Post by Nirrus on Mar 13, 2006 6:18:06 GMT
OOC: This is the introductory post for my character. Feel free to reply, as it would be good to get a little IC response to this madness.
Jericho Black strode up to the gates of the great Temple of Yevon in Bevelle, his face contorted into a small, nearly unseen frown that belied his true anger. It was a terrifying force that was about to ascend upon the unsuspecting New Yevon acolytes.
He walked through the gates, stopping for no one and nothing. The priests inside the massive structure's courtyard fled from his presence, terrified of the seven floating glaives that orbited the man like the moon did Spira. Guards rushed from all of the corners and rooms, placing themselves between the man and the main entrance to the temple, and the heart of New Yevon.
"Halt!" snapped an armed guard, he and his colleagues all lifting their rifles toward the man, the weapons all loaded and ready to deliver their lethal payloads. Jericho didn't even slow in his stride, but the seven floating weapons all drifted away from him. His hand moved toward and rested on the razor-edged Katana at his side. The guards didn't even wait for a signal. They all opened fire, no longer willing to risk the man.
"Die." was all he whispered, and his form blurred into motion. It was over in seconds. Like avenging angels, the seven spears flew from the sky, impaling, carving, cutting and slicing in a blur of blood and steel. The men never stood a chance.
He walked into the main foyer of the temple, the doors literally blown from their hinges. More guards met him in the massive entryway. More guards died. Jericho never even drew his blade. He walked on.
The room he entered was immense in it's size and sheer depth, a bottomless pit at the end of the platform on which he stood. There was an elevator, but he doubted it worked. He glanced up at the men who stood at the top platform. They were fearless. Or so it seemed. All eight of them.
"Who are you to disturb this holy place? What is it you want, monster?"
Jericho's eye locked onto the one who spoke. The man who had spoken so brazenly froze on the spot and nearly wet himself. The other seven all glanced to him, and it was the last thing they ever saw. Seven long glaives pinned them to the wall behind them, their bodies dead before they hit the wall behind them.
Jericho leapt to the pillar, his body drifting on the air like a bird. He landed right in front of the old man who stood paralyzed in shock and fear, his eyes growing wide as Jericho lifted him up to his eye level, nearly two feet higher than the man stood.
The elderly priest kicked in the air as the man in the black trench coat held him in the air, choking the life from him.
"Where is Vegnagun?" was all Jericho said and loosened his grip on the old man. The man tried to spit in his face, but the action was frozen by Jericho when he tightened his grip. He frowned coldly and dropped the Monk of Yevon. In a swift motion he drew his sword.
"It appears that I must tear the information from you." The old man cowered at the frozen tone the words had been delivered in. The next several hours were spent with screams of anguish and torment as Jericho took what he wanted from the man's mind. No one dared enter out of fear of the goings on inside the temple.
When Jericho emerged, he was just the same as he'd been when he entered. He had a new goal in mind. His old plans had all been ruined by one person. That person would pay. Dearly.
"Yuna..." He had a name now. That was all he needed as he made his way down the steps of the Bevelle Temple. She would pay. He swore she would.
When he left Bevelle, he left it in shock and horror as they discovered the death that had infested the once holy structure.
This day would forever be remembered as the Day of Judgment. It was the day the Devil came to Yevon, and it was the day faith and hope failed. It would be known as Crimson Sunday. God help the souls of the fallen. God help them all.
Jericho Black strode up to the gates of the great Temple of Yevon in Bevelle, his face contorted into a small, nearly unseen frown that belied his true anger. It was a terrifying force that was about to ascend upon the unsuspecting New Yevon acolytes.
He walked through the gates, stopping for no one and nothing. The priests inside the massive structure's courtyard fled from his presence, terrified of the seven floating glaives that orbited the man like the moon did Spira. Guards rushed from all of the corners and rooms, placing themselves between the man and the main entrance to the temple, and the heart of New Yevon.
"Halt!" snapped an armed guard, he and his colleagues all lifting their rifles toward the man, the weapons all loaded and ready to deliver their lethal payloads. Jericho didn't even slow in his stride, but the seven floating weapons all drifted away from him. His hand moved toward and rested on the razor-edged Katana at his side. The guards didn't even wait for a signal. They all opened fire, no longer willing to risk the man.
"Die." was all he whispered, and his form blurred into motion. It was over in seconds. Like avenging angels, the seven spears flew from the sky, impaling, carving, cutting and slicing in a blur of blood and steel. The men never stood a chance.
He walked into the main foyer of the temple, the doors literally blown from their hinges. More guards met him in the massive entryway. More guards died. Jericho never even drew his blade. He walked on.
The room he entered was immense in it's size and sheer depth, a bottomless pit at the end of the platform on which he stood. There was an elevator, but he doubted it worked. He glanced up at the men who stood at the top platform. They were fearless. Or so it seemed. All eight of them.
"Who are you to disturb this holy place? What is it you want, monster?"
Jericho's eye locked onto the one who spoke. The man who had spoken so brazenly froze on the spot and nearly wet himself. The other seven all glanced to him, and it was the last thing they ever saw. Seven long glaives pinned them to the wall behind them, their bodies dead before they hit the wall behind them.
Jericho leapt to the pillar, his body drifting on the air like a bird. He landed right in front of the old man who stood paralyzed in shock and fear, his eyes growing wide as Jericho lifted him up to his eye level, nearly two feet higher than the man stood.
The elderly priest kicked in the air as the man in the black trench coat held him in the air, choking the life from him.
"Where is Vegnagun?" was all Jericho said and loosened his grip on the old man. The man tried to spit in his face, but the action was frozen by Jericho when he tightened his grip. He frowned coldly and dropped the Monk of Yevon. In a swift motion he drew his sword.
"It appears that I must tear the information from you." The old man cowered at the frozen tone the words had been delivered in. The next several hours were spent with screams of anguish and torment as Jericho took what he wanted from the man's mind. No one dared enter out of fear of the goings on inside the temple.
When Jericho emerged, he was just the same as he'd been when he entered. He had a new goal in mind. His old plans had all been ruined by one person. That person would pay. Dearly.
"Yuna..." He had a name now. That was all he needed as he made his way down the steps of the Bevelle Temple. She would pay. He swore she would.
When he left Bevelle, he left it in shock and horror as they discovered the death that had infested the once holy structure.
This day would forever be remembered as the Day of Judgment. It was the day the Devil came to Yevon, and it was the day faith and hope failed. It would be known as Crimson Sunday. God help the souls of the fallen. God help them all.
