Sign Up Salvation

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[center][IMG]http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b16/Blayze54/SalvationCity-1.jpg[/IMG]
[CENTER][I][SIZE=1][Art by Audic][/SIZE][/I]
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[B][SIZE=3]SALVATION[/SIZE][/B]

[SIZE=1][B]WARNING:[/B] [I]This RP will contain violence, drug use, sex and strong language, among other things. It also contains references that could be seen as portraying monotheistic doctrines, particularly Christianity, in a negative light. If you subscribe to any form of religion and are likely to be offended by generally anti-religious writing, please don't join this RP.[/I][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]For the rest of you, on with the show![/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]---[/SIZE]

[B][SIZE=1]Salvation City, 2072[/SIZE][/B]

[SIZE=1]Steam billowed up from the vents on the rain-slicked concrete, the puddles rippling with the rain falling from the sky. The glaring neon lights advertising new consumer-based products created gaudy reflections in the standing moisture, and created an artificial daylight, even after midnight.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]Droplets of water splashed upwards as the young woman's red sneaker slapped through the pool, running breathlessly for her life. Her dark red leather jacket billowed out behind her, and a film of perspiration covered her forehead, causing clumps of her muddy-brown fringe to cling to her skin.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]She rounded the corner into an alley, clambering quickly and gracefully up and over the chain-link fence that blocked her way. She landed hard, the impact bruising the soles of her feet, but she kept running through the pain anyway. Slight pain was preferable to whatever was following her.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]Ducking behind a dumpster, she stopped to regain her breath and her composure. She attempted to slow her heavy, ragged breathing and steady her heart rate, and keep her shaking hands still.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]The fence clinked and rattled, and she heard a pair of heavy footsteps land on her side of it. Her heart rate sped up again, her hands began to shake uncontrollably - he had found her.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]His footsteps slowed - he knew she was here, so he had no need to run any more. The heavy leather boots he wore on his feet were loud on the concrete beneath them, and his long black trenchcoat rustled as he moved. His breathing was shallow and regular, unlike the girl's, but his was amplified into a terrifying, blood-curdling noise by the voice box he wore.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]She looked under the dumpster, and saw the boots walk past the other side. Panic spread through her veins like icewater, and she closed her eyes, trying desperately to delay what she secretly knew was inevitable.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]When she opened them again, she found herself looking directly into his mask. From the nose down was a chunky, semi-circular grille, through which he breathed and spoke, his voice altered by a synthesized voice-box contained within the grille. From the nose up, there were two perfectly circular spotless black lenses where his eyes should have been, made of special glass meaning that he could see out of them, but no-one on the outside could see in. Covering the rest of his head was a heavy black hood which rose up from inside the high, upturned collar of his trenchcoat. Clouds of vapour billowed out of the grille as his breathing came through steady, but scratchy and electronic.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][B]"Wh-who are you?"[/B] she asked shakily through a dry mouth, staring directly into the blank lenses.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][B]"Who am I?"[/B] he replied, his voice an electronic growl, [B]"I am the High Inquisitor, and you have been found guilty of many sins, Kana Foster."[/B][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][B]"Sins? What sins?"[/B][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][B]"That is of no importance. What is important is that you shall pay for each and every one of those sins in the everlasting inferno."[/B] He rose to his feet, an enormous and imposing figure silhouetted against the neon jungle. Unbuttoning his trenchcoat slowly and purposefully, he never took his gaze off her terrified face, tears now running down her cheeks and dripping off her chin.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]As he reached the final button, he let his coat fall open, revealing a black t-shirt with a white cross emblazoned across the front, and dozens of cross-shaped knives hanging from the inside of the coat.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][B]"Stand,"[/B] he said, his voice cold and emotionless, even through the voice-box, and she did, somehow compelled to obey this man. He drew one of the long, sharp and elaborately decorated knives from his coat, took her left arm and slammed it against the wall of the alley, watching her flinch as the bones shattered. With one immensely strong hand, he forced her fingers apart and pressed her palm against the wall. With the other, he drew back the knife and with a single, impossibly fast strike, slammed the blade through her hand and into the wall.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]Her scream pierced the night sky, and thick rivulets of blood gushed[/SIZE]
[SIZE=1]from the wound, pouring down the wall. He never hesitated in grabbing her other arm and slamming that against the wall, the pain of these bones breaking simply adding to the ever-increasing well of agony she was suffering. With a quick motion, he drew a second blade and stabbed it through her right hand, more blood gushing from the point of impact. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]She choked on her pain this time, finding herself unable to scream any more, as the Inquisitor stood back to look on the pain he had caused.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][B]"It seems unfit that you should die as our saviour did,"[/B] he growled, pulling a third object from the inside of his coat. This one was a jet-black object the size and shape of a fountain pen, which he held in an upturned fist. As he raised it in line with her head, two prongs shot out of either end, tiny radio transmitters which produced a high-pitched whine.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]She began to roll her head back in agony, her eyes rolling backwards into her skull, and blood began to pour from her nose and mouth, running down and dripping from her chin as the tears had done earlier. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]Her eyes screwed up in pain, until eventually she lost her grip and slumped, still suspended against the wall by the blades.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]As soon as he was sure she was dead, he retracted the prongs back into the device, and placed it back in his coat, which he buttoned up firmly. His work was done, and he turned from the body and walked away without a seconds' thought.[/SIZE]
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---

This world is a very different place to the one you know. In the early 21st Century, governments across the world collapsed, almost simultaneously. Economies crumbled, systems of parliament and power all failed, and every country across the world was left without a leader.

It is in times of trouble that the large proportion of the world turns to religion. More and more people signed up to the religious doctrines of
the world for some semblance of help or guidance, and religion once more became power.

The three main Abrahamic religions - Christianity, Judaism and Islam - all had the largest numbers of followers. But there was still no real leader, and that was what the world needed.

A war followed between armies following each of the three religions. The Great Holy War, as it was known. Entire countries were scorched, entire civilisations destroyed, all in the name of God.

After eight long years of fighting, the victors finally emerged, and the world was united under a single Christian rule.

Thus, the Global Theocracy was born.

As with historical precedent, the Believers, as they became known, travelled across the globe in the Great Crusades, converting everyone they could and killing those who could not be converted. And soon there was no-one left to fight, and everyone was united.

The Global Theocracy began to rebuild cities, bigger and better than they were before - they were cleaner, purer societies, free of the filth and sin that comes with normal civilisation. At the centre of the world was Salvation City, the capital city of the Global Theocracy, built around the Grand Citadel, a fortress for the religious and the global headquarters of the Theocracy. Life was good again.

But human nature always wins through eventually. Corruption and sin began to creep back into existence - an "inappropriate" piece of literature here, a sexual deviant there - and soon the cities of the world were no longer pure religious capitals, but dens of filth, crime and sordid activity, and the Global Theocracy could do nothing about it.

Salvation City became home to brothels, crack dens, strip clubs, organised crime and sin and debauchery in general. A mere 67 years, and the world was back to the way it was before.

So the Theocracy did something. They took matters into their own hands, and formed a secret police force, dedicated to eliminating corruption within the city. They were known as the Inquisition, and they spread across the city, arresting people engaging in any of the major sins.

But soon arresting them was not enough - the sinners kept on sinning and the world kept on turning. So the Inquisition were given the political powers to become judge, jury and executioner to the sinners. They would kill anyone they believed to be involved in any corrupting activities on sight, without a second thought.

Everything was policed, and the people were oppressed, scared and running for their lives against the Inquisition.

But when you oppress people, it forces them to rise up. And now an underground resistance has formed against the Global Theocracy, dedicated to taking down the Inquisition, and then the Theocracy itself.

Viva la Revolution.

