The Recondite

[Sevorak]

A slender, red-haired girl knelt in the midst of a rose garden, young, yet elegant fingers reaching out into the air to brush against falling petals, fluttering softly in the warm october wind. Her other hand flicked against a thin, frail rosethorn, drawing a faint trickle of blood and elicting a swift breath from her thin lips.

Her eyes opened as her body shifted, rustling the vibrant leaves beneath her form. She looked down at the thin line of blood, likening it to the melancholy flow of her own existence, and that of those like her. It was everywhere - in every facet of everything, there was some distant link to be made from even the most innocent thing in the world to the blood and despair that permeated her every thought and memory.

It was in times like those that the transient fragility of her own heart became apparent; like glass, her soul could be shattered whimsically by even the most careless of passers-by. But none of them ever truly saw her; few spared her anything more than a cursory glance - it was the way of things. Humans turned their eyes away from things that were too unpleasant to entertain; they rejected what they feared. It was, all too often, the only way to truly live - to avert one's eyes from the suffering and pain that existed all around them.

And the deepest hurts of the world that existed were beneath the surface... frought with misery, anguish and sorrow, fought against with weapons, tools, blood and blade by the few courageous enough to take up the bloodstained banners and go forth into the darkness to hold back the baleful, hate-breeding light. She was one of them; she had not always been. None ever began as one - there was always a choice offered, though the longer she walked her path, the more she wondered as to whether there ever had been a choice - or whether it was an inevitability that she would tread that lonely road, that there never had been even the most minute probability that she would do otherwise.

Each day, blood was bled for more time; and each day, there would always be a need for more to give up their bodies, their souls, their hopes and their dreams for the fight - if they did not, then there could be no future.




This is a boardwar about an almost invisible war - a struggle fought behind the backdrop of the world and the normal lives of humans. Where individuals - formerly normal, relatively unremarkable human individuals - form the single line of defence for humanity.

Thus, most player characters will be fairly normal initially - I have no problem with basic knowledge of weapons handling or the like, but characters generally shouldn't possess much understanding of how to handle military-grade equipment, for example. This is also set in a fairly modern period, though not particularly futuristic, for reference - if anyone wishes to ask any specific technology-related questions, PM me, or post the questions here on the thread if others might be interested in the answer.

Magic and the like are also present - as with weapons, characters will generally not begin with much understanding of it; it'd be treated in much the same way, generally, as it is in the world today. As in, anyone professing genuine belief in magical arts is generally going to be disbelieved and redirected to the nearest asylum. Certainly, no one is going to begin with any knowledge of how to hurl a fireball at someone, without a very good reason. ;) Of course, as with technological affinity and aptitude, these things can be acquired as the boardwar progresses.


The city in which our characters live in is diverse and often disparate - the richest aristocrats live in rich manors within a prosperous and verdant circle of almost-countryside, with conditions gradually becoming worse as the distance from the centre increases. The edges scarcely even count as 'civilization'. On average, however, most of the city's citizens can afford a decent living, and live in relative comfort.


Name:
Gender:
Age:
Physical Description:

Skills:
Strengths:
Weaknesses:

Equipment:
Background:

[crawford'n'co]

Name: Sean Parren
Gender: Male
Age: 32
Physical Description: Tall, thin, built of muscle, but not incredibly strong. Long black hair, light teal eyes. Scar that runs from the top of his left shoulder across his chest and to his right underarm.

Skills: Knows how to handle most weapons, can place and arm basic I.E.D.'s. Edit Has an uncanny ability to aim for the head.
Strengths: Adept with a knife, very conservative (wont waste 10 shots on something that would only take one shot).
Weaknesses: Likes to be in control, doesn't take orders very good, prideful.

Equipment: Stolen military grade combat knife, two cell-phone I.E.D.'s. Long black coat-cape (like from Matrix), with hood. Heavy cargo pants, urban camo shirt. Edit Steyr AUG Bullpup, 3 Clips of 30 Rds, 2 Clips of 30 Armour Piercing Rds.
Background: Coming from a rather far out section of city, Sean was forced to rely on stealing in his early life, especially after his parents and close family were murdered. He found a murdered soldier disposed of in a alley during one of his breakins, and looted the man of his equipment. After a failed atempt at a theft, he quickly hid his belongings and moved towards the center city, and undertook several jobs as an assasin. One led him to the scar that he now bares with shame. He quickly gave up his job, and resorted to wandering the back streets.

[Lestaki]

Name: Amena Istoral
Gender: Female
Age: 17
Physical Description: Tall and classically beautiful, with sharp features, brown hair and blue eyes. Phsyically very fit. Dresses in a purple velvet jacket over shirt and body armour, with a short skirt over black stockings.

Skills: For his own enigmatic reasons, her "father" Caldan has had her trained by the best private tutors in swordplay, gun use and the martial arts to standards of excellence. Amena takes pride in being deadly with or without any weapon, and is also an expert in maintaining and repairing them. As well as this, she is trained heavily to high levels of physical fitness. However, her classical education could best be described as sparodic, mostly focusing on the art and history of fighting, and surrounded by servants she has no practical skills whatsoever.

Strengths: Martially excellent, very fit, psycologically prepared for fighting.
Weaknesses: Lacks common education and practical skills. Is plainly aristocratic, and cannot pass as anything else. Once we get as far as magic, she won't have any ability with direct projection magic, such as shields and spells, though she can use it subconciously to enchance herself. Right now, though, she still thinks of magic as stuff of fantasy books.


Equipment: Rapier, long-barrelled pistol, and two combat knives in her boots are her preferred weapons. However, she has access to literally hundreds of different ones, including swords she can't even carry and not a few locked up beyond her reach.

Background: A waif of the streets orphened in unspecified circumstances, Amena was named and adopted by Caldan Istoral, and taken to his large manor on the verge of the aristocratic circle. She was raised there in isolation, learning basic lessons under private tutors and beginning instruction in unarmed combat. Caldan himself often disappeared, sometimes for a day, sometimes for a week, and the nature of his work was never specified. He always took weapons, and always came back tired, sometimes wounded, occasionally critically so. However, the private medical staff of the manor were always able to heal seemingly fatal wounds in their surgical operations. Amena accepted her newfound "father's" life without remark, knowing nothing else.

As she grew older, she was extensively trained in the ways of fighting with a veriaty of weapons. It was a tacit understanding of theirs that she would one day join her beloved father in his mysterious quests, and she accepted this with willingess and enthusiam. Sheltered and knowing only her father and the servants and tutors, Amena knew no one of her own age, and understood isolation as the normal state of existance. Her tutors always maintained distance, and in turn raised her not to become close with her servants, though her chamber maid Pelesa maintained a certain rapport with her. Amena lavished most of her affection on her mysterious father, seeing him as a role model and a hero to her.

Always intelligent if not learned, Amena quickly deduced that her father was in an extremely illegal, hazerdous occupation- probably as a hitman, though he might well have been a bounty hunter or mercenary of some description. What was certain was that the manor and the sevants were maintained by a veriaty of extremely rich fronts for one institution, though what this institution was could never be ascertained. Caldan himself was sketchy about his work, something that only fuelled his adoptive daughter's imaginings. This intensified her hero worship, and her desire to aid him in his assignments, whatever nature they may be, something she occasionally articulated to him. However, Caldan has not bowed to her pressure, saying she was not ready. In deference to him, she has not pressed the issue further.

Now Amena is training once again, and waiting for her father to return home...

[Raver]

Name: Clarke Hood
Gender: Male
Age: 23
Physical Description: Tall, well built man, although a little over the average weight for his age. Bright blue eyes. Curly brown hair.

Skills: Worked on a farm for most of his childhood so he knows how to repair pretty much anything. Knows how to hunt (Rifle or...other), and has a very very good aim. Relatively good with people but does spend alot of time with them.

Strengths: Can repair almost anything with the most basic of tools. Very very good shot.
Weaknesses: Due to an accident in his youth he has a slight limp in his right leg.

Equipment: .202 Black and Silver Ruger bolt-action Sniper Rifle (with scope obviously), a nearly endless supply of ammo, his 'emergengy bag' filled with food first aid, all sorts of stuff.

Background: Clarke grew up on the farm, learning from a young age how to drive cars, trucks, tractors and bikes. He took up Hunting as a hobby but also as a another source of income seeing that wild pigs can be sold for a nice profit. When we was 18 he left the farm and headed to university to study engineering. He currently lives in an apartment with two other room-mates.

Although he isnt there as much now, Clarke still visits the farm occaisionally to help his folks and go hunting again.

[The Shadow]

Name: Joe Dwain
Gender: male
Age: 34
Physical Description: average height man, pretty thin, but not anoretic. Fairly long black hair. Very pale, redish eyes.

Skills: Was good at school and knows basics of almost everything, also reads alot hence knows much unusual things. Also knows basics of self defending and (through some strange feelings) learned how to use a knife and move silently.

Strengths: Knowledge, magic starts to get grip of him, knife fighter.

Weaknesses: not very fit, doesn't know how to control the magic, mentally unstable.

Equipment: White clothes, knifes in his sleeves.

Background: Joe's parents never raised him, he was raised in an orphan home. Once he got to school life started the smile upon him. He finished school with top grades. After that he went to study to become a teacher, but that's when the incidents started.
He couldn't sleep properly and had weird nightmares. Once he was found covered in blood with two sliced students. He was babbling and cackling. They sent him to a lunatic-house. There he was determnied to be mentally very unstable, usually very normal and peacefull, but in a moment raging in the room destroying everything.
He was released to public after some years. He seemed too have healed fully, but still he was under heavy medication. Now he must report once in a week to a nurse, who gives him extra medicines and sees that he doesn't become a lunatic again.

[Akranadas]

Name: Elar Lúthien
Gender: Female
Age: 19
Physical Description: Medium Height, Typical Beatuiful Features. Dressed in a Local Police Uniform.

Skills: Good communitcation skills, posses basic firearm training.
Strengths: Elar Lúthien is an excellent driver, she passed first in here polic driving school and broke a record as well
Weaknesses: A real lack of any dangerous situation expericance may come back to bite her.

Equipment: Pistol, Nightstick, Capsicum spray, Taser, Police Uniform

Background: Elar Lúthien was your typical high school kid, passed and di all the normal stuff. However she saw excitement in the polic force and join up as soon as she could. She passed the tests easy and is now on the beat as a normal police officer, although with only about 6months on the job, she still a rookie

[ShatteredFaith]

Name: Voz Hellmeister
Gender: Male
Age: 27
Physical Description: http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v235/jbharis/The_Suit_by_Stillbored.jpg

Skills: Intelligent, good with firearms, ....motivational speaker
Strengths: Calm, cool, collected, intelligent. Has henchmen.
Weaknesses: Has a tendency to underestimate everyone

Equipment: Clothes shown in picture. Pistol in suit, a few knives tucked away.
Background: Unknown

ooc: Permission Of Sev

[Sevorak]

Thar be an awful lot of people with some pretty nasty equipment 'round 'ere. ;) I'm not even going to ask where someone at university gets a nigh-infinite supply of ammunition from... ;p

Anyhow; my character:

Name: Réyan “Silver” Ayanasi.
Gender: Male.
Age: 17.
Physical Description: Tall, lean, drawn and pale. Has silver eyes and hair as the result of a rare genetic condition.

Skills: A proficient street fighter, with a respectable amount of ability in the handling of pistols and knives in combat situations.
Strengths: Is able to fight effectively in most situations, though all of his opponents have been the same as him – battered and malnourished humans as desperate and starving as he himself is. While having little to no theoretical knowledge of fighting techniques, he has been in more real, to-the-death fights than most practitioners of martial arts.
Weaknesses: Has little proficiency with most firearms – he knows to point them and pull the trigger, but has received no training in their operation.

Equipment: Wears a frayed, brown trench coat, nondescript grey shirts and trousers underneath, and brown, slightly tattered boots. Carries a single, unremarkable 9mm pistol and a serrated knife.
Background: Réyan was born into a poverty-stricken family at the very edge of the city; it was sheer luck he was able to survive his earliest years, and it took nothing more than consecutive miracles to keep him alive after his family decided he was too much of a financial strain to bear anymore, and kicked him out of the family ‘home’.

From there, he stole, scrounged and lived in the streets, barely surviving from day to day. Years later, he was picked up by one of the resident gangs and given the moniker ‘Silver’; from there, he participated in some of the most bloody inter-gang struggles the city has ever known. Again, it was largely by chance that he survived where most others did not. In the end, marred with blood and left alone in the shattered remains of a warehouse with only the dead for company, Réyan abandoned the only life he had ever known and made his way inward to the city, to attempt to make some kind of honest existence for himself…

[ShatteredFaith]

The store bell rang with the opening of the door, and the store clerk looked up curiously, it was close to closing, as a matter of fact, it was 5 minutes past closing, when he glanced at his watch. "Im sorry sirs, were cl-" he cut off when he got a good look at the men entering the store, the blood draining from his face.

