For this little thread I'm going to give complete and complex character sheets COMPLETE with the actual worlds that they're connected to, for instance, one of my featured characters that I've always found compelling to play as an adult would be Silver, Giovanni's son from the Pokemon games as an aged up, fatherless, but fearsome trainer who has aspirations of resurrecting Team Rocket in the face of his father's shameful exit from their organization and retirement in silent, uncontacted solitude. I like the idea of Silver having resentment for his father abandoning he and his mother, and the team that he built from the ground up who depended on him, AND I absolutely LOVE the political implications of a version of Team Rocket who, while functioning outside the realm of law in Kanto and Johto, are ACTUALLY the "good guys" in the story.
Perhaps their methods aren't exactly socially "acceptable", but imagine a world where the Elite Four and the Champion aren't just the strongest trainers of the region, BUT the Generals of a militant group that seeks to dominate and return the region to an archaic form of "iron fist" domination of the people. Perhaps the gym leaders would even serve as their "Officers and Lieutenants" with others like Professor Oak serving as Advisors or informants. I like the idea of Lance being more of a Stalin than a hero, and that despite Team Rocket's previously negative public perception, rising above their tarnished reputation to show the citizens that Team Rocket are closer to heroes than villains.
THIS is just a way for me to describe to you the formats of how these characters and world setups are going to go, though, because I'm more comfortable connecting my characters to a world of intricate design, those preexisting and those fabricated entirely by myself, so be expecting LOTS of reading for the worlds that I've set up for each character and also be looking for my character shoots which will be built within that somewhere. I'll be adding characters as I go as well, so have fun reading and if something jumps out at you just let me know! And additionally, if you'd like to collaborate on building an entire world and a set of characters TOGETHER, I'm very much game for that as well because world/character building might very well be my favorite elements of the entire process of writing anyway! ^_^
PREPARE FOR TROUBLE! AND MAKE IT DOUBLE! ::::::::::::::: A TEAM ROCKET STORY :::::::::::::::
I haven't played a Pokemon game in years, and I haven't seen an episode or movie from the anime in almost two decades, but I found myself bored the other day and I started looking up roms I could download on my phone for GBA and GBC games from way back. During my browsing, though, I came across a Team Rocket version of the Fire Red edition of the game which caught my attention and compelled me to try it out. And for those who don't know, programmers will use some of those old games as the backbone to create/build a unique narrative experience by adjusting the source code for the games. Effectively they're digital architects that use a sort of skeletal structure that the real games provide to build something that looks, feels and even functions differently. This includes edited maps, new characters, additional generations of pokemon added to the game, new events, narrative storyline changes and sometimes even complete story overhauls.
Well this game in particular was a complete game overhaul of the story and a rebuilding of the narrative to show the perspective of a Team Rocket member. It was a bit dark and a bit gritty, a little funny and a little cheesy, and to me it just felt like so much fun. It was a full experience of "the bad guy's perspective" which helps us to relate and even sympathize with the ambitious Giovani and his loyal Admins. Obviously they were "up to no good" from the perspective of the protagonists, but for themselves, through their altered perspective of the world that they believed they had been called upon to save, Team Rocket were doing the rest of society a favor. They were the first Team to have ever existed in the universe that is Pokemon, and in my opinion they did it best. They had the style, the ambition and the bank account to ensure that the goals of Giovanni were met time and time again, and now it's his son Silver's turn to guide this legendary Team further along into greatness.
This story could EASILY be a group game if a bunch of people just fell in love with the idea, but for this initial writeup I will say that this is first and foremost intended to be a one on one story. I, however, have no issues helping this idea to evolve a bit so that we could allow for a group of us to enjoy the experience together as the up and coming NEW GENERATION of Team Rocket talent to come through. The current Executives [size=12pt]are[/size] getting a little too old for Silver and Proton, after all, and they'll need to start searching for Grey's, Archer's, Ariana's and Pretel's replacements before long!
So yeah, I guess this is just an interest check more than anything. Is anybody game for putting together a cool cast of original Rockets to wreck havoc on a Pokemon world that rejects their aggressive approach to fixing the world in their image? With new challenges, new threats to the world, and perhaps even some new Teams to rival their efforts there is plenty of fun to be had!
Just let me know if you're interested. ^_^
- N
Real Name: Silver Preferred Moniker: Cillian(Sil-e-an) - Had it changed at 15 years of age Gender: Male Orientation: Heterosexual Ancestry: Irish and Italian Age: 26
Hometown: Viridian City Profession: Gym Leader of Viridian City Gym Occupation: Currently highest ranking member and leader of the Team Rocket criminal organization Rank: Underboss Note: Cillian is the acting, interim Boss in place of his father Giovanni, though he refuses to accept the role of Boss officially.
Family:
Father - Giovanni - 52
Mother - Ariana - 46
Timeline:
Silver is born to Giovanni and Ariana
10 years old - Silver sets off on his adventure to prove himself to his father and mother
13 years old - After years of travel, training and collecting badges Silver returns home to find out that his father has abandoned his family completely
15 years old - Two years pass by within which Silver is angry and struggling with resentment for his father. During this time he changes his name from Silver to "Cillian"
15 years old - Just before his sixteenth birthday he decides to set off on his own to Mt. Silver with Rory, his Typhlosion, and "Arkan" his Nidoran♂ to allow this dangerous mountain and it's powerful Pokemon to hone him into something better than his father ever was
17 years old - Silver returns from his trials living in the dangerous wilds of Mt. Silver now with a six member team and a bag full of other Pokemon that he challenged and bested, and when he returns he bears a new outlook and has plans for the Team his father started.
17 years old - Before his eighteenth birthday he takes an active role in the Team and after just a few months takes over as the Interim Boss of the Team Rocket organization
25 years old - After years of developing bases of operation around the world in other regions Cillian has established himself as a force to be reckoned with. Law enforcement departments fear his power knowing that he has agents and informants working among them. They are also aware that he has a considerable amount of influence over young and impressionable Pokemon trainers who might find his Team of outcasts to be a very comfortable fit for themselves
Bio: When Silver's father Giovanni vanished from society he not only left his own family behind but also neglected to equip them with the knowledge of his whereabouts or future intentions for the Team Rocket organization. Much of Silver's personality is a result of the treatment he received from Giovanni when he was just a boy, which includes complete abandonment. Like many of Giovanni's other actions throughout the games, this reflects on his selfishness. Silver grew up angry, antisocial, calculating, driven, lonely and longing for his father's attention and appreciation. He craves his father's respect and recognition as an equal measure of a man and trainer, even though he knows that he can't have it. As he grew older and realized that his shamed father would likely never return, though, he decided to become his own man with no need for guidance or direction from his father. He motivated himself to become an exceptionally talented trainer who wouldn't just become his father's equal but would instead surpass him and become someone far better in every way.
As a younger man Silver started his career as a Trainer alongside two other youngsters about his same age. That was the day that he met his partner Cyndaquil for the first time as well as his rivals. Then, after a few years of journeying and training, ever pushing himself to be stronger by the day he finally hit a wall. His life came to a screeching halt the day his father had removed himself from his mother Ariana and Silver's lives, and when he did it destroyed the young trainer's will to compete. It was harsh episode in life which drove him to give away all of his pokemon except for Cyndaquil who by then had evolved into a Typhlosion, and it was the last companion that he kept for himself as he tried to forgive, forget and to move on. A task that proved impossible after two years of seething at just the thought of his father.
After a time Silver finally came around, though when he did he changed his name from Silver to "Cillian", which contained the slightest essence of his previous name. He then took Rory, his Typhlosian, and broke into the local Viridian Pokemon center after hours to access his father's PC and steal "Arakn", a Nidoran♂ that was the product of his father's Nidoking and Nidoqueen. He then fled the town to the west of Viridian city into Mt. Silver where he resided for years. When he emerged from the mountains, though, he was a different man, much more ambitious than he'd been before he'd vanished like his very own father. The only difference was that Cillian eventually came back and, at least from the look of things, his father never would.
