The Immortals {Currently Open}
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Alrighty, I have the official roster for the games opening.
I am accepting all currently posted characters, with Sacred Cougar on probation until he/ she meets my requirements satisfactorily.
Everyone else should know my gripes if I have them, and adjust them accordingly.
The current roster is:
Aqualung: Guy Doyle
Hairminator: Gerard de Alemania
Steakheart: Dexter Allen
Quad08: Charles Morson
fanklok: Njord Akselson (a.k.a Nick Axel)
NimbleJack3: Edwardo Herb
Yorgmeister: Fredrick Wellington
Ragnorak Tres: Seamus Brian O'Connell
Tanithwolf: Paddy Doyle
Literary Litany: Zall-ag-hád (Zala) Current Cover Name: Zalia Devreaux
Excitednuke: Adrian Getman
Three words: John Shannow
Erja_Pettru: Anna Harvester
Xandus117: Xandus
Once again, Sacred Cougar is probationary, and should not post until he/ she has cleared with me his/ her stories.
While still open, I would like to officially say, (with no irony intended), no more vikings and no more Irish.
Though I am very happy I didn't end up with 20 samurai...
At this point, I ask that all non-content based posts hide behind the OOC or spoiler marker.
I am accepting all currently posted characters, with Sacred Cougar on probation until he/ she meets my requirements satisfactorily.
Everyone else should know my gripes if I have them, and adjust them accordingly.
The current roster is:
Aqualung: Guy Doyle
Hairminator: Gerard de Alemania
Steakheart: Dexter Allen
Quad08: Charles Morson
fanklok: Njord Akselson (a.k.a Nick Axel)
NimbleJack3: Edwardo Herb
Yorgmeister: Fredrick Wellington
Ragnorak Tres: Seamus Brian O'Connell
Tanithwolf: Paddy Doyle
Literary Litany: Zall-ag-hád (Zala) Current Cover Name: Zalia Devreaux
Excitednuke: Adrian Getman
Three words: John Shannow
Erja_Pettru: Anna Harvester
Xandus117: Xandus
Once again, Sacred Cougar is probationary, and should not post until he/ she has cleared with me his/ her stories.
While still open, I would like to officially say, (with no irony intended), no more vikings and no more Irish.
Though I am very happy I didn't end up with 20 samurai...
At this point, I ask that all non-content based posts hide behind the OOC or spoiler marker.
A sheet of character profiles and Users.
The Hairminator
Name: Gerard de Alemania
Gender: Male
Physical Age: 27
Era of Origin: 11th century
Physical appearance: Long, muscular, short brown hair, blue eyes. His face has quite a few scars. Pale skin.
General Personality: Even after almost a millennium he has a well developed sense for humor, and the things keeping him going are music, art and enjoyable people. Sometimes, when he is bored, he tends to get melancholic, maybe even a bit depressed. Is often sarcastic, but always polite when talking to people.
Background:He was born in Prussia( the north-eastern part of what is now Germany), in the city of Lübeck. He was a noble, and when the king rode out to join the crusade to the holy land he followed. For almost seven years he fought, but despite his bravery in battle the war was nearing its end, the Christians were loosing. He was eventually 'killed' defending the city of Jerusalem against a vastly superior Arabic force. He was among the last surviving defenders of the battle, and when he was the last man standing he refused to put down his weapons. He was put in a mass grave which he, after having woken up, dug himself out from with his bare hands. By this point he was very afraid of himself and thinking that he was possessed by a demon, he tried to take his own life. Both by trying to drown himself,or simply by impaling himself on his own sword. He soon stopped these futile attempts, after realizing it did no good. He tried to seek guidance, but every priest he confessed to labeled him as a demon. He was executed a few times, accused of wizardry, as he made his way North through Europe. His faith in god was starting to falter.
When he eventually returned to his home town of Lübeck he found it much changed, during the hundreds of years he had been aimlessly wandering around. None of the people he had known were now alive. Sure, he had met others like him on his travels. But they were either crazy or even more lost than he was, so after a few decades he usually parted from them, no wiser of the nature of his being than when they met.
Gerard started integrating himself into the human society. Every few decades he disappeared, and then reappeared in another place with a new identity. It didn't take long until he knew every major language on earth fluently.
Sometimes he was so stuck in his identity he forgot who he really was, for short moments. These were the only times he was truly happy. This cycle of identities went on unto modern times. The only change for Gerard was that it became harder to not raise suspicion when suddenly appearing or disappearing.
Steakheart
Name: Dexter Allen
Era of origin: 1830's
Era of "death": 1860's in the Battle of Antietam
Physical age: 29
Personality: Dexter Allen always had a fighting spirit when it came to the Confederate beliefs. He thought slavery was right at the time, and often shunned people who believed otherwise. This was a flaw of his, as he always seemed to only accept his own ideas. This tendency still exists, but not as much as it did "Back in the Day," since it seemed the people "Nowadays" didn't seem to appreciate it.
Aqualung
Current Name: Guy Doyle
Original Name: Giorgio Baldovinetti
Gender: Male
Physical Age: 37
Era of Origin: 1412-1449
Physical appearance: Guy's skin tone naturally suggests a Mediterranean origin- which makes sense, as his home country is Italy. His hair, a brown the colour of dark chocolate, is naturally wavy from frequently living by the seaside; it is long enough to curl over the tops of his ears and almost reach his eyebrows, though trimmed neatly at the back to avoid any sort of mullet in appearance. Though his face is still rather youthful with only some wrinkles here and there, a few strands of hair have turned gray or white. As for his eyes, they are a light sort of brown, though in sunlight can seem to have almost a golden glow about them. They stand guard beside a long and straight nose, whose nostrils always seem to be flared. A long shining scar can be seen on his right temple.
For the sake of being experimental- or when suffering through trying times- Guy has on the occasion 'let himself go' and gained weight; however, since after participating in World War II, Guy has once again lost weight and become not muscular or fit but 'average'. His hands are a bit on the large size, though through centuries of practice, have become quite delicate tools and rarely fumble about. His feet are also a little big, but surprisingly light.
General Personality: Due to being the oldest of the family, Guy- while not being entirely joyless- usually observes a situation with careful consideration and seriousness of nature. He can appreciate levity at the appropriate moment. While his outward aura can seem off-putting, stern, or a little distracted, when approached on an emotional level, Guy is most often kind and honest.
Being a bit of a romantic, Guy has a soft spot for brunettes. While he has few to no true physical flaws or disabilities (you'd think a few centuries would have slowed him down a little), he is very conservative in his beliefs. He also, rather than acting to steer events, tends to place his faith in God and the Virgin Mary, which can often end badly- and when it does, he claims it as the will of God.
Quad08
Name: Charles Morson
Gender: Male
Physical Age: 32
Era of Origin: Golden Age of Piracy (1650-1680)
Physical appearance: A gruff, angry looking man. Has a short black beard, short hair and a deep red scar over his right eye. His skin is rough, having worked on ships his entire mortal life and from his hunting in Africa after his "Death", Very muscled.
General Personality: Hard working, goal orientated. Sometimes unaware of the events going on outside his current mission. Strong religious and political views. Stubborn. Leadership type. Hates weaklings. Fights for himself and thinks he needs to be in control
Excitednuke
Name: Adrian Getman
Gender: Male
Physical Age: 27
Era of Origin: World War 2
Physical appearance: Adrian bears a striking resemblance to Aryan race depicted in the Nazi propaganda posters. His skin is very pale which is common among the German people with a rather lanky build. His hair is a clean shade of blonde which he parts to side the majority of the time and his eyes are a clear blue. Adrian, despite his attractive looks is rather weak and not very intimidating as he is only about 5'6 and weighs roughly 115 pounds.
During WWII he could be seen in his gray trench coat adorned with a swastika on the right arm, however seeing as the times have changed dramatically he will just normally wear black, red and white sport attire.
Also he has the iron cross tattooed over his heart which has begun to fade over the years.
General Personality: Adrian has a warm, light hearted personality which is not be expected from one who holds the Nazi ideals so close to his heart. He is the kind of guy that will make jokes and laugh at his own expense, however he isn't exactly the smartest guy around seeing as he shot himself in basic training and will often say extremely stupid things at inappropriate times. His Nazi beliefs are his biggest downfall and he holds whatever has been said by the Fuhrer true and will die to defend it.
