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Sign Up Bird and Bear, Hare and Fish [M-VL]


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[SIZE=4][CENTER]An Angelus_Necare DC Production[/CENTER][/SIZE]

[SIZE=2][COLOR=Navy][FONT=Times New Roman]"C'mon Marcus! You run like a woman!" Eric, son of William, cried over his shoulder as he turned down the alleyway between old Friarman's livery and his storage shed that was filled with an assortment of knives, cleavers and other instruments of wonder that would tempt any ordinary teenage boys. Fortunately for Sai Friarman, Eric Tudor and Marcus Alexander had already had their fill of adventures there.

Today, the young lads would race past to the low stonewall that ran a good length around the entire village. At one time, long ago it was meant to act as barrier to any outside forces that may come from the mountains. But a six-foot high wall made of brick and stone seemed a little less glamour less than a strong hold of a fortress. For a low dirty wall, it made for a splendid hideaway for boys that wanted to play on long afternoons while hiding from their teachers.

Eric reached the wall first, throwing his long skinny limbs upwards, curling his fingers along the edge. For an eleven-year-old boy, he was rather limber, both in muscle and in tongue. Although he was slowly approaching a stage where his limbs were growing faster than the rest of him and he would walk disproportioned until the rest of his growing caught up. He could feel it even now as he flung his long legs up, banging his knees in the process, to flimsily straddle the thin width of the wall taking care not to bang anything else that was more precious than knees. He swiped his dark hair from his alert and lively eyes, peering along the thin line between land and sky, viewing the gray smudge of mountains beyond with a grin.

It was a wonderfully clear and dry day, making the sights beyond that much more spectacular to view. Now if only he could spout off to someone about it. Craning his neck around, Eric shouted for his friend in the low speech again.

Taking in deep, heavy breaths Marcus stumbled up to the makeshift wall. His hand flew up to his chest and clutched his shirt in a death grip as he struggled to breathe. He slammed the other hand on the gritty surface of one of the stones and lowered his head with both shame, and the struggle for breath.

"Sh...shut....up." Marcus wheezed.

Eric sniffed, a grin plastered to his face as he looked down to his sweat-sodden friend that was gulping for air. He had heard him do the same thing before during their training sessions with Sammson. It worried the boy sometimes, but not nearly enough to coddle his friend from admitting it into a weakness. They'd be gunslingers someday, no use thumping each other on the backs and weeping over maladies like silly women.

"Damn! You sound like a fish!" Eric chuckled, trying to lighten his good friend's disposition, "I think that's what I shall call you, sai-bluegills!"

He chuckled raucously at his own joke; curling one of his legs against the wall as he leaned down to offer a hand to Marcus. Eric could be quite the little **** at times, but he usually knew his limit, due to his own judgment or a sharp cuff from whoever he was harassing.

Marcus slapped Eric's hand away sharply and bound over the wall far more gracefully than his long legged friend. He came to rest easily on the wall, finally starting to catch his breath. Starring out across the never-ending plains, he gave a halfhearted grin and came back with: "and will shall start calling ye a sissy little girl, the way you carrying on like ye do. Chattin like ye some school girl nanny."

A dark blush crept over Eric's cheeks and up the back of his neck. It was all good and well to chat and tease at others, but the eleven-year-old boy would have to work on accepting such comments. He made a sound similar to a snort and justly shut his mouth. He looked on at the plains for several long moments before he decided to speak again.

"You think sai-Anbell will tell on us?" He asked, referring to their historic and literary teacher. Sammson was useful as an instructor in the fighting arts, but he'd do little good to young lads who seemingly needed their heads filled with knowledge.

Master Anbell taught most gunslinger boys things they did not learn from their parents or other instructors, things such as writing, reading and speaking in the high speech, as well as their lineage and history. Anbell was by no means a cheerful man, he was old and bitter, and had no patience for shenanigans. Most times his tongue sharp and his cuffs harder than what was needed for discipline. He created a small deal of fear for most boys; mostly for the trouble he could bring them through their fathers.

"Yar. He seems to favor shaming us in front of our fathers." Marcus groaned, pushing back some of his fine hair.

Eric grinned, "And our fathers like to make fools of us in front of him." He chuckled, swinging his legs from the ledge of the wall, "We won't ever win will we?"

