NSWRPF Archive Aria of the Soul

Apppppppppppproved.

Name: Everett White; Ronald White
Gender: Male
Age: 30
Appearance: [image=http://www.maskworld.com/pix/masks/venetian-masks/large/vm0019.jpg] Beneath the mask, Everett is a handsome and weathered man with a distracting scar that covers most of the left side of his face, starting at the left corner of his mouth and continuing onto his neck. He has purple, bruise-like bags under his eyes from lack of sleep. His eyes are predominantly slate grey that channel a sky bluish hue. They have a lack of a spark, that make him appear as if living dead. Everett has black hair that stands on its own and shoots out from behind his mask, in all direction. His skin suggests that he was once very tan, but hasn?t since been exposed to sunlight for very extended intervals. Everett is very athletic and muscular. Everett wears a modest black suit, white dress shirt and a black tie. He has polished black shoes.
Inventory: Beretta 92, shoulder holster, at least one cigar, shoe polish, a lint collector, a black briefcase.
Combat
- Melee: 1
- Ranged: 8
- Spiritual Attacks: 9
- Spiritual Enhancements: 10
- Physical Defense: 1
- Spiritual Defense: 1
Persona: At first look, Everett is controlled, if a little forward. He can be charming and he can be sweet. He has a mean streak and loses his temper easily. He exudes a knowledge of the world. Everett is very often cruel and merciless. He is unforgiving, but still manages to incorporate fairness into his actions. He will save a women from rape, and kill her attacker in the same breath. Having lived in Ronald through his ordeal at the hospital, Everett knows the pain of having part of himself die, and it shows in his actions, as weariness. Everett is inconsistent.
Biography: Ronald White had a beautiful childhood. He was the typical wonder child of his Texan hometown and his high school?s football, baseball and basketball star. But, he was violent, and had trouble controlling himself. During his senior year, he tormented two juniors to breaking point. In a scene straight out of a horror film, the two kids stormed Ronald?s house with shotguns and killed his family. They kicked him down the stairs into his basement, and put a Colt .45 to his cheek.

After forcing the Ronald to spit out an apology, they shot him in the head and then took their own lives. And, yet, where the two boys did not, Ronald survived. The executioner?s hand had been shaking so badly, that he had pulled away, and the bullet flew off in the wrong direction.

Unconscious, and sporting a long scar and terrible post-traumatic stress, Ronald was admitted to psychiatric hospital. When he awoke two weeks after the incident, doctors tested him for common mental illnesses associated with PTSD. Though the tests declared him free of any noticeable issues, Ronald?s doctors were unconvinced and he was kept a week longer than scheduled.

Three days into his extended stay, some unknown variable in Ronald ticked and he let loose his emotions in the form of a split personality.

Finally with an appropriate excuse to keep Ronald out of the world, the hospital postponed his release. For four years, Ronald was tested on, put through therapy and on medication in an attempt to cure his affliction. Towards the end of those four years, Ronald?s alter ego, Everett, an even more violent version of his former self, was slowly becoming the more predominant self.

And, by Ronald?s fifth year, he had fully changed. He was Everett, yet still called himself Ronald. He lulled his doctors into believing that he had been saved from grim and volatile existence, and when his sixth year had rolled around, he was released.

So, began the life, of Everett White. He began his control of Ronald?s body, by becoming a criminal. He had no aversion to murder, or torture. He exacted a revenge on his American brethren, for his past. He punished himself for his failings as Ronald. For letti

 

this is going to be ... interesting

 

GM APPROVED!

Name: Saito Sakimori
Gender: Male
Age: 26
Appearance: Though only a quarter of his blood is American, the genes that contain blue eyes and blond hair were within Saito?s blood nonetheless so it was not much of a surprise that, when born, he first saw the world with blue-colored orbs and later grew dirty blond hair that went down to the nape of his neck. Over his torso, Saito wears a black short-sleeved shirt beneath a dark brown jacket usually left open while the lower half of him is dressed in dark blue pants with a black belt around his waist and black shoes hiding his feet.
Inventory: Saito?s possessions are few in number. Other then carrying a canteen to hold water at his hip, he possesses only his specially-made katana and its black, metal, leather-bound sheath (the sheath acting as a focus) along with the cleaning kit.
Combat
- Melee: 10
- Ranged: 1
- Spiritual Attacks: 1
- Spiritual Enhancements: 5
- Physical Defense: 10
- Spiritual Defense: 3
Persona: Silent and calm, tending to be the least chatty of a group though that does not mean that he will not come to the defense of one if he or she is in trouble. While he has his moments of being blunt and criticizing those on their weaknesses and mistakes, he will be more than willing to work with an ally that he believes will help in keeping the peace and order of the world that he has been taught is the most important thing to uphold.
Biography: Saito?s life was actually set up for him after the end of World War 2, during the Allied occupation of Japan, his grandfather having been one of the many US soldiers that were assigned to occupy Japan after its surrender. While the occupation had merit, there were some obstacles here and there that needed to be dealt with?such as the treatment that some of the Allied troops brought to Japan?s citizens such as its women. Saito?s grandfather had been present at such an event and after one or two misunderstandings, had been forced to shoot two of his comrades who had been assaulting a woman who would become his wife. A bit of a messy court-martial ensued with Saito?s grandfather serving a little bit of jail time but it was after this that he decided to settle down in Japan.

The woman who had become his wife belonged to a family that have been from a line of warriors and are able to trace their bloodline all the way back to service in the Shinsengumi of the Tokugawa regime. Though now simple swordsmiths, they still partake in not only the physical traditions of their warrior ancestors such as swordplay, but their spiritual traditions as well to the point of it being believed of them that when they create swords they put a part of their own spiritual energy within them. Years later, Saito took upon the traditions as well as soon as he was born, learning the ways of the sword and of honor.

 

approved

Name:Berruin Hashier

Gender:Male

Age:27

Appearance:
Height, 6.3
Weight, 227
Build, wide shoulders, wide chest, lean midriff, very muscular.
Steel gray hair that's slicked back and longish. Grizzled creased face, looks older than really is. Hawkish nose, that's been broken to the left once. Unshaven, looks perpetually like two days of growth. Gray eyes.

