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 Posted: Thu May 28, 2009 12:54 pm
Just to keep track of the good characters i've created
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Posted: Sat Aug 13, 2011 11:55 am
Username: oh son 91 Full Name: Arena Name: Blood Dove Age: 22 Race: Half Kite Gender: Male Sexuality: Heterosexual Personality: Off the battlefield, he is quiet almost to antisociality and laid back almost to indifference. He tries his best to be self-sufficient, being perfectly comfortable around people wither they acknowledged him or not. When someone is less than a stranger he tends to be show a bit more of himself, sarcastic and a bit of a pessimist, but not without an observitive or humorous nature. However when his life is on the line, his is different entirely. Vicious, spiteful, malicious, these are just a few words to describe his demeanor inside the ring. Bio: Kin to a human mother an winded humanoid known as a kite, Berlioz grew up in a mountains village where the 2 races coexist in peace. However, breeding a hybrid of human and kite was strictly taboo, and after the age of 13 and sick of being teased by villagers, the young boy ran away from home in search of a place he'd be accepted. After a few months of living on the streets in the city at the mountain, Amaziege was taken in by a thieves guild after unknowingly trying to steal money for food from the leader. The rest, as they say, is history. He learned how to steal, spy, vanish and assassinate under the leaders wing. Times where good, until one of the thieve had a bad run-in with a 'recruiter' from the Immortal Arena at the local saloon. The bar fight got ugly and the thief killed the brute. But as a result the other 'recruiters' scoured the city and "murdered the birds of my flock down to the last fledgling." This was the first time Barlioz lost his mind. After sneaking into the Immortal Arena and killing over 2 dozen guards, he was finally caught. Rather than kill him on the spot, The administrators were impressed with his fighting ability and gave him a choice; "Fight in the Arena indefinably, until you find rest in death. Or the guillotine quell your thirst for your own demise" That was 2 years ago... Weapons: Throwing knives, Scarf, Brass knuckles Powers: God Speed- Able to move faster than sight, creating illusions or as if he could "teleport" along with a boost to typical agility and run speed (MAX 3 times a day)  Extra: Requiess; his bird familiar. Lacking a master after the death of the guild leader, the black predator bird saw Berlioz as a suitable second companion. Able to compliment Berlioz in battle, Req has the ability to retrieve small weapons, distract and confuse opponents as well as save Berlioz from projectiles he might be unable to dodge.
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Posted: Sat Oct 20, 2012 11:33 pm
• Mom named me;; • Better known as;; • Stage position;; Day-tripping Protagonist• Sex, and don't say 'yes, please'...;; Male• That clock, it is a-tickin;; 23• To whom my heart belongs;; Zane...oh you mean sexually?? Pass...• My life's calling;; ...Phone Sex Operator• Personality type;; Stella tells me I'm a pessimist, but I see it more as realism. Either way I'm not young and naive enough to stay an optimist like I used to. I know too much about how the world works. Conspiracy theories, aliens, zombies, diverging dimensions, I'm all about that stuff. Hell, Malcolm is proof, though He'll never admit to it. Speaking of the guy, he tells me I'm too 'distant' for my own good. Anti-social in a way, but I'd say its for my own good, considering the events of the last 2 years. People...you cant trust 'em, ya know? Everyone is just an animal, looking out for their own pack. We may be 'civil' but Darwinism is alive and well, man. Survival of the fittest, and I'll be damned if natural selection picks me off in the form of another betrayal. I already bounced back from one, I don't think I can do it again.• Mirror, mirror;; The style used to be punk rock, now I have no choice but to wear all the damn clothes I bought when I was 19 and pissed at the world. Skinny jeans, Converse, black combat boots, oh my. Cross necklaces, studded belts, spiked bracelets, I used to be the bane of society. I still dig the Band-T's though, I'll say that much.• True story;; I moved to New Zealand when I was 12 with my parents. Dad was in the navi, so me and mom had been used to being shipped all over the world just like the rest of dad's stuff, along with being equally unvisited by him. At school, I didnt spend any time meeting new people. I didnt want to get used to people I wasn't going to know for very long. However, the one student to come up to me and introduce himself stuck out in my head. It was Malcolm none the less. My mother was pregnant, and we were guaranteed at least a years stay in Wellington until the baby was born. After the year was up, Me and Malcom had become best friends, and I didn't want to leave New Zealand. I begged and begged, pleading with my parents, but it was out of their hands. I had only ever made one friend, and now I was forced to ditch him. The night before Mom's due day, I prayed. I prayed hard. And god answered me. But god has a real ******** up sense of humor...The next night, my baby brother Zane Claudius Citronella was born. But, my mother had died while giving birth to him. I cried for days on end, and hated the little twerp for taking my mother away from me. But twisted enough, my father was given morning time for the loss of his wife and our mother. My prayer had been answered, but at a cost I was no were near ready to pay. Time went on and we grew up little by little. At 15 I had my first job and Zane was already walking and talking. When dad wasn't taking care of him, he was staying on base as the resident Officer. No longer needing to travel all over the world, me and Malcolm became like brothers. Through better and worse. So when he was inducted as into the Wellington Omens, it was monkey see, monkey do. The Omens were the top gang in all the capitol city, their main source of funding being drug and gun running. I was scared shitless that my father would find out. However, he never