Deamonbane Member
STATUS: When you see a sock on the doorknob, the only civilized way to react is to kick the door down, declaring loudly that," Player Three has entered the game!" 9 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 8 yrs ago
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 874 (0.22 / day)
- VMs: 0
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Username history
- Deamonbane 11 yrs ago
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9 yrs ago
Current
When you see a sock on the doorknob, the only civilized way to react is to kick the door down, declaring loudly that," Player Three has entered the game!"
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Most Recent Posts
Nice post KT...
*nods* Just here... bein' purty and whatnot...
Thanks. Accepted of course *grins cheekily*
Kate... I can't see your Succubus' beast form pic...
Name:
Dagon
Age:
Unknown
Species:
Demon
Gender:
Male
Human Appearance:
Even in human form, he is a beast to be feared. Standing a half foot over seven feet tall, it is famed that when he walks the very ground shakes. His weight is agreed to be something around 500 pounds of bristling muscle, iron-hard bone and fury to match any gods of Mythology. Which is why, in many mythologies, he is considered to be a god, not a demon, which he is. His head is shaven bald, and his dress code is somewhat more sloppy than it should be, although few point this out. His eyes are a fierce red.
Beast Appearance:
Personality:
Angry and explosive, with a fiery temper and a knack for cruelty matched by his need for violence, never quenched. The only reason that he was placed on the council was because he was one of the oldest demons alive, and the fact that few dared stand in his way when ambition drove him to take it. Arrogant but intelligent, he knew that it was only a matter of time before the humans got in their way, and he knew that the only way to have the upper hand, and keep it, was to make sure that the humans were always reacting to their movements. Together, the creatures of the dark could hope to win.
Brief History:
It is very possible that he forgot his own background, but the earliest that he cares to remember was when he was king of a small tribe in the middle East called the Philistines. Then was when he first took on his name and title, in the eyes of some, god, as he turned a small tribe in a war machine, taking over most of the land and then leaving when he grew bored. Taking on many names and titles as he moved along, always drawn to war and destruction. Heracles. Achilles. Mars. As the war front moved through the renaissance he acquired a taste for naval warfare, and his nickname then was Davy Jones.
But when a council of the creatures of darkness came together, he saw a possibility that he had never foreseen before. The Demons, powerful as they were, were never in great numbers. But if they all united, taking over the humans would be an easy task, and he began to try and influence them to do it. But Dagon's subtlety resembled that of a club to the head, and the rest of the council members, including his own second in command, Mephistos, found him to be too extreme, too blunt and unused to the new world.
Betrayal was bitter as Mephistos took him on in a bloody fight that left Dagon wounded deeply, but not defeated, as he retreated and hid from the council, silently plotting his revenge.
Dagon
Age:
Unknown
Species:
Demon
Gender:
Male
Human Appearance:
Even in human form, he is a beast to be feared. Standing a half foot over seven feet tall, it is famed that when he walks the very ground shakes. His weight is agreed to be something around 500 pounds of bristling muscle, iron-hard bone and fury to match any gods of Mythology. Which is why, in many mythologies, he is considered to be a god, not a demon, which he is. His head is shaven bald, and his dress code is somewhat more sloppy than it should be, although few point this out. His eyes are a fierce red.
Beast Appearance:
Personality:
Angry and explosive, with a fiery temper and a knack for cruelty matched by his need for violence, never quenched. The only reason that he was placed on the council was because he was one of the oldest demons alive, and the fact that few dared stand in his way when ambition drove him to take it. Arrogant but intelligent, he knew that it was only a matter of time before the humans got in their way, and he knew that the only way to have the upper hand, and keep it, was to make sure that the humans were always reacting to their movements. Together, the creatures of the dark could hope to win.
Brief History:
It is very possible that he forgot his own background, but the earliest that he cares to remember was when he was king of a small tribe in the middle East called the Philistines. Then was when he first took on his name and title, in the eyes of some, god, as he turned a small tribe in a war machine, taking over most of the land and then leaving when he grew bored. Taking on many names and titles as he moved along, always drawn to war and destruction. Heracles. Achilles. Mars. As the war front moved through the renaissance he acquired a taste for naval warfare, and his nickname then was Davy Jones.
But when a council of the creatures of darkness came together, he saw a possibility that he had never foreseen before. The Demons, powerful as they were, were never in great numbers. But if they all united, taking over the humans would be an easy task, and he began to try and influence them to do it. But Dagon's subtlety resembled that of a club to the head, and the rest of the council members, including his own second in command, Mephistos, found him to be too extreme, too blunt and unused to the new world.
