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Emet-Selch

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Emet-Selch last won the day on June 21 2013

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About Emet-Selch

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    Roleplay Wizard
  • Birthday 11/08/1990

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    Nifelheim
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    It will come.

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  1. **editing for images~ She wore a black dress tonight. Six narrowed his eyes on the figment of his imagination swaying like a piece of plastic stuck in cement. Sway, sway all you want. Nobody can see you. An exhausted sigh left him, and he looked out into the crowd, finding Aunoma with hardly an issue. The good news about people that weren’t her, they were easily dismissable; furthermore, the greater news about guarding Aunoma was that she seemed extremely matter-of-fact, sadly, that made his job somewhat boring. How could anyone even dare to penetrate someone that could handle every problem with the wave of her hand? At least… That is what it felt like to him. A waiter passed by him and he stole away a glass filled with a mystery crimson liquid. Raised to his nose, it passed the taste test, and he gave it a chug. The sensation was immediate as it dispersed and ran through his body before being destroyed by the microorganisms that controlled within. What an absolute waste of a super power… Cannot get drunk. Who did that even benefit? Was he complaining? He seemed to be doing this a lot lately. Stupid ghost. Stupid shoes. Stupid flashing lights. Was there a positive outlook to glance to? “Must you look like a stiff board in all of this?” A man poised up beside him, and Six briefly shrugged his shoulders. “Not much to really do.” The man gave a feather-light chuckle. “Oh? Is that so? Look at the dance floor. Don’t you want to get down there? Boogy it up? Shimmy your hips abit? Find that firecracker of a ward and guide her into the moonlight?” Laughter rolled out of Six. “Aye, sure thing. And when I return, I’ll be missing everything but my head. No, no, wait. She may actually keep my head as a trophy. Plus, I think she is attracted to some monarch or soon to be, at least.” The man’s shrug scratched his metallic coat against the cement of the pillar they both rested against. “I see, I see. So, how is the training coming along? Is your ward surely protected?” “Protected? Shit, I doubt she needs me at all. At this point, I’m just hired to look like I can pummel a few nobodies in a ring-match. Look around, see how she moves? Guarded. I do not think for a moment anything can get past her.” Six’s eyes slanted to his ward, watching her interact with a gorgeous woman. His lips flirted into a smile but then disappeared in the same moment. “Training is going well. I leave in the middle of the night when the spirit or anomaly, whatever the bloody fuck she is, keeps me up. So far the nose bleeds have stopped, the migraines are lessening. However, my memories… the ones I had are false.” “Oh? How did you come to that conclusion? The memories, I mean. Not your ward basically treating you like an accessory to be worn,” the man’s chuckle carried beside him. “Not sure how it happened. But I had a dream that I was back in the shit. I was fighting something in the recreation laboratory and the spirit appeared beside me. She constantly yelled fake! fake! fake! at every companion that appeared. When I woke the next morning, the real memories seemed to flood back.” Six went silent for a moment, a sigh then. He seemed to be repeating that a lot. “Holy shit, Lassiter. How long have I been out for?” his voice cracked, wooden and alert, but Six released a cough, standing upright and giving a defeated sigh. Lassiter placed a hand on his shoulder. “It takes time getting used to the drug. It took me sixty years, but once I adapted to the enhancements, the memories faded away. Funnily enough, though, I have no idea who I used to be. Some say I was a mercenary, other says I was an ant-like monstrosity that turned to salt when killed, but other than that? Who cares. Your old life is behind you, and this one will eventually be a dream as well. So, straighten your back, and live the hell out of this life.” Six rested his head back against the stone, the raving music and coruscating rainbow slanted lines and smoke in every direction. He gave a look to Lassiter who was already wandering off to a bronze-skinned redhead. It was a weird meeting every time, but Lassiter had become of his closest friends. He met the man at the bar one evening after a particularly depressing night out after guarding his ward. The man was doing an odd interpreted hip thrust on the stage of the bar while singing a song that clearly had impressed no-one, but when a patron had gotten tired of the young man’s muse, a fight had broken out. Like he said, it was a particularly depressing night. So, he stepped in, maybe getting hit a few times in the face would aid with his mood. Unfortunately, it didn’t help with any of those things; however, he did land a friend for what appeared to be life. Of course, the memories of meeting the man could be a lie. The other patrons of this club could be glancing to Six and pondering what the hell he was doing, turning his head and moving his lips to nobody there. But Hey, the fight felt pretty real, so he was going to go with Lassiter was indeed someone.
  2. Thank you for the Like.

