Age: 20
Race: Human
Gender: Female
Orientation: People are left wondering
Abilities: You will never meet a girl who is more deviously sadistic or maddeningly dark and knee deep in seductive talent. Couple this with her deft skill with a gun and you are in for a surprise when you think you've met a fragile little girl.
Bio: No one is sure of Anna's real parents. She was found in a small carnival by a one 'Michael Ferris'. Michael was not a particularly fortunate guy. In fact, he had no money, no family, and he worked for a traveling carny as a stock-keeper. His only option was to drop the little crying baby in the arms of the closest orphanage. The poor girl suffered through pneumonia that would have certainly killed any other child, but Anna was a strong girl. In fact, she would be considered pretty damn tough for a shock-trooper.
At age three, Anna got her first taste of blood in a scrap against a boy who decided to try to steal her favorite doll. Even though it was torn, missing an eye, and was ridden with germs, she ripped out all of his hair and made him lose three teeth to get it back. After that, Anna wasn't a girl to be messed with. Every time someone tried to act against her, their flesh was sacrifice. As many times as she did this, it never got old. She couldn't stop doing these things, in fact, and pretty soon, she started to pick fights of her own.
By fifteen, she was already addicted to opiates, ecstasy, and home-grown hallucinogenic mushrooms that were supplied to her by a rather odd friend of hers. Well, one could say he was more than that. He dressed just as darkly as her, constantly wearing one studded combat boot with a matching one wrapped in a red cloth. She couldn't get over that hair of his either, naturally two-toned red and black. They constantly spoke and snuck into each other's rooms to be 'in company'. When the boy began to write poetry for her, damn good poetry at that, she gave him a rather fitting nickname that seemed to stick on right after his first name. 'James Blackrose' she called him, due to the petals that he always enclosed in the envelopes the poems came in. When she learned that this boy was leaving, her last gift to him was a thirty-pocket leather coat that she had sewn herself. She never knew what happened to the poor boy, but according to rumors, he was shot and killed by his foster father. She never believed that nonsense for a second.
When she was finally old enough to go out on her own, Anna burned down that orphanage. She razed it to the ground so that if James ever came back, he would know that she was not anywhere near the place. After all, she promised him that was what she would do. Only a month after she left did she pick up a gun for the first time. She placed a bullet into the skull of a mugger who dropped his weapon when she managed to break his nose. And she loved every bit of it. The power of the hammer on the primer, the thunderous rip of heat and sound, the sheer speed of a led discharge boring a hole in whatever it passed through. This inevitably led her into the freelance contract killer slash gun-for-hire field. Usually just odd and in jobs, but recently, an oddly familiar-looking client has sent out a contract for someone hiding in some remote forest...
Pic:
Name: Slave
Gender: Male
Race: Demon (Incubus)
Age: 121
Weapons: A slaver's whip that forces any slave of his to follow his commands indefinitely, a chain of barbed links that has a small sickle dangling from the end that seems to always be bloody, a small raven that he had adopted named 'Rose' who shares his power, illusionary magic, and most deadly of all, his fierce charm.
Powers: Can fly like his raven, cast spells that cause illusions and delusions, and can steal the souls of his victims with a mere kiss.
Personality: Slave is quite a twisted on in personality, which is expected due to the fact that he is an incubus. It is hard to tell when he is legitimate, though he is always unnaturally charming and cunning. The common effect of this is that you will be shown love, then have your soul stolen in a kiss and your body enslaved, though this is not always true.
Bio: Born as just a regular little boy with a creative mind and no name, Slave was immediately given off to the highest bidder, which happened to be a horridly dark family that took more pleasure in beating their little servants than any other blood-sport. Slave was never given a name, but at the age of seventeen, he set out to make on for himself. He stole the slaver's whip, put a torch to his bed, and jumped out of an open window, landing in the family pond. He thrust his hand into the handle of a trap-door, pulled it aside, and drained the whole thing into the underground maze which was host to a beast so terrible that even the sturdiest of minds would break and bodies quiver. Luckily for him, he missed the encounter with it. He escaped out to the world, wandering for two years, taking as much pleasure out of life as it would give him. Eventually, his amazing skill at seduction was noticed by a very powerful demon. He gave the offer that for Slave's soul, he could become more powerful than he ever dreamed. Slave hastily accepted, and with that, his blackened spirit shot out of his body and materialized as a crimson-eyed raven. Slave sprouted dark wings, thick horns, and a lashing tail. He was adorned with the power to take the souls of others with a simple kiss, given a chain-link lash, and sent off into the world.
Appearance:
Name:James Blackrose
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Race: Human...ish
Weapons: Liala, a simple black handled katana with the soul of a demon imprisoned within its steel.
Powers: His body is altered by Liala as she sees fit, he is naturally inhumanly agile.