got the chance to. He was killed in a routine training operation to this day I swear was orchestrated by the U.S. Military & Navi. With no father, A little brother to take care of, and a meek life insurance stipend, Malcolm and I dropped out of highschool and moved into a place of our own to take care of Zane. As we grew older, we moved up the ranks of the Omen, until the fateful day Malcolm became its leader. Naturally, he appointed me his right hand man, and we were on top of the world. The checks for my fathers death were still coming in every month, and we were rolling in dough from all the drugs and firearms we could sell in a week. It was short lived really, considering we were selling to the very damn gangs that would eventually tear us apart. It was around this time that we met Stella. Stella was the valedictorian of the very highschool that me and Malcolm had stopped out of. She was a gorgeous, intellectually, older woman. And like so many woman like her, she had a taste for younger, dangerous men. She fell instantly for Malcolm. She much so, she even called me Malcolm when he wasn't around. I didn't correct her, as I was jealous of him for having such a beautiful, smart, mature woman wrapped around his finger. However, we had come the best of friends in the time Malcolm spent away from home doing his leadership obligations. She fell in love with Zane, and still came almost daily to visit and baby sit him. She is the mother that he never had. Everything seemed to going just perfect in our little makeshift family. That is, until the first time I tried Acid...It was my 21st birthday.• Never leave home without;; My headphones, my cigarettes, and my Fractal-dissolving pills • What moves me;; Im on a Plain but Polly thinks Im Dumb• A bit more;; The Headphones? Yeah, I never take 'em off. Music is kind of my natural anti-depressant. Ironic when my favorite band is Nirvana...Do you have water in here? I'm starting to see colors. • Pulling the strings;; Deity 4 Hire
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Posted: Mon Nov 05, 2012 11:02 pm
So the story starts like this...
Devious actions are done in dim light. And there was none dimmer than the 93 Lincoln street Wither-Tree Club. Like most sketchy establishments, this little den of narcotics also served as a front for a group of special trained men and women who have mastered the art of death. These killers for hire where the reason I was even present at this little hole-in-the-wall joint...But of coarse, I had to make a quick detour to the lil' junkie's room. I walked through the low-light entrance and up to the bar with little patience but to 'gently nudge' the throngs of rave dancing sheople tha' ******** outta me way. After a few low words, the bartender slips me the pouch and i left a hefty tip on the table for my one Rolling Rock pale ale. I was gone as quick as I came, floating like a shadow to the bathroom.
Door pushed open, every trace of ugly vices and immorality was scattered about like tornado hit druggie alley. I'll make this quick...I sat on the filthy toilet by the very rim, downed my beer and left the bottle on the back of the porcelain thrown. The cap made a wonderful little tray for my little re-up after dinner. Poured a bit of powder. ******** a straw, just get up in there...5 minutes later and a few sniffs, empties, than re-fills, I was feeling about right to get to work...I tossed the cap amongst the rest of the paraphernalia and returned to the flashing lights and thrashing people of the club. The tender hooked me up with another cold one while my eyes scanned the populace for my target.
'Derek Evangel'
But, as my eyes shift about the swirling mass of bodies and limbs, my mind shifted on me. Why would a killer be spending his time in the fore front of his own club when he knows damn well there was someone of equal malice searching to destroy him. Just as my mind processed this though, I saw through the crowd a flash of light and a bang...Teeth grit, and clutching my stomach against the bar, I felt the hot lead pierce through my abdominal muscles and expand into shrapnel flak, cutting paths of carnage in my gut. The agonizing pain felt almost...orgasmic. I gasped for air, but as sudden as the shots rang out, and the sensation was gone..
With eyes blankly staring at the palms of my hands, bare, no blood or splatter...Charlotte was kicking in...Now, I guess I should start by breaking down what in this s**t:
-Cocaine. For obvious reasons.. Heightened senses, quickened reaction time, More adrenaline in the system and the general feeling of 'whooo hooo! im F@#$ invincible!!' (Of course, the come down is like base jumping with no parachute.)
-Ecstasy. Enhances color contrast and sharpens shadows. Pain...feels almost euphoric. This could be good or bad, depending. Time feels like a slug pushing the minute arm on the face of an analog clock. Also, whats the point of killing countless victims without a smile ear to ear anyway? (Just drink lots of water. Or in my case, beer.)
-And last but not least, my old friend Lysergic Acid diethylamide: LSD. with this hallucinogen, everything has to do with everything. Nothing is unrelated as the fractal and trails that follow every person, event and emotion and thought help self become one with everything surrounding you. But as the mind comes alive, so do the demons trapped within it. (A brain on LSD outsmarts its owner every time, hands down. When you hallucinate you've been stabbed, by god, you've been stabbed and your drowning out into a pool of your blood. Without the help of the other drugs, this affect would last for the stander 12-16 hours. But with the coke to back it up, each episode only lasts about a few seconds. The consistent unpredictability in this aspect of the drug is a reminder. Anything can happen. And when it does, you'd better react. The wild card is actually reacting not in your mind, but in reality where you look like a fool. From falling to the ground screaming "I've been hit!" to opening fire into a group of passer's by because that old lady's cane looked like an AK-47, be ready for it. Because it eventually happens to everyone. Oh, and don't even get me started on the black-outs...)
