Sign Up The Taste Of Night

[The Harlequin]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Alright, just a note before I get started. Due to the fact that my rpgs have so far died in conception, this is the last time I'm taking a shot at it for a while. On top of that, I intend to have multiple storylines running at once, including ones which will of neccessity be designed by you. So, if you're one of those no spelling, no grammer, no willingness to put in effort rpgs, go away. I'm trying to get this one to actually work. And you can bet I'm going to put some effort into screening posts...


[I]In the kingdom of Atkala, there is an inn. Its location and ways are well known however, far further than Atkala's borders. Its full name is "The Stand Of The Masterless". To most however, it is simply "The Post". It stands larger than one would expect. It has seven floors, and is nearly the size of a pasha's palace, though far more functional in design.

Within the strong wall that surrounds it is the largest mercenary trade in the world. Hireswords, bravos, adventures and other of that ilk gather there, to be recruited for war, dungeon delving, or guarding a noble lady's washing. The place is frowned upon by institutions of authority, priests, temples and all governments. Yet it remains, and does business. For to shut it down would be to unleash a wave of unemployed fighters of questionable morals upon the countryside.

This place was set up by a retired adventurer named Lacroix s'Xalerian. In his heydey, his main concern was the biased treatment given to those who made their living, or just found their pleasure, through the sword. Seeing how his ilk were quite often considered mere bandits, in his latter life, he set up what amounted to a guildhouse. It made him quite rich, but more importantly, it made him certain that adventures were given rights. And he made sure it was never ill-used.

One night, sometime in the early hours of the morning, the door to the inn crashed open. Lacroix was awake, conversing in low tones with a group of Gnomes about their latest invention. Lacroix had an interest in oddities. Snores from mercenaries of various races rocked the solid building, and the occasional bootheel clicked on stone.

Lacroix rose to shut the door, unconcerned. The door opened all the time. It was never locked, as people turned up all hours of the day.

He was half way across the common room floor when a loud thump was heard. His hands lowered to his well-used, familar scimitars. There was a groan from the area near the door, then the sound of an incantation, then silence. Out of character, Lacroix lit one of the many lamps. A large, furred form lay next to the cloakroom. It breathed, but was still.

One of the Gnomes, always inquisitive, ran over to it, and started poking it. Another groaning emanated from somewhere in the huge form, and it rolled over. The gnome squeaked and jumped back, nearly impaled on a foot long horn. The gnome turned to Lacroix, and remarked in a solemn voice.

"It's a minotaur"

Lacroix muttered that he could see that, and bent over the now outstretched creature. It looked up at him, suddenly coherent. The depth in those pools of grey was frightening. This was a creature of intelligence cetainly. For a minotaur, that was quite rare. Lacroix took a slow step back. The minotaur sat up, shaking its head. It's voice was low, by its standards, yet still carried to the gnomes that remained in the opposite corner.

"I mean you no harm. Tell me, where am I?"

It was a sonorous, if rumbling, voice. Slightly scratchy, as if its owner had been ill-used, or perhaps sick. Lacroix relaxed. This minotaur was in no position to fight.

Several disorientating minutes later, the minotaur was seated at the bar, partaking in some sherry with Lacroix. At its side was a finely crafted battleaxe, found when the minotaur had stood up...before falling to the ground with a thud. The impact had shaken the inn slightly, wakening several of the more...tightly strung patrons. Most of them were now gathered around the minotaur, waiting for him to explain his plight. Chances are, it was something up in the wind, for few people dared the wrath of The Post these days.

The minotaur did so hesitantly, but with confidence. He revealed nothing about himself, only how he had come to be here. Several older creatures of various races narrowed their eyes. This was beginning to sound more and more like the old days.

After the minotaur was finished, he drained his glass, and asked where he could find a room. With quiet dignity, he put forward that he had no money. Lacroix didn't hesitate, but beckoned him into the room behind the bar. Lacroix's room, though he never slept in it. The minotaur offered him soft thanks, and retired.

