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In 1876, the British Parliament was becoming furious. The number of sightings of strange, unidentified creatures from the police increased sharply over the first few months that year. In early June, a policeman in London turned up dead behind an alley, with puncture marks on his neck and upper back. There was no sign of resistance, implying the man died before he knew he was being attacked. The police began a search of London for the assailant. After two months of uncovering nothing, and no additional attacks of a similar nature, the police scraped the search. In November of that year, another attack of anomaly occurred. This time, it was a man walking home down an alley with his wife after a play. They were both found with bite marks as well, but all over their bodies, in uneven patterns. It appears that the attacker was indiscriminate with where his attacks landed on it's victims. In addition, more startling is a clear sign of struggle. Both victims had their clothes torn, and had many relatively small scratch marks over their bodies and faces. From the way the bodies were positioned, they made an attempt at fleeing from the attacker. Although the police declared the two above murders unrelated, it was clear to Parliament something unnatural was occurring, and something had to be done. For the time being, they made no official progressive action towards the problem, other than increasing police patrols of London.

In February of 1878, London suffered 4 additional murders, 3 of which experienced the same circumstances as the second of the unnatural 1877 attacks (all of which occurred on different occasions), and 1 of the first of those 1877 attacks. This is when the British Parliament decided action was necessary. With London deep in panic and concern as details of these attacks were uncovered to media, the Parliament funded the creation of an organization designed to eliminate these foreign threats. In August of 1878, the Order of Gabriel was created. The Order of Gabriel is a church/government-sanctioned organization, with the purpose of finding these terrorizing beings and destroying them, in the name of God and England. The Order incorporates the use of newly developed, government funded technologies, lone, undercover, and highly trained agents who pursue their targets, suspects, and prey with lethal focus, and most important a vast, no-expense-spared accumulation of knowledge through books and scrolls. The Order prides itself on teaching it's agents, or Operatives, the ways of many cultures, religions, and customs of other countries. In addition, they are instructed in the ways of advanced sciences and mathematics. Though most agents are well educated prior to induction into the Order, the information stored within the Order is proportionally comparable to that which was stored in the Great Library of Alexandria. It's secrets are said to be guarded more closely than the the Royal Family Crown Jewels.

Most fundamental to the Operatives of the Order however is the training to which recruits must go through to become an Operative, with regards to combat and defense techniques. Operatives are given the pleasure of choosing their own combat style, and are supported with a government budget to find their own means of training in their chosen field of combat, whether it be rigorous survival training in the forests of the South Americas, stealth and martial art teachings from the masters of the Far East, or modern weaponry training from the gunslingers of the Wild West in North America. Regardless of how an Operative chooses to fight, it is made sure that he (or she, though it is very rare to see female Operatives) receives the best training attainable.

But equally important to the Operatives of the Order is the support staff which are at their disposal. Scribes and Librarians keep records and books available to the Operatives, and Chemists and Physicists develop new gadgets and weaponry, as well as protective and helpful gear and clothing. Teams of Cartographers and Translators are also at the Operative's disposal to help track targets, plan trips to foreign countries, and infiltrate buildings.

Since the Order has been established, it has been the subject of much controversy in Britain. Though since it's creation it has brought the destruction of many werewolves, several vampires, and a few, other things, some of the public believe it is a waste of government money, and that the Order's results aren't rational to the amount of money spent on it. While naturally only a small fraction of the governments budget is spent on maintaining the Order of Gabriel, these citizens believe it can be spent on more important issues, such as improved plumbing systems, or better, more efficient power sources. Nevertheless, the Order of Gabriel is generally considered a guild of heroes, where it's Operatives are modern day knights.


The Order of Gabriel - A Drethelis RP

The year is 1880. You are an agent of the most prestigious organization of combatants in Great Britain, an Operative of the Order of Gabriel. You are trained in a field of combat of your choice, but also with you carries many additional skills. While every Operative has a working knowledge of literally almost everything important in the universe as it is known, you may carry a specialization, or a set of specializations, across different fields, such as Xeno-Biology, Forensic Science, Modern Technology, Alchemy, or anything else to which you set to pride yourself on. Regardless of your knowledge and training, you are a useful tool of the Order, and are both an efficient fighter and an intelligent scholar.



In recent weeks, the number of attacks on the citizens by the creatures of the night has decreased significantly. While this in part due to the efforts of The Order, the leadership believes something else is at work. It has been 3 weeks since the last attack, aside from one incident last weekend, where a man was killed at the crack of dust, returning home from a stop at a bar after work. It is believed to be the work of a typical werewolf, though due to the finesse of the murderer, it is unclear to the Order. The Order is looking into it, and for the first time since the order's creation and a small task force was created to destroy the evil scientist Demetri Palvok and his army of undead, a group of Operatives will be sent to investigate the matter.

