Those With Power

[Mattbot]

The setting:
The world although similar to that of today but contains super powered individuals of all origins, The rules of reality do not apply here so try to suspend your disbelief if I pull random super tech out of my ass.
Its Autumn 2010, a different dimension with superhumans, paranormal entities, mythical creatures, alien races and enhanced technology being widely accepted across the planet.

This rpg centers around one large city, the city of Hope. A beaten and decaying place residing in Louisiana mostly forgotten about by the outside world. Those who stay are either to poor or stupid to move away from the city live in constant fear of terrorists, criminals and super enhanced beings. The police force are near useless against most criminals but are still strongly apposed to the idea of vigilantes, treating them the same as common thugs.




More locations will be added as the game progresses.

A small group of solo super powered individuals have been tracked down and recruited into a team by Salvador "Angel" Mendoza (Ciudad Borracho) through various means, he arranges for them to all meet in an underground compound created to house the team. The base hides deep beneath the cities subways with many links into the city above. Inside are big open training areas, multiple rooms for team members, a meeting room and many more areas. The team is called the Guardians.

The team:
The team will consist of about 8 active players. Those who don't make it into the team will be put on a waiting list where their character is out of town on a personnel agenda/ preparing to join the team or something like that and can jump in when one of the active players is removed proclaiming that they have been delayed or something like that and are now ready to join the team. The chosen player will be pm'd on when they can enter the rpg and maybe a suggestion of how.

Inactivity:
If a player is inactive for 2 to 3 weeks without giving explanation then their character shall be killed off and replaced with a player on the waiting list. If the player explains that they're leaving for a few weeks or longer they can have their character temporarily replaced or controlled by another player till their return.

Super powers:
Every superhero needs some form of superpower whether it be the power to harness fire or the ability to pull your arm off and use it as a boomerang. Some of these only take effect under specific circumstances like a full moon or when holding a magical item. You can choose from any superpower you can think up as long as it is actually useful and not too over powered. Try and keep it original and unique.

Origins:
The origin of your power could be anything. Although if too unrealistic then I can give suggest changes.

The Base:
The base is named 'The Guard Post'
The underground hideout for the team is a series of long steel corridors supported by old Greek and Roman concrete pillars with metal supports within each. The base is built into various buildings surrounding the Tionscal leictreach building connected by underground corridoors and rooms. It contains lots of high tech equipment for the team. Most of the base has a faint blue tint to it and is covered in clear colorless brand logos of 'An Tionscal leictreach'. The base has enough rooms to house the team and those that work inside, there are also a few offices for the members near their rooms. In the center of the complex is the meeting chamber. A very classy and detailed room with a large and fine oak/steel table in the center large enough to encompass up to 12 people. Other rooms in the base include a lounge area with bar, a gym, a medical bay, target range, simulation room with beat em up robot and many other rooms serving different purposes. There are also multiple entrances to the upper world with a large hanger built into the third story of a building directly above the base.

Map to be made

Name: Can be both your characters actual name and their superhero name if you want them to have one. Also say if the other team members know your characters actual name.
Age:
Gender:
Personality: Write about your characters personality and their feelings on criminals, would they hand a criminal over to the authorities or punish them personally? (No more casual killers allowed for the time being)
Transport: Some circumstances may require a mode of transport. For those who can fly or run super fast it doesn’t apply but those without such an ability may require a vehicle, this could be anything from a skateboard to a hover bike.
Ability and equipment: What super power your character has and what equipment they may be carrying. Try and keep original and not too over powered. If you need inspiration take a look at this website: http://www.superpowerlist.com/
Appearance: What your character looks like. Do you where a costume or something more casual? When not in action you can change into something else if you want. Images may help.
Biography: A brief biography of your character, their powers origin and how they joined the team.
Anything else:

PM me your character ideas before posting in this thread please and if you have any questions feel free to ask. I've probably forgot to mention tones of stuff.

Waiting List
Bruce Cyborg/ Cyanrain
Yet to tell me/ Bloody Bomb
Yet to tell me/ Big Boom
Yet to tell me/ Hackthru


Name: Salvador "Angel" Mendoza, Those in the team know him as Angel whereas everyone else calls him Ciudad Borracho.

Age: 38

Gender: Male

Personality: Cheerful, social, co operative and friendly to those on the side of justice. Enjoys a laugh but can be stern when required. Prefers capturing criminals and handing them over to the authorities unless they have committed extreme crimes, in which case he doesn’t trouble himself with their health, he would only kill if it the situation seriously demanded that he do so. In his drunken state he can tend to lose control of himself as a side effect but can usually keep himself under check.

Has had minor experience leading teams in the past but had only done so for short periods of time and had a higher individual to report to. The Defenders are his first long term team completely under his control.

Transport: A dark blue Suzuki Hayabusa with a gun rack on each side made for rifles, automatics, shotguns and other large guns. There is also a small compartment in the side containing a few bottles of various alcoholic beverages. It has also been modified to be more durable in a chase and combat and travel at speeds far beyond its limit meaning that Salvador must be intoxicated to ride it correctly.

Ability and equipment: When Angel drinks alcohol his inhibition drops as would a normal humans but he still retains his tactical knowledge. Also his reflexes, perception, balance and accuracy are heightened to a super human level. The power also gives him a near perfect photographic memory of his time drunk. The more he drinks the more powerfull but wreckless he becomes.

Carries around a wide assortment of ranged weapons as well as various shell types for different situations (similiar to the shells from Triple X) on his persons and in the weapon rack on his bike. No close quarter weapons however. Also carries a flask of various alcohols inside his coat.

Appearance: Six foot tall, Spanish, black scruffy hair and well built. he carries many scars across his body from both his years in the police force and as a vigilante aswell as the marks from constant liver transplants. When not in costume he'll choose to wear jeans, smart t shirt and trainers.

When in costume he wears a dark blue spandex costume beneath a brown modified long coat, thick bandanna and boots. Torso is crossed with ammo belts containing different cartridges and thrown weapons. His mask covers his entire face except his mouth and nose. His belt, bracers, holsters, visor and headset are all made of a dark tinted steel. Always wears sunglasses, tinted goggles or a visor to cover up the horribly mutated state of his eyes which although hidious to view, doesn't affect his eyesight. This is most likely a side effect of overusing his powers.

