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The Multiverse

Wing City

115.75 INK

a part of The Multiverse, by Remæus.

You have entered Wing City, the third largest city on Terra and its premier capital. Hustling and bustling with activity, this city serves as a hub of social and political activity, as well as the prestigious solo combat capital of the quadrant.

Remæus holds sovereignty over Wing City, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

22,130 readers have been here.

Setting

If Terra is a multicultural melting pot of a planet, then Wing City is its rich, bubbling core. The seat of the Terran National Government and the de-facto Capital of the world, there is very little on Terra that is not represented in some way in this bustling city. As diverse in its architecture as it is in its people, the city gives across a patchwork feel – sleek and post-modern skyscrapers stand side by side with traditional centuries-old stonework – including the massive wall which encircles much of it. Despite this, Wing City is by and large a modern and thriving city, supporting a wide variety of facilities from state of the art hospitals and expansive public libraries to its very own spaceport. The city isn’t all high-rising neatness, however, with large stretches of it beyond the walls in need of serious renovation.

The City extends around a large green gardens area at its centre, at its most pristine within the haven of natural beauty that has survived decades of conflict. A single vast street stretches from the gardens at the centre all the way to the main entrance at its southernmost point, along which many of its most famous landmarks are located – including the notorious Gambit Building, the reputed centre of martial learning that is the Master’s Dojo, and the home of the Terran National Government.

The housing of the city progresses from its most expensive residences being located nearby to the gardens - with the awe-inspiring Sol Tower proudly reaching into the sky amongst them - to the cheaper and more tightly packed housing generally being found further east; amongst amenities such as the fire department, the post office and the police station. To the north of this area lies the business district, within which the headquarters of many of the city’s most prominent corporations can be found, along with the odd building of obscenely expensive studio apartments overlooking well-maintained streets and a sea of suits. It is in this northern portion of the city where the spaceport lies, a constant stream of both personal and trade ships generally seen ascending and descending from it.

In the southwest, the social hub of the city can be found just off of Main Street. Wing City Plaza boasts all sorts of entertainment, from restaurants to nightclubs – even an Arena a short way to the north. The Plaza is also home to public facilities such as the hospital and other administrative buildings.

Aside from Main Street, the city’s entrances can be found to the eastern side of the city where a massive gate is set into the wall, the road beyond leading through the slums and off to the coast, as well as the smaller western gate leading to a nearby lake. Finally, there is a long open highway leading out of the city to the southeast.

The culture of Wing City is, as one might expect from a city so diverse, almost impossible to comprehensively describe. There are communities for all races, all religions and all species; for the magically inclined and the space-travellers. Anyone can find their niche somewhere within the city’s walls, or even create their own. With a thriving economy, nightlife and nigh-on overflowing population, it’s no surprise that the benefits of such a busy city come hand in hand with danger. Crime is a serious concern within the city, and although the WCPD are one of the finest forces on the planet – equipped to deal with all manner of threat, both natural and supernatural – there remains a level of danger in walking the streets alone. Whether it be organized crime in the form of gangs and cults, the more chaotic lashing out of individuals or the hunger of vampire or demon and the like, citizens and visitors alike are advised to watch their backs.

So whether it’s to enjoy the sights, build a home and career or just to make trouble – welcome to Wing City.

A surprise waits around every corner.

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Wing City

You have entered Wing City, the third largest city on Terra and its premier capital. Hustling and bustling with activity, this city serves as a hub of social and political activity, as well as the prestigious solo combat capital of the quadrant.

Minimap

Wing City is a part of Midland.

34 Places in Wing City:

350 Characters Here

Palia McShann [179] A pretty, easygoing 20 year-old, with a fuzzy kiwi compainion and a talent for mind control.
Iante Clowes [167]
Michael Connor [126] A close-combat trainer for the WCPD and related organisations.
Telsia [124] Is now a vampire, she has been training and learning to control her thirst but has gained quite a temper.
Jason LeMat [85] "Yeah.... I know he's dead... but give me five minutes with him. I'll get the information you want."
Mason Apolo [80] "Yes i know, i look frail and weak, but i'm not!"
Belvia [72]
Noah and Milo Cole [70] brothers....
Kitt Dreyer [67] "Want me to Give you a Permanent Smile?"

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Setting

2 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Master Character Portrait: Arcus Sol
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#, as written by Arcus
"I will provide full funding for all material and labor costs for repairs and medical attention."

