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<\|description\|>Hanako Moriyama I R L Age - 19 Place of Origin - Japan Occupation - University Student A V A T A R Character's Name - Rael Pathos Affiliation - Draethir Role - Agility-based Tank Profession - Collector Weapon of Choice - Spear Domains - Lightning, Wind; Alteration, Enhancement, Conjuration - P E R S O N A L I T Y Greedy Specifically in the sense of materialism. It's not greed if she's the strongest and smartest person in the group. She deserves taking more than her share. She's stolen from other groups, she's tricked her own. It comes with the territory. It is a Dog Eat Dog world that is called Pariah Online, after all. Her own selfishness seems to ebb and flow, however; it's whether she wants to get something or someone else has tasked her to. Irreverent On a base level, Rael appears to not care about anything at all. Not in the sense of a slothful do-nothing, but more of a smug inciter. She loves stirring the pot and saying things without worry of eggshells. This goes into believing the virtual world gives her freedom to be who she wants to be without all of the traditional Japanese traditions and niceties. Self-Centered The expression "the center won't hold" doesn't apply to Rael. She loves having the spotlight on her. Being in her parents and her peers shadows her whole life has resulted in a wanton need to be respected, feared, or hated. It is why she trained herself to be a threat-generation character instead of taking the role of an elusive or supplementary damage role. The monsters will notice her. People will notice her; whether it's in or out of combat. B E N C H M A R K S Breaker of Storms Rael often finds herself at the eye of the storm. Effective with the primordial element of lightning, Rael has unlocked advanced spells when utilizing it with her weapon of choice. This includes access to agility buffs, weapon-casted storm bolts, and a shockwave of sound reminiscent of thunder itself. She is also resistant to lightning spells as a result. Elusive Combatant Rael's playstyle is about creating constant pressure to keep the attention of her enemies away from the view of others. She is dexterous, using her agility and attack awareness to duck and weave through combat. Doing this enough times in conjunction with her advanced combat abilities with the spear has allowed her to see things a step faster and react quicker; almost like a sixth sense. Herbal Savant For toxicologists and alchemists, herbalism is the key to understanding the world; for Rael she just rather know if a field of flowers are toxic, carnivorous, or a non-issue and while she has little interest in making potions, she does find the creation of poisons a bit more apt to her interests. As such Rael has a basic fundamental knowledge of the common and uncommon variants of herbs that grow throughout the world. Venomous Apprentice The study of poisons is fundamentally to manipulating your opponent in the long term and Rael knows it. Whilst she has not put countless of months into the creation of poisons and other toxins, she has put some time into it and thus can create decent grades of the craft with some competency. \| Physical Description Hanako Moriyama is a normal Japanese girl. Standing at 5'2" she is spectacularly average among her peers at Tokyo University. Her frayed, unkempt brown hair has been dyed a sharper red-brown, though it hasn't made her stand out at all. Just another face in the crowd. Often seen with her head buried in a tablet or laptop, most people find Hanako concerning. Her family worries that she'll fall into the habits of a NEET. She certainly has the look; wide-brimmed glasses and all. However, in Pariah Online the meek, shy, introverted Japanese girl is not present. In her place is Rael, a shifty thief and dungeoneer, who takes pride in everything she does. No glasses. An athletic build in place of a meek one. Still short, but agile. It's pretty much the ultimate fantasy. Where some people envision themselves as someone taller or some other thing, all Rael wanted to see herself was the personification of a fantasy world chad. Bold, promiscuous, cunning, dangerous. Her irreverent personality is her default mode in the world of Pariah Online, often insulting others or trying to provoke them with a smug smile across her lips. The ideal, true inner self. Character Conceptualization Rael is a problem. But she's also a problem solver. Very early into the first year of the virtual world Rael discovered the denizens, the NPCs that inhabited the world, had many needs. This was where she found herself in lieu with unsavory characters such as Malacius Secre who had a desire for the dungeons to not only be dealt with but for certain items inside them be transferred to his hands instead of that of any fraternity or noble house. This pissed off many people, whom Rael often bragged to before making off with many items. Eventually it led to Rael having a black mark on her name, but guilds who refused to group up with her found themselves soon realizing that she was quickly becoming one of the more adept dungeoneers in the world. Rael certainly believed she was the best and it cemented her reputation further. The reputation of the wayfarer everyone hated, but intrinsically always wanted on their side. It became a strange double-sided sword of sorts. When she saw a double-cross coming, she enjoyed the thrill of it. She was a 'tank' who focused on agility and dexterity. To dodge and weave as her spear did short work of anyone who tried anything funny. Rael was confident she would always win a battle of attrition and while such a thought is hilariously overcompensating, it seems so far she has been mostly right. It always seems to be she's there… right when she's needed. She likes that. She likes that a lot. Spells & Spell-like Abilities Bolt TBD Heaven's Impact TBD Recall Using the little Alteration Magic she knows, Rael calls out to her weapon, returning it to her hands. Spring Step An Enhancement Magic ability that draws from ambient arcane energy to be drawn into the caster's legs for quick cat-like reflexes in a pinch. Allows a user to do an uncanny dodge or advance that is increased by the amount of magical energy used. Rael can use up to level four of this ability. Stormbreaker TBD Storm's Lament TBD Thunder Clap TBD Titan's Wrath TBD Other Information \|</s> <\|message\|>Hanako Moriyama Location: The Laughing Worg Tavern, The City-State of Thorinn, Aetheria --- Rael had placed herself a few seats down from Kalie and the direct end of the bar. She was trying to avoid larger groups and more talking about the dungeon; the goal was to order food and drink, have her anxieties even out, and move forward when Graves dragged her over to Kazuki. She had not expected Alja to lumber toward Kalie. There she was again. Being loud. Kalie was nearly crying as she rambled about her not-so-secret anxieties. 'Typical Americans' she thought as she scowled as a pitcher of grape juice was retrieved for her. It was an intentional choice for the red-haired girl. She remembered the saki-like effect of the wine and ale from the Wayfarer's Hall and it was way too early to be consuming alcohol. Rael wanted a clear head and some peace and quiet. That's partially why she had picked the tree outside. The humidity and temperature inside the tavern didn't help. She eyed a group at a common table where a wayfarer was creating ice cubes with their fingers. Nothing was making Kalie's whining bearable, but as far as she could tell there were no seats in a corner open. She poured the juice into her tankard as she heard it. It echoed. She blinked and then she wasn't sitting down—she had moved closer to Kalie and Alja. "Stop crying like a baby." She said, before she realized it. "We didn't lose any friends yesterday. They did." Ironically, Hanako couldn't stand people who made things about themselves. Yeah, everybody was scared but you didn't need to cry and make a show of it. It was disrespectful to everyone around you. She didn't expect Kalie, or rather, Dawn to understand this. Gaijin always had a habit of doing this. At least when Hanako wanted the spotlight to be on her it wasn't highlighting all your problems like it was the end of the world. She thought back to Aaginim and Enos. They had created memories and friendships. Herself and Dawn had done nothing but acted out of self-interest. Dawn was being melodramatic and disrespectful. "Show a little fucking respect to the dead." The red-haired girl thought about how harsh her words were to someone she had basically reassured in the dungeon that she was okay and she'd make sure she wouldn't die. She looked at Kalie's and Alja's expressions and for a second she felt a tinge of guilt. But not enough to show it. If they didn't want to be scolded they wouldn't do things that warranted it. - - - Location: The Laughing Worg Tavern, The City-State of Thorinn, Aetheria --- Sif felt herself become flustered and red as Benkei called her brilliant. Like, obviously she was smart; she knew that. Her GPA was ridiculous. People were constantly calling her a "whiz kid", but nobody had directly called her brilliant to her face. It was a nice feeling. She let the feeling pass, however, as she took to Benkei's comments. About unifying a group of wayfarers with advanced real-world knowledge and about his particular theory about the living system. "Do you really think anyone is going to be the right state of mind to be consolidating knowledge like that?" She put her finger to her lips for a moment as Benkei considered her response. "I think your theory is correct, though. Its like the game's framework was protecting us from conventional limitations that the rest of the world has to work by. With that gone, we're basically on the same playing field as the NPC's."</s> <\|message\|>Kelly Anne Mackay --- Rael just... How dare she?! Alja murmured to Kalie: "Sorry about this." Then a growl began to build in her throat. She did her best to swallow it back down, but her voice was still burred by it. Her control over her accent slipped as she spoke, and it rasped out in an aggressive, guttural Edinburgh brogue: "Oi, Rael. Bitch. Quit'cher shit-talkin, ay? Jes' cuz ya don' seem to feel emotion like the rest'a us don' mean ya gotta take yer sociopathy out on someone who's clearly no' gonna respond to it well." Her brows furrowed and she stood, getting into the smaller woman's face as her frustration and fear began to boil over. She had a headache, god damnit, and she didn't want to listen to this shrimpy little bitch talk shit for one second longer. "I mean, come on! LOOK at her!" She motioned to Kalie--Dawn--in the beginnings of a full mental breakdown. "What're ya tryin' to accomplish? Makin' her feel even worse? Or ya think yellin' at her like that is gonna make this BETTER somehow? Ya seem ta forget, Rael," she continued, voice steadily rising in volume even as she tried to clamp down on it, "this has never been real. How old d'ya think she is, hmm?" Eventually, she couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't hold herself back. And she thundered at Rael: "It's always been a game ta her, goddamnit! D'ya think she's ever seen a man die violently? Been in the same room when it happened? Heard his loved ones screamin'? She wants ta be a teacher, for Chrissakes! I dinnae what kinda pampered life you've lived out where ya think it's alright to yell at someone for that!" With some effort, she crushed her voice back down and sat heavily, this time on the opposite side of Kalie, between the two of them. "I dinnae--I just don't know what you're trying to accomplish." A heavy sigh. "So piss back off, ay? I'd rather not have any more bad blood between us than there needs ta--to be."</s>	<\|message\|>Hanako Moriyama Location: The Laughing Worg Tavern, The City-State of Thorinn, Aetheria --- Sociopath. Bitch. Heartless. Alja was in her face. Screaming. But Rael couldn't hear her. Hanako couldn't. As she remained stone-faced as the woman criticized her for her comments in her head there was a lot more going on. "See, I told you they hate you." She heard. "Everything about you is rotten. How does it feel to have the real world be exactly the same as the virtual world? How's your escapism going to work?" She clenched her fists as a reflex as the numbness seemed to go away in seconds. She looked up at Alja and there was no cocky smirk or attitude. Just defiance. Her comments about bad blood made sense, but she had no interest in placating to a broken down child. Kalie was not all that much older than she was. Yet Alja didn't consider her own age. Her own experiences. Did she think she had seen bodies mangled and ripped apart before? That she experienced death in anything but a passing way? It wasn't her fault Kalie was weak. It wasn't her fault Alja was weak. Better to be seen as unfeeling and strong than emotive and weak. She went to say something but then someone else decided to interject. Clank! Dariel dropped the plate on the counter as he moved in a flash behind the larger woman who was the same height as he was. "That's enough." He said, as enhancement magic surged in his body and Alja was lifted off the ground before he put her down in a seat a few paces back. For Alja this would be a new experience in many ways, but also in that a NPC—a denizen had touched her. As she found herself seated he looked at her and pointed point blank between her eyes. "What do you think this is? The gladiatorial arena in Theremia? Have you lost your goddamn mind, girl?"</s>
<\|description\|>Eli Gender: ♂ Age: Unknown (Forgotten) (Adult) Race: Demon A devilish race with pointed ears, horns, wings, and a tail. Faster, stronger, more durable, and quicker to recover from injuries than the average human. Similar to an olympic athlete in many categories. Capable of flight, though wings are built for speed and maneuverability rather than endurance and will tire him out quickly. Could probably fly continuously for only a minute, though gliding takes considerably less effort. Flight speed depends on wind but is typically faster than sprinting. As is the norm for fliers, very high speeds can be achieved out of an aerial dive. Resistant to dark-element attacks. Appearance: Equipment: None Personality: Straightforward and light-hearted. Although he can be a bit impulsive, he's good at keeping calm should things not go as expected. Highly sociable and loves attention, but will often prioritize others before himself. Background: As an amnesiac, Eli has no idea where he comes from or who he used to be. Seems to be the only one in the Nexus that doesn't have a room. Accordingly has no token or living quarters and needs to rely on the good graces of others for food that wasn't gathered from rooms. Favorite Food: Steak Ability: Appears to have none? Weaknesses/Limitations: Weak to light-element attacks. His tail is physically sensitive. (Hidden under clothes, not to be confused with the fake tail coming out of his belt) Theme: Hero's Promise</s> <\|message\|>Eli Eli You wake up alone in the center of a huge circular room, leaning against a pedestal resembling a short marble column. Most of the room is a sterile light gray, but the walls in all directions are lined with bizarre doors with colorful door frames. You stand up and stretch, but as you look around you realize that every door other than the one you were facing had pedestals in front of them not unlike the one you were leaning against. Each pedestal bears oddly shaped indentations, as if specific objects were meant to be placed atop them. There is only one exception; the pedestal in the center of the room, the one you were leaning against, which instead bears a large red button just begging to be pressed. You resist the temptation, unsure of the consequences. Try as you might, you can't remember how you ended up here, or anything in the past for that matter. You start to worry you have brain damage or something, but you don't seem to have any trouble remembering your multiplication tables or how the water cycle works. You know your name is Eli, and that your favorite food is steak, but for anything beyond that you draw a blank. You start to look through your clothes for some kind of clue, but besides the discovery that your belt is made to look somewhat like a tail, there's nothing to give you any indication of who you are. Turning your attention outward for clues, you walk up to the door without a pedestal. Upon closer inspection, it's completely flat without a knob or any apparent mechanism to open it. You look around and realize all the doors are like this, but this one seems different. The door and door frame are pitch black, and unlike the other doors, it bears a large lock connected to numerous chains which lead off into the edges of the door. You reach past the chains to the black surface, but it just seems like a solid wall. The other doors seem to let you see through them a bit, with a blurred preview of what lies beyond. You pick a random one with a blue frame and move over to it. You reach out your hand, expecting to be able to lean on it so you could look closer, but it instead phases through, and you almost fall right in. You pull your hand out on instinct, but after confirming you are unharmed, you venture a peek inside only to see a pitch black void. You hesitate for a while, pacing about the room and occasionally eyeing the big red button in the center, but since you still don't trust the button, and you have nothing else to do, you eventually go back to the blue-framed door and cross its threshold entirely. After but a moment of inky nothingness, you suddenly find yourself on your back, on a bed of sand, staring directly up at the sun. Your memory is pretty foggy right now, but you're pretty sure you've seen the sun at least once before. This sun... isn't the same. You can look straight at it without any issue. It just doesn't seem nearly as bright, not even as taxing on the eyes as a simple lightbulb. In spite of that, the sand and the rest of the beach you are just now becoming cognizant of lights up beneath it. As you examine it curiously, you notice a slim wedge cut across its radius. You try to figure out what it is for a while, which is made easier as you notice it slowly growing bigger. Yes, this must be… a distraction. Where the hell are you exactly? As far as you can tell, you're just on a beach near some kind of resort, except there's enough ocean visible in enough directions to know you're on an island. Who builds a resort, or anything for that matter, on a tiny island like this one? You get up and start taking a not so long walk on the beach. Even if there was more beach upon which to walk, you want to check out the resort. You were just in some place that was clearly indoors, so there are only so many ways to reconcile how you got here. Still, as unreliable as your memory may be, you're pretty damn sure there wasn't any interim between stepping into that blue door frame and waking up on the beach. As you get to the lobby, you find it's pretty mundane, if tropical. It seems like a standard hotel lobby, albeit with an open air design that makes the waiting area furniture stick out a bit. You don't see any guests, but there are a few human receptionists available for you to accost with your arrant inquiries. They don't acknowledge you as you walk up to them, simply staring off into the distance unblinkingly. It's pretty weird after a couple of seconds, but the nearest one immediately turns to face you when you try to get their attention. "...Hello?" "Welcome to the Last Resort, the Last Resort you'll ever need! Can I get you a room?" "No thank you. Could you tell me about this place and how I got here?" "The Last Resort is a beach-front luxury resort. We aim to provide our guests with everything they need for a restful and relaxing vacation. You got here by walking." He speaks matter-of-factly, without a hint of sass. He radiates customer service to the point that it's slightly disturbing. In any case, he doesn't seem to know anything, so you sit down in one of the surprisingly comfy chairs, considering your next course of action.</s> <\|message\|>Layke 🦀Layke🦀 Soft bedsheets and air conditioning, is a combo Layke never expected to wake up to. She'd been given the world's shittiest job, and even she could see it past all the fancy titles they'd given her. She wasn't the smartest fish in the pond, but she definitely could tell when people thought she was one of them. Unfortunate as it ended up being, working alone and away from society had the benefits of not actually having to do the job she was assigned. After all, it wasn't even real in the first place. Comfy bed could only last so long, because waking up in a strange new place was exactly how her last assignment ended up being given to her, and finding out if this was another "spontaneous" shift in duties was on the more important side of matters to uncover. She'd recognize a bog standard hotel room easily, and the place didn't seem like it was meant to be her new permanent residence. "Why" and "where" were the next questions to enter her mind, as no matter how hard she tried, remembering where she was last was difficult to say the least. Everything about her was the same, so unless she was in the best dream of her life, she could come to no other conclusion. "Holy shit I've been kidnapped, and now I'm probably gonna get sold to some crazy person and they've probably locked me inside this room and this entire hotel is some illegal trafficking site for hundreds of people and they're just gonna take all my organs and sell them off and then I'm gonna be dead and gone forever and then oh god where am I wanna go home have to escape--" Layke rolls off the bed towards the window, parting the window curtains aside to reveal a comforting sight, a wide view of the ocean past a long stretch of sandy beach. Water meant swimming, which meant freedom and not being "captured" anymore. But now the hardest decision had to be made, should she run now and hope no one notices the sprint towards the beach? Or should she gamble on sneaking out quietly and also hope no one would notice her, slowly creeping along the sand. During the rough mental process of calculating these incredibly dangerous odds, her mind blanks as she looks at the rest of her room to notice her prized possession, her hat! Nice. This newly acquired item did nothing to reassure her of where she was, but with this, she could now conceal her face as she went out, so stealth was now a more viable plan. It's not like much can hurt her anyways, right? And maybe, there was a chance she didn't actually get kidnapped, but acting under the impression that it could be was much more thrilling. Immediately testing the door and finding out it wasn't locked either took a lot more of the excitement out of her head. Yeah, it probably didn't make sense for her captors to bring along her hat... The hallway had no other exciting reveals either, just a brightly lit passageway with room numbers dotting the walls, with some plaques indicating the direction of the lobby. Second theory came to her mind: drowning and washing ashore in a strange new land. Much more likely. At least to her. Maybe call to the lobby would be a safe option to start off with before leaving. She could only hope the list of numbers had someone with answers. beep beep phone noises dial tone "Last Resort, The Last Resort you'll ever need! How can I help you this morning!?" Layke immediately slammed down the receiver. That had to be a joke of a name, and she was getting pranked. Hallway time. The first person she came across in the lobby wasn't the worst sight to see, but the problems arose pretty quickly when she realized her disguise wouldn't do much here. That man in the chair was pretty flesh looking, and she was pretty watery looking. Glancing around the room to see several other fleshy looking yet robotically stiff humans was just downright disappointing. The fact that none of the workers were raising a fuss at the sight of her was good, but then again, the man sitting down had horns and wings, also kind of wacky. Yeah, she could probably take him in a fight anyways if he was mean, like what's he even gonna do? Fly away indoors? All she could do now was walk around into his vision and hope his face was more inviting than his clearly devilish features.</s>	<\|message\|>Eli As you find yourself spiraling down an existential concrete staircase like a tangled slinky hurled with great force, a flash of blue begins oscillating in your peripheral vision not unlike a runaway pendulum with nothing to lose. You look up to find what appears to be an animate puddle standing in front of you, wearing clothes and a straw hat. You try and immediately fail to not let the confusion show on your face as you notice the living crab swimming inside of her. "What-" You stop yourself. Maybe that's the wrong question. Given how you got here, making sense of every little thing isn't actually that big of a deal, and she may not even be able to give much of an answer. "I've never seen anyone quite like you before. I'm new here, so could you tell me about this place?" You stand up before the allure of your seat's soft embrace convinces you to never stand up again. ...And about yourself?</s>
<\|description\|>Niko Watanabe Age: 17 Appearance: Niko is 6 feet tall, ane has a slim build. He has fair skin that does not tan easily. His hair is messy and pink, and his eyes match his hair color. He dresses in ways he considers cute. Generally there will always be something pink on him. Besides just his hair. Personality: Niko acts like a happy go lucky kid. He smiles and laughs and acts like nothing bothers him. He tries not to show his negative emotions around others. He has a hard enough time making friends as it is. If they see him cry or be sad, it will only push people away even more. He likes the color pink, cute things, and generally stuff that is considered girly by most people. Backstory: Niko is half Japanesse half American. He travels back and forth between the two areas with his parents often. He always had a fascination for cute things. He played with stuffed animals while other boys played sports. For this, he was often bullied. While Niko always wore a smile on his face, and acted like the bullying never bothered him, deep down it does. He wants to make a friend that likes him for who he is. He tries his hardest to be friendly, but often his attempts come off as overbearing. So far, the only place he's been able to find it is in video games. Digimon partner: Lopmon Digivice color(s): Baby Pink, Baby blue, White Species: Lopmon Nickname: Coco Default Level: Rookie Attribute: Data Attacks:Tiny Twister, Blazing Ice, Spinning Slap Other forms: Conomon, Kokomon, Lopmon, Turuiemon</s> <\|message\|>Niko Watanabe `Yoyogi Park, Shibuya Ward, Tokyo - 21:36` After school that day, Niko went out playing DTW searching for cute Digimon. Time really did fly because now it was dark, and well past the time a kid should be out on a school night. Niko thought about how he was going to explain this to his father when he got home. He knew what his dad would say. "You're too addicted to video games, you need to get a real life." Or whatever it was that dad's said when they didn't like something their child did. There wasn't a single soul in the park. Why would they be? Considering how late it was? Niko hoped maybe his parents would have gone to bed early, and then he wouldn't have to explain anything to them. He could quietly sneak home and play it off as if he'd been there the entire time. Hel-! Young Ta--er, can --ou hea-- e? Niko stopped dead in his tracks, and looked around. He could have sworn he heard the sound of a girl's voice. Though it sounded staticky... He didn't see anyone around though. "Hellooooooo! Is someone there?! Come out come out wherever you are. I don't bite! Promise!"</s> <\|message\|>Yasashiku Tsuzuki (Yaya or Yasa) --- Yoyogi Park, Shibuya ward "Pull the car over, Iori." Convincing Iori to leave was impossible, instead he had demanded that the mature woman walk atleast a few paces behind him. Her duty to ensure his safety would be in reach, while his desire for privacy was also fulfilled. He'd told her he was playing Digimon: Tamers' World but in all actuality his curiosity and instincts had driven him to, what he assumed, was insanity. A voice in his head, neither Haru's or his own, distorted yet alluring... pleading myabe? he wasn't sure but he would never allow another person's potential plea for help to go unanswered. As he strolled along through the park entrance, tall lights shone softly overhead, Iori's shoes stepping in perfect tune with his own, Yasashiku paused. Iori paused in the same moment. The gold of his phone paled in comparison to the bright light of the homescreen. "I'm going crazy..." he muttered. "I'm out here cause I thought I heard a voice. In my head. I'm not even sure if it came from here." "But it feels like I should be here." he thought, the minute noise of nature an odd accent to his slight-mania. After a short pause she stepped forward. "Young master, perhaps we should head home now," Iori suggested matter-of-factly. Yasashiku sighed in acceptance and defeat. "Maybe... give me five more minutes."</s> <\|message\|>Akira Kobayashi Yoyogi Park, Shibuya Ward, Tokyo - 21:37 Akira was laughing with his more recent friends as they passed by the park. They had just spent the last hour and a half out chasing Digimon, as they had been swept up into the craze. For Akira however it was not going good, only finding the most common Digimon this evening. Meanwhile his friend Koji had found a rare gold variant of Veedramon. So Akira was feeling a little jealous of him. As such, Akira wasn't ready to call it a night as he still wasn't satisfied with his Digimon catching. Akira turned to his friends, "I'm just pop into Yoyogi. Anyone wanna come along?" "Man, it's just insect types in there," Koji laughed, "Plus it's getting late, so I'm going home." The others nodded and agreed, siding with Koji as usual. Akira just waved them off, entering the park. Luckily for Akira, he loved insect type Digimon, though he wasn't sure why. Plus with how dismissive his friends were being, he didn't feel like telling them the rumour that DTW might be adding rare Digimon at certain landmarks, like Yoyogi Park. Akira took out his phone and began using its AR feature to try and find Digimon. Initially finding nothing, he figured that he should go a bit deeper into the park. As he did so, a ping sounded on his phone, indicating a nearby Digimon. Akira walked toward the Digimon, only to hear a strange voice. Hel-! Young Ta--er, can --ou hea-- e? "The hell," Akira muttered. Akira spun around trying to find the source of the distorted voice, but couldn't see anyone around him. Maybe Koji was right and it was late, and Akira was probably tired. He heard that if you are overly tired you may hallucinate these kinds of things. But thinking deeper on the subject, Akira remembered that usually only happens after multiple days with no sleep. So he wasn't overly tired, which meant that maybe it was a brain sickness. The prospect of being crazy was not appealing to Akira, so he decided to pursue the alternate course of thought. That the voice was real. Akira kept his phone ready in his hand just in case this situation was dangerous, as he walked deeper into the park, searching for whoever's voice he had heard.</s> <\|message\|>Hana Izumi Brillia Tower Yoyogi-koen, Shibuya, Tokyo - 21:35 The door handle to Hana's family apartment clicked open, Hana herself stepping into her home. The lights were all off, unsurprisingly. Despite how late it was, neither of her parents were back yet--one of the downsides of high-paying jobs. They seemed to be happy to provide their daughter a comfortable life, but the girl wished they'd be able to enjoy their own money more. Hana rubbed at her eyes as she made her way to her room. After turning the light on, she carefully placed her bag on the foot of her bed, pulling out her laptop and moving it to the desk next to her desktop computer. Turning both machines on, she booted DTW on the laptop and on her phone, frowning to herself. She hadn't had the chance to play at all today, having worked a shift. Her gaze shifted to her window that lead to an impressive view, the desire to head outside beginning to grow in her. No, it was too late. Hana sighed and turned her attention back to her desktop, spending a few minutes clicking around and skimming the latest posts on a DTW-related forum. Hel-! Young Ta--er, can --ou hea-- e? Hana yelped, jumping out of her seat to look around quickly. Her heart rate had just spiked. Despite the voice she could have sworn she had just heard, she was alone in her room. She quickly looked back to her computer, noting her headset laying on the desk. A fast check later, she confirmed there was no audio playing, so it couldn't have come from that. Really, it had sounded like it had come from further away. The hallway outside her door? Or maybe even further than that? Hana swallowed, nervous and confused. She grabbed the closest thing to a weapon she could find--her schoolbag filled with heavy books--and crept towards the door to her room. "M-Mom?" she called out, to no response. She waited for a few seconds longer, holding her breath. It didn't sound like there was any movement outside. Before she could psyche herself out, the girl quickly opened the door. There was no one, as it should've been expected. Her grip on the strap of her bag loosened a bit. Hana began to slowly breathe again, feeling silly, but not completely relaxed yet. She quietly walked into the living room, noting again there was no one, and nothing was misplaced. The girl did pause with a blink though, her eyes looking through the curtains that covered the glass door leading out to the balcony. Somehow... it felt like maybe the voice had come from there? If it hadn't just been in her head, which it probably had. Hana bit her lip gently, before steeling herself again to make her way over. The balcony door was unlocked and slid open, and she stepped outside into the late night, above the rest of the neighborhood. Directly ahead of her was the edge of Yoyogi Park. Hana leaned onto the railing, her gaze drawn to the park, eyes widening after a moment. The voice had come from there. Maybe. She... was drawn towards it though. Hana pulled up the front of her hoodie over her nose, her brow furrowing as she tried to make sense of what was happening.</s> <\|message\|>Kazuma, Shodo (goes by Kaz) --- `Yoyogi Park, Shibuya Ward, Tokyo - 21:36` "Come back here!" The sounds of whistles and hollering security guards were becoming less ear-blaring the further Kaz ran through Yoyogi Park. The darkness that the night provided clouded their view of him. The clouds overhead hid the stars, which in turn also hid the light they'd provide. Even though the lights of the park may have allowed for some light to reveal parts of the park, what those idiotic and nearsighted guards didn't anticipate was on Shodo Kazuma's natural athletic ability - or at least as natural as one could be when that feeling of getting caught passed through his entire body. Just about fifteen minutes earlier, Kaz had the brilliant idea of sneaking into the NHK Broadcast center. It wasn't a bright idea, that much Kaz realized now, but at the time of deciding it, he was neck-deep into half of an idea of trying to see if he could find some different Digimon there. He had found most of what he could around the neighborhood and even on the outskirts, but he never went inside the broadcast center. So he figured why not? What's the worst that could happen? As it turned out, a couple of by-the-book security guards would take that very literally. And now he found himself hiding out up in one of the cherry blossom trees as the two security guards talked amongst themselves. "Gah! He must've run off somewhere!" One of them said. He was an overweight Japanese guy with what appeared to be dark hair and an affinity for sweets based on his gut. Yeah! Really top shelf security, aren't you, big boy? "Come on, Takeda. We should get back to our post. Boss will have our head if we don't." Yeah, Takeda, go wheeze somewhere else. This branch is starting to climb up my ass. They went back and forth for a few minutes and eventually, Takeda came to his senses and Kaz watched them as they left the park. And he couldn't have felt any prouder for how he not only escaped them, but managed to climb his ass up in this tree. Letting out a sigh, he made an attempt to adjust himself so his legs were hanging off the thick branch he was sitting on. "Alright! In one, two thr--" Hel-! Young Ta--er, can --ou hea-- e?-- "--What?" Whether it was the slightest hint of static or what he figured was a girl's voice, Kaz was distracted and hadn't caught himself in time as he fell out of the tree and his ass broke his fall. "Goddamnit!" He cursed, feeling all sorts of numbness and soreness course through his waist and lower back. It was as if the force centered around there and he knew he was going to feel that in the morning. As he got up, he looked around. "Whoever said that is gonna pay for my comfort rice ball! I mean it! I like mine jelly-filled!"</s> <\|message\|>Umiko Mizushima --- I do--much time. My--eople need help! You m--ave them! Umiko was thoroughly freaked out now. Whoever this girl was, she sounded distressed. "I should call the police," she decided. She pulled out her cell phone, and frowned. The battery was down to five percent. But it would have to do. Umiko started dialing 110, but stopped when she something out of the corner of her eye. A few dozen meters away was a pond and fountain. She'd passed it maybe a hundred times before. However, there was something there that was abnormal: a bright, glowing light. Smaller than a football, and roughly spherical in shape. But what was even odder was that it seemed to be radiating a kind of energy; on closer inspection, Umiko could see holographic 1s and 0s emulating from the light like a fog. Something about it made her want to come closer, and against her better judgement, Umiko did. What in the world is this?</s>	<\|message\|>Niko Watanabe "Yoo hoo!" Niko called out to the voice. "It's ok! You can come out! Don't be shy!" Of course, the mysterious voice only answered with more staticky responses that didn't make sense. No one came out to reply or anything.What is going on? The pink haired boy wondered to himself. Then, he saw a bright glowing light. It was stood out amongst all the trees, and was shining not far from where he was. What was even weirder was all the ones in zeroes running through it. That definitely wasn't normal, and Niko felt the urge to run torwards it. "Wow, this is getting weirder by the second. Awesome!"</s>
<\|description\|>Akira Kobayashi Age: 17 Appearance: Akira stands at 5'10'' and is built like a beanpole. While his face could be called plain, what with his hazel eyes, Akira has varied it up by growing out his hair and dyeing part of it blond. Clothing wise, Akira doesn't wear much colour, preferring plain black, grey, or white shirts and pants. Personality: Akira is a fun loving guy, very easy to be around. This mostly comes from the influence of his father, who is a major part of his life. Always down to try something new, Akira can be adventurous and impulsive. Akira can appear to be a little air headed, but that is because he keeps his more deep thoughts contained to himself, as he fears revealing insecurities could cause people to stop liking him. Backstory: Akira was born in Osaka, the first of two children of the Kobayashi family. Akira's father was a small town fisherman who had moved to the city to be with Akira's mother. His mother was an up incoming politician, running for office in Osaka. Growing up Akira was always closer to his father as his mother was often busy with work. The pair of them had a lot of fun, which was only added to when Akira's sister Miyako was born. Akira immediately became a protective big brother, beating up anyone who bullied Miyako. This would earn him the praise of his father and the scorn of his mother. Things between Akira's parents weren't great, with lots of fights happening in the family home. Akira's mother viewed her husband as a deadbeat dad, while he said she was a distant parent. Things would eventually boil over when Akira's father packed his bags and left. Akira remained with his mother and sister, as his father moved to Tokyo. For almost a year Akira remained in Osaka, secretly keeping in contact with his father. When is mother found out she got mad, causing Akira to run away. After two days on his own, the police found Akira and brought him home. However things would never be the same with his mother. A few weeks after running away, Akira got permission to move to Tokyo to live with his dad. While he was excited about this, Akira also felt bad leaving Miyako who wished to remain with their mother. Upon moving to Tokyo, Akira took some time getting used to the city, eventually finding a friend group. It was on the insistence of this new friend group that Akira made an account for Digimon: Tamer's World. While he had a passing knowledge of the Digimon franchise before hand, Akira quickly became enamoured with the game. He would soon join discussion forums on the game, where he would first hear rumours of actual Digimon appearing. While initially dismissive of these claims, Akira would become intrigued by the sheer volume of people saying they've seen real Digimon. Digimon partner: DoKunemon Digivice colour(s): Black, Dark Green, and Crimson. ——————————————————————————————————————————————————— Species: DoKunemon Nickname: Cho Default Level: Rookie Attribute: Virus Attacks: Worm Venom, Electric Thread, Poison Ride Other forms: Yuramon -> Budmon -> DoKunemon -> Stingmon</s> <\|message\|>Umiko Mizushima `???, Tokyo - 21:33` "Ma'am, we're picking up those EM signals again. Trying to pinpoint their location now." A small group of people worked at computers. Monitors displayed maps and CCTV footage of various locations around Tokyo. The person in charge made her way to the employee who spoke up. "Do we have a general area?" she asked. "Yes, ma'am. Shibuya Ward." The map on his monitor outlined the area before dialing in on a specific spot. "Got it. The signal is originating from Yoyogi Park. It's a small breach, from the look of it. I'd be surprised if anything bigger than a Class-III got through." The woman took a sip of her coffee, peering at the monitor over the rim of her glasses. "Have an operative dispatched to monitor the rift. If it's something small, we can contain the situation. Capture is preferable, but elimination or returning it through the rift isn't out of the question." "Yes, ma'am. Sending the message out now." "Let's hope we don't have a repeat of the Namiyoke Incident. The paperwork alone would be a nightmare." --- `Yoyogi Park, Shibuya Ward, Tokyo - 21:35` Mom's gonna kill me! Umiko Mizushima sprinted along the path as if her life depended on it. After training with her school's swim team, she'd called her mother to let her know she'd be out playing DTW. She was supposed to be home a half hour ago, and the battery for Umiko's phone was almost dead. She'd been so wrapped up looking for Digimon and items out in the parks that she'd lost track of time. Though she paid it no mind, the park was devoid of people. Most of the birds and other small creatures seemed to be hunkering down for the night. Umiko was trying to come up with an excuse. Ran into some old friends? She wouldn't believe that? A run of bad luck with traffic? She wouldn't buy that again. Trying to help an old lady cross the street? She wouldn't believe me even if I did! Maybe she could-- Hel-! Young Ta--er, can --ou hea-- e? Umiko froze. Where was that voice coming from? It sounded like a girl, but her voice was broken up, as if by static. "Hello?"</s> <\|message\|>Niko Watanabe `Yoyogi Park, Shibuya Ward, Tokyo - 21:36` After school that day, Niko went out playing DTW searching for cute Digimon. Time really did fly because now it was dark, and well past the time a kid should be out on a school night. Niko thought about how he was going to explain this to his father when he got home. He knew what his dad would say. "You're too addicted to video games, you need to get a real life." Or whatever it was that dad's said when they didn't like something their child did. There wasn't a single soul in the park. Why would they be? Considering how late it was? Niko hoped maybe his parents would have gone to bed early, and then he wouldn't have to explain anything to them. He could quietly sneak home and play it off as if he'd been there the entire time. Hel-! Young Ta--er, can --ou hea-- e? Niko stopped dead in his tracks, and looked around. He could have sworn he heard the sound of a girl's voice. Though it sounded staticky... He didn't see anyone around though. "Hellooooooo! Is someone there?! Come out come out wherever you are. I don't bite! Promise!"</s> <\|message\|>Yasashiku Tsuzuki (Yaya or Yasa) --- Yoyogi Park, Shibuya ward "Pull the car over, Iori." Convincing Iori to leave was impossible, instead he had demanded that the mature woman walk atleast a few paces behind him. Her duty to ensure his safety would be in reach, while his desire for privacy was also fulfilled. He'd told her he was playing Digimon: Tamers' World but in all actuality his curiosity and instincts had driven him to, what he assumed, was insanity. A voice in his head, neither Haru's or his own, distorted yet alluring... pleading myabe? he wasn't sure but he would never allow another person's potential plea for help to go unanswered. As he strolled along through the park entrance, tall lights shone softly overhead, Iori's shoes stepping in perfect tune with his own, Yasashiku paused. Iori paused in the same moment. The gold of his phone paled in comparison to the bright light of the homescreen. "I'm going crazy..." he muttered. "I'm out here cause I thought I heard a voice. In my head. I'm not even sure if it came from here." "But it feels like I should be here." he thought, the minute noise of nature an odd accent to his slight-mania. After a short pause she stepped forward. "Young master, perhaps we should head home now," Iori suggested matter-of-factly. Yasashiku sighed in acceptance and defeat. "Maybe... give me five more minutes."</s>	<\|message\|>Akira Kobayashi Yoyogi Park, Shibuya Ward, Tokyo - 21:37 Akira was laughing with his more recent friends as they passed by the park. They had just spent the last hour and a half out chasing Digimon, as they had been swept up into the craze. For Akira however it was not going good, only finding the most common Digimon this evening. Meanwhile his friend Koji had found a rare gold variant of Veedramon. So Akira was feeling a little jealous of him. As such, Akira wasn't ready to call it a night as he still wasn't satisfied with his Digimon catching. Akira turned to his friends, "I'm just pop into Yoyogi. Anyone wanna come along?" "Man, it's just insect types in there," Koji laughed, "Plus it's getting late, so I'm going home." The others nodded and agreed, siding with Koji as usual. Akira just waved them off, entering the park. Luckily for Akira, he loved insect type Digimon, though he wasn't sure why. Plus with how dismissive his friends were being, he didn't feel like telling them the rumour that DTW might be adding rare Digimon at certain landmarks, like Yoyogi Park. Akira took out his phone and began using its AR feature to try and find Digimon. Initially finding nothing, he figured that he should go a bit deeper into the park. As he did so, a ping sounded on his phone, indicating a nearby Digimon. Akira walked toward the Digimon, only to hear a strange voice. Hel-! Young Ta--er, can --ou hea-- e? "The hell," Akira muttered. Akira spun around trying to find the source of the distorted voice, but couldn't see anyone around him. Maybe Koji was right and it was late, and Akira was probably tired. He heard that if you are overly tired you may hallucinate these kinds of things. But thinking deeper on the subject, Akira remembered that usually only happens after multiple days with no sleep. So he wasn't overly tired, which meant that maybe it was a brain sickness. The prospect of being crazy was not appealing to Akira, so he decided to pursue the alternate course of thought. That the voice was real. Akira kept his phone ready in his hand just in case this situation was dangerous, as he walked deeper into the park, searching for whoever's voice he had heard.</s>
<\|description\|>Akira Kobayashi Age: 17 Appearance: Akira stands at 5'10'' and is built like a beanpole. While his face could be called plain, what with his hazel eyes, Akira has varied it up by growing out his hair and dyeing part of it blond. Clothing wise, Akira doesn't wear much colour, preferring plain black, grey, or white shirts and pants. Personality: Akira is a fun loving guy, very easy to be around. This mostly comes from the influence of his father, who is a major part of his life. Always down to try something new, Akira can be adventurous and impulsive. Akira can appear to be a little air headed, but that is because he keeps his more deep thoughts contained to himself, as he fears revealing insecurities could cause people to stop liking him. Backstory: Akira was born in Osaka, the first of two children of the Kobayashi family. Akira's father was a small town fisherman who had moved to the city to be with Akira's mother. His mother was an up incoming politician, running for office in Osaka. Growing up Akira was always closer to his father as his mother was often busy with work. The pair of them had a lot of fun, which was only added to when Akira's sister Miyako was born. Akira immediately became a protective big brother, beating up anyone who bullied Miyako. This would earn him the praise of his father and the scorn of his mother. Things between Akira's parents weren't great, with lots of fights happening in the family home. Akira's mother viewed her husband as a deadbeat dad, while he said she was a distant parent. Things would eventually boil over when Akira's father packed his bags and left. Akira remained with his mother and sister, as his father moved to Tokyo. For almost a year Akira remained in Osaka, secretly keeping in contact with his father. When is mother found out she got mad, causing Akira to run away. After two days on his own, the police found Akira and brought him home. However things would never be the same with his mother. A few weeks after running away, Akira got permission to move to Tokyo to live with his dad. While he was excited about this, Akira also felt bad leaving Miyako who wished to remain with their mother. Upon moving to Tokyo, Akira took some time getting used to the city, eventually finding a friend group. It was on the insistence of this new friend group that Akira made an account for Digimon: Tamer's World. While he had a passing knowledge of the Digimon franchise before hand, Akira quickly became enamoured with the game. He would soon join discussion forums on the game, where he would first hear rumours of actual Digimon appearing. While initially dismissive of these claims, Akira would become intrigued by the sheer volume of people saying they've seen real Digimon. Digimon partner: DoKunemon Digivice colour(s): Black, Dark Green, and Crimson. ——————————————————————————————————————————————————— Species: DoKunemon Nickname: Cho Default Level: Rookie Attribute: Virus Attacks: Worm Venom, Electric Thread, Poison Ride Other forms: Yuramon -> Budmon -> DoKunemon -> Stingmon</s> <\|message\|>Kazuma, Shodo (goes by Kaz) --- `Yoyogi Park, Shibuya Ward, Tokyo - 21:36` "Come back here!" The sounds of whistles and hollering security guards were becoming less ear-blaring the further Kaz ran through Yoyogi Park. The darkness that the night provided clouded their view of him. The clouds overhead hid the stars, which in turn also hid the light they'd provide. Even though the lights of the park may have allowed for some light to reveal parts of the park, what those idiotic and nearsighted guards didn't anticipate was on Shodo Kazuma's natural athletic ability - or at least as natural as one could be when that feeling of getting caught passed through his entire body. Just about fifteen minutes earlier, Kaz had the brilliant idea of sneaking into the NHK Broadcast center. It wasn't a bright idea, that much Kaz realized now, but at the time of deciding it, he was neck-deep into half of an idea of trying to see if he could find some different Digimon there. He had found most of what he could around the neighborhood and even on the outskirts, but he never went inside the broadcast center. So he figured why not? What's the worst that could happen? As it turned out, a couple of by-the-book security guards would take that very literally. And now he found himself hiding out up in one of the cherry blossom trees as the two security guards talked amongst themselves. "Gah! He must've run off somewhere!" One of them said. He was an overweight Japanese guy with what appeared to be dark hair and an affinity for sweets based on his gut. Yeah! Really top shelf security, aren't you, big boy? "Come on, Takeda. We should get back to our post. Boss will have our head if we don't." Yeah, Takeda, go wheeze somewhere else. This branch is starting to climb up my ass. They went back and forth for a few minutes and eventually, Takeda came to his senses and Kaz watched them as they left the park. And he couldn't have felt any prouder for how he not only escaped them, but managed to climb his ass up in this tree. Letting out a sigh, he made an attempt to adjust himself so his legs were hanging off the thick branch he was sitting on. "Alright! In one, two thr--" Hel-! Young Ta--er, can --ou hea-- e?-- "--What?" Whether it was the slightest hint of static or what he figured was a girl's voice, Kaz was distracted and hadn't caught himself in time as he fell out of the tree and his ass broke his fall. "Goddamnit!" He cursed, feeling all sorts of numbness and soreness course through his waist and lower back. It was as if the force centered around there and he knew he was going to feel that in the morning. As he got up, he looked around. "Whoever said that is gonna pay for my comfort rice ball! I mean it! I like mine jelly-filled!"</s> <\|message\|>Umiko Mizushima --- I do--much time. My--eople need help! You m--ave them! Umiko was thoroughly freaked out now. Whoever this girl was, she sounded distressed. "I should call the police," she decided. She pulled out her cell phone, and frowned. The battery was down to five percent. But it would have to do. Umiko started dialing 110, but stopped when she something out of the corner of her eye. A few dozen meters away was a pond and fountain. She'd passed it maybe a hundred times before. However, there was something there that was abnormal: a bright, glowing light. Smaller than a football, and roughly spherical in shape. But what was even odder was that it seemed to be radiating a kind of energy; on closer inspection, Umiko could see holographic 1s and 0s emulating from the light like a fog. Something about it made her want to come closer, and against her better judgement, Umiko did. What in the world is this?</s> <\|message\|>Niko Watanabe "Yoo hoo!" Niko called out to the voice. "It's ok! You can come out! Don't be shy!" Of course, the mysterious voice only answered with more staticky responses that didn't make sense. No one came out to reply or anything.What is going on? The pink haired boy wondered to himself. Then, he saw a bright glowing light. It was stood out amongst all the trees, and was shining not far from where he was. What was even weirder was all the ones in zeroes running through it. That definitely wasn't normal, and Niko felt the urge to run torwards it. "Wow, this is getting weirder by the second. Awesome!"</s> <\|message\|>Kazuma, Shodo (goes by Kaz) --- I do--much time. My--eople need help! You m--ave them! Okay, Kaz. You're hearing things. Someone doesn't need help and they definitely don't want you to -ave them -- save them. Kaz sighed, taking in and expelling out deep breaths. Sometimes you just had to take a minute to collect yourself and clear out the voice of the clearly-imaginary voice of some girl in your head. Kaz, you weren't hearing any voices. You're just hungry and frustrated. And maybe a little high from the adrenaline of nearly getting caught by some glorified mall cops that couldn't run a 100m dash if it saved their life. There was nobody in need of your help. The only lack of time you had was getting home before your parents did. As he made his way down the park, alongside the pond, there was ...something that caught his attention. Blue eyes caught the sight of...some bright light. That was strange, especially considering that there weren't normally any sort of light show in the park and especially at night. So what then? Kaz wasn't usually the type that would ask himself so many questions about the unknown. Usually, he'd just rush right into the danger with eyes open and a bit of stupidity pushing him full speed ahead, but tonight was proving to be anything but the usual night for Shodo Kazuma. He was hungry, had the close run-in with the law barely behind him, and he was hungry. So, he was being just a little cautious right now. He stirred that particular pot for a few moments later until he saw a couple of others make their approach towards the towering pillar of bright ones and zeroes. "Oh hell no," he cursed. "No way I'm gonna be beaten towards the strange thing by anyone else!" The idea that he wouldn't be the first one there motivated Kaz enough to take off into a sprint. It didn't matter to him how out of breath the silver-haired teen was or how little energy he had due to being hungry for a jelly-filled rice ball - he just ran. And as he did, in the back of his mind, he was terrified and equally thrilled for what might happen when he reached his destination.</s> <\|message\|>Yasashiku Tsuzuki (Yaya or Yasa) --- Yoyogi Park, Shibuya ward "I do--much time. My--eople need help! You m--ave them!" A warmth blew through him and he, for a instant, knew he was insane. His usual stoic expression, flinched. His lips shivered with the image of Haru's fleeting smile, the smile that uttered defeat and wished desperately for help. Fading as it was, the memory brought an unwanted familiarity to the cool night. It was warmer that horrible night, he realized. A snarl tightened his lips and the grip on his phone, even as Iori's shaky words of returning to the car drew closer to him. I can't do that now, what if I'm the only one who can help this person. Out of character for him and fully expected from her, from anyone really, Iori refused to chase after the sprinting boy. He rushed headfirst, gilted eyes wide-open, towards the humming, unnatural light in the park. "Shit! Young Master come back!" she yelled. Coming out into the open, stopping a reasonable distance but far closer than sane, Yasashiku shouted. "Where are you? I hear you, I'm here to help!"</s>	<\|message\|>Akira Kobayashi Akira continued deeper into the park, determined to find the source of the voice. After a few minutes he decided that he was getting nowhere, seemingly going in circles around the park. It didn't help that he didn't know the layout of the park at all as he was new to Tokyo. After another minute of fruitless searching, Akira sat down on a park bench. Pulling out his phone and looking at the time, Akira considered heading home. Then he heard the voice again. "I do--much time. My--eople need help! You m--ave them!" Akira sprang back up onto his feet. The voice sounded closer this time, and a lot more urgent. Believing now that he knew the direction it was coming from, Akira began to run toward the voice. As he made his way through the trees, he found himself in front of a water fountain. Initially he just saw the few other teenagers gathered around, but then he saw it, some sort of an energy ball. And rising from the ball was many faint images of ones and zeroes. The strange sight caused Akira to stop running, standing a few feet behind the others. His mind raced as he tried to find a logical explanation for what he was seeing. Maybe it was a prank, and they were all secretly on camera. Or maybe some sort of promotion using holograms. But if it were those things then why would it be in this almost empty park and not someplace with more people. Akira just didn't get it. "So, what are we looking at?" Akira asked no one in particular.</s>
<\|description\|>Hana Izumi "Y-yeah, I-I... I can help out, it's fine..." 1. ♫ \| 2. ♫ Age: 17 Digimon partner: Lunamon Digivice color(s): White phone, pale pink back details, and navy blue backing. Terribly edited image for reference --- [APPEARANCE] Hana's 163cm hourglass frame is most commonly hidden beneath hoodies, jackets, skirts, leggings, and boat shoes, leading to her giving off a sense of effortless beauty--though she very much puts effort into her looks. A mole sits beneath her left eye, and the only accessories she is ever seen with are hairpins in her bangs, mostly meant for style. She has a terrible poker face and when she blushes, it is extremely clear on her cheeks. Due to this, she's developed a habit of hiding her face when embarrassed, deep in thought, or even just tired, among other things. She most often does this by pulling up the front of her hoodie or jacket when she's wearing one over her nose and holding it there. At times when this is not possible, she'll either throw on a hood, cover her face with a hand, or simply just turn away. [PERSONALITY] Hana can give off an unapproachable aura, often looking annoyed or tired. This shell, though, is very easy to get past. The slightest bit of kindness--even sometimes a simple compliment--can quickly melt away her icy demeanor. Despite her best efforts to be aloof, Hana is shockingly clingy and soft-hearted. Though she often has difficulty communicating with words, her expressions and actions do more than enough to show her true nature as a caring ally and friend. Hana is one to nearly never pin blame on another, always being the first to apologize. A tendency to overanalyze little things can often control her, and that is especially true when something goes wrong--she will immediately look inward and pick apart every mistake she believes herself to have made, which can quickly sour her mood. Just as quickly, though, kind words can pick her back up--she becomes attached to others easily. The girl is very quick to sacrifice for the sake of others, finding happiness in doing so through the happiness of those she aids. This trait, along with her general disposition, makes her a very easy soul to manipulate and take advantage of. Hana has recognized this 'doormat' aspect of herself, and it is the primary reason she tries--and fails--to be distant. Realizing she's been used is a crushing feeling to the girl, not helped by the fact that she can hardly even think to say 'no' without feeling herself panic. Upsetting others, even if they've upset her, paralyzes her. When she speaks, she is rather slow and deliberate, needing to be focused on being clear with what she means, and to avoid excessive stammering. [BACKSTORY] At a very young age, Hana was a loud and outgoing child--one with a stuttering issue. Predictably, this lead to many years of teasing, dampening her free spirit. As she aged into and past her tween years, she worked on her stuttering and kept mostly to herself, spending long hours on the family computer. As a young teen, she started to put herself out more again, finding some success, but also finding the struggles that came with her personality--kids this age were smart enough to take advantage of her inability to refuse. There was no particular big incident that jaded her--she simply found herself with less and less time to herself, being pulled around every which way by people who wanted her help. Growing tired of having people upset with her for not being around when she was busy assisting someone else, but still lacking the courage to just say 'no,' she slowly began to simply make herself less available, and less openly friendly. This was most effective when her family moved to Tokyo the year she started high school--all new faces around her that had no expectations of her to help them. And, with her practiced sharp, annoyed default expression, few thought to even engage her in conversation. That... sucked in its own way. Living somewhere new with no one to talk to was lonely. It was for the best though, Hana told herself--at least until she could fix her own flaws that caused the problems she was hiding from. To pass the time, Hana worked at a hip clothing store part-time, her first big purchase with her saved money being a nice laptop of her own. When working neither on her schooling (which she was and is diligent at) nor at her job, she began to spend her free time playing Digimon: Tamers' World. It was fun and popular, and talking to people online about the game was a nice way to stifle some of her loneliness, without all the extra burden in-person conversations potentially brought. Many of the creatures were super cute too, and interacting with them also helped, even if they were just monsters in a video game. One day when talking about the game online, she heard of a few rumors regarding the game for the first time--the one in particular that caught her attention being the one that said Digimon were appearing in the real world. That was absurd, of course... but Hana couldn't help but begin to look into it just a bit more. A digimon would probably make a good friend for her. It made her feel silly, so she didn't dwell too much on the reason why she was hoping such an impossible rumor was true. --- [DIGIMON] Species: Lunamon Nickname: Lulu Default Level: Rookie Attribute: Data Attacks: Tearing Shot, Luna Claw, Lop-ear Ripple Other forms: Yukimi Botamon -> Nyaromon -> Lunamon -> Lekismon</s> <\|message\|>Niko Watanabe `Yoyogi Park, Shibuya Ward, Tokyo - 21:36` After school that day, Niko went out playing DTW searching for cute Digimon. Time really did fly because now it was dark, and well past the time a kid should be out on a school night. Niko thought about how he was going to explain this to his father when he got home. He knew what his dad would say. "You're too addicted to video games, you need to get a real life." Or whatever it was that dad's said when they didn't like something their child did. There wasn't a single soul in the park. Why would they be? Considering how late it was? Niko hoped maybe his parents would have gone to bed early, and then he wouldn't have to explain anything to them. He could quietly sneak home and play it off as if he'd been there the entire time. Hel-! Young Ta--er, can --ou hea-- e? Niko stopped dead in his tracks, and looked around. He could have sworn he heard the sound of a girl's voice. Though it sounded staticky... He didn't see anyone around though. "Hellooooooo! Is someone there?! Come out come out wherever you are. I don't bite! Promise!"</s> <\|message\|>Yasashiku Tsuzuki (Yaya or Yasa) --- Yoyogi Park, Shibuya ward "Pull the car over, Iori." Convincing Iori to leave was impossible, instead he had demanded that the mature woman walk atleast a few paces behind him. Her duty to ensure his safety would be in reach, while his desire for privacy was also fulfilled. He'd told her he was playing Digimon: Tamers' World but in all actuality his curiosity and instincts had driven him to, what he assumed, was insanity. A voice in his head, neither Haru's or his own, distorted yet alluring... pleading myabe? he wasn't sure but he would never allow another person's potential plea for help to go unanswered. As he strolled along through the park entrance, tall lights shone softly overhead, Iori's shoes stepping in perfect tune with his own, Yasashiku paused. Iori paused in the same moment. The gold of his phone paled in comparison to the bright light of the homescreen. "I'm going crazy..." he muttered. "I'm out here cause I thought I heard a voice. In my head. I'm not even sure if it came from here." "But it feels like I should be here." he thought, the minute noise of nature an odd accent to his slight-mania. After a short pause she stepped forward. "Young master, perhaps we should head home now," Iori suggested matter-of-factly. Yasashiku sighed in acceptance and defeat. "Maybe... give me five more minutes."</s> <\|message\|>Akira Kobayashi Yoyogi Park, Shibuya Ward, Tokyo - 21:37 Akira was laughing with his more recent friends as they passed by the park. They had just spent the last hour and a half out chasing Digimon, as they had been swept up into the craze. For Akira however it was not going good, only finding the most common Digimon this evening. Meanwhile his friend Koji had found a rare gold variant of Veedramon. So Akira was feeling a little jealous of him. As such, Akira wasn't ready to call it a night as he still wasn't satisfied with his Digimon catching. Akira turned to his friends, "I'm just pop into Yoyogi. Anyone wanna come along?" "Man, it's just insect types in there," Koji laughed, "Plus it's getting late, so I'm going home." The others nodded and agreed, siding with Koji as usual. Akira just waved them off, entering the park. Luckily for Akira, he loved insect type Digimon, though he wasn't sure why. Plus with how dismissive his friends were being, he didn't feel like telling them the rumour that DTW might be adding rare Digimon at certain landmarks, like Yoyogi Park. Akira took out his phone and began using its AR feature to try and find Digimon. Initially finding nothing, he figured that he should go a bit deeper into the park. As he did so, a ping sounded on his phone, indicating a nearby Digimon. Akira walked toward the Digimon, only to hear a strange voice. Hel-! Young Ta--er, can --ou hea-- e? "The hell," Akira muttered. Akira spun around trying to find the source of the distorted voice, but couldn't see anyone around him. Maybe Koji was right and it was late, and Akira was probably tired. He heard that if you are overly tired you may hallucinate these kinds of things. But thinking deeper on the subject, Akira remembered that usually only happens after multiple days with no sleep. So he wasn't overly tired, which meant that maybe it was a brain sickness. The prospect of being crazy was not appealing to Akira, so he decided to pursue the alternate course of thought. That the voice was real. Akira kept his phone ready in his hand just in case this situation was dangerous, as he walked deeper into the park, searching for whoever's voice he had heard.</s>	<\|message\|>Hana Izumi Brillia Tower Yoyogi-koen, Shibuya, Tokyo - 21:35 The door handle to Hana's family apartment clicked open, Hana herself stepping into her home. The lights were all off, unsurprisingly. Despite how late it was, neither of her parents were back yet--one of the downsides of high-paying jobs. They seemed to be happy to provide their daughter a comfortable life, but the girl wished they'd be able to enjoy their own money more. Hana rubbed at her eyes as she made her way to her room. After turning the light on, she carefully placed her bag on the foot of her bed, pulling out her laptop and moving it to the desk next to her desktop computer. Turning both machines on, she booted DTW on the laptop and on her phone, frowning to herself. She hadn't had the chance to play at all today, having worked a shift. Her gaze shifted to her window that lead to an impressive view, the desire to head outside beginning to grow in her. No, it was too late. Hana sighed and turned her attention back to her desktop, spending a few minutes clicking around and skimming the latest posts on a DTW-related forum. Hel-! Young Ta--er, can --ou hea-- e? Hana yelped, jumping out of her seat to look around quickly. Her heart rate had just spiked. Despite the voice she could have sworn she had just heard, she was alone in her room. She quickly looked back to her computer, noting her headset laying on the desk. A fast check later, she confirmed there was no audio playing, so it couldn't have come from that. Really, it had sounded like it had come from further away. The hallway outside her door? Or maybe even further than that? Hana swallowed, nervous and confused. She grabbed the closest thing to a weapon she could find--her schoolbag filled with heavy books--and crept towards the door to her room. "M-Mom?" she called out, to no response. She waited for a few seconds longer, holding her breath. It didn't sound like there was any movement outside. Before she could psyche herself out, the girl quickly opened the door. There was no one, as it should've been expected. Her grip on the strap of her bag loosened a bit. Hana began to slowly breathe again, feeling silly, but not completely relaxed yet. She quietly walked into the living room, noting again there was no one, and nothing was misplaced. The girl did pause with a blink though, her eyes looking through the curtains that covered the glass door leading out to the balcony. Somehow... it felt like maybe the voice had come from there? If it hadn't just been in her head, which it probably had. Hana bit her lip gently, before steeling herself again to make her way over. The balcony door was unlocked and slid open, and she stepped outside into the late night, above the rest of the neighborhood. Directly ahead of her was the edge of Yoyogi Park. Hana leaned onto the railing, her gaze drawn to the park, eyes widening after a moment. The voice had come from there. Maybe. She... was drawn towards it though. Hana pulled up the front of her hoodie over her nose, her brow furrowing as she tried to make sense of what was happening.</s>
<\|description\|>Kazuma, Shodo (goes by Kaz) "But did we die?" Age: 16, Dec. 1st Digivice color(s): Silver case \|\| Blue frame (Back) \|\| Purple buttons Appearance: Kaz is described as a somewhat average 16-year-old with neck-length silver hair and electric blue eyes. His skin is fair and no paleness, which may indicate he doesn't spend every hour of his time in his room. He has a skinny-lean figure, which also indicates he physically active in some respect but not to the point where he would be considered for sports teams. At a height of 5'8, one can assume he is fairly average and doesn't experience the troubles that a short boy his age would. Kaz chooses comfort over style most of the time, so one might find him in oversized hoodies, shirts that might be one or two sizes too big, and some kind of shorts or jeans. He's a fan of sneakers, but specifically Vans or Nike. Yeah, just because he looks average doesn't mean he dresses like it. Top shelf for him, please! Personality: Kaz is what you would call something of an adrenaline junkie. This doesn't mean he seeks danger but he doesn't run away from it, either. All his life, Kaz has enjoyed the thrill of taking risks, never knowing if they paid off or not. He likes the feeling deep in the pit of his gut he always seems to get when he's so close to failing or when he does fail, he knows what not to do next. If taunted or dared to do close to anything, he'll never back down no matter how stupid it is, but that doesn't mean Shodo Kazuma himself is stupid or unintelligent, it just means that he, for a short time, he suspends that part of his brain that might tell him what is or isn't wise to do for the sake of his physical well-being. As a person and how approachable he is, Kaz is somewhere between intimidating and friendly. He can make friends easily cause he seems to have this aura about him that allows for people to feel his warmth, but there have been times where his impulsive behavior and love for danger may have alienated his old friends from him. It bothers him, but he'd never let anyone close to him know that. At the very least, around Kaz, you have a lot of fun. Backstory: Shodo Kazuma was born and raised in Tokyo, Japan. His parents, for all intents and purposes, were pretty normal and didn't possess any extraordinary traits or jobs. His father is a car salesman while his mother is a nurse. The only exceptional thing that one could say about Kaz's upbringing was how it was mainly him on his own for the majority of his life. His neighbor, who was roughly four years older than him, babysat him for the majority of his late childhood and well into teenhood. By the time she went to college, Kaz was old enough to take care of himself. And that's exactly what he did, but at some point in his life, he had developed the habit of breaking rules: curphew, the law - basically anything he could do to get that thrill. It wasn't even about the abandonment he faced at the hands of his parents due to their busy jobs (okay maybe a part of it was). He just always enjoyed the thrill, but then about a year ago, he discovered online gaming. His parents weren't too thrilled about it, but they figured better he cause trouble in a fictional world than in the real one, so they let him play his games. It started out with the usual mmorpgs, but it wasn't until Digimon: Tamer World came out did he find his calling. His parents didn't know about it. Every time he left the house, he always said he was meeting friends, but little did they know, he was out and about. This augmented reality game took him places he didn't think he'd go. First, it was around his neighborhood -going to the park, some back alleyways, but then he went back to old habits. Eventually, Kaz was back to traspassing on private property, ignoring the "do not enter" signs of abandoned warehouses. Within the last month, however, the rumors of Digimon appearing in the real world starting circulating. Kaz figured it was some 4chan conspiracy nuts or Redditors just wanting some insta-karma, but the idea made him smile. He wasn't one of those wackos that dug ultra-deep into conspiracy theories, but with all of the free time he had to spare, Kaz couldn't pass up the chance for an adventure in finding out if these rumors were real or not. If they were, then he'd get a bitchin' digimon partner for real! And they weren't real, he'd still have fun. It was a win-win for him! Digimon partner: Monodramon --- Species: Monodramon \|\| Dragon's Roar(rookie only), Metal Empire, Nature Spirit, Wind Guardian (Ultimate and Mega only) Nickname: Ryu \|\| Moron (unoffficial/informal/used when frustrated with him) Default Level: Rookie Attribute: Vaccine Attacks: Beat Knuckle \|\| Crack Bite \|\| Shadow Wing Other forms: Ketomon → Hopmon → Monodramon → Strikedramon</s> <\|message\|>Hana Izumi Brillia Tower Yoyogi-koen, Shibuya, Tokyo - 21:35 The door handle to Hana's family apartment clicked open, Hana herself stepping into her home. The lights were all off, unsurprisingly. Despite how late it was, neither of her parents were back yet--one of the downsides of high-paying jobs. They seemed to be happy to provide their daughter a comfortable life, but the girl wished they'd be able to enjoy their own money more. Hana rubbed at her eyes as she made her way to her room. After turning the light on, she carefully placed her bag on the foot of her bed, pulling out her laptop and moving it to the desk next to her desktop computer. Turning both machines on, she booted DTW on the laptop and on her phone, frowning to herself. She hadn't had the chance to play at all today, having worked a shift. Her gaze shifted to her window that lead to an impressive view, the desire to head outside beginning to grow in her. No, it was too late. Hana sighed and turned her attention back to her desktop, spending a few minutes clicking around and skimming the latest posts on a DTW-related forum. Hel-! Young Ta--er, can --ou hea-- e? Hana yelped, jumping out of her seat to look around quickly. Her heart rate had just spiked. Despite the voice she could have sworn she had just heard, she was alone in her room. She quickly looked back to her computer, noting her headset laying on the desk. A fast check later, she confirmed there was no audio playing, so it couldn't have come from that. Really, it had sounded like it had come from further away. The hallway outside her door? Or maybe even further than that? Hana swallowed, nervous and confused. She grabbed the closest thing to a weapon she could find--her schoolbag filled with heavy books--and crept towards the door to her room. "M-Mom?" she called out, to no response. She waited for a few seconds longer, holding her breath. It didn't sound like there was any movement outside. Before she could psyche herself out, the girl quickly opened the door. There was no one, as it should've been expected. Her grip on the strap of her bag loosened a bit. Hana began to slowly breathe again, feeling silly, but not completely relaxed yet. She quietly walked into the living room, noting again there was no one, and nothing was misplaced. The girl did pause with a blink though, her eyes looking through the curtains that covered the glass door leading out to the balcony. Somehow... it felt like maybe the voice had come from there? If it hadn't just been in her head, which it probably had. Hana bit her lip gently, before steeling herself again to make her way over. The balcony door was unlocked and slid open, and she stepped outside into the late night, above the rest of the neighborhood. Directly ahead of her was the edge of Yoyogi Park. Hana leaned onto the railing, her gaze drawn to the park, eyes widening after a moment. The voice had come from there. Maybe. She... was drawn towards it though. Hana pulled up the front of her hoodie over her nose, her brow furrowing as she tried to make sense of what was happening.</s> <\|message\|>Kazuma, Shodo (goes by Kaz) --- `Yoyogi Park, Shibuya Ward, Tokyo - 21:36` "Come back here!" The sounds of whistles and hollering security guards were becoming less ear-blaring the further Kaz ran through Yoyogi Park. The darkness that the night provided clouded their view of him. The clouds overhead hid the stars, which in turn also hid the light they'd provide. Even though the lights of the park may have allowed for some light to reveal parts of the park, what those idiotic and nearsighted guards didn't anticipate was on Shodo Kazuma's natural athletic ability - or at least as natural as one could be when that feeling of getting caught passed through his entire body. Just about fifteen minutes earlier, Kaz had the brilliant idea of sneaking into the NHK Broadcast center. It wasn't a bright idea, that much Kaz realized now, but at the time of deciding it, he was neck-deep into half of an idea of trying to see if he could find some different Digimon there. He had found most of what he could around the neighborhood and even on the outskirts, but he never went inside the broadcast center. So he figured why not? What's the worst that could happen? As it turned out, a couple of by-the-book security guards would take that very literally. And now he found himself hiding out up in one of the cherry blossom trees as the two security guards talked amongst themselves. "Gah! He must've run off somewhere!" One of them said. He was an overweight Japanese guy with what appeared to be dark hair and an affinity for sweets based on his gut. Yeah! Really top shelf security, aren't you, big boy? "Come on, Takeda. We should get back to our post. Boss will have our head if we don't." Yeah, Takeda, go wheeze somewhere else. This branch is starting to climb up my ass. They went back and forth for a few minutes and eventually, Takeda came to his senses and Kaz watched them as they left the park. And he couldn't have felt any prouder for how he not only escaped them, but managed to climb his ass up in this tree. Letting out a sigh, he made an attempt to adjust himself so his legs were hanging off the thick branch he was sitting on. "Alright! In one, two thr--" Hel-! Young Ta--er, can --ou hea-- e?-- "--What?" Whether it was the slightest hint of static or what he figured was a girl's voice, Kaz was distracted and hadn't caught himself in time as he fell out of the tree and his ass broke his fall. "Goddamnit!" He cursed, feeling all sorts of numbness and soreness course through his waist and lower back. It was as if the force centered around there and he knew he was going to feel that in the morning. As he got up, he looked around. "Whoever said that is gonna pay for my comfort rice ball! I mean it! I like mine jelly-filled!"</s> <\|message\|>Umiko Mizushima --- I do--much time. My--eople need help! You m--ave them! Umiko was thoroughly freaked out now. Whoever this girl was, she sounded distressed. "I should call the police," she decided. She pulled out her cell phone, and frowned. The battery was down to five percent. But it would have to do. Umiko started dialing 110, but stopped when she something out of the corner of her eye. A few dozen meters away was a pond and fountain. She'd passed it maybe a hundred times before. However, there was something there that was abnormal: a bright, glowing light. Smaller than a football, and roughly spherical in shape. But what was even odder was that it seemed to be radiating a kind of energy; on closer inspection, Umiko could see holographic 1s and 0s emulating from the light like a fog. Something about it made her want to come closer, and against her better judgement, Umiko did. What in the world is this?</s> <\|message\|>Niko Watanabe "Yoo hoo!" Niko called out to the voice. "It's ok! You can come out! Don't be shy!" Of course, the mysterious voice only answered with more staticky responses that didn't make sense. No one came out to reply or anything.What is going on? The pink haired boy wondered to himself. Then, he saw a bright glowing light. It was stood out amongst all the trees, and was shining not far from where he was. What was even weirder was all the ones in zeroes running through it. That definitely wasn't normal, and Niko felt the urge to run torwards it. "Wow, this is getting weirder by the second. Awesome!"</s>	<\|message\|>Kazuma, Shodo (goes by Kaz) I do--much time. My--eople need help! You m--ave them! Okay, Kaz. You're hearing things. Someone doesn't need help and they definitely don't want you to -ave them -- save them. Kaz sighed, taking in and expelling out deep breaths. Sometimes you just had to take a minute to collect yourself and clear out the voice of the clearly-imaginary voice of some girl in your head. Kaz, you weren't hearing any voices. You're just hungry and frustrated. And maybe a little high from the adrenaline of nearly getting caught by some glorified mall cops that couldn't run a 100m dash if it saved their life. There was nobody in need of your help. The only lack of time you had was getting home before your parents did. As he made his way down the park, alongside the pond, there was ...something that caught his attention. Blue eyes caught the sight of...some bright light. That was strange, especially considering that there weren't normally any sort of light show in the park and especially at night. So what then? Kaz wasn't usually the type that would ask himself so many questions about the unknown. Usually, he'd just rush right into the danger with eyes open and a bit of stupidity pushing him full speed ahead, but tonight was proving to be anything but the usual night for Shodo Kazuma. He was hungry, had the close run-in with the law barely behind him, and he was hungry. So, he was being just a little cautious right now. He stirred that particular pot for a few moments later until he saw a couple of others make their approach towards the towering pillar of bright ones and zeroes. "Oh hell no," he cursed. "No way I'm gonna be beaten towards the strange thing by anyone else!" The idea that he wouldn't be the first one there motivated Kaz enough to take off into a sprint. It didn't matter to him how out of breath the silver-haired teen was or how little energy he had due to being hungry for a jelly-filled rice ball - he just ran. And as he did, in the back of his mind, he was terrified and equally thrilled for what might happen when he reached his destination.</s>
<\|description\|>Kabir Singh Appearance: -may add later- Age: 27 Bio: Responsible and practical "left-brained" personality. Works as an accountant for several small businesses in Warlington. Like his parents, he strives for personal prestige and propriety, but he is less strict and critical of others than the previous generation. Role in the story: Aaranya's brother</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya Singh Aaranya kept pressing against the lone tree, more for emotional than physical need at this point. She stayed a still silent statue for a moment. "...I don't know," she murmured. "I did everything I was supposed to. I did my best." Aaranya gazed off to the horizon. A slice of orange danced with mid-dawn blue. Soon more would rise and roam the roads. The bedraggled woman lightly pushed off the tree and resumed her original path home. She passed by Danielle with barely a glance. As Aaranya shuffled a few feet past, she kept her eyes straight on the road while speaking to the woman behind. "I have to go home. If you want to follow, I can't stop you. But be quiet."</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle blinked. She tried to follow after her. She frowned, very very worried. "Aaranya....." The name was said in a whisper. She was starting to resume her usual quiet tone and such. She did not run so much at the moment. But, she did her best to keep Aaranya within her line of sight. "W....wait up...." Her tone of voice did not change.</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya Singh Aaranya picked up the pace, spurred on by the watchful eye of the waking sun. She left the streets to power-walk through the shadows of an orchard. The girl was about to leave the shelter of nature when she froze like a doe, eyes twitching around her environment. She swore she was being followed.... oh yeah, it was Danielle. Okay. Aaranya took one more side street to avoid passing by the library (did those people ever sleep?) and nearly sobbed as she rounded the corner to her own rustic cobblestone road. Her feet rushed forward of their own accord until she found herself tapping at the door. Aaranya stood there for an eon, or perhaps two minutes. Her eyes caught Danielle's at this time, and Aaranya responded with a nod, grateful that the woman chose to stay close rather than tell the whole town what she saw. Worry rose like floodwaters near the end of the eon. This was not like Kabir, ever polite and formal. She pounded on the door this time. Finally, some muffled evidence of movement filtered through the walls. A minute later, a disheveled man in his mid-twenties opened the door with a look of exhausted indignation. His expression turned to blank shock when he registered the woman. "Aaran... WHAT?" Both siblings tried to think of words to say. Neither got a chance before Kabir embraced his sister, face remaining a mask of shock. Aaranya's own face scrunched up in tears, her limbs grew heavy and soft, finally able to let her guard down in safe harbor. "Come- come inside," Kabir breathed, halfway dragging Aaranya across the threshold. His wide eyes seemed to look through Danielle rather than at her, but he acknowledged her presence and left the door open for the other woman who accompanied his sister for who-knows-what reason. "What happened?" Kabir asked as he led Aaranya to the couch. "You're... of course, it's wonderful that you're here, but you're supposed to..." Both Singhs were wordless, one seeking a proper way to speak the unspeakable, one struggling to make any sound other than squeaky sobs. Kabir directed his eyes toward something, anything else, and noticed his other guest again. Proper hospitality... that was an easier way to help. "...You look like you had a rough night," Kabir addressed Aaranya, a little warmth returning to his voice. "Why don't I get you some breakfast, and then we can talk about it?" Kabir breathed a sigh of relief as Aaranya answered with a silent nod. He gave his sister a kiss on the forehead and then headed to the kitchen. His racing thoughts slowed to a more manageable pace as the mundane task gave his mind something productive to do. At least, that's what Kabir tried to tell himself. Even as his quivering hands caused the bowl of oatmeal to harshly clink against the bottom of the microwave.</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle followed closely. Luckily, it seemed as though Aaranya was slowing down now. That was good. Running tended to tire her out pretty often. She always hated gym class in school. All the running they had to do was just one reason for that, but still. Anyway, that was not important at the moment. Her friend and the fact that she was alive was the important thing right now. Danielle would follow her all the way back to that house. She stayed quiet when the door was opened. She gasped, almost loudly, when her brother hugged her(Aaranya) and that exchange followed. She turned when when she finally acknowledged, and realized, how loud she had gotten. She quickly glanced around to make sure that no one had heard her. She sighed in relief when that was the case. She raised an eyebrow when she saw the door left open for her. She had not expected to be invited inside. She had assumed some people, or most, would assume she was amongst those who wanted the girl to be sacrificed. She frowned as she thought about that. Anyway, she went inside. She had a seat in a small chair. She looked between the two of them as those questions and, possible, answers were exchanged. She sighed a bit. She could not help it. Anyway, she had no answers herself. Why HAD the creature left her....alive? That was quite....odd. She watched as the brother walked off to fetch something, breakfast she thought she had heard him say. Then, she glanced at Aaranya.</s> <\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel Melissa's hazel gaze held Creed's blue one as her heart raced and her cheeks flushed. He was no longer an awkward teenager, then again neither was she. "You... you're not dead?" Blinking a couple of times, she pushed him away as she rose back up to her feet and ignored the shattered coffee mug. "Six years, Creed! Years!" She couldn't put any other words together, completely caught not only off-guard but also a bit flabbergasted. The redhead threw her hands up in the air, huffing, and shaking her head at her old friend. Her presumed dead friend not actually dead and with no contact whatsoever to let her know otherwise in six years! Glancing at the children, as that's what they both still were in his eyes, Alek nodded to Jim and motioned towards another aisle. It was likely best to leave the pair to reconnect without on-lookers. "I have all records of the town since its creation, though it never was Native lands. From what I can tell of the records, it was avoided by the Native American Tribes. Should have been a fair warning to the settlers that something was up, but here we still stand."</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya Singh Aaranya continued to gaze downward, but she could feel Danielle looking at her. After a minute, the former Sacrifice looked around for something. Aaranya stretched her arm and craned her neck in an awkward position in order to just barely reach a tissue from the end table without needing to actually move from her small claimed corner of the vast world. The woman cleaned up her eyes, blew her nose, and took a deep breath. "I don't know what you're expecting," Aaranya mumbled to Danielle. "I said I don't know anything. I was at the fountain. I guess I fell asleep at some point. It's hard to tell what really happened and... what was a dream."</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle sighed. "I am....still in shock." She took a deep breath. then, she continued. "You were supposed to be sacrificed. I wanted to help you, after all you're my friend, but my parents and family would not let me anywhere near you. They kept a distance between us. The next morning, this morning, I was in mourning thinking you were....you know, but then, I saw you and, well, now I don't know what to think. I wonder what happened though. Did the creature change his mind and go back on our ancestors deal? Are we doomed after all? It's all....nerve-wracking." Danielle, then, looked down at the floor, at her feet.</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya Singh Danielle had... wanted to help? "How could you help?" Aaranya responded. "I was going..." The woman had to take a centering breath before continuing. "I was going to die. There's no way to help with that." There was a long pause. Her feelings about Danielle's confessions were coffee. A sprinkle of longing sugar stirred in a bitter cup, enough to just taste the sweet before it dissolved into darkness. Aaranya didn't like coffee. A plain glass of water would be a nice change of pace. "I guess I'm alive now, though," Aaranya slowly continued. "Maybe you can help figure out what to do next. If there is a next." "Tea will be ready in a couple minutes," Kabir declared as he walked back into the main room. He gently handed Aaranya a bowl of oatmeal with blackberries and cream. The woman immediately started gobbling down the meal. The oatmeal felt a little less warm than expected... it seemed Kabir had prepared for the possibility of Aaranya cramming it in with reckless abandon.</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle sighed. "If I could have, I would have snuck you out of town. Either way, no matter what, I felt....helpless. I was practically dragged off before I could do anything anyway. I...." She started to tear up for a moment. She paused for a time when her friend seemed to ask about figuring out what to do next. She took a deep breath. "Well...We need to think, firstly. We can not just run out, who knows what might happen. We...well...we need a plan." She wiped away a tear just as Aaranyas' brother returned with the food for her. She blinked when she saw her gobble it down like that. She could almost chuckle a bit at the sight. She remembered her doing that when they were kids. It was a cherished memory.</s> <\|message\|>Creed Rollins "Six long years, for me too you know, I didn't really have a way to call you." "Sheriff Kirby threatened to kill you and your dad, he knew how much I cared for y'all. "Creed said looking at her eyes. "Honest Melissa, I didn't have a chance or a way to call you, living with Jim on the reservation, there are no telephones. " "Half the time I was in caves sweating my ass off trying to contact my inner self or something like that." "What, I'm really trying to say...Is, I'm sorry." Jim Thunderhawk poured thru the pages of Warrington (?) history, trying to find anything that would aid them in the battle against the evil that looms over the town.</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya Singh Aaranya was numb to the world. She was so starving. All of existence is but oatmeal. Kabir caught the end of Danielle's comment. He nodded solemnly in agreement. "It's almost broad daylight now," Kabir added. "If anyone sees you, there will be mass panic. People could get hurt, you could get hurt, and that's even without the Creature itself doing something terrible. We'll have to lay low and plan until tonight at least." The man frowned. He glanced around the room, at the windows, as if he expected someone to be peeking in. "But if anyone has a reason to suspect anything is off, the first place they'll look is here. We might have to think of another place to hide." Aaranya's brown eyes widened, she registered the conversation as the world began to filter back into view. "We?" she blurted. "N-no. It's my problem, my fault. I can't drag anyone else into the forest, especially not now."</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle looked and saw him nod. She listened to what was said. "......" She was not sure what to say, not at first anyway. She frowned, unsure and feeling helpless, saddened even. She noticed him glancing around and wondered if he saw anything. She nodded at what he, her friends' brother, said after that. She looked over at her friend and saw her wide eyes. She took a deep breath and tried not to sigh. "It is too late. People will suspect we, him and me, helped you, as we were the ones that are, or were in their minds, actually close to you. They would come here or to where I live first thing." She allowed herself to sigh for a moment after that.</s>	<\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya & Kabir Singh Aaranya curled in on herself, limbs and thoughts, a blade of grass touched by fire. One spark undoused fates the field ablaze. No faded leaf could ask the great tree to fall with it, yet here they were, swirling twisting in the wind, unseverable stem. Kabir left to get the tea. He used that separation as an excuse to pace the kitchen, wring his hands, run through a whiplash of emotion. Of course he was panicking, of course he was swirling with guilt and shame over uprooting his life, abandoning family, responsibilities to the town, the ever-muffled voice of what Kabir wanted. But he couldn't be those things in front of the young women. It was time to take a breath, man up, be a stable solid rock. As Kabir took the Darjeeling tea off the stove and gathered some mugs, he ran through some options for hiding Aaranya. Who owed him a favor? ...That big of a favor? Kabir worked as an accountant and tax advisor for a few small businesses in town. Maybe he could bribe them with free services or otherwise convince them to hide his sister for one day. "If we want a building," Kabir began as he reentered the living room, "I can think of two slight maybe options. There's a diner that I helped survive a complicated tax mishap a couple years ago. The diner itself is too public, but one of their houses might do. There's also the library. They don't have as strong of a reason to owe me a favor, but I have worked with them a few times, and there are some hidden areas for more valuable books in case we're more worried about searches." The man paused and looked between the quiet women. "Do either of you have any better ideas? And how many sugars in your tea?"</s>
<\|description\|>Kabir Singh Appearance: -may add later- Age: 27 Bio: Responsible and practical "left-brained" personality. Works as an accountant for several small businesses in Warlington. Like his parents, he strives for personal prestige and propriety, but he is less strict and critical of others than the previous generation. Role in the story: Aaranya's brother</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle followed closely. Luckily, it seemed as though Aaranya was slowing down now. That was good. Running tended to tire her out pretty often. She always hated gym class in school. All the running they had to do was just one reason for that, but still. Anyway, that was not important at the moment. Her friend and the fact that she was alive was the important thing right now. Danielle would follow her all the way back to that house. She stayed quiet when the door was opened. She gasped, almost loudly, when her brother hugged her(Aaranya) and that exchange followed. She turned when when she finally acknowledged, and realized, how loud she had gotten. She quickly glanced around to make sure that no one had heard her. She sighed in relief when that was the case. She raised an eyebrow when she saw the door left open for her. She had not expected to be invited inside. She had assumed some people, or most, would assume she was amongst those who wanted the girl to be sacrificed. She frowned as she thought about that. Anyway, she went inside. She had a seat in a small chair. She looked between the two of them as those questions and, possible, answers were exchanged. She sighed a bit. She could not help it. Anyway, she had no answers herself. Why HAD the creature left her....alive? That was quite....odd. She watched as the brother walked off to fetch something, breakfast she thought she had heard him say. Then, she glanced at Aaranya.</s> <\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel Melissa's hazel gaze held Creed's blue one as her heart raced and her cheeks flushed. He was no longer an awkward teenager, then again neither was she. "You... you're not dead?" Blinking a couple of times, she pushed him away as she rose back up to her feet and ignored the shattered coffee mug. "Six years, Creed! Years!" She couldn't put any other words together, completely caught not only off-guard but also a bit flabbergasted. The redhead threw her hands up in the air, huffing, and shaking her head at her old friend. Her presumed dead friend not actually dead and with no contact whatsoever to let her know otherwise in six years! Glancing at the children, as that's what they both still were in his eyes, Alek nodded to Jim and motioned towards another aisle. It was likely best to leave the pair to reconnect without on-lookers. "I have all records of the town since its creation, though it never was Native lands. From what I can tell of the records, it was avoided by the Native American Tribes. Should have been a fair warning to the settlers that something was up, but here we still stand."</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya Singh Aaranya continued to gaze downward, but she could feel Danielle looking at her. After a minute, the former Sacrifice looked around for something. Aaranya stretched her arm and craned her neck in an awkward position in order to just barely reach a tissue from the end table without needing to actually move from her small claimed corner of the vast world. The woman cleaned up her eyes, blew her nose, and took a deep breath. "I don't know what you're expecting," Aaranya mumbled to Danielle. "I said I don't know anything. I was at the fountain. I guess I fell asleep at some point. It's hard to tell what really happened and... what was a dream."</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle sighed. "I am....still in shock." She took a deep breath. then, she continued. "You were supposed to be sacrificed. I wanted to help you, after all you're my friend, but my parents and family would not let me anywhere near you. They kept a distance between us. The next morning, this morning, I was in mourning thinking you were....you know, but then, I saw you and, well, now I don't know what to think. I wonder what happened though. Did the creature change his mind and go back on our ancestors deal? Are we doomed after all? It's all....nerve-wracking." Danielle, then, looked down at the floor, at her feet.</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya Singh Danielle had... wanted to help? "How could you help?" Aaranya responded. "I was going..." The woman had to take a centering breath before continuing. "I was going to die. There's no way to help with that." There was a long pause. Her feelings about Danielle's confessions were coffee. A sprinkle of longing sugar stirred in a bitter cup, enough to just taste the sweet before it dissolved into darkness. Aaranya didn't like coffee. A plain glass of water would be a nice change of pace. "I guess I'm alive now, though," Aaranya slowly continued. "Maybe you can help figure out what to do next. If there is a next." "Tea will be ready in a couple minutes," Kabir declared as he walked back into the main room. He gently handed Aaranya a bowl of oatmeal with blackberries and cream. The woman immediately started gobbling down the meal. The oatmeal felt a little less warm than expected... it seemed Kabir had prepared for the possibility of Aaranya cramming it in with reckless abandon.</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle sighed. "If I could have, I would have snuck you out of town. Either way, no matter what, I felt....helpless. I was practically dragged off before I could do anything anyway. I...." She started to tear up for a moment. She paused for a time when her friend seemed to ask about figuring out what to do next. She took a deep breath. "Well...We need to think, firstly. We can not just run out, who knows what might happen. We...well...we need a plan." She wiped away a tear just as Aaranyas' brother returned with the food for her. She blinked when she saw her gobble it down like that. She could almost chuckle a bit at the sight. She remembered her doing that when they were kids. It was a cherished memory.</s> <\|message\|>Creed Rollins "Six long years, for me too you know, I didn't really have a way to call you." "Sheriff Kirby threatened to kill you and your dad, he knew how much I cared for y'all. "Creed said looking at her eyes. "Honest Melissa, I didn't have a chance or a way to call you, living with Jim on the reservation, there are no telephones. " "Half the time I was in caves sweating my ass off trying to contact my inner self or something like that." "What, I'm really trying to say...Is, I'm sorry." Jim Thunderhawk poured thru the pages of Warrington (?) history, trying to find anything that would aid them in the battle against the evil that looms over the town.</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya Singh Aaranya was numb to the world. She was so starving. All of existence is but oatmeal. Kabir caught the end of Danielle's comment. He nodded solemnly in agreement. "It's almost broad daylight now," Kabir added. "If anyone sees you, there will be mass panic. People could get hurt, you could get hurt, and that's even without the Creature itself doing something terrible. We'll have to lay low and plan until tonight at least." The man frowned. He glanced around the room, at the windows, as if he expected someone to be peeking in. "But if anyone has a reason to suspect anything is off, the first place they'll look is here. We might have to think of another place to hide." Aaranya's brown eyes widened, she registered the conversation as the world began to filter back into view. "We?" she blurted. "N-no. It's my problem, my fault. I can't drag anyone else into the forest, especially not now."</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle looked and saw him nod. She listened to what was said. "......" She was not sure what to say, not at first anyway. She frowned, unsure and feeling helpless, saddened even. She noticed him glancing around and wondered if he saw anything. She nodded at what he, her friends' brother, said after that. She looked over at her friend and saw her wide eyes. She took a deep breath and tried not to sigh. "It is too late. People will suspect we, him and me, helped you, as we were the ones that are, or were in their minds, actually close to you. They would come here or to where I live first thing." She allowed herself to sigh for a moment after that.</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya & Kabir Singh Aaranya curled in on herself, limbs and thoughts, a blade of grass touched by fire. One spark undoused fates the field ablaze. No faded leaf could ask the great tree to fall with it, yet here they were, swirling twisting in the wind, unseverable stem. Kabir left to get the tea. He used that separation as an excuse to pace the kitchen, wring his hands, run through a whiplash of emotion. Of course he was panicking, of course he was swirling with guilt and shame over uprooting his life, abandoning family, responsibilities to the town, the ever-muffled voice of what Kabir wanted. But he couldn't be those things in front of the young women. It was time to take a breath, man up, be a stable solid rock. As Kabir took the Darjeeling tea off the stove and gathered some mugs, he ran through some options for hiding Aaranya. Who owed him a favor? ...That big of a favor? Kabir worked as an accountant and tax advisor for a few small businesses in town. Maybe he could bribe them with free services or otherwise convince them to hide his sister for one day. "If we want a building," Kabir began as he reentered the living room, "I can think of two slight maybe options. There's a diner that I helped survive a complicated tax mishap a couple years ago. The diner itself is too public, but one of their houses might do. There's also the library. They don't have as strong of a reason to owe me a favor, but I have worked with them a few times, and there are some hidden areas for more valuable books in case we're more worried about searches." The man paused and looked between the quiet women. "Do either of you have any better ideas? And how many sugars in your tea?"</s>	<\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya & Kabir Singh The trio sat to drink some tea for one moment of calm on the edge of a gritty swirling hourglass. Some vague thoughts and plans stirred the silence at times. But for the most part the people were... quiet. What words existed for such a time as this? Aaranya could think of none in English, Hindi, French, or Russian - though it's possible that learning any more than basic Russian could reveal one with time. Kabir finished his tea quickly. He stretched as he stood up and looked at the women. "Well, you keep thinking about where to go. I'm going to pack. Aaranya, gather anything small that's really important to you. Danielle... help us pack some things for you, too. Maybe you'll be able to stop by your house later... I'm sorry." Aaranya took a little longer to finish breakfast while Kabir began to find out how many survival items he could cram into a formal business suitcase. She could barely look at Danielle, unfortunate enough to get swept up in this mess. "Sorry too," Aaranya mumbled, gazing just past Danielle's face. Then she went to her room and closed the door. It was strange... standing in a dead woman's room. The blankets, the collection of candles, the bookshelf. It seemed like her things should be covered in dust and cobwebs, ancient artifacts of a long gone civilization. Only yesterday had they been lived with, and let go. And after Aaranya had already said goodbye to all her possessions, she somehow found herself in the same situation just about 24 hours later. What could she have the right to reclaim now? The only thing Aaranya really wanted from her room was a change of clothes. She changed out of her formal sari, fit for a special occasion, and hung it in the closet. As if it mattered at all where she put it. She then donned a casual pink sweatshirt and jeans, a more typical and practical outfit for her. She swapped her dressy gold shoes (thank the gods) for some grey tennis shoes. As Aaranya took one last look around her room (again), she noticed something new on her desk. The overflowing collection of poems she had left by Kabir's door the previous day. The woman breathed deeply as her arms were drawn to the precious journal like a magnet and she held it to her chest. <Are you really going to take that thing with you? It's big and heavy and worthless.> Aaranya's eyes squeezed shut and she hugged the book of poems even harder. So nice to know the voices had evaded the grave, as well. <You're so selfish. Everyone knows you're selfish. Are you seriously going to add even more burden for them to carry?> Aaranya furrowed her brow and took a shaky breath. Well, he did have a point. The journal was big and heavy, and they needed to pack for survival. The woman slowly lowered the poetry collection back to the desk and walked away with a quivering frown. <...You're still selfish, you know.> The small woman stopped in her tracks right before the door, frown morphing into gritted teeth. Aaranya stormed up to her desk and grabbed some pages between two clenched hands. MAYBE the voice had a point, MAYBE she shouldn't bring such a big journal, but that didn't mean she had to throw away every last ounce of joy in her life! Like a monstrous wave crashing over a doomed boat, Aaranya forcefully ripped a dozen or so pages out, some filled, some blank. She took the pages and a pen and left the room before she could change her mind. "Thank you, Vishnu, for trying to protect me with your great wisdom," Aaranya whispered. "I can take it from here." Aaranya sat down on the living room couch with the new, very loose leaf version of her poetry notebook. She looked over her chosen poems to represent the previous few days. From another lifetime ago. Then, Aaranya turned over a new page and began to write. --- Day -1 Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each tomorrow Find us farther than today. -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "A Psalm of Life"</s>
<\|description\|>Aleksander Rudel Age: 43 Bio: Aleksander's family was one of the first to settle in Warlington centuries ago, unbelieving of the folklore surrounding the forest until the fateful night when the nightmare fuel made itself known. The Rudel family has since kept the town library well kept over the years. They reside on the second floor of the building. Aleksander is a kind man, even after the loss of his wife 10-years ago. She was selected and sacrificed like so many others before her. Role in Story: Library Owner Other: Widower and Single Father of Melissa Name: Melissa Rudel Age: 18 Bio: Born to a family of librarians, Melissa seems to always have her nose in a book. After the loss of her mother at the age of 8, this young redhead has taken it upon herself to learn as much as possible about the creature to little avail. Centuries of rumor and speculation have left very little in the way of actual facts the girl can get her hands on. Still, her quest continues as she attends yet another year of festivities surrounding the offering of one of their own. Role in Story: Librarian's Assistant/Daughter. Assists with research regarding the creature. Other: Fascinated by the occult.</s> <\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel Flickering candles in the dark shadows of the woods moved, the creature that haunted Warlington over the centuries was awake. It rose from its lair and strolled through its forest at a leisurely pace as the sun set beyond the horizon. It had no little care for this monotonous tradition these days. They celebrated the sacrifice with a festival, the creature could hear the sounds echoing through the trees. The humans feared death more than they feared its wrath, how very different the new generations were from the ancestors who made a pact with the monster of the woods. The ancestors who had the decency to fear the unknown. A large skeletal maw unhinged itself to left out a dull croak of noise. The sky would render itself dark for the creature soon and as the bright glow of the sun cast its red hue on the town, the birds fled their nests and screeched across the skies above Warlington. At least they knew fear, they knew to flee the very sound of the awakening. What even was the point in accepting this sacrifice? The creature wondered as it passed through the forest. Darkness fall and the festivities ended. The town went dark shortly there after, save for the circle of candles around the fountain at the center of the main road. A supernatural darkness followed, should any civilian attempt to peer through their window to catch a glimpse of the horned beast all they would see was shadow, not even the candles could penetrate the shade cast upon them. The beast entered, as it always had, from the forest and across the fields to the welcome sign at the front of town. It drew breath, the black cloak masking its physique billowing despite there being no breeze. The air was eerily still. It moved forward, its pace unhurried, the sacrifice wasn't going anywhere. Wait, was the sacrifice was crying? That was new, they hadn't done that in many years. Large skulled head tilted as amber eyes peered down at the sobbing thing. It had crumbled to the floor, this one was different. The beast rose and looked about the silence of its surroundings. No noise, save for the quiet sobs of its sacrifice. What was the beast to do with this? Already hesitant to accept this year's offering and perhaps cause a bit of chaos for the humans who had taken over its lands, the creature slipped back into the shadows. Why not change things up? It could be fun, something different, something new. He left the girl to cry herself to sleep, leaving behind only a bone pendant to mark that the beast had even been there.</s> <\|message\|>Creed Rollins Creed drove the old beat up green Ford truck down the gravel road, radio blasting country music. His Native American friend, Jim Thunderhawk looked at him with puzzlement. "You sure are in a hurry to get there, it's not going anywhere, you can slow down." Creed let up on the gas pedal and slowed down, turning the music down as well. "Sorry, I'm just...I dunno how to explain it Jim. " " We have to stop the killings, we gotta kill this damn thing, not just for Molly , but for all that have been sacrificed." Jim nodded his head in agreement, "But, we have to be very careful , we are dealing with an ancient evil." He shook the medicine bag around his neck, "It's gonna take a lot more than this or me to defeat it." Creed looked over at him, "We have to try Jim, no matter what happens, we gotta stop it." The young man turned left and down a paved road, only a few miles now from his hometown. "So, you think he will let us stay?" Asked Jim. Creed snickered, "who? My old man, that son of a bitch is nothing but a drunkard, his ass will be so far up Jack Daniels , the end of the world could happen, and he wouldn't give two sheets in the wind." "It might come to that. " Jim said. Creed glanced over at him, "Huh?" The old medicine man looked at Creed with a blank face and said, "End of the world."</s> <\|message\|>Creed Rollins NPC Bobby Duncam Jr. The flashy transam pulled off to the side of the road, and the driver door opened, a few beer cans fell out onto the pavement. Bobby Duncam Jr stepped out and shook his medium length blonde hair from his eyes. He gulped down another beer, before tossing the empty behind him, letting out a loud belch. Bobby reached back into the car, grabbing a flashlight and the remaining two beers from the six pack. He clicked the light on in his eyes to check the brightness, "Shit!" Bobby blinked his eyes a few times, trying to get his vision back. Taking his phone out, he looked at the directions Steve gave to him. "Alright, so I just cut thru the cemetery and I should be able to find the boogeyman, hahahahahaha." He shut the door of the transam, and walked around to the other side. Unzipping his pants, he relieved himself on the cemetery gates, and even spelled his name out on the dirt. Laughing , Bobby entered the cemetery , popping open another beer. As he walked along , not caring if he walked over graves or not, and even kicking a few headstones over, he finally reached the back fence of the cemetery that lead into the haunted woods. "I bet anything the guys already out there and they are gonna try and scare me, but I got them, they'll get it good." He said pulling a can of mace from his jacket. "THE JOKE IS ON YOU, ASSHOLES!" Bobby yelled at the top of his lungs. He climbed over the fence as best as one could being not fully sober, and managed to rip his pants near his crotch. " Son of a bitch!, damnit! " Bobby nearly lost his footing but managed to stay up right, "Damnit you guys, you're gonna pay for this, literally. " He walked for what seemed to him like hours until he came upon some weird Blair witch looking symbol made out of sticks and a deer head. "What the fuck?" Bobby pulled his phone out to take a picture, but heard something , like a branch break. " Oh ha ha I get it, you guys think you can scare me? "</s> <\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel The creature was on its way back from the town, leaving behind the sacrifice with a token to be found in the morning when the ruckus had been heard. Who dared!? The creature picked up pace, feeling the pull of some fool upon its lands. The creature moved through the woods with great agility and silence until the misfortune of a branch crunched beneath a hooved foot. The mortal laughed, looking about with a phone in his hand and a tear in his pants. Croaking deep and dull the eerie sound echoed around the unfortunate drunk who thought this all a joke. This, the creature thought as it observed, this was far more interesting than some dedicated sacrifice aware of its impending doom. This could be fun. In a swirl of mist the creature vanished, retaking form. A dark haired young woman approached and it had to be the alcohol in Bobby's system that made her eyes appear red in the dim lighting of the forest. She seemed to be caught off-guard, looking up shyly as the boy looked about and questioned the friends that were not present. The creature had observed humans long enough, it could speak their tongue and take their shape. "Are you lost and scared?" The girl questioned in a gentle voice that was just a touch off, again nothing the copious amount of alcohol coursing through the man's body couldn't misinterpret.</s> <\|message\|>Creed Rollins Whoa, where did you come from baby?" Bobby asked as he finished off his fifth beer. He dropped the phone into his jacket pocket,"Steve and the guys put you up to this?" Bobby lightly touched her cheek, and then moved in for a kiss, pushing himself up against her, his hands felt all over her body. "Mmmmmm baby, if this is what nightmares are made of, terrorize me" he joked, as he kissed her neck.</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle Wolfe was attending a booth during the festival/ceremony preparations. She was actually in slight tears over it. She had actually considered the sacrifice to be a friend, but had never been able to voice it out loud. Mainly because her voice was always cut off or drowned out by others. But, another big reason, was that she was never allowed to be friends with her. Her parents had always told her to stay away from the girl. Her father, to this day, sent goons to keep an eye on her and keep them away from each other. Danielle sighed and fought to keep from showing how upset she was around her family when the time came. She was forced to watch as it happened. When no one was looking at her, a tear rolled down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away before anyone could see it. Luckily, no one had, not even her parents. She looked up at the red moon.... it would soon be time...... She was dragged off by her parents and others since the creature was arriving...... That was the last thing she saw before she had to leave. She was now pacing in her home, thinking the girl was.....She did not finish that thought.</s> <\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel Well, it thought this would be fun but this fool of a mortal was worse than the creature could have fathomed which was saying something. Its female form tilted her head to the side, seeming to permit the man access for his affections. Her head turned, lips near his disheveled hair as the voice begun to twist. "You are not nearly frightened enough," The body beneath Bobby's hands contorted, bones rising up through skin in a visceral crack and pop of joints. If the human hadn't stumbled backwards, he would have been torn by the change. A root rose up and tripped Bobby onto his arse as the creature shook out its mangy black mane. "Foolish child, daring to come tread away from your town and into my woods? Is it not enough that I permit your kind access to my lands, my fields?" The angry low-octave voice wrapped around the area with a snarl. The creature reached out with one long black hand to grab the human by his hair with its clawed fingers. He severed the man's head from its body with one thorough upward jerk of its arm. The creature devoured the meat of the man, leaving the shredded body at the edge of the woods along the field leading back into the town as a warning. It may not have taken its sacrifice, but it would not tolerate further trespassers.</s> <\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel Melissa and her father, Aleksander, manned the library's booth during the festival though the young adult spent the majority of the time with her nose in a book like always. This one was about the very beast that was to come as the red moon rose to claim its sacrifice. The historic tale was convoluted, at best. There was cohesion between the accounts of centuries prior and none of the more recent generations had every laid eyes on the beast. The moon rose and, just like the rest of the town, the families returned to their homes. Melissa paced the windows facing the center of town on the second floor of the library, eager to try and catch a glimpse at the thing that had taken her mother a decade ago. The thing that had taken her childhood friends from her. The night went dark, unusually dark. Even pressing her face against the window, she couldn't see a thing. Not even the candles. How strange. The redhead turned to click on the flashlight of her cellphone but even that seemed to fail. She scrambled, tripped over the couch and thudded to the floor. That would leave a bruise. At least it was comfortable on the couch. A yawn escaped her lips and she felt a wave of unexplained tiredness take over. The couch was comfortable, the night was dark, and in moments she fell into a soft slumber.</s> <\|message\|>Creed Rollins Creed pulled into the driveway of his old home, his dad's mustang was there. He remembered when him and his dad used to work on it, before his mom died and his dad turned into a drunkard. He turned the pickup off, and got out, closing the door quietly. Jim on the other hand slammed the passenger door shut. Somewhere down the street a dog barked. The two of them walked to the front porch and a motion light came on, shining in their faces. The front door opened, "Who's there? Who...my God, Creed?" Creeds father stepped onto the porch and hugged his son, kissing his neck. For once , his father didn't smell of cheap booze, his father smelled like old spice and car grease. "Dad." They hugged for several minutes on the porch, Jim was glad , this was a good omen. "Come on in son. Jim good to see you again." Said Martin as they shook hands. " Does anyone else know your back?" Asked his dad. "Nah, this is our first stop, was hoping to stay the night." "Just the night?" " We didn't wanna put you out dad." "Creed this is your home to, have y'all eaten, I got some tv dinners." "Sounds good dad, I'll go put our things away." Creed grabbed Jim's bag and went to his old room, it hadn't changed since he ran away. He sat the bags on the floor and sat down on his bed, he was looking around the room and saw a picture of his best friend Melissa. Creed picked up the phone, " What's the chance their home number is the same?" He dialed Melissa's number, and it rang once, then twice, and then someone picked up and creed chickened out, and hung the phone up.</s>	<\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel Aleksander had awoken well before sunrise yet well after the time the sacrifice was to be taken. The older gentlemen stumbled from his bed with a long yawn and stretch, making his way from the bedroom down the hall towards the kitchen. Spotting his daughter asleep on the couch, he shook his head and detoured to pull a blanket over her as she slumbered. The landline connect phone rang, something it didn't do often. He made no rush to answer, given the time of morning and the likelihood of it being a junk call. "Rudel Residence, hello?" The light haired man answered, waiting, shook his head, and hung up. Another answerless junk call, he assumed and continued on to make a pot of coffee.</s>
