Barton Fortress

BARTON TOWN

LOCATION - ARCHITECTURE - PROMINENT BUILDINGS/SIGHTS - OCCUPATION

Barton Town is known as the Heart of Gaia. After many worldly events and accounts, Barton alone has stood strong and steadfast. Placed directly in the center of all Gaian's lives, this is a place of tranquility and happiness. Much of Gaia's worldly events, not to mention isolated incedents have taken place here, from fights to merrymaking. Collecting candy to singing carols to scaring the bajebus out of a cat. All in all, Barton is a place of peace.

Or so it was. The unforeseen precedent of an organized attack on Barton's people prompted an extreme change to not only the city itself, but to the way the entire community was perceived. Barton had ceased to be the peaceful people-friendly neighborhood.

The idea that they were so aptly defenseless in the face of attackers coming from within the town itself would easily set any city to become paranoid and frightened.

Though no more, as the safety of the general public was no longer of their own concern. While similarly emerging from within Barton itself, the soldiers of Deity Incorporated arrived in time to limit the numerous casualties and maintain the remnants of the still-standing town. Converting the town into a veritable fortress while maintaining the populous in a benevolent police state.

Their presence here is now integral to the town and it's safety.

Reminders of the attack are everywhere, though the town has returned to business as usual. Damaged buildings and roads, wreckage from fallen structures, and in some places; bullet holes still mar the city. Deity has collected bodies from both sides and cleaned a majority of the damage to a point where it no longer impedes the city's business but is still ever-present.

• Location:

Placed in the east-north-east section of the continent, Barton is the center of civilian Gaian life. Gaia is surrounded entirely by planes and flatlands, all stretching for miles. Very little forest, but plenty of vegitation. In every cardinal direction is plains, but after a little while, there's always something. To the east far enough is Aekea River, which feeds directly into the Sea of Gambino. To the north is Bass'ken Lake, home of the most prominent fishing store in ALL of Gaia. There are very few defining features of this against any other plains. The area is entirely... bland.

All of this is unchanged. Deity's involvement has change only the face of the town and it's inner workings. Each entrance to the city has become a checkpoint under Deity military control. These checkpoints are manned around the clock by armed soldiers that may, occasionally, stop and question those entering the city. Other times they may simply wave them through, or even stop and search vehicles.

The checkpoints have also erected large metal gates at each of the cardinal entrances. These ten foot tall slabs of metal close only in the event of an emergency. Otherwise they remain open to allow traffic back and forth.

Architecture:

Barton's building's style is actually very unique, rather cartoony, actually. The buildings are all sorts of shapes, from square to circle. Roofs are cones, cylinders, stars, blocks, curved... There are actual differances from one side of the street to the other. Believe it or not.

The average house in Barton is singlestory. In fact, almost all buildings this town are, save the Forum Tavern and the Arena.

Depending on the area, some buildings within Barton have been destroyed and now sit as piles of rubble. Elsewhere, many more buildings are obviously damaged from the various means employed by Undead army.

A more pertinent change is the sudden change in Barton's population. Many families lack homes, as they were lost in the attack. Many other homes are damaged while also missing the citizens that once lived in them.

Numerous rapid-built temporary structures have risen throughout the city. Where the occupying forces have not adopted public buildings to their own purposes, skeletal frameworks of silvery metal serve the purposes needed for the military.

Prominent Buildings and Sights:

• Barton Arena - A once bustling centerplace of town, filled with action and combat, Barton Arena has quieted down, and has actually become a place of art and intelectual competition. Everything from fashion fights to artistic arguements, this place is the thinker's favorite place to be.

The Bloodworks arena was one of the main points of attack used by the invading Undead forces. Underground tunnels constructed by the zombies connect to the floor of the floor of the arena to wherever else this network leads.

In an effort to close this place of entry, the entire structure has been closed off. The once-open center of the arena has been sealed by a large doming lid placed there by the Deity military. This lid acts as a roof to further prevent anything from getting in-- even by air.

Soldiers are on watch at all times day or night. Civilians are no longer allowed on the premises. Attempts to gain entry can be met with mixed warnings that they shouldn't be here, or demands for them to leave the area at gunpoint. One of the most heavily guarded and involved places for the occupying military, there are even soldiers placed on the roof to watch the surrounding area. These can be easily seen from a distance, and their presence easily reinforces the ban on the area.

• Ye Forum Tavern - This place has existed longer than most of Barton. From an oldtime bar to a modern cornucopia of liquor and technological interface. The back room, which once held fine wines and ales, now holds rows and columns of computers, linked up to one massive ISP juggler. For two-hundred fifty computers, a thousand ISP easy. Plus all the computers in Barton make up the most popular past time in Gaia : Roleplaying.

Deity prefers life in the city to remain as "business as usual" as possible. Businesses are allowed to operate normally.

• Barton Circle - Surrounding a thirty-five foot fountain, this street is popular for the romantic Gaians. A scenic view of many other sights, not to mention the great light shows of the fountain. As stated, romance is abound here.

• The Love House - ...Undisclosed...

• Barton Boutique - One of the most successful shops in all of Gaia, it is owned by Ian Bibbilibidibben. Operated by Ian and his cat, Rufus. Almost any clothing item on earth can be found here.

This business is also allowed to continue normally.

• The Train Station - The only link to the actual residential area of Barton Town, this place is booming with buses and trains going in and out, to and from 'Towns'.

This is the only other entrance to the city outside of the four gates. As such, this area is heavily patrolled for suspicious individuals coming or going by bus and train. Bus and Train stations are host to many soldiers that often stop and question people they deem suspicious.

• Deity personnel -

Soldiers employed by Deity Incorporated are completely human. They are easily distinguished apart from the average Barton citizen. Clad in military fatigues, armor, and carrying weapons.

An average soldier is typically clad in dark blue fatigues with grey metallic-looking armor worn over it. Chest plates that cover front in back and with small contouring pauldrons, helmets, thigh guards, knee plates, and greaves that cover non-metal boots that all only provide protection to the front.

They all carry weapons openly. Pistols strapped at their hips, fully automatic assault weapons either at the ready or slung across their backs. While they may carry the weapons out and ready, they will never point the weapons or make hostiles movements unless threatened.

These soldiers are a common sight and a small patrol is never far away. They deal with the people to answer questions, deal with disturbances, and help out in any way that may be required. Within reason, of course.

Though in much fewer number, the infamous ranks of the Deity Powered Infantry can be found in town as well. The armoured hulks do not wander the street and do not deal with the public at large. Most commonly found to be utterly silent they will not speak to citizens or answer questions, nor will they stop when regarded by non-military personnel. Powered infantry travel in large groups and always have somewhere to be. Their size and the weapons they carry make grand warnings to everyone, even if their intent is not malicious.

It's not wise to get in their way.

Deity vehicles -

Deity military did not walk here. Signature grey/blue camo pattern vehicles carrying the Deity emblem are a fixture to Barton's roads. Large trucks with covered beds carry either troops or supplies from outside to the inner workings of Barton. Lightweight military vehicles patrol the area with unarmored soldiers in a more expedient way than their counterparts on foot alone. While these transports and light vehicles may be unthreatening, they're not alone.

Armored vehicles and troop carriers with various kinds and sizes of mounted weaponry can sometimes be seen rolling the street. There has been no known combat usage of these vehicles to date, but the knowledge that an APC or middleweight strike vehicle might be around any corner does wonders for crime rate. A majority of these armored combat vehicles come out after curfew when the sun goes down. It's then that strike vehicles watch the city with spotlights for any kind of violation of curfew.

Airborne vehicles play a much smaller part in interacting with the city on the whole. Craft like these don't block traffic or stop ominously at streetcorners, but instead tear through the sky on a regular basis. Delivering needed parties quickly, or just being watchful eyes for those on the ground. At night, low-flying aircraft help watch the perimeter and city streets with infrared spotters.

These aerial vehicles land and take off from the rooftop of the Deity Field Office building, the pair of landing pads in Barton Square, and the newly-acquired Arena roof with some frequency.

However, as of late the number of supply trucks entering Barton have escalated beyond the normal transit number seen when the occupying forces first arrived. Many of these trucks can be followed to the Arena where they disappear within and emerge some time later.

Deity Structures -

To some surprise, the Deity Field Office in Barton has for the most part played a small role in the military operations here. This is largely in part by the military's own initiative to bring with them the things they needed. Deity Corps Engineers have since erected a small village of silver-grey metal single-story structures in the remnants of Barton Square. This is the main gateway for military-civilian relations. Those without shelter can find it here. Medical and other basic survival needs are rendered to civilians for free from the on-staff volunteers.

Built on public land this cluster of buildings is far from off-limits. That said, some buildings have doors with locks, and warnings stenciled across them to ward off all but authorized personnel only. Intrusion into these buildings is a sure way to be detained.

As opposed to the 'everyone welcome' policy of the Barton Square, the Arena will not allow anyone in or even near. Approaching the area will warrant demands to see proper authorization. If you don't have this, you are escorted away. There are always guards on duty, and they aren't always friendly.

Although the newly-installed gates to the city are not a primary installation of the Deity military. These checkpoints have large metal gates that slide across the road, as well as obstacles that rise from the street itself. The gates have yet been given a reason to close, but they are remotely operated and can be shut at a moments notice from the military command station.

People are allowed to enter and leave through here freely. Though people on the outside coming in may be allowed entry without stopping, questioned, or even pulled aside and searched.