Arcus took a quick glance towards the others, allowing his straight blonde hair and icy blue eyes make the rest of his statement.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Master
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  1. by Remæus

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OOC: I shall use the character I am best at fighting with, Swift. Because I'm new to the system, I’ll use strat one...

"Master...you know full well I shall fight...for no cost, even though I am normally a merc..."

He chuckles and walks towards the door...he's always around between 4 and 9 eastern time....

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#, as written by Remæus
Master steps into the area, fresh blood upon his left shoulder and spattered across his entire form, carrying his fabled Rune Sword, which also held blood across most of its surface. Reaching down to wipe the blood with his left hand, he clears the entire surface in a single swipe only to wipe it in a smear across the wall.

Here is the blood of the fallen. Labefacto Fleurrogue. Rock Lee. Uzumaki Naruto. Slain by my hand or at my feet.


He looked down once more, to see the runes upon his blade. This seemed to remind him of something, as his eyes snapped back up as he spoke again.

The body of Labefacto Perihorn has been mortally wounded by my blade. The body of Labefacto Muriel was graced by my blade. The runes have marked both, and neither will be able to be magically healed of these wounds for a year's time.


He allowed his lips to part once more before departing.

Our war has begun.


With that, he was gone.

Setting

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Character Portrait: SinfulSoul
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  1. Need me?

    by Night guard

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Amadeus Draken dragged his bloodstained blade along the ground, snarling under his breath with unsatisfaction tainted across his face.
"Haruno~Sakura, impaled by my blade. Rock-Lee, severely wounded... The pathetic soul could barely stand, wasn't worth my time to kill. What a waste of a night..."
The Draken fumed with anger at the lack of a fight as he made his way down to the depths of hell in which he resided.

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As though in the middle of completing a turn, the figure of Rain appears out of nowhere, whirling to his feet, his tan duster settling around him. He wore an expression if mingled frustration and satisfaction; a hard mix indeed. As he spoke, his tone was, as always, influenced by the conflicting natures of the uncouth demon and cultured young man that both lived within.

"I believe this calls for example-making. For those whom doubted our side's strength in the war, take note: Four have been laid low in under fours hours, and another three wounded. We have as of yet taken no casualties, and only superficial wounds, and in some cases it was two-on-one."

Finishing on an odd note, he smirks softly, his eyes dancing with malice. He felt no need to add more; it was implied that his home stood its groun just fine in this war. He turned once more and, as he moved, simply vanished into a fine mist.

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#, as written by Chrost
The arcane movement of foreboding clouds shifted about the skies, casting it's dark veil across the surrounding plains. Across vast areas of the earth, onlookers raised their eyes to the sky, somehow able to sense the oncoming blaze of hellfire that was in transit. The shifting of plates beneath the ground forced their way through surrounding cities, leveling the behemoths of steel and concrete to crumble against the remains of their foundations beneath them.

Graves, fresh with the previously laid flowers of former loved ones, bursting upwards through years of soil settiment to expose their coffin's rotted wood. Stiff joints, bending after years of frozen inactivity as momentary life blazed through the thing wiry remains of veins once again. Curving fingers, dead fingers, with remains of nails still clinging to their best ability to bone and flesh, moving about whatever restaint could further their movement from the grave. Opposite graves, success gifted to those who could still perform the arduous task of their rising. Cemetaries, once a place to harbor death, now the main focus point of newly renwed life, expressed by death's release and the return of the lost back to their places of former home. This prophecy had ben fulfilled before, but only once.

Through the shifting of the earth, massive fault lines etching through the ground to reveal their declinement through the ground, began spewing bursts of brimstone to shower down atop of the bystanders who found theirselves without shelter. The fiery liquid of molten rock began to lift throughout the exposed lines, ushering out across the plains as if in an attempt to purify the land of all that was in it's path.

And then it happened, a mile wide section of earth lifting upwards to bubble before extending out to finally shatter. Yet, instead of blistering outwards, the sudden heat supplied beneath it had altered it's form into a glassy exterior, yet by an unseen force clung to the air around it. Although, it did drop, moving in a gentle rain down across the grounds, revealing the floating form of what would appear to be a man. Clad tightly in a wrap around trenchcoat, one massive blade adorning his back, yet his appearance memorable none the less. The outpouring of his voice spurred deafness in whatever human had failed to meet his demise from the surrounding burst of fiery demise that rained.