---

Welcome to Salvation, a gritty, neo-noir tale of oppression, revolution and religion. The Global Theocracy rules over the world with an iron fist and the loyal and brutal Inquisition.

You will be playing the part of revolutionaries, aetheists forced to live
under an oppressive Christian rule. This group is named "The Heretics," and they are dedicated to overthrowing the Global Theocracy, although some of them have their own, less noble motives.

You might need a little bit of background information on the two groups, so here goes:

The Global Theocracy was formed in 2013, from the ashes of the Great Holy War, by a man named Fabian Zephyrinus, who claimed the title of Grand High Magister for himself, and took control of the world. In the 59 years since the formation of the Global Theocracy, there have been 16 Grand High Magisters, their reigns of varying lengths.

The current Grand High Magister is a man named Victor Damascus, a cruel and violent, yet pious man who created the Inquisition. He rules
from the very top of the Grand Citadel in the centre of Salvation City,
where he occasionally addresses the world via giant video screens placed in all the major cities of the world. He never makes public appearances for fear of assassination, the cause of death for the previous Magister. He has his own private guard, made up of twenty
soldiers on rotating shifts, and controls the Inquisition, through the High Inquisitor (you've met this guy already - he was the one in the intro).

The Inquisition are an army of well-trained and better-equipped soldiers dedicated to wiping out the plague of corruption and filth that spreads across the world. Each soldier is known as an Adept, and each battalion or regiment is led by an Inquisitor. Then, every Inquisitor in the world (there are usually one or two in each major city) reports back to the High Inquisitor, a powerful man who hunts down Heretics on his own, as well as co-ordinating the Inquisition as a whole. He never tires, he never sleeps, he never breaks from the job - he is dedicated and willing to do anything to get the job done, and that's what makes him such a threat.

The Heretics were founded in 2070 by a mysterious figure known only as "Saxon," a figure nobody has ever seen. He communicates entirely by email or text message, never using his voice or image to contact other revolutionaries. The physical front of the revolution, however, is a battle-hardened fighter named Kitos Cade.

The Heretics are growing in number every day, as more and more people turn against the Global Theocracy, and they are prepared to wage bloody and brutal guerilla warfare against the Inquisition, who are far better equipped and trained than any members of the resistance. Each member of the group is given a tattoo of the letter "H" somewhere on their bodies, allowing them to identify other revolutionaries. This method of identification is thus far unknown to the Theocracy, making it a safe and easy way to contact other members of the group.

---

Here's what I need from you:

[B]Name:[/B] You've seen the kinds of names people have in this world - make it kind of futuristic but still vaguely sensible.
[B]Age:[/B] People as young as 14 are snapped up by the Heretics, but anyone older than 65 isn't much use to the resistance.
[B]Gender:[/B] Easy one.
[B]Appearance:[/B] A picture is great. A detailed description is just as good.
Both will get you extra brownie points. Be sure to include your character's attire (think cyberpunk kind of clothing - lots of black, lots of leather and metal, that sort of thing). Remember to include the location of your "H" tattoo (nowhere glaringly obvious, like over your eye or something. Keep it hidden).
[B]Personality:[/B] Sum it up in four or five lines, but be as detailed as possible.
[B]Short Bio:[/B] Don't go into too much detail here - I don't need your intricate life story, as this will be revealed as the RP continues. Just give me a quick (two or three paragraphs) overview of your life.
[B]Weapons/Special Skills:[/B] As far as weapons go, guns are fine, certain melee weapons are good as well. Remember, we are part of a poorly-funded resistance movement, so we won't have state-of-the-art weaponry like the Inquisition does. Keep it basic. As for Special Skills, this can be anything, just no superpowers. I'm talking gymnastics, lock-picking, tactics and strategy, weapons expertise, technological wizardry, not telekinesis or flight.
[B]Vice: [/B]You have to have a vice, otherwise what are you doing in the Heretics? Be it drugs, sex, violence or any other of the myriad sins you can think of.
[B]Writing Sample:[/B] Give me an idea of who your character is in a few hundred words. They can be doing anything in this sample, but keep it in-universe. We're talking gritty noir, darkness, rain, violence, bloodshed, drug use, sex, the whole spectrum. This is a world of greys - there is no black and white. The Theocracy may be oppressing millions, maybe even billions of people across the globe, but they did, for a short time at least, bring peace. Meanwhile the Heretics fight for what they believe is right, but they do so in an incredibly violent and brutal way, and they disturb the peace to uphold the human right to do sordid and "sinful" things.

---

I realise that is a hell of a lot of information for you to absorb, but it's all necessary. I hope you enjoy signing up as much as I enjoyed creating this RP.

Also, anyone who may want to make some graphics and stuff to make it all look a bit snazzier, please feel free, I'd be eternally grateful.

As always, any questions, please feel free to PM me and ask away! I'll be opening a Backstage thread soon as well.

Happy creating!
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[Darth Vectis]

[SIZE="1"][B]Name:[/B] Sparhawk Zephyrus

[B]Age:[/B] 30

[B]Gender:[/B] Male

[B]Appearance:[/B][URL="http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b18/Sagethefiend/Sparhawk.jpg"][B] [Sparhawk][/B] [/URL] [URL="http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b18/Sagethefiend/SparhawkOutfit.jpg"][B][Sparhawk outfit][/B][/URL] He doesn't wear the sunglasses and he does wear the hat.
Sparhawk has wide variety of tattoos on his body, many ranging from alchemic symbols, to images of creatures and people. The two he makes sure to keep up are the two swords on his forearms. The blades are incomplete and the sword hilts only have one side of the hand guard. But when he puts his forearms together to form the letter H for the heretics, this is his way of identifying himself to the other members.
[B]
Personality:[/B] Sparhawk is viewed as a pessimist to many, but he just likes to call it being a realist. He also has a high tolerance for pain that only comes from years of never trying to give people the satisfaction of ever winning over him. He once took a punch to the face that broke his nose and just smiled, just before he kicked that person in the gut with his boot. He is also rather unconventional in his methods of thinking; he tries to cover corners others haven’t to make sure all of his bases are covered and that he can’t be surprised. He is also sometimes referred to as cruel, as he can come up with a way to eternally torture someone without even really needing to physically touch them. It’s a gift in his eyes, not so much in others views.

[B]Short Bio:[/B] Sparhawk grew up in a “normal” house hold, one that reflected the times. His family was fairly wealth and donated money to the church. He grew up learning to be sophisticated and to act proper amongst people who were of the same class. He took to this very well and didn’t mind the formalities. It provided a nice cover for his overwhelmingly twisted person. He learned to dress like a noble, to walk and to talk like one. To understand how they thought and how they responded to many different situations.

When he was in his younger ages he wanted to be an Adept, since his family was so heavily involved with the church, and eventually and inquisitor. But, he discovered his skills didn’t reflect well in combat, for he tends to just kill people instead of properly interrogating them. So he took to a profession that could challenge him mentally and could provide results that would boost his esteem when he lacked it. He became a chemist and created many things, once of those things is 22 Blue. He sees that as his brain child and never will let that recipe out for anyone else to copy.

He broke off from the church for reasons of his own and was picked up by the Heretics for his chemist abilities, plus some of the people were dependent on his new drug. So he proved to be an asset in more than one way to a rag-tag crew.

[B]Weapons/Special Skills:[/B] Sparhawks primary weapon is a sword cane he has. He never goes anywhere without his cane so he always has his blade on hand. All he has to do is simply give his cane a tug and the blade easily pulls out from its hiding place. He also has a seven inch knife up his right sleeve and then a five inch knife hidden within his shoe. He simply has to apply pressure in the right areas and the knife appears. He also carries a .44 handgun, tucked away in a holster on the back of his belt. His skills are those of a chemist, he is not a world class chemist, but he is rather good, considering he created 22 blue. And his chemist skills extend beyond creating drugs and brewing concoctions of different chemicals, it extends to creating different types of volatile explosives.

