Ladder Admittance

[Shinta]

Joining:
~To join in on ladder, please post the three following things.
*Post that you either want to go into the open ladder or get put into a ranked ladder
*Post a short bio on your character, basically including appearance, weapon, and fighting style. You DO NOT need to do an extenious bio.
*Post an introduction that uses the character in the bio before it.


The Referee's will decide what ranked ladder you go into. This does not apply to open ladder players. Once you receive a pm saying you were ranked, you may check the brackets thread and issue a challange.

[Author X]

I intend to join a ranked ladder...

but I'll have to edit everything in... so just gotta give me some time to get everything together.

Name: Roi Valley
Skin: Bronze
Eyes: Blue-Gray
Hair: Black
Height: 5'3"
Weapon: His fists, but will also use a quarterstaff, which shines always with a vibrant white, which is always pulled from the air about him. If he drops it, or it otherwise leaves his possession, it vanishes, returning to the air about him (though not visible). Also has an array of white and earth magic.
Clothing: Wears a white and gold t-shirt, blue jeans, and black sneakers (if modern... has alternative outfits for different time settings). Always wears gold necklace with an emerald amulet, which looks as though it is from Ancient Egypt.
Fighting style: Adaptive to the situation at hand.

Intro:

“Long days lead to longer nights,” his brother once said to him. It was one of the last things that he had said before... well… that wasn’t important now. It was a statement that constantly found itself in at hand within the very surface of Roi’s mind, for no reason other than its truth and application.

He was young, not even 20 years of age, but already, many people would say, he had done a lifetime of work, and endured a lifetime of pain. His eyes reflected such, holding a steely wisdom that many found enigmatic. Celestial, even. It was an accusation that Roi took great joy in receiving, and his response was always the same: “Don’t I wish.”

Roi laughed, coming to rest beneath a mighty oak in a greater forest. It was a sad laugh, however; the kind of laughter that reaches the ears as a yearning cry. The tears followed shortly after, his head pressed into his arms, which were at rest against the trunk of the oak tree he sat under. He still missed his family… They had been dead for 6 years, and Roi would have died too… had he not been away, training with an order of monks. His prowess with the fist only cemented others’ beliefs of him being celestial, and such amused him to no end. Not now, though. Roi took comfort in the sights around him, and he could feel a soothing energy about him. He smiled weakly, and rose to his feet, a small gust of wind throwing his hair into disarray. Roi laughed slightly. He liked to think that whenever that happened, it was his brother, playfully mussing his hair. It sounded corny, and he knew it… it was why he never said it aloud.

But he knew. Even if no one else did, he knew. He knew that, if not every time, that some of the time, the wind really was his brother… and that the warmth of his mother still periodically visited him. He never stated it, for he knew that people’s opinions would turn negative. Not that he cared all too much… he just enjoyed being mistaken for an angel.

Roi smirked, and walked on, through the forest, taking in the scenery about him. He always enjoyed the calm serenity of the forest. It was a great way to get away from the crowds, and the sinners. A great way to either escape his memories or unearth them. The former was what he had hoped to do today.

He was ill from all the sin in the world… sick of his misfortune. Horribly disenchanted with the possibility that one day his identity, mistaken for an angel, would be tormented for such.

Only a matter of time, Roi thought, Before I will be unable to save the few I am able… And then what will hold them back? What will hold those wretched things back, God? The thought was not a matter of suggestion, but a question directed toward his Lord, in the form of an impromptu and brief prayer.

Where his Order had always met had been burned down, killing everyone but him in the flames. He was sure he saw the same devil that had killed his family there, feeding the fire.

All in all, he was tired, and only the forest could offer the rest he desired.

Roi came across a lake in the mighty forest, and sat down beside it, dipping his head beneath the water, cooling it off and washing the sweat away, and afterward he leaned against a nearby tree, whose roots were above ground, going into the water. He smiled, and sat cross-legged against the trunk, meditating.

When he awoke from his deep concentration, it was nighttime, and he discovered that a doe was standing directly in front of him, sniffing at him. He blinked, and the movement startled her, sending her running through the forest. Roi laughed, and stood up, dusting his jeans off. He sighed, playing with his amulet and looking up at the light of the moon, and for the first time in a long while, he felt something of utmost comfort. He felt peace.

[Omni]

I wish to be placed on a ranked ladder (therefore not open ladder if you can't understand :p)

Bio
Name: Omnius Ixius Iziru
Sex: Male
Appearance: He wears Black boots, A pair of black judo pants, a black gee, a black mask that covers his right side of his face, and a black ski mask. His hair is a relaxed wavy black with white tips. His eyes are a faint grey. He stands around a 5' 10".
Weapons: Two katanas, 1 No-Dachi blade, 1 claw attached to a chain, 4 daggers
Fighting Style: Modified Renbukai (Renbukai is a hybrid of Judo, Jujitsu, and Tae Kwan Do)

Intro
History beholds places untouched, unscraped...,and unmoved. Surrounded by mountains all around is what you may call a slice of heaven. A serene paradise. Within these natural walls lies a castle. A japanese style castle. Similar to those of Edo and the rest of old Japan during the Sengoku period. This castle is surrounded by a complexes of buildings, shacks, houses, and other such. And enclosing this entire self-sufficient city are walls. Walls of a height of a roughly 35 meters up. At it's west end is a gate. This gate extends even farther up. This gate reaches a height of 50 meters up from the ground. Separating it from the rest of the wall is a wooden wall only an inch thick extending to both sides all the way up to the top of the gate. Lastly encompassing the physical wall is a barrier of water, a moat. Some 10 meters wide and 6 meters deep

Extending from this gate due west is a bridge that could be raised, connected to a path. A dirt path, that is cleanly laid out and untouched. As if no one has ever treaded over it. This path is wide enough to fit 4 lanes of a modern road.

Covering the tips of the nature-made wall are clouds. These clouds are as thick as pea soup. Reaching down to its base and even into the path are lighter, more dispersed fog.

Returning to center of walls is the castle. At its base up to 20 meters high is made out of stone. From then on up reaching the height that god only knows, since the tip of this castle must intrude in his abode, is made of wood. From the west of of this castle to the gate extends a small stone path made of perfectly round stone tablets. Intersecting this path is a stream. The path lifts over it and continues. The path becomes wooden while over this stream. Surrounding this stream on both sides is a garden. A garden so tranquil and pure it could pass as the garden of eden. Minor dirt-layed roads extends to the complexes within this city.

Not a soul rest in this place. Not a thing dares disturb it either. However coming from the abyss of mist is someone. This person is moving at a fast pace, ripping the fabrics of the mist. This can only be telled by the tap tap tap tap tap of the person's feet. As this person runs some metal clanking is heard. Also underneath the tapping of the feet against the hard dirt of the ground and the loud obtrusive clanking is the breathing of this person. It is completely controlled breathing however.

Still pulling apart the fabrics of the mist towards the gate appears the body. It is hard to tell however. The only assumption that can be made is dark colored clothing. Even a face mask which makes part of his face dark. There bolts the figure to the impenetrable gate and moat at full speed so can be seen. He makes it to edge of the moat and jumps up. As the figure rises he vanishes and appears clinged to the wooden gate. The figure than jumps to the other side, however slightly higher than his last position. The person does this jumping back and forth at high speeds climbing up to the top. The question however is how this person will climb over the small roof above the gate. The person reaches the roof and something digs into the roof. The person kicks the door and launches over and onto the roof. The person reaches down and brings back whatever it was the was dug into the roof. That instant could be seen a chain. The fighter turns quickly to the castle and takes a look. The person views the entire complex and than jumps down to the wall. Than onto a shack located beneath it. Than to the path below the shack's roof. The person sprints off towards the castle.

The person floors it over the wooden bridge, rustling the bushes and flowers in the garden and then jumps into the air. Foot extended before the person, the person crashes through the bamboo door. The person looks left and right quickly and than moves left, takes some steps right, goes left for a ways, again to the left some bit, a couple steps right, than left making his or her way to a giant room with a matted floor. The person stops at the north end of the room catching their breath, waiting for something.

[Shinta]

we're not idiots omni.....


I'll look them over with another ref tonight, but you two will probably be placed in grand masters :P

[Slyner]

Ranked Ladder, bitte!! Please, for those who don't know German.

Name : Matyr Talencir

Gender : Male

Race : Human

Age : 27

Appearance : Matyr is about six feet tall with jet-black hair and piercing light blue eyes. He is clad in dark-green light plated armor and a flowing black cloak. These warrior-like armaments give him the appearance of an every-day ranger. Both of these items were enchanted by none other than Matyr himself to make them lighter and more durable.

Weapons : A long sword is belted to his right hip, imbued with magic by none other than himself. The blade appears black, despite the elements of which it is made. When used to kill a man, a curse placed upon the sword swallows the soul of the victim and devours its energy. On his left thigh, Matyr carries a long curved knife to be used in case of those quick jobs.

Magic : As a child he began to study magic. He quickly abandoned the simple elementals and moved onto curses and Shadow magic. Specializing in the arcane, Matyr know spells that have been forgotten for ages.

Background Information : Matyr works as a spell sword for hire, working for the highest bidder. Working for tax collectors and other government officials, Matyr is one of utmost honor. Despite his profession, he does what he is told and nothing more. As a young age he ran away from home, stealing to live, killing to survive. At the age of 13, he began to study magic and practice with a sword. Quickly becoming skilled with his mind and his hands, he became a well-known mercenary for hire.

[u]Intro[/u[]

Will be edited in here. Just um, gimme a few hours.

