In the not to far future, a corrupt emperor has come to rule over the island of Barthos. The emperor is named Xalin and rules over his people with fear, power, corruption and horrid lies. There are very few of the people that can see though the lies, and corruption and even fewer have the strength and courage to do something about it. This small rebellion has one goal, to go up against the Emperor and his army, defeat and disgrace him and show his evil ways to all that inhabit the island. You can fight with whatever weapon you want, but try to keep it within reasonable bounds. My character is the leader and as people start posting, the most helpful players will be put up as captains, and co-captians. Please type at the very least one decent paragaph for each post. If I feel the need to add anything later, I won't hesitate to. I will then also, post a message stating to everyone to check the first post for an update. Please submit, a character profile. Your profile does not have to be like mine, but at least give enough information so that we can understand your character.

My Character
Name: Boran Malax
Age: 23
Weapons: Boran has two weapons, both are the same thing. The front of each weapon is a katana blade the back a small, machine gun, that has enough power to pierce armor. The mid section seperating the two parts of the weapons are round, and a dark deep mahagony. They have a swril design on the front, and on the back a swiviling handle, for quick change for placing either part of the weapon to the front or back. When not in use they attack to each side of Borans belt.
Appearance:tall with spikey pure and bright sliver hair, Boran is also of strong build. He has strong heavy mail armor of a darker, forest green color. The armor has long spiked shoulder pads and the chest is adorned with various linings of silver, as well as the back. The pant's are made of the same color of mail as well. And the shoes are winged in the back, and are made of the same mail.
Personality Strong, and brave Boron is very strongwilled. He never gives up, even when others do. He is a strong leader, and pushes anyone that decides to give up to come back and fight again. He protects his people with all his might and life, and is determined to lead them to victory.

Boran stood in the middle of a large group of enemy soldiers, everyone stood still not attacking. Borans eyes shifted all around, watching for any sudden movment from the soldiers that woul signify an attack. That attack came a second later as they all rushed him with spears and blades. He waited for the oppurtuine moment, to swifty cut down two oncoming soliders with his blades. He then tightened his body to make himself skinner to avoid two sharp spears that came from behind. He answered the attack with rapid fire from the guns on the back of his weapons.

Boran then jumped into the air, and spun knocking back the sourrounding soldiers with a round of kicks. He then used his blades to cut two down, and flipped, hopped, sliced and blew his way across the top of the crowd in a spectacle that was quite something to behold. A few moments he stood outside of the crowd, in front of the few soliders who remained standing, shocked and frightened.

"Go back and tell your emperor, that he will never defeat us! Soon he will fall, and the truth will be revealed to the public! Tell him this is a guarantee!" The soldiers backed off and retreated with these words. Boran caught his breath, holstered his weapons at his sides, and headed back to the hideout.

Sat in his office, upon the floor, Jinso Hamura was in deep meditation, contemplating the recent events. A rebellion had appeared against the Emperor, Xalin. The rebels, it seemed, were of a reasonable skill, and had already caused what was considered too many casualties in the infantry of the massive army of Xalin.

Hamura was a member of the Elite forces of the Emperor's extended guard; and he felt that soon he would need to allow himself to be involved in the battles, in order to crush this rebellion against the venerable leader of Barthos. Having sworn his life over to the Emperor, Hamura would keep to that oath through whatever tests came forwards to him, and would happily give his life, if that was the cost.

Pertinent, however, was the fact that in swearing his life oath, he was forbidden to even consider a rebellion of his own, not that he had wanted to. But, it was rumoured that a member of the guard who had disappeared one day without word or warning, had in fact gone to join the rebellion in its earlier stages of development. Planning, talking, a while before action would be made.

If that was the case, then the Guard would certainly have some work to do; the traitor would surely give away all his knowledge if he had indeed gone to the other side.

Then, in breaking his meditative state, Hamura heard a loud, panic filled knock upon his room door.

"Enter."

A rather smooth, empty voice resounded in a baritonal oration. And a mere second followed before a few of the members of the small group he had sent out to do some mere scouting. Raising from his position on the floor, he rose to his knees, the long, flowing robe of deepest crimson in a traditional Japanese style highlighted a slim, yet compactly muscled body.

The troops dropped to level him, and also sat upon their knees. Four altogether, splatters of blood evident on both faces and clothes. Hamura looked at the men with a stern expression, his auburn eyes were piercing, penetrating, cold. He wanted an answer.

