Holy Soldier

Allaria - Classical Fantasy Ch. 5 - Recruit the Shadowwald!

I'll get an intro post going for this game tomorrow after work. This game is on my priority list before I dabble in other RP-related projects. :)

Epic City: Starburst

@Regitnui@Old AmsterdamI saw your message about needing more villains. *is here*

Justice League Unlimited

Episode VII: Training Days
July 30th, 2017 | Metro Tower - Metropolis
@Unknown100@Member 00492@Sir Lurksalot

There was a newcomer standing behind Ted Kord. The young man hadn’t said a word for his green eyes were glued to the action taking place beyond the force field wall. Vadim was in awe. His eyes glimmered with fear and excitement as he watched one girl fire laser beams from her eyes. They hadn’t vaporized anything, but it still delighted him to see that there were others with special powers. One guy was getting slammed around like a baby with a rag doll. Vadim’s lips rolled back into his mouth to bar back a hiss of sympathetic pain as he frowned. That looked like it sucked. The man managed to retaliate—and in a tantrum. Demonstrating immeasurable strength, he hefted the undead titan and lobbed him into a purple monster.

A grin parted Vadim’s lips as he finally spoke: Nice.

He resembled a baseball player with his red and white collared-shirt and red cap. Light-blue jeans rode down his long legs to a pair of brown work boots; and a black Jansport bag with a single change of clothes and travel-sized toiletries was on his back. Vadim was big for his height, borderline abnormally so. Most just thought the blonde and green-eyed man to be a lifter. His shirt, although a comfortable and breathable fit, did nothing to hide the massive deltoids, biceps, and triceps that shifted like boulders beneath his skin from the slightest movement. Thick, snake-like veins weaved over his arms, and his jutting thighs and calves caused the legs of his pants to slightly mold around them despite being loose.

Vadim had just arrived to Metro Tower and had spent a good deal wandering the facility, wondering where everyone had vanished off to. Had he missed the orientation? The training room and the heroes battling the robotic goons within was what he had been hoping to see. He had feared The League tossing a new recruit immediately into a mission with little warning. While he had dealt with villains before, rarely were they ever supervillains. He had told The League confidently that he was ready to handle scum of such a caliber, but deep-down, he wasn’t even sure. He wasn’t too familiar with his powers for there was never a proper place where he could just—let go.

Justice League Unlimited

Vadim Semyonovich Medved
Вадим Семёнович Медведь
★

5'10" | 180 lbs | Blonde | Green

23

Silent Giant, Brave, Dutiful, Teddy Bear, and Tough.

Metahuman

• Alien Energy Mutation: Red Star was empowered by unknown alien energies that have caused chain reactions within his molecular structure, altering his physical abilities and reflexes. Over time, these abilities have changed and he has gone from being an incredibly fast and strong being into one with an array of powers. The physical changes enable him to withstand environmental extremes, including the hostile conditions in deep space and naturally, radiation.
• Energy Projection: Red Star generates immense radioactive energy in the form of red blasts and explosions. He can project a fire-like beam anywhere from his body. This energy replicates the effects that a Kryptonian would feel under a red sun.
• Heat Generation: His body gives off more heat than normal. In the cold, steam can always be seen rising off his skin.
• Flight: Red Star technically doesn't fly, but instead projects his energy beams downward and uses the concussive force to propel him through the air. He hasn't quite mastered literally flying in the air.
• Superhuman Strength: Since his mutation, Red Star hasn't tested his strength on anything heavier than a small car. He doesn't know the limit of his strength.
• Superhuman Durability: Red Star's near invulnerability allows him to survive blows from super-powered beings.
• Superhuman Stamina: Red Star's body produces less fatigue toxins, allowing him to fight for days on end, unless winded by other means.
• Superhuman Speed: Red Star can sprint 45 mph max, but with the propulsion of his energy beams, he can reach 100 mph in a second. His energy projection can also be used as an abrupt slow or brake in motion.
• Red Star Transformation: [LOCKED]
• Radiation Monster: [LOCKED]
• Self-Sustenance: [LOCKED]

• Besides Vadim's gift of tinkering, he possesses average human intelligence.
• Vadim possesses an average, brawler-style fighting style.
• While Vadim is tough to take down, he still possesses basic human weaknesses (illness, disease, toxins, etc.) until he acquires his energy form.
• Vadim has locked away inside himself a lot of potential. He just needs the confidence to be able to access it.

Vadim doesn't understand what exactly has been done to him. One moment he was this normal young man, and now he is large and strong. His power scares him for he doesn't know if he will continue to mutate or if his mutations have ceased. He desires to learn more about his powers so that he can use them a little more confidently. He hopes to grow stronger and to gain more skills as a super hero. I am open for him to have a romantic relationship if one is to happen.

