Upon our so called 'resurrection' our bodies are perfected, expelling all impurities, and are infused with the knowledge that we are damned, brought back from our oblivion with the knowledge of why we are returned to a false life, and who is we serve and why. It is rather like the awakening of the vampire and discovering her new existence, finding all her blemishes and pains gone from her body, and rejuvenated to perfect health. Our bodies are perfected, though it is not without a price. We are forever tormented by the guilt we carried to the grave, and that damnation in turn led to our recruitment for the tasks we now carry out. We all have increased strength, the ability to see spirits, ghosts, and demons, and then pass judgment upon them. It is not that we are more than human, we are not human. We are the living dead, echoes of who we once were. We are living corpses filled with regrets, obsessions, and the desire to save ourselves from damnation for the sins of our lives. Our bodies exist in a state between life and death, eternal yet fleeting. We cannot die, and we cannot live. In a way, we are free, and in others, birds locked within cages constructed of the sins we committed in life. Our bodies cannot be laid to rest, and no matter our injuries, even if we are completely destroyed, we find that our bodies reconstruct themselves and we awaken once more, if only to continue our fight against the evil that perverse the world.
Recently, the Organization called upon us to silence the evil that ensnares souls within its web, located in an abandoned city in the southern United States. We are to work with others like us, for the evil is too powerful to be dealt with by a single person, even one such as a member of our ranks. Welcome to the forgotten modern day city of Burmon, a once prosperous city located in the southern region of the United States along the banks of the Mississippi and with a fifty mile distance from the Gulf of Mexico. Perhaps in its early days, it could have become a central mecca, taking the place of New Orleans. With a population of what was once about 30,000 people, it has indeed seen better days. The City of Burmon now lies desolate and abandoned because of the immense amount of supernatural activity as well as the many unfortunate disasters that have plagued the city since its founding, and a mysterious disease that took root in 1984 has since handled all of the rest of its residents. It is said that the town is filled with the restless spirits of the dead, and a town in which it is open season on those who remain among the living, their rights to live meaning nothing. Many of the dwindling number of residents speak in hushed tones of the dark and grisly history of the city, from the butchering of all of the nuns and patients in the now abandoned catholic hospital, to the terrible accident that destroyed most of the Frances Jane Memorial Train Depot. The river that runs through the city played host to the days when paddle boats steamed the mighty Mississippi, and saw many gruesome shipwrecks along its banks due to mysterious circumstances and strangely repetitive occurances. The rundown though once stately Morrison Manor has seen the best and worst times of the town; the history of the structure has been plagued with a blood-soaked past. The Riverside Hotel and Casino was the victim of a fire started by a vengeful son to spite his own father.And yet, these are not the only tales that have emerged from the city. Almost every building or neighborhood in the town has a history, and there are plenty of people who like to journey into the town to catch even just a glimpse of these reported phenomenons. Many who leave Burmon speak of the terror they faced while amongst these aging and deteriorating buildings. Of their tales, they also give one precious, if sometimes foolishly ignored piece of advice. Freak accidents happen to those who mock the dead while visiting this sorry town, and more often than not people will die.
And so we have been brought in.These occurrences seem to plague this poor, tragedy ridden city, and to this day many innocents fall prey to the dark forces within this town. What these forces are remains unknown. But that reason in and of itself is why we are here to investigate and lay these poor souls to rest, and to banish the evil perversing the area of the city and surrounding lands. Why is this town so haunted? Why were there so many tragedies? Just what is it in this town that causes all of the activity? Is the area the town located cursed? What evil continues to make puppets out of the poor lost souls who wander here, to forever dance to its tune? We are here to put an end to it and release those trapped here. Failure is not an option for us, and we will not stop until this end has been achieved.
Here is the sign-up sheet:
Name: (Hi! My name is...)
Apparent Age: (How old were you when you departed this mortal coil into your torment?)
Actual Age: (nothing older than 100 years, please.)
Country of Origin: (What country do you hail from? What is your nationality?)
Appearance: (Pictures are fine, though a description is fine as well. Details, details, details!)
Skills: (What are you good at? Please, no jack of all trades. Please limit yourself to less than five.)
Gear: (Do you have guns? Knives? Cameras? A spork? Handcuffs and a whip? What did you bring with you?)
Supernatural Abilities: (These are powers awakened within us at the moment of our resurrection. I leave this open for your imagination; though keep in mind not everything will easily succumb to your powers, no matter how powerful you are. You are allowed to have three powers, and I only ask that at least one be relevant to what did in your life. Remember,all of our senses are more potent, and we each have the ability to Shadow Jaunt. With this ability, each of us have the power to use the shadows to meld into the shadows around us and teleport ourselves up to 100 feet in any direction, as long as we have line of sight to it.)
Biography: (What was your life like? What happened to you to cause you to be revived as a tool of the Organization? Who were you?)
Character Snippet: (here is where you write about one of your missions assigned to you before the current mission. Or maybe your own resurrection.)