"We met with a great warrior from the rebellion, and he killed all but us. His movements were like none you have ever seen, it took all of a moment to take us out, we stood no chance. He left with a message, 'Tell your emperor, that he will never defeat us! Soon he will fall, and the truth will be revealed to the public! Tell him this is a guarantee!'"

Hamura simply nodded in dismissal, and the four men left silently. They would not be punished, they were lucky to be alive, it seemed.

Now was obviously the time for the Guard to get involved. And Hamura would make the first action. The rebellion may be strong, but the Guard were the elite, they would not fail. It was time.

Name: Anko Fujioka
Age: 18
Weapons: A sleek pair of .50 Desert Eagles she lifted from a military cargo caravan: they are somewhat bulky guns, yet millions of times more comfortable and discreet than any rifle or shotgun. She is also a proficient knife-thrower; Anko carries a variety of hidden throwing knives on her person at all times.

Personality: Serious soldier, but due to her age, also happy-go-lucky. She happens to be the youngest member of the Emperor’s Elite Forces. While not immature, Anko has the tendency to take things lightly. She is mellow and laid-back, but can snap attention and seriousness when the occasion calls for it. The light demeanor she adopts for her fellow soldiers is Anko's own way of protecting herself from the things that have befallen her in life, and the things she has to see on the battlefield. Despite the fact that her easy-going nature indicates otherwise, Anko is an unnaturally talented fighter with sharp skills and quick reflexes; for such a young person, she is a force to be reckoned with.

Appearance: Her dark brown hair is cut short, reaching to down her ears, and some bangs flop over her forehead and into her green eyes. Anko is thin, but her frame is well-built and full of sinewy muscle from military training as well as her own activities. Her height can be disputed between 5'7 and 5'8. She wears occidental clothing: black cargo pants, a black shirt, and a short-sleeved jacket. An opal pendant hangs around her neck on a chain at al times.

IC:

Crap, crap – I’m hella late!

Anko tore down the hall toward the office of Jinso Hamura, her captain and commander. She was limping slightly, an injury sustained because of a sudden onset of clumsiness, but this was by no means going to slow her down. Hamura was not a man to cross, and as her luck would have it, tardiness was up there with murder of people important to him on his No-no list – there was no time for tardiness in the Emperor’s Elite Forces; something Anko had heard a few times before. She was only a few minutes late, but she might as well have forgotten to report for all the good that did.

In truth, it was not solely her fault that she was running a few minutes behind schedule. They had been killed, figuratively and quite literally, in the last match-up with the rebels, and Anko had had a hard time making her way back through the littered corpses and devastation. She had summoned all her willpower to ignore the injured cries of dying countrymen all around her. Her willpower had failed at last when she came to the sight of a fellow soldier, wounded but not fatally so. Not thinking twice about it, Anko had hefted the man over her shoulders and carried him back to base. After depositing him in the hospital wing, Reiko had beat feet to Hamura’s office.

Now standing outside of his door, and having passed the rest of the dismissed survivors on the way over, Anko felt a bit fidgety. She stood at the door, trying to make her clothes look presentable. But her outfit was splashed mud, guck, and the blood of her rescued comrade, which rendered her attempts to dignify the ensemble utterly useless. She ran a hand through her hair, which was a pointless thing to do – it never stopped being messy and flopping all over the sides of her head.Clearing her throat, she knocked on the door and entered without waiting for Hamura to respond.

“Commander Hamura, sir?”

Boron had returned to the secret hideout, making sure that no one had seen or followed him. He sat on a oveturned crate, he was using as a seat, talking to another member of the rebellion. Her name was Auoroa and she could mix the best drink, out of anyone that Boron had ever met. They often stole various types of alcohol from various deliveries that were on the way to the emperor.

"You are a doll, and this is excellent." He told Auoroa after taking a sip of the drink. They sat there talking about various things, their day, the fight against the emperor just whatever. They talked for about thirty minutes, before Boron stood up. "I have to go check out a rumor, Supposedly a prisoner is being carried to a larger prison. He could be of much help because he seems to have valuable information. I will return" Boron checked his weapons and armor, and headed back out into the world.

As he sat for a few moments more, Hamura knew that he would have to wield his blades for the first time in what seemed an eternity. In all truth, he was a pacifistic fellow, and that showed in the constant calm that resonated form his countenance. However, it was his pacifism that brought him to the elite. Trained as a young boy by his father, and continuing that training as a form of discipline after his father died, he had mastered the Martial Arts.