Inventory: two 38 inch [not including hilts. both are focuses] long swords [both on the same hip due to a custom sheath], one WASP divers knife in each boot, one focus [ring right index finger] AA-12 shotgun[purchased on the black market], Phoenix Arms HP22A Compact Pistol [worn on his belt behind his back], military backpack with, spare ammo[four Mags in outside pockets for the AA-12, six mags for the 22, three drums in the main compartment, one with explosive rounds{Purchased on the black market}], homemade first aid kit, thermal blanket, and two days military rations. canteen to the left of his Pistol. Cargo pants 8 pockets [buttock {2},hip{2}, thigh{2} [left one zipper], one over right thigh pocket, two over zipper pocket. Multi-tool in hip pocket, two more mags for the AA-12 in right thigh pocket, two mags for the 22 in each pocket below the zipper, in zipper small first aid kit. taped to inside of belt fishing line and hook. Rappelling gloves.

- Melee 5
- Ranged 4
- Spiritual Attacks 1
- Spiritual Enhancements2
- Physical Defense 9
- Spiritual Defense 9

Persona: Somewhat cold, very focused and almost single minded if he is doing something, intelligent.


Biography:
Born into a wealthy family Berruin was born with the name "Francis Bartholomew Hashier". His parents tried to socialize him, but he never really got along with anyone, and they eventually ended up taking him out of school, bringing in a tutor to live on the estate. Being very intelligent and with a desire to learn he soon excelled under the watchful eyes of his tutor, Aaron. When at the age of six he came across Aaron going through a martial arts exercise he became absolutely enthralled and asked the man to teach him. upon getting permission from the young boys parents, Aaron agreed.
Throughout his early life, Francis had only one friend, the neighbors boy named Robert Paulson. One of their favorite games was chess and they would come up with different names for whoever won, and that boy got to be use that name until the other defeated him. Francis was called Berruin, and Robert was called Aelliff.
On his thirteenth birthday, Francis's life turned to ash and brimstone. That evening the door bell rang and Francis, thinking it was Robert come to try his luck at another game of chess since he had lost the last so badly, smiled and started towards the stairs to greet his friend. Thats when the screaming started. he heard a scream and rushed to the bannister. this... thing was holding his mother up with one... hand, claw, he couldn't tell. It's other hand held Robert.
His father rushed into the hall, saw his mother and screamed "FRANCIS!!! GET TO THE SAFE ROOM!!!" before rushing to try and save his mother.
He didn't run to the safe room as his father had told him. instead he ran to his own room.
Listening to his father scream and then silence Francis grabbed the sword that Aaron had given him for his birthday, a sword with strange markings on it.
He ran back towards the stairs and heard the thing start to talk to Robert.
"Were is your friend at boy"
Robert's eye's went from panicked to resolved "Y-you cannot m-make me tell you"
The beast gave a horrible, guttural chuckle "We shall see about that young one"
At this point Francis reach the Bannister and lept off. right onto the things back.
he plunged the sword into the demons back and held on for dear life while screaming.
Blind with rage, Francis had barely noticed that his fall had driven the beast to it's knees, Francis stood as the demon shook it's head and rose, snapping Roberts neck as it did, and back handed Francis across the room.
"well done boy" it said as it glanced over it's shoulder at the wound on it's back, turning it's neck almost

 

Aria of the Soul

January 25, 2012

IC: Metatron, the Lesser Tetragrammaton
Spiritual Realm of the Malakh

?I begin what may be the final scroll in this collection. Some may question the wisdom of continuing this practice in the face of such dire times, to which I say: I have done as much since times long past, I will do as much now. Humans are beginning to awaken to their full potential. And now I must wait.?
- The Hundred and First Scroll of Metatron, the Lesser Tetragrammaton

?And so it begins?? the other Malakh mused, glancing over the shoulder of the scribe. ?Are you sure you know what you are doing, Metatron? Human nature can be very unpredictable.?

Metatron turned his gaze towards the other Malakh. ?Perhaps, Michael, but there?s little else we can do. You and I are the last of the High Malakh. The Shedim, on the other hand??

?Yes, all six of their wretched Council, still perfectly fine. I wouldn?t mind taking on that Samael myself, to be honest.? He flexed his fist. ?Still, do you think the mortals are up to the task? You saw what they did to Gabriel??

?Of course I did. But you know, as well as I, that it is humanity that must guide the course of what is to come. For good or ill, I think they shall.?

?I wish I shared your optimism, Metatron, I truly do. Do you think it's wise to send them to battle minor Shedim at such an early stage? They won't know the nuances of cooperation, the full breadth of their abilities, the..."

"I will trust them to do what they think is best. That is the only condition I have ever expected of humans."

---

[i][b]IC: Samael, the Lord of Death and King of the Shedim[/b]
Spiritual Realm of the Shedim[/i]

Atop his throne, cloaked as always in black, face obscured by the shadows, he sat. And watched. Waiting. A messenger arrived as if on cue. He was thin, sickly, but then, were not appearances, especially among the Shedim, deceiving?

?Lord Samael?? the assistant began, wiping the perspiration from his brow. ?It is I, Ba?al. I have come to inform you that the preparations have been finished. We are ready to open the gates.?

Samael tapped his fingers against the arm of his throne. Would that his beloved were here to see this, the beginning of the reign of the Shedim? No matter. There would be time for such pleasantries later. He extended a cloaked hand in the direction he needed Ba?al to go. His lieutenant understood immediately.

?Of course, my Lord.?

[hr]

[link=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RGkC-ZY40l0][i]Meanwhile, on Earth?[/i][/link]

[hr]

[i][b]IC: Benjamin Davidson[/b]
Near Campus in Newark, Delaware, USA[/i]

Benjamin Davidson was, as the case usually was, late for an appointment with his latest client. A clinical injury trial lawyer at partner level in the local firm, he usually had his secretary explain away such scheduling irregularities as the result of an important phone call.

Of course, neither Davidson nor his secretary knew that today?s scheduling issues were going to be a bit lengthier than usual.

