The Wren: Semi-lit All Species Assassin RP. Accepting

[paula polestar]

{Blah. Hey guys. I won't be on much at all this week, considering I'm working the spotlight for our school play. Some of the practices will be gonig later than five, and my homework most likely won't even be started by the time I get home. I'm also, unfortunately enough, unsure of what to post at this point. If I had an idea, trust me, I'd be typing it out already.}

[.skycat.]

((Aw, comgrats on getting Spotlight!!! =D
Also, I have no idea what to post either... -.- using all my talents on the sixth English essay of the year...))

[~Erica~]

(Bah sorry I keep meaning to post been do dang busy I'll try and fit something in today. Six essays is nothing in my english class we wrote one a week)

[Fizzlebee]

(Oh my god Hikari, I'm so sorry for leaving you hanging for so long! I didn't realize so much time had gone by. x_x I had gotten sick, gone on vacation, then gotten sick again. If that happens, then just continue roleplaying like my character is following.)

[blue_dun]

((I've been really busy, too, no sweat. And I've sorta run into a problem, too... as you can see v(^_^)v ... None of us may be roleplaying much in the next month or so))

[Derelict Draught]

((Might I suggest a mad dash for the RZ point and then a coordinated move towards reinforcements and exfil?))

[Draconox]

((Sorry I didn't post for quiet a while. I was very busy and am troubled with a terrible tooth ache now. T.T I'll also be away for a couple of days starting 14th. I'll try to post as soon as the dentist fixed my tooth.
@ civilian_bait: Sounds good, that way the group from the plain can join. ^^))

[~Erica~]

Erica barely hearing the two messages ran, though she was still 'invisible' even as she ran towards the exit point. Even in her head long flight she kept track of what went on around her, and she caught sight of a figure up on the roof. Malberry, and glanced down the street to see the police coming. He must be out, she figured.
Erica paused for a moment, leveling the gun, bracing herself for the kick and fired sending two shots out. Each caught a person. One was a killing shot and the other caught the man in the stomach. Painfully but he might live. She glanced back up to the roof, but was unable to see anything.
The police had stalled, trying to figure out where the shots had come from so she turned and ran again heading towards the rendezvous point. She reckoned she had about six shots left with this gun. It would be enough for her to get out.
As she drew close, Erica heard sounds of fighting going on, but something else caught her attention, a figure at the end of the ally way.
"Magma!" she called pitching her voice so that it would carry to the girl and not to anyone else. She beckoned to her.
"Come on it's time to leave, follow me and be ready to fight if we have to."

[Derelict Draught]

Real full name: Patre da Vestu
Alias/nickname: Templar
Gender: Male
Age: Unknown
Species: Zombie (assuming headshot only mythology combined with possession)
Physical appearance: The Father was young at the time of his turning, a mere 27 years old. The curse born unto the Father trapped his body in his youth for eternity. His body has been bitten by blade and bullet alike, their scars mar his flesh beyond recognition. Burns further obscure his flesh, denying any possible identification. Now, the creature bears a heavy weave of Kevlar and steel to shield his body.
Personality: Never speaking, Patre da Vestus only uses the most basic of movements to communicate with others. Witnesses, what few there have been, have described him as a heartless monster. He simply kills anyone who stands in his way. Contractors have found him to be highly efficient, wasting little time in eliminating his target and collecting payment. Always cash, if the contractor lacked the finances then they simply disappeared.
Special skills: He never stops, he never slows. His prey can attack with the full might of the world but nothing will make him yield. He doesn't sleep. No injury bothers him and he fears nothing.
Rank:
Weapons: Patre ad Vestu has taken an affinity to three weapons: an AA-12, a rapier and a grooved dagger which contains a small vial of his blood.
History: Patre da Vestu's name is long since forgotten. The Father first appeared during an outbreak in the late Renaissance. The Father exhibited unique behaviors and lacked the carnal desire to spread the virus. Rumors suggest that a spirit possessed the empty vessel and gave new purpose to the creature. Not long after the Father escaped a burning church, a mysterious killer bearing the armor of a knight and the mobility of a thief. In the centuries that followed, assassins appeared bearing the heaviest of armors with the greatest of mobility. All of these assassins bore a single defining feature in common. The assassin wore a heavy metal helmet that was bathed in blood that never dried or congealed.
Other:

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The farther Malberry ran down the stairs, the longer they appeared to become. Each landing seemed more distant than the last. The shadows within the doorways seemed to hiss at his passing. His left foot suddenly speed out from under him, sending him crashing into the wall and down the remaining steps to the landing below. Spinning around, he sends two shots into the offending...trash bag. His vision had closed to a mere tunnel and his senses betrayed him. He was becoming feverish, he could feel the cool sweat running down his furnace of a body. Movement in an open doorway draws another of his shots. A cat bolts past him with a shriek, its back leg lightly grazed by the shot. Casting the weapon down the stairs, he drags himself into the room the cat had abandoned. The cool darkness helps his head to clear slightly, his time was running short. He needed to get back on the move. Get out faster but...but he was so tired...Maybe...Maybe he could rest his eyes for just a second...

The calm of his mind was short lived as memory took hold. Faces and screams flashed about his mind. Pain shrieked throughout his body and the Humvee was thrown into the air. The driver, Macky, had been laughing just a moment before and now he lay outside of the vehicle. A pair of hands cut Malberry free from the seat and drag him behind a broken wall. Above him, Sgt. Suarez waves for a medic. Bullets fill the air around them as the Marines return fire on the OpFor. They had driven straight into an ambush. A few sections of wall and the vehicles were the only available cover. RPGs pepper the convoy, rending destruction to man and machine alike. The TCO shouts into the radio not far away, begging for support. In the chaos, the medic had propped him against the wall facing his allies and giving him a front row seat to their deaths. Finally the TCO receives a response. The man relays the coordinates in a rush. Within minutes a volley of artillery fire rains down from above. All Malberry can do is watch in horror as the fire support, intended to save them, crashes down on his comrades silencing a full platoon within seconds. A cry of victory echoes from the other side of his cover as the enemy charges the few survivors. Time slowed as the cries of the wounded were silenced by the fire of AKs. Finally, a figure comes for him. The man, coated in heavy armor stands with the sun at his back. Towering over Malberry, he simply stares. The eyes of his helmet cold and lifeless. No sound comes from the man, not even the rasp of breath... He should have died there...Like everyone else. Yet he lived because of that day.

Malberry wakes in a heavy sweat, his heart racing like a rabbit. His body jerks to a crouching position as the adrenaline refuels his battered body. He didn't know how long he'd been out or if the police had advanced. He didn't even know if the others were still in the area, he just had to move. To leave. His eyes settle on a window overlooking the street. The portal revealed him to be on the second floor of a building, an awning stretched beneath the window, telling of a cafe below him. With necessary easy, he crashes through the window and falls through the thin canvas. Rolling to his feet, he breaks into a full sprint, hugging the storefronts and overturning the furnishings to shield him from any pursuant. Once he had some distance he could stop and find a way to get where he needed to be.

[paula polestar]

On his hands and knees, Booker paced the floor. He was breathing heavily now, although the wound was beginning to scab over. Burns covered his abdomen, screaming in protest with every movement. The vampire, even with his heightened immune system, knew how easily it could get infected. Disease was most likely passing through the bloodied tissue already, for all he knew. Despite all that, Booker had to keep moving.

His eyes drooped, covering half of his sky blue irises. He was unbelivably tired. A piece of cellphone-esque plastic brushed against his hand. The vampire groped it, hoping that it was what he needed: the remote, the detonater that he had foolishly lost in his rush towards a temporary safehouse that had proved itself completely useless and an inevitable waste of time. Booker could feel only one button, one button and an on-off switch. This was it, the ticket had been found. Now he had to make sure the assassins had cleared out of the dilapidated cafe. One wrong move, one lost life, and their whole plan was completely screwed. It was already half-ruined to begin with. Their targets had been lost, and their cover blown. Escape was the only option now, and Booker was left with the job of clearing the evidence left behind.