Feared as a fighter, that perpetually calm face, even when killing, and in the most heated of battles, had caused many an opponent to fall to the floor in a very real petrification. Paralysed by fear. He fought when it was necessary, and only then. He had made his oath, and should any make threats against the emperor, then it was certainly necessary.

With closed eyes, Jinso considered who of the elite he would call upon. A tough decision, as he would have to ensure that he did not take with him on the streets all with the greatest of ability; as there would need to be heightened guard around the emperor. That much was paramount - to protect the emperor at all costs. This, of course, was not the first rebellion, nor would it be the last. Concern was only so high in this because of the traitorous scum who had joined with them, and the concurrent risks to security.

Suddenly, an answer came to him in the form of the door being knocked upon. Before even the door was opened a mere moment after the knocking, Hamura knew who it was. Only the young Fujioka would knock with such a deep emotion that bordered on excitement. Although young, Hamura liked her, and as she walked in; he opened his eyes and smiled silently. Waving a hand with a nonchalant grace, signalling for her to sit with him, in front of him, as was the way of things. If not for the seriousness of the situation, he may well have risen and proffered a small embrace for the woman. Of course, with such a situation at hand, it would have been far from appropriate.

"I am afraid I will have to pick up my blades once again. We will put an end to this rebellion."

That smooth voice was still empty, but Hamura was aware that for the others of the elite, who had known him for many many years, a sadness would have been heard. Gripping the weapons he was so proficient in wielding always brought a sadness to Hamura, and the prospect of having to carry what was commonly referred to as The Trio again was one he could never be truly happy with in the depths of his soul.

He was glad then, that Fujioka would not pick up the slight hint in his voice.

"I do not know why you came to me, but more pressing is my request that you come with me on the streets and assist in eradicating this threat to the Emperor. Will you offer me your skills?"

Closing his eyes once more, Hamura awaited the young master's response. A rather strange hope filled him though, a foreign thing. He was wishing for the company of another. He was wishing for the company of Captain Anko Fujioka. He had not even had much in terms of conversation with her, but this feeling was almost all encompassing, and felt weird.

Pushing it down, and once more attaining that insufferable calm he was renowned for in concurrence with his skills, he knew she had seen no sign of that inner battle lasting a mere instant, for none were given.

Anko had stepped carefully into the office of her superior, expecting some sort of reprimand for her tardiness. Yet the man who knelt on the floor did not seem intent on bringing up that subject. He was relaxed, probably due to his meditation, and gazed at her with his usually serious eyes; he waved her over to the spot in front on him, and Anko, after an internal sigh of relief, took her place before him.

She noted the blades, and wondered if she had intruded on a quiet moment - something the Commander rarely got to enjoy in these troubled times. But her apologies were not needed, it seemed. Before Anko could offer an explanation for her tardy (and apparently intrusive) appearance, the Commander spoke of taking up arms once more and putting a definite end to the rebellion.

She nodded her approval.

His words were sure and promising; it was easy to see that the reason this man was so trusted and followed was because of the way he spoke. His words had a way of inspiring those who listened to him, and Anko had found herself under this igniting spell more than once in the field of battle. It was something that she respected about Hamura, but it also scared her. The way the man could reach the hearts of the men under his command was thrilling and awe-inspiring, yet it left an odd taste in Anko's mouth. That power, in the hands of another, lesser man, could be devastating.

Anko was rather fond of her Commander, however inappropriate that it might have seemed to others. She saw him her commander, her friend, a brother, and a sort of father-figure. Anko couldn't help but feel an odd, tightening feeling within her when she was near Hamura, or when she spoke to him. She wasn't sure what it was, this new feeling, but Anko was careful to keep it in check. She obviously kept these feelings to herself, knowing that any officer who suspected her feelings could amount into a taboo relationship with a higher-ranking officer would be grounds for her dismissal from the unit.

Hamura's request for her skills took her by surprise, but Anko didn't show it. She was being given the opportunity to take to the streets at Hamura's side and silence this rebellion. For her, it was as if it weren't a question, but a good idea. A rebellion much like this had taken away her family not too long ago, and she would give anything to personally pay the enemies back for their actions. She laid a hand on one of her very trusty .50 Desert Eagles, and mentally smirked at their cool feel beneath her fingertips.

She bowed low, placing her hands on either side of her head and pressing her forehead to the floor. "I give you my skills and services, Commander. Let us work together to end this rebellion once and for all."