He first began to suspect something had gone wrong when his shoes were in the wrong place that morning. Every day, it was the same: Right by the bedside, facing the closet. Today his shoes had been at the on the other side of the bed. Next, he had noticed that the morning paper had landed no less than a meter away from its usually landing position.

And now he noticed a rather bizarre assortment of folks gathered about a nearby wall. There was an attractive blonde-haired woman, probably nearing middle age with a sort of scholarly air about her. Then there was the man: another scholarly type, polo shirt, khakis, the works. Which he would have presumed to be something of a cute couple except for their other two companions: A tall, powerful-looking type with a commanding presence, and? a masked man and a skateboard punk. A masked man and a skateboard punk? Not to mention what appeared to be a much younger girl, high school age at the most, and a big, military type with a rather n

 

IC: Cid Bowe
Location: Chicago Suburbs, standing before the Gate of Hell.
[hr]
*There were times that orders were valid, and other times when they were not.

At that moment, Cid was not sure where his current set fell. Everything he had been told was still a whirlwind of incomprehensible information and nonsensical rabble to him, and yet somehow he felt compelled to act, unsure as of yet as to why that was the case.

Until recently he had been eagerly waiting to get into the next racing machine for BMW/McLaren, eager to fight for the championship and poke the Formula 1 snobs in their eyes, the ones that had stated that no American could ever find success in F1 because somehow they lacked the sophistication for such a thing.

So why he was enlisted to take on some "spiritual quest", by people who knew an uncomfortable amount of things about him that he really kept to himself was a matter of curiosity. Everything told him that he had no business being a potential heroic figure since heroes usually died in the process of doing what they have been tasked with, and that after Mosuls toll on him he doubted he could ever trully be a hero, he nevertheless felt some sort of calling, a beckoning to what could have been described as destiny.

So after the walk with watchmaker Dan Conway and a coverging in an open lot, he had expected more than just staring at a point in the ground, which he made readily known*

"So this is the task? They mentioned fire brimstone and monster dogs, not being bored to death staring at dirty snow. Y'know, I have better things to do..."

*His upcoming diatribe was interrupted by the spawning of what looked like a pair of hellish doors opening onto a raging inferno had spawned from seemingly nowhere, and out of it poured seven of the ugliest and most terrifying hounds he had ever laid eyes on.*

"Sunofa! Guess they weren't lying!"

*From his left side Cid jerked his Jericho 941 out of its holster. As with any stressful situation, things slowed down and became rather defined in his field of vision.

Picking his first target dog, he brought his pistol up and pointed, leading the onrushing hound enough so that the first round would go straight for its brain.

He fired twice then repeated for another before running for cover behind a dumpster and shimmying around it, intending to work his way around to a flank.

However he never got the chance. The former marine was still slightly surprised at the hounds pouring out of the gate, and had let one get a running leap at him started. The hound knocked him on his stomach and drove the breath from him, but Cid gained a quick reprisal by grabbing a chunk of thick yet porous wood from underneath the dumpster and spinning with it in his hands, bringing it up for the hound to bite down on with its murderous jaws instead of his head.

Cid had a punch like an iron bar and a will like galvanized steel, but despite several punches to the side of the dogs' head as well as a hard slam against the dumpster, the beast refused to go down and was starting to work its jaws loose from the wood.

Acting quickly, Kennedy lunged up and encircled the muzzle with both of his arms and leaned back, holding on for dear life and preventing the animal from biting down on him.*

"Somebody gimmie a hand! I can't hold onto this thing forever!"

Tag: All

---

As they say, let the games begin, muahahaha...ok Ill stop, thats Rams' job lol

 

IC Berruin Hashier

Near Campus in Newark, Delaware, USA

---

Berruin looked around at the odd assortment people around him, and then at the deli across the street.

To amuse himself he asked "So... why are we all staring at a deli?" looking around

Then a gate to [what he assumed was "Hell"] opened and a bunch of Hell Hounds jumped out, one of which promptly killing the nearest person, and the rest charge towards his little group.

He rid himself of the weight of his pack and shotgun and smoothly drew his pistol from behind his back with his right hand, and drew a sword with his left.

He then started shooting at the lead hounds, aiming for the head. To amuse himself he also tried summoning a wall of fire in between himself and the hounds, fully expecting it to do nothing but blur their vision.

On his second shot he said "Oh, that's why"

Tag BultarSwan, HanSolo29, Qui-Gon_Reborn, blubeast1237 (KG), Ktala (Lyn), Fisto_Hero, NickLitYouAFlame (Everrett)



OCC I LOVE copy and paste.

 

Rufus Jameson
Airport, Nepal

Hell. He knew all about hell. Flying on a plane for 20 hours and not allowed to smoke . . . THAT was hell.

But the good thing about civilisation was you could always buy some cigarettes. He had bought his from a small one eyed boy right after leaving the plane. Cheaper than tax free. They would surely taste like something **** out by a cow. But it was tobacco. And tobacco was always good.

Opening his new package, he couldn´t even read the language on it, he lighted his first cigarette in hours. He inhaled the foam in a deep breath. Oh yeah, just what he had needed.

His guns had come by mail. He had used some tricky system of unrestricted mail-stations to get them there. So he wouldn´t feel all that naked. Hadn´t helped. He still did.
All around him where people who looked strange. Asians. Not the ones he knew from Chinatown. More the ones he knew from discovery channel. He wished he had paid more attention to that crap. Or at least watched it sober.

Well, Nepal. A strange place, he admitted. But not the strangest he had ever been to. He had been to Tallahassee. Nothing was worse than peanut-farms in Tallahassee.

?In Nepal,? the voice of that mysterious chick had told him. ?The Old Man will help you to understand.?

Sure thing. Where else could he find an answer. He laughed about himself, as he made his way out of the airport. What they called an airport out here. At least Nepal was no non-smoking country. So, he was to meet a King. One that did not include the word "Burger" in his name. Not that he disliked Burger King. He just hoped this was not all part of a bad joke. A bad joke on him.

