color][/size]

[size=1][color=teal][i]Artek stepped forward, a grim look settling in his eyes. His scars stung in the cold air under his shirt, but he ignored it. He looked to Professor Stian.[/i] [b]"Yes, Blackfeather. This chip is the Eagle's SOUL module; it's been keyed to you. I hope your previous experience in the cock-"[/b] [i]A look from Artek silenced him and he nodded, handing the young pilot the white and gold chip. With that, Artek spun on his heel and marched off for the locker rooms. His eyebrow began to twitch. Nobody here should have known about his days in Wardog. Besides, flying a MechAnima was different from flying an F-15 Eagle. Wasn't it? He suited up, hoping silently more of his past didn't come to haunt him. He exited the locker room, Jarek's weight once again settling on his shoulder. No words were exchanged between the two; Jarek never spoke before a mission. It was a tradition they shared. Artek stepped into the hangar once again, pulling his flight helmet over his head and smirking. His suit made him feel like he was in armor, and the helmet suited him perfectly. The two chevrons on his shoulder ranks puffed him up a bit as he yanked on the Eagle's liftline. He glanced about the cockpit and chuckled, sttling his hands on the joystick. Instantly, any and all levity left his manner. He slotted in his SOUL module, giving his ID while the OS booted up. A jerk told him he was heading for the catapult, and a second one told him the gravity lock was holding his MechAnima down. He shivered in anticipation. He hadn't flown a mission in years. The last time he'd been launched from a catapult had been his last day as the Wardog Squad Leader. He keyed open his comms, and instantly a male voice barked out.[/i] [b]"Lieutenant Blackfeather, report!"[/b] [i]He pressed the button at the side of his helmet, his microphone flaring to life in silence.[/i] [b]"Blackfeather, I read you." "I'll be your statistic observer, Second Lieutenant Coburn." "Thanks, Coburn. Call me Raven." "Anytime, Raven, as long as you call me Blackjack."[/b] [i]The two chared a tiny chuckle as the catapult's tension cables began to straighten and Artek began to key in his MechAnima's skeleton's activation code. The Eagle entered launch position, and the LCD light in front of Artek blipped red.[/i] [b]"Raven, ready for launch."[/b] [i]Blackjack's voice came over the comms.[/i] [b]"Roger, Raven. You are cleared for launch."[/b] [i]The red light flashed green, and Artek felt the intense, familiar push of the catapult's insane G's press him into the seat. And suddenly, it was over. He was out. He keyed his comms open for his squadron, and barrel rolled over to fly in front of Rusti, slightly to her side.[/i] [b]"Hey, Rusti. Form up behind me, slightly to my right. I'll form up behind Charon. For the sake of the mission, I'm Raven. Stay alive."[/b] [i]With that, he fell silent, manipulating naturally the myriad controls at his fingertips. It was as though he were born to fly....[/i][/color][/size]

[color=teal][size=1][i]Artek raced down the halls next to Rusti, the scars on his bare arms stinging in the cold station air. His one good eye was focused ahead of him, his senses unfolding around him. He hastily avoided ramming into several others, Ajack and Clyne, it looked like, and protectively grabbed at Rusti to keep her from doing the same. When they started running again, he didn't realize she'd taken her hand back from him. His eyes narrowed when he saw a hastily-dressed redhead exiting the boy's dorms as they raced past. He sneered a little in anger, knowing full-well it was Cassidy's chosen bedmate for the night. He blinked away the rage. [b]Save it for the field, boy.[/b] He thought back to his father's last words, the flashing red lights and the anger that was building in him slowly taking him back to that day...[/i] [b][u][center]---Flashback---[/u][/b] [u][i]The flames licked his body as he called out for his mother. His heart was beating fast. He knew he was losing blood, knew he was breathing too much smoke while he was screaming. But he needed his mommy, needed his daddy. He wailed as the sound of ambulances drew closer. He hated that sound. It meant something was wrong. The heat was growing unbearable. The flames stopped licking and began biting hard at his four-year-old body. He began to cough, hard, and knew without a doubt, he was going to find the Great Spirit soon. The wailing grew louder, the world grew darker, and there seemed to be the echo of a screech on the wind... His consciousness began to fade.The screech grew louder, and he felt a sudden weight settle on his chest. The harness broke. He looked up, the blood draining from his body quickly as he felt shrapnel and metal suddenly withdraw from his back, and saw a golden eagle's eye locked onto his. He blinked as he heard faraway voices. His eyes opened again to see the base firefighters and EMTs above him. The eagle was gone.[/i] [b]"We got a live one here! Good god, I don't believe this... get him to medbay, NOW!!"[/b] [i]He closed his eyes and knew no more...[/i] [b]---End Flashback---[/b][/u][/center] [b]"Artek!"[/b] [i]He was shaken out of his internal musings by Rusti's yell. He shook his head and looked around, nodding. The door in front of him read 'Strategy Room: Briefing'. He turned to Rusti, a grim set to his jaws, and opened the door even as he felt the familiar flutter of an eagle's wings behind his head, the familiar weight of his friend, Jarek, upon his shoulder. As he walked in to the room next to Rusti, he could have sworn he heard her gasp...[/i][/color][/size]