Image with link:


Biography: Salvador Mendoza was born in northern Spain where he grew up as the son of an underground scientist who focused on biological modification. His father had been working on a means to repel the negative affects of severe drinking. Amazingly he was able to reverse some of the results of short term drinking instead, where drinking slowed reaction times, co ordination and caused blurry vision with professor Mendoza’s formula, drinking would increase these attributes beyond any average humans. After testing the formula on himself over the course of a few years he gave it to his son as a gift and later Angels younger sister. This power went mostly unused by the three of them and the scientific community at the time didn't want to hear Angel's father out resulting in the formula being abandoned behind other projects.

Once out of education he chose to follow the law path by joining the local police force in which he served long into his late twenties, thanks to this job Angel was able to make great use of his gift and was able to develop it way further than his sister and father had.

When his father was brutally murdered and his sister hospitalised by the local mob boss for lack of protection money Angel found out how corrupt the average law system could be. Outraged by the turn of events, Angel left the force to pursue his own form of justice dealing with both the mobsters and corrupt officials with extreme violence which he would later regret for most of his career.

After this Salvador Mendoza took up the vigilante name 'Ciudad Borracho' as well as his costume. Once his sister had recovered and he had stayed long enough Angel left the town. He procceded to travel from city to city, country to country spreading his name, teaming up with others like him and stopping crimes. During his time on these various team ups he would act in the scout, support role, prefering to keep himself well out of harms range and making the best use of his talent. He funded his travels and equipment by winning marksman and drinking competitions.

The city of Hope is his next challenge. Upon arriving he soon realized that this city could not be saved if all the vigilantes in the city worked solo and so he began construction of an underground base 'The Guard Post' with the helpful funding from an old friend of his. During construction he began researching individuals with above human abilities that would be of great use in a team. After looking through untold amounts of newspaper archives and official documents, Angel contacted each of the super powered people on his list attempting to recruit them into his newly formed group paying them if necessary.

Anything else: Without alcohol he’s powerless. Although he carries guns he rarely uses lethal ammunition prefering to use tranquilizers and nets to take down his opponents. He is also an expert hacker and has easy acces to government documents and criminal organisations.

Temp Guard Post Map:

[Varthonai]

Name: Marc Jean-Paul Facilier, MD

Age: 31

Sex: Male

Personality: The word “criminal” has no meaning to Marc, because he does not recognize the validity of any legal system except the unofficial one he imposes on his neighborhood. Marc is extremely domineering and overprotective of the living people in his neighborhood, and his principal concern is caring for them. Marc tries to avoid using capital punishment or lethal force against his enemies in any way (both within and outside of his territory) and so far it has been unnecessary. Marc is extremely literate, both politically and culturally; he is a particular admirer of Gandhi, Machiavelli, Tolstoy, and Dante.

Marc is only vaguely concerned with the affairs of the rest of the city, but he is aware that events in the rest of the city can potentially affect his neighborhood. It is for this reason that he sought membership among Angel Mendoza’s Guardians.

Transport: Whatever’s available and efficient, including public transport. Marc isn’t picky.

Ability and Equipment: Marc is capable of reanimating and maintaining a telepathic link with any complete or partial mammalian corpse in his line of sight. Corpses will remain linked after they leave Marc’s line of sight, and since Marc can see through the eyes of corpses under his direct control, he can also raise any corpses that his reanimated creatures see. This reanimation takes negligible time and effort, akin to the time and effort a normal person might take in the process of reaching down to pick up a dirty coin from the sidewalk.

Marc cannot bring living tissue under his control. However, he can speed the rate of necrosis in a corpse in order to bring it under his control more rapidly; this process will kill all living cells in a fresh corpse within a matter of seconds, and (like his ability of reanimation) it can be performed on any corpse that is within the line of sight of Marc or any of his reanimates.

Marc can choose either to control a corpse directly, or to give it partial autonomy by “programming” it with a set of instructions. The level of complexity of these instructions varies with the intelligence of the corpse and the state of the corpse’s brain; for instance, a human corpse with a complete brain is generally capable of understanding more advanced commands than either a human corpse with a damaged brain or a rabbit corpse with a complete brain. Marc can switch from direct control to semi-autonomy and back whenever he chooses. Directly-controlled corpses will stop work and collapse whenever Marc is unconscious, but partially-autonomous corpses will continue with their most recent set of instructions until Marc regains consciousness and orders them to stop, or until they sustain damage that renders them unable to continue with their instructions.

Marc can animate a severed limb, head, or other individual part of a corpse and it will function normally. He can also stitch whole or partial corpses together to make larger undead creations, and so long as these creatures don't defy any laws of physics (i.e. being so big that they should collapse under their own weight) they will also function normally.

Marc cannot heal damage dealt to his corpses. Once they become too damaged to walk or fight, he will have to either repair them surgically or discard them.

If the brain of a corpse is intact, Marc can also a) give it complete autonomy, behaving exactly as it did while it was alive and retaining its old personality and memories, and b) learn its intentions, thoughts, and memories himself, via telepathic link. Marc cannot "absorb" a brain’s information all at once--he must scan through bits of data individually, as a normal person might scan Wikipedia for a research project. (Note: if Marc creates an individually sentient undead creature as described in a), he will still have a telepathic link to it. He will also be able to take away its consciousness and individual sentience at any time, should it actively oppose him.)

If Marc is forced to fight an opponent himself, he will do so with whatever weapons are available to him.

Appearance: Marc is a lanky 5’5 1/2’’ African-American man. He keeps his entire body completely clean-shaven, and yes, I do mean his ENTIRE body. He is also nearsighted, and prefers glasses to contacts. (Note: when he looks through the eyes of any of his undead creations, he sees exactly as well as they see.)

Marc rarely goes out in public (preferring to manage events from a place of his choosing within his neighborhood) and when he is alone, he generally prefers not to wear clothing, unless one counts his glasses. When in public, he will usually wear a loose-fitting t-shirt with sweatpants or jeans. Whenever he is personally performing surgery upon a damaged corpse, he will wear a white lab coat.

Biography: Marc grew up in an impoverished neighborhood in New Orleans. He either does not know or cannot recall the exact circumstances under which he acquired his powers, but he is aware that they first manifested when he was thirteen years old. Self-study and experimentation with his powers led him to become fascinated with medicine, and after graduating from high school he attended Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore and received a degree in medicine from Johns Hopkins Medical School before returning to New Orleans and finding that, in his absence, most of the people he grew up with had been killed by gang violence, widespread lower-class diseases, and drug abuse. The survivors had been forced into even worse neighborhoods after a gentrification project made their property taxes unaffordable.