Vadim was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York to Oskana and Sasha Medved. When he was fourteen-years-old, he went to visit his grandparents in Yaroslavl, Russia. One morning, when ice fishing with his grandfather, Vitaly, a strange red meteor tumbled from the sky. Vadim pushed his grandfather out of the meteor’s path, and as it came in proximity of Vadim, it released a red pulse that passed through his body traveling from his head down to his feet and back. The pulse happened in a millisecond before the meteor collided with Vadim, causing him to crash through the ice into the chilling waters. Vitaly called for help and within twenty minutes a response team arrived at the scene. The rescue team was able to fish Vadim from the lake waters as red shards from the meteor melted into his skin. They deemed the boy lucky to be alive and rushed him to a hospital. At the hospital, doctors were baffled by Vadim’s examination. He had suffered unconsciousness and not much else. His recovery was considered a miracle.

Vadim was released once he woke, and he returned with his grandparents to their house. Unknown to him, his mutation had already happened and had been so subtle that neither Vadim nor Vitaly had noticed. It was his grandmother, Viera, who immediately noticed when they arrived home. Vadim’s parents when he returned to New York were also flabbergasted, but Vadim never revealed the truth to them. He kept what happened in Russia a secret and claimed that Viera’s good cooking had made him big and strong.

Vadim experimented with his body at a closed down naval yard and discovered his abnormal strength. With his powers, he started his new life as a crime fighter. He came up with the name Red Star, naming himself after the strange object that had given him his powers. When he wasn’t at school, he was out fighting crime, and when he wasn’t at home, he told his parents that he was at school. He was able to hide his activities until college. In college, Vadim is pursuing a degree in Physics. When he was walking home from school, he was approached by a liaison for the Justice League. He hadn’t expected his small-time crime fighting to be noticed, and enthusiastically accepted the offer.

• Vadim's parents are alive and well, and a side of him that other teammates may not see is that he's a mama's boy.
• Vadim speaks fluent English and Russian.
• Vadim is actually Russian-American; however, other Americans still treat him like a foreigner rather than an American. It must be his strong Russian accent. This has led to him developing a quiet personality. He would like to be treated as a fellow American for once.
• Vadim likes to fix things that are broken on his own rather than call a repair man or professional. This has made him quite the handyman in times of emergency (especially when dealing with vehicle/aircraft issues).

The snow crunched under their snowboots and white wisps snaked from their nostrils about their pale faces. The young, fair-headed boy was garbed in thick brown furs from his head and neck down to the pants tucked into his boots. Thick gloves covered his hands as he followed alongside his дедушка (d’yeh’doo’sh’kah) or дед (d’yeh’d)—grandfather. The older man had gray peach fuzz on his chin, dark eyes, and a rounded beak-like nose. He reminisced as the two approached the lake, its frozen surface glowed in the sun. It was what Vadim believed heaven would look like.

This is spoken in Russian, but to spare you, I wrote it in English.

“When was the last time you came out here with me, boy? I think you were about five—too young to even know what ice fishing was,” said Vitaly.

“Five is too young?” Vadim asked jokingly.

“All you knew was that I cut a hole in the ice and fish come out. You didn’t know that there was an actual technique to the process.”

“I remember you caught a big one last time, and we sat out here, cooking it over a fire.”

“Yes, that was a good time. I hope to catch another big one.”

They carefully walked out onto the ice, tapping it with the end of their fishing rods as they stepped. They walked until they were just about in the center and Vitaly set down a white paint bucket and removed his saw from it. Handing Vadim his fishing rod, he bent over and started sliding the saw up and down in a circle about the width of two fists side-by-side. Setting down the saw, he removed an ice pick from the bucket next and stabbed the pick into the ice block, hauling it out of the hole. Both Vitaly and Vadim peered into the hole at the black waters.

“Well, let’s get to it then,” said Vitaly. He removed a can of sardines from the bucket next and flipped the bucket over. Vitaly sat on it, twisting around for a second to get his rump comfortable before he started opening the can. He removed a slimy fish and impaled it on his hook before lowering it into the water. Vadim watched in silent expectation as though Vitaly would catch a fish any moment.

Vitaly looked over at his grandson and chuckled. “It won’t happen that fast.”

The old man had been right. He had sat on that bucket for nearly thirty minutes with no bite. Vadim had started walking in a circle, sliding his feet across the ice. He had given his grandfather his own rod to bait, wishing that he had brought a second bucket to sit on. The boy’s chest swelled and sank as a bored sigh blasted from his nostrils. Something soon pulled on Vitaly’s rod, causing the man to gasp.

“Oh! Vadim! I got a bite! Come get your rod quick so I can reel him in!”

Vadim whirled in his grandfather’s direction and noticed above his head, gleaming like a red star in the sky was a foreign object growing larger and larger by the second. The sight of it briefly froze Vadim in his tracks, and he glanced between it and his grandfather, gauging the trajectory.

“Vadim! Get over here!” Vitaly irritably shouted.

The boy sprinted for his grandpa, running with all his might as his heart rapidly hammered in his chest and the cold burned his nose. When he reached Vitaly, he thrust out his hands, pushing the man from the bucket as time momentarily paused. In that moment, Vadim felt a hot energy ripple through him, passing from his head to his feet, and then back up to his head. His green eyes were shrunk and gazing at what appeared to be a red crystal-like rock.



Vitaly winced as he slid across the ice on his back. Water and ice fragment splashed and pelted his body. Spreading his arms and dragging his hands to slow his slide, Vitaly gazed in wide-eyed awe at the white tower of steam that rose from the boiling water. What happened?

