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HalloweenNumber1

Basic Summary:

Creators have been among us for centuries. They appear normal, and for every bit they are. They seem to be drawn to occupations and lifestyles which involve creativity, ingenuity, intelligence, wit, and other sharp skills. Writers, engineers, inventors, artists--any could be a Creator, hidden, possibly unknown even to themselves.

The Major Archangel Panel has existed for as far back as the First Creator, serving as the law-keepers. Thirteen white-winged men, standing for truth and justice and fairness for all. The First Creator assembled them to ensure that future Creators would learn the importance to control any Creations that they brought forth--because a completely Independent Creation could not be controlled, and therefore much more difficult to destroy. Punishment was almost always worst for the Creation in particular--until nearly the 500th confirmed Creator, when the Creator in question was brought before the Panel and brought up a very good point.

The Panel could always deal with one or two Independent Creations at a time. But if an entire army were made, then the Panel could easily be overthrown. They would be out of control, out of power.

That simply would not do.

And thus the Panel began to amend the laws of the First Creator, began to violate the rights and powers of the Creators, began to punish any Creator that stepped the slightest out of line, that dared to stand up and speak out against their oppressors.

Once a Creator was confirmed, as the Major Archangel Panel could easily sense their budding presence, a specific Archangel, not of the Panel, but of high-ranking, was sent to fetch the Creator, and they would be brought before the Panel and told the rules and laws until it was engraved in their minds:

All Creations are abominations to nature. An independent Creation is a sign of rebellion in a Creator. All Creators are false gods, playing games with words and thoughts and ideas and ink. The Panel is true and righteous. Their judgment is final and condemning. Do not oppose the Panel, for they hold all of the power.

Failure to comply with these laws would result in a severe punishment and sometimes death. Normally it took a heavy amount of evidence and recurring offences against the Panel, but as time wore on, it seemed to take less and less to provoke a death sentence from the power-hungry group.

And now they are out to strip all Creators of their Creations and power. It is all due to a Creator that they did not foresee, that they did not seem to sense. The 10,000th Creator, a young woman named Cassandra, with over a thousand Creations to her name, is starting to realize that the people she's running into not only look a lot like her characters in her stories and books--they actually are! This Creator finds out easily enough that power is not always transferred down family lines--it can also jump from person to person. With nearly no Creator history in her family going back very far, the development of this powerful Creator begins to send the Panel into a frantic search to see where the power leak is coming from and how many more have been affected.

As Cassandra slowly begins to cope with life as a Creator, swept away to a land she had believed only existed in her nightmares, she finds that she will need the strength of not just her beloved characters-come-to-life, she'll need other Creators, both confirmed and those newly coming into power. As long as they had ideas of worlds and monsters and power and strength and people in their minds, they would be able to help. But armed right now with only a sparse collection of a necromancer, a pair of twins, a demon, a prince, a series of ten monsters that despise her, and a king with a heart of ice, there is no way she can stand up to the Panel and their charges for making Creations that are completely free-willed and uncontrollable.

Are you willing to ride across the nearly barren landscape that surrounds the terrible Nightmare Castle to join the Crusade against the Panel? The train leaves Grand Central Station in New York, bound for Somewhere, in Connecticut--it will bring you to the edge of the barren land. The inn down the lane will lend you horses if you need them, if you only tell them you are off to the Castle. It's a hard hour's journey, but help is needed by any who will come.

Just watch out for the one rock in the entire landscape. I know, it's hard to miss, so do your best.

What do you say? Are you in?

Original characters encouraged, self-inserts accepted, must not be afraid of twelve foot tall Australian-accented spiders, zombies, and sparsely-dressed men, and must be willing to endure light humor.