Cillian is the acting, interim Team Boss in place of his father Giovanni, though he has not accepted the rank of Boss within the Team Rocket organization yet and there is a chance he never will. Despite this fact he has long had the respect and support of each and every member of the Team who treat him as their singular Boss and Leader all the same regardless of his refusal to accept the rank officially. He took over at seventeen when his mother stepped back in order for her son to embrace his birthright as the Leader of Team Rocket and he's been running their organization for nearly a decade by now. He, even for all of his effort to try and be anyone else other than his own father, is very much the strong, persistent, overachieving and ambitious man that his father was before him. A son that any father would be proud of if they were there to see what he'd become.
:::POKEMON TEAM:::
Rory
Lv. 58 Typhlosion ♂ Fire
Arkan
Lv. 54 Nidoking ♂ Poison/Ground
Terra
Lv. 56 Tyranitar ♀ Rock/Dark
Echo
Lv. 57 Crobat ♂ Poison/Flying
Omen
Lv. 55 Gengar ♂ Ghost/Poison
Orion
Lv. 57 ♂ Bug/Steel
In box:
Bastion Lv. 52 ♂
Bulwark Lv. 49 ♀
Gannon Lv. 55 ♂
Tidus Lv. 50 ♂
Vaega Lv. 48 ♀
:::TEAM ROCKET:::
Name: Cillian Birthname: Silver Sex: Male Current Rank: Underboss - Interim Boss Age: 26
March 13th, 1933 - Tokyo, Japan 18 years after the demise of Muzan...
"They're here, dear sister", a young man's voice did whisper as the wind picked up a tuft of dust that quickly grew into a pillar while it weaved and wobbled it's way throughout the deserted street. There was a storm coming, and the trees had been speaking of it for hours by then while they danced in the night and offered their constant static song of rustling, restless leaves. Even the floorboards would tremble every now and again as the thunder rolled through the skies and shook the earth below as an illustration of it's might, yet there were so few awake to feel it. For the hour was late, and those still conscious were in great need of rest despite their self induced insomnia at the behest of carnal desire and addiction alike. They were what was left as days came to an end, ever wanting for sleep that would only come when their bodies gave out before falling where they may. Always the expense of their tireless needs that would never be met.
Beyond the feckless toil of mortal creatures there were others more suited to function in such darkness as the truest of deviants, and theirs was a charge they could not resist, for they were not born but created in the image of calculating and insidious eyes. They were but pawns in a game that would never end, their masters the things of Nightmare that would drink away your sanity until there was not a single drop left to be be had. Theirs was a struggle as old as time itself that promised praise and doting upon those of exceptional determination who could prove to be pristine in comparison to their siblings. Each one was unique and ever pining for the affection of overlords who cared not for love and coveted achievement above all. Achievement by which they would be rewarded with a crimson sip and untold strength with which they could destroy the spirited warriors who sought to protect a Human race that had no right to be provided salvation
"Come, Ire...", a young woman's voice called out into the darkness of a large, wide open room that was filled to the brim with a stifling darkness only partially illuminated by the pale glare of the moon through an open hatch above. And as that name was called a single form raised from a group of ten that had been kneeling, each one with head bowed and eyes closed. Yet as the one called upon raised up to take up a sure footed stance his set of bright red eyes sprang to life in the midst of all that suffocating blackness all around him. A step was taken, and then another as he slowly came to them when he was called, and as his eyes burned so bright they illuminated his handsome face in that soft, red glow that surrounded his white head of hair like a halo that followed him wherever he might go. A crown for a Demon Lord, ever to be remembered as the first to be blessed by the exalted children of Muzan.
His black heart was throbbing in his chest as he stopped before the glorious Son and Daughter, and as the Daughter watched, the Son grasped the one they'd called firmly by his shoulders and leaned up to to bite down firmly upon his throat. "Ugh!", the servant groaned as he felt the stabbing invasion of sharp fangs piercing his flesh, but only three gulps of him were had before the Son removed his mouth and took but a step beck. He then raised his left arm above his dutiful pawn and flicked a sharpened nail from his right hand across his own gray toned skin, the ripping sound of flesh able to be heard in the ever so quiet room.
"Drink.", he commanded his subordinate, and as he did he felt the other Demon reach up to take his arm by hand and by elbow so that he could pull the opened wound to his gaping mouth before lips could form around the injury. And as the drinking began the Son sighed softly for the twinge of pain that he felt as the drinking fiend clutched to his bleeding arm more and more firmly still. Just like the addict that he was, he couldn't bring himself to remove his thirsty maw, yet when the Son had offered enough he rared back with his opposite hand and slapped his lesser away with incredible force, which sent the other skipping across the floorboards a few paces before rolling over to his back with a second pained groan.
"You've had your fill.", warned the Daughter, of whom the lot of them feared above all else as she had always possessed the shorter temper and an inverse blessing to her brother's, of which she had become so very accustomed to using, even if it wasn't called for. In fact, she even took a step towards Ire, her amber eyes aglow while reddish hues outlined her ominous gaze, a display of deep and unsavory interest in the one who was supposed to be getting rewarded rather than devoured. In the interest of sparing perhaps their most effective subordinate, however, the Son reached out and slipped his hand around her waist before turning his shoulder into her chest to offer a gentle hug of restraint.
"Now, now, dear sister. We shan't destroy our most useful toys. Else we'll not get to have any fun at all.", he posed his question as he eyed that hungry look upon her face, yet as expected she began to relax against his arm and shoulder a moment later, either of her hands raising up to cradle her brother's arm and return the hug while resting her chin against his shoulder. There was not a word said by the Daughter, but that look in her eyes was still so very hungry, which had been a perfectly reasonable excuse to scatter the others to the wind so that they might go about their responsibilities assigned.
"Go.", he commanded, and no sooner had his voice made the demand did the ten Demon servants become a series of blurs before vanishing in the blink of an eye, never to return unless their masters demanded it of them.
Names: Mugen and Muika Kibutsuji
Age: Twins, both age 25
Birthday: Sometime during the year 1908
Genders:
Mugen - Male
Muika - Female
Orientations: Unknown
Height:
Mugen - 5'9"
Muika - 5'6"
Weight:
Mugen - 152 lbs
Muika - 119 lbs
Eyes: Both Amber with an outer edging/hue of red
Hair: Both jet black
Name: Katashi Shiratori Age: 29 Height: 6'0" Weight: 186 lbs Eye color: Reddish-Amber Hair color: White Alias: The Lower Wind Rank: Kinoe of the Wind - Hashira in training Blade color: White Combat style:
Wind Breathing Forms:
First Form: Dust Whirlwind Cutter Second Form: Claws - Purifying Wind Third Form: Clear Storm Wind Tree Fourth Form: Rising Dust Storm Fifth Form: Cold Mountain Wind Sixth Form: Black Wind Mountain Mist Seventh Form: Gale - Sudden Gusts Eighth Form: Primary Gale Slash Ninth Form: Idaten Typhoon Tenth Form: Wind's Whisper - Dead Silence
The seemingly never ending clatter of falling rain had been the only constant for a lonely traveler who was approaching down a long and muddy road from the east. The coast was far behind him now as he'd finally made it out of the city limits and into the countryside where nothing but broad swathes of greenery could be seen, until of course he'd come to a tall, two story mansion that was old and in disrepair. A place that had clearly lost it's purpose in recent years and had not been well kept up with as was evident by the cracked windows, slipping shingles and spots of wood decay that were visible by it's outer appearance. Despite that, however, there did appear to be evidence of renovation that was littered about the front porch and garage in varying places.
Tools, new boarding, shingles and other supplies were stacked and ready for application, although the rain season had helped to keep repairs from going forward for the time being. As the lone man approached, though, he raised his cloaked head to reveal a sharp and jutting chin, which was all that could be seen apart from the glowing, amber eyes that were easily spotted no matter the shadows cast by his hood. And as his eyes read an old and hanging sign just at the edge of the property a calm, deep voice read the words, "Butterfly Mansion", which in a way confirmed his trip had been complete now that he had made it to the destination he'd been seeking. All at the behest of a previous employer who had called for him to respond to an urgent call for help. Some friend of a friend who needed the help of a sword for higher, no longer the Demon slayer he'd started out to be when he was just a boy.