It's time, my time, once again. Whoever feels ready to step up first, i'll be waiting.

OOC: Now, let me specify...Some of you will remember this character...And yeah, it's on. I'm fighting for Tux and sadly, can't get into the chat. So, either TB on the board, of speed on AIM or another chat.

AIM: TehSouthernWind

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#, as written by Lvon
A gathering of sedementary materials slowly began to pull together, attracted to one another as it gathered in a central location. The magnetism of the sedements was slow, pulling from a further range as time passed, building into a mound as the brimstone and molten rock continued to fall from the darkened skies. In the foreign land, the the mound grew to a height of five feet and six inchs, a rather large, thin structure made of terra. With it's completion, it forced outward in an explosion, throwing dirt, gravel, brimstone, hardening volcanic rock, and such sedements off into the distance as a younger looking woman stood erect in it's place. Her shimmering emerald eyes gazed upward, welcoming the sight of the chaos raining steadily. She took the appearance of a young mortal human female. Her platinum blond hair extended down to the small of her back in waves, curling in and out of itself across the bare tanned skin, concealing steel chains that stretched across her back in two locations. The woman's body was adorned by layers of silk, white in color. Tightly the silk wrapped across her bossoms, held by a chain across her back. Downward it loosened, allowing the woman room for unrestricted movement. Two slits ran the length of her legs, haulting at her hips. She wore her feet bare, visible as she stepped forward into a slow paced walk destined for a shadow retreat. With each stride, her legs would fall through the slits, revealing the glistening golden skin that trademarked this woman. She held her arms lifeless at her sides, finding that she was not in any immediate danger from those who had already retreated to the depths of their homes, only known to her as hell. The figure creating the chaos who spoke did not phase this woman, but only perked a certain curiousity from her. Her moist lips forged a warm smile, her face marked with innocence. She parted her plump lips after he had finished speaking, her voice was deep and steady, consistent. The sound was cherubic, unfit for a scene of such terror and crime.

I am Lady Venus of Nemesis, my reign is to the world warred upon. You may partake in your massacre, but resilient it shall be. Heed this warning, for it is as true as the Terra that falls from the sky with such fury.

With these words, the woman once again vanished with the speed with which she had came. Her steps were silent and strong, her body held with much pride as nobility in their kingdom. Vanishing within the shelter of the rubble, the only distinct proof that this woman had come and had gone was the mound she had came from, lying wastefully upon the earth.

OOC: to get into Tux chat, you have to have Java installed. Get it a http://www.java.com

Setting

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Character Portrait: Master
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#, as written by Remæus
Master slides back into the room, his body straight and unworn, no longer covered in the blood of his enemies.
"The war has ended. A truce has been declared. There will be no further agression between us."
Then stepping back out of the area, Master is gone yet again.

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Character Portrait: Master
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#, as written by Remæus
"I am sorry, but we have already left your playing field. There is no reason for us to come back, even as desperate as you sound."
Master paused for a moment, then continued.
"We do not have time for your council, your politics, nor your disarray. Stop wasting our time. If aggression remains, here we are. Come and get some."

Setting

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Character Portrait: SinfulSoul
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The shadows collected in a swirling circle upon the ground set in the midst of the chaos between the two sides. From within this darkness emerged Sinful's body tearing from a blood red membrane that feigned in an attempt to hold in within hell's confines. His muscles bulged, visible even through his thick dark clothing. His irritation was apparent from the shrieks emitted from the uncontrolled demon that fought for mastery within him.
"Come and get me Labefacto! Send your best and stop wasting our time!"

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#, as written by Chrost
It's sad, it really is.

Issuing threats after already pulling away from their home.

While I was here at your home, and you sat idly by.

I do believe it's time to reap what you've sown.

Honestly, sad.

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#, as written by Remæus
Character Portrait: Master Master says,
 “ We approached them with the truce, Chrost. They accepted it. And now, they have renounced it. Not us. If they still wish to draw blood in this war--they can come and get it.

