Brothers against brothers...

[DeletedUser25825]

Sam's usual intro blather

As promised... the last RP. Please remember, this will be OP (me) run, and because of the story to be presented, I might be a little more stringent in what occurs. I've been thinking about this very hard for several weeks, and have tweaked some intentions, and believe this will be a successful collaborative run. So saying... here we go. Because the blind character creation process worked well in the past... I've decided to request it again. That's right. You're making your character without the knowledge of what you're getting yourself into. Don't worry too much, because you're also sending me your character sheet prior to posting, I'll be certain to address concerns that I see for mutual enjoyment of the story.

The Rules:

Every game needs them. Forum and section rules apply as always. No god mode (Invincibility, or action beyond your character's ability), no meta-gaming (using posted game knowledge by your character who would have no reason to know), no killing player characters without previous approval by the character's owner & OP, no more than one character per player (except for OP, for continuation of the story dynamic and direction with an indication that the character is a non-player character). This story is OP driven, meaning I'm going to be watching the threads to ensure continuity and staying within rule perimeters. If there is something questionable, I will notify you politely what I find questionable via IM, and hopefully we can come to a mutually accepted edit to the thread. I am also asking that no encounters that require combat for resolution be initiated by any player, without OP approval via PM. There will be plenty of action involved in this story, so you shouldn't be required to start your own.

The Character

Rule 1: The character must be available to our known modern world.
Rule 2: The equipment must be realistic to the character's station in life.
Rule 3: Please submit your character via PM to OP prior to posting in the thread.

Painless enough no?

The Sheet

Nothing new to this sheet concept

Attributes: Three separate categories. Each begins with 1 as a base. Primary add 7, Secondary add 5, and Tertiary add 3

PHYSICAL: The core movement abilities of your character

Strength: Brute physical power
Dexterity: Familiarity with your bodies capabilities in motion
Stamina: The combination of physical and mental fortitude

SOCIAL: How well you character interacts and is perceived by others

Charisma: How well you present yourself to others
Manipulation: How well you can garner response through deceipt and trickery
Appearance: How attractive you are to others

MENTAL: Your mental capabilities

Perception: Conscious and intuitive capabilities to notice details
Intelligence: How smart you are (duh)
Wits: Mental reaction to given situations

Abilities: No category begins with any base number. Primary add 15, Secondary add 11, Tertiary add 7

TALENTS: A listing of talents, most are self-explanatory

Alertness: Recognizing specific details
Awareness: A sixth sense if you will (This would need a real good background to justify)
Athletics: Running, climbing, jumping, swimming
Brawl: Hand to hand fighting
Dodge: Not getting hit by stuff
Empathy: The understanding of others' emotions
Expression: The ability to convey meaning through written word or oratory
Intimidation: The ability to gain information or action through threat
Intuition: Gut feelings
Leadership: The ability to motivate through force of personality
Streetwise: Understanding the vernacular of the underbelly of society
Subterfuge: Lying

SKILLS: A listing of skills, most are self-explanatory

Animal Ken: Understanding animal behavior
Crafts: The ability to construct or repair
Demolitions: Blowing things up other than yourself
Drive: Operation of vehicles
Etiquette: The understanding of behavior in social settings
Firearms: Shooting
Melee: Fighting with stuff in your hands
Performance: Ability to entertain audiences
Security: The understanding of securing areas or people, and how to bypass security
Stealth: Sneaking and hiding
Survival: The knowledge required to adapt enough to continue breathing
Technology: The understanding and operation of gadgets, gizmos, and doohickies

KNOWLEDGES: List of knowledges, most are self-explanatory

Academics: Formal schooling (High school 1, University 2, Masters 3, Doctorate 4, Scholar 5)
Bureaucracy: Knowledge and application of political procedure
Enigmas: Ability to solve puzzles
Finance: How to spend money to make more
Investigation: Combination of formal investigative procedure and common sense
Law: Knowledge of application of law
Linguistics: Languages known other than native tongue (1 extra, 2 extra, 4 extra, 8 extra, 16 extra (must be listed, and dead languages must have background support)
Medicine: Healing
Occult: Knowledge of supernatural, legends, and myth
Politics: You govern the political process
Research: How to find a sought answer
Science: The application of science (Higher levels indicate mastery of specific field)
Theology: The study of religion (Specify)

Ok all... that's the list of attributes (which can not be altered) and Abilities (which can altered within reason. I know I couldn't list it all)

What do these numbers mean? Well, a 0 means no basic understanding or practice of said ability. Some can still be used by a character, as everybody can run. However, some abilities require a basis of understanding.

A numerical understanding of the numbers are: 0 = No knowledge, 1 = Poor, 2 = Average, 3 = Good, 4 = Exceptional, 5 = Outstanding.

Last two things. First, you can only have two ranks at 5 on your entire sheet. I don't care if it's attribute or ability. You may have three ranks at 4 anywhere on your sheet. All other ranks must be 3 or less. Second... you get 21 free points to spend wherever you want on your sheet. Attributes cost 5 points each rank. Abilities cost 2 points each rank. So, as an example, you could pick two attribute ranks, or five abilities, or one attribute and three abilities. I can hear you screaming, "But... but SAM!!! If I spend my 21 points on two attribute points and five abilities then I'm wasting 1 whole free point!"

Well, to answer that this story will have experience awarded! Experience, so that when you find out how screwed you are potentially, you can grow your character's abilities by spending points you earn while playing (and you might learn some things not listed in this sheet, there are very powerful things that will be introduced). If you have the extra point... save it for your XP pool.

Now you wanna know about this whole XP thing. It's simple. Every time you post something... I'm rating it. A minimal post, with little content will receive .1 XP. If you inspire through content, substance, description, story support and story advancement? You can earn up to a whole point... for one post! Later... you can say... Sam... in the story I've been working really hard at trying to learn SCUBA diving. I'd like to spend some XP to have a rank in it (Because you NEED at least a rank SCUBA dive) I say... what's your pool? You say... this... and I say... gimme gimme... and you edit your sheet to reflect you know rudimentary flight. Simple. You get to grow as a character, and we all get a great story to be part of.

The cost of raising abilities, or learning new ones are as follows:

Attribute: 10x the cost of the next rank. So... if you have Dexterity at 1 and suddenly find moving IS important after all... it will cost you 20 XP to buy a new rank
Ability: 3x the cost of the next rank. And as a spoiler, supernatural abilities (if you're given the opportunity to learn them... will be counted as attributes for XP expenditure)

That's it in a nutshell for the sheet. You need a name, a gender, languages spoken, an occupation, what you own, appearance, and a biography (On that one... the more descriptive the better for this story. (I may even award XP merely for the sheet itself if I'm impressed)

Ask me whatever you want in either the public rp discussion thread or PM. Looking forward to this!

 

[DeletedUser25825]

(OOC) Ok all, I have permission to double post from Lord Regal this one time, so don't feel the need to report me if you please. The RP starts officially. I'd like to see sheets posted in the top of your response thread. This story will start in the USA, but time line wise... you don't need to worry about what others are posting until you're brought together... if that ever happens. So saying... you just need to keep an eye out for threads relating to you... and just enjoy what the others are posting for now, without worrying about them having to post before you can... so forth and so on. Nice and easy start that way. So... here goes... and thank you for joining.

____________________________


Dominic felt as though he was near flying down Route 1 on his yellow Triumph. He was enjoying the salty ocean air, as much as glancing at stunned drivers' faces as he whisked passed other cars. His bike hummed nicely as it flew down the highway at just over a hundred miles per hour. Next to flying, riding was his true love in life. He glanced out at the breakers of the Atlantic Ocean, then forward as he leaned into a lazy curve of the highway. It was a beautiful day, and little would ruin it for him.

He became aware of a tiny speck in his side mirror, which quickly grew as another rider approached from behind him. He blinked, and looked at his speedometer which still indicated he was traveling at just over a hundred miles an hour, as the other rider whipped passed him on a black and silver Suzuki Hayabusa, which was easily traveling at 180. He saw the driver look back, and the bike seemed to stop in place, as Dominic caught up to the driver, who had let off the throttle for Dominic to catch up apparently.

Dominic observed it was a woman, dressed entirely in black leather protective gear, with purple stripes, and a helmet with a mirrored visor. The woman matched Dominic's speed, and turned her head toward him. She saluted him with a flick of her left hand with her thumb, index, and middle finger extended, nodded her head once, looked forward as she revved her engine, leaned tightly to the bike and punched it. Again, the rider blasted forward at near full throttle, and easily breaking 200 miles an hour as she disappeared around the next bend in Route 1.

Dominic caught up with her again, about ten miles down the road. She was parked at a way stop, with a historical marker. She was sat upon a large boulder. Her helmet rested on the seat of her bike, and she appeared to be average looking. Her black hair was cut short, and had purple stripes dyed throughout it. She watched his bike approach, and waved while smiling.
________________________

John walked along the sidewalk toward his night class. He'd always hated going to school at night, but early mornings with PT practically forbid the chance to have classes anytime but. He sighed as he walked around the corner. Ahead of him, he saw a girl, Mary, whom he recognized from one of his sociology courses. He didn't know her well, other than she was disabled. She was obviously hard of hearing, based on hearing aides hidden behind each ear, and possessed a noticeable speech impediment. She was nice enough, but always kept to herself.