He could recall the very last Demon's life he'd taken had been that of a motherly creature who sought to lure him into her home and care for him, despite the fact that her version of caring for him meant that she would be feasting on him before attempting to warp him and create for herself yet another Demon child the likes of which he had already dispatched t get to her. She had been nothing if not accommodating, however, even despite the rampage that he'd gone on when he'd killed her three sons and daughter, all of whom were innocent people who had their own families and loved ones before the Demon bother took them from their young lives. A means to meet her own selfish ends, for she had become so tired of being alone so very long ago. When he'd finally managed to kill her, though, she thanked him for laying her to rest while his number of kills was raised to seven in the entire span of his short career. Even though he'd only managed to take down minor Demon's, though, he'd learned quite a lot in his personal experiences, and perhaps the most important factor from of all was that you could never be prepared enough for the trials that laid in wait.
Slowly the young traveler took long, easy strides around the property ever carefully watching for any Demonic intrusions to what was considered by most a holy or sacred place. The Butterfly Temple had played home to many oh the exceedingly powerful Pillars, which to his understanding was in relevance to the strongest Demon Slayers of their specific Slayer Art, or Breathing technique. And so he was proud to have at least spent a bit of private time there, well aware that some of them had even been buried in the courtyards situated at the back of the mansion, towards which he was heading.
Once he entered the courtyards he was greeted by a few overflowing fountains that looked as though they hadn't been cleaned up in decades, and carefully situated on all sides of the fountains, along the fenceline and in the stone pots were countless different species of beautiful flora which were even more alluring now that so many of them had been allowed to grow wild and unchecked. That, however, also brought with it the risk of cross pollinization, which meant that some of those flowers could be poisonous or potentially invasive in their potentially hallucinogenic effects. So, as he walked through the courtyards looking back and forth for any signs of life, he was met with nothing, at least for now, and as he scaled the steps up to the top of a long, wide back porch of the mansion the young man took one last glance around before scooting up under the awning so that he could get comfortable in a place that was out of the rain.
It didn't appear that anyone had managed to make it just yet, assuming that anyone else was due to arrive. What he was certain of, though, was that he had a bit of time to kill, and so he pulled his travel bag off of his shoulder and reached inside so that he could fish around until he found something in particular that he was looking for. Of course, once he found it he pulled open the mouth of his travel back so that he could carefully remove the elegant little music box from within, which had been a favored gift to his mother that he had taken back after she'd passed away many years before.
Now that he was there and with no one around to hear it, though, the young man did not bother to hesitate as he grasped the key at the edge of the box so that he could slowly start winding it, crank after crank until it eventually became tight and refused to wind any further. He then raised both of his legs up and crossed them over one another so that he could get himself comfortable for a moment, and when he laid the little music box down to rest just next to his right leg he took a deep breath and laid back so that he could enjoy a moment to himself. A moment that, if asked, he would have claimed he deserved to enjoy all alone, even though he expected that his new employer would be the "down to business" type who wasn't very interested in any lounging while listening to precious little songs. Before he might arrive and ruin his fleeting moments of peace, though, the young man had decided that none would interrupt his little music box's song for the time being, which right at that moment he needed to hear very much...
Name: Katashi Shiratori Nickname: "Katan" Alias: The Lower Wind Age: 29 Birthday: August 4th, 1904 Gender: Male Orientation: Heterosexual Family/Bloodline: Shiratori
Father: Katsui Shiratori(Deceased) Mother: Mi Shiratori(Deceased) Brother(s): Kato Shiratori(26) - Koji Shiratori(24) Sister(s): Mai Shiratori(17)
Rank: Kinoe of the Wind - "Wind Hashira" Combat style: Wind Breathing Blade color: White
Biography: Katashi was the third born of three sons and the last gift to a mother and father who had wanted many sons and daughters, but had only managed three sons over the span of twenty years of effort. Even their local doctors in town had advised his mother that she was lucky to have even one child, let alone three sons. It had been their father who had seemingly been the issue, however, for he was partially disabled after a dangerous and stressful life of Demon Slaying at the behest of his own father.
When Katashi's two older brothers, each of them twins, reached the age of sixteen years their father left his blade to his youngest son, Katashi, who was only ten years of age at the time, and took his older sons to be trained with the Wind Art Master. The Master of the Wind breathing technique had been Katashi's father's rival in youth, but once their Master had passed on his rival was proven to be the only one suitable to continue teaching the technique as a "Master" or "Mentor" due to the elder Shiratori's injuries. Before the trio could complete their journey to the Master of the Wind Breathing technique's estate, however, they were attacked after entering a dark and uncharted forest by an unknown aggressor.
Their remains were found scattered and torn apart, strewn about as if they'd been played with after death. Even their valuables had remained in their belongings, suggesting that the killing was not a consequence of attempted robbery. There was intent behind their murder, and they would never have the opportunity to tell their story and seek vengeance.
When Katashi came of age he gave his father's blade to his mother, bade her farewell and moved her from the country into the nearest large city, which had been the capital of their region. He did so knowing that he would be safer there and set out on his own to find the retired Wind Breathing Master, well aware that he would be reluctant to share teachings that were now considered obsolete in a world without Demons. It was Katashi's opinion, though, that Demons hadn't ever truly been expelled from the world, and that if they had his brothers and his father would still be alive...
Physical Attributes
Style of dress: Flowing black and white robes with golden trimmings Notable scars/tattoos: A few deep scars and scrapes across his arms and upper body, some even across his thighs and his neck, though none upon his face Physical condition: Katashi is in peak physical condition and trains his body relentlessly with weighted bracers and ringlets on his wrists and biceps. He knows no desire for rest and boasts a physical prowess that is unmatched by anyone outside of the highest ranks of the Demon Slayer Corps. Height: 6'0" Weight: 186 lbs Eye color: Reddish-Amber Hair color: White
Personality Attributes
Likes/Joys:
Time to himself to reflect on his journey and the path that he has set himself upon. Carefully considers what his father would do
Silence and solitude that he gets the opportunity to fill with reading and studying between his assignments
A friendly atmosphere, a dark and comfortable corner to claim as his own and a strong drink to settle his nerves while enjoying music or overhearing someone's stories
Honing and perfecting his Wind Breathing technique while learning of the many ways that he can enhance himself for future combat engagements
Listening to his mother's music box whenever he has for himself a moment of peace so that he can remember her, his father and brothers when times were easier
Selfish
Dislikes/Fears:
Selfish, rude and arrogant people
Politics and religious platitudes
Hectic, loud places that never seem to settle down
Forward or obnoxious people who are not afraid to invade someone else's personal space
The scent or presence of a Demon anywhere near him. He has outgrown his fear and now struggles with rage for knowing they're still among the living
Strengths:
Superhuman physical strength and speed that is absolutely unmatched by anyone unless they happen to be a well trained Demon Slayer
Incredible strength of will, resilience in the face of death and stamina the likes of which have seen him through the most deadly of altercations by managing to outlast his foes by way of his iron will
A quick wit and exceptional aptitude for in the moment problem solving/tactical approach born of non-stop combat training even before his formative years under the direction of his late father
Weaknesses:
Occasionally will underestimate his foes with the knowledge that most demons tend to resist those who created them, even at risk of destruction. Considers almost all demons mindless and driven by instinct like carnal beasts
Katashi has on more than one occasion pushed himself past his own limitations, despite how vast they might be, and has wound up with injures that have taken weeks or even months to recover from
His truest mortal weakness is a proclivity for gambling games, even though he has always taken care to make sure that at least one pocket remains full of coin no matter how much he might squander
Gear: Demon Slayer's robes, A Demon Slayer's blade, a single pack of supplies like food rations, a single tent and thin layered sleep bedding, casual clothing, an extra pair of boots and sandals.
Training details: Trained under the Sixth Wind Hashira, Sanemi Shinazugawa, the previous Wind Pillar who in recent years had passed away. This has left Katashi as the highest ranking Wind Breathing user alive.
