-a t h o s-

Progress

-The year is 2120.

- The earth has been completely drained dry. There's no such thing as "natural resources" now, being that mankind has taken all there is to take. Oceans simply don't exist anymore. With no gas, oil, or fuel, internal combustion engines and firearms have become next to obsolete due to their impracticality and unreasonable cost to operate.

- Swords and other bladed weapons have returned as the primary form of self defense. Most are carried openly. Guns are still held by a selective few that still kept the weapons and ammunition from before the world's decline. They're rarely used, however.

- Crossbows have replaced firearms as the primary form of projectile weaponry. While bulkier and less effective, they cost less to use.

- Food, water, and air are now synthesized commodities, along with a few other materials used for manufacturing and building. Natural resources like oil, gas, and fuel cannot stably by synthesized.


The Ouroburos

- This giant, sprawling city spans almost the entire area that used to be the Americas. It's formed in a perfect circle, thanks to the complete lack of oceans existing on the barren earth.

- The city is comprised of two parts: a large outer ring and a smaller inner circle. The outer ring is home to the more commonplace among The Ouroburos' populace, while the inner circle serves as paradise for the wealthy.

- The outer ring is separated into different sectors, each specified by nothing other than a number.

- The inner ring has more formal sub-cities, each with their own actual name.

Ragnarok

- An imperialistic-minded regime that builds figurative walls around the people it governs. Focused on conquest outwardly, while keeping the populace ignorant of what happens beyond the boundaries of their city.

- This is made easier by how the world is completely divided. Due to the lack of international transportation, and the wide expanse that now stands in place of the world's oceans, countries tend to stay within their own borders.

- The isolation makes it easier for Ragnarok to attempt to take control. They are the only ones who have the technology to create "Skyships", solar-powered, unarmed flying carriers used to ship troops from The Ouroburos to potential "colonies" around the world.

- Ragnarok makes use of secret surveillance to keep The Ouroburos under control. Additionally, they restrict any kind of contact with any areas outside of the city.

Athos

- Athos is the enigmatic leader of The Musketeers. Rarely ever seen by any of them, he orchestrates their movements from the shadows, and intends to take control of The Ouroburos after overthrowing Ragnarok.

The Musketeers

- A small force when compared to Ragnarok's armies. They specialize in covert ops, assassination, espionage, and sabotage, and work as the only force that opposes Ragnarok openly.

- They work against the oppression that Ragnarok imposes on the rest of the world, the ignorance and unjustness that runs rampant in their own city.

-Known for the masks that they wear, each unique to the wearer.

- Widely viewed as terrorists and radicals due to Ragnarok propaganda.

- No godmodding. Your character is yours and yours alone, so don't take control of or kill off another person's character without their say-so.

- Try to post frequently. I'm not looking for daily posts, but we need to keep this thread active.

- PM all your profiles to me with the subject line "ATHOS" before posting. You're clear to post once you either get confirmation from me, or you see your profile posted in the OOC thread.

- Keep it PG-13. Goes without saying that we don't want things getting too graphic in here.

- You can have more than one character as long as you can keep track of both of them.

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Episode One: With Fists Clenched and Heads Bowed

Musketeers Sion and Alan find themselves with a new initiate on their hands, and a new struggle drawing nearer and nearer. The strides Ragnarok has made in genetic engineering come to light in the form of a young girl retrieved by the duo. As Sion struggles with his conflicting emotions about the cause and Alan and Helena slowly begin to reveal more and more about themselves to each other, a new threat looms on the horizon.

Episode Two: (UPCOMING)

Reserved

Thread's open. Go crazy, you guys.
I figure I'll just start things off with a post...

Alan Helinski was just wrapping up a patrol when his favorite building began to advertise at the usual time. That is what he was nearly reduced to on slow days: Neighborhood Watch. The distinction was he didn't call the police. The police were what he was watching for.

Thankfully, this was an independent operation of his. Patrols were rarely ordered by his superiors. Going out on one was actually recommended against, but Alan felt as though he had learned to be discreet enough to manage his own free time. Free time. How ironic. So, once Sion opened up for business he began to head over.

The sign read "XIII". Alan found it suitable as the title of the only place he ever felt at peace. A little reverse psychology went a long way in his opinion.

He fetched his messenger bag from it's hiding place in the adjacent alleyway and entered the building. He walked through the low light to his usual seat at the bar and put his head down on the synthetic wood counter. Alan was the first customer of the day, so he took advantage of the momentary silence. The quiet was a delicacy.

After a few minutes he looked up at Sion, his favorite barkeep. "Evening, Mr. D."

Sion looked up as the first customer of the night walked in, looking spry and as full of youthful vigor as ever. Alan was a usual at the bar, and could hold a nice conversation no matter the number of drinks both of them downed. He was a good customer, but Sion didn't really know too much about the guy besides that. Which was ironic, being that Sion had been the one that plucked Alan off the streets in the first place. The past was the past. Better that it stayed there. But that vigor...he had some just like it when he had started as a musketeer. It was strange sometimes, seeing what he had lost touch with. He didn't have the heart to break the guy's spirit, though. At least not all the time.

"Hey there, Alan. What can I get you?" he offered the younger man a nod, sliding a coaster across the table to him. His attention was drawn away, though, by another customer coming in.

She seemed a bit stiff. She was pretty, but something seemed a bit off about the way she held herself and the way she spoke. But customers were customers. Sion slid another coaster to her as she sat down at the counter. Along with the coaster, he handed her a small menu. It was more of a brochure, really. He couldn't afford to be too high end here. Athos had the resources to spare, but it didn't seem right to Sion.