A smaller series is gates sits in wait, unnoticed, at the Barton train station. While smaller, they are made to withstand a speeding locomotive to completely deny access to the city in any way if Deity saw fit. The train station also has a higher-than average complement of soldiers. These often stop people they deem suspicious and search them. Being questioned is now a regular part of traveling by train.

Vampireko Wrote:

Calik stares at a clock at the train staition."Tick...Tock..." Calik paces slowly back and forth. Where is he. Griff should be here by now. Calik looks up at the clock again.

The sound of a gun cocking rung gently behind Calik, and the feeling of cold steel pressed passed that pretty blonde hair. A very familiar voice spoke quite clearly. "...Vash Calik Vampireko Morivan. You're under arrest for identity theft, money laundering, and murder." And with that, a bang and a strong scent of sulfer. The round was nothing but a blank. A very loud blank. Another click, and the back of Calik's head was squirted six times. "...Heya, bro."

Griff placed his gun away before looking at Calik. "..." SMACK!

Griff's gloved hand slammed across Calik's face with enough force for him to drop either weapon. This is citable, because people on the other side of the train station could hear this thunderous clap of cheek to fingers. Bam. "Man. You need to learn where you bring your ****** weapons. You know damned well not to pull st on me." The man looked pretty damned pissed. "Put that s**t away before any cops see you. There is no way in hell anyone's gonna give a civilian - YOU - a license for that." Another smack. "We gotta talk 'bout a lot of things, man. I need to talk to you for a little bit of work."

Morivan turned. His jacket, an foresty green, is very definitely textured. One could tell by the lighting that this was a canvas jacket. Notorious for being uncomfortable on the skin, but good range of motion. This one looks aged, either artificially or natural, no one could ever tell.

His hair was scruffy and just laying where it would. At the moment, that was westward, the way the wind was blowing. His eyes weren't visible for Calik, but there were fumes coming out of Griff's ears. And it was certainly more than the obvious : Griff's non-exsistant cell phone charges. But it was a good excuse for a family reunion.

"So... How long you had my bank information. And who have you given it to?"

Griff turned around, speaking very softly. Griff was the kind of guy who talked at a vocal but not boisterous level. The differance between good passion and bad passion is a matter of tone. This was certainly rage. "...Calik... I don't want that sort of thing out. And last thing I need is someone getting it. Hell, my identity is ****** lit up. Two people, two sides of the world. You think I wouldn't come to kick your a when I got the bill? Oh. Man. I need to hit you so hard."

Oh yeah. Griff was fuming.

"Like hell you didn't spend anything, Vash! I know better than that, man, I got bills to prove it!" Griff took the papers, just rolling them up and pocketing them. "You don't get it. After all this time, you just never got it... You ever get in trouble, ask me. Just. Ask. That's all I'm asking you, bro..." He turned a few times, shaking his head. "...I just... I can't get why you don't listen to me. You never did." He was angry. And that was notorious for having one solution. A good deck-out.

After a moment's scowl, Griff turns around, shaking his head. "C'mon... I need to get outta here. Can't stand Barton Town..." And with that, Griff just heads to a set of bikes. Motorcycles.

[ Just Another Face ] Wrote:

((BOTH MY BROTHERS SUCK!!!))

It was night. 9:52, to be exact. And all the freaks were out in their sunday best. The Vampires, the Demons. They could roam free in this land of prosperity. And though most were content to live off bloodbanks or feed off small animals, there were those selective few that could only have it one way.

Living and Human.

These were the aristocratic monsters. These were those raised as political beasts, merciful killers and vicious partners.

These are the beautiful. The true.

~~

"The Ancient."

Vidunder was, in a sense, one of these 'Ancient'. In reality, he held all the mythical properties of a vampire, right down to a weakness from sunlight. Which is exactly when during the day, he had a parasol. Vidunder the Beast dated back to 1200 BE (Before elements, ala W.O.G. and such.) So, he was some 3000+ years old. Once upon a time, he was a monsterous experiment between The High Mages. These mages put together a grand monster, fused from the soul of an assassin. A soul which was picked apart and ripped of all it's humanity and memory. It had nothing but the will and the urge and the ability to kill. This soul was placed into a mold, which had the souls and corpses of many Dire Bats waiting within. Lastly, the blood of a shadow beast was poured in to 'perfect' this monsterous being. When awoken, it was ordered to kill.

The High Mages were very quickly wiped off the face of Gaia.

~~

On this night, which coincidentally had been Vidunder's 3806'th birthday, Vidunder had gone out to find himself a meal. He was in a rather gruesome mood, and wanted to rip something apart. Destroy someone. Devour them alive and suck their soul down for desert. "...Tasty..."

But he wouldn't get the meal, as the only man near by would never let him get it, the man had short black hair and black eyes, and he wore nothing but a completly black business suit, Romani Glass, a black tie, and black dress shoes.

"What a beauttiful night, the smell of death is so strong, and I could just stare blankly for hours sniffing that beauttiful aroma." he said quitely, as he didn't want anyone to hear him.

[ Just Another Face ] Wrote:

This mystery man's voice would not go unanswered. "...They say the scent of Death rises from those whom will short be Corpse..." His voice was aimed in no particular direction, but there was only one soul to hear it. Without any real warning, Vidunder turned about, puffing right infront of this mystery man. "Which one of us are corpses to be, my dear friend?!" And very simply extended his right hand, the fingers shifting into finely sharpened claws, which slashed and stabbed for this man's face.

Seth simply jumped out of the way, to the left. "Patience child, it would be a shame, if I had to kill you, after all you do have such potentional for darkness, and I am the key for unlocking that darkness. Allow me to introduce myself, my orginal name was either Set or Seth, and I am a dark god, who has since been cursed with this form. I perfer being called Seth, by the way." he replied hoping to catch the beings attention.

((Set/Seth Egyptian God of Darkness))

[ Just Another Face ] Wrote:

"Tch. God of forgotten worlds. To hell with you!" Vidunder lowered his arm and gripped his fist. "...You make me laugh some, King Set. Your crown has been taken by modern Gods." With another surge of energy, his arm explodes apart, chunks of meat flying in all directions before spinning up and bursting out with wings. Te meat chunks slowly slink into shape to prove to be bats! Vidunder's arm bat things take aim, making a spear formation, flying in to rip Set apart. "...Mortal Gods."

on each of Seth's hands appeared a demonic mouth and in front of seth massive amounts of dark energy were sent in between the bats and him self forming a giant mouth like the ones on his hands only it just floated there in mid air, and swallowed tried to swallow the meat bat things all at once.

"You will have to do better then that child." He was feeding off of the negative energy produced by his opponent, and the huge demonic mouth was no mouth, it didn't have a name, but it was ment to absorb the dark energies of any evil foolish enough to attack, him instead of accepting his offer of power.

The darkness transfer was taking place, and out of the "Mouths" on Seth's fist, spilled the darkness he had absorbed from the bats, which absorbed and used to heal him self and then strengthen himself.

"I got that power after I killed the last fool who tried to kill me" It was pathetic, but I was able to improve on it. The mouth expanded then moved through air and went straight at seth's opponent, and then a giant 20 foot tall jet black hand formed around the giant mouth and it tried to grab his opponent and everything related to it, and if it did it would, they would be extremely close to the "Mouth" which would suck everything in and trap them. Now such things took up alots of energy, but he was getting overweight, and needed to lose some dark energy, before he was to slow to fight.

[ Just Another Face ] Wrote:

"King. You need to understand something. Here...?" Vidunder began, his long claw like fingers gently spinning the axe about just once before walking forward, into the open mouth and fingers. With a very slow motion leading into a blindingly fast one, Vidunder places his right hand over to his left side, his axe in hand. "...I am your better." Arogance or insanity, Vidunder knew and meant his words. "...And I will devour you." And cue the insanely fast motion. With not even the sound a cutting flesh, his blade tore past this flimsey falsity of a god. The fingers, which were presumably magic, were severed from their home, sliding out of place very slowly. Resisting the urge to eat now, Vidunder drew his right arm, his axe arm, back. "Gran! Spear!" The axe 'skree'd loudly before the wings snapped from their axe position to that of a two-point spear, which Vidunder quickly used to stab forward at Set's chest.

There was a grand drawback to Set's plan, of draining the dark emotions and energies given off of Vidunder. Vidunder was blissfully happy. The purest of feelings.

"That is impossible I am everyone's better!!!Appear before me Dark Gate!!" he screamed. Then with his words, the giant "mouth" reformed behind him and "Ate" him, but he wasn't dead no far from it he had traveled to another realm. One day soon he will return, and use what use what he finds in this realm to destroy that bratty child.

A man wearing mostly black entered town, his eyes a reddish-brown and his hair jet black. His long coat hung to the midddle of his shins; a protection against the winds that bit and froze the bones. This was a man that was looking for something, and he wouldn't stop until he founnd it.

What he was looking for, in this quiet town, was a mystery in itself for the moment. Still, he needed to know. They were his orders, and he would not question them. If whatever he was looking for was found, he was to either report in or perform the necessary actions himself- which course he would take was his own decision.

In any event, he walked toward the inn in order to catch some shut-eye; he would begin asking around tommorrow. Not like he expected to find anything here, but the team was ordered to look in every hill, molehill, and alley.

This had better not be in vain... Commander.

