wildsider316

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My little homage to horror movie maniacs !

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Look out Jason and Micheal, there is a new masked murderer in town

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I'm really hoping they put the rusted blades in the DB set since they would be perfect for him and look better than just coloring the Falcattas to look rusty.

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That 3rd pic looks sick, not bad .

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"I'll feel pretty, oh so pretty, just pretty and witty and..."

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Anger Management 2: Recluse's Rehab
Starring: Jack Nicholson and Lord Recluse.

Dr. Buddy Rydell: Now then we need to go over some ground rules. You are to refrain from any any acts of violence including verbal assault and vulgar hand gestures. You may not use rage enhancing substances, such as caffeine, nicotine, alcohol, crack cocaine, slippy-flippy's, jelly stingers, trick sticks, bing bangs or flying willards.

Lord Recluse: How 'bout fiddle-faddels?

Dr. Buddy Rydell: Under my supervision. Also, if you are unable to stop world dominating please, do so without the use of any pornographic images depicting quote, unquote 'angry sex.' That having been said, I'm a pretty good guy and I think you'll be pleasantly surprised how much fun we can have together.

Lord Recluse: Geez, without slippy-flippy's or world dominating I don't see how that's possible.

Dr. Buddy Rydell: Sarcasm is anger's ugly cousin... from now on, unacceptable.

The Manipulator, that magnificent bastid .
A man who could put Ethan Hunt and James Bond to shame.

I must say, not bad.
I'm at a loss for other words.
Well done .

When I saw this topic, the very first thought that came to me was "LeRoyyyyy Jennnkinnnns!!!!!", a tanker friend of mine sometimes yelled that when we were ready for a HUGE fight .

Standing tall and strong with a cocky lean, head bowed. His wide-brimmed dark duster hatpulled low, covering at a tilt half his face, by contrast highlighting his bearded lightly tanned skin. WildSide grinned as he thought of the irony.

"It was right here I dusted off a Hellion punk from mugging a young lady, 'bout a year ago to this day." He spoke softly, with a light chuckle, leaning against the outside wall of Atlas Park First National Bank. "She said her name was Linda, and that she hoped her kids grew up to be just like me. Hm, times I miss those days." His voice a mixture of happiness and sadness.

A year ago, WildSide walked through the streets of Paragon City, defending the fair citizens from the evils of the city as best he could, with the rest of the Bone Thugs at his side. Back then, they were heroes, they were cheered. Autographs, pictures, small parties, good times. In the blink of an eye, it was all over. No more cheers, at least few at the courtroom, but it didn't matter. Imprisoned with the very villains he helped put away in his earlier heroic days. Skulls, Hellions, even the very same Hellion that mugged that Linda lady, he was there still.

"Damn spiders." WildSide thought, as he saw Arachnos soldiers storming through the yard of the Zig, Paragon's prison. He had heard of Arachnos when he did the hero thing, he heard they were some big organization off the east coast. An island that was once a Frence piece, with all sorts of hell and hard times all over it, twenty-four seven. With a crew of four, with a head leader, some criminal mastermind named Recluse. The other four were equally as odd. A fish-man named Mako, an Egyptian-looking man with electricity and a sword named Scirocco, a tin can with a tail named Black Scorpion. But the one that struck at his sympathetic strings on his heart, was Ghost Widdow. He didn't know why, he just felt sorry for her. Maybe just his compassion for the ladies.

He had heard of this "breakout" for a few weeks to the day, he didn't like the thought of owing Arachnos anything, but he was used to being a little crafty, so he played along, swallowing his pride. The first inmate he took down, was that very Hellion, guess it just isn't his year. Planting the bomb was chilling his nerves a bit, but to get out and get back to fighting his fight, he had no choice. "Funny how the cops go into action when you are the target, and not when your on their side." The thought was as much a pain as it was humorous.

Soon after leaving the Zig, WildSide and his new "friends" landed in the Rogue Isles, a place called Mercy Island, a place looked like a snow globe of hell all settled down. Khalinda, a very mysterious woman, cold as ice at first. Maybe she could see into his heart, maybe she saw his intentions for Arachnos. It didn't matter, she took him under her wing anyway. Since then, WildSide has had to do many, many, un-heroic missions and tasks, sometimes helping Arachnos against the very heroes he otherwize might have teamed with. When he robbed banks in Paragon City, he set the largest part of the haul aside for helping Paragon City rebuild any damages he, and other "delightful" fellows of the Isles may do. He kept the rest as part of payment due for his troubles inside hell.

"In my heart, I have never abbandoned the people of Paragon City, and I never will. If I have to go through hell to get back, if I can show them that justice and peace are never cleanly obtained or freely kept, then hopefully, I'll be forgiven, and be able to forgive myself, for the sins I had to commit on the way." He whispered with passion, a few tears breaking free, as burning cop cars littered the quarentined section of Atlas Park, along with an unconcious cop, and a Bone Daddy with his katana sticking through him, and s young woman, cowering in fear at WildSide's feet. It was Linda, she was gazing up at her hero, she in her heart, never abbandoned him.

She broke a smile free from her terror-stricken face, she knew he was the reason all this had happened, she was nearly heartbroken for her knight in shining black armor. But it wasn't a heartbreak for what he had done, but of what he was forced to do. She knew he wasn't a bad man, a bad man wouldn't have saved her from that Hellion, or cared to visit her when her child had come home from the hospital. He was truly a good man, just in a bad place, forced to do bad things. All she knew at this very moment, for just a moment, is that she was with her hero again. He smiled a warm smile at her, through his tears. "Greetings, Linda." They were on a first name basis, though she didn't know his. They held each other's gaze as he helped her up by hand, not moving from his lean. Her terror fading, she stood there for a moment, then threw her arms around him, hugging him tight.

"I missed you too." He whispered as he hugged her back. Moments later, he faded into the shadows as more Longbow arrived. She held her arms close to herself, holding that moment in her mind and heart. She whispered a prayer for him as he darted in a shadowy flash, and just like that, he was gone. Linda stood there, amidst the mayhem, looking at the spot where WildSide's sword once was, and praying, that someday, he and his friends would be welcomed back home, welcomed back in Paragon City.