He smiled into the wind, looking off into the distance where the dragon's ridge laid, that impassible mountain range that defeated all that were too weak to climb it. A slow thought started forming itself in Eric's head, one that would likely get him into trouble someday.

"You ever think about leaving it all?" He mused, curling one leg up to his body and wrapping his arms about it, "Just going out to yonder horizon and never looking back?"

Marcus drew his lids close together, staring down at the ground and then released them just as quickly. He seemed to search the ground for an endless amount of time before replying to his friend. "And what's out there that we can't find here?" Marcus turned to look at his friend?s soft face.

"People who wont make fools of us, a place where we can be our own masters," Eric's eyes seemed to sparkle with an unnatural light, a small grin tugged at the corner of his lips, "A place where something new and exciting happens every day."

He then turned to look at his fair friend, eyes searching, empty of mirth.

"Do you not wish for the same things Marcus?" He asked, the slight breeze stirring his dark locks.

Marcus searched Eric's face relentlessly; searching for the words he should say instead of the ones he was about to. "We'll be made fools of no matter where we go. Something new and exciting happens here all the time, we live in a town raised by gunslingers, how more exciting can the rest of the world be?"

Eric wrinkled his nose, and then turned his head out towards the horizon again, remaining subtly quiet, probably for the first time in his life. It was a long while before he spoke again.

"Taunton's well and fine," He began, "But I can't stay here the rest of my life counting cattle and solving petty crimes."

His eyes hardened, shaded partially by his thick mop of dark hair.

"No," He said, "I'd like to think that there's more out there than this."

He then shifted his moods, as though it were no marvel at all, "Ah, I suppose I was just born with a bad batch of traveler's blood."

Eric chuckled, a wide grin on his face as he let go of his knee and effortlessly dropped to the ground beyond the wall, looking out into the distance once more.

"Or blind to what you could have right here." Marcus mumbled, laying the length of his lower arms on his thighs, playing with a blade of grass between his hands.

Eric turned to his friend, casting him a curious eye.

"And what's so wrong with wanting to go?" He asked, malice nor stubbornness to be found in his voice. Merely innocent curiosity.

Marcus brought his head up, staring past his friend towards the ridge beyond them, the plains that would become far too familiar to him soon dancing before him with the slight breeze. "You leave loved ones behind," Marcus whispered, his thoughts so clearly on his deceased mother.[/FONT][/COLOR]
Five years later...[/CENTER]
[COLOR=Navy][FONT=Century Gothic]?C?mon, on Marcus! You only have one more year left before you have to go through the trials any way, and you?ve mastered almost everything old man Sammson?s has to teach us.?

Marcus rolled over on his bedroll, tried to erase the image of his friend, and the pain that threaten to make him vomit. Now he was exiled from his home and birthplace, not that he had much to keep him there in the first place. His father had died not more than two years past and he had never known his mother. The closest thing he had to family was his childless Uncle and his friend Eric.

?Now I?m stuck out here,? Marcus said out loud, ?and alone again.? He rolled over again, pulling himself up into a sitting position, taking one painful breath.

He stared across the never-ending flat plains land. A few wild horses strutting around in a silhouette dance in the distance and an owl called out to the night. His hand slid along the long metal barrels of the shot gun Eric had stashed into the few bags he was allowed to leave with, that, and his trustful mare.

The almost 16 hand buckskin mare nickered softly as though she knew his thoughts had included her. She stood just on the other side of the large maple tree slipping in and out of sleep as she seem sure the large mare would have run off once they reached the plains just outside the city, and it had been the only reason he had been able to keep her. But they had been wrong, and now everywhere he went that mare would not leave his side.

?Just you and me, Spice. You, me and this gods forsaken tree.? Marcus mumbled.
Marcus lay back down, hands behind his head starring up at the cloudless sky. ?What had Eric and I always talked of doing, that cully? Oh yeah?travelin? this damnable world. Alright Eric, Spice and I have already started your blasted journey, now it?s your move.?