“Vadim!” the old man called. He rose to his feet and stared at the hissing column seeing no one around it. His heart sank in panic as he raced over to the hole in the ice, his feet slipping in his haste. The old man thrust out his hands to steady himself as he stopped at the water’s edge. He looked around once more not wanting to believe that Vadim could have been in the water. “Vadim! Answer me boy!”

Quickly, Vitaly dunked a hand into his winter coat pocket and fished out his cell phone. “Yes, I have an emergency!”

Sharp, blinking ruby shards protruded from the back and front of the boy. Carp swam passed his slowly sinking body that twisted limply through a forest of reeds. In the lake, there was little sound but for the plume of bubbles that rose from the fragments that began to retract into his body. Fifteen minutes later, when his body laid face down in the reeds, his clothing waterlogged, a diver plunged into the water. The light shone into the murking gray waters of the lake like a beam, allowing the diver to see the tangled form in the reeds. With a knife, he cut away the plants and grasped the boy who oddly felt warm in his hands. As he carried him to the surface, the water became like bathwater around them. The diver emerged, holding up the unconscious boy.

“Thank God!” Vitaly exclaimed in relief.

He fearfully hovered around the rescue team as they unzipped Vadim’s coat. Upon laying their hands on the boy, they quickly retracted them in startle.

“He’s warm!” a rescuer noted.

They checked his pulse and breathing. “He’s alive! What a lucky kid!”

Vitaly pressed his fingers to his lips and blew kisses to the heavens as he praised God in his relief.

“We need to get him to a hospital. He could have a fever.”

“A fever? He was just in that frozen lake!” said Vitaly.

“He’s unusually warm. We are going to make sure. Come with us please if you are the boy’s guardian.”

Vitaly followed the crew as they carried the boy on a stretcher back to shore.

FF7: SOLDIER [Always Accepting More Creative Writers!]

@CrimmyYeah. I am still taking apps.

FF7: SOLDIER [Always Accepting More Creative Writers!]

@DoubleGood to go.

Allaria - Classical Fantasy Ch. 5 - Recruit the Shadowwald!

Logran Eaton Fellenore, son of Eaton and Loraine Fellenore; Saint Slayer; The Wild Man; Reed; The Dark Paladin

30

Human

Major

He might have been a squire or he might have been just a servant. In his past, he performed the same duties as a steward. He then became a wandering hammerdin.

Minor

Hammerdin

Michael

Logran is six-foot weighing roughly 200 pounds out of armor. Beneath his armor, he wears a tunic worn to a dusty and dirtied gray from age and use. His trousers are a faded-black and pool slightly over a pair of brown rabbit-skin shoes. His hair is raven-black. Its length is down to his shoulders, and he wears it in a loose tail. His eyes are slate-grey, his right eye half-closed due to a scar cutting into his cheek passed his eye in a diagonal slant. He wears a black cloth bandage wrapped about his head over his right eye.

When Logran’s face isn’t behind his facemask or eye bandage, he appears to be younger than his actual age. His boyish appearance makes him appear in his early twenties. With a beard on his face, he appears his age or ten years older. His body is jutting with tanned muscle covered in light scars that contrast his complexion. Wielding Glosgnir has conditioned his body to resemble that of an experienced lifter.

Logran goes by the name Reed. Even though it has been 15 years since he murdered Sir Aragon, he does not believe zealots of the Eizellen Church or even of Michael would ever forget that his murderer is possibly still at large. He keeps his scar and the mystery of whether or not he’s actually missing a right eye a secret from even people he would deem friends. Because of incidents in his past, there are a few things that Logran doesn’t like. Those things being swords and alcohol. He will never partake in alcoholic beverages or wield a sword even if his hammer, Glosgnir, is not present.

Is Logran troubled? It’s hard to say. Logran has admitted and taken responsibility for each of his sins. Having murdered once, the blood can no longer be washed from his hands. He is his own judge. He will execute whoever he deems unworthy of mercy. The paladin is soft-spoken. He rarely raises his voice above a shout and over the years, his life has led to him becoming quieter. He is dutiful—one to not stray from the mission until it is complete. He has worked in a team before but not one anywhere close to a mercenary group. Because of the misfortune that befalls anyone who is around him, he prefers to work alone.

The paladin is a humble man who doesn’t boast his skills or abilities. He doesn’t completely understand most of his abilities, but one has led to him not liking liars. Liars remind him of the blinded fools in Eizellen. While he understands lies being used tactfully, he still just doesn’t like hearing them.

White Stag

Black Mithril Armor The black armor that encases his body resembles heavy armor in appearance. It is as sturdy as steel, and most Dwarves would recognize the craft to be that of their own: Dwarvish. The mithril armor is a light armor that places little burden on the wearer. The armor is a necessity for Logran who wields a great hammer and cannot afford his movements to be hampered by extra weight. The specific armor components: mantle, greaves, torso, chest, dress (groin), boots, mask, and gauntlets.

Black Sun Buckler The buckler is one-foot-and a half in length and width. The buckler is circular with jutting and bladed overlapping layers surrounding it in what appears to be rays. The buckler acts as a small shield and can be used as a lethal throwing disc. If thrown with a reverse spin, the disc can be thrown in a forward direction for a brief moment before the spin would cause it to return. If not thrown, then the buckler can act as a bladed disc for slashing down opponents.

