Vladir Whitestripe, the headmaster of the ancient Watchers, sat rubbing his head in exhaustion. Much had happened to him and his allies during the past few weeks and it had all turned for the worse. Their entire cause and reason for existence had been broken in a mere day after over a couple of millennia of success. The once noble and proud Watcher Society had been nearly crushed completely by the sudden and merciless arrival of the Necromancer. He had proved to be too much for them to handle and not even the power of the Spirits was enough to stop him. The fact was made even worse, at least for Vladir, that the Necromancer had once been the star pupil at their academy. He knew everything that the Watchers did and always seemed to be one step ahead.

Since their near defeat, the Watchers had been hopelessly watching as the Necromancer threw his power over the planets of Valoria. The presence that they had upon them nearly vanished and were replaced with their enemy. Pleas for help constantly arrived at the Isle of Rifts, but the Watchers knew that there was nothing they could do in their present state.

Vladir looked up from his desk to view his extremely cluttered room. Overturned furniture lay scattered about the floor and countless numbers of documents were scrunched up in corners waiting to be read or signed. He had been trying to keep his emotions in check for the last few days, for when he did express his feelings it tended to cause strange side effects upon the island, however sometimes he couldn’t help it. The last outburst of his, though, nearly became disastrous. He had caused a massive tidal wave within the Water region that actually swept across the whole island. He had decided, with much distaste, to allow his disciples take over for him for a while. This, however, only added to his frustration. Now he was filled with the awful thoughts of the happenings upon the seven planets and only ended up putting him in an even more bitter mood.

Vladir stood up and sighed heavily as he walked over to one of the corners and snatched a paper from the stack. He quickly glanced over it, before turning it into a ball and causing it to vanish in thin air. It was just another plea letter, like most of the others probably were. He gave another look at the stack and with a shake of his head; he slowly walked back to his desk and slumped into his seat.

A soft knock sounded from the door and a gentle voice came from the other side, “Pardon me Headmaster, but may I have a word with you?”

Vladir leaned forward and stuck his head in his hands, before responding, “Just go away…I’m not in the mood for idle discussions.”

A loud creaking sounded from the door, as it was painstakingly pushed open against the debris that blocked it and a head popped through the slight opening. “I’m afraid it’s of an utmost importance, master.

Vladir looked back up to see who was intruding upon him, but then straightened himself, when he saw it was his closest disciple, Revel. “Ah…Revel. What is so important that you would interrupt my rest?”

Revel gave a slightly embarrassed look at his master’s disapproving tone. “Err…I just thought you’d like to know that I may have found something that may help us against the Necromancer, master. I found it within the confines of our library.” He pulled out a rather heavy looking book and handed to Vladir.

Vladir looked at it with disgust, before blowing upon its cover and coughing at the cloud of dust it created. “It appears to be rather old, Revel. What exactly is it?”

“It is a copy of the Valorian Chronicles, sir.”

Vladir gave a somewhat disturbed and confused look at his disciple and then suddenly laughed, “How is this supposed to help us, Revel? It’s just a bunch of gibberish that some insane Watcher created many generations ago.”

“That may be so, but there is a particular segment that might be of some interest to you. I marked it with a ribbon.”

Vladir opened the dusty book and found the page that his disciple had marked.

“Behold, that when the day shall arrive that the galaxies may lie in grave danger, seven perfects from the land of the non-users shall arrive and erase the darkness from existence.”

Vladir closed the book and then looked into the eyes of his disciple, “That was very interesting, but what does that mean to us?”

Revel pulled out a small, faded piece of parchment and handed it to Vladir, “This fell out of the page when I found the book. I’m afraid I couldn’t make much out of it, however.”

Vladir strained his eyes and then gasped in amazement, “This is written in the tongue of the Spirits! Nobody besides me knows how to even recognize it!” He stood up and almost ran over to another corner of his room and snatched a small device, before returning to his seat. He attached it to his head and then looked at Revel with complete seriousness, “It may take me a little while to decipher this. In the mean time, I want you to find the other headmasters and tell them that a meeting is in order. This may be exactly what we need and could possibly change the tide in this war. Now go and tell them to meet in the Discussion Room early tomorrow.”

And with that, Revel darted from the room.