I put down a twelve pack of old brew, the kind that goes stale from sitting in a fridge that dont quite cool enough. I dont mind it so much, beer is beer to me. I wont be the one at any of those brew tasting resorts. You get me there, and I wont know the difference between Bull Light and Silver Train Brisk....a lauger or a ... a .. hell, I dont even know what else you would call a brew.
I drink beer. I like beer. Beer is beer. What the heck is the difference between dark and ... and.. not dark. All goes down the same.
My sniper just lays back on the sofa, guess he felt fighting for the bed wasnt worth it. I look to the bed and see why he felt that way.
Guess I should have cleaned it since I last was here. Good ole memories of Sandy Sandra, the blonde snitch I knew who ran with the Outcasts. She aint around no more though.
What were you thinking? Get your mind out the gutter, we were playing cards and she spilt her chocolate drink all over the sheets. Made for an ugly stain that I am sure Chance has no idea, nor want to know, of what it is. I dont care, its all dry now, and the bed will lay well enough.
As far Sandy Sandra, well, she is deader than hell now. Dont rightly know how or why it happened. I just know I was asked to identify her body, seeings as I knew her so well. Bullet to the head shut her lashed shutters for good. Gonna miss her, may have to reopen that case and track down the dirty bum that did that to her.
I hear steps before even Chance hears them, and I sit up in the bed. Not sure how long I was out for, but safe to say it aint morning yet since its so dark. I dont know if the sniper catches the sound too, or he hears me when I get out of bed, but I hear the couch creak a bit as he gets up, the only sound he makes. I dont hear or see him for a bit after that as I make my way to the door. Its only a few steps away, but seems like a mile when it seems something bad may well be on the other side of it.
Just as I grab the nob to turn it I find out where Chance is, he pats my shoulder gently, getting my attention.
Man we will be lucky if I dont kill him from scaring me before this mission is over.
He motions me to open the door from the side, and sets up as well a bit off to the side as he takes aim on the doorway. Guess he caught me making a rookie mistake, but hell, as I said before, aint much will hurt me so I dont worry on too much. Just is what it is.
I turn the nob but it dont budge. Dammit, I forgot to unlock it. I do that carefully, but it seems the mechanisms within scream out an alarm to anyone listening.
I just swing the door open now, no use in being quiet I think. If its a professional out there, he will know we are trying to welcome him. If it aint, well, he is a dead sonofabitch anyway.
Chance just looks, I can barely see his expression in the dim light. By his looks I can tell he sees nothing. I poke my head around.
Nothing and no one.
I look back to Chance who motions me to get back again. I do, its his type of fighting so I dont step on his toes on it. If it were who can widdle an appendage fastest I would be showing him tricks.
Still nothing. Chance however doesnt move. He watches, patiently. My patience is ebbing away, but I am getting a feeling now that it may be what whoever is on the other side of the door wants. This of course increases my patience.
Time passes...and passes.
I see the hand as it slips the object in, and I half think to jump out after whoever it is. Chance however moves quickly and grabs the grenade, and tosses it back out. He kicks the door closed as he rolls away.
The explosion blows the door back open, and makes a nice hole in the wall I am leaned against. Splinters poke out of my skin, giving me a porcupine look now.
Pisses me off, and I know its time to get to work.
Chance fires bursts of quick rounds at the smoke filled doorway. I hear grunts and know he was right to fire there. I am pissed now though, and my claws almost pop out on their own, with little thought to back them.
I enter the hall, not really caring if Chance agrees with my tactics or not. I get to work, doing what I do best. Slice, dice, hell, they can open cans when I want them to.
I drop a good half dozen of these bums to the floor fairly quickly, even as I hear rounds of fire from behind me. I dont meet their eyes, thats a sucker play. Instead I watch their hands and feet, and from there just know where the vitals are.
I hack and slash. Its my way.
I dont feel the pain so much as the pressure, and the flinging back of my body. I hit the end of the hall hard, head first almost into the wall.
Someone played home run with my noggin, and I didnt even see it coming. Sloppy sloppy.
What this chump didnt know was that it takes more than that to keep ole Grim down, and as my head clears I see he is focused on the pretty boy now. He takes some hits to the chest from a quick burst of the rifle, but he shrugs them off. I can see why, as it looks like some kind of rock armor covers him. In his hand isnt a bat at all, its his hand. Its also made of rock.
He cleared the path...meaning me, and in rushes the gang. Damn, I should not have used this old hideout. Too late now. I have to get to work, earn my pay and my keep. Cant let LaRue take it the hard way.
I scramble back into the frey, much I guess to everyone elses surprise.
I am so unappreciated at times I think.
I wade through once live bodies, live till I cut them with precision. I wade to the one that hit me in the head with that rock fist.
He sees me coming and stops his charge on Chance. Didnt matter, Chance had his own problems now as I see him kick back some of the gang members getting close to him.
Rock boy smiles at me, and I just grin back at him. What he dont know is, he is about to die. I got no patience for his kind, the kind that like to home run my head into a wall.
He swings hard, like the brute he is. I just dodge him easy enough, and weave into a swipe across his stomach.
I only find rock armor, but these claws of mine swipe away a good chunk of it. He grunts disapproval, but I cant give him another swipe. I am jumped on by more Outcasts, and have to deal with them.
Three more, then another three more are ontop of me. I cut, slice, dismember....everything one can do with claws that can cut through almost anything. When I am done I search for "rock boy".
He is gone. Chance is looking out the window to the gulch.
"I fired on him as he went out the window. Where I hit him, he should be dead." Chance said calmly. "Nice armor he had on."
I look out the window too, and see the blood. I didnt just cut armor, I cut into him as well from the blood I see.
We dont talk anymore, just pack up and prepare to move on. Cant stay here now, we are marked. We came here to hunt own Lucian, but now we are being hunted. No help or back up to call in the Gulch. Everyone here has their own worries.
Just have to move on, and try and find Lucian. Wont be easy, but he is out there. He is too cocky to leave the Hollows.
He thinks its his.
We are going to try and prove him wrong.

I lean against the wall, the moon poking out now from the clouds. High clouds, the ones that tell you winter is coming, and snow and ice is only a whisper of a degree away. I dont much care, the cold dont really affect me. I am a mutant with the power to heal at high rates, and with that comes a bit of a higher temperature, and high degree of tolerance to any weather.
Except the rain. I hate the rain. It gets me all wet, as rain is suppose to do. I am fine mind you, till you get my feet wet. Once you get my feet wet, well, you then have a pissed off Grim Iron to deal with.
No one likes dealing with a pissed off Grim Iron.
Chance is poking about, says he wants to get an idea of what we are up against down here in the guff. Hell, if he dont know then maybe he is the wrong one to have brought along. We are up against gang members, and thats about that for that.
I cant even light a cigar, as the smoke would be too much of a tell tale sign of us being here. That I agree with, and dont say much of nothing when he springs that on me.
I dont hear him come back, and have to catch myself before I cut him hind to head when he pops out of the shadows in front of me.
"Got a head count, and it aint good. We wont be getting to Lucian very easily," he says. I just nod. I know he is right, and no amount of grandstanding and chest poking out of mine would make it different.
I didnt like him being right on this, I wanted to simply get in and kill the bum. Wont be happening tonight. We will need a plan I guess. I aint the one to come up with this one. Sure, if it was a plan of cutting them down in nose to nose battle I am your man.
Stealth and hiding, well, that was why they sent Chance. I am just the meat between him and the bad guys if things get out of hand. I wonder if they even care of the Grim Iron even makes it back sometimes. They say I am hard to keep in check.
Guess its cause I dont throw led from a mile away and solve the problems like the sniper does. With that thought, I suppose the powers that be should be keeping an eye on the ones like ole Chance. Disgruntled snipers would be bad, since they can kill you with a shot from a rifle, you never hearing the blast, nor seeing the fire. Just plop, your dead, with everyone wondering why your head just exploded like that.
I chuckle at the thought, drawing an eye from ole Chance. I shake my head in an assurance it was not a jest at him. He just nods. I dont think he is too sure of me either. Guess he knows I got my own quick draw.
"We will set up tomorrow night, but we need to lay low till then," he says.
I just nod, and agree. I know of a spot, and motion him to follow. It will be a bit cramped, but oh well. It has a fridge and beer, or so it should.
I can use a beer right about now.