[color=teal][i][size=1]His blood pumped as he exited his first set of Val Tudo katas. Inner peace, however, seemed as elusive as a legged snake. His mind was awhirl with complications. They weren't his usual complications; speed-to-thrust ratios and wind shear equations were nothing to him anymore. No, it was all about people. Relationships, Cassidy, interaction, Rusti, pain, Rusti, his parents.... Everything fell apart right there. His bare chest began to heave as he remembered his father's smile, just moments before the crash. He could feel the explosion, the flames licking his body as the harness help him to the seat. He could hear himself calling for his mother as shrapnel pelted his face and chest... He awakened from the rage, the despair and the pain, only to find himself in the last position of the final Val Tudo kata; a lethal pin with a knife-edged palm to the throat. He barely registered the voice as he stood up.[/i] [b]"Oh...hello..."[/b][/color][/size]

[color=teal][i][size=1]Artek sipped his Daniels slowly, savoring the burn flowing down his throat as he watched the dance floor. Emi and Ajack were going wild, enjoying themselves. A curious event with Ajack's glasses twitched Artek's attention, but he didn't really feel like asking.[/i] [i][b]We all have our secrets.....[/b][/i] [i]Artek's thoughts drifted away from his secrets as his gaze alighted on Rusti. A twinge of jealousy burned within him as he saw Cassidy chatting with her. He almost started, wanting to break off and attack, but his self-discipline, honed after fourteen years of martial arts and military training, had clamped down on it. [b]Damnit, I don't get jealous. She... she can't mean anything to me. I won't let her....damn it...[/b] His eyes perused the area around him, his attention flickering from various other trysts and meetings around him. He sighed, downed his drink, and stalked out. A glance at the clock told him it was one in the morning. He shrugged and turned towards his room. Closing the door, he smiled secretly to himself. The only male cadet with his own room. He rather enjoyed that; it kept the scars secret, at least. He shucked his shirt from his body and grabbed a towel, heading out of his room and keying the lock. As he walked out, towards the gym, a nagging in the back of his mind suddenly awakened. He shrugged his bare chest and shook his head; he needed to get his Val Tudo in, and the gym was the perfect place for it. He never realized his shirt was crumpled on his bed....[/i][/color][/size]

[color=teal][size=1][u]"You're not really going dressed like that, are you?"[/u] [i]Artek didn't reply. He lifted his hand to his dead eye, brushing his spiked bangs out of the way as he stared at his reflection. He was wearing a lincoln-green silk shirt with wooden togs and a pair of blue jeans. The only indications of his native heritage were the stark white bangs and the moccasins on his feet. He opened the shirt, lifted it up, and stroked the numerous burns and scars that still remained, even fourteen years after the incident. A sad look overcame his face as he whispered, to nobody in particular.[/i] "Father, mother....." [i]He sighed softly as he lowered the undershirt and redid the ties of his silks. He turned around and spiked his bangs, forcing the roguish smile that had become his trademark to come to the fore.[/i] [u]"Boy, you really must stop faking that smile. You deserve a little comfort in your life, Artek, shed a few tears."[/u] "You know I can't, Jarek... I come last. The world comes before me, the team before that, and Rus... and someone before that." [i]Jarek tilted his head to the even as Artek shook his head slowly. So, the boy had fallen in love... well, it was about damn time. Jarek smiled and suddenly vanished, his body becoming motes of light that entered Artek's body. Artek sighed at Jarek's last words.[/i] [u]"Well, boy, go get that 'someone'. Even if we both already know she's named Rusti."[/u] [i]Artek sighed and keyed open the door to his quarters. Almost immediately upon entering the commons, he literally bumped into Rusti. He barely had time to cover his wince of pain as he instinctively reached out to steady her. The action wasn unnecessary, even though his smile became a little less forced. He didn't notice.[/i] "Oh, hey, Rusti. How are you?" [i]He winced inwardly as the mask he wore snapped out of place. Maybe it had something to do with Rusti being so close...[/i][/color][/size]