"Mister Linkus....Mister Linkus" came the soft reply, a sad shake of a head hidden by a broad brimmed hat "I beleive you are behind on your payment". Linkus stared at the white suited man, no color at all on him save for the polished black shoes, as he strode up to the counter. Two strong men entered behind him, wearing cheap suits and carrying cheap weapons. The clerk turned to run, and a strong, white gloved hand grabbed the back of his shirt and held him in place with suprising strength. The suited man did not, by any form of the word, look muscular. "Now now" a soft sympathy had entered the voice "You wouldint want the man waiting outside your back door to mistake you for some robber getting away with our money, would you? You know how....trigger fingered some men can be" The blood drained from Linkus's face, yet again.


-----------------

20 minutes later the man in the white suit exited the store front, behind the two suited toughs. He paused to thoughtfully hang up the "Closed" sign, and tip his hat to the store cleric, who was gaping at him fearfully, before tucking away the small leather pouch into the depths of his suit, and closing the door, a cheerful smile hidden by the shadows of his hat. "Come on, boys, we have a few other appointments today" he set off towards their car, likewise, completely devoid of any color but white, save the wheels.

[Lestaki]

"Focus," Arendan snapped. "You are not focused." He lashed forwards, driving her off balance.

"I've enough focus for you," Amena replied, attacking furiously. They exchanged a flurry of lightning attacks, neither touching the other. She scowled with concentration, panting as they drove back and forth. He punched for her face, and she ducked, kicking out. He leapt back, then span and drove forwards, smiling as she dodged aside and struck towards his neck.

"That is focus."

"Enough," she said. She wouldn't let him distract her with talk.

"Madame!"

They both froze in mid-charge, staring at the chambermaid with irritation. "What is it?" Amena asked irritably.

"Your phone, madame."

Amena turned and ran there without a second glance, grabbing it and holding it to her ear. There was only one person it could be. "Daddy darling..."

"Hi. I'm just outside the gate, as usual. I've been wounded. Can you tell the medical staff to prep for Operation Five."

"Yes, daddy. I'll tell them right away."

Caldan coughed painfully. "That's good. This was a long one, I don't have a bullet on me. And don't come greet me, it may be... what the? Holy shit!"

"Father!" Even from here, she could hear the explosion. The phone landed with a thump. "Father! Father!" Then there was a sharp sound, and the line went dead. "Father!" Amena screamed. Then training took over. "Pelesa, go fetch me an Ak-47 and a sniper rifle, the biggest calibur you can find. Run! Arendan, go fetch weapons as well. I'm going out right now, catch me up at the front room." She sprinted forwards, grabbing and loading her pistol and sticking it into her belt, then picking up her rapier and thrusting that, with reservations, into place too. She'd never understood why she was trained to use such a weapon. "I'll be back."

Without looking back, she sprinted towards the foyar, running towards the main door...

Which exploded before her eyes. Caldan fell back, sprawling on the floor with his embellished greatsword loose by his side. "Father!"

He looked terrible. His face was scorched, he'd taken multiple cuts and wounds to the chest, and one arm hung strangely limp. But he still rolled and stood, raising his blade to face the figure framed in the door. "Shade Encanter," he said. "Leave this place. I've cut you enough for that."

The individual standing there was from another centuary. He wore casual clothes, but held a massive double-bladed spear in two hands. Blonde hair and blue eyes stared down Caldan in fury. And he too was wounded. "I'm here to kill you... all the way... whatever it takes," Shade Encanter said. "Whatever it takes. And-" he pointed at Amena. "I'll kill her too, Sangreal."

Caldan eyes narrowed, then he leapt forwards, sword glowing with a strange light. Amena burst out from behind him, raising her pistol and firing at the foe's head.

He whirled in an instant, moving before she'd even fired. He threw his hands up, his staff floating free of his hands and spinning at a dazzling speed, deflecting the bullet. She stared in utter disbelief, then pumped the trigger, firing far faster than was professional. All her bullets were wasted.

Caldan lunged forwards, clashing blades with the whirling staff. Encanter span and flipped his weapon into his hands, stabbing sharply at Caldan and driving him back. Caldan cursed and leapt clear as he stabbed suddenly forwards, far too fast to follow. "Amena! Get out of here! I'll handle this!"

"Can you?" Shade Encanter whispered, fading from view. A moment later he materialised behind Caldan, stabbing out. The man managed to twist and defect the attack, but then the blonde span and swept Caldan's legs out from under him.

Amena shot at the foe's ungaurded neck, but the bullets stopped in mid-air, before falling. "What's going on?"

"Run," Caldan ordered, rolling to avoid a savage downstab. "Though I know you won't..."

[crawford'n'co]

Sean jumped through the window which was left open in anticipation of him. "Good, you made it." A dark figure stepped out of the shadows, face obscured by a bandana. The man was his informant from long ago. "The family has need of you. We let you survive in this existence, or you can come with me back the the center and help us." Sean stared at the man, it was the fifth time his old patron had sent someone to request his skill. "Why should I accept now, if I haven't accepted before?" He lifted his Steyr up with one hand, making sure he could shoulder and fire the weapon in an instant. "And I think I'll send my response in a little metal case, delivered at high speed, through your head. I have told you fools before, that I would not help your petty interests again." The man flinched at the thought of his head being shot. He quickly regained his composure and laughed. "Then, I guess you wish to die. We have the resources to hunt you down and find you, wherever you are. I give you one last chance to join us, or pay the conse..." Sean whipped up his rifle and set the gun against the man's face. "TO HELL WITH YOU!" He pulled the trigger. A spray of blood and brains splattered the opposite wall. He grabbed tha man's knife, slid the body up, and held it up off the ground and staked his neck to the wall. The body was left there, hanging, as a sign of his desicions.

***

Sean now regretted his desicion. It had been two days since he had desecrated the man. Ever since, assasins he had trained personally had been stalking him. He had killed two so far, and he had been wounded once. He needed to find help, soon.

[Sevorak]

OOC: So we begin; latecomers are still welcome, of course - feel free to just pop in at any opportune or convenient moment. We begin at night; a quiet twilight hour before the storm - in most of the city. However, a struggle is already brimming over in certain places...

IC:

Shura panted, heart pounding in her chest as she flattened her back against the rough concrete surface. From the corner, a flash of flame flared in the darkness of the night; she winced away, her blade clinking against the side of the house as she half-turned to shield herself from the heat that leaped out in a raging fireball. Windows shattered, glass splintering and landing in the street. Off to the side, someone screamed - there were panicked cries as some people made to run from the fire. They didn't know what had spawned it - but they knew enough to run from it.

Shura reversed her turn and looked round with wide eyes at the solitary figure advancing down the street as the ground all around him burned, a picture of perfect calm amidst the chaos. At his feet, a small infant looked up at him, frozen. The figure raised a foot and casually placed it down on the child, applying increasing force until the small form simply rolled down, limp. Shura stifled a brief gasp, tightening her grip on the hilt of her sword. Then she steeled herself and took a few steps out onto the street, from behind the now-burning house.

The figure in the middle of the street didn't even acknowledge her, turning towards another house and summoning a flicker of flame with a flick of his elegant fingers. Then with an errant gesture, he sent the miniscule flare at the house - and turned it into a raging inferno by the time it hit, blasting out the front of the house; it stood, but the flames shattered the windows and left what was visible of the rooms inside was nothing more than charred remains. Someone had unmistakably been inside. Screaming a vengeful cry, Shura held her blade in a two-handed grip and charged at him. He turned to regard her idly, flames dancing in his eyes.

Then he waved a hand, lashes of boiling magma flicking out at the impudent girl. Shura span to dodge one, lashing out with her blade to cleave one of the burning whips in two, then rising and spinning it in a defensive arc to cleave two more apart. The other, still smirking, gave a clap - two of the whips darted for Shura's feet; she jumped to avoid them and slashed downwards. One span away, fleetingly wounded; the other surged forward and latched onto her ankle, dragging her down to the ground. She landed on her back, gritting her teeth and screwing shut her eyes as she felt the terrifying, infernal presence of the other drive into her soul.

Searing mental agony set her body on fire; she writhed and cried out on the floor, gaping for breath and reaching to the sky for help that would never come.

From the shadows, a dark form stepped forwards, raised a pistol, and fired half a dozen shots into the fiery, demon-like thing... it looked human, but the unearthly flames dancing about its form and the unnatural pose it struck marked its countenance as decidedly evil and abhuman. It snapped its head up and raised a hand in the blink of an eye. The bullets smashed into its hand; faint patters of blood flecked from the pale skin. It clenched its fingers into a fist and simply crushed the bullets in them.

"Silly boy," it remarked. Then it waved a hand and sent him flying; he smashed into a fence, flew right through it and landed on his back in the garden of an as-yet unburning house. A mere glance set that straight; and Réyan Ayanasi was left covering his head from the falling shards of glass and bricks of the house as it burned. He felt a searing, piercing heat upon his back - and a warm flow around it. Then his world, if only for a fleeting hour, went black.

Shura looked up helplessly at the towering figure above her - she would have reached for her sword were it not for the searing lances of pain arcing up her arm. She couldn't even move it - even her will was useless against that one. And it was so powerful... she didn't have time to even begin to think of the ramifications of its presence. It raised her above the ground and hurled her aside with a bout of mocking laughter.

"Goodbye, Risen one... I'm sure we'll not meet again,"

[ShatteredFaith]

The white suit strolled casually along the back alleyway, the two toughs bringing up the rear. The mans keen eyes, pupils, if one would look closely, flecked with red, gazing alertly around. They had an unwilling informant....there. With a smile he quickened his stride. His stride was aruptly stopped, however, when, with a grunt, both of the toughs behind him toppled over. He spun around, hand diving into his suit to produce his pistol, and was brutally slammed into by a fast moving blurr, flinging him back into a rotting wooden door, and through the frame, to crash onto a rotting table, which buckled under his weight and sent him crashing onto the floor.

A bestial laugh came from outside, and a massive hand grabbed the door frame to hoist itself in, a demon straight out of the bible, horns, hooves and all, entered the room. It was met with 12 rounds of 9mm. All of the shots landed on its face and throat. Its laugh aquired a gurgle without stopping, as it strode into the room. Voz rose form the wreckage, dropping his pistol, and slid his hand into his sleeve...pulling a hilt from his cuff...which rapidly grew into a a very large runeblade, the sigils on its sides glowing red, its metal a dull black. The demon paused, eyeing this new development warily. Voz smiled and politely waited for the demon to recover itself, blade held casually sideways infront of him, arms showing not the slightest strain from hefting the massive blade, his suit, strangely, impeccable and with not the slightest smudge or speck of dirt upon it. "Its your move, my red friend" he said smiling.

[Raver]

OOC: Started already? meh, okay, its already sounding a bit odd. So what? we'r just killing deamons and stuff? Also, seeing the amount of ammo there is out at my families farm, I would say this kid would have ENOUGH;). Sevorak, your character is a GUY, stop saying her and she, its confusing.


Clarke sat on the roof of his apartment block, the door up hang on its hinges. "Stupid management, trying to block us up in there, just a waste of money putting that new lock there..."

Clarke had his legs hanging over the edge of the building, usually most people wouldnt dare to do this but he didnt care, as long as he didnt move too far he would be fine. He had come up here before because he had heard gunshot's echoing over the neighbourhood and decided he'd get a better view of what was happening up on the roof.

Unslinging his Ruger, Clarke edged back from the edge and lay down on the concrete, pushing the scope up to his eye, but not so close that it'd smash him in the face if he suddly had to fire it.

He scanned the usual streets, the banks, the schools, the offices, any place where osmeone might be trying to shoot someone else. Finding nothing he just decided to scan the back-alley's and pathways, then he saw someone, or rather something.

He had caught sight of flames, he tapped a little nob on his scope and the view clicked and maginified revealing houses which were alright and burning with an intensity it made even Clarke's eyes hurt. He pulled away and rubbed them to stop them from watering any more. Rolling over onto his back, he watched the heavy clouds roll over and block out the sun. He closed his eyes.

"If it starts to rain, im gonna shoot somthing." He thought to himself.

It started to rain. Clarke screwed up his face, and tried in vain to ignore the huge droplets smacking into his face. The clouds cracked and thunder boomed over the skies, momentarily deafening him.

Opening his eyes he saw that he was not alone, there was actually 5 other beings standing on the opposite side of the roof. He sat up to see who they were and to also block to view of his rifle. He then noticed these people were in fact -not people, rather they were shadows, they seemed to suck the light into them, to create a void inside their very bodies, the only thing he could could make on them was two small glowing slits where their eyes should be. Facing Him

At that moment he decided it was best he left the roof. Getting to his feet he reached for his rifle, locked it and slung it over his shoulder. Just as he took his first step he was thrown off his feet and launched into the air, landing with a painful thud, Clarke looked up and saw one of the shadows standing over him, raing its 'hand' he saw its nails extend and sharpen into black blades.