Literary Litany
Name: Zall-ag-hád (Zala) Current Cover Name: Zalia Devreaux
Gender: Female
Physical Age: 14 (thought I'd play with the physical-vs-mental age if that's okay)
Era of Origin: Early Babylonian Empire
Physical appearance: Slim but muscular from hard work, Zala has long black hair and warmly dark skin of a tone not quite easily placed in today's world, somewhere between middle eastern and Indian. Her eyes are a dark, twinkling reddish brown, and even by modern standards her features are quite pretty.
General Personality: Determination and maturity dominate her personality, but more because of the fierceness with which she has demanded that of herself than a natural inclination. She's quite passionate, and so is prone to a short temper and explosions of emotion when her fuse of calm and collection is burned out.
fanklok
Name:Njord Akselson
modern adaptation: Nick Axel
Gender:Male
Physical Age:27
Era of Origin:Viking Age (1043 AD specifically)
Physical appearance: 6'5" mid-long blond hair heavily built wears blue jeans and a Dethklok bleeding skull T-shirt
General Personality: Being a viking his first instinct is to settle disputes by breaking skulls, but now settles things more civilized, he comes off as abrasive and constantly angry even when he isn't.
NimbleJack3
Name: Edwardo Herb
Gender: Male
Physical Age: 31
Era of Birth: 19th Century
Era of Death: 20th Century
Physical appearance: Red hair, red beard with sideburns and connected mustache. Left arm missing.
General Personality: Not averse to disgusting tasks, Edwardo will often take things to an unpleasant extreme. He goes everywhere with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, and resents those who take advantage of women. Can function exceptionally using only his right hand.
Three Words
Name: Jonathan Shannow
Gender: Male
Physical Age: 27
Era of Origin: Wild West (19th century American west) Born 1856, died 1883
Physical appearance: Tall, medium build, with a mane of ginger brown hair. He is very fast, both in reflexes and running
General Personality: Single minded and dogged. To a friend, loyal, to a foe, grudge-bearing and spiteful. Prone to quick judgment.
tanithwolf
Name: Paddy Doyle
Gender: Male
Physical Age: 20
Era of Origin: 1896 - 1916 (Easter Rising)
Physical appearance: Tall with a light build. Always wears the jacket he wore during the rising with a badge of the Irish flag over his heart
General Personality: Cautious to those he doesn't know and loyal to those he trusts. Believes that everyone has the right to be free and is spitefull to anyone he feels is trying to control himself or others. Is more then willing to fight for what he believes in, especially if he thinks doing so will upset any kind of authority figures.
Ragnorak Tres
Name: Seamus Brian O'Connell
Gender: Male
Physical Age: 34
Era of Origin: Cogadh na Saoirse (Anglo-Irish War or Tan War), early 20th century
Physical Appearance: Seamus is an imposing figure. In point of fact, he reminds a lot of people more of a Viking than of an Irishman. His shoulders are a foot and a half across and his triceps are probably thicker than your head. His hair is bright red and he has a giant beard. He clears rooms with his mere presence, people are just that naturally cautious around him. He usually wears black slacks cinched with a cloth belt, a white t-shirt and an open semi-dressy shirt. Over his left eye is a patch that, when nervous, he has a tendency to fiddle with.
General Personality: Seamus is, despite his appearance, both affable and intelligent. He's a bit of a gun nut and a hardware geek, but he also LARPs, simply because he loves the feel of a greatsword in his hands. He's a very active person, almost never seen relaxing. If he does, however, there's little he enjoys like a good game of Modern Warfare. He's also a drifter, rarely seen in the same place twice, though he clearly has quite a bit of cash: his cell phone is always the best on the market, if not the most expensive. The RV he lives in is well equipped, with sattelite Internet and a large entertainment area. He's customized the engine quite a bit, improving both fuel economy and horsepower in the process of learning about cars and larger vehicles. In case you couldn't tell, he has quite the hunger for information. He is quick to adopt new technology and adjusts easily to most situations. Of course, that very flexibility is both his strength and his weakness: he knows a lot about a lot of different things, but not everything about any of it. He's easily distracted by something new and has been known to leave a project unfinished for years. He always eventually gets around to finishing it, but it can take him decades.
Yorgmeister
Current Name: Fredrick Wellington
Gender: Male
Physical Age: 34
Era of Origin: 837 - 871
Physical appearance: Fredrick is tall, around 6"3, with a handsome face and broad shoulders. He is not nearly as fit as he was in his "early days", before his death, but he still retains the strong Nordic physique that accompanies his heritage. He has kept his wonderful, blonde hair exactly the way it was way back then; long. It flows in glorious waves across his shoulders and ends about halfway down his back. His beard is also long, and comes down to the middle of his chest.
Nowadays he dresses "smart" and "classy", yet comfortable, often to be seen wearing vests, dress-shoes, and the like.
General Personality: The two opposing characteristics of Fredrick's personality, the deep, scholarly thinker and the berserk, blood-crazed warrior, have been a struggle for him his entire life(and it's been a long one). He has learned to control his fury, however, in favor of a calmer, more thoughtful demeanor that has served him well in the modern world. He has had a lot of time to think and study about life, the world, and himself, and so has become a very well-rounded individual. Those ancient(literally) feelings do sometimes well up inside him though, and he has a terrible temper when pushed to the limit.
Generally though, he is a mild-mannered, book-loving, scholarly man, who wants nothing more than to study the world and learn about it's many facets, and above all, to think. Unfortunately, the repression of his more wild and angry feelings has caused him to sometimes be a bit too complacent.
Erja_Pettru
Name: Anna Harvester
Gender: Female
Physical Age: 23
Era of Origin: 14th century
Physical appearance: Bobbed brown hair, large brown eyes and pale skin, yellow teeth, thin figure, little muscle, not physically strong. Mainly wears jeans and t-shirts.
General Personality: Cheerful and energetic, Anna is an empathic person, so she is very affected by the feelings of those around her. She always endeavours to make things better and often ends up playing peace maker to her friends. She used to be a passionate Christian, and although she doesn't pray as much, she still believes there was a reason she was brought back so many times.
Xandus117
Name: Xandus
Gender: Male
Physical Age: 21
Era of Origin: Second Crusade
Physical appearance: Xandus has short wild brown hair, brown eyes, is in good physical condition, average height, has an eyepatch over his right eye, and wears a trench coat most of the time.
General Personality: Xandus is a kind, brave, and intelligent. He is strong willed and cunning as well. He is very chivalrous, and will defend the innocent whenever he can. His goal is to protect the helpless and bring peace to the world.
The Hairminator
Name: Gerard de Alemania
Gender: Male
Physical Age: 27
Era of Origin: 11th century
Physical appearance: Long, muscular, short brown hair, blue eyes. His face has quite a few scars. Pale skin.
General Personality: Even after almost a millennium he has a well developed sense for humor, and the things keeping him going are music, art and enjoyable people. Sometimes, when he is bored, he tends to get melancholic, maybe even a bit depressed. Is often sarcastic, but always polite when talking to people.
Background:He was born in Prussia( the north-eastern part of what is now Germany), in the city of Lübeck. He was a noble, and when the king rode out to join the crusade to the holy land he followed. For almost seven years he fought, but despite his bravery in battle the war was nearing its end, the Christians were loosing. He was eventually 'killed' defending the city of Jerusalem against a vastly superior Arabic force. He was among the last surviving defenders of the battle, and when he was the last man standing he refused to put down his weapons. He was put in a mass grave which he, after having woken up, dug himself out from with his bare hands. By this point he was very afraid of himself and thinking that he was possessed by a demon, he tried to take his own life. Both by trying to drown himself,or simply by impaling himself on his own sword. He soon stopped these futile attempts, after realizing it did no good. He tried to seek guidance, but every priest he confessed to labeled him as a demon. He was executed a few times, accused of wizardry, as he made his way North through Europe. His faith in god was starting to falter.
When he eventually returned to his home town of Lübeck he found it much changed, during the hundreds of years he had been aimlessly wandering around. None of the people he had known were now alive. Sure, he had met others like him on his travels. But they were either crazy or even more lost than he was, so after a few decades he usually parted from them, no wiser of the nature of his being than when they met.
Gerard started integrating himself into the human society. Every few decades he disappeared, and then reappeared in another place with a new identity. It didn't take long until he knew every major language on earth fluently.