[B]Vice:[/B] Sparhawk is a regular user of a drug called 22 Blue. It is a specifically designed drug that lasts for 22 minutes every time it is injected into the body. The drug is called blue due to the fact that it is injected straight into the tear duct of the user which causes either the blood vessels in the eyes to turn blue or for the users tears to take on a blue tinge. The high he receives from the drug makes him feel like he is flying, shrivels the pain receptors, releases endorphins and dopamine into his body. Sometimes, however, it can ramp up his aggression to levels that are unhealthy for him and others, sending him into a sort of berserker state. Sparhawk also has a obsessive problem, one that is in the area of how things work and why they work different in people. It becomes such a problem for him that he has actually assaulted people and dissected them to see if there were changes between people or himself.

[B]Writing Sample:[/B] [B]“The colors, they are so bright now. So amazing.”[/B] Sparhawk said to himself, he had just injected himself with his famous concoction. 22 Blue was his baby; he would never give it up to anyone. He would be more than happy to share his prize, but he would never reveal its secrets to another soul. The place it took him was absolutely amazing; he could never get this kind of feeling from the church, well, not anymore. Ever since he grew up he never felt that sort of satisfaction from the church, never got that natural high or that adrenaline rush. The sermons and the constant berating of the “sinners” were sometimes just a little more than he could handle. Being told that you were unclean and something all around evil was not something that was very stimulating to a man who used his logic, or what Sparhawk claimed to be his logic.

He had his back up against a wall as he was looking into the sky, the bright blue color of it made him smile to himself. But, suddenly his vision blurred and went from a bright blue, to a vibrant red. His expression changed from one of sheer ecstasy and glee, to one of malice and rage. He stood up and looked around in a new way; he was looking for someone to destroy in his mind. Someone to see how they worked, he wanted to know what made them walk, talk, function properly, and what happened when death over came them. They all differed in that process, death was always different for them all. He gripped his cane tightly as he walked away from his wall; he walked through a crowded street. He needed to find the right person, that one person that just twisted him the wrong way.

He found his mark rather quickly, a young woman that was about mid twenties and had dark brown hair. She had light tanned skin and a figure that any woman would kill for. He instantly moved through the crowd, and worked ahead of her, marking her as his target. He looked back for a moment, letting her catch him looking at her then turning away slowly. Making sure to dip his hat over his face and then vanishing into an alleyway. She let her curiosity get the better of her and followed the man, traveling in-between the buildings, seeing only the coat tail of Sparhawk. He finally stopped when he was deep enough and climbed up the sides of the building, using force to push himself up as he hung over the alleyway. The girl traveled in and looked around, not able to find him, she turned her back as she was right under him and he dropped on her. His boots made contact with her spine and a sickening snap followed. She crumpled into a heap before she could even say a word.

His rage got the better of him; he instantly started to beat at her body with his fists. He did this for a straight 22 minutes; by the time he came out of his high she was dead. Her body so badly broken and destroyed that he found there was nothing really left that was fully intact enough to take notes on. He reached down and wiped his hands on the clothing on his victim and then stepped over her corpse and exited into the city. Forgetting about the girl and her horribly mangled body.[/SIZE]

[Muuh Puar]

[SIZE="1"]Name: Fabian “Bedlam” Zephyrus

Age: 25

Gender: Male

Appearance: [URL="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v628/Reizou/a_cradle_song_by_yooani.png"]Bedlam[/URL]
[URL="http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v628/Reizou/?action=view¤t=p4-protagonist2.jpg"]Outfit[/URL]
In addition to this, the pipe is kept, while the glasses will be switched to goggles.
His 'H' is underneth his ring on his left ring finger. It's quite small in hieght, but kind of wide to discern what it is.

Personality: Once a religious boy and self-kept boy, he is now a very social person. He will often attend a party in his down time, picking up women, sometimes multiple at the same party. He is rather arrogant and self-centered, but is always very attractable by the ladies. In all truth, he’s pretty much an asshole that has the way with girls.

Short Bio: Being named after the great Fabian Zephyrinus, he started out life in an aristocratic Christian home with a proper father, mother, an older brother, and three younger siblings. He had a steady girlfriend from about 14 until his 24th birthday. On that day, she broke up with him and ran off to another man. This tore him into sexual deviance and drug use after he ran from home. Now, he lives life as if it was never different.

Weapons/Special Skills: Occasionally he carry brass knuckles, but he’ll almost always have his butterfly knife. His skills are very fast and long running, as he took track in his earlier years, as well as some minor free running from gymnastics training. His free running is limited to just running and jumping with none of the flair of back flips and such. He also plays guitar.

Vice: Bedlam’s vice is lust. He’s been known to have orgies of him and up to 5 women. Thou women are not always on his mind, he would never turn down ‘pleasures of the flesh’ unless something more important needed his attention. He also is attracted to gore, to an extent. He often jokes, “Flesh is flesh. I take it how I can get it.” He also uses opium to calm himself. When he goes to sleep without it, he suffers from night terrors.

Writing Sample: It was a cold and dark night. The room was dimly lighted, with the lights dimmed to set ‘the mood’ and the bathroom light on. The door was shut, but the light came out from under the door. In the bathroom, he looked at himself in the mirror. He was drenched in sweat. The night had gotten the best of him and he had another night terror. He ran the sink, cupped some water in his hands, and splashed his face. He had a night of champions, even for his standards.

The terror had just started when one of the girls woke him up. A woman was staring at him. One he knew from a long time ago. What seemed like ages. She was looking at him and laughing. She was hanging onto another man. This seemed to drive him crazy. He couldn’t even tell who this woman was and she was crushing him with a gesture that he can take almost a dozen times a night. But this seemed to irk him. Luckily, he woke up and made his way to the bathroom.

He had just damped his face when he reached for a towel in one hand and the medicine cabinet with the other. Out of the cabinet he drew his pipe. He placed it in his mouth and stood up straight, looking into the mirror again. He saw his body and liked what he saw, even with the new scars on his chest, shoulders, and back. His blue eyes were just as fresh as ever. His best asset, some said. He then remembered who the woman was.
“Damn, almost lost you, you whore.” Bedlam spoke to the mirror and himself. Then a voice came from the bedroom.
“Hey, come on back in. We need a little something before we leave.” A woman’s voice, sweat enough. He closed the cabinet and made his way back to the bed. At the foot he stopped and viewed the scene. Triplets. All blonde, beautiful, and very feisty in the sack. This would be the fourth time tonight. Fifth if he included the time he drilled the ‘innocent one’ so hard she passed out. She was up now, but that didn’t mean she would be for long. He wasn’t going to hold back this time. He took a deep breath of his pipe, blew out the smoke ring of opium, and got to business.[/SIZE]

[Orcus]

[FONT="Garamond"][B]Name:[/B] Caelus “Cael” Nebulous
[B]Age:[/B] 18
[B]Gender:[/B] Male
[B]Appearance:[/B] [URL="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v628/Reizou/Ulquiorra_Schiffer.png"][Cael][/URL]
Cael’s upper torso is covered by a thin, black, zip-up hoodie with the sleeves ripped off and a a white, collared t-shirt. On both bicep is a folded over black bandanna that leads to a leather wristband of the same color, with a white cross on it. On both middle fingers is a silver ring with a black coarse center and three crosses. His legs are covered by baggy black pants that tighten into black steel toed boots.

As for accessories, he wears a pair of black DJ headphones around his neck, and a pair of rectangular glasses. Caelus also has 4 earrings on his left ear- three on the top, and one through the lobe. His “mark of the Heretic” is located under his right ribcage, and looks like a surgery wound.