Rolling over his back onto his feet, taking special care not to smash his rifle, he missed the nails by inches. spinning his rifle around and bringing it to his shoulder he let off a shot into the face of the shadow.

It's head exploded in a cloud of black smoke, it dispersed just like it was coming from a flame.

"Well, you can kill them, thats all I need."

Suddenly the ground below him erupted, peices of rock and metal flew in all directions. One smacking Clarke square in the nuts.

"F**K ME!!!" He screamed, falling to the ground and curling up into a ball. "Oh f**k, what the f**k were the f**king chances of that f**king happening, f**king hell..." He mumbled to himself. He hadnt sworn that much in his life.

After about ten minutes of more cursing, he slowly climbed to his feet and looked at the crater in the ground. It looked at if god had dropped on anvil on this very building, and missing him by inches, but the strange thing was, whatever it was that had done this had come UP through the ground to the roof.

He raised his eyes to the sky and saw a vortex spinning in the clouds, directly above the building, at its centre a darkness was slowly spreading outwards.

Wincing at the pain in his groin Clarke wondered just what the hell was going on. Then, looking down once more he saw the shadows had doubled, on missing a fragment of its 'head'.

"Thats it, F**k this." He grapped one of the cables trailing out of the hole and leaped down it, his hand stinging in protest. He disappeared into the depths of the apartment block.

[The Shadow]

2 days earlier...

"No, no..." A man dressed in white mumbled in the corner of an apartment. "No. Don't..." His hands we're covered in blood. "Why, why..." There we're two bodies in the bathroom. "NO!" He screamed. "DON'T DO THIS TO ME! Why?!" He rose up and reached for the closet. He opened it, blood filled the place. The man was drowning in blood. "NOARGH!!" He screamed and fire flowed from his fingers. "AAAA!"
The man jumped out of the window and passed out in the street. The apartment was burning...

[Gorb]

Name: - Talon Eladhra
Gender: - M
Age: - 28
Physical Description: Tall, well-built. Large blue eyes, and black hair that reaches down his back in a ponytail (in defiance at army hair-length restrictions)

Skills: Fantastic with any and all knives and ball-shaped objects (like grenades ;)). Can last quite a while under harsh conditions, due to army training.

Strengths: Rather strong, tough, good to have around in a scrap. Feels he has a side to him that hasn't quite been tapped into yet.
Weaknesses: Doesn't work well with authorities (*cough* police *cough*), never got the hang of ranged weaponry. A bit self-obsessed.

Equipment: Various vegetable knives, water polo ball, cell phone, leather jacket.
Background: Not much. Did a stint in the military, but left early due to conflict with authority. Dropped out of university. Grew up swimming, and graduated to water polo for a bit of excitement. Water polo wasn't making enough money so Talon followed his dad and went into catering.

[AMARDA]

Name: Rerack Smyth, also called General Crazy by his friends.
Gender: Male
Age: 19
Physical Description: Tall, Long white hair, blue eyes.

Skills: Can drive heavy vehicles, notably Tanks and Halftracks
Strengths: Can load and fire a gun, can make decent decisions under pressure.
Weaknesses: Never been in a real combat situation.

Equipment: Replica P90, designed to fire paint rounds, combat knife, trench coat, binoculars.
Background: Born into a rich family, Rerack’s mother died at birth, leaving his father to raise him. At school, he excelled, being put up two years. However, his real interest lay in military history and strategy. At first his father thought that this game was to distracting for his son, but eventually welcomed the idea as Rerack maintained his school grades.


On Rerack’s 14th birthday, he asked his father about building a fake attle ground on a piece of land outside of the city. His father readily agreed, even going so far as to give him more land than was originally asked for. On this land, Rerack built a battlefield, and once complete, started rounding up people to participate in the mock battles. The first few battles were small scale events, usually fighting with unrealistic paintball guns and no more than twenty people. However, Rerack’s main goal was to get a more realistic set of weapons, and more people. He did this by getting in contact with peoples parents, and getting them to sign their kids up for a holiday camp of an undisclosed nature. In reality, the kids were fighting mock battles with paintball guns, made to look and sound like the real counter parts.



As the scale of these events expanded, Rerack talked to his father about adding vehicles to the mix, and soon several replica tanks and halftracks were now adding to the excitement. However, the secrecy of the events was blown when a participant was sent to hospital after severally injuring himself in a training exercise at base camp. The kid’s parents were horrified by the fact that their son was fighting mock battles, and what was worse in their opinion, was the fact that the entire camp was run by a 17 year old. As they prepared a law suite, more parents found out about the entire thing. Help would come from an unlikely source however, impressed by the scale and detail of the operation, the army stated that they would pay compensation to the families; in return they wished to use the facility, while still allowing Rerack access during his old time frame and if he wished, allowing him to train along side the army. Rerack accepted the offer, while many of his old group of participants acted against their parent’s wishes and rejoined.

[Akranadas]

It should have been a normal patrol, but Elar got the call to responed to a report of gunfire at the in the suburbs.

She pulled her patrol car in front of a large mansion, steped out and drew her weapon and started the careful climb up the front steps. Elar reached the door, it was open and she could hear yelling inside, a gril to be exact.

"Hello, this is the Police, Is everything ok?" Elar said, her heart in her thoat as she thought about entering the house if no one answered.

[Lestaki]

"Bastard! Just die, you thing!" Amena unloaded her pistol, achieveing absolutely nothing, then cursed and threw the weapon down. Encanter continued to attack her father, completely ignoring her. That was annoying. She drew her sword, took a stance, and rushed at him blade raised...

He spun in an instant and drove the point of his spear straight at her. If she'd been a second slower, he would have hacked her apart. As it was, he continued his attack, amply aided by telekensis, span and threw her through the window. Grunting, he leapt clear of Caldan's retaliation and span to guard again.

Amena managed to twist in mid-air, landing and rolling awkwardly across the ground. Her sword flew through the air then landed next to somone. She looked up. A policeman, who was about to walk in. Oh, joy. "You have to help us!" she ordered, standing awkwardly and grabbing the sword, before inflecting her aristocratic accent to a degree even greater than the usual. Daddy was actually quite lower class in his speech, but Amena had been taught to speak in a manner befitting her station. "At once, woman! They're going to kill father!" Without waiting for a reply, she rushed inside, sword raised.

Caldan stood panting, like a stag at bay. The metaphor was especially apt as he was apparently surrounded by a ring of Shadow Encanters, all pointing their spears at him. Amena reloaded her pistol and fired on them, dashing three of the illusions away, then the rest surged forwards as one and thrust at the man. He leapt far higher than men should be able to, spinning and raising his blade to parry as the real Encanter leapt from a far different part of the room and stabbed out. The two clashed in mid-air, then fell away, Encanter stabbing at Caldan then rolling as he hit the ground. The human landed heavily and leapt forwards, blade slashing out, only to be stopped by the Shadow Encanter holding one hand up. A moment's pause, then the man was thrown back with brutal force, sprawling on the ground.

"Milady!" Pelesa shouted, running for the girl.

Amena threw down the useless pistol. At this range, the Ak would normally be best... but nothing was getting through that shield. "The rifle, Pelesa! Throw me it!"

Caldan rolled and stood, staggering into the Shadow Incanter's headlong attack. He was knocked back again, falling heavily.

Amena would remember the next few moments forever.

Staring at Pelesa with a bloodied face, the Shadow Encanter flickered a finger. It was enough to wrap a subtle force around the chambermaid's leg and trip her. She yelped, desperately throwing the rifle as she hell headfirst, too short. Amena cursed and threw herself sideways...

The Encanter leapt upwards in something approaching flight, raising his spear in a two handed grip...

Amena hit the floor heavily, catching the rifle and ramming it into her shoulder. Her fingers pulled back the safety with an echoing click...

The Shadow Encanter threw the spear downwards...

She aimed so briefly and fired...

The spear lanced a too-slow Caldan through the chest, leaving him impaled and screaming breathlessly.

The Shadow Encanter crashed down, chest splattered with a bloody crater.

Then, unbelievably, he stood. Barely alive, but with features still twisted by hatred. "Two little girls..." he snarled, glancing at Amena and Elar. "I'll kill you..."

Amena rolled to avoid his charge, raising her rifle again, firing and missing. "Damnit! Just die!"

The Shadow Encanter staggered past her, almost falling. "Damn... you... I'm just beginning..."

[Psymon]

Just out of curiosity, what are we meant to be fighting anyway? Ah well heres my profile:

Name: Tobias 'Bugman'
Gender: Male
Age: 20
Physical Description: Fairly strong. Tall, brown hair, hazel eyes. A slight limp in his left leg stops him moving very fast. Wears simple clothes, a shirt and jeans usually and small pieces of jewellery made from wood.

Skills: Alright brawler and good with his staff, but lacks the conviction to kill. Prefers to knock out or incapacitate his enemies rather than kill them. Has an almost uncanny affinity with animals, they like him and he likes them, particularly insects and reptiles. He usually has one or two about his person. This ability has led some to say he has the Wit and can actually speak to beasts. He certainly has a great deal of empathy with them.

Strengths: Good fighter, especially with his staff. Limited control of, and empathy with animals. His family has some magical talent, though it has yet to manifest itself.

Weaknesses: Dislikes violence, killing especially. Will usually try and scare an opponent off rather than fight, but will use violence as a last resort. Not good at ranged weaponry, though he can throw things pretty well.

Equipment: Wooden staff, a selection of scorpions, spiders, beetles and various other animals, occasionally larger ones like dogs or cats. A short blade for situations when killing is absolutely necessary, but he's pretty bad with it and would lose a fight to anyone with training or experience.

Background: Tobias grew up outside the city. His family owned a farm which kept them in food and gave a little surplus to sell. He didn't get on very well with his father and after a blazing row when Tobias was fifteen, he ran away to make a life for himself in the city. It wasn't what he expected.

After he'd drifted around for a bit on the city fringes, doing work where he could and avoiding the gangs (some wanted him to join, thinking he'd be a good fighter, others just thought he'd be an easy target) he wandered further into the city and came across a shop selling strange creatures and curiosities to the nobility. Because he would work for practically nothing and seemed to have a way with animals, the shopkeeper gave him a job. He's been there ever since, his tendency to carry the smaller insects and the like around earned him a reputation as the 'Bugman'. His pets have served other uses, fear of the creatures has fended of many a thief, and the painful stings have dealt with the rest.



IC: Tobias was sitting at the back of a bar finishing his drink. He got up to leave and was walking towards the door, when a large man came through it. He wore a lot of leather. "Hey! Bugman!" he cried.
"Hello Cynndl," Tobias kept his voice carefully flat. "I've already turned down your offer, what do you want?"
"To make you a better one." the big man said, "Join us and you'll be in command, second only to me. And you'll have your pick of what we get."
"Still no, sorry." Tobias tried to push past, but Cynndl stopped him.
"Now, don't turn me down just like that. Who knows, there could be... consequences for that dump you work in, and the old guy who runs it."
"You don't want to threaten me, Cynndl." He tried to push past again. Cynndl blocked and Tobias grabbed his arm. A newly visible lump under his shirt moved down. Black claws appeared from under his cuff. The ganger's eyes widened and his face blanched. The scorpion walked over Tobias' hand and sat with its claws resting on Cynndl's arm.
"This, is a Cathayan Black Scorpion." Tobias said, the whole bar was watching now, "Not deadly poisonous, but certainly enough to make your arm feel like its on fire for a while. Its venom would also probably put you to sleep, so you wouldn't notice the pain for a while. Let me pass."

The ganger muttered something "...get you freak." but he stepped aside. Tobias made his apologies to the barman and walked out. He felt the first few drops hit his head and turned his face up as the heavens opened. Gods, he loved the rain. The scorpion didn't and ran back into the little pouch he had sewn into the elbow of his shirt for her. Walking with a slight limp in his left leg, Tobisa made his way back to the shop, back home.

[Sevorak]

OOC: "They" typically take the form of humans - albeit extraordinary ones, with traits corresponding to their relative affinities and abilities. They are also uniformally cunning - this can range from a primal, instinctive kind of cunning akin to that of Orks, or devilish and refined intelligence. :D

And Gerbil, I was referring to a female NPC character in that post, who will play a role in the story; not my own character, who is indeed a guy, and is not confused about his sexuality. ;)

I'll post properly a bit later.