He half expected there would be no woman in a green dress. He expected nothing but a lot of sheep-farmers. So he was more than a little surprised to find her waiting outside. Just as if she had waited for him all along. Worst kind of woman, he thought. Those who make you feel you´re late on the first date.
He hoped she had not really waited for him. He was two hours late. Airplanes weren´t that reliable once you passed Russia.

And here she was. A woman. In a green dress. And a breath-taker she surely was. He took another deep breath from his cigarette. Better to smoke than breath the thick offering of the stinking streets. Probably even healthier. Then he crossed the streets towards her.

"Fancy dress you got there, Lady. No really, I totally dig the green." He said and gave her a dry smile. "I am Rufus Jameson. And someone send me around half the world to get some answers." He said and let his eyes wander over her. His left eyebrow raised a bit. The stewardess hadn´t been bad, but this girl was a class of her own. "And no doubt I appreciate the guide." He added.

A man could dream.


Tag: Sinrebirth, Trimaj, Ramza

---

[color=purple][hl=gray][b]I_H Edit:[/b][/hl][/color] [b]Language[/b]

 

Because of the time in which Ramza will be updating and because of how he ran the Justice League RP, I'm assuming this hounds are up for grabs in terms of killing them. If not, then I am still falling towards the hound's poor head.

KG Esonne Brown
-Delaware

Wow, how unlucky was that? Poor *******, KG thought as he saw the hellhound devour the guy's face. He had always amused himself at the idea of someone's face fetting ripped off, but seeing it was way more than he bargained for. However, it was time for business and the more time they wasted the more the death toll would rise. Throwing down his board, KG pushed off towards two of the hounds.

He kicked off the ground and was airborne for a second before he came rushing down on one of the hounds' skulls, smashing it into the ground.

Tag: Delaware

---

[color=purple][hl=gray][b]I_H Edit:[/b][/hl][/color] [b]Language[/b]

 

IC: Nazmina Lazzal/ Downtown London/ England

Standing in some alley was not precisely her idea of a good time. Doing this with a bunch of people she didn't know, well that just made it that much worse. Kale was there next to her, and that was something she didn't mind. Prefered, was a better word really. Clive was another matter. Hunting with him... well, he had ideas about things. Who should be the leader, for instance. That was something that had always bothered her. Kale knew not to fight that. But Mr. Reading, as he prefered to be called, was "older" and "more" experienced. Suffice to say they had butted heads on any number of occassions. And likely would on many others.

Other than the two she knew, there was a translator for the Japanese guy standing over by the wall. Since he apparently didn't understand english she hadn't bother to say a word to him. Why the Malakh brought him here I will never understand. Moronic move on their part. Then there was the photographer, who was rather pretty Nazmina supposed, if you liked brown hair and eyes. Too common for her, however. After that there was quite possibly the most incongrous individual she had ever had the displeasure of meeting. A plastic bag belt was around his waist, and his clothing... well, reeked was possibly too kind of a word. Overall, not the most pleasant group of people to be around.

Turning back to Kale she mumbled something in her lilting voice, "Damn them. We could have handled this gate with just our group. Why do they Malakh insist on overkill?" It was a question she didn't really want answered, merely a way to vent a little frustration.

A breeze came up and stirred her hair, making the strands dance and flairing her duster out a bit larger than her small frame. It also kicked up dust, and suddenly the gate was there. Mina's eyes flashed in anticipation. This was what she had been trained for. Her entire life had been about moments like this. Her group knew what they were doing, and should the others be a hindrence... well, they wouldn't be for long.

Drawing upon her power as the first of the hell houngs game through, and the translator for whoever the oriental was cried and cowered against the wall, Mina threw a shredding force of wind to wrap around the first hound to come charging. Being hit would literally shred it into little strips of meat, leaving it very dead. A feral grin split her lips. It was on.

TAG: SARGE, NICK, XAN, KTALA, PENG

:snoopy

 

GM Rules Briefing: Because it's starting to come up as a potential problem, I would like to address this now - all hits, whether towards PCs or NPCs, are governed by the system, and therefore autohitting is totally forbidden. I realize this will slow the pace a bit, but this way everyone gets a chance to retaliate before a few faster posters take out all the enemies.

For those of you used to the way JL was handled - The rules from Justice League do not apply. Please revise your posts accordingly, but for the moment this won't count as a godmodding violation. Also, if this rule was violated in one of the previous posts, the result of the first attack and all subsequent attacks from those posts will be disregarded, and only the first attack in and of itself should be considered valid.

One last thing- TAG: All just doesn't make any sense here, please try to avoid it. Also, careful of the language you use - the mods are watching.

 

IC: Nibiru Vajra

Suburbs of Chicago, Illinois, USA

Even as he woke up, Nibiru somehow felt that this day was going to be different. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it was a feeling. Not just because it was his day off from work and he didn't have to go work at the Library, that wasn't it. The moment he picked up his golden vajra as he prepared for his morning meditations, he felt it. The spiritual vibrations emanating from it were ominous.

Nibiru sat himself in lotus position in the middle of his small rented hostel room and fell into a meditative state. Even as he cleared his mind, strange images assailed him, then suddenly a feeling of panic almost took him. Nibiru opened his eyes, startled and immediately got up. He quickly got dressed and made his way outside, not bothering with breakfast.

Once outside, the wandering monk took a deep breath and took the vajra in his hand once again. Closing his eyes, he concentrated and called on his spiritual powers to guide him and give him direction. A flickering blue glow enveloped the young monk, then faded.

"There."

Without hesitation, Nibiru began his trek in the direction he felt he needed to be. He understood the sense of urgency he was experiencing. Something was about to happen, and soon.

It didn't take the wandering monk very long to reach the location in question. Especially since the vibration he'd felt before just grew stronger as he neared. Of course, he had no idea what exactly to expect, so it took him a moment to mask the surprise he felt when he saw several people at the spot he was lead to. Was this mere coincidence, or did these people felt the disturbance as well?

Nibiru slowed his pace as he approached the group and let his eyes scan them. His vajra had not reacted adversely to anyone of them. Yet.

Nibiru immediately noticed the egyptian man and gave him a bow.