Marc quickly found sufficiently cheap housing in the nearby city of Hope and the neighborhood of Summer Park, bringing in his remaining family and friends and vowing not to let anything happen to their new neighborhood like what happened to his former home. Marc immediately threw out the local gang leaders and set to work improving the quality of life in Summer Park (renaming most of the streets in the process, renaming the neighborhood itself Princedom Park in homage to Machiavelli); many outsiders see his obsessive control over the neighborhood as borderline totalitarianism, but those who live in Princedom Park are either too loyal or too frightened of Marc to disagree.

Anything Else: Marc hardly ever leaves Princedom Park, not even to help the other Guardians. If the Guardians require his help, he will usually send a few of his stronger undead creations and assist from afar.

EDIT: Yes, I am aware that he is massively overpowered, but Matt gave me permission so B-P

[sgt_Angua]

Name: Gish Alac Sahari (Species: Monaran)

Age: 41 (This is barely middle-aged by Monaran standards.)

Gender: Female

Personality: Gish is quiet and reserved. She does not often volunteer personal information, but may answer questions about her past and personal life. She is pretty easy going and is hard to provoke into a reaction. She will, however, answer any insult to her family or accusation of cowardice. Although she does not do anything to repel people, she does not put any effort into making friends. Gish is not fond of violence but will not shy from a fight. She would prefer to capture a criminal rather than kill him or her.

Transport: Gish almost always travels in a float-chair. The float-chair looks like a hollow metal cone (3 ft across and 3 ft high) with slightly rounded sides, and the bottom-most inch cut off so it has a small flat surface to rest on. She sits about on a seat installed about six inches below the lip of the cone and controls the float-chair with her feet. The float-chair usually hovers about a foot off the ground. Monarans have dog-like legs and cannot sustain bipedal movement for long periods of time. Gish uses the float-chair not because she is weak, but because she realized that humans consider quadrupeds inferior and unintelligent and she wanted to avoid those assumptions.

Ability and equipment: Although Gish is not special by Monaran standards (excepting the fame of her sword-arm, which I will address later), she is many times stronger than the average human, and has faster reflexes. Monarans also heal faster than humans and, given enough time, can regenerate entire limbs. A Monaran’s body can also synthesize vitamin C (which a human cannot). Gish was trained as a doctor both on her home planet and on earth. Gish would prefer to have the role of medic within the group but, depending on events, this may not end up being her primary role.

Monarans have a sword-arm, which, instead of a hand like the other arm, has a single long, hard, sharp nail that resembles the blade of a sword and is used as one. The sword-arm has a very small thumb, but no other digits. Gish’s sword-arm is her left arm (which is about as common as left-handedness in our society). This gives her an advantage over most Monarans and human swordfighters, since she is used to fighting those who are right-handed, but most aren’t used to fighting people who use their left hand. The ‘blade’ (nail) of her sword-arm is two feet long. Gish wears a prosthetic arm and hand over the blade, in part to keep humans at ease. Gish can move the fingers on her prosthetic arm, but they are very weak and clumsy. Gish is very good at hiding the apparent difference in the length of her arms. Although she does things to put humans at ease that consequently hide the anatomical differences between humans and herself, Gish is not ashamed of her body, and will gladly answer any questions about the float-chair and prosthetic arm.

Appearance: Gish is 7 ft tall with a skin tone almost the color of the ends of asparagus, and long black hair usually tied back in a braid. She has a long face with long thin features. Her arms are longer than the average human's. As I mentioned before, her legs are like a quadraped's and her feet are similar to a wolf’s hind paws, but with longer toes. Gish moves with the grace of age but none of the weakness. She dresses in many layers of loose colorful robes with large sleeves, making it easier to disguise her prosthetic arm.

Biography: Gish was born on the planet Monara. Monarans practice ancestor worship and the culture dictates that they must answer any insult to their family. This is often done with a duel. Duels to the death are illegal on Monara, but there are public arenas for competitive and honor dueling. An honor duel—in answer to an insult to the family—often ends when one fighter or the other has their sword-arm cut off, or sufficiently damaged that they can no longer fight. An honor duel can also be ended (or pre-empted) by the offending party apologizing for what they said. Unless it was a very serious offence, such as inflicting a serious injury, it is usually considered good manners to accept the apology. If the person who issued the challenge for the honor duel attempts to back out, that Monaran will be considered a shame to the family and will be ostracized.

Competitive duels are how Monarans prove themselves and the worth of their sword-arm. A competitive duel is similar to fencing. A ‘guard’ is placed on the blade of the competitors’ sword-arms, and they attempt to hit their opponent’s torso and sword arm. Although the goal of this sort of duel is not to sever the opponent’s arm, it is not unheard of for the guard to fall of and a Monaran to loose their arm in a competitive duel. Monarans will often brag about how many fights their sword-arm has been through, not counting the triumphs of sword-arms that have since been severed.

Friendly sparring matches are one of the main sources of entertainment (more popular than the most popular sport you know of). All Monarans are taught to fight from a young age, although it is not glorified except in defending their family’s honor. As a rule, Monarans do not use most long-range weapons, considering them cowardly and violent.

During the Monaran equivalent of college, Gish got in a fight, which turned into a duel, with a classmate, resulting in the loss of her sword-arm. Within two years, Gish had regrown her sword-arm and had built it up well past its old strength. At this time there was a man known as Lare who was earning fame from his sword-arm. He had traveled over a lot of the planet and it was rumored that his sword-arm had defeated over a thousand Monarans, having killed most of them. One day, shortly after starting medical school, Gish returned to her parent’s house to find Lare robbing her house and her mother and younger brother murdered. They fought and Gish ended up killing Lare. Since it was both self-defense and avenging the murder of two of her family members, Gish was not punished.

Almost immediately, Gish started receiving challenges for competitive duels. At first, she accepted any friendly challenge issued, and beat every competitor. She began turning down the challenges when the duels started interfering with her schoolwork. Gish transferred to a medical school in a different city when a man whose challenges she had repeatedly turned down began stalking her.

A year before Gish was due to graduate medical school, her reputation caught up with her. She began getting more and more challenges and harassment when she refused the challenges. Her medical school had a student exchange program with a university on earth, and she applied for a transfer when the Monaran who had stalked her previously showed up and challenged her to a duel with bare blades, where the goal would be to inflict damage.