<\|description\|>Aleksander Rudel Age: 43 Bio: Aleksander's family was one of the first to settle in Warlington centuries ago, unbelieving of the folklore surrounding the forest until the fateful night when the nightmare fuel made itself known. The Rudel family has since kept the town library well kept over the years. They reside on the second floor of the building. Aleksander is a kind man, even after the loss of his wife 10-years ago. She was selected and sacrificed like so many others before her. Role in Story: Library Owner Other: Widower and Single Father of Melissa Name: Melissa Rudel Age: 18 Bio: Born to a family of librarians, Melissa seems to always have her nose in a book. After the loss of her mother at the age of 8, this young redhead has taken it upon herself to learn as much as possible about the creature to little avail. Centuries of rumor and speculation have left very little in the way of actual facts the girl can get her hands on. Still, her quest continues as she attends yet another year of festivities surrounding the offering of one of their own. Role in Story: Librarian's Assistant/Daughter. Assists with research regarding the creature. Other: Fascinated by the occult.</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya Singh Aaranya's heart beat faster at the woman's question. She was seen! The voice sounded shaky... was the quake of fear or fury? Either one could be likely. She also heard people moving, waking and walking inside the shop on which she sheltered. It was stupid, stupid to walk this road -- everyone would see! And, of course, there were no voices to goad her on in this time they could actually be helpful. Aaranya had to be her own voice of fearful force. Run, NOW! Aaranya burst from her hiding place, supposedly dead girl sprinting for her life, attire whirling down the street like a lily in a hurricane.</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle gasped. She was startled by the sudden movement. She froze in place for a time. She was not sure what to do, not at first. She took a deep breath. She decided to do something. "Well....here goes nothing." She began to run after the shadow, a human-like shadow, that had sped off. "Wait! Stop!" She gave chase. She hoped that she would not become out of breath before she caught up to them.</s> <\|message\|>Creed Rollins Creed shook hands with Melissa's dad, "It's good to see you sir." Jim stepped forward, and introduced himself as well. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions you wanna ask, and I'll be happy to answer them." Creed said. He looked over Martin's shoulder, and saw the most beautiful girl he has laid eyes on, and then it hit him, "Melissa is that you?" Jim Thunderhawk asked if they could come inside, "We need your help."</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya Singh Aaranya broke into a cold sweat as the woman shouted and chased after her. She envisioned a mob of torches and pitchforks forming behind her as she ran. Shoes clack clacked too loudly on the street. She had a head start, but her dizzy legs, her shoes. Torches. They were too fancy for running as the thing shouted and chased after her she had a head start clack clack but the distance between faded Aaranya breathed in sharp gulps. Exhausted, thirsty, pitchforks. After a few minutes, Aaranya had to stop and lean against a gnarled tree to prevent herself from falling over. She turned halfway toward the following woman, attempting to use her frayed braid to hide her face. "STOP! Don't come... uh... I'm a GHOST! St-stay away!"</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle gasped. She tried to run faster. "I said wait up!" She shouted as loud as she could. Her eyes went wide when she heard how loud she was. But, she kept running. She was only able to catch up when the form suddenly stopped. This caught her off guard for a moment. She was surprised, confused even. She was hesitant to step closer at first. This could be a stranger. But, then she heard the voice. She gasped, even louder than before, when she was close enough to see who it was in the light. "Aa.......Aaranya??!!"</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya Singh Aaranya flinched at the figure's shout. This was the exact opposite of what she needed... all to hear, to know. She recognized the woman, though, drifted near in the daybreak. Danielle. Aaranya had hoped to be friends with this former classmate, unfortunately met shortly before the time of hearing and watching. They rarely spoke several seasons, but they had managed to pass notes from time to time. Danielle's eyes heard her poetry. Though the revelation of Danielle brought comfort - this one would likely not harass - Aaranya still wished not to interact with anyone until she reached home. She decided to double down. If anyone in history was ever in a position where 'I'm a ghost' seemed a believable story, it was Aaranya. She widened her eyes and sloooowly turned to Danielle with a stony stare, doing her best impression of a haunting gaze (and it was actually pretty good). "Husshhh, mortal. I am the ghoooost of..." Aaranya trailed off mid-sentence. She stared ahead for another second, then looked down at her feet in shame. "...No, I'm not a ghost," she mumbled faintly. "That's a problem. Don't tell. I have to go home."</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle blinked when the other girl had done a failed attempt to be a ghost. She frowned. "Aaranya......" She froze. She did not know what to say. Her friend was alive?! But how?! She was supposed to be sacrificed! That creature was supposed to take her away! What happened?! What was going on?! She was more confused than ever. She was quite scared too. "You...you're alive?!" Her eyes were quite wide. She stumbled a bit. Her eyes were fixed on her friend. "H....How?!"</s> <\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel "Of course, please come in." Alek answered as he opened the door a bit further for the pair and stepped aside. The redhead's gaze leveled on the figures as her father stepped to the side at Jim's request to enter. She was confused for a flash of a moment, it couldn't have been her childhood friend. He was dead. Then those blue eyes met her own hazel gaze. The books and coffee cup she'd been holding slipped and collided with the ground with a loud crash and a splatter of hot liquid. Alek abandoned the door, and the guests, immediately to rush over to his daughter. "Are you ok?" Melissa blinked as her father neared, his presence filling her viewpoint and snapping her mind back. Hot. Ow. Her mind hissed as the recognition that she had dropped the items which had been in her hands hit. Her eyes went wide as a flush of color rushed her cheeks. "Y-yea, sorry. I.." Melissa took a few steps back, kneeling down just as her father had to beginning cleaning up. She lowered her head to fetch shards of broken ceramic as her father tended to the books. Neither were attempting to be rude to the newly arrived guests, though some would have considered their abandonment of polite conversation to attend to books to be impolite. Creed would recall how much the books meant to the father-daughter pair, how proud they were to continue on their inherited position as the keepers of history within Warlington.</s> <\|message\|>Creed Rollins Creed walked over to help Melissa, bending down he said "Hey let me help ya." His hand touched hers as they both went to grab the same broken piece. Creed didn't pull his back, instead he lifted her chin up, so they could look each other in the eyes. "Hi, I know this has to be a shock to you and your dad." Jim followed Alek, and asked him if they had any books or documents dating back at the beginning of when this town was built, and if this was ever native American land. " I know you have a lot of questions, and you probably would also like to punch my face in for not ever calling or writing, and I don't blame you if you did." Creed said smiling.</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya Singh Aaranya kept pressing against the lone tree, more for emotional than physical need at this point. She stayed a still silent statue for a moment. "...I don't know," she murmured. "I did everything I was supposed to. I did my best." Aaranya gazed off to the horizon. A slice of orange danced with mid-dawn blue. Soon more would rise and roam the roads. The bedraggled woman lightly pushed off the tree and resumed her original path home. She passed by Danielle with barely a glance. As Aaranya shuffled a few feet past, she kept her eyes straight on the road while speaking to the woman behind. "I have to go home. If you want to follow, I can't stop you. But be quiet."</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle blinked. She tried to follow after her. She frowned, very very worried. "Aaranya....." The name was said in a whisper. She was starting to resume her usual quiet tone and such. She did not run so much at the moment. But, she did her best to keep Aaranya within her line of sight. "W....wait up...." Her tone of voice did not change.</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya Singh Aaranya picked up the pace, spurred on by the watchful eye of the waking sun. She left the streets to power-walk through the shadows of an orchard. The girl was about to leave the shelter of nature when she froze like a doe, eyes twitching around her environment. She swore she was being followed.... oh yeah, it was Danielle. Okay. Aaranya took one more side street to avoid passing by the library (did those people ever sleep?) and nearly sobbed as she rounded the corner to her own rustic cobblestone road. Her feet rushed forward of their own accord until she found herself tapping at the door. Aaranya stood there for an eon, or perhaps two minutes. Her eyes caught Danielle's at this time, and Aaranya responded with a nod, grateful that the woman chose to stay close rather than tell the whole town what she saw. Worry rose like floodwaters near the end of the eon. This was not like Kabir, ever polite and formal. She pounded on the door this time. Finally, some muffled evidence of movement filtered through the walls. A minute later, a disheveled man in his mid-twenties opened the door with a look of exhausted indignation. His expression turned to blank shock when he registered the woman. "Aaran... WHAT?" Both siblings tried to think of words to say. Neither got a chance before Kabir embraced his sister, face remaining a mask of shock. Aaranya's own face scrunched up in tears, her limbs grew heavy and soft, finally able to let her guard down in safe harbor. "Come- come inside," Kabir breathed, halfway dragging Aaranya across the threshold. His wide eyes seemed to look through Danielle rather than at her, but he acknowledged her presence and left the door open for the other woman who accompanied his sister for who-knows-what reason. "What happened?" Kabir asked as he led Aaranya to the couch. "You're... of course, it's wonderful that you're here, but you're supposed to..." Both Singhs were wordless, one seeking a proper way to speak the unspeakable, one struggling to make any sound other than squeaky sobs. Kabir directed his eyes toward something, anything else, and noticed his other guest again. Proper hospitality... that was an easier way to help. "...You look like you had a rough night," Kabir addressed Aaranya, a little warmth returning to his voice. "Why don't I get you some breakfast, and then we can talk about it?" Kabir breathed a sigh of relief as Aaranya answered with a silent nod. He gave his sister a kiss on the forehead and then headed to the kitchen. His racing thoughts slowed to a more manageable pace as the mundane task gave his mind something productive to do. At least, that's what Kabir tried to tell himself. Even as his quivering hands caused the bowl of oatmeal to harshly clink against the bottom of the microwave.</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle followed closely. Luckily, it seemed as though Aaranya was slowing down now. That was good. Running tended to tire her out pretty often. She always hated gym class in school. All the running they had to do was just one reason for that, but still. Anyway, that was not important at the moment. Her friend and the fact that she was alive was the important thing right now. Danielle would follow her all the way back to that house. She stayed quiet when the door was opened. She gasped, almost loudly, when her brother hugged her(Aaranya) and that exchange followed. She turned when when she finally acknowledged, and realized, how loud she had gotten. She quickly glanced around to make sure that no one had heard her. She sighed in relief when that was the case. She raised an eyebrow when she saw the door left open for her. She had not expected to be invited inside. She had assumed some people, or most, would assume she was amongst those who wanted the girl to be sacrificed. She frowned as she thought about that. Anyway, she went inside. She had a seat in a small chair. She looked between the two of them as those questions and, possible, answers were exchanged. She sighed a bit. She could not help it. Anyway, she had no answers herself. Why HAD the creature left her....alive? That was quite....odd. She watched as the brother walked off to fetch something, breakfast she thought she had heard him say. Then, she glanced at Aaranya.</s>	<\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel Melissa's hazel gaze held Creed's blue one as her heart raced and her cheeks flushed. He was no longer an awkward teenager, then again neither was she. "You... you're not dead?" Blinking a couple of times, she pushed him away as she rose back up to her feet and ignored the shattered coffee mug. "Six years, Creed! Years!" She couldn't put any other words together, completely caught not only off-guard but also a bit flabbergasted. The redhead threw her hands up in the air, huffing, and shaking her head at her old friend. Her presumed dead friend not actually dead and with no contact whatsoever to let her know otherwise in six years! Glancing at the children, as that's what they both still were in his eyes, Alek nodded to Jim and motioned towards another aisle. It was likely best to leave the pair to reconnect without on-lookers. "I have all records of the town since its creation, though it never was Native lands. From what I can tell of the records, it was avoided by the Native American Tribes. Should have been a fair warning to the settlers that something was up, but here we still stand."</s>
<\|description\|>Anna Smith Appearance(if able): age(if applicable): 22/23 bio(optional): may reveal in rp. role in the story: She runs a small diner at the edge of the town, a local place for everyone to enjoy themselves....when the creature isn't around. other(optional): unknown</s> <\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel Flickering candles in the dark shadows of the woods moved, the creature that haunted Warlington over the centuries was awake. It rose from its lair and strolled through its forest at a leisurely pace as the sun set beyond the horizon. It had no little care for this monotonous tradition these days. They celebrated the sacrifice with a festival, the creature could hear the sounds echoing through the trees. The humans feared death more than they feared its wrath, how very different the new generations were from the ancestors who made a pact with the monster of the woods. The ancestors who had the decency to fear the unknown. A large skeletal maw unhinged itself to left out a dull croak of noise. The sky would render itself dark for the creature soon and as the bright glow of the sun cast its red hue on the town, the birds fled their nests and screeched across the skies above Warlington. At least they knew fear, they knew to flee the very sound of the awakening. What even was the point in accepting this sacrifice? The creature wondered as it passed through the forest. Darkness fall and the festivities ended. The town went dark shortly there after, save for the circle of candles around the fountain at the center of the main road. A supernatural darkness followed, should any civilian attempt to peer through their window to catch a glimpse of the horned beast all they would see was shadow, not even the candles could penetrate the shade cast upon them. The beast entered, as it always had, from the forest and across the fields to the welcome sign at the front of town. It drew breath, the black cloak masking its physique billowing despite there being no breeze. The air was eerily still. It moved forward, its pace unhurried, the sacrifice wasn't going anywhere. Wait, was the sacrifice was crying? That was new, they hadn't done that in many years. Large skulled head tilted as amber eyes peered down at the sobbing thing. It had crumbled to the floor, this one was different. The beast rose and looked about the silence of its surroundings. No noise, save for the quiet sobs of its sacrifice. What was the beast to do with this? Already hesitant to accept this year's offering and perhaps cause a bit of chaos for the humans who had taken over its lands, the creature slipped back into the shadows. Why not change things up? It could be fun, something different, something new. He left the girl to cry herself to sleep, leaving behind only a bone pendant to mark that the beast had even been there.</s> <\|message\|>Creed Rollins Creed drove the old beat up green Ford truck down the gravel road, radio blasting country music. His Native American friend, Jim Thunderhawk looked at him with puzzlement. "You sure are in a hurry to get there, it's not going anywhere, you can slow down." Creed let up on the gas pedal and slowed down, turning the music down as well. "Sorry, I'm just...I dunno how to explain it Jim. " " We have to stop the killings, we gotta kill this damn thing, not just for Molly , but for all that have been sacrificed." Jim nodded his head in agreement, "But, we have to be very careful , we are dealing with an ancient evil." He shook the medicine bag around his neck, "It's gonna take a lot more than this or me to defeat it." Creed looked over at him, "We have to try Jim, no matter what happens, we gotta stop it." The young man turned left and down a paved road, only a few miles now from his hometown. "So, you think he will let us stay?" Asked Jim. Creed snickered, "who? My old man, that son of a bitch is nothing but a drunkard, his ass will be so far up Jack Daniels , the end of the world could happen, and he wouldn't give two sheets in the wind." "It might come to that. " Jim said. Creed glanced over at him, "Huh?" The old medicine man looked at Creed with a blank face and said, "End of the world."</s> <\|message\|>Creed Rollins NPC Bobby Duncam Jr. The flashy transam pulled off to the side of the road, and the driver door opened, a few beer cans fell out onto the pavement. Bobby Duncam Jr stepped out and shook his medium length blonde hair from his eyes. He gulped down another beer, before tossing the empty behind him, letting out a loud belch. Bobby reached back into the car, grabbing a flashlight and the remaining two beers from the six pack. He clicked the light on in his eyes to check the brightness, "Shit!" Bobby blinked his eyes a few times, trying to get his vision back. Taking his phone out, he looked at the directions Steve gave to him. "Alright, so I just cut thru the cemetery and I should be able to find the boogeyman, hahahahahaha." He shut the door of the transam, and walked around to the other side. Unzipping his pants, he relieved himself on the cemetery gates, and even spelled his name out on the dirt. Laughing , Bobby entered the cemetery , popping open another beer. As he walked along , not caring if he walked over graves or not, and even kicking a few headstones over, he finally reached the back fence of the cemetery that lead into the haunted woods. "I bet anything the guys already out there and they are gonna try and scare me, but I got them, they'll get it good." He said pulling a can of mace from his jacket. "THE JOKE IS ON YOU, ASSHOLES!" Bobby yelled at the top of his lungs. He climbed over the fence as best as one could being not fully sober, and managed to rip his pants near his crotch. " Son of a bitch!, damnit! " Bobby nearly lost his footing but managed to stay up right, "Damnit you guys, you're gonna pay for this, literally. " He walked for what seemed to him like hours until he came upon some weird Blair witch looking symbol made out of sticks and a deer head. "What the fuck?" Bobby pulled his phone out to take a picture, but heard something , like a branch break. " Oh ha ha I get it, you guys think you can scare me? "</s> <\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel The creature was on its way back from the town, leaving behind the sacrifice with a token to be found in the morning when the ruckus had been heard. Who dared!? The creature picked up pace, feeling the pull of some fool upon its lands. The creature moved through the woods with great agility and silence until the misfortune of a branch crunched beneath a hooved foot. The mortal laughed, looking about with a phone in his hand and a tear in his pants. Croaking deep and dull the eerie sound echoed around the unfortunate drunk who thought this all a joke. This, the creature thought as it observed, this was far more interesting than some dedicated sacrifice aware of its impending doom. This could be fun. In a swirl of mist the creature vanished, retaking form. A dark haired young woman approached and it had to be the alcohol in Bobby's system that made her eyes appear red in the dim lighting of the forest. She seemed to be caught off-guard, looking up shyly as the boy looked about and questioned the friends that were not present. The creature had observed humans long enough, it could speak their tongue and take their shape. "Are you lost and scared?" The girl questioned in a gentle voice that was just a touch off, again nothing the copious amount of alcohol coursing through the man's body couldn't misinterpret.</s> <\|message\|>Creed Rollins Whoa, where did you come from baby?" Bobby asked as he finished off his fifth beer. He dropped the phone into his jacket pocket,"Steve and the guys put you up to this?" Bobby lightly touched her cheek, and then moved in for a kiss, pushing himself up against her, his hands felt all over her body. "Mmmmmm baby, if this is what nightmares are made of, terrorize me" he joked, as he kissed her neck.</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle Wolfe was attending a booth during the festival/ceremony preparations. She was actually in slight tears over it. She had actually considered the sacrifice to be a friend, but had never been able to voice it out loud. Mainly because her voice was always cut off or drowned out by others. But, another big reason, was that she was never allowed to be friends with her. Her parents had always told her to stay away from the girl. Her father, to this day, sent goons to keep an eye on her and keep them away from each other. Danielle sighed and fought to keep from showing how upset she was around her family when the time came. She was forced to watch as it happened. When no one was looking at her, a tear rolled down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away before anyone could see it. Luckily, no one had, not even her parents. She looked up at the red moon.... it would soon be time...... She was dragged off by her parents and others since the creature was arriving...... That was the last thing she saw before she had to leave. She was now pacing in her home, thinking the girl was.....She did not finish that thought.</s> <\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel Well, it thought this would be fun but this fool of a mortal was worse than the creature could have fathomed which was saying something. Its female form tilted her head to the side, seeming to permit the man access for his affections. Her head turned, lips near his disheveled hair as the voice begun to twist. "You are not nearly frightened enough," The body beneath Bobby's hands contorted, bones rising up through skin in a visceral crack and pop of joints. If the human hadn't stumbled backwards, he would have been torn by the change. A root rose up and tripped Bobby onto his arse as the creature shook out its mangy black mane. "Foolish child, daring to come tread away from your town and into my woods? Is it not enough that I permit your kind access to my lands, my fields?" The angry low-octave voice wrapped around the area with a snarl. The creature reached out with one long black hand to grab the human by his hair with its clawed fingers. He severed the man's head from its body with one thorough upward jerk of its arm. The creature devoured the meat of the man, leaving the shredded body at the edge of the woods along the field leading back into the town as a warning. It may not have taken its sacrifice, but it would not tolerate further trespassers.</s> <\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel Melissa and her father, Aleksander, manned the library's booth during the festival though the young adult spent the majority of the time with her nose in a book like always. This one was about the very beast that was to come as the red moon rose to claim its sacrifice. The historic tale was convoluted, at best. There was cohesion between the accounts of centuries prior and none of the more recent generations had every laid eyes on the beast. The moon rose and, just like the rest of the town, the families returned to their homes. Melissa paced the windows facing the center of town on the second floor of the library, eager to try and catch a glimpse at the thing that had taken her mother a decade ago. The thing that had taken her childhood friends from her. The night went dark, unusually dark. Even pressing her face against the window, she couldn't see a thing. Not even the candles. How strange. The redhead turned to click on the flashlight of her cellphone but even that seemed to fail. She scrambled, tripped over the couch and thudded to the floor. That would leave a bruise. At least it was comfortable on the couch. A yawn escaped her lips and she felt a wave of unexplained tiredness take over. The couch was comfortable, the night was dark, and in moments she fell into a soft slumber.</s> <\|message\|>Creed Rollins Creed pulled into the driveway of his old home, his dad's mustang was there. He remembered when him and his dad used to work on it, before his mom died and his dad turned into a drunkard. He turned the pickup off, and got out, closing the door quietly. Jim on the other hand slammed the passenger door shut. Somewhere down the street a dog barked. The two of them walked to the front porch and a motion light came on, shining in their faces. The front door opened, "Who's there? Who...my God, Creed?" Creeds father stepped onto the porch and hugged his son, kissing his neck. For once , his father didn't smell of cheap booze, his father smelled like old spice and car grease. "Dad." They hugged for several minutes on the porch, Jim was glad , this was a good omen. "Come on in son. Jim good to see you again." Said Martin as they shook hands. " Does anyone else know your back?" Asked his dad. "Nah, this is our first stop, was hoping to stay the night." "Just the night?" " We didn't wanna put you out dad." "Creed this is your home to, have y'all eaten, I got some tv dinners." "Sounds good dad, I'll go put our things away." Creed grabbed Jim's bag and went to his old room, it hadn't changed since he ran away. He sat the bags on the floor and sat down on his bed, he was looking around the room and saw a picture of his best friend Melissa. Creed picked up the phone, " What's the chance their home number is the same?" He dialed Melissa's number, and it rang once, then twice, and then someone picked up and creed chickened out, and hung the phone up.</s> <\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel Aleksander had awoken well before sunrise yet well after the time the sacrifice was to be taken. The older gentlemen stumbled from his bed with a long yawn and stretch, making his way from the bedroom down the hall towards the kitchen. Spotting his daughter asleep on the couch, he shook his head and detoured to pull a blanket over her as she slumbered. The landline connect phone rang, something it didn't do often. He made no rush to answer, given the time of morning and the likelihood of it being a junk call. "Rudel Residence, hello?" The light haired man answered, waiting, shook his head, and hung up. Another answerless junk call, he assumed and continued on to make a pot of coffee.</s>	<\|message\|>Anna Smith Anna Smith was about to open the doors to her little place of business, if only for the evening/a short time. She thought she was doing alright with it despite the threats that loomed over it. However, this was not the most important thing on her mind. When it had been time for the festival/ceremony to start, she felt a great weight against her heart. She felt guilty that she was not trying more to stop it. She may not have been friends with the girl in question, but even SHE felt that this was wrong. Anyway, she mainly sighed as she thought about that.</s>
<\|description\|>Cormac McIntosh Factory Overseer Bio Age: Never gives the same answer twice Gender: Male Factory and Functionality: The Mór Brionnú (literally The Big Forge); Perhaps the hottest factory in all of the Infactorium, the Mór Brionnú is filled with pipes leading to various ginormous steel forges and anvils of varying sizes for beating metal of various sizes into shape. Tools are left out in seemingly random places, however Cormac seems to know where they are at all times. Personality: Cormac can act grumpy and irritated, but he actually does care about the other occupants of Infactorium, always crafting the best possible equipment for them when it's requested. He might grumble and complain, especially when given tasks outside of forging and blacksmithing, but he can always be expected to get it done to the best of his ability. He'll never admit that he does it because he likes people though, insisting that it's because he wants to be proud of his work. Creator: B;oodAndGuts93 --- Overseer Build Level: 75 Racial Levels: * (H) Giant lvl 10 * (R) Fire Giant lvl 5 * (R) Fomorian lvl 5 Job Levels: * (B) Fighter lvl 5 * (B) Armor Smith lvl 15 * (B) Weapon Smith lvl 15 * (B) Blacksmith lvl 15 * (R) Berserk lvl 5 Stat Block: * HP: 70 * MP: 20 * PHY. ATK: 70 * PHY. DEF: 70 * AGI: 20 * MAG. ATK: 20 * MAG. DEF: 20 * RESIST: 43 * SPECIAL: 42 Stat Total (Power): 375 --- Overseer Inventory and Powers * Hephaestus' Hammer: Awarded to any warrior who can successfully quell the rage of Typhon in the heart of a raging volcano. For saving Hephaestus' forge from destruction, increase your crafting abilities with this divine tool… or flatten your enemies into pancakes, whatever your preference. * Elderstahl: A sword said to be wielded by a great fire giant who would help to bring about the end of the world along with a frost giant, a wolf, a serpent, and a trickster. * Gae Assail: A magical spear, capable of being thrown and returning to the wielder's hand afterward. Gained through the favor of a silverhanded stranger. * Fire Resistance: Thanks to Cormac being a Fire Giant, he is completely resistant to even the highest of temperatures * Ríastrad: When Cormac goes into a berserker state, it is referred to as a Ríastrad, or Warp Spasm. His attacks receive a damage multiplier while his defense is decreased. He also finds it difficult to tell apart friends and foes. Cold water tends to bring him back to his normal mindset. * Balor's Eye: Cormac may appear to be blind with his colorless eyes, though that's only half true. He can in fact see through one of his eyes, though he seems to give conflicting answers when asked which it is. Either way, through this still working eye, he also has the ability to somewhat slow his opponents' movements when directly looking at them. * Surtr's Blessing: When wielding any sword, the blade shall always begin to grow hot and bright until bursting into flame, adding a flame modifier to any damage he does with the weapon. * Raiders of the Sea: Like most Fomorians, Cormac also has ties with the sea. This allows him to walk upon water as if it were solid Earth. * Fomorian Constitution: Cormac passively heals faster than most races, though at the drawback that it takes more time after his previously taken damage to begin healing. * Fortress: Offsets the enemy's attacks. * Heavy Blow: Raises a weapon's crushing capability. * Strong Assault: Increases Cormac's attack power, allowing him to increase damage against enemies with heavy armor. * Body Strengthening: Temporarily increases Cormac's strength. * Weapon Metallurgy: Can use nearly every known metal with a reasonable melting point into any weapon imagined or requested. * Armor Metallurgy: Can use nearly every known metal with a reasonable melting point into any piece of armor imagined or requested. Theme</s> <\|message\|>Gammaton Gammaton couldn't help but agree with Faetalis' decision; Hivehill thrived on food, and Gammaton could feel her host becoming a bit peckish. But one sad truth remained unspoken; if Faetalis was this willing to tear down so much of the guild, it heavily implied the absence of the other Supreme Beings, or at least, the ones whose domains were being reduced to scrap. Though Gammaton was long used to GrillBears' absence, she could tell that this sudden and violent event may have awakened in her comrades the vain hope that their masters would return. She didn't want to see them disappointed, but she feared it would be a hard truth they would have to face sooner or later. "I hear, and obey, My Lady," Gammaton's host said in his characteristically deep, smooth voice and bowed bombastically in an attempt to hide the regret of having to deface years of Infactorium's progress and infrastructure. With the meeting concluded, Gammaton paced back to Hivehill, deep in contemplation. Once she had arrived, she went into some of the deeper areas that more resembled research labs than a giant anthill to find some parchment and a quill. Gammaton quickly penned some instructions for Levia in case she forgot how the ants behaved. Pasting the instructions to the randomly chosen 'leader' of a handful of worker ants, she ordered them to aid Levia in her duties, bringing a trunk of pheromone bottles that had fortunately survived Infactorium's violent transport. Sure, she probably didn't need any help when it came to deconstruction, but the ants would spare Levia the banal task of moving the material to their destinations, allowing her to continue doing what she loved with minimal interruptions. Gammaton took the remaining workers and headed to the opposite end from Levia of the parts of Infactorium that were slated for destruction. As an Insect Master, Gammaton could command the workers with her thoughts...well, not exactly. Her commands to her minions were converted into intricately woven pheromone signals. The trunk she had sent to Levia was a simplistic version that involved three types of vials representing three signals, color-coded for ease of use: red for harvest - to break down into small chunks, blue for move - to pick up without destroying, and green for destination - the location where objects marked with red or blue pheromones were to be moved to. Applying a pheromone to the antennae of an ant let it know it was about to receive orders relevant to that type of pheromone, leaving the vial let the ant know that it is to perform its task at that location. Marking a pile of inorganic material with red, and marking a trail of green that led to The Big Scrap Alley and Mór Brionnú would be sufficient to have the workers carry out the automated task of deconstructing and carrying the material to the where they were intended. The same could be done by marking a pile of organic material with red and a green trail to the Gorging Trough. With this, Gammaton and Levia could work efficiently at deconstructing the 'unnecessary' parts of Infactorium, though Gammaton had no illusions that she would finish her task before Levia. Though Gammaton could feel the pangs of nostalgia stabbing her heart, she understood the need to excise unneeded parts for the better health of the whole.</s> <\|message\|>Tungsten Jazz "As you command, Creator Faetalis. We will proceed with operations immediately!" Tungsten saluted Faetalis after she had given the Overseer their orders. Whatever concerns and regrets Tungsten had were immediately washed away: Now he had orders and planed to follow them without hesitation. Indeed, there could be no hesitation as their goal was simple: repair the guild. Whatever was broken needed to be fixed, and if it didn't need to be fixed it needed to be recycled. There was no time to mourn what was lost and instead they must focus on what can be saved. Tungsten in particular needed to be quick about repairing the Big Scrap Alley: even if it won't be at 100% efficiency anymore, with so much destruction and recyclable materials that are about to come his way he must return to operation. "Do not let perfect be the enemy of good, as they say." Tungsten and his soldiers would return to the Big Scrap Alley quickly, and once he did reach his area Tungsten was quick to divvy out orders. All Cyber Skeletons were to immediately begin repairs to one of the generators. Just one will be able to ensure the Big Scrap Alley can resume operations at 80% efficiency for a week, more than long enough to get the other generators going and enabling the Big Scrap Alley to maintain steady operations for up to even a year if they lower energy costs. Additionally, he commanded the skeletons to take and destroyed or damaged nonessential Bigs to be scrapped: they simply do not have the resources to maintain and repair all the Bigs in the Titan Fleet right now and they must prioritize quality over quantity. What few essential Bigs they have which aren't scrapped may be kept, but even those could very well be fed to the Infernal Engine if necessary. Additionally the entirety of the Boneyard will be cannibalized to repair the damages to the Big Scrap Alley. Even if this means that his facility cannot produce any more Cyber Skeletons for now, that was a small sacrifice to pay for the good of the guild. Of course, Tungsten doesn't plan to sit around and do nothing. Even though most of the operation will be carried out by Cyber Skeletons, they will work harder and faster as long as Tungsten leads them. And lead them he shall. Firstly, he had all damaged Cyber Skeletons work alongside him as he moved rubble from the ruins and transported them to various carts and trolleys to be moved. He was singing as he did so, to activate his Song of Rest as well as his Aura of Vitality to heal his minions so they too can work at full efficiency. It was here that the Cyber Skeletons truly shined: because each were helping each other, their Helping Hand ability allowed them to easily repair damages simply with tools and materials on hand. And because each Cyber Skeleton was being assisted by fellow skeletons, their Teamwork ability also activated, increasing their overall speed and ability to work. And as destruction and repairing the facility was nothing unusual for these Cyber Skeletons, Standardization would be active and ensure that the Cyber Skeletons and Tungsten will have one of the generators repaired and powering the Infernal Engine within the hour. An astonishingly fast feat considering the sheer damage the whole Big Scrap Alley has been inflicted with. At this rate all three generators will be repaired before the day's end, and Tungsten can ensure the facility is recycling and producing materials for the guild in short order. However while the Cyber Skeletons worked, Tungsten knew there were a few tasks only he had the ability to handle. As the Cyber Skeletons really were only good in both mass, and focused on a single project. Repairing the Big Scrap Alley was important yes, but there were other facilities that needed help as well. And thus, once Tungsten was certain that the Cyber Skeletons would be able to repair the Auxiliary generator without his oversight, he took a handful of Cyber Skeletons around to other parts of the guild to repair other damaged infrastructure, such as communication towers, power stations, and automated entrances. These locations were easy for a few skeletons to fix, but they needed the speed that Tungsten can grant them via his Aura of Alacrity and fast movement. Physical infrastructure such as walls and floors would be left in the hands of Cormac. While Tungsten's minions are certainly capable of basic repairs like that, Faetalis had ordered Tungsten to focus on more delicate electronics first, and that is what he will do. With any luck within a day, once the Infernal Engine comes to life and can begin sharing power with the guild, much if not all of the guild's technological devices ought to return to working order, if only for a while.</s>	<\|message\|>Cormac McIntosh Breaking down the domains of the other overseers was far from ideal. Even Cormac, with his sometimes rather abrasive and grouchy personality, seemed to furrow his brow upon hearing this plan from Faetalis. He understood plenty though that practicality outweighed sentimentality. As much as he might miss the other factories, their own survival mattered the most, and that meant repairing the most vital areas and bringing necessities like food production back online. Hearing Faetalis' orders for Levia though, Cormac couldn't help but worry that his reptilian coworker would go overboard, even if she was told to only recycle and not to melt everything down. It wouldn't be the first time. Seeing the excitement in her eyes, the blacksmith said, "Just remember that we have a job to do and don't get lost in de fun." With everyone's orders now received, the hulking brute of a man turned to his designated partner, Tungsten, only to watch the automaton leave for Big Scrap Alley, most likely to coordinate his army of Cyber Skeletons. For a second, Cormac considered if doing things on his own as he always had was really the best way to go about things. Having mobs like the other overseers could come in handy. At the very least, maybe an apprentice to pass down his knowledge to? The second passed though. A silly thought, especially with the dire state Infactorium was in. Perhaps it was something to look into once the guild was back to operating at peak efficiency. If that wasn't possible, at least the best it could be in their bizarre, new circumstances. Lumbering back to The Mór Brionnú, Cormac would collect the tools necessary, searching the floor for his scattered things, before going about and fixing whatever he could on the floors above him.</s>
<\|description\|>Cormac McIntosh Factory Overseer Bio Age: Never gives the same answer twice Gender: Male Factory and Functionality: The Mór Brionnú (literally The Big Forge); Perhaps the hottest factory in all of the Infactorium, the Mór Brionnú is filled with pipes leading to various ginormous steel forges and anvils of varying sizes for beating metal of various sizes into shape. Tools are left out in seemingly random places, however Cormac seems to know where they are at all times. Personality: Cormac can act grumpy and irritated, but he actually does care about the other occupants of Infactorium, always crafting the best possible equipment for them when it's requested. He might grumble and complain, especially when given tasks outside of forging and blacksmithing, but he can always be expected to get it done to the best of his ability. He'll never admit that he does it because he likes people though, insisting that it's because he wants to be proud of his work. Creator: B;oodAndGuts93 --- Overseer Build Level: 75 Racial Levels: * (H) Giant lvl 10 * (R) Fire Giant lvl 5 * (R) Fomorian lvl 5 Job Levels: * (B) Fighter lvl 5 * (B) Armor Smith lvl 15 * (B) Weapon Smith lvl 15 * (B) Blacksmith lvl 15 * (R) Berserk lvl 5 Stat Block: * HP: 70 * MP: 20 * PHY. ATK: 70 * PHY. DEF: 70 * AGI: 20 * MAG. ATK: 20 * MAG. DEF: 20 * RESIST: 43 * SPECIAL: 42 Stat Total (Power): 375 --- Overseer Inventory and Powers * Hephaestus' Hammer: Awarded to any warrior who can successfully quell the rage of Typhon in the heart of a raging volcano. For saving Hephaestus' forge from destruction, increase your crafting abilities with this divine tool… or flatten your enemies into pancakes, whatever your preference. * Elderstahl: A sword said to be wielded by a great fire giant who would help to bring about the end of the world along with a frost giant, a wolf, a serpent, and a trickster. * Gae Assail: A magical spear, capable of being thrown and returning to the wielder's hand afterward. Gained through the favor of a silverhanded stranger. * Fire Resistance: Thanks to Cormac being a Fire Giant, he is completely resistant to even the highest of temperatures * Ríastrad: When Cormac goes into a berserker state, it is referred to as a Ríastrad, or Warp Spasm. His attacks receive a damage multiplier while his defense is decreased. He also finds it difficult to tell apart friends and foes. Cold water tends to bring him back to his normal mindset. * Balor's Eye: Cormac may appear to be blind with his colorless eyes, though that's only half true. He can in fact see through one of his eyes, though he seems to give conflicting answers when asked which it is. Either way, through this still working eye, he also has the ability to somewhat slow his opponents' movements when directly looking at them. * Surtr's Blessing: When wielding any sword, the blade shall always begin to grow hot and bright until bursting into flame, adding a flame modifier to any damage he does with the weapon. * Raiders of the Sea: Like most Fomorians, Cormac also has ties with the sea. This allows him to walk upon water as if it were solid Earth. * Fomorian Constitution: Cormac passively heals faster than most races, though at the drawback that it takes more time after his previously taken damage to begin healing. * Fortress: Offsets the enemy's attacks. * Heavy Blow: Raises a weapon's crushing capability. * Strong Assault: Increases Cormac's attack power, allowing him to increase damage against enemies with heavy armor. * Body Strengthening: Temporarily increases Cormac's strength. * Weapon Metallurgy: Can use nearly every known metal with a reasonable melting point into any weapon imagined or requested. * Armor Metallurgy: Can use nearly every known metal with a reasonable melting point into any piece of armor imagined or requested. Theme</s> <\|message\|>Levia Vishap Within the ever-busy-bodied-brain-in-body Levia Vishap resided the ever present desire to do good for those she respects. To be praised by them, work beside them, do her best for them, and to ever strive to be worthy of her father's their love. When Havern's claw descended upon her head, Levia felt time grow to a stand still, almost certain that now, since she'd destroyed everything she'd been asked to, it was her time for permanent firing. Violent permanent firing. But just when she closed her eyes, the talon turned into the warm hand of her guild leader. For what might be the first time in... Forever. Forever was how long it had been. Forever it has been since she felt such warmth and gratitude. Forever had it been since she was praised so wholeheartedly. Forever would it be that she served this warmth. Tears streamed down Levia as she stood in stunned silence. Were it not for her respect for Faetalis, the guild leader would find herself victim to a dragonic four armed hug and wailing fest. Instead, Levia controlled her self. One of her back arms reached down and picked up the displaced hat that had fallen from the gigantic talon touching it. Adjusting her hat once Faetalis's hand had left her scalp, the chimera before Faetalis would wipe her tears of joy and clench her fists. She had a job to do, to continue to do, and whatever Faetalis could order, Levia would follow. "Lady Faetalis, thank you for your praise," Levia said, bowing as she took a knee, trying to hide her excitement even as her tail batted one of Tungsten's CSo4 Units out of the room they were in with a happy flick. Standing, the dragoness's eyes were hardened once more, reptilian slits narrowing as she realized the implications of the words "set upon". Life forms. Hostility. Bad guys. The almost too lizard-like brain of Levia only heard that their territory needed defending, and was liable to storm off to meet this threat were that task not assigned to Mae. Draconic. Nesting. Protection. New instincts and new chemical pathways burned within that told her that the guild absolutely must be protected at all costs. Oddly, this involved Levia breaking a pathway. "Whatever needs to be broken shall be, Lady Faetalis." Levia would clench her fists and pound the larger set together, while adjusting the gloves on her scaled human-like hands. "And, if you ever need the invasion permanently broken, I can melt down whatever Mae leaves, if it comes to that." "I am SO telling Gammaton that I got praised later! Ooh, I gotta bring her something nice! Maybe if a human's stuck up on the mountain, I can get her a new host. Or a snack. Either way, its thanks to her help that I got praised, so I'll have to work hard to make sure she gets plenty of praise next!" Despite her cool posturing and threatening tone, any could see that Levia was, once again, excited to work, and happy to work. Gammaton would hear all about it later. Maybe it'd be a Girl's Night. They could invite Mae for snacks!</s> <\|message\|>Tungsten Jazz Tungsten knelt in silent respect as he listened to Faetalis praise his work. He almost wanted to speak out and humbly admit he simply did as he was told, but withheld his comment, as he was not asked to speak and he knew that Faetalis meant only good things by giving him such praise. More importantly however, she had a task for him, and confirmed some suspicions he had about the area. Namely that the flames he saw in the distance was that of the locals, coming to investigate their arrival. While none can be certain of their intentions, Faetalis has done an excellent job suggesting that regardless, they secure the Infactorium's safety. One cannot be too cautious in these unknown lands after all. Faetalis has also given him, as well as Levia, a vital task. Once more the machine would be called upon to use his sensors to detect and determine the physical structure of the area around them, but instead of utilizing this ability for resource gathering (as was their original function), Faetalis intends to use it for fortification and destruction. Namely to cut off any paths to the guild while it is still undergoing reconstruction. "An excellent idea, Creator Faetalis. Your wisdom shines even in these dark times, and your mercy to both your loyal servants and those who would come to investigate us truly shows your steady hand. Indeed, lesser minds would think to attack blindly against the unknown, risking death and danger to all, but a cool head shall prevail over boiling blood." Truthfully, Tungsten would have preferred to take on these strangers directly, if only to confirm their intentions, but he knows he lacks the manpower to do so despite his desires, which is why Faetalis is the leader and he is not. Conveniently, Levia knocked one of the Skeleton Soldiers out of the room. While critically damaged, it could still move, so Tungsten turned to it. "Receive Io." The machine did it's best to pull itself together and left towards Big Scrap Alley. Tungsten then turned towards Levia, nodding to her now that they had an objective. "As soon as I receive my weapon I will be ready to embark with you and Creator Faetalis. With her guidance and your strength, we will protect the Infactorium." Tungsten's words were filled with encouragement, despite being a machine entity. A hint of his bardic powers granting Levia a slight boost in power, as once Tungsten really gets his performance going Levia would need to be careful not to go overboard with the new strength he is able to grant her.</s>	<\|message\|>Cormac McIntosh Time passed... A lot of time... Oodles and oodles of time. Honestly, Cormac hadn't a clue how much time. For more time than he realized, he had been doing his best to turn what should have been scrap metal for Tungsten's domain into it's original purpose as a piece to a large boiler. No one but him would have probably been able to figure out that's what it had been, but somehow, through a long process of hammering and heating, he had returned it to it's original shape. For the most part. There was one small dent that really wasn't going to reduce the boiler's efficiency, but it could easily be ignored by anyone sane. Something the giant lacked. Wham! "No," he grumbled. Turning it over, he slammed his hammer down on the opposite side to flatten the curve, only to return it back to how it had been the previous smack. Wham! Another grumble, another disappointed, "No." Finally though, he'd find the perfect amount of strength to get the job done, and with the help of a Cyber Skeleton or two who just so happened to be walking by, reapplied the piece where it belonged. Only then would he notice the lights in the distance that the rest of Infactorium's occupants had already seen and discussed without him. At first, he chose to ignore it, intent on finding something else to fix and busy his hands with. Recalling though how their home had devolved into its current state, Cormac found himself mumbling to himself as he went about looking for Faetalis, wanting to hear what instructions she might have for him. Any comments she might have on his being so fashionably late were well-deserved, if/whenever he managed to track her down.</s>
<\|description\|>Cormac McIntosh Factory Overseer Bio Age: Never gives the same answer twice Gender: Male Factory and Functionality: The Mór Brionnú (literally The Big Forge); Perhaps the hottest factory in all of the Infactorium, the Mór Brionnú is filled with pipes leading to various ginormous steel forges and anvils of varying sizes for beating metal of various sizes into shape. Tools are left out in seemingly random places, however Cormac seems to know where they are at all times. Personality: Cormac can act grumpy and irritated, but he actually does care about the other occupants of Infactorium, always crafting the best possible equipment for them when it's requested. He might grumble and complain, especially when given tasks outside of forging and blacksmithing, but he can always be expected to get it done to the best of his ability. He'll never admit that he does it because he likes people though, insisting that it's because he wants to be proud of his work. Creator: B;oodAndGuts93 --- Overseer Build Level: 75 Racial Levels: * (H) Giant lvl 10 * (R) Fire Giant lvl 5 * (R) Fomorian lvl 5 Job Levels: * (B) Fighter lvl 5 * (B) Armor Smith lvl 15 * (B) Weapon Smith lvl 15 * (B) Blacksmith lvl 15 * (R) Berserk lvl 5 Stat Block: * HP: 70 * MP: 20 * PHY. ATK: 70 * PHY. DEF: 70 * AGI: 20 * MAG. ATK: 20 * MAG. DEF: 20 * RESIST: 43 * SPECIAL: 42 Stat Total (Power): 375 --- Overseer Inventory and Powers * Hephaestus' Hammer: Awarded to any warrior who can successfully quell the rage of Typhon in the heart of a raging volcano. For saving Hephaestus' forge from destruction, increase your crafting abilities with this divine tool… or flatten your enemies into pancakes, whatever your preference. * Elderstahl: A sword said to be wielded by a great fire giant who would help to bring about the end of the world along with a frost giant, a wolf, a serpent, and a trickster. * Gae Assail: A magical spear, capable of being thrown and returning to the wielder's hand afterward. Gained through the favor of a silverhanded stranger. * Fire Resistance: Thanks to Cormac being a Fire Giant, he is completely resistant to even the highest of temperatures * Ríastrad: When Cormac goes into a berserker state, it is referred to as a Ríastrad, or Warp Spasm. His attacks receive a damage multiplier while his defense is decreased. He also finds it difficult to tell apart friends and foes. Cold water tends to bring him back to his normal mindset. * Balor's Eye: Cormac may appear to be blind with his colorless eyes, though that's only half true. He can in fact see through one of his eyes, though he seems to give conflicting answers when asked which it is. Either way, through this still working eye, he also has the ability to somewhat slow his opponents' movements when directly looking at them. * Surtr's Blessing: When wielding any sword, the blade shall always begin to grow hot and bright until bursting into flame, adding a flame modifier to any damage he does with the weapon. * Raiders of the Sea: Like most Fomorians, Cormac also has ties with the sea. This allows him to walk upon water as if it were solid Earth. * Fomorian Constitution: Cormac passively heals faster than most races, though at the drawback that it takes more time after his previously taken damage to begin healing. * Fortress: Offsets the enemy's attacks. * Heavy Blow: Raises a weapon's crushing capability. * Strong Assault: Increases Cormac's attack power, allowing him to increase damage against enemies with heavy armor. * Body Strengthening: Temporarily increases Cormac's strength. * Weapon Metallurgy: Can use nearly every known metal with a reasonable melting point into any weapon imagined or requested. * Armor Metallurgy: Can use nearly every known metal with a reasonable melting point into any piece of armor imagined or requested. Theme</s> <\|message\|>Levia Vishap Levia was a bit worried that Tungsten was approaching to get revenge on the accident that happened moments ago with his subordinate, but instead Tungsten Jazz's words, as inspirational as ever, stirred a fire in Levia's stomach as she clenched her draconic hands and grinned. "Her guidance, my strength, and your awesome bardic powers. Let's make sure nobody can ever harm our home, Tungsten!" Levia's tail raised in alarm as Faetalis's arm transformed into a cannon, the chimeric dragoness dropping to all four's, ready to incinerate a plethora of wildlife to keep her mistress safe. Only for it to be a single deer. ...Were it not for the awkwardness of the moment, Levia would chase it down and beat it to a pulp for startling their guild leader. Levia didn't have time to say anything before once again their leader had a minor freakout. ...Their guild leader seemed to be really high strung, for some reason. That awkwardness faded though once Levia saw the serious, monstrous eyes looking back and demanding that the humans not be harmed. Levia had to wonder why, but also didn't care enough about why to question it. As such, why would forever remain why, while who was all she knew. Then she started complimenting Levia! "Ohhh my god she said I'm brilliant! AND NOW SHE'S TOUCHING ME!" Levia screamed internally, cheeks lighting up a pale green from her noxious blood flooding to her cheeks at her hand being in contact with Faetalis's. "Y-Yes! Anything for you Lady Faetalis!" Levia would march at a merry pace, ecstatic at having been used more for her intended purpose in the last twenty four hours than she'd ever been used in... ...What was it? ...Seven Hundred Years? Yggdrasil time? Either way, Tungsten would find he'd need to give Levia very specific instructions, lest her eager innocence cause her to level most of the area around the mountain. She loved feeling useful.</s> <\|message\|>Tungsten Jazz It was not long before a Cyber Skeleton, a different one from the one he sent, returned to Tungsten with Io. The weapon of his Master, his creator, AlphaQ. For a moment the giant hesitated. He has never touched her belongings without her permission ever since she had left. She gave him and the Cyber Skeletons specific orders, and never returned. Her mission was surely important that... That she couldn't be here. All that was left was memories of her. "Hesitation doesn't suit you." Tungsten snapped out of his trace as he looked to the axe as it spoke to his mind. He picked up Io, slinging the axe onto his back where one of his magnetic plates ensured she was secured to his body despite lacking a sheath or strap. He turned and began to leave, following Faetalis and Levia out. "Of course. I am glad to see you are well." "Creator AlphaQ made sure that even in the face of total global annihilation, I would be safe. I am more interested in knowing how you had survived the calamity." "So you know. I... Cannot say. We were simply doing our duty when this cataclysm occurred. Creator Faetalis has given us orders and we have been following them since." There was no response from Io, so Tungsten assumed that she had no more questions about the matter. After all she was fairly intelligent and would know that Tungsten has no answers himself. As curious as they both were about their circumstance they wouldn't be able to find out much just by chatting to one another, not to mention Tungsten had a job to do. He'll debrief Io later once he returns to the Big Scrap Alley. The two joined Faetalis and Levia, silently following her out of the guild and towards the forest. It was uneventful aside from the deer, which Tungsten had picked up upon and identified it as not a threat. Though Faetalis didn't realize this and nearly blasted it, making Tungsten make a mental note to remember that not everyone shares his level of perception. Shortly after Faetalis asked Tungsten to have a Cyber Skeleton message Gamma about her tasks. Had Tungsten been alone, he would've had to awkwardly explain how he would be unable to do so, considering he didn't bring any Cyber Skeletons with him and they were all back at the guild. But fortunately he had the foresight to bring Io along. "Of course Creator Faetalis. The message has already been delivered." On his back Io had heard Faetalis' message and relayed it back to the nearest Cyber Skeleton relative to Gamma's location. He would immediately drop what he was doing and would head to the hive to ensure Gamma received the message. Soon after Faetalis left to continue her scouting, and thus it was time for Tungsten and Levia to begin their operation. Though Tungsten had passively been scanning the area since he got out here, he took out Io and flourished his weapon. Focusing his sensors on the area around him, expanding it further than usual, he was able to get a geographical layout of the area. It was a good location for a fortress, and perhaps once the guild is fully operational what would have been a cursed would become a boon as their Guild becomes an impenetrable bastion against those who would seek to harm them. But for that to happen there was much work to be done. "Overseer Levia. Follow me over here. This area is most efficient at reaching us, and thus it needs to be destroyed. I recommend that you cause a landslide over there, so that the resulting destruction will make the path hazardous." --- Meanwhile, a Cyber Skeleton received orders from Io. He would make a beeline straight towards Gammaton, making his presence known with his footsteps as he knelt down to deliver his message. "Orders from Creator Faetalis for Overseer Gammaton." Sticking his hand out the Cyber Skeleton produced a hologram of Faetalis giving her order as Tungsten and Io heard it. Afterwards the Cyber Skeleton would remain in case Gammatron had any further orders for it, or until she dismisses or leaves him behind. "Tungsten, can you pass a massage on to Gamma with a Cyber Skeleton? I need her to, once she and Mae are done, if she choose to go, start having her colony dig an elevator shaft to the bottom of the mountain, and tunnrl door outwards from the centermost point of Infactorium. However, I need the entries to be made discreetly; a door for us to know, and no other. Another thing, have Mae and Gamma both understand, the humans aren't to be physically harm by them, but if any should harm themselves and be left for death, they thusly spoils of war. They deserve something in return for being used in such a vile way by my hand. That's all."</s>	<\|message\|>Cormac McIntosh After several minutes of searching, Cormac would come to realize that Faetalis had already left Infactorium. In fact, it seemed that he was alone with nothing else but Tungsten's Cyber Skeletons. He considered that perhaps later, when the others returned, he would make a remark about leaving him behind without notice. However, even he realized that it was no one's fault but his own that he hadn't noticed any summons. Best to avoid bringing the whole thing up instead. Cormac would take a seat at a nearby window, looking out upon the distant lights. It was doubtless that the others left to investigate them. Did they need his help? Should he go and grab his sword and spear? Charge toward the invaders and join the fray? Or would that only make things worse? Would he unknowingly ruin any plans the Overseer of overseers had made and only make things worse? The answer was obvious, to wait until he was given a sign to make a move, but it didn't make the waiting any more bearable. Rising from his seat, the giant would begin to pace around the room, his restlessness rising without anything to keep his hands busy. However, in case anything went wrong, he wanted to be able to see it from this chosen perch, meaning he couldn't return to The Mór Brionnú where he wouldn't be able to see a thing. With a 'hrumph' he looked back out into the unknown outside and peered into the darkness, trying to see if there was anything he could make out.</s>
<\|description\|>Cormac McIntosh Factory Overseer Bio Age: Never gives the same answer twice Gender: Male Factory and Functionality: The Mór Brionnú (literally The Big Forge); Perhaps the hottest factory in all of the Infactorium, the Mór Brionnú is filled with pipes leading to various ginormous steel forges and anvils of varying sizes for beating metal of various sizes into shape. Tools are left out in seemingly random places, however Cormac seems to know where they are at all times. Personality: Cormac can act grumpy and irritated, but he actually does care about the other occupants of Infactorium, always crafting the best possible equipment for them when it's requested. He might grumble and complain, especially when given tasks outside of forging and blacksmithing, but he can always be expected to get it done to the best of his ability. He'll never admit that he does it because he likes people though, insisting that it's because he wants to be proud of his work. Creator: B;oodAndGuts93 --- Overseer Build Level: 75 Racial Levels: * (H) Giant lvl 10 * (R) Fire Giant lvl 5 * (R) Fomorian lvl 5 Job Levels: * (B) Fighter lvl 5 * (B) Armor Smith lvl 15 * (B) Weapon Smith lvl 15 * (B) Blacksmith lvl 15 * (R) Berserk lvl 5 Stat Block: * HP: 70 * MP: 20 * PHY. ATK: 70 * PHY. DEF: 70 * AGI: 20 * MAG. ATK: 20 * MAG. DEF: 20 * RESIST: 43 * SPECIAL: 42 Stat Total (Power): 375 --- Overseer Inventory and Powers * Hephaestus' Hammer: Awarded to any warrior who can successfully quell the rage of Typhon in the heart of a raging volcano. For saving Hephaestus' forge from destruction, increase your crafting abilities with this divine tool… or flatten your enemies into pancakes, whatever your preference. * Elderstahl: A sword said to be wielded by a great fire giant who would help to bring about the end of the world along with a frost giant, a wolf, a serpent, and a trickster. * Gae Assail: A magical spear, capable of being thrown and returning to the wielder's hand afterward. Gained through the favor of a silverhanded stranger. * Fire Resistance: Thanks to Cormac being a Fire Giant, he is completely resistant to even the highest of temperatures * Ríastrad: When Cormac goes into a berserker state, it is referred to as a Ríastrad, or Warp Spasm. His attacks receive a damage multiplier while his defense is decreased. He also finds it difficult to tell apart friends and foes. Cold water tends to bring him back to his normal mindset. * Balor's Eye: Cormac may appear to be blind with his colorless eyes, though that's only half true. He can in fact see through one of his eyes, though he seems to give conflicting answers when asked which it is. Either way, through this still working eye, he also has the ability to somewhat slow his opponents' movements when directly looking at them. * Surtr's Blessing: When wielding any sword, the blade shall always begin to grow hot and bright until bursting into flame, adding a flame modifier to any damage he does with the weapon. * Raiders of the Sea: Like most Fomorians, Cormac also has ties with the sea. This allows him to walk upon water as if it were solid Earth. * Fomorian Constitution: Cormac passively heals faster than most races, though at the drawback that it takes more time after his previously taken damage to begin healing. * Fortress: Offsets the enemy's attacks. * Heavy Blow: Raises a weapon's crushing capability. * Strong Assault: Increases Cormac's attack power, allowing him to increase damage against enemies with heavy armor. * Body Strengthening: Temporarily increases Cormac's strength. * Weapon Metallurgy: Can use nearly every known metal with a reasonable melting point into any weapon imagined or requested. * Armor Metallurgy: Can use nearly every known metal with a reasonable melting point into any piece of armor imagined or requested. Theme</s> <\|message\|>Tungsten Jazz Taking a seat alongside the other overseers, Tungsten listened to Faetalis' decree. It... Surprised him. Excited him. But it also made him feel something he's never felt before. As a Cyber Skeleton, emotions are a somewhat foreign concept to him. Strange considering his musical abilities are all about stirring up emotions, but he himself has not felt anything that was not simply programmed into him. And thus those emotions are little more than social indicators that he must act upon based off stratagems and probability. But this emotion he felt right now... He had no response to. It was not the war against the Nyll Empire that made Tungsten feel this way. He frankly cared very little towards them. While he hopes to facilitate some sort of short war that ultimately ends with peace, Tungsten was also fully prepared to wipe out every single person in that empire if that is what Faetalis commands him to. And doing so would not even trigger any more of an emotional response than if he had to kill one. Really the only thing that concerned him was sending a few more of his agents into the Empire in order to gather more information. No, there was a different thing that worried Tungsten. As Faetalis produced the Soulbound Keys his body tensed. "Thank you, Creator Faetalis. I will be worthy." After taking his key Tungsten had already sent a command through Io to his Cyber Skeletons to begin construction. For now production of more BIGS and the Excavator Big would have to halt, as those resources will now need to be spent fortifying the floors he now Supervises. He intends to make his floors killing zones. A place where no hope passes through, only allies of the Infactorium. Because once in his existence, Tungsten... Tungesten felt a dark emotion. The feeling of sorrow and dread. Looking down at the key Tungsten closed his hand tightly. If he was capable of tears he would have shed a single droplet. Due to the attunement of these Soul Bound keys, Faetalis would no doubt be able to feel Tungsten's pain. Maybe even his thoughts. "Long have I awaited for your return, my creator... AlphaQ. When will you return to us? Why have I heard nothing from you, after all this time? Only the Creators would know and none will speak. Creator Faetalis is the only one with us but... Surely, you will return. That is my wish. My desire. But this key... This Authority... This is yours. This was your duty. For me to take up your mantle would mean that... You will not return. Why. Where did you go? Why did you forsake me? What must I do to bring you back?" The Darksteel Colossus sat so absolutely skill, one could mistake him as merely a statue. Whether or not Faetalis knew how Tungsten felt or if she was prepared to tell him, she would know the truth. The truth that no one, not Tungsten, nor any other creator knew. AlphaQ had died. The mortal player was killed in a car accident. In reality, AlphaQ was but a young woman working a harrowing office job, and one her way home she was struck by a drunk driver. Her insurance wasn't able to cover the cost of the surgery needed to save her life. With what little life she had left, she had told her family not to saddle themselves with the debt of saving her life. It was at the same time she told Faetalis about her fate. She passed shortly after, having never had a chance to try and settle her accounts with the rest of the guild or Tungsten. The whole time, Tungsten simply waited for her. She told him she would return and that he simply needed to continue his duty until her return. When she comes back she'll start working on what she left off on. But now she'll never return, and Tungsten must continue where she left off. This terrified him. But Tungsten would not tell Faetalis his thoughts. That was not a burden he would share. Even if he knew the truth, even if he had his suspicion, the only thing that keeps him going is that false hope and the duty he was given. Faetalis has given him job and this will give him purpose. The hope of his creator's return is what drives him to live. But the emotions he felt, that is what is going to guide his hand as he designs these floors. His love, his hate, and all of his sorrow, channeled into the creation of these two floors. He will create a wall of guns that will destroy any enemy that arrives, and the remains of their blasted corpses will be the only refuge for any invader. Yes, this is what Tungsten felt. This was the only way Tungsten could cope. "Our enemies will be grease for the machine."</s> <\|message\|>Canology Mae Once everyone arrived, the meeting could begin in earnest, and though she managed to keep herself quiet, Mae couldn't help but be a little excited. Any meeting with Lady Faetalis or the other supreme beings was naturally of utmost importance by default, but those occasions that called for the presence of every Infactorium Overseer at once were truly a cut above. Since the guild's arrival in these unknown lands a couple such gatherings had come and gone, but still they never lost their luster, at least for Mae. While her eccentric but endearing family of Maneaters meant that she never felt lonesome, she seldom had occasion to visit -or even hear from- the other factories beyond what little she could glean from the idle chatter of those who came and went in the Gorging Trough. That meant being around her peers -not to mention her betters- always felt special. And yet, today the headless horror had a certain, inexplicable feeling that this meeting would be more extraordinary still. As such, when Faetlis got started, the immense chef took the biggest seat that the room had to offer and listened at rapt attention, her arms rested atop her belly with her hands clasped. Her boss's first order of business was to disseminate some big news, namely that big things were going to start happening very soon, in one way or another. By sheer bad luck, the sudden introduction of the guild to this particular mountaintop had led to a disruption in the supply of a vital local resource, without which the nearby vassal kingdom would quickly incur the wrath of its imperial overseer. The whole thing went a bit above Mae's pay grade as a humble chef, but it sounded like no matter what Faetalis chose, conflict would be inevitable. Like the true professional she was, however, the supreme one already had plans in the works, and wasted no time presenting them. A mere moment later, without neither an excess of preamble nor exposition, Mae found herself endowed with a heaping portion of extra responsibility. Supervisor? Floors? My command?! If Mae had a forehead she might have drawn the back of her head across it, or nervously scratch her neck, but with no such facilities she could do little more than wring her hands as the details poured in. It was a lot to take in, but a kitchen expert like Mae could boil the blueprint down to its essential components. Right now Infactorium existed as a cluster of factories atop the mountain, but now the core of the mountain itself would be hollowed out and developed into a series of floors, each one being the essence of an existing factory writ large. But this was more than just the chance for a bigger workplace. This time she wouldn't be just the one brought in to operate the facility that Lord Sugi the Hammer designed; she would be the designer, in charge of the place from top to bottom, bearing both the power to make decisions and the weight of delivering results. Having creative control over a cake was one thing, but a factory? She was just one monster! But no. Though inner conflict roiled her guts like a bad stew, she swallowed her fears and with a ginger hand accepted her key. As much as she needed him, Sugi wasn't here right now. Instead, Faetalis stood before her, and placed in Mae her wholehearted trust. She hadn't just bestowed upon Mae the honor of defending the guild, but also made her the penultimate defender, with the new Gorging Trough to be situated directly below her own eminent Domain. Not the ravenous swarms of Gammaton, not the machined might of Tungsten, not the inexorable breaker Levia, not even the venerable forgemaster Cormac...her. A morbidly obese monstrosity without a single kill to her name. She would be the last line of defense, the one in whom Faetalis trusted to put down whatever threat all the others could not. It was an incredible responsibility, and though it made Mae a little afraid, it also made her incredibly proud. Her fist closed around the tiny key in her hand, and she beat it against her clavicle. "You got it, ma'am! We won't let ya down, I swear it!"</s>	<\|message\|>Cormac McIntosh As Faetalis brought up the situation in Anzelgard, Cormac began stroking his chin in thought. Looking at things practically, annexing them or leaving them to their own devices had their benefits and downsides. On one hand, bringing them under their protection would give them more resources to work with as well as more soldiers. Though with Tungsten's Cyber Skeletons, one could make the argument that they already a vastly superior source of foot soldiers, the giant felt that a diverse army could only be beneficial as long as they had the resources to support it. However, while conflict with Nyll was inevitable, taking Anzelgard was sure to bring war upon them much sooner. Sacrificing Anzelgard could give them valuable time to prepare. Looking at it practically was a tough decision. However, Cormac was not some compassionless machine (no offense to the automatons and androids of Infactorium). He was a giant and one that still had a heart. If they could save Anzelgard from destruction, he would plead their case to the other Overseers as best as he could. Before Faetalis would begin listening to their thoughts on the matter though, she would announce to them the intention to grant them even more responsibilities. It was a great distinction, the giant couldn't argue with that, as he said, "I'm honored, lass," already switching to referring to his former supervisor informally to better grow used to the change in position. However, ever the crotchety old geezer, he couldn't help but still have some complaints. Would becoming a supervisor further pull him away from his metalworking? Most definitely. For now though, the great reward for his service outweighed his preference for isolationism, and he made no verbal remarks. His large hand would wrap around the key as he took it from Faetalis, unintentionally testing its durability despite his best attempts to be gentle with it.</s>
<\|description\|>Neh'miah He'ron Level: 1 Class: Common thief Currency: 1G, 27bits Ammunition: none Armor: None Vitality: 10 Status: Wanted Basic Info: Gender: Male Age: 22 Race: Human, Rovanni Origin: Guillan Relgion(s): Ka'a Alissi Attire: Rather expensive and well kept clothing consisting of a white silk shirt, black linen vest with matching belt. All complimented by black pants and black leather boots. On the rainy days his attire is often complimented with a brown leather coat. Demeanor: Playful, chatty, shrewd and a tad bit arrogant. ATTRIBUTES: Awareness: 2 Intelligence: 3 Strength: 2 Wit: 3 Dexterity: 2 Willpower: 1 Charisma: 3 Luck: 1 SKILLSETS: Pick pocketing: 2 Lock Picking: 1 Sleight of hand: 2 Extortion: Evade: 2 Familiar weapon Bribery Bludgeoning Scamming: 2 Lying: 2 FLAWS: Neh'miah is obsessed with status and craves recognition. He will do whatever it takes to gain status and notoriety. Often doing elaborate schemes in broad daylight and then boasting about it to anyone who is around. The young thief has a habit of portraying himself way better than he actually is. Even going as far as to cook up elaborate and fantastic backstories about himself. BACKGROUND: Neh'miah was born in the slums of Guillan. His mother was a whore from Bavoria and his father? Well, who knows. Could be a sailor, a merchant or some member of the black hands. Nobody can really tell when you see a few dozen clients a day and none of them would ever care for a brat that might be their child. Prostitutes have always played a special role in every town's hospitality and are often recognized for that. However that does not mean that being a prostitute is viewed as an honorable and respectable profession. Whores in Guillan are still viewed as dishonorable and sinful women who often seduce the proper gentlemen in exchange for coins. An act that would rank them among the lowest of lowlifes. As much as society looks down on prostitutes there is one group that ranks even lower, their children. Women could be forced into prostitution by circumstances, however their children are born out the the sinful act itself. Neh'miah would grow up devoid of any form of social status. However Neh'miah's mother did care. She spends all her earnings on getting her son as much education as possible. That way he would surely escape Guillian's slums and have a brighter future. However finding someone who was willing to educate a son of a whore was not an easy task. Most scholars did not want to associate themselves with such lowlifes, afraid that it would hurt their status. There was one scholar who was willing to take this kid from the slums up in his class. It was here that the young Neh'miah got confronted with life beyond the poverty of the slums. Surrounded by the children of wealthy merchants, landowning nobility and highly skilled craftsmen he truly learned what it meant to be looked down upon. Ignored, ridiculed and ostracized by his peers because of his rather humble origin, Neh'miah vowed to himself that he would rise above them all, no matter what the costs. PERSONAL EFFECTS: Parchment Writing Quill and ink Spyglass Set of lockpicks Leather pouch Rapier - DMG: 1d6 (+1 to piercing blows) CRIT: 18-20 (X2) RANGE: 5ft Ornate Pistol - DMG: 2d6 ( Flintlock mod dropped to -1, fine pistol) Single-Shot CRIT: 18-20 (X2) RANGE: 30m (bewerkt) roleplayerguild.com/campaigns/802</s> <\|message\|>Y'vanna Ravana'dan Y'Vanna was just finishing her last horn as Solange nudged the glass of wine towards her. She took one look at it and scowled. "Eww... wine, I never touch that stuff... hate that shite..." she said, slamming her horn down on the table and swiping for the glass of wine. She took a healthy sip before she continued. "Well, a sailor we may have, and aye, ye sound confident in your own right, but just how can ye be certain things will run so smoothly, eh?" She could feel the warmth of the alcohol flooding her face and belly, oh the sweet embrace... A dance she had danced nearly every night for as long as she could remember. The bluntness of her speech was a dead giveaway. "I mean, eighty kilometers is a good bit of distance to be traveling with people I just met, and to be trusting them takes it even further out to sea for meself... Especially when I'm to me making deal with Vargas... or his business partner either." Y'Vanna had barely got the words out as Vargas came through the open doorway and into the room. Percival followed him in as well with a broken look about his face and his shoulders sloping off in a sulking manner. Vargas's attire was well over the top, A beautifully gilded royal blue frock with gold threading, exceptionally tailored. His shoes and gloves, both of black leather and very well kempt. His mustache and facial hair was waxed and groomed, and that smell... she couldn't put her finger on quite what it was but it stung at the nostrils. The room fell eerily silent for a moment, the only sound was the hardened leather bottoms of his shoes as they fell on the planks below. Even the ambience of the tavern seemed to muffle slightly. "What's this I am hearing about a proposition, hmmm?" he said, placing a gloved hand to his face inquisitively. "It had better be lucrative, whatever it is. I don't take kindly to intrusions... especially at MY OWN TABLE!" he said rather loudly in Percy's direction, but did not turn. "Well, then ye're gonna love this one Varg- Lord Vargas." Y'Vanna said with a bit of a shaky voice. "I was just telling your business partner-" "Partner?" Vargas said abruptly, cutting her off before she could continue. He looked to Solange as Y'Vanna was gesturing at her when she spoke. "Oh, right.. aheheh.. Yes indeed, my partner." He said, a warm smile gathered on his face as again locked his gaze on her. "Please, do continue. It's no secret that my associate and I are quite fond of the prospect of making a bit of money... Percy, get your worthless ass downstairs and get us a few rounds for everyone. I'll foot the tab if this takes to my liking" he said, snapping a finger before moving to take his chair, which he graciously eased into. He clasped his hands in front of him on the table, eager to hear this tale. "Aye, yer partner was saying that she could get us a ship to Gnok island, some eighty kilometers west of here." Y'Vanna said as she tore through the glass of wine. "Oh, and Percy. Fetch Nora for me while you're at it." Vargas added "Please, continue." Percival nodded and took his leave, and not soon enough after what he had just endured...</s> <\|message\|>Skarsat Ma'dawc SkarsatThe Faded Lantern Inn It took an agonizing while, but ultimately even the nose of a Tork man was able to adapt to things that simply didn't exist among the nomads: the scent of sweat, vomit and cheap ale concentrated in a badly ventilated, enclosed space way too tiny. Nothing against the hearth though -- that thing was rock solid, burning much better than an open fireplace and would likely provide a lot of warmth well after the flames had ceased. Unfortunatenly it had to be incredibly heavy, so no tribe could afford to move such a thing around... Anyway. His clothes had become dry, which meant Skarsat could start concentrating on other things. Saving himself from a nasty cold and an empty stomach were not the only reasons why he had decided to come here, but while the first issue was already solved and the second problem was about to find its end in the form of a enticingly good looking barmaiden delivering a large piece of roasted meat, his bosses' boss still was not showing up. Or was the man actually Lord Ivor's boss ? Lord Ivor had claimed so with a mixture of both reverence and fear, but who was a simple Tork to know for sure ? It could just as well be a trick to influence his whole mindset in advance about this 'Lord Vargas'. Skarsat kept waiting. First until he had finished his meal, then until the card of games he had been watching from the distance had ended in yet another brawl and then an uncounted number of minutes further... Enough! Whoever this Vargas guy was, he'd have to talk now! Luckily mister Ivor had given him a hint about the bartender. The wooden chair creaked with a lot of relief as Skarsat raised himself to his towering height again and moved over towards Percival. The latter appeared to be in a bit of a hectic move and certainly looked like this was not the best evening for him, but Skarsat happily ignored this fact for the moment. "You..." One really couldn't say that Skarsat would have been the most charismatic person, but rather one whose dark voice and overall appearance gave reason to feel intimidated. Running a place like The Faded Lantern however was not an easy job either and unpleasant approaches were more like an everyday business, so combined with the fact that Skarsat actually tried to provide a friendly intonation Percival perceived the man's method of addressing him without feeling too much disturbed. He instead presented as much of a gentle smile as he could muster after what had happened earlier this evening. "Someone told me that the man behind the bar knows more about a certain Lord Vargas. Now if my eyes don't betray me the man behind the bar is you. So could you tell me more ?" Maybe it was a good thing that Skarsat lacked the ability to read other people's minds, otherwise he would have been able to witness an entire stampede of thoughts about his kind going off in the bartender's mind right now: often big, often bad, and more often than not even not so nice looking. Also Percival didn't hesistate to make an internal statement about the Tork standing in front of his counter being a good example for all of those aspects. None of this could be seen on the bartender's face however. He, after all, was somewhat prepared by this not being the first occasion of its kind. "Could be, yes. Who wants to know ?" "Skarsat. I have an... erm... what it's formally called ? Appointment! Yes, I have an appointment with Vargas!" Percival let go of a sigh he didn't even bother to try and hide somehow. Lord Vargas was a busy man and even someone as miraculous and cunning as him could not just divide himself and keep up to several appointments simultaneously. Yes, he had told him something about another rendezvous with some Tork guy, but right now Vargas was upstairs with a bunch of people and it didn't look like that things would be over in that room anytime soon! One of the perks of being a Lord was that it was clear who'd have to wait in such cases, but unfortunatenly it was not the perk of a simple Tork man to know that, was it ? "The schedule has gone a little haywire today, so please accept the Lord's apology for letting you wait. Nobody of us expected the king's soldiers to show up today! I'll take you to the Lord once he's ready!" Percival kept smiling. He had survived Lord Vargas not having a good opinion about his actions earlier this evening, so an unnverved Tork could not do any harm to him! He cut off any further potential of interrogation by just turning away from Skarsat, instead firmly dedicating himself to the lot of drinks people upstairs were waiting for. Yet the stare didn't go away. The tork man kept nailing Percival with his glare and started to tap his fingers on the table. His lips more and more narrowed down to a thin line and his facial muscles started to flex slightly. As Percival did his best to resist, Skarsat grabbed himself a stool for comfort and watched the bartender dashing around and piling up beverages on his plate at a rather bewildering speed. As interesting as this was to watch, as little did it help Skarsat's interests though. "You know, I can search for Vargas myself. Thanks for services not rendered!" Percival's body felt as if one had tossed him from the overheated atmosphere of the tavern right into the cold waters of the harbor. No, not another session with Vargas just like the one before! If this guy would just stumble into that room... With one quick move that told a story about his experience as a barman since none of the drinks on his plate lost a single drop, Percival positioned himself in front of Skarsat before the latter could reach the stairs. Just... just how big was this walking tower of a man ? "No need to, I am ready! I just need to pick up someone else, too! You know... you're not the only one he wants to talk to today!" He had almost forgotten about Nora! Hopefully she was somewhere around here, too...</s>	<\|message\|>Neh'miah He'ron Location: The Faded Lantern "Yes, the one and only. No better thief on this side of the ocean then me." Spoke Neh'miah joyous. As he looked at Y'vanna while listening to her sarcastic remark "You're Y'vanna, the head that consumes more grog than an entire brigg crew on a daily basis, right? Anyway, I don't have a ship…...yet. We could always steal one" Spoke Neh'miah confidently as if he was stealing ships on a regular basis. However before the thief could cook up some elaborate scheme to steal a ship, his attention was attracted by the other women at the table. Neh'miah did not know the woman who introduced herself as Solange and yet there was something familiar about how she spoke, her mannerisms and her body language. In a way, it reminded him of his mother. For a moment Neh'miah followed her movements with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. There was something off about what this woman said, however the young thief could not entirely pinpoint out what it was. However, Solange was right about one thing. Having Neh'miah on your team is more valuable than the gods. As Solange traced her finger around the young thief's shoulder, he could not help but to feel that she was playing him. This kind of behaviour Neh'miah had seen many times before. Solange shared the profession of his mother. And yet while knowing this, he still bought kinto her game. "Oh? Vargas wants to pay for a ship? That could be interesting, depending on what the man, I mean lord of course wants in return for his investment." roleplayerguild.com/rolls/21143</s>
<\|description\|>Neh'miah He'ron Level: 1 Class: Common thief Currency: 1G, 27bits Ammunition: none Armor: None Vitality: 10 Status: Wanted Basic Info: Gender: Male Age: 22 Race: Human, Rovanni Origin: Guillan Relgion(s): Ka'a Alissi Attire: Rather expensive and well kept clothing consisting of a white silk shirt, black linen vest with matching belt. All complimented by black pants and black leather boots. On the rainy days his attire is often complimented with a brown leather coat. Demeanor: Playful, chatty, shrewd and a tad bit arrogant. ATTRIBUTES: Awareness: 2 Intelligence: 3 Strength: 2 Wit: 3 Dexterity: 2 Willpower: 1 Charisma: 3 Luck: 1 SKILLSETS: Pick pocketing: 2 Lock Picking: 1 Sleight of hand: 2 Extortion: Evade: 2 Familiar weapon Bribery Bludgeoning Scamming: 2 Lying: 2 FLAWS: Neh'miah is obsessed with status and craves recognition. He will do whatever it takes to gain status and notoriety. Often doing elaborate schemes in broad daylight and then boasting about it to anyone who is around. The young thief has a habit of portraying himself way better than he actually is. Even going as far as to cook up elaborate and fantastic backstories about himself. BACKGROUND: Neh'miah was born in the slums of Guillan. His mother was a whore from Bavoria and his father? Well, who knows. Could be a sailor, a merchant or some member of the black hands. Nobody can really tell when you see a few dozen clients a day and none of them would ever care for a brat that might be their child. Prostitutes have always played a special role in every town's hospitality and are often recognized for that. However that does not mean that being a prostitute is viewed as an honorable and respectable profession. Whores in Guillan are still viewed as dishonorable and sinful women who often seduce the proper gentlemen in exchange for coins. An act that would rank them among the lowest of lowlifes. As much as society looks down on prostitutes there is one group that ranks even lower, their children. Women could be forced into prostitution by circumstances, however their children are born out the the sinful act itself. Neh'miah would grow up devoid of any form of social status. However Neh'miah's mother did care. She spends all her earnings on getting her son as much education as possible. That way he would surely escape Guillian's slums and have a brighter future. However finding someone who was willing to educate a son of a whore was not an easy task. Most scholars did not want to associate themselves with such lowlifes, afraid that it would hurt their status. There was one scholar who was willing to take this kid from the slums up in his class. It was here that the young Neh'miah got confronted with life beyond the poverty of the slums. Surrounded by the children of wealthy merchants, landowning nobility and highly skilled craftsmen he truly learned what it meant to be looked down upon. Ignored, ridiculed and ostracized by his peers because of his rather humble origin, Neh'miah vowed to himself that he would rise above them all, no matter what the costs. PERSONAL EFFECTS: Parchment Writing Quill and ink Spyglass Set of lockpicks Leather pouch Rapier - DMG: 1d6 (+1 to piercing blows) CRIT: 18-20 (X2) RANGE: 5ft Ornate Pistol - DMG: 2d6 ( Flintlock mod dropped to -1, fine pistol) Single-Shot CRIT: 18-20 (X2) RANGE: 30m (bewerkt) roleplayerguild.com/campaigns/802</s> <\|message\|>Nora Harah Fifrawi Nora --- "A distraction would be most welcome," Nora said, nodding towards Sheri. "I am sure the good Sheriff will relish the pleasant company. It has been said that he is a man of many great appetites and boundless greed." The hand resting on her sword finally relaxed as the carefully collected words left her mouth. Nora could feel the warmth of anger in her chest. The whirlwind of emotion whipped across her skin like sharp kernels of sand. She watched Skarsat carefully. He had made his point. That was fair. That was the risk Solange courted when she played her games. But he had gone too far. She would not defend Solange. The woman had to defend herself. However, Nora could not ignore the bitter taste in her mouth. She had limits too. And the Tork had danced on the very blade's edge of what she would tolerate. Violence was a weapon. Violence was a useful weapon. Still, like all weapons it had to be wielded properly, carefully even, and it had to be applied in just the right amount. There was an art to violence. A gentle dance, skillful footsteps matched to the rhythm of blood. Disappointment was a bitter draught to swallow and Nora considered for a moment what sort of people Vargas had bound her to. The giant Tork had a temper. Tempers were a problem. Tempers had a habit of leading to problems. Problems inevitably lead to violence. And violence. Violence meant death. She hoped for his sake that Vargas would not hear that he had touched Solange or see the damage he had caused for that matter. There were rules. There were rules of conduct expected of all that entered the Faded Lantern. Unspoken as they might be, they were no less fatal if broken. Vargas was protective over his property. And more importantly Vargas had his own reputation to consider. There were consequences to damaging the property of the Lord without proper cause. "I trust that we can all conduct ourselves as professionals? Yes?" Nora said with a cold glance that settled first upon Skarsat and then on Solange. A frown danced across her lips as her eyes lingered and she resisted a sudden urge to shake her head. It was too early for fools. It was too early for foolish bravado. And it was far too early to bloody her blade. "You may settle any disputes after we return." "May you find cool water," Nora said in parting with a warding sign as she left the room, not quite managing to shake off the shifting dunes of anger she felt as she turned away from her two colleagues.</s> <\|message\|>Skarsat Ma'dawc Skarsat Skarsat's eye twitched in silence just like a vulcano's walls bent and shifted ever so slightly when in reality, pressure was building up inside and waiting to break free. Finding cool water ? Yeah, maybe just swimming alongside the ship instead of sharing his free time with one of the more... exotic... members of their little party was indeed a good idea. Though, a neutral observer from outside the fourth wall might object, an idea that came along with the risk of the ocean just evaporating as the vulcano swam in it. Today however would not turn out to be eruption day. Or would it ? After all it had only just begun. Yet at least for the moment Skarsat decided there were higher priorities that presented themselves in form of a 'sheriff Gerranti'. So the city's forces responsible for law and order were looking exactly for the one person he was supposed to wake up ? Skarsat found that, if not anything else already, to be a good call to leave the main hall and get the job done. He heaved himself up the staircase and down the corridor he believed the room in question was accessible from, then knocked on the door -- hard. He could still feel a great amount of irritation trying to smother his attempts to calm down and at the same time he could feel the urge to act quickly because who knew how long those down in the main hall could keep this Gerranti busy before he'd give the order to start searching ? As he was thinking about the ifs, whens and hows of talking to his boss, Nora, about any of the most recent events, he knocked at the door a second time. Still he didn't openly call out Neh'miahs name or even just say anything else. If there was anything he had learned then probably that his voice could easily be heard. Normally not much of an issue, but if this sheriff down there would hear the name of the one being searched for and could associate it with some frantic efforts to wake up the man... Anonymously knocking at the door and opening it by force if needed was bound to be much more effective in this case. The giant did seriously hope though that Neh'miah would get out of bed by himself by the second though. The man needed some time left to leave the place, too -- and preferably not completely naked or with a prostitute making a loud fuzz about his sudden departure!</s> <\|message\|>Solange Belgard --- Solange - The Faded Lantern Tavern & Inn Lies aren't needed when others make the excuse for you. --- "We must run in different circles, honey. All I ever heard about the Sheriff was that he was a man of strange taste and disappointing stamina," said Solange with a half-smile that faded quickly as Nora's icy stare flashed like a dagger from Skarsat over to her. The redhead stood up straight and cupped her hands together to stand like a proper, professional young lady with no hint of irony in her disposition. She nodded in acknowledgment to Nora's departing statement, Solange's tongue twisting in her mouth as she swallowed the desire to return the Zherpanian saying with a similar one she'd heard uttered by the followers of Voi—something about making water once the passions cooled. Neither, she realized, would be advice that would need to be followed at this moment. "Any disputes? Darling, can you believe Miss Sunshine thought we were having a...darling?" Solange craned her neck to search for Skarsat, but her plaything had already slipped away. She exchanged a glance with Sheri and smiled sweetly. "Let's head to the kitchen. After you." Solange had the misfortune of dealing with Sheri before, who'd taken it upon herself to explain the lives of every member of the staff to Solange like some kind of proud, doting mother. It amazed Solange how Sheri was able to know so much about the others, considering she never took a single moment to let someone else get a word in. However, seemingly the stress of dealing with the Sheriff was enough to silence the suffocating gossip who, much to Solange's relief, fretted with her frock more than anything. Sheri held the swinging door to the kitchen open for Solange, who stepped through after telling the woman to wait outside. The kitchen of the Faded Lantern was normally well organized but currently in complete disarray due to the prep done to provide the would-be treasure hunters with a bountiful feast that now would go unenjoyed by half of their party. Solange eyed a tower of dirty dishes, her tongue pressing into her bruised cheek as she fought the urge to send them cascading to the ground, porcelain shattering everywhere and ruining the day of some young kitchenhand who'd be forced to scrub it all up. Perhaps if the floors weren't already dirty the temptation would be too much for her. She peeled herself away and found what she'd come looking for: an iron kettle filled with black, muddy coffee. Its bitter flavor would do well to mask the taste of the leaves of iris that Solange had squirreled away for a day when her sister had deeply annoyed her. She pulled the leaves out of her tiny herb pouch, casting a glance over her shoulder to make sure that none of that staff was poking their head around. Grabbing a bowl and a wooden spoon from the pile of dirty dishes, Solange pulverized the leaves until they made a fine paste, loosened it upon with a bit of water, and mixed it in with the coffee. It might add a bit of grit to the brew, but it'd be difficult to differentiate between it and loose coffee grounds. The poison wasn't lethal—killing her sister was out of the question, and killing the Sheriff would be bad for the local businesses—but it would ruin the better part of the morning by keeping him contained to the loo. Most likely the Sheriff would reason that the cooking was bad or that he had too much to drink the night before and not even consider that someone would dose him. She stashed her makeshift mortar and pestle in with the rest of the dishes and grabbed the wooden handle of the kettle. Popping out of the kitchen, she nodded to Sheri and followed the woman's gaze up to the balcony. Her nose wrinkled as she caught sight of Sheriff Gerranti gesturing with a piece of bacon to one of the guards seated with him. Solange adjusted her dress and sashayed her way up to the pig trough. She heard a bark of laughter and paused outside of the sliding door, taking a moment to come up with a story. Nerves steeled and a phony smile painted on her face, Solange pulled on the handle and found three men with crumbs on their lips staring at her. She stepped gracefully through the threshold with her chin high, casting a quick glance at the two nobodies before focusing her gaze upon the Sheriff. Normally she'd move to a spot where she could have her eyes on the door, but she needed to be able to see the main hall. "Gentleman, I am so pleased our staff saw fit to serve you breakfast after my partner so quickly turned you away the other night. It is always so wonderful to see them take ownership, especially when it comes to taking care of a respectable man of the law. My name is Solange Belgard, Lord Vargas's new business partner. Sheri took it upon herself to inform me of everything. I'm afraid we'd be here well past supper if we were to wait for Lord Vargas, but I may answer what questions you have in his stead. However, before that…" She placed her hand on the back of an empty chair and leaned forward, squeezing her chest up as she raised the tainted kettle, her blue eyes narrowing. "...who needs more coffee?"</s>	<\|message\|>Neh'miah He'ron Location: The Faded Lantern Neh'miah found himself sitting on a throne on top of a mountain formed out of gold coins while rivers of wine seemed to flow out of the endless sky. Before him lay the endless green meadows filled with scantily dressed women chanting his name as the greatest thief that ever lived. Ofcourse dreams that are too good to be true lead to rude awakenings. The sound of a heavy fist knocking on a door suddenly filled the pleasant imagery that was captivating the young thiefs mind. For a moment he was looking around for a door only to realize that it was a sound from beyond his drunken slumber. Slowly Neh'miah opened his eyes only to realize that he was back in the real world. A rather modest sleeping accommodation known as the Faded Lantern. As he pulled himself out of the bed the room spinned around him. Clearly the wine from last night hasn't left his system yet. Quickly he reached for the bucked in the corner of his room to empty what little contents his stomach still holded after a night of heavy drinking before making his way to the door barely dressed. As the young thief reached for the doorknob he spoke a little agitated "What's the ruckus this early in the morning" before staring at the rather large Tork chest at the other side of the door. As his eyes went up Neh'miah realized that Skarsat was standing there and he was supposed to wake up early.</s>
<\|description\|>Skarsat Ma'dawc Level: 1 Class: Mercenary/Thug (novice) Currency: 99G, 39 bits Ammunition: 44 arrows Armor: +1, heavy leather Vitality: 9/10 Status: normal BASIC INFORMATION Gender: Male Age: 31 Race: Tork Origin: Great plains of the Marth (nomadic, so no distinct location) Religion(s): Su-Mar-Kaan, the council of nature spirits Attire: Simple gray-white linen cloth, furs and boots for everyday life, armor for when it's needed. Demeanor: Sarcastic, rough and reckless at times, but also honest and straightforward ATTRIBUTES Awareness: 2 Intelligence: 2 Strength: 3 Wit: 2 Dexterity: 2 Willpower: 3 Charisma: 1 Luck: 1 SKILLSETS Archery: 3 (familiar weapon +2, archery +1) Brawn: 2 Hand to hand: 2 Intimidation: 2 Knock-out: 1 Extortion: 1 Horseback riding: 1 FLAWS Skarsat has a serious tendency to go forward without putting that much effort into planning ahead. It has gotten him into more trouble than would have been necessary to achieve his goals in the past and is bound to do the same in the future. Also his Tork nature and physiology brings its own bunch of major and minor problems with it, such as his unfamiliarity with the details of what many consider 'civilized' customs or his sheer, extraordinary size. BACKGROUND Skarsat was born into a tribe called 'The Vanyr' as one of three childs, two brothers and a sister, of his father Marrask and his mother Cafol. The tribe, just as many Tork, follows a lifestyle of never settling down too long in one place, and thus Skarsat's early life follows pretty much the story the average western or eastern citizen might tell about them: He learned how to ride from early on, soon had to help picking up and dissecting hunted down animals and then got trained in the art of archery himself. There was no such thing as a real settlement, just an allotment of tents that were placed down near water and then picked up again some days or weeks later when there were no more local resources to collect. However there is a small twist to the Vanyr that ultimately forced Skarsat to learn the concept of town and cities after all. Each and every child, once having reached the age of 17, has to go on a two-year journey on his or her own that has to lead outside of the Tork's native soil and go either west or east, the further the better. It is there for them to learn about the world and to respect it and the others living in it, but of course also a test of both survival and character as noone is actually strictly obliged to return to the tribe. However those who don't are either assumed dead or, should it become known that they are still alive, scorned. From that point of view Skarsat has failed the test. He tried to return, but life isn't easy and he got stuck in affairs that ultimately forged him into what he is now. However the Vanyr are just one tribe of many, and others might have entirely different views on things and not care about his past in the same way. PERSONAL EFFECTS * Simple linen cloth, fur and leather boots for everyday life. * Heavy leather armor for those rugged times * DMG: 1d8 + Strength CRIT: 18-20 (X3) RANGE: 110ft * 39 common steel broadhead arrows (+1 to piercing damage) * Bow and a makeshift quiver with some arrows, adjusted to his large size * DMG: 1d3 + Strength CRIT: 18-20 (X2) RANGE: 5ft * Leather bag for personal belongings that can't be carried otherwise, such as his spare coins Dice campaign: roleplayerguild.com/campaigns/807</s> <\|message\|>Solange Belgard Percival arrived moments later as if Solange had summoned him by his name alone. She began to shuffle in her seat to stand and assist the dogged barkeep but stopped and sunk down ever so slightly at the sight of the woman behind him. Solange's lips parted the tiniest of slivers as a curse gasped its last breath right upon the tip of her tongue, escaping her mouth as nothing more than an almost silent rattle. She didn't really know Nora, but she'd spent plenty of time around another person like Nora that she knew loyal lap dogs were the most likely to snap off the hand of anyone beside their owner, regardless of the type of treat it had offered. She was a complication to any future plans that Solange had yet to even partially process. The large Tork man behind Nora, Skarsat apparently, normally wouldn't intimidate Solange in just about any other scenario. Men weren't nearly as simple as some of her peers told her they were, but most had similar weaknesses and none were as terrifying as a woman like Fontaine could be. Plus, his name was one she'd never heard Vargas mention before, which meant Skarsat was either a total stranger or regarded as small time by someone who he himself was already small time. Normally this would be a good thing, but if he was Nora's man then that meant he was dangerous, especially depending on what kind of man he was exactly. Solange gave him a smile, but held back on tossing a hook out at him before fully understanding his connection to Vargas's enforcer. "Impeccable timing, sweetie. We were all dying of thirst. Thank you," said Solange to Percival, touching his elbow as he placed the pitchers and bumping him ever so slightly with her shoulder. The little bit of affection might stop him from throwing himself into the sea that night, but Solange had only been hoping it'd unnerve him enough to get him to drop a pitcher so they could all have another show. Shame. Perhaps next round. Solange eyed Y'vanna. At the rate she was going, there would be plenty of opportunities. ""I'll go with your offer. Even if the price is worse, it still beats getting on Nora's bad side. You don't want to know what that vixen does to people that piss her off," said Neh'miah. Solange returned the flirtatious smile and started to lean in to whisper something into his ear but Nora called him out like a schoolmarm shouting at the bad kids in the back of the schoolhouse. Solange couldn't help but grin, her eyes revealing that she was holding back a laugh as she abandoned the attempt to whisper and sat back in her chair. "I'm afraid I might witness it soon enough, dear. It appears you're already on her bad side," said Solange. She held up a finger to shush Neh'miah in jest and winked. "I would absolutely hate to see what she'd do to an asset such as yourself. However, if you truly did want to give up more of your share to Lord Vargas and myself then I'd be an idiot to refuse. Still, we can discuss it later." "Our apologies," she said to Nora and Vargas for getting sidetracked. She folded her hands on the table in front of her, and nodded to Vargas to show that he had their undivided attention. Solange had an inkling as to why Vargas had summoned Nora and her goon, and she was concerned that she was right. She glanced over at Neh'miah and reconsidered what he said as she peeled back her bottom lip. Solange was afraid that Vargas wanted Nora to join the expedition, but if she was here for another reason...shit. Now she was concerned that she'd read everything wrong. The faintest tap could be heard from her end of the table as she knocked on it, praying that Vargas wasn't about to remove her for that business partner comment.</s> <\|message\|>Maréngo Maréngo felt the newcomer's eyes on him and returned Nora's gaze with a smile of greeting and a friendly nod for her savage companion. He looked her over and found nothing wanting from the Zherpanian. A sword on each hip implied any number of hidden weapons and not to mention the ornately carved rifle across her back. A thing of beauty with few peers. There was little doubt in his mind it was either plunder or a gift; most likely the former. The pirate also recognized a fellow pirate when he saw one, even if she sailed dunes rather than waves. She had the sort of hardened look about her that only one who makes their living far from civilization has. Speaking of, the oak tree shaped like a Tork man accompanying her was an especially good example of such a look. A thought crossed his mind that if they tied a rope around the wild man's ankle and threw him overboard he would make a decent anchor by weight alone. "A perfect addition to the crew!" Maréngo thought to himself with an amused smirk. Jokes aside, his own experience told him there was rarely such a thing as too much muscle in a group of outlaws. Neh'miah's self assuredness gave Maréngo pause. Confidence was one thing, but his felt tainted with arrogance and he was not looking to almost get himself killed twice for the same brand of foolishness in the same month. He'd have to keep a sharp eye on that one to be sure. He caught sight of Solange attempting to make a mark of poor Percy and shook his head with a chuckle as he relieved the bar keep of a pitcher. "Temptin' a man as he works, Ms. Belgrad? Shame on you!" he admonished sarcastically, "Leave the poor man be and let's have that toast you mentioned earlier." Maréngo poured himself a horn and raised it up with a smile. "To health, wealth, adventure, and new friends!"</s>	<\|message\|>Skarsat Ma'dawc For a brief moment, Skarsat just kept standing right behind Nora and let Percival slip past him without doing as much as turning an eye towards the man. The scenery that unfolded right in front of him was just too interesting to process it in the time it took for Vargas to give his directives to Nora and for Nora to forward them. And, just as this happened, Skarsat's mind identified exactly this event and a major downer for his current mood: Had he just been demoted from someone having an appointment with Vargas under four eyes to a mere henchmen of a woman he had not ever met before ? Now that too was a way to make problems with one's miserably failed schedule disappear, but the Tork didn't like it. It all happened at his cost, be it one situated purely in the realm of morale and mutual respect or not! A castling a little too long for his taste. This Lord Vargas might be the king in this room, but the way he had pushed around the literal tower here before even speaking one word had quite some potential for inner outrage within Skarsat. What equally hurt was that he just couldn't point that out in the most straightforward way possible for even he had already heard about Vargas being dangerous. So Skarsat's face did not make much of a secret out of his mood even though it was not on purpose, but out of pure lack of interest to hide it. He watched the others in the room, mostly women, and listened in to more things not finding his approval. Judging by the various statements coming out of various mouths some kind of negotiation had already started and made significant process, 'your offer' being the most significant keyword. Now would anyone have the gratitude to fill him in on all of these facts in a chronological, non-fragemented order, or was being left in the dark a part of the job he'd have ? Weren't enforcers the most important people to know what was going on, just in case one had to reckon with unexpected competition or the like ? Some part deep inside the Tork man wished he could swap roles with the poor bartender, thereby gaining the luxury of a reason to just leave this snake pit of a rendezvous. At least it gave the first impression of being such for all the phony kindness dripping from the words exchanged here: 'I would absolutely hate to see what she'd do to an asset such as yourself.', 'sweetie', 'You don't want to know what that vixen does to people that piss her off.'... How long had this bunch kept him standing at the door before actually allowing him to sit down ? And, more importantly: How long would the owners of those kind words fare in a real, Torkanian snake pit ? Would they hope that some overabundancy of perfume and makeup left over from their dirty jobs would make the predators choke once they started to swallow the body parts attached to all those fake smiles with jaws unhinged ? Well he couldn't entirely rule out that possibility. Skarsat had no real interest in taking the seat offered anymore. He did not yet really know his role in all of this, but given what Skarsat knew about his own reputation and what he had heard so far in this room his best guess was that he indeed was to join whatever was going on here as some kind of guard or enforcer. And who'd be more important to protect here than Lord Vargas himself ? A real castling ended with the tower standing next to the king, didn't it ? Well... Vargas could have it all and with great pleasure! Ignoring the chair, Skarsat maneuvered himself to a spot somewhere behind Lord Vargas' seat and crossed his arms while he remained standing. Not exactly close enough to make the man feel the exhaust coming out of the Tork's nostrils, but close enough to be warmed by some body heat on the long run. Skarsat made himself no illusions about Vargas not being a hard-boiled fellow, but the latter had given him every reason so far to make the whole affair as difficult as possible. Also, if the women's palaver would go on for longer or the whole scenery would slowly descend into a bunch of drunkards maintained by some obedient Percival, this new position would allow for some fancy imaginations to prevent boredom: One of those certainly was taking Lord Vargas head and using it as a lever to wrap his neck around the upper edge of the back of the chair the man sat on.</s>
<\|description\|>Skarsat Ma'dawc Level: 1 Class: Mercenary/Thug (novice) Currency: 99G, 39 bits Ammunition: 44 arrows Armor: +1, heavy leather Vitality: 9/10 Status: normal BASIC INFORMATION Gender: Male Age: 31 Race: Tork Origin: Great plains of the Marth (nomadic, so no distinct location) Religion(s): Su-Mar-Kaan, the council of nature spirits Attire: Simple gray-white linen cloth, furs and boots for everyday life, armor for when it's needed. Demeanor: Sarcastic, rough and reckless at times, but also honest and straightforward ATTRIBUTES Awareness: 2 Intelligence: 2 Strength: 3 Wit: 2 Dexterity: 2 Willpower: 3 Charisma: 1 Luck: 1 SKILLSETS Archery: 3 (familiar weapon +2, archery +1) Brawn: 2 Hand to hand: 2 Intimidation: 2 Knock-out: 1 Extortion: 1 Horseback riding: 1 FLAWS Skarsat has a serious tendency to go forward without putting that much effort into planning ahead. It has gotten him into more trouble than would have been necessary to achieve his goals in the past and is bound to do the same in the future. Also his Tork nature and physiology brings its own bunch of major and minor problems with it, such as his unfamiliarity with the details of what many consider 'civilized' customs or his sheer, extraordinary size. BACKGROUND Skarsat was born into a tribe called 'The Vanyr' as one of three childs, two brothers and a sister, of his father Marrask and his mother Cafol. The tribe, just as many Tork, follows a lifestyle of never settling down too long in one place, and thus Skarsat's early life follows pretty much the story the average western or eastern citizen might tell about them: He learned how to ride from early on, soon had to help picking up and dissecting hunted down animals and then got trained in the art of archery himself. There was no such thing as a real settlement, just an allotment of tents that were placed down near water and then picked up again some days or weeks later when there were no more local resources to collect. However there is a small twist to the Vanyr that ultimately forced Skarsat to learn the concept of town and cities after all. Each and every child, once having reached the age of 17, has to go on a two-year journey on his or her own that has to lead outside of the Tork's native soil and go either west or east, the further the better. It is there for them to learn about the world and to respect it and the others living in it, but of course also a test of both survival and character as noone is actually strictly obliged to return to the tribe. However those who don't are either assumed dead or, should it become known that they are still alive, scorned. From that point of view Skarsat has failed the test. He tried to return, but life isn't easy and he got stuck in affairs that ultimately forged him into what he is now. However the Vanyr are just one tribe of many, and others might have entirely different views on things and not care about his past in the same way. PERSONAL EFFECTS * Simple linen cloth, fur and leather boots for everyday life. * Heavy leather armor for those rugged times * DMG: 1d8 + Strength CRIT: 18-20 (X3) RANGE: 110ft * 39 common steel broadhead arrows (+1 to piercing damage) * Bow and a makeshift quiver with some arrows, adjusted to his large size * DMG: 1d3 + Strength CRIT: 18-20 (X2) RANGE: 5ft * Leather bag for personal belongings that can't be carried otherwise, such as his spare coins Dice campaign: roleplayerguild.com/campaigns/807</s> <\|message\|>Solange Belgard Solange chuckled as Maréngo called her out for trying to trip up poor Percival. She gave him a playful little shush, complete with a finger to the lip and a knowing wink, as she joined him in his cheers. She lifted the wine glass of hers that Y'vanna had emptied. She'd already had two glasses earlier that night, and while she didn't mind bonding with her new companions she wanted to keep a clearhead—especially around that Maréngo. Twice he'd caught her in her little games. Perhaps she'd been too quick to think of him as yet another dull sailor whose sharpness had been eroded by the waves and salt of the sea. Her smile slipped as she pressed her lips close to the edge of the wine glass. She preferred dimwits. Clever people were always dangerous. A wave of relief hit Solange as Vargas revealed that Skarsat was a new underling for Nora. The large man didn't seem thrilled by the prospect judging by the look on his face, but he hadn't seemed thrilled since he'd entered the room. By the way he'd loomed over Vargas, Solange had half-expected the Tork to reach down and snap his neck like a stalk of celery. It was a dreadful thought—she still needed the man to finance the voyage. Once everything was paid for, however? Solange felt ice crawl up her skin as Vargas rested his hand on hers, yet gave him a look that could melt the mightiest of glaciers. She slid her hand free to grab the empty wine glass and kept it there. "A splendid idea," said Solange as Vargas suggested she help Neh'miah disguise himself. She thought it was a stupid idea. What, the thief couldn't part his hair another way and change his coat all by his lonesome? And why her? Percy couldn't grab a shirt? She batted her lashes at Neh'miah. "I am quite talented at getting men out of their trousers, so surely I must be skilled at fitting them in a coat." Solange felt Vargas take her hand again, lift it, and kiss it. She didn't like the way he called her his partner this time and his unblinking stare put a lump in her throat. Solange didn't pull away. Instead she leaned forward so that her breath was hot on Vargas's ear as she whispered, "You have my gratitude, darling. 'Tis a shame neither of us can afford to be up late tonight, but now we both have something else to look forward to once we are reunited." Vargas had given her quite the good offer. If she didn't find his controlling nature repulsive she might've begun to reconsider the way she was going to screw him. A shame. Perhaps she'd play her part a little bit longer still. Solange pulled back, gave him a smile, and turned her attention away from him. She eyed Nora and Skarsat as she leaned back in her chair and smoothed her dress. The sooner they were eating out of her hand, the better things would go for Solange. "I believe the two of you are invited to this feast as well. Please, have a seat and enjoy some pheasant," said Solange, getting out of her seat to offer it to Nora and playing the role of hostess. She grabbed the decanter, poured the two of them wine, and left it at their empty seats to be enjoyed as she refilled her own empty glass and set it down in front of Y'vanna again. "Empty again, are you? There's nothing wrong with letting loose every once in a while, love. Neh'miah, darling, I know you're excited for me to get you out of those clothes, but there's no need to rush through your food. Maréngo, any sage wisdom about the sea you're willing to part with for us neophytes? I'm afraid I'm more knowledgeable about sailors than sailing..." And so on.</s> <\|message\|>Y'vanna Ravana'dan Y'Vanna had been doing her best not to make too much eye contact with Maréngo, but she could certainly feel a lustful tension growing deep down in her belly. She had always had bad luck with men and she knew that making eye contact with a semi-burly, musclebound sailor was not in her best interests at the moment. It could be said that Y'Vanna wasn't known for her decision making skills, and when he spoke... she just couldn't do it. She looked right at him, and then immediately shifted her focus back to the pheasant, taking a large bite, mincing it voraciously. What the fuck are you doing Y'Vanna? - she thought. Solange interjected and Y'Vanna was glad she did. Y'Vanna shoved her glass over as soon as she offered to fill it. Then Vargas chimed in. "Of that I am most certain darling..." he said, Y'Vanna was unable to contain a snicker to the retort. He turned to acknowledge the party. "Goodnight to you all, and I bid you good fortune on your journey." And with that Vargas made his exit. He was a prudent man at times, but he was always about his money first. That was a given. He was also the sort of man who would walk out of the room and not give this affair another thought until they returned either, and that's exactly what he did. Vargas could be detestable at times, but there was a certain air of confidence about him that one had to admire, if nothing else. He had managed to accomplish a lot for one man, especially in a city such as Guillan, even moreso to be said about his line of work. The fact that he had managed to survive for this long was astounding in it's own right. Vargas was a smart man. He knew people, and more importantly, the right ones. He also knew how to implement them for a desired outcome. Why, if Vargas wasn't up to his neck in the black market and consorting with undesirables he be a perfect fit for a man of the courts. The man could literally plan kingdoms if he wanted to. The party would most likely not see him before they departed, and the tensions in the room seemed to leave alongside him. Y'Vanna rolled her eyes and bit another huge bite from the pheasant leg. Royal pheasants had been bred to produce a more plump fowl and were usually reserved for royalty or other important guests. Vargas having set forth two before them was just another way for him to flex on the party and it made the sweet poultry turn to ash in her mouth. It also fortified the notion that Vargas was not to be fucked with on the grand scale of things for his reach was long, very long. "Ugh, I thought he would never leave..." she said, letting off a sigh of relief. She took a drink of wine from her glass as she tipped it in gesture to thank Solange. "I suppose I owe you all a debt of gratitude on this. I hope I haven't bitten of more than I can chew... we can chew."</s>	<\|message\|>Skarsat Ma'dawc So Vargas was gone, a moment Skarsat had been looking forward to since he had been given the answer he had waited for. It was at this exact point of time however that the Tork man also realized how foolish a thought it had been to believe that this would actually make things so much better in the room. A little more air to breath, yes, but otherwise ? The others were free to spread their verbal wings even further! And by 'others' Skarsat primarily had the women in mind. Maréngo seemed okay so far and given his body he probably was an able fighter, but he could not see much of his qualities in the other persons so far, except for Nora perhaps whose attitude he had already been able to witness. Another slight detail that only now started to burn itself into his mind was how some people here had been touching each other... A more than professional relationship between employer and employees did not have to end in jeopardy per se, but this time there was a lot of coin on the table. Skarsat had to suppress the inner urge to envision some kind of betrayal just because somebody 'loved' somebody else more than the others... He stepped forward towards the table where Solange had poured him some wine, the wooden floorboards protesting against his weight with quite loud noises. In his calloused hand the wine glass almost seemed a little fragile, but it turned out it would not have to stay in that precarious place for long as Skarsat apparently followed a 'taste doesn't matter as long as you're fast'-approach. He craned his neck as if wanting to take a look at the ceiling that already was close to his scalp, but in fact he only wanted to use his face and beard as a means to catch any droplets of wine that would inevitably escape their death march out of the glass and into his throat. Also, of course, gravity was always useful when pouring things. And yet anybody who paid attention at the right moment would be able to see how his neck winced, thick veins bulging on its skin as some reflex desperately tried to override Skarsat's sheer will and to stop the influx of red fluid. That stuff was way too fruity! He needed something to fix this... wasn't there some considerable lot of pheasant around here ? Skarsat reached for a part of it with bare hands, separting it from the remainder with one swift move and guiding it to his mouth before too much liquid could come out of it and fall to the ground. Tork people were not the most mannered bunch from an Eastener's point of view in general perhaps, but when the need to eat was so urgent in order to wash away something else all other priorities receded! It was only after the first two bites that Skarsat dared to look for something like a plate and he also squeezed himself into the empty chair, continuing to eat. His response to Y'Vannas concerns about their capability to chew was the loud sound of his chewing. At least physically it seemed he could chew a lot, but in the metaphorical sense that was in question for this whole endeavour ? That was an entirely different matter still to be investigated...</s>