Sometimes he was so stuck in his identity he forgot who he really was, for short moments. These were the only times he was truly happy. This cycle of identities went on unto modern times. The only change for Gerard was that it became harder to not raise suspicion when suddenly appearing or disappearing.
Steakheart
Name: Dexter Allen
Era of origin: 1830's
Era of "death": 1860's in the Battle of Antietam
Physical age: 29
Personality: Dexter Allen always had a fighting spirit when it came to the Confederate beliefs. He thought slavery was right at the time, and often shunned people who believed otherwise. This was a flaw of his, as he always seemed to only accept his own ideas. This tendency still exists, but not as much as it did "Back in the Day," since it seemed the people "Nowadays" didn't seem to appreciate it.
Aqualung
Current Name: Guy Doyle
Original Name: Giorgio Baldovinetti
Gender: Male
Physical Age: 37
Era of Origin: 1412-1449
Physical appearance: Guy's skin tone naturally suggests a Mediterranean origin- which makes sense, as his home country is Italy. His hair, a brown the colour of dark chocolate, is naturally wavy from frequently living by the seaside; it is long enough to curl over the tops of his ears and almost reach his eyebrows, though trimmed neatly at the back to avoid any sort of mullet in appearance. Though his face is still rather youthful with only some wrinkles here and there, a few strands of hair have turned gray or white. As for his eyes, they are a light sort of brown, though in sunlight can seem to have almost a golden glow about them. They stand guard beside a long and straight nose, whose nostrils always seem to be flared. A long shining scar can be seen on his right temple.
For the sake of being experimental- or when suffering through trying times- Guy has on the occasion 'let himself go' and gained weight; however, since after participating in World War II, Guy has once again lost weight and become not muscular or fit but 'average'. His hands are a bit on the large size, though through centuries of practice, have become quite delicate tools and rarely fumble about. His feet are also a little big, but surprisingly light.
General Personality: Due to being the oldest of the family, Guy- while not being entirely joyless- usually observes a situation with careful consideration and seriousness of nature. He can appreciate levity at the appropriate moment. While his outward aura can seem off-putting, stern, or a little distracted, when approached on an emotional level, Guy is most often kind and honest.
Being a bit of a romantic, Guy has a soft spot for brunettes. While he has few to no true physical flaws or disabilities (you'd think a few centuries would have slowed him down a little), he is very conservative in his beliefs. He also, rather than acting to steer events, tends to place his faith in God and the Virgin Mary, which can often end badly- and when it does, he claims it as the will of God.
Quad08
Name: Charles Morson
Gender: Male
Physical Age: 32
Era of Origin: Golden Age of Piracy (1650-1680)
Physical appearance: A gruff, angry looking man. Has a short black beard, short hair and a deep red scar over his right eye. His skin is rough, having worked on ships his entire mortal life and from his hunting in Africa after his "Death", Very muscled.
General Personality: Hard working, goal orientated. Sometimes unaware of the events going on outside his current mission. Strong religious and political views. Stubborn. Leadership type. Hates weaklings. Fights for himself and thinks he needs to be in control
Excitednuke
Name: Adrian Getman
Gender: Male
Physical Age: 27
Era of Origin: World War 2
Physical appearance: Adrian bears a striking resemblance to Aryan race depicted in the Nazi propaganda posters. His skin is very pale which is common among the German people with a rather lanky build. His hair is a clean shade of blonde which he parts to side the majority of the time and his eyes are a clear blue. Adrian, despite his attractive looks is rather weak and not very intimidating as he is only about 5'6 and weighs roughly 115 pounds.
During WWII he could be seen in his gray trench coat adorned with a swastika on the right arm, however seeing as the times have changed dramatically he will just normally wear black, red and white sport attire.
Also he has the iron cross tattooed over his heart which has begun to fade over the years.
General Personality: Adrian has a warm, light hearted personality which is not be expected from one who holds the Nazi ideals so close to his heart. He is the kind of guy that will make jokes and laugh at his own expense, however he isn't exactly the smartest guy around seeing as he shot himself in basic training and will often say extremely stupid things at inappropriate times. His Nazi beliefs are his biggest downfall and he holds whatever has been said by the Fuhrer true and will die to defend it.
Literary Litany
Name: Zall-ag-hád (Zala) Current Cover Name: Zalia Devreaux
Gender: Female
Physical Age: 14 (thought I'd play with the physical-vs-mental age if that's okay)
Era of Origin: Early Babylonian Empire
Physical appearance: Slim but muscular from hard work, Zala has long black hair and warmly dark skin of a tone not quite easily placed in today's world, somewhere between middle eastern and Indian. Her eyes are a dark, twinkling reddish brown, and even by modern standards her features are quite pretty.
General Personality: Determination and maturity dominate her personality, but more because of the fierceness with which she has demanded that of herself than a natural inclination. She's quite passionate, and so is prone to a short temper and explosions of emotion when her fuse of calm and collection is burned out.
fanklok
Name:Njord Akselson
modern adaptation: Nick Axel
Gender:Male
Physical Age:27
Era of Origin:Viking Age (1043 AD specifically)
Physical appearance: 6'5" mid-long blond hair heavily built wears blue jeans and a Dethklok bleeding skull T-shirt
General Personality: Being a viking his first instinct is to settle disputes by breaking skulls, but now settles things more civilized, he comes off as abrasive and constantly angry even when he isn't.
NimbleJack3
Name: Edwardo Herb
Gender: Male
Physical Age: 31
Era of Birth: 19th Century
Era of Death: 20th Century
Physical appearance: Red hair, red beard with sideburns and connected mustache. Left arm missing.
General Personality: Not averse to disgusting tasks, Edwardo will often take things to an unpleasant extreme. He goes everywhere with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, and resents those who take advantage of women. Can function exceptionally using only his right hand.
Three Words
Name: Jonathan Shannow
Gender: Male
Physical Age: 27
Era of Origin: Wild West (19th century American west) Born 1856, died 1883
Physical appearance: Tall, medium build, with a mane of ginger brown hair. He is very fast, both in reflexes and running
General Personality: Single minded and dogged. To a friend, loyal, to a foe, grudge-bearing and spiteful. Prone to quick judgment.
tanithwolf
Name: Paddy Doyle
Gender: Male
Physical Age: 20
Era of Origin: 1896 - 1916 (Easter Rising)
Physical appearance: Tall with a light build. Always wears the jacket he wore during the rising with a badge of the Irish flag over his heart
General Personality: Cautious to those he doesn't know and loyal to those he trusts. Believes that everyone has the right to be free and is spitefull to anyone he feels is trying to control himself or others. Is more then willing to fight for what he believes in, especially if he thinks doing so will upset any kind of authority figures.
Ragnorak Tres
Name: Seamus Brian O'Connell
Gender: Male
Physical Age: 34
Era of Origin: Cogadh na Saoirse (Anglo-Irish War or Tan War), early 20th century
Physical Appearance: Seamus is an imposing figure. In point of fact, he reminds a lot of people more of a Viking than of an Irishman. His shoulders are a foot and a half across and his triceps are probably thicker than your head. His hair is bright red and he has a giant beard. He clears rooms with his mere presence, people are just that naturally cautious around him. He usually wears black slacks cinched with a cloth belt, a white t-shirt and an open semi-dressy shirt. Over his left eye is a patch that, when nervous, he has a tendency to fiddle with.
General Personality: Seamus is, despite his appearance, both affable and intelligent. He's a bit of a gun nut and a hardware geek, but he also LARPs, simply because he loves the feel of a greatsword in his hands. He's a very active person, almost never seen relaxing. If he does, however, there's little he enjoys like a good game of Modern Warfare. He's also a drifter, rarely seen in the same place twice, though he clearly has quite a bit of cash: his cell phone is always the best on the market, if not the most expensive. The RV he lives in is well equipped, with sattelite Internet and a large entertainment area. He's customized the engine quite a bit, improving both fuel economy and horsepower in the process of learning about cars and larger vehicles. In case you couldn't tell, he has quite the hunger for information. He is quick to adopt new technology and adjusts easily to most situations. Of course, that very flexibility is both his strength and his weakness: he knows a lot about a lot of different things, but not everything about any of it. He's easily distracted by something new and has been known to leave a project unfinished for years. He always eventually gets around to finishing it, but it can take him decades.