"They want you to fight crime. They want you to make the city safe. They want justice to be done.......but they want it done THEIR way.

I did my job.
I stopped those men.
I saved that family.
So what if I had to kill that blood-suckin' cowardly Vampyre to do it.

They asked me to do a job, then cursed me for how I got the job done. They think freedom and justice is free and clean. They think peace is easy. They think evil will go away just by caging it.

They want peace, prepare for war.
They want freedom, prepare to pay the price.
They want justice, prepare for blood.

It all started with a ringing cellphone. Agent Thomson told me about something big going down in Peregrin Island. A small war had begun between Malta and the Council. A welthy man and his wife and daughter were caught in the middle. Turns out the man was a contributer to the Malta Corp, and the Council would make them their first target.

They attacked their home in Founder's Falls, and kidnapped the wife and kid. At risk of getting arrested for his connection, he sent out a call for help. Low and behold, the Bone Thugs answered the call.

We tracked down the Council to a warehouse in the island, little did we know we were being tracked by a small click of Malta agents. Seems we weren't completely trusted, and irony could be a <bleep!> sometimes. We iced the Council gards no problem, made our way in, and got the layout of the situation. Twelve on nintey-six, stretchy, but do-able. A small army just for us? Guess they were expecting Malta instead, lucky them.

The structure was made like any other warehouse, a slight maze, but fairly straight-forward. But this building had a twist: lots of Spider symbols sprayed over with red "X"s. It was a prototype Arachnos base in Paragon City taken over. They were scattered methodicly, so it made our task a tad easier(staight numbers, we'd be gone). We split up into teams of six, and went to work.

Finally, we got to the main room. As our resident human-calculator figured, the score was now twelve to sixteen. We were battered, bruised, and almost empty of ammo, so we kicked in the nitro for one last blast. Storming the final members of the Council, it was neck-in-neck for quite a bit. We got down to the last few, the head was a Vampyre name Archon Mortose. A devastating figure in a group, but as his group dwindled, so did he. In an act of despiration, he dove for the wife and kid.

This is where it started to fall appart. In a like-wize act of despiration, I dove at him, dicing him just a few feet from the family. No shock, not much remorse, just a job done, and lives saved. It was then we were beset by the Malta agents tailing us. Exausted, physically and mentally, we didn't stand a chance.

We awoke in prison. Turns out the "call for help" was real, but the "reward" was falsified charges, Zig-time, and a tarnished record, and complete deniability. We still had the thanks of his wife and kid. They had no idea of what really happened, but we later found out that it was all a settup to kill Archon Mortose, for Arachnos. Libral lawyers and a well-paid judge sealled the deal.

Time in the Zig changed us all. Our powers, our abilities, but not our spirits, or our drive to see justice done. We were busted out by Arachnos, because of the "destined ones", destiny for Arachnos.....is it's destruction, it'd downfall, and it's final justice.

Whatever sins we commit in the eyes of the "gud guys", when this is done, we will be either vindicated, or punished. Either way, good or bad, we get the job done, and will have gotten the job done."

Where are all the rp groups???!
I have yet to run into anyone rp'ing to be honest!

Anyway...rp'ing around the costume is fairly easy, in my humble opinion.
*You created your own and you are still working on your next design. If asked about washings, here is your reply..."Yes, i washed it, its why i was gone this morning between 8am and 10am (server down)...it was at the cleaners!"
Bcast is easy...ignore it or turn it off....everything you need in an rp group will pretty much be within that group. Unless of course you get disconnected because of server repairs, but then come on, who logs off before they are tossed anyway?

I guess one of the big mech probs I see that may be hard to get around is AoE powers that dont affect your party. Mind you, I understand the reasoning and am nto in any way complaining, just saying its hard to explain why a grenade affects the two criminals standing by you but you are unaffected.
"The greater beings are on our sides!"

Anyway..whatever I cant explain away in rp....I simply ignore! Didnt happen, cant prove to me it did!
No, i wasnt standing there in the blast...smoke..what smoke coming off my cape?
Why yes I did fall off of that skyscraper..no..no powers other than my bow and arrows.....well....yes....I am dead...but uhm....you see, my tights have a radiance of resurrection that..blah blah blah....

Who brings you to the hospital when you are killed?
Why do the contacts never move? I mean come on, they have to stink by now!
Why do criminals carry around so many enhancements for things they dont use?
How come you go on two missions but use the same door?
What exactly are those pink force fields between cities....further-more...why are they sooooo...pink?
How come I can run faster when I get a better vid card!? lol...

Anyway...not really wondering or worried about these things, just tossed them in for fun and laughs. The servers are great to the eye, and fun to play within.

If you are looking for a scrappy rp scrapper, or brainy Controller...please look up Grim Iron or Dr Sanction!

"It was Lucias and his crew," I tell Chance, who knows precisely who I mean. He just nods, and I know Lucias wont be making it to the end of this mission. Or he will be the end, and the end for him. This sniper Chance dont have patience for the criminal world, and he will pop their heads liike squeezed fruit just for the hell of it.
He was just the guy I needed.
Guess he has some kind of vendetta, he dont offer the why and I dont ask.
"Cant you put that damn cigar out?" He asks me, and I just ignore him.
Lucias, everything a man would want in a criminal, if you were sent to find him, and take him in, dead or alive. And you already know he will be dead.
Killer, torturer, does things to women that makes seriel killers look like poster boys for cereal boxes. I dont mind saying this instance I am none to sad to have this sniper with me.
His gang is an offshoot of the bigger gang of Outcasts, but he plays both sides of the fence with the trolls. Word on the street has him as a mutant that tried their serum, but wasnt turned into a troll himself. However, it did increase the suckers streangth. Doesnt matter, if I get close enough to him with these claws, he aint walking away to do anymore bank heists.
Chance is all packed and walking out before I can finish much of a thought. His sleek attire and stealthy steps make him almost a ghost in the shadows, and I know I best kick some pavement if I dont want to lose him.
Damn pretty boys, I tell you, they have a hell of an attitude when it comes to their jobs. They like to make sure they look good while they do it.
I just like to get it done in a timely fashion. Got a brew waiting at home, and probably one of my girlfriends from Tito's Tavern just aching to be my next tall drink.
Its a hope I allow myself.
As we get down to the exit of the building we were in, we run right into a dozen or so of Lucian's boys.
What the hell is the odds of that? Apparently I was wrong about Macky, and he snitched on me. Dont much matter I suppose, my bones have been aching for the work-out.
Luckily for us Lucian is just cocky enough to not run. Maybe this is better anyway, up close and personal.
No time is wasted, they come on us like a wave over the beach. Chance has some good moves, for a pretty boy, and he uses them well enough to back the boys off so he could unsling his shooter.
Me, well, my six claws pop out of my iron hands, and they know its time to work.
No one-on-one or waiting for someone brave to come near me. Hell no, I dont work that way. Right into the thick of them I go, and my claws get busy. I shred the first the ones face, and he falls in screams. God I enjoy hearing them scream, I have to wonder what that says of me.
The next one nearest me loses a knee, as I kick it so it bends the wrong way, but no knee replacement for him. I gut him and let him drop, knowing from the feel of it all that he wont be getting back up. The other claw swings higher, ripping out a throat and ripping off a shoulder of another in the single swing.
By this time they are thinking better of this situation, and some start to run. The braver ones though rush me all at once.
Its then I do my favorite move, and spin in the air, my razor sharp claws following one another in a broad circle, landing low to the ground, one hand holding my body up in almost a half push-up.
As I stand they all fall, some dead, others dying. Pending on their height I suppose.
I dont have much more work to do, Chance is already capping the others with a silenced rifle. Looks like the camping knife of all guns, and I have to wonder if it has a can opener.
It has a grenade launcher, and I dive out of the way as it blows to peices the rest of the gang members.
I stand shaking my head, the ringing sounding like an incoming yellow line on a foggy day.
Chance just begins undoing his rifle, not paying me a second glance. He doesnt have a single dust particle on his uniform.
Damn pretty boys.