For the next few hours, the old hands who had not sought their beds engaged in reminiscing. Lacroix laughed at their tales, sympathised with their pain, but his mind was on other matters. It was only in the last hours before dawn, when he was alone, that he realised he had no idea of the minotaur's name.[/I]


Alright then. Everybody is going to start in that inn. I don't care what reason you may have for not wanting to, you're going to start there. It's neccessary. Mainly because, as I alluded to before, (if you bothered to read anything above this) you will have your own storyline, as well as the main plot line. The main plot line isn't my story by the way. I'm not that arrogant. The other members of the rpg will be present in your plotline, but it's entirely up to you what happens. And it doesn't end until the rpg does. So really, everybody will be writing in multiple stories at once, though they will all be tied together. If this sounds like too much effort, then don't bother.

On to technical details. You can do or be anything you like. I don't care if its elves or werechickens. Just make it somewhat sensible, (so I guess that rules out the werechicken) and somewhat logical. Remember, we're all down-on-our-luck adventures. I don't want any 8000 year old creatures of the Abyss who just [I]happened[/I] to be there at the time. So, do what you like, but if I don't like it, I won't bother with you. I'll not stop you in advance, because it wouldn't work anyway. Oh, and at least try to make it up. Don't give me a bunch of characters, or even names, from some crazy anime show you saw once, as I know is so often the case in rpgs these days.

For the moment, I'll need something along the lines of this. You know the drill. And if you don't, you probably shouldn't be here.

[B]Name:[/B] Kinrade Riftsbane
[B]Race:[/B] Minotaur (Again, I encourage you, be creative, but realistic)
[B]Age:[/B] 23
[B]Bio/History:[/B] Kinrade was the son of the tribe's shaman. Minotaurs are not normally associated with mental pursuits, but they do have their dieties, and their beliefs. Chief among these is Belaaz, Lord of Battle. It is the shaman's duty to placate this dread god before conflict, and commend fallen warriors to his halls. Kinrade was educated by human tutors in order to further his service to Belaaz.

Unfortunately, one of the tutors (who had been conscripted in service) was actually a star pit fighter, and a slave. When his owners came looking for him, and found the minotaur village, they burned it down, and killed the inhabitants with magic. After losing several other gladiators to the minotaur's wrath that is.

Kinrade, who was 11 at the time, and was captured. His father was slain as he sought to invoke the hidden arcane might of Belaaz. Kinrade had never known about it, and was left ignorant of his esoteric heritage.

Though only a child, he was still a six foot tall muscle bound creature with an instinct for strife. He was trained to fight as a gladiator, and won every bout, whether against man, beast or monster. His masters were satisfied. They continued his education, making him a wonder for people to gape at. The beast that could converse as a human, and cut asunder vicious monsters! In that vein, he was sold to a rich noble as a body guard at the age of seventeen. He served the man faithfully for a year, killing many would-be assassins or thieves.

On his eighteenth birthday, Kinrade's blood boiled. Through him rushed a cold fire, sweeping him into realms unbenknowest to him before. After an hour of agony, he collapsed, shuddering. His master's attempts to rouse him were met with failure. The man sneered, and kicked him. He ordered his servants to dump the minotaur in the river, thinking him dead by arcane means.

Kinrade came to floating face down. As he swam for shore, his mind coursed with strange visions. He was a cleric of Belaaz, educated by the proud god himself, for Belaaz would not release what was his, and was pleased with Kinrade's battle fury.

Given freedom, and a purpose in life, Kinrade travelled for three years, learning the ways of the world, and bringing death as Belaaz wished. The destructive powers he sometimes channeled however, came at a price. Belaaz demanded blood, and should Kinrade go too long with killing, the god would send him into a beserk frenzy, in which he killed all he came across. Kinrade would awaken, exhausted, covered in blood. He never knew the innocents he killed, but their faces haunted him during his twisting nightmares.

At least, Kinrade attempted to free himself from the black god. He tore his symbol, crossed battle axes, from his neck, and cast it off a cliff. Belaaz roared through his mind, demanding Kinrade's servitude. Kinrade resisted, and was thrown into madness. Kinrade wandered the world some more, always tormented by Belaaz's vocie in his head, though the god could no longer drive him to killing furies. He was lost, unsure, unknowing of what he did.