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#, as written by Chrost
Well, i'll be seein' you soon pal. Count on that one. ;)

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#, as written by Lvon
If you have not an ounce of dignity, to come to our lands, reap your short lived havoc and retreat as steadily as you came, then make such bold remarks upon your own land... then it is not us who should be considered the fools. Have the dignity of men, as you present yourselves to be, and respect the form of government established. You have killed the leader of the Labefacto, of course they shall be in disarray. You cannot disregard it as wasting your time because it is YOU who came to our land.

I am a woman of high stature, of nobility and diplomat reign. For what I have observed, you act foolish as you enjoy the taste of victory. You say you have proven your point in the war, for your side. For all I can see, you have made yourselves less through such effort. If you want to teach these generations, do not show them how they should NOT conduct their actions. You all have proven to be horrible role models, especially you Master. For this, you should all be ashamed.

The voice that echoed these words came from the familiar voice of Lady Venus, as she had stood amidst the shadows she had retreated to before. Her arms lay bare as they folded upon eachother, beneath her bust. Her voice, as sweet as a cherub held much destruction in it's tone, her tongue hissing each word at the men that called prided themselves.


Unfolding her arms from her front, she descended them both to her sides. Her right hand grasped upon the curve of her hip, pressing the silk fabric against her skin that lay beneath. She stepped forward, more so into the light to join the conversations taken part. She had obviously overheard for some time the matters being discussed, the composure of her face rigid, allowing for a slight glimpse to the age of the woman. Her lips, worn downward into a frown, remained partly open as she finished her lecture, feeling most like a mother scolding her children, as she had done many years passed.

If you wish to behave like children...

These statement faded from her lips near it's end, dragging the syllables of the words onward, the shimmering forest of emerald producing a menacing glow as she scanned across the men.

Then you shall be treated as such. We have spoken; all who wish to take this matter back to my land shall be dealt with.. if not PERSONALLY with myself. I'm sure Master can tell you his fright of me, as expressed through Warrius.

Her eyes came to rest upon Master, a coy smile creeping upon the moisten lips of the flawless face she wore. The delicate fingers drumming against the soft silk at her hip, omitting not a single audible sound in the process.

I am here, upon your soil now. If you wish to discuss with us the matters of this truce or if you wish to continue this war. Do not behave like children in my presence, for I am not your mother's. Do not make me act as such.

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Rain smirked, his brilliantly blue eyes seeming to glow just a bit brighter with amusement. He spoke, though kept his message short and to the point.

Say what you will, throw what petty shots at us you want. I'll only make one correction: our intent was never to teach. Our intention was to kill. I believe we achieved such a goal quite effectively during our brief visit.

--------------------

OOC: The teaching aspect was a strictly OOC matter, to avoid confusion. I won't state our reasons for abandoning the attempt, to avoid turning this topic into a flame war.

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Character Portrait: Master
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#, as written by Remæus
"We have saturated your ground with your blood already. I would only think it fair reciprocation to assault us on our ground. What war is fought on one battleground?" Master responds firmly towards Lvon.

"Role models. Fear. You have no ground to stand upon, not even your own, as you stood idle while those around you suffered. Were you in fear, or simply modelling such exquisite valor that you would not defend? I am truly humbled." he continues, his tongue now beginning to sharpen with sarcasm. He piercing red eyes maintained their gaze upon Lvon, biting deep into her stomach as he went on.

"...and as for Chrost, when you stand upon our grounds? How long was it before your inner fears got the best of you and forced you to make a silent retreat?" said Master, his firm gaze still not shifting from Lvon.

"I am done. I will defend our honor to whatever end may come, unlike the greater mass of your allies, who refuse to stand up for one another. I am more impressed with those that fell at our hands, they defended one another knowing that they stood little chance. It is for this I honor your dead, and call dishonor upon the living."

He maintained eye contact for a moment longer before passing his eyes off to the right, skipping over Chrost. Falling into a brisk authoritative walk, he exited the area, his manner determining his attitude.

OOC: Well done, guys. To stir things up a bit more, come on over to our chat, check the other rooms, particularly #Isamahii_Garden. We'll be integrating them into the war now as well. Also, feel free to replace speed fights with turnbased fights on the forums. I'd have loved to do that there on Tux for the sheer beauty of it, but it wasn't exactly feasible. But then again, I always get a nice adrenaline rush out of a good speed fight. And as most everyone knows, I'm not exactly good at it.

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Character Portrait: Master
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#, as written by Remæus
A puzzled look appeared on Master's face as the figure spoke.
"What are you talking about? Turnbased? Do you suggest we play a board game for our lives?"