[MechaMonkey]

Ranked, por favor.

Name: Vagrant
Hair: Blonde and curly, worn to his shoulders
Eyes: Golden
Height: 6’ 5”
Clothing: Brown leather breeches with high-topped leather boots, chain mail hauberk, steel gauntlets, and a long, tattered white cloak that looks as if it were once quite impressive
Weapons: Barb-pointed spear, Mace w/ six flanges each in the shape of an angel’s wing, Large kite shield painted same white as cloak
Special: Wings (see intro)

INTRO:
Vagrant stood unmoving atop the pillar of rock, his tattered white cloak still despite the chill breeze blowing about at the high altitude. He liked to watch the world below from above, like he had done for so many millennia before his exile. From here, he could almost imagine he was home again, standing vigilant guard over the mortal realm. Almost.

He still kept his watch, but now he did so from among those he protected. This world was a far cry from the paradise he had left, but now it was his world, his charge, and he was its hidden guardian. No longer did he serve among the legions from on high, protecting the denizens of the mortal world. No longer was he granted the power given to all heavenly warriors. Though he did not age as men did, he still bled and died as they did. So now, he used what few gifts were left to him to battle the forces of darkness in the territory most disputed by good and evil, the world of men.

He had long since given up on trying to find a home in the bustling cities. Too many people, too many secrets to be hidden, too many evils to be stopped from within. So he resolved himself to fighting the evils outside the settlements of man, destroying it before it was given a chance to worm its way through the cracks of the walls and into the hearts and homes of his charges. He had lost count of the beasts he had slain, both man and monster. From common criminals to greater demons, he had fought, he had won, and he had protected. Some would call him a vigilante, but he thought himself the champion and defender of an entire world, going where even angels feared to tread..

Below him, a hawk circled near tower of rock, catching the thermal currents and gliding majestically across the sky. Vagrant gave a rare smile at the sight. The hawk too, kept a watch, though for a different kind of prey. Below the raptor, at the base of the pillar, was Vagrant’s prey. The solitary figure was too far below to discern any detail, but Vagrant knew that this was the man he had been searching for. This man had committed crimes without regret, and Vagrant was judge, jury, and headsman.

Vagrant reached up and undid the clasp of his cloak. It gently settled to the rock around his feet, revealing a well-used chain hauberk and an ornately crafted mace at his belt. He picked up his shield and spear from where they lay on the ground nearby. He slowly approached the edge of the pillar and stood so that the toes of his boots just protruded from over the edge. Suddenly, his whole body contorted painfully, and a scream of agony escaped from deep within him. Two humps slowly began to grow from his shoulder blades, the bare skin visible through slits cut through Vagrant’s hauberk and tunic right over the area where the lumps were growing. In a flash of blood and feathers, two magnificent white wings burst from the humps.

Blood ran down in small rivulets from the tips of the snow white feathers, splattering on the stone. Dust swirled up around Vagrant as his wings gave a mighty beat, lifting him a few feet into the air. He came back down on the balls of his feet, and sprang forward off the rock. He spread his wings to their full length, and he soared upwards as they caught a column of rising hot air. For a few moments, he was gliding in sync with the circling hawk below, the two predators moving as one as they spiraled around their quarry below. Then, Vagrant pulled his wings back, streamlined his body and went into a dive, straight towards the figure walking among the forest of rock pillars below.

[Shinta]

Let me get another ref to pass judgement on you mechamonkey....should be ranked in the next few minutes

[Slyner]

Here ya go LJ...you might want to find a really bored Judge to do this one. Mind you, this was 3 pages on MSWord...

Intro

Books lay scattered upon the table, their tattered pages exposed in the soft light. Candles were lit around the room, their small flames flickering, their gentle glow illuminating the small room. As the candles continued to burn, the wax deliquesced into a thick liquid, slowly dripping down the sides of the solid candle. In the corner of the room lay several stubs, the life of their wax and wick long passed. Placed next to the far wall was a bed whose sheets were placed impeccably neat, not a single crease was to be found. Beside the bed hung a deep-green set of armor, a sheathed long sword, and a curved knife. To the common eye, these armaments appeared to be nothing more than standard protection. The armor, sword, and knife however, had been enchanted by magic originated in the Shadows.

Before the table sat a man dressed in a thin tunic and loose fitting pants; they were the under clothes to a suit of armor. The room was silent, save the occasional crackle of a candle. Outside, however, a storm poured down upon the town, the rain beating down upon the stranded townspeople. Oblivious to the weather beyond his door, Matyr was bent over the books, his finger running down the page, his eyes scanning every word. His mouth moved as though he was speaking though no words were uttered. He would occasionally stop and reread a small section or passage, confirming he had read correctly. As though in a trance, he read, body unmoving, his eyes scanning frantically, his brain absorbing knowledge.

Without warning, a loud rapping noise came from the door. Snapping out of his meditative memorization, Matyr moved towards his bed and pulled down the curved shiv. Moving towards the door, he climbed up several steps from the sunken floor of his small room. Holding the knife behind his back, he jerked open the door. Beneath the overhang stood a man covered in a black cloak, his hood drawn to conceal his face.

“Good evening Mr. Talencir. I hope I wasn’t bothering you,” said the mysterious man.

“Not at all. I was just going over some old material,” Matyr replied.

“I must say, it is nice to have a spellsword of your calibre here in our city,” said the cloaked man. Suddenly his eyes opened wide; he saw the knife Matyr was holding. “Is that weapon really necessary?”

“Hmph, you never know. You got the cash?”

“Of course, sir. Here,” the stranger said, handing over a small leather sack. Weighing it in his hands, Matyr nodded. Looking over the shoulder of the concealed man, he spotted two gorgeous women, one with raven-colored hair, her friend a thick mane of strawberry blonde, standing beneath an outcropping of a small shack. As they caught his gaze, they turned to each other and began to laugh, whispering to each other. Winking discreetly, Matyr turned back to his customer.

“Consider the job done,” Matyr answered curtly, catching one last glimpse of the women. Turning around, he closed the door and threw his knife on the bed. Sighing, he looked at his armor. It was just another assignment; just another routine activity to keep alive in this world of ruin. Walking to the wall, he carefully placed his armor around his body, meticulously checking every strap, every detail. He removed his sword from the hook on the wall, pulling the belt around him, buckling it on his left side. The deadly weapon hung confidently at his right, its blade concealed by the dark scabbard.

Drawing the weapon, a slight ring emanated from the grazing of metals. The blade was black as midnight, small etchings located near the hilt. Barely legible, only Matyr knew what they meant, for he enchanted the weapon himself. Placing the weapon back in its sheath, Matyr grabbed the knife from his sheets and slid it into a holster located on his left thigh. After tying the small leather pouch of gold coins to his belt, the spell sword threw his black cloak over his shoulder, latching it and pulling the hood over his head, covering much of his face.

How many more times must I dawn this guise of death? This sword, this knife. How many have fallen before their edges? How much longer shall I cause pain to the loved ones of my victims? I have no choice; I do what I can to survive.

Blowing the life from the candles, Matyr snatched the keys from his desk, closed his books, and walked to the door. The rain continued to pour in torrents, its soft patter echoing throughout the small town. Closing the door, he pushed the key into the lock, twisting his hand until the satisfied click filled his ears. Placing the key into a small pouch located near the small of his back, he continued on the way to his target’s house.

As he tread along the muddy path, his boots sank slightly into the ground, the heavy muck adhering to the metal upon his greaves; he would have to clean them later. Peering from below the hem of his hood, he observed a woman desperately attempting to barter with a tailor. Quickly remembering the beautiful, strawberry-blonde haired woman, Matyr increased his pace in attempt to aid the distressed vixen.

From beneath his hood, Matyr could see the sensual outline of the soaking dame. Her dress was pressed close to her body from the rain, curvaceous figure accentuated by the suction of her clothes. Drawing nearer to the tailor’s window, he could see the young woman hunched over her purse, frantically searching for her coins. As he approached them, he pulled out two golden coins from his leather pouch and placed them on the counter. Nodding to the woman, she beamed a smile of thanks, her rain-soaked hair matted around her beautiful face. Turning on heel, the spellsword continued in his quick pace to the outskirts of town. He passed barns and fields and several farmers bringing their livestock in from the storm. They paid him no heed, however, for shady travelers were of no rare occurrence in this small town.

Matyr arrived at the door of a small shack at the edge of town. The door was cracked, hanging loosely from its frame. Drawing his midnight-shaded sword, the mercenary violently planted a boot in the middle of the barrier, blasting it open and breaking it from its hinges. As he walked through the empty doorframe, he noticed that rotting furniture lay throughout the house, small pieces of parchment wrinkled and flattened upon a desk in a room. A meager three books stood straight in the bookshelf, their aging spines beginning to crack as pages were worn. This man lived a life of poverty and it was obvious why the spellsword had been called; old dues had not been paid.

Sliding into the end of the hallway, a man with disheveled clothing roared in disgust, a bottle of whisky hanging from his right hand.

“Just what the **** do you think you’re doing!? Get the **** out of my house!” shouted the drunk.

“I’m just doing my job,” said Matyr resignedly. Tracing his finger in an arcane shape, a small trail of fire followed his movements. As he finished, the man stood dumbfounded, oblivious to his impending doom. Quietly whispering, he muttered a short incantation and suddenly the flames transformed into a black liquid. Quickly pointing his sword at his target, the fluid converged into a ball and sped towards the man’s face. With a sickening splat, the Shadow liquid wrapped itself around the drunkard’s face, denying the flow of oxygen to his lungs.

