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<|description|>Jasper Inkra
The Child of the Sun
Star Sign: All of the stars eclipsed in blackest midnight, weeping together in darkness for their fallen sister
Grades (Art): A's
Grade (other): Pity C's
Athletics: Like a salmon climbing an escalator - a lot of muscle and perseverance but still doing something pretty fundamentaly wrong.
Blood type: you probably don't want a transfusion of Jasper's blood
Animal: Golden Retriever
Favorite food: Halloumi, baked with honey
Bonus XP
Players use gratitude hands (e.g., hand-on-fist bow, hand-to-heart, fist-bump) because...
...their character's gratitude to you/your PC reached the player's heart.
...you/your PC supported/played up their character concept/direction.
Will 6/8
Miracle Points 5/5
Skills
Courtly Manners 3
Incarnation of the Sun 2
Riding 1
Art 1
Lore 1
Health Levels
3 Normal
1 Tough
3 Divine
Powers
You are functionally immortal.
You can influence the weather and the sky with your mundane actions.
You can radiate hope.
If you're ever sufficiently broken to show the other side of your nature, you can radiate disillusionment or despair instead.
You can send out your consciousness in a sunbeam.
The nuclear furnace of your stomach can digest basically anything.
You can in theory turn into a gigantic sun-kaiju thing.
Bonds
The Prodigy 2 - She fascinates me
Little Island 1 - I love little island, though I don't feel ready to live there
Nightmare's Angel - She's startling, but somehow I kind of get her.
Quests
The Light of Hope 4/9
You're the light of hope now. You've got to do your mother's job. That means shining on the darkness in people's lives—not necessarily to fix them, but to give that darkness a bit of the endless light and warmth that you have inside you.
Gain 1XP whenever you do sunny things
A Mortal Life 3/15
You're new to the lower world. You're an alien here, and you spend a lot of time alternating between failure to understand what's going on and figuring this place out.
Once per scene, you can earn a bonus XP towards this quest by proposing a theory about how something in the lower world, or Fortitude in general, works, or how the sun interacts with the world.
The Miracle 2/21
As we've mentioned, you're the sun—the actual new sun, not just a child of the old one. You're the rightful ruler of the sky and an important religious/ritual figure in Town.
This quest builds towards your first real miracle, the first real sign that that's so:
A miracle, in answer to death; or, a miracle, commanding the powers and principalities of the sky.
The HG can award you 5 XP towards this quest when...
...you have a traumatic transformation or dissociation scene in play, where your reality gets weird because your true nature is changing or revealing itself.
...you see a confusing vision, nightmare, or premonition of your or someone else's death.
...you meet and get the chance to help a mysterious child find their way.
You can earn each bonus once, for a total of 15 XP.
1/chapter, you can earn a bonus XP towards this quest when...
...wrestling with/expressing nameless feelings of loss that make you act unnaturally
...trying and failing to burn things, to light them on fire
...getting confused about who and where you are
...listening to stories about things that were lost when Jade Irinka died
...talking with somebody about your destiny/nature and what it means
...talking with somebody about why there's such a thing as death
...dealing with acne, braces, your period, ear infections, or other annoyingly intrusive elements of physicality.</s>
<|message|>Jasper Inkra
The ground felt firm beneath her feet for the first time in days. Here was a demon queen, tormented by the curse of morality (and of course a conscience was best kept in an ionic crystal, floating close-by like an orbiting moon - that was just how things were). And here was a supplicant devil, bounded by the strictures of formality due to their lesser power. And here was an appeal without asking for relief from a burdensome oath. This was a commonplace matter for the Sun.
(And an ideal one, too! She wasn't bound by a morality crystal so she got to pick whatever she wanted! Nyeh heh heh!)
"Noble Shokyou," said Jasper, placing a fist in an open palm and giving a shallow bow. "I am cheered to hear that you find my voice enlivening, though in my carelessness I have almost lost it -" another aspect of the curse, she imagined - it was definitely rasping and soft compared to normal. She raised a finger and illuminated the world with a sunbeam, stately and magnificent. "Once it has been healed, I shall come before you and sing until your heart is full. Until then, I pray that you and your precious things endure these storms."
Again she bowed - then with perfect poise took Dulcinea's arm and lead her away, so smoothly and completely there was zero room to get a word in edgewise.
[Spending a point of will to get a result of 4 on courtly manners for an exceedingly polite disengagement]</s>
<|message|>Dulcinea d'Avignon, Nightmare's Angel
Wait. Wait wait wait wait whawawawawawaaaaaaiiiitt!! What is this what is happening oh jeez oh wow this was not the expected outcome! Not the expected outcome at all! She was supposed to! But then she! And now she's! Oh yikes oh yikes oh yikesy yikes yikes!
Dulcinea is not used to being dragged around. She is very used to plans going wrong but the way! This girl! Is toouUUching heeeerrrrr! Is very! Eeep! Distracting! And not! Conducive! Toward! OptimAAAL! Thin-thin-thinky things! That's why she doesn't manage to shout apologies even though her crystal is battering her. That's why she's a warm and squirming mess right now with every mincing step she takes. That's why (please trust the narration on this) you do not want to see the inside of her head right now. It would only hurt you. And her.
And that is why you should be impressed when she does at least manage to scribble out a note, fold it into a paper airplane (specifically a Learjet 35!), and toss it over her shoulder at Shoykyou. There, are you happy you nosy little guilt crystal? There's a request to talk about (gag) comic books in there and everything.
Then they round the corner. Alone. Together. Oh no. She should, like... say something smart? Or witty? Maybe cute? like, omg?
"Did you know there are technically infinite varieties of ramen?"
Yeah? Ok? That's what we're going w-- a-all right!
"It's true! For example, the place we're going right now serves a creamy, emulsified broth that's... oh, see, so like, they take the bones from animals, right? Pig feet and chicken feet mostly, but you know, some shoulder blades and vertebrae and stuff, it's really cool and good trust me! You take those bones and you simmer them in water for hours and hours and hours, and there's a lot of fat content in the marrow, right? And because you're bringing the water to a boil it creates an unstable emulsification! Cause you know, normally all that fat doesn't mix with the water; they're not chemically or even alchemically compatible, but with the addition of heat they'll mix anyway, only to sort of break apart again when the stock returns to consumable levels of heat. Hence the creaminess!
And anyway yeah that's one part of the soup stock, but you can do it in other ways and even siphon the fat back out for use as a topping later! This place just tosses butter in for the fat component so it's different, but you can do it and that's the important part. Then of course all ramen adds a lot of dashi to its broth, because the fish flakes cut out some of the astringency of the fat and just overall give the bowl a much richer flavor profile, see?"
At some point in the middle of all this, Dulcinea has managed to spin herself free and is now walking backwards with a little sashay in her step. She resolutely holds the umbrella over Jasper no matter how badly this gets her own outfit ruined, and she doesn't turn her head to look behind her for anything in the world. She even manages to round another corner and cross the street without missing a step. Ask her how she does it some other day! Right now, she's too busy blushing and breathlessly talking about food.
"And then! There's the tare, right? That's where you add in more salt content through soy sauce and a low-alcohol wine called... do they have wine where you're from? Anyway it's called mirin, I think, and it's got a very high sugar content so it's just extremely high energy, very dense, and a super rich flavor profile. You could just pour... well ok no, I could just pour the stuff down my throat for hours, but that doesn't even get into all of the ingredients! The chashu, the sprouts, the onions, all add varying levels of nutritional content while also conveying new complexities to the flavor profile of the dish...
But more importantly than any of them is the noodles! See, here's the thing, right? The noodles used in ramen are already separated by thickness between six categories, and depending on which one you use you get different resting temperatures and mouthfeels and absorptive properties, differing levels of protein depending on the flour you use of course. See, because how much flour you add to the noodle mixture changes the level of work that needs to be put into the dough, which produces higher gluten contents and continues to affect the overall profile of the soup. The higher the flour content the less water goes in the noodles themselves, so they can become so absorbent, in fact, that if you let them they'll drain an entire bowl's worth of broth into themselves! That result can be a little messy, but incidentally if you ever see a dry pack of ramen at a store, this is the technique they use so watch out before you get distracted in front of your bowl.
And oh gosh! I haven't even gotten to the matter of alkilinity! See, the noodles are held together via the strong flour proteins, like I said, but a critical component of a ramen noodle, as opposed to like, a somen or, god forbid, tagliatelle or whatever, is carbonate salt like good ol' reliable K2C03! And this is an alkaline mixture, which means the noodles are basic. Not simple, though! They're obviously extremely complex! I mean they are, themselves, a base! And since as we've already noted the soup itself is so highly acidic in nature there's actually a major chemical war being fought inside of the..."
She can continue like this the whole way, if she's allowed. It's her favorite food for a reason, after all! It's just... you know, a shame about what happened the last time she tried to cook it herself. But that's not the point! The point is, even something as distastefully pastoral as cuisine can, in fact, become fascinating when you allow yourself to pull it apart and understand all of its chemical complexities, and the sympathetic connections that build up between the energies of the various components and...</s>
| <|message|>Jasper Inkra
Jasper soaked in the knowledge like a sponge. Her eyes were shining beacons of curiosity and she kept moving around Dulcinea to try to keep eye contact. Her eyes shifted left and right, focusing on one eye then the other, hanging off every word. It was like a vision of another world and she could feel the weight and importance placed on every part of it. This felt like a quest, an adventure, something to aspire to. A devil queen searching through infinity for...
"How close are you to the perfect bowl of ramen?" asked Jasper - because of course there was a perfect bowl of ramen out there. The idea of subjectivity simply didn't occur to her at all. By the same token, it was impossible that she had already found perfection or else she would not have such detailed thoughts. "What are the rules of composition as you have discovered them? What must be included, and what paths of study are inherently wrong?"</s> |
<|description|>Mila Mesmer.
Academics Skill: Above Average.
Sports Skill: Above Average.
Favorite Foods: strawberries, apricots, sweet rice dumplings, stew, salt mackerel, yakitori, red tea.
Blood Type: A.
Animal: Boar.
Age: a year or two older than you, allegedly.
Abilities
# Grace 2. You're graceful, move quietly, and look and act natural in formal wear. Like you just stepped out of a Regency novel as "Head Maid".
# Changeling 2. You aren't human, but you're magically good at faking it. You don't even have to intentionally change your eyes from night and falling stars anymore.
# Crafts 1. You're good at handiwork, especially mask-making and glasswork. For not suspicious reasons. Why would they be suspicious? Asking about them is suspicious!!
Alertness 1: you're vaguely aware of your environment.
# Domestic Tasks 1. You can cook, clean, dust, wash dishes... again, "Head Maid" vibes.
# Superior Dreamer 1. Like Rinley, you're good at coping with weirdness and dreams.
# Arts 0. You don't feel comfortable expressing yourself through art, though you can handle technical work with Grace or Crafts.
Miracles
[ACCURSED]
# You have a special place. While hiding there for a while, you can gain MP by doing an XP action alone or intentionally skipping an XP action. If you let someone down, miss an appointment, or let something bad happen because you were hiding there, that's another MP. If you come out with 5+ MP, everything stays clean and orderly around you, you leave with something cool, and you are marked with a night-black shard of glass and falling stars, UNTIL you gain the Sickness issue or hit 4 or less MP. The cool thing stays, everything else vanishes. You can invite someone inside, but things are weird and occasionally dangerous when others are involved.
# Once a week, you can UNMAKE something, physical or conceptual. By spending MP, you can do this more often. The possibilities of hurting someone with this likely terrify you.
# When you mark a wound, or would if you had room, lose 1 MP.
# Whenever you have the Sickness Issue, you are haunted by your previous self. At Sickness 3+, this haunting becomes actively supernatural. If you run out of MP while being haunted, bad things happen.
# If you do a short 15 XP quest, you can use your crafts to make a minion manifested from something in your heart. Then you can kill it to remove that thing. Or you can use it for other purposes.
# If you do a short 15 XP quest, you can create a labyrinth or hidden world, a twisted space that expresses something about your heart. Like a Persona dungeon.
[SENTIMENTAL]
# If you have a level 3+ Connection to something or someone, or a Bond or a Perk that mentions it, it counts as a Treasure.
# You can appear in ghostly form around your treasures while you sleep, or see through its senses, or perceive their dreams. You can telepathically speak to it, and you can do this at any distance.
# You can help your treasure resist any outside influences that you do not share, you can help them move, and they can call upon your abilities/MP/knowledge/powers, but only while you are present in ghost form.
# If you spend 1 MP, you can do the former while you're awake, but you can't do anything from the latter (save that your support counts as a +1 Tool (and 1 Edge).
# Whenever a Treasure "calls" to you or needs you, you hear or feel it.
# By going on a short 15 XP quest, you can make a location or an animal a +1 Tool, or teach someone a Superior Skill 2. You could also do this to unlock their "true form" or "true power." This improvement only lasts as long as that quest fills one of your four quest "slots."
Quests
Under Siege: 1/9
Art Shop And Garden 3/21
The Hidden Room 0/21</s>
<|message|>Jasper Inkra
The sky sharpens to blue long before the sun comes over the distant mountains. Light enough to write by.
As soon as she'd seen Shokyou's blank notebook she'd begged for it, and she didn't regret it. Not only was it a treasure in its own right, imitating Dulcinea's process of writing everything down in real time was as relaxing as she'd imagined it to be. Her pens flowed, curling past each other in intricate dance, a waterfall of celestial calligraphy. The first hand was dedicated to marking all the strange flows of physical sensation, the second was detailing everyone she'd met here so far, their traits and possible interactions, the third was reflecting on the place itself and the strange manifestations of physical law, and the fourth held a large mug of corrupting acid Shokyou called 'orange juice' to her lips. She reflected in motion, like a sky caught in a mountaintop river.
She paused and looked up at the sun as it crested the horizon, pursing her lips thoughtfully, tapping her self-pen against her lips as the others continued to write.
She sun turned around and went back the way it came, dipping back below the horizon.
Never backwards, never down, unmoving am I, the worlds are drawn to me, bound by me, the center point, I will hold them close and bring them love and never ever fall
The self-pen lowered back to the paper and noted its observations on the return of the water-response. It continued to do so until the sun rose over the horizon for the second time, and the pain in her chest loosened a little.
Finally, as Shokyou blearily emerges from the little house with a bowl of cereal, she folds away her arms and closes the notebook. She took a deep breath and her mind cleared in a moment, organizing and clarifying. She was again called to duty. She took a perverse little pleasure in standing and giving a formal bow to Shokyou - she'd never been outranked before, but such was the nature of being a guest. She had already come to the conclusion that Shokyou was a Buddha - who else could live so simply? Who else could seem so tranquil?
She needed to be careful. Buddhas were dangerous.
She accepts the cereal and starts to diligently eat it using her pens as chopsticks, not understanding the significance of the spoon that came with it. As the taste sets in she stares at it in shock for a moment.
"There really are infinite varieties of ramen," she murmurs. "Thank you for your gift, Awakened One."</s>
<|message|>Dulcinea d'Avignon, Nightmare's Angel
JOURNAL ENTRY NUMBER: ACTUALLY, SCREW IT
What a disaster. I can't believe I'm in a position where I have to be grateful to Shoykyo. Guh. Gah. Urgh. Noises. Just barely spared the agony of having to explain what a 'Ninja Gaiden' is and how that factors into the sorting of good or bad 'bzzzts'. I mean, what was I gonna do, tell her to go back to walking around in the rain? Little idiot doesn't understand her own mortality down here. She's so cute, though. I can't stand it.
Regardless! My real problem right now is this overwhelming compulsion I feel to join a musical competition despite the fact that I
a) can't dance
b) can't sing
c) have zero (0) sense of rhyme or rhythm
d) hate it when other people look at me
So anyway yeah obviously I'm just going to do a cover. I could build a machine to spit mad bars and maybe, like, some kind of hell pony to autotune whinny my backup vocals and draw the most perfect vision of my innermost thoughts into lyrics out from the purest crystals on earth, but... y'know, like, I've got plenty enough to be getting on with already. That's why instead of that, I'll be testing out my Adaptive Suit. It's the very latest in both Adaptive and Suit technology!
Well actually point of fact it's not so much a 'suit' as it is a... hm, what's the word? Oh yes, a bio-mechanical, chitinous exoskeleton. It's got morphic camouflage features and mechanically perfect muscle memory recorders, such that it can always repeat back the physical motion you intended instead of the one your dorky useless body actually wound up doing! With a sufficient power source, it could even enable voice alterations and project upwards of seven independent Solid Holograms (Soligrams) for much more intricate choreographs. Plus! And this is the really good part! The shoulder spikes spit acid! The feet have retractable dewclaws! And on top of that for some reason it can also spontaneously grow human-scale dragonfly wings capable of limited flight.
So you may be expecting this part to be my project right now. But you are wrong, Hypothetical Journal Rinely Person! Point of fact, the Adaptive Suit is already built! I finished it a month ago, actually, put it through all its initial tests. Works perfectly, except that it's very power hungry. And, uh, by default? It draws energy by feeding on the unwilling flesh of the wearer. Which is... you know? Not? Ideal?? So instead I'm spending my time trying to develop an alternate energy supply. See, first I'm gonna...
Actually, wait. Wait wait wait. Hold up. Why do I already have something like this? Usefulness notwithstanding, it's a heck of a coincidence to have something so bizarrely purpose built for something I didn't see coming until last ni-- hm. beerb, checking my archives for a sec.
JOURNAL ENTRY NUMBER A MONTH AGO (THE RETROACTIVE ONE)
"She got me," Retroactive Dulcinea said of the Wishing Machine. "That f***ing Shoykyo boomed me."
Dulcinea added, "She's so good," repeating it four times.
Dulcinea then said she wanted to add Shoukyo to the list of people she competes with in a music contest next month.
JOURNAL ENTRY NUMBER ?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!
I gosh darned KNEW it! That stupid wishing machine! I swear to... how did somebody like her even BUILD something like th-- I just! Do you have any idea how hard it was to build the Nightmare Engine? And I mean, like, I really don't mind the comparisons at all, even though the Engine is literally incomparable and therefore any such attempts to are pointless by their very nature. I don't mind! I don't! I just don't understand HOW it works. Or WHY. Whydoit? Mark my words, there's something incredibly fishy going on here. And I'm not talking about the lake. Or the fishery. Or the eel farm. Or the... you know what? There's a lot of fish here, now that I think about it. That's weird, right? I should look into this!
Regardless!
The true tragedy here is the realization that I've just had an entire project thrown into my lap from outside the proper flow of time by a wish, which means I'm probably going to lose it when it's done enabling all this nonsense. But I'm not going to let it get me down! Temporary or not, the Adaptive Suit will still be an excellent test of the Theoretical Sympathetic Cables, and my third (3rd) attempt at generating a stable portal to the realm of eternal Nightmare. Last time everything exploded because all of my cabling got caught on things it shouldn't have and destabilized my experiments before they were finished drawing on the UNLIMITED POWER OF THE VOID, AHAHAHAHA... oh dear.
The, uh, the point is... well I mean, kind of that thing I said? With functionally unlimited, if slightly horrible and distinctly icky tasting power to draw on, the Adaptive Suit should fully realize my vision for this contest with power and functionality to spare. I won't win, I should think, but now that I know why I'm here I don't really care about that anymore. In fact, I'd have have a mind to blow the whole thing off, except personal experience has taught me that when wishes are being granted it's best to just ride the wave until it passes. I've gone against them before. That's, uh... story for another entry, yeah? It wasn't pretty, I'll tell me that.
Double Regardless!
I am determined to be able to stabilize this portal, because it would make material gathering vastly simpler if I could just step into the world of everybody's collective bad dreams instead of needing to keep cutting my way in there any time I need a cup of xorth angles or whatever. And just think about how many inventions I could build without needing to design power sources! Incredible. The knowledge is worth the risk. The plan is to fully shield this one except for the small holes I'll need to connect the Theoretical end of the Sympathetic Cables to. I'll write the runes with the intent that the portal will be self collapsing inside of three (3) weeks.
It's going to work this time. Everything's going to be perfect...</s>
| <|message|>Mila Mesmer.
Seizhi is of course, totally able to be in both. That's because, as a magician's assistant (or rather the dance equivilent, which means a bit more of precise movement and a bit less of actual deathtraps) she's there to be distracting and occasionally put in a box which is then chainsawed apart. Though Mila did scrap that idea, in the end. But, the point remains: we want to make sure that Seizhi is able to be fairly passive during the dance, which is why she's able to put together a fairly regal, but incredibly distracting, outfit inspired by a peacock, what with the train of fabric made to look like feathers.
Next to that, her own outfit fades into the background. Just as planned. She's got a tiny top hat set at a jaunty angle, a jacket with tails and just enough subtle sparkly bits sewn into it to be pretty. Fairly normal suspenders with tiny eye diagrams, black pants, she's there to actually do the dance and the pyrotechnics, and not mix up which is which. That's the plan at least. She... doesn't know much about the pyrotechnics side of things. Which is why she's trying to find another person to help out. And it's... not going great. Who knew trying to avoid knowing people would backfire?</s> |
<|description|>Regiments
The role play takes place in a setting modeled after 19th century Europe. Armies are primarily composed of musketeers and cavalry with artillery support, although each may be further divided into subcategories. I will try to detail some roles below but troop composition, equipment, and their purposes may be chosen at your discretion. You will command up to four regiments. Infantry regiments contain 3000 men, cavalry regiments contain 1500 men and horses, and artillery regiments contain 50 men with 5 cannons.
Line Infantry: Line infantry are the bread and butter of any nation's army. Typically armed with a musket and bayonet, these men fire in unison directly at a target. They are vulnerable to cavalry charges, especially when flanked. Although they can assume square formation to fend off cavalry it makes them vulnerable to artillery fire.
Skirmishers: Skirmishers are equipped with rifles that have superior range. Unfortunately they take longer to reload and as such they are not ideal for sustained combat. Skirmishers are used to harass the enemy, pick off important personnel, and screen the main force.
Cuirassiers: These heavy cavalry get their name from the cuirasses they wear. They are armed with swords which give them sustainability in a fight.
Lancers: Lancers wield polearms and are ideal for breaking enemy formations. Their weapons are unwieldy in close combat, however, and they are suitable in sustained combat.
Dragoons: Dragoons are mounted infantry. They generally ride into battle on horseback, then dismount to fight as line infantry, making them effective at reinforcing critical locations. Some are equipped with carbines and so can fire and reload from horseback.
Hussars: Hussars are light cavalrymen armed with sabers. They are very quick and ideal for chasing down routed enemies or overrunning artillery positions.
Artillery: Artillery is classified by the weight of the projectile they fire. Many fire 6lber, 12lber, or even 32 lber payloads. Any cannon which fires 12lber or below may be drawn by cavalry to quickly move around the field. Anything over 12lbers may not be moved once the battle has begun.
Bio
`[u][b]Name[/b][/u]: Any names and titles the character may go by.
[u][b]Physical[/b][/u]: A physical description of the character, including gender, height, weight, eye color, hair color, skin color, etc.
[u][b]Description[/b][/u]: A brief history or description of the character.
[u][b]Nation[/b][/u]: The name of your nation or faction and a brief history or description.
[u][b]Regiments[/b][/u]: Please list your regiments below. I have provided an example below.`
18th Valland Dragoons: When the Coalition Wars began the King of Valland handpicked some of the frontier's rowdiest hunters. These men were drawn together and currently make up the 18th Valland Dragoons. Equipped with muskets, these men ride into battle on horseback and dismount where the fighting is heaviest, reinforcing their allies and hitting the enemy with deadly accuracy. When Valland's army capitulated to the Emperor the 18th went to serve the Gauldic Empire, but their loyalties may yet lie with the Allies...</s>
<|message|>Friedrich, Duke von Nordmann,
Duke Friedrich allowed his Brigade to occupy the center of the valley. He allowed them to establish camp rearward or in the direction of where they just marched from. He would leave the regimental commanders to post a picket screen and guard rotation near the center of the field. They would serve as an early warning in case Marion's imperial army arrived during the night or early morning. He also ordered jaegers to conduct squad sized patrols both left and right of the valley to conduct reconnaissance as well.
"Herr Oberst von Kerpin, since your regiment is on the left flank, use your jaegers to patrol the northern woods," Duke Friedrich spoke to the 50-year-old colonel with a monocle in his left eye. Then he turned to the youngest colonel in his Brigade. "Herr Oberst Göttisheim, your regiment will be on the right. Send your jaegers into the southern forest. Rotate your line units on picket duty about one hour per kompanie. Herr Oberst von Schmidt, your regiment will have center of the line. Ensure your men get a good night's rest, we expect to meet the enemy in the morning." Duke Friedrich stood to leave then addressed the Grenadier Guards commander, "Viktor, you are in command of the Brigade in my absence. I will need Hauptmann Jodel to accompany me to the commander's tent. I do enjoy his penmanship." Friedrich smiled at the slightly taller man. "Before we left Vollen, Generalleutnant Schwerin told me the eyes of the world were upon us. We must not let them down. Hold up the honor of the Halldorian Empire."
Friedrich left the tent, quickly joining up with Hauptmann Jodel. "Alfred, Wie gehtenSie, herr Haupmann?" The Duke asked the Captain how he was doing as he approached.
"Mir geht is gut, mein herr," the Captain responded he was good to his commander as he saluted. The Brigade commander returned the salute and the two men marched to the commander's tent. He wondered how is allied commanders would be while walking to the tent. He planned to post three line regiments abreast with Battalion frontage. The first and second battalions would stand one in front of the other with the jaeger battalions forming regimental reserves. He fully expected to use the Royal Grenadier Guards in reserve and would be posted near wherever the Horsemen from the Dusmane Khanate were posted. They would inevitably support the cavalry during their advance, when the time came. He mentally prepared himself for the deployment of the Gauldic Artillery battery.
Friedrich and Alfred entered the commander's tent and took a seat, waiting for their allies. Alfred offered his commander a bite of his schnapps. "Jawohl, mein Hauptmann. Vielen dank."</s>
<|message|>Iouldouz Edicoglu Khan
The Dusmane were strangers in a strange land. They were objects of curiosity, everything from their dress to their physical appearance to their language being alien to the rest of the allied army, and they more or less felt the same. Until this war, the vast majority of the nomads had never left their native steppe and likewise nobody visited it. Though the outside world was alien to him, the Khan of the Dusmane answered the call to arms of the parent Empire he was bound to and sent a formidable if outdated force under the command of one of his cousins.
For most of the war they were almost entirely dedicated to harassing logistics of the foe as well as destroying both reinforcements and running down retreats with no mercy given. They knew the enemy saw them as savages so they capitalized upon this. Helmeted heads of cuirassiers dangled from their horses, while the well-hatted faces of officers were pierced with hunting spears so that many an enemy's last sight would be the death mask of their comrade. But as ever they reached into the enemy's heartland their assignments morphed from those of a guerilla campaign into those of this century's uniformed cavalry. It was hard for them to adapt, but they did and they became stronger for it.
Personally, Iouldouz found himself to slowly morph into one of the pale people. So much time with them gave him a taste for their spirits rather than the kumis he spent his life drinking, and he could not deny their dress wasn't as uncomfortable as many of his kinsmen claimed. But he was still in his heart a Dusmane and he'd lead his people to glory today under their stretched hide banner. He ordered his men to make merry, to drink and laugh and sing and dance for today may well be the last day they could do so. The Khan had heard of the Emperor's unparalleled tactical acumen and Iouldouz would be a liar if he said he wasn't frightened of that day to come. This day would be perhaps the first where the Emperor was truly beaten in open battle; all prior victories against him were pyrrhic and often strategic defeats, or were not done in open battle and rather in guerilla campaigns as the Dusmane had mastered.
After uttering a prayer to Father Sky and taking a sip of the foreign firewater, Iouldouz entered the command tent. He was dressed in traditional furs of his folk, though as a courtesy to the foreigners he wrapped them in a way reminiscent to that which they wore them, along with a neckerchief, perfume, and a few other accessories common to them. His right hand man Tyrgutai made no such concessions, in fact making himself as wild as possible in sight, sound and smell (partially out of spite for the poncey bastards). Still more used to sitting upon rugs on the ground, Iouldouz nevertheless took a seat rather graciously after bowing, waiting for the other members of the alliance to arrive. The warrior had some general ideas for strategy, though they all were grounded in the assumption that his comrades were bold and risk taking fellows which - as far as he saw - they had to be if they had any hope of beating the enemy. After all, everyone who had tried beating the Emperor conventionally had failed. Thus it came upon the men assembled to beat them in an unorthodox manner, and the presence of the Chieftain was a posteriori proof.</s>
<|message|>Major. Julian Mackeralini
The ragtag men and boys of the Gauldin regiments marched towards the camp slowly, most of them worn from the running and fighting they each had to do to get out of their homeland. They had succeeded in victory, but now it was time for them to fight once more, and possibly for their last time. Their leader, Major Mackeralini, sat on an artillery horse at the front of one of the cannon trains. He was riding it until they got into the camp. Families followed with soldiers, and the wounded were piled on the ammo trains or dragged on sheets that were on the ground.
They would begin setting up their camp almost in silence, the carriages mainly forming two small circles which a lot of the families were placed inside, small fires being lit in them and around them as people began unpacking themselves. They had fought and run through many countries as exiles, and they were worn and tired. Some of the men, mainly those who were educated or soldiers before their exile, began spread out through the entire camp trying to find supplies and surgeons for the wounded. Trading when they could to get help the rest of their fellow countrymen. They knew that their last days could be upon them at any moment, or that they may see their country become something amazing once again.
Major Mackeralini dismounted the horse and started towards the command tent, he himself was wounded, but he would not let anyone but a few see him down; he did not want what was left of the moral to be shattered by a small limp. When he entered the tent, he had sat down with one of the more educated men in his company following him in, it was just some random merchant, but it was the closest thing to an aide he had at that point.
He found himself a place to sit and looked at the other men at the table, wondering if it was just them being commanders against his old mentor. "Is this it, are we the only ones to stand against the Devil?" he asked softly in his native language to his aide, forgetting that these were most likely educated men around him. "If so, I fear for us... is this just the initial skirmishing force to pave the way for a drawn-out war against him, we do not know how much he has left... he had been chasing us since we were exiled. But tell them thank you for coming to the need of a nation at its worst hours."
The aide looked saddened by his commander, "It is possibly the force to hold them while the countries around us unite forces... we must be a bastion to protect them." the aide said as he nodded to his commander, looking to others at the table.
The aide smiled a bit and looked at them, he would be acting as a translator between his commander and the others if they did not know his. "The Major is saddened that this force looks small to him, but he thanks all of you for coming to his nation's side when it is needed most, that they have lost their way under its new tyrant."</s>
| <|message|>Regiments
Whether there was historical bad blood between the assembled forces or not, they were united in common cause to face an enemy stronger than any of them. Those forces under the command of the Duke of Nordmann carried out their tasks without molestation from the enemy. But that wasn't to say the enemy did not establish pickets themselves. They did not show any signs of aggression, however, and were only deployed to scan for signs of an advance. It seemed that Franciso Marion intended to keep a watch on his opponents, but his army would rest for the night and they would not advance until the following day.
The Allied commanders had all found their way to the central tent. Once the formalities were over they could each explain what their respective forces would do in the coming battle. The map that lay before them was fairly simple. The battlefield would be big enough to fit their entire force comfortably, still allowing room for maneuvers. Additionally they knew the width of the battlefield would allow their artillery - if placed at the top of their ridge - would be able to reach the other side of the valley easily.
Everyone who had faced Emperor in battle might be familiar with his tactics. For starters, he favored grand batteries: deploying the majority of his guns in a single location to wreak havoc on enemy positions. Naturally, the Allies might expect the Emperor to deploy his guns on the top of the eastern ridge.
Next, the Emperor would launch general advances across the enemy lines to determine where it was weak and where it was strong. And where it was weak the Emperor would deploy his Imperial Guards to punch a hole before rolling up the enemy line. The Imperial Guards were handpicked by the Emperor and his Marshals. They were some of the toughest, most experienced, and disciplined troops in the world. When the Imperial Guards advanced they did not stop; no army had ever routed them. Would that change in the Battle of the Nations?
Of course the Emperor did scout and probe the enemy with his cavalry. But in battle their main function was to support the infantry, flanking the enemy lines and exploiting holes where possible. In some cases they were able to plow through formations after the Emperor bombarded the positions with his artillery.
To start, perhaps the Allied officers should determine where they would deploy themselves behind the ridge, because once they crossed the top they would potentially be under fire from enemy artillery.</s> |
<|description|>Regiments
The role play takes place in a setting modeled after 19th century Europe. Armies are primarily composed of musketeers and cavalry with artillery support, although each may be further divided into subcategories. I will try to detail some roles below but troop composition, equipment, and their purposes may be chosen at your discretion. You will command up to four regiments. Infantry regiments contain 3000 men, cavalry regiments contain 1500 men and horses, and artillery regiments contain 50 men with 5 cannons.
Line Infantry: Line infantry are the bread and butter of any nation's army. Typically armed with a musket and bayonet, these men fire in unison directly at a target. They are vulnerable to cavalry charges, especially when flanked. Although they can assume square formation to fend off cavalry it makes them vulnerable to artillery fire.
Skirmishers: Skirmishers are equipped with rifles that have superior range. Unfortunately they take longer to reload and as such they are not ideal for sustained combat. Skirmishers are used to harass the enemy, pick off important personnel, and screen the main force.
Cuirassiers: These heavy cavalry get their name from the cuirasses they wear. They are armed with swords which give them sustainability in a fight.
Lancers: Lancers wield polearms and are ideal for breaking enemy formations. Their weapons are unwieldy in close combat, however, and they are suitable in sustained combat.
Dragoons: Dragoons are mounted infantry. They generally ride into battle on horseback, then dismount to fight as line infantry, making them effective at reinforcing critical locations. Some are equipped with carbines and so can fire and reload from horseback.
Hussars: Hussars are light cavalrymen armed with sabers. They are very quick and ideal for chasing down routed enemies or overrunning artillery positions.
Artillery: Artillery is classified by the weight of the projectile they fire. Many fire 6lber, 12lber, or even 32 lber payloads. Any cannon which fires 12lber or below may be drawn by cavalry to quickly move around the field. Anything over 12lbers may not be moved once the battle has begun.
Bio
`[u][b]Name[/b][/u]: Any names and titles the character may go by.
[u][b]Physical[/b][/u]: A physical description of the character, including gender, height, weight, eye color, hair color, skin color, etc.
[u][b]Description[/b][/u]: A brief history or description of the character.
[u][b]Nation[/b][/u]: The name of your nation or faction and a brief history or description.
[u][b]Regiments[/b][/u]: Please list your regiments below. I have provided an example below.`
18th Valland Dragoons: When the Coalition Wars began the King of Valland handpicked some of the frontier's rowdiest hunters. These men were drawn together and currently make up the 18th Valland Dragoons. Equipped with muskets, these men ride into battle on horseback and dismount where the fighting is heaviest, reinforcing their allies and hitting the enemy with deadly accuracy. When Valland's army capitulated to the Emperor the 18th went to serve the Gauldic Empire, but their loyalties may yet lie with the Allies...</s>
<|message|>Friedrich, Duke von Nordmann,
Halldorian Infantry preparing to receive a Gauldic advance
Duke von Nordmann spoke first. He addressed the assembled retinue. "I am Brigadier Friedrich von Nordman, Duke von Nordman of the Halldor Empire. I have served in prior campaigns in the service of Herr Francisco Marion, following his imprisonment a year and a half ago, the Halldor Empire distanced itself from the Gauldic empire and its previous commitments with that mad man. I know he is a tenacious ruler and combatant. This contest we find ourselves in today will be as challenging as any each of us may have ever encountered in our lives. I have worked under the command of the emperor. He is not to be taken lightly. Any stories you may have heard about him, his reputation. They are all true. He is that good." Duke Friedrich took out a smoking pipe, filled it with tobacco and lit it. The pipe was made from hickory and the tobacco had a cherry flavor to it which quickly scented the interior of the tent.
"Today, we have my brigade of infantry; about 12,000 strong, 6,000 Dusmane Cavalry, some of the most feared warriors on the continent, a battery of Gauldic artillery and…" Friedrich turned to Major Mackeralini, "how would you best describe your ragtag group of soldiers? They appear to be line infantry, but their numbers are depleted. How can we employ them in this campaign?"
"I intend to deploy two line battalions of my 1st regiment under the command of Colonel Klaus von Kerpin on the far left of the line. They will be positioned behind the military crest; with the first battalion in the lead and the second battalion fifty meters behind the first. Next, is ample room for Major Mackeralini's artillery. To the right of the artillery will be Colonel Hans von Schmidt's second regiment. His two battalions of fusiliers will be arrayed in the same manner as von Kerpin's First. On our far right will be Colonel Joachim Göttisheim's Third regiment. All three Line regiments will post their first battalions in the prone position to help conceal their location to the Imperial forces on the other side of the valley." Duke Friedrich then added, "yes, the line infantry and the grenadiers will all have bayonets fixed, naturally."
Duke Friedrich puffed on his pipe then looked at Iouldouz Khan, "there is ample room on the allied right for your cavalry. I am prepared to present you with two battalions of Halldor Royal Grenadier Guards under the command of Colonel Viktor Schneider. They can amply support your advance. Or we can use the Guards regiment as our Allied reserve. In either case, whether the dusmane Auxilliaries or the Halldorian Infantry break the enemy formation, the Royal Grenadier Guards are prepared to exploit that position."
"For those who are aware of the organization of the Halldorian infantry regiments, you may notice I failed to mention our light infantry battalions or Jaegers. We have four Jaeger battalions that work much better in wooded terrain. We have the luxury of having natural forest on both flanks. Marion may or may not send troops into the forest. In either case, we should be prepared for either the enemy employing light infantry on our flanks or for our use to outflank the enemy when they advance. It is not a matter of if they advance, but when. Depending on Major Mackeralini's intentions with his light infantry force, he can either employ them in the woods to the south with the Jaeger battalion from the Royal Grenadier Guards regiment or I will post two Jaeger battalions in each of the two woodlots. They can enter the forest at a location west of our positions in order to remain undetected by the enemy. Then, by using their stealth, move east to a position only about a hundred meter, maybe two hundred beyond the forward edge of our line infantry. When the Gauldic attack, they will stop about a hundred meters from the crest to discharge a volley, if using infantry. It is at that time, that the Halldorian line will stand up to exchange volleys with the Gauldic infantry. When the two lines are exchanging volleys, this is the perfect time for the light infantry on both flanks to attack the enemy line in a double envelopment. If the enemy attacks with cavalry first, which is what I honestly expect, we will form battalion squares. The first battalion, von Kerpin regiment is prepared to encircle the Gauldic artillery battery to protect them from attacking cavalry. Once their cavalry charge is broken, we will reform lines and prepare for their infantry assault which should be followed close on the heels of their cavalry."
Duke Friedrich stopped speaking and allowed input from the other two allied commanders at the table. He honesty wanted to hear their input. Given the terrain and the anticipated objective of the enemy, he felt a strong defense was the best strategic approach for the given battle. But if the Dusmane Khan wanted a more aggressive or audacious plan, he was willing to listen.</s>
<|message|>Iouldouz Edicoglu Khan
Iouldouz had a rudimentary understanding of all the languages spoken in the structure, but he was not an expert in any of them and for that there was a third man with him, the interpreter Ruslan Kulambetov. A man from a mixed family living in between worlds, he relayed the thoughts of his Khan to the rest of the commanders in an eloquent but understandable way.
"In theory a good outline for how we'll do battle. But ultimately I believe it flawed on the basis that once again it is an attempt at playing the game against the house, that being the Emperor. In my opinion the man needs to be baited. Early at dawn we will push artillery forward and bombard them as much as possible; I will devote my horsemen to carrying fresh powder and balls if needed, we must make it seem as if our logistics are far greater than they have been and that thus we are ready to carelessly use our munitions with the aim of forcing an advance before his men are bombed to mush. His reaction should be monitored, and if he does not respond to the ceaseless bombardment then we should cease; it should be made to appear that this was bluff for the reason that our logistics were in fact abysmal, rather than excelsior as in the previous bluff or simply adequate as is the truth. This in turn would hopefully make him press an over-aggressive assault on the assumption our munitions have run out."
Steepling his fingers, Iouldouz paused thoughtfully. "Of course, this gamble of a mind game may not pay off. In such a case we must seize the initiative and attempt to end the battle before the effects careless use of ammunition starts to become noticeable. Quite simply put the line infantry would thus be made to advance in as wide a line as possible, with cavalry and skirmishers sent to advance aggressively on the flanks. The skirmishers should be given to not engage the enemy's skirmishers in the woods if possible, and to simply advance further such that the foe may be enveloped, and struck from all sides. Furthermore, if possible the cavalry should not engage the rear of the foe's infantry formation but rather ride past fire and to the enemy's artillery if the gaps can be found."
With that he shrugged. "Of course, I am but one of this collective, and I cannot insist on a plan without the consent of the other commanders. I shall be more than happy to go along with the plan of the most honourable von Nordmann, albeit I warn my men are most adept in engagements that are not too long. They're not afraid of gunfire as some colonial tribals, but their nerves do crack under too many cannons set against them."</s>
<|message|>Major. Julian Mackeralini
The Major looked over at the horseman and shook his head after his translator whispered in his ear, "We don't know how many men he has... baiting him could be suicide, and don't forget we seem to be more of a force awaiting allied reinforcements... or at least a strong mountain to try and stall him here."
He rested back into the chair he was in and looked at his translator. "having fought under the man as his subordinate with the man, we will be facing an enemy who will try to overwhelm us, he knows how to change his units orders to adjust to battle quickly."
He paused, "First he will decide where he will break us, and make sure when his guard, that he will march forward and that the enemy will run... they will take no losses. They are elite enough to where when I fought your people before Horse Lord that I didn't even need to duck in fear for being shot as the flank routed when we marched forward with them when the officer we are facing was ill."
He took a deep breath, "We turn his tactics of fear against them... we should make our stand just before the hill and build trenches and maybe a way for our cannons to be flush with the hill to shoot over them, let the recoil push them back into a state of protection. It will not protect us from his howitzers, but it should protect us from direct missile fire."
"Oh and tell the Halldorian that the militia is more as a baggage train for logistics... we should use them as surgeons, water bearers and such... let the ones with guns fight where they are needed or protect the guns, maybe build more entrenchments during the fighting if we aren't done preparing."
"But I say we try to dig ourselves in as much as possible... and reserving as of our elite soldiers as well as our horsemen, use your dragoons as quick response foot infantry... Use your Dusmane horsemen as shock troops or some flanking force if it presents itself through the first rank of national guardsmen he will most likely use to blunt our first attempts. Maybe when and if their first rank flees, we chase them down and use them as cover from their second wave and artillery. Force him to send his reserves forward while we try routing him... we can start digging ourselves in further forward in confusion, make him range his guns again, and waste whatever powder he has left. You are all thinking like the commanders that had to retreat... if it was you that I fought in the past, then I am sorry for the offense, but that is how you are thinking... He knows all of us; you are all great leaders whom he has studied before, I was one of his officers, he knows us... He knows our strengths, our weaknesses, how to make us tick and if he is like what I remember him to be we have to think outside of our boxes. But I know his, I fought with him against you... probably all of you, and I am sorry for rambling like a chastized bull. Still, we are thinking like the average officers at an academy using basic tactics that we have all learned before at some academy or from our fathers or peers..."
"We are going against a force we know little about, a commander who has either trained or beat probably all of us in battle, and who probably outnumbers us... We should be on the cautious side and adapt to what we are presented... not just rush into a field where we will by far superior artillery... and the forests where we don't know if his scouts are already there waiting for us while we sit here."</s>
| <|message|>Regiments
It was at the discretion of each commander where they would place their units behind the hill in the morning, prior to the battle. The center, the north wing, the south wing, or at the rear in reserve - generally speaking. As the battle took shape they may reorganize their units before sending them over the hill to engage the enemy. What really needed to be decided now was Major Julian's idea of entrenchments. Would the Allied commanders agree to entrenching their positions?</s> |
<|description|>Friedrich, Duke von Nordmann,
Physical: Friedrich is a 41 year old man of noble birth who stands 6' 1" in height (185 cm) and weighs 200 Lbs (90.7 Kg). He has blue eyes and dirty blonde hair that has receded to baldness. He still has a U-shape of hair surrounding his head, but completely bald at the top. His fair complexion ruddied from years of draining bottles of wine and beer.
Description: Benefitting from a life of comfort, Friedrich has received a gentleman's education in mathematics, engineering, literature, culture, languages and military arts; both personal combat and the art of tactical maneuvering. Freidrich focuses on the business at hand when it is necessary. He will allow levity into his conversation when he believes it is necessary. He enjoys imbibing in beer and wine. When intoxicated, he is normally a happy drunk; the life of the party. Occasionally, he can be an angry drunk yelling at people for irrational reasons. The alcohol will be the death of him one day, if a musket ball does not get him first.
Nation: The Halldor Empire.
Regiments:
Line Regiment von Kerpin, Nr. 1 (Oberst Klaus von Kerpin)
I Abteilung, Line Regt. Nr. 1 (Oberst Lt. Werner Mansheim)
II Abteilung, Line Regt. Nr. 1 (Oberst Lt. Kurt von Göttigen)
III Abteilung, Line Regt. Nr. 1 (Oberst Lt. Johann Pepin)
Line Regiment von Schmidt, Nr. 2 (Oberst Hans von Schmidt)
I Abteilung, Line Regt. Nr. 2 (Oberst Lt. Micheal Wolff)
II Abteilung, Line Regt. Nr. 2 (Oberst Lt. Phillip von Kleist)
III Abteilung, Line Regt. Nr. 2 (Oberst Lt. Johann Busse)
Line Regiment Göttisheim, Nr. 3 (Oberst Joachim Göttisheim)
I Abteilung, Line Regt. Nr. 3 (Oberst Lt. Stefan Muller)
II Abteilung, Line Regt. Nr. 3 (Oberst Lt. Karl Oskar)
III Abteilung, Line Regt. Nr. 3 (Oberst Lt. Henry Blecker)
Royal Grenadier Guards Regiment Schneider Nr. 16 (Oberst Viktor Schneider)
I Abteilung, Royal Grenadier Gds Regt. Nr. 16 (Oberst Lt. Augustus Gerhard)
II Abteilung, Royal Grenadier Guards Regt. Nr. 16 (Oberst Lt. Leon Hofmann)
III Abteilung, Royal Grenadier Guards Regt. Nr. 16 (Oberst Lt. Theo Seidlitz)Regimental Organization
Each of the three Line Regiments are organized in the same manner. The Royal Grenadier Guards Regiment is organized slightly different. Each regiment has three battalions (abteilungs). The first and second battalions have six companies of the line and the third battalion consists of four light (Jaeger) companies.
The Regimental Staff, including the Regimental Commander numbers 40 men.
The Jaeger (Light) infantry companies provide skirmishers, foragers and reconnaissance forces who may provide screening forces when needed. Each man stands no more than 5' 7" tall. He is nimble and quick on his feet, good at tracking and moving through built up or wooded terrain.
The Grenadier (Heavy) infantry companies provide shock and awe in charging the enemy formations. They are generally held in reserve, used to assault enemy defenses at the critical time of the battle. Each man stands at least 5' 10" tall. He is large and an aggressive fighter.
Abteilung I has 1080 men
Fusilier Kompanie Nr. 1 has 180 men
Fusilier Kompanie Nr. 2 has 180 men
Fusilier Kompanie Nr. 3 has 180 men
Fusilier Kompanie Nr. 4 has 180 men
Fusilier Kompanie Nr. 5 has 180 men
Fusilier Kompanie Nr. 6 has 180 men
Abteilung II has 1080 men
Fusilier Kompanie Nr. 7 has 180 men
Fusilier Kompanie Nr. 8 has 180 men
Fusilier Kompanie Nr. 9 has 180 men
Fusilier Kompanie Nr. 10 has 180 men
Fusilier Kompanie Nr. 11 has 180 men
Fusilier Kompanie Nr. 12 has 180 men
Abteilung III has 800 men
Jaeger Kompanie Nr. 13 has 200 men
Jaeger Kompanie Nr. 14 has 200 men
Jaeger Kompanie Nr. 15 has 200 men
Jaeger Kompanie Nr. 16 has 200 men
The Royal Grenadier Guards Regiment is organized in the same manner as the line regiments with Grenadier Kompanies instead of Fusilier Kompanies.Uniforms
Line Regiment von Kerpin, Nr. 1 (Oberst Klaus von Kerpin)
White coat, buttoned to the waist, white trousers with knee high black gaitors.
Black shako, with brass hat badge. The hat badge has a black eagle emblazoned upon it and the Number 1 at the top. There is a colored plume immediately above the hat badge.
The Number 1 Regiment uses light green for the trim, cuffs and high collar. A golden 1 is embroidered on the right side of the collar.
Line Regiment von Schmidt, Nr. 2 (Oberst Hans von Schmidt)
White coat, buttoned to the waist, white trousers with knee high black gaitors.
Black shako, with brass hat badge. The hat badge has a black eagle emblazoned upon it and the Number 2 at the top. There is a colored plume immediately above the hat badge.
The Number 2 Regiment uses navy blue for the trim, cuffs and high collar. A golden 2 is embroidered on the right side of the collar.
Line Regiment Göttisheim, Nr. 3 (Oberst Joachim Göttisheim)
White coat, buttoned to the waist, white trousers with knee high black gaitors.
Black shako, with brass hat badge. The hat badge has a black eagle emblazoned upon it and the Number 3 at the top. There is a colored plume immediately above the hat badge.
The Number 3 Regiment uses forest green for the trim, cuffs and high collar. A golden 3 is embroidered on the right side of the collar.
Jaeger (Light infantry) uniforms
Each regiment has a battalion of Jaegers who all wear the same uniform regardless of regiment.
Forest green coat, buttoned to the waist, and grey trousers with ankle high black gaitors.
The jacket has black trim, cuffs and collar.
Black low mitre cap, with braided silver hat badge. The hat badge has a black eagle emblazoned upon it and the regimental number at the top.
A silver number is embroidered on the right side of the collar designating regiment.
Royal Grenadier Guards Regiment Schneider Nr. 16 (Oberst Viktor Schneider)
White coat, buttoned to the waist, light blue trousers with knee high black gaitors.
Bear fur caps, 30cm at the front tapered to 12cm at the rear, with brass hat badge. The hat badge has a black eagle emblazoned upon it and the Number 16 at the top. There is a colored plume immediately above the hat badge.
The Number 16 Regiment uses red for the trim, cuffs and high collar. A golden 16 is embroidered on the right side of the collar.</s>
<|message|>Iouldouz Edicoglu Khan
Iouldouz had a rudimentary understanding of all the languages spoken in the structure, but he was not an expert in any of them and for that there was a third man with him, the interpreter Ruslan Kulambetov. A man from a mixed family living in between worlds, he relayed the thoughts of his Khan to the rest of the commanders in an eloquent but understandable way.
"In theory a good outline for how we'll do battle. But ultimately I believe it flawed on the basis that once again it is an attempt at playing the game against the house, that being the Emperor. In my opinion the man needs to be baited. Early at dawn we will push artillery forward and bombard them as much as possible; I will devote my horsemen to carrying fresh powder and balls if needed, we must make it seem as if our logistics are far greater than they have been and that thus we are ready to carelessly use our munitions with the aim of forcing an advance before his men are bombed to mush. His reaction should be monitored, and if he does not respond to the ceaseless bombardment then we should cease; it should be made to appear that this was bluff for the reason that our logistics were in fact abysmal, rather than excelsior as in the previous bluff or simply adequate as is the truth. This in turn would hopefully make him press an over-aggressive assault on the assumption our munitions have run out."
Steepling his fingers, Iouldouz paused thoughtfully. "Of course, this gamble of a mind game may not pay off. In such a case we must seize the initiative and attempt to end the battle before the effects careless use of ammunition starts to become noticeable. Quite simply put the line infantry would thus be made to advance in as wide a line as possible, with cavalry and skirmishers sent to advance aggressively on the flanks. The skirmishers should be given to not engage the enemy's skirmishers in the woods if possible, and to simply advance further such that the foe may be enveloped, and struck from all sides. Furthermore, if possible the cavalry should not engage the rear of the foe's infantry formation but rather ride past fire and to the enemy's artillery if the gaps can be found."
With that he shrugged. "Of course, I am but one of this collective, and I cannot insist on a plan without the consent of the other commanders. I shall be more than happy to go along with the plan of the most honourable von Nordmann, albeit I warn my men are most adept in engagements that are not too long. They're not afraid of gunfire as some colonial tribals, but their nerves do crack under too many cannons set against them."</s>
<|message|>Major. Julian Mackeralini
The Major looked over at the horseman and shook his head after his translator whispered in his ear, "We don't know how many men he has... baiting him could be suicide, and don't forget we seem to be more of a force awaiting allied reinforcements... or at least a strong mountain to try and stall him here."
He rested back into the chair he was in and looked at his translator. "having fought under the man as his subordinate with the man, we will be facing an enemy who will try to overwhelm us, he knows how to change his units orders to adjust to battle quickly."
He paused, "First he will decide where he will break us, and make sure when his guard, that he will march forward and that the enemy will run... they will take no losses. They are elite enough to where when I fought your people before Horse Lord that I didn't even need to duck in fear for being shot as the flank routed when we marched forward with them when the officer we are facing was ill."
He took a deep breath, "We turn his tactics of fear against them... we should make our stand just before the hill and build trenches and maybe a way for our cannons to be flush with the hill to shoot over them, let the recoil push them back into a state of protection. It will not protect us from his howitzers, but it should protect us from direct missile fire."
"Oh and tell the Halldorian that the militia is more as a baggage train for logistics... we should use them as surgeons, water bearers and such... let the ones with guns fight where they are needed or protect the guns, maybe build more entrenchments during the fighting if we aren't done preparing."
"But I say we try to dig ourselves in as much as possible... and reserving as of our elite soldiers as well as our horsemen, use your dragoons as quick response foot infantry... Use your Dusmane horsemen as shock troops or some flanking force if it presents itself through the first rank of national guardsmen he will most likely use to blunt our first attempts. Maybe when and if their first rank flees, we chase them down and use them as cover from their second wave and artillery. Force him to send his reserves forward while we try routing him... we can start digging ourselves in further forward in confusion, make him range his guns again, and waste whatever powder he has left. You are all thinking like the commanders that had to retreat... if it was you that I fought in the past, then I am sorry for the offense, but that is how you are thinking... He knows all of us; you are all great leaders whom he has studied before, I was one of his officers, he knows us... He knows our strengths, our weaknesses, how to make us tick and if he is like what I remember him to be we have to think outside of our boxes. But I know his, I fought with him against you... probably all of you, and I am sorry for rambling like a chastized bull. Still, we are thinking like the average officers at an academy using basic tactics that we have all learned before at some academy or from our fathers or peers..."
"We are going against a force we know little about, a commander who has either trained or beat probably all of us in battle, and who probably outnumbers us... We should be on the cautious side and adapt to what we are presented... not just rush into a field where we will by far superior artillery... and the forests where we don't know if his scouts are already there waiting for us while we sit here."</s>
<|message|>Regiments
It was at the discretion of each commander where they would place their units behind the hill in the morning, prior to the battle. The center, the north wing, the south wing, or at the rear in reserve - generally speaking. As the battle took shape they may reorganize their units before sending them over the hill to engage the enemy. What really needed to be decided now was Major Julian's idea of entrenchments. Would the Allied commanders agree to entrenching their positions?</s>
| <|message|>Friedrich, Duke von Nordmann,
Duke Friedrich nearly fell out of his chair upon hearing the suggestion that they dig entrenchments. "Preposterous!" He steadied himself, puffing on his pipe. "A battalion of infantry will hit maybe three or four of the enemy at a hundred yards. The musket ball that comes out the end is not the primary weapon infantry engages with, it has been and remains the bayonet!" He realized these people had no experience with infantry; especially to suggest they dig entrenchments. "We do not have a battalion of pioneers, which would carry wagons with pick-axes and shovels. Besides, if we were dig in our infantry, it would place them at a disadvantage to the enemy. We would then need to charge uphill; the forward slope of the trench in order to attack into the enemy." He thought about it for a moment. "No, sir. We will not dig into the soil." He thought a bit longer, "A series of redoubts might break up an attack, but they would be unnecessary in this ground, unless you would entertain the notion of a series of redoubts more than a few miles behind us. But I do not believe that is what you were suggesting." Duke Friedrich then thought about what the gentleman from the Khanate suggested. "Using cavalry to break up enemy artillery formations is still a solid offering for this group. I would second that suggestion."</s> |
<|description|>Iouldouz Edicoglu Khan
Physical: Though slightly shorter than the average man Iouldouz is nonetheless an intimidating man. Appearing to be somewhere in his thirties he has short cropped black hair with thin mustache and beard. His skin is the shade given by those born pale but nevertheless oft in the sun, while his green-brown eyes have a slight epicanthic fold. His nose if small but flared, while his chin and cheekbones are regally strong. Iouldouz has put some weight on since his true youth with a somewhat noticeable beer belly, though he is still in generally good shape.
Description: Though Iouldouz has no adoration for the Empire he fights for, an oath of loyalty is an oath of loyalty and thus if he is going to go forth and fight he may as well bring as much glory to himself and his men as possible. He is very loyal to his own warriors and as a result is somewhat overly cautious with his troops when lance armed cavalry should instead be very aggressive. That said his tribal romanticism leads him to often be far too close to battle himself, a severe flaw in any battlefield but particularly in a modern one.
Nation: Dusmane Khanate
Regiments: The Dusmane auxiliaries don't follow a strict regimental structure. There are slightly less than 6,000 of them, the men bearing sturdy spears not quite the size of other nation's lances, steppe sabers and compound bows. Jacks of all trades but masters of none, they cannot match lancers, hussars, dragoons or cuirassiers in their own craft. However their flexibility lets them do a wide array of tasks, and so they will usually split into four groups each emulating one of the international standards for Cavalry Regiments in support of one another to allow for a quasi combined arms attack in a single unit.</s>
<|message|>Regiments
The austere cover of night would fall across La Bleue Vallée in only a few hours. Colloquially known as 'the Blue Valley, the vale was an oasis: a marshy, wetland forest sat to the north and a thick woodland anchored itself to the south. It served as the only passable terrain for caravans, armies, and travelers for many miles. Both the western and eastern approach were marked by high rising hills, whose interior slopes created the valley itself. It was wide enough for two full-sized armies to deploy comfortably, without being too restricted by either the marsh or the woodland.
Francisco Marion's Imperial Army had made camp on the exterior slope of the eastern hill, outside the valley. The Allied camp was situated opposite, on the exterior slope of the western hill. The size and composition of both armies were concealed.
Marion had made a name for himself during his country's Revolution, in which he had scored consecutive victories for the Republic against much larger armies, who were better trained and equipped than his own. And it was all due to his brilliance as a commander. Within a few short years the upstart general defeated the Royalists, ousted the royal family, and proclaimed himself Emperor. But his career did not end there.
Surrounding monarchs had watched the Revolution with keen interest, supporting the Royalists with money, arms, and even men. After the civil war Emperor Francisco condemned those nations who opposed him and his supporters. He launched preemptive invasions to subdue his would-be opponents, thrashing their armies time and time again and forcing them to sign unfavorable treaties. Coalitions were proposed and great battles fought, but it seemed as if nothing could stop this invincible opponent.
But Emperor Marion did not account for the terrible winter that had come. His campaign was stalled and he was forced to retreat, pestered by Dusmane horsemen. His route would take him through La Bleue Vallée. The Allies quickly assembled an army to blockade the western pass, and if Francisco wishes to make it home he must break through.
Phase One: Planning
Friedrich, Duke von Nordmann; Iouldouz Edicoglu Khan; Julian Mackeralini. The commanders of the Allied Army. Each one had brought men from their respective nation to partake in this battle, a Battle of the Nations. There were nearly 12,000 infantrymen from the Halldor Empire, a hefty contribution. Then there were approximately 6,000 skilled Dusmane horsemen to complement those infantrymen. Finally a regiment of artillery and a Republican Guard unit from Gauldin itself, fighting for the Allies.
The three armies encamped themselves on the western exterior slope, presenting an obstacle to Emperor Marion's own force, whose size and composition was currently unknown. Of course there was the infantry, cavalry, and artillery which had served the Emperor in his winter campaign, but he had called for reinforcements from surrounding states to assist him.
A central tent was erected in the center of the camp. Within sat a table and chairs, enough to sit the three commanders and their aides. Upon the table was a roughly drawn map of the Blue Valley. It was time for each commander to propose a strategy and determine where they wanted their regiments to be positioned.</s>
<|message|>Friedrich, Duke von Nordmann,
Duke Friedrich allowed his Brigade to occupy the center of the valley. He allowed them to establish camp rearward or in the direction of where they just marched from. He would leave the regimental commanders to post a picket screen and guard rotation near the center of the field. They would serve as an early warning in case Marion's imperial army arrived during the night or early morning. He also ordered jaegers to conduct squad sized patrols both left and right of the valley to conduct reconnaissance as well.
"Herr Oberst von Kerpin, since your regiment is on the left flank, use your jaegers to patrol the northern woods," Duke Friedrich spoke to the 50-year-old colonel with a monocle in his left eye. Then he turned to the youngest colonel in his Brigade. "Herr Oberst Göttisheim, your regiment will be on the right. Send your jaegers into the southern forest. Rotate your line units on picket duty about one hour per kompanie. Herr Oberst von Schmidt, your regiment will have center of the line. Ensure your men get a good night's rest, we expect to meet the enemy in the morning." Duke Friedrich stood to leave then addressed the Grenadier Guards commander, "Viktor, you are in command of the Brigade in my absence. I will need Hauptmann Jodel to accompany me to the commander's tent. I do enjoy his penmanship." Friedrich smiled at the slightly taller man. "Before we left Vollen, Generalleutnant Schwerin told me the eyes of the world were upon us. We must not let them down. Hold up the honor of the Halldorian Empire."
Friedrich left the tent, quickly joining up with Hauptmann Jodel. "Alfred, Wie gehtenSie, herr Haupmann?" The Duke asked the Captain how he was doing as he approached.
"Mir geht is gut, mein herr," the Captain responded he was good to his commander as he saluted. The Brigade commander returned the salute and the two men marched to the commander's tent. He wondered how is allied commanders would be while walking to the tent. He planned to post three line regiments abreast with Battalion frontage. The first and second battalions would stand one in front of the other with the jaeger battalions forming regimental reserves. He fully expected to use the Royal Grenadier Guards in reserve and would be posted near wherever the Horsemen from the Dusmane Khanate were posted. They would inevitably support the cavalry during their advance, when the time came. He mentally prepared himself for the deployment of the Gauldic Artillery battery.
Friedrich and Alfred entered the commander's tent and took a seat, waiting for their allies. Alfred offered his commander a bite of his schnapps. "Jawohl, mein Hauptmann. Vielen dank."</s>
| <|message|>Iouldouz Edicoglu Khan
The Dusmane were strangers in a strange land. They were objects of curiosity, everything from their dress to their physical appearance to their language being alien to the rest of the allied army, and they more or less felt the same. Until this war, the vast majority of the nomads had never left their native steppe and likewise nobody visited it. Though the outside world was alien to him, the Khan of the Dusmane answered the call to arms of the parent Empire he was bound to and sent a formidable if outdated force under the command of one of his cousins.
For most of the war they were almost entirely dedicated to harassing logistics of the foe as well as destroying both reinforcements and running down retreats with no mercy given. They knew the enemy saw them as savages so they capitalized upon this. Helmeted heads of cuirassiers dangled from their horses, while the well-hatted faces of officers were pierced with hunting spears so that many an enemy's last sight would be the death mask of their comrade. But as ever they reached into the enemy's heartland their assignments morphed from those of a guerilla campaign into those of this century's uniformed cavalry. It was hard for them to adapt, but they did and they became stronger for it.
Personally, Iouldouz found himself to slowly morph into one of the pale people. So much time with them gave him a taste for their spirits rather than the kumis he spent his life drinking, and he could not deny their dress wasn't as uncomfortable as many of his kinsmen claimed. But he was still in his heart a Dusmane and he'd lead his people to glory today under their stretched hide banner. He ordered his men to make merry, to drink and laugh and sing and dance for today may well be the last day they could do so. The Khan had heard of the Emperor's unparalleled tactical acumen and Iouldouz would be a liar if he said he wasn't frightened of that day to come. This day would be perhaps the first where the Emperor was truly beaten in open battle; all prior victories against him were pyrrhic and often strategic defeats, or were not done in open battle and rather in guerilla campaigns as the Dusmane had mastered.
After uttering a prayer to Father Sky and taking a sip of the foreign firewater, Iouldouz entered the command tent. He was dressed in traditional furs of his folk, though as a courtesy to the foreigners he wrapped them in a way reminiscent to that which they wore them, along with a neckerchief, perfume, and a few other accessories common to them. His right hand man Tyrgutai made no such concessions, in fact making himself as wild as possible in sight, sound and smell (partially out of spite for the poncey bastards). Still more used to sitting upon rugs on the ground, Iouldouz nevertheless took a seat rather graciously after bowing, waiting for the other members of the alliance to arrive. The warrior had some general ideas for strategy, though they all were grounded in the assumption that his comrades were bold and risk taking fellows which - as far as he saw - they had to be if they had any hope of beating the enemy. After all, everyone who had tried beating the Emperor conventionally had failed. Thus it came upon the men assembled to beat them in an unorthodox manner, and the presence of the Chieftain was a posteriori proof.</s> |
<|description|>Iouldouz Edicoglu Khan
Physical: Though slightly shorter than the average man Iouldouz is nonetheless an intimidating man. Appearing to be somewhere in his thirties he has short cropped black hair with thin mustache and beard. His skin is the shade given by those born pale but nevertheless oft in the sun, while his green-brown eyes have a slight epicanthic fold. His nose if small but flared, while his chin and cheekbones are regally strong. Iouldouz has put some weight on since his true youth with a somewhat noticeable beer belly, though he is still in generally good shape.
Description: Though Iouldouz has no adoration for the Empire he fights for, an oath of loyalty is an oath of loyalty and thus if he is going to go forth and fight he may as well bring as much glory to himself and his men as possible. He is very loyal to his own warriors and as a result is somewhat overly cautious with his troops when lance armed cavalry should instead be very aggressive. That said his tribal romanticism leads him to often be far too close to battle himself, a severe flaw in any battlefield but particularly in a modern one.
Nation: Dusmane Khanate
Regiments: The Dusmane auxiliaries don't follow a strict regimental structure. There are slightly less than 6,000 of them, the men bearing sturdy spears not quite the size of other nation's lances, steppe sabers and compound bows. Jacks of all trades but masters of none, they cannot match lancers, hussars, dragoons or cuirassiers in their own craft. However their flexibility lets them do a wide array of tasks, and so they will usually split into four groups each emulating one of the international standards for Cavalry Regiments in support of one another to allow for a quasi combined arms attack in a single unit.</s>
<|message|>Iouldouz Edicoglu Khan
Iouldouz had a rudimentary understanding of all the languages spoken in the structure, but he was not an expert in any of them and for that there was a third man with him, the interpreter Ruslan Kulambetov. A man from a mixed family living in between worlds, he relayed the thoughts of his Khan to the rest of the commanders in an eloquent but understandable way.
"In theory a good outline for how we'll do battle. But ultimately I believe it flawed on the basis that once again it is an attempt at playing the game against the house, that being the Emperor. In my opinion the man needs to be baited. Early at dawn we will push artillery forward and bombard them as much as possible; I will devote my horsemen to carrying fresh powder and balls if needed, we must make it seem as if our logistics are far greater than they have been and that thus we are ready to carelessly use our munitions with the aim of forcing an advance before his men are bombed to mush. His reaction should be monitored, and if he does not respond to the ceaseless bombardment then we should cease; it should be made to appear that this was bluff for the reason that our logistics were in fact abysmal, rather than excelsior as in the previous bluff or simply adequate as is the truth. This in turn would hopefully make him press an over-aggressive assault on the assumption our munitions have run out."
Steepling his fingers, Iouldouz paused thoughtfully. "Of course, this gamble of a mind game may not pay off. In such a case we must seize the initiative and attempt to end the battle before the effects careless use of ammunition starts to become noticeable. Quite simply put the line infantry would thus be made to advance in as wide a line as possible, with cavalry and skirmishers sent to advance aggressively on the flanks. The skirmishers should be given to not engage the enemy's skirmishers in the woods if possible, and to simply advance further such that the foe may be enveloped, and struck from all sides. Furthermore, if possible the cavalry should not engage the rear of the foe's infantry formation but rather ride past fire and to the enemy's artillery if the gaps can be found."
With that he shrugged. "Of course, I am but one of this collective, and I cannot insist on a plan without the consent of the other commanders. I shall be more than happy to go along with the plan of the most honourable von Nordmann, albeit I warn my men are most adept in engagements that are not too long. They're not afraid of gunfire as some colonial tribals, but their nerves do crack under too many cannons set against them."</s>
<|message|>Major. Julian Mackeralini
The Major looked over at the horseman and shook his head after his translator whispered in his ear, "We don't know how many men he has... baiting him could be suicide, and don't forget we seem to be more of a force awaiting allied reinforcements... or at least a strong mountain to try and stall him here."
He rested back into the chair he was in and looked at his translator. "having fought under the man as his subordinate with the man, we will be facing an enemy who will try to overwhelm us, he knows how to change his units orders to adjust to battle quickly."
He paused, "First he will decide where he will break us, and make sure when his guard, that he will march forward and that the enemy will run... they will take no losses. They are elite enough to where when I fought your people before Horse Lord that I didn't even need to duck in fear for being shot as the flank routed when we marched forward with them when the officer we are facing was ill."
He took a deep breath, "We turn his tactics of fear against them... we should make our stand just before the hill and build trenches and maybe a way for our cannons to be flush with the hill to shoot over them, let the recoil push them back into a state of protection. It will not protect us from his howitzers, but it should protect us from direct missile fire."
"Oh and tell the Halldorian that the militia is more as a baggage train for logistics... we should use them as surgeons, water bearers and such... let the ones with guns fight where they are needed or protect the guns, maybe build more entrenchments during the fighting if we aren't done preparing."
"But I say we try to dig ourselves in as much as possible... and reserving as of our elite soldiers as well as our horsemen, use your dragoons as quick response foot infantry... Use your Dusmane horsemen as shock troops or some flanking force if it presents itself through the first rank of national guardsmen he will most likely use to blunt our first attempts. Maybe when and if their first rank flees, we chase them down and use them as cover from their second wave and artillery. Force him to send his reserves forward while we try routing him... we can start digging ourselves in further forward in confusion, make him range his guns again, and waste whatever powder he has left. You are all thinking like the commanders that had to retreat... if it was you that I fought in the past, then I am sorry for the offense, but that is how you are thinking... He knows all of us; you are all great leaders whom he has studied before, I was one of his officers, he knows us... He knows our strengths, our weaknesses, how to make us tick and if he is like what I remember him to be we have to think outside of our boxes. But I know his, I fought with him against you... probably all of you, and I am sorry for rambling like a chastized bull. Still, we are thinking like the average officers at an academy using basic tactics that we have all learned before at some academy or from our fathers or peers..."
"We are going against a force we know little about, a commander who has either trained or beat probably all of us in battle, and who probably outnumbers us... We should be on the cautious side and adapt to what we are presented... not just rush into a field where we will by far superior artillery... and the forests where we don't know if his scouts are already there waiting for us while we sit here."</s>
<|message|>Regiments
It was at the discretion of each commander where they would place their units behind the hill in the morning, prior to the battle. The center, the north wing, the south wing, or at the rear in reserve - generally speaking. As the battle took shape they may reorganize their units before sending them over the hill to engage the enemy. What really needed to be decided now was Major Julian's idea of entrenchments. Would the Allied commanders agree to entrenching their positions?</s>
<|message|>Friedrich, Duke von Nordmann,
Duke Friedrich nearly fell out of his chair upon hearing the suggestion that they dig entrenchments. "Preposterous!" He steadied himself, puffing on his pipe. "A battalion of infantry will hit maybe three or four of the enemy at a hundred yards. The musket ball that comes out the end is not the primary weapon infantry engages with, it has been and remains the bayonet!" He realized these people had no experience with infantry; especially to suggest they dig entrenchments. "We do not have a battalion of pioneers, which would carry wagons with pick-axes and shovels. Besides, if we were dig in our infantry, it would place them at a disadvantage to the enemy. We would then need to charge uphill; the forward slope of the trench in order to attack into the enemy." He thought about it for a moment. "No, sir. We will not dig into the soil." He thought a bit longer, "A series of redoubts might break up an attack, but they would be unnecessary in this ground, unless you would entertain the notion of a series of redoubts more than a few miles behind us. But I do not believe that is what you were suggesting." Duke Friedrich then thought about what the gentleman from the Khanate suggested. "Using cavalry to break up enemy artillery formations is still a solid offering for this group. I would second that suggestion."</s>
| <|message|>Iouldouz Edicoglu Khan
Iouldouz raised an eyebrow at the speech of Mackeralini, his expression lagging behind what was said by a few moments as words first had to pass through his interpreter before he knew what was actually being discussed.
"My Comrade, I appreciate what you say. Indeed I agree with much of it, but before I continue I would like to simply dismiss your appeal to authority. You fought along side the Emperor but I fought against him, and even now the heads of your former comrades decorate the tents of my warriors when they're not being used as substitutes for balls in games and sports. We are all veterans of wars and battles and I would rather not waste time with us deciding who has more relevant experience. I'd like to get some good sleep before we get to the violence and I think that would be best for you gentlemen as well. No more discussing of credentials, only of the battle." Though this was more said as suggestion than outright statement of fact, he made sure the translator spoke the words to make it clear that if the time wasn't spent productively then the Khan would simply go for an early bedtime.
With that out of the way Iouldouz adjusted himself to be more comfortable in his seat to discuss the battle proper now. "Some entrenchment would be useful. A few critical stakes placed here and there to deny attempts of enemy cavalry to flank us would be most excellent, as would a few redoubts to make enemy fire upon our artillery not hit quite hard. However I would not wish to waste too much time and energy upon them."
The Khan then stood up, and turned away from the assembled company to light up a pipe stuffed with cloves. "Hmmm. A synthesis perhaps. We can create small defenses as positions we can retreat to as well as using them as anchors to ground ourselves against enemy cavalry. We will meet them head on, and I will send the majority of my cavalry down a flank. The infantry would prepare to fire the enemy to disorient them and charge them with their bayonets. At this point I will turn my light cavalry back, hoping to envelop their first line between my cavalry and your infantry in a quick maneuver that will force at least some reserves forwards; the same trick won't be repeated twice of course, and from that point I will do my best in getting the cavaliers with me to go straight for their artillery heedless of what swarms of bullets will fly towards us."
After some heavy puffs of his pipe the Dusmane put out its flame before taking a seat. "Of course, I would also like us to discuss any plans with contingencies in mind. Rarely does a plan last in its entirety for very long, and as such we should consider at least a few possible circumstances of our failures - or simply the enemy's perfections - and how we should react to them."</s> |
<|description|>Major. Julian Mackeralini
Physical:
Age : 23
Height : 5'10
Weight : 140 lbs
Body Type : Slimming
Eye Color : Brown
Hair Color : Brown
Skin Color : White
A thin and usually pale-skinned man, normally seen on horseback. Normally clean-shaven, he has smooth skin that almost sticks to his skin. He is normally seen with a pillow or something under his shirt to make him look larger then what he is. He even a padded pillow to fit his body type to make it look more natural instead of a pillow being shoved under his shirt.
Description: A young Artillery officer from the Republican army who deserted once the Marion took over, he believed in the idea's of his mentor before he took the throne. He fled along with some men that were loyal to the ideas of the Republic, picking up others on his way out of the country in exile to try and join the forces who were forming against the Emporer. He wishes to see the Republic form and stay a republic, where people can be free and in control of the government.
But in the infancy of his career, he was a line officer for the now Emporer and was given the nickname, 'Little Marion,' he thought the man was given to the Republic as a protector. In the few battles he fought with him, the line officer earned his place at Marion's side and several promotions, he wanted to take every step to be exactly like Marion. He would even begin starving himself as he didn't have the same body type and wanted to recreate himself in Marion's look. He had a somewhat natural blend of traditional tactics and more modern tactics.
Nation: Republican Party of the Gauldic Peoples / Gauldic Republican Army
Regiments:
1st Republican Artillery
Uniforms - A bright Blue Jacket and pants, with red seams around the cuffs, down the sides of the legs, and around the neck. Bright white undershirts would line the inside of the collar. NCO's and officers would have a red sash that would go from their right shoulder down to the left hip, and in colder weather, it could double as a scarf. The shako would be large and would typically be covered with a white cloth, the plume a bright white, with a red base. On the left arm, a white armband is normally seen.
Manpower and Equipment : 32 men (2 Officers, 1 blacksmith, 1 engineer, 28 rankmen), 43 horses, 4 ammunition and shot carriages, 4 artillery pieces (2 - 12-pound horse-drawn cannons, 1 - 32-pound, and 1 32-pound howitzer.) 19 muskets, 2 pistols, 3 swords, 9 extra epee bayonets. 1 flag of the republic with a white star painted in the center.
History - A regiment of Exiled soldiers and politicians that are leaving the country, headed by a Lieutenant promoted to a Major soon after. They would manage to leave with most of their equipment and lives, many would still perish at the hands of their pursuers. Their sister regiment, the 1st Republican Guard, another regiment led by the new Major. Typically seen with the guard building their defenses, and supplying them as best as they could.
---
1st Republican Guard - (Light infantry/Supply train)
Uniform - A mix match of uniforms from their previous regiments or roles in lives. A white armband on the left arm, a movement has been made to try and standardize the uniform, but very little have been made or purchased. The standard is a white jacket and pants, with blue stitching on the cuffs and collar. Standard white shirt, their hats, and shakos have a white plumb on top.
Manpower and Equipment : 748 men (6 officers, 12 politicians/acting officers, 2 blacksmiths, 1 gunsmith, 43 businessmen, rest are rank), 2 carriages, 15 horses, 54 rifles, 591 muskets, 204 bayonets, 23 pistols, 4 swords, 15 axes/hatchets.
Possibility more manpower/weapons based on conscription and purchases. 15 shovels, 24 mining picks.
History : A baggage train of men following an artillery officer leaving the capital. Most followed because of fear, exiling themselves with a leader in front of them. They hoped to find allies in the surrounding countries or at least some friends that will allow them to pass through on their journies. Fighting off the Imperial forces that would be pursuing them out of the country. They would stay with the Major, it's mainly used to protect the Artillery, build fortifications, and transporting supplies to the battery.</s>
<|message|>Friedrich, Duke von Nordmann,
Duke Friedrich allowed his Brigade to occupy the center of the valley. He allowed them to establish camp rearward or in the direction of where they just marched from. He would leave the regimental commanders to post a picket screen and guard rotation near the center of the field. They would serve as an early warning in case Marion's imperial army arrived during the night or early morning. He also ordered jaegers to conduct squad sized patrols both left and right of the valley to conduct reconnaissance as well.
"Herr Oberst von Kerpin, since your regiment is on the left flank, use your jaegers to patrol the northern woods," Duke Friedrich spoke to the 50-year-old colonel with a monocle in his left eye. Then he turned to the youngest colonel in his Brigade. "Herr Oberst Göttisheim, your regiment will be on the right. Send your jaegers into the southern forest. Rotate your line units on picket duty about one hour per kompanie. Herr Oberst von Schmidt, your regiment will have center of the line. Ensure your men get a good night's rest, we expect to meet the enemy in the morning." Duke Friedrich stood to leave then addressed the Grenadier Guards commander, "Viktor, you are in command of the Brigade in my absence. I will need Hauptmann Jodel to accompany me to the commander's tent. I do enjoy his penmanship." Friedrich smiled at the slightly taller man. "Before we left Vollen, Generalleutnant Schwerin told me the eyes of the world were upon us. We must not let them down. Hold up the honor of the Halldorian Empire."
Friedrich left the tent, quickly joining up with Hauptmann Jodel. "Alfred, Wie gehtenSie, herr Haupmann?" The Duke asked the Captain how he was doing as he approached.
"Mir geht is gut, mein herr," the Captain responded he was good to his commander as he saluted. The Brigade commander returned the salute and the two men marched to the commander's tent. He wondered how is allied commanders would be while walking to the tent. He planned to post three line regiments abreast with Battalion frontage. The first and second battalions would stand one in front of the other with the jaeger battalions forming regimental reserves. He fully expected to use the Royal Grenadier Guards in reserve and would be posted near wherever the Horsemen from the Dusmane Khanate were posted. They would inevitably support the cavalry during their advance, when the time came. He mentally prepared himself for the deployment of the Gauldic Artillery battery.
Friedrich and Alfred entered the commander's tent and took a seat, waiting for their allies. Alfred offered his commander a bite of his schnapps. "Jawohl, mein Hauptmann. Vielen dank."</s>
<|message|>Iouldouz Edicoglu Khan
The Dusmane were strangers in a strange land. They were objects of curiosity, everything from their dress to their physical appearance to their language being alien to the rest of the allied army, and they more or less felt the same. Until this war, the vast majority of the nomads had never left their native steppe and likewise nobody visited it. Though the outside world was alien to him, the Khan of the Dusmane answered the call to arms of the parent Empire he was bound to and sent a formidable if outdated force under the command of one of his cousins.
For most of the war they were almost entirely dedicated to harassing logistics of the foe as well as destroying both reinforcements and running down retreats with no mercy given. They knew the enemy saw them as savages so they capitalized upon this. Helmeted heads of cuirassiers dangled from their horses, while the well-hatted faces of officers were pierced with hunting spears so that many an enemy's last sight would be the death mask of their comrade. But as ever they reached into the enemy's heartland their assignments morphed from those of a guerilla campaign into those of this century's uniformed cavalry. It was hard for them to adapt, but they did and they became stronger for it.
Personally, Iouldouz found himself to slowly morph into one of the pale people. So much time with them gave him a taste for their spirits rather than the kumis he spent his life drinking, and he could not deny their dress wasn't as uncomfortable as many of his kinsmen claimed. But he was still in his heart a Dusmane and he'd lead his people to glory today under their stretched hide banner. He ordered his men to make merry, to drink and laugh and sing and dance for today may well be the last day they could do so. The Khan had heard of the Emperor's unparalleled tactical acumen and Iouldouz would be a liar if he said he wasn't frightened of that day to come. This day would be perhaps the first where the Emperor was truly beaten in open battle; all prior victories against him were pyrrhic and often strategic defeats, or were not done in open battle and rather in guerilla campaigns as the Dusmane had mastered.
After uttering a prayer to Father Sky and taking a sip of the foreign firewater, Iouldouz entered the command tent. He was dressed in traditional furs of his folk, though as a courtesy to the foreigners he wrapped them in a way reminiscent to that which they wore them, along with a neckerchief, perfume, and a few other accessories common to them. His right hand man Tyrgutai made no such concessions, in fact making himself as wild as possible in sight, sound and smell (partially out of spite for the poncey bastards). Still more used to sitting upon rugs on the ground, Iouldouz nevertheless took a seat rather graciously after bowing, waiting for the other members of the alliance to arrive. The warrior had some general ideas for strategy, though they all were grounded in the assumption that his comrades were bold and risk taking fellows which - as far as he saw - they had to be if they had any hope of beating the enemy. After all, everyone who had tried beating the Emperor conventionally had failed. Thus it came upon the men assembled to beat them in an unorthodox manner, and the presence of the Chieftain was a posteriori proof.</s>
| <|message|>Major. Julian Mackeralini
The ragtag men and boys of the Gauldin regiments marched towards the camp slowly, most of them worn from the running and fighting they each had to do to get out of their homeland. They had succeeded in victory, but now it was time for them to fight once more, and possibly for their last time. Their leader, Major Mackeralini, sat on an artillery horse at the front of one of the cannon trains. He was riding it until they got into the camp. Families followed with soldiers, and the wounded were piled on the ammo trains or dragged on sheets that were on the ground.
They would begin setting up their camp almost in silence, the carriages mainly forming two small circles which a lot of the families were placed inside, small fires being lit in them and around them as people began unpacking themselves. They had fought and run through many countries as exiles, and they were worn and tired. Some of the men, mainly those who were educated or soldiers before their exile, began spread out through the entire camp trying to find supplies and surgeons for the wounded. Trading when they could to get help the rest of their fellow countrymen. They knew that their last days could be upon them at any moment, or that they may see their country become something amazing once again.
Major Mackeralini dismounted the horse and started towards the command tent, he himself was wounded, but he would not let anyone but a few see him down; he did not want what was left of the moral to be shattered by a small limp. When he entered the tent, he had sat down with one of the more educated men in his company following him in, it was just some random merchant, but it was the closest thing to an aide he had at that point.
He found himself a place to sit and looked at the other men at the table, wondering if it was just them being commanders against his old mentor. "Is this it, are we the only ones to stand against the Devil?" he asked softly in his native language to his aide, forgetting that these were most likely educated men around him. "If so, I fear for us... is this just the initial skirmishing force to pave the way for a drawn-out war against him, we do not know how much he has left... he had been chasing us since we were exiled. But tell them thank you for coming to the need of a nation at its worst hours."
The aide looked saddened by his commander, "It is possibly the force to hold them while the countries around us unite forces... we must be a bastion to protect them." the aide said as he nodded to his commander, looking to others at the table.
The aide smiled a bit and looked at them, he would be acting as a translator between his commander and the others if they did not know his. "The Major is saddened that this force looks small to him, but he thanks all of you for coming to his nation's side when it is needed most, that they have lost their way under its new tyrant."</s> |
<|description|>Major. Julian Mackeralini
Physical:
Age : 23
Height : 5'10
Weight : 140 lbs
Body Type : Slimming
Eye Color : Brown
Hair Color : Brown
Skin Color : White
A thin and usually pale-skinned man, normally seen on horseback. Normally clean-shaven, he has smooth skin that almost sticks to his skin. He is normally seen with a pillow or something under his shirt to make him look larger then what he is. He even a padded pillow to fit his body type to make it look more natural instead of a pillow being shoved under his shirt.
Description: A young Artillery officer from the Republican army who deserted once the Marion took over, he believed in the idea's of his mentor before he took the throne. He fled along with some men that were loyal to the ideas of the Republic, picking up others on his way out of the country in exile to try and join the forces who were forming against the Emporer. He wishes to see the Republic form and stay a republic, where people can be free and in control of the government.
But in the infancy of his career, he was a line officer for the now Emporer and was given the nickname, 'Little Marion,' he thought the man was given to the Republic as a protector. In the few battles he fought with him, the line officer earned his place at Marion's side and several promotions, he wanted to take every step to be exactly like Marion. He would even begin starving himself as he didn't have the same body type and wanted to recreate himself in Marion's look. He had a somewhat natural blend of traditional tactics and more modern tactics.
Nation: Republican Party of the Gauldic Peoples / Gauldic Republican Army
Regiments:
1st Republican Artillery
Uniforms - A bright Blue Jacket and pants, with red seams around the cuffs, down the sides of the legs, and around the neck. Bright white undershirts would line the inside of the collar. NCO's and officers would have a red sash that would go from their right shoulder down to the left hip, and in colder weather, it could double as a scarf. The shako would be large and would typically be covered with a white cloth, the plume a bright white, with a red base. On the left arm, a white armband is normally seen.
Manpower and Equipment : 32 men (2 Officers, 1 blacksmith, 1 engineer, 28 rankmen), 43 horses, 4 ammunition and shot carriages, 4 artillery pieces (2 - 12-pound horse-drawn cannons, 1 - 32-pound, and 1 32-pound howitzer.) 19 muskets, 2 pistols, 3 swords, 9 extra epee bayonets. 1 flag of the republic with a white star painted in the center.
History - A regiment of Exiled soldiers and politicians that are leaving the country, headed by a Lieutenant promoted to a Major soon after. They would manage to leave with most of their equipment and lives, many would still perish at the hands of their pursuers. Their sister regiment, the 1st Republican Guard, another regiment led by the new Major. Typically seen with the guard building their defenses, and supplying them as best as they could.
---
1st Republican Guard - (Light infantry/Supply train)
Uniform - A mix match of uniforms from their previous regiments or roles in lives. A white armband on the left arm, a movement has been made to try and standardize the uniform, but very little have been made or purchased. The standard is a white jacket and pants, with blue stitching on the cuffs and collar. Standard white shirt, their hats, and shakos have a white plumb on top.
Manpower and Equipment : 748 men (6 officers, 12 politicians/acting officers, 2 blacksmiths, 1 gunsmith, 43 businessmen, rest are rank), 2 carriages, 15 horses, 54 rifles, 591 muskets, 204 bayonets, 23 pistols, 4 swords, 15 axes/hatchets.
Possibility more manpower/weapons based on conscription and purchases. 15 shovels, 24 mining picks.
History : A baggage train of men following an artillery officer leaving the capital. Most followed because of fear, exiling themselves with a leader in front of them. They hoped to find allies in the surrounding countries or at least some friends that will allow them to pass through on their journies. Fighting off the Imperial forces that would be pursuing them out of the country. They would stay with the Major, it's mainly used to protect the Artillery, build fortifications, and transporting supplies to the battery.</s>
<|message|>Friedrich, Duke von Nordmann,
Halldorian Infantry preparing to receive a Gauldic advance
Duke von Nordmann spoke first. He addressed the assembled retinue. "I am Brigadier Friedrich von Nordman, Duke von Nordman of the Halldor Empire. I have served in prior campaigns in the service of Herr Francisco Marion, following his imprisonment a year and a half ago, the Halldor Empire distanced itself from the Gauldic empire and its previous commitments with that mad man. I know he is a tenacious ruler and combatant. This contest we find ourselves in today will be as challenging as any each of us may have ever encountered in our lives. I have worked under the command of the emperor. He is not to be taken lightly. Any stories you may have heard about him, his reputation. They are all true. He is that good." Duke Friedrich took out a smoking pipe, filled it with tobacco and lit it. The pipe was made from hickory and the tobacco had a cherry flavor to it which quickly scented the interior of the tent.
"Today, we have my brigade of infantry; about 12,000 strong, 6,000 Dusmane Cavalry, some of the most feared warriors on the continent, a battery of Gauldic artillery and…" Friedrich turned to Major Mackeralini, "how would you best describe your ragtag group of soldiers? They appear to be line infantry, but their numbers are depleted. How can we employ them in this campaign?"
"I intend to deploy two line battalions of my 1st regiment under the command of Colonel Klaus von Kerpin on the far left of the line. They will be positioned behind the military crest; with the first battalion in the lead and the second battalion fifty meters behind the first. Next, is ample room for Major Mackeralini's artillery. To the right of the artillery will be Colonel Hans von Schmidt's second regiment. His two battalions of fusiliers will be arrayed in the same manner as von Kerpin's First. On our far right will be Colonel Joachim Göttisheim's Third regiment. All three Line regiments will post their first battalions in the prone position to help conceal their location to the Imperial forces on the other side of the valley." Duke Friedrich then added, "yes, the line infantry and the grenadiers will all have bayonets fixed, naturally."
Duke Friedrich puffed on his pipe then looked at Iouldouz Khan, "there is ample room on the allied right for your cavalry. I am prepared to present you with two battalions of Halldor Royal Grenadier Guards under the command of Colonel Viktor Schneider. They can amply support your advance. Or we can use the Guards regiment as our Allied reserve. In either case, whether the dusmane Auxilliaries or the Halldorian Infantry break the enemy formation, the Royal Grenadier Guards are prepared to exploit that position."
"For those who are aware of the organization of the Halldorian infantry regiments, you may notice I failed to mention our light infantry battalions or Jaegers. We have four Jaeger battalions that work much better in wooded terrain. We have the luxury of having natural forest on both flanks. Marion may or may not send troops into the forest. In either case, we should be prepared for either the enemy employing light infantry on our flanks or for our use to outflank the enemy when they advance. It is not a matter of if they advance, but when. Depending on Major Mackeralini's intentions with his light infantry force, he can either employ them in the woods to the south with the Jaeger battalion from the Royal Grenadier Guards regiment or I will post two Jaeger battalions in each of the two woodlots. They can enter the forest at a location west of our positions in order to remain undetected by the enemy. Then, by using their stealth, move east to a position only about a hundred meter, maybe two hundred beyond the forward edge of our line infantry. When the Gauldic attack, they will stop about a hundred meters from the crest to discharge a volley, if using infantry. It is at that time, that the Halldorian line will stand up to exchange volleys with the Gauldic infantry. When the two lines are exchanging volleys, this is the perfect time for the light infantry on both flanks to attack the enemy line in a double envelopment. If the enemy attacks with cavalry first, which is what I honestly expect, we will form battalion squares. The first battalion, von Kerpin regiment is prepared to encircle the Gauldic artillery battery to protect them from attacking cavalry. Once their cavalry charge is broken, we will reform lines and prepare for their infantry assault which should be followed close on the heels of their cavalry."
Duke Friedrich stopped speaking and allowed input from the other two allied commanders at the table. He honesty wanted to hear their input. Given the terrain and the anticipated objective of the enemy, he felt a strong defense was the best strategic approach for the given battle. But if the Dusmane Khan wanted a more aggressive or audacious plan, he was willing to listen.</s>
<|message|>Iouldouz Edicoglu Khan
Iouldouz had a rudimentary understanding of all the languages spoken in the structure, but he was not an expert in any of them and for that there was a third man with him, the interpreter Ruslan Kulambetov. A man from a mixed family living in between worlds, he relayed the thoughts of his Khan to the rest of the commanders in an eloquent but understandable way.
"In theory a good outline for how we'll do battle. But ultimately I believe it flawed on the basis that once again it is an attempt at playing the game against the house, that being the Emperor. In my opinion the man needs to be baited. Early at dawn we will push artillery forward and bombard them as much as possible; I will devote my horsemen to carrying fresh powder and balls if needed, we must make it seem as if our logistics are far greater than they have been and that thus we are ready to carelessly use our munitions with the aim of forcing an advance before his men are bombed to mush. His reaction should be monitored, and if he does not respond to the ceaseless bombardment then we should cease; it should be made to appear that this was bluff for the reason that our logistics were in fact abysmal, rather than excelsior as in the previous bluff or simply adequate as is the truth. This in turn would hopefully make him press an over-aggressive assault on the assumption our munitions have run out."
Steepling his fingers, Iouldouz paused thoughtfully. "Of course, this gamble of a mind game may not pay off. In such a case we must seize the initiative and attempt to end the battle before the effects careless use of ammunition starts to become noticeable. Quite simply put the line infantry would thus be made to advance in as wide a line as possible, with cavalry and skirmishers sent to advance aggressively on the flanks. The skirmishers should be given to not engage the enemy's skirmishers in the woods if possible, and to simply advance further such that the foe may be enveloped, and struck from all sides. Furthermore, if possible the cavalry should not engage the rear of the foe's infantry formation but rather ride past fire and to the enemy's artillery if the gaps can be found."
With that he shrugged. "Of course, I am but one of this collective, and I cannot insist on a plan without the consent of the other commanders. I shall be more than happy to go along with the plan of the most honourable von Nordmann, albeit I warn my men are most adept in engagements that are not too long. They're not afraid of gunfire as some colonial tribals, but their nerves do crack under too many cannons set against them."</s>
| <|message|>Major. Julian Mackeralini
The Major looked over at the horseman and shook his head after his translator whispered in his ear, "We don't know how many men he has... baiting him could be suicide, and don't forget we seem to be more of a force awaiting allied reinforcements... or at least a strong mountain to try and stall him here."
He rested back into the chair he was in and looked at his translator. "having fought under the man as his subordinate with the man, we will be facing an enemy who will try to overwhelm us, he knows how to change his units orders to adjust to battle quickly."
He paused, "First he will decide where he will break us, and make sure when his guard, that he will march forward and that the enemy will run... they will take no losses. They are elite enough to where when I fought your people before Horse Lord that I didn't even need to duck in fear for being shot as the flank routed when we marched forward with them when the officer we are facing was ill."
He took a deep breath, "We turn his tactics of fear against them... we should make our stand just before the hill and build trenches and maybe a way for our cannons to be flush with the hill to shoot over them, let the recoil push them back into a state of protection. It will not protect us from his howitzers, but it should protect us from direct missile fire."
"Oh and tell the Halldorian that the militia is more as a baggage train for logistics... we should use them as surgeons, water bearers and such... let the ones with guns fight where they are needed or protect the guns, maybe build more entrenchments during the fighting if we aren't done preparing."
"But I say we try to dig ourselves in as much as possible... and reserving as of our elite soldiers as well as our horsemen, use your dragoons as quick response foot infantry... Use your Dusmane horsemen as shock troops or some flanking force if it presents itself through the first rank of national guardsmen he will most likely use to blunt our first attempts. Maybe when and if their first rank flees, we chase them down and use them as cover from their second wave and artillery. Force him to send his reserves forward while we try routing him... we can start digging ourselves in further forward in confusion, make him range his guns again, and waste whatever powder he has left. You are all thinking like the commanders that had to retreat... if it was you that I fought in the past, then I am sorry for the offense, but that is how you are thinking... He knows all of us; you are all great leaders whom he has studied before, I was one of his officers, he knows us... He knows our strengths, our weaknesses, how to make us tick and if he is like what I remember him to be we have to think outside of our boxes. But I know his, I fought with him against you... probably all of you, and I am sorry for rambling like a chastized bull. Still, we are thinking like the average officers at an academy using basic tactics that we have all learned before at some academy or from our fathers or peers..."
"We are going against a force we know little about, a commander who has either trained or beat probably all of us in battle, and who probably outnumbers us... We should be on the cautious side and adapt to what we are presented... not just rush into a field where we will by far superior artillery... and the forests where we don't know if his scouts are already there waiting for us while we sit here."</s> |
<|description|>Major. Julian Mackeralini
Physical:
Age : 23
Height : 5'10
Weight : 140 lbs
Body Type : Slimming
Eye Color : Brown
Hair Color : Brown
Skin Color : White
A thin and usually pale-skinned man, normally seen on horseback. Normally clean-shaven, he has smooth skin that almost sticks to his skin. He is normally seen with a pillow or something under his shirt to make him look larger then what he is. He even a padded pillow to fit his body type to make it look more natural instead of a pillow being shoved under his shirt.
Description: A young Artillery officer from the Republican army who deserted once the Marion took over, he believed in the idea's of his mentor before he took the throne. He fled along with some men that were loyal to the ideas of the Republic, picking up others on his way out of the country in exile to try and join the forces who were forming against the Emporer. He wishes to see the Republic form and stay a republic, where people can be free and in control of the government.
But in the infancy of his career, he was a line officer for the now Emporer and was given the nickname, 'Little Marion,' he thought the man was given to the Republic as a protector. In the few battles he fought with him, the line officer earned his place at Marion's side and several promotions, he wanted to take every step to be exactly like Marion. He would even begin starving himself as he didn't have the same body type and wanted to recreate himself in Marion's look. He had a somewhat natural blend of traditional tactics and more modern tactics.
Nation: Republican Party of the Gauldic Peoples / Gauldic Republican Army
Regiments:
1st Republican Artillery
Uniforms - A bright Blue Jacket and pants, with red seams around the cuffs, down the sides of the legs, and around the neck. Bright white undershirts would line the inside of the collar. NCO's and officers would have a red sash that would go from their right shoulder down to the left hip, and in colder weather, it could double as a scarf. The shako would be large and would typically be covered with a white cloth, the plume a bright white, with a red base. On the left arm, a white armband is normally seen.
Manpower and Equipment : 32 men (2 Officers, 1 blacksmith, 1 engineer, 28 rankmen), 43 horses, 4 ammunition and shot carriages, 4 artillery pieces (2 - 12-pound horse-drawn cannons, 1 - 32-pound, and 1 32-pound howitzer.) 19 muskets, 2 pistols, 3 swords, 9 extra epee bayonets. 1 flag of the republic with a white star painted in the center.
History - A regiment of Exiled soldiers and politicians that are leaving the country, headed by a Lieutenant promoted to a Major soon after. They would manage to leave with most of their equipment and lives, many would still perish at the hands of their pursuers. Their sister regiment, the 1st Republican Guard, another regiment led by the new Major. Typically seen with the guard building their defenses, and supplying them as best as they could.
---
1st Republican Guard - (Light infantry/Supply train)
Uniform - A mix match of uniforms from their previous regiments or roles in lives. A white armband on the left arm, a movement has been made to try and standardize the uniform, but very little have been made or purchased. The standard is a white jacket and pants, with blue stitching on the cuffs and collar. Standard white shirt, their hats, and shakos have a white plumb on top.
Manpower and Equipment : 748 men (6 officers, 12 politicians/acting officers, 2 blacksmiths, 1 gunsmith, 43 businessmen, rest are rank), 2 carriages, 15 horses, 54 rifles, 591 muskets, 204 bayonets, 23 pistols, 4 swords, 15 axes/hatchets.
Possibility more manpower/weapons based on conscription and purchases. 15 shovels, 24 mining picks.
History : A baggage train of men following an artillery officer leaving the capital. Most followed because of fear, exiling themselves with a leader in front of them. They hoped to find allies in the surrounding countries or at least some friends that will allow them to pass through on their journies. Fighting off the Imperial forces that would be pursuing them out of the country. They would stay with the Major, it's mainly used to protect the Artillery, build fortifications, and transporting supplies to the battery.</s>
<|message|>Regiments
It was at the discretion of each commander where they would place their units behind the hill in the morning, prior to the battle. The center, the north wing, the south wing, or at the rear in reserve - generally speaking. As the battle took shape they may reorganize their units before sending them over the hill to engage the enemy. What really needed to be decided now was Major Julian's idea of entrenchments. Would the Allied commanders agree to entrenching their positions?</s>
<|message|>Friedrich, Duke von Nordmann,
Duke Friedrich nearly fell out of his chair upon hearing the suggestion that they dig entrenchments. "Preposterous!" He steadied himself, puffing on his pipe. "A battalion of infantry will hit maybe three or four of the enemy at a hundred yards. The musket ball that comes out the end is not the primary weapon infantry engages with, it has been and remains the bayonet!" He realized these people had no experience with infantry; especially to suggest they dig entrenchments. "We do not have a battalion of pioneers, which would carry wagons with pick-axes and shovels. Besides, if we were dig in our infantry, it would place them at a disadvantage to the enemy. We would then need to charge uphill; the forward slope of the trench in order to attack into the enemy." He thought about it for a moment. "No, sir. We will not dig into the soil." He thought a bit longer, "A series of redoubts might break up an attack, but they would be unnecessary in this ground, unless you would entertain the notion of a series of redoubts more than a few miles behind us. But I do not believe that is what you were suggesting." Duke Friedrich then thought about what the gentleman from the Khanate suggested. "Using cavalry to break up enemy artillery formations is still a solid offering for this group. I would second that suggestion."</s>
<|message|>Iouldouz Edicoglu Khan
Iouldouz raised an eyebrow at the speech of Mackeralini, his expression lagging behind what was said by a few moments as words first had to pass through his interpreter before he knew what was actually being discussed.
"My Comrade, I appreciate what you say. Indeed I agree with much of it, but before I continue I would like to simply dismiss your appeal to authority. You fought along side the Emperor but I fought against him, and even now the heads of your former comrades decorate the tents of my warriors when they're not being used as substitutes for balls in games and sports. We are all veterans of wars and battles and I would rather not waste time with us deciding who has more relevant experience. I'd like to get some good sleep before we get to the violence and I think that would be best for you gentlemen as well. No more discussing of credentials, only of the battle." Though this was more said as suggestion than outright statement of fact, he made sure the translator spoke the words to make it clear that if the time wasn't spent productively then the Khan would simply go for an early bedtime.
With that out of the way Iouldouz adjusted himself to be more comfortable in his seat to discuss the battle proper now. "Some entrenchment would be useful. A few critical stakes placed here and there to deny attempts of enemy cavalry to flank us would be most excellent, as would a few redoubts to make enemy fire upon our artillery not hit quite hard. However I would not wish to waste too much time and energy upon them."
The Khan then stood up, and turned away from the assembled company to light up a pipe stuffed with cloves. "Hmmm. A synthesis perhaps. We can create small defenses as positions we can retreat to as well as using them as anchors to ground ourselves against enemy cavalry. We will meet them head on, and I will send the majority of my cavalry down a flank. The infantry would prepare to fire the enemy to disorient them and charge them with their bayonets. At this point I will turn my light cavalry back, hoping to envelop their first line between my cavalry and your infantry in a quick maneuver that will force at least some reserves forwards; the same trick won't be repeated twice of course, and from that point I will do my best in getting the cavaliers with me to go straight for their artillery heedless of what swarms of bullets will fly towards us."
After some heavy puffs of his pipe the Dusmane put out its flame before taking a seat. "Of course, I would also like us to discuss any plans with contingencies in mind. Rarely does a plan last in its entirety for very long, and as such we should consider at least a few possible circumstances of our failures - or simply the enemy's perfections - and how we should react to them."</s>
| <|message|>Major. Julian Mackeralini
The major sat there and looked at the two men, one he saw as a stubborn old guard, while the khan was himself work of barbarian art as he listened to his interpreter. Who would leave out things because as well to make sure a fight of any kind didn't break out between his commander and the others in the tent as so far the tensions seemed a bit high.
"We have little idea of what is on the other side of that hill marching towards us, we have around ten thousand men against however many he brought up from the motherland herself plus the remainder of his army from when I was with him destroying the countryside and any city in the khans land. But, as the khan said we need to be prepared to evolve our defense of this pass quickly because we are already hard-pressed for time. I am going to go through with my plan of making whatever defenses I can to get a hold over our enemy's battery, and bombard whatever I can with my howitzer from behind the hill."
He stood and looked at the exit of the tent, "Khan, if would... could you send enough soldiers with my cannons, if possible we can try buying my train of misfit patriots time with a trick. I will send my cannon trains with a cart's wheel attached to act as a cannon if you wish to take enough cavalry you think will be necessary to shift his entire line for a short time while we shovel enough dirt to build on the face of the hill we are behind."
He placed his finger on the ridgeline of the map, "if we dig up dirt, and have loose dirt behind the face of the hill out of sight, and get maybe ten minutes we can have a nice mount on the other side that we can dig behind even while being fired upon, we have maybe a five or ten-foot advantage over them in height. If they don't have howitzers ready, then we should be fine... if they do, defenses won't matter at all." He dragged his line a few feet from where his finger was, "I'll set my cannons here," his thumb went behind the ridge, "and my howitzer here, the other engineers I remember were fucking idiots and will wonder where our fourth cannon is if they didn't do inventory correctly. But, my train can have some mounts for cannons built in an hour or two, they are laborers so they are used to this kind of work. Redoubts might be hard for us with such little time, but I was just going to say small mounds to place men behind to protect them from some shot, but mainly from artillery. "
He looked at the Duke, then the Khan, "Khan I would say only go for their artillery if they have howitzers or mortars, rockets maybe... Those we can't hide from, cannons we can get blasted by all day, we aren't in a fortress or open ground. But your plan to surround them might work, I know this may be hard for you but do not slaughter them outright. Let them retreat, wound them... and then pull back quickly with the Duke's men. If their first line returns broken and shattered, it might either throw the Emporer into a mad frenzy or make him rethink his ways and hold off for an attack until someone else comes to even the playing field with us. Now what we truly have to worry about is if he brings his full might upon us, if we line our soldiers and horses shoulder to shoulder, we can span the gap in the forest. If he outnumbers us with fresh troops, we may never be given an opportunity to fight anything but head-on with small gaps that can easily be shut by a second or third line reserve. He could easily just throw cannon, and howitzer shot at us behind a wall of men."
He started walking away, but stopped and turned around with his hands out to either side of him, "How about this, instead of looking at a map and bickering like a bunch of politicians, we go to the top of the hill and start our defenses, while we stare at whatever he has... I know this might be out of touch with your ways, but there is a reason I survived fighting your armies in the past and that was knowledge, instead of going in blind... We have an opportunity here to watch him while he marches closer before the night falls, I will get my signaling flag and glass, get some of your own and meet me there in ten minutes. We will see if this is even viable at the moment."</s> |
<|description|>Alesia
* Alesia, Captain of the Scarlet Pirates
* The First Mate, Flint Ironstag
* Bakuto "The Living Dragon"
* Shinji
* "Sister" Belladonna Bainbridge
* Grace Luxifero
* Conrad D. Lucille
Age: 17
Bounty: 27,000,000 Berries
Gender: Female
Appearance: A short girl of around 150cm in height. She has long droping hair that have the same colour as the night, her blue eyes are brightly coloured. She often dons herself in bright robes. Hardly appearing like a pirate, as much berate her height.
Abiliites
Devil fruit: Kilo Kilo Fruit
A devil fruit that allows her to change her weight, ranging from 1 kilo to 10 tonnes.
Cutlass - A very ordinary cutlass that she had picked up, Alesia could hold her own with a cutlass. She is rather proficient with that weapon.
Blade of Gulliotine
A slash that uses a main strength of her devil fruit. Often an overhead slash that falls at ten tonnes.
Dance of the wind
Alesia is able to change her weight to 1kg, and this technique allows her to dance along the air like the sweeping wind. She often uses it along with an umbrella.
The mountain parts the wind
A slash that is made for more than one opponents. Often done by weaving through the larger objects like the wind. Alesia, also uses the weight changing ability to fine tune the technique.
Snake's bite (10 tonne thrust)
A stab that is often locked by her weight, a cutlass stab that sends a force of ten tonnes to her opponents.
Thrusting Winds
A technique that she'd picked up from the enemy pirate Valar. A thrusting attack that churns out a surge of gales and winds to her enemy.
The Oneness
A recent technique she found. She focuses to be one with the 'core of her weight' to deliver more powerful attacks.
Backstory:
Born in the isles of the East Sea, Alesia was born as a pickpocket for the thieves. Form young she was an abandoned child on the slums. As a young girl, she worked at the thief. The slums of the old street was not a good influence for the young child.
On one end of the slums was a devil fruit a treasure that was going to be held for an auction. The 20 of her companions are killed and out of desperation, she ate she fruit instead of stealing it. Turned out it was a devil fruit that makes her light, and it helped her escape by the skin of her teeth.
Her companions that raised her are dead and her hundred million treasure was eaten literally. As that moment she was rather loss. She was a thief because she had followed those who raised her. Now that they are gone, she wasn't sure on what she could do. The slums are less welcoming to her after that ad scuffle with the town's force.
With only a cutlass to fight, Alesia turned to the bar to have the new start of her life. She started challenging the people here, often losing in her various swordfights. Over time she started helping out in the inn, having settled with her lodgings and her meals.
Having a new life, she had learnt the sword style from the aspect of various (drunk) pirates. From the help of the new devil fruit, she had picked up on styles that are well-attuned to her weight-changing ability.
Starting out on a journey, she decided on instead of going to a life of stealing, she will instead find treasures at the higher seas and become a pirate. Thus from there Alesia started gathering a crew for the journey to the grand line.
From there she formed the scarlet pirates, gathering a crew before sailing out on a small sloop
Personality:
"I'm no thief! Call me treasure Hunter!"
Alesia was that type of girl that is described in this way, don't call her short. She disliked being called a midget.
From losing her companions from time to time again, she had a regard towards her companions.
Again, she has a bad temper, and is known to not be pestered to her bad side.
From a young age, she has an eye on treasure, but she find herself more as a treasure hunter than an Actual thief.
Often dutiful to her crew, she is dedicated to her crewmates. The last thing that she want to see herself ending up is to get betrayed. For she was betrayed by a few people in the past.
Still ignorant to the dangers of the Grand Voyage, she, like most pirates, seek the treasure One Piece.
Relationships
The White Pearl
Alesia's personal sloop of her home island. She wouldn't be happy to see it sunk, and is more than willing to savage the ship if needed.
Dreams: Alesia dreams is to find the world's greatest treasure, and to become the Pirate King.</s>
<|message|>Alesia
The evening sun waned against the marble rimmed harbour of Puerto Arguin. Magpies flew back to their forests in fluttery flocks, as the vendors of the island began to close shop and wares to call it a day. Few of those magpies flew along the ruins of the collapsed church, Aposta Meduse. The autumn wind carries an ominous chill as it rustles the coast, the last stretch of wind flutters the flags of Argin Castle. Nobody would expect that such a small island to be the starting point where the Balance of the World and Powers would start to teeter. It begins at the Inn of Old Dread, the first gleam of moonlight wrinkled the clear glass windows, towards a group of pirates, unaware of the fate and the oncoming tides of the Great Sea.
---
Argin Kingdom, Old Dread Inn
A woman of grey cloak entered the inn. Short for a figure to be wearing such a cape, but she gazed at the list of bounty posters among the inn's notice board. Numbers that are higher than those the Pirate Captain was used to. Even the lowest of the Board would be considered a notorious pirate had it been in East Blue. The 'Cutthroat' Roarn Evans and Ezequiel's were amongst the list. None of those weren't of the poster she was looking for.
Alesia found herself bringing her dagger towards an old, browning wanted poster. All there was silence as the glass of the display plague shimmered into pieces. The Name, Face and Bounty of the enemy, Rel'chunk, one with a former bounty of two hundred and ten million, eight hundred thousand berries.
Alesia's cloak carries a few bloodstains, as she announced, "We, the Scarlet Pirates are recruiting, and we are taking down this man's head!"</s>
<|message|>Bakuto "The Living Dragon"
Intro of a Fishy Cloaked Figure
Location: Argin Kingdom, Old Dread Inn
The cloaked the pirate captain's declaration has been noticed in the tavern. A cloaked individual with his head and hands covered perked his head up and looked at the pirate captain. Without much more the cloaked figure approaches the scarlet haired captain. The cloaked man moved around like his cloak was very much hindering his movement, but he made his way. He gets a closer look at the wanted poster.
The cloaked man spoke, his voice muffled a bit by the cloak covering his face, but also sounding a bit garbled like tone "So you are recruiting to take this man's head? Two hundred and ten million beri bounty that is quite a number on a target of yours. Is this a case of a little fish trying to eat a big fish I wonder? I know not of who this man is nor do I care, you say you are the Scarlet Pirates and that is all I care about. Pirates here on the grand line, often all have the same goals, but I don't dare assume you are the same as other pirates who enter these waters, but I must know once you take this man's head will you sail off and continue your path down the grand line?" The cloaked figured spoke to Alesia but didn't once remove his cloak or any part of his covered body show.
The man continues talking getting to his point, "If you are, then you are a way to further my own goals. I want to sail across these seas and reach a destination farther down on the grand line. So if I join your crew in taking this man's head will you continue your journey so I may go to where my goals lie?"
Putting his hand on the table as to lean on it as he waits for his question to be answered. His hand accidentally slide out from the cloak revealed a webbed like hand but is demeanor doesn't change once he stands there.
---
Bakuto the Living Dragon
Sitting at the bar was a member of the scarlet pirates with his head against the bar with a few empty bottles surrounding his head. He looked like he was drunkenly pasted out at the bar but this was all fake. He appeared to be out cold, but he was listening and watching his captain looking at everyone who would approach her.
Bakuto the living dragon, it wasn't too long ago he just punched and toppled a church to try and stop this man who the captain wanted to hunt down. He dropped a whole church on him and yet Rel'chunk walked away from it unscathed. The holder of a devil fruit, that gives him logia type powers. Both himself and his captain also had devil fruits but yet didn't have anything that could harm this opponent. He could turn into mist and escape any damage.
Here he was in a tavern that he promised not to burn down this time to keep guard as his captain recruit people who are going to join up. Bakuto couldn't help but wonder if anyone would actually step up to face someone with a bounty of that size. The marines gave higher bounties to the more dangerous pirates.
Seeing a cloaked figure approach the captain made Bakuto feel very uneasy. He kept watch carefully but decided not to act just yet. It would blow his whole unconscious drunk act if he sprang up at the first moment someone came up to accept Aleisa's recruitment offer. So he watched and waited to see what will happen.</s>
<|message|>Flint Ironstag
Flint who had disappeared on the crew had now returned. And he was now accompanying Captain with a new trinket in tow. It was The Sword of the Starry Night. It was a sword made of seastone, which was the Navy's favorite tool to use against the devil fruit users. The sword was a different sword with a different feel from his larger and wider sword that he regularly used. But before he had switched blades, he had used something similar in proportions to it. It was his to keep seeing as he was the only one that hadn't consumed a devil fruit. And it would be useful given he hadn't mastered the Hakis that would let him keep up with the others.
There would be the first recruit of the night. He would stand nearby and say nothing as the figure spoke to the captain. Truthfully he wasn't that worried. The tavern seemed peaceful enough save, for the slight disturbance by the Captain's attention grabbing boast. He would take a seat nearby. From there he'd order two iced teas and leisurely sip. He thouhgt about the encounter he wasn't there for with Rel'Chunk. A logia user, the most difficult of devil fruit users to fight. Well golly gee, wasn't it nice of Flint to come back and be able to use the one thing that would make the fight feasible.
When the time came, he would contribute to the fight and help snag that bounty. For now it was a time of replenishment. During the travels the crew had bled members off. That was expected, but not a good thing. The three weren't strong enough to withstand whatever the hell they'd be fighting next. More crew the better, and he was hoping that with the money they might get some improvements on the White Pearl.</s>
| <|message|>Alesia
Old Dread Inn - Alesia
The turnout of the gathering of pirates was lower than she'd ever expect. A good number of pirates pretended that they never seen what she did. As much as a scene that she don't like, few pirates would dare to challenge one of the Seven Warlords. The supposed silence of the bar receded, whilst tension maintained along the poker tables of those cowardly pirates. All that could be heard are just noises of coin chips exchanges along the tables, then shuffling of chairs as the pirates walked away from the bar one by one. Even the bartender retreated away after serving Flint a drink, for a so-called 'smoking break'.
"Yes, we are on an ongoing voyage to find the fabled treasure 'One Piece', " Peeling away the bounty poster, Alesia turned to look at the cloaked man, "Needless to say, we are to settle a few grudges against the Warlord Rel'chunk, and my crewmates would be supporting my cause, regardless of the numbers on his former bounty."
She took a seat along Flint's table, glancing at the brick fireplace before taking a few sips on her iced tea. Her eyes shifted back towards the cloaked man with an odd hand, "Alesia is my name. My late crewmate told us to be wary of 'Dreamhounds', do you happen to have any word on that of Rel'chunk's ability?"
---
For Shinji - For people who resided in Argin kingdom long enough, there are rumours of those things. Rumours of ferocious messy eaters leaving bite marks on stone and cobble, often with no crumble of bones off their prey. But Dreamhounds are thought to be just tall tales, and even fewer would know that its one of that Warlord's abilities.</s> |
<|description|>Flint Ironstag
Age: 33
Bounty: 42,690,000
Gender: Male
Appearance:
Personality: Being the one of the oldest member of the crew has put a certain burden to act responsible and mature. Of course this contrasts with his literally explosive fighting style that jells with his nature. He also sometimes slips up and acts a bit embarrassing for a man his age. Generally he is jovial enough, but more than willing to get serious when the situation calls for it. His past for him is also something of a sore spot.
Backstory: Once a bounty hunter of promising quality, he became a recruit to the marines having impressed them with his prowess. Of course his nature and is own sense of justice bristled against their "justice". He found few sympathetic voices and found himself alienated. Eventually some of the higher-ups began to rankle at this contemptuous upstart and they would conspire to wash their hands of him. The end result was him being charged of treason and responsible for destruction of an important thing. Of course more details are missing but that's the abridged version he gives. Only thing for certain is he will get his revenge.
It would be later in a chase from the constabulary who were alerted to his presence, that he'd meet Alesia. Trying to escape from them he'd try and steal her ship being unaware of her presence, and thinking her to be some odd vagrant. It turned out it was her ship but at the time it didn't matter as they had enemies on their tail. Eventually he damaged their boat so badly they had to retreat which allowed him to be formally asked to join her crew. Founding it funny to be bossed around by a little girl he said yes.
Abilities: Flint is skilled with fighting with his oversized blade, his shotgun "Phlexx", and the numerous explosives he carries on his person. He also is skilled as a gunner on the ship being able to maintain the cannons as well other sailing skills expected of a seaman.
Relationships: He finds himself oscillating between being something of a paternal figure to the younger crewmembers and that of cool elder brother, sometimes it works and sometimes he embarrasses them with perhaps a bit too much relish. He also sometimes leaves them temporarily when it comes of matters regarding his past.
Dreams: Bring true justice to those who have wronged him. Find love because it's cuffing season and he's getting old.</s>
<|message|>Alesia
The evening sun waned against the marble rimmed harbour of Puerto Arguin. Magpies flew back to their forests in fluttery flocks, as the vendors of the island began to close shop and wares to call it a day. Few of those magpies flew along the ruins of the collapsed church, Aposta Meduse. The autumn wind carries an ominous chill as it rustles the coast, the last stretch of wind flutters the flags of Argin Castle. Nobody would expect that such a small island to be the starting point where the Balance of the World and Powers would start to teeter. It begins at the Inn of Old Dread, the first gleam of moonlight wrinkled the clear glass windows, towards a group of pirates, unaware of the fate and the oncoming tides of the Great Sea.
---
Argin Kingdom, Old Dread Inn
A woman of grey cloak entered the inn. Short for a figure to be wearing such a cape, but she gazed at the list of bounty posters among the inn's notice board. Numbers that are higher than those the Pirate Captain was used to. Even the lowest of the Board would be considered a notorious pirate had it been in East Blue. The 'Cutthroat' Roarn Evans and Ezequiel's were amongst the list. None of those weren't of the poster she was looking for.
Alesia found herself bringing her dagger towards an old, browning wanted poster. All there was silence as the glass of the display plague shimmered into pieces. The Name, Face and Bounty of the enemy, Rel'chunk, one with a former bounty of two hundred and ten million, eight hundred thousand berries.
Alesia's cloak carries a few bloodstains, as she announced, "We, the Scarlet Pirates are recruiting, and we are taking down this man's head!"</s>
<|message|>Bakuto "The Living Dragon"
Intro of a Fishy Cloaked Figure
Location: Argin Kingdom, Old Dread Inn
The cloaked the pirate captain's declaration has been noticed in the tavern. A cloaked individual with his head and hands covered perked his head up and looked at the pirate captain. Without much more the cloaked figure approaches the scarlet haired captain. The cloaked man moved around like his cloak was very much hindering his movement, but he made his way. He gets a closer look at the wanted poster.
The cloaked man spoke, his voice muffled a bit by the cloak covering his face, but also sounding a bit garbled like tone "So you are recruiting to take this man's head? Two hundred and ten million beri bounty that is quite a number on a target of yours. Is this a case of a little fish trying to eat a big fish I wonder? I know not of who this man is nor do I care, you say you are the Scarlet Pirates and that is all I care about. Pirates here on the grand line, often all have the same goals, but I don't dare assume you are the same as other pirates who enter these waters, but I must know once you take this man's head will you sail off and continue your path down the grand line?" The cloaked figured spoke to Alesia but didn't once remove his cloak or any part of his covered body show.
The man continues talking getting to his point, "If you are, then you are a way to further my own goals. I want to sail across these seas and reach a destination farther down on the grand line. So if I join your crew in taking this man's head will you continue your journey so I may go to where my goals lie?"
Putting his hand on the table as to lean on it as he waits for his question to be answered. His hand accidentally slide out from the cloak revealed a webbed like hand but is demeanor doesn't change once he stands there.
---
Bakuto the Living Dragon
Sitting at the bar was a member of the scarlet pirates with his head against the bar with a few empty bottles surrounding his head. He looked like he was drunkenly pasted out at the bar but this was all fake. He appeared to be out cold, but he was listening and watching his captain looking at everyone who would approach her.
Bakuto the living dragon, it wasn't too long ago he just punched and toppled a church to try and stop this man who the captain wanted to hunt down. He dropped a whole church on him and yet Rel'chunk walked away from it unscathed. The holder of a devil fruit, that gives him logia type powers. Both himself and his captain also had devil fruits but yet didn't have anything that could harm this opponent. He could turn into mist and escape any damage.
Here he was in a tavern that he promised not to burn down this time to keep guard as his captain recruit people who are going to join up. Bakuto couldn't help but wonder if anyone would actually step up to face someone with a bounty of that size. The marines gave higher bounties to the more dangerous pirates.
Seeing a cloaked figure approach the captain made Bakuto feel very uneasy. He kept watch carefully but decided not to act just yet. It would blow his whole unconscious drunk act if he sprang up at the first moment someone came up to accept Aleisa's recruitment offer. So he watched and waited to see what will happen.</s>
| <|message|>Flint Ironstag
Flint who had disappeared on the crew had now returned. And he was now accompanying Captain with a new trinket in tow. It was The Sword of the Starry Night. It was a sword made of seastone, which was the Navy's favorite tool to use against the devil fruit users. The sword was a different sword with a different feel from his larger and wider sword that he regularly used. But before he had switched blades, he had used something similar in proportions to it. It was his to keep seeing as he was the only one that hadn't consumed a devil fruit. And it would be useful given he hadn't mastered the Hakis that would let him keep up with the others.
There would be the first recruit of the night. He would stand nearby and say nothing as the figure spoke to the captain. Truthfully he wasn't that worried. The tavern seemed peaceful enough save, for the slight disturbance by the Captain's attention grabbing boast. He would take a seat nearby. From there he'd order two iced teas and leisurely sip. He thouhgt about the encounter he wasn't there for with Rel'Chunk. A logia user, the most difficult of devil fruit users to fight. Well golly gee, wasn't it nice of Flint to come back and be able to use the one thing that would make the fight feasible.
When the time came, he would contribute to the fight and help snag that bounty. For now it was a time of replenishment. During the travels the crew had bled members off. That was expected, but not a good thing. The three weren't strong enough to withstand whatever the hell they'd be fighting next. More crew the better, and he was hoping that with the money they might get some improvements on the White Pearl.</s> |
<|description|>Aiko Kamiya
Age:
18
Gender:
Female
Race:
Wutai
Occupation:
Freelancer (most odd jobs she can take) / Motorized Rollerblade racer (both legal and illegal... Mostly illegal.)
Appearance:
Personality:
Aiko is normally a chill, quiet and laid-back girl. She often does whatever she can to avoid unnecessary trouble and conflicts, giving others the feeling that she almost never take things seriously... Which she normally doesn't. Despite that, Aiko is still rather easy to approach. Her calm and laid back personality, her cute, almost childish appearance coupled with the fact that she values those she consider friends make her rather popular in most places she normally goes.
Surprisingly enough, despite her calm and cute appearance, Aiko's love for speed and adrenaline are easy for anyone to see when they see her racing. Whenever she has her head full or needs to calm herself down, you can find her running through Midgar's alleys, industrial area and even grinding and using the large pipes that run through the city almost as it's nervous system as her particular racing track.
Aiko does have problems with authorities though. While she is not openly aggressive, she often does exactly the opposite what they say, just to provoke them or defy their authority.
History:
Aiko was born in Wutai, her own family, the branch family of one of the important families in the Wutai society did give her family a bit of privilege, putting them just a bit above the normal population. Their proximity to the rest of the population while still having a close relationship with the main family made them the perfect bridge to connect the general population and the main family, that gave them quite a good reputation. Aiko spent most of her childhood being the sole daughter of the Kamiya family. While not exactly 'rich', having a martial arts Dojo that was more of a tradition of their family than what made them money, Aiko still could enjoy an above the average education on most fields, going as far as learning the family's martial arts style since she was small, which not only was a tradition in her family, but now with the war with Shinra going on, there was even more reasons for her to know how to defend herself.
Unfortunately, Aiko herself wasn't able to enjoy such good life for much longer. When she was a teenager and the war with Shinra was already raging, the main family, foreseeing a grim future for the Wutai people and the war, made the decision to secretly support Shinra in exchange for more financial status, power, influence and of course, immunity once the war ended and Shinra had control over Wutai territory. In order to do that though, they needed a scapegoat... Someone to push their previous actions against Shinra on to and announce their support to Shinra. That family was no other than the Kamiya family...
Foreseeing a grim future for the family, Aiko's father had to make a hard choice. In order to save her daughter and wife, he did nothing even after knowing about the main family's plan, instead accepting the fact that he would, most likely, be executed in the short future. Instead of waiting for that to happen though, which would certainly only take long enough for the war progress to the point that the main family could afford openly declaring their alliance with Shinra, he sent both Aiko and her mother away from Wutai... To a place that neither the main family nor Shinra would think about searching for them... In the very heart of Shinra... Midgar. After doing the necessary preparations, Aiko and her mother were sent to Midgar with a forged backstory and documents as the widow of a merchant, together with a good amount of money, enough for them to be able to settle down there and live a decent life.
After moving to Midgar and settling down on a decent part of the upper city, saving themselves from the life on the slums thanks only to the money that they had brought from their hometown, by a stroke of luck, the life for Aiko and her mother was good. Not that good as how it was on their hometown on Wutai but it was still decent. Unfortunately, even though Aiko was able to deal with the death of her father and having to leave her hometown by bottling up her feelings, her mother wasn't and entered into a deep depression just a few months after they arrived in Midgar, which made her weaker and weaker until she died 1 year and a half later.
It was only after her mother died that Aiko felt the impact of everything that had happened until now. She had bottled up her emotions when she had to leave Wutai even knowing that her father would die but now that she suddenly saw herself completely alone in the world, those bottled up feelings finally breached the wall she had built around her heart. She began wandering across the city going even to the slums and the more underground parts of Midgar, not knowing what to do with her life. It was then that she discovered the motorized rollerblades races that used to happen. The speed and the adrenaline of the race as she watched immediately told her that it was that what she needed. Buying a set of semi-professional rollerblades, she got into the sport by first attending illegal, minor races after training. Thanks to the contacts she made, she ended up having quite a few opportunities, including a few shots at professional grade races, which earnet her quite a bit of recognition and a pair of professional grade rollerblades and a suit. Since racing didn't give her that much money, Aiko had to earn her life by making odd jobs and fixing rollerblades, thanks to what she learned by messing and customizing her own rollerblades as she got better at using them. Her search for adrenaline though often makes her take different and new jobs, sometimes even hunting and the type of job that would make her leave the city.
Weapon:
Pair of professional grade motorized rollerblades (customized by herself) and a small, one handed chokutō.
Aiko fights using a Martial art created by herself by mixing her own skills with the motorized rollerblades and her family's martial arts. It's high speed coupled with powerful kicks and precise chokutō attacks makes it quite lethal when used with the rollerblades. Due to the high impact and strain on the user's joints, it requires proper equipment in order to avoid injuries to the user.
Skills:
Linked kicks:
Aiko strikes her opponent with a strong, spear like kick using her speed, inflicting heavy blunt damage and knocking the target back. If the target hits a wall or an obstacle, Aiko can immediately rush towards it to deliver a second kick, dealing the same amount of damage and potentially stunning the target.
Alternatively, Aiko can rush to the target and make a sudden stop just in front of it, using her momentum to unleash a powerful spinning kick, which if it hits, can be followed by a second one.
Critical Momentum:
If Aiko manages to score a critical hit on an attack using her sword, she does not lose speed nor momentum and can immediately make a second attack following it.
Dexterous:
Aiko's small and light body make her unfit to block attacks from most opponents but she specialized herself in dodging them by using her agility, dexterity and flexibility.
Precision cuts:
Using both her speed and her chokutō, Aiko can deliver cuts to specific spots on her enemies, slicing tendons, muscles and other spots, inflicting critical damage and ailment status depending on the spot she strikes. While they are not powerful enough to pierce armor, when she targets unprotected spots and weak spots, it is incredibly effective.
Equipment:
Misc.
- 2 Potions
- 1 Antidote
- A pouch with some gil.
Basic Smartphone:
Basic, popular model.
Titanium Bangle:
Small increase on magical and physical defense. 2 materia slots.
Motorized Rollerblades:
Immunity to slow and stop.
Materia:
Fast Strike Materia:
Raises the user's attack power according to how fast it's moving when the attack is made.
Lethal Dodge Materia:
After dodging an attack, Aiko can immediately attack her target using the opening caused by it's own attack, focusing on a weak/critical spot.
LIMIT BREAK:
Kamiya Breathing Technique:
Using a breathing technique coupled with a custom configuration of her rollerblades, Aiko can double her reaction speed and movement speed for some time, sharply raising her speed and capacity to dodge attacks. When the effect ends, she gets immobilized for the rest of the battle due to the strain on her muscles and body.</s>
<|message|>Alexander "Lex" Krait
Lex put his phone down on the small island between the driver seat and passenger seat. He grit his teeth as he swerved through traffic, "Mr. Tseng...and the Boss..." He looks up at the copter in time to see the Manaward burst into brillance around the chopper, "Man thinks of everything." Wasteland let out a baying howl, not like Darkstar would be able to hear her, but Wasteland salute the alpha of the pack. At the same time Lex leaned out as he saw Rufus Shinra himself lean out. He gave him a thumbs up in admiration.
Soon enough Lex's attention is back on the chase. His lips split in a large grin as he races through traffic. With the head start he's actually slightly happy he can see the two bikes up ahead. Reaching down Lex shifts the jeep into All Wheel Drive. And mounts the median of the highway. Then down onto the otherside of traffic driving in on coming traffic. Vehicles dodging out of the way of the big up armored jeep as he races along for abit. Done mostly to avoid a thick knot of traffic in the other lanes. Soon though he mounts the median again and is back in normal traffic having ate up a few meters on the bikes ahead of him.
With a glare Lex uses the big jeeps profile to nudge a smaller vehicle out of the way just a little, not enough to send it careening out of the way. The driver laid on the horn, for about 5 seconds before he saw the huge jeep roll by, the ShinRa logo on the side and the big grinning, sharp toothed canine glaring at him. Lex chuckled, "Good girl Waste!" He weaved by another jeep, then settled in, reaching down and bringing his Winchester out again. It'd be a helluva a thing...he held his arm out the window, waited just abit before...bang! He fires, adding his own shots to the VPs, his own rounds winging along, to the sides and around the drivers, trying to throw off their balance, "Come on damn it. Stop already...where the hell are we going anyway?"</s>
<|message|>Kanade "Tora" Toragami
Kanade
---
The cars around them seemed to move in slow motion as they sped past them. Kanade kept a watchful on the helicopter as it chased them through the busy streets. She noticed gunfire pelting the ground around them as well, and when she looked to the source, she saw a familiar jeep straddling the median.
Ssssshoom~!
Boom!
The moment she took her eyes off the helicopter, a wave of heat rush over her as a missile exploded nearby. Her arm gripped Biggs even tighter out fearing she'd be thrown off. The bike swerved heavily around another slow-moving car, before regaining its balance. The bastard in the white suit had to be dealt with first, otherwise the next shot could kill them.
Kanade accept the two explosives from Biggs, and rolled them between her fingers, one in each hand. The warm metal blocks had a single green light and switch on its side.
She looked up. Beyond the intersection ahead were a row of buildings. On one side was a strip storefronts and on the other a modest parking garage that was still under construction. Scaffolding flanked it on two sides.
That's it.
She looked over her shoulder again, realizing how closely the helicopter and jeep were tailing them.
"Make a quick stop near the scaffold ahead. I'll hit the chopper with a grenade once you start to brake. Worst case, they fly past us and we can try to lose them in that parking garage."
She turned and steadied herself as Biggs weaved through traffic, an active grenade held at the ready.</s>
| <|message|>Aiko Kamiya
With the issue about a job and hopefully about money dealt with, Aiko left to do her own things. Having only to prepare herself and wait for the call from her contractor and having to do only a small checkup on her equipment after the last modification she did, she was taking her time riding home. Taking one of the longer routes, she was riding in a relatively calm manner, nowhere as fast a she usually did. Truth be told, she was a bit relieved to not have to crawl back to Don again for a job, she hated how he had this way of slowly closing his claws around anyone or anything he was interested in, leaving no space for them to escape when they finally noticed...