<\|description\|>Skarsat Ma'dawc Level: 1 Class: Mercenary/Thug (novice) Currency: 99G, 39 bits Ammunition: 44 arrows Armor: +1, heavy leather Vitality: 9/10 Status: normal BASIC INFORMATION Gender: Male Age: 31 Race: Tork Origin: Great plains of the Marth (nomadic, so no distinct location) Religion(s): Su-Mar-Kaan, the council of nature spirits Attire: Simple gray-white linen cloth, furs and boots for everyday life, armor for when it's needed. Demeanor: Sarcastic, rough and reckless at times, but also honest and straightforward ATTRIBUTES Awareness: 2 Intelligence: 2 Strength: 3 Wit: 2 Dexterity: 2 Willpower: 3 Charisma: 1 Luck: 1 SKILLSETS Archery: 3 (familiar weapon +2, archery +1) Brawn: 2 Hand to hand: 2 Intimidation: 2 Knock-out: 1 Extortion: 1 Horseback riding: 1 FLAWS Skarsat has a serious tendency to go forward without putting that much effort into planning ahead. It has gotten him into more trouble than would have been necessary to achieve his goals in the past and is bound to do the same in the future. Also his Tork nature and physiology brings its own bunch of major and minor problems with it, such as his unfamiliarity with the details of what many consider 'civilized' customs or his sheer, extraordinary size. BACKGROUND Skarsat was born into a tribe called 'The Vanyr' as one of three childs, two brothers and a sister, of his father Marrask and his mother Cafol. The tribe, just as many Tork, follows a lifestyle of never settling down too long in one place, and thus Skarsat's early life follows pretty much the story the average western or eastern citizen might tell about them: He learned how to ride from early on, soon had to help picking up and dissecting hunted down animals and then got trained in the art of archery himself. There was no such thing as a real settlement, just an allotment of tents that were placed down near water and then picked up again some days or weeks later when there were no more local resources to collect. However there is a small twist to the Vanyr that ultimately forced Skarsat to learn the concept of town and cities after all. Each and every child, once having reached the age of 17, has to go on a two-year journey on his or her own that has to lead outside of the Tork's native soil and go either west or east, the further the better. It is there for them to learn about the world and to respect it and the others living in it, but of course also a test of both survival and character as noone is actually strictly obliged to return to the tribe. However those who don't are either assumed dead or, should it become known that they are still alive, scorned. From that point of view Skarsat has failed the test. He tried to return, but life isn't easy and he got stuck in affairs that ultimately forged him into what he is now. However the Vanyr are just one tribe of many, and others might have entirely different views on things and not care about his past in the same way. PERSONAL EFFECTS * Simple linen cloth, fur and leather boots for everyday life. * Heavy leather armor for those rugged times * DMG: 1d8 + Strength CRIT: 18-20 (X3) RANGE: 110ft * 39 common steel broadhead arrows (+1 to piercing damage) * Bow and a makeshift quiver with some arrows, adjusted to his large size * DMG: 1d3 + Strength CRIT: 18-20 (X2) RANGE: 5ft * Leather bag for personal belongings that can't be carried otherwise, such as his spare coins Dice campaign: roleplayerguild.com/campaigns/807</s> <\|message\|>Skarsat Ma'dawc For the last couple of minutes, or rather for as long as the 'debate' between Solange and Nora had unfolded, Skarsat had done nothing but to remain on his seat and to continue eating. Nora's unexpected appearance, her orders and the fact that Solange had managed to suck the poor woman into yet another bloody mess of her making had actually saved Solange from a quite sudden and ferocious reaction of the Tork man, but demoted the latter to the role of a mere observer. A three-front war was going on in his mind, all participants being different parts and schools of thinking of himself. The first was the rational one: He had been given a clear instruction to wake up the others, so he should obey so not to make a bad first impression and to prove helpful for the party overall. Also, given how Nora had cornered Solange on a chair and her facial expression, it seemed that she was already getting things under control and would give that other woman a lecture well deserved. The second was the curious one: Solange had done more things wrong in a matter of minutes than he could ever have imagined previously, so what would come next ? That part wanted to stay, even if that would mean having to eat even more than the flabbergasting amount he already had just to have some kind of pretense. Solange was just bound to screw things up even more and in some way it was so ridiculous it was even funny! The third one was responsible for rage: It wanted to do the exact same thing as the second one, but not out of curiosity and a good laugh but because it hoped that Solange would turn her attention back towards him and just give that one, absolutely blatant, unmistakable, perfect reason for him to jump onto the table, run at and jump at her like a wild beast and ruin more than just this morning's hairstyle of hers! Unfortunately none of those three parts had shown any sign of winning the conflict. On the contrary: none had achieved even the slightest bit of a goal so far! He was still sitting here and waiting for his very own decision making... Enough! In a bold move, the rational part forged an uneasy alliance with rage: Maybe Nora would give Solange the lesson she derserved, but it would be Nora's lesson! So where was his lesson ? Could he really rely on Nora doing the dirty work for him and tell Solange that she had done wrong to him as well ? No, of course not! And if things went according to rage this Neh'miah would not need a personalized wakeup call after some special kind of Solange lesson anyway! Skarsat got up and approached the two women, coming so close that probably at least Nora could feel the floorboards buckle beneath a pair of Tork feet. He looked down at Solange and some minor parts of his face twitched. Then the giant lowered himself so he could look her in the eyes more easily, letting go of a prolonged, albeit artificial, sigh. He folded his hands in front of his face and rubbed his nose. Like said... it was an uneasy alliance between rational and rage... "Solange..." he started, rather calm at first. "So you think that handing someone a plate full of food because he asked for it equals 'feeding' that someone ? Or how did you suddenly get to this 'Shut up and feed me ?' thing." Quoting her, Skarsat also tried to mimic the voice of her words, but not without adding a lot of bitterness and personal disgust to his attempt. "Or, more generally asking... exactly what part of my drinking and chewing made you believe that I or anyone else in this room had actual interest in hearing your bedroom stories of personal superiority ?" And now rage backstabbed the rational and took over, immediately commanding Skarsat's right hand to try and hit Solange's cheek hard while his left hand was given the order to approach her head from the other side to prevent her from just escaping in that direction. However even before he could see whether he'd hit her or miss her his speech continued. Now much, much louder: "When we're in trouble, you run out of arrows and shout to me to hand you my quiver, will I then afterwards also just be one more petty man in the life of the great Solange who begged you to lie about the size of the thing between his legs ? You sound like you're the pinnacle of the world yet so far you've only spread doubt about your actual usefulness! Oh and before your crazy mind even dares to think about it: You will never 'feed' me! Not with a spoon and not with your breast if that's what you're imagining! Your milk is spoiled by your arrogance!"</s> <\|message\|>Solange Belgard For the briefest of moments, Solange thought that perhaps Skarsat was actually comforting her. She wiped away the traitorous tears with a flick of her finger and looked up to meet his gaze as he lowered himself to be almost face to face with her. She tried to muster up a flirty smile that faltered and slipped away through the floorboards as his words mocked her own. Solange caught a look in his eyes. Violent men wasn't something she dealt with often while working for Fontaine thanks to the protection she offered through the reputation of her enforcer alone, but there had been one altercation with a man from her hometown who happened to stop by the brothel. Unlucky that she was working that night, really. What were the odds? His eyes were forever burned into her mind. Skarsat's eyes didn't look so different. If she went back the momentum would take her to the ground, so she ducked forward instead. If Solange was quick, Skarsat's hand would run through the waves of her hair and she could try to weasel out from under his arm. She wasn't quick enough. The smack echoed throughout the room as his hand smacked across Solange's cheek so hard that if not for his other hand to catch her she would've been knocked from the chair by the momentum of her head whipping. She bit down on her lip so hard that it bled; her pained scream twisted in her mouth and morphed into a defeated chuckle. She squirmed in her seat and looked away from Skarsat, half her face covered by her hair where it had been knocked once he'd hit her, her cheek already changing like a chameleon to match it's reddish tone. A tear from her eyes lost a race to her chin against a droplet of blood from her lip. It was strange, but he didn't frighten her as much as Nora. Once the threat of violence was gone and all that remained was the pain it wasn't so bad. Pain was a dear, old friend. "Thank you, love. I was being hysterical," she said softly, the same defeated tone she'd given to Nora just moments ago. However, unlike with the bandit woman she looked up at Skarsat, a shimmer in her eyes that wasn't the tears. There was a certainty to her that shouldn't have been there, an undeserved sense that she was coming out of this exchange on top. Striking her would have consequences, even if not immediate. She smiled at him, her teeth stained red with blood and lipstick. "Now, would you like to continue telling me about how I'm the one imagining putting you to my breast like a suckling babe, or is mommy's big boy going to wake up Neh'miah like he was told?"</s>	<\|message\|>Skarsat Ma'dawc So his hand had made her bleed. Good! Not so good that this included the possibility than some of said blood, along with residual traces of cosmetic ingredients this damn woman certainly applied to her face every day, could have attached themselves to his palm. Skarsat had no real proof of that, but even without actually looking at his fingers he rubbed them against each other to get an estimation about how much of a smeary layer of shit there was on his skin. Otherwise though he just kept staring at Solange, his face being kinda stuck in a state of forced idling around because his mind was too busy thinking about... Defeat. How could this woman just keep doing shittalk all the fucking time ? 'Suckling babe', 'mommy's big boy', 'like he was told...'... for a brief series of moments all these nasty little provocations just did not seem to have any impact because Skarsat was just too flabbergasted by the initial 'love' which had already announced a lot about her overall reaction. Then however, with some noticeable delay, he caught up with Solange's queue of insults. "You know... I'm no arrogant fool like you who maintains an unshakeable belief in his own infallibility. I know that, despite my training and experience, some of my arrows can and will miss their intended target. I start to think that despite all the real hostiles we might encounter on this endeavour this might actually be a good message for you." Having said this, Skarsat raised himself to his full height again and looked down at her for a second or two. "Now if you'd like to turn this journey into a damned world of fear where a possibly growing number of people outright hates you, then just keep going!" Skarsat turned away from her, but not without trying to hit her foot with his own and put his full weight onto it. Upon success he'd express his regret, which of course would be entirely fake.</s>
<\|description\|>Skarsat Ma'dawc Level: 1 Class: Mercenary/Thug (novice) Currency: 99G, 39 bits Ammunition: 44 arrows Armor: +1, heavy leather Vitality: 9/10 Status: normal BASIC INFORMATION Gender: Male Age: 31 Race: Tork Origin: Great plains of the Marth (nomadic, so no distinct location) Religion(s): Su-Mar-Kaan, the council of nature spirits Attire: Simple gray-white linen cloth, furs and boots for everyday life, armor for when it's needed. Demeanor: Sarcastic, rough and reckless at times, but also honest and straightforward ATTRIBUTES Awareness: 2 Intelligence: 2 Strength: 3 Wit: 2 Dexterity: 2 Willpower: 3 Charisma: 1 Luck: 1 SKILLSETS Archery: 3 (familiar weapon +2, archery +1) Brawn: 2 Hand to hand: 2 Intimidation: 2 Knock-out: 1 Extortion: 1 Horseback riding: 1 FLAWS Skarsat has a serious tendency to go forward without putting that much effort into planning ahead. It has gotten him into more trouble than would have been necessary to achieve his goals in the past and is bound to do the same in the future. Also his Tork nature and physiology brings its own bunch of major and minor problems with it, such as his unfamiliarity with the details of what many consider 'civilized' customs or his sheer, extraordinary size. BACKGROUND Skarsat was born into a tribe called 'The Vanyr' as one of three childs, two brothers and a sister, of his father Marrask and his mother Cafol. The tribe, just as many Tork, follows a lifestyle of never settling down too long in one place, and thus Skarsat's early life follows pretty much the story the average western or eastern citizen might tell about them: He learned how to ride from early on, soon had to help picking up and dissecting hunted down animals and then got trained in the art of archery himself. There was no such thing as a real settlement, just an allotment of tents that were placed down near water and then picked up again some days or weeks later when there were no more local resources to collect. However there is a small twist to the Vanyr that ultimately forced Skarsat to learn the concept of town and cities after all. Each and every child, once having reached the age of 17, has to go on a two-year journey on his or her own that has to lead outside of the Tork's native soil and go either west or east, the further the better. It is there for them to learn about the world and to respect it and the others living in it, but of course also a test of both survival and character as noone is actually strictly obliged to return to the tribe. However those who don't are either assumed dead or, should it become known that they are still alive, scorned. From that point of view Skarsat has failed the test. He tried to return, but life isn't easy and he got stuck in affairs that ultimately forged him into what he is now. However the Vanyr are just one tribe of many, and others might have entirely different views on things and not care about his past in the same way. PERSONAL EFFECTS * Simple linen cloth, fur and leather boots for everyday life. * Heavy leather armor for those rugged times * DMG: 1d8 + Strength CRIT: 18-20 (X3) RANGE: 110ft * 39 common steel broadhead arrows (+1 to piercing damage) * Bow and a makeshift quiver with some arrows, adjusted to his large size * DMG: 1d3 + Strength CRIT: 18-20 (X2) RANGE: 5ft * Leather bag for personal belongings that can't be carried otherwise, such as his spare coins Dice campaign: roleplayerguild.com/campaigns/807</s> <\|message\|>Skarsat Ma'dawc Skarsat Skarsat's eye twitched in silence just like a vulcano's walls bent and shifted ever so slightly when in reality, pressure was building up inside and waiting to break free. Finding cool water ? Yeah, maybe just swimming alongside the ship instead of sharing his free time with one of the more... exotic... members of their little party was indeed a good idea. Though, a neutral observer from outside the fourth wall might object, an idea that came along with the risk of the ocean just evaporating as the vulcano swam in it. Today however would not turn out to be eruption day. Or would it ? After all it had only just begun. Yet at least for the moment Skarsat decided there were higher priorities that presented themselves in form of a 'sheriff Gerranti'. So the city's forces responsible for law and order were looking exactly for the one person he was supposed to wake up ? Skarsat found that, if not anything else already, to be a good call to leave the main hall and get the job done. He heaved himself up the staircase and down the corridor he believed the room in question was accessible from, then knocked on the door -- hard. He could still feel a great amount of irritation trying to smother his attempts to calm down and at the same time he could feel the urge to act quickly because who knew how long those down in the main hall could keep this Gerranti busy before he'd give the order to start searching ? As he was thinking about the ifs, whens and hows of talking to his boss, Nora, about any of the most recent events, he knocked at the door a second time. Still he didn't openly call out Neh'miahs name or even just say anything else. If there was anything he had learned then probably that his voice could easily be heard. Normally not much of an issue, but if this sheriff down there would hear the name of the one being searched for and could associate it with some frantic efforts to wake up the man... Anonymously knocking at the door and opening it by force if needed was bound to be much more effective in this case. The giant did seriously hope though that Neh'miah would get out of bed by himself by the second though. The man needed some time left to leave the place, too -- and preferably not completely naked or with a prostitute making a loud fuzz about his sudden departure!</s> <\|message\|>Solange Belgard --- Solange - The Faded Lantern Tavern & Inn Lies aren't needed when others make the excuse for you. --- "We must run in different circles, honey. All I ever heard about the Sheriff was that he was a man of strange taste and disappointing stamina," said Solange with a half-smile that faded quickly as Nora's icy stare flashed like a dagger from Skarsat over to her. The redhead stood up straight and cupped her hands together to stand like a proper, professional young lady with no hint of irony in her disposition. She nodded in acknowledgment to Nora's departing statement, Solange's tongue twisting in her mouth as she swallowed the desire to return the Zherpanian saying with a similar one she'd heard uttered by the followers of Voi—something about making water once the passions cooled. Neither, she realized, would be advice that would need to be followed at this moment. "Any disputes? Darling, can you believe Miss Sunshine thought we were having a...darling?" Solange craned her neck to search for Skarsat, but her plaything had already slipped away. She exchanged a glance with Sheri and smiled sweetly. "Let's head to the kitchen. After you." Solange had the misfortune of dealing with Sheri before, who'd taken it upon herself to explain the lives of every member of the staff to Solange like some kind of proud, doting mother. It amazed Solange how Sheri was able to know so much about the others, considering she never took a single moment to let someone else get a word in. However, seemingly the stress of dealing with the Sheriff was enough to silence the suffocating gossip who, much to Solange's relief, fretted with her frock more than anything. Sheri held the swinging door to the kitchen open for Solange, who stepped through after telling the woman to wait outside. The kitchen of the Faded Lantern was normally well organized but currently in complete disarray due to the prep done to provide the would-be treasure hunters with a bountiful feast that now would go unenjoyed by half of their party. Solange eyed a tower of dirty dishes, her tongue pressing into her bruised cheek as she fought the urge to send them cascading to the ground, porcelain shattering everywhere and ruining the day of some young kitchenhand who'd be forced to scrub it all up. Perhaps if the floors weren't already dirty the temptation would be too much for her. She peeled herself away and found what she'd come looking for: an iron kettle filled with black, muddy coffee. Its bitter flavor would do well to mask the taste of the leaves of iris that Solange had squirreled away for a day when her sister had deeply annoyed her. She pulled the leaves out of her tiny herb pouch, casting a glance over her shoulder to make sure that none of that staff was poking their head around. Grabbing a bowl and a wooden spoon from the pile of dirty dishes, Solange pulverized the leaves until they made a fine paste, loosened it upon with a bit of water, and mixed it in with the coffee. It might add a bit of grit to the brew, but it'd be difficult to differentiate between it and loose coffee grounds. The poison wasn't lethal—killing her sister was out of the question, and killing the Sheriff would be bad for the local businesses—but it would ruin the better part of the morning by keeping him contained to the loo. Most likely the Sheriff would reason that the cooking was bad or that he had too much to drink the night before and not even consider that someone would dose him. She stashed her makeshift mortar and pestle in with the rest of the dishes and grabbed the wooden handle of the kettle. Popping out of the kitchen, she nodded to Sheri and followed the woman's gaze up to the balcony. Her nose wrinkled as she caught sight of Sheriff Gerranti gesturing with a piece of bacon to one of the guards seated with him. Solange adjusted her dress and sashayed her way up to the pig trough. She heard a bark of laughter and paused outside of the sliding door, taking a moment to come up with a story. Nerves steeled and a phony smile painted on her face, Solange pulled on the handle and found three men with crumbs on their lips staring at her. She stepped gracefully through the threshold with her chin high, casting a quick glance at the two nobodies before focusing her gaze upon the Sheriff. Normally she'd move to a spot where she could have her eyes on the door, but she needed to be able to see the main hall. "Gentleman, I am so pleased our staff saw fit to serve you breakfast after my partner so quickly turned you away the other night. It is always so wonderful to see them take ownership, especially when it comes to taking care of a respectable man of the law. My name is Solange Belgard, Lord Vargas's new business partner. Sheri took it upon herself to inform me of everything. I'm afraid we'd be here well past supper if we were to wait for Lord Vargas, but I may answer what questions you have in his stead. However, before that…" She placed her hand on the back of an empty chair and leaned forward, squeezing her chest up as she raised the tainted kettle, her blue eyes narrowing. "...who needs more coffee?"</s> <\|message\|>Neh'miah He'ron Neh'miah He'ron Location: The Faded Lantern Neh'miah found himself sitting on a throne on top of a mountain formed out of gold coins while rivers of wine seemed to flow out of the endless sky. Before him lay the endless green meadows filled with scantily dressed women chanting his name as the greatest thief that ever lived. Ofcourse dreams that are too good to be true lead to rude awakenings. The sound of a heavy fist knocking on a door suddenly filled the pleasant imagery that was captivating the young thiefs mind. For a moment he was looking around for a door only to realize that it was a sound from beyond his drunken slumber. Slowly Neh'miah opened his eyes only to realize that he was back in the real world. A rather modest sleeping accommodation known as the Faded Lantern. As he pulled himself out of the bed the room spinned around him. Clearly the wine from last night hasn't left his system yet. Quickly he reached for the bucked in the corner of his room to empty what little contents his stomach still holded after a night of heavy drinking before making his way to the door barely dressed. As the young thief reached for the doorknob he spoke a little agitated "What's the ruckus this early in the morning" before staring at the rather large Tork chest at the other side of the door. As his eyes went up Neh'miah realized that Skarsat was standing there and he was supposed to wake up early.</s>	<\|message\|>Skarsat Ma'dawc Skarsat Quite a bit of a burden fell off Skarsat's heart as it turned out that he would neither have to grant himself access to Neh'miah's room by force nor carry the man around himself. It appeared that the thief was awake and able to walk on his own feet properly. Frankly speaking the Tork was looking forward to that actually happening as soon as possible just to get away from this room. That smell! There was more then just some residual wine to it. Had Neh'miah just emptied himself via his body's front door ? For a brief moment, Skarsat couldn't help but think at Percival. Not only was the tavern's helping hand, janitor or maybe even darling called 'facility manager' being shoved around my his boss all the time as it seemed, but he'd probably also have to clean up what their party had left behind. The Tork certainly did not want to know how things looked like in some other rooms as there had been plenty more people who had taken a very deep look into the wine glass. Yet there were more pressing issues at hand right now! "If you're quick at getting yourself dressed up and ready to go, then would be a good time for a demonstration! There's some person from the city guard down there and he's asked for you specifically! And before you ask: he's not alone." One could never know what kind of dumb idea people could come up with if they thought the threat was small and could maybe just be worked around by force. "Is there a second way out you know of ?" Hopefully it wouldn't be some kind of small-ish, high up window or involve some jumping action from roof to roof. While Skarsat definitely was familiar with physical exercise and such, he was not looking forward to some delicate acrobatics right this morning.</s>
<\|description\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson Picture Age: 23 Logos: • Criminal Connections • Ecclesiastical Affiliations Mythos: • Highly Destructive • Utterly Terrifying</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy Mist descends over a brightly lit city. Across the metropolis, some are snug in their homes watching TV, others are out drowning their sorrows, while even fewer are out on the streets, looking for trouble. People with powers, powers that shouldn't exist in reality, live in each of these scenarios. A Salamander resting at home after a long day fixing pipes, a wizard trying to drown out the voice of Merlin, or the Bogeyman hunting the wicked of the city. One such of these people, a woman, stands in a casino down on Fortune Row. Two hands on the banister in front of her, one made of flesh with painted nails, the other made of silver, watches the hundreds of people dancing, drinking, and throwing their money at brightly lit machines.</s> <\|message\|>Rollen Jorgunson Rollen could barely see anything as his senses were dulled from the heavy amount of whisky he'd been drinking but finished moments ago. "More beersh hic barman!" he slurred as he slammed his hand on the bar counter putting a dent in the wood.</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson A tattooed man entered the casino. With the way he was dressed, he looked somewhat out of place among the more well dressed patrons of the casino. But the man didn't care. He wasn't here to be a patron. The man looked around the ground floor of the casino, but couldn't find who he was looking for. Scratching his head, he turned his gaze upwards to the first floor. Eventually, he spotted who he was here for. A woman was standing on the stairway connecting the ground floor to the first. Both of her hands, one of which was made of silver along with the arm was connected to, rested on the banister in front of her. The man owed this woman a favor for past services and tonight the woman had called it in. She refused to go into details as to what the favor was over the phone, insisting instead that she tell him in person. Eager to hear what the woman had to say, the man walked over to the stairway and climbed up to her. "Heya." The man said in a friendly manner as he got in speaking range with the silver armed woman. "Here I am. Like you asked. I'm ready to even things between us. All you need to do is tell me how I do that."</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy The woman looked over at the scruffy, tattooed man that had walked over to her. "Ah Taz, so happy you were able to come. Care for a drink to warm that little tornado heart?" She said this as she began to walk towards the bar where the bartender had just filled up yet another glass for the extremely inebriated man sitting on a stool. "I have a bit of a, business proposition for you. I believe your destructive talents may come in handy."</s> <\|message\|>Rollen Jorgunson @rush99999 "Yuh hic Yuh know I used ta be married?" Rollen said drinking the glass placed in front of him and in between sips he noticed the shape of a person walking over to the bar so he lost his train of thought stared at whoever was coming with a frown "Whosh tha hell are you?" he asked the blurry figures.</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson "Have you ever known me to turn down a drink, Nuada?" Taz asked the woman as he followed her to the bar. Taz hummed approvingly when the conversation turned to a business proposition that concerned his affinity for breaking things. "That does sound like an interesting proposition already." Taz remarked before the drunkard sitting near them decided to start speaking with them. "Maybe we should talk about this somewhere else though. The bar seems a little busy right now."</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy @Dark Cloud She smiled. "In a moment, Taz, meet Beowulf, dragon slayer and high king." She said referring to the drunk man. "The two of you hold a specific skill set I need for a, quest, for lack of a better term."</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson "So he's a part of this as well?" Taz asked as he looked from the woman to, the other man at the bar, and then back to the woman. "Fair enough." He was a bit apprehensive about working with a drunk. But if Nuada thought the guy was good to bring along, then Taz wasn't about to argue. She had more than proven that she knew what she was doing in the time he'd known her for.</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy She nodded at him. "Yes, let's just say that there is someone in this town that has been very bad as of late." She placed a small baggy on the counter, on the bag itself was a symbol of three interlocked circles. Inside of the bag was a few greenish-blue pills. "I found a man in my casino attempting to sell these, and even after a week he refuses to say where he got them. I've heard from some of my contacts that pills like this have been popping up all over the city, as well as multiple Rifts disappearing. I'm uncertain if the group making this pills are also abducting people, but my gut says yes."</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson Taz raised an eyebrow when the baggy of pills was presented. "I've seen these before." He said once Nuada was done talking. "I saw a guy taking one of these at a party. The results were nothing to scoff at. And that came as quite a shock to me. The guy who took the pill was no lightweight and that was the first thing he'd taken all night, so there wasn't anything else in his system already." Taz looked up from the pills and back at Nuada. "So you wanna find out who's behind these pills and the missing Rifts?" Taz asked. "What comes next when you have? Do you just wanna run 'em off your turf? Do you wanna stamp 'em out altogether? What's your endgame here?"</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy "My endgame is to tear this weed out at the roots. I've seen what this drug does in the short run, a high like you've never seen. You haven't seen the long term yet." She pulled out two pictures, one of a large hulking beast with bone plating covering his skin, the other of a regular looking man wearing gym clothes. "An acquaintance of mine, Mitosis. His mythos allowed him to constantly adapt, causing him to look like this. After a few pills and a bit of time, it went away. Whoever is making these is suppressing Rift powers, possibly as a means to capture them."</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson "These things suppress Rift powers?" Taz asked as he looked at the two photos. "Damn. I wasn't happy about not being able to get one before. But I certainly am now."</s> <\|message\|>Rollen Jorgunson Rollen had the bartender serve him a tall glass of water as he drank it he dropped an asprin into the glass and took a long sip, as he did so the man only vaguely paid attention to the woman that he remembered seeing but couldn't remember her name and the other bloke with his tattooed arms as well as wild hair. He sobered up quickly which surprised even him yet the buzz was still there and slightly impaired him. "So your saying these pills make people...Normal? How is that a problem?" he rubbed his temples as he considered the possibility of being powerless and it didn't seem like a bad thing to him.</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson Taz gave Rollen a look that one would usually reserve for those who said or did something utterly nonsensical. Pills that made people normal... not a problem? Taz wondered if the guy was even speaking english at that moment. "You might want to call it quits on the alcohol for tonight." Taz said. "I think you're starting to get a little delirious."</s> <\|message\|>Rollen Jorgunson Rollen chuckled at the man's reply "Yeah delirious is one way to put it," he shook his head and rested his chin on his fist as he leaned against the surface of the bar counter "The ole noggin ain't what it used to be so I tend to think funny especially when I'm on the sauce" sighing he reached out a hand to Taz with a tired smile on his face "Nice to meet you. Oh nice ink by the way" Rollen didn't have any tattoos of his own but he appreciated the dedication it took to have something engraved in ones skin.</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson "Thanks." Taz said in reply to Rollen's words before taking the guy's hand and giving it a good firm shake. "It's nice to meet you too." Once the greetings were finished, Taz looked back at Nuada. "So, we've got some pictures, some pills, and a guy who won't talk." Taz said. "There anything else we should know about or is that all we have to go on?"</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy "The symbol on the bag is all I've been able to find, I think it's related to a Rift, but that's basic knowledge at this point, they wouldn't be able to make Rift drugs if they weren't one themselves," she replied to Taz. She then turned to Rollen, "The reason this is such an issue is what can happen to them. This man on this picture, he could survive a bomb with his Mythos, his body would adapt to it to save his life. Now, he can be injured by scraping his knee. Another person, I think she did the equivalent of OD'ing on these, she forgot everything about Mythos, Rifts, what have you. The two of you, and myself, are three extremely powerful individuals, especially being Borderline. We need to find the root cause of this and end it."</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson "And how might we go about doing that?" Taz asked when Nuada said they needed to put a stop to the pills. "What's our next step here?"</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy "The guy we have won't talk, yet," Nuada said to Taz, "I think that we need to find another one of these dealers and hope we find one who will talk."</s> <\|message\|>Rollen Jorgunson "Give em' time and with enough pressure your man may crack," Rollen shrugged "But it sounds like we don't have time to interrogate some bloke so where do you need us to go?" he asked eating a cracker from the tray of saltine's before him.</s> <\|message\|>Sayuri Mitsukasa "BANG!" A sudden gunshot had just silenced the whole establishment. The gamblers were distracted, and for a split second the quick hands of the hosts were ready to rig their games, ensuring the fortune for this casino. Yet they hesitated, a patron had just shot someone, a woman. She was one of the singers who routinely came to Fortune Row once a week, known by her name Sayuri. Her performance entertained the patrons with night songs as they tested their luck through their favorite games; blackjack, poker, and roulette among others. There was a visible shock on the Sayuri's face. Her hands clutched on her stomach, as if she tried to hold the blood flowing out of the gunshot wound. The shooter was quickly taken down by a bouncer, a regret could be seen on his drunk face. Panic ensued, as people saw the shooter being brought somewhere, they gathered in curiosity, wondering what might happen to their favorite singer. As Sayuri stood up, one could see her abdomen skin revealed among her two-piece party dress. The singer's gunshot wound on her stomach slowly closed itself and the bullet was ejected from it, clinked as it fell onto the floor. "I... I'm fine..." said Sayuri, "I don't know how, but I'm fine."</s>	<\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson "FUCK!" Taz exclaimed as he heard the gunshot go off. He turned in the direction of the noise to see what had happened. From what he could tell, some other drunkard had just gunned down one of the casino's singers. Sayuri Mitsukasa to be specific. Taz was shocked to say the least. Sayuri was one of his favorite singers. She never struck him as the sort who made enemies, much less drive someone to murder her. But as shocking as the shooting of his favourite local pop star was, seeing her shrug off the wound and stand up completely fine was even more shocking. "Sayuri Mitsukasa is a Rift." Taz said. "Never would have guessed from looking at her."</s>
<\|description\|>Sayuri Mitsukasa Appearance: Age: 25 Logos: 1. Dance instructor 2. Pop singer Mythos (Philosopher's Stone): 1. Healing 2. Power transfer</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy Mist descends over a brightly lit city. Across the metropolis, some are snug in their homes watching TV, others are out drowning their sorrows, while even fewer are out on the streets, looking for trouble. People with powers, powers that shouldn't exist in reality, live in each of these scenarios. A Salamander resting at home after a long day fixing pipes, a wizard trying to drown out the voice of Merlin, or the Bogeyman hunting the wicked of the city. One such of these people, a woman, stands in a casino down on Fortune Row. Two hands on the banister in front of her, one made of flesh with painted nails, the other made of silver, watches the hundreds of people dancing, drinking, and throwing their money at brightly lit machines.</s> <\|message\|>Rollen Jorgunson Rollen could barely see anything as his senses were dulled from the heavy amount of whisky he'd been drinking but finished moments ago. "More beersh hic barman!" he slurred as he slammed his hand on the bar counter putting a dent in the wood.</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson A tattooed man entered the casino. With the way he was dressed, he looked somewhat out of place among the more well dressed patrons of the casino. But the man didn't care. He wasn't here to be a patron. The man looked around the ground floor of the casino, but couldn't find who he was looking for. Scratching his head, he turned his gaze upwards to the first floor. Eventually, he spotted who he was here for. A woman was standing on the stairway connecting the ground floor to the first. Both of her hands, one of which was made of silver along with the arm was connected to, rested on the banister in front of her. The man owed this woman a favor for past services and tonight the woman had called it in. She refused to go into details as to what the favor was over the phone, insisting instead that she tell him in person. Eager to hear what the woman had to say, the man walked over to the stairway and climbed up to her. "Heya." The man said in a friendly manner as he got in speaking range with the silver armed woman. "Here I am. Like you asked. I'm ready to even things between us. All you need to do is tell me how I do that."</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy The woman looked over at the scruffy, tattooed man that had walked over to her. "Ah Taz, so happy you were able to come. Care for a drink to warm that little tornado heart?" She said this as she began to walk towards the bar where the bartender had just filled up yet another glass for the extremely inebriated man sitting on a stool. "I have a bit of a, business proposition for you. I believe your destructive talents may come in handy."</s> <\|message\|>Rollen Jorgunson @rush99999 "Yuh hic Yuh know I used ta be married?" Rollen said drinking the glass placed in front of him and in between sips he noticed the shape of a person walking over to the bar so he lost his train of thought stared at whoever was coming with a frown "Whosh tha hell are you?" he asked the blurry figures.</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson "Have you ever known me to turn down a drink, Nuada?" Taz asked the woman as he followed her to the bar. Taz hummed approvingly when the conversation turned to a business proposition that concerned his affinity for breaking things. "That does sound like an interesting proposition already." Taz remarked before the drunkard sitting near them decided to start speaking with them. "Maybe we should talk about this somewhere else though. The bar seems a little busy right now."</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy @Dark Cloud She smiled. "In a moment, Taz, meet Beowulf, dragon slayer and high king." She said referring to the drunk man. "The two of you hold a specific skill set I need for a, quest, for lack of a better term."</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson "So he's a part of this as well?" Taz asked as he looked from the woman to, the other man at the bar, and then back to the woman. "Fair enough." He was a bit apprehensive about working with a drunk. But if Nuada thought the guy was good to bring along, then Taz wasn't about to argue. She had more than proven that she knew what she was doing in the time he'd known her for.</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy She nodded at him. "Yes, let's just say that there is someone in this town that has been very bad as of late." She placed a small baggy on the counter, on the bag itself was a symbol of three interlocked circles. Inside of the bag was a few greenish-blue pills. "I found a man in my casino attempting to sell these, and even after a week he refuses to say where he got them. I've heard from some of my contacts that pills like this have been popping up all over the city, as well as multiple Rifts disappearing. I'm uncertain if the group making this pills are also abducting people, but my gut says yes."</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson Taz raised an eyebrow when the baggy of pills was presented. "I've seen these before." He said once Nuada was done talking. "I saw a guy taking one of these at a party. The results were nothing to scoff at. And that came as quite a shock to me. The guy who took the pill was no lightweight and that was the first thing he'd taken all night, so there wasn't anything else in his system already." Taz looked up from the pills and back at Nuada. "So you wanna find out who's behind these pills and the missing Rifts?" Taz asked. "What comes next when you have? Do you just wanna run 'em off your turf? Do you wanna stamp 'em out altogether? What's your endgame here?"</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy "My endgame is to tear this weed out at the roots. I've seen what this drug does in the short run, a high like you've never seen. You haven't seen the long term yet." She pulled out two pictures, one of a large hulking beast with bone plating covering his skin, the other of a regular looking man wearing gym clothes. "An acquaintance of mine, Mitosis. His mythos allowed him to constantly adapt, causing him to look like this. After a few pills and a bit of time, it went away. Whoever is making these is suppressing Rift powers, possibly as a means to capture them."</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson "These things suppress Rift powers?" Taz asked as he looked at the two photos. "Damn. I wasn't happy about not being able to get one before. But I certainly am now."</s> <\|message\|>Rollen Jorgunson Rollen had the bartender serve him a tall glass of water as he drank it he dropped an asprin into the glass and took a long sip, as he did so the man only vaguely paid attention to the woman that he remembered seeing but couldn't remember her name and the other bloke with his tattooed arms as well as wild hair. He sobered up quickly which surprised even him yet the buzz was still there and slightly impaired him. "So your saying these pills make people...Normal? How is that a problem?" he rubbed his temples as he considered the possibility of being powerless and it didn't seem like a bad thing to him.</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson Taz gave Rollen a look that one would usually reserve for those who said or did something utterly nonsensical. Pills that made people normal... not a problem? Taz wondered if the guy was even speaking english at that moment. "You might want to call it quits on the alcohol for tonight." Taz said. "I think you're starting to get a little delirious."</s> <\|message\|>Rollen Jorgunson Rollen chuckled at the man's reply "Yeah delirious is one way to put it," he shook his head and rested his chin on his fist as he leaned against the surface of the bar counter "The ole noggin ain't what it used to be so I tend to think funny especially when I'm on the sauce" sighing he reached out a hand to Taz with a tired smile on his face "Nice to meet you. Oh nice ink by the way" Rollen didn't have any tattoos of his own but he appreciated the dedication it took to have something engraved in ones skin.</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson "Thanks." Taz said in reply to Rollen's words before taking the guy's hand and giving it a good firm shake. "It's nice to meet you too." Once the greetings were finished, Taz looked back at Nuada. "So, we've got some pictures, some pills, and a guy who won't talk." Taz said. "There anything else we should know about or is that all we have to go on?"</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy "The symbol on the bag is all I've been able to find, I think it's related to a Rift, but that's basic knowledge at this point, they wouldn't be able to make Rift drugs if they weren't one themselves," she replied to Taz. She then turned to Rollen, "The reason this is such an issue is what can happen to them. This man on this picture, he could survive a bomb with his Mythos, his body would adapt to it to save his life. Now, he can be injured by scraping his knee. Another person, I think she did the equivalent of OD'ing on these, she forgot everything about Mythos, Rifts, what have you. The two of you, and myself, are three extremely powerful individuals, especially being Borderline. We need to find the root cause of this and end it."</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson "And how might we go about doing that?" Taz asked when Nuada said they needed to put a stop to the pills. "What's our next step here?"</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy "The guy we have won't talk, yet," Nuada said to Taz, "I think that we need to find another one of these dealers and hope we find one who will talk."</s> <\|message\|>Rollen Jorgunson "Give em' time and with enough pressure your man may crack," Rollen shrugged "But it sounds like we don't have time to interrogate some bloke so where do you need us to go?" he asked eating a cracker from the tray of saltine's before him.</s>	<\|message\|>Sayuri Mitsukasa "BANG!" A sudden gunshot had just silenced the whole establishment. The gamblers were distracted, and for a split second the quick hands of the hosts were ready to rig their games, ensuring the fortune for this casino. Yet they hesitated, a patron had just shot someone, a woman. She was one of the singers who routinely came to Fortune Row once a week, known by her name Sayuri. Her performance entertained the patrons with night songs as they tested their luck through their favorite games; blackjack, poker, and roulette among others. There was a visible shock on the Sayuri's face. Her hands clutched on her stomach, as if she tried to hold the blood flowing out of the gunshot wound. The shooter was quickly taken down by a bouncer, a regret could be seen on his drunk face. Panic ensued, as people saw the shooter being brought somewhere, they gathered in curiosity, wondering what might happen to their favorite singer. As Sayuri stood up, one could see her abdomen skin revealed among her two-piece party dress. The singer's gunshot wound on her stomach slowly closed itself and the bullet was ejected from it, clinked as it fell onto the floor. "I... I'm fine..." said Sayuri, "I don't know how, but I'm fine."</s>
<\|description\|>Rowan Childe Rowan Childe {29M} Spiritual ⚝ Vegan ⚝ Perfectionist Bicurious ⚝ Junior Communication Major ⚝ Veteran Song: Blackbird - Fat Freddy's Drop Rowan is an older student and a veteran. He spent 8 years in the Marines before going back to school on his GI bill - unfortunately, average grades in high school meant he was only accepted into BCC. Though he was one of the "lucky ones" who never saw actual combat, his time overseas changed him. After experimenting with psychedelics during his first year at BCC, he had a spiritual awakening and has cut most ties with his old life. Now a nonviolent vegan, he is still struggling to find his place in the world and figure out what direction to take his life in. He doesn't feel like he's almost thirty, and rarely divulges his age, preferring to blend in among the younger students such as his flatmates. With his trademark dreadlocks and bright blue bicycle, he's a memorable figure around campus even though he rarely attends parties and has few close friends. Relationships: * Kalama Guynn: Roommate. Having only lived with Kalama for a few weeks, Rowan isn't quite sure what to make of her. He appreciates her passion for social justice and willingness to try his Vegan cooking, but found her messy breakup very disruptive to the peaceful energy he tries to cultivate around the apartment. * {Unfilled/NPC} Roommate Beta: * {Unfilled/NPC} Roommate Alpha: History: Rowan is originally from Georgia and still has a hint of the accent, although he tries to hide it. He doesn't talk much about his childhood, but it wasn't the happiest. Although his parents both loved them in their own ways, they were strict and devout people with little tolerance for perceived weakness or failure. He was a sensitive child and his father took it upon himself to make Rowan "man up" with frequent hunting trips, animal butchering, and manly activities like football and JROTC. Joining the Marines was as much to make his dad proud as to get him out of the house as soon as high school finished. Though he initially excelled and became close friends with the Chaplain, Rowan found it difficult to take leadership roles as he has little stomach for yelling at other people. During his second tour, his Chaplain was assaulted by her commander officer, resulting in her discharge and him being found not guilty at the court martial. This event rocked Rowan to his core and changed his opinion of the military for the worse. By the end of his eight years, he was thoroughly disillusioned with the military life and sought greater meaning. He initially hoped to find it in education, but ultimately found it in frequent LSD, psilocybin, and peyote trips instead. It was in his first year at BCC that he cut ties with the military, his family, and his religion. Though he has felt more at peace since that decision, he has also been profoundly lonely - a largely self-imposed isolation, as he has very high standards for himself and other people, making him difficult to get along with at times. Magic: Knack: Rowan has the ability to sense immediate danger to himself. As a kid, he called it his "Spidey sense". Though this ability won't tell him the source of the danger, any threat capable of killing or seriously injuring him within the next couple minutes will trigger a burst of adrenaline and let him know that something is wrong. This ability has prevented him from getting kicked by riled-up farm animals, stepping out in front of unseen traffic, and swimming in the ocean with a rip tide. Gift: Rowan has the ability to telepathically communicate in a limited capacity with animals. He can passively sense the intent of any animal within eyesight, and broadcast his intent to any or all animals within approximately one mile. While he cannot read their minds or control their actions, he can communicate basic concepts such as "I won't hurt you" or "this person is a bad person". After testing this on the campus squirrels, he used this ability to call a deer from the nearby woods into the student food court by broadcasting the intentions "I want to give you an apple" and "none of us will hurt you". The price of his Gift isn't too severe, but he is completely unaware of his surroundings while communicating with animals - he could be stabbed while communicating and not be aware of it until he returns to reality. Even once he does return, he is very disoriented once he comes back to reality and it puts a fog over his whole day similar to being hungover.</s> <\|message\|>Rowan Childe Posting order: @Laser Kiwi - @EurmalEye - @Blazion (except Tuesdays) - @alexfangtalon - @dabombjk Current plot arc: discover which Witch is the Supreme.</s> <\|message\|>Rowan Childe Briarwood Community College Background Community College isn't usually full of thrills and danger. The student body is the typical unassuming mix of high school underachievers, working class kids with a dream, and older people going back to class after years in the workplace. BCC, like the ox it has for a mascot, is a hardworking but unassuming campus. Most of the 62 students who signed up for Sociology 171: Witchcraft & Superstition were expecting a marginally interesting humanities credit. This semester is not going to go as planned. As per the syllabus, the third day of class involved a discussion of Covens & Supremes. To demonstrate the power of superstition, the professor had the class read aloud an incantation which, supposedly, will awaken any latent Supreme. Then the lights all went out. A few students screamed or shouted, and one or two people ran for the doors. The lights switched back on a few moments later and the the professor calmed everyone down, explaining that it was nothing more than a demonstration illustrating the power of superstition and suggestion. Most people laughed, went to sleep that night, and forgot about it. Most people, but not all. A few people had very strange dreams that night, and every night since. The days are little better. In the two weeks since that class, there have been a lot of strange incidents around town: A student's car burst into flames and he was badly burned before he could escape, a wild deer walked into the food court at peak lunch time, and several exams have been cancelled by fire alarms which were manually triggered despite security cameras showing empty halls. But things are about to get even weirder. The awakening Witches' dreams are getting more vivid and more powerful, and they're starting to sense each others' presence. As the new Supreme comes into their power, Briarwood may get its first full-fledged Coven in decades... unless everything goes terribly wrong. --- Friday 22 September 2017 4:10pm Sociology 171 has just ended and most students are leaving quickly, eager to start their weekend plans. The weather is overcast and cool, a brisk early autumn day. The ascendant Witches on campus are starting to really feel their magic, and sense the presence of other Witches in the area. Today, they are going to find out they aren't the only ones with powers. Currently, the group is headed to Poor Yorick's. Ostensibly this is for a study group, but magic has pulled them inexorably together.</s>	<\|message\|>Rowan Childe Kalama Guynn & Rowan Childe Central Courtyard It had been all but impossible to focus in class. Kalama was exhausted from several nearly-sleepless nights filled with guilt and longing. The lectue on the Salem Witch Trials could have put her to sleep, if she wasn't so afraid of what dreams may come if she dozed off. She took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air and pulled her puffy jacket a little tighter around herself, trying to decide if she wanted to go back home or grab a coffee. "Hey Kalama," Rowan greeted her, walking out of the building. She noticed dark smudges beneath his eyes and a certain desperation in his typically-peaceful demeanor. "Oh hey Rowan," She replied, feeling an odd sensation as he came closer. A magnetic pull, like the one that had been haunting her dreams recently. Was she going crazy? Hopefully it was just sleep deprivation. "I was thinking about getting a coffee at Poor Yorick's and going over my notes. You, uh... you want to start a study sess?" He hesitated for a moment. All of his instincts had been going haywire lately, ever since he convinced that squirrel to take an almond directly out of his hand last week. The deer incident would have convinced him he was losing his mind, if there hadn't been other students around to witness. Now his instincts were pulling him toward his flatmate, as relentless as the tide. "Sure," He accepted her invite with a strained smile. She didn't look too good either. Maybe the weird energy in the apartment was getting to her too. "Should we invite some of the others? My notes this week ain't the greatest." "Good idea," Kal answered, glancing around at the students trickling out of the lecture hall. They had all done introductions on the first day of class, but she was struggling to match names to faces. "Hey! If anyone is interested, we're going to be studying at Poor Yorick's," She called out, hoping that there would be some other takers. Being alone with Rowan might mean confronting the weird feeling between them, and she wasn't in any kind of mood for introspection with the shadow of what she'd done to Daria hanging over her head.</s>
<\|description\|>Rowan Childe Rowan Childe {29M} Spiritual ⚝ Vegan ⚝ Perfectionist Bicurious ⚝ Junior Communication Major ⚝ Veteran Song: Blackbird - Fat Freddy's Drop Rowan is an older student and a veteran. He spent 8 years in the Marines before going back to school on his GI bill - unfortunately, average grades in high school meant he was only accepted into BCC. Though he was one of the "lucky ones" who never saw actual combat, his time overseas changed him. After experimenting with psychedelics during his first year at BCC, he had a spiritual awakening and has cut most ties with his old life. Now a nonviolent vegan, he is still struggling to find his place in the world and figure out what direction to take his life in. He doesn't feel like he's almost thirty, and rarely divulges his age, preferring to blend in among the younger students such as his flatmates. With his trademark dreadlocks and bright blue bicycle, he's a memorable figure around campus even though he rarely attends parties and has few close friends. Relationships: * Kalama Guynn: Roommate. Having only lived with Kalama for a few weeks, Rowan isn't quite sure what to make of her. He appreciates her passion for social justice and willingness to try his Vegan cooking, but found her messy breakup very disruptive to the peaceful energy he tries to cultivate around the apartment. * {Unfilled/NPC} Roommate Beta: * {Unfilled/NPC} Roommate Alpha: History: Rowan is originally from Georgia and still has a hint of the accent, although he tries to hide it. He doesn't talk much about his childhood, but it wasn't the happiest. Although his parents both loved them in their own ways, they were strict and devout people with little tolerance for perceived weakness or failure. He was a sensitive child and his father took it upon himself to make Rowan "man up" with frequent hunting trips, animal butchering, and manly activities like football and JROTC. Joining the Marines was as much to make his dad proud as to get him out of the house as soon as high school finished. Though he initially excelled and became close friends with the Chaplain, Rowan found it difficult to take leadership roles as he has little stomach for yelling at other people. During his second tour, his Chaplain was assaulted by her commander officer, resulting in her discharge and him being found not guilty at the court martial. This event rocked Rowan to his core and changed his opinion of the military for the worse. By the end of his eight years, he was thoroughly disillusioned with the military life and sought greater meaning. He initially hoped to find it in education, but ultimately found it in frequent LSD, psilocybin, and peyote trips instead. It was in his first year at BCC that he cut ties with the military, his family, and his religion. Though he has felt more at peace since that decision, he has also been profoundly lonely - a largely self-imposed isolation, as he has very high standards for himself and other people, making him difficult to get along with at times. Magic: Knack: Rowan has the ability to sense immediate danger to himself. As a kid, he called it his "Spidey sense". Though this ability won't tell him the source of the danger, any threat capable of killing or seriously injuring him within the next couple minutes will trigger a burst of adrenaline and let him know that something is wrong. This ability has prevented him from getting kicked by riled-up farm animals, stepping out in front of unseen traffic, and swimming in the ocean with a rip tide. Gift: Rowan has the ability to telepathically communicate in a limited capacity with animals. He can passively sense the intent of any animal within eyesight, and broadcast his intent to any or all animals within approximately one mile. While he cannot read their minds or control their actions, he can communicate basic concepts such as "I won't hurt you" or "this person is a bad person". After testing this on the campus squirrels, he used this ability to call a deer from the nearby woods into the student food court by broadcasting the intentions "I want to give you an apple" and "none of us will hurt you". The price of his Gift isn't too severe, but he is completely unaware of his surroundings while communicating with animals - he could be stabbed while communicating and not be aware of it until he returns to reality. Even once he does return, he is very disoriented once he comes back to reality and it puts a fog over his whole day similar to being hungover.</s> <\|message\|>o Under Construction for Necessary Retcon Warning Read This Post at Your Own Confusion --- --- The alarm blared on the beside table almost begging for the person in bed to turn it off. Elysia groggily rolled over slamming the top of the clock. Looking at the time Ely groaned. After lunch, she had come home to rest before her next class but not for this long. Those stupid drawings. She still hasn't been able to get a full night's rest since they started. She got up from her bed to see two drawings laid on her desk one slightly crumpled. The first one she remembered drawing about a week ago. It showed her standing in Poor Yorick's and in front of her there was a table full of textbooks and some completely random objects. There were six dumbbells stacked on each other, a Hot Wheels with fire print on the side, a set of boxing gloves one being extremely worn down with the other looking brand new, a plush spider with dreadlocks, and a rat holding a Phillips head with a black grip. The drawing had one of those turning blocks that indicated dates on the counter but everything other than the day of the week was obscured. She had gone there last Friday but nothing stuck out to her that matched the drawing. What was really weird though was that the rat was identical to the one in the new drawing. In the top right was a street sign that she didn't recognize but a simple check of the phone would help with that. The center of the drawing showed her sitting on a park bench and beside her was that rat from the first picture. She looked back to the first wondering if it was more important than she had originally thought. She looked at the second to see if anything indicated when to be there. She saw nothing of the sort and got a little annoyed. Did that mean now? What were these drawings? It was so confusing. Grumbling to herself she gathered her things and left. Checking her phone she saw that the road wasn't too far away. She decided to go check it out. Her hope was that if she kept following these pictures she'd eventually figure out what was going on with her. It took a couple of minutes to get to the road. Finding the park bench was a little harder. She eventually saw a bench that seemed in the right position and the surrounding scenery was similar. The only thing different was that a guy was laughing on the ground by the swings. That was definitely odd. Ely didn't see anyone else around. There also wasn't a rat on the bench. Looking towards the guy Elysia's stomach started to churn and her hand began shaking. This park looked like no one had been here in a long time. Who was this guy? He seemed alone. Momentary doubt of going to the bench entered her mind, but the drawings hadn't lead her into bad situations so far. So, ignoring her gut instincts Ely, head down, walked over to the bench and sat down in the exact position designated from the picture. Avoiding looking at the guy she decided to pull out a sketchpad and began drawing the rat which had appeared in her past two drawings. Hopefully, this would help her be able to recognize it whenever it appeared.</s> <\|message\|>Kyle Hishamie Kyle Hishamie Interesting Fact about the Salem Witch Trials. There were actually more people accused of being witches in the town of Andover than in the town of Salem. Although most of the accused witches were women, some men were also accused. A majority of the people who claimed to be "afflicted" by witches were girls under the age of 20 Kyle, sitting at attention in class, managed to finish writing down the notes from the lecture right before the end of class. With a small bead of sweat running down the nape of his neck, Kyle realized something about himself he had not known before. It has been years since Kyle sat down in a classroom, and even longer since he felt like he needed to jot down serious notes. It isn't as if the Salem Witch trials were particularly hard to learn about, but the sitting still amongst civilians and learning about something other than his MOS turned out to be slightly more difficult than he remembered. At times he found he needed to force himself to snap back to reality when he caught his attention drifting away from the professors words. In truth, Kyle had not paid too much attention in the beginning of class. Almost as if he had just arrived on the scene. It would be easier to concentrate too if extremely hard to remember details of somehow vivid but easily forgettable dreams had not been the subject of his minds attention span. Get your shit together soldier, Kyle had said to himself with quiet trepidation under his breath and in the middle of class, Think of this as just another battlefield. Except....if you fail you wont die...Ok not a battlefield exactly but still get you're shit together man His discipline and mental fortitude could only take him so far though. Kyle kept his mind awake and on point by taking several small and quick gulps of water from his water bottle that he had brought with him and powered on until the end of the lecture. Kyle had not spoken yet to any of his classmates, but at the sound of many people leaving together to go to a study group he stayed in his seat for a few moments after everyone had left. The professor could see Kyle putting his notes together and into the binder he brought and getting ready to leave so the professor paid him no mind. As Kyle gathered his things and stood slowly he began to think to himself. I should...go to that study group thing with the others it was an open invitation after all. I mean, what if I missed something important in the moments my attention was not where it should have been? Kyle began to walk towards the class door, Binder in one hand and water bottle in the other, when he stopped right in front of the door hand outstretched. But...I shouldn't bother others, they don't know me and everyone was.....well no matter. I should at least attempt to exchange lesson information with at least one of them. Kyle left the classroom and walked with a purpose, shoulders broad and head held high even if inside of him he felt the complete opposite. I may not be worth the time it takes to exchange class notes but I missed parts of the lecture, that's on me and I need to take responsibility. The dreams he had been having as of late continued to burn in an insatiably curious way in his mind. Kyle could almost make out certain parts but just as he would start to remember the details would vanish from his memory. It was beyond irritating to Kyle but he tried his best to push the thoughts out of his mind. He had fallen behind the other students and did not want to get lost trying to find them. It was mostly a straight shot, or rather the way to the destined location was easy to get to, to Poor Yorick's. Kyle had never been, but learning more about the city he was in by reading maps was something he did every time he moved to a new city or base. It helped put his mind at ease for in the event of an emergency he wouldn't be completely lost at least. Although.......his sense of direction left much to be desired. It took a fair bit of time but pretty soon the group of students he has seen leaving together and more were in view at least. Kyle was wearing a V neck dark blue, long sleeve shirt with black jeans and slip on shoes with black socks. Not the most comfortable thing to run in but as his physique was in excellent condition since he kept up his army training regiment after been released Kyle had been able to catch up without breaking a sweat. It simply took awhile, to the point where they were almost at their predestined location by the time he had caught up. Kyle had not seen the rat, the injured man, or anything out of the ordinary besides some minor distress that he had no idea the cause of. When Kyle was within loud voice speaking distance he spoke up hoping at least on person would respond. Howdy, Kyle said in a loud enough tone to be heard but not loud enough to be considered shouting, Im..Kyle..From class. I was hoping I could join ya'll. Kyle rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand. Christ he hated talking to people. He was sure they would tell him to fuck off. He looked so out of place, a young muscular adult who just sorta came from nowhere. He had stayed silent the entire class so did anyone even notice him? Hopefully not.</s>	<\|message\|>Rowan Childe Kalama Guynn & Rowan Childe Sidewalk -> Poor Yorick's Forest horse. After all the tension and strangeness of the past few minutes, Valeria's statement was so delightfully incongruous that Kalama couldn't help but giggle. Even Rowan, trying his best not to offend their athletic companion, couldn't hold back a brief chuckle. Everything about the situation was surreal, and each of them was suspicious of it for their own reasons, but he could feel that some tension had subsided within the group. Despite Kal's initial hostility towards Caleb, Rowan could tell her guard had dropped a little after his actions. Of course, he could also tell that was exactly what Caleb had intended - all his time in the military had made Corporal Childe adept at reading group dynamics, and that was a skill that translated well here. "Thanks Valeria! I work at Poor Yorick's, so if I make our drinks we can get them half price," Kalama offered, well aware that her barista skills were way ahead of the evening's scheduled crew. And that gave her an opportunity to put a heart in Valeria's foam... not that it was the reason she offered, of course. There was much too much going on to be distracted by beautiful women, no matter how muscular. The arrival of another member to their party was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Rowan immediately made space for Kyle to walk beside them and offered him a kind smile. "Sure thing, Kyle. We can never have too many notes at a group study. I'm Rowan. That's Kalama, Caleb, and Valeria," he introduced, hoping the odd events of the past few minutes would quickly be forgotten. Especially the way he had almost tripped over his own feet when Valeria brought up the deer he had summoned. His newfound power felt so surreal he wanted to make sure he wasn't just imagining things, but he hadn't realized how much attention that would draw until he came out of his trance to realize that dozens of other students had just witnessed a deer come up and take an apple out of his hand while he appeared to be meditating. It was on Instagram almost immediately, and even though he didn't have social media he had heard enough whispers around campus to know he had fucked up. Luckily there was no time for the group to gossip before they arrived at the coffee house. Kalama lead the way to a more private table in back, leaving her bag and coat and rolling up her sleeves to get to work on the drinks. "So, let me guess. Rowan wants a chai with almond milk. Valeria, I think you look like a whole milk latte kind of girl. Kyle... brewed coffee with cream, no sugar? And Caleb - nonfat caramel latte with cinnamon. Am I close?" She asked, trying to lighten the mood a bit.</s>
<\|description\|>Rowan Childe Rowan Childe {29M} Spiritual ⚝ Vegan ⚝ Perfectionist Bicurious ⚝ Junior Communication Major ⚝ Veteran Song: Blackbird - Fat Freddy's Drop Rowan is an older student and a veteran. He spent 8 years in the Marines before going back to school on his GI bill - unfortunately, average grades in high school meant he was only accepted into BCC. Though he was one of the "lucky ones" who never saw actual combat, his time overseas changed him. After experimenting with psychedelics during his first year at BCC, he had a spiritual awakening and has cut most ties with his old life. Now a nonviolent vegan, he is still struggling to find his place in the world and figure out what direction to take his life in. He doesn't feel like he's almost thirty, and rarely divulges his age, preferring to blend in among the younger students such as his flatmates. With his trademark dreadlocks and bright blue bicycle, he's a memorable figure around campus even though he rarely attends parties and has few close friends. Relationships: * Kalama Guynn: Roommate. Having only lived with Kalama for a few weeks, Rowan isn't quite sure what to make of her. He appreciates her passion for social justice and willingness to try his Vegan cooking, but found her messy breakup very disruptive to the peaceful energy he tries to cultivate around the apartment. * {Unfilled/NPC} Roommate Beta: * {Unfilled/NPC} Roommate Alpha: History: Rowan is originally from Georgia and still has a hint of the accent, although he tries to hide it. He doesn't talk much about his childhood, but it wasn't the happiest. Although his parents both loved them in their own ways, they were strict and devout people with little tolerance for perceived weakness or failure. He was a sensitive child and his father took it upon himself to make Rowan "man up" with frequent hunting trips, animal butchering, and manly activities like football and JROTC. Joining the Marines was as much to make his dad proud as to get him out of the house as soon as high school finished. Though he initially excelled and became close friends with the Chaplain, Rowan found it difficult to take leadership roles as he has little stomach for yelling at other people. During his second tour, his Chaplain was assaulted by her commander officer, resulting in her discharge and him being found not guilty at the court martial. This event rocked Rowan to his core and changed his opinion of the military for the worse. By the end of his eight years, he was thoroughly disillusioned with the military life and sought greater meaning. He initially hoped to find it in education, but ultimately found it in frequent LSD, psilocybin, and peyote trips instead. It was in his first year at BCC that he cut ties with the military, his family, and his religion. Though he has felt more at peace since that decision, he has also been profoundly lonely - a largely self-imposed isolation, as he has very high standards for himself and other people, making him difficult to get along with at times. Magic: Knack: Rowan has the ability to sense immediate danger to himself. As a kid, he called it his "Spidey sense". Though this ability won't tell him the source of the danger, any threat capable of killing or seriously injuring him within the next couple minutes will trigger a burst of adrenaline and let him know that something is wrong. This ability has prevented him from getting kicked by riled-up farm animals, stepping out in front of unseen traffic, and swimming in the ocean with a rip tide. Gift: Rowan has the ability to telepathically communicate in a limited capacity with animals. He can passively sense the intent of any animal within eyesight, and broadcast his intent to any or all animals within approximately one mile. While he cannot read their minds or control their actions, he can communicate basic concepts such as "I won't hurt you" or "this person is a bad person". After testing this on the campus squirrels, he used this ability to call a deer from the nearby woods into the student food court by broadcasting the intentions "I want to give you an apple" and "none of us will hurt you". The price of his Gift isn't too severe, but he is completely unaware of his surroundings while communicating with animals - he could be stabbed while communicating and not be aware of it until he returns to reality. Even once he does return, he is very disoriented once he comes back to reality and it puts a fog over his whole day similar to being hungover.</s> <\|message\|>o --- --- Elysia sat in the corner of the coffee shop, eyelids slowly drooping as she felt sleep trying to pull her back in. Before she felt herself give in to the drowsiness she shook her head. She covered her mouth as a deep, silent yawn escaped her. Even the coffee she had beside her wasn't helping that much. She looked at the textbook laying open in front of her. The bland text wasn't making anything any easier. The young woman began mentally berating herself for falling asleep rather than going to class. She already had stopped enjoying the class after the demonstration by their teacher so keeping up with the class was already hard enough. She looked at her phone and started thinking that today may not be the right day either. She closed the book and started packing her things when she heard the door open and saw a bunch of familiar faces walk in. She looked at them trying to remember where she knew them from when one of them mentioned class and another mentioned notes. Her sleep-deprived mind took longer than normal to remember that she shared classes with these people. Then she realized they were all in the class she had just slept through. What a stroke of luck. Had this been what her drawing was guiding her to? But wait, it was because of the drawings that she fell asleep and missed class. This was so confusing. She shook her head trying to center her attention. She didn't have time to deal with the dumb pictures. She needed to try and get some help with this class. Elysia stuck everything except her textbook, notebook, phone, and coffee in her bag then cautiously started walking towards the crowd. As she got closer it felt oddly comforting. Like she was being drawn in towards a big warm hug. Before she reached them she quickly typed a message on her phone. Once she stepped up she waved trying to draw the attention of one of them. Once she got it she hit the play button on her app, "Hi. My name is Elysia. I share a class with all of you. I accidentally missed class. Do any of you have notes you could share?"</s> <\|message\|>Kyle Hishamie Kyle Hishamie Belief in the supernatural–and specifically in the devil's practice of giving certain humans (witches) the power to harm others in return for their loyalty–had emerged in Europe as early as the 14th century, and was widespread in colonial New England. Tension, confusion, hyper awareness. All of these feelings were running rampant all throughout Kyle. He himself made the decision to make himself a part of this group, even while unaware of the supernatural tug pulling him towards his classmates. He himself wanted to come out of his shell in some small way by following after this current group, even though not a single cell in his body truly wanted to interact with others. All he really wanted to do was see if he had missed anything important in class for his education may not have entirely depended on it but if history is anything to pay attention to even the small details matter. Kyle appreciated that he was welcomed easily enough, in Kyles head he had given himself plenty of reasons why they would not be as kind as they were. No matter how kind they were, Kyle could not shake that indescribable sensation that flowed throughout his entire being that he was not going to be welcomed soon enough. Within moments of entering the shop Kyle had pinpointed every point of entrance and every exit within sight of the customer side of the shop. If need be he could escape any situation that may arise or simply walk away if he wanted to. Kyle took his seat near the edge of the table closest to the walkway and put his binder and bottle in his lap. Thank you but I...I would prefer water. No ice. Kyles face was not filled with glee nor sadness, anger nor stiffness. If anything his expression was blank. Some might confuse it with some other emotion, but how can one correctly display emotionlessness or rather how do you display an emotion you truly do not feel. Have not felt in years. Numbness was his ally, it kept his secrets and kept his thoughts private. Thank you, Kyle said to Kalama. Kyle wanted to speak up and ask to see if anyone would compare notes with him but he could not move his mouth to speak at the idea of having to....socialize. It was what he was here to do and he was already failing. Mentally Kyle smacked himself, thinking how pathetic he was. He wasn't nervous or scared, not really. These people seemed very nice in fact. The others were beginning to exchange notes or at least offer to and were making small talk. Kyle grabbed his right wrist with his left hand underneath the table and squeezed himself with a fair amount of pressure. Using his muscles in his body was easier than using the muscles in his mouth to speak. When the piece of paper with peoples numbers were being written on was passed to him Kyle pulled out his pen, but paused before writing anything. Did he want everyone to have this type of information on him? Did he want to give out his cell number, only to not be invited again because he did something weird or silly? Was it worth the risk? Kyle rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand, his muscles clearly evident through his long sleeve shirt. He became slightly over himself, thinking on how dumb this was. Of course they wouldn't want to do this with him again, he was nothing and no one so what did it hurt. He wrote his real cell number down and passed along the paper. When the newest addition joined the group, and used her phone to communicate with the others, Kyle solemnly nodded towards her. This was his chance! He missed out on conversating at first but with a new addition he had an excuse to say something first. He would not waste this, Kyle knew he needed to seize the moment or just go home. Kyle raised his binder from his lap and opened it on the table. When he spoke he spoke to her and to everyone else. I....have notes. I took them....obviously....I believe I got most of the lesson but I may have missed a few sentences. Kyles notes, he believed, were pretty decent. He hadn't looked at the others notes yet but he believed his hand writing was legible and his notes were in order. Kyle believed in being one hundred percent prepared so just to be safe he wrote down everything that was said in the order it was said, with breaks in paragraphs for pauses and such. If anyone wants to....I mean....you know look at them....you guys can. Kyle took a sip of his drink and tried to meet everyone's eyes that looked at him as he spoke. Thankfully, while he speak not slowly but somewhat unwillingly and maybe even a little awkwardly, he could keep all of his personal thoughts and feelings to himself. Kyle assumed for the rest of the time spent with the group he would spend listening rather than talking which is what he preferred. That's when the first of many unusual events began to unfold due to Kyle. While he preferred to listen rather than speak, since a new arrival had joined and he had taken his chance to speak he believed why not continue? The class was...pretty easy huh? Kind of boring? He spoke to everyone in the group but when he focused his words on a single individual, Elysia, A weird feeling overcame Kyles entire body, a new sensation he had never felt before. If he had not been so hyper focused he probably would have missed it. Doesn't it make you happy that class wasn't very long? I doubt I could have stayed awake too much longer. This would be the very first case while in college of Kyle using his hidden power of Emotional Suggestion. Unintentional of course, and not in any way dangerous at least this time. Kyle suddenly felt a sharp pain behind his left eye, almost making him wince from the pain. Kyle held his composure nearly perfectly, having felt far far worse physical pain before. He had meant to speak to everyone both times but when he felt that weird sensation he suddenly felt pulled to speak to a single induvial, which had happened to be the closest person to himself.</s>	<\|message\|>Rowan Childe Kalama Guynn & Rowan Childe Poor Yorick's He added his number to the sheet and passed it on just as the latest addition to their group arrived. Feeling the same inexplicable connection, Rowan offered Elysia a small smile and wave. He couldn't help but be pleased when Kyle started the conversation so it didn't fall to him again. "Yeah, it was easier than most. I have some notes too, but I kind of faded out halfway through," the young man admitted, opening his binder to reveal only half a page. "I haven't been sleeping well lately and that lecture almost knocked me out." He played idly with one of his dreadlocks as he spoke, a nervous tick that seemed incongruous with his otherwise calm demeanor. Caleb's whistle did not endear him to Kalama, but otherwise the drink-making went smoothly. Rather than refuse Kyle's unusual request, she prepared a plain glass of water for him and also a mug of house blend herbal tea. Chamomile, lavender, and a handful of other herbs designed to soothe the nerves and calm anxious students. Maybe he wasn't anxious, exactly, but he looked like he could use the soothing. Distributing the drinks around the table, she set the two down in front of him with a little smile. "It's on me. No caffeine, no gluten, just a lot of flavor. If you don't like it you don't have to drink it... but I think you will," She explained. Though it seemed a stretch to call her drink-making ability magical, like her grandmother she had always associated sharing food and drink with family and coming together - which seemed mysteriously appropriate for this group, even if she couldn't put her finger on why. "Elysia, this is Kalama. Would you like anything to drink?" Rowan made the introduction in what seemed to be his permanent role now. He flicked a glance to Kal to see if she minded, but she was already looking to Elysia and seemed willing enough to get up one more time. While she was at the table, he passed her the group text sign up sheet and she quickly scrawled her number, maybe not realizing who had started the whole thing.</s>
<\|description\|>Rowan Childe Rowan Childe {29M} Spiritual ⚝ Vegan ⚝ Perfectionist Bicurious ⚝ Junior Communication Major ⚝ Veteran Song: Blackbird - Fat Freddy's Drop Rowan is an older student and a veteran. He spent 8 years in the Marines before going back to school on his GI bill - unfortunately, average grades in high school meant he was only accepted into BCC. Though he was one of the "lucky ones" who never saw actual combat, his time overseas changed him. After experimenting with psychedelics during his first year at BCC, he had a spiritual awakening and has cut most ties with his old life. Now a nonviolent vegan, he is still struggling to find his place in the world and figure out what direction to take his life in. He doesn't feel like he's almost thirty, and rarely divulges his age, preferring to blend in among the younger students such as his flatmates. With his trademark dreadlocks and bright blue bicycle, he's a memorable figure around campus even though he rarely attends parties and has few close friends. Relationships: * Kalama Guynn: Roommate. Having only lived with Kalama for a few weeks, Rowan isn't quite sure what to make of her. He appreciates her passion for social justice and willingness to try his Vegan cooking, but found her messy breakup very disruptive to the peaceful energy he tries to cultivate around the apartment. * {Unfilled/NPC} Roommate Beta: * {Unfilled/NPC} Roommate Alpha: History: Rowan is originally from Georgia and still has a hint of the accent, although he tries to hide it. He doesn't talk much about his childhood, but it wasn't the happiest. Although his parents both loved them in their own ways, they were strict and devout people with little tolerance for perceived weakness or failure. He was a sensitive child and his father took it upon himself to make Rowan "man up" with frequent hunting trips, animal butchering, and manly activities like football and JROTC. Joining the Marines was as much to make his dad proud as to get him out of the house as soon as high school finished. Though he initially excelled and became close friends with the Chaplain, Rowan found it difficult to take leadership roles as he has little stomach for yelling at other people. During his second tour, his Chaplain was assaulted by her commander officer, resulting in her discharge and him being found not guilty at the court martial. This event rocked Rowan to his core and changed his opinion of the military for the worse. By the end of his eight years, he was thoroughly disillusioned with the military life and sought greater meaning. He initially hoped to find it in education, but ultimately found it in frequent LSD, psilocybin, and peyote trips instead. It was in his first year at BCC that he cut ties with the military, his family, and his religion. Though he has felt more at peace since that decision, he has also been profoundly lonely - a largely self-imposed isolation, as he has very high standards for himself and other people, making him difficult to get along with at times. Magic: Knack: Rowan has the ability to sense immediate danger to himself. As a kid, he called it his "Spidey sense". Though this ability won't tell him the source of the danger, any threat capable of killing or seriously injuring him within the next couple minutes will trigger a burst of adrenaline and let him know that something is wrong. This ability has prevented him from getting kicked by riled-up farm animals, stepping out in front of unseen traffic, and swimming in the ocean with a rip tide. Gift: Rowan has the ability to telepathically communicate in a limited capacity with animals. He can passively sense the intent of any animal within eyesight, and broadcast his intent to any or all animals within approximately one mile. While he cannot read their minds or control their actions, he can communicate basic concepts such as "I won't hurt you" or "this person is a bad person". After testing this on the campus squirrels, he used this ability to call a deer from the nearby woods into the student food court by broadcasting the intentions "I want to give you an apple" and "none of us will hurt you". The price of his Gift isn't too severe, but he is completely unaware of his surroundings while communicating with animals - he could be stabbed while communicating and not be aware of it until he returns to reality. Even once he does return, he is very disoriented once he comes back to reality and it puts a fog over his whole day similar to being hungover.</s> <\|message\|>o --- --- lightseagreen The young woman thankfully nodded her head at the man who held the door open for her. Elysia felt her foot catch on the doorway but thankfully she caught herself. She was so tired. Why had she come out today? She took a few deep breaths and rapidly blinked her eyes to shake the dreariness away. When she refocused her vision, the man who had opened the door for her was standing there with a concerned expression. Maneuvering the things in her hands she used her phone to let him know she was alright. Just terribly tired. Soon leaving the awkward conversation Elysia made her way through the halls to where her new group was meeting. She could see all but Kyle. Well, hopefully, he would arrive soon. Otherwise, the coffee she had gotten for him would get cold. Approaching the growing number of students she waved and held up a notecard she had prepared earlier. I got everyone something to drink. I got mostly generic drinks so sorry if there aren't any you like. It was then that she noticed they were all still standing outside the classroom. That was odd. Was the TA not here yet? Puzzled she precariously balanced the coffee's again and using her phone. "Did she say she would be late?"</s> <\|message\|>Kyle Hishamie Kyle Hishamie Picking up and ending from the where we were last Kyle was nearly finished writing in his small notebook when he felt a cough about to erupt from his throat. Quickly Kyle grabbed a tissue from his pocket that he acquired earlier in the day and coughed into it, producing several soft but rapid coughs. He did not need to look to be able to tell that there was blood on the tissue, a problem he has been having for a good portion of the day. Using his powers was rather unhealthy for him, when used multiple times with a power suggestion that is, and caused him to bleed more than Kyle was comfortable with. That did not mean this impeded his experiments but rather forced him to take breaks from time to time. Rehydrating and eating helped so it seemed his body recovered in time if left alone but can also healed quicker by reinforcing the body with supplementation and nutrient. Using less powerful suggestions did in fact lessen the burden placed on his body and with time and practice Kyle could tell he could lessen that pain to almost nothing if he worked at it consistently. The fact that he had written this down was something he would most likely not share with his newfound companions, but the fact that a body can recover in multiple ways confirmed is a useful fact to know that he would share. The others might already know this but it is unlikely that everyone's magic worked the same way anyways. Flame Wonder seemed to be hurt by their flames if Kyle recalled correctly. Luckily he might be able to help in a very small way with that, he just needed to remember to say something at the group meeting. Kyle suddenly took his phone out at checked the time, sighing slightly when he saw he had a few hours. He had plenty of time so no way would he be late if he stayed where he was for awhile, is what Kyle thought to himself. Kyle was sitting on a brown metal bench next to the side of a building in a shopping plaza. Most people around where he was were walking around, going in and out of different shops, while having parked close by in a parking lot. Kyle liked to go to plazas like this when he wrote in his notebook if he could not do it at home, mainly because he would find a spot that had a convenient sitting area where someone could not catch him from behind. He would write, and ponder in thought, but kept one eye out with his head on a cholent swivel checking his three and nine. He had been sitting in a park earlier but was unfortunate to be there as the same time as several school children been running amuck in the park, acting as children do but were enough of a nuisance for Kyle to want to find somewhere else to write. If attractive surroundings were not available then a secure location was better. That being said, danger was always present. Kyle narrowly avoided a skateboard to the head by quickly and quite suddenly ducking down and diving forward, only being saved by seeing the oncoming threat out of the corner of his right eye. Kyle ended his roll by landing on one knee and looking towards the two young men running towards him. Stopping only a few feet in front of Kyle after retrieving his skateboard the first youth spoke. "Damn dude my bad, that was insane," exclaimed the youth in obvious shock, "Ya just...dodged my board dude. Like a ninja." Kyle rolled his eyes and sighed, wondering why he had to be bothered when he had done nothing wrong. Accidents happen though, Kyle thought. He stood up slowly and brushed himself off, eyeing the two youths. Kyle smirked, thinking how this could be a prime time to test something he had been meaning to but figured he could try tomorrow. "You ight dude", the second of the youths asked weirded out. To him this ninja guy was being awfully quiet and eerie. "YO you got sand in your ears dude", The first of the youths asked annoyed. Kyle held up his right hand in defeat and spoke. "Hey now, I have a great idea", Kyle spoke his voice filling the air with a sense of magic. Kyle looked directly into the eyes of the first youth and spoke. "Your friend next to you looks like her could kick your ass. Doesn't th-", Kyle tried say but was cut short by a sudden cough. More than a few droplets of blood were attached to the palm he covered his mouth with but Kyle wiped his hand on the bac of his pants and continued. "-Doesn't that piss you off even a little?" Kyle then turned to look the second confused youth in the eyes. "Your friend there has better brand clothes than you. Doesn't that make you green with envy?" The two youths looked momentarily confused then turned to look at each other. Youth number one spoke first. "This dude is fucking weird but......what? Why you looking at me bruh? You wanna kick my ass? You think you could?" The second of the youths replied, "Fuck you you think your better than me? Cause yo fat momma gives you money all the ti-," The second youth was cut short by the first youth suddenly slamming his fist into his friends face. For a minute they tussled in such a way, each exchanging blows with the other, while Kyle looked down in disapproval. His power did not make them fight, they were ready to fight all on their own. They just needed a little push, dumbass kids that they were. Kyle watched the two fight as others began to spectate or walk away, and after another minute Kyle stepped in. He kicked the friend on top of the other off with a swift kick to the ribs, the grabbed the second and hoisted him up to his feet. With a decisive blow Kyle gut punched the youth, knocking the wind out of him. Tired and in pain, the two youths laid on the ground in pain. Kyle walked in between the two and sighed. Kyle grabbed one of the youths head and opened his eyes, forcing eye contact. "Listen, woulndt you rather be feeling happy than in pain?" After a few moments and no responce Kyle again spoke a bit firmer. "Don't you notice how parched you feel more than the pain or anger?" Again Kyle waited a few moments but this time the youth quit writhing in pain and began to stand up, exclaiming how thirsty he was. Kyle smiled then proceeded to do the same with the one he suggested jealousy to. After a few moments the youths left in search of nourishment and the crowd dispatched but Kyle remained where he was, smiling. He could not control others actions but if he could find out or predict what makes someone tick he now knows he can influence their decision making if they are emotional like the youth of today are. Kyle winced as another headache came on strong just as suddenly as before. The pain was something he was used to, but he was a civilian now and had ways to deal with it. After a quick trip to a medicine store in the plaza and a quick bite to eat Kyle checked his phone and was alarmed to see how the time flew. He was going to be late to the group meeting! Kyle, as quick as he could, raced to the library. Library / 12:51 Kyle walked up to the group, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his head. He had tried to run as quick as he could but he had forgotten about the meeting in the commotion of his experiment and not all the pain from that had subsided yet. Kyle took a drink from a water bottle he had with him and sighed. "Sorry I am late, but I learned some amazing things about my magic in return."</s>	<\|message\|>Rowan Childe Kalama Guynn & Rowan Childe Kalama paled noticeably as Caleb brought up Daria, panic rising for a moment until she realized he still didn't know anything else about the situation. Guilt started to replace the panic, and then Rowan opened his mouth. "Are you sure she would want to see us, Caleb?" The veteran asked, scratching his short beard awkwardly. "I would be glad to visit, but I'm not sure seeing her ex would really be best for her healing..." Luckily for Kal, the others started arriving before that conversation could continue. She thanked the other girls for bringing treats, feeling a little guilty that she hadn't thought of the same. Maybe she should have spent last night testing her magic cooking instead of her fire, in hindsight "What did you learn, Kyle?" She asked eagerly, hoping there would be something he had learned that could help her out too. "Here she comes," Rowan interrupted, giving them a warning glance about the topic of conversation as the TA hurried towards them, the high heels on her black boots rapping sharply against the linoleum floors. "Sorry I'm running late," Bela Ward said to the group, shoving her armful of papers and folders into Rowan's open hands as she fumbled for her keys and unlocked the door, flipping on the lights and ushering them all inside. The TA was a tall and thin woman who looked maybe 25, with thin features and fine blonde hair in a messy pixie cut. She wore a rosey pink sweater dress and black tights, and Kalama couldn't help but notice that her makeup was impeccable: dramatic winged eyeliner, smokey eyeshadow, blood red lipstick without a smudge or flaw. "No problem, we were just discussing what questions we had," Rowan explained, setting her things down on the large round table before pulling up a seat across from her. It seemed to make more sense to have the people with emotionally tuned powers sit closest to their target. "I think we were all a bit confused about that one class over ritual and superstition. You know, the one where we did that chant or summoning thing." "The ritual of awakening? That's not on the midterm, I wouldn't worry too much about it," Bela advised, putting on a thick pair of glasses and sorting through her papers. "Fascinating to think that people used to consider things like that extremely powerful, isn't it?"</s>
<\|description\|>Denise Matheson Age: 27 Gender: Female Occupation in the group: Techie Fears: Experiencing intense pain, watching her loved ones suffer, bugs, Bio: Born and raised in a fairly strict household as an only-child, Denise was heavily disciplined from a young age. Her parents were well off, but that didn't mean they allowed her to slack off. Due to her upbringing, when she was in high school, Denise got drawn to the wrong crowd. She gained street smarts, that which is learned from experience. One of the kids in her group, Jason, had a crush on her. In order for him to spend more time with her, he asked her if she wanted a part-time job at the repair shop his dad owned. It was easy money, and the workload was extremely light, almost non-existent. Denise agreed, figuring she could use her own money without having to go ask her parents. Currently, Denise is working as an IT manager at the hospital. She stayed in the field throughout the years and she never looked back. Bored one evening, she saw an online post regarding a replacement needed for a tech position, Denise figured the experience might be fun, and decided to respond. Looks: A small-framed woman, Denise is not the least bit intimidating. She stands at 5'3 and weighs roughly 115 lbs. Despite spending quite a bit of time outside on a regular basis, her skin is fairly light. Denise has brown hair as well as brown eyes, though she may decide to switch up her look by adding some highlights to her hair depending on the time of year. She has no tattoos and no additional piercings aside from those on her ears. Her style can best be described as modern and comfortable with the occasional eye-catching accessory.</s> <\|message\|>Philip Martin "Joe's DEAD, Denise!" Philip said with eyes strained wide, "The trees ATE him. Do you understand?" He was making an immense effort to maintain control but loosing rabidly. "Your body was taken over already, there's no time to ask if this is real or staged like some kind of murder mystery." He snapped his head towards TJ, fear overwhelming his rational mind. "You keep stepping up like your still in charge of this fuck fest! This place is a goddam mouse trap! We are Walking Dead!" He grabbed TJ by the collar of his jacket, "I'm tired of your fucking 'reasonable' recommendations! I DON'T WANT TO FUCKING DIE!!!" He screamed into TJ's face and then dropped to his knees, his breath heaving in and out of his chest. Demons, that was his obsession. If demon's were real, then God was real, and then there was hope and meaning to life. Find the monster, find the hero, that was his plan, but everything was going so very wrong. In the video's and the training the monsters had always been distant, maybe affecting some poor innocent person by possessing them or making a book fly across the room; there was no precedent for the power of the evil of this place, and they had only seen the beginning! How could no one know what was possible? How could the church be so ignorant of the truth? Maybe, just maybe, evil kept the truth of its power a secret by killing everyone who ever saw it. That did not bode well for the team's chance of surviving through the night! "I'm sorry TJ," Philip said weakly from his position on the ground, "I'm so sorry... I'm just really scared, I... i.... don't know..." Philip moved to try and stand up.</s> <\|message\|>Pandora Blair None of the others seemed too concerned about Joe, but her vision weighed heavily on Pandora's mind for the entire walk back to the vehicles. It was easy enough for them to ignore, to choose to focus on the phenomena they had actually seen, but the young psychic had gotten a better look at Joe than even Denise. She could still hear the wet sound of freshly-peeled skin hitting the floor, hear his strained breathing, his screams... the sight of the vehicles finally pulled her from her dark thoughts with a shot of adrenaline. This was no time to be freaking out - like TJ said, this was life or death. Her powers weren't some party trick anymore, now they could potentially be the thing to save her life or the lives of her friends. Memories of the car accident all those years ago sprang into her head, but she pushed them down again. She could not, would not, dare fail again. "Denise will be my partner," She told their self-elected leader in a voice that wasn't taking any arguments. "She's the most vulnerable to psychic attack, and I'd rather pee in front of another girl, thanks." Trying to look braver than she felt, the blonde stepped over to the other woman, giving her a reassuring smile. Pandora couldn't imagine how she was feeling right now, but surely having another woman with her after such a traumatic event would be a little easier, not to mention having a psychic around in case it came back. Another vision came to her abruptly, disorienting her entirely with the smell of smoke & burning flesh and the sensation of heat against her face. When she finally managed to make out a clear image it was Maxwell's face, staring at her from one of the second story windows. The building was dark, illuminated only by Maxwell's burning body. In a matter of seconds hair and skin were reduced to ash, their body blackening and crumbling leaving only their eyes, which glowed a demonic red and hung in midair for a few moments even after their body was gone. Coughing and gasping for fresh air, Pandora came back to reality to find herself on her knees, trying to breathe through the thick clouds of smoke that were never physically there. "Maxwell," She sputtered. "Where's Max?!" She needed to warn them, to tell everyone what she saw so they could stop it from coming true.</s> <\|message\|>Dr. Thomas Jason McPherson ("TJ" or "Mac" or "Doc") Between what happened to Joe, Denise, Phillip and Pandora, the equipment being destroyed, and now with the more than likely scenario that Maxwell was dead (if he was lucky) TJ reached his breaking point. Without saying a word he went to the back of the SUV and pulled out his baseball bat. It was metal, black with gold lettering on it and TJ was twirling it along his right side. He found a large piece of equipment that was pretty much wiped out in the sabotage, and TJ decided it was time to finish the job. With a primal scream he let loose with five solid shots yelling with each blow and obliterated the broken tool into a pile of useless plastic and wires. The driver's window to the SUV was already smashed so TJ just threw his bat back into the SUV through it smashing what was left of it. TJ took a deep breath and looked over to Phillip and said, "So much for me being the reasonable one." He nodded and said, "You're scared? Join the club. I am scared out of my fucking mind Phillip! Anyone with three working brain cells would be scared. Hell I'd be more worried if you weren't, but we need to work the situation so we have at least a fighting chance to live." He looked over to Pandora and said, "You and Denise? Works for me." TJ closed his eyes and then reopened them and said, "Look, I know that when we agreed to this we knew somethings could go wrong even the possibility that one or all of us could die. I doubt though we thought that it would actually become reality, but it has. So now we all have to do something about it. I know that I'm being a jackass right now spouting off suggestions and so on but I wasn't hearing anyone else give any ideas." TJ exhaled and said, "If you got an idea then damnit say something! I don't have all the answers! We all bring something to the table. This thing got off the ground because we worked together, and now we have to do that again. I'm bankrolling this yes, but that doesn't mean I am the Dictator. We have to work together or we might as well go our separate ways right now and take our chances out in the woods." Looking around TJ said, "Before we left I called Beth and left her a phone number. It's to a friend of mine at the FBI field office. He and his partner like to dabble in paranormal studies. I told her if she didn't hear from me in three days she was to call them. Whether or not they come looking for us is an entirely different subject, but there are those who know where we are and Beth can be a force of nature." He showed his Fitbit and said, "This has a GPS embedded in it they would be able to find me. That's one reason I'm thinking we should stay together so that if I'm found they'll find you all as well." Walking over to the SUV he said, "We have three days to try and tough it out. I'm also aware that we might not last those three days. Hell we might not even last the next three hours but by God I'm not going down without saying I did everything I could to survive." TJ walked over to one of the bags and looked it over and said, "There's some salvageable gear in here." He slung it over his shoulder, walked over to the SUV and grabbed his bat, and said, "Here ends the speech. You can help me out by grabbing a bag or some gear and heading inside." He then gave a look as if to say "whatever" and said, "Or you can do whatever you want." With that he began to head towards the Orphanage.</s> <\|message\|>Philip Martin Philip, ashamed and red faced, dusted himself off and grabbed what he thought was one of the bags with infrared cameras and a display monitor. There might be time to set up some of the cameras and at least have something of an idea if things started going 'fucky.' He looked at the others in their turn, "I haven't seen Max," he said shyly, "I... i don't know what to think," then he turned and jogged to catch up with TJ. The forest was getting darker by the dusky evening but surprisingly there were no sounds of birds or insects. Philip's eyes shot from bush to bush, unsure if he saw movement, the only noise the crackle of leaves under his and TJ's boots. "I'm sorry I freaked out," he said, steeling himself, "you're right, we need to focus and remain rational. This is just.. this is my first.." he swallowed the lump in his throat, "I've never encountered anything real like this, only the reading. I thought I was prepared, but it's different when things happen that are like magic." He adjusted the bag to a more comfortable position on his shoulder, "I've read a lot about demons and the like, and I know they feed off negative energy, they like when people are afraid and suffering, it seems to give them... I don't know, it's like food maybe. I think the witch who was here might've summoned something that protects the land. I don't know why it doesn't just take us all unless it's limited on how much it can do at one time or maybe it's playing with us. It might've been saving the energy to take Joe and possible Max for a century, I just don't know." Philip looked serious, "I think maybe the strength you and Denise showed might have scared it away, or taken its battery away, which was me, I was feeding right into it." He looked back down at his feet as he walked. "I'll keep a cool head, I promise," he said, "and if I have any thoughts that might be helpful I'll share them. I'm sorry I fucked up, I'll keep it together from here on out." He stepped resolutely, assured by his own pronouncement that he was going to do better.</s>	<\|message\|>Denise Matheson "Hey, Pandora just breathe!" Denise rushed to her side, ignoring the pain shooting up her ankle. It seemed as if none of them could catch a break, with one event after the other. Denise started panicking even more—if that was possible—though this time she remained silent. It appeared as if bodies were dropping left and right, leaving those in the group feeling vulnerable, confused, and just about ready to lose their minds. In the midst of it all, Pandora had advised that them two would be pairing up. Denise noticed how it wasn't merely a suggestion, though she was fine with it and obviously was in agreement. She was, after all, someone that could keep Denise safe on some level. "We're sticking together in there then," she informed TJ. "You have GPS capabilities and that helps tremendously given our situation. We take shifts, with our partners of course, and keep all the equipment with us if we decide to make ourselves comfortable elsewhere." Denise then looked around. "The radios, were they destroyed?" She went on to one of the equipment bags, hoping that what she was looking for was still intact. "It's best we stay in communication if two of us go to the bathroom or something. To save battery, I suggest we keep one radio with the main group and the other one with with whichever two of us steps out of the room." Denise then picked up a back and swung it onto her shoulder. She also grabbed some more of the equipment to hand it off to Pandora, hoping that it would somehow help her shake off whatever she just experienced. "Hey, come on, let's head inside."</s>
<\|description\|>Dr. Thomas Jason McPherson ("TJ" or "Mac" or "Doc") Age: 27 Gender: Male Occupation in the group: Lead Investigator Fears: Being buried alive, toads, cockroaches, and rats. Bio: Thomas was born into a wealthy family in Pittsburgh, PA. His father was Robert McPherson C-E-O of McPherson Media, and his biological mother Rachel was Robert's secretary. She died giving birth to Thomas and Robert was going to put him up for adoption when Robert's wife Diana found out about it. She took one look at Thomas and instantly fell in love with him. Robert wanted nothing to do with Thomas, and Robert made sure that his step-brother and step-sister had nothing but contempt for him. Diana though loved Robert as though he was her own child. While he was in college Thomas began taking an interest in the paranormal, the occult, and unexplained phenomenon. He majored in psychology with a minor in religious studies, and then immediately began work on (and eventually graduated with) a PHD in Parapsychology. While he was studying for his PHD Robert would go Ghost Hunting with a group on campus, and he loved it. When he graduated he started off hosting a pod-cast with some friends he met at school as a hobby while dreaming of Ghost Hunting full time. He took a job working in a lab at the University studying the paranormal hoping to save up enough to finance a Ghost Hunting business. When his mom was killed in a car crash Thomas' world changed in many ways. It was revealed that Diana was the "power behind the throne" in that she was the majority shareholder of McPherson Media and the majority of the family assets were in her name. She also named Thomas the executor of her estate which meant it all went to him. Robert and the other family members were outraged and were going to contest the will, but Thomas suggested a compromise. He would let them have just about everything, but there would be three conditions. First, the company would bankroll Thomas' Ghost Hunting business no questions asked. Anything they need there would be a check waiting for them, and the equipment and their offices/labs would be top of the line. With a healthy budget to keep up with the latest gadgets. Second, the entire crew would be given medical, dental, vision, and life insurance with a 401K. Third, Thomas got to keep the house-boat to live on, and the family had to pay for the upkeep and expenses. The family grudgingly admitted to Thomas' terms. Looks: Thomas stands roughly six-one with jet black hair. Wears glasses which accentuate his brown eyes, and has a cross earring in his left ear. His lean build comes from his love of jogging. Loves wearing an old style bomber's jacket with a brown fedora (his friends give him an earful for trying to copy the Indiana Jones look, but he doesn't care). Frequently will wear a t-shirt with either something to do with "Star Wars" or a "super-hero" on it, and a pair of blue jeans with Nikes on the feet. Extra: Thomas drives a 1967 Mustang that his mom got for him for college graduation, and there is a reason he is so interested in Ghost Hunting. He believes that all spirits are linked together, and Thomas wants to meet Rachel just to say he met her once. He misses Diana more than he admits to anyone. His family wants NOTHING to do with him, but they are at least civil to him.</s> <\|message\|>Pandora Blair None of the others seemed too concerned about Joe, but her vision weighed heavily on Pandora's mind for the entire walk back to the vehicles. It was easy enough for them to ignore, to choose to focus on the phenomena they had actually seen, but the young psychic had gotten a better look at Joe than even Denise. She could still hear the wet sound of freshly-peeled skin hitting the floor, hear his strained breathing, his screams... the sight of the vehicles finally pulled her from her dark thoughts with a shot of adrenaline. This was no time to be freaking out - like TJ said, this was life or death. Her powers weren't some party trick anymore, now they could potentially be the thing to save her life or the lives of her friends. Memories of the car accident all those years ago sprang into her head, but she pushed them down again. She could not, would not, dare fail again. "Denise will be my partner," She told their self-elected leader in a voice that wasn't taking any arguments. "She's the most vulnerable to psychic attack, and I'd rather pee in front of another girl, thanks." Trying to look braver than she felt, the blonde stepped over to the other woman, giving her a reassuring smile. Pandora couldn't imagine how she was feeling right now, but surely having another woman with her after such a traumatic event would be a little easier, not to mention having a psychic around in case it came back. Another vision came to her abruptly, disorienting her entirely with the smell of smoke & burning flesh and the sensation of heat against her face. When she finally managed to make out a clear image it was Maxwell's face, staring at her from one of the second story windows. The building was dark, illuminated only by Maxwell's burning body. In a matter of seconds hair and skin were reduced to ash, their body blackening and crumbling leaving only their eyes, which glowed a demonic red and hung in midair for a few moments even after their body was gone. Coughing and gasping for fresh air, Pandora came back to reality to find herself on her knees, trying to breathe through the thick clouds of smoke that were never physically there. "Maxwell," She sputtered. "Where's Max?!" She needed to warn them, to tell everyone what she saw so they could stop it from coming true.</s> <\|message\|>Dr. Thomas Jason McPherson ("TJ" or "Mac" or "Doc") Between what happened to Joe, Denise, Phillip and Pandora, the equipment being destroyed, and now with the more than likely scenario that Maxwell was dead (if he was lucky) TJ reached his breaking point. Without saying a word he went to the back of the SUV and pulled out his baseball bat. It was metal, black with gold lettering on it and TJ was twirling it along his right side. He found a large piece of equipment that was pretty much wiped out in the sabotage, and TJ decided it was time to finish the job. With a primal scream he let loose with five solid shots yelling with each blow and obliterated the broken tool into a pile of useless plastic and wires. The driver's window to the SUV was already smashed so TJ just threw his bat back into the SUV through it smashing what was left of it. TJ took a deep breath and looked over to Phillip and said, "So much for me being the reasonable one." He nodded and said, "You're scared? Join the club. I am scared out of my fucking mind Phillip! Anyone with three working brain cells would be scared. Hell I'd be more worried if you weren't, but we need to work the situation so we have at least a fighting chance to live." He looked over to Pandora and said, "You and Denise? Works for me." TJ closed his eyes and then reopened them and said, "Look, I know that when we agreed to this we knew somethings could go wrong even the possibility that one or all of us could die. I doubt though we thought that it would actually become reality, but it has. So now we all have to do something about it. I know that I'm being a jackass right now spouting off suggestions and so on but I wasn't hearing anyone else give any ideas." TJ exhaled and said, "If you got an idea then damnit say something! I don't have all the answers! We all bring something to the table. This thing got off the ground because we worked together, and now we have to do that again. I'm bankrolling this yes, but that doesn't mean I am the Dictator. We have to work together or we might as well go our separate ways right now and take our chances out in the woods." Looking around TJ said, "Before we left I called Beth and left her a phone number. It's to a friend of mine at the FBI field office. He and his partner like to dabble in paranormal studies. I told her if she didn't hear from me in three days she was to call them. Whether or not they come looking for us is an entirely different subject, but there are those who know where we are and Beth can be a force of nature." He showed his Fitbit and said, "This has a GPS embedded in it they would be able to find me. That's one reason I'm thinking we should stay together so that if I'm found they'll find you all as well." Walking over to the SUV he said, "We have three days to try and tough it out. I'm also aware that we might not last those three days. Hell we might not even last the next three hours but by God I'm not going down without saying I did everything I could to survive." TJ walked over to one of the bags and looked it over and said, "There's some salvageable gear in here." He slung it over his shoulder, walked over to the SUV and grabbed his bat, and said, "Here ends the speech. You can help me out by grabbing a bag or some gear and heading inside." He then gave a look as if to say "whatever" and said, "Or you can do whatever you want." With that he began to head towards the Orphanage.</s> <\|message\|>Philip Martin Philip, ashamed and red faced, dusted himself off and grabbed what he thought was one of the bags with infrared cameras and a display monitor. There might be time to set up some of the cameras and at least have something of an idea if things started going 'fucky.' He looked at the others in their turn, "I haven't seen Max," he said shyly, "I... i don't know what to think," then he turned and jogged to catch up with TJ. The forest was getting darker by the dusky evening but surprisingly there were no sounds of birds or insects. Philip's eyes shot from bush to bush, unsure if he saw movement, the only noise the crackle of leaves under his and TJ's boots. "I'm sorry I freaked out," he said, steeling himself, "you're right, we need to focus and remain rational. This is just.. this is my first.." he swallowed the lump in his throat, "I've never encountered anything real like this, only the reading. I thought I was prepared, but it's different when things happen that are like magic." He adjusted the bag to a more comfortable position on his shoulder, "I've read a lot about demons and the like, and I know they feed off negative energy, they like when people are afraid and suffering, it seems to give them... I don't know, it's like food maybe. I think the witch who was here might've summoned something that protects the land. I don't know why it doesn't just take us all unless it's limited on how much it can do at one time or maybe it's playing with us. It might've been saving the energy to take Joe and possible Max for a century, I just don't know." Philip looked serious, "I think maybe the strength you and Denise showed might have scared it away, or taken its battery away, which was me, I was feeding right into it." He looked back down at his feet as he walked. "I'll keep a cool head, I promise," he said, "and if I have any thoughts that might be helpful I'll share them. I'm sorry I fucked up, I'll keep it together from here on out." He stepped resolutely, assured by his own pronouncement that he was going to do better.</s> <\|message\|>Denise Matheson "Hey, Pandora just breathe!" Denise rushed to her side, ignoring the pain shooting up her ankle. It seemed as if none of them could catch a break, with one event after the other. Denise started panicking even more—if that was possible—though this time she remained silent. It appeared as if bodies were dropping left and right, leaving those in the group feeling vulnerable, confused, and just about ready to lose their minds. In the midst of it all, Pandora had advised that them two would be pairing up. Denise noticed how it wasn't merely a suggestion, though she was fine with it and obviously was in agreement. She was, after all, someone that could keep Denise safe on some level. "We're sticking together in there then," she informed TJ. "You have GPS capabilities and that helps tremendously given our situation. We take shifts, with our partners of course, and keep all the equipment with us if we decide to make ourselves comfortable elsewhere." Denise then looked around. "The radios, were they destroyed?" She went on to one of the equipment bags, hoping that what she was looking for was still intact. "It's best we stay in communication if two of us go to the bathroom or something. To save battery, I suggest we keep one radio with the main group and the other one with with whichever two of us steps out of the room." Denise then picked up a back and swung it onto her shoulder. She also grabbed some more of the equipment to hand it off to Pandora, hoping that it would somehow help her shake off whatever she just experienced. "Hey, come on, let's head inside."</s>	<\|message\|>Dr. Thomas Jason McPherson ("TJ" or "Mac" or "Doc") TJ took a couple of steps in front of Phillip and stopped in front of him. He said with a great deal of focus in his voice and a scowl on his face, "Listen and listen good. You freaking out and all that crap I want you to remember two things." He held his right index finger and said, "First off, if you weren't freaked out by all of this I would be worried about you." He held up another finger and said, "I'm coming off cool and calm but I need you to realize something Phillip. My first time ghosting with a group the first time I saw something out of the ordinary. I didn't run away or freak out." He shook his head and said, "No I didn't." He very calmly and with great focus said, "I passed out." His scowl slowly melted into a smile and then laugh as he said, "That's right cool calm rational TJ went lights out. So man, I'm not judging you and what you said about whatever this thing might be feeding off of negative energy..." He nodded and said, "It's a plausible theory. I can't really disagree with you. That being said I'm more concerned about whoever trashed the vehicles and our gear. That's a bigger issue because it usually means someone is trying to make sure that the perfect cover up stays that way." He gave Phillip a couple of light taps on the shoulder and said, "You're all right Phillip. You're all right man. In fact you can partner up with me and we'll put Danny with us as well. We'll figure out the sleeping shifts amongst ourselves." TJ gave Phillip a quick wink and continued walking on. Hearing Denise's idea about the radio and partners TJ gave a couple of nods and replied, "Good ideas I'm on board with you on that. I think you and Pandora got things wired up pretty good amongst yourselves." In the back of his mind though TJ had an uneasy feeling that like in most horror movies the radios, despite the fact that they looked undamaged and had full charges, they weren't either going to work or they were going to die out suddenly when they needed them the most. For the time being though TJ wasn't going to give that possibility much thought. There was still much more pressing matters in front of them at the moment. As TJ approached the front door he said, "You know if I opened the door right now and the entire house collapsed, and only the door and the door frame remained standing..." TJ nodded and said, "I wouldn't be too shocked, and for some reason I actually find that scenario oddly comforting." TJ looked back at the group and said, "Once you go in here you're in this for the long haul and there's no backing out. We're in this together. We get in there I suggest we set up our main area in the living room close to the door. Any other ideas or suggestions let's hear 'em." Mentions/Interactions Kiwi</s>
<\|description\|>Bren Adalwolf Bren: means fire Adalwolf: noble wolf Nickname/Alias: None Age: 17 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance Description: Bren is tall and well built which makes him look slightly older than he is. This along with his fiery red hair and bright blue eyes makes him difficult to miss, even when standing in the midst of a crowd. He walks with a great deal of grace and confidence, as his parents taught him, that makes it clear he is comfortable in any situation (even if he isn't). He does try to make sure he is presentable in every sense of the word, despite this his hair is always a slight mess, though not for lack of trying. Clothing wise he is always dressed nicely, unless he is relaxing by himself, even if the situation doesn't necessarily call for it. While nice he does also make sure to keep practicality as the most important aspect of what he wears whether that be a convenient holster for his weapon or combat boots. No matter what he's wearing there is always a jacket or long coat over the top of it, though this is mostly out of habit from growing up in a colder climate. He mostly prefers lighter, monochromatic shades with a few splashes of color, very similar to his weapon. Allusion: Cerberus: Guardian of the Underworld Personality: Confident and approachable, Bren is an easy person to get along with provided you don't get on his bad side. If that's the case he tends to be harsh and snappish, but thankfully it takes a lot to get to that point. He is hard working at anything and everything, but mainly things that grab his interest completely. He can be somewhat easily distracted so if it doesn't work out every part of his brain and body he's more than likely to lose interest pretty quickly. However, if someone gets him talking about a topic he has a great deal of interest in it's difficult to get him to stop. He's strongly of the opinion that no one should be judged by who they are or where they're from, but rather the quality of their character. He'll take the time to get to know someone before really deciding if he wants to be their friend or not. Some people see this as putting in too much effort on things that mean very little, but Bren is of the mind that the types of people you spend time with reflect the type of person you are. Being an only child allowed him to really appreciate the company of other people his age, but it also had the side effect of making him somewhat unsure of how to interact with them. He's able to easily cover up his nerves for the most part unless someone catches him off guard. It does take some work to get him to care deeply about someone or something, not to say that he's against closeness by any means, but he wants to make sure it's worth his time. Like many of the other students at Beacon, training to become an amazing huntsman is something he throws himself into 100% and if someone seems like they're giving less than that he's not so inclined to put in the effort of knowing them. If he is putting the work to better himself, and those on his team, he expects others to do the same. This does make him appear disinterested at points, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. Once he gets to know someone well he loosens up quite a bit. He's much more willing to make jokes and hang around just because he enjoys the company of his friends. If he truly cares about someone he is strongly protective of them, a bit like a guard-dog. Likes: * Dogs * Music * Running * Sweets * Myths Dislikes: * Laziness * Unnecessary Violence * Writing * Loud Noises Motivation: Learn and grow as much as he can to protect the people he cares for Sexual Orientation: Bisexual Country of Origin: Atlas Bio: Bren was born in Atlas and is the only child of Emil and Isolde Adalwolf. His father works for one of the many technological companies in the city of Atlas and is a brilliant mind that is focused on the betterment of society for the people there, and he is stringently against the sorts of unethical practices that some of the other companies dabble in. His mother on the other hand is not the high society wife that one might expect of a wealthy businessman, but rather an accomplished huntress in her own right. She attended Atlas Academy and had little trouble holding her own. His father was elated when they had a son and he immediately wanted Bren to follow in his footsteps and learn the intricacies of science and technology for the betterment of Remnant, but Bren was much more interested in what his mother did. She would return from hunts all through his early childhood with fascinating stories of the battles she participated in sparking his love of mythology and stories. Not to say he didn't heed his father and learn some of what Emil did for a living, but he could never quite grasp the depth of mechs coding. Rather he asked his mother to teach him combat moves from an early age, and he found that was where his passion was. Once he got old enough he begged his parents to allow him to attend a combat school and, while his father was hesitant, his mother was all for it. Given prior experience with his family he was able to make a name for himself at the school, despite the highly competitive nature of it, and thoroughly enjoyed the time he spent learning and practicing both at school and at home. When he turned 17 his mother expected him to apply to the Atlas Academy, and he knew he would've been able to get in with little trouble, but Atlas always felt so closed off and insular to him. Living there had it's perks, but he wanted to know how other parts of the world differed from the one he grew up in. With his parents permission, though it was a bit of a fight to get, he was permitted to attend Beacon Academy where he hopes to learn what he didn't in Atlas. Weapon: Semblance: Void's Spirit-Allows for the summoning of three shadowy, lupine spirits that can be directed as allies in battle to attack and defend. Bren can choose to summon the spirits individually as the strength of them goes down with each additional one that is brought onto the battlefield. The spirits are free to act within the orders that Bren gives them whether that be to attack the nearest enemy or guard an ally or location, but they must remain within a certain distance of him or else they vanish. Each spirit has it's own personality that can make them a hassle to control when all three are summoned at once, but careful focus and training can make it manageable.</s> <\|message\|>Violet Skye Sfyri --- B E A C O N A C A D E M Y T H E G R E A T H A L L K I N G D O M O F V A L E --- Violet was relieved when Bren stepped into help her. He really was being nice. He was trying to scare them off with his giant cute shadow puppy. Now, though, she just hoped he or anyone else didn't get hurt. It looked like a confrontation was brewing and it made Sky nervous. "W-we're on t-the s-same, t-team..." She managed to say, so quietly it was hard to hear. Stupid. Stupid! This was so stupid! Sky couldn't help but feel like this was all her fault. This wouldn't have happened if she had just...well, she wasn't sure what Briar wanted her to do. She was still confused as to why he decided to have one of his friends take her arm. This whole thing just made her feel terrible. "Aah!" Sky cried out in surprise as a tall muscle man came screaming into her view. It was a ferocious drop kick! Briar was sent flying. "Oh no, oh no!" She continued to cry, antsily bouncing on her feet. A girl came up from behind and literally stabbed one of them in the back, causing Sky to gasp. "Please don't kill each other! Oh, no!" She guessed the woman's name was Mei, considering that's what she just called herself? It was hard to tell. Either way, her arm came rolling on the ground towards her and Sky scooped it up. Eagerly she attached it back onto herself, and she felt whole again. She clenched and unclenched her metal fist, and was grateful. "Thank you! B-but-..." She looked up at Mei, wiping the tears from her eyes. "I, I don't have a lot of money. Not in my p-pajamas. But I'll, I'll pay you back." She hid her eyes under her cap again. Thankfully it was easier since she was shorter than everyone else. She flinched as Mei suddenly turned her sights on Rowan. This one didn't feel like it involved her at all. Violet's eyes briefly searched the room for that poor Faunus girl those boys had been picking on earlier. "H-hey...are you okay?" She asked, taking a few steps towards her. Sky didn't notice Drongo preparing his counter attack, either. Her thoughts were scrambled and her heart was overwhelmed. Perception wasn't her strong suit, anyway. She also looked at Briar, laying on the floor. "Um... are you okay?" She asked. But she still kept her distance, moving towards the Faunus girl they had picked on earlier. She was mostly focused on her safety. But Briar had gotten kicked really, really hard. She glanced back over to the Faunus. "Sorry they were being so mean to you." She said. "Sorry no one came in to help." She averted her eyes, looking embarassed. Violet had very weakly tried to interfere, but she was too scared of confrontation to be successful. Also, she was probably the least intimidating person in the room.</s> <\|message\|>Fen Saffron --- Beacon Academy The Great Hall Kingdom of Vale --- Fen wasn't awake. He wasn't awake when his body reacted to a nearby sound, nor was he awake when his body moved towards the source of the noise. He moved with surprising alacrity in his state, clutching his knapsack to his chest. He stopped and crouched when he reached a certain distance from the commotion, glazed eyes observing the situation. It was a trait honed by spend his nights out in Vacuo. There weren't many safe places in the middle of the hostile desert, and he had to be wary of ambushes as he slept. His body would completely wake him up if it was a Grimm attack, but against bandits looking for easy prey? It wouldn't even bother, being on auto-pilot was good enough. He did have issues with this habit however, as an unaware dormmate would find out firsthand. But thankfully, Silas never reported him, and he eventually dulled his reactions to the point where Silas could wake him up without any problems. Well, as long as he didn't make any sudden movements when Fen's eyes opened. Unfortunately being in a completely different location, in a place where he wasn't expecting danger at all, caused him to react normally. Fen scanned what was happening, his half-conscious mind making small mental notes on who he saw. He judged that there were four assailants, going by their aggressive body language. Two appeared to be simply watching, one appeared to be their ringleader, and the last one appeared to be armed, although Fen in his state couldn't tell with what. They were against an injured girl, who had an ally with her. His muscles tensed as another participant entered, foot first into the leader. Another ally it seemed. Someone else jumped into the fray, who he recognized as someone he met. She took out the armed man, leaving only the other two spectators. It appeared to be under control by now, with the two active aggressors being taken out. But as Fen was about to move back to his original spot, he saw one of the remaining members prepared to bring out something out, something against the now retreating Mei. If Fen's subconscious mind had to explain what it was about to do, it would be something like be this: Throw knapsack at legs, to destabilize. Neutralize by grabbing arm, jamming thumb into wrist. Wrap other arm around neck, squeeze if necessary. Turn held body towards last enemy. It was formulated in an instant, as Fen lunged instinctively at the threat.</s>	<\|message\|>Bren Adalwolf B E A C O N A C A D E M Y G R E A T H A L L K I N G D O M O F V A L E --- Bren had to resist rolling his eyes at Briar's words, but still prepared himself to snap his fingers at Ajax and let the spirit run wild as his goons stepped forward. If that's how they wanted this to go then so be it. He didn't have the chance to though as another student slammed into Briar and sent him tumbling across the hall. "Well that solves one problem," at the same time the fox faunus he was pretty sure he'd seen at the feast stabbed, was that a toothbrush, into the shoulder of the bully who was holding Violet's arm and sent it rolling back to the smaller girl behind him. He didn't let himself fully relax even as Mei turned to shout at the other boy, there were still the other three that needed to be dealt with and he doubted they'd be taking kindly to their ringleader being knocked on his ass. He caught sight of Violet picking her arm back up and wandering over to the other faunus that had been dropped to the floor and even going so far as to ask Briar if he was ok. The brat wasn't worth her time. He was glad he'd kept paying attention to the bullies even as Mei continued to speak loudly with Rowan. The moment he noticed Drongo reaching into his pocket he snapped his fingers and gave a low pitched whistle to Ajax. In a flash of movement and shadow the spirit lunged towards the other boy and slammed his full weight against him; sinking sharp teeth into the arm that held, whatever it was he was trying to pull free from his pocket. So much for going one day without someone getting bitten. Oh well, better these guys than someone who didn't deserve it. The moment of distraction given to him by Ajax was all he needed to follow quickly after. He wished he still had Guardian with him, hand to hand wasn't exactly his specialty, but that didn't mean he couldn't take someone to the ground. He let his momentum carry him into a roundhouse kick directly to the side of Drongo's head as Ajax pulled downwards on his arm; the spirit's jaw firmly locked with no intention of letting go until he was told to. He caught sight of another figure moving in as he hit the ground, some other faunus it seemed to help out with this fight. He seemed cognizant enough despite the glazed look in his eyes, so Bren would take all the help he could get. "Watch your back," he glanced towards Mei, "Just because one is out of the fight doesn't mean the rest are gonna just lay down and take a nap." Hopefully the both of them who were arguing would pay more attention since it didn't seem like Briar's goons were going to go down without a fight.</s>