Scratching at his face, the mask of black soon began to move away from his mouth, thin lines of blood forming from the clawing of fingernails. Watching, almost amused, Matyr leaned upon the hilt of his sword, the tip resting above the wooden floors. Gasping for air, the man cried in outrage.

“You ****er! I can’t see! You’ve blinded me! I’ll kill you for that!”

Stampeding forward blindly, the man was no better off than a chicken without a head. Stumbling into the walls and small coffee tables lining the hallway, he finally reached the spellsword, who sighed as he raised his sword. Impaling the drunk through the sternum, the charge stopped, the anger receded. All there was to be felt was pain. Gasping for air, the man stood still, his body limp, his blood soaking his shirt. Leaning forward, the hired assassin whispered softly.

“I apologize, my unknown victim. I was paid to do so, and I’m afraid it is not me who will die.”

Closing his eyes, he concentrated all his willpower into the sword, its engravings glowing neon green, the blade surging with energy. Drawing the remaining strength from his prey, Matyr kicked the lifeless body away, leaving it to lie in his own pool of blood. Sheathing his sword, he straightened his hood and walked out of the small cabin. Another job was done, another paycheck fulfilled, another day had died. It had been the same routine for several years.

left
Yes, dammit, that's an INTRO. Poor Judge...:bawl:

:pirate:

[Author X]

Listen... I changed my mind on what character I want to use... I'm gonna edit my bio now...

Since I wasn't officially signed up I see no problem with that :P

[Omni]

we're not idiots omni.....

You never know. You guys might be hiding something from me (or the Public). Than again you could be in denile. Lol.

So when will you place people up? End of the week? End of month? Beginning of next week? Beginning of next month? Beginning of next year?

[Will Turner]

u want me to do mecha's kenshin? i'll be in ranked, i'll get the stuff up by tonight

[Havoc51]

I will be in the ranked ladder, umm i will get my stuff ASAP; just as soon as i decide which character to use ;)

[Shinta]

curt, i need you to get on msn tonight then we can decide.....im getting a ruling of 2 refs on each intro and might just set up a ref division for this if it kicks off...

[Ben]

Alright, count me in. I'll get all this sh*t together tomorrow sometime since it's almost 4 am and the shadows are closing in on me... :cry: Damn you Doom3.

[Shinta]

All the ranking is done up to now. I'll send the pms tomorrow

[Havoc51]

Well i decided what character i am gonna use, know to make an intro

GW Name: Havoc51
RP Name: Leon
Class: Fallen Knight
Description: A boy around the age of 20 who has a skinny, flexible image. 5'8" in height with piercing black eyes that suit his extremely hard face yet his face seems young. His somewhat long, messy black hair seems near impossible to get under control, always drifting on his forehead. A black cape covers all of his body and he rarely pull downs his hood. Beneath his cape he wears a silk shirt - long sleeved - and black pants.
Weapons: He uses his hand and feet to defend himself, also he has retractable claws (explained below) also he is discovering his new found power, the ancient power of a Fallen Knight. He holds onto a blade that he calls Requiem; the blade itself has history even before Leon was born. His sword greatly resembles a Tai Chi sword, with a metal chain extending from the hilt eventually leading to a metal star.
Bio: His mother and father were important, well known; the reason of why they were famous was never found out by Leon for it meets a staccato end when he was no more than a boy. On the same night they were attacked, the attacker had a great passion for torturing so it seemed when he killed his parents. The attacker tried to kill him - using a piece of metal - but the best he did was striking to thick, long, sharp pieces of metal in both his hand. His father still remained alive, with his last breath he killed the attack; catching him by surprise. Living in a village, Leon did not have many people to go to but he knew of a man that was considered a retard, a mutant, un-human by the rest of the village but they also started the rumor he used magic. With no hope left the boy went to him for help, who in returned said that he could help but under one dear price. He will cursed for life - become a so called Fallen knight - and that the blades still will be in him but this way he could use them to his own advantage and won't kill him.

[Thunder Falcon]

Well...here goes.

GW Name: Thunder Falcon
Charachter Name: Thunder Xi
Race: Human
Age: 58
Gender: Male
Description: Wears a black bandana over his left eye, which wraps around the top of his head, and across his cheek...though he still seems to retain all lines of sight. He has dark brown, shoulder length hair, and a yellow/golden eye. He is about 5' 9'' tall, and weighs 165 lbs. Wears a black, long-sleeved cotton button down dress shirt, that has gold enlaid in it, around the shoulder, and wrists. He has a pin of a golden dragon on his collar. His pants are black, and tight. He has a belt around his waist, with a small knife in it. He wears black boots, that his pants tuck into.
Magic: Can weild many types of magic, the most prominent being the ability to bring lightning down from the heavens, and to create a sword of pure white fire.
Weapons: ?

Does anyone know the name of a weapon that has an axe-head, but, has a spear head above that? I can't remember the name of it...

Intro to come later. I'll edit, or something...bah.

[Thunder Falcon]

Dang..can't edit..well, I'm going to be in ranked ladder, just so you know. And..umm...I'll do my intro later, still. Yeah...my bad, haha...

[Shinta]

yea, you guys cant edit...but the refs can for some reason. I'm allowing double posting in here

[MechaMonkey]

Does anyone know the name of a weapon that has an axe-head, but, has a spear head above that? I can't remember the name of it...

A pike, maybe

[Thunder Falcon]

No, it's something like...a pole-axe? I can't remember..that could be it...

[Thunder Falcon]

A breeze began blowing. Leaves began to lift themselves up off of the forest floor, and float upwards on the draft. Some were caught in the trees of the old forest, but some flew past, out, above the tree tops. A hand reaches out from the top of an evergreen tree and grabbed ahold of one of hte leaves that had escaped the Earth. The hand brought itself below the level of the needles. It carried itself to a nose, which smelled silently at the leaf...

"I love the smell of the forest..."

The hand and the nose, along with the rest of a body, jump from branch to branch, carefully, and reach the ground safely. After a minute of brushing the pine needles out of hte clother over the body, the whole thing hurtles through the forest away from the lone pine he had been in. The whole forest was coniferous, except for that one tree....an oddity.

As he ran through the forest, the man thought of little more than the pleasure of being alone. He preffered it this way. Xi did, that is. Xi looked, an acted young for his age. His lifestyle kept him so.

Suddenly, as Xi was just fixing himself into a stride, a flash of something covered his vision, and he fell to the ground. Darkness engulfed him. Something bad had entered the forest. Something dark.

Xi slowly lifted himself up off the floor of the forest, and opened his one eye. It was getting darker. But, the sun had just risen...

Xi formed in his mind a vision of light, and, in front of him by a few feet, appeared a small ball of light. It had appeared just in time, otherwise he would have been engulfed in complete darkness. "What's going on.."

"Everything is quiet...damn," Xi exclaimed, as the light he had called upon was extinguished. He was now in complete darkness. "It's okay. I know this forest like the back of my hand," He said to himself, as he broke into a run, and hit a tree with his face. "Sh!t...okay..new plan...stay put, until this...whatever...leaves, and the light returns.."

Xi positioned himself with his back to the tree, and tried to call forth the light again. To no avail. He tried over and over, but, the light would not come. Neither would any of his other magical tricks.

"This has got to be the worst day ever..."

This has got to be the worst intro ever....

God..that sucked. I'm tired...ugh.

[DropDeadSexyGosuPimpInsanefly]

No, it's something like...a pole-axe? I can't remember..that could be it...

polearm, no hyphon.

The New Imperium Polearm was developed to counterattack the katana used by the weapon masters of the out worlds. The 20" high carbon steel head has four parrying hooks surmounted by a 2.25 x 18.00 inches cutting blade. The wood shaft has a dark finish adn is wrapped with studded leather for a good grip. The butt-cap has a small axe shaped blade for back cuts. The compact polearm is 67 inches overall adn weighs 3 lbs. 4 oz.

taken from swords-online.com (they obviously cant spell and)

and no this doesnt mean im joining, i am considering it tho

[Shinta]

i can invite you as head of the ladder commitee with me:D

[MechaMonkey]

I think TF was looking for the European version, which has been called a pole-axe. Like he said, it has an axe head, but also has a spear-like tip. Consequentially, if someone says they were "pole-axed", it means they were completely stunned. It doesn't really matter what you call it though. We all get the idea.

[White Raven]

I'd like to join a ranked ladder.

Bio
Name: Raven
Appearence: Raven has silver, shoulder length hair and dark cobalt eyes. His skin is very pale. Raven is not built very strong, but is exeptionaly limber. He possesses superior dexterity with a blade or sword, and is decent with a staff. His attire (Clothing) generally changes from fight to fight, so it will be described in my intro.
Demeanor: Raven generally fights for the greater good, though he has no reserves about killing and violence if it should prove nessicary. He is very passive-agressive, and will generally only attack someone with a reason or out of self-defence. He is an honorable fighter, and has been known to help his opponent to their feet and allow them to retrieve their arms before resuming the fight.
Weapons: Raven carries one weapon on his person, which is the Kireme long sword. This is a very plain blade, with no decorations or designs, but there is almost an aura about the blade, hinting at ancient magics laying dorment beneath the cold steel.

Post

“You can’t kill a man when he’s got no hope.”