[b]Personality:[/B] Caelus is as amiable as they come—there’s not a soul alive who can say they don’t enjoy his presence. He’s always smiling, he always acts respectfully, he’s always kind to women and the elderly, always sportsman-like, and he’s always quick to alert the proper authorities of suspected atheism. This is the Caelus that most of the world is exposed to; the epitome of a young, pious gentleman, surely to follow in his father’s footsteps within the church when he gets old enough. This is the Caelus that lives under the watchful eyes of the Global Theocracy. Cael of the Heretics is not much different for the most part. He’s still always smiling, and everyone enjoys his presence. He’s respectful of the elderly and women unless they stand in the way of the Heretics, in which case he won’t hesitate to bring his baseball bat to their spines. He’s still quick to alert the authorities as well; his favorite method of attack, in fact, is luring deceived soldiers over to him and quickly incapacitating them.

[B]Short Bio:[/B] Cael was born to Gerhild and Cornellia Nebulous. From Cael’s birth he was raised to be a tool of the church, to be useful in anyways that the Global Theocracy and the High Inquisitor would need. His upbringing was strict and moral, and he was never exposed to the filthy, sacrilegious parts of the city. This ascetic lifestyle did not denote an unloving environment, however; though Cael and his brother Gaizka, whom he simply called Clockwork, were forced to live a certain way, it could never be said that their parents didn’t love them and what the best for them.

That wasn’t enough for Cael, however. His upbringing left him with an emptiness in his chest, with deep, powerful longings and desires that he did not know how to sate. He was restricted in his time with anyone of another sex save for his mother. He could never lash out in anger; anger was an emotion not allowed to him, unless it was fueled by religious fervor against the atheists. In his perfectly sheltered society, it seemed as if no one was upset or troubled, but adversely, no one was ever happy.

This inner frustration finally found its way out, however. One day he witnessed his father apprehending a man he claimed worked for the terrorist group “The Heretics”. Cael was immediately fascinated with the man, and could not help but idolize him; the fear, panic and discomfort he brought onto the people in Cael’s shallow community assured Cael that this man was good. He was the Emotion Man, come to a town of Austerity. Discovering where the man was to be held prisoner before his execution he released the man and begged that he allow Cael to join the Heretics. Skeptical, the man required that Cael prove to him his devotion to bringing down the Global Theocracy. Cael grabbed a cross he had been given by his mother from his pocket, and stabbed a nearby rat repeatedly with it. Somewhat convinced, he insisted that Cael meet him alone a couple nights from then in a shady area of town. Cael did so faithfully, and there received his tattoo indicating his allegiance to the Heretics.

[B]Weapons:[/B] When roaming the streets at night on his deliberated war against the local Adepts, he wields an aluminum bat and an Inquisition licensed handgun he stole from his father. When simply waltzing around in everyday life, he keeps a straight edged fixed blade knife in his right boot.

[B]Special Skills:[/B] His charm and ability to act are his most used abilities. He can easily persuade most anyone to believe whatever lies spill from his silver tongue, and he has a myriad of practiced personalities for any given occasion. Physically, he’s quite toned—though not exactly muscular—from the training regimen his father puts him through so he can be a proficient Adept.

[B]Vice:[/B] [I]Jovial Violence-[/I] Cael can’t resist the pleasures of watching his enemy—whoever they might be at the moment—squirm and cry out and anguish. He means them no mal-intent, per se, but he simply enjoys that cracking of bones and the staining and smearing of blood. He enjoys other sins just as much as any man—he’s got a knack for tagging along with his associates for late nights filled with 22 Blue and women—but violence is his greatest pleasure. He prefers it to be justifiable, but sometimes he can get out of hand.

[B]Writing Sample:[/B] The rain was coming down heavy tonight, and the streets were relatively devoid of life; save for the occasional bum or dead heathen body left to rot on the streets by the Adepts as an example to other atheist sympathizers. Cael didn’t mind, however. The less people there were on the streets, and the darker the atmosphere was, the easier it would be to attack the adept he had been tailing without worry of him receiving back up. The Adept was oblivious to his stalker—he thought simply because he was allowed to roam the streets with an Inquisition sanctioned rifle that no one would dare approach him. He was wrong. Caelus waited for the man to round the corner, then yelled out in mock pain, quickly ducking to the left into the adjoining street.

It didn’t take long at all to hear the shuffling of the adept’s feet as he backtracked down the alleyway. He stopped hallway down, listening intently to hear if the sound would repeat itself. Cael hoped the man would trek forward of his own accord, but alas, it was a foolish wish; the guard refused to move without a second indication that something indeed was the matter. Caelus sighed and picked up a nearby rock, hurling it far in the opposite direction of the guard, then pressed himself tightly against the wall. Finally the rock made contact and a loud metal clang reverberated into the night. The Adept quickly continued his sprint to find the source of the noise. Unfortunately for him, he was stopped short.

Just as the Adept’s footprints sounded close enough, Cael swung his aluminum bat around the corner, connecting squarely with the rushing guard’s chest. The wind was instantly knocked out of the man as his back connected with the ground; blood squirted from his mouth on impact. Cael quickly progressed to pound the man’s arms at his elbows and legs at his knees before he could defend himself. Whenever the Adept attempted to scream, Cael lightly stomped his foot over the Adept’s mouth. He then quickly disarmed the man of all of his belongings and pocketed them. Having finished with his first objective, he propped the body up against a nearby trash bin and sat down next to him.

[B]“So how are you this lovely evening?”[/B] The guard stared at disbelief at this unexpected occurrence. The last thing he had expected his assailant to do was engage him conversation. His disbelief quickly turned to rage, however, and he attempted to spit a mixture of blood and mucus at Cael, which only succeeded in launching onto his own clothing. Cael frowned and started fixedly at the man, then spontaneously grabbed at the man’s mouth and ripped out a tooth. He tossed the tooth away and then smiled again.

[B]“Alright, so you’re not preferable to that question? Well… How about your name? Surely that’s not too much to ask.”[/B] The man, still reeling from shock and immense pain, absentmindedly answered the question.

[B]“T..Titan… Erreus Titan.”[/B] Cael smiled and grabbed Erreus’ closest hand, and shook it vigorously.

[b]“Nice to meet you Erreus. Is it alright if I call your Erreus?”[/B] Erreus, having once again regained his wits, snapped at Cael.

[B]“Call me whatever the fuck you want asshole.”[/B] Cael rolled his eyes and shoved the end of the bat into Erreus’ stomach and rotated it in circles for a while, grinding it into his flesh. Erreus cried out in pain.

[b]“Why are you doing this to me? What is it you want? You’ve taken everything from me, there’s nothing I can do to hurt you! Kill me and be done with it!”[/B] Cael pulled the bat away from Erreus and calmly and cheerfully responded.

[B]“I’d just like to have a conversation with you. This whole endeavor would be much less painful if you would give me that pleasure.”[/B] Erreus’s mouth immediately snapped shut, though his eyes betrayed his incredulity. Cael tilted his head so that he could see Erreus and continued.

[B]“So, what I’d like to know is why exactly do you do, what you do? Do you believe wholeheartedly in your cause? Is it entirely with religious zeal that you come out into the streets and murder people without unbiased justice?”[/B] Erreus answered Cael proudly despite his bitter words.

[B]“I come out here every night to do the bidding of the church and our god, no less. People have chosen the path of monsters and demons for themselves; they have chosen the path of the devil and will continue to choose this path unless we, God’s soldiers, strive to make his will known.” [/B]Cael took a moment to let the comment settle, than spoke again; still he spoke with a cheery tone, but it was lined with introspection.

[B]“So you admit that naturally, human beings gravitate towards sinfulness. So in essence, human nature is the nature of godlessness.”[/B] Erreus, if he had use of his limbs, would have jumped up at that; instead he was forced to settle for a quick head spin. He opened his mouth to talk but forcefully vomited up some blood. Cael waited politely for the man to finish before continuing.