Terran Maxwell had been in Barton Town, doing a little bit of work in and around town. Sad thing for him was that his team of mercs had to be disbanded. Of an original twenty-seven members, only three remained. Himself, Garet, and Seleen.

On that day, he was on his way back to town from delivering a package to Logan. It would be a quiet day, he figured. But as usual, there was a part of him that wanted to go back into the business.

The man asked around about where to get some decent information, and found that these places were what most people spoke about. Ruling the other three out as Targets of Opportunity, which could be dealt with later, he went with the Forums and the Guild Registry. They would be the hot spots of information, especially the registry.

He decided to check the records of the company first, to see if there were any signs of a coup d'etat in the company before the original Yaits went missing. That was- if they hadn't been changed for the worse... According to the man's record, he was an expert at completely erasing lives- bank accounts, credit lines, criminal records; you name it, he could wipe it away.

This man who was looking for the real Yaits hoped that he was not already screwed over before he could truly begin...

The matter of how he got in was simple, actually... he didn't. He had someone else do it for him- there was a friend of his in the Guild Registry building that happened to have access to the records and information files. He most definitely hoped that no one would notice- he wouldn't be the one touching them, and they would only be observed, copied, and remembered.

Nothing would be destroyed or anything of the like, so there was no harm, no foul.

But as far as the state of the records, they were clean, though they still could have been assumed by someone else entirely. Identity thefts were still rampant these days, and this guy wouldn't put it past Yarneth to do such things- not in the least.

He recorded instances of the company's files as he had them dictated to him over the phone from his hotel room, copying certain points of note and interest into a PDA that he carried around on his person. He'd have to commit it all to memory later, but for now it was the way to go.

In any event, he had to check the Forums next- see if there were any instances of some sort of shift in power, be it money, resources, manpower, or anything else. He was also looking for the date when the original Yaits was kidnapped- if such a thing were availible...

But for that, he actually had to leave the hotel, and as he did so, he checked his room. There, in the safe, was a .40 caliber Beretta 9000S- it had sufficient enough stopping power while being small enough to be unnoticable.

Picking up two extra clips and stowing them away in special holders in his coat, he went off, thus prepared for any... unfortunate run-ins.

EdwardYaitsIII Wrote:

The scoop was that the original Yaits was kidnapped twenty years ago, at the age of ten, on April 1st. It was known as the April Fools Day kidnapping, but it wasn't a prank, the ten year old Edward Yaits III was never heard from again. Story after story reported no leads on the case, the child was never found, and no one knew where he went.

Yes, he considered to himself with a smirk. It's just like the Commander said- no traces or evidence of his whereabouts. This guy here is most definitely an imposter, that's for sure. All I need to know is the last known whereabouts... but it says nothing about it here...

EdwardYaitsIII Wrote:

It would be hard to find much in the Forums, except for stock records showing a massive amount of money made on incredibly lucky trades and superbly well timed speculation. Over fifty billion made on the stock market with even more funds funneled through dummy corporations. It was all done with unparrelled skill, with no hard evidence of ill gotten information or insider trading. As the perp had used his shape-shifting abilities to get information, and then speculated using what he had learned. the trading had slowly come to a halt about a week ago, coinciding with the time Yaits Corporation had finished its headquaters and had gained the assets it needed to sustain itself competitively.

It was also no secret that Yaits Corp donated over 2 billion credits to the order of Charitable monks. An extremely sizeable donation.

Tch... s**t, nothing here but the obvious, he cursed to himself. There was nothing here but stock records, though the man behind Yaits Corporation was extremely lucky these days. Then again, for a reconnaisance agent, there was no such thing as coincidence... or luck, either.

So when he read the information on the Order of Charitable Monks, his eyes narrowed dangerously. That is an awful lot of money for a mere humanitarian effort... It's more of an act of direct funding than a "sizable donation". I don't trust this Order, or this man pretending to be Yaits. It looks like I'll have to look into it a bit more.

However, he did not forego his main objective, and would ask a few well-placed questions while investigating the Yaits Corp. branch tomorrow. However, all this would have to be done the next day- he needed rest, and the sun was low on the horizon. So he put the newspaper and the books on the stock market findings back where they belonged, said his thanks, and left.

Damn... nothing of relevance on the first day, besides this goddamn Order of Charitable Monks. This'll be harder than expected.

The Vampire sighed, taking a drag off of his Cigarette. "...I really miss my old job, you know?"

The old man 'hyuk'ed and looked about, taking a good couple puffs. "Ye got no eye fer people, like yer wife does. Ye see things for the way they look. She sees more then ye. Like fer instance, I can tell you a militr'eh man frum a ma'hl away..." It would be now that a tallish man wearing a brown longcoat and black jeans with boots of the same color. "Tha' man right therr is defininitally sum militury folk. Not yur reg'uh'lur type... might be yur kindah person, Terran." The old man looked up in a suggestive manner, as if to say 'go get'em'.

Terran looked up fast, seeing the man in question. He was holding himself very high, with oustanding posture and grand care for his appearance. It lead Terran to agree that this guy was probably a true blue military. And Terran was gonna follow him to make sure he got this chance. Getting back to work would be heavenly.

Street Cloths

No Paint

Camo Index -5%

Terran knew if he were military and not just some twerp who carried himself as such, he would definitely notice him. And he did. Which was obvious from his sudden alley-duck. Now, it was Terran experiance that anyone worth chasing is probably packing a weapon of some kind. And in Gaia, it was probably a ******** sword. Terran hated swords. Griff's facination for the weapon astounded the hell out of him. Primative and useless.

Right. So. The man. Terran followed him into the backalleyway, knowing full well that there was more than likely to be combat by the end of this whole bit. Terran didn't need that. He followed the man as far as he could, the man not having taken any abrupt or difficult-to-follow actions or anything of that sort.

Terran was the cat.

He hoped.

The blurring was enough to leave Terran lost for a second or two, but not enough to make him stop thinking. "Damn. This guy is good..." The red eyed vampire looked about for a second, trying to come up with a way to keep following. It would probably just as the agent was thinking he was alone that he'd come up with a solution. "Ah. I got it."

Now, a concept of magery is experimentation. And it would be exactly that that Terran would preform. "...Scan, maybe?" And then it sorta hit him like a fish. If this guy was living, he would definitely leave behind a heat signature. Hell, even a zombie or puppet would leave behind a trace. Something that could be followed. So, Terran did just that. Heat and Scan, combined.

[ Terran learned ThermoSight ]

For the time being Terran's pupils changed a great deal, and he saw as if he looked through Thermal Goggles. Most of the world was black and blue, except for the ground a few feet infront of him. Footprints. Terran grinned. "Perfect." Terran followed suite.

Terran killed the spell. It wouldn't do him any good now. "An underground. Someone kind of like you. Except that I have no leader, no mission, and no one to help. And to be honest..." Terran turned about, just looking about. "...I want to be a merc again. And I'd be ready to fight for that privilage again."

Terran sounded... not desperate, not remotely. Instead it sounded damned determined, as if if he were evaded he'd continue to search this guy down to follow him to an agency or somesuch facility.

Hugin the Raven Wrote:

Military, nothing... this man was more.

Terran could see that much. It was apparent.

"...Edward Yaits...Yaits... Yeah. Yeah, I know that name. Edward Yaits III. Didn't he get kidnapped a few decade ago or somethin'? I think I was sixteen when I heard about that. The April Fools kidnapping, right? What about him?" Terran had turned in the hopes of facing this man for the purpose of the conversation.

Terran remained still. He knew this feeling of being examined. "Tactical, defensive, or offensive? In terms of my 'class'," to which he refered to as a fighter's class. "...I am a Pyrobrawler. I know several fire heat related moves, like what I used to track you for so long. I'm also a damned good sniper, if it means anything to you. Not just sniper rifles. Handguns and everything else. I could snipe someone down at the fountain if I were sitting on the Forum building with an Mk22."

Terran would leave out that that actually happened.

"As for information gathering, I've got a little bit of an informant chain, but they might not be of much use in this instance. I usually get any important information ASAP." Terran seemed to be thinking of what exactly he had to offer. "Never been too bad at... forceful interogation, either."

He'd leave out that that happened, too.

"Infiltration? Yeah, I can get in alright, but I'd just need to know exactly what I'm looking to find out. Accounting records and transaction slips?" The instructions were a bit vague at the moment, but Terran could more than likely muddle through them.

Which Terran picked right up on. "Terran. Maxwell, that is. Terran Maxwell."

Because there wasn't much to be said.

"Yeah, I get it, and I could use one, yeah... so, should I start saluting, or what?" Terran was joking as he turned to Follow behind his new commander, beit temporary or otherwise.

Allow me to set the stage for day two.

Terran slept. Sorta. He kinda sat there all night. He wasn't tired until nearly two. Which was probably bad. But that was what he did. Sat a smoked.

Terran was already awake and in his... er... saturday... best. Sitting on the bed, he was just waiting for something to happen. That something was a knock.

Terran answered the door, actually clad in bluejeans that were loose around the calf and ankle, a long, red shirt, and a pair of boots. In his back pocket was a pack of cigarettes, and if this guy was good enough to spot for such things, there would appear to be a gun along his hip. "Didn't know if I should look more 'cop'ly or what." He didn't look that tired. Kind of odd.