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#, as written by Remæus
OOC: It was more of GWing supporting PG in a counterattack... which then came to the PG withdrawing, so we called a ceasefire. OOCly, the ceasefire was so everyone can think up some reasons to continue the war, and give you guys a chance to attack us on our grounds. ICly, because Master has some kind of heart. Didn't like slaughtering people like that... =D

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Against the backdrop of a moonless night, a night which fended off total darkness only by means of streetlights, a single spec shot across the sky, a blazing pinprick of white. Somewhere in the city, a young child -- or perhaps many young children -- might be wishing on it. In the few regions of seclusion the metropolis offered, lovers might be sharing a kiss at the sight or if, gamblers might be try to bum some luck off it. A shooting star only bears good tidings.

Unfortunately, it was not a shooting star.

Fayt Nightwind, the Dark Prophet and former servant of evils too cold and wicked to mention, rocketed toward the city below surrounded by a cacoon of flame. A shell of solidified air encompassed him, his mind forcing the outside in and the inside out, protecting him from the inferno around him and his soon-to-come impact with the steel behemoth below. A set of robes of the deepest violet hung loosely in the still air within the shield, covering his marked and scarred skin. These robes enshrouded a weapon of the greatest destruction, a weapon that happened to be pointed at the city.

His impact was nothing spectacular. In the heartbeat before his his, he killed his momentum, causing him to hover mere inches from the ground, a small but definate crater beneath him from the atmospheric shield he had been making use of.

His violet eyes sweapt the area twice, side to side, before he spoke, his voice low and raspy.

"Show me what you've to offer."

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At the limits of a mass grave, a figure stood, malicious eyes gazing upon the wreckage. Wing City, the city that had repelled him for so long out of the sheer energy it generated, lay in ruins. That ever-present sense of life and joy that had previously radiated from it seemed gone, impeding his progress no more. The hovering clouds threatened of rain, and he would welcome it. This city was an obstacle he would gladly seal off in a tomb of ice.

And yet, something stirred within. He should have felt joy, at least a sense of weary relief, but he did not. He felt... rage? Hatred? This was odd: evil tough he was, those two sensations he did not often feel, for little in this world could stir him toward it. This was a bad sign; since the fool's return to Metro, he, Chrono, had felt next to no stirring of him, yet now he did.

It happened in the blink of an eye. Simultaneous to the first spatters of rain hitting the ground, an indescribable flash of, for lack of a better word, darkness occurred, coupled with an effect similar to a shockwave, blasting out for miles around, sifting the wreckage, stirring the lake. Its epicenter seemed to be Chrono himself, yet it was not entirely. It was just in front of Chrono, directly between himself and another man -- terribly long, unkempt ice blue hair, a set of matching eyes. A build like a sprinter that spoke of an unearthly speed. Perhaps most prominent was the massive sword on his back; its hilt rose to a height just an inch above his head, and the blade was nearly touching the ground, spanning all of his tremendous seven-foot height.

Rain had broken free.

Yet, he was not the same Rain as before. There were a few changes to his physical appearance -- his skin had darkened to a healthy tan -- far different than the bloodless pale he'd had before. His ears had an elongated, pointed look to them. His eyes seemed to lack pupils -- or perhaps that ice-blue which had been taken for irises were actually what he saw through. The tattoo on his left arm which he'd known so well was extended, the serpentine dragon now running from left knuckle up his arm, presumably across his shoulders, and down his right.

Yet there was more to it than that. He seemed stronger, possessed of a higher vitality than before. He was no longer shiftless, apathetic; a fire had been lit within him. Was it the destruction of the city? Had that inherent goodness of the place actually been keeping Rain himself content, and thus lacking the passion to act? It was definitely possible. Now was not the time for such ponderings, for a fight was in the air and they both felt it.

Chrono, wordlessly, spread his massive leathery wings, taking flight into the now pouring rain. He circled once, twice, looking for an in that would allow him to descend on Rain, lashing, tearing. There was not one. Rain followed his movements effortlessly, his massive frame graceful in its movements. He was not content to merely hold his ground, it seemed, for in a heartbeat's span, he had leapt, massive blade spinning into a stabbing position. Chrono tried once for a temporal rift, a slight disturbance in time, yet found his efforts ended, his concentration broken by the pelting of a million little bits of rain-turned-ice, most seeking his less-protected areas -- eyes and ears foremost.