Glosgnir is a great hammer of dwarvish craft designed from a hardwood overlaid with steel. The weapon is as long as Logran is tall. The head is two-feet wide in all directions, and the obvious heaviest part of the weapon. Logran can wield the hammer in close-combat by gripping it closest to its head, and he can wield the weapon in medium-range combat by gripping it near the tail. The blunt weapon is designed to break shields and guards. Like a battering ram, Glosgnir can knock a turtling enemy on his ass if he insists on hiding behind his shield. He can use the hammer to damage the wheels of war machines and pachyderm steeds. If there’s a reinforced door, Glosgnir will bust it open. The worst position an enemy can find himself in is beneath the hammer when it falls.

Kheluz Dwarvish for “strong” it is the name of Logran’s horse. Kheluz is a black Diremane stallion standing at 20 hands (82” tall) and weighs 1.3 tons. Logran needed a big and strong horse to not only be able to survive and carry his belongings, but to carry Glosgnir most of all.

Rations Dried meats, pemmican, honey, nuts, salted fish, and tubers.
Waterskin
Triage Kit Bandages, Needle & Thread, and pomade
Utility Knife
Extra Set of Clothes
Furs
Saddle, Bit, Reins, Stirrups, Harness
Bed Roll
Rope and Grapple
Gold

Major Shieldbreaker

Logran is the guy you want to get in close in order to take out the enemy’s defense. Heavily-armored enemies, war machines, pachyderms, reinforced doors—Logran with Glosgnir will bring it all down. The enemy does not want to be in the shadow of the hammer when it falls. His hammer is like a battering ram, shaking the poise of enemies who hide behind their shields. If the shield isn’t sturdy enough, Glosgnir has been known to break or warp a shield beyond convenience.

Minor Holy Man

Logran is blessed with abilities that help one find his or her way through the darkness. His blessings allow those to punish evil and see when they are blinded by trickery. He can hear lies.

Wayfinder

When lost, afraid, or confused, Logran can unconsciously evoke a guide to lead him out of a complicated situation. This ability doesn’t always allow him to find who he is looking for. He can find someone if he is meant to find someone as decided by Michael, but if he doesn’t find the person then the person is either no longer of this life or someone not meant to be found. Logran would be the one to lead a group out of a maze or out of darkness. If separated, he will get a gut feeling to go in the direction of the group he is to reunite with if Michael wills it. The ability is confusing and Logran doesn’t quite understand it himself. He’s just always had it since he was a boy.

Blessings

Logran can lay his hand on weapons or equipment and imbue them with a holy blessing through prayer. The weapon or tool when blessed takes on the properties of a blessed item capable of inflicting extra damage to evil entities to include the corporeal and incorporeal.

Logran’s devotion to his god has given him an indomitable will. He finds strength through his faith in Michael, and this strength could rival the strength of any godless man. His past is filled with hardship and adversity. He has survived being nearly beaten to death, starvation, and madness. With nothing to live for, Logran has completely surrendered himself to Michael, and in doing so, has acquired some uncanny advantages. His mind is difficult to break, and he is well-accustomed to the harsh wilderness. His constitution is higher than most humans, and his mysterious abilities will often have others coming to him for truth and guidance. Logran can hear lies, the whispers of evil, and he will boldly call a liar out on his or her game when he hears one.

As a fighter, Logran is devastating at close and even medium ranges. His hammer can cripple and throw the balance of his opponents. His hammer can breach most defenses. His blessings can send evil running. The mysterious paladin is a reliable addition to any team.

As far as combat, even when wearing a lighter armor, a swing from his hammer is still slower than the swing of a short sword or dagger. To compensate, he will switch between single-handed to two-handed, and gripping near the head of his hammer for swifter strikes. A hammer is not as easy to manipulate or change trajectory as a lighter weapon and so a swing will happen in the direction it is initially intended. If ever disarmed, if swords are all the paladin has left to wield, he won’t use them. He refuses to use them because they bring about a terrible memory.

Like most fighters, the back is always a vulnerable area for ambushes or backstabs. He cannot see a sniper planning to shoot him down, and therefore, his morality is like anybody elses. His holy abilities are reliant on Michael, and Michael may not make decisions in the group’s favor.

His identity as Logran Fellenore is ever uncovered by an enemy can create trouble for him or any group he is with. Churches of Michael often have drank the Apotheoses’ koolaid and their flocks are just as toxic.

Logran does not like rape, and if he is ever witness to such an act, his friends may see him fly off the deep end. Such horrendous acts fill him with a terrible rage.

Slate

The Story

Logran was born to Eaton and Loraine Fellenore in the prairies north of the Eizellen peninsula. His birth, though expected, was unwanted for their struggles as farmers were worsened by another mouth to feed. Loraine did not ever blame her son for she knew that it was she and Eaton who had born him into their hardship. Logran grew only in their love until they could no longer bear it. When Logran was eight-years-old, old enough to properly hold a sword, Eaton took him to Eizellen, City of Men. Eaton introduced Logran to an old friend of his, Sir Aragon Brightshield, Paladin Saint of Eizellen, Dawnbringer. Eaton and his father were acquainted only by tale. In the tale, Aragon had supposedly saved his father’s soul from an evil eidolon once, and if it hadn’t been for him, Eaton would not have lived. He thought he would repay the holy knight by having his son bend the knee as his squire. Aragon accepted Eaton’s offer, and from that day until he was fifteen-years-old, Logran served him.