<\|description\|>Bren Adalwolf Bren: means fire Adalwolf: noble wolf Nickname/Alias: None Age: 17 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance Description: Bren is tall and well built which makes him look slightly older than he is. This along with his fiery red hair and bright blue eyes makes him difficult to miss, even when standing in the midst of a crowd. He walks with a great deal of grace and confidence, as his parents taught him, that makes it clear he is comfortable in any situation (even if he isn't). He does try to make sure he is presentable in every sense of the word, despite this his hair is always a slight mess, though not for lack of trying. Clothing wise he is always dressed nicely, unless he is relaxing by himself, even if the situation doesn't necessarily call for it. While nice he does also make sure to keep practicality as the most important aspect of what he wears whether that be a convenient holster for his weapon or combat boots. No matter what he's wearing there is always a jacket or long coat over the top of it, though this is mostly out of habit from growing up in a colder climate. He mostly prefers lighter, monochromatic shades with a few splashes of color, very similar to his weapon. Allusion: Cerberus: Guardian of the Underworld Personality: Confident and approachable, Bren is an easy person to get along with provided you don't get on his bad side. If that's the case he tends to be harsh and snappish, but thankfully it takes a lot to get to that point. He is hard working at anything and everything, but mainly things that grab his interest completely. He can be somewhat easily distracted so if it doesn't work out every part of his brain and body he's more than likely to lose interest pretty quickly. However, if someone gets him talking about a topic he has a great deal of interest in it's difficult to get him to stop. He's strongly of the opinion that no one should be judged by who they are or where they're from, but rather the quality of their character. He'll take the time to get to know someone before really deciding if he wants to be their friend or not. Some people see this as putting in too much effort on things that mean very little, but Bren is of the mind that the types of people you spend time with reflect the type of person you are. Being an only child allowed him to really appreciate the company of other people his age, but it also had the side effect of making him somewhat unsure of how to interact with them. He's able to easily cover up his nerves for the most part unless someone catches him off guard. It does take some work to get him to care deeply about someone or something, not to say that he's against closeness by any means, but he wants to make sure it's worth his time. Like many of the other students at Beacon, training to become an amazing huntsman is something he throws himself into 100% and if someone seems like they're giving less than that he's not so inclined to put in the effort of knowing them. If he is putting the work to better himself, and those on his team, he expects others to do the same. This does make him appear disinterested at points, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. Once he gets to know someone well he loosens up quite a bit. He's much more willing to make jokes and hang around just because he enjoys the company of his friends. If he truly cares about someone he is strongly protective of them, a bit like a guard-dog. Likes: * Dogs * Music * Running * Sweets * Myths Dislikes: * Laziness * Unnecessary Violence * Writing * Loud Noises Motivation: Learn and grow as much as he can to protect the people he cares for Sexual Orientation: Bisexual Country of Origin: Atlas Bio: Bren was born in Atlas and is the only child of Emil and Isolde Adalwolf. His father works for one of the many technological companies in the city of Atlas and is a brilliant mind that is focused on the betterment of society for the people there, and he is stringently against the sorts of unethical practices that some of the other companies dabble in. His mother on the other hand is not the high society wife that one might expect of a wealthy businessman, but rather an accomplished huntress in her own right. She attended Atlas Academy and had little trouble holding her own. His father was elated when they had a son and he immediately wanted Bren to follow in his footsteps and learn the intricacies of science and technology for the betterment of Remnant, but Bren was much more interested in what his mother did. She would return from hunts all through his early childhood with fascinating stories of the battles she participated in sparking his love of mythology and stories. Not to say he didn't heed his father and learn some of what Emil did for a living, but he could never quite grasp the depth of mechs coding. Rather he asked his mother to teach him combat moves from an early age, and he found that was where his passion was. Once he got old enough he begged his parents to allow him to attend a combat school and, while his father was hesitant, his mother was all for it. Given prior experience with his family he was able to make a name for himself at the school, despite the highly competitive nature of it, and thoroughly enjoyed the time he spent learning and practicing both at school and at home. When he turned 17 his mother expected him to apply to the Atlas Academy, and he knew he would've been able to get in with little trouble, but Atlas always felt so closed off and insular to him. Living there had it's perks, but he wanted to know how other parts of the world differed from the one he grew up in. With his parents permission, though it was a bit of a fight to get, he was permitted to attend Beacon Academy where he hopes to learn what he didn't in Atlas. Weapon: Semblance: Void's Spirit-Allows for the summoning of three shadowy, lupine spirits that can be directed as allies in battle to attack and defend. Bren can choose to summon the spirits individually as the strength of them goes down with each additional one that is brought onto the battlefield. The spirits are free to act within the orders that Bren gives them whether that be to attack the nearest enemy or guard an ally or location, but they must remain within a certain distance of him or else they vanish. Each spirit has it's own personality that can make them a hassle to control when all three are summoned at once, but careful focus and training can make it manageable.</s> <\|message\|>Fen Saffron --- The next day Emerald Forest Kingdom of Vale --- Fen flew as he propelled himself forward. He wasn't one of the first to be launched from the pad, so he was prepared for his turn. And as he began to descend, he fired shots from his tonfas at an angle, sending him further ahead and slowing his descent. When he felt that he could drop safely, he stopped shooting, letting himself land on a particularly sturdy branch. And as the leaves from the tree fell from the impact, he waited for any possible danger. Feeling that he was safe, he jumped down to the forest floor. Taking a deep breath, Fen looked around. Seeing the forest from the outside, and being in it now felt like two entirely different experiences for him. There was nothing around him, and he couldn't help but crack a faint smile as he took in the peaceful atmosphere for a moment. However, he had a objective to complete, and started to move. But he stopped as he thought about it more, and looked back, towards the cliff where he came from. Fen went further than the others, most of them at the very least. And by the Headmaster's words, it seemed like he needed a partner for the rest of the initiation. He walked back towards the cliff as he looked for a potential partner along the way.</s> <\|message\|>Zargun Nouri Zargun Nouri --- The Next Day Emerald Forest Kingdom of Vale --- Yes, Today is the day, Zargun thought happily as he made his way to the landing, having already changed into his normal clothes. It was a nice view of the Emerald Forest from atop the cliff. Just another thing he enjoys about his new home in comparison to Vacuo. Which while he does love his old home, the green and lively environment of Vale can't quite compare to the desert wasteland that is Vacuo. It made him wish he could have seen more outside of the capital but, having to care for two younger siblings whenever uncle was away meant there was no time for it. Still, nice to see more of what Vale has to offer during this initiation. Zargun eagerly listened to what Carlisle said and was slightly confused when Carlisle brought up having a landing strategy. Before he could wonder, a student got launched into the air. Uh, that is the surprise that uncle warned me about. Zargun thought as he watched more students get launched into the air. Giving himself some time to prepare before he was launched into the air. Flying through the air, Zargun could. When he started to descend, Zargun brought out Oathkeeper from his back. He started firing at an angle to slow him down. Once he was slowed enough, Zargun put Oathkeeper away and dodging some trees. He landed with a roll to break his fall and rolled a bit before coming to a stop. Getting up, Zargun took a deep breath and scanned his surroundings. That sure was something, and as far as he could tell, no one was near him. For the moment, at least, he was not paying attention to where the others had landed. Too focus on where he was going and coming up with a way to land on the fly. A thought came to him, and he let out a chuckle. "So uncle had to go through that too," letting out another chuckle. Now, what other surprises does this initiation, he wondered? But that will have to wait for now. He has to find a relic, and from what Carlisle said. A partner as well. Hopefully, they are not a prick. He thought as he took another deep breath. Unsheathing Oathkeep in his gun form and started walking towards the ruin while on the lookout for anyone that might cross his path.</s>	<\|message\|>Bren Adalwolf B E A C O N A C A D E M Y G R E A T H A L L K I N G D O M O F V A L E --- "Sure, if you say so," Bren shrugged in response to Mei as she went to check on the other Faunus. If she didn't want someone to step in and prevent her from getting shot then that was her business. He just wouldn't bother next time around. Maybe this would give Briar and his friends a moment of pause the next time they decided to try and mess with someone else though. He whistled and Ajax trotted back over to his side, shrinking a bit in size as he did so. "Good job," he patted the spirit on the head, "Get some rest alright, big day tomorrow." Technically the spirits didn't get tired, but it had become a habit at this point. It was getting a bit tiring keeping him present anyway, especially having him fight. He sighed as another loud voice called out. He was pretty sure she was from Atlas as well, some Dust family or something like that. Mei immediately shot back at her and he decided that was not something he wanted to get involved in. He couldn't help but agree with her a bit. How was it that so many of these people thought they could throw their status around when they'd just gotten here? It made little sense to him, but then again his family, while somewhat well known, didn't necessarily hold the same status. It wasn't worth it to get into another fight or argument so he wandered back to his spot against the well and took stock for initiation the next day. --- T H E N E X T D A Y E M E R A L D F O R E S T K I N G D O M O F V A L E --- He had to admit that Vale did have its nice spots. While it wasn't anything like the floating cities and snow covered lands of Atlas he found he quite liked the sea of green that stretched out into the forest below them. He was comfortably in his regular clothes, long coat over the top of everything and the familiar weight of Guardian at his side. Their headmaster's speech certainly felt a bit all over the place, but he supposed he understood well enough. Broke down to find a partner, get a relic, and make it back here. Easy enough. As the rest of the them began to get launched into the air, with a few exclamations from some of them, he prepped himself for the same. It certainly wasn't how he'd expected to get down the cliff and into the forest, but it seemed that Beacon was full of surprises. He crouched and waited, already scanning where the other students were going and picking a tree to aim for. The pad gave plenty of lift as he pulled Guardian free and let the rifle blast slow his speed enough that he could easily aim for the large tree he had picked out on top of the cliff. He easily changed his weapon into its bladed form and slammed it into the side of the trunk letting the sharp blade cut through and slow his descent even further. Once he got close enough to the ground he pulled the blade free and allowed himself to drop into a roll on the floor. He kept the blade of Guardian out, he had no idea what to expect to find in the forest here and he wasn't going to take any chances. He would wait to summon any of his spirits until something actually dangerous showed up, no need to waste energy on something trivial. He looked up to the canopy and through the trunks of the trees. Didn't seem like anyone was nearby, so he'd just have to wait a bit to pick up a partner then. He wasn't sure who would be best to get paired with. Violet was nice, if a little nervous and unsure, and the Faunus seemed capable enough in a fight. He didn't get much of an idea about any of the others in the Great Hall. He started in the direction of where the ruins were likely to be keeping an ear out for anything unusual.</s>
<\|description\|>Fen Saffron Fen Saffron --- Basics Fen: Shortened version of Fenrir, the mythological wolf in Norse Myth. Saffron: A shade of yellow/orange. Nickname/Alias: N/A Age: 17 Gender: Male Race: Wolf Faunus Appearance Description: Fen stands at 6 feet, but it can be hard to tell when he's in his usual hunched stance. His body is also surprisingly toned considering how lean he appears. His black shaggy hair is long enough to cover his wolf ears on the top of his head, and accentuates his yellow eyes. He usually keeps a disgruntled look on his face, but when he encounters something that amuses or excites him, he flashes a grin, showing his sharp teeth. For clothing, he prefers light clothing suitable for the desert. But he always wears his light yellow scarf, an old gift from his father. Allusion: Big Bad Wolf --- Personality Personality: At first, Fen seems lethargic. He seems disinterested in everything, and when he talks, he only speaks a couple words at best. Still, this makes him surprisingly approachable as he treats everyone with a casual manner. However, this outward demeanor is partially a facade to catch people off-guard. In truth, he loves riling people up, whether it's getting close up to people, or making the occasional acerbic remark amidst his listless comments. Fen's true personality is certainly more active. He prefers observing others, enjoys getting people out of their comfort zone, and engaging in banter. Despite this irritating behavior, Fen doesn't do this out of malice. He actually likes interacting with people, but feels like he can't help himself with teasing them. But at the same time, he wouldn't want to push someone too far with his actions, and dislikes people who do. He's loyal to anyone he considers a friend, and makes blunt remarks as he would hate to lie to them. While he isn't a bookworm, Fen enjoys learning about new things. He'll observe how people do things, and will listen intently to their words. Part of it stems from his perceived lack of purpose; Compared to others, he doesn't have any particular reason to be a huntsman, nor does he put any heavy effort in doing so. And it's because of that, that he wants to seek something more than fighting and aggravating people for fun. Likes: Eating Learning about new things Finding new hobbies Teasing people Things he finds cute Dislikes: Hunger People who abuse their power Being deceived Making cute things cry Having nothing to strive for Motivation: Because he's good at hunting. And he wants to find more meaning in it. Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual --- Biography Country of Origin: Vacuo Bio: As far as he could remember, Fen was always traveling with a person he called his father, an old huntsman known as Aramis Saffron. He didn't know his exact origins, whether Aramis was his actual father, or perhaps he was found after some Grimm attack as a sole survivor. His father never talked about it, nor did Fen ever care about where he came from. Whatever the case was. Fen simply followed his father wherever he went, generally in areas where Grimm attacked. His upbringing was a spartan one; His father taught Fen what he needed to survive, but he often had to endure on his own due to the perils of the Vacuo desert and his father's occupation. But despite this bizarre and dangerous life, Fen enjoyed it. Eventually however, his father enrolled him into the nearest combat school, only stating to Fen that he taught all he could to him. Fen never questioned Aramis, but he wondered what exactly he was suppose to learn in school. Anything involving fighting felt easy to him, compared to what he faced before. His feelings slowly changed however, as he began to communicate with the people around him. He was used to letting his father doing all the talking whenever they went to a settlement. But now, he had to do it himself. He found that people actually wanted to interact with him, whether it's to teach them something he did naturally, or just to get to know the aloof faunus. While he never fully connected with anyone in his school days, Fen felt a twinge of regret not doing so. But he also gained a sense of curiosity of the world. And it was seeing this newfound interest in new things that Aramis decided to transfer Fen to Beacon Academy, a place where Fen could broaden his horizons. --- Combat Weapon: Fen uses a pair of boxy-looking tonfas called Gjöll. They can fire rifle rounds through the long shaft, and the grips have separate triggers in them on each side, letting him either fire them normally, or use the recoil to strengthen his melee strikes. Additionally, he can combine the bottom sides of Gjöll into one, forming blades at the end and letting him use it as a axe. As the tip is uncovered, he can still fire rounds, and he can even load a more powerful dust bullet in axe mode. The axe can also unload a bipod in this form, in case Fen needs support for both aiming and the massive recoil from firing. Semblance: Fen's Semblance Devour, lets him absorb kinetic energy to empower him. As he gains more energy, his physical capabilities become stronger. He can even unleash all the energy at once for a single attack, although he has to use all of it. Fen has two different ways he can absorb energy. He can passively gain the energy made from his own movements, slowly getting stronger as a fight goes on. But the fastest way to gain energy is taking attacks head-on, using his aura to absorb most of the damage. There are several weakness to this however. Fen can't absorb attacks that would overwhelm him otherwise, nor can he defend against attacks he's completely unaware of. The energy also slowly dissipates when not in use.</s> <\|message\|>Bren Adalwolf --- B E A C O N A C A D E M Y G R E A T H A L L K I N G D O M O F V A L E --- Bren knew there was someone approaching him as he felt the quiet rumble of Ajax pressed against his leg. The previously slumbering, or as close to sleeping as one of his spirits could get, wolf-like dog now had his head raised and ears pricked forward; small tendrils of blackish energy flickering off his form. He rested a hand on Ajax's head, "Easy now, we're all friends here." The rumble stopped as Violet trotted up to them and he couldn't help the surprised chuckle at her calling his spirit cute, that was a descriptor he'd never heard used to describe them before. "His name is Ajax and yes he's one part of my semblance. There's two others, but it takes a lot of effort to keep all three of them from running amok." He kept one hand on the back of Ajax's neck, he wouldn't attack unless he was told to but they did sometimes have mind of their own, and he didn't want to start off his time at Beacon with someone getting a finger bitten off. Normally he didn't let people pet his spirits, since they weren't exactly real dogs, but she seemed harmless enough. He didn't think he'd ever met anyone this excitable in his entire life, but there were all sorts at Beacon. He shrugged, "Sure you can pet him. He's not completely corporeal so it might feel a bit weird." A simple downward hand gesture was enough to make Ajax's tensely coiled form relax into a more welcoming posture. The small pinpricks of yellowish light that burned in his eyes were still intently focused on this, as Bren now noticed, rather small girl in front of them. He set his reading to the side and sat up a bit straighter against the wall before holding out a hand to her with an easy smile on his face. "Name's Bren by the way. Bren Adalwolf. It's nice to meet you." His father had always taught him to be polite to everyone and just because he wasn't under the watchful eye of his family anymore didn't mean he was going to let his manners slip away. Besides, if he was going to succeed in the initiation the next day, it wouldn't hurt to have a few people who knew him by name.</s> <\|message\|>Violet Skye Sfyri --- B E A C O N A C A D E M Y T H E G R E A T H A L L K I N G D O M O F V A L E --- Violet must have had a strange perception of what cute was, because this little shadow creature was adorable. Indeed, she three metal spheres and legs in the rough shape of a dog was cute, and don't forget the massive armored truck. "Ooh, Ajax! That's a cool name." She said, doting over him, hands on her cheeks. "And there's two more. Wow." Grinning that she had permission, she used her soft fleshy hand to stroke the top of the dog's head. Her hand did sink in a little bit, prompting a retraction of her hand and a giggle. "Wow! Oohh," her voice went into a kind of baby speech mode. "Who's a wittle incorporeal twoublemaker? You are!" As Bren introduced himself, she seemed to remember he was there. "Oh, um," She backed up a step, straightening her back. She rubbed the back of her neck with her metallic hand. Clearing her throat she tried to compose herself. But it was clear she was still fawning over the adorable dog in her innermost mind. "Heh. Hi, Bren Adalwolf." She returned the handshake with her right hand, the one that was skin. "I'm uh, Violet. Violet Skye Syrfi. You can just call me Sky, though. There's an 'e' on the end of my middle name, but not on the end of my nickname. It's- it, uh, it doesn't matter. You can spell it however you want, really." She said. She returned the handshake a little too vigorously before disengaging from it. "So, you a, you a student? I mean, obviously, you are." She flattened out the edges of her pajama shirt. "I'm a student. I've- y'know. Wanted to be a huntress for a while. Ob-obviously." She cleared her throat. "Well, um. Wow, sorry. Nice to meet you, too, Bren! I'm just, uh, a little nervous, I guess." She grinned sheepishly. It was like watching a fish die on the sun-warmed wooden boards of a pier. "Are you, uh...from around here? I'm from Vale. Work at, uh, a garage kinda thing. Well, I will, I'm just apprenticing right now. Part time. Of course- my main job is gonna be, uh, Huntress. Hopefully. If I f-fail, then, I guess I'll be a mechanic full time!" Her voice got high pitched and she shrugged.</s>	<\|message\|>Fen Saffron Beacon Academy The Great Hall Kingdom of Vale --- Fen rubbed his mouth, as if contemplating a response. In truth, he expected simple shock, or even a violent response. He wasn't expecting such a cute reaction from the girl. He felt a little guilty because of it, and decided to stick around. When he was finished hiding his grin, he composed himself and spoke. "Too nervous." He pointed at the girl, emphasizing who he meant. "Thinking too much of the soon, upsetting your now." As he got a better look at the girl, it affirmed what he was saying. She seemed too exhausted to be up, but at the same time, too awake to sleep. Fen yawned, as if making a point. Taking a sitting posture similar to the girl, he pulled out something from his knapsack, a cloak meant for traveling in Vacuo. While it was mostly for protection from the sun, it was warm enough to sleep in those cold desert nights, and thus became his preferred sleep attire. Wrapping himself in the cloak, he noticed the girl was focusing intently on him, as if she was trying to ignore everyone else. "Relax, everyone else is." He pointed to the person closest to them. A few people were woken up by the brief commotion, but they quickly went back to sleep. At worst, one placed a pillow over his head. Feeling completely satisfied with the talk, Fen closed his eyes and dozed off, his body still facing the girl.</s>
<\|description\|>Fen Saffron Fen Saffron --- Basics Fen: Shortened version of Fenrir, the mythological wolf in Norse Myth. Saffron: A shade of yellow/orange. Nickname/Alias: N/A Age: 17 Gender: Male Race: Wolf Faunus Appearance Description: Fen stands at 6 feet, but it can be hard to tell when he's in his usual hunched stance. His body is also surprisingly toned considering how lean he appears. His black shaggy hair is long enough to cover his wolf ears on the top of his head, and accentuates his yellow eyes. He usually keeps a disgruntled look on his face, but when he encounters something that amuses or excites him, he flashes a grin, showing his sharp teeth. For clothing, he prefers light clothing suitable for the desert. But he always wears his light yellow scarf, an old gift from his father. Allusion: Big Bad Wolf --- Personality Personality: At first, Fen seems lethargic. He seems disinterested in everything, and when he talks, he only speaks a couple words at best. Still, this makes him surprisingly approachable as he treats everyone with a casual manner. However, this outward demeanor is partially a facade to catch people off-guard. In truth, he loves riling people up, whether it's getting close up to people, or making the occasional acerbic remark amidst his listless comments. Fen's true personality is certainly more active. He prefers observing others, enjoys getting people out of their comfort zone, and engaging in banter. Despite this irritating behavior, Fen doesn't do this out of malice. He actually likes interacting with people, but feels like he can't help himself with teasing them. But at the same time, he wouldn't want to push someone too far with his actions, and dislikes people who do. He's loyal to anyone he considers a friend, and makes blunt remarks as he would hate to lie to them. While he isn't a bookworm, Fen enjoys learning about new things. He'll observe how people do things, and will listen intently to their words. Part of it stems from his perceived lack of purpose; Compared to others, he doesn't have any particular reason to be a huntsman, nor does he put any heavy effort in doing so. And it's because of that, that he wants to seek something more than fighting and aggravating people for fun. Likes: Eating Learning about new things Finding new hobbies Teasing people Things he finds cute Dislikes: Hunger People who abuse their power Being deceived Making cute things cry Having nothing to strive for Motivation: Because he's good at hunting. And he wants to find more meaning in it. Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual --- Biography Country of Origin: Vacuo Bio: As far as he could remember, Fen was always traveling with a person he called his father, an old huntsman known as Aramis Saffron. He didn't know his exact origins, whether Aramis was his actual father, or perhaps he was found after some Grimm attack as a sole survivor. His father never talked about it, nor did Fen ever care about where he came from. Whatever the case was. Fen simply followed his father wherever he went, generally in areas where Grimm attacked. His upbringing was a spartan one; His father taught Fen what he needed to survive, but he often had to endure on his own due to the perils of the Vacuo desert and his father's occupation. But despite this bizarre and dangerous life, Fen enjoyed it. Eventually however, his father enrolled him into the nearest combat school, only stating to Fen that he taught all he could to him. Fen never questioned Aramis, but he wondered what exactly he was suppose to learn in school. Anything involving fighting felt easy to him, compared to what he faced before. His feelings slowly changed however, as he began to communicate with the people around him. He was used to letting his father doing all the talking whenever they went to a settlement. But now, he had to do it himself. He found that people actually wanted to interact with him, whether it's to teach them something he did naturally, or just to get to know the aloof faunus. While he never fully connected with anyone in his school days, Fen felt a twinge of regret not doing so. But he also gained a sense of curiosity of the world. And it was seeing this newfound interest in new things that Aramis decided to transfer Fen to Beacon Academy, a place where Fen could broaden his horizons. --- Combat Weapon: Fen uses a pair of boxy-looking tonfas called Gjöll. They can fire rifle rounds through the long shaft, and the grips have separate triggers in them on each side, letting him either fire them normally, or use the recoil to strengthen his melee strikes. Additionally, he can combine the bottom sides of Gjöll into one, forming blades at the end and letting him use it as a axe. As the tip is uncovered, he can still fire rounds, and he can even load a more powerful dust bullet in axe mode. The axe can also unload a bipod in this form, in case Fen needs support for both aiming and the massive recoil from firing. Semblance: Fen's Semblance Devour, lets him absorb kinetic energy to empower him. As he gains more energy, his physical capabilities become stronger. He can even unleash all the energy at once for a single attack, although he has to use all of it. Fen has two different ways he can absorb energy. He can passively gain the energy made from his own movements, slowly getting stronger as a fight goes on. But the fastest way to gain energy is taking attacks head-on, using his aura to absorb most of the damage. There are several weakness to this however. Fen can't absorb attacks that would overwhelm him otherwise, nor can he defend against attacks he's completely unaware of. The energy also slowly dissipates when not in use.</s> <\|message\|>Rowan Kuronuma --- @Vocab@PrankFox If Rowan were being completely honest, he'd actually stopped listening to everyone pretty quickly after he kicked the bully ringleader, by which he of course meant about five seconds. He briefly registered the fox girl who'd been challenging earlier complaining about losing the challenge, which he had considered calling her out for until she acknowledged his badass kick, at which point he decided to spare her the humiliation of losing an argument too. Not long after that, a bit more fighting had broken out, with another faunus coming in to help the red-haired guy as he took him down with the help of some kind of ghost dog. Kinda lame that it'd taken two of them to finish someone so weak, but he'd give them the credit of their styles at least being pretty cool, if nothing else... After that, not much of any real importance happened. Some weird girl started yelling at them over... honestly he hadn't been listening, but she mentioned something about fauna and making sure they wouldn't make it through to their second year. He'd been confused at first, because he didn't know what being fauna had anything to do with the current situation. Not making it to through initiation or to the second year though, well, that made her intentions crystal clear! "Oh, I get what you're sayin' now..." He said, a grin slowly spreading across his face. "You're sayin' you're aimin' to beat me outta the competition tomorrow, right?! Well, challenge accepted! Assumin' you're actually strong enough to put one up, that is!" And with that declaration of war, he went back to his sleeping bag, ready to try and get as much sleep as he could and be ready bright and early for the next day. It wouldn't do to disappoint his new rival, after all! --- He got maybe an hour of sleep. He'd gotten himself too hyped up. Damn it, he was glad he'd found a rival, but did she have to challenge him right before it was time to sleep? If she'd only done it before he'd kicked that guy, he could've poured all his excitement into that and slept like a log! As a result, he found himself moving basically on autopilot through most of his morning training, and then a few more things he didn't pay attention, and unfortunately only realised that he hadn't quite come back to reality until he noticed a student being launched off the cliff they'd wound up on. Which was unusual, but why would... Oh, this was the initiation. Well... shit, ok. He hadn't been listening at all to any instructions he was sure had just been given, but whatever, he'd just have to wing it. Heh. But yeah nah he'd just find someone else to get the gist of what the hell they were meant to be doing from. It was with that thought that Rowan was launched from the cliffside, barely even having to think as he activated his cape, decreasing his weight, and settling into a smooth glide over the forest. Thankfully, it had barely even been a few seconds before he caught sight of someone he... well, didn't really know, but had fought alongside, using his weapon to slide down a tree. He circled overhead for a moment, waiting for him to reach the ground, before adjusting his angle and weight and deactivating his cape to drop down in front of him, in what Rowan could safely call a satisfactorily awesome landing. "Yo, Dog Guy. Where you listenin' to whatever the headmaster guy said we were meant to be doin'?"</s> <\|message\|>Bren Adalwolf --- B E A C O N A C A D E M Y E M E R A L D F O R E S T K I N G D O M O F V A L E --- It didn't take as long as Bren had expected for him to find someone, or rather they found him. One of the other guys that had jumped into the fight with Briar, specifically the one who'd sent him flying, which Bren could appreciate, hit the ground in front of him. He didn't have anything that obviously gave him the ability to fly so either dust or his semblance then; he'd figure it out later. Or just ask but they didn't really have time for that at the moment. "Dog guy?" He grinned and propped Guardian up on his shoulder, "I guess you're not wrong, name's Bren though." A bit of a frown crossed his face at the question, of course it was the one person who didn't pay attention to the headmaster to find him. As long as he made a capable partner for this though he didn't really care. "We're supposed to get a partner, go to some ruin, and pick up an artifact then return to the cliff. You're the first person I've seen so I guess that makes us partners." The headmaster didn't bother to give them any idea of what direction the temple might be in though, but that probably counted as a part of the initiation. He gestured deeper into the forest, "I imagine the ruins are deeper in, no reason for it to be too easy and that's where everyone else is headed." He shrugged his blade back off his shoulder before taking off at a jog deeper into the woods. He figured this guy would follow after him. He got the impression that he liked to be in the spotlight judging by his immediate reaction to Briar and his goons was to dropkick the ringleader. "Better get moving, we don't want to be last to the ruins!"</s> <\|message\|>Zargun Nouri Zargun Nouri --- Emerald Forest Kingdom of Vale --- "Well, so far, this trial is..... going well, I suppose." Saying it softly to himself as he walked through the forest. So far, Zargun has not seen anyone or anything cross his path, which is both a blessing and a problem. Sure, not having to fight at the moment meant he could conserve his energy for when he needed it. Like if he encounters a Grimm but, Zargun felt uneasy. He needed to find someone to partner up with in order to pass this trial. Should he have seen someone or anyone by now? Zargun does not know for how long he has walked through the forest. He does not want to get ambushed or anything like that before he finds someone. Stopping in place and took a moment to look around once again. Still, nothing, and Zargun took a deep breath. Surely he is bound to find someone before it is too late. To feel more comfortable during his search, Zargun switched Oathkeeper to its sword form. The glaive form is not going to do much in the tightest of a forest, and he is better at slicing than aiming with a gun. Giving Oathkeeper a few twirls before stopping with a satisfied smile. Now he feels better but, the fact remains. Zargun needed to find someone and soon. He does not want to fail his first chance to be a Huntsman just because he could not find a teammate. That would just be.... humiliating, and Zargun shook at the thought. No, he will not fail this trial and go back to Aerion empty-handed. So Zargun started walking forward, now actively looking for any sign of a person. As Zargun was looking for a partner, it was then that he spotted someone. He stopped in this track took a good look at the man. It looked like a faunus judging by the ears, and it looks he is walking back to the cliff. Maybe he is looking for someone else, well, he thought. Why else would he be heading back? So with another deep breath and confidence in hand. All the while hoping that this guy is not a prick. Walked up to Fen with a friendly smile. Once he got close enough, "Hey stranger." Zargun gave a small wave with his left hand and locked eyes with him. "I am Zargun, and it looks like we are partners now. So what is your name?"</s>	<\|message\|>Fen Saffron Emerald Forest Kingdom of Vale --- As he continued walking through the forest, Fen grimaced as he bit an apple. It was something he pocketed while getting breakfast, a little snack for later. But he didn't expect it to be so sour. He continued biting into it anyway; It was wrong to waste food, and it kept his mind off the tranquility of his surroundings, which began to annoy him. There wasn't any immediate danger so far; Even so, he kept the inactive Gjöll in one hand, ready to be unsheathed at the slightest hint of a threat. But it wasn't long before Fen found someone far off into the distance. A man carrying what appeared to be a sword, all alone. It was safe to assume he was another student, and thankfully in need of a partner like himself. Fen walked at his casual pace towards the man; They were bound to meet up, and if the person was anything like Fen, he'd take running at him poorly. As he drew closer, Fen could make out more details about his possible partner. There was nothing that particularly stood out, except being slightly taller than Fen. It didn't matter much to him, he didn't know what kind of partner he'd personally like, not that he was given a choice. When they finally met face to face, the man introduced himself as Zargun. "Hey. Fen Saffron." Fen waved back and jutted his thumb towards himself, an apple core still in his hand. There was an awkward silence afterwards, as Fen had nothing else to say to Zargun, and the two apparently began a impromptu staring contest. Deciding to break the lull himself, Fen silently pointed back, towards their destination. He immediately did a 180 on the spot, and walked back.</s>
<\|description\|>Zargun Nouri Zargun Nouri Basics Zargun meaning Gold Hue Nouri meaning Light Nickname/Alias: N/A Age: 17 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance Description: Standing at 6'1, and has an athletic build. Zargun has short black hair with light beige eyes. Generally, he likes to wear loose-fitting clothes like hoodies and sweat pants. Personally, he prefers to wear a black sleeveless hoodie, grayish sweat pants, and white running shoes. Which he tends to only put on the hood during rain or when he wants to be alone. Along with a white undershirt underneath his hoodie, and has a black elbow brace on his left elbow. Allusion: Mithra Personality Personality: Zargun can be considered a laid-back individual, one that tends to go with the flow most times. Not wanting to be a problem or drawing unnecessary attention to himself. Despite this, Zargun can be stubborn at times on topics he cares about and once he sets his mind on something. Definitely, if it is about those he cares about and it can be hard to dissuade him from it. Which can be both a good and bad thing given the situation. Besides that, Zargun is someone that is friendly with people and is eager to learn more about those he meets. Zargun is rather mature for his age, mainly due to the fact that he had to take care of his younger siblings whenever their huntsman guardian was on missions. Taking the role of big brother seriously and helped around the house when he could. Often helping his younger siblings with things and is someone you can go to for help. For that, he is willing to give to those that ask it. Always willing to be there for those he cares about or sometimes strangers. Zargun can be quite brave if a situation calls for it, especially if it deals with people he cares about. One of the few things that will piss him off is if someone breaks an oath. As he takes taking an oath seriously and will see those that break an oath poorly. As he believes a person's word is worth a lot and is a sign of one's character. For what is the point of taking an oath if they just discard it on a whim? Likes: Animals, Nature, Sparring, Stargazing and His Family Dislikes: Bandits, Oath-breakers, The Cold and Bullies Motivation: To become strong enough to protect people and those he cares about. Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual Biography Country of Origin: Vale Bio: Born in a settlement called Skarn in deserts of Vacuo. Being the eldest of three and his parents were in charge of the settlement's animals. Something that Zargun was expected to handle once he gets older. Living in Skarn for Zargun was somewhat better than other settlements but still tough. Other than the occasional bandit raid, Skarn was stable, and that was all his parents could wish for in Vacuo. Growing up, Zargun was able to handle life in the desert fine and even start to thrive. Though things would change for the worse. It was when Zargun was ten did things change for the worse. When a friend of the family, Aeron, a huntsman from Vale, was visiting. A large group of bandits attacked Skarn, and while they were able to fight off the bandits. There were significant casualties among the townsfolk. Zargun's parents included, and it was only a matter of time before the survivors' negative emotions drew Grimm to them. It was too much for the survivors and during the chaos, Zargun's injured parents urged Aeron to take their children to safety. Using what energy they had left to cover their escape, did Aeron reluctantly agree to this. Leaving Zargun and his siblings one last tearful goodbye before being led to safety. It was after arriving at the capital that rather than hand the children off to an orphanage. Aeron decided on raising the children as his own in respect of his friendship with Zargun's parents. So Aeron brought them back with him to Vale. It was here under the care of Aeron that Zargun started to look up at the huntsman. Seeing how Aerion tried his best to save his parents and how he was able to save him and his siblings despite the Grimm overrunning Skarn. It impressed Zargun, and it was there, he decided that he wanted to be a huntsman like Aeron. Hoping to be strong enough to protect his family and help to prevent others from experiencing the same tragedy that befell him and his family. With help from Aerion, Zargun would train and eventually be accepted into Beacon Academy and hone his skills to be a real Huntsman like Aerion. Combat Weapon: Semblance: Blinding Radiance - Zargun is able to produce bright light from his body to blind those around him. He is able to control how bright and how big the light is, even in what direction the light is facing. Either in front of him or behind him or both at the same time. He is able to summon it in an instant though, for stronger lights, he needs to charge before he can unleash it. The brighter, bigger, and how long it lasts, the more aura he has to use. So he often uses it in short bursts to temporary blind foes. Also, able to use it as a flare and launch a bright ball of light from his hands. Which dissipates after twenty seconds. Zargun's semblance makes it that he is immune to bright lights. Not being fazed and able to see fine when exposed to bright lights but can still tell how bright his light is regardless.</s> <\|message\|>Bren Adalwolf --- B E A C O N A C A D E M Y E M E R A L D F O R E S T K I N G D O M O F V A L E --- It didn't take as long as Bren had expected for him to find someone, or rather they found him. One of the other guys that had jumped into the fight with Briar, specifically the one who'd sent him flying, which Bren could appreciate, hit the ground in front of him. He didn't have anything that obviously gave him the ability to fly so either dust or his semblance then; he'd figure it out later. Or just ask but they didn't really have time for that at the moment. "Dog guy?" He grinned and propped Guardian up on his shoulder, "I guess you're not wrong, name's Bren though." A bit of a frown crossed his face at the question, of course it was the one person who didn't pay attention to the headmaster to find him. As long as he made a capable partner for this though he didn't really care. "We're supposed to get a partner, go to some ruin, and pick up an artifact then return to the cliff. You're the first person I've seen so I guess that makes us partners." The headmaster didn't bother to give them any idea of what direction the temple might be in though, but that probably counted as a part of the initiation. He gestured deeper into the forest, "I imagine the ruins are deeper in, no reason for it to be too easy and that's where everyone else is headed." He shrugged his blade back off his shoulder before taking off at a jog deeper into the woods. He figured this guy would follow after him. He got the impression that he liked to be in the spotlight judging by his immediate reaction to Briar and his goons was to dropkick the ringleader. "Better get moving, we don't want to be last to the ruins!"</s> <\|message\|>Zargun Nouri Zargun Nouri --- Emerald Forest Kingdom of Vale --- "Well, so far, this trial is..... going well, I suppose." Saying it softly to himself as he walked through the forest. So far, Zargun has not seen anyone or anything cross his path, which is both a blessing and a problem. Sure, not having to fight at the moment meant he could conserve his energy for when he needed it. Like if he encounters a Grimm but, Zargun felt uneasy. He needed to find someone to partner up with in order to pass this trial. Should he have seen someone or anyone by now? Zargun does not know for how long he has walked through the forest. He does not want to get ambushed or anything like that before he finds someone. Stopping in place and took a moment to look around once again. Still, nothing, and Zargun took a deep breath. Surely he is bound to find someone before it is too late. To feel more comfortable during his search, Zargun switched Oathkeeper to its sword form. The glaive form is not going to do much in the tightest of a forest, and he is better at slicing than aiming with a gun. Giving Oathkeeper a few twirls before stopping with a satisfied smile. Now he feels better but, the fact remains. Zargun needed to find someone and soon. He does not want to fail his first chance to be a Huntsman just because he could not find a teammate. That would just be.... humiliating, and Zargun shook at the thought. No, he will not fail this trial and go back to Aerion empty-handed. So Zargun started walking forward, now actively looking for any sign of a person. As Zargun was looking for a partner, it was then that he spotted someone. He stopped in this track took a good look at the man. It looked like a faunus judging by the ears, and it looks he is walking back to the cliff. Maybe he is looking for someone else, well, he thought. Why else would he be heading back? So with another deep breath and confidence in hand. All the while hoping that this guy is not a prick. Walked up to Fen with a friendly smile. Once he got close enough, "Hey stranger." Zargun gave a small wave with his left hand and locked eyes with him. "I am Zargun, and it looks like we are partners now. So what is your name?"</s> <\|message\|>Fen Saffron --- Emerald Forest Kingdom of Vale --- As he continued walking through the forest, Fen grimaced as he bit an apple. It was something he pocketed while getting breakfast, a little snack for later. But he didn't expect it to be so sour. He continued biting into it anyway; It was wrong to waste food, and it kept his mind off the tranquility of his surroundings, which began to annoy him. There wasn't any immediate danger so far; Even so, he kept the inactive Gjöll in one hand, ready to be unsheathed at the slightest hint of a threat. But it wasn't long before Fen found someone far off into the distance. A man carrying what appeared to be a sword, all alone. It was safe to assume he was another student, and thankfully in need of a partner like himself. Fen walked at his casual pace towards the man; They were bound to meet up, and if the person was anything like Fen, he'd take running at him poorly. As he drew closer, Fen could make out more details about his possible partner. There was nothing that particularly stood out, except being slightly taller than Fen. It didn't matter much to him, he didn't know what kind of partner he'd personally like, not that he was given a choice. When they finally met face to face, the man introduced himself as Zargun. "Hey. Fen Saffron." Fen waved back and jutted his thumb towards himself, an apple core still in his hand. There was an awkward silence afterwards, as Fen had nothing else to say to Zargun, and the two apparently began a impromptu staring contest. Deciding to break the lull himself, Fen silently pointed back, towards their destination. He immediately did a 180 on the spot, and walked back.</s>	<\|message\|>Zargun Nouri Emerald Forest Kingdom of Vale --- That went.... well. If well means an awkward silence that only ended with the guy walking away. At least Zargun knows his name now, and Fen seemed fine for the moment. Hopefully, he is not someone that Zargun would hate down the line. Even if it is just for this trial, it will suck if Fen proved to be someone like a bully. Fen being a Faunus was not really an issue. Zargun has no problem with them despite some people that he has seen in Vale. In Vacuo, as long as you can survive in the wasteland, you are welcomed. A popular saying that Zargun remembers to be true while he lived in Vacuo. In Vale, it is a different story, it seems. As he was thinking about this, some time passed before he snapped to attention. Realizing that Fen was getting farther away and Zargun would say, "Hey, wait up," and ran to get to Fen. After reaching Fen, Zargun broke into a walk and gave a small smile to Fen. Before looking ahead and after some minutes of silence. Zargun tried to make some small talk to pass the time. Zargun spoke. "So Fen.... you ready to be a Huntsman? Zargun's free left hand went nervously behind his head. What the frick should he say? He already spoke, so it is too late unless he changes the topic fast. No, let's see what Fen's says and try to work from there.</s>
<\|description\|>Lucas Ross Age: 14 (01/11/13) Grade: Freshman Bio: Lucas Ross is an orphan living with Foster parents Theo and Amaretta Jackson. His birth parents had left him at the doorstep of a local firehouse and eventually he found himself shuffling about the system. He wasn't a bad kid, on the contrary he was a very quiet and meek boy, which is why he found himself being exploited by the man he'd been living with when his powers emerged. That had been a tough year, and in the end his guardian had abandoned him once he'd gotten everything he wanted. Social services never knew the details of his time with that man, and Lucas had been too afraid to talk about it. Theo and Amaretta had been a Godsend. The two of them were older, if not quite elderly, and had years of experience with stubborn youths. They've only spent a summer with him, but Lucas was beginning to open up to them, whether he likes it or not! Appearance: Lucas is a thin boy, Caucasian, raven haired with deep blue eyes that are half hidden behind a pair of large round glasses. His skin is often pale nfrom lack of regular sunlight exposure. A sedentary lifestyle has left him physically average, though his legs are fit due to his daily walks to and from school. He prefers denim shorts or pants, sneakers, and pullover hoodies that have varying lengths of sleeves depending on the weather. He is literally never seen without an odd old smart watch that appears heavily modified. Personality: The boy is a loner that prefers to sit quietly and people watch. His standoffish behavior and blunt analyses of observations can sometimes be misread as rudeness. Because there are so few people he actually cares for, he is viciously protective of them. The trauma of his past has instilled a fear in Lucas that makes him reluctant to utilize his gift, and he often finds his own traitorous mind calling himself a Freak. Gift: Technoturge: Like the Thaumaturgists of old who performed miracles with "magic" a Technoturge can perform near-miracles with almost any form of technology. With this gift any broken tech can be repaired with time and the right materials, no matter how severe the damage. Coding and programming languages come easily. The downside is that Technoturges tend to have less understanding of the chaotic nuances of the human condition, making it difficult to socialize.</s> <\|message\|>Alex Reid "Supergirl huh?, it's cool, I won't rat you out if you don't rat me out. " smiled Alex. He checked the window, agents were walking around outside gathering students and staff. "It's not clear outside, and going thru the halls could be risky." Alex looked up at the ceiling, "It's our best chance of not being spotted, but we'll hafta be extremely careful where we step or splat." He stood up on a desk, and pushed the ceiling tile up and out of the way, before pulling himself up. "Come on, give me your hand." "Remember, don't put any weight on the ceiling tile itself, keep your hands and feet on the frames." Alex warned. * I don't wanna use my powers in front of them, not until I can trust them*</s> <\|message\|>Lucas Ross 'Looks like the jig is up, Luke.' Those were the thoughts of Freshman Lucas Ross as he stared apathetically out the window of his Algebra classroom. He thought briefly of his foster parents and how disappointed they would be that he'd likely be missing Chili night. He remembered Amaretta painstakingly peeling countless beans from the fresh food market she often dragged him to on Sundays after church. He wasn't entirely sure why, but her sad face bothered him more than his impending incarceration. 'That's obvious. Being locked up is exactly where you belong.' There were those harsh words echoing in his mind as they always seemed wont to do. He hated how they sounded so much like him. He much preferred the gentle tones of Theo, the kind man who encouraged him to open up and feel. Those reassurances that he was not, in fact, a Freak almost made him believe it. Almost, but not quite. A series of soft beeps sounding from his wrist brought his eyes down to a dully glowing screen. There, he found an old touch-screen that displayed a swirling blue mist that, to most, would seem a simple animation. He knew better. "I know, I'll miss them too." Another round of beeps sounded out, this time giving off the distinct impression of an inquiry. Lucas rolled his eyes before glancing back at the window. The suited agents were closing up most points of exit from the grounds. "Not exactly an option now, is it? I wouldn't make it half a step out the door." His voice was heavy with defeat. 'They're finally going to get you, robot boy.' Beeping, this time furious and indignant, drowned out the sinister words feeding his doubts. The diatribe was so fierce that Lucas began to sweat under his collar. He lifted his free hand as if to ward off an advancing predator while simultaneously moving his watch away from him, though he quickly stopped when the beeps became even more erratic. He finally spoke up to try and put an end to the madness. "Okay, okay, I won't just give up. That being said..." He eyed the various, very clearly armed, agents with a critical eye, "... I may be open to ideas on how not to do that." With deft movements he emptied his bag of all non-essentials - text books, ream of paper, the annoyingly cumbersome student handbook - and set about leaving the, now empty, classroom. The halls were eerily silent save for the soft beeping of his little companion. He wondered briefly if he shouldn't just find a bolt hole and hide, but he knew that his name in the roster would arouse suspicion due to his absence in the gymnasium. His musings were halted when he heard an odd sound, something like metal being broken by a sharp impact, and he crept close enough to the nearest corner to spy a nearby door just swinging shut. 'Isn't that the upper year English classroom?' He thought back to orientation when the tour guide, a boisterous alumni named Appleby, had waxed poetic about his years wandering these halls. With clumsy stealth he made his way over to the room in question and pressed an ear to the solid wood, catching just the last few words of a startled question.</s> <\|message\|>Celine Lowery Celine had quickly grabbed the card from the desk that the teacher had left before looked up, moving her headphones to around her neck for a moment. She offered her hand to Alex, not wanting to be left behind. "Where are we going?" she asked in a whisper. She was impressed by Ashley's power- it seemed much more useful than hers. As she climbed into the ceiling tiles, she remained quiet and could feel each of the heartbeats of her friends. There was a new one she could hear however and looked down from the hole in the ceiling. She knew that there was something going on but she had never experienced something like this. She gulped as she took a deep breath and offered her hand down to him.</s> <\|message\|>Ashley "Ash" Parker Ashley didn't need to be asked twice. Though she frowned up at the hole in the ceiling, hoping it wasn't going to be full of crickets and spiders and other creepy-crawlies, she was definitely more worried about the agents outside. With Alex's help to boost her up high enough, she easily grabbed the frame and twisted herself up into the ceiling with one hand - his supergirl comment had inspired her to show off a little bit. While he helped Celine up, she turned her phone's flashlight on and shined it around, considering the various directions they could travel in. To her surprise, when she turned back around Celine was helping another kid in, one she didn't recognize. A freshman, maybe? "There's probably an agent watching the front parking lot where my car is. Does anyone know how to hotwire a car so we can steal one from the staff lot?" She asked with a nervous chuckle. "They might not be watching that one..."</s> <\|message\|>Lucas Ross As luck would have it, pressing one's ear against a door which had lost its locking mechanism was foolish. It was some grace of god which allowed Lucas not to fall flat on the floor. He wouldn't be admitting to anyone that he may have windmilled his arms a few rotations in his haste to maintain balance. Thankfully no one was around to witness it... No one was around...? At that moment a delicate hand shot down from a conspicuous hole above him starling him with its suddenness. Giving a quick look around the empty room, and hearing the distant sounds of movement in the building growing closer, he threw caution to the wind and hopped up on a desk so his shorter body could reach the hand up. Thankfully he wasn't much of a weighty kid, so he was up and surrounded by a gaggle of upperclassmen in no time. The social hierarchy being what it was he didn't know any of them, but having been a wall flower at lunch most days he was at least aware of them. The male he knew was supposed to be very popular. Rumor had it he was also filthy, stinking rich, but those comments had always been spoken by people with tones of jealousy. Of the two young women he was much less familiar. The one shifting around uncomfortably in the dark ventilation shaft was one of the more vocal protestors of the school's cellphone policy. Seeing the lit phone in her hand made the corner of his lips twitch. When his eyes scanned the girl who'd helped him up he couldn't help but notice the headphones she wore. His eyes briefly flashed an electric blue before he slapped a hand over them. 'Well done, little Freak, you've never been able to help yourself...' After a moment to collect himself Lucas glanced at Cellphone-girl with a small frown. Now wasn't the time for his insecurities. He took a deep breath, glanced around at everyone else, and then put up a reluctant hand, "If no one else can, I should be able to handle it."</s> <\|message\|>Alex Reid Alex looked behind him at the two girls, and then some dude was crawling up in the hole, saying something about he can't handle it...Oh gosh, hope he isn't claustrophobic. "Okay guys, I think we all sorta well know why we are up here, and um, I trust you, so freak out a little, don't scream, and try to keep up." Alex said as he shrunk down into a rat. He squeaked at them, then turned ,running along the metal frame as if it was nothing. He wasn't really paying much attention to them as he was Balancing as his first time as a rat. "I smell something....Mmmmm....cheese." the rat turned down the wrong corridor. He made his way to the kitchen, and stopped at the vent when he heard voices. Alex turned back into human, and brought his finger to his lips "Shhhhh" Listening he could hear at least two voices he didn't recognize, and they were saying something about gases.. He looked at the group, "Get out alive, I'll cover ya." Alex stepped on the time and fell thru the floor landing between the two BSI agents. When He rose up, he stood around twelve foot tall with a huge mouth full of razor sharp teeth,and massive bear claws, the Kodiak kind. The hulking bear swatted one of the agents thru a wall, as it roared at the other one inches from his face!</s> <\|message\|>Celine Lowery Celine grabbed her ears, the vibrations causing her eardrums to feel like they had ruptured. Her mouth opened to scream before she tucked her head down towards her chin for a moment until the pain passed. Slipping her headphones back on and nodding to the rest of the group. It appeared that Alex could handle the two Agents and she thought they should continue moving. "What do you guys want to do? Which way do we go?" she knew they needed to act fast and her headphones would allow her to keep up with everyone. She couldn't handle any type of noise interfering with her sensitive ears and prayed that they could get out quickly.</s> <\|message\|>Leto Ashley On a normal day, a meek-looking freshman casually offering to hotwire a car would get more than a terse nod of acknowledgement. Today was very much not a normal day. Following a rat was definitely weirder, but after breaking down a door Ashley decided not to make any snarky comments about anyone else's powers. Presumably they all had powers, at least - was the other girl some kind of psychic or something? There was no time for her to ask or speculate, as crawling through the vents was taking all of her concentration. Did this guy even know where he was going? Now he was stopped over the cafeteria, which was definitely not where they needed to be. "What are you-" She didn't get a chance to finish her question before he had dropped down. "Right, cool, that guy's a moron. Teacher's lot should be this way," she muttered, motioning for the other to follow her as she started crawling back down the vent. The sounds of fighting picked up behind them, growls and screams punctuated by loud thuds and then gunshots that made her flinch and crawl faster. --- Leto Assigned to wait with the team at the vehicles, Leto was one of the first in the doors when the team sent to clear the main building called in for help on the radio. Or, rather, when their radios crackled to life with the sounds of a fight, gunshots, and some kind of large animal. A bear, maybe? "Positions?" the team leader demanded on radio. "Team Delta, positions?" There was no reply over the radio, but the sounds of fighting drew them towards the cafeteria. Leto put up a shield around his team as they progressed through the hallway, but by the time they reached the doors to the kitchen it was eerily silent. Not having been issued a gun, he drew his taser as the shield nudged the big double doors open, not at all sure what they were going to discover inside.</s>	<\|message\|>Lucas Ross Not for nothing, seeing a teenager shapeshifting in front of his eyes was quite the, err, eye opener. He heard the little comment made by Cellphone-girl after the guy had gone full-on kodiak on the agents below. Quite the snarky one. The tittering little beeps issuing quietly from his watch let him know that someone liked their pseudo-leader. Quiet-girl had worried him for a moment when he saw her pained grimace, but seeing it pass set his nerves straight. Having seen the brief patronizing looks thrown his way when he'd volunteered to get their getaway car running he decided against speaking any further for the time being. These people didn't know him, nor what he was capable of, and as Theo had taught him early during his habitation with the Jackson's: actions speak clearer than words. Besides, the likelihood of his continued association with the other teens after their escape was even less likely than their escape plan actually succeeding. As if to punctuate those thoughts the sounds of battle behind them suddenly grew much too quiet. He hoped the guy had shifted into something to slip away, but he had a bad feeling these agents were prepared for just about anything.</s>
<\|description\|>Lucas Ross Age: 14 (01/11/13) Grade: Freshman Bio: Lucas Ross is an orphan living with Foster parents Theo and Amaretta Jackson. His birth parents had left him at the doorstep of a local firehouse and eventually he found himself shuffling about the system. He wasn't a bad kid, on the contrary he was a very quiet and meek boy, which is why he found himself being exploited by the man he'd been living with when his powers emerged. That had been a tough year, and in the end his guardian had abandoned him once he'd gotten everything he wanted. Social services never knew the details of his time with that man, and Lucas had been too afraid to talk about it. Theo and Amaretta had been a Godsend. The two of them were older, if not quite elderly, and had years of experience with stubborn youths. They've only spent a summer with him, but Lucas was beginning to open up to them, whether he likes it or not! Appearance: Lucas is a thin boy, Caucasian, raven haired with deep blue eyes that are half hidden behind a pair of large round glasses. His skin is often pale nfrom lack of regular sunlight exposure. A sedentary lifestyle has left him physically average, though his legs are fit due to his daily walks to and from school. He prefers denim shorts or pants, sneakers, and pullover hoodies that have varying lengths of sleeves depending on the weather. He is literally never seen without an odd old smart watch that appears heavily modified. Personality: The boy is a loner that prefers to sit quietly and people watch. His standoffish behavior and blunt analyses of observations can sometimes be misread as rudeness. Because there are so few people he actually cares for, he is viciously protective of them. The trauma of his past has instilled a fear in Lucas that makes him reluctant to utilize his gift, and he often finds his own traitorous mind calling himself a Freak. Gift: Technoturge: Like the Thaumaturgists of old who performed miracles with "magic" a Technoturge can perform near-miracles with almost any form of technology. With this gift any broken tech can be repaired with time and the right materials, no matter how severe the damage. Coding and programming languages come easily. The downside is that Technoturges tend to have less understanding of the chaotic nuances of the human condition, making it difficult to socialize.</s> <\|message\|>Celine Lowery Celine understood the signal and instantly covered her ears, even though they were shielded by the headphones. She watched as she disappeared through the opening and followed suit. They had to move quickly- while most of the agents were distracted, Celine was sure that the loud bang would have drawn some of their attention. She glanced around, looking for more agents. Her ears were perked, having already gotten used to the outside noises. Now, she was determined to make sure they stayed one step ahead and got out of there.</s> <\|message\|>Lucas Ross As his feet touched the rough carpeted floor beside his companions he tried to deny internally how embarrassing it was to be handled like a toddler by a teen girl. 'Come now Luke, this isn't really the time to let your chauvinistic tendencies get the better of you.' He readjusted his bag over his shoulder and in doing so caught the faint beeping coming from his watch. The little bugger had been getting a bit too snippy so he'd started ignoring it while they traveled the air ducts. He didn't respond vocally, God knew he didn't want to come off as some kind of crazy person in the middle of their crisis. Looking around the door, which was primarily used by staff, he took notice of the security panel. It was with a heavy heart that he noted this was a model he had already been... acquainted with. While the others were keeping their eyes and ears open for trouble, he slipped over to the panel, popped off the cover, and casually ripped two of the half dozen wires that connected the silent alarm to the power source. He popped the cover back in place almost as an after thought, "That should save us the trouble of alerting the entire building... and any cops they have watching the place too."</s> <\|message\|>Alex Reid When a couple of hours had gone by,Alex awoke from his slumber, he was sore all over, mainly from the rapid transformations. He saw Kasumi standing over him, she had obviously tossed bandages down at him. "Wow, did you have to go to school for that? Or does it come natural?" He reached out to grab the bandages, but noticed he was in still coyote form. Alex turned to normal, and wrapped the bandages around his wound. "You ll never make it as a nurse, so don't quit your day job." Standing slowly to his feet, "I Hope they made it out, I had made a little distraction for them, so they could." "But don't worry yourself any, us true friends will be there to help." He turned to walk away, "When I say us, I meant me, later loser." Alex took form of a Hawk and flew back to the school, circling high above in the sky, looking for his friends.</s> <\|message\|>Kasumi Tamaki Kasumi --- "Cool power, bad mouth, and not even a gratitude." Kasumi raised her hand. She took another breath and channel the warm energy to accumulate onto her stretched finger, pointed at the flying Alex who currently took shape as a hawk. She made a movement with her arm as if she was pulling a bow string, poised to make a direct release of her inner energy in a manner similar to a bolting arrow. Kasumi's eyes followed the movement of the hawk, her stretched arm served as the targeting guidance, anticipating the direction of the hawk's movement. "You know what, even without this new power, I can crush a bear's heart with this precise power control, and now I can do it in a distance." Kasumi said to herself. Kasumi took another breath, but for this time she did that to calm herself. "It's not worth it..." Kasumi put her power back into the reservoir core inside her body. "I can't risk myself afflicted by the blow back of this power... I better follow where that hawk is going." Another breathing allowed Kasumi to channel her power to her eyes, then another one to her legs. With such augmentations, Kasumi was able to follow the hawk's movement and her legs were quick enough to catch him up.</s> <\|message\|>Maximilian Sean MacDowell Maximilian Sean MacDowell Max walked into the school after parking and locking his motorcycle, he was excited for today because he and his bandmates were going to audition for their very first gig. He had texted his friend to meet him in the music room so they could rehearse. He was halfway down the hallway when he heard the P.A. going off, he didn't like the sound of BSI coming into the school to interrogate students. He was worried that he would be found out and experimented on by the government. Max didn't want to use his powers, but if he felt his life would be in danger then he would have to. But he didn't think that they would try to kill him, however, he was going to have to try and avoid them. Carefully walking along the hallway and towards the room where his third-period drama class was. His plan was to escape through the window and towards his motorcycle.</s> <\|message\|>Alex Reid .[The hawk landed on top of a security pole, and watched the excitement below him. He scanned the area looking for any of his fellow classmates, did they get caught already, or maybe they made it out. Alex thought he recognized a schoolmates being arrested or detained. He flew from the pole to the roof of the gymnasium, and morphed back into his normal self. He ran across the rooftop to the door, and opened it quietly, listening for any sounds of danger. When he heard nothing, he snuck back inside, quietly shuffling down the steps one at a time. Alex slinked down to the floor and crawled over to the balcony rail, and peaked over.</s> <\|message\|>Ashley "Ash" Parker "Wow. You have to teach me how to do that sometime!" Ashley complimented Lucas as they slipped through the disarmed door, keeping her eyes peeled for any agents in the staff lot. Luckily, it didn't look like the BSI had thought to keep someone there... or if they had been, they had left when a bear started ripping into their fellows, which she supposed was fair. As annoyed as she was by Alex's actions, she had to admit they were effective. "Let's see if one of these is unlocked, save us the time of picking the door then hotwiring," She suggested, then started trying door handles. Her eyes flicked over to the row of motorcycles - mostly students', she didn't really understand why the teacher's lot was also the motorcycle lot - but quickly dismissed them. If they were all going to get away, they'd need something more practical. Startled by the sudden arrival of a hawk, the pigeons in the lot suddenly took off abruptly, almost hitting Ashley as they flew between cars. "What the hell!" She exclaimed, jumping as one's wings brushed her hair. Unfortunately she was still holding a door handle when she jumped, and ripped it right off of the car. The car alarm immediately started blaring and the handle cracked and fell to the ground in tiny pieces as her hands balled into fists, frustration making it hard for Ash to focus. "Oh come on! Can one thing go right today? One stupid thing!" She complained, punching a hole through the car door.</s> <\|message\|>Maximilian Sean MacDowell Maximilian Sean MacDowell Max could see his bike parked in the parking lot, he was half way towards his bike when he was stopped by some men in black suits. "Stay where you are, you will need to come with us to be questioned." This made Max turn to face the group of men coming towards him. "Why? What is going on?" He asked, trying to play innocent. "That is confidential, we will tell you everything you need to know once you come back to HQ." One of the men trying to grab his arm, his instincts kicked in kicking one of the men in the stomach. Turning around and placing the man's chin on his shoulder, Slamming down on his butt hitting the stunner. Quickly spinning around and using his powers. Pointing his fingers at another agent, firing a telepathic bullet at his hand to disarm him. He was not going to kill anyone, so he was trying to incapacitate them. Trying to get back onto his feet while firing.</s> <\|message\|>Lucas Ross Lucas stood beside Quiet-girl watching Captain Subtlety add destruction of property to the list of charges the BSI jerks would be using to hold them. Honestly, he wasn't even bothered by her blunder so much as he was exasperated by the day, a sentiment she clearly shared. He heard the frightened little beeps his watch chimed out while they watched her take out her frustration on the poor car. Internally he hoped this was their cruel gym teacher's car. He walked over to the vehicle and found that she had successfully opened the door, even if the damage made the hinges difficult to move. After getting the door open wide enough he slid into the driver's seat. His eyes briefly flashed as he scanned over the interior, his mind flashing with an understanding of the make and model, down to the parts required to build it. Most of the information was the same as usual, so he focused on the important bits. With only a little pulse of his cursed powers the alarm was blissfully silent. He hopped out of the car and heaved a small sigh, his shaky fingers busying themselves with adjusting his glasses, "Before all the kings horses and men in black storm the lot, we should probably pick another one, sans holes." He nudged the debris that had been a door handle, "..and with working door mechanisms."</s> <\|message\|>Celine Lowery The car alarm had startled Celine, but she was ready to move quickly. She shifted forward, moving to another car that was not too far away and motioned for the group to follow. She didn't want to be the leader but knew that the agents would be moving quickly towards them. It was already far too late for another plan to take place. She hoped they could get into the car soon. Her head perked up for a minute- listening to all the sounds around them. There was the car alarm, other traffic from the highway- but more... something closer. Footsteps towards the outer doors. "We gotta move.... like now!" she said, her eyes getting wide as she realized they only had minutes left for their escape.</s> <\|message\|>Alex Reid Alex could hear a lot of commotion outside, as if more Agents were showing up. He quickly made his way back out onto the roof, just in time for a heavily armed black helicopter came into view. " Stop..right there, hands on your head." Alex did the opposite, and ran towards the edge of the roof, and jumped. He vanished before their very eyes. "Where the hell did he go?" Alex changed into the form of a humming bird and quickly flew towards his friends.</s> <\|message\|>Maximilian Sean MacDowell Maximilian Sean MacDowell When Max got back onto his feet, he looked around the parking lot seeing a couple of people noticing the commotion. He kept firing his "bullets" into the legs of the agents, He could see that he was lessening their numbers. "Hi can i get some help here?" He yelled out hoping that they would come rescue him. One of the agents pulled out a taser and was aiming to hit Max in the shoulder, Max trying dodging the taser, but it grazed him causing him to fall on the ground. "God damn it." The punk screamed as another agent armed with a baton came over to try and hit him in the leg.</s>	<\|message\|>Lucas Ross Lucas heard the shout for aide and only just caught sight of the commotion being caused closer to the building. He didn't recognize Mr. Buzzcock, but the fancy finger banger was obviously being overwhelmed. Luke wasn't a fighter, but Theo had taught him to never ignore someone in need. 'Do what you can, remember to use what God gave you, son.' The punk's shout of pain was the call to action. His glowing blue eyes scanned the vehicles near him in a blink. There wasn't much advanced tech to be found among the teacher's lot, so he settled on a moped that was parked among the motor bikes. He placed a hand on the seat and released a small pulse, eyes shimmering briefly. He whispered a short command, nothing complicated; the little thing was hardly capable of responding to his power. "Sick'em." With a roar of it's tiny engine, off went the little steed with all haste in a wobbly line toward the battle. Baton-man went down with a dull thud of metal-meets-bad guy. The collision sent him right into taser-bro, resulting in a heap of jerk bag.</s>
<\|description\|>Celine Lowery Age: 16 Grade: Junior Bio: Celine is close with her mother- she has never known her father. He left before she was born. She is healthy, smart and optimistic. She and her mom are middle-class and comfortable. Appearance: Celine has short brown hair that comes to about her chin. She has green eyes and often wears headphones with a white noise sound in them. She wears vintage clothes or jeans/t-shirts most days. She collects scarfs and wears them as an accessory to match her outfit. She often wears Chuck Taylors and carries a small blue backpack. Personality: Celine is very timid and shy. She used to be very outgoing but she has had multiple incidents of screaming when things got too loud for her. She now keeps to herself. Typically, she can be found reading about history, music, or art. Gift: Hypersensitive Hearing</s> <\|message\|>Celine Lowery Celine had quickly grabbed the card from the desk that the teacher had left before looked up, moving her headphones to around her neck for a moment. She offered her hand to Alex, not wanting to be left behind. "Where are we going?" she asked in a whisper. She was impressed by Ashley's power- it seemed much more useful than hers. As she climbed into the ceiling tiles, she remained quiet and could feel each of the heartbeats of her friends. There was a new one she could hear however and looked down from the hole in the ceiling. She knew that there was something going on but she had never experienced something like this. She gulped as she took a deep breath and offered her hand down to him.</s> <\|message\|>Ashley "Ash" Parker Ashley didn't need to be asked twice. Though she frowned up at the hole in the ceiling, hoping it wasn't going to be full of crickets and spiders and other creepy-crawlies, she was definitely more worried about the agents outside. With Alex's help to boost her up high enough, she easily grabbed the frame and twisted herself up into the ceiling with one hand - his supergirl comment had inspired her to show off a little bit. While he helped Celine up, she turned her phone's flashlight on and shined it around, considering the various directions they could travel in. To her surprise, when she turned back around Celine was helping another kid in, one she didn't recognize. A freshman, maybe? "There's probably an agent watching the front parking lot where my car is. Does anyone know how to hotwire a car so we can steal one from the staff lot?" She asked with a nervous chuckle. "They might not be watching that one..."</s> <\|message\|>Lucas Ross As luck would have it, pressing one's ear against a door which had lost its locking mechanism was foolish. It was some grace of god which allowed Lucas not to fall flat on the floor. He wouldn't be admitting to anyone that he may have windmilled his arms a few rotations in his haste to maintain balance. Thankfully no one was around to witness it... No one was around...? At that moment a delicate hand shot down from a conspicuous hole above him starling him with its suddenness. Giving a quick look around the empty room, and hearing the distant sounds of movement in the building growing closer, he threw caution to the wind and hopped up on a desk so his shorter body could reach the hand up. Thankfully he wasn't much of a weighty kid, so he was up and surrounded by a gaggle of upperclassmen in no time. The social hierarchy being what it was he didn't know any of them, but having been a wall flower at lunch most days he was at least aware of them. The male he knew was supposed to be very popular. Rumor had it he was also filthy, stinking rich, but those comments had always been spoken by people with tones of jealousy. Of the two young women he was much less familiar. The one shifting around uncomfortably in the dark ventilation shaft was one of the more vocal protestors of the school's cellphone policy. Seeing the lit phone in her hand made the corner of his lips twitch. When his eyes scanned the girl who'd helped him up he couldn't help but notice the headphones she wore. His eyes briefly flashed an electric blue before he slapped a hand over them. 'Well done, little Freak, you've never been able to help yourself...' After a moment to collect himself Lucas glanced at Cellphone-girl with a small frown. Now wasn't the time for his insecurities. He took a deep breath, glanced around at everyone else, and then put up a reluctant hand, "If no one else can, I should be able to handle it."</s> <\|message\|>Alex Reid Alex looked behind him at the two girls, and then some dude was crawling up in the hole, saying something about he can't handle it...Oh gosh, hope he isn't claustrophobic. "Okay guys, I think we all sorta well know why we are up here, and um, I trust you, so freak out a little, don't scream, and try to keep up." Alex said as he shrunk down into a rat. He squeaked at them, then turned ,running along the metal frame as if it was nothing. He wasn't really paying much attention to them as he was Balancing as his first time as a rat. "I smell something....Mmmmm....cheese." the rat turned down the wrong corridor. He made his way to the kitchen, and stopped at the vent when he heard voices. Alex turned back into human, and brought his finger to his lips "Shhhhh" Listening he could hear at least two voices he didn't recognize, and they were saying something about gases.. He looked at the group, "Get out alive, I'll cover ya." Alex stepped on the time and fell thru the floor landing between the two BSI agents. When He rose up, he stood around twelve foot tall with a huge mouth full of razor sharp teeth,and massive bear claws, the Kodiak kind. The hulking bear swatted one of the agents thru a wall, as it roared at the other one inches from his face!</s> <\|message\|>Celine Lowery Celine grabbed her ears, the vibrations causing her eardrums to feel like they had ruptured. Her mouth opened to scream before she tucked her head down towards her chin for a moment until the pain passed. Slipping her headphones back on and nodding to the rest of the group. It appeared that Alex could handle the two Agents and she thought they should continue moving. "What do you guys want to do? Which way do we go?" she knew they needed to act fast and her headphones would allow her to keep up with everyone. She couldn't handle any type of noise interfering with her sensitive ears and prayed that they could get out quickly.</s> <\|message\|>Leto Ashley On a normal day, a meek-looking freshman casually offering to hotwire a car would get more than a terse nod of acknowledgement. Today was very much not a normal day. Following a rat was definitely weirder, but after breaking down a door Ashley decided not to make any snarky comments about anyone else's powers. Presumably they all had powers, at least - was the other girl some kind of psychic or something? There was no time for her to ask or speculate, as crawling through the vents was taking all of her concentration. Did this guy even know where he was going? Now he was stopped over the cafeteria, which was definitely not where they needed to be. "What are you-" She didn't get a chance to finish her question before he had dropped down. "Right, cool, that guy's a moron. Teacher's lot should be this way," she muttered, motioning for the other to follow her as she started crawling back down the vent. The sounds of fighting picked up behind them, growls and screams punctuated by loud thuds and then gunshots that made her flinch and crawl faster. --- Leto Assigned to wait with the team at the vehicles, Leto was one of the first in the doors when the team sent to clear the main building called in for help on the radio. Or, rather, when their radios crackled to life with the sounds of a fight, gunshots, and some kind of large animal. A bear, maybe? "Positions?" the team leader demanded on radio. "Team Delta, positions?" There was no reply over the radio, but the sounds of fighting drew them towards the cafeteria. Leto put up a shield around his team as they progressed through the hallway, but by the time they reached the doors to the kitchen it was eerily silent. Not having been issued a gun, he drew his taser as the shield nudged the big double doors open, not at all sure what they were going to discover inside.</s> <\|message\|>Lucas Ross Not for nothing, seeing a teenager shapeshifting in front of his eyes was quite the, err, eye opener. He heard the little comment made by Cellphone-girl after the guy had gone full-on kodiak on the agents below. Quite the snarky one. The tittering little beeps issuing quietly from his watch let him know that someone liked their pseudo-leader. Quiet-girl had worried him for a moment when he saw her pained grimace, but seeing it pass set his nerves straight. Having seen the brief patronizing looks thrown his way when he'd volunteered to get their getaway car running he decided against speaking any further for the time being. These people didn't know him, nor what he was capable of, and as Theo had taught him early during his habitation with the Jackson's: actions speak clearer than words. Besides, the likelihood of his continued association with the other teens after their escape was even less likely than their escape plan actually succeeding. As if to punctuate those thoughts the sounds of battle behind them suddenly grew much too quiet. He hoped the guy had shifted into something to slip away, but he had a bad feeling these agents were prepared for just about anything.</s> <\|message\|>Celine Lowery Celine crawled after Ashley, keeping and hearing Lucas was directly behind her. She could hear the rumblings beneath them but was too concerned about the heartbeats around her and maintaining the speed of her own. She knew they all needed to be level-headed in order to get out of here. They continued through the maze of the ceiling, twisting and turning as they followed Alex. She stopped for a brief moment as she heard the sounds of the outside growing louder- cars passing by on the nearby freeway, birds chirping and the hiss of school bus brakes. She held her hand up, palm facing the group as she continued to listen.</s> <\|message\|>Kasumi Tamaki Kasumi --- Kasumi had to miss her classes today, she called in sick. She had never got ill before, but this day was different. It began in the night before. Kasumi suddenly felt as if the inside of her stomach was squeezed by an invisible hand and punctured with many blades. To add her misfortune, she was alone in her apartment with no one to attend her. Her parents had to be away for a whole week, leaving Kasumi by herself for several nights. Obviously, as she never had to call for any medical appointments previously, she didn't keep any contacts for clinics. Kasumi spent her whole night to calm herself with her breathing technique, but to no avail. Kasumi didn't sleep well and the abdominal pain inside her was still there as the morning sun rose. That evening, just around an hour before the pain began, Kasumi discovered another extent of her power. The exercise session ended quite late and Kasumi had to walk alone to get home. An unfortunate encounter with a potential rapist awakened the more advanced stage of Kasumi's energy manipulation. Not only she was able to gather nature energy and channel it to augment her muscular performance, Kasumi found that she could also unleash the raw form of her energy in a directed blast. The assaulter was hit by Kasumi's blast and launched for several yards. Kasumi worried that someone might had just witnessed her invoking the power. This incident might prompt an investigation by the BSI to the local school. As Kasumi reached her apartment, she was prepared to warn the people she had guessed as the fellow "gifted", after she finished her shower. Unfortunately, the side effect of Kasumi's power struck. The nature energy reservoir inside Kasumi was not ready for the burden of her new power. The debilitating pain paralyzed Kasumi for the whole night.</s>	<\|message\|>Celine Lowery Celine pointed down the side of the air duct. "There, I can hear the outside. It's gotta be our way out," she directed, surprised at how strong her voice sounded for the amount of fear she was feeling. She began to listen again, her headphones buzzing slightly with the white noise. They had to find a way out- if they didn't- who knew what would happen to them. Glancing towards Lucas and Ashley, she nodded again. "Are you guys with me?"</s>
<\|description\|>Maximilian Sean MacDowell Age: 16 Grade: Sophomore Bio: Max was born in Boston, in his youth he lived with his mother because his parents had divorced when he was young. As a kid was not very popular with other children his age, because of his anger issues and lack of social cues. This made his childhood quite lonely, he used his time alone to take singing classes and guitar lessons. As a teenager he had gained a small tight knit group of friends. However there are times where he likes to keep to himself. His dream is to finish high school and make it big as a punk rocker. Appearance: Personality: Max is a rough and tough kind of person, Not caring about what people think of him. Nor how tough a person thinks they are, Max is not one to back down from a fight, Especially when it is against someone he dislikes or being a bully. He has a tough guy personality, Breaking the rules when needed and not giving a crap about what people think of him. Also being friendly but that is mainly reserved for his friends and people he finds he can respect, He only respects people that he finds strong or resilient. Max does have a softer side but he barely shows it, Mostly because he does not want to look weak. Mostly showing this side towards his family and especially towards his father. Having a strong sense of justice against people who are wronging others. He is also deeply religious and superstitious, Being a hardcore Roman Catholic. Gift: Max has the power to fire telekinetic bullets out of his finger.</s> <\|message\|>Ashley "Ash" Parker Ashley "I'm with you," Ash confirmed, squinting through the ventilation duct. It looked like it opened into the hallway near the door to the teacher's lot, but from here she couldn't be sure if the coast was clear or not. Staying put wasn't an option, and with any luck all the agents were still busy figuring out what had happened in the cafeteria. She raised her fist then paused for a second, giving Celine a slightly guilty look. She seemed like the jumpy type, but there was no other option from this side. "This is going to be loud," Ash warned the others before punching through the vent cover, knocking it to the floor with one well-placed hit. She stuck her head through to confirm the coast was clear then jumped down, reaching up to help the others. At least super strength was handy for this kind of stuff, even if it was probably her powers that had alerted the BSI in the first place. They were so close to making it out of here, but she felt guilty about leaving the Alex behind. Stupid or not, his distraction meant all the agents were now focused in one place.</s> <\|message\|>Celine Lowery Celine understood the signal and instantly covered her ears, even though they were shielded by the headphones. She watched as she disappeared through the opening and followed suit. They had to move quickly- while most of the agents were distracted, Celine was sure that the loud bang would have drawn some of their attention. She glanced around, looking for more agents. Her ears were perked, having already gotten used to the outside noises. Now, she was determined to make sure they stayed one step ahead and got out of there.</s> <\|message\|>Lucas Ross As his feet touched the rough carpeted floor beside his companions he tried to deny internally how embarrassing it was to be handled like a toddler by a teen girl. 'Come now Luke, this isn't really the time to let your chauvinistic tendencies get the better of you.' He readjusted his bag over his shoulder and in doing so caught the faint beeping coming from his watch. The little bugger had been getting a bit too snippy so he'd started ignoring it while they traveled the air ducts. He didn't respond vocally, God knew he didn't want to come off as some kind of crazy person in the middle of their crisis. Looking around the door, which was primarily used by staff, he took notice of the security panel. It was with a heavy heart that he noted this was a model he had already been... acquainted with. While the others were keeping their eyes and ears open for trouble, he slipped over to the panel, popped off the cover, and casually ripped two of the half dozen wires that connected the silent alarm to the power source. He popped the cover back in place almost as an after thought, "That should save us the trouble of alerting the entire building... and any cops they have watching the place too."</s> <\|message\|>Alex Reid When a couple of hours had gone by,Alex awoke from his slumber, he was sore all over, mainly from the rapid transformations. He saw Kasumi standing over him, she had obviously tossed bandages down at him. "Wow, did you have to go to school for that? Or does it come natural?" He reached out to grab the bandages, but noticed he was in still coyote form. Alex turned to normal, and wrapped the bandages around his wound. "You ll never make it as a nurse, so don't quit your day job." Standing slowly to his feet, "I Hope they made it out, I had made a little distraction for them, so they could." "But don't worry yourself any, us true friends will be there to help." He turned to walk away, "When I say us, I meant me, later loser." Alex took form of a Hawk and flew back to the school, circling high above in the sky, looking for his friends.</s> <\|message\|>Kasumi Tamaki Kasumi --- "Cool power, bad mouth, and not even a gratitude." Kasumi raised her hand. She took another breath and channel the warm energy to accumulate onto her stretched finger, pointed at the flying Alex who currently took shape as a hawk. She made a movement with her arm as if she was pulling a bow string, poised to make a direct release of her inner energy in a manner similar to a bolting arrow. Kasumi's eyes followed the movement of the hawk, her stretched arm served as the targeting guidance, anticipating the direction of the hawk's movement. "You know what, even without this new power, I can crush a bear's heart with this precise power control, and now I can do it in a distance." Kasumi said to herself. Kasumi took another breath, but for this time she did that to calm herself. "It's not worth it..." Kasumi put her power back into the reservoir core inside her body. "I can't risk myself afflicted by the blow back of this power... I better follow where that hawk is going." Another breathing allowed Kasumi to channel her power to her eyes, then another one to her legs. With such augmentations, Kasumi was able to follow the hawk's movement and her legs were quick enough to catch him up.</s> <\|message\|>Maximilian Sean MacDowell Maximilian Sean MacDowell Max walked into the school after parking and locking his motorcycle, he was excited for today because he and his bandmates were going to audition for their very first gig. He had texted his friend to meet him in the music room so they could rehearse. He was halfway down the hallway when he heard the P.A. going off, he didn't like the sound of BSI coming into the school to interrogate students. He was worried that he would be found out and experimented on by the government. Max didn't want to use his powers, but if he felt his life would be in danger then he would have to. But he didn't think that they would try to kill him, however, he was going to have to try and avoid them. Carefully walking along the hallway and towards the room where his third-period drama class was. His plan was to escape through the window and towards his motorcycle.</s> <\|message\|>Alex Reid .[The hawk landed on top of a security pole, and watched the excitement below him. He scanned the area looking for any of his fellow classmates, did they get caught already, or maybe they made it out. Alex thought he recognized a schoolmates being arrested or detained. He flew from the pole to the roof of the gymnasium, and morphed back into his normal self. He ran across the rooftop to the door, and opened it quietly, listening for any sounds of danger. When he heard nothing, he snuck back inside, quietly shuffling down the steps one at a time. Alex slinked down to the floor and crawled over to the balcony rail, and peaked over.</s> <\|message\|>Ashley "Ash" Parker "Wow. You have to teach me how to do that sometime!" Ashley complimented Lucas as they slipped through the disarmed door, keeping her eyes peeled for any agents in the staff lot. Luckily, it didn't look like the BSI had thought to keep someone there... or if they had been, they had left when a bear started ripping into their fellows, which she supposed was fair. As annoyed as she was by Alex's actions, she had to admit they were effective. "Let's see if one of these is unlocked, save us the time of picking the door then hotwiring," She suggested, then started trying door handles. Her eyes flicked over to the row of motorcycles - mostly students', she didn't really understand why the teacher's lot was also the motorcycle lot - but quickly dismissed them. If they were all going to get away, they'd need something more practical. Startled by the sudden arrival of a hawk, the pigeons in the lot suddenly took off abruptly, almost hitting Ashley as they flew between cars. "What the hell!" She exclaimed, jumping as one's wings brushed her hair. Unfortunately she was still holding a door handle when she jumped, and ripped it right off of the car. The car alarm immediately started blaring and the handle cracked and fell to the ground in tiny pieces as her hands balled into fists, frustration making it hard for Ash to focus. "Oh come on! Can one thing go right today? One stupid thing!" She complained, punching a hole through the car door.</s> <\|message\|>Maximilian Sean MacDowell Maximilian Sean MacDowell Max could see his bike parked in the parking lot, he was half way towards his bike when he was stopped by some men in black suits. "Stay where you are, you will need to come with us to be questioned." This made Max turn to face the group of men coming towards him. "Why? What is going on?" He asked, trying to play innocent. "That is confidential, we will tell you everything you need to know once you come back to HQ." One of the men trying to grab his arm, his instincts kicked in kicking one of the men in the stomach. Turning around and placing the man's chin on his shoulder, Slamming down on his butt hitting the stunner. Quickly spinning around and using his powers. Pointing his fingers at another agent, firing a telepathic bullet at his hand to disarm him. He was not going to kill anyone, so he was trying to incapacitate them. Trying to get back onto his feet while firing.</s> <\|message\|>Lucas Ross Lucas stood beside Quiet-girl watching Captain Subtlety add destruction of property to the list of charges the BSI jerks would be using to hold them. Honestly, he wasn't even bothered by her blunder so much as he was exasperated by the day, a sentiment she clearly shared. He heard the frightened little beeps his watch chimed out while they watched her take out her frustration on the poor car. Internally he hoped this was their cruel gym teacher's car. He walked over to the vehicle and found that she had successfully opened the door, even if the damage made the hinges difficult to move. After getting the door open wide enough he slid into the driver's seat. His eyes briefly flashed as he scanned over the interior, his mind flashing with an understanding of the make and model, down to the parts required to build it. Most of the information was the same as usual, so he focused on the important bits. With only a little pulse of his cursed powers the alarm was blissfully silent. He hopped out of the car and heaved a small sigh, his shaky fingers busying themselves with adjusting his glasses, "Before all the kings horses and men in black storm the lot, we should probably pick another one, sans holes." He nudged the debris that had been a door handle, "..and with working door mechanisms."</s> <\|message\|>Celine Lowery The car alarm had startled Celine, but she was ready to move quickly. She shifted forward, moving to another car that was not too far away and motioned for the group to follow. She didn't want to be the leader but knew that the agents would be moving quickly towards them. It was already far too late for another plan to take place. She hoped they could get into the car soon. Her head perked up for a minute- listening to all the sounds around them. There was the car alarm, other traffic from the highway- but more... something closer. Footsteps towards the outer doors. "We gotta move.... like now!" she said, her eyes getting wide as she realized they only had minutes left for their escape.</s> <\|message\|>Alex Reid Alex could hear a lot of commotion outside, as if more Agents were showing up. He quickly made his way back out onto the roof, just in time for a heavily armed black helicopter came into view. " Stop..right there, hands on your head." Alex did the opposite, and ran towards the edge of the roof, and jumped. He vanished before their very eyes. "Where the hell did he go?" Alex changed into the form of a humming bird and quickly flew towards his friends.</s>	<\|message\|>Maximilian Sean MacDowell When Max got back onto his feet, he looked around the parking lot seeing a couple of people noticing the commotion. He kept firing his "bullets" into the legs of the agents, He could see that he was lessening their numbers. "Hi can i get some help here?" He yelled out hoping that they would come rescue him. One of the agents pulled out a taser and was aiming to hit Max in the shoulder, Max trying dodging the taser, but it grazed him causing him to fall on the ground. "God damn it." The punk screamed as another agent armed with a baton came over to try and hit him in the leg.</s>
<\|description\|>Jackson Drake Ryana Beckett Cheryl Blackwell-Carter Wesley Cross Sierra Young Alexis Parsons TBD TBD TBD</s> <\|message\|>Jackson Drake Table of Contents Prologue Episode I: Just Another Day at Camp Episode II: Strangers in a Strange Land</s> <\|message\|>Jackson Drake --- --- Alarms and sirens went off, flaring red and white and green in a room with nothing but computer monitors, showing various regions and sub-sections of the Digital world: Net Ocean, land masses and the continents, individual islands of the File archipelago -- all of which were close to being under siege. But as for the other regions of the digital world? Fire rained down upon them, armies of digimon came for them, and places that were safe, villages that once were safe havens for refugees were now a hotbed for the forces of evil. Above the monitors that showed all of the destruction was another, but this one was different. It didn't show any known location in the digital world nor did it show any location at all, but what it did show was a room. It was one with nine chambers, all a different color. Within them were nine digieggs, devices that looked like stopwatches, and necklaces each with a crest inside them. On the monitor was a timer. ``` 8:30:05 ``` Eight minutes and thirty seconds. Just under nine minutes until all hope was lost. That is, of course, if Jericho Watson wasted time. "Through all of the damage the world has been dealt, the losses of valiant warriors of both sky and land, they must live." A man with what could be described as a heavy English accent that the humans call said, standing next to a large Lion-like DIgimon. "Jericho, what are you planning?" Liamon asked in his deep, primal voice. As he leaned forward, fingers tapping away on the keyboard at such record speed that the older man had a focused look on his face. The moment he began typing away, the images of the Digital World under seige were replaced by a screensaver-like image, symbols and a myriad of ones and zeroes meshing together, connecting with each other, various sounds from beeps to subtle roars began to almost cancel out the impending doom from outside the room Jericho and Liamon were in. "Jericho!" Liamon spoke up once again, this time getting his attention. "I'm doing what I can to give us a chance." Jericho didn't look at Liamon, but rather the monitor above him with the nine digieggs. "Do you understand, Liamon? They are our only hope!" ``` 5:00:00 ``` "Five minutes left." bangbang "Liamon!" From behind them, the door to the laboratory opened up and three Knightmon burst through the door, metal swords aimed high as they came charging for Jericho. As they did, Liamon jumped in front of them, brandishing sharp fangs at all three, zipping through the air, digging his claws and fangs into the Digi-Chromzoid-clad digimon. Despite being ultimates, Liamon was too fierce of a digimon to have any difficulty with them. They were reduced to data before their swords even hit the ground. With a smirk, Jericho spent the next four and a half minutes writing over five-thousand lines of DIgiCode and in that time, it was slowly becoming apparent what he was doing. One by one, each mini-chamber that had those digieggs inside them were teleported out of the facility. They were being sent to a place far away from where they were. "Only three left to go…" Crash From above, unlike before where the Knightmon came barging in like amateurs, there came a shockwave that sent Jericho and Liamon flying in opposing directions. Where Liamon crashed into steel pipes, Jericho found himself back first against the solid steel wall. He grunted with agony as he saw Liamon lay what he had to assume was unconscious, but then he saw long, tendril-like arms with red nails. He knew that was the obvious sign of a Devidramon. "So, if Devidramon is here, that could only mean." Jericho narrowed his eyes, trying not to make any sudden movements. The thing about Devidramon, while he wasn't all that bright, the many eyes on his head could see all things at once. So if there was a hint of movement from any direction, he would see it. But this posed a problem because Jericho needed to get back to the computer. He had to make sure those last three were teleported away safely. If even one of them fell into the wrong hands, who knew what would happen… "Digi...Destined…" Devidramon's raspy voice always rubbed Jericho the wrong way like the acid dripping from its mouth. "Where are the DIgi-Destined!" It roared and its many eyes glowed a piercing red. "Liamon!" Devidramon turned its large, demonic body towards Jericho, lunging for him but then a zap of an electric shockwave hitting it from the back. It didn't make it budge, but Liamon now had the beast's undivided attention. Jericho used this opportunity to lunge himself to the computer. He cursed under a breath as he didn't have enough time. Another curse as he bit his lip, hiding back a scream that desperately wanted to come out. As the battle between the two digimon raged on, Liamon's grunts and roars met Devidramon's unholy screams, Jericho had to think. He couldn't get the other three out of here. He knew the last remaining three would likely be taken by the undead army, but that didn't mean they would be granted their power. With fast fingers, Jericho coded a barrier around all three that remained. In the moment it was activated, the three crests glowed brilliantly with the color each crest was unique with. After five seconds, ther would be a protective barrier that not even the Demon Lords could break. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more, but.." Jericho hit the enter key, sending an email to the Six DigiDestined. They wouldn't know what this meant, but… "Jackson, Wesley, Ryana, Cherrie, Sierra, Alexis - you're our only hope." As the message was sent, it also triggered something else. All of the monitors, which were all back to showing the scenes of carnage had all but been replaced with a countdown timer. ``` 00:00:25 ``` Jericho looked back, seeing Liamon nearly finishing off Devidramon. With a single swipe of his claws, Devidramon's form was reduced to data. Liamon hunched over, clearly exhausted from several battles over the course of the past ten minutes, but Jericho could only smile. Liamon wasn't his partner in the same way those Digimon would be to the Digi-Destined, but there was no denying that he cared for the Lion DIgimon as much as he could. And that's why he couldn't let him suffer the same fate - not if he was going to be of any help. "Liamon…" "So, this is the end of our partnership." Liamon smiled through his obvious pain. "Jericho, it has been an honor to--" "I'm sorry. You aren't done. I might be, but--" Jericho's hand was under the computer station and he pressed a button. Before Liamon could get in a single word, his form was surrounded by a bright light similar to the same light that teleported the DigiDestined's future partner's to an undisclosed location. "Liamon, please help them. Mentor them in ways that I could not. And if they prove to be worthy enough, tell them to look for the light in the sky. When the time is right, they will know what that means." He knew Liamon could hear him. He knew that his will would be carried on through his good friend. And when the timer reached zero, Jericho knew that it was all in their hands. BOOM A flash of light originating from the monitors consumed The Facility, taking all enemy digimon — and Jericho Watson — with them. It really was in the kids' hands.</s> <\|message\|>Jackson Drake --- --- As the sun began to set on Ridgewood Utah, the golden rays hitting the Great Salt Lake that separated Ridgewood from Salt Lake City, the backdrop of the Wasatch Mountain Range was given a brilliant mix of reds and oranges and yellows, traditional 4th of July festivities exploded all around town. Great displays of fireworks that would make Time Square jealous exploded into the sky, whistling, screaming, howling into the almost-night. But this was in the city. Up in Wasatch mountains, specifically at Camp Ridgewood that had over fifty adolescents, who officially were there for "special reasons", they might hear the faintest whisper from the city. Visually, they might have the best view in the house. Maybe there are a couple who enjoy being so far away from the chaos of the festivities. Maybe it's just the fact that they can watch it from afar that is enough for them. Or maybe there might be a couple who feel bummed out they aren't able to be up close. Whatever their opinion, Camp Ridgewood is about to undergo their own festivities as some campers will gather around an unlit fire. However, there might be a small group that have other ideas. As they prepare this, six campers specifically will receive a weird email. They won't know how this Jericho Watson got their private email - be it Yahoo, Gmail, or whatever they happen to have, but one thing will be clear: it's not an accident. And the moment they receive this strange E-Mail, that's when the real mystery begins.</s>	<\|message\|>Jackson Drake Seeing the fireworks jump to the sky and greet the clouds in loud splendor left a bittersweet taste in Jackson Drake's mouth. Again, he had been forced to attend Camp Ridgewood, separated from just about every potential for fun that he could be having in town. Right now, he would be on main street, enjoying a classic Ridge-Dog, a cheese-stuffed sausage on a brioche sandwich roll with grilled peppers, onions caramelized until they resemble jam, and topped with a special sauce that consisted of Japanese mayo and a slight drizzle of balsamic vinegar. Just that little hint of the tart, bitter, sour, sweet balsamic makes the whole thing come together. And of course, he would be hanging with his boys - his crew that he did everything with. Jackson was missing it because, of course, Felix Lopez, one of the more reputable teachers at the middle school he recently graduated from, had felt the need to put his name down. Jackson was getting older. Lopez knew this and he wanted Jackson to experience the camp life as much as he could. And it wasn't like Jackson hated being at camp. It wasn't far from town, so if he really wanted to go home, as much as he knew Felix would hate it, Jackson could just ride the trail down the mountain. It would be so easy to just head back home. But Jackson hated easy. Easy was the coward's way out. Easy was wearing floaties when you were learning how to swim. Easy was using Youtube when you struggled with a trick. Jackson hated taking the easy way out. If he didn't persevere, then how would he know what his limits were? Well, okay, he doesn't know his limits for everything. He doesn't know how many RidgeDogs he can eat in one sitting nor does he know how long he can go breathing underwater without wimping out. What Jackson does is this: as tempting as it was, he wouldn't go down the trail. Instead, he would sit at the edge of the cliff, phone in hand as his board was in his lap. He kept his eyes on the display of fireworks that continued. And that was when he heard his phone buzz in his hand and that immediately caught his attention for a few reasons. Maybe, the most jarring was how, recently, cell service had been in a fritz today. No matter how hard Jackson tried, he couldn't contact anyone that wasn't outside the camp. For some reason, one of those who were in his contacts that were on campgrounds currently could be reached. So, why of all times, was he getting an alert saying he got a fucking E-Mail? Opening the email, he read it and it made no sense. Jackson read the wordy email and it made no sense. Someone named Jericho Watson, who went on to talk about something that he clearly didn't know anything about. Did Jackson claim to see two giant ass monsters fight about six years ago? Yeah maybe. And did anyone believe him? Well, the local conspiracy theorist had a few ideas, but by the time Jackson's parents had him go through the motions of seeing kid-friendly therapists, they deduced that it was just his wild imagination. He was eight, after all. Who the hell would believe the wild and active imagination of an eight-year-old kid? Laughing, Jackson just closed the email and deleted it. "Whatever man!" Remnants of his laugh carried into a sigh and Jackson looked at the sky. "Yeah...It was made up." As he spoke, he blinked once and swore he saw something spark above the fireworks, the faintest sight of something...different than what he should be seeing. Like something flying that looked too...green to be anything in the sky. "Oh, great you're seeing things again." And when Jackson shook its head, it was gone. Gone, but what did that mean? Nothing. Because that's what it was. You were seeing nothing but your hunger getting the better of you. Maybe...Maybe Jackson needed to get some food. Yeah, that was a good idea. And that's what Jackson did. He got up and went to the mess hall, hoping an evening snack may just help him not pretend like he saw what he did six years ago.</s>
<\|description\|>Blaze Blaze is Sakura's Avatar.</s> <\|message\|>Kadomori Sora Sora took the bear-themed cup from Rui and took a sip from it. The guy had a huge smile on his face while he was being dragged from one exhibit to the next. It felt really good to spend time with his sister again. It had been so long that it felt like... like returning home after a long and boring business trip. "Oh, yeah! You're right! I guess they are good at hiding themselves. That's pretty interesting to watch." Sora said as he held Wolf's card close to the glass in order for him to see the snakes as well. Then suddenly, a guy that Sora didn't know walked towards him and his sister. "What does that guy want? Who the hell is that?" Sora whispered towards Wolf, who had an equally confused look onto his face. "I have no freaking idea. However, I don't like the way he looks." Sora whispered a 'me neither' before realizing that Rui had also recognized the guy's presence. A friend of Rui's? A BOYfriend of Rui's? She didn't look that happy to see the guy, so it couldn't be either of those two options. Then why did she feel the need to make the guy understand that Sora was simply her brother and not her date? "So she runs into him a lot, huh?" Then the guy suddenly turned to Sora instead of Rui. "Yeah, I am. So... What are you doing with my sister? Are you stalking her or something? You should leave her alone." Sora took a couple of steps, so he stood between Rui and Nanashi.</s> <\|message\|>Nanashi "A stalker...? Me?" Nanashi confusedly replied to Sora. He brought his fingers close to his mask, as if lost in thought, even though there was no mouth on it. "Does that mean I've met you two before...?" he muttered to himself. "Ahaha... this is bad, isn't it?" Lumia said with a nervous little laugh. "Actually, I don't think he's..." "You tell him, Sora!" Rui said as she hid behind her (younger) brother, sticking out her tongue at Nanashi like a little kid. Lumia let out a sigh. "You too, Nee-chan...?" The exasperation in her voice was clear. "...No. Nevermind. I have something to ask you," Nanashi spoke up again, turning his attention back to Sora. "Can I see that card you're holding?" he asked. "I found it strange your sister pulled out a card from her bag so suddenly. That's why I came over to talk to her." he explained, his mask shifting towards Lumia. Just like back at the card shop, a feeling of discomfort clearly washed over her. She knows he cannot see her, and yet this makes twice now that he'd singled her out. Nanashi's gaze looped back around to Sora. "And you're doing the same. Are you two admiring some rare cards? If so, I'd like to take a look. Maybe I could trade to power up my deck," he asked. Rui was, at that point in time, a bit too baffled by the request to give any input on the matter.</s> <\|message\|>Kadomori Sora Sora was dumbfounded that he didn't even seemed to remember his sister, even though Lumia said that the guy had seen and talked to his sister multiple times. What was up with that guy? He was so weird and mysterious that he even somewhat scared Sora. "You don't remember if you have seen or talked to us before? What's up with your memory, dude?" Sora almost screamed, possibly out of fear. He needed to get some answers. Who was that guy? What was he planning to do with them? Although he had weird feelings considering the guy, he felt good when his sister commented on his actions. It felt good to be able to protect his sister, to be able to be there for her, to have her encourage him like that. Then however, he suddenly got one answer. He came over... because he noticed Lumia and Wolf? Just for those two cards? It felt weird and unbelievable that a random Nexus fan would approach strangers in a zoo to take a look at their cards. Something was up with that guy. "These... These cards aren't... We cannot trade them for anything else." Sora muttered. He hesitated to say something further, but he knew that the guy wouldn't leave with just that one sentence. "The cards... They are... Euhm... More of emotional support... They won't be much good in your deck..." Sora continued, not even knowing if the cards would be of help to the guy. But the guy couldn't take either Lumia or Wolf away from them. Could he? "If you don't mind... I would rather spend some time alone with my sister... You know... Two siblings catching up... We only have the day and I would rather spend it with her than with... Well... A stranger like you." The last words escaped his mouth in almost a whispering tone.</s> <\|message\|>Nanashi "Emotional support, is it?" Nanashi commented, the suspicion clear in his voice. He turned his mask to the card Sora was holding. "...I see. It's an Avatar card. It must be the core of your deck," he said, pocketing one hand in his hoodie. Sora explained- well, whispered that he'd rather spend the day with his sister and Nanahi nodded in response. "Of course. It was rude of me to interrupt; you two have fun on your day." Nanashi turned around and took a step forward, then paused. He looked back over his shoulder at Sora. "Wolf, right? Take good care of that card," he said. After that final message, Nanashi walked off for real without looking back. "I really don't understand him," Rui told Sora after the other boy had left. "He shows up at weird times, says something cryptic and then walks off again..." "Aha, honestly, he kind of creeps me out too... it's almost like he knows something we don't," Lumia added. "Right? And why does he wear a mask like that, it's so weird!" Rui kept complaining. She looked up from Lumia and grabbed Sora's arm. "Hey, if I pretend to cling to you, do you think people will leave us alone?" she asked, and Lumia happened to end up near Wolf when Rui did so. Lumia quickly shifted gears and whispered something to Wolf while their commanders were distracted. "Wolf, did you feel it too?" she asked. "Another commander moving closer while Nanashi was distracting Nee-chan and Sora-kun."</s> <\|message\|>Wolf Sora sighed deeply out of relieve the moment the mysterious guy seemed to understand what Sora meant to say. However, he was rather suspicious of the fact that the guy knew Wolf's name. Sora turned Wolf's card back to himself and noticed that he had been covering Wolf's name with his finger. How did the guy knew that Sora's Avatar was named Wolf from just taking a look at his image? Sora opened his mouth in order to ask Wolf about it, but he seemed as confused as Sora was. "Who is that guy?" So Wolf didn't recognize him either. "Only other Commanders could have owned you before, right?" Wolf nodded. "Yeah, I guess. But that guy didn't seem much of a Commander to me." Sora sighed again. Well, it didn't matter much. The guy was gone and without him, they wouldn't get any answers to their questions. "He does that every single time? Man, that guy is a pain in the ass." Sora said to Rui. "Maybe he has an ugly face and is just trying to hide. In that case, I prefer him with the mask, I don't want to be traumatised." Wolf joked. Sora is very surprised by Rui's comment, but even more by her touch. "I guess they will." Sora answered Rui, scratching his head with his other hand nervously. Wolf focused his attention to Lumia in the meantime. "Yeah, i feel it too. I can still feel it. There is another Commander" Wolf said. The moment Wolf pronounced the word 'Commander', he noticed a little girl running towards Rui and Sora. "Hey! You're Commanders too, right?!" She said with a huge smile on his face. 'Children are so damn innocent', Wolf thought, already feeling sorry for the child that it had been chosen as a Commander and also a little bit angry at the Avatar. "My name is Sakura and this is my Avatar Blaze!" She screamed of joy. Sora scratched the back of his head and pushed Rui away from him, so he could squat down and talk to the little girl at eye level. "Yeah, we both are Sakura. But I am not exactly in the mood to battle. I am spending time with my big sister here." He said in his sweetest, most polite voice. However, Sakura didn't take 'no' for an answer. "But I need to battle and win to make my big sister very proud!" Sakura said with a huge smile. "And big sister will be very proud if you manage to win the battle, sweety!" Her Avatar added. Although Sora didn't know the girl's exact wish, it obviously had something to do with her big sister and he didn't want to interfere with her family. However, Rui seemed to disagree with his decision to the refuse the little girl's proposal to a battle. "Yeah, I know this could save me, but I don't want... I couldn't... Not with such a young child." He whispered to his sister. However, both Rui and Sakura started to encourage him to a battle and finally... He felt like he had no choice but to accept. Sakura and Sora opened the battlefield, colored in red and green. Although Sora had no confidence in his own capabilities when it came to Nexus, he had a pretty easy win over the child. It seemed like it was her first battle as a Commander, so she hadn't lost everything yet. However, at that moment he had put a little girl in the same dangerous situation as he himself was in. He switched places with such an innocent little child. "Sakura..." He began, trying to console the little child. "It's alright. Come on, Sakura. You're going to win the next battle for sure! And this battle was good training, right? Let's train some more on our own before the next battle." Blaze intervened. "You're right, Blaze! Thank you for the lesson, sir." Sakura said as she bowed thankfully to Sora.</s>	<\|message\|>Blaze "Hey, what are you getting all flustered for? Has my baby brother never had a girl cling to his arm before~?" Rui teased Sora when she saw how bashful he was being. She also said something along the lines of "C'mon, don't think I haven't noticed you spending time with... that..." but had trouble remembering who the person he'd spent time with actually was. It's not just the name; her face, her status, it's all gone. There was just a gaping hole of Rui being aware there was something there, but being locked out of accessing it. Before the situation got any more awkward, or rather, to make things even more so, a small child approached the sibling duo. She recognized both Rui and Sora as commanders, but Sora was quick to shoot her down. "Yeah, we both are Sakura. But I am not exactly in the mood to battle. I am spending time with my big sister here." he said. "What are you saying, Sora?" Rui chastised him. "This is the perfect chance! We practiced, didn't we?" she continued. Sora still seemed hesitant. "Yeah, I know this could save me, but I don't want... I couldn't... Not with such a young child." "She's a commander, just like us! It doesn't matter how old she is. C'mon, Sora! You can do this!" she tried convincing him. Rui didn't seem all too concerned, unlike her brother. She'd step in and take the challenge herself, but Rui was worried about him. He needed to get a win, to buy himself some time. Rui was strong; she could find and defeat opponents by herself... but Sora needed every edge he could get. Eventually, Sora was convinced by both her and Sakura. The three of them moved to a less crowded, more remote location and Sora opened the battlefield with his opponent. The child- Sakura- was clumsy. She didn't know too well what her cards did and often played them in the wrong order. Sora, while not the most experienced himself, had a basic idea of what his deck wanted to do thanks to practicing with his sister. He made sure to protect his life cards, slowly build up an advantage and never leave himself in a position to lose. A more experienced player could've exploited the holes he still left in his strategies, but Sakura was much too fresh to recognize and take advantage of them. Soon enough, it was Sora's victory, his previously blackened coin returning to its golden luster. "You did it!" Rui happily exclaimed, hugging her brother after his victory. He didn't seem nearly as happy as her, though. Sorra wrangled himself loose from Rui's grip and walked over to the child, crouching down to meet her at her height. He tried to console the small child, though the Avatar, Blaze, actually did the most of the work by saying: "It's alright. Come on, Sakura. You're going to win the next battle for sure! And this battle was good training, right? Let's train some more on our own before the next battle." Sakura seemed to cheer up pretty quickly after that. She thanked Sora and gave him a respectful bow. Rui clasped Sora's hand with both of hers. "See? She'll be fine. You shouldn't worry about her so much," Rui said, trying to be comforting even though her words were cold. "Wolf must be exhausted... so let's not worry about battles anymore today, okay? Let's just enjoy the rest of our day!" she cheerily said, trying to lift Sora's spirits. In the process, Rui ignored the little girl there with them. She didn't seem to care much about her, whether intentionally or not... it was hard to get a read on her like she was now, with her attention so squared on Sora. "You're being scary again, Nee-chan..." Lumia muttered to herself, unbeknownst to her commander.</s>