Coherence returned at the age of 22, in the city of Wraspith, far in the north. It was underground, with a subterranean harbour crafted by magical might. It was populated by anyone who had the courage to live there. The original inhabitants, human barbarians, were most numerous. Among the savage barbarians, Kinrade made his living on a pirate ship, killing for money, though he liked it little. Indeed, he would sooner turn and attack a rival pirate ship then plunder a defenceless merchantman. Kinrade rose quickly to the rank of bosun, then the degrees of mate, then captain. His ship, the Horned Wrath, was the terror of the pirates, and the friend of innocents. His crew were not dockrats, but trained fighters. They number three paladins, among diverse others.

This strange group drew the attention of the rules of Wraspith, a cult of liches who ruled the city with taloned fists and magic. Knowing that the other pirate captains could cause mayhem in the city, and preferring not to rule a graveyard, the liches put a curse of banishment upon Kinrade. They could have quelled any uprising easily, but chose to take the simpler option, revelling in evil themselves.

Kinrade travelled south, to more civilised lands. The Grand Bazaar of Cathis intrigued him, and he found lodging there. He ran into a magican of some power, and in return for help with a small matter of a rival enchanter, was gifted with information. The city was about to die.

A virulent plague swept through, killing most of the inhabitants. Kinrade fled, to return as the corpses were burning in piles higher than his head. He sought out the mage, and demanded to know how he was aware of this plague. Next Kinrade knew, he was awake on the floor in The Post.


[B]Description[/B]: Eight feet tall, with black fur. Foot long horns. We all know what minotaurs look like. Has the typical minotaur muscularity, though is thinner than the average of the race. The symbol of Belaaz, crossed battle axes, with strange demonic blades, and ravens carved on the blades, adorns his left forearm, tatooed in red ink. A small mark of ownership, remnants of his slavery, adorns his right.

[B]Equipment:[/B] Dwarven crafted battleaxe, leather bracers.

[B]Reason for being at The Post[/B]: This is where you devise the beginnings of your storyline. What your character is after, their goal in life, something they are looking for whatever. But they have to have a purpose. No "Oh, I'm just out to see the world" or anything like that. Mine, for example, is that Kinrade wants to remove the taint of Belaaz from his mind, and what not.



Alright. Maybe this one will actually work.[/font][/color]

[Talon]

[color=teal][b]Name:[/b]Flare Kenrilon

[b]Race:[/b]Weretiger

[b]Age:[/b]28

[b]History:[/b]Born to an elven maiden in the throes of death, Flasre named himself for the rage within himself at his mother's death. He was found by a tigress whose clan concurred that the babe would not survive without the gifts of Lycanthropy. With the new abilities, the child was raised alongside the tigress' cubs.

Flare grew to teenage years hunting and using the combined blood of elves, men, and weretigers to increase his skills. His tigress mother, however, was soon taken by a plague. Grieving, he set out for the nearby elven village. At an inn, his blood alerted him of nearby relative.

Within moments, he and his half-sister were united. When he told her of all of his trials, and of his transformation, his sister looked optimistic for her brother's future. However, the man that had raped his mother and conceived him was still around. his blood told him so.

His father showed up late that night to claim what was his. He believed his son had aqcuired a great treasure and used his right to take it from him. Flare lost the only relic of his tigress mother. Lost in fury, he kindled his fiery rage and grew older. At the age of twenty-five, he set out to find the man he refused to call father. He now spends his time at The Post, trying to search the bloodlines in his body for the evil man.

[b]Description:[/b]Standing six-foot four, his frame is muscled, yet less bulky than a boxer. He has clear, ice-blue eyes and long, black hair tied into a braid that ends at his waist. He wears leather armor over a green shirt. His shadow-black pants are covered up to the knee by his laquered boots. A single scar mars his appearance: the mark given him by the ritual that turned him into a weretiger. It is a simple triangular scar present on his left shoulder.

[b]Equipment:[/b]A single longsword, a quarterstaff, and a travelling cloak of green, used for concealment in the forest. In Weretiger form, his only weapon is a short sword and his supreme strength.

