nethgros

"I have no name," he responded, "I left that behind when I left the Qun." With that said, his meat arrived, gifted by this newcomer. He nodded toward him in recognition of his gift, and began to eat.

Name: Rend Occupation: Agent of Hircine Age: 25 Gender: Male Race: Imperial (perhaps?) Usually appears in Werewolf form Personality: Rend was bred by Hircine for the sole purpose of carrying out his will. His personality is a best nonexistent, and at worst bloodthirsty. Weapon: Good old fashioned Lycanthrope attacks Appearance: 8ft, lupine, dark brown hair covering the whole of his body. Not many have lived to see him walk in his mortal form, though they say he looks just as savage as his wolf form. Armor: Good old fashioned lycanthrope hide, with regenerative properties of course. History/Biography: He was still in his mothers womb when she was sacrificed to the Daedric Lord Hircine. His should was transported to the Hunter Grounds, where Hircine took this great opportunity and raised this infant as his own. Rend grew up knowing Hircine as a father, master, and benefactor, capable of giving him anything he desired for unflinching loyalty. He of course was raised in his beast form, and virtually never shifted to his human self. He grew to believe that his true self was the wolf, and the man was simply a disguise he could use when needed. For 18 long years Hircine taught him everything he needed to know about anatomy, weaponry, deceit, tactics, and hunting so that one day he could do his bidding on the mortal plane. With the Empire in shambles, Hircine has deemed his the perfect time for Rend to take what he wants. Villain character? :devil:

He was definitely in his element, with booze everywhere there was nothing more that Dylan could want. He figured he might as well just live here, behind the bar, with an unlimited source of EVE derived from his gene tonic and these drinks. He actually got so excited that he began setting the room ablaze, just because he could. Drink some, burn some; drink more, burn more. It wasn't long before he was completely smashed, and the room was burnt everywhere but the bar. He fell over, and it all went black..

He patted the dog on the head and turned his attention to the owner , who continued staring, even as he stood right here. He stood up, his horns grazing the ceiling, and spoke to the human, "The finger of suspicion is not unknown to me, woodsman, but for once it would be nice to just be able to do something without one of you preparing to defend yourselves. As if you could hold your own against me anyhow. If you are so interested, then come sit." With that he walked back and sat down in his too-small chair next to the elves and the weirdo. ( :tongue: )

The bathysphere didn't take long to get to the Kashmir Restaurant, and soon surfaced at the entrance. Dylan got out, looked about, and stood still for a good two minutes, listening. He deduced it was relatively clear (for a war zone) and walked toward the main bar, where all his needs were awaiting him behind a wooden counter.

Why do we have so many sign-ups, and so little RP?

After he finished his champagne, Dylan went to his cabinet to grab some more drinks, when he realized that he had only the rest of his half empty bottle of vodka! This would not do, not at all. At All. He grabbed his vodka, tied it with a chain, and tied the chain to his belt loop, ready to set off to the Kashmir Restaurant for some more drinks. He walked out the door, locking it behind him, and down the hall toward the main stairwell that led to the groundfloor and the bathysphere. As he descended the steps to the groundfloor, all the splicers who saw him cowered from his presence, as all the inhabitants of the Olympic Heights knew of the Demon. He reached the groundfloor without incident, though it seemed as though a rather far-gone splicer had taken up residence inside the bathysphere. This was easily remedied with the help of his trusty revolver. Dylan was now on his way toward a grand reunion with his booze, and the Kashmir.