Rules:

-Foremost, my RP, my rules. My way or the highway kid.

-You must fill out the character sheet as described. Any inadequacies and I'll rage.

-No godmode. I know you have a better judgment, so start using it.

-Anyone can join at anytime, just PM me and I'll set ya up in the story.

-Your an Operative of the Order, which means you have access to just about anything in the world, technology, training, knowledge, whatever else. But that doesn't mean you have all of it. Be creative, original, and not overpowered.

-You will be soon assigned a task, so as for now you are in the secret Temple of Gabriel, hidden in London. This is the Order of Gabriel's HQ.

-Combat works like this: you launch the attack, and I tell you the results of your attack. I.e. you'll write "I shot an arrow from my crossbow at the zombie." And I'll say something like "The arrow shreds through the zombie's torso, pinning it against the wall behind it." Of course there are examples where this can be overlooked like an obvious stab in the back of the neck from a knife. But remember, use your better judgment.

-Stealth works in a similar way to combat, I'll declare "A suspected vampire sits in his study, reading a book. The evidence you must obtain is in his study as well, on the bookshelf. He is facing a desk against the wall." You'll go with something like "I make my way to the bookshelf focusing the best of my stealth abilities to not make a sound". I'll respond, "The suspect fails to hear anything, and continues reading unaware." Remember the more descriptive you are the better the chances you'll remain undetected. I.e. someone who writes "I r went 2 teh bok shelf" is probably going to get a reply like "The vampire immediately is alerted, and with lighting speed plunges at you and devours your face."

-PM me if you have any Q's at all.


Character Creation Sheet:



Edit: I changed the year in which the events take place, for technology's sake.

Cool. I'll sign up tonight, mate.

Name: Alan Hammond

Date of Birth: 6th of November, 1837

Place of Birth: Crawley, West Sussex, England.

Nationality: British

Weight: 84.36 Kg

Height: 180 Cm

Hair Style/Color: Black, slicked with oil backwards. Grey hairs are visible, but not abundant.

Eye Color: Bright Green.

Distinguishing Features: Long Chin, and subtle goatee.

Combat Style: Professional Fencing and sword fighting, but also has a working knowledge with the use of firearms.

Skills: Investigative expertise, mild experience with stealth and infiltration, and an expert with aristocratic customs.

Knowledge: Alan has a good deal of experience with the sciences of Alchemy, Physics, and Acoustics, but also knows much of Geography, Archeology and Architecture, in addition to his already abundant knowledge taught from his years in the Order.

Clothing/Gear: Wears a long, black coat, with a pair of dark pants. He wears a wrist watch which also can produce a bright, non-electric light, thanks to the scientific efforts of one of his Chemist friends. He carries around with him a flask of holy water, which he replenishes every time he returns to the Temple. Finally, he also is known for implementing small gas bombs, which releases clouds of extremely dry smoke, and anyone who is caught in it and hasn't drank the countermeasure formula (which Alan also keeps with him) will be seized by a coughing fit. Developed by the same Chemist friend, who worked with a Scribe of the Order who had discovered the ingredient's for it while reviewing old tomes.

Weapons: Custom forged longsword, with an emerald encrusted handle, and a 1875 Scholfield Revolver, imported from North America.

Date of Birth: April 10th, 1860 (20 years old (?) )
Name:Matt

Place of Birth: North America

Nationality:American

Weight: 112 pounds

Height: 5'6

Hair Style/Color: His hair is neatly combed back, and his hair color is Auburn Brown.

Eye Color:Blue

Distinguishing Features:He is very alert at all times, and most of the time is really nervous. He has a slightly rounded jawline. A brown goatee.

Combat Style:Stealth, Assassination

Skills: Survival, anything sniper rifle related, Stealth, fighting with a knife (Forgot what it's called.)

Knowledge:Survival. Assassinations, and decryption.

Clothing/Gear:Wears a brown leather jacket with a 1 strap backpack.

Weapons: Flintlock Rifle, Diamond encrusted dagger

Name: Heimerich Ängstlich

Date of Birth: December 17, 1844

Place of Birth: Breslau, Silesia, Kingdom of Prussia (German Empire)

Nationality: German (Kingdom of Prussia)

Weight: 76.4 kg

Height: 170.2 cm

Hair Style/Color: Very dark brown, almost black hair he keeps combed in a formal manner at all times. He has a handlebar mustache and a full goatee of the same color, adding to his frightful looks.