Unfortunately it seemed like she wasn't going to be able to relax just yet. Noticing that she was being followed, Aiko did nothing for the first few seconds, only looking at her pursuers in a discreet manner. Their pursuers seemed to be three goons, possibly members of a gang. It was pretty unlikely for people to go after her, both for her being well known on the area and due to her being generally a pretty chill girl, not getting into trouble with anyone... Other than the authorities, that is. That said, it wasn't difficult for Aiko to imagine why those thugs were going after her... News went around pretty fast, especially if you had the influence and information network Don had. If the talk that Aiko was able to get a job got on Don's ears, he wouldn't be happy about it. That said... simple goons couldn't be considered anything more than a small distraction for Aiko.
Looking towards her pursuers in a not-so-discreet manner, Aiko simply let out a mocking grin as she began gradually going faster and faster, just to see if they were able to follow her. With the speed rising, so did the maneuvers and the complexity of the routes she took, diving deeper and deeper into the steel jungle that the lower levels of Midgard were.</s> |
<|description|>Aiko Kamiya
Age:
18
Gender:
Female
Race:
Wutai
Occupation:
Freelancer (most odd jobs she can take) / Motorized Rollerblade racer (both legal and illegal... Mostly illegal.)
Appearance:
Personality:
Aiko is normally a chill, quiet and laid-back girl. She often does whatever she can to avoid unnecessary trouble and conflicts, giving others the feeling that she almost never take things seriously... Which she normally doesn't. Despite that, Aiko is still rather easy to approach. Her calm and laid back personality, her cute, almost childish appearance coupled with the fact that she values those she consider friends make her rather popular in most places she normally goes.
Surprisingly enough, despite her calm and cute appearance, Aiko's love for speed and adrenaline are easy for anyone to see when they see her racing. Whenever she has her head full or needs to calm herself down, you can find her running through Midgar's alleys, industrial area and even grinding and using the large pipes that run through the city almost as it's nervous system as her particular racing track.
Aiko does have problems with authorities though. While she is not openly aggressive, she often does exactly the opposite what they say, just to provoke them or defy their authority.
History:
Aiko was born in Wutai, her own family, the branch family of one of the important families in the Wutai society did give her family a bit of privilege, putting them just a bit above the normal population. Their proximity to the rest of the population while still having a close relationship with the main family made them the perfect bridge to connect the general population and the main family, that gave them quite a good reputation. Aiko spent most of her childhood being the sole daughter of the Kamiya family. While not exactly 'rich', having a martial arts Dojo that was more of a tradition of their family than what made them money, Aiko still could enjoy an above the average education on most fields, going as far as learning the family's martial arts style since she was small, which not only was a tradition in her family, but now with the war with Shinra going on, there was even more reasons for her to know how to defend herself.
Unfortunately, Aiko herself wasn't able to enjoy such good life for much longer. When she was a teenager and the war with Shinra was already raging, the main family, foreseeing a grim future for the Wutai people and the war, made the decision to secretly support Shinra in exchange for more financial status, power, influence and of course, immunity once the war ended and Shinra had control over Wutai territory. In order to do that though, they needed a scapegoat... Someone to push their previous actions against Shinra on to and announce their support to Shinra. That family was no other than the Kamiya family...
Foreseeing a grim future for the family, Aiko's father had to make a hard choice. In order to save her daughter and wife, he did nothing even after knowing about the main family's plan, instead accepting the fact that he would, most likely, be executed in the short future. Instead of waiting for that to happen though, which would certainly only take long enough for the war progress to the point that the main family could afford openly declaring their alliance with Shinra, he sent both Aiko and her mother away from Wutai... To a place that neither the main family nor Shinra would think about searching for them... In the very heart of Shinra... Midgar. After doing the necessary preparations, Aiko and her mother were sent to Midgar with a forged backstory and documents as the widow of a merchant, together with a good amount of money, enough for them to be able to settle down there and live a decent life.
After moving to Midgar and settling down on a decent part of the upper city, saving themselves from the life on the slums thanks only to the money that they had brought from their hometown, by a stroke of luck, the life for Aiko and her mother was good. Not that good as how it was on their hometown on Wutai but it was still decent. Unfortunately, even though Aiko was able to deal with the death of her father and having to leave her hometown by bottling up her feelings, her mother wasn't and entered into a deep depression just a few months after they arrived in Midgar, which made her weaker and weaker until she died 1 year and a half later.
It was only after her mother died that Aiko felt the impact of everything that had happened until now. She had bottled up her emotions when she had to leave Wutai even knowing that her father would die but now that she suddenly saw herself completely alone in the world, those bottled up feelings finally breached the wall she had built around her heart. She began wandering across the city going even to the slums and the more underground parts of Midgar, not knowing what to do with her life. It was then that she discovered the motorized rollerblades races that used to happen. The speed and the adrenaline of the race as she watched immediately told her that it was that what she needed. Buying a set of semi-professional rollerblades, she got into the sport by first attending illegal, minor races after training. Thanks to the contacts she made, she ended up having quite a few opportunities, including a few shots at professional grade races, which earnet her quite a bit of recognition and a pair of professional grade rollerblades and a suit. Since racing didn't give her that much money, Aiko had to earn her life by making odd jobs and fixing rollerblades, thanks to what she learned by messing and customizing her own rollerblades as she got better at using them. Her search for adrenaline though often makes her take different and new jobs, sometimes even hunting and the type of job that would make her leave the city.
Weapon:
Pair of professional grade motorized rollerblades (customized by herself) and a small, one handed chokutō.
Aiko fights using a Martial art created by herself by mixing her own skills with the motorized rollerblades and her family's martial arts. It's high speed coupled with powerful kicks and precise chokutō attacks makes it quite lethal when used with the rollerblades. Due to the high impact and strain on the user's joints, it requires proper equipment in order to avoid injuries to the user.
Skills:
Linked kicks:
Aiko strikes her opponent with a strong, spear like kick using her speed, inflicting heavy blunt damage and knocking the target back. If the target hits a wall or an obstacle, Aiko can immediately rush towards it to deliver a second kick, dealing the same amount of damage and potentially stunning the target.
Alternatively, Aiko can rush to the target and make a sudden stop just in front of it, using her momentum to unleash a powerful spinning kick, which if it hits, can be followed by a second one.
Critical Momentum:
If Aiko manages to score a critical hit on an attack using her sword, she does not lose speed nor momentum and can immediately make a second attack following it.
Dexterous:
Aiko's small and light body make her unfit to block attacks from most opponents but she specialized herself in dodging them by using her agility, dexterity and flexibility.
Precision cuts:
Using both her speed and her chokutō, Aiko can deliver cuts to specific spots on her enemies, slicing tendons, muscles and other spots, inflicting critical damage and ailment status depending on the spot she strikes. While they are not powerful enough to pierce armor, when she targets unprotected spots and weak spots, it is incredibly effective.
Equipment:
Misc.
- 2 Potions
- 1 Antidote
- A pouch with some gil.
Basic Smartphone:
Basic, popular model.
Titanium Bangle:
Small increase on magical and physical defense. 2 materia slots.
Motorized Rollerblades:
Immunity to slow and stop.
Materia:
Fast Strike Materia:
Raises the user's attack power according to how fast it's moving when the attack is made.
Lethal Dodge Materia:
After dodging an attack, Aiko can immediately attack her target using the opening caused by it's own attack, focusing on a weak/critical spot.
LIMIT BREAK:
Kamiya Breathing Technique:
Using a breathing technique coupled with a custom configuration of her rollerblades, Aiko can double her reaction speed and movement speed for some time, sharply raising her speed and capacity to dodge attacks. When the effect ends, she gets immobilized for the rest of the battle due to the strain on her muscles and body.</s>
<|message|>Kanade "Tora" Toragami
Kanade
---
The bike skidded to a stop beneath the scaffold, Kanade's own weight barely enough to keep the back wheel from coming off the ground. As their waning momentum caused her to lurch forward, she took a breath and leaned into her throw. Looking over her shoulder, she watched the grenade tumble through the air, end over end, as the green light switch to a foreboding red.
Plink...
She turned to Biggs. "Let's go!"
Boom!
Dust and loose boards from the scaffolding rained down on the sidewalk as the Biggs sped into the parking garage. A smug tension pulled her lips into a self-satisfied grin. She flipped two birds over her shoulder as daylight was quickly replaced by the incandescent red of the garage lighting.
"That's the way to go!"
She looked ahead of Biggs, and saw orange construction cones and a pair of forklifts scattered around the entrance to the service tunnels. The sign hanging over it read "For Authorized Use Only. Trespasser Will Be Shot". Kanade rolled her eyes. She had no idea how the tunnels were laid out, so she would have to trust that Biggs knew the way.</s>
<|message|>Alexander "Lex" Krait
Ranger Lex Krait
Lex looked ahead and gasped, there is no mistaking an explosive device. He even tried to pop it out of the air with a shot from his gun, but the shot missed low. He shook his head, "No...no no..." Then boom! The explosion went off, cars and vans and trucks on the road swerved away from the ball of fire. Which cleared the road for Lex. It also allowed him time to see through the fire and smoke the chopper is okay. If a little dinged up. He looks up, and nods, he can see it veering off.
Lex grit his teeth, "Oh it's on now." He hammered the accelerator and kicked the shift. The big block engine of the jeep roars. Shooting him forward, traffic slowed and off to one side allowing the big ShinRa vehicle to make some distance.
The in construction parking garage? That's their plan? He wouldn't let them escape though! He gunned the engine even more pedal to the metal. Gripping the steering wheel. He started to gain on them. Then the rock of another explosion and there's scaffolding raining about him, hearing the piece ping off the canopy of the jeep.
After getting past it and the way back going to be alot harder to get out through he slides to a halt, and pop, the headlights of his jeep blazing on as he lights up the three on the bikes. He looks at them through the windshield. Then hits the loudspeaker mounted on the top of the jeep, "Alright then Terrorists. Let's not make this any harder then it is huh? Just get off the bikes, throw your weapons away and lay down face down on the ground." he's got to try, he's got to try and defuse this somehow. Not expecting it to actually work though. He stares at the three, while drawing his shotgun with his free hand. Wasteland looks out the window as well, snarling softly.</s>
| <|message|>Aiko Kamiya
Despite the fact that she was being followed, Aiko couldn't help but find the situation amusing and funny. Not only the thugs were failing miserably at trying to be discreet but it was painfully obvious that none of them were the sharpest tool in the shed... While it was true that Aiko could easily lose them if she wanted to, she was honestly having fun in provoking the lovable trio of idiots. That said, she was so distracted in provoking them that even though she knew that there was a Doomrat's nest around those parts, she didn't realize she was going straight towards it until that exact moment. When she did though, she had an interesting idea. Since the thugs were still Don's guys, she could give them a small surprise...
"You guys are SO slow!" Aiko shouted with a smirk as she slowed down a little in order for them to not lose track of her, provoking them to keep following her as she went straight towards the Doomrat's nest, which they didn't seem to know about.
"I had to hold myself in order for you guys to keep chasing me, you know... If I gave it my all you probably would lose me in seconds." Aiko said with a chuckle and a mischievous smirk as she continued provoking them while slowly but surely leading them towards the Doomrat nest.
The plan was fairly simple: She was fairly certain that the thugs were completely oblivious about the Doomrat's nest ahead. Since she knew she could outrun the Doomrats, it would be fairly easy to provoke them and set them on the thugs, which by now would be too worried in running for their lives to bother in keep tailing Aiko. They might be idiots but they probably knew how dangerous those creatures were in groups. The moment she got closer to the nest, she would do some noise in order to draw the doomrat's attention before running away and leaving Don's thugs to deal with the rats themselves.</s> |
<|description|>Tace Delviro
Age: 33
Gender: M
Race: Human
Occupation: Mercenary, Bounty Hunter, Monster Hunter.
Appearance: A tanned man with shaggy wavy dark purple hair. His eyes are amber and his build is suitably athletic and is of average height. His apparel consists of a navy blue duster worn over a dark-shirt. His pants are a dark blue as well and just as well worn as his duster. On his waist is a belt containing a scabbard for his blade. He also has a glove-like apparatus on his left hand that also acts as a dock for the drone that he deploys. He also wears as a good-luck charm a necklace with the figure of a blue teardrop shaped blob with wide eyes and a smile.
The drone is basically a ball with a light in the middle that makes it look like an eyeball. Dangling below it is a strip of some synthetic fiber mixture that has various symbols painted on both sides making it reminiscent to certain type of talismans..
Personality:
Tace is natural wanderer and he has a bit of a gambling habit. All of which fits his sort of nomadic and somewhat shifty lifestyle. He flows like water and tries to not get too hung up on things. It is easy to think to that he's just some happy-go-lucky idiot. Of course that's wrong. He has willingly entered through a terrible conflict and endured the loss of comrades and friends. As well as the bitterness of crushing defeat. Of course that's all in the past, and maybe one day the memories will get hazy enough they won't weigh down on him so much.
History:
Tace was born at the edge of the world on one of the islands sandwiched between Gongaga and the Woodlands area island. Life was simple, but not necessarily comfortable. Not being much for island life, and having a slight penchant towards conflict he'd head outwards and northwards and would do many jobs. Eventually becoming part of a mercenary group. And times were good as a mercenary, Shinra and the nation of Wutai were at conflict and there was lucre for picking a side.
Initially he was on the Shinra side as it felt like it would be winning side, despite the promises of a reward from the desperate Wutai nation. But he had a change of heart as something about the land was captivating and he also found himself questioning the role of this war from the side of Shinra. It was just an exercise in imperial expansion and he found himself hating his role more and more. He would then defect and join the opposing side of one of many opposing forces.
Despite the initial distrust, he would prove himself admirably. Eventually he would make new friends and allies in the Wutai aligned groups. This would all prove worthless as despite their victories here and there, the might of Shinra and their damned SOLDIERS were just too overpowering and Wutai just couldn't seem to get an upper-hand for too long. Defeat was imminent as parts of Wutai were already coming under Shinra control. He and others would rush and join various insurgencies but that just lead to more loses militarily as well as personal.
Eventually Wutai had been subjugated. The once proud nation had been reduced to being a chintzy tourist trap. It was sort of cruel mercy as they were spared destruction and assimilation, but were now a cartoon version of the real thing. Tace was now alone with the people he knew being dead or dispersed from the conquest. He would go from failed freedom fighter to a mercenary again. Even with Shinra damn near controlling everything there was still chaotic spots where bounty hunters would be needed, and then there were those Mako reactors. Monsters seemed to appear in the regions that have them which also makes good money.
Life is now just lived being as fickle as the wind. He goes wherever his services would need it, gets money and occasionally burns it on nice things or gambling.
Weapon:
Tace fights with two weapons. His primary one is the drone-talisman device he has created. It acts as a conduit for casting magic with whatever materias are inserted in it. It also acts as a distraction from him as it will be more closer and annoying to the foe(s) he's fighting. When at closer range he will employ the use of a curved sabre to do some melee damage.
Skills:
Tinkering- He has a fair amount of knowledge when it comes to devices, construction, and etc which are useful when it came to making his drone.
Crippling Strike- Sword hit that's less about trying to destroy/kill and more about disabling the target
Guerilla Warfare: He picked up some up during his stint in the failed rebellion group in Wutai that was battling Shinra forces.
Tracking & survival: It's a blend of knowledge and experience from his war days and mercenary jobs he has.
Equipment:
* Slide-smartphone: Smartphone with a slide-out keyboard. Chosen because he hates using touch screens and prefers the tactile feedback of the buttons.
* Rations & water
* His lucky charm
* Potions
* Ethers
* Antidote
* A magi-tek car that could best described as what if Columbo's shitty car got turned into a rat-rod
Materia:
Time and Seal
LIMIT BREAK:
Sword soul's pure intent: TL;DR Wuxia as fuck themed Knights of the round. The talisman of the drone suddenly expands into an impossibly long scroll. From within the scroll a shit ton of swords materialize into reality like a swarm of bees. Tace using gestures or thoughts alone can make them act like an extension of himself as they attack in unison and or swarm around him in a storm of steel.
Misc.
Columbo's car
Ratrod
Possible theme songs:</s>
<|message|>Kanade "Tora" Toragami
Kanade
---
Kanade looked at herself in the mirror and winced. Her eyes were puffy from crying earlier, and her makeup smeared a little from the tears. "Damnit..." She tidied herself up, and tried to stay focused. What she had to do was simple: find Akira and beat up anyone trying to hurt him. After some thought, she realized finding him wasn't the issue. She already knew how to find him, it was getting there that was the problem. How far was it between the Junon docks and Ft. Condor? How she wished she had a map.
A searing tension was building around her temples, an ill omen of the migraines to come. Her last chat with Akira would have some lasting consequences apparently. "No good deed goes unpunished" she thought with a sigh.
She heard the rush of water from one of the closed stalls behind her, and jumped a little. Lost in her own thoughts, she forgot about where she was. A tall woman with short auburn hair arched a curious eyebrow at her through the mirror. Feeling a little too self-conscious, Kanade averted her gaze and hurried outside.
Dozens of passengers were making their way to the exit ramp in a steady stream, and she melted into the crowd, not realizing she was being followed along the way. There was too much on her mind for her to notice. She went back to collect her handbag and noticed a rusted out piece of junk meandering along on four wheels. An older man sat behind the steering wheel and patiently navigated his sad excuse for a car through the sea of people.
Then it clicked.
Having collected her things, Kanade slung her bag over her shoulder and pushed her way through the crowd. She fished out few gold-pressed coins from her bag and waved it at the driver.
"Hey, I'll give you 500 Gil, if you can take me as far southeast as you can. I'll give you 1000, if you can get me all the way to Fort Condor." She stopped in front of him to steal his attention.</s>
<|message|>Magdalene "Maddie" Lovell
Tick. Tock. Tick.
With each passing moment, the dread gnawing at Maddie grew stronger. The contact hadn't arrived yet. That was a problem. If he had gotten spooked then she was in a very dangerous situation. If not, then the delay was likely intentional - perhaps meant to either scout her out or unnerve her. It was highly probable that she was currently being watched. Still, the woman remained stoic, feigning boredom to glance about the dimly lit bar. As far as dives went, she had seen worse. A number of patrons sat at a scuffed and scratched bar, with a few hovering about a billiards table watching a couple of older men take turns taking shots at both the cue ball and each other. Maddie wouldn't go so far as to call the place packed, but it was still more people than she would have preferred.
It turned out that she was, in fact, being watched. Albeit, not quite in the manner she had thought. A number of patrons had approached her, offering drinks and...other services. She politely declined them all, claiming to be waiting on somebody. She was careful to keep up the warm Naomi persona however. She couldn't afford to allow the wrong person to notice any discrepancies.
She had little want to remain within this den of vipers any longer than was necessary.
After turning down yet another hopeless suitor, however, the woman's phone vibrated. She was just about to check it when it seemed as if her wait was finally over. She smelled the man approaching before she actually saw him. Even with the dive's air reeking of a dozen different brands of tobacco, his was particularly strong. It was a sickly sweetness that stung her nose and clung to her throat.
Now, Naomi had never met the contact before. She only had a vague description of what the man looked like but the man before her was unmistakable. He might as well have been carrying a sign reading "Mr. Subversive" or "I am a Terrorist." Or perhaps she was unfairly judging the man - seeing knives in the bouquet.
"We're going to need stronger explosives. I've already got men pulling together the materials. We need you to make ready use of them for the next mission."
Or perhaps she was right on the money.
Maddie was stunned by how brazen and nonchalant he was. To openly discuss something of this magnitude in a seemingly public place? Even if they were on his home turf, it came across as careless and dangerous. Was she dealing with a madman? Maddie silently kicked herself for not setting her phone to record or even wearing a wire of some sorts. She had been so sure that she might be taken to a secondary location - the bar's backroom, a warehouse, SOMETHING - that she decided against it. It seemed too risky at the time...but now? Was she simply too paranoid, or was he not paranoid enough? Either way, Maddie didn't like it.
"We're going to strike at the very heart of Shinra power, literally. Blow the Midgar reactors, one after the other, and leave nothing behind but their shattered dreams."
His clarification left Maddie speechless, although she managed to retain her composure and nod along while feigning complete adoration. That dread which had been building within her wrestled for control. This man was not only dangerous but deranged. He wasn't just a terrorist, he was a butcher. She could eliminate him right now. That would leave seven shots. One for the bartender, one for the doorman. Five shots. She replayed her memory of the bar. The older gentlemen playing billiards had arms. Three left. Two holdovers for any agents not accounted for plus one for herself if things went south?
No. It wouldn't be enough. It would be too close. Besides...the way he spoke suggested that the plan was already in motion. Even if she eliminated him right here and took herself out of the equation, Avalanche still had the resources to move forward with the operation.
She would do more damage than good were she to burn herself right now. Her best course of action would be to go along with the mission, pass on information and do what she could to minimize the destruction.
"That's...massive. If we could pull this off, it would change everything. It would show them what we're truly capable of." 'Naomi' added, barely containing her 'excitement' [disgust]. "Just so I know for later, uh...do we want to just disable the reactors or…?" she asked, miming out an explosion with her hands and mouthing a boom.</s>
| <|message|>Tace Delviro
Tace would be sitting in the car waiting as the traffic cleared up to get out. He continued to tap away at the phone to while away the time. In that time he managed to catch up on current events and begin to look at the various bounty bulletin board systems or BBBS for short. However, such searching would be cut short as the crowd thinned enough to finally drive. "'Bout time!" He'd thought to himself. He'd drive to the exit and while waiting on the road to clear he'd look at the phone.
"Hey, I'll give you 500 Gil, if you can take me as far southeast as you can. I'll give you 1000, if you can get me all the way to Fort Condor."
He'd glance up and see some kid. Who the hell was this? And why was she trying to hitch a ride. Five hundred for the ride, and another for hitting Fort Condor? "Make it three-thousand and you got yourself a deal kid." He'd say to her. Either she'd rightfully tell him to go fuck himself and leave, or he'd make 3k for the taxi job.</s> |
<|description|>Tace Delviro
Age: 33
Gender: M
Race: Human
Occupation: Mercenary, Bounty Hunter, Monster Hunter.
Appearance: A tanned man with shaggy wavy dark purple hair. His eyes are amber and his build is suitably athletic and is of average height. His apparel consists of a navy blue duster worn over a dark-shirt. His pants are a dark blue as well and just as well worn as his duster. On his waist is a belt containing a scabbard for his blade. He also has a glove-like apparatus on his left hand that also acts as a dock for the drone that he deploys. He also wears as a good-luck charm a necklace with the figure of a blue teardrop shaped blob with wide eyes and a smile.
The drone is basically a ball with a light in the middle that makes it look like an eyeball. Dangling below it is a strip of some synthetic fiber mixture that has various symbols painted on both sides making it reminiscent to certain type of talismans..
Personality:
Tace is natural wanderer and he has a bit of a gambling habit. All of which fits his sort of nomadic and somewhat shifty lifestyle. He flows like water and tries to not get too hung up on things. It is easy to think to that he's just some happy-go-lucky idiot. Of course that's wrong. He has willingly entered through a terrible conflict and endured the loss of comrades and friends. As well as the bitterness of crushing defeat. Of course that's all in the past, and maybe one day the memories will get hazy enough they won't weigh down on him so much.
History:
Tace was born at the edge of the world on one of the islands sandwiched between Gongaga and the Woodlands area island. Life was simple, but not necessarily comfortable. Not being much for island life, and having a slight penchant towards conflict he'd head outwards and northwards and would do many jobs. Eventually becoming part of a mercenary group. And times were good as a mercenary, Shinra and the nation of Wutai were at conflict and there was lucre for picking a side.
Initially he was on the Shinra side as it felt like it would be winning side, despite the promises of a reward from the desperate Wutai nation. But he had a change of heart as something about the land was captivating and he also found himself questioning the role of this war from the side of Shinra. It was just an exercise in imperial expansion and he found himself hating his role more and more. He would then defect and join the opposing side of one of many opposing forces.
Despite the initial distrust, he would prove himself admirably. Eventually he would make new friends and allies in the Wutai aligned groups. This would all prove worthless as despite their victories here and there, the might of Shinra and their damned SOLDIERS were just too overpowering and Wutai just couldn't seem to get an upper-hand for too long. Defeat was imminent as parts of Wutai were already coming under Shinra control. He and others would rush and join various insurgencies but that just lead to more loses militarily as well as personal.
Eventually Wutai had been subjugated. The once proud nation had been reduced to being a chintzy tourist trap. It was sort of cruel mercy as they were spared destruction and assimilation, but were now a cartoon version of the real thing. Tace was now alone with the people he knew being dead or dispersed from the conquest. He would go from failed freedom fighter to a mercenary again. Even with Shinra damn near controlling everything there was still chaotic spots where bounty hunters would be needed, and then there were those Mako reactors. Monsters seemed to appear in the regions that have them which also makes good money.
Life is now just lived being as fickle as the wind. He goes wherever his services would need it, gets money and occasionally burns it on nice things or gambling.
Weapon:
Tace fights with two weapons. His primary one is the drone-talisman device he has created. It acts as a conduit for casting magic with whatever materias are inserted in it. It also acts as a distraction from him as it will be more closer and annoying to the foe(s) he's fighting. When at closer range he will employ the use of a curved sabre to do some melee damage.
Skills:
Tinkering- He has a fair amount of knowledge when it comes to devices, construction, and etc which are useful when it came to making his drone.
Crippling Strike- Sword hit that's less about trying to destroy/kill and more about disabling the target
Guerilla Warfare: He picked up some up during his stint in the failed rebellion group in Wutai that was battling Shinra forces.
Tracking & survival: It's a blend of knowledge and experience from his war days and mercenary jobs he has.
Equipment:
* Slide-smartphone: Smartphone with a slide-out keyboard. Chosen because he hates using touch screens and prefers the tactile feedback of the buttons.
* Rations & water
* His lucky charm
* Potions
* Ethers
* Antidote
* A magi-tek car that could best described as what if Columbo's shitty car got turned into a rat-rod
Materia:
Time and Seal
LIMIT BREAK:
Sword soul's pure intent: TL;DR Wuxia as fuck themed Knights of the round. The talisman of the drone suddenly expands into an impossibly long scroll. From within the scroll a shit ton of swords materialize into reality like a swarm of bees. Tace using gestures or thoughts alone can make them act like an extension of himself as they attack in unison and or swarm around him in a storm of steel.
Misc.
Columbo's car
Ratrod
Possible theme songs:</s>
<|message|>Alexander "Lex" Krait
Lex put his phone down on the small island between the driver seat and passenger seat. He grit his teeth as he swerved through traffic, "Mr. Tseng...and the Boss..." He looks up at the copter in time to see the Manaward burst into brillance around the chopper, "Man thinks of everything." Wasteland let out a baying howl, not like Darkstar would be able to hear her, but Wasteland salute the alpha of the pack. At the same time Lex leaned out as he saw Rufus Shinra himself lean out. He gave him a thumbs up in admiration.
Soon enough Lex's attention is back on the chase. His lips split in a large grin as he races through traffic. With the head start he's actually slightly happy he can see the two bikes up ahead. Reaching down Lex shifts the jeep into All Wheel Drive. And mounts the median of the highway. Then down onto the otherside of traffic driving in on coming traffic. Vehicles dodging out of the way of the big up armored jeep as he races along for abit. Done mostly to avoid a thick knot of traffic in the other lanes. Soon though he mounts the median again and is back in normal traffic having ate up a few meters on the bikes ahead of him.
With a glare Lex uses the big jeeps profile to nudge a smaller vehicle out of the way just a little, not enough to send it careening out of the way. The driver laid on the horn, for about 5 seconds before he saw the huge jeep roll by, the ShinRa logo on the side and the big grinning, sharp toothed canine glaring at him. Lex chuckled, "Good girl Waste!" He weaved by another jeep, then settled in, reaching down and bringing his Winchester out again. It'd be a helluva a thing...he held his arm out the window, waited just abit before...bang! He fires, adding his own shots to the VPs, his own rounds winging along, to the sides and around the drivers, trying to throw off their balance, "Come on damn it. Stop already...where the hell are we going anyway?"</s>
<|message|>Kanade "Tora" Toragami
Kanade
---
The cars around them seemed to move in slow motion as they sped past them. Kanade kept a watchful on the helicopter as it chased them through the busy streets. She noticed gunfire pelting the ground around them as well, and when she looked to the source, she saw a familiar jeep straddling the median.
Ssssshoom~!
Boom!
The moment she took her eyes off the helicopter, a wave of heat rush over her as a missile exploded nearby. Her arm gripped Biggs even tighter out fearing she'd be thrown off. The bike swerved heavily around another slow-moving car, before regaining its balance. The bastard in the white suit had to be dealt with first, otherwise the next shot could kill them.
Kanade accept the two explosives from Biggs, and rolled them between her fingers, one in each hand. The warm metal blocks had a single green light and switch on its side.
She looked up. Beyond the intersection ahead were a row of buildings. On one side was a strip storefronts and on the other a modest parking garage that was still under construction. Scaffolding flanked it on two sides.
That's it.
She looked over her shoulder again, realizing how closely the helicopter and jeep were tailing them.
"Make a quick stop near the scaffold ahead. I'll hit the chopper with a grenade once you start to brake. Worst case, they fly past us and we can try to lose them in that parking garage."
She turned and steadied herself as Biggs weaved through traffic, an active grenade held at the ready.</s>
<|message|>Aiko Kamiya
Aiko Kamiya
With the issue about a job and hopefully about money dealt with, Aiko left to do her own things. Having only to prepare herself and wait for the call from her contractor and having to do only a small checkup on her equipment after the last modification she did, she was taking her time riding home. Taking one of the longer routes, she was riding in a relatively calm manner, nowhere as fast a she usually did. Truth be told, she was a bit relieved to not have to crawl back to Don again for a job, she hated how he had this way of slowly closing his claws around anyone or anything he was interested in, leaving no space for them to escape when they finally noticed...
Unfortunately it seemed like she wasn't going to be able to relax just yet. Noticing that she was being followed, Aiko did nothing for the first few seconds, only looking at her pursuers in a discreet manner. Their pursuers seemed to be three goons, possibly members of a gang. It was pretty unlikely for people to go after her, both for her being well known on the area and due to her being generally a pretty chill girl, not getting into trouble with anyone... Other than the authorities, that is. That said, it wasn't difficult for Aiko to imagine why those thugs were going after her... News went around pretty fast, especially if you had the influence and information network Don had. If the talk that Aiko was able to get a job got on Don's ears, he wouldn't be happy about it. That said... simple goons couldn't be considered anything more than a small distraction for Aiko.
Looking towards her pursuers in a not-so-discreet manner, Aiko simply let out a mocking grin as she began gradually going faster and faster, just to see if they were able to follow her. With the speed rising, so did the maneuvers and the complexity of the routes she took, diving deeper and deeper into the steel jungle that the lower levels of Midgard were.</s>
<|message|>Naisha Alexandros
Naisha Alexandros
The fight with the modified prototype sweeper was brief, noisy and tense. While keeping an eye on her drones, she had spotted her defensive one being tossed away. Yeah she was realizing some glaring design flaws with that thing, but truth be fair it was actually more useful as a range physical damage than shield against heavy things a lot of the time. Still it did it's job, though now it was kinda not able to get a lift off again. Welp so much for that one. At least the other one was still flying around out of reach so she wouldn't have to replace the actually important drone. The defense one was relateively easy to replace or repair, but this one had a lot more electronics than the other one. Besides the defensive one really needed an upgrade, maybe it was time to actually get some proper military grade armor materials.
Still now she waited with withheld breath, to see the results of the attempted forced reset on the machine. A brief moment that had turned into eternity in her head, but then suddenly she saw the lines of text on the phone. The software reset actually took hold! This was absolutely bloody amazing. She couldn't believe Shinra's software update cloud servers were actually working properly for once. She pulled her head out of her own cover to check the sweeper that had gone intert for a bit before rebooting into obedient state. Well this was nice. She switched her attention back to her drones, there was no need to attempt to recover the defensive one, it was gone... somewhere... burried in the junkyard from a powerful toss by a sweeper mech. What a sad fate. Still she at least pulled her utility drone back to herself. It had gotten some good records on it's camera, like the mech from up close, the soldier and the... civilian dressed agent. Naisha somehow kept her face in check with sheer bloody force of will and by bitting down on the inside of her lip, almost until she drew blood.
It was really time to bail out of here. Force fo all a soldier would be near impossible to kill up close without using the mech to do it first and now that he had an 'agent' to support him things were pretty much impossible for her right now. Unless she managed to call her summon... which she didn't know if it would happen. Still, she put her fingers on the control of her motorized wheelchair, deciding it was better to leave as fast as possible, least some pointed questions started to pop up like... how she accessed a Shinra Sweeper system... Or the knowledge to trigger the software reset. She had probable answers, but believed it would be best to not get to that point." No problem. I had to help, it would have been a nightmare if it had gotten out of here. Besides I live here too, making it a bit safer is what I should be doing if I could. Now I should be going, got to get home." She gave a court reply as she started moving away to leave. She HAD to get away now before soemthing else happens... or she snaps or they decide to be inquisitive.
'Leave the junkyard, redeploy the drone to observe from safe distance, hide away and lay low for a few days...' This was what Naisha was thinking about, she was seriously wondering if arranging for a chat to buy the blueprints was a good idea now. It... didn't seem reliable. Still she tossed a quick glance back to confirm what the Shinra bastards were doing.</s>
| <|message|>Tace Delviro
Tace would jump out of the way of the thunderbolt the Zenzelet launched. The ground where the bolt struck had been gouged and still smouldered. Now he had to deal with the bird monster's diving attack. At least his spell made contact and the beast was noticeably slowed. Without thinking Tace had his talisman ready a haste spell on him. The machine would zoom away from the Zenzelet and hover over Tace. It would glow as the materia channeled its energy to cast the spell on him.
The boost in speed and agility would allow Tace the opportunity to attempt a counter. He would then proceed to run up to the roof of his car and leap into the air at the swooping beast. As he did that, Tace would extend his sword outwards and towards the Zenzelet. It would force the monster to either change course last minute and ruin it's attack. Or it would simply go through and skewer itself on his blade. Tace's eyes would lock with the Zenzelet's as if he was challenging it to skewer itself.</s> |
<|description|>Gosling "Gus" Mallory
Gosling "Gus" Mallory
---
"The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven." ~ John Milton, Paradise Lost
---
Vitals
Gender Male
Age: 34
Sexual Orientation: Homosexual
Birthmark Shape: The squared circle
Location of Birthmark: Outside of his left thigh
Skillset
Mundane Skills:
* Outdoorsman - Gus could very well survive indefinitely out in the wild; he's an experienced hunter, gatherer, homesteader, and mountaineer.
* Weaponmaster - His magic sort of lends itself to this, so Gus has practiced with all sorts of melee weapons. Anything made out of metal, he can work with. Brass knuckles are just as good as a sword.
* Immunity to Boredom - He grew up in rural Idaho. You cannot bore him. He will outlast your patience.
* Excellent penmanship
Magical Abilities: Metallomancy. While most mages might consider it a mere subset of geomancy, the Mallory family has quietly molded it into a specialization all its own. Gosling has taken it to another level, mixing in combat principles usually employed by warrior mages instead of elementalists, treating his magical creations less like tools and more like an extension of himself. He might not have the talent or raw power of a more prestigious mage, but he's certainly up to the task in a fight.
Of particular note is that his magic works better with the classical metals; mercury, tin, lead, iron, gold, silver, and copper.
Personage
Place of Birth: Magic Resort, Camas County, Idaho, USA
Currently Residing: Mackay, Custer County, Idaho, USA
Personality: Gosling is a bit of an odd duck. When you hear about a loner, a mountain man, an Idahoan, you likely wouldn't imagine the personable, presentable Gus. He claims it's because he cleans up nicely, can't look anything but your best when you're in good company after all. Can't be a bad neighbor either. He's smooth, talkative, and quite clearly the sort of person who would open with pleasantries before a fight. Because it would be rude not to.
When not in a social situation, Gus is a quiet, introspective man, who looks for meaning in the world around him. That's the mountain man when he's up on his mountain after all. He enjoys those quiet moments, when the world seems to have something of its own to say, and he's willing to be the ears that listen.
In one word, he's hospitable.
History/Bio: The Mallory Family, having set up base in Idaho, is one of those mage families that tends to be a few degrees removed from the politics of the Guild, due to both distance from the HQ in New York, and the simple isolation of relatively rural living. As a family they are lacking in prestige or fame, and much like Idaho are the sort of people who might normally be just a footnote in the history books.
Well, who would have been a footnote before Gosling killed the golden goose of obscurity.
Gus grew up in the tiny little town of Magic Resort, Idaho, on the shores of the Magic Reservoir, in the Magic Valley. The region hadn't been called that when the Mallorys had arrived, as that title only came about after the 1910s, but the irony is not lost on anyone from the family. Life was simple and pastoral out there, even after his mother explained the truth of the world to him at the tender age of six. Magic was interesting, sure, but he still had quite a while before he could do anything with it, and he'd been playing wizards and knights with other kids before that anyway.
Well, what few kids there were around. Which wasn't really enough to even fill a classroom.
Living a quiet life fit Gus quite well as a youth, even attaining his magic did little to change that. The thing that he did differently than his forebears, as he grew into that second life, was reach out. He wrote letters, and with the pen he spoke to people, people who were more connected in the Guild. He was quick-witted, and even though not much happened in his little hometown, he certainly had a lot to say to people on the other side of the country.
He made friends.
As a young adult, Gus left Idaho, crossing the nation to see this world he had been born into. It was during these years of traveling that he became an agent of the Guild, having made his way to New York along the way and offered his services as needed.
That offer had taken him some time to consider, but he had seen enough of the world by then to know the Guild had a point; extreme as it might be, the world wasn't ready for magic. The world could barely handle itself without magic.
Having gained the blessing of the Guild, and seen the world and what it might need in it, Gus returned to his home state, though not his hometown, seeking out a place where he might turn his unrefined art into a blade that could keep the world in balance.
He ended up making a homestead to the north of Mackay, in the foothills of the Lost River Range; still reachable, still close to civilization, but remote enough for him to live alone and disappear into the mountains to train his magic.
He might not have the great gift of power of certain people, but he could gain endurance, strength, and skill all his own, to protect a world he'd only seen a fraction of so far.
And he would do it all in the shadow of Borah Peak.</s>
<|message|>Melville Louis
---
It seemed that everyone had practically arrived almost at the same time and Melville didn't have time to react to everyone entering. He didn't notice many of the people who were entering the house. He naturally noticed Salem enter, How could anyone not notice her?
"Hey!" Aloysius chimed back at Salem's remark. " You probably wouldn't understand most of the stuff on TV anyway. Besides, you should be more thankful, the alternate solution was to put you in a warehouse with sleeping bags." Aloysius was about to speak more but Faye had decided to chime in and comment on the upstairs situation.
"Bed in the bathroom? Are you sure you are okay? There are two bedrooms and a small bathroom up there. One was my old childhood room and the other is my parents old master bedroom. Though, I do understand the issue regarding lack of space. Which is why I have something to show you. Melville, be a darling and look to the wall on your left, see there is a photo hanging? Twist it to the right and then push."
Melville looked slightly confused as he walked over to the photo frame. The photo in question was one of both Aloysius and Salem when they were young teens. Being so close in age they practically ended up being glued to one another for childcare and education processes. Taking the frame Melville rotated it to the right until a click could be heard, it was then he began to push. As he pushed a door-sized segment of the wall pushed in, revealing a small landing and a bunch of stairs to the right.
" Down there you will find that there are a bunch of bedrooms, meeting room and a training area. The area is padded very well and enchanted so you can scream down there and no one on the outside will hear. I would recommend that at least one of you sleeps in the master bedroom though, just to give the house the illusion it is being lived in. But that is your choice to make as to whom. The only other thing I ask is don't go into my childhood bedroom and start messing with shit. Got a lot of memories in there I don't want to lose." With the door now revealed Melville went back to sitting on the sofa.
"Anyway back to the mission. Normally we would have more information for you to work with but with the last safe house gone our entire network is dark. I wouldn't advise going to investigate the wreckage of the safe house. It might still be under watch by the Rebellion. However, I do have two leads for you to look at. First one: There is a nightclub in town which is run by a mage, who stereotypically is called Sakura. She isn't part of the Rebellion but a few of them do drink there. She might be open to talking or at least wanting to co-operate. You probably wanna catch her in the afternoon when she is setting up, as opposed to in the middle of the night when everyone is there.
" Secondly, we have, sorry had, an old warehouse out in the industrial part of Satsumasendai. We used it to house supplies for the safe houses, stuff like that. It might be worth having a sniff around and see if you spot anything. Maybe the Rebellion took it over rather than just steal something. The bigger they get, the more supplies they are going to need. Either way, both of those jobs will probably require your attention tomorrow, so I suggest splitting up into two groups. But again, totally your call. With that, I am going back to my cereal. I will send the rest of the details over shortly. For now, get yourselves settled in".
With that done, Aloysius closed the call and left them all to their own devices. Standing up, Melville turned and looked around to everyone who had now entered. There most certainly was a lot more than he imagined there would be.
" Well that was something. Though it's Aloysius, so I would say that was rather good. Anyway, I suppose I should introduce myself, Name's Melville, Heir to the Louis bloodline. But I don't really care about the whole bloodline thing. I am thinking that we should perhaps get our stuff moved in and then meet down in that meeting room to discuss what we are going to do. Sound good?"</s>
<|message|>Samira Boukhary
---
As the wall panel started to shift open and the stairway to an entire lower floor was revealed, Samira breathed an audible sigh of relief. The thought of this many people being forced to share a couple of bedrooms was rather unpalatable, especially since she knew maybe half of the people in here and she had reasons to dislike at least a quarter of them. It sounded like the Guild wanted things to be taken care of quickly, given how ready Aloysius was with the details of a couple of targets that needed to be scoped out. Still, between that and the room selection, things were shaping up rather nicely for the Canadian.
Melville started the introductions off, which was appreciated. The cryomage still was unsure of a lot of the chosen participants of this venture. However, if the Golden Child was sent here, it had to mean the rest of the selected magic users were good. At least as good as she was. So that was the hope Samira clung too. At least she knew she could play her cards right now.
"Well, if we're doing introductions, I might as well go next," she offered. "My name is Samira Boukhary, and no, that bloodline is not well known and that's how my family likes it. I'm from Lebanon, via Canada, and surprisingly enough, the Canadian roots influence my powers. Hope you don't have to find out what they are. Now, I brought a lot of food on the way in to Satsuma, so help yourself to some fried chicken, onigiri, sweet pancakes, whatever you're in the mood for. I'm pretty sure I got everything covered and more. Really recommend the fried chicken, because it's so much better than that KFC garbage. Now," she paused for a second to look around the room. "Seeing as I'm guessing I'm the only one in this room that speaks fluent Japanese, it makes sense for me to get the master bedroom upstairs, right? I'm pretty sure I have the best chance of maintaining the illusion that this is just a regular house that some silly American girl rented on Airbnb for the summer to try and 'rediscover herself in that corporate shell' or whatever buzzspeak drivel I need to spout to keep cover. So, if there are no objections, I'll be happy to move my suitcase from the car to that bedroom while everyone digs into the 'authentic Japanese 7-Eleven cuisine'?"
---</s>
| <|message|>Gosling "Gus" Mallory
Getting into the house had become more of a crowd activity as more of the team had arrived simultaneously, though that also reassured Gus that nobody here was a threat. These were the right people.
The sight of de Silva kind of set that one in place after all. Isolated he might be from the Guild's more active politics, there was no way to really not know who Salem was. Hopefully that wouldn't grow to be a problem here on this mission. But she wasn't the only big name in the room. After all, one of the others had just introduced himself as heir to the Louis name.
He himself had just stayed by the wall during the informal little briefing, of course. It was a quite one-sided introduction to their base of operations, but that was just as well. The secret passage was a nice touch, and at least that meant they wouldn't be squished in to the main house. There were certainly too many bodies just in this room.
The better question then was, how were they going to keep this place under wraps with so many people living here...
But that would have to wait for a later date. There were more priority issues to deal with. Local contacts and a potential supply cache. Though chances were that cache wasn't going to be a safe bet. The Guild had already lost all their official safehouses in the area, so it was doubtful that where they kept supplies was still a secret either.
"Excuse me, ladies and gents, but think I'll go next. Short and simple though." he spoke up next, before the crowd could all start filing down to the meeting room, or heading out to the cars as Miss Boukhary seemed to indicate, "Gus. Gus Mallory. If the name's not memorable, then that's probably why I'm here. Small town, out of the way. No big bloodlines or anything. And if we're going to try and pretend this place is normal, we've got too many cars out there and too many people who need to go in and out. Any way we can hide just how many people we have coming and going?"</s> |
<|description|>Sabatine Hickoring
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 24
Biography: Sabatine Hickoring is a member of the old but not particularly influential Hickoring family. The Hickoring's of Westmarch are a west country family of moderate estate but have been out of political power for the last century or so as a result of not moving to Xenos in order to pursue the cut and thrust of Senatorial politics.
Sabatine is the youngest of five children of her now deceased parents. Her oldest brother, Justin, is the Hickoring of Westmarch and enjoys the flashy lifestyle the estate affords him as does his grasping and manipulative wife. Separated by nearly a decade from his next oldest sibling and nearly two decades from Sabtine he has little affection for his younger relations and has essentially cut them off without a cent. In order to make a living (and more importantly maintain the image of aristocracy) the four remaining siblings were forced to find employment with the Republic. The two older boys embarked on careers with the Foreign Service while Sabatine's older sister obtained a commission with the Land Forces of the Republic in an infantry unit. Forming a informal financial agreement, the three pooled their resources to put Sabatine through the naval academy, viewing the RCN as the best place for the energetic young girl.
Raised in the country largely by servants who knew of her brothers cool feelings towards her Sabatine learned at a young age that the only way to gain respect was to be helpful and to do the best you could at any given task. This willingness to help made her popular among the tenants who were less than enamored with their absentee landlord and his wife both of whom the tenants (correctly) believed looked down on them. It was also an attitude which served her well at the RCN academy where she graduated at the top half of her class, with high marks in technical subjects and physical fitness. Her three older siblings were able to secure her a midshipman's billet at the RCN harbor complex at Harbor 3 assisting in maintenance and dock work. Eventually she caught the eye of a captain fitting out for an expedition to the Rayleigh Stars and Navy House was prevailed upon to assign her to the task force. Before leaving Cinabar she sat for an passed her Lieutenant's exam, no mean feat for a spacer whose entire experience consisted of in system tests and a couple of cruises in senior year at the academy.
A year or so on station has knocked some of the Harbor 3 starch out of Sabatine. Although she is renowned as a hard task master by the crew especially the power room crew, her willingness to throw herself into the work makes her a popular officer. The Riggers are particularly happy to have an officer who is both willing to learn and willing to help and have adopted Sabatine, unofficially, as one of their own.
@POOHEAD189</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
Even after they had freed the gig it had been a massive undertaking to get the thing back to Sarento. Sabatine and her detachment had spent the night on the unnamed island and in the morning had commandeered the surface effect transport to ship the gig back to the base. Both plasma thrusters had been irreparably damaged in the crash and in digging the thing out of the mud bank and nothing short of a drydock rebuilt was going to make them serviceable. The captain of the freighter had not been best pleased to have his vessel repurposed in such a fashion but a handful of florins and the not so subtle hint of a dozen spacers looking bored and menacing had convinced him of the need to do his duty to the Republic. The had just minutes ago landed the gig and were about to turn the whole mess over to the base establishment when a circling aircar, an RCN vehicle by virtue of the fact that civilian air cars were prohibited on Sarento on pain of shoot down, a right the RCN had famously exercised a few years ago, subsequently quelling the locals enthusiasm for aviation.
It wasn't until the officer in command of the small party called out to them that she recognized Kaiden Caladwarden. Her face froze in a set expression and the spacers around her tensed, hands going for weapons concealed in their slops without fully understanding what had startled their usual unflappable Lieutenant. After a moment, everyone relaxed, the vast majority of officers in the RCN were of the Cinnabar aristocracy, and that was a small enough club that officers with difficult pasts, political and personal were bound to run into each other sooner or later. Still Sabatine had hoped never to run into Kaiden again. She hadn't seen him since that night, the last year in the academy when their six month long relationship had imploded messily in a screaming match that had woken the barracks provosts and nearly ended in a reprimand for both of them. One of Sabatine's friends had dared her to break into Kaiden's personal files. It had been a lark not really meant to be taken seriously but having already had rather more brandy then was wise Sabatine had agreed. She had uncovered evidence, messages sent and received of another woman, an aristocrat named Monika Rolfe who was one of the Clients of the Caladwrden family. Kaiden had admitted it when she confronted him, telling her that it had been early in the relationship and they had both been very drunk, he had brushed the girl of as politely as he could after the fact. Sabatine had not taken it well and had made the information public, arousing a minor scandal that might well have resulted in a duel if both the patair famili hadn't quashed the matter in no uncertain terms. She hadn't seen nor spoken to Kaiden since. Worse, although they had been in the same year, his name, first alphabetically, meant that he outranked her on date of commission. What in the Hells was he doing here? Sabatine did her best to smooth the grimace off her face and stiffened to attention, a comical site with her clothes caked in sweat and mud and her the cleanest of her men. The spacers, filthy and disheveled as she also stiffened to a posture of attention that would have given an academy drill instructor a stroke.
"Lieutenant Caladwarden," she said formally, doing her best not to snap. She felt her skin prickle with the shock of adrenaline, it made her feel cold and her voice, already cold chilled by degrees.
"We recovered the Commodore's gig from a crash on Islet 14 sir," she told him stiffly.</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
It was a small mercy that the men around them were none-the-wiser to Sabatine and his past relationship, or the embarrassment he received from her throwing caution to the wind in a fit of rage and telling everyone who would listen that he was an unfaithful bastard. That was one of the major reasons he had been so loose with women since, never having a steady girlfriend. If any found out, they might break his heart in the same way and call him what any officer hated to be accused of.
Disloyalty.
Only Higgs and Enrique seemed to note she knew his name already, but they were wise enough to keep their mouths shut. They only glanced at him questioningly to find him staring daggers at her. Kaiden was very good at being professional and an asshole at the same time, though he tried to quell the latter, particularly in front of the men. "Lieutenant Hickoring, good work. I see you're still as active as ever. You look well, save for-" He looked at the mud caked around her. "-the trappings of your station."
He ignored her glare, taking note of the gig. He had been satisfied with it earlier but something about the whole situation seemed displeasing to him. "I'm certain the Commodore will be enjoying the fact he can cruise as he wills. However, I'm certain there's more pressing issues to attend to." He said marked by an odious tone. He could not wait for this 'scare' with the Alliance to be at an end so he could go back to anywhere else, and she could live her life here or wherever in the hells she wanted to.
Still, he glanced away for a moment and chastised himself. He might have left on a pitiless and enraged note but she didn't deserve his haughtiness in front of men. Or did she? He'd figure it out later, for now he needed to get back to business. "Myself and these fine men have been transferred here on the Commodore's orders. When will the Commodore be arriving?"</s>
| <|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
"Sir," Sabatine responded, a placeholder to give herself a moment to think rather than a response to his question. Just because he had been stationed here didn't mean he had been stationed to the Vickie, as the Vicount was colloquially known. That was self delusion, ever since Lieutenant Harrington, their previous second officer, had lost his leg when a main mast yard had fractured on extraction there had been an open berth aboard. Sabatine herself had been filling the slot with one of the midshipmen had been filling her slot. In her heart of hearts she had hoped to keep it, but there was a war on, or their might soon be. That was the way of the RCN, officers went where they were assigned, but did it have to be THIS officer? Her mind returned to the question she had been asked by a superior officer. Fortunately in the six months she had been on Herculaneum station she had taken the time to get the various communications feeds hooked up to her helmet interface with filters that routed information she though she ought to know about. That automated system had pinged her a few minutes before the transport had reached the base, informing her that the Trash Heap, mine tender TH-15, had detected the Commodore's ship dropping out of the Matrix about a hundred million miles out.
"Sir Commodore Welkins is returning from Marengo with the Caddy, err that is the Cadbury Sir," she told him in a voice that was all but a hiss for its total lack of accent. The Cadbury was an aging light cruiser of the old Agesilaus class, hardly front line in RCN service these days but a formidable vessel in this remote corner of the galaxy. There had been an uprising of some kind on the world of Marengo, the local politics were murky, but Welkins had though that an RCN cruiser in orbit might damp down the locals enthusiasm for the massacre of Cinnabar traders and other such normal accompaniments to energetic political change. Having visited the worlds during the Vickie's patrol loop more than once, she rather hoped the Commodore had felt inspired to blast the place with plasma cannon before returning. A hundred million miles wasn't good astrogation and the Commodore would certainly be in a bad mood about it.
"He should be entering orbit any time now..." as though summoned by her words the deep spine rattling rumble of a starship descending on its plasma thrusters began to vibrated through the atmosphere. None of the spacers looked up, aware from long training that the plasma exhaust of a starship could cause serious eye damage if not viewed with the proper equipment.
"What ship are you assigned to sir?" she asked, hoping against hope that he would answer with the name of one of the two gun sloops, or perhaps Grandwing, though the latter didn't seem likely.</s> |
<|description|>Sabatine Hickoring
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 24
Biography: Sabatine Hickoring is a member of the old but not particularly influential Hickoring family. The Hickoring's of Westmarch are a west country family of moderate estate but have been out of political power for the last century or so as a result of not moving to Xenos in order to pursue the cut and thrust of Senatorial politics.
Sabatine is the youngest of five children of her now deceased parents. Her oldest brother, Justin, is the Hickoring of Westmarch and enjoys the flashy lifestyle the estate affords him as does his grasping and manipulative wife. Separated by nearly a decade from his next oldest sibling and nearly two decades from Sabtine he has little affection for his younger relations and has essentially cut them off without a cent. In order to make a living (and more importantly maintain the image of aristocracy) the four remaining siblings were forced to find employment with the Republic. The two older boys embarked on careers with the Foreign Service while Sabatine's older sister obtained a commission with the Land Forces of the Republic in an infantry unit. Forming a informal financial agreement, the three pooled their resources to put Sabatine through the naval academy, viewing the RCN as the best place for the energetic young girl.
Raised in the country largely by servants who knew of her brothers cool feelings towards her Sabatine learned at a young age that the only way to gain respect was to be helpful and to do the best you could at any given task. This willingness to help made her popular among the tenants who were less than enamored with their absentee landlord and his wife both of whom the tenants (correctly) believed looked down on them. It was also an attitude which served her well at the RCN academy where she graduated at the top half of her class, with high marks in technical subjects and physical fitness. Her three older siblings were able to secure her a midshipman's billet at the RCN harbor complex at Harbor 3 assisting in maintenance and dock work. Eventually she caught the eye of a captain fitting out for an expedition to the Rayleigh Stars and Navy House was prevailed upon to assign her to the task force. Before leaving Cinabar she sat for an passed her Lieutenant's exam, no mean feat for a spacer whose entire experience consisted of in system tests and a couple of cruises in senior year at the academy.
A year or so on station has knocked some of the Harbor 3 starch out of Sabatine. Although she is renowned as a hard task master by the crew especially the power room crew, her willingness to throw herself into the work makes her a popular officer. The Riggers are particularly happy to have an officer who is both willing to learn and willing to help and have adopted Sabatine, unofficially, as one of their own.
@POOHEAD189</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
"Sir," Sabatine responded, a placeholder to give herself a moment to think rather than a response to his question. Just because he had been stationed here didn't mean he had been stationed to the Vickie, as the Vicount was colloquially known. That was self delusion, ever since Lieutenant Harrington, their previous second officer, had lost his leg when a main mast yard had fractured on extraction there had been an open berth aboard. Sabatine herself had been filling the slot with one of the midshipmen had been filling her slot. In her heart of hearts she had hoped to keep it, but there was a war on, or their might soon be. That was the way of the RCN, officers went where they were assigned, but did it have to be THIS officer? Her mind returned to the question she had been asked by a superior officer. Fortunately in the six months she had been on Herculaneum station she had taken the time to get the various communications feeds hooked up to her helmet interface with filters that routed information she though she ought to know about. That automated system had pinged her a few minutes before the transport had reached the base, informing her that the Trash Heap, mine tender TH-15, had detected the Commodore's ship dropping out of the Matrix about a hundred million miles out.
"Sir Commodore Welkins is returning from Marengo with the Caddy, err that is the Cadbury Sir," she told him in a voice that was all but a hiss for its total lack of accent. The Cadbury was an aging light cruiser of the old Agesilaus class, hardly front line in RCN service these days but a formidable vessel in this remote corner of the galaxy. There had been an uprising of some kind on the world of Marengo, the local politics were murky, but Welkins had though that an RCN cruiser in orbit might damp down the locals enthusiasm for the massacre of Cinnabar traders and other such normal accompaniments to energetic political change. Having visited the worlds during the Vickie's patrol loop more than once, she rather hoped the Commodore had felt inspired to blast the place with plasma cannon before returning. A hundred million miles wasn't good astrogation and the Commodore would certainly be in a bad mood about it.
"He should be entering orbit any time now..." as though summoned by her words the deep spine rattling rumble of a starship descending on its plasma thrusters began to vibrated through the atmosphere. None of the spacers looked up, aware from long training that the plasma exhaust of a starship could cause serious eye damage if not viewed with the proper equipment.
"What ship are you assigned to sir?" she asked, hoping against hope that he would answer with the name of one of the two gun sloops, or perhaps Grandwing, though the latter didn't seem likely.</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Kaiden attempted to be nothing if not well informed. He had not been privvy to the Commodore's whereabouts, but he was well acquainted with the Marengo debacle. One of the delegates of the planetary assembly had made an aggressive move on the local stock market, having bought out over half of the forest planets timber production plants in an attempt to fluctuate prices to suit his bid for chancellor. The acting chancellor responded with increased tariffs, and the average man and woman were caught in the middle. Marengo was soon embroiled in riots and Cinnabar hostages were taken, though Kaiden would not have guessed it was a worrying enough proposition to bring in the Commodore himself or a full blown cruiser.
"I've been assigned to the Vicount, as have my men." He told her, wondering if she had the same misfortune of sharing a ship with him.
As if on cue, the Cadbury arrived just as Sabatine was informing the prince on matters, setting down 100 meters away to the north on one of the much larger hanger areas. Once the ulti-thrusters were into play, causing a gust of wind to flow over the immediate landscape, they all knew it was safe to look just as the ship was landing. Kaiden turned northward, hands behind his back and face as neutral as he could manage (and again, he was quite good at it).
The Commodore, an easily recognizable man to anyone in this section of the military, was the first to step off the Cadbury, followed by his aids and what looked to be a amanuensis penning a memoir. Behind them, column after column of crew and soldiers filed out, and from the base a cadre of what looked to be spacer crew members outfitted for engineering/janitorial work hussled over to the aging vessel, likely needing as much constant attention these days as ever.
The Commodore was around thirty years Kiaden's senior, and while he wasn't large or overly imposing, there was an experience to him that made him formidable. He wasn't unhandsome either, his chin covered by a salt and pepper goatee, and he had iron eyes the color of the scratch marks on the Cadbury. Everyone saluted when he was within twenty meters of his gig, and he seemed none too pleased with the grime atop it.
"Who is responsible for this?" He asked once he eyed his mud-caked gig, and before anyone else could answer (particularly Motorman First Class Gregor), Sabatine stepped forward stiffly, steely eyed. "Sir, I am." She declared, and his iron gaze fell upon her form. For a moment Kaiden wondered if he had arrived just in time to see Sabatine's demotion, but after a few seconds the Commodore softened and even gave a smirk. "Thank you for saving my gig, Lieutenant. You and your men will be compensated with an extra bottle of your choice tonight."
Kaiden felt relieved, and then he questioned why that was? He wanted her gone, dammit! "Sir, may I ask-" The prince began, but the Commodore made a cutting motion with his hand and he spun on him. "Ah, you must be first lieutenant Caladwarden. I see there isn't an ounce of mud on your pristine suit, nor on any of your men's. I suppose you convenient got here just in time to attempt to take some glory, eh? Be silent." The ranking officer approached, sizing Kaiden up. "I called you here because you have an exemplary record on paper and at the behest of Captain Harkin's recommendation. However, your family's name has no sway over me or my fleet, and if I catch any foul play or scandal that has your scent on it, you'll be scrubbing the boots of my midshipmen before you know it, is that understood?"
Kaiden did his best not to blink. "Aye, sir."</s>
| <|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
Welkins fixed Kaiden with a weltering glare. He was, by all accounts, a man of mercurial moods who demanded exacting performance from the officers under him. He also had famously little patience for the aristocracy. In Cinnibar society, and the RCN more particularly, advancement was often more a mater of interest than of skill or talent. That didn't mean that the RCN was full of incompetents, the academy weeded most of those out and space travel was far to dangerous an occupation for fools to survive long even if they did make it, but it did mean that those officers who advanced fastest tended to be those whose families or networks were in a position to do favors for others. No Captain wanted his name attached to a fool or a coward though which prevented outright nepotism and the accompanying disastrous results. Interest also meant that those who came to the RCN from more unconventional routes, middle class families or masters who won commissions for services rendered, often struggled to advance. The only option in that case was to impress your commanders sufficiently that they felt your performance reflected well on them, in turn you could do favors for others and slowly build interest of your own. Welkins had been a master gunner before he had been jumped to midshipman during one of the previous wars with the Alliance. He had risen high in the RCN but his progress had been slow, and though he would probably die an admiral it didn't stop him from resenting wealthier better connected fellows who seemed to fly up through the ranks. Sabatine herself did not have much in the way of interest, her brothers and sisters did what they could and clients of the family were still happy to do what they could despite the fact that her older brother made it clear that his younger siblings could starve for all he cared. It wasn't perhaps a fair system, but the universe wasn't fair and this system had preserved the RCN and the Republic for over three centuries and it was difficult to argue with its results. After a long moment Welkins turned from Kaiden and back to Sabatine.
"See that the good Lieutenant here is introduced to Captain Micha. Give him my compliments and he and all his officers are to dine with me tonight at the Armory," Welkins instructed, giving Sabatine a long glance.
"Though if you don't mind some advice Lieutenant, consider a shower first."
The walk to the Vicount was conducted in tense silence. The spacers, picking up on the chill between the officer, forwent their normal banter and followed along. RCS Vicount sat in one of the five artificial embayments which had been constructed by sending pilings of concrete out into ocean. The embayments were not necessary for fear of tides, Herculaneum lacking a moon, but they mounted gantries and cranes to ease in the loading supplies and munitions onto vessels in harbor. The Vickie was a cylindrical metal tube about eighty meters long from stem to stern slightly tapered and rounded at bow and stern. Three rings were spaced more or less evenly around her, to which the masts and rigging were attacked, although the rig was down when the ship was planet side. Two outrigger pontoons flanked her, each connected by four oleo struts. The pontoons actually mounted the high drive motors which would power the ship while it was in space, though theses were secure in their fairings for the moment. A quarter of the way-along the length of the ship was a metal bulge that concealed her twin eight inch plasma cannons, again secured while in port. There was a second set of guns the same distance from her stern so they could be fired in syncopation without tearing the ship apart, but those were underwater at present. Though the guns were devastating at close range, their primary purpose was defensive, intended to nudge incoming missiles away from the hull as they closed. Missiles were the real killers in any fleet action, large masses of metal propelled by twin high drive units till they reached burn out and separated into three segments to spread the foot print. The missiles were unguided beyond their intial launch trajectories, as any electronics capable of making course corrections at 0.6 light speed would require the same amount of engery again to alter their courses and make them trivially vulnerable to plasma cannon fire. The Vickie had two missile tubes, one shuttered and one open for maintenance at the moment. Techs could be seen crawling in the tube as they inspected its inner workings. Larger ships, like the Caddy, had eight tubes and could volley every two minutes or so. A battleship of the RCN Celcius class could mount up to sixty tubes and level a ship killing fusillade that would be all but impossible for any single ship to avoid. Even so a single missile hit from the Vickie could gut a battleship as tons of steal sublimated into energy at the incredible speeds of a full speed impact.
"I'll let you report to Captain Micha sir," Sabatine said as they walked up the gangway and into the ship. Two spacers stood the picket, each had a slung sub machine gun though it was doubtful they knew more than which end to point at the enemy. One of them, Sabatine noted, wasn't even loaded. That actually made her feel better as it decreased her chances of death when the sailor dropped the weapon in his haste to jump up when he saw officers approaching.
"Ma'am... Sir," the spacer stammered, hastily sweeping a dice game away beneath a crate. Though the man recognized Sabatine, Kaiden was new to him.
"Carry on Howarth," Sabatine told him. Officially she was the senior ships officer present until Kaiden read his orders to Captain Micha. Howarth looked at the filthy shore party with some amusement, though he mostly kept it from his face.
"Where is the Captain currently Howarth?" Sabatine asked. The man shared a glance with his mate before responding.
"He uhh, should be on the bridge ma'am, I believe he is teaching the middies about... something at present," Howarth informed her.
"Very good spacer," she told him and turned to Kaiden.
"You'll find the captain on the bridge sir," she said in the same cooly neutral tone.
"If you've no objections I'm going to avail myself of that shower the Commodore suggested."</s> |
<|description|>Sabatine Hickoring
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 24
Biography: Sabatine Hickoring is a member of the old but not particularly influential Hickoring family. The Hickoring's of Westmarch are a west country family of moderate estate but have been out of political power for the last century or so as a result of not moving to Xenos in order to pursue the cut and thrust of Senatorial politics.
Sabatine is the youngest of five children of her now deceased parents. Her oldest brother, Justin, is the Hickoring of Westmarch and enjoys the flashy lifestyle the estate affords him as does his grasping and manipulative wife. Separated by nearly a decade from his next oldest sibling and nearly two decades from Sabtine he has little affection for his younger relations and has essentially cut them off without a cent. In order to make a living (and more importantly maintain the image of aristocracy) the four remaining siblings were forced to find employment with the Republic. The two older boys embarked on careers with the Foreign Service while Sabatine's older sister obtained a commission with the Land Forces of the Republic in an infantry unit. Forming a informal financial agreement, the three pooled their resources to put Sabatine through the naval academy, viewing the RCN as the best place for the energetic young girl.
Raised in the country largely by servants who knew of her brothers cool feelings towards her Sabatine learned at a young age that the only way to gain respect was to be helpful and to do the best you could at any given task. This willingness to help made her popular among the tenants who were less than enamored with their absentee landlord and his wife both of whom the tenants (correctly) believed looked down on them. It was also an attitude which served her well at the RCN academy where she graduated at the top half of her class, with high marks in technical subjects and physical fitness. Her three older siblings were able to secure her a midshipman's billet at the RCN harbor complex at Harbor 3 assisting in maintenance and dock work. Eventually she caught the eye of a captain fitting out for an expedition to the Rayleigh Stars and Navy House was prevailed upon to assign her to the task force. Before leaving Cinabar she sat for an passed her Lieutenant's exam, no mean feat for a spacer whose entire experience consisted of in system tests and a couple of cruises in senior year at the academy.
A year or so on station has knocked some of the Harbor 3 starch out of Sabatine. Although she is renowned as a hard task master by the crew especially the power room crew, her willingness to throw herself into the work makes her a popular officer. The Riggers are particularly happy to have an officer who is both willing to learn and willing to help and have adopted Sabatine, unofficially, as one of their own.
@POOHEAD189</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
Sabatine fidgeted in her dress uniform trying to get it to sit right. The uniform was brilliant white with gold at the seams and a saucer hat. As was traditional they wore decorations, which in Sabatine's case amounted to little more than a couple of colored ribbions for her previous postings and a pair of rifles crossed over a star, no larger than her thumbnail, that symbolized she had been on the academy rifle team. Not that Lieutenant Micha could boast much more the the way of fruit salad which, given the fact, he was a decade her senior in the service, must have been particularly galling. Though he bore the bars of his many posting, there were no citations for bravery or courage under fire, merely citations for good behavior and long and faithful service to the Republic. Sabatine had read his service history when she had been assigned to him, and the man had almost uncanny luck for avoiding action. It must have chafed him to have been denied the one thing that could trump any amount of interest, success in battle. She felt sympathy for him, but she dearly hoped that his unlucky streak would end so she would have a chance to prove herself.
They sat at dinner in the large open hall known as the Armory. The Armory had once been just that, a magazine in which anti ship missles had once been stored back in the days when Herculaneum had been a minor regional power. After the world 'accepted' the Friendship of the Republic and the base had been built, RCN planners had determined that the ammunition lockers needed to be situated below ground to prevent accident and attack. The resulting empty building had been converted into a function hall for the purposes of the RCN. Largely this was formal dinners like tonight, occasionally balls to which the local aristocracy, such as it was, were invited, and of course pay parades when ships came in from patrols. Large banners hung from the wall at regular intervals, stretching from the polished wood floor to the timbered ceiling in rippling walls of silk. Whether they represented actual battle honors, wog or RCN, Sabatine had no idea, but they did provide a convenient screen for the spacers who had been pressed into service as cooks and wait staff to operate behind without spoiling the tableau.
The table was set with white cloth and expensive looking, although probably fairly cheap silverware and laid out with laurel in proper RCN tradition. Unfortunately tradition also dictated that the officers were seated in strict and alternating order of rank, with the commodore at the head of the table, surrounded by the captains of the various ships, all the way down to the midshipmen at the foot of the table who were officers by courtesy and were expected to improve their social graces in silence. This meant that Sabatine was seated across from Kaiden, and thus required, by courtesy to interact with him. Cinnabar social etiquette required that business, in this case naval matters, not be discussed until after the main course had been served which robbed Sabatine of any topic in which she had any interest. Discussion of politics was faux pax as the RCN was required to remain above the partisan bickering of the Senate and she knew nothing of sports or current affairs back in Xenos that might fill up the idle minutes. The awkwardness began to grow acute as they were the only silent pair at the long table. There was a momentary relief as the waiters bought out the ox tail soup which formed the first course but eventually common courtesy and the notice of her neighbors compelled Sabatine to speak. Fortunately, she knew enough about Kaiden to pick an uncomfortable topic.
"Your father is in good health I trust Sir?" she asked sweetly.</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Well the food wasn't too poor in quality. He'd gotten used to military cooking early in his career, and by the standards of his previous experiences, this was certainly adequate. What he found issue with was his seating arrangements. The two officers beside him were in the midst of their own conversations, and he and Sabatine seemed to have begun a private contest on who could keep quiet the longest. He didn't feel like much of a victor when she broke her silence.
He almost laughed out loud at her words. For a brief moment he knew she was giving the equivalent of a kidney shot and he almost admired it. But the good humor quickly fell away. Kaiden was arrogant enough to not bother with acting, but he decided to play along for now regardless. If she was going to be a bitch, he could be a right bastard.
"Last I checked he was doing wonderfully." Kaiden said, his fingers gliding over to his glass he'd filled with wine and downing half of its contents in a single gulp. He would have downed the entirety of it, but he didn't want to cause more of a scene as of yet. "It's so kind of you to ask. Which reminds me, when was the last time you spoke to brother? The oldest brother who got you into the navy. I know you were attached to the hip, given how much he used to dote on you."
Of course he used ambiguous wording, as 'sending' her in wasn't necessarily bankrolling her. But it was just vague enough to let her worry over others overhearing. "Have you tried the wine, by the way? It's sweet and tart in all of the best ways. I should have been transferred earlier."</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
"It has been a while," she admitted acting as though she hadn't seen the jibe in the words.
"Of course we are poor west country folk, he doesn't have the wealth and position necessary to buy me my commission, I had to earn that myself," she rejoined with a very slight, and completely deniable emphasis on 'my' commission. The implication was clear enough. Though it wasn't exactly possible to buy ones way up in the RCN, wealth and position certainly accounted for alot.
"As for being transferred sooner, I'm amazed that you couldn't just snap your fingers and have it arranged," she added with a chuckle that all but dripped a good humor that was as bright as it was artificial. She covered a smirk with a sip of the wine. It was too cloying for her taste but she had drunk pure alcohol from the power room cut with water in the past and the experience had lowered her standards for booze considerably. Setting the wine down she tried a little more of the spicy soup, finding it pleasing. A small chime rang and spacers stepped forward and lifted away they soup bowls replacing them with small cups of mint liquor which served to cleanse the palette. Sabatine downed hers at once, as did a dozen other officers for whom wine didn't have enough of a kick.</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Kaiden had finished his wine and decided to take a mug of what the others were having. He couldn't exactly remember who could drink more between he and Sabatine. He recalled that was a fun game between them and they usually passed out or made love before either could claim victory. He felt a ping in his chest and decide to shove that memory aside to enjoy, if one could call it that, the draught that had been provided. On the third sip he decided it wasn't so bad.
"Most would think so," He said with faux congeniality, swallowing the taste as best he could. He turned to the ensign next to him and nudged him with his elbow, giving him that winning smile that had people engage with him so often. The ensign laughed and they clacked mugs together as if they had won some great triumph. "Good stuff," He told the lad, who responded with "Better than one thinks. Good for two things, greasing engines and killing brain cells!"
"Very good," Kaiden said to him with a grin, regarding Sabatine once more. He should have had more of the soup, but right now the liquor would do fine. He did munch on some crackers they had provided. "So what have you been up to since we last saw each other?" He inquired, clearing his throat. He had to yawn, and despite his hammered in manners he decided to indulge himself. "You're still a Lieutenant, which is surprising."
He sipped his mug comfortably, his infuriatingly blue eyes watching her.</s>
| <|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
Sabatine refrained from snorting which would have been unlady like. Few officers would make lieutenant commander before 30 and fewer still without a war to open slots both on new vessels and through casualties. She took the decanter and poured herself another generous measure of the minty liqour. It was probably vodka of some sort, though that was a fairly broad designation given to most vegetable alcohol rather than implying it was made from potatoes. She raised her glass.
"Well you know what they say, to a bloody war or a sickly season," her gaze making it clear whose slot she hoped either of those dooms would empty. she knocked back the alcohol just as Commodore Welkins stood and rapped his fork sharply against his glass several times in quick succession. The general buzz of combination quited save for one midshipmen, wearing an improbably number of commendations continued an animated description of what was either a space battle or an amorous encounter. One of his mortified fellows cuffed him over the back of the head to silence him to which Welkins nodded his approval.
"Fellow Spacers," he began, "as you have no doubt heard tensions with the Alliance are coming to a head." There were grumbles from the assembled officers, uniformly bellicose variations of let us at them. Welkin's smiled his eyes glinting like agates.
"We have been in the past twelve months, largely on a passive footing, lifting out to deal with crisis and incident as the develop." Welkins had the trick of making it seem like he was taking his officers into his confidence, despite the fact that everyone of them, with the possible exception of Kaiden, already knew that.
"No longer, with the base secure under the protection of the mine field, we are going to spread our patrols far and wide, show the locals that the Cinnabar flag sill flies and let them that if they are thinking of exchanging our friendship for Guarantor Pora's chains they had best reckon on what the RCN has to say about it!" This raised a round of cheers from the officers, most of whom were at least buzzed on whine or strong liquor already, but the RCN was no place for abstainers. A sober part of Sabatine's mind recognized the other unspoken factors that went into the Commodore's decision to disperse his fleet. If war did break out the first they would hear of it would likely be the arrival of an Alliance squadron extracting from the matrix and launching missiles. A small force like that which operated in the Rayleigh stars could be gutted in minutes if it were caught in orbit by an enemy likely to boast many times their missile tubes. Dispersed the squadron had a better chance of avoiding a crushing defeat and could remain a force in being even if an Alliance task force arrived to attack Herculaneum. Ships would return from their patrols to find the enemy in the system and could fade away if they were too strong or attack from the rear if they were unwary.
"To that end," Welkins continued, cutting through the excited babble once again, "I'm ordering Vicount and Grandwing out at 0600 and 0700 tomorrow, Cadbury will follow as soon as her refit is finished, certainly within the next 24 hours." Officers were begining to reach for recall plates to call their crews back from liberty and Sabatine watched Captain Micha whisper into the ear of one of spacers from the Vickie, doubtless passing his own orders to start rounding up the crew.
"Vesper and Solidad," he went on, referring to the two small sloops, small pocket warships with guns but no missles, "Will remain on station in case the enemy does arrive in force. In such a case Vesper will run for Cinnabar and Solidad will be tasked with attempting to alert the rest of us. Orders have been transmitted to your ships regarding patrol routes." Welkin's grinned wolfishly.
"Perhaps we will finally get our chance to show those goons from the Alliance what real spacers are like! RCN forever!"
"RCN forever!" the assembled officers roared. Sabatine happened to be watching Micha when the cheer went up, the Captain did not join in and looked a little queasy. Well perhaps the booze hadn't quite agreed with him.</s> |
<|description|>Sabatine Hickoring
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 24
Biography: Sabatine Hickoring is a member of the old but not particularly influential Hickoring family. The Hickoring's of Westmarch are a west country family of moderate estate but have been out of political power for the last century or so as a result of not moving to Xenos in order to pursue the cut and thrust of Senatorial politics.
Sabatine is the youngest of five children of her now deceased parents. Her oldest brother, Justin, is the Hickoring of Westmarch and enjoys the flashy lifestyle the estate affords him as does his grasping and manipulative wife. Separated by nearly a decade from his next oldest sibling and nearly two decades from Sabtine he has little affection for his younger relations and has essentially cut them off without a cent. In order to make a living (and more importantly maintain the image of aristocracy) the four remaining siblings were forced to find employment with the Republic. The two older boys embarked on careers with the Foreign Service while Sabatine's older sister obtained a commission with the Land Forces of the Republic in an infantry unit. Forming a informal financial agreement, the three pooled their resources to put Sabatine through the naval academy, viewing the RCN as the best place for the energetic young girl.
Raised in the country largely by servants who knew of her brothers cool feelings towards her Sabatine learned at a young age that the only way to gain respect was to be helpful and to do the best you could at any given task. This willingness to help made her popular among the tenants who were less than enamored with their absentee landlord and his wife both of whom the tenants (correctly) believed looked down on them. It was also an attitude which served her well at the RCN academy where she graduated at the top half of her class, with high marks in technical subjects and physical fitness. Her three older siblings were able to secure her a midshipman's billet at the RCN harbor complex at Harbor 3 assisting in maintenance and dock work. Eventually she caught the eye of a captain fitting out for an expedition to the Rayleigh Stars and Navy House was prevailed upon to assign her to the task force. Before leaving Cinabar she sat for an passed her Lieutenant's exam, no mean feat for a spacer whose entire experience consisted of in system tests and a couple of cruises in senior year at the academy.
A year or so on station has knocked some of the Harbor 3 starch out of Sabatine. Although she is renowned as a hard task master by the crew especially the power room crew, her willingness to throw herself into the work makes her a popular officer. The Riggers are particularly happy to have an officer who is both willing to learn and willing to help and have adopted Sabatine, unofficially, as one of their own.
@POOHEAD189</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
"Sir," Sabatine said with a perfunctory salute. Such honors weren't typically given on ship during active service it seemed to ease the tension. Over the last several days they had seen each other sporadically in the course of their duties. She found it was easier to think of him as an RCN officer if she immersed herself in her work, which as it happened, was her natural inclination. While they were in transit Sabatine spent one watch on the hull with the riggers, trying to improve her modest astrogation skills, and the second watch with the ship-side techs. In the second category she was probably more skilled than anyone other than Chief Savachev and she worked with the midshipmen to improve their technical abilities. There was no fixed curriculum for a midshipman but Sabatine intended that by the end of the cruise all of the Vickie's middies would have a basic understanding of the machines that kept them alive in the hostile void of space, even if she was afraid that Otis might take his hand off with a power saw if she took her eyes off him for more than a few seconds. Captain Micha gave some instruction on command and, when he had time, astrogation so she tried to fill the remaining gaps. More than once she had seen Savachev hide a groan when she had set the middies to a task though, certain that her techs would have to repeat it once 'the young gentlemen' were done buggering around.
"Sir I wonder if you might give the order for the port and starboard watch to take liberty. Normally the captain would do it but he is caught up talking with Chief Higgs," she told him. Micha had been speaking to Higgs when she left the bridge, mostly asking questions about Kaiden for some reason, though it really wasn't any of her business. The bosun no doubt wanted to get to liberty himself but you didn't let your CO know that, even if it should be blatantly blood obvious. There was a babble of voices from the companionways behind them as the spacers, dressed in their liberty suits, RCN utilities whose seams had been embroiled with ribbons denoting all the ports the spacers had called upon, anxiously awaited to be unleashed. It was bad form for Micha to keep them waiting, but it was just possible this was a test of his new XO.
Beyond the boarding hold riggers were extending a ponton bridge to one of the quays to which the Vickie had moored. Errhai was a backwater world, hell everything in the Rayleigh Stars was a backwater, but it was more developed than many of its neighbours. There was a fair amount of export trade, mostly sugar that was processed from cane grown on inland plantations. A network of diesel powered railways brought the stalks of cane into Port Benjamin, as the city fancied itself, where it was processed in factories into an export grade foodstuff. The process involved a great deal of steam and gave the place a faint stink of molasses and old socks. There was a fair amount of rum produced here as well, and it was the staple liquor on the several dozen major worlds of the Raleigh Cluster, at least among the better classes on those worlds. Tilda sneezed violently as unquenched ions from the slip tickled her nose, both Kaiden and Sabatine were familiar enough with water landings to ignore the sensation. Sabatine affected not to notice, as a general she found she was happiest when she pretended Tilda didn't exist.
"Who are those people?" Tilda asked, pointing at a group of expensively dressed men and women at the end of the pier. The riggers were yelling at them to get back away from the quay so they could tie up the pontoon bridge. Klave was gesticulating with a length of pipe, making it clear that well dressed or not, if they didn't clear out of his way he was perfectly willing to clear them out. The question was directed at Sabatine so there was no way to ignore it without being rude.
"Captain Micha transmitted our crew list from orbit so we could debark without screwing around with local customs," she replied in a neutrally professional tone. Such things were a curtesy only. The 'Friendship of the Republic' was a thin veil that was easier for the locals to accept than 'possession of the Cinnabar Empire' would have been. The Republic, unlike the Alliance of Free Stars, usually preferred to work through local elites if it could, but if they got uppity the RCN would be happy to set them straight.
"I suspect they noticed our eminent executive officer on our manifest, and have come to invite him to a hundred dinner parties so they can boast to their friends of having met a genuine Cinnabar Noble," she explained.</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Kaiden had the same neutral visage plastered on his face, though he imagined he was looking slightly less amused than Sabatine. He might enjoy free food and good intelligent company, but he'd be far better off carousing rather than having to use a certain fork to eat what likely tasted a modicum better than the food he'd receive in far better company. That, and truthfully it irked him to be given special treatment due to his familial heritage. He'd have to treat them in a manner similar to how Sabatine treated Tilda, only with a bit more grace. It wouldn't do to have bad relations with the local populace because he shoved the member of a prominent family.
Kaiden didn't know if Tilda was now going to insist on him going, or if God forbid Captain Micha did. He supposed he would need a date if that was the case, but he still held out hope he could slip away quietly or give a firm no before any order was given. Better to apologize later than admit defeat now.
"Great..." He remarked sarcastically, lamenting the political indications of the 'Friendship of the Republic.' "I will cross that bridge when I come to it."
Clearing his throat, he looked at the ground for a brief moment contemplating Lieutenant Sabatine's request. He wasn't going to give her a negative answer out of spite, as much as he had the urge at times. The Port and Starboard crews had worked tirelessly as the aft and bow, but it was true they had required a bit more maintenance due to a few electrical complications, and from no fault of their own. In fact they had fixed it quicker than he could have imagined and the ship had not slowed a bit.
He didn't wish to show favoritism, or show that he was inclined to agree with Sabatine at every turn. But likely there was no fear of that, and decided to speak for Captain Micha since the officer had deigned to remain busy at this point in time.
"As for your request, it's granted. We'll give Port and Starboard liberty for now." The Prince said, tucking a wave of his hair handsome, dark hair back into line. "We'll be planetside plenty of time to give everyone a fair shot at relaxation. Make sure you're among them, Lieutenant. You're no use to the Captain or I overworked, is that understood?"
It looked as if Captain Micha was nearing the end of his delay, his voice growing closer within the corridor.</s>
| <|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
"Sir," Sabatine responded in a neutral tone before turning slightly away.
"Ship," she began triggering the ship wide communications link, "Port and Starboard watches are release for liberty." The last syllables of the message were drowned out by the roar of happy spacers as they rushed down the gangway in their colorful liberty suits, chatting and boasting of how they were going to fuck all the whores and drink all the booze this town had to offer. Realistically Port Benjamin was no different to hundreds of ports they had seen and the bars and brothels would be of a piece but after days in the matrix blowing of steam was a necessary activity no matter how many times you had done in.
Captain Micha and Chief Higgs entered the loading bay and the captain made a dismissive guesture with his hand. Higgs strode down the gangway joining a lewd song his fellows were already bellowing.
"Here we come, full of rum, looking for girls who peddle their bums."
Spacers were not by and large what Cinnabar society would consider sophisticated and their needs basically began and ended with booze and entertainment. That didn't mean they were stupid, it just meant they needed to remind themselves that they were human in the most basic possible terms as often as possible.
"Ah very good Lieutenant," Micha said approvingly as he joined the two officers, casting a distasteful look at the crowd of livered servants on the quay. They resembled butterflies scattering as a flock of birds appeared as the spacers bulled through them. Sabatine didn't think any of the spacers would deliberately shove the locals into the water, but neither would they care very much if it happened. She didn't care very much if it came to that. If these yokels had any sophistication whatever they would know better than to throng the gangway of a debarking starship.
"Anything to report Hickoring?" Micha asked with an arched eyebrow as he stopped beside them. Kaiden had been in the BDC when the ship landed and Micha had been controlling the ship from the bridge which had left her free to asses Port Benjamin as they descended.
"Six ships in harbor sir, all small freighters less than a thousand tons displacement, pretty much the standard for the carrying trade here," she explained. Small starships landed regularly in Port Benjamin, selling manufactured goods and industrial supplies that couldn't be manufactured on planet and loading their holds with sugar and rum before departing. Five out of the six ships were in the files the squadron had compiled on the place, the sixth obviously didn't make the run that frequently.
"No Alliance activity?" Micha asked. What exactly he meant by that was hard to say, Sabatine would hardly have waited till now to mention it if an Alliance warship had been in harbor and he would have seen it on the sensors himself in orbit. Cinnabar and the Alliance were at peace at the moment so their wouldn't have been anything technically wrong with finding a ship here, but it still would have been cause for comment and concern.
"According to the harbor masters office, nothing with an Alliance merchant registry has touched down within the last week," she expanded. The Captain nodded looking relieved.
"Very good Hickoring, be about your duties," Micha told her with a nod. She clicked her heels together and trotted down the ramp to begin her liberty, as pleased as the spacers to have some time ashore, though less transparent in demonstrating the fact. Micha turned to Kaiden with a wan smile.
"Well Lieutenant, I see you have a crowd of locals wishing to make your acquaintance. I will take the first watch so that you don't keep them waiting. Might be a good chance to gather some intelligence from the local nobs eh?"</s> |
<|description|>Sabatine Hickoring
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 24
Biography: Sabatine Hickoring is a member of the old but not particularly influential Hickoring family. The Hickoring's of Westmarch are a west country family of moderate estate but have been out of political power for the last century or so as a result of not moving to Xenos in order to pursue the cut and thrust of Senatorial politics.
Sabatine is the youngest of five children of her now deceased parents. Her oldest brother, Justin, is the Hickoring of Westmarch and enjoys the flashy lifestyle the estate affords him as does his grasping and manipulative wife. Separated by nearly a decade from his next oldest sibling and nearly two decades from Sabtine he has little affection for his younger relations and has essentially cut them off without a cent. In order to make a living (and more importantly maintain the image of aristocracy) the four remaining siblings were forced to find employment with the Republic. The two older boys embarked on careers with the Foreign Service while Sabatine's older sister obtained a commission with the Land Forces of the Republic in an infantry unit. Forming a informal financial agreement, the three pooled their resources to put Sabatine through the naval academy, viewing the RCN as the best place for the energetic young girl.
Raised in the country largely by servants who knew of her brothers cool feelings towards her Sabatine learned at a young age that the only way to gain respect was to be helpful and to do the best you could at any given task. This willingness to help made her popular among the tenants who were less than enamored with their absentee landlord and his wife both of whom the tenants (correctly) believed looked down on them. It was also an attitude which served her well at the RCN academy where she graduated at the top half of her class, with high marks in technical subjects and physical fitness. Her three older siblings were able to secure her a midshipman's billet at the RCN harbor complex at Harbor 3 assisting in maintenance and dock work. Eventually she caught the eye of a captain fitting out for an expedition to the Rayleigh Stars and Navy House was prevailed upon to assign her to the task force. Before leaving Cinabar she sat for an passed her Lieutenant's exam, no mean feat for a spacer whose entire experience consisted of in system tests and a couple of cruises in senior year at the academy.
A year or so on station has knocked some of the Harbor 3 starch out of Sabatine. Although she is renowned as a hard task master by the crew especially the power room crew, her willingness to throw herself into the work makes her a popular officer. The Riggers are particularly happy to have an officer who is both willing to learn and willing to help and have adopted Sabatine, unofficially, as one of their own.
@POOHEAD189</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
Sabatine pulled her commo helmet from her head and followed Higgs and Capperelli in through the wrought iron gate. The bosun hadn't been best pleased to be rousted from the brothel they had found him in but he hadn't complained or tried to shirk the duty which was a good sign. He had also been staggeringly drunk but after a dousing with cold water and a half hour spent searching for Kaiden he was, well not sober, but functional. A pair of liveried servants tried to step into the way.
"Mistress this is a private party, who do you think you are to..." the servants self important rant choked off as Capperelli punched him in the stomach and shoved him head long into a well manicured rose bush. That wasn't a good choice, but it wasn't so far from Sabatine's on reaction that she would bother to mention it.
"No one you want to fuck with tonight buddy," Higgs growled, though he directed the comment at the second servant who was already backing away with his hands raised. None of the spacers carried guns, or even the more customary knives or clubs, but she didn't doubt that her people would finish any trouble the locals put up about her barging into a private party. Fortunately further trouble was abrogated by the fact that Kaiden was close to hand.
"Kai," she called out, waving her hand at him, though he could hardly have missed his shipmates assaulting his hosts servants. The use of the diminutive name was intended to convince the locals that she knew Kaiden well enough that they should butt out without further object lessons delivered by her spacers, and to signal to Kaiden that this wasn't strictly speaking, official RCN business. The matter had been reported to Captain Micha who had said that it was a matter for the local police to sort out. He hadn't said that to Sabatine however so she was choosing to interpret that as Micha's opinion rather than official order. A few quick calls to the local police precincts had confirmed Cappereili's initial suspicion, whoever had taken the Midshipman, it wasn't the dirt side cops. Whoever it was though, was going to learn that the RCN didn't sit by and wait for the local PD to put down their donuts when one of their own was taken. At least if Sabatine had anything to say about it, which for the moment, she did. Involving Kaiden was a calculated risk but at least if both she and the XO concurred on the course of action it would be harder for Micha to raise any objections after the fact. They were, after all, the officers on the ground. She had used the recall plate Kaiden carried to locate him, all spacers on liberty carried such devices in case their should be some urgent need to recall them to the ship, but she hadn't activated it. To do so might alert the captain to what she was up to, which would give him a chance to order her not to do it. No one stopped her as she mounted the patio and closed with Kaiden.
"We have a situation XO," she said softly enough that only he and probably Tilda could hear. As directly as she could she outlined the situation, including the fact that Captain Micha had been made aware of it and seemed inclined to wait for the local cops to sort it out.
"It was all planned in advance," she concluded. Sabatine had linked her commo helmet to the ships systems, an easy enough trick if you were familiar with the hardware, which most people weren't. It amazed her how little interest people took in the tech they used every single day. Working in maintenance at Harbor Three had required her to learn every subsystem and hidden routine in almost every piece of kit the RCN used and she had learned very quickly that most people, even techs, didn't know they were there unless they directly bore on their day to day activities. Accessing the ship she had been able to uplink to the orbital satellite imagery, fortunately there as no cloud cover, and had spotted the snatch team staging in a nearby parking area before Otis had even entered the brothel. She had also been able to track them to a compound high up in the eastern hills. It was obviously guarded, though by nothing more than stone walls and a dozen or so locals.
"I don't have a second commo helmet but I suppose I could bring it up on a holo display," Sabatine concluded. Kaiden opened his mouth but Tilda produced a small palm sized unit and passed it to Sabatine.
"Use mine," she said helpfully. Sabatine nodded curtly and took the unit before pausing.
"It is up to you sir," she said choosing her words carefully. Kaiden was a scion of the Cinnibar nobility and thus understood that she was working around the Captain without her stating it directly.
"If you have duties here you can't leave..." she went on. If Kaiden didn't want to get involved that was his prerogative, but duty required that Sabatine report what she had learned to a superior. Kaiden was no coward, she knew that, but if he didn't want to stick his neck out for what might easily turn into a real ratfuck she would understand the choice, even if she couldn't respect it.</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Kaiden could easily compartmentalize his mind in to over a dozen different sections, devoid of any emotion or tugging snare that might cause any one of them to spill out into the rest of his head. It helped him keep his calm in this bizarre situation, a situation that could have disastrous consequences to any number of parties involved. He trusted Sabatine when it came to the men, her instinct usually be right when it came to dangerous situations.
The Prince ran a hand through his thick head of hair, the mane having already been messed with by Tilda's hands. He shook his head, lamenting what he was about to say.
"If Captain Micha said we are not to do anything, then we aren't to do anything...that would be the responsible thing to say, at least. Unfortunately, that's not my decision." He remarked. "I'll help you. But regardless of what happens, we need to try to resolve this peacefully if at all possible. There's bigger things at risk than the life of one man, no matter how much history we have with him. But we won't let him die at the hands of some pirates bastards either."
The men around Sabatine grinned, and Tilda blinked, though whether she was impressed or taken aback it was hard to say. Despite the warning against bloodshed, Kaiden knelt down and pulled out a .380 semiautomatic pistol, checking to see if it was fully loaded with a 'clap' of his hand.</s>
| <|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
What the locals made of their dinner guest streaming out of the garden gate with a gang of spacers was hard to know but no one was foolish enough to get in the way. They boarded the transport the spacers had provided. Sabatine didn't know if it was stolen and she hadn't asked. It was a large open cabbed diesel its white paint bubbled with rust that hadn't been sanded before the latest application. There was an attached trailer with three articulated sections. The trailer had been designed to haul produce in collapsible wire bins though the hardware and mesh was missing. Higgs was in the driver's seat, his hands gripping the ancient non-powered wheel of rubberized plastic, spacers climbed into the front and rear sections, leaving the central portion for the officers. Sabatine, Kaiden and Tilda took their places and the vehicle lurched into motion, the transmission screaming due to lack of maintenance or Higgs lack of experience, and they trundled down the cracked bitumen. Sabatine was not particularly pleased that Tilda was coming along, but she supposed there was no help for it, and she had lent them the projection unit. Sabatine crammed the commo helmet onto her head and accessed the sync function, a moment later the projection unit sprang to life, the hologram jounced and fuzzed on the uneven roads but it was good enough for her purposes.
"Judging from what the satellites picked up," she explained, displaying a loop of grainy imagery. The satellite network wasn't designed for this kind of work, but with the aid of the powerful computers aboard the Viceroy, even the simple telemetry and weather feeds could be sharpened to the point that a convoy of four vehicles could be clearly seen as it pulled into a stone walled estate high up in the hills. As they stopped the doors opened and a bound figure was dragged out of the cars and into the building.
"They took Otis to this compound in the hills, it seems to have been abandoned until a couple of weeks ago," she explained. Tilda gave Sabatine an unreadable look.
"How are you doing all this?" she asked, gesturing to the image hovering over the projector, her face flickered with something between amazement and concern before settling onto the former. Sabatine's own expression was concealed behind her helmet. Did the woman worry that she could listen to her pillow talk or something? She supposed it might be possible though the thought filled her with disgust.
"RCN training is extensive," Sabatine lied, because she needed to say something, and there was no way she was going to show off in front of Tilda, that might imply that she gave a damn about a servants opinion. Truthfully RCN training in such technical matters was cursory, meant to be left to warrant officers and technical specialists, but Sabatine had spent years breaking down and rebuilding RCN equipment and had a better idea of its capabilities than the overwhelming majority of officers. Rolling back the footage had been a simple mater to. The archives weren't protected by any encryption beyond a simple alpha numeric password, something the astrogation computer on the Vickie had broken in less than a minute.
"The only road approach is long and winding," she explained zooming out so Kaiden could see the snaking road that lead to Port Benjamin.
"And it is high enough up in the hills that the sides of the mountains make a sort of natural funnel," she went on. It was a terrible tactical position, doubtlessly chosen for that exact reason. She hoped that Kaiden had some ideas about how to approach the problem.
"Why?" he asked unexpectedly.
"Its a defensible position..." Sabatine began but Kaiden shook his head.
"I mean why grab Otis in the first place, it isn't as though his terrible astrogation and indifferent rigging skills are going to be a crippling loss to the RCN." Sabatine nodded, feeling slightly embarrassed. Perhaps it was the rum she was still burning off or perhaps it was that she had been so focused on getting Otis back the deeper motives hadn't occurred to her. It wasn't as though he was a Captain or from a powerful family, so far as she knew his only political connection was a distant cousin in a low level defense post. His grades were mediocre, he had no money, no interest. The only thing about the midshipman that was noteworthy was the fact he was an RCN officer. It would have made much more sense to grab Kaiden, at least that gave them the possibility of ransom. The truck pulled off the road and onto the fringes of a grass covered sporting field. Higgs killed the ignition and they sat for a moment in silence.
"I have no idea," Sabatine replied, "but we can just let these yokels snatch an RCN officer off the street."</s> |
<|description|>Sabatine Hickoring
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 24
Biography: Sabatine Hickoring is a member of the old but not particularly influential Hickoring family. The Hickoring's of Westmarch are a west country family of moderate estate but have been out of political power for the last century or so as a result of not moving to Xenos in order to pursue the cut and thrust of Senatorial politics.
Sabatine is the youngest of five children of her now deceased parents. Her oldest brother, Justin, is the Hickoring of Westmarch and enjoys the flashy lifestyle the estate affords him as does his grasping and manipulative wife. Separated by nearly a decade from his next oldest sibling and nearly two decades from Sabtine he has little affection for his younger relations and has essentially cut them off without a cent. In order to make a living (and more importantly maintain the image of aristocracy) the four remaining siblings were forced to find employment with the Republic. The two older boys embarked on careers with the Foreign Service while Sabatine's older sister obtained a commission with the Land Forces of the Republic in an infantry unit. Forming a informal financial agreement, the three pooled their resources to put Sabatine through the naval academy, viewing the RCN as the best place for the energetic young girl.
Raised in the country largely by servants who knew of her brothers cool feelings towards her Sabatine learned at a young age that the only way to gain respect was to be helpful and to do the best you could at any given task. This willingness to help made her popular among the tenants who were less than enamored with their absentee landlord and his wife both of whom the tenants (correctly) believed looked down on them. It was also an attitude which served her well at the RCN academy where she graduated at the top half of her class, with high marks in technical subjects and physical fitness. Her three older siblings were able to secure her a midshipman's billet at the RCN harbor complex at Harbor 3 assisting in maintenance and dock work. Eventually she caught the eye of a captain fitting out for an expedition to the Rayleigh Stars and Navy House was prevailed upon to assign her to the task force. Before leaving Cinabar she sat for an passed her Lieutenant's exam, no mean feat for a spacer whose entire experience consisted of in system tests and a couple of cruises in senior year at the academy.
A year or so on station has knocked some of the Harbor 3 starch out of Sabatine. Although she is renowned as a hard task master by the crew especially the power room crew, her willingness to throw herself into the work makes her a popular officer. The Riggers are particularly happy to have an officer who is both willing to learn and willing to help and have adopted Sabatine, unofficially, as one of their own.
@POOHEAD189</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
5 Days Later...
"Extracting," Sabatine reported, wincing for a moment as the inside of her eyelids were stretched over her entire head. The RCS Viceroy slid into the sidereal universe after its four day voyage. Sensors reported they were within a light second of the Bromley Belt, which was a damn fine piece of astrogation on Micha's part. Sabatine rubbed her eyes as she reviewed the sensor returns. Bromley was a minor mining system in the Raleigh Stars notable only for the iridium it produced. Iridium was an ultra dense ultra heat resistant metal which served for, among other things, the high drive thruster linings of starships. It was rare enough that its refining was profitable though in this case unpleasant. Bromley was a moon of a gas giant that rejoiced in the name of MXD-41. The giant's gravity had trapped an asteroid belt of unusual mineral wealth, which had lured humans to an otherwise unprofitable system. Bromley itself was an ice ball, its few settlements located around geothermal vents which sank deep into the worlds core, small starships collected asteroids, or blasted them appart in orbit and then hauled the rocks back to Bromley where industrial smelters reduced the rock to the marketable ore. Often enough the miners were family operations, a few extended households operation a couple of leaky tubs and installing a refinery in a crater in the ice sheathed surface blasted by a meteor.
"Multiple contacts ma'am," Ottis piped up, following procedure even though all the officers were no doubt studding the sensor feeds now they were back in sidereal space. Following the incident at their last planetfall Ottis appeared to be making an effort to smarten up, or perhaps the training at the academy was finally kicking in. Perhaps to the realisation that his crew wasn't going to leave him hanging had improved his outlook. Sabatine glanced sideways to where Kaiden sat at his console, monitoring the ship. They had spent most of the past five days in each others company, she had been surprised that Micha had set him to the anchorwatch as well, given the Captain's usual attitude towards the aristocracy, but Kaiden hadn't complained or sulked, merely done his duty as effectively as he could. Things could still grow tense between them, particularly as they settled into their new roles, but she no longer felt the flare of anger when he walked into the room she initially had. Of course this made her all the more aware of the shame she felt for her own part in the aftermath of their break up. In some ways she missed the anger, it had at least been easy to categorize.
"Mostly tramps, five hundred tons or less, one heavy ore mule, two thousand ton Marie Delgado out of Cofkan's World," Sabatine reported. The called up the sailing directions on Cofkan's World and was unsurprised to discover it was a world in the Sack Cluster, a group of worlds in which the Alliance and Cinnabar had little interest. The third rate power of Novi Svirdlosk claimed loose sovereignty over it, but Sabatine would have been surprised if anyone on Cokfan's World had ever hear of Novi Svirdlosk.
"Any sign of the pirates that were reported Sir?" Ottis asked looking hopefully towards Kaiden. That was the nominal reason for their village, though in truth it was more to keep mobile and provide a difficult target for a sudden Alliance incursion, but Sabatine couldn't blame the boy for being eager at the chance for action.</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
"Keep the ballast steady lads." Kaiden said on the link, watching the real-time scan on the ship's superstructure. The vickie flared up with heat as they made it into the sidereal universe, functions now requiring to abide by the laws of thermodynamics with a bit more surety. Kaiden had gotten quite good at keeping the ship maintained, monitoring communications, cabin structure, life support. He could even see the status of the guidance systems, though how they were being used or much of the nuances to the system wasn't able to be accurately translate on the screen. Satisfied the ship was stable for now, he switched the screen over to the sensors like everyone else was, listening to the exchange between Ottis and Sabatine.
"I doubt there's pirates, Midshipman." He retorted, unable to keep a wry smile from his face at a myriad of ironies on Ottis' question. Kaiden switched the monitor back to recheck the systems, speaking idly. "You know I hear a favorite tactic of pirates is kidnapping."
That had Ottis stop asking questions, and he noticed Sabatine giving him a look that he knew better than most was silent but amused approval. Kaiden checked the sensors. "Confirmed on the tramps, Captain."
The two of them had been on their duties like clockwork, losing themselves in the hard work and sometimes monotony of the tasks they had to perform. Kaiden still felt a bit stressed around Sabatine at times, but he also found himself thinking back to when they had started dating. The odd bit of feelings that flared up sometimes when one thought of a prominent ex in their life. Like an illness. It appeared for a bit and made one feel out of themselves and then would leave for around ten months. Only this seemed to be persistent. Maybe it was the tedium of some of his duties that made his mind wander as she worked beside him. Whatever it was, his rational mind did not like it. He was glad Tilda freed her schedule for him when he got off his duties. She was a good distraction.
Kaiden switched back to his sensors again, only for him to blink in suspicion in a way Sabatine would notice. "Captain Micha, one of the tramps is unregistered on the flight log." Kaiden realized, having checked the OLN (Orbital Logistics Network) and retained it with a memory like a steel trap. It technically wasn't their concern, but they had been granted to take note of any suspicious activities no matter how mundane. "Lieutenant, see if you can locate the tramp's trajectory so we can hail them." He said to Sabatine.</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
The system was surprisingly busy, with two dozen or more small craft operating in a relatively tight space. Sabatine narrowed the plot position indicator and located the tramp freighter. Its high drive had cut off, an easy thing for sensors to register given the noisy electromagnetic signature of matter/antimatter annihilation. She frowned, that was an odd action so far from any obvious landing zone. The frieghters transponder identified her as the Brother Kamal, without a logged home port.
"Sir, I think the Kamal is about to enter the matrix," she reported a second before the ripple reported on the sensors and the ship vanished into the infinite bubble universes that surrounded the sidereal.
"Velocity at time of exit was too low for them to be going anywhere," Sabatine continued. Velocity could be multiplied by taking advantage of different constants of mass and energy, but you needed to have something to multiply to make the effort worth while.
"A local tramp spooked by the arrival of a warship, nothing more," Captain Micha replied. They were speaking over the command channel, a necessity given the noise of a warship under high drive acceleration, but she hadn't been aware Micha was monitoring the conversation though she shouldn't have been surpised.
"No flight plan sir," Sabatine reported her voice not quite a challenge but definitely disagreeing. Micha snorted.
"Please Lieutenant, this is the sticks, its a wonder anyone files anything at all," the captain replied.
"Aye sir, but he spotted us within second of our emerging from the matrix, pretty good sensor watch for a backwoods freighter," she countered.
"Probably just spooked because of the reports of pirate activity," Micha responded with a trace of asperity in his voice. That was a possibility of course, though it had been the only ship to react in such a fashion to their arrival. Sabatine let it go, in all likelyhood the ship would emerge from the matrix in the next few minutes a little abashed but better safe than sorry.
"Yes Sir," Sabatine responded with a shrug. Perhaps the captain was right, but there was something about the situation that sat poorly with her. She fought down a grin, maybe she was just as eager for action as Ottis was.</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Captain Micha was a hell of a Captain when it came to logistics and navigation, but Kaiden had to disagree with his assessment of the situation. Kaiden wasn't certain it was something the crew of the Vickie should take care of themselves, but it was clearly apart of some illicit activity. If it looks like a horse, walks like a horse and sounds like a horse, it's probably not a Zebra, his former aide de camp used to say. He missed Bertram sometimes. The man had been old, but reliable and undoubtedly predictable in his loyalty and punctuality. Tilda was young and entirely unpredictable, at least in the way women you fancied could be. She was a good aide de camp however, with all the reliability of Bertram...not to mention a few other things he enjoyed.
Almost as if she had read his mind or planned for him to think of her, she appeared with the dispatches he had asked for on local ship activity, quicker than he would have expected. Miraculously, it was a log on all activity the past three months. It almost did more harm than good to Kayden, until he opened them up and realized Tilda had already marked down every instance in which a ship matching the Kamal's description had exited and entered the local area.
"How did you..."
"I listened in on the way here and decided to make it a bit easier for you." She said, her face pristine save for the small smile she had on her lush lips.
"Remind me to make it up to you." He said, eyes pouring into the pages whilst still gauging the ship's systems every now and then to make sure the vehicle was still operational.
"I plan on it." She whispered in his ear with a suggestive tone that sent a thrill up his spine. He did his best to ignore it, and she simply stepped back and took a seat behind everyone, watching them work like a hawk, or a hound at attention, awaiting orders.
"Sabbie, come here." He remarked, clearing his throat and saying louder because of Tilda's appearance. "Lieutenant, look at this." As he turned the page, the fabric loudly 'fwapping' in his hands.
According to the log, the only ships that matched the Kamal's tramp model was from the Tarlock Trading Company that shipped minerals and spices every fortnight, give or take a few days due to activity and mismanagement on the corporate side. Today was nowhere near any previously scheduled movements for such ships. It could potentially be a new schedule or unexpected shipment, but without a flight plan...</s>
| <|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
Sabatine tried to ignore her dislike for Tilda, though it wasn't easy. Rather than focus on the woman's irritating intrusion into her carefully ordered world she focused on the task at hand. Despite her resolution to let it go, she couldn't put it out of her mind. For a long moment she scanned the documents.
"Imagine you are a pirate," she mused, taking a seat at the console beside Kaiden. She punched the console live and pulled up a plot of the system. The paths of all the ships appeared as lines, mapping trajectories.
"With this much traffic in the system, attacking a freighter is going to be hard. The second you extract everyone near you will scatter, plus most of these tubs are worthless anyway," she explained. Most of the freighters weren't even capable of entering the matrix anymore, if they ever had been able to. The hulls were worth something, and the crew possibly as slaves, but all in all only laden vessels with valuable cargos were worth the risk.
"You need to be precise when you attack, come out of the matrix close to a rich prize and snatch her before she can dive for the planet, moon I suppose," she went on. Kaiden was nodding following her train of thought.
"So you need a spotter, like our unusually observant freighter," he said musingly. It was Sabatine's turn to nod.
"If I were in charge, I'd set up a base on a moon behind one of the lesser gas giants, I could jump my spotter out behind it like she was leaving the system, then simply follow a reverse course back in once she extracted to give me my intel."</s> |
<|description|>Sabatine Hickoring
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 24
Biography: Sabatine Hickoring is a member of the old but not particularly influential Hickoring family. The Hickoring's of Westmarch are a west country family of moderate estate but have been out of political power for the last century or so as a result of not moving to Xenos in order to pursue the cut and thrust of Senatorial politics.
Sabatine is the youngest of five children of her now deceased parents. Her oldest brother, Justin, is the Hickoring of Westmarch and enjoys the flashy lifestyle the estate affords him as does his grasping and manipulative wife. Separated by nearly a decade from his next oldest sibling and nearly two decades from Sabtine he has little affection for his younger relations and has essentially cut them off without a cent. In order to make a living (and more importantly maintain the image of aristocracy) the four remaining siblings were forced to find employment with the Republic. The two older boys embarked on careers with the Foreign Service while Sabatine's older sister obtained a commission with the Land Forces of the Republic in an infantry unit. Forming a informal financial agreement, the three pooled their resources to put Sabatine through the naval academy, viewing the RCN as the best place for the energetic young girl.
Raised in the country largely by servants who knew of her brothers cool feelings towards her Sabatine learned at a young age that the only way to gain respect was to be helpful and to do the best you could at any given task. This willingness to help made her popular among the tenants who were less than enamored with their absentee landlord and his wife both of whom the tenants (correctly) believed looked down on them. It was also an attitude which served her well at the RCN academy where she graduated at the top half of her class, with high marks in technical subjects and physical fitness. Her three older siblings were able to secure her a midshipman's billet at the RCN harbor complex at Harbor 3 assisting in maintenance and dock work. Eventually she caught the eye of a captain fitting out for an expedition to the Rayleigh Stars and Navy House was prevailed upon to assign her to the task force. Before leaving Cinabar she sat for an passed her Lieutenant's exam, no mean feat for a spacer whose entire experience consisted of in system tests and a couple of cruises in senior year at the academy.
A year or so on station has knocked some of the Harbor 3 starch out of Sabatine. Although she is renowned as a hard task master by the crew especially the power room crew, her willingness to throw herself into the work makes her a popular officer. The Riggers are particularly happy to have an officer who is both willing to learn and willing to help and have adopted Sabatine, unofficially, as one of their own.
@POOHEAD189</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Captain Micha was a hell of a Captain when it came to logistics and navigation, but Kaiden had to disagree with his assessment of the situation. Kaiden wasn't certain it was something the crew of the Vickie should take care of themselves, but it was clearly apart of some illicit activity. If it looks like a horse, walks like a horse and sounds like a horse, it's probably not a Zebra, his former aide de camp used to say. He missed Bertram sometimes. The man had been old, but reliable and undoubtedly predictable in his loyalty and punctuality. Tilda was young and entirely unpredictable, at least in the way women you fancied could be. She was a good aide de camp however, with all the reliability of Bertram...not to mention a few other things he enjoyed.
Almost as if she had read his mind or planned for him to think of her, she appeared with the dispatches he had asked for on local ship activity, quicker than he would have expected. Miraculously, it was a log on all activity the past three months. It almost did more harm than good to Kayden, until he opened them up and realized Tilda had already marked down every instance in which a ship matching the Kamal's description had exited and entered the local area.
"How did you..."
"I listened in on the way here and decided to make it a bit easier for you." She said, her face pristine save for the small smile she had on her lush lips.
"Remind me to make it up to you." He said, eyes pouring into the pages whilst still gauging the ship's systems every now and then to make sure the vehicle was still operational.
"I plan on it." She whispered in his ear with a suggestive tone that sent a thrill up his spine. He did his best to ignore it, and she simply stepped back and took a seat behind everyone, watching them work like a hawk, or a hound at attention, awaiting orders.
"Sabbie, come here." He remarked, clearing his throat and saying louder because of Tilda's appearance. "Lieutenant, look at this." As he turned the page, the fabric loudly 'fwapping' in his hands.
According to the log, the only ships that matched the Kamal's tramp model was from the Tarlock Trading Company that shipped minerals and spices every fortnight, give or take a few days due to activity and mismanagement on the corporate side. Today was nowhere near any previously scheduled movements for such ships. It could potentially be a new schedule or unexpected shipment, but without a flight plan...</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
Sabatine tried to ignore her dislike for Tilda, though it wasn't easy. Rather than focus on the woman's irritating intrusion into her carefully ordered world she focused on the task at hand. Despite her resolution to let it go, she couldn't put it out of her mind. For a long moment she scanned the documents.
"Imagine you are a pirate," she mused, taking a seat at the console beside Kaiden. She punched the console live and pulled up a plot of the system. The paths of all the ships appeared as lines, mapping trajectories.
"With this much traffic in the system, attacking a freighter is going to be hard. The second you extract everyone near you will scatter, plus most of these tubs are worthless anyway," she explained. Most of the freighters weren't even capable of entering the matrix anymore, if they ever had been able to. The hulls were worth something, and the crew possibly as slaves, but all in all only laden vessels with valuable cargos were worth the risk.
"You need to be precise when you attack, come out of the matrix close to a rich prize and snatch her before she can dive for the planet, moon I suppose," she went on. Kaiden was nodding following her train of thought.
"So you need a spotter, like our unusually observant freighter," he said musingly. It was Sabatine's turn to nod.
"If I were in charge, I'd set up a base on a moon behind one of the lesser gas giants, I could jump my spotter out behind it like she was leaving the system, then simply follow a reverse course back in once she extracted to give me my intel."</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Kaiden absorbed the last information, already certain something was amiss but now he couldn't have been more sure they had just seen pirate activity. He saw it in Sabatine's eyes too. They each knew one another enough to know when the other was dead certain on something. Briefly he wondered how whatever actions they were about to take might cause a scandal of some kind, always on the look out for such a risk.
"He'll never go for it." Kaiden said, obviously referring to the Captain.
"Maybe if we confronted him together?" Sabatine queried, still wishing to remain safely within the chain of command. He wouldn't blame her, already being on a tight leash from the Ottis debacle, but he also knew she was born and bred for the service.
"Or..." he said, drawing a finger over the map on the console screen, indicating where the ship had jumped and the path it had taken through the system. "We dangle something in front of the Captain to have him make the order to approach where we believe their current position is."
Sabatine looked at him, her expression unreadable. He hoped that meant she was entertaining his suggestion.
"Not lie." He said quickly. "We have small hiccups in the logs all the time. We can suggest to him that something in the logs of the Tarlock Trading Company or the Habsburg Acquisition Corp. doesn't fit according to their flight plan and we would go and see if they're flirting with skipping taxes or perhaps they have resources we can requisition. The Captain isn't one to pass up free fame or money as long as there's no conflict save for the accidental kind."</s>
| <|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
The officers wardroom was a small space, just large enough for the table and chairs that had been bolted to the deck in its small walls. Kaiden as the new XO was offically being dined in by the company and had generously extended an invitation to Captain Micha who had graciously accepted. The Vickie was cruising in real space, making an orbit of MXD-41 and showing the flag of Cinnabar to all in the system. Theoretically this was to ward of pirates, but Sabatine doubted it would be very effective in that. Pirates were a scourge this far from the civilized worlds and whether a ship was a trader or a pirate largely depended on whether they thought one would be more profitable than the other at any given moment. All of the senior warrants as well as Ottis were present. The only absentee was midshipman Mckay, the most junior of the company thus, as propriety demanded, stuck on the bridge as the deck officer.
The meal had been sumptuous, roast meat prepared with local spices and thinly sliced vegetables in a rum and pepper sauce. Wine and rum from their last landfall had been plentiful and they were settling in for the dessert course of treacle putting with fresh custard. Byron might have a long ways to go as a spacer, but his talents as a mess steward were on full display. As the steaming pudding was unveiled, he circled the table and topped up drinks without being asked before midshipman Ottis stood and raised his glass in the traditional toast. The other officers followed suit careful not to bang their chairs against the bulkhead doors.
"To a bloody war or a sickly season," the youth declared and the others echoed him before downing their drinks. Given the circumstances the toast seemed particularly ominous, but each 'day' of ship time had its own toast and the RCN never deviated from tradition. They all resumed their seats as Byron began to dispense the pudding with a wooden serving spoon with a bladed edge.
"Speaking of impending hostilities sir," Sabatine began, "Ms Savarti did some digging into our runaway freighter and I think you were probably right in that it wasn't a pirate." Micha nodded agreeably, favoring her with a patronizing smile now that he felt she wasn't going to challenge him.
"As much as we might all wish for action, this is no time to be jumping at shadows," Micha replied sagely. Chief Savachev nodded but Helenna Graving looked disappointed. No doubt the gunner was more enthusiastic about the prospect of action against pirates than most of them. Even in fleet actions, plasma cannon were primarily defensive weapons, meant to nudge incoming missiles off target, but every gunner dreamed of being able to use them to rip open a lightly armored pirate at close range.
"Quite right sir," Sabatine agreed, following the plan that she and Kaiden had worked out together. Tilda had been surprisingly helpful as well, no doubt her background as an investigative journalist gave her an instinct for how to use such social engineering.
"According to Tilda," Kaiden broke in, taking up his part of the plan, "It looks like Tarlock Trading is probably just moving cargo off the books, stashing it on a moon somewhere out behind MXD-43 or one of the other gas giants. Probably figure war is coming and are looking to avoid confiscation of iridium. Smugglers," he concluded with an aristocratic sneer. Kaiden Caladwarden, the scion of a rich and powerful family, could hardly be expected to care about such money grubbing tactics as avoiding legal excise duties. Every other officer in the mess however, including Micha sat up a little straighter. Sabatine concealed a grin by draining her rum and lifting her glass for a refill. The rest of the plan should unfold without so much as another word.
"That would make whatever they are stashing out their subject to seizure and condemnation by a prize court wouldn't it?" Higgs asked, looking more than a little bleary eyed from the amount of liquor he had consumed. Kaiden had assured her that it wasn't necessary to bring him into the scheme, and she was pleased to see she had been right.
"It certainly would," Leyla Savachev agreed in her Xenos drawl as she mentally calculated what a chief engineers share of such a seizure might be. Doubtless that share was all the more inflated for being imaginary. Micha was rubbing his chin too. Micha didn't come from money or even the aristocracy, quite the opposite in fact, he had worked his way up through years of thankless peacetime service, only to find himself far from the action and chance for advancement when the last war broke out. Even on active service the pay of a senior lieutenant was not extravagant, not unless you won prize money and that didn't happen without action. Unless of course you found an excuse to seize a valuable cargo from smugglers.
"I'll bet you the prize court on Herculaneum would condem it no questions asked, as little trade as they have been getting lately," Graving speculated. The idea was clearly taking hold and Sabatine could almost feel the avarice take hold.
"Speaking of Herculaneum, if we put back in I'd like to see about replacing number three starboard, she stuck again during extraction," Sabatine interjected, steering the topic away from smuggling and prize money as Tilda had suggested. Kaiden raised his glass surreptitiously in salute. Sabatine had no doubt that by morning, the Captain would have not only found an excuse to sweep the system for smugglers caches, but be thoroughly convinced it was his own idea.</s> |
<|description|>Sabatine Hickoring
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 24
Biography: Sabatine Hickoring is a member of the old but not particularly influential Hickoring family. The Hickoring's of Westmarch are a west country family of moderate estate but have been out of political power for the last century or so as a result of not moving to Xenos in order to pursue the cut and thrust of Senatorial politics.
Sabatine is the youngest of five children of her now deceased parents. Her oldest brother, Justin, is the Hickoring of Westmarch and enjoys the flashy lifestyle the estate affords him as does his grasping and manipulative wife. Separated by nearly a decade from his next oldest sibling and nearly two decades from Sabtine he has little affection for his younger relations and has essentially cut them off without a cent. In order to make a living (and more importantly maintain the image of aristocracy) the four remaining siblings were forced to find employment with the Republic. The two older boys embarked on careers with the Foreign Service while Sabatine's older sister obtained a commission with the Land Forces of the Republic in an infantry unit. Forming a informal financial agreement, the three pooled their resources to put Sabatine through the naval academy, viewing the RCN as the best place for the energetic young girl.
Raised in the country largely by servants who knew of her brothers cool feelings towards her Sabatine learned at a young age that the only way to gain respect was to be helpful and to do the best you could at any given task. This willingness to help made her popular among the tenants who were less than enamored with their absentee landlord and his wife both of whom the tenants (correctly) believed looked down on them. It was also an attitude which served her well at the RCN academy where she graduated at the top half of her class, with high marks in technical subjects and physical fitness. Her three older siblings were able to secure her a midshipman's billet at the RCN harbor complex at Harbor 3 assisting in maintenance and dock work. Eventually she caught the eye of a captain fitting out for an expedition to the Rayleigh Stars and Navy House was prevailed upon to assign her to the task force. Before leaving Cinabar she sat for an passed her Lieutenant's exam, no mean feat for a spacer whose entire experience consisted of in system tests and a couple of cruises in senior year at the academy.
A year or so on station has knocked some of the Harbor 3 starch out of Sabatine. Although she is renowned as a hard task master by the crew especially the power room crew, her willingness to throw herself into the work makes her a popular officer. The Riggers are particularly happy to have an officer who is both willing to learn and willing to help and have adopted Sabatine, unofficially, as one of their own.
@POOHEAD189</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
Sabatine felt her stomach lurch as she stood up from her station. Things were rapidly getting out of control but she didn't see a way to deescalate them that wouldn't be seen as cowardice in her own eyes if no one else, and whatever else Sabatine Hickoring was, she was no coward.
"Can I take it then sir, that you are refusing Lieutenant Caladwarden's plan to return to station and re-engage the Alliance," she spoke firmly and distinctly, despite a quivering in her bowels at the thought of what was coming. Micha's eyes, almost impossibly bulged further and his face flushed with anger. The bridge sensors would record what she was saying for posterity.
"Are you out of your mind Hickoring?!" he exploded, "It is a miracle we survived the first time, and this yahoo wants to take us back into the lions den?!" Micha was right in that it was a miracle, by an enormous stroke of good luck they had extracted at precisely the right position, any closer to the destroyers and they would have been destroyed before they could either escape into the matrix or inflict significant damage. Watching Micha's throbbing temple Sabatine hoped he might have a stroke, that would make all of this easier.
"Of course I am refusing, our duty is to get back to Herculaenum as soon as possible and report this disaster!" Micha screamed, spittle literally forming on his lips. The bridge crew and probably numerous men and women in the hallway stood silent.
"So you are refusing to engage the enemy sir," Sabatine pressed, drawing close to the knife edge that would put her and Kaiden's life on the line.
"I just said so didn't I, Boson Higgs, get your men out and set the rig for transit to Herculaenum! And I want these two taken into custody!" Still no one moved. Helenna Graving looked like she might be about to throw up and everyone else looked panicked.
"Lieutenant Micha," She began formally, "In the face of your repeated refusal to engage the enemies of the Republic in wartime I am left with but with no choice but to relieve you of command of RCS Viceroy until such time as a court martial can be convened in accordance with the Code of Military Justice." Her guts tried to crawl up her throat as she spoke.
"This is mutiny! You will swing for this Hickoring, both of you will!" Micha shouted, his eyes so wide they were completely ringed with white, "Arrest these mutineers!" An able spacer caught in the wrong place at the wrong time took a step towards Sabatine but, surprisingly, Tilda stepped in front of him, denying him the ability to pass without making a confrontation out of it. Evidently the ground was too shaky for him to risk that and perhaps he recognized the way the reporter set her body, obviously she knew a thing or two about hand to hand fighting.
"Lieutenant Caladwarden will assume command until a courtmartial can be convened," she continued, amazed at how steady her voice was under the stress.
"Bosun Higgs, Bosun's mate Klave, you will confine the captain in his quarters until that can be arranged," she directed.
"Touch me and you are mutineers too," Micha warned, backing up as the two big riggers stepped towards him.
"Don't worry lads, its me that is for the High Jump if I'm wrong," Sabatine called, but neither of the spacers showed any hesitation in seizing the screaming captain and dragging him bodily but effortlessly from the room. A silence decended over the bridge that was as absolute as one could be on the deck of a working starship.
"Excuse me," Sabatine managed before grabbing a rigging helmet from a hook and vomiting into it noisily, her entire body trembling with shock.</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
The Vickie jumped out of system without delay. Kaiden almost thought the crew wouldn't follow his instructions. He'd gone off the map of his reality, sitting in 'Micha's chair.' But Higgs and the rest, even Sabatine leaped to stations at his call. The ship had roared internally before bursting out of their current location.
"Hickoring, give Graving 5 degrees left of the current location of the moon from our position." Kaiden snapped.
"Done!" A female voice called. Kaiden swiveled his head to his right and saw Tilda amongst the men, shapely legs crossed on a chair and professional, albeit sly look in her eyes. Kaiden didn't have the time to pay too much attention to it and barked again.
"Graving, I want you to fire half out silos at that location, now!"
"Yes sir!" The Gunner called after just a moments hesitation. Even in such a large ship, the firing of the missiles reverberated through the steel like someone was whacking a wooden bat against an armored car. Sabatine barked orders at the spacers but the Prince didn't hear over the din of his own commands. Kaiden could feel the confusion in the air, but his eyes remained steely.
"Locate twenty degrees from the moon and jump! Now!" He cried, not missing a beat. "Graving I need those missiles reloaded. All hands on the task. Tilda, keep us monitored on the enemy locations. I don't want AFS K-21 our of sight." Tilda moved like a machine, already transfiguring onto the Destroyer's location.
The next few minutes were a flurry of activity. Kaiden had never seen such discipline in the crew, though he'd always known they were capable of it. If every ship was like the Vickie, the Alliance wouldn't stand a chance. The Halifax was spinning desperately trying to realign itself to face the Vickie's sudden reappearance. The ship flew far too close to the moon for any older officer's liking. Once the ship was out of the jump, the Vickie once again fired at the location it fired last, only this time far closer. On the screen, the Destroyer AFS K-21 filled their vision as it continued its escape.
"I want us twenty thousand kilometers from that ship! Follow those missiles and blow that ship out of the sky!"</s>
| <|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
Sabatine blinked the flashes of varicolored light from behind her eyes. The multiple quick transits they had undertaken where brutally jarring but they had succeeded in deploying a cone of missiles in a sixty degree arc with their focus on the Hikendorf's crater. The calculations had been run a half dozen times, correcting for gravity from the primary and the moon. Even though the math was complex, the astrogation computer had been built to solve multidimensional calculus that was orders of magnitude more complicated. The missiles accelerated to 0.6 of lightspeed over their three minute acceleration burns and then broke into three segments to spread the footprint. Each segment weighed a quarter of a ton, carrying enough potential energy to gut a battleship. The missiles were deployed sufficiently far enough from the alliance ships that they had remained out of sensor range. Lumps of iron without electronic signatures were far harder to detect than a star ship and so, by the time the alliance realized they had incoming, the missiles were only a few minutes from impact. Both the K-21 and the Halifax reacted as Kaiden had planned, they began to accelerate away from the moon, firing their plasma cannon at maximum rate. The plasma cannons were designed to nudge the missiles off their flight paths but at maximum velocity and at the sharp angles they were coming in, relative to the orginal positions of the two destroyers. Because they were inside the arcs of the missiles, even a direct hit provided minimal deflection. Sabatine had no doubt that both Alliance skippers were frantic to save their crippled cruiser. Kaiden's plan was, well to call it daring was to understate the point.
"Extracting," someone called as knives of ice drove into Sabatine's temples. The Vickie snapped into sidereal space 18,000 off the K-21 stern, a little more lateral than the plan had called for. Kaiden's course calculations had been refined with up to the minute observations in the matrix. His astrogation was good, better than Sabatine's, though both of them would have preferred Micha had handled it. The former captain had refused to even entertain the idea, threatening both of them with execution once they got back to Cinnabar. That might happen, but it was much, much more likely that they would be vaporized in the next few seconds. Sabatine's console lit up with a gunnery display, a redundancy incase the rapid in and out jumps knocked Gravling out of commission. As it happened she needn't have bothered. Helena was already swinging the targeting reticule onto the stern of the K-21. The destroyer had certainly detected them and its ventral guns were already swinging to bear on them, but because Kaiden knew the trajectory of the incoming missles, he knew what bearing K-21 had lain her guns upon. Their extraction wasn't perfect, but it still meant the destroyer had to swing its heavy guns nearly 140 degrees. A starships cannons floated on frictionless electromagnetic bearings, but the inertia of several tons of steel still meant they needed time to traverse. Graveling fired, the kick of the cannons slamming through the ship like a trip hammer as both barrels fire in close syncopation. The first bolt struck the hull of K-21 just aft of her turret, whipping the destroyer like a kicked dog. The second shot hit the turret housing itself, dishing in hull plating.
"Stand by for maneuver," Kaiden called, though the ship was already shifting, gravity altering with the thrusters. The plasma cannon slammed again and this time the K-21's plasma cannon errupted in a jet of blue white that slammed the destroyer sideways. Jets of pressurised air jetted from a dozen places, forming gyesers of ice crystals as seams started from the whipping of the impact.
"Hikendorf is firing," Ottis called. Sabatine tapped a key and remoted the midshipman's terminal onto her own. He had pulled up a plot position indicator which showed the tracks of the incoming missiles as cyan tracks well as the position of the two destroyers. Three of the missiles had been deflected by the combined gunfire but that still left 27 incoming projectiles. The cruiser itself was now firing with its ventral guns. The 20 centimeter guns were far heavier than those the destroyers mounted, but the rounds were coming in with nearly zero deflection. Even a direct hit wasn't sufficient to stop the missle segments as they slashed in.
"Dear god," Sabatine breathed as she scrolled the video back a few seconds. Dozens of men in rigging suits had been crawling over the hull of the cruiser, doubtlessly trying to fix the damage the Vickie had done in her initial assault. As a group they leaped from the ship and started to bound away across the moons surface. That probably didn't save them from the side scatter when the heavy guns cracked. Sabatine winced. The alliance spacers were her enemies, but she didn't take any pleasure in watching them broiled alive in their suits. The Vickie slammed as two more missiles launched. Both rounds were aimed at the distant Halifax which was desperately breaking to try to aid her crippled consort.
"Impact," Sabatine reported as the first missile struck. It was a hundred yards from the Hikendorf's stern, but the detonation was spectacular lifting a cloud of lunar dust that billowed out in all directions. A moment later the second round hit, this one less than twenty yards from the Hikendorf. The blast lifted the bow six feet into the air, the ship dropped into the ensuing crater, the lower gravity lessened the impact but that didn't discount the impact of several thousand tons of steel. Sabatine watched the back of the cruiser break before the billowing dust obscured her view. More missiles struck into the cloud, lighting it with flashes and roiling the dust. The Vickie's crew was cheering, those without duties having been watching on flat panel displays.
"Halifax is inserting!" Ottis yelled, raising Sabatine's opinion of the midshipman even further.
"What?" Kaiden demanded, looking up from the missile attack he was furiously plotting. Even as he spoke the dot on the PPI representing the Halifax wavered and vanished as the ship slipped into the matrix ahead of Kaiden's salvo.
"She is running," Sabatine said flatly, not quite daring to believe it. Either of the destroyers ought to have been able to handle the Vickie, even after she had crippled the K-21.
"RCN Viceroy, This is AFS K-21," a panic voice yelled over the 30 meter emergency band, "Cease fire, cease fire, we surrender!"
"They had crew dismounted, probably half at least," Sabatine surmised. She scrolled the image back and tapped a few commands into her console. A forest of carrots sprang up marking crewmen who had been engaged in the repair effort.
"Probably half the crew from both destroyers, maximum effort to free her," Sabatine concluded.
"RCn VIceroy, I repeated, we surrender, ceasefire!"</s> |
<|description|>Sabatine Hickoring
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 24
Biography: Sabatine Hickoring is a member of the old but not particularly influential Hickoring family. The Hickoring's of Westmarch are a west country family of moderate estate but have been out of political power for the last century or so as a result of not moving to Xenos in order to pursue the cut and thrust of Senatorial politics.
Sabatine is the youngest of five children of her now deceased parents. Her oldest brother, Justin, is the Hickoring of Westmarch and enjoys the flashy lifestyle the estate affords him as does his grasping and manipulative wife. Separated by nearly a decade from his next oldest sibling and nearly two decades from Sabtine he has little affection for his younger relations and has essentially cut them off without a cent. In order to make a living (and more importantly maintain the image of aristocracy) the four remaining siblings were forced to find employment with the Republic. The two older boys embarked on careers with the Foreign Service while Sabatine's older sister obtained a commission with the Land Forces of the Republic in an infantry unit. Forming a informal financial agreement, the three pooled their resources to put Sabatine through the naval academy, viewing the RCN as the best place for the energetic young girl.
Raised in the country largely by servants who knew of her brothers cool feelings towards her Sabatine learned at a young age that the only way to gain respect was to be helpful and to do the best you could at any given task. This willingness to help made her popular among the tenants who were less than enamored with their absentee landlord and his wife both of whom the tenants (correctly) believed looked down on them. It was also an attitude which served her well at the RCN academy where she graduated at the top half of her class, with high marks in technical subjects and physical fitness. Her three older siblings were able to secure her a midshipman's billet at the RCN harbor complex at Harbor 3 assisting in maintenance and dock work. Eventually she caught the eye of a captain fitting out for an expedition to the Rayleigh Stars and Navy House was prevailed upon to assign her to the task force. Before leaving Cinabar she sat for an passed her Lieutenant's exam, no mean feat for a spacer whose entire experience consisted of in system tests and a couple of cruises in senior year at the academy.
A year or so on station has knocked some of the Harbor 3 starch out of Sabatine. Although she is renowned as a hard task master by the crew especially the power room crew, her willingness to throw herself into the work makes her a popular officer. The Riggers are particularly happy to have an officer who is both willing to learn and willing to help and have adopted Sabatine, unofficially, as one of their own.