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A lonely crow was flying in the dim light of the un-natural realm of the Dead. It was a place of waste and death, it was desolate and cold and it was the home of the Necromancer. He himself had somehow created the dreary place and he now ruled from it. A lone tower laid upon the edge of a gigantic cliff, allowing it to overlook the entire realm and it is where he dwelled. The Necromancer watched with a certain delight at the waste that lay beneath him. This is what the entire galaxy would look like when he took complete control. All he had to do was finish the remnants of the Watchers and it would all be his. The only trouble was that the Watchers had somehow been able to hide the entrance to the rift and it was the only thing impeding his total domination. He looked up into the starless sky and smirked, “It will only be a matter of time before I find you, Vladir. And when I do, I’ll make sure to be the last thing you ever see!”

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Sophia absolutely loved rush hour at the subway. It was the perfect time for one as skilled as her to make a tidy profit and she had planned to do just that. She walked quickly through the crowd, carefully eying for any juicy prey that she could find and then made a point to make contact with them. She used every customary tactic she could think of, the simple shoulder brush, the shaking of hands and the all-too-useful slip of the hand. She left the crowd after a couple of minutes and headed back up into the bright, dirty streets of New York. She strolled casually among the city-dwellers, inspecting the bounty of her work. A couple of wallets, an expensive wristwatch and even a diamond ring; it had been a fruitful day. She sighed with satisfaction as she stopped briefly at a hotdog vendor to spend some of her hard earned cash…she deserved to live alittle. She paid her bill and walked off, as she tore into the meal. It had been a good day for her and she figured that the rest of the day would prove the same, however, there were three men within that busy crowd who didn’t approve of her day job….

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Okay, here is the first post. Not the best perhaps, but the first post is always alittle shaky. Anyway, your first posts should be like this:

You may have your characters doing whatever you wish, but at some point my disciple, Revel, will find your Watcher and relay my message to you. Your “main” character can do whatever you wish them to do at this point. Okay…let’s get this thing rollin’.

[ Ingren ]

It didn't take but a moment for the words to leave the headmaster's mouth before Ingren himself appeared at his door, in a blur of the wind.  The wind was a fickle thing indeed, but it had been a good many years ago that Ingren had learned of the ability to listen in on the conversations of many people within the compound, sometimes all at once, and certain phrases tended to arrive in his ears if they were needed to, and as such, he did appear outside Vladir's door with but a knock on it, possibly catching him entirely off guard, but not purposefully.

"We have a meeting tomorrow, my good friend Vladir?  Really now?  I couldn't think of letting you have a meeting without first discussing this wonderful spell I've been working on... it'll be great, I can use it to keep a steady breeze through-out the compound, maybe even blow up the skirts a few cute young women, eh?"

A smile appeared on the old man's face, and he chuckled loudly before putting a stern gaze on Vladir's student, Revel.  Revel, much like the meaning of his name, party, was something of a difference from Ingren, but not much so, and before Vladir could even speak, the somewhat hyper-active Ingren popped up again.

"What's this, after-school training between master and student?  Why... I wish I had a personal apprentice after all these years as well, and so do my clothing... probably would be much cleaner, nicer, and otherwise easier life for myself.  Don't let him work you too hard, Revel, and if he does I'll teach him a lesson by making sure that his clothing blows in funny directions!"

Another laugh, and Ingren conjured up a seat of air for him to sit on as he waited for Vladir to even attempt to respond to his flurry of comments... meanwhile...

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[ Arsal ]

The streets were noisy, and yet inside, the young man was entirely silent.  Calm, calculated, utterly controlled.  All in white, yet definitely impure, tainted somehow; as though death itself curled about him in a more tangible garb and bestowed upon his weapon a singular trait or characteristic, making him unique.  Maybe it did, it was hard to say, as the young were often with their own idiosyncracies that the old could only attempt to understand from their own eccentric existences.  Yet Arsal was quiet as he prowled down the streets, his blade tucked underneath his white clothing, wrapped only slightly so that it might move and flow at the slightest touch.  He was a master swordsman, he was trained by the best, and knew exactly how to fight with it - he could even fight two handed if he wanted, but he didn't consider it his true art, to have one hand free to use to grab or dance about his field of battle.