Betrayal was bitter as Mephistos took him on in a bloody fight that left Dagon wounded deeply, but not defeated, as he retreated and hid from the council, silently plotting his revenge.
Demon Council Chair
Name:
Mephistos
Age:
Unknown
Species:
Demon
Gender:
Male
Human Appearance:
Tall, lean, gaunt, with a mean attitude and a deadpan voice, this is a demon that knows that he has class, knows that he has style, and is incredibly bored. His style of speech is unlinear and sometimes confusing as he constantly pronounces words wrong, but he doesn't care, and if you try to point it out to him, you will get on the wrong side of the silver Babylonian coin that he is always carrying. Always neatly dressed, in fashion, but never flashy, a smile is rare, but priceless, as he has an incredible sense of humor.
Beast Appearance:
Personality:
Cold, funny, with a quick and silver tongue and a trick always up his sleeve, he has a fascination for illusion and 'magic'. His price placed on human life is very very low, and he isn't above beating a person to death for not getting his jokes. He is well read, and extremely sharp, his intelligence something of a thing of pride for him. Not much of a fighter, but his age and experience make him much more of a challenge to any fighter in the world, supernatural or no, than his slick appearance would appear.
Brief History:
Before he appeared on earth, he wasn't really known. Even after he did, it wasn't very frequent, with various names for him becoming something of a popular legend in some of the ancient cultures, and after that, he disappeared for a very long time. He reappeared some 200 years ago. Nobody is quite sure from where, or how. His... uniqueness of his kind sent some question marks flying, but none could dispute the fact that he was, indeed, a demon.
Cold and icy, unlike his firey brethren, he takes a much cooler, icier kind of terrifying than the rest of his kind. But, as powerful as he was, and as old as he was, it was only natural that he be elevated to the council, where he remained in second in command to the current leader. But as the Dagon's actions began to spiral out of control, rebelling against the commands of the council and almost sparking an all out war against humanity, Mephistos decided that it had gone too far, attacking the demon and, using trickery and slippery style of fighting, beat him down, forcing him to disappear, wounded, but certainly not dead.
The Council awarded him the position of Dagon for his actions.
Name:
Mephistos
Age:
Unknown
Species:
Demon
Gender:
Male
Human Appearance:
Tall, lean, gaunt, with a mean attitude and a deadpan voice, this is a demon that knows that he has class, knows that he has style, and is incredibly bored. His style of speech is unlinear and sometimes confusing as he constantly pronounces words wrong, but he doesn't care, and if you try to point it out to him, you will get on the wrong side of the silver Babylonian coin that he is always carrying. Always neatly dressed, in fashion, but never flashy, a smile is rare, but priceless, as he has an incredible sense of humor.
Beast Appearance:
Personality:
Cold, funny, with a quick and silver tongue and a trick always up his sleeve, he has a fascination for illusion and 'magic'. His price placed on human life is very very low, and he isn't above beating a person to death for not getting his jokes. He is well read, and extremely sharp, his intelligence something of a thing of pride for him. Not much of a fighter, but his age and experience make him much more of a challenge to any fighter in the world, supernatural or no, than his slick appearance would appear.
Brief History:
Before he appeared on earth, he wasn't really known. Even after he did, it wasn't very frequent, with various names for him becoming something of a popular legend in some of the ancient cultures, and after that, he disappeared for a very long time. He reappeared some 200 years ago. Nobody is quite sure from where, or how. His... uniqueness of his kind sent some question marks flying, but none could dispute the fact that he was, indeed, a demon.
Cold and icy, unlike his firey brethren, he takes a much cooler, icier kind of terrifying than the rest of his kind. But, as powerful as he was, and as old as he was, it was only natural that he be elevated to the council, where he remained in second in command to the current leader. But as the Dagon's actions began to spiral out of control, rebelling against the commands of the council and almost sparking an all out war against humanity, Mephistos decided that it had gone too far, attacking the demon and, using trickery and slippery style of fighting, beat him down, forcing him to disappear, wounded, but certainly not dead.
The Council awarded him the position of Dagon for his actions.