Raven clutched wearily at the hems of his silver cloak as the driving wind lifted it from his frame once more. He slouched as he trudged onwards, already knee-deep in snow and the storm showing no signs of relenting soon. His entire body was covered by the sterling garment, and it blended nearly seamlessly with the scenery about him. Only two bits of his body were left exposed – the bridge of his nose and his eyes, which were near frozen. The exposed skin, though small in amount, was screaming its protests at him with every step forward he took. His silver shoulder-length hair framed the opening, precipitation clinging to its every fiber. Even through the thick cloak, Raven was still freezing – perhaps Anais had been right. Perhaps he was crazy for trying this.

But it was, perhaps, his best chance to escape.

To leave everything behind, without a trace.

Under his cloak, Raven was wearing a thin mesh of silver mail over a rather small white shirt. The mail extended its way to his wrists, ending in ornate designs of small silver roses and vines. The shirt, however, did not. It ended with his upper arms, leaving the rest of his arms to be chaffed and torn asunder by the cold metal hung around them. His hands were the warmest part of his body, wrapped in sturdy black leather gloves. His legs were covered with plain black denim trousers, and well-built leather boots protected his feet from the elements.

But what truly caught people’s eyes was the sword.

Though it was hidden underneath his cloak, its presence was understood. It hung silently at his side, a beautifully crafted long sword hidden in a gilded scabbard of gold and silver. A small tassel of silver hung from the back of the hilt, the only decoration on the otherwise plain weapon. Still, something about it held an ominous aura whenever it was drawn …

The storm about him only worsened as Raven forced himself further into this abandoned wasteland. His journey was only beginning, but the goal was still clear in his mind. The winds deafened his ears, and the snow blinded his eyes, but he did not need them …

The possibility of absolution had possessed his senses since he’d discovered it.

“God help me.”

[Shinta]

i say grand master and idont need a second opinion :P will be added tonight

[White Raven]

Thank you.

[Xu Huang]

No, it's something like...a pole-axe? I can't remember..that could be it...

I believe a halberd is the name for a spear with one or two axe blades on either side. I should know.

I may join this, I'm not sure. I'll post later if I decide.

[Thunder Falcon]

Nice to see you again, Xu. Thanks.

That'd be pretty cool if you do.

[Shinta]

get your post up TF......


And xu, you told me you wouldn't come back maybe...... :hmm:

[Xu Huang]

Yes, maybe being the keyword there. But perhaps the time is right...

[Shinta]

perhaps...im still getting SS up for you no matter what you say....Bur we'll stop talking now

[Havoc51]

Okay, guys just letting you ppl know that i will try to get an RP as soon as i can, first have to finish one for another clan then i shall come here, sry for the delay

[Thunder Falcon]

get your post up TF......

I did, already.

[Shinta]

ok, i'll rank you tonight//tomorrow

[Lucifer Pyrifax]

Rank me...

Name: Lucifer Pyrifax
Appearance: Lucifer is a majestic creature, angelic in some features, but daemonic in the rest. When he extends them, his wings reach out to a span of nearly fifteen feet. The wings themselves are like that of the biblical angels, plumed with white feathers. Lucifer's face is one of his more daemonic characteristics, sharp cheeks and a mouth that expresses hatred and vengeance quite well with his words. Yet his eyes seem to be of a neutral nature, for they are a cold ice-blue, a colour that chills the bone of any creature that meets their gaze.

His skin is a white, akin to that of a beautiful ivory colour. Such a pallid shade reflects the moonlight quite beautifully when shone upon his skin! Yet, such beauty always manages to be marred by time, and his scars are no different. He wears them with pride and shame, for they are symbols of his power, yet it lessens his aesthetic value...

Lucifer's hair is another one of those attributes close to angelic. It is a platinum-blonde, but a bit more white than most of his same colour. It flows down the side of his face to his shoulders, and it is one of the few areas of his body that has been seen by mortals and they have lived to tell about it.

He is mostly garbed by a heavy cloak, black in nature but bloodstained by man. It covers most of Lucifer's body, except for his hair. Under the cloak he is clothed by black leather pants.

Weapon: Lucifer has two, one is a most frequent guest in his fights, Redemption, and the other is when the first is incapacitated, the Nova Edge.

Redemption is a double ended scythe that ensnares souls. To put it simply, Redemption was once a Fallen Angel, yet the Angel's soul was forged into this weapon, giving it life, and a thirst for other souls. The scythe often travels beside Lucifer, for it doesn't appreciate being held captive, even by the greatest Daemon's touch.

The Nova Edge is a broadsword that Lucifer summons at will. It is too powerful to be kept long in this realm, else it willl begin to create a vortex that will destroy all that come in contact with it. Like Redemption, it thirsts violently, yet the Nova Edge can be quelled temporarily if Lucifer feeds enough dark energy into it.



If you want an introduction, I have numerous fights open... In fact, take the one from the Grim Reaper fight... I'm sure you will enjoy it.

[Shinta]

thats your bio?! ok....

[Lucifer Pyrifax]

Something wrong? I hope I didn't write anything that you didn't like...

[Shinta]

its just long, thats all. I thought it was a short intro but i was wrong :D

[Havoc51]

And my bio isn't long?

[Shinta]

nope, not long at all

[Panther]

I wanna be ranked too!!!!!11one

BIO:

Character name: I'mori'cath
Translation: The Dark Cat
Race: Felinoid
Occupation: Mercenary
Weapon of choice: Variety of blades
Description:
Human form - Approximately 6' tall, extremely well built, his eyes are a deep green and cat like, his hair is jet black if ever he didn't keep it shaved. Battle scars write tales about his body and speak slightly of the life that he has lived.

Panther form - The form that he is most often found when going about his everyday life. The same deep green eyes are here that would be found in his human form. As well as the jet black hair. Scars too run their course on this body, yet three seem to be prevailant. The first, running across the cat's face. The upper portion of his left ear missing from the same blow that left the scar from brow, across snout, and ending at jaw. And the second, a wide scar down his right side. Running from shoulder to tail, and being about two inches in width. This he gained from a torture session with a firy plank. The third being a large area at his throat from the first true battle that he ever fought.

History - Born amongst others like himself, he gained his name by being the first that his people had ever seen be to have no distinctive markings. Solid black he was as a kitten. I'mori'cath he was dubbed, and as it was, it had always remained. Still as a kitten, no more than a year or so old. His tribe was attacked and defeated by a full fledged army. His mother died fleeing with him from the fight. His father, he watched fight valiently until the end when the sheer numbers of his opponents became too much. Nearby there had been a small forest, it was there that Cath weeped for his fallen loved ones. He made his home in the woods. Surviving by his natural hunting skills alone. Still at quite the young age of three, he faced off with a pack of wolves that had entered his woods and had made food become scarce. Like his father, Cath fought tooth and nail until their numbers began to slowly wear him down. Four of their numbers lay dead or dying about the remaining six, but the alpha male wouldn't have his own killed without just revenge. Catching Cath as he defended off attack after attack, the alpha waited for his chance and found it. The cat's neck was left open to attack while defending another attack. It was there that the alpha attacked and found favor. With their stomachs already full, the wolves left their attacker to die his slow death.

As the world dimmed about him, Cath became aware that there was a being standing over him and yelling to others. But it was of no concern to him anymore. Just a few more precious moments and he would be rejoined with his people. Yet it was not destined to be so, not on this day. The darkness lay all about him as the sounds of movement slowly seeped into his mind. Still too weak to move, Cath lay there beside what he could feel to be a fire and simply listened. Days past like this, yet the strength grew inside of Cath. Waking from one of his deeper sleeps, he came to realize the searing pain at his throat from the touch of another. With a surge of strength, Cath latched down on the hand, yet he quickly found that he still lack the strength to make this attack any more than a nibble.

A soft laughter filled his ears and a soothing voice followed behind. "Rest my friend, you have many wounds. Have peace of mind that no harm shall come to you whilst you are in my care." And for whatever reason, the words had indeed calmed the mind of Cath. And he lay his head back down and fell back into the deep sleep of which he had been before.

The next day, Cath woke to the soft stroking of a firm hand and the same voice from the day before. Opening his eyes for the first time since the darkness had closed them, he saw the man looming over him. A large smile crossed his face. "Welcome back to the light of day. I am one that they call Caius. A leader of the strongest army in all of the lands. A scout of mine had found you in the woods that lay many miles behind us. I have been personally nursing your extensive wounds for the last two weeks. In the beginning, I had all but lost hope for you when you were found."

And thus it was that the bond between Cath and Caius began. With time, Cath's health returned to him, as well as a new vibrance from which he couldn't place. Being that he had no other, Cath adopted Caius' army The Diablos as family. Entering their ranks with the promise to himself that he would one day find the army that overcame his tribe and deal out a revenge that could be matched by none other.

In the years that passed with The Diablos, Cath quickly became quite a force to be reckoned with on the training grounds. None could match his speed and agility. It was Caius himself that posed any sort of challenge to the cat. For Caius was unmatched by any fighter across all lands. The two sparred often, mostly because they each loved the challenge. Thus it was one day that they set themselves to a bit of a training bout that life for Cath changed forever.

As the two struck and lept at the other, Caius managed a swift front kick that landed squarely in the cat's chest. The blow landed with such force that it toppled the cat backwards and the unprecedented act of Cath finding himself on his back suddenly became a very real notion. Confusion and disorientation were just a few of the things that Cath succumbed to in a matter of a single moment. Leaping from the ground, he found himself looking up into the saucer sized eyes of Caius. The sudden urge to look around gripped Cath, and Cath had no intention of denying the urge. He stared down at the ground below him. It seemed so far away. He quickly noticed two sets of feet. One booted in heavy leather, the other bare. Cath followed the bare set, and then fell to the ground in shock. He was human. "Caius!" And once again Cath froze in shock. For he had said his first word. The act had baffled everyone in the area. All training had come to a screeching halt. Caius turned to one of the soldiers standing off to the side. "Don't just stand there! Bring him a robe!"