[b]Reason for being at The Post:[/b]Searching for his "father" to kill him and take back the only relic of his mother: a sappire leaf-pendant. He believes his father will turn up at the post. Flare has grown restless, however, and will probably soon start out. (Hoo boy, I can twist this story into a ton of ways...with even more for multiple adventurers.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hope this one does better than all the rest of 'em. It sounds good anyhow.[/color]

[The Harlequin]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]The more ways you can twist and/or continue it, the better. And it's now how good it sounds that will get it off the ground. I'm more concerned with the calibre of people that sign-up. [/font][/color]

[Deedlit]

[color=009966][b]Name:[/b] Elsyan Airserke

[b]Race:[/b] High Elf

[b]Age:[/b] 19

[b]Bio/History:[/b] Ever since Elsyan was 9 years old, she dreamed of becoming a mage. At first her parents, who were the Rulers of the Elven Kingdom disagreed, thinking that having a mage in the family would disgrace them, but when she turned 15, they allowed her to go to school for a few years to learn a few simple spells. After all, they thought that it was simply a fancy and that she would soon grow out of it, so they might as well show her that her dream of becoming a mage was pointless. Despite their predictions, she loved using magic! She learned all she could during those few years. When she turned 17, she felt that she was ready to take the Test that all pupils must take in order to become a true mage and to move on to more complicated spells. She knew that her parents would forbid her to take the Test, maybe even try to stop her, so she decided that she would take it without them knowing.

The Test was very hard and complicated, but at last Elsyan completed it successfully. She was then accepted into the Assembly of Mages, and was given the Staff of Tridoris as proof that she passed. She then returned home to visit her family, but the homecoming was certainly not a friendly one. Her parents were royally pissed (to say the least), and it was soon obvious that they dispised her now. They took her staff and threatened that if she didn't drop the use of magic, that they would punish her severely, and maybe even cast her into exile. When she refused, they locked her away so that she could rethink her decision.

One night while her parents were sleeping, Elsyan decided that this was just the oppurtune moment to escape. Using her magic, she melted the lock and slipped out of the chamber to her parents' room. At the foot of their bed was a trunk, and Elsyan knew that her staff was in there. Picking the lock carefully (her parents would probably wake up when they smelt the metal burning, so she had to do it the old-fashioned way), she opened the lid and grabbed the Staff of Tridoris, then ran away from home. She went into exile on her own will, living and wandering the land by herself.

The next morning, her parents woke to find that she was gone. While many of the people thought "Good ridance," her parents sent out runners to retrieve her and bring her back for punishment. Three days later, the runners returned reporting that Elsyan had eluded them by covering her tracks using magic. Her father then decided that the only punishment suitable for her acts was death. He sent out about eight assassins to kill her and bring back her staff as proof. They weren't to return until they did. Elsyan has been on the run ever since then, living in fear of pursuit, discovery, and always on the run. She never stays in one place for too long should the assassins find her.

[b]Description:[/b] Elsyan is slender and stands at about 5'4". She has long red hair that goes past her waist and down to her wrists when her arms are at her sides. She has emerald-green eyes, and wears a long green dress that stops at her ankles. She wears black knee-high boots, and wears a white hooded cape, signifying that, as a mage, her alliance is to Good. She wears a pouch around her waist that contains some spell components.

[b]Equipment:[/b] Her Magical Staff, her pouch, and a dagger concealed in her long wide sleeves.

[b]Reason for being at The Post:[/b] Elsyan is seeking a place to stay and hide herself since she can feel that the assassins are gaining on her each day. She would much prefer to fight them, but it would be suicide since they're trained to kill and she's just a newly appointed mage. She hopes to lose them in the crowd at The Post.[/color]

[PiroMunkie]

[color=indigo][size=1][b]Name:[/b] Tödliches Bündnis (just call him 'Tod', for short. If you want feel free to add the accent 'ö'.)

[b]Race:[/b] Daywalker

[b]Age:[/b] 22

[b]Bio/History:[/b] Daywalker: One born from a mother who was bit by a Vampire while she was pregnant. Given all of a Vampire's strengths, and none of their weaknesses.