After i shook the crazy's out of my head, i returned to the bar, the tender able to see the glaze in my eyes from the fix he hooked me up with. "Another Beer" i shouted over the bumping club stereos. When the bottle got back to me, my eyes were already fixed on a woman across the bar. She seemed a bit older, somewhere in her 30's. But damn, she was still a cougar. I hardly gave the keep another look before I floated over to her side, perched on the bar stool.
"Why the long face, dame? You should be dancing circles around these young broads with a good looking man." I said, taking a swig of my beer...and that's about all i remember saying, until reality replied with a swift pistol whip to the back of my head. I guess the convo lasted about 3 minutes until cougar's tongue was down my throat. Then, her boyfriend came over to 'address' the situation...Like I said, everything has to do with everything. I guess Derek and his little mocking bird got into a little lover's tiff before the night started, and both grew more bitter to one another by the beer. THEN!, along comes some little punk who openly tests their love by sucking face with his girl. And it only seemed even to rail the barrel of his Beretta against the lush, boyish locks of this baby-faced player...And that's about where my mind caught up to me.
"easy where your pointing that thing cub scout.."
I sneered with my face pressed to the bar by the flat black barrel of his gun. "you might hurt someone"
"Nothing hurts when your dead, maggot. Keep talking and you'll find that out. Merissa, who is this street urchin ********, uhh...Derek I-I didn't do anything baby. He just started kissing me!"
"-Oh, then that musta been mmyyy teeth that nearly tore my lips off!?" I added, just to fuel the fire. It worked, considering the inferno of emotions behind me pistol whipped me immediately after.
The attention of the club was now enthralled on our little quarrel, and I was able to spot the average body guards moving to close the gap from the back of the club to the man that signs their checks.
"Watch your mouth pip squeak!!" he shouted, the guards assuming their places on either side of me while the king goon still held my head to the granite bar. The club participants were starting to file out in a panic, though the music kept on playing.
"Merissa, dont tell me your drunk...you know your a slut when you drink! Can you at least tell me the kid's name??" The crying, shaking wreck standing close to thug number two stumbled with her words to form my name from them. "I th-think his name w-w-was...I dont know Derek, because he d-doesnt mean anything to m-" and with one quick, domestic abusin' hook, the poor girl was on the ground in a heep. "Damnit Babe!" he said, turning his attention back to me, head still on the bar, hands now lay'd flat in plain sight. "And you, whats your name!" he shouted, gun so roughly re-pressed against my melon. "They're gunna need something to put that 'missing person' poster..."
I could hear the footsteps at my 4 o'clock shuffle forward. It was now or never.
"Death!"
Devon howled with laughter. "Did you really drop that line just before offing someone?" He puffed on her cigarette, wide-eyed gaze for effect. "Who was that for? Him?" She leaned back in her leather chair. "Me?" She motioned to her self with the hand still holding the cigarette. She pointed to her large chest with the index and middle, smoke from the stick dancing of blue behind her. My eye met hers again after inatvertently looking at her breasts. I couldn't help but crack a smile. "For me I guess. Too much tension in the room."
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Posted: Thu Nov 08, 2012 9:51 pm
↪ Ѻliver ⇌ Ҥart ↩
{※} Take me where the air is clear. {※}
{※} I don't really know where, but I know its not here. {※}
{※} Every little breath he takes makes me cringe,{※}
{※} 'cuz I'm just again.{※}
• Mama named him;; Oliver Hart• But everyone calls him;; Kafka• Not so tall, only;; 6' 2"• Scale says;; 184 lbs• He's been around for;; 25• To whom his heart belongs;; Fallon• His life's calling;; Killing: for the Brethren (moonlighting as a writer and poet)• But really, he is;; ”...a tough one to read. A real tall, dark and silent type. One would imagine he is quite intelligent, considering he mostly stays quiet and listens to what everyone around him has to say. And when he does speak, it'd surprise you how articulate and well spoken he is. Not many like that his age, ya see? I can tell he used to write for a living. Devon realized just how much is going on behind the eyes, though. He hyper analyzes everything, picking it apart to the atoms and back again. Oliver must suffer from some sort of social anxiety. His body language is always distant, disengaging from anyone who focuses their attention on him too long. He also doesn't look anyone in the eyes for longer than a split second. That's not to say he's squirrelie or anything, he's eerily composed most of the time. But anyone can see that in a group setting, which the club is in a perpetual state of, he would rather be some place else. The only person that can bring him out of his shell is Fallon. But she tells me even she can't get him to open up when he has one of his bouts of depression. Skeptical, constantly thinking, and stand off-ish are good ways to describe him. When he isn't on a job, he's locked up in his room writing, reading the news paper, or being a home-body with Fallon. You got to wonder how well they mesh, considering Fal's become more extrovert than even Sonny was after he had passed. His reliability and loyalty must keep her around, not alota folks like there here in the Brethren anymore. Oli evens her out, makes her more like the sweet girl she used to be. I find it a welcome regression. Even still, I cant shake the feeling that there is more to him than meets the eye. Still waters run deep, ya know? He shows signs of Psychopathy, but I doubt he's a complete one. The way he dotes over Fallon contrasts that theory far too much.”• What people see;; Oli is tall and thin, relatively muscular with tanned skin. Romanian and other eastern European blood are easy to see in his facial structure and large, pointed nose. Expressive eyebrows frame deep, analyzing eyes, set above a mouth permanently stuck in a straight line. The scar on the right side of his lip brakes the monotony of his often expressionless face. No one has ever felt close enough to ask him where the scar has come from. He sports short, well groomed dark hair, he's never been known to grow it long. His style is relatively respectable. Form-fitting Khakis with relatively formal black leather shoes, complimented by an Italian leather belt. He favors button down, light colored shirts that he tucks into his pants when he feels he needs to be presentable. In the cold weather, he favors double breasted Pea-coats and jackets. He certainly doesn't dress like one would think a 25 year old would. Especially not one from the Southside or Weston.• The things he has done;; There isn't a whole lot that can go right when your a kid who's dad beats you senseless nearly every night. It could have been the drink, maybe the fact his wife was hooking to help with the rent, or the nightmares every night he would endure after returning from the war. None the less, a bruised young had no chance to grow up. So instead, he grew inwardly.