Wind Breathing Forms:
First Form: Dust Whirlwind Cutter Second Form: Claws - Purifying Wind Third Form: Clear Storm Wind Tree Fourth Form: Rising Dust Storm Fifth Form: Cold Mountain Wind Sixth Form: Black Wind Mountain Mist Seventh Form: Gale - Sudden Gusts Eighth Form: Primary Gale Slash Ninth Form: Idaten Typhoon Tenth Form: Wind's Whisper - Dead Silence
Info: The last of the Kenobi line and the great, great grandson of famed Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. Vennic is cold, rigid and in some ways awkward around others, having grown up with only a harsh Master to interact with. He was taken as a boy, stolen from a dying mother and a defeated father in the swelling aftermath of a war against the new Jedi Order called "The Gray Order". An order that had been created in the interest of setting aside the differences of both the Sith and the Jedi so that all could learn and grow beneath a single banner, and for centuries there was peace.
Peace never last, however, and struggle was a natural and necessary element in the galaxy that was not to be stricken from it entirely. Centuries of near constant peace since the final war between Sith and Jedi had allowed the people of the galaxy to become comfortable with that peace, and the very moment that they suspected that it would be permanent, Vennic had been born to the world, and so too was his counterpart, and together they would bring back the balance of the light and the dark to the galaxy.
Lives would be lost for it, but those lives would meet their ends precisely when they were meant to, for the galaxy was incomplete without war, death and a measure of chaos that the light could bring back into balance by combating it. Just as the sun needed the moon, so did the light need the darkness...
THE WAR OF THE DAMNED
CORUSCANT The year 65 ABY - December - 1:27 AM
Coruscant...
The golden and slate colored jewel of the entire Galaxy, ever to be contested territory of any and all true factions that ever had a chance to rule or to establish a Democracy. It was the pinnacle of wealth, technology and progression for the Republic now, and had been the same for the Empire that had controlled it before that, and back and forth the planet would roll as faction after faction fawned over and fought for it, only to be destroyed in the wake of obsession. Time and time again there had been wars waged in the surrounding space, ships being obliterated and costing thousands their lives, yet it was but a drop in the bucket to a galaxy so vast. All of these lives expended fighting over a shimmering rock that just so happened to become something great when a few people settled upon it too many years ago for anyone to have ever been able to count. They'd been recorded as "The Architects", and next to the sparse few lines that described who they were and where they'd come from there was a date that was left blank, and it would always be so.
There was no telling where it had come from, for the Galaxy was of an untold and unfathomable age, and so most of history up to that point was merely a speck in the grand scheme of all things. A star among an infinite number of winking lights in the night sky that could never all be accounted for. Despite all of this, the data banks that contained their histories and the histories of relative worlds dated back hundreds and hundreds of thousands of millennia up until that very moment. A fact which was all together important, while at the same time being utterly laughable in comparison to everything that had taken place before even the first page had been recorded in some book that had long since turned to dust.
If you tried to sit down and full comprehend such a thing it would drive you mad, eventually, and those more determined would waste the entirety of their lives in the interest of understanding and completely grasping the depths of the galaxy. Despite such efforts, they would still but scratch the surface and be a mere twig thrown into an otherwise, and always, raging fire. The effort would be misplaced, and such things were indeed best left untouched by the pondering mind, for there were things more important going on around each and every being in the galaxy who struggled daily only to survive, in most cases, while elite and privileged counterparts thrived in the lap of luxury. Coruscant was that luxury, and although not all who shared it were as privileged as some, there was a shared privilege of even being associated with the priceless gem that it had become.
It was a glorious rock indeed, and it had been fought over for far too long by then, but the wars waged here were far from over, and they likely never would be as long as someone had enough ambition to want to own it. The need to control such a thing, however, was much greater than the actual capacity that any one creature could ever have possibly had in order to even attempt such a thing. It was like trying to catch the stars with your bare hands while you lounged beneath them in a sea of swaying wheat that was being grown on a cultivated moon. Planets like Coruscant and the galaxy it was within were both incredible and mind boggling all the same, yet somehow they found ways to live with such an incredible thing. Somehow the people of the galaxy were able to rise and function, as if none of it mattered at all. As if none of it was quite as unbelievable as it honestly was. That was why there would always be an innate struggle between peoples of the galaxy. Because they were all together imperfect creatures who failed to grasp the bigger point of it all. They were only concerned about what was in front of them.
A pair of golden eyes were slightly slanted to hint towards disinterest as they gazed out across an ever darkening, sapphire skyline hanging above the planet of Coruscant. Plumes of light and raging fires flickered across the surface of the planet as a war raged on across the surface of the Jewel of the Republic.
"Coruscant...", a deep and soothing voice whispered as the moments slowly crept by. Sirens echoed through the city and the temple behind the man who possessed those golden eyes was billowing massive pillars of black smoke. A testament to the battle that had taken place there between soldiers of an unknown creed and the Jedi of the Gray Order, which had been established there hundreds of years ago. A place of peace and tranquility, where those gifted with the ability to control the force were taught how they could use it for good, despite their leaning towards the light or the dark. It was a middle ground. A balancing act. A constant, never ending walk, hand in hand with a Master who was either appointed, or in far more rare cases, you would be chosen.
It had been a place accustomed to offering refuge for those who were searching for answers and for training in the ways of the force, for control was of utmost importance. It was a place where peers could share their own findings while at the same time learning from those wiser and more powerful than they were. Lastly, though, it was a place where those who craved to learn could go and absorb as much as they could about the galaxy and it's many wonders. It was an opportunity for to learn, to grow, and most importantly... to be lied to.
"VENNNIIIICCCC!!!", called a second deep, yet harsh and angry voice which had been raised in order to gather the attention of another. It had come from a single man who had been accompanied by two shorter beings standing across either of his shoulder. One male, two female, all of the Gray Order that had just been destroyed. And all around their feet laid the bodies of unmarked armored soldiers who had been fighting with vibroblades and blaster rifles. Fewer among those lifeless, armor clad bodies were those dressed in brown, black or gray robes, which had been a code of dress established by the Jedi of the Gray Order. Instructors, students, even Masters were strewn about the massive Temple of the Gray Order of Corsucant, and apart from the three who had still remained standing and brandishing blue and green blades, there were none left. None but one, who stood at the tallest step at the very lip's edge of the temple, towering in height and possessing broad, thick shoulders.
He was cloaked in tattered, black robes not entirely unlike those the Gray Jedi chose to wear, though they were different all the same, and as the name was called at the top of the young, Gray Jedi's lungs, he did not move. Not until he had been called upon by the surname that he had allegedly been born to.
"VENNIC KENOBI! I SHALL END YOUR LEGENDARY BLOODLINE ONCE AND FOR ALLLLLLL!", the young, deep voice called once again, and when it did the motionless obelisk at the highest most step finally moved, though only to glance over his shoulder and back towards the destroyed gates of the legendary Temple. That moment was tense, as those angry, golden oculars fell upon the scruffy face of the young Gray Jedi, and in an instant he felt hatred begin to pool within the core of his heart. He slowly shifted in his place, turning his feet one step at a time so that he could slowly, lazily adjust his direction. Slowly he set his shoulders forwards towards the last three living Gray Jedi on Coruscant before he took his first step. Then he took another, and another, still slow, but beginning to make up the distance between the one and the three.
His eyes were narrow now because of the ripples and folds of skins that had forms above his brow and across the bridge of his nose, and before they had their life ending encounter, he said one thing. One thing that, if the Gray Jedi made it through the encounter, they would never forget. Something that shook them to the core and sewed seeds of doubt within their hearts. One thing that bothered, gnawed at and disarmed them all at the same time.
"That name died with my father..."
THE SINS OF ZURR
THE PIRATE KING'S JEST
Castletown Coast of the Isle of Man Late Friday night November 7th at 9:27 PM
At the heart of Ireland, Scotland and England was a little island known as "The Isle of Man", which had been the eyes of the triangle of three countries for as long as anyone could remember. It was truly a gem placed perfectly between the ring of the three countries which had been coveted for it's strategic position ever as long as anyone had known of it's existence. A heart that brought all three of these countries together, in fact, connecting them forever no matter their past struggles and strife with one another or the rest of the world. Ever since the three countries had become united, however, there hadn't been a single Pirate seen anywhere near those shores surrounding the little island or the Isle of Man itself, which was truly something for the Brits, the Irish and the Scots to be proud of. In fact, it had been more than a decade since any unsavory, salty type of individual had so much has been spotted lingering in a pub or skulking around town where they weren't welcome, and for good reason.