[size=1][color=teal]"Our first graduating cadet, an exemplary student who graduates with honors, Lieutenant Artek Blackfeather!" [i]Artek stood and nodded, his trademark smile, the right side of his mouth tugging just a bit higher than the left, affixed upon his features. He stepped forward to stand beside the Air Chief Marshall, who handed him a folder containing his orders. As he accepted the folder, a familiar weight seemed to settle on his shoulders. He didn't need to look to know it was Jarek. His smile became more natural as the eagle only he could see flapped its wings.[/i] [u]"So, you've become a lieutenant, eh, boy? Quite the achievement. Are you certain you're prepared, Raven? You do remember what happened in the crash..."[/u] [i]Artek merely nodded, shaking his shoulder somewhat to good-naturedly shut his companion up as the Air Chief Marshall launched into a speech about Artek's achievements.[/i] "Cadet Blackfeather has shown considerable talent in the field of aerial combat, particularly in using small-class weaponry. Practically unbeatable in a dog-fight, Blackfeather shows a remarkable talent for medium-range combat and his skill is exemplary in an aircraft of medium-class maneuverability. Also, every free moment Cadet Blackfeather has ever had with us, he has spent in the simulators, racking up more training flight-hours than any other cadet here. With this in mind, Cadet Blackfeather has received a commission on the ANGEL Wire to suit his unique style. Congratulations, Lieutenant Blackfeather!" [i]Artek bowed low to the applause of those in the room, his smile faltering somewhat as the noise reminded him of the incident, but nodded to the Air Marshall and whispered softly.[/i] "Thank you, sir." [i]With that, he saluted the Air Marshall, who saluted him back. Artek lowered his hand and snapped to attention, turning around and walking back to his place in the line as the next name was called. He smiled gently as he shook his shoulder, affectionately rocking Jarek. The eagle chuckled.[/i] [u]"Still insist on calling me your spirit guardian, eh? You Native Americans are all the same, setting your sights on the skies and calling the familiars that answer the call gods... still, congratulations, young Raven. We'll have you gracing the skies soon enough."[/u] [i]With that, Artek couldn't help but smile. All of the cadets around him saw it, and recognized it for what it was. The first true smile Artek had ever given...[/i][/color][/size]

[color=teal][i][b][u][size=1]"So you wanna be a hero, huh, Blackfeather? With smarts like yours...."[/b] His eye narrowed as he toggled his HUD's altimeter. He was getting too close to the ground. He made a slight adjustment, his eyes never leaving the radar. That red blip had been following him for a while.... [b]"Artek 'Raven' Blackfeather, reporting for duty, sir!"[/b] The blip moved closer. He hailed the craft, received no answer. He shrugged. It wasn't like he expected one, anyway. [b]"You're an idiot, Artek! Get the hell down from there! Artek! ARTEK!!!"[/b] He rubbed his one good eye, sweat beginning to bead on his brow. His fingers grew tense on the joystick, waiting... waiting. [b]"You damned fool! Why the hell are you worrying about Cadet Titian?! You're the one who needs help! Now get to the med bay!"[/b] His lip curled as his comm chirped with the order to break and attack. He immediately slammed into an Immelmann, hoping to swing over his target and take them from behind. His eye widened when he saw the target coming right for him. [b]"His left eye's suffered a great deal of damage; we believe the optic nerve may have come loose."[/b] He winced as a single missile impacted his left wing. Another hit like that... suddenly, the world went silent. [b]"Cadet #254002, Artek Blackfeather... put him back in the cockpit."[/b] The eerie silence seemed to come from the enemy craft. His eyes narrowed as another missile ejected from the enemy's launch tubes. He entered a barrel roll, hoping to evade... [b]"You're sending that... that.... he's a kid, Colonel! He's only eighteen! And he's just lost his left eye! How can you put him back in?!"[/b] The missile was closing. 500 yards. 400 yards. 300 yards. 200 yards. He braced for impact, his 6' 2" frame pressing into his flight seat... [b]"His compensation for his vision loss is perfect. In fact, I'd say, minus the obvious disorientation, he can see even better than before."[/b] The impact never came. He opened his eyes, looking around, and found himself flying in the wind. His helmet, his suit, even his plane.... gone. He looked around and found himself in the talons of a great golden eagle. He blinked, slowly, and then...[/i][/u] [b]"Artek! Wake up, boy!"[/b] His eyes snapped open as he leapt out of bed. His spiky hair instantly snapped into its usual mess, his left eye staring unfocused from its socket. His sapphire right eye gleamed with irritation as he snapped to attention, barking out his identification reflexively. [b]"Cadet #254002, Artek Blackfeather, sir!"[/b] [img]http://animemyworld.tripod.com/ranmayami.jpg[/img] He looked at his instructor hatefully when he noticed his instructor glaring back at him, expecting something more. [b]"My specialty is air combat, sir. My callsign is... Raven."[/b] His hands clenched into fists as he stared at his instructor, the scream of an eagle ringing in his ears....[/color][/size]