• He loves/hates;; Oli is a contradiction. He likes nothing more than his alone time. At the same time, he hates being alone. This causes him much anxiety when he feels he wants to socialize, but can't work up the courage to. This subtle balance has been found with Fallon. He dabbled a bit with drugs and alcohol, but doesn't smoke cigarettes. He doesn't like animals or children, and people can go either way for him. He loves the rains and watching thunderstorms, but isn't a fan of the snow or extreme heat.• What moves him;; None Shall Pass ~ Aesop Rock • Weapons;; Oliver carries an impressive arsenal of strange guns with a distinct lack of melee weaponry. He favors Automatic pistols like his Magpul Folding Glock 17 and Berretta 93R. He also holds the smaller, auxiliary Ruger LCR and a compact, but devastating 40mm M79. • Never leaves home without;; The standard wallet, house keys and cellphone. A small, battered flask of his favorite whiskey is kept in his breast pocket. He always keeps his Anxiety meds close at hand, though it becomes doubtable if he continues taking them after joining the Brethren. They seem to tinker with his ability to slow perception. But if the time would call for it, he could always down the bottle and empty his flask and be dead within the hour. For this reason, he still keeps those pills in his pocket.• A bit more;; Oliver is a vegetarian, loved Chinese food and Asian culture in general. He finds the respect for personal distance and small, social formalities helpful to his condition. He has always wanted to travel to Japan, once he can find the time.• User;; Sonny Amazigh
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Posted: Sun Nov 29, 2015 2:01 pm
Sônny ₪ Яuderic ₪ Berliôz ₪ Ⱥmazigh
{☨} Somebody in a cultivated moment of distress, {☨}
{☨} composed themselves enough to land a knife right in your chest. {☨}
{☨} He was prob'ly thinkin' {☨} • Mama named him;; Sonny Ruderic Berlioz Amazigh• But everyone calls him;; Pretty Boy• Not so tall, only;; 5' 8"• Scale says;; 153 lbs• He's been around for;; 19 years• To whom his heart belongs;; Fallon• His life's calling;; Killing: for the Brethren• But really, he is;; ...one rat b*****d. Why do you wanna know? Well, whatever. Sonny is rough around the edges, to say the least. By no means is he a boy-scout like his face implies, Sonny is stubborn, rude, cocky and reckless as they come. Has been long as I've know him. The label 'menace to the community' was established for him not days after his 14th birthday. A couple months later, his brother died...and a coked up, grieving, teenager behind the wheel of the most “efficient” street gang in Weston, (the Blurred Lines) drove the entirety of the south-side into a downward spiral. Even on the job, Its been one too many times Amazigh started a ********' building fire or wing'd a hostage with no explanation except “I did what I had to. You'd 'ave been Swiss cheese in that shoot-out, dude.” Living life in the fast lane, Sonny is one to get bored easily. If whatever he's doing suddenly doesn't strike his fancy any more, he'll day dream and get sloppy. In the middle of a bank robbery, fight or otherwise, he'll let his guard down while his mind drifts. It might even be a tactic in combat to set up for a counter attack, or a sub-conscious thing, inviting a ******** up scenario to make it more interesting. To the few Brethren he is close to, he holds the stage as a little brother figure. Its kind of funny when you put into perspective, we are talking about one of the youngest, skinniest serial killers in history here! He doesn't look like much, but be warned; this id is a typhoon.• What people see ;; Sonny sports the style of a punk-grunger turned young adult. He takes after his older brother in looks, high cheekbones and expressive eye brows. He'd actually be quite handsome if his face wasn't always bruised with curse words firing out of it. Black, boyish, messy hair coupled with his young, innocent 'baby-face' granted him the name 'Pretty Boy'. His skin is naturally bronzed, though he himself is unsure why or what ethnicity he hails from. His eyes are chocolate, when they don't appear flat black in low-lighting or contrast against bloodshot. His threads are typically black, skinny-jeans, studded belts, V-neck band-T's, s**t-kicker combat boots and hoodies and leather jackets when the weather calls for it. The headphones always associated with his likeness are typically at his neck. A simple silver cross is hung from his neck, though the irony is palpable, considering there is no way in hell he believes in a god. Not with the s**t he's done.