[crawford'n'co]

Sean turned a corner to see an tall figure walk down the alley towards some police fireing at him. It flicked its hand and a wall of ice flew up in front of him and stopped the bullets. Thankfully it was turned away. The figure flicked its turned its hand over and a tear drop of water collected in it. It curled its fingers then flicked them out again. The water flew outwards, turning into a long sliver of ice, and sliced through an officer's throat. The man fell over gasping and gurgling.

Sean had already seen enough. He shouldered his Steyr and leveled it on the figure's head. A trio of bullets raced towards the figure, who ducked before Sean had even pulled the trigger. He roared and squeezed the trigger again, and held it. Within seconds the clip was empty and a pile of bullets lay at the figure's feet.

Dropping the rifle and drawing his knife, which was about a foot and a half in length, Sean prepared for the charge that was to come. A large lance made of ice appeared in the figure's hand. The two charged, weapons clashing. Sean knew that if he was to win he needed to close the distance.

"So, this is what the best assasin in the city can do? Pitiful. You will never beat me. I am invincible!"

The figure laughed maniacally before spinning his lance and smashing down. Sean jumped to the side and smashed the blunt side of his knife down on the shaft of the lance, shatering it, and charged the figure. With unnatural speed he blocked, and shattered the rest of the lance across Sean's shoulder. Ignoring the pain, Sean jumped and planted both feet on the figure's chest, slamming him to the ground, and embedded his knife into the thing's heart.

"Don't fret, young one. There are many more, of us. And you can only kill so many of us, before you are killed. Hahahahahaha...."

The figure coughed a great amount of blood up, and fell limp. Pain seared through Sean's shoulder. He glanced over, and saw his shoulder blade sticking through the skin on his back. His upper arm had two pieces of bone protruding from it. He walked back and picked up his rifle, and after spending a good minute reloading it, walked over and put a bullet through the figure's head.

He started walking through the city to one of his would be targets, had he continued his trade. He struggled to remember the name... Caldan. Yes, that was the name.

[Gorb]

Talon wandered down the lane, whistling. His job was going well, as in; he'd been working at the Smoky Cat for 10 months now and had avoided getting fired. Life was good, so to speak.

He paused, hearing a large, violent-like movement down an alley. It didn't sound like a ganger, and it didn't sound like police, but -

A large form burst out of a dumpster. Easily 1.5m tall on four legs, it was some kind of lion-cross-bat-cross-vampire. Talon sighed. He'd never been good at biology. Ah, well, at least he knew it it definately wasn't a ganger any more. The bat monster stopped in front of this hapless mortal, wondering how to take the flesh of its measly bones whilst keeping its blood inside the carcass. It gave up, and settled for just ripping the human limb from limb.

"Whoa. Time to, ah, bugger it." Talon gave the fiend a backward glance, then ran, as well as trying to undo his satchel which contained his knives.
"Come on, come on," he gritted his teeth as he ran for his life, "last time I buy a bag with bloody Velcro." Then several things happened at once. He looked back at the rapidly gaining dog from hell, tripped over a kerb, and opened his bag. It was really a very crowded split second.

"Yes!" cried Talon. He threw various sharp implements at the creature, then he registered a pain in his back. Namely, the tarmac.

"Ouch!" he cried as the creature, wounded but not dead, jumped above him. Talon shut hs eyes and waited for death. A brief flash of grey mist, and Talon was alone.

"What just, oh. Ohh dear." Before him, the bear dog remained. It just appeared to have missed him. Before it could turn round and catch him again, Talon ran. This time he didn't look back.

[ShatteredFaith]

The runeblade neatly entered the back of the demons neck, fitting nicely into the space between his shoulders and the back of his head, and leaving through the front of its throat. With a choked gurgle and a twitching grab for the blade, the demon slid forward and thumped face first into the ground. The man in the suit muttered a beleated "farewell" to the demon, its blood allready smoking, the runes on the blade eating it away. When it was gone he smoothly slid the runeblade back into his sleeve, a feat that should be impossible, and resumed his walk for his mark.

[Lestaki]

Encanter leapt for her, unleashing a savage barrage of blows. Amena threw the rifle to Pelesa and spun into a defensive stance, blocking the attacks and retreating a step before lashing out with a blistering kick. He was slow and uncoordinated, but as strong as a horse. The blood dripping from his face, though, was full testimony that she would win. They both knew it. Her eyes narrowed. She'd end this sooner than later. They exchanged strikes at lightning pace, but the technique was all hers. He hadn't been trained, and in that situation, she didn't take long to shred his defence and move in with unremittant savagery. Each punch one more revenge for her father...

The final kick threw him down, unable to stand. She leapt back before he could grab her leg. "Pelesa!" She caught the rifle deftly and cocked it again.

"Wait..." Shadow Encanter gasped. "You must... your parents... I..."

She fired, silencing him in an instant. Then she ran to Caldan's side, kneeling by him and trying to pull the lance free. His gentle hand on her wrist checked that, and he smiled. "I'm done for."

"No! Never..."

"No more," he said. "I've little time, and much to do." He looked at her anguished face, and sighed. "On so many levels, I've failed you... never mind. I wanted to protect you, to preserve you, so I stalled for far too long, as if ignorance would provide some kind of shield. Of course, I went by the delusion that I myself was invincible, and you're paying the price for my mistake."

"Father..."

"That was a Fallen. He was once human, and used..." he winced in rising pain. "Dark methods. To be... more. I've so little time... listen. You..." He touched her face. "You must suceed me. You must escape."

"Father, you can't..." She pulled herself together. "The medical staff will be here."

"I've been stabbed through the heart," he said distractedly. "Even it can only prolong my demise..."

"It?"

Caldan reached out with a shaking hand, and touched his chest. Blood welled up and pooled there, then he raised one sticky finger and anointed her forehead with it. "Blood to blood, fall to rise, old to new. You become me. You become Sangreal."

Amena looked at him in horror, gripped by... something... something rising in her.

A sudden light began to emanate from his chest, growing into a brilliant lightness. "I call on you..." he said slowly, his eyes not meeting hers any more. The strangeness, the fear... they were too much. Suddenly, he grunted- and thrust his hand into his own chest, closing on a rapidly forming hilt. He pulled it free in a shower of his own blood.

A platinum hilt, masterfully made, and the shattered, razor edge of a broken blade. Amena stared at it for a moment, then she looked down. He met her eyes, then drove the blade through her chest.

Pelesa screamed. There was an explosion of light, and Amena collapsed in instant unconciousness.

The burning power that had kept him alive for far too long began to fade... with his last act of life, Caldan raised a finger and pointed it at Elar. He flickered it, knocking her out as gently as he could manage. Considering his mangled state, that wasn't very gently.

No time to worry now. For the first time in decades, he felt at peace with his life. Caldan closed his eyes and died.

[ShatteredFaith]

Voz stops, his steps hitching, staggering, he holds out a hand to steady himself, his gaze whipping away from the frightened man infront of him to stare into the distance "The Sword...." he whispers, the man, a low informant, forgotten. His hand flys to the back of his left shoulder, fingering the mass of scar tissue there for a moment before his gaze snaps back to the informant, one of his white gloves closing around the mans throat and lifting him from his feet, strangling him without any emotion showing, the mans eyes bulging feet kicking, with one hand. When the man stopped writhering he dropped him to land with a thud on the floor, his feet already moving, swift strides towards a certain mansion that housed a certain man.

[Langy]

Name: Devian Smith
Gender: Male
Age: Somewhere between 16-20 years - exact age unknown, ‘officially’ 17
Physical Description: Tall and handsome, with sharp features, brown hair, and blue eyes. Usually wears long pants and solid-colored t-shirts with white sneakers. He prefers darker colors for his clothes.

Skills: He is rather intelligent and has all the education of a first-year university student still looking for a major. He also has some street-smarts, but they're unpracticed and have been relatively unused over the past ten years. Other than that, he has no special skills.
Strengths: He has very high manual dexterity and is extremely ambidextrous. He also has very fast reflexes. His senses are top-notch, from sight to sound to smell to touch. He is intelligent and learns new things swiftly. Unknown to him, he also has a passive affinity for physical 'magic' - he can't access it directly, and likely never will, but it unconsciously helps him always. He also has absolutely no fear.
Weaknesses: Absolutely zero martial or weapons training, the closest he comes to knowing how to use a gun is through first-person shooters. He also has very limited resources and almost no money, and no familial support at all. He also doesn't have any training on how to operate an automobile, nor does he know how to ride a bike. He can swim, but this is a new development that he's still working on learning. He has a hard time empathizing with others and is socially stunted, being a loner more than anything.

Equipment: Clothes, backpack, textbooks.
Background: Devian Smith was found wandering the streets of the city as an emaciated and confused child somewhere between three and seven years old - he may have been an extremely mature three or a highly immature seven, but they couldn't determine what exactly. He could not speak and had no memory of his life before he was brought in by the police and his family was searched for. After nobody was found, he was put into an orphanage with other children for several years. Here, he began to learn how to talk and interact with others - he proved to be an apt pupil. By the time a foster family was found to take him in for a while, he was already reading and writing. It looked like things were up for the newly-named Devian Smith.

Unfortunately, Devian's life seemed to be doomed by fate. The foster family the orphanage saddled him with cared little more for Devian than the monthly check they were given to care for him. He lived in the attic with two other orphans, his foster parents barely letting them out before or after school. To make matters worse, the father was abusive - not of his wife, but of the children. Devian had lived with them for barely two months before he was first beaten by the man. It was only time before Devian and the other children began to be raped nightly, and his first experience of that violent act occurred a full year after he had been placed there - Devian was only as physically mature as a seven year old when it happened. Devian was forced to endure this for an entire year more, his social worker never making an effort to understand why he didn't like the couple he was forced to live with and ignoring his, and the other children's, plight.

Devian's salvation came in the form of a new child somewhere around his second anniversary with the horrible foster parents. This new boy, an eight-year-old named Jason, soon became Devian’s only and closest friend and confidant. Jason seemed incredibly brave to young Devian, for he always stood against what he and Jason called ‘The Monsters’, never allowing them to cow him into submission even through the almost-daily beatings. Jason told Devian after one of Devian’s most savage beatings that he had a plan to end the suffering, to stop the Monsters once and for all. Devian grasped onto this, looking up at his ‘big brother’ for the support he needed to survive. Jason’s cold eyes gazed back, and Devian knew he needn’t worry about the Monsters again.

Not a week later, Jason stayed home from school after making sure Devian and the other children left over Devian’s protests to stay with Jason. Devian only needed to wait two more hours before he found out what happened. As he was driven to the site of his burned-down house, he knew he would never see Jason again and Devian’s eyes grew cold and emotionless as he lost the one person in his life he had ever loved.

Over the next weeks and months, Devian’s life was just a blur in his memory. He barely realized what he was doing or what was going on around him while he attended the funerals, talked to the police, and was put back in the orphanage. Devian finally came out of his funk a month after he had been put into yet another foster home. Over the next years, while he lived with a number of different foster families none of them were very loving or caring, but none of them were the monsters like his original foster parents. He excelled in school, though he never seemed to care much for it and never participated in extracurricular activities. He lived his life cold and detached – not shy, really, just not the type to enjoy being with other people much. He was able to skip a full year of school and graduated high school with a scholarship to a local university, which he took simply because he didn’t know what he was going to do with his life. He still lives with a foster family, having no money for an apartment or other domicile and still being registered as under-aged. Unfortunately, his current foster family barely even realizes he exists – they feed, clothe, and shelter him, but he needs to support himself in all other ways. They plan on kicking him out when they first can, when he ‘officially’ becomes 18 in a few months, even though Devian has no plans for what to do in that eventuality.

------------

The bus was crowded as it departed from the university. Devian's backpack hung from his shoulder, his hand on the grab-rail as he stood at the front of the public transport vehicle. He was looking out the side window, absently thinking on a problem from his calculus class when he heard the squeel of brakes, the screams of several of his fellow passengers, and then the ear-splitting whines of metal-on-metal as the bus collided head-on with a speeding sixteen-wheeler tractor-trailor. Devian barely felt the grab-rail yank on his hand as his inertia flung him forwards as the bus came to an abrupt and sudden stop, his eyes barely recognizing the look of terror on his fellow traveller's faces as he went flying straight through the bus's large windshield at over sixty miles per hour, easily shattering the glass and cutting through his face and body as he came crashing down upon the hood of the tractor before stopping suddenly on the crossbar between the two panes of the tractor's windshield. Everything had seemed to move in slow-motion, but now the sheer pain of his broken and battered body finally pulled Devian into oblivion...

[Sevorak]

Réyan awoke to a torrent of pain. He brushed his hair out of his eyes reflexively, looking up at the ceiling dizzily. He moved his arms awkwardly, noting his contorted position on the ground - and the charred ash all around him.