I light the cigar with ease, though my partner Chance looks at me like I am crazy. I am tracking down one of the criminals that robbed the bank in Paragon, he worries the smoke will set them off.
Crazy pretty boy. We only have to get so close, and he will take his pea shooter and put a hole in as many of them as he can. I seen him use it, so I am doubting I will have much in the way of work coming.
I check the area over. This is the part of the Hollows that didnt quite fall into the Guff. Everything is leaning like it wants to fall, and if there is one small earthquake, then bye bye buildings.
Cant say it would be a bad thing. Its filled with nothing but gang members anyway.
I leave the pretty boy set up ontop of the one of the buildings. He can move as quiet as the wind, but hell, he also can see for miles around on his perch.
Me, well, I am the up close and personal kind. I hit the crooked grounds and start putting my nose to the pavement, so to speak. First one I spot is Macky Rowen. He aint a bad snitch, 'cept he always wants one of my cigars. I hate giving him one, but he knows he has the goods, and I will give him one anyway. Cant kill someone like him, no matter what kind of dirt he is. Dirt, sure, but he stays out of the murder and [censored] and such. Mostly petty crimes, things that dont matter much here in the Hollows anymore.
"Hello Grim, what brings you around," he says nervously, his hands deep in his pockets, talking to me like an old friend or something.
I just look to him and debate in my head whether to threaten him or just pass the cigar over.
I just pass the cigar over.
"Bank heist in Paragon, who and where can I find them"
He hesitates, then hands the cigar back to me.
"Sucker deal Grim, I like you and all, but I aint stupid. You know enough to know that these guys are killers."
He was right, they killed the gaurds and one of the bank tellers, without even a second thought. That's why they put Chance on the trail. Judge done put the green light on whatever force necessary, and Chance likes to use whatever force necessary.
"I know you aint stupid boy, and I know you aint brave. I will say this one time, and want you to understand how serious I am. Take the cigar, tell me what I came for," he was already shaking his head to me before I finished, had that run look on his face, though he knew running from me was pointless.
"Grim, my man, they wont just kill me. They will do things to make me want to die."
My claw enters his shoulder in an instant, I dont have the time. He blinks rapidly, not sure at first as to what just happened.
"I aint asking again, and what they will do to you may be worse if they find out, but I will do to you will be here and now, and you aint got a chance in hell of running."
He now moans, the pain really setting in. He starts to grimace as I only slightly turn the claw.
He tells me what I need to know. I put the cigar in his mouth as he sobs some, holding his shoulder. He didnt think I would do it, but now he knows for sure I will.
I aint out to insure these scums get their rights. I am out to insure the criminals get taken off the street.
I make my way back to Chance, slipping down the back of alleys. I aint scared of the scum, but I dont want them to know I been here yet.
Macky wont tell. He will be too scared to. Scared of me, and scared of what these killers will know he told me.

"Because I got nothing for you, beb, just these six claws to say you aint runnin' nothin' around here anymore"

Yeah, thats what I told the freak, damn if he would listen though. I got these sharp claws that can cut through almost anything man-made, and most things god made, but he pulls a bat.
Stupid freak.
I make a toothpick of it, and a no-ped of him. I cant say I felt a lick of sorrow for him as he was carted off by the back-up that Lt Winslow sent me. I dont really need the back-up, but hell, they are good for mopping and cleaning up.
I look around the big cavern, even as I hear the officers yelling for the surrender of the other gang members. They had dynamite, hardware, guns...lots of guns.
And he used a bat.
Live like pigs and they seem to like it. Hell if I can understand why. I dont need to understand it though, just need to do my job.
I am Grim Iron, in case you dont know me. I have iron for hands, with three claws that poke out the end when I want them to. I didnt lose my family, friends, nor my memory. I wasnt in the army, didnt fight in any real wars. I just am a tough cop on a tough beat basically. Being a mutant dont hurt none, I tell you now. I could have sold these claws to the highest bidder, after the doc fixed them up for me. I could have lived high and mighty I suppose off the back of the people.
Aint my style though.
I was actually a mediocre kid, with mediocre ideas when I was growing up. I didnt want any glory. Just didnt want to do what my dad did. He worked in sales, worked it till the day he died. Always gone, always on the move. Ate bad. Died at the age of fifty four.
My mother was just a drunk, which may be why dad was gone so much. I dont know. Sure, she was a drunk, but me and my sisters didnt really go without, so cant say she drank while we did without.
Just was what it was. As I said, nothing special about the way I grew up to make me who I am.
The special thing is, if you wish to call it that, is this weird gene I somehow inheritated, that when I turned twelve kicked off in me.
Try to hurt me, I dare you to. Wont really happen. Sure you can make the cut, put the hole in me, pound the crud out of me. I will just pop back up, more pissed off than hurt.
So they call me Grim Iron, saying I always have this grim look on my face, as I chew on the end of my cigar. Dont know what that means, a grim look on my face. I aint unhappy or grim. I like my job.
I may tell you my real name sometime, but right now all you need to know is that they call me Grim Iron. Thats my code name with the law.
I am working the Hollows for now, though I am sure the work here wont be much longer. I usually find others to join in when we are patrolling and pushing the trash back passed Cherry Hill. Showing the low life's the door when they set up in town.
Now and again I take a job on my own. They like me enough I suppose to let me pick and choose. Thats how I ended up in this cavern. Put about three of the criminals in the ground, another dozen left to be put in jail, minus some parts and pieces of course.
As I am about to leave, one of the punks spit on me. I know what you are thinking, thinking I probably turned and cut him to shreds. You may be right on some days, days when I am in an actual foul mood.
Not this day, this day I chunk my cigar at him, making he dance around to not get burnt by it. Dumb [censored], has a lump on his head the size of a baseball and is all girly about a cigar.
I just laugh, wipe the loogy he spit off of me, and leave.
Job done.