<\|description\|>Arn Appearance: Alias(es): Hellspawn Age:36 Gender: Male Description: Height-5'9 Weight-180 Skin: Tan Hair: darkish brown eye colour: dark brown, almost makes it seem like he has no iris build: Average build as fit as any regular military member special features, Magic Type: Mana Role: Battlemage Specialty: Elemental magic Personality: Quiet Studious knowlegable Lack of sympathy\ Loves sweets Hates Pirates, criminals, evil doers Explosive when angered Background: Born of Hell's Flames Arn was born to a mother who had been sold to a brothel by pirates. He never knew why he had been allowed to live when other females merely killed the embryo in utero. Perhaps it was his mother's need for somebody to truly love instead of the myriad of men who visited her bed. Whatever the case, Arn grew in the rough and deadly environment of vice and vile. Despite this, he still thought that life had more to offer. He grew up really quick, always wanting to take care and protect his mother. He spent his time running from bullies and just trying to survive really. While he hid from the older kids, he would spend his time reading random books he found in the trash. His favorite was of oriental stories of men of valor, strength, and honor. It was this mentality that steered him in the direction of trying to be a hero. It was one of time that a particularly violent customer visited his mother and he was hiding in the balcony that he attempted to act on his illusions of saving her from that life. He burst in while the man abused his mother. Arn tried to attack the man but ended up getting beat. His mother then tried to protect him and the drunk and angry man beat her unconscious. Thinking her dead, the young boy knocked the man down and in a feat of anger somehow activated his contact with Gea which manifested into an inferno. Flames engulfed his hands which in turn devoured not only the violent man, but his mother and the building with all in it. Authorities would later report finding the crying boy holding the charred body of a female, his own hands sporting serious burns. Learning to Temper the Fire Eventually, it was discovered that the sad angry boy was adept in magic. He was recruited by the military and sent to study at the academy in Belisio. He was too dark, sad, and awkward to be of good social standing. However, he was able to forgo this with the sanctity of the vast library. It was here that he fully threw himself into learning all he could of magic. He felt that in some way, his mother's sacrifice had unlocked this gift in him. It was a way for him to feel closer to her in a world where he felt alone. Due to his focus and innate gift, he was soon a top level student which meant he was in the focus of jealousy and bullying from less capable more influential students. Luckily for him, the military cared nothing for his lack of social know how. Instead, he went on to become the youngest battle mage so far. Forged in the Fires of War. Arn was no stranger to death and suffering even before he stepped into the battle field. However, he was too good of a killer even for his superiors. He specially seemed to be extra vicious against pirates or criminals. Many of his squad mates could swear they saw his dark eyes gleam with fire as he incinerated people who had been on the verge of surrendering. This and the fact he preferred fire attacks that earned him the nickname Hellspawn. He was headed towards a court martial when a Knight took him under his wing. The only reason why Arn listened to him was because the knight reminded him of the oriental warriors he had read in his novels. The Knight taught Arn self control, temperance, and peace. Interestingly enough, this made him an even more efficient killing machine. However, this new facet was much more focused. He still felt no remorse in killing bad people, but his incidents of friendly fire were all but none existent. He won the trust of his squad mates and superiors but the nick name never went away. Indeed, many in the underworld still say the name in hushed tones. Equipment: Samurai armor fashioned battle vest that is made of Kevlar plates able to withstand small caliber bullets and some explosives. Keeps Ornamental Daisho swords but that are still able to be used in battle Abilities: Flamethrower- His mana excites the atoms around him and engulfs his hands/feet in flame and able to expel it up to 15FT like a flame thrower Burst- able to produce an outwardly expanding flame ball with the force of a claymore mine. Produces fire and concussion damage. Rock Wall: Causes a concentrated seismic reaction that produces a rock wall up to 6ft tall and about 3ft thick. Avalanche: Able to deteriorate an area of ground by cutting the Aether strings which will cause a collapse of about 3ft deep to an area of a bout 15ft. Wind Bullet: Able to compress the air around him and fire it off at high velocities. Wind Cushion: Focuses a high air pressure to form an upward force to slow the rate of descent. Especially effective if used with parachutes or other such devices. Hydrocannon- synthesizes the moisture into a stream as powerful as a fireman's hose. Extra: (Optional)</s> <\|message\|>Eilis Tourmaline turned to Arn with purpose and speed. "I fear we have no more time to converse…for the now at the least…your presence is required as the Empire is closing in on its victory. Take my advice…take the girl and leave…there will be nothing but death for you and her here in this land." He started to fade back as Eilis's form within the Aether started to move again. "She'll come to in a minute, there is one more matter we must attend. You cannot tell her of your plans to free her from me, she'll think you a fool and would want to keep you safe. Softhearted creatures that women are, she won't allow you do attempt it if she knows. She's stubborn like that. Just thought I should tell you in case you're one of those idiots that thinks sharing everything with your friends and those you care for is a good thing." The being's tone dripped with sarcasm at that last particular point. "Now I will refrain from stepping in again, so she won't bleed to death, but you'd better keep her alive. There is still a war going on after all and innocent casualties can happen." The being ended as he returned their sights to them as Eilis's glowing stopped. Both were back in the chaos of the warzone, still on the back of their wyrm and just in time to watch the horror unfold in the distance as the palace was blown to pieces. Eilis cried out in horror at the sight wondering what the hell was happening to her as the guns smothered the silence and roared around them.</s> <\|message\|>Alexa Brightwind Tobi was used to free falling from the carrier ship unto their target like any other Shooting Star. However, this was usually done with jet packs or even fast roping. Being manhandled by the silver haired Knight Captain was not something he would call enjoyable. Alexa on the other hand was living the dream. Not only had she been able to fight alongside her hero on a daring and deadly assault but he was not holding her in his arms. The explosions and exploding salvo around them only seeming like spotlights for Tyrhallan's splendor. The young mage uttered a grunt as the trio landed. He stood up shakily and nodded at the praise and apology from the Venray Lord. "We are all warriors Captain Venray. My lads knew what they were doing and the price that is often paid. It just sucks we they could not take more of those sons of bitches down with them. I guess that falls on us" Alexa looked in Tobi's direction and he made a face and shook his head. He might be cut and bruised but he would be dammed if he let the haughty blonde nurse him like some pup. He had his pride and he was also a bit jealous of the way she looked at the Knight Captain but he would not allow himself to acknowledge that. Rolling her eyes at the rude grimace the young mage made the young lass popped tall and spoke clearly with a hint of happiness in her voice. "Captain Venray, we are both still able to perform. Please lead on." It was Tobi's turn to roll his eyes as he mockingly repeated what the girl said below his breath as he made sure he did not have any serious wounds. Other than some burns and flesh wounds he seemed to be ok. As the pair stepped up to stand next to the taller man, they heard his gasping no. Both looked up to see him with question in their eyes and looked back at the scene. At first it seemed just like any other battle that was being fought around them. At least to Tobi who could only make out two armored men going at it. It was not until Alexa echoed Tryhallan's gasp that the young mage figured it must be somebody important. So Important in fact, that Tyrhallan boosted away, the ripple of the Aether almost pushing the young mage away from sheer surprise. "What the fuck?" Tobin said as he caught himself from tripping. "Where the hell is he going?" the young man said trying to follow the blur that was Tryhallan as he jumped the great distance. Alexa was stunned for a second as she realized who the man was. She had studies and read books about Uilles Venray and her father had regaled her with valiant deeds. To see him so pressed in such a manner stole her breath. Add that to the shock of seeing the Knight Captain disappear amid the barrage of weapon's fire and she went white as death. Thankfully, Tobin's spunky attitude came to the rescue. Alexa felt a descent slap on the back of her head as the young mage wacked her to try and get her attention. "Hey love bird, snap out of it. What the hell are we going to do? Master Mage Arn needed us to bring him back. It seems the Knight Captain has a death wish." Alexa pushed the young mage away. "You insolent fool!" She yelled at him anger and concern mixing. "That man over there about to be killed was his uncle Lord Uilles Venray! What else can we do but try to help both of them." She pulled out a small whistle and blew on it. Hopefully her mount had survived the incessant air battle.</s>	<\|message\|>Arn Arn returned the stare of the shadow man who had identified himself as Troumaline. The master mage's eyes were devoid of any feeling though in the inside of him he there was confusion. History had recorded the man before him as a hero. There were a myriad of books in the library at the Academy that detailed exploits and even assumptions on the life of this mysterious mage who had appeared out of the shadows to become basically the savior of Ith. The men who stood before him, however, felt nothing like the merciful hero that he had read about and even had courses on. One thing the master mage could not deny was the fact that the power that emanated from the shadow man lived up to the legends and stories. The pressure he felt on the Aether was tremendous. It was almost as if the Thread itself was trying to escape from being too close to the man. What kind of fools or demented people would bind such a powerful being to a fragile girl like his Eilis, no matter how brave she was? He needed to find out more. Arn did not need the ancient mage to tell him that they could not easily liberate his protégé. The warning regarding the danger of attemptin such a procedure weight heavily on the Mage's heart. But he knew that perhaps it would be best for his blonde companion to die and be free than continue this life of slavery. She had on many occasions begged and had him promise that he would not allow her to become a tool of destruction. He shook his head, no there had to be a way to ensure not only a successful transfer but also keeping the young girl alive. "Master Tourmaline" The battlemage said respectfully. Not because he wanted to sweet talk the shadow man but because regardless of the current situation of the man causing harm to his charge, Arn truly felt respect for the shadow figure in a professional level, especially if the shadow figure was truly Troumaline. "I will do all I can and all I must to see Eilis free…" "I fear we have no more time to converse…for the now at the least…your presence is required as the Empire is closing in on its victory. Take my advice…take the girl and leave…there will be nothing but death for you and her here in this land." Arn was cut short by the shadow man. He nodded understanding and agreed that this chaotic battle sky was not the place to strategize or figure out how to proceed with liberating Eilis. "Very well, but you have my promise that this will not be our last talk and do not worry, I would not burned Eilis with worrying about the decision I already have made." It would hurt him to keep his lovely charge in the dark about transferring the shadow man unto himself but like Tourmaline had said, she would never allow it. Sometimes, it was more merciful to leave such things unsaid. Through his connection with Eilis he felt the powerful presence slowly fade. The Thread stopped throbbing and instead resumed its even hum almost as if it was taking slow deep breaths after being frightened. Regaining his senses, the din of battle was deafening. The mage even had to shake his head to shake of the shock. He felt the body of Eilis go a little limp. It made sense as the pressure that Troumaline had placed on not only her Thread but her body must have exhausted her. When she came to, her screaming reaction was understandable. Arn leaned in close as she spoke directly into her ear. "Eilis, Eilis, its ok. You are safe. We need to get out of here." The mage helped her sit back down and tried not to touch her open wounds. "WE need to get you healed up. I know you are probably weak but are you able to draw power from me to heal yourself." He looked around not only to identify any threats but looking for specific people. "Where the hell is Tobi and Tryhallan…" he muttered under his breath as he prodded this mount towards the part of the sky that looked like it had the least amount of fighting on it.</s>
<\|description\|>Venray Family. Lord Uilles Venray Lord Pharlan Auregin Venray Lady Leandra Hendreshy Venray</s> <\|message\|>Eilis Meanwhile Tyrhallan was flying up front, sticking to the clouds, to try and stay out of sight, but this did not mean their path was an easy one. Trying to avoid the chaotic winds created by the mages and the lightning called upon and weaponized meant they were literally in the line of fire. As they reached the frontlines Eilis couldn't stop from looking horrified at the scene below her. She wasn't sure where the sky began and the ground stopped, the forces collided in so many different ways that it was dizzying to behold. Dragonfighters chased Empire soldiers on strange contraptions, artillery was blasted at one another, literally carving their own path in both vessel and earth. Eilis looked at back at Arn with concern, knowing his friends were probably down there grabbing hold of his arm for a moment. She wanted to say so many things, to apologize for being the reason he wasn't with those he cared about, those he had fought with to protect his home. But she didn't get the opportunity as another blast of lightning cut off their path forcing Umbra to fly lower, catching the attention of a couple of Imperial soldiers. They send their flying machines up after them, thinking them soldiers running from the battlefield. Tyrhallan's eyes had scanned the battlefield seeing the clear struggle the Hearthguard had and cursed himself for not being able to be of any help. The lightning was making their path forward even more difficult, but still they had to try, they had to…wait. Tyrhallan's eyes had been drawn to a familiar form on the battlefield. "Uncle?" He had uttered aloud, before the humming of engines and shouts of Imperial soldiers came from behind them. Shit, they had been spotted. Turning Viscera around, he shouted to Arn. "Fly ahead, I'll deal with them! Take care of her!" As he flew past Umbra and towards the Imperial soldiers. He deftly made Viscera avoid their weapons, allowing the creature to loop and roll over and past them, this allowed Tyrhallan to draw his weapon and unleash his clasps. Dropping in and making short work of the first two before two more showed up, ramming the contraption to shake Tyrhallan off. One was taken out by Viscera coming up from behind it and slamming its own weight against it. It also allowed Tyrhallan to jump back onto the Wyrm as it allowed the winds to carry it upwards and away from the other, disappearing in the clouds so the other had to give chase.</s> <\|message\|>Arn Thobi was surprised at all the clamor regarding one single person when the Elder Venray arrived to the squadron. The man seemed not only old but injured. Yet, the way that people were celebrating, you would think that they had won the war. As cheers and shouts went up, he recognized the name, Venray. If he remembered correctly, the silver haired Knight Captain that had questioned him about Master Arn was also name Venray. If these two were kin, it would make sense. In the young mage's mind, any sort of morale boost that would rally the troops was a welcome event. So He joined in the cheer hoping that the increase in morale would translate into an increase in fighting power. They needed it. However, unlike the knights, an honorable death by the sword was not the young mage's final goal. He would fight honorable of course but he would be dammed if he were to just throw his life away so easily. Perhaps this one tenant was one of the reasons why knights and mages did not get along. They viewed honor in a different manner. For example, he would have never shouldered a shield against a dreadnought class warship. Thobi's mouth hung open as the ship opened fire on a lone man. Bit of an over kill, the young mage thought. His semblance did not change when his eyes alone could not follow the movements of the Elder Venray as he knocked down the bullet. As if watching a sporting event and not a life or death match, The young mage cheered as the black clad man landed on the brow of the ship. A small figure compared to the lumbering machine. This time the cheers that came from the young mage's mouth were real as the man moved through the upper deck dispatching his opponents. Thobi had always been a fan of knights despite his designation. So seeing one so skilled in action brought back childhood fantasies. His spirits lifted and a small glimmer of hope that the Belisian forces might still have a chance to win entered his heart. As the second figure appeared on the deck, an obvious challenger and champion, the young man could not help but get even more excited. The duel promised to be a fight no one would soon forget. The seconds were tense as the two fighters stood obviously exchanging words. Thobias almost fell off his mount's seat as he tried to lean closer to listen. Yet, the knights formation did not waver, they awaited the signal from their commander. ****************************************************************************** The sounds of the battle resounded throughout the heavens as Arn and his lovely protégé flew astride a Wyrm. His eyes scanned the battlefield not only to avoid any obvious dangers but also to wistfully locate any of his squad mates. Oh how the battle mage yearned to be there with them. There was a part of him that was made for battle. For the longest time, it had been his sole way of expression and his squad the closest thing to family. His eyes saw the flashes of lighting and flashes of artillery. Both producing their own boom. He sighed, hoping that the young fool Thobi was using his brain for once and came out of this alive. Though truth be told, the Master Mage did not know if he would ever see him or Belisio again. He cast a glance in front of him to their silver haired benefactor. Tyrhallan was more than likely suffering the same withdrawal. The closer the trio got to the front lines, the harder it was to avoid pockets of fighting and artillery fire. The surface to air bombardment may not be doing much damage to the big ships of the Viemese but they would be devastating to the riders. Eilis must have sensed Arn's misgivings for she grabbed his arm. The Master Mage was recalled from his surveying of the battles in hopes of catching a glimpse of his squad mates. He looked at her concerned face and offered her a reassuring and tender smile. He leaned in close to her ear and whispered loud enough to hear. "I am fine Eilis. My men know what to do and how to survive. You are my mission now. One I am glad to take." His other hand went across her small waist to pat her on the hand that was on his forearm. A wave of heat extending towards her to stave off any coldness travelling in the stratos might cause and to stave off shock. Suddenly, the battle came to them. Whether they had been spotted or happened upon by chance. The small group was now a target of the Imperial fighters. Trained and efficient as the mount they rode was, the air was more the Knight Captains territory. A field to which Venray took to gladly. "Fly ahead, I'll deal with them! Take care of her!" Arn nodded. He completely agreed with the lord that his priority was Eilis and the mission. He gave the knight a good luck sign and prodded their Wyrm onward. Umbra did as was asked and with a screech and mighty flap of its wings, the creature gathered speed leaving behind the Knight Captain and the Imperial patrol. They did not get far when out of the clouds another contingent came rushing out. Arn's eye became murderous. Not only where they blocking their path and putting his charge in danger, but he also wanted to avenge the men and women who had already lost their lives in defense of Belisio. Again he leaned forward and called out to Eilis. "Take the rains, keep the Wyrm straight." Using the strength of his legs he attempted to stand up. His eyes began to glow and a magic user like his protégé was sure to feel the manipulation of the Aether. Digging into the Thread, Arn utilized the already heavily charged skies. Thankfully, the Imperial patrol that came at them had more than enough metal to attract the arc of lighting that streaked from his hands towards the incoming Viemese. The lighting was hot blue and it them with enough charge to immolate them. Sitting back onto the saddle he took the reigns from Eilis and prodded their mount deeper in the skies past the barricaded of clouds for the open air. He looked back trying to catch a glimpse of Tyrhallan hoping that they would not be seeing the last of him.</s>	<\|message\|>Venray Family. Uilles readied himself as he watched the man in front of him with uncertainty. The fact that he had downed 'Dursa's Poison' was terrifying, it was a horrible potent drug. Though Uilles didn't know what it exactly consisted of he knew of the effects that it had on people. Consuming it gave one ridiculous power and a surge of energy that was highly addictive in nature. A couple of drops would give you the strength and ferocity of an adult Morgrave, it also was said to create a kind of madness and bloodlust. A violent need to kill. And Ravros had downed a whole vial of it. He watched the man in front of him softy snicker and the glint in the man's eyes change, one of unspeakable lust and desire, as the veins in the man's neck and face suddenly became visible as if the 'poison' showed itself travelling through the body as its effects started. From thin and wiry purple lines to those with an angrier shade of Mauve as his eyes darkened. They seemed unfocussed for a moment before they honed in on him and all hell broke loose. Just as Uilles had send ki down to strengthen his legs Ravros suddenly swung his blade recklessly towards him, with such power and speed that he had barely caught it with his own. Sparks had flown as the blades had clashed, with Uilles needing both his arms to hold his own weapon as the thunderous powerful one armed slams came crashing down upon it. Every time the offensive blade came closer to his face and neck and despite the amount of ki he had send down, he felt his own body be forced backwards with every blow. "What's the matter Venray? Where is your might now?" Ravros laughed mockingly as he hammered on easily casting aside a rare attack that Uilles could send back. The General was driving the knight backwards, towards the edge of the ship. He would make an example out of him. The whole of Belisio would see their hero for the weak fool he truly was. Uilles clenched his jaws and gritted his teeth as he desperately tried to hold his ground but realized that he wouldn't be able to keep this up. Feeling the strain on his lame leg sapping away his ki he felt he needed a way out, a way to swing things back into his favour. "Damn you!" Uilles growled forcing all his strength in a dive forward taking Ravros head on pivoting his body and grabbing Ravros's swordarm, bypassing the sword and throwing him half up and over him, allowing himself some necessary time to get back towards the center of the deck. Enraged at this clever move Ravros picked up a second blade from one of the fallen soldiers and charged back at Uilles, who now had twice the danger to watch out for. Though the swings were powerful they were less calculated and Uilles hoped he could use that as his advantage, provided he managed to block the offensive strikes and keep his ground. Ravros meanwhile was seething at the mouth, his teeth coloured in the same dark liquid he had drank but moments ago. "I am going to kill you Venray! I am going to hack you into pieces! Limb from limb!" "You're going to have to hit me first, Ravros!" He goaded replied before having to jump backwards from the swing at his legs, before catching the other aimed at his neck. He glanced the blow off but couldn't hold off the other blade that had moved upwards and dug into his armour at his side. A sharp pain follow as he watched the blade draw back, its metal painted red by his blood. Loud euphoric laughter rang from Ravros's mouth as he watched the knight grasp at his side with one hand, the red liquid dripping onto the deck. "I hope that wasn't a kidney Uilles." He cackled seeing the knight in pain. "Maybe now you realize your future, your life and that of Belisio are numbered and the clock is quickly counting down. Don't worry though, I'll take the pleasure of slaying you before your little kingdom crumbles. I'll make sure your legacy is erased…no one will believe you ever existed." Uilles breathed heavily as he watched Ravros like a hawk. "If I die, I will join my forebears my soul will be in tact unlike yours. I know who I am and unlike you I don't live for vengeance alone." "I will break your wings raptor." Ravros promised. "I will break your spirit and I will make certain your soul will be broken too!" He vowed as he raised both his blades. He would cut the man to shreds. He would finish this once and for all. Morgrave - An oversized Wolverine that will hunt and kill anything that moves. Its hide and fur so thick that simple swords get stuck in it or can't get through it.</s>
<\|description\|>Venray Family. Lord Uilles Venray Lord Pharlan Auregin Venray Lady Leandra Hendreshy Venray</s> <\|message\|>Eilis Tourmaline turned to Arn with purpose and speed. "I fear we have no more time to converse…for the now at the least…your presence is required as the Empire is closing in on its victory. Take my advice…take the girl and leave…there will be nothing but death for you and her here in this land." He started to fade back as Eilis's form within the Aether started to move again. "She'll come to in a minute, there is one more matter we must attend. You cannot tell her of your plans to free her from me, she'll think you a fool and would want to keep you safe. Softhearted creatures that women are, she won't allow you do attempt it if she knows. She's stubborn like that. Just thought I should tell you in case you're one of those idiots that thinks sharing everything with your friends and those you care for is a good thing." The being's tone dripped with sarcasm at that last particular point. "Now I will refrain from stepping in again, so she won't bleed to death, but you'd better keep her alive. There is still a war going on after all and innocent casualties can happen." The being ended as he returned their sights to them as Eilis's glowing stopped. Both were back in the chaos of the warzone, still on the back of their wyrm and just in time to watch the horror unfold in the distance as the palace was blown to pieces. Eilis cried out in horror at the sight wondering what the hell was happening to her as the guns smothered the silence and roared around them.</s> <\|message\|>Alexa Brightwind Tobi was used to free falling from the carrier ship unto their target like any other Shooting Star. However, this was usually done with jet packs or even fast roping. Being manhandled by the silver haired Knight Captain was not something he would call enjoyable. Alexa on the other hand was living the dream. Not only had she been able to fight alongside her hero on a daring and deadly assault but he was not holding her in his arms. The explosions and exploding salvo around them only seeming like spotlights for Tyrhallan's splendor. The young mage uttered a grunt as the trio landed. He stood up shakily and nodded at the praise and apology from the Venray Lord. "We are all warriors Captain Venray. My lads knew what they were doing and the price that is often paid. It just sucks we they could not take more of those sons of bitches down with them. I guess that falls on us" Alexa looked in Tobi's direction and he made a face and shook his head. He might be cut and bruised but he would be dammed if he let the haughty blonde nurse him like some pup. He had his pride and he was also a bit jealous of the way she looked at the Knight Captain but he would not allow himself to acknowledge that. Rolling her eyes at the rude grimace the young mage made the young lass popped tall and spoke clearly with a hint of happiness in her voice. "Captain Venray, we are both still able to perform. Please lead on." It was Tobi's turn to roll his eyes as he mockingly repeated what the girl said below his breath as he made sure he did not have any serious wounds. Other than some burns and flesh wounds he seemed to be ok. As the pair stepped up to stand next to the taller man, they heard his gasping no. Both looked up to see him with question in their eyes and looked back at the scene. At first it seemed just like any other battle that was being fought around them. At least to Tobi who could only make out two armored men going at it. It was not until Alexa echoed Tryhallan's gasp that the young mage figured it must be somebody important. So Important in fact, that Tyrhallan boosted away, the ripple of the Aether almost pushing the young mage away from sheer surprise. "What the fuck?" Tobin said as he caught himself from tripping. "Where the hell is he going?" the young man said trying to follow the blur that was Tryhallan as he jumped the great distance. Alexa was stunned for a second as she realized who the man was. She had studies and read books about Uilles Venray and her father had regaled her with valiant deeds. To see him so pressed in such a manner stole her breath. Add that to the shock of seeing the Knight Captain disappear amid the barrage of weapon's fire and she went white as death. Thankfully, Tobin's spunky attitude came to the rescue. Alexa felt a descent slap on the back of her head as the young mage wacked her to try and get her attention. "Hey love bird, snap out of it. What the hell are we going to do? Master Mage Arn needed us to bring him back. It seems the Knight Captain has a death wish." Alexa pushed the young mage away. "You insolent fool!" She yelled at him anger and concern mixing. "That man over there about to be killed was his uncle Lord Uilles Venray! What else can we do but try to help both of them." She pulled out a small whistle and blew on it. Hopefully her mount had survived the incessant air battle.</s> <\|message\|>Arn Arn returned the stare of the shadow man who had identified himself as Troumaline. The master mage's eyes were devoid of any feeling though in the inside of him he there was confusion. History had recorded the man before him as a hero. There were a myriad of books in the library at the Academy that detailed exploits and even assumptions on the life of this mysterious mage who had appeared out of the shadows to become basically the savior of Ith. The men who stood before him, however, felt nothing like the merciful hero that he had read about and even had courses on. One thing the master mage could not deny was the fact that the power that emanated from the shadow man lived up to the legends and stories. The pressure he felt on the Aether was tremendous. It was almost as if the Thread itself was trying to escape from being too close to the man. What kind of fools or demented people would bind such a powerful being to a fragile girl like his Eilis, no matter how brave she was? He needed to find out more. Arn did not need the ancient mage to tell him that they could not easily liberate his protégé. The warning regarding the danger of attemptin such a procedure weight heavily on the Mage's heart. But he knew that perhaps it would be best for his blonde companion to die and be free than continue this life of slavery. She had on many occasions begged and had him promise that he would not allow her to become a tool of destruction. He shook his head, no there had to be a way to ensure not only a successful transfer but also keeping the young girl alive. "Master Tourmaline" The battlemage said respectfully. Not because he wanted to sweet talk the shadow man but because regardless of the current situation of the man causing harm to his charge, Arn truly felt respect for the shadow figure in a professional level, especially if the shadow figure was truly Troumaline. "I will do all I can and all I must to see Eilis free…" "I fear we have no more time to converse…for the now at the least…your presence is required as the Empire is closing in on its victory. Take my advice…take the girl and leave…there will be nothing but death for you and her here in this land." Arn was cut short by the shadow man. He nodded understanding and agreed that this chaotic battle sky was not the place to strategize or figure out how to proceed with liberating Eilis. "Very well, but you have my promise that this will not be our last talk and do not worry, I would not burned Eilis with worrying about the decision I already have made." It would hurt him to keep his lovely charge in the dark about transferring the shadow man unto himself but like Tourmaline had said, she would never allow it. Sometimes, it was more merciful to leave such things unsaid. Through his connection with Eilis he felt the powerful presence slowly fade. The Thread stopped throbbing and instead resumed its even hum almost as if it was taking slow deep breaths after being frightened. Regaining his senses, the din of battle was deafening. The mage even had to shake his head to shake of the shock. He felt the body of Eilis go a little limp. It made sense as the pressure that Troumaline had placed on not only her Thread but her body must have exhausted her. When she came to, her screaming reaction was understandable. Arn leaned in close as she spoke directly into her ear. "Eilis, Eilis, its ok. You are safe. We need to get out of here." The mage helped her sit back down and tried not to touch her open wounds. "WE need to get you healed up. I know you are probably weak but are you able to draw power from me to heal yourself." He looked around not only to identify any threats but looking for specific people. "Where the hell is Tobi and Tryhallan…" he muttered under his breath as he prodded this mount towards the part of the sky that looked like it had the least amount of fighting on it.</s>	<\|message\|>Venray Family. As Ravros brought his sword up he watched the glare that Uilles cast at him. Hate me. He thought. It is no more then you deserve. A blur flashing in the corner of his eyes for a moment. As Ravros flexed his might to decapitate Uilles, bringing the final swing down he was met instead by the incoming knee of a raging Knight Captain. Ravros stumbled back, trying to regain his footing as the red and white blur became visible as Tyrhallan stood in between his Uncle and Ravros. Both quite surprised to see him. "Tyrhallan? You're supposed to escort…" Uilles started as he regained his composure. "We can argue about this later!" His nephew snapped at him, taking him a back again. Ravros however regarded the two with clear suspicion. They knew one another…that much was obvious and if the white hair wasn't a dead give away their emblems surely were. The Venray crest. "What's this? A son? A little family reunion?" He asked with curiosity allowing the two their moment to catch up, though they didn't bother to answer him. "Tyrhallan go… I order you to go… This doesn't concern you!" Uilles said as he attempted to stand up again. Tyrhallan cast a glance back at his uncle. The man could barely stand anymore and if the blood dripping from his armour was any indication the man was bleeding profusely. "Don't be ridiculous Uncle, you're in no shape anymore to fight him nor to order me about, call it disobedience or mutiny I don't care." Uilles eyes him with a pleading look, but Tyrhallan ignored it. "I am not leaving you here so you can die for the sake of your pride! Not when Belisio still needs you. When I still need you." He cut back. "All my life you trained me to be worthy of following into your footsteps. You told me to protect the innocent and defend the weak. To bring hope when there was none. To do what was right. And right now that means keeping you from making a stupid mistake. My place is here between you and him." Tyrhallan's words earning him a grin from Ravros. "Well, it seems the boy made his decision Venray. You'll just have to patiently wait your turn and in the meantime watch me rip his legs off of him, but rest assured, I will not forget about you. Your comeuppance will come." He promised darkly. Tyrhallan raised himself, taking his position and keeping a careful eye on the man. "Well we'll see about all that…After all you will have to catch me first." He replied with confidence. Ravros chuckled for a moment as he took his place, his large sword swinging about in order to loosen up again. "Bring it boy." Before Uilles could stop him, Tyrhallan dashed at Ravros. He avoided his slow and heavy swings and instead dove underneath it to kick his legs from underneath him. This attempt almost succeeded were it not for the grab Ravros did pulling Tyrhallan down as well, making him smack his head against the metal deck. He quickly spun away and out of range despite the pain and watched Ravros get up as well releasing a tuft of hair he had torn off of Tyrhallan's head in his attempted grab. "Seems you're not so fast after all boy." Tyrhallan narrowed his eyes and shadowstepped again, only to force himself to deflect and parry the blow Ravros send his way, allowing Fatebringer up close and nearly taking off his nose, but causing a proper cut across the cheek. Angered by the new pain and drawn blood Ravros send his other fist flying into Tyrhallan's direction, barely missing his face as he retreated and was forced on the defensive. Ravros's anger fueled the speed of his attacks and even with Tyrhallan's speed even he was having difficulty keeping up with the big guy.</s>
<\|description\|>Venray Family. Lord Uilles Venray Lord Pharlan Auregin Venray Lady Leandra Hendreshy Venray</s> <\|message\|>Arn The young mage and knight mounted her teal colored wyrm when she appeared out of the skies. A lot of training must have gone into the mount to enable it to return to her master even despite the hell that was happening around them. Distress was clearly painted on the mount's face as it reacted to every noise and explosion. Alexa gave it a thankful and comforting pat on the pretty teal scaly neck. "Damn, you got her trained good sweet cheeks. I don't know if I would have come back to get you if I was her." The blonde knight scoffed. "Well I am glad she does not think like you coward. Now come on, there is no time to loose. Captain Venray will need our help." In a practiced and efficient manner, the pretty knight jumped onto the seat. An exasperated look told Tobi that he needed to hurry up. "Alright, geez. Do you even have a plan? Infatuation and recklessness don't tend to hold up against guns and magic you know." He gave her sarcastic look. As soon as he was settled, his arms wrapped maybe way too tight around her midsection, the pair took off from the deck. The wyrm seemed to calm some with the strong, confident hands of Alexa on the reins. Her blue eyes searched the skies for hazards and looked towards the juggernaut of a ship where the two Venray lords were located. From behind her, Tobi asked again into her hear. "Seriously, do you have a plan?" Looking down, the two young soldiers saw the battle unfold under them. However, this was done in burst because they had to evade air to air explosions and the odd attack from a Viemese aboard one of those annoying air craft. Suddenly, Alexa had and idea so she turned to Tobi to be heard. "Mage, are you able to fly one of those?" She pointed to the small craft. "Yeah, I suppose so. and call me Tobi. That is my proper name you know." The young mage sounded not entirely sure despite his words. "Good, we will commandeer one. Neither of them will be happy about this but we are going to rescue them." Tobi rolled his eyes and exhaled exasperated. In his opinion, nobody ever thanked those that saved them against their will but Arn HAD asked them to retrieve Tyrhallan and apparently the silver haired knight would not leave without the older black armored knight. "Fine, but if you have been paying attention, we will only have one chance to do this. If that strong bastard they are fighiting catches us we will be dead meat for sure. Now lets go ahead and find us a ride you crazy girl." In his mind he wondered why the hot girls were always crazy. Soon enough their target came to them. One of the Vieamese single craft had them in their sights. While the wyrm was fast, it was not faster than the craft. However, even though no plan passed between them, the two pre-empted the other. Tobi shot a strong beam of light to blind the driver. A back flip of the teal wyrm and he fell upon the other man utilizing a burst of air to blow the armored enemy at the last second. "Ok blondie, now what?" Just as he asked, the two suddenly saw Tyrhallan on the grasp of the enhanced enemy. "Noooo!" Alexa shouted as she spurred her mount onward. Having a bit of difficulty, due to the unfamiliar controls, Tobi was a few moments behind the pretty Brightblade. "There she goes again…half cocked and all emotion." The young mage said but with an obvious smile on his face. Her reckless behaviour seemed to be alluring. Thankflly to all of them, Arn was not far behind. Through Eilis, he sensed Tyrhallan's life force flicker for a second. Like Alexa, he spurred his mount forward. Fate was bringing all of them together but would it prove to be their end?</s> <\|message\|>Eilis Eilis opened her eyes trying to focus on the specific targets before them. Letting out a shuddering breath she tried to steady her heart and tried to reel in her fear. This whole situation was madness, chaos and terror combined, a scene of ultimate horrific confusing where you simply charged into head first and prayed you would be either given a swift death or passed by by Death's scythe today. She cast a glance behind her at Arn who's gaze had focused as she could feel the build up of Aether through the man. The air crackled around his arms and hands, the energy gathering as it was called forth. She shivered at the aura of sheer power that started the engulf the master mage. Was she looking anything like that when she used her magic? She couldn't help but cast a glance at her hands and the fractured skin and the etched lines that had been carved into her. Maybe one day she would understand why this curse was placed upon her, but for now they all needed to get out of this nightmare. As her eyes focused on Tyrhallan again she took proper hold of the reins again. Giving Arn a quick glance she said. "You can't fight if you have to do two things at the same time that are equally as taxing. I'll guide Umbra, so you'll be able to do whatever you have in mind." She offered, before she sped the wyrm up, intending to join Arn's friend, Tobi. Ravros angrily roared in both pain and frustration, those two were more troublesome than he had first perceived. He always had known the old General, Uilles, had always been a stubborn, annoying and persistent pest, ever since he first met him. His son or nephew or whatever that hellspawn of his was proved to be equally trying. Were it not for the fact that they had cut his arm off Ravros had actually imagined himself placing their heads on spikes to parade through the capital city, not only as a show of dominance and strength, but also to prove to all those that dared oppose the empire that their time was running out. Now however…He wasn't sure the outcome would be in his favour. As he clenched his jaws shut he glared at the two of them. The poison certainly had helped, but to have been crippled to such a degree facing such experienced swordfighters such as the Venrays? It was a death sentence waiting to happen. Not even he would stand a chance… Ravros knew that all too well and it frustrated him beyond reason. Where was his justice? Where was the Karmic retribution that was supposed to come? It seemed the Goddess played cruel tricks on him, giving him a flicker of hope before extinguishing the flame by dropping it in an ice cold bath. So long as he kept trusting in Destiny and Fate, it would spit in his face and laugh at him, well he was done being laughed at. It was time to settle the score and even if it meant he would die in the attempt. But that didn't mean he couldn't bring at least one of them down with him. He eyed Tyrhallan who took his fighting stance once more, switching places with the old General. The bastard was quick as lightning, he already had been a pain when he still had had both arms, but he hadn't been undefeatable. In fact, he believed that it was perhaps even in his favour, considering the boy didn't know him. Saying a little prayer in the his mind he mirrored Tyrhallan's fighting stance, it was said that it was the worst kind of pain one could inflict on a parent was it not?</s>	<\|message\|>Venray Family. The two sisters overlooked the chaos and madness of the battlefield. Scylla sighed in dismay at the mess they were forced in. "Of all the people in the world I think I 'hate' her the most." She grumbled to her sister who snorted at it. "Only because she proved a difficult catch and the fact that she stands in the way of 'our freedom'. I remember not too long ago you and I both agreed she is a necessary evil regardless of the events that will unfold." "You so easily say such things sister, but you forget that I have to do all the heavy lifting here." Another sigh followed. "Whatever your feelings were for him let it go. You of all people should know not to form attachments, he took advantage of you it was as simple as that and like all those who went before him he too will get his comeuppance." Scylla remained silent glaring at her sister before relenting. "You're right. You're always right." Her eyes scanned over the many peoples fighting and dying. "You'd think they'd be easy to spot…" Scylla grumbled before a red flash pulled her immediate attention. The silvery hair...it was a Venray! And that meant that the girl would be nearby too…" Her eyes searched the surrounding area before stifling a cry of joy. There they were, the human torch and their slippery little target. Perhaps things would finally go according to plan after all. She sighed in contentment making her sister aware of her find by staring ahead at it smirking madly. Her sister noticed soon enough. "So that is her? She is somehow smaller then I imagined her…and the man with her would be that fire-mage you warned me about. Well, it seems they are headed for that frigate." A silence fell as she clearly noticed the others closing in. "This changes things…they…are still alive…" Scylla turned to her sister curiously. "Vilca, what do you mean?" The sister turned and pointed out the young blonde knight and the young man not too far behind her. "I saw them die in the blast… as well as the two other knights currently fighting…" She said pointing at the individuals. "They're not supposed to be alive…" "Maybe your visions were wrong." Scylla commented with a slight tease. "Sister! This is no laughing matter! This means that things have changed…something has happened that has influenced all of this." Vilca started pondering trying to visualize the visions she had seen. She had been quite certain... "Maybe the Great Mother finally took pity on her poor creations...and decided to lend a hand." Scylla blasphemed earning her a glare from her sister, but who remained quiet for the moment. Rolling her eyes Scylla then turned to the next obvious conclusion. "Do you think it is the fault of Tourmaline? That he's overcome her soul and taken over?" "I don't know, but it is most troubling indeed. If he has then it might spell trouble for us...the man after all had been able to outmanuever the Tahjai and aside from them no one really knew what he was up to." "Didn't your scrying give you any answers on the matter?" Vilca shook her head slightly, making the veil move. "Just because I can see visions doesn't mean I see them in the correct order or even related to one another. It is like being fed images. In order to understand them you must be able to connect them to certain events. Even the slightest of changes and make the greatest of difference and visions don't always come true...as people are able to change on a whim... Regardless, we must focus on the girl. Her capture now is of the utmost importance." Her sister's voice had an edge of ...desperation? to it. It gave Scylla pause and caused a slight shiver to run accross her back. "What do you suggest we do?" "I suggest we go in and snatch her at the most opportune moment. They clearly seem intend to aid one another…so let them…let them have their little victory, it will put them at ease and will be short lived when we swoop in and snatch her. Get in and get out. That's all we really have to do here." There the determination was back again...maybe she had imagined it. Scylla nodded, as she looked at the figures not able to suppress the sting of concern for one of them in particular. If he was supposed to have died...would that mean that it still was possible?</s>
<\|description\|>Madalyn Ellie Rivers Age: 21 years as a human, but she stopped aging a bit ago Gender: Female Species: Werewolf Traits: Bubbly, brutally honest, loud, charismatic, open-minded (but she only lets people see the happy and not the negative), creative Appearance: Shoulder-length thick blonde hair, golden-brown ears that are normally held perched on top of her head, she's 5'5", so a bit on the short side. She's naturally a slight tan. She has a shaggy golden-brown tail, and because of that she has to get her clothes specially tailored, or she fixes them herself. She has wide, innocent-looking dark blue eyes that invite others to gravitate towards her. She's not skinny, per se, but on the normal size scale for someone her height. Other appearance: When she shifts into wolf form, she has the same golden-brown fur as her tail and ears suggest, with a tint of red in the moon/sunlight. Her eyes are more slitted, and they hold an abnormal intelligence in them. Fears: Not being good enough, being a failure to those around her, being abandoned, accidentally hurting people, and her wolf side, (Because she gets more wild, less trustworthy, and has a different state of mind.) flowers with thorns. Extra info: In her wolf form, she obviously isn't the same. If you get in her way, she will hurt you. She will barely recognize you, and if she does, she only did because you're close to her.</s> <\|message\|>Madalyn Ellie Rivers This room is horrible… what have I done wrong? Madalyn stares at the faces looking back at her. Disgust and disappointment are the two emotions that are clearly written all over them. She hates it. She knows that she's failed them; she doesn't know how, she just knows she did. And now they'll leave her alone, because no one ever wants to stay. Sure enough, slowly, they disappear. And Madalyn is left standing alone in a quiet room, a twisting feeling in her heart, arms dangling limply by her side.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees Once Julius overcame the drowsiness that hindered his thoughts to think, his eyes surveyed the room that reeked of human blood. The scent stung his nostrils, not because he wasn't fond of the blood, but because it seemed like it had been painted across the wall for more than just two hours. How long had he been knocked out? And who thought of transporting him here. Julius' lips curl into a frown from irritation and he fixes the cuffs of his shirt while a whisper of feigned care breaks through, "What undignified place have we been brought to? Was it one of you that screwed over the rest of us? Because it seems, as though, the journey back will be painful."</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Razulkra opened his eyes slowly, his head felt numb and tingly. Blinking and rubbing his eyes, he stared around, gazing at all those ugly abominations. There was giant heart that said LOVE in huge letters on one wall, and next to it was tree, a very odd tree that spelled out an evil disgusting word that made Razulkra tremble with fear.....FRIENDSHIP. "BBbbuuuuuuaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!!!" The little gnome screamed as he ran around the room, screaming bloody murder. He looked around the room for anything that could hide him from these monstrous creatures. Razulkra hid himself under waste basket, repeating not so nice words, that kept getting louder and louder. "F#@$ this you sorry sh#$@ ,you bas$@#%@ can go f#@$ monkey #$@% and eat s$#@%"</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves Umbril looks around and continues to try figuring out how he could have possibly allowed himself to just appear here. TLDR: Lich suddenly finds himself in a room without any idea why or how. Him:</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves Umbril shrugged "Hmgh," and grumpily made his way over to a door, blasting it open with magic "Once I find out who did this I'll make them pay." he grumbled walking into the room.</s> <\|message\|>Price For Price And Julius, a door appeared on a wall, but one problem, they would have the cross human blood covered floor to get to it. Price looked up while covering his nose with his sleeve at what just appeared. A door? That's great, but how to get to it? He looked around and surprisingly found someone else in the room. Maybe that dude can get to the door without issues. --- A pot hole (the thing you would normally see on streets) appeared at the bottom of Ky's high block. A ladder also appeared on said block. He must climb down the ladder to the hole, but is Ky too scared? Ky looked at the two things that appeared below him, but was still standing still on the block. Lilly, however just flew down to the hole. Show off. He mentally said to Lilly.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves Umbril stepped into the room from the burning remains of the door and looked around to find himself in a room filled with blood, he was amused as he noted the vampire (@Letmehaveone2) and a devil (@alexakeehl) in the midst of figuring out this apparent puzzle, it put his own lair to shame. However he addressed the two rather aggressively. "You two!" he shouted sounding rather impatient "Explain how you got here immediately." he demanded quite vehemently.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees Julius's brow irked with disgust at the sight of blood pooling in front of him and the vampire besides him. Before the sanguine liquid could kiss upon the soles of his shoes, he took several steps back. He lifted his head to another annoying voice, one that seemed too demanding to for Julius to respond kindly to. "I will ask you the same, because perhaps it was your foolishness that has us trapped here." Julius looked between Price and Umbril, cocking his head to the side as fingers nervously messed with the cuffs of his sharp cut suit. "Anyhow, it is useless to question one another when none have an answer. Instead, let's brain a way to bust down the door across this pool."</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves "My foolishness? How dare a knave such as you speak down to someone who is currently the only one more capable than you at assisting you in this room..." Umbril ranted about how he was in a position and respect this and superior that. "...And that is why you should mind your forked tongue you belligerent imp!" he finished with a huff.</s> <\|message\|>Price Price just avoided getting into any conflict as he was far too busy keeping it under control. Then again, these two probably don't know about that side of him yet.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees "Have you got any better idea than a bone to pick with me?" Julius sneered at the skeleton-looking creature, a brow jumping at the following words and insults thrown. Julius only squinted when Umbril mentioned something of a forked tongue, and instinctively the devil ran the tip of his tongue along the inner side of his upper lip. It was perfectly a sharp point! "Then because you are no fool, and self absorbed enough to mask yourself from the unfortunate reality, would you like to race me to the door?" Julius didn't spare a look at Price either, "What about you? Do you plan to camp here?"</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves Umbril held out his hand and a staff appeared in his skeletal grip, an aura of unmistakably powerful necrotic energy surged throughout the room as he slowly made his way over to the door while skeletons rose from the pools of blood and clawed up to follow the lich. As he reached the precipice of the entryway Umbril turned to look at the devil and the vampire "Your wasting my time," he said grumpily as he tapped his staff against the floor, and about six skeletons stood idly awaiting some kind of command "Either follow me or don't, either way I don't care but I think you'd benefit from my company." he looked between them and waited.</s> <\|message\|>Connie Connie woke up in a maze-like corridor. A shed carapace of a giant parasitic bug laid in front of her. She had to look for an exit before the bug could find Connie and use her body as the host of its spawns.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees "I envisioned a longer meeting for the two of us, as there are questions which leave me curious. However, this must be the dream of your fantasies." Julius spoke to the vampire, stepping towards the surface of blood. It wasn't at all difficult for him, as teleportation was a luxury to him. But for him to be relying on his powers rather than his base self was an alarm for Julius. This place had more Hell than it really led on. "I find it an unfair deal. While it is company, there's no valuable quality in it." Julius chased Umbril's words with his own, surveying the creature once more that stood in expensive robes. A competitive tension growing before Julius disappears. It looked like he had glitched himself over the pool, standing on the step just underneath the door across from them. "Because I'm generous, I'll wait to see how you overcome this." Rather, Julius was hoping he'd get to see one of them slip and fall flat on their face.</s> <\|message\|>Price Price closed his eyes in hopefulness that he wouldn't turn as he waded his way across. I'll have to do my best like I always do. He kept wading and would only stop if he felt his demon reacting to the human blood. --- With the help of Lilly encouraging him, Ky turned his back to the ladder and made his way down the hole despite how fearful he was of heights. --- Jyden still had to wait for something to happen because the fact that his Dark Side only came out at midnight and it was day at the moment.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Razu peaked out from underneath the waste basket,the room hadn't changed. He quickly pulled the can back down safely with him inside. Suddenly the upside down waste basket began to move inch by inch. A few minutes later, clang . Razu had struck the wall, then the basket began moving again, but along the wall, as the evil little gnome searched the floor for a crack.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves Umbril cackled mockingly "The feeling is mutual hellspawn," then the lich gazed to the vampire who seemed to be struggling against something "Take your time and focus." the lich said in passing as he motioned causing the skeletons to clatter along behind him as he threw the door open purposely not waiting for the devil. "Umbril is my name by the way," he paused looking behind between the two "Now introduce yourselves." he told them.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara CLANG a much louder bang this time, and when he smacked into the large plastic Friendship tree, it knocked the waist basket free of him. Razu stared up at the smiling friendly tree and screamed as loud as he could "HELP ME HELP ME, SOMEONE PLEASE SAVE ME FROM THIS GOODNESS!!!" "LET ME DIE ALREADY!!!" Razulkra flipped ,flopped, rolled, and rolled, as if possessed or on fire.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees The door barely grazed by the sharp point of Julius' nose, causing him to scrunch it up a little. It was one Hell of a dusty door to say the least, heavy one too in fact. Julius' eyes curiously surveyed the skeletons skittering behind Umbril, stepping to stand in the middle of the doorway before looking over the shoulder to catch a glimpse of Price still struggling over the blood. "I'll allow you ten seconds to sprint across before I close the door. It's not my first interest to save either of you." Julius called out to Price, also taking another jab at Umbril since he almost broke Julius' nose by opening the door. "I figured your know-it-all personality would have you accustomed to my name. Rees, Julius Rees." There was a hesitant pause in between his words, since the memories of being taunted with Julie and Juliet swarmed his mind. "10, 9," Julius clears his throat.</s> <\|message\|>Price Once the door was opened, Price made his away across the floor and was about to dash right out of that door.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara "Yipppppppe! A crack, I found a crack, woooohoooo" exclaimed Razulkra. He pushed his foot thru, and then his other one, and then he got stuck midway thru the floor. "Son of a %$!!!" "HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!" "SOMEOME ANYONE HELP ME, I'M STUCK!" yelled the little fat gnome.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees As Price dashed through the door, Julius closed it behind the trio and immediately grabbed the back of Price's collar and tried to avoid grabbing his long hair. "You're staying with us. In fact, if we are faced with a monster, I plan to sacrifice you first. There is no telling when you'll go berserk and-" Before he could even finish, Julius glanced down to something itching his ankle. Upon realizing it was a mouse, the Devil turned as pale as printer paper. "M...M...Mou..."</s> <\|message\|>Price "I was trying to get away from the blood for a reason." Price tried to say in the nicest way possible. --- Ky tried to open the pot hole, but couldn't. He then tried zapping it open which flew the lid off to the side. He looked down the hole. It was dark down there. Did he have to jump down it? He hoped not.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees Unable to speak from the mere shock from the grand appearance of a mouse, Julius released Price's collar. He aggressively pointed at the ground without a word, hoping Price would understand what he's trying to hint at.</s>	<\|message\|>Madalyn Ellie Rivers Madalyn recovers from her wave of desperation with the optimistic thought that she will never get out of this horribly… silent room without looking for a way out. There's flower vines covering the walls, strangely, and when Madalyn tries to move one of the thicker ones out of the way, she jerks her hand back, hissing an inward breath. It seemed to have stung her, and when she looks at her fingertips, beads of blood are welling up on them.</s>
<\|description\|>Julius Rees Age: 25 human years, physically he ages a year once a century passes but as a recently turned devil, he definitely doesn't know the exact date. Gender: Male Species: Devil Traits: Guileful, honest, impatient, malevolent, sophisticated, reserved i.pinimg.com/564x/e9/b6/fe/e9b6fe7eeb… Fears: Failure, rodents (especially rats), deep ocean waters Extra info: Powers are limited to wind control and teleportation. He's the type of guy that doesn't trust cheese under $50, but in the same breath has the audacity to wash his hands with his sleeves down.</s> <\|message\|>Reginald "Reggie" Morrissey Cloud Jumping out of the coffin and looking around the room, "Where am I? Why was I trapped inside of a coffin?" He asked the strangers. He thought that they would have the answers to his question.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees Julius resisted the urge to pitch Razulkara like a baseball into the abyss of darkness in front. The Devil instead took a swift turn on the heel hearing numerous voices coming together mixed with Umbril's and another. He began to feel the presence of multiple people, creatures, lurking somewhere beyond the suffocating walls of this haunting place. "You are not blind, the darkness is inconvenient." Julius whispers with feigned concern, and approaches the place where they'd been before to find that another person had joined the chaotic trio. Julius shook Razulkara a little, mostly like a maraca, to get him to stop crying.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Razulkra's head wobbled back and fro like a bobble head, when his master shook him. His cheeks got puffy as he startled to hurle, the color of his face went from rosy pink to bright green, as he couldn't hold it anymore, and spewed green projectile vomit in Umbril's direction. Cloud</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees Julius had witnessed numerous humiliating encounters beforehand, though this encounter was one particular kind of embarrassing. The Devil had to stifle a smile of mirth, clearing his throat instead in attempt to regain his composure. He'd be sure to give Razulkara a treat for this, after they managed to escape from here. "How unfortunate, indeed. To reek of that, and look like it too."</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves Silence passed, it was a tense silence and slowly the lich turned and his demeanor emanated a silent rage. "I..." the skeletons marched towards the doors and stood guard effectively blocking escape "Will..." his staff appeared and the vomit was magically erased, however his gaze was set on the gnome and that petulant boy who had the audacity to speak "Teach you both a lesson that you'll soon never forget, you insolent churls will never speak as though your better than I am because you aren't!" he pointed his staff at the gnome. "Maybe you should apologize," his eyes were glowing red with anger and the point of his staff hummed louder and louder as a ball of black energy formed at it's tip "I hate you less than the imp but I'll kill you if you do anything like that to me again...APOLOGIZE NOW!" he shouted getting more angry.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Razulkra pointed his thumb at Julius and shook his head from side to side. "It wasn't my fault, jiggling makes me queasy, I'm so sorry....sticks his tongue out at the lich , please forgive me" The little Gnome scurried up higher around behind the back of Julius head. He peaked out and stuck his thumb on his nose and wiggled his fingers at the lich.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @Kenshi@Eviledd1984@Letmehaveone2 Suddenly the lich lowered his staff and sighed in exasperation at the situation "You know what? This is a waste of my time, your all a waste of my time." he begins to walk towards one of the exits.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara "Oh yeah, well don't let the door hit ya where your master split ya!" shouted the ballsy Gnome as he jumped up and down on the Devil's shoulders, shaking his fist at the lich.</s> <\|message\|>Stephen Parker Madalyn pulls on one of the thinner vines hard, and when it finally goes, she falls on the floor. She screams and shoves the vine off of her, a little whisper in her head telling her that its come to life, and now it'll wrap around her whole body, including her throat. She scrambles away from the innocent little green string-like line on the pale white floor. Her scream's echoes are finally gone, and she's reminded that she's completely alone. … Stephen darts behind the curtain as quickly as possible, but also trying to be slower. His throat feels swollen. He feels like he can't breathe, and he's not quite sure if he can or not. He sits down with his eyes scrunched tight against some wood holding the stage up. It doesn't creak at all, thankfully. Even in his state of panic, the part of Stephen's mind that constantly inquires of things wonders about when the stage was made.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves "You have yet to annoy me, come! We shall escape, without these ninny's."</s> <\|message\|>Price Narration: Little did these challengers know that if they could make it out of the scary rooms, they might find a place that has something they like or love somewhere. --- Price has yet to make it out of this place and the human blood smell was getting worse for him, he was even backed into a corner. He had no idea if anyone one here was a human, but if he does and ends up just drinking the blood from the room, at least he wouldn't be hurting a human in there, right? --- Ky was on in a garden on a cliff and who in their right mind would jump off a cliff? Ky sure wasn't gonna do that! Instead, he decided to look for another way down. No ladders or holes this time though.</s> <\|message\|>Reginald "Reggie" Morrissey Cloud "Where are we going? Do you know why and where the hell we are?." The zombie teenager followed behind the lich. He was still confused of why and how he got to his hellish place.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves "The only thing I know is that each of these rooms specifically held a fear for someone, I'm unaffected as my fears are simply superficial and mental." the lich explained as he made his way to a door they had yet to open "We simply appeared in this place, however I must admit I appreciate the layout. I'll use it in my lair once I leave this cursed place and kill whomever did this." Umbril said reaching another doorway.</s> <\|message\|>Reginald "Reggie" Morrissey Cloud Reggie glared at the lich, he wondered how someone could torture and kill other people. "Good for you, so how do we get out of here?" The zombie said following behind the lich. He looked at the many doorways that the two had to go through. "I wonder if this is hell." He thought out loud scanning the area of how they get out of here.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves "If my theory is correct we must face all of our fears," he said walking through the doorway before them, and the seven skeletons filed in behind them "Then we'll see what happens." he said.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees Umbril had a funky sense of humor for sure, and Julius dutifully noted it down. As the gnome adjusted his seating upon the Devil's shoulder, he flinched but realized that Razulkara was sitting as if he was gorilla glued to his coat. "For someone confident about finding the exit, you seem surprised." Julius called out after Umbril, having followed behind the skeleton leader.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Razulkra whispered in Julius ear, "That lich is a ding dong, you should have seen me , I was gonna kick his ass, but he was like, please don't hurt me Raz. "</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @Kenshi Umbril didn't turn, however the skeletons stood in the doorway and blocked Julius from following him "Find your own way out, your a clever little imp." he stood still betraying no movement as he listened to them converse.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Cloud @alexakeehl Razulkra began hopping up and down on Julius shoulder again, "He wants a fight boss, let me at 'em. " Raz raises his little fists up in a boxer pose, " I'll clobber 'em!"</s> <\|message\|>Reginald "Reggie" Morrissey Cloud "Oh great, what the hell did I do to deserve this." Reg shook his head in dismay. "I'm not really sure if I could face my fear, there a lot of fear's I would rather not face." He said following behind the lich. "So are we all dead and getting some sort of punishment, because of past sins?" He asked thinking about the reasons why he would be here.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees "Now, gnome, why would you waste your time on a person who creaks more than a cabin's rusty door. How amusing to find out he is unaware of moisturizing too. I do hear that Olay is good for cracks." Julius responds towards Umbril, then glances at Razulkara on his shoulder. He furrowed his brows, looking at his boxer pose up and done before returning his gaze towards Umbril. "I don't see your name carved in the exit, let me pass." Open says-a-me.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @alexakeehl@Kenshi "One moment," Umbril lifted a finger silencing the zombie "Fine," he snapped at the devil "You really are a pathetic if you so badly need to come with us, you really are the lowest kind of devil. I bet you were cast from your home plane because your people were ashamed to harbor you..." he cackled letting the skeletons move out of the way.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves "If we were dead I wouldn't be able to use necromancy." Umbril said simply without further explanation.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees "Badly? Well, someone has to babysit you don't they? My people were indeed ashamed, but I was more. Since I have to share the same air as wastes of spaces." Julius responded, not sparing Umbril a glance as he lowered his head to look at the silver watch hanging from the pocket.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Raz shook his fist at the zombie and Lich, "Yeah bonehead, you think the King of Hell is afraid of a peon like you?" " Your lucky , he is holding me back or I'd come over there and knock yer block off." Cloud</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @Kenshi@alexakeehl The lich paused for a second and he was about to let it all go before the gnome opened it's mouth, then his grip on his staff tightened making a creaky noise as he shook with rage, he had never been spoken to in such a brazen manner and never by an insignificant creature like a gnome. "Is that right Mr. Gnome? Do you know what's holding me back? Take a good look, because nothing nothing is holding me back at this moment..." slowly he walked closer to the devil and the cowardly gnome as he had the skeletons flank the two "You taunt, you speak to me with no respect and you make me look like a fool..." the lich shook his head slightly "I am done with letting you getaway with this behavior, now I will ask you once more: find your own way out and leave now..." he stepped in closer "I won't ask again." he stood stark still awaiting their responses, his rage was almost palpable.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Razulkra gulped hard,and did his best not to piss his pants, and not to wet all over Julius shoulder. He was scared a little, but the devil had his back, nothing would happen to him. Not to mention, looking good in front of the devil, could land Raz a special place in order. "Bite my ass, socket face!" said Raz as he turned, pulling his pants down and mooned the lich. Razulkra swung his naked butt cheeks from side to side, as if twerking.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees "I have come across many creatures in Hell, spoken and fought besides them. But never... Have I witnessed such ferocious, desperate bark," Julius whispered with feigned excitement, eyes surveying Umbril's brooding gaze burning into him. "With no bite. Spare me your empty promises of wrath, even the angels' hums have entertained me far more." The Devil moved a step to the side, turning his head once Razulkara swung his bare ass around. "You are the reason why shampoos have instructions."</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @Kenshi As the devil stepped aside one of the skeletons punched Julius in the gut with unnatural force, while the others converged upon Julius to rip the gnome from the devil's back bringing him to Umbril. "No bite? I'm a lich, you underestimated a lich! Fools, now Mr. Gnome you have nobody to hide behind and at my mercy!" he laughed hard before getting close to the gnome and grasping his wrist, and black tendils of necrotic energy enveloped his tiny body "And I am not merciful." he cackled.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Cloud The Gnome squealed and tried to wiggle away from those dark tendrils, but found that he was ensnared. "Noooooo, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, let me go!" Raz reached his hands to the devil, "Please master, don't let him kill me."</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Damn tablet</s>	<\|message\|>Julius Rees The punch lasted more in impact than Julius would have thought, making him double over for quite a bit. A desperate hand clenched the side as saliva pooled into the mouth. He expected no less from a skeleton, especially an irascible one. Before he was touched again, Julius leapt into the air and waved two fingers in the shape of half an 's' to pin himself there. The Devil didn't have the power to levitate, rather, he had taken afloat by wind and it was evident from the way his hair was waving with the breeze snaking through. "I expected nothing less from a creature with the intelligence of a wet cabbage. Did I sting you, a bit?" Julius sneered, almost. "Squeezing him until his eyes go pop won't do much to calm that fury, let the gnome go. I thought you and your muppets would find me as their opponent. Nonetheless, You really rather spend our time wrestling here? Shall we not be on our own ways before the exits close?"</s>
<\|description\|>Julius Rees Age: 25 human years, physically he ages a year once a century passes but as a recently turned devil, he definitely doesn't know the exact date. Gender: Male Species: Devil Traits: Guileful, honest, impatient, malevolent, sophisticated, reserved i.pinimg.com/564x/e9/b6/fe/e9b6fe7eeb… Fears: Failure, rodents (especially rats), deep ocean waters Extra info: Powers are limited to wind control and teleportation. He's the type of guy that doesn't trust cheese under $50, but in the same breath has the audacity to wash his hands with his sleeves down.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves "You have yet to annoy me, come! We shall escape, without these ninny's."</s> <\|message\|>Price Narration: Little did these challengers know that if they could make it out of the scary rooms, they might find a place that has something they like or love somewhere. --- Price has yet to make it out of this place and the human blood smell was getting worse for him, he was even backed into a corner. He had no idea if anyone one here was a human, but if he does and ends up just drinking the blood from the room, at least he wouldn't be hurting a human in there, right? --- Ky was on in a garden on a cliff and who in their right mind would jump off a cliff? Ky sure wasn't gonna do that! Instead, he decided to look for another way down. No ladders or holes this time though.</s> <\|message\|>Reginald "Reggie" Morrissey Cloud "Where are we going? Do you know why and where the hell we are?." The zombie teenager followed behind the lich. He was still confused of why and how he got to his hellish place.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves "The only thing I know is that each of these rooms specifically held a fear for someone, I'm unaffected as my fears are simply superficial and mental." the lich explained as he made his way to a door they had yet to open "We simply appeared in this place, however I must admit I appreciate the layout. I'll use it in my lair once I leave this cursed place and kill whomever did this." Umbril said reaching another doorway.</s> <\|message\|>Reginald "Reggie" Morrissey Cloud Reggie glared at the lich, he wondered how someone could torture and kill other people. "Good for you, so how do we get out of here?" The zombie said following behind the lich. He looked at the many doorways that the two had to go through. "I wonder if this is hell." He thought out loud scanning the area of how they get out of here.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves "If my theory is correct we must face all of our fears," he said walking through the doorway before them, and the seven skeletons filed in behind them "Then we'll see what happens." he said.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees Umbril had a funky sense of humor for sure, and Julius dutifully noted it down. As the gnome adjusted his seating upon the Devil's shoulder, he flinched but realized that Razulkara was sitting as if he was gorilla glued to his coat. "For someone confident about finding the exit, you seem surprised." Julius called out after Umbril, having followed behind the skeleton leader.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Razulkra whispered in Julius ear, "That lich is a ding dong, you should have seen me , I was gonna kick his ass, but he was like, please don't hurt me Raz. "</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @Kenshi Umbril didn't turn, however the skeletons stood in the doorway and blocked Julius from following him "Find your own way out, your a clever little imp." he stood still betraying no movement as he listened to them converse.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Cloud @alexakeehl Razulkra began hopping up and down on Julius shoulder again, "He wants a fight boss, let me at 'em. " Raz raises his little fists up in a boxer pose, " I'll clobber 'em!"</s> <\|message\|>Reginald "Reggie" Morrissey Cloud "Oh great, what the hell did I do to deserve this." Reg shook his head in dismay. "I'm not really sure if I could face my fear, there a lot of fear's I would rather not face." He said following behind the lich. "So are we all dead and getting some sort of punishment, because of past sins?" He asked thinking about the reasons why he would be here.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees "Now, gnome, why would you waste your time on a person who creaks more than a cabin's rusty door. How amusing to find out he is unaware of moisturizing too. I do hear that Olay is good for cracks." Julius responds towards Umbril, then glances at Razulkara on his shoulder. He furrowed his brows, looking at his boxer pose up and done before returning his gaze towards Umbril. "I don't see your name carved in the exit, let me pass." Open says-a-me.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @alexakeehl@Kenshi "One moment," Umbril lifted a finger silencing the zombie "Fine," he snapped at the devil "You really are a pathetic if you so badly need to come with us, you really are the lowest kind of devil. I bet you were cast from your home plane because your people were ashamed to harbor you..." he cackled letting the skeletons move out of the way.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves "If we were dead I wouldn't be able to use necromancy." Umbril said simply without further explanation.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees "Badly? Well, someone has to babysit you don't they? My people were indeed ashamed, but I was more. Since I have to share the same air as wastes of spaces." Julius responded, not sparing Umbril a glance as he lowered his head to look at the silver watch hanging from the pocket.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Raz shook his fist at the zombie and Lich, "Yeah bonehead, you think the King of Hell is afraid of a peon like you?" " Your lucky , he is holding me back or I'd come over there and knock yer block off." Cloud</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @Kenshi@alexakeehl The lich paused for a second and he was about to let it all go before the gnome opened it's mouth, then his grip on his staff tightened making a creaky noise as he shook with rage, he had never been spoken to in such a brazen manner and never by an insignificant creature like a gnome. "Is that right Mr. Gnome? Do you know what's holding me back? Take a good look, because nothing nothing is holding me back at this moment..." slowly he walked closer to the devil and the cowardly gnome as he had the skeletons flank the two "You taunt, you speak to me with no respect and you make me look like a fool..." the lich shook his head slightly "I am done with letting you getaway with this behavior, now I will ask you once more: find your own way out and leave now..." he stepped in closer "I won't ask again." he stood stark still awaiting their responses, his rage was almost palpable.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Razulkra gulped hard,and did his best not to piss his pants, and not to wet all over Julius shoulder. He was scared a little, but the devil had his back, nothing would happen to him. Not to mention, looking good in front of the devil, could land Raz a special place in order. "Bite my ass, socket face!" said Raz as he turned, pulling his pants down and mooned the lich. Razulkra swung his naked butt cheeks from side to side, as if twerking.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees "I have come across many creatures in Hell, spoken and fought besides them. But never... Have I witnessed such ferocious, desperate bark," Julius whispered with feigned excitement, eyes surveying Umbril's brooding gaze burning into him. "With no bite. Spare me your empty promises of wrath, even the angels' hums have entertained me far more." The Devil moved a step to the side, turning his head once Razulkara swung his bare ass around. "You are the reason why shampoos have instructions."</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @Kenshi As the devil stepped aside one of the skeletons punched Julius in the gut with unnatural force, while the others converged upon Julius to rip the gnome from the devil's back bringing him to Umbril. "No bite? I'm a lich, you underestimated a lich! Fools, now Mr. Gnome you have nobody to hide behind and at my mercy!" he laughed hard before getting close to the gnome and grasping his wrist, and black tendils of necrotic energy enveloped his tiny body "And I am not merciful." he cackled.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Cloud The Gnome squealed and tried to wiggle away from those dark tendrils, but found that he was ensnared. "Noooooo, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, let me go!" Raz reached his hands to the devil, "Please master, don't let him kill me."</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Damn tablet</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees The punch lasted more in impact than Julius would have thought, making him double over for quite a bit. A desperate hand clenched the side as saliva pooled into the mouth. He expected no less from a skeleton, especially an irascible one. Before he was touched again, Julius leapt into the air and waved two fingers in the shape of half an 's' to pin himself there. The Devil didn't have the power to levitate, rather, he had taken afloat by wind and it was evident from the way his hair was waving with the breeze snaking through. "I expected nothing less from a creature with the intelligence of a wet cabbage. Did I sting you, a bit?" Julius sneered, almost. "Squeezing him until his eyes go pop won't do much to calm that fury, let the gnome go. I thought you and your muppets would find me as their opponent. Nonetheless, You really rather spend our time wrestling here? Shall we not be on our own ways before the exits close?"</s> <\|message\|>Stephen Parker Stephen raises his head slightly and looks around the back of the stage area with blurry eyes. His sees something that catches his eye; a coat he commonly wears when it's cold outside. He frowns and wipes under his eyes carefully, after removing his glasses lest they fog up. He gets up into a crouch to go look at the coat, just in case something informative is around that area.</s> <\|message\|>Ky Moore Ky looked behind him and saw a cave entrance. That's better, but no telling what's in there. He thought to himself. He concentrated and got his lightning globe out to light the way. He was willing to do anything that didn't require jumping off dangerous heights. --- It took him awhile, but Jyden finally realized he was in a nightmare. He still couldn't shake it off however.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @Kenshi Julius's words brought pause to the lich as he realized that he had misinterpreted everything and was draining the essence of a gnome for no reason other than anger towards the two for their insults and trying to prove that his words weren't just empty threats. Except for some odd reason he suddenly felt like he had done something wrong, how odd a feeling it was for a heartless creature like himself to feel remorse for his ill-considered actions against the two. He let go of the gnome, dropping him to the floor and stepped backwards almost seeming horrified by what he was doing. It wasn't usually the way he dealt with others as it had been a millennia since he even had to interact with anyone.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees The shift in Umbril's nature was near impossible to miss, and even Julius was taken back feeling the sudden tension in the air disappear. Once Razulkara was dropped, Julius fell to the ground in place once more before turning to look towards the side. The silence was enough for Julius to continue on his own journey to get out of this hole. Umbril's change was none of his concern, and now that he was no threat, Julius went back to prioritizing his escape. "I sense faint presences rooms over. If you wish to come, you may follow behind." He spoke, running a hand down the walls of the room looking for a button, something that would easily create a shortcut.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Raz stayed knelt on the ground, his miserable life flashed before his eyes. So much hatred, evil mischief, and deadly pranks, so much he has not done. He turned his head and stared at the lich. Razulkra stood slowly to his feet, his eyes glowed red like tiny little fire orbs. "Bald werden die Feuer der Hölle für eure dunkle Seele kommen." Cloud</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @Kenshi Umbril looked down at the gnome, feeling that perhaps he might have upset the small fellow "I-I didn't know what came over me, you must forgive my thoughtless behavior." but his words appeared to fall on deaf ears and it seemed even the zombie had left him, probably at his violent outburst. He was a danger to all of them, but why did that matter? They were gnats...Right?</s>	<\|message\|>Julius Rees His stutters of forgiveness became more annoying than the fact the fabric on Julius' shoulder now had Razulkara's footprints. Tiny ones, but still visible whenever he turned his to look at them. Hearing the gnome start speaking German, it brought a sense of relief that the gnome was qualified for something more than the circus. The Devil's hands escastically patted down the walls before his palm was pushed inwards on a block. Julius started to scratch at it, hoping to get the edge out and have it fall out. He was curious to see what was behind it, all while Umbril and Razulkara had their little make-up meeting.</s>
<\|description\|>Stephen Parker Age: 17 Gender: Male Species: Vampire (newly-turned) Traits: Cautious, intelligent, closed-off Appearance: Long, black, thin hair that goes down to mid-chest. He has rectangular glasses, and narrow eyes that are always scrutinizing everything. A pale complexion. Slim fingers and wrist, that suggest a smaller skeleton. He's skinny and 5'7". Fears: Any supernatural being (which includes himself technically), others betraying him, trusting people, speaking in front of an audience, meeting new people, public settings, falling asleep, immortality Extra info: His closed-off personality keeps others at bay, because he seems cold-hearted, but if you're able to get to know him, you'll see that he's sweet and kind, patient and such.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Razulkra's head wobbled back and fro like a bobble head, when his master shook him. His cheeks got puffy as he startled to hurle, the color of his face went from rosy pink to bright green, as he couldn't hold it anymore, and spewed green projectile vomit in Umbril's direction. Cloud</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees Julius had witnessed numerous humiliating encounters beforehand, though this encounter was one particular kind of embarrassing. The Devil had to stifle a smile of mirth, clearing his throat instead in attempt to regain his composure. He'd be sure to give Razulkara a treat for this, after they managed to escape from here. "How unfortunate, indeed. To reek of that, and look like it too."</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves Silence passed, it was a tense silence and slowly the lich turned and his demeanor emanated a silent rage. "I..." the skeletons marched towards the doors and stood guard effectively blocking escape "Will..." his staff appeared and the vomit was magically erased, however his gaze was set on the gnome and that petulant boy who had the audacity to speak "Teach you both a lesson that you'll soon never forget, you insolent churls will never speak as though your better than I am because you aren't!" he pointed his staff at the gnome. "Maybe you should apologize," his eyes were glowing red with anger and the point of his staff hummed louder and louder as a ball of black energy formed at it's tip "I hate you less than the imp but I'll kill you if you do anything like that to me again...APOLOGIZE NOW!" he shouted getting more angry.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Razulkra pointed his thumb at Julius and shook his head from side to side. "It wasn't my fault, jiggling makes me queasy, I'm so sorry....sticks his tongue out at the lich , please forgive me" The little Gnome scurried up higher around behind the back of Julius head. He peaked out and stuck his thumb on his nose and wiggled his fingers at the lich.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @Kenshi@Eviledd1984@Letmehaveone2 Suddenly the lich lowered his staff and sighed in exasperation at the situation "You know what? This is a waste of my time, your all a waste of my time." he begins to walk towards one of the exits.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara "Oh yeah, well don't let the door hit ya where your master split ya!" shouted the ballsy Gnome as he jumped up and down on the Devil's shoulders, shaking his fist at the lich.</s> <\|message\|>Stephen Parker Madalyn pulls on one of the thinner vines hard, and when it finally goes, she falls on the floor. She screams and shoves the vine off of her, a little whisper in her head telling her that its come to life, and now it'll wrap around her whole body, including her throat. She scrambles away from the innocent little green string-like line on the pale white floor. Her scream's echoes are finally gone, and she's reminded that she's completely alone. … Stephen darts behind the curtain as quickly as possible, but also trying to be slower. His throat feels swollen. He feels like he can't breathe, and he's not quite sure if he can or not. He sits down with his eyes scrunched tight against some wood holding the stage up. It doesn't creak at all, thankfully. Even in his state of panic, the part of Stephen's mind that constantly inquires of things wonders about when the stage was made.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves "You have yet to annoy me, come! We shall escape, without these ninny's."</s> <\|message\|>Price Narration: Little did these challengers know that if they could make it out of the scary rooms, they might find a place that has something they like or love somewhere. --- Price has yet to make it out of this place and the human blood smell was getting worse for him, he was even backed into a corner. He had no idea if anyone one here was a human, but if he does and ends up just drinking the blood from the room, at least he wouldn't be hurting a human in there, right? --- Ky was on in a garden on a cliff and who in their right mind would jump off a cliff? Ky sure wasn't gonna do that! Instead, he decided to look for another way down. No ladders or holes this time though.</s> <\|message\|>Reginald "Reggie" Morrissey Cloud "Where are we going? Do you know why and where the hell we are?." The zombie teenager followed behind the lich. He was still confused of why and how he got to his hellish place.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves "The only thing I know is that each of these rooms specifically held a fear for someone, I'm unaffected as my fears are simply superficial and mental." the lich explained as he made his way to a door they had yet to open "We simply appeared in this place, however I must admit I appreciate the layout. I'll use it in my lair once I leave this cursed place and kill whomever did this." Umbril said reaching another doorway.</s> <\|message\|>Reginald "Reggie" Morrissey Cloud Reggie glared at the lich, he wondered how someone could torture and kill other people. "Good for you, so how do we get out of here?" The zombie said following behind the lich. He looked at the many doorways that the two had to go through. "I wonder if this is hell." He thought out loud scanning the area of how they get out of here.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves "If my theory is correct we must face all of our fears," he said walking through the doorway before them, and the seven skeletons filed in behind them "Then we'll see what happens." he said.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees Umbril had a funky sense of humor for sure, and Julius dutifully noted it down. As the gnome adjusted his seating upon the Devil's shoulder, he flinched but realized that Razulkara was sitting as if he was gorilla glued to his coat. "For someone confident about finding the exit, you seem surprised." Julius called out after Umbril, having followed behind the skeleton leader.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Razulkra whispered in Julius ear, "That lich is a ding dong, you should have seen me , I was gonna kick his ass, but he was like, please don't hurt me Raz. "</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @Kenshi Umbril didn't turn, however the skeletons stood in the doorway and blocked Julius from following him "Find your own way out, your a clever little imp." he stood still betraying no movement as he listened to them converse.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Cloud @alexakeehl Razulkra began hopping up and down on Julius shoulder again, "He wants a fight boss, let me at 'em. " Raz raises his little fists up in a boxer pose, " I'll clobber 'em!"</s> <\|message\|>Reginald "Reggie" Morrissey Cloud "Oh great, what the hell did I do to deserve this." Reg shook his head in dismay. "I'm not really sure if I could face my fear, there a lot of fear's I would rather not face." He said following behind the lich. "So are we all dead and getting some sort of punishment, because of past sins?" He asked thinking about the reasons why he would be here.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees "Now, gnome, why would you waste your time on a person who creaks more than a cabin's rusty door. How amusing to find out he is unaware of moisturizing too. I do hear that Olay is good for cracks." Julius responds towards Umbril, then glances at Razulkara on his shoulder. He furrowed his brows, looking at his boxer pose up and done before returning his gaze towards Umbril. "I don't see your name carved in the exit, let me pass." Open says-a-me.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @alexakeehl@Kenshi "One moment," Umbril lifted a finger silencing the zombie "Fine," he snapped at the devil "You really are a pathetic if you so badly need to come with us, you really are the lowest kind of devil. I bet you were cast from your home plane because your people were ashamed to harbor you..." he cackled letting the skeletons move out of the way.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves "If we were dead I wouldn't be able to use necromancy." Umbril said simply without further explanation.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees "Badly? Well, someone has to babysit you don't they? My people were indeed ashamed, but I was more. Since I have to share the same air as wastes of spaces." Julius responded, not sparing Umbril a glance as he lowered his head to look at the silver watch hanging from the pocket.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Raz shook his fist at the zombie and Lich, "Yeah bonehead, you think the King of Hell is afraid of a peon like you?" " Your lucky , he is holding me back or I'd come over there and knock yer block off." Cloud</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @Kenshi@alexakeehl The lich paused for a second and he was about to let it all go before the gnome opened it's mouth, then his grip on his staff tightened making a creaky noise as he shook with rage, he had never been spoken to in such a brazen manner and never by an insignificant creature like a gnome. "Is that right Mr. Gnome? Do you know what's holding me back? Take a good look, because nothing nothing is holding me back at this moment..." slowly he walked closer to the devil and the cowardly gnome as he had the skeletons flank the two "You taunt, you speak to me with no respect and you make me look like a fool..." the lich shook his head slightly "I am done with letting you getaway with this behavior, now I will ask you once more: find your own way out and leave now..." he stepped in closer "I won't ask again." he stood stark still awaiting their responses, his rage was almost palpable.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Razulkra gulped hard,and did his best not to piss his pants, and not to wet all over Julius shoulder. He was scared a little, but the devil had his back, nothing would happen to him. Not to mention, looking good in front of the devil, could land Raz a special place in order. "Bite my ass, socket face!" said Raz as he turned, pulling his pants down and mooned the lich. Razulkra swung his naked butt cheeks from side to side, as if twerking.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees "I have come across many creatures in Hell, spoken and fought besides them. But never... Have I witnessed such ferocious, desperate bark," Julius whispered with feigned excitement, eyes surveying Umbril's brooding gaze burning into him. "With no bite. Spare me your empty promises of wrath, even the angels' hums have entertained me far more." The Devil moved a step to the side, turning his head once Razulkara swung his bare ass around. "You are the reason why shampoos have instructions."</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @Kenshi As the devil stepped aside one of the skeletons punched Julius in the gut with unnatural force, while the others converged upon Julius to rip the gnome from the devil's back bringing him to Umbril. "No bite? I'm a lich, you underestimated a lich! Fools, now Mr. Gnome you have nobody to hide behind and at my mercy!" he laughed hard before getting close to the gnome and grasping his wrist, and black tendils of necrotic energy enveloped his tiny body "And I am not merciful." he cackled.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Cloud The Gnome squealed and tried to wiggle away from those dark tendrils, but found that he was ensnared. "Noooooo, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, let me go!" Raz reached his hands to the devil, "Please master, don't let him kill me."</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Damn tablet</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees The punch lasted more in impact than Julius would have thought, making him double over for quite a bit. A desperate hand clenched the side as saliva pooled into the mouth. He expected no less from a skeleton, especially an irascible one. Before he was touched again, Julius leapt into the air and waved two fingers in the shape of half an 's' to pin himself there. The Devil didn't have the power to levitate, rather, he had taken afloat by wind and it was evident from the way his hair was waving with the breeze snaking through. "I expected nothing less from a creature with the intelligence of a wet cabbage. Did I sting you, a bit?" Julius sneered, almost. "Squeezing him until his eyes go pop won't do much to calm that fury, let the gnome go. I thought you and your muppets would find me as their opponent. Nonetheless, You really rather spend our time wrestling here? Shall we not be on our own ways before the exits close?"</s>	<\|message\|>Stephen Parker Stephen raises his head slightly and looks around the back of the stage area with blurry eyes. His sees something that catches his eye; a coat he commonly wears when it's cold outside. He frowns and wipes under his eyes carefully, after removing his glasses lest they fog up. He gets up into a crouch to go look at the coat, just in case something informative is around that area.</s>
<\|description\|>Caramelle Tawne Huntsman Sheet"Fufufu~ What's wrong? Gonna cry?" Whereas her sister and mother are stoic and calm-hearted, Caramelle decidedly takes after her late father. The brown-haired girl has no patience or sense of time. Her blood runs hot and her tongue runs hotter. She's impulsive, headstrong, and arrogant with a sense of berating others for even the smallest annoyances and grievances. In Vacuo you speak your mind or you get run over, a sentiment she has continued to remind herself since she was a little girl. She absolutely detests that her older sister for all of her brilliance takes a lazy, slothful approach to life. After all, if you don't give 100% all the time do you even deserve to survive in such an environment? Her father had died for dropping his guard around the wrong people and she refuses to belittle his memory by lowering hers. Friends only end up stabbing you in the back. You don't need friends. You need walls. The more you keep people at distance the sooner you can predict their movements against you. Her mother obviously doesn't think such a belief bodes well, but the damage of their past has done what it has. She hopes that Caramelle can grow as a person and learn that trusting people isn't inherently stupid. Caramelle speaks louder than her diminutive height suggests. She's on the shorter end of students at Shade Academy with her sandy hair that resembles the desert environment around her strewn into two distinct tails with simple black wrappings. Her bangs are messy, though not unkempt. Her eyes are brown as well, though a scar runs down her right eye from a past altercation. She always appears to have one or two distinct expressions: one of amusement or one of annoyance. She is not stoic like the majority of her family. --- Aliases / Nicknames Mel Gender Femme Age 16 Kingdom of Origin Vacuo Race Human History Caramelle is the youngest daughter of famed huntsman, Walnus Tawne and retired huntress Hunie Merigold. Caramelle's childhood was situated going from place-to-place, always on the move after her father's untimely death by a rogue huntress when she was eight years old. Her mother took her and her older sister, Aes, from settlement to settlement as she tried to fill the void. Jobs were scarce, but her mother used to be a huntress so money wasn't too troubling to find, though food came and went. There were days when there wouldn't be enough food in the household and her sister would find ways to fill the void while their mother was out working. Caramelle was eight years old and her entire world had been taken from her. Her father had taught her about the huntsman academies, the responsibility against the Grimm, and the glory of protecting Vacuo from whoever tried to impose their will upon it. Every time he came home from collecting another bandit's feather in his cap he would tell her a story, a fairytale about a cool huntress and the things she'd do. After the funeral there was no one to tell the stories to her and her sister. There was only the cold corridors of whatever place they were living in at the time. Her mother sold the family home and tried to keep the girls together. Eventually, the reality of being a single parent on menial income hit all three of them and her mother sent the girls packing to her father who was working out of Coquina. Neither girl would see their mother again for years, only receiving their allowance with a conjoined letter in the mail. Oleum Merigold was not a kind caretaker. That aside, Caramelle didn't know much about her maternal grandfather. He was cold and ruthless in his diction and how he expected the girls to behave, though he never used physical discipline. The passing of his wife some years ago had left him bitter and solitary, though he earned a decent wage working out of Oscuro Academy as one of the long-standing instructors. While not students themselves, Caramelle's adventurous and curious nature made her shadow Oleum and his students, musing about weapons and how real huntsman and huntresses got their start at being heroes of Vacuo. Her sister took a passing interest with her, but ultimately it was mostly just her sitting on a rock observing the more outdoors-inclined instruction. Soon enough she found herself proclaiming herself to be a new "huntress recruit" long before she was of age as she annoyed the local townsfolk of Coquina. There was a lot of yelling. Sometimes older kids trying to put her in her place. Sometimes some thugs who thought the huntsman were too busy at the academy to bother in the town. Caramelle got hurt, but not before her own sister unlocked her aura before her to block the next strike. It would be enough to distract the thugs until a local huntress arrived on the scene and gave the two a lecture. A lecture that would be preceded by their grandfather's own later that same night. A lecture that would lead the old huntsman to begin training them informally until they were ready to join the academy proper—if they really wanted to waste their lives in following in their father's stupid shadow. Years followed. Caramelle and Aes entered Oscuro Academy. They got their weapon tools and their training. Eventually, it was enough to get them into Shade Academy. That's where Caramelle's story begins. Semblance Known as 'Terra Viribus', throughout the Tawne bloodline, Carobelle's semblance is about redirecting the kinetic energy in the earth into her body to strengthen her body or quicken her reflexes. While her sister uses this in a defensive manner, Carobelle looks to create creative offensive sets. The requirement is clear however that she has to either conserve the energy gathered from the earth or to be standing on the ground with at least one foot to utilize it effectively. Weapon & Fighting Style Carobelle wields Gravity's Spiral, dual swords that transform into a dual automatic revolvers. In terms of how she uses it within her fighting style, she prefers the close combat forte of Gravity's Spiral's melee form, though when she needs to fight from range she does so with rapid succession rather than slow precise strikes. This is extended to when she's using the melee form of the dual swords, relying mostly on a flurry of speed as opposed to how her sister uses her weapon with precision and strength. Strengths & Weaknesses * Talented Weapons Combatant and Melee Fighter. * Brave and Headstrong, capable at taking on enemies and adapting as the battlefield requires. * Keen battlefield awareness, though hindered by impulsive decision-making. * Visual learner; effective at learning from enemies and allies fighting styles by seeing it. * Capable of following orders despite personality issues. * Informal huntress training from age nine to fourteen and formal training at the combat school known as Oscuro Academy; making her a more refined combatant than those who are newer to the skillset. * Arrogant and Brash, leading to impulsive and insensitive decisions. * Prefers speed over power and precision; resulting in sloppy maneuvers. * Not book smart; struggles paying attention to technical data not presented like folktales. * Aura abilities are unlocked but only as the baseline level. * Does not trust or particularly work well with others. Is standoffish. * Paranoid. Will need character building and organic friendships to get past her trauma. Fatal Flaw Caramelle's greatest weakness is her paranoia. Compounded with her own prescient smug arrogance and attitude it leads the young huntress to make not only short-sighted and impulsive decisions but also refuse to trust people. She constantly suspects her peers are enemies-in-waiting, people who will pull out a knife and plant it into her back once it is profitable and convenient to do so. Her loud, prickly nature is a defense mechanism that certainly will make more enemies than allies.</s> <\|message\|>Personality --- This was Rio's first battle against the Grimm. No fantastical story or training dummy could have ever prepared him for the rush of adrenaline that he had felt just now. The tactics of teammates and his own quick trigger finger had seemingly won them the fight. No one was visibly hurt and, after inspecting himself for bite marks, he could include himself in that count. Yet, his heart was still racing even as the creatures in front of him started to dissolve from their fierce, monstrous figures into a shapeless ooze that looked like it belonged at the bottom of a saloon spit bucket. A sigh of relief would soon escape Rio's tensed body as it became clear that they had repelled the initial wave of Grimm but his fingers were still frozen in place as he gripped his weapon. Instead of easing his hold, his hands merely kept shaking even as he actively made an effort to relax. Soon enough, he had resorted to a few full breaths but this would come to a halt upon hearing Nivea's caution against the apparently toxic air. In his sudden panic, Rio instinctively covered his nose with his right forearm while rummaging through his pockets with his free hand for the kerchief that his mother prepares for his daily wardrobe. At least his vise on The Boatman's Due had loosen. Finally covering his mouth with his makeshift mask, Rio had to focus and inform his companions on the strict timetable that his Semblance had given him. "I'm all fer sticking away from walls but we need t' move if we wanna catch 'em." Protected by the thin strip of fabric and against the caution of their handler, Rio would take another deep breath to focus in on the runaway targets. A clayish rouge of energy would manifest and envelop itself around him as the distant pitter-patter of water droplets hitting the unlit distant ground of the abandoned bunker became as thunderous as a roaring river to the Huntsman-in-training. "My Semblance is tellin' me that they're less than a click away - I'll resume takin' point." Again, Rio's impatience would not wait for any possible objections from his team. They had a mission that needed to be accomplished and standing around this dark pit waiting to get ambushed again was not gonna get results. He would resume his earlier brisk pace once more, advancing towards the darkness in pursuit of the Grimm he managed to mark earlier.</s> <\|message\|>Huntsman Sheet Saffron Rupalfeather --- With the Grimm on the retreat, Saffron was satisfied that she had done an efficient job defending her side of the intersection - with Rio helping, of course. It definitely wasn't an easy battle, however; Whilst she had a little experience fighting the Grimm within primarily controlled training environments, the real thing definitely told her that despite how realistic the trainings had been at Signal they had definitely been holding back. The Signal Grimm had been fierce, but out in the real world, Grimm were ferocious. And whilst she was proud that she had managed to hold back the Grimm with her teammates, Saffron was also relieved about that fact. Hopefully things continued to be as successful as they were now. Saffron's eyes fixed upon a corpse of one of the fallen Grimm, observing the black smoke that was rising from it. Whilst it was interesting, the Faunus took care to follow Nivea's advice and try not to breathe in the smoke. Though, within a closed environment like this, Saffron wondered if it would soon become impossible to avoid doing so. She could see why Huntsmen would have such a problem clearing a nest, particularly in even more dangerous environments than this one. If they happened to get locked in by the degraded environment, either by collapse or mechanical failures in places such as this, she wondered what the consequences be, if it wasn't an ending of death. Taking a glance to Kohaku as she spoke, Saffron offered the girl a nod of agreement. "Good call," Saffron replies, shuffling herself to be more along the centreline of the room. She was, however, bothered by Rio's sudden wish to press on at speed - and slightly bothered by the fact that he was telling them that the Grimm were less than a click away. "Less than a kilometer? How big is bunker anyways?" She asks, starting to face Nivea, before reconsidering and turning back to the front. "Never mind, I don't want to know." She adds, starting to pursue Rio, mostly so that he wasn't running off on his own ahead of them.</s> <\|message\|>Huntsman Sheet --- --- The return of silence wasn't exactly comforting--Fiona half expected something else to jump out at them if they dropped their guard for even a second. Fiona backed away from the black smoke, double-checking her ammo. She did her best to be as efficient as possible, but she'd be lying if she said she hadn't wasted a few shots. The Grimm moved faster than she anticipated; she wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. The last thing she wanted was to end up being a burden on the team. Or worse--she'd end up being the weak point. She was snapped out of her thoughts as a strong guest of wind blew away the smoke. Letting out a sigh of relief, she figured she should get her head back in the game. "Thank you, Kohaku," Fiona thanked her first and foremost. At least that was one less thing to worry about. Rio was eager to take point again, with his semblance revealing that there were, of course, more Grimm. She seemed to have the same thought as Saffron as the girl expressed curiosity on how big the bunker was. "Regardless of the distance, it's best to stay on guard," She decided to remind them, taking her spot after Saffron. "This bunker seems to have been built some time ago, so there should still be a distance before reaching the depths of where the Grimm would house themselves." After a brief pause of thought, she added, "Whatever Rio senses is likely a wandering group. Let's stay in formation as we proceed." ---</s>	<\|message\|>Caramelle Tawne Caramelle rolled her eyes as Turq and Veloce went on to explain why they wanted to become a huntsman. Power. Strength. Money. Travel. A bunch of trivial reasons as far as she could tell, though Veloce's story about owing a debt to a huntsman was at least half-admirable. She wondered what the other member of their group would say, though frankly, she was only slightly curious about the reasoning behind it. The brown-haired girl raised a brow as she mused over her own thoughts. Was it really their business that being a huntsman was something that ran in her family? All they need to knew was she was a huntsman because she was a huntsman. "Does it even matter?" She groaned, "I'm a huntress because I'm good at it. Who cares?"</s>
<\|description\|>Personality Along with the rest of his cousins in the Redcliffe clan, Rio grew up venerating his great grandpa as a near-mythical hero figure from the time of the Great War. The Redcliffe patriarch was said to be brave, shrewd, generous, wily, and a whole bunch of other traits befitting a gentleman desperado. Though he had never met him in person, Rio wanted to become exactly like him. So at a young age, a burning sense of justice had ignited within the wannabe hero who sought to stand up against oppressors and fight for the downtrodden. While his intentions were good, his naivete got him into a lot of fights with kids that were often older than him. Coupled with an exaggerated confidence fuelled by chauvinism, Rio was an easy choice for schoolyard bullies though his bruised body always cashed cheques his tenacious spirit wrote. These childhood antics have largely shaped who he is today: a headstrong scrapper with ideals and courage that is hounded by insecurity and single-mindedness. A bit older now, he's been made aware of these issues and tries to keep his cool. However, if someone says the wrong thing about his friends or family, it'll be time to throw down. Appearance Rio stands at a height of 5'8" and at a weight of 71 kilograms. While his build is mostly on the lean side, this isn't immediately apparent as he is almost always wearing one of his sandstone rancher coats. Though, those coats do also cover the collection of minor scars he has accumulated throughout the years. The same coats also have his personalized symbol embroidered just below their left breast pocket. Said symbol is based on the Redcliffe's ancestral home village in Mistral is which known for its cherry blossoms. According to his parents, the deep hue of his blue hair and eyes were the primary reasons he had been given his name. To contrast this, Rio often wears red undershirts in an act of petty teenage rebellion though he draws the line at the comfy pairs of bleached blue jeans he wears daily. Lastly, he always has a pair of leather gloves on as it is practical to do so when out and about under the hot Vacuan sun. "I'll back down when I'm knocked down." \| N a m e: \| Rio Redcliffe \| Alias\|Nickames\|Titles: \| The Mistrali Kid, used earnestly by him and mockingly by his peers \| G e n d e r: \| Male \| A g e: \| 16 \| Kingdom of Origin: \| Born and raised in Vacuo \| Race: \| Human \| History: \| A legacy of roguish bravery hangs over the head of this hesitant Hunstman-in-training. While Vacuo is not as prosperous as the other kingdoms, its people are proud and the Redcliffe clan are a testament to that. Originally refugees from Mistral who fled during the Great War due to Mantle's encroaching influence, Rio's ancestors were quick to become patriotic partisans to their new home. When peace had finally reached the land, the Redcliffes were on the winning side of history and that victory could never be taken away from them. Yet, their other possessions could be taken away as famine, banditry, and Grimm attacks had left them destitute. Once again finding themselves displaced, Rio's parents and uncles and aunts had moved to the capital city just before he was born, living under a single leaky roof. Through their sheer determination and a couple of lucky breaks, the Redcliffe's were able to provide a stable albeit modest home to Rio and his extended family as ranchers on the city outskirts. While he did not have many luxuries as a child, he did have his family's legacy that his mother had fondly recounted to him every night just before bedtime. Being a hero was in their blood, he thought, and so it would be that he'd get into scuffles with the nosy neighbour kids, the stuffy schoolyard students, and even his older cousins when they forget to mind their P's and Q's. Naturally, this lead to Rio desiring for more in life and give even more back to his community. He couldn't be a ranch hand forever and so he would try his damnedest to get accepted into Shade Academy, eventually become a full-fledged Huntsman worthy to stand in the same family pantheon as those that have come before him. What came easy to others did not naturally come easy to Rio. Many nights were spent studying and doing drills on top of the daily chores he had to do after attending school. Yet, this made the day he got his acceptance letter all the more sweeter. He would be the first in his family to ever attend Shade Academy and this just had to be celebrated. Yet, he could not properly enjoy himself for he knew this was merely the beginning of the next great chapter in his life. Come wondrous dark or perilous light, Rio Redcliffe stands ready. \| Semblance: \| After a week long camping trip in the Vacuan wilderness, Rio's semblance manifested itself during an episode of extreme thirst under the scorching desert sun, which was soon followed by the tallest drink of his life. His mind's eye had visualized an oasis beyond the horizon and its existence was true. Dubbing it Water Wanderlust, the semblance allows Rio to locate concentrated bodies of water. The distance from and the size of the aqueous collections affect his detection ability as smaller bodies require more concentration to keep track of while further whereabouts become nearly impossible to precisely pinpoint. \| Weapon and Fighting Style: \| The Boatman's Due is a compact, Dust-fed railgun that can transform into a paddle-shaped halberd. Commissioned by Rio's father as his Shade Academy acceptance gift, this weapon is adorned with bronze and treated wood laminates which result in a light yet durable frame that is easy to maintain. The Dust storage compartment bears an ornamental skull to invoke fear in those that face Rio though that rarely occurs. The emergence of Rio's semblance has largely influenced his approach to combat. While he was always keen on being defensively opportunistic through the usage of cover and consistent movement, the ability to keep track of nearby people's intracellular fluid allows him to plan moves with near perfect intel. The most glaring flaw on this semblance reliance is the innate lack of water inside most Grimm. Regardless, Rio will always play it safe and keep foes at a distance while only going in for close quarters combat when all other options are exhausted. \| Strengths and Weakness: \| Strengths: * Courageous - Yes, he gets scared but Rio has never backed down from a challenge. * Nature Survivalist - Working on a farm and living off the land has given him many insights on foraging. * Ascetic - A life devoid of splendor has led him to steer clear of overindulgence. * Persistent - One can only fail when they give up and Rio Redcliffe knows not the meaning of surrender. * Loyal - Unless they've acted dishonourably, Rio will always stand by his friends' side. Heck, he'll even try to find a way to regain his friend's honour for them. Weaknesses * Quick To Anger - Passion often needs an outlet and Rio's tools of artistry are his fists. * Vindictive - Unless the grudge is settled squarely, he will not forget how you have crossed him. * Traditionalist - Rio has a hard time grasping concepts that go against what he has been taught before. * Intrusive - Due to his eagerness, Rio often inserts himself into the private affairs of others even without their knowledge or consent. * Proud - Though he is quick to help others, Rio prefers to do things by himself if it only concerns himself. \| Greatest Fear/Fatal Flaw: \| There is a lot of pressure mounting on Rio to succeed and it has dictated his lifestyle outwardly and on a subconscious level. While having some stress for motivation is healthy, Rio's quest for validation is always seeking for more problems to solve regardless of his ability to handle them. The impact of each failure gnaws at him far longer than it should, piling on to his anxieties that he actively avoids by keeping himself busy. Yet, success doesn't even bring him much reprieve as evidenced by his acceptance to Shade being eclipsed by the worriment of actually being in a prestigious Huntsman academy. One can only hope that reaching his ultimate dream of being a Hunstman will finally bring him peace. \| Miscs : \| Theme Song</s> <\|message\|>Caramelle Tawne --- "Caramelle." The young girl said bluntly as her supervisor asked her to introduce herself, eyeing the three men beside her. "I'm from Coquina. Not that it matters." The young brown-haired girl's hand moved to her side, to the handles of what appeared to be dual firearms. The older man had told them to "come at him" as they introduced themselves. Classic Vacuo. Uncompromising and unorthodox. This was certainly a step different from even Oscuro though Caramelle had been preparing herself for anything and everything after she was accepted into Shade Academy. Her entrance exams had gone well and her work at Oscuro certainly had helped. Besides, she had natural talent and skill. Maybe not as much talent as her older sister, but it was enough to prove herself! She smirked as she planted her feet firmly in the ground below, the tremor in the ground underneath her vibrating subtly through her bones. She wondered how her lazy bum of a sister went through this kind of trial? "So, are we supposed to attack you together or one-by-one like a bunch of brainless Grimm?" She remarked as she unholstered her firearms, spinning them around her fingers with finesse.</s> <\|message\|>Huntsman Sheet --- "Well this is just splendid, day one and already getting into a scrap. In a scrapyard no less, how fitting!" The faunus seemed far more pleased with the realization that his words made plainly clear, a loose grin resting on his face as crystal blue eyes scanned their surroundings first, before meeting the icy counterparts resting in that noggin of their overseer. Sir or overseer until proven, well that was no fun at all. Of course, during his scanning and bemused thoughts, the solitary lady of the four stepped forward, introducing herself as well as where she was from, while questioning whether or not they were all supposed to attack at once, or one at a time. Well, that left him with a wonderful opening to simply make his own move then, since she seemed determined to talk in spite of the figurative gauntlet thrown down. His own rather haphazard upbringing and training might show, but hell, what was learning without a few hard knocks along the way? He stretched while chattering as they would soon to find was the normal for him, remarking on her question as he reached behind him, apparently stretching still. "Way I see it Shortstop, either way this should be a good showing. And after its all said and done, imagine if he had a real weapon. Name's Veloce Argenti, by the by, I'm sure we'll all just get along nice and swimmingly." With that, rather than wait for an answer on one by one versus as a group, the Raven faunus launched himself forward, the apparent stretch really having been to arm himself, metallic gauntlet over his left hand and forearm catching light as readily as the gladius in his right, using his wings and a touch of his Semblance to launch himself forward fast and low and cover ground faster than he could have simply running. He would be lunging with his sword while keeping half an eye on the pipe, though his focus would be on pressing the assault as much as possible, meaning that he would be putting that gauntlet to good use should an opening present itself. If they were meant to fight as a group, well, given Shortstop was flashing her guns, he could argue it would create an opening for her to open fire. Of course he couldn't keep his mouth shut as he launched forward, as was his want in life. "Let's see how much hate we'll really need!"</s>	<\|message\|>Personality Rio Redcliffe was no stranger to a scorching trek across the forsaken trails of the Vacuan desert wastes. While this might sound like hell to most sane people, this was actually the leisure highlight of Rio's yearly summer camping trip with his extended family. However, this time was different. Treading on the dusty roads with an all-terrain jeep had given the country bumpkin motion sickness, seeing as this was among the handful of times he had been in a car. The assurance that it would only be a few more minutes until they reached their destination did ease his queasiness, though he was still glad that he had taken the rightmost seat of this open air vehicle in case he had an... emergency. Other than that though, Rio had been used to being crammed shoulder to shoulder into the back of a cart along with his cousins like a tin of sardines as his family ventured into the city market to sell produce every other fortnight. At least his teammates had the decency to use washing detergent moreso than his kin. Of course, that wasn't the only thing Rio had noticed about his teammates and his accompanying Overseer. How a raucous brute like him got chosen to be among those seemingly more refined was quite the mystery. As Nivea spoke and encouraged the rest to speak, an opportunity to lift that shrouded veil soon presented itself. Soon after their chaperone had finished her introduction, Rio cleared his airways with a brief cough before speaking about himself. "Ahem. S'rry about that, name's Rio Redcliffe." he would state, taking a quick glance at each of his teammates' faces before continuing on. "Like miss Lanatae, my family emigrated from one of the other kingdoms, in this case Mistral. How-ever, I'm as Vacuan as sand-spiced sarsaparilla on a scorching sunburner like t'day as I've been here all my life. It's a pleasure to make y'alls acquaintance." He had hope his earnest introduction had made a good impression on his team. After all, they were gonna look after each other from here on in.</s>