"Well, this, uh... sucks," he remarked, rolling over and pushing himself to his feet from the black grass. He looked around briefly, crouching down to retrieve his pistol - for all the good it'd do him. Then he paused, and listened - silence. The air smelt almost... fresh. The overcast grey skies carried the hue of morning... and the tips of blades of grass held crystal-clear drops of dew, falling one by one to the ground. He narrowed his eyes and looked around - even out there, the birds had sung in the morning; a chirping, innocent call seeming almost lost in the foul pit of existence those on the outskirts clung to.

Now, even they were silenced - that last fleck of peace washed aside. Silver brushed such thoughts aside as he stepped over the half-destroyed wooden fence and walked onto the empty road. A burnt-out car was to the right of him, a charred, black skeleton simply lying in the middle of the road. He kept walking, towards the similarly destroyed house on the other side of the road. A faint wind was blowing, filtering through Silver's hair and chilling his face. He reached the scratchily painted iron gate, gently turning the latch and walking through. He stepped onto their garden. Glass cracked underfoot, from being blasted out from the night before. He stopped by the window, using his pistol to sweep aside any last remaining fragments of glass; then grabbed onto it and hoisted himself inside the shattered house.

On the charred carpet lay the red-haired girl from the night before - she was barely moving, but from the faint flutter of her chest, he could tell she was alive. Barely. He reached down to her tattered, black coat, and made to turn her over. She rolled over easily; for someone with such rage and power, she was so small - and so vulnerable.

Thoughts of her fragility were dismissed in an instant when she awoke. A blade was at Silver's throat almost before he could react - but if he'd perfected anything in street fights over the years, it was the draw. He had his pistol aimed at her head a fraction of a second after she'd pressed her blade to his neck. Both hesitated, unmoving, trembling.

"Who are you?" The girl demanded angrily, face contorting into a snarl. She pressed the blade more forcefully. Silver responded by pressing the barrel of the pistol to her temple.

“No one; a piece of crap that happened to find your sorry ass in these ruins,”
“Huh; useless,”

She pushed herself up with surprising speed, taking her knife away and standing up. She brushed herself off casually, looking to her side and made for the door.
“Don’t try to follow me,” she said, not turning around.

Silver released the safety with an audible click. The red-haired girl froze.
“I could kill you for that,” she remarked casually.
“Not before I put a bullet in your head.” Silver shot back. “Or two,” he added as an afterthought. Another ‘huh’ was the only reply he got. To most people, her apathy would have been annoying. Silver was one of such people.
“What do you want, then?” she asked irritably.
“I want to know what you are,” he replied. “And what that man you were fighting last night was.”

“We are both beyond you. Should you see us again, it would be best if you remain out of the way.”

Silver twitched, pulled the trigger, and returned the barrel to her face before she could decapitate him. She had managed two steps in under a second. He couldn’t try that trick twice. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“That wasn’t what I asked. I don’t care how ‘beyond’ you are – you’ll still die.”

She trembled; she wanted to lunge out and spear him, then walk out and leave the arrogant one before her to die. But there was always the chance that he’d manage to pull that trigger enough times to put her down before she could reach him. In her horribly weakened state, even he could kill her.

“Very well. I am a Risen; that man you saw was Fallen, a twisted human.”
“Start making sense.”

She fumed.
“Both he and I… possess power. It is his purpose to twist such powers to dark ends, while it is mine to resist those like him.”
“What kind of power?”
“The easiest way to describe it would be to refer to it as magic.”
“Huh.”

He’d have thought she was insane if he hadn’t already seen their power at work; as would all sane people. There was a brief pause.
“Do you have transportation?” she asked, on a whim.
“What?”

She repeated her question, deliberately slowing her voice down.
“Do… you… have… transportation?”
“Yes.”
“I need you to take me somewhere,”

Silver thought about asking for one reason he should actually trust her, or do anything for her. Then realized that in actuality, he had nothing better to do, and it would at least occupy him for a few fleeting hours.
“Alright.” He led her outside, moving through the window with surprising agility. He looked back, smirking, as the girl fumbled with the door from inside. Then there was a loud crash, and the door fell out, smashing into the concrete. Silver looked at her appraisingly.

“Come on, then, if you insist; my bike’s this way,”


Deeper within the city…


“Aphelia, is this place secure?”

“As secure as can be. The Fallen have not yet been able to pierce the shroud and divine our location, from what I can guess of their movements.”
“And the Ilureyn?”
“So far, they have not made their presence known – it is my estimation that they are waiting for some form of signal from their Fallen servants and allies.”
“Hmm. Perhaps they seek the sword.”
“It is possible,” Aphelia admitted. “You should begin. There is no way of knowing how long the shroud can be maintained.”

“Right…” The dark figure sat down in a meditative position, and stretched his mind out through the empyreal mists of the arcane. Distant flames of light shone through the protective shroud Aphelia had erected around their sanctuary; the mark of human existence, and that of the Fallen and Risen humans… and that of the outsiders, referred to some as simply ‘demons’.

He reached out to disparate forms of humans that might prove useful – it took some doing, at times, to remind himself that human was all he had once been. But even the lowest of humans possessed some form of primal strength that had a tendency to blaze through at the opportune moments. And they would be needed as the Fallen gradually converged about several critical points, one of which being the Palace of the Hunter, so-termed by the Risen. He reached out to them, unifying the disparate strands of their existences with his message and Voice.

“The Fallen have come; some of you may already have come into contact with them, and emerged alive. For this, I commend you – but do not expect to repeat such triumphs a second time. I have need of you all – perceive my directives as you will, but the fact stands that you are all needed in this hour. Take up the call or ignore it as you will – for those that would listen, I usher you either here or to the Hunter’s Palace.”

Then he burned the locations in their minds, and stood, dispelling his astral projection.

“The call will likely draw the Fallen to this place,” Aphelia warned.
“I know.”
“They will be in great danger.”
“I know.”
“There is no other choice.”

[Lestaki]

“The Fallen have come; some of you may already have come into contact with them, and emerged alive. For this, I commend you – but do not expect to repeat such triumphs a second time. I have need of you all – perceive my directives as you will, but the fact stands that you are all needed in this hour. Take up the call or ignore it as you will – for those that would listen, I usher you either here or to the Hunter’s Palace.”

Ha. Arrogant fools, calling on flesh puppets. Ignore that call. You have another duty.

Amena winced. Who's there?

Call me Caled.

That is no reply... who are you? Where am I? What was that? What the hell is going on? This is a bad dream...

You are Sangreal, guardian of me, one-fifth of the whole that I again will call Caled. Like Caldan before you and many before him, your flesh is a vassal to conceal my power from all those who seek it- Risen, Fallen, all are one; unnatural abhorritions. I will teach you to hunt down both alike, to protect mankind. But first we must leave. Ancient and truely powerful individuals seek me to complete the blade and their own ascendancy, and my brief sojourn between the two vassals plainly blazed my location to the heavens. We must at once leave, for good- escape this place and find santuary and a hunting ground elsewhere. You saw the old Sangreal as an assassin, and that is so. But first and foremost he was a guardian, he guarded me. You must take up that duty with all your strength.

I get it. You're the sword he... what was that about? It hurt.

Being stabbed generally does Caled replied unsympathetically. If it is any consolation, you are now infused with my power, to the maximum extent your body can currently tolerate it. The last Sangreal was slack with preparing you, despite my advice, but needs must.

A talking sword through my chest... I really am dreaming.

This is real, though you are also asleep. It is time to wake.

Amena woke. "Ow..." She touched her chest delicately. Actually, it didn't hurt. It just felt warm. Her whole body felt warm.

Pelesa looked at her anxiously. "I'm glad you're awake, lady," she said briefly. "I dressed you fully, and prepared supplies. Most of the household has already fled. I've no idea what's going on, but I'm going to help you. We need to get out- the masters and medical staff- they didn't seem normal- took all sorts of stuff, guns and swords even- and just took off, leaving me to look after you. We're going to Alyria, they say. We have to go too."

"This is too much of a headache," Amena murmurred, standing and inspecting herself in the mirror. "What weapons did they advise I took?"

"The rifle," Pelesa said. "Though I'm to carry that, as it's heavy. And a shotgun for me, as they're not hard to use, though I've tried it and it hurts..."

"Babbling, Pelesa."

"Sorry, mistress. The rifle, your sword, too pistols, and... this." She handed over an extremely odd weapon. "They said it was called White-Hilt, and that you were only to draw it in dire..."

Amena drew it and stared at the weapon. The hilt was somewhere between the handle of a gun and the haft of a sword, and a rifle jutted from there, bladed on the top. But there was no trigger. And the two blades on either side of the gun suddenly sprang upwards in an elegant loop, straightening parallel to and longer than the main weapon. The blades themselves were white, embellished, and burning with a gentle fire. "What on heaven and earth is this?"

"Eh... White Hilt... they said not to draw it," Pelesa said in a small voice.

"And it has the oddest scabbard ever. Well, shaped as stupidly as that, it would do... though if I hold it right, I can parry to the side and point my gun at someone's chest, that's quite well done. But- why exactly is it on fire?"

"I don't know. I'm just a chambermaid."

Amena frowned and pointed the blade at the wall. "There's no trigger..."

Think firing.

Before she really had thought, a narrow bolt of silver fire lashed from the barrel of the gun and blew a perfect hole in the wall. Amena looked through it, and saw it had pierced three more walls then knocked a round hole in a window. "Hmm. Interesting." She sheathed the weapon awkwardly. "Drawing it is not going to be fun. Well, let's go."

Pelesa stared at Amena in astonishment. "Just like that... you can accept all this?"

"Hardly," the girl said haughtily. "I'm in denial. Come on, let's make a move."

[ShatteredFaith]

Voz ducked hastily backwards when the wall began to melt from the white light, his brain registering it in slow motion, his adrenalin pumping, as he flung himself backwads, the silver blaze missing his nose by centimeters. He landed in an undignified heap on his ass. A string of curses, foul, obsecene, and generally not in character with the cheerful front he puts on, erupted from his mouth, beginning with descriptive english and descending into gutteral base curses. At the end of that impressive string, which was nearly a minute of pure cursing that anyone within a block could hear, he stood up and peered cautiously through the hole, seeing the maid and the girl staring at the missing peice of masonary. "You should watch where you fire that thing, girl" rang his pleasent voice, brushing off dust from his white outfit and stepping inside, careful to keep his arms away from his sides and hands visible. "I could help you, you know" he cast a glance at the bodies "You look like you need it, and I know what you need, eh?" he put on his best winning smile, while mentally wondering weather or not she could draw that monsterious gun fast enough and shoot him.

[Sevorak]

Elpharel smiled gleefully as he hopped lightly off the corpse of a fallen mother, silencing her defenceless, crying child with a deft flick of his hand. The cot flew off the side, down onto the train tracks, and smashed faintly onto the ground. A faint pool of blood welled around the bottom. He smiled and looked around. Only one figure was moving; a small, teenage boy with pale hands clutched around the side of a bench, hiding pitifully.

Elpharel took a calm step towards him, rubbing his hands together. The boy, brown haired and quivering, stayed crouched and petrified, unmoving.

"My, my, a little boy, lost and alone in the nasty big world..." Elpharel smiled benevolently - but malice was all that was evident in his tone. "I wonder what you're doing here... running away, perhaps?"

The boy said nothing. Elpharel's manic grin widened. He spread his arms to indicate the ruined train station. "Well... you're certainly not going to be running anywhere anymore, are you?"

"Ah... nothing to say? No witty remark? No snide, wretched comeback? What a pity. I'll just derive what enjoyment I can from your mangled body, in that case..." he gestured, and the boy rose, struggling and flailing in midair as he was forcibly drawn close by telekinetic shackles. Elpharel raised his spear and slashed it forward, impaling the struggling child.

Then, wrenching his arm, he tossed him down onto the tracks with the murdered baby.

[Lestaki]

Fallen or Demon. Enemy. We are in no condition to fight at this power level, and escape from combat would be difficult.

Amena subtly tensed, fingers inches away from the hilt of White Hilt. Say the word. I'm feeling stronger than ever... whatever you say, we can take him down.

He, too, is magically enchanced. I doubt it. Say exactly what I tell you too.

"I am Sangreal," she said slowly, "standing alone, needing no help, least of all from your kind. However, I have nothing of interest to you, and no intention but to leave this city. I ask you to leave us be and go from here, us and you in peace, or else, if you chose to follow us- we will not stop you, unless you seek to lead us into a trap. But we... I have no desire to stay here, and no objective here any more. Nor do either of us have any reason to trust the other, and you will offer no aid but that which you seek to return with interest. Therein, we go our own way, away from here. Let us be, you whose title we know not, that is the help you can render me."

She watched him tensely, then moved towards the door, keeping him under her eyes at all times.