Marcus rolled over onto his side, hissed with pain, pulled his thin blanket over his shoulder and fell into a restless sleep.[/FONT][/COLOR][/SIZE]

[FONT=Arial Narrow][COLOR=DarkSlateGray][SIZE=2][CENTER]Welcome RPGers!! to my latest creation!! Now this is a jointly produced RPG by Angelus and myself. So any questions, suggestions or concerns you may post publicly in the [URL=http://www.otakuboards.com/showthread.php?t=53333]Underground[/URL] or you may PM either one of us. And before we even get started this is a spin off of Stephen Kings hit series "The Dark Tower". This plot line has nothing to do with Roland and his friends so please refrain from making too many refresenes to that particular story. Angelus will be posting a link to a site that has information that maybe helpful in not only the creation of your character, but background information on Mid-World where this all takes place if you have not already read the books. This rpg is an adventure story and we do not limit the possiblity of love senerios, but please do not make these the bases of your character or your envolvement in this RPG.

Some rules to concider:
1) NO GOD MOLDING! (Both of us hate this more than any thing else and we will not hesitate to terminate your character from the rpg.)
2) Do not use any ones character without permission. (If you use the character incorrectly and we are PMed about the matter, please fix the problem in a timely matter)
3)Discuss all major plot changes or character ideas with creators. (this is to help keep the rpg flowing smoothly)
4) Be creative and orginal! (I hate to read things that have been stolen for video games, movies, or other stories to create a character. You're an indiviual, your character should be one too!)

[U]Sign Up:[/U]
Name: (Example: Roland Deschain son of Steven Deschain)
Gender: (self explanatory, I hope)
Age: (No higher than 18, no younger than 14)
Town: (There are three major towns that are listed in the [URL=http://www.otakuboards.com/showthread.php?t=53333]Underground[/URL], but you are not limited to these)
Future Occupation: (Examples: gunslinger, nurse, wife, cook ect. Will except other things like wanders and witches with "the touch", but nothing too outlandish. Not limited to any of these choices.)
Preferred weapon(s): (Lets keep this reasonable, this a western of sorts and lets limit it to 2 weapons at most)
Appearance: (please give detailed describtions. NO PICTURES!)
Biography: (Please use a specific event or scene during the characters life to show personality and your writing style.)
Background: (Please list a few links to other rpgs or websites that you have written in/on to give us a even better feel for your writing style.)[/CENTER][/SIZE][/COLOR][/FONT]

[FONT=Century Gothic][SIZE=2][COLOR=Navy][U]DC's Character[/U]
Name: Marcus Alexander son of Ashton Alexander
Gender: Male
Age: 17
Town: Tauton
Future Occupation: He was meant to be a gunslinger, but was exiled west when he failed.
Prefered weapons: a large double barrel shot gun given to him by his best friend before being exiled. (later will recieve his father's revolvers)
Apperance: A rough looking lad of seventeen. Stern, almost cross, green eyes that are set evenly apart with a well propotioned nose between them. His cheek bones set fairly high with a smooth rounded chin to complete the perfect blend of rugged and baby face handsome. His lips neither thin nor full and shoulder length dark brown hair.

Though still wiry from his young age, Marcus has developed a tall, muscular stature beyond his late father. Large hands allow this lad to easily manuver even the bulkest of weaponary with great ease. His well porpotioned body enale him to move quickly and easily, but slight asthmatic lungs quickly steal any stamina the young lad may have had.
Biography: Marcus was fifteen when the town all lined up along the main street to pay their respects to his late gunslinger father, Ashton Alexander. His father had been a strangly compassionate man who lved his wife tenderly, even after his beloved wife's death during childbirth for his only child, he still gave as much to his community and family as was humanly possible.

A woman not far from Marcus cried out, throwing her head into her hands as she began to sob. Marcus wrinkled his nose at this, watching with emotionless eyes as the horses pulling his father's closed coffin slid by him. Behind the coffin rode his father's brother, and his closest friend, their heads hung low despite the proud posture they rode their own horses with.

Dallas was his father's closest friend and had been with him when he was killed. His thin blonde hair lay over his left eye, hiding the managled sockett that had once housed a pale grey eye. His right arm lay in a sling, and who knew how many other wounds the man had after their assault by the muties.

Marcus' Uncle on the other hand had not a scratch on him, but that was because the tal, obese man was part of the polictican crowd. His thick beard was not yet peppered with grey hairs, but the once thick rust colored hair that covered the top of his head was thinning rather rapidly. There had been much talk of Ashton's only living relative and how he had managed to skip the trials of becoming a gunslinger. Some had begun to speculate that the very well-known gunslinger's brother wasn't really his brother. It explained the completely different attitudes and apperances between the two. Of course there were other rumers that danced about, but that one was the most popular.

