43 replies to this topic

[Rytiko]

NOTE: Upon review of my abysmal geography, I realized that I had to change some details of the journey. Please review these changes in the overview of the RP objectives below the intro and above the character sheets. Also, some changes will be noted in Cheryll's letter, but it is better explained in the overview.

Shattered Renaissance: The Serpent’s Eden


Several centuries ago, the world as we know it came to its apocalyptic climax. A grand symphony of war, conducted with weapons as deadly to the planet as they were to humans, consumed all of mankind. Entire continents were ravaged, histories completely lost, and civilizations annihilated. All it took to unsettle the world and plunge it into an all-consuming war was a little push from the cosmos – a meteor.

It came suddenly. No news network or scientific research saw it before it was far too late. It was over a mile in diameter, consumed in silvery flames. There were a few fragments that showered all of the Americas, but the bulk of it all slammed down somewhere in what was then known as Texas. These days, it’s simply called the Silver Forest.

Silver seems to be the uniting theme here, doesn’t it? That’s not without reason. The silver flames were paranormal, almost as much so as the meteor’s affect on the planet. People were changed. So were plants and animals. A common feature among plants and animals, one not found so often in humans, is a color alteration – the leaves of some plants were turned luminescent silver, as was the fur or feathers of some animals. But it changed so much more than just color…

Those nearest the impact site were affected the most. They developed extraordinary abilities, ranging from strength to mental ability… and myself. I was so close that I should have been incinerated, but the effects of the meteor operated so quickly that its alteration to my own DNA happened in an instant.

The reason I am alive today is my gift, and my curse – regeneration. I cannot be permanently damaged, nor can I age. I have seen the world destroy itself, and I have twice watched it be destroyed. The meteor has a cult. It invokes temptation. It is greed and power that destroyed the world the first time, but the meteor does not seem to like the idea of humanity rebuilding itself. Most documents and knowledge have been eradicated due to the fact that the two times that humans have managed to resettle and develop a wide-span civilization in North America, the meteor’s following – those controlled by it – have ravaged civilization with their vastly superior power. Especially that of the Plant Man.

The Plant Man is a human being, but you couldn’t tell anymore. He glows silver, and rarely appears outside his plant pod that protects him, that he uses to fight. He controls the growth of plants, and can make them grow from nothing. He was with me at the impact, but his power far exceeds mine. The meteor chose him as its host. He is the manifestation of its will, the wielder of its immense power. He will not allow us to thrive, and nobody seems capable of killing him, even those of us with powers.

So what will happen next time we get close…? We need something else. We need to be able to fight him. I’ve heard rumor of a girl on the other side of the Atlantic that has a similar power to him, but hers seems superior. She can create life from lifelessness, and has crafted a “Garden of Eden” in what I knew as Siberia. Would she help us in America? Or does she think like the Plant Man? It seems, unfortunately, that it might be the latter. The source of the rumor is a philosopher from her Garden that was forced to abandon it because of his scientific ideas and craving for rebirth of the world.  He was banished, and managed to make the journey to New River, built atop what I knew as New York, by traveling across the Arctic Circle. The Atlantic is far too dangerous to traverse – the Leviathans lurk in its waters. They are massive, and they are vicious. Nobody has seen them and lived, save for myself. Trust me though – you don’t want to meet one.

That out of the way, the reason I’m writing this is because I want to put together an expedition, conducted by myself and the bravest adventurers New River has to offer. Please, help me – we could save the world. We could be safe again.

Sincerely,


Cheryll Adams

Oren put down the letter and took another puff from his pipe of opium. His head hurt, more than usual today. The headaches were getting worse. The drugs were getting weaker. Even with the alcohol, it barely took the edge off. Even through the pain though, his thoughts were gathered enough to know what he had to do. This was his chance to make the world a suitable place once more – he couldn’t possibly pass it up. Besides, maybe the stimulation would help his head. The pain was almost unbearable now…

Oren sucked deeply from the pipe one last time before passing out on his floor. This was routine for him now – wake up, get high enough to numb the pain, and eventually pass out. He was a pathetic, broken man. The only reason he kept living was because he knew he was destined for something great. Maybe this would give him the satisfaction he needed…


~~~~~~~~~~


There were others who received the same letter from Cheryll Adams. One week later, they had all gathered and set sail from New River to a large island to the Northeast (Greenland). They would be able to stick very close to the shores, close enough to limit the danger from creatures in the sea that may serve the Meteor. Once in the arctic circle, the waters would be far too cold for the Leviathans. They need only cross the landmass and, according to Cheryll's informant, an ice bridge extends from northern Greenland to the Siberian region. From there, they need only find this "Garden of Eden."

But many dangers lay ahead for the adventurers, both on land and on sea. Let us only hope that they are strong enough, and brave enough, for the long journey ahead.



P.S. - For your humor, I will give you a single hint about the world the RP is set in - the area that they are headed to, this Garden of Eden, is located in none other than Modern-day Tunguska. Oooooh... Foreshadowing? Yay for historical fiction!

~~~~~~~~~~


Submit character sheets to me – I am not imposing a limit upon the number of RPers that may join. Anybody who wants to may, though I will be starting the RP within the next couple of days. You may join afterwards, though it may be difficult to work yourself into the story. Just send me a PM and we’ll figure something out.

On your character sheet, please supply the following information:

Name:

Age:

Gender:

Physical Description:

Note: Clothing is often modified from things that exist today in the real world to include basic armor and protection, though some more tribal cultures have developed their own completely separate style of clothing.

Combat Info (power, weapon, etc.):

Note:

Powers - Does your character have a power? If so, keep in mind that most abilities come with some type of handicap. My character, for example, has
enhanced cognitive ability, enabling very fast thought and reflexes. It is a nervous system ability that has other side effects, beneficial (neurons fire faster, enabling him to move more quickly than normal humans) and malicious. He gets very bad headaches, and sometimes will experience dangerous seizures. This has caused him to become a drug addict, and thus his thoughts, though fast, are often hazy and impaired.

Weapons – Nothing too advanced. Think civil-war type weaponry. I will make some exceptions, but you need to have them approved. Mention to me what you would like and I will see if it fits into the world.

Short Biography:

Note: This is NOT a requirement. If you wish to do so, you may leave this blank in order to explain your character throughout the story. That is perhaps a better option for a writer who wants to maintain some mystery to his/her character.