[ShatteredFaith]

The man smiles, tipping his hat, his smile thins at her remarks. "I thought Sangreal was supposed to be a smart, sentient beign, who would not make foolish mistakes" he shakes his head sadly "Our goals, weather or not your...compatriot has bothered to tell you, are one and the same. The destruction of Fallen. I require no interest, merely a promise, wich is easily granted and even easier enacted, if you would hear me out" his smile is back to his shiny, pearly white winning one, arms still held out at his side "I have offered you no harm and intend you none, and I could even tell you a few things you are probably dying to know about your father, yes?" he made a show of dusting off a peice of square monastery that had fallen from the wall and sitting down, hands on his knees "But if you truely wish to turn down aid, ye who stands alone in a city full of creatures who would destroy you if they but knew who you were. Orginaztions that could bring you down without you realising you are even dead, you may go. I will not stop you or hinder you in any way" He shakes his head sadly "Though it is a shame that one so young can be so untrusting, so sure of her abilities. You will either be taught caution and humility in this city, or you will die. Or, a third choice, you can come with me and I can keep the greater part of your...enemies...in this city at bay, unaware of your presence. The choice is yours, you have but to ask"

[crawford'n'co]

Sean whatched the three people talk, at the house, from some bushes nearby. When it was apparent they ahd stopped for the moment he stepped out, flicked the safety on his rifle, and let it rest on his arm. "Someone tell me, what the f***ing hell just went the f*** on!" The three looked at him in surprise. "I want simple answers, in simple words, and if I'm not mistaken, you're the daughter of Caldan." Sean nodded as he remembered. This was going to take a while.

[Langy]

The paramedics arrived on the scene within minutes of the horrific traffic accident in the middle of the highway through down-town. The bus had been full past capacity, and the head-on collision between it and a large truck both going sixty miles per hour caused not a few casualties. The scene of the wreck was a horrid sight to the ambulance drivers, and of the four who had already arrived only one had been able to retain his lunch.

There were young adults – children, really – everywhere. More than one had been ejected from the bus due to the sudden cessation of motion, flying through the windscreen, out one of the broken doors, and in one case through one of the small side windows. All were assumed to have died on impact. Those were the lucky ones.

The scene inside the bus was direct from the worst gore-fest movies. Parts of the bus had come apart due to the force of the collision, including some of the handrails. Three separate people had been impaled upon them, while others were simply crushed into the sides or their neighbors. There was blood and gore everywhere, the crying of the injured and the stench of the dead. It would take hours to sort through them all, and during that time some would die of blood loss that could have been saved if they were any nearer the exits. Even with the five extra ambulances that arrived soon after the scale of the tragedy was determined, it was over an hour later when one of the paramedics noticed the ragged breaths and slight movement of the boy crumpled up against the tractor. He rushed over just as the broken body began to groan out in pain.

Devian was in a world of hurt – literally, from his point of view. There was nothing but the pain, his mind almost incapable of understanding it. He barely remembered the crash, but even as he did it slipped around his mind as if it could make no sense of it – for, if it had happened as he remembered, surely he’d be dead! And yet, there he was, most of his bones broken and his body bleeding out, his breathing ragged and his heart slow, yet still alive. Devian cracked one eye open as the paramedic stood over him and assessed his injuries, watching as the man smiled down at him and told him he was lucky to be alive. Devian closed his eye again, his last thought as he slipped back into unconsciousness being how he knew that man was wrong.

[Psymon]

“The Fallen have come; some of you may already have come into contact with them, and emerged alive. For this, I commend you – but do not expect to repeat such triumphs a second time. I have need of you all – perceive my directives as you will, but the fact stands that you are all needed in this hour. Take up the call or ignore it as you will – for those that would listen, I usher you either here or to the Hunter’s Palace.”

Tobias awoke and bolted upright, he hit his head on the overhanging windowsill. Pain flared across his forehead and he lent forward, the small necklace of wooden beads around his neck hanging down. "Ow. Weird dream. Ow." He clutched his head and tried to gather his thoughts in the grey fog of his mind. He could feel a bump developing, it was probably red. He rubbed it for a hile then staggered to the door and wandered downstairs to look for a drink. He could feel the minds of the insects and animals in the cages as he passed, some slept, some were active. Some people said he had the Wit, that he could speak to beasts. Of course, he couldn't let them know they were right.

He reached the kitchen and yanked open the fridge. He got a glass of milk and sat down at the table, drinking slowly. When he finished he washed up the glass and started to walk across the shopfront towards the stairs. Strange, the streetlights weren't on. He peered out of the window to see a figure in the road. He reached out and touched the mind, i was like a human's, but closer to an animal than even the most bestial ganger. He couldn't influence human minds anyway, you needed the Skill for that and, as far as he knew, that only existed in a few noble families, and they kept it a secret.

While he'd been thinking about this the being outside must have noticed him, or the probing thought that was touching its mind, because the tendril of thought wsa thrown back at him. Tobias reeled, that had never happened before, the figure drew its arms back. Tobias expected a firebomb, Cynndl had threatened him, but the posture of this creature did not suggest throwing something. It pointed towards the shop and a fireball sprouted from its fingertips. "Holy shit!" Tobias yelled and threw himself to the floor as the fireball came threw the window, zoomed over the desk and splashed against the far wall. His back felt singed. Tobias lay still for a minute, then poked his head over the desk. The creature was stalking towards the shop. It wore a cloak and hat that concealed most of its features, but he could see that its eyes glowed red. It came through the shattered window and moved towards him. Tobias closed his fingers on the staff he kept under the desk. He waited until the thing was a few feet away, stood up and threw the desk's paperweight at it. It struck right between the thing's eyes and it staggered back. Taking advantage of its confusion Tobias ran forward and delivered a stunning whak to the thing's temple. It went down and seemed to be unconcious. Tobias ran to a cage contaning a large rock python and opened the door. Hurry!!! he compelled it to wrap around the man-thing. When it was firmly tightened around the creature, a grip no man would have been able to break, Tobias moved forwards and removed its hat...

[Lestaki]

Hmm. From now on, you keep White Hilt to hand at all times. A noble blade, incidentally, I clashed with it once... but alas, not sentient. The more reason to keep that blade to hand at all times.

"I agree," Amena said out loud, then she blinked. "I am Caldan's daughter, Am... the Sangreal. I don't introduce myself more specifically to people who have not introduced themselves, pointing guns at me. That much was excessive courtesy. As for what is happening, I am not entirely sure. I am currently acting as the vassal for a broken sword hilt, Caled, after my father stabbed it through my chest in his death throes. It seems to have disappeared copereally, but I can talk to it. I also feel... warm. Whatever that might signify. My father died in combat with a supernatural being named "Shadow Encanter", who used a double-bladed lance, and apparent telekinetic and stealth abilities. I managed to defeat the Shadow Encanter in my turn, and came to my dying father. He described some regrets, stabbed me with Caled, and died. I was knocked unconcious and woke up, about to leave this place... when this man, who Caled calls "a Fallen or demon", interrupted me. We were in rather tentative negotiation, with great misgivings on my part, when you blundered in."

She looked him in the eyes. "That is all I know. Make of it what you will, I make of it an excpetionally vivid and lively dream. I hope I will wake up soon." Her eyes darted between the demon and the boy, looking for the slightest chance. She'd go for the pistol, not White Hilt... that'd take too long to draw. "As for you, demon," she said to the other, "we might consider a tempoary alliance. If you will permit Caled to read your mind momentarily."

Pelesa backed into a corner and waited for a chance to draw the shotgun she'd been given.

[The Shadow]

Joe woke up in the alley. "What time is it? What day?" He tought. He walked towards the street, he didn't remember anything for the last days. It was night, he heard some ambulances farther away. "Where am I?" He asked from himself. "I don't remember coming to here." He walked down the street towards some noices...

[crawford'n'co]

OOC: Might I ask that you not refer to my char as "boy", he is is older than your character I believe.

IC: "Sounds true enough. I am Sean. I am displeased to say this in front of you, but had I not suffered this," Sean slung his rifle and lifted his shirt, revealing his scar, "Your father would have been my next target. From the sound of your story, and the wreckage, it is my honour to tell you that he would have been more than a match for me. As for you, I could complete my duty, and put a bullet through your head, but instead I ask what you plan to do now. As per the unspoken Code of Assasins, anyone deemed more powerful than the assasin is expected to take command, if proved worthy. You are worthy by being the offspring of Caldan, so I lend you my services, if you accept." He looked over at the girl backing away, and threw his knife at her head. The knife wizzed by, stopping her. "I might suggest that interfering is not a good idea."

[Lestaki]

OOC: Amena is an aristocrat by upbringing if not parentage (Caldan himself being the lowest common demoninator...). She sees everyone around her as a boy, unless she refers to them as an old man. One or the other. ;)

IC: "Threatening Pelesa is also a bad idea," Amena said, irritated. "Point a gun at us, and you can hardly expect a warm welcome. I have been overkind as it is, especially if you were sent to kill my father... though by all accounts, he was in a very similar line of work. Really, it is the survival of the fittest, and from now on, I'll never let anyone ambush me like you did. But that's all one..."

Probably worthy of trust, in the short term. Assassins are assassins through, but you are one as well. We will not let our guard down, but he may well provide substantial aid.

"Briefly, I accept your offer. In the short term, I intend to escape from this city," Amena said. "It has become far too dangerous, if such supernatural creatures float around... and comrade Caled tells me that his brief emergance copereally will attract significant attention. If you are not fazed by that, then by all means aid in our escape, if that pleases you. Once we are well clear of this danger zone... then I'm not sure. I might well turn my hand to my father's buisness, and hunt these supernatural creatures where I can. Present company excepted, of course."

[Sevorak]

The girl reached the motorbike first, nimbly hopping onto it and gripping the handlebars. She turned to him, slender frame comparatively tiny to the huge mass of the bike, and casually asked,
"How do you work this... thing?"

Silver rolled his eyes and laughed.
"You mean you can't even drive?"
"... shut up."

Silver laughed even more, then reached out to take her arm and pull her off. She lashed out at him angrily, glaring at him petulantly and folding her arms.
"Look, if you try and drive, you'll end up getting us both killed when you inevitably crash into the side of some inanely conspicuous building."
"You're not coming." She stated, as if it were already decided. Silver laughed again, merely infuriating the girl even more.
"Let's just put it this way: if you feel like driving off, I really can't be bothered to stop you; it'd be far more trouble than you're worth, and I can always steal another one. I don't think you'll be able to steal replacements for all the vital organs you'd screw up when you crash."

"Shut. Up." She reiterated. Silver simply spread his arms, smiled jovially, and gestured to the road.

"Go ahead; really. Drive off and die, it won't affect me." Then he turned around and simply walked away, counting under his breath. There was a crashing noise from behind him, and no roar from the engine.

"You! Boy!" The girl yelled, angrily. Silver kept walking, a smirk on his face. "Human!" No answer. "Idiot! Answer me!"

Silver turned exaggeratedly.
"Oh, you're talking to me? Not a particularly nice tone of voice when you're about to start pleading for my assistance now, is it?"
"I'm... shut up." She replied. Silver grinned, walking back towards her and the fallen bike. He heaved the metal hunk of junk back to an upright position, grunting with the exertion. The girl looked at him oddly.
"Right..." he climbed onto the bike, gesturing for the girl to get back on behind him. She glared. "Look, you can't drive; and with the state you're in, you wouldn't make it that far even if you could. I can get you where you're looking to go, or you can die here. Like I said before, it doesn't affect me - but it's sure as hell going to affect you. Your choice."

She didn't answer, instead, she got on the back of the bike and gently held onto his shoulders.

"Take me there."

She brushed a weak hand against his temple; the image of a manor briefly flickered in Silver's mind.
"Right. Hold on." He didn't look back as he kicked the bike into motion; its engine roared, and he set off onto the road, only faintly aware of the slender girl clinging onto him from behind.

[ShatteredFaith]

Voz smiled and shrugged helplessly, eyeing the triggerhappy assassin and wondering if burning his mind out would be possible. Probably not, he would spasm and more than likely Voz would end up with a red hole in his head. "You have my permission, but if you tamper" he said, shaking a finger in a chiding way "you will be punished"

[crawford'n'co]

"DO NOT TELL ME WHAT TO DO! I could put a bullet through your slimy head in an instant! I listen only to those I choose to listen to!" Sean stalked away and picked up his knife, giving Pelesa a pat on the shoulder on the way back. "Sangreal, can you lend me your assistance, and find me healing? My encounter with one of these "Fallen" proved most unhappy." Sean dropped the side of his jacket off, while shooting the other man an angry glance, revealing his shattered arm, and shoulder blade. Few men could go around with such injuries, but Sean had become used to the pain. He thought about the word. Pain. He thought of it as a friend, almost. He thought the word with reverence. Such a small thing, but it can disable the strongest. He had perfected the art of pain itself, learning where to stab, where to shoot, where to strike. The head was an invaluble source of targets, so many points to choose from. "And yes, I will help you out of this city, and to wherever you go after that, until my help is exhausted and is no longer needed."