She headed one way, and his class was the other way. He walked a few minutes, before hearing a piercing woman's scream. It was not abnormal to hear screams, hoots and hollars, as it was a campus after all, but this scream caused the hair on his neck to stand. It came from the direction Mary had ran, and he felt a compulsion to run that direction to discover what was happening. It didn't take long to find out.

Ahead he could see Mary, being pushed around by five individuals who obviously did not belong on campus. Unfortunately, and though nestled in a well to do area, it still attracted the dregs of society. These individuals were all Hispanic, and appeared to be wearing the colors of the Los perros de la muerte, the dogs of death. It was a silly name sure, but they were amongst the more feared gangs of the area due to ruthlessness. John made to run faster, but was suddenly confronted by two more, who appeared to be acting as lookouts for the assault of the young woman and barred him from going any further without dealing with them. John looked passed them, and saw Mary knocked to the ground, and one of the men reaching to unbuckle his pants. He heard Mary yell out, "Please God, help me! Please help me!"

As this happened, he saw another woman walk from around a building, and begin meandering toward the gang of men. She was average height, and very attractive. Her long blond hair was tied into a simple pony. She wore a black trench coat, which was open, and revealed she wore olive green cargo pants and black combat boots. She stopped as the man scrambling to get his pants undone called out to her in Spanish. She smiled and responded to him questioningly in Spanish. The man blinked, and yelled at her and then the others around him, as he placed his boot on the struggling Mary.

Two of the gang that were surrounding Mary, broke away from the group and ran at the other woman. As they closed in on her, she stepped toward him and lifted her boot in a brutal kick to the first man's sternum. She apparently braced herself, because it succeeded in stopping him cold, and causing him to drop to the ground in front of her groaning. The second man ignored his fallen friend, or had no time to react, before the woman had grabbed his outstretched arm, twisted in place, and sent him soaring through the air with his own momentum into a nearby tree. He bodily smacked into it, slid down, and lay motionless.

The other three turned toward the woman, as the leader barked out more in Spanish at her as he drew a switch blade. The woman grinned in response, and pulled her trench coat off. She wore a black tank top, and her revealed form was extremely athletic looking with tight, wiry muscles. She folded her trench coat neatly, as she pulled a pack of cigarettes and a zippo from a pocket. The three gang members began to warily advance on her, as she dropped her trench coat on the ground. She casually stuck the cigarette into her mouth, and lit it with her lighter. She tossed the lighter on top of her trench coat, and began puffing furiously on the burning cigarette.

What happened next, John couldn't guess. An impossible amount of smoke poured out of the cigarette, and obscured the area surrounding the woman and the three gang members like a dense fog. All that could be discerned were startled shouts, the sounds of bodily strikes, and frantic pleas in Spanish, which was then followed shortly thereafter by silence. The two men who were barring John's path, began to call out towards their fellow gang members, and received no response. They looked at each other, turned, and fled away from John and the entire situation. As the smoke began to clear, John saw Mary sitting dazedly, and all five members of the gang were in various locations, sprawled out and not moving.

The woman stood where she had been. She gathered her coat, flicked the cigarette into a nearby trash can after heeling it out, and moved over to Mary. She knelt down beside her, moved some stray hair from the trembling girl's face, and began using sign language with the girl. Mary looked at her with wonder in her eyes, and nodded slowly. The woman smiled gently at her, and stood.

________________________

Elliot sat in a circle of chairs. All but one empty chair was taken by another of the residents of the facility, and of course Dr. Liskam. Dr. Liskam was nice enough. He was fair, and never expected any of the residents to share any more or less than they felt comfortable with during group time. He smiled at all of the residents and announced, "Ok everybody, as promised the news for today. We have a new friend joining us."

He looked over his shoulder, as the door to the nurse's station opened, and an incredibly short, frail looking woman in her early twenties was shooed in. She stood at maybe 4'8, and couldn't be near a healthy weight. Her wrists and hands were wrapped in thick medical gauze in a manner which left only her thumbs and fingers bare. Her hair was brown, and looked unkempt as though no brush had been through it recently. She looked only at the floor, with her head bowed like a cowed dog, and shuffled her slipper covered feet as she was slowly coaxed to join the circle by the smiling Dr. Liskam. She finally flopped onto the empty chair directly opposite Elliot.

Dr. Liskam said, "Everybody, I'd like you to meet Ms. Violet Stills." Several of the more extroverted individuals of the group said hello, but she merely shrunk further into the chair, and continued staring at the floor. Dr. Liskam smiled at her, and then at everybody in the group and asked what they should talk about today. He quickly stopped, or redirected, any questions that were focused at Violet, or more specifically what she had done to earn a place at the facility. To Elliot, it was fairly obvious. She had tried to end it all, and didn't quite get it right.

As the session continued, Violet stared at the floor, and said nothing. She was obviously very uncomfortable in this setting, but it was to be expected being new to it and all. As the hour almost concluded, Elliot saw her lift her eyes slowly, to look at him. As she did, he was struck by what amounted to the sensation of a flashback, and all it entailed was countless unknown people screaming and wailing for but a brief second. As soon as it happened, it was gone. He was still in the room, in the circle, and Violet was looking at the floor again.

_____________________________

Michael's heart thundered in his chest. To say he was elated, would be the most massive understatement of the century. He held, clutched to him protectively, a manuscript which he knew to have been hand-written by a monk sometime in the sixth century. He couldn't believe the board of directors of the library had appropriated the exorbitant funds it required to actually purchase the manuscript. He didn't care it was an anonymous donor who really made it happen. Here was where he now found himself, touching the revered tome in his very own, gloved hands. He looked around the private library, which had housed it.

The library was possessed by an extremely reclusive, yet well known bibliophile. He had, of course, passed on to the final glory. This was the only reason this manuscript would have ever left this library. Greedy family members, vying for a vast fortune to be made by the sale of the man's passion couldn't care less for anything that mattered in the world, the books. Michael reverently slid the book into a protective satchel, removed and pocketed the cotton gloves he'd been wearing, and hurried out of the auction after ensuring all of the paperwork transferring ownership was in order.

He made it about three blocks, before a black sedan screeched up to the curb beside him. The back door flew open, and a giant of a man stepped out. He was dressed smartly in a black suit and tie, and appeared to easily top out at 6'6. He looked like a bodybuilder to Michael, and if the man hadn't been wearing dark sunglasses at night, Michael would guess he was balefully glaring at him. The man roughly grunted, "Give me da' satchel boy, and I won't have'ta murder ya." The man frowned as Michael took a step back and away. The brute roared at him, and advanced.

Conveniently, Michael was by an alleyway, which produced the best escape route. The brute was also very good at running though, and smashed against Michael, causing the both to go tumbling, and the satchel and its precious cargo to skitter across the pavement. The brute elbowed Michael in the ribs, dashing the air out of him, and scrambled toward the satchel with a triumphant bellow. There was a rustling sound, like a flag being whipped quickly through the air as he neared it, and a booted foot stepped down on his beefy hand. He screamed in rage, and looked up at its owner.

Michael saw a woman, who was impossibly taller than the brute. He guessed she was probably a few inches higher than seven feet. She wore black dress clothes, a black trench coat, and gold mirrored sunglasses. Her hair was jet black, and cut in a short, bowl-cut. She looked down at the brute, who jerked his hand out from under her boot. He rose to his full height, and cracked his knuckles ominously. He grinned, thrust his chin toward her in a greeting manner, and said, "Janissary. Long time. Dis' is gonna be fun." The woman merely nodded once and responded, "Indeed. Thouest know why I am present, begone foul one, or suffer the wrath."

The brute chuckled as he grinned evilly at the woman, and jammed his meaty hand into his inner jacket. At the same moment, Janissary reached into her trench coat. As the brute drew a handgun and pointed it at her, the tall woman surprisingly drew forth a broadsword with an ornate silver hilt. It whistled shrilly as she flicked it upward, and the brute screamed out in pain as his hand, which still held the gun, cartwheeled through the air and flopped onto the ground. The woman stepped forward, and thrust her blade into his chest. He gasped, as she stepped up close to him while sliding the sword fully through him, and he struggled to say, "I'm... I'mma find you and y... you'll never stop screaming Janissary." The woman smiled, twisted her sword in him, and dragged it savagely to the side. The brute grunted, coughed up a thick gout of blood, and slid off of her sword and onto the ground lifelessly.

The woman looked down at the corpse. She raised her blade, pinched the flat of the blade between her long, slender fingers and dragged them along the blood smeared metal. After cleaning off her blade in this manner, she shook the blood from her fingers toward the corpse. She returned the blade into the confines of her trench coat. She then looked at Michael, who was frozen in place, staring agape at her. She leaned over, and gathered the satchel up. She held it out toward Michael and asked, "Knowest thou, what art in thine possession?" She smiled as Michael slowly nodded his head. She said, "I darest say thou art wrong in thine thoughts, though thou might know yet in time." She set the satchel gently onto Michael's lap, turned and walked away. She called over her shoulder, "Do not return to thine temporary lodging, for thine new enemies await thee there. Be mindful of the treasure thou art possessing Michael... I will be watching thee."

______________________________

Billy was jostled around as the old International 350 tractor chugged along towing the plow behind him. He loved this time of year. Nothing but him and his field. His gol-durned woman wasn't yapping at him about this or that, and the chilluns were all off at the school building learning. He pulled back the throttle, and sat idling in the middle of the field. He pulled his straw cowboy hat off his head, dug a red rag from his pocket, and mopped his forehead.