Töd's mother died about a week after his birth, where he was left in his father's care in a small, slightly isolated town. There was no neighoring area as far as the eye could see from the outer edges of the town. Though, one could easily travel by horse, get to a nearby city or town, and back within half a day or less. Töd's craving for blood was one trademark of the Vampire that carried within him. Whenever such a thirst occured, his father would give him an animal from their livestock, as his family were farmers. Mostly raising chickens and cattle. Töd was too young and naive to notice that know one else he knew did this, so he never questioned anything. Though, as soon as he reached the early years of puberty, this craze of his faded until it was no more. He eventually forgot about it, but it would come to realize it in a few years once more. He would also find out even later, that his loss of his thirst for blood was to be replaced by something else.

Around the age of sixteen, Töd received an old envelope from his father. In it was a letter... from his mother. It was written within the last couple days of her mortal life. In it, his mother expressed all her love in the world to him, and topped all off with a confession as to what he is. It was at this time that Töd recalled his cravings as a child, and now had an answer for them. Often as a child he tried to attack other people. Adults and children alike. He was always stopped before anyone got seriously hurt. He did not wish for a bad reputation among the people, so he swore to himself not to harm another as long as he could help it.

This resolve was short-lived. No more than a couple of years later, Töd was accidentally bumped sharply into by a hastey person. Töd hit a wall busting his lip open, and that was all it took. A pouring of his own blood. An immediate, fiery, bloodlust reaction raged uncontrollably inside of him, and he chased the man down. Then proceeding to beat the man savagely in any way Töd knew how until the man was nothing but a bloody mass. His Vampire inherited ability clearly showed in the brutal display. The onlookers were too frightened to try and stop him, but as soon as he realized what he had done he ran to his father. Upon hearing the news, the father packed several supplies and told Töd to run away for several days while he tried to clear things up the best he could.

So Töd left, for four days. It only took a matter of hours after he left for the towns people to bring the father to a conclusion. They threatened that either they both die, or Töd dies. Fearing for his own life, the father chose the latter.

When Töd returned to town four days after in hopes that his father worked things out, he found it completely demolished. Utterly destroyed. People and all. He searched all around until he could search no more for any sign of a survivor or telling of what happened, but none were spared and trace of anthing was too faint to make distinct conclusions. All he knew is that the town fell without even the use of fire. Everything was broken. Collapsed. Töd made his way to a main building at the front of the town. Many of the walls were fallen and there were bodies all about in pools of blood. Töd picked up a big, black book off the floor. He tore a majority of the pages out leaving only about ten in. On those pages was the record for anyone and everyone who passed in and back out of the town within those days. He was convinced that it was his fault for the destruction. Revenge from a greater power. If he had not killed that man, it would not have happened. It may seem a bit unreasonable, but he was left horribly traumatized by the event. The psychological wounds drove him to the edge of insanity and held him there. He needed to know what happened. It became an obsession...

Over the coming years he searched out anyone he could find in the listings. There were at [i]least[/i] a hundred, and up until present day, he has only found a handful of them. He questioned these people if they knew anything of the events that destroyed. Very shortly after his visits with them, they passed away or disappeared. No one knows why. Töd was kind enough to visit all of their funerals. After which, he continued his search...

[b]Description:[/b] Roughly six feet tall, but relatively thin with a sleek muscular build. Bald, with pale, pale skin. Velvet crimson eyes. His clothes are nothing special; dark browns and blacks. A heavy coat made from some type of hide, long sleeve shirt, pants, and boots. A nasty scar on the right of his lower lip.

[b]Equipment:[/b] A blood-stained, tattered black book (he lets NO ONE see it... so no peeking unless you have a death wish) [i]kept in his bag)[/i]; twin jackknives (single blade) [i]one in either boot[/i]; a personal pen (writes in red) [i]in the bag[/i]

[b]Reason for being at The Post:[/b] Töd believes the someone he is looking for is in the area. His ultimate hope is to find out what happened to his town, so he can set his tortured conscience to rest.[/color][/size]

[Jesus Chicken]

NAME: Ben Drakenmoor

AGE: 19

RACE: Human

Bio\History: Ben grew up in a small village of other humans. All who were set to grow up to be maids or knights. But of course, Ben was small for his age, and not very strong. Ben was smarter them most of his freinds though.