Gish’s credits weren’t transferable since she planned to live and work on earth and would have mostly humans as patients, while she had been taught to care for Mondarans. She graduated and remained in the city for another three years, getting an internship at a hospital in the same city. When news of a position as a doctor at a hospital in Hope reached her, she jumped at it. However, the population of Hope was not as used to Monarans as her old home had been. The people who visited the hospital eventually pressured the hospital into firing Gish.

Gish currently lives in Hope; lacking funds to move back to the city she graduated in.

Anything else: When Gish needs to move quickly and cannot use her float chair for some reason, she will run the way a dog would run, but she keeps her sword-arm close to her chest. This is how all Monarans run, and she can move faster than a human over short distances. There are no Necromancers on Monara.

If there's a conflict between what's written here and what I've said elsewhere in the thread, go with what I said most recently or ask me.

[Wadling]

Name: Felix – Only name he is known by, whether this is his real first name or not is unknown.

Age: 21

Gender: Male

Personality: Felix is by nature, as well as through the influence of his powers, extremely carefree and adopts a laissez faire attitude to most situations. However, this is not to say that he does not judge criminals, he has an underlying disdain for anybody who seeks to gain from harming others and has no qualm with killing them on the spur of the moment. A side effect of his power is that he is subject to mood swings and may come off as naïve to some. This is only occasional however, and he is usually in a good mood.

Transport: Whatever’s available at the time. Felix is known to commandeer civilian transport if the need arises and believes that it can be forgiven if for the greater good. However this has understandably lead to him being hated by the general public as well as the police, being heralded as a menace.

Ability and equipment: Felix, as his name suggests, is blessed with the ability to bend reality in order to ensure his success in any endeavor. His power only comes into effect if he is consciously aware of the situation that he needs to deal with. The power is also passive, meaning that Felix will not be able to decide how the situation is resolved and so must act accordingly. He has developed a natural talent for spotting danger so that his power comes into play as quickly as possible. However, if Felix is not aware of a danger, such as an ambush, he is extremely vulnerable.

Appearance: Felix is of an athletic build, standing at 6’1”. He has short, buzz cut, brown hair and green eyes. His skin is slightly pale. He usually wears jeans, a black t-shirt, hooded top and a brown leather jacket. He prefers trainers to shoes. When acting as a vigilante, he simply wears a white hockey mask with sunglass lenses fitted into the eye sockets (Wolf anyone?) and pulls his hood up. He also tends to wear gloves with metal casing substituting knuckle-dusters.



Biography: Felix was born with his power and has taken advantage of it ever since he realized how he could use it. He dropped out of school early on as he was able to ace any test unintentionally and saw it as a waste of time. He instead opted for a more exiting life on the streets, getting into fights. After a while he started looking for people to rescue from thugs. Finding that he could be miraculously victorious in any fight, provided he knew exactly how many thugs there were and where they were, he ‘officially’ took up the job of vigilante. After a fluke job where he managed to destroy a warehouse being used as a hub for various human trafficking operations, he was contacted by Angel and swiftly accepted a position amongst the Guardians.

Anything else: It's all lies!

[Thunder]

Name: Ian Thorsten

Supahero Persona: Thunder

Age: 28

Gender: Male (Or robot. OOOOOOOH, EXPOSITION!)

Personality: Usually in a fairly good, jovial mood, but can be serious when the situation requires. Also tends to have a zero tolerance for idiocy, unless it's genuinely funny.

Transport: Heavily Modified Honda Civic Type R: http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs23/f/20...ive_Design.jpg
http://www.seriouswheels.com/pics-20...r-1280x960.jpg

Appearance: (PICTURE COMING EVENTUALLY) Wears bespoke suits when on business, and sometimes off, but tends towards more casual wear when being, well, casual.

Ability: Since birth, Ian Thorsten has been able to generate electricity at will with no physical damage to himself. The internet spawned the term 'Bioelectricity' and he decided to go with that. He builds up the charge within himself before explosively discharging, usually through his hands because it looks damn cool. There are other ways of working with it, but he finds that to be the most effective.

Bio: Growing up with an ability is difficult, especially when you have to hide it from everyone else. He technically discovered his when he was only a baby, accidentally electrocuting the priest trying to baptize him. Half the church wanted to look on it as a miracle, the other half wanted to damn him as the spawn of Satan. As such, it barely made it into Irish newspapers at the time.

He was aware of his talent throughout childhood, although he never really bothered with it. He was under the impression that everyone had their own little ability tucked inside their heads. This was fine until he started bringing it up in school, and started to upset others in his classes. Teachers and parents decided that counselling was the best option, and for the next ten years he would see a psychiatrist every Thursday. He quickly learned from these sessions that the world wouldn't accept him as a freak of nature, and began to hide his ability from the world at large.

However, the damage had been done. Thorsten is weird. Stay away from him. He spent eight years in Primary school without a single friend.

His secondary education and college work however, was exemplary. A mechanical genius, he graduated near the top of his class, and with degrees in Physics and Engineering, went on to develop one of the world's most successful military contracting companies and arms manufacturers, and the only Irish organization of the sort: 'An Tionscal leictreach'. (Pronounced: On Chun-skull Leck-truck)

Weapons Manufacturing made him his fortune, allowing him to pretty much go anywhere or do anything he wanted. However, he spent a lot of time researching his ability, questioning what, how and who, but mostly why. His search returned little results, but then he heard of Angel Mendoza’s father and his biological experiments. The man himself was dead, but he eventually found Angel Mendoza when he was staying with his recovering sister. Angel opened a whole new world for him, showing him an underground network of superhero vigilantes where he finally found himself accepted for who he was.

Recently, Angel came to him looking for financial backing for his Guardian project, to which he readily agreed. He supplied all the necessary materials and labour Angel required, and now spends his time honing his abilities and providing pretty much anything that might be required for the Guardians.

Anything else: He likes cats.

[Killing_Time]

Name: Signy Leward AKA Villa Springer (Pronounced Vija; soft ”j”) – Only the alias is known to team members and she is mostly called Springer, referring to her super power (see below).

Age: 23

Gender: Female

Personality: Villa deal with wrong-doers the way she feel they should be dealt with: death or nothing. There are no compromises and she will not allow the authorities to take care of a situation.
Villa don't have great faith in The Guardians but has let herself be recruited because she searches for some more company and a change of lifestyle.