Arsal was not in the least bit unnoticed; however, as his movements were cold and calculated, and other predators tend to notice an infringement upon their own territories.  So was it when the two men in black began to follow Arsal, their faces hidden behind masks of cloth, their symbolic arm tattoos showing a serpant, identifying them as one of the local street gangs, and one of the nastier ones.  Entirely self-assured, they approached Arsal from behind, and grabbed him on each shoulder, one speaking softly as he did.

"You'll come with us, you will learn what it means to prowl so arrogantly through our streets!"

But Arsal had known they were there, had known what was going on, and the moment they touched him, was already moving.  His body something of a blur, his right hand grabbed the blade from within his clothing, his body rolled forward and his left hand shoved off the ground propelling him into air, and with a spiral he landed in front of the two men in black, his blade directed at them, compelling them to move.  And move they did, their hands instantly reaching for what would most likely be either knives or guns, and Arsal knew better than to find out - from personal experience.  Without a sound, Arsal dashed forward with incredible speed, finding within him the cold center that his master had taught him to look for, and with two swift slashes, the two men found themselves without hands, and without a reason to continue being there.  With a look that threatened murder, Arsal scared off the two men, who ran bleeding back to whatever master the dogs were following, Arsal merely continuing along the same path toward probably the most notorious hang-out of gangs in the entire city, The Scorpion's Tail.

---

"... if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for Destruction Ice is also great
And would suffice."
- Robert Frost

Tama strolled across her private garden, the lush grass soft and cool beneath her bare feet. She paused at an archway and glanced around her chambers; her living quarters and classroom where in stark contrast to the cold stone hallways just outside her door. The room was filled with lush vegetation and sweet smelling flowers of a dizzying variety. The air hand a static feel to it, like pent up electricity just waiting to discharge, like the calm before a storm…

 

She sighed and turned away from the view, hopefully Vladir has found something that can save us; she had received his message an hour ago and now impatiently wanders her abode. “I don’t see why this has to wait until morning.” She muttered as she paced back and forth…

 

 

The abandoned parking lot rumbled and roared, the mass of speed freaks, gear heads, and just about anyone else looking to see a high speed, high stakes, and highly illegal street race. Men and women of all different back grounds shouted and mingled over the cacophony of the engines and the blasting music; dragsters, drifters, rice rockets… the lot was filled with just about any sort of racing vehicle you could think of. Tensions where high, the stakes where higher and Quaid loved it all.

 

“Yeah Blitz, Throttle’s calling you out; he raised the pot a full five kay saying he’ll leave you crying.” Nicky yelled over the scream of guitars blasting from someone’s car stereo next to them. “If you win this one you’ll be the crowned champion speed head in the City, then we can move on and show all of New York State just how fast you can go!” She screamed; she loved this almost more than he did. Quaid smirked, almost but not quite.

 

“Alright everyone listen up.” Jester shouted over the music as he stood on his truck. “Man, turn that *** music off, I said listen up!” the large black man glared down at the guy who finally shut off his radio. “Alright, I’ve been running these things for a good twelve years now and never before have I seen a race with more hype around it; there are a total of thirteen racers here tonight, an impressive number.” He paused for effect. “*** them; nobody cares; as far as we are concerned there are only two racers here tonight, the reigning champion Throttle.” Engines roared as half the crowd cheered and the other half booed. “And our new comer, he came out of nowhere less than a month ago and has been steadily knocking down everyone before him with blinding speed which has earned him his name… Blitzkrieg!” Once again the crowd erupted. “The pot has reached a staggering thirty-seven, thousand dollars winner takes all; the cash, the glory, and the title of fastest *** in all of New York City!” Jester whipped the crowd into a frenzy. “Alright I’ve talked long enough, racers get in your rides and lovely Miss Cynthia here will get your motors running!” The cheering shifted to cat calls as a beautiful bikini clad woman walked out in front of the lined up vehicles.

 

“Good luck!” Nicky shouted as Blitzkrieg slipped his helmet on and turned up his headphones… Blitzkrieg by Metallica... He always started a race with this song ever since he earned his nick name. Throttle mouthed something at him before dropping his visor down; Blitzkrieg shrugged and revved his engine, and with the drop of a pair of panties the racers where off to make history.