Sir Aragon Brightshield

Logran was captivated by the paladin from the way the man walked, wore his armor, and rode his horse. He was radiant and everything Logran believed a Servant of Michael to be. The people loved him. The church loved him. He was loved by all. It was because of Aragon that Logran began his studies in The Word and when he was tending to the paladin’s horse or chambers, he was in the yard of Brightshield Estate, training with a wooden mallet and barrel lid since Aragon didn’t allow him to have weapons. Over the years, Aragon softened and allowed Logran to wade closer into his life. Logran saw a side of the man; the saint; that no one knew and would never know. When he wasn’t riding with his fellow knights or playing hero in the streets and surrounding lands, when he was home in the privacy of his estate, he was a drunkard. Aragon didn’t summon his servants to scrub his vomit from the floor or empty his piss-pot, he summoned Logran. The man was human. Logran didn’t know why he had felt so surprised. Had they all been blinded by his brilliance? Everyone saw him as the closest thing to Michael. Everyone was a fool.

Logran felt his admiration for the man weaken, and he had wept for feeling such a way for he didn’t know if losing faith in a saint was right or wrong. It had felt wrong to him. Logran placed his full faith in only Michael that night Aragon in an inebriated stupor laid a hand on him. It had been the first time anyone had ever struck him and to be struck by the Paladin Saint was traumatizing. He didn’t mean it, he tried to convince himself. He was drunk and Logran was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The servant who tended to his bruises, Marigold, named after the flower, enlightened Logran and told him that to the servants that was Aragon. The realization both disturbed and astounded Logran. Outside the estate, the man was hailed like a god, but in his own home, he was merely a man. An abusive. Drunk. Man. Everyone; all of Eizellen was wrong. They had put more faith into Aragon and the other saints than they put in the human god. It was a mistake!

In a way, Logran was thankful for having been introduced to the saint for he too would still have been blind. He would have never been able to grow close to Michael. Logran endured his employment as a squire in order to continue to send gold to his parents. By thirteen, puberty was creeping. Logran became more assertive than subservient and made the mistake of demanding training lessons from Aragon. When would he teach him how to wield a sword? When Aragon refused to teach him, Logran boldly took Aragon’s cup of wine and dumped it all over him. Aragon chased Logran out into the yard as the boy had desired. Taking up his familiar arms—the hammer and barrel lid—Logran faced the infuriated Aragon who to his fright had called for one of his servants to bring his sword. Aragon didn’t stick him with it as he had thought he would have. He instead disarmed him and beat him with the pummel. In a struggle on the ground, Aragon held Logran down and attempted to carve his name onto his face. He started with “A” on his right cheek up to his eye. He managed to only scrawl the first leg and middle stem before Logran’s knee caught him between the legs. Bruised and bleeding, Logran scrambled away from the man in a daze only to be snagged and beaten into unconsciousness by the man’s fist. Logran recalled briefly waking to a white creature that resembled a deer licking the blood from his cheek. He awoke again in a bed with a single candle burning. Next to him was Marigold, tending to his wounds with a damp cloth.

Marigold, to his teenage eyes, had aged pleasantly. He noticed things about her that he hadn’t before. Her fiery-orange hair, her green eyes, and freckled face. Her lips were bowed and pink and formed one word to him: “Idjit.” That night had been the second time she had to clean him up, and it was the night that Logran forgot all about Aragon. The remaining three years he spent as a squire were spent watching Marigold. He didn’t know what had come over him. It was a sickness. She looked more and more beautiful to him every day. He had found himself acting a fool when she was involved, such as attempting to spy on her and the other maids when they were bathing in the river. He had gotten his ear yanked doing such a thing. What was more interesting was, she had done the same back. She would spy on him training in the yard, and one day, he caught her and playfully chased her through the yard and into the barn where they both would share their first kiss.

At fifteen-years-old, Logran was torn between going the route of a paladin or giving it up to marry Marigold. Could he be a squire his entire life? Aragon would never see him knighted. Squire? Huh, Logran had long ago accepted that he was just another servant to bow to Aragon’s greatness. Perhaps he could work at a tavern or inn? Or at the stables as a horsekeeper? Marigold had grown to be too gorgeous to be a servant girl and Logran was determined to make her his bride. Logran hadn’t been the only one to notice Marigold’s beauty. Aragon had seen them plenty of times together, and having sworn off woman for so long, the horrible ache he had thought he had buried when he had sworn himself to Michael and the Eizellen Church had reemerged and was unbearable in her presence.