War had been declared on Pirates who had been a no good, low down, all together rotten bunch who were so damn bold that they would have admitted to you themselves that they'd rather kill you and take what you've got than embrace you as a friend. Especially if you came from a higher level of societal privilege than they did. They weren't nice, they were endlessly selfish, but even they tended to be honest about what they were and what they wanted, and what they wanted was to take what they wanted while allowing chaos to be left in their wake. A trait that didn't escape those of worldwide renown any further than it did a lowly, rum addicted bandit who was crewless and looking for his next wench with an eager gleam in his eyes.
For the English, the Irish and the Scots, however, the years of ease in dealing with Pirates, most of whom had retreated to their strongholds across the ocean in the Caribbean, had been all too enjoyable and they were more than eager for their prosperity to continue. Their dominance of the Atlantic Ocean had been put on hold tonight, however, for a coastal storm had been wracking the Isle of Man and a few of the coastal cities along Great Britain as well over the past few days, and only in the past few hours had it finally died down a bit. The skies were still dark, however, and the rain was still pouring down and helping to create a near constant mist that shrouded most of the sea for the naked eye beyond just few hundred feet. It had well and truly been a nightmarish few days now that the heat was clashing with the dropping temperatures of a Winter that was fast approaching causing the environment to snap when a cold front would sweep through. Something that was both unnerving and ominous, despite the sailors and soldiers who only viewed this terrible weather as well deserved time off.
The pubs were alive with far too much drinking, awful music and tall tales being told as the pale moon loomed overhead and created a ghostly colored wall of mist and fog atop the broad expanse of waters surrounding the Isle of Man. It's docks were full with ships of many sizes, and in the channels near the island there were English and Scottish ships anchored and riding out the storm while their men still aboard were either gambling or putting on a part of their own. Most of the crew had to stay aboard the larger ships, after all, to make sure that all of their mechanisms remained in perfect working order and to ensure that they were kept safe and guarded. The only problem for them was that dead mean couldn't so much as guard a row boat, let alone a Frigate...
"Show them what hell is like...", the deep voice of a towering man whispered while he stood tall at the bow of a massive Man-O-War ship known as "the Bishop" who's hull was painted a crimson colored deep red while it's intricate edges and detail were all painted black, white and gold. Even the bowsprit was made of red oak and ivory to match the aesthetic of the rather beautiful, yet awfully horrifying ship that was cutting through the water like a bull through waves of grass. Then, only a moment after he'd given the order, torches began to light up all around him, one after the other so that his nightmare could be shared with the world he sought to send to the ocean floor so that they could all be claimed by the ferryman of the river Styx. The flames he had commanded were spreading all across the ship as countless balls of fire continued to be born, each one sweeping forward to light the next so that the entirety of the deck could be aglow.
Then, as if an angel had been skipping through the dark, moist night skies, a few flames sprang up in the middle of the water next to the massive, flaming ship as if connected to nothing at all, but they too began to spread, again and again until slowly others began to emerge from the mist. One, two, three, four more ships began to take shape as the wispy flames from the torches set an unnerving glow around them all and revealed them to the Isle of Man and the ships at which they were sailing full tilt. The many torches were lining the railings of the ship, burning with a vigorous, oily burn that would not be subdued by the falling rain, but because the ropes, sails and wood was all soaked to the core, the many flames could do no harm to the ships that they were causing to stand out atop the shimmering waves of the ice cold sea.
"I want it all...", the same man grumbled the words to the proud looking man and woman stood behind him, one over each of his broad shoulders standing there proudly as ever and adorned in rather eccentric clothing and jewels. "AIGH!", they growled back at him, each clearly of a certain rank to be standing nearest the Captain while being dressed in such expensive things that they had no doubt come by after years of pillage and plunder.
"I WANT THE WORLD!", the man's deep and powerful voice then boomed out across the deck of the looming Man-O-War that he spun around on so that he could face his crew. "Bring it to me!" not a second had passed before he received a spine tingling combination of screams, grunts, growls and cheers all melded into one truly awful sound, which gave the man a limitless delight. A sound that caused the man to swell with pride as he wore a menacing expression while an eager grin perched into the right corner of his mouth.
"BRING ME ALL OF IT, OR DIE WITH ME AS DRUNK AND FREE AS ANYONE HAS EVER BEEN!", he cried out to them all as their voices raised on high again, each one screaming at the crying skies while their faces twisted and contorted into awful yet exceptionally excited expressions. "RAMMING SPEED!", the massive Demon Captain crowed as he spun around again and yanked out his long, narrow blade who's length contained an elegant arch and an edge so sharp it could cut a gold coin in half if he but limpwristedly dropped it to the flat top of a wooden table. It was his pride and joy, apart from the Bishop, and he raised it high above his head as his piercing, ice blue eyes glared at a British Frigate who he was certain had a belly full of riches he had come to take for himself, all while the coast watched on as helpless as anyone had ever been.
The moon was glaring, the sky crying, and the only sound could be heard was the whisper of waters skipping off of the hull of the Bishop who was racing as quickly as he could at the broadside of the ship in the Demon's eyes. Then, after the world had held it's breath and the silence had finally reached it's climax, an incredible, Earth shattering [size=10pt]"THOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!"[/size], rang out across the channel as the British ship was speared and split so that the the Bishop latch on tight. It's claws were deep, and no sooner had the snapping of wooden boards and cries of horror began to the Pirates begin to swing through the night with fire in their eyes.
Axel Kane "The Demon Captain"
Origin Story:
Captain Abaddon is a typically serious man with agendas constantly on his mind, unless someone can coax him into drinking more than he should rightly try to stomach. On the rare occasion that he does wind up drunk, he becomes much more tolerable, flirtatious and outright delightfully funny and engaging. Otherwise, though, he is more worried with the movements of their fleet.
When not so up tight and worried about their next job, the Captain is rather quiet and often chooses to retire to his personal quarters where he gets a lot of planning and reading done. Otherwise he'll often disappear when they reach Bastion Bay or Port Royal and retire to his own devices.
Typically dressed in dark leather, black and red attire, the Captain keeps dark colors on at all times in order to remain unseen at night and keep his enemies from seeing him bleed. He believes that there is nothing less intimidating than an enemy poked full of holes, and if God is willing to let him continue his tirade through the Caribbean and the Islands around England, then no number of gun and sword holes will bother him.
Quote: "Calypso's in a right shit mood tonight, yah bunch ah bitches and bastarrrrds! Let's show thah salty cunt who she's pissan on!"
Character specific World setting:
The World Setting: In the year 1706, as salty as they come, Captain Axel of the Bishop leads a small fleet of five pirate vessels, all under his control, although he has appointed three others to oversee the operation of vessels he cannot direct himself. They, however, were not afforded the title of of Captain and instead are merely his ship operation subordinates.
The sweet spot of for anyone in his fleet is right there in the middle, on by far the largest ship of the five, the Bishop, where there are four stories of canons and three stories at the back of the ship offering seven rather lavish personal dwellings that he has awarded to his trusted Commanders. Three women, three men and himself make up the Salty Seven, a troop of pirates so vicious and foul that they only bother to gather together in times of war. Often times, though, one more more of them will take a smaller vessel off to undergo a mission given to them by Abaddon himself. Whether it be taking out a high priority target in the dead of night, stealing a ship that the Captain has his eye on or delivering and collecting on bounties taken while on the open sea.
He runs with some of the worst kind of filth that the Sea could possibly spit back up, but if a crew of liars, thieves and assassins can be given a purpose and enough riches, even they can be unified in order to work towards one, all inclusive cause. They'd have to be careful, though, as Britain has become intolerant of their kind and has begun issuing bounties for Pirates to be brought in, dead or alive. Such actions has caused civil unrest and a war across the sea is brewing.