"Greetings, everyone..." He said to the loosely gathered group. His gaze then fell upon the priest, to whom he also bowed. The female with the spear was a bit of a surprise, but before he could take a better look at the rest, the vibrations intensified tremendoulsy, which caused him to look in the direction of an incredible sight. A mystical gate was opening in the middle of an empty lot, and from within it, seven hell hounds came bounding out.

Nibiru's first reaction was to wreathe whimself in spiritual energy. His eyes turned bluish-white and a blue aura enveloped him. As he got into a low fighting stance, two loud gun blasts fired from seemingly nowhere. A man had engaged one of the Hell Hounds. Nibiru could sense spiritual energy flowing from the man, but like himself, he was sure that he could take on one of the beasts on his own, as he'd done in the past, but not on all seven.

Nibiru took quick stock as man and beast were locked in combat. The Hell hound had knocked down the man, and was now trying to set his jaws on his human flesh.

"Somebody gimmie a hand! I can't hold onto this thing forever!"

Nibiru immediately went into action.

But with a whisper, he forged a long Spirit chain and swung it at the hell hound in hopes to ensnare it and pull it off the man, if not that, at least keep it from biting down on him. Nibiru did realize this made him vulnerable to attack from any of the other bounding beasts, but no matter. The brave man required aid, and besides, he was far from helpless should things get sticky.

Tag: Rally_Fan, Imperial_Hammer, Apadamek, Hammurabi, Blubeast, Beedlebroxh

 

Nettle

Chicago suburbs

She had answered the call more out of boredom than anything else. Life as a mercenary was less interesting and far less profitable then Hollywood had made it seem. She'd hit a dry spell. So she'd decided that she'd quit ignoring the Kingdom for a while and see what was new for them. At the very least she'd get some sport out of it.

She found herself standing in a mismatched group of individuals in various states of cleanliness and godliness, all staring at a particularly uninteresting patch of grass in the middle of the suburbs of a city she was sure was full of better things to do. So it was with a twisted sort of eagerness that she awaited the hellmouth.

It was with a sinking feeling that she watched what came out of it.

Dogs. Of course it would be dogs. She should have known. Of all the things Nettle absolutely did NOT want spouting out of the gates of hell, dogs came high on the list. Hellhounds were worse. Vicious and tenacious, they would be tricky, at best, to fight. This was exactly the reason she had decided to start ignoring divine messages in the first place. Not only was she surrounded by six people of questionable mental stability, but she was being rushed by seven obvious hostiles that her ever-present body armor would do absolutely nothing against. As two dogs lunge towards her, she takes a stumbling step backwards.

Time. I need time.

Her scalp tingles as the scars that spiderweb her skin start to glow with a blue-white light. Little arcs of electricity start to jump between the scars as she continues to backpedal. She only barely has enough time, and she pushes as hard as she can to get her wings out. Snaps of miniaturized lightning bolts arc to the nearest electric grounds, and the smell of ozone fills the air. She knows she has very little time before the jaws of the nearest hound close on her flesh, and at this proximity, the spear is nearly useless, especially with a group of people nearby. She can feel her back tingling, the scars there heating up. There is where the branches meet. Her back, two foci, just above her shoulderblades. As the heat becomes almost excruciating, she gathers her strength, crouches, and leaps into the air. Those paying close attention would notice, at the moment of her exertion, a stronger smell of ozone, and the hair on their body would stand on end. The reason soon becomes obvious, as with a crack of thunder, Nettle's wings spring into existence, the blinding light forming appendages that quickly bring her a couple dozen feet into the air. To watch and to wait. An unusual choice for her. But unusual circumstances call for unusual methods.

Tagged: Chicago Group

 

IC: Kale Elysar
Downtown London, England

Kale felt ... edgy. Normally, the anticipation before a fight would calm him, but the presence of strangers beside him was not exactly ideal. He glanced around at the others: some crazy homeless person, an American photographer, and now a Japanese guy and his translator. Kale narrowed his eyes slightly, sizing them up. The Japanese guy, at least, seemed to be here for the same reason they were; the same could not be said for the translator. But all in all, unknown quantities.

There was a demonic roar. Kale snapped his gaze back to the gate. Five hellhounds ... well that was anticlimactic. Mina evidently shared that opinion, from her annoyed mutter. "Damn them. We could have handled this gate with just our group. Why do they Malakh insist on overkill?"

Kale merely shrugged. "Easy pickings," he said. He glanced sideways at Clive, a half smirk on his face. "Come on, old man. Let's have some fun."

He unslung his rifle. A military-grade sniper rifle, complete with a long-range scope, was not exactly an ideal weapon when they were in your face - but it packed far more of a punch than his handgun. No need for magic here: backing up a few steps to give himself more space, Kale sighted down the barrel right between the second hellhound's eyes - Mina would take care of the first - and fired.

TAG: Ramza, Trimaj, Sarge, Nick, Peng, Ktala

 

IC: Father Benson
Location: Chicago Suburbs

The teenager growled in a chair as Fr. Benson stood over him.

"In the name of God our Father, I command you to release this boy!" the Priest said in a commanding tone, thrusting a Rosary into the teenager's face.

"Rawaargggh!" the teen yelled as he struggled against his restraints. "Your powers wane mortal, our time approaches!! I shall find you personally and annihilate you!"

Fr. Benson took his staff, the golden processional cross he carried with him, and brought it close. The teen began to shake and sweat as though the thing was made of burning steel.

"I will make you a deal demon." the man said, drawing in close to the boy's contorted face. "Your dark brethren in Europe have told me that the Time of the Beast approaches. One told me to come to this area, but I need more details. Tell me where exactly it will begin, and I will cast you into the Abyss, away from your Master's wrath in Gehenna. You will still be damned, eternally separated from the Lord and this World, but you will be protected from the Evil One."

The possessed boy stopped, the demon considering the offer. An offer to escape Satan's wrath was generous indeed. Nothingness looks quite attractive when the alternative is eternal torment. He had read that the Devil did not take the failure of his minions lightly.

"Fine." the demon said quickly. "Three streets down in an abandoned lot. It is too late anyway, it has already begun."