Dylan's Prologue He loved Rapture and all it had to offer, especially since 'they' had given him the power of a god when they allowed him to choose what plasmid he wished to test. He of course chose the Incinerate plasmid, as fire was somewhat of a hobby of his, if such a thing could be said of combustion. They had even given him a beautiful apartment in the very high class Olympic Heights, which he loved dearly. He was in his apartment during the incident at the Kashmir Restaurant, but he heard the screams before he even heard the announcement. It was simple to him to blame Atlas and his lackeys; as if Ryan had brought this upon himself -preposterous! Of course something had to be done about it, so he grabbed his revolver distributed to him by his benefactors at Ryan Industries -and his pocketknife from home- and headed out the door to get things settled. But the riot had spread like wildfire, and already the splicers and Atlas lackeys were storming the complex here at Olympic Heights. Not that it mattered, since it just made it easier for Dylan to find them, and make them burn... Olympic Heights, Feb 10, 1989 It was days like this when he was so glad he opted for that Booze Hound gene tonic: allowing him to replenish his precious EVE with just some delicious alcoholic beverage. He always hated it before the riots, but these days it was all that kept him from ending up a playboy for some splicer. He had burned up the whole hall outside his apartment door, and all the splicers had learned weeks ago not to mess with Dylan Hill. Yet, every once in a while you get a group of crazy guys who figure that all that power must mean a ton of ADAM; so they're drawn like a moth to a flame (or a morphine addict to a free clinic). A few hours ago he heard a real polite voice outside his door asking if he had any food to spare. No way that wasn't a splicer, but he figured he may as well play along -he was in a good mood. As he opened the door he fired his revolver straight between the guy standing right in front of the door, but the two standing on each side of him lunged quick enough to knock Dylan to the ground. The third, and last of them walked over and kicked the gun away. The first two picked him up and threw him against the wall. It would've been simple to just kick them off, raise his hands, and let them all roast, but he hated the thought of ruining his beautiful apartment. Looks like this was going the hard way. "So you got any last words, demon?!" The guy who kicked his gun (and seemingly the head honcho) barked at him. "Yeah. You prefer medium, or well done?" Dylan responded with a swift kick straight to his stomach, elbowed the man on his left, and received a rather brutal punch in the face from the one on his right. As he stumbled from the blow, it gave him a chance to reach into his pocket and whip out his knife, which he gifted to the eye of the one who punched him. He tunrned just in time to catch what would've been a devastating punch to his jaw, and snapped the arm of the other lesser splicer. Turning to the leader, Dylan charged for a seemingly outrageous attack. Though, just as he neared, he stopped in front of the boss-man, which caught him off guard, as he expected something more. But this was right where Dylan wanted to be, and he bent over and picked up his gun, much to the horror of the splicer. He turned, shot the man with the broken arm, and turned back to the last one standing. "Grab that one," he said pointing to the splicer he just shot, "and drag him into the hallway." He walked over to the body with his knife in the socket, retreived his knife, and carried the body out behind the other splicer. They piled up the three body's and Dylan said to the last, "Once again, do you prefer medium, or well done?" "Oh God, please no!" "Yeah... I'm more of and extra crispy guy myself." And with that Dylan pointed his fingers at the splicers, and despite the horrified shrieks of protest, proceeded to cleanse his hallway of the filth -adding another four crunchy souls to the many inhabiting his hall with blackened walls, floors, and ceiling. He walked back inside, sat down, and poured himself a glass of fine champagne. It was days like this he was glad he opted for that Booze Hound gene tonic.

Bravo! Excellent work! Well worth the wait. I'll get mine up there too before I doze off.

Found a great spot for lore, just in case :wink: http://bioshock.wikia.com/wiki/Rapture Since the Sh't happened 12/31/58 when should we start?

Everyone was looking at him, but it didn't really matter; everyone always looked. He had been sitting with his back to the door, but whoever had just walked in had caught the attention of the two at his table. He turned his head to see a man with a heavily scarred arm -much more so then either of his- and a mabari hound, who were both staring at him. He had seen the ferocity and loyalty the mabari had possessed first hand, many times, and this dog was focused intently on him. He reached out his hand, open and level to the dog's snout, and kept his eyes on him, just to see how it might react.

I think I'll reprise my role as Dar'Krinji, just got to find his sheet. :pirate: Edit: Lost the sheet :facepalm: I think I sent it to you Soul

He returned the elf's faint smile with one of his own when the white haired mage came back over and offered a greeting. Of course he couldn't actually return the introduction if he wanted to, as he had no name, which he relayed quite bluntly. "I am no one, anymore. My past is gone, and my name with it. You may keep your hands by your side, human." It wasn't a very hostile tone, but neither hospitable. It was simply a 'matter-of-fact' statement.