[center][img]http://ketsurui.omni-shore.net/ob/CmdPreviewInWebBrowser.jpg[/img][/center] [color=teal][center]Welcome, applicants, to the fourth division of the Super Smash Bros. Rumble tournament! I am Talon, your host, and the announcer for your matches. I will also announce the decision of the judges at the end of each match. We wish you a good fight, and good luck. May the best Smash Brother win![/center] [center]------------------------------------- Rules -------------------------------------[/center] 1) Each match will last thirty posts. Any action that was meant to continue on into the thirty-first post will be frozen and considered for judging. Please, do NOT attempt to mince your posts so that they match the limit. Fight naturally. 2) Fight to your best, and be sure to make it quite clear HOW you're fighting. Matches are judged based on grammar, originality, spelling, and creativity. Use your imagination. 3) No godmodding, no unlimited use items, and no rudeness. There are kids watching,after all. 4) Read the underground thread in matters pertaining to your Carried Item. One per match, it MAY change. 5) Though there are FOUR non-Nintendo characters and four divisions, that does not necessarily mean one non-Nintendo character per division. PM your non-Nintendo character sign-up to me for pre-approval, along with whichever division you wish to post in in the PM title. 6) Have fun, and may the best Smash Brother win. [center]------------------------------------- Sign-up Sheet -------------------------------------[/center] [b]Name:[/b] Your name. [b]Game:[/b] Your game of origin, or series of origin. [b]Appearance:[/b] A picture or a very in-depth description of your appearance. [b]Standard Carried Item:[/b] Your preference for Carried Item. [b]Smashes:[/b] A list of all four of your Special techniques: One for the 'Up' attribute, which is usually attached to the double-jump feature as an emergency save, one for the 'down' attribute, which is usually associated with a defense of some sort, one for the 'moving' attribute, which is usually an attack with a lot of force, and one for the 'standing' attribute, which varies from character to character as a 'signature move' of sorts.[/color] [center][img]http://ketsurui.omni-shore.net/ob/CmdPreviewInWebBrowser.jpg[/img][/center]

[center][img]http://ketsurui.omni-shore.net/ob/CmdPreviewInWebBrowser.jpg[/img][/center] [color=teal][center]Welcome, applicants, to the third division of the Super Smash Bros. Rumble tournament! I am Talon, your host, and the announcer for your matches. I will also announce the decision of the judges at the end of each match. We wish you a good fight, and good luck. May the best Smash Brother win![/center] [center]------------------------------------- Rules -------------------------------------[/center] 1) Each match will last thirty posts. Any action that was meant to continue on into the thirty-first post will be frozen and considered for judging. Please, do NOT attempt to mince your posts so that they match the limit. Fight naturally. 2) Fight to your best, and be sure to make it quite clear HOW you're fighting. Matches are judged based on grammar, originality, spelling, and creativity. Use your imagination. 3) No godmodding, no unlimited use items, and no rudeness. There are kids watching,after all. 4) Read the underground thread in matters pertaining to your Carried Item. One per match, it MAY change. 5) Though there are FOUR non-Nintendo characters and four divisions, that does not necessarily mean one non-Nintendo character per division. PM your non-Nintendo character sign-up to me for pre-approval, along with whichever division you wish to post in in the PM title. 6) Have fun, and may the best Smash Brother win. [center]------------------------------------- Sign-up Sheet -------------------------------------[/center] [b]Name:[/b] Your name. [b]Game:[/b] Your game of origin, or series of origin. [b]Appearance:[/b] A picture or a very in-depth description of your appearance. [b]Standard Carried Item:[/b] Your preference for Carried Item. [b]Smashes:[/b] A list of all four of your Special techniques: One for the 'Up' attribute, which is usually attached to the double-jump feature as an emergency save, one for the 'down' attribute, which is usually associated with a defense of some sort, one for the 'moving' attribute, which is usually an attack with a lot of force, and one for the 'standing' attribute, which varies from character to character as a 'signature move' of sorts.[/color] [center][img]http://ketsurui.omni-shore.net/ob/CmdPreviewInWebBrowser.jpg[/img][/center]