Name:
Dagon
Age:
Unknown
Species:
Demon
Gender:
Male
Human Appearance:
Even in human form, he is a beast to be feared. Standing a half foot over seven feet tall, it is famed that when he walks the very ground shakes. His weight is agreed to be something around 500 pounds of bristling muscle, iron-hard bone and fury to match any gods of Mythology. Which is why, in many mythologies, he is considered to be a god, not a demon, which he is. His head is shaven bald, and his dress code is somewhat more sloppy than it should be, although few point this out. His eyes are a fierce red.
Beast Appearance:
Personality:
Angry and explosive, with a fiery temper and a knack for cruelty matched by his need for violence, never quenched. The only reason that he was placed on the council was because he was one of the oldest demons alive, and the fact that few dared stand in his way when ambition drove him to take it. Arrogant but intelligent, he knew that it was only a matter of time before the humans got in their way, and he knew that the only way to have the upper hand, and keep it, was to make sure that the humans were always reacting to their movements. Together, the creatures of the dark could hope to win.
Brief History:
It is very possible that he forgot his own background, but the earliest that he cares to remember was when he was king of a small tribe in the middle East called the Philistines. Then was when he first took on his name and title, in the eyes of some, god, as he turned a small tribe in a war machine, taking over most of the land and then leaving when he grew bored. Taking on many names and titles as he moved along, always drawn to war and destruction. Heracles. Achilles. Mars. As the war front moved through the renaissance he acquired a taste for naval warfare, and his nickname then was Davy Jones.
But when a council of the creatures of darkness came together, he saw a possibility that he had never foreseen before. The Demons, powerful as they were, were never in great numbers. But if they all united, taking over the humans would be an easy task, and he began to try and influence them to do it. But Dagon's subtlety resembled that of a club to the head, and the rest of the council members, including his own second in command, Mephistos, found him to be too extreme, too blunt and unused to the new world.
Betrayal was bitter as Mephistos took him on in a bloody fight that left Dagon wounded deeply, but not defeated, as he retreated and hid from the council, silently plotting his revenge.
Dagon
Age:
Unknown
Species:
Demon
Gender:
Male
Human Appearance:
Even in human form, he is a beast to be feared. Standing a half foot over seven feet tall, it is famed that when he walks the very ground shakes. His weight is agreed to be something around 500 pounds of bristling muscle, iron-hard bone and fury to match any gods of Mythology. Which is why, in many mythologies, he is considered to be a god, not a demon, which he is. His head is shaven bald, and his dress code is somewhat more sloppy than it should be, although few point this out. His eyes are a fierce red.
Beast Appearance:
Personality:
Angry and explosive, with a fiery temper and a knack for cruelty matched by his need for violence, never quenched. The only reason that he was placed on the council was because he was one of the oldest demons alive, and the fact that few dared stand in his way when ambition drove him to take it. Arrogant but intelligent, he knew that it was only a matter of time before the humans got in their way, and he knew that the only way to have the upper hand, and keep it, was to make sure that the humans were always reacting to their movements. Together, the creatures of the dark could hope to win.
Brief History:
It is very possible that he forgot his own background, but the earliest that he cares to remember was when he was king of a small tribe in the middle East called the Philistines. Then was when he first took on his name and title, in the eyes of some, god, as he turned a small tribe in a war machine, taking over most of the land and then leaving when he grew bored. Taking on many names and titles as he moved along, always drawn to war and destruction. Heracles. Achilles. Mars. As the war front moved through the renaissance he acquired a taste for naval warfare, and his nickname then was Davy Jones.
But when a council of the creatures of darkness came together, he saw a possibility that he had never foreseen before. The Demons, powerful as they were, were never in great numbers. But if they all united, taking over the humans would be an easy task, and he began to try and influence them to do it. But Dagon's subtlety resembled that of a club to the head, and the rest of the council members, including his own second in command, Mephistos, found him to be too extreme, too blunt and unused to the new world.
Betrayal was bitter as Mephistos took him on in a bloody fight that left Dagon wounded deeply, but not defeated, as he retreated and hid from the council, silently plotting his revenge.
Knock Knock...
I will soon be working a five day workweek with a six day work payoff... I am slowly getting the life lol...
The train was not the fastest way across the country anymore, but for those that didn't want to live through the rattling hells in the sky that were the airplanes, it was the best. The ride was smooth, reasonably fast and far more peaceful. With the grasslands spanning across everywhere, and the feeling of being in a basin from the view of the mountains to the right and to the left, so far into the horizon that their white tips were blue, it was peaceful out here. Sure, there was the occasional whistle and when trains passed on the opposite track, it was a little loud, but the man dressed neatly and slick, with his eyes buried in a book as he sipped some tea, it was the only way to travel in style.