So how many people do you want before the RP begins?

So how many people do you want before the RP begins?

He chuckled slightly at her reference of him as a Qunari. "The Qunari have no business here, as you well know. And I am just as separate from the Qunari as you are. Though, if your Warden work here involves the Deep Roads, I would greatly enjoy accompanying you." He leaned back in the relatively tiny chair, a stoic look crossing his face.

The RP'ing has been calling me back, so I've been thinking that I'll just join every RP I can. Anyhow, I think it might be nice to rejoin this high-quality TES RP.

Name: Dylan Hill Age: 27 Gender: Male Race: Native American (NorthEastern) Personality: Laidback, casual, informal, bordering on crude. Doesn't care for anything he has no need for. Weapon: Advanced Incinerate! Plasmid, revolver, pocket knife. Appearance: 5'8 with a muscular build. Defined jawline and cheekbones, not altogether un-handsome. Tanned skin, short unkempt brown hair. Clothing: Basic white tee and jeans. Keeps his gun in one pocket and his knife in the other. History/Backround: Born on a reservation in New York, Dylan was a very bright and talented lad, which allowed him to rise above the descrimination experienced by his people at the time (Bioshock is in somewhere between 1920-50 yeah?). While studying Pre-med, he was chosen by Rapture officials to test plasmids, based on his records given to them by the school. He accepted, and was whisked away to Rapture for testing. A few months after arriving, things started to get pretty hectic though, and it seemed like war was coming to the best place on Earth...

Edit: double post

Seems as though it could be promising. Name: Del Tuphun Alignment: Chief of a Neutral village, named Poluk, in a high mountain pass on the border of the Khergit Stepps and Vaegirs territory. Place of Birth: Poluk Description: Del has many Khergit features, including tanned skin, brown hair, and brown eyes. He keeps a clean shaven face and head. Status: Chief of Poluk Equipment: He has a large warm fur coat due to the climate of the mountain pass in which Poluk resides, a warm cotton shirt and pants, large fur boots, and a warm hood attached to his coat. He has a large knife he keeps in a sheath attached to the inside of his coat. He has a beloved horse named Khin, who is his greatest companion, as per Khergit customs. The saddle for his horse has a quiver, and nomad bow attached, which Del wields with deadly proficiency on horseback. Background: Born to the old Chief of Poluk, Del was always in line to rule this village. Most of the village has a Khergit culture, though it is modified to work within the confines of the mountain, as well as breeding their own specialized horses for the harsh environment. Del grew up in the snow with his horse and his bow, off on cold adventures whenever he wasn't learning official duties from his father. After the passing of his father, Del took over the village, and currently resides there.

I always respect a good warrior background, and that is just about as good as it comes. Applause!

"So what are you here for then, Warden?" he asked her, with a slight nod toward her introduction.

"I am Tal-Vashoth, and I left my name when I left the the Qun. The reason I can sense your taint it related to the reason I am Tal-Vashoth - the Fade." He took a seat in one of the chairs that were woefully too small for him, allowing his claymore to touch the ground as he rested his hands on it.

"Like me? I have no right to be here either. As your little puppet pointed out, the Qunari and Kirkwall have a rather tenuous relationship at the moment, if any relationship at all." He paused for a moment, looking at the elf as though for the first time as her arm moved ever so slightly, hinting at a defensive move. "Then again, I am no Qunari, as a have turned my back on the Qun to persue truth. You are not my enemy, though you bear their taint. You must be Grey Warden."

By the time he reached the table they were all staring at him, not that it really mattered, as that happened all the time. The one he was looking for was the female elf with a tattooed face - she had the taint. He looked down and addressed her with the deep, monotonous voice so recognizable of his people. "You," he said as he nodded his head in her direction, "You smell of death and impurity. You do not belong here."