Eye Color: Amber

Distinguishing Features: A relatively gaunt face with few wrinkles. To many people, he appears to be frowning at all times. His unusual eye color and fearful features combined with his heavy accent and mysterious personality cause most to describe him as “mean”, “creepy”, or “scary”.

Combat Style: A renowned marksman, also is experienced with throwing knives

Skills: A well-known psychiatric canvasser (has theorized in the past that the world will end after a global conflict in the next century), skilled strategist, highly knowledgeable when it comes to ranged weapons

Knowledge: Heimerich is outstandingly erudite when it comes to the study of psychology. He does, in some ways, qualify as a madman. However, his theories often make sense, and he has been known to accurately read one’s thoughts by observing his or her facial expressions. He can always tell when somebody is lying.
His knowledge regarding the study of physics, geography, and mythology is also vast. Added to his years of study at the Ruprecht Karl University of Heidelberg and his time within the Order, he is a very intelligent man.

Clothing/Gear: Wears a long grey overcoat with a black vest and leggings underneath, and a pair of tall, shining black boots. He also wears a pair of black leather gloves and carries a golden pocket watch at all times.

Weapons: Pattern 1796 Light Cavalry Sabre, Lefaucheux M1858 revolver, a silver trench knife, and a set of five throwing knives

I'll create a character sheet tomorrow

Name: Arimos Archer

Date of Birth: February 19th, 1860

Place of Birth: East London

Nationality: British

Weight: 55 kg

Height: 180 cm

Hair Style/Color: Black, tussled

Eye Color: Blue

Distinguishing Features: Constant smirk. Likes top hats.

Combat Style: Mad, unorganized, but efficient. Prefers to just hit something until it dies.

Skills: Master Archer is, as his name might suggest, an extraordinary shot with a flintlock pistol. He is also proficient in fencing and boxing. He has a degree in technology from Cambridge.

Knowledge: Arimos is very well known for his inventing skills, and his ability to offend as many women as possible.

Clothing/Gear: Arimos wears a black suit and tailcoat. He had a small white top hat from which he gets his nickname. He is known for inventing new gadgets such as gas-powered grappling guns, but always carries a diamond-topped cane and a golden pocketwatch.

Weapons: Archer carries a variety of weapons. He has two revolvers in his coat pockets. He has an invention called a switchblade on his belt. Sometimes he carries a rapier, this goes on the right side of his belt, and he uses the knife in conjunction with it. He sometimes carries even heavier weapons, including twin belts adorned with hand grenades, and a thriple-barreled hand cannon.

Hope you don't mind me playing that very rare female character.

Name: Charlotte Afflelou

Date of Birth: 7th of July, 1857

Place of Birth: Chateau Rouge, La Loire, France

Nationality: French

Weight: 64kg

Height: 159cm

Hair Style/Color: Dark brunette, long and styled in the latest fashion.

Eye Color: Deep Blue.

Distinguishing Features: Piercing eyes, and a playful smile.

Combat Style: Fist sparring and puglism, and well versed in the art of small firearms.

Skills: Charming, skilled at Infiltration, both open and stealthy. She shows strong instincts and is able to think quickly on her feet.

Knowledge: Charlotte carries a good understanding of the sciences, particularly in the field of medicine. She is very knowledgeable about the history of Europe, and pays great attention to Art, Literature and the Theatre.

Clothing/Gear: Charlotte wears a wide range of opulent and specially designed dresses, that allow her to loom the part in a formal occasion without sacrificing her mobility and skill in the event of a surprise attack. When away from her public life, she often chooses to wear clothing similar to the workhouse women, such as trousers, but of course far more well made and impressive, often sporting fanciful colours and jewels, and being more covered in materials.

Weapons: Modified Enfield Mk. II revolver, designed with a special length chamber and more gunpowder force in the barrel, to deliver longer ranged, higher calibered shots than the sidearm would normally produce. This weapon is small enough to be concealed in most of her formal attire.

RP starts here so try to use OOC as little as possible.

The clock in the Grand Atrium rings eight o' clock, and it resonates throughout the entire building. The Priests made sure they'd ring the bells extra loud, as instructed to by the Master of the Order. Sir Henry Jameson, the wise, aged leader of the Order and one of it's founding members, told them that there was a planned meeting to take place in the Grand Atrium at thirty minutes past eight that evening, to which all of the Operatives were to attend. They had all been informed of the meeting two weeks ago, and were recalled from any previous assignments, to return to the Temple. Though some Operatives were in lands too distant to receive this invitation, at least 75% of the Order's agents were in the Temple, setting it to a Operative to non-Operative staff member ratio not seen in many years.