Short bio: James never knew his parents. His first memory was sitting on the doorstep of the orphanage he was abandoned at. He believes that they left him only because they were sick and irresponsible, and has not faltered on this thought. Life was good until he was fifteen, he had become a quite agile fighter, a strong diplomat, and a bit of a charmer to a very certain crowd. Of course, that was the turning point. He got transfered to a foster home, in which both the parents hated kids, they just wanted to get the government benifits from having a child. His 'father' beat him every night, and James could do nothing simply because this was better than the orphanage...he thought, until one night, his father began to seem a little...strange. He tried to rape James, but that gave him only enough time to run off. His father came after him with a shotgun. The chase went on into a secluded little quary where he suffered a bit of shrapnel to his tendon. This would not usually have stopped James, as he had learned to become a masochist in his years, but the tendon snapped and he could not walk. His hands scrambled about the floor for something, anything, as his foster father aimed the gun at his face. His left hand clenched around what seemed to be a beer bottle, just with a different texture than glass, but retaining its cold feeling. Without thought, he slung his arm to his assailant, and with a strange realization, James watched as the decapatated body plummeted to the ground, the head rolling near to his, a look of rage still poised on the expression. The weapon he had picked up had actually been Liala, though neither of them were sure what had brought her to him. They had somehow been bound together when his life was saved, and so they now are searching for a way to get Liala's body back and ulitimately find out what it is that holds them together.
Appearance:
Other: James is prone to looking like he is speaking to himself when he is actually speaking to Liala. He is not sure if he should let Liala fully manifest herself in him
Character Name: Shindai Blackrose
Faction: None (yet)
Weapons: The Left Hand and a revolver acquired a bit later.
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Personality: Shindai is often depressed, but if you get on his light side he can be quite a lively one. He enjoys playing guitar and listening to music. He is often very smartass, but makes exceptions for his few friends.
Bio: Shindai was born to a middle-class family, his mother a nurse and his father a teacher. He grew up rebellious, though, wearing dark clothes and listening to darker music. He is picked on quite a bit and it eventually led to attempted suicide. Fate would have it that the Left Hand struck ground right as he was about to fall down into the abyssal damnation he set out for himself. He now hides it, using its power in illusions to create a black glove of sorts. He doesen't have a clue what the Hand's real power or intentions are yet...
Appearance:
Gaian name: Sins Of Our Savior
Character name: Shindai
Age: 512-you will see what I mean
Race: Human...ish
App: http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j137/MimiruStrife/Hot emo boys/emoboy-1.jpg
Weapon: Seven ritualistic knives hidden in his coat that, when used properly, have devious magical effects.
Bio: Shindai is an odd boy indeed. He was born before the meteor shower, growing up in a nice family with a good life. When the meteor fragments fell down, however, he was struck in the heart by one. The strange nature of the meteor altered him. He changed into something that scientists and doctors alike referred to as "An Impossible,". He was studied, until one fateful day, the doctors dug too deep. The dormant power of the meteor awoke, allowing Shindai's body and mind to utilize itself fully. He became enlightened in a sense, but was too dangerous to be around. Anywhere he went, destruction followed. He has since led a life of isolation, the strange power keeping him alive all these years. He lived in isolation for a while, but he decided he could control his power. He has managed to surpress
the strange energy by only allowing himself to use it when he utilized seven unique knives he kept in his coat.
Other: Friendly in disposition, but doesen't like it when people comment on his appearance.
Clan: none yet
Name: Arda
Race: Demon
Age: Appears 19
Gender: Male
Bio: Arda was one of the lucky demons that was born on earth. He, however, did not have much of a family, though. His mother left when he was young and his father died very quickly after by his own hand, leaving young Arda to fend for himself. He fled to the forest, where he has been taking care of himself ever since. What has him stuck in a conundrum that is the fact that he has not discovered any power within him, and so has had to rely on his skill with a gun to get him by, though he knows its there, he can feel it when he dreams.
Personality: Arda is amazingly friendly, despite his brutally violent origins. He tries not to make people mad, as he knows that vengeance is a real- well, you get the idea.
Appearance: He is close to six feet tall with frigid pale skin and black fingernails. His eyes are like a cosmic constellation, changing colors at all times. He is usually donning a torn faded black jacket with little chained downturned crosses and stars across the left shoulder and spiraling down the left sleeve. The right sleeve is torn in three places, exposing the side of his arm. Both sleeves hang down to cover his hands. There is a large hood on it with black fur lining the edge. The jacket is usually open, revealing his black shirt with tribal-style purple hearts plastered across it. He has two belts with the same ornaments as his jacket's crossing eachother above his tight grey pants, which are adorned with belts and catchy pins, such as the anarchy sign and "No paparazzi please." His boots are black with belts over the tops of the feet with big silver buckles. He has extremely dark blue hair with overly bright crimson tips, which constantly change styles. His left ear has a red lace tied through it which hangs down to his shoulder.