Wrapped in the soft fabric, Caius led Cath into his study. He watched Cath as he continued to test the newly found body of his. Amazed by the simplest of things. Things like having a thumb. So many different ways of being able to move amazed Cath, and he moved every way that he could find. As Caius watched him, he stifled the soft laughter that welled up inside of himself as he watched the young child. Then he sat down across the table from Cath and broke the childs earnest concentration of his own body's movement. "Has this ever happened before?" Cath, still unsure of what "this" was, slowly seeked out the word, "No".

Caius looked on eagerly at what he recognized as a shapeshifter. Even though he held a strong personal bond with Cath, he too was still the leader of The Diablos. A shapshifter was a piece of arsenal that Cauis could have only dreamed of having in his ranks. He quickly began to contemplate the depths of Cath's powers. Did they stop at simply being able to switch between a panther and a human? Or had Cath the ability to become other creatures? The possibilities raced in Caius' mind. What if they did go deeper? What if with the right training, Cath could become a drake? Or any of the other omnipowerful creatures of the lands. With a force such as that loyal to his call, The Diablos would indeed be truly invincible.

Given a few days of adjustment, Caius began to press Cath to search for his powers. To be able to tap into whatever ability that he had that day on the training field. Yet years passed and the only success made was between man and cat. Yet Caius felt no despair. He had if nothing else, gained a fighter with incredible prowess. For Cath too had excelled greatly in the way of swordsmanship. Once again becoming one of the very few that could come anywhere near matching the Diablo Lord.

Time yet passed, years had come, and years had gone. Wars were fought and won. Cath proved time and time again to be a valuable asset to Caius, and quickly moved up in the ranks of The Diablos. Not only for his battle presense, but his tactical as well. Cath quickly became one of Caius' most trusted advisors. Being that he was, over time it earned him a leadership position with none but Caius himself, and Shazal Rugandy, the Mazoku Priest, above him. As Caius felt the need to create his own special forces, he pulled together a small band of his Diablo brethren, and it was called, "The Brotherhood of Dark Time Unholy". It was Cath that one of the first invitations to join the ranks was issued. And as always, he took the title with unblemished Diablo Pride. And has kept the title to this very day.....

INTRO:

He crouched there, watching, waiting, and knowing that the day would be today. Slowly he scanned the distance, his keen feline eyes locking on any and all movement in this desolate place. The images of the last few weeks flashed back to the forefront of Cath's mind. The battle, the victory, the cloaked man. All of it forced itself back into conscious thought. Cath shook his head and forced the thoughts back once again. He knew that he had not been wrong in his last attack. Yet the look upon Raizac's face implied that he had an alternate perception of the situation. This hung heavily on Cath's mind. Raizac had been an incredible captain. Yet Cath knew all to well the fury that one carries when a dear one is stolen senselessly. He too knew that Raizac could not be reasoned with under such circumstances. That he had closed his mind to everything but the thought of vengeance.

It was now, as Cath lay breast deep in the crystalline wonders of the world watching his slow and steady breath frost before his snout and float aimlessly into the empty world beyond, that Raizac entered into sight. Yet a mile off, he announced his presence by way of his beloved silver battlewares. An aura of golden light enshrouded his being as he trudged silently across the wintry slopes. Cath watched as he paused atop a foremost hill and drew his blade. Cath chuckled to himself slightly. Raizac was far too predictable. Yet Cath considered that it may be that the two had trained and fought together a number of times before. Again he chuckled to himself, the latter had only assisted the first.

Cath watched with intent focus as his former comrade replaced his blade and again began his trek. Glancing to his left, Cath's thoughts turned to the hotspring that had drawn him to the area. Surely by now Raizac had noticed the steam, even with human eyes. Realizing that his jet black fur stood out like a sore thumb against the backdrop of the angelic white powder of which he had been laying. Cath leapt to his feet and dashed south to the small grove of trees lying behind the spring that managed to resist the ill temperate weather of the mountains. It was here that Cath chose to lie in wait for his newest prey. Yet his wait had been shorter than he had expected. Raizac traveled as if he were fresh on the trail instead of the eight days that had lapsed since Cath first fled the battlefield. Cath watched as the captain met the water's edge and dropped heavily to a knee. Cath smirked as the wear of the chase enveloped Raizac. Diablo or not, he is only human... Cath thought to himself before once again clambering to his feet. He moved stealthily in a wide semi-circle once again stepping upon the frigid snows. Cath ran quite wide of Raizac's position, he had a mind for playing a bit of cat and mouse. A hundred or so yards back from where Raizac knelt, Cath picked up his opponent's own trail. Stepping into the already well packed snow, Cath was easily able to move without detection. He continued the path until her was a mere ten paces from the unsuspecting Raizac.

Cath stood behind the captain, eyeing him coolly and swinging his tail almost playfully. Cath cocked his head slightly to the left and smirked as he wondered how long it would take for his presence to be felt. Moments pass as he watched the captain take a long draught of water from his hands. Deciding that time is precious, Cath dropped to his haunches. The slight crunch of snow fluttered through the otherwise silent air and met the ears of Raizac. Cath watched in amusement as the shock hit his body. The gentle splatter of water delighted Cath as it fell to the sodden earth below and Raizac shuffled to replace his gauntlets. He lept from his knee and spun to meet Cath. Whom simply looked at him with a pondering expression on his furry face. His jade green eyes searched the features of the man before him. The fiercely cold wind seemed to match the love that Raizac bore for Cath as it danced merrily around the two. The chill cutting deep into bone and sinew, and causing chills to erupt throughout both of their forms. Raizac watched as the bulging muscles twitched beneath the taut flesh of the feline that sat before him. Finally, it was Cath that broke the silence between the two. Using the mind projection he had learned from Caius as a kitten, he delved directly into the mind of Raizac. So what are you doing here?

A fire exploded behind the eyes of Raizac at such a meaningless question. Stifling his utter rage and fighting the mass amounts of adrenaline that his body suddenly began to pump into his bloodstream. What the hell do you think that I'm here for? You know...you know damn well what I'm here for. Raizac spat from behind clenched teeth.

Cath once again snickered as he swished his tail from one side to the other. Oh yes...That lad that I shredded before he had a chance to run you through with that pin of his. You are a fool Raizac. For your own sake, you should have let my trail become feral, and run cold. Though I know all too well that you won't settle for anything but my death....or yours... Leaving the notion to hang for a few full seconds. Cath shot a look of confidence towards Raizac as he bound through the air claws still blood stained and teeth gleaming...

[Shinta]

~kills panther~ you have made the longest bio....gah. I wil ldo ya guys tomorrow, i got busy sorry :(

[Panther]

± Dies ±

I've got 4 years of working on Cath. I could have broken down and wrote out something more than the barest minimum of his beginnings. I could have elaborated on the wars and individual battles fought. I could have mentioned the adventures that he'd seen in his years. I could have had to use 4 or 5 posts for the Bio. But I was feeling nice and only used the one from Durania.

So :p

[Shinta]

updated until now. All ladder fights btw will be held in this sub forum. To make a challange, just post in your ladder. Might add another ladder soon

[Havoc51]

I am dead sorry about not turning in an intro yet, you will already know why by now...

I will try to get on it during the weekend

[Shinta]

i already put you up from a past intro to make it easier

[Havoc51]

Thanks Shinta, as i mentioned in other places once i get this summer thing out of the way i will challange someone to a battle :D

[Korlith]

Like this?

Bio:
Name: Korlith
Age: 24
Height: 6’1”
Weight: 59kg
Appearance: He has jet-black hair that runs down to his shoulders and a rather ordinary face which is useful for diverting attention, His eyes however hold a fierce and cold intelligence. He is of medium build and often wears light, dark clothing when out on a job.
Weapons: A pair of daggers with curved, crescent-shaped blades with circular hilts fitted to suit the grasp of the wielder in order for easy handling. The material that the metal is compiled of causes all light to be reflected off at bizarre angles making the daggers near-impossible to focus on.
His other weapon is a spear-haft of medium length with a pair of opposing scythe blades on either end. Each side can disengage from each other, remaining connected with a steel chain, similar to nunchakus. He uses this weapon when forced into hand-to-hand combat, but prefers his daggers when eliminating enemies stealthily.
Background: He had a fairly happy and reasonable childhood, yet at the age of 16 his father died and his mother quickly remarried a man who he soon grew to despise. He soon left the household and was taken in by an assassin’s guild that taught him the techniques he knows and uses today. He left at the age of 21 and became a mercenary, fighting for the highest bidder. He prefers any missions that involve stealth and deceit, for he is not an honourable man, but nevertheless he is not afraid of open combat if it is called for.


Intro:


[i]The sentry leaned uncomfortably against the guardhouse, rubbing his hands together and shivering in the penetrating cold. He knew that he should be more alert, but no trouble had ever come this way for a long, long time. He doubted whether anybody still knew about this passageway and whether it was still worth guarding. ‘Why not just block it up and have done with it?’ he had suggested to his superior on countless, fruitless occasions. Besides, his relief would be here soon, allowing him to return to his warm house and more importantly: dinner.

The sun had just set, casting long and eerie shadows as the dying rays of sunlight attempted to penetrate the dense canopy of trees that ran along on either side of the pathway. On his first watch the sentry had been incredibly unnerved; anything could be lurking beneath that expansive darkness. Yet he soon learned that the trees were so thickly pressed in together than someone would have a tough time passing through or hiding in them. A brief, harsh wind picked up, rustling the leaves overhead with a noise similar to that of a waterfall, and chilling the guard to his very bones. He didn’t envy whoever was on night watch.