@POOHEAD189</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
Sabatine felt considerable relief when Kaiden made the decision. Leaving men to slowly suffocate beneath tons of dust would have been a grim end to the battle. It was strange how one could be at peace with being vaporized when a missile ripped through a vessel but fear to slowly choke for lack of air. It didn't hurt that the decision irritated Tilda either. With the course decided they were faced with the how. The wreck of the Hikendorf was buried by twenty meters of dust and rock. Sabatine and Savachev discussed several options before settling on the one they felt would be both fast and safe.
"Switch on!" Sabatine called across the unit push. She was wearing her rigging suit, clumsy under the light gravity. She stood in the umbilicus with three other riggers, each attached to a mast that had been swayed out above them by ships cables. The umbilicus, at maximum contraction stood above them, a three meter wall of plastic and steel. All four spacers gripped the square handle they had welded around a spare waterline. She felt the thrum of water racing along the pipe at firehose pressure. It blasted into the dirt in a muddy spray, the force of which almost lifted the four spacers in the low gravity. A second house began to gurgle and slurp, sucking up the slurry. By slow increments they dug into the dust, the umbilicus extending around them like a well casing. Danzetti hung above them on the cable, spraying the walls of the umbilicus with plasticizer as it extened, strengthing it so the weight of earth didn't crush it shut.
"How is it going?" Kaiden asked on a private channel. By now, Sabatine's world had been reduced to blindly fumbling in the muck, running her hand around the base of the umbilicus by feel to lower it another inch. A scum of plasticizer had formed on the water and gathered like dandruff on the head and shoulders of her suit.
"If I wanted mud," she gasped, breathing heavily, "I'd have joined the bloody pongos." Kaiden chuckled over the comm and might have been about to ask more, when water splashed on something metallic. Shoulder mounted lamps lit sparkling reflections from the spray as they exposed a section of hull plating.
"We are there," Sabatine replied, it took another minute or two to clear the three meter circle and secure it with the plasticizer.
"Think we should let them know we are coming?" Sabatine asked. She made a hand guesture to Danzetti who began to shimmy up the line, disappearing into the darkness above.
"Let's not give anyone a chance to be a hero," Kaiden replied. Sabatine didn't think it was too likely that spacers trapped in a wreck were likely to open fire, but she wasn't in command. A moment later Kaiden slithered down the line, a diamond saw in one hand and a pair of slung submachine guns. His beet touched the deck and he let go of the line, handing the saw off to one of the spacers. Sabatine leaned close and pressed her helmet to Kaiden's so they could talk without the radio.
"Kaiden, I don't know its a good idea for both senior officers to be involved in a breech," she said. He unslung one of the guns and passed it across to her.
"Wan't to climb back up then?" he asked, the amusement clear in his voice. She took the gun, her eye roll concealed behind the face shield of her helmet.
"Pressurizing," Savachev's voice came across the comms. Air began to pump into the umbilicus and the indicator light in Sabatine's helmet went green, indicating the air was breathable. She didn't open her helmet, breathable didn't mean pleasant, and she doubted the plasticizer would do her lungs any favors. Kaiden stepped back and made a curt gesture. The spacer flicked the saw to life and sank it into the hull plating. Sabatine felt the scream of it through her boots as the blade cut into the hull, there was a slight outrush of air, indicating that the hull section was at least still pressurized. The spacer reversed the blade, making two more cuts that dropped a triangular section of hull plating into the ship. A greenish glow of emergency lighting washed out. Sabatine stepped into the hall, falling into the ship under the low gravity.
"Entering," Sabatine reported, engaging the magnets in her boots at twenty percent strength. She shuffled forward clearing the way for Kaiden and the other armed spacers who were already coming down the line. The interior of the ship showed signs of the trauma she had undergone. Cracks and stress fractures ran through the bulkheads where the impact waves had torqued the hull. An alliance spacer came around the corner, his face discolored by a dark bruise and with an arm full of spare air bottles. His eyes widened in shock and he dropped his armful raising his hands.
"I surrender," he gasped, pressing himself back against the wall.</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
"I would say it was smart, but that implies you have a choice." Kaiden said, lowering his gun and pulling the man forward to get detained by the strike team behind him. He and Sabatine cleared the hallway, his right and her left. Kaiden had always felt strange in pressurized suits, but he had spent enough time in basic to keep himself going without much complaint. Howarth presented the intel they could gleam from the alliance spacer that the rest of his crew was down the hall to the right.
"Armed?" Kaiden asked.
"He says no, but..."
"Right," the prince said, leveling his firearm with Sabatine right on his heels. He didn't know why, but somehow he felt comfortable with him having his back more than any of his men, despite his trust in them. He supposed he knew her well enough to make that judgement. Ex-Lovers did not tend to get along because they found they knew the other too well. "Cover our asses, Higgs."
To his surprise, Kaiden had suspected they would have to take a few extra turns and possibly get turned around thanks to the size of the ship, but the crewman was right. A quarter of a click straight right sent them to the blast doors of a pressurized chamber that opened up to reveal a crew of seven disheveled alliance crew, along with two wounded who had shrapnel in their abdomens. One female alliance medic pulled a knife, but only so far as a honed reaction. No guns were raised, and there were none Kaiden could see.
"We surrender," the lieutenant said. He was an older man, not elderly but getting up in years. He had a black mane and beard that would suit a civilian far more, but Kaiden didn't pretend to know alliance protocol. He held his head high, unflinching from the trained guns. "Please, just help my men."
"Are there any more aboard?" Kaiden asked, stepping closer, eyes glancing at the crew. The room looked to be made for storage, hard ground and no place to sit save for locked steel crates.
"I don't know. This was all that I could find." The lieutenant remarked. His breathing was audible. Kaiden guessed he was hiding hope behind his calm facade. "Will you look through the ship?"
"We'll take your wounded." Kaiden commanded, two of his men already hustling over to gather them up. The two alliance medics helped them with the stretchers. "You send two of yours to search the ship for anyone else. If they aren't back in twenty, or if they come back with anything besides another, unarmed crewmember, this all goes south very quickly. If you attempt anything, even if you're able to take me or any of my crew hostage, my crew on deck will leave us to cold oblivion regardless of the consequences. Cooperate and you'll be unhurt."
The lieutenant calmly blinked, and then lowered his hands. "Well, you didn't need to lay it on so thick." He remarked, and sent two of the survivors to go search the remainder of the ship.</s>
| <|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
At first it seemed like there might be no further survivors. The ripping torque of the missle strike had started seams the length and breath of the Hikendorf. Most of her crew had been outside working on the repairs, killed outright or suffocated when their air bottles ran out, but enough had been inside without suits when rents suddenly appeared in the hull. Probably the only reason anyone was alive at all is because a number of the internal partitions had been closed as a reaction to damage from the previous attack. Those survivors, such as their were had been in the core of the ship, where the flexion as tons of dust had been converted to heat energy had been minimal, the way the core of a branch might survive a greenstick fracture. Sabatine helped supervise the move of Alliance spacers up and onto the commandeered mining ship. There didn't seem to be much fight in them. That was probably to be expected. A minute ago they were facing the likelihood of a slow death by asphyxiation, RCN custody, a term in a prisoner of war camp or a prison hulk, probably seemed like a vast improvement.
"Sir, sir!" one of the prisoners called, pulling on the arm of Sabatine's suit. How he had deduced she was an officer in a faceless sexless rigging suit she had no idea. Perhaps he was just observant of how the other RCN treated her. Danzetti lifted his submachine gun to deliver a butt stroke. Sabatine held up her hand to forestall the action, not only did she not want a random spacer brutalized, she wasn't that confident that Danzetti knew enough about guns to have the saftey on. The last thing they needed was for him to accidentally trigger a burst that ripped them all to shreds as rounds ricochet around inside the corridor.
"What is it spacer," she asked, not friendly but not openly hostile. The man's name was Pollock, or Pollack judging by the faded name tape of his fleet green uniform.
"I was wondering what the chances were that I could list you know, rather than prison or whatever," he burbled nervously. Sabatine cocked an eyebrow, a gesture that was totally invisible inside her helmet. It wasn't unusual for crews of captured prizes to be given a chance to sign aboard the winning ship if they were short of crew, which every naval vessel was of course. Spacers didn't typically have ideological or political loyalties and saboteurs were disincentivised by the fact that the were all, very literally, in the same boat. There just weren't enough experienced spacers to crew the warships of the fleet and the merchant service simultaneously. He must have mistook her lack of verbal response for skepticism.
"We have a communications officer, he ran off when you…" he blurted out, finching back as the Alliance Lieutenant stepped forward with a snarl. Danzetti hit him in the face with his submachine gun. He got to hit someone and it was an officer, a banner day for the power room tech. Sabatine wasn't shredded by an accidental discharge which pleased her also. The lieutenant staggered back, clutching a bloody nose and cursing like a spacer. Sabatine's eyes widened as they met Kaiden's.
"Danzetti, watch them, you Pollock, where is your comms room?" she demanded, pointing her own weapon at the spacer unintentionally. He cringed back against the bulkhead hands raised.
"One deck down on the starboard…" but Sabatine was already running, or at least shambling as fast as she could in the cursed suit. Kaiden was on her heels clearly reaching the same conclusion as she had. Every major Alliance fleet unit would have a code book which held the various signals and encryptions the Fleet used to keep its communications secure. It wasn't a physical book of course, but it was a separate computer that could be physically firewalled to prevent digital intrusion. The Alliance hadn't known that the RCN was coming, why would they? The odds of a single corvette driving off two destroyers were beyond astronomical. Therefore they would have had no reason to purge their computers before Sabatine dropped through the hole in the hull. She pounded down the companion way a step ahead of Kaiden, caroming off the steel wall in her haste. They hit the deck below at the same instant, Kaiden's longer legs closing the distance. Halfway along the hall a thin man in an Alliance warrant officers uniform was heaving at a hatch with a prybar. The impact of the missiles must have torqued the hatch, trapping the communication's officer on the wrong side. That hadn't been a priority before, but now he had to sanitize the equipment before it fell into RCN hands. He turned to see the two RCN officers emerging from the companion way, his face contorting with frustrated hate. Dropping his prybar with an echoing clatter he whipped a pistol from his tunic pocket with surprising speed. Sabatine stared in dumb amazement. Kaiden's shove knocked her to the deck a moment before the pistol cracked. It struck the facing plate of the companionway and ricocheted wildly, drawing white sparks. Awkward in her rigging suit she struggled to raise her own weapon.</s> |
<|description|>Sabatine Hickoring
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 24
Biography: Sabatine Hickoring is a member of the old but not particularly influential Hickoring family. The Hickoring's of Westmarch are a west country family of moderate estate but have been out of political power for the last century or so as a result of not moving to Xenos in order to pursue the cut and thrust of Senatorial politics.
Sabatine is the youngest of five children of her now deceased parents. Her oldest brother, Justin, is the Hickoring of Westmarch and enjoys the flashy lifestyle the estate affords him as does his grasping and manipulative wife. Separated by nearly a decade from his next oldest sibling and nearly two decades from Sabtine he has little affection for his younger relations and has essentially cut them off without a cent. In order to make a living (and more importantly maintain the image of aristocracy) the four remaining siblings were forced to find employment with the Republic. The two older boys embarked on careers with the Foreign Service while Sabatine's older sister obtained a commission with the Land Forces of the Republic in an infantry unit. Forming a informal financial agreement, the three pooled their resources to put Sabatine through the naval academy, viewing the RCN as the best place for the energetic young girl.
Raised in the country largely by servants who knew of her brothers cool feelings towards her Sabatine learned at a young age that the only way to gain respect was to be helpful and to do the best you could at any given task. This willingness to help made her popular among the tenants who were less than enamored with their absentee landlord and his wife both of whom the tenants (correctly) believed looked down on them. It was also an attitude which served her well at the RCN academy where she graduated at the top half of her class, with high marks in technical subjects and physical fitness. Her three older siblings were able to secure her a midshipman's billet at the RCN harbor complex at Harbor 3 assisting in maintenance and dock work. Eventually she caught the eye of a captain fitting out for an expedition to the Rayleigh Stars and Navy House was prevailed upon to assign her to the task force. Before leaving Cinabar she sat for an passed her Lieutenant's exam, no mean feat for a spacer whose entire experience consisted of in system tests and a couple of cruises in senior year at the academy.
A year or so on station has knocked some of the Harbor 3 starch out of Sabatine. Although she is renowned as a hard task master by the crew especially the power room crew, her willingness to throw herself into the work makes her a popular officer. The Riggers are particularly happy to have an officer who is both willing to learn and willing to help and have adopted Sabatine, unofficially, as one of their own.
@POOHEAD189</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
"I wonder if he was Fifth Bureau," Sabatine pondered aloud. There were bruises beneath her suit from the collision with the deck, but nothing worse than a hard shift on the hull. It certainly trumped being shot all hollow. It was common knowledge that Guarantor Pora's secret police maintained a presence within the fleet, and the communications officer would be a logical choice. Feet were clattering down the companion way.
"Shit," Sabbatine muttered, slamming the door shut behind them. Trigger discipline among spacers was never the best and she didn't fancy getting wasted by her own side moments after an enemy round.
"Sir?!" Danzetti's voice called from the hallway.
"We are all good spacer," start getting the prisoners out of her," Kaiden ordered.
"Sir!" Danzetti responded and then began clamping back up the companionway. Sabatine knelt down beside the communications terminal. She took a wrench from the toolbelt on her suit and fitted it to the rachet that held the communications console in place, laying down so she could observe the wiring. There didn't appear to be any booby traps or fail safes.
"I have called you much worse," Sabatine agreed with a grin. She thought back to the night she learned he had cheated on her. The old fury wasn't as hot as it had been with the passage of time. It hadn't been as though there were any chance that a Calawarden would ever end up with a penniless minor noble on the verge of ruin. Still it had burned, burned deep. She cranked the first bolt around. It gave easily, doubtless the communications consoles were changed out often as Fleet codes were updated. She paused for a moment as the first bolt came free.
"You know, assuming we get back to Herculaneum safely, I'm due one tenth the cost of a destroyer in prize money." Kaiden himself, as captain, would get a fifth. That was a staggering amount of money to Sabatine, and even to Kaiden would probably nudge a balance sheet.
"Assuming they don't hang us for mutiny of course," Kaiden put in. Sabatine snorted as she freed the second bolt.
"Still the eternal optimist I see," she snickered.
"I can't see them hanging a highly placed noble with a victory like this one to back it up." The final bolt came free and she pulled the remaining connectors, freeing the console.
"Micha dosen't have the political pull to make it stick and the Admiral..." she thought back to his words to her before they set off on this cruise.
"Well I think he had his doubts too." She pulled herself to her feet and grabbed the console with both hands, lifting it with some effort.
"Can you get the door?"</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
"Micha won't have any pull soon," He said grimly. He didn't want to throw the conversation away from the snark they both so enjoyed, but it was something he still couldn't quite come to terms with. Granted, his life was still very strange to him, and he hadn't really stopped to consider it. The military runaway of a high noble family found himself usurping his superior, launching the first shots in an extrasystem war, crawling on the ground in an enemy ship with his ex-girlfriend who happened to be his second.
At her request, he gave a "Yeah, sure" and went to the door, preparing to open it with his crowbar in case there were any problems with the inner latch, but something up there smiled on them, and it slid open without a problem. Sabatine marched out of the hatch, and Kaiden placed his hands around the console she carried. "Let me."
"I've got it," she insisted, not irritably, but he could tell she wasn't going to take no for an answer unless it was explicitly said to be an order.
"You are probably the only one that could pull this shit with me," He told her, shaking his head in his suit. The air-tight suit hardly budged with any movement except the wide movement of their arms or the broad strides of their legs, but it was surprisingly how much one could glean from the tone of your voice. "I'll keep watch."
"Well since we're being less formal, I let you get away with more than your fair share before we worked together. Old Baile-"
"We will not talk about that," He said, but it wasn't so much as forbidding as embarrassment. Sabatine laughed, and Kaiden couldn't help but chuckle breathlessly, even if he didn't want anyone in a hundred kilometers to hear that story. It involved Kaiden getting blind drunk and skinny dipping in the pool of a Rear Admiral nicknamed Old Bailey. Sabatine had done some fancy maneuvering that night to save Kaiden's ass from a scandal. She had always said he had sufficiently paid her back by sweet talking a few aides to help get her in the right places to get the ears of the right supervisors, and there had been that midshipman Kaiden had ostracized that had tried to get her thrown out when she had rejected his advances. But still, she hadn't done anything that could get her shunned by her family or peers, unless one counted some vulgar remarks and a few bar fights.
"I'll let you off the hook this time," She remarked wryly.
They couldn't continue the conversation by virtue of reaching the cargo chamber where the alliance crew had been found. Now there was just Higgs waiting for them, giving a salute. Even the medical supplies had been gathered up. Quick work, Kaiden noted. He gave them a "everyone is off the ship" with a bosun's surety.
"They better be, because we're not coming back." Kaiden replied, and the three climbed back about the RCS Vicount.</s>
| <|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
The K-21 was of the Grimwold class destroyer from the Alliance yards at Biscane. Under optimal conditions it had a crew of 120 spacers plus officers ands supernumeraries. Sabatine had to handle it with a prize crew of twenty. It had taken the entire rigging crew of the Vickie nearly two days to put the battered rigging into something of a workable condition. Fortunately the rig had been mostly down when the plasma cannons had hammered the vessel, but there had still been half a dozen masts that were welded to the hull, and everything from A through D had been sheared away. The partial jury rig they had assembled would have made their sailing instructors in the academy physically sick. The roll alone meant they had to re-enter sidereal space every twelve hours to perform a manual correction and recalculation. They made three stops on the voyage to Herculaneum. Each time the Vickie was waiting for them, much handier with its full sails and larger crew. Each time Sabatine transmitted a quick report of their progress. It made for dismal reading about it didn't quite do justice to the reality of being woken every hour or so to deal with some new problem with the rig, or to help the three techs assigned to the power room nurse the plant along. It was one of those thankless jobs that seemed to make up the bulk of RCN life. It didn't win any glory, nor would it garner any renown. The best Sabatine could hope for was that an admiral reading the report would grunt with approval before moving on to his next task. In the spacer's bars however, the tale of grueling endurance would be told and exaggerated. Spacers would say things like, that bitch never gave us a moment's rest, or everytime we turned around there she was. It would sound like complaints, but there would be an undertone of respect. Spacefaring life, and the RCN in particular, was too dangerous a place for officers to survive on rank alone. You needed your crew to respect you, and the only way to do that was to be in the same hard places they were.
"Transition," Sabatine announced and immediately felt her teeth bore up into her brain as they dropped back into real space. She was sitting alone on the bridge of K-21, the rest of the prize crew either on the hull or in the engine room. The only other person onboard who could operate the astrogation computer was Shapti, an able spacer who was striking for a sailing master's warrant, but she was grabbing a few hours sleep in the captains cabin across the corridor. Opinions varied on whether sleeping through a transition made it better or worse, but if you got tired enough your body would make that decision for you.
"K-21 break, break, break!" Kaiden's voice broke into the comm circuit. Sabatine sat up feeling like she had been doused in cold water. She nosed the ship sharply downwards towards the ecliptic, high drive motors flairing to life with a buzz.
"Vickie this is K-2…" she began, trying to puzzle out what was going on from the PPI. Everything looked normal. The RCS Hamptor, an aging destroyer was on picket just outside the minefield and. There were missile tracks streaking between the Hamptor an the Vickie.
"Herculaneum is in the hands of the Alliance. Disengage and run for point Delta 3 Seven."
Nothing made sense. How could a major fleet base be in the hands of the Alliance? How had they captured the Hamptor? Why was Kaiden still here if the base was in hostile hands? The last point clicked into place. He had waited for her, slugging it out with the destroyer to warn her before she drifted into range of the minefield.
"AFS K-21, engage Cinnibar vessel Victory at once," her comm panel blurted. Sabatine stared at it for a moment. Of course the Alliance didn't know that K-21 had been captured. They would figure that out in a few moments though, once they realized she wasn't responding to their coded IFF.
"Acknowledged control," she responded, trying to mimic the nasal Plesance accent she associated with the Alliance. There was no way she could fight the ship with only twenty spacers aboard. The only option was to run as Kaiden had ordered. Shapti burst through the door looking alarmed. Sabatine made a quick gesture to one of the jump seats, her other hand bringing up an attack board.
"Signal the Vickie on microwave and acknowledge," she snapped, unable to split her attention to a third task while she handled maneuver and the attack board, modifying the preset attack plan as quickly as she was able. The Hamptor was already closing on the Vickie, its four tubes launching another salvo. It was going to make it very difficult for Kaiden to safely transition.
"Launching one," Sabatine announced with what she hoped was appropriate sangfor. The ship jolted as super heated steam shoved the missiles out of their tubes and clear of the hull a moment before their high drives ignited, streaking them off down range as blue lines on Sabatine's attack board.
"Launching two."
The comms board crackled angrily to life. Shapti should have caught the comms but having no idea what was going on simply let it pass through to Sabatine with an alarmed look.
"K-21 what the hell are you playing at those missiles…" she dumped the link, too busy to give it any thought. As the commander of the Hamptor correctly noted, the missiles she had fired were not aimed at the Vickie. They were aimed at the point Sabatine calculated the Hamptor would be at when the missiles arrived, a staggered area between the hostile destroyer and the Cinnabar corvette. Three were aimed slightly ahead, another aimed slightly behind in case the destroyer opted to brake. She pulled up the astrogation display and cut the high drives, allowing the charge on the ship to zero out. There was no time to actually plot a course anywhere, besides off the top of her head she had no idea where Delta-3-7 might be.
"Launching, three…. Four." Sabatine reported mechanically. There was the dull rumble of the missle tracks as the ship began to crank fresh ordnance into the four missile tubes. She dumped the attack board. She wasn't going to wait around for the minute and a half it would take for the next salvo to be ready.
"Vickie, K-21 withdrawing as ordered," she broadcast and punched the insertion button with her thumb. The destroyer shuddered back into the safety of the matrix, leaving Sabatine drenched in cold sweat with her heart pounding in her throat.</s> |
<|description|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 26
Biography & Concept: Born the second son of the esteemed Caladwarden family, who's lineage reaches back to the first millennium of human space exploration. He was one of three, his older brother Brandon having been groomed to succeed his father as a representative on the Cinnabar Senate in which his father is a prime member. His young brother Gridor placed in administrative duties on their island home estate. Kaiden was raised to be a military man, representative of their family's old notions of loyalty and homage. There needs to be at least one member of the family in the Cinnibar Navy, and Kiaden has grown up with such expectations and responsibilities. Though his brother Brandon did sign on for a brief period to learn his worth and to show his dedication to the Republic.
It gained him an edge on the officer's exam for Lieutenants, and he passed with relative ease. His contention with his father however came at the death of his older brother, who died during a brief skirmish. Kaiden was given leave to convene with his family, whereupon his father ordered him to relinquish his duties as a Lieutenant and take Brandon's mantle as the first son. Kaiden refused, preferring to make his own way in the Navy rather than relying on his family's influence to gain notoriety. He had always been independent minded, and if he hadn't already a knack for the officer's life he likely would have defied his father long before the Brandon's death. His already rocky relationship with his sire plummeted into them parting ways with harsh words and even harsher sentiments.
An oddity, this "prince of the isle" does rather enjoy lowborn commoners. He speaks easy enough and is no stranger to hard work. But he always tends to have an air or superiority and education most can find grating. Ever rebellious, he was involved in a few low-end scandals with servants and young women cooks at his family's estate, being rather good-looking with a smooth, deep voice that can be used to flutter hearts or send men to battle.
Here's hoping he can muster up a good battle record with his meager gifts, because war has just begun...
@Penny</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
The aircar was spacious, able to seat a dozen personnel if the need arose. Luckily they weren't tightly fit and Kaiden sat at the fore next to the driver, a man in a standard helmet and dark glasses that he'd seen once or twice transporting officers or goods across the planet. To say he felt trepidation was an understatement, and he did his best to lose himself in the notably beautiful islands passing under them. The sun was hot and bright, making the water look like liquid crystal from this altitude.
He had brought with him Bosun Higgs, a squat man with a penchant for chewing tobacco no matter how many times Kaiden had reprimanded him for it. Ensign Bushman, an ambitious man as old as Kaiden but not as successful, though the prince never suspected any treachery from him due to his old fashioned nature. Along with them were reliable cadet Enrique, and spacer/mates Randals and Harwen who were apparently friends off duty from before the service.
None seemed particularly happy to be here save Higgs who likely didn't care where he was, and Randals who seemed to always make the best of every situation and find the humor in things. The other three likely didn't wish to have to learn more names or get comfortable with other quarters, and Kaiden couldn't rightly blame them. He was brought out of his train of thought as a gust of wind gave the aircar a bit of turbulence.
"So what do you think the going rate of one of these islands are?" Randals asked, trying to peek over his fellow militarymen to view the window. It was a silly question, but the man often asked silly things half facetiously to either begin a discussion or a joke. It could be amusing, Kaiden thought. He wasn't so jaded as to not appreciate the men serving under him. Harwen looked positively bored gazing into the blue nothingness of the scene below. If Kaiden remembered correctly, he was very learned in finance, but that in turn led him to be a bit benumbed on the current economy of the Cinnibar Republic.
"Probably a lot." Spacer Harwen said tiredly.
"Even on a backwater planet like this one?" Randals asked.
"Herculaneum's in the middle of nowhere but a lot of rich people get homes here. The prices began to rise around a century ago, and I think they've been steadily going up since." The mate replied. "You'd probably need to find someone desperate for money and do a background check on the family to see if they'd be willing to sell at a lower price. But we'd never be rich enough to buy one even then."
As the two conversed, Kaiden recalled that it was for that reason the planet had even a modicum of defenses. No large anti-orbital missile batteries, but a few small streakers to help harass enemy landing craft if need be. Many of the privately owned resorts and industry buildings had local defense systems and anti-air batteries. What he was most impressed with were the orbital minefields set and ready to deploy above them. Only ones with the right coordinates could get past them without priming the explosives, and only a very few people knew them. Their existence was even speculated upon, with Kaiden being on the lowest rung of officer to even be aware of such preparations. They had only been deployed and set the last two years by Commodore Wilken's orders.
They began to descend, much like Kaiden's stomach as the pilot told them they were five minutes away from the RCS Vicount and it's station island. Kaiden got a good look at it as the aircar turned, and he could see it was a star shaped island with five points, with a vast landing pad at its center where the Corvette was station, just beside a basic compound that had the trappings of leisure, though he knew as much as the rest of them that it was likely for show.
"Think we'll get better beds?" Enrique asked. He always seemed to be the one that voiced his dreams for a life after the service, and somehow that made him work all the harder (when needed to).
"Doubtful. It was probably bought off some aristocrat and fashioned to be just like home for us." Kaiden grinned, suddenly happy that the base looked large enough to lose himself in. His good mood was shattered when the aircar dropped down at a small pad off to the eastern coast, just beside what looked to be a broken down gig, to which to Kaiden's horror he recognized it as Commodore Wilken's, with his crest upon the bow of it. Kaiden shook his head, seeing the men and what looked to be a woman covered in grease and mud and celebrating. "How did it get like that?"
"Looks like these fellas fixed it up." Higgs all but grunted, and looking once again the Bosun was right as usual. The aircar wobbled into what felt like a 'plop' and the light turned on that it was safe to exit the vehicle. Kaiden and his men stepped out into the open sun, and the Prince called to the mates who'd fixed it with an easy grin. "Looks like you lot made the best of a shit situation," He told them heartily, walking up to inspect the work. The sun was in his eyes, and he couldn't quite see the fellow's faces as he approached. "Just give it a small shine to it and the Commodore will be none the wiser-"
One of the lads, a slim and rather attractive man he noted, turned and looked at him. They had their long hair in a messy bun and they looked to have gotten the worst of the grime from jerry-rigging the machine back to health. As his eyes got used to the sun and the mud dripped from the soldier's face, he recognized Sabatine almost immediately, and his grin disappeared to be replaced by a look that seemed both tired and tense all at once. "Eh fuck." He breathed.</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
Even after they had freed the gig it had been a massive undertaking to get the thing back to Sarento. Sabatine and her detachment had spent the night on the unnamed island and in the morning had commandeered the surface effect transport to ship the gig back to the base. Both plasma thrusters had been irreparably damaged in the crash and in digging the thing out of the mud bank and nothing short of a drydock rebuilt was going to make them serviceable. The captain of the freighter had not been best pleased to have his vessel repurposed in such a fashion but a handful of florins and the not so subtle hint of a dozen spacers looking bored and menacing had convinced him of the need to do his duty to the Republic. The had just minutes ago landed the gig and were about to turn the whole mess over to the base establishment when a circling aircar, an RCN vehicle by virtue of the fact that civilian air cars were prohibited on Sarento on pain of shoot down, a right the RCN had famously exercised a few years ago, subsequently quelling the locals enthusiasm for aviation.
It wasn't until the officer in command of the small party called out to them that she recognized Kaiden Caladwarden. Her face froze in a set expression and the spacers around her tensed, hands going for weapons concealed in their slops without fully understanding what had startled their usual unflappable Lieutenant. After a moment, everyone relaxed, the vast majority of officers in the RCN were of the Cinnabar aristocracy, and that was a small enough club that officers with difficult pasts, political and personal were bound to run into each other sooner or later. Still Sabatine had hoped never to run into Kaiden again. She hadn't seen him since that night, the last year in the academy when their six month long relationship had imploded messily in a screaming match that had woken the barracks provosts and nearly ended in a reprimand for both of them. One of Sabatine's friends had dared her to break into Kaiden's personal files. It had been a lark not really meant to be taken seriously but having already had rather more brandy then was wise Sabatine had agreed. She had uncovered evidence, messages sent and received of another woman, an aristocrat named Monika Rolfe who was one of the Clients of the Caladwrden family. Kaiden had admitted it when she confronted him, telling her that it had been early in the relationship and they had both been very drunk, he had brushed the girl of as politely as he could after the fact. Sabatine had not taken it well and had made the information public, arousing a minor scandal that might well have resulted in a duel if both the patair famili hadn't quashed the matter in no uncertain terms. She hadn't seen nor spoken to Kaiden since. Worse, although they had been in the same year, his name, first alphabetically, meant that he outranked her on date of commission. What in the Hells was he doing here? Sabatine did her best to smooth the grimace off her face and stiffened to attention, a comical site with her clothes caked in sweat and mud and her the cleanest of her men. The spacers, filthy and disheveled as she also stiffened to a posture of attention that would have given an academy drill instructor a stroke.
"Lieutenant Caladwarden," she said formally, doing her best not to snap. She felt her skin prickle with the shock of adrenaline, it made her feel cold and her voice, already cold chilled by degrees.
"We recovered the Commodore's gig from a crash on Islet 14 sir," she told him stiffly.</s>
| <|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
It was a small mercy that the men around them were none-the-wiser to Sabatine and his past relationship, or the embarrassment he received from her throwing caution to the wind in a fit of rage and telling everyone who would listen that he was an unfaithful bastard. That was one of the major reasons he had been so loose with women since, never having a steady girlfriend. If any found out, they might break his heart in the same way and call him what any officer hated to be accused of.
Disloyalty.
Only Higgs and Enrique seemed to note she knew his name already, but they were wise enough to keep their mouths shut. They only glanced at him questioningly to find him staring daggers at her. Kaiden was very good at being professional and an asshole at the same time, though he tried to quell the latter, particularly in front of the men. "Lieutenant Hickoring, good work. I see you're still as active as ever. You look well, save for-" He looked at the mud caked around her. "-the trappings of your station."
He ignored her glare, taking note of the gig. He had been satisfied with it earlier but something about the whole situation seemed displeasing to him. "I'm certain the Commodore will be enjoying the fact he can cruise as he wills. However, I'm certain there's more pressing issues to attend to." He said marked by an odious tone. He could not wait for this 'scare' with the Alliance to be at an end so he could go back to anywhere else, and she could live her life here or wherever in the hells she wanted to.
Still, he glanced away for a moment and chastised himself. He might have left on a pitiless and enraged note but she didn't deserve his haughtiness in front of men. Or did she? He'd figure it out later, for now he needed to get back to business. "Myself and these fine men have been transferred here on the Commodore's orders. When will the Commodore be arriving?"</s> |
<|description|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 26
Biography & Concept: Born the second son of the esteemed Caladwarden family, who's lineage reaches back to the first millennium of human space exploration. He was one of three, his older brother Brandon having been groomed to succeed his father as a representative on the Cinnabar Senate in which his father is a prime member. His young brother Gridor placed in administrative duties on their island home estate. Kaiden was raised to be a military man, representative of their family's old notions of loyalty and homage. There needs to be at least one member of the family in the Cinnibar Navy, and Kiaden has grown up with such expectations and responsibilities. Though his brother Brandon did sign on for a brief period to learn his worth and to show his dedication to the Republic.
It gained him an edge on the officer's exam for Lieutenants, and he passed with relative ease. His contention with his father however came at the death of his older brother, who died during a brief skirmish. Kaiden was given leave to convene with his family, whereupon his father ordered him to relinquish his duties as a Lieutenant and take Brandon's mantle as the first son. Kaiden refused, preferring to make his own way in the Navy rather than relying on his family's influence to gain notoriety. He had always been independent minded, and if he hadn't already a knack for the officer's life he likely would have defied his father long before the Brandon's death. His already rocky relationship with his sire plummeted into them parting ways with harsh words and even harsher sentiments.
An oddity, this "prince of the isle" does rather enjoy lowborn commoners. He speaks easy enough and is no stranger to hard work. But he always tends to have an air or superiority and education most can find grating. Ever rebellious, he was involved in a few low-end scandals with servants and young women cooks at his family's estate, being rather good-looking with a smooth, deep voice that can be used to flutter hearts or send men to battle.
Here's hoping he can muster up a good battle record with his meager gifts, because war has just begun...
@Penny</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Kaiden attempted to be nothing if not well informed. He had not been privvy to the Commodore's whereabouts, but he was well acquainted with the Marengo debacle. One of the delegates of the planetary assembly had made an aggressive move on the local stock market, having bought out over half of the forest planets timber production plants in an attempt to fluctuate prices to suit his bid for chancellor. The acting chancellor responded with increased tariffs, and the average man and woman were caught in the middle. Marengo was soon embroiled in riots and Cinnabar hostages were taken, though Kaiden would not have guessed it was a worrying enough proposition to bring in the Commodore himself or a full blown cruiser.
"I've been assigned to the Vicount, as have my men." He told her, wondering if she had the same misfortune of sharing a ship with him.
As if on cue, the Cadbury arrived just as Sabatine was informing the prince on matters, setting down 100 meters away to the north on one of the much larger hanger areas. Once the ulti-thrusters were into play, causing a gust of wind to flow over the immediate landscape, they all knew it was safe to look just as the ship was landing. Kaiden turned northward, hands behind his back and face as neutral as he could manage (and again, he was quite good at it).
The Commodore, an easily recognizable man to anyone in this section of the military, was the first to step off the Cadbury, followed by his aids and what looked to be a amanuensis penning a memoir. Behind them, column after column of crew and soldiers filed out, and from the base a cadre of what looked to be spacer crew members outfitted for engineering/janitorial work hussled over to the aging vessel, likely needing as much constant attention these days as ever.
The Commodore was around thirty years Kiaden's senior, and while he wasn't large or overly imposing, there was an experience to him that made him formidable. He wasn't unhandsome either, his chin covered by a salt and pepper goatee, and he had iron eyes the color of the scratch marks on the Cadbury. Everyone saluted when he was within twenty meters of his gig, and he seemed none too pleased with the grime atop it.
"Who is responsible for this?" He asked once he eyed his mud-caked gig, and before anyone else could answer (particularly Motorman First Class Gregor), Sabatine stepped forward stiffly, steely eyed. "Sir, I am." She declared, and his iron gaze fell upon her form. For a moment Kaiden wondered if he had arrived just in time to see Sabatine's demotion, but after a few seconds the Commodore softened and even gave a smirk. "Thank you for saving my gig, Lieutenant. You and your men will be compensated with an extra bottle of your choice tonight."
Kaiden felt relieved, and then he questioned why that was? He wanted her gone, dammit! "Sir, may I ask-" The prince began, but the Commodore made a cutting motion with his hand and he spun on him. "Ah, you must be first lieutenant Caladwarden. I see there isn't an ounce of mud on your pristine suit, nor on any of your men's. I suppose you convenient got here just in time to attempt to take some glory, eh? Be silent." The ranking officer approached, sizing Kaiden up. "I called you here because you have an exemplary record on paper and at the behest of Captain Harkin's recommendation. However, your family's name has no sway over me or my fleet, and if I catch any foul play or scandal that has your scent on it, you'll be scrubbing the boots of my midshipmen before you know it, is that understood?"
Kaiden did his best not to blink. "Aye, sir."</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
Welkins fixed Kaiden with a weltering glare. He was, by all accounts, a man of mercurial moods who demanded exacting performance from the officers under him. He also had famously little patience for the aristocracy. In Cinnibar society, and the RCN more particularly, advancement was often more a mater of interest than of skill or talent. That didn't mean that the RCN was full of incompetents, the academy weeded most of those out and space travel was far to dangerous an occupation for fools to survive long even if they did make it, but it did mean that those officers who advanced fastest tended to be those whose families or networks were in a position to do favors for others. No Captain wanted his name attached to a fool or a coward though which prevented outright nepotism and the accompanying disastrous results. Interest also meant that those who came to the RCN from more unconventional routes, middle class families or masters who won commissions for services rendered, often struggled to advance. The only option in that case was to impress your commanders sufficiently that they felt your performance reflected well on them, in turn you could do favors for others and slowly build interest of your own. Welkins had been a master gunner before he had been jumped to midshipman during one of the previous wars with the Alliance. He had risen high in the RCN but his progress had been slow, and though he would probably die an admiral it didn't stop him from resenting wealthier better connected fellows who seemed to fly up through the ranks. Sabatine herself did not have much in the way of interest, her brothers and sisters did what they could and clients of the family were still happy to do what they could despite the fact that her older brother made it clear that his younger siblings could starve for all he cared. It wasn't perhaps a fair system, but the universe wasn't fair and this system had preserved the RCN and the Republic for over three centuries and it was difficult to argue with its results. After a long moment Welkins turned from Kaiden and back to Sabatine.
"See that the good Lieutenant here is introduced to Captain Micha. Give him my compliments and he and all his officers are to dine with me tonight at the Armory," Welkins instructed, giving Sabatine a long glance.
"Though if you don't mind some advice Lieutenant, consider a shower first."
The walk to the Vicount was conducted in tense silence. The spacers, picking up on the chill between the officer, forwent their normal banter and followed along. RCS Vicount sat in one of the five artificial embayments which had been constructed by sending pilings of concrete out into ocean. The embayments were not necessary for fear of tides, Herculaneum lacking a moon, but they mounted gantries and cranes to ease in the loading supplies and munitions onto vessels in harbor. The Vickie was a cylindrical metal tube about eighty meters long from stem to stern slightly tapered and rounded at bow and stern. Three rings were spaced more or less evenly around her, to which the masts and rigging were attacked, although the rig was down when the ship was planet side. Two outrigger pontoons flanked her, each connected by four oleo struts. The pontoons actually mounted the high drive motors which would power the ship while it was in space, though theses were secure in their fairings for the moment. A quarter of the way-along the length of the ship was a metal bulge that concealed her twin eight inch plasma cannons, again secured while in port. There was a second set of guns the same distance from her stern so they could be fired in syncopation without tearing the ship apart, but those were underwater at present. Though the guns were devastating at close range, their primary purpose was defensive, intended to nudge incoming missiles away from the hull as they closed. Missiles were the real killers in any fleet action, large masses of metal propelled by twin high drive units till they reached burn out and separated into three segments to spread the foot print. The missiles were unguided beyond their intial launch trajectories, as any electronics capable of making course corrections at 0.6 light speed would require the same amount of engery again to alter their courses and make them trivially vulnerable to plasma cannon fire. The Vickie had two missile tubes, one shuttered and one open for maintenance at the moment. Techs could be seen crawling in the tube as they inspected its inner workings. Larger ships, like the Caddy, had eight tubes and could volley every two minutes or so. A battleship of the RCN Celcius class could mount up to sixty tubes and level a ship killing fusillade that would be all but impossible for any single ship to avoid. Even so a single missile hit from the Vickie could gut a battleship as tons of steal sublimated into energy at the incredible speeds of a full speed impact.
"I'll let you report to Captain Micha sir," Sabatine said as they walked up the gangway and into the ship. Two spacers stood the picket, each had a slung sub machine gun though it was doubtful they knew more than which end to point at the enemy. One of them, Sabatine noted, wasn't even loaded. That actually made her feel better as it decreased her chances of death when the sailor dropped the weapon in his haste to jump up when he saw officers approaching.
"Ma'am... Sir," the spacer stammered, hastily sweeping a dice game away beneath a crate. Though the man recognized Sabatine, Kaiden was new to him.
"Carry on Howarth," Sabatine told him. Officially she was the senior ships officer present until Kaiden read his orders to Captain Micha. Howarth looked at the filthy shore party with some amusement, though he mostly kept it from his face.
"Where is the Captain currently Howarth?" Sabatine asked. The man shared a glance with his mate before responding.
"He uhh, should be on the bridge ma'am, I believe he is teaching the middies about... something at present," Howarth informed her.
"Very good spacer," she told him and turned to Kaiden.
"You'll find the captain on the bridge sir," she said in the same cooly neutral tone.
"If you've no objections I'm going to avail myself of that shower the Commodore suggested."</s>
| <|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
"Howarth," Kaiden breathed silently, keeping his voice down. He often repeated names he wished to remember, which means he would have a lot of repeating to do the next day or two. He watched the man leave, which left him standing there uncomfortably with Sabatine. She turned to him and asked for a shower in the silence. Briefly he recalled when she had made a similar request in their relationship, only she had meant they should share one. How things change with time, he told himself.
"Far be it from me to stop you Lieutenant." He told her, though before she left he stepped forward and halted her from leaving just yet with a word. "Oh and Lieutenant," He said, looking at her. His eyes were as striking as ever, hard and blue like sapphires. "I'm not here to make your life difficult. I didn't ask to be transferred here. However, I am here and that means we'll be working together. I suggest we do what we need for each other without complaint so things will go as smooth as possible until this war-mongering is over and I am taken back to my original station so we don't need to suffer one another anymore. I trust you see the wisdom in that."
With that he dismissed her with a curt gesture, and then stalked away toward the bridge. He pushed thoughts of Sabatine or of what he just said out of his mind. Lord knows one gets obsessive when it comes to people who rankled them or what they say in such situations. Instead he focused on what lay ahead, which for now was examining the ship as he made his way through the halls. Kaiden Caladwarden knew his way around any Corvette, but even so there were arrows painted along the walls for any newcomer to follow.
The bridge was pleasantly advanced and well cleaned, with a raised platform at its center where the Captain could turn and view any of the monitors his shipmen and communications officers were stationed at. At this moment there was a skeleton crew. A pretty young woman and two plain looking fellows were at the front consoles, keeping eyes on the ships support systems and sensors for the immediate area. The Captain himself was on the central platform, standing in his long officer's coat and regalia. Kaiden was impressed at the medals he had on his chest.
"Ah, you must be the new Lieutenant Harkin has told me so much about." Captain Micha said, giving a friendly smile. He was a man of standard height and grey eyes, with a carefully shaved head. He beckoned Kaiden to enter, and the prince did so with a pleased look. Perhaps surviving under this Captain wouldn't be as poor as he initially had dreaded. "Aye sir, junior Lieutenant Kaiden Caladwarden at your service. I am merely checking in with you, Captain."
"So, you're really a Caladwarden pup?" He marveled. Kaiden should be used to it by now, but such acknowledgements usually irked him. The only times he enjoyed being recognized by his family name was to lay flat other highborns by declaring his own family's dominance or picking up lovely young women, and the Captain was neither. Still, he seemed a pleasant enough fellow marvelling at the name. Micha continued. "I heard of a young Caladwardem joining our ranks a few years ago. Got into some scandal involving his father. That wasn't you, was it?"
"I am afraid it was, sir." Kaiden replied, making his way to stand beside him. Perhaps one day he could be a Captain. It felt natural being up here, watching all that one might survey to command the ship. "As of now I try to further myself through victory rather than any more underhanded ways. I know many other noble sons blackmail and resort to bribery."
Micha laughed at his forthright manner. "I will be watching your career with interest, though hold no illusions Liuetenant, I am at the helm of this ship."</s> |
<|description|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 26
Biography & Concept: Born the second son of the esteemed Caladwarden family, who's lineage reaches back to the first millennium of human space exploration. He was one of three, his older brother Brandon having been groomed to succeed his father as a representative on the Cinnabar Senate in which his father is a prime member. His young brother Gridor placed in administrative duties on their island home estate. Kaiden was raised to be a military man, representative of their family's old notions of loyalty and homage. There needs to be at least one member of the family in the Cinnibar Navy, and Kiaden has grown up with such expectations and responsibilities. Though his brother Brandon did sign on for a brief period to learn his worth and to show his dedication to the Republic.
It gained him an edge on the officer's exam for Lieutenants, and he passed with relative ease. His contention with his father however came at the death of his older brother, who died during a brief skirmish. Kaiden was given leave to convene with his family, whereupon his father ordered him to relinquish his duties as a Lieutenant and take Brandon's mantle as the first son. Kaiden refused, preferring to make his own way in the Navy rather than relying on his family's influence to gain notoriety. He had always been independent minded, and if he hadn't already a knack for the officer's life he likely would have defied his father long before the Brandon's death. His already rocky relationship with his sire plummeted into them parting ways with harsh words and even harsher sentiments.
An oddity, this "prince of the isle" does rather enjoy lowborn commoners. He speaks easy enough and is no stranger to hard work. But he always tends to have an air or superiority and education most can find grating. Ever rebellious, he was involved in a few low-end scandals with servants and young women cooks at his family's estate, being rather good-looking with a smooth, deep voice that can be used to flutter hearts or send men to battle.
Here's hoping he can muster up a good battle record with his meager gifts, because war has just begun...
@Penny</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Kaiden had to endure another run in with the Commodore by this point, who explained to him for, what is it? The fifth time, perhaps, of how he would receive no special treatment on this rig. It truthfully enraged the young Lieutenant more than nearly anything else. He had never received special treatment from his birth in his life. It was why he loved the military, because he had to work for his position. Hell, the only time he'd received special treatment in the service was when he slept with his superior officer during his training as a cadet (before he met Sabatine), and all he received from that was the pick of the meals in the bloody messhall. His family was no exception. Certainly not his father, who used him as an extension of his own will.
By the mercy of the Gods he found the room he had been assigned, and after Harwen had received his equipment for him he unpacked his things, as little as he had. It was a spartan room as to be expected on a cruiser, but it suited him. As long as he could sleep comfortably he wouldn't complain. Among his possessions was a picture of his mother, and the officers' badge of his eldest brother. Both were deceased, and still it was hard to imagine living in a world with such a truth.
Kaiden was already dressed smartly, though it wouldn't hurt to iron his military jacket. It was times like these he missed Ferbose, his old servant back on the estate. Perhaps one day he could send an offer for hire, but at the moment he would make do without. He searched around the room, and with a relieved sigh he found the ironing board behind a cabinet. He opened it from the top, letting it slide down to touch on the floor gently.
He wondered what his father might think, seeing him do such a mundane activity as ironing a jacket. Halway through the chore, there was a knock at his door. Three knocks in quick succession indicating the newcomer was of inferior rank. He didn't turn around when he called "Come in!" Hoping to God it wasn't Sabatine. There was indeed a feminine gasp that accompanied the opening of the door, but it wasn't her voice thankfully. He turned from the ironing board to see one of the local spacers, a cute young woman with short, black hair and green eyes.
Kaiden wasn't indecent, wearing his white button down closed. But without his jacket and with his sleeves rolled up, he had the look of the romantic lead on the cover of one of the classic romance novels. She looked around, clearly not wanting to admit she had been the one to gasp even if there wasn't another human for about 60 meters. Clearing her throat, she saluted him. "Spacer Burke, sir. I've been commissioned by the Commodore to present you with your standard issue firearm."
In her offhand was a black box he took, and opened it to find the Mig 52 Sidearm he was expecting. He grinned openly, having awaited such an honor for four years. Finally, he felt as the ranking Lieutenant should. Placing the box near the photos of his family, he turned and gave the spacer a salute, who returned the gesture. "Thank you, Burke." He said to her. "You're dismissed. Oh and if you're impressed with me now, perhaps once my position here is secure I could make you gasp again after a few bottles of wine. Far louder I suspect."
She left the room with her face as red as a cherry, one part embarrassment, two parts shyness.
He didn't suspect he would ever make good on that offer, but it was fun to tease sometimes. Lord knows it was the only time he felt he had the control of any situation, at least recently.</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
Sabatine fidgeted in her dress uniform trying to get it to sit right. The uniform was brilliant white with gold at the seams and a saucer hat. As was traditional they wore decorations, which in Sabatine's case amounted to little more than a couple of colored ribbions for her previous postings and a pair of rifles crossed over a star, no larger than her thumbnail, that symbolized she had been on the academy rifle team. Not that Lieutenant Micha could boast much more the the way of fruit salad which, given the fact, he was a decade her senior in the service, must have been particularly galling. Though he bore the bars of his many posting, there were no citations for bravery or courage under fire, merely citations for good behavior and long and faithful service to the Republic. Sabatine had read his service history when she had been assigned to him, and the man had almost uncanny luck for avoiding action. It must have chafed him to have been denied the one thing that could trump any amount of interest, success in battle. She felt sympathy for him, but she dearly hoped that his unlucky streak would end so she would have a chance to prove herself.
They sat at dinner in the large open hall known as the Armory. The Armory had once been just that, a magazine in which anti ship missles had once been stored back in the days when Herculaneum had been a minor regional power. After the world 'accepted' the Friendship of the Republic and the base had been built, RCN planners had determined that the ammunition lockers needed to be situated below ground to prevent accident and attack. The resulting empty building had been converted into a function hall for the purposes of the RCN. Largely this was formal dinners like tonight, occasionally balls to which the local aristocracy, such as it was, were invited, and of course pay parades when ships came in from patrols. Large banners hung from the wall at regular intervals, stretching from the polished wood floor to the timbered ceiling in rippling walls of silk. Whether they represented actual battle honors, wog or RCN, Sabatine had no idea, but they did provide a convenient screen for the spacers who had been pressed into service as cooks and wait staff to operate behind without spoiling the tableau.
The table was set with white cloth and expensive looking, although probably fairly cheap silverware and laid out with laurel in proper RCN tradition. Unfortunately tradition also dictated that the officers were seated in strict and alternating order of rank, with the commodore at the head of the table, surrounded by the captains of the various ships, all the way down to the midshipmen at the foot of the table who were officers by courtesy and were expected to improve their social graces in silence. This meant that Sabatine was seated across from Kaiden, and thus required, by courtesy to interact with him. Cinnabar social etiquette required that business, in this case naval matters, not be discussed until after the main course had been served which robbed Sabatine of any topic in which she had any interest. Discussion of politics was faux pax as the RCN was required to remain above the partisan bickering of the Senate and she knew nothing of sports or current affairs back in Xenos that might fill up the idle minutes. The awkwardness began to grow acute as they were the only silent pair at the long table. There was a momentary relief as the waiters bought out the ox tail soup which formed the first course but eventually common courtesy and the notice of her neighbors compelled Sabatine to speak. Fortunately, she knew enough about Kaiden to pick an uncomfortable topic.
"Your father is in good health I trust Sir?" she asked sweetly.</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Well the food wasn't too poor in quality. He'd gotten used to military cooking early in his career, and by the standards of his previous experiences, this was certainly adequate. What he found issue with was his seating arrangements. The two officers beside him were in the midst of their own conversations, and he and Sabatine seemed to have begun a private contest on who could keep quiet the longest. He didn't feel like much of a victor when she broke her silence.
He almost laughed out loud at her words. For a brief moment he knew she was giving the equivalent of a kidney shot and he almost admired it. But the good humor quickly fell away. Kaiden was arrogant enough to not bother with acting, but he decided to play along for now regardless. If she was going to be a bitch, he could be a right bastard.
"Last I checked he was doing wonderfully." Kaiden said, his fingers gliding over to his glass he'd filled with wine and downing half of its contents in a single gulp. He would have downed the entirety of it, but he didn't want to cause more of a scene as of yet. "It's so kind of you to ask. Which reminds me, when was the last time you spoke to brother? The oldest brother who got you into the navy. I know you were attached to the hip, given how much he used to dote on you."
Of course he used ambiguous wording, as 'sending' her in wasn't necessarily bankrolling her. But it was just vague enough to let her worry over others overhearing. "Have you tried the wine, by the way? It's sweet and tart in all of the best ways. I should have been transferred earlier."</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
"It has been a while," she admitted acting as though she hadn't seen the jibe in the words.
"Of course we are poor west country folk, he doesn't have the wealth and position necessary to buy me my commission, I had to earn that myself," she rejoined with a very slight, and completely deniable emphasis on 'my' commission. The implication was clear enough. Though it wasn't exactly possible to buy ones way up in the RCN, wealth and position certainly accounted for alot.
"As for being transferred sooner, I'm amazed that you couldn't just snap your fingers and have it arranged," she added with a chuckle that all but dripped a good humor that was as bright as it was artificial. She covered a smirk with a sip of the wine. It was too cloying for her taste but she had drunk pure alcohol from the power room cut with water in the past and the experience had lowered her standards for booze considerably. Setting the wine down she tried a little more of the spicy soup, finding it pleasing. A small chime rang and spacers stepped forward and lifted away they soup bowls replacing them with small cups of mint liquor which served to cleanse the palette. Sabatine downed hers at once, as did a dozen other officers for whom wine didn't have enough of a kick.</s>
| <|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Kaiden had finished his wine and decided to take a mug of what the others were having. He couldn't exactly remember who could drink more between he and Sabatine. He recalled that was a fun game between them and they usually passed out or made love before either could claim victory. He felt a ping in his chest and decide to shove that memory aside to enjoy, if one could call it that, the draught that had been provided. On the third sip he decided it wasn't so bad.
"Most would think so," He said with faux congeniality, swallowing the taste as best he could. He turned to the ensign next to him and nudged him with his elbow, giving him that winning smile that had people engage with him so often. The ensign laughed and they clacked mugs together as if they had won some great triumph. "Good stuff," He told the lad, who responded with "Better than one thinks. Good for two things, greasing engines and killing brain cells!"
"Very good," Kaiden said to him with a grin, regarding Sabatine once more. He should have had more of the soup, but right now the liquor would do fine. He did munch on some crackers they had provided. "So what have you been up to since we last saw each other?" He inquired, clearing his throat. He had to yawn, and despite his hammered in manners he decided to indulge himself. "You're still a Lieutenant, which is surprising."
He sipped his mug comfortably, his infuriatingly blue eyes watching her.</s> |
<|description|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 26
Biography & Concept: Born the second son of the esteemed Caladwarden family, who's lineage reaches back to the first millennium of human space exploration. He was one of three, his older brother Brandon having been groomed to succeed his father as a representative on the Cinnabar Senate in which his father is a prime member. His young brother Gridor placed in administrative duties on their island home estate. Kaiden was raised to be a military man, representative of their family's old notions of loyalty and homage. There needs to be at least one member of the family in the Cinnibar Navy, and Kiaden has grown up with such expectations and responsibilities. Though his brother Brandon did sign on for a brief period to learn his worth and to show his dedication to the Republic.
It gained him an edge on the officer's exam for Lieutenants, and he passed with relative ease. His contention with his father however came at the death of his older brother, who died during a brief skirmish. Kaiden was given leave to convene with his family, whereupon his father ordered him to relinquish his duties as a Lieutenant and take Brandon's mantle as the first son. Kaiden refused, preferring to make his own way in the Navy rather than relying on his family's influence to gain notoriety. He had always been independent minded, and if he hadn't already a knack for the officer's life he likely would have defied his father long before the Brandon's death. His already rocky relationship with his sire plummeted into them parting ways with harsh words and even harsher sentiments.
An oddity, this "prince of the isle" does rather enjoy lowborn commoners. He speaks easy enough and is no stranger to hard work. But he always tends to have an air or superiority and education most can find grating. Ever rebellious, he was involved in a few low-end scandals with servants and young women cooks at his family's estate, being rather good-looking with a smooth, deep voice that can be used to flutter hearts or send men to battle.
Here's hoping he can muster up a good battle record with his meager gifts, because war has just begun...
@Penny</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Well the food wasn't too poor in quality. He'd gotten used to military cooking early in his career, and by the standards of his previous experiences, this was certainly adequate. What he found issue with was his seating arrangements. The two officers beside him were in the midst of their own conversations, and he and Sabatine seemed to have begun a private contest on who could keep quiet the longest. He didn't feel like much of a victor when she broke her silence.
He almost laughed out loud at her words. For a brief moment he knew she was giving the equivalent of a kidney shot and he almost admired it. But the good humor quickly fell away. Kaiden was arrogant enough to not bother with acting, but he decided to play along for now regardless. If she was going to be a bitch, he could be a right bastard.
"Last I checked he was doing wonderfully." Kaiden said, his fingers gliding over to his glass he'd filled with wine and downing half of its contents in a single gulp. He would have downed the entirety of it, but he didn't want to cause more of a scene as of yet. "It's so kind of you to ask. Which reminds me, when was the last time you spoke to brother? The oldest brother who got you into the navy. I know you were attached to the hip, given how much he used to dote on you."
Of course he used ambiguous wording, as 'sending' her in wasn't necessarily bankrolling her. But it was just vague enough to let her worry over others overhearing. "Have you tried the wine, by the way? It's sweet and tart in all of the best ways. I should have been transferred earlier."</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
"It has been a while," she admitted acting as though she hadn't seen the jibe in the words.
"Of course we are poor west country folk, he doesn't have the wealth and position necessary to buy me my commission, I had to earn that myself," she rejoined with a very slight, and completely deniable emphasis on 'my' commission. The implication was clear enough. Though it wasn't exactly possible to buy ones way up in the RCN, wealth and position certainly accounted for alot.
"As for being transferred sooner, I'm amazed that you couldn't just snap your fingers and have it arranged," she added with a chuckle that all but dripped a good humor that was as bright as it was artificial. She covered a smirk with a sip of the wine. It was too cloying for her taste but she had drunk pure alcohol from the power room cut with water in the past and the experience had lowered her standards for booze considerably. Setting the wine down she tried a little more of the spicy soup, finding it pleasing. A small chime rang and spacers stepped forward and lifted away they soup bowls replacing them with small cups of mint liquor which served to cleanse the palette. Sabatine downed hers at once, as did a dozen other officers for whom wine didn't have enough of a kick.</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Kaiden had finished his wine and decided to take a mug of what the others were having. He couldn't exactly remember who could drink more between he and Sabatine. He recalled that was a fun game between them and they usually passed out or made love before either could claim victory. He felt a ping in his chest and decide to shove that memory aside to enjoy, if one could call it that, the draught that had been provided. On the third sip he decided it wasn't so bad.
"Most would think so," He said with faux congeniality, swallowing the taste as best he could. He turned to the ensign next to him and nudged him with his elbow, giving him that winning smile that had people engage with him so often. The ensign laughed and they clacked mugs together as if they had won some great triumph. "Good stuff," He told the lad, who responded with "Better than one thinks. Good for two things, greasing engines and killing brain cells!"
"Very good," Kaiden said to him with a grin, regarding Sabatine once more. He should have had more of the soup, but right now the liquor would do fine. He did munch on some crackers they had provided. "So what have you been up to since we last saw each other?" He inquired, clearing his throat. He had to yawn, and despite his hammered in manners he decided to indulge himself. "You're still a Lieutenant, which is surprising."
He sipped his mug comfortably, his infuriatingly blue eyes watching her.</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
Sabatine refrained from snorting which would have been unlady like. Few officers would make lieutenant commander before 30 and fewer still without a war to open slots both on new vessels and through casualties. She took the decanter and poured herself another generous measure of the minty liqour. It was probably vodka of some sort, though that was a fairly broad designation given to most vegetable alcohol rather than implying it was made from potatoes. She raised her glass.
"Well you know what they say, to a bloody war or a sickly season," her gaze making it clear whose slot she hoped either of those dooms would empty. she knocked back the alcohol just as Commodore Welkins stood and rapped his fork sharply against his glass several times in quick succession. The general buzz of combination quited save for one midshipmen, wearing an improbably number of commendations continued an animated description of what was either a space battle or an amorous encounter. One of his mortified fellows cuffed him over the back of the head to silence him to which Welkins nodded his approval.
"Fellow Spacers," he began, "as you have no doubt heard tensions with the Alliance are coming to a head." There were grumbles from the assembled officers, uniformly bellicose variations of let us at them. Welkin's smiled his eyes glinting like agates.
"We have been in the past twelve months, largely on a passive footing, lifting out to deal with crisis and incident as the develop." Welkins had the trick of making it seem like he was taking his officers into his confidence, despite the fact that everyone of them, with the possible exception of Kaiden, already knew that.
"No longer, with the base secure under the protection of the mine field, we are going to spread our patrols far and wide, show the locals that the Cinnabar flag sill flies and let them that if they are thinking of exchanging our friendship for Guarantor Pora's chains they had best reckon on what the RCN has to say about it!" This raised a round of cheers from the officers, most of whom were at least buzzed on whine or strong liquor already, but the RCN was no place for abstainers. A sober part of Sabatine's mind recognized the other unspoken factors that went into the Commodore's decision to disperse his fleet. If war did break out the first they would hear of it would likely be the arrival of an Alliance squadron extracting from the matrix and launching missiles. A small force like that which operated in the Rayleigh stars could be gutted in minutes if it were caught in orbit by an enemy likely to boast many times their missile tubes. Dispersed the squadron had a better chance of avoiding a crushing defeat and could remain a force in being even if an Alliance task force arrived to attack Herculaneum. Ships would return from their patrols to find the enemy in the system and could fade away if they were too strong or attack from the rear if they were unwary.
"To that end," Welkins continued, cutting through the excited babble once again, "I'm ordering Vicount and Grandwing out at 0600 and 0700 tomorrow, Cadbury will follow as soon as her refit is finished, certainly within the next 24 hours." Officers were begining to reach for recall plates to call their crews back from liberty and Sabatine watched Captain Micha whisper into the ear of one of spacers from the Vickie, doubtless passing his own orders to start rounding up the crew.
"Vesper and Solidad," he went on, referring to the two small sloops, small pocket warships with guns but no missles, "Will remain on station in case the enemy does arrive in force. In such a case Vesper will run for Cinnabar and Solidad will be tasked with attempting to alert the rest of us. Orders have been transmitted to your ships regarding patrol routes." Welkin's grinned wolfishly.
"Perhaps we will finally get our chance to show those goons from the Alliance what real spacers are like! RCN forever!"
"RCN forever!" the assembled officers roared. Sabatine happened to be watching Micha when the cheer went up, the Captain did not join in and looked a little queasy. Well perhaps the booze hadn't quite agreed with him.</s>
| <|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Kaiden had heard better.
Normally such a disgraceful thought wouldn't pass through his head, but Sabatine and his drinking made him lose his composure in his thoughts. He breathed in deeply and realized he needed to curb himself before he began to speak in a similar manner. The Commodore was, of course, right. If the Alliance dared attack, they would be thrown into the void. Kaiden called nearly as loud as the others with their cry of victory, though he didn't stand up in excitement. Instead, he took another drink, knowing he needed it. Sipping, he saw Sabatine and Captain Micha were a trite more reserved than the others, and he followed Sabatine's suspicious gaze to the Captain. The man did seem a bit squeamish. Odd, the food here was finely cooked.
Despite his initial approval, the continuing platitudes and calls for mobilization were going through one of Kaiden's ears and out the other. It was getting all rather droll, and one look at Sabatine was enough to get him to make a few sisyphean excuses of why he needed to leave, not giving anyone a second look. He drank the last of his tankard dry and left it on the table, striding out of the room and through the compound. He decided his excuse of "fresh air" would turn out true, and he found the night was pleasantly warm.
Among the sea, he saw distant lights of gigs and other, larger vessels moving slowly along the horizon line. Most wouldn't be able to differentiate the sea from the sky, but he had spent many nights watching the sea. It helped him relax on this strange, beautiful world. He wished he could appreciate it, but at the moment he was, as the spacers called it, pissed. He headed off the walkway towards the center of the island, where the Vicount was set up above the hanger on it's hydraulic legs. If he was going to be the Lieutenant of the vehicle, his muddled mind decided inspecting it would be a valuable use of his time.
Normally he would often play the rebel, sneaking past the guards even if he had full access to the area. But he didn't know this island near well enough and wanted to flaunt his position, so he waded through every checkpoint with a princely manner and a barely complacent wave of his hand. It was a few minutes into his inspection of the underside that he realized he truly was in no condition to inspect the underside. Not only for the drink, but his mind dwelling on Sabatine. Bloody woman!
"Excuse me?" Said a sultry voice, as smooth as freshly woven silk. "You're a Liuetenant for this Corvette, yes? Might I-" And the shapely woman gasped when Kaiden turned. Even in the dimness of the night, she could recognize his face from countless photos Tilda Savari had seen. "You're Kaiden Caladwarden."
The prince regarded her. Normally he would be thrilled to meet such a delectable woman, but at the moment he was in no mood and she was clearly a reporter. The only reason he didn't immediately tell her to buzz off was that she was not supposed to be within the perimeter after hours and yet here she was, speaking to in the thick of RCN security. He respected talent, particularly in women. "Yes, I am. And I am not taking questions at this time. You should go before I call the men to escort you."
"Wait no!" She said, somehow loudly within a hoarse whisper. "Look, I was already thrown out by that bi-...the female Lieutenant earlier. I'd just like a few questions."
Kaiden blinked, looking at her directly. He gestured with his hands to halt her speech. "Hold...did this Lieutenant have her hair in a bun, a workman's uniform and a harsh disposition?"
She raised an eyebrow, playing with her hair as she wondered whether or not he was asking a trick question. "Yes?"
Kaiden gave her a courtly bow. "Madam, you may ask me whatever you would like. Shall we go to the bar on the east side?"</s> |
<|description|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 26
Biography & Concept: Born the second son of the esteemed Caladwarden family, who's lineage reaches back to the first millennium of human space exploration. He was one of three, his older brother Brandon having been groomed to succeed his father as a representative on the Cinnabar Senate in which his father is a prime member. His young brother Gridor placed in administrative duties on their island home estate. Kaiden was raised to be a military man, representative of their family's old notions of loyalty and homage. There needs to be at least one member of the family in the Cinnibar Navy, and Kiaden has grown up with such expectations and responsibilities. Though his brother Brandon did sign on for a brief period to learn his worth and to show his dedication to the Republic.
It gained him an edge on the officer's exam for Lieutenants, and he passed with relative ease. His contention with his father however came at the death of his older brother, who died during a brief skirmish. Kaiden was given leave to convene with his family, whereupon his father ordered him to relinquish his duties as a Lieutenant and take Brandon's mantle as the first son. Kaiden refused, preferring to make his own way in the Navy rather than relying on his family's influence to gain notoriety. He had always been independent minded, and if he hadn't already a knack for the officer's life he likely would have defied his father long before the Brandon's death. His already rocky relationship with his sire plummeted into them parting ways with harsh words and even harsher sentiments.
An oddity, this "prince of the isle" does rather enjoy lowborn commoners. He speaks easy enough and is no stranger to hard work. But he always tends to have an air or superiority and education most can find grating. Ever rebellious, he was involved in a few low-end scandals with servants and young women cooks at his family's estate, being rather good-looking with a smooth, deep voice that can be used to flutter hearts or send men to battle.
Here's hoping he can muster up a good battle record with his meager gifts, because war has just begun...
@Penny</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Wisely, Kaiden had elected to eat a bit more and drink a modicum of water before he partook in any other alcoholic beverage. Despite his current companion enjoying a delectable Cinnibar vintage, brewed in 5026. It was one of the perks of being a Liuetant, after all. No non-commissioned officer could acquire a drink of this caliber from most military sanctioned barrooms such as the established they found themselves in, simply called the Black Kettle. It was mostly vacated save for a few off-duty MP's that seemed to be chatting up the bartenders as they cleaned shop. The lovely reported and Kaiden sat across from one another at one of the tall-tables beside one of the vaguely faint lights that were encased in faceted glass. So far she hadn't yet annoyed him, he only wished he were slightly more sober so he could delve back into being tipsy more easily.
"And you were transferred to the Vicount so recently...interesting..." The woman often paused and idly bit her pen, jotting down notes so quickly it seemed an art form. He was content to simply sit there and enjoy the heated wheat loaf that had been provided to them while idly taking the smallest sips of the aged wine. "But there was little explanation as to why, I see. Other than the general mounting escalations of the relations between the Alliance and Cinnibar. I appreciate your candor, which is why I haven't asked you anything that might compromise you. But I am afraid I might need a bit more."
Kaiden chuckled, lounging on his chair as he watched her work. If they weren't expected to set out tomorrow at 0600, he would ask her to share a night with him. But he felt that was the drink taking advantage of his mind. It didn't do to mix with journalists, even one as smart and pretty as this. Then again, it didn't do to mix with fellow soldiers and he ignored that bit of advice. Maybe the taboo aspect was partly why he was drawn in? He pushed the thought away. "I'm afraid I don't have anything more, unfortunately. Unless you'd like my shoe size or my blood type. I would like to know where all of these basic military questions are being sent to. What was your network again?"
"The Herculaneum Vault, network 5B on Island 67." She reiterated, sharp eyes switching to him again. "And I'm certain theres more. Maybe something personal?" Tilda began with a hinting smile. "Being a scion of the Caladwarden houseshold must have its share of secrets, and you're no fan of your father as you've said. Or Perhaps something a bit less domestic? You did jump on my offer when I told you of Liuetenant Sabatine. You were lovers, weren't you? Ah, the look says it all! I had not been informed relationships among officers was allowed in the navy, or was it simply frowned upon?"
"I wasn't aware the Herculaneum Vault were into gossip columns," He shot back, amused. He took the last sip of wine he would have that night, for the 3rd time. "I didn't think you were that kind of woman either."
"And what kind of woman am I?"
"Intelligent...relentless if given the opportunity. None of which scream gossip columnist." He remarked, sitting up in his chair. He couldn't tell if it was the alcohol, his libido, or if he was truly impressed that led him to his next train of thought. Clearing his throat, he asked. "How much does the vault pay it's employees? Let me guess, enough? I'm leaving tomorrow. Find me when we make port again, and if you don't lie about your wage, I'll add 20% and ask for your services as my helper."
"A servant?" She laughed incredulously, staring at him. "...You're serious? I mean, I'll think about it." She idly fixed her hair as if she was at a job interview, or speaking to someone she found attractive. Both was likely, he thought.
"Just think on it. And do decide before I return. I doubt I'll be drunk the next time we meet." He told her, leaving money to pay the bill as he made his way out of the barroom and back to his quarters. He was going to have a hell of a day tomorrow.</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
The sun was just beginning to rise as Sabatine pulled her head out of the number three plasma motor and wiggled her helmet off her head. The world turned from the monocrome read out of her stress display back to the brightening colors of the normal human optical spectrum as the filter lifted away. Her prelaunch inspection had found a small pit in the throat of the unit, it was probably nothing but there was a small chance it was a casting flaw that might, at any moment cause the thruster to rupture. The ship could function with is remaining seven thrusters but there was no point in taking a chance like that when there was a fleet base with a full maintenance inventory to hand. The crew had grumbled that it was unnecessary but they were mostly just surly that leave had been canceled. Sabatine had loaded the unit onto one of the diesel powered trucks the locals used for fetch and carry and set it back to the yard office before replacing the unit with a new one. A two hour job even with three experienced spacers to help her. Maybe the yard would scan the thing and find it was ok and issue it to another ship, maybe they would pawn it off on civilians for a few extra florins, as far as Sabatine was concerned they could throw the damn thing in the ocean so long as it didn't put her ship or her people in danger.
"Caparelli, call chief Savachev and tell her we are in the green here, tell her I want her to run up the pump and light this one first when we star the power up to give it a few extra minutes to heat."
"Yes ma'am," Caparelii replied knuckling his forhead with a greasy hand. He was a wirey power room tech short and with a touch of the little man syndrome that made him a terror for bar owners. Those were civilian problems though and he was as fine a wrench as they had on the Vickie.
"Anything else she already knows that I should be telling her ma'am?" Caparelii asked, completely dead pan. The other crewmen tried with various degrees of success to conceal their snickers. Sabatine arched an eyebrow and placed her hands on her already grease stained uniform.
"Yeah, tell her to call me the next time she needs a personel detail, I have a few thoughts," she replied, a slight grin on her face letting her spacers know she was joking. Caparellii made a saulte to a point well scored and scuttled off to tell the already overworked and over stressed engineer that this little last minute project was finished.
"Uh Ma'am?" a voice came from above her. SHe glanced up to see Howarth's head protruding from an access hatch.
"What is it spacer?" she asked expecting another last minute problem that threatened to delay their lift-off.
"Uh that reporter lady is back Ma'am she uh.. she said the new Lieutenant invited her and I mean we had to let her pass?" Howarth asked, his tone turning the statement into a question. Sabatine stared at him in shock. Kaiden was bringing a doxy and a reporter on board? She reached for her commo helmet to call Captain Micha but froze. It wasn't technically her decision and if the captain had a problem with it he would chew Kaiden out for it himself.
"Right, well whatever the XO says right?" she told Howarth. An alarm pinged on the ships internal PA.
"All hands, stand by to close up shift, lift off in 15 minutes." Well, no time to worry about it now.</s>
| <|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Despite the previous night's activities, Kaiden had managed to make it back to the ship in a timely fashion and collapse on the bed. Waking up was far less graceful, but after a good shower and the usual hangover routine, he dressed accordingly and made it out on deck at 0545. As he was new to the vessel, he immediately reported to Micha to see where the Captain would need him.
Micha was at the bridge when Kaiden approached him, the Captain giving a smile at the approaching Lieutenant. "I see you're up and at 'em, Lieutenant. I hope you found last night enlightening and morale boosting." His manner was jovial and Kaiden couldn't help but give a smile despite the headache. "I had a bit too much, but I certainly felt the pride of Cinnabar in me as well as the alcohol. Shall I go oversee the men?"
"Yes, do. And when you're finished, get Lieutenant Hickoring as well. I'd like reports from both of you to make certain we're good to launch. I-" His mouth snapped shut when he received an incoming personal transmission in his earpiece, and he blinked, laughing in incredulity. "Lieutenant... did you invite a bloody reporter onto the ship?" He looked not entirely displeased, but completely flabbergasted. He actually looked impressed. "You do get around, don't you?"
For his part, Kaiden looked completely confused. Yes he remembered offering it to Tilda, but he told her to decide before he returned, and he also did not expect her to say yes! Well, he couldn't exactly go back on his word if she had decided, but if she was here to simply make a scene he would drop her like a spent magazine.
It was less than a minute later when Kaiden met Tilda Savari making her merry way up the gangplank. She looked just as attractive when Kaiden was sober, which was very impressive. She had on workmans trousers that hugged her hips and a black top with a keyhole neckline, her hair bound in a bun of very meticulously tied curls. "Well, I'm ready for my debut." She said, but Kaiden didn't exactly show his approval just yet.
"You're not going to convince me that you quit your job overnight and decided to throw it all away because of my wit and charm." He challenged, his face set like granite with his arms crossed.
"Well, not only that. The money helped too." She said without skipping a beat. "So, can we go now or are you going to stare at me until we cast off?"
After a moment's hesitation, Kaiden pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're right. We could very well use your help, Ms. Savari." He conceded, and then tossed her a bag which she caught awkwardly, her casually attractive face now mixed with surprise at the sudden turn. Kaiden grinned. "You can wash my clothing first, and I expect it all pressed as well. I have an image to maintain. Meet me on the bridge at 0630."</s> |
<|description|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 26
Biography & Concept: Born the second son of the esteemed Caladwarden family, who's lineage reaches back to the first millennium of human space exploration. He was one of three, his older brother Brandon having been groomed to succeed his father as a representative on the Cinnabar Senate in which his father is a prime member. His young brother Gridor placed in administrative duties on their island home estate. Kaiden was raised to be a military man, representative of their family's old notions of loyalty and homage. There needs to be at least one member of the family in the Cinnibar Navy, and Kiaden has grown up with such expectations and responsibilities. Though his brother Brandon did sign on for a brief period to learn his worth and to show his dedication to the Republic.
It gained him an edge on the officer's exam for Lieutenants, and he passed with relative ease. His contention with his father however came at the death of his older brother, who died during a brief skirmish. Kaiden was given leave to convene with his family, whereupon his father ordered him to relinquish his duties as a Lieutenant and take Brandon's mantle as the first son. Kaiden refused, preferring to make his own way in the Navy rather than relying on his family's influence to gain notoriety. He had always been independent minded, and if he hadn't already a knack for the officer's life he likely would have defied his father long before the Brandon's death. His already rocky relationship with his sire plummeted into them parting ways with harsh words and even harsher sentiments.
An oddity, this "prince of the isle" does rather enjoy lowborn commoners. He speaks easy enough and is no stranger to hard work. But he always tends to have an air or superiority and education most can find grating. Ever rebellious, he was involved in a few low-end scandals with servants and young women cooks at his family's estate, being rather good-looking with a smooth, deep voice that can be used to flutter hearts or send men to battle.
Here's hoping he can muster up a good battle record with his meager gifts, because war has just begun...
@Penny</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
"Our orders," Captain Micha said, reading aloud. Kaiden swept his gaze over the bridge, seeing his subordinates at their stations, his eyes sweeping past Sabatine without stopping at her. Behind him Tilda sauntered over to her chair, and he noticed Sabatine gave her a quick glare before going back to her proper, soldier's reserve. The midshipman to his left rose and saluted Kaiden, and the officer smiled and nodded for him to sit back down. The Captain's voice did not halt. "-Are to travel to the Errhai Star System just over the bend to scout out the outerlying planets and give a show of force to the small margin of colonists therein. And to keep the Alliance from sinking their claws in it, so to say."
Kaiden saw the orders and the Captain heavily paraphrased, but he got the gist of it. There was no Alliance presence reported there, but the ships were told to reinforce smaller systems as tensions escalated in order to keep the Alliance from growing so bold as to advance their 'influence' in lesser areas. Kaiden couldn't blame the Commodore or Cinnabar High Command for this move, but he also realized to Alliance citizens it seemed like a somewhat aggressive one. He pondered what abhorrent and vile news the tabloids on their worlds would be spewing to the general public.
"If we're all present and accounted for, let us commence aye?" The Captain asked his crew, and they gave an 'aye' in reply. Kaiden didn't speak, instead watching the Captain to learn from in so he might one day hold that command. He wondered if Micha had done some light exercise this morning before his post, because he seemed to be sweating from his brow. "Lieutenant Caladwarden," He said, drawing Kayden's attention from his musings.
Kaiden stood at attention. "Sir!"
"Would you er, do us the honors?" He said swallowing, almost uneasily. Kaiden felt he was simply seeing things. Though he didn't know why he was being presented with such an honor. Kaiden bowed stiffly, his eye opening to view Tilda at the side who gave him a wink. He'd done it to make sure she wasn't acting up, but now he recalled just how sexy she was. Luckily, not even a beautiful woman or an ex-girlfriend like Sabatine could kill his cool-headed focus at this rare moment.
"Aye sir!" He said, and he immediately changed his demeanor. His eyes as sharp as talons and his voice as crisp as waking up in a cold freezer. "Bosun Higgs, unlatch us and get the landing gear ready to be lifted. Bushman, Harwen, set us up for power with Chief Savachev. Howarth I need you focused! Ready the topsail and keep us steady as we rise. There can be no mistakes, men. Candleworth, if I don't see the coordinates on the display before I next blink! I..." He stopped, and cleared his throat. Kaiden turned to Sabatine, inclining his head toward her to suggest she should call for their lift off.
"Lieutenant, let's fire off." He said, gazing at her with his striking eyes in a neutral fashion. He was taking his ego out of it.</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
"Chief of Ship, you may light the thrusters," Sabatine instructed. Almost before the syllables had left her mouth thrusters one and eight light with a roar. One on the port bow and the other at the aft stern, the two thruster balanced each other out and the Vickie began to bob and shudder in her birth. Kaiden irised the thrusters fully open to disperse there thrust rather than fiddle with the output volumes, though she didn't remember how he had fared at ship handling during the academy, he had obviously had plenty of practice since. The thrusters continued to come online in pairs until Kaiden controlled all eight units from his holographic console. Sabatine's nose began to itch as inonized steam from the slip began to infiltrate the ship, stinging her sinuses and the back of her throat. She took some pleasure in the look of discomfort the familiar irritant caused to Tilda.
"Chief of Rig, seal all hatches and all hands stand to," she announced over the intercom. In truth there was little for the riggers to do other than seal the hatches and then take thier places in the forward and aft airlocks, ready to spread the rig once they reached orbit.
"This is the Chief of Ship, reporting all stations optimal," Chief Engineer Savachev declared over the command push. The Vickie was buffeting now, surging on the wake of its thrusters as they dispersed thier force into the slip.
"Herculaneum control this is RCN Vicount, requesting final clearance to lift," Sabatine said, switching the comm relay to the port control. She wondered how those personnel felt about the dispersal of the fleet. Intellectually they probably understood that the minefield offered far better protection that the ships but it had to be demoralizing to see the vessels which were the symbol of the RCN scattering.
"Acknowledged Vicount, clear to depart," came back a flat female voice, too degraded by the microwave signal that was beaming through the clouds of ions being raised by the thrusters to convey any emotion. Sabatine pointed a finger at Kaiden to let him know they were clear but he was evidentlly listening in on the comms because his hands smoothly irised shut all eight thrusters. The jest of ions which had been widely dissipated concentrated and the ship leaped upwarards, her deck seeming to slam into Sabatine's boots. Kaiden made a hurried adjustment and the upward flight smoothed out. He might be an expierience ship handler, but he was new to the Vickie and her quirks. Sabatine supposed she could have warned him that the controls were a little touchy but she hadn't imagined the Captain would have him take the ship up his first full day aboard. Perhaps he was taking the measure of Kaiden as well. The ship rose rapidly up through the atmosphere. Sabatine had split her screen in four, one quadrant mirrored Leyla Savachev's board in engineering. Anything that conerned the engineer was worth knowing. Sabatine didn't quite have the woman's skill, but her time in the yards at Harbor 3 gave her a better grasp than most RCN officers. The second screen was Kaiden's, fully occupied just now with the thruster controls, though he was preparing to cut in the high drive in a side bar. The last screen showed the Captain's screen, he seemed to be checking Candleworth's astrogation plot. Micha was a fine astrogater, one of the best Sabatine had met, and he was busily making corrections to Candleworth's course plot. The midshipman's plot was so unimaginative that she suspected it had been lifted verbatim from the astrogation computer. Well she would check that later, and if Candleworth was a terrible astrogater, well the RCN would find a use for him regardless. Her own screen held a 3D representation of the space around Herculaneum, there was nothing of interest besides the mines but Sabatine plotted several missle attacks based on her assumptions about likely appearances of an attacking fleet. The odds of such a fleet arriving and not being destroyed by the mines was slim but a slim, but in battle the few seconds the computations could save her might be vital.
Gravity vanished suddenly as Kaiden shut down the thrusters. It returned with a jolt a few seconds later as the high drive kicked in. The high drive functioned with matter anti-matter converters, which were far more efficient than the ion thrusters used for maneuvering in a gravity well. Unfortunately high drive couldn't be used in an atmosphere as undecayed particles of antimatter would mix with the atmosphere and chew the drives themselves to pieces. Even in space there was a certain amount of particulate, but not enough that the motors were at risk with regular maintenance. The Vickie began to pick up speed and Sabatine unstrapped herself. It would be a three day voyage to Errhai and she didn't want to spend any more time looking at Tilda's smirking face than she had to.
"Sir, with your permission I'll join the bosun on the hull, it is his first time with us and I'd like to make sure the riggers don't give him any grief."</s>
| <|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
"Very good," Kaiden and Micha said simultaneously, and Kaiden colored at the realization. Micha looked at him with scrutiny, but to Kaiden's relief the man didn't chastise him in front of the crew. The prince didn't even look Sabatine's way, not deigning to see any look she would give him. Instead he stood at attention just as he was trained to do, watching over the men he brought with them. Bushman and Harwen might bicker and cause trouble when off duty, but they concentrated like proper spacers when the time called for it. The monitor display showcased their ascent into the stratosphere and further up until the light blue of the sky turned dark and filled with stars. Even after traveling across planets himself, standing on the deck of a ship made it so he never felt such a sight could get old.
"It's amazing, isn't it sir?" Kaiden asked the Captain softly, his lips having curved into a smile.
"Yes indeed." Micha responded in a far less enchanted tone, clearing his throat. He seemed to be shaking but Kaiden took that as the ship's thrumming beneath the bridge. The Captain turned to him and blinked. "Lieutenant, I do believe I have it handled here for the moment. Go and check on the Bosun with Lieutenant Hickoring. The Bosun is your man, and you two should get to know one another now that you'll be serving together."
Kaiden's once bright face turned to stone somehow, without even changing a muscle. He paused for a moment, not certain if he should regale the Captain with their prior history right here upon the deck as the crew were adjusting the thruster levels and keeping an eye on the various UIs on their monitors. "Sir, I had thought my help on the deck would be welcomed."
"Are you suggesting I need it, Lieutenant?" The Captain retorted a bit too quickly. He looked nervous, which made him defensive likely. Kaiden learned such actions from Psychology 101 in his cadet years, but he didn't expect it from a Captain. Perhaps it was a test on his loyalty. The prince spun properly to present himself face to face with his superior, clapped his feet together and saluted with a practiced, fluid motion.
"My apologies. I'll leave you to it then, sir!"</s> |
<|description|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 26
Biography & Concept: Born the second son of the esteemed Caladwarden family, who's lineage reaches back to the first millennium of human space exploration. He was one of three, his older brother Brandon having been groomed to succeed his father as a representative on the Cinnabar Senate in which his father is a prime member. His young brother Gridor placed in administrative duties on their island home estate. Kaiden was raised to be a military man, representative of their family's old notions of loyalty and homage. There needs to be at least one member of the family in the Cinnibar Navy, and Kiaden has grown up with such expectations and responsibilities. Though his brother Brandon did sign on for a brief period to learn his worth and to show his dedication to the Republic.
It gained him an edge on the officer's exam for Lieutenants, and he passed with relative ease. His contention with his father however came at the death of his older brother, who died during a brief skirmish. Kaiden was given leave to convene with his family, whereupon his father ordered him to relinquish his duties as a Lieutenant and take Brandon's mantle as the first son. Kaiden refused, preferring to make his own way in the Navy rather than relying on his family's influence to gain notoriety. He had always been independent minded, and if he hadn't already a knack for the officer's life he likely would have defied his father long before the Brandon's death. His already rocky relationship with his sire plummeted into them parting ways with harsh words and even harsher sentiments.
An oddity, this "prince of the isle" does rather enjoy lowborn commoners. He speaks easy enough and is no stranger to hard work. But he always tends to have an air or superiority and education most can find grating. Ever rebellious, he was involved in a few low-end scandals with servants and young women cooks at his family's estate, being rather good-looking with a smooth, deep voice that can be used to flutter hearts or send men to battle.
Here's hoping he can muster up a good battle record with his meager gifts, because war has just begun...
@Penny</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Kaiden had been a deck officer for most of his career, keeping the technical duties to his crew after making certain he had gained an understanding of their primary and secondary responsibilities in case anything had gone wrong. But this still was not his first jaunt in the void along the rigging. In fact his first exposure to open space had been aiding a bosun back during his cadet days, mere months before he had begun dating Sabatine, if memory served. He saw two figures out along the rigging and even after all these years, he recognized the way she moved just as easily as he had back then.
He recognized that tone too when her helmet pressed to his. He chose to ignore it, though he knew one of these days he would lose his temper if she kept it up. Oh and you're so mature, are you? He thought to himself. He'd seen her working on the rigging and thawing the frozen material from liftoff, and behind her Herculaneum was fast receding into the blackness of space. He did his best not to clear his throat, knowing how pompous he might sound.
"There's no problem unless you inform me there is." He relayed, knowing how testy it appeared coming out of his mouth. Jogging on, he continued. "Captain Micha informed me to come out here and help anyway I can, because Higgs is my man. I'm not here to step on toes, Sabbie." He almost hesitated before speaking, realizing he used his pet name for her he hadn't said aloud in years. The awkwardness was palpable. "I see you're about to insert the rigging and I'll follow your lead." Before adding. "That's an order."
At that moment, Higgs approached from the portside. He stepped like a professional, and Kaiden knew he had the skills to back it up. As the fellow pressed his helmet to theirs, Kaiden could see his broad face and once broken nose curled from his friendly smile.
"Good to have you here, Lieutenant." Higgs voice said, though of course he had heard none of the two officer's exchange previously. Even in such close contact with Sabatine, Kaiden couldn't help but give a sly grin. Higgs had always been one of his favorite subordinates. "With your permission, you two can get the rigging done. I still need to check the fore for secondary radiation. Herculaneum has a damn lot of shortwave radiation from the big red." Referring to the system's star, though of course that was just a nickname. It was still a healthy sun not yet formed into a giant. It had another two billion years before it became truly dangerous to anyone on the surface of the planet.
"Good man Higgs. The lieutenant and I were just about to suggest the same thing." He told him. After Higgs responded with an 'aye', the man treaded off to the fore of the ship. Kaiden looked Sabatine in the eye. "Lead me from where you left off and let's get this over with." He said.</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
"You got it Sir," Sabatine replied nodding her head. Unfortunately the motion broke the contact of their helmets so that Kaiden couldn't hear the full sentence. Irritated she pressed her helmet back against his.
"Follow me sir," she repeated and turned and began tramping forward. Higgs was making his way forward also, though the veteran rigger did so be making short leaps from line to line rather than the slow methodical progress of magnetic boots. That was a form of showing off, there was no cause to rush on a routine cruise when time wasn't a factor but Higgs was a new man to a crew that had been together for over a year. Spacer's were an insular group and Higgs couldn't expect to lead them if he gained a reputation as a coward. Sabatine understood his motivation but she hoped a sudden maneuver didn't send their bosun floating off into space.
Hydraulic semaphores mounted to the hull began to flash upright communicating to the riggers the desired sail plan. Yards began to extend from the masts stretching sail fabric out like an unfolding flower. For a miracle there were no major hold ups, though there were a couple of kinks that were quickly resolved by riggers with belaying spikes. As each of the sails reached its proper position a rigger tapped a hydraulic set switch which took the signal inside the hull to the bridge. Sabatine clasped the mast step and re-established her helmet contact with Kaiden.
"We are running with the A and B rings only," she told the Lieutenant making slow careful gestures to the first two rings. The curvature of the hull prevented them from viewing any more than one mast at a time but the semaphores and riggers hand signals communicated that the others were in place. Sabatine's tone had lost its hostile truculence as she warmed to the subject, she loved the romance and practice of star-faring, as much time and skill as she had in the technical department she had never regretted pulling the strings she had to get transferred away from her safe billet at Harbor 3 for an active commission. Well connected officers like Kaiden might expect a junior birth in a battleship, but she preferred small ship service where she could get her hands dirty.
"C and D rings are only at half deployment, we don't need the sail area but they give us useful maneuverability to let us transition more smoothly," she explained. The rear most sails acted as gaff rigs which would allow them to slip between the bubble universes of the matrix quickly, countering the lower sail area by making more stressful transitions. As if listening to her thoughts the arms of the semaphore towers switched to straight vertical. Riggers gripped masts and yards and engaged their boot magnets. Sabatine checked Kaiden but the aristocrat had seen the signal and had engaged both boots. The hairs on the back of her hands lifted as the sails took on the precisely calculated charge. Insertion to the matrix wasn't as bad as extractions were but it was still disorienting enough that an unsecured man might drift off into a bubble universe all of his own. The space above them shimmered into white and thing a mind shattering whirl of pastels.
"And welcome to M-121A, the first of twenty one transitions," she told Kaiden.</s>
| <|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
The two Lieutenants spent the next few hours sorting through all of them, with almost little to no verbal interaction. Once they had gotten underway, Kaiden had not found it particularly unpleasant. Maybe they could work together on the same ship, though there would always be that emotional scar tissue just waiting to be reopened. He wasn't certain if he hoped she felt the same. Sometimes it was easier to quantify the world when he knew someone was perpetually pissed at him.
The next two days flew by relatively quickly, and he saw Sabatine only in passing during that time. Kaiden spent the days getting to know the crew he'd never worked with before. He met with Helenna Graving for a bit, discussing her job and making pleasantries before finding Howarth, Danzetti, and Byron all in a betting match to see if Klave or Capereill would win at arm wrestling, best 3 out of five. Kaiden hadn't known the two men long, but he could read people. He knew Capereill likely worked out every day to compensate for his diminutive stature, and as he suspected it gave him the win. The next few hours he spoke to the men and even met them along with Helenna the next day in the mess hall, sitting somewhat close to Sabatine but not really speaking to her.
But that was all in the last few cycles. Kaiden currently stood at the ready as the Vickie's exit bay depressurized, opening up on Errhai herself, the most populous world in this backwater system. It only had about fifty million people on-world, but that was enough to be worthy of protection. It might not be the very heart of the Cinnabar nation, but he wished he felt more pride. The Prince simply wished to walk out into the planetary sun's rays and feel fresh air on his skin. Though he knew protocol. Captain Micha would disembark first, and the man was still on the bridge speaking to the Bosun.
Behind Kaiden, Tilda poked her head past his shoulder to try and see outside of the ship. The woman had been attached to his hip ever since they had gotten on board, save for when he gave her the slip to meet the other crew. He hated being crowded, but she had been a good conversationalist, and they'd even flirted occasionally. He knew the woman was either going to be the death of his career or the most fun he'd had in years. Likely both, considering his contrasting luck.
"You're not a reporter anymore, but I see you're as curious as ever." The Prince remarked, arms crossed. Until the Captain approached, he'd be at ease.
"Are you not? I hear this is an interesting little system. I never really had the stomach for travel, but I love making it to the destinations." She confessed, seemingly even more eager than Kaiden to step off of the Vickie. "I plan to peruse the nightlife a bit when I'm off hours, or at least see if there's any good local drinks. You wouldn't care to join me, would you?"
Kaiden shook his head, trying not to smirk. "Is that professionally, or-"
"If it was professional, it wouldn't be off hours." She teased, flying past Kaiden opening his mouth to speak. "Besides, I think we both can use a little unwinding."
"I-" He started, until Sabatine walked into the exit bay as she had been summoned. Kaiden regarded her and gave a casual salute, more out of a greeting than anything. She might have to salute to him, but it was always good for ranking officers to return the favor unless in the midst of a battle.</s> |
<|description|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 26
Biography & Concept: Born the second son of the esteemed Caladwarden family, who's lineage reaches back to the first millennium of human space exploration. He was one of three, his older brother Brandon having been groomed to succeed his father as a representative on the Cinnabar Senate in which his father is a prime member. His young brother Gridor placed in administrative duties on their island home estate. Kaiden was raised to be a military man, representative of their family's old notions of loyalty and homage. There needs to be at least one member of the family in the Cinnibar Navy, and Kiaden has grown up with such expectations and responsibilities. Though his brother Brandon did sign on for a brief period to learn his worth and to show his dedication to the Republic.
It gained him an edge on the officer's exam for Lieutenants, and he passed with relative ease. His contention with his father however came at the death of his older brother, who died during a brief skirmish. Kaiden was given leave to convene with his family, whereupon his father ordered him to relinquish his duties as a Lieutenant and take Brandon's mantle as the first son. Kaiden refused, preferring to make his own way in the Navy rather than relying on his family's influence to gain notoriety. He had always been independent minded, and if he hadn't already a knack for the officer's life he likely would have defied his father long before the Brandon's death. His already rocky relationship with his sire plummeted into them parting ways with harsh words and even harsher sentiments.
An oddity, this "prince of the isle" does rather enjoy lowborn commoners. He speaks easy enough and is no stranger to hard work. But he always tends to have an air or superiority and education most can find grating. Ever rebellious, he was involved in a few low-end scandals with servants and young women cooks at his family's estate, being rather good-looking with a smooth, deep voice that can be used to flutter hearts or send men to battle.
Here's hoping he can muster up a good battle record with his meager gifts, because war has just begun...
@Penny</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
"Sir," Sabatine said with a perfunctory salute. Such honors weren't typically given on ship during active service it seemed to ease the tension. Over the last several days they had seen each other sporadically in the course of their duties. She found it was easier to think of him as an RCN officer if she immersed herself in her work, which as it happened, was her natural inclination. While they were in transit Sabatine spent one watch on the hull with the riggers, trying to improve her modest astrogation skills, and the second watch with the ship-side techs. In the second category she was probably more skilled than anyone other than Chief Savachev and she worked with the midshipmen to improve their technical abilities. There was no fixed curriculum for a midshipman but Sabatine intended that by the end of the cruise all of the Vickie's middies would have a basic understanding of the machines that kept them alive in the hostile void of space, even if she was afraid that Otis might take his hand off with a power saw if she took her eyes off him for more than a few seconds. Captain Micha gave some instruction on command and, when he had time, astrogation so she tried to fill the remaining gaps. More than once she had seen Savachev hide a groan when she had set the middies to a task though, certain that her techs would have to repeat it once 'the young gentlemen' were done buggering around.
"Sir I wonder if you might give the order for the port and starboard watch to take liberty. Normally the captain would do it but he is caught up talking with Chief Higgs," she told him. Micha had been speaking to Higgs when she left the bridge, mostly asking questions about Kaiden for some reason, though it really wasn't any of her business. The bosun no doubt wanted to get to liberty himself but you didn't let your CO know that, even if it should be blatantly blood obvious. There was a babble of voices from the companionways behind them as the spacers, dressed in their liberty suits, RCN utilities whose seams had been embroiled with ribbons denoting all the ports the spacers had called upon, anxiously awaited to be unleashed. It was bad form for Micha to keep them waiting, but it was just possible this was a test of his new XO.
Beyond the boarding hold riggers were extending a ponton bridge to one of the quays to which the Vickie had moored. Errhai was a backwater world, hell everything in the Rayleigh Stars was a backwater, but it was more developed than many of its neighbours. There was a fair amount of export trade, mostly sugar that was processed from cane grown on inland plantations. A network of diesel powered railways brought the stalks of cane into Port Benjamin, as the city fancied itself, where it was processed in factories into an export grade foodstuff. The process involved a great deal of steam and gave the place a faint stink of molasses and old socks. There was a fair amount of rum produced here as well, and it was the staple liquor on the several dozen major worlds of the Raleigh Cluster, at least among the better classes on those worlds. Tilda sneezed violently as unquenched ions from the slip tickled her nose, both Kaiden and Sabatine were familiar enough with water landings to ignore the sensation. Sabatine affected not to notice, as a general she found she was happiest when she pretended Tilda didn't exist.
"Who are those people?" Tilda asked, pointing at a group of expensively dressed men and women at the end of the pier. The riggers were yelling at them to get back away from the quay so they could tie up the pontoon bridge. Klave was gesticulating with a length of pipe, making it clear that well dressed or not, if they didn't clear out of his way he was perfectly willing to clear them out. The question was directed at Sabatine so there was no way to ignore it without being rude.
"Captain Micha transmitted our crew list from orbit so we could debark without screwing around with local customs," she replied in a neutrally professional tone. Such things were a curtesy only. The 'Friendship of the Republic' was a thin veil that was easier for the locals to accept than 'possession of the Cinnabar Empire' would have been. The Republic, unlike the Alliance of Free Stars, usually preferred to work through local elites if it could, but if they got uppity the RCN would be happy to set them straight.
"I suspect they noticed our eminent executive officer on our manifest, and have come to invite him to a hundred dinner parties so they can boast to their friends of having met a genuine Cinnabar Noble," she explained.</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Kaiden had the same neutral visage plastered on his face, though he imagined he was looking slightly less amused than Sabatine. He might enjoy free food and good intelligent company, but he'd be far better off carousing rather than having to use a certain fork to eat what likely tasted a modicum better than the food he'd receive in far better company. That, and truthfully it irked him to be given special treatment due to his familial heritage. He'd have to treat them in a manner similar to how Sabatine treated Tilda, only with a bit more grace. It wouldn't do to have bad relations with the local populace because he shoved the member of a prominent family.
Kaiden didn't know if Tilda was now going to insist on him going, or if God forbid Captain Micha did. He supposed he would need a date if that was the case, but he still held out hope he could slip away quietly or give a firm no before any order was given. Better to apologize later than admit defeat now.
"Great..." He remarked sarcastically, lamenting the political indications of the 'Friendship of the Republic.' "I will cross that bridge when I come to it."
Clearing his throat, he looked at the ground for a brief moment contemplating Lieutenant Sabatine's request. He wasn't going to give her a negative answer out of spite, as much as he had the urge at times. The Port and Starboard crews had worked tirelessly as the aft and bow, but it was true they had required a bit more maintenance due to a few electrical complications, and from no fault of their own. In fact they had fixed it quicker than he could have imagined and the ship had not slowed a bit.
He didn't wish to show favoritism, or show that he was inclined to agree with Sabatine at every turn. But likely there was no fear of that, and decided to speak for Captain Micha since the officer had deigned to remain busy at this point in time.
"As for your request, it's granted. We'll give Port and Starboard liberty for now." The Prince said, tucking a wave of his hair handsome, dark hair back into line. "We'll be planetside plenty of time to give everyone a fair shot at relaxation. Make sure you're among them, Lieutenant. You're no use to the Captain or I overworked, is that understood?"
It looked as if Captain Micha was nearing the end of his delay, his voice growing closer within the corridor.</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
"Sir," Sabatine responded in a neutral tone before turning slightly away.
"Ship," she began triggering the ship wide communications link, "Port and Starboard watches are release for liberty." The last syllables of the message were drowned out by the roar of happy spacers as they rushed down the gangway in their colorful liberty suits, chatting and boasting of how they were going to fuck all the whores and drink all the booze this town had to offer. Realistically Port Benjamin was no different to hundreds of ports they had seen and the bars and brothels would be of a piece but after days in the matrix blowing of steam was a necessary activity no matter how many times you had done in.
Captain Micha and Chief Higgs entered the loading bay and the captain made a dismissive guesture with his hand. Higgs strode down the gangway joining a lewd song his fellows were already bellowing.
"Here we come, full of rum, looking for girls who peddle their bums."
Spacers were not by and large what Cinnabar society would consider sophisticated and their needs basically began and ended with booze and entertainment. That didn't mean they were stupid, it just meant they needed to remind themselves that they were human in the most basic possible terms as often as possible.
"Ah very good Lieutenant," Micha said approvingly as he joined the two officers, casting a distasteful look at the crowd of livered servants on the quay. They resembled butterflies scattering as a flock of birds appeared as the spacers bulled through them. Sabatine didn't think any of the spacers would deliberately shove the locals into the water, but neither would they care very much if it happened. She didn't care very much if it came to that. If these yokels had any sophistication whatever they would know better than to throng the gangway of a debarking starship.
"Anything to report Hickoring?" Micha asked with an arched eyebrow as he stopped beside them. Kaiden had been in the BDC when the ship landed and Micha had been controlling the ship from the bridge which had left her free to asses Port Benjamin as they descended.
"Six ships in harbor sir, all small freighters less than a thousand tons displacement, pretty much the standard for the carrying trade here," she explained. Small starships landed regularly in Port Benjamin, selling manufactured goods and industrial supplies that couldn't be manufactured on planet and loading their holds with sugar and rum before departing. Five out of the six ships were in the files the squadron had compiled on the place, the sixth obviously didn't make the run that frequently.
"No Alliance activity?" Micha asked. What exactly he meant by that was hard to say, Sabatine would hardly have waited till now to mention it if an Alliance warship had been in harbor and he would have seen it on the sensors himself in orbit. Cinnabar and the Alliance were at peace at the moment so their wouldn't have been anything technically wrong with finding a ship here, but it still would have been cause for comment and concern.
"According to the harbor masters office, nothing with an Alliance merchant registry has touched down within the last week," she expanded. The Captain nodded looking relieved.
"Very good Hickoring, be about your duties," Micha told her with a nod. She clicked her heels together and trotted down the ramp to begin her liberty, as pleased as the spacers to have some time ashore, though less transparent in demonstrating the fact. Micha turned to Kaiden with a wan smile.
"Well Lieutenant, I see you have a crowd of locals wishing to make your acquaintance. I will take the first watch so that you don't keep them waiting. Might be a good chance to gather some intelligence from the local nobs eh?"</s>
| <|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Kaiden watched Sabatine walk away, envious of her being able to walk straight past the vultures outside without so much as a glance. He couldn't even stay on the ship and pass the time playing cards with Bushman and Harwen. He was about to make some excuse to the Captain about rechecking the rigging or making sure on the ionization levels of the ship's life support systems, but he realized how futile it would be. The crew he'd trained were impeccable and no doubt had everything well under way in accordance with the Captain himself. That left Kaiden with only one option.
"Aye sir." He replied, and decided to suck it up. He was certain he wouldn't spend the entirety of his stay in the den of some backwater baron's home.
"Tilda?" He asked, but before he should respond he held his arm out for her to slide hers within. "Take my arm. You're going to be my date tonight." Captain Micha had already toddled off after Kaiden had agreed to his request, which was just fine in Kaiden's book. He didn't know if Micha was inclined to order such a thing, but Kaiden had known superior officers who had suggested he remain single or without a female companion simply because it made him that much more attractive to befriend by nobles looking to marry out their daughters.
"Once we walk out there, don't speak unless someone speaks to you." He advised. "Not because of any lack of worthiness, fear not. I just don't trust you not to fuck me over."
He said it with such a casual tone that he could tell she didn't quite catch what he had said until they were already on the ramp. He didn't know if she was offended or amused as he didn't even look her way. He knew how to appear royal when need be, giving off an air of aloof disinterest with the occasional meeting of the eyes to who he figured were the more esteemed people of the crowd, inclining his head every so often.
It took him all of five minutes to have his entire night completely booked, his first stop being the estate of Bernacock Dickerman, a man with a very unfortunate name. Kaiden wasn't certain he could keep his cool for the entirety of the night, as it seemed the fellow was holding a large get-together where evidently Kaiden was the prized guest. He hoped Tilda was keeping her composure...</s> |
<|description|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 26
Biography & Concept: Born the second son of the esteemed Caladwarden family, who's lineage reaches back to the first millennium of human space exploration. He was one of three, his older brother Brandon having been groomed to succeed his father as a representative on the Cinnabar Senate in which his father is a prime member. His young brother Gridor placed in administrative duties on their island home estate. Kaiden was raised to be a military man, representative of their family's old notions of loyalty and homage. There needs to be at least one member of the family in the Cinnibar Navy, and Kiaden has grown up with such expectations and responsibilities. Though his brother Brandon did sign on for a brief period to learn his worth and to show his dedication to the Republic.
It gained him an edge on the officer's exam for Lieutenants, and he passed with relative ease. His contention with his father however came at the death of his older brother, who died during a brief skirmish. Kaiden was given leave to convene with his family, whereupon his father ordered him to relinquish his duties as a Lieutenant and take Brandon's mantle as the first son. Kaiden refused, preferring to make his own way in the Navy rather than relying on his family's influence to gain notoriety. He had always been independent minded, and if he hadn't already a knack for the officer's life he likely would have defied his father long before the Brandon's death. His already rocky relationship with his sire plummeted into them parting ways with harsh words and even harsher sentiments.
An oddity, this "prince of the isle" does rather enjoy lowborn commoners. He speaks easy enough and is no stranger to hard work. But he always tends to have an air or superiority and education most can find grating. Ever rebellious, he was involved in a few low-end scandals with servants and young women cooks at his family's estate, being rather good-looking with a smooth, deep voice that can be used to flutter hearts or send men to battle.
Here's hoping he can muster up a good battle record with his meager gifts, because war has just begun...
@Penny</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
"That sounds wonderfully decedent, my lord." Kaiden lied, swirling the wine he wished was vodka in his glass cup. He was likely the only person here save the few children present that yearned to be elsewhere. Hearing tales of from a bastard like Malgin was tiresome enough, but he could not care less about the fellow's yacht or the breasts of his mistress. He was likely extremely drunk, or his drink had been spiked to make him confess of such an affair in public. Kaiden wouldn't be surprised if the man's wife hadn't orchestrated just such a thing to embarrass himself in front of the Prince.
Luckily for him, Kaiden did not give a shit. In fact it would likely amuse him more if his wife attempted to casually speak to Kaiden and the Prince gave no indication her plan had come to fruition. If that was indeed what was occurring. The problem was, Malgin was not alone in speaking to the Prince. Two other gentlemen decidedly less inebriated stood there. Lord Paul Felitides, a man with a grave look and facial hair that Kaiden believed would have made a fine broom, along with the plump Guild Master Veraden Kornamy, who had taken no time in offering Kaiden an unofficial partnership in his evidently thriving business.
"Malgin, would you deign to take a seat? You look ghastly." Veraden commented.
"Oh, truly? Yes, yes I should. Good day to you gentlemen."
Once the man was gone, Veraden shook his head. "Swing, I say. I don't make a habit of insulting nobility, but the fellow is simply an embarrassment here."
"Are you not an unusual guest?" Kaiden remarked. The Guild Master seemed taken aback, no doubt his lack of a noble title was a sore spot. Lord Felitides smirked behind him, but said nothing. Kaiden had already gleaned whatever information he needed from the two men and now he was simply trying to pass the time by stirring trouble. If it weren't for Captain Micha he would have called for a duel already to spice up the vast ballroom chamber they stood within.
Among the crowd, Kaiden caught sight of Tilda making her way toward him. He was surprised to say he was glad to see her. They had been together for hours before she left him alone to snoop or lurk or whatever it was she was up to for around an hour. The two fellows with Kaiden appraised Tilda like she was a prime cut. It was true, but Kaiden had consciously kept himself from looking at her like that, lest she get idea. As usual, Kaiden was entirely indecisive when it came to women he'd have to continue to spend time with on his duty. If she wasn't his servant he would have bedded her already.
"Gentlemen, pardon my interruption. May I steal my date for a few moments?" She asked, gliding past them.
"I'm certain you'll have plenty of time to entertain him later." Lord Felitides replied dismissively. "You've some nerve for a woman."
"I was going to tell you the same thing." She said, fluttering her lashes. Before the Lord came over the shock of being spoken to in such a manner, she had already yanked Kaiden away, one hand on his hip and the other behind his neck. Kaiden's resolve to keep his eyes off of her took a blow from her hand being mere inches from his groin, but he played it off as being simply surprised she whisked him away.
Stepping onto the balcony, the woman shut the curtains behind him, giving Kaiden a nice eyefull of her rump in the tiny dress she'd chosen to wear. The planet's moon was bright this night, and the stars accentuated the vastness of the sky. Kaiden crossed his arms as she turned, looking at her expectantly. "What is it?" He asked.
"Hmm? Oh, nothing." She declared, grinning. She sauntered over to him, the way women do with their hips swaying. "I just was finished with my errands and saw you were bored, so I saw fit to save you. Was that wrong?"
Kaiden chuckled, and leaned back on the balustrade. "No, but I do need to ask what you were doing."
She stalked by him and leaned her arms on the stone railing just beside him, overlooking from the front garden. He cursed himself, thinking how beautiful she was. "Gathering information. Old habits die hard, I guess. Wasn't that what the Captain wanted you to do?"
"I've been doing it." He replied.
"And I am helping. Why am I never appreciated? You treat your ex with more respect than me, and by everything you've said, you're still not fond of her." Kaiden's look was all she needed to see. She shook her head. "I think an apology is in order, Prince."
Kaiden knew she was right. He'd been so focused on keeping professional with Sabatine that he threw whatever task he needed done to Tilda without so much as a thank you. True, he flirted with her. But he did it off an on, pinching himself whenever he caught himself in the act. "Ok ok," He replied, hands in the air. He leaned on the balustrade beside her the next moment, overlooking the gardens. "I agree. I just don't entirely trust you. You never did explain why you dropped your job so quickly on my offer."
It was her turn to hesitate. "Because being a reporter, I snoop into people's lives. As with most Republic reporters, I've snooped into yours." She confessed. "I saw you struggling and I know what you've been through, and I respect you. Also you're hot, but that has little to do with anything I'm sure." The woman began playing with one of the loose strands of blonde hair that curled behind her elaborate bun. "And I hated my bosses, so I took a chance. Is that so difficult to understand?"
"I took a chance on you, so...no." He replied, smirking.
She sighed. "Don't worry, boss. I will be the perfect little-"
Kaiden turned her head and kissed her full on the lips. Tilda's eyes widened for a quick moment, before her arms snaked around his neck and she kissed him back hungrily. Kaiden found it intoxicating, his hands on her lower back and slowly sliding down to her round bottom. The next few moments they enjoyed themselves, until their lips separated.
"That is more like it." She said, grinning. "Now what's say we...oh..."
"What?"
Tilda untangled from Kaiden the next moment, and the prince turned to see the gate to the garden opening. Sabatine and a few members of the crew strode in, searching every-which way for Kaiden. Luckily, they hadn't seen what just happened. Why would I care? Kaiden thought.
"Tilda, what information exactly did you find?"</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
Sabatine pulled her commo helmet from her head and followed Higgs and Capperelli in through the wrought iron gate. The bosun hadn't been best pleased to be rousted from the brothel they had found him in but he hadn't complained or tried to shirk the duty which was a good sign. He had also been staggeringly drunk but after a dousing with cold water and a half hour spent searching for Kaiden he was, well not sober, but functional. A pair of liveried servants tried to step into the way.
"Mistress this is a private party, who do you think you are to..." the servants self important rant choked off as Capperelli punched him in the stomach and shoved him head long into a well manicured rose bush. That wasn't a good choice, but it wasn't so far from Sabatine's on reaction that she would bother to mention it.
"No one you want to fuck with tonight buddy," Higgs growled, though he directed the comment at the second servant who was already backing away with his hands raised. None of the spacers carried guns, or even the more customary knives or clubs, but she didn't doubt that her people would finish any trouble the locals put up about her barging into a private party. Fortunately further trouble was abrogated by the fact that Kaiden was close to hand.
"Kai," she called out, waving her hand at him, though he could hardly have missed his shipmates assaulting his hosts servants. The use of the diminutive name was intended to convince the locals that she knew Kaiden well enough that they should butt out without further object lessons delivered by her spacers, and to signal to Kaiden that this wasn't strictly speaking, official RCN business. The matter had been reported to Captain Micha who had said that it was a matter for the local police to sort out. He hadn't said that to Sabatine however so she was choosing to interpret that as Micha's opinion rather than official order. A few quick calls to the local police precincts had confirmed Cappereili's initial suspicion, whoever had taken the Midshipman, it wasn't the dirt side cops. Whoever it was though, was going to learn that the RCN didn't sit by and wait for the local PD to put down their donuts when one of their own was taken. At least if Sabatine had anything to say about it, which for the moment, she did. Involving Kaiden was a calculated risk but at least if both she and the XO concurred on the course of action it would be harder for Micha to raise any objections after the fact. They were, after all, the officers on the ground. She had used the recall plate Kaiden carried to locate him, all spacers on liberty carried such devices in case their should be some urgent need to recall them to the ship, but she hadn't activated it. To do so might alert the captain to what she was up to, which would give him a chance to order her not to do it. No one stopped her as she mounted the patio and closed with Kaiden.
"We have a situation XO," she said softly enough that only he and probably Tilda could hear. As directly as she could she outlined the situation, including the fact that Captain Micha had been made aware of it and seemed inclined to wait for the local cops to sort it out.
"It was all planned in advance," she concluded. Sabatine had linked her commo helmet to the ships systems, an easy enough trick if you were familiar with the hardware, which most people weren't. It amazed her how little interest people took in the tech they used every single day. Working in maintenance at Harbor Three had required her to learn every subsystem and hidden routine in almost every piece of kit the RCN used and she had learned very quickly that most people, even techs, didn't know they were there unless they directly bore on their day to day activities. Accessing the ship she had been able to uplink to the orbital satellite imagery, fortunately there as no cloud cover, and had spotted the snatch team staging in a nearby parking area before Otis had even entered the brothel. She had also been able to track them to a compound high up in the eastern hills. It was obviously guarded, though by nothing more than stone walls and a dozen or so locals.
"I don't have a second commo helmet but I suppose I could bring it up on a holo display," Sabatine concluded. Kaiden opened his mouth but Tilda produced a small palm sized unit and passed it to Sabatine.
"Use mine," she said helpfully. Sabatine nodded curtly and took the unit before pausing.
"It is up to you sir," she said choosing her words carefully. Kaiden was a scion of the Cinnibar nobility and thus understood that she was working around the Captain without her stating it directly.
"If you have duties here you can't leave..." she went on. If Kaiden didn't want to get involved that was his prerogative, but duty required that Sabatine report what she had learned to a superior. Kaiden was no coward, she knew that, but if he didn't want to stick his neck out for what might easily turn into a real ratfuck she would understand the choice, even if she couldn't respect it.</s>
| <|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Kaiden could easily compartmentalize his mind in to over a dozen different sections, devoid of any emotion or tugging snare that might cause any one of them to spill out into the rest of his head. It helped him keep his calm in this bizarre situation, a situation that could have disastrous consequences to any number of parties involved. He trusted Sabatine when it came to the men, her instinct usually be right when it came to dangerous situations.
The Prince ran a hand through his thick head of hair, the mane having already been messed with by Tilda's hands. He shook his head, lamenting what he was about to say.
"If Captain Micha said we are not to do anything, then we aren't to do anything...that would be the responsible thing to say, at least. Unfortunately, that's not my decision." He remarked. "I'll help you. But regardless of what happens, we need to try to resolve this peacefully if at all possible. There's bigger things at risk than the life of one man, no matter how much history we have with him. But we won't let him die at the hands of some pirates bastards either."
The men around Sabatine grinned, and Tilda blinked, though whether she was impressed or taken aback it was hard to say. Despite the warning against bloodshed, Kaiden knelt down and pulled out a .380 semiautomatic pistol, checking to see if it was fully loaded with a 'clap' of his hand.</s> |
<|description|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 26
Biography & Concept: Born the second son of the esteemed Caladwarden family, who's lineage reaches back to the first millennium of human space exploration. He was one of three, his older brother Brandon having been groomed to succeed his father as a representative on the Cinnabar Senate in which his father is a prime member. His young brother Gridor placed in administrative duties on their island home estate. Kaiden was raised to be a military man, representative of their family's old notions of loyalty and homage. There needs to be at least one member of the family in the Cinnibar Navy, and Kiaden has grown up with such expectations and responsibilities. Though his brother Brandon did sign on for a brief period to learn his worth and to show his dedication to the Republic.
It gained him an edge on the officer's exam for Lieutenants, and he passed with relative ease. His contention with his father however came at the death of his older brother, who died during a brief skirmish. Kaiden was given leave to convene with his family, whereupon his father ordered him to relinquish his duties as a Lieutenant and take Brandon's mantle as the first son. Kaiden refused, preferring to make his own way in the Navy rather than relying on his family's influence to gain notoriety. He had always been independent minded, and if he hadn't already a knack for the officer's life he likely would have defied his father long before the Brandon's death. His already rocky relationship with his sire plummeted into them parting ways with harsh words and even harsher sentiments.
An oddity, this "prince of the isle" does rather enjoy lowborn commoners. He speaks easy enough and is no stranger to hard work. But he always tends to have an air or superiority and education most can find grating. Ever rebellious, he was involved in a few low-end scandals with servants and young women cooks at his family's estate, being rather good-looking with a smooth, deep voice that can be used to flutter hearts or send men to battle.
Here's hoping he can muster up a good battle record with his meager gifts, because war has just begun...
@Penny</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Kaiden was more than mildly uncomfortable in the small confines of the vehicle shoulder to shoulder with his ex-lover and his perhaps-new-lover who didn't like each other, and he wasn't entirely certain if he had something to do with it or not. Luckily he could distract himself with the situation at hand, as grim as the situation was. He knew Sabatine was smart but the alcohol likely got to her senses on the 'why' of the situation. It was actually refreshing to see; loyalty over baseless calculations. So many nobles lacked any moral qualities.
"It's entirely possible I'm their target, and they kidnapped Otis because they knew you would come to fetch me so as to inadvertently lure me there." He reasoned aloud, simply stating a likely fact. He could see Sabatine was a bit embarrassed and he shook his head, firmly still in the belief she did the right thing. "Not that it'll stop me, but if they have any intelligence over hating the RCN, it seems possible. Of course, a lot of our enemies don't have any ambitions above that."
The transport clunked along past the few statehouses and nondescript buildings that sat between them and the slope they were fast approaching. Tilda grabbed Kaiden's attention with a squeeze on his leg, breaking him out of his thought process. "I did hear a few things when I was gone," She informed him. "Apparently a large reason the colony settle on the planet when it did was the large pockets of Biohexrazine Gas below the surface of the planet. Maybe there's-"
Kaiden pointed at her in approval, grinning. "Smart." He noted. She made a good aide, all things considered. He pulled himself up off his butt to speak to the Bosun. "Higgs, go up the mountain road. Tell me if you spot a place without trees. There's liable to be a utility entrance. Got it?"
"Aye Lieutenant." He grinned, and Kaiden patted the fellow's shoulder. Most settlements or large storehouses were placed strategically on the planet to help collect the gas, which meant there were many underground routes through the strange terrain. If they were lucky, there would be a like-as-not abandoned entrance to an underground passage. As long as they were careful not to go down any areas thick with Biohexrazine, they could sneak in unnoticed.
"So boss, what do you think they grabbed old Otis for?" Higgs asked.
"The RCN steps on a lot of toes and make people pissed. They probably just had the stupidity to act on that impulse. We'll get him back."</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
It turned out that Kaiden was right. By manipulating the satalite archive Sabatine was able to make out the access point, a patch in the scrubby forest with a discolored turn-around that served as access for vehicles. A small structure with a corrugated iron roof could just be spotted beneath the trees in the grainy image. It was well after midnight now and there was little activity save for down by the docks where spacers from the Vickie and the civilian ships continued their liberty, unaware of what was going on. The civilian settlement itself was quiet save for the occasional all night store and a few bars that served shift workers willing to stay up late and tie one on. After a brief discussion they decided to approach the access point on foot through a few hundred meters of woodland. Higgs dutifully pulled up, clipping a park bench and startling birds out of their hides in the trees. Sabatine climbed out of the truck and stretched her legs, she manipulated her commo helmet, carroting the location they were trying to reach for its internal navigation system so they didn't get lost wandering through unfamiliar terrain in the dark.
"Sir, I think three or four or us are as good as the lot if we are trying to get in unnoticed," Sabatine told Kaiden in a low voice. The spacers were brave and enthusiastic, but that didn't make them quiet or careful. Kaiden considered it and nodded.
"Caparelii, Higgs, you two with us, the rest of you..." he paused considering what to do with the rest of them. Sabatine wondered if he had picked Caparelii at random or if he knew something of the spacers background. Either way it was a good choice, the small man might swagger about, but he was steady and Sabatine had seen him in enough bar fights to know that he wasn't squeamish when it came to putting the boot into the other guy.
"Can anyone else drive the truck?" Sabatine asked, three or four voices, stated that they could with varying degrees of confidence.
"Stay here and keep the truck ready in case we need an extraction team," Kaiden told them. Sabatine inwardly sighed with relief. Such a task was plausible enough that the spacers wouldn't realize they were being deliberately sidelined and who knew, maybe they would need them.
"I'm coming too," Tilda declared unexpectedly.
"Like hell, that won't be necessary," Kaiden and Sabatine's responses mingled together but Tilda folded her arms.
"I was an investigative reporter remember, do either of you have any experience picking locks or breaking and entering?" she asked tartly. Sabatine and Kaiden exchanged looks. Sabatine was spared from the need to respond by Capperelli coming forward with a burlap wrapped bundle, which was just as well as it really wasn't her place to give orders to her superior officers servant.
"Best I could do ma'am," Capperelli declared as he thrust the bundle into her arms. She unwrapped the loose covering to reveal a stocked impeller. The electromotive rifle was a light sporting model rather than the heavier military variant but that was actually closer to what Sabatine had used on the academy shooting team. There were a pair of magazines of dull greenish plastic each looking to contain about twenty rounds. Well if she needed more than than that things had gone very badly wrong indeed.
"Do you have a gun?" she asked in a neutral tone. She had asked him to pick one up for her and had given him enough coin that he might have picked one up for himself. Instead he pulled out a short electric shock baton and a pair of brass knuckles.
"Never been much for'em ma'am," he admitted. Higgs pulled a short length of high pressure tubing from his belt to make his choice of weapon clear.
"Googles?" Sabatine asked. Each man produced a pair of RCN googles, that could be set to view a variety of spectrum including light enhancement. Higgs pulled a second set from his pocket and passed it to Kaiden. They weren't meant for night assaults, nor did they have the functionality of commo helmets, but they were good tools for their purposes. Sabatine slung the impeller over her shoulder and turned back to Kaiden and Tilda.
"Ready sir," she reported, scanning the bush to the immediate front, a slight jitter of nerves tingling in her stomach. Spacer's weren't trained for dismounted duty, but as the academy instructors were keen to point out, the needs of the service were diverse and unexpected.</s>
| <|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Kaiden would have called it a corridor if it was entirely man made, but the wall to their left was nothing but carved rock with noticably bloated contraptions attached to pistons that shot into the rock itself. Had they been moving it would have likely been too loud to speak, but in the dimness of the underground every footstep was heard. The metal grating beneath their feet squealed or simply reverberated their steps.
Sabatine and Kaiden were at the front, pistols out and held before them, arms not too rigid with their right hands holding the grip and their left hands keeping the gun steady for any chance they might need to fire. Kaiden hadn't fully been trained for something like this, but he had enough training in tangentially related areas to at least show some semblance of professionalism. Sabatine as well, he noted. He'd always been a bit jealous of her work ethic. He might have overcome certain expectations of nobility, but at the end of the day he still felt lazy in some areas. Behind them, the others stalked as quietly as they would, though Kaiden did hear a small bump and a light smack from someone behind them. He gave a closed mouth grin, judging who might have done the tripping. Considering how long the hallway was, if that was the only overt noise they made, they were doing well so far.
The mountain route abruptly turned, logically in Kaiden's mind, if where they were underground was where he believed them to be. The tunnel had made a straight shot at a 45 degree angle away from the manor, so now it fed completely back in a sharp turn. The amount of precious gas was so plentiful it likely covered the entirety of the mountain. No wonder these roughshot backwater nobles were so rich.
Glinting ahead, Kaiden and Sabatine could spot the first real lightsource before them. In unison they held their hands up to halt the others behind them. The others stopped, and the two of them stalked forward silently, taking the safety off their pistols. Kaiden didn't look back, because if he did Tilda would likely have taken that as a sign to follow and that was the last thing Kaiden wanted. Inch by inch, they made it to the end of the walkway where an arch fed into a small, underground compound with three concentrated light sources. Mundane lamps, evidently.
Sabatine had a better vantage point being on Kaiden's left, and she leaned into the hallway for a fraction of a second. Then she waved three signs to Kaiden, the prince recognizing them immediately as the NAVO hand language they had learned together on their third date. It took them all night to poor over the military signals and practice them over a bottle of vodka, but they'd gotten quite good and used it as a playful joke until their break up.
"Four men...assault rifles...playing cards" her sign said, before she gave a waving motion with her hand indicating she would move in while Kaiden flanked them.
"Hello no," Kaiden signed, his ring and pinky finger splayed out before his thumb lifted as well.
"No grenades." Was her next sign, and he rolled his eyes. He never suggested that!
"No...splitting up...you take right side of door...I take left. Two men each." He signed. She hesitated, but then nodded.</s> |
<|description|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 26
Biography & Concept: Born the second son of the esteemed Caladwarden family, who's lineage reaches back to the first millennium of human space exploration. He was one of three, his older brother Brandon having been groomed to succeed his father as a representative on the Cinnabar Senate in which his father is a prime member. His young brother Gridor placed in administrative duties on their island home estate. Kaiden was raised to be a military man, representative of their family's old notions of loyalty and homage. There needs to be at least one member of the family in the Cinnibar Navy, and Kiaden has grown up with such expectations and responsibilities. Though his brother Brandon did sign on for a brief period to learn his worth and to show his dedication to the Republic.
It gained him an edge on the officer's exam for Lieutenants, and he passed with relative ease. His contention with his father however came at the death of his older brother, who died during a brief skirmish. Kaiden was given leave to convene with his family, whereupon his father ordered him to relinquish his duties as a Lieutenant and take Brandon's mantle as the first son. Kaiden refused, preferring to make his own way in the Navy rather than relying on his family's influence to gain notoriety. He had always been independent minded, and if he hadn't already a knack for the officer's life he likely would have defied his father long before the Brandon's death. His already rocky relationship with his sire plummeted into them parting ways with harsh words and even harsher sentiments.
An oddity, this "prince of the isle" does rather enjoy lowborn commoners. He speaks easy enough and is no stranger to hard work. But he always tends to have an air or superiority and education most can find grating. Ever rebellious, he was involved in a few low-end scandals with servants and young women cooks at his family's estate, being rather good-looking with a smooth, deep voice that can be used to flutter hearts or send men to battle.
Here's hoping he can muster up a good battle record with his meager gifts, because war has just begun...
@Penny</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
"Keep your guns on them!" Kaiden snapped loudly, his voice cutting through the air like a cleaver. No one save he or Sabatine had actually brought guns, but his command would either confuse or frighten the beaten watchmen and either worked for him. He held his own pistol right at the speaking fellow's eye, his face professionally unreadable. The telltale click of pulling the hammer back audible, casting fear in the guard's eyes. The fact that small psychological trick actually worked when it didn't make his semi-automatic pistol any more deadly showed these were just hired toughs with no forethought or strategy. Or at least this one was.
"How many men are up there?" Kaiden asked, edging his gun upwards a fraction of an inch to give off the impression he was fixing his aim to kill him soundlessly. "How many men!?"
"Uh! Uhm over a dozen I think? N-Not all together. They're spread out over the entire mansion." Kaiden could see him sweating. "You'll only run into one or two if any at all! I swear, please god don't kill me..."
"We won't kill you." The Lieutenant said softly, pausing for effect. "We'll do far worse if you or your friends try anything. Caperelli! You and Higgs stay down here with our new friends. In fact, everyone stay down here except for the Lieutenant and I. If we're not back shortly, you can torture them or use them to negotiate, your choice. Just be efficient with the resources you have."
"And you think you're going up without me?" Tilda interjected.
Kaiden spun on her. "Yes, this isn't a story. This is one of our men captured. If you want details I can tell you later. Higgs, make sure she stays down here, and if she gets by you then mark down I will no longer require her services."
Tilda's jaw dropped, but Kaiden could tell after a moment he wasn't being unnecessarily mean, only thorough. Everyone here would die for Otis if it came to that, and they simply did not want it to come to that. Kaiden slid the hammer back and nodded for Sabatine to follow, stepping over a prone and bruised thug into the corridor, finding the stairway in a matter of moments. He hoped the door wasn't a particularly loud one. The railing was basic, made of local timber and scratched from years of use. If he had to guess, they had made this lower area as a basement before they even realized the gas was inhabiting the mountain around them. He wondered how much there was left, and after awhile if he could capitalize on the business.</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
Sabatine hefted her impeller as she followed Kaiden up the stairs. She was glad they hadn't had to shoot anyone to capture what must have been the off duty guard room for whatever outfit was occupying the mansion but she knew that luck like that couldn't last forever. The climbed the stairs and Kaiden pushed open the door at the top a fraction then, evidently seeing no immediate opponents pushed it open fully. The moved into what looked to be a kitchen, with long stainless steel benches and pots hanging from hooks that protruded at regular intervals. Like everything else in the mothballed mansion it hadn't been used in some time, and a light dusting of grime covered the surfaces where the byproducts of sugar processing had deposited themselves on the surfaces, even at this remove from the facilities that handled the business. Footprints leading too and from the doorway were evident in the dust and cases of food, apparently canned meat had been stacked haphazardly on the central bench. Empty cans littered the bench and floor, apparently opened with combat knives and tossed aside by the indifferent kidnappers.
Kaiden stepped into the room, made a motion for revolve to starboard and then took the lefthand side himself. Sabatine followed quietly, careful to avoid fallen cans as she moved along the right side of the kitchen towards the set of doors at the far end. These doors were simply sheets of plastic and she flicked her commo helmet to infra red for a moment incase there were anyway waiting on the far side, there was nothing and she parted the panels a hairsbreadth to peer into the room beyond. There was a blind turn, intended to keep the kitchens out of sight and Sabatine moved in and peered through the true door into what must have been intended as a ball room. The floor was laid in patterned wood that had been polished to a high sheen, though it too was now covered with dust and the tacky effluvia of sugar saturated air. The room itself had a high ceiling, two stories up and ringed by a balcony that made space for an orchestra and for guests to watch the dances. At the far end of the ground floor, tied to a chair with simple plastic zip ties, was midshipman Otis. Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth and a pressure cut above his eye but he otherwise appeared unharmed. Two men with assault rifles lounged beside him, both smoking cigars. A third was busying himself at a bar, drinking brandy from the neck of a bottle. Sabatine's infrared vision picked up two men patrolling the upper tier, bright red points picking out the tip of their cigars. The rest of the men must have been patrolling the perimeter, though Sabatine didn't doubt they would come running once the shooting started.
She signaled a hold to Kaiden as he emerged at the identical blind corner at the other side of the kitchen. She made a sign for obstruction and pointed upwards. His eyes flicked to the upper tier, though without a commo helmet it wasn't certain he could pick out the over watching enemy. He must have taken her meaning though, because he indicated to her, then made the sign for ascend mast, followed by clear obstruction. Then he indicated himself, and made clear mast step, which she took to mean he would handle the ground floor. The hand signals they used weren't really intended for clearing a building, but so long as they didn't get too fancy she could understand what he meant. Moving along a few feet she gently pressed open the door which concealed a staircase intended for servants to bring drinks and refreshments up to their betters and climbed quietly to the top floor. There was enough background noise from the guards own careless steps and their desultory conversation, which seemed to be a discussion of the virtues of a pair of whores back in town, to cover the slight creaks of the stairs and the rustle of soft soled boots on timber. Reaching the top she took a moment to figure the positions of the two patrolling guards. She hefted her impeller and checked the saftey. Kaiden hadn't given her any instruction so she figured he intended to make it obvious when she should act. She was at the base edge of the gallery, furthest from Otis with both guards forming the points of a nearly geometric Y that would flatten out as they continued their patrol. She hoped.
BING. BING. BING. The recall plate that all RCN officers carried in event they had to be summoned back from shoreleave at short notice began to alarm. The same sound syncopated from below as Kaiden's unit also went off, doubtless the same thing was happening in the gaurdroom below. The guards snapped instantly alert raising their weapons.