Fr. Benson stood high and raised his hand over the boy.

"Oh Lord our God and Savior," he prayed, "Look kindly across this Demon. Through his selfishness, he has provided me an opportunity to fight the Wicked One. Grant me the power to cleanse this boy, and to cast the torturous being that has captured him into the endless abyss. Amen."

And like that, the child was healed. There was no dramatic beam of light or a shaking of the earth. The teen just slumped, relaxed, and his face returned to a more healthy peach-ish hue.

The parents for the boy, who had been in the room, horrified, yelled in joy and rushed towards the boy, who seemed to be coming to.

Fr. Benson smiled, and exited the room. He needed to get to the location specified, and quickly. He might be able to beat the thing... to hold off the beginning.

As he exited the door, the boy's father yelled out.

"Father father, God bless you! How can I ever repay you?"

The priest turned and looked at the man who stood by his house.

"Love your neighbor as you love yourself." he said with a gentle smile. He turned briskly and walked down the street.

He counted the streets down as he walked. One. Two. Three.

He could see a crowd of people up ahead. Some of the most peculiar looking people! A woman with a large spear, some exotic looking easterners, someone with a guitar, and some just decidedly normal people.

What were they doing here? Had God contacted these people as well?

The Priest looked up as if expecting the answer to come to him, but none did. There was some talk by people more loud than the priest, and an Asian entered the group, bowing at Fr. Benson.

The priest smiled, but didn't have much time to do anything else as a sense of evil rolled in like a thunderstorm. He had felt this type of feeling many times before. It hung in the room of every exorcism he had done like a acrid smoke. But for it to just materialize here?

His eyes, no doubt drawn by God Almighty, looked at the direction of the field and a gate that opened. Seven Hellish Monsters, true Beasts, bounded out.

What was is going on here?

His processional cross started to glow slightly, and he could feel his scapular absorbing spiritual energy. It had done that a few times when he had faced particularly violent demons to excise. Although it did not change at all, it took on the properties of spiritual armor.

The priest saw two of the men run over and wrestle one of the beasts. What bravery! Truly the Holy Spirit abode within them!

Keeping a very very close eye on the hounds, the priest took and few steps backwards and extending his

 

Clive Reading
London, England

Sloppy. That was how Clive Reading would describe his comrades. Their attitude came from a sense of superiority, which in turn was the end product of their powers. Nazmina had no sense of control, and Kale liked to show off far too much. Calling Clive old didn't help the specops man's state of mind either. He calmly pulled out his knife, stepping forward slightly, poised to strike. He'd been well-versed in many forms of martial prowess; Krav Maga, Jeet Kune Do, boxing...you name it, he'd tried it. He had the scars to prove it.

At this moment, he'd only get in the way. Best to let his comrades deal with as much as they could before the distance was closed. He was better in a confined space, after all...

The alley wasn't large, and he'd noticed the Asian fellow with the big blade before the gate had opened. Overkill, in his eyes, but to each his own. He stepped to the side slightly, giving what he hoped was a wide enough berth for the blade to swing free.

It occurred to him that he was perhaps better prepared for close quarters than this man. A sword had a certain reach, a specific kill zone. Movement had to be careful and well-timed; not enough room for inspiration. The knife improved on this tenfold. He'd ensured that the blade was sharp on either side. None of that Rambo nonsense - that was overcompensation. There were three areas he could kill with: the tip and either edge. To Clive, this made his style more unpredictable, and that was half the battle to begin with.

He steeled himself for the inevitable collision of bodies.

Tag: Trimaj, Xan, Sarge, Nick, Ktala, and Ramza

 

IC: Avinash Ekagrah/ Car Outside The Airport/ Kathmandu/ Nepal

It was a very plush car, or so the Old Man thought. Having never been to the America's he could not be completely sure. But a King should have a plush car, and so it was. Black suede seats, the latest in entertainment (as if he ever had time to watch movies) and music (almost always going in some form or another, particularly chants), air and more things that Avinash simply hadn't had time to learn about. Over all a poor family could probably live on the dark vehicle for a decade. Lightly he ran a finger along the highly polished wood on the sideboard. It should have gleamed. It should have been straight. This was not the case, as instead the line was curved in on itself, and the wood seemed to exude a darkness. The Old Man didn't notice this at all. This was normal.

Looking out through the tinted windows, which also curved off into some odd warped version of glass, the sun seemed dark. As if some shadow were absorbing half of the light, and leaving everything muted and dull. What lay beyond was, by any means unusual. Buildings were anything but straight, angles meeting and then twisting up in a perverted semblance of what would be considered normal. Windows were at odd angles, more curved diamonds than rectangles. Plants were a mockery, being twisted in utterly unnatural angles with most of the leaves and green gone from them. Yet Ekagrah didn't notice. This was the world he lived in. He had never noticed a change, as everything was as it should be.

Someone outside caught his attention. A boy, who couldn't be more than thirteen was walking past. Such a pretty boy. I should see if he would like to join my... staff. Trying to ignore the boy, the oh so pretty boy, the Old Man tried to get his heart rate back under control. That simply would not do, to lose control over so small a thing. No, it was simply un-allowed.

Determinedly looking the opposite direction, Avinash spied Lilith. A truly abnormal creature. Exquisite in every sense of the word, yet she never quite looked the same. Never had he heard her described the same, and never had she looked quite the same as the Old Man's ideals had a tendency to change. That was it, he knew. Whatever the ideal woman was to someone... well, that was what Lilith looked like. But he had never managed to entice her. Had never even been able to lay a finger on her, which left the King highly frustrated. She was here at his whim, yet didn't get to practice those whims. A most displeasing situation.

Deciding that watching underlings was simply not worth it Ekagrah reached towards one of the trays that lay in the car. Various foods were there, and he reached for one of his favorites: candied yaks eyes. Utterly delicious, the softness of them combined with the sweet made for an explosion of culinary delight. Popping one into his mouth Avinash sighed contentedly. This is what life is all about. Good food, power and someone good in bed. Or multiple someones. A semi-wicked smile played across his face. If people know what he did in private... well, he would probably not be long for this world. Assuming they could hit him, which was by no means a certainty.