Name: Nara Hirakoshi
Age: 23
Weapons: Sniper rifle. Pair of twin tridents crossed behind her back. Smoke bombs attached to belt.
Appearance: Mid-length wavy, jet-black hair tied in a high braid; bangs kept out of her eyes with a dark green sash. Dark brown, almost black eyes. Tan skin. Stocky but lean build. Her sniper uniform is occidental but camouflaged to match the forest: brown tanktop, mottled cargoes, combat vest, light boots.
Personality: Sarcastic and somewhat unrefined, but loyal.


IC:

Nara Hirakoshi grimaced from the pain in her ribs. The rebel must have broken something when he kicked her there, hard. It took the wind out of her. Her mouth still had the rusty taste of the blood she coughed up. He kicked her because when he tried to drag her out of her cell, she bit his hand and tore his finger off.

Hamura had sent them only to scout; only the fastest lightest on their feet, light weapons, unsuspecting and unprepared to fight--the perfect target for an ambush. They had been overpowered by the rebels during a guerrilla attack. From her perch, she saw them take her fellow soldiers of the Emperor, but from her sniping position she could not help them. She took down one, two, but there was too much movement.

When she heard the rattle of a rifle behind her, it was too late for her to react before the rifle butt was brought down onto the back of her head. Knocked out, they had brought her to this small cell, stripped her of her gear, and tied bound her limbs. What they learned too late was that they should have gagged her.

The door to her cell rattled. Looking up, she flipped the hair from her eyes, revealing the high tanned cheekbones, glistening with sweat and blood.

It was the same rebel that had kicked her in the ribs. He was young, brutish, but now wary as he approached her. A smile curled on her lips in satisfaction at the blood stained bandage that was wrapped around his hand minus a finger. Before she would let him touch her with his good hand, she said, "Tell me where I am going, big boy."

His nostrils flared and his good hand curled into a fist. "You're in no position to be making orders."

She snapped her teeth at him, reminding him.

He mumbled something about a "larger prison." Her eyes darkened and let the soldier push her to her feet. A larger prison, she thought, undoubtedly meant interrogation. It was no wonder they they let her keep her limbs--more opportunities to extract information.

Her eyes didn't have to adjust much to the evening gloom as she emerged from the dank cell. Her skin welcomed the fresh forest air and prickled as she considered the costs of escaping with her arms bound, the point of the rebel's unsheathed knife at her back, and around her a rebel troop of five members to escort her in transit to the "larger prison." Either the rebels were running low on people, or they were insulting her.

"Perk up, girlie. You will be in the presence of our leader."

"And who is your leader?" she asked with an ironic tone, as if this ragtag bunch did not deserve a leader.

The rebel rammed the butt of his knife into her ribs, the broken ones, and hissed into her ear, "Malax. Boran Malax."

Remaining in a stoic silence, Jinso listened to the words of Fujioka, and as she agreed to join in him in the exhibition to end this rebellion, a strange, foreign flutter began in his chest. A strange excitement at being able to spend some time with this young subordinate. Once again, Hamura was forced to push down such weird, unnatural feelings.

The young fighter had lowered herself to almost prose, and Hamura was slightly shocked.

"No, no, no. No need to offer such symbols. We both are members of the elite guard, Captain. Such things are entirely unnecessary."

Of course, the shock was not even hinted at in his voice, as calm and empty as it always was. He did not wait for her to resume a more natural, less effacing position, but instead, he rose to his feet.

Even in standing from his knelt position, he demonstrated a grace that was unmatched in the court. As in his Martial Arts, he was renowned among the ladies for the gentle, composed and graceful manner in which he danced. Never more than out of duty; but dance he did upon occasion. A part of his training, dancing was natural to him, and the grace was shown in his every step towards the far wall of his office.

Upon the wall, a pristine affair, painted in flawless white, as were all the walls in the office that was of a reasonable size, perhaps ten by ten feet. The white was a perfect contrast to the blue of the thin, functional carpet upon the floor of the deskless office.

It was upon that rear wall that The Trio resided. And, as he approached them, Hamura felt a deep sadness, as he did on each occasion his eyes fell upon those tools of war and death. Two pistols, semi automatic, a long, elegantly curved blade under the barrel, the length of a wakizashi from the end of the gun's barrel. The curvature was not so much as to obstruct the path of the bullets that would be fired with a pinpoint accuracy.