<\|description\|>Huntsman Sheet \| Please believe in me, as I will protect you to the end \| Personality Poised, graceful, and with one hell of a resting bitch face, Fiona is a quiet girl who prefers to keep to herself. So long as she keeps her mouth closed, she can be mistaken for a cold if somewhat distant person. She has no issues offering her opinion on a matter, and is generally open minded, making her easy to talk to and she is open to talk to just about anyone should she be open to conversation. The few times she does choose to talk she tends to keep things short. Still, she has a surprisingly positive deposition with an optimistic view on nearly everything, and likes to look for the silver linings in even the worst situations. Despite her quiet and gentle nature, however, she seems to avoid opening up to people even though she likes it when people confide in her. Her tendency to keep people at a distance is somewhat contradictory, often confusing people, and she has a lot of trouble expressing her thoughts properly. Should she be crossed, she keeps her gentle demeanor, though becomes exceedingly passive aggressive. Her observational skills are astute and she weaponizes it when she's angry or annoyed, taking an odd delight in honing in on people's weaknesses, addressing them with a misleading smile. Appearance Standing at an average height of 5"5', Fiona is a girl with fair skin and long, white hair. Her big, blue eyes are her most noticeable feature, her heart shaped face giving her a youthful look. She has a fairly slim body type with few curves, a modest bust and hips, and willowy legs. She tends to move gracefully, her reactions composed. Even when caught off guard her mannerisms remain perfect. Her clothing leans towards simple colors that don't draw much attention. "I'll do my best." \| N a m e: \| Fiona Myrsina Schnee \| Alias\|Nickames\|Titles: \| n/a Heiress to the Schnee Dust Company Vacuan Sector \| G e n d e r: \| Female \| A g e: \| 17 \| Kingdom of Origin: \| Vacuo / Atlas \| Race: \| Human \| History: \| There isn't much in her life that Fiona would consider notable. She considered her life boring and often dreamed of meeting her knight in shining armor who would whisk her away to a better life, though reality liked to remind her that her fantasies remained strictly in her head. Still, she knew how to keep her head low and avoid attention--all she needed to do was make sure she never drew any unneeded attention. Of course, she couldn't even do that right, and the first and only time she had ever dared to speak up resulted in regret, making her wonder if it was even worth it. She was shipped over to Shade and told to that if she couldn't learn her place then she would need to make her own path. Despite multiple apologies, she was brushed off, the path of a huntress being the only thing she could take. \| Semblance: \| None Schnee Glyphs \| Weapon and Fighting Style: \| Crystal Dream [DBCU] A Dust Bolt Crossbow Umbrella built to her specifications. Fiona's style comes off as flashy, though she insists its the dust she uses. The constitution of her weapon is much stronger than it looks, its versatility playing into her ability to adapt. She is flexible in her range, albeit has leaned into keeping her enemies at a distance recently. \| Strengths and Weakness: \| ✓ Agile ✓ Composed ✓ Knowledgeable on different types of dust and its usages ✓ Can get dust at will at any time ✕ Low constitution ✕ Little experience fighting people ✕ Relies on dust for battles ✕ Questionable heritage \| Greatest Fear/Fatal Flaw: \| Passiveness. \| Miscs : \| TBA</s> <\|message\|>Huntsman Sheet Saffron Rupalfeather --- In truth, the whole aspect of walking into a nest of Grimm worried Saffron. She was no stranger to fighting Grimm, however that had mostly occurred within closed environments with teachers watching. She knew that each Academy had their own selection process, and even knew a bit about how Beacon's own entry exams tended to work by talking to one of her classmates at Signal. This was just Shade's own exam, their test to the students. At the same time, Saffron knew that the exam benefited the kingdom as a whole, too; Instead of a closed-door environment like at home the team was going to be directly contributing towards the security of Vacuo, and the Faunus imagined that other student teams were doing the same. Another reason to solidify her mindset that Vacuo was the best decision, though she supposed other kingdoms were safe enough that they didn't need student teams to help as soon as they could. No bodies. It was a sight that Saffron was both thankful for and unsettled by. The Grimm didn't eat, at least to her knowledge. There was plenty of variety in them, so there perhaps was one or two types out there that gobbled up people as some form of attack - she could see a King Taijitu doing so, it was certainly big enough. No King Taijitu here, however, so that mental suggestion was worthless, and she preferred not to imagine the Grimm swallowing people whole. She paused to stare at a bloodstain from a respectful distance, as if trying to pick out if there was anything wrong about it, though she turned away after a moment. People had died here, and she didn't like it. Saffron was going to be happy when she and her comrades cleared out the bunker and avenged the fallen. Nobody deserved to die like this, even the bandits that had so obviously been the previous tenants before the Grimm had moved in. At the very least, the bandits' choice of furniture and aesthetics were of superior taste to that of the Grimm. Black sludge and tendrils weren't exactly Saffron's ideal taste. It reminded her of a nightmare that she once had as a child; Wandering through her home in the darkness of night, with zero power, and monsters roaming all throughout. It brought an odd sense of familiarity to the unfamiliar situation of the present. She was wandering through the dark hallways of the bunker lit only by Nivea's staff, with no apparent power in the bunker, and the Grimm roaming deeper within. The difference was that this time, Saffron had Nova Limbo with her, and equally armed comrades, ready to fight the monsters, not run away from them like Saffron had within the realm of the nightmare. Saffron's ears perked up as she heard the newest residents of the bunker. The Grimm, and their strange noises. The fact that they resided deep within the bunker made her wonder if they were choosing to stay within the depths or if they just hadn't expanded their little home to the entrance's floor yet. Anticipating their arrival, Saffron mentally and physically prepared herself, readying Nova Limbo. Fire and Lightning dust were the two types present within the weapon, though she knew to use them sparingly since she had arrived at Vacuo - whilst in Vale she could have obtained some more easily, that wasn't so much the case for Vacuo. Readying herself only took a moment, and once that was accomplished, Saffron set her eyes on the Grimm that were approaching. Kohaku yelled for them to take the left, and so Saffron did so, trusting that her teammate had something planned for the Grimm at the right and that they wouldn't be allowed to rush through claw at her back. Upon turning left to face the Grimm that approached, the sounds that came from behind her satisfied Saffron that she wouldn't be snuck up on. With the Grimm approaching fast, Saffron darted forward to meet them with no apparent regard for the fact that she was supposed to be the second line of defence, behind Rio. It wasn't like she wasn't protecting them, as she swung Nova Limbo at the first of the Grimm that entered her range slicing straight across it's belly and rewarding her with a snarl as it twisted to the ground in a deceased heap. She twirled, keeping momentum in her movement in order to deliver a hard swipe across the next Grimm's front, lopping off both of it's arms, and then doubled back to just before her strike. She ducked low with her still-present momentum, slicing through the Grimm's still intact legs. Saffron was thrilled to be in the fight, and to be winning.</s> <\|message\|>Huntsman Sheet Turq Beaufort --- Once again, the pipe was proving itself to be Turq's match in combat as the faunus boy found himself locked in bitter combat with something that, at one point in time, was a simple piece of building material that was now probably the most deadly swordfighter he'd ever met. ...That was something to be proud of, he supposed. Still, after the last barrage he'd gotten a little accustomed to the speed of the strikes, and the orbiting boomerangs would occasionally interrupt a swing as it went through, opening up small gaps that Turq used to launch his attacks on Auron from afar while Caramelle's head-on attacks pressured him. As a loud cry of thunder struck across the arid landscape, Turq smiled as he saw the shot from Jet cause the pipe to tear away from him. Now, he was free to attack with his full strength, his orbiters and Caramelle's strikes soon giving Veloce the chance to both knock Auron back, and chide him for his earlier statement. "You say that as if you'd ever have landed that shot if we weren't distracting him, Turq retorted, putting his hands on his hips and smirking, before looking at both the pipe and scrap metal around the yard. "Actually...I wonder if this means scrap is stronger than both," he would say, rubbing his chin with one hand while flicking one of his kusarigama at the pipe, sending it flying towards him before he caught it. With the countless pieces of junk lying around, Turq smiled as he realized something. He hadn't been fighting... creatively enough. A smile spread on his lips once more, before he asked: "So, is this the part where we pass whatever test this was supposed to be? Because at this rate, I think we're passing before lunch time, 'Sir'." Despite him using the agreed on term, Turq clearly wanted to see what else his new instructor had in store for him. If all it took to beat a trained huntsman was three novices and one EXTREMELY talented, powerful, outstanding genius fighter who's name started with a T and rhymed with "irk", then that was a fair bit disappointing.</s> <\|message\|>Jet Sullivan --- Auron's crouched figure was locked square within Jet's sights, his finger itching at the trigger in anticipation of the Hunter's next move. A half-assed compliment wasn't a satisfactory surrender. Not in his books, anyway. He wouldn't put it past the crafty geezer to fatten them up with sweet words before catching them off guard with another one of his wicked haymakers. Vacuans; trust 'em as far as you can throw 'em. Jet caught the salute from Veloce, lowering the rifle to return the gesture. Bird brain had gotten a nice, solid blow on gramps afterall. Everyone performed well. Not something to write home about; he had expected his teammates to be somewhat competent. Still, that small ounce of recognition was nice. He shook his head, perishing the thought. Things looked steady down below, the crowd's excitement over the bout washing over the group. Latching his hook onto the beam, Jet stepped from his perch and gently lowered himself to the ground. The wire reeled back into his wrist with a satisfying snap whilst he approached the group just in time to hear Turq running his mouth. "If nothing else, you made a good stepping stool." Jet snickered, readjusting his goggles back onto his forehead. He kept the rifle at the ready, but was otherwise relaxed when addressing Auron. "You ain't an easy mark, Gramps. Annoying as hell." He whined, thinking back to those lightning fast reflexes and movements. There was no doubt in his mind; Auron would have kicked his ass had he been up against him alone. Like the others, Jet was curious as to what their overseer would have them do next to prove their mettle.</s>	<\|message\|>Huntsman Sheet Fiona couldn't really stop herself from shuddering as they continued on--the place disturbed her, to say the least. To think that something like this could even happen in such a place was nothing short of terrifying. Bandits taking over was already bewildering enough, but even seeing that there weren't any around spooked her. There wasn't any sign of anything around, and for a moment, she genuinely wasn't sure what was worse. The anticipation and jumpiness was starting to get to her, though at least she recognized that it was her own nerves. In a weird way, this was exciting, too--scary, yeah, but it was hard to explain. Of course, the thought crossed her mind right when the Grimm actually appeared. It was strange, she had heard a lot about them, but seeing one for the first time was a shock. She had seen plenty of pictures, sure, but it was a lot more animalistic than she thought it'd be. Still, she had been expecting one, maybe two--not [this many! She'd be lying if she said she wasn't frightened, but what got to her first was hearing Kohaku's shout. Before Fiona could question what she was doing, the Faunus girl had sprung into action. "Wait--!" Her warning went unheeded as Kohaku went right and Saffron went left. What happened to staying in formation?! Saffron continued on the melee streak, and it looked like Kohaku's side was riddled with spikes--no, there was fire now. An attack of that magnitude may as well have rung a dinner bell letting all the Grimm know they were there. Unfortunately, there wasn't a lot of time to properly fix their formation and the best thing to do would be to adjust properly. Scoffing, Fiona pressed down on the button of her umbrella, spinning it as the metal clicked and slid into different places, bringing up its new form as a crossbow as she took a few steps backward. Saffron and Rio could take on the left with little issue, but she figured it was better to play it safe than sorry. Taking aim, Fiona waited for the flames to show any persistent Grimm, a bolt flying into the first one that decided to have the audacity to survive Kohaku's attack. Honestly, she felt like she was going to turn into a babysitter if these two were going to turn out to be the impulsive type. Wasn't it better to take these situations from a logical perspective? Then again, the difference came off as a little too obvious: clearly, they had experience that she didn't. </s>
<\|description\|>Huntsman Sheet \| Please believe in me, as I will protect you to the end \| Personality Poised, graceful, and with one hell of a resting bitch face, Fiona is a quiet girl who prefers to keep to herself. So long as she keeps her mouth closed, she can be mistaken for a cold if somewhat distant person. She has no issues offering her opinion on a matter, and is generally open minded, making her easy to talk to and she is open to talk to just about anyone should she be open to conversation. The few times she does choose to talk she tends to keep things short. Still, she has a surprisingly positive deposition with an optimistic view on nearly everything, and likes to look for the silver linings in even the worst situations. Despite her quiet and gentle nature, however, she seems to avoid opening up to people even though she likes it when people confide in her. Her tendency to keep people at a distance is somewhat contradictory, often confusing people, and she has a lot of trouble expressing her thoughts properly. Should she be crossed, she keeps her gentle demeanor, though becomes exceedingly passive aggressive. Her observational skills are astute and she weaponizes it when she's angry or annoyed, taking an odd delight in honing in on people's weaknesses, addressing them with a misleading smile. Appearance Standing at an average height of 5"5', Fiona is a girl with fair skin and long, white hair. Her big, blue eyes are her most noticeable feature, her heart shaped face giving her a youthful look. She has a fairly slim body type with few curves, a modest bust and hips, and willowy legs. She tends to move gracefully, her reactions composed. Even when caught off guard her mannerisms remain perfect. Her clothing leans towards simple colors that don't draw much attention. "I'll do my best." \| N a m e: \| Fiona Myrsina Schnee \| Alias\|Nickames\|Titles: \| n/a Heiress to the Schnee Dust Company Vacuan Sector \| G e n d e r: \| Female \| A g e: \| 17 \| Kingdom of Origin: \| Vacuo / Atlas \| Race: \| Human \| History: \| There isn't much in her life that Fiona would consider notable. She considered her life boring and often dreamed of meeting her knight in shining armor who would whisk her away to a better life, though reality liked to remind her that her fantasies remained strictly in her head. Still, she knew how to keep her head low and avoid attention--all she needed to do was make sure she never drew any unneeded attention. Of course, she couldn't even do that right, and the first and only time she had ever dared to speak up resulted in regret, making her wonder if it was even worth it. She was shipped over to Shade and told to that if she couldn't learn her place then she would need to make her own path. Despite multiple apologies, she was brushed off, the path of a huntress being the only thing she could take. \| Semblance: \| None Schnee Glyphs \| Weapon and Fighting Style: \| Crystal Dream [DBCU] A Dust Bolt Crossbow Umbrella built to her specifications. Fiona's style comes off as flashy, though she insists its the dust she uses. The constitution of her weapon is much stronger than it looks, its versatility playing into her ability to adapt. She is flexible in her range, albeit has leaned into keeping her enemies at a distance recently. \| Strengths and Weakness: \| ✓ Agile ✓ Composed ✓ Knowledgeable on different types of dust and its usages ✓ Can get dust at will at any time ✕ Low constitution ✕ Little experience fighting people ✕ Relies on dust for battles ✕ Questionable heritage \| Greatest Fear/Fatal Flaw: \| Passiveness. \| Miscs : \| TBA</s> <\|message\|>Huntsman Sheet --- So that was that, for now, Veloce, with a flick of his wrist, compacted his weapon into its portable state, and hooked it onto his belt, though it was out of sight now given the hooks were on the back of his trousers. Returning his hands to his coat pockets, the easy going smile remained faintly in place while Boss chattered on about evaluations and such. Shortstop got the worst of it, figuratively speaking, the man continuing to drill that whole teamwork angle of a, well, team of huntsman! Not much to be said for Snipes or himself though, apparently, then again he wasn't exactly in a position most of that back and forth to really get stuck in proper so he wasn't going to sweat it too much. Boss probably would have plenty to chatter on about as things progressed. Better teamplay but work was needed on aura enhancement. Right, that, though he offered a light shrug and remarked as a whole now that the man was done on the evaluation part of the spiel. "I suppose that means Shortstop needs to not take 'stepping stones to greatness' quite as literally in the future, eh?" Why'd they want to become Hunters? Well, now that was an interesting question and, despite his first gut instinct being 'lie through his teeth', of course Mr. Ego beat him to prattling on about power and something about the facts of life in this lovely waste they called home. Oh, and killing Grimm and seeing someplace that wasn't all sand all the time. Veloce grinned a bit at that remark, seems Mr. Ego really did double down on his general demeanor after all. Hated the idea of power coming from spiteful survival, but hated Grimm even more. Rather roundabout way of going 'gotta kick ALL the ass', but Veloce wasn't going to mince words about it. "What, you don't love what we have the most of? The fact its course, rough, and gets everywhere? Can't imagine not wanting to live with it all day!" "Now, as for me, normally this would be the part where I spin some bullshit fairy tale story about how I was bailed out from bandits at a young age by a huntsman passing through, mentoring while he was around, and following in his footsteps since in spite of the folks thinking it was a damn fool venture. That the old man of a Huntsman had gone and left some young buck starry eyed and eager to take on the world. But, since Boss said no fairy tales or bullshit, I regret to inform you its true. Got bailed out by a Huntsman and I intend to make good on that, and give the folks back home something to chew on instead of their own disbelief." Veloce, of course, made the whole thing sound ridiculous given his tone, doubly so given the fact that Auron had flat out said no bullshit or stories, but left just enough of a tone of bemusement that the other huntsman to be could find it unbelievable and he was just being a ridiculous Faunus making a mild mockery of the whole song and dance again. He shot Auron a loose grin, telling the honest truth in spite of his tone and general demeanor, and closed with one more remark. "Either way, this first day sure beats the hell out of that awful 'Introduce yourself and one interesting fact' song and dance, eh?"</s> <\|message\|>Huntsman Sheet Kohaku There was a level of satisfaction to be had as Kohaku's plan came to fruition—the wave on the right were unable to break through her earthen barrier, and countless of their number must have fallen to the torrent of flames that followed. Enough that it made them break and retreat back into the darkness from whence they came. That much surprised her; she had figured that the creatures of Grimm were mindless enough that they would have continued trying to charge through the barricade until she had burnt the last of them to ash. Disconcerting as their tactical awareness was, it was clear enough that her team had prevailed in the conflict as she scanned the left flank to see a similar state of withdraw. Of course, their trials weren't exactly over just because they had stemmed the tides of Beowolves. As dark miasma began leaking from the slumped corpses pinned against the roof and those beyond, Kohaku brought her scarf up to cover her nose and mouth. Their supervisor informed them of the dangers the substance posed if inhaled, and it spurred the Faunus into action. Another mechanical thunk came from her staff as she cycled through to another, as of yet unused canister and leveled it towards the encroaching fumes. A pale white glow encircled the projector at the tip of her weapon, and a strong gust of wind followed. She directed it first down the right passage, blowing away the wispy black fog in her immediate area before turning it down the left, allowing the gust to wash over her team mates harmlessly while also dispelling the remnants of their battle. Once she was content that it had been properly disposed of, she returned her staff to its resting position, rested against her shoulder to make balancing the unwieldy head most manageable. There wasn't exactly much to be said in this case, and so the girl chose to observe, watching as their instructor warily eyed the creeping tendrils that made the walls of the bunker their host. Staring at the vein-like flesh reminded her of the ill-fated Dust Devils and their complaints. Of sounds from within the ramparts. "We should avoid being too close to the walls as we go deeper." She suggested, although she couldn't well explain to them why. Nivea probably had a better idea than she did of whatever kept the men who once called this place home up at night. "Just in case."</s> <\|message\|>Personality --- This was Rio's first battle against the Grimm. No fantastical story or training dummy could have ever prepared him for the rush of adrenaline that he had felt just now. The tactics of teammates and his own quick trigger finger had seemingly won them the fight. No one was visibly hurt and, after inspecting himself for bite marks, he could include himself in that count. Yet, his heart was still racing even as the creatures in front of him started to dissolve from their fierce, monstrous figures into a shapeless ooze that looked like it belonged at the bottom of a saloon spit bucket. A sigh of relief would soon escape Rio's tensed body as it became clear that they had repelled the initial wave of Grimm but his fingers were still frozen in place as he gripped his weapon. Instead of easing his hold, his hands merely kept shaking even as he actively made an effort to relax. Soon enough, he had resorted to a few full breaths but this would come to a halt upon hearing Nivea's caution against the apparently toxic air. In his sudden panic, Rio instinctively covered his nose with his right forearm while rummaging through his pockets with his free hand for the kerchief that his mother prepares for his daily wardrobe. At least his vise on The Boatman's Due had loosen. Finally covering his mouth with his makeshift mask, Rio had to focus and inform his companions on the strict timetable that his Semblance had given him. "I'm all fer sticking away from walls but we need t' move if we wanna catch 'em." Protected by the thin strip of fabric and against the caution of their handler, Rio would take another deep breath to focus in on the runaway targets. A clayish rouge of energy would manifest and envelop itself around him as the distant pitter-patter of water droplets hitting the unlit distant ground of the abandoned bunker became as thunderous as a roaring river to the Huntsman-in-training. "My Semblance is tellin' me that they're less than a click away - I'll resume takin' point." Again, Rio's impatience would not wait for any possible objections from his team. They had a mission that needed to be accomplished and standing around this dark pit waiting to get ambushed again was not gonna get results. He would resume his earlier brisk pace once more, advancing towards the darkness in pursuit of the Grimm he managed to mark earlier.</s> <\|message\|>Huntsman Sheet Saffron Rupalfeather --- With the Grimm on the retreat, Saffron was satisfied that she had done an efficient job defending her side of the intersection - with Rio helping, of course. It definitely wasn't an easy battle, however; Whilst she had a little experience fighting the Grimm within primarily controlled training environments, the real thing definitely told her that despite how realistic the trainings had been at Signal they had definitely been holding back. The Signal Grimm had been fierce, but out in the real world, Grimm were ferocious. And whilst she was proud that she had managed to hold back the Grimm with her teammates, Saffron was also relieved about that fact. Hopefully things continued to be as successful as they were now. Saffron's eyes fixed upon a corpse of one of the fallen Grimm, observing the black smoke that was rising from it. Whilst it was interesting, the Faunus took care to follow Nivea's advice and try not to breathe in the smoke. Though, within a closed environment like this, Saffron wondered if it would soon become impossible to avoid doing so. She could see why Huntsmen would have such a problem clearing a nest, particularly in even more dangerous environments than this one. If they happened to get locked in by the degraded environment, either by collapse or mechanical failures in places such as this, she wondered what the consequences be, if it wasn't an ending of death. Taking a glance to Kohaku as she spoke, Saffron offered the girl a nod of agreement. "Good call," Saffron replies, shuffling herself to be more along the centreline of the room. She was, however, bothered by Rio's sudden wish to press on at speed - and slightly bothered by the fact that he was telling them that the Grimm were less than a click away. "Less than a kilometer? How big is bunker anyways?" She asks, starting to face Nivea, before reconsidering and turning back to the front. "Never mind, I don't want to know." She adds, starting to pursue Rio, mostly so that he wasn't running off on his own ahead of them.</s>	<\|message\|>Huntsman Sheet The return of silence wasn't exactly comforting--Fiona half expected something else to jump out at them if they dropped their guard for even a second. Fiona backed away from the black smoke, double-checking her ammo. She did her best to be as efficient as possible, but she'd be lying if she said she hadn't wasted a few shots. The Grimm moved faster than she anticipated; she wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. The last thing she wanted was to end up being a burden on the team. Or worse--she'd end up being the weak point. She was snapped out of her thoughts as a strong guest of wind blew away the smoke. Letting out a sigh of relief, she figured she should get her head back in the game. "Thank you, Kohaku," Fiona thanked her first and foremost. At least that was one less thing to worry about. Rio was eager to take point again, with his semblance revealing that there were, of course, more Grimm. She seemed to have the same thought as Saffron as the girl expressed curiosity on how big the bunker was. "Regardless of the distance, it's best to stay on guard," She decided to remind them, taking her spot after Saffron. "This bunker seems to have been built some time ago, so there should still be a distance before reaching the depths of where the Grimm would house themselves." After a brief pause of thought, she added, "Whatever Rio senses is likely a wandering group. Let's stay in formation as we proceed." </s>
<\|description\|>Donny Yang Appearance: Donny is 5'10 and weighs 224 pounds. He keeps his hair short and tries not to get his face hit too much. He's very pale due to living in the metro for most of his life, and even working the gunforges have failed to tan him since he actually wears all of his protective equipment when he works. He has a couple of scars on his arms due to training and from work so he tends to hide them with long-sleeve clothing. Age: 25 Occupation: Gunsmith History: Donny was a young boy when the calamity took his family. His parents were the first to die; they did everything they could to make sure he and his siblings survived the initial cold snaps, even at the cost of their lives. Afterwards Donny, his older brother, and his two sisters had to quickly make themselves useful in the underground colony located near the Great Lakes of old America. His little sister died of pneumonia when Donny was six. His older sister was murdered by a sick man who tried to have his way with her. His brother was sent into exile when he killed that man. This left Donny, at the young age of 9, the sole survivor of his family. He was noted for his quick hands and knack for tinkering, something that earned him his daily bread and got him a chance to raise his status in the colony. He was tasked to making bullets: without grand machines to pack and load power every bullet had to be hand made, and Donny's quick fingers made short work of most small calibers. As he grew older, he became more skilled at making these bullets, and even started making weapons, armor, and bits of technology. As his Colony grew so did their needs. Initially they survived via fishing, however thanks to the hostile weather above the colony was unable to sustain a fishing population that could meet their food demands. Rationing had to be done, and soon people had to turn to eating nutrient bricks made out of mutated insects and cave moss. But there was always a lot of guns and bullets in his colony. And it wasn't long before the colony started using those guns and bullets to steal from others. Initially they offered to trade, but when they couldn't get enough food they took it by force. Donny knew this was simply a necessity for the colony, but he couldn't help but feel less and less appreciative as his colony seemed to just be going to war with everyone around them. "Hasn't there been enough destruction?" He would often think. It wasn't long before Donny had thoughts of finding a new colony. He was spared from having to join a raiding force thanks to his gunsmithing skills, and he continued to use it for the colony. But every so often, he would make a gun that was missing a nonessential part. He'd pocket it and when he got back to his home, he would add it to a weapon of his own creation. He did this for years, going unnoticed as the colony grew and raided. The choking scent of the gunforge protected Donny from looking at the atrocities his colony committed. He couldn't even pretend they were doing what they did out of survival: they simply had the power to do whatever they wanted and no one around them could stop them. By the time Donny turned 25, he made a critical mistake. The new Warboss of the Colony commissioned Donny himself to create a big gun for himself. A Heavy Machine Gun so large that it needed to be mounted on wheels to use. Donny knew what he needed to do though, and made sure to request much more materials and parts than he actually needed so he could not only make the weapon, but also finish his own personal projects. Things were going well at first but during his time in the colony he had made a lady friend. A young girl who he saved from a life of slavery and tried to teach her his trade, and thought maybe he could even take her as a wife. But he let his guard down around her. She found out he was stealing parts from the colony and when he got home he was confronted by the Warboss's men. They promised they wouldn't kill him because of his skills, but Donny knew better. His colony was not a kind people. There was no such thing as mercy among them, and Donny had no intentions of becoming a slave. So he fought against these men, gathered his things, and escaped the colony before they could catch him. Donny was able to finish his weapon, even cobbled together some armor and other equipment, but he was living on borrowed time. It wouldn't be long before the elements or mutants got to him. He needed to find somewhere else to go. A new colony who wouldn't know who he was. He knew of such a place: supposedly there was a colony full of outcast exiles, even mutants, hoping to make a home for themselves near the remains of a blasted out city. Ordinarily such places were a death sentence due to high amounts of nuclear radiation but Donny didn't have much of a choice. Most other colonies near him were raided to death or under the authority of his old Colony. So Donny headed east to this fabled colony: Underhaven. Proficiency: Gunsmithing - Donny has been making weapons and firearms for years. He could make a bullet out of a tincan and some grease, and make a gun out of a pipe and some string. He's also been able to make other weapons and even armor, such as knives, clubs, breastplates, and even shields. If you can kill someone or if it can save you from being killed, Donny knows how to make it. Close Quarters Combat - While Donny never went on the raids, he was still made to train in case the Colony was ever under attacked. In particular he took up fighting in hand-to-hand as well as tight corridors very well. Probably helped that he did a bit of karate when he was still a child, before hell froze over. His near-sightedness makes him terrible at longer ranges though. Physical Strength - Donny is quite simply a very strong young man. He kept himself fed well enough that he isn't malnourished and working the forge kept his body in good physical shape. His preference for heavier armor has conditioned himself to have a great amount of stamina and to be able to take heavy blows and even deflect them with minimal movement. Against most other human enemies Donny could likely be a juggernaut to them. But he's still made of paper if he has to go toe-to-toe with a mutant, perhaps even worse since his fighting style doesn't exactly give him a great amount of agility and speed. Foraging and Cooking - One of Donny's secrets to having good health is being a good chef. Sure, Nutrient Bricks were basically 90% of his meals, but occasionally he was able to sneak some spices like salt and black pepper, even the occasional lemon, into a meal and make it half-way palpable. Not to mention he's come to learn how to make most of the mutated plants taste decent as long as he takes time to cook them instead of the usual method of chopping them up and packing them into a blender. Technical Tinkering - While most of Donny's crafting expertise is with guns and weapons, in his early years he also had to work as an technician. He's generally familiar with how most machines work and why they might be broken, and could even operate a computer as long as the keyboards are still functioning. However he lacks the true knowledge to actually make anything that doesn't shoot or hold an edge so at best he might be able to repair broken machines. Equipment: Hexduo Revolver Shotgun - Donny's pride and joy. It took him over ten years to put this together but he made sure it was perfect by the time he took it with him out of the colony. A double action revolver rifle that can load six 9 gauge shotgun rounds and three .50 caliber rifle bullets, made extra sturdy to the point that Donny can and has bludgeoned people to death with it. The bullets are difficult to make however, so he needs to conserve his ammunition and wait until he can get a proper set up to make more ammunition for himself. Runner Pistol - Donny's personal sidearm. A revolver chambered for .223 or even 5.56 rounds, both where are quite plentiful around the Metro. He calls it the Runner Pistol thanks to it's light weight and the 5.56 being plentiful ammo, allowing him to use it frequently "on the run". Largely a weapon for self-defense as he has .223 to deal with humans and AP 5.56 for dealing with armor. Crash Axe - Both a weapon and a tool. Donny didn't actually make this one, having brought it from a scavenger from the Colony when the handle broke off. After gathering the right parts and fixing up the tang Donny was able to repair it to his signature weapon of choice in a close combat encounter. Useful as an axe, yet precise enough to use like a knife, with a sharp pick to break glass and dig into stone or ice. Rebar Knife - Quite simply a knife made from a length of steel rebar. He carries quite a few of these for general purpose knife reasons, and often this is what he uses for trades. They're easy for him to make and useful enough that people would want them. Weighted well enough to also serve as throwing knives. Survival Armor - Donny's personal survival armor. He has a full metal helmet that can withstand small arms fire and help deflect rifle rounds from a distance, and his body armor is made of a mix of mutant leather (which is as tough as kevlar) and iron plates. The armor around his arms and legs are just thick mutant leather, and he unfortunately doesn't have any gloves. He wears thick insulated camouflage pants and sturdy snow boots. On the back of Donny's armor is a gas generator he sometimes fuels that connects to his helmet: it helps filter out radiation and toxic chemicals but is quite loud and requires oil to use. Fire Bombs - Also known as Molotov Cocktails, this is Donny's go-to weapon against mutants. Made from glass bottles he finds and whatever oil he can scrounge together into a flammable mix. Needs an external fire source to make deadly though. Gunsmithing Tools - A few tools Donny was able to grab when he escaped the Colony. They can help him maintain and repair guns as well as make some ammunition, though he still needs the raw materials to do so. A proper facility will allow him to make more complex weapons and higher quality ammunition. Rope - Handy length of rope to tie things up. Made of mutant leather for durability, though this also makes it prone to snapping under heat. Nutrient Bricks - Tasteless bars of bug bits and moss. Donny frankly hates eating these things but he'd rather not starve. Moss Wine - Hydration is necessary to survival, and unfortunately water freezes very easily even within the metros. So Donny has a canteen full of Moss Wine as it can keep him hydrated and doesn't freeze even at subzero temperatures. Tastes like blood and sweat though. Lighter - A relic from the old world. Still has enough fluid inside to work. Pack of Cigarettes - Also known as Old World Gold. Tobacco is in high demand all over the world and Donny is lucky enough to have found an unopened pack of menthol cigarettes when he was escaping the Colony. Donny's not much of a smoker himself though.</s> <\|message\|>Donny Yang It wouldn't be hard for Cat to catch up to Donny thanks to her agility, as well as the fact Donny was trying to enter doors that were locked or blocked off. If he wasn't in immediate peril he might have time to break through but alas, every second would count. The pseudogiant was indeed sluggish to climb the rules, but what it lacked in finesse it more than made up in sheer brutality. Cat and Donny would hear it leap from the bottom floor to their floor, tearing apart the walls and floor of the hospital to reach them. "Oh fuck." Eventually the two would cross the hall where the giant must've broken through. The mutant itself was barreling down the hall, giving both only a few seconds to brace themselves. But Donny had an idea seeing as you decided to follow him. He cupped his hands together and lowered himself to the ground. "I'll throw you across! Then you help me jump the hole! Hurry!" Donny said as the monster continued to roar and build speed.</s> <\|message\|>Catherine 'Cat' Serve "Why did I even come to the surface?" She asked herself as she ran after the man, turning the rope in a rope bundle as she ran. It was a trained subconscious action at this point since she often did it as a soldier. She saw him trying doors one by one, well why didn't he just shoot a lock of or something? Granted loud noise and all that, but with the snowstorm that would likely hit any time now outside, it wasn't likely to make any difference or allow anything to notice it too easily. In any case she felt the floor tremble as the thing fucking jump." How is that thing even moving underneath it's own mass let alone jumping?" She complained as she ran forward, seeing the man offering to jump her across. "Alright!" She called out to him as she ran, speeding her step even further, creating more distance between herself and the mutant as she ran at him, she jumped, stepping at the precise moment needed in his hands and pushed herself out to jump once more, using his movement to propell herself even further as she landed on the other side with little difficulty. She turned right away." JUMP! I've got you!" She called out to him as she reached over her edge of the hole, waiting to grab his arm, though she also still held the rope, just in case he didn't jump far enough to grab his arm, so she could toss him the rope and then pull him back up.</s>	<\|message\|>Donny Yang Donny needed a few steps to build moment. A few steps too many. As he jumped, the beast caught up to him and clipped his leg. His jump was thrown off but he did catch your hand, his massive weight nearly pulling you off your feet. Fortunately Donny caught himself on the ledge and was able to pull himself up. As for the mutant, its momentum was too great for it to slow down and crashed into the wall out of sight, the sound of cement and glass shattering bring the only indicator of its fate. Donny crawled away from the ledge and tried to stand up. However then he stumbled; his foot had barely grazed the pseudogiant but that alone was enough to bruise him. "Goddamn. Fuck. Ow." He said with heavy breaths as he looked around for something solid. There was the rotted remains of a wooden bench which he broke down until he got a straight stick and turned to you. "Can I have my rope back?"</s>
<\|description\|>Mortus 25 • Male • Human? School of Magic Specialization: Thaumaturgy Type: Ritualistic Description: Thaumaturgy is used to conjure miraculous effects and call upon the various mythological powers for aid. However it can be used to contact the vile powers of the worlds for those who seek to bargain with the malevolent forces of the universe, but without the proper artifacts and information regarding such evil's the use of Thaumaturgy is extremely dangerous to practitioners of the art of such magic. Inventory: - Cultist Robes: A set of robes worn by the followers of the Crimson Flame; a cult who worship the Lords of the Abyss. - Metal Mask: An intricately detailed mask that covers the face of the one who wears it, but the metal is of alien origins and without classification. It is cold to the touch and is of a hard shiny black material. - The Daemonis Artificron: A strange object that is composed of a material similar to the mask. Quests: World Domination! You can also add a personal quest if you wish. When a quest is completed rewards will be granted. Other: Anything else you want to share!</s> <\|message\|>Mortus New Rule! You must roll an action every 3 posts, or the GM will roll something for you, and it'll be based on ambient wild magic and probably go worse then anything you could of picked for yourself (although maybe you're into that, but then why not pick a wild magic character?)</s> <\|message\|>Mortus ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ You sit in the Grand Chamber of the Black Castle, located in the depths of the Blasted Land. This place has been the home base of the Council of Evil for over a thousand years, each successive generation of would-be evil mages building and adding and twisting the halls of their home to suit them. Beneath your feet roam miles upon miles of strange weaving corridors and rooms, descending into ancient alien ruins, and beneath the ground lie prisons and dungeons for magical reagents. The Blasted Lands themselves are a bastion of bizarre magical energy. A magical cataclysm back in the last age has left the magic here both potent and dangerous. No mundane would dream of living here if they had other options, as even basic beasts are warped or granted intelligence in this realm. This land grants a respite from prying eyes, and being Mages of Great Ambition, you fear not the wild magic that lurks, ready to change your spells. You're powerful, after all, aren't you? There is no need to fear such things... But none of that is important now. You gather together around a ridiculously large round table. There are various maps and empty tankards and fine china strewn across the thing as you had spent the day discussing your next move. The lands beyond yours had allied together, the villages in your reaches no longer paid you tribute, and people had all but forgotten your existence. It was time to remind them. It was time to take over the world.</s> <\|message\|>Promien The Rotting Promien The Rotting --- --- Location: The Blasted Castle \|\| Time: Morning \|\| Interactions: Anyone Nearby --- --- Promien scratched at his face languidly as he took his seat at the table, grunting out of what seemed to be exertion as he did so. A sign that he had either been up late performing some ritual the night before, thus causing some manner of increased physical strain, or that'd he'd simply tired himself out while walking the fortresses labyrinthine hallways. Whatever the case, he was here, and taking full advantage of this moment of solace before the others arrived and disrupted his peace with their plans of world domination, the subjugation of the masses, or whatever other half-cocked scheme they'd come up with to spite the lands beyond this time. And that wasn't even mentioning the bickering or grandstanding that was sure to follow, the very thought of which almost made him want to fling himself off of the nearest balcony. Almost. Sighing, he motioned for one of his skeletal servants to go fetch him a cup of tea. What they lacked in regards to combat, especially when pitted against loincloth sporting barbarians with a fetish for ridiculously large hammers, skeletons more than made up for by providing a cost effective source of menial labor.</s> <\|message\|>Ada Lovebound (To be expanded) Ada broke the awkward silence by commencing her presentation. She really took her time explaining the inner clockwork of a Golem Brain Micro-architecture, Golem Operating System, and the Artificial Neural Network model installed as the software inside the Golem Brain.</s> <\|message\|>Marina Cabral Marina was in the hallway outside trying to straighten out her leather vest she was wearing while one of her servants stood nearby holding her staff. The servant was a gnome creature about three feet tall, its skin made of diamond material. They looked up at her and sighed while rolling their eyes as she kept fidgeting with her clothes. "I can feel you rolling your eyes at me, Scara." Scara straightened their face back to a neutral one as Marina finally shrugged and reached out her hand for her magical staff. "We've come a long way Scara. To think that back home, we were forgotten by the masses as though we were a myth." "Master, you weren't popular, to begin with, though among the other myths in our home country." "Silence Scara. You will not speak of such insolence amongst the Council of Evil." Scara shook their head silently as they followed Marina to the doors. Marina pushed forward and stepped into the room, looking around at the Council's room's messy appearance only to realize that it wasn't impressive as she would have hoped. Biting her bottom lip, she frowned and spotted someone already sitting at the round table. She wasn't a popular or famous witch herself; in fact, she spent over a hundred years trying to make a name for herself in a time where it was impossible to rise above other legends. She noticed the man with a gaunt appearance and dark eyes dressed in robes and nodded her head once before pulling a seat out to sit down. She picked one opposite the stranger as she did not feel like making much small talk. Though she did want to make a good first impression... she leaned forward as though she were going to speak, but at the last second, she realized she had nothing to say. So there she was, leaning forward, mouth open and no words coming out. Scara, the servant, stood behind her and smacked themselves in the face with their palm.</s>	<\|message\|>Mortus 6 You motion to the skeletal servant to fetch you a refresher, but either you put too much power into it or the arcane energies inbued it a little too much. Soon you have every Skeletal servant in the room bringing you tea, each of them crowding around your chair, holding out saucers and mugs and appropriately named bone china teacups, all brewed to unnatural levels of ultimate perfection.</s>
<\|description\|>Promien The Rotting 27 • Male • Human "Evil? Necromancy is no more evil than ordinary magic is. It is pure survival, and my use of it is no more or less despicable than the mage who causes the warrior's veins to boil, or the king's bones to fall to dust." — Promien The Rotting Personality --- Promien could be best described as… unpleasantly opportunistic. Being a proponent of survival of the fittest first and foremost, he is not above using ordinary magic and necromancy alike to further his own goals or save his own hide, though he will not betray allies should they prove themselves worth working with. Unfortunately, as the Rotting himself has said, true allies are damn near impossible to come by for a necromancer. Even among their own kind, their own cadre if you will, tensions run high. As if there weren't enough overly nihilistic bastards looking to enslave the world already, living and dead alike, they'll always be the one who schemes for the sheer intellectual thrill of it. Pitting brothers and sisters-in-arms against each other in the name of an ultimately selfish and manipulative game. It is these same individuals that Promien-unsurprisingly-despises the most, even if he sometimes engages in the very same tactics they do on occasion. For they do nothing but sit back and watch as their plans gradually unfold, usually toward nothing but an utterly anarchic end. Speaking of ends however, Promien does not lack any of his own, the most pressing and desirable of which is to eventually transcend his lowly flesh to be reborn in the cleansing desiccation of lichdom. The ultimate mockery of life, and one that only two other necromancers before him actually managed to achieve, though even they did not get far before heroes stormed through their lifeless hordes and cut them down. As such, he is willing to do whatever it takes to succeed where those who went before him failed, if only to prove that he-out of everyone-actually could. What he intends on doing after this, however, is anyone's guess. Finally, Promien has quite the strong view on the dark arts in which he is immersed, scoffing at and ridiculing the idea that necromancy is an inherently evil or repugnant practice. To this end he has cited the many misuses of regular or white magic, most of which don't usually seem to come with a very high cost to the wielder, and asked why such abuses are not taken into account as well. Necromancy demands the permanent expenditure of one's own mana, which is thought to be manipulated fragments or threads of one's very own soul, after all. Which is far more dangerous than other magics comparatively speaking, for these used up fragments can never be regained and convey a lasting weakness to the practitioner, while most other wizards are seemingly able to ply their respective crafts with impunity. A caveat Promien claims can be quite easily abused. Therefore-or so he claims anyway-his opposition taking the stance they do is either the height of willful ignorance at best, or the bare bottom of hypocritical injustice at worst. Appearance --- As his epithet would imply, Promien casts quite the unusual figure for a man supposedly in the prime of his life. Despite being naught more than a scant twenty-seven years of age, his features appear yellowed, gaunt, and scarred; his eyes are nothing more than miniscule flecks of gleaming silver gathered at the bottom of two darkened pools that remain ever watchful... ever alert. The rest of Promein's also body does little to dispel the idea that he's slowly decomposing from the inside out, for he appears thin as a twig, and weak as one too, walking from place to place in an unbalanced hunch and using his gnarled wooden staff for support. Regardless of these traits, however, Promien is in possession of an almost inhuman level of physical and mental strength. He is more than capable of holding his own in a hand-to-hand fight if need be, not to mention capable of shrugging off most forms of physical and mental torment. Whether this is because of some-as of yet-unknown trauma in his past, his journey of discovery regarding the necromantic arts, or merely pure unadulterated will, is not known. When it comes to dress, Promien keeps his wardrobe simple. Although he has plumbed the graves of rich and poor alike in pursuit of life defying power, and created quite the nice horde for himself as a result, Promien does not dress in overly showy or ancient attire. He does not, as a matter of fact, even bother to dress in the traditional dark, hooded, and tattered garb one would expect an individual like him to wear, feeling that such things would only make his life even harder due to the sheer amount of unwanted attention such articles tend to attract. Rather, he wears clothes similar in nature to those donned by pilgrims, vagabonds, or monks, since such attire generally lets him access the cemeteries and mausoleums of the hamlets, towns, and cities he visits with relative ease. School of Magic --- Necromancy. An art perceived to be evil by many and reviled by most. Inventory --- The garb of what appears to be a pilgrim, drifter, or vagabond, and a gnarled old staff that seems to bear no magical properties whatsoever, at least to the untrained eye. Other than these items, Promien also carries a small leather pouch containing a pittance of coins, all the money one would expect a traveling pilgrim or vagabond to have. Quests --- World domination, while tempting, was never really Promien's style. Though perhaps it may become such should he successfully complete his personal quest to attain lichdom and eternal unlife. History --- Promien's story is one of misfortune and hardship. Being born to parents unknown, he was left to fend for himself at a very young age, the only companions he had were the rats that ran along the sludge-filled gutters and down deserted streets. It wasn't until his teenage years that he began experimenting with magic in general, with necromancy being the one school in particular that he took the most interest in. How exactly he managed to learn most of what he now knows without the aid of a mentor or professional schooling remains a mystery, however. Suffice it to say, Promien became highly skilled in this most twisted usage of his own mana, eventually changing his own appearance so much that he was given the moniker "Promien The Rotting" by those practitioners who knew of him. This was not enough for the young dread lord however, and he soon began to study ways in which he could cheat his own death, a feat only achieved by two of the most ancient dark lords. Thus was the long path to lichdom revealed, and it is one he has followed ever since. In this pursuit he began looking for several objects that could become potential phylacteries, and thus did his adventures across the lands truly begin. Other --- Necromancy, as stated above, requires the expenditure of one's own mana or soul essence in order for rituals to be considered successful or even function properly. This is permanent unfortunately, and weakens the practitioner in the process. On the bright side, servants made and corpses raised via this process are notoriously hard to put down, with some of the safest ways either being to undo the spellwork holding the dead body together on the mortal plane or simply destroying it to the point where it cannot reconstitute itself. Grinding the undead servant into dust, burning it to ash, or hacking off its limbs and separating them from each other are just a few of the most frequently used methods in regards to the latter option, with the choice to do each making it increasingly difficult, if not downright impossible, for the undead in question to reform depending on the circumstances. Holy magics and weapons, however, are the one hard counter to any undead form. While stronger undead typically require stronger blessings and artifacts to destroy or drive out, weaker undead such as the ones Promien might raise to aid him in combat are easily eradicated with naught more than a simple battle prayer. --- Maere the Bloodied 38 • Male • Human --- --- In fire and blood doth demon cleave unto man... School of Magic --- Enchanting technically, though Maere also has a great deal of skill with more demonically themed magics thanks to his symbiosis with Seggaroth. Inventory --- Although he does not carry any armor on his person, Seggaroth is more than capable of summoning a suit for him, which she refers to as the Blackstone Plate or Blackstone Carapace. Additionally he also wields Ashrune, the Bane of Eternal Rest. A crimson longsword that is interwoven with enchantments not only to keep it from breaking, but also to steal the souls of those it kills. Other than that he carries a pouch full of gold coins, and undoubtedly has more hidden elsewhere in the castle. Quests --- Unlike Promien, Maere does seek conquest, for it is only through bloodshed that Ashrune and Seggaroth's hungers may finally be satiated. Other --- Thanks to his symbiotic relationship with Seggaroth, Maere overall physical capabilities have been massively increased, allowing him to move incredibly fast when not covered by the Blackstone Carapace, and practically faster than the eye can follow with it. Furthermore, his strength has been boosted to a ridiculous degree, a trait that lets him take down foes much large than him with nothing more than his fists if he so chooses. Finally, his durability and senses have also been increased, making him incredibly difficult to take down or sneak up on, though both are obviously not out of the realm of possibility. While most mundane weaponry wouldn't be enough to inconvenience, let alone threaten him, enchanted weapons and magic in general are still more than capable of doing the job. Of course such measures only put one on equal footing with him and Seggaroth rather than higher ground, something that can't be said for holy magics and weaponry, both of which are more than capable of permanently ending the unholy duo provided one has the time, fortitude, effort, and boon of appropriate strength. It should be noted, however, that when wearing the Blackstone Carapace all of these attributes and resistances are massively enhanced. Ashrune is also capable of channeling Seggaroth's demonic power, or her demonic magics in general really, in addition to stealing its victims souls. This gives Maere a great deal of flexibility as far as combat goes, as he can now use the sword as a conduit for a plethora of style based ranged attacks. Some of these include sending out waves of Hellfire to scorch his foes, or piercing them to impart a massive dose of spiritual corruption that eats away at both body and soul, just to name a few. ---</s> <\|message\|>Mortus New Rule! You must roll an action every 3 posts, or the GM will roll something for you, and it'll be based on ambient wild magic and probably go worse then anything you could of picked for yourself (although maybe you're into that, but then why not pick a wild magic character?)</s> <\|message\|>Mortus ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ You sit in the Grand Chamber of the Black Castle, located in the depths of the Blasted Land. This place has been the home base of the Council of Evil for over a thousand years, each successive generation of would-be evil mages building and adding and twisting the halls of their home to suit them. Beneath your feet roam miles upon miles of strange weaving corridors and rooms, descending into ancient alien ruins, and beneath the ground lie prisons and dungeons for magical reagents. The Blasted Lands themselves are a bastion of bizarre magical energy. A magical cataclysm back in the last age has left the magic here both potent and dangerous. No mundane would dream of living here if they had other options, as even basic beasts are warped or granted intelligence in this realm. This land grants a respite from prying eyes, and being Mages of Great Ambition, you fear not the wild magic that lurks, ready to change your spells. You're powerful, after all, aren't you? There is no need to fear such things... But none of that is important now. You gather together around a ridiculously large round table. There are various maps and empty tankards and fine china strewn across the thing as you had spent the day discussing your next move. The lands beyond yours had allied together, the villages in your reaches no longer paid you tribute, and people had all but forgotten your existence. It was time to remind them. It was time to take over the world.</s>	<\|message\|>Promien The Rotting Location: The Blasted Castle \|\| Time: Morning \|\| Interactions: Anyone Nearby --- --- Promien scratched at his face languidly as he took his seat at the table, grunting out of what seemed to be exertion as he did so. A sign that he had either been up late performing some ritual the night before, thus causing some manner of increased physical strain, or that'd he'd simply tired himself out while walking the fortresses labyrinthine hallways. Whatever the case, he was here, and taking full advantage of this moment of solace before the others arrived and disrupted his peace with their plans of world domination, the subjugation of the masses, or whatever other half-cocked scheme they'd come up with to spite the lands beyond this time. And that wasn't even mentioning the bickering or grandstanding that was sure to follow, the very thought of which almost made him want to fling himself off of the nearest balcony. Almost. Sighing, he motioned for one of his skeletal servants to go fetch him a cup of tea. What they lacked in regards to combat, especially when pitted against loincloth sporting barbarians with a fetish for ridiculously large hammers, skeletons more than made up for by providing a cost effective source of menial labor.</s>
<\|description\|>Promien The Rotting 27 • Male • Human "Evil? Necromancy is no more evil than ordinary magic is. It is pure survival, and my use of it is no more or less despicable than the mage who causes the warrior's veins to boil, or the king's bones to fall to dust." — Promien The Rotting Personality --- Promien could be best described as… unpleasantly opportunistic. Being a proponent of survival of the fittest first and foremost, he is not above using ordinary magic and necromancy alike to further his own goals or save his own hide, though he will not betray allies should they prove themselves worth working with. Unfortunately, as the Rotting himself has said, true allies are damn near impossible to come by for a necromancer. Even among their own kind, their own cadre if you will, tensions run high. As if there weren't enough overly nihilistic bastards looking to enslave the world already, living and dead alike, they'll always be the one who schemes for the sheer intellectual thrill of it. Pitting brothers and sisters-in-arms against each other in the name of an ultimately selfish and manipulative game. It is these same individuals that Promien-unsurprisingly-despises the most, even if he sometimes engages in the very same tactics they do on occasion. For they do nothing but sit back and watch as their plans gradually unfold, usually toward nothing but an utterly anarchic end. Speaking of ends however, Promien does not lack any of his own, the most pressing and desirable of which is to eventually transcend his lowly flesh to be reborn in the cleansing desiccation of lichdom. The ultimate mockery of life, and one that only two other necromancers before him actually managed to achieve, though even they did not get far before heroes stormed through their lifeless hordes and cut them down. As such, he is willing to do whatever it takes to succeed where those who went before him failed, if only to prove that he-out of everyone-actually could. What he intends on doing after this, however, is anyone's guess. Finally, Promien has quite the strong view on the dark arts in which he is immersed, scoffing at and ridiculing the idea that necromancy is an inherently evil or repugnant practice. To this end he has cited the many misuses of regular or white magic, most of which don't usually seem to come with a very high cost to the wielder, and asked why such abuses are not taken into account as well. Necromancy demands the permanent expenditure of one's own mana, which is thought to be manipulated fragments or threads of one's very own soul, after all. Which is far more dangerous than other magics comparatively speaking, for these used up fragments can never be regained and convey a lasting weakness to the practitioner, while most other wizards are seemingly able to ply their respective crafts with impunity. A caveat Promien claims can be quite easily abused. Therefore-or so he claims anyway-his opposition taking the stance they do is either the height of willful ignorance at best, or the bare bottom of hypocritical injustice at worst. Appearance --- As his epithet would imply, Promien casts quite the unusual figure for a man supposedly in the prime of his life. Despite being naught more than a scant twenty-seven years of age, his features appear yellowed, gaunt, and scarred; his eyes are nothing more than miniscule flecks of gleaming silver gathered at the bottom of two darkened pools that remain ever watchful... ever alert. The rest of Promein's also body does little to dispel the idea that he's slowly decomposing from the inside out, for he appears thin as a twig, and weak as one too, walking from place to place in an unbalanced hunch and using his gnarled wooden staff for support. Regardless of these traits, however, Promien is in possession of an almost inhuman level of physical and mental strength. He is more than capable of holding his own in a hand-to-hand fight if need be, not to mention capable of shrugging off most forms of physical and mental torment. Whether this is because of some-as of yet-unknown trauma in his past, his journey of discovery regarding the necromantic arts, or merely pure unadulterated will, is not known. When it comes to dress, Promien keeps his wardrobe simple. Although he has plumbed the graves of rich and poor alike in pursuit of life defying power, and created quite the nice horde for himself as a result, Promien does not dress in overly showy or ancient attire. He does not, as a matter of fact, even bother to dress in the traditional dark, hooded, and tattered garb one would expect an individual like him to wear, feeling that such things would only make his life even harder due to the sheer amount of unwanted attention such articles tend to attract. Rather, he wears clothes similar in nature to those donned by pilgrims, vagabonds, or monks, since such attire generally lets him access the cemeteries and mausoleums of the hamlets, towns, and cities he visits with relative ease. School of Magic --- Necromancy. An art perceived to be evil by many and reviled by most. Inventory --- The garb of what appears to be a pilgrim, drifter, or vagabond, and a gnarled old staff that seems to bear no magical properties whatsoever, at least to the untrained eye. Other than these items, Promien also carries a small leather pouch containing a pittance of coins, all the money one would expect a traveling pilgrim or vagabond to have. Quests --- World domination, while tempting, was never really Promien's style. Though perhaps it may become such should he successfully complete his personal quest to attain lichdom and eternal unlife. History --- Promien's story is one of misfortune and hardship. Being born to parents unknown, he was left to fend for himself at a very young age, the only companions he had were the rats that ran along the sludge-filled gutters and down deserted streets. It wasn't until his teenage years that he began experimenting with magic in general, with necromancy being the one school in particular that he took the most interest in. How exactly he managed to learn most of what he now knows without the aid of a mentor or professional schooling remains a mystery, however. Suffice it to say, Promien became highly skilled in this most twisted usage of his own mana, eventually changing his own appearance so much that he was given the moniker "Promien The Rotting" by those practitioners who knew of him. This was not enough for the young dread lord however, and he soon began to study ways in which he could cheat his own death, a feat only achieved by two of the most ancient dark lords. Thus was the long path to lichdom revealed, and it is one he has followed ever since. In this pursuit he began looking for several objects that could become potential phylacteries, and thus did his adventures across the lands truly begin. Other --- Necromancy, as stated above, requires the expenditure of one's own mana or soul essence in order for rituals to be considered successful or even function properly. This is permanent unfortunately, and weakens the practitioner in the process. On the bright side, servants made and corpses raised via this process are notoriously hard to put down, with some of the safest ways either being to undo the spellwork holding the dead body together on the mortal plane or simply destroying it to the point where it cannot reconstitute itself. Grinding the undead servant into dust, burning it to ash, or hacking off its limbs and separating them from each other are just a few of the most frequently used methods in regards to the latter option, with the choice to do each making it increasingly difficult, if not downright impossible, for the undead in question to reform depending on the circumstances. Holy magics and weapons, however, are the one hard counter to any undead form. While stronger undead typically require stronger blessings and artifacts to destroy or drive out, weaker undead such as the ones Promien might raise to aid him in combat are easily eradicated with naught more than a simple battle prayer. --- Maere the Bloodied 38 • Male • Human --- --- In fire and blood doth demon cleave unto man... School of Magic --- Enchanting technically, though Maere also has a great deal of skill with more demonically themed magics thanks to his symbiosis with Seggaroth. Inventory --- Although he does not carry any armor on his person, Seggaroth is more than capable of summoning a suit for him, which she refers to as the Blackstone Plate or Blackstone Carapace. Additionally he also wields Ashrune, the Bane of Eternal Rest. A crimson longsword that is interwoven with enchantments not only to keep it from breaking, but also to steal the souls of those it kills. Other than that he carries a pouch full of gold coins, and undoubtedly has more hidden elsewhere in the castle. Quests --- Unlike Promien, Maere does seek conquest, for it is only through bloodshed that Ashrune and Seggaroth's hungers may finally be satiated. Other --- Thanks to his symbiotic relationship with Seggaroth, Maere overall physical capabilities have been massively increased, allowing him to move incredibly fast when not covered by the Blackstone Carapace, and practically faster than the eye can follow with it. Furthermore, his strength has been boosted to a ridiculous degree, a trait that lets him take down foes much large than him with nothing more than his fists if he so chooses. Finally, his durability and senses have also been increased, making him incredibly difficult to take down or sneak up on, though both are obviously not out of the realm of possibility. While most mundane weaponry wouldn't be enough to inconvenience, let alone threaten him, enchanted weapons and magic in general are still more than capable of doing the job. Of course such measures only put one on equal footing with him and Seggaroth rather than higher ground, something that can't be said for holy magics and weaponry, both of which are more than capable of permanently ending the unholy duo provided one has the time, fortitude, effort, and boon of appropriate strength. It should be noted, however, that when wearing the Blackstone Carapace all of these attributes and resistances are massively enhanced. Ashrune is also capable of channeling Seggaroth's demonic power, or her demonic magics in general really, in addition to stealing its victims souls. This gives Maere a great deal of flexibility as far as combat goes, as he can now use the sword as a conduit for a plethora of style based ranged attacks. Some of these include sending out waves of Hellfire to scorch his foes, or piercing them to impart a massive dose of spiritual corruption that eats away at both body and soul, just to name a few. ---</s> <\|message\|>Promien The Rotting Promien The Rotting --- --- Location: The Blasted Castle \|\| Time: Morning \|\| Interactions: Anyone Nearby --- --- Promien let out another sigh as he took a cup of tea before motioning for the skeletons to set the rest at various parts of the table for the other members that were currently gathered for their little meeting, one which had started without his knowing to boot thanks to that daft miscalculation on his part. Maybe they would drink, maybe not, at this point he really didn't care. He did have to force himself to suppress a chuckle upon hearing Shandris' remarks however, for it tickled him right to the bone. "Why what I planned to do from the very moment I joined this silly little gaggle of would-be conquerors..." He smirked, expression clear for all to see since he wasn't currently wearing his hood. "Become a lich. If there's one thing I've learned over the last couple of years, it's that taking over the world and spreading chaos is far harder in practice than it is in theory. But by all means, feel free to launch some foolish crusade at the greatest wane in your collective power." Promien paused to take a sip of his tea. "I still get the remnants after all."</s> <\|message\|>Shandris "They have men, gold, and plentiful defenses. We have a castle in the middle of nowhere and some ragtag minions. You'd have to be daft not to worry with or consider those odds." She replied to Ziebach, turning down a skeleton's offer of a mysterious, bubbling brew. Death by whatever-it-was was not something Shandris was willing to try. "It is like Promien says. We are without power. You speak of armaments, but I see none. Why should we give away what little we have to play silly games of courtship with some king or other noble as well?" "Although, if you do want to go that route, I would suggest we start small." Shandris pointed to a river on the map. "The Tooth; a river within the lands of the Kracanni nomads. Many of them depend on the river for survival, even more so for their cow herds that bandits prey upon. Help me take out the bandits, and I will give you an army."</s> <\|message\|>Promien The Rotting Maere the Bloodied --- --- Location: The Blasted Castle \|\| Time: Morning \|\| Interactions: Anyone Nearby --- --- Maere made his way into the room via a side stairway, his expression gruff as ever. Taking a mug from one of the skeletons, he moved to take a seat, his gaze drifting over those assembled. "Mornin." He brought the bubbling liquid up to his lips with one hand as he reclined in his chair, shifting slightly so he could prop his feet up on the massive table itself.</s> <\|message\|>Mortus 6 You turn down the offer of the suspicious bubbling brew. Crash! The chairs reverberate as every skeleton drops their drinks simultaeneously onto the floor, destroying the lion's share of the china collection and covering the floor in a thick puddle of mixing teas. Some of those items were ancient! Oh well. Who's cleaning this up? You look over to see the skeletons eerily backing away from you and standing in the darkened corners of the room. You are left seeing only the pinpricks of their eyes. Looks like they're a little overtuned today. 3 The drink is delicious, but it is a little on the uncomfortably hot side (if necromancers worry about such things?) You prop your feet up on the table, momentarily feeling as if the chair will fall backwards, but you quickly readjust your balance and find a very comfortable seating position. Who says you can't be evil in style?</s>	<\|message\|>Promien The Rotting Maere grunts as the liquid slides down his throat, before calmly setting the cup down, as though the entire hall hadn't just been filled with the clatter of crashing china. "Problem with your spells today Promien?" The demon-bound warrior cast a sideways glance at the necromancer, who sent him a level look followed by a friendly smile in return. "Why I haven't the slightest clue as to what you mean." The necromancer shifted his gaze back to the druid. "Much as I hate to agree with someone who walks the path most hypocritical, Shandris' plan is a sound one. If any of you are truly hellbent on conquest, you will need an army, and I can only provide so much as of the present. I say we help the peasants, if only so they may be further in our debt."</s>
<\|description\|>Promien The Rotting 27 • Male • Human "Evil? Necromancy is no more evil than ordinary magic is. It is pure survival, and my use of it is no more or less despicable than the mage who causes the warrior's veins to boil, or the king's bones to fall to dust." — Promien The Rotting Personality --- Promien could be best described as… unpleasantly opportunistic. Being a proponent of survival of the fittest first and foremost, he is not above using ordinary magic and necromancy alike to further his own goals or save his own hide, though he will not betray allies should they prove themselves worth working with. Unfortunately, as the Rotting himself has said, true allies are damn near impossible to come by for a necromancer. Even among their own kind, their own cadre if you will, tensions run high. As if there weren't enough overly nihilistic bastards looking to enslave the world already, living and dead alike, they'll always be the one who schemes for the sheer intellectual thrill of it. Pitting brothers and sisters-in-arms against each other in the name of an ultimately selfish and manipulative game. It is these same individuals that Promien-unsurprisingly-despises the most, even if he sometimes engages in the very same tactics they do on occasion. For they do nothing but sit back and watch as their plans gradually unfold, usually toward nothing but an utterly anarchic end. Speaking of ends however, Promien does not lack any of his own, the most pressing and desirable of which is to eventually transcend his lowly flesh to be reborn in the cleansing desiccation of lichdom. The ultimate mockery of life, and one that only two other necromancers before him actually managed to achieve, though even they did not get far before heroes stormed through their lifeless hordes and cut them down. As such, he is willing to do whatever it takes to succeed where those who went before him failed, if only to prove that he-out of everyone-actually could. What he intends on doing after this, however, is anyone's guess. Finally, Promien has quite the strong view on the dark arts in which he is immersed, scoffing at and ridiculing the idea that necromancy is an inherently evil or repugnant practice. To this end he has cited the many misuses of regular or white magic, most of which don't usually seem to come with a very high cost to the wielder, and asked why such abuses are not taken into account as well. Necromancy demands the permanent expenditure of one's own mana, which is thought to be manipulated fragments or threads of one's very own soul, after all. Which is far more dangerous than other magics comparatively speaking, for these used up fragments can never be regained and convey a lasting weakness to the practitioner, while most other wizards are seemingly able to ply their respective crafts with impunity. A caveat Promien claims can be quite easily abused. Therefore-or so he claims anyway-his opposition taking the stance they do is either the height of willful ignorance at best, or the bare bottom of hypocritical injustice at worst. Appearance --- As his epithet would imply, Promien casts quite the unusual figure for a man supposedly in the prime of his life. Despite being naught more than a scant twenty-seven years of age, his features appear yellowed, gaunt, and scarred; his eyes are nothing more than miniscule flecks of gleaming silver gathered at the bottom of two darkened pools that remain ever watchful... ever alert. The rest of Promein's also body does little to dispel the idea that he's slowly decomposing from the inside out, for he appears thin as a twig, and weak as one too, walking from place to place in an unbalanced hunch and using his gnarled wooden staff for support. Regardless of these traits, however, Promien is in possession of an almost inhuman level of physical and mental strength. He is more than capable of holding his own in a hand-to-hand fight if need be, not to mention capable of shrugging off most forms of physical and mental torment. Whether this is because of some-as of yet-unknown trauma in his past, his journey of discovery regarding the necromantic arts, or merely pure unadulterated will, is not known. When it comes to dress, Promien keeps his wardrobe simple. Although he has plumbed the graves of rich and poor alike in pursuit of life defying power, and created quite the nice horde for himself as a result, Promien does not dress in overly showy or ancient attire. He does not, as a matter of fact, even bother to dress in the traditional dark, hooded, and tattered garb one would expect an individual like him to wear, feeling that such things would only make his life even harder due to the sheer amount of unwanted attention such articles tend to attract. Rather, he wears clothes similar in nature to those donned by pilgrims, vagabonds, or monks, since such attire generally lets him access the cemeteries and mausoleums of the hamlets, towns, and cities he visits with relative ease. School of Magic --- Necromancy. An art perceived to be evil by many and reviled by most. Inventory --- The garb of what appears to be a pilgrim, drifter, or vagabond, and a gnarled old staff that seems to bear no magical properties whatsoever, at least to the untrained eye. Other than these items, Promien also carries a small leather pouch containing a pittance of coins, all the money one would expect a traveling pilgrim or vagabond to have. Quests --- World domination, while tempting, was never really Promien's style. Though perhaps it may become such should he successfully complete his personal quest to attain lichdom and eternal unlife. History --- Promien's story is one of misfortune and hardship. Being born to parents unknown, he was left to fend for himself at a very young age, the only companions he had were the rats that ran along the sludge-filled gutters and down deserted streets. It wasn't until his teenage years that he began experimenting with magic in general, with necromancy being the one school in particular that he took the most interest in. How exactly he managed to learn most of what he now knows without the aid of a mentor or professional schooling remains a mystery, however. Suffice it to say, Promien became highly skilled in this most twisted usage of his own mana, eventually changing his own appearance so much that he was given the moniker "Promien The Rotting" by those practitioners who knew of him. This was not enough for the young dread lord however, and he soon began to study ways in which he could cheat his own death, a feat only achieved by two of the most ancient dark lords. Thus was the long path to lichdom revealed, and it is one he has followed ever since. In this pursuit he began looking for several objects that could become potential phylacteries, and thus did his adventures across the lands truly begin. Other --- Necromancy, as stated above, requires the expenditure of one's own mana or soul essence in order for rituals to be considered successful or even function properly. This is permanent unfortunately, and weakens the practitioner in the process. On the bright side, servants made and corpses raised via this process are notoriously hard to put down, with some of the safest ways either being to undo the spellwork holding the dead body together on the mortal plane or simply destroying it to the point where it cannot reconstitute itself. Grinding the undead servant into dust, burning it to ash, or hacking off its limbs and separating them from each other are just a few of the most frequently used methods in regards to the latter option, with the choice to do each making it increasingly difficult, if not downright impossible, for the undead in question to reform depending on the circumstances. Holy magics and weapons, however, are the one hard counter to any undead form. While stronger undead typically require stronger blessings and artifacts to destroy or drive out, weaker undead such as the ones Promien might raise to aid him in combat are easily eradicated with naught more than a simple battle prayer. --- Maere the Bloodied 38 • Male • Human --- --- In fire and blood doth demon cleave unto man... School of Magic --- Enchanting technically, though Maere also has a great deal of skill with more demonically themed magics thanks to his symbiosis with Seggaroth. Inventory --- Although he does not carry any armor on his person, Seggaroth is more than capable of summoning a suit for him, which she refers to as the Blackstone Plate or Blackstone Carapace. Additionally he also wields Ashrune, the Bane of Eternal Rest. A crimson longsword that is interwoven with enchantments not only to keep it from breaking, but also to steal the souls of those it kills. Other than that he carries a pouch full of gold coins, and undoubtedly has more hidden elsewhere in the castle. Quests --- Unlike Promien, Maere does seek conquest, for it is only through bloodshed that Ashrune and Seggaroth's hungers may finally be satiated. Other --- Thanks to his symbiotic relationship with Seggaroth, Maere overall physical capabilities have been massively increased, allowing him to move incredibly fast when not covered by the Blackstone Carapace, and practically faster than the eye can follow with it. Furthermore, his strength has been boosted to a ridiculous degree, a trait that lets him take down foes much large than him with nothing more than his fists if he so chooses. Finally, his durability and senses have also been increased, making him incredibly difficult to take down or sneak up on, though both are obviously not out of the realm of possibility. While most mundane weaponry wouldn't be enough to inconvenience, let alone threaten him, enchanted weapons and magic in general are still more than capable of doing the job. Of course such measures only put one on equal footing with him and Seggaroth rather than higher ground, something that can't be said for holy magics and weaponry, both of which are more than capable of permanently ending the unholy duo provided one has the time, fortitude, effort, and boon of appropriate strength. It should be noted, however, that when wearing the Blackstone Carapace all of these attributes and resistances are massively enhanced. Ashrune is also capable of channeling Seggaroth's demonic power, or her demonic magics in general really, in addition to stealing its victims souls. This gives Maere a great deal of flexibility as far as combat goes, as he can now use the sword as a conduit for a plethora of style based ranged attacks. Some of these include sending out waves of Hellfire to scorch his foes, or piercing them to impart a massive dose of spiritual corruption that eats away at both body and soul, just to name a few. ---</s> <\|message\|>Ziebach Ziebach scowled as the druid shit down his plan, slumping in his seat. "Yeah, men, gold, defenses, they'll take them out for us. They're human, they're always looking for a reason to fight one another. I wasn't gonna say we fight them, you think I'm an idiot..." He didn't get long into his mutterings before all the china was violently thrown to the ground. He looked around as the skeletons as the tea spread across the floor. "Some of that was from the third century." He said, his voice stony again. "Some of that was Zandarian China. They don't make it anymore, because they don't exist." He got out of his chair, leaned down, and started picking up shards, trying to separate the valuable stuff from the rabble rubble for later repair. "I agree with Galeini," He shouted from his work as the conversation went on. Secretly he considered Galeini perhaps the most powerful of them all. "I could make arrows that could turn the Nomad's enemies to stone or make them grow snakes instead of hair. That would wow the hell out of them. We could use the nomads easy. I don't need them as skeletons, look at what the skeletons just did." As if the put an exclamation mark on the end of that sentence the entire room suddenly erupted in rattly clucking as Ziebach felt someone try to punch him in the brain. He stood up sharply and looked around, spotting the majority of his comrades also caught up in the clucking flew that had afflicted the skeletons. He locked eyes with the mind-flayer across the table, as though anyone wouldn't understand what had just happened when there was a mind-flayer in the room. "I get that mind flaying is your thing, but what is this?"</s> <\|message\|>Mortus Mortus --- --- Mortus opened his eyes and looked around at everyone in the room "Damn it, everyone evacuate the castle. I have received a vision that our keep is about to be assailed by a beast of epic proportions! Flee you fools!" in an instant he was standing, as he did he grabbed the strange object and rushed to the door and threw it open.</s>	<\|message\|>Promien The Rotting "Well, isn't this just a pickle? Still, looks like I'll still be getting fed today," Seggorath noted, the hunger in her tone evident. Maere shook his head with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose momentarily. "I'll grab the boy." And with that he promptly walked over to Promien, who was still clucking his blackened heart out, and swung right for his face. With the necromancer successfully rendered unconscious, Maere hoisted him over his shoulder. That done, he swiftly left the room, his body becoming enveloped in its demonic carapace in the process. After leaving the castle and placing Promien somewhere relatively safe, Maere summoned Ashrune to his hand, its form more akin to a flaming ember than an actual blade. Striding off, he went to lie in wait for the creature, planning on taking it down in one fell swoop.</s>
<\|description\|>Promien The Rotting 27 • Male • Human "Evil? Necromancy is no more evil than ordinary magic is. It is pure survival, and my use of it is no more or less despicable than the mage who causes the warrior's veins to boil, or the king's bones to fall to dust." — Promien The Rotting Personality --- Promien could be best described as… unpleasantly opportunistic. Being a proponent of survival of the fittest first and foremost, he is not above using ordinary magic and necromancy alike to further his own goals or save his own hide, though he will not betray allies should they prove themselves worth working with. Unfortunately, as the Rotting himself has said, true allies are damn near impossible to come by for a necromancer. Even among their own kind, their own cadre if you will, tensions run high. As if there weren't enough overly nihilistic bastards looking to enslave the world already, living and dead alike, they'll always be the one who schemes for the sheer intellectual thrill of it. Pitting brothers and sisters-in-arms against each other in the name of an ultimately selfish and manipulative game. It is these same individuals that Promien-unsurprisingly-despises the most, even if he sometimes engages in the very same tactics they do on occasion. For they do nothing but sit back and watch as their plans gradually unfold, usually toward nothing but an utterly anarchic end. Speaking of ends however, Promien does not lack any of his own, the most pressing and desirable of which is to eventually transcend his lowly flesh to be reborn in the cleansing desiccation of lichdom. The ultimate mockery of life, and one that only two other necromancers before him actually managed to achieve, though even they did not get far before heroes stormed through their lifeless hordes and cut them down. As such, he is willing to do whatever it takes to succeed where those who went before him failed, if only to prove that he-out of everyone-actually could. What he intends on doing after this, however, is anyone's guess. Finally, Promien has quite the strong view on the dark arts in which he is immersed, scoffing at and ridiculing the idea that necromancy is an inherently evil or repugnant practice. To this end he has cited the many misuses of regular or white magic, most of which don't usually seem to come with a very high cost to the wielder, and asked why such abuses are not taken into account as well. Necromancy demands the permanent expenditure of one's own mana, which is thought to be manipulated fragments or threads of one's very own soul, after all. Which is far more dangerous than other magics comparatively speaking, for these used up fragments can never be regained and convey a lasting weakness to the practitioner, while most other wizards are seemingly able to ply their respective crafts with impunity. A caveat Promien claims can be quite easily abused. Therefore-or so he claims anyway-his opposition taking the stance they do is either the height of willful ignorance at best, or the bare bottom of hypocritical injustice at worst. Appearance --- As his epithet would imply, Promien casts quite the unusual figure for a man supposedly in the prime of his life. Despite being naught more than a scant twenty-seven years of age, his features appear yellowed, gaunt, and scarred; his eyes are nothing more than miniscule flecks of gleaming silver gathered at the bottom of two darkened pools that remain ever watchful... ever alert. The rest of Promein's also body does little to dispel the idea that he's slowly decomposing from the inside out, for he appears thin as a twig, and weak as one too, walking from place to place in an unbalanced hunch and using his gnarled wooden staff for support. Regardless of these traits, however, Promien is in possession of an almost inhuman level of physical and mental strength. He is more than capable of holding his own in a hand-to-hand fight if need be, not to mention capable of shrugging off most forms of physical and mental torment. Whether this is because of some-as of yet-unknown trauma in his past, his journey of discovery regarding the necromantic arts, or merely pure unadulterated will, is not known. When it comes to dress, Promien keeps his wardrobe simple. Although he has plumbed the graves of rich and poor alike in pursuit of life defying power, and created quite the nice horde for himself as a result, Promien does not dress in overly showy or ancient attire. He does not, as a matter of fact, even bother to dress in the traditional dark, hooded, and tattered garb one would expect an individual like him to wear, feeling that such things would only make his life even harder due to the sheer amount of unwanted attention such articles tend to attract. Rather, he wears clothes similar in nature to those donned by pilgrims, vagabonds, or monks, since such attire generally lets him access the cemeteries and mausoleums of the hamlets, towns, and cities he visits with relative ease. School of Magic --- Necromancy. An art perceived to be evil by many and reviled by most. Inventory --- The garb of what appears to be a pilgrim, drifter, or vagabond, and a gnarled old staff that seems to bear no magical properties whatsoever, at least to the untrained eye. Other than these items, Promien also carries a small leather pouch containing a pittance of coins, all the money one would expect a traveling pilgrim or vagabond to have. Quests --- World domination, while tempting, was never really Promien's style. Though perhaps it may become such should he successfully complete his personal quest to attain lichdom and eternal unlife. History --- Promien's story is one of misfortune and hardship. Being born to parents unknown, he was left to fend for himself at a very young age, the only companions he had were the rats that ran along the sludge-filled gutters and down deserted streets. It wasn't until his teenage years that he began experimenting with magic in general, with necromancy being the one school in particular that he took the most interest in. How exactly he managed to learn most of what he now knows without the aid of a mentor or professional schooling remains a mystery, however. Suffice it to say, Promien became highly skilled in this most twisted usage of his own mana, eventually changing his own appearance so much that he was given the moniker "Promien The Rotting" by those practitioners who knew of him. This was not enough for the young dread lord however, and he soon began to study ways in which he could cheat his own death, a feat only achieved by two of the most ancient dark lords. Thus was the long path to lichdom revealed, and it is one he has followed ever since. In this pursuit he began looking for several objects that could become potential phylacteries, and thus did his adventures across the lands truly begin. Other --- Necromancy, as stated above, requires the expenditure of one's own mana or soul essence in order for rituals to be considered successful or even function properly. This is permanent unfortunately, and weakens the practitioner in the process. On the bright side, servants made and corpses raised via this process are notoriously hard to put down, with some of the safest ways either being to undo the spellwork holding the dead body together on the mortal plane or simply destroying it to the point where it cannot reconstitute itself. Grinding the undead servant into dust, burning it to ash, or hacking off its limbs and separating them from each other are just a few of the most frequently used methods in regards to the latter option, with the choice to do each making it increasingly difficult, if not downright impossible, for the undead in question to reform depending on the circumstances. Holy magics and weapons, however, are the one hard counter to any undead form. While stronger undead typically require stronger blessings and artifacts to destroy or drive out, weaker undead such as the ones Promien might raise to aid him in combat are easily eradicated with naught more than a simple battle prayer. --- Maere the Bloodied 38 • Male • Human --- --- In fire and blood doth demon cleave unto man... School of Magic --- Enchanting technically, though Maere also has a great deal of skill with more demonically themed magics thanks to his symbiosis with Seggaroth. Inventory --- Although he does not carry any armor on his person, Seggaroth is more than capable of summoning a suit for him, which she refers to as the Blackstone Plate or Blackstone Carapace. Additionally he also wields Ashrune, the Bane of Eternal Rest. A crimson longsword that is interwoven with enchantments not only to keep it from breaking, but also to steal the souls of those it kills. Other than that he carries a pouch full of gold coins, and undoubtedly has more hidden elsewhere in the castle. Quests --- Unlike Promien, Maere does seek conquest, for it is only through bloodshed that Ashrune and Seggaroth's hungers may finally be satiated. Other --- Thanks to his symbiotic relationship with Seggaroth, Maere overall physical capabilities have been massively increased, allowing him to move incredibly fast when not covered by the Blackstone Carapace, and practically faster than the eye can follow with it. Furthermore, his strength has been boosted to a ridiculous degree, a trait that lets him take down foes much large than him with nothing more than his fists if he so chooses. Finally, his durability and senses have also been increased, making him incredibly difficult to take down or sneak up on, though both are obviously not out of the realm of possibility. While most mundane weaponry wouldn't be enough to inconvenience, let alone threaten him, enchanted weapons and magic in general are still more than capable of doing the job. Of course such measures only put one on equal footing with him and Seggaroth rather than higher ground, something that can't be said for holy magics and weaponry, both of which are more than capable of permanently ending the unholy duo provided one has the time, fortitude, effort, and boon of appropriate strength. It should be noted, however, that when wearing the Blackstone Carapace all of these attributes and resistances are massively enhanced. Ashrune is also capable of channeling Seggaroth's demonic power, or her demonic magics in general really, in addition to stealing its victims souls. This gives Maere a great deal of flexibility as far as combat goes, as he can now use the sword as a conduit for a plethora of style based ranged attacks. Some of these include sending out waves of Hellfire to scorch his foes, or piercing them to impart a massive dose of spiritual corruption that eats away at both body and soul, just to name a few. ---</s> <\|message\|>Shandris Headache. Now that was a certainly a name for this group of fools, Shandris figured. Her head reeled from the incoming psionic attack, temporarily unable as the council began cluck like chickens and scream of an approaching giant beast. Wait. Giant beast? "Hold, you buffoons!" The druidess shouted, waving the magician's smoke away with her hand as she stepped with care over the broken china. But she was too late. Perhaps Shandris, being a druid, could've reasoned with the beast. They were both one of nature; one of the same. And yet it seemed her fellow council members were so eager for death that they forgot the advantage they held in their grasp. "I swear; why do I even bother..." Shandris uttered, approaching the now fleeing molerat. A shame. Such a creature would've made a fine war beast or some other boon to their cause. Kneeling downwards, the druidess' eyes grew a greenish hue as she began speaking in a foreign tongue, and harnessed her own magic with the elemental uncertainty of the land to bring life to nearby trees, hoping to drive their roots right through the beast's body. Even if they failed in their task, the druidess was in need for some treants or ents to join her cause anyway.</s> <\|message\|>Mortus Mortus takes a deep breath, while he reaches a hand towards his mask yet hesitates as his hand grazed the cold metal 'No not yet, the lords haven't demanded the mask.' instead the robed man disappears in the blink of the eye reappearing in the darkness of the hole "A fitting end," he laughs like a madman before his hands start emitting dark red lights "Daemoinin Vothai Vermanis..." he utters the beginning of the incarnation Abyss in my heart, with strength granted by the lords of the void..." raising a hand the energy within him begins channelling into his hand. "Your servant sends this wretch to the void as tribute for your strength!" and with that he punches the legendary mole-rat channelling the strength flowing through his veins, unleashing it all through the force of his strike.</s> <\|message\|>Ziebach Ziebach couldn't help but feel small next to Ada's monstrous war golem, especially after it blasted a big fat goopy hole in the legendary monster that had been ready to rip the castle to pieces moments ago. He have to go and collect some of that goop later. Silently he replaced the fancy shards he had gathered in his pockets as the others did their best to ward off the beast, though the most effective blow was the lightning that scared the monster underground. After pulling his hand out of his pocket the shards had been replaced with a metal and glass ball containing a clear, slightly glowing light. The beast was running away now, scurrying deeper and deeper into its tunnels. They couldn't have that, who knew what you could make out of the soul of such a monster. So he ran to the window, drew back his hand and gave his best pitch to land the magic bomb in the hole. He didn't know what magic he had baked into that particular bomb, but he sure hoped it was lethal or at least mentally scarring.</s>	<\|message\|>Promien The Rotting With the ghoul dealt with, Maere resumed his original quest, that being to help put an end to the massive beast assaulting the castle. Rushing through even more hallways, he eventually made his way outside. Glancing around, he searched for the beast, sword in hand.</s>
<\|description\|>Marina Cabral Female• Totally Human (Okay she's a witch!) School of Magic: The School of Evocation Inventory: Black leather vest and pants. Magical Staff. Quests: World Domination! To get rid of unworthy humans--Thanos style. Other: On the younger side, only 122 years old. While she hates individual unworthy humans, Marina is more of a bigotted Thanos because she doesn't want to destroy half of a randomly chosen population. No, she wants to be rid of unworthy people, whether that be thieves, liars, murderers, or just those that are annoying she has yet to decide the actual make-up (and most likely never will). Has three servants: Scara -- a magical gnome with diamondlike skin and a sparkly and shiny beard. Namwe -- TBD Hukot -- TBD Gain: Legendary BeastSlaye - You have contributed to the kill of a legendary beast and all that comes with it. Gain: Fragment of Soul - Minor: You have been morphed and now have a higher success rate of digging tunnels and sniffing out rare mining resources. Gain Fragment of Soul - Powerful: You have absorbed part of the essence of the legendary creature. Gain one of the following: Whiskered - Your spacial awareness is improved and you can sometimes sense slight tremors through the ground.</s> <\|message\|>Mortus New Rule! You must roll an action every 3 posts, or the GM will roll something for you, and it'll be based on ambient wild magic and probably go worse then anything you could of picked for yourself (although maybe you're into that, but then why not pick a wild magic character?)</s> <\|message\|>Mortus ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ You sit in the Grand Chamber of the Black Castle, located in the depths of the Blasted Land. This place has been the home base of the Council of Evil for over a thousand years, each successive generation of would-be evil mages building and adding and twisting the halls of their home to suit them. Beneath your feet roam miles upon miles of strange weaving corridors and rooms, descending into ancient alien ruins, and beneath the ground lie prisons and dungeons for magical reagents. The Blasted Lands themselves are a bastion of bizarre magical energy. A magical cataclysm back in the last age has left the magic here both potent and dangerous. No mundane would dream of living here if they had other options, as even basic beasts are warped or granted intelligence in this realm. This land grants a respite from prying eyes, and being Mages of Great Ambition, you fear not the wild magic that lurks, ready to change your spells. You're powerful, after all, aren't you? There is no need to fear such things... But none of that is important now. You gather together around a ridiculously large round table. There are various maps and empty tankards and fine china strewn across the thing as you had spent the day discussing your next move. The lands beyond yours had allied together, the villages in your reaches no longer paid you tribute, and people had all but forgotten your existence. It was time to remind them. It was time to take over the world.</s> <\|message\|>Promien The Rotting Promien The Rotting --- --- Location: The Blasted Castle \|\| Time: Morning \|\| Interactions: Anyone Nearby --- --- Promien scratched at his face languidly as he took his seat at the table, grunting out of what seemed to be exertion as he did so. A sign that he had either been up late performing some ritual the night before, thus causing some manner of increased physical strain, or that'd he'd simply tired himself out while walking the fortresses labyrinthine hallways. Whatever the case, he was here, and taking full advantage of this moment of solace before the others arrived and disrupted his peace with their plans of world domination, the subjugation of the masses, or whatever other half-cocked scheme they'd come up with to spite the lands beyond this time. And that wasn't even mentioning the bickering or grandstanding that was sure to follow, the very thought of which almost made him want to fling himself off of the nearest balcony. Almost. Sighing, he motioned for one of his skeletal servants to go fetch him a cup of tea. What they lacked in regards to combat, especially when pitted against loincloth sporting barbarians with a fetish for ridiculously large hammers, skeletons more than made up for by providing a cost effective source of menial labor.</s> <\|message\|>Ada Lovebound (To be expanded) Ada broke the awkward silence by commencing her presentation. She really took her time explaining the inner clockwork of a Golem Brain Micro-architecture, Golem Operating System, and the Artificial Neural Network model installed as the software inside the Golem Brain.</s>	<\|message\|>Marina Cabral Marina was in the hallway outside trying to straighten out her leather vest she was wearing while one of her servants stood nearby holding her staff. The servant was a gnome creature about three feet tall, its skin made of diamond material. They looked up at her and sighed while rolling their eyes as she kept fidgeting with her clothes. "I can feel you rolling your eyes at me, Scara." Scara straightened their face back to a neutral one as Marina finally shrugged and reached out her hand for her magical staff. "We've come a long way Scara. To think that back home, we were forgotten by the masses as though we were a myth." "Master, you weren't popular, to begin with, though among the other myths in our home country." "Silence Scara. You will not speak of such insolence amongst the Council of Evil." Scara shook their head silently as they followed Marina to the doors. Marina pushed forward and stepped into the room, looking around at the Council's room's messy appearance only to realize that it wasn't impressive as she would have hoped. Biting her bottom lip, she frowned and spotted someone already sitting at the round table. She wasn't a popular or famous witch herself; in fact, she spent over a hundred years trying to make a name for herself in a time where it was impossible to rise above other legends. She noticed the man with a gaunt appearance and dark eyes dressed in robes and nodded her head once before pulling a seat out to sit down. She picked one opposite the stranger as she did not feel like making much small talk. Though she did want to make a good first impression... she leaned forward as though she were going to speak, but at the last second, she realized she had nothing to say. So there she was, leaning forward, mouth open and no words coming out. Scara, the servant, stood behind her and smacked themselves in the face with their palm.</s>
<\|description\|>Avery Wildes Masquerade Guests Character Summary Pseudonym: Mister Violet Age: 37 Race/Ethnicty: White Gender: Male --- Physical Attributes Height: 5'10" Weight: 160lbs Build: Slender Eyes: Green Hair: Dark blonde Skin Tone: Tanned Character Summary Pseudonym: Miss White Age: 23 Race/Ethnicty: White Gender: Female --- Physical Attributes Height: 5'7" Weight: 130lbs Build: Slim Eyes: Blue Hair: Pale blonde Skin Tone: Pale Character Summary Pseudonym: Doctor Green Age: 47 Race/Ethnicty: White Gender: Male --- Physical Attributes Height: 5'11" Weight: 210lbs Build: Broad Eyes: Brown Hair: Auburn Skin Tone: Ruddy The Wildes Character Summary Relation to Edward Wildes: Widow Age: 53 Race/Ethnicty: White Gender: Female</s> <\|message\|>Avery Wildes In This Fine Town Of Arkham A Night At Wilde Hall --- --- "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown" - H. P. Lovecraft --- As the shadow of night falls over the city of Arkham, anyone with any sense flees for whatever respite their homes can provide. And yet, on this night, there are those who strike out into the darkness, whether by choice, or compelled by some greater purpose. Avery Wilde has issued her summons, and there are few that would ignore an invitation to a night at Wilde Hall. Whether through a meticulous sense of timing, or through sheer fluke, the first to set off for the ball is a figure that would not look out of place in the whispered rumours of the Wilde Woods. Drachen Steinboden is a hulking figure, heavily scarred not only from his work, but from those that are foolish enough to cross him. The invitation, dwarfed in his hand, instructs him to travel to the edge of Wilde Woods, the point where the city loses its fight against the twisting trees and the path to Wilde Hall itself winds into the shadows, and so it is to there that he walks. The mere sight of him attracts glances from those still braving the streets of Arkham, but the glances are brief, not wanting to risk angering this giant. As he nears the edge of the woods, he sees a black carriage waiting, a lone lantern casting a flickering halo against the darkness closing in. The coachman says nothing, and Drachen's experience as a fighter means that he can't help but notice the stocky frame beneath the formal black attire, or the shotgun slung from the carriage itself. The stony faced servant holds out a hand, and Drachen takes the prompt, holding out his invitation. The coachman casts a cursory glance over the writing, before looking up, and handing it back to Drachen, no hint of expression on his face. --- The parties of Avery Wilde have long courted the rich and powerful of Arkham, and although the invitations have found their way into more and more eclectic hands with each passing month, the masquerade balls still hold an impressive reputation. Perhaps that is what has prevented Rosanna Liang from concentrating on her studies, or perhaps there is something more at work. Whatever the reason, Rosanna also makes her way through the dark streets of Arkham, leaving her lodgings at the Miskatonic University dressed for the occasion. Just as Drachen did, Rosanna attracts glances from those that she passes, although these glances are more wont to linger. After all, Arkham is a dangerous city even in the light of day, and a slim, young woman setting out into the night is more than likely to raise a few eyebrows. Rosanna arrives at the edge of the woods just a moment after Drachen does, and she finds herself faced with a similar scene. She see's the carriage, the two dark horses waiting to be driven onwards, the coachman, and a silhouette that she almost took for a statue before she saw it move. The sheer size of the figure almost makes her falter, as he stands more than a foot taller than her, but Rosanna has never let her size stop her before, and she is not about to start now. Not when there is a party to go to. Striding up to the carriage, she holds out her own invitation, opening her mouth to greet the two men. One sullen glance from the coachman stops the words in their tracks, and as he stoops down to inspect her invitation, she decides that it may be better to bite her tongue for now. The coachman seems to be satisfied with the invitation, and straightens up, turning away from the pair as he takes up the reins, making it clear that he wants to be on his way. "You're early. But that's not my problem." --- Doing his best to smooth down the creases in his shirt, a third figure is travelling across Arkham. Simon Adam Hart stands out less than the two that have come before him, but then, that's the way he's always liked it. It is curiosity that always seems to drag Simon out from the peace and quiet, and into the world, and what is more curious than an invitation to Wilde Hall? For much of the day, his eyes have been drawn to the clock, counting down the painfully long minutes until he could feasibly make his way to the edge of the woods. Finally deeming it to be socially acceptable, he still can't stop the quick pace of his strides. It is perhaps surprising then, when he catches sight of two figures, presumably other guests, that have already reached the carriage. Something, some instinct at the back of his mind, causes Simon to hesitate, and as the coachman turns his gaze back towards Arkham, Simon ducks back into the shadow of an alley. He watches the carriage for a moment, trying to calm down and suppress whatever sense is stopping him from closing the final few dozen paces, and then he hears it. A footstep, muffled slightly and faint, but close behind him. Whirling round, Simon found himself face-to-face with a shadowy figure. Taking a hurried step backwards, back towards whatever safety the street might offer, the figure followed after him, and the light of the streetlamp fell onto a face, thin lips pulled into a snarl by a scar running across one cheek, and piercing blue eyes staring back at Simon. The voice was reedy and harsh, but the words were clear, even above the rush of blood in Simon's ears. "You shouldn't go into the woods. Not the Wilde Woods."</s> <\|message\|>Simon Adam Hart. Initial thoughts... I do not have any qualms with traveling outside of New York, I never have. I like the trains, I like the way they smell and I like the sounds. There's a nostalgic value in watching the world go by outside but being incapable of doing anything about what I see. Watching people is easy. This will not be easy and that makes me nervous. I feel weird and that's no surprise, I opened enough doors that the devil came knocking at mine. I am not one to ignore a rap at the door but for a moment I considered it. I'm not sure that chasing shadows is smart but it is what I've chosen to do. Violet might appreciate my fortitude. Too bad she does nothing but scream at those same shadows any longer. I bite my tongue as I consider what might face me and I find I can't reason why I shouldn't go. I'm not the brave sort but I am the curious sort and sometimes that is just as bad. It's important that I keep my wits about me despite this, although the idea of venturing into this lacks wits all itself. Oh well. Hell awaits, yes? Standing now at what he'd considered the point of no return, Simon was left to face down with a peculiar figure. His instinct was to go for a weapon but he could hardly bring himself to move. He had frozen in place shortly after his unsuccessful retreat, staring up at the cold blue eyes that stared back at him. His heart was hammering in his chest and he was stuck there, incapable of speaking or acting. His breath exhaled sharply and he tried to make note of as many details as he could about the individual although they were shrouded in gloom and that was no easy task. He could not make out much of their face but he could see the scar, a twisted, knotted thing that stretched across their cheek. He wanted to brush them off as some sort of vagrant, a nobody in the darkness who was hungry for a fight. He considered they could perhaps be a local who was too keen on superstition, he was familiar with the type. He did what he could to ease his posture as he stared them down, tried not to look threatening, just in case they were looking for a fight. If they were just a superstitious local then he doubted they'd strike him but it helped to be nonthreatening in these situations all the same. He did not want to consider them to be some sort of sign. The words they spoke rung too true with his own internal turmoil, they was too close for comfort. At the very least, this was an opportunity, wasn't it? He had wanted to ask questions anyway, his whole purpose for visiting was to ask questions. If this dark figure had some kind of answers then who was he to complain? He tried to reassure himself with this logic although it did little to qualm the fear in the pit of his stomach. He would quiz this strange person a little and then he'd retreat the carriage, preferably without sustaining any injuries. He struggled for one more deep breath, and exhaled through his nose before he managed to force a pleasant smile on his face. The change was almost immediate, he'd gone from cornered animal to friendly face in no time flat. He swallowed down the anxiety rising up the back of his throat and he forced his words out through his teeth, smiling all the while. "I don't know what you mean," he knew exactly what they meant but he would not show fear if he could help it. Fear was no use to him when he was engaging in investigative journalism, this wasn't the first shady figure he'd ever had to face off with and he presumed (or hoped) they would not be the last. His eyebrows drew together in an attempt to look confused. "What's to fear about the woods?" What wasn't to fear about the woods?</s>	<\|message\|>Avery Wildes In This Fine Town Of Arkham A Night At Wilde Hall --- --- "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown" - H. P. Lovecraft --- Selune Not all those that are travelling to Wilde Hall decide to take the streets. Perhaps it is caution, or perhaps it is an appreciation of the relative peace, but as the night draws in Renee Bellerose is to be found walking along the edge of the Wilde Woods. The city barely reaches out this far, only the occasional building serving as a reminder of civilisation, and in the peace, Renee can almost believe that she is back in France, back before the war, before all the horribleness that consumed her peaceful corner of paradise. Almost, but not quite. The past is behind her, for the better or for the worse, and Renee has not made it this far by wringing her hands together and fretting. No, she has made it this far by putting her best black-clad foot forward. The invitation clutched in her hand gives her purpose, and besides, she is not the sort to turn her back on good drink and pleasant conversation. And considering the wealth that the Wildes have no doubt accumulated, the drink should be good enough to make up for any lacking conversation. Renee has almost reached the point marked on her invitation when something catches her eye. The few gas lanterns that reach this close to the woods cast only dim light, but Renee has always had a sharp eye, and in the half-light, she makes out a gap in the trees. Curiosity getting the better of her, Renee walks closer to this gap, instinctively treading softly as she approaches. A narrow path, little more than a deer trail, dissapears into the darkness of the woods, but as Renee leans to get a closer look, she can see that there are fresh footprints in the mud, leading deeper into the depths of the forest. A local going for a late evening walk? The idea seems hardly likely, especially considering the dark reputation that the Wilde Woods has gained, but whatever reason, someone has come this way, and moved through the twisted trees. The footsteps are clear, even in the half light, and it would be no great task to follow them, but then again, the Wilde Woods does not have its reputation for nothing, and the party is waiting... --- The path that follows the edge of the Wilde Woods is proving to be a popular route, although the reason that Moses Reaves is taking the more scenic route is perhaps more obvious than the one that sees Renee taking the same route. Anyone in the line of business that Moses inhabits develops an aversion for streetlights, and for the curious glances that the streets of Arkham had in abundance. Heavy jacket pulled tight around him, he takes long strides through the shadows. Wilde Hall is an opportunity, and Moses is not the type to miss an opportunity, especially one that presents itself in the form of a fancy invitation. And then one of the shadows moves. Moses stops in his tracks, eyes straining against the half light. A figure, close to the edge of the forest. Moses has no shortage of enemies who could be lingering in the dark, but the figure doesn't seem to be looking at him. Instead, it seems to be focused towards the woods themselves. With the soft steps of a man that is no stranger to the rougher side of the law, Moses moves forward. As he gets nearer, he realises that the figure is smaller than he first though, standing a good few inches shorter than he does. Not only that, but the figure is a woman, dressed all in black. Moses is wise enough to know that that fact doesn't make the figure any less dangerous, but they seem to be fixated on the trees, or rather a gap between the trees. By the looks of it, Renee hasn't heard Moses approaching yet, but every step risks alerting her. Is it a trap, or a curiosity? --- Walking through the dark streets is far from the typical evening for Alvin Fennel, but then what is university, if not a chance to get out of your comfort zone? Even so, the shifting shadows put the student on edge, and he quickens his pace. And yet his intended destination is no more familiar to Alvin. The inevitable opulence that Wilde Hall promises is a far cry from what Alvin is accustomed to, and the idea of crowds of strangers does little to settle his nerves. But then, that is not the only thing about the invitation clutched in his hand that puts him on edge. Trying to push the thoughts from his head, Alvin pushes onwards. Turning the last corner, Alvin can make out the black carriage that sits at the edge of the Wilde Woods. Two figures are already standing by it, but by the looks of the coachman, they won't be waiting there for much longer. If he picks up his pace, he could probably reach them before they set off, or perhaps it would be better to wait. After all, Alvin has never been one to turn his nose up at the prospect of having time to think. Besides, other guests should be arriving soon, and they may look less intimidating than the hulking silhouette of Drachen, the other man's frame making Rosanna look like a doll beside him. Pick up the pace to join the unusual pair, or take his time, and wait for the next ride?</s>
<\|description\|>Avery Wildes Masquerade Guests Character Summary Pseudonym: Mister Violet Age: 37 Race/Ethnicty: White Gender: Male --- Physical Attributes Height: 5'10" Weight: 160lbs Build: Slender Eyes: Green Hair: Dark blonde Skin Tone: Tanned Character Summary Pseudonym: Miss White Age: 23 Race/Ethnicty: White Gender: Female --- Physical Attributes Height: 5'7" Weight: 130lbs Build: Slim Eyes: Blue Hair: Pale blonde Skin Tone: Pale Character Summary Pseudonym: Doctor Green Age: 47 Race/Ethnicty: White Gender: Male --- Physical Attributes Height: 5'11" Weight: 210lbs Build: Broad Eyes: Brown Hair: Auburn Skin Tone: Ruddy The Wildes Character Summary Relation to Edward Wildes: Widow Age: 53 Race/Ethnicty: White Gender: Female</s> <\|message\|>Drachen Steinboden Drachen's eyes had lazily wandered during his walk through the dark streets, small globes of light from the lamps that were quick to dim the further out the light went. During his lumbering, and lazy, stride he took note of the people. He wasn't famous per-se, but he was a rarity. A rarity that had no issues leaving a mugger broken in an alley. Leaving behind the mumbled shushed voices he approached the edge of town that bordered the Wilde Wood. A carriage, black and expensive looking, was there with a singular coachman. He didn't care about the mans attire, but that shotgun let him know things weren't peaceful in the woods. Most likely for coyotes. An exchange of invitation and glances was all there were. Neither man had any words for the other. With the invitation back in hand he tucked it into the inner chest pocket of his enormous coat. He was dressed decent, but he wasn't a materialistic man. Not to mention his size made it so everything he had was custom made, which jacked up the prices of clothing and footwear. He did move off to the side, lingering near the rear of the carriage instead of getting into it. Staying in such a small thing for a long time would destroy his knees. A brief wait and a well dressed woman came up the street. A different set of hushed murmurs and voices trailing after her. If he had been a vagrant he would have labeled her as the perfect target to hit for immediate money. Still she approached and handed the driver her own invitation before it was returned to her. The driver spoke, saying they were early. Well it was better to be early than to be late, right? The pair were left waiting in silence for any others to show. But the big man wasn't too fond of silences. "Evenin', miss..." He rumbled out. His voice matching that frame easily, like deep rolling thunder. If he owned a hat he might have tipped it, but he wasn't really fond of head gear. They looked silly and not to mention it made his wild mane sit funny when worn for too long.</s> <\|message\|>Madamoiselle Renee Adeline Desiree Bellerose The Woods grow around the walls of the House, but as any student of history knows, the House has no walls. The short phrase bounced around the woman's mind as she moved through the trees and along the path. This was not the Woods, and the Wilde Estate was not the House either... Although it did appear to have some mysteries of its own. The horsehair whiskers of her feline-styled masquerade mask quivered in the gentle breeze as she analysed the footpath. Muddy. Dirty. Leading off into the woods. Intruiging. Were she out for a normal stroll this was certainly something she would investigate, but tonight was not the usual night. Tonight she was properly dressed and, most importantly, was going to an event. This meant that one, her clothes found dirt and mud most disagreeeable, and two, them becoming muddy could quite easily become something of a scene. Adjusting her mask and hat a little, she turned away from the path and back towards the gaslit path ahead of her. Onwards to the party then. This curious little path would not be followed today.</s> <\|message\|>Alvin Fennel Alvin reached into his coat and clutched the small leather-bound notebook in his breast-pocket. Inside the journal lay his invitation to Wilde Hall, and perhaps answers that he had been seeking. In the distance, he saw the carriage that would ferry him to the party, and two figures ready to enter the carriage. Would they wait for him or leave him behind? Was this the only carriage going to the party? The thoughts raced Alvin's mind as his heartbeat began to increase, the ever-looming anxiety of the unknown already pounding his thoughts like the beat of a soldier's drum. Should he force himself to be sociable? Perhaps they would have more information on this soiree, perhaps they would turn their knows at the pale, skinny man attempting to rub shoulders with the elite. He definitely did not look the part of a well-to-do man around Arkham. His black coat seemed a size too large for his thin frame, and his dark mask, with a product, corvid-like beak, gave him the image of a thin, giant dying bird than that of a man. It wasn't that he lacked friends; it was that his usual group of friends all shared something in common: University Life. Alvin had spent many nights in the local bars with his college fellows, enjoying a glass of beer and stark discussion of their studies with one another. Alvin was studying linguistics at Miskatonic and specialized in strange languages that were offshoots of ancient tounges. He'd assisted Dr. Armitage as part of studies in translating strange books of the occult, something that more unnerved him than fascinated him. Professor Wilmarth, with who he'd done multiple classes, had him focused on differentiating the local Indian languages in their folklore of the area, trying to trace the stores back to some ur-narrative. That had been unproductive, but at the very least, interesting to Alvin. The professors at Miskatonic were by and far men of rationality and many had sought to instill their students with the understanding that all things in the world could be easily explained with sufficient evidence and understanding. Alvin wished dearly that this was true. He had made his decision. He stepped his pace to a faster procession, hoping to catch the carriage before it left. After all, this night was still young, and he had many questions that needed rational answers.</s> <\|message\|>Rosanna Liang --- The moonlight shines onto Rosanna Liang like she is a canary on broadway, her golden dress even shines like it was made of real gold. Even though she been through alot of parties ever since she became a student of Miskatonic University, this party was different however, instead of going there for a good time, enjoying some giggle juice, Rosie is going to Wilde Hall for a different reason, she is going to find some secrets in the halls of the Wilde residence. As she walks in the apple of Arkham, Rosanna can't help to feel everyone is looking at her and not in "You look so beautiful" way, more like the creepy way, it makes Rosie wish she would bring a knife with her instead of her makeup. There was somewhat mysterious ambience as Rosanna steps into woods, she looks at the tall, plenty rugged man while standing right next to him, makes Rosie a little small but doesn't bother her, not one bit. A black carriage that stands in front her and the tall gentleman makes Rosie feel uneasy but not too much, even if the coachman size almost makes her falter. Rosanna hands the driver her invitation and telling her and tall gentleman that they are early "Mhmm, my mother always say that my past life was a bird cause I get up so early in the morning. Get it? Early bird?" Rosie say with a giggle but then went quiet afterwords since nobody was laughing. As Rosanna and Tall man wait for other guests to arrived, a other man join the two and right off the bat, she recognize the young man as Alvin Fennel, she thinks that his name. The two shared the same class together and often she looks at his paper for some answers for quizs and tests. As the three wait for more guests to arrived once again, the tall gentleman finally spoke, his crooner voice makes Rosie jump a bit but at least there'll be no silence in the woods "Evening, good sir." Rosanna say to the tall man "Are you invited to the Wilde hall too?"</s>	<\|message\|>Avery Wildes In This Fine Town Of Arkham A Night At Wilde Hall --- --- "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown" - H. P. Lovecraft --- Cloud Arkham has a dark reputation, and Wilde Hall is no different. Perhaps it is that dark reputation that draws Morgan Eisenhorn to the house, like a moth is drawn to a flame. The invitation in his pocket is more than just a slip of paper, it is a promise. A promise of something, something that Morgan is not yet entirely sure of, but that he cannot resist. And so, the private investigator finds himself walking the streets of Arkham alone, as the evening stretches into the night. Or at least, he thought he was alone. He had written it off as a coincidence at first, just another pair of footsteps among those few that sill braved the streets of Arkham after dark, another figure moving through the shadows, but with each turn that Morgan makes, the hairs on the back of his neck stand up a little bit more. The streets are quieter now, as he moves away from the heart of the city, and out towards the edge of the Wilde Woods, but still, he can hear the footsteps behind him. Whenever he glances over his shoulder, the footsteps pause, and a few times Morgan has caught sight of a figure stepping into the shadows. And when he starts walking again, the footsteps resume. Morgan is still some distance from the meeting point designated on his invitation, and with each passing moment, the streets grow a little darker, and a little quieter. Perhaps it is just a coincidence, his paranoia creating a phantom, or perhaps Arkham is keen to prove that it's dark reputation is a fitting one... --- While many of the guests to Wilde Hall this evening may be awed by the opulence of the grand old house, Opportunity Knox is likely to feel almost at home. After all, the Knox family has a history that is as impressive and storied as the Wildes, and Opportunity is no stranger to impressive estates. Despite this, Arkham doesn't exactly excite the young dilettante. Too quiet, and altogether too slow. And yet, she has her reasons for making the journey to this corner of Massachusetts, and the words of her family still ringing in her ears. Just because Opportunity needs to reach Wilde Hall at some point, does not mean she is in any great rush. After all, the old house has stood for generations, it's not going anywhere. The Excelsior Hotel is an impressively grand lodging, and it is naturally the place that has drawn the adventuress. Not only does the bar offer a welcome distraction for the bleakness of the city, but it also allows Opportunity to rub shoulders with the Americans that she has such a fondness for. The British are too stuffy, but the Americans understand the rush of speed, the freedom of the air. Her evening is a whirl of conversation and drink, until that conversation suddenly subsides, and Opportunity turns to find a dark-clothed figure standing in the doorway. The man stands at around six feet, broad shouldered and stern-faced. She notices the crest of the Wildes on his chest at the same moment that he speaks, his voice booming. "Lady Dalrymple. Your carriage is waiting."</s>