Not long afterwards he heard the door being unlatched behind him, and turned to see his relief emerge from the passageway. He was wrapped in plenty of warm furs, evidently knowing what conditions awaited him.

“Draw the short straw again, eh?” The first sentry spoke, moving towards the door.
“Feh, the raise makes up for it.” He replied gloomily.
“Raise, since when was there a…” He didn’t finish, for as he turned around he saw the replacement guard lying prone on the floor. Odd, he thought. I didn’t hear a sound. He stooped down to the guard, one hand on his sword hilt, the other checking the man’s pulse. Then out of the corner of his eye something stirred. Swiftly he turned, preparing to challenge whatever menace was there. He never had time even to draw his sword however before he felt his heart pierced by cold, pitiless metal. He slumped to the floor.

Korlith withdrew his dagger, wiping it on the grass to remove the blood and then retrieved the other which he had thrown to dispatch the second guard. The daggers had a curved, crescent-like blade, which appeared to be practically invisible. There was no magic or sacred artefacts involved however, the material that the blades were constructed from reflected light at various angles making them very difficult to focus on. The effect was lessened at night however when the true form of the daggers could be seen, a navy blue with a small emblem in the shape of a lizard burnt near the hilt, which was merely a circle cut out of the blade in order for easier handling. Kor wasted no more time, and after concealing the bodies as best he could under the trees, he plunged through the still open door.

He was dressed all in black, save for eye-holes in his balaclava which he discarded as soon as he entered the passageway, releasing his jet-black, shoulder length hair. He had an unremarkable face, one that you could casually glance upon and then instantly forget, yet if you look closely you can see his eyes blazing with a cold, calculating intelligence.

Kor found himself in a cavern. So the rumours were true, there was an underground cave-network under the city. One that was obviously still worth guarding must have something of value inside. He hurried onwards, being careful where he put his feet, for the torches that illuminated the cave were sporadic. Soon enough the passageway began to climb and another path broke off into the murky gloom. Before Kor could decide however he heard a shout from further upwards, and saw a trio of guards run towards him. Without delay he plunged into the darker passage, feeling his way along the walls until he was stopped, and felt the outline of a door. It was locked, but that had never stopped him before. Swiftly he withdrew a dagger and thrust it into the gap in the door, slashing upwards straight through the iron bolt that was in place. He heaved open the door and found himself in a large, well-lit open room, which had piles and piles of valuable looking goods stacked around the sides. Could it be here? He thought. He had little to time to dwell on the matter however, as the three guards that had pursued him burst through the doorway, swords drawn. Kor smiled inwardly; he hadn’t expected to get through without confrontation at any rate.

He withdrew a new weapon from the sheath in his back, a medium-length spear haft with a deadly scythe-like blade on either end. The guards were well disciplined and didn’t flinch, fanning out until he was surrounded. Kor glanced around quickly, making sure he knew exactly where each enemy was. Then they charged. Kor darted towards the guard on his right, ducking a blow that would have cleaved off his head and tearing through his torso with a quick motion of the arm. In the same movement he spun his weapon around, catching the sword of another guard with his blade and pinning it to the floor. He then kicked out at him to completely remove him from his weapon, and then rolled out of the way of an overhead swipe. Then Kor came on the offensive, attacking rapidly with both blades, slaying the guard with a swift uppercut that ripped out his throat. He then turned around to face his remaining opponent, who had retrieved his weapon and glared menacingly at him from across the room. Kor grasped the haft of his weapon with both hands and pulled, disengaging one end from the other and revealing a steel chain that ran from end to end through the centre of the haft, connecting the two ends in a style not dissimilar to nunchakus. Kor then took aim, and launched his weapon at the doomed guard. He attempted to block the attack by raising his sword, yet that only succeeding in stopping the chain, and the remaining momentum caused the two scythes to swing round and embed themselves in both sides of the guard’s head.

After Kor has retrieved his weapon he began to search through the room’s contents. The item he was searching for was a ceremonial platter covered in complicated runes and engravings. His client assured him that it was worth a fortune and he would be well rewarded, and also that he would be able to recognise it easily once he saw it. It had taken Kor a while, but he had finally tracked it down to this city, knowing that it would either be here or in the palace. He shuddered. One thing he did not want to do was infiltrate the palace, which will surely be placed on high alert once the bodies of the guards are discovered. He suddenly stopped his rummaging and listened. Coming down the passageway towards him he could hear footsteps, a single person by the sounds of it and walking slowly and confidently. Without a sound he evaporated into the shadows at the corner of the room and waited…

[Shinta]

thats fine. I need to pm people to get started...

[Korlith]

That's taken a while.

[Shinta]

sorry, been busy. I will do it this weekend if i have time

[Charizard's breath]

Ranked.

Name: Lucien
Eyes: Steel-blue
Hair: Brown
Height: 5'11"
Weapon: A traditionalist, he likes nothing more than a long sword and a bow.
Clothing: Leather outfit, tough, flexible, but nothing that could stop a swordblow.
Fighting style: Evasive. Dodges and lands blows when he can.

Bio: Lucien is just an average soldier. He's good, no doubt about that. Hell, he's damn good. But in a world that seems to be full of demons, angels, godly fighters, incredible magic-using warriors and countless people who can get their head cut off and go on fighting, he's merely average. Lucien was born and raised in a medium-sized nation that focused on warfare, like Sparta of old. His entire life was war and death. Jack, his best friend, left the main corps to become a specialized assasin. They keep in touch, though not as regularly as they once did. All good things come to an end, and Lucien's army lost a decisive battle. His country was taken over, and Lucien left to wander. People assume, after hearing his tale, that he thirsts for the blood of the victors, or to find some long-lost relative, or some other heroic deed.

Lucien's just a guy. Average. He kills those who he thinks should die, and for now, he just lives a quiet life.

Intro:

Lucien groaned and turned over in bed. His head was pounding from all the alcohol, and every creak of the bed sounded like a sword-fight. He closed his eyes tight, then relaxed them as even that hurt. Sleep was going to be difficult to re-attain, he knew.

"Mmmm...you were wonderful last night," a voice muttered.

Lucien slowly turned and stared into the face of a rather attractive girl. It appeared he'd had a good time the evening before. The woman got out of bed and grabbed a vial from the bedside table. She took a swig, then handed it to him. Lucien drank deep, and felt the magical draught made by some wizard in some large city clear his thoughts.

"I'm sorry..." he said, "but I've forgotten your name."

She smiled. "I've forgotten yours as well, but I know I won't forget your face or your rather large-"

She was cut off by a knock on the door, and both heads whirled to the sound. "Maria? Are you in there?" a gruff male voice called.

Lucien's eyes widened and he looked back at the girl. "Father. Mayor," she whispered. The ex-soldier swore to himself and gestured for her to respond. In the meantime, he grabbed his dagger and stood to the side of the door.

"Yes, I am," she said. Her father walked in, an overweight, short man. Behind him, a bodyguard crossed his arms. Lucien noticed the naked sword at his waist, and the scars on his face.

"Why didn't you come home last night?" he asked.

Lucien decided not to bother listening and slipped out behind the guard. He walked to the end of the hallway and turned. Around the corner were three more guards with bows drawn.

"Gotcha," one said, and released his string. Instinct and reflex more than concious thought saved our hero's life. Two more arrows hit the wall. Lucien tossed his dagger, then fell back again. He heard a grunt, then silence. One bowman dived around the corner with a knife in his hand. Lucien ducked and plunged his sword in the man's stomach. The last guard bolted, terrified.

Lucien sighed with relief and retrieved his dagger. Behind him, the Mayor yelled, and another guard fired an arrow. It implanted itself in Lucien's shoulder, and he grimaced. There would be no fight with this injury. He bolted. Luckily there were no more ambushes, and outside the tavern, the girl was waiting with a horse.

"I think I love you," Maria said. "Will you come back?"

Lucien leapt on and broke the arrow so the shaft sticking out wouldn't hinder him. The mayor yelled again, his voice shrilled, and two guards with broadswords leapt out the door.

Lucein kissed the girl and said, "Probably not."

Then he rode hard.

[World War Me]

Rankage Me
Character Name: Fallen
Gender: Female
Appearance: White/Tinted Blue sking. Black flowing shirt and pants, black flowing cape. Long white hair. Ice blue eyes. 5'10''
Weapon: One long-bladed Katana, Ice Blue. Kunais, black tips, blue body. Power over ice.
Fighting Style: Basic Combat is Armed-Ninjutsu.


Bio

A wandering soldier. Rejected by most of the warrior soceity for being female, Fallen wanders aimlessely, not neccesarily searching for a purpose but hoping to find one anyway. Occasionaly fights for whatever bits of information one might hold, cannon seem to grasp the point of life. Gained control over Ice after an interesting night in an Ice Cavern, in which she was granted Ice power while she slept.

My intro here will coincide with my intro in my upcoming battle. So I will re-post this with the intro later.

[Shinta]

silly curt didnt do this...give em a day or so

[TwistedShadowX]

Ranked

Name: Damien
Eyes: Illuminated Gold
Hair: Gold and Black, Spiked in a ring with five points in the middle forming a pentagram.
Height: 6'0"
Weapon: A katana named Penance, a silver dagger, and a double edged throwing knife.
Clothing: A black cloak, under which he wears black chainmail and black leather shirt and pants.
Fighting style: "Samurai" type fighting while using Penance, Demonic and Angelic magics, and "Freestyle" physical fighting without weapon or magic.