• The s**t he's done;; Amazigh grew up on the souths-side. Living in the broken down slums of Weston, he learned from an early age that nice guys finish last, and if he wanted something, all he had to do was take it. Fights were a regular occurrence, at first for defense and later for fun. More often then not, Sonny is the ******** who drops the perfect push-botton one-liner to spark the bar fight. His father was one of the founders of the Brethren, thought i doubt he himself knows this...Besides the monthly checks for food and rent, he rarely seen the guy. His late brother was a gang leader, though not one you would suspect. A real robin hood, that guy, he did a lot for the s**t-hole of a housing project he grew up in while taking care of Sonny. But when Andre died as his baby brother became a teenager, life soon picked up speed. Sonny took it apon himself to unite the gangs of his territory, and claim dominance over the community. What first was an attempt to stop the street-wars and follow in his brothers footsteps, later became a simple greedy want to dominate the south-side and all lucrative and recognizable actions there in. The fighting only grew to a larger scale, and despite the casualties, Sonny made it a point to turn up at every scrap. Maybe he was really searching for the bloke that offed his brother. Its a miracle he is alive to this day with his 'live fast, die fun' mentality. Dropping out of highschool only brought him more free time to do the things he loved. The drinking got heavier, the women got prettier, the drugs got harder and the money pot grew and grew. In a bizarre twist of fate, Sonny stumbled apon Charlotte. Cocaine and mescaline cut with a little heroin, ecstasy and other bits and bobs, a real potent cocktail. I think its a Yakuza product. At 16, his right-hand man and best friend died in a street fight. Another one of his bites the dust...needless to say, there were consequences everywhere. With the weight of two loved ones passing, and Char blurring reality and fantasy, his mind began a twisted trip through hell. Feeling responsible for the death of his friend, he did more. His growing tolerance made him do more. The fear of dope sickness made him do more. Before long, he was caught in the undertow. One night after an especially long bender, Sonny stumbled apon some mook he thought was the man who killed his childhood friend. Of course he was hallucinating, but the cops didn't care one way or the other when they found him covered in blood standing next to a body. It's uncertain if this was his first murder, but its certainly the first one he took the wrap for. Its a miracle, or a set-up, that Devon was his defense lawyer. A brilliant defense-lawyer for murder cases such as his own. And through Devon, his sentence was lightened to confused self-defense. When Sonny got out of the Klink a few months later for just the drug possession charges, its no surprised who turned up in an old Chevy Nova to hawl him back to the south side. Of course the name Amazigh held alot of weight in the right circles. Turns out Devon and her husband, the leader of the Brethren (big surprise), had known Sonny and Andre's father, well. Sonny eventually became acquainted with Slug. The boss man saw alot of himself in Sonny when he was his age. Cocky, impatient, running a gang and drug addicted. Sonny had gained the respect of Slug, but also his pity. He saw it fit to take the human-time bomb under his wing to hone his skills, kick his habits and broaden his horizons, “Why unite just the south-side? Why not all of Weston? Why not the entire damn country?” Passing the reigns of the Blurred Lines to who was mostfit, graduated from organized gang leader to professional killer. However, he wasn't inducted in the typical way. He's never gone through basic training or been "beat-down like a dog" as he puts it, rather than the Slug's softer term. After a few sessions in bullet bending, perception slowing, and tactical thinking, Sonny was already equipped with the malicious nature and raw fighting prowess to end lives for cash. This is apparent when looking at his on-the-job record. Though his skirmishes are all unorthodox, and his kills the product of a knife or bullet rather than poison or explosives, he has the highest completion rate of any Assassin of his generation Lately however, his demons are starting to catch up with him. Charlotte is back in town again. And Amazigh saw it suitable that he picked up a bundle...just for old time sake...• He loves/hates;; Sonny loves desert climates. The hotter the better. So naturally he can't stand the cold. He loves his dilapidated south-side and the city of Weston, never once having left, but also never having any want to. Considering it also gives him a rush, he loves the feeling of pain. The scars running up his arms show a twisted fascination with self-harm. Meat is often on his dinner plate, never developing a liking for greens. He surprisingly loves dogs, birds, and romantic comedeys.• What moves him;; Mascara (Original Sin) ~ The Killing Tree • Weapons;; His .454 Casull, (his fathers hand-cannon left behind to protect the house) as well as his Cuved Balisong and Worn Knuckle-dusters• Never leaves home without;; A cigarette in his mouth and his trademark headphones. He is also sure to have a baggie of one drug or another in his pocket and a hangover, if not already high.