As an example, here is my own sign-up:
Name: Angel DeVaros
Apparent Age: 23
Actual Age: 53
Country of Origin: United States
Appearance: Angel is usually seen dressed in a pair of sleek, stylish black jeans, and on his feet are a pair of Italian combat boots. His abdomen is clothed in a rather tight black dress shirt, the cuffs and top two buttons undone. Over this is a simple tuxedo style vest, buttoned in the front. His face can be described as aristocratic, being that his pointed features are reminiscent of those of nobility. He wears a simple pair of half-moon spectacles much like those worn in the late sixties. His hair is a brilliant red, much brighter and far more eye-catching than most others with red hair. It is cut short, leaving him with next to no hair. His left ear is pierced with a hoop inlaid with a single sapphire stone. His eyes are also quite strange, being the color of burnished gold and holding a hypnotic quality about them.
Skills: While he is excellent with the use of the guitar and firearms, his real skills are with that of his use of his intelligence and being behind the wheel of a vehicle.
Gear: When dealing with mortal targets, he usually has on his person a pair of custom heavy magnum pistols, the largest and hardest hitting of their kind. He also carries with him several sutras written in blood, used to paralyze evil spirits and vanquish them.
Eyes of the Devil- With this power, he is able to bend the minds of most mortals and a few spirits to his will. However, bending someone's mind too much can cause it to shatter. The intensity of his eyes unfortunately frightens most people, almost literally boring holes into their craniums, his gaze often can feel like a red hot poker boring into someone's mind when he so chooses. As as side effect, most people when standing up to him have a better chance of staring down an oncoming train. And he always wins in staring contests.
Wail of the Banshee- As hypnotic as it can be deadly, Angel's voice is disturbingly feminine when he uses this power. He can lull people to sleep with his otherworldly song, or he can shatter their eardrums and possibly their brains with a scream echoing the torments awaiting his prey in the pits of Hell.
Biography: Years ago, he was a young up and coming music sensation. Master of the human voice, the guitar, and having a stage presence like no other, perhaps he would have been destined for the world to know his name had events not played out like they did. He was the lead singer in a band called Shot in the Dark, so named because of the first song they performed on the streets. After becoming somewhat of a local sensation in New York City and being infamous for random street performances, he managed to have a record published, albeit in limited quality. But, just as quickly as the band had shot up into the spotlight, so to did all of it come crashing down to the ground. Except for Angel, all of the band members were killed the night they celebrated their first album in an accident at a club when the stage lights fell down killing not only the band but also four people in the crowd. After that, he spiraled down into a drug and poon filled life, unable to be saved from himself and his depression. He took to street racing in order to support his habit and more. Again, fate was a *****, and with a young girl in the car, he was in another accident; crippling his throat, his right hand, and killing the young woman in his car. In one fell swoop, he had gotten a girl killed and lost all ability to make any kind of music. He was then sent to a mental hospital due to suicide attempts from being unable to handle the guilt of being responsible for the death of the girl. A part of him had died that day, as much of him had previously. Every last shred of himself died on the inside. Exactly one year after the death of the girl Angel was murdered by a crazed fan of his music who was angry that Angel was incapable of performing. Angel DeVaros died a broken man, tortured by his guilt over so many things.
The doors leading into the morgue flew open, slamming against the walls, the sheer power causing the heavy metal doors to nearly rip themselves from their hinges. This power eminated from a small, shriveled old woman in a wheelchair, her eyes as black as the obsidian sky. The lights in the cold morgue flickered on, without her even touching a light switch. She wheeled herself over to a metal slab, with a sheet covering all but the feet of a body. A tag around the toe read the poor bastard's name and age, though it mattered not in the presence of this woman. The cold metal slab housing the body of Angel DeVaros seemed to tremble in her presence, almost as if it knew her power. Still and cold, Angel lied there, his feet exposed by the thin blue paper sheet covering the rest of him. The woman sighed sadly, raising her thin and ancient hand to place it upon Angel's hand.
She spoke nothing, her grip becoming somewhat heavy upon the sheet as Angel began to tremble violently, shaking and convulsing upon the table, the movements almost a blur to the human eye. The various wheeled instrument shelves began to creep closer to Angel and the woman, while open doors on the cabinets used to store bodies began to creak , drawn to the power of life and death. The lights flickered and shot sparks, and the entire room quaked. With a tremendous burst of power, all was flung away from Angel, slamming into the opposite walls, and all of the lights exploded with sparks.
Angel gasped in a breath, and sat up, the sheet covering him falling away. All of himself came roaring back into his head, leaving him somewhat dizzy. His body was expelling.... something as a clear substance, making him appear as if to be sweating or perhaps covered in a thin viscous slime. His eyes focused for the first time, meeting the black gaze of the old woman. The old woman's black eyes stared into him, and he was instantly aware of just what he was, and what he had to do. "You understand, yes?"
Sliding his legs around to the side of the table, he removed himself from it, and felt a cold draft on his backside. In addition to the sheet, he was also wearing a simple and flimsy hospital gown. Looking back to the woman, he saw that she was simply gone. Looking at the doors leading out into the hospital, he took his first steps into the world as it was for him, unknowing, and now free of his past life, but shackled into his new one with all his sins and guilt.
Edited by Inuyasha Fandom, 15 November 2011 - 08:25 PM.