The shadow seemed to move conspicuisly as she left the tavern. She paid it little mind though, it was something that the people of these islands grew use to since childhood. She often wondered where the great heroes of the other lands were, and why they did not come to rescue those of these horrid islands.
She often wondered why she couldnt just make herself leave, but quickly she thought of her mother and her illness, and knew why. She could not take her mother, and would not leave her here alone.
Ellana walked the street for a bit, the hooting and hollaring of the gang members as she passed barely a background noise even. Her small skirt, that she was forced to wear at the tavern, showed enough leg to get her into trouble on the streets, so she wore the long coat.
"Evening Ellana," Lt Bowser smiled as she passed, passing the young gang members a look.
"Evening," she muttered back, but kept walking. He was a member of the police dept in the area, but he was very much like the gangs in his own right. She felt his eyes on her back as she walked down the lighted street.
The wind picked up some, and the street became a bit more deserted. Old paper and trash blew about.
It was not something she did often, but tonight she was running late, and the alley would take her home much faster than walking about the whole four blocks. She stopped for a moment on the lighted street, and saw a begger sleeping only a block away. One place was by far no more dangerous than the rest in this place, or so she convinced herself.
The alley was dark, but her eyes soon focused in the lessoned light. Again the shadows moved, and she wondered what it was. Her pace picked up almost unconsciously, that inner voice now taking control of her movements as it says there is danger about.

He watched her from the shadows as she left the bar, his dead eyes taking her in. She was not like the most of the ones that walked the street this late at night. She worked, and all the nights he saw her, she went straight home. She reminded him of his lost love. It was this reason he watched her so now. It was this reason he feared it would damn her to a life as his own.
As she entered her small house, Jerrin looked about. She was home safe. None of the bad people had harmed her in this unlawful, unkind place. He did sense however her fear of the man in uniform as she passed, and of the gang members as they taunted and hooted.
His dark eyes looked back now, reddening as they did so. He would remove her fears, and take the evil man out of her path.
Jerrin quickly rose above the rooftops, and lighted almost like an perched angel on the edge, looking down to the unsuspecting victims. He would feed this night, and feed well. He would feed on them for her.
Or so he told himself.

Journal Entry

I have decided to keep a journal of my times on these islands. I have found out that where I am is called Mercy Island, though I cannot say there is much in the way of mercy here. Gang violence, and fights for control of these islands are constant.
It is a breeding ground for the criminal minds. It makes me now ponder if I have so become such. I never considered myself a criminal. The laws of man no longer applies to me, since I am no longer man. Is this simply a coincidence that has brought me to such a place? Is it fate?
There is much talk of this Lord Recluse, that he is the ruler of these islands. I cannot fully agree with this, since I see no real rule. However I now seem to be in his "employ", though I have never met "him". Does he truely exist? Is he simply a name used to describe the ruling body of the islands?
I get ahead of myself, and I must not do such, if I wish to keep a proper journal. I shall now retrack to how I came to be in this situation.
There is some law officials on the islands, though one cannot call them lawful. They are little more than gang members themselves. It was these officials I found myself in trouble with.
The time at sea weakened me greatly, and I still have not regained my full streangth. Lack of feeding has made my flesh barely hang from my bones, nothing to sustain it. However, I did not wish to feed right away on these people. It is not wise to jump into things. Though the blood lust flowed through me, I still fought it. It is not something I am unuse to, as I have many times in the past fought the desire.
In my weakened state I was stopped by one of these law officials, and asked to pay some kind of tribute. I cannot say exactly what it was he wished, but when I could not, he attempted to bind my hands with metal.
I would not allow such, not without a fight.
Fight him I did, and had gotten the better of him, even in my weakened state. He could not resist my dark magics, and he fell. However in the fight he pushed some mechanism that called to others, and they came upon me fast.
These were not mere officials, instead they wore some kind of armor I have never seen, and used weapons that were quite foreign to me. I fought as best I could, even tried to call on Baron Smit to aid me. Before I could however, they had me down, and darkness came over me. It was not their poundings that did such, for I am undead and cannot feel that sort of pain. However, my energy was used up, and I was depleted. I fell into the "sleep", and knew nothing more.
I awoke in a prison of sorts, with sirenes sounding all about me. Apparently there was some prisoners making a break, and I used this oppertunity to make my own.
This man met me, and said Lord Recluse made such for my own benefit. I do not know how he would know me from any else here, but he called me by name. I did not trust him, however, I did not have to. He interested me in his tale of knowing of me, and me having been watched.
He helicoptered me away, and as I looked down I saw the guards taking back over the prison.

My next few days were spent doing some petty jobs for a lady claiming to be the voice of this Lord Recluse. How long I will do this depends. I feed on the ones she sends me to kill. It seems to be a working relationship of sorts. I grow stronger though, and soon I will have ti insist on meeting this Lord of the Rogue Islands.
There are also whispers of another land, not so far away, with a wasteland in between. It is a place of law and order as rumor goes. I will build my streangth here, and make my way there mayhaps. I know I do not belong in this place of unlawful people, little more than animals the most of them are. Some are very close to animals, with snake bodies and such.
They say there is a gang of "the infected", but I know they are all infected. They are infected with a chaos of sorts, and most dont even know it.
Has it infected me as well? As of this journal entry, I cannot yet say.


End Entry

BEGINNINGS

He had awakened, but was not sure how or why. There was no air to fill his lungs, in fact he didnt need it. Had he needed it he would have been in very much trouble. Instead of air filling his lungs, it would have been salt water.
The water was murky, but Jerrin neednt see to know what was around him. He simply closed his eyes, and let his own consciosness filter out around him.
There was no immediate danger, nothing to worry him much anyway. He did sense something in the distance, an island of sorts. Something that gained his curiousity.
Then it came to him, and he knew why he was where he was. The island would have to wait, as he chose instead of contemplate exactly what had happened.

BC

The world was somewhat new now, though not so much to him. Things had come to make changes since his turn in the being he was now. A powerful son of a god was spoke of in whispers among thier kind. Some had dared to go near the being, and had not been heard from since.
Power was of course relative, and Jerrin was indeed powerful when it came to mortals. However, even at over two hundred years as an immortal, he was still a fledgling compared to some. His best defense was to stay from the human born of the god, as well as the other powerful vampires.
His master, or so the being wished be called, was not of beauty like some of the others. Instead he chose to remain looking grotesque and undead, never changing nor binding the reflection about him to cause eyes to see him as the beauty that their race was.
Jerrin did not question him on this. He did not question the elder on anything. Instead he listened and learned. His master was not one to tolerate silly questions anyway. Abusive was his method. He would cause the fledgling great pain to prove how powerful he was.
Jerrin however just waited. Listened, watched, learned, and waited.

AD
There was a change in the fabric at the start of the new age, and many of his kind did not make it. The most powerful shown as a beacon, and upon the death of this human born of a god, most were destroyed and laid to dust.
Others survived, but found themselves only a shell of what they were once.
Jerrin's "master" was among these.
"Come to me Jerrin, so that I may have of your blood. It will revive me," he said, beckoning with a burnt and gnarled finger to the younger undead.
It was his best chance to destroy his master, yet, something in him, something mayhaps still human, stopped him.
He said nothing, but walked away from the being, the curses and profane sounding to his ears, and once out of distance of sound, in his head.
Baron Van Smit would someday have his vengeance, or so he swore.