Weapons: A rifle almost as tall as him adorned with skulls and rubies and a revolver similarly decorated.
Name: Arda Pierce
Age: 19
Race: Demon
Gender: Male
Weapons: He is proficient in all forms of gunnery, but is also quite skilled in any melee weapon he can get his hands on. He carries around an old revolver that uses Quick Sand ammo and a survival knife in his boot.
Occupation: Smuggler (Captain of his ship) /Tailor (Crew of five)
Skills: Calling him a master marksman is an understatement, coupled with his speed it is more than enough to handle three armed soldiers. He is also an amazing tailor and makes all his own clothes and some by special request of his crew. His skills with words are also key when dealing with the scum of the universe that he makes his living off of. He has something inside of him that he can feel when he dreams, but he does not know how to control it, though when he wakes he sometimes finds objects near his bed changed in some way, such as being a different size, shape, or some whole different material.
Likes: Loud dark rock music, guns, his crew, space, his ship, the nightlife, girls, the strange factors of life.
Dislikes: People who believe themselves higher than others, military, police, something messing up on his vessel, jamming guns, slow paced music, boredom, math (his navigator handles that), a deal gone wrong.
Bio: Arda was born on a rusty old transport ship that was carrieng livestock to a colony on the outer reaches of space. His parents were poor laborers who were completely deprived of any social status whatsoever. In a desperate attempt to give him a chance at a better life, they left him on the doorstep of a rather rich man's estate. They were arrested for trespassing and pled that they were attempting to steal from the house and had nothing to do with the baby as to sever all ties to him. He grew up in a highly aristocratic family that expected the world of the strange-eyed boy. He could not give it to them, though, as he 'wasted' his talents on tailoring, writing, and marksmanship instead of industrial studies. They constantly pressured him to do better, punishing him when he didn't abide. He soon had enough with the life and left, taking with him a enough money to buy his ship old ship, stocked with nooks and crannies for storage of "supplies", along with many crates full of tailoring equipment and actual supplies. Since then, he has hired a crew consisting of a mechanic named Freddy, a rather skilled fighter named Franky, a navigator and pilot called Jenny, and a doctor known as Ray. He did his first smuggling job at the age of fifteen, taking a few salvaged crates of medical supplies from a ship that apparantly had run into some trouble with raiders. He eventually was able to fence them off to a small colony, where he met Jenny, who was clearly trying to find a job as a pilot, and when she proved that she could outmanuever a military cruiser with his old and rusty little ship, she had the job for good. He has since been on so many missions, meeting hundreds and hundreds of interesting clients and making an equal ammount of enemies.
Appearance: He is close to six feet tall with frigid pale skin and black fingernails. His eyes are like a cosmic constellation, changing colors at all times. He is usually donning a torn faded black jacket with little chained downturned crosses and stars across the left shoulder and spiraling down the left sleeve. The right sleeve is torn in three places, exposing the side of his arm. Both sleeves hang down to cover his hands. There is a large hood on it with black fur lining the edge. The jacket is usually open, revealing his black shirt with tribal-style purple hearts plastered across it. He has two belts with the same ornaments as his jacket's crossing eachother above his tight grey pants, which are adorned with belts and catchy pins, such as the anarchy sign and "No paparazzi please" and two big chains hanging down the back of them. His boots are black with belts over the tops of the feet with big silver buckles engraved with crosses and stars. His left ear has a red lace tied through it which hangs down to his shoulder. He never wears any clothes other than the ones he makes.
Ship's(Grace's) Appearance:
Crew:
Jenny:
Franky:
Ray:
Name: James Kross
Age: 15
Sex: Male
Sexual Orientation: Varies
Race: Human (for now)
Powers: He has agility of prodigal proportions and the cunning and quickness to match.
Weapons: A blood-crusted letter opener and whatever he can find in his environment.
Personality: James' mind works differently than others. There is no simpler way to put it. He can be stark mad one moment then be hugging his enemy the next without any reason. He hasn't been diagnosed as insane, but most anyone could find him to be so. Despite what seems to be a craziness unbridled by even a god, James is known also to have a quite poetic center that sometimes exposes itself to the lucky. The way he acts all depends on when you catch him.
Story: James was born to a presigious family of overly rich investors and realtors, and therefore was expected to be the perfect son. His father pushed him and pushed him as far as his mind would allow, and then one day, he was pushed too far. Sitting at his dining table in the Kross house, James was forcing his mind to calculate complex problems that most colleges wouldn't dare ask their students to answer. Hours passed, and he asked his father for a break from the burden. Instead of getting his wish, his father struck him and yelled a lecture through a drunken tongue. When he got to the 'You'll never be anything' part of his speach, James could not take it anymore. He lunged out at his father, a letter opener with the family seal in his hand. Before his mind could process what had happened, James' hand held blade dripping with the still warm blood of his beloved dad. He cried, but no one was there to listen to his tortured wail. He launched himself out of the first-story window, running without any destination. Since that day his mind has never been the same, always unstable and tortured. His feet eventually carried him to the forest, which he just now has entered.