A noise outside drew his attention back to Lilith. Apparently who he was supposed to meet was out there. The Detective from... Oh, wherever it was. He would be the only foreigner other than Lilith to ever set foot inside the palace. However, leaving it alive... That was another matter altogether. Still, something told Avinash that this was someone he would like. Someone who would be of use to him, and mayhaps the King would help him. It was supposedly the reason the Detective was here after all. Sent by one of "Them". There were many things the Old Man knew, but finding out which was supposed to be payment for coming to Nepal would likely take a little time. Time... That was something he had in abundance. Smiling again, his yellow teeth showed there rather flawed line.

Looking again, he wished they would hurry up.

 

Emily Parker
Chicago Suburbs

Emily Parker should have known better than to commune with spirits - much less act on the instructions of some sort of god. She felt distinctly silly. And to think she had once been an atheist. But that was back in her rebellious phase, before she discovered her parents believed in God no more than she did, and before she had discovered the realm of spirits.

And so she had gotten up early that morning to travel across town at the request of some spirit she'd never even encountered before. The spirit didn?t seem malicious, and she liked to think her ability to understand people?s motives extended to the spirit realm, even if only a little. And though the spirit?s motives didn?t seem to be in her particular interest, Emily still imagined she could gain something from this being. If nothing else, it was this blend of curiosity and desire that motivated Emily to step out the door.

So she followed the spirit?s guidelines, until she came to the spot in question. It would?ve seemed inconspicuous to normal eyes, but she felt something about it. The sort of presence that made her tense up. Emily looked around at the others gathered around the site. Felt normal in comparison. Out-of-place normal.

But they were also all very similar. Emily hadn?t encountered many spiritually active people before. But here were gathered a set of people distinctly in tune with the hidden world. She felt the urge to turn invisible, but couldn?t summon up the ability to do it. Not a huge surprise - she had only done it once before, and even then, had only limited ability with it. In any case, it was a skill she would like to cultivate.

So she stood across the street from the site. She was a bit shocked wen the spirit world opened up - her interactions with the spirit realm had never spilled over into the physical world this directly. And she was even more surprised to find actual beasts emerge into corporeal form.

And all of a sudden she realized how much actual danger she was in. And all of a sudden she was glad to have the others around. As the fighting commenced, all she could do was step back, lipsticked mouth open in perfect ?o? shape, struggling to find some sort of defense, some kind of comfort. She reached into her purse, her fingers settling around the can of pepper spray an old boyfriend had given her as a joke. He had never been all that funny, and she had never meant to keep the spray around, especially not in her purse, but now she was glad to have it; even if it was practically useless here, she could at least fool herself into thinking it might help, which was something.

Tag: Ramza, team Chicago

 

IC: Nobody
Near Campus in Newark, Delaware, USA

Nobody was faster.

They were strong, they were quick, and they looked like something that had just streaked out against the stars from the fieriest depths of some inferno, but they were nothing greater than simple creatures cast from the same forge as the most benign of canines.

Those glinting jaws, flashing against the relentless sunlight, stained with the blood of countless victims, wicked talons and powerfully muscled arms, mired with jagged scars, and crimson, madly blazing eyes, blazing as if from another existence, were enough to paralyze any man with pure terror.

But Nobody knew no fear.

And Nobody was faster.

With a blur of movement undetectable to the untrained eye, Nobody ripped his daggers out from beneath his battered coat and instinctively adjusted his grip. Bearing the dagger in his left fist with an underhanded grip and raising the blade on his right, Nobody cast a rapid glance at the hellish fiends before him and plunged forward.

The daggers were alive in his grasp, breathing, willful, pulsing with an energy entirely of their own. As he dodged and darted between the fearful paws of brutal beasts, propelled by the guiding force that he had known since his mental rebirth, the daggers rose toward the hounds, prepared to bathe in bloodlust.

Nobody bit his lip the heinous jaws of one of the dark beasts neared his arm, poised as if to tear a chunk of bone and sinew from his powerful frame. Channeling his crude emotion into raw focus, Nobody raised his left index finger, and summoned an energy field that would, hopefully, cause the hound to explode from the inside out.

Raising his eyes to the heavens in brief, meditative contemplation of his actions, Nobody nodded slightly to himself and turned, once again, to his adversaries.

As he surrendered to the fury of the battle, a small, contented smile touching the corners of his lips, his mind cleared, his senses emptied themselves, and he was alone. In the sweetest of silences. In celebration of his inner power.

For nobody, nobody, was faster.

TAG: WinkWink, BultarSwan, HanSolo29, blubeast1237 (KG), Ktala (Lyn), Fisto_Hero, NickLitYouAFlame (Everrett)

 

IC: Saito Sakimori
UK, England, Downtown London

<<In conclusion, I hope you enjoy your stay here in jolly old England, Mister Sakimori>>

"Arigatou gozaimasu," Saito had politely thanked in his own language when he shook his translator's, one Geoffrey Richards who had shown him around, hand.

<<If I may, sir, why this particular place?>>

"Shinpai shinaide." Don't worry.

Despite how it may appear, what with having a translator with him, Saito could speak English fairly well. Though it had diminished since the time that his grandfather had been married into his current family, Saito still had the blood of an American in his veins containing the genes for his blue almond-shaped eyes and his similarly light-colored hair that would've otherwise been non-existent within his family. Genes weren't the only things he gained as his father had taught him to speak English just as his grandfather taught him.

But he was content with speaking in Japanese for now, especially while he tried to gauge the rest of his...companions. With a trained eye he looked from one to the other, of the woman with the tattoos that he could make out. She carried a gun too, as did the man with the rifle on his back. Saito had heard the arguments between those who delved into the more traditional art of the sword and those who used guns, how one downplayed the other with "mine is better then yours". While he himself preferred the art of the sword, Saito thought of guns as just another weapon that had it's own strengths and weaknesses.