As he raised his face upward, to wipe the sweat from the his throat, he beheld a fireball streaking downward through the afternoon sky. "What in the..." Billy managed to wonder aloud, as his eyes watched the fireball grow larger as it got closer and closer to the Earth. Billy instinctively ducked as the fireball screamed overhead and plowed into the field not an eight of a mile from where Billy sat. The Earth flew upward in a mighty plume of dirt and debris from the impact, and Billy was bodily knocked from his seat as the concussion washed passed him.

Billy slowly stood up, gagging and sputtering, as he clapped the dirt and dust off his clothes. He shaded his eyes, still coughing, as the dirt sent heavenward began falling back to Earth. He staggered in the direction of where the fireball had struck, whistling at the crater that was now smack dab in the center of his back forty. He climbed the side of the crater, and looked down into it.

Billy squinted down into the base of the crater, trying to see passed the dirt that still hung in the air. His jaw dropped open as he saw the busted, and broken body of a man crumpled up down in the base. The man was very obviously dead. More concerning though, was another man standing next to him. He was tall, and very handsome. He was dressed immaculately in a black Armani suit, which he was busily dusting off, and red tie. Billy muttered, "Oh my God." The man looked up toward Billy, flashed a dazzling smile at him and said, "Nope... guess again..."

 

[DeletedUser28032]

Name:Dominic Dubreton
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Languages: French (native), English
Job: Air Sea Rescue Pilot

Description: 5’ 9”, Dark brown hair normally gelled and brown eyes. He has a medium build and is fairly good looking or at least he thinks so despite the small scar on his chin. Often seen wearing a uniform jump suit however when not at work wears a leather jacket, jeans and a T-shirt often black and depicting a band, he also has a tattoo of his former regiment on his upper right arm.

Personal Items: Wallet containing euros and dollars, pilots licence, drivers license, American and French Passports, a pack of cigarettes, a Black Hayabusa, Aviator sunglasses, a Rolling Stones zippo lighter and a set of French army dog tags. Mobile Phone

Bio: Born to a French father and an American mother Dominic quickly learnt to be fluent in both French and English (although his first language was always French) more so in fact with his parents divorce at the age of six when he would spend the summer holidays in Portland, Maine with his mother before returning home to Rouen to live with his father and step mother.
He found life with his step brother Jean and his half sister Marie difficult although later on he and Jean would become close friends despite (or perhaps because of) the fact they weren’t even related, he and his half sister on the other hand never got along and his evident and mutual dislike of his step mother meant that he would never truly fit in with his father’s new family, making his trips to see his mother in America more frequent.
At the age of nineteen Dominic joined the French Army Light Aviation regiment along with his half brother Jean where along with their basic military training they learnt to fly helicopters for the army, although they mainly flew transport models both he and his step brother Jean would later progress to combat missions in the faster more agile machines the French army had to offer, feeding Dominic’s “Need for Speed”. The two of them quickly became amongst the best pilots in the regiment and went on to serve together in both the Ivory Coast civil war and then later in Afghanistan.
It was whilst serving in Afghanistan that Dominic’s career in the military was brutally cut short after he received a leg wound resulting in a medical discharge at the age of 24. His step brother Jean decided to remain in the army despite his Step brothers absence, although they still write to one another from time to time they rarely see one another much to Dominic’s disappointment.
The wound wasn’t serious and although it would leave him with a slight limp and a horrible scar he was still more than capable of flying helicopters at a civilian level. His desire to keep on flying led him to become and air sea rescue pilot even taking training as a paramedic so as to join. Upon completing his training as a paramedic Dominic gained American citizenship and moved to Portland so as to be closer to his mother (and far away from his step mother as possible) his experiences in the war would still haunt him from time to time but didn’t hamper with his new life in America where whilst not working he pursues his hobbies of Kick boxing and fast bikes, the faster the better although in his opinion nothing is quite as exhilarating as flying, riding a motorbike at break neck speed down narrow country roads comes awfully close even if it does upset his mother, now if only he could lose his French accent he could fit in with the locals and his life here would be complete.

PHYSICAL: (5)

Strength: 3 (5pts)
Dexterity: 4 (5pts)
Stamina: 3

SOCIAL: (3)

Charisma: 2
Manipulation: 2 (5pts)
Appearance: 3

MENTAL: (7)

Perception: 3
Intelligence: 4
Wits: 3

TALENTS: (11)

Awareness 1
Alertness: 3
Athletics: 1
Brawl: 3
Dodge: 1 (2pts)
Intuition: 2
Leadership: 3 (2pts)

SKILLS: (15)

Drive: 2
Flight: 4
Melee: 1
Firearms: 2
Survival: 3
Technology: 3

KNOWLEDGES: (7)

Academics: 3
Linguistics: 1
Medicine: 4 (2pts)
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Despite the helmet he wore Dominic's jaw dropped in amazment as the Hayabusa shot around the bend, he gunned his engine as high as it would go yet still seemed incapable of matching the Hayabusa's speed, the bike and its rider rapidly disappearing from sight.
Mentally shrugging his shoulders Dominic tried to let it go, but the memorey kept creeping into his head as he drove his yellow Triumph to greater speeds in order to satisfy his addiction and nurse his ego back into shape.
He saw the glint of the sun reflecting off the Hayabusa's silver paintwork long before he noticed the rider sitting on the rocks, giving him ample time to bring his bike to a halt in the rest stop eager to meet the woman that had bested him, a spray of gravel showered across the path as the British import skidded around to park parallel to the other bike.
Gracefully dismounting Domonic removed his helmet, leaving it to hang on the handlebars as he approached the woman sat upon the rocks before him, limping slightly as he walked. He flashed her a dazzling smile before speaking "You led me a merry chase..and here was I thinking I was the fastest thing on the road"
The woman smiled back and although she wasn't bad looking nothing about her seemed to stand out save for the purple stripes running through her short black hair.
Unzipping his leather jacket, Dominic removed a cigarette and lighter from within, revealing a bright red AC/DC t-shirt and set of dog tags hanging from his neck.
Placing the cigarette in the corner of his mouth he lit it expertly with the Zippo, the Rolling Stones lips shining in the sun "A filthy habit I know... but ever since leaving the army I can't seem to shake it" he apologised more to himself than to the woman opposite him, he had tried to quit several times and would do quite well until he had one of those mornings where only the intake of nicotine could dispel the terrifying dreams that still haunted the nights.
"My names Dominic by the way a pleasure to meet you" he said in an accent that still contained traces of his French heritage, pulling his gloves off with his teeth he held out his hand towards the woman, a smile on his face.

 

[Deleted User - 819397]

Name: Michael Soundern
Age: 39
Personality: Utterly introverted, never shows any emotion, and never seems to feel any emotion, with the exception of upon finding a rare book.
Appearance: 6' even. Immaculate appearance. Tidy bronze hair with eyes to match, formal casual suit, complete with tie.
Bio: Michael was born in Piedmont, Arizona. He was a normal boy...except he was born with no tongue because of a rare genetic defect. Due to this issue, other children stayed away from Michael at all costs, causing him to withdraw into himself. However, he was very intelligent, and was top of his class all through college. Since he cannot speak, he always carries a dry erase board to communicate with others. However, his lack of human contact throughout his life and his career as a librarian has made him devoid of any clear emotions. His immaculate handwriting is usually used for short, curt, direct sentences when talking with others. The only true passion in Michael's life is the passion he has for his books. He works at the world-renowned New York city library as a traveling librarian, looking for new books to add to the collection. Michael lives in a nondescript house with minimal furniture and several bookshelves. These shelves hold Michael's pride and joy, his private collection. Any book, fiction, nonfiction, mythological, etc. that he wishes to have for himself he purchases while on his travels. When he is at home, he generally does nothing but eat, sleep, and read from his collection. He is fluent in several languages due to his travels, although he is again hampered by the lack of a tongue. Michael has kept himself fit for the same reason he always is immaculate in appearance; he's trying to compensate for his malady. On the level of romance, Michael has never even had a girlfriend, partly because of his deformity, but also partly because of his own lack of effort.




PHYSICAL: The core movement abilities of your character

Strength: 3
Dexterity: 2
Stamina: 3

SOCIAL: How well you character interacts and is perceived by others

Charisma: 1
Manipulation: 1
Appearance: 4

MENTAL: Your mental capabilities

Perception: 3
Intelligence: 4
Wits: 4 (5)


TALENTS: A listing of talents, most are self-explanatory

Alertness: 3
Athletics: 3 (2)
Intuition: 3 (2)


SKILLS: A listing of skills, most are self-explanatory


Drive: 3 (he's traveled to some out of the way places)
Security: 3 (...don't ask about this one )
Stealth: 3 (4) (see security comment)
Survival: 2
Technology: 2

KNOWLEDGES: List of knowledges, most are self-explanatory

Academics: 5
Enigmas: 3
Linguistics: 3 (French, German, Italian, Latin) (all due to his book hunting)
Occult: 3 (2)
Research: 5 (6)
--------------------------------------------
Michael had had an interesting day to say the least. First, finding the original copy of a 6th century monk's manuscript (which lacked a title) had actually made him want to smile, which didn't happen often. Then the whole scene with the man and the woman...that didn't make sense at all. Who carried a sword around in this day and age, and who beat a gunman with a sword? However, two things were clear. The woman had saved him, and he couldn't go back to his hotel room, which was frustrating as he had several dry erase boards and several suits back there. One thing that was unclear was just what the manuscript's worth was to the two people. The good thing was that he had a ticket for a flight leaving back to New York in a couple hours. When he got back to the library he'd open the manuscript in a sterile environment and find out just what it contained. The manuscript was written in Latin, meaning he could do it himself. He just had to get back to the library. Consigning himself to losing the rest of his things at the hotel, he set off for the airport.