Yorgmeister
Current Name: Fredrick Wellington
Gender: Male
Physical Age: 34
Era of Origin: 837 - 871
Physical appearance: Fredrick is tall, around 6"3, with a handsome face and broad shoulders. He is not nearly as fit as he was in his "early days", before his death, but he still retains the strong Nordic physique that accompanies his heritage. He has kept his wonderful, blonde hair exactly the way it was way back then; long. It flows in glorious waves across his shoulders and ends about halfway down his back. His beard is also long, and comes down to the middle of his chest.
Nowadays he dresses "smart" and "classy", yet comfortable, often to be seen wearing vests, dress-shoes, and the like.
General Personality: The two opposing characteristics of Fredrick's personality, the deep, scholarly thinker and the berserk, blood-crazed warrior, have been a struggle for him his entire life(and it's been a long one). He has learned to control his fury, however, in favor of a calmer, more thoughtful demeanor that has served him well in the modern world. He has had a lot of time to think and study about life, the world, and himself, and so has become a very well-rounded individual. Those ancient(literally) feelings do sometimes well up inside him though, and he has a terrible temper when pushed to the limit.
Generally though, he is a mild-mannered, book-loving, scholarly man, who wants nothing more than to study the world and learn about it's many facets, and above all, to think. Unfortunately, the repression of his more wild and angry feelings has caused him to sometimes be a bit too complacent.
Erja_Pettru
Name: Anna Harvester
Gender: Female
Physical Age: 23
Era of Origin: 14th century
Physical appearance: Bobbed brown hair, large brown eyes and pale skin, yellow teeth, thin figure, little muscle, not physically strong. Mainly wears jeans and t-shirts.
General Personality: Cheerful and energetic, Anna is an empathic person, so she is very affected by the feelings of those around her. She always endeavours to make things better and often ends up playing peace maker to her friends. She used to be a passionate Christian, and although she doesn't pray as much, she still believes there was a reason she was brought back so many times.
Xandus117
Name: Xandus
Gender: Male
Physical Age: 21
Era of Origin: Second Crusade
Physical appearance: Xandus has short wild brown hair, brown eyes, is in good physical condition, average height, has an eyepatch over his right eye, and wears a trench coat most of the time.
General Personality: Xandus is a kind, brave, and intelligent. He is strong willed and cunning as well. He is very chivalrous, and will defend the innocent whenever he can. His goal is to protect the helpless and bring peace to the world.
It has been a long time since you have had a significant dream, a dream that one as yourself would find remarkable, anyway. But this one is different. You could almost hear a soft voice calling you from a far, a voice that was vaguely familiar; ethereal, beautiful, but dangerous and frightening. The world here is filled with colors similar to the back of your eyelids when you try to focus on the darkness. The colors are at once vibrant and vague, and the patterns hypnotic, but the more you concentrate, the more it escapes you. You cannot feel your body, and you feel as though some deep part of you is born aloft and free from the world.
The feeling does not last long, and you feel yourself dragged back into your body, at which point you awaken.
The following day does not fair much better.
It started in the pit of your stomach. It was an odd sensation, a cold-electric energy trickling through your insides. As time wore on, it became stronger, causing your teeth to grate and your fingers to clench. It throbbed inside you, insistent and powerful, demanding your attention.
Suddenly it begins to subside to a slow, pulsing. It starts in the core of your being and stretches all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes. Even your teeth feel its itchy effects. It continues until you get a single note, slipped into your mailbox or under your door.
It is a blank envelope with a single stock card slipped in.
The only thing it says, in neat lettering, is "Come."
You don't know why, you don't know how, but you instinctively know that you need to go to New Orleans.
The feeling does not last long, and you feel yourself dragged back into your body, at which point you awaken.
The following day does not fair much better.
It started in the pit of your stomach. It was an odd sensation, a cold-electric energy trickling through your insides. As time wore on, it became stronger, causing your teeth to grate and your fingers to clench. It throbbed inside you, insistent and powerful, demanding your attention.
Suddenly it begins to subside to a slow, pulsing. It starts in the core of your being and stretches all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes. Even your teeth feel its itchy effects. It continues until you get a single note, slipped into your mailbox or under your door.
It is a blank envelope with a single stock card slipped in.
The only thing it says, in neat lettering, is "Come."
You don't know why, you don't know how, but you instinctively know that you need to go to New Orleans.
"New Orleans..."
Charles Morson stroked his finely cut black beard thoughtfully, looking out onto the busy streets of Cairo, Egypt. He was perhaps the most powerful European in the entire region, and yet many of the honest, good working people down below would no nothing of him. His mansion was well known, one of the finest houses in Cairo, but few people were ever seen coming or going, and there were always armed guards patrolling the grounds and they weren't known for kindness.
He liked it that way.
He was one of the most well connected criminal agents in the city. Everyday, he pulled favor with various politicians and crime bosses, getting everything from people, to weapons moved to places around the world, provided he got his cut. His lust for power had not stopped when he 'died'
Walking up to the mirror, he looked over his appearance. Despite his immortal lifespan, he still looked...gruff. His youthful appearance long gone at the time of his first "Death". His long black hair, once wild and untamed, was now cut short and orderly. A deep red scar ran across the right side of his face, a wound from the his mortal life.
"New Orleans..."
An American city...why there? He looked at the blank envelope that had brought him the note, a note with a single word printed on it.
"Come"
Despite all his security, the note had still been delivered secretly and after hours of interrogation, it appeared none of the guards knew anything ether.
He flipped open his cell phone and dialed a number
"Hello. Its me, I need a private jet. New Orleans. Today."
It was time to find answers.
Charles Morson stroked his finely cut black beard thoughtfully, looking out onto the busy streets of Cairo, Egypt. He was perhaps the most powerful European in the entire region, and yet many of the honest, good working people down below would no nothing of him. His mansion was well known, one of the finest houses in Cairo, but few people were ever seen coming or going, and there were always armed guards patrolling the grounds and they weren't known for kindness.
He liked it that way.
He was one of the most well connected criminal agents in the city. Everyday, he pulled favor with various politicians and crime bosses, getting everything from people, to weapons moved to places around the world, provided he got his cut. His lust for power had not stopped when he 'died'
Walking up to the mirror, he looked over his appearance. Despite his immortal lifespan, he still looked...gruff. His youthful appearance long gone at the time of his first "Death". His long black hair, once wild and untamed, was now cut short and orderly. A deep red scar ran across the right side of his face, a wound from the his mortal life.
"New Orleans..."
An American city...why there? He looked at the blank envelope that had brought him the note, a note with a single word printed on it.
"Come"
Despite all his security, the note had still been delivered secretly and after hours of interrogation, it appeared none of the guards knew anything ether.
He flipped open his cell phone and dialed a number
"Hello. Its me, I need a private jet. New Orleans. Today."
It was time to find answers.
Njord was lying down on the bed of the Chicago looking at the card.
"What kind of message is "come" when I find the guy who gave me this I'm going to break his face in for being so indirect. I don't even want to go back down south again, it's too hot but if it gets me some answers I guess i have to go."
He picked up the room phone and dialed the front desk. "Yes hello can I get the number for the Airport, uh huh uh huh alright thanks." He then dialed the Airport to get a ticket. Hi I need a ticket to New Orleans... WHAT IT'S HOW MUCH, sorry I guess I'll have to call back later when I have the money to afford it."
"I can't believe how much the price of tickets has gone up in the last 30 years." He picked up his guitar and mini amp and left the hotel to find a place to play on the street corner. After an entire day of playing he had only made $500.
"Guess I'm going to be stuck here longer then I expected."
"What kind of message is "come" when I find the guy who gave me this I'm going to break his face in for being so indirect. I don't even want to go back down south again, it's too hot but if it gets me some answers I guess i have to go."
He picked up the room phone and dialed the front desk. "Yes hello can I get the number for the Airport, uh huh uh huh alright thanks." He then dialed the Airport to get a ticket. Hi I need a ticket to New Orleans... WHAT IT'S HOW MUCH, sorry I guess I'll have to call back later when I have the money to afford it."
"I can't believe how much the price of tickets has gone up in the last 30 years." He picked up his guitar and mini amp and left the hotel to find a place to play on the street corner. After an entire day of playing he had only made $500.