As he grew he noticed that using tactics and tricks he could beat his stronger larger opponents. Ben took this farther again, by broading out his slight of hand into theivery.

Ben became an expert theif, stealing anything that took his fancy. Anything that he could sell to his dimwitted freinds. Often he would steal things from his freinds, sell them steal them back and sell them once more. Often to the same people.

Ben hasn't moved too far from his home, but he enjoys the good life. living off unsuspecting fools he steals from.

DESCRIPTION: Ben is not very muscular, and quite thin. He is very short, standing about 5'3 tall. He has medium length brown hair, and brown eyes. Ben clothes are always in good condition, and are made from fine material. Always wears a long flowing cloak of brown (full of pockets), with long black pants and a vest of mail worn over a dark shirt.

EQUIPMENT: Ben carries with him in a scabbard always at his side. Ben hardly ever carries anything else. Maybe a bag if he has sighted a large item to steal.

REASON FOR BEING AT THE POST: Ben has been residing there for a few weeks, stealing from the drunken customers at night. And raiding the rooms during the day.

[The Harlequin]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]You'd better actually have a potential plot line there Jack.

I'll probably start this thing on Tuesday by the way.[/font][/color]

[Raiha]

[COLOR=royalblue]You didn't think you were going to slip this beauty by me now...did you?
~~~~~~~~~~
Name: Nepenthe Sevenstar

Race: Laporin with a seal on her greater powers for now.

Age: 800

Bio/History: Born as the daughter of Habeas Requiem, Nepenthe roamed the earth from the time she could hold her head up. Her mother refused to speak with her, and her sister, Lethe was terribly busy with the duties of the eldest daughter. Nepenthe was not angry at Lethe's busy state, but wished she had her own companion. She took to wandering to escape the twisted harsh lifestyle she was born into.

At the age of 21, her physical powers developed to a large extent, but she knows that with her build, she will never be as powerful as the others she may encounter. That is where her magical energy takes over.

At her first 100 years, her magical strength became her greatest power and she used it to not only survive, but get her way. This life continued for a time, until her older sister sealed her destructive magicks until they could be better controlled. Nepenthe accepted her punishment, but was resentful. About this time, her father came back and murdered Lethe and Nepenthes' mother....then destroyed Lethe's sight. Nepenthe was enraged, but powerless. This led her to devote her life to become stronger and wiser.

She now is a formidable sorceress, even without her powers. It is enough that she can manage the basics of magic, and with every year that passes, a little more of her power is released. Her search for knowledge is also what keeps her moving forwards.

Description: See attatchment

Equipment: The usual iron staff, with cherrywood.

Reason for being at The Post: To avenge her mother, and pick up any information the people have on him. And to also find a cure for her sister.[/COLOr]

[The Harlequin]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]I asked if you were signing up...didn't seem like trying to slip it by you to me...

Oh, by the way. If anybody wants background on the strange character interaction that will almost certainly happen with guest NPCs introduced by Raiha and myself, there is a number of things you'd need to read.... And I don't think anybody would get around to it. Still, if we happen to confuse you too much, just PM me, and I'll give you the rundown.[/font][/color]

[Jedah]

This sounds very interesting, I think i'll give it a shot.


Name: Jedah
Race: Demon being, his species is known as Makai.
Age: 1,477
Bio/History: The Makai had waged war in dark realm with both the Succubus kingdom, and the Vampiric kingdoms. This war continued for centuries, until, the lord of the Makai was nearing death. Feeling the dark realm slipping from his grasp, the dark lord spawned a being from the souls of the dead in darkrealm, and made him heir to the throne of Makai. This spawn was Jedah, a psychotic, blood-thristy, and amazingly clever demon.
Jedah was relentless in his kingship, he waged bloody battles and wars against both the Succubus and Vampiric kingdoms, staining all of darkrealm with his obsession for blood. His reign lasted for 400 years, as the war continued to be at a stand-still. Jedah's soldiers lost morale, and questioned their leader. Thus, the Makai king was ambushed. With little or no resistance from Jedah's soldiers, the Succubus queen Morrigan, and the Vampiric general Dmitri, easily defeated Jedah and banished him to the human and living realm for eternity.
