Title: The Unknown Reaper
Specialities: ????
Story: ????
Demo: ????
Looks: ????
Personality: ????

Title: Mistress of Life
Specialities: Healing Prowess, capable of healing and resurrects people.
Story: ????
Demo: ????
Looks: A red-haired woman, seems to have a lust for blood.
Personality: ????

Title: Dancing Blades
Specialities: His magical sword are capable of using wind magic.
Story: ????
Demo: ????
Looks:A blonde man, seeming like to have sinister laughs.
Personality: ????

Title: Eagle's Daughter
Specialities: A one-shot archer, capable of busting out armor in it's weakspot.
Story: ????
Demo: ????
Looks: A young blonde woman, probably the most normal of all.
Personality: ????

[DECEASED]
Title: The Shadow
Specialities: Capable of stealth attacks, one of the most respected leader.
Story: ????
Demo: ????
Looks: Have a strong minded look, always getting trying to get attentions but serious in combat.
Personality: ????
Death by: Arvine, killed in combat.

[DECEASED]
Title: Sky Magus
Specialities: Wind magic, capable of flying up in the sky.
Story: ????
Demo: ????
Looks: Have a solid muscular built(yet a woman mage) and a hard talker.
Personality: ????
Death by: Light Dragon, killed in combat.

Title: Little Conqueror
Story: ????
Demo: ????
Specialities: Leadership, and a monstrous strength.
Personality: ????
Looks: Since he's a half-giant, his height is around 2.5 metres. He's a master combatant, yet liked by ladies.

Not yet.

Not yet.

Not yet.

Not yet.

The cold winter night let out a howling breeze. The icy wind washed over a singular figure amongts the white landscape that was spined by pine trees here and there.

White Stitch stood alone in the blizzard. He held his scythe close, gripped it well and stroked the double edged blade. The entire shaft was taller than White Stitch himself, and behind the blade were three sharp spikes that pointed the opposite to the scythe's blade. The snow began to cover his body, which he modestly shook away. He stabbed his weapon on the foot deep snow and brushed away the white flakes off his cloak and mask. The white sheen of the mask was disturbed by a huge division in it's middle, that was kept together by six stitches, that was interwoven over the other. There was only one eye hole, a huge one, but no eyes were seen behind it. Only darkness. His cloak covered the entirety of his body, with excemption to the hands and feet. It's hood covered the head, and just enough for the mask to be seen plainly. His hands covered by gloves that had an impression that seemed to mimic bones, his feet were in the same manner. The storm seemed to have little effect on the boy, which according to his height, could have been no older than a teenager.

The frigid temperatures gave no chance for life other than the sturdy pine trees behind the boy. The boy itself was devoid of life, or life as anyone had known it to be. The blizzard didn't leave any room for heat as it whisked away any that stood in it's path. The blanket of snow lay undisturbed for a the time that White Stitch stood waiting.

A sudden rumble creases the snow's surface, slowly approaching the masked boy. An unintelligible muttering echoed from the boy's mask. The cracks halted a few feet from White Stitch. The boy grabbed the scythe and held it on both hands, gripping it tighter in anticipation. He began to step backward, scanning the ground around him, searching for the telltale creases of movement he so eagerly awaited all this time.

The ground exploded in white delight, four huge claws sprouted out from the white landscape. The masked boy leapt backward and studied the creature's movements. The four huge appendages slammed onto the ground, bringing out a spiked carapace that dwarfed a monster truck in comparison. It began to stand as several long legs began to splay from the central body, carrying it further up into the sky. The carapace then slowly opened, revealing thousands of glowing yellow eyes. White Stitch muttered something under his breath, cold air came out of the eye hole. He stared at the creature's immense size. The creature stared back and lashed out it's four gargantuan claws at it's tiny adversary.

The claws seemed to strike mere shadow as White Stitch appeared in and out of reality. The masked boy closed in at the creature's legs and sweeped his blade through it. The thousand eye monster screeched in pain, it twisted around trying to spot it's prey below it. White Stitch continued his assault on the creatures long limbs, teleporting safely away from the lashing of the claws and coming in close to harrass. White Stitch was caught by surprise by one strike when he dodged a claw then another came forth behind him. Claw met steel, the blade's top edge kept the claw at bay.

White Stitch uttered something once more, then the blade quickly swept down whilst the spikes faced up. The scythe now took the appearance of a halbeird, and during the transformation, forced the claw downward. White Stitch sidestepped, blade under the claw's wrist. The masked boy did not hesitate and lifted his weapon quickly, amputating the claw from it's owner. Blood gushed out, staining the snow with a bluish hue. The creature reeled in pain, almost falling over on the pine trees just behind. The creature's roar rivaled that of the blizard itself, but White Stitch knew it wasn't over.

White Stitch held his scythe horizontal to his body. The scythe and the spikes suddenly split from the staff. White Stitch threw himself forward, the blades and spikes followed suit. They were still attached to the staff by an unseen and unbreakable chord. White Stitch spun the staff around, allowing the blades and spikes to whiplash towards the creature's long legs.

"Mors meminit vos. Ego Non habere oblitus tui.(Death remembers you. I have not forgotten you.)" White Stitch uttered. "Ego aes alienum tibi vos commonefaciat!(I will remind you of your debts!)"

The immense creature roared in pain as it slowly fell, one by one it's legs gave way for it's weight to be taken by gravity. White Stitch powerfully leaped upward as the creature slammed to the ground, chunks of snow were immediately displaced, the snow cloud barely reached White Stitch, who was now 50 feet up. The masked boy twirled his weapon, allowing the weapon to whiplash around him, the three connected blades danced around him. Positioning himself, he began to plummet towards the creature. The monster's thousand eyes fixated on White Stitch and the blades the trailed behind him. The creature spoke something in Latin but was cut off immediately. A few seconds later, it was over. The masked boy whipped his blades into the creature's multiple eyes, and drilled into it's carapace.