[Rytiko]

Current Players:

1.

Username: Rytiko

Name: Oren

Age: 28

Gender: Male

Physical Appearance: Oren's face is one that would look younger if he took better care of himself. He has a rugged goatee covering his pale white skin, connected by sideburns to his wavy chin-length amber hair. It was not stylized in any way, but rather hung as an unruly frame for an otherwise thin face. His brown eyes were often glazed over from his drug use, but still his face managed to appear serious most times. Perhaps it was the long, somewhat sharp nose or the prominent cheekbones that gave him a harsher-looking expression.

His attire may also have contributed to his serious look. He wore collared button-up shirts and blue jeans with steel-toed brown boots. Whenever he would go out and hunt, his brown leather belt with a pistol holster and slot for his katar's scabbard would be around his waste, and a brown leather vest with steel-armored shoulder plates went on over his shirt. The vest had another set of strapping on the back for his hunting rifle, completing the deadly arsenal of arms.

Combat Info: Oren was capable of enhanced neural function. It started out as enhanced cognitive ability, but since had grown into something more dangerous. He thinks fast, and processes events with an inhuman speed. His reflexes are unreal, making him very deadly in close-range combat. Lately, he had even been able to run faster and strike like a lightning bolt. Unfortunately, he was rarely at his full potential - the headaches caused by his brain and nervous system being overstressed had led him into a long cycle of drug and alcohol abuse, and he sometimes experienced seizures. Thus, he always carried a kit with epinephrine, a drug from the old world used to counter seizures. His companions are instructed of what to do if Oren seizes.

He was also an incredible shot. His enhanced cognitive speed gives him more ability to process his surroundings and line up quick shots, and he was always one step ahead of the game if he isn't too high. Sometimes though, combat is brought closer. For these situations, he carried a katar. Another weapon from the old world, the katar was a blade fastened to a wooden handle capable of being held in the hand. The blade rested in front of the knuckles, an extension of the fist. As a side arm, he had a small pistol.

Short Biography: Will come out throughout the RP.

2.

Username: Coma

Name: Thirteen.

Age: Unknown

Gender: Male

Physical Description: Huge, over 350lbs of pure muscle. A horrible branding scar mars the right side of his face, and the left is packed with dense tattoos. Thirteen once clothed himself only in the skins of his hunting kills, but his new role as a bandit precludes this. Thirteen wears the ragged clothing he finds after attacks. His most prized piece is an ancient protective tunic (Flak jacket, fyi.) that Thirteen has decorated with ears and silver. As a symbol of his status, Thirteen wears a cloak made of the largest bear he ever took.

Combat Info (power, weapon, etc.): Although affected by the Silver Comet as anyone else was, Thirteen is either unaware of his power or unwilling to use it. Instead he relies on his amazing strength and never-dying stamina. Around Thirteen's body is a dizzying array of clubs, swords, daggers, and other instruments of cutting, ripping, and crushing. Collected from victims or crafted by hand, Thirteen is an expert in the use of them all. The giant axe "Nergal" is Thirteen's favorite weapon, seldom far from his hands. Although he mistrusts it, Thirteen carries an ancient Webley revolver under his clothing.

These weapons, including brute strength, are tempered by Thirteen's mental state. Entirely self-educated, Thirteen cares only for the here-and-now, having no concept of a future. While he is not slow, Thirteen appears very dim to the average person. Planning ahead or seeing the extent of his actions are entirely unknown to this barbarian. Furthermore, he is easily driven to murderous anger by even the most simple of tasks (that don't involve destruction).

Short Biography: A massive hulking monster, Thirteen is the Alpha Male of his traveling band of bandits. Thirteen is a child of the Meteor; his parents were members of the cult centered around the Silver Forest. Deemed at birth as being a feeble genetic reject, Thirteen was branded with his characteristic Roman numeral 'XIII' under his right eye, indicating his worthless status and inferiority. Unlike other 'feeble' children, Thirteen took pride in his brand and flaunts it even now.

At the age of 11, Thirteen was expelled from the cult's village after killing another boy. Abandoned in the desert, left to die, Thirteen once again denied his own fate. Using primitive weapons crafted of stone and wood the boy fed himself with animals poisoned by the curse of the Silver Forest. Their meat nourished him, and the alien nutrients within transformed the boy. Years of eating only Silver Forest meat and hard living crafted the boy into a fierce some warrior, unstoppable and calculating.

3.

Username: Ravenglass

Name: Heroi Nusakan (a.k.a. “The Good Doctor”)

Age: 42

Gender: Male

Physical Description: Tall, lanky, long black hair chased with silver tied in a ponytail wears a frayed lab-coat, a pair of wire mounted spectacles, a black button down shirt with a scalpel in the breast pocket, wears a pair of frayed black jeans and no shoes, (the relevance of no shoes comes in later).

Combat Info: reffered to as “shifting” Nusakan possesses the power to alter the physical structure of matter at will. This allows him to turn stone into liquid, or concentrate lemon juice into battery acid. He molds steel like it’s made out of putty. Organic compounds present small problems because of complexity but given time he can alter even a person’s molecular structure.

Short Bio: Heroi Nusakan wasn’t always this way, he used to be a great surgeon, a man who saved lives and helped people. He came from a long medical tradition, he was trained in the workings of the human body and how to mend hurts and broken bones and cure diseases. But that was before, before the Silver.

So much bad happened, and he couldn’t fix it, he couldn’t help them all, he couldn’t save them, no matter how much he wanted to. He wanted to find new medicine, a new way to treat patients, and so he needed a new substance, something that had never been thought of as a curative, The Silver. He left his home city and traveled to the silver forest. There avoided the meteor worshippers and managed to capture many specimens which had been altered from exposure to the Silver. He caught specimens large and small, he found an old bombed out shelter near the forest and began his experiments.

The years he spent weighed heavily upon him, he began to hear things, he didn’t sleep, he barely ate, he became a waif-like skeleton of a man. He used all his time to develop a method to extract pure Silver from the twisted creatures.
The meteor worshippers eventually found him and chased him off, but not before he had managed to develop a method for extract amounts of pure Silver from these twisted animals, and he escaped with large amounts of the precious substance.