"Guess I'm going to be stuck here longer then I expected."
i think it'd be cool if we got an african tribesman from like 300-800 years ago
Gerard woke up, and despite the huge amounts of alcohol he had consumed last night, his head was clear as crystal. He remembered a dream -A beautiful dream. Thinking about made him relax. It also made him afraid. Something was changing inside him, just as much as the world around him was changing. Gerard was not sure if he liked it or not.
There was also this feeling. It had been with him for the last few months, growing stronger every day. This feeling was just outside his consciousness, just outside of reach. That didn't stop it from tormenting him, preventing him from closing his eyes. Now, however, something had changed. The feeling was still there, but now he felt it had a purpose. A will.
He went to the door of his apartment to check his mail, more out of routine than of anything else. There he saw it. A small card, simplistically put with only one word: '
'
The feeling inside Gerard suddenly grew much stronger. It started throbbing and twisting. It wanted him to get out of Berlin, out of Germany. Out of Europe.
But where did it want him to go? Immediately flashbacks of a city flooded his mind. He remembered New Orleans. He had been there once before, in the 1950's. The images in his head were from that trip.
As he turned on his laptop and booked a flight from Berlin to USA he thought 'This is the first time in a millenium I have felt something as strong. Something new is happening.'
He booked a last minute flight that would take him to Miami. From there he would have to take another one to New Orleans. He smiled, all this excitement- he felt almost human again.
There was also this feeling. It had been with him for the last few months, growing stronger every day. This feeling was just outside his consciousness, just outside of reach. That didn't stop it from tormenting him, preventing him from closing his eyes. Now, however, something had changed. The feeling was still there, but now he felt it had a purpose. A will.
He went to the door of his apartment to check his mail, more out of routine than of anything else. There he saw it. A small card, simplistically put with only one word: '
Code:
Come.The feeling inside Gerard suddenly grew much stronger. It started throbbing and twisting. It wanted him to get out of Berlin, out of Germany. Out of Europe.
But where did it want him to go? Immediately flashbacks of a city flooded his mind. He remembered New Orleans. He had been there once before, in the 1950's. The images in his head were from that trip.
As he turned on his laptop and booked a flight from Berlin to USA he thought 'This is the first time in a millenium I have felt something as strong. Something new is happening.'
He booked a last minute flight that would take him to Miami. From there he would have to take another one to New Orleans. He smiled, all this excitement- he felt almost human again.
The hot tea glided eloquently down through his lips and passed his tongue as Fredrick sipped at the mug, casually looking over the morning's paper as he sat comfortably at one of the outdoor tables at his favorite tea and coffee shop. The shop was nestled in a quaint little corner of Portland's Old Port neighborhood, just the kind of place he liked.
He smiled bemusedly and flipped to the next page. A few years ago he had confirmed his hypothesis that eventually, all newspapers were doomed to unknowingly reprint the same stories over and over again, almost word for word. Specific names and places were usually different, but other than that, what passed for "news" was typically the exact same stories over and over again. The only times a real story was to come up was when human's made some amazing new discovery in the field of science, but even then, the text could be copy-pasted into another article and, with a smidgen of editing, used for the next big breakthrough.
"Would you like some more tea, Mr. Wellington?" the waitress asked, walking up to him with a steaming glass pitcher.
He looked up from his reading with a broad smile. "No, no more for now, Ms. Price. I believe I'll be off soon." he answered, in his best British. Over the years, he had picked up many, many accents, British being one of his favorites. He still wouldn't have been able to fool a true, full-blooded Englishman how had lived in the British Isles all his life, but it was near perfect, and good enough to fool anyone else.
"Oh really? Leaving us so soon today?" Ms. Price asked, putting one hand on her hip and leaning to the side slightly.
"I'm afraid so. A few things have come up in my boring old life. I may even have to take a trip." he said, standing up. "Anyway, thank you for the tea, Ms. Price, and be sure to add it to my tab."
"Alright, well be sure to come back soon, Fred, we always like your company!"
Waving as he walked away, Fredrick continued up the street, passed the old 19th century buildings and antique shops. The road his coffee shop was on was a small, cobblestone, "walking street", and so didn't allow vehicles. Once he was to the main street, he turned left and walked a few blocks to where his car, a silver 2009 Honda Accord Coupe, was parked. It was an expensive vehicle, but no so much that it drew lots of attention. It had just the right amount of subtlety and class.
About half an hour later, he arrived at his house, up in the wooded hills above Portland. It was surrounded by trees on all sides, except for one, which gave his bedroom window, and the large window in the main room, a nice view of the bay north of the city, where buildings were more sparse.
He pulled up the driveway and stopped, shut off the engine and then walked briskly up the steps to his big, wooden front door. After unlocking it he stepped inside and shut the door, removing his coat and hanging it on the coat hanger, then sauntered into the main living room, setting his keys down on the kitchen counter as he passed. Sitting down heavily on the couch, he picked up the letter that had been laying on the coffee table and opened it up, reading it for the third time.
Come.
He gazed at it for a few more minutes, remembering the dream he had the night before the letter arrived. His inner longing for the South had suddenly reached it's peak that day, and he had pinpointed it to a specific place: New Orleans. He had trusted his carefully honed and testing intuition in the past, he wasn't about to shrug it off now.
For two years, a feeling had been growing inside of him. At first it had been simply a notion that things weren't right, that something big was going to happen, but it had grown into an urge, a thread tugging at his mind, telling him to go somewhere. Not only a mental sign, but also physical. It happened so slowly, he barely noticed it increasing, but it had eventually become an electric vibration through his entire body. Many nights he had stayed up, simply feeling it and trying to figure out what it was. Then, a few nights ago, he had a dream. It was a very interesting dream, although he could remember little of it. All he knew was that when he awoke, the trembling sensation was gone, and the phrase "New Orleans" was stuck in his head. That very morning he had come downstairs to find the letter sitting on the floor.
Fredrick sighed, picking up his laptop and opening it to book his flight. Preparations would have to be made, and he would have to pack, but all in all he was looking forward to this trip. New Orleans, after all, was a very interesting place.
He smiled bemusedly and flipped to the next page. A few years ago he had confirmed his hypothesis that eventually, all newspapers were doomed to unknowingly reprint the same stories over and over again, almost word for word. Specific names and places were usually different, but other than that, what passed for "news" was typically the exact same stories over and over again. The only times a real story was to come up was when human's made some amazing new discovery in the field of science, but even then, the text could be copy-pasted into another article and, with a smidgen of editing, used for the next big breakthrough.
"Would you like some more tea, Mr. Wellington?" the waitress asked, walking up to him with a steaming glass pitcher.
He looked up from his reading with a broad smile. "No, no more for now, Ms. Price. I believe I'll be off soon." he answered, in his best British. Over the years, he had picked up many, many accents, British being one of his favorites. He still wouldn't have been able to fool a true, full-blooded Englishman how had lived in the British Isles all his life, but it was near perfect, and good enough to fool anyone else.
"Oh really? Leaving us so soon today?" Ms. Price asked, putting one hand on her hip and leaning to the side slightly.
"I'm afraid so. A few things have come up in my boring old life. I may even have to take a trip." he said, standing up. "Anyway, thank you for the tea, Ms. Price, and be sure to add it to my tab."
"Alright, well be sure to come back soon, Fred, we always like your company!"
Waving as he walked away, Fredrick continued up the street, passed the old 19th century buildings and antique shops. The road his coffee shop was on was a small, cobblestone, "walking street", and so didn't allow vehicles. Once he was to the main street, he turned left and walked a few blocks to where his car, a silver 2009 Honda Accord Coupe, was parked. It was an expensive vehicle, but no so much that it drew lots of attention. It had just the right amount of subtlety and class.
About half an hour later, he arrived at his house, up in the wooded hills above Portland. It was surrounded by trees on all sides, except for one, which gave his bedroom window, and the large window in the main room, a nice view of the bay north of the city, where buildings were more sparse.
He pulled up the driveway and stopped, shut off the engine and then walked briskly up the steps to his big, wooden front door. After unlocking it he stepped inside and shut the door, removing his coat and hanging it on the coat hanger, then sauntered into the main living room, setting his keys down on the kitchen counter as he passed. Sitting down heavily on the couch, he picked up the letter that had been laying on the coffee table and opened it up, reading it for the third time.
Come.