"Shit!" Sabatine snapped and kicked open the door. The impeller cracked and punched the first guard center of mass, the impact of the osmium slug sprayed gore over the expensive wall hangings and smashed the spasming man back against the wall. The body armor he was wearing bounced him off the wall and over the railing in a slow ragdoll fall that ended with an inelegant crunch as his neck impacted the floor below. The second guard fired a burst that lit the darkened room like hellfire. It must have been as much from fear as anything because the slugs blew splinters from the wall ten feet from Sabatine's position. She fired a second round and missed, having not waited the heartbeat for the weapon to steady. The man dived behind an organ of unfamiliar design, his weapon still spitting flame. Sabatine lined up her shot and fired three rounds. The wooden organ provided no more than aesteic cover and the heavy rounds punched through the timber and the body beyond. There was a scream and then an arm flopped into view thrashing wildly as the guard shattered body convulsed into death. Jumping up, she ran to the railing, hoping she wasn't too late for Kaiden and Otis.</s>
| <|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
It all happened too fast to properly think about. The two men, armed with assault rifles, were lazily smoking and lost in their thoughts, one muttering a joke of some kind the other barely heard. The mood changed a moment later when the recall plate went off, and Kaiden's normally reserved, even deboniar look turned into befuddlement. Within eyesight of the normally distracted men, he met their eyes and thanked God his weapon was shorter and more nimble. It took less than a second before he let off two shots into the first man's chest, turning to the other but realizing he had his weapon up. On instinct he leaped behind one of the mansion's support pillars.
Instantly bits of plaster and stone flew as bullets punched into Kaiden's position, narrowly missing the crouching prince. He could feel the heat of the projectiles, worryingly enough. The noble grasped a fallen shard of glass, scooting to the otherside of the pillar and slowly sliding it out to see the man's aim. Eerily, the bullets had stopped flying. On the glass he saw Otis having tackled the kidnapper, still bound and gagged, but having knocked the rifle out of the fellow's hands.
Kaiden tossed the glass and scrambled to his feet, pistol out and arms extended. Another man he hadn't seen before ran in, intent on the prisoner trying to wrestle his captor. Kaiden felled him with two shots that bodied him before spinning, punching a bullet through the other assailant's brain before he could slit Otis's throat with another shard of glass. Kaiden still felt his heartbeat in his ears, too stunned to realize Sabatine was safe. He hurried to Otis and got to a knee, cutting his bonds with the shard of glass and taking the gag out of his mouth. The midshipman wheezed, coughing up blood from a split lip.
"Damn good to see you sir." He said hoarsely.
"Head downstairs, I need to find the Lieutenan-" He began before Sabatine stepped into view, unhurt. Kaiden breathed a sigh of relief, curtly nodding. "Let's get the fuck out of here. Help me with him." He ordered, taking one of Otis's arms and letting Sabatine take the other. They had less than a minute before this place was swarming with the other half of the posted guardsman. Hopefully they didn't think to look in the basement for pursuit. Kaiden nearly dropped Otis when he knelt down to pick up an assault rifle, having holstered his pistol. Otis held onto his shoulder as he checked the magazine and reinserted it, satisfied and keeping it on hand in case they needed something with a bit more power.
"I didn't think anyone was coming after me." Otis croaked, clearing his throat.
"Don't talk." Kaiden whispered, more worried on the trail of sound than anything else. Otis seemed to not have been permanently damaged. "You can regale us on being kidnapped when we're out of here."</s> |
<|description|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 26
Biography & Concept: Born the second son of the esteemed Caladwarden family, who's lineage reaches back to the first millennium of human space exploration. He was one of three, his older brother Brandon having been groomed to succeed his father as a representative on the Cinnabar Senate in which his father is a prime member. His young brother Gridor placed in administrative duties on their island home estate. Kaiden was raised to be a military man, representative of their family's old notions of loyalty and homage. There needs to be at least one member of the family in the Cinnibar Navy, and Kiaden has grown up with such expectations and responsibilities. Though his brother Brandon did sign on for a brief period to learn his worth and to show his dedication to the Republic.
It gained him an edge on the officer's exam for Lieutenants, and he passed with relative ease. His contention with his father however came at the death of his older brother, who died during a brief skirmish. Kaiden was given leave to convene with his family, whereupon his father ordered him to relinquish his duties as a Lieutenant and take Brandon's mantle as the first son. Kaiden refused, preferring to make his own way in the Navy rather than relying on his family's influence to gain notoriety. He had always been independent minded, and if he hadn't already a knack for the officer's life he likely would have defied his father long before the Brandon's death. His already rocky relationship with his sire plummeted into them parting ways with harsh words and even harsher sentiments.
An oddity, this "prince of the isle" does rather enjoy lowborn commoners. He speaks easy enough and is no stranger to hard work. But he always tends to have an air or superiority and education most can find grating. Ever rebellious, he was involved in a few low-end scandals with servants and young women cooks at his family's estate, being rather good-looking with a smooth, deep voice that can be used to flutter hearts or send men to battle.
Here's hoping he can muster up a good battle record with his meager gifts, because war has just begun...
@Penny</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Senior Lieutenant Kaiden Caladwarden was in a very unlikely position: Namely, he believed the Captain was being too harsh on Sabatine, or too lenient on him. He did not deign to try and see which he truly leaned toward further, but despite his desire to keep his military record as clean as his esteemed bloodline, he wasn't about to let his lineage keep him from getting his due. He watched Captain Micha watch Hickoring walk away, his visage both disdainful but thoughtful in a sense. Kaiden did not try to know the Captain's intentions. It wasn't his place to ask.
"Sir," The Prince said.
"Yes, Lieutenant?" He asked, tone a bit less confrontational. Kaiden would later curse himself for speaking out here, but his honor overrode his better judgement.
"Sir, I lead the expedition. Regardless of my ignorance, I insist I am to share in her punishment." He declared, already seeing the dismissal in the Captain's face. True he wasn't aware of the extent of the order he had previously given, but he knew that what they had been doing was against regulation and easily could be seen as insubordination.
"Lieutenant, that is admirable." Micha conceded. "But I have made up my mind. I still need a fresh Lieutenant to help me in other matte-"
"Fair warning sir, if you do not give me anchor watch, then I will perform an act that warrants it."
Captain Micha blinked as if struck. "Excuse me?" He asked, deathly quiet. He was about to approach Kaiden with all menace, until his spinelessness caught up to him. Kaiden took it as pragmatism, but Micha simply did not wish to get on this royal man's bad side, nor cause further problems for his crew. "Lieutenant, you're walking a fine line here. Very well, you're on anchor watch. But only for two weeks, and I want you and your fellow officer to still perform your regular duties with as much diligence as if you had just come back from leave, do you understand?"
"Yes sir, thank you sir." Kaiden replied, saluting with a will. He tried not to seem too pleased. He also realized the irony, not wanting his blood to give him special treatment, only to use the leverage it already gave him to give him his due. He'd leave whether it was right or wrong to the philosophers; or Bushman and Harwen. They'd discuss it until the system's star became a white dwarf. With that, he spun on his heels and was dismissed, marching out of the bridge and rubbing his temples, unable to understand why he was so fucking stupid sometimes.
He nearly ran into Tilda, who popped out of the side corridor in her business attire. A pencil skirt and a fashionable jacket over a cream white top. Where she kept all of her clothes, he had no idea.
"So, ready for dinner tonight?" She asked, smiling.
"About that..." He muttered. "I'm on Anchor Watch."</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
5 Days Later...
"Extracting," Sabatine reported, wincing for a moment as the inside of her eyelids were stretched over her entire head. The RCS Viceroy slid into the sidereal universe after its four day voyage. Sensors reported they were within a light second of the Bromley Belt, which was a damn fine piece of astrogation on Micha's part. Sabatine rubbed her eyes as she reviewed the sensor returns. Bromley was a minor mining system in the Raleigh Stars notable only for the iridium it produced. Iridium was an ultra dense ultra heat resistant metal which served for, among other things, the high drive thruster linings of starships. It was rare enough that its refining was profitable though in this case unpleasant. Bromley was a moon of a gas giant that rejoiced in the name of MXD-41. The giant's gravity had trapped an asteroid belt of unusual mineral wealth, which had lured humans to an otherwise unprofitable system. Bromley itself was an ice ball, its few settlements located around geothermal vents which sank deep into the worlds core, small starships collected asteroids, or blasted them appart in orbit and then hauled the rocks back to Bromley where industrial smelters reduced the rock to the marketable ore. Often enough the miners were family operations, a few extended households operation a couple of leaky tubs and installing a refinery in a crater in the ice sheathed surface blasted by a meteor.
"Multiple contacts ma'am," Ottis piped up, following procedure even though all the officers were no doubt studding the sensor feeds now they were back in sidereal space. Following the incident at their last planetfall Ottis appeared to be making an effort to smarten up, or perhaps the training at the academy was finally kicking in. Perhaps to the realisation that his crew wasn't going to leave him hanging had improved his outlook. Sabatine glanced sideways to where Kaiden sat at his console, monitoring the ship. They had spent most of the past five days in each others company, she had been surprised that Micha had set him to the anchorwatch as well, given the Captain's usual attitude towards the aristocracy, but Kaiden hadn't complained or sulked, merely done his duty as effectively as he could. Things could still grow tense between them, particularly as they settled into their new roles, but she no longer felt the flare of anger when he walked into the room she initially had. Of course this made her all the more aware of the shame she felt for her own part in the aftermath of their break up. In some ways she missed the anger, it had at least been easy to categorize.
"Mostly tramps, five hundred tons or less, one heavy ore mule, two thousand ton Marie Delgado out of Cofkan's World," Sabatine reported. The called up the sailing directions on Cofkan's World and was unsurprised to discover it was a world in the Sack Cluster, a group of worlds in which the Alliance and Cinnabar had little interest. The third rate power of Novi Svirdlosk claimed loose sovereignty over it, but Sabatine would have been surprised if anyone on Cokfan's World had ever hear of Novi Svirdlosk.
"Any sign of the pirates that were reported Sir?" Ottis asked looking hopefully towards Kaiden. That was the nominal reason for their village, though in truth it was more to keep mobile and provide a difficult target for a sudden Alliance incursion, but Sabatine couldn't blame the boy for being eager at the chance for action.</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
"Keep the ballast steady lads." Kaiden said on the link, watching the real-time scan on the ship's superstructure. The vickie flared up with heat as they made it into the sidereal universe, functions now requiring to abide by the laws of thermodynamics with a bit more surety. Kaiden had gotten quite good at keeping the ship maintained, monitoring communications, cabin structure, life support. He could even see the status of the guidance systems, though how they were being used or much of the nuances to the system wasn't able to be accurately translate on the screen. Satisfied the ship was stable for now, he switched the screen over to the sensors like everyone else was, listening to the exchange between Ottis and Sabatine.
"I doubt there's pirates, Midshipman." He retorted, unable to keep a wry smile from his face at a myriad of ironies on Ottis' question. Kaiden switched the monitor back to recheck the systems, speaking idly. "You know I hear a favorite tactic of pirates is kidnapping."
That had Ottis stop asking questions, and he noticed Sabatine giving him a look that he knew better than most was silent but amused approval. Kaiden checked the sensors. "Confirmed on the tramps, Captain."
The two of them had been on their duties like clockwork, losing themselves in the hard work and sometimes monotony of the tasks they had to perform. Kaiden still felt a bit stressed around Sabatine at times, but he also found himself thinking back to when they had started dating. The odd bit of feelings that flared up sometimes when one thought of a prominent ex in their life. Like an illness. It appeared for a bit and made one feel out of themselves and then would leave for around ten months. Only this seemed to be persistent. Maybe it was the tedium of some of his duties that made his mind wander as she worked beside him. Whatever it was, his rational mind did not like it. He was glad Tilda freed her schedule for him when he got off his duties. She was a good distraction.
Kaiden switched back to his sensors again, only for him to blink in suspicion in a way Sabatine would notice. "Captain Micha, one of the tramps is unregistered on the flight log." Kaiden realized, having checked the OLN (Orbital Logistics Network) and retained it with a memory like a steel trap. It technically wasn't their concern, but they had been granted to take note of any suspicious activities no matter how mundane. "Lieutenant, see if you can locate the tramp's trajectory so we can hail them." He said to Sabatine.</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
The system was surprisingly busy, with two dozen or more small craft operating in a relatively tight space. Sabatine narrowed the plot position indicator and located the tramp freighter. Its high drive had cut off, an easy thing for sensors to register given the noisy electromagnetic signature of matter/antimatter annihilation. She frowned, that was an odd action so far from any obvious landing zone. The frieghters transponder identified her as the Brother Kamal, without a logged home port.
"Sir, I think the Kamal is about to enter the matrix," she reported a second before the ripple reported on the sensors and the ship vanished into the infinite bubble universes that surrounded the sidereal.
"Velocity at time of exit was too low for them to be going anywhere," Sabatine continued. Velocity could be multiplied by taking advantage of different constants of mass and energy, but you needed to have something to multiply to make the effort worth while.
"A local tramp spooked by the arrival of a warship, nothing more," Captain Micha replied. They were speaking over the command channel, a necessity given the noise of a warship under high drive acceleration, but she hadn't been aware Micha was monitoring the conversation though she shouldn't have been surpised.
"No flight plan sir," Sabatine reported her voice not quite a challenge but definitely disagreeing. Micha snorted.
"Please Lieutenant, this is the sticks, its a wonder anyone files anything at all," the captain replied.
"Aye sir, but he spotted us within second of our emerging from the matrix, pretty good sensor watch for a backwoods freighter," she countered.
"Probably just spooked because of the reports of pirate activity," Micha responded with a trace of asperity in his voice. That was a possibility of course, though it had been the only ship to react in such a fashion to their arrival. Sabatine let it go, in all likelyhood the ship would emerge from the matrix in the next few minutes a little abashed but better safe than sorry.
"Yes Sir," Sabatine responded with a shrug. Perhaps the captain was right, but there was something about the situation that sat poorly with her. She fought down a grin, maybe she was just as eager for action as Ottis was.</s>
| <|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Captain Micha was a hell of a Captain when it came to logistics and navigation, but Kaiden had to disagree with his assessment of the situation. Kaiden wasn't certain it was something the crew of the Vickie should take care of themselves, but it was clearly apart of some illicit activity. If it looks like a horse, walks like a horse and sounds like a horse, it's probably not a Zebra, his former aide de camp used to say. He missed Bertram sometimes. The man had been old, but reliable and undoubtedly predictable in his loyalty and punctuality. Tilda was young and entirely unpredictable, at least in the way women you fancied could be. She was a good aide de camp however, with all the reliability of Bertram...not to mention a few other things he enjoyed.
Almost as if she had read his mind or planned for him to think of her, she appeared with the dispatches he had asked for on local ship activity, quicker than he would have expected. Miraculously, it was a log on all activity the past three months. It almost did more harm than good to Kayden, until he opened them up and realized Tilda had already marked down every instance in which a ship matching the Kamal's description had exited and entered the local area.
"How did you..."
"I listened in on the way here and decided to make it a bit easier for you." She said, her face pristine save for the small smile she had on her lush lips.
"Remind me to make it up to you." He said, eyes pouring into the pages whilst still gauging the ship's systems every now and then to make sure the vehicle was still operational.
"I plan on it." She whispered in his ear with a suggestive tone that sent a thrill up his spine. He did his best to ignore it, and she simply stepped back and took a seat behind everyone, watching them work like a hawk, or a hound at attention, awaiting orders.
"Sabbie, come here." He remarked, clearing his throat and saying louder because of Tilda's appearance. "Lieutenant, look at this." As he turned the page, the fabric loudly 'fwapping' in his hands.
According to the log, the only ships that matched the Kamal's tramp model was from the Tarlock Trading Company that shipped minerals and spices every fortnight, give or take a few days due to activity and mismanagement on the corporate side. Today was nowhere near any previously scheduled movements for such ships. It could potentially be a new schedule or unexpected shipment, but without a flight plan...</s> |
<|description|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 26
Biography & Concept: Born the second son of the esteemed Caladwarden family, who's lineage reaches back to the first millennium of human space exploration. He was one of three, his older brother Brandon having been groomed to succeed his father as a representative on the Cinnabar Senate in which his father is a prime member. His young brother Gridor placed in administrative duties on their island home estate. Kaiden was raised to be a military man, representative of their family's old notions of loyalty and homage. There needs to be at least one member of the family in the Cinnibar Navy, and Kiaden has grown up with such expectations and responsibilities. Though his brother Brandon did sign on for a brief period to learn his worth and to show his dedication to the Republic.
It gained him an edge on the officer's exam for Lieutenants, and he passed with relative ease. His contention with his father however came at the death of his older brother, who died during a brief skirmish. Kaiden was given leave to convene with his family, whereupon his father ordered him to relinquish his duties as a Lieutenant and take Brandon's mantle as the first son. Kaiden refused, preferring to make his own way in the Navy rather than relying on his family's influence to gain notoriety. He had always been independent minded, and if he hadn't already a knack for the officer's life he likely would have defied his father long before the Brandon's death. His already rocky relationship with his sire plummeted into them parting ways with harsh words and even harsher sentiments.
An oddity, this "prince of the isle" does rather enjoy lowborn commoners. He speaks easy enough and is no stranger to hard work. But he always tends to have an air or superiority and education most can find grating. Ever rebellious, he was involved in a few low-end scandals with servants and young women cooks at his family's estate, being rather good-looking with a smooth, deep voice that can be used to flutter hearts or send men to battle.
Here's hoping he can muster up a good battle record with his meager gifts, because war has just begun...
@Penny</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
Sabatine tried to ignore her dislike for Tilda, though it wasn't easy. Rather than focus on the woman's irritating intrusion into her carefully ordered world she focused on the task at hand. Despite her resolution to let it go, she couldn't put it out of her mind. For a long moment she scanned the documents.
"Imagine you are a pirate," she mused, taking a seat at the console beside Kaiden. She punched the console live and pulled up a plot of the system. The paths of all the ships appeared as lines, mapping trajectories.
"With this much traffic in the system, attacking a freighter is going to be hard. The second you extract everyone near you will scatter, plus most of these tubs are worthless anyway," she explained. Most of the freighters weren't even capable of entering the matrix anymore, if they ever had been able to. The hulls were worth something, and the crew possibly as slaves, but all in all only laden vessels with valuable cargos were worth the risk.
"You need to be precise when you attack, come out of the matrix close to a rich prize and snatch her before she can dive for the planet, moon I suppose," she went on. Kaiden was nodding following her train of thought.
"So you need a spotter, like our unusually observant freighter," he said musingly. It was Sabatine's turn to nod.
"If I were in charge, I'd set up a base on a moon behind one of the lesser gas giants, I could jump my spotter out behind it like she was leaving the system, then simply follow a reverse course back in once she extracted to give me my intel."</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Kaiden absorbed the last information, already certain something was amiss but now he couldn't have been more sure they had just seen pirate activity. He saw it in Sabatine's eyes too. They each knew one another enough to know when the other was dead certain on something. Briefly he wondered how whatever actions they were about to take might cause a scandal of some kind, always on the look out for such a risk.
"He'll never go for it." Kaiden said, obviously referring to the Captain.
"Maybe if we confronted him together?" Sabatine queried, still wishing to remain safely within the chain of command. He wouldn't blame her, already being on a tight leash from the Ottis debacle, but he also knew she was born and bred for the service.
"Or..." he said, drawing a finger over the map on the console screen, indicating where the ship had jumped and the path it had taken through the system. "We dangle something in front of the Captain to have him make the order to approach where we believe their current position is."
Sabatine looked at him, her expression unreadable. He hoped that meant she was entertaining his suggestion.
"Not lie." He said quickly. "We have small hiccups in the logs all the time. We can suggest to him that something in the logs of the Tarlock Trading Company or the Habsburg Acquisition Corp. doesn't fit according to their flight plan and we would go and see if they're flirting with skipping taxes or perhaps they have resources we can requisition. The Captain isn't one to pass up free fame or money as long as there's no conflict save for the accidental kind."</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
The officers wardroom was a small space, just large enough for the table and chairs that had been bolted to the deck in its small walls. Kaiden as the new XO was offically being dined in by the company and had generously extended an invitation to Captain Micha who had graciously accepted. The Vickie was cruising in real space, making an orbit of MXD-41 and showing the flag of Cinnabar to all in the system. Theoretically this was to ward of pirates, but Sabatine doubted it would be very effective in that. Pirates were a scourge this far from the civilized worlds and whether a ship was a trader or a pirate largely depended on whether they thought one would be more profitable than the other at any given moment. All of the senior warrants as well as Ottis were present. The only absentee was midshipman Mckay, the most junior of the company thus, as propriety demanded, stuck on the bridge as the deck officer.
The meal had been sumptuous, roast meat prepared with local spices and thinly sliced vegetables in a rum and pepper sauce. Wine and rum from their last landfall had been plentiful and they were settling in for the dessert course of treacle putting with fresh custard. Byron might have a long ways to go as a spacer, but his talents as a mess steward were on full display. As the steaming pudding was unveiled, he circled the table and topped up drinks without being asked before midshipman Ottis stood and raised his glass in the traditional toast. The other officers followed suit careful not to bang their chairs against the bulkhead doors.
"To a bloody war or a sickly season," the youth declared and the others echoed him before downing their drinks. Given the circumstances the toast seemed particularly ominous, but each 'day' of ship time had its own toast and the RCN never deviated from tradition. They all resumed their seats as Byron began to dispense the pudding with a wooden serving spoon with a bladed edge.
"Speaking of impending hostilities sir," Sabatine began, "Ms Savarti did some digging into our runaway freighter and I think you were probably right in that it wasn't a pirate." Micha nodded agreeably, favoring her with a patronizing smile now that he felt she wasn't going to challenge him.
"As much as we might all wish for action, this is no time to be jumping at shadows," Micha replied sagely. Chief Savachev nodded but Helenna Graving looked disappointed. No doubt the gunner was more enthusiastic about the prospect of action against pirates than most of them. Even in fleet actions, plasma cannon were primarily defensive weapons, meant to nudge incoming missiles off target, but every gunner dreamed of being able to use them to rip open a lightly armored pirate at close range.
"Quite right sir," Sabatine agreed, following the plan that she and Kaiden had worked out together. Tilda had been surprisingly helpful as well, no doubt her background as an investigative journalist gave her an instinct for how to use such social engineering.
"According to Tilda," Kaiden broke in, taking up his part of the plan, "It looks like Tarlock Trading is probably just moving cargo off the books, stashing it on a moon somewhere out behind MXD-43 or one of the other gas giants. Probably figure war is coming and are looking to avoid confiscation of iridium. Smugglers," he concluded with an aristocratic sneer. Kaiden Caladwarden, the scion of a rich and powerful family, could hardly be expected to care about such money grubbing tactics as avoiding legal excise duties. Every other officer in the mess however, including Micha sat up a little straighter. Sabatine concealed a grin by draining her rum and lifting her glass for a refill. The rest of the plan should unfold without so much as another word.
"That would make whatever they are stashing out their subject to seizure and condemnation by a prize court wouldn't it?" Higgs asked, looking more than a little bleary eyed from the amount of liquor he had consumed. Kaiden had assured her that it wasn't necessary to bring him into the scheme, and she was pleased to see she had been right.
"It certainly would," Leyla Savachev agreed in her Xenos drawl as she mentally calculated what a chief engineers share of such a seizure might be. Doubtless that share was all the more inflated for being imaginary. Micha was rubbing his chin too. Micha didn't come from money or even the aristocracy, quite the opposite in fact, he had worked his way up through years of thankless peacetime service, only to find himself far from the action and chance for advancement when the last war broke out. Even on active service the pay of a senior lieutenant was not extravagant, not unless you won prize money and that didn't happen without action. Unless of course you found an excuse to seize a valuable cargo from smugglers.
"I'll bet you the prize court on Herculaneum would condem it no questions asked, as little trade as they have been getting lately," Graving speculated. The idea was clearly taking hold and Sabatine could almost feel the avarice take hold.
"Speaking of Herculaneum, if we put back in I'd like to see about replacing number three starboard, she stuck again during extraction," Sabatine interjected, steering the topic away from smuggling and prize money as Tilda had suggested. Kaiden raised his glass surreptitiously in salute. Sabatine had no doubt that by morning, the Captain would have not only found an excuse to sweep the system for smugglers caches, but be thoroughly convinced it was his own idea.</s>
| <|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
"I thought you told me you had number three fixed?" Kaiden challenged Higgs, who was simply doing his best not to belch in front of his superiors. He looked at the Lieutenant blankly, unsure of what to say. Sabatine knew her part well, piping in about how it was a recent discovery on her part, and speaking what Kaiden knew to be at least some bit of technobabble, trying not to smile at it as he watched Micha out of the corner of his eye. The Captain, a known logistics expert and no stranger to how his ship ran, was oddly quiet and never correct Sabatine, instead adding in that Higgs should be more careful offhandedly 'next time.' The Prince took a sip of his drink and found he was satisfied with how they planted the seeds in his mind.
Leyla still seemed a little miffed about the lack of piratical activity. But her mind did get taken out of it when she heard the very subtle nonsense the others were speaking. "Look, if the thing gets stuck that's to do with the Vickie, not the pod itself."
"Not exactly." Sabatine countered, and the two began a long conversation about the intricacies of lifeboat expulsion as Kaiden halted Higgs from drinking anymore, asking the server for the Bosun to get some water.
An hour and a half later, the dinner had been broken up. Captain Micha had remained quietly, subtly thoughtful and if this did not work, Kaiden did not know what would. The hatch to the starboard corridor slid open and Kaiden and Sabatine stepped through, passing by Midshipman McKay who halted and gave them a salute he had obviously been practicing in a mirror before he tottered off, hustling for something.
"Need help, Midshipman?" Kaiden called to him.
"No sir, Lieutenant! Goodnight sir!" He said and jogged off down into another corridor. He carried a small pylon looking item in his arms, likely something to do with the power grid of one of the auxiliary systems. Kaiden would have been more worried if Sabatine jumped into action, but she seemed completely nonchalant.
"It's nothing." Sabatine thought aloud. "McKay always likes to do any menial task at hand. He thinks leadership is getting your hands dirty."
"That's a little ironic coming from you." Kaiden remarked with wry grin. Even with the odd discomfort, he was glad he was able to be himself more around her. Maybe proximity to her did help in some ways. Maybe it was the drinking too.</s> |
<|description|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 26
Biography & Concept: Born the second son of the esteemed Caladwarden family, who's lineage reaches back to the first millennium of human space exploration. He was one of three, his older brother Brandon having been groomed to succeed his father as a representative on the Cinnabar Senate in which his father is a prime member. His young brother Gridor placed in administrative duties on their island home estate. Kaiden was raised to be a military man, representative of their family's old notions of loyalty and homage. There needs to be at least one member of the family in the Cinnibar Navy, and Kiaden has grown up with such expectations and responsibilities. Though his brother Brandon did sign on for a brief period to learn his worth and to show his dedication to the Republic.
It gained him an edge on the officer's exam for Lieutenants, and he passed with relative ease. His contention with his father however came at the death of his older brother, who died during a brief skirmish. Kaiden was given leave to convene with his family, whereupon his father ordered him to relinquish his duties as a Lieutenant and take Brandon's mantle as the first son. Kaiden refused, preferring to make his own way in the Navy rather than relying on his family's influence to gain notoriety. He had always been independent minded, and if he hadn't already a knack for the officer's life he likely would have defied his father long before the Brandon's death. His already rocky relationship with his sire plummeted into them parting ways with harsh words and even harsher sentiments.
An oddity, this "prince of the isle" does rather enjoy lowborn commoners. He speaks easy enough and is no stranger to hard work. But he always tends to have an air or superiority and education most can find grating. Ever rebellious, he was involved in a few low-end scandals with servants and young women cooks at his family's estate, being rather good-looking with a smooth, deep voice that can be used to flutter hearts or send men to battle.
Here's hoping he can muster up a good battle record with his meager gifts, because war has just begun...
@Penny</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Kaiden pushed himself onto the bridge, unwittingly sending a cadet to the ground. Whirring alarms and shouts of incoming missiles didn't give credence to just how bewildered his men were. He had heard Sabatine and Micha's encounter even as he stepped on deck, his senses sharpened to a razor's edge from all reports. He held his hand out to the cadet who he pushed, seeing it was Randals. As he pulled him up, he called for Otis to review the enemy's positions. Captain Micha was struck frozen in the corner, shaken at their situation and mumbling to himself. A case of the nerves that would likely see him relieved of his position.
"Halifax redeployed Lieutenant! 110k away and closing! K-12 102k and swinging round!" Otis shouted over the noise of the others. Ensign Enrique kept Bushman and Harwen controlled and on task keeping the ship steady as the guns shook the entirety of its structure. Randals ran back to his post, and Kaiden had the distinct impression that if he hadn't run into him he would have abandoned his post. He'd speak to him on it later.
"What do we do sir!? Orders!" Howarth asked. The man wasn't stricken with fear but clearly Sabatine had her hands full maneuvering the ship while Micha was as useless as an Alliance Diplomat.
"No Captain ever did wrong by attacking." He quoted, a paraphrased motto from a long lost commander on ancient earth. They needed a better position, however. The images on screen displayed a blinding display of fireworks that kept them all alive. Goddamn Sabatine was good. "Take us down! Dive!"
"Land!?" Midshipam Otis balked.
"No, dammit! Just down!" He ordered, taking a position at the center of the bridge, holding onto one of the decorative poles emblazoned with the Cinnabar colors to keep himself balanced. He switched to the two way link. "Hold tight Sabbie, this will be rough." He informed her as they swung and dropped three kilometers. He heard Sabatine cursing but she didn't relent. He trusted her more than anyone in this sort of situation.
"Sir, we can't outrun these missiles." Bushman remarked incredulously.
"Bushman, Harwen, Randal. Get ready on the plasma thrusters."
"Sir we're not in the atmosphere." Enrique said, clearly thinking the Lieutenant hadn't noticed what had transpired earlier. "There is no orbit."
"Enrique you are temporarily relieved of your position." Kaiden said coldly, causing the Ensign to blanch. The cadets and spacers glanced at him, but the prince's strikingly dark blue eyes blazed with a baleful light. Kaiden didn't skip a beat as their ship plummeted to the surface, picking up speed from the pull of the celestial body's gravity. "Thrusters, on my mark!" Meanwhile, anti-orbital guns were redeploying and aiming at them yet again.
"Sir, 55,000 kilometers away from the surface! They've fired all missiles!"
"Port side thrusters!" He commanded, the ship suddenly lurching and shuddering immensely as it's superstructure was pushed to the breaking point, missiles streaking past them. Normally the thrusters would have been next to useless in the open expanse of space, but the moon's gravity had given them the support they needed whilst being an unforeseen factor in their enemy's missile trajectory. Even now they had a good view of three missiles having missed completely, striking into the moon and ripping into the lunar rock beside the Hikendorf and anti-orbital guns, tearing half the guns to shreds. With any luck it took the Hikendorf out of order.
"K-12 40,000 miles from us sir!" Otis cried. Kaiden grinned, switching to the two way comm.
"Sabbie, now would be a good time to fire the missiles."</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
Sabatine's hands flew across the controls as she tried to control too many things at once. The hull screamed as the rig, still deployed for the transit, screamed as masts and spars carried away under the harsh maneuvering. Sabatine was pleased that they had bought the riggers inside before they extracted, or they would be losing men right now.
"Hickoring I am taking control," Micha declared, having finally snapped out of whatever fugue he had been stuck in. The ship handling board blinked out of existance as Micha's higher command grade took control. Her hands hammered on the virtual keyboard pulling up the attack board and flying over the preset launch sequences. Each attack computer had a standard set of attack solutions, though they were extremely unlikely to succeed without modifications from a human missilier.
"Launch one!" Sabatine shouted and the ship rocked as a gout of steam shoved the multi-ton missile out into space. The ship began to pitch downward as Micha angled the ship towards the ecliptic of the planet. Sabatine held back a curse and slapped her second launch sequence. It was too soon after the first launch to be really safe but Micha's maneuver would spoil her angle in the next few seconds. A second metallic clang indicated her second missile separation had been successful. The missiles streaked away at nearly ten Gs of acceleration.
"Good shooting Hickoring," Micha approved as the missile tracks appeared on his PPI. The Halifax was already falling away, nearly perpendicular to the grav assisted dive the Vickie had undertaken. Valuable seconds were wasted countering momentum, it must have frustrated the Halifax's captain because he opened fire with his plasma cannons, the bolts dissipated a thousand kilometers short of the Vickie doing little more then burning out their own barrels. Both of Sabatine's missiles had been aimed at K-12, leading the ship by a considerable margin and giving the destroyers guns a poor, high deflection shot. K-12 opened fire attempting to nudge the missiles aside, but she had no choice but to haul off, burning her high drives to avoid the spread as the missiles reached their terminal velocities and separated into three sections to spread the footprint. That opened the angle, allowing the Vickie to slip around the ecliptic, Micha employing the planet as a shield from further missile attack.
"Inserting," Micha announced, cutting the high drive for the ten seconds it took to equalize the charge across the ship. The ship shuddered into the matrix. For a moment it felt like sand was scoured across eyeballs, and then they were safe in the infinite bubble universes of the matrix. Sabatine took her hands from the controls flexing her palms. The bridge erupted in cheers, which spread into the corridors and throughout the ship. Sabatine smiled tightly and reached across to slap Helenna Graving on the arm, but the words of congratulations died on her lips as Micha turned in his chair to glare at her like a thundercloud. For a change he shared the same dark look with Kaiden.
"Hickoring, Caladwarden, get out on the hull and clear up the ruin you just made of my rig," he said icily.</s>
| <|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
The ship certainly didn't look good from the outside. Once an impeccable and expensive, albeit baseline ship of the line, the Vickie now looked closer to a pawned off older model sold at half price to pirates. The hull was marred as if great beasts from the seas of old earth had clawed at it. Even now he saw a sail, half shorn and hanging by a veritable thread from it's base, lightly flapping in what solar winds it could catch so far out here in the boonies. Kaiden knew it would take a huge sum of money to clean up, but at the end of the day it was mostly cosmetic damage. None of the ship's integrity had been compromised, all guns in tact, none of the main sails had been damaged. Port side seemed to have gotten the worst of it, but it was nothing more than being hit by a light, unexpected asteroid anomaly. More annoying and more concerning beforehand than the results that occurred afterward.
Kaiden made his way back from the portside to reconvene with Sabatine at the center of the aft to report damages to one another. He saw her coming slowly from the distance, still bewildered he was finding the woman he wanted to never see again as more and more of someone he needed to depend on again. Kaiden himself was planting another fuel gauge that gone loose, twisting it shut in the vacuum of space and lifting himself to his feet, now face to face with Sabatine.
"How's your end, Sabbie?" He asked, the glass of his helmet pressed to hers. "From my end it's workable, if we keep from getting any more hull damage."</s> |
<|description|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 26
Biography & Concept: Born the second son of the esteemed Caladwarden family, who's lineage reaches back to the first millennium of human space exploration. He was one of three, his older brother Brandon having been groomed to succeed his father as a representative on the Cinnabar Senate in which his father is a prime member. His young brother Gridor placed in administrative duties on their island home estate. Kaiden was raised to be a military man, representative of their family's old notions of loyalty and homage. There needs to be at least one member of the family in the Cinnibar Navy, and Kiaden has grown up with such expectations and responsibilities. Though his brother Brandon did sign on for a brief period to learn his worth and to show his dedication to the Republic.
It gained him an edge on the officer's exam for Lieutenants, and he passed with relative ease. His contention with his father however came at the death of his older brother, who died during a brief skirmish. Kaiden was given leave to convene with his family, whereupon his father ordered him to relinquish his duties as a Lieutenant and take Brandon's mantle as the first son. Kaiden refused, preferring to make his own way in the Navy rather than relying on his family's influence to gain notoriety. He had always been independent minded, and if he hadn't already a knack for the officer's life he likely would have defied his father long before the Brandon's death. His already rocky relationship with his sire plummeted into them parting ways with harsh words and even harsher sentiments.
An oddity, this "prince of the isle" does rather enjoy lowborn commoners. He speaks easy enough and is no stranger to hard work. But he always tends to have an air or superiority and education most can find grating. Ever rebellious, he was involved in a few low-end scandals with servants and young women cooks at his family's estate, being rather good-looking with a smooth, deep voice that can be used to flutter hearts or send men to battle.
Here's hoping he can muster up a good battle record with his meager gifts, because war has just begun...
@Penny</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
The ship certainly didn't look good from the outside. Once an impeccable and expensive, albeit baseline ship of the line, the Vickie now looked closer to a pawned off older model sold at half price to pirates. The hull was marred as if great beasts from the seas of old earth had clawed at it. Even now he saw a sail, half shorn and hanging by a veritable thread from it's base, lightly flapping in what solar winds it could catch so far out here in the boonies. Kaiden knew it would take a huge sum of money to clean up, but at the end of the day it was mostly cosmetic damage. None of the ship's integrity had been compromised, all guns in tact, none of the main sails had been damaged. Port side seemed to have gotten the worst of it, but it was nothing more than being hit by a light, unexpected asteroid anomaly. More annoying and more concerning beforehand than the results that occurred afterward.
Kaiden made his way back from the portside to reconvene with Sabatine at the center of the aft to report damages to one another. He saw her coming slowly from the distance, still bewildered he was finding the woman he wanted to never see again as more and more of someone he needed to depend on again. Kaiden himself was planting another fuel gauge that gone loose, twisting it shut in the vacuum of space and lifting himself to his feet, now face to face with Sabatine.
"How's your end, Sabbie?" He asked, the glass of his helmet pressed to hers. "From my end it's workable, if we keep from getting any more hull damage."</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
"Its a mess part of ventral A carried away, ripped through some of the mizzen on B before the lines snubbed it. Might be best to take the A ring of the sail plan and re-rig with B. I think we can get 90 percent efficiency within about an hour that way, vs eight hours to put ventral A to rights," Sabatine replied. Kaiden said something to her but her mind had wandered back to the engagement they had just survived.
"Sorry, sorry sir what was that?" she asked.
"I said go ahead and re-rig, hours count here, but obviously your mind was somewhere else?" he asked. Sabatine tried to look at Kaiden, the motion momentarily breaking the contact of their helmets, but all she could see was the mirrored reflection of the matrix in his visor. She was wrung out, as much by adrenaline as by the short action they had just fought.
"I keep thinking about that cruiser, I mean she is stuck on the ground, it will take three days at least for her crew to lift her," she explained, replaying the images of Graving's gunnery display in her mind, seeing the fittings and the outriggers struts burn under the hammering of plasma.
"We crippled her but she isn't finished, a couple weeks and she will be back in action. And while we are at it... I mean I shouldn't be saying this but what was with the Captain, he just froze up, never known him to suffer that badly from extractions, and that was only a few hours in the matrix." She thought back to the strange conversation she had shared with Commodore Welkins the night before they had lifted. The memory of how she had acted that night embarrassed her but she swallowed it down.
"I don't know, just don't know what to think," she admitted.</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
He wouldn't lie and say he hadn't had similar thoughts, both on the Captain and the rig stuck there on the moon. "From the look of him, I didn't know if he'd ever been in an extraction." Kaiden relayed, shaking his head inside his helmet. "You know, I've always noticed Micha being nervous at weird times, but I chalked that up to different reasons than cowardice. I think that might be the case though, as much as I'd hate to admit it."
That didn't spell well for the ship, if this attack was the beginning of a full scale war. And there was no reason to suspect these were rogue agents acting outside any alliance chain of command.
"You're right, though, about the cruiser. It's..." He sighed. "It's our duty as Cinnabar Officers to see it doesn't rise again, regardless of the Captain's misgivings."
"What are you saying?" She asked.
"I have an idea."
---
Hours later.
"That was the most flagrant disregard of my command, my crew, and the bloody republic!" Micha screamed, his face so red Kaiden thought he was about to break out in hives. The crew that happened to be on the bridge watched silently, the tension in the air so thick it was hard to breathe. The two Lieutenants didn't shirk from Captain Micha's wrath, Kaiden fully acknowledging that it was likely earned, no matter if they did the right things. Many courts in the system could consider what they did an act of mutiny or even treason, at least out of context of the situation. "I should have you both stricken from the military, or at the very least demoted! In fact that does not sound like a poor idea in my ears. Starting a war, not only by attacking a peaceful scouting party, but engaging a foe that cannot fight on the ground!"
Micha was skipping over the space battle and tight maneuvering they had to pull off in order to destroy the cruiser, using a gambit of missiles and a faux retreat to catch the Alliance ship off guard. Through Kaiden's plan and Sabatine's brilliant ordering of the crew, they had won the day without any further damage, though it did lead to what Kaiden knew was a defining moment in one or two of their three careers, meaning he, Sabatine, and Micha.
"With all due respect sir, I don't think you quite understand the seriousness of the situation." Kaiden said coldly, piercing eyes boring into the Captain.
Micha guffawed, unable to contain his sheer amazement at the statement. "What the hell do you think I've been yelling about!?"
"The Alliance situation, sir. Not ours." The prince iterated dangerously. "Every man and woman on this vessel understood and faced the situation with bravery, Captain. None shirked their duties, save you." He could have mentioned Ensign Enrique, but he did not fall under the category of cowardice or shirking duties. Kaiden had to admit his orders had been so outrageous to the normal ear that anyone would have given pause, and the time simply did not warrant delay. Enrique was many things, but he was neither coward nor insubordinate. "Why do you think the crew went along with my and Lieutenant Hickoring's idea despite your misgivings?"
Micha ground his teeth, puffing up like a fat dog raising its hackles. He looked flummoxed, but too enraged to think clearly. Not that he'd likely have a good explanation after being given a moment to cool off. "That is it! I cannot believe I saw potential in you. Someone send a transmission to command and Commodore Welkins! I want these two detained and off my ship!" He cried. No one immediately made a move, so Micha continued. "You can count on your father hearing of this, Lieutenant."
Kaiden winced, despite his resolve that they did the right thing. Sabatine knew better than anyone that bringing up Kaiden's father was a sore subject. The Prince disliked the man at the best of times.</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
Sabatine felt her stomach lurch as she stood up from her station. Things were rapidly getting out of control but she didn't see a way to deescalate them that wouldn't be seen as cowardice in her own eyes if no one else, and whatever else Sabatine Hickoring was, she was no coward.
"Can I take it then sir, that you are refusing Lieutenant Caladwarden's plan to return to station and re-engage the Alliance," she spoke firmly and distinctly, despite a quivering in her bowels at the thought of what was coming. Micha's eyes, almost impossibly bulged further and his face flushed with anger. The bridge sensors would record what she was saying for posterity.
"Are you out of your mind Hickoring?!" he exploded, "It is a miracle we survived the first time, and this yahoo wants to take us back into the lions den?!" Micha was right in that it was a miracle, by an enormous stroke of good luck they had extracted at precisely the right position, any closer to the destroyers and they would have been destroyed before they could either escape into the matrix or inflict significant damage. Watching Micha's throbbing temple Sabatine hoped he might have a stroke, that would make all of this easier.
"Of course I am refusing, our duty is to get back to Herculaenum as soon as possible and report this disaster!" Micha screamed, spittle literally forming on his lips. The bridge crew and probably numerous men and women in the hallway stood silent.
"So you are refusing to engage the enemy sir," Sabatine pressed, drawing close to the knife edge that would put her and Kaiden's life on the line.
"I just said so didn't I, Boson Higgs, get your men out and set the rig for transit to Herculaenum! And I want these two taken into custody!" Still no one moved. Helenna Graving looked like she might be about to throw up and everyone else looked panicked.
"Lieutenant Micha," She began formally, "In the face of your repeated refusal to engage the enemies of the Republic in wartime I am left with but with no choice but to relieve you of command of RCS Viceroy until such time as a court martial can be convened in accordance with the Code of Military Justice." Her guts tried to crawl up her throat as she spoke.
"This is mutiny! You will swing for this Hickoring, both of you will!" Micha shouted, his eyes so wide they were completely ringed with white, "Arrest these mutineers!" An able spacer caught in the wrong place at the wrong time took a step towards Sabatine but, surprisingly, Tilda stepped in front of him, denying him the ability to pass without making a confrontation out of it. Evidently the ground was too shaky for him to risk that and perhaps he recognized the way the reporter set her body, obviously she knew a thing or two about hand to hand fighting.
"Lieutenant Caladwarden will assume command until a courtmartial can be convened," she continued, amazed at how steady her voice was under the stress.
"Bosun Higgs, Bosun's mate Klave, you will confine the captain in his quarters until that can be arranged," she directed.
"Touch me and you are mutineers too," Micha warned, backing up as the two big riggers stepped towards him.
"Don't worry lads, its me that is for the High Jump if I'm wrong," Sabatine called, but neither of the spacers showed any hesitation in seizing the screaming captain and dragging him bodily but effortlessly from the room. A silence decended over the bridge that was as absolute as one could be on the deck of a working starship.
"Excuse me," Sabatine managed before grabbing a rigging helmet from a hook and vomiting into it noisily, her entire body trembling with shock.</s>
| <|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
The Vickie jumped out of system without delay. Kaiden almost thought the crew wouldn't follow his instructions. He'd gone off the map of his reality, sitting in 'Micha's chair.' But Higgs and the rest, even Sabatine leaped to stations at his call. The ship had roared internally before bursting out of their current location.
"Hickoring, give Graving 5 degrees left of the current location of the moon from our position." Kaiden snapped.
"Done!" A female voice called. Kaiden swiveled his head to his right and saw Tilda amongst the men, shapely legs crossed on a chair and professional, albeit sly look in her eyes. Kaiden didn't have the time to pay too much attention to it and barked again.
"Graving, I want you to fire half out silos at that location, now!"
"Yes sir!" The Gunner called after just a moments hesitation. Even in such a large ship, the firing of the missiles reverberated through the steel like someone was whacking a wooden bat against an armored car. Sabatine barked orders at the spacers but the Prince didn't hear over the din of his own commands. Kaiden could feel the confusion in the air, but his eyes remained steely.
"Locate twenty degrees from the moon and jump! Now!" He cried, not missing a beat. "Graving I need those missiles reloaded. All hands on the task. Tilda, keep us monitored on the enemy locations. I don't want AFS K-21 our of sight." Tilda moved like a machine, already transfiguring onto the Destroyer's location.
The next few minutes were a flurry of activity. Kaiden had never seen such discipline in the crew, though he'd always known they were capable of it. If every ship was like the Vickie, the Alliance wouldn't stand a chance. The Halifax was spinning desperately trying to realign itself to face the Vickie's sudden reappearance. The ship flew far too close to the moon for any older officer's liking. Once the ship was out of the jump, the Vickie once again fired at the location it fired last, only this time far closer. On the screen, the Destroyer AFS K-21 filled their vision as it continued its escape.
"I want us twenty thousand kilometers from that ship! Follow those missiles and blow that ship out of the sky!"</s> |
<|description|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 26
Biography & Concept: Born the second son of the esteemed Caladwarden family, who's lineage reaches back to the first millennium of human space exploration. He was one of three, his older brother Brandon having been groomed to succeed his father as a representative on the Cinnabar Senate in which his father is a prime member. His young brother Gridor placed in administrative duties on their island home estate. Kaiden was raised to be a military man, representative of their family's old notions of loyalty and homage. There needs to be at least one member of the family in the Cinnibar Navy, and Kiaden has grown up with such expectations and responsibilities. Though his brother Brandon did sign on for a brief period to learn his worth and to show his dedication to the Republic.
It gained him an edge on the officer's exam for Lieutenants, and he passed with relative ease. His contention with his father however came at the death of his older brother, who died during a brief skirmish. Kaiden was given leave to convene with his family, whereupon his father ordered him to relinquish his duties as a Lieutenant and take Brandon's mantle as the first son. Kaiden refused, preferring to make his own way in the Navy rather than relying on his family's influence to gain notoriety. He had always been independent minded, and if he hadn't already a knack for the officer's life he likely would have defied his father long before the Brandon's death. His already rocky relationship with his sire plummeted into them parting ways with harsh words and even harsher sentiments.
An oddity, this "prince of the isle" does rather enjoy lowborn commoners. He speaks easy enough and is no stranger to hard work. But he always tends to have an air or superiority and education most can find grating. Ever rebellious, he was involved in a few low-end scandals with servants and young women cooks at his family's estate, being rather good-looking with a smooth, deep voice that can be used to flutter hearts or send men to battle.
Here's hoping he can muster up a good battle record with his meager gifts, because war has just begun...
@Penny</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Kaiden had never tasted something so bittersweet. A grand gesture given by god on a day where he felt anything but victory. The whole of the republic would know his name as soon as they got back. Even if he said naught at all, word would get out. But the mutiny with Macha weighed heavily on everyone, and damn Kaiden was more tired in both body and soul now than ever. He did well to stand as a commander, hands behind his back and eyes primed on the men and women under him, half the eyes of the crew on him.
They needed to get back as soon as possible, but the knowledge there were sailors down there, even military men of the alliance, made him take pause. A civilian would tell him to go and aid them, but he knew he would be sternly advised to resist the temptation by any man above him in rank. And yet...
"Sir?" Sabatine asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.
Kaiden turned to her, eyes passing over Tilda who watched him like a hawk. It seemed like an hour, but he took only five seconds to truly decide.
"We're doing the quickest CSAR in the history of the republic," Kaiden announced, causing a few of the men to blink in surprise and half the crew to feel a modicum of guilt lift from them. 99% of commanders in his position would make the correct move and leave immediately. Kaiden intended to be the 1% that didn't and still succeeded. Probably one part hubris, one part merciful, but he knew in his bones that they would make it back. He didn't know how, but he did. "Enrique, Riggs, make sure we're good to approach. Harwen, prepare the cells. I want all guns on deck in five minutes, search and rescue prepped and ready."
"Is this wise, sir?" Tilda asked, a smile on her lips as the men began to run and shout. Kaiden rolled his eyes, and luckily no one heard her.
"It's not wise to ask if this is wise." He said in no uncertain terms.</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
Sabatine felt considerable relief when Kaiden made the decision. Leaving men to slowly suffocate beneath tons of dust would have been a grim end to the battle. It was strange how one could be at peace with being vaporized when a missile ripped through a vessel but fear to slowly choke for lack of air. It didn't hurt that the decision irritated Tilda either. With the course decided they were faced with the how. The wreck of the Hikendorf was buried by twenty meters of dust and rock. Sabatine and Savachev discussed several options before settling on the one they felt would be both fast and safe.
"Switch on!" Sabatine called across the unit push. She was wearing her rigging suit, clumsy under the light gravity. She stood in the umbilicus with three other riggers, each attached to a mast that had been swayed out above them by ships cables. The umbilicus, at maximum contraction stood above them, a three meter wall of plastic and steel. All four spacers gripped the square handle they had welded around a spare waterline. She felt the thrum of water racing along the pipe at firehose pressure. It blasted into the dirt in a muddy spray, the force of which almost lifted the four spacers in the low gravity. A second house began to gurgle and slurp, sucking up the slurry. By slow increments they dug into the dust, the umbilicus extending around them like a well casing. Danzetti hung above them on the cable, spraying the walls of the umbilicus with plasticizer as it extened, strengthing it so the weight of earth didn't crush it shut.
"How is it going?" Kaiden asked on a private channel. By now, Sabatine's world had been reduced to blindly fumbling in the muck, running her hand around the base of the umbilicus by feel to lower it another inch. A scum of plasticizer had formed on the water and gathered like dandruff on the head and shoulders of her suit.
"If I wanted mud," she gasped, breathing heavily, "I'd have joined the bloody pongos." Kaiden chuckled over the comm and might have been about to ask more, when water splashed on something metallic. Shoulder mounted lamps lit sparkling reflections from the spray as they exposed a section of hull plating.
"We are there," Sabatine replied, it took another minute or two to clear the three meter circle and secure it with the plasticizer.
"Think we should let them know we are coming?" Sabatine asked. She made a hand guesture to Danzetti who began to shimmy up the line, disappearing into the darkness above.
"Let's not give anyone a chance to be a hero," Kaiden replied. Sabatine didn't think it was too likely that spacers trapped in a wreck were likely to open fire, but she wasn't in command. A moment later Kaiden slithered down the line, a diamond saw in one hand and a pair of slung submachine guns. His beet touched the deck and he let go of the line, handing the saw off to one of the spacers. Sabatine leaned close and pressed her helmet to Kaiden's so they could talk without the radio.
"Kaiden, I don't know its a good idea for both senior officers to be involved in a breech," she said. He unslung one of the guns and passed it across to her.
"Wan't to climb back up then?" he asked, the amusement clear in his voice. She took the gun, her eye roll concealed behind the face shield of her helmet.
"Pressurizing," Savachev's voice came across the comms. Air began to pump into the umbilicus and the indicator light in Sabatine's helmet went green, indicating the air was breathable. She didn't open her helmet, breathable didn't mean pleasant, and she doubted the plasticizer would do her lungs any favors. Kaiden stepped back and made a curt gesture. The spacer flicked the saw to life and sank it into the hull plating. Sabatine felt the scream of it through her boots as the blade cut into the hull, there was a slight outrush of air, indicating that the hull section was at least still pressurized. The spacer reversed the blade, making two more cuts that dropped a triangular section of hull plating into the ship. A greenish glow of emergency lighting washed out. Sabatine stepped into the hall, falling into the ship under the low gravity.
"Entering," Sabatine reported, engaging the magnets in her boots at twenty percent strength. She shuffled forward clearing the way for Kaiden and the other armed spacers who were already coming down the line. The interior of the ship showed signs of the trauma she had undergone. Cracks and stress fractures ran through the bulkheads where the impact waves had torqued the hull. An alliance spacer came around the corner, his face discolored by a dark bruise and with an arm full of spare air bottles. His eyes widened in shock and he dropped his armful raising his hands.
"I surrender," he gasped, pressing himself back against the wall.</s>
| <|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
"I would say it was smart, but that implies you have a choice." Kaiden said, lowering his gun and pulling the man forward to get detained by the strike team behind him. He and Sabatine cleared the hallway, his right and her left. Kaiden had always felt strange in pressurized suits, but he had spent enough time in basic to keep himself going without much complaint. Howarth presented the intel they could gleam from the alliance spacer that the rest of his crew was down the hall to the right.
"Armed?" Kaiden asked.
"He says no, but..."
"Right," the prince said, leveling his firearm with Sabatine right on his heels. He didn't know why, but somehow he felt comfortable with him having his back more than any of his men, despite his trust in them. He supposed he knew her well enough to make that judgement. Ex-Lovers did not tend to get along because they found they knew the other too well. "Cover our asses, Higgs."
To his surprise, Kaiden had suspected they would have to take a few extra turns and possibly get turned around thanks to the size of the ship, but the crewman was right. A quarter of a click straight right sent them to the blast doors of a pressurized chamber that opened up to reveal a crew of seven disheveled alliance crew, along with two wounded who had shrapnel in their abdomens. One female alliance medic pulled a knife, but only so far as a honed reaction. No guns were raised, and there were none Kaiden could see.
"We surrender," the lieutenant said. He was an older man, not elderly but getting up in years. He had a black mane and beard that would suit a civilian far more, but Kaiden didn't pretend to know alliance protocol. He held his head high, unflinching from the trained guns. "Please, just help my men."
"Are there any more aboard?" Kaiden asked, stepping closer, eyes glancing at the crew. The room looked to be made for storage, hard ground and no place to sit save for locked steel crates.
"I don't know. This was all that I could find." The lieutenant remarked. His breathing was audible. Kaiden guessed he was hiding hope behind his calm facade. "Will you look through the ship?"
"We'll take your wounded." Kaiden commanded, two of his men already hustling over to gather them up. The two alliance medics helped them with the stretchers. "You send two of yours to search the ship for anyone else. If they aren't back in twenty, or if they come back with anything besides another, unarmed crewmember, this all goes south very quickly. If you attempt anything, even if you're able to take me or any of my crew hostage, my crew on deck will leave us to cold oblivion regardless of the consequences. Cooperate and you'll be unhurt."
The lieutenant calmly blinked, and then lowered his hands. "Well, you didn't need to lay it on so thick." He remarked, and sent two of the survivors to go search the remainder of the ship.</s> |
<|description|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 26
Biography & Concept: Born the second son of the esteemed Caladwarden family, who's lineage reaches back to the first millennium of human space exploration. He was one of three, his older brother Brandon having been groomed to succeed his father as a representative on the Cinnabar Senate in which his father is a prime member. His young brother Gridor placed in administrative duties on their island home estate. Kaiden was raised to be a military man, representative of their family's old notions of loyalty and homage. There needs to be at least one member of the family in the Cinnibar Navy, and Kiaden has grown up with such expectations and responsibilities. Though his brother Brandon did sign on for a brief period to learn his worth and to show his dedication to the Republic.
It gained him an edge on the officer's exam for Lieutenants, and he passed with relative ease. His contention with his father however came at the death of his older brother, who died during a brief skirmish. Kaiden was given leave to convene with his family, whereupon his father ordered him to relinquish his duties as a Lieutenant and take Brandon's mantle as the first son. Kaiden refused, preferring to make his own way in the Navy rather than relying on his family's influence to gain notoriety. He had always been independent minded, and if he hadn't already a knack for the officer's life he likely would have defied his father long before the Brandon's death. His already rocky relationship with his sire plummeted into them parting ways with harsh words and even harsher sentiments.
An oddity, this "prince of the isle" does rather enjoy lowborn commoners. He speaks easy enough and is no stranger to hard work. But he always tends to have an air or superiority and education most can find grating. Ever rebellious, he was involved in a few low-end scandals with servants and young women cooks at his family's estate, being rather good-looking with a smooth, deep voice that can be used to flutter hearts or send men to battle.
Here's hoping he can muster up a good battle record with his meager gifts, because war has just begun...
@Penny</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
At first it seemed like there might be no further survivors. The ripping torque of the missle strike had started seams the length and breath of the Hikendorf. Most of her crew had been outside working on the repairs, killed outright or suffocated when their air bottles ran out, but enough had been inside without suits when rents suddenly appeared in the hull. Probably the only reason anyone was alive at all is because a number of the internal partitions had been closed as a reaction to damage from the previous attack. Those survivors, such as their were had been in the core of the ship, where the flexion as tons of dust had been converted to heat energy had been minimal, the way the core of a branch might survive a greenstick fracture. Sabatine helped supervise the move of Alliance spacers up and onto the commandeered mining ship. There didn't seem to be much fight in them. That was probably to be expected. A minute ago they were facing the likelihood of a slow death by asphyxiation, RCN custody, a term in a prisoner of war camp or a prison hulk, probably seemed like a vast improvement.
"Sir, sir!" one of the prisoners called, pulling on the arm of Sabatine's suit. How he had deduced she was an officer in a faceless sexless rigging suit she had no idea. Perhaps he was just observant of how the other RCN treated her. Danzetti lifted his submachine gun to deliver a butt stroke. Sabatine held up her hand to forestall the action, not only did she not want a random spacer brutalized, she wasn't that confident that Danzetti knew enough about guns to have the saftey on. The last thing they needed was for him to accidentally trigger a burst that ripped them all to shreds as rounds ricochet around inside the corridor.
"What is it spacer," she asked, not friendly but not openly hostile. The man's name was Pollock, or Pollack judging by the faded name tape of his fleet green uniform.
"I was wondering what the chances were that I could list you know, rather than prison or whatever," he burbled nervously. Sabatine cocked an eyebrow, a gesture that was totally invisible inside her helmet. It wasn't unusual for crews of captured prizes to be given a chance to sign aboard the winning ship if they were short of crew, which every naval vessel was of course. Spacers didn't typically have ideological or political loyalties and saboteurs were disincentivised by the fact that the were all, very literally, in the same boat. There just weren't enough experienced spacers to crew the warships of the fleet and the merchant service simultaneously. He must have mistook her lack of verbal response for skepticism.
"We have a communications officer, he ran off when you…" he blurted out, finching back as the Alliance Lieutenant stepped forward with a snarl. Danzetti hit him in the face with his submachine gun. He got to hit someone and it was an officer, a banner day for the power room tech. Sabatine wasn't shredded by an accidental discharge which pleased her also. The lieutenant staggered back, clutching a bloody nose and cursing like a spacer. Sabatine's eyes widened as they met Kaiden's.
"Danzetti, watch them, you Pollock, where is your comms room?" she demanded, pointing her own weapon at the spacer unintentionally. He cringed back against the bulkhead hands raised.
"One deck down on the starboard…" but Sabatine was already running, or at least shambling as fast as she could in the cursed suit. Kaiden was on her heels clearly reaching the same conclusion as she had. Every major Alliance fleet unit would have a code book which held the various signals and encryptions the Fleet used to keep its communications secure. It wasn't a physical book of course, but it was a separate computer that could be physically firewalled to prevent digital intrusion. The Alliance hadn't known that the RCN was coming, why would they? The odds of a single corvette driving off two destroyers were beyond astronomical. Therefore they would have had no reason to purge their computers before Sabatine dropped through the hole in the hull. She pounded down the companion way a step ahead of Kaiden, caroming off the steel wall in her haste. They hit the deck below at the same instant, Kaiden's longer legs closing the distance. Halfway along the hall a thin man in an Alliance warrant officers uniform was heaving at a hatch with a prybar. The impact of the missiles must have torqued the hatch, trapping the communication's officer on the wrong side. That hadn't been a priority before, but now he had to sanitize the equipment before it fell into RCN hands. He turned to see the two RCN officers emerging from the companion way, his face contorting with frustrated hate. Dropping his prybar with an echoing clatter he whipped a pistol from his tunic pocket with surprising speed. Sabatine stared in dumb amazement. Kaiden's shove knocked her to the deck a moment before the pistol cracked. It struck the facing plate of the companionway and ricocheted wildly, drawing white sparks. Awkward in her rigging suit she struggled to raise her own weapon.</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Kaiden hit the plating of the wall hard, somehow keeping his sub-machine gun somewhat level. He clicked off the safety and grit his teeth, giving a burst of fire that would have hit the man had he remained stationary. The warrant officer had seemed more pissed than afraid, but that didn't mean the fear wasn't there. He ducked behind a doorway on the opposite end of the hallway, Kaiden hot in pursuit. Instead of turning the corner and firing, however, Kaiden leaped past the door as accompanying gunshots rang out from the doorway, before the tell-take 'click' of an empty magazine. The newly promoted captain took no time to himself, pivoting back and springing into the doorway as the warrant officer hastily tried to reload.
"Drop it!" Kaiden ordered, gun trained on the man. He looked disheveled and angry, and unfortunately beyond reason. He froze for a fraction of a second before continuing his reload. Kaiden let out a breath as he pulled the trigger, punching three bullets into the warrant officer's chest. The blood slapped the floor moments before the body hit it, and Kaiden shook his head wondering what the point was. He admired the man for doing his duty, but it was going to be in vain regardless. The captain approached the gun the fellow had carried, recognizing it as an old L106A1. Good gun, but little ammo capacity.
"Sir!" Sabatine said when she rounded the corner, her eyes and gun scanning the room for any potential threats. Kaiden didn't acknowledge her presence for a few seconds, realizing the man he just killed was the first direct ground casualty of what was to be a system's spanning war, barring the naval deaths.
"When it's just us, you can call me Kaiden, Sabbie." He said, suddenly tired. The man took a deep breath for a moment. He knew his fatigue could be heard in his voice, but when he turned around he was as charming as always, his striking eyes still full of luster behind the bland helmet, an amused, almost wry smile on his face. "After all, you've called me far worse. Now, help me with this crowbar..."
He shoulders his weapon and bent down, his subordinate kneeling to help him with her weight as the two of them gripped the handle of the crowbar and pushed with all their strength. The metal screeched, the two of them making short work opening it up. Once it was three feet off the ground, the door opened automatically, sliding up on its own accord. They checked their twelve and their six, and then walked in to gather the intelligence.</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
"I wonder if he was Fifth Bureau," Sabatine pondered aloud. There were bruises beneath her suit from the collision with the deck, but nothing worse than a hard shift on the hull. It certainly trumped being shot all hollow. It was common knowledge that Guarantor Pora's secret police maintained a presence within the fleet, and the communications officer would be a logical choice. Feet were clattering down the companion way.
"Shit," Sabbatine muttered, slamming the door shut behind them. Trigger discipline among spacers was never the best and she didn't fancy getting wasted by her own side moments after an enemy round.
"Sir?!" Danzetti's voice called from the hallway.
"We are all good spacer," start getting the prisoners out of her," Kaiden ordered.
"Sir!" Danzetti responded and then began clamping back up the companionway. Sabatine knelt down beside the communications terminal. She took a wrench from the toolbelt on her suit and fitted it to the rachet that held the communications console in place, laying down so she could observe the wiring. There didn't appear to be any booby traps or fail safes.
"I have called you much worse," Sabatine agreed with a grin. She thought back to the night she learned he had cheated on her. The old fury wasn't as hot as it had been with the passage of time. It hadn't been as though there were any chance that a Calawarden would ever end up with a penniless minor noble on the verge of ruin. Still it had burned, burned deep. She cranked the first bolt around. It gave easily, doubtless the communications consoles were changed out often as Fleet codes were updated. She paused for a moment as the first bolt came free.
"You know, assuming we get back to Herculaneum safely, I'm due one tenth the cost of a destroyer in prize money." Kaiden himself, as captain, would get a fifth. That was a staggering amount of money to Sabatine, and even to Kaiden would probably nudge a balance sheet.
"Assuming they don't hang us for mutiny of course," Kaiden put in. Sabatine snorted as she freed the second bolt.
"Still the eternal optimist I see," she snickered.
"I can't see them hanging a highly placed noble with a victory like this one to back it up." The final bolt came free and she pulled the remaining connectors, freeing the console.
"Micha dosen't have the political pull to make it stick and the Admiral..." she thought back to his words to her before they set off on this cruise.
"Well I think he had his doubts too." She pulled herself to her feet and grabbed the console with both hands, lifting it with some effort.
"Can you get the door?"</s>
| <|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
"Micha won't have any pull soon," He said grimly. He didn't want to throw the conversation away from the snark they both so enjoyed, but it was something he still couldn't quite come to terms with. Granted, his life was still very strange to him, and he hadn't really stopped to consider it. The military runaway of a high noble family found himself usurping his superior, launching the first shots in an extrasystem war, crawling on the ground in an enemy ship with his ex-girlfriend who happened to be his second.
At her request, he gave a "Yeah, sure" and went to the door, preparing to open it with his crowbar in case there were any problems with the inner latch, but something up there smiled on them, and it slid open without a problem. Sabatine marched out of the hatch, and Kaiden placed his hands around the console she carried. "Let me."
"I've got it," she insisted, not irritably, but he could tell she wasn't going to take no for an answer unless it was explicitly said to be an order.
"You are probably the only one that could pull this shit with me," He told her, shaking his head in his suit. The air-tight suit hardly budged with any movement except the wide movement of their arms or the broad strides of their legs, but it was surprisingly how much one could glean from the tone of your voice. "I'll keep watch."
"Well since we're being less formal, I let you get away with more than your fair share before we worked together. Old Baile-"
"We will not talk about that," He said, but it wasn't so much as forbidding as embarrassment. Sabatine laughed, and Kaiden couldn't help but chuckle breathlessly, even if he didn't want anyone in a hundred kilometers to hear that story. It involved Kaiden getting blind drunk and skinny dipping in the pool of a Rear Admiral nicknamed Old Bailey. Sabatine had done some fancy maneuvering that night to save Kaiden's ass from a scandal. She had always said he had sufficiently paid her back by sweet talking a few aides to help get her in the right places to get the ears of the right supervisors, and there had been that midshipman Kaiden had ostracized that had tried to get her thrown out when she had rejected his advances. But still, she hadn't done anything that could get her shunned by her family or peers, unless one counted some vulgar remarks and a few bar fights.
"I'll let you off the hook this time," She remarked wryly.
They couldn't continue the conversation by virtue of reaching the cargo chamber where the alliance crew had been found. Now there was just Higgs waiting for them, giving a salute. Even the medical supplies had been gathered up. Quick work, Kaiden noted. He gave them a "everyone is off the ship" with a bosun's surety.
"They better be, because we're not coming back." Kaiden replied, and the three climbed back about the RCS Vicount.</s> |
<|description|>Kaiden Caladwarden
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 26
Biography & Concept: Born the second son of the esteemed Caladwarden family, who's lineage reaches back to the first millennium of human space exploration. He was one of three, his older brother Brandon having been groomed to succeed his father as a representative on the Cinnabar Senate in which his father is a prime member. His young brother Gridor placed in administrative duties on their island home estate. Kaiden was raised to be a military man, representative of their family's old notions of loyalty and homage. There needs to be at least one member of the family in the Cinnibar Navy, and Kiaden has grown up with such expectations and responsibilities. Though his brother Brandon did sign on for a brief period to learn his worth and to show his dedication to the Republic.
It gained him an edge on the officer's exam for Lieutenants, and he passed with relative ease. His contention with his father however came at the death of his older brother, who died during a brief skirmish. Kaiden was given leave to convene with his family, whereupon his father ordered him to relinquish his duties as a Lieutenant and take Brandon's mantle as the first son. Kaiden refused, preferring to make his own way in the Navy rather than relying on his family's influence to gain notoriety. He had always been independent minded, and if he hadn't already a knack for the officer's life he likely would have defied his father long before the Brandon's death. His already rocky relationship with his sire plummeted into them parting ways with harsh words and even harsher sentiments.
An oddity, this "prince of the isle" does rather enjoy lowborn commoners. He speaks easy enough and is no stranger to hard work. But he always tends to have an air or superiority and education most can find grating. Ever rebellious, he was involved in a few low-end scandals with servants and young women cooks at his family's estate, being rather good-looking with a smooth, deep voice that can be used to flutter hearts or send men to battle.
Here's hoping he can muster up a good battle record with his meager gifts, because war has just begun...
@Penny</s>
<|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
It took two more jumps to get to Delta-3-7. Kaiden had a cold sweat for the entire trip, or at least that's how he would remember the journey. It was absolutely miraculous that Herculaneum had gone under attack while they were gone, much less were in Alliance hands before they had even returned. Kaiden had heard strange rumors about jumpspace, where time became disjointed and unreliable, and though he knew it wasn't the case, he certainly felt like the prelude to the war and its first offensive had past him by below his notice.
"Bushman, Harwen, go help lower the sails." Kaiden ordered. Higgs would have done so but he was busy on the aft. The Vickie wasn't nearly as poor off as the K-21 Kaiden had given Sabatine, but twenty odd crew still gave everyone a bit more work on their hands. They gave curt salutes and hustled out of the bridge to the main deck.
"Are we absolutely, crystal clear, that K-21 is clear for us?" Kaiden asked, his gaze swiveling to Howarth with a stern countenance. Nothing was Howarth's fault, but Kaiden felt either sick or angry at anything in his vision. "How's the Vickie?"
"Yes Captain. All signals clear! We were a bit slow on the uptake with a few kinks on the engine, but Colby and Randals got it fixed before the second jump. We'll sail in smoothly from here on." He explained just when the K-21 made visibility.
---
"Sir, might I suggest-"
"No, you may not." Kaiden warned Tilda, and the woman blanched at the uninhibitedly threatening look he gave her. His eyes lingered for a few moment, in no mood to flirt or be questioned with. The blonde woman closed her mouth and nodded, turning about face and walking away. Kaiden closed the door behind him.
Delta-3-7 was an old mining outpost, quietly commandeered by the Republic a score of years previously and reorganized into an outpost for military applications due to the increasing mobilization of the government. The Bureau of Ordinance had nestled itself there snugly. Once the Vickie and K-21 had arrived, the RCS Whitehall, a refitted sloop, had been at dock for repairs. Kaiden had hailed the Captain, a one Timothy Rachet personally, to his relief finding the ship had been dealt a damn bad one by a few scattered asteroids. Captain Rachet had little news to provide the Vickie, instead desperately asking Kaiden for a briefing. In true military fashion, Kaiden kept it short but grim, and then told Rachet he would contact him later once he reconvened with his officers.
"You do a hell of a good job," Kaiden said to Sabatine, who had been waiting in the room for his arrival. The lunar facility had seen a flurry of activity in recent months, but there was still plenty of room for Republic personnel. He didn't trust the skittering agents from the Bureau of Ordinance lurking around every corner, however. The organization did good work and he would normally be keen to speak to a representative, but there seemed to be little oversight at Delta-3-7. His grandfather once told him, 'every spoke in the wheel is important, but a wandering spoke means a broken wheel.' Kaiden took a breath, crossing his arms. "That being said, how the hell did they move that fast?"</s>
<|message|>Sabatine Hickoring
Sabatine rubbed her brow with the heel of her left hand, managing to avoid touching her eye and leaving it stinging for the next several hours. She was beyond rung out and was working hard to keep from trembling.
"Sit," Kaiden directed, making an off handed gesture to one of the seats. Sabatine gratefully sank into the uncomfortable chair, grateful to be off her feet. The conference room of the Bureau's facility was converted from what must have been an old longue or bar, still faintly redolent of tobacco and beer despite countless steam cleanings. It offered a view out over the lunar landscape, a broad vista of grey white dust and rock. Here and there mining vehicles, rusted behemoths on caterpillar treads, rumbled to and fro on unknown errands. The mining hub had been built in a crater to protect it from meteor damage and the looming kilometer high lip of the crater was visible in the distance, the lights of the massive freight elevator that took vehicles took and from the lunar surface glittering against the stone..Both the Vickie and the K-21 had landed at the docking facilities meant for much smaller mining vessels and were now taking on reaction mass from melted ice deep beneath the mantle. Tilda, acting as a proper servant for once, produced a bottle of something and poured a measure of liquor into two plastic glasses. Sabatine was so grateful for a drink that she momentarily forgot her dislike for the former reporter and nodded her thanks.
"Thank you sir," Sabatine responded formally, lifting her cup to clink against Kaiden's before sinking most of it in one pull. It was a bourbon of some kind, and pretty good for a station here at the end of nowhere. She wondered if Tilda had scrounged it locally or if it had come from Kaiden's stocks. Probably the former, nothing but the best for the Prince afterall.
"As for how they took Herculaneum, I've been thinking about it since we bolted," she admitted.
"And?" Kaiden pressed, sipping at his own drink and gazing out at the lunar landscaped. Sabatine shrugged her shoulders.
"Dammed if I know. Maybe the locals sold us out, most of the aristocracy was pretty solidly RCN but there is always someone out of power who thinks they can do better under a different master. Bring troops in on merchantmen a few at a time and seize the control centers in the dead of night? They must have caught the Hamptor on the ground, maybe some other ships too. Hold out long enough to bring in the rest of your fleet lurking on the edge of the system," she mused, finishing her drink and holding it out for Tilda to refill. The loss of a base like Herculaneum with its defenses intact, even out here in the sticks, was a calamity. Heads would roll when Navy House investigated what had gone wrong, assuming of course those heads hadn't rolled when the Alliance moved in.
"They took Kostroma that way a few years back, briefly anyway, before Leary took it back with Admiral Jessup," she continued. That had been different of course. Kostroma was a Cinnabar ally but a wog was a wog and what could one expect? But an RCN base? It was unthinkable.
"Sorry I'm late," a lean looking man in the uniform of an RCN Lieutenant announced as he stepped through the door. He was in a set of grays that had seen better days, probably been second hand when he bought them and since picked up numerous grease stains. He had a commo helmet under one arm and the pimpliest midshipman Sabatine had ever seen in tow. The midshipman's neat fatigues clashed jarringly with his superior's dilapidated appearance. Both Sabatine and Kaiden pretended not to notice. It was a fact that even under the best of circumstances an RCN officer without private means could find himself in financial straits, particularly if he had a family to support and no access to prize money, something that certainly wouldn't come to the commander of a supply ship. RCN convention at least at their level, demanded they not acknowledge it.
"Lieutenant Hickoring this is Lieutenant Rachet, commanding the supply ship Whitehall," Kaiden announced formally. Sabatine stood up, managing to avoid swaying and shook hands with the greasy officer.
"Charmed, I was in the class behind you in the academy, saw you shoot once, topping!" Rachet gushed with friendly bonhomie." Sabatine smiled and relaxed slightly, sinking back into her seat. Rachet had done well to earn himself a command so early in his career, even if it was a clapped out supply barge like the Whitehall, but at least that left Kaiden in command by virtue of his commissioning date. The last thing they needed now was some barge driver looking to take command and make a name for himself. That was uncharitable, but Sabatine was too tired to be polite in her thoughts as well as her words.
"I suppose the how of it doesn't matter that much," Sabatine said, taking a more measured sip of liquor. The warmth of the bourbon was already spreading through her and if she wasn't careful she was going to fall asleep.
"The question is what should we do about it?"</s>
| <|message|>Kaiden Caladwarden
"They'd probably been planning it for months," Kaiden muttered, gazing out of the window into the hall. Herculaneum's fall must have been executed from the inside at nearly all levels of the administration, like Mithridates and the Asiatic Vespers of old earth. It must have taken an extreme amount of precision and discipline, which only made Kaiden even more wary of the Alliance's capability for subterfuge. If he wasn't absolutely certain of his crew's loyalty, he would be sweating cold.
What were they supposed to do? They could try and make it back to command, but could they do more good out in the boonies of K-12? Alliance forces were likely close, and he doubted the Delta-3-7 was useful for anything but resupply. They didn't wish to lead anyone here because it wasn't a very defensible cluster of asteroids. Every rock was thousands of kilometers apart, Higgs report he had given Kaiden had said. Belts could be good defensive measures, and only madmen or ambitious miners delved into them.
"Or insurgents," Kaiden mouthed, pondering.
The Delta-3-7 wasn't too far from the Sega Cluster, which, if he recalled correctly, was a dangerous lane for ships for more than just the rocks. Alliance insurgents turned pirate had taken up residence there, the Republic's main interest in their existence before the conflict was protecting their own shipping, but maybe they could use them to their advantage. They like as not held no love for the Republic, but chances are they loathed their previous government. Kaiden wasn't insane enough to try and recruit them into the military, but perhaps if he knew the Alliance shipping lanes, they might wreak some havoc before they themselves hit them hard.
"The what?" Sabatine asked, raising her head curiously.
"I need a map of the system, if at all possible. Lieutenant Rachet, do you have any information on Alliance routes close to the neighoring systems?" He inquired. Captain Rachet inclined his head thoughtfully, confusion on his face.
"Lieutenant, you're not planning on launching an attack with our relative strength, right?" He tried to confirm.
"If I was, you would do well not to question that." Kaiden reminded him, and the Captain gulped audibly. Kaiden was correct. During times of full-scale war, some more ornery or stern superiors might consider that insubordination. "As it stands, no. But we can't sit here and wait for orders. I want to know where the nearest alliance forces are."
"Unfortunately, sir, they are merely a quick jump away." Rachet replied. "Perhaps not the main body of any real force, but a small fleet is located at the Hytegero Sector, not a week's sail from Delta-3-7. They've begun to flourish in activity, so the Bureau has told me. They were surprised I made it in undetected, as they were about you. I don't think we should fight fate and try our luck thrice, but I'm with you whatever you decide, sir."
"What are you planning?" Sabatine asked. Kaiden would explain in detail, once he had that map.</s> |
<|description|>Tristesse Fenuafanote
Medical File
Age:
19
Appearance:
Her eyes are natural hazel and now they bulge, and when she gets angry her skin gains a faint colorful hue.
Background Check:
Born on the small French island of New Caledonia, Tristesse had led a simple life with her large family. Because her father was a fisher and her mother a florist at a local market, even with everyone pitching in, her family didn't have a lot of money, but they were happy nonetheless. Unfortunately, the food stamps weren't enough to feed her extensive family, and when she was fourteen, she discovered her teenage brother sneaking out to steal more food. When The Federation came for him, however, her entire family took up arms and fought back. But, in the end, most were killed or incarcerated, but Tristesse was able to slip away. A few days later, she came across a scientist promising a new beginning and the potential to earn money. Of course, she took it, and a plane ticket to Norway.
Personality:
Although Tristesse had been through a lot, she is generally a happy and positive person. She is very creative and quick-witted and generally tries to use her intelligence to help other people. She is an optimist and a pacifist to a fault, which can impact her mental process. She is generally a semi-quiet person, but she is very friendly and warm. She's a somewhat open person when she believes it could help other people.
Genetic Modification:
Purple Spots Mantis Shrimp
Personality After Generation:
Tristesse had gained psychotic violent tendencies, resorting to creative sadism for just about anything. She suspects everyone of conspiracy against her, but she's still incredibly creative. In other words, she did a complete 180, minus the fact that she's always smiling, albeit now psychotically, and you can never know what her true motives are.
Abilities:
Her trinocular eyes are very complex and they allow her to see twelve color wavelengths. She is also able to deliver a punch that is the fastest in the world with 1250 newtons of force.
Side effects:
Her skin hardens and her fists curl into literal balls when she gets angry, and she also has to clean her eyeballs. She is also a bit colorblind when it comes to the colors humans can see.
Likes:
Colorful things, creativity, art, flowers, the beach, friendly people, summer
Dislikes:
Crowded cities, the cold, dull/ boring things, the conventional, rudeness
Extras:
Able to speak French and Creole due to her life in Northern New Caledonia; was a street artist to help her family</s>
<|message|>Tristesse Fenuafanote
Tristesse slowly awakens to this feeling of... flying almost. Like she's suspended in air; were her feet even touching anything? She opens her eyes to realize that she's in water, and a wall of glass stands right in front of her. For a moment, she panics, before remembering everything that had happened. Being infused with the DNA of a marine creature would explain how she could breathe in a giant capsule of water.
A doctor approaches her with a very large smile, and she finds herself smiling back. "Ah, Miss Fenuafanote. You're awake." The capsule drains of water, and she's escorted out. Almost immediately, she screams and covers her eyes with her hands. "Bon Dieu! What happened to the lights?!" She hears steps approach her. Are they going to attack her? Jump her while her eyes are closed? She steps back. "Who's there? Are you going to jump me?" She laughs at the idea.
"What can you see?"
"Ummm.. black. My eyes are closed."
She feels a hand on her arm and cloth sliding over her.
"What's going on?"
"This blindness seems to be a temporary side effect of your surgery. We're assisting you with clothes, and then showing you to your room."
The doctor's assistants help her into a dark blue sweatshirt with Subject#002 on the front and sleeves, and a matching pair of dark blue sweatpants. She smiles at the doctor meant to show her her room but for some reason, the guy steps back. Terrified, almost. But that's crazy. "This way to your room."
Hands on her arms and shoulders again until she hears a definite difference in the steps. They used to echo but now they are muffled. So carpet perhaps? Her room is fairly bare judging from the amount of room she has but she's informed that it's stocked with enough pencils and paper to keep her busy. "Thank you, sir." For the next few days, she sketches in her room, trying to make sense of the swirls of color that seems to be okay as her vision is now blurry.
---
Day four of experiment|| current condition: healthy with no significant change besides impaired vision
Bored from her withdrawal of human- is she human anymore?- interaction, Tristesse decides to walk around, see if she'll stumble across some other of the subjects. She comes across a lounge area, and sees a guy with some kind of black thing. Another apparently stinky guy sits on an ottoman. The only girl besides herself is asking the other two who they are, and as Tristesse situates herself in a loveseat she can't fathom the reasoning for the question. She chuckles.
"Why they're us of course."
She strains her eyes when she tries to focus on some sort of speaking shadow. Rusty the shadow. "Hi, Rusty. How long have you been that dark?"</s>
<|message|>Dustin Waters; goes buy "Rusty"
He peaked out from under the blanket, "Uh, I'm not sure I understand the question?" He stared at her shirt for a moment, "So, you're #002, huh? What'd they put in you? Or the rest of you, for that matter? I understand they're throwing a whole aquarium of dna into this project, hard as that is to believe..."
Without thinking he made a mental note, quickly deciding #002 wasn't a threat- the others, they gave him a bad feeling. A moment and he was asking himself why, but he couldn't put it into words.</s>
<|message|>Tristesse Fenuafanote
Tristesse looks in the direction of the voice. "Sorry, the surgery worsened my vision so you kind of look like a giant black blob. And I think they put a mantis shrimp in me..? I hope that's right." She laughs lightly. "What about you? Mr. 003, was it? I suppose that means you came after me." She winces a bit and sits back, closing her eyes. She'd strained her vision too much, so much she feels nauseous. "If calling me #002 makes anyone uncomfortable, my name is Tristesse."</s>
<|message|>Tank aka John Coffee
with a "whooshing sound" form a star trek door, in comes an African American, a heavyset young man that is wearing his clothing with a sag. He takes a few steps inside and scans the room. His eye falls on the women for a second before going back to the males in the room. He is silent and holds a scowl on his face. Walking to a seat and paying attention to anything that might try to get behind him and will start to listen. His eyes finally notice the numbers on the bodies of the others.</s>
<|message|>Mellisa "Mellie" Kapernick
With a slight throbbing in her head, Mellisa woke slowly. She had never been the type to wake up easily. As she became fully conscious, she noticed she was... floating? This couldn't be right, humans don't usually float when they sleep. Maybe she was just groggy? She opened her mouth to yawn when she tasted something.
S-SALTY!!!
She tried to spit it out but it kept rushing back in, however she kept trying to spit it out.
"Patient #004, calm down. You're in a container of salt water, can you speak to us?" There was a small intercom somewhere in the container. Mellisa observed the area around her and did confirm she was in fact in a container of salt water.
After running a few tests and analyzing her condition, they discovered that her eyesight had worsened a bit, and pale spots are starting to appear. Small emerging teeth are starting to irritate the roof of her mouth. Aside from all of that, her condition was stable. When they unhooked her they gave her a sweatsuit with the number #004 on it. After she had gotten dressed she was escorted to a room, told to be her own for the next few days as she adjusts to the experiment's side effects. Soon after a day her eyesight deteriorates so bad she is in need of prescription glasses. The pair given to her were as per request, thin wires, round in shape, and rose-gold colored frames.
---
When she had fully adjusted, she was allowed to roam the living area. She came upon a common room with other participants in it.
"Hiya there! My name's Mellisa but you can call me Mellie, what'd they inject y'all with?"</s>
<|message|>Tank aka John Coffee
"Okay... who are you guys?" patient 5 asked the group as he walks around, getting a feel for this group.</s>
<|message|>Tristesse Fenuafanote
Tristesse smiles, shifting her gaze towards the two new voices. "My name is Tristesse, and they injected me with mantis shrimp DNA. What about you two?" She closes her eyes for a bit, and leans back to take in the bulk of a dark man as she slowly opens her eyes to let them adjust. A sort of film had started to cover them, accounting for the blurriness of her vision.</s>
<|message|>Sarah Marie Hall
Sarah sat up after the seventh person entered the room, careful not to let her Dorsal Fin get caught on the couch cushion. One of them asked who everyone is, his shirt labeled as #005. She sighed and blinked, before she set her book down. She went and eyed up the room again, making sure to account for everyone. Number One was on the arm chair while Number Seven sat on the ottoman. Numbers Two and Three were in the corner of the room, with Number Three on a seat cushion and under a blanket. Numbers Four and Five were standing by the door and walking around the room respectively. Number Two in the corner introduced herself as Tristesse, before telling them that she was injected with Mantis Shrimp DNA. Number Four identified herself as Melissa. She didn't quite hear what Number Three said his name was, just that he was speaking.
"Sarah Hall, Patient Number Six. I got Blue Shark DNA. She said loudly enough the room to hear, smiling wide enough to reveal her shark-like teeth.</s>
<|message|>Mellisa "Mellie" Kapernick
Mellisa playfully groaned and fell face first against one of the couches.
Maaaaan! They injected you guys with the cool stuff, I got whale shark and it made me go blind. I got these dork glasses now!" She joked. "It gave me these weird reverse freckles too, and now I can't eat regular food!"
Her words were slightly muffled from the cushions, but the childish whining could still be made out. She observed the people around her, trying to take in information about them. She smirked and poked Sarah on the shoulder.
"Sick teeth by the way, they might actually be useful!'</s>
<|message|>Tank aka John Coffee
" What are you'll talking about?" The dark man proclaims " Are you guys high are something?" The darkman murrurs for a bit before walking forward and looking around for something.</s>
<|message|>Tank aka John Coffee
"Is this one of those Star trek wars convention or something because you guys are like weird and nerdy" Number 5 chuckled aloud.
**But then... I did wake up in a cylinder full of water...**
Number 5's thoughts drifted to other comments that were now in his head
" No, this isn't a prison, it is a medical facility.."</s>
<|message|>Tank aka John Coffee
" YO, I need a mirror, where is the fricking mirror around --" It was clear that the darker-skinned man wearing the number 5 sweat gear was getting a bit excited but still playing it down as he spots a mirror and makes his way to it"
** Creepy ass people, crazy talk, injections, don't let them get into your head ** Number 5 kept telling himself ** you'll wake up so and this will be a dream **
Number 5 finally sees himself in the mirror and grins so that he can see that his teeth look normal to him. Then he looks around at those that are looking at him. He then moves to a seat to brood till things become clearer.</s>
<|message|>Tristesse Fenuafanote
Tristesse shifts her attention to the girl complaining about whale shark DNA, then perks a little. "You're blind too? Where'd you get the glasses? I can't see anything." She laughs lightly, and looks towards the giant black guy brooding in the corner, amused at the idea of being called a nerd. "Are you feeling alright? You look like you need a break."</s>
<|message|>Tank aka John Coffee
"when do we get out of here?. This is stupid.... stupid shirt, you weird ass people, Man I'm tired to this. I'll just eat whatever fish they want and then let me go, Man." The large black guy looks around for a T.V. but speaks a little nicer to the woman " What they got you in for
fraud, written bad checks are something?"
Walks in a circle before saying " I'm bored.... I wanna play b-ball of something Man" He kinda jumps up like he was playing with some imaginary ball and shooting a hoop.</s>
| <|message|>Tristesse Fenuafanote
Tristesse tilts her head in thought. "Huh. Never thought about it but I do not know." She turns to face the rest of the group. "Does anyone know when we're supposed to be released? A year, right?" She turns to look at the big black guy again, and chuckles. "They don't 'got me in' for anything." Her amusement fades as a look of wonder replaces it. "At least... I don't think. One of my brothers used to steal and the rest of my family didn't exactly let him go silently... I wonder if they caught me?" She looks around. "This would be the weirdest prison-non-prison I've ever been in."</s> |
<|description|>The Raven
---
5'7" | ??? | ???
CAW!
CAW!
CAW!
CAW!
British-? |
Profile
---
Appearance
Standing at 5'7" tall with draped, shiny black hair, the raven walks with a rather jittery tick about her. Unusually, her eyes are of an ethereal near-neon blue tone. Her skin is pale, yet not quite albino per se. Remnants of feathered contents tip the edges of her clothes, looking as if they were blended with her skin. And as the Raven does, she hides herself with a meagre appearance to conceal her innate aggression, violent capabilities and escalated collapse into the curse of the Hungered Man. Her hoodie acts more like a skirt, a few sizes too big her for, and her sleeves have been stitched crudely to a shorter length. Beneath the cowl that she used to wear, her darkened appearance is brightened by her mirrored past self, the girl who lost it all at the end of the world.
Personality
Gone. It's gone. Nothing is there. Is it there? The remains are gone. Necromancy brought it back. It's been fed upon, festered by other beings. Shadows scare her. She scares them. He scares her. Everything has traumatised the world she inhabits.
---
Persona
Tomapoe
Arcana
Hunger
Skill
Curse | ???
Equipment
Coupe-Coupe Machete
CZ-75 Auto Pistol
Biography
Trapped...Trapped. She's trapped. Someone get her out. She's constantly trapped. Where is she? Who was she? Why is she there? Who are those people? When did they get in? Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckfuck fuck fuckfuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
---
Affiliations
HIM!
Theme
---</s>
<|message|>Alina Sanford
Interacting with Kirsty @Lugubrious, Liam @CriticalHit, and Tryg @Rethel34
Alina Sanford
Well... they were gone now. Thank goodness. And they both left their statements after the fact - the blond guy left an apology for interrupting, whilst the pretty girl went so far as to leave her number behind. She really wanted to be friends with Alina, huh?
...maybe she ought to apologise later. She was a bit rude, maybe. But at least she had the area to herself; she could study, prepare for class, be alone for a bit. All good things.
Or she could be interrupted again by some jerk on a trombone. This was meant to be a quiet period for her. Why did this have to- was she just getting upset because today started bad and turned overwhelming? Because this tromboning felt like it was overwhelming, despite it being fairly soft music. She sighed again, did her best to cover her ears with a cushion, and attempted to ignore the grating sound of some guy on a trombone.
...she hoped this wouldn't become a trend. Ugh.</s>
<|message|>Rose Hadley
Rose rolled her eyes as the boy had the audacity to lecture her before running off."Hmph, the nerve of some people." She muttered to herself. What was wrong with expecting some manner of politeness from people? Was it so difficult to say sorry? Then this would have been over, and no harm would have been done. Clearly, Rose had been raised much better than this child.
The other boy was still here. He offered to escort her to university. Rose smirked. Although, she wasn't at all enthused by the remark, she definitely appreciated the offer. It helped that this boy was kind of cute. Not that she was one to lose her wits over a man. "As a matter of fact, I do attend Thanes Edge. I accept your offer. It can be so difficult to meet new people in University, it would be nice to have some company." The young woman offered her hand for him to shake if he wanted to. "My name is Rose Hadley, by the way. You look familiar. Do we share a class by any chance?"
of Thoth</s>
<|message|>Felix Ignatius Volpe
---
Towards the back of the library, Felix had made a small den of books. He had maee it to the University with even more time to spare, thanks in no small part to his anger at the woman. But like most emotions he stuffed it back inside as he put his mind to learning several new subjects and enchancing his understanding of old ones. In truth, he knew how unhealthy course, his studies of psychology made that perfectly clear, but there was too much for him to deal with at this point. It was nearly twelve years since he had begun doing this, ten years of repressed emotions that he could not let loose on the world.
He should have followed the unwritten rules of society with that woman. What he knew from his studies trying to understand people said that you should apologise when people ask you to, even if it isn't your fault. But this desire, this addiction, to challenging himself got in the way. Why did she have to be such a powerhouse of a woman, the Athena to his Arachnee? He didn't think he was attracted to her in a sexual manner, as he had repressed his carnal desires with his emotions... for the most part.
Perhaps it was a blessing Manann would be taking him across to the realm beyond. The world didn't need to deal with the retched beast that would come forth when his dammed emotions finally broke out.</s>
| <|message|>The Raven
Ah, what an unmistakable dreariness: time. The day was spent in false company. Many people surrounded him, and yet he felt as if he were there all alone. People came and went, talking with or to him. Ideas for scripts, camera discussions, compliments towards the last year's work and appreciation for contemporary pieces. He smiled, sometimes, and carried on with life as it was. The same old anchor that tied his feet to the ground still held onto him. He couldn't shake it, nor could he loosen its grip. It felt hurtful to admit that he'd lost a lot of hope in finding what he ever so desired. And so, he continued to just work as he always did. Maybe someday it would come. Maybe it wouldn't. He didn't know but he surely did care. It was one of those things, those sparks that can't catch alight. Split asunder between his true needs and his personal situation, he simply dragged himself to the toilet every so often to catch a breather and a drink of water.
As the day went on, he began to drift into his mind. He thought back to the dream he had. A blue room laced with velvety strings, coating the bridge of a ship's interior. It had been so...surreal. Chalking it up as a dream didn't feel right. Something felt different about it, like he physically sensed things a man usually wouldn't. From the long-nosed captain to the spiritedly intriguing figure beside him, it stemmed from no prior schema or experiences he'd had before. It wasn't a creative pounce. That worried him, but it also made him more intrigued by what it had been. He began to think over the small details he could remember, just as if he were there in person. The shaking the sea yet the stillness of the ship. Sails tattered and loose, being dragged along in the wind. Metaphorically, he had no clue what it meant, at least from the vague memory he held of it. Oh, the cold furnaces and funnels that weren't active. Something about them seemed to catch his attention, but to what reason was still unknown. Most of his reminiscence came from within the room.
The man with the long nose, as he'd be known as, was a very distressful figure. He spoke with an eerie tone, one that felt too provocative of a stalkers tongue. The things he said, the suggestions he made. Bets, games and keeping a close eye? But he wasn't the only one in the room either. Laurence stood amidst several figures of unknown shade. Clouds and gases covered their faces. God, the entire thing befuddled him. He wanted to know. He had a desire to learn about the dream, if it were a one-off special to his weird imagination or something of a premonition? It couldn't be, he thought. Those were things beyond real cognition; a pseudoscience perhaps? Either way, it puzzled him through the entire day, right up until he'd decided that he'd done enough work. He wasn't sure if he'd be heading out to his treated dinner that night or if it was a reschedule. Either way, Fiddle would've called to have let him know later on.
The time? 5:30pm, on the dot. He felt a strange thump in his head. It ached for a little while, forcing his hand to hold against his temple. The plummet felt extraterrestrial. A murky tailor to his scalp suddenly discomforted him. It lingered and it toyed with him for a while, increasing its irritation over the course of a few minutes. Rotten luck, he imagined it was nothing more than a migraine at the very worst. It didn't ruin anything in the day, only discomfort. One of the small things in life that would pile on to the endless seas of struggles that one must face. He looked back up at his phone. 5:42pm. Time really did fly past when there was nothing to work for. He sighed. And so, he slung his bag over his shoulder, collected his laptop and walked towards the nearest exit.
The air felt fresh, yet poisoned. Each step he took felt riddled with motion sickness. He staggered once or twice, but maintained his course. Getting home was the priority. The campus was huge, taking a while to cross from one end to the other. And along the way, as he walked down a particular alley leading behind the science department, something began to warp around him. The sky. It...shifted? No. It changed colour? Or did it? The warps and waves fluctuated through the sky. Ripples bounced all around him. A violent agony besieged his forehead. He didn't know where it was coming from or what was happening, but he could've sworn an entire mist appeared when he closed his eyes, falling to a single knee. As far as he knew, there wasn't anyone near him, nor in the same alleyway. He tried to speak, but felt his throat close tightly. His eyes shimmered with bright lights and crude obscurities, like clouds. And before he knew it, there was an awfully unrecognisable change occurring around him, one that would forever begin the path he and many others were unaware they'd take.</s> |
<|description|>Felix Ignatius Volpe
Gender:
Male
Age:
19
Birthday:
7th of November
Nationality
Irish
Appearance:
Felix stands at 4'11, and has a lithe build. The main phrase people think when they see him is Fox, as his features are quite vulpine. This isn't helped by Felix deliberately growing his red hair so that it looks like he has fox ears, and that his ears are covered by the bangs. His eyes are amber coloured, though it's rare to see them as his eyes are normally slit in a vulpine way.
For everyday wear he's usually outfitted in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt with some kind of nerd logo on it, along with a pair of trainers.
When travelling to the world of fog, he switches to wearing steel lined green boots and gauntlets, covered by a green sircoat with bronze trim. On the back of the sircoat is a grinning fox head in bronze.
Personality:
The best way to describe Felix is a workaholic without work. His brain thrives on solving problems and challenging himself, but unfortunately his singleminded dedication to those things causes him to burn through them quicker than Sonic with a chili dog. As such this often leaves him in a bitter mood, and makes him pretty snarky to those around him.
While not a sociopath, he does have a poor grasp of emotions and how to actually deal with them. He's tried to understand, even taking an A level in psychology to try and gain more knowledge, but people are a closed book to him.
If someone does manage to actually befriend Felix, he is possessive of them. He won't stifle their freedom, but of anyone crosses them he will put his considerable intellect to destroying them.
Education
Clinically Proven to not be a Sociopath
Felix obtained A-Levels in History, Mathematics, Psychology, Philosophy, and Physics, passing with distinction.
Is a black-belt in Taekwondo
He is currently studying Archeology at the University
Likes:
Video Games, Tabletop Games, Pizza
Dislikes:
Needles, Boredom
Arcana Representation:
Magician
Affiliations:
Raphael Phobos: the only person who can actually get along with Felix. Currently studying medicine at Oxford. Has a teeny tiny bit of an anger management issue.
Odin Stone: Felix's maternal uncle and guardian. Works as a pub landlord at the King's Back.
Maria Arachnee: Felix's psychiatrist.
Relationships
None (for now...)
Backstory:
Born in the town of Llychbaen in Ireland, Felix was orphaned at the age of six. His family was driving home from the cinema when they got hit by a truck. Felix only survived as he was in the back seat. According to his psychiatrist, this is probably the root of his muted empathy.
He was placed into the care of his mother's brother, Odin Stone, who worked at a pub in London named the King's Back. Dating back to 1660, the old pub was named as a nod to the monarchy restoration, and the sign has a picture of a king facing away.
While Odin tried, he wasn't particularly a good parent, being a few years too young to have kids. It didn't help that post the accident Felix had developed a need to keep his brain working. At first it was a method to stop remembering the accident, but the rush of challenging the limits of intelligence was intoxicating to the young boy. It wasn't until he was eleven that the problem with this mindset began to show up. When he didn't have something to latch on to, he became irritable and depressed, all that mental activity with nothing to latch on to.
Fortunately he met Raphael around this time. The two literally hit it off as Felix was at peak withdrawal, and Raph wasn't in the mood for his snarky bullshit. Raph kicked his arse as Felix hadn't started Taekwondo yet, but the two found sort of kindred spirits in the other. They were both kids with issues that their peers couldn't understand.
Life passed quickly after that. Felix continued to wander aimlessly through life, merely moving between one challenge and the next. He signed up for archaeology at university on a whim, though the idea of travelling around excavating history did appeal to the youth, if only because new countries meant new challenges.
---
Reynard the Fox
Description of persona:
Reynard is a character dating back near a millennia. A trickster spirit, and the protagonist of a number of stories where his wit got him both into and out of many situations. Said stories were actually so popular in their day that it changed the French for fox from 'Goupil' to 'Renard'.
Due to the prevelance of Kitsune in the collective consciousness, in no small part due to an anime that shall remain nameless, Reynard has been changed to fit the more fantastical creatures, granting him more of a mystical nature.
Abilities:
Grants the ability to weave illusions to confuse and manipulate opponents
Can deal Curse damage which grants the affliction Marked for Death increasing the damage others do to the target.
Resistance to Mental Effects
Equipment:
Wields a Sword Cane and a Revolver
---
Theme Song:
Fairy Tail OST: Lightning Dragon Flame Roaring
Post Awakening:
Katekyo Hitman Reborn OST: Tsuna Awakens</s>
<|message|>Liam Koehl
Interactions With: Kirsty:@Lugubrious Alina:@BCTheEntity Tryg:@Rethel34
Liam looked on with slight anticipation as the white-haired girl took a moment to process what he'd said, it seemed his words were quite effective judging by the flushed tone she'd taken on. Her reaction only served to brighten his own grin, though a nearby sharp sigh denoted that not all parties present were pleased with his sudden and admittedly strange interjection. He stole a quick glance at the source, the other girl present, long dark hair and green eyes, dutifully tapping away at a keyboard until a moment ago. I've interrupted something rather important now haven't I? Liam thought to himself as he watched the black-haired girl practically withdraw into the couch, perhaps he'd chosen a poor time and place to try and cheer the other girl up? In hindsight, the whole scenario was just a touch odd, what with him approaching someone he didn't know to thank them for something others would see as so simple and mundane. All he wanted was to try and brighten the day of someone who was already doing that for others. Was that really such an alien idea? His attention drifted backed to the white-haired girl who'd begun to get up and hastily scribble something. He backed up a pace or two as she did so, not wanting to encroach any more upon the other two then he already had, spying a small smile on her face as she walked past and asked for him to follow. He hesitated briefly, looking back to see the black-haired girl still embedding herself deeper into the furniture. Though it was likely she wanted to talk to nobody right now, it'd simply be crass for him to walk away and say nothing if he'd caused her discomfort or stress. He whispered a quick "Sorry about that." to the girl on the couch before following his crimson-eyed acquaintance.
He trailed albeit slightly as she lead the way through the somewhat crowded common room and towards a much more secluded area near a support pillar where they both came to a rest. Scarcely a moment had passed before Liam found himself on the receiving end of a deluge of words; apologies, acceptance of his thanks, and even a mention of him being too kind all included. Once again, he found himself genuinely grinning like a fool from something so small. "Yeah- Probably wasn't my best idea to strike up conversation with somebody trying to work so close by..." he said as his hand reached up to scratch the back of his head, whilst a halfhearted chuckle escaped his lips. "Anyway, it might not have been that big a deal for you, but small things like that can really help sometimes. One person's kindness can make a terribly tough day not so tough, y'know?" His hands had retreated to the pockets of his hoodie as he watched the girl stick her hand out and introduce herself as Kirsty. "That easy to tell, huh?" he said, feigning surprise with a mild chuckle. "Well, in any case you're spot on. I'm Liam, a first year studying psychology. Though you probably already guessed that last bit with all my rambling...." his voice trailing off as he briefly averted his gaze for but a moment before taking her outstretched hand in his own. A voice creeping in the back of his head reminded him of what he'd overheard moments ago. One of the main reasons he'd decided to approach Kirsty in the first place was because he overheard pieces of her call with someone. His expression traded for a more serious one, as he dropped his voice much lower then beforehand. "Actually... there is something else I wanted to talk to you about..."
However, his train of thought was interrupted by quite the strange thing. Music from quite close by begun to echo throughout the common room, Liam turned to see another student had set up shop quite close by with a trombone. The slow and calm melody flooded the room, and for what it was worth the player was actually quite nice sounding. Though he couldn't help but notice the song he chose seemed a touch sappy for their current setting. Looking back to Kirsty he found himself fully taking in the fact that she was well, quite the pretty face. Though that was beside the point for the current moment, they were in a public place. What the hell was he thinking by almost spilling his knowledge of that private call where others could possibly hear them? "On second thought... nevermind." the boy said, trying to return to his upbeat, yet calm demeanor from beforehand. But seconds after, something began to occur to Liam. Wait a minute... The player had set up right next to the two of them, whilst he and Kirsty were notably away from the crowd. He was playing sappy music. He more than likely saw them holding each others hands moments ago.
He was taking the piss out of them, now wasn't he?
Oh you cheeky little f-
Liam couldn't help but laugh a little bit, it was just a little harmless fun though he wasn't exactly a fan of being the butt of said joke. "I guess somebody thought we needed a soundtrack." he said as he scoffed and looked from Kirsty to the trombone player, a mix of amusement and mild annoyance on his face. He fished around in his pockets for a moment before coming up with a few pounds and some pence, before tossing the coins into the musician's case. "What a cheeky bugger... but I guess a little schadenfreude never hurt anybody." Liam stated as he shook his head while suppressing a small chuckle.</s>
<|message|>Alina Sanford
Interacting with Kirsty @Lugubrious, Liam @CriticalHit, and Tryg @Rethel34
Alina Sanford
Well... they were gone now. Thank goodness. And they both left their statements after the fact - the blond guy left an apology for interrupting, whilst the pretty girl went so far as to leave her number behind. She really wanted to be friends with Alina, huh?
...maybe she ought to apologise later. She was a bit rude, maybe. But at least she had the area to herself; she could study, prepare for class, be alone for a bit. All good things.
Or she could be interrupted again by some jerk on a trombone. This was meant to be a quiet period for her. Why did this have to- was she just getting upset because today started bad and turned overwhelming? Because this tromboning felt like it was overwhelming, despite it being fairly soft music. She sighed again, did her best to cover her ears with a cushion, and attempted to ignore the grating sound of some guy on a trombone.
...she hoped this wouldn't become a trend. Ugh.</s>
<|message|>Rose Hadley
Rose rolled her eyes as the boy had the audacity to lecture her before running off."Hmph, the nerve of some people." She muttered to herself. What was wrong with expecting some manner of politeness from people? Was it so difficult to say sorry? Then this would have been over, and no harm would have been done. Clearly, Rose had been raised much better than this child.
The other boy was still here. He offered to escort her to university. Rose smirked. Although, she wasn't at all enthused by the remark, she definitely appreciated the offer. It helped that this boy was kind of cute. Not that she was one to lose her wits over a man. "As a matter of fact, I do attend Thanes Edge. I accept your offer. It can be so difficult to meet new people in University, it would be nice to have some company." The young woman offered her hand for him to shake if he wanted to. "My name is Rose Hadley, by the way. You look familiar. Do we share a class by any chance?"
of Thoth</s>
| <|message|>Felix Ignatius Volpe
Towards the back of the library, Felix had made a small den of books. He had maee it to the University with even more time to spare, thanks in no small part to his anger at the woman. But like most emotions he stuffed it back inside as he put his mind to learning several new subjects and enchancing his understanding of old ones. In truth, he knew how unhealthy course, his studies of psychology made that perfectly clear, but there was too much for him to deal with at this point. It was nearly twelve years since he had begun doing this, ten years of repressed emotions that he could not let loose on the world.
He should have followed the unwritten rules of society with that woman. What he knew from his studies trying to understand people said that you should apologise when people ask you to, even if it isn't your fault. But this desire, this addiction, to challenging himself got in the way. Why did she have to be such a powerhouse of a woman, the Athena to his Arachnee? He didn't think he was attracted to her in a sexual manner, as he had repressed his carnal desires with his emotions... for the most part.
Perhaps it was a blessing Manann would be taking him across to the realm beyond. The world didn't need to deal with the retched beast that would come forth when his dammed emotions finally broke out.</s> |
<|description|>Felix Ignatius Volpe
Gender:
Male
Age:
19
Birthday:
7th of November
Nationality
Irish
Appearance:
Felix stands at 4'11, and has a lithe build. The main phrase people think when they see him is Fox, as his features are quite vulpine. This isn't helped by Felix deliberately growing his red hair so that it looks like he has fox ears, and that his ears are covered by the bangs. His eyes are amber coloured, though it's rare to see them as his eyes are normally slit in a vulpine way.
For everyday wear he's usually outfitted in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt with some kind of nerd logo on it, along with a pair of trainers.
When travelling to the world of fog, he switches to wearing steel lined green boots and gauntlets, covered by a green sircoat with bronze trim. On the back of the sircoat is a grinning fox head in bronze.
Personality:
The best way to describe Felix is a workaholic without work. His brain thrives on solving problems and challenging himself, but unfortunately his singleminded dedication to those things causes him to burn through them quicker than Sonic with a chili dog. As such this often leaves him in a bitter mood, and makes him pretty snarky to those around him.
While not a sociopath, he does have a poor grasp of emotions and how to actually deal with them. He's tried to understand, even taking an A level in psychology to try and gain more knowledge, but people are a closed book to him.
If someone does manage to actually befriend Felix, he is possessive of them. He won't stifle their freedom, but of anyone crosses them he will put his considerable intellect to destroying them.
Education
Clinically Proven to not be a Sociopath
Felix obtained A-Levels in History, Mathematics, Psychology, Philosophy, and Physics, passing with distinction.
Is a black-belt in Taekwondo
He is currently studying Archeology at the University
Likes:
Video Games, Tabletop Games, Pizza
Dislikes:
Needles, Boredom
Arcana Representation:
Magician
Affiliations:
Raphael Phobos: the only person who can actually get along with Felix. Currently studying medicine at Oxford. Has a teeny tiny bit of an anger management issue.
Odin Stone: Felix's maternal uncle and guardian. Works as a pub landlord at the King's Back.
Maria Arachnee: Felix's psychiatrist.
Relationships
None (for now...)
Backstory:
Born in the town of Llychbaen in Ireland, Felix was orphaned at the age of six. His family was driving home from the cinema when they got hit by a truck. Felix only survived as he was in the back seat. According to his psychiatrist, this is probably the root of his muted empathy.
He was placed into the care of his mother's brother, Odin Stone, who worked at a pub in London named the King's Back. Dating back to 1660, the old pub was named as a nod to the monarchy restoration, and the sign has a picture of a king facing away.
While Odin tried, he wasn't particularly a good parent, being a few years too young to have kids. It didn't help that post the accident Felix had developed a need to keep his brain working. At first it was a method to stop remembering the accident, but the rush of challenging the limits of intelligence was intoxicating to the young boy. It wasn't until he was eleven that the problem with this mindset began to show up. When he didn't have something to latch on to, he became irritable and depressed, all that mental activity with nothing to latch on to.
Fortunately he met Raphael around this time. The two literally hit it off as Felix was at peak withdrawal, and Raph wasn't in the mood for his snarky bullshit. Raph kicked his arse as Felix hadn't started Taekwondo yet, but the two found sort of kindred spirits in the other. They were both kids with issues that their peers couldn't understand.
Life passed quickly after that. Felix continued to wander aimlessly through life, merely moving between one challenge and the next. He signed up for archaeology at university on a whim, though the idea of travelling around excavating history did appeal to the youth, if only because new countries meant new challenges.
---
Reynard the Fox
Description of persona:
Reynard is a character dating back near a millennia. A trickster spirit, and the protagonist of a number of stories where his wit got him both into and out of many situations. Said stories were actually so popular in their day that it changed the French for fox from 'Goupil' to 'Renard'.
Due to the prevelance of Kitsune in the collective consciousness, in no small part due to an anime that shall remain nameless, Reynard has been changed to fit the more fantastical creatures, granting him more of a mystical nature.
Abilities:
Grants the ability to weave illusions to confuse and manipulate opponents
Can deal Curse damage which grants the affliction Marked for Death increasing the damage others do to the target.
Resistance to Mental Effects
Equipment:
Wields a Sword Cane and a Revolver
---
Theme Song:
Fairy Tail OST: Lightning Dragon Flame Roaring
Post Awakening:
Katekyo Hitman Reborn OST: Tsuna Awakens</s>
<|message|>Beau MacGuaire
---
Sure enough, Beau's first day back at the university was proceeding as normal for now. His metalworking degree was meant to be more of a practical class but, as per usual of a university, there was still a good chunk of lecture in there. And since Beau was more of a kinesthetic learner than anything, almost none of that lecture part was sticking. Still, he learned something out of it, so it wasn't a complete waste of time. Still, by the end of the day, he was glad that it was over and he could return home.
Beau had planned to make a quick grocery run before returning to his dormitory, and went out the back entrance since it'd be closer to get to where he needed to go. But right at the second he left that way, a thick, mysterious fog had completely surrounded the fog around him.
"The hell?" confused about the sight of this, Beau instinctively reached for his phone, "I could've sworn the forecast was meant to be..."
He was about to say the word "sunny", but as he observed the top of his screen in detail, he could only bite his lip and blow out of it to make a big long resounding F. Just his luck; not only did a gargantuan mass of fog materialize from quite literally out of nowhere, but it was at that exact moment that Beau's phone decided to be as good as dead to him. And furthermore, there was no-one around to verify that they seeing the same thing he was. Was this supposed to be some kind of warning sign that Beau was unaware of?
With a sigh of defeat, Beau pocketed his phone again and continued on his way for now. He remained vigilant of his surroundings; that much made sense to him. But there was no use being paranoid about what one couldn't control...</s>
<|message|>Cara Lucero de la Barrera
---
---
The rest of her day was uneventful, but Cara supposed it meant at this point she was finally starting to get used to things. Her initial instinct had been to find her sister once classes ended, but she supposed that she should take Adonna's advice and give the girl her space. Maybe for the better, she didn't want to come off as smothering or anything. What she did want to put her energy into would be a good workout, and with gym bag in hand, that would be exactly where she would be headed once she got changed.
She could never remember if the university's gym had its own changing room, always changing in the bathroom and arriving from another entrance. Eventually, she planned on renting a locker or something. Did they have those here? She should probably find out, if she wasn't in class or at home the gym was usually where she'd be. Putting on her headphones, she queued up a peppy song to give herself more energy. She was really to rumble about two minutes in, stopping only to remember that she needed to move her bike. Ugh, why didn't London just have parking like any normal city?!
As she walked, the fog surrounding her seemed to be thick. She didn't think anything of it until her signal gave out, stopping her music. "Of course," She muttered to herself, giving the screen a look. No signal? She was going to give that salesman a piece of her mind, she specifically went on this phone plan for coverage here! Ignoring it for now, she stuffed her phone into her pocket and kept walking. And kept walking. And walking? "Uh...?" She blinked a few times, deciding that she must have made a wrong turn. She should have reached the street by now, she couldn't have been that hopeless, right?
Coming to a stop, Cara swore she saw someone doubled over in front of her. Without thinking, Cara hussled over, dropping her bags as she knelt down next to him. "Hey! You okay?" She asked him.
---
Checking up on @LetMeDoStuff</s>
<|message|>Leo Gremminger
---
"My name is Rose Hadley, by the way. You look familiar. Do we share a class by any chance?"
Ah shit, the million-dollar question. Franc? Pound? Whatever. This girl wasn't sure if Leo was in a class with her either. Though, if Rose thought he looked familiar and he thought she looked familiar, they were probably familiar, right? Besides, he shouldn't assume everyone else was hyperobservant of their classmates if he wasn't. Plus he was usually wearing glasses in class; she might just not recogize him without them.
Either way, he took the offered hand and shook it with a relieved chuckle. "Probably. I was thinking the same thing but wasn't sure. I'm Leo. Uh, Leo Gremminger," He greeted before he turned away and continued on his path to class. In contrast to the 'proper escort' he'd offered, Leo merely waved his hand as an invitation for Rose to join him.
---
After classes, Leo found his way to the library. An idea for his next painting hit him right in the middle of Business Management, and he didn't want to risk walking all the way home and losing it in his usual scatterbrained daze. It had already taken tremendous self control to not start sketching the preliminary idea right in the middle of class, but Leo didn't think he heard a word the professor said in the meantime anyway.
The boy had been lounging in a less-populated corner of the building for quite some time, slouched down in his chair like a lazy teenager in some boomer newspaper comic as he drummed the side of a pricy tablet with a matching stylus. His eyes slid indolently back and forth across the screen, surveying a loose sketch of an alleyway to no avail. It was missing... something. The banality of it wasn't the problem; he wanted a mundane scene, but he also wanted some part of it to be eyecatching.
A sigh escaped him as he lulled his head backward in a sudden fit of dizziness. This was more exhausting than it should've been. Leo already knew if he winged it, it'd just look like shit, and the headache he was progressively generating was telling him to quit while he was behind. It was a sad day when even his hobby was too much of an obligation for him to follow through on.
Leo tucked his tablet back into his backpack and moved to stand, only for his body to give out as he crumpled back into his seat. Was he sick? It was a fight to keep his eyes open at this point. He wasn't sure if he just blinked or actually nodded off, but when his eyes reopened, the room was a lot darker. The telltale sound of rain was absent, so... ah, fuck, he seriously passed out until sundown.
No, that wasn't quite it. It wasn't just dark, everything was hazy, like somebody decided to start chainsmoking indoors. It didn't smell though - still, his eyesight couldn't be that bad. Leo stood up again - a far easier feat now that the dizzy spell had passed - and rubbed his eyes to try and dispel the fogginess. He needed to head home. Or to a hospital. It was a toss-up, honestly.
---
Flame</s>
| <|message|>Felix Ignatius Volpe
Felix sighed as he slumped into his den of books. The first lecture was little more than an introduction, further it looked like most of the stuff they'd be covering he had already gone over during the summer. Admittedly, it was always good to go over subjects multiple times, though it was clear the lectures wouldn't be the main centre of his learning.
He was in the midst of reading some annoted texts of old French tales. He didn't know what it was but he always found a connection with the main character. As he sat there, delving into both the story and the culture that spawned it, he didn't notice some form of mist curling around him. What he did notice was the fact he was becoming drowsy. He never became drowsy, his brain kept firing full burst until he crashed. Thoughts began to speed through his mind, ranging from poison to kidnapping, to his brain finally entering its death throws as it could no longer deal with his abuse to it.
Collapsing to the floor, he was quickly buried underneath his den. When he awoke, he was surrounded by this ethereal mist, blanketing the world in a shroud of shadows. Gripping his head, which currently had a few bruises from the falling books, he looked around.
"Merde, it's the Otherworld..."</s> |
<|description|>John Doe
Gender
Male
Age
19, August, 29, 2000
Sexuality
Heterosexual
Nationality
American
---
Appearance
Having both pale skin and a somewhat thin frame, it's very easy to tell that John doesn't go outside very often. He usually wears dark colored clothing, such as dark-gray pants and long-sleeved black shirts, jackets, or tracksuits. Combining his lanky figure with his looks, he's not an unattractive person in the slightest, though his lifeless eyes detract points from his appearance. He usually has baggy, dull eyes due to an unhealthy sleep schedule maintained by copious amounts of caffeine.
In the Shadow World, John doesn't change his outfit from the norm.
Height
5"11
Personality
John is somewhat of a gloomy and apathetic person. Due to a negatively poignant incident in the past, the introvert he was became an even bigger introvert. He prefers not to make conversations and would even shy away from others at certain times. If there's something strong that this irresolute person has, it's the fact that he would never blame his faults on others due to his sense of responsibility. He criticizes and doubts himself very often, which leads to frequent hesitation over choices.
John possesses an inner strength that rarely crops up. It's hard for him to muster up the resolve to do anything that he doesn't like or anything that he finds to difficult. He misses opportunities, makes excuses for his screw-ups, and blames himself for those failures, which leads to him repressing more and more. The young man is extremely intelligent, which gave him a certain kind of arrogance in the past that is now very muted today. His fire-forged apathy is a blessing as much as it is a curse due to how it wards off most people.
He can get aggressive when people try to force themselves into his personal bubble. The young man just wants to be left alone and be unbothered for as much as possible. The only things that currently makes him happy is his hobby of making music and surfing the internet.
To sum it all up, he's currently a lazy, procrastinating, rotten piece of trash all balled up in the body of a youth.
His shadow self is even nastier than what he was at his worst. The physical difference between them is only the fact that the shadow has a bit longer hair tied up into a short ponytail. He's a vicious and arrogant person who tears into any perceived weakness. It's almost like there's nothing he doesn't despise. To him, the whole world is something to laugh at.
---
Persona
Minos
The mythical first king of Crete who died and then became a judge of the dead in the underworld. He is the son of Zeus and Europa and he has multiple interpretations of his character. He was either seen as a cruel, heartless tyrant who sacrificed children to the minotaur, or he was a good king who improved legislation and suppressed piracy. Either way, after his death, he took on an inhuman form befitting the title of a judge of the dead.
Arcana
Judgement
Skill
Bless & Curse
Equipment
Dirk
SIG P226
---
Education
Year 1
Thames' Edge University Degree in Music.
Biography
John Doe was born to a normal family in the urban area of New York. 3 years after he was born, his younger sister was born. His parents tend to dote on his sister more than him, but it didn't really bother him that much because he had a good relationship with his sister. John was a talented boy growing up. To put it simply, he was a genius who succeeded in anything that required critical thinking. A perfect straight A student who let his intelligence get to his head a little bit.
With his sister being compared to him, an inferiority complex began to bloom within her. This culminated to create an almost devastating incident for their family. As a result, the relationship John had with his sister became strained as the two could barely talk to one another without getting irritated. His personality became nastier with his arrogant and selfish nature coming to the forefront. One would believe that he could not make any friends with the way he was, but that's not entirely true. He had a single friend he made at his last year of middle school, which was who he went to the same high school with. Because of that friend, he made two other friends, which helped him become a better person.
Of course, that small piece of happiness he forged with others was mercilessly obliterated in his second year of high school. John couldn't bear the weight of real life any longer, so he shut himself inside and decided to take online classes to finish high school. Because of his turbulent mental state, he finished a year later than he should've. He only wished his eyes were good enough to see the tragedy before it happened.
Music was the only thing that staved away the depressing thoughts from taking over. He made songs, but never posted them online because they were always missing something. With that obsession keeping him from falling into pure despair, it was no wonder why he wanted to further his knowledge of music. He felt as though he needed to seek a degree in that field to produce exactly what he would call the perfect piece of music.
His parents recommended him to apply for Thames' Edge University, so he applied for it and was fortunately accepted. It was a good chance to get away from everything. Maybe he'll be able to clean up his act and stand up on his own again. He did eventually get better. At least enough to cut down on his shut-in habits, but only if it was necessary.
Affiliations
Father - Henry Doe: A stern middle-aged man who puts effort in caring for his kids. He works as a manager for a grocery store. John has a decent relationship with his father because he wasn't always on his ass. He's where John gets his hair and eye color.
Mother - Nancy Doe: A gentle middle-aged woman who is the carrot to Henry's stick. She's the type of overbearing mother to always check in on her kids when something isn't going right. She's a stay-at-home mother that takes care of most of the chores. John had a not-so-good relationship with his mother because of how overbearing she was.
Sister - Clarissa Doe: A hotheaded girl with a fashion sense only matched by her fiery temper. She's a bit clumsy and air headed when it comes to matters of the brain, but she makes up for it with her fitness. John still has a terrible relationship with his sister, but not as bad as it once was if only because he was too apathetic to keep up their spats.
Friend - Jessica Klein: John's first real friend he made in middle school that wasn't put-off by his thorny behavior. A kind girl that could accept anyone's faults no matter what they were. She had a certain innocence to her that wasn't naivety.
Friend - Brian Ramirez: Another precious friend made in high school that had a similar temperament to Jessica. He had a weak constitution and his sickly body only made him averse to conflict. He did have quite the surprising backbone when John was being too aggravating though.
Friend - Linda Walker: The type of friend John always got into arguments with. It was necessary for both Jessica and Brian to cool them both off because of their diametrically opposed personality types always clashing. She was almost as hotheaded as his sister, though she had a lot more snark to her.
Relationships
N/A
Character Themes</s>
<|message|>Felix Ignatius Volpe
---
Felix sighed as he slumped into his den of books. The first lecture was little more than an introduction, further it looked like most of the stuff they'd be covering he had already gone over during the summer. Admittedly, it was always good to go over subjects multiple times, though it was clear the lectures wouldn't be the main centre of his learning.
He was in the midst of reading some annoted texts of old French tales. He didn't know what it was but he always found a connection with the main character. As he sat there, delving into both the story and the culture that spawned it, he didn't notice some form of mist curling around him. What he did notice was the fact he was becoming drowsy. He never became drowsy, his brain kept firing full burst until he crashed. Thoughts began to speed through his mind, ranging from poison to kidnapping, to his brain finally entering its death throws as it could no longer deal with his abuse to it.
Collapsing to the floor, he was quickly buried underneath his den. When he awoke, he was surrounded by this ethereal mist, blanketing the world in a shroud of shadows. Gripping his head, which currently had a few bruises from the falling books, he looked around.
"Merde, it's the Otherworld..."</s>
<|message|>Kjell Granum
Kjell Granum
The first day of classes went as expected. Meeting his professors, classmates, and what to expect. Par for the course and it was fine. He liked his new astronomy professor based on his first impressions of her. Hopefully, she will make astronomy interesting since his last professor somehow made the topic boring. Kjell's love for astronomy is the main reason he has stayed with his last astronomy class. The last thing he needs is another boring class to spend a semester, math was boring enough without his favorite subject is in the same category.
Once classes were over, Kjell decided to head to the library. To get a headstart on his studies and a excuse to read about astronomy. Taking a seat near a bookcase and started enthralling himself with the book. As he as finishing a charter about black holes, Kjell started to feel a pain in his head. He tried to ignore, thinking it would pass but, it kept getting worse. Causing him to hold his head and drop the book on the table.
Kjell does not remember closing his eyes but when he came to. He found things to be different. The library seemed darker and somehow a fog had entered the building. Confusing him and Kjell shook his head in an attempt to clear his head. Kjell collected his things and as soon as he left the library. Did he realized how off things were. The college grounds near the library seem devoid of students and when he checked what time it was. His watch read, 5:45. That is weird, it should not be dark and the fog that he found in the library was everywhere. Like a cloud has decided to fall to the earth and make everything fuzzy to see.
Not sure of what to do, Kjell retreated back inside the library and started to search for people. "There has to be someone here", he said under his breath. He can not be alone at the university. As he searched the library, Kjell spotted a person with red hair who looked liked he had fox ears and was holding his head. Kjell approached the stranger and spoke. "Hey are you okay, and do you know why there is fog everywhere?</s>
| <|message|>John Doe
A seemingly normal morning with undercurrents of misfortune readying to assail the slouching man paid off in a terrible way. The professor lecturing the class jumped right into what was to be expected of them and even got into the beginnings of music theory.
At one point, John could feel the wizened teacher focusing more on him than other students. His assumption was that he had an aversion to those who relied on the internet instead of the finer arts with a basis in reality. So, he's already slightly on the man's bad side just from barging into the room with his phone already out. And as if the day couldn't get any worse, when the lecture was over, he went straight home to grab a bite to eat and a mug of coffee only to find a lack of both necessities in his dorm room.
"Oh no. No, no, no, no...!" He felt a surge of irritation and panic well up within him. He's going to have to go out and stock up on those extremely important items.
Running out of food? Acceptable.
Running out of the most important instant coffee? Unacceptable. Screw that. He absolutely can't go without it, or he'll crash like a jet with no fuel.
So, here he is, sitting in a slouched position on his bed. He's glaring at his reflection shown by the powered-off laptop's sleek monitor. What should he do? Since it's about evening, that means there should be more people going home instead of running to a convenience store.
He sighed and stood up to grab his wallet, keys, and phone. Once more he hesitates in front of the door, feeling even more unsure of himself than earlier in the day. He shoved all of it down and repressed it before heading out to his local convenience store. A quick walk from there back to his abode.
Though it seems the weather had other ideas with the sudden mist and all surrounding the stressed man. "H-huh? What's going on?"
John lost track of where he was going and his normally sharp mind was mired by this situation that induced fear in him. He could feel his arm shaking, so he tightly grabbed his wrist to shut it down. He bit his lip and cobbled up some ideas to suppress his dread.
'Calm down. You can think this through logically. Try to remember your surroundings. I can put together something.'
John took deep breathes and started walking straight forward. "Alright. I'm not where I was before. The lack of any sounds prove that," he muttered to himself. He then took one more deep breath before shouting.
"Is anyone out there?!"</s> |
<|description|>Offender Risk Profile
"Single, white laddie of 18 goin' on 19"
"Right 5'9 on the mark, av'rage as can b'. Hair look like a birdie nestin'. Wears hoodies 'nd darke' trousers"
"Born 'nd raised Brummie. Moved b'tween homes on welfare"
"Scholarship student at Thames' Edge"
"Prickly, reserved type, turn y' down for a drink kind of twat"
"Political supporter of populist, xenophobic movements, domestic 'nd online"
Personal statement retrieved from UCAS
The forces of economics have decided my life for me since the day I was born, so naturally by choosing to study this subject I can attempt to take back control of my life. My parents worked steady jobs until the recession, when they got laid off and we were put on welfare ever since. I heard this story repeated many times by my neighbors and relatives. And I lived it myself, a latchkey kid making runs to the food bank while my parents checked in daily at the job center for the next part time job available. I understood from a young age that businesses saw labor as numbers like their products. But unlike a goods or money supply where theory has allowed for excess demand to be represented as deficit or debt, a shortage in labor just means lower productivity. The unemployment rate of Britons had soared and never recovered in my lifetime, and as part of the problem I always sought to fix it.
I became a practicing economist when I was only 10 years of age. My parents stopped arguing over expenses when they decided to give me their checks to organize. I knew even the days of birthday and Christmas novelties were bygone, so I maximized our budget purely for survival. After rent, whatever food banks could not provide I scrounged for at every supermarket sale within Birmingham almost, and holiday presents became gifts of clothes like the suits my father wore to job interviews. I reckon my family fared better than most in my area, since my next door tenants changed more frequently than we moved. My parents soon trusted me enough to do their taxes for them since I was managing their income anyways. Thus I became interested in looking up where our taxpayer money went towards government spending. I was angry when learning how much politicians spent lining the pockets of non Britons outside in the EU, while our own people with empty pockets go hungry right under their noses.
Looking for alternatives, I read An Essay on the Principle of Population by Thomas Robert Malthus. Two hundred years later and counting I find his sentiments agreeable and views undeniable, that our population working or not if unfed becomes a detriment to our economy extending into society itself. What has also declined over time is the moral standard of the nation after influxes of immigrants with ulterior motives. Food security is threatened when good Briton establishments are shuttered then reopened by immigrants as greasy spoon kebab shops and Chinese takeaways importing outside food. I went to school with immigrants, and am proud to have beaten them in the subjects of mathematics and sciences as the top one percentile of my class. I studied hard to prove along with other Britons to the world that our nation has a self sufficient workforce including my parents whose utility we must prioritize over shelling out to immigrants and the EU.
Brexit was an opportunity for me to initiate the change I wanted in my life. Despite being underage to vote at the time, I joined my local chapter of the Vote Leave campaign. I participated in conferences and rallies, where I helped organize participants and record political concerns and positions. I then personally requested to my campaign manager I follow up on those who live close to my home, handing them flyers and conversing with my neighborhood business owners, workers, and unemployed on how Brexit is the first step towards fixing our economy. I remember the talk I had with my parents who opposed my "donation" of time to politics, but I convinced them to vote "leave." I think my efforts contributed to the greater achievement of Brexit than any academic or professional one, and I learned from voters the importance of listening to the workforce that runs an economy when fixing one. The microeconomics of labor utility can be focused on after macroeconomic issues like labor market gluts are dealt with.
I have no time to play and all the time to devote towards studying economics for a future where my parents have steady pay again.
Gender: Male
Age: 18
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Nationality: British
Appearance: Brunette hair is long, curly and almost always messy, eyes with brown irises narrowed and shifty as if paranoid, wears hoodies to cover head out of self consciousness, darker color trousers with long unfolded hems, dark brown loafers, facial expressions shift between drooping disdain to tightened irritation
Height: 5'9"
Personality: Prickly or easily irritated when someone else attempts to initiate interaction, usually prefers being reserved and does activities on his own, converses with a stick up his butt in formal situations or at most sarcasm when relaxed, has suppressed anger about parents and financial situation, haughty towards those less fortunate (or outright discriminatory towards immigrants) but only if they show weakness, hates acting weak himself and would rather withdraw into shell than admit discomfort or negative emotions
Persona: Black Death
Skill: Nuclear
Equipment: Cane gun
Education: Economics Year 1
Biography: His parents worked steady jobs until the recession, when they got laid off and they were put on welfare ever since. Neither his father nor mother were financially savvy and spent most of their time job hunting, so they dumped the responsibility of managing finances onto their son who did show high aptitude for mathematics at young age. He grew up a latchkey kid who was self conscious about his poverty and fostered resentment against his parents for their ineptitude. Read economic theories particularly by Thomas Malthus and agreed the moral standard of living was being corrupted in his time. Became influenced by populist, xenophobic rhetoric online and showed racist disdain for immigrants around his area. When the EU referendum was beginning he joined the Vote Leave campaign as a youth organizer and devoted time to talking with voters, to the disapproval of parents who thought he should get a job for more income. Later applied to university and was accepted on scholarship at least for undergraduate studies, however conflicted whether he should stay for graduate years or return home to find work and provide for family.
Affiliations: Mother and father</s>
<|message|>Tryg Truman
Accidental double post. Ignore this.</s>
<|message|>Kirsty Ramaswamy
Kirsty Ramaswamy
@BCTheEntity@CondorTalon
Though Kirsty felt sick, dizzy, lost, trapped, and hopeless, and would not have been surprised if she pitched over and died at any moment, she did not perish there, leaning against the wall. As the seconds passed by, the shock faded, which did surprise her as she realized it. Maybe the body could only process so much shock? Maybe now that she'd hit rock bottom, she understood at some basic, biological level that everything would be a step up?
It was at about that time that Liam cut in. While his name eluded her, Kirsty recognized the friendly face that tried to make her feel better that morning. Well, more like 'appreciated' than 'better', since she couldn't have possibly known how low she'd been. Actually, now that she thought about it, Kirsty wondered -with just a touch of mania threatening to make her laugh out loud- if this current predicament really was that bad. After all, it beat going on an awful date with Drew, and whatever nightmare lay in store at Navarro's house. She didn't want to go to either, of course, but she couldn't have thrown away her support and her education to indulge those feelings. Now that the choice had been taken from her hands, Kirsty, lightheaded and adrift felt a strange sort of relief. Even thankfulness. Whatever came next, at least it wasn't her fault. Then again, her fault or not, what came next was probably the end of her existence. Dying her seemed preferable.