Transport: None

Ability and equipment:
Villa can dislodge all the bones in her body and with her unnaturally elastic cartilage is able to do things that are impossible for normal human beings such as wall jumping and landing unharmed from heights up to 50-60 meters. Villa has a great hand-eye coordination and great reaction which she relies greatly on in battle.
Villa has two modified submachine guns which have been rebuilt to look like oversized Voros pistols. It gives the firearms the ability to be held in one hand with good long-range precision while still keeping a great amount of rounds.
If Villa gets distracted while jumping and don’t land correctly she will do a lot of damage to her body. If a large bone breaks she will instantly be crippled and unable to use her power as she may risk stressing the bone pieces will have them penetrate her skin. Getting very cold slows Villa down and using her power may be painful.

Appearance: Villa has thick blonde hair and almond brown eyes. While being tall Villa is also dangerously skinny. When Villa is under her alias she wears a skin tight blue and black costume with a black mask covering her eyes.
When civil Villa usually wears something casual and baggy like shirts and gym trousers. She doesn't have much money to deal with so all of her clothes except for my costume are in a terrible state, though they have been mended well.

Biography: Villa was born in Hope in one of the richer areas. Her parents didn’t care much for her and she returned their feelings by reacting with indifference when they were killed in the same car crash she discovered my abilities. She at the age of 11 and saw to some surprise how she had managed to painlessly dislodge her bones so the car wrapped around her body without damaging her more than superficially. Villa believes she was born with the ability but who knows. Placed at an orphanage but ran away partly confused as to why she could not be with relatives. Nobody really takes care about kids on the street so she was left alone to discover the city from a world of poverty. When Villa was in dire need of money she would use her power for street entertainment. Later Villa got a lot of jobs in the underground with weapon dealers who saw her potential and concentration skills and taught her how to modify and design weapons from spare parts. Villa designed her own pistols this way. Shortly after Villa had started to truly bond herself to gang members the authorities had finally succeeded in uncovering the weapon smuggling activity and a great amount of her friends were either killed or sent to prison for longer than she had been alive. Villa's way to deal with her loss was to push herself away from the criminal world and face it with contempt. She decided nobody deserved the horrible punishment prison would give and it became her mission to purge Hope from criminals. Using her abilities she developed her own style of parkour and integrated gunfights to her style. Using the money she could steal from victims she managed to construct and maintain her costume and was a year later contacted by Angel.

Anything else: Nothing.

[Mattbot]

(Ok, 6 members is enough to start this rpg. Aval, you better hurry up with your profile!)

His office had finally been made to his tastes, the shelves were littered with trophy’s and old newspaper articles, in the center of the room sat his desk and by his side a fridge of various drinks and snacks, behind him were two tall cabinets filled with forms and important information.

Salvador Mendoza brushed his hand through his scruffy hair as he finished surveying the security feed, most of the individuals he had expected to arrive had done so and were making their way to the meeting chamber. Leaning back on his chair Mendoza opened a cabinet from his desk and took a quick shuffle through the documents of the members he had approached, All the different backgrounds and abilities.

Picking himself up from his desk he preceded out of the small office and down the long steel corridor towards the meeting chamber, the walls all had a light blue tint to them and Angel could make out the brand logo of the 'An Tionscal leictreach' on each square section. Angel had only been staying in the base for a few hours and he was genuinely impressed with how fast Thorsten had built this place and without creating attention. The doors ahead of him opened automatically as he reached them.

Angel entered a large circular room with 12 tall concrete pillars similar to those of ancient Greece and Rome lining the cool blue walls that stretched up into the darkness above, a few feet above his head was a series of beams supporting the lighting for the room. The floor was covered with large white tiles and at the center of the room was a large oak and steel table with exquisite patterns chiseled into it and at its center a round shield.

Upon entering, he noticed that three of his team were already present sitting at the chairs surrounding the table all separated to their own thirds. Closest to Angel was as a worn looking man dressed in casual street clothes and a hockey mask. He had his legs laid on the tabletop with his arms crossed in a relaxed fashion, this was the public enemy Angel had tracked down, Felix. Across from him was the pale poorly dressed figure of one of Marc Facilier’s reanimations which stared blankly at him as he entered the room. Further to the right of him was a familiar face. A well dressed, well groomed man sipping from a martini glass, he stood up to attention when Angel entered the room.

“Ian Thorsten, you old perro!"

The two of them shook each others hands, a minor electrical shock ran up Angel’s arm.

“I‘m glad you made it, I see you couldn‘t help but place your brand logo all over this place.”

“If something’s worth doing, I probably patented it. Just thought you lot would like to be reminded every now and again.” replied Thorsten warmly. “Sorry about the shock”.

"That's alright old amigo, decir, where did you get the martini?" Questioning the glass in Thorsten’s hand.

“See those doors over there?” He answered, gesturing at a pair of doors at the opposite end of the room. “Through there is the lounge area you requested. Although this fine Mojito comes from a couple of liberties I took with your designs. I threw in a bar in there as well, you don’t mind do you?”

"Bar? Err no not at all." Angel was fully prepared for an event such as this, when working with Thorsten it was always necessary to prepare for such actions. Mendoza moved over to his position at the head of the table.

[Wadling]

Felix's eyes drifted over the fine architecture of the room, admiring an ornate statue protruding some ways above him. Smiling beneath his mask, he watched as the two other humans in the room greeted each other. They appeared to be good friends and the mention of a bar in the next room pleased Felix even more. He tried not to look at the walking corpse, it had watched him with no expression when he had first entered. It gave him the creeps.

The man whom Felix knew to be Angel stood over his chair at the head of the table, he was supposedly waiting for more team members. Seeing Angel's face, Felix was reminded of the last time he saw him. Silhouetted in flame, offering a chance to join The Guardians. To have the best time of his life.

"You have some skill, chico" Angel had spoken clearly over the roar of flames emanating from the factory that Felix had accidentally destroyed "But you're a miscreant. How would you feel about putting your talents to further use, hmm?

Of course, Felix had accepted at once and now he was here. He hoped that The Guardians would turn out to be as exiting as he anticipated. Felix decided to try and make a good first impression, or second impression if lying dazed on the ground counted as the first. He put down his hood and removed his mask, placing it on the table in front of him. He stood up and extended a hand towards Angel.

"Hi" Felix grinned "I just wanted to say, thanks for taking me on board."

[doom_muffin]

OOC: I have to do that all over again now. Grr. Guess it's my fault, but you couldn't have given me a warning and at least given me the chance to copy+paste?

The original text of your profile has been PM'd to you; show your gratitude by not disturbing the pace of the thread anymore. You've broken so many RP rules that you'll be lucky if you ever get to play at all.