  3. The day began like any other day… with a lie. “I will be a better man today,” he said to himself, cradling his head in hands as he stared at the floor. Liar. A voice sounded, distant a few feet from him. Staring at him from a few meters away was a young woman. A reminder of his past, a wraith that was forever bound to him, tied irrevocably to his soul that he could never escape. He long forgotten the moment she had appeared, and had always assumed her present. Having first appeared as a dark shadow, her body cloaked in a silhouette of grime, covered in cascading stars of light that sent a glowing striation. But that had changed, her form was slender, almost too skinny for a woman her age. Her dress hung over her like a sheet to a child, and her black hair fell around like a mop on a stick. Though none of those features, neither her pale or translucent skin, bothered him… it was her eyes, deep welling orbs of midnight that contained hidden rage, rage for something he had clearly done in his past. What had he done? Six could never recall this information. He could not recall further than the moment he had awoken in the ENGELS facility in the prime city of Arkadia. Dreams often came to him of the time before, but instead they were horrors that flashed in front of him like a child to a slideshow. Every image painting black skeletons onto a white background with action only as a subject thought instead of a verb. The first thing he had been told when he woke was to forgive himself. Why? What had he done that was so horrible? But the answered never came, it never did. Instead he lived two long years in the facility with others like him. He bonded with them, trusted them, that was until… she appeared. Her words were insidious whispers, constant negative reinforcement that frailed any good deeds he had progressed. At first believing she had something to do with the side effects he had gone to the Headmistress of the facility, only to be rebuked, it was a few days later when he was given strict instruction to forgo any thoughts that the drugs could cause such reactions. He had been given a gift. A gift that he should cherish. Instead she loomed around him, sometimes entirely visible and entirely not. He changed his outlook, attempting for something cheery, to make himself appear more friendly, approachable, and jubilant. This outlook was often discouraged, especially during combat tests, but he could not stop the smile. What would he have done if he couldn’t have smiled? This continued for a few years more until the assignment came. One that was his big break, his chance to get away and prove that he was not what the voice believed him to be. He traveled to Stonehaven, a smile on his face the entire ride. He met with the locals, the children, the fishery, and attempted his best to show that he was not what this wraith made him believe. One that could craft the image of somebody that was trying to be better. He needed to be better. Distractions of the room came, Six's thoughts were returned to him, and he gave a smile to his ward. Day to day his mood changed, today it was light and easy, he relaxed and thanked the Gods for their blessing upon him today. Aunoma Eiwa was an anomaly to Six, but he never took the time to get to know her. It was hammered into him at the facility. Getting to know those you protected often led to miserable actions during either combat or strenuous situations. Emotions caused rationale to be tossed out the window, and having his emotions constantly debilitated on a day to day basis kept him to his assignment. Be nothing. Be nothing more than what you are. You are there to protect. You are there to serve. So, serve. The mantra that constantly made its home in his mind, and he welcomed it. His job was to protect her, she was the ward that would never come under fire and he made sure of that. As he came into her space, her spatial awareness in the room became his spatial awareness and what she saw, he breathed. Despite all of that lovely jargon…he still produced a smile, a bow at the waist, half of the most formal but one that showed the proper respect; grasping the folded papers. Thumbing through them with brief curiosity, he murmured a distant voice. “As you will, your grace.” The act, after all, had to be sold. And thus, the day ended just like it had begun… with a lie. But that was not an unusual thing in his life. It was much easier to cast the shadows aside and deal with the plans that came to him, instead of pretending that he could fix the applications that drove to him. No, it was much like everything else in Six’s life. A need to fulfill that little part of him that got him out of the cot every morning, that tended to the rummaging curls of his beard, and that begged the attention of his body. “Mn.” Upon arrival to the manor, Six was not entirely sure what to expect. His memories faded and a constant blur from before he arrived to the facility meant that he had no recognition of the lands on which they traveled now. It was of no surprise that it felt a little… genteel for someone of his status. There comes a certain structure to how one would—well, it is easier to say should—act when invited to desultory events. Six lacked the proper jib, if one were to cut it that way. Adjusting his coat as if one would bat at a towel covered in sand, he took a breath and looked around. Follow Aunoma’s lead, he guessed. What he lacked, she showed herself an expert, and that was worth not making a fool out of himself. However, to call into contrast, Six found the craftsmanship of the manor to be quite observable but in different reasons one would to expect. Being a Bodyguard hired out from ENGELS meant a few things, and to him, it meant laying down the groundwork of the area. Grandiose décor meant several things to somebody like him, and it meant that either the owner valued the manor with their own self-worth, or they saw the space as a large