 

[DeletedUser25825]

Michael entered the small, private airport an hour after his ordeal in the alleyway. He produced his ticket, and the attractive lady at the counter smiled as she said, "It looks like everything is in order Mr. Soundern. The jet is still refueling, but I've heard of no delay. Your departure should be in approximately fifteen minutes. If you'd like to rest over in the annex until then, you're more than welcome." She gestured toward a group of plastic seats lined up, near the exit onto the tarmac.

There were only three others seated currently, which wasn't surprising as the jet was only suitable for eight passengers. With the day's events thus far, Michael took the little extra moment to look at his fellow passengers. There was an Asian man, dressed in a business suit, actively speaking into a cell in Japanese. The other two, appeared to be a couple. The man and woman were seated next to each other, holding hands, and whispering to each other while making kissy face.

It all seemed innocent enough, and the fifteen minutes flew by, before the counter lady walked over to the group, which did not grow in size in the mean time, and announced it was time to board the jet. The couple, and the man, picked up their small carry-on luggage and walked out onto the tarmac. The jet was parked not far away, and its landing steps were down. Part of the crew asked the couple if they wanted to stow the luggage, which they did. They climbed the steps giggling at each other, and disappeared into the jet. The Japanese businessman opted to keep his baggage.

The crew member looked at Michael and pointed at his only parcel, the satchel, and asked, "Would you like to stow it?" After Michael shook his head, the man shrugged and sealed the small cargo area. He climbed up after Michael, and headed toward the cockpit. Michael moved to his seat. The attendant stopped by and explained the safety belt, carefully placed the satchel in an overhead container explaining it had to be stowed when Michael protested, and asked if he wanted anything before moving on to the couple behind him. The jet began to rev up, as the pilots began performing system checks. Michael was just about to sigh in relief, when he noted a black sedan pull up outside the building they'd just left.

He observed two men in business suits exit the vehicle, and walk into the building. Shortly thereafter, they exited onto the tarmac and began running toward the jet. They were met at the stairs to the jet, just as the attendant was about to raise them. They climbed up into the jet, and moved to the seats across the aisle from Michael. They both flopped down onto them, and the one nearest to Michael, looked across the aisle at him and smiled as he exclaimed, "Whew! That was a close one. We very nearly missed connecting with you." His companion leaned forward, smiled at Michael as well, and the two sat back to buckle themselves in as the jet's hatch was sealed.

__________________________

The woman watched Dominic as he rode up into the lot, and parked alongside her bike. She appeared to be about 5'5, with a thin build. As Dominic smiled in greeting to her, she returned an equally dazzling smile. Her blue eyes twinkled merrily after he mentioned being the fastest thing on the road. She shifted how she was seated on the rock, so that her feet rested on the ground. She pulled her gloves off, and dragged her left hand through her short hair. As she did so, Dominic detected the ends of what looked like the tips of flame tats, which probably traveled the length of her inner arm, on her wrist as the sleeve of her jacket pulled back slightly with her movement.

Her eyebrows shot up as he introduced himself, and she nodded her head approvingly as she dropped her left hand back down. She said, "Dominic... a noble name. Can be interpreted to mean lord even. Lord of the road eh?" She shared a musical, mirthful laugh at her own joke, and winked at him before she continued, "Everybody just calls me Ray. A pleasure to meet you Dominic." Dominic could detect the barest hint of an accent to her words, but he couldn't place what its base was. She held her hand out, and as Dominic offered his in return, she grasped it in a surprisingly strong grip. She shook his hand, and slid hers away. She looked around at their surroundings, and then squinted her eyes as she looked up at the sun beating down on them both. It wasn't terribly hot, as the ocean provided a nice breeze, but it was still slightly uncomfortable to be standing still. She rolled her left foot slightly, and placed the tip of her right boot on her left insole and began to bob her right knee up and down rapidly, as she returned her attention to the man.

She smiled as she said, "You have a nice bike there Dominic. I was on my way to meet up with an old friend of mine. I saw you passing all those cars, and I couldn't resist showing off just a little bit. I hope you don't hold it too terribly against me. I must admit to have a love of speed. Are you just out to feel the wind? Or are you on your way somewhere? I only ask because that friend I'd mentioned is not too far up the road, and we were just going to have some lunch. It's a nice day, and I haven't rode with anybody in such a long time. Was curious if you'd like to join us for a bite to eat?"

Her eyes twinkled again as she shared her disarming smile. She dragged her left hand through her hair again, and she set her right hand on top of her right knee to stay its insistent movement, as she continued to smile. "I know we're strangers and all, but you being a military type... you could probably hold your own against two women."

 

[Deleted User - 819397]

Michael had almost relaxed from the whole alley incident when the black sedan showed up. His eyes darkened slightly as he saw the two men run in, and then subsequently out of the building. He briefly wondered if the cargo hold might have been a safer place for the manuscript when one of the men spoke up, grinning as if the whole thing was a joke.

"Whew! That was a close one. We very nearly missed connecting with you."

Michael's mouth twitched in what might have been the beginning of a frown. He pulled his dry erase board out (which he had convinced the flight attendant to let him keep so he could communicate if need-be) and uncapped his marker.

Connected? I am quite certain I don't know you. he wrote. He then erased and continued. What exactly is going on today? The two men waited for a moment to see if he was done writing. Michael hesitated, then added, While we're at it...who are you two?

 

[DeletedUser]

Attributes

PHYSICAL (Primary)

Strength: 3
Dexterity: 3
Stamina: 4

SOCIAL: (Tertiary)

Charisma: 1
Manipulation: 2
Appearance: 3

MENTAL: (Secondary)

Perception: 3
Intelligence: 3
Wits: 3 (5)

Abilities

TALENTS (Secondary)

Alertness: 1
Athletics: 1
Brawl: 2
Dodge: 1
Intimidation: 2
Intuition: 1
Leadership: 1
Streetwise: 2
Subterfuge: 1 (2)

SKILLS (Primary)

Crafts: 1
Demolitions: 2
Drive: 2 (2)
Firearms: 5 (4)
Melee: 1
Security: 3 (2)
Stealth: 5 (4)
Survival: 1
Technology: 1

KNOWLEDGES (Tertiary)

Academics: 1
Enigmas: 1
Investigation: 1
Law: 1 (2)
Linguistics: 1 (Farsi)
Medicine: 2
Politics: 1
Name: Elliot Replogul (Just pulled it out of the air.)
Appearance: Six feet tall
Age: 27
Equipment: Bare hands.
Biography:

Rain tapped at the window that Elliot Replogul sat at. It streamed down and collected in big puddles in the driveway of the asylum he called home. Out on the lawn, the real lunatics would be drawing with crayons and felt tipped markers, had it not decided to pour today. The great green hedges that served both for privacy and decoration whipped back and forth in the wind. Elliot could see the reflection of his own blue eyes on the window, as he sat, his feet propped against the far wall of his room. The drugs the doctors gave Elliot sometimes made him dizzy, sometimes they even made him see things.

In the window, Elliot looked back into time. He saw a small white house with small planters hanging from each window. An old live oak grew in the front yard, from which a rope swing gently swayed back and forth from. A shaggy dog wagged it's tail, as a young Elliot held a stick in his hand, before throwing it, the dog bolting after it across the yard.

The stick twirled through the air, slowly revolving around on it's axis, before it disappeared. It was replaced by a baseball, as it flew towards home, where a batter, Elliot, hit it with all his might. The ball flew through the air, far over the outfield, before bouncing twice on the ground and coming to rest on the grass. Then, his vision turned bad. The grass around the ball slowly faded to brown, it died and melted into the ground, being replaced by sand. The baseball slowly began to morph into a ribbed shape that lay on the ground in a menacing fashion. The bat in Elliot's hands morphed, Elliot himself changed, got taller, his arms got thicker and his mind got colder.

Suddenly, the bat in Elliot's hands was a rifle and his running shoes Combat Boots. Elliot's face became hardened by years of exposure to blistering hot winds and his pale complexion began to tan. In a rush, Elliot realized that what were once outfielders, pitchers and catchers, were now militants armed with assault rifles, shotguns and pistols. The baseball exploded outwards, ripping into all those around it.

Elliot came to his senses, as he stood in the middle of a dirt poor village in the mountains of Afghanistan. He was alone, outnumbered and tired, it had taken the explosive sound of the grenade to wake him from his reverie. Elliot let his rifle fall back on it's sling and tore the pistol from his belt. What had once been the pitcher had transformed into a man holding a pieced together shotgun that was swiveling towards Elliot. Before Elliot could pull his weapon upwards, the concussive blast of a shotgun tore into him.

Elliot awoke, in his bed in the asylum. Drenched in sweat, he lay his head back down, trying to calm his heartbeat. Eight years, two tours of duty, over thirty confirmed kills later, Elliot Replogul cringed at the sound of the janitor's cart rolling past his door. He was, a mess.

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

Elliot sat in his chair, his head pounding after the, the vision? No, it was those damned drugs they made him gulp every morning. Sometimes Elliot swore that he heard them rattling together when he walked. Still, there was something strange about the girl sitting across from him, other than the obvious suicide marks on her. Something about the way her feet barely touched the floor when she sat in the chair, or the way she stared at the tiled floor, as if it were the most amazing thing she'd ever seen. If his senses hadn't been dulled by his medication, chills would have run up his back.