Centuries had passed, and Jerrin had found his place in his unlife. He would prey only on humans when he needed food, their blood vitalizing him and in time growing him stronger. He lived among them, as one of them as much as he could.
Time to time someone would figure out something was not right, and living in those times, people were increasingly suspicious of anything, superstition taking over and leading to many fictitous reasons to search out something as a vampire. It was good times, but it was also trying, and Jerrin moved on much.
Jerrin had a mortal companion, one of twnety five years. Many nights he fretted on losing her, how his immortal life was as much a curse as it was a blessing. He contemplated bringing her to the darkness, making her his own fledgling so that they would remain together. He never held long to the thought however. She would hate him for such.
It was in these good, bad times, that Baron Van Smit returned. He watched his child of the darkness, and waited. His streangth not having returned to what it once was. He knew he could not defeat Jerrin, but then neither could Jerrin destroy him.
There was one way to get to him though. The lovely college professor, Natalie Sanders. His companion.
Did she know what he was? Did she accept him as an undead, and stay with a child that was outside of all that was good?
It was a new time to the Baron, much like it was to Jerrin. He had acquired a following, those looking for darkness to guide them in these days of superstition. He was their darkness, the god of the ruins. They would do as he commanded.
She was brought to him, in his dark, ruined cathedral of old. She feared him and he enjoyed it. He had his living followers commit vile acts on her, then his immortal ones drink from her till she was all but true dead. He would then order them stop, and bring her back from death, only to commit the horrors on her again.
He whispered to her what Jerrin was, and was somewhat surprised to learn that she already knew, though she never told Jerrin. This angered him, and in his anger, he drank from her till her heart exploded.
"Bring me Jerrin!" he ordered. His vengeance would be had once the younger vampire saw what was done to his lady companion.
Jerrin did come, but not one of Baron Van Smit's minions remained. The younger undead's anger sent them up in a blaze of dark fire. However the Baron was not without his own defense, and soon both undead were weakened from a battle of will.
It all went as the baron planned.
Mortals rushed in, knowing this was the time. The Baron had paid them well to do this work. They would cast the younger vampire down with silver and holy water, but not destroy him.
No, he had other plans.
Jerrin, now weakened, was taken and locked into a metal box, a coffin for him that he could not escape. He heard the screaching as he was dragged, heard the horses as the wagon took him away.
The sounds of water, the feel of a boat, then the splash as the coffin hit the sea, and sank into it's depths.
Baron Van Smit however faired no better, in fact, one can say far worse. The ones he hired could not hold their tongue, and when he went to see them destroyed as well, he was met with holy men. Holy men ready to get rid of the scurge they knew him to be.
It did not take long for them to weaken him. It did not take long to drive the wooden stake into his heart. They then contained his ashed, and locked them away in a tomb so he would never be raised again.

Present Time

A passing ship, a dredging, something had released Jerrin from his water tomb. What it was, he did not know. He only knew he was free, and he only knew he was hungry, but not only for the blood that would revitalize his dead flesh, but for revenge against the one that destroyed his love, and companion. Revenge against him, and anything and everything living, everything that his unconscious mind had come to hate.
His vengeance would be had.
As Jerrin walked onto the beach of this strange island, he sensed the Baron's remains near. How ironic it was. Using his darkest of powers, he summoned his evil father, and bound him to his own will now, little more than a powerful zombie, his mind barely understanding what was the truth. He was now the slave, and Jerrin was now the master.

I forget what they called it, but I think the devs were working on a patch that allowed you to go back and finish your out-lvled contacts in CoH, I hope they get it made and aply it to both CoH and CoV, soon.

A bit of a spin on the Necro/DM AT. And some of yall may also be able to tell where I got the name . Hope yall enjoy.

Life of a Deadman

Subject: Dr. Geoffry Mason, PhD in Cybernetics, Electro-Mechanics, and Nano-Technology.

Born: Tuesday, December 10th 1910

Died: Saturday, December 10th 2000.

Cause of Death: Unknown, suspected viral infection of a super-strain. Not contagious.

Location: Lived in Founder's Falls Paragon City, teacher at the university for four years. Now, in the Zig.

Friends: Dr. William Martel, PhD in Bio-Chemistry. Specializing in contaminants, viruses, and the human body. Dr. Emmy Garret, PhD in Bio-Chemistry, specializing in medicine.

Dr. Martel was twenty times Dr. Mason's junior, but Martel was a great student, and a good friend. They became colleagues and friends quickly, often engaging each other in games of wits, Mason uncannily topping him nearly 10 to 1.

Dr. Mason strived to help friends from his home town of New York City. They were childhood friends who had lost arms and legs in various ways. One, they called "Ol' DumLucky" lost his left arm and leg in WWII when he pulled the grenade and threw the pin. As fate, and a dam good arm, would have it, the pin caught an enemy Gatling gunner's belt, and the dropped grenade caught an enemy scout sneaking up behind him with a knife. Fortunately he jumped clear before suffering the full effect of the blast.

Dr. Martel had a love interest, Dr. Emmy Garret, also a PhD in Bio-Chemistry. She, though, was fascinated by the roguishly hansom Dr. Mason. The three of them remained friends, up until the mysterious disappearance of Dr. Mason. His Lincoln was found half-smashed on a hillside in Westchester. Martel was implicated for the vials of chemicals found broken there-in. The precise mixtures were of his specialty. Dr. Garret's specialty was medical chemicals, she wanted to open her own clinic.

Martel was cleared for lack of solid proof. Garret kept her suspicions on the DL, but did her own research. She discovered that her suspicions were justified, Martel had rigged that exact turn on the road on that hill to give Mason "the slip". And those chemicals were set there for Martel's experiment to take action. It didn't have the exact effect he wanted, at least not as fast as he wanted. And further more; there was no body at the scene.

Lying low, Dr. Mason had to do some "makeshift" surgery on himself, since he lost his right arm in the crash. He knew something was up, with the chemicals that his bleeding stump came in contact with. Ironically, the crash was only five miles from a small shack of a friend who passed away the year prior, a mechanic. As time passed, the infection spread, soon getting to, and effecting his mind. A medical friend of his was contacted, with an emphasis on secrecy. The diagnosis was an eventually fatal viral infection, he gave him two years, that was in 1990.

He soon contacted Garret, who was beyond shocked that he was alive, after a ten years of being gone. She feared the worst, both for Mason's life, and what Martel would do if he found out. She had been married to him for nearly five years, and had a son by him, but did her best to keep him from from Martel as much as possible. She held out hope that Mason would come back, then he would be the child's true father. After hearing what Martel had put her through these last ten years, and what Martel did to him, Mason began plotting Martel's demise.

His hatred for Martel didn't help Martel's virus, in fact the virus fueled the rage, and the viciousness. The virus soon began eating away at his body. Mason had to replace an eye, his left hand, several internal organs with help from his doctor's help. But when it started on his brain, he amped up his charge, and put to use nano-technology. Programmed to save his brain, they also started to develop minds of their own, and tried to impart it on his. A mix of madness and rage began to take it's toll, turning Mason into a monster bent on blood, Martel's blood.