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Profile Name: HalloweenNumber1
Character Name: Cassandra
Title: Creator and Mistress of the Nightmare Castle
Weapons: Scrolls for Creation and Fragments of Creations
Skills: Can temporarily borrow the attributes of a Creation. Like borrow the power of necromancer from one, or the power to transform nto a bat from a vampire (if he has the ability)
Bio: Born in Iowa, Cassandra has been not that important all her life. Not that she cared. She was second oldest and was content to care for her siblings and hurry and clean the house before her mom walked in the door every night and help make dinner and wash dishes. She was also a writer. After a decent break, a bit of work got published.
Then perhaps it was just the strange way she was, but she began to see the characters in flashes and bursts in her every day life. It wasn't until her infamous King walked up to her and began to speak to her did she realize--reality was hitting home. This was real. Before she knew it, she was plunging into a world of Archangels and demons and Devils and sorcerers. She quickly feared she would not be able to keep her head above water as her new life and the new laws began to drag her slowly downward.
Apperance: Five-foot nine, she is of average build, with pale skin, full lips, hazel eyes, wavy brown hair, and hazel eyes that winked blue from time to time. Usually sporting a brocade Victorian gown or jeans and a sarcastic T-shirt, she can almost always be found with pen and paper in hand, black-rimmed glasses in place on her face, and a hopeful and eccentric nature just bursting forth at the seams.

Character Name: Vaughn
Title: The Lord of the Dead, The Forgotten King, and Lord of the Nightmare Castle
Weapons:Bone-staff, with shadow-obsidian embedded in the end.
Skills: Can summon and control the dead.
Bio: Born from the merged Creations of the Lord of the Dead and the Forgotten King, he is Cassandra's most precious Creation. He is flawless in his design and does not show any sign of dependency to his Creator, a fact he often uses to his advantage. He has been trying to woo Cassandra, since bringing her to his Castle, and has just made a breakthrough recently at the Spring Masquerade--but with the Panel in the way, he fears now that he'll never get the chance to seek out his happy ending.
Apperance: At a towering six-foot-nine, he stands a whole foot over his Creator, his thin frame accented with his deathly pale skin, long black hair, and cat-like grace. He has the demeanor of a lord, and demands the respect of one, always dressing in fine silks and velvets, in jabot shirts and tailored trousers with expensive boots. His crimson eyes seem to be alight with a sort of inner light, as though candles glowed and flickered beyond those garnet orbs.

Profiles can be posted here or in the OOC, which will be up in a minute. I'm looking for at least one other Creator to play, hoping for no more than five or six, though if it seems feesable, more can join. Please okay with me first.

tardmuffin

Is there room for one more creator? I believe that I have a decent character in mind. I hope that I understand the story line enough to help thicken the plot -- if you'd be so kind as to allow me to join

HalloweenNumber1

Sure thing, let me get the OOC thread, you can post the profile there. ^^

And I've updated my signature, finally...

Calling All Creators OOC (profiles here)

There is the url for the OOC, post the profile there, and any questions. ^^

HalloweenNumber1

"...And must be willing to endure light humor," the young woman said, typing away like mad on her black wireless keyboard, her eyes glued, true to her strange and never wavering nature, to her fingers as they skittered endlessly over the keys, pausing to glance up, rapidly hit the 'Backspace' button, re-type, sometimes going back and repeating this process again and again. With a broad smile, she looked over her post again and felt proud that she had stuck to her call for help. She doubted she would recieve any reply, and she certainly doubted that there would be anyone on that train, whether there on purpose or accidentally, but she couldn't help hoping beyond all hope.

Her right arm gave a very painful twinge, bringing to mind the last, and possibly most painful, lashing she had received from the Panel so far. It wasn't her fault she was powerful and had no control. All of her Creations were accidents. She had just written a book and a few stories, that's all.

She winced visibly at that thought. Yeah, but the Panel never would see it that way. The bruises and burns and scars proved that. It made her close her eyes and long for home... Tears started to burn her eyes as she remembered what shouldn't be remembered...

"Mistress, you spelled 'Connecticut' wrong..." a soft voice said over her shoulder, making her jump as she looked over her shoulder at the tall blonde man. Handsome and kind, Adrian was one of a pair of twins, almost identical to his brother, Alex. But delving closer into their pasts and interests revealed two completely different men, her Devil Twins.