-Other Information- Name: Axel Kane Alias: The Demon Captain - The Pirate King Sex: Male Preference: Heterosexual Age: 32 Race: Human Rank: Captain Height: 6'8" Weight: 239 lbs Eyes: Grayish Blue Hair: Dirty Blonde/Light Brown
Ships under his command:
Man-O-War named "The Bishop"
Frigate named "Queen Anne's Noose"
Galleon named "Skybreaker"
a second Galleon named "Black Jack's Claim"
and lastly...
A Brigantine named "The Blind Man's Secret"
TO CATCH THE DEMONS IN THE MIST
Obviously this would be a Jack the Ripper story as the title and the above photograph should imply, so the setting for a story like this would obviously end up being the late 1800s London, England. A chance to reimagine a story that we, as a human society, never fully understood to begin with. There are those who believe that we knew exactly who he was and what he was about, and others who believe we were never even close to finding him and thus know absolutely nothing about him beyond his brutality and typical targets. What occurs to me, though, is that nothing is for certain, and when nothing is for certain there can most certainly be interesting lines of thinking drawn into potential conclusions that end up being quite fun.
Now, to be clear, this is going to be an at least semi-violent story with some gruesome scenes depicted, so it won't be for the faint of heart. With respect to those readers who might not want their stomach to be churned by too much graphic imagery, however, I'll try to keep most of the harsh stuff in writing and keep anything else for the eyes as reasonable as should be expected. We won't be having any autopsy photos in this story, in other words, and if I'm honest I don't think any story really calls for any of that. Depicting it in the writing should be enough, and even then I still don't want to get too deep with gory detail. I only make this note in this particular story idea so that anyone who wishes to accept the endeavor realizes that this is not going to be some fluffy nonsense. It's going to be dark.
That being said, I've always wondered what was going on in this "Jack's" no doubt muddled and maniacal head. I've wondered if there was any rhyme or reason to his murderous tendencies, or could he have been made out to be worse than he truly was. Was he the son of a prostitute who grew to hate his own mother for her nightly vacancies during his youth when he needed a mother around? Did he grow to hate her enough that he went out into the mist laden evenings to murder women who reminded him of her? Or was he perhaps a violent drunk who spared an already abused wife her suffering by sinking into the filth of the evening with women who weren't her. Women who, after sating his nightly frustrations, were viciously torn apart by the fury of a man unhinged.
Many believe him to have been a curious doctor. Others think that he was more a "lover scorned" so to speak. The truth of the matter, though, was that he could have been anyone. He could have even been male OR female, despite the much higher likelihood that they were indeed male. What we know for certain, though, was that at least five of the killings that people believe him to be involved with were certainly carried out by the same individual. We just don't know the extra details. Like for instance if there was an accomplice. Or perhaps if these killings weren't just connected by the killer, but perhaps the women and the people they worked with/who knew them as well.
I imagine that back then there were territorial disputes between gangs and organized crime families fairly regularly, and they would have encountered law enforcement in frequent struggles for control of the streets. Law enforcement who were hardly as effective back then as they are now in London. I admit that I've got a bit of a thing for the Peaky Blinders and Gangs of New York style of stories where the lowlifes of society rise and challenge one another, and sometimes even the government. There's something exciting with that and fun, and it allows for characters to make something better of themselves, or even remake themselves entirely. Struggle, strife, brutality and downright chaos are just some of the goodies in store for a story like this one where we can reimagine Jack and the characters that would have surrounded him.
Imagine him as a doctor by day and the owner of a "Henhouse" by night. An establishment which houses and employs prostitutes wouldn't be the sort of thing that a reputable doctor would wish to be associated with, unless of course one could avoid that by creating an alter ego. With just a potato sack and a top hat a new Lord of the Evening could be born. A presence who existed both to serve as the shot caller for his territory and a looming warning for those who might wish to challenge him. He could make himself a legend without speaking even the first word, because the rest of London would do that for him. And when he needs muscle he relies upon the local men, some of whom would fall victim to their tribalistic tendencies and come to serve Jack by proxy of their involvement with the community and their "territory".
Perhaps even his victims weren't as innocent as they have always appeared, because the best informant is a quiet one who does her job while distracted men drink and talk the night away...
I dunno, it's just a thought. I'm thinking Jack the Ripper meets The Godfather/Peaky Blinders type storytelling where we expand upon the character of Jack to discover the infinite number of possible connections with other people that they could have had. Perhaps a particularly rude and protective "Mother Hen" who runs his establishment with an iron resolve. Surly and ever sore about the treatment of women, she too could be a Ripper, but of men. Perhaps a young woman without much direction meets Jack and offers to him her expertise as an Assassin, though blades may not be her weapon of choice. Perhaps poison laced lipstick and drug infused wines might be a part of her ever growing chest of dastardly goodies that she lives out of while under the employ of the one and only, original Ripper of London...
This is initially intended to be a 1x1 for an MxF storyline, but if any of you ladies wanted to arrange anything sort of group/harem or something then I could get with that as well. We'd just have to reorient the story a little bit and arrange the characters as needed. And additionally we could even have this be a modernized storyline as well. Maybe a modern retelling without the REAL Jack the Ripper, although the character itself would exist in a sort of reimagining of some kind. I'm game for whatever, though. That's why I'm posting this. So people can express interest and ping pong some ideas back and forth. : ]
I love it the idea, but it's nothing without someone who shares a similar passion. SO! If you're interested, please feel free to comment on my idea, offer additional storyline and character stuffz if you want to contribute, or just express your interest. Alternatively my inbox is also always open in case anyone would like to have a more private interaction regarding the story.
And as always, thank you for reading!
The Lady Gray and "Little Leila" Swan send their regards...
Disclaimer:SOME of this content, as well as most of the images that I use, are copy written. All rights are reserved by the author(s) of pre-existing characters pulled from comic books/Animes/TV shows/movies and sometimes solo artworks that I have not created by way of my own imagination and/or constructive efforts. All image rights are reserved by the artists who created them and they are merely being borrowed in an effort to give fellow writers and readers just a taste of what both my original character concepts and borrowed Fan-Fiction based characters might look like and dress like. None of this content, apart from some of the original character backgrounds, bios and story lines, actually belong(s) to me in any way. I do, however, reserve the rights to my own content pertaining to the characters that I have fabricated over the years that I have been a writer which I have put on display for you here in my character catalog. I reserve all rights to my own unique content including my characters and story lines/stories pieced together and constructed for you to share in and enjoy. Thank you!
This section I'm not going to make a grand display case like the Starter/Character/World creation displays I put together in the above sections, but hopefully you'll still enjoy them. They're a little smaller in scale and less absurd in how much information is going to be included, haha. They'll fit nicely into little clickable spoilers, though, so go through them at your leisure and enjoy!
VENGE GRAYSPINE
Origin Story:
Venge was born to a race of Dusk Elves who were once upon a time imprisoned by mankind. When he was born it was on the night of a blood moon, which was a bad omen and meant that when he came of age he would bring only death and destruction to the world around him. This won the child a rather interesting name that was born of his father's Vengeful nature against the human race that enslaved he and his kind. That night, a prophecy was foretold and rumors began to spread of the one with golden eyes and white hair. The bringer of Death.
When he came of age, Venge embraced his legend and spurred revolt within his quick, careful, powerful and skilled race, most of which had been used as hunters and warriors by their human captor for decades. After more than fifty years of enslavement, their people fashioned weapons over the span of two years and hashed out battle plans against the humans. Their plan worked, and the revolt just so happened to fall on the night of another blood moon. A night when thousands of human beings were slaughtered in the streets or had their throats cut in their beds, while Venge stood at the helm of the madness with blood and ashes in his wake.
He now rules the Kingdom of the Fringe, far North of the other Human countries, his people now thriving in the cold terrain and growing in number. There he waits as his kind adjust to freedom, allowing his kind to prosper once more before he takes his war to the rest of the human world. The Fringe belongs to him now, and in the depths of the massive fortress, surrounded by walls two hundred feet tall of ice, stone and steel, he fosters his people while growing his strength and his influence.