The initial testing on using Silver as a curative was initially very successful, the Silver caused disease to recede, unfortunately it also caused mutations which were unpredictable in animals the first human tests of the effect of pure Silver were done by Nusakan on himself, he acquired the use of a medical facility after returning to New River. Using a syringe Nusakan injected himself with the pure silver…

That’s where it all went wrong; the injection of the strange substance shattered his mind, which was already unbalanced from years spent in isolation near the silver forest and his inability to help those around him. The Silver also conferred upon him the strange power by which he could “see” how something was constructed, right down to the molecular level, and he found that with just a little twisting he could alter the way a substance looked, felt or behaved. This opened up grand new possibilities in the shattered mind of the doctor.

He initially continued his research and perhaps even now he still believes he does but in reality he has long since abandoned the use of Silver for curative purposes. He began to experiment on the changes it could affect on the human body.

He kidnapped people off the streets, and cut them apart to experiment on dead tissue or see the way in which his new found powers could alter a humans appearance or physical structure. The killings, kidnappings, dismemberments, and corpses, infected with silver, began to pile up and Gradually rumors began to spread, rumors which talked about a mad doctor who took people off the streets and experimented on them, this figure came to be known as the “good doctor:” a name which is now spoken with equal parts fear and revulsion, a name which is used to frighten small children into line. Nusakan continues his work to this day, sealed away in his lab, no one knows where it is located, and no one is willing to go looking.

4.

Username: Kinewa

Name: Angus Mackenzie

Age: 64 (50 in his mind)

Gender: Male

Physical Description: Although he is only fifty years old, Angus looks much older. His stark white hair is still thick, and he wears it long and scraggly. His beard is shorter than his hair, but not by much. It, too is turning white, but specks of bright coppery red still shine through. His face is etched with scars and wrinkles, many of which are indecipherable from one another.

Angus is generally seen in a brown leather jacket and a tattered pair of jeans. His ancient tattered shirt has a picture of Mel Gibson on the front, depicted as the character William Wallace. In the cool winter months, he wears leather chaps on his legs to stay warm.

Combat Info (power, weapon, etc.):

Powers: Angus has been granted the ability of focusing all of his energy to one specific task. For example, through extended focus, he can lift something the weighs twice as much as his usual limitations. Unfortunately, whenever he uses this ability he ages approximately six months to a year because of the strain it exhibits on his body.


Weapons – Angus does not feel the need for a permanent weapon, but he is more than willing to make use of nearby objects when engaged in combat.

Short Biography:
Let's keep it a mystery

5.

Username: Virgil

Name: Acerbus

Age: 19

Gender: Male

Physical Description: In form and proportion nothing more than an adolescent. Thin, drawn taunt like wire, he is but a shadow of what one would consider a warrior, however this image and the presumption it carries is perhaps his greatest deception and weapon. His eyes are heavily marked from a life of little repast, some have even said the iris’s themselves ignite telling of a danger within. His hair is mostly left to hang where it may, often down over his telling eyes, he does not appreciate that the obvious lack of sleep could be perceived as a personal flaw. His skin itself is lacking in pigment, seeming to enhance his aversion to the light. His clothing is simple and varies from time to time as he carries a quick satchel to change garments, he abhors a dirty environment, especially a personal one. Often unlayered shirts and denim are the choice pieces. For shoes he has tabi of sorts from the remnants of sneakers and tied fiber. He prefers solid dark colors and is often sporting a hat of some kind if the day strikes as unusually warm. The only real consistency in his appearance is fingerless wrist length gloves and a black bandana usually tied around his upper arm. If he is to be seen at all that is. If he is in the mood for something more sinister it is usually tied around his lower face. Those in proximity to him have only managed to gather the consistent objects are part of an unspoken time in Acerbus’s life. The donning of such attire is more habit than choice.


Combat Info (power, weapon, etc.):
Acerbus’s power is technically defined as a specific sort of electromagnetic, light wave manipulation. His body has been made extremely sensitive to light, and his powers cannot be accessed during the day, or in exposure to bright light. If he were to try and manipulate the particles around him in such a circumstance, it would harm him physically and the endeavor itself would be nearly ineffectual. This limits Acerbus to relying on darkness and shadow. With fewer particles of radiation, he can manipulate the shadows around him and wield them to nearly limitless potential. For offense purposes the shadows can be forged into a blade capable of tearing flesh, for defense, the can use the radiation to capture energy based projectiles, and with focus he can solidify the form even blocking out any sort of missile. He is even capable of moving between dark area’s by imbuing his own body with the scarce radiation and then willing it to move to another locale. As he grows be becomes more and more resourceful with this ability, for Acerbus, despite him knowing and understanding the physical attribution of his power, it has taken on a near spiritual context, he relates the darkness as his own hate and power, and wields it in accordance to emotion. Hating to be out of control, he will use any means necessary to stay away from needing his power, which means he often struggles with his own internal humanity.
For Physical weaponry, Acerbus seems relatively unarmed. On his person he may carry a set of knives which are as well set for throwing as thrusting. His foes may have seen him draw a full length blade which he can meld with his own ability, but none have lived to account for this. Physical mutation aside, Acerbus is incredibly nimble and lithe. Nearly any surface is scalable and his aptitude for stealth has only been strengthened by his years in the dark.

Short Biography:
Reveal bits and bits with the story. For now let’s just say he’s got some pretty troubled roots.

6.

Username: Queztatlapoca (or Quez)

Name: Hecktor

Age: 24

Sex: Male

Physical Description: A brawler by trade, he's covered in taught ropey muscles, and nearly as many scars. A short repeatedly broken nose dawns his face, and just above that sits two nearly black beady eyes. His 5'7" height puts him a bit shorter then most of his competitors but he nevertheless comes out the victor. His brown pants, sun dulled and torn, haven't been changed in at least 2 years. Those however are in perfect condition when compared to his vest he wears before and after fights. A keepsake from his childhood, he refuses to wear anything on top of or under it. He wears a pair of combats on his feet, he says, for style.

Combat Info: As tough and as grisly as he is, Hecktor's ability heightens that. With the ability to turn parts of himself or all of himself into solid steel in the blink of an eye it's no wonder he hasn't lost a fight. Combining he's unarmed speed style with his body of steel he is a threat to any who get in his way. The downsides to this are quite visible. The injuries he does sustain last for days longer then they should. His metabolism is nearly one quarter that of the average person. Flus, colds, diseases linger and eat away at him. His acute asthma doesn't help either.

Background: Work in progress

7.

Username: Megell

Names: Simon Grounds and Penelope

Ages: 23 and 18 respectively.