Soon enough the Doctor ended the hour and the patients headed off into their own little worlds. Some went to a corner filled with paints, others played Ping Pong. Only two patients didn't seem to do anything, Violet and Elliot, who both just sat in their chairs looking at the floor. Elliot looked up at her every once in awhile, her hair kind of annoyed him. He wanted to take a brush to it, it was so unkempt. Why hadn't the nurses done it? Elliot thought.

Sitting in the chair, like an obstinate youth, made some sane part of Elliot deep down down rebel in anger. Elliot was nothing now, when once he had been valuable to his country and his people. Looking at his own white patient's gown made Elliot's stomach roil. This was not justice, this was not what Eliot had planned so many years, miles and lives ago. Not what he signed up for. All of his noble thoughts and aspirations lie broken underfoot and every single day they grew dimmer and dimmer, as if he were walking away from them each morning, as he took the medications they forked him.

And the flashbacks and visions just continued.

 

[DeletedUser25825]

The man nearest him, at first, frowned by the strange way that Michael chose to communicate. His first response, after reading the line was a nod as he said, "Yeah... I didn't mean connected with YOU exactly... the colloquial you. The passengers, this jet. We almost missed our flight is all I meant." The man patiently waited for the next line to be written and shrugged saying nothing. He looked at the last line and said, "I'm Bill, and this is Gabriel. We're on our way to New York City on business." He smiled.

The jet quickly moved down the runway, and after getting clearance, the rush of momentum pressed everybody against their seats, as the jet took off. The pilot's voice was heard overhead as he announced, "Welcome to Flight 666", there was a good-natured chuckle from the pilot who resumed, "Don't worry about the number folks. Weather looks great, and I don't expect any issues. We have a tail wind, so might even arrive ahead of schedule and land in about an hour. Please remain seated throughout the flight, and see you on the ground." There was a click, and the pilot's voice stopped.

The flight attendant made her way along the aisle, and offered water, alcohol, or soda, and a bag of salted peanuts to each passenger. Bill opted for a mixed drink, and tossed the bag of peanuts to Michael as he said, "Here ya go buddy. I'm allergic."

____________________________________________

Violet sat quietly for some time, merely staring at the tiled floor. She eventually stood up, and shuffled over to the barred window, which faced the rolling driveway that led up to the facility. She rested her forehead against the bars, and stared out the window. Fran, one of the more friendly residents approached her and failed at striking a conversation up with the sullen girl. Fran eventually tired of it, and moved over to watch the ping pong game.

Violet continued to stare out the window, until medication time was called. She remained at the window, and one of the orderlies, who were a constant presence, moved over to her and escorted her gently into line. She stood in front of Elliot, who was late arriving as well, and continued to move forward as the line allowed. She was handed two small cups. One contained several colorful pills, the other water. She tossed the pills back, drank the water, and shuffled back to the plastic chair she'd been first sat at.

 

[DeletedUser28032]

Dominic turned to looked at his Triumph, smiling affectionatley at the bright yellow bike "Its the one good thing i got from my discharge...Not as good as a heli but it still gets my heart going every time" he smiled as she confessed to being a fellow speed freak although he was slightly suprised when invited to join her and a friend for lunch after all they'd only just met although from what he could see she seemed nice enough and she was quite right in her assumption that he could take care of himself limp and all, he considered her proposition for all of three seconds before nodding in agreement he didn't have any plans so why not?
"Sure I'd be happy to join you...maybe i'll even win this time" he said pulling his gloves back on, he needed to get moving again it was far too hot to be sat around in leathers and besides Ray had a female friend for him to meet.
Grinding his half smoked cigarette into the dirt Dominic went over and remounted his bike however before replacing his helmet he decided to ask a question "You don't seem local where abouts are you from? if you don't mind me asking" he'd noticed her accent and felt like he should recognise it but couldn't quite place it.

 

[DeletedUser25825]

Ray nodded as Dominic mentioned being discharged, and her grin widened as he mentioned a helicoptor. She asked, "You know how to fly one of those? You don't have your own though eh? That's too bad... I've always wanted to ride in a whirlybird." Her eyes twinkled mirthfully as he accepted her invitation to lunch, and more so when he challenged her to another race. She shook her head and mockingly said, "I don't think your machine can out-perform my own, but you can try all you like!" She laughed, and hopped down from the rock she had sat upon.

She pulled her helmet and gloves on, and mounted her bike. She looked over at Dominic as he accused her of not being local, and asked where she was from. She smiled widely and said, "I've visted more places than I could count. I don't really call anyplace home really." She shrugged her shoulders. Perhaps that what was unique about her accent, it was a mash of several. She started her bike, and revved the engine several times, as she waited for Dominic to get started up.

After he looked ready to go, she yelled, "The place is called The Wayward Inn! It's about ten miles up Route 1, and then take the side road by the abandoned gas station. Not many people know about it, but it's there I promise!" She revved her bike one more time, as a mirthful grin spread across her face and she announced, "That's only if you can't keep up of course..." She slapped her visor down, and jumped into gear. She pulled her bike up in a wheelie, as dirt and small pebbles were strewn everywhere under her spinning tires, as she re-entered the highway. She was easily topping out at 80 or 90, before she dropped her bike down onto two wheels. She then, really opened the throttle and, once again, disappeared from immediate sight while Dominic played catch up.

As Dominic raced after her, he occasionally caught a glimpse of her bike far ahead as she weaved gently through each winding curve of the coastline highway. The only other thought, than pure enjoyment, was the fact that he'd driven this highway countless times, and was certain there was no shut down gas station anywhere in the area. As he rounded another curve, he saw dust, and sure enough, an old overgrown gas station up ahead. He slowed down enough to note there was an old, gravel road, which showed the dust trail Ray had made as she had obviously taken it.

It was a bit more slow going, as the road looked nigh unused in years. It wound down the bluffs, and leveled out near the Atlantic shoreline. Up ahead, he saw a quaint little building at the end of the road. Ray was standing by her parked bike. She waved as he approached and grinned widely. The place looked abandoned as well, though an old neon sign, which pronounced the place as 'open', blinked in irregular patterns. Ray leaned against the weathered railing, and taunted Dominic by saying, "Jeez, I thought you took a wrong turn somewhere back there." She looked at nothing on her wrist as she announced, "Took you long enough to get here too." She smiled her dazzling smile, and winked at him playfully.

The creak of old hinges, as the front door opened, drew Ray's attention. A stunningly beautiful blond woman stepped out onto the dilapidated porch. She was 5'10, and didn't look to have an ounce of fat anywhere on her body. She was dressed in black combat boots, olive drab cargo pants, a black tank top, and circle rimmed sunglasses with blue lenses. Her blond hair was tied back in a pony tail. As Dominic studied her, he was struck by an absolute certainty that this woman was a soldier, though no tags were evident. She smiled at Ray, and lifted her hand in a wave. She then looked toward Dominic as he killed his bike, and her smile faded suddenly. She narrowed her blue eyes, as she studied him, and asked, "Who's our friend?"

Ray looked at Dominic and she continued to smile, obviously not deterred by the cooler reception of her friend. She announced, "This is Dominic. I met him on the road. Has a real need for speed." Ray looked over her shoulder as she pulled off her jacket, revealing she wore a purple tank top, which somehow didn't surprise Dominic. He discovered he was right about her tattoos as well. Both arms had possibly the best flame tats he'd ever seen inked. She also had a very curious brand on her left shoulder. A symbol Dominic had never seen before. Ray said, "I invited him to lunch." The woman frowned, and looked at Ray as she said, "You know we have much to discuss. I know you are all about distraction cousin, but are you certain today is the day?" Ray shrugged her shoulders, moved over to Dominic and clapped him heartily on the shoulder as she joyfully said, "Well, if it isn't... he came a long way for a promised lunch if nothing else. C'mon Terry, just trust me ok?"

Terry looked from Ray to Dominic and back. She nodded after a few moments, and went inside. Ray leaned close to Dominic and whispered, "Don't worry about Terry. She puts on a much harder exterior than she really is." From inside the building a faint, "I heard that", drifted out, and Ray blushed. She smiled at Dominic, grabbed his hand, and started tugging him toward the building. "Come on Dominic! I promise, it will be the best lunch you've ever had."

 

[Deleted User - 819397]

Michael sighed and wrote to the men that he had no tongue to clear up why he had been writing to communicate, something he had done way too many times in his life. He then leaned back in his seat. His nerves were acting up for no reason...that was odd on it's own...it wasn't normal for him to jump to conclusions. At least nothing unusual would happen on the flight, as the rest of the people in the plane didn't seem out of the ordinary...

 

[DeletedUser25825]

The flight was almost over before it started. Bill and Gabriel began talking about a banking merger that was recently announced, and which startled Wall St. apparently. From what Michael could understand of the conversation, the two thought they were going to be on top of the bubble, and off long before it inevitably burst. The couple behind Michael, picked up with the kissy face, they'd had to forgo while boarding the plane. The Asian businessman dozed off.

As the jet began its descent, the pilot's voice was heard on the overhead again. "As you might know, we're making our descent into New York City. We've already been cleared to land, and we should taxi up to disembark at approximately 9:45 P.M. Thank you for choosing to fly with our company." The comm clicked off. The jet made an uneventful landing, and rolled up to a small building. As it came to a stop, Bill and Gabriel unbuckled their belts first and stood up. Bill smiled at Michael, and held his hand out as he said, "Well it was nice to have met you. Good luck with whatever brings you to New York City."

