Gentlemanvaultboy Member

> If you've seen Naruto think Susanno. If bleach think Sajin Komamura's(Animal dude) bankai. If still no then think of this. Its a bigger version of you that can attack and take hits for you generally connected to you in some way. So basically a Stand.

Right, dickheads identified. Oliver was that blob of...and Zain was that lovely shade of... These things didn't have names, but Zain was brownish if you ignored the pink so he decided that that color was Rolling Stone and Oliver was a color that he mentally dubbed Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap. "Yeah. At one point I think someone tossed a landmine into my room." He replied to Zain, carefully picking up whatever food was in front of him, looking at it, then tasting it to try and match color to object and hopefully find some sort of pattern to work off of. "Did wonders for my complexion though, didn't it?" He raided his voice to the rest of the table. "Everyone else still alive? Everybody sound off, I can see too much to see."

"I never said I could heal things." Bishop states. "I'm a Bishop in the fact that I've been a high ranking member of several religious organizations before, well, tragedy struck. I'm actually between gods at the moment, what you caught me at here was an attempt to gain the notice of one I've read about that, uh, uh, failed. Completely and utterly, I'm afraid. I can take care of undead, I have things that can do that like I told you, but I'm really not the person you'd come to for, say, a broken arm or profuse bleeding."

"I don't know, seems pretty all right to me." Bishop said as his voice was carried off into the distance and brutally devoured by the isolation. "Quiet. If you could solve the undead problem it'd be quite a nice place to relax, meditate, ponder the secrets of the universe and such."

"I'm going as fast as I can, man, but I am literally the polar opposite of blind right now. Cut me a little slack." An irate voice echoes into the room from down the hall. "You could at least hold a guys hand or something. Though seriously, I kind of get why you'd stay at arms length." A faceless grunt strides into the room, perhaps a bit faster than would be normal, before whistling. "Oh, that's it?" comes Shemps voice. "Thanks a lot man. I think I can handle it from here." What steps into the room is unlike anything that had ever walked the Earth before. He was bulkier than before, his every limb covered with a hard, brightly colored shell. Greens, reds, and blues clashed and complimented, making him stand out like a Christmas tree in the middle of a graveyard. His back in particular was heavily armored, causing him to walk hunched over, and from his shoulder blades sprouted a long pair of limbs that ended in fan like appendages. These weren't the only new limbs on him, as three pairs of little clawed arms lay curled upon his bear chest. His hands were bulbous, his fingers and thumbs extending from the underside of what was basically a bowling ball. His face, though, armored, was still mostly human in its features, except for his eyes. His eyes bulged out from their sockets, covered in a clear glass-like, and in each one as he scanned the room it was clear that three pupils spun in each. Cautiously, feeling his way in front of him with his hand, he made his way to the end of the table, grabbed something he couldn't tell what was, and popped it into his mouth. Blueberries. That collection of color was blueberries, which mean that it was made of the colors that used to be blue. He was making progress. He lifted his eyes and searched for the colors that signified _Dickhead._ "Morning everybody. Oliver, Zain, could you raise your hands and just wiggle them around a bit. Just some movement, I'm good with movement right now."

**Name**: Johann Strauss **Picture/Description**: A tall boy with long gangly limbs and shot, curly blond hair and green eyes. His uniform is crisp, clean, and obviously well cared for. **Age**: 16 **Nationality**: English ** Weapon of Choice**: Main Gauche. **Magic Specialization**: Sound Manipulation, most notable a family ability to control the "Volume" of anything they cut. Particularly sharp swings of the weapon are able to unleash bullets and waves of ear-splitting sound, or quite an entire area. But none of that matters, because Johann has discovered that if you flick the weapon just right you can make music with it. **Bio**: Any discussion of Johann must first begin with his family, who went into service in WWI as spies, assassins, and infiltrators for the emperor of their native Austria upon the discovery of their ability. The family took great pride in serving the emperor, and were shaken when the empire broke apart at the end of WWI. During WWII, like many Austrian monarchists who opposed the Nazi regime, they joined the exile community in London where they were contacted by British secret service and stabbed Nazis until the end of the war. As the war came to an end, the family split in two. Some member wanted to return and rebuild in Austria while others had found love, happiness, and prosperity in England. The two groups parted ways amicably, the Austrian half settling down out of the cloak and dagger game while the British half was repeatedly tapped by MI6 during the Cold War and still enjoys a good relationship with them to this day. Enter Johann, born to the British side of the family, and expected to go into the "Family Business." Drilled from a young age in both espionage and his Blade _Impulse Phenomena_ he was found to be a solid block of wood in the former and a downright prodigy in the latter, good enough to get him into a very prestigious academy despite his lackadaisical attitude. **Other**: He carries another weapon for the purposes of dueling even though he rarely if ever does so, a rapier, because his main weapon is one typically used in the off hand.