He gazed at it for a few more minutes, remembering the dream he had the night before the letter arrived. His inner longing for the South had suddenly reached it's peak that day, and he had pinpointed it to a specific place: New Orleans. He had trusted his carefully honed and testing intuition in the past, he wasn't about to shrug it off now.
For two years, a feeling had been growing inside of him. At first it had been simply a notion that things weren't right, that something big was going to happen, but it had grown into an urge, a thread tugging at his mind, telling him to go somewhere. Not only a mental sign, but also physical. It happened so slowly, he barely noticed it increasing, but it had eventually become an electric vibration through his entire body. Many nights he had stayed up, simply feeling it and trying to figure out what it was. Then, a few nights ago, he had a dream. It was a very interesting dream, although he could remember little of it. All he knew was that when he awoke, the trembling sensation was gone, and the phrase "New Orleans" was stuck in his head. That very morning he had come downstairs to find the letter sitting on the floor.
Fredrick sighed, picking up his laptop and opening it to book his flight. Preparations would have to be made, and he would have to pack, but all in all he was looking forward to this trip. New Orleans, after all, was a very interesting place.
Could we get a list of the character's short sheets in the OP? It'll make things much easier when we get around to meeting each other.
Seamus paced. His RV practically had a mark in the carpet from the pacing.
He was restless.
His eyes narrowed at the knock at the door. Who knew where he was? Had Kelly...no, she'd die afore she'd break. "Inherited that from the botha us." the burly Irishman muttered as he grabbed the M1911 he kept by his armchair. Moving quickly and quietly despite his bulk, he looked out the window next to the door.
There was no one there.
He shrugged, about to go back to pacing, hoping that he'd be able to shake this feeling, when something on the ground caught his attention. He opened the door and picked it up.
He damn near collapsed. The single word, "Come," evoked such urge to motion in him he was almost taken off his feet. He caught himself on his door frame and took a couple deep breaths, staring at the note. He looked around for who could have left it, but couldn't see anyone. He snapped his eye-patch.
"New Orleans..." He stepped back into his RV and shut the door, getting ready to roll out.
He was restless.
His eyes narrowed at the knock at the door. Who knew where he was? Had Kelly...no, she'd die afore she'd break. "Inherited that from the botha us." the burly Irishman muttered as he grabbed the M1911 he kept by his armchair. Moving quickly and quietly despite his bulk, he looked out the window next to the door.
There was no one there.
He shrugged, about to go back to pacing, hoping that he'd be able to shake this feeling, when something on the ground caught his attention. He opened the door and picked it up.
He damn near collapsed. The single word, "Come," evoked such urge to motion in him he was almost taken off his feet. He caught himself on his door frame and took a couple deep breaths, staring at the note. He looked around for who could have left it, but couldn't see anyone. He snapped his eye-patch.
"New Orleans..." He stepped back into his RV and shut the door, getting ready to roll out.
For once, the hustle and aggravating noise of New York City was not the first thing to wake Guy from his slumber. Instead, he stumbled awake from the eerie feeling deep within his core, like a mysterious voice beckoning him through a dense forest, where any path was impossible to find. Rest soon became impossible as the feeling grew like a virus, spreading throughout his entire body, demanding some action. He rose from the tousled silk bedsheets that draped over his long limbs, which fell away like water, slinking onto the plush mattress stealthily so as to not disturb the bed's second inhabitant. Perturbed by the wondrous illness that had gripped him, he wandered toward the ceiling-high window of his flat.
He gazed down upon the weary morning streets. Though only a little past six in the morning, countless taxi cabs and black Sedans rolled smoothly down paved roads. Lights in store windows began to flicker and die away, succumbing to the unbeatable brightness of the rising sun. It was a peculiar sight, one that he never failed to notice. Centuries ago, as he had looked down into the streets of his old home, there had not been cars, but carts; churches, not skyscrapers; festivals, not night clubs.
As he took his time this weekend morning to cook an elaborate Italian breakfast and watch the routine daily news, the sensation in the pit of his stomach increased. He felt dizzy at moments, and warm at others. As a particular weak spell escalated, he was forced to perch upon one of the bar stools in the wide kitchen, and press his forehead against the cool stone island counter top. Am I becoming ill? ...Perhaps I should stay home...
"Guy...? Ça va bien?"
He lifted his head. A soft smile brightened his lips as his eyes searched the young woman before him, who draped his silk sheets about her body like the figure of a Greek goddess. She tilted her head curiously, innocently, sending a cascade of chestnut-coloured hair. He straightened, and nodded slightly.
"Oui," he replied simply. That seemed enough to appease the woman, as she turned- revealing her bare backside- and sauntered back toward the front hallway, where her clothes still lay, having been stripped away so passionately the night before. Guy placed a hand on the cool imprint the counter had left on his forehead, before she called again.
"Guy?" She appeared around the corner, clutching at a bra and a shirt in one hand, and a small white envelope in the other. "I found zis, ah... sous le porte."
A note? Under the door? "Merci, ma belle." He took the envelope from her slender hands, as she leaned forward and placed two kisses- one on his neck just below the ear, and a second on the lips. It wasn't until she wandered away into the washroom that he flipped open the seal and peered inside.
"Come."
"New Orleans," Guy muttered, his voice soft and deep with traces of an Italian accent. He rubbed a thumb over the neat cursive writing, before rising from his seat and slipping into the washroom. Waves of hot steam greeting his face, the woman's body silhouetted behind a shower curtain. He peeked a head inside. His maturity granted a passive expression to his face, rather than devilish or perverted. The young woman, on the other hand, blushed slightly and smiled wickedly.
"I have an appointment. There's a key still on the hook by the door. Would you lock after you leave, and slide the key under the door, s'il vous plaît?" She nodded cutely, before pressing her soaked skin against his body and saying good bye in the only manner the French knew. Confident in leaving a complete stranger to look after his abode, Guy dressed swiftly and neatly (though not without sharing a shower). As he left the flat, he began to dial for New York City airlines, his destination already determined.
He gazed down upon the weary morning streets. Though only a little past six in the morning, countless taxi cabs and black Sedans rolled smoothly down paved roads. Lights in store windows began to flicker and die away, succumbing to the unbeatable brightness of the rising sun. It was a peculiar sight, one that he never failed to notice. Centuries ago, as he had looked down into the streets of his old home, there had not been cars, but carts; churches, not skyscrapers; festivals, not night clubs.
As he took his time this weekend morning to cook an elaborate Italian breakfast and watch the routine daily news, the sensation in the pit of his stomach increased. He felt dizzy at moments, and warm at others. As a particular weak spell escalated, he was forced to perch upon one of the bar stools in the wide kitchen, and press his forehead against the cool stone island counter top. Am I becoming ill? ...Perhaps I should stay home...
"Guy...? Ça va bien?"
He lifted his head. A soft smile brightened his lips as his eyes searched the young woman before him, who draped his silk sheets about her body like the figure of a Greek goddess. She tilted her head curiously, innocently, sending a cascade of chestnut-coloured hair. He straightened, and nodded slightly.
"Oui," he replied simply. That seemed enough to appease the woman, as she turned- revealing her bare backside- and sauntered back toward the front hallway, where her clothes still lay, having been stripped away so passionately the night before. Guy placed a hand on the cool imprint the counter had left on his forehead, before she called again.
"Guy?" She appeared around the corner, clutching at a bra and a shirt in one hand, and a small white envelope in the other. "I found zis, ah... sous le porte."
A note? Under the door? "Merci, ma belle." He took the envelope from her slender hands, as she leaned forward and placed two kisses- one on his neck just below the ear, and a second on the lips. It wasn't until she wandered away into the washroom that he flipped open the seal and peered inside.
"Come."
"New Orleans," Guy muttered, his voice soft and deep with traces of an Italian accent. He rubbed a thumb over the neat cursive writing, before rising from his seat and slipping into the washroom. Waves of hot steam greeting his face, the woman's body silhouetted behind a shower curtain. He peeked a head inside. His maturity granted a passive expression to his face, rather than devilish or perverted. The young woman, on the other hand, blushed slightly and smiled wickedly.
"I have an appointment. There's a key still on the hook by the door. Would you lock after you leave, and slide the key under the door, s'il vous plaît?" She nodded cutely, before pressing her soaked skin against his body and saying good bye in the only manner the French knew. Confident in leaving a complete stranger to look after his abode, Guy dressed swiftly and neatly (though not without sharing a shower). As he left the flat, he began to dial for New York City airlines, his destination already determined.