Terran nodded some, placing his hand on the back of his head. "Infiltrait the Yaits Corporation Building whilst you distract the front. I'll then head up to the higher levels and look for filing cabinates and/or a computer that might have the financial records or transaction sheets to the Order of Charitable Monks. I'm trying to find out if this is a front for something nice and filthy." Terran sounded like a tape recorder. Just like a briefing.

Terran was starting to be curious how Damien would have done this alone. "Understood. It's not a problem in the least. Question, do you know if the guards are like, hired professionals, or are we talkin' rent-a-cops?"

"You gonna radio back or something when it's clear to go?" Terran was asking in a less-than-concerned tone. He seemed to be calm enough.

"Just the way I like it. Lead on, Meistro."

Go for it, mang. -is running low on creative juices-

And as long as they didn't, you know, die, Terran was fine with that.

So, in this few moments ride, the man simply contemplated this little adventure, hoping for some kind of positive prospect. He wasn't sure of much, other than he'd likely buy a newspaper and lounge a bit to pass the time. It was worth the shot.

Terran simply nodded, walking over to the street corner where a Barton Blues, an underground newspaper, was being sold for a dime. Not bad. So, Terran sat down on the corner and just read. In wait.

Yaits Insurance Branch, Barton.

Quote:** Wrote:

Not a major office, as before the return of Edward Yaits III most of the company's business was insuring buildings and estates of Durem and the surrounding region. But the company had a share of the Barton market, so there was an office present in that city. The bottom floor of a building in Downtown Barton had served the Yaits Company quite nicely.

That was it, a rented space, almost the entire bottom floor of a minor office building that had been around for thirty or so years and was begining to show signs of it's age. Past the lobby of the building itself were glass doors white the new Yait's Insurance stickies placed on the glass. There was a front desk, and a bunch of cubicles behind it.

Security was minimal, there were security cameras in the main lobby. The Yaits office had a security camera as well, but it seemed to be broken. It had no lens! As it was not a government building, their were no metal detectors at the entrance, but there was a security guard posted behind the steps. His white bushy mustache furling as he slept on a comfy chair. But the Yaits office had their own security guard. A sauve young man with slicked black hair who walked around in his security uniform and flirted with the ladies. His weapon was a Desert Eagle Mark XIX. There was really no telling if he knew what he was doing or not.

Overall, it was not in the least impressive.

Damien almost scoffed...

This is like taking candy from a baby, he mused to himself, his face still unemotional as he nodded at the aged security guard on his way in, acting as if the man were not asleep to keep up appearances. Walking towards the front desk, he casually nodded towards the receptionist- if there was one- and kindly began with "Good morning... I was wondering if you could tell me if there is any news on the Yaits disappearance. You know, whether they found him or not. I understand that this was a while ago, and I haven't been keeping up..."

Of course, he was keeping up. He didn't want this person to know, though. So he kept his expression blank and his eyes focused front and center.

Security Wrote:

The Yaits office had a security camera as well, but it seemed to be broken. It had no lens!

Quote:** Wrote:

"Good morning... I was wondering if you could tell me if there is any news on the Yaits disappearance. You know, whether they found him or not. I understand that this was a while ago, and I haven't been keeping up..."

Suddenly, without sound or warning, the camera had a lens. The little creature had choosen this cozy little spot to make it's nest, what better way to keep tabs on the employees! The creature was a little one, a baby, with no weapons or ability to absorb hate. But it could watch and listen, and it was linked to it's master. As the creature was silent, and Damien hadn't seemed to notice the missing lens, there would be almost no way for him to know he was being watched.

"Yaits the III?" The receptionist asked, "All I know is that everyone received a decent raise after he took control. You didn't know he came back? I thought everybody knew that. So, how can I help you?"

Terran very visibly blinked, looking up. "...Then what the hell are we doing?" The vamp-being didn't seem too pleased with this development, but he didn't do much more than that simply instance, just when he realized that he shouldn't question much.

Terran caught the weapon on his finger, twirled it a couple time in gunslinger classic fashion before bringing it to the ready. "I'm a surgeon with these things. I've got one on me, 'member?" He lifted up his shirt, not that it'd be seen, where a Colt 45. was resting under his pantline, his gun held in SAFETY with a clip on the button to keep it that way.

Terran nodded softly, still confused as to exactly what just happened. "To be entirely honest with you? I'm a little confused. Like. Very confused... Very very confused." And so, Terran leaned to the wall. "Where're these Godly Men hidden out?"

Terran nodded some. "...And, how, exactly, do we get into the Order? Just barge in, guns blazing does not seem to be your optimal course of action." The man started twirling both guns, looking something like Ocelot for the moment. "I mean, you have some kind of plan, right?"

"Long term infiltration, huh? I guess we could do that. So, which one of us is doing what?" And as soon as the question left his head, he regreted it. "...Oh hell. Lemme guess..."

((Hmm... the easy way, or the hard way?

Considers doing both, but thinks better of it.))

"Unfortunately, you are correct... You have the abilities needed to perform this undercover reconnaisance at the moment. I could do it myself, but I will be busy the next few days with attempting to locate the last known whereabouts of Yaits, as I was before."

He lifted his head and continued. "You are to examine any records, monetary or otherwise, within that building without attracting any needless attention. Take note- I meant needless attention. Sometimes, bringing yourself into the focus of everyone's attention is worth doing; remember that.

Take note that you are not to contact me until you get some hard, solid intelligence. I will be in this same room, attempting to get the location of the target. Do you follow?"

The plan was simple- he would make an attempt to find out what the order was really about, while Damien would search diligently for the last known position of Yaits before he was abducted. If indeed he found it, they would break camp, break their ties if any had been made, and get the hell out towards the next location.

If not, they would have to go with what they knew, if anything at all.

He shrugged. "Then I suggest you get a uniform from their headquarters. It would be unusual if you went with anything less than their same garb, and not a simulation of sorts. Besides, there are better ways of infiltration than simply dressing as one of them. Had you not thought of signing up?"

The captain refrained from smirking. Many of his other team members were doing what they usually did in order to infiltrate- pretending they had lives and other things to do besides just sneak in. If he went in with something already on, suspicion would be raised immediately.

If he got one of their robes legally and legitimately however...

After entering a search for the temple in his laptop, he found the location immediately, clicking on the first entry that came up. "Interesting... it's in downtown Barton; the same place that we had left earlier today. Unfortunately, it's a bit late for any real action to take place. Perhaps tomorrow, when we are rested. This time, you will have to go on your own. Here- write down or memorize this address."

He moved the computer so that the monitor was facing Terran. As soon as it was confirmed that he had jotted it down either in memory or on paper, he would turn it back around.

He shrugged. "Probably. And yes..." He was right. It was all too much of a coincidence. Everything was too strategically placed and positioned. Something else was happenning besides this mere drive for the well-being of mankind. If his instincts had anything to say about it, they told him that it was something bad.

"You're right. It is as if someone wanted an individual to connect the dots between the two places. I don't like this anymore... But we're going to have to continue. You are to go in unarmed, but be prepared to defend yourself if necessary. I don't want any accidents to happen."

The thing was, one had already happened. The eye in that camera had seen him- perhaps heard him somehow.

s**t... I'm compromised before the whole thing even gets started, he realized. Well, can't turn back now... whatever's coming, I'll have to be ready for it.

And on a totally unrelated subject.

Roland had been relaxing since his fight with Crawley, figuring that his wailing on was overworking himself. After all, working and training six days a week for seventeen hours a day will tend to work someone into a hole.

So he wanted to relax himself and take some time to be a normal teenager for a change. After all, he was only nineteen. What business did he have, dropping out of high school to be a fighter. He needed to get himself some work. Take some time off.

Firstly, Roland would spend a couple weeks back at home in good old Barton. He just wanted to spend some time wandering round and having a good night for himself. He spent a couple hours in a movie, a thoroughly boring one. No explosions or nudity. Tear.

Anyhow, so Roland was walking around afterwards, and it was dark out. Prolly ten or so at night. At that point, he would hear a scream. "The ********?"

Roland went busting around a corner to see a woman standing against a wall, a man in a ski-mask holding a gun to her head. "Sonuva..."

The man heard him and several shots rang out in his direction. Luckily for him, the thief was a bad shot, cause only one got him and that was on the shoulder. The gunner could only turn and run for it, making a full break, trying to haul a** away from the scene. Roland took quick persuit, bursting into a full blown run.

The chase went down several streets before the gunner tried to escape via running across a road where the thief tripped over his own feet. And, to make things worse, a full sized MAC Truck came barreling down the road, right at him. And Roland wasn't about to let him get off that easily. With a dive, Roland tackled the man as he was standing up. The thief was in the clear, and Roland almost followed. His legs were smacked, and he began a full body spin, smashing his head into the passager side door where he would simply get thrown off near the sidewalk, landing with a crack.

~Six Hours Later~

Roland had been stablized at Barton First. His legs were just short of destroyed, and it would take a great deal of work to reconstruct them to their former glory. His left arm was broken and his right was severely dislocated. Several ribs were smashed, along with other bruised ones. He was on several I.V.s, and was hooked up to a breathing machine. At the time being, he was out cold.

Doctors were not hopeful.

Odd to be out. A small in, somewhere inside the Barton, he didn't even bother to read the name. He was almost surprised that the inkeeper had no suspicions or reservations about giving a room to some random minor to wander in off the street late at night. Or, early in the morning, rather. Too damn early.

He did give an awfully odd look when the boy dragged the motorcycle in the door and took it along, up two stories of stairs, into his room.