Michael looked over at the attendant, as she retrieved the satchel from the overhead and carefully brought it over to him. The flight attendant then moved to the hatch, unsealed it, and climbed down the steps she pushed ahead of her. Bill and Gabriel exited the plane, and the two love birds waited for Michael, ignoring him entirely as they still continued to giggle at each other. The Japanese businessman, looked down the aisle at Michael, betraying no emotion as he stared in his direction.

 

[Deleted User - 819397]

Michael accepted the satchel, nodding his thanks. He noticed the japanese businessman watching him, but he dismissed it. He wasn't going to let his somewhat frayed nerves get the better of him again...

Michael stepped outside and looked around at the streetlights that lit the darkened city of greater New York. There was something refreshing about being home...it was always there when he returned from his various travels...one of the few constants in his life. He hailed a cab and got in, directing the cabbie to the library with his board. It was time to learn what this manuscript said once and for all.

 

[DeletedUser25825]

Michael arrived at the library, which was of course closed for the evening. He didn't care. He was one of the librarians, and was issued a key. He opened the door, and noted all the lights save the emergency lighting were off. He re-secured the door, and moved through the main chamber of the vast building, listening to his footsteps reverberate back at him from the polished marble walls. He got to his office, unlocked it and stepped inside.

He carefully laid the satchel down on his immaculately kept desk space. He locked his office door, and moved back to the desk. He pulled his pair of cotton gloves from his pocket, and pulled them on. He again felt his heart slamming against his ribs, as he tugged the clasps on the satchel open.

He frowned as he opened the satchel, and noted the interior of the flap was not what he remembered. The lining of his satchel was white linen, to better protect the contents, yet he was now looking at black satin. His heart skipped a beat as he pulled the satchel open and found an obscure hardback, which was mockingly titled A Fool's Errand.

 

[Deleted User - 819397]

Michael was stunned. The manuscript was gone. Gone. He could barely breathe. He snapped into action and checked the inside of the book just to be safe...nothing. Just a poorly written piece of literature. He almost groaned. Realizing that someone on the plane had to have taken it, he ran back outside, locking the door behind him again. In vain he looked from side to side, hopelessly looking for someone from the flight. When that didn't yield any results (as it shouldn't have) he quickly hailed another cab and went back to the airport. The jet he had flown on was still there. He headed toward the plane, intending to find out if there had been a mistake...

 

[DeletedUser]

character and post approved by OP
NAME: Alex Colborn
AGE: 31
GENDER: Male
LANGUAGE SPOKEN: English
OCCUPATION: S.W.A.T. Team - Team Leader/Survival enthusiast
DESCRIPTION: 6 foot tall and 190 pound athletic build, brown hair in a high and tight cut with brown eyes with a neatly trimmed goatee, Alex always wears tactical BDU pants, ball cap, Combat boots, and T-shirts even when off duty (along with a badge clipped to belt and his service issue glock on a paddle holster on his side when at work)
Personal Items: A black 1992 Ford F-250 with a camper shell, Gerber multi tool,3 .40 glock pistols (1 service issue, one on his duty belt in a drop down holster other on tactical vest carried in duffel bag that he never goes anywhere with out), S&W pocket knife, all weather butane torch, Rucksack(survival pack) kept in truck, Tactical gear needed for work kept in bag with vest and extra ammo and mags. Wallet with the normal junk, badge and ID, hand held radio, duty belt that has the usual SWAT team gear (weapon holster, cuffs, quick cuffs, mag pouches, tazer, gas mask drop pouch), a custom M4 rifle


BIO: Alex is fifth generation law enforcement from a family full of cops. Alex was born to James and Christina Colborn but due to complications with the delivery Alex’s mom died during labor and whether it was the skill of the doctors, God’s will, or just by pure luck Alex survived. Alex’s childhood was much different than others his age maybe not more difficult but very different. James Colborn, Alex’s Father, an ex marine sniper and fourth generation cop believed in the Boy Scout motto of “Be Prepared” and inflicted those beliefs onto Alex. James taught Alex to hunt, fish, and survive in the wilderness without modern conveniences and/or high tech gadgets he also took all the training he received from the marines and passed them onto Alex from how to survive with nothing to how to successfully enter an enemy compound complete the mission and get out without leaving a trace or anyone knowing you were there and also how to be a good cop. James spent years teaching and preparing his son for survival and bestowed on his son his belief in the old frontier justice mentality of aggressive action instead of passive action. Shortly after Alex turned nineteen James came down with cancer and was forced to retire, wanting to assist his father financially and spend time with him knowing he didn’t have much time Alex decided against enlistment to the military and applied for the police academy were he was excepted. To Alex’s sorrow his father lasted only till shortly after he graduated and his father’s dying words imprinted themselves on Alex’s memory “you made this old man and your mother very proud and I’m gratefully to be blessed to see you do something with your life but don’t forget this cushy life we live won’t last forever and things can change in a heartbeat so don’t get lazy” his father had said right before his eyes had closed for the last time. Alex threw himself into his work and training and joined the swat team. Alex is very good at his job but literally a thorn in his superiors sides were most cops go their whole careers without firing a shot, Alex wasn’t as lucky, in fact Alex has the largest tally of officer involved shootings in the entire Department and triples the second place count luckily all were justified, along with the numerous excessive force complaints against him. Since his father’s death Alex has continued his survival trips and training and picked up competition shooting. Alex is and expert marksman with a pistol and a very fast draw and quite skilled with scoped rifle and assault rifles alike. Thanks to his nine years on the SWAT team he is also quite knowledgeable of tactical operations and planning and some hand to hand training

PHYSICAL:
Strength: 3
Dexterity: 4
Stamina: 3
SOCIAL:
Charisma: 2
Manipulation: 3
Appearance: 1
MENTAL:
Perception: 3
Intelligence: 2
Wits: 3

TALENTS:
Alertness: 3
Athletics: 3
Brawl: (2)
Dodge: 3
Intimidation:2
Intuition: (2)
Leadership: (2)

SKILLS:
Firearms: 5
Melee: (2)
Security:1 (2)=3
Stealth: 3
Survival: 5
Technologies: 1

KNOWLEDGE:
Academics: 1
Enigmas: 2
History:0
Investigation:0
Linguistics:0
Medicine: 2
Law: 2

Current XP: 1.0
__________________________________________________________________________
BEEPBEEPBEEP..BEEEEEP...
The sound of the pager startled Alex from his slumber who shot straight up with glock in hand taking quick stock of his surroundings trying to determine the origin of the waking sound, Alex bit back a silent curse as he laid back onto the pillow placing the glock back beside the bed were it had peacefully sat just seconds ago and rolled to the side taking in the time displayed across the alarm clock. 5:28am glowed bright green in the dark room signaling he had only been asleep for three hours and was scheduled back at 8am for a short meeting. Alax rolled to sitting position on the side of the bed and reached for the offending device of his peaceful much needed sleep and hit the button to display the message.

CALL IN SICK TODAY. DON"T COME TO WORK. CAPT. ON A WARPATH AND YOUR HIS TARGET.....CJ

With a groan Alex reached for his cell phone and dialed a series of numbers into the phone that he had memorized, placed the phone on speaker as it rang so he could get dressed for work. After three ring the phone is answered by a whispering voice.
"Alex, Dont come in today."
"and why wouldn't I" came Alex's reply "and why the heck are you whispering like a kid trying not to get caught"
"maybe because I dont want to get caught, cap is HOT and been looking for you since he got here."
" well, i don't get there till eight so he's going to have to wait"
"your still coming in?" the voice asked,fear etching in his words
"Chris, you worry to much, one i haven't done nothing in a week or two and two, my dad told me never to run from a problem, so yeah i'm still coming in" Alex replied with a light chuckle in his voice due to the comment about doing nothing, he always seamed to upset the brass no matter what he did "see you in a couple of hours" he said hitting the "end" button on the phone that still lay on the dresser and finished getting ready for work.

Two hours later found Alex at the San Antonio Police station headed inside, he knew he was thirty minutes early but the meeting should only last an hour, two tops, then he could go and get some sleep before his shift tonight. The beer gut officer sitting by the door gave an over excited hand wave to Alex as he entered the building which he returned with curt nod towards the man as he walked by. As soon as he opened the door to the office area used for the SWAT personell the screaming and hollering was deafening. Alex was met at the door by none other than Chris holding two cups of coffee "all that yellin' for me?" asked Alex as he took a sip of the hot coffee. "don't flatter yourself" Chris replied with a chuckle "you know that new guy from Charlie team, Brad is it?, well anyway, thats him" Chris continued still chuckling.
"COLBORN, MY OFFICE NOW!" came a screaming voice from down the hall.
"go tell Brad i'll trade with him, the cap sounds like he wants me dead" Alex said
"Sure, just so you know though, Brad's problems are girl troubles"
"never mind I'd rather face the firing squad than an angry woman" Alex shot back as he moved down the hall
"thought so" came the reply he barely heard as he entered the captain's office.
There standing behind his desk stood the captain looking very angry with a peice of paper in his hand. Upon seeing Alex the captain handed the paper to Alex "do you know what thats is?" Alex glanced at the paper for a second "yeah, it's an incident report"
"care to explain?"the capt. shot back "Sure, After every incident we fill this form out explaining the incident, who was there, what we did, and....."
"DON'T GET SMART WITH ME, i mean, care to explain that incident"
"oh, sorry cap but i don't see what the problem is"
"why did you break the perp's nose, now he is trying to sue the dept."
"It's right here on the paper, I dropped my gun luckily catching the front stock but not in time to stop the butt-stock from breaking his nose"
"but the report says he was standing up" Alex looked at the report for a second "that's because he was" The captain's Anger flaring up again
"then how did you drop you weapon on him" Alex smiled at this and shot back "the math is a little fuzzy now but he shouldn't of reached for that .357 or he should have filled the front sight off to prevent catching the pants, beside you said you wanted him out "Alive" not "unharmed" doing the air quotes for emphasis "fine what about leading him out with his pants around his ankles?" Alex smiled here "thats easy tell these wanna-be gangsters not to wear there pants around there knees and they won't fall down besides i'm not their mothers so i ain't pullin' no man's pants up for him, that it" Alex asked throwing his thumb to the door. The captain just nodded and turned back to his desk as Alex left the room. Today was going to be an interesting day he thought to himself.