They were crossed, and meeting at the point of their crossing, perfectly vertical, was the long, titanium hilt of a naginata, the blade of the weapon at the end of the four foot long hilt was two feet long, a half foot in width, slightly curved. All three weapons were well kept, and shone with a brightness only displayed by weapons kept by a master.

A sad respect had forced him to keep the blades in perfect condition, in a fruitless hope that the weapons would remain there, upon the wall, and serve only as ornaments.

With no such look, a hand would rise slowly, and with a sad, sombre expression on his face, Hamura reached out for one of the gunblades. It was as the slow moving hand was half way to the weapon that the door was barged through. Turning swiftly, waist length, jet hair, braided in a perfect manner, would swing with Hamura's body, as a slight defensive fighting stance was poised.

A moment later, however, and the stance returned to the relaxed one so common of the man. With his crimson robe ending at his ankles, and coupled with his slender body, the man looked taller than he was, six foot three inches when stood.

"Speak. And explain yourselves."

A calm sternness filled the office with an ice like chill. Two members of the High Scouts had entered his office unbidden.

"Sir! Apologies, Sir! We have just received word that one of our snipers has been taken by the rebels. She is feared dead, or under torture."

The Commander's words, expressionless as always, inspired a sort of embarrassment in Anko. It was a silent agreement that every member of the Elite was just that - elite. As such, there were few unspoken rules among the Guard; one of them was that they all carried equal status. Although Anko was flattered by the Commander's call of her needless pose of praise, Anko felt that such a gesture was not un-needed. Her bow had been more out of respect for Hamura the man than it had been for Hamura the Commander.

It was Anko's way of showing her respect to him as one person to another, not as officer to officer. The level of respect and admiration Anko possessed for this man could not be communicated through a simple bow, yet Anko found no harm in trying. Hopefully, Hamura would dismiss this as a simple, yet erroneously given bow of acceptance to a superior, and would not wonder if there was anything hidden behind the act.

Unabashed, yet turning slightly red about her cheeks, Anko got to her feet as Hamura walked gracefully from his spot. She followed him with her eyes, feeling it inappropriate to speak at the moment, and felt a knot of excitement and fear tighten in her stomach when she realized what Hamura was approaching. Her breath caught in her throat so discreetly that no one save herself would have noticed this sudden flash of surprise.

The Trio.

Anko had only ever heard stories from older military members about Hamura wielding said fear-inspiring weapons. From what Anko could infer from accounts, the power Hamura emanated while in possession of the Trio was awesome. Ever since she had heard these blurred and often detail-lacing accounts from older soldiers, Reiko had been wanting to see them personally. She knew that wishing for such an event was foolish as well as selfish - "Let never a time come when our desperation is so deep that our only hope would lie in the summoning of such horrible power." They were the words of an old militia companion of Anko's who had made it quite clear to the girl that if ever the return of the Trio was at hand, some trouble was ahead.

Now, as Hamura reached for these weapons, Anko felt a shiver run up her spine. There was no doubt that fear was beginning to pump through her veins. How bad are things that he feels the need to take these weapons up once more? She raised her eyebrows as she answered her own question. Things must be terribly bad, then.

She allowed her hands to wander to the two guns at her sides, knowing that these would soon be caught in a tumult of flying bullets and be the source of much chaos and destruction. The steel of the many hidden blades over her body suddenly burned with a cold intensity, wanting recognition. The "Whirlwind of Blades" is fast approaching... she thought amusedly. The thought of it made her body tighten in excitement for the fight, but she squashed these feelings, knowing that it was not wise to get ahead of herself.

At that moment, two men Anko recognized as High Scouts entered into the office. She resisted the urge to wave haphazardly at one of them, for he was a good friend of hers, and instead allowed them to relay their message at Hamura's order.

"Sir! Apologies, Sir! We have just received word that one of our snipers has been taken by the rebels. She is feared dead, or under torture."

Anko grimaced at the news, this time not bothering to keep herself in check despite the formal atmosphere that surrounded them. She had known which snipers had been on duty this morning at the time of the attack, and the fact that the High Scouts had said 'she' only confirmed Anko's suspicions.

"Damn." She spat the curse out, conveying her worry and disbelief in one fine, concise obscenity. In truth, she had subconsciously kept herself from saying the word that had played on her lips the second the news reached her ears, something for which Anko was thanking her subconscious for more than she ever had before.

She turned to Hamura. "The time is at hand, sir."