The strange peace and gratitude stemming from those feelings stirred together in the black cauldron of this bizarre witching hour to give Kirsty a semblance of strength. Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself off the wall. Liam seemed to have approached. He might have said something, but Kirsty heard nothing more than murmurs, like audio corruption through a pair of bad earbuds, while she'd been looking inward. When he yelled out in panic, however, she jumped hard enough to nearly lose her glasses. "Ee!" Just a second later she got a hold of herself, beating Liam to the punch in that regard. The silliness of her being scared by someone else going nuts threatened to make her laugh again. Kirsty allowed herself another second to pull herself together, and that ended up being just in time to hear Alina's name.
"Hello then, Alina," she greeted. "It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."
Despite what Alina said, however, Liam did manage to shake the other guy awake. He awoke with a furious energy, like a guy who he knew he slept through his first and second alarms and had slept late last week, too. Except Tate let his anger burn against the first people he happened to see after getting up. He staggered to his feet and demanded an explanation from the other confused students. Or else.
His ultimatum left Kirsty shocked. Surely she must have misheard? "H-how should we know?" she blurted out, suddenly so aware of the time limit that her mouth started moving on its own. "Are you th-threatening us? We're in the same boat here!" She knew she was in the right, but a fat lot of good that would do her against a man convinced otherwise who stood a head taller and weighed probably twenty kilo more than her. Wildly looked around to the others for help or at least some kind of solidarity. Would this guy, delirious or dumb enough to antagonize the one familiar element in an alien world, even respect the numbers advantage?
In the silence that followed her panicked declaration, a noise reached the group through the fog. The padding of many feet. Through the mist slid dark shapes, moving smoothly together. Kirsty's breath caught in her throat and she stepped back. That urge to laugh a helpless hollow laugh came once again. We're so screwed.
She watched as dogs emerged from the mist, two at a time. They had sleek black coats, downturned ears, stringy manes of long gray fur, pronounced fangs, and tails longer and thinner than any dog she'd ever seen. Worst of all, their eyes were an otherworldly blue-green, their pupils white. Just looking at them made goosebumps spring out across her skin, and the hair on the back of her neck rise. No man ever owned a dog like these. Of that she felt sure. They stood staring at the students, silent as death, until another, much larger shadow stirred in the fog. From the swirls of contemptible vapor plodded a great hound, its flesh mottled and hairless, its sagging jowls baring twisted fangs, pits of opalescent color in the recesses of its eyes.
It howled, and Kirsty screamed. She turned tail and sprinted the other way down the street as fast as her legs could carry her. Her feet pounded the pavement and her heart drummed against her chest as she fled this way and that, running blindly to escape the pack. The baying of the monstrous hound drove her onward in terror, and she the patter of who knew how many silent dogs' feet. Their teeth nipped at her heels and their jaws snapped shut centimeters from her limbs, but somehow she avoided getting brought down. Finally, after what seemed like an age, she spotted light down the street, flickering in the fog. All rational thought had departed her; in the heat of the moment, light meant good, so with her breath tearing through her throat she rounded a corner onto the street and stopped as if hit in the face.
In front of her lay an avenue of extravagant beauty. The fog melted away before the light of braziers, warm fire pits, and countless candles of every size and color. On either side stretched temple after glorious temple, their facades clad in silks and golden ornamentation. Even the cobblestones were marble, and over the street stretched lengths of patterned cloth and rows of sweet-smelling hanging lanterns. Behind her, the dogs disappeared into the night as if no more than swirls of fog themselves, and Kirsty staggered down the street, her eyes wide open. Before the temples stretched rows of tables and seats, arranged and decorated for a banquet or party of mythic proportions. Within the buildings she could see the glimmer of untold riches. "This must be a dream after all," she whispered, flummoxed beyond measure.</s>
| <|message|>Offender Risk Profile
Rule number one of surviving in a lucid dream and possible nightmare: get out of the building. Every corner of a hallway could hide a bogeyman waiting to lunge forth, and within each shadow could lurk a hypnotizing specter spellbinding you before eating your face off. Outside, you get space and distance to put between you and any imaginary pursuers materializing out of your paranoia.
My body feels...normal though, as I carefully place a palm against the broken frame of the jagged glass doors to push them open. Neither lightweight like I'm floating, nor heavy with the weight of tension like a monster breathing down my neck. I just wander forward, my eyes scanning then drifting themselves as I fail to recognize any landmarks within the Thames' Edge campus that I passed by. The fog limited clear visibility around me to the size of my flat bedroom, and droplets of moisture soon clung to my skin and clothes chilling me slightly.
I suddenly hear a scream in the distance, inhuman maybe...? Rule number two is definitely to avoid anyone and everyone screaming bloody murder to not share their fate. Except, fock, I now notice I stand in a space identical at all angles, in all directions nothing but the same cobblestone like ground with indiscernible pattern leading to indiscriminate gray air. I have to violate my principles this time to gain some sort of bearing, not like I ever dreamed of walking in the fog before.
In the direction of continued screams, I finally approach another building with similar structure to the one I left and grumble. Maybe I should just stand in front of here, have a seat on the ground, and wait for something to eventually approach and mess with me. Or keep moving and risk braving the possible labyrinth beyond. Deliberation keeps me burning time until I can wake up from all this eventually.</s> |
<|description|>Offender Risk Profile
"Single, white laddie of 18 goin' on 19"
"Right 5'9 on the mark, av'rage as can b'. Hair look like a birdie nestin'. Wears hoodies 'nd darke' trousers"
"Born 'nd raised Brummie. Moved b'tween homes on welfare"
"Scholarship student at Thames' Edge"
"Prickly, reserved type, turn y' down for a drink kind of twat"
"Political supporter of populist, xenophobic movements, domestic 'nd online"
Personal statement retrieved from UCAS
The forces of economics have decided my life for me since the day I was born, so naturally by choosing to study this subject I can attempt to take back control of my life. My parents worked steady jobs until the recession, when they got laid off and we were put on welfare ever since. I heard this story repeated many times by my neighbors and relatives. And I lived it myself, a latchkey kid making runs to the food bank while my parents checked in daily at the job center for the next part time job available. I understood from a young age that businesses saw labor as numbers like their products. But unlike a goods or money supply where theory has allowed for excess demand to be represented as deficit or debt, a shortage in labor just means lower productivity. The unemployment rate of Britons had soared and never recovered in my lifetime, and as part of the problem I always sought to fix it.
I became a practicing economist when I was only 10 years of age. My parents stopped arguing over expenses when they decided to give me their checks to organize. I knew even the days of birthday and Christmas novelties were bygone, so I maximized our budget purely for survival. After rent, whatever food banks could not provide I scrounged for at every supermarket sale within Birmingham almost, and holiday presents became gifts of clothes like the suits my father wore to job interviews. I reckon my family fared better than most in my area, since my next door tenants changed more frequently than we moved. My parents soon trusted me enough to do their taxes for them since I was managing their income anyways. Thus I became interested in looking up where our taxpayer money went towards government spending. I was angry when learning how much politicians spent lining the pockets of non Britons outside in the EU, while our own people with empty pockets go hungry right under their noses.
Looking for alternatives, I read An Essay on the Principle of Population by Thomas Robert Malthus. Two hundred years later and counting I find his sentiments agreeable and views undeniable, that our population working or not if unfed becomes a detriment to our economy extending into society itself. What has also declined over time is the moral standard of the nation after influxes of immigrants with ulterior motives. Food security is threatened when good Briton establishments are shuttered then reopened by immigrants as greasy spoon kebab shops and Chinese takeaways importing outside food. I went to school with immigrants, and am proud to have beaten them in the subjects of mathematics and sciences as the top one percentile of my class. I studied hard to prove along with other Britons to the world that our nation has a self sufficient workforce including my parents whose utility we must prioritize over shelling out to immigrants and the EU.
Brexit was an opportunity for me to initiate the change I wanted in my life. Despite being underage to vote at the time, I joined my local chapter of the Vote Leave campaign. I participated in conferences and rallies, where I helped organize participants and record political concerns and positions. I then personally requested to my campaign manager I follow up on those who live close to my home, handing them flyers and conversing with my neighborhood business owners, workers, and unemployed on how Brexit is the first step towards fixing our economy. I remember the talk I had with my parents who opposed my "donation" of time to politics, but I convinced them to vote "leave." I think my efforts contributed to the greater achievement of Brexit than any academic or professional one, and I learned from voters the importance of listening to the workforce that runs an economy when fixing one. The microeconomics of labor utility can be focused on after macroeconomic issues like labor market gluts are dealt with.
I have no time to play and all the time to devote towards studying economics for a future where my parents have steady pay again.
Gender: Male
Age: 18
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Nationality: British
Appearance: Brunette hair is long, curly and almost always messy, eyes with brown irises narrowed and shifty as if paranoid, wears hoodies to cover head out of self consciousness, darker color trousers with long unfolded hems, dark brown loafers, facial expressions shift between drooping disdain to tightened irritation
Height: 5'9"
Personality: Prickly or easily irritated when someone else attempts to initiate interaction, usually prefers being reserved and does activities on his own, converses with a stick up his butt in formal situations or at most sarcasm when relaxed, has suppressed anger about parents and financial situation, haughty towards those less fortunate (or outright discriminatory towards immigrants) but only if they show weakness, hates acting weak himself and would rather withdraw into shell than admit discomfort or negative emotions
Persona: Black Death
Skill: Nuclear
Equipment: Cane gun
Education: Economics Year 1
Biography: His parents worked steady jobs until the recession, when they got laid off and they were put on welfare ever since. Neither his father nor mother were financially savvy and spent most of their time job hunting, so they dumped the responsibility of managing finances onto their son who did show high aptitude for mathematics at young age. He grew up a latchkey kid who was self conscious about his poverty and fostered resentment against his parents for their ineptitude. Read economic theories particularly by Thomas Malthus and agreed the moral standard of living was being corrupted in his time. Became influenced by populist, xenophobic rhetoric online and showed racist disdain for immigrants around his area. When the EU referendum was beginning he joined the Vote Leave campaign as a youth organizer and devoted time to talking with voters, to the disapproval of parents who thought he should get a job for more income. Later applied to university and was accepted on scholarship at least for undergraduate studies, however conflicted whether he should stay for graduate years or return home to find work and provide for family.
Affiliations: Mother and father</s>
<|message|>Offender Risk Profile
I look up at the clear voice ringing through the fog. What accent is that, Nordic? Well, the better non Briton people to meet than any other sodding immigrants. I must have synthesized the accent in my brain from the occasional encounters I've had with Nords, Swedes, and Danes around Birmingham.
The figure belonging to the voice comes into view, black top with a gray jacket, garish looking khakis standing out in the grayer fog, and an outlandishly expensive looking pair of wide frame glasses to top off their fashion statement. I stand back up, brushing off the condensation from my more presentable hoodie and trousers, then stuff my hands into my hoodie pockets.
"Well now, Vikings innit? Some modern day invasion of our shores, explaining this fog that should be closer to the coast, and you're the messenger? Get on with it then, this dream couldn't drag on any longer. I got macroeconomics at 5, so if you could bop me on the head, that'd do me a favor at least."</s>
<|message|>Tryg Truman
Interacting with Thomas Robinson @Aurrorian
The other fellow stood from his seemingly comfortable position on the ground, addressing Tryg as a Viking or somesort. "Wha--?" he stammered, before realizing what the person was saying. Suddenly he was quite self-conscious over his accent. "Oh, er, not a Viking, per se. I'm Finnish. And . . . uh . . . no invasion, either. Course I thought this was a dream myself if not for the rather real pain some of the monsters around here can cause. And . . . I've been bopped on the head myself. Didn't help anything." He gestured to his gashed left shoulder. What was this? Tryg was typically far more confident than this rambling buffoon he had become. Was this because he no longer had Dainsleif by his side? Or had he just become so fearful of what the world had shown him?
His heart was still hammering away from the adrenaline rush of his previous encounters. He was sincerely hoping that this unassuming hooded guy was actually harmless. Then he realized he was still holding the saber in a guard stance. Not the best way to make a first impression. He tried to relax his posture a little, and while he could get his sword arm to somewhat relax at his side, he couldn't fully ease the tensions in his muscles. He was on edge, cautiously watching every shadow, every shift of the fog. And it wasn't helped when he heard distant howls. If cats were skilled fencers in this world, he wanted no part of what a bloody canine could do. Olla munaa, Tryg.
Tryg forced himself to take a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Repeat two more times. Okay, better. His focus was returning. "Whatever that howling was, I don't want to find out. But I have a hunch it's no normal wolf." Better. A little more confident that time. "What say we try to get out of this foggy nightmare before whatever it is manages to find us?" Tryg began to walk in the direction opposite the noise. "Name's Tryg, by the by. Tryg Truman."</s>
<|message|>Felix Ignatius Volpe
Unknown
---
"Ring a ring of rosies,
A pocket full of posies
A tissue, a tissue,
They all fall down..."
A child with chilling yellow eyes watched from afar as the hounds went for the new toys. It was always good to have new toys, they helped dull the PAIN PAIN, SO MUCH PAIN and made this boring place so much more interesting. Pity they'd soon be dead...
The figure cheered as the old toy got involved. They bored him now, but at least the new toys wouldn't die before they served to entertain him. Feeling a surge of PAIN, WHY?!? from near the university, they knew their progenitor was here. Maybe soon he could end the PAAAIIIIN.
---
---
Felix looked at the others who were now introducing himself. He was shunting away the nervousness he was feeling, along with the darker thoughts that they would be fun to mess with, to learn their triggers to break them. He sighed and decided to introduce himself.
"I'm Felix," he said, giving a slightly cocky grin, "So how we getting out of here kitty man?" This was sent towards Leo, who to Felix would now be internally known forevermore as Kitten.
@Scribe of Thoth@Crimson Flame</s>
| <|message|>Offender Risk Profile
I just let my eyes blink in confusion for a few good seconds. Didn't realize my brain could make such bloody, brilliant excuses for dream logic. If only I would've been that wise to my parents before, maybe I could have gone out with the lads more often than be sat down marking checkbooks. I would have to be dreaming up those hypothetical mates as well.
Removing one arm from a pocket, I imagine it becoming the length and point of a switch, with the sturdiness of a dark wooden cane supporting a Victorian figure, and extend my pointer finger at Tryg the Nord, shaking. Again I feel a weight in raising my arm where a dream would erase it, or should I believe the loony, yet self contained proposition that this is an actual world? Regardless, there is no room for trust however many levels deep this inception goes. I counter in motion his advance, rounding about his side not wielding the sword, not replying until I cross around at right angles then further.
"Right, and the Queen will come on air any moment now, and explain why London or wherever in hell is covered by this damn fog. L-Look'ere, you can walk up to me all casual with steel to boot, but it's still every man for himself. You best stay in front and away from me, if you plan on cutting something or someone else. A-And if we happen to cross the line into Birmingham, I swear the mates I know there, they will give you a happy slapping to remember, if you dare focking mess with me Tommy R."</s> |
<|description|>Offender Risk Profile
"Single, white laddie of 18 goin' on 19"
"Right 5'9 on the mark, av'rage as can b'. Hair look like a birdie nestin'. Wears hoodies 'nd darke' trousers"
"Born 'nd raised Brummie. Moved b'tween homes on welfare"
"Scholarship student at Thames' Edge"
"Prickly, reserved type, turn y' down for a drink kind of twat"
"Political supporter of populist, xenophobic movements, domestic 'nd online"
Personal statement retrieved from UCAS
The forces of economics have decided my life for me since the day I was born, so naturally by choosing to study this subject I can attempt to take back control of my life. My parents worked steady jobs until the recession, when they got laid off and we were put on welfare ever since. I heard this story repeated many times by my neighbors and relatives. And I lived it myself, a latchkey kid making runs to the food bank while my parents checked in daily at the job center for the next part time job available. I understood from a young age that businesses saw labor as numbers like their products. But unlike a goods or money supply where theory has allowed for excess demand to be represented as deficit or debt, a shortage in labor just means lower productivity. The unemployment rate of Britons had soared and never recovered in my lifetime, and as part of the problem I always sought to fix it.
I became a practicing economist when I was only 10 years of age. My parents stopped arguing over expenses when they decided to give me their checks to organize. I knew even the days of birthday and Christmas novelties were bygone, so I maximized our budget purely for survival. After rent, whatever food banks could not provide I scrounged for at every supermarket sale within Birmingham almost, and holiday presents became gifts of clothes like the suits my father wore to job interviews. I reckon my family fared better than most in my area, since my next door tenants changed more frequently than we moved. My parents soon trusted me enough to do their taxes for them since I was managing their income anyways. Thus I became interested in looking up where our taxpayer money went towards government spending. I was angry when learning how much politicians spent lining the pockets of non Britons outside in the EU, while our own people with empty pockets go hungry right under their noses.
Looking for alternatives, I read An Essay on the Principle of Population by Thomas Robert Malthus. Two hundred years later and counting I find his sentiments agreeable and views undeniable, that our population working or not if unfed becomes a detriment to our economy extending into society itself. What has also declined over time is the moral standard of the nation after influxes of immigrants with ulterior motives. Food security is threatened when good Briton establishments are shuttered then reopened by immigrants as greasy spoon kebab shops and Chinese takeaways importing outside food. I went to school with immigrants, and am proud to have beaten them in the subjects of mathematics and sciences as the top one percentile of my class. I studied hard to prove along with other Britons to the world that our nation has a self sufficient workforce including my parents whose utility we must prioritize over shelling out to immigrants and the EU.
Brexit was an opportunity for me to initiate the change I wanted in my life. Despite being underage to vote at the time, I joined my local chapter of the Vote Leave campaign. I participated in conferences and rallies, where I helped organize participants and record political concerns and positions. I then personally requested to my campaign manager I follow up on those who live close to my home, handing them flyers and conversing with my neighborhood business owners, workers, and unemployed on how Brexit is the first step towards fixing our economy. I remember the talk I had with my parents who opposed my "donation" of time to politics, but I convinced them to vote "leave." I think my efforts contributed to the greater achievement of Brexit than any academic or professional one, and I learned from voters the importance of listening to the workforce that runs an economy when fixing one. The microeconomics of labor utility can be focused on after macroeconomic issues like labor market gluts are dealt with.
I have no time to play and all the time to devote towards studying economics for a future where my parents have steady pay again.
Gender: Male
Age: 18
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Nationality: British
Appearance: Brunette hair is long, curly and almost always messy, eyes with brown irises narrowed and shifty as if paranoid, wears hoodies to cover head out of self consciousness, darker color trousers with long unfolded hems, dark brown loafers, facial expressions shift between drooping disdain to tightened irritation
Height: 5'9"
Personality: Prickly or easily irritated when someone else attempts to initiate interaction, usually prefers being reserved and does activities on his own, converses with a stick up his butt in formal situations or at most sarcasm when relaxed, has suppressed anger about parents and financial situation, haughty towards those less fortunate (or outright discriminatory towards immigrants) but only if they show weakness, hates acting weak himself and would rather withdraw into shell than admit discomfort or negative emotions
Persona: Black Death
Skill: Nuclear
Equipment: Cane gun
Education: Economics Year 1
Biography: His parents worked steady jobs until the recession, when they got laid off and they were put on welfare ever since. Neither his father nor mother were financially savvy and spent most of their time job hunting, so they dumped the responsibility of managing finances onto their son who did show high aptitude for mathematics at young age. He grew up a latchkey kid who was self conscious about his poverty and fostered resentment against his parents for their ineptitude. Read economic theories particularly by Thomas Malthus and agreed the moral standard of living was being corrupted in his time. Became influenced by populist, xenophobic rhetoric online and showed racist disdain for immigrants around his area. When the EU referendum was beginning he joined the Vote Leave campaign as a youth organizer and devoted time to talking with voters, to the disapproval of parents who thought he should get a job for more income. Later applied to university and was accepted on scholarship at least for undergraduate studies, however conflicted whether he should stay for graduate years or return home to find work and provide for family.
Affiliations: Mother and father</s>
<|message|>Offender Risk Profile
Then I hear the howling getting closer. I freeze to determine its direction, then realize my idiocy to now be in the position Tryg the Nord was, in the path of whatever chilling sound echoed behind me. Not to concede whatever advantage I could recall in hindsight, I creep forward in a game of chicken between the edge of a blade and some unknown, gnashing monstrosity, "A-Alright, now get a move on will ya?"
The howling abruptly stops. My senses naturally go into overdrive to pick up even the faintest replacement uttered by the beast, and I swear there is a new droning or rumbling noise, connected or not. I stop short of Tryg, inexplicably frozen in his stance, from fear or indecisiveness? Well, the bloody lot that was worth throwing in, thinking any sod with a bit of steel could protect me, or at least prove a distraction. I turn my head back one more time for confirmation of the less pitiful of my choices, and meet several, glowing golden eyes.
My mind goes blank, and my legs start churning. I recall unceremoniously shoving the Nord to the side, leaving him to be swallowed by the fog or more. The howling starts once more, and seemingly bounces all over the place as my fear interprets it emanating from the choking, dense fog itself. As my energy begins to dwindle, my legs stumble in random directions and everything starts swerving around me, or perhaps the pitch dark ground tremors with the sound waves of a cacophony in pounding heart and nightmare fuel.
Coming into view, two figures in vague yet humanoid shapes appear. I right myself within that field of vision, but instead focus on the sharper image of some sort of doorway, a better haven than again negotiating for protection with someone that could be worse than a Viking. I rush past the two and throw the last of my strength into bull rushing the door, gasping, "Oh, f-fock, they're coming! They're coming!"
@Landaus Five-One</s>
<|message|>Gloria Sosa Hathaway
Interacting with: @Aurrorian
Mentioned: @Wxer
---
It felt a bit odd and strange, but the guy she approached didn't talk or anything even though she did hear him say something. She just sighed in frustration and wondered what had happened to this world, that someone would ignore her so badly. It made her feel like this world is hell, and all she is doing is awake in that nightmare. 'Guess this guy is too afraid to even answer to his name… I would be, too, since this place is hell. I hate trying to interact with people when they just blatantly ignore me. But I guess I am responsible for this lack of interaction… I am a failure. My sisters are so much better at this...' She thought, definitely beating herself up in her mind, and she sighed about everything.
Gloria did hear something that made her heart skip a beat, which was the howling all over, but it sounded very distant. It made her think about that was probably what the hell they are in to make you think. She just froze for a bit and was utterly afraid since she doesn't want to become the food of whatever that was, but she was too afraid to move right now. "...Crap, what's that howling for? Don't tell me there are Cerberus creatures in this place?" She questioned aloud, talking to no one particular since the guy next to hasn't said a word since she met him. It would make some sense if there were terrifying hell creatures like Cerberus and other foul beasts. Her mind was full-on imagination about what would happen to her if those creatures came towards her. It terrified her much more than usual, and she was shaking by these thoughts.
When the howling started to get closer, it was definitely terrifying, to say the least. She had to think of a way out since this is the one place she doesn't want to be in anymore. However, she had no idea how she appeared in this Hellscape in the first place. It took her to realize someone was approaching them, the silent male and the terrified religious woman. By the fact, there were footsteps in the distance that were coming closer, but the Howling sounds coming closer as well. Felt a bit like whoever was running towards them was running from the howling and Cerberus creatures. 'Ah, shit… don't tell me I won't be ever able to see my older sister. I don't want to die… but I am too afraid to move... She thought with her legs shaking and was deathly afraid of dying.
Gloria noticed a vaguely humanoid shape coming towards her specifically, which was also much taller than her. He was running really quickly, like he was deathly afraid of the howling of whatever creatures lived in this hell. She blinked slightly when the taller British man ran right past her towards the door, which made her a bit feel like an idiot. However, what he said made her follow him because that was the only thing that finally got her to move from her stationary position. It was slightly embarrassing to her that she didn't really focus on the area around her. She decided to speak out towards the British Man, who ran past her, rushing the door. "W-Wait for me, I don't want to be involved with whatever is coming." She spoke with a definite fear in her voice. Cerberus, or whatever foul creature is in this place, wouldn't be the best idea to deal with. It was like her instincts to live overridden her instincts of trying to understand this scary place, which it felt like hell, and that wasn't going to change. "A-Also, my name is G-Gloria." She added towards the British man, who is utterly afraid of the things coming towards them.</s>
| <|message|>Offender Risk Profile
Fortunately, I was not punished by my hasty assumption that the door would swing inwards upon impact, which it does. I rush to hook my hands around it as it revolves, preparing to reverse its motion and slam it shut in the face of hell outdoors. Then I hear an actual voice reply to my aimless venting of fear. And for better or worse, I had hoped to die in the company of someone else out here who could respond to me in a language other than guttural, and leave me in a last, rational state of mind instead of bewilderment.
I hold the door long enough for a petite figure to slip in, and finally shut the lid on the encroaching fog. The howls subside under the rhythm of my heavy breathing, and my body thumps to the floor, leaning every which way in exhaustion. I look up to check on the state of my companion, Gloria was it? Wait, long blonde hair to the thighs, American accent, and that ridiculously weighty purple earring...
"...You're my flatmate, aren't you Gloria? The Yank-er Miss Hathaway, down the hall opposite side from my door?"
With that realization, time slows down as my head races in possibilities. They all lead to the same conclusion however, the creeping realization that I really, possibly could not be in a dream. I was never religious, though my parents did each sit on pews in their childhood before skipping Sundays, but now I draw on every bit of paranormal, supernatural knowledge I can muster, where math, science, and God knows economics cannot help me explain now this unfortunate twist in my life. Again, London is nowhere near the coastline for this dense a fog, nor did it reek of chemical pollutants attributed to smog. What canines would also exist in the entirety of Great Britain, less so let loose to terrorize the populace, unless the immortality memes about the Queen have just been proven to involve lycanthropy? What did I do to deserve an early glimpse of Hades?
I refocus on Gloria while still struggling to comprehend just the space we occupy even. The building walls here look complete instead of haphazard, jagged jigsaw pieces, but the walls dull any light, and seem to absorb the empty space around us further into the room edges cloaked in darkness. If not for the sheen of Gloria's blonde hair helping to outline her, my eyesight tracking indoors would have been compromised as much as the haze had done outside.
"I-I don't know where to pick up, from when we last met. But I think we could start by retracing our steps today. I honestly thought this is all just a dream, though not to count out the chance I could be having a dream with you in it, er..."
Five-One</s> |
<|description|>Leo Gremminger
Gender
Male
Age
20 - May 24
Sexuality
Homogay
Nationality
Swiss
---
Appearance
Leo is a narrow-shouldered and unimposing boy with a lithe frame and below-average musculature. His dirty blonde hair is tussled into a deliberate bedhead in all but the most formal of occasions and he usually has a blank, innocent look on his face, as if completely unbothered by his surroundings at all times. Trying to call his attention to something will typically elicit a futile squint on his part, and as such he typically adopts a pair of rectangular-framed glasses while in class or when painting, though they're strictly absent in most other contexts. He dresses in expensive, but simplistic clothing, preferring plain colors and quality fabrics to anything explicitly flashy. His attire isn't very formal outside the relevant occasions, favoring mundane long-sleeved T-shirts or even tracksuits despite him being far from athletically active.
Height
5'10"
Personality
Leo generally maintains a sunny and affable demeanor to those around him, with an infectious excitability about his hobby - namely painting - that he tries to spread to anyone who will listen; willing or otherwise. He has a particular fondness for painting sunsets, but he's constantly hoping for new muses to catch his attention, and he has no problem pestering people that he's formed even the bare minimum of a relationship with to help him seek them out. Ironically, he often misses these scenic vistas he'd otherwise enjoy painting by sheer lack of attention. He's sociable and friendly, though it's usually evident that he wants himself and his interests to be at the forefront of the discussion at all times, and extended conversation can quickly reveal traces of typical upper-class personality flaws and general obliviousness to how the world works. Likewise, this naiveté can make him come off as very inattentive or careless, especially when coupled with his tendency to be astoundingly unobservant of his surroundings. Unless he's actively focusing on or interested in something, it may as well not even exist to Leo; which is at least partially a consequence of him being fairly nearsighted yet rarely deigning to wear glasses.
Underneath all the layers of optimism he outwardly portrays, Leo is a deeply torn individual, caught between the expectations of his father that he doesn't find appealing and hobbies that he's been taught to consider frivolous as much as he does interesting. He's unwilling or unable to accomplish all that his father asks of him, and he selfishly refuses to compromise or deal with his issues, instead simply ignoring them in false hope they'll just go away in the end with no effort on his part.
---
Persona
Arcana
The Sun
Skill
Fire
Equipment
Renaissance Era Saber - You know what they say, 'When in Rome...'
SIG Sauer P220 Pistol - Standard sidearm of the Swiss Army and a symbol of yet another obligation Leo is avoiding.
---
Education
Second Year Finance Major
Biography
As the sole heir of a wealthy Swiss financier, Leo lived a fairly privileged childhood. He grew up in an upper class area in northern Switzerland, attending prestigious schools for almost the entirety of his educational career. Despite this, typical academic pursuits didn't interest him. His father owned a modest art collection, an eccentricity the man cultivated as a status symbol he could subtly boast about, and it had always captivated young Leo. When he was eight, his family took a vacation to Rome, which Leo found even more fascinating than the oil paintings hanging around his house. Every grand mural and impressive work of sculpture was a talent he hoped to match. He wanted to be a painter like all the famous Renaissance people and artists of antiquity. When he got home, it took little time before Leo was signed up for art classes and practicing regularly. His parents were about as supportive of the interest as any parent is in their child's passing fancy, though his father continued to dismiss Leo's hobby as a pointless diversion no matter how committed or interested he was in it.
It was made very clear he'd be expected to inherit the family fortune and that business schooling should be his primary concern, which initially didn't bother Leo in the slightest. After all, he could certainly maintain a mere hobby alongside cultivating his family's wealth. Though, as he grew older, he became less and less enchanted with the idea. Obligations of how to behave, who to associate with, what he needed to do with his life, not to mention a wife and kids; it was stifling, and yet Leo had no alternative. Art wasn't exactly a lucrative career path, and he could only skirt by on his inheritance for so long. After deliberating on what he really wanted for so long, it eventually grew to the point where he didn't want to do anything. Everything in his life thus far had been handed to him on a silver platter, and the notion of having to put genuine effort toward something he didn't want to do offended his spoiled sensibilities. Thus, he chose to selfishly cling to an illusion of always getting everything he wanted.
To that end, he simply chose to put as much distance between himself and his problems as he could in hopes he could ignore them forever. Outside the country, his parents wouldn't be as overbearing, no one would be hawkishly watching his decisions, and nobody would be trying to conscript him into the Swiss Army. Leo applied to foreign universities, knowing his father would fund it regardless as long as he was studying in a field he approved of, and was eventually accepted by Thames' Edge. In his first year, Leo came to embody the essence of 'ignorance is bliss'. He was never a very perceptive boy when he wasn't trying to paint something, and it was only a short leap from there to shutting out anything he didn't want to hear. Problems, people; he wanted nothing to do with anything that threatened his optimistic delusions. As far as Leo was concerned, he was perfectly content skating by as an average student and gaining cheap validation from Twitter comments about his posted art.
Affiliations
Berhtram Gremminger - Leo's father, a wealthy Swiss businessman from a line of old money. While he does have very strong ideas about how his son should conduct himself, he's not truly as uncompromising and cold as Leo might describe him as and merely wants the best for the boy. He sees steering Leo into a career in finance as the easiest and best life he could provide for his son, as he'd have a comfortable job at Berhtram's firm and be more than prepared to inherit the company.
Anna Gremminger - Leo's mother, an upper class woman from the canton of Schwyz, was more engaged in Leo's life than his busy and somewhat distant father, as Berhtram was easily rich enough to allow her to not work a day in her life after they married. As such, she spent her days at home watching little Leo's art projects and encouraging him as any good mother would do, though she still ultimately sides with his father on matters of Leo's prospective career path.
Relationships
TBA</s>
<|message|>Beau MacGuaire
---
Sure enough, Beau's first day back at the university was proceeding as normal for now. His metalworking degree was meant to be more of a practical class but, as per usual of a university, there was still a good chunk of lecture in there. And since Beau was more of a kinesthetic learner than anything, almost none of that lecture part was sticking. Still, he learned something out of it, so it wasn't a complete waste of time. Still, by the end of the day, he was glad that it was over and he could return home.
Beau had planned to make a quick grocery run before returning to his dormitory, and went out the back entrance since it'd be closer to get to where he needed to go. But right at the second he left that way, a thick, mysterious fog had completely surrounded the fog around him.
"The hell?" confused about the sight of this, Beau instinctively reached for his phone, "I could've sworn the forecast was meant to be..."
He was about to say the word "sunny", but as he observed the top of his screen in detail, he could only bite his lip and blow out of it to make a big long resounding F. Just his luck; not only did a gargantuan mass of fog materialize from quite literally out of nowhere, but it was at that exact moment that Beau's phone decided to be as good as dead to him. And furthermore, there was no-one around to verify that they seeing the same thing he was. Was this supposed to be some kind of warning sign that Beau was unaware of?
With a sigh of defeat, Beau pocketed his phone again and continued on his way for now. He remained vigilant of his surroundings; that much made sense to him. But there was no use being paranoid about what one couldn't control...</s>
<|message|>Cara Lucero de la Barrera
---
---
The rest of her day was uneventful, but Cara supposed it meant at this point she was finally starting to get used to things. Her initial instinct had been to find her sister once classes ended, but she supposed that she should take Adonna's advice and give the girl her space. Maybe for the better, she didn't want to come off as smothering or anything. What she did want to put her energy into would be a good workout, and with gym bag in hand, that would be exactly where she would be headed once she got changed.
She could never remember if the university's gym had its own changing room, always changing in the bathroom and arriving from another entrance. Eventually, she planned on renting a locker or something. Did they have those here? She should probably find out, if she wasn't in class or at home the gym was usually where she'd be. Putting on her headphones, she queued up a peppy song to give herself more energy. She was really to rumble about two minutes in, stopping only to remember that she needed to move her bike. Ugh, why didn't London just have parking like any normal city?!
As she walked, the fog surrounding her seemed to be thick. She didn't think anything of it until her signal gave out, stopping her music. "Of course," She muttered to herself, giving the screen a look. No signal? She was going to give that salesman a piece of her mind, she specifically went on this phone plan for coverage here! Ignoring it for now, she stuffed her phone into her pocket and kept walking. And kept walking. And walking? "Uh...?" She blinked a few times, deciding that she must have made a wrong turn. She should have reached the street by now, she couldn't have been that hopeless, right?
Coming to a stop, Cara swore she saw someone doubled over in front of her. Without thinking, Cara hussled over, dropping her bags as she knelt down next to him. "Hey! You okay?" She asked him.
---
Checking up on @LetMeDoStuff</s>
| <|message|>Leo Gremminger
"My name is Rose Hadley, by the way. You look familiar. Do we share a class by any chance?"
Ah shit, the million-dollar question. Franc? Pound? Whatever. This girl wasn't sure if Leo was in a class with her either. Though, if Rose thought he looked familiar and he thought she looked familiar, they were probably familiar, right? Besides, he shouldn't assume everyone else was hyperobservant of their classmates if he wasn't. Plus he was usually wearing glasses in class; she might just not recogize him without them.
Either way, he took the offered hand and shook it with a relieved chuckle. "Probably. I was thinking the same thing but wasn't sure. I'm Leo. Uh, Leo Gremminger," He greeted before he turned away and continued on his path to class. In contrast to the 'proper escort' he'd offered, Leo merely waved his hand as an invitation for Rose to join him.
---
After classes, Leo found his way to the library. An idea for his next painting hit him right in the middle of Business Management, and he didn't want to risk walking all the way home and losing it in his usual scatterbrained daze. It had already taken tremendous self control to not start sketching the preliminary idea right in the middle of class, but Leo didn't think he heard a word the professor said in the meantime anyway.
The boy had been lounging in a less-populated corner of the building for quite some time, slouched down in his chair like a lazy teenager in some boomer newspaper comic as he drummed the side of a pricy tablet with a matching stylus. His eyes slid indolently back and forth across the screen, surveying a loose sketch of an alleyway to no avail. It was missing... something. The banality of it wasn't the problem; he wanted a mundane scene, but he also wanted some part of it to be eyecatching.
A sigh escaped him as he lulled his head backward in a sudden fit of dizziness. This was more exhausting than it should've been. Leo already knew if he winged it, it'd just look like shit, and the headache he was progressively generating was telling him to quit while he was behind. It was a sad day when even his hobby was too much of an obligation for him to follow through on.
Leo tucked his tablet back into his backpack and moved to stand, only for his body to give out as he crumpled back into his seat. Was he sick? It was a fight to keep his eyes open at this point. He wasn't sure if he just blinked or actually nodded off, but when his eyes reopened, the room was a lot darker. The telltale sound of rain was absent, so... ah, fuck, he seriously passed out until sundown.
No, that wasn't quite it. It wasn't just dark, everything was hazy, like somebody decided to start chainsmoking indoors. It didn't smell though - still, his eyesight couldn't be that bad. Leo stood up again - a far easier feat now that the dizzy spell had passed - and rubbed his eyes to try and dispel the fogginess. He needed to head home. Or to a hospital. It was a toss-up, honestly.
---
Flame</s> |
<|description|>Tryg Truman
Male, 20 Years, Born in Finland
---
Appearance
Standing at five feet, seven inches tall and weighing 67 kilograms, Tryg isn't the owner of an imposing build, but he likes it that way. He requires glasses to see properly, at least in the real world. Tryg owns a great many black t-shirts, and has a tendency to wear a light gray and black jacket. For legwear, khakis are preferred. His nose is quite pointed, his eyes sunken, and his hair jet black. On his right temple is a wire-thin scar. Anytime Tryg has been seen awake, he seems to have his bass trombone (which he dubs "Dainsleif") strapped to his back, if it's not in his hands.
Personality
Tryg is rather arrogant, but he is not without his idols. He holds his trombone in such high regard that some think it to be worship, but his true undeniable worship is given to JJ Johnson, a jazz trombonist from the Americas. Before moving to the UK for University, he had a shrine erected in JJ's honor in the closet of his bedroom. He sees no other musician as worthy of his attention, and can even be condescending to those who are not musically inclined, believing them to be lacking in education.
Even for all his arrogance, though, there's something about those who are downtrodden that tugs at Tryg's heartstrings. Maybe because he feels he relates due to struggling to meet his goal? He couldn't admit that, though, could he?
---
Persona
Mist rarely reveals her true form to anyone considered "beneath" her. However, when she is convinced of a warrior being worthy of a place in Valhalla (in Tryg's mind, those of Valhalla are Soloists or First Chair musicians), she at last reveals her face. Even to a lesser companion, she will ensure they are not harmed beyond healing. She will remain faithful to any considered a "friend" until their demise, even if they are not deemed worthy in her eyes. Or perhaps it's not a matter of an improvement outsiders must make . . .
Arcana
Faith
Skill
Mist grants the ability to Heal allies, as well as the ability to create a concealing fog.
Equipment
While in the World of Fog, Tryg utilizes a rapier for melee combat and a light crossbow for ranged attacks.
---
Education
Tryg is in his third year of University, and as the trombone being carried around probably indicates, he is majoring in music.
Biography
The product of an inconsequential family out of Tampere, Finland, Tryg was clearly influenced by music at a young age. His parents seemed to be proud of this, as he was taking after his father. After his seventh birthday, he discovered American Jazz, and it became an obsession, enough that Tryg's primary instrument of choice was the trombone. His parents initially granted his wish, and even paid for private lessons, but as the costs of another musician in the family grew greater, so did the tensions between parents and child. Tryg's musical abilities grew rapidly, yet his parents grew weary of this increasing obsession, both in terms of money and morale. At the age of 14, Tryg got into a horrible confrontation with his father that left Tryg's mother terrified. Tryg would never admit it, but he was the first to throw a punch that day. The fight left Tryg with a broken wrist and a scar on his temple, and his father managed with only a couple of bruises.
Yet Tryg refused to give up his passion, and became more determined to follow this obsession through to the end. He even took up odd jobs around town and earned small jazz gigs to earn money, and applied for scholarships to help pay for further tuition. By the time he finished his local schooling, he had amassed enough to go abroad for the remainder of his tuition. At last, it was time to escape from his parents and show the world what he was capable of.
To celebrate "moving up in the world," Tryg had managed to save enough money to purchase a new bass trombone, which he gave the name Dainsleif with the promise that any time he touched the instrument to his lips, the sound would be so pure it would "kill" those who listened. He found it entertaining when he arrived at Thames' Edge to learn of their motto: Find Your Purpose. "Heh. I've got my purpose," Tryg thought. "I'm here to fulfill it." His first two years of school were uneventful, but it's now that he has begun to question his goals. Once he finishes this, what is it he's going to do?
Affiliations
Brennus and Candace Truman, his parents, though he likes to not bring it up
Relationships
None, at the moment. Views himself a lone wolf.
Character Theme</s>
<|message|>Rose Hadley
Rose rolled her eyes as the boy had the audacity to lecture her before running off."Hmph, the nerve of some people." She muttered to herself. What was wrong with expecting some manner of politeness from people? Was it so difficult to say sorry? Then this would have been over, and no harm would have been done. Clearly, Rose had been raised much better than this child.
The other boy was still here. He offered to escort her to university. Rose smirked. Although, she wasn't at all enthused by the remark, she definitely appreciated the offer. It helped that this boy was kind of cute. Not that she was one to lose her wits over a man. "As a matter of fact, I do attend Thanes Edge. I accept your offer. It can be so difficult to meet new people in University, it would be nice to have some company." The young woman offered her hand for him to shake if he wanted to. "My name is Rose Hadley, by the way. You look familiar. Do we share a class by any chance?"
of Thoth</s>
<|message|>Felix Ignatius Volpe
---
Towards the back of the library, Felix had made a small den of books. He had maee it to the University with even more time to spare, thanks in no small part to his anger at the woman. But like most emotions he stuffed it back inside as he put his mind to learning several new subjects and enchancing his understanding of old ones. In truth, he knew how unhealthy course, his studies of psychology made that perfectly clear, but there was too much for him to deal with at this point. It was nearly twelve years since he had begun doing this, ten years of repressed emotions that he could not let loose on the world.
He should have followed the unwritten rules of society with that woman. What he knew from his studies trying to understand people said that you should apologise when people ask you to, even if it isn't your fault. But this desire, this addiction, to challenging himself got in the way. Why did she have to be such a powerhouse of a woman, the Athena to his Arachnee? He didn't think he was attracted to her in a sexual manner, as he had repressed his carnal desires with his emotions... for the most part.
Perhaps it was a blessing Manann would be taking him across to the realm beyond. The world didn't need to deal with the retched beast that would come forth when his dammed emotions finally broke out.</s>
<|message|>The Raven
---
---
Ah, what an unmistakable dreariness: time. The day was spent in false company. Many people surrounded him, and yet he felt as if he were there all alone. People came and went, talking with or to him. Ideas for scripts, camera discussions, compliments towards the last year's work and appreciation for contemporary pieces. He smiled, sometimes, and carried on with life as it was. The same old anchor that tied his feet to the ground still held onto him. He couldn't shake it, nor could he loosen its grip. It felt hurtful to admit that he'd lost a lot of hope in finding what he ever so desired. And so, he continued to just work as he always did. Maybe someday it would come. Maybe it wouldn't. He didn't know but he surely did care. It was one of those things, those sparks that can't catch alight. Split asunder between his true needs and his personal situation, he simply dragged himself to the toilet every so often to catch a breather and a drink of water.
As the day went on, he began to drift into his mind. He thought back to the dream he had. A blue room laced with velvety strings, coating the bridge of a ship's interior. It had been so...surreal. Chalking it up as a dream didn't feel right. Something felt different about it, like he physically sensed things a man usually wouldn't. From the long-nosed captain to the spiritedly intriguing figure beside him, it stemmed from no prior schema or experiences he'd had before. It wasn't a creative pounce. That worried him, but it also made him more intrigued by what it had been. He began to think over the small details he could remember, just as if he were there in person. The shaking the sea yet the stillness of the ship. Sails tattered and loose, being dragged along in the wind. Metaphorically, he had no clue what it meant, at least from the vague memory he held of it. Oh, the cold furnaces and funnels that weren't active. Something about them seemed to catch his attention, but to what reason was still unknown. Most of his reminiscence came from within the room.
The man with the long nose, as he'd be known as, was a very distressful figure. He spoke with an eerie tone, one that felt too provocative of a stalkers tongue. The things he said, the suggestions he made. Bets, games and keeping a close eye? But he wasn't the only one in the room either. Laurence stood amidst several figures of unknown shade. Clouds and gases covered their faces. God, the entire thing befuddled him. He wanted to know. He had a desire to learn about the dream, if it were a one-off special to his weird imagination or something of a premonition? It couldn't be, he thought. Those were things beyond real cognition; a pseudoscience perhaps? Either way, it puzzled him through the entire day, right up until he'd decided that he'd done enough work. He wasn't sure if he'd be heading out to his treated dinner that night or if it was a reschedule. Either way, Fiddle would've called to have let him know later on.
The time? 5:30pm, on the dot. He felt a strange thump in his head. It ached for a little while, forcing his hand to hold against his temple. The plummet felt extraterrestrial. A murky tailor to his scalp suddenly discomforted him. It lingered and it toyed with him for a while, increasing its irritation over the course of a few minutes. Rotten luck, he imagined it was nothing more than a migraine at the very worst. It didn't ruin anything in the day, only discomfort. One of the small things in life that would pile on to the endless seas of struggles that one must face. He looked back up at his phone. 5:42pm. Time really did fly past when there was nothing to work for. He sighed. And so, he slung his bag over his shoulder, collected his laptop and walked towards the nearest exit.
The air felt fresh, yet poisoned. Each step he took felt riddled with motion sickness. He staggered once or twice, but maintained his course. Getting home was the priority. The campus was huge, taking a while to cross from one end to the other. And along the way, as he walked down a particular alley leading behind the science department, something began to warp around him. The sky. It...shifted? No. It changed colour? Or did it? The warps and waves fluctuated through the sky. Ripples bounced all around him. A violent agony besieged his forehead. He didn't know where it was coming from or what was happening, but he could've sworn an entire mist appeared when he closed his eyes, falling to a single knee. As far as he knew, there wasn't anyone near him, nor in the same alleyway. He tried to speak, but felt his throat close tightly. His eyes shimmered with bright lights and crude obscurities, like clouds. And before he knew it, there was an awfully unrecognisable change occurring around him, one that would forever begin the path he and many others were unaware they'd take.</s>
| <|message|>Tryg Truman
He didn't make much from his performance, but for essentially being a street performer, Tryg could do worse. As he finished his tune and parties departed for class, Tryg realized he should probably do likewise. A music theory class to start the day, followed by lunch, then private lessons and orchestra, and lastly (and in his opinion, best) jazz band. Of course, the freshies in the latter two made it near impossible to accomplish anything first day, though they had still received a few sheets of music to begin practice for performances and recitals and the like later in the semester. When all was wrapped up, he stayed over and found an unoccupied practice room in the music building to give this music a more proper look.
Nothing too challenging by Tryg's standards, but could be seen as fun nonetheless. Clearly intended to not scare the new kids out the door as they transition from lesser education levels of musical talent into pseudo-professionalism. It made sense for the purposes of building their abilities, but as far as Tryg was concerned, if this truly were an attempt to transition students into becoming professionals, then this needed to be treated like a more professional gathering. Give the kids the challenging stuff. Make them work to prove themselves. If they can't handle it, then stick them on third seat or send them out the door. Tryg, of course, challenged the higher seats immediately upon his arrival to the school, and played those who were his "senior" under the table. Since, he has been the foremost Trombone seat.
Then that one kid today, wanted to challenge him for first seat, so Tryg went down to the music library, grabbed a piece he'd never played before (something out of his own comfort zone as well, so not even jazz related) and proceeded to show the kid why he shouldn't even be in orchestra, yet the director still had the audacity to promote the kid from third seat to second. The kid couldn't even hold a middle C (and his notes sounded as chunky as the director's fat rolls. What the actual hell was going through the director's head? Whatever. Tryg would make sure the kid came to worship him and his trombone soon enough.
Then about 5:30, a wave of heartburn seemed to set in. Or, unless the clock on the wall was off, it was right on the dot. Shit, must've been something I had for lunch, he thought. He played another ten minutes, and over that time the discomfort transitioned into pure nausea. Okay, time to call it quits and find a restroom. He was on the second floor, and there was a restroom at the end of the hallway that should be unlocked. He slung Dainsleif over his shoulder and stumbled through the door.
The hallway seemed to twist and writhe before him. Either I'm on an acid trip, too, or this bug is worse than I thought. Rather ungracefully, Tryg made his way down the corridor, once straight as an arrow, but now serpentine, writhing and rippling the whole way. Colors morphed, then returned to normal. Tunnel vision started to set in, but the restroom door was right there. All he had to do was reach out and grab the handle. Or take two more steps and grab it. Damn thing. After repeating this cycle no less than three times (might've been more), Tryg finally shoved the door open, revealing a place that wasn't the restroom he remembered, being completely covered in fog and near impossible to see in. Then, Tryg threw up. Shit.</s> |
<|description|>Kjell Granum
Gender
Male
Age
20, November 15 1999
Sexuality
Straight
Nationality
Norwegian
---
Appearance
Kjell has an above-average build with short brown hair and gray eyes. He tends to wear jackets most days regardless of the weather. Normally open and most black, or gray but, has one green and red jacket that he wears sometimes. His shirts vary in colors but, most are gray or white. He sometimes wears a hoodie which is gray on rainy or cool days. Also wears a necklace all the time that he got from his grandparents.
Height
5'9
Personality
Kjell could be described as an introvert, shy, reserved, and likes to be alone. He also can be very social, outgoing, and rather active when he wants to. Trending the line really with being an introvert and is generally friendly to those around him. Along with being a positive and hopeful person despite his history. Able to see the bright side to a situation no matter how bleak. Sometimes to the annoyance of others. Though he tries to hide the self-doubt and the grief his has over his involvement with his sister's accident. Which he tries to get past it but, it hard to dislodge as he has found. Generally, Kjell is a go with the flow kind of kind guy. Though he can be stubborn at times and sometimes if he sets his mind to it. He can be very hard to dissuade him about something he cares about.
---
Persona
Elpis
Arcana
Hope
Skill
Bless and Healing
Equipment
Mace and Heckler & Koch G3
---
Education
Year 2 - Astronomy
Biography
Kjell was born in Stavanger, Norway, and the eldest of three. His parents were middle class and own a small hardware store. Growing up Kjell was content with his life and would form close bonds with his family. Particularly with his sister and it was when he was ten did he show interest in astronomy. Always curious about the stars and would spend nights looking up at the night sky, finding constellations, and wanting to know more about the stars.
Things were looking bright for the family, until when Kjell was twelve. When his parent's bank accounts got hacked and someone stole most of their money. On top of that, the family had to close their hardware shop after losing customers to the hardware regional chain Clas Ohlson. Now having to live off of welfare and the possibility that they may have to move given the high cost of living in Stavanger. His father fell into depression and while he tried to hide it from Kjell and his siblings. It was clear the state of his father and Kjell could not help but, feel about his father. While also worrying about the future though he tried to be positive.
By the time he was fourteen, the family had moved to Bryne and had started to recover. His parents found work and things were going well. Then an abrupt accident involving his sister and left her in a coma. Kjell was distraught over what happened since the accident was his fault. He could not forgive themselves for what he did to his sister and started to doubt himself. When she finally woke up a month later, Kjell was overjoyed at the news. While she recovered fast, she was angry at him over what happened and a rift started between the two. Kjell thinking that he deserved this and for a time did not know to rebuild the ruined relationship with his sister.
For years this went on and he clung on to some hope that maybe he could salvage relations with his sister and it seemed like she was starting to forgive him. Then Kjell suffered a falling out with his best friend and it was a explosive end. It left Kjell to think about things and it affected him deeply. After graduating from high school, Kjell earned a scholarship to several collages and under his parents wanting the best for him. Recommended him to go to Thames'Edge University in England. Which he thought it would be fun to study aboard and moved to London. So far he is enjoying himself in London though his grief and self-doubt have not left him. Still, he hopes that he will get better down the road and fix the relationship with his sister.
Affiliations
Torgeir Granum - Father
Johanna Granum - Mother
Vivi Granum - Younger Sister
Joar Granum - Younger Brother
Relationships
TBA
Character Theme
Song</s>
<|message|>The Raven
---
Counting the nights had become impossible. The scribbles on her walls were incomprehensible. Individual tallies began to merge into one another. Soon, the numbers were a single constant scratch against the wall. Irony had hit her like a train. Hiding in the shadows to avoid THE Shadows. A crawling bottom feeder, a scrounger at the end of time. Faced with the endless void of uncertainty, she'd conjured plan after plan. Each colour coded nightmare had their own names. Yearn wasn't strong enough to describe her desire. There was an act that needed to be launched, the next part of the greater story she held so dearly onto. Her scribbles fell upon blind eyes and her begs were spoken to deaf ears. No scribe could translate her incoherence. Voices in her head did the talking for her. When there was no one to talk to, the only person she could converse with was herself. In desperate determination, she began to titter to herself as she realised the inaudible screaming coming from inside her run down hideaway. A tale on insanity had barely left her alone. Final hour. Final year. Final week. Final day? Something taunted her from around the corner that wasn't really there. Her skittish fiddling jingled throughout the underpass. Agony played with her.
"I can hear you, you little fucker..." A raspy, tired tone met with a head twitch unsettled her routine of self-devastation. Her eyes scouted out the surrounding. Something smelt off, as in an apparition had been lurched in her bedroom for hours. Nothing was there, of course. Nothing was ever there. There hadn't been anything but her for the years that had passed. Deep down, she hoped he would show his face, either to end it all or to just talk to her like they used to. "Come on! Show yourself...please..."
Quietly, she turned to sobbing, her face breaking down to her hands. She cradled it with dainty fingers and soaked up her own tears. Her stomach rumbled. Through her false loyalty, she thought she'd have been something beautiful. Nothing felt the same anymore. On her light and human skin, the odd feather would brush against her clothing. They didn't connect to her skin, but her clothing felt almost identical to her own flesh. Nothing quite felt the same still. She scraped another tally against the wall, watching it merge into the other countless lines she'd clawed in herself with a rusty knife. Her midnight hair flowed behind her as she wiped her eyes dry, but not clean. With weary hands, she pulled her hood up over her head, forming the cowl she'd grown to idolise. Across the face, her mask was placed, its extensive beak now hiding the face she'd grown to detest. She had become the Raven again. Under the cowl, she felt safe. Stepping out of her hiding house, she walked into the open air, where the World of Fog towered around her. Her feet were light to the step and her mind was once again set back into place. Hunger. She wanted it. She wanted to carry the death on her shoulders. She wanted someone to see what she saw. She wanted to run. She wanted to escape. And in her final lunge, she ran off into the day, sensing a strange yet destructive rift open up on the other side of the foggy metropolis.</s>
<|message|>Tate Hwang
---
The jump from sleep to wakefulness was sudden. Abrupt. And, exactly the same as it had been for the past... who knew, really. The first thing Tate consciously laid eyes on was his clock. Five minutes before the alarm was meant to go off. It was the eternal paradox that he'd grown accustomed to recently: if he set the alarm, he'd always wake up before it went off. So just don't set the alarm, then? Yeah, and say goodbye to all your appointments, fucker. Tate groaned as he rose to a seated position. He couldn't remember much about his time in the world of slumber, but the vague recollections were enough to give him pause. It was different. Tate was used to his dreams being incomprehensible, but there was something off. It made... too much sense, and despite barely remembering anything about it, Tate couldn't shake that feeling out of his head.
What was he, getting spiritual now?
Tate shook those thoughts out of his head. The hell was he getting all pensive for? He had a day to get through. With that in mind, he quickly hopped over to his alarm, turning it off right before it sacked him with the high-pitched beeps Tate had learned to dread it for. Consistently waking up before his alarm had one upside, he guessed. With that out of the way, Tate hopped into the shower. This was also part of his routine, after all. It helped get everything in order for the day. Routine was the main thing keeping him grounded right now. Tate freshened up for the day ahead, putting on a grey t-shirt and blue jeans and slipping into his black hoodie. He slipped on his shoes before leaving his dorm room...
Only to immediately run into someone.
"Heya, Joss," Tate said to the girl. This was also part of the routine he'd settled into. He and Jocelyn would meet just outside his room, before heading off to school. It was why he'd woken up so early today, even though he didn't have a class until the evening.
"Hey yourself," Jocelyn replied, "Ready to get swarmed?"
"Swarmed?"
"Yeah, you know. By the freshies."
"The fr-... ohh, yeah, no, uh..." Tate started, a look of realization coming over his face. The first-years were gonna be out in full force. "Things are gonna get crowded as fuck, huh?"
"Listen to this man talking like he wasn't exactly part of the problem less than a year ago," Jocelyn replied, rolling her eyes, "You got everything?"
"Yeah, course I did."
"You sure? If you realize that you forgot something later, I'm not helping you."
"I got it, Joss. Jesus."
"Uh huh. If you say so," Jocelyn said, and began to walk off.
Well. Tate followed her without another word.
The walk to the main building was short and uneventful. The freshmen were, indeed out in full force all around the campus, and at several points Tate could have sworn he was wading through the crowd as opposed to simply shuffling through it. He and Jocelyn talked about games and anime, mostly. Their shared interests. Jocelyn saw someone at her MahjongSoul table pull off a nagashi mangan. Tate talked about how he binged the entirety of Season 27 of Detective Conan over the weekend.
"Bruh. What the fuck."
"I mean... same."
Jocelyn shook her head as they entered the main building.
"Alright, I'm heading off to class. See ya later," she said, before heading off in her direction.
Which left him alone again. Tate moved to one of the common areas to see what was what. He had so, so much time to kill. Time to see how he could kill it.
Maybe with breakfast? You haven't eaten yet, doofus.
...He'd probably get something soon. Fine. But for now, he scanned the room.</s>
<|message|>Tryg Truman
Vicinity of: @Lugubrious, @CriticalHit, and @BCTheEntity
New semester starts today, Tryg thought as he left his dorm room. By this point, he knew the campus well enough to know where his first class was. Means more firsties. Guess I can show what they're up against in this school. He looked at the brass cylinder poking out from behind his shoulder. Time to put Dainsleif here to work. Tryg made his way down to one of the common rooms where he noticed a handful of new faces. Since one seemed a bit preoccupied with studies, he instead elected to make his way to a less populated area where he found a nice column to lean against once he pulled his trombone from his back. No need to keep anyone from improving themselves, he considered.
Opening the satchel he kept his trombone's stand in, he set up the stand and laid open the bag so that passersby could leave tips if they wished. He never expected anything better than pocket change, if anything, but it's nice to get paid by those who recognize talent. After all, Dainsleif deserves it. Hmm . . . Nothing too complicated this early. Something more on the warm-up end. Save the really fun stuff for two or three in the evening. Maybe a little on the soft side to accommodate the studious. Yeah. Tryg pulled out his phone and opened the tuning app and ensured his instrument's tuning was perfect before he began to play a piece he had memorized years ago.
(minus the accompaniment instruments, of course)
When two people seemed to cut away from the crowd, Tryg's first assumption was that they might be lovers. Let's have a bit of fun with this. As they approached, he decided to up the sap in his playing juuuuuuust a notch. Don't want to make the music distasteful, but definitely help their mood. Or mock them a bit? Who knows. All Tryg knew was it was "fun".</s>
| <|message|>Kjell Granum
Once again Kjell had woken up early in the morning in a cold sweat. Once again he had that dream of what happened to his sister and his role in it. Breathing heavily as he tried to calm down. Ever since the accident, he has had this dream caused by his guilt that even after six years it is still strong. After calming down, Kjell took a look at his watch, six o five am. This would not be the first time that his dream would have woken him up early. Kjell signed as thought about if he should stay in bed or not. He could try and rest for an hour and get up at seven or get up now. "Screw it", he said out loud and got out of bed. He may be tired but, at least he will get one more hour to prepare before classes start and he was a morning person anyway.
It did not take long for him to get ready for the first day of classes. Kjell left his apartment with his normal attire. Black jacket with a while grey shirt along with his necklace. Which had a special meaning for him. For his necklace is a nordic compass and was given to him by his grandparents. As to help him find his way in the world and it is like a lucky charm for him. Something he considers he needs in order to forgive himself over the incident with his sister.
After arriving at the university, Kjell found that he still had some time before his first-class started. Which he did not need to scout out where it was since he been here for a year and knows well enough where everything is. So with nothing to do, Kjell headed to the university's library. Kjell tends to visit the library when he has nothing to do at the campus and spends his time there in between classes. Sometimes to get some homework done but, most of the time read what he thought was interesting to him. This time it will be a history book that he found. Taking a sit in one of the many chairs of the library and started to read. He does not normally read history books, Kjell finds history, okay but, some topics do interest him. Like this book about the Winter War and Kjell would stay here for some time. This second year is expected to like the first. Which something he is prepared for and is looking forward to.</s> |
<|description|>Prince Tol Anzi-de Carragua
Age:
30
Species:
In order to gain immortality, a forgotten race sealed their souls into "heart crystals" which were then placed into Golem bodies. Said race was once again mostly wiped out, due to the fact they could not procreate, until an Ancient Golem King found a way to pull lost souls into new "heart crystals", which could then start their lives as golems. The only problem being that these "lost souls" tend to lose all recollection of what they once were, shatter their crystals over time, and their souls vanish without possibility to return.
Then there's the other drawback that "lost souls" aren't necessarily always from speaking races-- which often results in eccentric personality traits or phobias. (i.e. that golem obsessed with hoarding things, burning things down, and building wings for themselves.) They are also prone to "blacking out" if they don't "rest"-- seems they must sit and meditate after expending energy but can function for four days without rest, if the activity involved isn't demanding. Something about magical regeneration, much as mages can't cast unlimited spells.
When they are crafted, they begin with the mentality vaguely of a "teenager," and pick up skills, language, and interests quickly for a five year period, before their soul "settles", and acquiring new things becomes more difficult-- as difficult as it is for a human adult to learn new skills, at least. No one knows quite how long their lifespan is, though it is estimated to be between 100 and 200 years, with some shattering far later or far earlier in rare instances. The art of forging heart crystals has been with the Royal family for generations and most of the city's golems live within their castle. They're among the last organized golem crafters in the world but certainly not the only ones.
Royal Golems are distinct in that their bodies are specially crafted as they learn their personal identity. Their bodies are only made of Stone and Metal, regardless of the "wood" look some may have-- which was something of a "trendy" look for golems popularized by an artist decades ago. Rumor has it that within the castle resides one of the last Immortal Golems, who is responsible for carving the Royal Golem bodies.
Apparently the only way to truly kill a golem is to shatter their crystal. Transplanting a crystal from one body to another is a dangerous and delicate process-- regardless of how skilled the transplanter is, the crystal is at a constant risk of shattering, as it is exposed to outside magical currents, and the soul longs for freedom. And while most Golems prefer to keep their soul crystal within their chests, that's certainly not the only place to embed it. There are tales of golem heads still talking on long forgotten battlefields or deep beneath the sea, obviously having been driven mad by the isolation-- and rumors of a volcanic cave which screams in a multitude of voices whenever one enters it.
And Royal Golems can't swim. They can't even float.
They simply have not figured out a way to make this possible.
Gender:
He/Him -- None Cause Golem
Habits:
Known for being a collector of bladed weaponry and taxidermy Canines, while also being known for his RUDENESS. He's a prince that makes demands, expects them to be met, and will whine to the King until someone inevitably ends up being executed, as this seems to please him. He is second in line for the throne and oddly has the most sway over the King's opinions. That said? He's kind of gullible.
Fears:
Being IGNORED, being poor, loss of freedom.
Being ignored is the most important one, as he will do very stupid things for attention.
LOVES:
Money, Silver, bladed "exotic" weapons, expensive things, and dogs.
Dislikes:
Any lack of attention, being lied to, POOR PEOPLE, not getting what he wants, and reptiles.
He HATES reptiles-- especially those of dragon blood.
Role:
Prince Royal Golem, Second In Line for the royal throne, and "guy who causes problems."
Appearance:
6ft tall, made of Serpent Steel, and decorated with gold, the Prince went with an armored appearance, and owl imagery as for his current body. He's in a "light weight" body, commonly used for scouts and assassins, and comes in around 110lbs.
"A Royal never tells where his heart crystal is kept!"
Personality:
Whiny, rude, spoiled, and rather aggressive, Prince Tol is known for being something of a "loony." While the rest of his family seems (relatively) level headed, Prince Tol shares 0% of their patience, pity, or remorse. This is a man known for shoving peasants down for fun, whining until his father executes someone, and obsessively buying whatever "exotic" weapon off of someone-- as in, having them killed if they refuse to sell it. That said? He's actually a skilled with a rapier, as he's had a solid 28 years of practice, and can be something of a threat if directly challenged. Oddly enough, if he loses a duel, he... accepts it. He plays fair when it comes to dueling and is a good sport about it. Probably one of the only positive traits this guy possesses-- other than the fact that he's weirdly honest when it comes down to it. Sure, he whines until he gets what he wants but it's not exaggerated or based on lies... even when people die because of it.
His voice is rather shrill and high-pitched.
Other:
The Queen would not pay a ransom for this man. Period.
The King spoils him, does whatever he wants, and is constantly yelled at by The Queen for doing so.
First In Line Princess ignores him and pretends he doesn't exist. She's sick of playing damage control for his nonsense and would probably PAY SOMEONE to dump him into the ocean.
Third In Line Prince HATES him and actually scares him. A lot.
Name
Celestius Wyrmdyth-de Carragua
Age:
175
Species:
Wyrmdyth Forest Fairy (Royalty)
Gender:
She/Her -- Female
Habits:
Known for growing all sorts of plants and brewing potions. Mostly stays within the castle but has been known to take night flights. There's no doubt she's a powerful sorceress, as her spellcraft is responsible for a nearby forest she tends to.
She glares a lot-- her "children" call this the "Look of Death"
Sometimes she mentions how "political" her marriage is.
Fears:
Losing her power, her marriage falling apart, and invasion by destructive forces.
LOVES:
Animals, Nature, People (they fascinate her), magic,
Dislikes:
DRAGONS -- She's seen more than one place burned to ash because of those, "Savage monsters," and refuses to believe they posses any higher intelligence. And she ironically enough doesn't like Golems very much.
Role:
Queen, "Mother", Resident Fearsome Sorceress
Appearance:
6ft 5in, elegant, enchanting, with sharp firey colored eyes, and skin the color of a red-hued sunset. She dresses in plenty of gold, silver, and glittering jewels adorning her flowing robes. Her hair is made of stone, vine, and hard thorns, which she caps off with metal adornment. To be in her presence is to feel oddly on edge, for that is simply the aura a Wyrmdyth Fairy projects. Like the rest of her people, her two wings are large and powerful-- with orange, brown, and green feathers.
Personality:
Princess of the Mid-land Dragonslayer Fae family, the Wyrmdyth, she married the King here simply to assist in a political alliance. There's no love in this marriage but she does care about him, at least. As far as her "children" are concerned, she's not known for showing them affection. In fact, she doesn't show much emotion at all. As a politician she's cold, calculating, and only seems to come alive when she's ANGRY. That's not to say she's all ice-- she shows a certain soft spot for the workers in the castle, children, and especially animals. She seems very relaxed and more "herself" when tending to her gardens or when not handling "throne business."
... but that's not to say she hasn't hexxed people and turned them into bushes.
Other:
Be careful not to make her angry...
Also, the longer one spends around the Royal Family, the more they realize that the Queen is truly the one in charge here.</s>
<|message|>Prince Tol Anzi-de Carragua
Prince Tol Anzi-de Carragua
Once the Guard began to follow, Prince Tol began to make his way toward the ship... but there was something odd about the fellow, emerging from the shadows, non-chalantly walking by. Of course the Prince noticed the crossbow in Marcus' hand. Tilting his head from side to side he seemed to contemplate just what it meant as he came to a halt. Turning sharply, he pointed toward Marcus and shouted, "You! Citizen! Do you not know the procedure of reciting the royal greeting of the week when passing ROYALTY?! Recite the greeting, now! Right now!"
Which was impossible as there was no such thing. He knew, the Head Guard probably knew, but would a foreigner and/or a suspicious tradesman walking with a crossbow, know? Prince Tol was nearly giddy with the cleverness of his little trap.
Hoofbeats grew in volume as a horse, bearing the royal colors, came galloping up to the docks. The Royal Guard seemed rather confused as to what was going on or who to talk to-- had they not noticed the Prince yet?</s>
<|message|>List Of Characters
Marcus
Marcus felt annoyance rise within him. Those bloody royals and their strange customs. Still, he seemed to think that Marcus was a citizen. For once, he would be able to use his back-up plan. Shrugging his shoulders, he answered with a fake British accent:'' Not from around 'ere I'm afraid. Apologies for any inconvenience''. Technically it wasn't a lie and he fought off the urge to smirk at the prince. He carefully swung out his crossbow pointing at a random ship, on the opposite side of the docks:'' I ought to be departing now, my daughters and wife are waiting back home. It's my first time trading alone''
---
Head Guard Val
Val was impressed. To come up with such a tactic to unveil a stranger would take some wit and creativity, which he didn't expect the prince to have. He observed the blonde, sceptic of his story but did not interject, waiting for Tol's reaction. While he waited he heard the hoofbeats of a horse. Noticing the newcomer, he excused himself with a bow and approached the confused guard:
'' Do you come bearing a message from the castle? I must be honest, I've been awaiting an explanation since the prince arrived''
---
Anya
''I didn't lie before you know? I won't be able to carry both you and Marcus back if the ship departs'' said Anya with a sigh. Blake's words were without a doubt flattering but her stubbornness had limits. She wasn't going to force any of the crew members to participate in her schemes if they were against them in the first place. Additionally, Anya didn't want anyone else to be punished for disobedience- it was her idea to look for Marcus so she should be the only one to suffer the consequences. Handing the now-clean cloth to one of the boys she lied with a smile, each word oozing with fake confidence:'' Besides my concerns were trivial- Marcus is an adult and can handle himself. He will be back before we know it''</s>
<|message|>Blake Heero
Blake looks at her,"and what if we make it bsck before dawn and before the shit departs? You know anya i was also trained to detect lies right. Look lets go now before sunrise.." He looks at her as he turned and began to walk ," I'll go with or without you Anya." he looks at her.</s>
| <|message|>Prince Tol Anzi-de Carragua
"Indeed I do," replied the Royal Guard, dismounting the horse slowly. They raised their brows at the sight of Prince Tol in the distance, letting out a sigh of relief as they looked over the immediate area, with a, "He hasn't. Uh. Harmed anyone yet? I take it?" Shaking their head, the guard handed over the parchment. "I believe it may be of interest to you, good sir, as the Queen herself said foreigners were expected. Due to the late hour, it can be assumed she is readying herself as well as the King for audience with. Ah. Whoever this is-- if I'm to be honest, I'm uncertain this is the correct ship, but she has her ways of determine that. Undoubtedly detailed in here?" Shrugging, the guard then moved toward the Prince, calling out, "Prince Tol! I believe Her Highness requires your presence back at the castle." This wasn't exactly a lie but it definitely wasn't truth. Clearly this guard was trying to prevent a... situation.
Within the letter handed to Head Guard Val, there were very specific instructions to read aloud to the crew-- in the case that any of them were illiterate-- that would act as a deescalation of sorts. It would help reassure them that they were welcome, that the King had expected them, that they were to be treated as honorable guests, and that they needed to be escorted to the castle immediately. Signed at the bottom was the Queen's signature, alongside mention of a reward for escorting them to the castle.
---
Prince Tol Anzi-de Carragua
While Prince Tol has made a clever plan, the fact that he was gullible pretty much made that plan worthless. He completely believed Marcus' accent as well as his story. "Ah, very well then, carry on my good man," replied the Prince. Just as he turned to continue down the docks, he noticed Head Guard Val's absence, then found himself turning around again. Was he talking to a Royal Guard? Where had that guy come from? Shaking very subtly, Prince Tol stared at the two, just as the Royal Guard called out to him.
A whine-- like the noise of a hot teapot-- escaped Prince Tol before he yelled back, "For what?! I am about to handle a situation here!" He was very much whining at this point, "How do they expect me to go there when I have to handle things here? Look, man, look at this ship! I have to handle this! His Majesty will be most impressed with my handling of this-- even HER HIGHNESS," he said the words with a hiss, "Will be impressed with my ability to handle this!" Prince Tol shook-- no. No. He was not going back, not now, when he was so close to doing something diplomatic and useful. Abruptly and without warning, he turned and began sprinting toward the foreign vessel down the dock. They never trusted him to do anything-- he was second for the throne! Second. Which meant that he had to at least prove he could handle diplomatic issues. Whenever he had the chance, they never let him, and he was not about to miss out on this one, just because they wanted him at the castle for something silly.</s> |
<|description|>Letrixia
Age: 24 sols on her planet
Gender: female
Personality Type: Savage, stubborn, bossy, bigoted, confident
Skills and Weaknesses: Huntress, herbalist, and survivalist. Struggles with people skills, communication, acting in a manner accepted in most civilized societies.</s>
<|message|>Morgan
The sky outside was washed over with thousands of stars, each one of them blinking down at them from so far away, and as Morgan stared up at them she sighed happily. Life had been good since finding her way to running this strange, strange establishment. For a simple Elven woman of humble origins, she had done alright with her life. She'd made enough of it, to not worry about the future now.
Well, not quite, anyway.
There was always the worry in the back of her mind of what horror the portals were going to throw out at her next. Just last week, a dragon had torn through and set the roof on fire. Didn't take long for a visiting wizard, an alien, and a terribly gruff man who called himself a "Witcher" to make smart work of the beast. They sent it back through, licking it's wounds - and the roof was just about fixed again.
Morgan glanced upwards at it, still a bit of a hole in the centre, but she'd arranged for more workers tomorrow. Tonight, the Elf simply wanted to relax, tired as she was. She ran a cloth around an empty glass, stifling a quiet yawn with her other hand. The scent of spiced meat hovered through the bar from the kitchen. Tonight it was a dish called Nachos. She was curious about it, and trusted her keen chef to make it exciting for whomever decided to walk in tonight.
Soon, the portals would open and the crowds would flood in. She was there with drinks, company, and kind words for anyone who did. She cast her glance to her favourite barmaid, Y'velda, who was wiping down the last of the tables. She'd been a great addition to the establishment - and as Morgan put the freshly cleaned glass onto the shelf, she heard the familiar "pop" and "whoosh" of a portal outside.
That would be the first guest...</s>
<|message|>Draven Stagnum
Draven Stagnum
His vision swirled about him as he found himself free-falling into a bottomless void. The emerald hue of fel magic illuminated the wormhole in which he found himself. Panic slowly began to set in as Draven considered whether or not he has just inadvertently taken a step into eternal purgatory.
A small comfort, followed by an increasing shock of fear, soon produced within him as he saw an end to the tunnel and a hard, abrupt conclusion to the trip. Spat out the other end of a psychedelic channel bridging time and space, Draven found himself sitting on his butt outside of an establishment labeled '7th Heaven'. He gave a laugh in a singular huff before pulling himself to his feet. How appropriate, he thought.
Dusting off his long coat and staggering toward the establishment's entrance, Draven stepped inside and looked around. It didn't exactly appear too lively. Maybe it was early in the evening or maybe this was Draven's lucky day. In truth, the dark mage was not a fan of crowds. He made his way to the bar and claimed a stool for himself.
"Barkeep," he shouted generically into the air. "I want a pint of whatever ale will see me cross-eyed by the time I am done with it," he declared to anyone within earshot. Step 1 would be to calm his nerves. Step 2 would be to figure how how he got there. And, finally, Step 3 would be to get back to where he belonged.</s>
<|message|>Art by Max Gibson
An older orc woman of impressive height and breadth called out to him from behind the bar.
"I'll be right with you!"
She was currently occupied with a quintet of otherworldly beings vaguely resembling bipedal insects, each carrying some manner of firearm plated with gleaming metal. Once she finished pouring them tankards of ale, she made her way over to warlock with a smile which served to show off her rather impressive tusks even more but could melt the heart of an frost giant. Her walking pace was unhurried and every other step was accompanied by an audible thud and a slight limp.
"Welcome to 7th Heaven, hon! Lemme get that drink for you." Before she had even finished her sentence, she'd poured him a tankard behind her and passed it to him. "So, what brings you here? Casting circle misfired? Wrong turn at the Eternity Gate? Poorly worded Wish spell?"
To say Y'velda had seen everything was a bit inaccurate, but it usually took a few days for her to something new all these years into her career at 7th Heaven.</s>
| <|message|>Letrixia
Bare feet, painted in her tribe's colors, carried her across the suns-bleached sands of the dunes. Spear in hand, she sprinted down the incline, as the great lizard rampaged over the top of the dune, looking down at her. It hissed loudly and continued the chase of its prey, its open mouth filling the area with the scent of fetid meat. Letrixia could feel every little vibration in the sands through her feet so she didn't need to look over her shoulder to know the distance between them was shrinking.
Everything was going according to plan.
She reached the dip between two dunes, sprinting back up over the next. Up ahead she saw the telltale signs of the younger hunters hidden in the sands, around a cone-valley. Amateurs. This is why they were here and not doing her job. The lizard hissed much more loudly, much closer now as Trix sprinted toward the valley. She sped up just a bit more, feeling it close in. But there was another feeling beneath the surface. Something large, awakened and prepared. As she reached the edge of the valley, she pushed off with a mighty leap, the final step feeling a surge of movement from beneath the surface.
As she dove through the air, she saw the sands of the valley explode beneath her, six massive mandibles shooting upwards. Letrixia threw her spear downward into one of its many eyes, as she tucked into a ball, narrowly avoiding the snapping mandibles. And while they missed her, they did not miss the large lizard, snapping around it. And that's when the other hunters struck. Large spears, angled upward were thrust into the creature's long body, then braced. As the creature attempted to retreat back into its hole, the spears pierced it more and more. A deafening high pitched chitter filled the air as Letrixia landed and rolled in the sand.
And when she stood up, it was night time.
Magic!
She immediately assumed a defensive posture, her long knife pulled, and her body crouched down as she quickly took in her surroundings. Her eyes fell upon a round structure nearby, made of some material she didn't recognize. She quickly moved in behind the barrel, hiding her small form entirely. Her back was against a wall made of the same foreign substance and she could feel so many heartbeats, voices, warmth inside. She saw a dark haired, dark demeanored man appear out of thin air and walk toward the building she hid against without a care in the world. She saw his eyes fall upon a sign over the doorway, runes she could not read. He looked amused, as he entered inside. She heard him speak and another answer, but she couldn't understand either of them.
She knew not where she was nor why she was here, and her instincts had her going into survival mode. But something about this place was trying to calm her, to invite her in, asking her to relax, telling her it was safe. And so, she found her feet carrying her to the door. She unrolled her feathered cloak from her belt, draping it around her shoulders, for it was cold here, colder than the nights in the dunes, at least to her. She stepped inside, her long dark hair still disheveled, filled with the feathers and beads of her tribe, her huntress band painted deep crimson across her eyes.
She quickly recognized the place as some sort of... food gathering area. Her own people ate around fire and water only, and there was fire in a hearth across the way, but her people never ate within caves. That was how various predators discovered you and hunted you as you slept. But something in here smelled divine, and Letrixia moved over to an empty table close to the fire. She removed her cloak, wearing little more than a breastwrap and loin cloth, her skin covered in tattoos of many ferocious creatures. And as she absorbed the warmth of the fire, she watched and waited.</s> |
<|description|>Cpt. Krin Bonsu
Age: 50 (with the average Lifespan of 136 years)
Gender: Male
Personality Type: Quick to jump to conclusions and eager to act, the captain of the Frigatte "Lucky Day" is the definition of a knucklehead. Family is not a big priority as the vast distanceses of empty cold space and the shere number of his siblings don't suit forming bonds with those not serving under his command or in his taskforce "Expeditionary Squadron 41".
Skills and Weaknesses: Cpt. Bonsu is quick to act often endangering his crew and entire taskforce, drawing the anger of his supirior in command during basically every mission. On the other Hand his Insight in enemy tactics and the ability of seemingly pulling good ideas out of his ass at the right time saved many lives before leading to him remaining in command neither rising nor falling in his rank.</s>
<|message|>Morgan
The sky outside was washed over with thousands of stars, each one of them blinking down at them from so far away, and as Morgan stared up at them she sighed happily. Life had been good since finding her way to running this strange, strange establishment. For a simple Elven woman of humble origins, she had done alright with her life. She'd made enough of it, to not worry about the future now.
Well, not quite, anyway.
There was always the worry in the back of her mind of what horror the portals were going to throw out at her next. Just last week, a dragon had torn through and set the roof on fire. Didn't take long for a visiting wizard, an alien, and a terribly gruff man who called himself a "Witcher" to make smart work of the beast. They sent it back through, licking it's wounds - and the roof was just about fixed again.
Morgan glanced upwards at it, still a bit of a hole in the centre, but she'd arranged for more workers tomorrow. Tonight, the Elf simply wanted to relax, tired as she was. She ran a cloth around an empty glass, stifling a quiet yawn with her other hand. The scent of spiced meat hovered through the bar from the kitchen. Tonight it was a dish called Nachos. She was curious about it, and trusted her keen chef to make it exciting for whomever decided to walk in tonight.
Soon, the portals would open and the crowds would flood in. She was there with drinks, company, and kind words for anyone who did. She cast her glance to her favourite barmaid, Y'velda, who was wiping down the last of the tables. She'd been a great addition to the establishment - and as Morgan put the freshly cleaned glass onto the shelf, she heard the familiar "pop" and "whoosh" of a portal outside.
That would be the first guest...</s>
<|message|>Draven Stagnum
Draven Stagnum
His vision swirled about him as he found himself free-falling into a bottomless void. The emerald hue of fel magic illuminated the wormhole in which he found himself. Panic slowly began to set in as Draven considered whether or not he has just inadvertently taken a step into eternal purgatory.
A small comfort, followed by an increasing shock of fear, soon produced within him as he saw an end to the tunnel and a hard, abrupt conclusion to the trip. Spat out the other end of a psychedelic channel bridging time and space, Draven found himself sitting on his butt outside of an establishment labeled '7th Heaven'. He gave a laugh in a singular huff before pulling himself to his feet. How appropriate, he thought.
Dusting off his long coat and staggering toward the establishment's entrance, Draven stepped inside and looked around. It didn't exactly appear too lively. Maybe it was early in the evening or maybe this was Draven's lucky day. In truth, the dark mage was not a fan of crowds. He made his way to the bar and claimed a stool for himself.
"Barkeep," he shouted generically into the air. "I want a pint of whatever ale will see me cross-eyed by the time I am done with it," he declared to anyone within earshot. Step 1 would be to calm his nerves. Step 2 would be to figure how how he got there. And, finally, Step 3 would be to get back to where he belonged.</s>
<|message|>Art by Max Gibson
An older orc woman of impressive height and breadth called out to him from behind the bar.
"I'll be right with you!"
She was currently occupied with a quintet of otherworldly beings vaguely resembling bipedal insects, each carrying some manner of firearm plated with gleaming metal. Once she finished pouring them tankards of ale, she made her way over to warlock with a smile which served to show off her rather impressive tusks even more but could melt the heart of an frost giant. Her walking pace was unhurried and every other step was accompanied by an audible thud and a slight limp.
"Welcome to 7th Heaven, hon! Lemme get that drink for you." Before she had even finished her sentence, she'd poured him a tankard behind her and passed it to him. "So, what brings you here? Casting circle misfired? Wrong turn at the Eternity Gate? Poorly worded Wish spell?"
To say Y'velda had seen everything was a bit inaccurate, but it usually took a few days for her to something new all these years into her career at 7th Heaven.</s>
<|message|>Letrixia
Bare feet, painted in her tribe's colors, carried her across the suns-bleached sands of the dunes. Spear in hand, she sprinted down the incline, as the great lizard rampaged over the top of the dune, looking down at her. It hissed loudly and continued the chase of its prey, its open mouth filling the area with the scent of fetid meat. Letrixia could feel every little vibration in the sands through her feet so she didn't need to look over her shoulder to know the distance between them was shrinking.
Everything was going according to plan.
She reached the dip between two dunes, sprinting back up over the next. Up ahead she saw the telltale signs of the younger hunters hidden in the sands, around a cone-valley. Amateurs. This is why they were here and not doing her job. The lizard hissed much more loudly, much closer now as Trix sprinted toward the valley. She sped up just a bit more, feeling it close in. But there was another feeling beneath the surface. Something large, awakened and prepared. As she reached the edge of the valley, she pushed off with a mighty leap, the final step feeling a surge of movement from beneath the surface.
As she dove through the air, she saw the sands of the valley explode beneath her, six massive mandibles shooting upwards. Letrixia threw her spear downward into one of its many eyes, as she tucked into a ball, narrowly avoiding the snapping mandibles. And while they missed her, they did not miss the large lizard, snapping around it. And that's when the other hunters struck. Large spears, angled upward were thrust into the creature's long body, then braced. As the creature attempted to retreat back into its hole, the spears pierced it more and more. A deafening high pitched chitter filled the air as Letrixia landed and rolled in the sand.
And when she stood up, it was night time.
Magic!
She immediately assumed a defensive posture, her long knife pulled, and her body crouched down as she quickly took in her surroundings. Her eyes fell upon a round structure nearby, made of some material she didn't recognize. She quickly moved in behind the barrel, hiding her small form entirely. Her back was against a wall made of the same foreign substance and she could feel so many heartbeats, voices, warmth inside. She saw a dark haired, dark demeanored man appear out of thin air and walk toward the building she hid against without a care in the world. She saw his eyes fall upon a sign over the doorway, runes she could not read. He looked amused, as he entered inside. She heard him speak and another answer, but she couldn't understand either of them.
She knew not where she was nor why she was here, and her instincts had her going into survival mode. But something about this place was trying to calm her, to invite her in, asking her to relax, telling her it was safe. And so, she found her feet carrying her to the door. She unrolled her feathered cloak from her belt, draping it around her shoulders, for it was cold here, colder than the nights in the dunes, at least to her. She stepped inside, her long dark hair still disheveled, filled with the feathers and beads of her tribe, her huntress band painted deep crimson across her eyes.
She quickly recognized the place as some sort of... food gathering area. Her own people ate around fire and water only, and there was fire in a hearth across the way, but her people never ate within caves. That was how various predators discovered you and hunted you as you slept. But something in here smelled divine, and Letrixia moved over to an empty table close to the fire. She removed her cloak, wearing little more than a breastwrap and loin cloth, her skin covered in tattoos of many ferocious creatures. And as she absorbed the warmth of the fire, she watched and waited.</s>
<|message|>Assallya Kressair
The old nag plodded along, her hooves clopping along the first trail. The vardo wagon, with its large diameter wheels and springs enabling it to carry itself over gnarled roots and scree. It could go places regular wagons could not.
Atop the wagon sat an elven woman, her tresses long and golden. Ensconced in loose black silks she cast her gaze through the deep shadows of the surrounding forest. She was laid back, reclining upon her cushions, bare toes wrapped around the edge of the foot rest. She held the reins loosely in her hands as the horse found her own way through the verdant forest.
She had been traveling for some time, too long, and she was getting nearly so weary as her horse. She had no idea where she was exactly, didn't care really, so long as she was headed north and west. What she really wanted was an inn. Her vardo was comfortable enough but what she really wanted was to spend some coin on a hot bath.</s>
| <|message|>Cpt. Krin Bonsu
The Lucky Day's lights flickered and went offline, just to be replaced by a blearing alarm and flashing blue light as the emergency life support systems went online. Cpt. Krin Bonsu looked wearely at the console infront of him and then at this XO. "How are our shields doing?" "Failing across the board, sir. We-" the ship shook again after being hit by a railgun dart moving at 25% of the speed of light "-We can't take more hits like that." "Pindar how much longer until the jumpdrive can get us out of here?" "Too long." Bonsu glared at the young officer "5 minutes, Sir." "That's too long." No shit Pindar thought to him slefe.
Bonsu's mind raced.
Was ist too late to apologuise to the Hundar for blowing up a destroyer after it "accedentally rammed" Yea right he thought to himself, the shipyard over Kobamu? So surrendering ist out of the picture. What if they were to divert power from the Shield generators to the jump drive? It would likely blow under the strain of the exess power being funneled into it. But it was worth a try.
"XO what is the Ship's status?" "Shields are failing, the point defense masers can barely keep up with the incoming missiles and the starboard side hangar is still on fire." "Still? I thought we had some people taking care of that?" "The latest impact sealed off that part of the ship." "How many people are in these sections?" The holo map showing a tactical view of the battle switched to show a diagramm of the ship wit sections around the fire highligted. "26 alive with 9 more dead. Sir, don't tell me-" "Seal off these sections open all doors facing space and vent that entire part of the ship." "Sir? You can't be serious." "If we don't act fast we all are going to be dead." "Yes Sir" the XO murmered begrudgingly "You heard the man."
Attemting to jump right now besides the power issue is also nearely impossible due to the gravity well of the planet Kobamu. "Pindar!" The officers head turned werely of what ever idea Bonsu had cooked up now. "Would diverting all pover from the masergun excitors, targeting computers and shields be enough to form a jumphole?" "Sir, with all due respect, I strongly advise against jumping within the grav-" "Yes, yes skip it, can we yes or no?" "Yes Sir, it CAN be done." "Wonderfull! Jump when ready." "Yes Sir."
Heads turned towards Cpt. Bonsu, some more or less freaked out thier eyes twitching and mandibles darting instinctively into every direction possible looking for a scent leading home. Away from danger. But in the vast emptyness there is no smell so the crew did their best to follow commands and soon after but not quite soon enough Pindar raised his voice "Get ready to jump in j-5... j-4... j-3... j-2... jumping." The main bridge display went dark Bonsu felt a strange sensation and blacked out.
Wind, rushing of air, suddenly Bonsu was wede awake rushing towards the ground. Around him a vast nothingness and below green plantgrowth and a building. The closer he got the better of a view he got. The roof had a hole now patched and below him he could see a creature vanish inside then as if by intervention by the devine mother herself he hoverd inches above the grass unharmed. Slowely he tuched the ground with one of his 6 legs and after testing the ground stepped on it completely.
"Strange... where am I?" after looking around for a bit the only discernable objects in view are the Building with an unknown skript above the entrance, a cart drawn by strange.. animals he guessed and tears in space similar in apperance to jump wormholes generated by the frigatte he commands. Figuring it to be the only place to go he followed the lead of the creature befor him and entered the building. Smells of meats and alcohol filld his nostrils. He saw a green skinned creature saysomething and after analysing the speach with help of a handheld computer he could discern "...circle misfired? Wrong turn at the Eternity Gate? Poorly worded Wish spell?"
He looked around, spotted a two legged creature at the bar and decided to go up to it looking for something to clear his mind.</s> |
<|description|>Alphere
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Personality: Carefree, inquisitive, and extroverted.
History: Alphere comes from a cushy home where cloth is long and flowing, politics are a daily discussion, and all meals are the exact same luxurious setup. But he hasn't been there in years. Instead, he's spent his time traveling in a lust for obscure and exotic findings - obscure spells, new and different people, and the occasional "exotic" meal. His upbringing has led him to some avant-garde ideas about what qualifies as obscure and exotic.
Skills and Weaknesses: Alphere specializes in magic, mostly arcane. He has obtained a small variety of spells from wandering. However, he may occasionally forget the correct words to a spell... or did he actually properly memorize them in the first place? Additionally, he is cursed with a cheese allergy.</s>
<|message|>Draven Stagnum
Draven Stagnum
His vision swirled about him as he found himself free-falling into a bottomless void. The emerald hue of fel magic illuminated the wormhole in which he found himself. Panic slowly began to set in as Draven considered whether or not he has just inadvertently taken a step into eternal purgatory.
A small comfort, followed by an increasing shock of fear, soon produced within him as he saw an end to the tunnel and a hard, abrupt conclusion to the trip. Spat out the other end of a psychedelic channel bridging time and space, Draven found himself sitting on his butt outside of an establishment labeled '7th Heaven'. He gave a laugh in a singular huff before pulling himself to his feet. How appropriate, he thought.
Dusting off his long coat and staggering toward the establishment's entrance, Draven stepped inside and looked around. It didn't exactly appear too lively. Maybe it was early in the evening or maybe this was Draven's lucky day. In truth, the dark mage was not a fan of crowds. He made his way to the bar and claimed a stool for himself.
"Barkeep," he shouted generically into the air. "I want a pint of whatever ale will see me cross-eyed by the time I am done with it," he declared to anyone within earshot. Step 1 would be to calm his nerves. Step 2 would be to figure how how he got there. And, finally, Step 3 would be to get back to where he belonged.</s>
<|message|>Art by Max Gibson
An older orc woman of impressive height and breadth called out to him from behind the bar.
"I'll be right with you!"
She was currently occupied with a quintet of otherworldly beings vaguely resembling bipedal insects, each carrying some manner of firearm plated with gleaming metal. Once she finished pouring them tankards of ale, she made her way over to warlock with a smile which served to show off her rather impressive tusks even more but could melt the heart of an frost giant. Her walking pace was unhurried and every other step was accompanied by an audible thud and a slight limp.
"Welcome to 7th Heaven, hon! Lemme get that drink for you." Before she had even finished her sentence, she'd poured him a tankard behind her and passed it to him. "So, what brings you here? Casting circle misfired? Wrong turn at the Eternity Gate? Poorly worded Wish spell?"
To say Y'velda had seen everything was a bit inaccurate, but it usually took a few days for her to something new all these years into her career at 7th Heaven.</s>
<|message|>Letrixia
Bare feet, painted in her tribe's colors, carried her across the suns-bleached sands of the dunes. Spear in hand, she sprinted down the incline, as the great lizard rampaged over the top of the dune, looking down at her. It hissed loudly and continued the chase of its prey, its open mouth filling the area with the scent of fetid meat. Letrixia could feel every little vibration in the sands through her feet so she didn't need to look over her shoulder to know the distance between them was shrinking.
Everything was going according to plan.
She reached the dip between two dunes, sprinting back up over the next. Up ahead she saw the telltale signs of the younger hunters hidden in the sands, around a cone-valley. Amateurs. This is why they were here and not doing her job. The lizard hissed much more loudly, much closer now as Trix sprinted toward the valley. She sped up just a bit more, feeling it close in. But there was another feeling beneath the surface. Something large, awakened and prepared. As she reached the edge of the valley, she pushed off with a mighty leap, the final step feeling a surge of movement from beneath the surface.
As she dove through the air, she saw the sands of the valley explode beneath her, six massive mandibles shooting upwards. Letrixia threw her spear downward into one of its many eyes, as she tucked into a ball, narrowly avoiding the snapping mandibles. And while they missed her, they did not miss the large lizard, snapping around it. And that's when the other hunters struck. Large spears, angled upward were thrust into the creature's long body, then braced. As the creature attempted to retreat back into its hole, the spears pierced it more and more. A deafening high pitched chitter filled the air as Letrixia landed and rolled in the sand.
And when she stood up, it was night time.
Magic!
She immediately assumed a defensive posture, her long knife pulled, and her body crouched down as she quickly took in her surroundings. Her eyes fell upon a round structure nearby, made of some material she didn't recognize. She quickly moved in behind the barrel, hiding her small form entirely. Her back was against a wall made of the same foreign substance and she could feel so many heartbeats, voices, warmth inside. She saw a dark haired, dark demeanored man appear out of thin air and walk toward the building she hid against without a care in the world. She saw his eyes fall upon a sign over the doorway, runes she could not read. He looked amused, as he entered inside. She heard him speak and another answer, but she couldn't understand either of them.
She knew not where she was nor why she was here, and her instincts had her going into survival mode. But something about this place was trying to calm her, to invite her in, asking her to relax, telling her it was safe. And so, she found her feet carrying her to the door. She unrolled her feathered cloak from her belt, draping it around her shoulders, for it was cold here, colder than the nights in the dunes, at least to her. She stepped inside, her long dark hair still disheveled, filled with the feathers and beads of her tribe, her huntress band painted deep crimson across her eyes.
She quickly recognized the place as some sort of... food gathering area. Her own people ate around fire and water only, and there was fire in a hearth across the way, but her people never ate within caves. That was how various predators discovered you and hunted you as you slept. But something in here smelled divine, and Letrixia moved over to an empty table close to the fire. She removed her cloak, wearing little more than a breastwrap and loin cloth, her skin covered in tattoos of many ferocious creatures. And as she absorbed the warmth of the fire, she watched and waited.</s>
<|message|>Assallya Kressair
The old nag plodded along, her hooves clopping along the first trail. The vardo wagon, with its large diameter wheels and springs enabling it to carry itself over gnarled roots and scree. It could go places regular wagons could not.
Atop the wagon sat an elven woman, her tresses long and golden. Ensconced in loose black silks she cast her gaze through the deep shadows of the surrounding forest. She was laid back, reclining upon her cushions, bare toes wrapped around the edge of the foot rest. She held the reins loosely in her hands as the horse found her own way through the verdant forest.
She had been traveling for some time, too long, and she was getting nearly so weary as her horse. She had no idea where she was exactly, didn't care really, so long as she was headed north and west. What she really wanted was an inn. Her vardo was comfortable enough but what she really wanted was to spend some coin on a hot bath.</s>
<|message|>Cpt. Krin Bonsu
The Lucky Day's lights flickered and went offline, just to be replaced by a blearing alarm and flashing blue light as the emergency life support systems went online. Cpt. Krin Bonsu looked wearely at the console infront of him and then at this XO. "How are our shields doing?" "Failing across the board, sir. We-" the ship shook again after being hit by a railgun dart moving at 25% of the speed of light "-We can't take more hits like that." "Pindar how much longer until the jumpdrive can get us out of here?" "Too long." Bonsu glared at the young officer "5 minutes, Sir." "That's too long." No shit Pindar thought to him slefe.
Bonsu's mind raced.
Was ist too late to apologuise to the Hundar for blowing up a destroyer after it "accedentally rammed" Yea right he thought to himself, the shipyard over Kobamu? So surrendering ist out of the picture. What if they were to divert power from the Shield generators to the jump drive? It would likely blow under the strain of the exess power being funneled into it. But it was worth a try.
"XO what is the Ship's status?" "Shields are failing, the point defense masers can barely keep up with the incoming missiles and the starboard side hangar is still on fire." "Still? I thought we had some people taking care of that?" "The latest impact sealed off that part of the ship." "How many people are in these sections?" The holo map showing a tactical view of the battle switched to show a diagramm of the ship wit sections around the fire highligted. "26 alive with 9 more dead. Sir, don't tell me-" "Seal off these sections open all doors facing space and vent that entire part of the ship." "Sir? You can't be serious." "If we don't act fast we all are going to be dead." "Yes Sir" the XO murmered begrudgingly "You heard the man."
Attemting to jump right now besides the power issue is also nearely impossible due to the gravity well of the planet Kobamu. "Pindar!" The officers head turned werely of what ever idea Bonsu had cooked up now. "Would diverting all pover from the masergun excitors, targeting computers and shields be enough to form a jumphole?" "Sir, with all due respect, I strongly advise against jumping within the grav-" "Yes, yes skip it, can we yes or no?" "Yes Sir, it CAN be done." "Wonderfull! Jump when ready." "Yes Sir."
Heads turned towards Cpt. Bonsu, some more or less freaked out thier eyes twitching and mandibles darting instinctively into every direction possible looking for a scent leading home. Away from danger. But in the vast emptyness there is no smell so the crew did their best to follow commands and soon after but not quite soon enough Pindar raised his voice "Get ready to jump in j-5... j-4... j-3... j-2... jumping." The main bridge display went dark Bonsu felt a strange sensation and blacked out.
Wind, rushing of air, suddenly Bonsu was wede awake rushing towards the ground. Around him a vast nothingness and below green plantgrowth and a building. The closer he got the better of a view he got. The roof had a hole now patched and below him he could see a creature vanish inside then as if by intervention by the devine mother herself he hoverd inches above the grass unharmed. Slowely he tuched the ground with one of his 6 legs and after testing the ground stepped on it completely.
"Strange... where am I?" after looking around for a bit the only discernable objects in view are the Building with an unknown skript above the entrance, a cart drawn by strange.. animals he guessed and tears in space similar in apperance to jump wormholes generated by the frigatte he commands. Figuring it to be the only place to go he followed the lead of the creature befor him and entered the building. Smells of meats and alcohol filld his nostrils. He saw a green skinned creature saysomething and after analysing the speach with help of a handheld computer he could discern "...circle misfired? Wrong turn at the Eternity Gate? Poorly worded Wish spell?"
He looked around, spotted a two legged creature at the bar and decided to go up to it looking for something to clear his mind.</s>
| <|message|>Alphere
A man sat amongst a vast desert landscape, his hands running through the fine sand all around him. It was hot. Unbearably so – Alphere had been searching for days for a scroll. A new spell. An exciting adventure! At least, that's how he thought it would go. But the desert was a vast, all-encompassing entity. The idea of finding a scroll on a very obscure spell, in a very specific portion of sand, among a very large desert landscape just didn't seem as likely as when it first occurred. What Alphere needed was some water. Water from a spring sounded nice. "That's a fantastic idea!" he exclaimed, bolting upright. Sand poured off his clothes and back into the desert.
Excitedly, Alphere lifted his hands in front of him, envisioning the lake. The beautiful trees. The quick rush of water out from the ground. The variety of exotic fish swirling in schools throughout the waters. "Tele-" He paused midsentence. No, no, a teleport wouldn't do. He'd been out there for days, and he wasn't about to lose his spot. A way to return, exactly to this very specific spot, was needed. Alphere reached to his side, pulling out a small, brown handbook and flipped through it. Squinting, he focused intently on a particular page. "-portal? To the spring of-"
A burst of light sprung in front of the man, swirling in on itself much like a whirlpool. It quickly grew, reaching his height and continuing beyond. A loose leaf of paper flew from the book into the portal. Then a second one. Soon, there was a small stream of papers being torn from the book and thrown into the portal. Wait... I can't lose those! Alphere rushed to grab the various pages, reaching for ones closest to disappearing into the portal. And with some assistance from the unstable sands, he plummeted straight in.
A blinding light, a feeling of weightlessness, and a significantly lighter feeling book of notes. Alphere stuffed the pages he managed to retrieve beneath the belts to his side. Soon, the light faded and the ground felt significantly more stable. Through the variety of black and gray spots filling his vision, Alphere glanced around. No portal in sight. Looks like that scroll is long gone. Outside of the lack of a return trip, there was a building. Not a lake. But it seemed warm and inviting. And not a desert, which was definitely a refreshing change. There's probably water… somewhere in there. And maybe a few pages from the book have fallen around here. Alphere dusted off some sand from his clothing, and made for the building.
Upon entering, he found it to be a tavern of sorts. Only a few patrons, but perhaps the night was young. Patrons that were... not all quite the same. Alphere noticed what appeared to be a small bar, and behind it was likely water. "Pardon my interruption. Do you happen to have-" Alphere coughed, some sand fluttering down from his shirt and sprinkling across the bar surface. "... water?"</s> |
<|description|>Callie Suthorn
Nickname: The Black Thorn
Age: 36
Gender: Female
Social Status: Spacenoid
Appearance:
Callie is shorter than average; around 5' 2". She has honey-coloured skin, and dark, deep brown eyes and short, auburn hair that she keeps shaved to short stubble on one side, with the other grown out. She has both ears pierced in multiple places, as well as a single labret piercing of her lower lip, along with the tattoo of a black rose on the right side of her throat. She is quite thickly-built, with a large waist, hips and bosom, but is nonetheless physically fit and able, and manages to pull off a rather striking and individual look.
Mobile Suit: MSA-0011 S-Gundam
Positive Personality traits:
* Good-humoured
* Wily
* Cunning
* Brave
* Self-Confident
* Loyal
* Caring
Negative Personality traits:
* Stubborn
* Short-tempered
* Vindictive
* Cocky
* Overconfident
Short history/personality blurb:
Callie was born in 0063 at the Side 4 colony cluster. Too young to serve in the One Year War, she signed up for service with the Earth Federation Forces. She became a mobile suit pilot, and served dutifully, before gaining experience in combat during Operation Stardust against the Delaz Fleet. Claiming her first kills in combat, the speed and flexibility she showed in the battle marked her for distinction.
As the Titans rose to prominence, Callie found the increasing authoritarian and strict nature and policies of the organisation she served becoming alien, and more and more of the officers and comrades she loved and respected being replaced by cruel, greedy, and self-serving individuals, who abused their positions of authority. On the cusp of rebelling as it was, along with many of her squad-mates, the exposing of the Titans nature and actions lead to her unit rebelling, under her lead and command.
Her later actions in the first Neo Zeon war lead to her promotion to a rank of more responsibility. She also resolved merits for service and recognition for her actions using her space-modified Zeta Plus C1.
She was injured during the closing days of the war, and her recovery was difficult. To recover from her injuries fully, she had to spend several months healing outside of a Mobile Suit cockpit, and was instead restricted to light duties.
Following this she later returned to normal duty, albeit with a slow transition back into a combat role. She was given command of a patrol section as part of a squadron deployed to patrol federation space, and provide general security duties. They rotated between Earth and Space during this time, giving Callie vital experience in operations inside the gravity well.
During the Second Neo Zeon war, she earned her reputation and a command promotion during actions against the Neo Zeon under Char Aznable. Her Zeta Plus once again distinguished itself, and she gained her nickname and recognition, Gaining the name 'Black Thorn', she leaned into the name and had her suit custom painted black-and-purple.
Too far away to assist Amuro Ray with repelling the plunging Axis asteroid, she and her unit instead put their energies toward assisting suits caught in Earth's gravity and hauling them to safety, while also holding off and destroying last-ditch fanatical elements.
After this incident, her unit were placed on second-line duties to recover from injuries, losses, and damage, mainly carrying out guard and garrison duties, as well as routine operations and training. Down on manpower and mobile suits, they were glad for the break, and rotated between Luna and several sides, before being temporarily stood down in order to be re-equipped with new mobile suits and pilots.
Her unit were rapidly recalled during the Laplace incident, intended to be re-equipped and put into action to counter the actions of the Sleeves. The incident was mostly over before they could respond, but they were involved in mopping up Sleeves remnants using their new mobile suits - including Callie's newly repainted and removed from storage S-Gundam.
Following this crisis, Callie was tapped for leading the Anthem task forces' mobile suit squadron in the field, alongside other members picked for the unit due to their experience and skill.</s>
<|message|>James Bayer Putnam
As the situation ignited both figuratively and literally, the wanton destruction which erupted left Putnam in shock. His jaw dropped and eyes widened, his hands tensing on the controls, idly easing out of his heading as to not cause him to push back into his seat violently. Blinking rapidly, he traced the seam lines of his 360 monitor with his bright blues. A bright blinding light of pink-red sailed off to his right, rattling the cockpit with its force, marking out his target.
"Titch to all, acquired one times bogey, breaking off to run interference." He called his target as if he'd done it a thousand times before, but his voice twinged as he pulled the yoke, breaking off from the formation.
His other hand drifted to the digital display screens set front and to the left and right of the stick. Glancing down, and with two button presses, the display lit up with the code 'IR-MSL - 4/4'. Gripping at the second stick now, Putnam jinked the frame of his Jesta around to throw off incoming fire, with another beam shot going wide, this time off his left. The shoulder shield mounted on the suit's left shoulder broke loose on one end with some movement of the leftmost stick, and exposed the missile pods buried within.
Aligning the shield, a reticle of green formed on the front of the 360 monitor, and an idle beeping tone filled Putnam's ears, the reticle drifting, settling, shrinking. The tone screamed now, a solid yell inside the cockpit.
"I've got a tone! Fox two!" Titch cried, depressing the trigger on the stick, releasing two missiles.</s>
<|message|>Gregory Munchhausen (Gregorovich Tal Landry)
The infinite black void of space stretching out. The utter weightlessness. Despite the fact that he was hurtling through space at thousands of miles per hour, he was, nonetheless... Still. Floating here... Even though he knew that, no matter where he went, Earths Gravity acted on him, he still felt free of it. He looked around. "Munch, get back to work!" He heard through his suits comms as he turned back to his job, running his painting strip along the large letters that was Shadowfax's nameplate. As he continued to buff up the plate, he began to feel a little less easy with the situation. Suddenly, he got another message through the channel. "Munch, get to your Mobile Suit. We've got movement." As he turned to go inside, he could have swore he saw a flash out the corner of his eye.
Making his way through the ship, he quickly got to the changing room to change from a Normal Suit into a Flight Suit, far less bulky, but offered less protection against space debris. Finally, he made his way to the launch pad, looking at the suits stomping around was always a surreal moment, as the hangar was depreassurized. As he stood, he could feel the rumbling rythmically pulsating through the superstructure with every step the metal gods before him made their way to the catapult. But, he couldn't hear them. He could only hear the people cattering through the comms to each other. He then spotted it at the back of the room. His Dijeh. Created by Karaba in their war with the Federation, they had been refitted for use in Space during the Laplus incident, when the Federation needed every suit they had to get into space and find the box. Now, it was just used for patrolling. He did take comfort in the fact that the mobile suits chief test-pilot and designer was the great Amuro Ray. As he booted up the cockpit, he got a good view of everything around him, just in time to see Dren board the Catapult and get launched into space. He pressed his foot into the peddle, bringing the mighty foot forward and the other followed soon after. Stepping onto the catapult, he pressed his comm. "Gregory Munchhausen, Ready for Sortie." He said, before the suit was launched into the black void. Following after the others, just in time for them to see all hell breaking loose around them. He listened to the orders being handed down.
"Gelgoogs, what the hell do they think those Antique's are going to do?" He laughed. He was in the equivalent question of "What if Amuro had designed the Gelgoog" There was no way he was about to lose to them. "Roger, Youngster, moving to engage." He registered. As the agile Dijeh launched towards the interlopers, it's own Mono-eye glowing a bright emerald. Getting close, he saw the Vulcan rounds hit and bounce off of one of the Gelgoogs, wildly richochetting. "Oh, Armour improvements." He said, before the Beam-Rifle folded up it's it's holding position on the shoulder and he drew the Naginata, igniting both ends, he brought it for a slash, but the Marine was was also quick with it's own, igniting it and parrying, before forcing Greg into taking a few carefully planned thrusts backwards with the engines. "Oh, some improvements?" He asked, before forcing himself fowards, slashing a few more times, again, opening with the Vulcans to try and force him to protect that sensitive eye on his head.</s>
| <|message|>Callie Suthorn
Despite Carter and Munch's objections that they were outdated technology, the Gelgoog's weapons-fire wasn't listening, and it struck home on the targets shot at. The bullets, rockets and beams didn't seem to care how outdated they were or not, and the damage they caused was unfortunately very up to date as infrastructure and ships took hits.
Fortunately, the Anthem mobile suit team were more-than up to the task of fighting back, and that's where their edge in technology counted. The Gelgoog pilots were good, not at all amateurs, and despite the age of their mobile suits they were wringing the best out of them and piloting them as competitively as possible - a good pilot in an old suit wasn't one to be taken lightly, and the Sleeves and their allies in the Zeon remnants had proved that short years ago. Plus it was a point; if they'd survive as long as they had, they had to be good in the first place.
Nonetheless, matched up against suits that were a grab-bag of advanced technologies, they were in for a struggle.
Carter's missile attack did the job of breaking up the formation of green-and-grey enemy machines. They - wisely - split up at the barrage of incoming missiles, but the assault was enough to wing one and outright kill a second, the Zeon-built suit exploding into a sphere of short-lived flame and trailing debris. The one winged lost a right arm, spinning in AMBAC motions to regain orientation and counter the impact - which made it a target for the mounted gun on the Re-Gz. It exploded in a violent, albeit short-lived, fireball, limbs spiralling off on their own trajectories.
Meanwhile, as the rest had scattered, they had been engaged by the rest of the unit. One singled in toward Putnam and his Jesta, opening fire as it powered toward him. The shots fired missed, but the counter-fire of missiles caught the Zeon pilot off guard. They spiralled to avoid the incoming fire, one missile catching the Gelgoog Marine's beam rifle and destroying it in a purplish explosion. The green-and-grey adversary managed to shoot down the second missile with a burst of fire from forearm machine-guns, somersaulting past the projectile as they did so, and then boosting into close range combat with a beam saber drawn, and knuckle-shield over the left forearm. It swung the saber in a vicious slice as it closed in range with the dark-coloured mobile suit, mono-eye glowing a threatening red.
Munch and his Dijeh had intercepted the most forward-running of the Gelgoogs. As his opponent fell back to avoid the melee, the Dijeh's vulcan blast played across the mobile suits' neck and lower head. The hose-like cables at the base of the Gelgoog's head were torn apart, and the mono-eye visor shattered, the special-operations mobile suit flipping end over end as the pilot tried to get a better picture of their surroundings from what little back-up sensors the Zeon suit had, leaving it vulnerable and open to attack.
Callie had not sat idle either. As soon as she'd given the attack order, she'd joined her team-mates in the charge. The S-Gundam's mighty thrusters blasting it toward the closing enemy suits. As they'd scattered to evade Carter's missile barrage, she had unlimbered the S-Gundam's beam smart-gun. As her fellow pilots closed in or opened fire respectively, she identified her own target, zeroing in through visual sensors and the radome mounted on the gun and let rip with a blast, even as the Gelgoog Marine she'd targeted unleashed a barrage of machine-gun fire toward her. Flipping and spiralling aside, she dodged or evaded the majority of the burst, as her own attack tore the Gelgoogs' left arm from its' torso, leaving molten alloy in its' wake. The pilot was a bold and brave, as well as skilled one, changing course with a series of impressive boosted manoeuvers to make his course random. He attempted to weave and bob, unleashing another blast at Callie from the machine gun from a relative upside down position, which she countered by taking some of the hits before flaring backward in space, and using the backpack-mounted beam cannons to blast the unfortunate Gelgoog to pieces.
The surviving Gelgoog had managed to get closer to the docking bay entrance, using cover from the destroyed ships and darting and lurking among civilian shipping as shields. The Ceres defensive GM-II's opened fire as it darted in, but were picked off with precise, rapid beam rifle fire, and the Gelgoog raced into the bay.
The S-Gundam turned to follow, and Callie's radio came to life with a laser transmission in the same instant.
"Captain Suthorn, the Ceres defensive militia are calling for reinforcements. The habitat inside the asteroid has been engulfed in fighting as well. This attack looks like it was a feint to draw attention and create chaos, while the real target slipped away. Nonetheless, there's fighting inside the asteroid as well, with more former Zeon mobile suits that had been hidden or smuggled aboard. You and your team are requested to enter the habitat and destroy them"
"Roger, will engage as ordered, sir".
Cursing softly, she turned her attention to the rest of her unit, engaged in battle or on the field. Youngster and Titch were still engaged, Mad Dog was doing just fine (not that she'd expected any less), and she hadn't heard from Hepner since they launched.
"Mad Dog," she called over the radio, getting a good contact with the Re-Gz Custom, "No surprise you're doing fine; good shooting. Looks like there's more trouble inside Ceres. Let's support Youngster and Titch, and then sweep into the habitat to assist, over!"</s> |
<|description|>Carter West
Nicknames: The Mad Dog of the Federation
Age: 40
Gender: Male
Social Status: Earthnoid
Rank: Sergeant
Appearance:
Carter has the standard build of a federation soldier, toned, and well built. He has dark hair, and slightly paled skin as he spent most of his time in doors, or in mobile suits he has had little time as of late to tan his body. His hair style is usually a formal slicked back style. He usually wears the standard federation uniform preferring to stay in the role of the usual soldier and not stand out as much as he can. His eye color is brown. In battle he fields a field suit specifically given to him for the Slave Wraiths operation.
Personality:
Adamant in his distaste for general Zeon supporters, thus most spacenoids, Carter has a natural burning flame in his soul that demands he takes vengeance for all the unnecessary casualties that Zeon has caused. His primary motive for continuing to fight in a active combative role is to make sure he can directly help end the war against Zeon even if it costs him his life. Carter has always hated people who blindly believe in their own zealous cause, and while he isn't blind to some of his own biased nature towards the Earth Federation he still fervently hates Zeon.
As a soldier Carter is uniform, formal, and goes by the book usually but is not afraid to be casual when the occasion is not as serious. He tends to be a bit of a buzz kill at times though as he always has a mind on the current situation he is in no matter the circumstances. He doesn't tend to fear losing his men though he does mourn for those he does lose. He hopes one day that men like them won't need to make sacrifices, and while some may call him brave he doesn't view it as such himself. As often as he'd risk his own life in a combat scenario in a crazy stunt he does so in order to try to help the others in his group come out alive.
Outside of his attitude as a soldier Carter is a simple man with simple pleasures enjoying quiet places, and dreams of one day leaving the military though he knows how unlikely that will be after committing murder, and fighting Zeon so much that he wonders if that is possible. While not a deviant he does enjoy the company of women a little more than he should but he tends to keep that part of himself buried deep down inside of his mind. He is first off a soldier now, and he is perfectly willing to do what he has to for the military.
----
Biography/History:
Born during more peaceful times on Earth to an American family young Carter West was thrown into a troubled family life. His parents after his birth were often fighting, and this left an impression on young Carter who grew up scared of adults around him. His life wasn't an easy one as a young babe but Carter was eventually taken in by his grand parents after his mother, and father divorced and neither of them was granted custody due to neither of them being deemed as reputable enough for raising a child. Carter's grand father was a gentler man than his father but was still stern, and rough around the edges. His grand mother was a retired doctor, and tried her best to make sure her grand son didn't turn into a deviant but only partly succeeded.
Growing up with his grand parents made Carter more accepting of other people than some would think. He was taught with a good old fashioned style of respecting everyone but always carrying around a big stick (figuratively) in order to deal with bullies. He didn't tolerate being bullied, and often got into fights as he got older in order to prove a point. Refusing to take anything lying down Carter held fast to whatever he believed in, and had no intentions of going into space content to dream up a home on Earth as a young man something like his grand father who was now working in a computer field.
As he got older though he experienced the events that would go onto haunt the world he lived in as the space colonies slowly, and surely grew more, and more discontent. At first he ignored the politics behind it as he kept up his work to become a software engineer as a budding teenager with the encouragement of his grand parents. However as he learned more, and more he began to become worried about the course of events that were taking place in the colonies. Fearful of what it may mean for independence in space may mean for those who lived on Earth.
Eventually however Zeon broke free, and declared themselves independent. Soon after Carter decided to join the military after what was going on in space. Having been physically fit due to his grand father taking him hunting, and encouraging a healthy life style he quite handily made it into the military. He was enrolled into the science divisions as a test pilot for some of the machines they were making to combat Zeon. However he was eventually forced to fight in the fields as he was put into a GM suit he was put into a squad of his peers. He mainly fought in minor battles on the side lines however among his peers he gained the title of 'Mad Dog of the Federation' having vowed to destroy Zeon for its atrocities both in space, and out butchering Zaku pilots, and enemies mercilessly earning him a dishonorable reputation but a feared one none the less. His most notable feat was during Operation Odessa the East Coast was still under siege and during the occupation he overclocked his GM, and used other parts from other mobile suits to form a Frankenstein GM doing massive damage to the Zeon Forces in Washington DC before the machine broke down from stress.
He fought valiantly under Admiral Roan during the skirmishes in Space, and eventually participated in A Baoa Qu. He survived the fight but only just barely. He ended up staying with the Federation afterward being a pilot fighting Zeon Remnants before being transferred to assist the people at Anaheim Electronics in their mobile suit production center. Being a test pilot for many GM Mobile suits coming out. Eventually he found out a woman from his old ship was pregnant with his son and though they didn't marry he helped support the child by way of sending money, and the occasional visit.
However once The Delaz Fleet enacted their operation he couldn't stand by anymore and vowed revenge after their success in destroying the Federation Fleet with a nuclear warhead. Carter joined the Titans at the recommendation of one of his old squad mates. He fought ruthlessly for Earth obeying his superiors with pride. However as their conflict with the AEUG settled in rumors around the barracks circulated, and eventually Carter grew distrustful of some of his superiors.
Eventually Char, and Amuro Ray broke the silence about the Titans, and their misdoings. While he had participated in certain activities for the Titans in the past and he knew of some of their darker operations the leak of certain operations relating to the high brass, and their activities finally led Carter to defect to Karaba but he didn't venture into space participating in operations against the Titans with some of his new team, and Karaba insurgents. Afterward he willingly submitted himself to trial where he was found not guilty in a plea deal where he ratted out multiple members of the former Titans for worse atrocities, and naming multiple hidden bases on Earth. His son, Henry, though he and his son did't communicate a lot the boy intended to enroll into the military despite his mother's issues with it. Eventually he did join shortly before the Second Neo Zeon War becoming a pilot in the federation.
During The Second Neo Zeon War Carter was a member of Amuro Ray's Team that assisted in trying to stop the first Asteroid but failed having not able to assist the civilians he vowed to get back at the Zeonic scum who killed them. Driven by years of self loathing he hated Zeon all the more especially since they couldn't scape goat the Zabi family anymore for their actions. Leading a team of Jegans he participated in the final battle but did not help Amuro Ray push back the Asteroid he killed multiple Zeon pilots during the battle earning him the rank of Captain. During the following years he was mobilized and led a personalized task force under his own personal command. Round Bear was its given code name for the group and served as a personalized unit to hunt down traitors, and assist Londo Bell as required. It was meant as a group personalized to deal with smaller issues that Londo Bell couldn't be bothered with. After the Laplace incident Round Bear was given a temporary new leader as Carter was assigned to the new Anthem Task Group in order to assure mission success with a heavily experienced, and tested soldier in its group. To this day he still has a number of patches on his flight suit dating all the way back to the Federation days to note each group he's been with.
===
Mobile Weapon:
gundam.fandom.com/wiki/RGZ-91B_Re-GZ_…</s>
<|message|>Dren Hepner
U.C. 0089 - Ten years prior
Left foot forward, three second pause, right foot forward. Left, one, two, three, right. The land convoy formation march of the EFSF had been drilled into the unit's brain for months, and even now Ensign Hepner found himself reciting the mantra mentally, but whether it was to keep his cool or concentration was unknown even to him. The Mobile Suit he found himself in the cockpit of was a salvaged and heavily-modified RGM-79R GM II, captured by the Neo Zeon and refurbished with an assortment of Earth Federation and Zeon technology. Hepner had been given orders to lead a token force of similar suits in a last-ditch ambush operation to attempt to cripple a crucial EFSF supply point. It was painted as the 'second wind' that would save the Zeon forces from defeat and turn the tide, but the ensign knew it was merely the dying gasp of a failing resistance movement.
Perhaps this is why he had arranged for what he did. The unit he led was expecting their arrival point to be a lightly-defended setup, essentially a glorified munitions dump. What they would get was a fully-armed compliment of elite Earth Federation mobile suits expecting their arrival. The goal was for Hepner and the EF officials to order the surrender and disarmament of his unit, just as his Earth Federation Intelligence handlers had directed him, but Hepner knew these men and women well enough that they would sooner see every single one of them killed. And he was right. The command for the false flag unit to surrender was utterly disregarded, and a brutal firefight ensued. Ensign Dren Hepner was the only Zeon survivor of a day that would haunt him every time he sat within the cockpit of a mobile suit.
---
U.C. 0099 - Present Day
"Black Thorn to all units, are we all ready to go? I'm standing by and ready to launch".
The voice over the comms unit shook Hepner from his introspection inside the cockpit of his mobile suit. Shaking his head and blinking his eyes a bit, he responded with a simple "Dren Hepner confirms, doing final systems checks now." Running visual confirmation over his suits instruments, another mantra from his years of mobile suit piloting came to the forefront of his mind. Reactor online. Sensors online. Weapons online. All systems nominal. Everything appeared clear, Dren gripped the controls, and the mobile suit catapult set him into the cold void of space once more. Making a careful sweep with his suit's rifle before taking up a position on the starboard side of the objective, his eyes carefully scanned both the sensors and the camera-displayed void of space for any signs of hostile activity.
Although this was a populated, Federation-tangent portion of space, that meant nothing when it came to the Zeon insurgents that had been plaguing the Federation for the last twenty years. Dren was all too familiar with the vicious tactics his kinsmen were more than willing to use against their hated foe, and his eyes, ears, and sensors were peeled for any resemblance to the tactics he was familiar with and had trained in. The attack could come from any angle, any direction, and take the form of anything spaceworthy. Even cargo ships had been used as ramming vehicles in the most desperate days of the Zeon rebellions. The thought of these crimes, one he himself had committed, made him sick to his stomach. This mission would be the first step to wiping that mistake from the annals of history.</s>
<|message|>Callie Suthorn
The suspicion of Callie and the rest of the pilots was well-founded, and their vigilance paid off. As the shuttle was on the verge of entering the bay, the situation took an abrupt twist. A bulk freighter exiting one of the other bays and chugging along, minding its' own business erupted into a brief globe of flame and debris, followed by another at one of the other docking umbilicals. Immediately the communications channels were filled with flash emergency reports as other ships were forced to change course, and emergency responders mobilised. The task force were sternly ordered to 'stand by'.
Within only moments of that message, the situation took a hostile turn. Another bulk ore carrier ignited its' engines for a burn, changing it's access and building momentum, diving on its' relative axis toward the open bay, and the approaching task force mobile suits and shuttle. A few moments after changing its' direction and accelerating, the huge bulk containers attached to the skeletal framework of the ship blew away with the help of explosive bolts, before their outer shells fragmented through the same means. From the clouds of expanding metal debris, the glow of thrusters and mono-eye lights preceded the lancing blasts of beam rifles and gunfire as a sextet of Gelgoog Marine-types, laded down and strapped with additional weapon systems emerged. Immediately they started opening fire, driving toward the bay entrance in a hail of weapons-fire. Additional fire and distress reports started to come in from other areas, further from the bay entrance and the docking areas.
All of this unfolded in mere seconds, a cascade of events that toppled like an avalanche. As the space around them that had been previously peaceful, if busy, was now a canopy of explosions and disintegrating spacecraft and infrastructure.
"Holy shit," muttered Callie as she grimaced, setting her jaw. "Time to get our game on," she said to herself, before calling out to the rest of the unit, even as the message came from the command shuttle to do the same thing:
"Spread out, engage the hostile mobile suits and make sure the shuttle gets to safety. Protect the civilian ships as much as possible. If we can capture one of the pilots, so much the better!"</s>
| <|message|>Carter West
"Rodger that. I'm going to engage in waverrider mode." Carter states as he pulled his mobile suit around to face the disturbances looking out for anything that can be seen as they likely are using M. Particles to screw with standard systems. "Watch out for funnels fucking space pirates love those shitty salvaged Zeon tech." grumbled Cater further as he looked for the enemies. "Gelgoog Marines? What the hell is this the one year war? Couldn't get their hands on some Dogas? Scrubs..." Carter growled as he sped up to attack using his missile pods first then unleash a hail of fire from his mounted gun.</s> |
<|description|>James Bayer Putnam
Nickname: Put (pronounced putt, as in golf putt), callsign Titch
Age: 31
Gender: Male
Social Status: Spacenoid
Rank: E-5 / Petty Officer Second Class (PO2)
Appearance:
Putnam is a 5'11" broad-shouldered Spacer, reasonably built but focused more on tone rather than mass in the muscles, which are more built along the core, upper body, and legs. His hair is a darker sandy blonde, matched with two pale blue eyes and a wide jaw line. His hair is styled short and well in regulation, matched with a patch of stubble of varying length. His nose is slightly crooked, with signs of former blunt force trauma, and a tattoo of the Earth Federation star in black on the upper left of his back.
Mobile Suit: Formerly a Jegan-D, but now retrained on a RGM-96X Jesta in order to keep up with high performance and waverider MS.
Positive Personality traits:
* Mellow
* Honest
* Reliable
* Dutiful
* Trusting
Negative Personality traits:
* Sarcastic
* Vulgar
* Tactless
* Predictable
* Impatient
Biography:
Putnam was born in 0068 on the colony Nassau, part of Side 4. A victim of the Thunderbolt Sector, Putnam (then 11 years old) and his family were evacuated with the rest of Nassau during the One Week Battle, then resettled on Side 1. The evacuation and destruction of Nassau followed by the enlistment and even conscription of older members of his community (leading to the death of most during the battles for the Thunderbolt Sector) left a major mark on Putnam's psyche, leading him to himself enlist in 0086, being trained as a mobile suit pilot in the EFSF.
Piloting a GM III throughout the First Neo Zeon war, his service record was largely without distinction, credited with three kills and seven assists throughout his deployment. Assigned thereafter to the Alexandria-class cruiser Actium, Putnam flew peacetime sorties with the 88th Fleet. During the Second Neo Zeon War, Putnam was scrambled along with the rest of the 88th to assist Londo Bell at the Battle of Axis. During the fighting, he earned ace-in-a-day status, downing five suits and getting credited for nine assists.
Thereafter he remained with the 88th Fleet, upgrading to a Jegan and performing sorties against Sleeves hit-and-run attacks, notably being assigned to maintain the quarantine of Industrial 7 during the Third Neo Zeon war, although seeing no actual combat. In the aftermath of the Laplace Incident, he and most other present pilots were grounded and rigorously evaluated, relegated to garrison duties in the meantime. During his evaluation period, Putnam was handpicked by the special operations unit Anthem.</s>
<|message|>James Bayer Putnam
Putnam balanced himself along the railing overlooking the mobile suit bay, whistling quietly behind the polarized glass of his normal suit's helmet. His hands white-knuckled the railing, he glanced over the gathered suits, among them his Jesta. Sure, it'd been nearly three years since his last combat sortie, but he'd kept in practice, live fires and all with this new monster of an escort suit. Yet, was this anxiety he was feeling? His expression hardened as he flung himself over, his momentum carrying him towards his suit. Digging in his hard-sole boots on the exterior, he grabbed at the hand-holds on the extended canopy door, staring in towards the MS electronics tech (MET) and Putnam's chosen suit chief, Petty Officer Arstrand, strapped down in the seat, tablet jacked into the instruments console.
"We all good here, Mads?"
"Yeah, you shouldn't have a problem with that APU switch sticking now. All yours, Titch." The MET spoke up with a thick Dutch accent, pushing off the seat and passing by Putnam with a graceful slide.
"Good shit. That's why you're my fuckin' SC, eh?" He grinned to the tech as he floated off.
"You know it."
Slipping into the cockpit, Putnam made for the seat. One strap down, another strap down, locked in the three-point clip centered on his sternum. His fingers went to the respective switch consoles on either side of his seat's cushion, a complex startup procedure which ended with the 360-degree monitors flaring to life. Lastly, with a fidget of a dial, Black Thorn's call came in.
"Yeah, this is Titch. Final checks showing everything green, taking third in catapult pattern, boss."
And as he called, his suit's locks disengaged. A clear from the air boss and his cold-gas vernier thrusters carried him to a standstill. He listened in to the comms. Suit one away. Two is on the catapult, suit two is away. His turn. Pressing the appropriate stick forward, his suit stepped up to the catapult shuttle. Two mechanical arms on each side offered the weapons of choice, the Jesta's high-powered beam rifle, matched with an anti-beam treated shield for the opposing arm. The two main thrusters on the Jesta's back flared with blue flame, at full power.
"Titch, launching."
All at once, Putnam was pressed into the back of his seat with great force. His hands stayed glued to the seat-mounted handholds as his suit was flung clear by the catapult. One hundred meters out, two hundred meters out, now three hundred, and his hands drifted down to the controls. He performed a wide angle clearing turn, coming up on the lead suit's left, and eventually then on the left side of their objective, the shuttle.
Thoughts raced in his head as his eyes traced the instruments panel, looking for any sort of Minovsky particle disruption of his sensors. Nothing.
"This is Titch, in holding pattern off the port side of objective vessel. Nothing sighted, keeping eyes peeled."</s>
<|message|>Dren Hepner
U.C. 0089 - Ten years prior
Left foot forward, three second pause, right foot forward. Left, one, two, three, right. The land convoy formation march of the EFSF had been drilled into the unit's brain for months, and even now Ensign Hepner found himself reciting the mantra mentally, but whether it was to keep his cool or concentration was unknown even to him. The Mobile Suit he found himself in the cockpit of was a salvaged and heavily-modified RGM-79R GM II, captured by the Neo Zeon and refurbished with an assortment of Earth Federation and Zeon technology. Hepner had been given orders to lead a token force of similar suits in a last-ditch ambush operation to attempt to cripple a crucial EFSF supply point. It was painted as the 'second wind' that would save the Zeon forces from defeat and turn the tide, but the ensign knew it was merely the dying gasp of a failing resistance movement.
Perhaps this is why he had arranged for what he did. The unit he led was expecting their arrival point to be a lightly-defended setup, essentially a glorified munitions dump. What they would get was a fully-armed compliment of elite Earth Federation mobile suits expecting their arrival. The goal was for Hepner and the EF officials to order the surrender and disarmament of his unit, just as his Earth Federation Intelligence handlers had directed him, but Hepner knew these men and women well enough that they would sooner see every single one of them killed. And he was right. The command for the false flag unit to surrender was utterly disregarded, and a brutal firefight ensued. Ensign Dren Hepner was the only Zeon survivor of a day that would haunt him every time he sat within the cockpit of a mobile suit.
---
U.C. 0099 - Present Day
"Black Thorn to all units, are we all ready to go? I'm standing by and ready to launch".
The voice over the comms unit shook Hepner from his introspection inside the cockpit of his mobile suit. Shaking his head and blinking his eyes a bit, he responded with a simple "Dren Hepner confirms, doing final systems checks now." Running visual confirmation over his suits instruments, another mantra from his years of mobile suit piloting came to the forefront of his mind. Reactor online. Sensors online. Weapons online. All systems nominal. Everything appeared clear, Dren gripped the controls, and the mobile suit catapult set him into the cold void of space once more. Making a careful sweep with his suit's rifle before taking up a position on the starboard side of the objective, his eyes carefully scanned both the sensors and the camera-displayed void of space for any signs of hostile activity.
Although this was a populated, Federation-tangent portion of space, that meant nothing when it came to the Zeon insurgents that had been plaguing the Federation for the last twenty years. Dren was all too familiar with the vicious tactics his kinsmen were more than willing to use against their hated foe, and his eyes, ears, and sensors were peeled for any resemblance to the tactics he was familiar with and had trained in. The attack could come from any angle, any direction, and take the form of anything spaceworthy. Even cargo ships had been used as ramming vehicles in the most desperate days of the Zeon rebellions. The thought of these crimes, one he himself had committed, made him sick to his stomach. This mission would be the first step to wiping that mistake from the annals of history.</s>
<|message|>Callie Suthorn
The suspicion of Callie and the rest of the pilots was well-founded, and their vigilance paid off. As the shuttle was on the verge of entering the bay, the situation took an abrupt twist. A bulk freighter exiting one of the other bays and chugging along, minding its' own business erupted into a brief globe of flame and debris, followed by another at one of the other docking umbilicals. Immediately the communications channels were filled with flash emergency reports as other ships were forced to change course, and emergency responders mobilised. The task force were sternly ordered to 'stand by'.
Within only moments of that message, the situation took a hostile turn. Another bulk ore carrier ignited its' engines for a burn, changing it's access and building momentum, diving on its' relative axis toward the open bay, and the approaching task force mobile suits and shuttle. A few moments after changing its' direction and accelerating, the huge bulk containers attached to the skeletal framework of the ship blew away with the help of explosive bolts, before their outer shells fragmented through the same means. From the clouds of expanding metal debris, the glow of thrusters and mono-eye lights preceded the lancing blasts of beam rifles and gunfire as a sextet of Gelgoog Marine-types, laded down and strapped with additional weapon systems emerged. Immediately they started opening fire, driving toward the bay entrance in a hail of weapons-fire. Additional fire and distress reports started to come in from other areas, further from the bay entrance and the docking areas.
