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*Acradius thumbs his nose at Galefore with one hand and pulls down the bottom lid of his eye with the other, tongue hanging out.*

Pick a place and let's do this!

A rematch, eh?

Yes. Yes. Yes.

I say we battle here:


Battlefield Twelve: The Necropolis Castle
Formerly built only for the dead to fight in, it is evil in architecture and is mainly designed to look like a great black pike with a skull atop. There are evil creature’s flying around, as it is found between life and death’s doors, and the green aura surrounding it restricts the good from entering. Inside, there are secrets to Necromancy, and evil sorcery is built into every last wall.

So... Which character and who goes first?

Acradius! Versus! Whomever you want!

Heaven or Hell!

LET'S ROCK!

You go first.

I apologize endlessly for this. I will get right on getting a post. I think I have motivation again.

Bah, I apologize Ac. I need to work on this post, but now it seems it won't be up until perhaps tomorrow night or later. Finals have crept up on me. Not that they're that big, I'd just prefer not to blow it.

OoC: I feel a bit rusty, and this is bad as far as introductions go, but I'd like to make this character a surprise. I plan to have fun with this one.

Seldom say the wise what the foolish say; adversely, seldom do the foolish even come to understand what the wise are saying. Such fools are often the fodder of entertainment in the eyes of those more privileged: no matter what type of problem they have, the unfortunately less enlightened are always the first to be shot down in a culture of people with enormous egos.

Such was the fate of poor William Ferthier. His father despised anything with the word ‘government’ tacked on. By pure fortune, at the time William was born the country was a dictatorship, and school was known as “Government Training Facility”. This left the young lad with no education, but was quite the headstrong one, enough to get him through his unfortunate circumstances. Despite no general knowledge, the boy was a skilled artist, and often gave himself too much credit for the abstract things he sketched. He was merry, if not a bit downtrodden from all of the jeers…

But he was not long lived. At 23, the boy was killed. Why? The government came back under military totalitarianism, and by all definitions, he was breaking a law: he did not have military training like almost everyone else. His eyes were gouged out, his tongue removed, his heart torn from his chest… He died with a crimson trickle of life streaming into the ground from the corners of his gaping mouth. His fingers, emaciated from weeks of torture and meager supply, were clutching tightly his skull, as he was mutilated alive. His nose was nearly severed, as it was the first thing they began to saw with blunt blades… But the boy’s body proved interesting. He was one of the few humans left on earth to not have the military brand; his father had avoided letting them give it to his children. He was one of the only remaining fully-human creatures around. His organic body was perfect for their new weapon, and they knew it. So they began reviving his dead body, those necromancer dictators, and adding a new technology, a new magic, to his dried skin…

Five-hundred years later, the Necropolis Castle, home of these famed necromancers, sat in solitude. There was a stench; the famed “reaper” had lived in these walls once, and he had kept a fabled… Pet. A dim sort of glimmer supposedly would blast the tower halls with light, the only light it had ever seen, and within a sort of grim area sat a creature of many eye. Random metal screeching could be heard for miles in this odd world, and all around there was nobody… Nobody who could hear the beat play within his keep that reeked of corpses.

Intruders were never something the beast was a huge... supporter of. His silhouetted figure was far in the back of a hallway, seated in a sort of morose way on top of a heap of… Some form of flesh. He was grunting, and several green lights shone from his body, making him difficult to distinguish.

Not that it mattered. Whoever this intruder was, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.