 

[DeletedUser28032]

Dominic couldn't believe that he'd been left behind again but was enjoying himself all the same. He weaved his bike through the sparse traffic at break neck speed, gracefully sliding between a car and an oncoming truck and narrowly avoiding both, but that was all part of the thrill as was laughing when he heard the truck driver shout from his window "and you kiss you mother with that mouth?" he laughed
He scanned the now deserted highway in search of the gas station almost certain that Ray must be mistaken he'd been riding up and down this stretch of road ever since he had moved here around two years ago and he could recall no gas station down here, then again he wasn't exactly paying attention to the surrounding countryside when he went for one of his little rides as his mother called them.
But sure enough up on the right he saw it, banking sharply around the dilapidated concrete building he noted the grass growing through the asphalt How could I have missed this? this place has been abandoned for years he thought to himself as he raced down the narrow dirt road, the dust still settling from when Ray came down here only minutes before, the ride down the winding dirt road was even more enjoyable than the highway if a little slower, in the distance he could make out a building, the Atlantic ocean glistening just beyond it.

He was met by a triumphant Ray outside of the small inn, a neon OPEN sign flickered intermittently on the wall "Jeez, I thought you took a wrong turn somewhere back there." she called to him as he killed his engine "Yeah, Yeah Next time I choose the course" he replied happily, he knew of a few narrow, twisting country lanes that should slow her down a little and give him chance to keep up.
It was as he was dismounting his bike that the stunning blonde appeared in the doorway, Dominic gave a low whistle of appreciation as she began speaking to Ray evidenlty not impressed by her choice of new friend, however it appeared Ray was insistant on him joining them.
Flashing the Blonde, Terry a smile he was suddenly hit with the knowledge that this woman was military, most likely a soldier of some kind by her choice of clothing, not to mention the way she carried herself.
Dominic followed Ray into the building and seated himself at the table with Terry, her eyes seemed to study him as he sat down, hanging his leather jacket over the back of his chair.
Terry's evident distrust of him was begining to make him nervous,it seemed Terry didn't have the same happy go lucky attitude as Ray did, his hand was beginning to tremble slightly,it always did when he was nervous it wasn't fear so much as excess adrenaline in his system, he decided to try his normal cure of nicotine even though this would make it his second in how ever many minutes.
The cigarette was already in the corner of his mouth before he saw the No Smoking sign overhead, with a sigh he removed the offending article and tucked it back into the packet you'll just have to cope on your own Dom old buddy.
Looking back up at the beautiful Terry, Dominic smiled a little nervously "So what brings you to Portland?" it was a silly thing to ask but he'd needed to say something if only to get her talking and stop studying him quite so intensly, maybe even find some common ground.

 

[DeletedUser]

Elliot grimaced, as he tossed the pills and then the water back, before throwing both cups into a nearby trash can. As Elliot turned to go back to his chair, he was tapped on the shoulder by the nurse who had administered his medicine. Medicine is supposed to make people better Elliot thought, as the nurse gestured for him to open his mouth. It was a thoroughly pride killing experience, opening your mouth so a woman who's spent her life wielding a butterfly net could make sure you were actually swallowing drugs that would later make you dizzy and tired.

Elliot was close to tears, as he sat down in the nearest chair. His thoughts drifted back over the years, back to the opening days of his enlistment. Slowly, countless battles, operations and actions rolled through his mind. So much blood, until his final day in active duty, the day he and his patrol had been called to the site of a car accident. Two cars had rammed together at a high enough speed to cause both to flip, killing the drivers of both cars.

Taking point, Elliot had shouldered his rifle and kneeling down and looking into one of the cars, which was flipped over. Inside, Elliot saw the driver, who's head had smashed the steering wheel with enough force to break his nose, driving bone splinters straight upwards, into his brain. The wound was bleeding, blood pooling under the driver, who was held into his seat by his seat belt. It wasn't even all that much blood. Just a medium sized pool on the upholstery of a mid 90's Volvo. But it was just the final pool of blood that finally pushed Elliot Replogul over the edge.

Tears streaming down his face, Elliot had curled up in the fettle position, in the middle of the street and balled into his hands. Until, a few hours later, the Military Psychologists drove up and took him away. First to Germany, and then back home to America. To the hell hole Elliot found himself in now. For the first few months, Elliot didn't speak a word, just sat and alternatively cried and stared at a wall. Elliot didn't remember much of the first few months, but it was on the plane ride home when he had come to his senses, while an aid tried to feed him a pasty mixture that he claimed was Apple Sauce.

Elliot sighed and finally looked up, realizing that he was sitting right next to Violet. He didn't really know what to say, so he just looked over to her and said "My name is Elliot. Do you paint?" Elliot pointed towards the paints sat up against a wall.

 

[DeletedUser25825]

Michael had entered the small private terminal, and noted the jet was still parked out on the tarmak. Surprisingly, the doorway accessing the tarmak wasn't secured, and with nobody around to really observe, or otherwise stop him, he was able to step through. As he walked toward the distant jet, he observed the stairs were currently down and the hatch was open. He was considering his options, when he saw the flight attendant appear in the open hatchway. She was carrying his satchel, and did not seem to notice him.

She climbed down the stairs, and hurried over toward a black limosine parked a hundred meters away, which Michael had failed to notice. As she hurried toward it, the driver and passenger door of the limo opened, and the driver and front seat passenger climbed out. Both were dressed similarly in black suits, white shirts, and black ties. The driver remained standing, and the front passenger moved to the back of the limo and opened the door. The front seat passenger then moved back to the front of the limo.

A tall, good looking man stepped out of the back of the limo. He was immaculately dressed in a black suit, black shirt and red tie. His hair was black and graying at the temples, and was cut stylishly, in a manner men in business favored. He appeared to be in his early forties. As he smiled at the woman as she hurried in his direction, two more men dressed in suits similar to the driver and front passenger stepped out of the rear of the limo on the other side and remained standing near the driver.

The woman had a wide smile on her face as she approached the man in the red tie, and held the satchel up triumphantly. Michael's heart slammed in his heart, and he felt himself tense each time the satchel swung back and forth carelessly in the woman's grasp. The man in the red tie said something to her, but Michael couldn't hear what it was, nor the woman's response. She stopped by the man in the red tie, and held her empty hand out. The man in the red tie, smiled and laughed as he shrugged good-naturedly, reached inside his suit coat, and pulled out a bulging envelope. He handed it to her, and she handed the satchel to him.

The flight attendant hugged the envelope to her chest, as she moved around the man in the red tie and hurried away from the limo. The man in the red tie ignored her, as he opened the satchel and pulled the manuscript from it. The man in the red tie looked at the manuscript, turning it over in his hands to admire its back. As he did so, Michael again heard a sound which reminded him of a flag being rustled around in a heavy wind. The man in the red tie apparently heard the same, because he suddenly looked up and shouted in alarm.

Michael looked in the same direction as the man, and saw three individuals, two men and a woman standing on the tarmak. He had no idea where they had come from, because it was a fenced in area of the airport. One of the men wore a black suit, white shirt and black tie, and the other man and woman were wearing trench coats. The sound of automatic gunfire tore Michael's attention away from the three toward the limo. The driver was standing behind the open door, firing an AK-47 he'd retrieved from the front seat at the three.

Michael's attention was drawn back to the other three, as the woman screamed in agony as her torso was ripped apart by the hail of bullets being fired into their midst. She flopped over backward, twitching spasmodically, as the other two men burst into action. They drew guns of their own, and began to return fire at the limo and its passengers.

The gun battle was ferocious as the two groups exchanged fire. The two men dashed back and forth, rolling occasionally, and stopping prone to fire off spurts of automatic fire from what appeared to be Mac 10's, as the group at the limo returned fire with mostly pistols, and the rifle the driver held. Michael could do little but try to find cover, as the limo was riddled with bullets, and he heard several whines as bullets ricocheting passed near him. From his observation point, he saw the man in the red tie hunkered down behind the limo. He watched in horror as the man in the red tie retrieved a silver zippo from inside his suit pocket, ignited it, and lit the corner of the manuscript.

The gun battle continued, as Michael watched the lower corner of the manuscript slowly catch fire, before the man in the red tie turned it upward so the fire fed along the entire edge. The man in the red tie looked out from behind the limo, and observed things were not going well for his side. He only had one man remaining, the others having been cut down. Michael spared a glance at the other group, and noted only the man in the suit remained, and he appeared to be mortally wounded. He struggled to lift his shaking hand to fire another volley, and was cut down by a single shot to his forehead.