Appearance:
Every second or two came another deep thump of a step, the darkness of the trees around concealing the fevered body host to a broken soul. James forced himself to continue on, something inside of him arguing that there was some silver lining to the black cloud that now shrouded his mind and heart. That if he kept going despite his feet bleeding onto the soles of his worn black shoes, despite his tangled and wild, deep indigo hair, despite his bloodshot, tired eyes, that he would find a sanctum where he could once again be himself, where he could put his wrongdoings to rest. His pace quickened, his body dragging along as if only by the will of a pupeteer with a mangled arm, his breaths without rythym or regularity.
His fist still clenched the bloody letter-opener that keyed the destruction of his sanity, the skin in contact with the metal now rubbed raw and adding its own shade of crimson to the tool of his demise. There has to be something, there has to be something, there has to be something, his mind kept yelling at his conscience, the definition of insanity making itself clear in his thoughts.
Name: Ivanezze Bennalt
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Age: 25
Personality: Ivanezze is a very cold person, as he was trained to be by the military. He will not speak much, as he usually lets his guns do the talking for him, but if that doesen't do the job, he has a secondary weapon known as sarcasm.
Bio: Ivanezze was raised in a normal American family. Well, a normal and quite fortunate family. His father owned an oil buisiness that brought in millions each month, his mother a marine biologist with a passionate love for life. Due to his family's wealth, he was allowed to explore as many career options as he wanted, and he was never turned down for any job (bribes were used when they were needed), but for some reason, no matter what he tried, it seemed to lack something he wanted. Finally, he applied for a job in the military. Of course, they gave him choices that nearly none of the other recruits had. He signed up for a branch of the special forces known as the Tactical Espionage And Recovery Squad, or TEARS. To sum it up, he is assigned to infiltrate different locations and either assassinate, spy, steal, or recover information and bring it back to the higher-ups. The government has had their eyes on the forest for many years, mostly because of the strange qualities beneath the earth that their scanners can detect. Ivanezze's mission is to get into the forest, locate and neutralize every possible threat, find his way out, and return to HQ.
Appearance:
Everything around Ivanezze seemed normal enough. He had been over this routine about twenty times. He sighed deeply, placing his elbow on his knee, trying to feel comfortable in his black tactical suit, sitting on a metal bench in the expiramental stealth drop-plane. He shook his head slowly, his silver-gray hair moving about. Go in, shoot, get out, he tried to reason with himself that that was all there was to the mission. No people, just targets, he bargained with himself. He suddenly felt nauseous, lunging for the nearby waste bucket. Once he emptied his stomach, he took the long walk back the the bench, still hoping the little light would not turn green for him to jump. Before he knew it, that dreaded moment came. He clipped on his helmet, his mind adjusting to the onboard computer that showed a GPS map of where his target was in the lower left corner, a small reduction of what he was seeing through an infrared spectrum scope in the upper right corner, and a target detection system that boxed off any person or animal that came past his view. Reluctantly, he forced himself out of the plane, whispering "Cheers," as he began to fall.
In the air, he felt beyond afraid, the ground fast approaching, his stomach churning, and the sanctum of the drop-plane disappearing behind him. When a little high-pitched alarm sounded from within the helmet, he frantically reached back and pulled the parachute open. A translucent cloud of fabric flung out, drastically reducing his speed. Before he knew it, he was just above the trees. The helmet indicated he was just where he needed to be, and so he detached the parachute and fell to the ground, landing in a kneel. "No turning back now," he spoke to himself, removing the helmet and tossing it aside, though it ammounted to be worth more than fifteen normal American homes and belongings summed together. What did he care, his family funded the research and developement of the helmet anyways. He pulled a small silver cross from within the black jumpsuit, kissed it, and replaced it to where it was. He quickly checked to make sure all of his equipment was still connected to the suit.
Knife, pistol, ammo, radio, antivenom, medkit, assault rifle, his mind checked over automatically. Ah! Ration! he remembered, pulling a small bar of whatever the military had shoved into the package and flavored like chocolate out of a pouch, ate it quickly, and continued on, hiding behind a tree for cover.
He reached to his side, pulled a small, long-range radio from his utility belt, held his thumb on the 'send' button and spoke quietly into it. "I'm at the drop-point, no prescence of hostiles detected," he tried to sound like he was speaking through the helmet, as to not anger his superiors.
"Excellent, continue on, inform us when your mission is complete," the voice on the other end of the line replied. Ivanezze nodded to no one, replaced the radio, and began stalking through the woods, breathing lightly and taking careful steps.