Marigold was summoned to his quarters one evening, and locking the door, he took her against her will. Logran had searched everywhere for her, eager to grace her with the surprising proposal he had been practicing for two days and had finally gotten right. No other servants had seen her, but one said she had been summoned by Aragon. Logran went to the knight’s quarters and a fear clenched his heart as he drew closer to the door. The noises he heard. He peered through the keyhole at Aragon and a distressed Marigold. Logran knew not what had overcame him that night; at that moment. It had been disturbing even to him. Had it been rage? A rage so strong that he felt nothing; thought nothing; and that everything turned into a nightmare and like a puppet he was following along—no, he might have wanted to believe that he was a puppet. He was in complete control. Logran had distanced himself and ran so hard at Aragon’s door that when he threw his body against it, the wood shattered about the lock-bolt. Logran collapsed into the room, startling Aragon, and Logran could recall no words. He could only recall his enraged screams as he rushed for Aragon’s sword mount and yanked the blade from its scabbard. He had finally wielded a sword, and it hadn’t been to train. Had it been to exact justice? Logran murdered Aragon. No; he had murdered Sir Aragon Brightshield; Paladin Saint of Eizellen; The Dawnbringer.

It was like waking from a dream. Logran woke to find the sword in his hands, Aragon’s butchered body at his feet, and Marigold staring at him in horror from the bed. The cold waters of terror closed in around him, swallowing him. He had killed a saint and a man. His dreams; his hopes; they were gone. Everything was gone in that moment. Logran in a fearful panic abandoned the knight’s sword on the floor and attempted to beg Marigold to flee with him, but she no longer recognized him. Scared and mind broken from her sullying, she shrieked in a noise so dreadful that Logran fled to get away from it. He fled into the night with but the clothes on his back. He ran and never looked back. He was pursued by the church for years. Logran only had to hide for three. He allowed his beard to grow in and covered his right eye with a bandage to give the impression he only had one.

For three years, Logran lived with Michael in the wilderness, shaken by his sin. Being alone for so long had made him crazy. He began talking to himself to apparitions that didn’t exist, haunted by his guilt and shame. He was discovered by a group of pilgrims who lured him with a hot meal and promise of safety. They asked if he was a believer in Michael and asked him to join them on their pilgrimage to Eizellen. Frightened at first, Logran yielded in order to free himself from his insanity. He told the pilgrims no name and they didn’t ask for they believed him to be daft. He was “The Wild Man” to them. They returned to Eizellen and the city was hardly different than from what he remembered. There were wanted posters with a rough sketch of his face when he was younger on it. A statue of Aragon was erected in the square. The pilgrims stopped there to pray and Logran joined them only to not raise any suspicion. The Wild Man was not worried. He was nonexistent to those outside the Brightshield Estate. He could only guess they had gotten his description from one of the servants. The pilgrims told him what happened to Sir Brightshield. He had been killed trying to stop a rapist. They hadn’t been able to find the rapist, but they prayed for Michael to bring him to justice soon. The pilgrims didn’t know what happened to the victim, Marigold; but the mention of the rapist’s parents being executed for charges of protecting the saint slayer nearly made Logran retch. Logran left the pilgrims and Eizellen. He journeyed to his home in the prairies and discovered that it had been burned to the ground. He didn’t linger for fear who may be stalking the place. Logran instead returned to the wilderness to grieve.

In the wild, Logran wringed out his heart and laid in a pool of his depression, waiting to die. If a wolf or bear had eaten him then, then he would not have cared for he was ready to perish. One night, he was visited by the strange creature again. The creature had nuzzled his cheek, waking him from his perishing sleep and pranced away. Logran watched the creature stop and gaze back at him with its uncanny rack of horns rising into an ornate shape unlike anything he had ever seen on a normal creature. He weakly rose to his feet and followed it until he no longer knew what he was following for the creature vanished long ago. He came before a camp where a group of travelling performers were laughing, clapping, dancing, and playing music. When the performers gazed upon him, they were frightened by his gaunt appearance. Logran was who they would later name “Reed” for he was as thin as one when they found him. Nothing but skin and bones!

As Reed, Logran travelled with the friendly group that comprised: Ofelia, the acrobatic Otter-kin; Saevel, a fire-breathing and juggling surface elf; Norasgroir, a strongman dwarf; and Brandt and Heidi, a human singer and lute-playing pair. They were a happy folk and didn’t mind his presence. Reed didn’t know why he accompanied them. He had no reason not to, but they gave him purpose. He helped around the camp and helped them set up their performances. Overtime, he grew to love and trust his new family, and from them he learned a strange truth. The troupe didn’t believe in gods, denouncing them for personal reasons. Reed had asked them what had brought them to Eizellen that day. Brandt explained that they were kicked out of the city when the church deemed their performances inappropriate. In one of the acts, Saevel had pretended to be one of the beloved saints of Eizellen, Sir Brightshield, and offended many of the citizens with his satire. The church chased them out and Norasgroir claimed that it was because the Apotheoses were in full manipulative control of the city. They didn’t want anything that would poison the flock of idiots’ minds. It had been the first time Reed had ever heard of the Apotheoses. It fascinated him how large the world was and how so many secrets were hidden in it.

During their travels, Reed demonstrated his skill with a mallet in helping the troupe protect the camp from bandits. At the next city, Norasgroir stopped by the smithy of a cousin of his and together they built and forged Reed a hammer by the name of Glosgnir. It was dwarven tongue for “giant.” The giant’s hammer was Reed’s new weapon, and it was too heavy for him to properly wield at first. Norasgroir was confident Reed would grow into it, and overtime, he did.