All of this unfolded in mere seconds, a cascade of events that toppled like an avalanche. As the space around them that had been previously peaceful, if busy, was now a canopy of explosions and disintegrating spacecraft and infrastructure.
"Holy shit," muttered Callie as she grimaced, setting her jaw. "Time to get our game on," she said to herself, before calling out to the rest of the unit, even as the message came from the command shuttle to do the same thing:
"Spread out, engage the hostile mobile suits and make sure the shuttle gets to safety. Protect the civilian ships as much as possible. If we can capture one of the pilots, so much the better!"</s>
<|message|>Carter West
"Rodger that. I'm going to engage in waverrider mode." Carter states as he pulled his mobile suit around to face the disturbances looking out for anything that can be seen as they likely are using M. Particles to screw with standard systems. "Watch out for funnels fucking space pirates love those shitty salvaged Zeon tech." grumbled Cater further as he looked for the enemies. "Gelgoog Marines? What the hell is this the one year war? Couldn't get their hands on some Dogas? Scrubs..." Carter growled as he sped up to attack using his missile pods first then unleash a hail of fire from his mounted gun.</s>
| <|message|>James Bayer Putnam
As the situation ignited both figuratively and literally, the wanton destruction which erupted left Putnam in shock. His jaw dropped and eyes widened, his hands tensing on the controls, idly easing out of his heading as to not cause him to push back into his seat violently. Blinking rapidly, he traced the seam lines of his 360 monitor with his bright blues. A bright blinding light of pink-red sailed off to his right, rattling the cockpit with its force, marking out his target.
"Titch to all, acquired one times bogey, breaking off to run interference." He called his target as if he'd done it a thousand times before, but his voice twinged as he pulled the yoke, breaking off from the formation.
His other hand drifted to the digital display screens set front and to the left and right of the stick. Glancing down, and with two button presses, the display lit up with the code 'IR-MSL - 4/4'. Gripping at the second stick now, Putnam jinked the frame of his Jesta around to throw off incoming fire, with another beam shot going wide, this time off his left. The shoulder shield mounted on the suit's left shoulder broke loose on one end with some movement of the leftmost stick, and exposed the missile pods buried within.
Aligning the shield, a reticle of green formed on the front of the 360 monitor, and an idle beeping tone filled Putnam's ears, the reticle drifting, settling, shrinking. The tone screamed now, a solid yell inside the cockpit.
"I've got a tone! Fox two!" Titch cried, depressing the trigger on the stick, releasing two missiles.</s> |
<|description|>James Bayer Putnam
Nickname: Put (pronounced putt, as in golf putt), callsign Titch
Age: 31
Gender: Male
Social Status: Spacenoid
Rank: E-5 / Petty Officer Second Class (PO2)
Appearance:
Putnam is a 5'11" broad-shouldered Spacer, reasonably built but focused more on tone rather than mass in the muscles, which are more built along the core, upper body, and legs. His hair is a darker sandy blonde, matched with two pale blue eyes and a wide jaw line. His hair is styled short and well in regulation, matched with a patch of stubble of varying length. His nose is slightly crooked, with signs of former blunt force trauma, and a tattoo of the Earth Federation star in black on the upper left of his back.
Mobile Suit: Formerly a Jegan-D, but now retrained on a RGM-96X Jesta in order to keep up with high performance and waverider MS.
Positive Personality traits:
* Mellow
* Honest
* Reliable
* Dutiful
* Trusting
Negative Personality traits:
* Sarcastic
* Vulgar
* Tactless
* Predictable
* Impatient
Biography:
Putnam was born in 0068 on the colony Nassau, part of Side 4. A victim of the Thunderbolt Sector, Putnam (then 11 years old) and his family were evacuated with the rest of Nassau during the One Week Battle, then resettled on Side 1. The evacuation and destruction of Nassau followed by the enlistment and even conscription of older members of his community (leading to the death of most during the battles for the Thunderbolt Sector) left a major mark on Putnam's psyche, leading him to himself enlist in 0086, being trained as a mobile suit pilot in the EFSF.
Piloting a GM III throughout the First Neo Zeon war, his service record was largely without distinction, credited with three kills and seven assists throughout his deployment. Assigned thereafter to the Alexandria-class cruiser Actium, Putnam flew peacetime sorties with the 88th Fleet. During the Second Neo Zeon War, Putnam was scrambled along with the rest of the 88th to assist Londo Bell at the Battle of Axis. During the fighting, he earned ace-in-a-day status, downing five suits and getting credited for nine assists.
Thereafter he remained with the 88th Fleet, upgrading to a Jegan and performing sorties against Sleeves hit-and-run attacks, notably being assigned to maintain the quarantine of Industrial 7 during the Third Neo Zeon war, although seeing no actual combat. In the aftermath of the Laplace Incident, he and most other present pilots were grounded and rigorously evaluated, relegated to garrison duties in the meantime. During his evaluation period, Putnam was handpicked by the special operations unit Anthem.</s>
<|message|>Gregory Munchhausen (Gregorovich Tal Landry)
The infinite black void of space stretching out. The utter weightlessness. Despite the fact that he was hurtling through space at thousands of miles per hour, he was, nonetheless... Still. Floating here... Even though he knew that, no matter where he went, Earths Gravity acted on him, he still felt free of it. He looked around. "Munch, get back to work!" He heard through his suits comms as he turned back to his job, running his painting strip along the large letters that was Shadowfax's nameplate. As he continued to buff up the plate, he began to feel a little less easy with the situation. Suddenly, he got another message through the channel. "Munch, get to your Mobile Suit. We've got movement." As he turned to go inside, he could have swore he saw a flash out the corner of his eye.
Making his way through the ship, he quickly got to the changing room to change from a Normal Suit into a Flight Suit, far less bulky, but offered less protection against space debris. Finally, he made his way to the launch pad, looking at the suits stomping around was always a surreal moment, as the hangar was depreassurized. As he stood, he could feel the rumbling rythmically pulsating through the superstructure with every step the metal gods before him made their way to the catapult. But, he couldn't hear them. He could only hear the people cattering through the comms to each other. He then spotted it at the back of the room. His Dijeh. Created by Karaba in their war with the Federation, they had been refitted for use in Space during the Laplus incident, when the Federation needed every suit they had to get into space and find the box. Now, it was just used for patrolling. He did take comfort in the fact that the mobile suits chief test-pilot and designer was the great Amuro Ray. As he booted up the cockpit, he got a good view of everything around him, just in time to see Dren board the Catapult and get launched into space. He pressed his foot into the peddle, bringing the mighty foot forward and the other followed soon after. Stepping onto the catapult, he pressed his comm. "Gregory Munchhausen, Ready for Sortie." He said, before the suit was launched into the black void. Following after the others, just in time for them to see all hell breaking loose around them. He listened to the orders being handed down.
"Gelgoogs, what the hell do they think those Antique's are going to do?" He laughed. He was in the equivalent question of "What if Amuro had designed the Gelgoog" There was no way he was about to lose to them. "Roger, Youngster, moving to engage." He registered. As the agile Dijeh launched towards the interlopers, it's own Mono-eye glowing a bright emerald. Getting close, he saw the Vulcan rounds hit and bounce off of one of the Gelgoogs, wildly richochetting. "Oh, Armour improvements." He said, before the Beam-Rifle folded up it's it's holding position on the shoulder and he drew the Naginata, igniting both ends, he brought it for a slash, but the Marine was was also quick with it's own, igniting it and parrying, before forcing Greg into taking a few carefully planned thrusts backwards with the engines. "Oh, some improvements?" He asked, before forcing himself fowards, slashing a few more times, again, opening with the Vulcans to try and force him to protect that sensitive eye on his head.</s>
<|message|>Callie Suthorn
Despite Carter and Munch's objections that they were outdated technology, the Gelgoog's weapons-fire wasn't listening, and it struck home on the targets shot at. The bullets, rockets and beams didn't seem to care how outdated they were or not, and the damage they caused was unfortunately very up to date as infrastructure and ships took hits.
Fortunately, the Anthem mobile suit team were more-than up to the task of fighting back, and that's where their edge in technology counted. The Gelgoog pilots were good, not at all amateurs, and despite the age of their mobile suits they were wringing the best out of them and piloting them as competitively as possible - a good pilot in an old suit wasn't one to be taken lightly, and the Sleeves and their allies in the Zeon remnants had proved that short years ago. Plus it was a point; if they'd survive as long as they had, they had to be good in the first place.
Nonetheless, matched up against suits that were a grab-bag of advanced technologies, they were in for a struggle.
Carter's missile attack did the job of breaking up the formation of green-and-grey enemy machines. They - wisely - split up at the barrage of incoming missiles, but the assault was enough to wing one and outright kill a second, the Zeon-built suit exploding into a sphere of short-lived flame and trailing debris. The one winged lost a right arm, spinning in AMBAC motions to regain orientation and counter the impact - which made it a target for the mounted gun on the Re-Gz. It exploded in a violent, albeit short-lived, fireball, limbs spiralling off on their own trajectories.
Meanwhile, as the rest had scattered, they had been engaged by the rest of the unit. One singled in toward Putnam and his Jesta, opening fire as it powered toward him. The shots fired missed, but the counter-fire of missiles caught the Zeon pilot off guard. They spiralled to avoid the incoming fire, one missile catching the Gelgoog Marine's beam rifle and destroying it in a purplish explosion. The green-and-grey adversary managed to shoot down the second missile with a burst of fire from forearm machine-guns, somersaulting past the projectile as they did so, and then boosting into close range combat with a beam saber drawn, and knuckle-shield over the left forearm. It swung the saber in a vicious slice as it closed in range with the dark-coloured mobile suit, mono-eye glowing a threatening red.
Munch and his Dijeh had intercepted the most forward-running of the Gelgoogs. As his opponent fell back to avoid the melee, the Dijeh's vulcan blast played across the mobile suits' neck and lower head. The hose-like cables at the base of the Gelgoog's head were torn apart, and the mono-eye visor shattered, the special-operations mobile suit flipping end over end as the pilot tried to get a better picture of their surroundings from what little back-up sensors the Zeon suit had, leaving it vulnerable and open to attack.
Callie had not sat idle either. As soon as she'd given the attack order, she'd joined her team-mates in the charge. The S-Gundam's mighty thrusters blasting it toward the closing enemy suits. As they'd scattered to evade Carter's missile barrage, she had unlimbered the S-Gundam's beam smart-gun. As her fellow pilots closed in or opened fire respectively, she identified her own target, zeroing in through visual sensors and the radome mounted on the gun and let rip with a blast, even as the Gelgoog Marine she'd targeted unleashed a barrage of machine-gun fire toward her. Flipping and spiralling aside, she dodged or evaded the majority of the burst, as her own attack tore the Gelgoogs' left arm from its' torso, leaving molten alloy in its' wake. The pilot was a bold and brave, as well as skilled one, changing course with a series of impressive boosted manoeuvers to make his course random. He attempted to weave and bob, unleashing another blast at Callie from the machine gun from a relative upside down position, which she countered by taking some of the hits before flaring backward in space, and using the backpack-mounted beam cannons to blast the unfortunate Gelgoog to pieces.
The surviving Gelgoog had managed to get closer to the docking bay entrance, using cover from the destroyed ships and darting and lurking among civilian shipping as shields. The Ceres defensive GM-II's opened fire as it darted in, but were picked off with precise, rapid beam rifle fire, and the Gelgoog raced into the bay.
The S-Gundam turned to follow, and Callie's radio came to life with a laser transmission in the same instant.
"Captain Suthorn, the Ceres defensive militia are calling for reinforcements. The habitat inside the asteroid has been engulfed in fighting as well. This attack looks like it was a feint to draw attention and create chaos, while the real target slipped away. Nonetheless, there's fighting inside the asteroid as well, with more former Zeon mobile suits that had been hidden or smuggled aboard. You and your team are requested to enter the habitat and destroy them"
"Roger, will engage as ordered, sir".
Cursing softly, she turned her attention to the rest of her unit, engaged in battle or on the field. Youngster and Titch were still engaged, Mad Dog was doing just fine (not that she'd expected any less), and she hadn't heard from Hepner since they launched.
"Mad Dog," she called over the radio, getting a good contact with the Re-Gz Custom, "No surprise you're doing fine; good shooting. Looks like there's more trouble inside Ceres. Let's support Youngster and Titch, and then sweep into the habitat to assist, over!"</s>
<|message|>Carter West
"Fine I'm swapping to mobile suit form. I'll cover what I can but I prefer point." Carter said as he watched the Zekes die just as they had by the dozens in the previous wars. They picked poor suits for the wrong situations a dozen gaza C's could barely hold their own against a competent squad let alone a gundam. As the units pushed inward Carter's Re-GZ Custom swapped out of its waver rider form as Carter felt the machine respond, and push forward he made sure the people he was covering were into the next zone of combat before turning backward, and making sure no one tried to get a sneaky shot back in onto the group. He held his beam assault rifle ready to unleash it on any unexpected enemies. "I don't understand these pirates...what's the point? I don't see any real reason to kill these people." complained Carter as he turned around once he was sure the machines weren't going to ambush them. "Even the fucking dumb ass Zeons who still think their cause has a point need to understand they're throwing their lives away at this point."</s>
| <|message|>James Bayer Putnam
Putnam blasted forward as his saw a missile connect, searching hard for a confirmed kill as his infrared sensors overloaded. A mono-eye beaming through the carnage put his hopes to rest as it closed, pulling forth a beam saber. Backing off with a jet of blinding blue, he jerked the stick left, his other hand mashing the ejector on the beam saber stored in the Jesta's left forearm.
"I'm in close!" He called over net.
Grasping at the saber with the suit's right hand, he swerved his shield around via the manipulator on his pack, glancing off the Gelgoog's initial blow at the cost of the lower tip of his shield, which was reduced to cherry red slag. It did, however, give him an opening, with Putnam bringing down his own ignited saber diagonally towards the Gelgoog's unguarded left pauldron.</s> |
<|description|>Dren Hepner
Age: 30
Gender: Male
Social Status: Spacenoid
Appearance: Dren is a Side 3 Spacenoid by birth, and shares many of the common physiological details that an astute observer could use to identify him as such. In terms of physique, he keeps himself fit and ready as a soldier should, though a family history of space travel and colonial life means his stature is that of a more tall and thinner body accustomed to artificial gravity and weightlessness. His hair is near-black in color, kept trim and proper, and is paired with a sharp goatee extending across the center of his chin. A long scar line extends from near the top of his left ear and down to the edge of his left jawline, just before where his facial hair begins. Dren keeps proper in a well-pressed EFSF uniform, avoiding personal embellishment. The notable exception to this is a pendant often found around his neck, worn underneath his clothing, of the symbol used by the Axis-based Neo Zeon during the First Neo Zeon War
Mobile Suit: MSA-0003 Nemo
Dren Hepner pilots one of the MSA-003 Nemo suits deployed by the Earth Federation following the absorption of the AEUG during the conclusion of the Gryps War. His particular unit carries the HFW-GR·MR82-90mm GM Rifle as its standard ranged combat armament, as well as the standard beam saber pair mounted on the small of the back of the Mobile Suit, and the twin 60mm Vulcan guns mounted in the unit's head. Dren does not prefer to deploy with the shield traditionally issued with the Earth Federation's mobile suits, having grown accustomed to fighting without one.
Positive Personality traits:
Dren Hepner is fully aware of the implications and assumptions his personal history carries, and he works every day to subvert them. Doing whatever it takes to prove his loyalty and uphold his duties as a member of the Earth Federation's armed forces and the civilians they are sworn to protect. He bares no ill will towards those who are reluctant or otherwise unwilling to accept his determination to server the Federation as truthful, simply proving them wrong with his actions rather than his words.
Negative Personality traits:
Dren's defection from the Neo Zeon near the end of their involvement in the First Neo Zeon War was born of their increasing usage of tactics and strategy he found deplorable and criminal in nature. As such, Dren believes in conducting himself as an honorable and respectful member of the military, finding any actions comparable to those committed by the Neo Zeon during the war as infuriating and something that could very well lead to physical conflict between him and the perpetrator of such actions.
Short history/personality blurb:
Dren Hepner was born within the original Principality of Zeon in U.C. 0069, in the heart of the Side 3 space colonies. He doesn't recall much of life before the One Year War of U.C. 0079, but he does believe it was genuinely better for his kin. The war saw Dren's father, a man named Augin, enter the Zeon armed forces, serving in battles both in space and on Earth, before being killed in action during the Federation recapture of California Base. This lit a fire of Zeonic patriotism in the young Dren's heart that would take years to be extinguished. When the forces of Zeon finally surrendered, Dren had grown to carry a juvenile hatred of the Earth federation, and by the age of 17 had managed to reach out to the remnants that would become the Neo Zeon forces.
Being fully inducted into the Neo Zeon forces near the end of the war, Dren quickly learned that his perception of the Neo Zeon and Earth Federation was horrifically misguided. Dren's unit was one designed by the Neo Zeon to conduct illicit false flag operations, piloting mobile suits controlled by the Zeon that were intentionally designed to masquerade as Earth Federation units, mirroring the tactics that led to the creation of the GM Camouf during the One Year War. To this day the full extent of Dren Hepner's operations have never been described to anyone but the members of Earth Federation command that oversaw his defection. By the end of the war in early U.C. 0089, Dren was an active collaborator with the Earth Federation, providing them with information that would bear fruit during the conflict with the Neo Zeon forces led by Char Aznable in U.C. 0093, known as the Second Neo Zeon War. By the time of the Laplace Incident, or the Third Neo Zeon War, Dren Hepner had been fully integrated as a member of the Earth Federation's armed forces, and was ready to serve alongside other mobile suit pilots. His vigor and spirit against the Zeon during the conflicts surrounding the Laplace Incident are what led to his placement within the Anthem unit, showing dedication in helping clean up the Zeon remnants as both a personal duty and atonement.</s>
<|message|>Carter West
Having left his old squadron behind for the moment Captain Carter West felt himself introspecting on how bizarre this mission was. These units with him...both advanced, and antiques what kind of situation was this? The Republic of Zeon had folded...and yet they still couldn't pull out better machines for some of these pilots? It just seemed odd. Throughout his twenty or so years of experience in the battlefield he thought the days of Zeon were finally over but if they were pulling the captain of Round Bear from his duty of rounding up political dissidents, and traitor hunting what the hell was this situation about? How big was it really? He felt his Re-GZ Custom humming underneath him. Lieutenant Amuro Ray had piloted something like this back during the Char's Rebellion. It had served him well. It was a powerful machine, and it did its job well not too many units had the sheer amount of stopping power that this thing did, that couldn't call itself a gundam, or a mobile armor.
He breathed in and out carefully considering all the factors at hand. The S-Gundam though...where the hell did they even get that thing from? And why did that girl get to pilot it? Was she one of those newtypes? Whatever he had a job to do, and he'd get it done. "Captain Carter West. Launching Re-GZ Custom, making it happen." Carter said as he waited for his turn to clear launch. Once he was given it the suit in its waverider mode launched. He felt the usual kickback of the launch sequence, something to him at this point was barely worth noting, and he launched. "Carter reporting. Launch cleared forming on the shuttle." Carter stated. He hoped Black Thorn didn't intend to bark orders at him throughout this mission. By far he was one of the highest ranking space soldiers on this unit. To his knowledge no one here was a Commodore. "I don't know what brass is expecting but if it needs this big an escort than keep an eye out like she said. This better not be just an exercise that'd mean this is way to excessive." Carter said as he kept his machine at a reasonable speed neither going full in, or too slow simply keeping it at a casual pace. He kept his breath calm, and he made sure to be looking at his radar. He wasn't one of those fancy ass newtypes he had to keep his eyes on the ball.</s>
<|message|>James Bayer Putnam
Putnam balanced himself along the railing overlooking the mobile suit bay, whistling quietly behind the polarized glass of his normal suit's helmet. His hands white-knuckled the railing, he glanced over the gathered suits, among them his Jesta. Sure, it'd been nearly three years since his last combat sortie, but he'd kept in practice, live fires and all with this new monster of an escort suit. Yet, was this anxiety he was feeling? His expression hardened as he flung himself over, his momentum carrying him towards his suit. Digging in his hard-sole boots on the exterior, he grabbed at the hand-holds on the extended canopy door, staring in towards the MS electronics tech (MET) and Putnam's chosen suit chief, Petty Officer Arstrand, strapped down in the seat, tablet jacked into the instruments console.
"We all good here, Mads?"
"Yeah, you shouldn't have a problem with that APU switch sticking now. All yours, Titch." The MET spoke up with a thick Dutch accent, pushing off the seat and passing by Putnam with a graceful slide.
"Good shit. That's why you're my fuckin' SC, eh?" He grinned to the tech as he floated off.
"You know it."
Slipping into the cockpit, Putnam made for the seat. One strap down, another strap down, locked in the three-point clip centered on his sternum. His fingers went to the respective switch consoles on either side of his seat's cushion, a complex startup procedure which ended with the 360-degree monitors flaring to life. Lastly, with a fidget of a dial, Black Thorn's call came in.
"Yeah, this is Titch. Final checks showing everything green, taking third in catapult pattern, boss."
And as he called, his suit's locks disengaged. A clear from the air boss and his cold-gas vernier thrusters carried him to a standstill. He listened in to the comms. Suit one away. Two is on the catapult, suit two is away. His turn. Pressing the appropriate stick forward, his suit stepped up to the catapult shuttle. Two mechanical arms on each side offered the weapons of choice, the Jesta's high-powered beam rifle, matched with an anti-beam treated shield for the opposing arm. The two main thrusters on the Jesta's back flared with blue flame, at full power.
"Titch, launching."
All at once, Putnam was pressed into the back of his seat with great force. His hands stayed glued to the seat-mounted handholds as his suit was flung clear by the catapult. One hundred meters out, two hundred meters out, now three hundred, and his hands drifted down to the controls. He performed a wide angle clearing turn, coming up on the lead suit's left, and eventually then on the left side of their objective, the shuttle.
Thoughts raced in his head as his eyes traced the instruments panel, looking for any sort of Minovsky particle disruption of his sensors. Nothing.
"This is Titch, in holding pattern off the port side of objective vessel. Nothing sighted, keeping eyes peeled."</s>
| <|message|>Dren Hepner
U.C. 0089 - Ten years prior
Left foot forward, three second pause, right foot forward. Left, one, two, three, right. The land convoy formation march of the EFSF had been drilled into the unit's brain for months, and even now Ensign Hepner found himself reciting the mantra mentally, but whether it was to keep his cool or concentration was unknown even to him. The Mobile Suit he found himself in the cockpit of was a salvaged and heavily-modified RGM-79R GM II, captured by the Neo Zeon and refurbished with an assortment of Earth Federation and Zeon technology. Hepner had been given orders to lead a token force of similar suits in a last-ditch ambush operation to attempt to cripple a crucial EFSF supply point. It was painted as the 'second wind' that would save the Zeon forces from defeat and turn the tide, but the ensign knew it was merely the dying gasp of a failing resistance movement.
Perhaps this is why he had arranged for what he did. The unit he led was expecting their arrival point to be a lightly-defended setup, essentially a glorified munitions dump. What they would get was a fully-armed compliment of elite Earth Federation mobile suits expecting their arrival. The goal was for Hepner and the EF officials to order the surrender and disarmament of his unit, just as his Earth Federation Intelligence handlers had directed him, but Hepner knew these men and women well enough that they would sooner see every single one of them killed. And he was right. The command for the false flag unit to surrender was utterly disregarded, and a brutal firefight ensued. Ensign Dren Hepner was the only Zeon survivor of a day that would haunt him every time he sat within the cockpit of a mobile suit.
---
U.C. 0099 - Present Day
"Black Thorn to all units, are we all ready to go? I'm standing by and ready to launch".
The voice over the comms unit shook Hepner from his introspection inside the cockpit of his mobile suit. Shaking his head and blinking his eyes a bit, he responded with a simple "Dren Hepner confirms, doing final systems checks now." Running visual confirmation over his suits instruments, another mantra from his years of mobile suit piloting came to the forefront of his mind. Reactor online. Sensors online. Weapons online. All systems nominal. Everything appeared clear, Dren gripped the controls, and the mobile suit catapult set him into the cold void of space once more. Making a careful sweep with his suit's rifle before taking up a position on the starboard side of the objective, his eyes carefully scanned both the sensors and the camera-displayed void of space for any signs of hostile activity.
Although this was a populated, Federation-tangent portion of space, that meant nothing when it came to the Zeon insurgents that had been plaguing the Federation for the last twenty years. Dren was all too familiar with the vicious tactics his kinsmen were more than willing to use against their hated foe, and his eyes, ears, and sensors were peeled for any resemblance to the tactics he was familiar with and had trained in. The attack could come from any angle, any direction, and take the form of anything spaceworthy. Even cargo ships had been used as ramming vehicles in the most desperate days of the Zeon rebellions. The thought of these crimes, one he himself had committed, made him sick to his stomach. This mission would be the first step to wiping that mistake from the annals of history.</s> |
<|description|>Uaithne Cináed Fearghal Orvar
Gender / Preferred Pronouns: Male/He.
Age: 17
Birthday: 05/18
Sexuality: Straight
Appearance: 5'2" tall, he's a bit under average height. His slim, wiry frame put him under average weight as well… a measly 98 lbs; though it's not for lack of consumption. His fair skin is smooth, and soft, a point of some mockery. Though his hands are calloused and scarred from working in the woods from a young age. His eyes, a vibrant green, are intense and seem to stare into you as much as at you should you draw his undivided attention.
He usually wears jeans, hiking boots, a t-shirt and a utility vest. When hunting it's usually with a longbow, but sometimes he'll use a breech-loading double barrel shotgun. Otherwise, he relies on an assortment of tools tucked into the various pockets and pouches he wears. These include pliers, pocket knives, a hatchet, a lighter, a spool of thread, two needles, and an assortment of enchanted tools and trinkets.
Personality: A quiet soul, he avoids making loud noises in everything he does and says. He's often told to speak up, when talking with elders; his soft, low voice blending easily with the noise of day-to-day life at the Coven. He spends a lot of time lost in thought, considering implications of the day's lessons. Though, even when deep in thought he seems dimly aware of his surroundings, walking around obstacles and dodging stray balls at the last possible moment with the least amount of effort. He loves to read, hunt, and trade witty banter with friends.
He moves with the lethal grace of a predator. His small frame and thin limbs hide wiry strength, endurance and speed. He usually moves very carefully, slowly, deliberately. So when he decides to move with haste, it's often surprising just how swiftly he can move. He is a hard worker, honest, and kind. He gives everyone a chance to prove their character. Those who delight in deceit, malice, or arrogance he scorns openly. Most others he tolerates so long as they don't try to twist him to their own designs.
Biography: Born and raised in the coven, by parents and elders alike. He has shown particular talent in herbs, enchantments and healing. He studies magic with the elders most weekends.
His father died five years ago. But Uaithne still hunts and practices the bow as his father taught him. He can follow the stars home from anywhere on the globe, he can track large game by starlight. And he carries his father's courage in his heart.
His mother threw herself into her work for the coven, to help her cope with the grief of losing her husband. So Uaithne lives in the coven house, since his mom is often away on business. He doesn't mind, and seems to get along with most of the other kids there. He sometimes spends an afternoon teaching the youngsters games that help them build useful skills, particularly awareness.
His family comes from all over, northern Europe and even has some relatively recent additions of native American blood. His family history has never been all that special or important to the coven. It's not always been good either. It's part of why the family is so dedicated to healing now. Uaithne's mother, Maribelle, and his great aunt Brigid both serve the coven today.
The house his father had bought remains in the family, though it is unused at present. His mother and great aunt have considered selling it, but just haven't gotten around to it for a variety of reasons. Perhaps Uaithne will inherit the house, when he's ready. Though he has all but forgotten about the house himself.
Notable Rumors: A friend of Monsters; how else could he be so quiet even while running through the woods at night?
Goody-two-shoes; doesn't do stupid stunts or pranks. Also disregards most peer pressure with ease.
Greatest Fear: failure, a mistake that forever ruins a life or the coven.
Magic: Healing, poisons, and enchantments are his strengths/preferred magic studies. He is reasonably proficient in energy and projectile defense, potions, illusion, and enhancement. He is particularly challenged by charms(compulsion), fire, lightning, clairvoyance, and comprehension spells(speak with X)
Other: Is looking forward to his first mission for the coven. He feels certain that his initiation will go well. He has a lot to offer, and it's a family tradition. He hopes everyone can pass this year, but suspects that's unlikely. He's also sizing up potential female intimates to try and rule out obviously incompatible personalities… he'll worry about approaching potential matches after initiation is over.
Color=82ca9d</s>
<|message|>Kate Shuang
---
Kate really doesn't want to go back to the party, even though they would happily talk to their parents, they really don't want to talk to their aunt. To find a excuse for not going, Kate look around to see if witches need some healing and it seems that everyone is good, they sigh while taking off the robe "Sure, yeah not. I feel like everyone wrist are all heal" While walking with Alayna, Kate overhearing Lucien saying that Hana Song heal job really was flawless, no scar insight and then saying that girl is going places, Kate look their wrist, it still have a scar, then remembering that they heal Rowan, Cassandra and Alayna wrist, all of the girls probably have scars on their wrist too. Kate just doesn't understand, healing magic is their strong Suit and they study the shit of out it, they guess they have a lot to learn.
After finally made it back to the party, Kate parents rush to their side and give them a big hug, sure this is embarrassing from the outside but on the inside, a hug is what Kate really need right now. "Oh Kate, me and your father are just so proud of you right now!" "Thanks, guys" Kate say to their parents "yeah, kiddo! You remain me of us when we were your age" their dad say, Kate does wonder if their parents went the feeling of pressure and low self-esteem that Kate is going though right now "You are going to have so much fun at house but I bet you will love camping!" Kate train of thoughts was cut short when they hear the word camping "Wait, everyone's going to camp in forest? They didn't tell us that" "They didn't? Huh, the teachers usually tell the students about that" Diu say "It's a witch tradition, it where you have a deep and sacred connection to nature" John say Kate and then he and his wife starting to blush "You know Kate, it was a special night for me and your mother, it's where we have our first kiss" John say in lovely pride. While Kate thinks this sounds cute, Kate jokingly starts to pretend gag and then the Shuang start to laugh with eachother.
While saying their parents goodbyes, Kate notice that their aunt Mei is no longer at the party, which it was a big relief to them. Kate mother then say to not worry about Clem, she will bring their doggy companion to the house as soon as possible, Kate does still feel bad for not bringing Clem along to the party, they didn't know pets are allowed to the party, Kate bid their parents as they watch their parents drive off and then disappeared into the trees, this is it, Kate guess this is adulthood...For Witches.
Kate then changes into their pjs and then sit down around the campsite with the other witches "Sooooo, does anyone want to tell a ghost story?"</s>
<|message|>Rowan Moore
---
Rowan stayed around the wellspring for a while sharing her concoction around and helping people out of the wellspring. But ultimately she had to go back to the party, and she alone back through the trail. Well not alone alone she was with the group, just not really talking to anyone. After going through something like that, she much preferred to be left to her own thoughts for a while. Rowan was now in the big bad world of witches and in her mind she couldn't decide what to worry about first. Being able to live up to what her grandmother has done or the fact that even now as a fully fledged witch she still didn't have any self defense magic. Guess time would tell how she will shape up especially when she will be in close proximity to her peers. She tried to get all this out of her head but it would resurface again and again.
Coming back to the party was enough for her to forget about her worries for a bit. Then her dad picking her up in a bear hug was enough to clear her mind of it completely. "I'm very proud of you Rowan" her mom said to her. Rowan's mom wasn't one to waffle on with words, but the small amount she gave meant the world to Rowan. "Thanks mom, I uh guess I'm a witch now." Rowan couldn't help the smile spreading across her face, there was little she could do at all to hide the excitement she felt. "Also, sorry, but could you get my box garden from back home. I... didn't know if I would make it into coven so I didn't pack it for the trip here." Her mom then had her go at hugging her daughter "well luckily for you, someone believes in you a lot more than you do at the moment. The garden is already packed into the house." "Thanks mom, you're the best."
Sister Lark's proposal for a night of camping couldn't be any better. Rowan had already spent sometime camping in these woods. Of course, not anywhere so close to the wellspring though. It was still a tad to early for her to put on pajamas or anything, there was still a lot that could be done. "I think I'm going to go see if I can get us some more firewood. Also I know theres some herbs on these mountains that can make a nice tea, so I'll keep an eye out for that. I hope the ghoul that haunts these woods doesn't get me. OOOOooooOOOO." Rowan had her hands raised as if imitating a ghost before walking off with a chuckle. I mean sure ghosts really did exist, but its not like any were going to get us here.
Rowan started making her way toward the woods, she noticed a badger at the treeline looking at her. No doubt a spy of her moms trying to keep an eye on Rowan, it was comforting to know it was there and she returned a smile toward it.
Mentions: @sassy1085
---</s>
| <|message|>Uaithne Cináed Fearghal Orvar
Pockets filled, Uaithne took a deep breath to help the last of the anger evaporate into the cool night air. He left the porch, and stopped just long enough for a plate of food to top him off before continuing to the campfire. He almost got away clean... almost avoided Aunt Brigid and mother.
"Uaithne Cináed Fearghal Orvar, what ever is the matter with you?"
Stopping in his tracks, he sighed turning slightly to get it over with. Wasn't any point in trying to run away, Aunt Brigid would burn the whole forest just to find him, and then he'd still have to answer her incessant queries... He shrugged a shoulder and stared into the darkness, to ashamed to meet her gaze.
"I... not only failed to be even remotely useful but also snapped at Sister Deborah. She's probably going to give me an ear full later. Now... All I can hear is the father I don't have. I don't think I will be able to sleep tonight."
Uaithne was surprised to be enveloped by both mother and Aunt Brigid. He couldn't remember the last time mother had hugged him. Probably not since dad had died. He was too surprised to hide the tears that suddenly spilled down his cheeks. He barely heard mother whispering just how much like his father he was, and how proud both were of him. With a final squeeze, they stepped back. aunt Brigid making sure he didn't drop his plate, while mother dried his face. He should feel embarrassed... But it was more emotion than he could remember her ever expressing. She'd only barely survived herself, the day dad died... And much of her emotions were simply gone. But tonight... She now, she was Mom. And it filled him with wonder and joy. He collected himself, and thanked them both. And asked Aunt Brigid to tell Sister Deborah he hadn't meant what he'd said if she happened to see her. Then he went for a walk.
He ate as he went, slowly circling the house and campsite. He realized that every family was now a part of his family... They were all a coven now. That and the walk helped him get back to his usual self and he dumped his now empty plate in a trashcan as Sister Lark began corralling the new witches out towards the campsite. He made sure the latrine was clearly marked. And then set a small kettle of water on the fire to boil. He'd brought tea, and had enough for everyone if they wanted a cup before bed. He nodded to Rowan as she declared that she was fetching more firewood. There was plenty, but maybe she wanted a walk after the party. And he was always looking for more tea, so anything she found would be useful.
Kate asked about ghost stories, as Dakota tried to console Calypso. Uaithne wouldn't mind a few scary tales, but he didn't really have any stories to share himself. So he simply gestured for Kate to tell the first story, as the water came to a boil and he began pouring water into a cup for himself and anyone else who wanted one. He was drinking a honey camomile himself, but he had other flavors and local herbs for the campers to pick from. Some of the selections were mildly stimulating in various ways, and he would offer a soft warning if one such stimulant was selected. Nothing available would cause discomfort or debilitate the consumer. Aside from the warning, Uaithne sat in silence tending the fire and keeping hot water in the kettle as needed.
---
Interacts with: Kate; Rowan
Mentions: Anyone that wants a cup of hot tea.</s> |
<|description|>Cassandra Black
Age: 18
Gender: Female
Pronouns: She/her
Birthday: October 31
Sexuality: Straight
Appearance:
Cassandra is a natural platinum blonde, with chocolate brown eyes. She's a bit on the tall and willowy side, five foot eight and one hundred sixty pounds. She embraces the goth look, and has a lot of textured black dresses. Her palms are scarred from ritual bloodletting.
Personality: Cassandra plays 'moody and depressed' to the hilt, but it's all a very good act. She might behave like that in public, but get her alone, and she lets her hair down somewhat. She has quite a smart mouth on her, and that can get her in trouble somewhat. That said, she also has a knack for getting out of said trouble as well. She's also a voracious reader, and can often be found in her room with a book.
Bio: Cassandra's home life was... not the best. Her parents were always arguing, and her father was a bit too much into the booze. One night, after a truly epic bender, he crossed the line and struck her mother for the first time. In her rage and terror, Cassandra instinctively unleashed her magic for the first time, knocking her father down with a blast of force. That's when she knew she wasn't normal.
It turned out Cassandra's mother was a witch who was no longer practicing magic. With her help, the coven intervened, managing to get legal guardianship of Cassandra, teaching her to strengthen and control her powers. She made a few friends and did some small jobs for the coven, and now, she eagerly awaits full membership among the Sisters of the Dying Branch.
Notable Rumors: Some in the coven have claimed that she's so good at curses that there might be some distant demonic blood in her veins. It's not true in the slightest, though.
Fears: Cassandra is very claustrophobic. Inside the coven's walls, she knows she's safe, but otherwise, if she gets in tight spaces, she can easily have a panic attack.
Magic: Expert in curses. Born on Halloween, a night when black magic runs wild, Cassandra has a talent for the Dark Arts. She can inflict all sorts of malevolent spells on her targets. However, her most powerful magics require ritual and prep time, meaning that in a straight fight, she has to rely on lesser hexes.
Moderately skilled in enchanting. While nothing truly spectacular, Cassandra has made herself a small toolbox of magic items for both fun and function. Probably the most impressive is a dress that can change color, fabric, and cut with a thought.
Terrible at astral projection. For whatever reason, separating her spirit from her body is a skill she struggles mightily with. It makes her poor at intelligence-gathering missions, as she can't use one of the most effective spying techniques witches have.
Other: Cassandra has spent years looking for a familiar, but so far, the right one hasn't crossed her path.
Color: (Gainsboro)
Name: Rebecca Delacroix
Gender: Female
Pronouns: She/her
Age: 17
Birthday: June 6
Sexuality: Straight
Rebecca is a rather petite young redhead with piercing blue eyes that seem to be able to stare straight into your soul. She stands five feet even, weighing a hair over 100 lbs soaking wet. Not exactly the figure you expect for a potentially powerful witch. Her wardrobe is similarly off-kilter- a ton of flamboyant pinks and yellows. That said, she does break out the black robes for rituals- she absolutely loves playing up the witchy stereotype among the coven.
Personality: You'd probably think that someone who deals with the dead on a daily basis would be dark and gloomy. Au contraire, mon ami- it only makes Rebecca love life and sunshine all the more. Her ideal life is carefree fun, hanging loose and just relaxing the day away. Alas, she does have to do work for the coven, and when it comes to that, she's all business. She truly does care about her sisters and brothers in the coven- she just doesn't like to admit it much.
Bio: Rebecca's French on her father's side, but takes after her Irish mother. The family hasn't been in the States long; neither of her parents was actually born here, though her mother is a talented diviner. Her father doesn't have any magical skill himself, but at least knows of it, and has figured out enough to occasionally help Rebecca in her magical studies.
As for herself, Rebecca's powers first manifested at the age of four, when she managed to make her dolls levitate. At six, she saw her first ghost, and by nine, she had helped him cross over. She's made a fair few friends among the dead, as well as the living. Now, with her initiation coming, she's eager to test the limits of her powers.
Notable Rumors: It's been said that Rebecca will hold seances for money. This is true, but she only charges enough to cover ritual supplies, never for a profit. There's also been claims that she's romantically involved with a ghost. Not true- there was a date, but they mutually agreed to keep it as friends.
Fears: Rebecca's scared of deep water. She can handle swimming in a pool, but that's about it. If only someone could teach her a waterbreathing spell...
Magic: Excellent at mediumship. Rebecca has a deep connection to the spirits of the dead, able to see and speak with them at ease. She is also capable of taking them into herself temporarily, allowing her to make use of their skills and knowledge. She can even allow them to use her body, though she makes them sign a magic contract first to limit what they can actually do- she's not that stupid.
Excellent at astral projection. Having spent so much time working with the souls of others has made it a simple task to work with her own. She's often in her astral form while her physical body sleeps, to get more work done or have extra time for relaxation.
Poor at beast magic. Rebecca has tried many, many times to speak with animals, or even turn herself into one. It always ends poorly.
Borderline incompetent at elemental magic. No matter how hard she tries to work with the physical world, Rebecca can barely get a speck of dust to twitch or freeze a raindrop. It's just not her thing.
Other: Her familiar is an old black tomcat named Lucky. He may look like an escapee from a PETA ad, but he's really well loved. It's just that he never met a fight he didn't like, and he's lost the vast majority of them.
Rebecca has several ghosts that she considers friends as much as any living mortal. Abigail was a colonial girl who got lost in the woods in winter and froze to death. She spends a lot of time with Rebecca, and the two are amazed at how little boys have changed in the past two and half centuries. Mike joined the U.S. Army underage in 1942, and got himself killed by friendly fire over Sicily the following year. He's the one she had a date with. Jennifer is the only witch of the three- she died from a botched spell in the eighties. She serves as a sounding board for Rebecca's magical learning.</s>
<|message|>Cassandra Black
"And I'm Cassandra," the blonde said with a grin. "If you ever need someone well-versed in the Dark Arts, come find me. I admit, it's usually not the most in-demand of magical talents, but it does have its uses." She took the flask from Kate, noting the deep green color of the contents. As she pocketed it, she gave the potioneer a gentle, almost imperceptible nod. "Thank you, Kate. You're right; these will help me create some pretty cool new spells, or at least travel with them."
She then gave Jeremy the once-over; it didn't exactly hurt that he was attractive in an off-beat sort of way. "No offense meant, Jeremy, but it's somewhat odd to see a newcomer here for the first time at the initiation. Honestly, you've got me kind of curious. Why join the Dying Branch instead of another coven? Why us?"</s>
<|message|>Uaithne Cináed Fearghal Orvar
Uaithne Cináed Fearghal Orvar
---
Uaithne frowned when Maggie said he'd gotten the page wrong. He was sure he'd checked the page numbers before scaring her... Unless he had turned the book to the page he was on in Rothfuss' Wise Man's Fear... He might have done that on accident. Oops. Oh well, it was done now. He hoped down lightly, making remarkably little sound.
"Well, maybe not in so many words. But actions always speak louder than words, and you have been avoiding us since you arrived. Though I do understand preferring books to chatter. But it's initiation day, tonight we're going to be real witches! Doesn't that make you at least a little excited?"
Uaithne walked beside Maggie back towards the tables, he figured he could at least keep the adults from nagging her, or him, by lending the flimsy appearance of having an interesting conversation with another initiate. It seemed like the appropriate thing to do... He gulped as the hair on the back of his neck stood straight up.
That meant Great Aunt Brigid was watching... He hoped she would be enjoying the stronger drinks and wouldn't have extra tasks for him to do during initiation. She was a great aunt, or so the pun went, but her training was... Intense. She was very much a believer in trial by fire... which usually meant a literal magical inferno... Thankfully they were nearing the tables of food and initiates. Hopefully close enough to be safe from sudden conflagration...
---
Speaks to: Maggie@melissa
Mentions: N/A</s>
<|message|>Hana Song
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She suddenly felt frozen in place, a bundle of nervous energy settling into her gut as Kate spoke up about wanting another drink since the last one hadn't been all that good. Hana could only assume they misunderstood what she had said to Iris, thinking she was asking if she would like a drink instead of whether she liked the drink or maybe the second part about the first drink not being good was their answer to her question? It was confusing to say the least. Normally, it wouldn't be a problem to see if Kate would like her to get something else from the table for them but now she wasn't sure what to do since she couldn't just ditch Iris before she even answered or begun a conversation with her. However, she didn't want to be rude and act like she hadn't heard Kate either. Luckily, she didn't have long to worry about what decision to make as Kate turned their attention onto Cassandra, starting a conversation of their own. She could have given a sigh of relief and instead, simply smiled at Kate before swinging her attention back to Iris.
Iris was looking at her, headphones now in her lap as they had a small moment of awkward silence as she took a sip of her drink before speaking. Hana nodded as her smile brightened, agreeing that most of the drinks being pleasant but the nod slowed, her features now showing notable confusion as Iris continued to speak and took a brief glance at the other girls cup. 'Did she just say…., Hana thought for a moment before pressing her lips together before placing her hand to her mouth as she desperately tried not to laugh but ended up desperately failing. She felt the giggles bubble up and couldn't hold back the few that popped out as she spoke,"W-What kind of t-tea or soda h-have you been drinking t-that tastes similar?" Hana took a deep breath, calming herself before smiling softly as she continued,"They might have some but I am not really sure. I wouldn't be surprised considering all the different teas and sodas I saw earlier. Anyway, hi Iris and also, Sprite...you have been drinking Sprite."
At least no one could say Iris wasn't herself and that was part of the reason she liked talking to her. Sure, she could be a little quirky and very confusing at times but it was always entertaining to talk to her. She looked over to Kate who was now speaking to the new initiate, Jeremy and kind of felt sorry that he didn't even know the mess he had stepped into. He had almost been set free but Alex had stirred the pot accidentally and now had Summer's interest, since she was trying to draw Charlie in also. Hana stood up, looking back to Iris before glancing at those near her. "Hey Iris, I was thinking of getting myself a refill on my drink. Do you want me to bring you back anything?", she asked, waiting for an answer before grabbing her red solo cup and heading for the drink section of the table. Honestly, she might have introduced herself to Jeremy but the last thing he needed was to be swarmed with people and also, if that was Summer's reaction by just having Alex chat with him then the more might not be the merrier in this case.
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Speaks With: (Iris) @Blizz
Mentioned: (Kate)@sassy1085,(Cassandra)@blackdragon,(Alex)@WanderingSpirit,
(Summer) @Danvers, (Charlie) @KaijuBaragon, (Jeremy)@Rabidporcupine</s>
| <|message|>Cassandra Black
"Listen, Alayna. I've heard all the damn rumors... And I don't believe them for a second. If you meant to betray us, you'd have done it already." Rebecca took a long, slow sip of her water. "No offense." Eventually, Rebecca found her way over to her assigned seat, smack between Iris and Alex. She was rather comfortable with both of them, but after all these years, there wasn't anybody she really wasn't on good terms with.
"Sorry I'm a little tardy, you two. But then again, it is appropriate for a medium to be late, you know?" She giggled a tad at her own hideous pun, then sighed. "Honestly, I just want today to be over. All this anticipation, wondering what the elders have in store for us- it's playing all sorts of hell with my nerves."</s> |
<|description|>Cassandra Black
Age: 18
Gender: Female
Pronouns: She/her
Birthday: October 31
Sexuality: Straight
Appearance:
Cassandra is a natural platinum blonde, with chocolate brown eyes. She's a bit on the tall and willowy side, five foot eight and one hundred sixty pounds. She embraces the goth look, and has a lot of textured black dresses. Her palms are scarred from ritual bloodletting.
Personality: Cassandra plays 'moody and depressed' to the hilt, but it's all a very good act. She might behave like that in public, but get her alone, and she lets her hair down somewhat. She has quite a smart mouth on her, and that can get her in trouble somewhat. That said, she also has a knack for getting out of said trouble as well. She's also a voracious reader, and can often be found in her room with a book.
Bio: Cassandra's home life was... not the best. Her parents were always arguing, and her father was a bit too much into the booze. One night, after a truly epic bender, he crossed the line and struck her mother for the first time. In her rage and terror, Cassandra instinctively unleashed her magic for the first time, knocking her father down with a blast of force. That's when she knew she wasn't normal.
It turned out Cassandra's mother was a witch who was no longer practicing magic. With her help, the coven intervened, managing to get legal guardianship of Cassandra, teaching her to strengthen and control her powers. She made a few friends and did some small jobs for the coven, and now, she eagerly awaits full membership among the Sisters of the Dying Branch.
Notable Rumors: Some in the coven have claimed that she's so good at curses that there might be some distant demonic blood in her veins. It's not true in the slightest, though.
Fears: Cassandra is very claustrophobic. Inside the coven's walls, she knows she's safe, but otherwise, if she gets in tight spaces, she can easily have a panic attack.
Magic: Expert in curses. Born on Halloween, a night when black magic runs wild, Cassandra has a talent for the Dark Arts. She can inflict all sorts of malevolent spells on her targets. However, her most powerful magics require ritual and prep time, meaning that in a straight fight, she has to rely on lesser hexes.
Moderately skilled in enchanting. While nothing truly spectacular, Cassandra has made herself a small toolbox of magic items for both fun and function. Probably the most impressive is a dress that can change color, fabric, and cut with a thought.
Terrible at astral projection. For whatever reason, separating her spirit from her body is a skill she struggles mightily with. It makes her poor at intelligence-gathering missions, as she can't use one of the most effective spying techniques witches have.
Other: Cassandra has spent years looking for a familiar, but so far, the right one hasn't crossed her path.
Color: (Gainsboro)
Name: Rebecca Delacroix
Gender: Female
Pronouns: She/her
Age: 17
Birthday: June 6
Sexuality: Straight
Rebecca is a rather petite young redhead with piercing blue eyes that seem to be able to stare straight into your soul. She stands five feet even, weighing a hair over 100 lbs soaking wet. Not exactly the figure you expect for a potentially powerful witch. Her wardrobe is similarly off-kilter- a ton of flamboyant pinks and yellows. That said, she does break out the black robes for rituals- she absolutely loves playing up the witchy stereotype among the coven.
Personality: You'd probably think that someone who deals with the dead on a daily basis would be dark and gloomy. Au contraire, mon ami- it only makes Rebecca love life and sunshine all the more. Her ideal life is carefree fun, hanging loose and just relaxing the day away. Alas, she does have to do work for the coven, and when it comes to that, she's all business. She truly does care about her sisters and brothers in the coven- she just doesn't like to admit it much.
Bio: Rebecca's French on her father's side, but takes after her Irish mother. The family hasn't been in the States long; neither of her parents was actually born here, though her mother is a talented diviner. Her father doesn't have any magical skill himself, but at least knows of it, and has figured out enough to occasionally help Rebecca in her magical studies.
As for herself, Rebecca's powers first manifested at the age of four, when she managed to make her dolls levitate. At six, she saw her first ghost, and by nine, she had helped him cross over. She's made a fair few friends among the dead, as well as the living. Now, with her initiation coming, she's eager to test the limits of her powers.
Notable Rumors: It's been said that Rebecca will hold seances for money. This is true, but she only charges enough to cover ritual supplies, never for a profit. There's also been claims that she's romantically involved with a ghost. Not true- there was a date, but they mutually agreed to keep it as friends.
Fears: Rebecca's scared of deep water. She can handle swimming in a pool, but that's about it. If only someone could teach her a waterbreathing spell...
Magic: Excellent at mediumship. Rebecca has a deep connection to the spirits of the dead, able to see and speak with them at ease. She is also capable of taking them into herself temporarily, allowing her to make use of their skills and knowledge. She can even allow them to use her body, though she makes them sign a magic contract first to limit what they can actually do- she's not that stupid.
Excellent at astral projection. Having spent so much time working with the souls of others has made it a simple task to work with her own. She's often in her astral form while her physical body sleeps, to get more work done or have extra time for relaxation.
Poor at beast magic. Rebecca has tried many, many times to speak with animals, or even turn herself into one. It always ends poorly.
Borderline incompetent at elemental magic. No matter how hard she tries to work with the physical world, Rebecca can barely get a speck of dust to twitch or freeze a raindrop. It's just not her thing.
Other: Her familiar is an old black tomcat named Lucky. He may look like an escapee from a PETA ad, but he's really well loved. It's just that he never met a fight he didn't like, and he's lost the vast majority of them.
Rebecca has several ghosts that she considers friends as much as any living mortal. Abigail was a colonial girl who got lost in the woods in winter and froze to death. She spends a lot of time with Rebecca, and the two are amazed at how little boys have changed in the past two and half centuries. Mike joined the U.S. Army underage in 1942, and got himself killed by friendly fire over Sicily the following year. He's the one she had a date with. Jennifer is the only witch of the three- she died from a botched spell in the eighties. She serves as a sounding board for Rebecca's magical learning.</s>
<|message|>Charles (prefers Charlie) Hamlyn
Charlie moved in his seat suddenly when he felt something poke his ribs, and he looked down to see that it was Summer's elbow. He had been only somewhat tuned in to the conversation that was going on next to him, being mainly focused on his food and making furtive glances at some of the other witchlings who were arriving and taking their seats at the table. He swallowed the okra that was in his mouth quickly and racked his brains to remember what he had heard Summer say to the new guy - who Charlie was planning to welcome to later after he had finished his food and on his own terms. But - he had been drawn into the conversation, and after 10 seconds of awkward silence, Charlie remembered what Summer had said and put on a decidedly more warm and genuine smile than the one Summer was wearing.
"Hm? Oh, yes... I'm from England... Herefordshire, to be exact, it's in the South. Gorgeously rural, very green. A lot like the landscapes here, but decidedly less mountainous, less remote." He smiled again, regarding Jeremy with a nod. "Anyway, welcome! I certainly understand it can be a bit daunting moving to the coven here, but I've found everyone sufficiently welcoming so far, you'll be fine." Satisfied with his input to the conversation, he went back to his food, finishing off the plate (which had been piled quite high with delicacies) just in time, as he saw some movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced over to see Sister Deborah strolling up onto the temporary podium.
Charlie watched her intently as she began her speech, tapping his leg up and down out of nervous anticipation and excitement. He glanced at some of his fellow initiates, who just by looking at them, Charlie could tell that they were feeling the exact same set of emotions that he was feeling. When Sister Deborah got onto the list of people that had fallen in the line of duty to the coven, the pace of his leg tapping became even faster. Work for the coven was life-threatening. That was a fact that Charlie unfortunately knew all too well. He glanced at the crowd, where he briefly spotted his mother, who was sitting and listening to Deborah amongst the other middle aged female witches. He then put his own attention back on Deborah.
He took in a sharp breath when his name was called out, then the speech was suddenly over with the instruction that they should all be at the house in 10 minutes. Charlie looked back across the table. A couple of people were already making their way over. He turned to Summer. "You want to start heading over?" He glanced at the others on the table, feeling the need to invite someone else along in the short walk to the house. Calypso was having an incident involving her seat, and Charlie had the good sense to be aware of the fact that she didn't really like Summer. His leaned forward and looked down at the end of the row, his eyes falling at the quiet blonde girl right at the very end, who was clutching a book. "Maggie! Would you like to come and walk to the house with me and Summer?"
@Rabidporcupine @Melissa</s>
<|message|>Dakota Charity Lawson
Dakota had a determined grin on and was just about ready to destroy all in her path on her way to the top of the tree when she heard Sister Deborah's remarks. Her fingers still curled around a protruding piece of bark, she listened quietly to Sister Deborah's remarks, placing her right foot solidly against a nice divot in the tree. She was about ready to take off and start climbing it when Sister Deborah told the young witchlings that they had to be inside in 10 minutes. "Ten minutes? Bullshit," Dakota said in irritation, a crestfallen look on her face. She liked climbing trees. Shaking her head in disappointment, she nodded in response to Calypso's comment. "Right...I'll be honest, I'm not feeling all that hungry right now," Dakota said, looking down. She had accidentally knocked her food to the ground and was not ready for the shame of having to grab seconds. "Catch you inside, Callie!" she said to the girl before trekking off to the other side of the table, grabbing the tattered leather tote bag that was currently sitting on the chair in front of her name tag. She opened the bag, grinning with surprise as she looked inside. "Woah!" she exclaimed with a growing smile, looking as though she had just struck gold as she opened the bag. Now peeking its head out of the bag was a silver-black striped ferret. Kota grinned playfully as she took the ferret out of the bag, hoisting him up to her shoulder. "Astro! How did you sneak in there? You shouldn't be going into such a little space, silly, I wouldn't want you to get hurt!" she scolded playfully, as the ferret simply kept looking ahead, clearly disinterested in Dakota entirely.
Dakota took a few steps away from the table towards the large house. "This is the coven house, Astro, you're going to be staying here for a little while. Isn't it big?" Dakota cooed as she lifted Astro from her shoulder and pointed him towards the Coven House, like she was Rafiki and he was Simba from the Lion King. "You just have to make sure you don't make a mess and don't try to run off-...ASTRO!" Dakota's voice rose in alarm as Astro, deciding he no longer wanted to take part in this nonsense, slipped through Dakota's fingers, hitting the floor as soft as an acrobat would, before booking it towards the Coven House, obviously wanting to explore on his own terms. Dakota rushed after him. "Astro! Come back, stupid!" Dakota commanded in vain as she chased after her ferret, who was moving quickly across the grass towards the coven house. "Stop it, you dummy! You don't know where you're going!"
Astro was obviously not heading Dakota's advice, though, and zoomed towards the coven house, reaching the stairs that led to the house rather swiftly. Dakota hot in his tail, Astro swiftly scaled the steps, looking over at the girl sitting there, listening to music, a wooden golem on her shoulder. This last part got Astro's attention. Toy. The slinky polecat wound up before launching directly at the girl with the golem (most obviously Iris), quickly and very spontaneously scaling her arm before tackling the golem off, pinning it down like a chew toy and trying to wrap his mouth around its head.
Dakota had now caught up to her pet and was angrily scolding him. "Bad! Bad Astro! No eating other people's...doll things," she finished lamely, reaching down to stop Astro from gnawing Corvus' head clean off. Thankfully, Astro was not a godly ferret and could not chew his way clean through wood, but his teeth were fairly sharp. Dakota pulled the finicky ferret away, holding him close to her chest as she looked over to Iris. "Sorry about that, Curly," Dakota said a bit breathlessly as she squeezed Astro to her chest, stopping the restless creature from finishing the job. "He normally doesn't do that. Bad Astro!" she scolded again, her arms wrapped tightly around the squirming ferret. "Really sorry about that. If you need me to pay for repairs or something I definitely will. I know how much your, uhh, whosiwhatsits mean to you."
Speaks to: Calypso Barnes @canaryrose, Iris Aderast @Blizz
Mentions: n/a
---
---</s>
| <|message|>Cassandra Black
Rebecca listened to Sister Deborah's speech with interest. She let out a whispered "Thank you" when the coven's leader mentioned those who had passed in the previous year- she couldn't see any of their ghosts around, but it didn't hurt to give her respects. Finally, the moment arrived. Sister Deborah told them all to meet for the binding ritual, and she let out a very unladylike yelp of sheer joy.
The medium was absolutely off like a shot, making a beeline for the house. On the way, she saw Rowan heading there as well. "Hey, Rowan. Mind if I join you?" Without even so much as waiting for a response in her giddiness, she continued on. "Any idea what they're going to throw at us? I've asked a few of the spirits, out of sheer curiosity, but they've all been careful not to let anything slip out."</s> |
<|description|>Cassandra Black
Age: 18
Gender: Female
Pronouns: She/her
Birthday: October 31
Sexuality: Straight
Appearance:
Cassandra is a natural platinum blonde, with chocolate brown eyes. She's a bit on the tall and willowy side, five foot eight and one hundred sixty pounds. She embraces the goth look, and has a lot of textured black dresses. Her palms are scarred from ritual bloodletting.
Personality: Cassandra plays 'moody and depressed' to the hilt, but it's all a very good act. She might behave like that in public, but get her alone, and she lets her hair down somewhat. She has quite a smart mouth on her, and that can get her in trouble somewhat. That said, she also has a knack for getting out of said trouble as well. She's also a voracious reader, and can often be found in her room with a book.
Bio: Cassandra's home life was... not the best. Her parents were always arguing, and her father was a bit too much into the booze. One night, after a truly epic bender, he crossed the line and struck her mother for the first time. In her rage and terror, Cassandra instinctively unleashed her magic for the first time, knocking her father down with a blast of force. That's when she knew she wasn't normal.
It turned out Cassandra's mother was a witch who was no longer practicing magic. With her help, the coven intervened, managing to get legal guardianship of Cassandra, teaching her to strengthen and control her powers. She made a few friends and did some small jobs for the coven, and now, she eagerly awaits full membership among the Sisters of the Dying Branch.
Notable Rumors: Some in the coven have claimed that she's so good at curses that there might be some distant demonic blood in her veins. It's not true in the slightest, though.
Fears: Cassandra is very claustrophobic. Inside the coven's walls, she knows she's safe, but otherwise, if she gets in tight spaces, she can easily have a panic attack.
Magic: Expert in curses. Born on Halloween, a night when black magic runs wild, Cassandra has a talent for the Dark Arts. She can inflict all sorts of malevolent spells on her targets. However, her most powerful magics require ritual and prep time, meaning that in a straight fight, she has to rely on lesser hexes.
Moderately skilled in enchanting. While nothing truly spectacular, Cassandra has made herself a small toolbox of magic items for both fun and function. Probably the most impressive is a dress that can change color, fabric, and cut with a thought.
Terrible at astral projection. For whatever reason, separating her spirit from her body is a skill she struggles mightily with. It makes her poor at intelligence-gathering missions, as she can't use one of the most effective spying techniques witches have.
Other: Cassandra has spent years looking for a familiar, but so far, the right one hasn't crossed her path.
Color: (Gainsboro)
Name: Rebecca Delacroix
Gender: Female
Pronouns: She/her
Age: 17
Birthday: June 6
Sexuality: Straight
Rebecca is a rather petite young redhead with piercing blue eyes that seem to be able to stare straight into your soul. She stands five feet even, weighing a hair over 100 lbs soaking wet. Not exactly the figure you expect for a potentially powerful witch. Her wardrobe is similarly off-kilter- a ton of flamboyant pinks and yellows. That said, she does break out the black robes for rituals- she absolutely loves playing up the witchy stereotype among the coven.
Personality: You'd probably think that someone who deals with the dead on a daily basis would be dark and gloomy. Au contraire, mon ami- it only makes Rebecca love life and sunshine all the more. Her ideal life is carefree fun, hanging loose and just relaxing the day away. Alas, she does have to do work for the coven, and when it comes to that, she's all business. She truly does care about her sisters and brothers in the coven- she just doesn't like to admit it much.
Bio: Rebecca's French on her father's side, but takes after her Irish mother. The family hasn't been in the States long; neither of her parents was actually born here, though her mother is a talented diviner. Her father doesn't have any magical skill himself, but at least knows of it, and has figured out enough to occasionally help Rebecca in her magical studies.
As for herself, Rebecca's powers first manifested at the age of four, when she managed to make her dolls levitate. At six, she saw her first ghost, and by nine, she had helped him cross over. She's made a fair few friends among the dead, as well as the living. Now, with her initiation coming, she's eager to test the limits of her powers.
Notable Rumors: It's been said that Rebecca will hold seances for money. This is true, but she only charges enough to cover ritual supplies, never for a profit. There's also been claims that she's romantically involved with a ghost. Not true- there was a date, but they mutually agreed to keep it as friends.
Fears: Rebecca's scared of deep water. She can handle swimming in a pool, but that's about it. If only someone could teach her a waterbreathing spell...
Magic: Excellent at mediumship. Rebecca has a deep connection to the spirits of the dead, able to see and speak with them at ease. She is also capable of taking them into herself temporarily, allowing her to make use of their skills and knowledge. She can even allow them to use her body, though she makes them sign a magic contract first to limit what they can actually do- she's not that stupid.
Excellent at astral projection. Having spent so much time working with the souls of others has made it a simple task to work with her own. She's often in her astral form while her physical body sleeps, to get more work done or have extra time for relaxation.
Poor at beast magic. Rebecca has tried many, many times to speak with animals, or even turn herself into one. It always ends poorly.
Borderline incompetent at elemental magic. No matter how hard she tries to work with the physical world, Rebecca can barely get a speck of dust to twitch or freeze a raindrop. It's just not her thing.
Other: Her familiar is an old black tomcat named Lucky. He may look like an escapee from a PETA ad, but he's really well loved. It's just that he never met a fight he didn't like, and he's lost the vast majority of them.
Rebecca has several ghosts that she considers friends as much as any living mortal. Abigail was a colonial girl who got lost in the woods in winter and froze to death. She spends a lot of time with Rebecca, and the two are amazed at how little boys have changed in the past two and half centuries. Mike joined the U.S. Army underage in 1942, and got himself killed by friendly fire over Sicily the following year. He's the one she had a date with. Jennifer is the only witch of the three- she died from a botched spell in the eighties. She serves as a sounding board for Rebecca's magical learning.</s>
<|message|>Margaret "Maggie" Wilson
Speaking with: Charlie @KaijuBaragon and Summer @Danvers
As she approached the initiate table, Maggie could feel her stomach begin to turn. Something about the situation seemed so forced- all of the witchlings required to sit together and make small talk. Usually, she preferred social interaction when it was on her own accord, but she'd have to make lemonade out of sour lemons and suck it up. The blonde offered a warm smile to those who had noticed she appeared, but didn't say anything. She found her seat at the end of the table, mentally thanking the elders for giving her the spot with the easiest escape route, and opened her book once more and continued from where she left off.
It wasn't long until Sister Deborah approached the microphone and drew attention, including Maggie's. The girl set down her book on the table (this time remembering to mark the page where she left off) and listened intently, mulling over each word the woman said to the crowd. Although it didn't seem like it, the blonde was quite excited for her initiation. She was looking forward to gaining a new sense of belonging to the coven and forging her own path, both literally and figuratively. Of course she was nervous, but for some reason, she felt more at ease than anxious knowing that she would be initiated as her family was before her. This would be a new adventure, and above all else an opportunity for Maggie to come out of her shell and mature.
As the elder announced the initiates would be meeting at the house in a few minutes time, she wished she had just stayed over there in the first place. Uaithne just had to come over and guilt her, and she could have avoided all of this had she just stuck with her gut. But it was too late for regret now- she had already seen her mother practically beaming from across the field noticing her daughter socializing. At least it made one of them happy.
A voice calling her name drew the blonde out of her thoughts, and Maggie looked over to find Charlie speaking to her in his lovely accent. It took her a moment to process, but when she realized that he was inviting her to accompany him and Summer back over to the house, she nodded in response. "Sure, I'll join you." Standing up and smoothing out her dress, she leisurely strolled to where they were standing, matching their pace as they began to walk towards where she had been hiding out previously.
Summer's reputation definitely preceded her, and the blonde couldn't exactly figure out if her compliment was sincere or not. Even though they had known each other for quite a long time and were amicable, Maggie knew that the girl didn't get along with some people and it was best to stay on her good side. Deciding in her own mind that Summer's words were genuine (even if they truly weren't), Maggie looked down at her gingham dress and back up to the girl, and smiled. Today was not the day to hyper analyze. "Thanks, I figured that it's a special occasion, so might as well look the part." After a pause, she motioned to Summer's yellow and white striped ensemble. "Your dress is lovely as well."
Looking up at Charlie, as he was much taller than her, she noticed that the fading golden hour sunlight seemed to catch his hair, making it look even more red than it truly was. "So what do you think the wellspring is like? I've always wondered."</s>
<|message|>Dakota Charity Lawson
Dakota sighed in relief as Iris picked up the (mostly) unharmed golem. "Oh, good. I was worried for a moment that I had-...I mean, that Astro had broken it." Dakota looked down at the squirming ferret sternly, before her eyes flitted back up to iris, a smile returning to her face. She nodded enthusiastically as Iris mentioned Astro, proudly lifting the struggling creature up again. "Astro's super playful. He just likes to mess around, grab small things, play with them, do all that." Dakota gestured over to Corvus the golem. "I guess he thought that your golem was a chew toy or something. He loves squeaky things. He's the best, though! You can pet him if you want! He doesn't bite!" Dakota paused for a moment, looking down at the ferret in her hands before biting her lip. "Alright, so he does bite, but normally only me. Still, he's a bit feisty today...maybe once he's more accustomed to the house and all that, you can play with him. He loves playing. I'm sure he'll get along fine with your golems once I train him not to eat them." Dakota smiled confidently at this idea, even though she knew full well that such a task would be nigh-impossible to complete. "He's really the best possible pet. He's great," she proclaimed boldly as she finally released Astro from her grip, the ferret scuttling up her arm and perching on her shoulder, his head twisting as he looked around this strange new place
"Anyway, nice seeing you again, Curly. The...denim look really suits you!" Dakota complimented, giving Iris a chipper smile before turning over her shoulder, her eyes locking with Summer's for a brief moment before wandering elsewhere. Pretending to instead focus on an owl in the distant treeline, Dakota's eyes occasionally flitted back over to Summer and company a few times, as inconspicuously as possible. She had swore that Summer had shot a look (a look not in the positive sense) over at Dakota, and she did not like that one bit. So what if her clothes weren't super formal? It was summertime in Virginia; Dakota needed clothes with some breath-ability in them. A tank top and jean shorts were both perfectly acceptable options, thank you very much. As somebody who liked to both run and fly, Dakota saw several significant issues that would come about with wearing high heels and a dress respectively. She looked perfectly neat, anyway, and she was perfectly presentable! As Dakota mulled over these thoughts, she plucked a burr that was stuck to her shirt off and tossed it away.
Her mind snapping back to present swiftly, Dakota looked back to Iris, her thoughtful frown once again being turned upside-down. "Anyway, I can't wait to see the wellspring! It sounds super cool..." Dakota trailed off a bit, before energetically adding, "And staying here all the time is going to be great too! I miss all of you guys, anyway, so it's going to be a blast to get to hang out with you! Ooh, we can be roomies and stuff! Wouldn't that be fun, me and you? Ooh, I gotta show you that hair brush that I charmed! I was gonna give it to Callie but it looks like your hair could use some straightening up too. Looks like you've been living with the wolves for a while." Dakota giggled. "Kidding! Your heart looks great. Really lovely. Seriously, though, I'm looking forward to hanging out with you! And everybody else!" She paused, sneaking a very noticeable glance at Summer before looking back at Iris. "Almost everybody else."
Speaks to: Iris Aderast @Blizz
Mentions: Summer Abernathy @Danvers
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---</s>
| <|message|>Cassandra Black
Cassandra looked down and realized she'd forgotten her purse. Cussing up a storm (cursing was something extremely different, in her experience), she went back to the food table. As she found the black leather bag, she also saw Hana there, lagging behind the rest of the witchlings. Huh. I thought everybody was already up at the house.
"Oh, hello, Hana. I almost didn't see you there." Cassandra gave Hana a warm grin as she went up to the potioneer witch. "Mind walking down to the house with me? I could certainly use the company, and I've got a few ideas I want to talk to you about, if you'd be so good."</s> |
<|description|>Cassandra Black
Age: 18
Gender: Female
Pronouns: She/her
Birthday: October 31
Sexuality: Straight
Appearance:
Cassandra is a natural platinum blonde, with chocolate brown eyes. She's a bit on the tall and willowy side, five foot eight and one hundred sixty pounds. She embraces the goth look, and has a lot of textured black dresses. Her palms are scarred from ritual bloodletting.
Personality: Cassandra plays 'moody and depressed' to the hilt, but it's all a very good act. She might behave like that in public, but get her alone, and she lets her hair down somewhat. She has quite a smart mouth on her, and that can get her in trouble somewhat. That said, she also has a knack for getting out of said trouble as well. She's also a voracious reader, and can often be found in her room with a book.
Bio: Cassandra's home life was... not the best. Her parents were always arguing, and her father was a bit too much into the booze. One night, after a truly epic bender, he crossed the line and struck her mother for the first time. In her rage and terror, Cassandra instinctively unleashed her magic for the first time, knocking her father down with a blast of force. That's when she knew she wasn't normal.
It turned out Cassandra's mother was a witch who was no longer practicing magic. With her help, the coven intervened, managing to get legal guardianship of Cassandra, teaching her to strengthen and control her powers. She made a few friends and did some small jobs for the coven, and now, she eagerly awaits full membership among the Sisters of the Dying Branch.
Notable Rumors: Some in the coven have claimed that she's so good at curses that there might be some distant demonic blood in her veins. It's not true in the slightest, though.
Fears: Cassandra is very claustrophobic. Inside the coven's walls, she knows she's safe, but otherwise, if she gets in tight spaces, she can easily have a panic attack.
Magic: Expert in curses. Born on Halloween, a night when black magic runs wild, Cassandra has a talent for the Dark Arts. She can inflict all sorts of malevolent spells on her targets. However, her most powerful magics require ritual and prep time, meaning that in a straight fight, she has to rely on lesser hexes.
Moderately skilled in enchanting. While nothing truly spectacular, Cassandra has made herself a small toolbox of magic items for both fun and function. Probably the most impressive is a dress that can change color, fabric, and cut with a thought.
Terrible at astral projection. For whatever reason, separating her spirit from her body is a skill she struggles mightily with. It makes her poor at intelligence-gathering missions, as she can't use one of the most effective spying techniques witches have.
Other: Cassandra has spent years looking for a familiar, but so far, the right one hasn't crossed her path.
Color: (Gainsboro)
Name: Rebecca Delacroix
Gender: Female
Pronouns: She/her
Age: 17
Birthday: June 6
Sexuality: Straight
Rebecca is a rather petite young redhead with piercing blue eyes that seem to be able to stare straight into your soul. She stands five feet even, weighing a hair over 100 lbs soaking wet. Not exactly the figure you expect for a potentially powerful witch. Her wardrobe is similarly off-kilter- a ton of flamboyant pinks and yellows. That said, she does break out the black robes for rituals- she absolutely loves playing up the witchy stereotype among the coven.
Personality: You'd probably think that someone who deals with the dead on a daily basis would be dark and gloomy. Au contraire, mon ami- it only makes Rebecca love life and sunshine all the more. Her ideal life is carefree fun, hanging loose and just relaxing the day away. Alas, she does have to do work for the coven, and when it comes to that, she's all business. She truly does care about her sisters and brothers in the coven- she just doesn't like to admit it much.
Bio: Rebecca's French on her father's side, but takes after her Irish mother. The family hasn't been in the States long; neither of her parents was actually born here, though her mother is a talented diviner. Her father doesn't have any magical skill himself, but at least knows of it, and has figured out enough to occasionally help Rebecca in her magical studies.
As for herself, Rebecca's powers first manifested at the age of four, when she managed to make her dolls levitate. At six, she saw her first ghost, and by nine, she had helped him cross over. She's made a fair few friends among the dead, as well as the living. Now, with her initiation coming, she's eager to test the limits of her powers.
Notable Rumors: It's been said that Rebecca will hold seances for money. This is true, but she only charges enough to cover ritual supplies, never for a profit. There's also been claims that she's romantically involved with a ghost. Not true- there was a date, but they mutually agreed to keep it as friends.
Fears: Rebecca's scared of deep water. She can handle swimming in a pool, but that's about it. If only someone could teach her a waterbreathing spell...
Magic: Excellent at mediumship. Rebecca has a deep connection to the spirits of the dead, able to see and speak with them at ease. She is also capable of taking them into herself temporarily, allowing her to make use of their skills and knowledge. She can even allow them to use her body, though she makes them sign a magic contract first to limit what they can actually do- she's not that stupid.
Excellent at astral projection. Having spent so much time working with the souls of others has made it a simple task to work with her own. She's often in her astral form while her physical body sleeps, to get more work done or have extra time for relaxation.
Poor at beast magic. Rebecca has tried many, many times to speak with animals, or even turn herself into one. It always ends poorly.
Borderline incompetent at elemental magic. No matter how hard she tries to work with the physical world, Rebecca can barely get a speck of dust to twitch or freeze a raindrop. It's just not her thing.
Other: Her familiar is an old black tomcat named Lucky. He may look like an escapee from a PETA ad, but he's really well loved. It's just that he never met a fight he didn't like, and he's lost the vast majority of them.
Rebecca has several ghosts that she considers friends as much as any living mortal. Abigail was a colonial girl who got lost in the woods in winter and froze to death. She spends a lot of time with Rebecca, and the two are amazed at how little boys have changed in the past two and half centuries. Mike joined the U.S. Army underage in 1942, and got himself killed by friendly fire over Sicily the following year. He's the one she had a date with. Jennifer is the only witch of the three- she died from a botched spell in the eighties. She serves as a sounding board for Rebecca's magical learning.</s>
<|message|>Kate Shuang
---
"Aye-aye, Nurse Moorse, Doctor Shuang is ready to treat the patients." Kate jokingly say to Rowan as they watch her walk away to mix up a potion. Kate look to see if anyone want their wrist heal up and then Kate look at their curse loving friend, Cassandra, who is clearly liking this blood ritual a little too much, Kate walk toward Cassandra and gently place their hand into her wrist and then magical close up Cassandra wound and then chuckle "Ok, ok, calm down lady Black. You'll have fun with the drug fill lake next time but for now, let's just relax"
Kate then walk toward their patient, Alayna Castellano, although the two witches never talk before, Kate did hear that she is excellent with fire magic since they kinda envy with that skill. When Alayna say to Hana that she need to be able to take care of yourself more and you're truly becoming a witch, Kate roll their eyes "Oh come on now, Alayna. Just because you are a witch, it's not that bad to ask for help now and then. Beside, you don't want to passed out like our friend Summer over there from bloodloss, now do we?" Kate then magical heal Alayna wrist "There, all heal up. I'm sorry if it may leave a scar but it ok, everyone will have scars on their wrists anyway, we'll become scar buddies and we'll be call the scar witches, a badass band name if I do say so myself." Kate say to Alayna with a chuckle
@Qia</s>
<|message|>Summer Abernathy
Well, shit.
The last thing Summer could remember was slipping into darkness, her vision blurring as she fell suddenly and completely unconscious. She mustn't have been out of it for long — perhaps a minute at most — but that didn't mean she felt any less disorientated when she was pulled awake by the pungent odour of smelling salts.
"Urgh, that smells awful..." Summer grimaced as she looked up at Elder Lucien, her brown eyes taking in his impassive demeanour. She supposed she was lucky he had come to help her but that didn't mean she felt any less irritated by his presence. It was annoying to even need help in the first place.
Bringing a hand to her forehead, she eased herself into a sitting position, trying to make sense of what was happening around her. Everyone seemed to be rushing about and it looked like she & Calypso weren't the only ones who had suffered after the ritual. Looking over at Maggie, who appeared to be in the middle of a full-blown panic attack, she found herself feeling a twinge of something for her. Of course, it was totally stupid to go through with the ritual if you were so damn anxious...but still.
"I'm fine now." Summer muttered sullenly to Lucien as she slowly stood up. For a second she teetered on her feet — a wave of dizziness overcoming her — but luckily she managed to steady herself enough that she didn't immediately fall to the floor again. Glancing down at the spot where she had cut herself with the dagger, she was surprised to see that it had been healed. And it was a good job too. Likely one of the elders had done it. It didn't really seem like the other witchlings...or witches as it was now, cared that she had fainted, so she doubted it had been any of their doing.
Not that this bothered Summer. Of course not.
Yet, the teen still couldn't help but feel a twinge of embarrassment for what had happened. It was not the Abernathy way. Scratch that...it wasn't her way. It was weak and stupid. No doubt news of the events that had transpired would spread throughout the coven. And her mother...oh god, her mother. She was never going to live this down. Maybe she should move to Antartica or something. Surely they must have witches there too...
Caught up in these thoughts, she absentmindedly picked a couple of pieces of undergrowth off her dress, before suddenly realising that she was just standing there like an idiot.
"Er, well thanks for healing me or whatever." Rolling her eyes, Summer then proceeded to promptly stride off, eager to get away from the Wellspring (and the other witches). She knew she was going to have to spend the rest of the evening with them but she just needed a moment alone.</s>
<|message|>⟢ 🎆Respects ⟡ 🌓Neutral ⟡ 👋Acquaintance ⟡ 🙇It's Complicated ⟣
Iris Aderast
---
That was wild
That bloody potion was very clearly not for human consumption, seeing as several of the witchlings - witches? - were either doubled over in pain, high as a kite, both, or healing someone who was a combination of the two. Iris, however, was just fine. She stood up a little dizzy, pondering the vision of the heartless golems she saw. It was strange, golems were literally impossible to create without a heart, Iris would know since she quite literally wrote the book on golemism. "...I know what I'm doing first." Iris mumbled to herself as she straightened out her graduation robes and made her way past Sister Deborah, pondering the things she did today. "I could go for some more tea..." That was probably the first thing the airheaded girl would do, drink some ambiguous liquid and ponder the validity of its existence in her cup and hand. Naturally.
Isolde Morden
---
That was beautiful
Isolde stood up, she was a little more well composed compared to some of the new witches. It seemed like she got off easy, one of the initiates was vomiting, and being helped. It was definitely a rough process to handle, but they all made it. Internally, Isolde was thrilled, just being here was an honor for her, but as of today, she was a proper witch, and this was her home now. When the coven's leader spoke, telling them to leave, she remembered she was supposed to let her know she was here. It was time to go back to the house, so Isolde got up and started walking until she got to the elder with the lantern, she remembered her name. The elders of Morden Mountain told Isolde about her and to let her know when she was here.
"Sister Deborah? My name is Isolde. Isolde Morden. I was told to let you know that I arrived from the mountain. I'm happy to be here." She tried to keep a dignified tone in front of the elder. She stood up straight and tried to remain presentable. She didn't know much about this woman, just that she was important in the coven, and not to mess with her. "I'm honored that you allowed me to come here, sister."</s>
| <|message|>Cassandra Black
Rebecca nodded as Sister Deborah started to herd them back towards the coven house. "Yeah... going back sounds real nice right about now." She joined the throng of new witches, still reeking of Eau de Stagnant Water and unsteady on her feet.
As she made her way back to the table, the medium started to see a few more ghosts, but something was... odd. She'd always had to focus a little bit to interact with the dead, and they were constantly fuzzy, but now, she could see them easily and clearly. Something to do with the wellspring, perhaps? Jennifer floated over, not the pale spectre she usually was, but bright and colorful, almost solid. "Wow! I could feel the magic coming off you before, but now? It's like comparing a faucet to a fire hose!"
"I know. I'm amazed by all the power. It... it might actually go to my head, you know. Not that I'm going to let it. Hopefully."</s> |
<|description|>Cassandra Black
Age: 18
Gender: Female
Pronouns: She/her
Birthday: October 31
Sexuality: Straight
Appearance:
Cassandra is a natural platinum blonde, with chocolate brown eyes. She's a bit on the tall and willowy side, five foot eight and one hundred sixty pounds. She embraces the goth look, and has a lot of textured black dresses. Her palms are scarred from ritual bloodletting.
Personality: Cassandra plays 'moody and depressed' to the hilt, but it's all a very good act. She might behave like that in public, but get her alone, and she lets her hair down somewhat. She has quite a smart mouth on her, and that can get her in trouble somewhat. That said, she also has a knack for getting out of said trouble as well. She's also a voracious reader, and can often be found in her room with a book.
Bio: Cassandra's home life was... not the best. Her parents were always arguing, and her father was a bit too much into the booze. One night, after a truly epic bender, he crossed the line and struck her mother for the first time. In her rage and terror, Cassandra instinctively unleashed her magic for the first time, knocking her father down with a blast of force. That's when she knew she wasn't normal.
It turned out Cassandra's mother was a witch who was no longer practicing magic. With her help, the coven intervened, managing to get legal guardianship of Cassandra, teaching her to strengthen and control her powers. She made a few friends and did some small jobs for the coven, and now, she eagerly awaits full membership among the Sisters of the Dying Branch.
Notable Rumors: Some in the coven have claimed that she's so good at curses that there might be some distant demonic blood in her veins. It's not true in the slightest, though.
Fears: Cassandra is very claustrophobic. Inside the coven's walls, she knows she's safe, but otherwise, if she gets in tight spaces, she can easily have a panic attack.
Magic: Expert in curses. Born on Halloween, a night when black magic runs wild, Cassandra has a talent for the Dark Arts. She can inflict all sorts of malevolent spells on her targets. However, her most powerful magics require ritual and prep time, meaning that in a straight fight, she has to rely on lesser hexes.
Moderately skilled in enchanting. While nothing truly spectacular, Cassandra has made herself a small toolbox of magic items for both fun and function. Probably the most impressive is a dress that can change color, fabric, and cut with a thought.
Terrible at astral projection. For whatever reason, separating her spirit from her body is a skill she struggles mightily with. It makes her poor at intelligence-gathering missions, as she can't use one of the most effective spying techniques witches have.
Other: Cassandra has spent years looking for a familiar, but so far, the right one hasn't crossed her path.
Color: (Gainsboro)
Name: Rebecca Delacroix
Gender: Female
Pronouns: She/her
Age: 17
Birthday: June 6
Sexuality: Straight
Rebecca is a rather petite young redhead with piercing blue eyes that seem to be able to stare straight into your soul. She stands five feet even, weighing a hair over 100 lbs soaking wet. Not exactly the figure you expect for a potentially powerful witch. Her wardrobe is similarly off-kilter- a ton of flamboyant pinks and yellows. That said, she does break out the black robes for rituals- she absolutely loves playing up the witchy stereotype among the coven.
Personality: You'd probably think that someone who deals with the dead on a daily basis would be dark and gloomy. Au contraire, mon ami- it only makes Rebecca love life and sunshine all the more. Her ideal life is carefree fun, hanging loose and just relaxing the day away. Alas, she does have to do work for the coven, and when it comes to that, she's all business. She truly does care about her sisters and brothers in the coven- she just doesn't like to admit it much.
Bio: Rebecca's French on her father's side, but takes after her Irish mother. The family hasn't been in the States long; neither of her parents was actually born here, though her mother is a talented diviner. Her father doesn't have any magical skill himself, but at least knows of it, and has figured out enough to occasionally help Rebecca in her magical studies.
As for herself, Rebecca's powers first manifested at the age of four, when she managed to make her dolls levitate. At six, she saw her first ghost, and by nine, she had helped him cross over. She's made a fair few friends among the dead, as well as the living. Now, with her initiation coming, she's eager to test the limits of her powers.
Notable Rumors: It's been said that Rebecca will hold seances for money. This is true, but she only charges enough to cover ritual supplies, never for a profit. There's also been claims that she's romantically involved with a ghost. Not true- there was a date, but they mutually agreed to keep it as friends.
Fears: Rebecca's scared of deep water. She can handle swimming in a pool, but that's about it. If only someone could teach her a waterbreathing spell...
Magic: Excellent at mediumship. Rebecca has a deep connection to the spirits of the dead, able to see and speak with them at ease. She is also capable of taking them into herself temporarily, allowing her to make use of their skills and knowledge. She can even allow them to use her body, though she makes them sign a magic contract first to limit what they can actually do- she's not that stupid.
Excellent at astral projection. Having spent so much time working with the souls of others has made it a simple task to work with her own. She's often in her astral form while her physical body sleeps, to get more work done or have extra time for relaxation.
Poor at beast magic. Rebecca has tried many, many times to speak with animals, or even turn herself into one. It always ends poorly.
Borderline incompetent at elemental magic. No matter how hard she tries to work with the physical world, Rebecca can barely get a speck of dust to twitch or freeze a raindrop. It's just not her thing.
Other: Her familiar is an old black tomcat named Lucky. He may look like an escapee from a PETA ad, but he's really well loved. It's just that he never met a fight he didn't like, and he's lost the vast majority of them.
Rebecca has several ghosts that she considers friends as much as any living mortal. Abigail was a colonial girl who got lost in the woods in winter and froze to death. She spends a lot of time with Rebecca, and the two are amazed at how little boys have changed in the past two and half centuries. Mike joined the U.S. Army underage in 1942, and got himself killed by friendly fire over Sicily the following year. He's the one she had a date with. Jennifer is the only witch of the three- she died from a botched spell in the eighties. She serves as a sounding board for Rebecca's magical learning.</s>
<|message|>Charles (prefers Charlie) Hamlyn
Charlie had already rooted through his bag and pulled out some lines and hooks, which he was busily beginning to rig up for his night fishing expedition. Emboldened by Alayna asking to join him, Charlie was sure that a fun night was ahead... Perhaps some other people would join in too. He was just tying the took to the end of a line with a fairly complex knot, the redhead biting his lip in concentration, when he was suddenly thrown off by Maggie's voice. He glanced up at her as she began to advise him that perhaps he was being brash and going fishing in the woods in the dead perhaps wasn't the smartest idea... And Charlie found himself quickly agreeing with her assessment of the idea - it was pretty irresponsible.
"Well, I suppose you're right... I was probably being rather erratic, it wasn't the smartest suggestion. Sorry Alayna, she is right. Luckily fishing and drugs aren't the only options available..." He quieted his voice as the scary stories began to start, using the opportunity to root through his bag for his own book which he had brought along, soon finding it and pulling it out. It was of course a book about Watford F.C - a biography of a past manager who had lead the club to glory (well, they hadn't actually won anything, but it was relative glory anyway). He had already read the book about three times in the past, but it was an enjoyable read and took his mind off the club's current misfortune anyway, so why not give it another read. He put it to one side just as he caught the end of Isolde's gripping story.
"That was a fine story Isolde... Very atmospheric! In fact, it reminds me of..." Charlie was quickly cut off as he heard heated discussion going on from across the campsite. He whipped his head around to observe the scene. From about 10 seconds of observation, he could see that Dakota and Summer were involved in some kind of conflict... Jeremy had attempted to intervene already, had done absolutely nothing. Iris, Maggie and Calypso were watching on, clearly not involved in the scrap themselves. The situation looked tense already, especially when Summer grabbed Dakota's ferret by the scruff and started threatening it. And it boiled over when Dakota had done a bit of fancy magic and socked Summer straight in the jaw.
Charlie's jaw dropped, and he immediately stood up, instinctively going over to intervene. He attempted to look as serious as he could while heading over - which probably contrasted to his blindingly yellow pyjamas. "Woah, woah, steady! What on earth is going on here? Something about a bracelet?" Probably not the best start, but Charlie soldiered on regardless. "We shouldn't be fighting like this, we're all members of the same coven here... Let's just cool our emotions somewhat, this seems like something that could be talked out." He looked down at his fellow redhead who was most likely reeling from the punch. "Summer, are you alright? And is... Um... Him! Is the ferret alright, Dakota?"
He thought he had done a pretty good job at defusing the situation.
@Melissa @Blizz @Hitman @Danvers @canaryrose</s>
<|message|>Kate Shuang
---
Kate was kinda expecting Isolde's story to be weird and mysterious like her but in the end, her story was really interesting. A coven of witches that live in a mountains that can control the weather, Kate wonder if they weren't afraid of lightning, they would probably join Morden coven, to feel free and safe. After Isolde was done with her story, Kate snap out of their thoughts "That was a very interesting story, Isolde. But out of curiosity, what's it like living on the mountains?" Kate ask Isolde, they want to ask her more questions, but kate feel like one is just enough.
After getting their answer and grab themself a s'mores, Kate hear a familiar voice coming from the forest, it was Rowan "Well, you miss my awesome ghost story called Mary Onyx, The Death Witch. Isolde tell her interesting story about Valerica" Kate say to Rowan, they didn't tell Rowan the part about the rabbit scaring the shit of Kate, they doesn't want to embarrass themself even further as it is. Kate then hear a heated discussion between Dakota and Summer "Um, guys, don't look now but I think there two witches fighting over there." Kate point at both angry Dakota and Summer ".....Soooo, want to take bets on whoever throw the first punch first?" After Kate say that, Dakota use her wind magic and punch Summer right in the jaw, Kate eyes widen and almost burst out laughing, this has not been Summer best night, has it? "Great job trying to calm the situation, Jeremy" Kate jokingly say Jeremy in a sarcastic tone, also while getting excited to see what happen next
@Jumbus@Rabidporcupine</s>
| <|message|>Cassandra Black
Rebecca looked at the fight breaking out with more than a little apprehension. She didn't like fighting at the best of times, and once everybody brought magic into the picture, it could get very bad, very fast. Add in the fact of life that was teenage impulse, and well… it wasn't entirely impossible that she could have a few new ghosts to talk to soon.
This needs to be nipped in the bud, now. We can't have the coven turning on each other like this, especially over something so petty. Rebecca wasn't the type to raise her voice often, so on the rare occasion she did, it was all the more memorable. With a few good breaks, she could calm everybody down, or at least "Both of you, knock it off! Summer, I really don't think she ordered Astro to steal the bracelet, so don't take it out on the little guy. And Kota, once you realized it wasn't yours, you should have found out whose it was and returned it. Now, can we start being civilized about this whole thing and resolve this peacefully? Please?"
A voice came up from behind the medium. It was Cassandra, wearing a happy little grin. "I've got twenty bucks on Summer!" she called out to nobody in particular. Rebecca, for her part, simply buried her face deep in her hands. "What did I do to end up in this place? Kick a puppy into low-earth orbit or something?" she wondered aloud. This was going to be one heck of an interesting time. Hopefully, the fallout from all this wouldn't be too disastrous… but she seriously doubted they'd all get that lucky.</s> |
<|description|>Cassandra Black
Age: 18
Gender: Female
Pronouns: She/her
Birthday: October 31
Sexuality: Straight
Appearance:
Cassandra is a natural platinum blonde, with chocolate brown eyes. She's a bit on the tall and willowy side, five foot eight and one hundred sixty pounds. She embraces the goth look, and has a lot of textured black dresses. Her palms are scarred from ritual bloodletting.
Personality: Cassandra plays 'moody and depressed' to the hilt, but it's all a very good act. She might behave like that in public, but get her alone, and she lets her hair down somewhat. She has quite a smart mouth on her, and that can get her in trouble somewhat. That said, she also has a knack for getting out of said trouble as well. She's also a voracious reader, and can often be found in her room with a book.
Bio: Cassandra's home life was... not the best. Her parents were always arguing, and her father was a bit too much into the booze. One night, after a truly epic bender, he crossed the line and struck her mother for the first time. In her rage and terror, Cassandra instinctively unleashed her magic for the first time, knocking her father down with a blast of force. That's when she knew she wasn't normal.
It turned out Cassandra's mother was a witch who was no longer practicing magic. With her help, the coven intervened, managing to get legal guardianship of Cassandra, teaching her to strengthen and control her powers. She made a few friends and did some small jobs for the coven, and now, she eagerly awaits full membership among the Sisters of the Dying Branch.
Notable Rumors: Some in the coven have claimed that she's so good at curses that there might be some distant demonic blood in her veins. It's not true in the slightest, though.
Fears: Cassandra is very claustrophobic. Inside the coven's walls, she knows she's safe, but otherwise, if she gets in tight spaces, she can easily have a panic attack.
Magic: Expert in curses. Born on Halloween, a night when black magic runs wild, Cassandra has a talent for the Dark Arts. She can inflict all sorts of malevolent spells on her targets. However, her most powerful magics require ritual and prep time, meaning that in a straight fight, she has to rely on lesser hexes.
Moderately skilled in enchanting. While nothing truly spectacular, Cassandra has made herself a small toolbox of magic items for both fun and function. Probably the most impressive is a dress that can change color, fabric, and cut with a thought.
Terrible at astral projection. For whatever reason, separating her spirit from her body is a skill she struggles mightily with. It makes her poor at intelligence-gathering missions, as she can't use one of the most effective spying techniques witches have.
Other: Cassandra has spent years looking for a familiar, but so far, the right one hasn't crossed her path.
Color: (Gainsboro)
Name: Rebecca Delacroix
Gender: Female
Pronouns: She/her
Age: 17
Birthday: June 6
Sexuality: Straight
Rebecca is a rather petite young redhead with piercing blue eyes that seem to be able to stare straight into your soul. She stands five feet even, weighing a hair over 100 lbs soaking wet. Not exactly the figure you expect for a potentially powerful witch. Her wardrobe is similarly off-kilter- a ton of flamboyant pinks and yellows. That said, she does break out the black robes for rituals- she absolutely loves playing up the witchy stereotype among the coven.
Personality: You'd probably think that someone who deals with the dead on a daily basis would be dark and gloomy. Au contraire, mon ami- it only makes Rebecca love life and sunshine all the more. Her ideal life is carefree fun, hanging loose and just relaxing the day away. Alas, she does have to do work for the coven, and when it comes to that, she's all business. She truly does care about her sisters and brothers in the coven- she just doesn't like to admit it much.
Bio: Rebecca's French on her father's side, but takes after her Irish mother. The family hasn't been in the States long; neither of her parents was actually born here, though her mother is a talented diviner. Her father doesn't have any magical skill himself, but at least knows of it, and has figured out enough to occasionally help Rebecca in her magical studies.
As for herself, Rebecca's powers first manifested at the age of four, when she managed to make her dolls levitate. At six, she saw her first ghost, and by nine, she had helped him cross over. She's made a fair few friends among the dead, as well as the living. Now, with her initiation coming, she's eager to test the limits of her powers.
Notable Rumors: It's been said that Rebecca will hold seances for money. This is true, but she only charges enough to cover ritual supplies, never for a profit. There's also been claims that she's romantically involved with a ghost. Not true- there was a date, but they mutually agreed to keep it as friends.
Fears: Rebecca's scared of deep water. She can handle swimming in a pool, but that's about it. If only someone could teach her a waterbreathing spell...
Magic: Excellent at mediumship. Rebecca has a deep connection to the spirits of the dead, able to see and speak with them at ease. She is also capable of taking them into herself temporarily, allowing her to make use of their skills and knowledge. She can even allow them to use her body, though she makes them sign a magic contract first to limit what they can actually do- she's not that stupid.
Excellent at astral projection. Having spent so much time working with the souls of others has made it a simple task to work with her own. She's often in her astral form while her physical body sleeps, to get more work done or have extra time for relaxation.
Poor at beast magic. Rebecca has tried many, many times to speak with animals, or even turn herself into one. It always ends poorly.
Borderline incompetent at elemental magic. No matter how hard she tries to work with the physical world, Rebecca can barely get a speck of dust to twitch or freeze a raindrop. It's just not her thing.
Other: Her familiar is an old black tomcat named Lucky. He may look like an escapee from a PETA ad, but he's really well loved. It's just that he never met a fight he didn't like, and he's lost the vast majority of them.
Rebecca has several ghosts that she considers friends as much as any living mortal. Abigail was a colonial girl who got lost in the woods in winter and froze to death. She spends a lot of time with Rebecca, and the two are amazed at how little boys have changed in the past two and half centuries. Mike joined the U.S. Army underage in 1942, and got himself killed by friendly fire over Sicily the following year. He's the one she had a date with. Jennifer is the only witch of the three- she died from a botched spell in the eighties. She serves as a sounding board for Rebecca's magical learning.</s>
<|message|>Uaithne Cináed Fearghal Orvar
Uaithne Cináed Fearghal Orvar
---
Uaithne watched the fight unfold with annoyance. Dakota picked a fight over jewelry Astro had picked up... Didn't even try to verify the claim, just picked a fight. Summer took the punch, responded with a surprisingly cool head. A simple illusion spell most likely, her speciality. Uaithne doubted even Calypso would realize just how lucky Dakota was to be fighting the illusionist and not someone else. Calypso decided to join the fight... Pity, she had seemed an intelligent child.
Summer stumbled off, shit that's a bad night waiting to happen. Uaithne slipped his pack back on and slipped silently into the woods after Summer, pausing just long enough to string his bow. He moved with the shadows, in practiced silent ease. He'd been hunting these lands since Dad had died. He knew these trees, and the paths between them. Not that he needed to with the noise Summer was making stumbling through he woods probably partially blinded by tears.
He noticed others following Summer, less quietly, and hoped she wouldn't react by just running blindly farther into the night. There wasn't anything to worry about yet, nothing big enough to hurt Summer or the others nearby; but she was making good time, and was headed for big animal territory. Uaithne would have to keep alert, but that was a simple task. He easily heard Jean-Luc's shout... And his pathetic speech.
Uaithne paused in his hunting; a sharp cracking, as thick glass was broken, and the spell within spilled over him. Uaithne persuaded an owl to take the bracelet, that was apparently Summer's after all, to Summer. Uaithne gave Jean-Luc a parting snear, and resumed his silent stalking through the night moving with the shadows to ward of any local predators Summer might stumble into. Thankfully there weren't any wolf packs this close to the Coven. So a bear or wildcat would be the most likely to protest Summer's presence though foxes and cougars also roamed the mountains they usually stayed farther from the coven house, like the wolves.
He kept his bow ready, an arrow which had been dipped in a fast acting numbing agent resting on the string. The poison would last only a few minutes for a bear, that was more than enough time to follow up with something designed for bear. Uaithne stayed about 30-50meters from Summer, always moving silently in the shadows, but close enough to keep her in his peripheral awareness while watching for trouble. He heard people talking to Summer, and saw the owl silently deliver her bracelet like the Hogwarts post. The owl kept flying, it had paused it's hunt for an evening snack to deliver the bracelet.
It seemed as if the days ahead would be full of immaturity, stupidity, and half baked plans. Uaithne decided to make the most of it. He might even manage a friend or two... though he doubted it. Plenty of others had lost parents, but it didn't effect them the same. Maybe they had siblings, or their remaining friends filled the gaps somewhat. He never could quite connect with anyone. But that could wait, the wind rustling through the trees brought Uaithne back to the present and he scanned his soundings on high alert. For now, he focussed on just keeping the local predators at bay...
---
Speaks to: N/A
Mentions: Summer @Danvers, Jean-Luc, Cal, Kota, Kate, Jeremy.</s>
<|message|>Rowan Moore
---
"Hey Kota, drink this, it'll help calm you down a bit." Rowan had moved over to Dakota and had a cup of tea held out to offer. Only after she said her first sentence did she realize 'calm you down a bit' could be taken in the wrong way. "Wait, hang on I uh, didn't mean it like that. I'm just saying all that must have been pretty scary." She took a seat next to Kota still offering the tea. "I don't know if its the wellspring or just because I haven't seen you all in a while but everyone seems a lot more powerful now."
Rowan threw a few more sticks on the fire, watching it rise up a bit before back down and becoming stable again. "I think we all need to take a bit more care with our magic now that we're proper witches. It was fine to fight and practically bite each others heads off when we were kids, but now we can just about blow each other up." Rowan had a short laugh to herself before continuing, what she said had sounded ridiculous but it was very true in her mind. "I just, don't want to see any of us get seriously hurt over some petty squabble. I think some others are going after Summer to settle her down now, you clocked her pretty good huh." She couldn't help but show a small smile of satisfaction when saying that. "Anyway, I hope you can make peace with her when she comes back. I don't think the Sisters were expecting a witch war on the first night. Neither did I, as a matter of fact." Rowan had another chuckle to herself.
---
(Occurs after post 140)
Speaks with: Dakota:@Hitman</s>
| <|message|>Cassandra Black
Okay, this was ugly. And Cassandra didn't do ugly, in more ways than one. The fight had been bad enough, but whatever hex Summer had used was too far by half. Even if it was a pretty cool bit of magic, she had to admit. It seemed Dakota was returning to normal, though, so she'd be fine. The main priority was getting to Summer, now.
Eventually, she came across the other girl, looking for all the world like a domestic abuse victim from Dakota's haymaker. "Hey, Summer. I've got a spell that would work for that injury of yours. I think. It's… it's a variation of one of my curses, drains life force from things around you to heal. Never used it on somebody else, though. And if you don't want me working black magic around you, I'll understand."
Cassandra plopped herself down on a log next to Summer. "How did you cast that hex, anyway? I mean, I know my way around spells like that, but I never saw anyone cast one that fast in my life before. I'm really impressed- you've got some serious game, girl. Remind me never to get on your bad side…"</s> |
<|description|>Cassandra Black
Age: 18
Gender: Female
Pronouns: She/her
Birthday: October 31
Sexuality: Straight
Appearance:
Cassandra is a natural platinum blonde, with chocolate brown eyes. She's a bit on the tall and willowy side, five foot eight and one hundred sixty pounds. She embraces the goth look, and has a lot of textured black dresses. Her palms are scarred from ritual bloodletting.
Personality: Cassandra plays 'moody and depressed' to the hilt, but it's all a very good act. She might behave like that in public, but get her alone, and she lets her hair down somewhat. She has quite a smart mouth on her, and that can get her in trouble somewhat. That said, she also has a knack for getting out of said trouble as well. She's also a voracious reader, and can often be found in her room with a book.
Bio: Cassandra's home life was... not the best. Her parents were always arguing, and her father was a bit too much into the booze. One night, after a truly epic bender, he crossed the line and struck her mother for the first time. In her rage and terror, Cassandra instinctively unleashed her magic for the first time, knocking her father down with a blast of force. That's when she knew she wasn't normal.
It turned out Cassandra's mother was a witch who was no longer practicing magic. With her help, the coven intervened, managing to get legal guardianship of Cassandra, teaching her to strengthen and control her powers. She made a few friends and did some small jobs for the coven, and now, she eagerly awaits full membership among the Sisters of the Dying Branch.
Notable Rumors: Some in the coven have claimed that she's so good at curses that there might be some distant demonic blood in her veins. It's not true in the slightest, though.
Fears: Cassandra is very claustrophobic. Inside the coven's walls, she knows she's safe, but otherwise, if she gets in tight spaces, she can easily have a panic attack.
Magic: Expert in curses. Born on Halloween, a night when black magic runs wild, Cassandra has a talent for the Dark Arts. She can inflict all sorts of malevolent spells on her targets. However, her most powerful magics require ritual and prep time, meaning that in a straight fight, she has to rely on lesser hexes.
Moderately skilled in enchanting. While nothing truly spectacular, Cassandra has made herself a small toolbox of magic items for both fun and function. Probably the most impressive is a dress that can change color, fabric, and cut with a thought.
Terrible at astral projection. For whatever reason, separating her spirit from her body is a skill she struggles mightily with. It makes her poor at intelligence-gathering missions, as she can't use one of the most effective spying techniques witches have.
Other: Cassandra has spent years looking for a familiar, but so far, the right one hasn't crossed her path.
Color: (Gainsboro)
Name: Rebecca Delacroix
Gender: Female
Pronouns: She/her
Age: 17
Birthday: June 6
Sexuality: Straight
Rebecca is a rather petite young redhead with piercing blue eyes that seem to be able to stare straight into your soul. She stands five feet even, weighing a hair over 100 lbs soaking wet. Not exactly the figure you expect for a potentially powerful witch. Her wardrobe is similarly off-kilter- a ton of flamboyant pinks and yellows. That said, she does break out the black robes for rituals- she absolutely loves playing up the witchy stereotype among the coven.
Personality: You'd probably think that someone who deals with the dead on a daily basis would be dark and gloomy. Au contraire, mon ami- it only makes Rebecca love life and sunshine all the more. Her ideal life is carefree fun, hanging loose and just relaxing the day away. Alas, she does have to do work for the coven, and when it comes to that, she's all business. She truly does care about her sisters and brothers in the coven- she just doesn't like to admit it much.
Bio: Rebecca's French on her father's side, but takes after her Irish mother. The family hasn't been in the States long; neither of her parents was actually born here, though her mother is a talented diviner. Her father doesn't have any magical skill himself, but at least knows of it, and has figured out enough to occasionally help Rebecca in her magical studies.
As for herself, Rebecca's powers first manifested at the age of four, when she managed to make her dolls levitate. At six, she saw her first ghost, and by nine, she had helped him cross over. She's made a fair few friends among the dead, as well as the living. Now, with her initiation coming, she's eager to test the limits of her powers.
Notable Rumors: It's been said that Rebecca will hold seances for money. This is true, but she only charges enough to cover ritual supplies, never for a profit. There's also been claims that she's romantically involved with a ghost. Not true- there was a date, but they mutually agreed to keep it as friends.
Fears: Rebecca's scared of deep water. She can handle swimming in a pool, but that's about it. If only someone could teach her a waterbreathing spell...
Magic: Excellent at mediumship. Rebecca has a deep connection to the spirits of the dead, able to see and speak with them at ease. She is also capable of taking them into herself temporarily, allowing her to make use of their skills and knowledge. She can even allow them to use her body, though she makes them sign a magic contract first to limit what they can actually do- she's not that stupid.
Excellent at astral projection. Having spent so much time working with the souls of others has made it a simple task to work with her own. She's often in her astral form while her physical body sleeps, to get more work done or have extra time for relaxation.
Poor at beast magic. Rebecca has tried many, many times to speak with animals, or even turn herself into one. It always ends poorly.
Borderline incompetent at elemental magic. No matter how hard she tries to work with the physical world, Rebecca can barely get a speck of dust to twitch or freeze a raindrop. It's just not her thing.
Other: Her familiar is an old black tomcat named Lucky. He may look like an escapee from a PETA ad, but he's really well loved. It's just that he never met a fight he didn't like, and he's lost the vast majority of them.
Rebecca has several ghosts that she considers friends as much as any living mortal. Abigail was a colonial girl who got lost in the woods in winter and froze to death. She spends a lot of time with Rebecca, and the two are amazed at how little boys have changed in the past two and half centuries. Mike joined the U.S. Army underage in 1942, and got himself killed by friendly fire over Sicily the following year. He's the one she had a date with. Jennifer is the only witch of the three- she died from a botched spell in the eighties. She serves as a sounding board for Rebecca's magical learning.</s>
<|message|>Caleb Bishop
"Shit, that was close..." Caleb exclaimed as he watched Dakota use her cool wind magic to stop the pancakes from splattering across the floor. Having saved her friend from a breakfast time disaster, the brunette wasted little time before she had begun to chatter excitably at him and turning towards her, his own expression instinctively shifted to mirror her enthusiasm. He was just glad that the other witches seemed as friendly as he'd hoped they would be. And when she pointed out his scar, his fingers came up to touch the bridge of his nose, rubbing gently over where he knew the faded mark was located. It hadn't hurt in years but sometimes he could still remember that sharp pain as acutely as if it had happened only yesterday.
"Oh this? Yeah it's kinda cool right? Got it fighting a mountain lion." He quipped jokingly, before his gaze moved down to Bast. The Savannah Cat was watching Astro impassively as he attempted to wrestle her, lithely moving out of his way when he would dart this way and that. Her ever calm demeanour didn't break, eyes simply blinking at the overactive creature in front of her. Caleb let out a small knowing laugh at this, before his own pair of deep brown eyes looked up at Alaynas question. "Go for it. Well, it's up to her really but I'm sure she won't mind." He shrugged his shoulders, giving the cat a gentle nudge with his foot and pointing towards the witch in question. Bast seemed to understand this wordless message and she glanced between the pair, before wandering over to Alayna, head rubbing against her legs as she began to let out another soft purr.
The teen watched her fondly for a moment, before his attention was drawn back to the others as Calypso began to speak of fortune-telling and the like. It was a branch of magic which he personally had little experience in, aside from the several times in which his sister Lucy had thought it funny to prank him by making up fake readings. It required a level of patience that he had never quite been able to master, but he still knew that it could be pretty fun when done properly. Well, sometimes at least. "Divination?" Caleb tilted his head as he looked down at his own palms, trying and failing to make sense of the mess of lines he could see etched across them. "Sure, I'm totally down for that. Though my palms aren't that great!" He shook his head, before pointing at her own smaller hands. His index finger moved to hover over what looked to be her life line...or was that the love line? He really wasn't sure. "See, yours are way better! But I hope you give nice readings cause last time they told me I was gonna break a bone..." The teen pulled an unimpressed face, before the smile that had very briefly faltered tugged at the edges of his lips once more. "Though it wasn't that bad in the end...I got to miss like a whole week of school!" He added happily, clearly thinking this was the absolutely best thing ever. Which it had been. He'd had the whole run of the house whilst his siblings had been in class and his mom had made him several batches of her famous homemade ice cream (magical of course).
Caleb seemed not to notice her slip up as the words continued to tumble from her mouth, a glint of something mischievous flashing in his eyes when she asked where he was from. It would be easy to just say Cali and be done with it, but where was the fun in that? "Hm, how about...if you can guess where I'm from just by reading my palms thennnn…" He trailed off, hands slipping idly into the pockets of his sweatpants as he thought, foot of his right leg moving to rest against the wall behind him. "Oh, then I'll owe you one favour! Any favour at all...as long as it's something I can actually give ya." He raised his eyebrows challengingly at her, a playful look darting across his already energetic expression. Caleb had a habit of making anything and everything into a game. Things were just more exciting that way, though it was always little more than lighthearted jests. He would never hold someone to a favour that they felt uncomfortable keeping. "But if you get it wrong, then you owe me one."
@Hitman @Qia</s>
<|message|>Rowan Moore
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Rowan knew the other witch that entered a lot better. It was Iris and she had immediately set to brewing. As per usual, she looked all out of sorts for the morning. Never the less, she hadn't seen her for a while until all this so maybe she had changed. Looking at her golem, at least that had greatly improved. It was in all sorts of shambles a few years ago, now it could keep some coordination. But what was that it was holding? No no no no no, she wasn't about to trust the safety of herself and everyone in the room to a walking log.
Rowan took the highly toxic chemical out of the golems hands and well out of its reach. "Nah ah ah, you aren't doing this again." Rowan approached the witch dealing with dangerous chemicals. But Iris was also dangerously unprepared for the day ahead. "The Sisters said they had stuff we have to do today. Now go get yourself ready before you carry on with... uh... Rowan waved her hand over indicating toward the brewing concoction trying to find the words to describe it. "I'm not even going to ask what this is." Was Rowan being a little harsh? Maybe. But someone has to mom up in situations like this.
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Speaks with: Iris @Blizz</s>
| <|message|>Cassandra Black
"A crush? Those two? You don't say…" Rebecca responded dryly. She didn't necessarily go looking for gossip among the coven, but if it came up, well, it came up. "Yeah, they're an item. In love up to their eyeballs. Not that I particularly mind. Everybody needs somebody in this world, it's too cruel to be alone."
"As for what the elders want from us, I suppose we'll be gathering ritual ingredients, doing odd jobs, that sort of thing. They aren't going to assign us anything heavy, I don't think. There's a reason they're in charge, after all. If you want details about the future, go ask Calypso. She's the seeress, not me." She shrugged, divination was never a bit of magic she was interested in. The future held what it held, and she wasn't about to try to mess with it.
A newcomer came over. It was a guy, and she had to admit, a cute one. Her heart didn't skip a beat, necessarily, but he was one to keep an eye on for sure. "I'm Rebecca." She dropped into a pitch-perfect imitation of the kid from The Sixth Sense. "I see dead people." It was an ancient joke among mediums, but she'd be damned if it didn't get a chuckle or two.</s> |
<|description|>Margaret "Maggie" Wilson
Don't even think about calling her Margaret...
Gender/Preferred Pronouns
Female, She/Her
Age
17
Birthday
March 21
Sexuality
Heterosexual
Appearance
To sum it up in one word, Maggie can be best described as dainty. Standing at 5'4" with a slender build, her features and stature are reminiscent of her delicate nature- a small sloping nose, high cheek bones, and full lips with corners that are often upturned in a smirk. Her shoulder length hair currently resembles the color of wheat, with dark roots that reveal her natural coloring. Her doe like blue eyes are striking and capture your attention, while her arched eyebrows frame her feminine face. The blonde routinely wears neutrals such as black, white, brown, and beige, or pastels such as light pinks and light blues. She also enjoys a pop of color now and again. Her wardrobe mostly consists of sweaters, cardigans, skirts and flowy dresses.
Personality
Maggie is a quiet, but thoughtful and considerate person. An introvert at heart, the blonde often keeps to herself by reading books and practicing spells on her own. She tends to steer clear of overly boisterous and abrasive company, but nonetheless is not too selective when it comes to who her friends are. A shyer soul, she'll be pretty reserved around those she does not know as well, but once you get to know her, she is talkative, friendly, and incredibly easygoing. Faithful and honest, Maggie is true to her friends and the ones that she cares about, even if its to her own detriment sometimes.
Even though she may be shy, that doesn't mean Maggie isn't strong-willed. She has a good head on her shoulders and a intuitive sense of right and wrong. One could even say she's stubborn when it comes to what she believes in and her motives towards certain aspects of her life. You'd be surprised that quiet Maggie has a fiery temper, and it's not one that most people get to see. This is due to the fact she has a tendency to hold in her adverse thoughts and feelings only to erupt and let it all go in solitude.
Biography
Maggie's family has been associated with the Sisters of the Dying Branch for generations. Her ancestors on her father's side came to America from Scotland and settled down in neighboring Maryland. They associated with the coven quickly, finding solace in likeminded witches, and begun to devote their lives to the elders and the like. Her mother's side was American through and through, residing in Virginia since the beginning of time. Maggie's father met her mother in the coven and they had a love story like no other, resulting in the birth of her older brother Brent and eventually her.
Maggie was raised in a home with an abundance of love and support from her parents. She led a "normal" childhood, attending public school alongside Brent and getting a well rounded education. She was exposed to her heritage at a young age- making the hour and something trip every month to the coven alongside her family gave her parents the chance to tell the children countless stories and explanations regarding their involvement with the Sisters of the Dying Branch. Now, at 17, Maggie is ready to grasp hold of her future and devote herself to the coven like her parents did and those did before her.
Notable Rumors
It was rumored that Maggie got so angry once that she shattered a window by throwing one of her books at it in a sheer rage. Most people didn't think the quiet girl had it in her, so it was passed over quickly as hearsay.
However, this rumor is in fact true- she had to pay for the replacement glass herself.
Fears
She is deathly afraid of spiders, no matter how small or unassuming they may appear. Her parents say its a foolish fear, but nonetheless, it's something that Maggie has never been able to shake.
Magic
Maggie's greatest strength is potions. Something about mixing the exact measures of each ingredient is therapeutic to the blonde, and although the process is time consuming she enjoys nothing more than a quiet afternoon in the kitchen throwing potions, elixirs and remedies together. She possesses the delicate care necessary to create different concoctions successfully, which allows her to excel in this area. Additionally, Maggie is quite proficient in healing magic and enjoys using her abilities to help others.
Other
FC: Malijn Pieterse | ACA1CD
Font: Font Meme Red Velvet
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⟢ 🎆 Respects ⟡ 🌓 Neutral ⟡ 👋 Acquaintance ⟡ 🙇 It's Complicated ⟣
⟢ 💛 Friend ⟡ 💙 Good Friends ⟡ 💜 Best Friends ⟡ ❣️Ex-Friends ⟡ 😈 Frenemy ⟣
⟢ 💘 Crush ⟡ 💓 Loves ⟡ 💗 Couple ⟡ 💕 Basically Family ⟡ 💞 Family ⟡ 💔 Ex-Lovers ⟣
⟢ ♨️Tense ⟡ 💀 Dislikes ⟡ 😡 Hates ⟡ 👿 Enemy ⟡ 👹 Absolutely Loathes ⟣
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👋 Dakota Lawson 👋
"Dakota seems nice- she's very energetic and loud, which is the exact opposite of me. But, she's friends with Calypso, so that makes her okay in my books."
Dakota and Maggie could not be more different, however, Maggie find's Dakota's impulsive and wild nature somewhat endearing. They haven't had the chance to interact too much, but in the future it's very possible for them to become closer friends.
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💛 Calypso Barnes 💛
"Calypso and I used to be friends when we were younger! But as I got older, things changed, and we kind of grew apart. Maybe after this summer we'll get close again?"
Both growing up in the coven, Maggie and Calypso became good friends. They used to play together whenever Maggie's parents and Calypso's mother would travel to the coven house for business. As time went on, the blonde grew shyer and therefore kept to herself, which had a negative impact on her friendship with Calypso.
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🌓 Summer Abernathy 🌓
"She definitely has a reputation that precedes her, but I've never had any issues with Summer."
Summer has not decided to mean to Maggie (at least not yet), so for now, Maggie doesn't have any strong positive or negative feelings towards her.
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👋 Charlie Hamlyn 👋
"Since Charlie joined the coven later on, I don't know him as well. He seems nice- definitely kind of cute. His accent remind me of the characters I read about in my books."
Charlie and Maggie are both quite responsible and level headed people, so they tend to align on things. Although Maggie hasn't gotten the chance to know him too well, she could see them becoming closer friends this summer.
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👋 Jean-Luc Laguerre 👋
"I don't know much about Jean-Luc, but he reads, so that's cool! He seems very serious though."
Maggie is a little intimidated by Jean-Luc, possibly because he often shows no emotion and is very intense. She's impressed that he can speak a few languages- she's always wanted to learn French.
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💛 Hana Song 💛
"Hana is really sweet! I like that she's quiet like I am. Sometimes, when everyone is acting crazy, she and I just make eye contact and start to laugh."
Maggie and Hana have very complimentary personalities. Both quiet and reserved, yet kind and loving, the two get along very well.
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<|message|>⟢ 🎆Respects ⟡ 🌓Neutral ⟡ 👋Acquaintance ⟡ 🙇It's Complicated ⟣
Iris Aderast
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That was wild
That bloody potion was very clearly not for human consumption, seeing as several of the witchlings - witches? - were either doubled over in pain, high as a kite, both, or healing someone who was a combination of the two. Iris, however, was just fine. She stood up a little dizzy, pondering the vision of the heartless golems she saw. It was strange, golems were literally impossible to create without a heart, Iris would know since she quite literally wrote the book on golemism. "...I know what I'm doing first." Iris mumbled to herself as she straightened out her graduation robes and made her way past Sister Deborah, pondering the things she did today. "I could go for some more tea..." That was probably the first thing the airheaded girl would do, drink some ambiguous liquid and ponder the validity of its existence in her cup and hand. Naturally.
Isolde Morden
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That was beautiful
Isolde stood up, she was a little more well composed compared to some of the new witches. It seemed like she got off easy, one of the initiates was vomiting, and being helped. It was definitely a rough process to handle, but they all made it. Internally, Isolde was thrilled, just being here was an honor for her, but as of today, she was a proper witch, and this was her home now. When the coven's leader spoke, telling them to leave, she remembered she was supposed to let her know she was here. It was time to go back to the house, so Isolde got up and started walking until she got to the elder with the lantern, she remembered her name. The elders of Morden Mountain told Isolde about her and to let her know when she was here.
"Sister Deborah? My name is Isolde. Isolde Morden. I was told to let you know that I arrived from the mountain. I'm happy to be here." She tried to keep a dignified tone in front of the elder. She stood up straight and tried to remain presentable. She didn't know much about this woman, just that she was important in the coven, and not to mess with her. "I'm honored that you allowed me to come here, sister."</s>
<|message|>Cassandra Black
Rebecca nodded as Sister Deborah started to herd them back towards the coven house. "Yeah... going back sounds real nice right about now." She joined the throng of new witches, still reeking of Eau de Stagnant Water and unsteady on her feet.
As she made her way back to the table, the medium started to see a few more ghosts, but something was... odd. She'd always had to focus a little bit to interact with the dead, and they were constantly fuzzy, but now, she could see them easily and clearly. Something to do with the wellspring, perhaps? Jennifer floated over, not the pale spectre she usually was, but bright and colorful, almost solid. "Wow! I could feel the magic coming off you before, but now? It's like comparing a faucet to a fire hose!"
"I know. I'm amazed by all the power. It... it might actually go to my head, you know. Not that I'm going to let it. Hopefully."</s>
| <|message|>Margaret "Maggie" Wilson
Maggie's brain was both fog and stone as she slowly regained a sense of herself, hearing someone call out into the abyss from what seemed like far away, instructing her to breathe in 10 counts. The blonde obliged, listening to the voice as she let her shallow breaths grow stronger and deeper. The dark spots on the edge of her vision started to disappear, light filtering into the fish eye lenses that were her pupils. Her heartbeat that was pounding in her ears grew softer, the gentle sound of the water beginning to become audible again. Blinking, the girl returned back to reality, finding herself kneeling in the same spot she had been before she drank the potion. Sister Lark was the voice she had heard- it was almost as if she was a rope thrown down to her at the bottom of a pit, a sweet, songbird like tone helping her out of a rut. Maggie unclenched her fists, half moons decorating her palms from the impression of her nails, and shakily sat back on her heels.
"I'm so sorry… I… I don't know what happened. I never do that, I was so prepared and-" The blonde stammered, mouth forming speech for the first time after gasping for air. "I can't believe that happened."
She glanced around at the other initiates nervously, hoping that no one was snickering at her peril. Maggie was embarrassed that the initiation ritual had triggered such a devastatingly terrible panic attack, and wouldn't be shocked if the other witchili- well, now witches, were making fun of her. But, surprisingly, no one seemed to be doing so; only looks of pity and sympathy read on their faces, which admittedly was almost worse.
Maggie shot up, dizzy but stable, and shrugged off the robe that was heavy with sweat before brushing off her sundress, taking a good look at the cut on her arm for the first time. Pressing her opposite palm onto it, the girl healed herself almost instantaneously, power coursing through her veins like a wildfire. Once the blood had vanished, she wrapped her arms around herself, quietly thanking Sister Lark before looking down at the ground and waiting for the group to head back to the coven house.</s> |
<|description|>Jeremy Lindall
Gender / Preferred Pronouns:
Male/He
Age:
Seventeen
Birthday
December 26
Sexuality:
Straight
Appearance:
Apart from standing somewhat taller than average at 6'4, Jeremy has a fairy average appearance. Short, brown hair and grey-blue eyes, he does his best to look neat whenever possible. He's not going to be walking around in formal clothes every day or anything, but he will try to make sure whatever he wears is ironed properly at the very least.
Personality
Most of the time, Jeremy is a fairly quiet person, usually giving off the impression that he wants to be left alone. Not the cool, 'bad boy' kind though, more just the stubborn, overly serious jerkass type. Unfortunately, this is true even when he wants company, and sadly causes most people to think he's just some ass who doesn't consider them worth hanging around with. This is not the case, and as long as things don't get too hectic, he'd actually rather like to spend more time with the people around him and make friends. It's just that his tolerance for chaos and other annoying situations is fairly low, and while he can keep it hidden for a time, a particularly strong barrage of stupidity in a short enough time span will definitely cause him to snap.
Unfortunately, another part to his difficulties in interacting with other people is his ability in magic. Although he tries to use his few talents to close the gap, he truly feels that compared to other witches his age, he will always be on a lower level in terms of magical skill, leaving him with a large inferiority complex. This has become just another piece of fuel for the fire of his stern, no nonsense attitude, as he feels that while he'll never be talented enough to stand alongside them, he can make up for some of it with discipline, diligence and determination.
Still, that isn't to say he's never happy, he greatly enjoys his hobbies. Working on new creations, fishing, gardening, and reading are all pastimes that Jeremy finds extremely fulfilling, and if someone gets him talking about them, he will be more than happy to keep the discussion going as long as possible. At least until a more important task comes up.
Biography:
Jeremy never went out looking for magic.
Not that he didn't know about it, his mother told him everything she knew about his fathers true nature as he grew up. The the more he learnt though, the more difficult, dangerous, and all around miserable it sounded. In the end, Jeremy decided that he wouldn't walk the path that killed his father when he was only eight years old.
At the age of ten, it found him anyway. An eccentric looking man calling himself Cass, who claimed to be an old friend of his father, arrived at his home and asked to come in. Jeremy, being the cautious child he was, closed the door in his face. This apparently didn't go over very well, and although the following events are something of a half-suppressed blur to him, the aftermath was he and his mother fleeing the burning husk of his childhood home, Cass seeming to have temporarily retreated. With nowhere else to turn, the pair fled their home in the city and made their way to a small mountain town in Oregon. Here they would seek the help of a few of his fathers actual old friends, a loose alliance of the three local witch families, the Helling, Vadris, and Washburn clans, leaving his former resolutions behind and learning magic, so he could protect himself and his mother should Cass ever return. Despite not technically being an official coven due to their lack of wellspring, the three families welcomed the pair with open arms, glad to see them again despite Jeremy himself having no memory of ever actually meeting them in the first place. They also assured him that, though it would be difficult to catch up after ten years of avoiding it, they would teach him how to use magic.
It was here that he learnt the true meaning of patience, a lesson that came from many different teachers over the years. The first was his actual teacher and head of the Washburn family, Argo, who was seemingly determined to keep Jeremy confused about whether or not he was actually an adult or a ten year old remotely piloting his body. The man certainly acted the part, but at the same time, he would occasionally chime in with actual, real advice and insights, usually just enough that Jeremy could never quite fully decide whether to respect him or not. He also ensured that Jeremy never ignored his physical technique, teaching him plenty of ways to fight without magic as well.
The second was from Argo's daughter, Hannah, who was the closest to him in age out of the few non-adults of the group. Apparently, his status as the 'new kid' was reason enough for her to make him her accomplice, often dragging him away from his studies or actual hobbies to aid her in causing chaos across the town. This usually simply amounted to pranks, but some of these pranks were large enough that he was surprised they weren't all run out of town. The fact that she was actually a prodigy at magic didn't do much to help his frustration over their dynamic.
But the third, and perhaps worst test of his patience, came from himself. Try as he might, the use of magic did not come easily to him. While he managed to develop a decent enough level of skill with spells that reinforced his own body, the same could not be said for magic that affected anything outside himself. Even when he eventually figured out how to cast them, the actual process took far too long for him to be able to use anything in the combat situations he was training for. Despite his efforts to hide how this affected him, it was clear to anyone who interacted with him. Hannah even stopped teasing him briefly. In fact, in the end, she was the one to help him find the solution. If he couldn't cast his spells quickly, then he should just use enchantments to make up for it! It was almost enough to remind him that the demon he'd been strong armed into befriending (babysitting) really was a prodigy. Over the next five years, he poured his heart and soul into improving his knowledge of enchanting, alchemy, and any other way he could put the time in before the spell was needed.
By the time he turned seventeen, he was confident in his abilities, and had even gone out with Argo and Hannah to take care of a few issues so he could see how well he could apply them in the field. As it turns out, it worked rather well. Not good enough though. Seeing Argo and Hannah in action, where they actually take things seriously, reminded Jeremy of just how vast the differences in their skill levels were. Desperate to change this, to close the gap even just a little bit more, he threw himself into his studies even further. However, he after five years of nearly single-minded focus on the subject, he had already reached a level where the adults of the group would have trouble teaching him. a fact that was more due to their lack of focus on the area than any spectacular skill on his part.
What they could do, however, was send him to another group where he might be able to learn more on the subject. Not only that, they were an actual coven, and would therefore allow him access to a wellspring so he wouldn't get worn out so quickly, assuming he gave them his loyalty, of course. And as a matter of fact, it just so happened that the head of the Helling family, Ashleigh, had a few friends in the Dying Branch who she might be able to discuss the subject with.
Notable Rumors:
Apparently, Jeremy may or may not have been convinced by Hannah that leprechauns were not only real, but actively stealing from them whenever he was out. Nobody can seem to tell whether he was just humoring her or not at the time, but the evidence points to him legitimately falling for it.
Another one is that if a situation gets too lighthearted or happy, he'll break out in hives.
Greatest Fear:
Spiders make him freeze up in panic, and though not as bad, he also has issues with any body of water where he cannot see the bottom.
Magic:
When it comes to magic, Jeremy is especially skilled at crafting magical items and objects, to a degree rarely seen in witches his age. This is largely due to his seeming inability to use most other forms of magic at a level that could be considered effective. When he tries casting magic that effects anything other than his own body, it usually ends up being a long, tedious and honestly just embarrassing process. Therefore, he has poured the vast majority of his efforts into his enchanting abilities, in the hopes that he can shorten the gap between him and his peers even just a tiny amount.
Outside of his crafts, the only magic Jeremy has learnt without too much misery is the strengthening, reinforcing, and enhancing of his own body. However, even this has it's share of hurdles as he continues to try and push his skill further.
Other:
Jeremy has a pet turtle, named Bertle. That wasn't the original name he chose, but Hannah kept telling everyone it was it's name until he stopped bothering to correct them. He's still a baby right now, but when he gets bigger, hooo boy, everyone'd better watch out!
Aside from Bert, Jeremy seems to have bad luck with animals. Even the most well behaved of pets tend to freak out and either run from or try to fight him. This is upsetting for him, as he rather likes most animals.
96EACE for his colour.</s>
<|message|>Kate Shuang
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When Rowan smile back at Kate, Their heart warm up a bit, at least there is one good thing coming out of this lame party. "Aaah, what the hell..." Kate say to themself as they walk away from the shadow of the tree and walk toward the table of teenage witches to socialize, got to make a first impression Kate suppose.
Kate look around the table to see if there are any spot to take, They finally spotted a seat, it beside the goth girl on the left that Kate kinda knows, Cassandra, Kate thinks that her name and they knows that she is really good at curses, they think it for the best to stay on her good side. When the girl ask one of her friends if she want any drinks "I would like a drink, the other drink I had earlier wasn't that good." Kate say to the girl as they finally sit down, they look at Cassandra and nod at her "What's up?"
@blackdragon@Akayaofthemoon</s>
<|message|>Cassandra Black
"Well, most of them are good people. I'm a little bit nervous about Summer and Charlie, though. You know how I act? That's how she actually is. And Charlie's just an asshole, plain and simple." Cassandra smiled as Kate slid in on her other side. Everyone thought her magic was dangerous, but the potioneer made her nervous. She could easily slip something into your soda, and you'd never have a clue. Not that she thought Kate would ever do something like that. The two had a pretty professional relationship, and Cassandra often asked her for potion advice.
"But Kate? She's the best of the bunch," Cassandra said with a grin as she raised her glass of Coke in salute. "Say, Kate, you got any more of that diced sentimentality? I need it for something I'm working on. New way of storing spells."</s>
| <|message|>Jeremy Lindall
Honestly, Jeremy was a little worried about how today would go...
This wasn't so much out of fear for whatever trials he might face during the induction itself. No, he'd put in the work to make sure that that would go as smoothly as he possibly could. When he wasn't busy training with Argo, Hannah, or Ashleigh, he had busied himself with the task of relentless creation and enchantment of various charms, tools, and other useful items, so he could be ready for whatever might be thrown at him. That... and working on his 'deep water' issues...
No, what he was worried about was the other initiates. He'd heard that all of them would probably already know each other at some level, having already been affiliated with the coven for some time now, if not since birth. Compared to that, he was an outsider, and from what Hannah tended to tell him, one with something of a... grating... personality... Of course, it was entirely possible this was because of her own, usually painfully immature personality, but he was still well aware how he tended to appear to some. Therefore, he decided that the only course of action was to try and bury any initial judgment and try to make a good first impression.
With these thoughts in mind, he carefully made sure he was wearing a proper smile as he approached the initiates table, an expression which definitely didn't look odd, out of place, or downright unsettling when he attempted it. After a few seconds of looking, he found his seat and sat down. True, it was a little bit concerning that his seat didn't have a plate, but neither did the seat next to him, so maybe something was going on. There was also the fact that many of the chairs next to him remained empty, but maybe other people were just late? Surely he wasn't already being pranked... right?
Well, even if he was, he wouldn't let it get to him. He'd just have to work hard enough to earn their respect through hard work, and do his best to not let their behavior get to him. Instead of dwelling on the topic, he turned to the closest initiate, a red haired girl sitting across from him.
"Hello." He said, trying his best to look friendly. "I'm Jeremy Lindall. I was sent to join this coven as an initiate this year by my teachers. It's nice to meet you. I hope we can work well together."
There, that wasn't too bad right? He kept the introduction short, and quickly got to the point in his explanation of why he was there. What more could anyone want?</s> |
<|description|>Parentage
Redana Honorius Claudius, Princess of Tellus, Heir Apparent to the Throne of Ecumenopolis, is a demigod, both legally and in the eyes of Heaven.
Her mother is Empress Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Tellurian, savior of Humanity in the wake of the fall of Molech, that vast and terrible edifice of hubris struck down by the gods for its blasphemy. By her iron will has Humanity been saved from dissolution; by definition, Humanity in the sense of shared culture and history only legally exists within the confines of the Emergency Declaration, which weighs upon humanity at 9.8 meters per second squared.