Jedah wandered the living realm, avoiding execution, and sharpening his fighting abilities. He eventually became a feared asassin for hire, his lust only for blood. The call of work alerted him to the kingdom of Atkala...


Description: Approximately 7 feet tall in height. Weighs no more then 167 pounds. Jedah's skin is a blueish-gray tone, while his wings are pure metallic blades. He wears a long purple colored outfit, it resembles a priests formal outfit. Jedah's power of strange spells is astounding, he can morph blood into many different shapes and forms, as he can with his own body.

Equipment: Pyrimin: Jedah's long scythe.

Reason for being at The Post: Jedah searches for a way to return to his original dark realm. He hopes to discover this by performing the dirty deeds of assasination. Jedah also finds enjoyment in the atmosphere of the post, and he hopes to enlist some other patrons for his new army, to which he will extract revenge on The Succubus and Vampiric kingdoms.

[ColourDeaf]

Cool

Name: Llian Montairl Tyskiria Thamitol Joshtich (every name was made up by himself)
Age: Unknown, around 19
Race: Human
Bio: Llian has had almost no luck with his life.
He was born and abandoned, with no knowledge of any parents. He was raised in a monestary, but was sent to a madhouse as he grew to the age of 5, when several strange things happpened. Firstly, he showed knowledge of innate magic, and that was banned by the doctrine of the monk's religion. Secondly, the monks had always been apprehensive of his strange eyes, which are transparent and are like diamonds stuck into his face. Lastly, he had gone half-mad, claiming to see gods as he walked around the buldings, and speaking in riddles more often than not. He spent the next 10 or so years living in a madhouse, before escaping with what he calls "divine intervention". Nobody is too sure of how he did it. He has spent the next few years travelling, taking in the world through "insane" eyes. He has a great knack for story telling, and has almost every night sang and told for his supper.
Earlier this year, he had come across a small braclet, supposedly given to him by a God themself. He was told to take it to Sho-Gaea, and is now searching for that legendary place, a place that was there before the start of time.
Apprearance: He is a tall, handsome young man, with crystalline eyes that make him look more mad than he is. He has loose locks of dark brown hair cut short by himself. He wears a long claok made entirely of patches over a beige tunic and loose fitting cream trousers, and a pair of well-worn boots.
Equipment: The Braclet named Euyalin'mal, a foot long knife he uses for everythinbg, and his own sparkling wit. He is also formidable in a magical deul, using a mixture of illusions, teleportation and telepathic suggestion to efeat opponents.
Reason for being at the Post: He is searching for the mystical place Sho-Gaea, and is looking for someone who can tell him the way. He does, however, have a slightly bit of prophetic powers, and feels that being at the Post will help him immensely...

[Raiha]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by The Harlequin [/i]
[B][font=gothic][color=crimson]I asked if you were signing up...didn't seem like trying to slip it by you to me...

Still, if we happen to confuse you too much, just PM me, and I'll give you the rundown.[/font][/color] [/B][/QUOTE] [COLOR=royalblue]Then why were there already about 7 posts when I showed up? Hmmm? *self righteous look*

Yeah, so don't PM me, PM him, because Harlequin has more free time, even if he's uglier.[/COLOR]

[The Harlequin]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Perhaps it's because I'm uglier? Ever considered that.... Raven has this strange habit of disagreeing though. Then says that other people she knows agree with her, without giving out names.... But I'm certain that's just a hoax.

There were seven posts because you were too lazy to dig it up yourself, and wanted me to send you a link to it. And you took your sweet time with it anyway.[/font][/color]

[Raiha]

[COLOR=royalblue]Maybe because I'm was then opperating on finals week? In which exhaustive exams with about 200 questions cover the entire span of what I've learned over the semester?[/COLOR]

[Raquel]

Name: Siren Kojia Starr

Race: Vampyre (Refer to The Darkangel by Meredith Ann Pierce)

Age: 179