The troupe’s travels led them around The Hook to a city none had ventured to before. It was a ghost town, and it made each of them uncomfortable. Ofelia, being more attuned with her sixth sense than the rest, alerted the group that she believed they had stumbled into Valgar, the City of the Undead. Many tales were told of the city, but no one had expected to ever find it or had the city found them? The troupe turned to leave, but their way was blocked by a group of shambling corpses. Ofelia shook the group from their terror by screaming at them to fight. If they didn’t fight, then they would be lost in the city’s madness. The troupe fought their way out until the first sign of madness was seen. Norasgroir clubbed Saevel in the back of his head with a club unable to tell the difference between him and the creatures. Ofelia was rolling on the ground screaming about worms bursting out of her fur and skin. Brandt had a thousand-mile stare as he gazed upon the body of Saevel after Norasgroir had murdered him. Everyone was going insane and Reed could feel the madness trying to split open his head. He grasped a fistful of his hair as he winced in his desperation to clear his mind. Upon lowering his fist, he didn’t see hair clenched in it but the writhing worms Ofelia had been screaming about. They were crawling down his face!

Screaming and trying to shake the worms from his head, a white figure brought his eyes to the wagon. It had been but a wink, but Reed knew it to have been that creature again. Reed steeled himself, uttered a brief prayer to Michael for strength, and strode over to Brandt, grabbing him and dragging him to the wagon. He tossed the man into the back of it and the sudden tremble of the wagon startled Heidi out of her shocked coma to snap the reins. The wagon rolled over Ofelia who had fallen before it, crushing her. Norasgroir had fallen having fought too deeply into the undead ranks and was overwhelmed. Reed charged through the opening Heidi had made with the wagon and continued to chase it until he cleared the city and the cloud of madness. The wagon was long gone by the time Reed found his breath to be able to search for it. In but a moment, again, everything was gone.

Reed began to notice a trend in his luck. It hadn’t been the first time the creature appeared to him and each time it was as though he was guided to or away from something or someone. The undead ichor on the end of his hammer began to burn away in a white flame. What did it all mean? Reed ventured away from the undead city, silently mourning the loss of his friends and how he was alone again. Reed wasn’t sure if he would ever see Heidi or Brandt again, and he was in no mood to play woe-as-me again. Over the years, his bond with the troupe had made him stronger. He started to suspect that the reason the troupe suffered worse than him from the city’s madness was because they were godless. It was because of his faith in Michael that he was able to overcome his numerous counters with adversity.

With Glosgnir in hand, Reed travelled the rest of The Hook alone, hoping to one day see Heidi and Brandt again. He worked a few jobs as an honest sellsword punishing the wicked and searching for lost or stolen children and people. With the money he earned, he was able to purchase Dwarvish armor. He would never forget the words of his old friend that only the dwarves knew their way best around a forge. He kept his name Reed for it hadn’t been a sullied name, and those who he helped gave him another name, “The Dark Paladin.” Reed wore black for he did not believe he was absolved from his sins and thus was not pure, but deep down, he believed himself to still be a good man. Riding back up the coast upon a black steed, the dark paladin headed north.

Writing Sample

O.K. K.O. [Comedy, Super Hero Game]

Alias: N/A
Date/Time: September 1st, 5PM
Level: 3
Location: Lakewood Plaza Parking Lot
Tag: Feliking (Lv 4. Boss), @Kafka Komedy@Leaves@RubyOwl@Lauder@HeroicSociopath@Majoras End

All employees to the parking lot! Wreck this nerd!

Mr. Gar’s brows crashed together and teeth clenched in a frown when he watched Viki launch through the roof of his store.

“That’s coming out of your paycheck!” he roared.

Tatsumaki didn’t run like the others to the front of the store. He walked for he was still bummed about his power ring just being a toy. He couldn’t believe it. He felt too stubborn to get rid of it. He didn’t eat all of that cereal for nothing.

Feliking set his thin pupils on the girl whose hair splayed like venomous snakes. The tall red cat looked hardly afraid or wounded by her gibe. Laughing behind a feline smile, he simply answered, “You’re right. Dogs are a more suitable slave. They’re already servants, and they will serve me and my people once I have built my kitty kingdom.”

The front doors of the store slid open and Tatsumaki stepped up to the line of heroes outside. He stared at the lone red cat that was larger than what cats normally were…he had to be the boss. He gazed around at the cats licking their paws and rolling around in the parking lot and sighed. Stepping forward, the fighter brought his hands together and began cracking his knuckles.

“I got this,” Tatsumaki grumbled to the others.

Feliking’s eyes slid from Viki over to the…his triangular ears perked straight up before a paw clapped over his muzzle. Tears welled in his eyes before a hard snort escaped his nose, and he burst into laughter.

“Who is this fat boy, nya?” Feliking laughed.