He knew he'd be able to sleep through the sunlight come it's rise though, so the time hardly mattered. The boy needed some rest, and then he had to hunt down a place to get some more gas. For now though, he dug through a cord drawn bag, leaving his spare clothes inside, tugging out a toothbrush and some deoderant instead. Not bothering to undress, he let the water he washed his face in the sink with drip down over the undershirt, and soak his hair against his face, staring at himself in the mirror for a long moment. He splashed more water on his face, and then brushed his teeth and rinsed his mouth, spitting.

All of the thing tossed carelessly on top of his bag, with his shoes, the young man laid down on his bed otherwise still fully dressed. Splayed out over top the covers, his shirt pulling out of the pants and exposing a sliver of muscular belly. He dug a small cell phone out of a pant pocket with one hand, flicking it open. Couple of new voice mails left. he put it to his ear and started playing them.

"...Rayner, this is Aunt Mallery, please, you have to come home. We've been worried sick about you, those men your uncle knows keep stopping by and-" it cut off with a beep as he deleted the message and proceeded with a blank expression on to the next one.

"Rayner, this is you're Aunt, please, if you could just call and let us know you're-" it cut off with a beep.

"Hello, you've been selected to-" it cut off with a beep.

"Rayner... you have to come home. Please-" it cut off. He grimaced only slightly, and sighed as it went on to the next.

"Good evening Kalis." He sat up straight, though his face stayed stony. "It's interesting to see you recovered from the process, though I still wonder if it was on your own or through outside interference. Either way, I applaud you." he glared at nothing as he heard quiet clapping faintly picked up by the reciever. "Your reconditioning and treatment are not complete yet though. You're still unstable. I know you won't come back, but remember my offer before you go and run yourself to death. They'll keep looking, and sooner or later, you won't be able to run any-" it cut off with a beep.

The boy sighed, listening to the phone inform him that he had no other new messages, before stuffing it back away, and falling backward onto his pillow. One arm drapped across his eyes, he sat until sleep came.

"MOTHER ********!" Griff slammed his fist into the wall, his knuckles starting to bleed as a dent in the hard brick started to show. "...damn..."

You see, much to Griff's distress, it had almost been a month since his 'investment' and friend Roland Burrne had gone into a coma by a car accident. And after a month, a coma victim in Barton First is taken from the ICU to a single room, where they are generally considered to be in a persistant coma. If, after six months, no response comes through, those in charge of a patient may choose to remove life support.

So, at this point, Griff was ready to go back to more occult forms of medicine. After all, in Gaia, a world of mixed technology and magery, one can only depend on either so far.

Five rolled around, and Griff -sporting a new bandage over his fist- walked into Roland's room, looking over him. He had been hooked up to everything they had. "...Damn, man... you gotta get out of this."

Vega walked into the small town of Barton, and sighed.

"It's been forever since I've been on these lands."

He said, walking down the quiet streets.

JAF really did want to make a huge special post about Griff's studies. Instead.

Griff sat at his desk, skimming over his new piece of reading material. Or, more accurately, the foot notes by Halycanos' own pen. The actual text was now gibberish to the modern Griff.

Now, Griff had decided to walk over to the phone, wrapping his hands, putting the speaker to his ear. "...ring...ring...ring...ring...Dammit, Sabine, where the ******** are you?! ...Urgh... Fine. Listen, I have been busy, but I'm writing you an e-mail. You need to come to my house as soon as you get this. And no, there is no option."

Click.

Griff sat in his back yard with a cigarette in his fingers. It was the same pack he'd bought some six years previous. It was a whole case. But the idea of it was all for stress relief. In six years, he'd smoked seven cigarettes. The day he bought them was three.

Why was mister Morivan smoking after about two years? Simple. Stress. His life suddenly felt trivialized in the scale opposed. This scale was one of his past mortalities. By this, naturally, he was considering the discovery of documents dating a previous life. All of this, naturally, resulted in a great deal of self doubt.

Everyone else, all these famous people have lives for so long, that it just didn't seem to matter if they lived over, or period. And most normal people don't know and don't care. But him? He wasn't famous, but he was well known, to an effect. And, as such, he now knew his life was an entire redub of an old existance. Rediculous, he wanted to say. But what was worst is that it all felt like reading a journal from years ago.

So now, he had finished smoking most of his cigarette and blotted it out on a stone table. "Now..." Griff began, turning to Sabine, who was sitting, most uncomfortably in a chair infront of Griff at that very moment. He looked pissed. And for the first time in years, he was in civilian soil with all of his weapons on. He looked pissed.

"What the ******** is this journal?" He pointed to a document about two feet tall and as logically long and wide. Inside were years of footnotes, tons of notes and enough information to compile an encyclopedia. Several notable names were tabbed. Furthermore, next to the book was a laptop. a G6000. What's worse than that is this. It was brand new and full with Halycanos' disks of information. "Type in a few names for me. You might recognize some. Vidunder, Halycanos, Lionel O'Connor might find your interest. Maybe Donovan Keane?"

Griff turned, pulling out another Cigarette. "When you disappeared and showed up married to someone named DeLaffe, I was concerned, but said nothing. You and Dorak. Both of your names are there. At adult ages. As with a portait I downloaded to the document. You'll notice three specific faces that looked damned familiar?"

"You, Dorak..." Griff took a hard drag, the smoked out. "...and me."

Griff turned about, his hands reaching into his breast pocket, pulling out a significantly smaller jounral, tossing it to the table. There, in gold print was the word 'Halycanos'. The journal there in detailed a series of deaths and re-animations through multiple centuries, including the battles with Lynia, right down to the most recent where it speaks of his departure to a Black Ring station from a Mr. Vidunder.

"Halycanos and Vidunder came down on me a week ago or so. And to make things more interesting, I fought what was refered to as Halycanos of Flame. Apparently, he wanted to kill the Blade Maker. Now... what's that about, hmm?"

Griff looked rather agrivated, more than anything. He had that 'tell me' look.

Griff shook his head. "I know. It's in the journal. Apparently, my old life's son was quite the biographer, hm? 'In dedication of the man who mad me the man I was meant to be. I will always miss you, Father.' Touching, but not my blood. No, from what I find in Halycanos' journals and opposing documents, there was infact a definition of drunkeness. Apparently, I was a drunk?"

Griff shrugged, grabbing a third cigarette, lighting it up. It lit more like toilet paper than like a cigarette because of how stale it was. "Apparently I was wanted for murder, treason, conspiracy to assassination of the king, assassination to the king of Larket? Any of this ring bells?" He took another drag, sighing it out more than puffing it. "...What's worse is that I was not credited for a little something I picked up while I was there at Halycanos' place." From there, he pointed to the wall where Griff's old musket rested.

"Seems like I've officially uncovered reincarnation, huh? Oughta go turn this stuff in to get some kind of patent." Griff smashed this cigarette into his hand, looking over. "Did you know Halycanos was alive?"

Griff walked forward, scooping up Halycanos' Journal. "And I quote. 'Upon my demise from Hollow at Donovan and Lionel's hands, I was forced into my now constant life of appearing and dying as Sylphe and Tri willed. What was worse is that for the first time, the swords were not destroyed, so we were forced to awaken and fight hand-to-hand against Lynia. She won this confrontation, naturally. We both were reborn the next day, and our old corpse became our new blades.' End quote."

Griff put the book down and proceeded to draw two blades. One was a twisted looking, evil rapier with a bloodruby pendant wrapped around the hilt. The other was a bluish longsword with a diamond pendant on it's guard. "...I am fairly sure this is them?"

Griff stabbed either blade into the ground, looking at Sabine. "Why in the name of ******** would that nutjob try to kill me?"

Morivan turned, just shaking his head. "And who the hell is Vidunder?"

Griff Morivan.

Let's look over everything, shall we? In the span of several weeks, Griff has discovered that his life is nothing more than a redundancy of a past, much more primitive life. His life, not to mention several others, are simply replays from aeons ago.

It was kinda like watching a very long rerun from Speed Racer or some s**t. So what can a man do? He had every intention on getting very seriously smashed. He hadn't decided on how to tell Alsoomse yet, of course. How do you? "Hey baby! We're a memory!"

Instead, a very strong drink would have to do. So as he is wandering down Main Avenue, Griff had intended on getting slammed in a bar on Fifth. Along one particular alley way, he felt himself slowly, quietly, slip. The alleyway faded from reality, and he stood in white.

"...Hello?"

You didn't die.

"What?"

I had expected you to collapse. To cave in and die under the weight of your past. Yet, astoundingly, you suvived knowing your life is a triviality.

"No such thing like a triviality. But who the hell are you?"

I am you...

From nothingness, Griff appeared before himself, decked out in the leather pants, riding boots and tatered black tunic he wore back in a day before back in the day. There in his hands sat the original Damascus.

I am what you were when I defined us. You are merely a repeat.

"Or maybe I'm what you were meant to be."

Never meant to live, my counterpart.

"Alright. Enough of that." And with no more to do, Griff rushed forward, his hands wrapping around Damascus, slicing into his shaded double. "Now, just go to that grave you were meant for."

...Heh... hehehehehehehehe... HA HA HA HA! Griff slowly ripped from himself, and out stepped a new, far worse self. Griff's current soul, faced down himself. You, and more importantly, I, am nothing but a monster. And I intend to turn us into a whole, more worthwhile being.