Soon, Mason's form was decaying at a rapid pace. Fortunetely, both his sanity and the machine's madness had one thing in common; his survival. Most of his internal organs needed cybernetic restructuring and reinforcement. In the end, almost three fourths of his body was cybernetic, the rest was dead. Amazingly, a fraction of his sanity remained in tact. Discovering his new potential and powers, he finally tracked Martel down, in Paragon City. Watching, waiting for his time to strike, he got him in his office at City Hall, Martel made Vice Chairman. Late at night, as Martel was clocking out, Mason, now calling himself Dead Reckoning, made his move. Martel never saw it coming.

Waking up on the very hillside that Martel rigged, he saw what was left of his old friend Mason, holding him by the ankle in the air. As Martel begged for his life in between screams of horror and fear, Mason assured him that he will be spared the fate suffered by Mason. Relieved, yet still "hitting a dear", he began to feel something like a swarm of spiders coiling his leg. He saw a black cloud engulf his leg, from Mason's hand. As Martel began screaming once more, Mason promised that his fate, would be a walking nightmare, a never ending nightmare. When the nano-tech cloud of darkness finished, they revived Martel, as the very first zombie in Mason's growing legion of death.

After eventually regaining half his sanity, Dr. Geoffry Mason gave himself up for the murder of Vice Chairman William Martel. Before being locked up, Emmy Garret demanded to see her college crush. Heartbroken at what happen to her love, and what Martel forced him to become. Mason promised her that, while he might be dead, his love for her will never die. And someday when he may be able to be the man she loved again, till then, he was Dead Reckoning.

Soon, evil will face it's fear, and the dead will truly have.....their day of reckoning.

After reviewing my last story, I was somewhat but not really surprized by the number of typos(my mind was half asleep when I made and posted it). So I did a once over and fixed most of the typos.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
As a promising youth, young Vladdimir Dagron was fascinated with the arcane, everything about it. His biological father left a large sum of money to him, some millions of dollars American. He never met his real father, but was very thankful for his gift.

As an archaeologist, Vladdimir scoured the earth for artifacts, texts, anything he could find that was even connected to the arcane. In his travels, he discovered a mystical gem, blood-red with a hint of darkness. Upon grasping it, it felt as if an entity lept from it into his body. Suddenly his mind was flooded with at least a mellinia of knowledge, all he ever wanted to know, and secrets yet to surface.

Along with this "gift" came it's carrier; an ancient spirit that seemed to be an enigma, even unto itself. It wasn't purely good, nor purely evil, it just.....was. It seemed thankful, weary, fairly quiet, and a bit benevolent(of course that could be just a ploy, that is also unknown).

A year has passed, Vladdimir has re-created the temple the spirit had in it's former life. Dark, cold, yet somewhat cozy, in an ancient way. In the back room stood the fireplace, in the form of a giant human skull. The whole temple was a mix of black mortar and Egyptian gold, with carvings that seemed to almost be in blood. In front of the fireplace, sat a large thrown-like chair. Cushioned, oak, and graphically adorned in dragons, demons, and oddly enough.....angels.

Along the wall of the fireplace, looked like candles in smaller skulls. The fires seemed to be like crystal balls to anywhere the viewer wanted to see, provided he knew how to. The main fire was the gate in which the spirit's master could be contacted and in turn communicate his will.

As time passed, the cult of the Fallen Angels, a cult who's head was the master in the flames, grew.

A young mage in the Circle of Thorns was watched carefully by the dark master. Known only as Bloodsight, this up&coming delver of magical arts felt trapped in the Thorns. He had be abducted because of his affinity for sharpness and his keen mind and precice methods. They wanted any advantage they could get over the rival gangs and organizations in Paragon City.

As per the master's instructions, Vladdimir Dagron, now known as Mad Vladd Dagro, tracked down a group of the CoT deep in a cave in Perez Park. By no small coincidence, it was that very gathering of the CoT where young Bloodsight was "rescued" from his meaningless captivity, and brought into the welcoming dark embrace of the true master of the mystical arts. As an apprentice, and chief minion of Dagro, he finally found his home.

Another child of the shining darkness was found, again in the clutches of the Circe of Thorns. A young woman by the name Diana Wrothchild was also a practitioner of the magical ways. Her's was a life without want, and all but without need. Her capture by the CoT was mainly ransom, that was refused. Dagro and Bloodsight were sent to relieve the CoT of their hostage. As thanx, she pledged her life to the Fallen Angels, and even moreso, pledged her heart to Dagro. She finally found her love, someone who would never abandon her.

As the "family" gained presence, they began to attract a small cult following. The temple began to feel more like a home, instead of a tomb.

As the Fallen Angels grew in size and power under the city of heroes, two new "heroes" drew the eye of the master. A vampire several centuries old, and a massive hulking zombie pieced together from various other creatures with the central consciousness of a human. Their names where Seth Bloodlet and the monster Nights Bane. It seemed as though Bane got bigger the more Vahzilok they killed.

The two soon met up with Dagro and his cult. Seth and Bane were lead to the temple by acolytes of Dagro, and somehow drawn by the master himself. Upon entrance to the ancient structure, they felt the power, and peace, of the ancients. Coming upon the thrown room, they saw the fires on the wall, and heard the voice that touched his mind. The master told them, that they no longer had to be alone, that whenever they wanted to rest and find peace, they would always have a home, in the Fallen Angels.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thank you for your time.

As you can probably tell, it was made and posted in a bit of a haste, but it was 12am, and I wanted to get the story on "paper" before my brain shut down for the night.

It was past the point of editing before I realized my mistakes in my post. So, with typos aside, I would love to know your thoughts on my story.

Thank you for your time, and patience.

As a promising youth, young Vladdimir Dagron was fascinated with the arcaine, everything about it. His biological father left a large sum of money to him, some millions of dollars American. He never met his real father, but was very thankful for his gift.

As an archiologist, Vladdimir scouered the earth for artifacts, texts, anything he could find that was even connected to the arcaine. In his travels, he discovereda mystical gem, blood-red with a hint of darkness. Upon grasping it, it felt as if an inttity lept from it into his body. Suddenly his mind was flooded with at least a mellinia of knowledge, all he ever wanted to know, and secrets yet to surface.

Along with this "gift" came it's carrier; an ancient spirit that seemed to be an enigma, even unto itself. It wasn't purely good, nor purely evil, it just.....was. It seemed thankful, weiry, fairly quiet, and a bit banevolent(ofcourse that could be just a ploy, that is also unknown).

A year has passed, Vladdimir has re-created the temple the spirit had in it's former life. Dark, cold, yet somewhat cosy, in an ancient way. In the back room stood the fireplace, in the form of a giant human skull. The whole temple was a mix of black mortar and egyptian gold, with carvings that seemed to almost be in blood. Infront of the fireplace, sat a large thrown-like chair. Cushioned, oak, and graphicly adorned in dragons, demons, and oddly enought.....angels.

Along the wall of the fireplace, looked like candles in smaller skulls. The fires seemed to be like crystal balls to anywhere the viewer wanted to see, provided he knew how to. The main fire was the gate inwhich the spirit's master could be contacted and in turn comunicate his will.

As time passed, the cult of the Fallen Angels, a cult whos head was the master in the flames, grew.