Blinking away the fresh tears, she gave a trembling smile and turned her attention to the error, correcting it and glancing over it again before clicking 'Post'.

Adrian smiled gently at the young woman. Sometimes he worried about his Creator, but didn't have the heart to tell her. She was so proud of herself, about how independent and strong she was, when he saw how fragile and alone she really was. They all saw it. His smile widened as he thought of Vaughn, the tall, dark, and handsome man that doted on the young woman. He was the most painfully aware, perhaps, of the delicacy of her situation, and probably knew it was best not to let her know... It was just too cruel...

His icy blue eyes followed Cassandra as she got up from her simple desk, her brocade gown sweeping the floor as she stepped to the large window, looking out over the bleak landscape, noting how it looked like rain and wondered if she should have warned about the rain...

"Don't worry, Adrian... We'll have reinforcements tomorrow...They'll see it and they'll know to heed the call... They will know... They will come... They have to..." she whispered softly as she watched the first drops hit the glass panes.

The words she left unsaid were likely the most haunting, as they hung in the air, unsaid by either but equally understood. I don't know what we'll do if they don't...

January

Fletcher hopped off the train and glanced around him. It was almost eerie being back in New York City. This was where he'd spent the first eighteen years of his life. It was also the place he'd gotten the hell out of as soon as possible. And now he was back, albeit reluctantly. Luckily the city was only a pitstop and he wouldn't be leaving Grand Central Station.

Next to him, a brown skinned amazon of a woman stepped off the train and flashed Fletcher a smile. Fletcher just felt his frown deepen and his shoulders slump even more. He didn't understand how in the world Monica could be so perky about this whole thing, especially given her condition. When he'd first met Monica and inked a small weeping willow into her ankle she'd looked like a typical sorority girl. Pretty, petite and blonde with a bikini tan and one too many margaritas in her. Now, because of Fletcher's powers she was slowly turning into the very tree he'd tattooed on her, complete with tendril like green hair that looked like it might start leafing any day now and her skin looked more and more like bark every day.

That was why they were here together. Fletcher could hardly turn to the Panel to get help for Monica. They would likely kill her and at the very least torture him some, if not just kill him as well. In his pocket he carried a printout of a message he'd gotten from someone he'd never met. Another Creator who was apparently making a stand against the Panel. If it were entirely up to him, Fletcher would have nothing to do with this crazy idea or the girl behind it, but he'd broken the panel's laws, albeit by accident, and if he wanted to save his and Monica's lives then this was likely their only chance.

"Come on, let's get something to eat," Fletcher muttered as he realized that people were beginning to stare at him and Monica. They did make an odd couple. With her green hair and height and Fletcher's bright covering of tattoos, well, they probably weren't the oddest pair in New York City, but they definitely didn't look normal. "Our next train doesn't leave for half and hour."

"Actually, I'm not really hungry," Monica said and Fletcher could already see her hungrily eying some of the stores in the station. "It was sunny on the last train. I think I started photosynthesizing."

"That's not good..." Fletcher looked worriedly at Monica, trying to see if she looked more like a tree than the last time he'd checked. Honestly he couldn't tell. "Anyway, we shouldn't split up, I'll just grab a cheeseburger and come with you," Fletcher looked around at the stores glumly while Monica beamed.

"Good, I know I need some new clothes since I outgrew practically everything I owned overnight," Monica said brightly as she let the way toward Banana Republic. "But I think you could use some new things too, Fletcher." Monica already had her wallet out and was trying to decide which of her father's credit cards would be abused this time. Fletcher just slouched along quietly behind her.

HalloweenNumber1

"Hey, Adrian! Are my horns showing?" said one tall porter to another, his mirror imgae glancing before shaking his head, a few long blonde strands falling free.