I has win award for best opening evar?
Edwardo leaned back in his chair, sighting out of the doorway and down the hall. He pushed himself away from his breakfast of rice, miso and butter chicken and stared at the note on the floor. Pushing the mental protests his body had about the recent tingling, he mused about how this had reached his door. Edwardo had very carefully concealed his location and left almost no paper trail. He picked it up, but didn't open it. His current attention was occupied by a hissing sound providing an undercurrent of noise to the usual cacophony of shouted Asian languages, running motors and thuds of the pork butchers downstairs. He moved away from his front door, his sneakers squeaking on the cheap linoleum. He moved through the mental list of things in his apartment that could cause the noise. Chairs were lifted, his Han-dynasty paintings were carefully moved aside, bookshelves of hand-written notes by people like Confucius and Douglas Adams were searched. Shuffling into the kitchen, having detected by careful trial-and-error that the source of the noise was here, he very carefully looked for it. As he moved his head down, he experienced a sense rarely experienced by Edwardo - smell. He jerked around the kitchen, attempting to force air into his nose and past the olfactory receptors who had for so long lain dormant. Lacking the proper expertise to draw air down his windpipe, he moved near the likely suspects for hissing and producing smells. He cursed himself for not figuring out how to breathe again for the past 70 years, and moved his nostrils over to the stove. As a deaf man will move away from any loud sounds he suddenly hears, Edwardo moved away from the stove-top with a speed that contradicted his scrawny frame. As he dashed down the hallway with his lone right arm flailing behind him, as an intricate chrysanthemum bloomed in the kitchen in a deadly, beautifully unique moment, one word was present in Edward's mind having been pushed there by his nose who had something very important to say. Gas.
After picking himself up on the street outside what was once his residence in Kyoto, burning splinters littering the street packed with a thousand peoples of Asian or other origin, Edwardo spotted his moped. He had cash stored around the city. He just might make it to New Orleans.
After picking himself up on the street outside what was once his residence in Kyoto, burning splinters littering the street packed with a thousand peoples of Asian or other origin, Edwardo spotted his moped. He had cash stored around the city. He just might make it to New Orleans.
"New Orleans. Hmm."
Dexter examined the card. He looked at the bold lettering, spelling out 'Come.' It had arrived under his door, slipping through the letter slot. When he had looked outside the door, he saw no one there. He went down to the door, and opened it up, his short hair ruffled by the Minnesota wind. He felt it odd, to live in a place he had opposed a few centuries ago. "Drive, or fly," He thought. "That is the question." He knew that while driving would be slower, but much cheaper. Flying would be quicker, but might cost a couple hundred. He decided to drive, knowing that it would probably be more efficient, since he didn't really need to eat, just sleep. He looked over at his motorbike, a Harley. Dexter decided that he wouldn't leave just yet. He wanted to wait a bit before he left, maybe see if anything about it was on the news. Maybe it was a prank, and it was only a coincidence that he wanted to see New Orleans. But if it wasn't, and it probably wasn't, he would head out at noon.
Dexter examined the card. He looked at the bold lettering, spelling out 'Come.' It had arrived under his door, slipping through the letter slot. When he had looked outside the door, he saw no one there. He went down to the door, and opened it up, his short hair ruffled by the Minnesota wind. He felt it odd, to live in a place he had opposed a few centuries ago. "Drive, or fly," He thought. "That is the question." He knew that while driving would be slower, but much cheaper. Flying would be quicker, but might cost a couple hundred. He decided to drive, knowing that it would probably be more efficient, since he didn't really need to eat, just sleep. He looked over at his motorbike, a Harley. Dexter decided that he wouldn't leave just yet. He wanted to wait a bit before he left, maybe see if anything about it was on the news. Maybe it was a prank, and it was only a coincidence that he wanted to see New Orleans. But if it wasn't, and it probably wasn't, he would head out at noon.
I will probably not get to a post tomorrow, so don't be surprised. And yes, Aqua, that was a pretty sweet opener.
[small]And it really wasn't because of the naked woman. Nope, not at all, definitely not.[/small]
[small]And it really wasn't because of the naked woman. Nope, not at all, definitely not.[/small]
Paddy stumbled out of bed his head splitting. Walking into the bathroom of his dingy apartment he stared into the mirror trying to think clearly as he pulled the aspirin out from behind the mirror. Stumbling towards the door to check the mail he found a half empty can of cheap beer from last night. He used it to down a handful of the tablets, "So much for guidelines" he mumbled as he went into the hall and checked his mailbox. There wasn't much only a brochure for some cheap flights to America and a blank envelope. Ignoring the brochure Paddy picked up the envelope and looked inside, feeling slightly suspicious, it hadn't been the first time he had received a blank envelope and the contents rarely turned out to be good news. He let out a sigh when he saw it was only a card with the word "Come" written on it, but as he stared at it he couldn't help but think of that strange dream he had. He was so engrossed in trying to figure the card out he didn't notice Mr. Black his landlord collecting his post beside him.
He didn't look up until he heard Mr. Black say to him "More junk mail? What is it this time, flights to America. Won't see me flying there, not since 9/11 anyway. Mind you I heard New Orleans is nice this time of year".
Paddy felt a flash of recognition at the name, something told him there and then that the answer to this card lay there.
Grabbing the brochure out of his mailbox he turned to his landlord and said "Mr. Black I'm done with the apartment, I suddenly have the need for a holiday. I'll see ya around".
Paddy could hear a quickly blustered goodbye as he ran back into his apartment and started to flip through the brochure to find a cheap flight that would get him to New Orleans and there was even one early in the morning. It didn?t take long to pack everything he owned into a carry on bag, as he had always lived with the bare essentials. Throwing on his coat and sliding his revolver into an inside pocket he walked out with his bag on his back. As soon as he was outside after another quick goodbye to a blustered looking Mr. Black, Paddy gave one of his old IRA buddies a call. After a couple of rings there was an answer on the other end.
Speaking quickly Paddy said "Jim, I need a parcel delivered to New Orleans by tomorrow, it can be picked up at St. Mary's retirement home in the usual spot. Thanks".
After a quick confirmation on the other end Paddy hung up and went to get a cab. Arriving at St. Mary's Paddy first went into a nearby McDonalds and soon came out with a takeaway meal. Dumping the food in the bin, he kept the bag and hid his gun in it. He then proceeded to hide the gun where Jim would find it. Paddy was confident that Jim could do it, after all it was said he could get a gun onto the next space shuttle if he wanted. Paddy then went into St. Mary's stopping off at the gift shop outside first to pick up some flowers. He went straight up to Hanna's room, his little sister from before he had died. He had visited her several times in the last 6 years, once he had heard of her residing there, always pretending to be a distant relative researching his family tree. When he reached her room she was asleep however and he couldn't bring himself to wake her. He placed the flowers on her bedside locker with a note wishing her well. Paddy was severely urged to sign his real name, but he knew he couldn't let his sister know he was alive so he used the fake name he had used when visiting her before. As he was leaving he received a quick call from Jim saying he already had the parcel and telling Paddy where to pick it up. Paddy quickly scribbled the address down and started towards the City Centre, he had a couple things he wanted to do before he left the country, he also made a mental note to tell his boss he quit.
He didn't look up until he heard Mr. Black say to him "More junk mail? What is it this time, flights to America. Won't see me flying there, not since 9/11 anyway. Mind you I heard New Orleans is nice this time of year".
Paddy felt a flash of recognition at the name, something told him there and then that the answer to this card lay there.
Grabbing the brochure out of his mailbox he turned to his landlord and said "Mr. Black I'm done with the apartment, I suddenly have the need for a holiday. I'll see ya around".
Paddy could hear a quickly blustered goodbye as he ran back into his apartment and started to flip through the brochure to find a cheap flight that would get him to New Orleans and there was even one early in the morning. It didn?t take long to pack everything he owned into a carry on bag, as he had always lived with the bare essentials. Throwing on his coat and sliding his revolver into an inside pocket he walked out with his bag on his back. As soon as he was outside after another quick goodbye to a blustered looking Mr. Black, Paddy gave one of his old IRA buddies a call. After a couple of rings there was an answer on the other end.