[B]“Even you practitioners of God sin, don’t you? Or does the cruel and oftentimes grotesque murder of “atheist” citizens not count under ‘God’s’ definition of Wrath?” [/B]Erreus glared spitefully at Cael, took a deep, blood curdled breath, and the provided his rebuttal.

[B]“Humans were not always sinful. It was through the deception of the devil that we became impure. Over time our race began to accept this imperfection, and even to embrace it. Yes, we of the Global Theocracy sometimes exert extreme violence over sinners, but it’s necessary. We must remind the world of the evils of sin, we must remind the world of its pure and righteous beginnings by refusing to allow it any other way of life. Yes, we are wrathful and deceptive at times—but if a brighter, happier world demands that we sacrifice ourselves to the fiery pit then so be it.”[/B] Errreus complacently closed his mouth with this, and stared off into the heavens.

Cael was left relatively stunned himself, now. Most of the Adepts he’d come across had reverted to their true, vile nature under this much ‘damage’—they revealed themselves as the embodiments of sin. But not this one. He truly believed in this warped view the Global Theocracy was attempting to shove down everyone’s throats. Though this was undoubtedly commendable, it made him the most dangerous of all the religious zealots. Cael shook himself out of his thoughts then sprung up. He positioned himself right in front of Erreus, then balanced his bat on his shoulders as he talked.

[B]“You’re a rare one. So blindly faithful in what the church has brainwashed you to believe. You don’t find it in the least bit contradictory, do you? A society where morality is forcibly policed through immorality. A society so obsessed with eradicating filth that its rigidness and intolerance breed fouler and more putrid slime. We were given freedom of choice for a reason. We choose to eat the forbidden fruit. We were born with ability to sin and to disobey, just as easily as we were able to love and be virtuous. Attempting to make us choose one side to our nature is blasphemy. God is, according to your text, a being of duality; a being of life and death. Why then, shouldn’t we be allowed the same existence?”[/B] Erreus said nothing in response. Cael couldn’t tell if his speechlessness came from an inability to refute his statement, or an unwillingness to acknowledge it. It matter little either way. Cael was finished with him. He grabbed the bat with both hands and wound up.

[B]“Well Erreus, this was a lovely conversation. It’s a shame that I have to kill you now. I admire your passion and zeal to the utmost, I truly do… If only it had been in the name of human progression, not oppression. Alas, nothing can be done now. Goodnight, Mr. Erreus Titan.”[/B] And with that, Cael swung the bat with all of his might and decapitated Adept Erreus.[/FONT]

[DeLarge]

[SIZE=1]Great jobs on the sign-ups, guys. One little thing, Muuh Puar, you need to tell me where your Heretic tattoo is located.

---

[B]Name: [/B]Lazarus Cade (usually referred to by his surname)
[B]Age: [/B]22
[B]Gender: [/B]Male
[B]Appearance: [[URL="http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b16/Blayze54/News-BBC-Heroes-Season-3-On-Set-Spo.jpg"]Theocracy Surveillance Photo of Cade[/URL]] [/B]Cade usually wears his hair slicked back, a little more loosely than in the picture, allowing it to fall down into his eyes a little. He normally has a rough growth of stubble on his chin as shaving equipment is not readily available. His eyes are dark and penetrating, and his gaze can be seen by some as a little cold. The scar across his face is from a fight he got into with an Adept at a young age - the Adept slashed right down his face with a long knife before Cade smashed his head against a wall, killing him - the first man he ever killed.

He is tall and well-built from a life on the run, and wears a tight black t-shirt with a dark blue long-sleeved t-shirt underneath, jeans and chunky leather boots under his knee-length black leather jacket. He wears a black leather strap around his left wrist, and several strings of beads, both wooden and metal on his right, as well as a metal pentagram pendant on a black string around his neck. He has plain steel rings on his right ring and little fingers, as well as the thumb and forefinger of his left hand.

His Heretic tattoo is on the back of his neck, in black script with a red outline. He has several other ornate, curving tattoos running down his right arm, in a twisting tribal pattern.

[B]Personality: [/B]As cool, calm and calculating as they come, Cade is a born leader, destined to take over when his adoptive father dies. He never knew his real parents, and as a result he has become detached and distant from other people. He is utterly dedicated to the Heretics' cause, and prepared to do anything in order to carry out Saxon's will.

He has no problem stealing, murdering or participating in any other illegal acts. He drinks, takes drugs, has casual sex and does all those things that make a true Heretic. Everything he does is a calculated assault on the Global Theocracy, because he truly despises them and everything they stand for.

However cold and distant he seems, however, he is also intensely connected with his team of Heretics, comprised of Sparhawk, Bedlam, Cael and many others besides. They respect him as a leader, and he values the loyalty of each and every one of his team.

[B]Short Bio: [/B]Abandoned mere hours after his birth, cold, alone and unnamed, the child that would grow up to be Lazarus Cade was taken in and brought up by Kitos Cade, the physical front of the Heretics. He was never exposed to life under the Theocracy as many other members were, and as such he was always taught to be totally loyal to the revolution and opposed to the Global Theocracy. He was raised as a soldier of the uprising.

He grew to be a strong man, his hatred for the Global Theocracy only growing as he did. He has seen many of his friends in the Heretics die as a result of the Theocracy's violent oppressive regime, and it has made him grow cold and distant.

He is also one of very few Heretics to have spoken to Saxon directly, albeit over a remote audio link. This is, however, the closest anyone has ever gotten to meeting Saxon.

[B]Weapons: [/B]Cade most often uses a shock baton purloined from Inquisition soldiers. At about eighteen inches long fully extended, the retractable baton has an electric charge running through it which can, if placed correctly, knock a fully grown man unconscious. He also carries a pair of eight-inch long thin-bladed knives and an Inquisition-made custom handgun. However, he is proficient with many other kinds of weapon, and can handle anything he can get his hands on.

[B]Special Skills: [/B]Cade is an excellent hand-to-hand and long-range combatant, and also a quite proficient at a number of other things, including lock-picking, espionage, communications and infiltration. He can be described as a jack-of-all-trades, but he is by no means a master of any of the above. Kitos has put him through an extensive and gruelling training regime from an early age, and it shows - he is strong, powerful and well-built.

[B]Vice: [/B][I]Sins of the Flesh - [/I]Cade indulges in sex, drugs, alcohol and violence, all the things that a true Heretic should rightly immerse himself in. Living outside the Theocracy's rule, he has never experienced life without these, so he doesn't view them as Vices.

[B]Writing Sample: [/B][will finish later - too spaced out to finish]
[/SIZE]

[Raiha]

[COLOR="DarkOrchid"][FONT="Times New Roman"][b]Name:[/b] Trance Megelani

[b]Age:[/b] 23

[b]Gender:[/b] Female

[b]Appearance:[/b] Has a thing for industrial style hair falls and won't be seen without them, as such her natural hair is reasonably long. (And she can't remember what color it was originally). She wears black leather corsets that are good as far as protection goes and don't restrict her movement because she removed the bones and replaced them with a flexible plastic core instead. Additionally, she has foregone the enormous black pleather platform shoes that most women like her wear in favor of actual black leather combat boots if only to give her a wider range of movement and lower the odds of her tripping, falling, and spraining something important like her face.

[b]Personality:[/b] Self-obsessed and as selfish as they come, Trance doesn't give a shit about people she doesn't know personally or causes she thinks are a waste of time. As for why she's a Heretic? We honestly have no clue but it's far more likely that she just hates being one of the herd than any real belief in true love and freedom and all that self serving bullshit. Her tattoo is located right where her ass crack begins, medically referred to as the coccyx. However in her typical twisted way, she also had Revelations 12:11 tattooed on her back if only to rub various members of her brotherhood the wrong way. Also on her person are two nipple piercings, one clit piercing, one navel piercing, six ear piercings per ear, and one industrial piercing at the base of her neck.