Genders: Simon; Male. Penelope; Female.

Physical description: A businessman and a model of some sorts, or so it would appear at first glance if you met them in any town or city. Simon wears high-end suits that are made from some of the fine remaining fabrics that are left in the world. His hair is a simple auburn brown, and his eyes a pale green, light in his features, and always carrying a brief case. Ultimately he would be rather unremarkable in any town. His compatriot Penelope on the other hand tends to draw much attention. Here figure, where many male eyes are drawn is slim with the “right proportions”, is covered by a tight, blue low cut dress. She Wears high healed boots, made out of white varnished leather. However, she does have some other rather unique features, her hair, which is silver, and her eyes which are bluer then what one would ever dream of finding on a human. Also, her body language, most notably is more shy then one would ever suspect to find on someone with such features.

Combat Info: ??????

Biography: ??????

Additional notes: Not currently with the party, while you guys are on the ship.

GM’s Note: Details will be made available upon appearance of certain traits related to this character. The nature of Megell’s role in this RP prohibits all information from being made available at this time.

[Coma]

Name: Thirteen.

Age: Unknown

Gender: Male

Physical Description: Huge, over 350lbs of pure muscle. A horrible branding scar mars the right side of his face, and the left is packed with dense tattoos. Thirteen once clothed himself only in the skins of his hunting kills, but his new role as a bandit precludes this. Thirteen wears the ragged clothing he finds after attacks. His most prized piece is an ancient protective tunic (Flak jacket, fyi.) that Thirteen has decorated with ears and silver. As a symbol of his status, Thirteen wears a cloak made of the largest bear he ever took.

Combat Info (power, weapon, etc.): Although affected by the Silver Comet as anyone else was, Thirteen is either unaware of his power or unwilling to use it. Instead he relies on his amazing strength and never-dying stamina. Around Thirteen's body is a dizzying array of clubs, swords, daggers, and other instruments of cutting, ripping, and crushing. Collected from victims or crafted by hand, Thirteen is an expert in the use of them all. The giant axe "Nergal" is Thirteen's favorite weapon, seldom far from his hands. Although he mistrusts it, Thirteen carries an ancient Webley revolver under his clothing.

These weapons, including brute strength, are tempered by Thirteen's mental state. Entirely self-educated, Thirteen cares only for the here-and-now, having no concept of a future. While he is not slow, Thirteen appears very dim to the average person. Planning ahead or seeing the extent of his actions are entirely unknown to this barbarian. Furthermore, he is easily driven to murderous anger by even the most simple of tasks (that don't involve destruction).

Short Biography: A massive hulking monster, Thirteen is the Alpha Male of his traveling band of bandits. Thirteen is a child of the Meteor; his parents were members of the cult centered around the Silver Forest. Deemed at birth as being a feeble genetic reject, Thirteen was branded with his characteristic Roman numeral 'XIII' under his right eye, indicating his worthless status and inferiority. Unlike other 'feeble' children, Thirteen took pride in his brand and flaunts it even now.

At the age of 11, Thirteen was expelled from the cult's village after killing another boy. Abandoned in the desert, left to die, Thirteen once again denied his own fate. Using primitive weapons crafted of stone and wood the boy fed himself with animals poisoned by the curse of the Silver Forest. Their meat nourished him, and the alien nutrients within transformed the boy. Years of eating only Silver Forest meat and hard living crafted the boy into a fierce some warrior, unstoppable and calculating.

[Ravenglass]

Name: Heroi Nusakan (a.k.a. “The Good Doctor”)

Age: 42

Gender: Male

Physical Description: Tall, lanky, long black hair chased with silver tied in a ponytail wears a frayed lab-coat, a pair of wire mounted spectacles, a black button down shirt with a scalpel in the breast pocket, wears a pair of frayed black jeans and no shoes, (the relevance of no shoes comes in later).

Combat Info: reffered to as “shifting” Nusakan possesses the power to alter the physical structure of matter at will. This allows him to turn stone into liquid, or concentrate lemon juice into battery acid. He molds steel like it’s made out of putty. Organic compounds present small problems because of complexity but given time he can alter even a person’s molecular structure.

Heroi Nusakan wasn’t always this way, he used to be a great surgeon, a man who saved lives and helped people. He came from a long medical tradition, he was trained in the workings of the human body and how to mend hurts and broken bones and cure diseases. But that was before, before the Silver.

So much bad happened, and he couldn’t fix it, he couldn’t help them all, he couldn’t save them, no matter how much he wanted to. He wanted to find new medicine, a new way to treat patients, and so he needed a new substance, something that had never been thought of as a curative, The Silver. He left his home city and traveled to the silver forest. There avoided the meteor worshippers and managed to capture many specimens which had been altered from exposure to the Silver. He caught specimens large and small, he found an old bombed out shelter near the forest and began his experiments.

The years he spent weighed heavily upon him, he began to hear things, he didn’t sleep, he barely ate, he became a waif-like skeleton of a man. He used all his time to develop a method to extract pure Silver from the twisted creatures.
The meteor worshippers eventually found him and chased him off, but not before he had managed to develop a method for extract amounts of pure Silver from these twisted animals, and he escaped with large amounts of the precious substance.

The initial testing on using Silver as a curative was initially very successful, the Silver caused disease to recede, unfortunately it also caused mutations which were unpredictable in animals the first human tests of the effect of pure Silver were done by Nusakan on himself, he acquired the use of a medical facility after returning to New River. Using a syringe Nusakan injected himself with the pure silver…

That’s where it all went wrong; the injection of the strange substance shattered his mind, which was already unbalanced from years spent in isolation near the silver forest and his inability to help those around him. The Silver also conferred upon him the strange power by which he could “see” how something was constructed, right down to the molecular level, and he found that with just a little twisting he could alter the way a substance looked, felt or behaved. This opened up grand new possibilities in the shattered mind of the doctor.

He initially continued his research and perhaps even now he still believes he does but in reality he has long since abandoned the use of Silver for curative purposes. He began to experiment on the changes it could affect on the human body.

He kidnapped people off the streets, and cut them apart to experiment on dead tissue or see the way in which his new found powers could alter a humans appearance or physical structure. The killings, kidnappings, dismemberments, and corpses, infected with silver, began to pile up and Gradually rumors began to spread, rumors which talked about a mad doctor who took people off the streets and experimented on them, this figure came to be known as the “good doctor:” a name which is now spoken with equal parts fear and revulsion, a name which is used to frighten small children into line. Nusakan continues his work to this day, sealed away in his lab, no one knows where it is located, and no one is willing to go looking.