[Klaus88]

Name: Alexander Orndorf.
Gender: Male
Age: 44
Appearence: Gray hair, brown eyes, tall and in pretty good physical shape
Backstory: Alex used to be a truck driver in the army and he took away a basic knowledge of weapons and an excellent knowledge of machinary from the experience. Now adays he just trys to stay out of trouble and make enough money to make ends meet.

Strengths: Excellent mechanic, very good with a shotgun.

Weaknesses: Not the strongest fellow and he's starting to feel his age.

[Lestaki]

"Easy," Amena said shortly. "Brawling is uncivilised. Pelesa, the medics? Or magicians, whatever they were?"

"All gone," the chambermaid said shakily. "Once they'd tended to you."

"Cowards," Amena said disgustedly.

We cannot heal him. That is not the forte of swords, after all, nor assassins.

"In any case, we're stuck about your wound in the short term," she said sadly. "I can't do any more than set it properly, and that with material and time. I'm no more able to reknit flesh and remake bone than anyone else."

The demon might be different Caled said. I read what I was offered, and no more. He can be considered safe for the short term.

"You," Amena said, pointing at Voz. "Can you heal this boy? If not, we'd better get on quick, and try and catch my medical staff up. I imagine that from your occupation conventional health services are not an option."

[ShatteredFaith]

Voz smiled slightly at the command and shook his head "I make it a policy not to waste my limited healing potential on rude trigger happy assassins" he straightened up his outfit, smooting the wrinkles out and adjusting his gloves, and tilting his hat at just the right angle to cast a shadow over the top of his face, leaving only a smile. "Why should we heal one trigger happy yahoo when there are many more, uninjured, that I could call to service, hmm?" at her look he sighed and trudged over "Boy, if you stop pointing that thing at me, I can atleast set your arm and stop the bleeding, but im not exuasting myself making it good as new" he waited patiently for the kid to do so, and then set his gloved hand on the wound, a red glow surrounds his hand for a moment, and the exposed bones violently and painfully receeded into the flesh with sick slurping sounds. The wounds closed and left angry red lines where they were. Voz stepped back and grabbed the mans arm, lifting it up and down and twisting it this way and that, noting the narrowing of eyes from the man at the pain and nodding "He can use it, but I would not want to be in his shoes if someone punches it, eh?" with a shrug he moved back and glanced at the girl "So, do you intend to follow me to relative saftey, or have me tag along while you blunder about?"

[Sevorak]

"Oh. Dear. Fucking. God."

A spray of bullets smashed into the side of the bike; Silver swerved it with one hand, feeling pain lance up it as he raised the other to fire a retaliatory burst with his pistol. They blazed down the street, all thoughts of their destination cast aside in the torrent of the other biker's bullets.

"Oh, now-!" Silver yelled, dodging an oncoming car - he just had enough time to catch the panicked expression of the driver before being forced to try and dodge another spray of gunfire from their crazed, would-be killer. "That's just not nice!"

"Stop posturing and bring us closer," a bitter whisper from the girl behind. No sense of insanity, that one. Silver grinned maniacally, directing the bike straight towards the attacker, who was fumbling to reload. Evidently, he was not used to motorbike chases. That was unfortunate, since Silver had refined the art of smashing bikes apart and surviving to near-perfection. He rammed his bike into the other, pointing his pistol in the other rider's face. Then he emptied the clip, spattering crimson trails of blood from the rider's head.

"This close enough for you, darlin'?!" he demanded, barely before a shakily-executed sword swing from her lashed into the other bike and sent it spiralling out of control and smashing into the ground. By some miracle, their own wasn't dragged down in the spiral of death.
"Ain't that nice..."
"Shut up and drive."
"Yeah, sure, missy. Your wish is my command, and all that."

They sped on.

[Lestaki]

"You tag along," Amena said. "You can keep your relative safety, well and truely. Come on, don't slow me up." She drew White Hilt as fast as she could manage, and held it in one hand. "Ertol Train Station, an unexiting but practical objective. Follow me or don't, it's not really my concern." She stalked out, closely followed by Pelesa, walking down the stairs and through the wreckage of the entrance room.

"I think the police have arrived," Pelesa said, stating the obvious.

"Blast. Alright, I'll try and talk our way out of this." Amena ran forwards, waving her sword wildly. Hopefully, they wouldn't look to closely. "You're far too late! Where were you before, when daddy was in danger?"

The officer in charge nodded stiffly to her. "Sorry, ma'am, we came as fast as we could."

"Never mind that!" she said. "What have you done with father?"

"He was taken away from an autopsy..."

"No! That is disrespectful, I insist you bring him back! Besides, do you need one? My poor daddy died with a spear through his chest, and I was cowering upstairs because a bunch of armed ruffians can do what they like and go where they like in this city!"

"You were cowering upstairs?" he asked in a conversational tone.

"Of course," she said, a little more slowly. "I had to hide."

"Well, that's quite interesting... because Officer Elar gave me a verbal report. She's evidently suffering from post traumatic stress disorder, but she was very clear that you killed the intruder from close range- with a military grade sniper rifle, I believe."

"What of it?" Amena said defiantly. "I've a right to defend my property, especially after..."

"Actually, we tested your father's DNA," the officer said. "And confirmed his identity as one of our most wanted men, a hitman of repute. As such, you're all under arrest for being complicit in the possession of illegal weapons, and off mass murder, whoever you all are. It should be a formality, of course... but put down the- sword. Gun."

"Okay," Amena murmurred. "Forget subtle." She leapt forwards with deadly speed and cut his head off in one swing. The other policemen went for their guns...

[ShatteredFaith]

Voz flinched when the head was cut off "Gods, girl, now they'll be wanting ME" with a disgusted shake of his head he slid off to the side. It should have been impossible for a man dressed in white to blend into the shadows, but he did.

---------------

A ghost of a smile flickered across his face as he opened the policecar door, the cop that had been using the car for cover no longer had need of it. He was staring at Voz, who frowned at the rudeness. A fellow laying on his stomach had no right to stare at something above and behind him. With an idle kick he re-snapped the mans neck until he was facing the ground, and reached inside the vehicle. He grabbed the chain hooking the shotgun to the car and snapped it with a modicum of magic, and pulled the weapon out. With a boom he lit up the uniformed men and women.

[crawford'n'co]

"Thank, you." Sean looked up as the police came up. He pulled his hood up, and around his face. A brief exchange went forth between the girl and an officer. At the end she beheaded him, and started a battle. Sean flung his knife at an officer. The blade embedded itself in his neck, killing him instantly. Grabbing a pistol from the ground, he emptied its clip into the other officers. When it ran out of ammo, he shoulder the Steyr and fired. A bullet slamed into his leg. He dropped to the ground, the pain sending a surge of adrenaline into his system. he quickly recovered and emptied his clip into a few officers aiming for him, but not before another bullet sliced through his leg, again. The fight was soon over. He retrieved his knife and began to pluck the bullets out of his leg. "Sangreal, do you have anything hot? Something made for cauterizing?"

[Psymon]

Whatever this thing was, it had probably started out human. Its hair and eyes were bright red, the hair was short, but stood up straight. Its lips were almost impossibly thin, they were black and barely covered its teeth, most of which seemed to be pointed and razor-sharp. The skin was very pale, it would probably burn within minutes if the creature didn't cover up. Its ears were slightly pointed, as was the nose, the entire face seemed fairly angular. Tobias rifled through its pockets, after he obliged the sleepy and disgruntled python to move. He pulled out a gun, he couldn't tell what make it was, he didn't know much about firearms, a few cards and a knife. The knife was strange, weird designs or letters glowed faintly along its blade, they flared and then faded when he picked it up. The blade wasn't straight, it was shaped in symmetrical, tapering waves towards its point. He pocketed the knife, it was the only thing he knew how to use and he wanted to find out what it was. The cards didn't reveal a name, but apparently he worked for some big company Tobias remembered hearing about, in the, he did a double take to make sure his eyes weren't decieving him, 'Supernatural Research Division'. The photo on the card looked nothing like the creature that lay unconcious in front of him. His mind flicked back to the stories his grandfather would tell during winter nights, of shades and demons that could possess a man if he wasn't careful enough.

Tobias sat back and tried to think about what to do next. Who, or what, was this creature? Had it been a man at some point? Why was it after him? Magic was a rare talent, but if this creature was a demon of some description, it would probably have a lot of it. He thought back to the dream, he remembered it with surprising clarity. The Place of the Hunter, or 'here'. He was even more surprised to find he sort of knew where 'here' was. It wasn't solid knowledge, it was as if he'd been there years before, or as if he'd dreamed it.

I reckon we should go the thought entered his head from somewhere else. He looked over to find a snake staring at him from its tank. This was Nightfang, his Witmate. The two shared a bond that went incredibly deep, they could feel each other's thoughts and feelings very easily and communicate over a vast distance. Nightfang was a boomslang, a snake that grew to just over a metre. He was still a juvenile blue-grey, but expected his green adult colouring to come through next time he shed his skin. His venom was a hemotoxin, it spread through the blood of a victim, stopped clotting and destroyed the blood cells. Death was would often be slow and painful, with a lot of internal and external bleeding. Luckily, he didn't bite, at least, not unless Tobias told him to.
And what brings you to that conclusion? Tobias asked.
Well one, it could be interesting, and two, what have you got to lose? If it turns out to be nothing then the shop would be closed for a day or two, and Gammidge won't be back for a week.
I don't know why I let you talk you into these things. Alright, let's go.
Tobias wrote a note to the girl he'd hired to help out in the shop. He said to try to keep the place open until he got back or Gammidge did. He got the rock python back in its tank, put on his 'bugsuit', a jacket with several pockets for various reptiles and insects, loaded up wih animals, including Nightfng and food, picked up the body of the demon-thing and walked out into the grey dawn. He dunped the boy in an alley a few streets away and started walking.

[Lestaki]

That, we can do. Take up your sword.

"Don't move," Amena said, raising White Hilt and feeling heat race through her body and up into the blade. It glowed with a furious white heat, entirely befitting the weapon. "This is probably going to hurt a lot. Improvised, but needs must."

She thrust the flat of the blade against the wound, grabbing him by the shoulder with her other hand and holding him steady.

That's it.

She deftly pulled away. "Now what?"

Split up, make your own ways to the station. We're too conspicuous to be all three in one place, but if you are apart, you may be mistaken for unawakened beings. In a straight fight against the powers that persue us, even we would fall. This way, we stand more chance.

Amena repeated the instructions. "Okay, I'll see you at the station." She turned and walked out the door, stepping past the ruins of the police force. "Oh, we won't be here ever again..."

Now.

Amena felt the instincts flow through her, the awakening memories of a warrior-spirit a thousand years older than her. She fixed her eyes on the next manor along, then broke into a run. She was about twenty meters away when she kicked off and jumped, feeling a strange force wrap round her... she flew far further than was phsyically possible, landing clumsily on the roof and straining to recover her balance.

Learn now, how to control your powers. In battle, there will be no time.

Agreed. Amena concentrated, running faster than she would normally- some force extending from her four limbs and slicing through the air in front of her, cutting resistance. Then she leapt again, landing on the next rooftop. This will take some getting used to.
***
"It's here," Nagon said firmly. "I felt it. This is our chance."

"So close," Alena said. "It's such a romantic dream."

"Excalibur," Liene agreed, sighing. "The ultimate sword... in darling's hands. Won't that be a beautiful sight?"

"I'd be more worried about what I can wreak with it," Nagon said. "But we can gloat once we have all five pieces, and all the guardians dead. Four pieces is still one short."

"Ah, you're so strict with us," Alena said.

The five fallen sat langorously on top of the roof, looking out at the heavens. Father and mother maintained an introspective silence. The two sisters, Alena and Liene, leaned together, pouting at a curel horizon. Nagon leaned forwards, his eyes intense. Like his sisters, he had blonde hair, and blue eyes, but where theirs were watery and unfocused his were bright, driven with passion. He was often frustrated at the idleness of his family; they were so unambitious. That was his cross to bear.

"Are the horacrux safe?" he asked, reflexively.

Father touched his pendant idly. "Entirely. We didn't become one of the oldest demon families by leaving them unguarded- and by minions of our minds, no less. They are safe."

"That's as well," Nagon said. "I've a feeling about this one. We've taken casualties before, but Sangreal was always reputed to be the greatest. Let's tread carefully."

"We always do," father said again.

"Fine," Nagon grated, standing suddenly. "Split up, and look for Sangreal. It'll probably be young and unfocused, trying to break its new powers in. Watch out for any possible accomplicies as well."

The family stood, drawing their trademark silver rapiers and spinning them idly. "As you say," they chorused.

Nagon gripped his two-handed and stepped forwards, conjuring silver wings that extruded from his back. "Then we go!" He leapt into the heavens, gained height, and began the hunt.