From the shadowy mountains of the West came night, swifter than ever it had. The night was a starless void of dark. The only light to be seen was that of the illuminating lightning storms to the near east. The only forms of life that dared venture out in these storms were the deep violet flying beasts, called Thunder Drakes by the inhabitents of the mountains. Along with the drakes was a lone warrior, dressed under a black cloak, a pariah of the mountain people due to his "gifts." He rested upon the highest peak of the mountains, with a dim fire, not for his own warmth or sight, but for any of those that be seeking him for whatever purpose. He's kept himself to mercanary hirings, slaying feeble threats of countries in need, or aiding armies in their campaigns, nothing of real challenge. He lusts for a battle of worth, one that his blood may be shed again, one worth him. His golden eyes shift from the blackend sky to the path leading towards his solitude home. Heightened senses were one of his gifts. He could hear the travelers footsteps well before any human could. Silently he made his way to encounter the traveler. At the sight of the man, the traveler bowed to him. "There are no needs for formalities, I am the outcast here." the warrior stated. Coming to his feet, the traveler pulled something from his coat. "Damien, a strange man has made his way to the graveyard, that is where the storms have stopped. He is an enigma to us, but no good can come by the way he entered this land, we ask you to rid the land of this man." Damien said nothing, and looked into the man's hand. He was holding a silver stone. Damien grasped the stone and smilied. The traveler began his trip back to his village.

With the stone in hand, Damien whispered words of ancient power. His golden eyes glowed with mysterious energy. The hood of his cloak drifted from his head, revealing his face. Spikes of deep blonde and black hair cover his head like a crown. His skin was a ghostly white, like lightning striking the earth. A malious looking scar runs deep into his skin from the center of his right eye lid to the corner of his now smirking lips. He rested the stone upon the ground along with a series of other stones. After placing this final stone, the lot of them began to sing in a demonic hymm. From the earth rose a pillar of stone. Damien placed his hand along the angelic and demonic carvings, ment to seal away his feared weapon, Penance. Calling on both his demon blood and angel heart, Damien erased the ruins on the stone, shattering it to pieces. The energy from releasing the blade shook the mountain. Resting in Damien's hands was his feared weapon. The black blade was forged out of the strongest metal found in Heaven, but itself was forged in Hell. The four foot length of it was covered in glowing white ruins that allowed Damien to channel his power into the sword. Along the silver hilt was a crimson gem, a reminder to who Damien was, it held the essence of his true self, which is why the blade was sealed by the mountain mages with Damien's concent. He knew why Penance was given back, this was no ordinary foe.

Damien threw off his cloak. He wore armor made from the shadows themselves, light as silk, and nearly impenatrable. He grasped Penance into his hand. Pendrils of energy caskaded into his body like water to a man dieing of thirst. Angelic Wings of black energy grew from his back, and carried him onto the wind. He focused on the power radiating from the graveyard. With haste, he dived through the sky. As he neared the earth, his wings flared, and disappeared altogether. He tucked as he struck the ground. Quickly he came to his feet then into a dash. He could feel the call of battle deep in his soul. His pace slowed as the gates of the cemetary came into his view. At the gate he put himself on one knee in reverence of the fallen, some of which had been placed here by his own hands. Damien placed Penance into it's sheath upon his back. Around his waste rested his other two weapons, a black knife with a silver blade about six inches long given to him before he became known as Damien. The other is a double sided throwing knife, a gift from his brother.

Damien entered the cementary expecting anything. "So you are the one I felt moments ago." a voice seeped into his ears. Damien unshealthed Penance, and headed towards the voice. . .

Tell me how I do.

[World War Me]

Rankage Me
Character Name: Fallen
Gender: Female
Appearance: White/Tinted Blue sking. Black flowing shirt and pants, black flowing cape. Long white hair. Ice blue eyes. 5'10''
Weapon: One long-bladed Katana, Ice Blue. Kunais, black tips, blue body. Power over ice.
Fighting Style: Basic Combat is Armed-Ninjutsu.


Bio

A wandering soldier. Rejected by most of the warrior soceity for being female, Fallen wanders aimlessely, not neccesarily searching for a purpose but hoping to find one anyway. Occasionaly fights for whatever bits of information one might hold, cannon seem to grasp the point of life. Gained control over Ice after an interesting night in an Ice Cavern, in which she was granted Ice power while she slept.

My intro here will coincide with my intro in my upcoming battle. So I will re-post this with the intro later.



Fallen trudged continually through the deep snow. Kunais clinked loudly against each other as one weary leg found its way in front of the other. Blue tinted skin gave way to a black, torn skirt, finding its end well above the knees. Black also covered the chest, and as it gave way to the neck, facial features began to define themselves. Thin lips almost completely blue below a sharp nose and high cheekbones.

But none of this was what brought attention to Fallen’s beauty. It was the eyes that drew them in.

The eyes, perfectly oval shaped and accented with long eyelashes assumed magnificence. Seemingly never-ending, the Ice blue eyes denoted beauty and fear all at once. Something that was so wonderful, but so out of reach. Hidden within these eyes was power. An unfathomable power hidden behind unfathomable beauty.

Kunais clinked loudly against each other as Fallen trudged continually through the snow. Wondering where she would end up next, she never stopped moving through the wicked snowstorm. The deep, piercing cold that would have once killed her now had no affect on her. In fact, she drew her power from the cold now, having been so deeply affected with it. The symbol of her power, manifested in a lone Katana, was the Ice blue color that tinted everything, even her skin. The Katana, which had been lengthened to an almost unwieldy length, glowed with the color, and absorbed the lifeless cold that surrounded everything.

Could that be it? A large hill-like protrudence distinguished itself as the only landmark in the blanket of snow. Not sure what “it” was, or how it could be “it,” Fallen continued on, now having a target set in mind. It took forever to reach her destination, whenever she took one step in the direction, it seemed to take one step back. But finally she reached the mound of snow. Staring for moments, she finally attempted to walk into what seemed like a less dense area of snow, possible an entrance. But as she walked into it a blazing purple flash lit up the night and Fallen was thrown violently backward. Dazed, but not quite confused, she unsheathed her Katana with a metal-like grinding noise and set herself into an attacking stance. Without thought, she lunged back at the spot that had thrown her before. The tip of her weapon piercing the air in front of her, a wake of snow behind her, she flew with incredible speed at the snow, and passed through it. Caught off guard, she landed and fell onto the floor? and slid several feet.

It was a cave manifested from her own thoughts, or so it seemed. An Ice cave with a blue shimmer, vast in proportion. Everything was covered in a think layer of Ice. But it couldn’t be this place, could it? This was the same place she had first received her power, her control over cold. The same place where she had left, unwillingly, everything she had ever known behind. And now she had returned. Returned to this Icy grave of her old life. What could this mean, that she had now found herself at the beginning of her journey. Who would she find here. Would she find anyone?

Will I find anyone?

[Shinta]

i will get it up after i do my intro or curt gets to it-.-

[Scruffy]

If I promise to show up... will I be let in?

[Gidymao]

hah, even weant as far as to create a new guy, since havoc stole my name....and Ranked i guess.

Name: Hell
Eyes: Grey
Height: 5'9
Weapon: 2, 3 pronged steel claws, extending 11'' per each claw. Worn leather pouches when not in use for quick access. Carries a crossbow across his back, but never more than 2 black arrows which he rarely uses.
Appearance: Black hair flecked with Auburn, worn in a short spike. Taut, yet not overly muscular build. Wears light leather armor colored black, grey cloth is wrapped around his joints for added protection. Travels wearing a black hood not much more than a sheet hung over his head, his eyes barely visible.
Fighting Style: Stealh is key to his ability to avoid conflict untill in close range. then he strikes.

Bio: Stuck between a past he flees and a life he doesnt desire. Quick witted, sometimes too quick for his own good. He fights to breathe life into his body, but his heart is dead, and his eyes reflect his emotionless being.

~
Life is unpredictable above all else. In an instant every hope or dream you've ever imagined could become reality. Power that you had never imagined now an actuality that you can grasp within your hands and savor. But a price is to be paid, always. And things you once held above all else, lay forgotten now, until they disappear forever, and your alone.....

Hell ran his fingers through his hair, the dew of night mingling with his fingers as they past by, the wetness causing him to shiver. He lay his pen down, the ink still wet, his thoughts still not permanetly marked, yet he folded it up anyway, uncaring. It had been too long he had dwelt on past experiences, too long he had let them shape who he was.

Who he had become.

Hell glanced at the beauty around him, the coalescence of nature with human passion. It wouldnt last long now.

The pen was all he had left, all that he could salvage untarnished from before. The pen was ever changing, it adapted to what it needed to be, could create from nothingness, rise heroes and fell kingdoms in a fell swoop of its might. Hell tucked the pen away beneath his belt, and the warmth that had risen from within him began to fade away now, his high now causing the facade around him to crack and let the imperfections through again, the banality of his life now crashing forth like as a wave of realization hit him, and he laughed.

"HAAAAAAAH!" Hell bellowed allowed for his own ears, the need to hear his voice lest it disappear forever from him. He now looked around and saw the world for what it was. The beauty he percieved earlier merely the shell for what lay beneath. He stared closer at the clearing around him, taking it in for what it was, what it had always been. The pools of moonlight falling in from above only illuminating the dank undergrowth, the pools of water collecting the disease and festering.

The pools of blood.