[virgil]

*Sorry it took me so long Rytiko but I allready ran my character past you anyway. Forgive all grammar or confusing errors now please, I always make some*

Username: Virgil

Name: Acerbus

Age: 19

Gender: Male

Physical Description: In form and proportion nothing more than an adolescent. Thin, drawn taunt like wire, he is but a shadow of what one would consider a warrior, however this image and the presumption it carries is perhaps his greatest deception and weapon. His eyes are heavily marked from a life of little repast, some have even said the iris’s themselves ignite telling of a danger within. His hair is mostly left to hang where it may, often down over his telling eyes, he does not appreciate that the obvious lack of sleep could be perceived as a personal flaw. His skin itself is lacking in pigment, seeming to enhance his aversion to the light. His clothing is simple and varies from time to time as he carries a quick satchel to change garments, he abhors a dirty environment, especially a personal one. Often unlayered shirts and denim are the choice pieces. For shoes he has tabi of sorts from the remnants of sneakers and tied fiber. He prefers solid dark colors and is often sporting a hat of some kind if the day strikes as unusually warm. The only real consistency in his appearance is fingerless wrist length gloves and a black bandana usually tied around his upper arm. If he is to be seen at all that is. If he is in the mood for something more sinister it is usually tied around his lower face. Those in proximity to him have only managed to gather the consistent objects are part of an unspoken time in Acerbus’s life. The donning of such attire is more habit than choice.


Combat Info (power, weapon, etc.):
Acerbus’s power is technically defined as a specific sort of electromagnetic, light wave manipulation. His body has been made extremely sensitive to light, and his powers cannot be accessed during the day, or in exposure to bright light. If he were to try and manipulate the particles around him in such a circumstance, it would harm him physically and the endeavor itself would be nearly ineffectual. This limits Acerbus to relying on darkness and shadow. With fewer particles of radiation, he can manipulate the shadows around him and wield them to nearly limitless potential. For offense purposes the shadows can be forged into a blade capable of tearing flesh, for defense, the can use the radiation to capture energy based projectiles, and with focus he can solidify the form even blocking out any sort of missile. He is even capable of moving between dark area’s by imbuing his own body with the scarce radiation and then willing it to move to another locale. As he grows be becomes more and more resourceful with this ability, for Acerbus, despite him knowing and understanding the physical attribution of his power, it has taken on a near spiritual context, he relates the darkness as his own hate and power, and wields it in accordance to emotion. Hating to be out of control, he will use any means necessary to stay away from needing his power, which means he often struggles with his own internal humanity.
For Physical weaponry, Acerbus seems relatively unarmed. On his person he may carry a set of knives which are as well set for throwing as thrusting. His foes may have seen him draw a full length blade which he can meld with his own ability, but none have lived to account for this. Physical mutation aside, Acerbus is incredibly nimble and lithe. Nearly any surface is scalable and his aptitude for stealth has only been strengthened by his years in the dark.

Short Biography:
Reveal bits and bits with the story. For now let’s just say he’s got some pretty troubled roots.

[Queztatlapoca]

Username: Queztatlapoca (or Quez)

Name: Hecktor

Age: 24

Sex: Male

Physical Description: A brawler by trade, he's covered in taught ropey muscles, and nearly as many scars. A short repeatedly broken nose dawns his face, and just above that sits two nearly black beady eyes. His 5'7" height puts him a bit shorter then most of his competitors but he nevertheless comes out the victor. His brown pants, sun dulled and torn, haven't been changed in at least 2 years. Those however are in perfect condition when compared to his vest he wears before and after fights. A keepsake from his childhood, he refuses to wear anything on top of or under it. He wears a pair of combats on his feet, he says, for style.

Combat Info: As tough and as grisly as he is, Hecktor's ability heightens that. With the ability to turn parts of himself or all of himself into solid steel in the blink of an eye it's no wonder he hasn't lost a fight. Combining he's unarmed speed style with his body of steel he is a threat to any who get in his way. The downsides to this are quite visible. The injuries he does sustain last for days longer then they should. His metabolism is nearly one quarter that of the average person. Flus, colds, diseases linger and eat away at him. His acute asthma doesn't help either.

Background: Work in progress

[Rytiko]

OOC: Alright! Badass. Everyone that I was waiting for is here, save for Megell, but he’ll come when he comes I guess. I’m probably not going to take more than one or two more people, just so that the situation doesn’t get out of hand in group combat scenarios. Having to wait for 10 people to post before you can do anything is a pain.

That aside, I’m going to lay down a ground rule – if you are inactive for four days, I will assume control of your character temporarily. If you return within a week from the day I take control, you may continue playing and I will relinquish control of your character. If not, I will write your character off somehow, most likely by killing them. Any questions, comments, or concerns should be sent to me via PM.

So, let’s get this show on the road!

Oh, and by the way - any new character sheets, PLEASE SEND THROUGH PM.

It hadn’t been very long since the small group of travelers set sail from New River, but the frigid cold hadn’t taken more than a few hours to set in. Oren felt fine, relying on the whiskey he’d brought to give him warmth and company. He wouldn’t approach the others -some of them were creepy looking, and others just looked like they’d be a buzz-kill. Whatever. At least when he was intoxicated, the time passed a little faster.

’Still,’ Oren thought, ’I need to be at my best for this trip.’ But then, what was his best? If his mind was clear, his head hurt too bad to function. If it wasn’t, his powers felt like they did years ago, when they were young and unwieldy. Would that be enough…? He pondered this while tossing one of his bullets in the air to see if he could catch it between his thumb and index finger. He was testing his thought speed and reflexes. He caught it perfectly, as always.

As he thought about this longer and longer, his mind guided him away from any relinquishing of his habits. Whether that was his addiction or his rationality speaking was something that even Oren didn’t really know. He just liked the option that let him escape the pain, one deep swig of whiskey at a time.


“Oren, was it?” asked a woman’s voice. Cheryll Adams, the captain of their expedition.

“What do you want? Can’t you see I’m busy?” Not checking to see if his sarcasm had phased her, he took another drink and tossed the bullet into the air again, higher this time.