-Other Information-
Name: Venge Grayspine Monikers: The Dreadlord - The Vehement One Gender: Male Preference: Heterosexual Age: 27 Height: 6'7" Weight: 269 lbs Race: Dusk Elf Eyes: Golden/Amber Skin: White/Pale Hair: White
The meeting had been arranged by the King, but there had been no conditions agreed upon prior to the meeting. The King had made his assumptions, of course, and believed their meeting was to be a diplomatic one, but what he did not understand was that the man he was meeting today was no King. He was no Ruler and he was no Lord. He was not of royal blood and he was no god. He was neither above the men and women he lead to war, nor was he beneath them. He was merely the strongest and most passionate of them all, and that warranted respect. That earned him the right to lead the Dusk Elves South to destroy boarders and rape the lands between them and human kind. What did not lay frozen in the wake of Venge was burned, consumed or syphoned for it's life, and in some places his mark was left so profoundly that nothing would ever grow again.
This was what vengeance sowed in it's wake. This was the path of Venge...
Hours passed by as the King and his guard waited there, horses growing tired on their feet and beginning to prance a bit in order to keep their powerful legs from falling asleep. Some of the men had even gotten off of their mounts and begun to make camp, a few tents being erected as fires were started and encircled by stones to create a safe and effective pit. They were making themselves at home in lands scarce of the human beings who used to inhabit it. Humans who had, weeks ago, moved on, clearing out of the path of Venge, for whispers of War and Death had preceded the movements of his people. Whispers carried by traders and journeymen racing South to find a safe enough Kingdom to place themselves inside of.
There was nothing but the sounds of chirping birds and water crashing down over the waterfall for the longest time, until a flock of the birds that had been prancing about on the tree limbs above them became spooked. A mass of flapping wings did roar as hundreds of birds took flight and hurried away towards the South as quickly as their wings could take them there. Odd as it was, some of the men were happy to be rid of the constant songs they sang, but only until they heard realized what was happening around them. Some had noticed long before the others who were distracted cooking meats and vegetables in a pot, but as a cold mist began to rise on all sides of the small platoon of men and their King, they all, one by one, began to notice the unsettling sounds of winter approaching them.
Soon the waters stopped tickling as the waterfall turned solid, ice forming and expanding across the once rippling waters that it poured out into. The trees, bushes and plants grew sickly looking, as if not expecting such frigid temperatures so quickly. As if Winter had come far sooner than scheduled, and in fact, it had, for Winter now followed one man who was so ruined by his past life as a slave that his hatred could chill a man to his core. A man who, at that present time, stepped out of the tree line first and revealed his half naked body, unaffected by the cold that was still sweeping over all of the once vibrantly colored forest around them. It was causing things to wilt, wither and break as the cold hung off of the flours and the trees, a wonderland of that blank, white, wasteland had formed, and it was of his and his people's doing. Their magic was unlike any other, and as the land was smothered beneath the white that rolled across the lands like a blanket, they all began to emerge.
One by one they stepped out from the trees, many of them white, pale blue, grey and even black of skin, most possessing the most unnerving gazes of blue and sea green orbs, but only Venge possessed those golden orbs that seemed to burn with fury as if they might catch flame at any moment. Only Venge stood head above the rest, a sneer on his pretty, yet scarred face as he stared down at the helpless fools who'd come to bargain with him, and as they noticed the man standing ahead from the North, they would begin to realize the hundreds of eyes that were watching them from all sides, all stood silent and entirely encircling the warm skinned Elves and the counterparts from the their kind.
Only one moved. That one was Venge, who let his long, powerful strides carry him towards those who were now so frightened that they'd all grabbed their weapons and encircled the carriage and their King who was looking rather afraid, despite making sure to continue looking proud. As the massive Dusk Elf took his steps, though, his black, elegantly crafted leather boots crunched into frozen leaves and snow as his bare chest seemed unaffected by the cold. From waist there dangled a red sash, and on the other side there was a sword lightly slapping his side each time he took a step, and across his chest there was a string that belonged to the bow running from his upper back down across his bottom and resting against his right thigh.
"Quis pugnetis pro eo?", he asked in his native tongue, knowing that none of them would have a clue what he was saying unless the King had been intelligent enough to bring with him a translator. "Hic crudelis et immitis regis...", he said, conviction in his voice as he stopped only a few feet in front of the King, golden eyes glancing back and forth to each of the faces of the men and women tasked with protecting their King during this meeting. Some of them held up pikes, swords and even arrows drawn to the bowstring, but not a single one of them would move to attack the man, for their show was one of courage, but they were losing their nerve. Their resolve was fleeting every second they stood in the presence of Venge and saw what true power was. Something that their very own King couldn't dream to possess. Nothing of the like, in fact, and this was no mystery to the one called Venge.
"He doesn't show it, but his very soul is quivering within that festering, fat encased heart of his...", were the next words out of Venge's mouth as he adjusted his language while eyeing the proud King, knowing the look of fear in someone's eyes far too well to mistake it in the King's gaze. "You there.", he whispered as he raised his hand and pointed towards a young female Elf who had an arrow drawn to the string of her bow, ready to release it if she dared. "Will you pierce my flesh with that arrow if I pull your King down, force him to his knees and split his skull?", he asked, his deep, yet soothing voice sending shivers down spines that could make someone question whether they were aroused or afraid.
Something about the way that little female looked, however, made him question her loyalty. It made him question her resolve. The eyes, ever the gateway to the soul, and her soul was trembling with fear.
ALISTAIR BANE
Origin Story:
Alistair was aptly named by a father who was head of the Bane family, an Irish mafia family that gained control of a large portion of the American East Coast gun and drug trade over the last decade.
He became a hitman for his family when he was eighteen years old, having taken a handful of lives by the time he was only sixteen. He possesses his father's aptitude for mechanics, knowing the ins and outs of guns and machinery, though he also possesses a clear talent for killing and destruction.
-Other Information-
Name: Alistair Bane - The Demon Gender: Male Preference: Heterosexual Age: 25 Race: Human Height: 6'3" Weight: 184 lbs Eyes: Blue Hair: Blonde
"You need to go to the hospital, Alistair.", said a young man in the front passenger seat of a black car. In the driver's seat was another, slightly older man, weaving in and out of a bit of night traffic that was always on the streets of New York, even at midnight and on the weekend.
"No. I just need to get somewhere off the street so we can get this bullet out of me.", he said calmly, though he gasped a sharp breath when he heard the clinking and clanking of metal being punched through metal. Along the side of their car a number of holes appeared as the vehicle was riddled with bullets, both tires on that side exploding as the car swerved and lost control. When it did, one of the men in the front seat screamed, "Brace yourself!", though Alistair couldn't make out who it was for all the commotion that was going on around them.
The car hopped up into the air, flipping and rolling over and over more than three times before it slammed into a curb and spun into a building. "Ugh... Mike... Vance...", he whispered as he gathered his senses and glanced up from the back seat of the car, but one of the men was nowhere to be seen, having been thrown from the car and ending up across the street. The other was hunched over, so much blood pouring out of his mouth that he couldn't have possibly been breathing at that moment. They were both dead, and Alistair the lone survivor left alone to find his own way. He put his shoulder into the door and forced it open with all his might, the warped door slinging open as the young blonde flopped out onto the sidewalk. He then picked himself up and stumbled out into a dark alleyway, forcing his tired legs to get him from a stagger to a walk, and then to a run as he escaped out into the belly of the city.
"Where is he!?", a man called out in the distance as he beat on the destroyed car with his hands, wondering where it was that Alistair could have escaped to. "Spread out and find him! NOW!", the man barked as the others with him scattered out in the surrounding area, leaving the scene of the accident before the authorities could arrive. Alistair was already gone, though, and with a good head start he was able to get about six blocks away before he finally collapsed on the stoop of an apartment building, pushing himself up into the corner of the entry door frame before he began to pick and prod at the hole in his arm, wondering if he could dig the bulled out himself or would he need to find something long to scrape it out.