• A bit more;; Sonny likes to party and have a good time, being the center of attention and telling jokes with his Brethren comrades. He is actually quite funny, thought his sense of humor is on the darker, morbid and dirty side. It's a rarity to find this artist of escapism sober. The thrills of life are what keep his heart beating: loud music, drugs, drinks, fast cars, feral sex, bloody fights...real adrenaline junkie s**t. Anything that makes his blood rush is fair game, with little concern to personal or civil safety. He can't stand snobs or authority, and often acts out against rules and regulations if only for the ******** of it. He makes it a point to do the opposite of 'keep off the grass' or 'no smoking' signs and the like. His headphones are often blaring Hardcore, Metal, Punk or Ska, regardless of location. Except for the club or his apartment above it, even he knows that would be pointless. Only certain people would know this °cough° but he has a Prince Albert.• User;; Sonny Amazigh㊍  Sônny ₪ Яuderic ₪ Berliôz ₪ Ⱥmazigh{☦} You won't hear it from me, but I miss you sometimes. {☦}{☦} When I stay up all night, blow out the lines. {☦}{☦} Not all ghosts are dead, this one's my reflection. {☦}{☦} He died when he lost your love and affection. {☦} • Mama named him;; Sonny Ruderic Berlioz Amazigh• But everyone calls him;; Norainu (meaning: Stray Dog) or Ichimonji (meaning: Straight Path) in Ryukyu, Ghost in Weston.• Not so tall, only;; 5' 9"• Scale says;; 177 lbs• He's been around for;; 24 years• To whom his heart belongs;; Fallon (and after her death, Sophie's character)• His life's calling;; Killing: for Ten no Haaku-te (meaning: The Grasping Hands of Heaven). Vengeance: against the Brethren• But really, he is;; ...still a stick of dynomite. However, his maturing has given him a longer fuse. • What people see ;; • The things he has done;;
After being assigned to kill the last living founder of the rivaling Chaotix organization, Sonny's eyes were opened to the puppet show that had come to be his life. She hadn't even put up a fight, rather, she greeted Sonny and the death sentence implied by his arrival with a grin. Recognizing and respecting the last moments of the old, majestic killeress, they shared a smoke and conversation. However, Sonny had no idea the impact of her words would have...
Not once before now had he hesitated to pull the trigger. Not once had the thrill of the hit failed to bring a smile to his face. So what had happened, here? When the prey doesn't run, the tiger has no fun. And being the rebellious type, Sonny was naturally not amused. Where his first visceral reaction was anger, her lingering works had quelled the inferno that was his short temper. All he was now left with was confusion. There was no illusion about his position with the Brethren. He was their attack dog, has been since he was a teenager. And by now he was the best hound they had, but what the cause he so vehemently took life for? Fleeing the Assassin strong hold, Sonny made his way home with only one thought in his mind, "get out."
Norainu (meaning: Stray Dog)
Ichimonji (meaning: Straight Path)
Ten no Haaku-te (meaning: The Grasping Hands of Heaven)
Genbu Satsuagi (meaning: Systematic Murder)
Ko-Baransu (meaning: Ancient Balance)
Ryuuji (meaning: Dragon Child)
rambiyoshi (Broken Rhythm)
Kodaso (Kill You?)
Shine (DIE!!)
After the
picked up about a mile out form the Weston port by a fishing boat
is nursed back to health
wait
i think ive told you this before Xp
Meghan Luttrell
12:13am
Meghan Luttrell
You have but it's a nice refresher
Janniere Sonny
12:13am
Janniere Sonny
okay
nursed back to health on the boat. further nursed back to health in Ryukyu, the small islands to the south of japan
has no way to get home
tried calling the brethren, fallon's number, his old apartment phone.
they have all been changed
sents letters, the are all sent back
he is truely alone and stranded, and the hospital bills are ******** insane
so he's out of money...and he cant go to the American embassy because he is afraid to give them his name. after the organization war, he is sure there were reports about him getting into gun fights in the streets and s**t.
he manages to get a little job, normal life an such till he makes money to buy a ticket back. he hates it. it puts a bad taste in his mouth that this is what he's wanted to do with Fallon and now he's doing it by himself
Meghan Luttrell
12:19am
Meghan Luttrell
ooo I like it so far
Janniere Sonny
12:22am
Janniere Sonny
starts getting withdrawls from the Charlotte. finds a coke dealer but it doesnt really do the trick. doesnt have any friends, so he goes to a bar and meets his dealer there. asks him if he wants a beer, trys to make a connection with someone just as a distraction. all the while feeling dope sick and hallucinating.
Janniere Sonny
12:24am
Janniere Sonny
unknown to him, the bar is an assassination firm's front and his dealer works for the same firm. so he knows everyone there.
suddenly there is an attack on the bar. blood, guts, and for once Sonny feels normal, stops hallucinating once he sees something he's used to.
in the middle of the gun fight, he is given 2 choices in his mind.
1. hide. wait for it to blow over. try not to get shot, but that's boring. and he's been far too angry to pass up a free chance to kill someone and let out some rage, which he misses....sick ******** Luttrell
12:35am
Meghan Luttrell
Nice... very intense!