The warmth returned quickly this time, and Hell felt his hands rud the gentle edges of what lay concealed at his hip. Hell followed the blood to its origin, the steady trail of death marking its victim clearly in the night, the X clearly drawn upon the now bare, fleshy stomach in the same blood that lay inside, his face a expressionless stare, without emotion.

Like staring into a mirror, Hell thought to himself as he watched those eyes, those eyes that had glared down upon Hell with detest. They would glare no more upon the faces of the wordly, yet now forever be a monument to Hell's own stare. The kill had been quick. Easy. Not the battle that fed his spirit, just the kill, the momentary high. He had left the man to leave him, to return home, to feel safe. Hell had felt the twinge in his breathing, the nervousness as he fled. He had waited, so long it had seemed, so very long he had sat, choosing his moment before releasing the trigger, sending the arrow crashing through the bedroom window in shriek of breaking glass heard through the night.

And the man panicked.

He fled his haven, his home in lew of the streets, seeking sanctuary that would not be found. Only demise, and Hell had the precision of a surgeon with his cut, the blood spilling nearly as fast as the current that had been rushing in his own veins, feeding his spirit.

Hell tore his grey eyes away from there counterparts. There would be need for others. There was always need. He smiled, the feeling not reaching his eyes, remaining unaware, but not for now. He pulled out his pen once more, the warm feeling once again flooding his body. Different, and yet too similar to be entirely. This night now belonged to the pen.

[The Piano Man]

Name: Jeff Mciff
Hieght: 5'6
Eyes: brown
Weight:157

he is nerdy. master of dungeons and dragons. covered in acne. lives with his mom., 42 years old. but is a level 86 wizard of kizcafigtahn. he is 3456 in the dungeons and dragons online. has one friend, pete mciff, his brother/husband. his middle eastern son moved away to become the 56 most wanted man in the U.S. he fights with his tape from his glasses. his armor is his pocket protector. his most deadly move is 3 dice, which allows him to attack 7 times, with the wizardry of arthligothicalckijuty level 78787877645443. he can bag groceries better than anyone. his one true love Dr. Phil said no a while back. he now looks at porn, subsribes to playboy, yet he is gay wich is odd. he is known as yarthigothijobh.

[Shinta]

warned for Spam//homosexual slur//flaming all true rpbers. Take your pick. I will organize this tomorrow or monday finally^^

[The Piano Man]

how am i spamming/homosexual slurring/flaming all true rpbers. i dont see how. do tell

[Shinta]

Name: Jeff Mciff
Hieght: 5'6
Eyes: brown
Weight:157

he is nerdy. master of dungeons and dragons. covered in acne. lives with his mom., 42 years old. but is a level 86 wizard of kizcafigtahn. he is 3456 in the dungeons and dragons online. has one friend, pete mciff, his brother/husband. his middle eastern son moved away to become the 56 most wanted man in the U.S. he fights with his tape from his glasses. his armor is his pocket protector. his most deadly move is 3 dice, which allows him to attack 7 times, with the wizardry of arthligothicalckijuty level 78787877645443. he can bag groceries better than anyone. his one true love Dr. Phil said no a while back. he now looks at porn, subsribes to playboy, yet he is gay wich is odd. he is known as yarthigothijobh.



Bold is the flame
Italics is the spam
Red is the homosexual slur
if you have any problems, take it to the court. We're serious here

[The Piano Man]

ok, i was just makin a dude like all yall were doin. so it aint no spam, it aint a flame either, and the gay thing. he subscribes to playboy, and hes gay, its odd, duh.

[Shinta]

It's odd and is also prohibited here. This is a SERIOUS place as you can tell by the others, now please stop posting unless you get a better bio

[The Piano Man]

how is that prohibited. really. ok i will get a better bio then u will feel the wrath of jeff mciff. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

[Shinta]

Warned for spam, once more and your out

[JesusFreak114]

What are the weapon rules? Is a lightsaber feasible? Or is it limited to medieval weapons?

[Lucifer Pyrifax]

Anything is allowed provided that it isn't offensive. Being that there are Jedi clans and clubs, I don't see any particular reason why there shouldn't be lightsabers allowed.

[Shinta]

Yes, but first I need to fix this place up...so yea.


Any weapons that require imagination to use are allowed. All weapons are allowed however, but we frown upon guns and such.

[NeedleMan.exe]

So any weapons are allowed, even a pair of dice (lol, see my fight with Wyzegy)?

I'll post an intro and a bio later, I am too tired right now.

[Shinta]

It would be nice if you READ and not REITERATED what I just said...please just don't post for the sake of your post count...or I will warn you if I suspect it multiple times for spam...

[Dragon_Knight X]

I would prefer to be in a ranked ladder, arigato

Bio

Character name: Valentine Hitokiri Shiroji (Val Shiro for short)

hight: 6'4"

weapons: Sword of Souls (a bastard sword that draws strength from each enemy defeated, but reverts to it's weakened state after absorbing energies from 10 different souls) (sidenote: if facing the same opponent twice, does not count towards that total, but does not grow in strength if that same opponent is defeated again, also it does not absorb souls itself, but simply energies released from souls, the one exception is if an opponent is trully killed by the sword, the soul will be absorbed and a permanant boost to it's strength would ensue. also the sword used as the divider in my signature is the Sword of Souls)

description 1: Val stands at 6'4", long hair, usually black in colour but revealing itself to be brown in proper lighting, flows down his black, several strands fall infront of his face. His eyes are a golden hew, shining brilliantly in the light of flames. Skin holding a nice tan wraps his muscular body, despite those muscles, he loks light enough to still have plenty of agility, agility boosted by the presence of two leathery black draconic wings, which look like they could easily carry him into the air. His clothing is light and baggy allowing for unrestricted movements. consisting of a white poets shirt and a pair of brown pants. completeling the ensemble of his outfit are his black boots, sturdy, the heels look strong for kicking. (sidenote: that would be him in my signature on the left side of the sword)

description 2: Sometimes when Val becomes greatly irritated with his opponents, he may utilize a transformation, such a transformation that is mainly used for it's ability to get him from place to place much faster. In such instances, Val sheds his humanoid appearance, adapting a larger form of a dragon. in this form, he is best recognized as Bahamut X, the forth of the famed bahamut brothers consisting also of Neo Bahamut and Bahamut Zero. In this form he utilizes his great speed in flight along with his array of flare attacks, non-elemental spells. ( side note: he is also in my signature, the dragon on the right of the sword)

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

Intro


The air is heavy around the mountains. a fine shrowd of clouds rolls down over them creating a fog, not so thick that one can't see, but just thick enough to reduce the rays of light beating down upon the side of the mountains. At the peak of one, a lone figure stands. Wings spread out wide as if testing the strong winds in this region. The two wings flap once, but nothing happens, the figure is not lifted into the air. It was indeed merely a test of the winds. Two golden eyes gaze down the mountains, sitting atop the large head of a dragon. The creature turns its head, the bones in its neck poping with the movement. Golden gaze now struck open a dark cloud not a mile away from him. the clashing of thunder and the flashes of the lightning that cuases the sounds rings through the day. below the cloud it would be undoubtfully dark, possibly cool. it was possibly even raining from that cloud. But the eyes of the dragon could not see below it as he was perched on the highest mountain, overlooking the region, almost as if protecting it.

The creature then rises up onto his hind legs. Though a dragon, its shape was more humanoid. Typical of his particular breed. The dragon then knelt down, braced himself and then leaped downwards off the peek of the mountain, wings spread wide and gliding with the wind under his wings, gliding down into the storm system itself. He was fully obstructed from view within the low pressure system. lightning streaked all around him, and the thunderous roar of ozone forming with each strike. his wings flapping just enough for him to hover within the system, he closed his eyes and began to concentrate. His body began to generate it's own lightning, though a darker blue than the natural phenomenon occuring around himself. blueish scales began to turn a more tanish colour, wings becoming darker and smaller. his entire body shrinking down, and becoming even more humanoid in appearance.

He began his descent. wings outspread to slow himself, not wanting to simply freefall, his wings also serving to balance him so that he didn't turn strangly midair. as he continued to descend through the storm cell, the horns on his head changed repidly into long brown hair. his claws on both legs and arms, turning more rounded into human hands and feet. the long tail protuding from his spine, shrinking down to nothing. He continued to decend, nearing the bottom of the storm clouds. light began to surround him and as he broke through the bottom of the clouds, the light dissapated, in it's place his clothes, and sword. breaking through the clouds finally, and fully changed, he turns his gaze to a small village to the north. he adjust his wings, gives them a mighty flap and takes off towards the village. his hair and cloths flailing widly with the rapidly moving air around him. his lef hand held his sword steadied, his right, held behind himself also allowing greater wind resistance. as he approached the villiage he lowered himself low to the ground and then [properly adjusted his wings to land. Folding the wings in around himself like a leathery cloak, he walks through the front gates of the villiage and smiles cheerfully as he is greeted by the many children who look up to this dragon winged man as a hero. He smile as he noticed at the end of the village, a small cave where a person who most cared for awaited him.

[Moridin]

The ladder system hasn't been touched in nearly a year. I've had some plans for it but I haven't gotten around to it. Fly was in charge of this but he's left GW.

[Dragon_Knight X]

ya well, I submitted my entry anyways. I say lets revive the ladders!

[Moridin]

Like I said, I have some plans in the works, but I need to fin the time to get around to it. ;)

[Cupid.]

Ummm. Is this place still going? Im wanting to join ..

[Meathos]

Check the post dates, dude. It's pretty much stale.