AVISCUS
Origin Story:
Aviscus is a Lycan living among modern day society. He was born twenty years before the American Civil War and participated in the bloody conflict reaching the rank of Lieutenant before the war came to an end. As the years passed he took many lives, also having taken part in World War I and World War II, though he was never proud of his accolades. The longer he lived, the more like him he watched perish or vanish into the histories he lived through.
The one thing that set him apart from other Lycan was the one thing that always made him one of the most rare. He had only met one other like him in all of his years, but he knew they were out there. Those rare few who were born, and not created by the others...
Aviscus was of pure blood, born to be what he was, and royalty among the Lycan race...
-Other Information-
Name: Aviscus - The Lycan Gender: Male Preference: Heterosexual Age: 181 Race: Lycan Height: 6'5" Height in Lycan form: is 6'2" from paw to the highest point of his back Weight: 245lbs Weight in Lycan form: is 572lbs Eyes: Amber/Golden(in both forms) Hair: Red(as a human) Autumn colors(as a Lycan)
Story Note: This one can be a little confusing without a couple of notes. Firstly, my character is not the Alpha wolf and instead the largest of those present in the story. He is AN Alpha, but not the Alpha referred to that is leading his pack to the Cabin. Secondly, my character, in the story line, was charged with being the guardian to a young woman who returned to the cabin her parents had owned and passed on to her. Now, after their passing away and the young woman's decision to return to the cabin for a time or some sort of soul searching experience, Aviscus must return to and reclaim his responsibilities as her Guardian. Enjoy...
Even in the summer the nights were cold in the forest, though a cabin like the one the girl had retreated into for the night would do well to keep humans warm. Unfortunately for her, though, places unnatural like cabins were always a perplexing thing by creature of the forest. Creatures that nest, creatures that scavenge, some creatures who get curious, but worst of all, creatures who hunt...
As the night set in, coupled with the cool night air that seemed to trickle out of the treeline, so did an ominous presence. The woods surrounding the cabin were dark and the groaning sounds of tall trees swaying with the wind could be heard as crickets chirped and frogs belly ached for attention. Soon, though, everything fell silent, as if the whole world had been shocked into silence, and one by one they appeared.
Pairs of golden orbs burst to life like little fireballs, glaring from the dark safety of the treeline. One, two, three sets then four, five, six, it seemed like they would never stop until a seventh pair flashed to life. All of them were slowly moving until large, hulking forms began to take shape, emerging from the heavily wooded area around the cabin.
They were all rather large, different shades of gray, black and brown, and their muscular bodies slipped quietly through he night towards the cabin. Their eyes were searching the area, making sure they weren't setting off any alarm, a larger alpha at the head of the pack who began crawing up the steps of the porch.
"Click... click... click...", went the long, worn nails of his paws against the wood.
--- post end--break for response--next post begins ---
The other clicks of claws against wood grew in number as the other wolves began to scale the steps. "Click... clack... click...", they went as they sniffed around the porch, looking for a way into the cabin, and as the Alpha began to scrape at the front door, a deep and echoing howl reverberated through the wilderness surrounding their area. Instantly every one of the wolves froze, and the Alpha even began to growl that very moment as the sounds of limbs snapping and leaves rustling could be heard.
From the trees a massive bodied creature burst out into the open, blacks, browns and reds in his coat of long, spikey looking fur that was standing up on his back. "Grrrrraughhhh...", the beast growled as it's golden eyes glared at the porch, the enemy pack having invaded his territory again, but the Alpha was the only one to growl back at this nameless beast while the others looked a bit skittish.
The massive hound rushed towards the cabin, claws ripping up earth beneath him as he bounded towards the steps, clearing them in one big leap. Before the Beta wolf could do anything about it, the obelisk of a hound has snatched it by the neck and thrust it into the wooden wall just outside the cabin, causing the entire home to shiver from the impact. "YARP!", yelped the creature in pain as it was slammed into the wall, and the very next second it was whipped through the air and thrown into the railing of the porch, snapping it and sending wooden pieces of railing in all directions as it fell to the cold and unforgiving earth in the yard.
A moment later the Alpha slammed into the massive wolf, but the other was only send sliding a few feet towards the others in the pack. When the largest of the animals slid to a halt, one of the others tried to snap at it's tail, but the large wolf spun on an slung it's big, thick skull under the other's chin and popped it with what looked like a wolf's attempt at an uppercut. The wolf that was struck left it's front paws, lost it's balance and went tumbling, head over heels, off of the porch, yelping himself as it landed on it's head. That victory for the lone wolf was short lived, however, for the Alpha had been waiting for that moment, opened it's powerful jaws and latched on to the back of the bigger wolf's neck.
"GRAUGHRP!", cried the largest wolf as it swung it's head back and yanked them both into the wall again, slamming them both into the house as he struggled to discourage the Alpha's grip.
--- post end--break for response--next post begins ---
The "TINK!" of the bat and the groan of the Alpha wolf caused the biggest of them to react violently. First his golden eyes sprang open as he felt the Alpha's grip loosen, and then he took one step back and threw his head up, pulling the Alpha up off of his feet. The bigger wolf threw the Alpha over it's back and into the wall, the Alpha's entire body clenching tight as he slammed into the wall and fell to the floor of the porch, head first. "Thunk!", went it's thick skull against the wood as it toppled over to it's side and began to skitter it's legs trying to get his footing, but it was too late. As it kicked and struggled to right itself and stand back up, the biggest of the beasts reached down and thrust it's open jaws against the Alpha's neck, pinning it to the deck of the home while the other wolves watched the battle ensue.
The Alphe was strong, and rather large, but was not nearly as meaty and tall as the other wolf, who pinned the Alpha down, closing it's jaws tight around his neck and inciting a yelp from the Alpha. When it's jaws closed the bigger wolf pulled the Alpha up, who was still struggling to pull away, but there was no escape. No salvation for the aggressive Alpha, who fought until the very last moment, as the other, autumn colored beast torqued his head and a loud, unsettling series of pops and cracks echoed through the night air.
The Alpha went limp in the other beast's jaws, and despite the almost three hundred pound beast hanging there from his mouth, the beast didn't move a muscle for the time being. He just stood there proudly, holding the other beast who was dangling from his jaws who's legs splayed out in an uncoordinated looking way. He shivered, his coat swaying back and forth with the skin on his back as he slowly turned and glanced out at the others that were encircling the cabin, all of which slowly bowed in a submissive way, but the tower of a canine didn't respond. He just huffed lightly as his chest swelled with pride and flicked his head, tossing the now dead Alpha out across the broken railing, the body colliding with the ground with a loud "Thump". He then narrowed his golden eyes upon the others and watched as a par of them crept up, reached their heads down and clutched their teeth into the skin of their Alpha. They then, along with the others, began to slowly walk away, back towards the treeline, and eventually they were gone. from sight.
"Raugh...", the beast huffed again it reached back and leaked at some of the blood that had collected in it's fur for a moment, but realized that it would make no difference right now. And so it began to slowly scale the steps to the cabin, one after the other, until it reached the cool, grass coated ground that it had been built upon. It's job was done, he was tired and sore, and it was time to find his way home so that he may rest.
More to come...
Disclaimer:SOME of this content, as well as most of the images that I use, are copy written. All rights are reserved by the author(s) of pre-existing characters pulled from comic books/Animes/TV shows/movies and sometimes solo artworks that I have not created by way of my own imagination and/or constructive efforts. All image rights are reserved by the artists who created them and they are merely being borrowed in an effort to give fellow writers and readers just a taste of what both my original character concepts and borrowed Fan-Fiction based characters might look like and dress like. None of this content, apart from some of the original character backgrounds, bios and story lines, actually belong(s) to me in any way. I do, however, reserve the rights to my own content pertaining to the characters that I have fabricated over the years that I have been a writer which I have put on display for you here in my character catalog. I reserve all rights to my own unique content including my characters and story lines/stories pieced together and constructed for you to share in and enjoy. Thank you![/spoiler]
More Character/World creations are soon to come! Prompts will be added over the coming weeks as I have time to create them or port them over from other documents that I have saved/stored them within, so thank you for your patience as I get everything organized! ^_^