Much speculation has occurred in the past days regarding the gathering's purpose amongst the Operatives. Most believe it was conjured to address the sharp decrease in attacks lately, though some seem to think it involves something else, as one Operative was heard remarking: "Why would the recall us all back here? If there's been a drop in attacks in London, why would they want to put all their eggs in one, isolated, irrelevant basket? Clearly this meeting will address something far more important." The leaders of the Order, including Sir Jameson, have been careful to not unveil the secrets of the meeting's purpose. Though little do they know, as they convene less than thirty minutes before they will all give speech to their subordinates, they discuss the matters at hand, observed by one particularly tenacious Operative.

"I'm getting too old for this," Alan remarked, followed by a loud cough. Spying upon the secret convention with a stethoscope, Alan Hammond hears a member, relatively underweight by the sound of his footfalls, approach the door. He quickly crouches behind the hinged side, and not a second later the door creeps open, revealing a crack between the wall and the hinged side of the door, allowing a quick glance into the room. It was Sir Jameson's office, and he immediately recognized two men sitting down on the green arm chairs surrounding a medium sized table: Alfred Hitchingson, the head Scribe, or the Scribe of the Order, and Charles McRyan, one of the leading experimental Chemists of the Order. He and Hammond had often spoke in the past, mostly due to Hammond's interest in the new discoveries the Chemists there were so fond at making. Though he could not see the rest of the people in the room, he could tell at least four other people sat in chairs near the table based of the shadows cast from the fireplace, and plus one for whoever peered down the hallway, with Alan crouched right behind the open door, silently praying he doesn't look the other way.
"Something there, sir?" Asked Alfred's voice. A moment later, a voice came from right next to him, who was peering down the hallway from the other side of the door. He recognized it instantly.
"No, must be hearing things." Said the old, rough voice of Sir Henry Jameson. He closed the door.
Thank god he didn't look down this way, thought the grateful mind of Alan Hammond, in an almost childish nature. He put the stethoscope back on the door, and listened carefully to the words exchanged.
"As I was saying," began another voice, whom Hammond identified as Ilas Arhim, a Hungarian of high prestige who taught Operatives much about the art of hunting targets. "I believe choosing Operatives who are inexperienced will be an excellent learning opportunity for them. Are newest Operatives need more training, and this assignment will be perfect for it."
"But can't you see," another voiced quickly chimed in. Hammond couldn't match it to anyone he knew. "we need men who have had the pleasure of operating for many years for this assignment; it could be too much for any new Operatives, and at this point we're not looking to-" he was cut off by, much to Hammond's surprise, a woman's voice, and to make it more confusing he couldn't recognize it. The Order had few women among it's ranks, and until now Hammond thought he knew all of them quite well.
"Wait a moment, what do you mean 'men'? Are you implying our female Operatives are not capable of this mission?"
"Watch your place, Helen." Ilas shot back. Note to self, learn more about Helen. Hammond quickly noted.
"Please, settle down my equal peers." Pleaded the calm, intelligent voice of Charles McRyan.
Instantaneously Hammond heard the sound of chairs being pushed backwards, people standing up, and then a mass of unorganized shouting. He was unable to hear anything discernible, save several vulgar insults. After only ten seconds of squabbling, the eruption of chaos ceased as a voice roared gently over all the others, and suddenly all noise ceased from the room. Then Sir Henry Jamenson spoke.

"My brothers, and sisters, we must remember we are all here for a reason this evening, and that is to determine the fate of many lives of innocent people. I understand that we are at an impasse regarding the choice I will soon make, but I am confident in who I have in mind for the upcoming. Now, not to be too forthcoming, but I believe, despite my age, I am indeed qualified to make this decision." Hammond then heard him get up from the large armchair and stride to his desk. "You know, I was quite a gunslinger back in my days," Jameson said with a bit of a chuckle.
"To that I can personally testify." Spoke the equally aged voice of Alfred Hitchingson.
"That you can, Al." Sir Jameson continued. "The time approaches, and since we have discussed all else, I recommend you return to your quarters to prepare yourselves for the ceremony, and I will ponder on my choice for the time being."
In relative unison, the group agreed via their own preference of words.

As Hammond heard multiple chairs rising, he knew that was his queue to get out of sight. He retreated south down the hallway, towards a domed atrium where 4 hallways met in congruency. It was there that he leaned against the wall interlinking the South Hallway and the West Hallway. His quarters were in the East Wing, as were most of those who remained at the Temple regularly, the South Wing housed the offices of the Order leaders, as well as their chambers. The West Wing housed the laboratories and alchemist workstations, along with exterior greenhouses for the plants which were grown for the sake of science. And in the North Wing were the vast libraries and the Great Atrium.