“Well, when you can make time, we need you to take a shift watching for icebergs or sandbars in the crow’s nest. I think you’ll have an opening in your schedule in about an hour,” she said in an orderly tone. Then, just as soon as she had come, she walked away.

“Bitch,” mocked Oren quietly. Still, at least he’d have a nice view from atop the wooden vessel. The coastline to the east was majestic in its own right, and the sun should be setting in about an hour. The arctic seas were never more enticing than when the sun reflected brilliantly off their waters. And for now at least, he was happy with that – just the boat, the coast, and the sea. It was a break from all the damn trees. He’d been looking at damn trees since he was born, and they’ve only gotten less and less impressive over the years.

The night would be soothing; almost as soothing as the whiskey he had just poured down his throat. He snatched at the bullet again, but his attempt was soon followed by the thud of it hitting the ground. Damn.

[Ravenglass]

He sat alone on the foredeck flicking his scalpel up in the air and letting it hit the deck of the ship, then retrieving it from where it was stuck in the deck.

Nusakan remembered the letter he had pulled from the corpse of that nice young man he had turned gel. The one that had described this little expedition to him, at first he thought it sounded like fun, seeing new places and finding new research material, but now he was bored there was nothing to really do on this ship except wait. He thought of turning the ship deck into liquid and watching everyone slip down through. “But that would take to much time, and besides” he thought to himself “I’ve already done that before.”

He looked around at the people on the deck and decided he wanted to go and talk to someone, at random he chose the young lady who looked to be in charge, he levered himself up off the floor where he had been sitting, he retrieved his scalpel from where it had stuck in the wood of the deck and slipped it back into the breast pocket of his breast pocket of his black button down shirt. He casually strolled his way over to the young lady, the wind caught his frayed lab coat and flung it up around him, he let the garment flutter and didn’t try to control it.

He stepped up to the young lady and bared his teeth in what he hoped would be taken for a smile. “ So tell me, mon capitan, do you really thing this little girl in the frozen wastes will be able to help us against the Plant Man?”

[Rytiko]

The man’s wild-looking eyes and less-than-charming smile would likely have frightened a normal woman. Cheryll, however, had seen far worse in her long life. The odd thing about him was that he had not been a recipient of one of her letters. In fact, she’d never seen or heard of him before in her life. All of the others, even Oren and Ascerbus, she had at least heard of from prison camp records. Not him though.

But no, that wasn’t right – the last name was familiar. But from an odd source. Was she mistaken…?

’So either I should have him killed,’ Cheryll thought, ’Or make him useful to me.’ She weighed the options while he spoke and made her decision before he finished. With a smirk, she replied, “We can always hope, right?”

But while that might be the answer everybody was able to hear, she drew closer to the doctor. Wistfully, she cast her hair aside and moved in toward his ear, whispering, “I’d like to speak with you in private tonight.”

She stepped away and turned around, leaving a key to the captain’s cabin in his hand. Maybe this would turn out well for her after all…

[Coma]

Sitting on the hard-wood decks of a sailing ship was possibly the last place that Thirteen wanted to be. This strange sensation, like floating whilst standing on a hill. The very last place for a bandit. Thirteen wouldn't have been here, save for the scrap of paper one of his raiders had passed him. The opportunity to travel far-afield was too enticing. Thirteen was a greedy man, greedy for pride, adventure, and loot. So he'd traveled to the city and boarded this wooden contraption on the water. He'd accepted the ride and the quest with the pure intention of taking all he could from the strange peoples they would doubtlessly encounter. A purse full of gold and a rack of skulls were Thirteen's only real goals.

More so, his fellow passengers were tiny little people. Insignificant and poorly armed by a barbarian's standards, the burley warrior estimated that this ship would take his men all of three moments to own. Thirteen had even been tempted to take ownership of this 'boat' on his own. It's timbers would make him a magnificent home back on land. Safe, immobile land. Bile rose in Thirteen's throat as the ship hit another swell. Fighting it back he continued running a coarse stone along the length of a massive machete. Concentrating on the task at hand distracted him from the need to kill those around him.

Shrugging the bear pelt tighter around his shoulders, Thirteen shivered against the unfamiliar chill. Cursing the wind that whipped across the open waters he sheathed his blade and retreated below-decks. The dark solitude and warmth was comforting to him. From under his cloak Thirteen took his axe in hand, the heft adding to his confidence. His favored weapon, with its massive forty-pound head and deadly cutting blade, would take apart any living being known either to Thirteen or any of his men. It felt good in his hand. Heavy. Thirteen grinned horribly as he began drilling, swinging the huge weapon about his body in mock battle.

[virgil]

What a thoroughly disgusting idea, a ship like this. If any part of this cork decided to fail he would be left in this sea of mirrors with light all around him. Not to mention the deck was occupied with men who could break him, dangerous men. Without the advantage of terrain or darkness Acerbus clung to the dark belly of this bloated whale, or ventured into the shadow of the mast or captains corridor if mood striked. Only two people were aware of his presence at this point, the woman and Oren, one encounter was intentional, the other was a result of two people sharing the same bit of shade. It would be a good time to enter the wider north, not that this fact validated his presence on the vessel. Honestly, the reasoning behind his presence was vague at best, even to himself. This was frustrating. Perhaps he felt an end surging forth, like the bow cutting through the foam of the dying sea. Perhaps it was strictly knowledge that he sought. He was on an expedition with an ageless one, one who had known more details than even he did, even after research. This trip up north at very least would be a welcome departure from being hunted, even a soft spot for shadows doesn’t excuse needing to hide. Answers lied in the air, and Acerbus’s life was nothing more than a question.

He moved at once back under the deck. He rest his cheek against the cool inner hull and wished that sleep was still a part of his humanity. The darkness in here empowered him, he could feel the particles of light bending around him, dancing as his will. He let his body slide to a sitting position, with his back againt the hull of the ship. The air in front of him shimmered and fluxed as he twisted and wrung out what was acting as his contemplation. A song broke from his unhinged lips, soft and breaking like cresting waves knocking just behind his head. He closes his eyes, and the darkness before him settles back to a uniform dispersal.