--Varth

[Varthonai]

Many miles away from the An Tionscal Leictreach facility, the "Guard Post", Dr. Marc Jean-Paul Facilier squatted in lotus position unclothed and raised a tiny tin cup of masala chai to his lips from off of a bamboo mat. Marc took off his glasses, placed them gently on the floor beside him, and then sipped his drink delicately, savoring one last sensation of his home here in the Princedom, breathing its spiced scent heavily into his mouth and nostrils, before finally allowing his mind to wander off to his distant ambassador at the Guard Post again.

Angel had finally arrived, and Marc had questions for him.

***

The features of the corpse inside of the Guard Post meeting chamber came alive--figuratively speaking--as Marc directed it according to his will, as he would his own body. It leaned forward on the table and looked slightly ill-at-ease, even considering the fact that it was dead.

"We have not yet begun the meeting, Angel," Marc said, speaking with the gurgling tongue and throat and lungs and vocal cords of a 23-year-old bridge jumper suicide that Marc had trawled up from the Mississippi the previous day. He was also speaking with a light French Cajun accent, but that was all Marc's doing; the jumper's living accent had been southern New Orleanian.

"We have been waiting for you, and for the others, for some time now," continued Marc. "You know that I have many other matters to attend to, mon ami. I cannot wait forever."

[Mattbot]

Angel turned up from the table to face the no longer masked Felix, surprised that he had willingly shown his face to the team so soon. Although deemed as a problem by the residents of Hope, Angel knew that his intentions were of a good nature and that he could prove to be a useful member on the team. He happily accepted the gesture.

“It‘s good to have you on the team Felix. I trust you‘ve kept on the good side of the law since our last meeting.” Angel replied as he thought back to the media coverage following the event at the factory.

Felix took up his position back on the chair with a smirk and Angel turned his attention towards Marcs ambassador who had just began to motion from its long stillness, the distorted voice emitting from its mouth slightly disturbed him.

“I understand entirely, Marc and I‘m sorry for any inconvinience this may be causing you. The rest of the team should be arriving de presto and then we can get this meeting underway.”

Angel wondered to himself about the body Marc possessed. Did anyone find out about how he died, what about the young mans family, would they have wanted to have given him a proper burial and what would they think about his current state? Angel quickly discarded these thoughts. The authorities probably never would have found his corpse anyway and compared to most of the vile things in this city, what would people care about the actions of one necromancer.

[Varthonai]

"C'est certain," replied Marc. "Eventually the others will arrive, I'm sure, but unless you have specific need of my services now I hope you will not begrudge me a brief moment's leave. I shall return when the others arrive."

Without waiting for Angel's permission, Marc withdrew, leaving the corpse with Marc's semi-diplomatic expression plastered unnaturally on its face.

***

Marc was back in the Princedom now, back in his own body and breathing with living organs. He shivered; the rush of being back inside of living flesh was an experience not unlike coming back into a warm building after freezing in a blizzard. He took another sip of chai, reinvigorating his senses, and then he exhaled deeply and reached out psychically across his vast domain to scan the minds of thousands upon thousands of reanimated mice, rats, small dogs, rabbits, and other small and fast-moving creatures that skittered around the streets on patrol paths they'd each been instructed to run through ceaselessly on individual paths, covering every square inch of his territory and feeding any unusual details back to Marc.

Hm, two of Tony's boys haven't been told the rules yet, Marc noticed, watching through the eyes of a gray-furred opossum as a pair of men with suitcases cross the border and head into his Princedom. At Marc's instruction, the opossum descended lower and sniffed, smelling the distinct scents of cannabis, alcohol, and smokeless gunpowder.

Marc didn't much care whether the men planned to peddle narcotics in his Princedom, or were simply intoxicated and in search of a place to release their inhibitions; either way, it would not be tolerated.

Marc glanced briefly through the distant eyes of his ambassador in the Guard Post again to make sure no one else had arrived yet, then began scanning the area around the borders of the Princedom to see what was available to work with.

[sgt_Angua]

The doors opened as Gish approached them in her float-chair. While she doubted that Angel had installed them for her sake, she appreciated it all the same. She could easily reach doorknobs with her long arms, but maneuvering her float-chair through narrow doorways was a different matter.

Gish floated through the wide doorway and into the room. The faces of three human men turned toward her, while an eerily pale fourth man sat motionless. At the head of the table was Angel.

“Hola, Ms. Sahari,” Angel said, indicating her place at the table, where there was no chair. Gish assumed that 'hola' meant 'welcome' or something close to it. She was fluent in English, but knew no other earth languages.

“Hello,” Gish said, ducking her head in greeting. “Thank you again for inviting me, Angel.” She guided her float-chair to the indicated spot, a few chairs down from a man with a white oval that she could not identify on the table in front of him.

Gish lowered the float-chair until the flattened tip rested on the floor and set it to minimum power. It made little difference, and she towered above the others at the table. She folded her hands, real and prosthetic, in her lap and waited.

[Aval]

Name: Ryan Jones

Age: 27

Gender: Male

Personality: Aside from his power, Ryan is essentially a very average person. Reasonably intelligent, reasonably approachable, reasonably talkative. Some might say reasonably boring. If asked about himself, Ryan would run off a list of his tastes and hobbies; how he enjoys most kinds of music, especially The Beatles, how his favourite colour is blue, his favourite film being The Good The Bad and The Ugly etc; because, deep down, he has nothing really to say about himself as a person. Whether that is because there is nothing notable about about him, or whether that is because he has much yet to learn much about himself, is open to interpritation.

In terms of justice, while Ryan has a desire to stick up for what he feels is right, he has been more or less coerced with social protocal into joining this team. You might call into question his loyalty to the team until you learn about the incidents which initially caught Angel's attention. Everybody has a berserk button.

One thing is for certain though; brains and people are very complicated things, and it is naive to assume that something so intricate can ever be "boring". And as people are put in extreme situations they tend to react in extreme and unpredictable ways, and dealing with what Ryan will have to encounter as part of the team--as well as coming to tearms with the implications of his power--is nothing if not extreme.