A man sat in a small room meditating.  Up in the rafters above, Kirin crouched silently.  He slowly pulled his swallow out from its sheathe on his back.  Kirin then leaped down and swung his weapon in a deadly arc at the man's head.  The man suddenly drew a knife out of the folds of his robe and blocked Kirin's blade.  He then leapt up, kicked out, and sent Kirin to the ground with a solid kick.  He rocked back on his heels laughing.  "You'll have to be quicker than that if you ever hope to kill me, boy." 

Kirin grimaced.  "Who would want to kill a doddering old fool like you?  I was just trying to wake you up.  You've been napping in here for most of the day."

The man grabbed a spear from one of the numerous weapons racks on the wall.  "You should have more respect for your elders.  Especially your father.  I suppose I'll have to teach you just what us 'doddering old fools' can do to young whippersnappers like you."  The old man charged at Kirin, spinning the spear wildly in front of him.

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Avatar a product of the amazing webcomic-year one. yearone.spiderspawn.com

Vladir nearly tipped over his chair at the sudden appearance of Ingren in his study. He tried to conceal his shock, for he knew Ingren to do such things on occasion, but it didn't go quite the way he wished it. He quickly wiped the dumbstruck look on his face, as it turned a bright angry red and he stared sternly into Ingren's eyes.

"Dang it, Ingren! How many times have I told you not to listen into my conversations!? And I think you should be thinking more about the future then how to use your powers for perverted reasons!"

He calmed himself then, taking slow breathes and straightening himself. He coughed once to clear his throat and then heaved a small sigh, as he continued. "As to your original question...yes, we are indeed holding an emergency meeting. It's topic may well decide the survival of the two galaxies, but until then I need complete silence. I have much work to do before the meeting and I'd perfer to be alone until then. So, if you don't mind..."

Vladir took out the paper that his disciple had given him and stared seriously at the strange symbols that lined it. "This is going to be one long night," he said with a certain zest, "Let's just hope it's not for nothing."

Vladir nearly tipped over his chair at the sudden appearance of Ingren in his study. He tried to conceal his shock, for he knew Ingren to do such things on occasion, but it didn't go quite the way he wished it. He quickly wiped the dumbstruck look on his face, as it turned a bright angry red and he stared sternly into Ingren's eyes.

"Dang it, Ingren! How many times have I told you not to listen into my conversations!? And I think you should be thinking more about the future then how to use your powers for perverted reasons!"

He calmed himself then, taking slow breathes and straightening himself. He coughed once to clear his throat and then heaved a small sigh, as he continued. "As to your original question...yes, we are indeed holding an emergency meeting. It's topic may well decide the survival of the two galaxies, but until then I need complete silence. I have much work to do before the meeting and I'd perfer to be alone until then. So, if you don't mind..."

Vladir took out the paper that his disciple had given him and stared seriously at the strange symbols that lined it. "This is going to be one long night," he said with a certain zest, "Let's just hope it's not for nothing."

[ Ingren ]

Without a moments delay he smiled and bowed, and in a sudden breeze disappeared just as quickly as he came, moving about on the wind as though it were nothingdarkg an experienced 10,000 year old being attuned to Wind did help when one wanted to do something like that, and when he re-appeared in his room he sat, beginning the meditation state which would allow him to sift through the winds that went through the entire facility, taking care to ignore the Headmaster's Room for just awhile, at least... until he figured it would become interesting again.

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

[ Arsal ]

The Scorpion's Tail was a dark place, a place where the darker elements of the city got together and planned some of the more under-handed plans were put into effect - such as the murder of the Master Swordsman, and probably the murder of Arsal's own parents.  So much was their influence, that Arsal doubted that any group would be sophisticated enough to kill his family without their get-go, and as such, carried incredible anger and rage repressed inside of him as he approached the bar, which was ironic it was called such considering that it was a dry nation that they were currently living in, a country without alcohol.  The establishment; however, was very much a busy and noisy place, with all sorts of betting, gambling, jobs, opportunities goines down while the owners of the bar sat back and watched it all go down.  The bartender, if his job befit that title, sat there and watched events unfold, motioning for enforcers to deal with certain problems that arose at different points of time, arguments, fighting, whatever it was it was quickly dispersed.  One look at Arsal, and the enforcers came around behind him while the bartender quickly spoke.

"You aren't welcome here, we saw you cut off the hands of our friends.  You either work for us, or you die now."