Name: Bill Sprangler. Age: 33 years old. Gender: Male species: Human Appearance: A tall, well built man with light brown hair and a large bushy beard that covers his face. Personality: The definition of a man who does science for sciences sake, his pinpoint laser like focus on what he calls "Bladder Technology" severely hampers his potential as a researcher. Weapons: Various ectoplasmic concoctions contained within rubbery exploding sacks. Created through the mixing of ectoplasm with various substances and exposure to different emotional states, the so called "ectobladders" were originally designed purely for hunting, capturing, and dissipating ghosts. Since brought on and being exposed to other supernatural forces he has built a line of bladders tailored for any creature he might encounter, as well as many general use bladders. Abilities: The world foremost expert on ghosts and ectoplasmic phenomenon, his inventions include the special gloves necessary for working with ectoplasm, the aforementioned ectobladder anti ghost equipment, and a way to use ghosts as a power source. History: This man has been hunting ghosts since before the incident, and for several years afterwards did so professionally. For a time he even had a reality television show based around education and protection. Joined the Order of the Shattered Cross 4 years ago as a special consultant, and applied for field work very soon after that.

Bishop takes the hand as eagerly as he took Pomona's, shaking it with joy. "Pleased to make your acquaintance Dain. Pleasure, pleasure, pleasure." He had never met a dwarf he didn't like. Dawrfs were rocks in any situation. He'd never never seen a dwarf lose his head, even if that dwarf was about to lose his head. They made a good foundation for dealing with the esoteric and unknown. Kept everyone else grounded with their demeanor, and this guy had demeanor in spades. "The Muspel Mines, you say? That's a good distance away, isn't it?" He asked.

The attacks had petered off in the small hours of the maybe-morning, when either the guard had gone to sleep or finally gotten bored, and it was in these small hours that Shemp was finally able to get some uninterrupted sleep. Just as well, because he had a surprise waiting when he was woken a few hours later by the breakfast bell. There were of pair of stories he remembered reading once, way back when, in a textbook. One was about a man who had woken up and found himself to be transformed into a insect. The other was about a color, a color that no one had ever seen before, drifting down from space. if you took the most imaginative man in the world, had him read both these stories back to back a hundred times, pumped him full of literally a bucket of LSD, and had him describe what he was feeling, it might be a slight approximation of how Shemp felt now. He looked down at his body, down at his hands. They were bulgy at the knuckle, and his hands felt stiff. Like he was wearing gloves that were two sizes too small. He could still feel from his hands, and when he passed them over his body it felt ridged and smooth like armor. He felt bulky, an added weight when he moved his shoulders, a new effort was taken to lift his legs. He felt limbs, limbs that he had never felt before moving up and down, straining against his shirt. They weren't his, and yet they were his, and they moved as he wanted them to. It felt like this wasn't his body, but at the same time felt like this was very much his body. He could tell more by how he felt than what he could see, because he could hardly make out anything through the blobs of color. New color. Colors that no human being had ever beheld before. Where before was just the the uniform grey walls of the room, where a human eye would only make out the grey, was a rainbow of unnatural color. He clenched his eyes shut because he started getting dizzy, his brain trying desperately to analyze all the visual data that it had never had to deal with before and failing. A man, who looked like a sea creature, viewing things were incomprehensible. Taking into account that his maternal grandmother had been African-American and he embodied every one of H.P. Lovecraft's nightmares. He called out, and was suprised to find that his voice was the same. "Hey, any of you assholes from last night still out there? I need a little help again, I can't see anything because I can see**_ everything_**!"

"What's a knife gonna do? Some wizard you are." Tyler says as the rhino beast was upon them. He jumped back as the beast charged forward with reckless momentum, knowing that if that thing got in their midst it would surly kill them. That's when something strange occurred. From behind him something shot toward the creature, something he could barely see. Seemingly in slow motion it zipped up to the charging beast and gripped it by its drill like horn, pulling with all its momentum. The creatures balance was thrown off, its head tipping to far forward for its weight to handle, and it lost its footing. The charge became a flying tumble, sending it headlong into the lake behind them. Before Tyler could even get his thoughts together he spied from the corner of his eyes a fist sized stone sailing direly for his head. He brought his arms up to cover his face, but when he heard a meaty impact he didn't feel the corresponding pain. As he looked out from between his palms, he saw it. A hand. A human hand, the size of his own floating, nearly translucent, in the air. In its palm it cradled the huge rock, which it let slide to the ground. Then it turned, palm first to him, as though awaiting orders. "What're you then, a ghost?" He asked, perplexed, before remembering that this thing at least was not currently trying to kill him. Maybe it could make some use of the knife, seeing it could fly and all. As if reading his mind the phantom fist zipped over to Matt and wrenched the knife out of his jacket pocket, turing instatly to swing into the oncoming hoard.