"******** you." Griff ran forward once more, slashing downward to over head at himself, being parried before stabbing his blade backwards. Imediately, he felt a sting, and looked down to see his chest impaled on the sword. His own sword.

We are meant to be one another, Griff Morivan. There is nothing else, Griff. We are the same person, because we deserve nothing but death. And Death begets... only death.

"Wrong." And with that, Griff ripped himself forward, no blood, no nothing coming free of his chest. There was no wound. "I am meant to live on. Cause you're a god damned... ILLUSION!"

Griff was standing in the alleyway, his sword drawn, and staring down a hobo who looked down right petrified.

"...Yes, Griff. Break apart. Come apart at your seams and unravel. I have plans."

Jimmy Rin was wandering around the backlog room, looking over and dispossing of older tapes.

Eventually, he came to a disk from three years previous mentioning the private purchase of the entirety of the D-SEP (Dur'em Space Exploration Project) from the Dur'em government to a private stock trader. On this disk, it explained that this man had a long, family history to explain his rediculous wealth. It also said as an afternote that after the project was purchased, the man used the rest of his wealth to open a bio-engineering facility based in Dur'em.

And so, Jim went onto the Interweb and looked around for Origin Research facility. Apparently, with all the work it's been doing on the side, funded by the facility's profits, it was going to be launching a ship into space. A big one. The first manned satalite in over ten years.

"...So when's the launch?" Click... click... click... "Two days?"

A man stands at the Barton Train station. He is a tall thin man who does not appear to have done any manual labor ever. He has black hair and somewhat pale skin. He wears a white dress shirt and pants set that seems to not collect dirt no matter how much he moves around. Over this he wears a white cape that is also so bright that most people would find it blinding to look on a bright sunny day. His shoes are also likewise a pair of white dress shoes that are as clean as can be and plolished to shine. On his face he wears a pare of black square framed glasses for he does not have the best of eyesight. His fingers are slender and well kept, giving him the appearance of a pianist. He has no weapons that can be seen on his person, and he stands there with an air of confidence that could only be held by someone of noble birth.

The man takes lifts up his hand and pulls back his sleave to reveal a silver watch, He lookes at it for a few moments with an expression of annoyance on his face. Then goes back to standing as he was before.

The man looks down the street as he hears the sound of a skateboard rolling across pavement. He knew some things about his opponent, such as the fact that he road a skateboard, and also that he had spiked blonde hair. Though in the case of abilities and the like, he never really tried to find out. He thought it more sporting to not know.

The man turned so that he was facing the skateboarder as he came rolling up. He had his hands in the pockets of his white dress pants and he was standing up strait with perfect posture, legs tight together and feet pointing at a ninty degree angle. Yet he looked comfertable and relaxed which would lead anyone to beleave that he stood like this all the time.

He rasied his left hand in welcome while keeping his right in his pocket. Saying nothing he waited for hsi opponent to stop, before any futher action would be taken.

The man looked down to his opponent with very little intrest.

"My name... is Staccato Tranus. Are you the one that is to be my opponent today?" The man said as he looked at the boy.

Staccato's expression changed very little. If anything his face just became a little more annoyed. He properly tilted his head so that he was not looking at the boy's chest, but instead was looking at his face again. He then pushed up his glasses with his left hand and let his hand finally hang loosely at his side.

"It is not the size of the opponent that matters... but more the skill with which they fight."

Staccato did not even move out of the way of the blow and was hit full force by it. This sent him back skidding across the ground in front of the train station. He bounced a few times then just laid there on his back for a moment.

He slowly stood up and as he did so he pulled something out of his pocket. It appeared to be a small silver cylinder about the size of his index finger. When he was almost all the way standing he slipped the cylinder over the index finger of his left hand. Then he just stood there motionless.

Just as Bert jumped from his skateboard, Staccato pointed at it with his left index finger. The wheel barrings suddnely melted an the melted meterial lept to Staccato's finger creating a long whip made of metal. While Staccato was pointing at the skateboard he was also sidestepping to the left so that he was able to dodge out of the way of the tackle.

He then turned his body to face his opponent and brought his finger down in an attempt to hit Bert with his newly made metal whip.

The metal whip would coil around Bert's arm and start to cut into it. Due to the fact that the whip was made of metal and rather thin because he did not use a large amount of metal. If Bert then continued by pulling the whip in, he would have a very deep cut in his arm. Depending on how hard he would pull it could even sever his arm, much like a metal wire could remove a person's head.

Though if he did pull he would get the chance to kick Staccato in the face. the shock from the hit would cause Staccato to lose consentration and make the whip detach from his finger.

As soon as the wire became licourice it was released from Staccato's power, which left him weaponless again. Of course this would mean that when Bert pulled he would be pulling on nothing at all since the candy no longer was attached to Staccato's finger.

The lack of tension would cause Staccato to fall back also, as he would land on his butt. The next thing he did was look for some other type of metal that he could use to his advantage, but in the back of his mind he would be wondering whe he had lost control of his whip.

Staccato would look about and find a nearby lamp post made of metal for his next weapon. He would point at the Lamp post and it would start to melt while it moved toward his finger.

Staccato rolled out of the way leaving the trail of metal from what was once the lamp post, it was dry and as hard as the metal normaly is, the only diffrence being that it is not a lamp post any longer.

He then followed up by using the momentum of his roll to get to his feet he ran to another nearby source of metal. This time a bench that was nearby the trainstation. He was rather fast on his feet and assuming that the added wait of Bert's larger size would slow him down. Staccato would reach the bench before his opponent could get to him.

Staccato would this time touch the metal, which would allow him to shape it at a moment's notice. He would pull his finger away from the bench turning it into a thin twin edged blade which had a rather sharp point.

Staccato's own power's over the blade, being more localized than Bert's would begin to compensate for the changes of the blade causing it to stablise into it sharp edge again.

Staccato would then charge at his opponent and preform the move from which his first name came. He would attack with a number of qick stabs, using his arms speed as the main force for this attack. This you see was his favoright weapon and is the form that he most often put's his metal weapons in. Meaning that it would be more stable against any outside force trying to change it.

His blade would targe many vital yet non-lethal area's starting with a stab toward each shoulder joint, one attack for each hip joint, two aimed at the knees, and then finishing with an attack ment to peirce one of the boy's kidneys. The whole maneuver would take less than half a minuet once he was in range and if successful would result in the boy being unable to finish the fight.

Staccato looks down at himself and steps back. Then allows the blade he was using to drop from his hand. He steps back again and puts his hands up.

"looks like you won this match... Nice job."

Staccato turns and reaches for his finger pulling off the cylander and heading down the street. In search of some place to treat his wounds.

He was never one to play in a fight to the death. He would rather not die himself and he did not intend to take another person's life without need. Bert had gained Staccato's respect. That was something that was not easily gained.

((You win))

A black chevy van with rust eaten sides circled the road around the fountain park in the center of Barton Town. A handmade bumper sticker, the kind made from some cheap kit, wa on the rust blotted chrome bumper. It read: My Prosthetic kid F*#@ed up you flesh bag child. Another on the other side simply said: Wanton Destruction. The driver, the sun shining over his metallic left arm, glanced sideways, spotting a group of park security gaurds conversing by the fountain amidst the crowds of late summer pleasure seakers. A boy and a girl stood behind the gaurds, throwing pennies into the fountain from a pile on the ledge left by their father, who was talking on the cell phone a little distance away. Nothing but a bump in the curb prevented the van filled with 1,818 kilos of amonia nitrate and fuel mixture from swerving into the park from the city streets. The driver aimed for the police officers at the fountain, reving his to pick up speed after losing momentum at the curb. The security gaurds opened fire as the driver shouted.

"All hail Ymiristan you fascist prosthetic hating son's of bitches!" he screamed, "Suck on this Barton!"

A bullet struck through the windsheild and entered the driver's forehead, but the van went going full speed for the fountain laden with cheap explosives. Before the people had a chance to panic it would be over, the force of the explosion shaking most of downtown Barton. A geyser of water would stand amidst a crator where the Barton fountain used to be as broken glass, crumbled masonry, and body parts fell across the park and nearby neighborhoods.

Staccato sits up in a hospital bed after hearing the news. He was still bedridden from his fight yesterday and was rather surprised by what he saw. Even though he had heard the explosion, he had no idea were it had come form.

"dam those people and their wars. I just can't figure it our. What is the point in fighting in a war like that if you are just going to die anyway? I am sure there are better ways of decide who is right, Such as a tournament of the best fighters." Staccato rants.

"You should get some rest now. Your in no condition to worry about such things right now anyway." The nurse says as she gently pushes Staccato back down into his bed.

Staccato sighs and the drifts back off to sleep.

Faeror stepped of the train into barton train station. He wanted to check out a stadium he had heard about that was supposed to have powerful fighters. Walking over to a map he saw that he had to travel to it by going northeast of his current faceing. There was a flah of light and he was gone.

(postin in stadium)

The news footage of the fighting in Ymiristan was broken by a live wire broadcast from General Bakkar himself, interposed with footage of the Omega weapon descending, if that was possible.

