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Feb 21 - 08:38:54
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Name: Revenant Send Mail...
Level: 35
Bodyguards: Not Protected
Status: Dead
Sponsor: None
Home City: Pasadena, LA
Wealth: Dirt Poor
Lounge Credits Won: 11
Messages Sent: 355
Threads / Posts: 9 / 27 (View Activity)
Achievements: View





                Pickpocket, I do, you do, its ok
          but If im c
aught I know ill get my ass kicked. You will too.

                        Please dont shoot me, im a nice guy.


Friends, I hear of storm clouds on the horizon. Growing darkness and unease. We still are haunted by the ghosts of friends we have lost and their moans all echo the same thing "You will join us soon". Everywhere I look your eyes all say our days are numbered. I want to tell you they are. 

Our lives were always numbered, the moment you were born you have been counting them down. Nobody knows how many they get if you live for one or one hundred thousand. You can be the great Chairman or a Civilian and you put your pants on one leg at a time and you will both be buried just as deep. You arrive and leave with nothing but what you leave here. 

So what do we do? The same thing we do every day. Hustle, train, rally together round our family Those of us who survive the storm will build again continuing the countown to our last tick. 

But most of all make every tick count. 

Narasimhaya Dec 08, '19 22:51




Within a hour he was dead. Once again Revenant woke up in a strange room. Cursing in Turkish he makes the "sign of the fig" at the sky. 

No, he thought clutching the Cross of Feowyr, not a curse its a blessing. His clock just got wound and starts again. Looking in the mirror he's floored with the shock. 

Im Lucian Nicosia again, how the hells did that happen? That body is buried in Chicago well on its way to dust and bones. Rubbing his cheek,, was it??

Shrugging and deciding he wont figure it out standing there looking in his mirror.

The Cross, the purple corrundum, its part of him now. When he found it he had a vision. There was an angel named Feowyr he could not touch it but warned me if I picked it up it would forever bind my destiny. I saw a cross in a land where I was forbidden to wear one. Where I fought to save the faithful and bring judgement to the demons. I felt like my crusade had led me there. When I put it on nothing happened. Feowyr's dark face smiled and then vanished in a flash of light and I was once again alone in the cave at the slope of Mt Ararat. 

I was chopping wood to keep warm when I nicked the tip of my finger. It hurt like hell untill the morning when I woke up to find it healed. Feowyr's words haunted him "forever bind my destiny". It wasnt untill the first time I was killed it really hit me. 

I was planting a bomb in a Turkish munitions depot when the fuse faulted. To say "he never knew what hit him" is misleading. I remember the concussion blowing me through the air. the blast wave quickly caught up to me and as it passed I was hit with dozens of pieces of shrapnel. My life flashed before my eyes, every second seemed like it was drawn out a hour. More shrapnel and clouds of burning munitions and fuel surround me as I reach the arc of my flight. My mind is aware im going to die and is shutting down the connection to the millions of pain receptors going off on me. I hit the ground at bone crushing speed just as its complete and everything fades to black. 

I wake up in a new body clutching the Cross. In a time when the world was at war it was easy to assume my old identtity and move on. But I was in a different body. I was the man who's US entry card would say Lucian Nicosia. The one who first joined the life of the mafia. The one who died in the Chicago purge. It was my old body.  It wasn't like it was obliterated just missing the back side of his head with the hole the kuku made. He remembered that too. 

Reaching back to feel the skull perfectly formed without a trace of damage. Its like he grew his head back while living Nara S Imhaya's life and now he was ready to come to life again. He breathed in deep and knew by the smell he was home. The pure, wet smell of the lake and the smell of the corruption. Sweet home Chicago. 

Wonder whats happening?

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