Janniere Sonny
12:44am
Janniere Sonny
((sorry, i got slammed with messages all of a sudden XD))
Janniere Sonny
1:09am
Janniere Sonny
right, k. 2 dole out some swift junkie justice and save his only source of drugs (and possible friendship, totally not his main concern at this point, tho) from dying
Meghan Luttrell
1:10am
Meghan Luttrell
Haha no worries about the messages lol
Both those options are pretty awesome lol
Janniere Sonny
1:11am
Janniere Sonny
so he sits there on the bar, bullets wizzing past him.....all calm.....open us the bundle. makes a quick line on the bar...rolls a dollar (or yen. whatever) and the junkie dollar straw is shot in half while he bends down...not a great start...
so he just shoves his nose into the pile, takes a biiiig sniff and "AAAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH"
laterm he is inducted into the Ten no Haaku-te
(The grasping hands of heaven)
and goes through the beatings he never did as a brethren member.
and learns humility. respect. self control. all that good stuff. and has some character instilled in him. samurai/ninja style
Janniere Sonny
1:26am
Janniere Sonny
after that he makes his money killing again, until another war breaks out between them and another killer group. see a pattern? and he cant simply just walk away, knowing that when the fighting is over, who ever wins will just hunt him down and kill him like in Weston, either as a traitor or a fleeing enemy. so he stays and takes part in the war that lasts 3 years. at the end, he is a decorated hero and is granted an audience with the shogun, as per his request. he tells his story to the elders, Fallon included, and is granted the ability to leave. HOWEVER, he must go alone (to not make a statement of war by bringing other members of the Heaven's Grasp into the fray) and he must RETURN with or without Fallon once he has fell the Brethren. he is given a few years to complete this. after that few years is up, he WILL be seen as a traitor and hunted down.
Janniere Sonny
1:27am
Janniere Sonny
he works for them, now. and just like the Brethren (even against Slugs dying will to let him leave) no one gets out ******** i should save this ;p
• He loves/hates;; • Traints;; ~Ghost Witower: Sonny is haunted by the ghost of Fallon. She chooses to air, or hinder him in any way shape or ghastly form. ~ • What moves him;; Flames of Discontent ~ Wolf Down • Weapons;; His battle-worn blade Genbu Satsuagi (meaning: Systematic Murder), the double-edged tonto Ko-Baransu (meaning: Ancient Balance), and an plethora of Throwing Darts either coated in poison, connected to razor wire or otherwise. He still holds his .454 Casull under his kimono, but hasn't used it in years.• Never leaves home without;; • Special moves & Allie combos;; Sonny's time in Ryukyu has changed him quite drastically. Not only his personality quirks, but strategically as well. Sonny is much more clever and deceptive in combat, as well more vicious. Sonny makes use of the weaponry and techniques he'd learned from his 3 years with the Grasping Hands, coupled with ones he had developed on his own:
Silk Spider Hunts~ Rushing forward at blurring speed, unarmed, Sonny forces a visceral reaction from his opposition. While reading his opponents body language, he decides mid-stride where, with what and how he will dispatch his threats. Parrying, countering, and evading are all done while keeping the pressure on those against him by throwing and planting metal, poisoned darts with razor wire attached around a slightly concave middle. While maintaining a distance, this is how he attacks and acclimates his killing field, like a hunting spider, darting in and out of offensive positions and evading into cover until an opening to attack or trap presents itself.
Clock-work Archer~ Sonny loads a blank into his .454 and places 3 throwing darts down the barrel, all attached by signature razor wire. He then loops the ends around the trigger guard and connects new wire to the handle and trigger. After firing the needles into a bottle neck or from an elevated position, he is able to give himself cover or create a diversion to flank with by simply holding tension on the handle wire around an object or corner, and pulling on the wire attached to the trigger.
Though the rest of the magazine is indeed stacked with live rounds, this is not a mode of attack. It is merely used as a diversion, provide himself cover fire, or to make it appear like he is in 2 places at once, or he is not alone. With only 10 bullets per clip and its heart stopping recoil, this is purely situational. However when used correctly, it can surprise a group of baddies long enough to turn the tide of a skirmish.
Tengu Feather~ A devious trick, a canister equal parts plastic explosive and ball bearings is fashioned around the grip of a long-handled kunai. By a razor-wire fuse-pin marriage, or crude timer for longer distances, Sonny can detonates the flying bladed, antipersonnel mine either in the center of a group, over head to rain death onto enemies behind cover, or planted with a trap-wire for some poor soul to stumble into across.
Patient Silk Spider~ Coupled with his vagabondish lifestyle, Sonny lays his silk strands over several potential battlefields and choke points. Working all night, and sleeping all day in either abandoned buildings or overpopulated homeless-slums, he is able to hail total situational awareness over an entire small town, or city district in a matter of nights. The longer he spends in any one place, the more horrifying the reach of his lethal effect.
Playful Silk Spider~ Sonny throws his darts in groups of anywhere from 3 to 6 at a time, not every one aimed at killing an opponent. By setting anchors both high and low, he is able to create a network of wires. The longer a fight lasts, the more advantage Sonny cheats away from the opponent. With the flick of a finger, Amazigh activates the retracting mechanism of his wire rigging and can swiftly propel himself in the direction of the engages wire. Depending apon little more than a tug on the right wire, he can hang sideways, upside-down, swing and zip line to and from elevated positions, or slide across the ground at breakneck speeds. Evasion and snare traps become a problem for whoever is caught in the middle of his web. Sonny can feel when he has captured a new prey, and can tighten the razor wire too vicious effect or let them linger longer so he can feel their presence through the battle. This is the Pathway of Heaven: to have the entire battle field at your finger tips.