"No, none that I can see... Man, whose idea was this? I mean, seriously! We should just go in there and start knockin' some heads together, we don't need the help of some snot-nosed teens to show those archangels whose boss!" the other man said, huffing slightly as he searched the crowd. "And we've been here for three hours and NO ONE has even shown an interest in Platform Four or getting on the train! Fer cryin' out loud, what will we do if no one shows up?!"

The first blonde sighed, then nodded his head to the door of the black train several feet away where a young woman dressed in a garnet red bustle gown stepped out onto the platform, looking around for a moment. "Well, I don't know, but she's confident that they will. I mean... They have to, right? If you're called, you must come, kind of thing... Isn't it?"

They both glanced to where the young woman seemed to spot something of interest, taking off at a fast pace through the crowd, making her way towards the nearest clothing store.

Sachyriel

Dash sat on the empty subway car smoking some of the fine cannabis he had started sampling while in New York. It was rolled fairly tight, because the email didn't say how long he'd be gone for. He shrugged to himself and looked across the aisle, where the Archon of his Blue Team sat.

Well, the subway was mostly empty while he puffed the joint. Blue Team sat in here with him, while Red Team was the car ahead and Green Team in the car behind. Each team, with 8 Origami Soldiers, had cleared out these three subway cars. They were trained to protect him and went through some hardcore measures.

He stubbed it out on one of the metal poles and removed a panel of armor on his hips. Taking a small baggie, he put the finished joint in there and got up for the ladies voice announcing the next stop. "Oi, all teams prepare to disembark. It's not a far walk." He yelled at them. The Archon of Blue Team sent the order down to the other Archons. Dash could see the other cars, the Teams stood at the doors, each ready to do their parts.

The Archons chose the doors closest to the middle car, with their seconds, the Ashens, taking the other doors in the cars. Agile, the scout of the teams, was ready to run out right after Archer, who was heavy weapons. He hoped the Archers would use some sense and use their Pistols, not their Rocket Launchers in a cramped space like this. After those two there were Ambush, the sniper would follow the scout to see if there were threats in the distance and Arachnid would start seeing how to make the area better for the three teams. The medic, Ambulance, and the vehicles expert, Agile, would provide reinforcements, if needed. He hoped it wouldn't.

As the train pulled into a crowded station, Dash put his own helmet on his head and felt his hawk squish upon his scalp. He grabbed his own rifle, as it sat on the seat next to him. He tried to look unrushed as he went over to the Archon of Blue Team and heard the voice talking about door safety. It was kind of hard, since he stood out in his constantly recolouring armor. "Let's do this" he said to the leader of blue team as his shoulder pads went from purple whirls to red dragons, as before they were blue swords.

With a hiss, the doors opened and they stepped into Grand Central Station. All the teams rushed out, scaring the people who were on the platform waiting. They didn't object as 25 people regrouped around a single point and started moving, a large circle constantly rotating to cover all the people. No shots were fired and people started talking about terrorist threats and drills and such while they got on the subway cars.

Dash signaled a change of tactics, and they ran to the train station to see if they were too late. It didn't seem like it, so Dash looked around for any more creators.

Asha'man

"Yer boy. Right now to get packed and ready. Turn off the PC then, bag, bag, where the hell is my bag?" Simon was running around his one bed flat like a mad chicken. He only had about 6 hip bags and he couldn't find a single one. "Come on, where is it." Reigner sat on the sofa playing the Wii. Well trying to play he still hadn't got the hang of the sensor. "Reigner have you seen my bag?" Simon asked placing hands on hips. "What? Oh ask Yarak. Ahhh they going to get me...RUN!" Reigner seemed to get way to into the games sometimes. "Yarak? Yarak are you in the loft?" Opening the hatch to the loft Simon pulled out his lighter and sure enougth he saw Yarak curled up on the edge of the light on all of Simon's bags. "YARAK! Give me my bloody bags will ya," he said pulling himself up and making his way through the jumble of items. Grabbing the strap of the nearest bag Simon tugged and in came free and Yarak still seemed to be asleep. "Bloody thing." Once he was down he started throwing clothes onto the bed and other items like a tooth brush, soap,and other things. Reigner and given up after like the 60th try on the game and went in and decided to help Simon pack. "So where we going?" He asked as he folded the worse looking holiday top up and slipped into down the side of the bed. "To have a go at the Panel and beat up the Archangels. Yer boy."