A yound mage in the Circle of Thorns was watched carefully by the dark master. Known only as Bloodsight, this up&coming delver of magical arts felt trapped in the Thorns. He had be abducted because of his affinity for sharpness and his keen mind and presice methods. They wanted any advantage they could get over the rival gangs and organizations in Paragon City.

As per the master's instructions, Vladdimir Dagron, now known as Mad Vladd Dagro, tracked down a group of the CoT deep in a cave in Perez Park. By no small coincidence, it was that very gathering of the CoT where young Bloodsight was "rescued" from his meaningless captivity, and brought into the welcoming dark embrace of the true master of the mystical arts. As an apprentice, and chief minion of Dagro, he finally found his home.

Another child of the shining darkness was found, again in the clutches of the Circe of Thorns. A young woman by the name Diana Wrothchild was also a practitioner of the magical ways. Her's was a life without want, and all but without need. Her capture by the CoT was mainly ransom, that was refused. Dagro and Bloodsight were sent to.....alleve the CoT of their hostage. As thanx, she pledged her life to the Fallen Angels, and even moreso, pledged her heart to Dagro. She finally found her love, someone who would never abbandon her.

As the "family" gained presance, they began to attrack a small cult following. The temple began to feel more like a home, instead of a tomb.

As the Fallen Angels grew in size and power under the ity of heroes, two new "heroes" drew the eye of the master. A vampire several centuries old, and a massive hulking zombie pieced together from various other creatures with the central consciousness of a human. Their names where Seth Bloodlet and the monster Nights Bane. It seemed as though Bane got bigger the more Vahzilok they killed.

The two soon met up with Dagro and his cult. Seth and Bane were lead to the temple by acolytes of Dagro, and somehow drawn by the master himself. Upon entrance to the ancient structure, they felt the power, and peace, of the ancients. Coming upon the thrownroom, they saw the fires on the wall, and heard the voice that touched his mind. The master told them, that they no longer had to be alone, that whenever they wanted to rest and find peace, they would always have a home, in the Fallen Angels.

It was part of his training.

He trained in the martial arts, how to fight, and how to avoid being hit, but specialized in the katana.

This is a character that I had way back in '97, I had made him in a WWE wrestling game. He started out as just a tag team partner for my bro's character, Bone. But as time passed, this character became so much more.

Within the past few years, I've become a bit of a poet and writer(got a few stories still in the works, and have quite a few poems written but not published, that I know of), and what I've learned is never become your characters, let them become you.

As time has passed since the day I made this character(who is really just WildSide, but someone already took that name, so I had to modify it), I began to realize, I was venting pieces of myself and "giving it form"(please forgive me if that sounds weird).

WildSide became an extension of myself. He was the hero side of me, what I daydream of being. I guess that might sound childish, but hey, if there wasn't some part of us that was still a child, we wouldn't be here, would we?

I don't wish I was WildSide, I'm glad I have the life I do. Because if I didn't have this life, I wouldn't be who I am. I love my friends(though I don't often see them, they are always close to my heart), my family and my country(hey, they both may have their faults, but to me they're the best), and my faith(In God We Trust).

I guess you can tell I have a lot of heart, and that I'm fairly patriotic, but that is how I am, and it's transfered unto my character as well. His story I made is similar to mine, I put my heart into it.

Though it's not perfect, bear in mind that nothing man-made ever is.

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As he sat beneath the tree in Gemini Park, he pondered how it all started.

Raised in the country just outside Paragon City by loving parents, Zeek Douglas had few needs, though they weren't rich money-wise. He had few friends, but good friends. One, a Martial Arts master from the east, whom had come to America to find a better life for his wife and daughter, they became part of Zeek's extended family. Master Wufei, friends call him Woofy, began training young Zeek in the martial arts. Zeek was a fast learner, and what took Woofy years to master, Zeek picked up in months. Though much older than him, Zeek began to view Woofy as a brother, as did Woofy to Zeek.

Then one day, Zeek's father was killed while he was a security guard for a Military Warehouse in Galaxy City. Devastated emotionally, Zeek drifted away into depression. For a month he was a hermit, though his father was tough, he was also fair and loving. And now he's gone. After about a month, Zeek forced himself up and out of his self-implied exile. He took up his training again. Woofy, understanding his loss and his feelings, began to try and become a like surrogate father, with Zeek's ok. Zeek confided in Woofy as a son would a father, and Woofy would aid as best he could. Woofy knew he would never be Zeek's father, but at least he could be there for him as a father.

Zeek's whole family was there for him, and he for them.

After some time, Zeek had decided to strike out on his own for a while. He saw the sights of Paragon City, met the citizens, and visited Galaxy City. There, he went to the warehouse that his father, his real father, died guarding. Feeling the cold, metallic door, tears came to his eyes. He closed his eyes for a moment, said a short prayer, then went in. There-in, he heard voices off deeper in. Some sounded German, most sounded American. Zeek saw signs of a skull with a "V" behind it. As he delved deeper into the foreboding building, the voices got louder and louder. He heard the name 5th Column, the words military weapons, and the word terror. Zeek neared a large room, he figured it was the main stock room. When he went through the doorway, he saw what must have been a dozen or so soldiers all gathered in one spot.

After a minute or so of hearing the speech, he could tell, these were the ones who killed his father. As he tried to leave, one must have heard him. A rush of soldiers came up the ramp. Fortunately, Woofy was a great teacher, and Zeek a good student. He fended off the half dozen that came up. Still, to this day he didn't know what came over him, but Zeek charged forward and leaped "into the fire", and fought the rest of his father's murderers. Somehow, the 5th could barely hit him, he was flowing like a river. In the heat of the battle, he, without thought, drew forth his katana. Something deep inside came flooding to the surface, something he didn't like: anger, rage, even a little hatred. They overcame him for a moment, long enough to finish off the 5th in the warehouse, for good.

When he awoke, he saw a sight that scared him all the way down to his core. Blood and bodies, everywhere, even on his katana, and himself. In shock, staring at his blood-soaked hands, he felt a hand gently rest on his shoulder. With tears streaming down his face, he looked up, and saw Woofy. Without words, Zeek got up, and as a father would to his son, Woofy embraced Zeek, and assured him it was alright.

"That was the first time I ever killed guy, let alone a small army. And the first time I've ever felt rage like that." He spoke to himself, as tears came flowing back, as he sat beneath the tree in Gemini Park. The tears were for what he knew, and what he learned, between then and now. That sometimes, good men, must reach deep down inside them, and draw upon their darker sides, to do what it takes, to save innocent lives.

He drew blood in anger, in rage, in hatred. But he's working on it, getting better at it, and clearing himself of it as best he can.

"Never let your dark side overcome you and cloud your vision of the task at hand. Let your heart, your mind, and your faith, guide your hand." Was what Woofy told him after returning home that day from the warehouse.

Shortly there-after, he made it his mission to protect the innocent as best he could. Training himself, he managed to unite his two sides into one when the need arose.

Through the union of light and darkness, he has become greater than he was, focused, strengthened, driven.

Welcome, to the New WildSide.

And here he is, under that very tree, in Gemini Park.
http://img4.exs.cx/my.php?loc=img4&i...nshot_0108.jpg

Hope yall enjoyed my story.

Thank you all for your time.