Throwing Shadows~ Sonny animates objects and corpses around the battle field as a means of distraction while he hides behind cover, waiting for his opening. This is by no means an ablility to move bodies in a way that replicates life, but he is however able to make them rise once more, or make them lifeless flop in one direction or another. Long enough to avert eyes and give himself a blind spot to strike from. He has also been know to shed his kimono or under shirt and drop it with the tug of a string from tree branches, back alleys and other ledges.
Silk Spider's Ambush~By leaving loops of razor wire on the ground, or leaving loose hanging arks from trees or overhead objects such as light poles, Sonny can pull the limp wire tight to snaring legs, arms and of course necks. The wire is sharp enough to cut bone deep if the prey struggles enough. Suffocation is possible if someone is unlucky enough catch a snare around the throat. Escape is a rare, but is doable. If the victims pain tolerance is high enough, and the shredded flesh will need at least stitches if the escapee lives to get medical attention.
Life Wire~ Tangles Allies in a loop of string for a quick retrieval
• User;; Sonny Amazigh
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Posted: Tue May 17, 2016 10:59 am
↪ Ⱥkumaru ⇌ Ѻnizuka ↩
{※} Take me where the air is clear. {※}
{※} I don't really know where, but I know its not here. {※}
{※} Every little breath he takes makes me cringe,{※}
{※} 'cuz I'm just again.{※}
• Mama named him;; Akumaru, Onizuka• But everyone calls him;; Ryuuji (meaning: Dragon Child)• Not so tall, only;; 5' 6"• Scale says;; 181 bs• He's been around for;; • To whom his heart belongs;; • His life's calling;; Killing: for Tenno Haku Te• But really, he is;; ...• What people see;; K-rocker complete with • The things he has done;; • He loves/hates;; • What moves him;; • Weapons;; Throwing Kunai. Approximately 8 on his person in total. Hidden in high ankle combat boots, up the back of his t-shirt and in his trademark black hoodie sleeves and pockets. Shaped traditionally, however with the thought of catching bullets in mind, the double edged blade is thicker at the handle than the very tip, the triangular blade slightly concave at the center. Also aiding in aerodynamics, Onizuka can use these to dreadful effect at up to 80 yards. He is also a master knife fighter, and uses a kunai in each hand when in close range. Coupled with the blade like, folding spurs hidden in the heels of his boots, this modern ninja jets from target to target, staying low to the grown, rooling crawling and diving inbetween cover, and even use the freshly made bodies of opponents as shields. Anything within 25 falls prey to a solid iron, octagonal weight connected to a sharply crescent-mooned blade by a chain. Normally used in his dominant hand, the opposite throws and controls the tension of the chain his, guiding the weight. Akumar's tactic is to either hit for the head or eyes, disarm or ensnare. He can then finish the battle either at a distance with a well placed Kunai, or dragging them in close for a more personal goodbye. He has also been known to throw the bladed end as well, peeling muscle from bone, hooks torsos and shoulders, or amputating heads or hands. His Katana of choice is a Fusion of Red Damascus Steel and the best existing swordsmith to date of Masamune Shizuo, 94. It is shorter than a typical katana, at 38.5 inchs, and slightly wider mune backing. “Its design is fitted to parry and block.” Translation from Masamune-san. The entire sword is also polished to a mirror shine including the blood groove, allowing him to flick blood into the eyes of a threat when he has already cut a man down. And finally the most modern tools in his arsenal, Onizuka uses flash grenades, as well as incendiary-smoke grenades; which can provide cover for an escape, or a devastating napalm weapon in the middle of a group of enemies using firearms.• Never leaves home without;; • A bit more;; • User;; Sonny Amazigh
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Posted: Mon Apr 13, 2020 7:45 am
My knees burned like hell. Another tactic they use to force us into subordination. Like stray dogs, they let us in and feed us. They bandage our wounds and show us kindness, maybe even love...but the first taste is always free.
After following orders. And like enevitably anything else, the human organism adapts. The burning wasn't as intense as it the first time i knelt in this room. No, the main weapon weilded against me now was this incessent waiting. My patience smoldered like the sticks of incense fuming around me. Everything black minus the tiny orange lights in the corners of the room billowing out thier pungent, sweet scent and a single candle flickering in front of me.
"Stray Dog."
The voice appearred the same time as his form did. I bowed to accknowledge i had heard his greeting. "Master." i cooed, keeping my head low.
"...I see you visit me Alone. Is you're Fiance' no joining us?"
"...No..." The hot ball in my chest wretched as his words hit my eyers. "She died a warrior's death." I was choking back tears. I could still feel the convulsing of her body while blood torrented from the hole through her chest. My trying ceaslessly to press Fox Candy into the wound and apply pressure, her still warm blood soaking my hands and kimono.
A small snort came from his direction. It sounded muffled. Had he attepted to cover it with his arm? The moment I moved my head to get a better look, I knew the lap-dogs behind me had been in possition for at least long enough to a move but hadn't.
He rummaged in his sleeve and spoke. "You could not save her. And she died violently." He removed a pipe at last and placed it in his mouth. 'At your 5 and 7 o-clock-' Aku chirped over the 2-way implanted-radio hiding in my upper left moller. I already knew. the vivacious images and sensations, my memories made lucid; melted away to my present surroundings. The darkness hung heavy, trying from all angles of the room to drentch/drown the feeble candle.
seemed taken aback.
Certainly It was a
He seemed to illude at the
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