Transport: None (an ancient, half derelect Ford Ka if Rachel's okay with him using it)

Ability and equipment: Ryan's power is that he does not die. It seems simple enough, but there are actually a vast number of highly complex mechanics at work that will doubtfully ever be fully understood. First things first: his cells only die when they need to. This means no radiation poisoning or any of that sort of thing (including chemotherapy and radiotherapy, while this trait would also lead to an increased risk of cancer. He'll cross that bridge when he comes to it.), it also means that severed limbs and the like stay alive indeterminatly, allowing them to be reattached and also meaning that Marc cannot control any significant piece of him. (Ryan has declined the offer to be exposed to necrotizing fasciitis for study.) Related to that last point, While Ryan at first appears to heal like normal folk, he can actually heal much more than a regular human including regrowing complex tissues, organs and potentially more from scratch, just at the painfully slow rate of normal healing.

Finally and most importantly, His brain appears to be able to function without his body providing for it. He can take a bullet to the heart and a punctured lung, and will still remain conscious. The only way to "kill" him (that is, to stop him from being able to think) is to appeal to the Chunky Salsa Rule and litterally break his brain apart. However, given enough time it will heal and grow back, with some short term amnesia, but eventually regaining memories with stimulation.

It would seem that something very powerful is putting a lot of energy into ensuring the survival of his consciousness.

Appearance: Jet black hair, in a style neither short nor long. A slim and unimposing build draped with generally casual cloathing makes him look... normal.

Also of note is that most people would guess that Ryan is in his early twenties, despite being 27. It is arguable that he has reached the stage where his power will not let him age.

Biography: Growing up in a lower middle class social environment, with the backdrop of a rather grotty area of Hope, passive agression was the name of the highly strung game in Ryan's childhood home. After recieving a decent mandatory education, Ryan went on to study film at the Hope University of Arts and graduated at the age of 22. College was the best time of his life, meeting good freinds and having fun, with the boundless future ahead of him. It was there that he met Rachel (who was a couple of years behind him), now his long term partner. It was also there that he discovered and began to explore his abilities. However, that was five years ago. Now his study of film has qualified him for a job at Wally's Videe-OH! rental store, his freinds and family largley fallen out of contact other than Rachel. Now living with her in a small, slowly collapsing apartment in an even grottier area of Hope, struggling to even keep his collapsing home together on his minimum wage, and struggling harder to keep his collapsing relationship with Rachel together. All the while trying to keep the thought at bay that maybe, just maybe, he was just in love with the idea of being in love with her, not with the woman herself, and that, as an extension,all of his life had been skuffed in his chasing of the intangible.

And then, an Angel appeared.

[Varthonai]

The two intruding gangsters had walked less than two blocks into the Princedom when the air began to vibrate with a chorus of deep, rumbling growls.

"Who do you think you are to set foot in my Princedom?" hissed a dry, rattling voice from the shadows.

The smaller of the two men put his hand into his coat, preparing to draw a weapon, but the taller one put a hand on his partner's shoulder to steady him.

"There's been a change in policy," the larger gangster said. "I'm here to tell you that Tony's been transferred to another part of town."

"Yeah," chuckled the smaller one under his breath, "the lower, wetter part... heh..."

The larger man glared at his partner, who shut up immediately. "As I was saying, we're under new management. We're here to renew our contracts with you. Specifically, the ones about--"

A tall, pale, raven-haired, female reanimated human corpse in a flowing black trench coat, gloves, and sunglasses stepped out of the shadows. "Contracts?" the corpse rasped. "I made no contracts with your last boss, and I will make none with you."

"Give it some thought, please, we could--"

"NO," said the corpse. "The Princedom does not deal with you, or with your family, or with any other family in the City but the families of the Princedom. I have only one rule with you people, and that is that you may never, EVER set foot in the Princedom."

"Ok, ok," said the larger man, holding up his hands and backing away. He'd been made aware before he ever came that this might happen, and he was still going to try to be professional. "Fine, then. We'll go. I'll tell the new boss what you said, and--"

"Oh, it is far too late for that," said the corpse, shaking its head solemnly, sending ripples of black hair waving around it.

The growling noise around the three of them intensified. Two drooling, dull-eyed German Shepherds came into sight, one from each side of the corpse. The larger man turned to run, but a pair of snarling Rottweilers and a Border Collie were advancing from the other end of the street. The shorter of the two pulled out his pistol and emptied an entire clip into the corpse's head and chest, knocking it back a few paces and blasting a few moderate-sized chunks of it into the street before the two Shepherds pounced on him and locked their jaws around his elbows.

"If you keep resisting," said the corpse, wiping itself off and readjusting its trench, "the dogs are going to begin to chew, and when they are done, I am going make your severed forearms strangle you into unconsciousness."

The corpse's sunglasses had been knocked away and shattered across the asphalt; the reanimate now glared at the two men with a pair of useless eyes that writhed with worms and maggots. The smaller man whimpered.

"Look, we can work this out," said the larger man, panicking. "We can--"

"No. I forbade you and your compatriots to enter the Princedom, and you came nonetheless, said the corpse, withdrawing a set of handcuffs from its coat and clicking them open. "This has ceased to be a negotiation. There will be no 'working-out.'"

"If you do anything to us, the new boss will take it as a declaration of war!" whined the smaller man. "He'll--AAAGH!" He broke into a scream, feeling the dogs bite ever-so-slightly harder into his flesh.

"Yeah, never heard THAT one before," said the corpse, cuffing the larger man's hands behind his back. "Tu ne comprends rien, mon ami. Your boss would never have sent you here unless he considered you expendable, non? Bien sûr que non. Now hold still."

Maggots spilled onto the larger man's neck as the corpse clasped the cuffs shut.

***

"Thank you again for inviting me, Angel."

Marc blinked open his ambassador's undead eyelids. There were newcomers now. He hoped that there wouldn't be any distractions while escorting his two uninvited guests to the police station; he didn't want to have to leave the conversation at an important moment.

"Back," Marc said, raising the ambassador's hand somewhat amiably. "Had to take care of a few things. It's alright now, though... ah, bonjour, madames et monsieurs, didn't catch your names."

[Killing_Time]

(I scanned a bit of concept art for Villa Springer. I'll add some more once I got time.)

I was supposed to meet Angel. I knew this, I knew it was soon and I knew the address and where it would take me. Yet I still sat there on one of the many beloved rooftops. I sighed. Why was I interested? Was it just the fact I’d have company, someone with extraordinary abilities?

He has asked me if I needed payment. I had turned down the offer. I didn’t really need money. I got enough to get by. Sure, I missed a bed now and then, but the weather of Hope was… strangely the same, mostly.