[Cable]

[Is it too late to enter?]

[Sevorak]

Nope. Definitely not too late. ^_^

IC:

"Come on," Silver said, rolling the motorbike forward into the warehouse. He looked back to the red-haired girl, still standing there in the too-large coat as the rain began to pour down on them. Thick locks of her hair clung to her face and slender neck; her jade eyes seemed permanently affixed to the asphalt beneath her feet. She looked miserable.

"We need to keep moving," she insisted, her voice weak. Silver looked back at her, uncharacteristic empathy in his expression.
"If we keep going on like that, you'll die." He said flatly, turning back to the bike and wheeling it inside.

"If so, then that is my duty."
"What exactly is your duty? Do tell..." Then he muttered under his breath, "I could use a laugh,"

He crouched under the thin metal barrier hanging ominously, propped the bike against the wall and turned back to the girl, who was glaring at him. Heh. Guess she heard that.
"You wouldn't understand," she said simply, turning around. "If you won't take me where I have to go, then I'll go alone,"

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" He demanded, moving back under the barrier and glaring right back at her. "Is that what all you crazed duty-types are really looking for? 'Cause getting yourself killed isn't going to accomplish jack shit, save perhaps making you an unnecessary martyr for a bunch of equally sad zealots to cry over."
"Do you care about nothing but yourself?" She shot back, eyes blazing. "Or is the concept of laying down your life for something other than your next meal too complex for you to understand?"
"Dying for your next meal defeats the purpose of getting it..." Silver remarked dryly, merely incensing the girl further.

"You're pathetic," she spat, derision and scorn etched across her face.
"Yeah. I've heard that one before."
"Evidently everyone can see how useless you are."

Silver was about to say something; then simply bit his tongue and smirked bitterly. He felt something welling up behind his eyes - but not tears. It was... almost like fire, suffused within his anger. For a brief moment, he felt the ash-tinted scent of burning, intermingled with the rain.
"Yeah. I guess they can."

Then he turned away from her, and the feeling vanished.
"I'm leaving."
"Go ahead; leave. Die in a ditch for all I care."

[Cable]

In that case:

Name: Alexander Le Blanc
Gender: Male
Age: 23
Physical Description: This young man is tall and has a slender build. His albino skin contrasts heavily with his jet black hair, which rolls down past his shoulders. Alexander takes fancy to fine suits and is usually seen wearing a black suit and carrying an ivory cane. His facial features are sharp and his blue eyes are piercing.

Skills: Exceptional skill with all manner of bladed weapons, ranging from light rapiers to heavy bastard swords. Alexander is also exceptionally intelligent.
Strengths: Calm demanour - can stay calm in the most deadly and nerve-racking of situations.
Weaknesses: Alexander is arrogant, and will often enter situations that are out of his league, thinking he can win.

Equipment: Longsword crafted by master blacksmiths, it has perfect balance and was forged for Alexander himself. Several small daggers hidden in various places in his clothes, like in the sole's of his shoes, in his jacket arm for example.
Background: Alexander was the only child of Dame Julia and Lord Rafael Le Blanc, posh aristocrats from the upper-clas sector of the city. Raised by the sword, Alexander is a was taught by only the most talented professionals in the field of swordplay at his request - from an early age he had taken a fascination with bladed weapons.

In his early teens, Alex's mother was diagnosed with cancer and died shortly thereafter. Devastated, his father turned to drink and crept inside a bottle. Not long after, Rafael died too as the pain of losing his beloved wife was too much. Alexander inherited everything his parents owned. After the death of his parents passed away he secluded himself away from the public eye in his manor in the country, with only a few staff keeping him company.

Alexander is a witty young man, yet seldom speaks. When he does talk however, his words are well chosen and quite literally complex. When "they" attack his home, Alexander decides the only thing to do is go out and hunt them...

[crawford'n'co]

Sean stood up, testin his leg. It worked good enough. He looked up to find the girl gone, and the other man staring at him. He threw him a smile and walked away. Heading in the general direction of the station. It was going to be a long night. He checked his remaining ammo clips, which numbered two, and slung his gun over his shoulder. Twirling his knife from one hand to another, he stalked off through the alleys. He knew everyone in this area by heart, and didn't even pay attention to the road sides and passing people who stared at him.

***

After a couple hours of walking, he came to the station. Where is that damn girl? He took a seat on one of the benches and dozed off before he even realised it.

[Cable]

The rain pitted and patted heavily against the window's of Blanc Manor, ricocheting off the stone masonry. All was quiet in the house. The staff were either sleeping, or in one of the many rooms, watching television and socialising and the master of the house had retired to his chamber. Lightening flashed and every room behind a window was briefly lit up by the bright light. Except one. Instead, a shadow moved, as if avoiding the momentary gaze of light that shook the sky. The shadow crept along the floor, hovering just above the carpet, and disappeared under the boardroom door, where fitful laughter was emanating from.

***

Alexander Le Blanc was dreaming. It was unlike any dream he had had before. It was more of a nightmare in fact. He dreamt that his manor was under attack, by supernatural forces. Poltergeists were tearing chunks out of the house, and invisible claws were tearing up its residents. Alex heard a high pitched scream. But it wasn't in his dream, it was real. He rose instantly, pushing down his silk bedcover and sliding out of bed. Pulling on a dressing gown, the aristocrat strode over to the opposite wall, where his longsword hung on a wallmount. Sliding it out of its scabbard Alex took a moment to reflect on its beauty. Forged with Damascus steel, this sword was a weapon of great craftmanship. It was perfectly balanced and Alex knew how to use it.
Hearing the shrill scream again, Alexander flung open his bedroom door, and caught a glimpse of hell.

***

[Lestaki]

Amena landed heavily, taking a breath. This is tiring. How long before...

Watch out!

She leapt aside, hitting the ground and rolling to avoid the blade as it crashed down. She stood and raised White Hilt to guard, staring at the girl. "What are you?"

"Well met, Sangreal," the girl said. "I am the Serene Tempest, and I was sent to find you, in point of fact. Oh, darling will be so pleased. I'll call out to him. But you're such a young one, and so clumsy. Maybe I'll just kill you now and save time, then darling will be even more proud... or would he be mad, that I disobeyed his orders?"

"I'm going nowhere quietly, Fallen," Amena said. "Make your mind up."

"Hmm," Alena said quietly. "I think I'll try to kill you. Darling may be so authoritative, after all, but I have to live my own life. Isn't it so? Don't you even think about that? Or haven't the sword's orders got tedious yet?" She waited for a reply, and found none. "Oh, very well." She span her rapier then raised it to guard; pure white lightnings crackled over the blade. "I, Serene Tempest, bearer of the fourth piece of Excalibur in my wounded heart, do challenge you! Yield up your part, so we may reforge the great blade, or with genuine hesitancy and regret I will be forced to kill you!"

"Bring it on, noisy girl." Amena snapped her blade to guard and fired...

Faster than her eyes could follow, Alena span out of the way, flyign over her then slashing out with blade and casting a beam of lightning towards the assassin. Amena grunted and dodged aside, just falling clear of the spray, then span her blade to cut through another attack, before leaping high and twisting to avoid a third crackling arc. Before she'd completed her flip, the Serene Tempest cut in, blade flashing from position to position in a deadly, whirling dance. Somehow, she managed to parry each attack with White Hilt, then Alena grabbed her sword two handed and slashed down with blazing force. Amena grunted, blocking the attack- but not the force of it. She was thrown twenty meters, crashing down painfully onto solid ground. If it wasn't for her enhanced form, she'd have died in an instant.

Run away.

Amena obeyed. She sprinted down the street, but the Serene Tempest swooped after her, unleashing a volley of attacks. She parried and blocked them, dodging around to try and avoid premature destruction. "Damn... it..." Unfortunately, the last bolt hit her, sending her flying.

She crashed through the large windows of another manor, landing heavily amidst the shattered glass. "Ow..." But it looked like this place had its own problems.
***
Liene looked down at Sean with interest from her position on the station roof. "A potentia," she murmurred, dropping down in front of him and drawing her lightning rapier. "How pretty. I'll kill you and drain your power, it will make a nice present for darling. The Docile Tornado, at your service, and in at your death."

[ShatteredFaith]

Voz stepped out about twenty feet behind the rapier weilding woman. "Excuse me, thats my...ah...friend, you are about to kill." He holds his hands out at his side, aparently unarmed "Please refrain, I have no desire to hurt a pretty face" he smiled charmingly, the rain falling from the sky sliding off of his clothing without aparent effect.

"A strong one," she said, smiling slightly. "I'm Serene Tempest. To your death, strong one." She leapt forwards...

Voz heaves a sigh and slides the mundane pistol from his suit, firing off the entire clip at the woman before she closes, and ducking to the side to avoid her return lightning. He brings his hand up as she closes and flatpalms the rapier away, bringing his other elbow up and at her collar bone as he does so.

He blinks as she stops, inches from his elbow, and darts backwards, defying the laws of physics. "Goddamn telekenetics" he mutters under his breath. Voz straightens up and adjusts his gloves "I have no desire to fight you, at all. Merely leave the girl be and I will leave you be"

[crawford'n'co]

"What is it with you people? Can't a man get a little peace and quiet around here?" Sean dropped his rifle, and flicked open an I.E.D. "I think it's for you." He dialed the phone on itself and tossed it to the girl. In an instant it turned into a giant fireball. He jumped back in time, avoiding the cuncusion, but he still got burnt pretty bad when the wall of flame hit him. With enough of a distraction, he threw his knife through the fire at the girl, and shouldered his rifle, unloading a clip into the figure. There was a distinct 'twang' amongst all the other sounds. The fireball dissipitated quickly, and Sean saw that his knife was stuck in the broadside of her sword. "Ahh, well, things really do tend to screw up big time." The girl charged him, after discarding the knife on the ground, but before she could reach him, a man stepped out of the shadows and blocked her charge. "Brother, here, take this." The man threw him a sword. Sean snatched it out of the air, and the two began an assault on the girl. Since his family had died, Sean knew that the man was a member of the Occultus Mucro, the Hidden Sword. It was a band of assasins who either gave up official work or were hunted by the authorities. "I leave in peace. Luck with you." In a break in the fight the man melded back into the shadows and was quickly away. "Your friend is gone. You have no hope of defeating me now," the girl sneered.

[Cable]

Flinging open his door, Alexander lost his grip on the doorknob as a fierce wind slammed it against the wall. A black, swirling.. wind was blasting through the main hall of the manor, breaking windows and sending loose items like vases and statues spinning into the abyss. From this black hurricane, smaller shadows, laughing shadows leapt to and from the furniture, cackling away. Hearing the shrill scream again Alexander glanced up and saw Patricia, one of his maids. She was clinging to a bannister at the top of the stairs leading down to the lobby. The shadows had surrounded her and were tormenting her, pulling her hair and slicing her white skin her with invisible blades. Alex felt a sudden anger at these.. things. Tightening his grip on his longsword he strode down the corridor and shouted a challenge to the daemons.
One of them turned and hissed something in a cursed dialect before throwing itself at the tall albino. Lunging forward himself, Alex brought his sword up in a vertical motion, slicing the shadow in two from crotch to head. The "pieces" fell to the floor and dissipated into the air. The other daemons turned from the maid, and glared at this new intruder.
In unison they leapt, their spiked shadows aiming for the human. In one swift motion they all fell to the lush carpet, slashed in two. Alex's sword had embedded itself in the wall. He had struck harder than he thought, a mistake on his behalf. Pulling it out of the plastered wall, Alex turned to face Patricia.

She was gone.

* * *

[Raver]

Clarke awoke. His crotch ached. He head was sore. He tasted blood in his mouth.

Raising himself to his feet, Clarke looked around himself, he was in the subway, which obviously had run beneath his building, looking up he saw the sky was blue again, people were looking down the hole and copes and firemen was tapeing off the area.

"Hey! Hey! Up there! Can anyone hear me?" He yelled, at the top of his lungs.

A cop poked his head over the edge and saw him. "Dont worry Son, we'l have you out of there in no time."

Clarke looked around him, he swore he saw on of the shadows move, change or shrink, and the slight glint of burning red eyes, but he didnt care, all he need was to get out of there, find his rifle and find out what the hell was happening to him.

[The Shadow]

Joe walked in a street. He wasn't sure where he was, definatley he had been there before, but he didn't remember. The place felt... different, he tought. He saw some people gathered around a almost collapsed building. He proceeded to the roof. There was a big hole. The police told him that the roof had collapsed for unkown reason and that there was some guy in the hole. Joe asked if he could take a look, the police said gave him the permission.
Joe walked to the edge of the hole. "Anybody down there?" He shouted. "Need any help?"

ooc: Rabid.gerbil, I'm shouting to your char.