Hammond pulled out his pipe and lit it with a flashy lighter which a friend of his at the Order produced, which ignites a flame by simply pressing a button, requiring little pressure or effort. Just as he heard those of the secret meeting leave he began to toke on his pipe, and inhaled a good amount of tobacco smoke. He exhaled heavily through his nose, then his mouth. He looked down the hallway and saw them walk in the opposite direction, and Sir Jameson saw them off from outside his office. He looked in Hammond's direction. Alan managed to look away before he saw him, but nonetheless the aged Master closed the door to his office behind him and started towards Hammond. He tunelessly whistled as he walked in a particularly casual manner. He's pretending he didn't see me... Alan pointed out the obvious to himself, metaphorically face palming. As Sir Henry approached Alan, he ceased his whistling, and greeted him in surprise.
"My good friend, Alan!" He exclaimed, approaching to stand next to him, retrieving a pipe from his coat pocket.
"Evening, Sir Jameson," Alan replied, almost mockingly.
"Oh come on, Alan, you know me well enough to forgo any Royal bestowals!" As he cheerfully said this, Henry held his pipe close to Alan's arm, and just as soon his trademark lighter was lighting his pipe, a ritual executed as if of habit.
"So, what brings you here twenty minutes before one of the largest gatherings of Operatives since the Order's creation"? Henry inquired.
"Wanted to get out of my room, waiting made me anxious and I'm sick of answering all these fresh blokes' questions. You think I'd be the Master of the Order, given the amount of questions they ask me." Hammond had prefabricated the lie, in case of a situation like this. Though if it were any other person on the planet he could have got away with it. Henry turned to Alan, and like a Winchester Repeater Rifle, he shot him an incredulous look.
"Please, lad." Henry simply stated, reaching into Alan's coat pocket, retrieving the stethoscope. He dangled it in the air for a moment.
"How much did you hear?" Henry asked.
"Not much more than I had already concluded, to be honest." Alan said truthfully. Henry placed the stethoscope back into Alan's coat pocket, and faced him once again, post exhaling a cloud of smoke.
"Alan, I know your naturally a lone hunter, but you and I both know that this group needs someone who can guide this group. Not too many Operatives have nearly as much experience as you. Few men can say they've seen the horrors you've witnessed." He took a moment to pause, expecting Alan a clever retort, but rather he remained silent. Henry continued, "Alan, I don't want to send you if you don't want to go, and I don't mean to put pressure on you but like I said, you're close to the best we got, and I'm asking this because your my friend." Henry stared into Alan's eyes, who returned the gaze.
"You have my loyalty, Master." Alan replied, with a hint of that sarcastic mockery, but at the same time sincerity. Henry simply grabbed Alan's shoulder, and patted him. He walked away, sticking his thumb in his pipe to defuse the embers. He returned to the South Hallway. Alan figured he should go as well, and be ready to go to the Great Atrium.

By the time Alan returned, the clock chimed for eight fifteen, and soon he heard groups of Operatives make their way to the North Wing.

Matt walked over to the North wing. He looked up, and sighed. He bent down, and retrieved something from his bag. It was a blueprint on a rifle modification he was interested in. He rolled it up, and placed it back in his bag. He walked over to where the rest of the group was at, and sat down.

Arimos Archer strode through the North Wing, wearing a top hat and carrying a cane. A massive triple-barreled cannon was slung across his back. A cigar was clenched between his teeth, cinders occasionally falling onto his black morning coat.

Heimerich strolled down the hallway in a proud, dignified way. With his long strides and swift movement, the sound of his boots colliding with the floors below him echoed throughout the entire hallway. But he stayed to the shadows. To the darkness. His natural environment. His amber eyes beamed in the dark like the eyes of a wolf in the murky night before taking down prey. The few Operatives who had turned to address him immediately had their expressions turned from a wondrous grin to a violent frown when they were greeted by his frightful eyes and cold attitude. Heimerich reflected these expressions, turning his head in the opposite direction of these people with a low and immoral growl.

At the intersection of the hallways, he pushed through the crowds of men and the few women that were present in the area, most intending to make their ways to the North Wing. He sat in the very rear of the Grand Atrium, fully relaxed in his chair as he lit a pipe and blew a ring of smoke through the clean airs of his area with a frown that some may have thought brought pain to his face.

When the bell tolled, Miss Afflelou was in the cloister, enjoying a light evening read and the weather.

"Ah, is it that time already?" she calmly asked herself in her soft French accent. She folded the book away, and began to walk towards the atrium. Before she entered, she checked on her hair in a nearby mirror, and made sure her pistol was loaded.