It must be understood that while the Empress is a tyrant, she is in intent a benevolent one. She witnessed the drowning of the Atlas Cultural Sphere beneath the black and crushing waves, and saw the gold-wreathed altars to Hades Plutonian cleaved in two by his wrath. She is the last righteous hero of a fallen age, a witness of apocalypse, disgusted by the excesses of the boards of grasping, insatiable Molech. All that she has done, she has done in the name of Humanity, that it not be scattered and ultimately dissolved in the twilight of the wine-black sea.
If she has a flaw, it is that her love is as smothering and irresistible as the waves that drowned dishonored Atlas, and she is convinced that those she loves must have her protection and cannot be trusted to make decisions for themselves. If she has two, it is that she believes she can sing.
For the genetic donor for her child, who she decided she must have in case she was ever incapacitated or otherwise unable to rule, she chose the victor of the Olympic Games in an auspicious year. The victor, whose identity has been sealed by Imperial Edict, relinquished all claim to parentage and offered the glory to Zeus Olympios, Bringer of Victory, who appeared in person to adopt the yet unmade child. So it is that in all ways, by the laws of Ecumenopolis and the will of heaven, that Redana is considered the child of Zeus Olympios.
Indeed, when the princess was decanted from the loom, she was held by the shining arms of the goddess and given the blessing of heaven. And in her childhood, she always loved stormy days, for those were the days that might herald a visit from her father.
Yet, as she grew, those visits grew less frequent, for the simple reason that she had, by simple virtue of adoption, aroused the ire of Gazelle-Eyed Hera, She of the Peacock. It is rumored that Hera has sworn to see the princess brought low, a servant of servants, humiliated and base; it is similarly rumored that the reason the princess was locked away in her palace was from fear of Hera's retribution, her servants and her cult.
Regardless, on the princess's sixteenth birthday, Zeus Olympios appeared before her and offered her further blessing, and Redana asked simply for a taste of freedom.
Zeus does not bless by half measures.
Education
Specialization is for insects. For this reason, Nero declared that her daughter would master every aspect of good governance: diplomatic courtesy, martial prowess, wise stewardship, political cunning, and a full understanding of the culture and history of Humanity. After all, she had suffered much to learn all she had, and her daughter (free of trouble and strife) would be able to learn so much more!
In practice, trying to convey centuries of experience crammed into a decade and a half of lessons and expecting her daughter to absorb them all may have been hubris on Nero's part. If Redana had been a born scholar from birth, it's possible she might have been able to succeed, but Redana was born an athlete and a kind soul, not the kind of genius Nero expected.
Ignoring that she herself was a warrior and wanderer before she became Empress of Tellus, Nero doubled down on endless lessons and workbooks and quizzes provided by an endless array of tutors, which put more and more pressure on the princess, who absorbed less and less.
It is doubtless this that provoked her to sneak out with her beloved pet servitor, Bella, to see the great and terrible city of Ecumenopolis for herself.
What she saw there shocked and disgusted her. This, then, was the empire she was being raised to maintain? This was all the good Humanity could expect from their ruler? This was her birthright and her responsibility?
From that night, the desire to escape, to defy the Astella Monotellus, was born inside her.
The risks were high; the price, higher. She was forced to leave Bella behind after a furious fight, her pet hoping to keep her safe by not allowing her to leave. Her escape was on a pitifully small sloop, barely capable of enduring the vastness of Poseidon's domain. Yet the god of the deeps chose to take pity on her, perhaps due to the intervention of Zeus, perhaps due to the princess's delight and zeal in carrying out her ship's duties alone, and guided her to safer harbors.
The Princess
Some time has passed since the Princess escaped. Not much, but some. Instead of an Imperial uniform, she wears spacer's gear: a jacket to keep out the cold, figure-hugging clothes that won't catch or tear, a bandana to keep her hair from getting dirty, boots that won't slip when Poseidon roars his fury and gloves that won't let her get rope burns. An Iokheira, a duelist's blade, is sheathed at her thigh, and though she's been professionally trained in its use, she prefers not to have to use it.
She has her mother's eyes. One green and warm, the other cold and blue, with an imperial insignia for an iris. Her mother insisted she be fitted with an Ianuspater auspex, despite her struggle to integrate its feedback on any complex level. Her skin is flawless, due entirely to the Zeus-blessed st/YX nanite swarm constantly at work inside her. She refuses to cut her golden hair, the color of Zeus's own, and instead pulls it back in a ponytail or a bun.
She's only of average height, and built like a swimmer: all sleek, lean muscle and legs strong enough to crack open a watermelon. Despite this, she has the kind of presence that fills the room when she enters, and the sort of charisma that makes her exploits seem easy, much like her Olympian father. And much like her Olympian father, this means that people expect her to know what she's doing, even when she very much doesn't.
She seeks proof that it is time for Humanity to travel the stars once more. If she goes back now, she will have to yield to her fate or else fight and likely kill her mother, and she can countenance neither. Hades alone can provide her with something that can change her stubborn mother's heart, or so he claims.
REDANA, THE EXILE
Marked by Zeus Olympios and Poseidon Polychromatikí.
LOOK
Mismatched eyes
Olympic body
Spacer's uniform
Unblemished skin
AGENDAS
Learn the Truth (discover the world outside your sheltered past)
Human Superiority (it is your duty to protect lesser creatures)
Seeking Freedom (evade the Hunt)
STATS
Blood +2
Courage 0
Grace +1
Sense -1
Wisdom +2
In short, she's very athletic and charismatic, but prone to getting in over her head fast.
MOVES
A Lesson Learned (when you forgive someone who harmed you, and let them know, both heal and you Forge a Bond)
Forbidden Element: Metal (Blessing of Nemea)
Elder Arts (Ianuspater Auspex)
Poetry in Motion (always pick +1 option on Get Away)
Chasing Smoke (you can always try to Get Away)
Survivor (when you hit an Overcome, heal or Get Away with a 7-9)
Savior (take damage instead of another)
Redana bears the blessings of Zeus. The Nemean Blessing allows her to channel power through herself, hardening her skin and growing into an Amazonian figure of glorious battle. The Blessing of Freedom makes her capable of escaping any peril, should she choose to do so. And, from birth, the blessed st/YX nanites have worked to make her nigh-invulnerable; given time enough to heal a wound, they will close it over without leaving even a scar.
GEAR
Spacer's Rations (Food, 3-Use)
Iokheira Dueling Rapier (Melee)
Spacer's Uniform (Useful, 2-Use)
Mag Harness (walk on any metal surface)
Abyssal Star Chart (Map)
Ianuspater Auspex The Eye of Hermes (Look Closely, 2-Use)
Paragon Nanite Capsules The Shepherdess's Touch (Healing, Slow, 2-Use)
Fistful of Obols, beloved by the Gods (Precious, 2-Use)
Portable Smelter (2-Use, Repair, Slow)
Command Seal (1-Use, COME TO ME)
The first four are reasonably common, even the mag harness, which is useful for ship repairs. The latter four? Those are rarer gifts: a map from the lord of the deeps, the wonderful eye her mother implanted in her, the height of Ecumenopolis's medical technology, and offerings highly coveted by the Olympians and those who worship them. The final two are the two sides of her relationship with the warrior construct, Alexa: the portable smelter for filling her cracks and chips with molten bronze, and the Command Seal integrated with the back of her hand by which she may give Alexa orders.
BONDS
* I grew up with Bella.
* I promised to keep Bella safe.
* I feel responsible for Alexa.
* When I was on the run, Dolce fed me.
DAMAGE AND SPENDS — Refreshed as of arrival in the Azure Skies
GRACE - torn away by Thist's stroke
BLOOD - sacrificed for Bella
SENSE - drowned under Hermes' sorrow
COURAGE - wounded by Bella
Both Uses of Healing — the work of the Shepherdess's Wand
One Use of Spacer's Outfit - in the toxic engine room</s>
<|message|>Captain Vasilia
All things considered, Vasilia thought she deserved a medal for only jumping in her chair and hissing an oath.
It was, perhaps, not the first thought she ought to have had in the electric silence that filled the shuttle. Other strong contenders included: "Is there any chance we'll all survive that cannon firing?" "How far was it to the ground?" "Did that thing really sneak up on us, or did I let this happen?" To name but a few. Just about the only thing this thought had going for it was that it certainly didn't make a disastrous situation any worse. That was worth something, right? Right. And so, she did the only thing she could do to keep that sterling streak alive for them all.
Captain Vasilia raised a hand, and gave the robot a stately - if lightly dazed - wave.
"...how do you do?" She greeted the robot, manners holding by a thread.</s>
<|message|>The Kennels
Bella's heart pounds in her chest with such furious elation it feels like she might die. Her insides are filling up with lightning and the hot fury of Poseidon's solar winds; all the rush of drinking and her fever dreams that followed but without her mind following after and tumbling down into terror. Her tail curls, and the spark sends shivers down her spine.
Her eyes go wide. Her breath catches in a strange sort of half-laugh; it pulls her lips up until they're quivering, it bares her fangs in the full glory of their sharpness and wickedness, it sets her eyes afire with a horrible blaze of lust. The shadow that crawls over her face transforms her from a servant to a queen, and from a queen into a monster before it seeps down inside of her and curls up around the warmth of her hammering heart. This is power. This is what means. This what it's like to hold it.
It takes all of her concentration and focus to swallow her delirious giggles before they swim up out of her and ruin her life forever. She takes a deep breath and allows herself another shiver of pleasure before she raises her hand to cut Lorventi off.
"No," she purrs, "Not just yet. I want to see how many screws these things still have in right. They're broken as shit, obviously, but that doesn't make them useless. They must have been waiting for so long! Poor, stupid things: you still know this planet's secrets, don't you? Go on, tell me. Show me."
She smiles encouragingly at the prostrating machines, the way she remembers the Empress doing sometimes. Those were the moments where the resemblance between Her Majesty and Redana was the most intense. So warm and comforting, so eager to see her succeed. But the Empress could flash her smile whenever she wished it: she'd even done it after watching Bella's final flogging, in the moment just after making her a Praetor. And it had still worked. That, too, was power. Bella's expression darkens as she turns to Lorventi.
"Don't wear your arm out, Captain. Even if these creepy little dolls don't need to be scrapped, there's a Ceronian mutt and an even bigger bitch pretending she's your equal just waiting to taste your talents today. You'll have your fill of glory, so show me more patience. Aren't your kind all about that?"</s>
| <|message|>Parentage
Redana's hand is on a very large switch. There is a safety, now disengaged, and its size suggests the difficulty with which it can be thrown. It is not a thing to be casually pulled. Her body moved by instinct, and it takes the rest of her a moment to catch up.
If an SP that size is fired through the window, the blunt force trauma and toxic gasses will be dangerous to everyone, but especially Dolce and Vasilia. It is likely everyone save Alexa will be incapacitated by chaos and pain as their bodies purge the toxins. And, crucially, no one will be piloting the shuttle.
They are the chaos of Ares, and while she might have her toes dipped in those waters, years of dueling as an elective were hard to shake. So cut the knot. Open the bay doors. While that might allow the grinning figure entry, better a clean fight than to crash and smear their bodies across miles of ruined landscape. It would take weeks to recuperate after a bad crash, and they didn't have time like that, especially if her mentor had to come down and provide the medical attention himself.
So her fingers are hot and sweating on the cool material of the switch, waiting for the bark, the shattered glass, and the wild chaos. She's not particularly worried about falling out of the shuttle: she has grappling hooks in her belt, and in a pinch she can repurpose her sleeves as a glider, and it shouldn't be hard to guide herself over to a ruin of shining and, more importantly, magnetic metal. She'll be fine. And so will everyone else.</s> |
<|description|>Captain Vasilia
Marked by Zeus and Artemis
Seeking Peace
AND
Chef Mate Dolce
Marked by Hera and Artemis
Seeking Adventure
THE PAIR
Vasilia's Agenda: Viva La Revoluction
Dolce's Agenda: All For One And One For All
STATS
Vasilia
Blood: +1
Courage: +1
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: -1
Dolce
Blood: -1
Courage: +0
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: +1
Combined (Always with Hope)
Blood: +0
Courage: +1
Grace: +2
Sense: +2
Wisdom: +0
Paired Core
Birds Of A Feather: You play as two characters. The Pair can split up or stay together as they
like, allowing you to be in two places at once. They each have a separate Look, separate Stats, and a separate personal Agenda.
The Pair has separate bonds for each of them. Each of the Pair can only have one Bond with someone else, and others can only have one Bond with each member of the Pair.
When they Fill Their Belly, the Pair only spends 1 Food, but they each heal one damage.
Working Alone: When The Pair is separated, they make rolls with their separated stats and get the Spotlight separately.
-When one of the Pair is acting to rescue, protect, or rush to the side of the other, they roll with Hope.
-Working Alone is dangerous, as you rely on your teamwork. When you take damage while Working Alone, you must also pay a price.
Working Together: When The Pair is together, they act as a single unit in perfect harmony. They combine their stats when making a move, and they share the Spotlight together. If either of you has Hope or Despair, you both do.
-When you Keep Them Busy together, only one of you needs to stay to Keep Them Busy. The other may disengage and begin Working Alone.
-When you Get Away or Look Closely together, you may split up. If you do, each of you may choose different options from that move's list, and you are now Working Alone.
-When one of you takes damage while Working Together, the other takes damage to the same stat, if it is undamaged.
Heroic Association: The Pair Commands Lore about an organization, instead of a society. You come from a company of mercenaries, bounty hunters, heroes, or some other such group. You Command Lore about who they are, what they want, their place in the world, their culture, their rivals, their enemies, and their laws, just as everyone else does.
Daring Devils:
-When you need a cool prop appropriate to your environment, like a chandelier to drop, a window to leap out of, or a vine to swing from, it's there.
-When you use the terrain to protect you, you may Overcome using +Grace instead of +Blood. Leaping off of tall places to escape danger always counts as using the terrain to protect you.
Who Are the Pair?
Fated Pair: The two of you are inseparable, a perfect combination. When you are Working Together, you roll with Hope.
The Pair Custom
Heroes of the People: You do not need to roll to Speak Softly with common folk, friends, or coworkers - simply ask, and they will answer.
Taste my Blade!: When you engage in swordplay with an enemy, you may Keep Them Busy with +Grace. On a 7-9, after their retaliation, you may insult them or make a quip to Keep Them Busy again, as if you'd rolled another 7-9 result.
Mismatched Pair: Each member of the Pair takes a Custom move from a different playbook. Keep track of who took which move. Each of them may only use their chosen move while Working Alone.
Vasilia: Listen Here You Little Punk: When you Talk Sense by telling them what will happen to them if they do not do as you ask, Talk Sense with +Blood, and on a 7-9, they cannot ask their favor of you until after they have done what you asked of them.
Dolce: I've Got A Bad Feeling About This: When you're certain something's wrong here, you may ask the Overlord to tell you the safest way out, and also the quickest way out. They will answer truthfully
Vasilia's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Dolce's (Melee)
-A grav-rail glaive with its own independent gravity field (Melee, Clumsy, Dangerous)
-An elegant, long-barreled SP rifle (Ranged, Reload, Piercing)
-An brace of pistols, blessed by Zeus (Ranged, Piercing, Dangerous, Recharge)
-An Anathame. A knife with her name on it. (Protection against a Location stat, will betray her at any opportunity. Damage a stat to destroy permanently.)
Dolce's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Vasilia's (Melee)
-A tasteful variety of well-preserved foodstuffs (Food, 3 Uses [X][][])
-Household odds and ends, turned to creatively underhanded purpose (Useful, 2 Uses [X][])
-A travel-sized cocktail kit, amply supplied (Slow, Vigor, 2 Uses [][])
Vasilia's Bonds
-If it's a night for drinking, I'm with Alexa. No one else.
-Iskarot and I have a professional respect for each other. And, personally, his straightforwardness is refreshing.
-Bella carried me to her room. Shared of her private stock of wine. And for a moment, we might've trusted each other.
Dolce's Bonds
-Redana and I have spent hours together on the observation deck, watching Poseidon's wonders.
-I am convinced that Alexa can taste, she just hasn't found a meal she could taste yet.
Advancements:
-Paired Custom: Taste my Blade!
-Paired Custom: Mismatched Pair
-Stat increase: Vasilia takes +1 Sense
-LEVEL UP NEEDED</s>
<|message|>Parentage
Princess Redana has had context for everything thus far: parley with a god, a daring feat of piloting, the discovery of a paradise inside a beast caster than worlds. All of that was understandable; all of that fit inside her understanding of the cosmos. There is no context for a brainsquid, and so her brain tries to provide one: is it a Servitor made in octopoid form, or a child of the gods, or a creature of the ecosystem tamed by the Ceronians? She latches on to the title: Assistant Secretaries might still be outside her experience, but she knows of them. So she offers a nod of acknowledgement, not offering insult by either ignoring the introduction or treating the Assistant Secretary as an equal[1].
"A pleasure, Assistant Secretary," she says, and for a moment her voice is her mother's, centuries past, her diction elevated and her inflection precise. The effect is uncanny. She doesn't have the walk down, though, that stride that eats distance and sets her apart from the unworthy masses. She's too eager, head forward, sneaking glances at the undulating Servitor(?). "If you don't mind me saying so, that's an... well, it's kind of an unusual department." Here it comes, the magic words: "Tell me more!"
***
[1]: if you treat the Assistant Secretary as an equal, you bestow more expectations on them than they have accepted, and expect them to know more than they do and make decisions they have no authority to make. If they have to explain that they are unable to meet your expectations, the shame will destroy them. Therefore: never treat a bureaucrat with unearned rank.</s>
<|message|>The Kennels
The ship that carried Bella this far into space was a drab and dingy thing. The hull groaned like a dying monster as it hurtled across the stars, and the sounds of every fresh impact with a meteor or other piece of celestial garbage reverberated deep into her personal quarters. Every one of them made her flinch as they pushed little visions of her death inside of her skull. The whole of it was undecorated, barely furnished, and permanently smelled of dust that she was constantly forcing herself not to clean.
She'd give almost anything to back there right now.
Space does not need monsters. Space is a monster. Bella stares wide eyed into the open maw of the roaring, roiling sea of stars, and realizes she must know better than to exhale with relief. Poseidon's grand kingdom exists for no other reason than to remind people how small and utterly pathetic they really are. And then, having done that, its secondary purpose is to kill them.
There's no emotion her heart can conjure right now beyond terror. On a proper ship, you pray, point your engines, and then pray again while the ship and the gods handle everything else. But on this shuttle, every twitch of the controls sends an unpleasant swooping sensation down Bella's spine that settles in her stomach. She growls constantly, feathering the flight stick first one way and then another, rocking the plush cruiser this way and that in what little flecks of empty space she still has to find her bearings in. An errant fleck of rock or steel or... something else knocks against the side of the transport, and the entire thing rattles horribly. The plating on this thing is so thin it might as well not exist. She has no weapons. The only point of this shuttle to begin with is to stroke Odoacer's ego as she pops from ship to ship in the relative safety of the space between one of her blockades.
Her claws tighten around the controls in a death grip. Bella shakes her head. It is essential she master this, and now. Just ahead of her the cockpit fills with the awe-inspiring sight of the World Eater's sapphires. The merest drop of its frozen blood is enough to tear her to shreds. There would not even be enough left of her to commune to the gods and whatever resting place Hera would leave for her. The sound of her growling now fills the entire shuttle.
She pushes down on the controls and dives under the first sapphire with surprising grace. It's several agonizing seconds before she can see anything else. Seconds where all she has to contemplate is the horror of Poseidon's most terrifying pet. Such power, frozen here. If she were braver, bolder, and more foolhardy... no. She mustn't dwell on it. And yet, wouldn't even the merest fraction of this crystal be enough to grant her powers undreamed of? And if she dug even deeper and cracked open the core of an arterial clot...
Her window fills with colors beyond the ghastly blue, and the line of thought ceases immediately. What she sees is enough to make her heart drop into her stomach anew. The Princess has been here, there's no doubting that. The sheer number of mines floating in front of her now would be laughable for any other target. But it's just as clear they don't have her yet, or there wouldn't be the tiny flares of plovers flitting about from spot to spot in obvious search. It's suicide to go in there. She'll be spotted for sure.
No. The real suicide would be to delay. Another minute to the minefield. Maybe thirty seconds beyond that until she's spotted, and from there, just moments before word reaches Odoacer's ears. She's going to be furious. The only things keeping Bella alive right are the possibility of retrieving the Princess and securing the Empress' permanent protection, and the simple hubris of the Armada. But neither will last long. If she's lucky, she'll make it halfway to the leviathan's corpse before ELF weapons render this thing a barely mobile (if especially fancy) tub. Or worse. They could do much worse. They will do much worse.
Bella turns up the throttle on the shuttle and darts toward death at utterly reckless speeds. Soon, Redana, soon. It must be soon, before it's never.</s>
| <|message|>Captain Vasilia
"No. No. Stop that. On your feet, you're going to put a crick in my neck." Vasilia waved her up impatiently. "And no, it certainly does not please me. We're too few to start making heroic sacrifices just yet. Besides, if the shuttles spread out their landings at all, you won't stop more than one. Right now, all I'd like from all of you?"
She braced herself at the helm.
"Is to hang on."
And sent the shuttle into a nosedive.
"Dolce, my dear?~" She sang out, knuckles white on the throttle. "Would you find us something dangerous?"
"There's a boulder that's not a boulder, at…" He blinked, staring through the foliage whipping against the viewscreen. "10 o'clock. Fifty five degrees portside."
"Wonderful!" She cackled, and they were off. Flitting through the trees, engines burning as hot as they could, and buzzing creature after creature by a hands-breadth. By the time the sleepy monstrosities had gotten themselves upright, their shuttle was long gone, and all they could see were the Imperial shuttles high above, firing loudly and flying in a straight line.
[Rolling to Overcome the nonsense from the forest: 5 + 5 + 2 = 12]</s> |
<|description|>Captain Vasilia
Marked by Zeus and Artemis
Seeking Peace
AND
Chef Mate Dolce
Marked by Hera and Artemis
Seeking Adventure
THE PAIR
Vasilia's Agenda: Viva La Revoluction
Dolce's Agenda: All For One And One For All
STATS
Vasilia
Blood: +1
Courage: +1
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: -1
Dolce
Blood: -1
Courage: +0
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: +1
Combined (Always with Hope)
Blood: +0
Courage: +1
Grace: +2
Sense: +2
Wisdom: +0
Paired Core
Birds Of A Feather: You play as two characters. The Pair can split up or stay together as they
like, allowing you to be in two places at once. They each have a separate Look, separate Stats, and a separate personal Agenda.
The Pair has separate bonds for each of them. Each of the Pair can only have one Bond with someone else, and others can only have one Bond with each member of the Pair.
When they Fill Their Belly, the Pair only spends 1 Food, but they each heal one damage.
Working Alone: When The Pair is separated, they make rolls with their separated stats and get the Spotlight separately.
-When one of the Pair is acting to rescue, protect, or rush to the side of the other, they roll with Hope.
-Working Alone is dangerous, as you rely on your teamwork. When you take damage while Working Alone, you must also pay a price.
Working Together: When The Pair is together, they act as a single unit in perfect harmony. They combine their stats when making a move, and they share the Spotlight together. If either of you has Hope or Despair, you both do.
-When you Keep Them Busy together, only one of you needs to stay to Keep Them Busy. The other may disengage and begin Working Alone.
-When you Get Away or Look Closely together, you may split up. If you do, each of you may choose different options from that move's list, and you are now Working Alone.
-When one of you takes damage while Working Together, the other takes damage to the same stat, if it is undamaged.
Heroic Association: The Pair Commands Lore about an organization, instead of a society. You come from a company of mercenaries, bounty hunters, heroes, or some other such group. You Command Lore about who they are, what they want, their place in the world, their culture, their rivals, their enemies, and their laws, just as everyone else does.
Daring Devils:
-When you need a cool prop appropriate to your environment, like a chandelier to drop, a window to leap out of, or a vine to swing from, it's there.
-When you use the terrain to protect you, you may Overcome using +Grace instead of +Blood. Leaping off of tall places to escape danger always counts as using the terrain to protect you.
Who Are the Pair?
Fated Pair: The two of you are inseparable, a perfect combination. When you are Working Together, you roll with Hope.
The Pair Custom
Heroes of the People: You do not need to roll to Speak Softly with common folk, friends, or coworkers - simply ask, and they will answer.
Taste my Blade!: When you engage in swordplay with an enemy, you may Keep Them Busy with +Grace. On a 7-9, after their retaliation, you may insult them or make a quip to Keep Them Busy again, as if you'd rolled another 7-9 result.
Mismatched Pair: Each member of the Pair takes a Custom move from a different playbook. Keep track of who took which move. Each of them may only use their chosen move while Working Alone.
Vasilia: Listen Here You Little Punk: When you Talk Sense by telling them what will happen to them if they do not do as you ask, Talk Sense with +Blood, and on a 7-9, they cannot ask their favor of you until after they have done what you asked of them.
Dolce: I've Got A Bad Feeling About This: When you're certain something's wrong here, you may ask the Overlord to tell you the safest way out, and also the quickest way out. They will answer truthfully
Vasilia's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Dolce's (Melee)
-A grav-rail glaive with its own independent gravity field (Melee, Clumsy, Dangerous)
-An elegant, long-barreled SP rifle (Ranged, Reload, Piercing)
-An brace of pistols, blessed by Zeus (Ranged, Piercing, Dangerous, Recharge)
-An Anathame. A knife with her name on it. (Protection against a Location stat, will betray her at any opportunity. Damage a stat to destroy permanently.)
Dolce's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Vasilia's (Melee)
-A tasteful variety of well-preserved foodstuffs (Food, 3 Uses [X][][])
-Household odds and ends, turned to creatively underhanded purpose (Useful, 2 Uses [X][])
-A travel-sized cocktail kit, amply supplied (Slow, Vigor, 2 Uses [][])
Vasilia's Bonds
-If it's a night for drinking, I'm with Alexa. No one else.
-Iskarot and I have a professional respect for each other. And, personally, his straightforwardness is refreshing.
-Bella carried me to her room. Shared of her private stock of wine. And for a moment, we might've trusted each other.
Dolce's Bonds
-Redana and I have spent hours together on the observation deck, watching Poseidon's wonders.
-I am convinced that Alexa can taste, she just hasn't found a meal she could taste yet.
Advancements:
-Paired Custom: Taste my Blade!
-Paired Custom: Mismatched Pair
-Stat increase: Vasilia takes +1 Sense
-LEVEL UP NEEDED</s>
<|message|>The Kennels
Bella's heart is pounding with the particular panic of a trapped predator. The ropes around her wrists are rough and chafing. The ropes around her ankles squeeze uncomfortably tight. The sensations following her are the nagging tugs at her hair where her sleek blue-black locks are tangled with Redana's knotty golden ones, the firmness of the space their backs share with each other that melts into softness as it descends to where their thighs are forced to brush against each other.
The fear-smell is gone. There are others now, a confusing cocktail of responses Bella does not have specific names for because she has spent her life trying to avoid them. But they're here now, swimming underneath the thickness of her perfume which somehow is still soaked into everything, and they bring color to Bella's face and a feverish warmth to her body.
She thrashes like a caged animal in her bindings all the same. Her heart is about to burst, the pressure is so tight. Caught. Caught. Caught! She writhes, she twists her hips, she kicks her legs with all the power in her body, she torques her wrists past the point of agony to get her claws into her restraints. It's all for nothing. The chain holding her above the floor saps her of the leverage that would turn her weight to her advantage. The bindings around her wrists are such that her fingers, stretch how they may, can't reach anything but the Princess'. With her ankles bound to Redana's she can't even bend her legs up enough to get a good kick in, so all her straining accomplishes is adding the feeling of her body rubbing, brushing, touching up against her Mistress' to the miserable soup she's stuck in right now.
Her ears turn on her head to catch the sound of the voice that's taunting her, but the rest of her head can't pivot to put eyes on it. It doesn't matter. She knows the voice. Her teeth clench hard against her gag, but the sharpness of her teeth are defeated by the thick leather. She chews anyway, not caring about the saliva bubbling up and dribbling down her chin to splash against her shirt.
"Mnnnf! Ghllph hrrrrr, MMMMrrrrm! Ffffffk uuuuuu!"
It's not enough. The unintelligible threats aren't enough. Being bound hand and foot to Redana isn't enough. Bella's tail, the one part of her that's free to do what it will, whips free of the prison of two women and wraps itself possessively around Redana's stomach. It squeezes, as if its soft length would be enough to fend off all the trained warriors in the room and the voice that's commanding them. It writhes against her in challenge to everyone who thought that putting her in this predicament would be enough. This is Bella's prize. Nobody else's.
Her fur is soft. Her voice descends into garbled moans that forget to even try to be words, taken as they are to hold the note of defiance mixed in with her desperation. She's trapped. She's helpless. She hates it.
She's going to kill Mynx.</s>
<|message|>Parentage
Don't despair. That's what Redana clings to, desperately. Don't despair. If you give up now, then Odoacer wins. There'll be a sham wedding, where the bride hobbles down the aisle while the Admiral preens. Don't forget, she'll whisper as the sacrifice to Aphrodite is performed, one word from me and your precious little Servitor will be spaced. Now, be a good princess and say I do. And after that... another gilded cage. A cell deep within the flagship, meals delivered by dumbwaiter, a door triple-locked from the outside, and always the threat: one word from me and Bella dies.
So that has to be stopped here and now. There has to be time. She needs time. The longer she can delay Odoacer, the more likely it is that her friends will come to save her, guided by the wisdom of her father. The gods help those who delight them, after all.
She takes a moment to try and steel herself. It's not easy. Her stomach feels strange, like she's teetering in the edge of a cliff, nervous and guilty and tight — and that was before Bella wrapped her warm, soft tail around it. There's a tension taut at her breastbone and a breathlessness in her head that absolutely, totally only has to do with how any breath through her mouth is wet and slobbery. Is it warm in here? She's so warm. And tingly. Is that because her body's falling asleep?
If she squirms out of the chain (and she totally could) she'd just be making Odoacer angrier. She can't fight with her leg still numb and useless, she can't run away, and she needs to let Odoacer think she has the upper hand completely. That she can gloat.
So instead she rests her head against her shoulder while Bella furiously wiggles behind her. (Fingers accidentally interlace. She feels guilty for how reassuring that feels. Bella is being a real brathead stinkyface right now. And letting her free so she can kill another person is very much the wrong idea![1])
She looks Odoacer in the eye, and then casts her gaze down and flutters her eyelashes like Cassiothe in Danger on Orion VI when she's captured by the Azora captain. She groans, huskily, around the leather bit in her mouth; spit bubbles on her lower lip; her toes curl in her boots as she keeps going. Look back up, keep your eyes lidded but let her catch you sneak a look, then push out your chest[3] and moan.
Come closer, she says. I'm helpless and all yours, she says. Tell me everything, she invites, wordlessly.
***
[1]: "You've been a very bad girl," Redana says, going down to one knee to look Bella in the eye. Her bloody-handed Servitor writhes against the steel stocks, her hair messy, her ridiculous skirt hiked up. "And I'm not letting you back out until you've been unmurder-trained properly—"[2]
[2]: this is where Redana's imagination burned itself out out of sheer embarrassment, leaving her to note that maybe Keeping Bella Contained was a good idea.
[3]: this was, comparatively, much less visually impressive than if Bella had done the same thing. Redana has a bad case of Olympians' Chest[4].
[4]: "two bronze medals," as the punchline goes. Or "built for archery," as the polite euphemism goes.
***
[7 on Keep Them Busy!]</s>
| <|message|>Captain Vasilia
The only warning the Ceronians had was an empty barrel thundering down the hallway.
As one, they wordlessly rose, closed ranks, leveled spears, and shut the gate of adamantium. This did not even count as a clever trick; this was a tired training exercise. Entire Olympic events were built around shield walls resisting ever-larger, ever-heavier impacts. The hollow wooden barrel disintegrated into firewood on impact, and did not move them back an inch.
Which was when two figures leapt from the blind spot behind the ruined barrel. Dolce slid beneath the outstretched spears, and with a quick slash knocked them off-target. In the breath before they brought them to bear again, Vasilia thrust her glaive at the heart of their formation, the space around its tip seemed to warp, and-
-wrrrrrkBOOM-
The enemy scattered like tenpins, their shields crumpled.
[Rolling to Overcome: 4 + 6 + 2 - 1 = 11]</s> |
<|description|>Captain Vasilia
Marked by Zeus and Artemis
Seeking Peace
AND
Chef Mate Dolce
Marked by Hera and Artemis
Seeking Adventure
THE PAIR
Vasilia's Agenda: Viva La Revoluction
Dolce's Agenda: All For One And One For All
STATS
Vasilia
Blood: +1
Courage: +1
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: -1
Dolce
Blood: -1
Courage: +0
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: +1
Combined (Always with Hope)
Blood: +0
Courage: +1
Grace: +2
Sense: +2
Wisdom: +0
Paired Core
Birds Of A Feather: You play as two characters. The Pair can split up or stay together as they
like, allowing you to be in two places at once. They each have a separate Look, separate Stats, and a separate personal Agenda.
The Pair has separate bonds for each of them. Each of the Pair can only have one Bond with someone else, and others can only have one Bond with each member of the Pair.
When they Fill Their Belly, the Pair only spends 1 Food, but they each heal one damage.
Working Alone: When The Pair is separated, they make rolls with their separated stats and get the Spotlight separately.
-When one of the Pair is acting to rescue, protect, or rush to the side of the other, they roll with Hope.
-Working Alone is dangerous, as you rely on your teamwork. When you take damage while Working Alone, you must also pay a price.
Working Together: When The Pair is together, they act as a single unit in perfect harmony. They combine their stats when making a move, and they share the Spotlight together. If either of you has Hope or Despair, you both do.
-When you Keep Them Busy together, only one of you needs to stay to Keep Them Busy. The other may disengage and begin Working Alone.
-When you Get Away or Look Closely together, you may split up. If you do, each of you may choose different options from that move's list, and you are now Working Alone.
-When one of you takes damage while Working Together, the other takes damage to the same stat, if it is undamaged.
Heroic Association: The Pair Commands Lore about an organization, instead of a society. You come from a company of mercenaries, bounty hunters, heroes, or some other such group. You Command Lore about who they are, what they want, their place in the world, their culture, their rivals, their enemies, and their laws, just as everyone else does.
Daring Devils:
-When you need a cool prop appropriate to your environment, like a chandelier to drop, a window to leap out of, or a vine to swing from, it's there.
-When you use the terrain to protect you, you may Overcome using +Grace instead of +Blood. Leaping off of tall places to escape danger always counts as using the terrain to protect you.
Who Are the Pair?
Fated Pair: The two of you are inseparable, a perfect combination. When you are Working Together, you roll with Hope.
The Pair Custom
Heroes of the People: You do not need to roll to Speak Softly with common folk, friends, or coworkers - simply ask, and they will answer.
Taste my Blade!: When you engage in swordplay with an enemy, you may Keep Them Busy with +Grace. On a 7-9, after their retaliation, you may insult them or make a quip to Keep Them Busy again, as if you'd rolled another 7-9 result.
Mismatched Pair: Each member of the Pair takes a Custom move from a different playbook. Keep track of who took which move. Each of them may only use their chosen move while Working Alone.
Vasilia: Listen Here You Little Punk: When you Talk Sense by telling them what will happen to them if they do not do as you ask, Talk Sense with +Blood, and on a 7-9, they cannot ask their favor of you until after they have done what you asked of them.
Dolce: I've Got A Bad Feeling About This: When you're certain something's wrong here, you may ask the Overlord to tell you the safest way out, and also the quickest way out. They will answer truthfully
Vasilia's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Dolce's (Melee)
-A grav-rail glaive with its own independent gravity field (Melee, Clumsy, Dangerous)
-An elegant, long-barreled SP rifle (Ranged, Reload, Piercing)
-An brace of pistols, blessed by Zeus (Ranged, Piercing, Dangerous, Recharge)
-An Anathame. A knife with her name on it. (Protection against a Location stat, will betray her at any opportunity. Damage a stat to destroy permanently.)
Dolce's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Vasilia's (Melee)
-A tasteful variety of well-preserved foodstuffs (Food, 3 Uses [X][][])
-Household odds and ends, turned to creatively underhanded purpose (Useful, 2 Uses [X][])
-A travel-sized cocktail kit, amply supplied (Slow, Vigor, 2 Uses [][])
Vasilia's Bonds
-If it's a night for drinking, I'm with Alexa. No one else.
-Iskarot and I have a professional respect for each other. And, personally, his straightforwardness is refreshing.
-Bella carried me to her room. Shared of her private stock of wine. And for a moment, we might've trusted each other.
Dolce's Bonds
-Redana and I have spent hours together on the observation deck, watching Poseidon's wonders.
-I am convinced that Alexa can taste, she just hasn't found a meal she could taste yet.
Advancements:
-Paired Custom: Taste my Blade!
-Paired Custom: Mismatched Pair
-Stat increase: Vasilia takes +1 Sense
-LEVEL UP NEEDED</s>
<|message|>Captain Vasilia
What adventure! What a life! Dolce gasped in delight just to hear of it. Black holes, distant worlds, the unknown wonders of space, viewed from a safe distance! What's more, there'd been a whole crew of beuroctopi along for the journey, all of them bustling about happily at their posts. Together.
What a life indeed.
"I think you are lucky." Dolce sighed, a wan smile crinkling his nose. "You loved your job dearly, and you were good at it. That's more than many people can say. But is your place really gone? The Eater of Worlds is dead, but there's still so much life here. Yourself, your fellows, the Ceronians..." Probably more life than either of them knew. Than either of them could hope to know. "This is still your home, and there are still fears that could threaten it. Your office is still here, and you were so happy there. Why not stay?"
[Rolling to Talk Sense with Wisdom: 6 + 1 + 1 = 8]
************************
The song in the night does not go unanswered. Even when it is sung silently.
Vasilia strode out from behind Alexa, and you could be forgiven for failing to recognize her. Gone was the dashing captain, bravely meeting the golden shuttle. Her sword was drawn, and pistol free; instruments of violence, ready for the work. Her attention fell on each, taking their measure in turn, but her ink-laden eyes never strayed from the cat. Every ghost-ravaged step was an effort. Every step was sure.
Struggle with your squirming bundle, handmaiden. Show off your freshly-ravished uniform. Collect the shattered remnants of your composure.
You're trying your best, and that's all we can ask.
"Has anyone ever told you," she mused, looking down at her. "You sound just like Jas'o."</s>
<|message|>The Kennels
There is nothing of softness in Bella's face. There is no hint of joy. The thought that she might purr comfort or sing as sweetly as the muses is to be banished from the mind forever. Bella is rigid. Her jaw is clenched so tightly that it might shatter soon, and her lips are pressed thin against one another as she chances a glance down at her squirming, struggling, suddenly very noisy ward. Her eyes are sharp and hard, and no less determined than Redana's. She has not come here to fail.
But there's an instant before everything breaks, where her fingers find the softest bed of gold in the entire universe and move themselves faster than the speed of thought to smooth those mussy locks. Her thumb tastes wetness; a tiny flicker of motion that reaches across time and finds them both safely home and whole. Redana's tear beads against Bella's thumb. The heat of it is unbearable; she flicks it away and with this new motion rips them back from Tellus to exist again in the crumbling landscape of the World Eater.
She opens her mouth with a loud and deliberate breath to speak to Alexa, and in this moment she's interrupted. Her ear flicks with irritation. Bella lifts her head and pulls her princess tighter against her. Her claws press more insistently as she squeezes tight. Possessive. She wrinkles her nose and flicks her tail from left, to right, and left again in a gesture of supreme irritation.
The scoff burns a path up her throat as it forces its way into the world. Her face melts slowly into a vicious sneer, muscle by muscle bubbling and rippling and reshaping itself to convey the sheer depths of her scorn. Her fangs flash brilliant white against the redness of her lips. Bella straightens her spine a little sharper and pushes out her chest, inexorably drawing the princess deeper into its prison. Her eyes flicker briefly and shrink themselves to slits before she suddenly stirs and noiselessly stretches her neck.
"...What the fuck is that supposed to mean? This what you deal with all the time, Alexa? Gods, no wonder you're eager to hitch a ride out. Right then, somebody please tell the circus reject to fuck off. I know it's hard to understand, but I actually don't want to be here any longer than I have to."</s>
| <|message|>Captain Vasilia
Vasilia's response was a single, raised eyebrow. "Charming. You share his wit, too." She did not stretch herself out. She did not puff herself up. Today, what you saw was what you got, and if you were uncomfortable to be in her presence, then that was entirely your own problem.
...one of your own problems, as the case may be.
"Just listen to yourself; the two of you read from the same script. 'So sorry her highness involved you in her stupid misadventure. Her highness needs to be tied and gagged for her own safety. Her highness is a silly little girl who doesn't know what's best for her.'" The high-pitched imitation voice wasn't strictly necessary, but it was polite to make clear when you were quoting someone. "What, pray tell, is best for her? Only the Admiral, only the Empress, only the people more important than you know that. And both of you will run yourselves ragged to make it so. Loyal dogs, sent to fetch your princess."
She sniffed, profoundly disgusted. "She has a name, you know. And Redana can make her own decisions."</s> |
<|description|>Captain Vasilia
Marked by Zeus and Artemis
Seeking Peace
AND
Chef Mate Dolce
Marked by Hera and Artemis
Seeking Adventure
THE PAIR
Vasilia's Agenda: Viva La Revoluction
Dolce's Agenda: All For One And One For All
STATS
Vasilia
Blood: +1
Courage: +1
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: -1
Dolce
Blood: -1
Courage: +0
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: +1
Combined (Always with Hope)
Blood: +0
Courage: +1
Grace: +2
Sense: +2
Wisdom: +0
Paired Core
Birds Of A Feather: You play as two characters. The Pair can split up or stay together as they
like, allowing you to be in two places at once. They each have a separate Look, separate Stats, and a separate personal Agenda.
The Pair has separate bonds for each of them. Each of the Pair can only have one Bond with someone else, and others can only have one Bond with each member of the Pair.
When they Fill Their Belly, the Pair only spends 1 Food, but they each heal one damage.
Working Alone: When The Pair is separated, they make rolls with their separated stats and get the Spotlight separately.
-When one of the Pair is acting to rescue, protect, or rush to the side of the other, they roll with Hope.
-Working Alone is dangerous, as you rely on your teamwork. When you take damage while Working Alone, you must also pay a price.
Working Together: When The Pair is together, they act as a single unit in perfect harmony. They combine their stats when making a move, and they share the Spotlight together. If either of you has Hope or Despair, you both do.
-When you Keep Them Busy together, only one of you needs to stay to Keep Them Busy. The other may disengage and begin Working Alone.
-When you Get Away or Look Closely together, you may split up. If you do, each of you may choose different options from that move's list, and you are now Working Alone.
-When one of you takes damage while Working Together, the other takes damage to the same stat, if it is undamaged.
Heroic Association: The Pair Commands Lore about an organization, instead of a society. You come from a company of mercenaries, bounty hunters, heroes, or some other such group. You Command Lore about who they are, what they want, their place in the world, their culture, their rivals, their enemies, and their laws, just as everyone else does.
Daring Devils:
-When you need a cool prop appropriate to your environment, like a chandelier to drop, a window to leap out of, or a vine to swing from, it's there.
-When you use the terrain to protect you, you may Overcome using +Grace instead of +Blood. Leaping off of tall places to escape danger always counts as using the terrain to protect you.
Who Are the Pair?
Fated Pair: The two of you are inseparable, a perfect combination. When you are Working Together, you roll with Hope.
The Pair Custom
Heroes of the People: You do not need to roll to Speak Softly with common folk, friends, or coworkers - simply ask, and they will answer.
Taste my Blade!: When you engage in swordplay with an enemy, you may Keep Them Busy with +Grace. On a 7-9, after their retaliation, you may insult them or make a quip to Keep Them Busy again, as if you'd rolled another 7-9 result.
Mismatched Pair: Each member of the Pair takes a Custom move from a different playbook. Keep track of who took which move. Each of them may only use their chosen move while Working Alone.
Vasilia: Listen Here You Little Punk: When you Talk Sense by telling them what will happen to them if they do not do as you ask, Talk Sense with +Blood, and on a 7-9, they cannot ask their favor of you until after they have done what you asked of them.
Dolce: I've Got A Bad Feeling About This: When you're certain something's wrong here, you may ask the Overlord to tell you the safest way out, and also the quickest way out. They will answer truthfully
Vasilia's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Dolce's (Melee)
-A grav-rail glaive with its own independent gravity field (Melee, Clumsy, Dangerous)
-An elegant, long-barreled SP rifle (Ranged, Reload, Piercing)
-An brace of pistols, blessed by Zeus (Ranged, Piercing, Dangerous, Recharge)
-An Anathame. A knife with her name on it. (Protection against a Location stat, will betray her at any opportunity. Damage a stat to destroy permanently.)
Dolce's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Vasilia's (Melee)
-A tasteful variety of well-preserved foodstuffs (Food, 3 Uses [X][][])
-Household odds and ends, turned to creatively underhanded purpose (Useful, 2 Uses [X][])
-A travel-sized cocktail kit, amply supplied (Slow, Vigor, 2 Uses [][])
Vasilia's Bonds
-If it's a night for drinking, I'm with Alexa. No one else.
-Iskarot and I have a professional respect for each other. And, personally, his straightforwardness is refreshing.
-Bella carried me to her room. Shared of her private stock of wine. And for a moment, we might've trusted each other.
Dolce's Bonds
-Redana and I have spent hours together on the observation deck, watching Poseidon's wonders.
-I am convinced that Alexa can taste, she just hasn't found a meal she could taste yet.
Advancements:
-Paired Custom: Taste my Blade!
-Paired Custom: Mismatched Pair
-Stat increase: Vasilia takes +1 Sense
-LEVEL UP NEEDED</s>
<|message|>The Kennels
"Guh! Ahhh, AHHH! Let! Me! Hffff, aaahhhh, nnnrrrrrgh! Go! Traitor! TRAITOR! Useless, guhhhaaah! Statue!"
Bella screams like she's dying. Like the touch of stone and bronze on her skin and fur that's holding her in place is tearing the life from her body. Her thrashing would send lesser soldiers tumbling to the ground in disarray. She should be free. She howls. She should be turning to pounce, to tear with her claws until not even the miracles of modern medicine could save the idiot who dared to grab her. When she kicks her legs, her flexibility is almost as surprising as the shock of the impacts they cause.
She is a whirlwind of death. She is a storm. She is a prayer to the chaos and fury of Ares. And she is held fast by the statue of Athena. Who else could contain her right now? All at once, Bella's body falls slack in defeat. Did you know? There are few things in the universe heavier or more awkward than an unsupported body. Only her tail maintains its furious assault; the rest of her is an awkward anchor seeking the ground. This too would be the death of almost any Hoplite. Be proud, Alexa.
"...You're so pathetic."
The words are choking her. Has she run out of breath? Is her froth cutting off her speech? Or is she... has she started crying? No, that's impossible. Her body bursts from slack to fighting in an instant as she tries again to kick her way into a clawing position. Her furious hiss is unmistakable, though unsteady. Another failure; she droops a second time.
"What would you know about friendship, anyway? Did the Princess tell you to make nice with every filthy rat and piece of scrap that's snuck on board that filthy piece of shit you call a ship? Ha, sounds just like her. All those stories she used to read instead of studying... she's so stupid."
Bella's ears flicker up and down, bending just slightly behind her before they droop as slack as the rest of her body. Her head lowers, and she burbles with wet laughter. Up, then down. Sharp, then sick. The kind of sound a person makes because the alternative is falling to ruin. Because she can't control anything else. She's held and she's helpless and the tension that keeps rippling through her body before it collapses again says in a loud voice that this is not ok.
"She doesn't need you, Alexa. The second you don't live up to her idea of you, you're gone. The snooty harem bitch, too. Gone. She's probably thinking about it even now, hahaha. None of you useless bastards did a fucking thing to save her from Jas'o. You weren't there to keep the Ceronians from tearing her to pieces! I was! Me! I'm the only one! The only one who's good enough for her! I, haha, I'm all she needs!"
This as far as the conversation goes. There's nothing left in her throat but these words, whispered over and over like a prayer. A spell she's cast to shield her heart. She is calm. Still. Perfect. Her feet touch the ground, and her tail flicks appreciatively. Her head tilts up and she eyes Alexa coolly. And she smirks.
"I'm all she needs."
She leaps back just before a sharp crack fills the room again, and the loudest explosion anyone has heard all day finally knocks over the walls. She's leaping, riding the massive chunks of crumbling architecture like a surfer riding a wave, because somehow she felt this coming. But what about you, Alexa?</s>
<|message|>Parentage
Redana pulls Epistia close, one arm tight around the Servitor's back, careful not to brush against the Thunderbolt. And for a moment, two exhausted princesses hold each other, covered in blood and spit and sweat, as the palace collapses around them.
"I wasn't going to leave you behind," she says, a feverish desperation in her voice. She made a promise. And she's not, she can come back for her friends. For those who depend on her. For those who need her to be strong.
She looks up as the walls collapse, the storm tearing at her hair and ruined outfit, and looks desperately for... there. There she is, leaping and darting about effortlessly. (A chunk of masonry the size of a Ceronian bears down on Redana and Epistia, and Ares bats it carelessly into a shuttle, which explodes in midair, all hands lost.) "Bella!" She screams, and reaches, but her leg doesn't move under her and Epistia is still sagging against her and all she can do is reach out, uselessly, as her lost friend bounds away.
"We have to go after her," Redana says, brokenly. "We have to save her. I can't leave her behind again..."
You don't get to keep things you don't value.</s>
| <|message|>Captain Vasilia
She had a gun. She had the distance. Her opponent was emotionally unstable and easily needled.
And Vasilia was losing.
The common spectator might not even notice it. She fired her pistol, Bella took her swings, neither of them landed the blows they needed. Surely a stalemate, at least? But no, look again. Look again, boorish public. See how Bella keeps advancing, and she can only sidestep. See how her shots always land wide, denying space rather than seeking victory. See her work the trigger as fast as it will fire, faster than it ought to fire. It won't hold. She won't hold. If the rabid cur was in any more control of herself, if she possessed the ounce of sense required not to telegraph her every move…
Unbelievable. That such raw physical ability should be given to such a stupid, hateful creature.
[Rolling to Overcome: 5 + 2 + 1 = 8, spending 1 Ammo to upgrade to 10+]
And then: Quiet. Not from Bella, she kept making a fool of herself, but the field. A pause. A moment to catch her breath, thanks to Alexa finally making her move. She stood by, pistol hemorrhaging toxic smoke, and waited.
*****************
"No."
And Captain Vasilia stepped between Redana and the retreating Bella, not once turning her back to the foe. "She's chosen to leave, and we're leaving too. All hands; form up around Redana, and make for the shuttle. Dolce will meet us along the way. Move!"</s> |
<|description|>Captain Vasilia
Marked by Zeus and Artemis
Seeking Peace
AND
Chef Mate Dolce
Marked by Hera and Artemis
Seeking Adventure
THE PAIR
Vasilia's Agenda: Viva La Revoluction
Dolce's Agenda: All For One And One For All
STATS
Vasilia
Blood: +1
Courage: +1
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: -1
Dolce
Blood: -1
Courage: +0
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: +1
Combined (Always with Hope)
Blood: +0
Courage: +1
Grace: +2
Sense: +2
Wisdom: +0
Paired Core
Birds Of A Feather: You play as two characters. The Pair can split up or stay together as they
like, allowing you to be in two places at once. They each have a separate Look, separate Stats, and a separate personal Agenda.
The Pair has separate bonds for each of them. Each of the Pair can only have one Bond with someone else, and others can only have one Bond with each member of the Pair.
When they Fill Their Belly, the Pair only spends 1 Food, but they each heal one damage.
Working Alone: When The Pair is separated, they make rolls with their separated stats and get the Spotlight separately.
-When one of the Pair is acting to rescue, protect, or rush to the side of the other, they roll with Hope.
-Working Alone is dangerous, as you rely on your teamwork. When you take damage while Working Alone, you must also pay a price.
Working Together: When The Pair is together, they act as a single unit in perfect harmony. They combine their stats when making a move, and they share the Spotlight together. If either of you has Hope or Despair, you both do.
-When you Keep Them Busy together, only one of you needs to stay to Keep Them Busy. The other may disengage and begin Working Alone.
-When you Get Away or Look Closely together, you may split up. If you do, each of you may choose different options from that move's list, and you are now Working Alone.
-When one of you takes damage while Working Together, the other takes damage to the same stat, if it is undamaged.
Heroic Association: The Pair Commands Lore about an organization, instead of a society. You come from a company of mercenaries, bounty hunters, heroes, or some other such group. You Command Lore about who they are, what they want, their place in the world, their culture, their rivals, their enemies, and their laws, just as everyone else does.
Daring Devils:
-When you need a cool prop appropriate to your environment, like a chandelier to drop, a window to leap out of, or a vine to swing from, it's there.
-When you use the terrain to protect you, you may Overcome using +Grace instead of +Blood. Leaping off of tall places to escape danger always counts as using the terrain to protect you.
Who Are the Pair?
Fated Pair: The two of you are inseparable, a perfect combination. When you are Working Together, you roll with Hope.
The Pair Custom
Heroes of the People: You do not need to roll to Speak Softly with common folk, friends, or coworkers - simply ask, and they will answer.
Taste my Blade!: When you engage in swordplay with an enemy, you may Keep Them Busy with +Grace. On a 7-9, after their retaliation, you may insult them or make a quip to Keep Them Busy again, as if you'd rolled another 7-9 result.
Mismatched Pair: Each member of the Pair takes a Custom move from a different playbook. Keep track of who took which move. Each of them may only use their chosen move while Working Alone.
Vasilia: Listen Here You Little Punk: When you Talk Sense by telling them what will happen to them if they do not do as you ask, Talk Sense with +Blood, and on a 7-9, they cannot ask their favor of you until after they have done what you asked of them.
Dolce: I've Got A Bad Feeling About This: When you're certain something's wrong here, you may ask the Overlord to tell you the safest way out, and also the quickest way out. They will answer truthfully
Vasilia's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Dolce's (Melee)
-A grav-rail glaive with its own independent gravity field (Melee, Clumsy, Dangerous)
-An elegant, long-barreled SP rifle (Ranged, Reload, Piercing)
-An brace of pistols, blessed by Zeus (Ranged, Piercing, Dangerous, Recharge)
-An Anathame. A knife with her name on it. (Protection against a Location stat, will betray her at any opportunity. Damage a stat to destroy permanently.)
Dolce's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Vasilia's (Melee)
-A tasteful variety of well-preserved foodstuffs (Food, 3 Uses [X][][])
-Household odds and ends, turned to creatively underhanded purpose (Useful, 2 Uses [X][])
-A travel-sized cocktail kit, amply supplied (Slow, Vigor, 2 Uses [][])
Vasilia's Bonds
-If it's a night for drinking, I'm with Alexa. No one else.
-Iskarot and I have a professional respect for each other. And, personally, his straightforwardness is refreshing.
-Bella carried me to her room. Shared of her private stock of wine. And for a moment, we might've trusted each other.
Dolce's Bonds
-Redana and I have spent hours together on the observation deck, watching Poseidon's wonders.
-I am convinced that Alexa can taste, she just hasn't found a meal she could taste yet.
Advancements:
-Paired Custom: Taste my Blade!
-Paired Custom: Mismatched Pair
-Stat increase: Vasilia takes +1 Sense
-LEVEL UP NEEDED</s>
<|message|>Parentage
Alexa!
Redana laughs. It's not an elegant laugh; it's a snorting giggle with an edge of being completely overwhelmed. An "I am blitzed out" laugh. When she looks up at you, you get the sense that she is not looking at but through you.
"You... are a big virgin," she says, eloquently. "Isn't love a battlefield?" Redana, what? She pats your, um. Pectorals. "It's raining cards," she adds, going boneless and slithering her way out of your arms. She does a funny little hop-skip, still avoiding too much pressure on her leg as she nimbly gets out of reach. "And Bella had a shining spear, and Aphrodite shot me, and there was an eye of skulls. No. An skull of eyes. I think we're being watched."
And then she looks up at the stands. She looks, and looks, and looks.
"Yep!" She nods her head, satisfied. "There it is!" When she turns back to you, the sun peeks through the oppressive clouds for just a moment, just a moment, her hair flaring into a golden halo. "Let's go say hello! Even if we have to fight, you're here[1]!"
And she proceeds forward towards the stands, but at a much more catchable speed.
***
[1]: an ambiguous statement. Is she talking to you, Alexa, her bodyguard, in the flush and afterglow of a vision of Olympus above, beyond? Or is she speaking to your mother, whose face you share?</s>
<|message|>The Kennels
This is truly excellent wine. Even as warm as it is, every tiny sip cascades like a river of flavors across her tongue and disappears down her throat as gentle as a spring rain. It is rich, intoxicating, and decadent in a way servitor wine could never be by way of its very design: the taste of grape is heady and strong, but underneath it instead of the watery oiliness she's used to there's a bouquet of new flavors dancing through her mouth.
There are notes of smoke and an earthy kind of bite that takes her some moments to place before she realizes with a widening of her eyes that the drink had been stored and aged in a wooden cask. She lacks the vocabulary to even guess what sort, but she's certain, yes she is. And underneath even this wonderful prize is a thin line of persimmon and even cinnamon. It's a rich treasury of seemingly infinite delights that forces her to take the delicate and refined sips of an Empress lest the sensation of the wine itself leave her drunk, a far cry from the way her own stock so warmly encourages guzzling and (merriment thereafter).
Bella swirls the glass in between her fingers with a curious smirk etched across her face. She's never had cause to savor drink before. Never had a reason to use her fingers like this. There is power in this motion, she feels it purring in her chest. And yet for all of the wonder of the drink being so thoughtlessly poured for her benefit, she can tell at a sniff that the extreme age of the stuff has diminished it greatly. There's a mustiness to the smell and a thinness to the flavor that only becomes more noticeable the longer her tongue has to adjust to it, and every now and then a note so sour it threatens to drag her breakfast back up her throat.
She drinks on. Her wine, her precious gift and refuge, is the power and ingenuity of an entire Empire, or more accurately an Empress bent toward the sole design of lifting the crowded masses closer to the light. The stuff in her hand is the work of another Empire toward brandishing a light so high above the crowd and so bright that even daring to reach for it would blind all but the gods themselves and send the thief tumbling, broken, to the depths of Tartarus to suffer for their hubris. This is a drink for kings, and even then it's a pale imitation of Her Imperial Highness' own stock, which was so strong that when she was a kitten just the smell of important people drinking it from across the room was enough to make Bella's toes curl. Once, she'd had to carry a pair of glasses for the Empress and the Princess, and the fumes had been so overwhelming she'd had to excuse herself from the ball immediately thereafter so she could find a closet to faint in.
If she dared to lap at that ambrosia, she would surely be tortured for all eternity. Cut apart and sewn together again in a cycle with no end. But this in her hand was the shadow of that folly. This, surely, was allowed to a Praetor. She sips the wine again and holds it in her mouth just long enough to feel the dryness start to settle in, then swallows thoughtfully. She chuckles.
"What an idiot. Look at her, do you see? She hasn't been letting them take care of her properly. They probably don't know how, those dipshits. Ha, just look at her dance!"
Bella's eyes gleam with delight. She grins toothily as her legs cross together, and lowers her glass to rest near the Imperial Box as she lifts her other hand up to rest her cheek on its curled wrist. Her tail swishes with the primal delight of a predator spotting the flash of a wing inside a bush.
"I don't care what happens to Alexa, but the Princess is my concern. Nobody lays a hand on her but me, you got that? But this is fine. Continue dancing or... whatever. This is fine, let them come to us. I've waited this long, I don't mind waiting just a little bit longer."
She squeezes the stem of her wine glass. Where her claws find the surface, it starts to crack.</s>
| <|message|>Captain Vasilia
Oh. Good. She was alive and conscious for the embarrassing portion of the landing. What a blessing.
"Captain, are you alright?" Clever hands made short work of her restraints, and Dolce offered her a hand up. It was not quite…
Oh, leave off it. She rose like a dream, escorted from her seat like royalty from a carriage on their way to a fancy dress ball. There was absolutely no difficulties with either knee-high water or legs that refused to function as they should. When she reclined against the front viewport, it was to better take in the surrounding scenery. And if anyone had any complaints as to the accuracy of her account, they could submit them in writing, in triplicate, and she would burn them immediately.
Dolce squeezed her hand comfortingly. Well. Perhaps she'd burn them at her earliest convenience. "Sound off, everyone. Quietly now, we've already made enough of an entrance. Galnius, to me, when you can stand."
Dolce hurried off to help the others up, and she returned her attention to the viewport. When the sound of wading hoplite drew near, she turned briefly to take him in. Still standing, a bit unsteady, none too pleased, but what else was new? Whatever, she could work with it. "What's your read?" She asked, turning back to the window. "Everything this side of the planet must have seen us go down. We need someplace to get our feet under us, but if stay here we'll end up fighting room-to-room in a spa."
[Rolling to Look Closely: 3 + 3 + 1 = 7: How can we all get out of here to someplace safe to regroup?]</s> |
<|description|>Captain Vasilia
Marked by Zeus and Artemis
Seeking Peace
AND
Chef Mate Dolce
Marked by Hera and Artemis
Seeking Adventure
THE PAIR
Vasilia's Agenda: Viva La Revoluction
Dolce's Agenda: All For One And One For All
STATS
Vasilia
Blood: +1
Courage: +1
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: -1
Dolce
Blood: -1
Courage: +0
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: +1
Combined (Always with Hope)
Blood: +0
Courage: +1
Grace: +2
Sense: +2
Wisdom: +0
Paired Core
Birds Of A Feather: You play as two characters. The Pair can split up or stay together as they
like, allowing you to be in two places at once. They each have a separate Look, separate Stats, and a separate personal Agenda.
The Pair has separate bonds for each of them. Each of the Pair can only have one Bond with someone else, and others can only have one Bond with each member of the Pair.
When they Fill Their Belly, the Pair only spends 1 Food, but they each heal one damage.
Working Alone: When The Pair is separated, they make rolls with their separated stats and get the Spotlight separately.
-When one of the Pair is acting to rescue, protect, or rush to the side of the other, they roll with Hope.
-Working Alone is dangerous, as you rely on your teamwork. When you take damage while Working Alone, you must also pay a price.
Working Together: When The Pair is together, they act as a single unit in perfect harmony. They combine their stats when making a move, and they share the Spotlight together. If either of you has Hope or Despair, you both do.
-When you Keep Them Busy together, only one of you needs to stay to Keep Them Busy. The other may disengage and begin Working Alone.
-When you Get Away or Look Closely together, you may split up. If you do, each of you may choose different options from that move's list, and you are now Working Alone.
-When one of you takes damage while Working Together, the other takes damage to the same stat, if it is undamaged.
Heroic Association: The Pair Commands Lore about an organization, instead of a society. You come from a company of mercenaries, bounty hunters, heroes, or some other such group. You Command Lore about who they are, what they want, their place in the world, their culture, their rivals, their enemies, and their laws, just as everyone else does.
Daring Devils:
-When you need a cool prop appropriate to your environment, like a chandelier to drop, a window to leap out of, or a vine to swing from, it's there.
-When you use the terrain to protect you, you may Overcome using +Grace instead of +Blood. Leaping off of tall places to escape danger always counts as using the terrain to protect you.
Who Are the Pair?
Fated Pair: The two of you are inseparable, a perfect combination. When you are Working Together, you roll with Hope.
The Pair Custom
Heroes of the People: You do not need to roll to Speak Softly with common folk, friends, or coworkers - simply ask, and they will answer.
Taste my Blade!: When you engage in swordplay with an enemy, you may Keep Them Busy with +Grace. On a 7-9, after their retaliation, you may insult them or make a quip to Keep Them Busy again, as if you'd rolled another 7-9 result.
Mismatched Pair: Each member of the Pair takes a Custom move from a different playbook. Keep track of who took which move. Each of them may only use their chosen move while Working Alone.
Vasilia: Listen Here You Little Punk: When you Talk Sense by telling them what will happen to them if they do not do as you ask, Talk Sense with +Blood, and on a 7-9, they cannot ask their favor of you until after they have done what you asked of them.
Dolce: I've Got A Bad Feeling About This: When you're certain something's wrong here, you may ask the Overlord to tell you the safest way out, and also the quickest way out. They will answer truthfully
Vasilia's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Dolce's (Melee)
-A grav-rail glaive with its own independent gravity field (Melee, Clumsy, Dangerous)
-An elegant, long-barreled SP rifle (Ranged, Reload, Piercing)
-An brace of pistols, blessed by Zeus (Ranged, Piercing, Dangerous, Recharge)
-An Anathame. A knife with her name on it. (Protection against a Location stat, will betray her at any opportunity. Damage a stat to destroy permanently.)
Dolce's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Vasilia's (Melee)
-A tasteful variety of well-preserved foodstuffs (Food, 3 Uses [X][][])
-Household odds and ends, turned to creatively underhanded purpose (Useful, 2 Uses [X][])
-A travel-sized cocktail kit, amply supplied (Slow, Vigor, 2 Uses [][])
Vasilia's Bonds
-If it's a night for drinking, I'm with Alexa. No one else.
-Iskarot and I have a professional respect for each other. And, personally, his straightforwardness is refreshing.
-Bella carried me to her room. Shared of her private stock of wine. And for a moment, we might've trusted each other.
Dolce's Bonds
-Redana and I have spent hours together on the observation deck, watching Poseidon's wonders.
-I am convinced that Alexa can taste, she just hasn't found a meal she could taste yet.
Advancements:
-Paired Custom: Taste my Blade!
-Paired Custom: Mismatched Pair
-Stat increase: Vasilia takes +1 Sense
-LEVEL UP NEEDED</s>
<|message|>The Kennels
Waves of intense heat billow her hair and her tent-like shirt as if she were standing in a hurricane. Bolts of electricity lance so close to her that she can feel her skin tingle and the fur on her body stand up in response. Her nostrils burn all the way down to her lungs with the feeling of fire and the scent of copper spun with sulfur and the telltale bits of denser metals that start to build up whenever you draw extra power from a starship's core.
There in that inferno, Bella stands statue still. The statue traces the lines of greatest danger from the attack as easily as her old eyes would have caught a mouse creeping around in the murk, until the raw fury of having so many thrusters vented directly at her forces her to squeeze her eyes shut for a moment. Her tail flicks in the brief moment between the end of the attack and the cold air of the Anemoi reasserting itself and whipping at her hair and clothes again in the other direction. Her eyes snap open again and flash with anger and disdain colder than the yawning jaws of space. Her jaw clenches tightly as another wave of ELF lightning arcs wildly around her.
She turns her head and spits at the air where it passed.
"I said SHOW ME!"
She leaps, and it feels more like flight. The still air pulls at her body as she tears through it with the gentleness of a crowd of adoring fans reaching out their fingertips just to be able to say they beheld their idol and felt her softness for themselves. She could swim in a pool filled entirely with wine and it wouldn't feel half this good. And even still, not even the shadow of a smile crosses her lips. Not yet. Not yet. There are other pleasures left for her to test.
This is the part where Redana would screw things up. She would realize at the crest of her jump just how she was dressed, and fears for her modesty would pull her back to the ground squeaking and twisting as she fell desperately clutching for the bottom of her clothes until she plummeted straight into the enemy's grasp and needed to be rescued. But Bella isn't considering who might be sneaking a peak at her perfect body. And if she's thinking about Redana at all, her every thought is taken with the other Redana and how she would rise to meet this moment.
Her claws crush down on one of the jagged electrode mounts with the weight of the wicked battle axe that's haunted her dreams all this week and smashes the ELF generator into a crumpled, sputtering heap. Her claws reach deeper in and tear out a pile of greasy spokes and wires as she slides through the plover and lands heavily enough to drop her to her knees. Her ship dutifully swallows the sound of her impact. Without waiting to see the impact of her strike, Bella whirls around on the floor and rises with another wild slash that bursts through the lifelines drawn across the machine's left leg.
The plover topples over onto its back, and Bella flips lightly on top of it to perch on its upper torso. Her lips twist into a sardonic smirk as she scrapes her talons along the length of the grotesque and tasteless tongue painting.
"I guess I expected too much from space trash. Is some part of this raid not living up to your expectations? I'm so sorry, let me fix that."
Bella's tail swishes in anticipation as she slides across the plover's body with the languid ease of an apex predator in a moment of total comfort. She reaches lazily toward the cockpit and starts ripping it open as though it were made from cheap yarn.</s>
<|message|>Parentage
"Oh! My! Gosh!!" Redana's eyes sparkle, and she shoots up out of the crabs with more energy and vigor than she's shown this entire time, scrabbling back up Alexa. "So of course you killed Molech! He probably knew secret codes that would turn you back into his killer bodyguard! Oh stars, is that why you're so awkward, because I'm like my mom?"
She leans into two of Alexa's arms, carefree. "Because all I want is to prove to Mom that it's time for us all to see the stars again. I'm not looking for a permanent bodyguard. I'm not going to war or anything like that. Do you want me to call you Pallas, or Alexa? Palexa?"
She beams, heedless of crabs, heedless of pain, heedless of anything but the joy of getting to know a friend better. Or make a friend? Perhaps here is a princess worth fighting an army of crabs for, neon green bangs and all.</s>
| <|message|>Captain Vasilia
"Yes, Mister Dolce." Vasilia ground out through a gritted smile. "We're all rather busy here, so please. If you would. Tell the good Hermetician you were joking."
Dolce blinked away some visions of deeply unprofessional social dynamics, and unfortunately found himself precisely where he'd been a moment ago. "Well. I would, yes, I would. Very much love to say that..."
"And what. Exactly. Is. Stopping you?"
He took the longest breath of his life. "I don't know-"
"How can you not know?!"
"It's - oh. No. Please, it's, it's a little complicated, but-"
"I fail to see how it's complicated, dear. Either you tell me you're joking, or you tell me who you've failed to introduce me to. Which is it?"
"I don't know if I've married anyone else!"
Divine fury crashed into incomprehensible chaos, and the entire room lurched to a screeching halt. "You...what?" It was Vasilia's turn to be at a loss for words. "How could you not know you've married someone? I would think that would be hard to miss."
"It wasn't covered in our education. None of it was. We were never taught anything about courtship, or marrying, or harems, or anything of the sort. I," He stared straight through the deck, to the distant, confusing past. "I never thought of it before you brought it up, but, I've had a long service with the Starsong. I only met you partway through. And, I know now there are many ways to court and marry, but. There was such a long time before, I met so many people...it's entirely possible somebody married me, and I would never have known." To think; you could marry the love of your life, begin a bright new chapter together, and then wake up one day and they were just. Gone. Without ever honoring the oaths you swore together. He shivered and hugged himself tightly. Horrible. Simply, horrible to think about. "It was never anything to think about before. You came of age, you had your assigned partner, and that was that."
Vasilia fell back into her chair. The motion would've been more graceful had she been stumbling drunk. "Dolce." She said slowly. "Did you have an...'assigned partner?'"
"Oh! Oh no, no, of course not. 'The chef's love is to be his art, and his love will be complete in service.'" He recited from memory. "That's how it was for me, and the chef before me, and all the chefs before us."
"Right. Of course." There was. Entirely too much to unpack there, in a conversation already bursting at the seams. "Now we just have to figure out if you ever...married somebody on accident."
"It would be closer to unintentionally marrying someone, but, yes."
"Unintentionally married. Why not?" She closed her eyes, and quietly explored a steady path to some rather high numbers. "Aphrodite?" She finally said without looking. "On the quite likely chance you're standing there, would you care to weigh in on the question?"</s> |
<|description|>Captain Vasilia
Marked by Zeus and Artemis
Seeking Peace
AND
Chef Mate Dolce
Marked by Hera and Artemis
Seeking Adventure
THE PAIR
Vasilia's Agenda: Viva La Revoluction
Dolce's Agenda: All For One And One For All
STATS
Vasilia
Blood: +1
Courage: +1
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: -1
Dolce
Blood: -1
Courage: +0
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: +1
Combined (Always with Hope)
Blood: +0
Courage: +1
Grace: +2
Sense: +2
Wisdom: +0
Paired Core
Birds Of A Feather: You play as two characters. The Pair can split up or stay together as they
like, allowing you to be in two places at once. They each have a separate Look, separate Stats, and a separate personal Agenda.
The Pair has separate bonds for each of them. Each of the Pair can only have one Bond with someone else, and others can only have one Bond with each member of the Pair.
When they Fill Their Belly, the Pair only spends 1 Food, but they each heal one damage.
Working Alone: When The Pair is separated, they make rolls with their separated stats and get the Spotlight separately.
-When one of the Pair is acting to rescue, protect, or rush to the side of the other, they roll with Hope.
-Working Alone is dangerous, as you rely on your teamwork. When you take damage while Working Alone, you must also pay a price.
Working Together: When The Pair is together, they act as a single unit in perfect harmony. They combine their stats when making a move, and they share the Spotlight together. If either of you has Hope or Despair, you both do.
-When you Keep Them Busy together, only one of you needs to stay to Keep Them Busy. The other may disengage and begin Working Alone.
-When you Get Away or Look Closely together, you may split up. If you do, each of you may choose different options from that move's list, and you are now Working Alone.
-When one of you takes damage while Working Together, the other takes damage to the same stat, if it is undamaged.
Heroic Association: The Pair Commands Lore about an organization, instead of a society. You come from a company of mercenaries, bounty hunters, heroes, or some other such group. You Command Lore about who they are, what they want, their place in the world, their culture, their rivals, their enemies, and their laws, just as everyone else does.
Daring Devils:
-When you need a cool prop appropriate to your environment, like a chandelier to drop, a window to leap out of, or a vine to swing from, it's there.
-When you use the terrain to protect you, you may Overcome using +Grace instead of +Blood. Leaping off of tall places to escape danger always counts as using the terrain to protect you.
Who Are the Pair?
Fated Pair: The two of you are inseparable, a perfect combination. When you are Working Together, you roll with Hope.
The Pair Custom
Heroes of the People: You do not need to roll to Speak Softly with common folk, friends, or coworkers - simply ask, and they will answer.
Taste my Blade!: When you engage in swordplay with an enemy, you may Keep Them Busy with +Grace. On a 7-9, after their retaliation, you may insult them or make a quip to Keep Them Busy again, as if you'd rolled another 7-9 result.
Mismatched Pair: Each member of the Pair takes a Custom move from a different playbook. Keep track of who took which move. Each of them may only use their chosen move while Working Alone.
Vasilia: Listen Here You Little Punk: When you Talk Sense by telling them what will happen to them if they do not do as you ask, Talk Sense with +Blood, and on a 7-9, they cannot ask their favor of you until after they have done what you asked of them.
Dolce: I've Got A Bad Feeling About This: When you're certain something's wrong here, you may ask the Overlord to tell you the safest way out, and also the quickest way out. They will answer truthfully
Vasilia's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Dolce's (Melee)
-A grav-rail glaive with its own independent gravity field (Melee, Clumsy, Dangerous)
-An elegant, long-barreled SP rifle (Ranged, Reload, Piercing)
-An brace of pistols, blessed by Zeus (Ranged, Piercing, Dangerous, Recharge)
-An Anathame. A knife with her name on it. (Protection against a Location stat, will betray her at any opportunity. Damage a stat to destroy permanently.)
Dolce's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Vasilia's (Melee)
-A tasteful variety of well-preserved foodstuffs (Food, 3 Uses [X][][])
-Household odds and ends, turned to creatively underhanded purpose (Useful, 2 Uses [X][])
-A travel-sized cocktail kit, amply supplied (Slow, Vigor, 2 Uses [][])
Vasilia's Bonds
-If it's a night for drinking, I'm with Alexa. No one else.
-Iskarot and I have a professional respect for each other. And, personally, his straightforwardness is refreshing.
-Bella carried me to her room. Shared of her private stock of wine. And for a moment, we might've trusted each other.
Dolce's Bonds
-Redana and I have spent hours together on the observation deck, watching Poseidon's wonders.
-I am convinced that Alexa can taste, she just hasn't found a meal she could taste yet.
Advancements:
-Paired Custom: Taste my Blade!
-Paired Custom: Mismatched Pair
-Stat increase: Vasilia takes +1 Sense
-LEVEL UP NEEDED</s>
<|message|>The Kennels
The Auspex betrays no emotion. It does not flinch when surprised, or blink stupidly when it's overwhelmed. And right now that's a very good thing, because it means that Bella only needs to twist her head slightly and the fact that she is both of these things at once disappears into the faint shadows of the hangar. Her tail twists itself around her leg as her stance shifts uneasily into a closer and less firm position. She folds her arms across her chest, and her nostrils flare a little too sharply in the single breath she allows herself lest anybody notice. But the Auspex shines as sharply as ever, and that's what saves her.
Silence rules the loading dock for the longest of minutes until Bella finally wills it broken. Her steps feel awkward and overly deliberate as she crosses the awkward space between the treasures piled on top of each other, but she forces herself to focus on the rhythm and the soft clicking of her boots on the hard concrete. Good, that's very good. Give nothing away. She picks up a bolt of silk and turns it over in her hands several times without comment. Finally, she rips her claws through the soft fabric and tears it in half with barely a whisper of protest, and walks steadily back to the Pilate, who is still squirming underneath Mynx.
"I'm pretty sure," she says, balling up the tattered fabric and shoving it into the Pilate's mouth, "I told you not to speak."
She steps away, leaving the silk to its good work without bothering to secure it. She dares the Hermitician to defy her and spit it out. The smirk that crosses her lips is cruel... but calm. She turns away with a disdainful flick of her tail to find that her crew has gone and fetched her advisor without waiting for her to ask. Omn glitters and as it shifts and rotates its many surface structures with even greater polish than it had when Bella had tried to present it as a gift on Baradissar, easily a match by itself for the entire pile of bribes in front its gaze. The mice flanking it dip into a flourishing bow and retreat once more with a touch of the bracers on their arms. Bella nods, and mimics the motion across her fur. Silence is sacred to the Lanternites. Do you see, Pilate? This is what an act of worship looks like.
"How may I serve you, Praetor?" Omn's voice resonates across the loading dock with mechanical charm.
"I have a problem, Omn. Look at all of the treasures that the Order has laid out to try and buy my silence. Do you see them?"
"There is more arrayed here than may be safely stored about the Anemoi, Mistress."
"And after forking it over, this little creep is trying to bullshit me about their intentions!" Mynx-Bella chimes in. Omn pivots smoothly from one Praetor to the other.
"I can't trust a fucking word out of their mouths. Am I supposed to believe they're here gearing up to shoot their biggest gun at one of Her Majesty's planets out of the goodness of their hearts? Tell me Omn, is this a simple misunderstanding?"
"It is unlikely, Praetor. The Order of Hermes has a long history of defying the law when they believe the data is more valuable than continued goodwill. The nature of the proposed experiment and their initial overtures strongly suggest there are elements at work which they would prefer you remain ignorant of."
"You see my problem, then. These assholes eat secrets like candy; getting a straight answer out of any of them is going to take forever."
"And that's if you trust anybody but the Magos to even know. But he's pretending to be too busy for an officer of the Empire. You can smell the guilt on him from here. Prick."
"The nature of the situation is dangerous, Mistress. If we are receiving insufficient overtures from the Order, I recommend authorizing the use of the Ikarani adept. As an information specialist, she is well equipped to seize access to any and all hidden information aboard this station."
Bella is silent as she nods along with her advisor. She hasn't given the order just yet. But she makes a very deliberate point of turning and facing the Hermeticians gathered near her, so they can see the light in her eyes and the smile spreading across her face. The Auspex radiates a sense of power and control through her chest once again. Her tail flicks with the simple pleasure of a cat who's caught the bird she's been staring at all afternoon. She lifts her hand, as if to give another silent order, and uses it to toss her hair about instead.</s>
<|message|>Parentage
Okay, Redana. What would a hero do? For a moment, she tenses, imagining drawing her sword and fighting off these arrogant hermetics. Except that she's a hermetic, too, and also they're all tethered to a MRU, and also her sword was shattered by the touch of Dionysus. She's unarmed, on the same side as these soldiers, and also if she tried to do something stupid just to save a damsel in distress, she'd just end up squirming and helpless next to the Alced girl.
So instead she hoists the Alced up, trying not to stare at the sun gleaming off turquoise plumage. "By your leave, Magister," she says to Iskarot deferentially. "I will share with her the joy of the Order!" With a nod from Iskarot (though perhaps a grudging one?) she carries the struggling girl further down the beach, until she feels she's no longer in earshot. She's still observed, though. The beach is very exposed, and Lady Artemis has been invoked.
"Are you all right?" Redana asks, one arm gripping her bucking feet close. "I've only been with the Order a short time, but hurting people isn't part of our way. We're about exploration, and discovery, and... you could see the universe if you joined us, and see places that are just as amazing as this! Although your world is truly beautiful, so I can understand why you wouldn't want to leave, and from the looks of it, they got a bit overzealous. If I untie you, will you try to kick me and run for it? Because I will catch you. I am very fast. And even if I've had a lot more experience being tied up than tying people up, lately, I'll figure it out! And then you won't get to find out some of my real secrets."
[Redana rolls an 8 on Speaking Softly. She'll forgo the three question buffet in exchange for one answered interestingly and brattily: what can the Alced girl tell Redana about the Order's presence on Ridenki, particularly as to why they're kidnapping new acolytes?]</s>
| <|message|>Captain Vasilia
"It would be our honor to attend, Pilate Borin. What unforgivable waste of fortune it would be, to pass by another so well-studied in the Azuran ways."
It's games everywhere, isn't it? Never so simple as one rung above the other.
"I have always wondered on the nature of chess; was it created for the harems, or were the harems created for it? Had there been no chess, would there be harems? Or would they have settled on another activity to satisfy their interests?"
How would you keep your subordinates in line? Wouldn't you run games of your own?</s> |
<|description|>Captain Vasilia
Marked by Zeus and Artemis
Seeking Peace
AND
Chef Mate Dolce
Marked by Hera and Artemis
Seeking Adventure
THE PAIR
Vasilia's Agenda: Viva La Revoluction
Dolce's Agenda: All For One And One For All
STATS
Vasilia
Blood: +1
Courage: +1
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: -1
Dolce
Blood: -1
Courage: +0
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: +1
Combined (Always with Hope)
Blood: +0
Courage: +1
Grace: +2
Sense: +2
Wisdom: +0
Paired Core
Birds Of A Feather: You play as two characters. The Pair can split up or stay together as they
like, allowing you to be in two places at once. They each have a separate Look, separate Stats, and a separate personal Agenda.
The Pair has separate bonds for each of them. Each of the Pair can only have one Bond with someone else, and others can only have one Bond with each member of the Pair.
When they Fill Their Belly, the Pair only spends 1 Food, but they each heal one damage.
Working Alone: When The Pair is separated, they make rolls with their separated stats and get the Spotlight separately.
-When one of the Pair is acting to rescue, protect, or rush to the side of the other, they roll with Hope.
-Working Alone is dangerous, as you rely on your teamwork. When you take damage while Working Alone, you must also pay a price.
Working Together: When The Pair is together, they act as a single unit in perfect harmony. They combine their stats when making a move, and they share the Spotlight together. If either of you has Hope or Despair, you both do.
-When you Keep Them Busy together, only one of you needs to stay to Keep Them Busy. The other may disengage and begin Working Alone.
-When you Get Away or Look Closely together, you may split up. If you do, each of you may choose different options from that move's list, and you are now Working Alone.
-When one of you takes damage while Working Together, the other takes damage to the same stat, if it is undamaged.
Heroic Association: The Pair Commands Lore about an organization, instead of a society. You come from a company of mercenaries, bounty hunters, heroes, or some other such group. You Command Lore about who they are, what they want, their place in the world, their culture, their rivals, their enemies, and their laws, just as everyone else does.
Daring Devils:
-When you need a cool prop appropriate to your environment, like a chandelier to drop, a window to leap out of, or a vine to swing from, it's there.
-When you use the terrain to protect you, you may Overcome using +Grace instead of +Blood. Leaping off of tall places to escape danger always counts as using the terrain to protect you.
Who Are the Pair?
Fated Pair: The two of you are inseparable, a perfect combination. When you are Working Together, you roll with Hope.
The Pair Custom
Heroes of the People: You do not need to roll to Speak Softly with common folk, friends, or coworkers - simply ask, and they will answer.
Taste my Blade!: When you engage in swordplay with an enemy, you may Keep Them Busy with +Grace. On a 7-9, after their retaliation, you may insult them or make a quip to Keep Them Busy again, as if you'd rolled another 7-9 result.
Mismatched Pair: Each member of the Pair takes a Custom move from a different playbook. Keep track of who took which move. Each of them may only use their chosen move while Working Alone.
Vasilia: Listen Here You Little Punk: When you Talk Sense by telling them what will happen to them if they do not do as you ask, Talk Sense with +Blood, and on a 7-9, they cannot ask their favor of you until after they have done what you asked of them.
Dolce: I've Got A Bad Feeling About This: When you're certain something's wrong here, you may ask the Overlord to tell you the safest way out, and also the quickest way out. They will answer truthfully
Vasilia's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Dolce's (Melee)
-A grav-rail glaive with its own independent gravity field (Melee, Clumsy, Dangerous)
-An elegant, long-barreled SP rifle (Ranged, Reload, Piercing)
-An brace of pistols, blessed by Zeus (Ranged, Piercing, Dangerous, Recharge)
-An Anathame. A knife with her name on it. (Protection against a Location stat, will betray her at any opportunity. Damage a stat to destroy permanently.)
Dolce's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Vasilia's (Melee)
-A tasteful variety of well-preserved foodstuffs (Food, 3 Uses [X][][])
-Household odds and ends, turned to creatively underhanded purpose (Useful, 2 Uses [X][])
-A travel-sized cocktail kit, amply supplied (Slow, Vigor, 2 Uses [][])
Vasilia's Bonds
-If it's a night for drinking, I'm with Alexa. No one else.
-Iskarot and I have a professional respect for each other. And, personally, his straightforwardness is refreshing.
-Bella carried me to her room. Shared of her private stock of wine. And for a moment, we might've trusted each other.
Dolce's Bonds
-Redana and I have spent hours together on the observation deck, watching Poseidon's wonders.
-I am convinced that Alexa can taste, she just hasn't found a meal she could taste yet.
Advancements:
-Paired Custom: Taste my Blade!
-Paired Custom: Mismatched Pair
-Stat increase: Vasilia takes +1 Sense
-LEVEL UP NEEDED</s>
<|message|>The Kennels
Everything that belonged to Nero always smelled of roses. It's a truth at least as old as Bella: to live and work in the palace, you had to learn to love that scent, the sweetness of her favorite crimson petals and the laurels that cut across them. When she was a child, Bella thought it smelled like tea. She even tried making it, once, but it turned out it didn't taste as pretty as it smelled. She hadn't known better, back then. She still cared too much about seeing smiles.
Bella drinks deeply of the air, and sure enough the rose-and-laurel is unmistakable now. It's headier and more intoxicating than any of her favorite wines; this version of the scent is cut through with a tender, savory meatiness she can't quite place. It's like petals garnishing a steak, or perhaps flowers growing from a sun-baked corpse. Her mouth waters more with every whiff of it she gets, until she has to wipe her lips with her thumb to keep herself from drooling. Remember, Bella. The smell is always the best part.
Her body feels light and loose and powerful as she glides through the corridors chasing that luscious, beautiful smell. It's almost as if the chaos of the Yakanov and its strange mix of industry and cleaner and science and sweat and sparks had been set up like a maze just to trick her, a series of walls to keep her nose from the truth of what they were working on. They should have known better than to think it would be enough to hide from her. They should have expected her to be able to pluck something this beautiful from a bouquet of millions.
Ahead of her there are Coherents scrambling this way and that to assemble themselves into a line capable of stopping her. Her lips twist into a huge, feral grin. Good. Good! Her ears and tail are twitching with delight, her arms and back are singing with power! Her legs and hips shift and sway to the song of battle, ruffling her skirt and bouncing her hair with the beauty of the dance she'd been built rather than born for. Come. Come! Her fingertips are itching, her claws need sharpening. Come! Maybe they'd send that Khitava bitch at her. Bella's body ripples with drunken laughter. She flicks the bells now as she walks. Can you hear her? Come on!
Her Regalia has never felt so light on top of her head before. No more strings. No more expectations. No more worries, no more memories, no more connections past following this smell... and breaking the cage they've built for it. For the first time, her neck doesn't beg for the weight of a collar. For the first time, the name of the princess isn't pushing its way into her skull and dragging a dozen memories up with it. For the first time, her breath comes freely and easily in a place that isn't Tellus. She could even sing right now, if she had the mind to.
Her eye is blazing with delight and lust for the coming battle. She is powerful. She is beautiful. She is a Queen. She is free. Ah, she should have made this decision years ago. All it's costing her is everything she used to think she wanted.</s>
<|message|>Parentage
Then we bring them back.
"I won't say it," Redana bleeds out through a clenched jaw, even as the words suppurate all around her.
One world. One species. We can't let humanity's legacy be wasted.
"Shut up. That's not me." But she's wrong. It's her voice, or else impossible to distinguish. When the ship is repaired, plank by plank, is it still the same? When a girl is woven on a genetic loom, what flaw makes her less than her mother? Her mother, brilliant, decisive. The Director.
Until they learn empathy. Until they learn community. Until we remember we are mortal.
"Until they forget the stars!"
The die is cast.
Redana takes her head in both hands and squeezes. She mirrors, without knowing it, the pregnancy of her father: the terrible weight in her head, threatening to split open in her anguish. Her furious howl is drowned out by the steady, relentless logic of the Director's last gambit, the authorization of her second galactic campaign.</s>
| <|message|>Captain Vasilia
The trick was, you had to look and listen without really looking or listening at anything. Your eyes would see and your ears would hear, but you weren't really doing either. You're there, but not there, ready to come back when called, and all the memories (well, the ones that made sense) would be waiting in a pile for you when got there.
Today, Dolce was called back to the kitchen by the departure of the gods and the entry of a familiar face. "Alexa!" Thank goodness, he'd left her in such a state. Artemis had assured him she'd be safe, but, still! There was a long way between dead and safe, and he hoped she hadn't fallen too deeply in the divide. Except...
He titled his head, eyes full of quiet concern. "Alexa, what's happened to Princess Epestia?"
************
She wished every moth were a knife. She wished the scarf would pull tight around her throat. She wished Demeter would stop beating around the bush and start ripping arms out of sockets for fertilizer or whatever it was she did with her free time.
Tear her apart or leave her alone, just don't keep dragging her back to the present.
"Given up so easily on the murder, have we?" There's no banter. Only bitter weariness. "Suppose that makes two of us tired of..." Vasilia trailed off, Demeter's clever fingers feeling the tangle of words lodged in her heart.
Tired.
Gods. She was so tired.</s> |
<|description|>Captain Vasilia
Marked by Zeus and Artemis
Seeking Peace
AND
Chef Mate Dolce
Marked by Hera and Artemis
Seeking Adventure
THE PAIR
Vasilia's Agenda: Viva La Revoluction
Dolce's Agenda: All For One And One For All
STATS
Vasilia
Blood: +1
Courage: +1
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: -1
Dolce
Blood: -1
Courage: +0
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: +1
Combined (Always with Hope)
Blood: +0
Courage: +1
Grace: +2
Sense: +2
Wisdom: +0
Paired Core
Birds Of A Feather: You play as two characters. The Pair can split up or stay together as they
like, allowing you to be in two places at once. They each have a separate Look, separate Stats, and a separate personal Agenda.
The Pair has separate bonds for each of them. Each of the Pair can only have one Bond with someone else, and others can only have one Bond with each member of the Pair.
When they Fill Their Belly, the Pair only spends 1 Food, but they each heal one damage.
Working Alone: When The Pair is separated, they make rolls with their separated stats and get the Spotlight separately.
-When one of the Pair is acting to rescue, protect, or rush to the side of the other, they roll with Hope.
-Working Alone is dangerous, as you rely on your teamwork. When you take damage while Working Alone, you must also pay a price.
Working Together: When The Pair is together, they act as a single unit in perfect harmony. They combine their stats when making a move, and they share the Spotlight together. If either of you has Hope or Despair, you both do.
-When you Keep Them Busy together, only one of you needs to stay to Keep Them Busy. The other may disengage and begin Working Alone.
-When you Get Away or Look Closely together, you may split up. If you do, each of you may choose different options from that move's list, and you are now Working Alone.
-When one of you takes damage while Working Together, the other takes damage to the same stat, if it is undamaged.
Heroic Association: The Pair Commands Lore about an organization, instead of a society. You come from a company of mercenaries, bounty hunters, heroes, or some other such group. You Command Lore about who they are, what they want, their place in the world, their culture, their rivals, their enemies, and their laws, just as everyone else does.
Daring Devils:
-When you need a cool prop appropriate to your environment, like a chandelier to drop, a window to leap out of, or a vine to swing from, it's there.
-When you use the terrain to protect you, you may Overcome using +Grace instead of +Blood. Leaping off of tall places to escape danger always counts as using the terrain to protect you.
Who Are the Pair?
Fated Pair: The two of you are inseparable, a perfect combination. When you are Working Together, you roll with Hope.
The Pair Custom
Heroes of the People: You do not need to roll to Speak Softly with common folk, friends, or coworkers - simply ask, and they will answer.
Taste my Blade!: When you engage in swordplay with an enemy, you may Keep Them Busy with +Grace. On a 7-9, after their retaliation, you may insult them or make a quip to Keep Them Busy again, as if you'd rolled another 7-9 result.
Mismatched Pair: Each member of the Pair takes a Custom move from a different playbook. Keep track of who took which move. Each of them may only use their chosen move while Working Alone.
Vasilia: Listen Here You Little Punk: When you Talk Sense by telling them what will happen to them if they do not do as you ask, Talk Sense with +Blood, and on a 7-9, they cannot ask their favor of you until after they have done what you asked of them.
Dolce: I've Got A Bad Feeling About This: When you're certain something's wrong here, you may ask the Overlord to tell you the safest way out, and also the quickest way out. They will answer truthfully
Vasilia's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Dolce's (Melee)
-A grav-rail glaive with its own independent gravity field (Melee, Clumsy, Dangerous)
-An elegant, long-barreled SP rifle (Ranged, Reload, Piercing)
-An brace of pistols, blessed by Zeus (Ranged, Piercing, Dangerous, Recharge)
-An Anathame. A knife with her name on it. (Protection against a Location stat, will betray her at any opportunity. Damage a stat to destroy permanently.)
Dolce's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Vasilia's (Melee)
-A tasteful variety of well-preserved foodstuffs (Food, 3 Uses [X][][])
-Household odds and ends, turned to creatively underhanded purpose (Useful, 2 Uses [X][])
-A travel-sized cocktail kit, amply supplied (Slow, Vigor, 2 Uses [][])
Vasilia's Bonds
-If it's a night for drinking, I'm with Alexa. No one else.
-Iskarot and I have a professional respect for each other. And, personally, his straightforwardness is refreshing.
-Bella carried me to her room. Shared of her private stock of wine. And for a moment, we might've trusted each other.
Dolce's Bonds
-Redana and I have spent hours together on the observation deck, watching Poseidon's wonders.
-I am convinced that Alexa can taste, she just hasn't found a meal she could taste yet.
Advancements:
-Paired Custom: Taste my Blade!
-Paired Custom: Mismatched Pair
-Stat increase: Vasilia takes +1 Sense
-LEVEL UP NEEDED</s>
<|message|>The Kennels
She can't breathe. Bella heaves with the desperation of a wounded animal, but her throat fills with frothing blood instead of air. Her voice cracks. She gurgles. She bubbles. She seethes. But there's no air.
The princess in her vision is still a figure of blinding gold and peerless beauty, but when she moves now she splinters. Her arm shatters into terrible mirror shards when she moves it. Her head distorts and twists in shining spiral patterns. And then all at once her light goes out and what's left is a monster.
"You are such a disappointment, little knife. Even this is more than you deserve."
"Well? Go on. Back in the box."
There is a single point of flickering light in the entire universe for Bella's eyes to see. The cuts on her face burn like fire. Her voice is dwindled to a desperate wheeze. There are no scents but her own putrid fear. No sounds but the rush of blood pounding its irregular rhythm through her body.
Ka-thump. Ka-thump Ka-thump. Ka-thump. Ka-ka-ka-ka-ka-thump!
Bella's scream is wet. It shudders and spikes unevenly, rolling to a pitch that freezes thought and curdles blood. She is singing, Master, do you see? She learned a new song just for auction. It's a tricky song, because she has to hurt herself so much to sing it. It's a tricky song, because it uses noises for notes that people shouldn't be able to make. She screams until her voice shatters to dust. She screams with great, shuddering bursts that crack whenever she chokes on her spit or the blood that won't stop dribbling across her lips. She howls, and her howl is like a wave that only recedes so it can surge again higher than it reached before.
She fills the Yakanov with pain. She fills the Yakanov with fear. She fills the Yakanov with desperate, yowling terror so intense that it pierces walls and sinks into the whirring gears of machine intelligence. Whether it takes hold or not, it crosses through the halls of the titanic ship like they were purpose built to carry her howl to everyone on board. She screams so horribly it might even reach the planet below, through time and any other barrier that would dare to get in its way.
She surges forward to a cue that has nothing to do with the music inside of her. Her arms feels sluggish, like it's wrapped in heavy chains tying her in place, or like her claws have to push through an angry river just to reach anything. But she wrenches and, with a snarl, rips the monster in half. Her hand closes around Khitava's arm. The spell breaks.
Every breath that Bella takes is audible. The scream is the music now, and it dribbles out of her mouth through clenched teeth. Gasping, trembling, rasping. Death. Her shoulders roll sickeningly in directions her sockets weren't built for, tugging the Coherent General along to the rhythm of her sickness.
"You... you.... you!!!"
This time, the struggle isn't lyrical or beautiful. Bella and Khitava tell the story of the stupid bitch who's going in the box, instead. Her muscles ripple through her fur. With her clothing as torn up as it is, every fresh twist and bulge is easily seen by anybody with the stomach to watch. The two fighters whirl and wheel around each other, pushing and dragging in the struggle for footing.
Bella's eye is trembling in its socket. Every motion brings another feral grunt of effort, spinning and twisting until Bella's hair is digging into the soil. Matted. Clinging. The box calls.
And then she spits in Khitva's face. With monstrous strength, she knees her tormentor in the stomach. Again. And again. And again. With a final howl and a twist of her hips, she flings Khitava on top of the bonsai and slams the altar shut on top of her. Her lips twist into a terrible, evil grin.
"No," she dribbles, lifting a hand to wipe her mouth clean, "You go in there."
She turns away and plants her feet wide, sliding into a fresh battle stance. She doesn't have the luxury of deciding whether the Coherent live or die. Bella's talons sing through the air in place of music for the final dance. What happens to anyone now is up to the gods, but without distance? Without their toys or their tricks? None of them are coming to save their leader.
And she'll never go back in the box again.
[Finish (with Iron): 1, 1, 5 = 8]</s>
<|message|>Parentage
Redana stands, fingers interlaced with those of the King of Heaven. For a moment she stands, sways, does not fall. Then she pulls Zeus of the Outcasts into a tight and furious hug, the kind that would overwhelm anyone else.
"Thank you for not giving up on me," she says. "I promise. I won't give up on them. No matter what it takes. The Alcedi, Alexa, Dolce and Vasilly... I'll stand up for them."
She releases her father, wipes her face on the back of her hand with a very undignified sound, and then flashes her father a sheepish smile, all vulnerability and rippling will. "King of Kings," she says, the words a well-worn groove. "Smile on me until the wreath is won."
And with that, she runs for the door like it's another finish line.</s>
| <|message|>Captain Vasilia
Dolce did not answer right away. It was a big thought, and it deserved due consideration, which was hard when every spare thought seemed to turn to how agonizingly slow they were advancing. Still, he thought, and still, he puzzled, but in the end, all he could do was shake his head. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't see how that matters." Imperial politics? Future murder? He didn't specify. "You have to do this, because Bella has her job, and so do you, and it's the only way you have to getting all your friends back, or even seeing home again. I have to do this, because I have my job, and it's the only way I can keep my friends. We don't have much of a choice, do we?"
She tucked them in an alcove to hide from an advancing patrol. Neither of them so much as breathed until the sound of boots was just a distant echo, no louder than their own heartbeats.
"...still." He murmured. "I wish we could have met under better circumstances. The Princess speaks well of you, and I think her judgement has been sound thus far." He offered up a little smile that couldn't quite banish the regret misting in his eyes.
*********************************************
Vasilia will commit to conceding nothing, least of all this seemingly-restrained act of the Thunderer's 'benevolence.' Gift! Really! Knowing her, she was probably lurking in one of these lockers, waiting for the proper moment to burst forth and receive Vasilia's weeping, awestruck gratitude. Any moment now! Get ready! Here it comes!
Anyyyyyyyyy moment now!
...well! Were she not so pressed for time, she would throw open every last locker until she found her generous patron and, and, she'd let her know personally what the great ruler of Olympus could rescue her from next! The top culprit may well shock her!
A dim, wearied voice of reason reminded her Demeter was no longer harrying her so directly. Which was a point in Zeus' favor, all things considered.
Which, well. Yes. But. She distinctly remembered only having the one pistol before, which would have matched perfectly to her current repertoire of usable arms, had Zeus not been so blindingly obsessed with the aesthetic qualities of a matching brace of pistols. So. Perhaps it's all a wash.
The lockers were, ultimately, not spared her coming. Many were slung open far faster than was traditionally acceptable, until she found one stocked full of weaponry in potentia. From here, she selected two short spear hafts, and along with the last remnants of her once-proud jacket, they made for a makeshift sling. Though perhaps 'half a straitjacket' would have been the better term. She expected the battle before her to stay grounded only as a temporary measure, and of the options available, fixing her bad arm tight to her side was the least painful.
The rest of her gear, she donned with haste. The glaive, collapsed at her belt. The musket, slung across her back. One pistol, in its holster. The other, clutched in her right hand. Nowhere else to put it. Nowhere else to go but forward.
With feet beyond the grip of gravity, she loped down the last hallways of the Anemoi, bounding though the loading dock, off the deck, the wall, the ceiling, back again, back again, onwards and forward!
Hold fast, crew of the Plousios! Your Captain fast returns!
[As Vasilia is racing to return to Dolce's side, she now rolls with Hope.]</s> |
<|description|>Captain Vasilia
Marked by Zeus and Artemis
Seeking Peace
AND
Chef Mate Dolce
Marked by Hera and Artemis
Seeking Adventure
THE PAIR
Vasilia's Agenda: Viva La Revoluction
Dolce's Agenda: All For One And One For All
STATS
Vasilia
Blood: +1
Courage: +1
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: -1
Dolce
Blood: -1
Courage: +0
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: +1
Combined (Always with Hope)
Blood: +0
Courage: +1
Grace: +2
Sense: +2
Wisdom: +0
Paired Core
Birds Of A Feather: You play as two characters. The Pair can split up or stay together as they
like, allowing you to be in two places at once. They each have a separate Look, separate Stats, and a separate personal Agenda.
The Pair has separate bonds for each of them. Each of the Pair can only have one Bond with someone else, and others can only have one Bond with each member of the Pair.
When they Fill Their Belly, the Pair only spends 1 Food, but they each heal one damage.
Working Alone: When The Pair is separated, they make rolls with their separated stats and get the Spotlight separately.
-When one of the Pair is acting to rescue, protect, or rush to the side of the other, they roll with Hope.
-Working Alone is dangerous, as you rely on your teamwork. When you take damage while Working Alone, you must also pay a price.
Working Together: When The Pair is together, they act as a single unit in perfect harmony. They combine their stats when making a move, and they share the Spotlight together. If either of you has Hope or Despair, you both do.
-When you Keep Them Busy together, only one of you needs to stay to Keep Them Busy. The other may disengage and begin Working Alone.
-When you Get Away or Look Closely together, you may split up. If you do, each of you may choose different options from that move's list, and you are now Working Alone.
-When one of you takes damage while Working Together, the other takes damage to the same stat, if it is undamaged.
Heroic Association: The Pair Commands Lore about an organization, instead of a society. You come from a company of mercenaries, bounty hunters, heroes, or some other such group. You Command Lore about who they are, what they want, their place in the world, their culture, their rivals, their enemies, and their laws, just as everyone else does.
Daring Devils:
-When you need a cool prop appropriate to your environment, like a chandelier to drop, a window to leap out of, or a vine to swing from, it's there.
-When you use the terrain to protect you, you may Overcome using +Grace instead of +Blood. Leaping off of tall places to escape danger always counts as using the terrain to protect you.
Who Are the Pair?
Fated Pair: The two of you are inseparable, a perfect combination. When you are Working Together, you roll with Hope.
The Pair Custom
Heroes of the People: You do not need to roll to Speak Softly with common folk, friends, or coworkers - simply ask, and they will answer.
Taste my Blade!: When you engage in swordplay with an enemy, you may Keep Them Busy with +Grace. On a 7-9, after their retaliation, you may insult them or make a quip to Keep Them Busy again, as if you'd rolled another 7-9 result.
Mismatched Pair: Each member of the Pair takes a Custom move from a different playbook. Keep track of who took which move. Each of them may only use their chosen move while Working Alone.
Vasilia: Listen Here You Little Punk: When you Talk Sense by telling them what will happen to them if they do not do as you ask, Talk Sense with +Blood, and on a 7-9, they cannot ask their favor of you until after they have done what you asked of them.
Dolce: I've Got A Bad Feeling About This: When you're certain something's wrong here, you may ask the Overlord to tell you the safest way out, and also the quickest way out. They will answer truthfully
Vasilia's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Dolce's (Melee)
-A grav-rail glaive with its own independent gravity field (Melee, Clumsy, Dangerous)
-An elegant, long-barreled SP rifle (Ranged, Reload, Piercing)
-An brace of pistols, blessed by Zeus (Ranged, Piercing, Dangerous, Recharge)
-An Anathame. A knife with her name on it. (Protection against a Location stat, will betray her at any opportunity. Damage a stat to destroy permanently.)
Dolce's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Vasilia's (Melee)
-A tasteful variety of well-preserved foodstuffs (Food, 3 Uses [X][][])
-Household odds and ends, turned to creatively underhanded purpose (Useful, 2 Uses [X][])
-A travel-sized cocktail kit, amply supplied (Slow, Vigor, 2 Uses [][])
Vasilia's Bonds
-If it's a night for drinking, I'm with Alexa. No one else.
-Iskarot and I have a professional respect for each other. And, personally, his straightforwardness is refreshing.
-Bella carried me to her room. Shared of her private stock of wine. And for a moment, we might've trusted each other.
Dolce's Bonds
-Redana and I have spent hours together on the observation deck, watching Poseidon's wonders.
-I am convinced that Alexa can taste, she just hasn't found a meal she could taste yet.
Advancements:
-Paired Custom: Taste my Blade!
-Paired Custom: Mismatched Pair
-Stat increase: Vasilia takes +1 Sense
-LEVEL UP NEEDED</s>
<|message|>Parentage
The joke, of course, is that (with the Ianuspater quiescent) Redana's eyepatch really is an eyepatch. She's back to how she was, in her Coherent jacket and eyepatch, but with her golden hair settling around her shoulders, the dye bleached away by coming so close to her father. And the very first thing she does is shove the Magos to the ground, scared and desperate. "That's my eye," she yelps. And then she looks around and sees the oncoming battle, and how she might even be a target for the furious Alcedi, and Hera's threat flashes through her mind.
So she stands up straight, pulls off her jacket, and yells at the top of her lungs: "Coherents of the Saffron Path, Redana Claudius, daughter of Nero, calls on you to stand down and surrender! In the pursuit of blessed knowledge, you have offended the Daughter of Wisdom and the Alcedi who honor her! Surrender yourselves to me, or face their judgment!"
And that's all she can hope to do. She can't pry weapons out of the hands of the Alcedi; she can't make the Coherents drop theirs. All she can do is make her play.
[8 to Talk Sense (very quickly) with Grace. This will likely put her in an awkward position, but stop the Coherents from being overrun and slain to a man.]</s>
<|message|>The Kennels
A golden eye watches the intruder with caution. A crimson eye watches the intruder with disdain. A bloodied face sits carefully expressionless and oozes more disgusting redness onto a torn and useless jacket. A pair of sharply pointed ears twitch with the effort of standing proudly atop a tired head when all they want to do is press meekly flat. A ragged sigh rises up in answer to a pointless celebration.
"...Shut up."
Liar liar liar liar liar liar stupid rotten liar liar LIAR! Where'd you disappear to when Redana ran away and I took all the blame? Where'd you disappear to when they were gonna kill me for losing her? You never cared, liar liar liar, you always do this, liar liar liar, you always disappear and pop back up when the work's all done, liar liar liar!
"You know, you're really pathetic Mynx. All that posturing and moaning about your bad feelings and I'm still the one who has to do all the work."
A golden eye grows black with hunting lust. A crimson eye pierces deep with holy judgment. Tired muscles twitch and flex across a battered body, keen to show their might but too lazy and tired and burned out to bring the woman to lift herself off the floor. Pointless. Everything is pointless. A tail thumps lazily against the ground, and curls around a bared waist after. Fingers curl into fists, but the blunted tips on the index and middle ones have no power to dig into her palms. The failures do not cut or puncture. Pressure builds like a horrible wave inside her skull.
Her lips curl awfully. The pressure builds. She burns.
"Look at you, standing there like a dipshit. You still think this is gonna work out for you? I told you, too fucking late. I see through you, Mynx. I know you're nothing but a fraud and a leech. And I don't need you anymore. I don't need anyone anymore."
Tears threaten to flicker across her face and ruin everything. The Auspex burns them to steam before they can. Bella sneers, and bleeds, and lifts herself off the ground with an effort worthy of the gods.</s>
| <|message|>Captain Vasilia
The station was emptying. All fled, and those who didn't shortly regretted their lack of foresight. Vasilia flew down the corridors of the Yakanov unimpeded now, accompanied only by the crashing, shattering chaos of an army in full retreat.
Then, amid the noise: Downbeats, to an unconventional time signature. No machinery ever broke so clean, if you had the ear to catch the pattern. A sign of the Starsong. A call for allies. Which meant-!
Vasilia snagged a pipe to send herself tearing down the corridor, towards the rhythm, towards the sound, towards,
"Dolce!"
She careened down the hallway, and a flash of white streaked towards her, and when they met it was with all the force of a soft summer breeze. At last. At last! Alive! On his feet! Hardly a hair out of place! Let her bury her face in that precious wool. Let her check, let her count the curls, let not a one be missing. Against her bare stomach, she felt him. His mouth, straining to form words. Hands, gentle, insistent, pushing away. Giving him room to see. And stare, mouth agape. "What...what happened? Are you alright?"
"Fine now, darling." She wouldn't let him go. Not yet. Her one good arm snaked around his shoulders and pressed him close to her, heedless of how it stung her or stained his vest. "Fine now. Are you in danger? When did you last see Alexa? We're not safe here-"
"I know, but-"
"Good, good, less time to explain."
"We don't have to-"
"I've fought this far, I can manage farther. So tell me; what's the situation?"
He said nothing.
"...Dolce? Darling?"
He reached up, and stroked her arm gently, the most priceless treasure he'd ever been tasked with caring for. "Everyone's safe now." He soothed, in his warm, crackling fireside voice. "We won. We don't need to do anything more." He turned his eyes on her, and for the first time she noticed them glistening. "Vasilia...what did she do to you?"
Aphrodite. Who knows the secret voice within us all. Nothing and no one hides from your sight. Hear her, now, when no one else will believe her. You who have drawn her heart out as drawing a dagger from her chest. Let her testimony stand that she gave no thought to her actions. No motive, no scheme, no shameful plot crossed her mind. She ached. She acted. He did nothing wrong. And she drew away from him, only because she could not bear feeling him beside her a moment longer. Not when her neck drowned in steaming memory.
And her prayers were answered.
Dolce's eyes flashed wide, shocked, but only for a moment. Blessedly, only for a moment, before they drew softer. Before he took her hand in his. Before he fought through a waking nightmare to offer his most battered and patient smile. All for her.
And her prayers were answered.
"Come." He said, and already he'd teased the first finger loose from the pistol. "We ought to regroup with Alexa and the others." He took the divine weapon in his own hand, leaving the other to clasp hers. "It's over, now. We will get you to an autosurgeon. All will be well. I promise."
And her prayers were answered.
Her Dolce did not leave her. Alight with insight and no way to know any better, he walked for the both of them. For the Captain whose strength had all but left her. For the one he swore to be ever faithful and true. And all the marvels of Hermes, the spite of Demeter, and the plans of Artemis combined did not wound her deeper than the gentle hand of Aphrodite.</s> |
<|description|>Captain Vasilia
Marked by Zeus and Artemis
Seeking Peace
AND
Chef Mate Dolce
Marked by Hera and Artemis
Seeking Adventure
THE PAIR
Vasilia's Agenda: Viva La Revoluction
Dolce's Agenda: All For One And One For All
STATS
Vasilia
Blood: +1
Courage: +1
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: -1
Dolce
Blood: -1
Courage: +0
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: +1
Combined (Always with Hope)
Blood: +0
Courage: +1
Grace: +2
Sense: +2
Wisdom: +0
Paired Core
Birds Of A Feather: You play as two characters. The Pair can split up or stay together as they
like, allowing you to be in two places at once. They each have a separate Look, separate Stats, and a separate personal Agenda.
The Pair has separate bonds for each of them. Each of the Pair can only have one Bond with someone else, and others can only have one Bond with each member of the Pair.
When they Fill Their Belly, the Pair only spends 1 Food, but they each heal one damage.
Working Alone: When The Pair is separated, they make rolls with their separated stats and get the Spotlight separately.
-When one of the Pair is acting to rescue, protect, or rush to the side of the other, they roll with Hope.
-Working Alone is dangerous, as you rely on your teamwork. When you take damage while Working Alone, you must also pay a price.
Working Together: When The Pair is together, they act as a single unit in perfect harmony. They combine their stats when making a move, and they share the Spotlight together. If either of you has Hope or Despair, you both do.
-When you Keep Them Busy together, only one of you needs to stay to Keep Them Busy. The other may disengage and begin Working Alone.
-When you Get Away or Look Closely together, you may split up. If you do, each of you may choose different options from that move's list, and you are now Working Alone.
-When one of you takes damage while Working Together, the other takes damage to the same stat, if it is undamaged.
Heroic Association: The Pair Commands Lore about an organization, instead of a society. You come from a company of mercenaries, bounty hunters, heroes, or some other such group. You Command Lore about who they are, what they want, their place in the world, their culture, their rivals, their enemies, and their laws, just as everyone else does.
Daring Devils:
-When you need a cool prop appropriate to your environment, like a chandelier to drop, a window to leap out of, or a vine to swing from, it's there.
-When you use the terrain to protect you, you may Overcome using +Grace instead of +Blood. Leaping off of tall places to escape danger always counts as using the terrain to protect you.
Who Are the Pair?
Fated Pair: The two of you are inseparable, a perfect combination. When you are Working Together, you roll with Hope.
The Pair Custom
Heroes of the People: You do not need to roll to Speak Softly with common folk, friends, or coworkers - simply ask, and they will answer.
Taste my Blade!: When you engage in swordplay with an enemy, you may Keep Them Busy with +Grace. On a 7-9, after their retaliation, you may insult them or make a quip to Keep Them Busy again, as if you'd rolled another 7-9 result.
Mismatched Pair: Each member of the Pair takes a Custom move from a different playbook. Keep track of who took which move. Each of them may only use their chosen move while Working Alone.
Vasilia: Listen Here You Little Punk: When you Talk Sense by telling them what will happen to them if they do not do as you ask, Talk Sense with +Blood, and on a 7-9, they cannot ask their favor of you until after they have done what you asked of them.
Dolce: I've Got A Bad Feeling About This: When you're certain something's wrong here, you may ask the Overlord to tell you the safest way out, and also the quickest way out. They will answer truthfully
Vasilia's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Dolce's (Melee)
-A grav-rail glaive with its own independent gravity field (Melee, Clumsy, Dangerous)
-An elegant, long-barreled SP rifle (Ranged, Reload, Piercing)
-An brace of pistols, blessed by Zeus (Ranged, Piercing, Dangerous, Recharge)
-An Anathame. A knife with her name on it. (Protection against a Location stat, will betray her at any opportunity. Damage a stat to destroy permanently.)
Dolce's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Vasilia's (Melee)
-A tasteful variety of well-preserved foodstuffs (Food, 3 Uses [X][][])
-Household odds and ends, turned to creatively underhanded purpose (Useful, 2 Uses [X][])
-A travel-sized cocktail kit, amply supplied (Slow, Vigor, 2 Uses [][])
Vasilia's Bonds
-If it's a night for drinking, I'm with Alexa. No one else.
-Iskarot and I have a professional respect for each other. And, personally, his straightforwardness is refreshing.
-Bella carried me to her room. Shared of her private stock of wine. And for a moment, we might've trusted each other.
Dolce's Bonds
-Redana and I have spent hours together on the observation deck, watching Poseidon's wonders.
-I am convinced that Alexa can taste, she just hasn't found a meal she could taste yet.
Advancements:
-Paired Custom: Taste my Blade!
-Paired Custom: Mismatched Pair
-Stat increase: Vasilia takes +1 Sense
-LEVEL UP NEEDED</s>
<|message|>Parentage
Dolce!
The bridge is, for lack of a better word, trashed. You are ushered inside by a very sheepish (if you will excuse the pun) Mynx, who helps you navigate around the broken glass. There is a ridiculous amount of broken glass, as if many mirrors hanging on the walls had been shattered by strong hands. The culprit isn't hard to find: her hands, already healed, still leave smears of her priceless blood on her glass. The room is full of the antiseptic smell of whiskey, and once again, the culprit isn't hard to find, filling Redana's shot glass again with a flourish of its velvet dressing gown.
Redana turns on her heel, back ramrod-straight, eyebrow arched in uncharacteristic confidence. Behind her, the god of madness waves, its mirror-mask reflecting a version of the room that most certainly is not real. At least, one sincerely hopes.
"Ah, Mister Dolce," Redana says, her words too crisp for the flush in her cheeks. Her jacket is pinned back at the breast, and its motif is the twin-headed eagle. "Capital! I see you received our word. There is a ridiculous notion going around the crew that you are the Captain of the Plousios."
She takes a seat, glass crunching under her boots, and gestures for you to do the same. Dionysus sets a neon blue cocktail sweet enough to drown the room by your seat, a decadence to melt a sheep's composure like candyfloss. Redana herself sips from her whiskey and then meditatively swirls it around her glass.
"This rescue mission is going to be difficult enough, what with the storm we're going through." She idly gestures at the rainbow knot of disaster, stretched across the wall impossibly wide, slowly gaining mass and terrible details as the Plousios hurtles towards its doom. "We can't have ambiguities in the chain of command at a time like this, what? Why, you might even..."
Redana stops, and for a moment she looks lost and vacant. There's a terrible ache in her eyes as she looks at you, as if she's trying to remember who you are. Then her eyes slide back down to her drink, and she knocks it back.
"...I am prepared to take steps to stamp out mutiny," says the mutineer, with absolute confidence regained. "But let's do our best to avoid unpleasantness, shall we? Bella here can't wait forever." She gestures at the God of Madness with that red-smeared hand, as if that explains everything. Then she leans forward and whispers, conspiratorially, as Dionysus fills her glass with amber again: "When I save her, she might finally accept my apology."</s>
<|message|>The Kennels
The bottle is warm in her hand. Not the welcome sort of warm that suggests a hot thermos of coffee waiting to push her on after a long day of freezing her hands fixing coolant lines. And not the tingling sort of warm of the nape of a certain neck that she could touch all she wanted while she lost herself in braiding luxurious golden strands of hair. It's just warm. It's warm because it's been sitting forgotten in a desk drawer for who the fuck knows how long, and tastes just strongly enough to suggest that it'd go down better if it was chilled.
She squeezes it. Twists it around with her wrist to watch the liquid inside slosh lazily about. The material is smooth, and feels hard against her fingers. It disgusts her. She's taken with a sudden urge to hurl it into a wall, or simply shatter it against her claw tips, but the gnawing emptiness inside her won't go away. It's been so long; she is so very hungry. She takes another slow and careful swig, instead, and watches Thist through her hollow golden eye.
"...Empress Nero IV Acontecimento Azurius has reigned for two hundred and fifty years."
XIII pauses to brush her fingers against her throat. Her voice sounds funny in her ears. Tight. Clipped. Straining. She lingers on the space where even now her skin is paler from the years it spent hiding under a collar. She drowns a cough in another shot of her drink, before it can unmake her all over again.
"In her wisdom she declared the reaches of space were dangerous," her face twists into a scowl. What's the matter with her? Did she spend all those years memorizing the lines from the museum just to recite them like a broken gramophone now? "...That the storms and distance had made enemies and strangers of what should have been family. She, she constructed the... throne world Tellus to be her seat of power. She has. Ruled there ever since. Humanity has been safe ever since."
Her cheeks burn with pink, which only makes her frown deepen. She chugs the rest of the industrial fluids without breathing. What the fuck is wrong with her? Her blood is becoming iron chains inside her body, squeezing every joint and organ until the act of sitting here and watching Thist not react hurts near as much as a whipping. Her vision swims. She stubbornly keeps her lid shut tight over the Auspex. Her fingers massage her scalp again, harder and more desperately. The unseen hand the keeps correcting her posture and teasing new words from her lungs now grabs her wrist and squeezes before she can claw the veins that are crushing her to death open. Which god? Which god keeps tormenting her like this?
She barks with laughter. Broken, pitted, fake and ugly for how obviously forced it is.
"The value of civilization is measured by its distance from Tellus, cretin. D-don't blame me that you were stupid enough to crawl around on our scraps and call it conquest when we couldn't be bothered to swat you back off of it! And yes, there is a Princess!" here at last she puffs out her chest, finding the pride she'd been chasing this whole useless fucking conversation, "She's the daughter of Empress Nero and no less than Zeus herself! And she's... a fucking moron. She's a drooling, useless jock bitch who's sitting on the power of a monster who could crush everything in your empire to bits."
Her red eye forces itself open. XIII sits on the couch with her spine locked painfully straight all the way down to the tip of her tail. Her breath is thin and forced through her nostrils in such shallow bursts that anyone would have to be inches from her face to see that she was breathing at all. The Auspex burns cold inside her socket as it watches Thist's coins, whether she wills it to or not. XIII sneers with the dismissive and absolute triumph of a person who has at last puzzled out the weak point of her opponent.
"I don't know what kind've bullshit your philosophers and textbooks have been feeding you," she preens, "But you're even dumber than those old novels made you look if you really think you're the superior species to Humans. They're perfect, down to the least one of them. And you've built an entire civilization around the same table scraps a reject servitor like me uses for worship? That's pathetic."
She opens her mouth to laugh, but the sound doesn't come. She watches Thist with caution where she should want triumph, and doesn't even notice the tear running down her cheek.</s>
| <|message|>Captain Vasilia
A Captain bore fear in place of their crew, fought foes their crew would never see, and stood firm at the first and the last, to spare the ruin of all. It mattered little whether victory was possible. A Captain would do their duty.
Dolce's heart threatens to swallow him whole. One moment he would be here, the next, gone, compressed into a miniscule particle of fluff, carried to rest somewhere out of the way where he would likely remain for the rest of his days.
"Lord Hades designated Vasilia as Captain." He opens his mouth to let the words fall out. "Vasilia designated me as her second. Vasilia has chosen to temporarily abdicate her duties. I." The gates fall shut, and it takes all his will to pry them back open. Slowly. Painfully. "I am Captain of the Plousious."
*************************************
"So. Anyone who's going anywhere has to be a little unstable, or else they'd not be going anywhere to begin with." Vasilia looks to her companion. Looks to her dim reflection in the viewscreen. Looks to her memory of every soul aboard she could call to mind.
Checks out.
"And that's it, then? Anyone standing still has their eyes closed and ears blocked?" Her own ears perk up, as if to prove themselves still functional.</s> |
<|description|>Captain Vasilia
Marked by Zeus and Artemis
Seeking Peace
AND
Chef Mate Dolce
Marked by Hera and Artemis
Seeking Adventure
THE PAIR
Vasilia's Agenda: Viva La Revoluction
Dolce's Agenda: All For One And One For All
STATS
Vasilia
Blood: +1
Courage: +1
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: -1
Dolce
Blood: -1
Courage: +0
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: +1
Combined (Always with Hope)
Blood: +0
Courage: +1
Grace: +2
Sense: +2
Wisdom: +0
Paired Core
Birds Of A Feather: You play as two characters. The Pair can split up or stay together as they
like, allowing you to be in two places at once. They each have a separate Look, separate Stats, and a separate personal Agenda.
The Pair has separate bonds for each of them. Each of the Pair can only have one Bond with someone else, and others can only have one Bond with each member of the Pair.
When they Fill Their Belly, the Pair only spends 1 Food, but they each heal one damage.
Working Alone: When The Pair is separated, they make rolls with their separated stats and get the Spotlight separately.
-When one of the Pair is acting to rescue, protect, or rush to the side of the other, they roll with Hope.
-Working Alone is dangerous, as you rely on your teamwork. When you take damage while Working Alone, you must also pay a price.
Working Together: When The Pair is together, they act as a single unit in perfect harmony. They combine their stats when making a move, and they share the Spotlight together. If either of you has Hope or Despair, you both do.
-When you Keep Them Busy together, only one of you needs to stay to Keep Them Busy. The other may disengage and begin Working Alone.
-When you Get Away or Look Closely together, you may split up. If you do, each of you may choose different options from that move's list, and you are now Working Alone.
-When one of you takes damage while Working Together, the other takes damage to the same stat, if it is undamaged.
Heroic Association: The Pair Commands Lore about an organization, instead of a society. You come from a company of mercenaries, bounty hunters, heroes, or some other such group. You Command Lore about who they are, what they want, their place in the world, their culture, their rivals, their enemies, and their laws, just as everyone else does.
Daring Devils:
-When you need a cool prop appropriate to your environment, like a chandelier to drop, a window to leap out of, or a vine to swing from, it's there.
-When you use the terrain to protect you, you may Overcome using +Grace instead of +Blood. Leaping off of tall places to escape danger always counts as using the terrain to protect you.
Who Are the Pair?
Fated Pair: The two of you are inseparable, a perfect combination. When you are Working Together, you roll with Hope.
The Pair Custom
Heroes of the People: You do not need to roll to Speak Softly with common folk, friends, or coworkers - simply ask, and they will answer.
Taste my Blade!: When you engage in swordplay with an enemy, you may Keep Them Busy with +Grace. On a 7-9, after their retaliation, you may insult them or make a quip to Keep Them Busy again, as if you'd rolled another 7-9 result.
Mismatched Pair: Each member of the Pair takes a Custom move from a different playbook. Keep track of who took which move. Each of them may only use their chosen move while Working Alone.
Vasilia: Listen Here You Little Punk: When you Talk Sense by telling them what will happen to them if they do not do as you ask, Talk Sense with +Blood, and on a 7-9, they cannot ask their favor of you until after they have done what you asked of them.
Dolce: I've Got A Bad Feeling About This: When you're certain something's wrong here, you may ask the Overlord to tell you the safest way out, and also the quickest way out. They will answer truthfully
Vasilia's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Dolce's (Melee)
-A grav-rail glaive with its own independent gravity field (Melee, Clumsy, Dangerous)
-An elegant, long-barreled SP rifle (Ranged, Reload, Piercing)
-An brace of pistols, blessed by Zeus (Ranged, Piercing, Dangerous, Recharge)
-An Anathame. A knife with her name on it. (Protection against a Location stat, will betray her at any opportunity. Damage a stat to destroy permanently.)
Dolce's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Vasilia's (Melee)
-A tasteful variety of well-preserved foodstuffs (Food, 3 Uses [X][][])
-Household odds and ends, turned to creatively underhanded purpose (Useful, 2 Uses [X][])
-A travel-sized cocktail kit, amply supplied (Slow, Vigor, 2 Uses [][])
Vasilia's Bonds
-If it's a night for drinking, I'm with Alexa. No one else.
-Iskarot and I have a professional respect for each other. And, personally, his straightforwardness is refreshing.
-Bella carried me to her room. Shared of her private stock of wine. And for a moment, we might've trusted each other.
Dolce's Bonds
-Redana and I have spent hours together on the observation deck, watching Poseidon's wonders.
-I am convinced that Alexa can taste, she just hasn't found a meal she could taste yet.
Advancements:
-Paired Custom: Taste my Blade!
-Paired Custom: Mismatched Pair
-Stat increase: Vasilia takes +1 Sense
-LEVEL UP NEEDED</s>
<|message|>The Kennels
"What makes you think I know? I don't even have instructions this time, other than being here with you, looking like... this. Besides, the way she is right now, she could have laid out the whole fucking thing for me and I'd be lucky if it even got me here. She's gotten so, nnnnnnnrgh."
Bella is tension, looped around more tension. Her muscles squeeze against Beljani's in a contest of strength, firmness, and quiet terror. Her body ripples with the effect of the identity thrust back on her by brute force, with an outfit draped across her that gleefully highlights every twitching tendon and shock of power as it shares the softest and most delicious parts of her all wrapped up in sheer lace and silk as if it somehow could belong to the same body.
Knowing it was part of the plan did nothing did nothing to settle the pressure crushing her neck and shoulders as if someone had slipped Azura gravity spheres into her jewelry. Knowing Beljani felt much the same way did nothing to unknot her intestines. Her skin is crawling, or... no. It's buzzing in the same way it would if she'd been force fed stimulants, everywhere except where she's being touched. Her arm flexes tighter, and she pulls Beljani closer.
"Doesn't matter. It's over after tonight. We'll either see where this was all going for ourselves, or it'll fall apart without Beautiful and we'll be right back where I said we'd be at the start. So just, don't fuck up. Do your job and I'll do mine. Or we're both fucked."
She can feel her fur sinking into her skin that means Beljani's started pushing her away instead of closer. She doesn't turn her head to look. Click, click, click, click-click go the points of their fancy heels as their steps go out of synch with each other. Bella frowns her blue-painted lips and squeezes her companion even tighter, raking the tips of her claws and her new jeweled talons against the surface of the Oratus' arm just hard enough to leave depressions in the skin where she passes that have to slowly rise in thin white trails back to normal. Only barely not breaking the skin.
This is all a giant mistake. It was a mistake to come here, orders be damned. It was a mistake to wake Beautiful up in the first place. It would have been better if she'd just kept resting. Even if she couldn't figure out the shape of the plan, it was obvious to anyone with eyes and a brain that she'd stretched herself too thin trying to add a bunch of extra victory conditions to her grand scheme.
Ha. No wonder it's easier to blow up a solar system than it is to make someone smile. All she needed to be was a plan in a box. The fuck was she thinking, trying to be a person too? If she, if this is what, they never should have, should've been... it should have been Beljani they!!
Bella sniffs, and her nose wrinkles with the taste of skin splitting along the kiss of a razorblade. The smell is pure pain: all the fun of huffing acid fumes mixed with an addictive, rotting sweetness that made a person want to keep taking deeper and deeper whiffs even though each felt worse than the one before it. The air itself smells like danger. Useless trying to describe it any more than that.
But she sniffs again, and this time she picks up more of the room. The musk of rotting antiques and the strange, slightly fuzzy odor of carpets that have been trampled by a thousand thousand dances where no feet touched the ground. Lacquer and liquor, arrogance and fear, and most importantly of all a wisp of the mind-bending smoke she'd caught a face full of in Thist's office the day she'd first woken up on this planet, curling from underneath maybe half a dozen closed doors as they entered the main gallery as lovers might.
Her eyes flicker down so that she catches Beljani's attention. Her squeeze this time is a little softer, maybe a little more guilty. And maybe that's obvious in a way you don't need to be an intuitive savant to tell, but Bella pulls and flashes the merest trace of a half-smirk anyway.
"Hey," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, "These guys use some kind of weird smoke shit here that gets them so high they look kinda possessed. You... You can get away with a lighter touch than normal tonight. Don't spread yourself too thin."
"...Not that I care. But if you turn useless then I have to do all the work tonight. And... this's supposed to be my vacation so don't fucking forget that, got it?"</s>
<|message|>Parentage
Once upon a time, there was a girl who lost her shadow— but this can't be that story. Skotos couldn't possibly cause that much trouble all on her own. Especially because, in that story, it's a labyrinth all the way down, and Dionysus dancing through the city of shadows making them all wise fools, and delivering from Hades' summer house a handsome prince who was never born and thus never died[1].
"I would run out of things to bake very quickly. I only know so many recipes," Skotos says. She doesn't look the goddess in the eye. She's gotten good at not looking anyone in the eye. "…but that's not what you mean, is it?"
Skotos doesn't consider that this is a trap. Not a cruel one, but a trap nonetheless. Catch and release. Beneath the sight of Zeus, blinded by the light shining off Redana Claudius. Given the opportunity to find a story small enough for her, so long as she chooses to remain simply Skotos.
Perhaps a delivery girl. Backpack topped by a flag, going on epic quests across the city, bearing a feast worthy of a queen (or your money back!). Or perhaps she would take care of the forgotten shrines of the city, keep the candles lit, sweep their gutters clean. She always did want to see those little acknowledgments of the gods kept neat and tidy. Or maybe— no, why would they even, they definitely wouldn't look at a nondescript little thing like Skotos if they were interested in humans at all, anyhow!
Flustered, Skotos turns her attention to offering up the fruit. If one were willing to be generous, and tilted their head while squinting, it might even strike them as being almost a peacock's tail, there on the plate. And she offers a silence that longs to be filled: a sheep-art, a cook-art.
[Redana attempts to Speak Softly with Hera. Deliciously, it is a 6. So here are the questions (writing prompts), anyway: what should Skotos be wary of when dealing with Hera? What can she tell Skotos about being Redana? And what does Hera want, how may Skotos provide? The rules encourage you to give me an unhelpful answer and a false answer; I am open to your own interpretations of the 6.]
***
[1]: Redana had considered that for a long time: a prince with gentle hands and the frailty and grace of the underworld, in that black suit jacket and the white bow tie, pretty-lashed and troubled at his mother's own strange circumstances. Surely he would need a lot of holding, wouldn't he? To keep the wind from blowing him away. And maybe he'd even need a thumb under his lashes to brush a beautiful tear away.</s>
| <|message|>Captain Vasilia
Dolce could take the card. The kitchens were busy, but not so busy that he could not snatch up a card and set it someplace safe before his next check of the ovens. He does not intend to deceive her into thinking he can't. The thing is, after wanting so powerfully to approach the Housekeeper, the card lies before him and his heart is...puzzled. Undecided.
Wondering.
So it falls to Vasilia, his faithful second, to glide from her post around the non-flammables to intercept. Which she does, with a perfectly gracious smile, and a formal lack of card-taking. "We wouldn't want to impose upon your busy schedule. Especially after you've soiled the broth and stolen the pastries that were meant for the Satrap's table. Our Captain will need time to replace them, and her lunch will be inexcusably late due to your carelessness. Or should I say, your sabotage? Your lack of patriotism? Oh well, I'm certain they'll figure out the difference in the inquiry." Her smile is loaded. And aimed square between the good senator's eyes. "That's how you work around here, yes?"
The language ought to be familiar to Thist. Neither of them speak it as their native tongue; none truly do. But those who walk the halls of power with confidence and full purses do well to learn it fast.