"Here. Food's on the front. Club sandwich's pretty good if you want something fast, but hey, just let me know when you're ready to order. Drinks are on the back." he offered a half-smile to the girl before turning back to Alan.

"You're pretty early tonight, aren't you?"




((EDIT))

"I'll have a water." Alan replied with a smile. "Water" was, of course, a cheeky code word for synthetic vodka. Alan had no assignments tonight and no cause to stay entirely sober.

Sion couldn't be more wrong about Alan's being early. "Early? No time is too early to come here. Besides I...", Alan glared briefly at the girl who had just walked in looking for a meal, "I'm off work today. And there's no place like home right, Sion?" That's what XIII was to Alan. Sometimes it felt as if all he was fighting for was that bar and it's regulars. In that room he could say and do what he wished. He was free. So no, he was not early. He was years late.

Alan turned his attention to the new face again. Scotch. Impressive. The sight of a lone, young, delicate looking woman walking into a bar with two shady looking men inside and ordering a sandwich and liquor was not a common one. For all she knew this place could have been a strip joint. He confidence made her someone to watch out of the corner of your eye. It was also an excellent excuse to take lots of peaks. She was beautiful. Ragnorak agent? Possible, but unlikely.

Alan gave a fitting eyebrow raise to his server. He put his head back down on the counter with a smirk.

Alan was about to ask exactly what type of work Sion was volunteering him for when Helena asked to "help out". The girl had betrayed herself with that question. How very inconspicuous, Ms. Freckles. Alan knew who she wasn't now: not one of them, not government, and not a hungry out-of-towner. She was something else, an amateur something else. Alan wanted to know what.

Alan raised his head off of the counter once again to look into the girls faded blue eyes. He was direct and spoke his mind, but not without his hand on the hilt of the kopis on his hip. Subtle intimidation never hurt anyone, unless they were government of course. "Nobody in their right mind walks into a place like this, in the ouroburos of all places, and asks a few guys like us, as charming as we may seem, if they can 'help out'. Especially not if they look like you." Alan lightly sipped his drink. "That, and you talked too much. So, now we're done being casual. Who are you?" He asked before strategically removed his hand from the weapon. "Honesty will get you farther than you may think."

He watched the girls face for an answer, and her hands for any dangerous movement. Between the trench coat, the pants, and the boots, she had a lot of places to hide a weapon. Under different circumstances he probably would have complemented her fashion sense. He did feel a little silly treating her like a potential killer. At this point, that type of response was just reflex. Over the few years he had been a part of the resistance he learned to force people to earn his trust even if they looked relatively harmless. Believing she meant well would be too much. Alan would have to be satisfied with hoping she did.

Alan gave the girl a shocked look as he carefully lifted the bag off of the floor. Disarmament was the ultimate handshake as far as he was concerned. He didn't bother opening it. He and Sion were in agreement there. "No need to invade a lady's privacy, here you go." he said as he handed the bag back to its owner, "Thanks for cooperating, Helena. I'm Alan."

The suspicion could be dismissed now, but Alan was still fairly perplexed by the girl. Circumstances? Like what? Did the local coffee shop close down? Her heritage was the strangest part of her. What could she have done to be exiled? Whether she was exiled or not was questionable, but he had trouble coming up with another motive. She did look somewhat prepared for the harshness of the outer ring. Somewhat prepared. "I wasn't aware that they carried weapons in the circle. While you're here I suggest you wear them, though. When you get mugged you'll know what I'm talking about." This was a true statement as well as subtle encouragement for her to show what she was carrying. He would appear the gentleman while still getting a look at her gear. Brilliance. It was a slow day indeed.

As Sion gave his own opinion on 'Circumstances', Alan delicately sipped his second shot of vodka. The man had a way of describing things. His demeanor seemed to be the direct result of several years of telling stories to his customers and watching the world crumble. It wasn't hard to understand why he drank so much. A steady flow of blood an alcohol will do that to a man, no matter how young.

Alan revised the bartenders question with a friendlier tone. "It looks to me like you've earned your privacy, Helena. But, if you don't mind a little more conversation, I'd be lying if i said i wasn't also curious about what brought you to ouroburos." He spun his chair to face Sion with a cocky smile. "Have you been stepping up on advertising like I told you to Mr. D? Seems to be working."

No turning back.. Finding conviction.. Sounds so very familiar, Mr. D. Alan's head gently found the surface of the counter once more. He thought Sion's playing of Devil's advocate a bit strange, but Helena's response was even stranger. Did she believe the musketeers were noble, or was she telling a couple of outer ring dwellers what they wanted to hear? Either way she wasn't the typical circle born daddy's girl. She had made a promise, apparently, to someone.

"And what makes the musketeers so noble?", Alan challenged, not bothering to raise his head. "Colorful speech and trendy street art doesn't disguise the plain fact that they kill just as much as if not more than the government. People look out for themselves no matter what flag they're flying. Even if they succeeded, who's to say they wont just make thrones and crowns of their own? Ideology is cheap. What's the difference, realistically speaking?" Alan had asked this question before.

Those who knew him knew Alan was liable to tear his own colors to shreds for the sake of testing others. It didn't hurt to do so either. Every way of life needed to be verbally assaulted as a test of it's legitimacy. A resistance movement that couldn't take criticism was no better than the tyrants is sought to murder. To Alan, life was an argument. Every breath he took was a case against Ragnarok, and every fight he got into was a formal debate on who had the greater will to live. He hadn't lost one yet.

But he wasn't speaking against his own cause for the hell of it. Helena's response would decide whether she could 'have a hand' in anything unless Sion overrode him. The bartender was higher up on the ladder. Alan glared up at him. Someone's desperate for a new face. Let's not get careless, alright?