Speaking quickly Paddy said "Jim, I need a parcel delivered to New Orleans by tomorrow, it can be picked up at St. Mary's retirement home in the usual spot. Thanks".
After a quick confirmation on the other end Paddy hung up and went to get a cab. Arriving at St. Mary's Paddy first went into a nearby McDonalds and soon came out with a takeaway meal. Dumping the food in the bin, he kept the bag and hid his gun in it. He then proceeded to hide the gun where Jim would find it. Paddy was confident that Jim could do it, after all it was said he could get a gun onto the next space shuttle if he wanted. Paddy then went into St. Mary's stopping off at the gift shop outside first to pick up some flowers. He went straight up to Hanna's room, his little sister from before he had died. He had visited her several times in the last 6 years, once he had heard of her residing there, always pretending to be a distant relative researching his family tree. When he reached her room she was asleep however and he couldn't bring himself to wake her. He placed the flowers on her bedside locker with a note wishing her well. Paddy was severely urged to sign his real name, but he knew he couldn't let his sister know he was alive so he used the fake name he had used when visiting her before. As he was leaving he received a quick call from Jim saying he already had the parcel and telling Paddy where to pick it up. Paddy quickly scribbled the address down and started towards the City Centre, he had a couple things he wanted to do before he left the country, he also made a mental note to tell his boss he quit.
Sorry if it seems excessive
Adrian leaned back in a small wooden chair, for most the chair would have been deemed to small but for Adrian it was the appropriate size. Around him were a group of skin heads, randomly assorted racists and white supremacists who were supposedly Nazi's. They sat down in the beat up chairs as they drank cheap wine and mumbled slurs, one patted Adrian on the back as he went over to beat up sofa. The group had been assembled to discuss plans about the next wave of recruitment for this union.
"Listen up, we have important shit to discuss and I don't want to repeat myself because on idiot decided to get drunk and not listen to what I'm saying. So I recommend you little pig shits put down the beers and pay attention." The leader said in a heavy southern accent, his accent was so heavy that Adrian could barely understand what the man was saying. "However seeing as I left my glasses at home I think Adrian should read the recruitment check list."
"Sure thing Wats-" Before he could continue he heard a whisper in his ear, sounded almost ghostly as if something was trying to get his attention. "New Orleans" And then the presence vanished, leaving Adrian with only one goal, get to New Orleans by any means neccesary.
"Sorry Watson, I believe I most be leaving." Adrian said as he rushed out the apartment door "I'm going to take your bike, alright?"
"I swear to go Adrian if you take my bike I will fuc-" The leader's shouting was cut off by the door slamming behind Adrian, He ran into the parking lot looking for the mans truck. In the distance an old Harley sat in the corner of the lot, the license plate said "Big Boss" signifying that it was in fact the leader's bike. Adrian sprinted over towards the bike, once he had gotten over to the Harley he had noticed that the key was left in the ignition. Adrian slowly lifted himself onto the bike and revved the engine twice before taking off.
"Listen up, we have important shit to discuss and I don't want to repeat myself because on idiot decided to get drunk and not listen to what I'm saying. So I recommend you little pig shits put down the beers and pay attention." The leader said in a heavy southern accent, his accent was so heavy that Adrian could barely understand what the man was saying. "However seeing as I left my glasses at home I think Adrian should read the recruitment check list."
"Sure thing Wats-" Before he could continue he heard a whisper in his ear, sounded almost ghostly as if something was trying to get his attention. "New Orleans" And then the presence vanished, leaving Adrian with only one goal, get to New Orleans by any means neccesary.
"Sorry Watson, I believe I most be leaving." Adrian said as he rushed out the apartment door "I'm going to take your bike, alright?"
"I swear to go Adrian if you take my bike I will fuc-" The leader's shouting was cut off by the door slamming behind Adrian, He ran into the parking lot looking for the mans truck. In the distance an old Harley sat in the corner of the lot, the license plate said "Big Boss" signifying that it was in fact the leader's bike. Adrian sprinted over towards the bike, once he had gotten over to the Harley he had noticed that the key was left in the ignition. Adrian slowly lifted himself onto the bike and revved the engine twice before taking off.
Zala had spent the morning sunbathing in the absolute privacy of her vineyard, sunglasses to let her doze the only adornment she bothered to wear. The fresh breeze and warm sun on her skin lulled her to sleep, a sleep full of fitful dreams and things she had not felt for a thousand years or more. Some things she could not remember feeling before at all. It warmed her and chilled her just as the air and the sun, and so when she woke to her servant-woman's gentle shake she was confused about whether the dream had ended or not for the breath of a moment before clarity reigned again.
"Un messaggio, signora." The young woman said, offering the note without any embarrassment over Zala's state. Her name was... Aniela, despite how much she resembled Zala's image of her mother, Ghita, and her grandmother, Elda. Aniela and her brother were her most trusted friends and employees now, as her family had been as they served her for many generations before. Zala's strange moods and manners were something the girl had been familiar with since childhood. So many trained to those moods and manners over the centuries... So many children she'd watched grow old...
Sighing, Zala turned her attention to the contents of the note that had been delivered, her heart skipping a beat. Come.
It felt like the dream. And it spoke like the dream. Without having to wonder for even a moment, she knew where she was wanted. Where she would be going.
"Informi il sua fratello a venire, per favore." She informed the girl, already standing gracefully to dawn a robe, feeling the first flood of impatience she'd felt in centuries. For all that the world had sped up, she had slowed down. Nothing left she thought worth rushing for. Until now. "Mi recherò a New Orleans."
"Un messaggio, signora." The young woman said, offering the note without any embarrassment over Zala's state. Her name was... Aniela, despite how much she resembled Zala's image of her mother, Ghita, and her grandmother, Elda. Aniela and her brother were her most trusted friends and employees now, as her family had been as they served her for many generations before. Zala's strange moods and manners were something the girl had been familiar with since childhood. So many trained to those moods and manners over the centuries... So many children she'd watched grow old...
Sighing, Zala turned her attention to the contents of the note that had been delivered, her heart skipping a beat. Come.
It felt like the dream. And it spoke like the dream. Without having to wonder for even a moment, she knew where she was wanted. Where she would be going.
"Informi il sua fratello a venire, per favore." She informed the girl, already standing gracefully to dawn a robe, feeling the first flood of impatience she'd felt in centuries. For all that the world had sped up, she had slowed down. Nothing left she thought worth rushing for. Until now. "Mi recherò a New Orleans."
Damn. I've just realised that I don't like the way I've built Edwardo. How does he talk if he can't breathe? And I need to put more social interaction in my posts.
EDIT:
Also, I'd like Edwardo to speak or write Japanese just like how others are speaking French or Italian, but I can't find a romanized translator. Can anyone point me in the right direction?
Upon arriving in New Orleans, you realize that you haven't any idea where it is you quite want to go. Bewildered and feeling a little foolish, you move about the city at your own pace. At some point, you find yourself headed towards an old, nearly abandoned church, empty since the flood of Katrina hit. Some menial work has been done on the Victorian edifice, but not enough to restore it to its former glory. Even the pews are flood damaged.
For the first one of you to arrive, you note a young looking Japanese man sitting in a jacket and jeans in the front pew, staring up at the face of The Virgin. He lets out a gruff sigh, and moves to get up. Once he is standing, he looks at you, and you realize he has the same tendency that you do. A way of looking someone in the eye that betrayed many years...far too many years.
He slowly turns back around, and sits down with a heavy sigh.
"I see."
For the first one of you to arrive, you note a young looking Japanese man sitting in a jacket and jeans in the front pew, staring up at the face of The Virgin. He lets out a gruff sigh, and moves to get up. Once he is standing, he looks at you, and you realize he has the same tendency that you do. A way of looking someone in the eye that betrayed many years...far too many years.
He slowly turns back around, and sits down with a heavy sigh.
"I see."
The first one to arrive is also the first one to post.
Edwardo figures he may as well pull over on his moped and rest. 'Damn trip's been tiresome and wasteful,' he thinks, 'at least I could have rented a new apartment in Kyoto before I left'. He sits down next to the lone Japanese man at the front pew, turns to him and says 'Sumimasen, ah, lighter? Cigarette?" He pulls out a moth-eaten cigarette from his bike jacket, stained at the filter, and waves it at him indicating he wants to light up regardless of the sacred surroundings.