The man with the knife slid into Saito's view next and then the other woman of the group. He couldn't find a weapon on her but his eyes immediately took note of her wrist. Maybe seeming like nothing out of the ordinary with a simple glance, but Saito thought that there may actually be something beneath the skin of her wrist with what looked like something poking through the skin. There was also someone else here, some poor looking fellow in the alley but Saito wrote him off almost immediately. Just one of those at the very bottom rung of society.

He had been waiting for the usual process of introductions to begin, thinking that perhaps one or the other would give his or her name before they would have to focus on the mission that had apparently been given to them. But that was before the giant, flaming gate opened up.

Dogs, Saito mentally identified, and the mental tone of his voice considered them as nothing more then just that. Well, if they were going to be faced with dogs he was going to dispense with them just like the dogs they were.

The woman with the strange wrist was already attacking, using some kind of spiritual magic that seemed to have the very winds attack one of the hellhounds. A bang from the direction of the man notified Saito that another dog was being taken care of. Saito didn't see what the other members of their group were doing, instead deciding that he should attack now. His left hand holding the sheath of his katana, his right hand still at his side, Saito charged forward, allowing his natural speed - while not enhanced, still pretty fast - to propel him forward towards one of the dogs.

The distance closed between the two of them quickly enough, and once in range Saito's right hand crossed his body in an instant, his fingers curling around the hilt of his katana before sliding it free. It was one blurred motion, the Japanese man's blade sliding out of the sheath and swinging forward, moving down and up in an attempt to separate the dog's head from it's body.

TAG: darthramza, DarthXan318, Ktala, Penguinator, NickLitYouAFlame, Ktala

 

OOC: Should have had this in my post, but it IS on my CS so... yes. Nazmina ALWAYS has gloves on that go up to her elbows, so no one would be able to see what is in her wrist. Especially with a duster on, since they have long sleeves as well. Just so there's no more confusion there.

:snoopy

 

IC: Rufus Jameson
Limousine, Kathmandu, Nepal

"I am Lilith, Mr. Jameson." The woman said. ?I shall endeavour to be an interesting guide for you, Mr. Jameson.? There was something cold, artificial about her, but he couldn´t lay his finger on it. He nodded to her. "I am sure you will." He took another deep breath of his cigarette, while the driver opened the door of the huge car.

Reminds me of the pimps in NYC, actually. He thought. But status and power was the same, everywhere. Beautiful woman and huge cars. A classic.

?Mr. Jameson has arrived.? Lillith introduced him and slided into the car. Such an elegant catlike woman, he thought. He had not even tried not to enjoy the view of her from behind. But he felt a tension rise in him. This was not a joke. Not a good or bad one. And not even one on him.

He knew why he was send here. What he did not know was, what these people wanted of him. Usually Kings didn´t negotiate with guys like him. Or perhaps that was only public opinion.

"Guess that´s non-smoker, is it?" He asked the driver to gain a little time. The driver, a muscular bald-headed man nodded. "Thought so." He said and threw his cigarette away. With a deep sigh he looked around a last time.

He climbed into the car and sat down on the other side of his two hosts. "Hello." He smiled and used the moment to make get an impression of the man. The King was old, for sure. Old Man. that´s what she had called him. Skinny but in a way one could see he was in hsape. His robes were what Rufus had expected. His eyes were piercing. A man of power. And a mysterious beautiful girl besides him, who had a little too much of a predator to be comfortable to him.

He reconsidered his judgment. It was exactly the kind of people who hired guys like him. Because they simply hadn´t digged in the dirt for so long, that they needed someone who remembered what that felt like. And he was no fool. If these people and the woman who had send him here had made him come to nepal, they needed him probably more than he needed them. He felt the need to smoke. But not now.

He folded his fingers, speaking in a sober serious tone.

"My name is Rufus Jameson. I should apologize for any breach of etiquette or protocol that may happen from my side. I am rather new to this. And if you wanted to have someone better in that part, you would have invited a brit, wouldn´t you?" He smiled. His eyes did not leave the two, but otherwise he felt relaxed. For a trap all of this would have been a little too much. Checking once again Lillith, then his eyes returned to the King. His eyebrows raised. Making him look more innocent.
"Is it appropriate or acceptable for me to offer you my hand?" He asked and extended it as an invitation. "That´s what I usually do when I meet new people."

Tag: Trimaj, Sinrebirth, Ramza

 

IC: Dan Conway
Location: Chicago Suburbs
Dan Conway knew better then to try and question what was going on, well maybe he didn't know better but he knew it. He at least had company for this possible madness. Cid Bowe, the famous driver. Dan couldn't help but let a few thoughts about somehow convincing the mad to advertise his watch pass through his mind. He glanced around, the place certainly didn't look like it was going to be the location of terrible happenings and dogs. When they reached where they needed to go though, Dan's first thought there must be a mistake.

"So this is the task? They mentioned fire brimstone and monster dogs, not being bored to death staring at dirty snow. Y'know, I have better things to do..." Dan simply nodded in agreement, he didn't want to risk looking like he wasn't committed if anyone was watching.

Out of nowhere however a enormous gate appeared from the ground along with raging winds and seven cursed looking dogs. Muttering some things that weren't in vein with his new hero of god destiny, Dan's first action was to quickly get out of there. Cid fired a few shots from his gun and Dan turned to see the effect it had. If he had a gun things would be different, but all he had were some knives. The hound leaped at Cid but he was able to keep it away with his pistol.

"Somebody gimmie a hand! I can't hold onto this thing forever!" Cid was shouting to the assembled group. A monk looking type rushed to help him, leaving himself exposed to the other hounds while the others of the group rushed to prepare themselves. Dan was at a loss to do. He decided quickly that something had to be done, he pulled out the knife set and prayed that the guarantee the hobby shop owner was accurate "You'll never have to sharpen them." He grasped the tip as he has practiced so many times, looked at one of the hounds and threw it with all his might towards the hounds face but hopefully it's eye. He instantly regretted his decision as he realized if it didn't work the hound was going to come after him.

"why don't I have a gun?" he muttered before taking off toward a parked car for cover.

Tag: blubeast1237 (Anubis), greyjedi125, Imperial_Hammer, Apadamek, Rally_Fan_84, Hammurabi, Beeblebroxh2g2