[center][img]http://ketsurui.omni-shore.net/ob/CmdPreviewInWebBrowser.jpg[/img][/center] [color=teal][center]Welcome, applicants, to the second division of the Super Smash Bros. Rumble tournament! I am Talon, your host, and the announcer for your matches. I will also announce the decision of the judges at the end of each match. We wish you a good fight, and good luck. May the best Smash Brother win![/center] [center]------------------------------------- Rules -------------------------------------[/center] 1) Each match will last thirty posts. Any action that was meant to continue on into the thirty-first post will be frozen and considered for judging. Please, do NOT attempt to mince your posts so that they match the limit. Fight naturally. 2) Fight to your best, and be sure to make it quite clear HOW you're fighting. Matches are judged based on grammar, originality, spelling, and creativity. Use your imagination. 3) No godmodding, no unlimited use items, and no rudeness. There are kids watching,after all. 4) Read the underground thread in matters pertaining to your Carried Item. One per match, it MAY change. 5) Though there are FOUR non-Nintendo characters and four divisions, that does not necessarily mean one non-Nintendo character per division. PM your non-Nintendo character sign-up to me for pre-approval, along with whichever division you wish to post in in the PM title. 6) Have fun, and may the best Smash Brother win. [center]------------------------------------- Sign-up Sheet -------------------------------------[/center] [b]Name:[/b] Your name. [b]Game:[/b] Your game of origin, or series of origin. [b]Appearance:[/b] A picture or a very in-depth description of your appearance. [b]Standard Carried Item:[/b] Your preference for Carried Item. [b]Smashes:[/b] A list of all four of your Special techniques: One for the 'Up' attribute, which is usually attached to the double-jump feature as an emergency save, one for the 'down' attribute, which is usually associated with a defense of some sort, one for the 'moving' attribute, which is usually an attack with a lot of force, and one for the 'standing' attribute, which varies from character to character as a 'signature move' of sorts.[/color] [center][img]http://ketsurui.omni-shore.net/ob/CmdPreviewInWebBrowser.jpg[/img][/center]

[center][img]http://ketsurui.omni-shore.net/ob/CmdPreviewInWebBrowser.jpg[/img][/center] [color=teal][center]Welcome, applicants, to the first division of the Super Smash Bros. Rumble tournament! I am Talon, your host, and the announcer for your matches. I will also announce the decision of the judges at the end of each match. We wish you a good fight, and good luck. May the best Smash Brother win![/center] [center]------------------------------------- Rules -------------------------------------[/center] 1) Each match will last thirty posts. Any action that was meant to continue on into the thirty-first post will be frozen and considered for judging. Please, do NOT attempt to mince your posts so that they match the limit. Fight naturally. 2) Fight to your best, and be sure to make it quite clear HOW you're fighting. Matches are judged based on grammar, originality, spelling, and creativity. Use your imagination. 3) No godmodding, no unlimited use items, and no rudeness. There are kids watching,after all. 4) Read the underground thread in matters pertaining to your Carried Item. One per match, it MAY change. 5) Though there are FOUR non-Nintendo characters and four divisions, that does not necessarily mean one non-Nintendo character per division. PM your non-Nintendo character sign-up to me for pre-approval, along with whichever division you wish to post in in the PM title. 6) Have fun, and may the best Smash Brother win. [center]------------------------------------- Sign-up Sheet -------------------------------------[/center] [b]Name:[/b] Your name. [b]Game:[/b] Your game of origin, or series of origin. [b]Appearance:[/b] A picture or a very in-depth description of your appearance. [b]Standard Carried Item:[/b] Your preference for Carried Item. [b]Smashes:[/b] A list of all four of your Special techniques: One for the 'Up' attribute, which is usually attached to the double-jump feature as an emergency save, one for the 'down' attribute, which is usually associated with a defense of some sort, one for the 'moving' attribute, which is usually an attack with a lot of force, and one for the 'standing' attribute, which varies from character to character as a 'signature move' of sorts.[/color] [center][img]http://ketsurui.omni-shore.net/ob/CmdPreviewInWebBrowser.jpg[/img][/center]