And in that instant, it was over. The terrific blade plunged into the beast's chest, driving him downward into the mud below. The blade passed nearly halfway through, its tip burying in the ground, pinning the demon in place. It writhed for a moment and Rain watched on, his eyes full of righteous hate. As the beast gave a final, desperately weak cry, Rain spoke for the first time, pulling his blade from the ground and the creature's spirit with it.


"Ye've been exorcised, demon."

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A few grating, abstract scratches of feedback echoed across ruins and rubble. Loudspeakers produced booming waves, a few examination taps of the microphone's range. Perhaps such settings were what gave life to the common exaggerations found throughout good storytelling. It was far from appropriate for any kind of oration, certainly not one that would carry the magnitude as this one had.

A solitary figure stood confidently above the rest, clutching tightly in hand the product of a well crafted sound setup. He seemed obscured in that darkness, figures scattered about him by his sides, at his hand. Atop a horrid beast they stood in anticipation of that figure and his words. Few of the remaining inhabitants, if any, within the chaotic ruins of Wing City and beyond had ever heard his voice, or even of his name. They knew not of that figure with the chestnut locks and the angelic eyes. But there was always time.

For some reason, he had envisioned the scene with so much more...class? There seemed an element of sophistication missing within those passing moments, but hope would be restored as tender lips parted, and he spoke.

His every utterance carried a soothing melody designed to pacify the most raging of souls. It was, in a word, peace. But most would declare that the content of that message itself was of a different nature. The grating and booming that had formerly occupied the loudspeakers was eclipsed by placidity.

"Citizens of Wing City and beyond. Those of you removed from your homes, your occupations, and the unfortunate among you removed from your entire livelihood. I'm sure there are many questions regarding the day prior's attacks, and even more anger towards the incident. Of course, such feelings are natural, as violence tends to have such an effect on people. But without such violence, I ask would any have taken notice?"


At the very moment he had spoken, his heart evaluated that same inquiry and spoke to his inner sensibility in a harsh reply. They didn't take notice anyways.

Those lilting vocals grew with a certain dignified agitation. He remained tranquil however, composed, and undeniably refined, despite the nature of his calls.

"You see, what we have wreaked upon this city was a liberation! We seek to do naught but free you from the chains and constraints of sordid existence that so many of you have fallen into! Is it far from unreasonable for us to declare that this entire city, this entire planet, this entire universe of which we are all a part has fallen into desolation and squalor?!"


The inquiries were unnecessary, for he and all those who listened knew the answers. And for those who listened with their hearts, they knew just as well what was to follow.

"But it appears as if your citizens have rejected this freedom. You refuse the liberation that your souls so greatly desire and crave and meanwhile continue to live these lifestyles which have taken so much from those fortuned with less. So, if refusal is to be your response to such ordinance, then our response in kind will be none other than a single word. A word that lives within the heart of every man and wrenches from him all hope. We will bring war to this land."


Every single doubt remain in his dithering conscience was effectively annihilated. Feeling himself far from well-heard however, he offered a final declaration, his first decree of war, and the solitary warning they would receive.

"And for those of you who choose to remain so into yourselves, those of you who refuse to care, who choose to claim yourselves neutral or otherwise, it will be those among you that we pacify first. It is such indifference which has left the land like this, and for that, we can accept no concession other than your own lives."


A final grating screech. Muffled noise. The clatter of a microphone shattering upon the ground.

One final question remained to be asked, and needed a conclusive answer that only conflict could provide.

What will the historians make of this one?

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Character Portrait: Arcus Sol Character Portrait: Ryand-S
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The damage on Wing City left many warriors devastated. Those who had been travelling when the mass tragedy occured returned immediately to aid the city in what they could now. A group of headstrong and ever-loyal magic-users and power knights grouped together to form a stout resistance.
Their logo is a symbol of a eight winged angel with a sword in the middle and a circle emblem. This has been carved into areas where enemy forces were ambushed and disposed of.

Not associating themselves with the various other survivor factions, this group compromised of not helpless, but well armed and ready to fight units in high morale. Taking shelter and governing their small army in the underground ruins of an old hotel. They scavenged firearms and left behind weapons by fallen fighters, the four entrances to the group are heavily guarded by groups of magicians, wizards, knights, and tech-users.