[Rytiko]

Oren had seen many things, many abilities, in his life. One thing he had not seen yet, however, was what this kid next to him was doing. He was moving light around like it was nothing, like it didn't even require him to focus. He was notably impressed. As he watched, it only took him a second or two to figure out how his power worked. He could control energy associated with light, but he didn't seem to like it too much – his skin was far too pale. If anything, he liked to move it away from him. But he had to be somewhat new to this, because his control seemed sloppy. It was unlikely that anyone else would notice, but Oren's mind had gone into hyperdrive when he began to focus on the kid – he was seeing things in slow motion, giving him time to analyze it. In the same stroke as his inexperience, however, he saw the kids potential – there were shimmers that seemed like they were breaching far beyond the visible spectrum.

'Interesting,' thought Oren. 'Very interesting. I wonder what he's thinking about?' He was intrigued enough to actually approach him, something very uncommon with him. People normally bored him. They were too simple. This kid probably was too, but at least his ability was enticing enough for him to start a conversation.

“What's going on in that head of yours, kid? You seem very focused on something,” Oren said in his gruff voice. He wasn't looking at him instead staring off the side of the ship, but the target of his sentence was clear.

[Kinewa]

Angus hugged his leather jacket to his chest, inwardly cursing the icy breeze yet again. It was his first experience on the sea, and not a pleasant one. His teeth chattered and his bones ached with the cold, but the cabin of the rusted craft provided no solace. The chilly air seeped in through what seemed like infinite cracks and spaces perforating the walls. Slowly standing up from the cold metal crate that had been his perch for the past half hour, he ventured onto the deck once again, hoping that the exercise would warm him up and knowing that it wouldn't.

Almost as soon as he left the cabin, Angus regretted it. Where the cabin walls had let in most of the air, the outdoors let in all of it. It shouldn't have been a surprise, really. Angus smiled grimly at the captain as he passed by, wondering how she planned on handling this crew of rough men once they decided to rebel. After all, he had seen expiditions similar to this one, and never had a makeshift group like this managed to stick together once things got tough. Heck, in some cases he had been the one to split them apart, but for good reason. He hoped that this mission would be different, but to make things work at all he would have to get to know the crew and get an idea of who could be trusted and who should be killed.

Shuffling quietly along (a skill which elderly men are traditionally adept at, to be sure), Angus observed the men around him. Some lbragged boisterously to their neighbours, others were attempting to retain what little food they had eaten for lunch. He spotted a middle aged man who had been speaking with the captain not long ago and approached him, somewhat relieved to see another crew member who wasn't little more than a child. The stranger was dressed up like some sort of scientist or doctor, like the ones Angus had seen in the books his mother had shown him when he was young. But if this guy is a doctor, why the hell is he barefoot? Angus decided to investigate.

"You forget to pack socks, or what? It's bloody freezing out here."

[virgil]

The arrival of the question send the light scurrying back for a minute, it quickly pulsed back around. Acerbus wasn't expecting words with this one, part of the reason why he thought it would be safe to stand near him. His face twist for a second, years of correctional methods almost snarl at the idea of dialogue, but he quickly grasps onto a sliver of himself that has survived. A stab of consistant personality that welcomed words that were not lashed to an agenda. Not many people care to ask when your life becomes staying hidden. This expanse of thought must have seemed longer to the stranger than to himself, as he turned away unsatisfied with the silence that wedged in between them.

Acerbus pins his eyes to the retreating stranger. " It's hard to fathom every drop of silver that the planet has purged into this sea. Are things living here, or simply acting of dictated will, if so, who's will?"

Silence settles back in but the man shifts back to face him, "Well," Oren replied, taking a sip of whiskey, "I've seen a lot in the forests back home. None of it seemed like it was natural in demeanor. It's not out of the question to assume that everything but us are the eyes and ears of the meteor. Or maybe we're not completely exempt, either. That's why I don't trust Cheryll further than that oaf over there could throw her - she was just as close to the meteor as the infamous Plant Man we're trying to stop."

"If the inclusion of interference from the meteor makes one untrustworthy, than we are all guilty of treason. I can only assume that this will is my own, but than again every step I take, including the ones that brought me to this ship, seem void of a real purpose. It seems rather implied. I wish I could recall what introspection was like before the fateful injection..."

Acerbus turns his hand into the darkest node of the shadow they stand in. The light wavers, tumultuous and than coats his hand growing nearly solid; he presses the tips of those fingers to his temples and exhales. "Truth is perception, and I am of my mind, if this has grown wasted from the toxins how should I know the difference?" "If the silver is my normality, than this eden should be hell for me; so I suppose our answer hangs ripe and waiting, soon enough. Lets head below deck shall we? before the sun melts this little haven of ours."

[Rytiko]

OOC: Virgil and I did something in his post that I want to point out – in dialogue situations, rather than make small posts and waiting for someone else to reply with another short paragraph, you can contact the person whose character yours is talking to and work out the post with them beforehand, thus streamlining the process.

“You’re a lofty one, aren’t you?” said Oren, humored by his manner of speech. It was just as hazy and shadowed as he was. “Alright, we’ll get out of the sunlight.”

So Oren was right – the kid couldn’t even operate in the direct sunlight. But he was also wrong about his control – he was better than Oren initially thought. He had perfectly removed all light from the perimeter of his hands. Very interesting indeed… What else could the kid do?

The pair of them walked off of the ship deck, passing an old man on their way into the crew’s cabin. Inside, it was still cold, but it was much darker save for the columns of light from the row of windows on one side of the ship. They went through this room down a trapdoor near the entrance and made their way into the crew’s dormitory, lined with several bunk beds. It was very dark here, and Oren could tell that the kid loved it.

“So,” Oren began, “You mentioned an injection. I was given my ability the same way… I can’t begin to count the days I spent locked up, praying for a chance to escape. It actually never came until a couple of kids decided they were going to bust out with me. Nero and Eron… They couldn’t have been older than 14. They took my ability and made them far more powerful than I am, albeit underdeveloped at the time. What’s become of them, I have no idea… So what’s your story? What brought you here?”

Oren offered this story as a gesture of good will. He didn’t tell it often, but knew that it might open things up to further indulge his curiosity. Essentially, Oren had just found a new item of interest. Oddly enough, while his mind was occupied talking to him and watching the light move in slow motion, the pain was dampened. Even if it was only for a few minutes, it was worth it.

[Queztatlapoca]

A boat! Why did he have to travel by a boat? He never understood how they floated on the surface the way they did. And the motion... Oh the bloody motion. It would have been enough to make him hurl, if his stomach wasn't clamped shut in a steel knot.