[b]Short Bio:[/b] Born to a good obedient noble boring Christian family, Trance rebelled early and began to experiment with alternative music, drugs, lifestyle choices, and otherwise naughty things. Whether this stems from an actual pathology or just Trance's obsession with going against the grain is all speculation, but her rebellious nature has served her well. She joined the resistance early, immediately made waves, then got bounced into the section responsible for assassination. Since then she's hacked and slashed her way to a position most wouldn't care to dispute.

[b]Weapons/Special Skills:[/b] Tonfas are her favored non-stealth weapon of choice as they compensate for her lack of powerful arms while exploiting her natural agility. One stiletto per boot, as her capacity for stealth, spying, and covert operations is adequate to the point of her possibly channeling the spirit of Solid Snake. She is also proficient with guns, but prefers to not use them because of the hassle.

[b]Vice:[/b] Hardcore lesbian, and has difficulty functioning without at least one good screw under her belt from day to day.

[b]Writing Sample:[/b] [i]Trance slipped in through the window, the way her client had asked her to. The Mother Superior didn't want her fellow sisters and daughters to know what she liked to do in her spare time, and Trance was only too willing to oblige.[/i]

"Eliminate Mother Superior Verity of the Church of the Holy Theocracy."

[i]Underneath the habit and apostolnik was a beautiful white body, never touched by the sun, and kept soft by the finest creams that blood money could buy. The order from her handlers had come through, and what was once a very nice booty call was now a target, not that Trance minded in particular, plenty of pussy in the world to go around.

This particular evening she took off her boots and socks, and slipped the stiletto from her left boot into the laces of her corset. Mother Verity entered and shut the door behind her quickly, locking it in almost the same motion. Then she turned and took in the sight of Trance lounging indolently on her bed. Smiling, the nun began to remove her head scarf, veil, and habit, slipping off her rosary beads as well. Trance looked up at her expectantly, then dropped to her knees when Verity gestured with one hand. Burying her face in lightly curling blond pubic hair, Trance flicked her tongue forward and upwards, relishing the desperately erotic moans Verity allowed herself. She staggered backwards to sit on the edge of the bed while Trance continued her ministrations. Several minutes into her work, she reached with her left hand for Verity's hip, and dug her black painted nails in gently. Then with her other hand, she freed the stiletto, and plunged it into Verity's abdomen, sinking it into the womb. With a vicious jerk and twist, Trance slit Verity open and then withdrew.

Wiping her blade clean on Verity's white habit, Trance gave her an impersonal smile.[/i]

"It's nothing personal darling. Just business. I hope it was good for you too."[/FONT][/COLOR]

[DeLarge]

[SIZE=1]Good characters - all are accepted thus far. I reckon we can probably start this thing up in the next couple of days, and I'll leave the sign-ups open while we run it. I'll sort out a Backstage thread tomorrow and then hopefully the actual RP should be up Sunday or Monday at the latest.

Thanks for your interest, guys! I hope we can make this a good'un.
[/SIZE]

[konske]

[CENTER]Name: Feirska Cellan

Age: 20

Gender: Female

Appearance: [URL="http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q196/griff189/?action=view¤t=0000zzzz-1.jpg"]Feirska[/URL]
Her Heretic tatoo is located on her right ankle. Its a deep violet with a sky blue outlline.

Personality: She is ditsy, an airhead, and a little slow about realizing things, or at least thats what she lets off. In truth, she is a genious, always calculating, always watching, but never letting anyone see that.

She is a cheerful girl in dark times. She likes to smile, likes to laugh, and isn't a huge fan of violence. She does like to see others laugh and smile as well, but she won't go out of her way to try and make them do it. If they don't want to, then so be it. She doesn't like to waste her time, she feels that it is too valuable in the world today. 'Cuz you never know when you are going to die for your sins, right?

Short Bio: She was born in a dark ally, next to her dieing family. The only ones that actually were able to take care of her was her father, and older brother. Both of which were former Heretics. They were both murdered by the Inquisition soldiers when she was young. After their murder, she began her revenge, taking one person at a time until she was able to join the Heretics herself.

Weapons: She keeps a small knice under her belt so she can use it to draw blood. When she is out to kill, however, she uses two small scyths that are attacked to chains. The other ends of the chains are attached to her wrists so she can pull them back if she misses a throw.

When she doesn't use them, they normaly reside in a backpack that she carries with her everywhere she goes. It may take her a little bit to get them out, but that is no problem, her target never knew what she was to begin with.

Special Skills: She is a genious, as stated before. She is a strategist. She can look at a situation and almost instantly determin multiple outcomes. Of course, they may not always be right, but they aren't far off.

She can dertermin other peoples actions up to a point. If she has never seen them act before, it may be a little hard for her, but after seeing them in action, the way they go about things don't chance much. From that, she can tell whats going to happen and calculate a way to either win, or get out before she looses.

Vice: Her vice is blood. It doesn't matter from who, or from what, she just craves it. She loves the texture, the warmth slowly fading to cold. The slickness when its warm, the way it becomes sticky as it cools. The deep color as it pools on the ground around her. She loves all of it[/CENTER].

[CENTER]She has gotten good at drawing blood from others to the point that they might not know it until its too late. In may situations, she gets into a blood lust or sorts, and doesn't stop until the person or animal is dead.

Writing Sample: [/CENTER]

"Blood."

"What was that, girlie?" The soldier turned to the small girl as she stared at the ground, vacancy in her eyes. "Hey, kid, are you ok? You don't look so good."

"Blood." She said again, never moving her eyes to meet the mans.

"You are a strange one, aren't 'cha?" The soldier put his hand on her shoulder and she jumped enough for him to pull back. "What is it? Whats going on?"

"Blood." She raised her hand and pointed twards a dark aly. The soldier looked from the girl to the aly and back to her.

"I understand. Stay here, I will go and chack it out." He turned and started walking into the darkness. "I can't see a damn thing in here." He pulled out a flashlight and turned it on. As he scanned the walls he let out a sigh. "What was she talking about, there is nothing here. Maybe she was just crazy." He shook his head and then turned around.

"Blood." She looked up at him, her eyes still vacant.

"What? How, when did you?" Slowly, the flashlight fell to the ground. The girl smiled as the light pointed twards her face. "Damn, girl, you scared me."

"Shut your fucking face, asshole. I never asked for your opinion, now did I?" She smirked as she put one of her scyths to his neck. "And besides, I never said that there was blood here. Well, truthfully, its going to be your blood. See, you have already started to bleed." She licked her lips and touched the stup that used to be his hand.

"Wahts going on? Who the hell are you?" The soldier look down at the girl, fear in his eyes.

"Me? Why do you care, your time is up anyway." She smiled and then spun around, severing his head. As blood started to pool around the soldier's corpse, Feirska let out a breath as shivers went through her body. Lightly, she touched it and started to giggle. "Oh, how I do love my sweet blood." She sat down, running her hands in the growing pool and then looked up a the sky. Her eyes returned to normal, leaving the vacant bloodlust behind. "And, oh how I do hate my little Inquisition soldiers." She smiled and giggled once more as the moon and stars bathed her in their glow.

[Alaska]

[FONT="Book Antiqua"][SIZE="2"][B]Name:[/B] Gaizka ?Clockwork? Nebulous

[B]Age:[/B] 19

[B]Gender:[/B] Male

[B]Appearance:[/B] [URL="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v628/Reizou/1172167188584.jpg?t=1238320654"]A portrait of Gaizka Nebulous.[/URL] His hair is a darker brown (as opposed to in the picture), and instead of glasses he sports a pair of goggles, an earring in each ear, an industrial in his left ear and a nose ring on his right nostril. He wears close fitting jeans tucked into black steel-toe combat boots, a black t-shirt with a torn off collar and an old, brown, faded coat. The H tattoo is located on the back of his neck. It is black in a bold sans serif font with the bottom two legs of the ?H? about twice as long as the top two.