"People of Gaia, this is General Bakkar, defense minister of Ymiristan. I'm sending this message through the wires only out of desperation, as few of our people expect to live to see the dawn. At present, our nation has repulsed a massive undead attack, but it seems that is not enough. The Ymiristani government has made many mistakes, one being the aggression we've shown to the world concerning Aekea, we apologize for those transgressions. Now, let me be frank with you, we are under attack, Edward Yaits the III is dead, and a weapon of legendary power is approaching the national HQ. The terms issued the Ymiristan leadership are simple, we must surrendor or die. If we surrendor, Yaits city will become the ultimate necropolis, on the very doorstep of Durem. I have.... the leadership of Ymiristan has choosen.... to go down fighting.... even if such a struggle means certain death. We will not make it easy for these bastards to conquer world, we will fight until every last drop of Ymiristani blood has been absorbed into the rocky soil. Tonight, Ymiristan is fighting a battle that will decide the fate of the world, and I'm damn proud to know I'm on the right side for once. Over and out!"

For the past few days now Staccato had been spending his time at home, in his family’s nice house. You would be surprised how small a home they had considering they backed much of Barton with their money when it was starting out. Then again they did not want to draw much attention to themselves and would rather put the money back out there anyway. Though, for the most part though they had a nice lifestyle.

Staccato was actually reading the newspaper at the moment, looking to see if there might be anything in there about someone willing to do a little fighting. He had, had no such luck though. It seems that most of those people that liked fighting had either gone off to be part of the short lived war, or they were checking out what was happening in the oceans.

Staccato sighed and decided that he should just enjoy life for a while. He was sure there would be someone to fight him again eventually.

A bird flew overhead, silently observing the city with its sharp senses. No one would notice from this high up that the eagle was looking for something or someone specific- it simply circled high above the walls and houses as if making a thorough search of the city before going any further down.

The train came to a screechingly slow halt, with steam venting out through the exhaust pipes. Doors slid open and passengers strolled out, passing through the turnstyle gate. Among them was a man of fair skin, with a large afro. He stood about six feet tall, and wore a multicolored coat, red slacks, and leather boots. A gold chain hung around his neck, and black shades covered his eyes. The grin on his lips depicted a mischievousness about him. Strolling through the turnstyle, he stood on the sidewalk, waiting.

Waiting for his new student.

"You!" The man pointed his finger at Morimo. "Such lack of emotion, of vavoom! You must be the one they called me for. You must be my new student, Morimo, yes?"

"Yes, of course you are. You may call me...

AFRO-SAMA!

Now then, tell me about yourself, whilst we walk to the cafe for some mochas."

Afro-sama slipped an arm around Morimo's shoulder, turning him and walking with him down the sidewalk. He had no idea where the cafe was, or if there even was there, but under the assumption that every city or town must have a cafe, he figured there would be one somewhere around here.

"That's it? Come now. There must be more. Where do you come from? What are your goals? Why are you unconfident? Tell me your story, man. I'll need much more to work with than that if you want me to help you."

Afro-sama had no clue as to where they were going. In a sense, he was following his nose, which never steered him wrong. That, and he saw a big sign depicting a foaming mug, advertising the pub in the center of Barton Town, which was where they were headed.

"Hmmm. I see this is going to be a long first day."

Reaching the door, Afro-sama opened for him to walk in through first, then would follow him inside and find a table in a corner to take a seat in. A waitress came up, asking what would they like. Afro-sama ordered what he always ordered: a caffe double mocha. The waitress turned to Morimo to ask him his order next.

"Uh, I'm going to have to ask you for some ID," the waitress said.

Afro-sama chuckled softly.

The waitress looked at the picture on the ID card, then at him, then back. "Uh huh... Yeah right, Ahmed al Makhabar. I'll get you a water instead."

The waitress set the ID card down on the table, which had a picture on it of an arab man with a full beard and turban, looking nothing like Morimo. Afro-sama laughed again, patting the table.

"Descriptions are very important. You can't just make a simple action, like handing a waitress a fake ID card, without narrating what the card actually has on it. Otherwise, it could be anything, and you would be powerless against it because you failed to depict it beforehand."

"Hot sauce? Yeesh. You can keep all of that."

Unsure of if his new student actually understood his first lesson, Afro-sama moved on. He pulled a thick, leatherbound journal out of his jacket and set it on the table, pushing it over to him. Inside the journal would be a pen.

"For your next lesson, I want you to write what your surroundings look like. Be as descriptive as possible."

Afro-sama reads over the text, rubbing his chin in thought. After a moment or two, he states, "Well, it's a start, but I've seen worse."

He closed the journal and slid it back over to him. "Keep this journal. Wherever you go, I want you to describe your surroundings. Think of it as practice. Surroundings are another important factor, because it's important to know what is all around you, to you and to those who are travelling with you. Do you understand?"

A thin bamboo rod slides out of the right sleeve of Afro-sama's jacket, sliding into his hand, which would then thwap Morimo over the top of his head very sharpy. "Watch your tone with me, student. This is the easy way of learning, but if you'd prefer the hard way, I can oblige you."

The waitress returned with their drinks, handing Afro-sama his coffee, and Morimo a glass of water, giving him a smile.

Afro-sama's eyebrows knit close together. Thankfully, he still had his glasses on. He took the napkins from Moriko's hand, slapping it away and wiping his face off himself, then his glasses. "Don't worry about it. For now, focus on your lessons, because soon you are about to undertake the one thing that every roleplayer must undertake in order to become a better character."

He paused for dramatic suspense, then said, "Your first quest!"

Afro-sama thanked the waitress, and she walked off to take other people's orders. He sipped his coffee, sighing contently, then set it off to the side, looking Morimo in the eye.

"Failure is not an option. You will succeed, no matter how long or how hard you have to try. Your quest, and you have no choice but to accept it, is to travel to Durem. In Durem, you will find a salon, and in that salon is a hairpick. It is not just any hairpick, though. It is a magical hairpick. It is located in a vault underneath the Salon, guarded by gods know what kind of monsters and the like, for this is a one-of-a-kind hairpick, which Vanessa neither sells nor intends to sell. Retrieve this hairpick for me, and I will take you on as a full student.

You will not be alone in this quest. There will be others who will aid you, but you must meet them and befriend them first. For this, you must have confidence in yourself, and your abilities. It is guaranteed that there will be some kind of guardian protecting the hairpick, so you will need all the help you can get. Take my rod," and Afro-sama set the bamboo rod he had earlier thwapped him on the head with, "It will help serve you on this quest. No matter how hard you strike with it, or how hard it is struck, it will never break. Return to me only once you have the hairpick in your possession."

He sighed again, but conceded. It was a simple request, afterall. "Very well. Do what you must then, and when you are ready, go. I will be waiting here for your return. For now, you are dismissed."

"Good luck on your journey. I trust you will succeed." Afro-sama smiled to him, then continued drinking his coffee.

Where am I supposed to go...?

Nameless, for that was what he would refer to himself now, had to think of where to go. There were only a few things that he knew, and that was that he was a failure to his one friend Owle. He needed to make it up too her. The sun felt hash against his skin, but it wasn't anything that he couldn't handle.

The sun.

"I need to go North..."

Nameless was standing on the sidewalk outside the busy hospital, and he slowly gained his bearings by putting a hand over his brows and looking upwards.

The man was certainly gathering a lot of looks however, for it looked odd as Nameless numerous burns continued to slowly fade away in various places on his exposed skin. A dark tan was left behind in the places the burns faded, extremely dark. Heat wouldn't bother the meta-human much unless it was to some extreme degrees.

"Clothing too..."

Nameless said with a lack of confidence, looking down at all his bare skin. The steel blue orbs rested on his toes, and he wiggled them around a bit. Now that his eyes were fully adjusted, he decided to look around.

Cars. People. Banners. Buildings. Street. Buisnesses. Resteraunts.

All of these words occurred to Nameless, he was in the middle of a city. Slowly his hearing adjusted, and the noises of civilization flooded through his senses. Nameless knew what to do, but he had no money to do it with. It was a matter of survival, money was not an issue.

Nameless turned north, and began walking down the sidewalk as he recieved strange looks from the populace. Though the Barton residents would lose interest as quick as they gained it, use to such odd appearances.

6'3" and mucles mostly visably defined from his lack of clothing, Nameless looked to Bren with a bit of desperation.

"Excuse me... sir... could you help me?"

Nameless had so many things that he needed help with, he didn't know where to begin. He needed to figure out how to protect his feet from stepping on any glass or other hazards that a city carries. Nameless needed to figure out how he was going to get back to the place he nearly blew up as well.

His friend was there.

Maybe she had answers.

Nameless looked to the boy seven years his junior with a pleeding look in his steel blue eyes, tears obviously staining otherwise hard cheeks.

Nameless did have those blue medical pants, but they were rather thin and drafty. It was shibber-me-timbers down below. Nameless was quick to follow the young man to the department store.

"I...uh... don't have any money."

The equivalent to a GI Joe looking character, moved his hand and rubbed the back of his head rather akwardly. Nameless really didn't know how he knew that money would be needed for clothes and shoes. Just that he needed them.

Those steel blue eyes moved around all the various items in the department store, rather lost as to what to do.

"I'm sorry..."

Nameless looked down at his toes, rather ashamed that he didn't know what to do.

It might've seen odd to have Nameless following around the kid, when it was like the kid from Home Alone with Arnold Schwarzenagger acting as a lost pet. That was just the way things happened in Gaia though, and Nameless was rather greatful he had run into this nice person.

"Your Mom must be really proud."

Nameless nodded, looking at all the clothing and wondering what he was supposed to wear. Maybe the kid knew.

"I really appreciate all of your help. But, what am I supposed to wear?"