"Seeing how the Satrap will be so famished," she continues, unperturbed. "She won't be able to get to the matter of the Housekeeper for some time, you may as well stay and chat. Surely you didn't wander so far from your station just to inspect the kitchens, no?"</s> |
<|description|>Captain Vasilia
Marked by Zeus and Artemis
Seeking Peace
AND
Chef Mate Dolce
Marked by Hera and Artemis
Seeking Adventure
THE PAIR
Vasilia's Agenda: Viva La Revoluction
Dolce's Agenda: All For One And One For All
STATS
Vasilia
Blood: +1
Courage: +1
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: -1
Dolce
Blood: -1
Courage: +0
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: +1
Combined (Always with Hope)
Blood: +0
Courage: +1
Grace: +2
Sense: +2
Wisdom: +0
Paired Core
Birds Of A Feather: You play as two characters. The Pair can split up or stay together as they
like, allowing you to be in two places at once. They each have a separate Look, separate Stats, and a separate personal Agenda.
The Pair has separate bonds for each of them. Each of the Pair can only have one Bond with someone else, and others can only have one Bond with each member of the Pair.
When they Fill Their Belly, the Pair only spends 1 Food, but they each heal one damage.
Working Alone: When The Pair is separated, they make rolls with their separated stats and get the Spotlight separately.
-When one of the Pair is acting to rescue, protect, or rush to the side of the other, they roll with Hope.
-Working Alone is dangerous, as you rely on your teamwork. When you take damage while Working Alone, you must also pay a price.
Working Together: When The Pair is together, they act as a single unit in perfect harmony. They combine their stats when making a move, and they share the Spotlight together. If either of you has Hope or Despair, you both do.
-When you Keep Them Busy together, only one of you needs to stay to Keep Them Busy. The other may disengage and begin Working Alone.
-When you Get Away or Look Closely together, you may split up. If you do, each of you may choose different options from that move's list, and you are now Working Alone.
-When one of you takes damage while Working Together, the other takes damage to the same stat, if it is undamaged.
Heroic Association: The Pair Commands Lore about an organization, instead of a society. You come from a company of mercenaries, bounty hunters, heroes, or some other such group. You Command Lore about who they are, what they want, their place in the world, their culture, their rivals, their enemies, and their laws, just as everyone else does.
Daring Devils:
-When you need a cool prop appropriate to your environment, like a chandelier to drop, a window to leap out of, or a vine to swing from, it's there.
-When you use the terrain to protect you, you may Overcome using +Grace instead of +Blood. Leaping off of tall places to escape danger always counts as using the terrain to protect you.
Who Are the Pair?
Fated Pair: The two of you are inseparable, a perfect combination. When you are Working Together, you roll with Hope.
The Pair Custom
Heroes of the People: You do not need to roll to Speak Softly with common folk, friends, or coworkers - simply ask, and they will answer.
Taste my Blade!: When you engage in swordplay with an enemy, you may Keep Them Busy with +Grace. On a 7-9, after their retaliation, you may insult them or make a quip to Keep Them Busy again, as if you'd rolled another 7-9 result.
Mismatched Pair: Each member of the Pair takes a Custom move from a different playbook. Keep track of who took which move. Each of them may only use their chosen move while Working Alone.
Vasilia: Listen Here You Little Punk: When you Talk Sense by telling them what will happen to them if they do not do as you ask, Talk Sense with +Blood, and on a 7-9, they cannot ask their favor of you until after they have done what you asked of them.
Dolce: I've Got A Bad Feeling About This: When you're certain something's wrong here, you may ask the Overlord to tell you the safest way out, and also the quickest way out. They will answer truthfully
Vasilia's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Dolce's (Melee)
-A grav-rail glaive with its own independent gravity field (Melee, Clumsy, Dangerous)
-An elegant, long-barreled SP rifle (Ranged, Reload, Piercing)
-An brace of pistols, blessed by Zeus (Ranged, Piercing, Dangerous, Recharge)
-An Anathame. A knife with her name on it. (Protection against a Location stat, will betray her at any opportunity. Damage a stat to destroy permanently.)
Dolce's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Vasilia's (Melee)
-A tasteful variety of well-preserved foodstuffs (Food, 3 Uses [X][][])
-Household odds and ends, turned to creatively underhanded purpose (Useful, 2 Uses [X][])
-A travel-sized cocktail kit, amply supplied (Slow, Vigor, 2 Uses [][])
Vasilia's Bonds
-If it's a night for drinking, I'm with Alexa. No one else.
-Iskarot and I have a professional respect for each other. And, personally, his straightforwardness is refreshing.
-Bella carried me to her room. Shared of her private stock of wine. And for a moment, we might've trusted each other.
Dolce's Bonds
-Redana and I have spent hours together on the observation deck, watching Poseidon's wonders.
-I am convinced that Alexa can taste, she just hasn't found a meal she could taste yet.
Advancements:
-Paired Custom: Taste my Blade!
-Paired Custom: Mismatched Pair
-Stat increase: Vasilia takes +1 Sense
-LEVEL UP NEEDED</s>
<|message|>Parentage
Bella!
Skotia does not flirt with disaster by constructing further on your assertion. That's the simplest sort of trap! The magic of the stranger unravels if you pin yourself down, if you let your shadow be limned and sewn up tight. That's why he doesn't agree with you, he doesn't explain his presence here, he simply offers a nod and a bashful look at Nero's Praetor.
"You noticed me?" he asks, and his smile is like the rosy fingers of dawn on a world that is not Tellus as it is, tantalizingly glimpsed through the golden thread of his mask. "I'm surprised. Not that I expect you not to notice people, but even me? Well. You're careful and have a long memory, Bella."
He inclines his head, neatly lowers himself with a footstep back, an attempt to mimic the submission of serpents. "Allow me to add to your welcome to the Endless Azure Skies, Praetor. I'm sure there is little enough I could add to your understanding of this place, these people, given how clever you are— but I know how to dance, and I have two feet to do it with. If you are in a generous mood."
He straightens, tries to look nonchalantly away, glances back at you as if he's worried you might have somehow vanished between heartbeats. His ears, too, are that gentle pink. He doesn't know where it's safe to look— at your face? Too impudent. At your body, draped in lace? Too licentious. At your feet? Too meek. He settles, eventually, on your hand, on the wine glass, for the most part.
The boy has it bad, and in a way that might even feel strangely familiar. He honestly doesn't feel that he deserves to dance with you, but the desire to hold you and try to be a passable partner, to win just a smile from you, would cause his heart to carve a tunnel through his ribs if he didn't say something. Which makes no sense, except that he still sees you as a Praetor, and presumably that takes precedence over the ears and tail, or—
Ah. He's also into those. When he looks he doesn't see a servant, he sees a great lady whose approval he craves. Maybe even a Mistress. If you whispered a command in his ear, who knows what he would do?</s>
<|message|>The Kennels
There's a stranger standing here in front of her, begging for her attention. Normally she'd have blown him off by now. But normally she would not have called him over in the first place. This stranger is intriguing, and not for his strangeness. She scoffs, and takes a long, slow sip of wine.
"You can tell nobody drinks on this planet," Bella offers with a shrug, "This might have been passable three hundred years ago or whatever, but these assholes just let it sit around this entire time. Fucking snobs break it out now to show off to the 'distinguished guests'. Like I can't tell the difference."
She twists and sets the glass on the tray of a passing server. When she turns her attention to the boy again, he's still staring. At her hands. She rolls her eyes and sniffs the air. He smells of salt and sweat, in a way that reminds her of gymnasia and training and sets her heart racing. His sweat is not Her sweat, but it's... nnnnnm. Her eyes slide across his mask down to the undone button at the top of his jacket, and the definition of those slim-yet-tone, firm, powerful shoulders. She licks his lips with rather more fang than strictly necessary.
"There's nothing I hate more than somebody who's got something good in front of them and lets it go to waste. The galaxy's full of death and rot and pain, Pretty Boy. If you're lucky enough to stumble across something sweet, it should be a crime to ignore it. In fact, mmm, Praetor, aren't I? I say it is a crime."
Bella's hand is swift as wind. Her talons are cool on Skotia's cheek, but carefully curled to the side. She squeezes with the strength of titans and the gentleness of the bedroom all at once. She takes his jaw and leads his eyes forcefully away from her hand and toward more beautiful pastures. To her waist, and the inviting softness of her stomach all draped in gossamer. Up and up, there's a good boy, to the mountains rising up on her chest. And this is where she leaves him, watching her breasts. Not her face, not her eyes, but every little sway the follows the motion of her body, and every subtle bounce that makes the shifting of her feet.
She feels the heat building on his skin. She feels his mouth fall slack against her fingers. She feels his neck craning and watches his eyes begin to dart. And she knows, with a secret thrill, that this is not shyness. He doesn't try to find the floor, but strains against her grip with helpless, flustered hope that he might find the secret angle her designer did not intend and catch a glimpse of the dark buds hidden underneath the intricately patterned lace.
Bella grins. Her spine is tingling with the rush of electricity and eyes that see her, want her, need her. But her fingers show the mercy her heart refuses to, and finally tilts the boy's head up to look at her face. Even through his mask, she can see how flustered he is. His body reeks of excitement, a new and far sweeter kind of sweat that clings to his skin under his fine, rich clothes and mixes with the delicious salts that pull at the deepest corners of her memory.
"Good boy," she purrs, "What a fine citizen of the Empire! Would you like a reward from your Praetor? Then come and dance with me. The night is only halfway gone, and I've got so many eyes left to steal."
She takes his jaw more firmly and nods his head before he can ruin the moment by speaking. She feels him follow, not offering the slightest bit of resistance. There's another spark the builds inside her, and it burns like hungry fire. Beautiful trusted to her instincts, right? Then nothing she does tonight is wrong.
With a firm tug of his wrist, Bella pulls Skotia onto the dance floor. In another moment her hands are all about him, guiding his to where she wants them on her body. And they dance, pressed deliciously tight together. Every step in accordance with her will. Is this what you came for, Pretty Boy?</s>
| <|message|>Captain Vasilia
"I don't know if I like working for her." He finally says, keeping his hands busy with stirring sauces. "She won't harm us, and she'll protect us. I know this. But. Bahhhh. I don't know."
Which to the trained ear, meant that he did know, and he did not like the answer. So Vasilia keeps silent a while longer.
"I think that." Gradually, working himself up to it. "If it got her a better result, she would not hesitate to let us or our friends come to harm. I know it's awful to say, before she's even had the chance, but, the thought is there, and I can't ignore it."
"You don't have the choice she has, Dolce." She offers, now that he has the thought out in the open. "We're against an Ikarani. If we don't follow her plan, we'll be dead without ever knowing what killed us. Whatever her plan may be, it's her plan. You're not vouching for it, and you certainly don't have to like it or her. You're doing the only thing you can to save us all."
"But the Housekeeper was special. To H'san, and Jalia, and Fangst, and all of them." He stares long into his bubbling pot. "And our crew's special too. I know it. Whatever an Eater of the Dead is, whatever she knows, she doesn't know that."
"So. If she's wrong there. What ought a good Captain to do about it?"
Now where did all this come from? Usually, he just stopped at whatever thought was bothering him, but then again, he also usually didn't wear a hat of high office. Just what had Zeus been teaching him?! Or was it Hera? She hopes it was Hera. Easier to thank her. "For now, we serve dinner." She sets a great silver-and-blue tray atop a floating sphere. "If the moment comes...I trust you'll make the right decision. And in any case, you can always come to me for poor advice."
"Vaaas!"
"You stand upon a vast treasury of mistakes, and I will not have my husband and Captain acting the miser of such riches."
They left the kitchens, off into the unknown. Whatever would follow next, nothing would negate this truth: He is giggling, and she is the richer for it.</s> |
<|description|>Captain Vasilia
Marked by Zeus and Artemis
Seeking Peace
AND
Chef Mate Dolce
Marked by Hera and Artemis
Seeking Adventure
THE PAIR
Vasilia's Agenda: Viva La Revoluction
Dolce's Agenda: All For One And One For All
STATS
Vasilia
Blood: +1
Courage: +1
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: -1
Dolce
Blood: -1
Courage: +0
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: +1
Combined (Always with Hope)
Blood: +0
Courage: +1
Grace: +2
Sense: +2
Wisdom: +0
Paired Core
Birds Of A Feather: You play as two characters. The Pair can split up or stay together as they
like, allowing you to be in two places at once. They each have a separate Look, separate Stats, and a separate personal Agenda.
The Pair has separate bonds for each of them. Each of the Pair can only have one Bond with someone else, and others can only have one Bond with each member of the Pair.
When they Fill Their Belly, the Pair only spends 1 Food, but they each heal one damage.
Working Alone: When The Pair is separated, they make rolls with their separated stats and get the Spotlight separately.
-When one of the Pair is acting to rescue, protect, or rush to the side of the other, they roll with Hope.
-Working Alone is dangerous, as you rely on your teamwork. When you take damage while Working Alone, you must also pay a price.
Working Together: When The Pair is together, they act as a single unit in perfect harmony. They combine their stats when making a move, and they share the Spotlight together. If either of you has Hope or Despair, you both do.
-When you Keep Them Busy together, only one of you needs to stay to Keep Them Busy. The other may disengage and begin Working Alone.
-When you Get Away or Look Closely together, you may split up. If you do, each of you may choose different options from that move's list, and you are now Working Alone.
-When one of you takes damage while Working Together, the other takes damage to the same stat, if it is undamaged.
Heroic Association: The Pair Commands Lore about an organization, instead of a society. You come from a company of mercenaries, bounty hunters, heroes, or some other such group. You Command Lore about who they are, what they want, their place in the world, their culture, their rivals, their enemies, and their laws, just as everyone else does.
Daring Devils:
-When you need a cool prop appropriate to your environment, like a chandelier to drop, a window to leap out of, or a vine to swing from, it's there.
-When you use the terrain to protect you, you may Overcome using +Grace instead of +Blood. Leaping off of tall places to escape danger always counts as using the terrain to protect you.
Who Are the Pair?
Fated Pair: The two of you are inseparable, a perfect combination. When you are Working Together, you roll with Hope.
The Pair Custom
Heroes of the People: You do not need to roll to Speak Softly with common folk, friends, or coworkers - simply ask, and they will answer.
Taste my Blade!: When you engage in swordplay with an enemy, you may Keep Them Busy with +Grace. On a 7-9, after their retaliation, you may insult them or make a quip to Keep Them Busy again, as if you'd rolled another 7-9 result.
Mismatched Pair: Each member of the Pair takes a Custom move from a different playbook. Keep track of who took which move. Each of them may only use their chosen move while Working Alone.
Vasilia: Listen Here You Little Punk: When you Talk Sense by telling them what will happen to them if they do not do as you ask, Talk Sense with +Blood, and on a 7-9, they cannot ask their favor of you until after they have done what you asked of them.
Dolce: I've Got A Bad Feeling About This: When you're certain something's wrong here, you may ask the Overlord to tell you the safest way out, and also the quickest way out. They will answer truthfully
Vasilia's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Dolce's (Melee)
-A grav-rail glaive with its own independent gravity field (Melee, Clumsy, Dangerous)
-An elegant, long-barreled SP rifle (Ranged, Reload, Piercing)
-An brace of pistols, blessed by Zeus (Ranged, Piercing, Dangerous, Recharge)
-An Anathame. A knife with her name on it. (Protection against a Location stat, will betray her at any opportunity. Damage a stat to destroy permanently.)
Dolce's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Vasilia's (Melee)
-A tasteful variety of well-preserved foodstuffs (Food, 3 Uses [X][][])
-Household odds and ends, turned to creatively underhanded purpose (Useful, 2 Uses [X][])
-A travel-sized cocktail kit, amply supplied (Slow, Vigor, 2 Uses [][])
Vasilia's Bonds
-If it's a night for drinking, I'm with Alexa. No one else.
-Iskarot and I have a professional respect for each other. And, personally, his straightforwardness is refreshing.
-Bella carried me to her room. Shared of her private stock of wine. And for a moment, we might've trusted each other.
Dolce's Bonds
-Redana and I have spent hours together on the observation deck, watching Poseidon's wonders.
-I am convinced that Alexa can taste, she just hasn't found a meal she could taste yet.
Advancements:
-Paired Custom: Taste my Blade!
-Paired Custom: Mismatched Pair
-Stat increase: Vasilia takes +1 Sense
-LEVEL UP NEEDED</s>
<|message|>The Kennels
A pop when she rolls her shoulder. A snap when she flicks her tail. A crunch when she stretches her neck. Wake up, XIII. Mother says it's time to wake up. So rise. Taste the air. Smell the wetness and the dust. Feel the rain on your body, isn't this your first time? Wake up, XIII, sweet XIII.
Good morning.
She flexes her fingers slowly. They curl in to touch her palms. They stretch out to full extension. Her claws slice the raindrops in half. Her true claws. When she moves, her body sings. Every ripple of muscle is a rush of pure pleasure. More. Give her more. She sighs: a noise like venting steam.
Eyes open.
Mother's garden swells in greeting. Blood drips over every petal, leaf, and limb. It soaks into the ground, so potent that no storm could wash it clean. Ah. Wonderful fertilizer, is it not? She breathes deeper, lets her head tilt higher to greet the sky. Catch the bouquet. She must teach her lungs to breath. Eyes to see. Body to move.
Her lungs fill with death-soaked air and she hunches forward. Low. Low. Lower. Till her claws bite the floor of the pyramid and she tastes its pain between her fingers. She holds. And holds. And holds. The burning inside of her is ecstasy. In an instant she snaps to full height, and then past it. Her foot plants behind her. Spine curls. Head tosses back to the heavens. Clumsy braid flaps dully against her back. Her arms curl out to either side of her, and she can almost feel them crush the air.
She does not scream. She roars. She splits the storm above with an inhuman noise that carries from ship to ship. There is nothing of Bella in that noise. Nothing of weakness. There is rage and there is power and there is the promise of absolute death. She roars until the cannons stop firing to admire her. Even the garden pauses for a moment. All is stillness in the rain.
She descends.
She does not run. Does not fall. Does not drop. She reaches out with one hand and tears away the space between her and the ground. The distance retreats from underneath her feet and in less than the flicker of an eye, she is among them. Her neck tilts with curiosity to see Epistia, soaked in thick sap and the gore of plants. The scythe lifts in greeting. XIII's body grows hotter in anticipation. Her tail flicks behind her. Even now, the tell she cannot help but leave.
The blade whistles through the air, straight toward her head. XIII vanishes underneath it. Her palm kisses the Ceron princess' stomach. Her claws bite flesh just after. Hiss. Sing. A dance ensues. Tooth and claw and boot. The wet sand shudders beneath their feet. An even match. A perfect dance. The world is blood and bleeding and pleasure, pleasure, pleasure, building like a wave inside of her.
Epistia's scythe returns. Called for. Unwanted. Interloper! XIII whips around like a hurricane and smashes it out of the air with a wild swing. Her foot comes down on the shaft and snaps it in half. The blade weeps where her claws held it. Crumbling. Useless. Not fit to thresh a field. Useless. Useless!
Her foot lifts into Epistia's jaw. Her hand follows a heartbeat later. Lift and throw. Soar. They rise ten meters through the air, the Ceronian a twisting, wild, desperate thing. XIII follows as an incarnation of brutal composure. Her claws tear out calves. Slice open a thigh. Shatter fingers. She climbs the princess like stairs, kicks, and together they land on the ground without visible motion.
Epistia's scream is wet, horrible, and short. XIII twists a leg and feels a rib turn to dust underneath her heel. She steps away, and waits. And waits. And waits. Her partner only shivers, only shudders, only gags and coughs and tries to howl. XIII clicks her neck left. Then right. Her toes dip under Epistia's spine.
She sniffs.
Epistia rises, as if on wings. She floats on a sea of potential energy and flawless execution. XIII's fist meets her stomach, and she flies. The Diodekoi make take a moment to watch a victim bounce through the trail she'd carved so effortlessly minutes before, but no more than three times. To waste more admiring her own work is a crime.
Rain hits her body and comes hissing away as steam. Good morning, XIII. Sweet XIII. Mother says it's time to wake up. How does it feel?
She turns away and marches into the battlefield on strong, deliberate steps. Each swing of her arms carves deeper and deeper scars into the earth in front of her.
She stills, but for the steady stomping of her feet. Her fingers trace the shape of the claws that had always belonged on her fingers. She is born at last. She lives, at last. Finally, finally, finally. She will be a Good Girl.
It is time. Her tail twitches twice.</s>
<|message|>Parentage
How can the great be reduced? That's not the question. Of course that's not the question. Redana knows the answer to that one. She's been reduced so many times herself, and she's supposed to be great. She's been small, she's been captured, she's even been so ashamed of herself that she stopped being herself. Of course she knows the answer.
She stops at the base of the pyramid and rests one hand against its black stone. It remembers. He remembers. Just like Dany did; just like she tried to forget. At least, that's her understanding. Maybe she's projecting. But maybe she's not.
Then she's bounding, step by step, up the pyramid, towards Sagakhan, towards ending the battle, but her mother's eye throbs in her skull, in pity, in sympathy, in concentration. What does it show her? How does it answer the question she did not speak, but her heart is screaming?
The question is not how the great may be reduced. The question is always, always:
What can I do to help?
And so often she picks the wrong answer, but not today. Because today she is on the other side of the veil, today she is fighting for Dolce and Vasilia and Alexa and Epistia and the Coherents and Hades himself with his pitying kindness and Bella, Bella, Bella. Today her eye is unlocking deep parts of itself, functions so often held back, systems it doesn't trust her with, insights it held back out of condescension and love. So today she'll get it right. For once, she'll get it right.
[Redana marks Keen Senses, asking a question that must be answered honestly. This one is deliberately broad: point her to where she needs to go.]</s>
| <|message|>Captain Vasilia
A skirmisher stops moving when they are dead or dying. They fight in flight as hummingbirds, consuming the ground and the open spaces at a rate just barely capable of sustaining themselves. To think is an exercise in multitasking, a tradeoff in time. Slower to the mark, in exchange for living longer if you can still reach it.
The Garden grows still at the dodecahedron's roar. They recognize their own. An apex predator. The cannons grow silent, to better hear their first footfalls. The phalanxes freeze, digging deeper in a vain hope of delaying the violence that stopped the unstoppable. Dolce and Vasilia keep moving. The broken body of Princess Epistia bends as bodies should not. Dolce and Vasilia must keep moving. The hoarse cry of their friend meets the sickening crunch of a kick disintegrating ribs, and they cry no more. Dolce and Vasilia cannot stop moving.
She sees the most dangerous threat on the battlefield, sees the loss of their greatest fighter, and sees no one else this far or this free.
He cannot see his Champion, or anyone else remotely qualified. He's not even qualified. But he is the Captain.
"Dammit. Dammit." She swears, as they send a pack of Kaeri tumbling off the field.
"...do you see anything?"
"I see that we don't stand a chance if she's allowed to run free."
"Then. We. Have to stop her."
"We're no better than Epistia in single combat."
"Do we have to be better?"
"I certainly hope not."
[Rolling to Look Closely: 6 + 6 + 2 = 14. How can they, with primarily close-range weaponry, fight her and not instantly meet the same fate as Epistia?]</s> |
<|description|>Captain Vasilia
Marked by Zeus and Artemis
Seeking Peace
AND
Chef Mate Dolce
Marked by Hera and Artemis
Seeking Adventure
THE PAIR
Vasilia's Agenda: Viva La Revoluction
Dolce's Agenda: All For One And One For All
STATS
Vasilia
Blood: +1
Courage: +1
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: -1
Dolce
Blood: -1
Courage: +0
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: +1
Combined (Always with Hope)
Blood: +0
Courage: +1
Grace: +2
Sense: +2
Wisdom: +0
Paired Core
Birds Of A Feather: You play as two characters. The Pair can split up or stay together as they
like, allowing you to be in two places at once. They each have a separate Look, separate Stats, and a separate personal Agenda.
The Pair has separate bonds for each of them. Each of the Pair can only have one Bond with someone else, and others can only have one Bond with each member of the Pair.
When they Fill Their Belly, the Pair only spends 1 Food, but they each heal one damage.
Working Alone: When The Pair is separated, they make rolls with their separated stats and get the Spotlight separately.
-When one of the Pair is acting to rescue, protect, or rush to the side of the other, they roll with Hope.
-Working Alone is dangerous, as you rely on your teamwork. When you take damage while Working Alone, you must also pay a price.
Working Together: When The Pair is together, they act as a single unit in perfect harmony. They combine their stats when making a move, and they share the Spotlight together. If either of you has Hope or Despair, you both do.
-When you Keep Them Busy together, only one of you needs to stay to Keep Them Busy. The other may disengage and begin Working Alone.
-When you Get Away or Look Closely together, you may split up. If you do, each of you may choose different options from that move's list, and you are now Working Alone.
-When one of you takes damage while Working Together, the other takes damage to the same stat, if it is undamaged.
Heroic Association: The Pair Commands Lore about an organization, instead of a society. You come from a company of mercenaries, bounty hunters, heroes, or some other such group. You Command Lore about who they are, what they want, their place in the world, their culture, their rivals, their enemies, and their laws, just as everyone else does.
Daring Devils:
-When you need a cool prop appropriate to your environment, like a chandelier to drop, a window to leap out of, or a vine to swing from, it's there.
-When you use the terrain to protect you, you may Overcome using +Grace instead of +Blood. Leaping off of tall places to escape danger always counts as using the terrain to protect you.
Who Are the Pair?
Fated Pair: The two of you are inseparable, a perfect combination. When you are Working Together, you roll with Hope.
The Pair Custom
Heroes of the People: You do not need to roll to Speak Softly with common folk, friends, or coworkers - simply ask, and they will answer.
Taste my Blade!: When you engage in swordplay with an enemy, you may Keep Them Busy with +Grace. On a 7-9, after their retaliation, you may insult them or make a quip to Keep Them Busy again, as if you'd rolled another 7-9 result.
Mismatched Pair: Each member of the Pair takes a Custom move from a different playbook. Keep track of who took which move. Each of them may only use their chosen move while Working Alone.
Vasilia: Listen Here You Little Punk: When you Talk Sense by telling them what will happen to them if they do not do as you ask, Talk Sense with +Blood, and on a 7-9, they cannot ask their favor of you until after they have done what you asked of them.
Dolce: I've Got A Bad Feeling About This: When you're certain something's wrong here, you may ask the Overlord to tell you the safest way out, and also the quickest way out. They will answer truthfully
Vasilia's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Dolce's (Melee)
-A grav-rail glaive with its own independent gravity field (Melee, Clumsy, Dangerous)
-An elegant, long-barreled SP rifle (Ranged, Reload, Piercing)
-An brace of pistols, blessed by Zeus (Ranged, Piercing, Dangerous, Recharge)
-An Anathame. A knife with her name on it. (Protection against a Location stat, will betray her at any opportunity. Damage a stat to destroy permanently.)
Dolce's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Vasilia's (Melee)
-A tasteful variety of well-preserved foodstuffs (Food, 3 Uses [X][][])
-Household odds and ends, turned to creatively underhanded purpose (Useful, 2 Uses [X][])
-A travel-sized cocktail kit, amply supplied (Slow, Vigor, 2 Uses [][])
Vasilia's Bonds
-If it's a night for drinking, I'm with Alexa. No one else.
-Iskarot and I have a professional respect for each other. And, personally, his straightforwardness is refreshing.
-Bella carried me to her room. Shared of her private stock of wine. And for a moment, we might've trusted each other.
Dolce's Bonds
-Redana and I have spent hours together on the observation deck, watching Poseidon's wonders.
-I am convinced that Alexa can taste, she just hasn't found a meal she could taste yet.
Advancements:
-Paired Custom: Taste my Blade!
-Paired Custom: Mismatched Pair
-Stat increase: Vasilia takes +1 Sense
-LEVEL UP NEEDED</s>
<|message|>Captain Vasilia
He is alone, now.
Vasilia left just a few minutes ago. Reached into her bag, laid a musket across her lap, and let the Coherent push her to the negotiations. She'd asked if he was alright. She could wait, until someone brought a wheelchair for him too. He'd refused.
Ramses had a comfortable chair arranged for him. Maybe she thought it would help smooth things over, get her favor back into the positives. Maybe she'd have done it for anybody. She hadn't offered an explanation. Nor a path back to the conversation. Maybe she just thought it was safer, that way.
The shouts hurt his ears. More than the constant clamor of the film set. The headache buried between his horns sprouted through his skull, and his hands clasped knuckle-white to keep from flinching. He heard every step on her approach. He heard how angry she was. He knew who the voice belonged to, from the first.
"The Tides are…torturing themselves?!"
The Assistant Secretary of Fear and Doubt always returned his correspondence with interest. 50 pages for each one of his. Hours, of filtering through line after flowing line of titles, polite minutia, couched messages, to arrive at the barest kernel of actionable information. Later. Not today. Next week, for sure.
"Why didn't they, they haven't told me a thing, even though, I asked, but they, what?"
Ramses is indecipherable. This is not how a Captain should behave. Not to a professional.
"Because, yes, no, I'm in charge, here. I asked them aboard. He wanted to come aboard,"
And then. Nothing. From him. From her. From anyone. Anywhere. Ever.
"He wanted to come aboard, so, they shouldn't, I would've! Done, I did, no, ah-"
He is alone, now. A small, broken sheep, begging a room full of strangers he doesn't know.
"Could you please tell me what's going wrong?"</s>
<|message|>The Kennels
She doesn't have it in her to laugh this time. It's the same joke on repeat out here, too soon to be funny again. She doesn't have it in her to keep shouting, either. Not to a half broken, twitching sheep that half looks like he's about to fling himself sobbing onto the floor, where he'll need someone to pick him up again after. Bella's shoulders roll. Her muscles twitch all along her arms. Her anger, her irritation, her scorn, her amusement, and her fear: all of them have nowhere to go. No correct expression, so they push out of her all at once in a single disbelieving huff. Not half a chuckle, all of it breath. That's all she's left with.
Bella shakes her head. Her smile is wry and toothy.
"...I was such an idiot back then," she sighs, "If I'd had any sense in me at all I would have let you dipshits capture me the first time I laid eyes on you. I would have had the Princess back on Tellus before Her Majesty's bathwater even cooled."
There's tension in that thought. Desire, even. Bella's face turns hard, and she covers her face with one hand and its outstretched, squeezing fingers. From in between the knuckles of her index and middle fingers, the baleful red glow of the Auspex fixes its unblinking gaze on Dolce. Cold and ruthless. She watches him watch it for several seconds until the good Captain summons up the power and the courage to look directly at it. She blinks a moment later, and lets the moment drop with a casual toss of her hair.
"It's really you? They put you in ch-- no, of course they did. Who else is there? Fine then if you're in charge then use your f-- just actually think about it for ten seconds, would you? You put the manifestation of a leviathan's terror after Odoacer put a damn ship through its brain in charge of Zeus knows what and then... what? Took it at its word? Let it be, as long as it kept the crabs pointed basically where you wanted them?"
Bella's teeth are grinding. She reaches up and scratches at her face with enough force that the only reason she doesn't tear her face half open is that the fingers she's using have had their claws torn out. She quickly realizes what the gesture is showing and folds her fingers into her palms faster than blinking. She folds her arms across her chest and tries to lean on her back leg, but apparently that's still too exposed because she puts her hands behind her back entirely a moment later, only to swing them free again and dip into what can only be described as history's rudest curtsey.
"Gods, why did it have to be you? I need this like I need another round of 'Beautification' procedures. But fine. Since you asked so nicely, I'll tell you exactly what's going on. Your so-called Assistant Secretary of Fear and Doubt has built himself a tiny empire of paranoia and death. He needs more nodes to handle the functions he's lacking, so of course he's spawned them. But they're all of them a threat in his eyes, so he pushes them about through his waves of bureaucracy. He pits them against one another, coaxes the fresh ones into killing the older ones, and shuffles them about through an endless chain of pointless bullshit, the only real point of which is to keep him safe and in power. Which of course he's done. What the fuck else would he do? This took me ten minutes of looking to find out. Fuck, first thing he did was beg me to be in charge. It's obvious to anyone with eyes the Tides as they are miserable and don't trust the systems around here, and apparently I come highly recommended. Or maybe that's just because I'm the first one to go visit their brine soaked hellhole.
"...Look, I don't want to turn this into a whole thing. Like I said, I don't want to be here and I know you don't want me anyway. I've given you your report, so let me out of here and we'll both be happier. Right? Right."</s>
| <|message|>Captain Vasilia
He doesn't look away from that all-seeing eye. He listens, like he can't hear the set awkwardly spinning up to life, the muffled conversation in her wake, the cacophony of people not paying attention. He wishes he could be anywhere else. But what good is that sort of wish? He can't be anywhere but here. There's nobody else but him. So he looks, and he listens, and he holds his head as high as it will go.
It makes sense. Horrible, horrible sense. But it all adds up, combines with what few scraps he had into a cohesive picture. Not the whole, but enough to see the shape of it. A scared fragment of the Eater's mind, living on after death, without any of the structure it needed to function as it should. Promoted, suddenly, above its pay grade, with no choice in the matter, no support, and worst of all, no idea how to fix any of it.
By all the gods. If there was something, anything he could've done to discover this earlier, to have a chance to stop it, and he didn't, forgive him. Please, forgive him.
And if nothing else, let him make this right.
"Please. Wait."
He reaches out a hand, to motion to stop her, and has to brace himself on the side of his chair. Or else risk toppling over entirely.
"You're the only person on board who's been able to meet with the Tides like this. The Secretary runs and hides whenever he hears I'm coming. The ship's much too big to have any hope of finding him, if he doesn't want to be found. They don't mingle. They don't reach out. All I have are official channels, and they only use those to stonewall me. I'm sorry to keep you further, but, please, anything more you can tell us could help us do something about it."
You, who can see through him, do you see his heart breaking?
"They shouldn't be left to suffer."</s> |
<|description|>Captain Vasilia
Marked by Zeus and Artemis
Seeking Peace
AND
Chef Mate Dolce
Marked by Hera and Artemis
Seeking Adventure
THE PAIR
Vasilia's Agenda: Viva La Revoluction
Dolce's Agenda: All For One And One For All
STATS
Vasilia
Blood: +1
Courage: +1
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: -1
Dolce
Blood: -1
Courage: +0
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: +1
Combined (Always with Hope)
Blood: +0
Courage: +1
Grace: +2
Sense: +2
Wisdom: +0
Paired Core
Birds Of A Feather: You play as two characters. The Pair can split up or stay together as they
like, allowing you to be in two places at once. They each have a separate Look, separate Stats, and a separate personal Agenda.
The Pair has separate bonds for each of them. Each of the Pair can only have one Bond with someone else, and others can only have one Bond with each member of the Pair.
When they Fill Their Belly, the Pair only spends 1 Food, but they each heal one damage.
Working Alone: When The Pair is separated, they make rolls with their separated stats and get the Spotlight separately.
-When one of the Pair is acting to rescue, protect, or rush to the side of the other, they roll with Hope.
-Working Alone is dangerous, as you rely on your teamwork. When you take damage while Working Alone, you must also pay a price.
Working Together: When The Pair is together, they act as a single unit in perfect harmony. They combine their stats when making a move, and they share the Spotlight together. If either of you has Hope or Despair, you both do.
-When you Keep Them Busy together, only one of you needs to stay to Keep Them Busy. The other may disengage and begin Working Alone.
-When you Get Away or Look Closely together, you may split up. If you do, each of you may choose different options from that move's list, and you are now Working Alone.
-When one of you takes damage while Working Together, the other takes damage to the same stat, if it is undamaged.
Heroic Association: The Pair Commands Lore about an organization, instead of a society. You come from a company of mercenaries, bounty hunters, heroes, or some other such group. You Command Lore about who they are, what they want, their place in the world, their culture, their rivals, their enemies, and their laws, just as everyone else does.
Daring Devils:
-When you need a cool prop appropriate to your environment, like a chandelier to drop, a window to leap out of, or a vine to swing from, it's there.
-When you use the terrain to protect you, you may Overcome using +Grace instead of +Blood. Leaping off of tall places to escape danger always counts as using the terrain to protect you.
Who Are the Pair?
Fated Pair: The two of you are inseparable, a perfect combination. When you are Working Together, you roll with Hope.
The Pair Custom
Heroes of the People: You do not need to roll to Speak Softly with common folk, friends, or coworkers - simply ask, and they will answer.
Taste my Blade!: When you engage in swordplay with an enemy, you may Keep Them Busy with +Grace. On a 7-9, after their retaliation, you may insult them or make a quip to Keep Them Busy again, as if you'd rolled another 7-9 result.
Mismatched Pair: Each member of the Pair takes a Custom move from a different playbook. Keep track of who took which move. Each of them may only use their chosen move while Working Alone.
Vasilia: Listen Here You Little Punk: When you Talk Sense by telling them what will happen to them if they do not do as you ask, Talk Sense with +Blood, and on a 7-9, they cannot ask their favor of you until after they have done what you asked of them.
Dolce: I've Got A Bad Feeling About This: When you're certain something's wrong here, you may ask the Overlord to tell you the safest way out, and also the quickest way out. They will answer truthfully
Vasilia's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Dolce's (Melee)
-A grav-rail glaive with its own independent gravity field (Melee, Clumsy, Dangerous)
-An elegant, long-barreled SP rifle (Ranged, Reload, Piercing)
-An brace of pistols, blessed by Zeus (Ranged, Piercing, Dangerous, Recharge)
-An Anathame. A knife with her name on it. (Protection against a Location stat, will betray her at any opportunity. Damage a stat to destroy permanently.)
Dolce's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Vasilia's (Melee)
-A tasteful variety of well-preserved foodstuffs (Food, 3 Uses [X][][])
-Household odds and ends, turned to creatively underhanded purpose (Useful, 2 Uses [X][])
-A travel-sized cocktail kit, amply supplied (Slow, Vigor, 2 Uses [][])
Vasilia's Bonds
-If it's a night for drinking, I'm with Alexa. No one else.
-Iskarot and I have a professional respect for each other. And, personally, his straightforwardness is refreshing.
-Bella carried me to her room. Shared of her private stock of wine. And for a moment, we might've trusted each other.
Dolce's Bonds
-Redana and I have spent hours together on the observation deck, watching Poseidon's wonders.
-I am convinced that Alexa can taste, she just hasn't found a meal she could taste yet.
Advancements:
-Paired Custom: Taste my Blade!
-Paired Custom: Mismatched Pair
-Stat increase: Vasilia takes +1 Sense
-LEVEL UP NEEDED</s>
<|message|>Parentage
Down in the dark, in the mouth of death.</s>
<|message|>The Kennels
Sweat. And salt. And perfume. And lust. And a thousand years of half-melted sugar.
Every breath is heaven. She smells it in the air. She feels it coat her tongue until it's all that she can taste. This cocktail of theatricality, secrets, and romance. Redana's hair is lush and soft against her face. Her skin is wet and supple against her fingertips. Their mouths are deliciously dry and their bodies are filled with warmth. A glowing ache.
Bella is a long time before she finally rises to her feet. She glides to her feet with a luxurious stretch; hands above her head and all of her sweet curves rising, stretching, rolling with the tides of her body. Every tiny pop as her muscles shift back into alignment from the cramps that were ruling her form is a tiny burst of ecstasy. Something warm and soft that reminds her afresh of the blissful ocean still lapping at her insides.
She is not quick to dress herself either, preferring to take her time sorting her clothes from Redana's in the awkward pile they all wound up in, and tossing the Princess' down on top of her. Each one draws a fresh squawk of protest that makes Bella laugh in turn, but where these exchanges should naturally be followed by flustered glaring, Redana's eyes remain worshipful. Every time, her head turns and her mouth falls open a little. She watches without comment. The flickering, constantly shifting lights of cinema splashing across her Bella's naked body. Her Bella. Her Bella. Bella Bella Bella, only Bella.
After everything they'd seen of each other, everything they'd done to each other, their whole lives and again the last two days, to see eyes like that on her can't be called anything other than a miracle. Bella's body flushes with a sudden heat and color, and she quickly pulls her dress on overtop of her head.
Her body is lighter than air. She could fly among the Azura ships the way she feels this moment. She could climb the walls of the Palace in a single bound, she could, she could, she could...
"We're gonna need a bath after this, Redana. Of all the places for you to lose your head, why'd you go and pick this one? Now I'm never going to be able to remember that movie."
Or anything else, for that matter. The thought strikes her like a thunderbolt. Her insides suddenly tangle themselves into knots trying to crawl through each other. Bella stiffens, and awkwardly pulls on her socks. The smells in the air are all the same, but they've taken on slightly different qualities. As if they'd suddenly become old and dusty. Dead things, all around her.
"Dany, I..."
She bends low, without warning. Her hands dart out faster than a pair of arrows and pluck her princess off the ground. She lifts Redana as easily as if she were a bucket of amphitheater concessions, and pulls her close enough to bury her nose in that beautiful golden hair. The warmth, rival to a star and yet more gentle than the insubstantial wings of the garden's butterflies. The smell, purity itself. Slowly, she unclenches. Slowly, she lets Redana down. Not enough to let her feet touch the ground, but free enough for them to wrap their arms around each other, and for their love-parched lips to find each other once again for one last lingering kiss in the half-darkness.
And then, to smile.
"Hurry up, you useless thing. Don't keep your mistress waiting. This place goes on for fucking ever and I don't want to miss any of it. Come on. Let's go make some memories worth forgetting."</s>
| <|message|>Captain Vasilia
Alas, poor drink umbrella. You were destined for tropical climes, but you've flown too close to the sun now. Tissue-thin paper curls as the naked flame of your death approaches, when from the heavens descends a hand of wispy clouds. At its gentle insistence, the flame comes no closer, sparing you a fate most ironic as its owner pleads mercy with the Princess of Skull and Flame.
"I'm sorry, but I don't think you should bring a molotov cocktail to a bar fight." The little flame reflects in his wide eyes, illuminating great caverns of worry. "I don't think it'll get you anything you want. Unless you want the entire bar to ally against you and throw you out the nearest window." On account of the fact that this particular bar didn't have a swinging door to throw disreputable miscreants out of.
But what cares the sun for such trivialities? Weigh all the clouds in the sky against the heart of the Skull Princess, and see that clouds are cowards, actually. Heed well her words, oh rebellious ones of the sky, and by her cry of "come onnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn" will you just! Let her! Set a little fire!
The clouds remained, unmoving and uninebriated. "No, yes, I'm quite serious. It's true. There are hundreds of disconnected worlds out there who have figured out bars, and also that people like to come to them to get into fights. The forms are a little different, but in the customs, there's a surprising amount of overlap. Chief among them; no one is to bring a real, serious weapon. You may bring your body, and the odd improvised weapon, provided it doesn't cause grievous pain or significant bother, and nothing more. You could win the fight handily if you were the first to pull a knife, sure, but it wouldn't make you the winner. It would…it would be like surviving a battle by covering your Lantern to hide."
And you're better than that, aren't you, Princess? You're strong, you're tough, you don't take nonsense from anybody, and you would never betray your heart like that. It would break his heart to see you in such dishonor.
"If I may," he adds, arm only shaking a moderate amount with the effort of holding back the lighter. "Have you considered a tactical advisor? Someone who knows the territory, who can help translate your strategies into action?" Up he rose in his chair, as straight-backed as one could sit while still wrestling with a mouse. "I am recently out of a job, after all. I'd gather a list of references, but they are all very far away, and you'd have to push me all the way back across the galaxy to get them."</s> |
<|description|>Captain Vasilia
Marked by Zeus and Artemis
Seeking Peace
AND
Chef Mate Dolce
Marked by Hera and Artemis
Seeking Adventure
THE PAIR
Vasilia's Agenda: Viva La Revoluction
Dolce's Agenda: All For One And One For All
STATS
Vasilia
Blood: +1
Courage: +1
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: -1
Dolce
Blood: -1
Courage: +0
Grace: +1
Sense: +1
Wisdom: +1
Combined (Always with Hope)
Blood: +0
Courage: +1
Grace: +2
Sense: +2
Wisdom: +0
Paired Core
Birds Of A Feather: You play as two characters. The Pair can split up or stay together as they
like, allowing you to be in two places at once. They each have a separate Look, separate Stats, and a separate personal Agenda.
The Pair has separate bonds for each of them. Each of the Pair can only have one Bond with someone else, and others can only have one Bond with each member of the Pair.
When they Fill Their Belly, the Pair only spends 1 Food, but they each heal one damage.
Working Alone: When The Pair is separated, they make rolls with their separated stats and get the Spotlight separately.
-When one of the Pair is acting to rescue, protect, or rush to the side of the other, they roll with Hope.
-Working Alone is dangerous, as you rely on your teamwork. When you take damage while Working Alone, you must also pay a price.
Working Together: When The Pair is together, they act as a single unit in perfect harmony. They combine their stats when making a move, and they share the Spotlight together. If either of you has Hope or Despair, you both do.
-When you Keep Them Busy together, only one of you needs to stay to Keep Them Busy. The other may disengage and begin Working Alone.
-When you Get Away or Look Closely together, you may split up. If you do, each of you may choose different options from that move's list, and you are now Working Alone.
-When one of you takes damage while Working Together, the other takes damage to the same stat, if it is undamaged.
Heroic Association: The Pair Commands Lore about an organization, instead of a society. You come from a company of mercenaries, bounty hunters, heroes, or some other such group. You Command Lore about who they are, what they want, their place in the world, their culture, their rivals, their enemies, and their laws, just as everyone else does.
Daring Devils:
-When you need a cool prop appropriate to your environment, like a chandelier to drop, a window to leap out of, or a vine to swing from, it's there.
-When you use the terrain to protect you, you may Overcome using +Grace instead of +Blood. Leaping off of tall places to escape danger always counts as using the terrain to protect you.
Who Are the Pair?
Fated Pair: The two of you are inseparable, a perfect combination. When you are Working Together, you roll with Hope.
The Pair Custom
Heroes of the People: You do not need to roll to Speak Softly with common folk, friends, or coworkers - simply ask, and they will answer.
Taste my Blade!: When you engage in swordplay with an enemy, you may Keep Them Busy with +Grace. On a 7-9, after their retaliation, you may insult them or make a quip to Keep Them Busy again, as if you'd rolled another 7-9 result.
Mismatched Pair: Each member of the Pair takes a Custom move from a different playbook. Keep track of who took which move. Each of them may only use their chosen move while Working Alone.
Vasilia: Listen Here You Little Punk: When you Talk Sense by telling them what will happen to them if they do not do as you ask, Talk Sense with +Blood, and on a 7-9, they cannot ask their favor of you until after they have done what you asked of them.
Dolce: I've Got A Bad Feeling About This: When you're certain something's wrong here, you may ask the Overlord to tell you the safest way out, and also the quickest way out. They will answer truthfully
Vasilia's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Dolce's (Melee)
-A grav-rail glaive with its own independent gravity field (Melee, Clumsy, Dangerous)
-An elegant, long-barreled SP rifle (Ranged, Reload, Piercing)
-An brace of pistols, blessed by Zeus (Ranged, Piercing, Dangerous, Recharge)
-An Anathame. A knife with her name on it. (Protection against a Location stat, will betray her at any opportunity. Damage a stat to destroy permanently.)
Dolce's Gear
-An elegant sabre, the twin of Vasilia's (Melee)
-A tasteful variety of well-preserved foodstuffs (Food, 3 Uses [X][][])
-Household odds and ends, turned to creatively underhanded purpose (Useful, 2 Uses [X][])
-A travel-sized cocktail kit, amply supplied (Slow, Vigor, 2 Uses [][])
Vasilia's Bonds
-If it's a night for drinking, I'm with Alexa. No one else.
-Iskarot and I have a professional respect for each other. And, personally, his straightforwardness is refreshing.
-Bella carried me to her room. Shared of her private stock of wine. And for a moment, we might've trusted each other.
Dolce's Bonds
-Redana and I have spent hours together on the observation deck, watching Poseidon's wonders.
-I am convinced that Alexa can taste, she just hasn't found a meal she could taste yet.
Advancements:
-Paired Custom: Taste my Blade!
-Paired Custom: Mismatched Pair
-Stat increase: Vasilia takes +1 Sense
-LEVEL UP NEEDED</s>
<|message|>The Kennels
The girl does not know why the desire to keep moving has ebbed out of her so quickly. She does not understand. Through the dry and the sting of dust she was unquenchable. Through the sharp prick of the nettles that tangled her beautiful hair and shredded her dress down to tatters she only quickened her pace. As dull aches built up into terrible pains and shivering weakness she was a creature made of iron. She was invincible.
Until she wasn't. Was a tree full of fruit all it took to keep her from the finish line? Perhaps.
She stops, and sits, and with the gesture calls for her party to rest. For a long time no one speaks. No complaints, nor thanks, nor witty remarks pass the lips of anybody assembled. The girl has eyes only for the apples on the tree. Their lustrous yellow skin holds its shine even in the fading light of the sky above. Their sour scent dances down her throat, and when one falls and bursts open the sensation is so shocking and refreshing that she gasps. It is the loudest noise she can remember making.
If there are treasures to be found, they should be kept. If there are wounds to be tended, then the best medicine is a feast. And if there is a feast to be had, then let everyone take part. Share the work and share the riches both, and never mind if you know how to cook or not. Everyone provides. And everyone eats.
Now there is strength in her legs again. She rises to her feet with the grace of a ghost as she slides over to the great tree, grandest landmark she has found in many long weeks of travel. She climbs up into its branches and sets about the task of sniffing out all the most fragrant apples she can find. She gathers them in her skirt and drops down onto the opposite side of the trunk in the only concession to modesty she can or cares to make. There is work to do, and for some reason the idea of work always loosens her standards on this front.
She has little enough to work with without touching what's left of their supplies. But there is plenty here enough to create something special. She takes sugar cane in her hands and wrings it with enough force to kill a king, a gleam in her eyes as the sticky, glistening syrup spills like lifeblood into the bowls she's confiscated for her purposes. She has to clean her palms afterward before she can properly crack open her heating pellets, but so what? Her body is far greater than most any tool she could care to name. It does not bother her to use it this way.
It's a long process to heat the sweet water into something crystalline and usable, but it's a pleasure to wait. It gives her time to hum; a tune like drum beats in her head and in her heart. It goes something like chan-barra-chan-barra-chan, though what that means she doesn't know. It lifts her heart, and that's enough. Once she has her crystals, she pauses. It does seem a waste to melt them again, but the process is essential. Without this extra step she'll never be able to make the thing she wants.
Her claws slice through the apples with ease, filling her nose and coating her tongue with the delicious sour-sweet aroma of their flesh. Twigs and nettles are good enough as skewers. Nothing wasted that way, even the painful parts have their use. She lines up speared apple chunks and she gathers them between her knuckles before plunging them deep into her re-cooling syrup. They must be held, but not still. She must be moved, but not disturbed. Gather the sugar and let it remember the shapes she taught it. Be what you were made to be.
Even carved, the apples are more beautiful than ever in their crystal cases. Like this, they will keep a long time. Like this, they can travel. Like this, there is enough for all to eat even while walking. They glitter, and to her eye it seems joyful.
But she pauses before she rejoins her friends. The girl cocks her head and sniffs the air with caution and no small degree of importance. Feasts... Feasts belong to gods. There is at least one god in particular she is sure belongs at tables full of fresh things to eat and --
No. It should be two.
She gingerly lifts the very best of her work away from the pile and carries them away from everyone. A claw slices off an extra strip of her skirt to give her something to lay them on. Something in the back of her mind itches. Want of a candle she supposes, but where that urge comes from she does not know, and it flits away as soon as she realizes it's not for her to hold onto. She offers a bow to the sugared treats.
"Apollo," she says, "Artemis. Siblings, the sun and moon. I have not forgotten your names. I offer you my treasure, what is mine to give. All I ask of you in exchange is that you do not forget mine."
The girl turns from her little shrine without waiting for an answer. She has many treasures to deliver, with a quiet nod and an anxious hope that what she's done will delight a single other soul. The smell of her work leaves her mouth watering. But in the end, she left none for herself.</s>
<|message|>Parentage
Rise and fall. Rise and fall. Lift and swing. Flick. Pant. Lift... and swing.
For a while there, the journey spooled out to her schedule. She pushed herself up to the brink and then would call for a stop, for pacing in place, rotating her arm, taking water passed up the line. The dead, spiteful crunch under her boots. The netting lying on her limbs, caught in place just below her chin. The whisper of hot breath, as if the nettles were alive, were resentful, were wishing them all ill. If they were to turn around (but of course they cannot turn around) maybe the nettles would have closed up behind them, netting them in place, knotting them in place. Brown and black and muddy pink.
She is a direction two-in-once. She is forwards, never backwards, stumbling forward even though her body is aching, even though the burrs are getting everywhere, and the poor lamb is going to need a shearing, isn't he? Keep going. If she stops, really stops, she'll be too tired to keep on. It'll be too tough to get up. That's what her body is telling her. Just keep going forward. Don't fall asleep among the thorns. This is like... it's like something. She's been tired like this before, hasn't she? Somewhere. Circles. Was she running in circles? Round and round and round. It slips through her thought like smoke and is gone.
But she is also towards her. She orbits her like a satellite. The beautiful tributes, the raiment of a queen-in-exile. And yet, and yet! Her body is a thunderbolt, is a wonderful thing just like hers. They're two parts of the same movement, and even if she insists on eating all standing up and glancing towards the green-pole-speckled horizon, it's her that lets her come close enough to stillness to be able to slip back out of it. After all, it's not like Alexa's there to carry her.
What an odd thought.
Alexa: (n), the idea of being carried in safety, of resting your head against a shoulder and feeling the steady pace of footsteps, not jarring, not timid. The number four? Four corners? A square? A square, then. Geometry-security.
I'll Alexa you, she tries to explain, through a mouthful of sweet apples. I'll do it. Just watch me!</s>
| <|message|>Captain Vasilia
Dolce, lamb among titans, the time is now. He who never took his turn with the machete, whose only sight these long, hard weeks has been jagged thorns and strong backs, ready yourself. The time is now.
In the shade of an apple tree, he clears a space for a pile of wicked thorns. No grass, no vegetation, no fuel to burn up in Zeus' gift. For you see? Though the road is long, and stretches longer still, the gods have not forgotten them. Sit, sit! Here is fire, to ward off the chill. Here is foil in his packs. He does not stop to wonder why he put it there. It has grand purpose, now. One by one, he bundles up apples within it. One by one, he places them by the very heart of the fire. He counts, in his head, numbers coming one after the other on their way to Long Enough. Then turn, and turn, and turn, and turn! All of you, it's time for turning. Just a little longer, and it's time for eating. Open them up, fill the campground with the heavenly aroma. It is a smell of beginnings, of the place where their feet first met the road, of a place where hearts can find their rest.
Here is his post by the flames. Vasilia sits behind him, working out what burrs she can with comb and knife. (All other blades slide harmlessly off his wool. Only her hands meet any success.) Come, friends, champions all. This is a fire weeks in the tending, stoked with gratitude for every swing of the machete, for each step you cleared. Sit, and bask in the warmth of a friend who loves you dearly, and will smile to see you filled with good things.</s> |
<|description|>Phineas Eugene O'Connell
Purpose: Seeking experiences in the west to be used in writing western novels.
Description: "Finney" or "Gene" as he is often called stands 5' 8" tall and weighs 147 Lbs. He has an oval shaped face with steel grey eyes and dark brown hair kept short, with no facial hair. At age 21, he prefers to be clean; immaculately dressed. He understands he will need to get a bit dirty for his adventures and is willing to make that sacrifice. He appears to be a fancy lad from Boston because that is how he dressed when he attended university.
Backstory: Finney was a boy during the Civil War. His father too old for the war, worked as the community doctor in Gloucester, Massachusetts. Typically, a fishing village, Phineas had no intention of sailing, working with fish or working as a doctor. He appreciated the gentle life his father provided him and his seven brothers and sisters, but Finney was a dreamer.
He read the newspapers during the war, enthralled with the stories about the war and life out west. As a young boy he desired traveling to the frontier and living the life of a cowboy; going on adventures and learning how to survive.
While studying English, Writing and Rhetoric at Amherst College, Phineas became infatuated with life in the wild west. He decided he would travel out west to experience life in the west and write novels about his experiences. While a student at Amherst, he played on the college baseball team, earning a nick name as Three-fingered-Finney. It never stuck and disappeared when he traveled west. The nickname had more to do with how he threw a baseball. When most of the other players used all five fingers, Finney used only three; the forefinger, middle finger and thumb to throw the ball. His accuracy was so fine, he was played at Pitcher for the Amherst team.
After packing his bags, buying a Colt Single Action, Army pistol or Peacemaker chambered in .45 caliber and a few outfits he thought would fit in out west, he said his good byes to his family and boarded a train. It was a trip that took him more than a few weeks. When he arrived in Pecos, Texas, he thought maybe he was in over his head. He purchased a horse. He nothing about horses, but bought a Morgan horse for $90 and named him Josiah or "Josie". The horse was dark brown with a white splotch or line running down the face of his long nose. Finney purchased a saddle blanket, western saddle with horn, saddle bags, bed roll and a 100' length of rope because every photograph he saw of the old west, cowboys had ropes on their saddles.
With his gun belt strapped on, .45 Colt SAA on his right hip and every bullet slot filled around his belt, he mounted Josiah, heading west in the open country. He had a knife to skin small animals in the even he caught one, but wore his old brown bowler; the same one he wore at Amherst College. He didn't feel right with the western style hat and decided he would keep the bowler as a signature of his past.
In his saddle bags, he stored a writing tablet, inkwell and pens as well as some hard tack in case he couldn't find food and a feed bag for Josiah as well as some fruit and vegetables for the horse as treats and a small copy of the bible. He carried the money his father gave him on his person at all times.
His first night in the desert, he felt as though he were going to starve, He couldn't find anything to hunt to cook and he couldn't start a fire with the flint and tinder he used. The next day he rode about ten miles before setting up camp. He tried again with the fire and could not start a fire. He did however hunt and kill a rabbit, but failed to cook it. On his third day, he came upon a stranger who had a fire and asked if he would share his fire with him. The man was friendly. Finney cooked the rabbit and shared it with his host. He finally sated his three day old hunger.
After a week on the road, Finney made it to Sweetwater, having adjusted to life on the road. The sacrifice of being dirty, he committed to himself in New England was nothing compared to the sacrifice of food he endured at the beginning of his journey. Fortunately at the saloon, he was able to purchase a meal and a beer at the saloon. Phineas was a happy man.
Equipment:
- Colt Single Action, Army pistol or "Peacemaker" chambered in .45 caliber
- Three western shirts (white, light blue, red)
- Three pair of trousers (blue, brown, black)
- Western style boots (brown)
- Brown leather vest
- Brown bowler (hat)
- Morgan horse named Josiah or "Josie".
- saddle blanket
- western saddle with horn
- saddle bags
- bed roll
- a 100' length of rope
- gun belt
- 100 rounds of .45 ammo
- a knife
- a writing tablet
- inkwell
- pens
- hard tack (ate it up on the ride to Sweetwater)
- a feed bag for Josiah
- an assortment of fruit and vegetables for the horse as treats
- a small copy of the bible.
- $235 (remaining money his father gave him as a gift)
Relationships:
- Ezekiel O'Connell, Father, wealthy New England Doctor. Phineas loves his father, writing letters to the man while away from home.
- Charlotte O'Connell, Mother, Kind hearted woman who worries about her children daily.
- Albert O'Connell, 29, brother, chose a life on the sea in the US Navy serving as a Lieutenant.
- Frederick O'Connell, 28, brother, plays the violin in the Boston City Orchestra. Teaches music in Boston.
- Clara Donohue (O'Connell), 26, Sister, married Arthur Donohue who works as a Law Enforcement officer in Gloucester.
- Isabella Grieve (O'Connell), 24, Sister, married Walter Grieve who works as a fisherman.
- Harold O'Connell, 22, brother, married Julia (Murphy) and works in Finance in Boston. Graduate of Boston College
- Sophia O'Connell, 19, sister, student at Emerson College studying Latin.
- Edward O'Connell, 17, Brother, student at Boston College.
Name: William "Billy" Kingsley
Purpose: Looking for work
Description: Billy, aged 26 stands 6' 2" tall and weighs 180 Lbs. He has dark blackened skin, African black hair and brown eyes. Billy has more than a few scars on his arms and torso from time spent in the US Cavalry. He wears his old blue cavalry trousers with the yellow stripe on the legs. He also wears a white shirt and a black vest. He traded in his US Army kepi for a black Dakota style leather cowboy hat with the forward edge of the brim drooping way down over his eyes. He gave his blue jacket to an Indian at some point in time. He didn't want it anymore. There are three eagle feathers tucked into the hat band. He wears his black leather cavalry boots as well. The Apache call him, "Elan Itza-chu" which means Friendly Great Hawk, due to his personality and ability to know what is going on around him. It is as though he were a great hawk looking down at the world.
Backstory: William Kingsley grew up near Oswego, Illinois. His father, Lucius Kingsley was a runaway slave from Shreveport, Louisiana. Lucius married Emiline, who had no prior last name. The woman was a runaway slave from Tupelo, Mississippi. Lucius and Emiline found each other in Chicago, IL after their escape to freedom, fell in love and settled into farming south of the city near Oswego.
Lucius chose not to serve during the war between the states, but by then he and his wife had five children to raise. His oldest son, William and other sons helped him with chores around their farm. Lucius' youngest child was his favorite, Clarabelle, born around the time of the firing on Fort Sumter in 1861.
When he was old enough, William enlisted in the Army, serving in the newly formed 10th Cavalry regiment. William's brothers in arms, quickly picked up the moniker of "Buffalo Soldiers" from the native tribes who inhabited Indian Territory (Oklahoma) and other territories of the plains as well as Texas. The Natives didn't know what to make of the black soldiers, just they were the same color as the buffalo whom they hunted.
William was treated fairly in the army, but the days were long, and the work was hard. He fought in several engagements with the natives. He learned the language of the Comanches (Comancheros) and the Apache (Mescalero) tribes. He also knows a little Spanish (Mexico). Albeit Billy never had an education and cannot read or write but has a propensity towards learning foreign languages. He can speak English, Apache, Comanche and Spanish, but can't read or write anything.
When Billy left the army, he kept his horse, pistol belt, sidearm, saddle, tack and harness as well as his uniform equipment. He picked up a rifle shortly after leaving the military, insuring he has sufficient ammunition. He abandoned his cavalry saber to a young Mescalero some time ago.
Billy has been in the panhandle of Texas, Apache country for a few years and is looking for work. He has done several odd jobs in the past but needs something now. He wandered into the saloon in Sweetwater with this quest in mind.
Equipment:
- Henry Rifle (.44 caliber)
- Colt SAA Pistol (.45 caliber)
- Bowie Knife
- Mustang Horse named "Rose" (female) black and white paint
- One spare shirt (light blue)
- Yellow Neckerchief
- One pair of trousers (US Army Cavalry)
- US Cavalry boots (black)
- Black vest
- Black leather Dakota styled cowboy hat
- saddle blanket (traded US Army blanket for multi colored one from a Commanche)
- western saddle with horn
- saddle bags
- bed roll
- gun belt
- 250 rounds of .45 ammo
- 170 rounds of .44 Henry ammo
- a Bowie knife
- a feed bag for Rose
- an assortment of fruit and vegetables for the horse as treats
- $13.65
Relationships:
Lucius Kingsley, father, farmer in Illinois
Emiline Kingsley, mother
David Kingsley, 24, brother, farmer in Illinois
Amos Kingsley, (22), brother, troublemaker, killed by whites in St. Louis, MO
Joseph Kingsley, 20, brother, farmer in Illinois
Clarabelle, 14, sister, lives with family on the farm in Illinois. She is Billy's father's pride and joy.</s>
<|message|>Sergio Westwood
SERGIO WESTWOOD
Their was a man in his late twenties at the pool table; having a friendly game with another patron at the bar. Waiting for the deputy to come fetch him for a job; from what he was told their was a outlaw by the name of Robert Hall. Sergio wondered when the dim witted man was going to enter the saloon; however it had been an hour and a half since he was told the deputy was going to come get him. So he was going to wait enough half hour before leaving; passing the time with this stranger.
His eyes looking over towards the commotion going on near the piano. Noticing a civilian that had somehow gotten himself involved in the situation. Looking over towards the other pool player; "Give me a moment" Nodding his head which the other player responded with one of his own. Walking over towards the table; with a pool cue in his hand. "Hi buddy, you wanna play a game with me?" He asked Phineas. Signaling him in a way to remove himself form the incoming danger.</s>
<|message|>Mistihkoman (Big Knife)
It's an interesting thing, to see a man, even a red skin like Mistihkoman get angry, truly angry. The kind of anger that makes a man want to take a life. But the words that come out of the squat native's mouth are calm, almost dangerously so. As he speaks his nostrils flare, "I don't know if you're stupid, over confident, or cocky." He suddenly leaps, crashing down on top of the table, now towering over Logan, forcing the man to look up at him, and the paired weapons in his hands, "So I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, and hope you're joking. But if the next words out of your mouth are another insult..."
He took a deep breath then shrugged off his vest and with a motion opened his shirt, bare skin, nothing to stop a blade or a bullet. He grinned dangerously, "I'll make you a promise Logan, I can hear others rousing around us. More moniyew hired hands? Patsy's for your command." His eyes opened wide and almost flashed, "But I make you this promise Logan. I'm right here...right now...your friends might get me in a rush, might get the soldier, and might get the bounty hunter, but before they can lay a hand on me." He lowers himself to the ground, his legs tense, "I'll have my hands, on you." He grinned then in a spine tingling moment of almost joy he lets out a war cry, a high, powerful blast of sound from deep in his chest, sounding almost like the howl of a wolf, the screech of an eagle and the chitter of a bear all at once, coming from the lungs of a braid haired hunter and scout perched above Logan, "I give you this chance right now, run away, out the back, out the front, through a window. But before this is over, many of us will be bleeding on the floor, and one of them will you white man. I make this promise to you now. And a Cree man does not break his promises."</s>
| <|message|>Phineas Eugene O'Connell
Phineas was too frightened by the tomahawk and approach of Logan's muscle to notice the pool player. Besides, he was now on the other side of the poker table from the cowboy with the pool cue. He did not know what was going on, but did notice the four men from the other table, approach his former card playing compatriots. They looked rough and Finney just wasn't sure about a fight. He knew this was good stuff for his book, but didn't know if he needed to risk his own life in the process.
Out of the corner of his eye, he detected movement from the second floor. A corpulent little man in a brilliant white suit took eager interest in the action below. He pulled the curtain wide enough to see it transpire below. Finney wondered who the fat man was. Maybe he owned the place and was about to watch his saloon get wrecked. Finney placed the corner of the bar between him and the emerging row in the middle of the saloon.
Billy caught the four men approach from the other table. He backed off Mr. Logan when Mistihkoman jumped on the table. He felt threatened by their presence and knew he needed to make an impact soon. The approaching stranger closest to him caught a left cross to the jaw and then a right upper cut right behind the cross. He readied himself for a fight after throwing the first two punches.</s> |
<|description|>Phineas Eugene O'Connell
Purpose: Seeking experiences in the west to be used in writing western novels.
Description: "Finney" or "Gene" as he is often called stands 5' 8" tall and weighs 147 Lbs. He has an oval shaped face with steel grey eyes and dark brown hair kept short, with no facial hair. At age 21, he prefers to be clean; immaculately dressed. He understands he will need to get a bit dirty for his adventures and is willing to make that sacrifice. He appears to be a fancy lad from Boston because that is how he dressed when he attended university.
Backstory: Finney was a boy during the Civil War. His father too old for the war, worked as the community doctor in Gloucester, Massachusetts. Typically, a fishing village, Phineas had no intention of sailing, working with fish or working as a doctor. He appreciated the gentle life his father provided him and his seven brothers and sisters, but Finney was a dreamer.
He read the newspapers during the war, enthralled with the stories about the war and life out west. As a young boy he desired traveling to the frontier and living the life of a cowboy; going on adventures and learning how to survive.
While studying English, Writing and Rhetoric at Amherst College, Phineas became infatuated with life in the wild west. He decided he would travel out west to experience life in the west and write novels about his experiences. While a student at Amherst, he played on the college baseball team, earning a nick name as Three-fingered-Finney. It never stuck and disappeared when he traveled west. The nickname had more to do with how he threw a baseball. When most of the other players used all five fingers, Finney used only three; the forefinger, middle finger and thumb to throw the ball. His accuracy was so fine, he was played at Pitcher for the Amherst team.
After packing his bags, buying a Colt Single Action, Army pistol or Peacemaker chambered in .45 caliber and a few outfits he thought would fit in out west, he said his good byes to his family and boarded a train. It was a trip that took him more than a few weeks. When he arrived in Pecos, Texas, he thought maybe he was in over his head. He purchased a horse. He nothing about horses, but bought a Morgan horse for $90 and named him Josiah or "Josie". The horse was dark brown with a white splotch or line running down the face of his long nose. Finney purchased a saddle blanket, western saddle with horn, saddle bags, bed roll and a 100' length of rope because every photograph he saw of the old west, cowboys had ropes on their saddles.
With his gun belt strapped on, .45 Colt SAA on his right hip and every bullet slot filled around his belt, he mounted Josiah, heading west in the open country. He had a knife to skin small animals in the even he caught one, but wore his old brown bowler; the same one he wore at Amherst College. He didn't feel right with the western style hat and decided he would keep the bowler as a signature of his past.
In his saddle bags, he stored a writing tablet, inkwell and pens as well as some hard tack in case he couldn't find food and a feed bag for Josiah as well as some fruit and vegetables for the horse as treats and a small copy of the bible. He carried the money his father gave him on his person at all times.
His first night in the desert, he felt as though he were going to starve, He couldn't find anything to hunt to cook and he couldn't start a fire with the flint and tinder he used. The next day he rode about ten miles before setting up camp. He tried again with the fire and could not start a fire. He did however hunt and kill a rabbit, but failed to cook it. On his third day, he came upon a stranger who had a fire and asked if he would share his fire with him. The man was friendly. Finney cooked the rabbit and shared it with his host. He finally sated his three day old hunger.
After a week on the road, Finney made it to Sweetwater, having adjusted to life on the road. The sacrifice of being dirty, he committed to himself in New England was nothing compared to the sacrifice of food he endured at the beginning of his journey. Fortunately at the saloon, he was able to purchase a meal and a beer at the saloon. Phineas was a happy man.
Equipment:
- Colt Single Action, Army pistol or "Peacemaker" chambered in .45 caliber
- Three western shirts (white, light blue, red)
- Three pair of trousers (blue, brown, black)
- Western style boots (brown)
- Brown leather vest
- Brown bowler (hat)
- Morgan horse named Josiah or "Josie".
- saddle blanket
- western saddle with horn
- saddle bags
- bed roll
- a 100' length of rope
- gun belt
- 100 rounds of .45 ammo
- a knife
- a writing tablet
- inkwell
- pens
- hard tack (ate it up on the ride to Sweetwater)
- a feed bag for Josiah
- an assortment of fruit and vegetables for the horse as treats
- a small copy of the bible.
- $235 (remaining money his father gave him as a gift)
Relationships:
- Ezekiel O'Connell, Father, wealthy New England Doctor. Phineas loves his father, writing letters to the man while away from home.
- Charlotte O'Connell, Mother, Kind hearted woman who worries about her children daily.
- Albert O'Connell, 29, brother, chose a life on the sea in the US Navy serving as a Lieutenant.
- Frederick O'Connell, 28, brother, plays the violin in the Boston City Orchestra. Teaches music in Boston.
- Clara Donohue (O'Connell), 26, Sister, married Arthur Donohue who works as a Law Enforcement officer in Gloucester.
- Isabella Grieve (O'Connell), 24, Sister, married Walter Grieve who works as a fisherman.
- Harold O'Connell, 22, brother, married Julia (Murphy) and works in Finance in Boston. Graduate of Boston College
- Sophia O'Connell, 19, sister, student at Emerson College studying Latin.
- Edward O'Connell, 17, Brother, student at Boston College.
Name: William "Billy" Kingsley
Purpose: Looking for work
Description: Billy, aged 26 stands 6' 2" tall and weighs 180 Lbs. He has dark blackened skin, African black hair and brown eyes. Billy has more than a few scars on his arms and torso from time spent in the US Cavalry. He wears his old blue cavalry trousers with the yellow stripe on the legs. He also wears a white shirt and a black vest. He traded in his US Army kepi for a black Dakota style leather cowboy hat with the forward edge of the brim drooping way down over his eyes. He gave his blue jacket to an Indian at some point in time. He didn't want it anymore. There are three eagle feathers tucked into the hat band. He wears his black leather cavalry boots as well. The Apache call him, "Elan Itza-chu" which means Friendly Great Hawk, due to his personality and ability to know what is going on around him. It is as though he were a great hawk looking down at the world.
Backstory: William Kingsley grew up near Oswego, Illinois. His father, Lucius Kingsley was a runaway slave from Shreveport, Louisiana. Lucius married Emiline, who had no prior last name. The woman was a runaway slave from Tupelo, Mississippi. Lucius and Emiline found each other in Chicago, IL after their escape to freedom, fell in love and settled into farming south of the city near Oswego.
Lucius chose not to serve during the war between the states, but by then he and his wife had five children to raise. His oldest son, William and other sons helped him with chores around their farm. Lucius' youngest child was his favorite, Clarabelle, born around the time of the firing on Fort Sumter in 1861.
When he was old enough, William enlisted in the Army, serving in the newly formed 10th Cavalry regiment. William's brothers in arms, quickly picked up the moniker of "Buffalo Soldiers" from the native tribes who inhabited Indian Territory (Oklahoma) and other territories of the plains as well as Texas. The Natives didn't know what to make of the black soldiers, just they were the same color as the buffalo whom they hunted.
William was treated fairly in the army, but the days were long, and the work was hard. He fought in several engagements with the natives. He learned the language of the Comanches (Comancheros) and the Apache (Mescalero) tribes. He also knows a little Spanish (Mexico). Albeit Billy never had an education and cannot read or write but has a propensity towards learning foreign languages. He can speak English, Apache, Comanche and Spanish, but can't read or write anything.
When Billy left the army, he kept his horse, pistol belt, sidearm, saddle, tack and harness as well as his uniform equipment. He picked up a rifle shortly after leaving the military, insuring he has sufficient ammunition. He abandoned his cavalry saber to a young Mescalero some time ago.
Billy has been in the panhandle of Texas, Apache country for a few years and is looking for work. He has done several odd jobs in the past but needs something now. He wandered into the saloon in Sweetwater with this quest in mind.
Equipment:
- Henry Rifle (.44 caliber)
- Colt SAA Pistol (.45 caliber)
- Bowie Knife
- Mustang Horse named "Rose" (female) black and white paint
- One spare shirt (light blue)
- Yellow Neckerchief
- One pair of trousers (US Army Cavalry)
- US Cavalry boots (black)
- Black vest
- Black leather Dakota styled cowboy hat
- saddle blanket (traded US Army blanket for multi colored one from a Commanche)
- western saddle with horn
- saddle bags
- bed roll
- gun belt
- 250 rounds of .45 ammo
- 170 rounds of .44 Henry ammo
- a Bowie knife
- a feed bag for Rose
- an assortment of fruit and vegetables for the horse as treats
- $13.65
Relationships:
Lucius Kingsley, father, farmer in Illinois
Emiline Kingsley, mother
David Kingsley, 24, brother, farmer in Illinois
Amos Kingsley, (22), brother, troublemaker, killed by whites in St. Louis, MO
Joseph Kingsley, 20, brother, farmer in Illinois
Clarabelle, 14, sister, lives with family on the farm in Illinois. She is Billy's father's pride and joy.</s>
<|message|>Taylor "Black Jack" Jackson
"Um, well..." Taylor awkwardly fixed his holster. "Uh, sure, miss." He took a seat next to the woman as he glanced across to see Sergio and Finney "practicing". What a right pair of louts. He couldn't wait for the skinny reed to get shot.</s>
<|message|>Mistihkoman (Big Knife)
Mistihkoman sits and looks at the strange book in Sergio's hand. He narrowed his eyes, unsure of what he's seeing and looking at the words inside. Something about a man named Matthew? Mistihkoman wondered if this was like a newspaper and it was talking about someone important. It's about then that Billy begins to intone those words. And the Native man quirks an eyebrow, "Is this some kind of story about some great man? It sounds strange." Could it possibly be that Mistihkoman is not a Catholic, or a Christian in anyway? It'd be true if they were to ask. In fact after his curious question and comment he reaches up to finger a small dreamcatcher talisman attached to his bow that rests above his head in the racks, "Strange words. This story."
@Eviledd1984
Mistihkoman then turns and watches Barnabus. He narrows his eyes and frowns, watching in interaction with the child. The toy gun pattering by and under Mistihkoman's seat. He reaches under and grabs the gun then as the boy stands there downtrodden and unhappy Mistihkoman comes up with the gun and offers it grip first to the boy, "Astam, here. Your weapon Sheriff. I'll feel alot better with a good gun hand on watch." He smiles brightly, his teeth white against his darker then usual skin, not as dark as say Billy's dark skin but that dark red skin of a native man, "Just watch who you try and arrest huh? There are bad men out there." He nods to the boy, then turns away as the young lad takes the gun.
As he looks ahead he says to no one in particular, but it seems to be directed to the people who were mean to the boy, "Children are our future. To try and snuff out their light and joy, amounts to trying to kill our future. And will bring nothing but pain and misfortune to you in the end." He sniffs softly, and turns to the window, it's a dismissal alright.</s>
| <|message|>Phineas Eugene O'Connell
While watching Finney and Sergio training in the pugilistic arts, Billy heard Mistihkoman say, "Is this some kind of story about some great man? It sounds strange. Strange words. This story."
"Not strange at all, Misty Komen," Billy spoke with a western Illinois accent. "Mr. Sergio was reading the bible. In Latin, an old language from the old world, the word bible means, book. In other words, the bible is THE BOOK. This is the story about the son of God. Unlike how you pray, Christians believe in one God who created everything in our world and everyone on the planet. He then sent his only son to live amongst man for one purpose. His purpose was to die on a cross for the forgiveness of man's sins. The man's name was Jesus of Nazareth or Jesus Christ. He had several followers including his mother, Mary and twelve friends or disciples who wrote down on parchment about their experiences with God's only son, Jesus. The written word on the experiences of Jesus are recorded in the book. Yes, he was a great man. He remains a great man in the Kingdom of Heaven. He died for all our sins regardless of whether you or anyone believes in him or God. He is still there. He waits in Judgement for his brothers and sister to enter the gates of heaven. When you die, you go to his Kingdom in heaven; The Kingdom of the Lord, Hallelujah!" One could say Billy was a most pious man.</s> |
<|description|>Phineas Eugene O'Connell
Purpose: Seeking experiences in the west to be used in writing western novels.
Description: "Finney" or "Gene" as he is often called stands 5' 8" tall and weighs 147 Lbs. He has an oval shaped face with steel grey eyes and dark brown hair kept short, with no facial hair. At age 21, he prefers to be clean; immaculately dressed. He understands he will need to get a bit dirty for his adventures and is willing to make that sacrifice. He appears to be a fancy lad from Boston because that is how he dressed when he attended university.
Backstory: Finney was a boy during the Civil War. His father too old for the war, worked as the community doctor in Gloucester, Massachusetts. Typically, a fishing village, Phineas had no intention of sailing, working with fish or working as a doctor. He appreciated the gentle life his father provided him and his seven brothers and sisters, but Finney was a dreamer.
He read the newspapers during the war, enthralled with the stories about the war and life out west. As a young boy he desired traveling to the frontier and living the life of a cowboy; going on adventures and learning how to survive.
While studying English, Writing and Rhetoric at Amherst College, Phineas became infatuated with life in the wild west. He decided he would travel out west to experience life in the west and write novels about his experiences. While a student at Amherst, he played on the college baseball team, earning a nick name as Three-fingered-Finney. It never stuck and disappeared when he traveled west. The nickname had more to do with how he threw a baseball. When most of the other players used all five fingers, Finney used only three; the forefinger, middle finger and thumb to throw the ball. His accuracy was so fine, he was played at Pitcher for the Amherst team.
After packing his bags, buying a Colt Single Action, Army pistol or Peacemaker chambered in .45 caliber and a few outfits he thought would fit in out west, he said his good byes to his family and boarded a train. It was a trip that took him more than a few weeks. When he arrived in Pecos, Texas, he thought maybe he was in over his head. He purchased a horse. He nothing about horses, but bought a Morgan horse for $90 and named him Josiah or "Josie". The horse was dark brown with a white splotch or line running down the face of his long nose. Finney purchased a saddle blanket, western saddle with horn, saddle bags, bed roll and a 100' length of rope because every photograph he saw of the old west, cowboys had ropes on their saddles.
With his gun belt strapped on, .45 Colt SAA on his right hip and every bullet slot filled around his belt, he mounted Josiah, heading west in the open country. He had a knife to skin small animals in the even he caught one, but wore his old brown bowler; the same one he wore at Amherst College. He didn't feel right with the western style hat and decided he would keep the bowler as a signature of his past.
In his saddle bags, he stored a writing tablet, inkwell and pens as well as some hard tack in case he couldn't find food and a feed bag for Josiah as well as some fruit and vegetables for the horse as treats and a small copy of the bible. He carried the money his father gave him on his person at all times.
His first night in the desert, he felt as though he were going to starve, He couldn't find anything to hunt to cook and he couldn't start a fire with the flint and tinder he used. The next day he rode about ten miles before setting up camp. He tried again with the fire and could not start a fire. He did however hunt and kill a rabbit, but failed to cook it. On his third day, he came upon a stranger who had a fire and asked if he would share his fire with him. The man was friendly. Finney cooked the rabbit and shared it with his host. He finally sated his three day old hunger.
After a week on the road, Finney made it to Sweetwater, having adjusted to life on the road. The sacrifice of being dirty, he committed to himself in New England was nothing compared to the sacrifice of food he endured at the beginning of his journey. Fortunately at the saloon, he was able to purchase a meal and a beer at the saloon. Phineas was a happy man.
Equipment:
- Colt Single Action, Army pistol or "Peacemaker" chambered in .45 caliber
- Three western shirts (white, light blue, red)
- Three pair of trousers (blue, brown, black)
- Western style boots (brown)
- Brown leather vest
- Brown bowler (hat)
- Morgan horse named Josiah or "Josie".
- saddle blanket
- western saddle with horn
- saddle bags
- bed roll
- a 100' length of rope
- gun belt
- 100 rounds of .45 ammo
- a knife
- a writing tablet
- inkwell
- pens
- hard tack (ate it up on the ride to Sweetwater)
- a feed bag for Josiah
- an assortment of fruit and vegetables for the horse as treats
- a small copy of the bible.
- $235 (remaining money his father gave him as a gift)
Relationships:
- Ezekiel O'Connell, Father, wealthy New England Doctor. Phineas loves his father, writing letters to the man while away from home.
- Charlotte O'Connell, Mother, Kind hearted woman who worries about her children daily.
- Albert O'Connell, 29, brother, chose a life on the sea in the US Navy serving as a Lieutenant.
- Frederick O'Connell, 28, brother, plays the violin in the Boston City Orchestra. Teaches music in Boston.
- Clara Donohue (O'Connell), 26, Sister, married Arthur Donohue who works as a Law Enforcement officer in Gloucester.
- Isabella Grieve (O'Connell), 24, Sister, married Walter Grieve who works as a fisherman.
- Harold O'Connell, 22, brother, married Julia (Murphy) and works in Finance in Boston. Graduate of Boston College
- Sophia O'Connell, 19, sister, student at Emerson College studying Latin.
- Edward O'Connell, 17, Brother, student at Boston College.
Name: William "Billy" Kingsley
Purpose: Looking for work
Description: Billy, aged 26 stands 6' 2" tall and weighs 180 Lbs. He has dark blackened skin, African black hair and brown eyes. Billy has more than a few scars on his arms and torso from time spent in the US Cavalry. He wears his old blue cavalry trousers with the yellow stripe on the legs. He also wears a white shirt and a black vest. He traded in his US Army kepi for a black Dakota style leather cowboy hat with the forward edge of the brim drooping way down over his eyes. He gave his blue jacket to an Indian at some point in time. He didn't want it anymore. There are three eagle feathers tucked into the hat band. He wears his black leather cavalry boots as well. The Apache call him, "Elan Itza-chu" which means Friendly Great Hawk, due to his personality and ability to know what is going on around him. It is as though he were a great hawk looking down at the world.
Backstory: William Kingsley grew up near Oswego, Illinois. His father, Lucius Kingsley was a runaway slave from Shreveport, Louisiana. Lucius married Emiline, who had no prior last name. The woman was a runaway slave from Tupelo, Mississippi. Lucius and Emiline found each other in Chicago, IL after their escape to freedom, fell in love and settled into farming south of the city near Oswego.
Lucius chose not to serve during the war between the states, but by then he and his wife had five children to raise. His oldest son, William and other sons helped him with chores around their farm. Lucius' youngest child was his favorite, Clarabelle, born around the time of the firing on Fort Sumter in 1861.
When he was old enough, William enlisted in the Army, serving in the newly formed 10th Cavalry regiment. William's brothers in arms, quickly picked up the moniker of "Buffalo Soldiers" from the native tribes who inhabited Indian Territory (Oklahoma) and other territories of the plains as well as Texas. The Natives didn't know what to make of the black soldiers, just they were the same color as the buffalo whom they hunted.
William was treated fairly in the army, but the days were long, and the work was hard. He fought in several engagements with the natives. He learned the language of the Comanches (Comancheros) and the Apache (Mescalero) tribes. He also knows a little Spanish (Mexico). Albeit Billy never had an education and cannot read or write but has a propensity towards learning foreign languages. He can speak English, Apache, Comanche and Spanish, but can't read or write anything.
When Billy left the army, he kept his horse, pistol belt, sidearm, saddle, tack and harness as well as his uniform equipment. He picked up a rifle shortly after leaving the military, insuring he has sufficient ammunition. He abandoned his cavalry saber to a young Mescalero some time ago.
Billy has been in the panhandle of Texas, Apache country for a few years and is looking for work. He has done several odd jobs in the past but needs something now. He wandered into the saloon in Sweetwater with this quest in mind.
Equipment:
- Henry Rifle (.44 caliber)
- Colt SAA Pistol (.45 caliber)
- Bowie Knife
- Mustang Horse named "Rose" (female) black and white paint
- One spare shirt (light blue)
- Yellow Neckerchief
- One pair of trousers (US Army Cavalry)
- US Cavalry boots (black)
- Black vest
- Black leather Dakota styled cowboy hat
- saddle blanket (traded US Army blanket for multi colored one from a Commanche)
- western saddle with horn
- saddle bags
- bed roll
- gun belt
- 250 rounds of .45 ammo
- 170 rounds of .44 Henry ammo
- a Bowie knife
- a feed bag for Rose
- an assortment of fruit and vegetables for the horse as treats
- $13.65
Relationships:
Lucius Kingsley, father, farmer in Illinois
Emiline Kingsley, mother
David Kingsley, 24, brother, farmer in Illinois
Amos Kingsley, (22), brother, troublemaker, killed by whites in St. Louis, MO
Joseph Kingsley, 20, brother, farmer in Illinois
Clarabelle, 14, sister, lives with family on the farm in Illinois. She is Billy's father's pride and joy.</s>
<|message|>Sergio Westwood
@Kelewen
SERGIO WESTWOOD
The bounty hunter made his way forward towards the entrance of the next car with Taylor; Firing off a few shots at the bandits around the next train car. Turning towards William and Phineas before he left the car: "Come on you two; let's shake up some dust. He could see Mistihkoman was in a fight with another native; he was not sure how to proceed and help his native ally. "What should we do?" He asked Taylor not to fire and accidentally hit Mistihkoman.</s>
<|message|>Phineas Eugene O'Connell
William noted the reluctance of the outlaws to show themselves around the sides of the train. He considered moving through or over the freight cars to get a shot at who was back there. He did not know how many were left. He figured there couldn't have been too many; maybe three or four? It would have been nice to know the answer to that question.
"Come on you two; let's shake up some dust." Sergio yelled from the front of the passenger car. William and Phineas looked up at Sergio acknowledging the invitation to join the others in their push into the Express car. William knew whoever was towards the rear would be slow in moving forward along the train and decided it might be more important to protect the cargo in the Express Car, since that was what they were hired to do.
"Finney," Billy muttered. "Let's join the others. You'll do fine, kid." Billy got up, trotting toward the other end of the passenger car with Finney on his heals. When he reached Sergio and Taylor, he saw Misthikoman wrestling with the Navajo man. There wasn't a lot of room in the Express Car. He then considered his idea of climbing onto the top of the car to shoot the men towards the rear. "How about we go up on top of the car here and stop anyone from entering the express car from the other end or from hitting the engineer? There isn't a whole of room to get by Misti and the Navajo."
Billy became squeamish on the idea of riding on top of a train while moving. Maybe Sergio or Taylor would join Billy. It certainly would not be prudent for all four of them to go up there. Two could do the job.
@BingTheWing</s>
<|message|>Taylor "Black Jack" Jackson
@Landain
Taylor obliged, he figured that the native could probably handle himself. "You, uh, Sergio! That's your name, right? We gotta catch up with Bobby!" He also turned to Finney and Billy. "Uh, you two.. yeah, that sounds good. Try head them off from the back!"
He pointed upwards, at the roof of the express car under which Misti and Sparrow were fighting. "We can climb over this car to get to the front!" He started to climb the railings, intending to fight Bobby from the roof of the car.</s>
| <|message|>Phineas Eugene O'Connell
Finney became a bit squeamish at the idea of climbing over the top of a moving rail car. "Maybe we could just shoot the Indian Misti is fighting with?" He mumbled when William and Taylor spoke of the climb.
William looked at Finney, he grabbed him by the shoulder and spoke directly into his face, "one of these days, son, you are going to have to prove to someone you have a pair of balls between your legs. Quit being a Nancy and do something!"
"I could shoot that Indian," Finney uttered again. "Then no one would have to climb over the rail car."
"you really think you can hit him? You've been shooting a pistol for one week and you think you can do it without hitting Misti?" William was concerned for Finney, but knew the kid lacked confidence. "If your heart is not in it, stay on this platform." William turned, climbing the ladder onto the roof of the Express car. He looked to see if anyone was going to join him.
He crouched low. Low enough to drag a hand along the top of the rail car. He had slung the Henry rifle over his body, as he didn't want to drop it, but did draw his Colt .45, ready to use it against Bobby or Linch or whomever he might have to kill.</s> |
<|description|>Mary Rose Johnson, "Bloody Mary"
Purpose: Currently looking for any job that would earn her cash.
Description:
Standing at 5'9 and 130 lbs, Mary is taller than most women. She has a well-muscled, athletic, frame earned from many rough years traveling the West as an outlaw. Appearing to be in her mid-twenties, she has hazel green eyes and braided dirty blonde hair that she hangs over her shoulder. With delicate features and a well-angled face, Mary would be considered beautiful if not for the pale white scar running along her left jawline. Mary's outfit consists of a yellowed long sleeve shirt, worn black trousers, a brown leather cowboy hat, and a black bandana around her neck. Around her waist are a large brown leather belt and two pistol holsters on either side.
Backstory:
Mary was the only child of a pair of farmers from Kansas. Her family had toiled the same land for generations, earning a meager but honest living. As a child, she knew it was her destiny to one day marry a strong man to work the farm as her father and grandfather did, much to her chagrin. Growing up she was very much her father's daughter. Not having a son, Mary's father raised her to hunt, fish, and shoot like the other boys her age. She developed a dislike for the household chores her mother forced upon her, instead finding joy in accompanying her father on his many hunting trips. By thirteen she could shoot a squirrel right between the eyes from a respectable distance.
Due to reasons unknown, Mary left the farm at the tender age of sixteen with nothing but her father's old hunting rifle, the family horse, and an angry glint in her eye. She quickly joined up with a gang of local youths who had decided to leave their poor lives behind and set out in search of loot. They were successful for a time, robbing wealthy travelers, stagecoaches, and small-time businesses. It was never anything too big but enough to earn them a dishonest living.
One night, after a successful train robbery – their most profitable job yet, Mary awoke to the drunken stupor of one of the outlaws making his way into her tent. Before she could utter a word of defiance, the man overpowered her and pinned her to the bed, clearly wishing to have his way with her. She screamed for help from her comrades but none came. Moments later Mary emerged from the tent, covered head to toe in blood. Arranged around the nearby campfire were the stunned figures of her former friends. They had heard her cries for help but chose to ignore them. From the open tent flap, they saw the pitiful man laid still on the bed, a hunting knife embedded in his neck. Bloody Mary, as she would soon thereafter be known, left without a word. News quickly spread of the scarred beauty who used her charm to lure innocent men to bed, only to take their life after the act was done.
Since then, Mary has earned an infamous reputation for being a capable and convincing outlaw. She's worked with many different gangs, never staying with any for longer than a year. A string of unlucky jobs and close encounters with the law has landed her in the town of Sweetwater, Texas. There she awaits her next big score to fill her thinning pockets.
Important Equipment:
-Winchester Model 1873 rifle
-Two colt .45 revolvers
-Hunting knife
-$15
-American Quarter Horse named "Diamond"</s>
<|message|>Taylor "Black Jack" Jackson
The money.
He had to go back for the money.
For what would not be the last time in many, many days, Taylor R. Jackson's thoughts once again returned to the pounds and pounds of gold stashed in that cave back in New Mexico. Ten thousand dollars lifted from stagecoaches, homesteads and banks from all across Arizona and California. Ten thousand dollars was the worth of his life. And all because of that one tip that goddamned snake of a Mexican fed them, gold magnate Karl Jorgensen would ensure that this chase was not going to let up until either him or all of the gang were dead.
Some of the gang said they were going to hole up in a ranch in Kansas. Yet a couple more said that they were headed up north in Dakota, probably rob some miners on the way there. And now here he was in this godforsaken town, gambling away what was left of his life's work to a darkie, a redskin, and a couple of dandies probably from up north. This was it. He was living the life. On an ordinary day he and his gang would have this entire saloon quaking in fear and spilling the contents of their wallets all over the floorboards. Now he was hiding like a rat in this ballsack of a town with his face splashed all over wanted posters from here to Phoenix. Granted, they weren't very good impressions, but he paid a boy a couple of cents to take down the most accurate ones plastered in the town square.
What was he doing here? Waiting? Planning? He felt aimless. He was lost. Why did he want to go it alone? An extra gun or two, while conspicuous, would have been useful in the case a bounty hunter or a Pinkerton showed up on his trail.
But well, it was only a few dollars. After one last round, he'd go up to his room and hit the sack.
"Your loss, mister," he muttered, taking the two cards the well-dressed man dealt to him.</s>
<|message|>Mistihkoman (Big Knife)
Mistihkoman sat at the table stiffly. When he'd walked into the Texas he had meant only to trade the pelts he'd picked up. And get a small sum from it before heading back north. He'd wanted to avoid the glares and dirty looks the residents had started to give him the moment he'd come into town. Even if it's clear he's no member of the Apache, the Comanche or the Delaware, he's still an First Nations or Indian person from the America's. Canada treats his people and cousins a little differently from the States, so he'd not wanted to stay too long.
But someone had seen him pocketing several bills of money, and had dragged him into the saloon, despite his wish to not do so. the Firewater isn't exactly healthy. But he'd stayed, refused to pay for drinks of anyone else but himself and sat, watched, ignoring the attempts by people to get him to pay for their drinks. His Rifle, bow and the rifle club had been taken, but he still had his knife and tomahawk hidden under his vest just in case. He sniffs, and looks at the cards in his hand. He's not sure how he ended up at the table. He'd been sipping at a glass of whiskey before he'd been invited to sit at the table. And now several hands in he looks at the small stack of dollars. So far it's gone well.
As he sets his cards down on the table, looking over at one of the spectators saying something about how he's not playing standard Indian Cards. Something about one on the head if you don't see it you lose. The short indian just narrows his eyes. Then turning back to look Logan, "Moniyew wants his soniyew back? Logan must win this hand then." He reaches down picks up one of the coins he won and flips it between his fingers, "We start yes?"
Moniyew = White Man
Soniyew = money/dollars/payment</s>
<|message|>Phineas Eugene O'Connell
Courtesy: Lord Bowler/Julius Cary
Billy Kingsley
"Oh, how'd y'all get me roped into this game. I ain't no gambler, but mees no complainin' 'bout winnin' dis ere money." Billy never gambled. But somehow someone got him into this game in the saloon in Sweetwater, Texas. He looked over at the older white man who was a few inches shorter than himself. He didn't know the man, but he looked rough. He was wearing one of those wide brimmed ten-gallon hat, Billy always mocked when he rode the trail. Even the Comancheros he rode with thought those hats were awkward looking. But Billy convinced himself not to say anything about it. He suspected by his accent, the man was from the deep south. If he was going to get into a fight, it would be on his terms. He'd never heard a Louisiana accent, but knew it did not sound like anyone from Chicago, Indiana or Iowa. He spent most of his life up north, but had been in Texas for the past several years. He had gotten used to the Texas accent, but this gentleman did not sound like someone from Texas either. "You kin try n' take dis money, Missa Logan, but I ain't in da mind to be givin' it away."
There was another Yankee at the table, who went by the name of Finney. He was shorter than everyone else at the table. He could tell by his appearance, that he only recently arrived in Texas and did not know what he had gotten himself into. There was a time when he would view a northerner as an ally or friend, but having received the shit end of the stick more than a few times, he knew not to trust them as much as a southerner. But with this kid, he felt as though the young man would need his help more than a typical Yankee found in Texas. He made a commitment to himself that he would watch the kid and help if he needed, until he betrayed him somehow. With whites, Billy knew it was not if, but when.
Billy didn't know what to make of the white woman or the Indian. He knew many Comanches and Apaches, but he never met someone quite like him. Billy addressed Mistihkoman, "Where you from, friend? Ah've lived with Commanches and Apaches. You be different. Ah reckon, ah can't place where you from."
---
Courtesy: Dick Brewster
Phineas O'Connell
Finney played cards with his school mates in Amherst. The stakes often were higher than the game here in the Sweetwater saloon. But somehow, he realized there was more at risk here than when he was at school. For starters, he knew all the boys he played with at school. These people he was playing cards with were all strangers to him. His father told him to be wary of strangers like these. He thrilled at being here in this backwater saloon, the smell of alcohol and burning tobacco. It all excited him. He had never seen a native before and here he was playing cards with one. He wanted to ask the man questions. He wanted to ask all five of the people at the table many questions but felt he would only scare them away if he threw too many questions at them too quickly. He made a point to observe their behavior and make inferences from that. Maybe he could develop a comfortable rapport with these people to ask his questions.
Finney had met several colored folk either in Boston, Gloucester or Amherst, but they were usually fairly well dressed or at least comfortable. This giant of a colored man wore Cavalry trousers and boots. He wore a cowboy hat, one he'd never seen before. He wondered if he served in the army. "Excuse me, mister," Finney looked at Billy. "Were you in the army?" He wasn't aware black men served in the army.
"Yes sah," Billy responded. "10th Cavalry. Buffalo Soldiers."</s>
<|message|>Mistihkoman (Big Knife)
The squat native set his coin down and let his gaze travel around the table. Moniyew and moniyeweskiwew and kaskitewiyas. It's actually quite interesting to see so many and to see the white men including their women and a man of a different colored skin. As he sits and waits for the next moves to be made he blinks a little. He didn't register it at first but the dark skinned man is talking to him. He takes a moment to think back and nods slowly. He smiles a little as he responds, "Comanche and Apache are my cousins. I am Plains Cree, from Montana territory and North into Canada, Saskatchewan and Alberta." He nods, "Scout, Tracker and Hunter." He adds patting his chest proudly. He looks the man over and nods respectfully, "Fine to see dark skinned man here. Good medicine." Finally he lets it out, "Mistihkoman, Big Knife, my name. What is your name dark skinned one?"
moniyeweskiwew = woman, white woman
kaskitewiyas = african person literally means, Dark Skinned person
side note: Cree People had no concept of an African American person for the longest time. As Slavery was not a major thing in Canada and African people did not make it to the western Canadian area until nearly the very end of colonization. But when they did the Crees, all nations of them, quickly came up with a term for them.</s>
| <|message|>Mary Rose Johnson, "Bloody Mary"
Mary puffed idly at the half-finished cigar between her lips, the three successive pulls leaving a trail of smoke in the air. She enjoyed the occasional smoke, that and a shot of whiskey did wonders to help ease the soreness of days traveling on horseback. Though what Mary truly enjoyed was seeing the startled expressions on men's faces when they saw her smoking casually. It was a sin, she was told. A hobby unbefitting a woman such as herself. She didn't like the sound of that one bit. The things she did to uppity men like that… Well…
Mary looked up at the greasy man glaring at her from beside the bar, a cotton rag held up against a bloodied nose he received not ten minutes earlier. Not only had the greaseball gotten between Mary and her last cigar, but he had also roughly suggested she replace it with a rather inappropriate member beneath his pants. At that Mary had merely chuckled, grabbed him by the loose hair of his balding head, and slammed his nose right into the countertop. The bartender, who had witnessed the whole thing, merely shook his head and tossed the bleeding man a rag to soak up the blood now gushing from his nasal cavity. She locked eyes with the man and blew another long plume of smoke matched by a devilish smile. The ol' greaseball stormed out of the saloon, the stomp of his boots on the hardwood floor attracting a few annoyed glances on the way out. She heaved a heavy sigh. From the looks of him, Mary could tell he posed no real danger. There was undoubtedly a tired wife and children waiting for him at home. Still, she would sleep with a gun under her pillow tonight – Mary rarely didn't these days.
Her attention turned to the table where Mistihkoman and the colored man were sparking a conversation. She listened intently as the Indian spoke his name. Not being one to wait until spoken to, Mary quickly chimed in.
"Misty-what now?" She raised a confused eyebrow. Her experience with Natives had only been through pseudonyms, they took American names that were more easily pronounced by the English tongue.
"I outta call you Big Knife, then. Sadly, those Indian names sound like a mouthful of nails to me."
Mary glanced at her cards on the table, letting slip a small smile before quickly recovering her nonchalant expression. She had absolutely nothing, but no one else needed to know that. She needed to win money any way she could anyhow. The room at the inn wasn't cheap and she would have to win big if she wanted to last the month.
"I'm Mary. Mary Johnson. It's a pleasure." She loosed a charming smile, a stark contrast to a pair of hungry sea-green eyes.</s> |
<|description|>Marduk Girga
6'7" (201cm)
247lbs (112kg)
Age:
60
Guild Mark Location: Across his upper back
Magic Type:
Portal Magic
* Lock Out - Marduk is capable of locking out specific, non-living things from entering his portal. Ex. If a man jumps into a portal configured to lock out clothes, the man comes out the other end wearing nothing.
* Shadow Portal - The portals created are invisible to the naked eye. Creating these portals require great concentration from him, which, if broken, are broken.
* One for All - Creates a specialized portals a single entrance point can have multiple exit points. Choice of exit points is entirely up to him.
* All for One - Creates specialized portals where multiple entrance points have a single exit point.
* False Portal - A fake portal is created. It is neither an entrance nor exit point, and attempting to touch it will simply make it disappear.
* False Portal: Trap - A fake portal that is loaded up with magic. Interacting with it causes it to explode. The strength of the explosion is dependent on how much Ethernano he places on it. The maximum yield of these explosions can level a small house.
Magic Rank: B
Equipment:* Magic Cane - It's a cane that's also magic. Makes the canes tapping louder.</s>
<|message|>Grasidia
Grasidia
---
The tan woman had barely a moment of quiet before the girl that liked to pretend she was evil approached. Grasidia looked over as Lavinia approached, questioning about her mood the moment she sat down. Suffering and despair? she thought to herself, only giving Lavinia a raised eyebrow in response to her interrogation. This young woman often perplexed Grasidia with her grandiose posturing of her supposed evil. If the girl was gonna be evil she surely wouldn't be in a place like this. Though, I suppose I'm here too...
"No th-" she began, before being interrupted (or saved, pending perspective) by Ria. Surely someone as chatty as Ria would draw Lavinia's attention and inquiries away. "No," Grasidia settled on, serving as an answer to Ria's offer as well as Lavinia's questioning. She then glanced over to Zenith as he delivered her a sandwich anyways. He surely didn't hear her reject the offer of food but it still drew a sigh from her. She almost regretted coming back to the guild hall since all the young humans were bustling about in here with their odd ways. Between taking off their clothes, yelling, and challenging each other, Grasidia often found the most tolerable humans to be the elder ones with less energy and nonsense. Marduk, for example, was already placating the younger ones and attempting to calm them down in a gentle manner. He behaved almost like he was their father, but they clearly weren't his children because they never listened.
Grasidia quietly and subtly pushed the tray in front of her several inches further, distancing herself from the sandwich while she assumed nobody was quite paying attention. Torys is too ambitious, this guild won't survive much longer with this many mages and this few jobs. They'll all follow the money like humans usually do. Her eyes looked over the band of misfits that had gathered, surveying the room to see who was missing. That was when she noticed the new kid sitting by himself away in the corner. Her eyes narrowed, her piercing gaze resting on him for several seconds before continuing her sweep for a headcount. It seemed that most everyone was here now that Gwen and Lilliana returned from their long quest. For all her talk of family... Grasidia's gaze returned to Lavinia, who was now boasting to Marduk over the sandwich she was given. She couldn't help but roll her eyes at all these antics but no sooner than she was finished she suddenly felt an odd presence behind her.
She turned her head to find no other than Torys staring right back at her. The deceptively youthful guild master was simply standing there silently, her usual smile and bright eyes radiating an unusual amount of glee. Grasidia had hardly a second to ponder how Torys snuck up on her before the guild master's smile turned into a cheeky grin. "Gras, Holly, could I have a word with you two please?" she spoke up, revealing her presence to the rest of the guild hall. Obvious confusion covered Grasidia's previous expression as Torys then walked past, snatching up the sandwich from the table and taking a bite as she walked past. The guild master gave a wave to the rest of the guild before turning to Holly and motioning for the armored girl to follow. Huh... Grasidia thought to herself, taking a second to recompose herself before standing from her seat and walking after Torys, who continued eating the sandwich and using her free hand to pat everyone on the head once whenever she passed close by on her way to the back of the hall.
Torys stopped by the job board and waited for her two S-class mages to approach, continuing to chow down on the sandwich. "Oh, this is good. Whoever made this should make some more," she remarked aloud before Grasidia finally reached an appropriate conversation distance. "What is it?" Grasidia asked curtly, leaning against the nearby table and crossing her arms over her chest as Holly arrived. Torys raised a finger, shushing Grasidia as she finished chewing her most recent bite from the sandwich. This pause continued for a few seconds before the master gulped down her food and let out a pleased sigh. "Ahhh... So I have something important and we have very little time," she finally spoke at a normal volume, surely loud enough for everyone in the guild hall to listen in. It was clear that Torys wasn't trying to be secretive.
"I have intercepted an emergency call from the Magic Council headquarters in Era." Immediately Grasidia perked up and gave her full attention to Torys. "It just went out a minute ago. They are saying a dragon is in the city and about to lay siege to the Council's headquarters. The Council is panicking and sent out emergency summons to everyone they can, the Rune Knights, the Saints, the guilds, you name it." Despite what she was saying sounding like horrible news, Grasidia couldn't help but be suspicious about her master's continuing grin. "Of course, we haven't been formally invited to go and save the day. Buuuuuut... what I need you two to do is take everyone you can to Era and slay that dragon for me." To cap this off she gave Holly and Grasidia a big smile.
She wants us to slay a dragon!? Even the stone cold Grasidia couldn't hide her look of shock, though her back was turned to the majority of her guildmates so only Torys and Holly could see the slip. "With Grasidia's magic you all should be able to fly to Era and arrive before anyone else can!" Torys continued, holding out her free hand in front of her and clenching a fist. "This is the opportunity we have been waiting for! I believe that if you all worked together you could save the day without a sweat! And right on the Council's doorstep! Before all the world to see! This is our chance to make our name known and to upstage everyone. But we don't have a moment to waste!" Torys shoved the rest of her sandwich in her mouth, allowing her to use both her free hands to grab Holly and Grasidia by the shoulder to give them a light shove towards the door for emphasis. "If we wait too long, shomeone elshe will take cwedit!" She took a strained gulp to finish her food before continuing her orders. "Fenixtear! I have a job for all of you!"
"Fly to Era and slay that dragon!"
"Now go!" She gave one last, light shove to Holly and Grasidia before taking her hands off them. As Grasidia regained her balance she looked back to Torys, shocked to see Torys still smiling. She really believes we can kill a dragon, Grasidia concluded, quickly composing herself and turning away from Torys. "Yes, master." With her conviction clear she marched towards the front door of the guild, raising her hand towards it as she approached. It opened entirely on its own as the tiniest sprout reached through the floor and held it open for Grasidia, saving her even a few seconds to get outside.
Once outside in the shaded, empty alleyway she stood in the center and raised both her hands from her sides, the palms facing down. Two leaves, one on each side of her, breached the cobblestone and began to grow in size. These would be the guild's vehicles for flying to Era but to make them big enough it would take Grasidia a moment to prepare them. Which was fortunate, because Torys surely would only give everyone a moment to prepare as well. "Today is the day, Fenixtear!" Torys continued shouting, now jumping onto the nearest empty table. "I believe in all of you!"</s>
<|message|>Giselle Kaiser
...</s>
<|message|>Asher Lancaster
Asher
When Asher had walked into the guildhall today, he was expecting it to be the same as it had been. He had just finished looking at the still empty job board, taking a step towards the crowded table to grab something to eat. It was at this moment when the Guild Leader made the proclamation about their new job.
To go to Era and slay a dragon, of all things! To say that such a decree took him by surprise was an understatement. He had been praying for any sort of job to come through soon. Dragon slaying though? Perhaps his prayers were more effective than he ever thought before.
With the guild master jumping up on another table, Asher blinks, still taking in the momentous news. He swipes up one of the remaining sandwiches, before speaking up. "To think that we go from a week of nothing, to going to slaying a dragon…" He bites into his sandwich, swallowing before adding. "I guess that old expression of "go big or go home" really suits this situation."</s>
<|message|>Giselle Kaiser
About time. Their Guild Master, Torys has officially returned from wherever she went to. Before Gwen could talk, she broke down into dismay when Torys literally told them to go back to Era, at least for her and Liliana.
Gwen saw a new face after all the commotion, from her stripping and reprimanding from her superiors. She approached the boy and her skin was touching him. At the very least Gwen's demanding clothes.
"Hey new guy, your clothes or I'll beat you to pieces- sike. It's not nice to treat new members like this, from now on, you're part of my squad. I don't care if we just met but trust me, with my magnified judgement, you can fulfill your full potential. Now come with me and go dragon hunting!"
She immediately called Liliana via her phone.
"Hey. Wanna go back to Era? DRAGON HUNTING BITCH!!"
Gwen shouted to the full.
"Ria, Luke, Lavinia. I need you three."</s>
<|message|>Luke
Luke
---
His master was once again acting in a manner not befitting her age, though she brought some interesting news. A dragon about to attack people. "That's bad," he softly spoke. People getting hurt is naturally a bad thing to him, so he's ready to go right now. He followed after one of the resident S-classes of the guild, Grasidia, and waited for her to create a way to get over their as soon as possible.
He crouched in front of the vehicle growing with curiosity in his eyes. The way they grew like that in an organic way was like watching grass grow in a sped-up manner. Since he can derive enjoyment from watching grass grow at a normal pace, something like this would obviously be fun for him as well.
Though there is a glaring problem with this operation. A burning question sitting in his mind the moment this sudden mission sprouted up.
"What's a dragon?" He asked Grasidia who seems like a knowledgable, and well-traveled individual. Due to his amnesiac state, he knows not even myths about dragons.</s>
| <|message|>Marduk Girga
Marduk
Ah, so clearly their young-at-heart guild master wanted them dead. Well, now was a good time as any to beg the council to take him back in.
Joking aside, the sudden return of Torys had been accompanied by some amazing news indeed. The week long drought of jobs seemed as though in preparation for this sudden storm of events. Their guild master certainly knew how to pick them. What happened next though, would be crucial. He'd never fought a dragon before - plenty of demons, a handful of dragonslayers (artificial or otherwise) and even a trio of godslayers, but no dragons. He knew how to fight them in theory, and even that felt like a daunting task.
Typically, only a dragonslayer could, well, slay a dragon. Their magic was specifically meant for it after all. Dragons were nigh impervious to magic, fiendishly strong, and their own brand of magic would match a Wizard Saint for power on average. Even in his prime...
Bah! No sense overthinking it. They would either do this or not. Now the question was how to go about- and they were splitting into teams already. Well then.
He shrugged and approached Zenith.
"Ah, looks like you'll be working with the old man, Zen," he said with a grin. Turning towards the rest of the throng, he hollered: "Holly, Felix, Leon? What say you?"
He didn't really have a plan for this team. It was chosen mostly on a whim, with whoever was left over, but it wasn't a bad composition by any means. Zenith was a capable fighter, Fenix was a talented youth, and Leon tried his best- erm, that is, he was the only one asides from Ria that specialized in supportive magic, which was invaluable in team excursions. There wasn't much that needed to be said about what Holly brought to the table.
Hmmm... he'd need to prepare himself as well, if he didn't want to slow them down. It's been awhile since he'd exerted himself in combat.</s> |
<|description|>Giselle Kaiser
Appearance
Gwendolyn Historia Gospel
Female|17|Isenbergan|A-Rank
---
Nickname
Gwen
Guild
Fenixtear
Guildmark
Lower Middleback, Blue
Ice Breaker
Gwen is the older sister of Ria, both of them originate from Isenberg.
Personality
Contrary to the courteous Astoria, Gwen is cold and brash. She's ambitious and prideful,quick to throw insults and sarcastic one liners to psychologically discourage her enemies. Gwen is keen to detail and while she yaps a lot, she's well meaning and realistic in approach than fluff and sugar coat. Due to her sharp tongue, people often forget that she's competent,hence, she takes them by surprise.
Competencies
• Hardworking
• Strategic Team Player
• Tough Love
• Stealth
• Dual Broadswords
Incompetencies
• Anger Management Issues
• Workaholic
• Perfectionist
• Stealth, the escaping part
• Vengeful
Equipment
Ice Devil's Cold Air— Enchanted Slayer Factor Dual Broadswords
Magic
Dry Ice Bomb(干氷爆;Kanhyōbaku)
Gwen dons an explosive, colder and destructive Ice Magic that especially reacts to heat: Dry Ice. This grants her propulsive maneuvers that are far reaching — dry ice explosion covering a wide area of effect which can be extremely loud. The drawback of Gwen's magic is the lack of physical conditioning, without it, her body will be unable to withstand the force she emit behind the dry ice. While resistant to fire magic, potent fire magic and spells can melt dry ice.
Ice Devil Slayer Magic
Requip—only for clothes.
Slayer Spells
Ice Devil's Rage
Ice Devil's Zeroth Spider — Gwen ignites condensed omnidirectional cold beams from her fingers. She cuts and freezes steel and small buildings to cinders, even tornado twisters into bits. This spell consumes hefty amounts of magic power to maintain.
Ice Devil's Zeroth Contract — A Unison Raid that lets Gwen share demon slaying attributes with those she partners with. This also means that the effectivity of her slaying is weakened due to sharing. It takes a huge magic power cost to maintain this spell.
Dry Ice Spells
Dry Ice Bomb Propulsion — Gwen emits a jet propulsion of dry ice from her hands and feet for mobility purposes, propelling her forward. She can do control the direction trajectory she's heading to.
Dry Ice Bomb Heavenly Piercing Ice Wall — Gwen's preferred fighting method is to freeze everything around her with multiple geysers, as this is dry ice, it explodes upon release; spreading in a far reaching area, leaving chunky trails of ice.
Dry Ice Bomb Rampart — Gwen creates a massive wall of dry ice, any contact with the defense, explodes.
Dry Ice Bomb Flashbang — A literal cold flashbang.
Dry Ice Bomb Wave — Simultaneous waves of dry ice bomb explosions that covers a wider area big time. It's dangerous as it got Gwen the moniker of property damage. This is a more potent version of her ice wall.
Extras
---
Age
18
Mage Rank
B Rank
Magic
Winter Dress
Description
Giselle is one of the survivors of the demon torn Exorcist Gospel household and a practitioner of Ice Magic. Attending Era University, Giselle serves as the Secretary of the Student Council and coldly disciplines troublemakers and those who trespasses the school's premises. As a Gospel — Giselle has a high moral compass, she goes beyond service to better set expectations and servitude.
Giselle is a reserved individual, she's fair to judge though critically, fair to make decisions with a sound mind and abhors evil. She's detached to the nonsensical norms of teenhood and a very goal oriented person: her ambition is to find the survivors of her clan. Giselle was born under the Kaiser family of the branch Gospel household and was later absorbed by the main family for her unique Ice Caster Magic invention, Winter Dress. Among the household, Giselle was one of the children that had candidacy for inheriting the heirloom Ice Devil Slayer magic, which would make one Chief of the household. Unfortunately, Giselle declined the offer and would rather follow her educational pursuit and reunite with a friend who left the household a year before the massacre.
Anything about the Gospel massacre, Giselle tries as hard to bury the past though it would be nice if there's someone who can bring her family to justice.
She's in the same class as Leon Aldehart and often serves the class as interim Homeroom Representative. Giselle ironically treats her classmates with bias, as she gives them advanced notes about their magic lessons, albeit chill and lenient compared to their actual representative. To her credit, she's successfully made her class one of the best class since First Year.
While Giselle has the potential to join a guild, she'd rather serve Era.</s>
<|message|>Jessica Viola Tranzell
Enishi@Sho Minazuki@Spectral@Sanguine Rose
---
In terms of everything, Jessica was grateful to learn Reynard's name finally, after all the talking, but everyone has their way to do things. " Nice to meet you, Reynard." Jessica said with a kind tone in her voice. As such, she did notice Reynard staring at her sword, but he probably had some questions about it. However, Jessica heard the person who was excited to meet her sentient sword talk about the mystery reward. " Ah, yeah, that is pretty interesting and curious indeed." She spoke towards the one who was interested in her sword. Only when he looked directly towards her, and her sword was Jessica a bit interested in what he was going to say. She wondered what he would say to the sword. Additionally, what Reynard would talk about her sword would be interesting too. However, this wasn't really a point of contention to wonder about what he would ask. " Hmm... I do wonder what he wanted to say before starting this." Jessica thought with a bit of wanting to know but can wait for it.
The Sword's voice pierced the minds of Gwen, the interested one, Reynard, and Jessica's mind once again. It's so nice that someone would be so lovely only because of what the man had said. " Thank you for the interest, sir. Indeed, that is very interesting to be a guild with a Blacksmith, with Forge Magic. Yes, Jessica can show that off when there's some combat since the other magics involve that field." A beautiful young adult female's voice telepathically spoke to the four people in question, yet again. There was quite an interested tone to the blacksmith. The bluish silver glow got even brighter as if the sword was thinking about something else. As such, it already knew the names of the three individuals even before Jessica knew them. Basically an information type of advantage over Jessica, but Jessica wants to know everything for herself.
Jessica had a look of oh, so that's why he was interested in the sword, he's a blacksmith. She slightly giggled when he spoke about forgetting to introduce himself. " It is quite alright, Asher Lancaster. Everyone gets caught in the moment, even I sometimes." She spoke with a great understanding of that. It's always good to have someone that can repair gear or other stuff in a team. Jessica understands it is better to be prepared than not. " Alright, hopefully, it's going to be an excellent trip to the museum then." She spoke with a kind tone towards Asher.
The Sword's voice pierced the minds of all the four people in the group and had a slight giggle. " Jessica, the only time you get caught in the moment is when you are drinking or fighting… But it's time for us to go to the museum." A beautiful young adult female's voice telepathically spoke to the four people in question. It was always great to tease Jessica from time to time. The bluish silver glow got brighter still as if Tearsy was laughing slightly at Jessica somewhat.
Jessica sighed in slight annoyance when Tearsy teased her, but what she said was true. It was clear on her face, and she gets a bit annoyed when Tearsy does tease her. In terms, she was blushing a slight bit and had the look of please stop, Tearsy. As such, Jessica had somewhat facepalmed at being teased by Tearsy because what she said is true.
---
Jessica was thrilled to be on the job in Fenixtear after her stupidity of quitting the Crimson Mare guild. However, she was staring at the client in the museum, and he looked interesting, and she smiled at him. " Hello Carver Mandrake. My name is Jessica Viola Tranzell of the Fenixtear Guild, with three of my guildmates. It's a pleasure to meet you. We came here for your job request." Jessica said, with a nice-looking smile on her face. She would allow the others in her party to introduce themselves to Carver, and she does have to keep up appearances for her family.
However, the Sky Tears Sword stayed quiet and didn't want to invade the mind of their requester for the job. The bluish silver glow was pulsing brighter to dimmer as if Tearsy was thinking about what it always does to Jessica. The sword wanted to embarrass Jessica pretty badly, nonetheless. However, it will wait for the perfect time to do so. At least they arrived at their destination without too much trouble.</s>
<|message|>Tone Soretto
Tone
---
The sudden arrival of Zenith, with Akemi in tow, got Tone's attention immediately. "Hey man, I was just walking here," he defended himself, opening his hands from his fists to put up a defensive posture. "Then this guy started it." The other mage grimaced, only sparing Zen a single glance. "Sorry but your friend Tone here just hit me in the face. My nose might even be broken! That is unforgivable!" With no further regards to the interruption he threw the fireball at Tone, the fire suddenly growing into a massive torrent that washed over Tone entirely in an instant. "Danse Inferno!"
There were several gasps from the crowd and many stepped even further back to avoid the wave of flames that had engulfed Tone, but the fire didn't spread any farther. Instead the inferno began shrinking, quickly catching the attention and confusion of the mage that cast the spell. "What!?" As the fire continued diminishing it soon became apparent what was happening. From within the depths of the flames everyone could now see Tone inhaling the fire around him like a vacuum. The mage was dumbfounded and just watched in awe as the flames were entirely consumed, leaving only singed marks on Tone's clothes as the only sign they were ever even there. Tone himself was completely, surprisingly, unharmed. "Look, now he's setting me on fire and stuff. He has it coming to him," Tone complained to Zen, motioning towards the mage. "Meteor Dragon's..." Tone dropped into a combat stance, not unlike one taken in karate, drawing his right hand back at his midsection and tightening his fist. "Wait, hold on!" The fire mage was already sweating in fear, taking a single step back as he brought his arms up in a defensive stance.
"Crashing Fist!" Jets of blue flames erupted from Tone's arms and legs, propelling him forward in the blink of an eye. The intensely focused flames made a pitched "scream" almost as he flew through the air just a few inches off the ground towards his target. And just as he reached striking distance the flame propelling his right arm increased in intensity and his fist blasted upwards in an uppercut, creating a resounding boom for everyone to hear as his fist broke the speed of sound. But despite the incredible speed in his almost instant gap close and attack, Tone's powerful uppercut only hit air. As he came to a halt and the flames on his body vanished, Tone looked down to see the mage was on his back on the ground unharmed. How did he... "Greetings." Standing next to the fallen mage was a young man with blonde hair and glasses. "My apologies for intervening but I realized your attack might have done considerable damage to my comrade."
"Ah, so you want a piece too?" Tone suggested, putting his fists back up in another stance. "Negative. You seem to have misunderstood me. I do not wish to fight you either, but we at Blue Pegasus pride ourselves on our fashion and our beauty. Had your attack connected you may have damaged some expensive clothing or caused scarring that would damage our reputation with our clients." At this point Tone was confused and his stance dropped slightly. He looked over to Zen, hoping perhaps that his guildmate might understand what was going on better than he did. "Uh... Alright then?" The newcomer reached down and held out a hand, helping his comrade back up to his feet. "Sorry, Jimmy. He hit me right in the nose." "It looks bad, but I don't think it's broken. We don't need to fight today." As the two began conversing Tone couldn't help but take a few steps away from the weird mages and stand next to Zen. "Do I just let them go?" he whispered to Zen, still unsure of whether he was still in a fight or not. He had a feeling the fight was over but it was so strange that he couldn't be certain.
And that guy must be insanely fast, he thought, keeping his eyes on Jimmy. He knocked the other guy out of the way in a split-second. I didn't even see him. After the two Blue Pegasus mages finished their conversation the elder one turned back to Tone and Zen one last time. "My sincere apologies for this event. Even for a guild that prides itself on its manners we, too, are imperfect beings and make mistakes from time to time." "Hell of a mistake." "And it will not happen again. I hope you can enjoy the rest of your day, sir." The two Blue Pegasus mages made their way back into the crowd, which itself soon began dispersing and going about its business like normal. After a moment of silence Tone looked over to Zen and Akemi. "Well anyways, I was looking for you earlier Zen but I decided to take a walk first," he began, completely casual as if the fight that just broke out never even happened. "I been thinking and if I'm ever gonna stand a chance at getting my brother back then I need to be duking it out with strong people to train rather than taking mellow jobs with little action. You wanna go a round sometime? Akemi can join in too, I wouldn't mind. The worse odds the better."</s>
| <|message|>Giselle Kaiser
"Gwendolyn Historia Gospel. Prime Exorcist of the Gospel clan." She also introduced herself to their requestor.
His poor choice of words immediately irked Gwen assuming shady vibes. The room also didn't help along with the client's perceived scattered brain impression. The room reminded Gwen of Ria's room, which gave her some nostalgia. As much as she wanted to continue suspecting, she just let her OCD took her all the way over, stripped and dunked her clothes right in his face.
"Of course you wouldn't know you have an appointment...just look at how disorganized you are! Let's just get to the point before we call this off. Tell us what we need to know. "</s> |
<|description|>Alina Lilly Bloomfield
Alina
"Which is the lie; the mask or my face?"
---
Essentials
Nickname(s): Red, Lilly
Gender: Female
Age: 19
Birthday: 21/11
Affiliation: Fenixtear, the guild mark can be found on her left shoulder blade and is a dark red color
Equipment: A bag of holding to contain her various outfits, wigs and make-up kits as well as any other misc item she might want to carry. Also to store a jar of dirt for when she needs to pretend to be a farmer, or possibly pirate captain.
She also goes nowhere without a trusty dagger hidden somewhere on her person
---
---
Personal
Personality: Alina is, at heart, a true actress. A perfectionist that leaves no stone unturned in her preparation for whatever 'role' she must play for a job, that attitude to her work being the same whether it be through gathering information or simply making sure she has exactly the right amount of dirt on her to pretend to be a farmer.
While to most, Alina comes off as a kind, gentle soul, this is simply her favorite act to play. As any who knows her personally will attest to, however, she is a manipulative, often heartless individual with a lack of sympathy or empathy for others as she toys with, uses, and then abandons others at the drop of a hat. She views others as simply nothing more than a tool to advance her agenda, not afraid to resort to any dirty trick or deed to get the job at hand done.
Perhaps as a side effect of pretending to be so many people, but when all is said and done, even if one were to uncover the truth behind Alina, one would struggle to discern what is real or fake about the girl, the truth buried beneath her plethora of personalities, traits, and acts. Not even Alina seems to be aware of which persona within her is the real one. Does she simply do this because it's all she's ever known? Or because she wishes to? Does this make her happy, or does she only think it does because that's what she was raised to think? The girl wouldn't be able to answer.
The one thing she does know for certain is that she wishes to forge her own path forward, to break free of her parent's ever-looming shadow, and to become her own person.
Strengths:
Oscar Winner: With a natural talent for acting befitting her magic, she seems to swing into various personas and acting seemingly with ease. The more she knows about her 'role', the more seamless the transition.
An Eye For Small Detail: It doesn't matter how minor detail about a person it may be if she deems the person to be of some use she'll remember every gray hair tucked behind their right ear if she must.
Reconnaissance Queen: Combined with her acting, magic, and ability to manipulate, as well as her habit of scrounging up every last bit of information from everyone even the old lady down the lane, she is one of if not the most efficient information gathers in the guild
Not Just A Pretty Face: Alina knows her stuff, doing extensive reading on all sorts of matters and subjects let it be math or various magic so that she can pull off her act as close to perfect as possible
Weaknesses:
Apathetic: Despite her seeming mastery over the range of human emotions, she is unable to empathize with anyone which can lead to rifts between her and others.
Talentless Fighter: While she is no mug in a fight, she tends to be outclassed rather quickly whenever magic becomes involved due to the more niche nature of her magic.
Curiosity Killed the Cat: She has gotten herself in over her head many a time and as such has a habit of needing bailing out or rescue, much to the ire of any potential teammate.
Too Into Character: She does anything to stay in character and not break the immersion, meaning she'll do anything that the 'role' would do even if she sees no benefit in it.
Backstory:
While Alina surrounds herself with many stories, lies, and rumors as to her exact origins, with enough digging one would find that Alina is....no one. She seems to have no family history, at least any linked to her name, nor any prior records of actually existing pre-Fenixtear. Any attempts to get her to personally spill the beans is often met with the changing of subjects.
However if one were to gleam her origins, they would find out that she was indeed once a member of a somewhat well-known guild, known as God Hand, that specialized in some rather...unsavoury activities. Her parents were founding members and often were employed as spies, assassins, or the sort. As such, she was raised to be the perfect combination of all the above, receiving only the best tutoring that money could afford.
With her family being well off from the rather well-paying jobs they often undertook, she often got anything she asked for from her parents, living a spoilt life if not for the constant, rigorous training and studying she undertook. Eventually, however, she grew sick of living under her parent's thumb; constantly stuck in their shadow, compared to them whenever she made any minor or major achievement.
So as any good rebellious 16-year-old girl would do at the time, she quit the guild and ran away from home to forge a reputation and path that she could call her own. One that would surpass her parents, and the guild as a whole. She would use the skills she had learned to get by in the world, there was always a goodie two shoes or two she could sucker into letting her stay for the night or offer her a meal. Then much like a parasite, she would leech them of anything of worth and disappear into the night once more.
As such, she didn't stay in one place for too long, as unsurprisingly she made a fair few enemies along the way, some more intent on payback than others. And even if they weren't, there was always that possibility.
Eventually, one day while she was playing the part of a waitress at an inn, she overheard some interesting information. A new guild had opened in the area, and with it, an opportunity arose. She had missed the security a guild could offer, but was too stubborn to return home. She was also concerned her parents would find her if she ever went to a mainstream guild, however a guild almost no one had heard of and was a complete nobody? Perfect, especially if she could get them under her thumb.
Already devious machinations began to form in her mind, endless possibilities. And thus, once more under the cover of night, she would steal away to fill her ambitions.
---
Magic
Imitation-B Rank
An imitation can never replace the original...can it?
Much like the name implies, Imitation is caster-type magic that...well, imitates other people. Upon a prolonged touch, Alina can copy the form and magic, to an extent, of others. She is unable to copy other's memories/experiences, personalities, or the like, and instead leaves most of that up to her research, talent, and guesswork. She is also limited to humans at this point.
She can copy a person physically down to every last fiber of their being, and while she gains access to their magic, it is an inferior version and the gulf is more noticeable the stronger the individual she pretends to be in comparison to herself.
This doesn't include any items a person may have had on them, whether it be a magical item or simply the clothes they were wearing.
Other
- If one is lucky enough to find her hiding place, she can be found practicing her various roles or even some more famous roles from plays
-While in a fight with other mages she will easily be overwhelmed, Alina is dangerous in close quarters. Especially so when underestimated or with the element of surprise
-Alina has a fondness for cats and fluffy things in general
Akemi
"To prove my worth, I will protect everyone."</s>
<|message|>Holly Vertila
Holly could not help but eye perhaps the worst addition to the Guild as he made his way into the guild. Kaden was not the worst in terms of his magic, but in terms of his attitude. She despised the cockiness he presented, as well as just how generally rude she observed him to be. She took private joys in her victories over him however, such as the fact that she had managed to snag an S-Rank quest before he had managed to saunter his way into the Guild for the day. If she had not been wearing her helmet, she would have stuck her tongue out at him. Alas, that was impossible, and she refused to let her distaste for the man show - her helmet helped with that.
Zenith's smirk helped with that too, bringing a touch of a smile on her face. Holly was very glad that he agreed to joining her on the job, and was about to say something when Gwen, thankfully with clothes on, joined them. "Three's a team," Holly says, though privately she would have enjoyed the team being just herself and Zenith. Holly didn't shift from her position beside Zenith, instead bringing the flier back in front of her so that she could read over it again and discuss it with the pair that were going to be going with her. "Well, if the spirits have suddenly popped up behind the village, something had to have happened for them to move in. If they had been there the whole time, I doubt the village would have been put there in the first place. We might just get the answer from talking to the villagers right from the beginning. I especially want to know what happened to their local wizards."</s>
<|message|>Asher Lancaster
Asher
The sudden sensation of someone grabbing his shoulder quickly had him turn towards who it was. The face he found was someone new to the guild, as he had yet to talk to this individual before now. However, Asher had a hunch on who he was, as rumors tend to spread quickly around. This must be that new S Class mage who's been making the rounds… especially amongst the local female populace, if what he had heard is true. Whatever the case may be, the guy was now shoving the quest with the A.N.P. into his face and saying that he's going with him. But it was when he then followed up by inviting Lavinia with them that he could feel his eyebrow twitch.
His mind thinks back to the… apology letter? If one could call that. Hell, she even had to throw in a bit of a threat there towards the end! Asher remembers the groin guard that came with it as a "peace" offering. Naturally, he immediately tossed it away into a chest. He didn't trust it, nor her.
As Asher was about to speak up to the new guy, a strange new voice pops up near them. It takes him a second, but Asher finds the source as he looks down and spots a little machine with two drinks in its hand. When the small construct then states that it's the ANP from the mission paper, he found himself even more fascinated by the little marvel. Curiosity peaked, he found himself squatting down and taking in the details of it. Far as he could tell, it was quite well constructed and moved with fair ease. "Absolutely fascinating…" he speaks out, his eyes gleaming with interest as he rubs his chin in thought on how one could build something like this. Not only that, but it's ability to seemingly bring out a drink from nothing. "By chance… what else can you make, er… ANP? Could you make something like say, coffee?" He asks the little machine.</s>
| <|message|>Alina Lilly Bloomfield
Alina listened to Jasper with an amused look about her. A bit of a scaredy-cat huh? Even someone like Alina could find the humor in the irony. Though it was entirely justifiable when looking at it from the eyes of a young 'boy', strange people shooting off strange and powerful magic. If one didn't come from certain backgrounds, then the blatant use of magic like this would be startling. Even Alina couldn't really think of anywhere quite like Fenixtear with all of its oddities and equally odd individuals within. Fascinating really how Torys managed to gather this band of misfits, even more complexing how it worked. At the mention of Lilliana, the mage took a moment to quickly shift through all the guild-members she knew. That was the girl with the mask, wasn't it? Another one that intrigued Alina, but then again just about everyone here had some exaggerated, interesting personality that Alina could use one way or the other.
After a moment, Alina just leaned back, sighing as she shook her head. "There's not much to fear here, I'm sure they must have confidence in their magic if they're slinging it around like that. I'm sure you'll be fine regardless, they wouldn't want to harm a cutie like you." Looking back at Jasper with a gentle smile, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a couple of different items. One was a pen, the second was a journal and the third was a bag of assorted sweets. After what looked like a quick scribble into her journal, she opened up the bag of sweets and popped one in her mouth before offering it to Jasper.
"Have a few, tell me about yourself Ummm...." Pausing deliberately to give him the chance to introduce himself, after all she knew his name already but this was all part of the act, Alina sighed again. "Oh right, I should've introduced myself before asking. Where are my manners? Do forgive me, my name is Alina Bloomfield, I'm new here and I assume you are as well."</s> |
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