"Yar," a firm slap on his back drew Marcus' attention from the "marry little parade" that was almost at an end. Behind him stood none other than Eric son of William Tudor, and his own closest friend.

"Yar." The word that fell from his lips was something like an old car that just didn't want to turn over.

"Why ye not in there?" Eric nodded towards the street.

"Would you quit talking like that," Marcus grumbled. "Your father would have your head."

"Aw, does the lady not like my accent?" The smile on Eric's face was beyond comical, but Marcus thought best to play along.

"I'm going to sen you crying back to your father." Marcus put a wiry grin on his face.

Eric gave a pretend shocked face and swirled back around into the crowd, Marcus right on his heels. The short moment of relief from the tramatic even at hand was broke violently when Eric ran into their teacher.

"Shouldn't you boys be in the practice yard," the elderly blind man asked calmly.

"Sai Marcus' father had died, sai Sammson." Eric reported politely.

"And that gives you the cause to play a little girl's game of tag through the town's streets?"

Both boys hung their heads low with shame--shame from being called girls, maybe--slandering their fathers' names, more than likely. Then Marcus drew his head up quickly and looked crossly at Sammson, even if the old man couldn't see him.

"What's it to you, sai Sammson? We were excused from our daily training to morn the loss of sai Ashton Alexander's untimely death. No one said we had to cry the day away." Marcus' retort was harsh, even to Eric's shocked ears, but the young lad paid no attention to either gentleman as he walked past them both.[/COLOR][/SIZE][/FONT]

Angelus' character coming soon!
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[COLOR=Darkred][FONT=Garamond]Name: Eric Tudor, Son of William Tudor

Gender: Male

Age: 18

Town: Taunton

Future Occupation: Gunslinger

Preferred weapon(s): Polished brass six shooters, Lance.

Appearance: At a young age, Eric was an oddly proportioned boy, teenaged years sending his limbs into a growing frenzy while the rest of his body struggled to catch up. In his later years, before he fully gained his full man's growth, he still stands tall and lanky, his figure slender yet taught. His hair is dark and messy, grown long and cinched at the nape of his neck. The black fluff of his bangs usually hangs in his brilliant blue eyes, but doesn't go as far as hidding his lopsided grin.

His wardrobe is simple and yet functional. Dusty denims mixed with cotton shirts, and the occasional flat-brimmed hat would be stuck atop his head.

Biography: [will edit/brain fart][/FONT]

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[size=1][b]Name:[/b] Trinity Ambrosia

[b]Gender:[/b] Female

[b]Age:[/b] 17

[b]Town:[/b] Farrow

Farrow is a town full of opposites. It is a home to gunslingers as much as it is a hme to bandits and criminals. There is no black and white in this town, only grey. But somehow, it manages not to tear itself apart. Its' reputation has travelled far over the pains to the other gunslinger towns. All in all, Farrow is regarded as an oxymoron of crime and justice.

[b]Future Occupation:[/b] Gunslinger/Priestess

[b]Preferred Weapons:[/b]

1. Revolver -
[URL=http://www.webaugur.com/matt/images/beretta_92fs.jpg]Revolver Picture[/URL]

2. A small cross that turns into a set of four daggers.


Trinity looks more like a rogue bounty hunter than a gunslinger, let alone a priestess. Wine red eyes with shoulder-length, charcoal black hair with brick-red and burnt-orange streaks standing out against the black. She stands about 5' 8"/5' 9" with a curvy yet tomboyish look about her, which suits her personality perfectly.

What Trinity wears doesn't help her look like a priestess. Her burnt orange Stilleto cowboy hat is Trinity's most signature piece of clothing.

A laced-up, V-front singlet wine-red top and long black leather pants with black leather shoes are Trinity's favourite clothes. As for jewellery, Trinity wears a simple cross on a fine golden chain around her neck. Her right ear is pierced twice - a hanging golden pendant in the first and a golden stud in the second. Finally, there is a tattoo of a line of thorns circling the upper part of her left arm.


Rain was pouring down in the small but chaotic town of Farrow. The mountains towered over the small mining town that was a home to Gunslingers and criminals alike. One thing that was peculiar about Farrow was the amount of children that were hanging around the streets. They were all dressed in rags. They were children of the streets indeed.