Numbering well over fifty but keeping lower than a hundred and fifty skilled fighters. They group together in several groups and scatter around the city in a attempt to clear up several of enemy forces, look for military supplies, food. And bring survivors to help centers, or bury the dead. Calling themselves the "War Intelligence Neutrals Group Elite Division" (W.I.N.G.E.D).

Any skilled warrior that survives after the aftermath of the great battle in Wing City is welcome to join forces with the WINGED and make attempt after attempt against the enemy forces.

W.I.N.G.E.D.'s Home Page

Slogan: "Fight until we fall, then rise and fight again!"

To Join: Either just barge into a random squall going on and assist them, or post a short roleplaying idea here, and how you may aid the city in it's time of need.

Leader: Leon Gray (Pending)
Asst.Leader:
Supplies-In-Charge: Arcus Sol (Pending)
Weapons-In-Charge: Moonwolf (Pending)
Operations Planner: Ryand-Smith (Pending)


Admin note: No can do on the actual forum titles, those are reserved for other purposes. You can go ahead and removed the "Pending" status, if you want. It's freeform. I also have added a link to your clan page, which is something like your base of operations. Thanks! -Eric

-Eric Martindale will do the perfect honour of conferring the titles and confirming them.

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#, as written by Arcus
Arcus sauntered in, his body carrying the swagger of an unchallenged prize fighter. His straight blond hair fell just short of his shoulders, while his icy blue eyes darted about the premise, seeking to take as much in as he could.

He came to a stop, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning a slightly back. His hair rippled as his head leaned into this motion, and his eyes ceased their darting motion. He spoke in a surprisingly cool and soothing voice, exhibiting his intentions.

"I'm in."

He reached back to adjust the scythe he had upon his back, a massive incarnation of a former farm tool. Tucking his left thumb under the strap at his shoulder, he pulled the weapon up close to his body. He brought the hand back down to a small piece of paper, which he leaned off to pin to the bulletin board here. On the paper was written his communication frequency, should anyone need to contact him. He glanced around once more before finally making himself scarce, disappearing off into the rubble of the city.

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"W.I.N.G.E.D? ..... Very....interesting..."

He was in the city after it had been attacked initially, and miraculously, survived. When he saw the warring forces clash, he wondered what all there was he could do. Of course, he would fight against the 'bad guys' that we're ravaging the city. But there were two other groups, and how was he supposed to deal with it?

In a grasp of genius he looked toward W.I.N.G.E.D, and the potential in his brain came to life.

Stepping forward, he came side to side with Arcus Sol. In the middle of the ravished land stood nearly one hundred a fifty, determined men. But had they a place to go? A leader to rule? He didn't want to self-appoint himself, but he took the honor of rising up onto a crushed rock, raising his fist into the air and looking towards the sky.


"The citizens of Wing City...Members of Winged....I speak to you now."

He lowered his fist, gathering their attention with charismatic grace.

"Today our city was ravaged, and now a war is being fought for it. Little do I know about such things, I am an ordinary man myself. But nonetheless, the enemy shall pay for what they did here today."

He walked higher on the torn boulder, stepping into the sun where his figure gleamed. He wore a rugged trench-coat, brown, dusty. He looked just like your average businessman. His boots had the same appearance as his jacket, covered in dust and horribly mauled. But the thing that stood out most was the look in his eyes. Intelligence and honor, determination. It was what could be seen in a hero.

"My friends...follow me...unto victory!"

A powerful leader was what a small but powerful group needed. He had the brains, he just hoped he would be accepted by them. And if not, being the average soldier was for the same cause.

As Arcus Sol left, he turned as well, pulling a pen out of his pocket, writing down his frequency. He waved once to the restiong men and went off.

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The demon wolf sat in a corner of the ruined building, sharpening rapiers and throwing them aside. He had been the one who rallied some of the forces in the W.I.N.G.E.D while the others followed and joined as well.
He was not a member of it yet, denying all requests. But now, he had decided he wanted to be a part of the action, at last.

He beckoned men to take the papers already signed by the men and set up a stand near the almost-caved-in entrance. He placed a pen on the table and sat on a chair, sharpening a battleaxe.
After minutes of hesiatation, he took up the pen and wrote his own name and frequency on it.
Then he looked up in anticipation of who would come too, after a bit, he returned to sharpening the weapons.