<\|description\|>Avery Wildes Masquerade Guests Character Summary Pseudonym: Mister Violet Age: 37 Race/Ethnicty: White Gender: Male --- Physical Attributes Height: 5'10" Weight: 160lbs Build: Slender Eyes: Green Hair: Dark blonde Skin Tone: Tanned Character Summary Pseudonym: Miss White Age: 23 Race/Ethnicty: White Gender: Female --- Physical Attributes Height: 5'7" Weight: 130lbs Build: Slim Eyes: Blue Hair: Pale blonde Skin Tone: Pale Character Summary Pseudonym: Doctor Green Age: 47 Race/Ethnicty: White Gender: Male --- Physical Attributes Height: 5'11" Weight: 210lbs Build: Broad Eyes: Brown Hair: Auburn Skin Tone: Ruddy The Wildes Character Summary Relation to Edward Wildes: Widow Age: 53 Race/Ethnicty: White Gender: Female</s> <\|message\|>Avery Wildes In This Fine Town Of Arkham A Night At Wilde Hall --- --- "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown" - H. P. Lovecraft --- Selune@psych0pomp With the cursory introductions made, the figures of Renee Bellerose and Moses Reaves made for an unlikely pair. They were both bound for Wilde Hall, and they had both decided to take the quieter path, but that is as far as the similarities stretched. The narrow track into the trees behind them, the pair set off, tracing the edge of the Wilde Woods as they headed towards the point designated on their invitations. They had only made it a short distance before a voice called out behind them. "Ahoy there!" Turning at the sound, it quickly becomes clear that they are not the only ones to brave the path, or even the only guest of the Wildes. The man walking to join them stood a few inches shorter than Moses, and more slender, but he seemed to ooze confidence, and a wide smile was written across his handsome features. Sparkling green eyes looked out from behind a black and gold mask, and he was well-dressed. As he neared the pair, he nodded his head in greeting. "I take it from your fetching get-ups that we are all bound for Wilde Hall? Mister Violet, at your service. I must say, this whole thing really is the cat's meow. All this mystery, I dare say we'll be bumping into a Mister Holmes at this joint. Absolute berries!" The man had reached them by now, the smile unfaltering on his face. This close, both Moses and Renee would gauge his age to be in his late twenties, but he was boyish in his mannerisms. As he got closer, Renee's eyes caught on something. Despite the smartness of his attire, there was a distinct line of mud on his shoes. It was slight, and in this light, easy to miss, but the sharp-eyed Frenchwoman caught it all the same, a slight frown crossing her pale features for an instant. Before she could open her mouth to speak, Mister Violet continued. "It's dandy to bump into the two of you, these woods don't half-give me the heebie-jeebies. Like I said, Mister Violet is the name. What titles have the two of you been given?"</s> <\|message\|>Alvin Fennel Mr. Cobalt. More specific than red and far less regal than gold, Alvin assumed the moniker fit him well enough. He was too lost in his thoughts on his mission to take notice of the young Chinese woman joining him and the literal giant of a man. Had he been in a calmer mind, he would probably have recognized her from his own walks throughout the University on less-dreary days. Though the days of late had been exceedingly dreary, both in weather and in an emotional sense. The one thing he did focus his eye on as the coachman beckoned them to climb aboard was the shotgun, bathed in the shadows, but still noticeable with the lantern-light. Arkham was far from the safest town in America, of course, but what cause did a man need to carry a shotgun so openly? What exactly awaited them at Wilde Hall? Alvin snapped his mind back to the real world and nodded to the young woman and large man. "I would hardly be a gentleman if I did not allow the young lady on the carriage first," he remarked to Rosanna. That was something of a bald-faced lie. He came from working-class Irish immigrants, and their only claim to "gentle" behavior was not starting fights at Sunday mass and keeping quiet when their father came home red-faced and drunk. He then turned to the hulking Drachen, "and since I was the last to arrive, it's only right to climb aboard last." He tried to not let the man's enormous visage worry him too much. If they had all worked they wait to receive invitations to this party, they were all probably good sorts, even if some looked beastly. He did wonder how comfortable sitting in a carriage would be for a man that large. Still, there was something comforting about having a companion as dangerous looking as this fellow; if he stayed on his good side, he doubted anyone would try and start trouble around him.</s> <\|message\|>Madamoiselle Renee Adeline Desiree Bellerose --- --- Ah, now this gentleman was more her speed. "An absolute pleasure to meet you, Mister Violet. I am Madamoiselle Noire, and this gentleman has yet to introduce himself to me." Reaching up, the heiress would stroke the whiskers that jutted from the mask's nose, her black gloves almost invisible in the darkness of the night. "But yes, absolutely the..." She paused for a moment to make sure she had heard him right, before contining with a "cat's meow," the amusement in her voice highly evident. The joke would be finished with a quiet little "purr," and then the Frenchwoman would allow herself a small laugh. The man was odd, but she couldn't fault him for that. He was a bit of amusement and class, a welcome contrast to the one that had approached her previously. Still, the mud on his shoes left her with one question. "Say then, where have you come from Mister Violet? Are you a local to Massachusetts or have you travelled some distance?" Her mind flicked back to the footsteps going into the woods she had ignored, and then the dirt on the mans shoes. She was no experienced tracker, and her memory was hardly photographic enough to remember the exact shape of the footprints in the dirt, but when the equation was 2+?=5 and you were being presented with something that looked an awful lot like a three, it wasn't too hard to piece things together.</s> <\|message\|>Moses Benjamin Reaves So, the mysterious figure in the woods was a woman. That being said, Moses wasn't so regressive as to let his guard down. Anyone could be dangerous. A child with a knife and a well-placed view of one's legs and arms posed just an equal threat as a grown man with a pistol. But it seemed as if Mademoiselle Noir was, in fact, also a guest at Wilde Hall this evening. His shoulders relaxed under his coat, and he quickened his pace to fall in step with her. "Ah yes, let's," he said, agreeing that they should move a bit more briskly. Moses had to guess she was French given her accent, but he couldn't begin to decipher what she might say in her native tongue. The only bit of French he was familiar with was from rum runners out of the French Caribbean, but the accents and dialect were so vastly different he wouldn't know where to start. If she cursed at him, he'd know, but he couldn't imagine that she was prone to using a sailor's tongue. As soon as they'd traveled a ways on the tight wooden path, another figure joined them. Moses jumped. He blushed in embarrassment and hoped the cut of his jacket had hidden the scare. Attempting to wave that off, his fingers dived into his coat in hopes of fishing out his lighter. The next person in the woods seemed to be another guest. Mask, nice outfit, and a genteel nature that didn't suit someone that would be idly wandering the woods at night. He searched his pockets as the man, Mister Violet, introduced himself. His nature was immediately off-putting to Moses, and the older man tried not to sigh too loudly into his unlit cigarette. "Deacon Gray," he said, having been spoken over by both of the other party-goers and not given a moment to label himself. Finally, he'd procured his lighter from his coat, his fingers glossed over his small bit of "protection" to get to it. With a quick, very practiced motion, Moses flicked the top on the lighter—resembling a miniature candle snuffer—open. A few metallic cranks of the flint-wheel and a small flame erupted from the nickel box. He lit his cigarette in silence before flicking the top back down and pocketing it. It seemed as if he had all but been forgotten about as the Mademoiselle Noir honed in on Mister Violet. He let the smoke trail from his lips as he moved forward, taking the lead. @Lady Selune</s>	<\|message\|>Avery Wildes In This Fine Town Of Arkham A Night At Wilde Hall --- --- "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown" - H. P. Lovecraft --- Cloud The footsteps continued to trail him, seeming to match his own hastened pace, and as Morgan Eisenhorn turned onto a new street, his heart sank. The gas lamp that should be lighting the pavement in front of him has died away to a barely visible glow, plunging the street into deep, inky shadow. With the footsteps unrelenting behind him, the slight private investigator realised that he had no choice but to plunge into the darkness. Gritting his teeth, and picking up his pace even more, Morgan pushed himself onwards. And yet, as he moved further into the darkness, his own footsteps echoing against the buildings that loomed up all around him, the footsteps behind him seemed to grow closer and closer. Nerve finally breaking, Morgan practically broke into a run, the vague promise of safety that the light of the next streetlamp offered calling to him, even as the footsteps behind him seemed to match his pace. It seemed as if he was running through treacle, but he finally reached the corner, the footsteps almost on top of him now, Morgan not daring to turn back to see the phantom that was surely about to lunge. He burst around the corner, and a dark shape loomed up to block his path. He had no time to stop, let alone avoid the shape, and he collided into the figure, sprawling to the hard ground with a painful thud, the figure staggering backwards. The breath driven from his lungs by the fall, Morgan was still gasping for air when he felt strong hands grip his collar and pull him upright. He found himself looking into a stern face, pale brown eyes burning with annoyance, and a voice that was almost a growl. "What the hell do you think you're playing at?" --- The coachman led Opportunity Knox through the foyer of The Excelsior Hotel, busy with the bustle of the evening, and out towards the street beyond. As he walked, the tall dark-clad figure glanced over his shoulder to make sure that the well-dressed dilettante was following, and the initial sternness of his face seemed to soften as they moved through the crowd. Opportunity couldn't help but notice that the other patrons of the hotel seemed to scatter before the coachman as he moved, although whether that was because of the man's formidable physique, or because of the Wildes crest that he bore on his chest, she couldn't be sure. As they stepped out onto the street, Opportunity saw that a black carriage was waiting at the roadside, pulled by a single jet-black horse. Again, the Wildes crest was marked across the side. The coachman turned back towards Opportunity, nodding his head slightly towards her. "Apologies for the interruption, ma'am, but Lady Wildes wanted me to make sure that you made it to Wilde Hall safely. Arkham can be a dangerous - " A dark shape burst around the corner, slamming into the coachman before he could finish his sentence. The dark shape sprawled to the ground, and the coachman staggered backwards, before regaining his balance. Opportunity realised that the dark shape was a man, a few inches shorter than she was, and wearing a fox-like mask. Another guest, or something more sinister? Before she could open her mouth to ask, the coachman had strode over, and pulled the stranger back to his feet, growling out a question. "What the hell do you think you're playing at?"</s>
<\|description\|>Madamoiselle Renee Adeline Desiree Bellerose Renee Adelina Desiree Bellerose --- --- Character Summary Aliases: N/A Occupation: Independently wealthy Age: 24 Birthplace: Mont-Saint-Michel, France Race/Ethnicty: White/Northern European Gender: Female --- --- Physical Attributes Height: 172cm/5'6" Weight: 55kg/121lbs Build: Slight Eyes: Grey Hair: Deep black Skin Tone: Extraordinarily fair Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Four lobe piercings- nothing that would stand out as unusual. --- --- Psychological Attributes Intelligent * Dismissive * Curious * Curious * Experienced * Jaded Sexuality: Excellent question Relationship Status: Black clothing Likes:* Well stocked libraries * Good drink * Pleasant conversation * Gullible socialites * Peculiar finds * A good mystery Dislikes:* Rudeness * Poor quality goods * Being out of the loop * The European States * Mentioning the war * Carelessness Fears:* Oblivion * Forgetting * Artillery</s> <\|message\|>Drachen Steinboden Drachen's eyes had lazily wandered during his walk through the dark streets, small globes of light from the lamps that were quick to dim the further out the light went. During his lumbering, and lazy, stride he took note of the people. He wasn't famous per-se, but he was a rarity. A rarity that had no issues leaving a mugger broken in an alley. Leaving behind the mumbled shushed voices he approached the edge of town that bordered the Wilde Wood. A carriage, black and expensive looking, was there with a singular coachman. He didn't care about the mans attire, but that shotgun let him know things weren't peaceful in the woods. Most likely for coyotes. An exchange of invitation and glances was all there were. Neither man had any words for the other. With the invitation back in hand he tucked it into the inner chest pocket of his enormous coat. He was dressed decent, but he wasn't a materialistic man. Not to mention his size made it so everything he had was custom made, which jacked up the prices of clothing and footwear. He did move off to the side, lingering near the rear of the carriage instead of getting into it. Staying in such a small thing for a long time would destroy his knees. A brief wait and a well dressed woman came up the street. A different set of hushed murmurs and voices trailing after her. If he had been a vagrant he would have labeled her as the perfect target to hit for immediate money. Still she approached and handed the driver her own invitation before it was returned to her. The driver spoke, saying they were early. Well it was better to be early than to be late, right? The pair were left waiting in silence for any others to show. But the big man wasn't too fond of silences. "Evenin', miss..." He rumbled out. His voice matching that frame easily, like deep rolling thunder. If he owned a hat he might have tipped it, but he wasn't really fond of head gear. They looked silly and not to mention it made his wild mane sit funny when worn for too long.</s> <\|message\|>Madamoiselle Renee Adeline Desiree Bellerose The Woods grow around the walls of the House, but as any student of history knows, the House has no walls. The short phrase bounced around the woman's mind as she moved through the trees and along the path. This was not the Woods, and the Wilde Estate was not the House either... Although it did appear to have some mysteries of its own. The horsehair whiskers of her feline-styled masquerade mask quivered in the gentle breeze as she analysed the footpath. Muddy. Dirty. Leading off into the woods. Intruiging. Were she out for a normal stroll this was certainly something she would investigate, but tonight was not the usual night. Tonight she was properly dressed and, most importantly, was going to an event. This meant that one, her clothes found dirt and mud most disagreeeable, and two, them becoming muddy could quite easily become something of a scene. Adjusting her mask and hat a little, she turned away from the path and back towards the gaslit path ahead of her. Onwards to the party then. This curious little path would not be followed today.</s> <\|message\|>Alvin Fennel Alvin reached into his coat and clutched the small leather-bound notebook in his breast-pocket. Inside the journal lay his invitation to Wilde Hall, and perhaps answers that he had been seeking. In the distance, he saw the carriage that would ferry him to the party, and two figures ready to enter the carriage. Would they wait for him or leave him behind? Was this the only carriage going to the party? The thoughts raced Alvin's mind as his heartbeat began to increase, the ever-looming anxiety of the unknown already pounding his thoughts like the beat of a soldier's drum. Should he force himself to be sociable? Perhaps they would have more information on this soiree, perhaps they would turn their knows at the pale, skinny man attempting to rub shoulders with the elite. He definitely did not look the part of a well-to-do man around Arkham. His black coat seemed a size too large for his thin frame, and his dark mask, with a product, corvid-like beak, gave him the image of a thin, giant dying bird than that of a man. It wasn't that he lacked friends; it was that his usual group of friends all shared something in common: University Life. Alvin had spent many nights in the local bars with his college fellows, enjoying a glass of beer and stark discussion of their studies with one another. Alvin was studying linguistics at Miskatonic and specialized in strange languages that were offshoots of ancient tounges. He'd assisted Dr. Armitage as part of studies in translating strange books of the occult, something that more unnerved him than fascinated him. Professor Wilmarth, with who he'd done multiple classes, had him focused on differentiating the local Indian languages in their folklore of the area, trying to trace the stores back to some ur-narrative. That had been unproductive, but at the very least, interesting to Alvin. The professors at Miskatonic were by and far men of rationality and many had sought to instill their students with the understanding that all things in the world could be easily explained with sufficient evidence and understanding. Alvin wished dearly that this was true. He had made his decision. He stepped his pace to a faster procession, hoping to catch the carriage before it left. After all, this night was still young, and he had many questions that needed rational answers.</s> <\|message\|>Rosanna Liang --- The moonlight shines onto Rosanna Liang like she is a canary on broadway, her golden dress even shines like it was made of real gold. Even though she been through alot of parties ever since she became a student of Miskatonic University, this party was different however, instead of going there for a good time, enjoying some giggle juice, Rosie is going to Wilde Hall for a different reason, she is going to find some secrets in the halls of the Wilde residence. As she walks in the apple of Arkham, Rosanna can't help to feel everyone is looking at her and not in "You look so beautiful" way, more like the creepy way, it makes Rosie wish she would bring a knife with her instead of her makeup. There was somewhat mysterious ambience as Rosanna steps into woods, she looks at the tall, plenty rugged man while standing right next to him, makes Rosie a little small but doesn't bother her, not one bit. A black carriage that stands in front her and the tall gentleman makes Rosie feel uneasy but not too much, even if the coachman size almost makes her falter. Rosanna hands the driver her invitation and telling her and tall gentleman that they are early "Mhmm, my mother always say that my past life was a bird cause I get up so early in the morning. Get it? Early bird?" Rosie say with a giggle but then went quiet afterwords since nobody was laughing. As Rosanna and Tall man wait for other guests to arrived, a other man join the two and right off the bat, she recognize the young man as Alvin Fennel, she thinks that his name. The two shared the same class together and often she looks at his paper for some answers for quizs and tests. As the three wait for more guests to arrived once again, the tall gentleman finally spoke, his crooner voice makes Rosie jump a bit but at least there'll be no silence in the woods "Evening, good sir." Rosanna say to the tall man "Are you invited to the Wilde hall too?"</s> <\|message\|>Avery Wildes In This Fine Town Of Arkham A Night At Wilde Hall --- --- "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown" - H. P. Lovecraft --- Cloud Arkham has a dark reputation, and Wilde Hall is no different. Perhaps it is that dark reputation that draws Morgan Eisenhorn to the house, like a moth is drawn to a flame. The invitation in his pocket is more than just a slip of paper, it is a promise. A promise of something, something that Morgan is not yet entirely sure of, but that he cannot resist. And so, the private investigator finds himself walking the streets of Arkham alone, as the evening stretches into the night. Or at least, he thought he was alone. He had written it off as a coincidence at first, just another pair of footsteps among those few that sill braved the streets of Arkham after dark, another figure moving through the shadows, but with each turn that Morgan makes, the hairs on the back of his neck stand up a little bit more. The streets are quieter now, as he moves away from the heart of the city, and out towards the edge of the Wilde Woods, but still, he can hear the footsteps behind him. Whenever he glances over his shoulder, the footsteps pause, and a few times Morgan has caught sight of a figure stepping into the shadows. And when he starts walking again, the footsteps resume. Morgan is still some distance from the meeting point designated on his invitation, and with each passing moment, the streets grow a little darker, and a little quieter. Perhaps it is just a coincidence, his paranoia creating a phantom, or perhaps Arkham is keen to prove that it's dark reputation is a fitting one... --- While many of the guests to Wilde Hall this evening may be awed by the opulence of the grand old house, Opportunity Knox is likely to feel almost at home. After all, the Knox family has a history that is as impressive and storied as the Wildes, and Opportunity is no stranger to impressive estates. Despite this, Arkham doesn't exactly excite the young dilettante. Too quiet, and altogether too slow. And yet, she has her reasons for making the journey to this corner of Massachusetts, and the words of her family still ringing in her ears. Just because Opportunity needs to reach Wilde Hall at some point, does not mean she is in any great rush. After all, the old house has stood for generations, it's not going anywhere. The Excelsior Hotel is an impressively grand lodging, and it is naturally the place that has drawn the adventuress. Not only does the bar offer a welcome distraction for the bleakness of the city, but it also allows Opportunity to rub shoulders with the Americans that she has such a fondness for. The British are too stuffy, but the Americans understand the rush of speed, the freedom of the air. Her evening is a whirl of conversation and drink, until that conversation suddenly subsides, and Opportunity turns to find a dark-clothed figure standing in the doorway. The man stands at around six feet, broad shouldered and stern-faced. She notices the crest of the Wildes on his chest at the same moment that he speaks, his voice booming. "Lady Dalrymple. Your carriage is waiting."</s> <\|message\|>Moses Benjamin Reaves The light of Arkham was at Moses's back, literally and figuratively, as he made his way towards the Wilde Woods. He pulled his coat tighter around him. It had been his father's, but one couldn't tell looking at it. There was one thing that Callum Reaves had cared for as equally as his family, and it was this garment. And for good reason too, it was quite the bulwark against the elements. Moses dressed as well as he could. While not a rich man, he was one of decent means. It was like his wife, Magdalene, would always say, "one needs a nice suit for weddings, wakes, and getting back anything life takes." He smiled at that thought, his chapped lips growing tight. That motion ticked a little box in his head, and his fingers instinctually went for his cigarettes—neatly placed inside an ornate, metal carrying case. He slid one between his lips before clicking the container closed. Moses instinctually reached for his lighter when his fingers went still. Dark brown eyes glanced at a figure painted against the lights that hung in the woods. It seemed to be an odd place for lamps and an even odder place for a person. Wilde Hall was wreathed by the Wilde Woods, of course, but he hadn't expected anyone else to take the back road there. Moses had his reasons. While many people didn't know who he was those that did had a hard time not staring. He was a man of decent means. He slid his calloused hands through his black hair, salted at the temples and spilling into his tight beard. Moses hesitated. He had no reason to assume this was a move against him. If so, the person would have tended to their presence better. Another party-goer, perhaps? In his deliberation, the figure turned away from whatever they were facing and made their way down the well-lit path. Moses, realizing that he was staring and dawdling in equal measure, moved to catch up. He dropped his careful steps, letting his boots slap against the hard ground. "Ah good," he said, balancing the cigarette between his lips. "An audience to tell the tale of how I get eaten by wolves out in these woods. Make sure to add that I was brave before I shat myself and died." He chuckled. Moses's face was mostly hidden behind a plain, gray mask tied around his head with a thick cloth. It wasn't mean to be fancy, but it would stay in place. "Headin' to the Wilde Hall, too, I'm guessin'?" Selune</s>	<\|message\|>Madamoiselle Renee Adeline Desiree Bellerose She heard the footsteps behind her before she turned to see who they belonged to. For a moment, concern gripped her that she might be accosted by a footpad or vagabond, but when she did move to see the figure, she was pleasantly relieved. Another partygoer. One a little more rough around the edges than her. Not exactly a difficult feat though- she prided herself on how her edges had been smoothed down. Frowning a little, she made the barest gesture of a curtsey towards the man. "Madamoiselle Noire, a pleasure to meet you." Her voice was slightly terse and significantly accented, and the way she moved her head caused the whiskers of her mask to quiver slightly. "Mais oui, I was hoping to attend the festivities" she continued, continuing to walk slowly as she did so. Aside from the mask she wore, the rest of her clothing had been carefully and deliberately picked out. A woman's jacket, warm to fend away the evening chill and a wide brimmed hat, from beneath which the amber eyes of her mask peered out and in the shadows of which the true eye-holes of the mask were difficult to discern. Underneath were the usual assortments of petticoats, garters and other accoutrements required for a lady to look her best. "I suppose we ought to be going. Wolves there may not be, but there is no reason to dawdle."</s>
<\|description\|>Alvin Fennel Aliases: Alvy, Fen Occupation:Linguistics Student at Miskatonic University Age:22 Birthplace:Boston Massachusetts Race/Ethnicty:White Gender:Male --- --- Physical Attributes Height:5'7 Weight:161 lbs Build:Lanky and thin, with an almost underfed look to his face. Eyes:Pale Blue Hair:Light Brown Skin Tone:Pallid Tattoos/Scars/Piercings:Small scar under his left eye from a fishing trip accident when he was a boy. --- --- Psychological Attributes Knowledgeable * Paranoid * Creative * Naive * Kind * Indecisive Sexuality:Heterosexual, Asexual Leaning Relationship Status:Single, Married to his studies Likes:* Cheap Food * Old Books * Popular Music * The History of Language * His Family * Friends Dislikes:* Strangers * The Ocean * The cold * Grime * Ignorance * Elitism Fears:* Being submerged in deep water * Being trapped in the dark * Being Blind</s> <\|message\|>Simon Adam Hart. Initial thoughts... I do not have any qualms with traveling outside of New York, I never have. I like the trains, I like the way they smell and I like the sounds. There's a nostalgic value in watching the world go by outside but being incapable of doing anything about what I see. Watching people is easy. This will not be easy and that makes me nervous. I feel weird and that's no surprise, I opened enough doors that the devil came knocking at mine. I am not one to ignore a rap at the door but for a moment I considered it. I'm not sure that chasing shadows is smart but it is what I've chosen to do. Violet might appreciate my fortitude. Too bad she does nothing but scream at those same shadows any longer. I bite my tongue as I consider what might face me and I find I can't reason why I shouldn't go. I'm not the brave sort but I am the curious sort and sometimes that is just as bad. It's important that I keep my wits about me despite this, although the idea of venturing into this lacks wits all itself. Oh well. Hell awaits, yes? Standing now at what he'd considered the point of no return, Simon was left to face down with a peculiar figure. His instinct was to go for a weapon but he could hardly bring himself to move. He had frozen in place shortly after his unsuccessful retreat, staring up at the cold blue eyes that stared back at him. His heart was hammering in his chest and he was stuck there, incapable of speaking or acting. His breath exhaled sharply and he tried to make note of as many details as he could about the individual although they were shrouded in gloom and that was no easy task. He could not make out much of their face but he could see the scar, a twisted, knotted thing that stretched across their cheek. He wanted to brush them off as some sort of vagrant, a nobody in the darkness who was hungry for a fight. He considered they could perhaps be a local who was too keen on superstition, he was familiar with the type. He did what he could to ease his posture as he stared them down, tried not to look threatening, just in case they were looking for a fight. If they were just a superstitious local then he doubted they'd strike him but it helped to be nonthreatening in these situations all the same. He did not want to consider them to be some sort of sign. The words they spoke rung too true with his own internal turmoil, they was too close for comfort. At the very least, this was an opportunity, wasn't it? He had wanted to ask questions anyway, his whole purpose for visiting was to ask questions. If this dark figure had some kind of answers then who was he to complain? He tried to reassure himself with this logic although it did little to qualm the fear in the pit of his stomach. He would quiz this strange person a little and then he'd retreat the carriage, preferably without sustaining any injuries. He struggled for one more deep breath, and exhaled through his nose before he managed to force a pleasant smile on his face. The change was almost immediate, he'd gone from cornered animal to friendly face in no time flat. He swallowed down the anxiety rising up the back of his throat and he forced his words out through his teeth, smiling all the while. "I don't know what you mean," he knew exactly what they meant but he would not show fear if he could help it. Fear was no use to him when he was engaging in investigative journalism, this wasn't the first shady figure he'd ever had to face off with and he presumed (or hoped) they would not be the last. His eyebrows drew together in an attempt to look confused. "What's to fear about the woods?" What wasn't to fear about the woods?</s> <\|message\|>Avery Wildes In This Fine Town Of Arkham A Night At Wilde Hall --- --- "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown" - H. P. Lovecraft --- Selune Not all those that are travelling to Wilde Hall decide to take the streets. Perhaps it is caution, or perhaps it is an appreciation of the relative peace, but as the night draws in Renee Bellerose is to be found walking along the edge of the Wilde Woods. The city barely reaches out this far, only the occasional building serving as a reminder of civilisation, and in the peace, Renee can almost believe that she is back in France, back before the war, before all the horribleness that consumed her peaceful corner of paradise. Almost, but not quite. The past is behind her, for the better or for the worse, and Renee has not made it this far by wringing her hands together and fretting. No, she has made it this far by putting her best black-clad foot forward. The invitation clutched in her hand gives her purpose, and besides, she is not the sort to turn her back on good drink and pleasant conversation. And considering the wealth that the Wildes have no doubt accumulated, the drink should be good enough to make up for any lacking conversation. Renee has almost reached the point marked on her invitation when something catches her eye. The few gas lanterns that reach this close to the woods cast only dim light, but Renee has always had a sharp eye, and in the half-light, she makes out a gap in the trees. Curiosity getting the better of her, Renee walks closer to this gap, instinctively treading softly as she approaches. A narrow path, little more than a deer trail, dissapears into the darkness of the woods, but as Renee leans to get a closer look, she can see that there are fresh footprints in the mud, leading deeper into the depths of the forest. A local going for a late evening walk? The idea seems hardly likely, especially considering the dark reputation that the Wilde Woods has gained, but whatever reason, someone has come this way, and moved through the twisted trees. The footsteps are clear, even in the half light, and it would be no great task to follow them, but then again, the Wilde Woods does not have its reputation for nothing, and the party is waiting... --- The path that follows the edge of the Wilde Woods is proving to be a popular route, although the reason that Moses Reaves is taking the more scenic route is perhaps more obvious than the one that sees Renee taking the same route. Anyone in the line of business that Moses inhabits develops an aversion for streetlights, and for the curious glances that the streets of Arkham had in abundance. Heavy jacket pulled tight around him, he takes long strides through the shadows. Wilde Hall is an opportunity, and Moses is not the type to miss an opportunity, especially one that presents itself in the form of a fancy invitation. And then one of the shadows moves. Moses stops in his tracks, eyes straining against the half light. A figure, close to the edge of the forest. Moses has no shortage of enemies who could be lingering in the dark, but the figure doesn't seem to be looking at him. Instead, it seems to be focused towards the woods themselves. With the soft steps of a man that is no stranger to the rougher side of the law, Moses moves forward. As he gets nearer, he realises that the figure is smaller than he first though, standing a good few inches shorter than he does. Not only that, but the figure is a woman, dressed all in black. Moses is wise enough to know that that fact doesn't make the figure any less dangerous, but they seem to be fixated on the trees, or rather a gap between the trees. By the looks of it, Renee hasn't heard Moses approaching yet, but every step risks alerting her. Is it a trap, or a curiosity? --- Walking through the dark streets is far from the typical evening for Alvin Fennel, but then what is university, if not a chance to get out of your comfort zone? Even so, the shifting shadows put the student on edge, and he quickens his pace. And yet his intended destination is no more familiar to Alvin. The inevitable opulence that Wilde Hall promises is a far cry from what Alvin is accustomed to, and the idea of crowds of strangers does little to settle his nerves. But then, that is not the only thing about the invitation clutched in his hand that puts him on edge. Trying to push the thoughts from his head, Alvin pushes onwards. Turning the last corner, Alvin can make out the black carriage that sits at the edge of the Wilde Woods. Two figures are already standing by it, but by the looks of the coachman, they won't be waiting there for much longer. If he picks up his pace, he could probably reach them before they set off, or perhaps it would be better to wait. After all, Alvin has never been one to turn his nose up at the prospect of having time to think. Besides, other guests should be arriving soon, and they may look less intimidating than the hulking silhouette of Drachen, the other man's frame making Rosanna look like a doll beside him. Pick up the pace to join the unusual pair, or take his time, and wait for the next ride?</s> <\|message\|>Drachen Steinboden Drachen's eyes had lazily wandered during his walk through the dark streets, small globes of light from the lamps that were quick to dim the further out the light went. During his lumbering, and lazy, stride he took note of the people. He wasn't famous per-se, but he was a rarity. A rarity that had no issues leaving a mugger broken in an alley. Leaving behind the mumbled shushed voices he approached the edge of town that bordered the Wilde Wood. A carriage, black and expensive looking, was there with a singular coachman. He didn't care about the mans attire, but that shotgun let him know things weren't peaceful in the woods. Most likely for coyotes. An exchange of invitation and glances was all there were. Neither man had any words for the other. With the invitation back in hand he tucked it into the inner chest pocket of his enormous coat. He was dressed decent, but he wasn't a materialistic man. Not to mention his size made it so everything he had was custom made, which jacked up the prices of clothing and footwear. He did move off to the side, lingering near the rear of the carriage instead of getting into it. Staying in such a small thing for a long time would destroy his knees. A brief wait and a well dressed woman came up the street. A different set of hushed murmurs and voices trailing after her. If he had been a vagrant he would have labeled her as the perfect target to hit for immediate money. Still she approached and handed the driver her own invitation before it was returned to her. The driver spoke, saying they were early. Well it was better to be early than to be late, right? The pair were left waiting in silence for any others to show. But the big man wasn't too fond of silences. "Evenin', miss..." He rumbled out. His voice matching that frame easily, like deep rolling thunder. If he owned a hat he might have tipped it, but he wasn't really fond of head gear. They looked silly and not to mention it made his wild mane sit funny when worn for too long.</s> <\|message\|>Madamoiselle Renee Adeline Desiree Bellerose The Woods grow around the walls of the House, but as any student of history knows, the House has no walls. The short phrase bounced around the woman's mind as she moved through the trees and along the path. This was not the Woods, and the Wilde Estate was not the House either... Although it did appear to have some mysteries of its own. The horsehair whiskers of her feline-styled masquerade mask quivered in the gentle breeze as she analysed the footpath. Muddy. Dirty. Leading off into the woods. Intruiging. Were she out for a normal stroll this was certainly something she would investigate, but tonight was not the usual night. Tonight she was properly dressed and, most importantly, was going to an event. This meant that one, her clothes found dirt and mud most disagreeeable, and two, them becoming muddy could quite easily become something of a scene. Adjusting her mask and hat a little, she turned away from the path and back towards the gaslit path ahead of her. Onwards to the party then. This curious little path would not be followed today.</s>	<\|message\|>Alvin Fennel Alvin reached into his coat and clutched the small leather-bound notebook in his breast-pocket. Inside the journal lay his invitation to Wilde Hall, and perhaps answers that he had been seeking. In the distance, he saw the carriage that would ferry him to the party, and two figures ready to enter the carriage. Would they wait for him or leave him behind? Was this the only carriage going to the party? The thoughts raced Alvin's mind as his heartbeat began to increase, the ever-looming anxiety of the unknown already pounding his thoughts like the beat of a soldier's drum. Should he force himself to be sociable? Perhaps they would have more information on this soiree, perhaps they would turn their knows at the pale, skinny man attempting to rub shoulders with the elite. He definitely did not look the part of a well-to-do man around Arkham. His black coat seemed a size too large for his thin frame, and his dark mask, with a product, corvid-like beak, gave him the image of a thin, giant dying bird than that of a man. It wasn't that he lacked friends; it was that his usual group of friends all shared something in common: University Life. Alvin had spent many nights in the local bars with his college fellows, enjoying a glass of beer and stark discussion of their studies with one another. Alvin was studying linguistics at Miskatonic and specialized in strange languages that were offshoots of ancient tounges. He'd assisted Dr. Armitage as part of studies in translating strange books of the occult, something that more unnerved him than fascinated him. Professor Wilmarth, with who he'd done multiple classes, had him focused on differentiating the local Indian languages in their folklore of the area, trying to trace the stores back to some ur-narrative. That had been unproductive, but at the very least, interesting to Alvin. The professors at Miskatonic were by and far men of rationality and many had sought to instill their students with the understanding that all things in the world could be easily explained with sufficient evidence and understanding. Alvin wished dearly that this was true. He had made his decision. He stepped his pace to a faster procession, hoping to catch the carriage before it left. After all, this night was still young, and he had many questions that needed rational answers.</s>
<\|description\|>Moses Benjamin Reaves Moses Benjamin Reaves --- --- Character Summary Aliases: Reaves, Mister Rivers Occupation: a Hardworking Entrepeneur Age: 42 Birthplace: Arkham, Massachusetts Race/Ethnicty: White; Second Generation Irish Gender: Male --- --- Physical Attributes Height: Just under six-foot Weight: About 220, depends on the jacket Build: a Strapping physique that's gone to seed but still fills out a suit nicely Eyes: Dirty brown and a little bloodshot Hair: Black with salting at the temples and the beard Skin Tone: Average with freckling over the nose Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Inking under the cuffs and scarring from a busted nose --- --- Psychological Attributes Cunning * Habitual Liar * Thick Skin * Morally Bankrupt * Protective * Holds Grudges Sexuality: Overcompensating Heterosexuality Relationship Status: Married Likes:* a Good Irish whiskey * Talking Shop * Cheap Cigars * Overpriced Suits * Gambling * His Family Dislikes:* Law Enforcement * Classism * Clumsiness * Sweet Anything (Drinks, Food, etc.) * the Learned Society * Being Ignored Fears:* Burying his Family * Parasites * Losing a Limb</s> <\|message\|>Drachen Steinboden Drachen's eyes had lazily wandered during his walk through the dark streets, small globes of light from the lamps that were quick to dim the further out the light went. During his lumbering, and lazy, stride he took note of the people. He wasn't famous per-se, but he was a rarity. A rarity that had no issues leaving a mugger broken in an alley. Leaving behind the mumbled shushed voices he approached the edge of town that bordered the Wilde Wood. A carriage, black and expensive looking, was there with a singular coachman. He didn't care about the mans attire, but that shotgun let him know things weren't peaceful in the woods. Most likely for coyotes. An exchange of invitation and glances was all there were. Neither man had any words for the other. With the invitation back in hand he tucked it into the inner chest pocket of his enormous coat. He was dressed decent, but he wasn't a materialistic man. Not to mention his size made it so everything he had was custom made, which jacked up the prices of clothing and footwear. He did move off to the side, lingering near the rear of the carriage instead of getting into it. Staying in such a small thing for a long time would destroy his knees. A brief wait and a well dressed woman came up the street. A different set of hushed murmurs and voices trailing after her. If he had been a vagrant he would have labeled her as the perfect target to hit for immediate money. Still she approached and handed the driver her own invitation before it was returned to her. The driver spoke, saying they were early. Well it was better to be early than to be late, right? The pair were left waiting in silence for any others to show. But the big man wasn't too fond of silences. "Evenin', miss..." He rumbled out. His voice matching that frame easily, like deep rolling thunder. If he owned a hat he might have tipped it, but he wasn't really fond of head gear. They looked silly and not to mention it made his wild mane sit funny when worn for too long.</s> <\|message\|>Madamoiselle Renee Adeline Desiree Bellerose The Woods grow around the walls of the House, but as any student of history knows, the House has no walls. The short phrase bounced around the woman's mind as she moved through the trees and along the path. This was not the Woods, and the Wilde Estate was not the House either... Although it did appear to have some mysteries of its own. The horsehair whiskers of her feline-styled masquerade mask quivered in the gentle breeze as she analysed the footpath. Muddy. Dirty. Leading off into the woods. Intruiging. Were she out for a normal stroll this was certainly something she would investigate, but tonight was not the usual night. Tonight she was properly dressed and, most importantly, was going to an event. This meant that one, her clothes found dirt and mud most disagreeeable, and two, them becoming muddy could quite easily become something of a scene. Adjusting her mask and hat a little, she turned away from the path and back towards the gaslit path ahead of her. Onwards to the party then. This curious little path would not be followed today.</s> <\|message\|>Alvin Fennel Alvin reached into his coat and clutched the small leather-bound notebook in his breast-pocket. Inside the journal lay his invitation to Wilde Hall, and perhaps answers that he had been seeking. In the distance, he saw the carriage that would ferry him to the party, and two figures ready to enter the carriage. Would they wait for him or leave him behind? Was this the only carriage going to the party? The thoughts raced Alvin's mind as his heartbeat began to increase, the ever-looming anxiety of the unknown already pounding his thoughts like the beat of a soldier's drum. Should he force himself to be sociable? Perhaps they would have more information on this soiree, perhaps they would turn their knows at the pale, skinny man attempting to rub shoulders with the elite. He definitely did not look the part of a well-to-do man around Arkham. His black coat seemed a size too large for his thin frame, and his dark mask, with a product, corvid-like beak, gave him the image of a thin, giant dying bird than that of a man. It wasn't that he lacked friends; it was that his usual group of friends all shared something in common: University Life. Alvin had spent many nights in the local bars with his college fellows, enjoying a glass of beer and stark discussion of their studies with one another. Alvin was studying linguistics at Miskatonic and specialized in strange languages that were offshoots of ancient tounges. He'd assisted Dr. Armitage as part of studies in translating strange books of the occult, something that more unnerved him than fascinated him. Professor Wilmarth, with who he'd done multiple classes, had him focused on differentiating the local Indian languages in their folklore of the area, trying to trace the stores back to some ur-narrative. That had been unproductive, but at the very least, interesting to Alvin. The professors at Miskatonic were by and far men of rationality and many had sought to instill their students with the understanding that all things in the world could be easily explained with sufficient evidence and understanding. Alvin wished dearly that this was true. He had made his decision. He stepped his pace to a faster procession, hoping to catch the carriage before it left. After all, this night was still young, and he had many questions that needed rational answers.</s> <\|message\|>Rosanna Liang --- The moonlight shines onto Rosanna Liang like she is a canary on broadway, her golden dress even shines like it was made of real gold. Even though she been through alot of parties ever since she became a student of Miskatonic University, this party was different however, instead of going there for a good time, enjoying some giggle juice, Rosie is going to Wilde Hall for a different reason, she is going to find some secrets in the halls of the Wilde residence. As she walks in the apple of Arkham, Rosanna can't help to feel everyone is looking at her and not in "You look so beautiful" way, more like the creepy way, it makes Rosie wish she would bring a knife with her instead of her makeup. There was somewhat mysterious ambience as Rosanna steps into woods, she looks at the tall, plenty rugged man while standing right next to him, makes Rosie a little small but doesn't bother her, not one bit. A black carriage that stands in front her and the tall gentleman makes Rosie feel uneasy but not too much, even if the coachman size almost makes her falter. Rosanna hands the driver her invitation and telling her and tall gentleman that they are early "Mhmm, my mother always say that my past life was a bird cause I get up so early in the morning. Get it? Early bird?" Rosie say with a giggle but then went quiet afterwords since nobody was laughing. As Rosanna and Tall man wait for other guests to arrived, a other man join the two and right off the bat, she recognize the young man as Alvin Fennel, she thinks that his name. The two shared the same class together and often she looks at his paper for some answers for quizs and tests. As the three wait for more guests to arrived once again, the tall gentleman finally spoke, his crooner voice makes Rosie jump a bit but at least there'll be no silence in the woods "Evening, good sir." Rosanna say to the tall man "Are you invited to the Wilde hall too?"</s> <\|message\|>Avery Wildes In This Fine Town Of Arkham A Night At Wilde Hall --- --- "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown" - H. P. Lovecraft --- Cloud Arkham has a dark reputation, and Wilde Hall is no different. Perhaps it is that dark reputation that draws Morgan Eisenhorn to the house, like a moth is drawn to a flame. The invitation in his pocket is more than just a slip of paper, it is a promise. A promise of something, something that Morgan is not yet entirely sure of, but that he cannot resist. And so, the private investigator finds himself walking the streets of Arkham alone, as the evening stretches into the night. Or at least, he thought he was alone. He had written it off as a coincidence at first, just another pair of footsteps among those few that sill braved the streets of Arkham after dark, another figure moving through the shadows, but with each turn that Morgan makes, the hairs on the back of his neck stand up a little bit more. The streets are quieter now, as he moves away from the heart of the city, and out towards the edge of the Wilde Woods, but still, he can hear the footsteps behind him. Whenever he glances over his shoulder, the footsteps pause, and a few times Morgan has caught sight of a figure stepping into the shadows. And when he starts walking again, the footsteps resume. Morgan is still some distance from the meeting point designated on his invitation, and with each passing moment, the streets grow a little darker, and a little quieter. Perhaps it is just a coincidence, his paranoia creating a phantom, or perhaps Arkham is keen to prove that it's dark reputation is a fitting one... --- While many of the guests to Wilde Hall this evening may be awed by the opulence of the grand old house, Opportunity Knox is likely to feel almost at home. After all, the Knox family has a history that is as impressive and storied as the Wildes, and Opportunity is no stranger to impressive estates. Despite this, Arkham doesn't exactly excite the young dilettante. Too quiet, and altogether too slow. And yet, she has her reasons for making the journey to this corner of Massachusetts, and the words of her family still ringing in her ears. Just because Opportunity needs to reach Wilde Hall at some point, does not mean she is in any great rush. After all, the old house has stood for generations, it's not going anywhere. The Excelsior Hotel is an impressively grand lodging, and it is naturally the place that has drawn the adventuress. Not only does the bar offer a welcome distraction for the bleakness of the city, but it also allows Opportunity to rub shoulders with the Americans that she has such a fondness for. The British are too stuffy, but the Americans understand the rush of speed, the freedom of the air. Her evening is a whirl of conversation and drink, until that conversation suddenly subsides, and Opportunity turns to find a dark-clothed figure standing in the doorway. The man stands at around six feet, broad shouldered and stern-faced. She notices the crest of the Wildes on his chest at the same moment that he speaks, his voice booming. "Lady Dalrymple. Your carriage is waiting."</s>	<\|message\|>Moses Benjamin Reaves The light of Arkham was at Moses's back, literally and figuratively, as he made his way towards the Wilde Woods. He pulled his coat tighter around him. It had been his father's, but one couldn't tell looking at it. There was one thing that Callum Reaves had cared for as equally as his family, and it was this garment. And for good reason too, it was quite the bulwark against the elements. Moses dressed as well as he could. While not a rich man, he was one of decent means. It was like his wife, Magdalene, would always say, "one needs a nice suit for weddings, wakes, and getting back anything life takes." He smiled at that thought, his chapped lips growing tight. That motion ticked a little box in his head, and his fingers instinctually went for his cigarettes—neatly placed inside an ornate, metal carrying case. He slid one between his lips before clicking the container closed. Moses instinctually reached for his lighter when his fingers went still. Dark brown eyes glanced at a figure painted against the lights that hung in the woods. It seemed to be an odd place for lamps and an even odder place for a person. Wilde Hall was wreathed by the Wilde Woods, of course, but he hadn't expected anyone else to take the back road there. Moses had his reasons. While many people didn't know who he was those that did had a hard time not staring. He was a man of decent means. He slid his calloused hands through his black hair, salted at the temples and spilling into his tight beard. Moses hesitated. He had no reason to assume this was a move against him. If so, the person would have tended to their presence better. Another party-goer, perhaps? In his deliberation, the figure turned away from whatever they were facing and made their way down the well-lit path. Moses, realizing that he was staring and dawdling in equal measure, moved to catch up. He dropped his careful steps, letting his boots slap against the hard ground. "Ah good," he said, balancing the cigarette between his lips. "An audience to tell the tale of how I get eaten by wolves out in these woods. Make sure to add that I was brave before I shat myself and died." He chuckled. Moses's face was mostly hidden behind a plain, gray mask tied around his head with a thick cloth. It wasn't mean to be fancy, but it would stay in place. "Headin' to the Wilde Hall, too, I'm guessin'?" Selune</s>
<\|description\|>Morgan Rodrigo Eisenhorn Morgan Eisenhorn --- --- Character Summary Aliases: Mr. Eisenhorn or Horn Occupation: Private Investigator Age: 28 Birthplace: Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. Race/Ethnicty: Latin-Canadian / Caucasian Gender: Male --- --- Physical Attributes Height: 5'4" Weight: 145lbs Build: Short, with lean muscles and a thin frame. Eyes: Brown. Hair: Brown. Skin Tone: Slightly Tan, but barely noticeable. Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: N/A --- --- Psychological Attributes Inquisitive * Stubborn * Hardworking * Obsessive * Ethical * Opinionated Sexuality: Straight Relationship Status: Single Likes:* Social Gatherings * Fine Wine * Expensive Cigarettes * Punctuality * Solving Problems * Strange Phenomena Dislikes:* Layabouts * Blood & Gore * Cold Cases * Amorality * Stereotypes * Liars & Cheats Fears:* Dying from unnatural causes. * Rats and all other vermin. * Racial prejudice.</s> <\|message\|>Madamoiselle Renee Adeline Desiree Bellerose The Woods grow around the walls of the House, but as any student of history knows, the House has no walls. The short phrase bounced around the woman's mind as she moved through the trees and along the path. This was not the Woods, and the Wilde Estate was not the House either... Although it did appear to have some mysteries of its own. The horsehair whiskers of her feline-styled masquerade mask quivered in the gentle breeze as she analysed the footpath. Muddy. Dirty. Leading off into the woods. Intruiging. Were she out for a normal stroll this was certainly something she would investigate, but tonight was not the usual night. Tonight she was properly dressed and, most importantly, was going to an event. This meant that one, her clothes found dirt and mud most disagreeeable, and two, them becoming muddy could quite easily become something of a scene. Adjusting her mask and hat a little, she turned away from the path and back towards the gaslit path ahead of her. Onwards to the party then. This curious little path would not be followed today.</s> <\|message\|>Alvin Fennel Alvin reached into his coat and clutched the small leather-bound notebook in his breast-pocket. Inside the journal lay his invitation to Wilde Hall, and perhaps answers that he had been seeking. In the distance, he saw the carriage that would ferry him to the party, and two figures ready to enter the carriage. Would they wait for him or leave him behind? Was this the only carriage going to the party? The thoughts raced Alvin's mind as his heartbeat began to increase, the ever-looming anxiety of the unknown already pounding his thoughts like the beat of a soldier's drum. Should he force himself to be sociable? Perhaps they would have more information on this soiree, perhaps they would turn their knows at the pale, skinny man attempting to rub shoulders with the elite. He definitely did not look the part of a well-to-do man around Arkham. His black coat seemed a size too large for his thin frame, and his dark mask, with a product, corvid-like beak, gave him the image of a thin, giant dying bird than that of a man. It wasn't that he lacked friends; it was that his usual group of friends all shared something in common: University Life. Alvin had spent many nights in the local bars with his college fellows, enjoying a glass of beer and stark discussion of their studies with one another. Alvin was studying linguistics at Miskatonic and specialized in strange languages that were offshoots of ancient tounges. He'd assisted Dr. Armitage as part of studies in translating strange books of the occult, something that more unnerved him than fascinated him. Professor Wilmarth, with who he'd done multiple classes, had him focused on differentiating the local Indian languages in their folklore of the area, trying to trace the stores back to some ur-narrative. That had been unproductive, but at the very least, interesting to Alvin. The professors at Miskatonic were by and far men of rationality and many had sought to instill their students with the understanding that all things in the world could be easily explained with sufficient evidence and understanding. Alvin wished dearly that this was true. He had made his decision. He stepped his pace to a faster procession, hoping to catch the carriage before it left. After all, this night was still young, and he had many questions that needed rational answers.</s> <\|message\|>Rosanna Liang --- The moonlight shines onto Rosanna Liang like she is a canary on broadway, her golden dress even shines like it was made of real gold. Even though she been through alot of parties ever since she became a student of Miskatonic University, this party was different however, instead of going there for a good time, enjoying some giggle juice, Rosie is going to Wilde Hall for a different reason, she is going to find some secrets in the halls of the Wilde residence. As she walks in the apple of Arkham, Rosanna can't help to feel everyone is looking at her and not in "You look so beautiful" way, more like the creepy way, it makes Rosie wish she would bring a knife with her instead of her makeup. There was somewhat mysterious ambience as Rosanna steps into woods, she looks at the tall, plenty rugged man while standing right next to him, makes Rosie a little small but doesn't bother her, not one bit. A black carriage that stands in front her and the tall gentleman makes Rosie feel uneasy but not too much, even if the coachman size almost makes her falter. Rosanna hands the driver her invitation and telling her and tall gentleman that they are early "Mhmm, my mother always say that my past life was a bird cause I get up so early in the morning. Get it? Early bird?" Rosie say with a giggle but then went quiet afterwords since nobody was laughing. As Rosanna and Tall man wait for other guests to arrived, a other man join the two and right off the bat, she recognize the young man as Alvin Fennel, she thinks that his name. The two shared the same class together and often she looks at his paper for some answers for quizs and tests. As the three wait for more guests to arrived once again, the tall gentleman finally spoke, his crooner voice makes Rosie jump a bit but at least there'll be no silence in the woods "Evening, good sir." Rosanna say to the tall man "Are you invited to the Wilde hall too?"</s> <\|message\|>Avery Wildes In This Fine Town Of Arkham A Night At Wilde Hall --- --- "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown" - H. P. Lovecraft --- Cloud Arkham has a dark reputation, and Wilde Hall is no different. Perhaps it is that dark reputation that draws Morgan Eisenhorn to the house, like a moth is drawn to a flame. The invitation in his pocket is more than just a slip of paper, it is a promise. A promise of something, something that Morgan is not yet entirely sure of, but that he cannot resist. And so, the private investigator finds himself walking the streets of Arkham alone, as the evening stretches into the night. Or at least, he thought he was alone. He had written it off as a coincidence at first, just another pair of footsteps among those few that sill braved the streets of Arkham after dark, another figure moving through the shadows, but with each turn that Morgan makes, the hairs on the back of his neck stand up a little bit more. The streets are quieter now, as he moves away from the heart of the city, and out towards the edge of the Wilde Woods, but still, he can hear the footsteps behind him. Whenever he glances over his shoulder, the footsteps pause, and a few times Morgan has caught sight of a figure stepping into the shadows. And when he starts walking again, the footsteps resume. Morgan is still some distance from the meeting point designated on his invitation, and with each passing moment, the streets grow a little darker, and a little quieter. Perhaps it is just a coincidence, his paranoia creating a phantom, or perhaps Arkham is keen to prove that it's dark reputation is a fitting one... --- While many of the guests to Wilde Hall this evening may be awed by the opulence of the grand old house, Opportunity Knox is likely to feel almost at home. After all, the Knox family has a history that is as impressive and storied as the Wildes, and Opportunity is no stranger to impressive estates. Despite this, Arkham doesn't exactly excite the young dilettante. Too quiet, and altogether too slow. And yet, she has her reasons for making the journey to this corner of Massachusetts, and the words of her family still ringing in her ears. Just because Opportunity needs to reach Wilde Hall at some point, does not mean she is in any great rush. After all, the old house has stood for generations, it's not going anywhere. The Excelsior Hotel is an impressively grand lodging, and it is naturally the place that has drawn the adventuress. Not only does the bar offer a welcome distraction for the bleakness of the city, but it also allows Opportunity to rub shoulders with the Americans that she has such a fondness for. The British are too stuffy, but the Americans understand the rush of speed, the freedom of the air. Her evening is a whirl of conversation and drink, until that conversation suddenly subsides, and Opportunity turns to find a dark-clothed figure standing in the doorway. The man stands at around six feet, broad shouldered and stern-faced. She notices the crest of the Wildes on his chest at the same moment that he speaks, his voice booming. "Lady Dalrymple. Your carriage is waiting."</s> <\|message\|>Moses Benjamin Reaves The light of Arkham was at Moses's back, literally and figuratively, as he made his way towards the Wilde Woods. He pulled his coat tighter around him. It had been his father's, but one couldn't tell looking at it. There was one thing that Callum Reaves had cared for as equally as his family, and it was this garment. And for good reason too, it was quite the bulwark against the elements. Moses dressed as well as he could. While not a rich man, he was one of decent means. It was like his wife, Magdalene, would always say, "one needs a nice suit for weddings, wakes, and getting back anything life takes." He smiled at that thought, his chapped lips growing tight. That motion ticked a little box in his head, and his fingers instinctually went for his cigarettes—neatly placed inside an ornate, metal carrying case. He slid one between his lips before clicking the container closed. Moses instinctually reached for his lighter when his fingers went still. Dark brown eyes glanced at a figure painted against the lights that hung in the woods. It seemed to be an odd place for lamps and an even odder place for a person. Wilde Hall was wreathed by the Wilde Woods, of course, but he hadn't expected anyone else to take the back road there. Moses had his reasons. While many people didn't know who he was those that did had a hard time not staring. He was a man of decent means. He slid his calloused hands through his black hair, salted at the temples and spilling into his tight beard. Moses hesitated. He had no reason to assume this was a move against him. If so, the person would have tended to their presence better. Another party-goer, perhaps? In his deliberation, the figure turned away from whatever they were facing and made their way down the well-lit path. Moses, realizing that he was staring and dawdling in equal measure, moved to catch up. He dropped his careful steps, letting his boots slap against the hard ground. "Ah good," he said, balancing the cigarette between his lips. "An audience to tell the tale of how I get eaten by wolves out in these woods. Make sure to add that I was brave before I shat myself and died." He chuckled. Moses's face was mostly hidden behind a plain, gray mask tied around his head with a thick cloth. It wasn't mean to be fancy, but it would stay in place. "Headin' to the Wilde Hall, too, I'm guessin'?" Selune</s> <\|message\|>Madamoiselle Renee Adeline Desiree Bellerose --- --- She heard the footsteps behind her before she turned to see who they belonged to. For a moment, concern gripped her that she might be accosted by a footpad or vagabond, but when she did move to see the figure, she was pleasantly relieved. Another partygoer. One a little more rough around the edges than her. Not exactly a difficult feat though- she prided herself on how her edges had been smoothed down. Frowning a little, she made the barest gesture of a curtsey towards the man. "Madamoiselle Noire, a pleasure to meet you." Her voice was slightly terse and significantly accented, and the way she moved her head caused the whiskers of her mask to quiver slightly. "Mais oui, I was hoping to attend the festivities" she continued, continuing to walk slowly as she did so. Aside from the mask she wore, the rest of her clothing had been carefully and deliberately picked out. A woman's jacket, warm to fend away the evening chill and a wide brimmed hat, from beneath which the amber eyes of her mask peered out and in the shadows of which the true eye-holes of the mask were difficult to discern. Underneath were the usual assortments of petticoats, garters and other accoutrements required for a lady to look her best. "I suppose we ought to be going. Wolves there may not be, but there is no reason to dawdle."</s>	<\|message\|>Morgan Rodrigo Eisenhorn Morgan glanced behind him once more before taking a deep breath 'I can't shake the feeling something is very, very wrong here,' he thought to himself, straightening his collar as he exhaled and much to his chagrin nothing changed 'I can't appear distraught, I'll just have to make haste to the meeting place without delay.' Morgan sighed as he dipped his hands into his suit pockets, he felt odd about the circumstances that may have brought him to the mysterious town of Arkham but one such as he was not the kind of gentleman to pass up an invitation, even if it had been a long journey to arrive in town. Adjusting the mask to his face, bearing that of a fox's sly face the man picked up his pace and briskly walked up the pathway while doing his best to ignore the echo of footsteps behind him. It would simply not do, to be fashionably late or early no he was to be exactly on time and not to be distracted by further figments or phantoms that his mind tried to create, no it would not do at all.</s>
<\|description\|>Benjamin Marcus Zebrowski Benjamin Marcus Zebrowski ================================================================== Character Summary Aliases: James Roy Delehunt, Mr. Zebrowski, Ben, Asshole, The Polack. Occupation: Former Soldier turned Private Detective. Age: 27 Birthplace: Providence, Rhode Island Race/Ethnicity: Caucasian, Polish Gender: Male ================================================================== Physical Attributes Height: 6'2 Weight: 190 Pounds Build: Muscular Eyes: Blue Hair: Dark Brown Skin Tone: Pale Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Scars along his torso, hands and legs from his time in the war. ================================================================== Psychological Attributes * Empathic* Brave A Strong Sense Of Justice Rude* Racist* Misogynistic* Sexuality: Hetrosexual Relationship Status: Single Likes: -Coffee -Guns -Cats -Boxing -The bible -Nature Dislikes: -Germans -Smokers -Dogs -Alcohol -Loud noises -Criminals Fears: -Being in tight spaces -Death and the afterlife -The dark</s> <\|message\|>Avery Wildes In This Fine Town Of Arkham A Night At Wilde Hall --- --- "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown" - H. P. Lovecraft --- Selune@psych0pomp With the cursory introductions made, the figures of Renee Bellerose and Moses Reaves made for an unlikely pair. They were both bound for Wilde Hall, and they had both decided to take the quieter path, but that is as far as the similarities stretched. The narrow track into the trees behind them, the pair set off, tracing the edge of the Wilde Woods as they headed towards the point designated on their invitations. They had only made it a short distance before a voice called out behind them. "Ahoy there!" Turning at the sound, it quickly becomes clear that they are not the only ones to brave the path, or even the only guest of the Wildes. The man walking to join them stood a few inches shorter than Moses, and more slender, but he seemed to ooze confidence, and a wide smile was written across his handsome features. Sparkling green eyes looked out from behind a black and gold mask, and he was well-dressed. As he neared the pair, he nodded his head in greeting. "I take it from your fetching get-ups that we are all bound for Wilde Hall? Mister Violet, at your service. I must say, this whole thing really is the cat's meow. All this mystery, I dare say we'll be bumping into a Mister Holmes at this joint. Absolute berries!" The man had reached them by now, the smile unfaltering on his face. This close, both Moses and Renee would gauge his age to be in his late twenties, but he was boyish in his mannerisms. As he got closer, Renee's eyes caught on something. Despite the smartness of his attire, there was a distinct line of mud on his shoes. It was slight, and in this light, easy to miss, but the sharp-eyed Frenchwoman caught it all the same, a slight frown crossing her pale features for an instant. Before she could open her mouth to speak, Mister Violet continued. "It's dandy to bump into the two of you, these woods don't half-give me the heebie-jeebies. Like I said, Mister Violet is the name. What titles have the two of you been given?"</s> <\|message\|>Alvin Fennel Mr. Cobalt. More specific than red and far less regal than gold, Alvin assumed the moniker fit him well enough. He was too lost in his thoughts on his mission to take notice of the young Chinese woman joining him and the literal giant of a man. Had he been in a calmer mind, he would probably have recognized her from his own walks throughout the University on less-dreary days. Though the days of late had been exceedingly dreary, both in weather and in an emotional sense. The one thing he did focus his eye on as the coachman beckoned them to climb aboard was the shotgun, bathed in the shadows, but still noticeable with the lantern-light. Arkham was far from the safest town in America, of course, but what cause did a man need to carry a shotgun so openly? What exactly awaited them at Wilde Hall? Alvin snapped his mind back to the real world and nodded to the young woman and large man. "I would hardly be a gentleman if I did not allow the young lady on the carriage first," he remarked to Rosanna. That was something of a bald-faced lie. He came from working-class Irish immigrants, and their only claim to "gentle" behavior was not starting fights at Sunday mass and keeping quiet when their father came home red-faced and drunk. He then turned to the hulking Drachen, "and since I was the last to arrive, it's only right to climb aboard last." He tried to not let the man's enormous visage worry him too much. If they had all worked they wait to receive invitations to this party, they were all probably good sorts, even if some looked beastly. He did wonder how comfortable sitting in a carriage would be for a man that large. Still, there was something comforting about having a companion as dangerous looking as this fellow; if he stayed on his good side, he doubted anyone would try and start trouble around him.</s> <\|message\|>Madamoiselle Renee Adeline Desiree Bellerose --- --- Ah, now this gentleman was more her speed. "An absolute pleasure to meet you, Mister Violet. I am Madamoiselle Noire, and this gentleman has yet to introduce himself to me." Reaching up, the heiress would stroke the whiskers that jutted from the mask's nose, her black gloves almost invisible in the darkness of the night. "But yes, absolutely the..." She paused for a moment to make sure she had heard him right, before contining with a "cat's meow," the amusement in her voice highly evident. The joke would be finished with a quiet little "purr," and then the Frenchwoman would allow herself a small laugh. The man was odd, but she couldn't fault him for that. He was a bit of amusement and class, a welcome contrast to the one that had approached her previously. Still, the mud on his shoes left her with one question. "Say then, where have you come from Mister Violet? Are you a local to Massachusetts or have you travelled some distance?" Her mind flicked back to the footsteps going into the woods she had ignored, and then the dirt on the mans shoes. She was no experienced tracker, and her memory was hardly photographic enough to remember the exact shape of the footprints in the dirt, but when the equation was 2+?=5 and you were being presented with something that looked an awful lot like a three, it wasn't too hard to piece things together.</s> <\|message\|>Moses Benjamin Reaves So, the mysterious figure in the woods was a woman. That being said, Moses wasn't so regressive as to let his guard down. Anyone could be dangerous. A child with a knife and a well-placed view of one's legs and arms posed just an equal threat as a grown man with a pistol. But it seemed as if Mademoiselle Noir was, in fact, also a guest at Wilde Hall this evening. His shoulders relaxed under his coat, and he quickened his pace to fall in step with her. "Ah yes, let's," he said, agreeing that they should move a bit more briskly. Moses had to guess she was French given her accent, but he couldn't begin to decipher what she might say in her native tongue. The only bit of French he was familiar with was from rum runners out of the French Caribbean, but the accents and dialect were so vastly different he wouldn't know where to start. If she cursed at him, he'd know, but he couldn't imagine that she was prone to using a sailor's tongue. As soon as they'd traveled a ways on the tight wooden path, another figure joined them. Moses jumped. He blushed in embarrassment and hoped the cut of his jacket had hidden the scare. Attempting to wave that off, his fingers dived into his coat in hopes of fishing out his lighter. The next person in the woods seemed to be another guest. Mask, nice outfit, and a genteel nature that didn't suit someone that would be idly wandering the woods at night. He searched his pockets as the man, Mister Violet, introduced himself. His nature was immediately off-putting to Moses, and the older man tried not to sigh too loudly into his unlit cigarette. "Deacon Gray," he said, having been spoken over by both of the other party-goers and not given a moment to label himself. Finally, he'd procured his lighter from his coat, his fingers glossed over his small bit of "protection" to get to it. With a quick, very practiced motion, Moses flicked the top on the lighter—resembling a miniature candle snuffer—open. A few metallic cranks of the flint-wheel and a small flame erupted from the nickel box. He lit his cigarette in silence before flicking the top back down and pocketing it. It seemed as if he had all but been forgotten about as the Mademoiselle Noir honed in on Mister Violet. He let the smoke trail from his lips as he moved forward, taking the lead. @Lady Selune</s> <\|message\|>Avery Wildes In This Fine Town Of Arkham A Night At Wilde Hall --- --- "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown" - H. P. Lovecraft --- Cloud The footsteps continued to trail him, seeming to match his own hastened pace, and as Morgan Eisenhorn turned onto a new street, his heart sank. The gas lamp that should be lighting the pavement in front of him has died away to a barely visible glow, plunging the street into deep, inky shadow. With the footsteps unrelenting behind him, the slight private investigator realised that he had no choice but to plunge into the darkness. Gritting his teeth, and picking up his pace even more, Morgan pushed himself onwards. And yet, as he moved further into the darkness, his own footsteps echoing against the buildings that loomed up all around him, the footsteps behind him seemed to grow closer and closer. Nerve finally breaking, Morgan practically broke into a run, the vague promise of safety that the light of the next streetlamp offered calling to him, even as the footsteps behind him seemed to match his pace. It seemed as if he was running through treacle, but he finally reached the corner, the footsteps almost on top of him now, Morgan not daring to turn back to see the phantom that was surely about to lunge. He burst around the corner, and a dark shape loomed up to block his path. He had no time to stop, let alone avoid the shape, and he collided into the figure, sprawling to the hard ground with a painful thud, the figure staggering backwards. The breath driven from his lungs by the fall, Morgan was still gasping for air when he felt strong hands grip his collar and pull him upright. He found himself looking into a stern face, pale brown eyes burning with annoyance, and a voice that was almost a growl. "What the hell do you think you're playing at?" --- The coachman led Opportunity Knox through the foyer of The Excelsior Hotel, busy with the bustle of the evening, and out towards the street beyond. As he walked, the tall dark-clad figure glanced over his shoulder to make sure that the well-dressed dilettante was following, and the initial sternness of his face seemed to soften as they moved through the crowd. Opportunity couldn't help but notice that the other patrons of the hotel seemed to scatter before the coachman as he moved, although whether that was because of the man's formidable physique, or because of the Wildes crest that he bore on his chest, she couldn't be sure. As they stepped out onto the street, Opportunity saw that a black carriage was waiting at the roadside, pulled by a single jet-black horse. Again, the Wildes crest was marked across the side. The coachman turned back towards Opportunity, nodding his head slightly towards her. "Apologies for the interruption, ma'am, but Lady Wildes wanted me to make sure that you made it to Wilde Hall safely. Arkham can be a dangerous - " A dark shape burst around the corner, slamming into the coachman before he could finish his sentence. The dark shape sprawled to the ground, and the coachman staggered backwards, before regaining his balance. Opportunity realised that the dark shape was a man, a few inches shorter than she was, and wearing a fox-like mask. Another guest, or something more sinister? Before she could open her mouth to ask, the coachman had strode over, and pulled the stranger back to his feet, growling out a question. "What the hell do you think you're playing at?"</s>	<\|message\|>Benjamin Marcus Zebrowski Ben was sitting in his chair, holding a glass of orange juice in a whiskey glass. Taking a couple of sips from the glass, the citrus burning his throat. His radio was playing some jazz music, the singer was wailing over the frantic tapping of the piano. Looking around the dark room, he was still hazy from the nightmare he had just woken up from. The nightmare was of himself trapped in a small room, the room itself was composed of fleshy walls and teeths on the ceiling. The walls were pulsating and throbbing as if it was breathing. The images of faces embedded into the wall were quite disturbing. The scene then seemed to change to him inside of the trenches, the deafening sound of gunfire and tanks firing their cannons. He swore he could smell the dead bodies rotting in no man's land. The image of his former Sergeant screaming in his face to go over the trenches and into the oncoming gun fire. When he jumped over the border of the trench, he was not met with German soldiers firing at him. Instead he could see over the horizon was twisted creatures made out of flesh and metal. The sound that came out of their mouths were a mixture of a groan and a sound being in consent pain. Ben fired a couple of shots from his rifle into them, but they seemed to ignore the fact that they had been shot. The creatures kept lumbering over towards his platoon. Ben took aim for the creature's head, hoping to finish them off. But once again they seem almost immune to bullets. By this point his whole body started to freeze up, he couldn't even aim his gun at the creatures. The creature was close enough to him that he could smell it's rancid breath. It was enough to make Ben vomit. But before the creature could attack him he woke up thankfully from his nightmare. He looked around the room noticing a letter that was slid underneath his office door. Setting down his glass on the nearby table. He walked over towards the door picking up the letter. Opening up the letter and taking a quick read of the content of said letter.</s>
<\|description\|>Xara Travendour Age: 19 Gender: Male Sex Orient: Asexual Class Tree: Noble/Monk/Priest/Sage (Male Gremory) Personality: Xara is normally very casual and upbeat. He'll attempt to crack jokes, reference in universe memes, and have lightearted conversations with others. He takes great interest in magic theory and as many a mage, is an avid bookworm. He values creativity and problem solving, and values freedom above all other moral axis. However, Xara is a very sugar and ice type of person. Under the cynical jokes and happy go luckiness, Xara is extremely apathetic. He genuinely has no regard for the opinion and expectations of others, and hides out in his room all day if he feels like other people aren't worth his time, and can be outrageously argumentative. He also has very little in the regard to dreams or ambitions, learning for the sake of learning and keeping his status quo over having a positive impact on his own life, including fixing his own emotional negligence. History: Due his extremely thin stature, Xara was homeschooled by his single father, having worried his son would be the target of rampant bullying. However, while Atlas would attempt to send Xara to various daycares as a child, they always found his childlike personality impossible to deal with, and often switch providers. At the age of 10, Atlas felt Xara could be trusted by himself, however, as a single dad, Atlas was gone for hours on end working, leaving Xara alone to entertain himself, as Atlas would refuse to let outside alone, seeing his son as a very easy kidnapping target. Years of systematic isolation has left it's mark on Xara. At the age of 14, Atlas enrolled Xara into real adolescence schooling, and there Xara became best friends with a wolf Laguz named Aerion. Their friendship has helped Xara learn how to handle social situations better, and after finding out his home country is under the rule of a tyrannical leader, even he's decided enough is enough and is working to cause a revolution.</s> <\|message\|>Mikhail Feldunn Mikhail Feldunn Mikhail was satisfied as he watched Ashley scramble, especially considering from what little he knows about her she likes to always maintain her social grace and it was slightly funny to watch her rush to put herself back together again. Also kinda cute if he was being honest. Not that he'd ever admit that to her though. His expression instantly started to sour as she started using titles and manners and all of the things one is expected to do in the face of nobility. At least with the people he was practicing with they made no illusions that they hated him. But with nobles, you could never tell. He studied her face carefully as she spoke, just as he does with every other noble he meets who tries to make a good impression simply because of Mikhail's title. At first glance she seemed absolutely genuine, kind. But for some odd reason that was actually the problem. It was always an act. None of them cared for Mikhail as a noble just as a way of moving up the social ladder in one way or another. He had already received a couple of marriage proposals that he had outright refused. Of course without his father's knowledge. But he assumed Ashley was in a similar boat to say the least, faking her smile and everything about hearself right now. But even though there was something off about it compared to most that he couldn't put his finger on. Perhaps there actually was something else to her had yet to see. While he had never, as far as he knew, seen the real Ashley he feels he had gotten somewhere in that regard. During the last party when he had gotten thrust onto the stage for a match against her. Honestly he found the entire thing annoying and boring. If he had to guess, despite never seeing her actually fight before, that she probably used magic normally. While she was skilled in the sword for sure she didn't seem to be able to match him in stamina and strength. Of course he didn't hold back really, just enough to make sure he didn't break any bones by accident. She was still a knight captain overall, he wasn't going to underestimate her and risk getting his ass kicked to Irinoth and back. Of course the attack that drew blood was a slip up on his part not that anyone seemed to care. But that smile… honestly it chilled Mikhail a little bit. He couldn't tell if this is how she actually was underneath that but being able to bring out another side to her was oddly satisfying and was in all honesty the only fun part of that night. Of course he ended up excusing himself not long later that night. Parties were not his environment of choice. "I'll put up with it at those parties if it makes you feel better, but drop the 'milord' and all that anywhere else. Getting called that makes me want to gag." Mikhail held up a hand to signify to stop. He honestly hated those titles but if he tried to complain at one of those parties he would never hear the end of it. And seeing as Clive continued to drag him to those events he would end up suffering far… far more in the long term. "There's no need to butter me up and lie to me like that, but yes I am very interested in what's going on down in Irinoth. And it's a coincidence that I ran into you because I was going to ask you if you'd care to travel with me. After all I'm strong enough to hold my own but I need someone who's smart enough to figure things out once I'm down there. And of all the people I can stand in this city, you are definitely the smartest and most familiar with whatever potential evil is plaguing that damned island. So, what do you say?" Mikhail still wasn't entirely sure he could trust Ashley but it's not like he could go at it alone. Everyone else in this city that he knew was either going to backstab or leave him the moment things got scary. At least with her he knew she was strong enough, at least mentally, to not do the same.</s> <\|message\|>"Sir" Ashley Wycliffe Eh?! He'd invited her—no, moreover, he'd planned to from the start? Score! And of all the people he cared for, she was the smartest?! Yes, yes and yes! It's a date! Ashley wanted to scream, but now that she was on guard, she restrained herself. "Hoho... You're too kind," Ashley answers, turning the smile she couldn't hold back into a weirdly improvised smirk. "but I'm not lying, you know? Of course, I can't be completely honest, or I'll lose my edge... and I can't drop the 'milord' just yet, either," she says with a dour tone, looking around. "This isn't exactly a private setting—but if we do end up alone somewhere, I'll call you whatever you want. Heh." "Caught in my subordinate's web, my friend?" Clive interrupts with a false smile as he approaches the pair of sulky nobles. Behave yourself, won't you, my dear? his eyes seemed to suggest as he loomed over their table, looking at Ashley. Oh, screw you, she returned with a narrow-eyed glare. "If it isn't Lord Clive—the fly in my ointment. Too bad I can't catch you in my web," she says sarcastically. "That's very true, and also, not the slightest bit unfortunate," Clive replies, rubbing it in a bit. Mikhail wasn't privy to all of the details, but the two seemed to have a longer history together than they would let on. They bickered like siblings—for all the importance she seemed to place upon her conduct as a knight, she didn't seem too concerned about holding back against him. Ashley's face softens, though, when she remembers something important. "We have a situation. There are some... very dangerous criminals planning to stow away aboard the Santa Lyrica," she says in a low voice. Clive looks skeptical, and a bit confused. "Huh? Where does this news come from?" "Sources," Ashley replies flippantly. "Wind's foul—thirty knots from the southeast—so please, take your time looking for them." No one would have paid Ashley's comment about the weather any mind, especially not on a day like this with such grave news overtaking everyone's mind. Unless, of course, they were eager to sail to their death as quickly as possible. However... that wind report was wrong. Strangely, Clive's face seemed to indicate that Ashley's odd remark explained everything. "Right. I'll inform the knights," he says as he turns, leaving quickly. Ashley smiles wickedly. My sincerest apologies, Lady Madeline. Your ship is about to be delayed. She turns to Mikhail. "As you say, I'm the smartest woman in your life," she boasts, her words full of biased intent. "so I already have a plan in motion. Shall we?" --- Between the nods of beckoning sleep, Margot might have caught a glimpse of two fetching young gentlemen as they walked up to the bar together, the dark-haired one looking rather pleased with himself compared to his sulky blonde friend—and, in the warlock's over-tailored uniform, complete with a family crest and three bright red stripes on the armband signifying his rank, probably over-dressed, too. Retrieving a fully loaded coin pouch, he counts out the fee for his and his companion's drinks—plus a little extra—and slides the coins across the bar to the barkeep. This was unusual behavior for a noble. Many of them did not fully appreciate the value of money, and would simply lay down a pile of coins, in a showy fashion. If you made a particular face of mixed confusion and displeasure, you might even be able to trick them into increasing the size of the pile. Indeed, the barkeep was making just such a face. "Something amiss with your order, sir?" he grunts, glancing down at the giddy young lad. "Not at all. Please, send my regards to the staff—they have the best coffee and cakes in the capital," came the smooth, silky voice. With a line like that, the barkeep would have to take his loss like a champ. "It's our pleasure, sir. Good day to you." "Good day." Ashley honestly felt bad for her manners. They were good cakes. Didn't do the staff any favors, eating them like that.</s> <\|message\|>Margot, The Commoner Margot In the Tavern's bar Margot sat up. She felt something. Something strong within the magical currents. She had spent years cultivating a sort of detection skill that enabled her to "feel" when another magic user was nearby, and now this sense was tingling. It felt like... a tension so tangible she could cut it with a knife. It gave her energy when she had none. What is that? Who is that? She searched around the bar. She saw two grown men standing next to the bartender. Her eyes focused on these two men. One of them had very little magic, but the other one....... Whaaaa....??? No.... it's not possible. She sniffed it. That is some serious magic! Even without the magic, she knew she was in the presence of nobles. Just look at what they're wearing! Those are some seriously well dressed commoners. They look like fashionistas, or some type of costume showmen! As her eyes took them in, she labeled them as Mister Dark Hair @Emeth and Mister Blond Hair @TheDemonHound. She could not tell which one was better dressed. They all looked like showmen! The only difference was that Mister Dark Hair had a lot of magic, whereas Mister Blond Hair had little. Hmm.... nobles, huh? She smiled devilishly. Maybe if I mix with them well, they might pay for my trip to the southern islands? Maybe they'll pay for my night at the inn so I don't have to sleep in the stables or somewhere dirty? It never hurts to try. Maybe they're adventurers, too! Adventurers with deep pockets! Margot didn't consciously think of it, but she was well aware that it was necessary to band together with all sorts of people in her quest to earn all that money -- because she couldn't do it alone, even if she wanted all the money for herself. She was also well aware that she did not care about the world or the southern islands. She just wanted to go on exciting adventures and become famous. Even before she got up, her eyes already sparkled with the idea of glory, fame, and honor. Because of all this, she suddenly formulated a plan... to use these two guys so that she could get what she wanted in life, and to get paid for most of the 250,000 gold reward that she knew she deserved. Time for some serious sucking up. She tidied up her clothe, put on her best innocent expression of a young woman who just wanted to get help and to help others reach their goals -- whatever those goals were -- and said to the two men near the bar, "Hi, maybe you two know a way to get to the southern islands?"</s>	<\|message\|>Xara Travendour Xara followed Troe, genuinely interested into what he has to say. "Actually I personally know a sailor with a crew in this city, he owes me a favor after I saved his ship from capsizing one day. We could talk to him, of course, we're gonna need allies, but I've got that covered." Xara also decides to respond to the other comment Troe made, seeing it as it's related to his reason of going. "That's actually a reason I'm going, if the country is ruined than there's going to be old books and tomes that nobody wants anymore that've survived the assault, it's my personal duty to recover them, as a runesmith myself." Yah, that's right. Despite being so young, Xara is actually a very exceptional runemaster, after all, spending all your time indoors gives you plenty of time to sink into your hobbies, and for him, it was practically an obsession. Anyone who would give a good glance at him though could guess, he's got a custom utility belt that holds various engraved stones, as well as slots for 4 different types of tomes, all of which are filled with books of different languages. It's also unique of him that he's wearing a purple tunic, a teal cape going to the back of his knees, and solid black pants, he dresses like an extravagant noble despite very few ever truely knowing him. Xara, after making his comment to Troe, has an idea. He stands up on the table, trusting his weight will never be enough to break the furniture. "Hey, I've got a means to get to Rjaskav, all I need is companions!" Everyone stares at Xara, who doesn't seem bothered by it, strangely.</s>
<\|description\|>Margot, The Commoner Appearance: Age: 23 Gender: Female Sexual Orientation: Straight around hot guys, curved around everyone else Personality: She's a carefree adventurer who has an innocent dream of becoming famous by performing heroic deeds. She disregards safety for the pursuit of glory. She taught herself how to cast magical spells by reading the scrolls of Eventide from the library at Chosun (a city on the main island). She's independent, self-centered, careless, and somewhat narcissistic. Her only saving grace seems to be the fact that she has high faith and reason stats, allowing her to cast many elemental spells, particularly destructive spells like fire and lightning. Because she grew up with extremely protective parents, she fears nothing and hasn't really fought any hardship or pain in her life. She's just out there ready to get smacked in the face by the world. Class: Mage History: When she was young, she hated school. Her parents wanted her to grow up to become an academic, and there were all these lessons by her tutors, but she didn't listen to any of their boring dictations. She wanted to go on adventures, not harness the power of the arithmetic and the rhetoric! One of the things she was very passionate about as a kid was playing a game called Choka, where people threw balls into cups from far away. She was very good at that. She was a great bowler of Choka, and to this day she'd remember winning at a game that was seemingly difficult for other people. Her experiences with Choka taught her that she could do anything she wanted because she was exceptional. Her best friend in childhood was a girl named Emy, who lived next door to her. Her most hated enemy was another girl, who would constantly make up stories about her behind her back. She hated those types of people. To this day, she tries to live a dignified life with principles, despite her carelessness. Her fondest memories of her childhood are her sleepovers with Emy. On her 17th birthday, she left her parents and took a position at one of the biggest libraries she could find. There, she studied endlessly on how to be a great elemental mage, so she could finally defend herself and reach her dreams of becoming famous one day!</s> <\|message\|>Mikhail Feldunn Mikhail Feldunn With Mikhail left alone on watch duty things were very silent in the room. The sound of the waves and sea birds being his only company as he remained ever vigilant to the supposed pursuers that could come ashore at any moment. Even still he couldn't help but allow his mind to wander. One of the first things he thought about was what in the world his dad would say if he figured out he had ran off on some life threatening quest without permission. He'd probably kick Mik's ass to hell and back without remorse. That's already how most of the sparring sessions between the two went. It made him wonder about why he even went on this quest in the first place. He wasn't originally to be noble and figure out the problem and save everyone. It honestly made him feel a little pathetic, thinking that a grown ass man like him had to resort to these lengths just to get away from his father. And the worst part is this is the most fun he's had in a long time. Being able to travel, being around such… interesting characters, and even Ashley. It almost sickened him to realize this all happened simply to get away from his father. It made him feel so fake and he hated it. While he was busy debating whether or not he should be hating himself, his dad or both Ashley finally emerged from the bathroom. Looking and smelling much cleaner than she did before. "All right, your turn," she says to Mikhail, tying her hair up. Now with her mild bedhead sorted, she looked... a bit like a butler. It was kind of amusing how removing one piece of clothing could have such an effect. "Is there something on my face?" Ashley said sternly, having seemingly fully returned to "lady knight" mode. "Get a move on. If you hadn't noticed, you stink too." He didn't respond right away as he didn't expect to be chastised like that. But after smelling his arm and grimacing he realized he should definitely take a bath for himself too. "Yeah fine, I guess you're right." He didn't know how to feel about this sudden change in her demeanor yet again. She's actually changed a lot and shown him many different faces over this trip. From lady knight to seemingly lovestruck maiden and he was for the first time ever struggling to differentiate what was real and what was fake with her. Most nobles had an air about them, you can tell when they're full of shit when you've been around enough. The fake confidence and praise and talking up your own accomplishments. They were all just actors on a grand stage of bullshit in his opinion. But with her he really couldn't tell anymore. The only thing that truly seemed 'real' so far was when she leaned on him while he went to buy her coffee. Wait, why was he concerned about trying to figure her out? He wondered this to himself as he went into the bathroom and removed his clothes. There was no one he was going to get this attached to someone again. All it would do is lead to pain all over again. There were two many similarities that were causing him to become both too comfortable and very afraid. The love of coffee, the late night (or all night) studying and research, acting prim and proper but being able to let loose in private. It wasn't the same, he didn't care about Ashley in the same way, but it was reminding him of his brother. And in the mirror he was reminded of the dangers of caring too much. He saw the scars on his torso and arms from blades and other open wounds. After Casimir was brutally killed he was left for dead on the side of the road. His entire life was uprooted, the only person he cared about taken in an instant and he was left with permanent reminders. He was filled with intense desire to both protect her with his life and separate himself from her at the same time. As he finally let himself sink into the water he tried to let his troubled mind soothe itself but to no avail. He continued to wonder why he let Ashley bother him so much. He didn't understand any of her actions. Could she be legitimately flirting with him? But why would she flirt with him of all people? His father's words echoed in his mind. 'Worthless. Disgraceful. Disappointment.' All things he was called after Cas' death. No, there's no way she could want him. A knight like her, noble in a much truer sense of the word and brave. She seemed so strong to him. Maybe not physically in comparison to him or Tonka but mentally. At least, as far as he had seen. He had started to look up to her after seeing how much effort she put into this group. And what was he? A suicidal disgrace to his family who was ready to give up his life for strangers all in this glorified attempt to evade his dad. He scowled at himself in the mirror before turning away to finish his bath. After a little bit he was no closer to sorting through his thoughts but at least he was clean. He finally finished getting dressed without his jacket for now, seeing as that was probably most exposed to the fish smell, and left the room. "Anything show up yet?" He asked Ashley without looking at her as he went to sit on the bed.</s> <\|message\|>"Sir" Ashley Wycliffe Ashley sat in the windowsill, her back against one side and her right foot against the other while she waited for Mikhail. From here, she had a clear view of not just the ocean, but also the door to their hotel suite as well as the streets. Her bored gaze wandered between the room, the streets, and the ocean. With each ship that appeared on the horizon, Ashley's left hand instinctively reached for her pocket-sized book of scriptures, and remained there until she was sure that it wasn't the Santa Lyrica. There seemed to be some commotion in the streets about a pervert on the loose, but Ashley thought little of it. Wow. A pervert. Who could have imagined dressing like that would cause lewd men to come out from the woodwork, she thought self-righteously. A lady like her was above such brazen tactics as showing off her skin to strangers. Hers was an educated woman's game—one that worthless men like that would surely fail every time. Aside from her newest contestant, an exception whom she tries to push to the back of her mind for the time being. Realizing that she'd been impatiently looking at the door to the bath for a moment too long—as if expecting to see something—her slightly embarrassed gaze wanders around the room. Abruptly, she had a revelation: Ah. This is a couple's suite, after all. With every thing she noticed that wouldn't be in a normal hotel room, her cheeks became a slightly brighter shade of red. Okay, maybe I am a bit brazen myself. Suddenly, something breaks her train of thought—a bang, which would have been barely perceptible at ground level, in the noisy streets below. From her vantage point, she could see smoke rising in the distance, and as she watched it, she felt her heart beating faster. Had they disembarked higher up the coast, and approached on foot? It became apparent in that moment that Ashley didn't know what her pursuers looked like—she only knew what ship she needed to steer clear of. Eyes locked on to the smoke, she listens for another explosion, barely noticing Mikhail's return as she hopes desperately to be wrong. "Anything show up yet?" he asked, but received no reply. No second explosion. Either it was nothing, or the battle she imagined might be happening was already over—a bad sign. Various feelings—instincts, Ashley called them—waged a war for dominance in Ashley's mind. Torn between her desire as a knight to investigate and protect the peace of this place, and her duty to guard Mikhail, Aleria, and the mission, her face betrayed no emotions—only the urgent look of someone thinking fast. Underneath the darkness clouding her heart, there may have once been a scared, helpless girl who was in over her head, but now, she couldn't feel anything that she would call "fear." Instead, perhaps, there was a "weight" of responsibility. "I wish I could give a clear answer. Did you feel that?" Ashley asked Mikhail. Surely, she thought, the bathwater must have been shaken as a result of the explosion. "Either way, we've no more time for luxuries. We're regrouping," she says plainly, exiting the room and holding the door open for Mikhail. As she said this, she scowled at herself for not having given everyone some kind of signal to watch out for—or, at the bare minimum, a deadline to return to the ship. Remembering her remark to the captain about "herding cats," she couldn't help but wonder if she could be so lucky a second time. Everyone is counting on you. If you can't act like a leader—with or without coffee—you should just let Mikhail take over. As these thoughts are going through her mind, she almost forgets to toss the hotel key into the wooden bowl sitting on the desk at reception. That's when she remembers that Mikhail still has her money. She looks at him as if to ask for it back, but then turns away and keeps walking, as though now weren't the time to worry about it. Or perhaps, she thought their funds were safer with him, after all. Unfortunately, she only knew where one person was, and it was the person she considered the most dangerous of the nine. However, someone as tall as her would have a much easier time trying to find someone in a crowd than either of them, so Ashley felt it was her best move. "We know where Tonka is. Let's get her first. Lead the way," she said to Mikhail, drawing closer to him. One hand on her scabbard, she eyes everyone in the crowd warily, as if unsure who she were looking for. She seemed almost... no, she was definitely tense.</s>	<\|message\|>Margot, The Commoner MargotIn the stink boat's captain's quarters The wine bottle was either half empty or half full, depending on how one looked at it. Margot gazed at its delicious dark liquids swirling left and right in tune with the ship's toss and turn above the waves. The wine bottle felt warm in her arms, like a cherished baby, while she laid herself on the captain's hammock -- her tired yet restless eyes wanting more... always wanting more. With one dangling foot touching the wooden floor, and another foot caressing the captain's muscular chest, Margot was all aware that she had committed a pretty serious crime. But who would know? "Wine, wine, wine, you and I were made for one another. Life is so boring. Luckily, you are my best friend. Well, my second best friend," said Margot, as she took another chug from the wine bottle. Its sweet, sour, and salty flavor swirled in her mouth before she swallowed it. Quality wine that only a ship's captain could afford! "Are you talking to yourself, again?" said Captain Tedreus. "No, only to your wine bottle," said Margot, smiling. "Your collection is the best! We should try all of it!" Captain Tedreus grunted. "The occasion?" "Well, wasn't that fun?" said Margot. "Don't pretend like you didn't enjoy it." "I did," said Captain Tedreus. "Do you feel guilty? Having done this with a married man?" "Well, if you hadn't noticed, I have no morals," said Margot, smiling. "Isn't all is fair in love and war? What about you? Do you feel guilty?" "What we did... my wife would be mad at me." "No one has to know. We shared something special," replied Margot. "Why choose me?" "Well, the short answer is there was no one better. I love leaders." "How many boyfriends have you had?" asked the Captain. "Steady ones? Three, but I wouldn't count you as a boyfriend. This is still just a random fling," said Margot, grinning. The Captain rolled his eyes. Inwardly, Margot felt extremely satisfied. The Captain was another notch on her list of social conquests. It had not been easy, but she had wanted to experience him. "Let's do it again!" said Margot "So soon?" said the Captain. "I'm not sure if I'm ready." "I promise it'll be quick this time," said Margot, as she took two mushrooms from her time weed bag and began the process of making joints for both of them. As a magic user, she was able to create shared dreams with another person, and time weed made the best dreams. She was ecstatic. When she was done, she offered a joint to the Captain, which the Captain meekly took. "Flame," said Margot.</s>
<\|description\|>Q'Ral Dinrah Age: 46 Gender: Male Troll, hidden under a large set of furs and leathers to appear like a very large human Faction/Allegiance: Troll and Orc Clan Ixalarah from Northern Cellhád Relic Description: Ixalarah Sceptre - A sceptre or club made from a large double fist sized onyx stone, supported by a birch wood handle, reinforced by black iron loops around the handle and head. -Confers upon the wielder enhanced speed and agility. -Gives the wielder increased durability. -Allows the wielder to cast healing and support magics. The most powerful of which is an Aura of Well-Being that can bring a grievously wounded person back to their feet. This does not heal them but allows them to ignore their pain and wounds. Appearance: Standing a solid 7 feet and 3 inches tall. Q'ral is actually a rather non-descript Troll to be honest. There is very little to make him unique from the basic green-grey Troll variety he hails from. Tall, thick skinned, brawny bodies that make up the most of Troll and Orc physiology. When he's not trying to pass as a remarkably tall human, he wears the classic furs, leathers and hand stitched wool or cotton clothing that the Troll and Orc clans are known for. His colours of furs tend to be wolven grey, with leathers dyed black or grey. Currently to allow him to pass through lands where he may lose the relic of his clan, he's wearing an immense mantle and cloak of furs and leathers. Visible furs is one Dire Wolf, and a Kodiak bear. A hood with the wolf head sewn onto it shades his face. It's a disguise so he can safely move about the Human, Elven and Dwarven lands. Flaws: Troll-Orc Logic - Trolls and Orcs as a race operate on a more primal understanding of life. So alot of things that Humans, Elves and Dwarves do, well let's face it seem strange and down right odd to him. Sitting at a bistro or a restraurant and pay for food to be served to you for instance. Why not just go hunt, skin, gut and cook your own food? Something on the air - Having grown up in Troll and Orc country which is cleaner then most lands, well the scent of cities is odd. Makes him a little leery of entering cities and large towns. Personal space? - Trolls and Orcs are very tactile beings, they touch, and feel and worry at things to get an idea of their use or material, yeah suddenly having a large Troll paw reach up to stroke your cheek. Strange. Raaargh! - Even the most calm of Orc or Troll Shamans and Earthcallers will lose their temper sometimes. And a berserking Troll or Orc is something to behold. Skills: Trollish Earthcaller - The Priesthood of the Orc and Troll Clans. Trolls and Orcs who commune with the earth and the ancestors there to gain insight and answers to questions. Trained in living off the land Trollish sculptor - Using his claws and hands to mold and push stone, and mineral into shape. Orc/Troll Physiology - Orcs are hardy bastards, Trolls on the other hand are big powerful behemoths with the interesting ability to treat earth and stone like it's peanut butter, carving through it with claws and hands with ease. They are also prone to throw rages in times of great pain or danger, often to their own detriment, often leading to their own deaths, but in those moments of Super-Charged Fight or Flight, the Fight is so strong they can lay low dozens maybe hundreds before they fall under it all. Herbal Medicine - Living among the Earthcallers has given Q'Ral a knowledge of herbs that can heal, ease pain, and if mixed right cause pain. Biography: Q'Ral was brought up among the Orc and Troll Clans. One of the Beast Races of the world of Azukhar. Great groups of strong warriors, might shaman, deep delving miners and seekers of peace with land and magic. The great Orcs and Trolls don't shy from danger, but don't go looking for it most of the time either. Though there is always that black sheep who specializes in war and might. But Q'Ral is not like that. From day one he'd always found the quiet of a mountain meadow or cool of stone to be better companions then a hard sword or the feel of blood. His was a world of sculpting with marble and speaking with the ancestors through hard work and feeling the earth around him. As a young Troll he'd stride across his Clan's land to find new deposits of stone and minerals. And the Miners would come to look and dig forth great hunks of amethyst or semi precious metal to bring back and fashion into great works for the clan or sell to the finer folks in the cities. As Q'Ral grew he took more and more to the ways of the Earthcaller, the so called priesthood of the Trolls and Orcs. Those that would spend time in the mountain crags speaking with the Ancestors of Old Great Ages. Seeking wisdom and answers to Clan questions. It was well he was on a stroll in the mountains that he found his calling as an Earthcaller. He'd found a crevasse, deep and old, moss crawling all up and down it's sides, and way down below an old underground river raging. He'd started to climb down, his hands gauging great hunks of stone from the wall as hand and foot holds. But then he slipped. Perhaps it was a hidden hunk of iron he hadn't counted on. But something made one of his handholds not be a handhold and he plunged. Missing great spikes and sharp stone until he landed in the water below. And swept away in it's current. He worked to keep his head above water as the crevasse became a cave and then that cave closed up above his head. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't stop his tumbling in the water. Until as he feared he'd be carried into some angry Underdark. He saw a light. Above, he kicked and heaved, and thinking his air would run out before he reached it he thrust his hand up and through the darkened water and the light he thought he saw two Orcs and a Troll. They reached in and pulled him up. But he passed out. And when he woke a fire was beside him for warmth and a rough map showing him the way out, and a note reading, "We watched you. Would be a shame to lose such a good Earthcaller." Signed with the name of his clans founders Hadal Ixnal, T'ik Alarax and Brok Dinrah. The story he told when he returned, was almost unbelievable to the Clan, that their great founders fromm the early second age would come back to save one single Troll. Preposterous. But some of the other older Earthcallers. They knew. They understood. Q'Ral would find himself inducted into their ranks soon after. Soon being relative as it took four years of training. It was a decade later though at 40 that he would be gifted the Ixalarah Sceptre, for the next Great Earthcaller, first among peers. When the current one retired or passed, Q'Ral would take his place. But while he waited, he decided he wanted to travel abit. And despite some of his clanmates saying it wasn't a good idea he decided to head for Soft-folk lands. The lands of the Humans and Elves. Maybe visit the Dwarves. Fellow delving folk. Personality/motivation: Among Trolls and Orcs, Q'Ral is kind, watchful and caring. He takes his responsibilites as a healer and a Earthcaller seriously. But as there are usually many Earthcallers among a clan he is at the moment free of his duties. He is among the Passing Earthcallers, those who help with deaths and funerals and the clan is hale and hearty. He's also still got a little bit of wanderlust in him. So this has brought on the trip into the Soft-folk lands. Wanting to learn somethings about their lifestyles. Just to say he didn't spend his entire life int he hills and mountains of the Orcs and Trolls. Relations: Most of Q'Ral's family is back in Cellhád. So there are few Trolls and Orcs between Cellhád and Uk'Dhar that he may be related too. And even in Uk'Dhar there may be no Ixalarah Clansmates at all. Final Point - Secrets: -With the abundance of larger then normal people in the world, it would not be immediately obvious that the disguised Q'Ral is a Troll. (General Player base secret)</s> <\|message\|>Ozymandias "Oz" \| The Grim Jester Oz --- Greytry - Edge of the Circus, Kingdom of Etrid \| @Sep Ozymandias was walking about the very edge of the circus, his book no longer in hand but now stuff inside his satchel. Turned out the black beast was being particularly fickle, though that had less to do with the beast and more about Oz's inability to keep his excitement under wraps. He tried his best to keep the urge buckled and strapped down but it oozed in droves off him and the animals, sensitive as they were, reacted to it appropriately. Humans were different, they felt it, he had seen them, but their rational minds or bravado typically pushed them to ignore it. That was all the better for the Grim Jester and himself; his victims often left themselves wide open to him. Before he had realized it, he was amongst a crowd of people, animals, and odors. A tiger roared nearby, not too far, and some screaming or protesting had mingled in with the babbling rapture. It was much too loud but Oz had nearly perfected the art of seeming unbothered. His gaze flitted about him until he caught sight of man tossing a dark-skin woman over his shoulder. Her struggling groans reminded him of his last victim; it would be a month in three days. And that was pushing the killer in him a bit far. Maybe... And then he felt the most devious part of him come alive. It brought a sparkle to the detached calm in his eyes. It would be quick, he'd decided, cause he had everything he needed. His hand found the mask in his satchel. The crowd of people were manifesting a taste of chaos itself. People were dipping in and out of eyesight; large animals displaced noise here and there. Oz paused and through a shimmer of glass-like dust a knife formed in the palm of his hand. He smiled once more and with a deft hand, he flipped the tip onto his index finger. Conditions had been set upon creation; once the knife had stopped moving it was to vanish. The Mask often appeared on his face when he felt he could get away with it; the jester's face after all was divine. The joyous smile and malicious eyes were his soul's reflection. At worst, the girl will be blamed. At best, she will be saved. Your life hangs in the hands of chance. A grave laughter bounced in his head. The throw was quick, precise, strong. He had threw it through the opening sitting between three passing circus hands. It sliced through, a whisper on the wind as it aimed for the man's cranium. If it missed, he figured another try wouldn't hurt too much.</s> <\|message\|>Feng Not much changed with the view as Feng moved through the city at a slow pace. Shopping stalls, people, guards, armed men and women, the occasional horse or dog. Was it because this was a special day or was the city always like this? Who wanted to live with all of this damned noise?! Either way he was making his way to a rather enormous building, much larger than shops and houses. By now he had finished the meat on the ham he had and a shiny white bone was all that remained. Cracking it between his fingers he raised it up and sucked the marrow out as he took note of what was possibly an important person considering the guards around him. Shiny unblemished armor, atop a well kept horse, an old frail man trailing behind, and guards. Was this the soon to be king? He seemed...young and inexperienced. Well the only way to gain experience was to do things, the young man had his whole life ahead of him to become a good king. Still, it wouldn't hurt to follow along and possibly get to the coliseum. He kept his distance but his height didn't exactly let him blend in with the crowds. Although he could have fallen back further, there weren't that many people on horseback with shiny armor...</s>	<\|message\|>Q'Ral Dinrah It's a steady gait that takes the tall being to the grounds of the circus. And to it's untrained eye, no surprise really, he saw only the glitz and glamour of the circus, and no undertones if there were any. The tall person enters the edges of the circus with a rubber necking look as he peers about at the tent and any of the attractiosns about grounds. Truly could be an easy mark. Who knows in the end. The big man hums, hearing the sounds of beasts in the back, and the chatter of the circus crews. Yes this is one of the things that Q'Ral came to see. A soft-folk circus. Marches of the soft-folk style. Try and get an idea of the soft-folk culture and lifestyle. And since getting to Etrid, this is the most interesting these he's seen since watching a man several days to the south breaking a wild horse to the saddle. But this, this seemed quite nice indeed. Perhaps he'd get to see a show. A performance of some kind. Any kind really. Get to know these soft-folks amusements. Q'Ral himself could settle for an evening of sculpting but a circus sounded lovely. So he started to roam the grounds curiously, wanting to see the sights.</s>
<\|description\|>Raymond Morris Appearance: 5'11"; somewhat scrawny and pale-looking; wears thick glasses that hides blue eyes, and can't see well without them (~550 degree in both eyes); slightly hunched back from sitting too much; balding dirty blonde hair trimmed to a buzzcut; acute facial features including celetial nose and sharp jawline Skills: Programmer; very logical; decent with his hands, mostly tinkered with electronics for fun; Physical: Strength / RANK #0 Agility / RANK #1 Endurance / RANK #1 Meta-Physical: Intellect / RANK #2 Wisdom / RANK #1 Charm / RANK #0</s> <\|message\|>Current Survivor You awaken upon a sandy shoreline, wearing the tattered remains of your clothes. Your in pain but it's only minor and it seems to be coming from your head, like you may have hit it but you don't quite think you did. The shoreline is small and where the sand disappears the treetop lining of tall thick trees with vines hanging from the thick canopies of leaves, you can hear the faint sound of guttural noises and whistles within the trees. Status: Minor Conclusion, Amnesia. (Concusion is just thematic, your Amnesia will make remembering your life before this very hard. Until you can jog the memory)</s> <\|message\|>Joe "Smasher" Sullivan Smasher pushed himself up off the ground, sitting on his knees, he tried to get his bearings and remember what happened, but it's all foggy. He rubbed his aching head,felt like he got clobbered, but he can't remember if someone jumped him or not. Slowly standing to his feet,he surveyed the land, beach, ocean, and a jungle. "Definitely not the streets of Brooklyn. " he mumbled as he stumbled along the beach.. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, "HELLO ? CAN ANYONE HEAR ME ?" Smasher turned around and looked over the ocean maybe he was shipwrecked? The big man decided to follow along the shore, to see if he could spot some sort of wreckage, or maybe he wasn't alone, maybe there were people with him.</s> <\|message\|>Current Survivor 3% CRIT SUCCESS --- Joe walks for a few kilometers, barefoot on the hot sand yet in the distance he swears he can spot the prow of a ship of some sort, partially intact and perched between the bay where huge rocks block both water and gusting sea winds. Your heartbeat quickens as you begin to feel hopeful that you aren't alone, but you soon feel your hopes dashed at the sight of skeletal, sun-dried bodies laying in the sand. Your the only one here... EXP GAINED: +5 EXP WISDOM. DISCOVERY: Barge Wreckage, multiple skeletal bodies. STATUS: Amnesia.</s> <\|message\|>Joe "Smasher" Sullivan Smasher knows there is no time to panic, not in a situation like this. He ripped a piece of his shirt to tie around his nose and mouth. Smasher knew he had to check the bodies, maybe they had identification or other papers, something that could help him piece together what was happening. So, one by one, he checked them for ID, as well as supplies he could use, perhaps matches, or a watch to keep time. Afterwards, he would bury them further up on shore, but that would be after he examined the ship next for anything he could use to make weapons, maybe a club or spear. He was on island, he assumed. So there will more than likely be wild animals. Smasher looked up at the sky to see how much light he had left.</s> <\|message\|>Current Survivor A heavy darkness like a blanket upon your conscious weighs you down, like sleep is trying to take you yet a harsh light beats down from above and a distant shrill cry of some sort of alarm rings in your ears. As your vision clears you soon wish it hadn't, you sit lightly pinned beneath suitcases in the smoldering wreck of an aeroplane, corpses of other passengers strewn about it is horrific and panic strikes as you realize fire is eating it's way towards you slowly consuming the wreckage. An escape hatch is just in reach, you must get out before you meet a fiery death. CONDITION: Slightly Injured Sprained Ankle (You have sustained a minor injury, it will heal in a few days.) Pinned (Something/Someone has you pinned down, you can try to escape to end the condition.)</s> <\|message\|>Raymond Morris Raymond was taken aback by his surroundings, it was a scene he had seen many times in TV shows but never thought he would experience himself. There was a buzz in his head, and he could feel himself shaking. The increasing heat reminded him that he needed to save himself from the imminent doom. He was trying to bring his hands to his face, when he realized there were suitcases on top of him. They were heavy enough to dull the sensation in his mid- and lower-body, but posed no immediate harm. Deep breathes. Raymond said to himself. He was still shaking, but his head was clearer. He wiggled his arms free as he examined his location. He noticed the escape hatch close by, in fact, just within his reach. Now, he just needed to free himself. He tried shifting the various items on top of him to make room for him to wiggle out. He also looked out for loose tray tables, or boards in general, that he could insert between himself and the suitcase immediately on top to reduce friction.</s> <\|message\|>Current Survivor 27% SUCCESS --- With a little effort you push aside the baggage on top of you, the flames were beginning to get close however even with your sprained ankle the fact this was life or death made you push away the pain and the numbness helped too. You manage to in a rush muscle your way through the escape hatch and tumble out onto the ground below where you find yourself in an arboreal forest. EXP GAINED: +1 EXP STR STATUS: Sprained Ankle</s>	<\|message\|>Raymond Morris Now that Raymond was no longer cramped or restrained, he could clearly feel the pain in his ankle. Ice would be preferred, but it didn't look he would be able to get any. Especially not with a burning plane near by. A burning plane could explode at any time, all it needed was for the flame to reach the fuel tank. It was best to get away fast. Raymond limped forward, picking up a large fallen branch to use as a walking stick. His pace slowed as he left the immediate vicinity of the plane. The sprained ankle was hurting plenty, and putting too much pressure on it would only make it worse. He rested every few meters, marking nearby trees by peeling off some bark or snapping higher branches. It was forest as far as he could see. The airplane could be his only source of non-primal resources. He needed a way back once the danger of fire and explosion was gone. Of course, an explosion would be the worst case scenario-- not only would he lose resources, it could also start a forest fire. After a decent distance, Raymond rested on a fallen log. He ripped strips from his shirt using a sharp rock on the ground, and tightly wrapped his ankle. It was the only treatment he could do right now. The wrapping made the pain more consistent, but Raymond felt like he could walk a bit better. Raymond took this moment of rest to consider his situation. He didn't remember much from before waking up in the wreckage. The last clear memory was him meeting up with an old friend, but that didn't give him much information other than his name. Though, he had to survive and find a way back to society before his past mattered in the least. His top priority right now would be to secure drinking water. He knew, in theory, that he could follow animal tracks to find a water source, but it didn't seem like he knew how to do it. He looked around, trying to notice any clues or anything other than just trees everywhere. He was lucky that his glasses survived the whole ordeal without much of a crack. He'd be hard-pressed without them. Physical: Strength / RANK #0 1/10 EXP Agility / RANK #1 0/30 EXP Endurance / RANK #1 0/30 EXP Meta-Physical: Intellect / RANK #2 0/60 EXP Wisdom / RANK #1 0/30 EXP Charm / RANK #0 0/10 EXP</s>