I stood up and looked over the edge. Everything was the same, nothing new. I undressed and put on my mask and outfit. I loosened the stick that held up my hair and I enjoyed the feeling as I let it dance in the wind.
It was time to go. I checked the address once again before I jumped.
I heard the cracks of the cartilage around my bones getting stretched and bent around to follow my desired moves. I landed on yet another building a few meters down but I didn’t stop. I ran across the roof, unnaturally posed and with unnatural moves and jumped further as I journeyed towards my destination.

***

(Remember, she practically haven’t gone to school since she was 11)

I popped my body back into its normal human posture as I stood in front of the base. I walked in and went through the corridors I had been directed to go through.

”An Tionscal leictreach.” Somehow it sounded familiar, like the kind of familiar you feel when you recall something from your past. I was in addition a bit confused. The address matched, but the name I wrote down did not. I had only heard the name mentioned by Angel as he has explained the base I was to meet at. Maybe the pronunciation was different?

I ended up in front of the entrance to a chamber, as Angel had called it. The doors opened before me and I entered a room with some stunning architectural work. I noticed a handful of people seated around a solid wood table. – Well, one technically wasn’t. Angel had not given more than merely a brief description of who else were expected to show up. I noticed there were missing a few, but shrugged it off as them being late.
I nodded greetingly at the one person I recognized “Angel.”

[Wadling]

Felix watched as the alien and the blonde entered the room and took up positions around the table. He was pleased to see the group was so diverse.

"At least this won't be a sausage fest, am I right?" Felix raised his hand as if to high five anybody nearby and willing. His attempt was met by hostile glares and he sheepishly lowered his hand again, picking up his mask and spinning it on his finger like a plate on a stick "Not that kind of group then, I get it."

[Varthonai]

"Non, non, c'était trés amusante," said Marc, smiling a little. "But I'm afraid this body's diaphragm isn't in the best condition. Laughter doesn't come easily, and if it did, the sound might be a bit unsettling."

[Mattbot]

“The pleasure was all mine, Ms Sahari.” Angel replied bowing his head in return with a smile. Shortly after Gish had taken her spot at the table, Villa entered the room scanning the rooms layout and those inside before nodding to Angel without a word, the best greeting he had hoped for from her given her background. Angel nodded his head in response.

To Angels joy, most of the team had now assembled and Marc had returned from his brief departure. “Welcome back” he muttered before Felix’s outburst, he repressed the urge to smirk at the awkwardness. Angel gazed down through his shades at a large digital clock built into the table just before his chair and wondered if anyone else would show up before he had to start the meeting.

[Thunder]

Thorsten swirled his drink, watching the olive swim lazily around his glass.

"So how many more are we waiting for now Angel?"

[Mattbot]

Angel looked through a group of personnel files he had lieing near his seat, he couldn't give an exact estimate in numbers. Sifting through them he replied.

"I contacted plenty of people but I didn't expect most of them to show."

[kronosdragon]

Name: Arlaen Cuda - her hero name is "The Wanderer"

Age: 24

Gender: Female

Personality: She's very gentle and avoids conflict as much as possible. She's kindhearted and uses her powers only for the good of others. This being said, she hates to kill, but does if she has no other choice. She would rather hand a criminal over to authorities than deal with them herself.

Transport: This depends on where she is. If she's in an urban environment, she tends to stick to public transport to keep a low profile, but otherwise, she has a black racing cycle with silver flame decor.

Ability and equipment: Her main power if emotion control. She can make someone feel anything she wants them to feel, and uses this to make criminals turn themselves in. However, she has a secondary power that rarely shows up except in moments of intense emotion, except when the emotions are joy or happiness. Any other strong emotion, like anger or sadness, with cause the skin on her forearms, shoulders and fingertips to form blades of differing lengths. If this power emerges, her soft personality fades away and is replaced by a dark, violent side of her fueled by hatred and rage. Another power, though one she has no control over, is her ability to make anyone in the vicinity feel happier and light-hearted. Her presence has an effect on people similar to chocolate, in the instance that it makes them happy.

Appearance: She usually wears casual clothing, mostly in black, like jeans and t-shirts with a black trench coat that has chains across the front, along with tall black boots. Her natural hair color is a bright, starlight silver, but when she's in public, it changes color to black. Her eyes are also a bright silver, but like her hair, they change to a dark color in public, but they also change color according to her mood. She stands at 5' 10" and has lightly tanned skin.

Biography: She gained her power when she was young due to a genetic experiment before she was born. Her DNA was altered as she was developing, giving her strange characteristics. She has little memory from the time she was born to about the age of 5, but she has perfect memory of her life from that point on. She lived in several cities throughout her life, living a nomadic life, earning her the name "The Wanderer". After coming to the city of Hope, she made a scene after authorities attempted to catch a serial killer after his escape from prison. She caught his eye and he had attempted to kill her, but when the authorities finally caught up to him, he was lying on the ground at her feet in a fetal position. The media started following her after that day, as much as she disliked it. She often hid from the public eye, but she couldn't avoid the eye of Angel. One day she was contacted by him, and after a brief meeting, she agreed to join the Guardians.

Anything Else: She once worked with an underground group of gypsies who would sell "love potions" which were nothing more than just herbal teas, and often sent her out with the buyer to make sure the "potions" worked, when in reality, she was using her power to manipulate the drinker to fall in love with the person who gave them the false potion. After growing sick of herself and the manipulative gypsies, she left the group and went on the road, taking what money she had earned and leaving on a path to find her true happiness in a place where she would belong.

[Aval]

At possibly the most inconvenient point, an out of breath, disheveled young man appeared from behind a set of sliding doors, aparrently making an effort to not look as if the operation of the device had not preplexed him and driven him to attempting to pull them apart.

Aside from the doble negatives, this is a very specific thing to not do, and hence most people would have extrapolated from this that he had indeed encountered some ease of access door trouble.

After catching his breath, Ryan looked around and noted that, in his casual wear; an unironed shirt and baggy trousers, he looked out of place. He guessed he should have thought this through more.

"uhm, hello? Am I late?"

He meekly shuffled into a seat next to the least overdressed of the lot in an attempt to blend in. On closer inspection, the man next to him was a corpse.

[Thunder]

Thorsten placed his drink down on the table.

"I take it that's one of them now then. Welcome to the appropriately named Guard Post, I believe we now have enough to people to get cracking! Angel?"

[kronosdragon]

Arlaen stuck her head through the door after a young man walked through, looking around sheepishly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so late. The subway was packed and I missed my stop."

She slipped into the room without another word and took a seat, glancing around curiously at the other people around the table. She casually crossed her legs and smiled softly.