[B]Personality:[/B] Clockwork, as product of his upbringing of always smiling, seems to be good natured and happy, yet he is truly filled with such bitterness that he is hardly appeased when he is apart from his violence. He, however, harbors not an ounce of hatred for his comrades and especially his brother, Caelus. With them he can truly feel at ease amongst moments of great stress.

[B]Short Bio:[/B] Clockwork was born Gaizka Nebulous to Gerhild and Cornellia. His father was a figure of the High Church and his mother a submissive housewife. He was raised with his younger brother, Caelus, to be wholesome and pure, and far sheltered from the evil and litany of the human condition.

His life in a religious family began to weigh heavily on his moral complex and his inner tension between natural impulses, such as anger and lust, and the sterility of his life. He soon became aware that he was in an invisible cage. Free to do what he wanted, just as long as it was how he was instructed. This gave birth to a swelling bitterness; one that cooked beneath the surface in wait for that day, that day when he would take his life back.

For Gaizka, that day actually came in the form of night. Gaizka, who had gained the nickname Clockwork from his younger brother, had wandered into the seedy part of Salvation City. He witnessed the murders of three children of clergymen. He immediately recognized their freedom and pleaded with them to join their ranks. They, however, knew who he was. Though some one heretic thought they should simply kill him then and there, another believed they should test his resolve. He was to murder the remaining son. The victim was about his age, he was on his knees and his hands were bound behind his back.

He killed for the first time that night. The crack he felt in his palms made him twitch slightly as he released the boy?s neck and let him fall limp to the ground. Without a word, he was freed. He was sixteen.

In some time he learned of his brother?s joining. He hadn?t seen his brother in a while, but he knew of his family?s treachery. He requested that Cael be repeatedly tested to ensure that he hadn?t succumbed to the indoctrination.

He finally saw his brother again, as a comrade.

[B]Weapons/Special Skills:[/B] Clockwork, at all times, carries a push dagger sheathed inside his right boot. Otherwise, when he knows he?ll need it, he?s armed with a Jericho pistol, bought off of an underground arms dealer. His special skills consist of the ability to remain calm under great stress and execute tactical decisions and to some extent he possesses medical know-how to aid his injured comrades.

[B]Vice:[/B] His vice is wrath. He is short tempered and prone to wanton violence. He holds a special loathing for the Theocracy and especially enjoys their suffering.

[B]Writing Sample:[/B] The fog was cut by a biting wind. A man stood alone on a rooftop. Clutching his arms, he shivered as a shadowed figure approached him. The figure stepped into the glow of single light. Clockwork spoke:

?I apologize for Sparhawks absence. He had other more pressing matters to attend to.? His tone became obviously condescending. He produced a smallish box.

?That?s the stuff? It?s not what I thought it would look like.?

?Is it ever??

?Right.? The man stammered nervously. ?Let me have it.?

?You junkies, man-? Clockwork began, then, ?So, the agreed payment??

?Oh, yes? well let me see, I must have it somewhere?? He fumbled with his jacket pockets. Then he suddenly produced a knife and lamely stabbed at Clockwork. The would-be victim had expected this and easily deflected the assault by clasping the man?s writs and bringing the knife down to rest in the man?s leg. He screamed but was quickly silenced as his attention turned to his hand. Which was now held out before him. He was paralyzed with fear. Clockwork took his index finger, and broke it. The snap made the man gasp and silently scream. His screams became audible as Clockwork further twisted his finger, tearing the skin and separating it completely from his hand. He smiled and raised the disembodied finger to the man?s face.

?Tch tch tch, no no no.? He sounded motherly. The man was thrust to the ground and Clockwork proceeded to violently kick and stomp his chest. He, the man, was now hanging over the edge of the building, lying on his back. Through the froth of blood he gurgled:

?Mercy.?

?I shall give you your mercy.? Clockwork said slowly and somberly as he slid the man over the edge. Tens of stories to his swiftly delivered death.

Clockwork turned towards the stairs to meet a smirking Caelus. ?Brother,? he spoke, ?and what of the other one??

?He?ll have headache when he come to I suppose.? He paused before laughing as they strode past a body slumped in the corner with a partially collapsed skull.[/SIZE][/FONT]

[Allamorph]

[SIZE="1"][B]Name:[/B] Robert Cephas
[B]Age:[/B] 27
[B]Gender:[/B] Male

[B]Appearance:[/B] Medium height, medium build. Cephas keeps his light-brown hair short and neat, having never felt the need to change it. His attire varies from button-down shirts, slacks, and a blazer to mangled black t-shirts, black jeans and leather coats. Sometimes chains dangle from his hip pockets, sometimes not. His H is on the right side of his chest, just under the collarbone, and his left ear is pierced with a diamond stud to balance the mark.

[B]Personality:[/B] Laconic, forward, and dismissive. If it doesn’t concern him or need his attention, he doesn’t care. Give him an assignment, a set of conditions, a request, and he’ll ensure the best result possible. Only the best can get you the best, and if Cephas isn’t the best, then he soon will be. Ask whatever questions you want; he’ll answer them if he feels like it, and if you have your stuff and are happy with it then what the hell are you still hanging around for?

[B]History:[/B] Robert was raised in a provincial family, in a region where enforcement of the Faith was little more than token. Cephas learned quickly how to go through the necessary motions, drifting through most ceremonies and rites on autopilot, and he emerged from it a solid atheist. What had no meaning could not kill you was his thinking, and so he had no trouble keeping his spiritual indifference concealed when he moved to Salvation City.

Though not a warm person, Cephas is known for his solid loyalty and for never breaking his word. He forged many contacts this way, several of whom turned out sympathetic to the Heretics after he approached them and was recruited. His decision to seek out the underground was made when he decided the Theocracy had violated his personal code long. Since then he has steadily been making a name for himself as reliable support.

[B]Weapon(s)/Skill(s):[/B] Cephas carries, and is skilled with, a Glock .22, which he conceals under his left armpit. He is also proficient in aikido, but avoids situations where he might use either. He prefers to be a supporting figure, and his major skills lie in information, negotiation, and supplies.

[B]Vice:[/B] Pride. He is the best at what he does, and there is no two ways about it. He isn’t bound by the lusts or the greed or the vanity of his counterparts. He doesn’t do sex or drugs because he doesn’t need them. He doesn’t drink—though he can hold his liquor if the occasion arises. He is above that. He is better than that. He is better than you.

[B]Sample:[/B] Cephas lounged against the edge of the club’s bar, arms spread to the side, resting casually on its surface. His aloof gaze swept slowly over the black-lit room illuminated sporadically by the blue and white pulses near the stage. The hard music had long since ceased to register in his consciousness; he only remembered it was there by the continuous thumping in his chest, and even that was diminishing to a drone.

In front of him, the mass of people surged and throbbed to the music, some few for actual enjoyment and the rest because it let them forget that they no longer knew who they were. Such an easy lot to exploit; give them a goal, the barest hint of a purpose, and they grasped at it as if drowning. They followed the crowd because it was easier than to try and understand themselves.

He raised the glass in his left hand to his lips and took a lingering sip of French liqueur, letting the sweet flavor of black currant roll over his tongue. The booths lining the wall to his left were all full, most of them taken by youths using the darkness to feel more secure in their fondling, though one was occupied by a group of Heaven’s Lace junkies, locked in their rapturous hallucinations with their eyes lolling back into their skulls. Cephas thought one of them might have overdosed, but it was hard to be certain until they stopped breathing. More than likely they had tried mixing the drug with cheap drugstore shelf brands to see if the trip was any better. Though he had no experience personally, Cephas didn’t recommend trying any combos with Heaven’s Lace. It was a potent hallucinogen, and when taken impure the results weren’t very pretty.