The man in the red tie stood up, and tossed the burning manuscript on the tarmak. He marshalled his last man over toward him. Sirens could be heard in the distance, and the limo was in an undriveable condition. The man in the red tie, spoke to his man, flicking his head in the direction the flight attendant had run, and the two began running off in that direction abandoning the carnage that was everywhere.

The sirens were still distant enough that Michael felt safe enough to dash over to the burning manuscript. Michael was able to smother the flames with quick slaps, and stomps. It probably was inappropriate to do that to the ancient manuscript, but to do otherwise, would cost Michael the manuscript in its entirety. It lay there, pitiful, and smouldering after the flames were put out. The entire outer edge had been consumed by the monstrous flame, and it looked as though damage was wrought nearly half way toward the spine.

Michael stooped down to gingerly gather the broken treasure he'd nearly died twice over since coming into possession of. As he did so, he heard an effort filled groan, and the click of a pistol's hammer being drawn back. He looked in abject horror at the business end of a Sig P220 pistol being pointed at his face, which was being held by the wounded front side passenger. The shot never came. Michael heard that curious rustling sound again, and the man suddenly stiffened and slumped down lifelessly.

Michael felt a hand on his collar, and he was roughly tugged to his feet by the woman he remembered was called Janissary by the brute. Michael could see his fear filled visage in the gold reflection of her sunglasses as she moved her face very close to his. She whispered, "Thou art brave Michael. Befitting of what thouest possess in thine hands. Fear not the destruction wrought to the object, for its true purpose is still hidden within its pages. Many have died and killed for its secret. Be aware that danger wilt always follow thee, whilst thou art in possession."

So saying, she released his collar, stood to her full height, and pulled the tip of her blade from the dead man's chest. She concealed her ornate sword within the confines of her trench coat, and looked toward the distant flashing lights of responding emergency vehicles. As she stood in profile, Michael observed a curious symbol branded on the right side of her neck, just below her ear. She returned her attention to Michael and said, "Flee now Michael. There art those amongst those responding, who art not freinds to thee." She gave Michael a gentle shove in the direction the two men had fled, and she began walking in the opposite direction toward the three fallen individuals.

Michael had questions, wanted to scream them possibly for the first time in his life, but the sirens and lights were getting closer. He could do nothing but run, unless he wanted to answer for the carnage surrounding him. He saw Janissary crouch down by the woman to touch her forehead. He looked forward to make sure he was running in a good direction, and when he looked back over his shoulder, Janissary was gone.

____________________________________

Alex found himself having lunch by himself. Word had filtered through the ranks that the captain was looking for heads, and Alex had been topping the list. A bit of isolation for Alex was called for by the others so they could keep out of trouble by lack of association. It was boring cafeteria food, but it was cheap at least. He was just finishing up as his pager went off. It's message was 911, HwBS S4 132nd Ave. The message was quite clear. Alex didn't bother clearing his place as he responded toward the SWAT briefing area. There was an emergency callout for a hostage with a barricaded subject in sector 4, a really bad part of the city, and the exact address.

Alex moved into briefing, which was short and sweet. The captain relayed that patrol had a male subject that had been observed dragging a screaming woman into the building they were now going to head to. Reports had it that the man barricaded himself inside the apartment, and shouted religious fervor to the responding officers outside the door. That was the last contact that patrol had, but they could hear the woman screaming inside, and the man shouting at her.

The response team suited up, and they responded to the address. The patrol officers did a good job for a change. They'd cordoned off the building, were keeping spectators at bay, and had complete control of the outside perimeter. A patrol sergeant approached Alex as the rig rolled up, and shook his head. "It's the darndest thing Alex. This nut has locked himself tighter than a frog's behinder in that place. According to my guys outside the door, he's shouting verse at that poor lady in there." He grinned at Alex, and held his right hand up as he said, "Swear to God, it's what I'm told. I'm not a Bible reader, but there are a lot of thee and thous... and smiting talk. It's enough that I think you might want to consider fast response on this. He ain't answering to any of my guys, or the phone. Might deteriorate into a real problem quick." He nodded at Alex, and then returned to his own duties.

____________________________________________

The interior of the restaurant left much to be desired. It quite possibly looked more run down than its exterior. Several chairs were upside down on table tops, and Dominic swore he could see heavy cobwebs in the corners of the place. There was a counter, with unoccupied stools, and one of those openings behind it, where waitresses would shout orders through to the cook in back. Dominic observed no waitresses, but the sound of a male whistling somewhere in assumedly the kitchen area at least supported this place did in fact serve food.

Ray draped her jacket over the back of an empty chair and sat down. She smiled happily, laced her fingers behind her head, and proceeded to lean the chair back far enough to be precariously close to tipping and then flopping it back onto all four feet, only to rock back again. Terry sat on a chair where an unseasonable black trench coat hung from, and stared at Ray for several moments. She closed her eyes, took a quick breath and shook her head dismissively, before she settled a hard stare on Dominic.

She watched him squirm under her gaze, and then flicked her eyes quickly toward his pocket as he reached into it. He observed her visibly tense, until he retrieved the pack of cigarettes. She looked back at his face, seeming to constantly being assessing him. As he realized he couldn't smoke and returned the pack back to his pocket, he again watched her eyes follow his hand until it was visible again. He had no lingering doubt she was either a very good friend to have, or a terrible enemy to make. He'd seen similar reactions and mannerisms in the highly trained and intense soldiers who were part of special forces. The types who had seen heavy action and lived to tell about it.

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously as he asked her what amounted to a truly innocent question. Ray took notice, and blatantly kicked Terry under the table as she said, "Aww... c'mon Terry. I'm telling ya... he's fine. Take a breath cousin." Terry's eyes flicked toward Ray, and then she looked back at Dominic as she responded, "We're... visiting." Ray laughed suddenly, and tipped her chair back for the umpteenth time. She said, "Dominic, don't pay any attention to Terry here. We're both here looking for somebody, and might try to pick up a knick knack or two in the meantime."

Terry looked at Ray and said, "Just knick knacks. I found her." Ray lifted her eyebrows in surprise and settled her chair on the floor, as she straightened in it. She opened her mouth to say something, and looked over at Dominic and thought better of it for a moment. She sighed and said, "I'm sorry Dominic. A moment of patience is all I ask." She then began to speak in a language Dominic had never heard before. It meant something to Dominic. He'd heard a lot of languages, and even though he couldn't understand most any of them, he honestly had no clue what was being spoken, or even its probable location in the world. Terry responded in the same language. To Dominic, he had no clue what was being said, but he felt something stirring almost to his very core. The unknown language was quite possibly the most beautiful he had heard. The so-called romance languages had nothing on this one. He felt as if he could happily listen without understanding to it all day, but it quickly ended.

Ray smiled and began her tipping back and forward again, and said, "Wow. That's very good you know Terry." The other woman nodded and then looked to Dominic and asked, "So... what's your story?" As she asked this, a large, very fat man came waddling out of the kitchen. He was dressed in flip flops, shorts, an undershirt, and an apron that was covered in food splatters and stains. He carried a large plastic tray, that was piled with steaming plates. He smiled and said, "Ladies... sir. Lunch." He set the tray on a nearby table and placed three plates on the table. Each contained something different, and Dominic found himself looking at his favorite dish. The cook left only shortly in order to bring around three glasses, and a murky looking green glass bottle, which was covered in dust and webs. He uncorked it, and poured an amber liquid, which smelled divine to Dominic, into each glass. The cook left without a word.

Ray settled her chair properly on the floor. Both women bowed their heads, and closed their eyes, as their lips moved rapidly in unspoken words. Ray opened her eyes first, winked in Dominic's direction and dug in. Terry opened her eyes, and leveled them at Dominic. She didn't eat, but chose to watch Dominic, or was waiting for his answer.

____________________________________________

Violet lifted her eyes as he adressed her, and he found himself relieved that no screams were heard in his head. Maybe it wasn't her, and just some new symptom to worry about later. She looked at him for long enough for him to wonder if she was going to respond, before her attention drifted toward the paints. She shook her head, and looked shyly back toward Elliot. "No", she responded, "I don't like to paint. What do you like to be called? I like to be called Vy."

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and rubbed her bandaged wrists together, looking like she was trying to scratch something unreachable. She looked around the room again, and shook her head slowly as she said, "I shouldn't be in here." She looked back at Elliot and asked, "Do you believe in monsters?"

 

[Deleted User - 819397]

Michael had never felt quite so terrified. The occurrences of the last several minutes had temporarily broken the shell he had built up around himself in its entirety...and that scared him even more. He also now knew that the manuscript seemed to draw trouble...meaning it must be worth even more than anyone thought. Unfortunately, it was now somewhat burned, although, according to Janissary, the true secret of the manuscript was still intact. With this thought, Michael returned to the library.

Upon reaching the library, Michael unlocked the door, went in, and locked it again. He started heading for his office, then changed direction and instead headed to the basement. Precious works were kept and examined in the staff-only portions of the lower level, and the security was tightest in that area. If anywhere was safe to look at the manuscript, it would be there. He went all the way to the back (or as far as he could go with his clearance) and found the most out-of-the-way examination room possible, rearming the systems as he went. He then pulled the manuscript out, put gloves on, and gingerly opened the text. It seemed to fall open to a certain page. Sighing in relief as he realized it was Latin, a language he could read, Michael started to decipher the script.