Tatsumaki frowned sternly and spread his arms. The sun was blotted out by a sudden overcast of dark clouds. Feliking stopped laughing and gazed up at the storm clouds above. The clouds flashed and rumbled ominously before a bolt of lightning shot down to strike Tatsumaki. His hair splayed from the static as chains of electricity danced up and down his body and across his extended arms. Feliking’s tail swished nervously as he watched and raised his paws, his claws popping free of their sheaths like switch blades.

“Hmph, yes, show me your power,” Feliking growled.

Tatsumaki lowered his stance a little and attempted to cross his left hand over to join his right on his right side when…it got stuck. A wide-eyed confused look flashed on Tatsumaki’s face as he tried to reach his left arm across his stomach…No…He was…he was too fat. A shadow of embarrassment fell over the fighter’s face. This couldn’t be happening. Tatsumaki tried to turn sideways, and then bend over to hopefully bring his hands closer together at chest level, but it wasn’t working. He couldn’t perform the explosive fist attack with incorrect form.

Feliking’s tail stopped swishing as he glanced up to see the clouds dissipating and then scratched the back of his head, watching the chubby hero struggle to perform whatever attack that was. It wasn’t even funny anymore. It was just embarrassing and he felt sorry for Mr. Gar’s store. What a joke.

Tatsumaki stopped struggling and rested his hands on his knees to take a break—as though all that had been any work. Panting, he glared down at the asphalt. The fight couldn’t end like this. Mr. Gar was relying on him and the other heroes to vanquish this baddie. Baring his teeth in determination, Tatsumaki turned and charged Feliking. The red cat just lowered his paw and narrowed his eyes with disturbance at the wall of churning blubber that charged him. Tatsumaki threw himself into one of his chaotic and off-balanced versions of his Whirlwind Kick and Feliking extended a paw to blast the fighter before leaning out of the way of a small black chubby cat with a red headband that went twirling passed him. The cat plopped upon the ground behind him and went rolling across the ground in a daze.

Feliking stared at the rest of the fighter’s with an unimpressed frown. “Please don’t tell me that that was the best you got? Surely the rivals of Nevermore aren’t this great of a jest? If so, then my work here is already done.”

Project Crossover [Video Game Crossover RP]

@Holy Soldier Well, in that case, here's the CS.

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"A nice game for cute children" (The Batter)

Character Name:

"The Batter"

Title:

Purifier

Kingdom:

"Somewhere over the rainbow, in the vast abyss of nothingness...four zones make up the kingdom of queen Vader Eloha, king [REDACTED], and their "son" Hugo."- Part of the Indie Federation

Visual Description:

---

A Different Perspective...

Written Description:

Just as his 'name' sudgests, Batter keeps a monocrome palette with pale white skin, a black baseball cap, a black turtleneck under a white thin-striped tunic, matching undergarments, and black socks and baseball shoes

Personality:

He appears reticent and unfeeling, often speaking in as few words as possible. The Batter quickly gets to the point in his conversations and is determined to purify.

Observant, the Batter is very smart and can solve puzzles with ease, but allowed the Puppeteer to solve them for themselves rather than deciphering it on his own. He appears to be meticulous in the way he goes about completing his mission and does not like to be held up by distractions. Why he is driven to purify the world remains vague to both the puppet master and the people around him.

Game:

OFF (2007)

Current Story:

About a year passed since the purification of the kingdom, everyone that was effected one way or another adapted to their lives in the nothingness. The Batter and his puppeteer are assigned another mission to once again purify a threat that would not only threaten their lives, but others in the different universes as well..

Weapon(s):

Harold Bat - 5 ATK

As it's to be expected, Batter wields an iron bat in battle. In the game, the kind of bat he fights with differentiates as he goes along his quest.

Stats:

{Lvl 1}

(P)Damage:5
(P)Defense:1
(M)(E)Damage:1
(M)(E)Defense:1
Dexterity:2
0%
XP ////////// (0/10)

Squad:

Alpha

General Abilities:

Save First Base -

Restores some HP

Special Abilities:

N/A

Items:
•
•
•

Strengths:
•Detective -
Not only does he have experience in combat, Batter has an acute knowledge of puzzles and mysteries.

•The Three Add-Ons -
Alpha, Omega, and Epsilon. These three spiritual entities assisted Batter in his mission. On arrival to platform city, the add-ons separated to different places.

•The Puppeteer -
An anomaly and guide for The Batter, they lead him through the zones and assisted in the purification of the specters, zone guardians , and more who got in their way. As of now, they can finally communicate to their puppet via telepathy, making the next mission easier for themselves and the others that they will soon count on as allies.

Weaknesses:
•Dead Man Drowning
Oddly, The Batter cant swim, having to rely on boats to cross waters

•Stuborness
Once a certain goal is set, Batter takes it as a high priority and wont rest till its reached, even if others are harmed or purified.

•Lost Puppet -
If the puppeter was to abandon Batter, a last resort, he becomes vulnerable and weakened.

Achievements:

---

If anyone has any questions about it so far, please let me know, and I'll answer to the best of my ability.

@Majoras End

Approved. You can move him over to the CS thread.

FF7: SOLDIER [Always Accepting More Creative Writers!]

@Karl KadaverThat's up to EL to answer. Your CS is good. I see no issues with it. I am going to start designing the OOC and IC though we are waiting for 3 more CSes.