A huge purple circle began to enlarge from the creature's center, unrecognizable symbols and sigils decorated it. It sparked with violet electricity as it began to match the size of the dead husk. Black energies began to foam through the white snow, slowly approaching and latching onto the creature, pulling it, ripping it apart and dragging it down to the snow. White Stitch blasted through the carapace and into the night sky. Not one glance was given to his quarry as he sped through the sky. The creature was left below, now only a carapace of what used to be a terrifying monstrosity. The tendrils of black energy did their duty, consuming the dead.

With that, the night went on. No one knew of the creature from the blizzard. No one knew of White Stitch except the creatures he hunted for death.

The gloomy scenery of a cemetery is adorned by spiny, creeping brown vines and vile white shrooms scattered on the tombstones. Huge willow trees are equally dispersed on the dead lawn of the burial ground, their leafless branches spread out like grabbing claws. The dark sky is graced by the presence of the full white moon, with an honor guard of gray clouds slowly overtaking the white disk in it's daily stride over the heavens. Crawlers and spinners come forth from every crevice and niche to greet the coming of the beautiful night. At the very center of the graveyard, stood a forlorn structure, watched by stone gargoyles and expressionless stone skulls that are fitted into every corner and every ledge. The mausoleum's entrance were rusted iron bars that bear similarity to those of age old dungeons. If seen from above, the grave markers that decorate the grim landscape form an eerie spiral that centers from the crypt. Multiple shadows arrive as guests in the haunted place, growing longer and longer as lady moon reaches the peak of her walk. Out from one of the shadows, formed an almost silvery mask. The shadow rippled and squirmed, the mask quickly took it's shape, stitches along a division that was made during it's placement. One eye hole on it's right shone with the slightest of light and disappeared as it shown itself. The mask flew upwards, the shadows followed suit. The dark began to cloak the mask, quickly constituting the form of a humanoid. A huge staff weapon quickly manifested from the gloom behind, a wicked curved blade on the side of the staff's end and three dark spikes protruded from the blade's rear. The shady figure formed a weak impression of limbs, the white mask scanned the area for it's tool, which it promptly found just behind him. Quickly enough, he snatched the weapon right at the moment when the hands formed.

"Nox crescit cotidie validiorem.(The night grows stronger everyday.)" White Stitch stated to himself. "Insolitus creaturis exire porta vitae. (The strange creatures come forth from the gate of life.)" He added as he took solid form. "Regressus creaturis videtur cedere nil...(Returning the creatures seems to yield nothing...)" The masked boy strode along the dead path towards the mausoleum. Tiny critters of all leg numbers took shelter from the passing body, never to go out again unless they see no sign of the white reaper. "Quid agam...?(What shall I do...?)"

The masked boy melded through the iron bars of the structure, a voice boomed from within. "Missio felix fuit? (Was the mission succesful?)" The dust floated down, apparently disturbed by the shock of the voice.

"Habet dominae sed...(It has mistress, but...)" White Stitch stammered. "The days are shorter. Creatures from the underworld keep flooding through the gate." He reverted to common English.

"Do not think of it. I am solving the mystery as you speak to me." the feminine voice said. "The creature was of roman culture?" The mistress' voice held no expression as she changed from Latin to English.

"I do not think it is. Though it does respond to the Latin language, I have tried two other languages before it, my Lady." White Stitch reported. Looking around to see if his mistress was around other than her voice.

"The creature? Where is it?" She asked promptly.

"It has been disposed of properly, sent into the underworld from where it came." He said with little triumph in his voice. The matter was of little difficulty, he had been doing this duty ever since he was created. White Stitch knelt, and bowed his head after speaking.

"You duty is renewed, White Reaper." The voice said. "You are to kill the creatures permanently. Remind them of their debts, strike fear to those who have escaped. Make them quake in their shells. Their debts no longer include time, their souls must be destroyed, permanently." She said coldly.

"Yes, mistress." White Stitch acknowledged. The scythe behind him gleamed as the moonlight struck it.

"The night grows stronger and so do you." the feminine voice pointed out. "Those creatures tend to flee and strike once night falls, you strike harder but never flee. You are clearly the better of my creations."

"Yes, mistress." White Stitch didn't budge. Yes, he was the creation of his mistress and the creatures that are on the loose are once creations themselves...until they turned insane and were twisted beyong repair. "What of the intelligent creatures?" The reaper asked.

"What about them? Dispose of them the same way!" She said, a slight raise in her tone took White Stitch by surprise. "They are twisted as well. They know nothing more than blasphemy and incoherent ideas." She said dismissively.

"Then, shall I hear news of the underworld? Has there been any control over the captured?" He questioned, raising his head, trying to see where the voice comes from, but it seems to be everywhere.

"The underworld is fine, the creatures there are being put down, their souls to be eliminated from the life cycle." She explained. "There is nothing for you to think about except the disposal of those that are on the surface."

"My lady, where will you create new souls?" White Stitch couldn't help but ask. "The soulforge was destroyed millenia ago."

"There are other ways, my child." The voice said, convincing the white reaper to ask no more. "Begone. You have duties to fulfill."

With those words, the servant dissipated from the mausoleum like a smoky column. The moon had already halfway finished it's slow paced stride over the dark sky.

Once the mistress felt not a presence of her creation, she spoke. "Up until when will that mask hold off the creature within?" The voice trailed off. The cemetery was left as gloomy as White Stitch first entered it's reaches.