The two men, bulky and muscular, with fierce tattoos of dragons and tigers across what was exposed of their bodies, along with the bulky weapons poorly concealed in their clothing, thought differently. But none of them said a word. They had all seen this apparently peaceful monk move when he was in action. No man drawing a gun would see him fast enough before he had a dart in his eye, or his hand chopped off by the blades hidden in his staff. Even without his weapons he was deadly. The Shaolin monks were legendary fighters, and the skills that they had were seen by some Americans as magical. Nerve strikes that could paralyze a man for hours, or heal him from sicknesses. Punches delivered from less than an inch away that could shatter skulls and punch through ribcages.
Yes, the Enforcers sent to accompany and 'Guard' the Deputy Mountain Master knew that he did not need their help to keep out of trouble.
A younger version of the Monk moved through the eating car, sitting alongside his Brother. He had been visiting Las Vegas and was now headed back to Boston for his studies. He had decided to accompany his older brother on his way to the East Coast. The Monk had humbly agreed at his father's request.
Sitting down, munching happily on a scone, he turned to his brother," Why are you going to Miami, Brother? I know that it won't be to enjoy the sunshine and beaches, even though it should be. Did father send you on some business?"
"That is none of your concern, little brother," The Monk said, not looking away from his book," And when in the presence of those outside our family, you will refer to The Mountain Master by his Title."
The younger man shook his head," You take life too seriously, brother. You should lighten up, or I will find better company."
"Please do," Li's voice was deadpan, and never once during the exchange did he look up from his book, or show any interest in extending the conversation. The younger Li was used to this behavior by his brother and with a quick laugh he stood and left the three once more.
By this time, one of the Enforcers found his tongue," I do not understand why we will have to negotiate with the Gaijjin," He growled," We have the greater numbers, we have the advantage. We could simply force them out, like we did in the East."
"And what do you know of politics and business, my eager friend?" The Monk finally looked up from his book, Das Kapital by Karl Marx, changing the language of the conversation from Cantonese to English, his odd eastern accent mixing musically with a British lilt," Once we have killed the Good Don and all of his confederates, what then? Who will want to do business with a bunch of bloodthirsty triads then?"
The two men looked at him, confused. Li sighed and placed down his book," Allow me to explain. We have no foothold in the Eastern part of the country. The Triads are not well known or feared in this area like they are in the West. To make an ambitious move like the Mountain Master has seen fit, we will need contacts and loyalty with our countrymen in this area. We will need more of our countrymen in this area as well. The Italian pigs," He growled that word," Are our finest offer, despite their barbarism, as they have been enforcing their law in this half of the country for the better part of the last fifty years," He leaned back in his seat, taking a sip of tea," Their Don is feared and respected. But if their Don was to come to Los Angeles, for instance, he would be just another immigrant. Like we are here," He smiled thinly," For us to gain any foothold in this part of the country, we must pay our respect to the lords of it. There are the Irish, who hold most of Boston and Atlanta, along with most of New Orleans, and there are the Italians, who hold anything else. We will present our offer. Cheap Labor from our countrymen, weapons from Japan, opium and alcohol from the bootleggers in Taiwan and Hong Kong. Casinos filled with the beautiful flowers from the East, our women. And all we would ask is a cut in all the profits, as well as a say in how investments are made. As such, we will be respected and feared as associates of the Italian Don and left alone as such until we have built our own reputation, have our... foot in the door, as the Americans say."
The two men still looked lost.
"Should the Don turn down our offer, we will bring it to their Irish Competition, who will be far more accommodating, and see us as a way to grow in power and influence, being able to expand with our Triad troops into places that have long been held with an iron fist by the Italians. Either way, we have our place in the East of the United States," He picked his book back up and smiled," We win both ways."
Both men nodded, but still looked confused. He had simplified it as much as he had cared to for the brutes to understand, and now his patience with them had worn thin," Never mind, brothers. You have your duties, I have mine. We shall remain in our posts doing what the Mountain Master sees fit for us to do in our time. He sees the larger picture," The two men nodded, understanding. They were brutes, enforcers, remnants of the Boxer rebellion that knew how to fight like few in the world, but had little mind for tactics. His duties were in making sure that they had the money to have guns, and put bullets in their guns.