So there he was, back against the boom, sitting with his head buried in his arms. Hector chuckled to himself, "Look at me, king of the streets, emperor of the pubs, almost ready to blow chunks. Lets hope there ain't much more of this flotsam to endure." He looked around at the serfs around him and wondered if they would be any help on this expedition. Heck, he didn't know if he would be. So instead of trying to think on it to much longer he closed his eyes and tried to block out the dull throb of the broken rib he earned last year.

[Ravenglass]

He glanced down at the key the captain had slipped into his hand. "Finally" he thought "something interesting is happening, this little interlude might provide new opportunities" he chuckled to himself.
He casually slipped the key into his pocket beside the scalpel, he didn't actually need the key, if he wanted to enter her quarters he would, but it might be nice to keep it with him. Just to give the captain some sense of security. He made a mental note to visit the young lady later. She had potential, and if she was immortal as that letter claimed she was, the potential for research was almost limitless.
He took a deep breath to calm himself, getting all worked up now would help nothing and would certainly not benefit him in any way. As he tried to calm himself, he heard someone behind him say in a gruff voice "You forget to pack socks, or what? It's bloody freezing out here." Nusakan turned around and saw a scruffy old man whose face was covered in scars, standing behind him.
Nusakan grinned at the old man. "my talents, unfortunately, require a lack of footwear. I suppose I've just gotten used to going barefoot." He said. He smirked at the old man and decided he might as well get some information on his fellow crew members, since he was going to be stuck with them for a while.
"so tell me good sir" he said in his most respectful voice. "What brings you to this oversized tub?"

[Kinewa]

"Nothing better to do, isn't that why we're all here?" Angus spoke casually, but he had no desire to bring up the past. It was too painful to take a walk down memory lane, especially in this miserable setting. Before the conversation took a turn for the worse, he decided to bid farewell. So much for getting to know the others.

"Sorry, Bud, I'd stick around and chat but it's bloody freezing out here, and my old body can't take this like it used to. I'm going to head inside." He hugged his jacket tightly around his body as he headed against the rough wind towards the door. Many if not most of the men had already gone inside, and he hoped their combined body head would improve the atmosphere.

Wandering below deck, he leaned against the cold metal wall. Nearby, a behemoth of a man swung an equally enormous axe. Although it was crowded down there, the giant had been given a wide berth by his shipmates. No one asked him to stop. Angus grinned as he watched the man, only hoping that his grip on the axe was stronger than the force of his swings.

[virgil]

"My story," Acerbus starts, " is relatively straight forward. In a cosmic twist of irony my clan of people, sheltered from the silver, were betrayed by thier keeper, my father. I killed him when he started to turn against my people, not able to tie himself around the wage of his sin. I hate to be scarce on details but I prefer not to talk about my youth, I was twelve years old at the time. The first of my murders was indeed the hardest. I dont remember much after, I remember wondering how I even survived an encounter with my father, thinking he must have wanted the void to swallow him. I woke up, they were dissapointed I was the last one left alive. They were a merc group, assasins, killers, and well funded. I was thier first little silver experiment, it seems my people and thier descendants have a certain reknowned aptitude. Regardless, they bathed me in sterile light, and layers of me were burned away...forgive me, this is nonessential."

Acerbus's eyes flare defiantly now, the shadows travel through him, like smoke he exhales them.

"Let's just say this was not a pleasant adolesence, or a pleasant existance, as you can see, thier trainiing has left my control over the light spectrum a bit limited."

The light settles and disipates, resting in perfect balls in his palms which he holds upwards.

" You mentioned Nero and Eron, I have heard these names, apparently the facility you were at was a main affiliate, the corporate ring of hell, mine was an offshoot, the science behind it was from a factionized branch of the original experiment and funded by mercs in hopes of creating a controllable mutant I suppose. They were aware of each other, but not tolerating of each others existance. I was intended to sabotage projects Nero and Eron, I didn't know they where literal names, but conincidence is simply lazy assumption."

Oren took all of this in with an analytical ear… until Nero and Eron were mentioned. His face became visibly contorted, his eyes fastened to Ascerbus’ lips with an unseen intensity.

“So they wanted you to kill them, huh? I can’t believe they’ve been doing this shit to us – taking us as kids and turning us all into monsters! And then asking a kid to kill others like him… This world is ugly…” Oren took a final swig from his bottle of whiskey, and then his arm shot out at a blindingly fast rate, the bottle shooting out and slamming into and shattering against a wall next to another of their party that sat, holding his ribs.

“But I guess it’s not that simple, is it? Shades of grey and whatnot. Hah… well, I doubt you’d have had much success anyway. As a team, I don’t think anybody can stop them. Hell, they’d be a match for the damn Plant Man together. They’re the epitome of the enhanced Nervous System model. I’m good, but the headaches and seizures make me just another defect in the eyes of those scientists.”

Acerbus turns his head, trying to cover his eyes as he peers at the new comer. "Well Iv'e never met a man I couldn't kill, but any living man would tell you the same thing."

[Queztatlapoca]

*Smash* Hector's head snapped up to see where the shattered bottle of whiskey was thrown from. He spotted two men chatting to each other in the approximate direction of the throw. Standing, hand holding his side, he shouted "Oi! Nutter! 'Twas it one o' you who trew that 'here bott'o o' firewater at mes self?! Cause if it was, one of you is in for a 'orry smacking around! 'Ere me?"

He slowly took his steps foward toward the two of them.

The older of the two now turned to face Hector. He was initially a bit taken aback, but as soon as Hector threatened him, his confusion turned into a sly grin.

"What was that?" Oren said with a torrent of arrogance beneath it. "I didn't quite catch that... err... would you call that a sentence? I couldn't tell if they were all words." This mate was asking for a fight. His stance, his taunting attitude... Too bad for him his scrawny frame wouldn't hold up to a single hit from Hector's fist.

"Not e'en an opolgy, tat on't do one bit" Hector said shaking his head. At the end of Hector's sentence he swung his arm holding his side at the ribs of this Oren fellow. Milliseconds before contact his flash changed his arm to steel, flashing it back again after impact

But Hector had not made contact with Oren's ribs as planned. After his hand flashed back to normal, Oren stood with a katar on his right arm that he had used to deflect the attack away from his body.

"Too slow," Oren taunted. His eyes looked less joking than his voice however. Oren was ready to fight.

"A ruddy blade, is it? Tat's no fun 'at all mate" Hecktor said as he shifted to steel and shot a knee towards Oren's midsection.