The street was lined with bars, saloons and hotels like an old Western town. There was also a faint cover of dust on everything from the mines. Most of the people in this town had their hair bleached a little orange by the dust of the mines. It was the signature look of a person from Farrow.

One small girl was leaning against one of the saloon's walls, trying to stay out of the downpour. Her shoulder-length charcoal black hair was sopping wet, beads of water dripping down onto her pillow-case dress. Her body was quivering as cold shuddered through her body. She rubbed her hands over her arms, shivering. She needed somewhere she could go to be warm.

There was a lot of noise coming from inside the saloon she was leaning against. A thought crossed her mind. The girl turned and crept out the back of the saloon. There was a door there. She looked at it and, to her surprise, the lock was open. A smile crossed her face as she crept inside. The warmth hit her like a warm wave.

" So warm..."

There was a loud bang before a man of portly proportions stalked in, shocking the small girl. He looked at her with his small blue eyes.

" Trinity!!!"
Trinity scrambled up from the floor beside the furnace and backed away from the man.

" You ran away from the Church again, didn't you!!" the man roared.
" They were going to make me work in the mines!" Trinity, yelled back at the man in reply to his accusation.
" What rubbish are you talking about girl? You ran away so you can run around learning about Gunslingers! Don't you know it's bad luck to break the tradition!"

The man walked over to Trinity and picked her up by the scruff. Trinity flailed around her arms and legs, trying to hit him. The man looked at her meanly.

" It's back to the Church for you young lady!"
Trinity growled and spat at him in the face. The man growled and made the motion to slap her before a growing scuffling noise from in the main bar area gained his attention. He dropped Trinity and ran out to the bar area.

Trinity got up from the floor and ran around from the back of the saloon to the side where she could see the front. Water dripped down from her long fringe into her eyes. She hastily wiped the water from her eyes.

In the darkness, Trinity could make out two figures standing opposing each other. A gasp echoed from her mouth. This was a duel between a Gunslinger and a criminal. A crowd was growing steadily on the balcony of the saloon, ready to watch the impending battle.

Trinity's eyes were ablaze with excitement. Her heart was thumping against her chest as the seconds ticked by, watching and waiting for someone to make the first move. It was all over in about three seconds. The small girl could smell the scent of gunpowder as one of the figures fell dead on the muddy ground.

There was a whoosing sound as something landed in a puddle of mud with a splash. Trinity looked to the puddle and saw a gun with a scorched bullet mark lay there. The girl's eyes went wide as she went over and picked the pistol up. It was light, like it wasn't even made from metal.

A sudden rough hand grabbed Trinity by the arm. Trinity whirled around to see the Priest smiling at her evilly.
" So, this is the one that got away from the Church. You won't be so lucky next time! Come with me little miss."

He started to drag her away from the main street and towards a foreboding looking building in the back of the town. Trinity struggled against this 'Priest' who just smiled at her with a wicked look. Then Trinity realised that she still had the gun. Praying that there was still some bullets left in there, she held it up to the Priest shakily and pulled the trigger.

The sound echoed painfully around in the alleyway. The Priest instantly let go of her after she pulled the trigger. He dropped to the ground, howling in agony. It seemed that Trinity had shot him in the leg because of the gun jolting backwards in her hand.

Blood was pouring from the bullet wound, the red staining the white of the Priest's robes. His eyes were wide and bloodshot as Trinity walked towards him with the pistol aimed at his head.
" Don't.... please.... I beg you.... please, forgive me..."

Trinity stopped, towering over him, even though she was only small. The pistol was remarkably calm in her hands. Rage was swirling around in the pit of her stomach and was clouding her mind.

" Why should I forgive you?! You took my friends away, making them slaves for a quick buck! You don't even care if they die in the mines! What kind of priest are you?! You want to be forgiven for what you've done?!" Trinity screamed into the pouring rain, her eyes ablaze with her fury.

The Priest started to back away from her.
" Please... I only wanted to help them..."

" Help them?!?!" Trinity growled. " You should of got them off of the streets you asshole!!"

She stepped towards him and pressed the tip of the pistol to the Priest's temple.
" Beg for God's forgiveness in Hell asshole!"[/size]
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