He looked at his pocket-watch and smiled," Ah, only twenty minutes until our stop."
The two men, bulky and muscular, with fierce tattoos of dragons and tigers across what was exposed of their bodies, along with the bulky weapons poorly concealed in their clothing, thought differently. But none of them said a word. They had all seen this apparently peaceful monk move when he was in action. No man drawing a gun would see him fast enough before he had a dart in his eye, or his hand chopped off by the blades hidden in his staff. Even without his weapons he was deadly. The Shaolin monks were legendary fighters, and the skills that they had were seen by some Americans as magical. Nerve strikes that could paralyze a man for hours, or heal him from sicknesses. Punches delivered from less than an inch away that could shatter skulls and punch through ribcages.
Yes, the Enforcers sent to accompany and 'Guard' the Deputy Mountain Master knew that he did not need their help to keep out of trouble.
A younger version of the Monk moved through the eating car, sitting alongside his Brother. He had been visiting Las Vegas and was now headed back to Boston for his studies. He had decided to accompany his older brother on his way to the East Coast. The Monk had humbly agreed at his father's request.
Sitting down, munching happily on a scone, he turned to his brother," Why are you going to Miami, Brother? I know that it won't be to enjoy the sunshine and beaches, even though it should be. Did father send you on some business?"
"That is none of your concern, little brother," The Monk said, not looking away from his book," And when in the presence of those outside our family, you will refer to The Mountain Master by his Title."
The younger man shook his head," You take life too seriously, brother. You should lighten up, or I will find better company."
"Please do," Li's voice was deadpan, and never once during the exchange did he look up from his book, or show any interest in extending the conversation. The younger Li was used to this behavior by his brother and with a quick laugh he stood and left the three once more.
By this time, one of the Enforcers found his tongue," I do not understand why we will have to negotiate with the Gaijjin," He growled," We have the greater numbers, we have the advantage. We could simply force them out, like we did in the East."
"And what do you know of politics and business, my eager friend?" The Monk finally looked up from his book, Das Kapital by Karl Marx, changing the language of the conversation from Cantonese to English, his odd eastern accent mixing musically with a British lilt," Once we have killed the Good Don and all of his confederates, what then? Who will want to do business with a bunch of bloodthirsty triads then?"
The two men looked at him, confused. Li sighed and placed down his book," Allow me to explain. We have no foothold in the Eastern part of the country. The Triads are not well known or feared in this area like they are in the West. To make an ambitious move like the Mountain Master has seen fit, we will need contacts and loyalty with our countrymen in this area. We will need more of our countrymen in this area as well. The Italian pigs," He growled that word," Are our finest offer, despite their barbarism, as they have been enforcing their law in this half of the country for the better part of the last fifty years," He leaned back in his seat, taking a sip of tea," Their Don is feared and respected. But if their Don was to come to Los Angeles, for instance, he would be just another immigrant. Like we are here," He smiled thinly," For us to gain any foothold in this part of the country, we must pay our respect to the lords of it. There are the Irish, who hold most of Boston and Atlanta, along with most of New Orleans, and there are the Italians, who hold anything else. We will present our offer. Cheap Labor from our countrymen, weapons from Japan, opium and alcohol from the bootleggers in Taiwan and Hong Kong. Casinos filled with the beautiful flowers from the East, our women. And all we would ask is a cut in all the profits, as well as a say in how investments are made. As such, we will be respected and feared as associates of the Italian Don and left alone as such until we have built our own reputation, have our... foot in the door, as the Americans say."
The two men still looked lost.
"Should the Don turn down our offer, we will bring it to their Irish Competition, who will be far more accommodating, and see us as a way to grow in power and influence, being able to expand with our Triad troops into places that have long been held with an iron fist by the Italians. Either way, we have our place in the East of the United States," He picked his book back up and smiled," We win both ways."
Both men nodded, but still looked confused. He had simplified it as much as he had cared to for the brutes to understand, and now his patience with them had worn thin," Never mind, brothers. You have your duties, I have mine. We shall remain in our posts doing what the Mountain Master sees fit for us to do in our time. He sees the larger picture," The two men nodded, understanding. They were brutes, enforcers, remnants of the Boxer rebellion that knew how to fight like few in the world, but had little mind for tactics. His duties were in making sure that they had the money to have guns, and put bullets in their guns.
He looked at his pocket-watch and smiled," Ah, only twenty minutes until our stop."
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