With one motion of his hand, the enforcers surged toward their allotted victim, but before they could draw their guns, in a blur Arsal's sword was out, and two thunks sounded accompanying two screams erupted from the throats of the now wrist-clutching enforcers.  Arsal's action did not remain unnoticed for long, as within moments all guns in the bar were now pointed at him, as the clientelle population shot down in moments, the bar being filled with only those who worked for the organization, which wasn't very many people, probably no more than a dozen.  Yet before they could open fire, Arsal shot forward - his scimitar at the bartender's throat before he could speak the words that would get Arsal killed.

"I know you were behind killing many people, and as the blade of death, I bring this justice upon your head."

His sword slit the throat, blood bubbling forth as the bartender gasped and chortled, falling forward with his last moments of life.  The other organization members; however, were not nearly as dead, and began to open fire on the prone swordsman.  A blur of white robes, Arsal shot beneath the counter, listening as the bullets shattered glasses and dug into the wall and counter itself.  For a good many moments this continued, until a short silence spurred Arsal into movement.  Jumping out from behind the counter, his sword was a blur in his hands, beheading one fighter as he rolled out of a quick gunshot, thrusting his blade into another.  Before he could pull his sword out from his most recent victim, one of the enforcers grabbed Arsal's left leg, and with a jerk of his leg, Arsal kicked the man in his face, pulling the blade out with his momentum and flipping in mid-air before springing out with a snap kick which broke the nose of the first enforcer to get near him, landing on both of his feet, two more slashes and two more heads rolled to the ground, before a bullet whizzed past and skimmed his shoulder, causing him to seize up for a moment, three of the enforcers grabbing him as he dropped his sword.

"You'll pay for this..."

Sadly a particularly burly one of the enforcers, cocking his gun at Arsal's head, a movement which would be lethal had Arsal still been there, for in a mere instant Arsal's entire body sprung upward, his feet smashing into their faces and managing to break their noses, before his feet then again sprung out, grabbing the throat of the third enforcer, snapping his neck with a swift crack.  Then, the blade once again in his hand, two more quickly following the man into the afterlife, the blade flashing quickly again to send a few more of Arsal's victims through the gates straight into hell.  Without pause, Arsal cleaned the weapon on one of the shirts of the now dead enforcers and sheathed the blade, looking about him at the carnage he left.  Blood splatter and headless corpses lay about the bar, and with a solemn expression, he carefully walked through the corpse field, leaving the bar without care.

 

---

"... if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for Destruction Ice is also great
And would suffice."
- Robert Frost

[Keris]

Keris sat at his desk, his computer booting up in front of him, the light casting strange shadows on his face. He had no classes this moring, and was using the time to browse the webcomics and forums he enjoyed. His apartment was small, and untidy, clothes, books, papers and rubbish littered the floor and the sheets of his bed were unmade. He sighed and turned back to the screen.

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

[Imhol]

Imhol sat in his galde, meditating upon the new from Vladir. A chill wind passed through the glade and imhol frowned. The Necromance was a icy wind destroying the beauty of the two galaxies, but hopefully would blow itself out. Imhol did not put much hope in the prophesy, but he felt like this was the time to be clutching at straws, if any such time existed.

---

A Good Deed is its own reward.
That, and getting to go to heaven.

[Faraleth]

faraleth sat against the wall mummbleing to himself, he knew that acting crazy would earn the sympathy and the money he needed, his trousers were torn and added to the effect, so far he had earned $2, about enough for a coffee and a sandwitch, once again he cursed his luck, he wished someone could save him from his self pity and the concreate jungle he was trapped in.

[Zen]

Zen was resting, he was peaceful, he had just finished his lunch of boiled rice and tea when there was a knock at the door, he sat up on the futon "来られる " he said, and the maid came in, "あなたに感謝しなさい " he said "それはおいしい食事だった " the maid nodded and said quietly "私はあなたがそれを好むコックに言う " and took the empty bowl and cups away. then Zen started to write his book, he liked Japan.

 

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[OOC]

For those of you without the knowledge of the Japanese language the characters say:

'Come in'

'Thank you'

'That was a tasty meal'

and 'I will tell the chef you liked it'

Although of course with much worse grammar due to excessive translator use.

---

A Good Deed is its own reward.
That, and getting to go to heaven.

is anyone playing on this thread?

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