After a while they got the bus to the train station, the train to the airport, the plane to new york and then a taxi to Grand Central.

Walking in Simon was turning in circles as he tried to take everything in at once, next to him carrying his own backpack and dressed in his robes of the Silver Flame, Reigner was far from impressed. "The temple of Silver is bigger and grander than this." On his other side slithered a 7ft snake man with a bow on his back, a quiver full of arrows on his left hip and a sword on the right for balance. "I no like man thing." Simon had seen something going on a farway down the station, it seemed to be a big group of people moving around together but they were all the same, from this distance they looked like paper cut outs. "Comeon maybe thats where we are ment to beee........." As they passed a clothing store Simon had seen someone that looked like a living Dryad. Standing transfixed Simon didn't notice the woman in a red gown run inside. Reigner sat down on his bag and took out a pipe while Yarak curled up opposite him. "Is this a non-smoking zone?"

HalloweenNumber1

(OOC: Um... well, it appears for reasons unknown, Sachyriel got banned, so it appears we're going to have to post on without him... Sorry, all, I've been in the middle of a move, don't worry, I have a lot more free time now)

A man wearing a porter's outfit with long dark brown curly hair looked down at Reigner, raising an eyebrow as he said, "Indeed, this is a smoke-free area."

The woman in red walked from rack to rack, picking out a few necessary items before heading for the changing rooms, soon emerging bearing a long sleeved shirt, a tight corset, and a pair of black tight pants, her boots making soft clicking sounds as she make her way out of the store, tugging on a pair of black gloves before pushing her glasses up her nose, not noticing in time before bumping into a ginger-haired individual that stood staring transfixedly at something, apologizing profusely as she pushed her hair back out of her face.

"Oh, I am soo sorry, I didn't mean to! I should have been looking where I was going, I apolo--oh, crap, I left my dress," she said, turning back into the store and making her way to the dressing rooms to grab the heavy brocade gown, throwing it over her arm before walking back out, tossing her long braid over her shoulder.

DustAndEchoes

"Hate New York..." Lady took a moment descending the crowded steps into Grand Central to tug her VF-101 ballcap down further over her ears. In jeans and a black longsleaved shirt, she definately looked 'underdressed', but the civilian clothes were comfortable and absolutely perfect camoflage in a place like the city.

Blonde hair kept behind her in a ponytail, her blue eyes hovered above a semi-permanent smile. The tattoos she had were covered by her clothes, and her hands were nicked with countless tiny scars - a few of them fresh.

No one replies to her muttered sentiment, of course, because she was alone, but it didnt stop her from talking as if someone were there.

"Came down here for Navy Week when I was on the Zippo. Crazy place. Got blitzed like a som'bitch, though...Heh... Good times."

Everything she needed - or thought she might - was in the faded green seabag over her shoulder. She was sure of what she was doing; it just felt right. But that didnt make her any more at ease. She didnt have a 'record' with the Panel. She'd been careful; following the rules, keeping her ass off the radar. But she wasnt going to take stupid chances. In all her time as a Creator, she'd never left the Boneyard. If their agents spotted her here, something would definately seem amiss.

She would've much preffered a plane - doubly so if it was one of her own manufacture - but beggars couldnt really choose, yes?

But her own subtley is put to shame as she glances down the platforms and sees what appears to be an armed snake-man. ... Well if THAT wasnt the right train she didnt know what was. Shaking her head and expelling a hiss of her own, Lady heads down to the gathering crowd as a woman exits a store with a briliant red gown. And was that chick dressed like a tree?