Bio/History: (Seeing as I've already made it O.o... I'll keep this short) Siren was created long ago by her brother, Serric. She Appears to be 20. She has lived in solititude with her brother for the past one hundred years, and just discovered a way to create a way to be able to walk in sunlight. However, the formula requires some dealing that Siren is not capeable of and decided to make a call to an old rival.

Description: Long black hair plaited into many tiny braids, burgandy silk shirt and durable black cotton pants. She has deep golden eyes and pale icy skin. Ebony wings sprout from her shoulder blades.

Equipment: Two long black katanas, three concealed daggers and a thin dirk strapped to the indise of her left wing

Reason for being at The Post: To resupply her self with the potion that renders her immune to sunlight
(I hate work... I'll try to finish it up later)

[Carren Heart]

Name: Zeon

Race: Blood Wraith

Age: over 700 years old

History: Born to a corrupt noble house of fiendish necromancers, Zeon study the darker arts of magic searching for immortality. Until his 40th birthday Zeon discovered a fountain of "youth" on his journey within the Far'ous Mountain realm. He restored his youth of the mystic waters only to discover it's dreadful curse, he drank the potion in hopes that he'd become young forever. His body transformed into that of his younger handsome self but at the cost of his soul. The water bestowed wondrous immortality and power but at a cost he would need the lifeblood of other creatures to sustain himself and grow in power. With each taste of blood Zeon gains qualities of the creature or person he'd feed from. But to do this he has to take the form of a misty crimson wraith. Zeon now searches the world for its strongest allying with them and feeding to gain power.

Human Form Description: Appears to be a 5 foot 11 inch, black haired, blue eyed, 27 year old. His appearance is a stunningly handsome well built healthy man.

Wraith Form Description: from the misty cloud that once formed legs to his demonic crimson features this form is one to behold. With only white energy where eyes and a mouth once were, to his faintly blackened claws. In this Form physical attacks seem to phase through him without injury (if that's okay!) with this and his life draining touch Zeon is a force to be feared.

Abilities: Besides his Wraith powers Zeon is a Keeper of Venoish (a.k.a Soul Harvester) and an experienced necromancer.

Equipment: nothing special

Reason for being at The Post: searching for strong individuals to ally with. And if able feed from them.

[The Harlequin]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Yeah, the etherealism is fine. If it gets in the way though, I'll throw something in to counter it. And if you try and "eat" anyone important....heads will roll.

This starts quite soon, to my knowledge anyway. Apologies to ColourDeaf and Jedah, you're sign-ups didn't make it. Nothing overtly wrong with them, and I'm not cutting you out just because you're newbies, I just didn't like them.

Everyone else-remember, own plotlines. Essential. Especially you Jack.[/font][/color]

[liamc2]

[b]Name:[/b] Athenos of Scarness Desert Clan

[b]Race: [/b] Azrac

[b]Age:[/b] 25

[b]Bio/History:[/b]The Azrac are a desert people, long entwined with fire so that they could cope under the intense heat of the Desert. Their ancestors created a curious affinity with the horses and became the first race to train them and tame them. As such, the Azrac horse bloodline is known to be the purest of all.

Athenos held a key role in his clan and was particularly gifted with the art of magic. He, however, felt that the Azrac reliance on fire magic alone was a weakness and decided to study the art of air just as industriously.

Unfortunately his people did not hold the same views. He was banished from his clan until he learnt the error of his ways.

Athenos believed his ways were corrrect and instead continued along his path, faithful horse Fieleth at his side.

[b]Description:[/b] Six foot two, bronzed skin, naturally bald on the head, arms, legs etc to deal with the extreme heat of the desert. Golden brown eyes and tan/desert coloured robe like clothing.

[b]Equipment:[/b] Hardened copper core sword, plated with hardened silver, sharper and more hardwearing than most, if not all. Golden coloured hilt and double sided.

[b]Reason for being at The Post:[/b] His travels, long leaving the harsh desert, untouched by all albeit the Azracs, lead him to this famous (infamous aswell) Post.

[The Harlequin]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]I'll trust you to take that somewhere, other than just the "out to see the world thing". Other than that, that's fine.[/font][/color]

[Carren Heart]

I had no plan to "eat" anyone (just feed) like a vampire.