shelf for their trinkets and achievements. Wood, stone—whatever it may be—scraped against his nail as he brushed a digit upon it. It could, of course, be seen as rather rude or coarse to touch the place in such an intimate manor, but… alas, work was work. After a few moments of his usual bumbling and fumbling, Six made his way to an area where he could his keep an eye out on his ward. Warm bodies present in a focused area brought a brow up, but he said nothing nor did he make a worried show of it. No, instead, he went to making small talk to whoever he could. He halted when his ward made herself known, and he chuckled to himself. More friendly faces, more friendly smiles, and he wandered around and swept his eyes over the cast. A wonder came to him... Ah, nevermind, this was neither the time nor place. And alas… he slipped his fingers into his pockets, digits rubbed together. The day was just another day… where he was a lie.
  4. >.> @ the two "what" reactions. There are several designs for the flintlocks defining their force of power. It isn't rocket science to determine which of the few you are speaking of?
  5. Boots clinked upon the surface. The bustling night was alive—a collaborated pulsing breath with the sounds of the crowd below. Each drawing breath that whispered amidst the night would be an exodus to their lives. Betwixt what they knew and didn’t know, their aether was being slowly absorbed and funneled to the form perched above them. As the baubles of miasma would soon hardened, the shaped took to that of a man. As if cast from the shadows itself, a cloak spread around the body and draped down to sweep the marble edged rooftop. A heartbeat passed, an explosion rocked the sky, and a skyline was rent from history’s weave by blades of a carrier. Lassiter was reborn. Emerald hues swept the night with a curious glance, his presence was always that of anomaly to wherever he had went. The last thoughts that permeated his memories were the sharp edge of a rapier rending his heart from his body. A peculiar woman with horns, long dressed hair that framed an oval face. Her song still played in his mind, even though he was far from that putrid underground. So the question beckoned: Where am I now? Lassiter’s fist curled, tightening until a fine point, and then he released a breath. Shadows exploded around him, casting out in deviating blades of night. Their eerie silhouette of black providing no insight into where they led, but Lassiter shrugged and took to it. Flames was his bartender, chaos was his drink as the fulminating fusillade kissed his cheek. The expulsion of rancid disgust would overlay him, a blanket of hate. Lassiter simply fed upon it as he searched the area. The explosion seemed rather recent, or as much as he could detect; by all looks of it, he regarded it intentional. It lacked clarity and purpose, only being that to create a swarm of terror. The first flame licked at his heels, and he turned to brush at it with fingers. As he swept the maleficent tongue with pale digits, he brushed along the intangible heat. Usually flames would provide a good source of aether for Lassiter, but due to the recklessness of this flame, Lassiter found the other half of him being sourced. Nether was cast into this mix, and he would gently sweep the area until the lasting flames were gone and he had fed to his fill. Like a man drunk of spirit, he surrounded himself in the warmth and crossed his arms to hug his body. This way and that his form shuddered, a weening tree in a storm of silence, and he let out a breath. A biting pain scoured through him, and the earth below met his knee. Enja. So there yet was a reason why he drew breath. His beloved chaos whispered her deprecating thoughts. More memories flooded back to him, to the casting monstrosity that had occupied the brilliant azure forests of Genesaris. Lassiter had been tugged into another nightmare, the Twiphiloth—a place of opposition against the current light, where only impure aspects drove into the soul and upon each aspect sat a desolate crown. “Mn. So this… Wait, what happened to my voice?” Lassiter practiced a few more sounds, pitching language into the surrounding area until the ghosts entertained him no longer. “I’ve been dead for three years but I can still age? What…” he trailed off as a blade spiked up beside him. His head gave to cant, and he would poke a little at the unnerving blade that began to detach itself. It wriggled free of his body, pulling and tugging until Lassiter sighed and finally lifted his arm to allow it freedom. Popping off upon the core of the terminal’s floor, the sliver of shadow rose into a female form. Lassiter chuckled. “So good to see you again, cher! It has been so lo—“ He was cut off as a sliver of black pierced his chest, driving into the wall behind him. Lassiter grimaced, his nose giving a defiant wriggle. “I just came back to life, why?” The woman stared back at him, her eyes crossing and then she upturned her head in a huff. “Just making sure you are not going to drop dead again.” “Yeah, so. Good to see you again. How did you get out?” Lassiter questioned while glancing around to the mutilated and charred corpses. “Right. Death. Forgot about that.” “Mhm. So if you do not mind, I need to eat.” “Righty-O.” With that, Lassiter left his avatar to do as she pleased. He summoned another shadowy blade and cast it forth, a pillar of black rose before him. This one was shattered in the front, angular, as thick as a millimeter on all sides with purple veins raking toward the center of the portal. Lassiter gave a shrug. “It has been awhile since the Jackal has consumed anything. So be sure to find the souls and consume them as well. After all, we can’t be letting our opposition have all the fun.” The portal fell like a curtain behind him, and Lassiter was gone, with a lasting thought. Ghosts can't scream, can they?
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