Nameless was about as skilled in that department store, as a rhinocerous in a china shop.

"Ugh..."

Nameless watched the clothing pile up in his arms, and he followed the kid around nodding. He didn't know what to say, and merely listened. The clothes didn't look bad, so he thought that he would just go with whatever was picked out for him.

Not only that, Nameless wasn't the one buying the clothing. It was all gifts, and Nameless didn't know how...

"How am I going to pay you back?"

Nameless asked the kid, walking towards the shoe department.

"Isn't that the right thing to do?"

Nameless asked him, thinking it would be. Though, the man was obviously confused as to what right and wrong was. Not so much what was right and wrong, but why he thought some things were right and others were not. Nameless was lost.

So, Nameless nodded and figured the boy knew what he was talking about. Though some of it did seem counter-dictory, Nameless figured it was just because he wasn't listening right. All that mattered was that the boy didn't want to get paid back.

And that Nameless needed to try the stuff on. He dropped the mound of clothing on a counter with shoes on them.

So, on went a shirt and off went the blue medical pants. He put on one of the pairs of pants, threw it after it didn't fit, and went to another. After he had tried all the stuff on in the middle of the store, he looked down to the kid for approval.

Of course, how fast Nameless did all of this would probably be something to wonder. For Nameless moved at about the rate of a bullet, going nearly supersonic as he tried clothes on and tossed the ones that didn't fit.

Nameless looked down at the tags he were wearing around him, tilting his head from side to side.

"No... I like this very much."

Nameless liked black a lot for some reason, reminded him of his beginning. And of his failure.

Nameless followed Bren to the cashier, tilting his head and looking down to him. Nameless had only one goal right now, though he was really hungry.

He could do without food for now.

"I need to get to...North, there is a place there with my friend Owle. I need to talk to her. It's along the beach, and it has a hole in one wall."

"I should be able to find the place from the sea side..."

Nameless said easily enough, watching the exchange between the lady at the sales counter and the boy. It all seemed familiar, as though the exchange was natural.

And the same how and why still were not answered.

Nameless was slowly coming to just accept things as they were, instead of questioning them.

Kitty growled. She couldn't believe it. Her so called friend had ditched her for a guy. So what if she was picky. She was 16, going on 17 and she could not have a boyfriend if she wanted to. It wasn't that she was unpretty; she was just too much of a tomboy for most guys to handle. Between horseback riding, training with her dad, martial arts classes, ballet and school, she didn't have all of the time in the world to devote to a boyfriend anyways.

But the vixen was still annoyed.She was all dressed up and ready to go to that Heaven or Hell tournament; her father had gotten her tickets to go see all the fighters she wanted to. This was -supposed- to be one of the greatest days ever. And instead, she was stuck in Barton Town at a bus stop just hours before HoH started. She felt like crying. She wanted to see Ryugin, Glacier, that woman from the Femme Fatales. The whole nine yards...

Kitty went storming off, her face as flame red as her hair. Stupid people. How in the hell would she get there now. Okay, so she -should- have her license, but she was still $200 away from getting her car so it had to wait. She was almost there. Too bad she was going to get fired at the rate she was going.

Then she spotted a girl sitting on a bench nearby and smiled, maybe she hadn't missed the bus too. "Excuse me, has the bus to Latent passed through yet?"

"Damnit..." Her face squinched up, "I'm never going to make it to work on time." She plopped down beside the girl, feeling like pulling her hair out. "This job would have finished paying off my new car that daddy says I can have." She grumbled again. "Damnit!!"

She turned to the younger girl with a look of sage advice. "Don't ever date, all you'll end up doing is ditching your friends." She nodded her head in affirmtion of that idea and sigh.

Kitty looked at the girl. She had to be at least three years younger than her. But she didn't want to insult the girl either. "You can? I mean, I'm trying to get to my job at one of the sites for the Heaven or Hell Tournament." Kitty could have facepalmed. Angelica was the one who knew which location they were supposed to report to. Oh well, she could find out when she got there. She hoped. Maybe the girl could call her father...

"Freak out on you?" Kitty tilted her head to the side, puzzled. "Why would I do that? I'm just grateful I won't lose my job."

"As long as you don't put me in a box or a closet or somewhere up a mountain, I should be okay." She shuddered, " I hate heights and small places. One of my reoccuring nightmares is that I'm a spy for a group of Special forces unit's and I'm trapped in an air ventaliation shaft for hours while I'm trying to find out how many terriorists are in a building." She laughed, brushing it off.

"Weird huh?"

She pushed her hair out of her face and gave her hand to Sam. "I had that nightmare a few months ago when there was this group of terriorist holding a bunch of people hostage in Durem. I had a panic attack like you wouldn't believe right in the middle of the day...And then there was this purple bird and a dark blue raven..." She shook her head, "Sorry, I tend to ramble. Name's Kitty, btw. Kitty Faen"

"God damn you, ARDS!"

There, in a home of Barton Town, there would be a corpse. But not of some NPC. No. Not a civilian or some third rate character. No. Indeed, this was someone's primary character.

Oh yes.

JAF got the clearance.

But back to the post.

In this house, there was a corpse. His long red hair strewn about the floor as his wide green eyes look off into nothingness. She looked so peaceful. She looked so quite. So calm.

So cold.

"Mother ******. Why!?" a frantic Roland would shout. "We didn't need to kill her, what the ****** is your problem?!"

"She resisted." replied the mechanical beast ARDS. It's entire right arm was soaked in blood, likely from the hole it had punched out of Sabine's body. "She had to be eliminated, as the mission was outlined."

"...As have you."

Roland was stopped full. His body had begun the transformation of the two new swords, Hellfire and Blessed <3>.

The swords and their reiterations through time and space have had a single special power. They adapt to the soul of the wearer. And in this case, Roland is the signature perfect with both blades. As he has been for the others, amazingly. So now, his chest was encased in crimson armor, his shoulders guarded by an aquamarine steel, his legs padded by the red steel of Hellfire, and his feet covered in the water metals of Blessed.

Either fist still contained the souls of Hellfire and Blessed from ages long lost.

"You knew this was supposed to be a no kill mission! What is so hard for you to grasp?!"

"Your weakness."

SLAM! Roland was across the room in a flash, his left gauntlet putting a new set of dents in ARDS' face.

The two would burst into combat at this point, going back and forth, fists blazing. Roland would remain faithful to his fists, slamming as he saw fit where as ARDS would adjust style for every circumstance.

Sieg had left the stadium during the evacuation. Even though his team made second place Sieg had no right to neglect the commands of the owner. Sieg drove out of the barton forest on his bike into barton, he turned straight into the parking lot of the tavern.

Sieg headed into one of the tavern to change clothes, he had healed a lot of his wounds by this point but his clothing was in tatters; he needed to change into something different; something more fashionable.

Sieg Changed into a outfit consisting mainly of white. He wore loose white pants, held onto his muscular form by white belts going along the waist and foreleg. He wore a white open sleeveless jacket with no shirt underneath, displaying his powerful ebony chest.

Around his chest he wore a single strap backpack which held various items including his destroyed clothing. He headed out of the tavern, with his wooden cross gleaming in the sunlight on his neck and boarded his bike.

In his right hand he carried a 'X-Potion', so he could complete the healing process power. Sieg placed in his headphones which connected to an mp3 player and radio device. He turned on the radio and heard some news that didnt seem to concern him.

He turned back out into the street on his bike.

Seeing that arena was empty just like he had said, he decided to go to the place to go; Barton Town. Along the way he didn't give up a second to remind the wolf spirit who was right and who was wrong. After a hour or so, he arrived at the hub of all of Gaia. Back in his continent he had stories about the thriving city and the many people and places it held, and as it turned out they were all right. When the city came into view, Spiko couldn't believe how massive the city actually was, and without hesitating he began to see all that could be seen; stores, bars, skyscrapers, and the various districts it held. All the while, he tried his hardest to keep his wooden arm hidden from view; the last thing he wanted was to have hundreds of people thinking of him as a outcast, he just wanted to blend in with the crowd.

After touring the city, he soon arrived at a bench and sat down, and gave no notice to the man who was sitting with him, that was until he turned got a clear look of his face and realized who he was. "Er.. excuse me. If you don't mind me asking but didn't you fight in Heaven or Hell this year?" His voice was filled with some excitement for in his continent the fighters were viewed as legends and he looked up to just about everyone of them, and when he had heard him say something about a fight; he smirked realizing e had a chance to fight someone who was of that caliber.

((Srry it took so long))

"Oh, I was just wondering.. because back in my country you guys are like gods." Spiko chuckled a bit. "Well to the kids anyway, and I think I saw you on TV... tough lose but still a good fight." Spiko then remembered him talking about wanting to fight, and since there was nothing else to do but tour the city he thought this would be a good time to test the skills of Gaians and to hone in on his skills when he enters the arena.

"I heard you were wanting someone to fight.." he flashed him a smirk "You figure you'd give me a shot against you?" Just when he had finished his sentence the spirit inside him erupted.

'WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? YOU"RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE FIGHTING? Did you forget why we came all the way across the ocean for?!!!' the wolf spirit yelled as hard as he could, which made Spiko be thrown back a bit.

'Just trust me ok? I've been longing for a fight, and seeing that this man wants one... why not?' he thought back, which silenced the spirit; somehow the spirit knew when to shut up and when to speak, which was good seeing that constant voices in the head would grew quite annoying.