A young girl with long, unnaturally light hair stumbled past him on her way to the bathroom. Cephas guessed it was a dye-job, silvery-green, and self-done. He also guessed the drinks and the motion had gone to her stomach, and the organ was attempting to rebel. Gazing thoughtfully into his drink, he amused himself by wondering whether she would make it to a toilet, grab for a sink, or be found later in the floor. Or maybe a combination. She’d been a bit glassy-eyed.

Glancing back to the curtained entrance, Cephas finally saw his mark approaching: Castar Roubik, nineteen years old, drafted blindly into the Inquisition and very much one of the sheep. And not even a particularly tasty mark at that. Just another stepping stone to get leverage inside, and expendable once used. The boy’s eyes darted nervously back and forth as he pussyfooted his way through the crush, towards the bar. He kept glancing in Cephas’ direction as he approached; Cephas doubted his coming job would be all that difficult.

Finally making the bar, the boy ordered the preset beverage and waited apprehensively until it came. Cephas considered breaking the palpable tension hanging over Roubik, but decided against it, taking another sip of his [I]crème de cassis[/I] and refusing to even look at the boy. How the kid waited would help dictate how Cephas played him.

The kid fidgeted.

Admirably, he kept up an attempt at a nonchalant front for about a minute before finally caving and breaking the silence between them.

[B]“Mr. Kaplan?”[/B]

[B]“Hyman, please.”[/B] God, did no one read these days? Might as well have called himself James Bond for all the kid would have caught on. And so much for the contact phrase.

[B]“Hyman, sir,”[/B] the kid agreed, nodding a little too fast to be natural. He paused. [B]“They . . . umm, they told me to come see you.”[/B]

Cephas’ mouth split in a sardonic grin.

[B]“Did they, now?”[/B]
[/SIZE]

[OMNOMNOMALY]

[FONT="Garamond"]Placeholder :3

(Will write up as soon as I get some sleep, I promise!)[/FONT]

[Inuyasha Fandom]

oo la la... dirty, gritty, violent, and drugs. Gotta love it.

Name: Lust(real name unknown)

Age: 24

Gender: male

Appearance: [IMG]http://i230.photobucket.com/albums/ee260/inufandom/alexander.jpg[/IMG]

Aside from the picture, the tattoo that marks him as a Heretic is located on his lower abdomen, disguised as a barcode tattoo.

Personality: Sarcastic, masochistic, and all around sweetie. But he's far sweeter when out for a kill. Toxic love is his game, and he's always up for some fun. Sweet as sugar, and as deadly as poison. He knows how to play the game, he can sweet talk even the most stuffy of prudes. He's got his friends, and plenty of enemies. He just doesn't care. Don't get him wrong, however. He's more than willing to help a girl get her cat out of a tree and such. As much of a sinner as he is, he's also a pretty decent guy, granted he's got a lot of issues, and more than his fair share of quirks. But, unless you piss him off, you'll never see anything but his sweet smile. People often wonder if he has split personalities.

History: Nothing is known for sure about him at this time. He is thought to be an elitist, rumor has it he is Vahn Remmington, a member of a narcotics syndacate that greatly funded the resistance, until the group was caught and the members executed as a public spectacle. Vahn's name does not appear on the list of those who were caught, and is one of only two members at large. His artificial limbs are a mystery to everyone, he's never told anyone how he got them.

Weapons: He has a simple baretta M.45. He's skilled in gymnastics, ju jitsu, hand to hand combat, melee fighting, tai kwan do, and most of the martial arts.

Vice: As his name implies, it's lust. He's a sex addict. Bedding with a different person every night if he wishes, he has only a few steady 'bed buddies'. Seldom does he go to bed alone, he knows how to get anyone he wants.

Sample:

Lust sat a table in a lush overview of the city, a glass of red wine in his left hand. "Ah, the simple pleasures..."

"Well, aren't you accustomed to the life of luxury." A man sat down across from hom, ignoring Lust's feet propped up on the table. Lust's attire was far from appropriate, he wore what he usually did, his bare abs pale in the light of day. The tattoos on his lower abdomen showed up brilliantly, the image of the barcode hiding the real significance of the tattoo itself.

"You have some buisness for me to handle?" Lust stated, and took another sip. He breathed in the scent, and smiled. "Heaven."

"Indeed. You must really be something to be so... flashy."

"I see no reason not to be, Kiba. It's not like I have anything to worry about. I just keep one step ahead of my enemies, and deal with those that get too close." Lust shrugged. "Besides, It's gotten you into my bed on more than one occasion."

"No worries?"

"Nope. I'll start worrying when I start having problems with getting an erection. On a side note, after we get done with buisness, wanna do some pleasure?" He stood up, taking his wine glass into his hand. His other hand lied flat on the table, until he moved around the table to Kiba. He sat on the edge of the large table, it was sturdy enough to hold his slight frame. His eyes cast their spell once more, and Kiba was his for the plucking.

So much for Kiba claiming to be straight, at least when Lust was involved.

Kiba looked taken aback by the sheer gall of Lust, but he continued. "I am merely playing informant. There is an important official staying here at the[I] Louise[/I] today. He is suspected of leaking information to the Theocracy. You have been asked to kill him."

Lust snorted into his glass. "Well, I already knew that."

"Yes, there's more. Because of him, the Theocracy is moving ever closer to some of our more established members. Get rid of him."

"Is that all? And I thought you had something more challenging for me to do today." Lust sighed in mock frustration and shrugged, before taking another sip. "Which room is he in?"

"Two floors up from this room."

"Ah. Fine fine. Same layout as this room?"

"Yes."

"Guards?"

"No. He is trying to keep things low key."

"Then I will return within a few minutes." Lust got up from his seat and took one last drink from his glass before sitting it down, and stepping onto the wall. He knew his grappling hook would work wonderfully here, bue he didn't have that luxury today. As nimble as an acrobat, he took a running jump, and grasped the balcony above after leaping upwards from the one below. He repeated this motion, and he saw the room to which he needed into. Thankfully, the balcony set up wasn't too dificult to scale, nor too high for him to grasp and clamor onto.

There would be no noise to alert the fool. He used his handy glass cutter, allowing only the slightest noise. He tipped the glass onto his hand and gently lied it on the balcony.He opened the handle on the door, and it swing open silently. Like a thief through the night he stole away into the bedroom, and approached the bed. His target was sleeping soundly, and quickly, Lust silenced him permanently by piercing him through the heart with the dagger he had brought for just such occasions as today.

"Good night, sweet prince." Vahn said, and walked back out of the hotel room onto the balcony. "Simple as pie." He commented.

He jumped back down, and pulled himself back onto Kiba's balcony, where he was waiting still. Lust picked up his glass, and smiled.

"Cheers!" He raised his wine glass and took another drink, as if he hadn't killed someone only mere seconds before. "Now... about that pleasure...." Lust smiled, knowing Kiba was only too glad to oblige him.
[I]
"Putty in my hands..."[/I] He thought to himself.

[Imp]

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(Will write up as soon as I get some sleep, I promise!)[/FONT][/QUOTE]

[img]http://pokemonelite2000.com/sprites/dpmfa/dpmfa132.png[/img]

[size=1](I already know which character I'll be using too. But I know from experience that if I start the signup now, I'll be up until at least... 2 AM, my guess. Seeing as I didn't get a lot of sleep last night, and my schedule prevents me from being nocturnal, I'll have to finish this later.)[/size]