<\|description\|>Marlowe Voltus Character Info Age - 20 Gender - Male Place of Origin - USA Type - (Newtype, Oldtype, Etc) Cyber-Newtybe Mobile Weapon Profile Suit Type -(Mobile Pod, Mobile Suit, Mobile Armor, etc) Mobile Suit Suit Style - (Federation, Zeon, Other) Other/Voltus Salvafe Custom Combat Role - Support/Range Striker Suit Armaments - HM-31 Custom Magnetized Rivet MW Rifle; Custom Heat Chopper - Pilot Personality Pacifistic Marlowe is not a soldier and escaped being forced to be one during the end of the Gryps War. Even though he's never seen true war, during his time as a Cyber-Newtype he saw the horrors inflicted on the fellow children and teenagers in the laboratories, and suffered the scars of their experiments himself. Because of that, he decided to escape the Earth and avoid all conflict altogether, choosing to help salvage instead of fight. Marlowe believes in the importance of life, regardless of which ideological side someone is on, and absolutely refuses to take another life, even if his own may be taken. Brash Just because he doesn't believe in killing doesn't mean he's a man of inaction. When there is a need for help, Marlowe is the first to jump into the fray. His strong beliefs in helping others tend to put him in worse situations and endanger himself and others. Still, he refuses to compromise his beliefs for anything, and to his detriment. Naive His belief that people are inherently good, which leads him to be used and abused by anyone looking to take advantage of that idealistic belief. \| Physical Description Marlowe is of average height, with dark hair and dark eyes. His build is rather slim, and he tends to wear thick, insulated clothes to deal with the harsh environment on The Cathartes, since the ship is roughshod and ramshackle, you never know if the temperature will drop into freezing due to heating coils needing to be replaced. The same issue happens in the cockpit of the junkpile, and his normal suit is insulated as well to deal with the lack of temperature regulation in the cockpit. Because of this, he will rarely pilot with his helmet off. The other reason constantly covering his body is to hide the various scars he has received from the Cyber-Newtype experiments he went through in U.C. 86-87. He considers himself lucky to leave the Augusta Newtype Labs. Character Conceptualization Marlowe fits the classic Gundam idealistic kid with a major exception: he's older and he has seen how bad things can get on both sides. Beneath his idealistic character is a person who has been heavily scarred by the sins of both the Federation and Zeon. His faith in the spirit of humanity will be tested throughout the story, as even though he has escaped the major influences of the Earth-based colonies, corruption, cruelty, and violence still exist out in the rim. And he still has no idea the dangers that the Jupiter Empire poses. Mobile Weapon Description His custom support mech, kindly named the Junkpile, is a hodge-podge of salvaged and re-purposed parts. The head module is that of a repaired Rick Dias from the Gryps War, and the body is of a GM-III. The arms and legs appear to be unarmored pieces of a GM-II or a Nemo. On the back of the suit is a large mechanical winch system; which can be fired and retracted. The back also has two smaller retro-boosters, allowing for some space maneuverability. However, due to its equipment, the Junkpile falls short of even a Zaku II in combat maneuverability. The one saving grace is the winch system, which allows Marlowe to rocket around debris fields with rapid speed, as long as he has something to tether his MS to. Since the Junkpile is meant for breaking down ships and debris, it is not armored for combat, and therefore is not suited for normal combat sorties. \|</s> <\|message\|>Disker Isaacs --- Among the personnel on board the Cathartes, perhaps there was none as valuable to the Federation and Zeon remnants as the boy currently in front of Disker. Technically, Marlowe was now an adult but the childlike wonder from his youth never faded. Disker had the displeasure to chronicle this when he was among the ranks of the Titans as an experimental mobile suit engineer. While he wasn't one of the doctors pumping the lad full of mind-altering chemicals or psychologically reprogramming him to push beyond his physical limits, perhaps he could have done something to stop it back then. Not just for Marlowe but also for the rest of the unfortunate souls bound to the greed of the fascist warmongers considered to be the Federation's elite. While he can't change the past, Disker can certainly try to make amends now. "Let's have a look kid." he would state with mustered enthusiasm. Upon a quick glance, it was clear that the spherical mechanism was more than just a juvenile's toy. There was too much circuitry and intricate wiring that laid beneath the surface panels. Fascinating to the inquiring mind but not enough to distract him from the matter at hand. Disker would hand back the deceptively heavy device to Marlowe before continuing to walk towards the salvage bay. "Tell you what, come along with me to salvage and we'll see if we can borrow the tools needed to get that thing back on." the engineer would state, already a few steps ahead of Marlowe. Said tools were already in his personal quarters but he needed to ascertain some overlooked details of the scavenging team's latest sortie. Ready to slip ahead even further, a muffled yet familiar voice from a nearby source had told someone to "grow up" that prompted Disker to respond with "Invite goes out to you too, Eibril." Marlowe probably couldn't recall everything Disker needed so he would rope any who had gone out during the sortie, including the nearby Amagaida Xerda. The enigmatic pilot had skills unmatched by even those her senior but this most likely the meant the worst. A common trend in the Augusta Labs recruitment efforts were to target traumatized youth, particularly orphans, for their research effort. Of course, it wasn't advertised as such. Under the guise of humanitarian relief efforts, the Titans had promised that they would help the abandoned children readjust to peacetime as part of their campaigns to maintain order in the Earthsphere. While Disker couldn't be sure, he had a feeling Amagaida's upbringing certainly had to have been similar. Still, he approached her with the trepidation in his voice as they didn't have much of a personal rapport. "Pilot Xerda, if I may ask you to accompany us to salvage. I have a feeling either we or the assailants missed something and hired guns usually come back to finish the job." By the time they would arrive at the ship's wreckage collection and processing area, the scrapper crew would have gone through most of the initial screening process. All the serviceable materials would be placed to one section of the holding bay while the the rest would be hoarded near the jettison port in case they needed to make room, in the hopes that they can either readily replace the damaged junk with better quality scraps or hold on to it to find a buyer desperate enough to spend money on melted ceramic composite. Regardless of either future scenario, the damage marks of the latter scrap heap was what Disker needed to examine. "Did any of you get a good look on what caused this?" he would ask, taking a closer look at the scorch marks on one of the melted alloys. His sharp eye once again quickly came to a conclusion. "Because who ever jumped our guests are certainly packing tech that shouldn't be in service right now."</s> <\|message\|>Leon Barlow Leon's mind came back to reality as the old man finished his speech to the survivors. None of this was his problem at the moment so, he decided it was to check up on his mobile armor. The focus currently was to keep the Gaplant ready for anything. The salvage unit would be crossing hostile space and pirates were always an issue. Leon didn't want to give himself away to those that seek to capture him; murder being the likely outcome by the people he's betrayed. He took his time making his way out of the mess hall, avoiding anyone who wanted to chat; his eyes landing on the man known as Disker and the kid known as Marlowe. Like the others on the ship, he didn't have many interactions with both men but, overhearing Disker piqued his interest. "Pilot Xerda, if I may ask you to accompany us to salvage. I have a feeling either we or the assailants missed something and hired guns usually come back to finish the job." "May I accompany you?" Leon was not posing an actual question as he planned on following the three regardless. They made their way to the salvage room and Disker looked over a bit of the wreckage. His words made Leon's eyebrow raise a bit, for he knew of only a handful of people with tech enough to do this damage.</s>	<\|message\|>Marlowe Voltus Olympia City, MARS NOW Offices "Councilman, the representative from Delgriz Corporation in Riah is on the line. Barrick Torres smiled at the news. Not that he never had a reason not to smile. Everything always went his way. He was the youngest Mars Councilman in the planet's short history, he was leading the biggest radical movement the planet had ever seen, and fairly soon, he would place himself squarely in the center of history in the Universal Century. With his guidance, Mars would become an important player in the universe, and both the Federation, the Colonies, and Jupiter would see how useful the red planet truly was. "That's excellent Ms. Gilman. I'll take the call in here." Laser-link communication was difficult with the number of asteroids moved between the belt and Earthside. He knew he'd only have a few minutes to press the weasels on the colonies, but he'd do it easily. The pressure from ARES in the area had everyone worried about Mars Space, and with the Jupiter Fleet now being targeted, questions were raised on if a safe supply chain could be made. After all, the closest military base to Mars was Luna II, and even then there was no guarantee supply ships could make the trip unescorted. But if the Mars Defense Force had access to better Mobile Suits, better weapons, and a stronger foothold in the sector, they could strengthen security in the region. It was simple logistics, after all. Most of the mobile weapons on Mars were ancient, dating back to the 80s. Or they had refurbished models from recent conflicts, repurposed, and barely any tactical use in combat. They needed real weapons. The kinds that several of his colleagues had brought during their Mars emigration after the Gryps Conflict and the Neo Zeon wars. And once the Earth Sphere weakened… Barrick grabbed his receiver, and spoke quickly, concisely, and with a sharp wit. He'd cornered men like then countless times. And he'd corner hundreds more before he was done. All he needed now were the tools. --- Salvage Area, Cathartes Marlowe smiled and nodded along with everything Disker said to him and the group. Disker had always remained quiet about himself and his past, and Marlowe was never someone rude enough to start digging for answers about people. It's why he had barely any knowledge of most of the crew's histories. He knew that they'd open up when they were ready, and he was always willing to listen to new stories of the places people had been and people they'd met. He'd extended the same respect to Gaida, Ezmy, and Leon. They'd all come to the crew with different skills and mobile suits, and he knew they all had their reasons for joining a crew like the Cathartes. Even he had his own reasons, beyond his grandfather running the entire operation. As others approached, he gave a friendly nod to everyone. Ezmy, and then Leon appeared. Disker invited them along, which was always a joy for Marlowe. Being around others made him feel better, even being around Ezmy, though when he was alone in a room with her, he felt something just being around her. Nothing hormonal, but...something he just couldn't quite get. Like a fuzzy, lost memory hidden behind something that needed to be jostled out of place. He assumed that he'd know exactly what it meant, in time. As the group entered salvage, Marlowe spied a man in a Federation uniform talking to one of the engineers. When Disker asked, "Did any of you get a good look on what caused this?" he knew he'd only seen the readings from the assailant's verniers in the distance. "They moved fast, that's about all I could tell," he noted, then eyed the Federation soldier and waved him over. "Excuse me, do you remember anything about the people that attacked you? "Yeah," the man grumbled. "They were piloting these souped-up mobile suits that looked like a Marasai. I'd seen one, a mothballed unit from the Gryps Conflict on display on Earth. But these didn't work like the mobile suits I'd read about. These struck fast and their weapons tore our ship apart in a matter of minutes. If that Zeon Freighter hadn't come along and took the next round of fire, I think we'd have all died then and there." Marlowe listened and wondered why the name Marasai felt so familiar. Another distant thought crept into the back of his head and then disappeared. He looked to the others, Disker, Gaia, Ezmy, and Leon, to see if they had their own take about the information.</s>
<\|description\|>Marlowe Voltus Character Info Age - 20 Gender - Male Place of Origin - USA Type - (Newtype, Oldtype, Etc) Cyber-Newtybe Mobile Weapon Profile Suit Type -(Mobile Pod, Mobile Suit, Mobile Armor, etc) Mobile Suit Suit Style - (Federation, Zeon, Other) Other/Voltus Salvafe Custom Combat Role - Support/Range Striker Suit Armaments - HM-31 Custom Magnetized Rivet MW Rifle; Custom Heat Chopper - Pilot Personality Pacifistic Marlowe is not a soldier and escaped being forced to be one during the end of the Gryps War. Even though he's never seen true war, during his time as a Cyber-Newtype he saw the horrors inflicted on the fellow children and teenagers in the laboratories, and suffered the scars of their experiments himself. Because of that, he decided to escape the Earth and avoid all conflict altogether, choosing to help salvage instead of fight. Marlowe believes in the importance of life, regardless of which ideological side someone is on, and absolutely refuses to take another life, even if his own may be taken. Brash Just because he doesn't believe in killing doesn't mean he's a man of inaction. When there is a need for help, Marlowe is the first to jump into the fray. His strong beliefs in helping others tend to put him in worse situations and endanger himself and others. Still, he refuses to compromise his beliefs for anything, and to his detriment. Naive His belief that people are inherently good, which leads him to be used and abused by anyone looking to take advantage of that idealistic belief. \| Physical Description Marlowe is of average height, with dark hair and dark eyes. His build is rather slim, and he tends to wear thick, insulated clothes to deal with the harsh environment on The Cathartes, since the ship is roughshod and ramshackle, you never know if the temperature will drop into freezing due to heating coils needing to be replaced. The same issue happens in the cockpit of the junkpile, and his normal suit is insulated as well to deal with the lack of temperature regulation in the cockpit. Because of this, he will rarely pilot with his helmet off. The other reason constantly covering his body is to hide the various scars he has received from the Cyber-Newtype experiments he went through in U.C. 86-87. He considers himself lucky to leave the Augusta Newtype Labs. Character Conceptualization Marlowe fits the classic Gundam idealistic kid with a major exception: he's older and he has seen how bad things can get on both sides. Beneath his idealistic character is a person who has been heavily scarred by the sins of both the Federation and Zeon. His faith in the spirit of humanity will be tested throughout the story, as even though he has escaped the major influences of the Earth-based colonies, corruption, cruelty, and violence still exist out in the rim. And he still has no idea the dangers that the Jupiter Empire poses. Mobile Weapon Description His custom support mech, kindly named the Junkpile, is a hodge-podge of salvaged and re-purposed parts. The head module is that of a repaired Rick Dias from the Gryps War, and the body is of a GM-III. The arms and legs appear to be unarmored pieces of a GM-II or a Nemo. On the back of the suit is a large mechanical winch system; which can be fired and retracted. The back also has two smaller retro-boosters, allowing for some space maneuverability. However, due to its equipment, the Junkpile falls short of even a Zaku II in combat maneuverability. The one saving grace is the winch system, which allows Marlowe to rocket around debris fields with rapid speed, as long as he has something to tether his MS to. Since the Junkpile is meant for breaking down ships and debris, it is not armored for combat, and therefore is not suited for normal combat sorties. \|</s> <\|message\|>Disker Isaacs --- Oh, to be young and fearless. The provocation from Ezmy would have definitely drawn a reaction from the more idealistic Disker during his youth in the Federation days but time has tempered his fire. Thankfully, he wasn't alone in thinking this as Leon had agreed with his sentiments. Though, perhaps Ezmy did have a point. The Cathartes was a sitting duck in this ocean of stars, tempting the jaws of a leviathan in waiting. Striking first would be a good option but where would they even start? Marauders didn't exactly advertise their hideouts with bright neon signs. Then again, this salvaging ship didn't either. As Marlowe spoke on about his opinion, a compromise popped in Disker's head. "You know, both of you bring up good points. We should set up a rearguard and a vanguard position that would intercept the enemy before they reach this ship. That way, the captain can evade an attack if it occurs." He then paused to gauge the reactions from each pilot present, before proceeding on to the pièce de résistance of his battle plan. "Good strategy, agreed? Of course, I'll stay on board the Cathartes to provide cover fire. Young master Voltus here just needs to convince the old man to let us sortie. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a... ball to repair." Regardless of how the others would react to his proposal, Disker would proceed out of the salvage bay while inspecting the device that Marlowe had given him earlier. If he was gonna be stuck inside his Mobile Suit's cockpit, he might as well have something to tinker with to pass the time. Before heading out to the hangar bay, Disker would need to retrieve the toolbox from his designated quarters. On the way there, Disker would come across an unfamiliar face on their way to the captain. Perhaps the captain was hiring extra hands to take up arms. While it didn't bode well for an uneventful voyage, this was definitely the prudent thing to do.</s> <\|message\|>Character Info --- Ezmy was a bit disappointed that Disker didn't take the bait, but she'd come to expect as much from him, boring as it could be. Sometimes she suspected a good chunk of the crew had been secretly lobotomized, but then she remembered people like Kellen and Irina, and decided maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Leon intervened on Disker's behalf, and she rolled her eyes. Fuckin' white-knight manlet, she thought, but decided it would be best to keep that to herself. Ezmy didn't usually shy from getting on people's bad sides, but pissing people off before a fight wouldn't do her any favors if they were pissed off at her. She wasn't going to lick any boots, but she could do her best to keep the snipping to a minimum. Maybe. "Vanguard," she said, staking her claim. Now that they had something resembling a plan, fucked if she was going to sit in the ass-guard while everyone else did all the hard work—she wasn't Disker. Ezmy shot Gaida one more venomous glance, and then hopped down from her pile as Disker wandered off with the toy. He'd be staying aboard on his usual roost, as far from harm's way as possible. Surprise. The only pilot who'd be safer than him was Marlowe, and though normally the good ol' Voltus-nepotism would have pissed her off, she never felt the urge to argue over this particular point. The truth was that she didn't want Marlowe out there with them. He wasn't cut out for it. He was just fine at picking up trash, but his incorrigible pacifism didn't just make him fucking insufferable, it also made him a liability to everyone else. "Yeah, something tells me it's not gonna be hard to get permission for this one," she said, starting off for the hangar. "Guess I'll suit up for the green light. Maybe we'll finally get some fucking action."</s>	<\|message\|>Marlowe Voltus Marlowe followed the other pilots into the hangar, as they traded barbs and quips with one another. Even though no one spoke of it, he could feel the tension in the air. It was like being outside before a heavy storm, as the winds began to pick up and the sky began turning dark. Calm, but the lurking knowledge that something was coming. When they arrived at the hangar, the engineers were already scrambling. Some of the suits were still in the hangar after the retrieval job; that included Marlowe's scrap heap of a mobile suit. It was being ignored as they loaded other suits into the hangar. The gravity had been turned off, and both Cathartes and engineers from the rescue ships were loading ammunition, outfitting suits and generally scrambling for combat. This was the first time Marlowe had ever seen everyone moving so quickly, laser focused on the task at hand. His fellow pilots, those who'd spent time in combat, would recognize it of course. Cornell Voltus was standing around, already wearing his normal suit and barking orders at others. When he saw the group making their way into the hangar, the old man beamed with a toothy grin."Excellent, I don't have to call you all down here." He motioned to the mobile suits on standby. "I'm pretty sure you're all aware that we'll most likely be receiving some visitors promptly. So I was hoping we could prepare a welcoming party for them, before they destroy our ship and our money." He motioned to the man next to him, the Geara Doga pilot they'd run into during the rescue. "Mr. Behrbeck has already dealt with our guests, and we've looked at information from the black boxes retrieved from both ships. They're piloting very fast mobile suits and they are equipped with anti-ship weaponry. Of course, that was all very apparent from the mess we ran into. Instead of waiting in the open for them to come in and tear the ship apart, I have Mr. Arks taking us deeper into the asteroid field. It will eliminate their speed advantage in an open area, but it also limits our maneuverability as well. I'm depending on everyone here to eliminate this enemy force, and to give us a chance to break into Mars Space. Once we dock with the colony orbiting the planet, we can unload our salvage, our passengers and make our way out of this region." The federation captain, Spare Infield was next to speak up. "We're also deploying our remaining mobile suits to assist you with this operation." Their suits were nothing special. Two Nemos and a GM III. To anyone who knew about the Federation's history with mobile suits, they would realize that this was nothing to be excited about. These suits were most likely just old suits fielded for convoy duty. The Nemo especially had a poor track record in the Gryps conflict, and while the GM III was on paper a solid machine, it had been being replaced for the past few years. The soldiers were either rookies or old soldiers past their prime. But at least more allies meant more support. "I can take my mobile suit out to-" Marlowe interrupted before nearly being backhanded by the old man. "You'll stay in the hangar and support the engineering team. The only thing you'll be out there is in the way," he said, his tone sharp and curt. He turned to the other pilots. "Go ahead and suit up and prepare for launch. Miss Xerda, Miss Eibril, Mr. Behrbeck and Mr. Disker, your suits are all prepared. The others will be launched afterwards. I'll be on the bridge with Captain Infield. Just be prepared for anything out there." The old man floated off with the Captain, and Marlowe stood there, his fist clenched. "If you can't pull the trigger, you can't be a pilot. Pilots have to kill. There is no mercy in a mobile suit. Your convictions mean nothing if you're dead. The thoughts ran through his head. He knew that they came from a place of care, or worry, or honesty. But all throughout his life, he'd seen people constantly at war with each other, constantly killing each other, and what had ultimately been the end result? Countless innocent lives, caught in the crossfire. Entire ecosystems destroyed. Entire cities worth of orphaned children, all left alone and forgotten. Like him. Marlowe looked at his Mobile suit in the hangar. It was still geared up for cargo retrieval. He then turned to the others, as they all got prepared to launch. They were all leaving him behind.</s>
<\|description\|>Amagaida "Gaida" Xerda Character Info Age - 27-28 Gender - Female Place of Origin - Munzo Type - New Type Mobile Weapon Profile Suit Type - General-Purpose Mobile Suit Suit Style - Zeon, Retrofitted Combat Role - Support Suit Armaments - Multi-Purpose Beam Cannons, Head-mounted Vulcan Gun, and a Beam Rifle - Pilot Personality Ruthless Gaida will fight until her last breath with a relentless fervor at any cost. While she is a survivor at heart, she sheds no tears for the people in her way to surviving or protecting the values (or people) she cares for the most. This can drive a wedge between people once she removes all pretenses of who she is pretending to be and showing who she really is: a child of Zeon. Calculated Being impulsive is a fool's death and the former Zeon ace knows this well. Even before stepping foot into the cockpit of a mobile suit the red-haired woman was distinctly intelligent and perceptive. She used these skills to survive Federation occupation and later various dogfights in her suit. She's well-read for what she has gotten a hold of and she has a keen eye and ear for things that prove crucial to survival. If she hears a pilot say something out-of-suit that is damning, she'll be sure to never forget it. Compromised Cynic People will do terrible things if afforded the orders to do so. In fact, "just following orders" was how her life got turned upside down by the Federation who couldn't leave well enough alone. She doesn't trust people unless they have staunchly proved to be on the side of the just. This can be kind of hypocritical given how she too fell into the same trope of a soldier just following orders under Zeon following her assignments inside a mobile suit. \| Physical Description Amagaida, otherwise known as "Gaida" in her new life, is slender and toned. Her hair is red like Mars and eyes a nearly golden amber. She keeps herself as fit and nurtured as possible, though this can be forgotten given the thick, insulated clothes needed to survive with the inconsistent temperatures on the Lightning Galleon. She's noticeably taller than even some men on the vessel, though not by much. Her attire often has a sense of being "all business" even in the most casual and less abrasive of environments. She rarely shows skin and often stylizes her hair in a relatively conservative fashion. In terms of her mobile suit equipment she keeps a old assortment of Zeon gear and while the brandings and adornments of the Principality of Zeon are faded or outright masked by new coats of paint, she often retools things in fond memory of when she flew against Federation forces for the good of her faction. Character Conceptualization Gaida is a former Zeon ace who has forced herself out of her old lifestyle in hopes of building something from scratch. Deceptively smart yet constantly in doubt of the universe around her she has yet to atone for her sins, though part of her feels she doesn't need to as she still fiercely believes in what she fought for: independence from the Earth Federation at all costs. She was a child when the Earth Federation occupied Munzo and has a burning loathing of the arrogance of Earth in her blood. This does not lend to her despising people from Earth, but it does lean toward her interacting with a sense of bias and contempt beyond a facetious mask of civility and kindness. Mobile Weapon Description Gaida pilots a retrofitted, personally modified AMX-011 Zaku III. As a former pilot for the Principality of Zeon and 'resistance fighter', this is not largely out of place. One could consider it a "Zaku III Kai" given its amount of customization. It has similarities to Mashymre's Zaku III customizations. The multi-purpose beam cannons that can be ejected and used as beam sabers, the beam rifle, and vulcan gun mounted on the head's chassis. Many of the armaments Gaida was once used to have been scrapped or sold as she attempts to find a new life beyond Zeon and the Federation. She has heavily modified the suit itself to better suit its sensory capabilities and civilian utilities. Utilizing her mobile suit for scrapper duties seems like a waste, but she has found nothing to fight for since the principality's downfall. Any new Zeon movements that have cropped up since she left have piqued her interest but nonetheless have not recruited her to their cause. \|</s> <\|message\|>Leon Barlow Leon's mind came back to reality as the old man finished his speech to the survivors. None of this was his problem at the moment so, he decided it was to check up on his mobile armor. The focus currently was to keep the Gaplant ready for anything. The salvage unit would be crossing hostile space and pirates were always an issue. Leon didn't want to give himself away to those that seek to capture him; murder being the likely outcome by the people he's betrayed. He took his time making his way out of the mess hall, avoiding anyone who wanted to chat; his eyes landing on the man known as Disker and the kid known as Marlowe. Like the others on the ship, he didn't have many interactions with both men but, overhearing Disker piqued his interest. "Pilot Xerda, if I may ask you to accompany us to salvage. I have a feeling either we or the assailants missed something and hired guns usually come back to finish the job." "May I accompany you?" Leon was not posing an actual question as he planned on following the three regardless. They made their way to the salvage room and Disker looked over a bit of the wreckage. His words made Leon's eyebrow raise a bit, for he knew of only a handful of people with tech enough to do this damage.</s> <\|message\|>Marlowe Voltus Olympia City, MARS NOW Offices "Councilman, the representative from Delgriz Corporation in Riah is on the line. Barrick Torres smiled at the news. Not that he never had a reason not to smile. Everything always went his way. He was the youngest Mars Councilman in the planet's short history, he was leading the biggest radical movement the planet had ever seen, and fairly soon, he would place himself squarely in the center of history in the Universal Century. With his guidance, Mars would become an important player in the universe, and both the Federation, the Colonies, and Jupiter would see how useful the red planet truly was. "That's excellent Ms. Gilman. I'll take the call in here." Laser-link communication was difficult with the number of asteroids moved between the belt and Earthside. He knew he'd only have a few minutes to press the weasels on the colonies, but he'd do it easily. The pressure from ARES in the area had everyone worried about Mars Space, and with the Jupiter Fleet now being targeted, questions were raised on if a safe supply chain could be made. After all, the closest military base to Mars was Luna II, and even then there was no guarantee supply ships could make the trip unescorted. But if the Mars Defense Force had access to better Mobile Suits, better weapons, and a stronger foothold in the sector, they could strengthen security in the region. It was simple logistics, after all. Most of the mobile weapons on Mars were ancient, dating back to the 80s. Or they had refurbished models from recent conflicts, repurposed, and barely any tactical use in combat. They needed real weapons. The kinds that several of his colleagues had brought during their Mars emigration after the Gryps Conflict and the Neo Zeon wars. And once the Earth Sphere weakened… Barrick grabbed his receiver, and spoke quickly, concisely, and with a sharp wit. He'd cornered men like then countless times. And he'd corner hundreds more before he was done. All he needed now were the tools. --- Salvage Area, Cathartes Marlowe smiled and nodded along with everything Disker said to him and the group. Disker had always remained quiet about himself and his past, and Marlowe was never someone rude enough to start digging for answers about people. It's why he had barely any knowledge of most of the crew's histories. He knew that they'd open up when they were ready, and he was always willing to listen to new stories of the places people had been and people they'd met. He'd extended the same respect to Gaida, Ezmy, and Leon. They'd all come to the crew with different skills and mobile suits, and he knew they all had their reasons for joining a crew like the Cathartes. Even he had his own reasons, beyond his grandfather running the entire operation. As others approached, he gave a friendly nod to everyone. Ezmy, and then Leon appeared. Disker invited them along, which was always a joy for Marlowe. Being around others made him feel better, even being around Ezmy, though when he was alone in a room with her, he felt something just being around her. Nothing hormonal, but...something he just couldn't quite get. Like a fuzzy, lost memory hidden behind something that needed to be jostled out of place. He assumed that he'd know exactly what it meant, in time. As the group entered salvage, Marlowe spied a man in a Federation uniform talking to one of the engineers. When Disker asked, "Did any of you get a good look on what caused this?" he knew he'd only seen the readings from the assailant's verniers in the distance. "They moved fast, that's about all I could tell," he noted, then eyed the Federation soldier and waved him over. "Excuse me, do you remember anything about the people that attacked you? "Yeah," the man grumbled. "They were piloting these souped-up mobile suits that looked like a Marasai. I'd seen one, a mothballed unit from the Gryps Conflict on display on Earth. But these didn't work like the mobile suits I'd read about. These struck fast and their weapons tore our ship apart in a matter of minutes. If that Zeon Freighter hadn't come along and took the next round of fire, I think we'd have all died then and there." Marlowe listened and wondered why the name Marasai felt so familiar. Another distant thought crept into the back of his head and then disappeared. He looked to the others, Disker, Gaia, Ezmy, and Leon, to see if they had their own take about the information.</s> <\|message\|>Character Info --- Ezmy was relieved to have traded the crowd of whining rescues for the usual junkyard entourage of the Cathartes' crew. They weren't that much better, but she'd found a begrudging comfort in their company over the months, especially compared to the people they usually did business with. Watching Cornell guile respect out of Feds and Zeons made putting up with all the creeps and freaks on his payroll worth it. There'd be no escaping war—that the Cathartes existed at all was proof of that—but meeting its horrors with self-serving indifference was a pretty close second, in her opinion. They came to what was left of the scrapheap. Ezmy hopped up onto a pile of flattened debris and watched as Disker went to work doing…Thinker things. To her it just seemed like he was obsessing over ash-marks and slag, but she'd come to understand that there was usually more going on behind those eyes than might appear. "…Because whoever jumped our guests are certainly packing tech that shouldn't be in service right now." Wow, or maybe not? "You mean the pirates are using illegal weapons?" she asked dryly. "Killer detective work there, Disker." Beside them, Marlowe dragged a Fed over to ask him some questions. She found herself scowling again, already—it never took long when Marlowe was nearby. The younger Voltus had an effect on her, like the effect a cheese grater might have on the side of someone's face. She could practically feel the headache coming on as soon as he opened his mouth. Sometimes he didn't even need to talk, just his presence was an irritant. When the Fed shut up, Marlowe looked to the rest of them. Ezmy rolled her eyes. "I don't get it," she said. "If we're worried about the pirates coming back, we should just suit up and get out there. The trash isn't gonna tell us anything that seeing them won't."</s>	<\|message\|>Amagaida "Gaida" Xerda "Normally, I'd say we don't have the numbers to play seek and destroy." Gaida smiled warmly as she put her hand on Ezmy's shoulder, "However... we aren't exactly lacking in people or suits." Gaida understood the logistics of tracking down pirates when their orders were contrary to that, but the red-haired woman would remind that she signed up to protect this junk-rig of a ship. Nothing more and nothing less. She didn't have any skin in the game with the pirates, though she knew the shortstock beside her most certainly had a sort of axe to grind. She was certain she yearned for action rather than protecting the ship or scanning around junk fields hoping that something interesting happened for once. She looked back toward Disker as she released her hand from the girl's shoulder. "I can power up my suit and join your group. At least, as long as our defenses here are ample enough. If we end up not doing little Ezmy's plan."</s>
<\|description\|>Character Info Name – Ezmy Eibril Age - 18 Gender - Female Place of Origin - Munzo Type – Cyber-Newtype Mobile Weapon Profile Suit Type - General-Purpose Mobile Suit Suit Style - Federation, junker Combat Role - Close-range striker Suit Armaments - Twin Beam Spear, Head-mounted Vulcan Gun, YHI YF-MG100 100mm Machine Gun - Pilot Personality Reckless Anger Ezmy has never been good at controlling her temper, a problem drastically exacerbated by Neo Zeon's conditioning. However, even before being brought in to the cyber-newtype experiments, her parents would have described her as a problem child, which might have been why there was so little fuss about giving her up. Within her is an ugly, angry, violent fire which refuses to be snuffed out, burning brightest in the heat of battle, and the cold of isolation. Grim Outlook Misanthropy was an ineluctable fate; people are disgusting during war, and there's always war. On the one hand, an almost cruel contempt for life made Ezmy a good soldier on paper, but on the other hand—everything else. To Ezmy, the only thing more demeaning than being human is being a tool for humans, but dignity was never the thing getting her out of bed in the morning. Autophobic A misanthrope with a longing for affection might seem paradoxical to some, or perfectly logical to others. Ezmy just finds it humiliating. The love of family, the comradery of friendship, even in her dreams these things are vague and ephemeral. She cannot describe how they feel—or would feel—or just why she wants them, but she does. She wants them more than anything, sometimes even enough to act like someone acting like a well-adjusted person. But being discarded again, this time by Zeon itself, has done little to change her belief that these intangible concepts, if they're real at all, are worth wasting on a tool. \| Physical Description Ezmy is a built like a spike; short, narrow, deceptively sturdy. Spotty diets haven't left her with much to build muscle on, but old exercise habits have at least kept her from wasting away. She wears what she can get her hands on, which usually means clothes that are baggy and too big for her, but which are at least insulated to handle the Cathartes' occasional temperature tantrums. Her hair is kept short out of reflex, and her eyes are a dim, earthy brown. Her boney skin burns easily and often, and the multitude of scars left over from childhood experimentation crawl across her arms and spine and up her neck. She's gone out of her way to rip out and stitch over the identifying Zeon crests of her mobile suit gear. The colors still disgust her, but there's an odd, familiar comfort to the suit that's kept her from tossing it in the airlock. Character Conceptualization Ezmy is Neo Zeon war-chaff brought up in the wake of one loss, and discarded on the eve of another. While initially a promising prospect due to how responsive she was to experimentation, her volatile personality and growing disdain for authority ultimately led to her dismissal after only a brief tour in conflict. Her home, which had so greedily sought her out, was now embarrassed by her, and at the age of eighteen she found herself living the life of a disgraced nomad. Neo Zeon coaxed the aptitude for violence out of her, and used it to feed her craving for conflict. Now, with the second war behind, Ezmy drifts listlessly in secret, desperate search of anything even resembling purpose. Time alone has awakened a new hunger within her as well, one for companionship. The feeling confuses her, disgusts her, and she does not know how to feed it, nor can she bring herself to ignore it. Mobile Weapon Description After her dismissal from Neo Zeon, Ezmy came into possession of a seized Federation relic, a nearly two-decade old GM Striker, and was sent on her way. The thing was hardly functional and took some time to adjust to, and the irony of having to pilot old Federation tech was not lost on her. While outdated in nearly every way, its close-range leanings were at least familiar to her. Passably mobile, with head-mounted vulcan cannons for minor cover, and a twin beam spear, which can be detached into two sabers, what the Striker lacks in range and defense it…well, it doesn't really make up for it, but it does well enough up close. \|</s> <\|message\|>Leon Barlow The mess was littered with people, salvagers of The Cathartes and the survivors of the recent battles. So many people seeking asylum and/or passage to a better place, relatively speaking. Away from these people sat Leon Barlow in his own little space near the wall. Just enough to hear the Captain speak on the matters at hand, but far enough anyone would know to leave him be. These people needed help and he could acknowledge that, the Federation being unable to help these folks as they hid behind their ideals to pretend they were good people. He knew it all too well, re-actively grabbing at the ring around his neck. His mind wandered for a moment, remembering he was wanted by the Federation and the moments he spent meeting a few people in the Federation. "Since the attacks from this mysterious pirate group have become more regular around these parts, we've been sent here to clean up, so to speak." Ares.... Leon had heard of them before from clients who had hired the mercenary to do business in areas that Ares had previously been. He had never faced them before in open combat, but he had escaped from a unit before. Fortunately it was a small thing that Leon hoped Ares didn't remember; regardless now they were causing far more trouble for Leon to be out in the open. Between the Federation, Zeon, Ares, and a few associates, he definitely was happy to hide among these group of upstanding individuals. He had zoned out completely from the rest of the Captain's speech to the refugees, he proceeded to lean forward with his hands under his chin. His mind went into a deep thought again, hair covering his right eye, giving him a far more serious demeanor than he was actually in. For now he would keep his head low, do whatever work was needed, and leave once the coast was clear for himself.</s> <\|message\|>Marlowe Voltus Near the Ares Asteroid Several Griffon mobile suits floated around a refuelling station attached to a large asteroid; though a better name for it would be something akin to a small colony. Mobile suits floated around the superstructure, as did various vessels moving in and out. Fuel, ammunition, supplies. Everything was being gathered at this point, ready to perform something incredible. The small squad of Griffons that had attacked the cargo vessels were busy refuelling, and the squad's leader seemed preoccupied speaking with his own commander. "So, you came back empty handed?" The voice inside the pilot's cockpit was dark, masculine and calm. But there was an undertone of disappointment from the voice. "Why?" "We were getting low on fuel and a new ship and mobile suits appeared. We decided it would be best to regroup and-" "And lead them back to our location?" "No sir, we weren't followed. They seemed more concerned with the wreckage than us." "Once you refuel, you need to double back and take care of that new ship. There's no need for survivors at this point. We're almost ready to move into the final stages of Commander Brinz's plan." "Yes, Lieutenant Odo." "Remember, these small sparks of conflict will fan the flames, and end the wretched story of all those who cling to the sight of earth." The pilot responded in the affirmative, but the idea of Commander Brinz's plan was...well, it bordered on insanity. Man of the pilots in ARES had some reason to hate the Federation, and others had reason to hate the weak politics of the colonies, but the concept of Brinz's plan scared many of the pilots who still had some tinges of loyalty to their old home. None of them ever had a reason to return, but to burn the bridge in this way… "Sir! We've finished refuelling." "Alright, let's head out! No more playing it safe. They all think that the worst is behind them, let's really ruin their day!" --- Marlowe walked through the halls of the Cathartes cradling something in his arms. He'd picked it up along with the rest of the salvage from the two destroyed vessels, though he was unsure exactly what it was or who it belonged to. It looked almost cartoonish, a heavy round sphere with two eyes, and little flaps on the sides. It was cute, like a child's toy. Who was the child, though? There were no children of families in the group of survivors they'd rounded up. Was the owner of this little thing lost out in the debris field? The idea made him shudder, and he wondered exactly who would do such a thing to such lightly defended freighters. How many years ago would he have played with something like this? Probably no more than seven or eight years probably. So how old had the owner been? His head began to hurt, another problem of his constant over thinking. He'd decided to skip his grandfather's "welcome" address to the survivors. He knew that there would be a sense of animosity and annoyance from these interlopers, after all, they didn't belong on the Cathartes. The vessel was home to outcasts, misfits and those that lived on the fringes of society, not to honest working people like those in the freighter. Still, Marlowe was excited, because new people meant new stories to hear. What was going on back towards Earth? He noticed Disker Issacs leaving the "mess hall", and stepped up his pace to approach him, before he nearly collided into one Gaida; apparently leaving the briefing as well, "Oh! Excuse me, Miss Gaida," he said with a hint of deference; another tick of his that tended to annoy many of his fellow pilots. He referred to everyone as "Miss" or "Mister" regardless of how few years separated them. The only two he didn't give the honorifics to were his grandfather, who he simply called "grandad" and to Ezmy, who simply was referred to by her own name. He waved to Disker, cradling the green sphere against his chest. "Mister Disker! Can I talk to you for a moment?" He motioned to the green toy in his arms. "I found this during the salvage run," he began, "And I wanted to know if you'd be able to repair it." He'd learned early on not to badger Irma with things of this nature, especially when there was actual salvage going on. Around her, he risked getting smacked in the head with a wrench. Disker was at the very least an affable sort, and less likely to cause grievous harm to Marlowe. --- "Well, if there are no questions, the crew will help you settle into your quarters. You'll be using the extra bunks towards the central hub of the ship. It'll be cramped, and usually uncomfortable, but it's better than floating in space." With that, many of the survivors shuffled around, some out, following Kellen as he led them to the bunks, others mumbled and talked amongst themselves. But one person approached Cornell, an older man wearing a Federation uniform. "Sir, I'd just like to thank you for assisting these people," the man said, extended a hand. "I'm Lieutenant Commander Spare Infield, from the EFSF." "You're welcome. But my suggestion is to relax the military attitude around here," Cornell noted, giving a knowing wink to Ezmy as she scowled in the corner. "My ship welcomes all people who've given up their homes. I'd like you to ignore any disrespect you'll probably get if you keep up with the stuffed shirt routine." The old man was wily, but he was damn honest as well. "I take it you have issues with the Federation as well? "I was the head engineer of a little colony named Texas back in the '60s, during the big economic bubble in the colonies. Of course, that didn't last very long, and by the time the 70's came around, I found myself out of the job until the Yashima company picked up the bill. But when you lot and those Zeons took up war, Texas and all of Loum got brought into it. You know the rest of the story." Cornell took a small tin of coffee and downed it. The Federation man stood there in silence, closed his eyes and sighed. "I understand. I promise that I nor anyone under my command will cause problems on your ship. Just get us to Mars safely." "Now that, I can do." The old man gave the officer a toothy grin.</s>	<\|message\|>Character Info As the captain finished up his spiel, and the survivors began to disperse, Ezmy found her interest waning. No one had tried to press their luck, or whined about their shitty accommodations—which were only marginally less-shitty than the crews' own—they all just seemed happy to be breathing. Which was stupid. They were attacked, stranded, and now they were essentially being robbed in exchange for their lives. The fact that a few of these idiots would consider the Voltus company heroes when they got to Mars was one part hilarious, and nine parts fucking annoying. Some Federation roach skittered up to Cornell and introduced himself as a Lieutenant Commander. The captain shot that shit down pretty quick, and Ezmy scoffed when he winked her way. She hopped down off the table and made her way to the back of the mess again, but did it without hurry so that she could still hear the conversation. There was no reason to eavesdrop; Cornell was just telling the same story all of them had heard before about his past rodeos, and the suit just groveled compliance. Nothing special. Besides, even if Spare Change or Tire or whatever-the-fuck his name was did say something interesting, even if he'd just started spilling Federation secrets, so what? Who was she gonna tell? Who was anyone on this bloated iron tub gonna tell? She quickly found herself tuning it out. Some of the survivors followed Kellen out of the mess to where they'd be bunking. He was easily one of the most aggravating people on the Cathartes and, probably, in the whole galaxy—an opinion shared by other crew-members, she was sure—however, through the doorway she caught a glimpse of first-place: Marlowe. He was badgering Disker about something, showing off a…toy? It looked like a toy. Had he picked it out of the wreckage? She felt herself growing annoyed with him already, a familiar feeling when it came to the lesser Voltus. Pirates ambush a pack of helpless traders, and Marlowe manages to salvage a toy rubble. With effort, Ezmy suppressed the urge to yell "grow up!" through the door, and chugged the last of her coffee instead. Her face twisted at the taste, and for a moment she thought she might not mind if the newcomers did drink it all. But the moment passed, and she went back for a refill. There were still enough people in the mess for her tastes; she'd stick around here until that changed, or until someone barked at her to make herself useful. No one ever got away with loitering on the Cathartes for long.</s>
<\|description\|>Character Info Name – Ezmy Eibril Age - 18 Gender - Female Place of Origin - Munzo Type – Cyber-Newtype Mobile Weapon Profile Suit Type - General-Purpose Mobile Suit Suit Style - Federation, junker Combat Role - Close-range striker Suit Armaments - Twin Beam Spear, Head-mounted Vulcan Gun, YHI YF-MG100 100mm Machine Gun - Pilot Personality Reckless Anger Ezmy has never been good at controlling her temper, a problem drastically exacerbated by Neo Zeon's conditioning. However, even before being brought in to the cyber-newtype experiments, her parents would have described her as a problem child, which might have been why there was so little fuss about giving her up. Within her is an ugly, angry, violent fire which refuses to be snuffed out, burning brightest in the heat of battle, and the cold of isolation. Grim Outlook Misanthropy was an ineluctable fate; people are disgusting during war, and there's always war. On the one hand, an almost cruel contempt for life made Ezmy a good soldier on paper, but on the other hand—everything else. To Ezmy, the only thing more demeaning than being human is being a tool for humans, but dignity was never the thing getting her out of bed in the morning. Autophobic A misanthrope with a longing for affection might seem paradoxical to some, or perfectly logical to others. Ezmy just finds it humiliating. The love of family, the comradery of friendship, even in her dreams these things are vague and ephemeral. She cannot describe how they feel—or would feel—or just why she wants them, but she does. She wants them more than anything, sometimes even enough to act like someone acting like a well-adjusted person. But being discarded again, this time by Zeon itself, has done little to change her belief that these intangible concepts, if they're real at all, are worth wasting on a tool. \| Physical Description Ezmy is a built like a spike; short, narrow, deceptively sturdy. Spotty diets haven't left her with much to build muscle on, but old exercise habits have at least kept her from wasting away. She wears what she can get her hands on, which usually means clothes that are baggy and too big for her, but which are at least insulated to handle the Cathartes' occasional temperature tantrums. Her hair is kept short out of reflex, and her eyes are a dim, earthy brown. Her boney skin burns easily and often, and the multitude of scars left over from childhood experimentation crawl across her arms and spine and up her neck. She's gone out of her way to rip out and stitch over the identifying Zeon crests of her mobile suit gear. The colors still disgust her, but there's an odd, familiar comfort to the suit that's kept her from tossing it in the airlock. Character Conceptualization Ezmy is Neo Zeon war-chaff brought up in the wake of one loss, and discarded on the eve of another. While initially a promising prospect due to how responsive she was to experimentation, her volatile personality and growing disdain for authority ultimately led to her dismissal after only a brief tour in conflict. Her home, which had so greedily sought her out, was now embarrassed by her, and at the age of eighteen she found herself living the life of a disgraced nomad. Neo Zeon coaxed the aptitude for violence out of her, and used it to feed her craving for conflict. Now, with the second war behind, Ezmy drifts listlessly in secret, desperate search of anything even resembling purpose. Time alone has awakened a new hunger within her as well, one for companionship. The feeling confuses her, disgusts her, and she does not know how to feed it, nor can she bring herself to ignore it. Mobile Weapon Description After her dismissal from Neo Zeon, Ezmy came into possession of a seized Federation relic, a nearly two-decade old GM Striker, and was sent on her way. The thing was hardly functional and took some time to adjust to, and the irony of having to pilot old Federation tech was not lost on her. While outdated in nearly every way, its close-range leanings were at least familiar to her. Passably mobile, with head-mounted vulcan cannons for minor cover, and a twin beam spear, which can be detached into two sabers, what the Striker lacks in range and defense it…well, it doesn't really make up for it, but it does well enough up close. \|</s> <\|message\|>Dustice Behrbeck Dustice lounged back in his chair smoking a cigar while sipping his father's favorite drink. The bottle of James Donnels reflected a twinge of the light from the room, but that wasn't his focus. He would puff on the fat cigar, take a sip from the whiskey, and lean back to enjoy the "view". His chair allowed him to look out the 'window' of his father's room, though it was really just a viewing monitor set up to mimic a window it still offered the same comfort of stargazing while enjoying a drink and a smoke. "How many people did you manage to protect?" Came a voice on the left side of the window. He glanced over to see the older figure standing beside him. Of course, this is how it always went down when he had this dream. His father, always there to confront him. "I haven't counted yet. We lost some good pilots but as far as I can tell none of the civilians were killed." "See kid? Being a bodyguard, it's in your blood!" The younger man furrowed his brow. "Don't. I'm exhausted." Even in his dreams, he felt the aches and exhaustion from days of constant piloting. He couldn't escape it, just as he knew where his father was about to steer this conversation. This dream always went the same way. The old man let out a raspy chuckle. He had been smoking those cigars since before the One Year War and it might have been catching up to him. But despite the advancements when it came to smoking, the old man preferred to smoke something natural instead of electronic. His son was less interested in ruining his voice but that particular night before the final battle of the Gryps Conflict of course he was going to share a smoke and a drink with the man he had been seeking out for over half a decade. "Just think...if you're able to protect a whole crew by yourself so easily.." "Drop it." "Imagine how easy it would be to protect one Zeon Princess?" The young pilot removed his cigar from his mouth and whipped it angrily at his father. Though in zero gravity it would be easy enough to not just dodge it, but catch it and safely put it out, which his father did. That was what made these dreams so weird, instead of the nice, nostalgic conversation he had with his father the night before the old man died during the war, his dreams kept returning to this strange argument that never really happened. An argument about the old man's last request. While Dustice has heard instances of people making contact with others from the afterlife, most of those anecdotes came from alleged newtypes. Plus, they said the spirits were friendly. While it could be argued that at the very least, the elder Behrbeck was not malicious if he truly was a ghost, Dustice never enjoyed the conversation because it always ended up coming back to Princess Mineva Lao Zabi. "You're absolutely right!" He'd bark at his father. "I'd do a damn good job at protecting the princess! But I'm not risking my life only to find out I've been getting shot at over a decoy ever again!! Do you know how humiliating that was?" "I understand that. It was wrong of Lady Haman to abuse your trust that way." "Yeah it was, but she did that to everyone that worked for her." "Well Commander Char did promise to--" That's when Dustice slammed his drink down and stood up. "Char Aznable is dead, vanished in that axis shock, and good riddance too! I'm sorry old man, I know you really wanted me to look out for her but I dropped a colony, an asteroid, and almost our former home onto the planet, all in her name. And the universe itself stepped in to stop that last one, I'm not doing it anymore. If you're gonna insist on bothering me about this, then give me names of former zeon buddies of yours that won't screw me over!!" *** Instead of an answer, he'd be rustled awake by a lady engineer. It looked like his power nap time was over. It was a good thing he chose the nap before the shower because he'd have had much less sleep if he took the shower first. The pilot politely gestured for the engineer to back away, he knew how he probably smelled. "Unfortunately the pirates weren't nice enough to give me bathroom breaks, or nap time." He grumbled, looking over his suit. It was one from the second Neo Zeon War, back when he worked for Char. Well, it didn't really hold any emotional value to him, truth be told he'd prefer to wear a normal suit that matched the grey of his Geara Doga but he had spent most of his budget on a beam tomahawk shield. "Uh..." He'd look around. "I should have a spare normal suit around somewhere. Where's your disposal? I think I'm just gonna pitch this suit, it'd be a waste of your water trying to clean it out." About half an hour later, Dustice was showered and in a spare normal suit and he managed to grab a fresh pair of undergarments and a black short sleeved undershirt, but he didn't really have time to get the rest of his casual clothes from the ship. Though he had a hunch that the pirates might try and come back so he figured his normal suit was fine for now. He kept it unzipped down to the waist to let his torso breathe for once. After all, this was a civilian ship. Who the hell cared about regulation? The pilot knocked on the door to the bridge, and when given permission to answer the first thing he would do is apologize. "Hi, I'm so sorry I just went straight to bed when you rescued us. But I didn't want to have any sort of business-related conversations on no sleep, I don't trust myself to not mess up the paperwork side of this job."</s> <\|message\|>Disker Isaacs --- Oh, to be young and fearless. The provocation from Ezmy would have definitely drawn a reaction from the more idealistic Disker during his youth in the Federation days but time has tempered his fire. Thankfully, he wasn't alone in thinking this as Leon had agreed with his sentiments. Though, perhaps Ezmy did have a point. The Cathartes was a sitting duck in this ocean of stars, tempting the jaws of a leviathan in waiting. Striking first would be a good option but where would they even start? Marauders didn't exactly advertise their hideouts with bright neon signs. Then again, this salvaging ship didn't either. As Marlowe spoke on about his opinion, a compromise popped in Disker's head. "You know, both of you bring up good points. We should set up a rearguard and a vanguard position that would intercept the enemy before they reach this ship. That way, the captain can evade an attack if it occurs." He then paused to gauge the reactions from each pilot present, before proceeding on to the pièce de résistance of his battle plan. "Good strategy, agreed? Of course, I'll stay on board the Cathartes to provide cover fire. Young master Voltus here just needs to convince the old man to let us sortie. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a... ball to repair." Regardless of how the others would react to his proposal, Disker would proceed out of the salvage bay while inspecting the device that Marlowe had given him earlier. If he was gonna be stuck inside his Mobile Suit's cockpit, he might as well have something to tinker with to pass the time. Before heading out to the hangar bay, Disker would need to retrieve the toolbox from his designated quarters. On the way there, Disker would come across an unfamiliar face on their way to the captain. Perhaps the captain was hiring extra hands to take up arms. While it didn't bode well for an uneventful voyage, this was definitely the prudent thing to do.</s>	<\|message\|>Character Info Ezmy was a bit disappointed that Disker didn't take the bait, but she'd come to expect as much from him, boring as it could be. Sometimes she suspected a good chunk of the crew had been secretly lobotomized, but then she remembered people like Kellen and Irina, and decided maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Leon intervened on Disker's behalf, and she rolled her eyes. Fuckin' white-knight manlet, she thought, but decided it would be best to keep that to herself. Ezmy didn't usually shy from getting on people's bad sides, but pissing people off before a fight wouldn't do her any favors if they were pissed off at her. She wasn't going to lick any boots, but she could do her best to keep the snipping to a minimum. Maybe. "Vanguard," she said, staking her claim. Now that they had something resembling a plan, fucked if she was going to sit in the ass-guard while everyone else did all the hard work—she wasn't Disker. Ezmy shot Gaida one more venomous glance, and then hopped down from her pile as Disker wandered off with the toy. He'd be staying aboard on his usual roost, as far from harm's way as possible. Surprise. The only pilot who'd be safer than him was Marlowe, and though normally the good ol' Voltus-nepotism would have pissed her off, she never felt the urge to argue over this particular point. The truth was that she didn't want Marlowe out there with them. He wasn't cut out for it. He was just fine at picking up trash, but his incorrigible pacifism didn't just make him fucking insufferable, it also made him a liability to everyone else. "Yeah, something tells me it's not gonna be hard to get permission for this one," she said, starting off for the hangar. "Guess I'll suit up for the green light. Maybe we'll finally get some fucking action."</s>
<\|description\|>Dustice Behrbeck Character Info Age - 31 Gender - Male Place of Origin - Munzo Type - Newtype Mobile Weapon Profile Suit Type -Mobile Suit Suit Style - Zeon Combat Role - High-Speed Fighter Suit Armaments - Beam Machine Gun, Beam Sword Axe - Pilot Personality Cool-Headed Enough years in combat have led Bareback to not allow his nerves to take over. He's a stoic veteran in combat and is the first to take charge based on his years of experience in war. Pragmatic Bareback is willing to do anything to survive in combat, and he has an extremely pragmatic approach to combat, using whatever advantage he can to win in a fight. Spiritual Seeing the Axis Shock firsthand had an incredible impact on Bareback. He believed the Axis Shock to be a sign to humanity, and he began to change his outlook on life after surviving the Second Neo Zeon War, deciding to do his part to make the universe a better place for mankind instead of propagating the endless cycle of war. \| Physical Description Bareback has shoulder-length, light brown hair, parted to the side. His eyes are tired, yet in combat, he keeps a certain sharpness that only a veteran of several wars can have. His face is perpetually turned into a frown, though he is not a cruel man. And while he is only in his early 30's, the obvious years of war have aged him. Character Conceptualization Bareback takes the role of the experienced veteran; a man who joined the Titans on the spot to search for his father, who'd joined the Zeon Remnants, who continually found himself working for those who committed atrocities throughout the various wars. After finally finding his father working for Hamon Karn during the First Neo Zeon War, Bareback defected the Titans after Jamitov Hyman's death and served with Neo Zeon until Hamon Karn's death. During the Second Neo Zeon War, he signed up to fight under the heroic Red Comet, Char Aznable. But history would repeat itself, as once more he found himself fighting on a side that only wanted to bring more destruction. Growing exasperated by the constant war and politics that corrupted good men, and seeing the miracle during the Axis Meteor fall as a sign, Bareback left fighting for a political cause and took up work acting as a bodyguard and mercenary, protecting freighters and civilians for better causes. Mobile Weapon Description Bareback pilots the AMS-119 Geara Doga which was his MS during the Second Neo Zeon War. It has since been repainted gray, to signify his neutral affiliation in the post-war. Bareback had done multiple modifications to the MS, increasing the Geara Doga's speed and mobility with added boosters. The Geara Doga's armaments remain the same as the standard model, but the increased mobility takes it from being a very middle-of-the-road mobile suit to a speedy combat MS capable of fulfilling many roles in battle. \|</s> <\|message\|>Character Info --- Ezmy's fists balled up on reflex the moment Gaida touched her, shuddering like the temperature had suddenly dipped into the negatives. She shot the woman a hard look, eyes flicking from her to her hand, as if, surely, it was just some tragic mistake that it had landed on her shoulder. But no, it wasn't, and Gaida went on to agree with her, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Ezmy might not have been a very socially-conscious person, but she knew when she was being patronized. "…little Ezmy's plan." Oh, she'd be paying for that one. "Gee Gaida, thanks." She said through teeth grated in the closest approximation to a smile that Ezmy could muster. When the woman took her hand away, Ezmy brushed imaginary grime off of her shoulder. She wasn't done with her, but Disker's sharp interjection reminded her that there was, in fact, an actual conversation of import going on. Fine. There'd be plenty of time for getting even later. "Okay, and?" she snipped back at Disker. "If the pirates come back, the options are run, or fight, and you're out of your mind if you think this hunk of junk is outrunning anything. Fuck's sake, you don't have to stall like this, you can just say you're scared. Not like anyone'd be surprised." That was a bit of a low-blow. Ezmy didn't have much respect for Disker's…"cautious" piloting style, but that didn't mean he was useless; he was a coward, she thought, but even cowards could be good shots. Still, with how quiet the man usually was, it was worth snatching at the opportunity to get a rise out of him. "The real question is whether or not we're gonna sit around scrapbooking until they get the jump on us."</s> <\|message\|>Leon Barlow Leon stood at the back of the pack as the Federation man described what happened to the survivors. He didn't know if this man would be able to identify him and did not want to take that chance. Despite the fact that the survivors were in a desperate situation, Federation members were as stupid as they come, Leon knew that much from experience. Instead he sat back, listening to Disker and the rest decide on what to do next. A hunt for pirates did not seem like a fun time for the mercenary but, it could give him a bit of assurance that this place would be safe for the rest of the journey, though he had a different worry about the existence of pirates with a Titan. "Fuck's sake, you don't have to stall like this, you can just say you're scared. Not like anyone'd be surprised." "Enough." Leon's voice was loud but, still gravelly. He took a few steps to Disker's side, his body language giving off a vibe of being a calm, emotionless robot. "He's a bit too cautious but, being cautious is smart. I'll join if we are going to do this instead of arguing about it." Leon scanned the few pilots who made this small ragtag group. He didn't know much of their skills besides what he saw, so he hoped this wouldn't be a death wish waiting to happen, especially with a kid among them.</s> <\|message\|>Marlowe Voltus Cathartes Salvage Ship The old man sat in his captain's chair, eyeing up the bridge crew. Remia was busy studying monitors, while Kellen seemed overly focused on navigating. It was obvious that there was tension in the air; everyone was just waiting for these pirates to return and attack them next. Cornell expected that, but to send out every available pilot to guard the Cathartes would only exhaust them by the time the enemy finally reached them. "Sir." Spare Infield walked into the bridge, nodding at Cornell. At the very least, he was being respectful. "I thought I'd do my best to give you whatever information I had on the attack. Cornell nodded. "Any help would be appreciated." Infield nodded. "The enemy attacked quickly and disabled our ship. They didn't give us a chance to fight back, and the few mobile suits that were able to launch were destroyed in minutes. If it wasn't for the Zeon transport and the pilot that kept them pinned for the fight, we'd probably all be dead." Cornell nodded. "I think we should talk to this hero pilot. Remia, go ahead and find out where he's hiding out and get him brought to the bridge." *** "Hey, Mr. Hotshot pilot." The female engineer shook the cot that Bareback was sleeping on. "The captain's asked to talk to you on the bridge. Wants to know about those suits you were fighting." She wrinkled her nose. "Maybe you could...also clean off first? You smell awful. --- Marlowe listened intently to everyone arguing about exactly what to do about fighting. He thought about it for a moment, wishing he could help in some way. But his grandfather refused to let him pilot in combat. It didn't help that even in the piloting sims, he refused to go for any actual killing blows. "You're too soft boy. If I let you pilot in a fight, you'd be killed in two seconds. The old man's words rang in his ears constantly. Why should his friends fight and risk their lives while all he could do was stand around and hope for the best? It just wasn't fair. "I know everyone has an opinion on what we should do about the enemy, but I think we should just be ready for when they come back. Because something tells me they are coming back." He knew it, somehow. As if he could see the tiny dots far in the eternal blackness of space, making their way towards the Cathartes as everyone argued.</s>	<\|message\|>Dustice Behrbeck Dustice lounged back in his chair smoking a cigar while sipping his father's favorite drink. The bottle of James Donnels reflected a twinge of the light from the room, but that wasn't his focus. He would puff on the fat cigar, take a sip from the whiskey, and lean back to enjoy the "view". His chair allowed him to look out the 'window' of his father's room, though it was really just a viewing monitor set up to mimic a window it still offered the same comfort of stargazing while enjoying a drink and a smoke. "How many people did you manage to protect?" Came a voice on the left side of the window. He glanced over to see the older figure standing beside him. Of course, this is how it always went down when he had this dream. His father, always there to confront him. "I haven't counted yet. We lost some good pilots but as far as I can tell none of the civilians were killed." "See kid? Being a bodyguard, it's in your blood!" The younger man furrowed his brow. "Don't. I'm exhausted." Even in his dreams, he felt the aches and exhaustion from days of constant piloting. He couldn't escape it, just as he knew where his father was about to steer this conversation. This dream always went the same way. The old man let out a raspy chuckle. He had been smoking those cigars since before the One Year War and it might have been catching up to him. But despite the advancements when it came to smoking, the old man preferred to smoke something natural instead of electronic. His son was less interested in ruining his voice but that particular night before the final battle of the Gryps Conflict of course he was going to share a smoke and a drink with the man he had been seeking out for over half a decade. "Just think...if you're able to protect a whole crew by yourself so easily.." "Drop it." "Imagine how easy it would be to protect one Zeon Princess?" The young pilot removed his cigar from his mouth and whipped it angrily at his father. Though in zero gravity it would be easy enough to not just dodge it, but catch it and safely put it out, which his father did. That was what made these dreams so weird, instead of the nice, nostalgic conversation he had with his father the night before the old man died during the war, his dreams kept returning to this strange argument that never really happened. An argument about the old man's last request. While Dustice has heard instances of people making contact with others from the afterlife, most of those anecdotes came from alleged newtypes. Plus, they said the spirits were friendly. While it could be argued that at the very least, the elder Behrbeck was not malicious if he truly was a ghost, Dustice never enjoyed the conversation because it always ended up coming back to Princess Mineva Lao Zabi. "You're absolutely right!" He'd bark at his father. "I'd do a damn good job at protecting the princess! But I'm not risking my life only to find out I've been getting shot at over a decoy ever again!! Do you know how humiliating that was?" "I understand that. It was wrong of Lady Haman to abuse your trust that way." "Yeah it was, but she did that to everyone that worked for her." "Well Commander Char did promise to--" That's when Dustice slammed his drink down and stood up. "Char Aznable is dead, vanished in that axis shock, and good riddance too! I'm sorry old man, I know you really wanted me to look out for her but I dropped a colony, an asteroid, and almost our former home onto the planet, all in her name. And the universe itself stepped in to stop that last one, I'm not doing it anymore. If you're gonna insist on bothering me about this, then give me names of former zeon buddies of yours that won't screw me over!!" *** Instead of an answer, he'd be rustled awake by a lady engineer. It looked like his power nap time was over. It was a good thing he chose the nap before the shower because he'd have had much less sleep if he took the shower first. The pilot politely gestured for the engineer to back away, he knew how he probably smelled. "Unfortunately the pirates weren't nice enough to give me bathroom breaks, or nap time." He grumbled, looking over his suit. It was one from the second Neo Zeon War, back when he worked for Char. Well, it didn't really hold any emotional value to him, truth be told he'd prefer to wear a normal suit that matched the grey of his Geara Doga but he had spent most of his budget on a beam tomahawk shield. "Uh..." He'd look around. "I should have a spare normal suit around somewhere. Where's your disposal? I think I'm just gonna pitch this suit, it'd be a waste of your water trying to clean it out." About half an hour later, Dustice was showered and in a spare normal suit and he managed to grab a fresh pair of undergarments and a black short sleeved undershirt, but he didn't really have time to get the rest of his casual clothes from the ship. Though he had a hunch that the pirates might try and come back so he figured his normal suit was fine for now. He kept it unzipped down to the waist to let his torso breathe for once. After all, this was a civilian ship. Who the hell cared about regulation? The pilot knocked on the door to the bridge, and when given permission to answer the first thing he would do is apologize. "Hi, I'm so sorry I just went straight to bed when you rescued us. But I didn't want to have any sort of business-related conversations on no sleep, I don't trust myself to not mess up the paperwork side of this job."</s>
<\|description\|>Leon Barlow Character Info Age - 27 Gender - Male Place of Origin - Type - Newtype Mobile Weapon Profile Suit Type -Transformable Mobile Suit/Mobile Armor Suit Style - Federation Combat Role - Skirmisher Suit Armaments - Long Blade Rifle, 2x Beam Sabers, 2x Shield Boosters - Pilot Personality Stalwart If there were ever a single word that could aptly describe Leon's character, it would be stalwart. Steady and sure, Leon stands as impassive as a looming storm cloud, towering and lumbering over all those around him, being as constant and power-exuding without the need to mutter a few words. While capable of antics of frustration or irritation, Leon's true emotions never surface unless he's truly sincere about his resolve in committing to it. Like the rumblings of ominous thunder, Leon would often quell arguments by brief flares of rising temper to settle meaningless debates even within a his crew. Bitter Idealism is the bane of Leon's existence. He contempt for those that spew useless dreams that do little help anyone. A notion crafted from the meaningless deaths of his brother and father, Leon bares his fangs to those that seek to face the universe with no real plan. He tries to distance himself from the idealistic, hero types as those always lead to pain and suffering. To go out of his way to attack these types is not like him, but he is not friendly. N/A [color=#807B84][/color] \| Physical Description Leon is what you would call a midget; standing at only 5'3', Leon is below the average height for a male. Despite his height disadvantage, he weighs at a whooping 150 lbs; the weight mostly coming from the muscle obtained through vigorous workout, a notion obtained from his father that the body should always match the mind. In combat, he wears a suit bought help with the G force and comfort within space. It is insulated as well. Outside of combat, Leon keeps his attire simple with a black T-shirt, blue jeans, and hi-top red/black sneakers. Around his neck sits a wedding ring attached to a chain, a memento of his late mother. Character Conceptualization Leon is a mercenary trying to hide from the Federation, Zeon, and all those in-between. He was born and raised to pilot a mobile suit, his father Leon Barlow had always intended for him to join the Federation. His father knew his son was a Newtype and his plans were lofty. Unfortunately these plans would crash and burn as Leon lost both his father and brother during the War of 0088. Already skeptical, Leon became quite disillusioned with the Federation and Zeon, stealing his father's Gaplant before racing off into the stars. For years he made a name for himself as the mercenary known as Red Scream; Red being the color of his Gaplant, and the scream heard from his engine. Leon made it a rule to hide his face behind a mask. Now he seeks to hide from those that want him dead or jailed, his mind overlooking the true threat in the depths of space. Mobile Weapon Description Leon acquired his Gaplant by stealing it from the Federation after his father's funeral. A variation of the mass-produced Gaplant, the TR-5 is a customized variation to increase the speed of the mobile armor with shield boosters. The Gaplant comes with the standard issue beam sabers stored in the legs but, it also comes with a Long Sword Rifle; a weapon that forms the main cannon for the Mobile Armor and a sword/rifle for the Mobile Suit. This suit is mainly an offensive tool used by the Federation for high-precision strikes. \|</s> <\|message\|>Amagaida "Gaida" Xerda --- It was a convenient fate, the red-haired woman supposed. She didn't comment as Isaacs shuffled out of the room that had been designated as Cathartes' mess hall of choice, though Gaida had always considered it more of a lounge. It was too small to be a proper mess hall and too ineffective to be a dining room. That about summed up the Cathartes and its unseemly captain. But she didn't forget when she had her own scuffle with federation hunters that it had been that very same unseemly captain that had taken her in and helped her with the repairs to her suit despite the Zeon engravings it had littered across its torso at the time. He had been charitable, but not generous. A former ace from the Principality of Zeon was something he couldn't look away from and all these months later she reflected on it often. "Could use some more muscle." He had commented casually at the time and here he was basically doing the same to a new motley group of individuals. As long as they didn't cause trouble she supposed it was wise enough of a decision. She very nearly corrected the old goat about calling Zeon a republic, not that it had never been one, she just didn't recognize the bones of the Principality being used for means that were not in line with a true successor. A neo-republic. Pretenders. She pondered the thought as the chattering continued until the old man gave them his ultimatum. Though it was less a ultimatum and more of a certainty unless they wanted to be spaced in the middle of the sector. She kept her arms crossed as she nodded, maintaining eye contact with the captain. "If that is all, I have a post to attend to." She commented, taking her leave as well.</s> <\|message\|>Character Info --- This sucked. Ezmy entered the mess hall just in time to hear captain Voltus say they were going to ferry the survivors to Mars. A forgone conclusion, but nevertheless, the thought of sharing what little, cramped space the Cathartes had with a bunch of weepy, paranoid space-mailmen did not, to put it mildly, excite her. More bodies to clog the narrow halls, more mouths to suck up all the air. There were already enough morons onboard as it was. And they were drinking the coffee, too. Great. "Move," she muttered, as she made her way to the long counter towards the back of the mess. Most of the survivors hardly registered her, even when she pushed past them; she was below their eyeline and wasn't exactly built to bowl people over. Still, a few indignant snorts and distasteful grumbles lingered behind her, something she wouldn't have taken so quietly if she weren't dead-tired. "…Your scrap is worth enough." A smirk tugged at Ezmy's lips as she swiped a mug from the table. What Voltus suggested would have sounded almost like charity to the stragglers, but she knew better. Was what he was doing nice? Sure. But people did nice things all the time—when there was something in it for them. This was just business, plain and simple, and their geriatric captain was nothing if not a good businessman. Most of the crew owed him in some way or another, that was how you earned a bed on the Cathartes. That or nepotism, she thought, and scanned the crowd briefly for the younger, dumber Voltus. Ezmy brought her mug to the jittery old coffee machine, shouldering past another clot of survivors, and filled it right to the brim. They had a bit of a journey ahead of them to Mars, and she wasn't sure there'd be enough for a ship actually full of people. That done, she hopped up to sit on one of the tables and listened to whatever else Voltus had to say, or whatever woes the people would throw at him. Someone would probably try to leverage their misfortune for recovered items. Hah. Good luck with that. Disker dipped out quietly, which wasn't a surprise. The man was usually reserved to a degree that even Ezmy found frustrating. He was a thinker, she didn't like thinkers. She didn't like anyone, really, but especially not thinkers. Gaida dismissed herself as well, though she did it like a soldier—asking permission even if she didn't actually want it. She was a bit like Disker; she was a thinker, too. Thinker and soldier. Blegh. There wasn't much for her in the mess, but she stayed anyway. She could have passed time rifling through the scrap, or finding one of the few quiet, secluded places onboard that would very soon no longer be either, but she didn't want to. Being alone was boring as fuck, and there were people here. They were miserable, and disgusting, and they probably wouldn't shut up about their bad luck as long as it took them to get to Mars, but fine, whatever. At least it was company.</s> <\|message\|>Dustice Behrbeck It had been at least a day and a half since they had gotten stranded. Dustice hadn't slept the entire time they had been in this situation either, as he was the only one left capable of defending what was left of the crew and the supplies. He had managed to stall the attackers by essentially holding the supplies hostage. The pirates were only here for what the ship was carrying, whatever it was, and for all he knew, they would be wiped out once the supplies were handed over, so he was making that difficult. The fact that they were all still alive, and that the ship hadn't been blown up, confirmed his hunch. But now? Things were unusually quiet. Communication with this so-called Ares had stopped, though the person he was in contact with sounded like he was worried about something right before he closed the line. He had killed the lights in the hanger and kept his mobile suit's mono-eye dimmed as he waited for something or someone to approach. He had wondered if maybe the pirates had opted for a more stealthy approach out of their mobile suits? If that were the case, they could certainly get a jump on him that way, deactivate his mobile suit and possibly take him out in the process. But he had his side-arm with him, he wouldn't be going down without a fight, he had to at least put that much effort in for the people he was guarding. When mobile suits did approach, his mono-eye lit up with a faint hum and he raised his beam machine gun. As they got closer they could easily figure out how this single pilot was able to hold a small group of pirates off...he had wrapped chain mines around the mobile suit, ensuring that one wrong blast would result in the packages being destroyed, possibly the entire ship as well. While his fellow crew members were reluctant about such a gamble, they all agreed that giving the deliveries up would likely result in their deaths, and given it was one pilot against who knows how many? It was a gamble they agreed to after some discussion. He would, however, lower his gun when they informed him that they were civilians. Well, sending a ball into this ship might have been a viable strategy, it was certainly a smaller target to hit compared to a mobile suit. That left the mobile suit a...Rick Dias? No...it only had a Rick Dias head, the rest of it was...just a mess of parts. Well, if it was the pirates, they pulled off a convincing trick, and Dustice felt the adrenaline leaving his body. When the ball's pilot mentioned verniers in the distance, that essentially confirmed their safety. "Alright.." Came his reluctant voice through their comms. The Geara Doga tossed his gun to the ball and 'Rick Dias' and brought its hands up to carefully remove the chain mines. He had never turned them on but he figured they would go off if his suit blew up or got hit by a stray beam. Once they started funneling everyone to the ship, he felt a little better knowing that there were survivors of the other ship. Perhaps his gamble saved them as well. As his Geara Doga docked into the hanger, he noticed that there were two blasts from his past. A Zaku III and a Hi-zack. Well, that put him more at ease, it meant that there might be former Titans working with former zeon, that could be...reassuring. And not just any Zeon, Zeon that was at least loyal to Mineva. Had it been a Doven Wolf instead of a Zaku, Dustice might have been more on guard. While he was sure that there were people that wanted to thank him for keeping them alive. The former Zeon was far too exhausted to enjoy any fanfare, he needed to have himself a nap. So as he made his way down to the hangar floor, he quickly asked to speak to whoever was in charge. "I appreciate the help but before I start making business calls I...need a nap, I haven't slept since the start of the attack. 'Probably betting on me just crashing and passing out at some point..." He'd be met by a girl that was a head shorter than him and a good deal more haughty. "You're seriously in the hangar looking for sleep?" She definitely spoke like she was in charge. "We have cots ready for you refugee-" A voice from behind her called out, "Hey Irina! He's the guy in the Geara Doga!" "You're a pilot?" She pointed to a dirty-looking set of cots set up near the wall. "They zip up so if we turn off the gravity in here you don't fall out, but they aren't comfy. We keep 'em ready if we need pilots on standby. And I'm sure the old man would make good use of that Geara Doga if we run into your friends out there." "Thank you." By the time the old man had properly welcomed the survivors to his ship, Dustice was already passed out in a small cot, he hadn't even changed out of his suit, which probably smelled due to having used it for as long as he did, but he could worry about hygiene once he had gotten enough sleep.</s>	<\|message\|>Leon Barlow The mess was littered with people, salvagers of The Cathartes and the survivors of the recent battles. So many people seeking asylum and/or passage to a better place, relatively speaking. Away from these people sat Leon Barlow in his own little space near the wall. Just enough to hear the Captain speak on the matters at hand, but far enough anyone would know to leave him be. These people needed help and he could acknowledge that, the Federation being unable to help these folks as they hid behind their ideals to pretend they were good people. He knew it all too well, re-actively grabbing at the ring around his neck. His mind wandered for a moment, remembering he was wanted by the Federation and the moments he spent meeting a few people in the Federation. "Since the attacks from this mysterious pirate group have become more regular around these parts, we've been sent here to clean up, so to speak." Ares.... Leon had heard of them before from clients who had hired the mercenary to do business in areas that Ares had previously been. He had never faced them before in open combat, but he had escaped from a unit before. Fortunately it was a small thing that Leon hoped Ares didn't remember; regardless now they were causing far more trouble for Leon to be out in the open. Between the Federation, Zeon, Ares, and a few associates, he definitely was happy to hide among these group of upstanding individuals. He had zoned out completely from the rest of the Captain's speech to the refugees, he proceeded to lean forward with his hands under his chin. His mind went into a deep thought again, hair covering his right eye, giving him a far more serious demeanor than he was actually in. For now he would keep his head low, do whatever work was needed, and leave once the coast was clear for himself.</s>
<\|description\|>Leon Barlow Character Info Age - 27 Gender - Male Place of Origin - Type - Newtype Mobile Weapon Profile Suit Type -Transformable Mobile Suit/Mobile Armor Suit Style - Federation Combat Role - Skirmisher Suit Armaments - Long Blade Rifle, 2x Beam Sabers, 2x Shield Boosters - Pilot Personality Stalwart If there were ever a single word that could aptly describe Leon's character, it would be stalwart. Steady and sure, Leon stands as impassive as a looming storm cloud, towering and lumbering over all those around him, being as constant and power-exuding without the need to mutter a few words. While capable of antics of frustration or irritation, Leon's true emotions never surface unless he's truly sincere about his resolve in committing to it. Like the rumblings of ominous thunder, Leon would often quell arguments by brief flares of rising temper to settle meaningless debates even within a his crew. Bitter Idealism is the bane of Leon's existence. He contempt for those that spew useless dreams that do little help anyone. A notion crafted from the meaningless deaths of his brother and father, Leon bares his fangs to those that seek to face the universe with no real plan. He tries to distance himself from the idealistic, hero types as those always lead to pain and suffering. To go out of his way to attack these types is not like him, but he is not friendly. N/A [color=#807B84][/color] \| Physical Description Leon is what you would call a midget; standing at only 5'3', Leon is below the average height for a male. Despite his height disadvantage, he weighs at a whooping 150 lbs; the weight mostly coming from the muscle obtained through vigorous workout, a notion obtained from his father that the body should always match the mind. In combat, he wears a suit bought help with the G force and comfort within space. It is insulated as well. Outside of combat, Leon keeps his attire simple with a black T-shirt, blue jeans, and hi-top red/black sneakers. Around his neck sits a wedding ring attached to a chain, a memento of his late mother. Character Conceptualization Leon is a mercenary trying to hide from the Federation, Zeon, and all those in-between. He was born and raised to pilot a mobile suit, his father Leon Barlow had always intended for him to join the Federation. His father knew his son was a Newtype and his plans were lofty. Unfortunately these plans would crash and burn as Leon lost both his father and brother during the War of 0088. Already skeptical, Leon became quite disillusioned with the Federation and Zeon, stealing his father's Gaplant before racing off into the stars. For years he made a name for himself as the mercenary known as Red Scream; Red being the color of his Gaplant, and the scream heard from his engine. Leon made it a rule to hide his face behind a mask. Now he seeks to hide from those that want him dead or jailed, his mind overlooking the true threat in the depths of space. Mobile Weapon Description Leon acquired his Gaplant by stealing it from the Federation after his father's funeral. A variation of the mass-produced Gaplant, the TR-5 is a customized variation to increase the speed of the mobile armor with shield boosters. The Gaplant comes with the standard issue beam sabers stored in the legs but, it also comes with a Long Sword Rifle; a weapon that forms the main cannon for the Mobile Armor and a sword/rifle for the Mobile Suit. This suit is mainly an offensive tool used by the Federation for high-precision strikes. \|</s> <\|message\|>Character Info --- As the captain finished up his spiel, and the survivors began to disperse, Ezmy found her interest waning. No one had tried to press their luck, or whined about their shitty accommodations—which were only marginally less-shitty than the crews' own—they all just seemed happy to be breathing. Which was stupid. They were attacked, stranded, and now they were essentially being robbed in exchange for their lives. The fact that a few of these idiots would consider the Voltus company heroes when they got to Mars was one part hilarious, and nine parts fucking annoying. Some Federation roach skittered up to Cornell and introduced himself as a Lieutenant Commander. The captain shot that shit down pretty quick, and Ezmy scoffed when he winked her way. She hopped down off the table and made her way to the back of the mess again, but did it without hurry so that she could still hear the conversation. There was no reason to eavesdrop; Cornell was just telling the same story all of them had heard before about his past rodeos, and the suit just groveled compliance. Nothing special. Besides, even if Spare Change or Tire or whatever-the-fuck his name was did say something interesting, even if he'd just started spilling Federation secrets, so what? Who was she gonna tell? Who was anyone on this bloated iron tub gonna tell? She quickly found herself tuning it out. Some of the survivors followed Kellen out of the mess to where they'd be bunking. He was easily one of the most aggravating people on the Cathartes and, probably, in the whole galaxy—an opinion shared by other crew-members, she was sure—however, through the doorway she caught a glimpse of first-place: Marlowe. He was badgering Disker about something, showing off a…toy? It looked like a toy. Had he picked it out of the wreckage? She felt herself growing annoyed with him already, a familiar feeling when it came to the lesser Voltus. Pirates ambush a pack of helpless traders, and Marlowe manages to salvage a toy rubble. With effort, Ezmy suppressed the urge to yell "grow up!" through the door, and chugged the last of her coffee instead. Her face twisted at the taste, and for a moment she thought she might not mind if the newcomers did drink it all. But the moment passed, and she went back for a refill. There were still enough people in the mess for her tastes; she'd stick around here until that changed, or until someone barked at her to make herself useful. No one ever got away with loitering on the Cathartes for long.</s> <\|message\|>Disker Isaacs --- Among the personnel on board the Cathartes, perhaps there was none as valuable to the Federation and Zeon remnants as the boy currently in front of Disker. Technically, Marlowe was now an adult but the childlike wonder from his youth never faded. Disker had the displeasure to chronicle this when he was among the ranks of the Titans as an experimental mobile suit engineer. While he wasn't one of the doctors pumping the lad full of mind-altering chemicals or psychologically reprogramming him to push beyond his physical limits, perhaps he could have done something to stop it back then. Not just for Marlowe but also for the rest of the unfortunate souls bound to the greed of the fascist warmongers considered to be the Federation's elite. While he can't change the past, Disker can certainly try to make amends now. "Let's have a look kid." he would state with mustered enthusiasm. Upon a quick glance, it was clear that the spherical mechanism was more than just a juvenile's toy. There was too much circuitry and intricate wiring that laid beneath the surface panels. Fascinating to the inquiring mind but not enough to distract him from the matter at hand. Disker would hand back the deceptively heavy device to Marlowe before continuing to walk towards the salvage bay. "Tell you what, come along with me to salvage and we'll see if we can borrow the tools needed to get that thing back on." the engineer would state, already a few steps ahead of Marlowe. Said tools were already in his personal quarters but he needed to ascertain some overlooked details of the scavenging team's latest sortie. Ready to slip ahead even further, a muffled yet familiar voice from a nearby source had told someone to "grow up" that prompted Disker to respond with "Invite goes out to you too, Eibril." Marlowe probably couldn't recall everything Disker needed so he would rope any who had gone out during the sortie, including the nearby Amagaida Xerda. The enigmatic pilot had skills unmatched by even those her senior but this most likely the meant the worst. A common trend in the Augusta Labs recruitment efforts were to target traumatized youth, particularly orphans, for their research effort. Of course, it wasn't advertised as such. Under the guise of humanitarian relief efforts, the Titans had promised that they would help the abandoned children readjust to peacetime as part of their campaigns to maintain order in the Earthsphere. While Disker couldn't be sure, he had a feeling Amagaida's upbringing certainly had to have been similar. Still, he approached her with the trepidation in his voice as they didn't have much of a personal rapport. "Pilot Xerda, if I may ask you to accompany us to salvage. I have a feeling either we or the assailants missed something and hired guns usually come back to finish the job." By the time they would arrive at the ship's wreckage collection and processing area, the scrapper crew would have gone through most of the initial screening process. All the serviceable materials would be placed to one section of the holding bay while the the rest would be hoarded near the jettison port in case they needed to make room, in the hopes that they can either readily replace the damaged junk with better quality scraps or hold on to it to find a buyer desperate enough to spend money on melted ceramic composite. Regardless of either future scenario, the damage marks of the latter scrap heap was what Disker needed to examine. "Did any of you get a good look on what caused this?" he would ask, taking a closer look at the scorch marks on one of the melted alloys. His sharp eye once again quickly came to a conclusion. "Because who ever jumped our guests are certainly packing tech that shouldn't be in service right now."</s>	<\|message\|>Leon Barlow Leon's mind came back to reality as the old man finished his speech to the survivors. None of this was his problem at the moment so, he decided it was to check up on his mobile armor. The focus currently was to keep the Gaplant ready for anything. The salvage unit would be crossing hostile space and pirates were always an issue. Leon didn't want to give himself away to those that seek to capture him; murder being the likely outcome by the people he's betrayed. He took his time making his way out of the mess hall, avoiding anyone who wanted to chat; his eyes landing on the man known as Disker and the kid known as Marlowe. Like the others on the ship, he didn't have many interactions with both men but, overhearing Disker piqued his interest. "Pilot Xerda, if I may ask you to accompany us to salvage. I have a feeling either we or the assailants missed something and hired guns usually come back to finish the job." "May I accompany you?" Leon was not posing an actual question as he planned on following the three regardless. They made their way to the salvage room and Disker looked over a bit of the wreckage. His words made Leon's eyebrow raise a bit, for he knew of only a handful of people with tech enough to do this damage.</s>
<\|description\|>Leon Barlow Character Info Age - 27 Gender - Male Place of Origin - Type - Newtype Mobile Weapon Profile Suit Type -Transformable Mobile Suit/Mobile Armor Suit Style - Federation Combat Role - Skirmisher Suit Armaments - Long Blade Rifle, 2x Beam Sabers, 2x Shield Boosters - Pilot Personality Stalwart If there were ever a single word that could aptly describe Leon's character, it would be stalwart. Steady and sure, Leon stands as impassive as a looming storm cloud, towering and lumbering over all those around him, being as constant and power-exuding without the need to mutter a few words. While capable of antics of frustration or irritation, Leon's true emotions never surface unless he's truly sincere about his resolve in committing to it. Like the rumblings of ominous thunder, Leon would often quell arguments by brief flares of rising temper to settle meaningless debates even within a his crew. Bitter Idealism is the bane of Leon's existence. He contempt for those that spew useless dreams that do little help anyone. A notion crafted from the meaningless deaths of his brother and father, Leon bares his fangs to those that seek to face the universe with no real plan. He tries to distance himself from the idealistic, hero types as those always lead to pain and suffering. To go out of his way to attack these types is not like him, but he is not friendly. N/A [color=#807B84][/color] \| Physical Description Leon is what you would call a midget; standing at only 5'3', Leon is below the average height for a male. Despite his height disadvantage, he weighs at a whooping 150 lbs; the weight mostly coming from the muscle obtained through vigorous workout, a notion obtained from his father that the body should always match the mind. In combat, he wears a suit bought help with the G force and comfort within space. It is insulated as well. Outside of combat, Leon keeps his attire simple with a black T-shirt, blue jeans, and hi-top red/black sneakers. Around his neck sits a wedding ring attached to a chain, a memento of his late mother. Character Conceptualization Leon is a mercenary trying to hide from the Federation, Zeon, and all those in-between. He was born and raised to pilot a mobile suit, his father Leon Barlow had always intended for him to join the Federation. His father knew his son was a Newtype and his plans were lofty. Unfortunately these plans would crash and burn as Leon lost both his father and brother during the War of 0088. Already skeptical, Leon became quite disillusioned with the Federation and Zeon, stealing his father's Gaplant before racing off into the stars. For years he made a name for himself as the mercenary known as Red Scream; Red being the color of his Gaplant, and the scream heard from his engine. Leon made it a rule to hide his face behind a mask. Now he seeks to hide from those that want him dead or jailed, his mind overlooking the true threat in the depths of space. Mobile Weapon Description Leon acquired his Gaplant by stealing it from the Federation after his father's funeral. A variation of the mass-produced Gaplant, the TR-5 is a customized variation to increase the speed of the mobile armor with shield boosters. The Gaplant comes with the standard issue beam sabers stored in the legs but, it also comes with a Long Sword Rifle; a weapon that forms the main cannon for the Mobile Armor and a sword/rifle for the Mobile Suit. This suit is mainly an offensive tool used by the Federation for high-precision strikes. \|</s> <\|message\|>Character Info --- Ezmy was relieved to have traded the crowd of whining rescues for the usual junkyard entourage of the Cathartes' crew. They weren't that much better, but she'd found a begrudging comfort in their company over the months, especially compared to the people they usually did business with. Watching Cornell guile respect out of Feds and Zeons made putting up with all the creeps and freaks on his payroll worth it. There'd be no escaping war—that the Cathartes existed at all was proof of that—but meeting its horrors with self-serving indifference was a pretty close second, in her opinion. They came to what was left of the scrapheap. Ezmy hopped up onto a pile of flattened debris and watched as Disker went to work doing…Thinker things. To her it just seemed like he was obsessing over ash-marks and slag, but she'd come to understand that there was usually more going on behind those eyes than might appear. "…Because whoever jumped our guests are certainly packing tech that shouldn't be in service right now." Wow, or maybe not? "You mean the pirates are using illegal weapons?" she asked dryly. "Killer detective work there, Disker." Beside them, Marlowe dragged a Fed over to ask him some questions. She found herself scowling again, already—it never took long when Marlowe was nearby. The younger Voltus had an effect on her, like the effect a cheese grater might have on the side of someone's face. She could practically feel the headache coming on as soon as he opened his mouth. Sometimes he didn't even need to talk, just his presence was an irritant. When the Fed shut up, Marlowe looked to the rest of them. Ezmy rolled her eyes. "I don't get it," she said. "If we're worried about the pirates coming back, we should just suit up and get out there. The trash isn't gonna tell us anything that seeing them won't."</s> <\|message\|>Amagaida "Gaida" Xerda --- "Normally, I'd say we don't have the numbers to play seek and destroy." Gaida smiled warmly as she put her hand on Ezmy's shoulder, "However... we aren't exactly lacking in people or suits." Gaida understood the logistics of tracking down pirates when their orders were contrary to that, but the red-haired woman would remind that she signed up to protect this junk-rig of a ship. Nothing more and nothing less. She didn't have any skin in the game with the pirates, though she knew the shortstock beside her most certainly had a sort of axe to grind. She was certain she yearned for action rather than protecting the ship or scanning around junk fields hoping that something interesting happened for once. She looked back toward Disker as she released her hand from the girl's shoulder. "I can power up my suit and join your group. At least, as long as our defenses here are ample enough. If we end up not doing little Ezmy's plan."</s> <\|message\|>Disker Isaacs --- Disker's inquiry was met with the standard fare he had become accustomed to from the Cathartes' pilots: Scaling from solo sincerity to ludicrous dismissal, with confident caution in between. At the extreme latter end of the scale was, of course, Ezmy but Disker already knew to expect that from her. He played along with her quip, smiling and nodding at her before breaking into a scowl. "Not illegal weapons, you muppet. I meant they're using old weapons. Think post-30 Bu- Mid 80s." A slip of the tongue, Disker had to bite his lip. The incident he was about to refer to was never made public knowledge but would definitely incense any Spacenoid that knew of that massacre. A legacy treasured only by the Titans in their suppression of dissidents. As Disker suspected, their Federation guest confirmed that it was indeed an early Titan mobile suit that committed the assault. "Titan Marasai, huh?.." While this piece of information did answer his early question, a dozen more took its place. "I mean, I guess that shouldn't be a problem for our MS team if we went but we'd need the old man to sign off on it." Disker would state, acknowledging the pilots' proposal to sortie out for a hunt. He was confident their combined experience would make short work of any jag piloting a discontinued mass production unit. However, wherever there's cannon fodder, there's bound to be an opposing cannon aimed directly at you. "My only concern is the fact that our future playdate might be packing more Titan relics, some of which we are not able to deal with. Not with our current firepower." The exotic arsenal designed by the mad geniuses of the purged Federation elite was deadly. Some were able to blast targets with beams beyond the horizon, some able to precisely dissect targets with wire-guided beams up close, and even some more nullified beam attacks altogether. Who knows what they were gonna encounter but Disker suspected it was coming for them soon.</s> <\|message\|>Character Info --- Ezmy's fists balled up on reflex the moment Gaida touched her, shuddering like the temperature had suddenly dipped into the negatives. She shot the woman a hard look, eyes flicking from her to her hand, as if, surely, it was just some tragic mistake that it had landed on her shoulder. But no, it wasn't, and Gaida went on to agree with her, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Ezmy might not have been a very socially-conscious person, but she knew when she was being patronized. "…little Ezmy's plan." Oh, she'd be paying for that one. "Gee Gaida, thanks." She said through teeth grated in the closest approximation to a smile that Ezmy could muster. When the woman took her hand away, Ezmy brushed imaginary grime off of her shoulder. She wasn't done with her, but Disker's sharp interjection reminded her that there was, in fact, an actual conversation of import going on. Fine. There'd be plenty of time for getting even later. "Okay, and?" she snipped back at Disker. "If the pirates come back, the options are run, or fight, and you're out of your mind if you think this hunk of junk is outrunning anything. Fuck's sake, you don't have to stall like this, you can just say you're scared. Not like anyone'd be surprised." That was a bit of a low-blow. Ezmy didn't have much respect for Disker's…"cautious" piloting style, but that didn't mean he was useless; he was a coward, she thought, but even cowards could be good shots. Still, with how quiet the man usually was, it was worth snatching at the opportunity to get a rise out of him. "The real question is whether or not we're gonna sit around scrapbooking until they get the jump on us."</s>	<\|message\|>Leon Barlow Leon stood at the back of the pack as the Federation man described what happened to the survivors. He didn't know if this man would be able to identify him and did not want to take that chance. Despite the fact that the survivors were in a desperate situation, Federation members were as stupid as they come, Leon knew that much from experience. Instead he sat back, listening to Disker and the rest decide on what to do next. A hunt for pirates did not seem like a fun time for the mercenary but, it could give him a bit of assurance that this place would be safe for the rest of the journey, though he had a different worry about the existence of pirates with a Titan. "Fuck's sake, you don't have to stall like this, you can just say you're scared. Not like anyone'd be surprised." "Enough." Leon's voice was loud but, still gravelly. He took a few steps to Disker's side, his body language giving off a vibe of being a calm, emotionless robot. "He's a bit too cautious but, being cautious is smart. I'll join if we are going to do this instead of arguing about it." Leon scanned the few pilots who made this small ragtag group. He didn't know much of their skills besides what he saw, so he hoped this wouldn't be a death wish waiting to happen, especially with a kid among them.</s>
<\|description\|>Imarui, or Ima for short * Age: 10 * Gender: Female * Appearance: A small, slight little girl with pale blue, almost silver eyes and silvery hair. She has pale skin and her clothing is largely tan in coloration. * Personality: Imarui is an endlessly inquisitive young girl who seems to largely possess little in the way of fear. This isn't to say she is completely lacking in caution, as even a young artifact hunter will quickly come to understand you need to be at least somewhat cautious at the potential expense of their own life, but her ability to ignore her own fear and press onwards is what fuels her ability to explore. Indeed, Imarui has a reputation among the children of Hensia for being the first among them to go exploring any new and exciting locations found around the settlement. An enthusiastic and cheerful child, in spite of her lack of a family Imarui has a bright and friendly outward approach to others, and is quite eager to meet hunters and all kinds of other people from outside of her hometown. That being said, this sunny disposition is not the sum total of her character. Her curiosity and boundless desire to explore is born in part from her desire to learn about her family. She is also deeply protective of her necklace, given that it is the only thing she has from her family, and thus is quite unwilling to share its secret. Deep down, Imarui feels some jealousy towards those who have gotten to grow up with their families, even if she tries not to show it. When upset, she is prone to recklessness, forgetting her own sense of caution and trying to explore to cheer herself up. Willing to do anything to learn more about her family, there's no doubt Imarui would be swift to follow even the slightest potential trace of them. * Brief Backstory: Imarui arrived at the Hensia orphanage courteously of what can only be presumed to be her mother. A beautiful, almost ethereal woman who had appeared as an artifact hunter from Navra suddenly dropped off a bundle at their doorstep, and departed just as quickly as she seemed to appear. On investigation, the bundle was a newborn baby, with a note attached to her blanket simply reading "Please take care of Imarui" and a necklace with a blue gemstone inlaid in it. It was here she was raised, and came to be a part of Hensia's young artifact hunters. Located near an old city with an almost infinite number of deep tunnels beneath it, Hensia's population is distinct in its high number of artifact hunters. It also has some of the youngest artifact hunters, in spite of the danger inherent in the profession. Artifact hunting is viewed with considerable reverence in Hensia, and therefore in spite of the danger and her young age a combination of this reverence and Imarui's own adventurous nature spurred her to throw herself into it. Besides, if her mother was an artifact hunter, maybe she could learn more about her by doing it herself? It was quite quickly that Imarui discovered the properties of her necklace. That it could detect artifacts and guide her to them. Amazed by this, but fearful that it would be classed as an artifact and taken away from her if she told anyone, Imarui has kept it a secret ever since she first learned about it. Not only is it her only link to her mother, but perhaps it will let her discover something that could lead her to learn more... * Skills: Imarui has a high level of energy and is good at climbing and squeezing into small spaces. She is also fairly knowledgeable about local flora and fauna around Hensia, as any artifact hunter in the area should be to avoid tragic circumstances. She's capable at running and hiding, but her only self-defense abilities beyond that are knowing how to stab things with her small knife. * Abilities: Imarui is an ordinary ten-year-old girl in capabilities. She does not know magic nor does she possess any supernatural strength in any way. * Equipment: Imarui carries with her a back full of basic supplies for an artifact hunter. Food, water, a few small knives and excavation tools, and flares. She also carries her Hensia Artifact Hunter's League badge. Most important, however, is her necklace. Not only is it the only thing connecting her to her family, but it is also an artifact in itself. A strange type, nameless as it was never registered with the auction house, it seems to function only by detecting other artifacts and guiding the user to them with a shaft of light. This is the only ability Imarui knows it has. * Faction: Hensia Artifact Hunter's League, the guild which all local hunters work out of.</s> <\|message\|>Erika Frost Erika Frost and a Robot Catgirl Ready Up --- Erika had took the early morning to gather her supplies. One could never know how long they would be stuck searching for Artifacts. Or, perhaps, if they would ever come back from searching at all. She scratched the back of her head and sighed as she stuffed a small amount of supplies into a backpack. Should be enough for the day, perhaps she could push it to tomorrow easily. Worst case, had to come back for a resupply. This would be easy enough. Well, it would be normally. The tanned girl looked over to the other inhabitant of the room. An odd... creature? No, what she was told was... Magitech Robot? Something of the sort. Omega... Something, something. Tanja was what she was sure this girl was called. Her teacher had mentioned an agreement with Alhein. One of her disciples would watch over the catgirl, the disciple in question being Erika herself. What Fuuka got out of it? Well, that was a good question. She was rather vague about it. Though, Erika might have been distracted by other things when she was told about it. There was likely something good for her master to agree to it. Well, either way, it was just her normal job with an extra person along. She fastened a couple of items to her belt. A light source that one could attach to their head, a small portable laser cutter and a flashbang device. Then, one of the more important items, her magitech sword. She attached the sheath to her side and pulled the blade out to check on it quickly enough. Yes, it seemed to be in fine condition. With a smile, she put it back in it's home and double checked. Yep, that was everything. After that she looked at the Artifact on her wrist, Medusa, and rubbed it with a small smile. Her partner for ten years or so now was one of the few constants in her life. She hoped it would stay that way. Either was, now wasn't the time to think on the past. She walked over to Tanja, hoping she'd be ready to head down into their new brand of hell. "You cute little thing." Erika said, rubbing the catgirl's head a small bit. The cat had seemed friendly enough so far and that was fine with Erika. "Hope you're ready to head down. It's the start of Tanja and Erika's big Artifact hunt. Our goal is at the very least ten." The girl said with a confident smile. Of course, it was most likely an unobtainable goal of course. One was lucky if they would find even one artifact, let alone ten. "Something tells me that we're up to a very good partnership!" Her arm wrapped around Tanja's head and pulled her close. "You know how to get to the site right?"</s> <\|message\|>Omega-Type Magitek Battle Automaton Prototype #7 'Tanja'. Or Tanja, for short. It's not a very catchy name. Robot Cat, Ready and Waiting Tanja was gaining an appreciation for what it was like to be some sort of incomprehensible work of art. First, that jerk had come and found her and made a big mess out of things... then an even bigger mess trying to work things out. Then she'd been traded off to Alhein after he gave up in exchange for something more practical. And then they had passed her off to some lady with glasses because nobody wanted to do any babysitting. That hadn't lasted any time at all before Tanja had once again been handed over to another stranger, though Erika didn't seem to be in a hurry to get rid of her. At least all this being shuffled around had given her time to learn the local language--and get hold of some sort of pistol given how she was apparently now a tagalong explorer. Nothing too impressive or high-spec but... it was perfectly adequate for the time being. Way less interesting than the ID she'd been issued after some confused arguing, with Alhein finally being the ones responsible and some arguing about what on earth the details should be. Nobody had been receptive toawrds giving Herr Wal one, though. So mean... Tanja wouldn't deny being cute, though, nor reject the tanned girl's affection. Ah, that felt nice, and the taller girl was friendly... eyes closed, the robot missed most of her following statement, purring, quite loudly at that, under the attention. Though being roped into the hug brought her attention back to the conversation: "Ja! Ah... follow you!" Maybe she should pay more attention to details like that now she wasn't in some pass-the-parcel game.</s> <\|message\|>Leonard S. Fleming --- Waking up early did not help with the number of people who thought of the same thing lining up and waiting inside the Hensia Artifact Hunter's League's main administrative building for their temporary license to be issued. The line nearly reached all the way outside of the plant-covered building! Leo couldn't blame them though. A practically untouched and recently cleared tunnel looking for hunters to explore it? Too sweet a deal for any self-respecting hunter to pass up. Well, maybe too sweet a deal considering the number of hunters present. Looking on the bright side of the situation, at least the line was moving and there was no point in waiting while doing nothing. Leo unscrewed a respirator tube from his mask and let it fall limp on his shoulder as he prepared to light and smoke a stick while waiting. But an abrupt cough and an irritated-looking staff member pointing to a 'no smoking' sign cut him off just as he was to enjoy the wait. "Figures." He says with a disappointed tone as he put away his cigarette and reattached the respirator tube. This was going to be a long wait. [One hour later...] Now with his temporary license, he can finally go to the tunnel and get this party started. The quick walk through the sun-filled streets of Hensia was quite uneventful. Other than the odd peddler trying to vie for his attention and interest in the wares they were selling or the interesting looks from the locals, Leo wouldn't mind staying a few extra days here. A soft smile graced his hidden face when he remembered the equally peaceful and tranquil streets of his hometown. His musings were cut short when a middle-aged man clad in grey and a tall hat asked him for his badge. While handing over his temporary license, he noticed a peculiar thing to the chasm that made him raise an eyebrow in confusion. A little girl, no older than ten, stood ahead of him. Waiting for the elevator and looking around to pass the time. "Hey...uh...kid? You lost or something?" Leo asked. His voice muffled as it may be from the airtight mask, was with concern for the seemingly random chid. Skills: ◼ Uncanny Combat Prowess - From humble fisticuffs to complex magitech weapons, fighting comes to him as if second nature. ◼ Equipment Maintenance Proficiency - Take care of your gear and your gear will take care of you. ◼ Medical Ability - He's no doctor by any standard, but he can patch you up in a pinch. Abilities: ◼ Peak Human Ability - You don't really last very long in the business if you aren't. ◼ Enhanced Willpower - Willpower is significantly above average. It will take a lot to break him. ◼ Natural Navigator - Unless caused by magical means, getting lost will not be a concern. Equipment: * Modified T-35b Combat Armor Set - Segmented combat armor lightened enough to not hinder movement, but kept tough enough to withstand small arms fire and offensive spells to a reasonable extent. * Custom GK-4 Battle Rifle - A battle rifle modified with a shorter barrel for maneuverability in small areas and a fixed bayonet for instances Leo can't switch to his axe quick enough. * Type 5 LH Axe - A battle axe fitted with a device that layers the axe head with a disruptive field to significantly increase its cutting ability. Helps retain the edges to boot. * Durable Knapsack - A bag made from tough leather that contains tools, gadgets, supplies, and other goodies you wouldn't want to leave home without. Faction: Independent</s>	<\|message\|>Imarui, or Ima for short "Ah?" The voice from behind her sounded funny... sort of unclear and muffled, like they were wearing something over their mouth. And when Imarui turned to face them, she discovered that was exactly the case. It was a figure much larger then herself, completely covered in metal. For a moment she thought he must be some kind of machine, but that didn't seem very likely when she thought about it. His voice didn't sound like it was a robot's voice... not that she knew what that sounded like. "What do you mean?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, "I'm going down to look for artifacts, just like you are!" Realizing that just saying that might not be enough, she quickly reached into her bag and retrieved her league membership badge to show off. To be honest, she hadn't registered herself. It was an automatic process that had been done for her, just like many of the other children at the orphanage. It was perplexing to Imarui why she'd been asked in the first place. There were artifacts hunters all over, right? So surely she wasn't the only child who did it, right? Of course, Imarui had no idea that child artifact hunters were not only very rare outside of Hensia, but not even legal in many territories.</s>
<\|description\|>Erika Frost Age: 19 Gender Female Appearance: It's easy to pick out Erika in a crowd for the most part. She has rather impressively tanned skin and bleach blonde hair. While a bit on the taller side, the woman definitely isn't anything impressive in that department. She's rather well endowed in a few select areas and tends to wear outfits that emphasize that aspect. Personality: There's an old, archaic term used to describe one aspect of her. Gyaru. Her speech mannerisms, for the most part, tend to be odd and likely to garner her a few looks of curiosity. Outside that, however, she's a rather out-going and friendly girl though with a small competitive streak. She likes to make friends with most people she sees unless they give her bad "vibes". When it comes to her job however, she's more than happy to make it a competition if it comes to it and she can be a bit on the aggressive side with trash talking, though she seems to calm down when she wins or loses. "Brief" Backstory: At a young age Fuuka lived with her father, an artifact hunter, near a rather active artifact hotspot. He had a few small but interesting pieces that may or may not have been actual artifacts, it was hard for her to tell. But, he showed her how to work on said pieces to make them work and it sparked a passion in her. Some years later, he went on an artifact hunt to the nearby spot and she never heard from him again. She asked some of the hunters that knew him if they had seen him and they all told her that they hadn't. Years passed until she was almost nine years old. She lived in the same dilapidated house that she had lived with her father in. She became somewhat well know, at least among the orphan population and some of the poorer folk, as someone who could fix things for some food if there was no other choice. She took scraps she found and worked them together with some of her father's weathered and beaten equipment to make a few small, simple gadgets. Simple things that she could sell off to some of the artifact hunters for a small price and telling her if they found a clue about her father. Not that there was any of that ever found. One, however, an older man brought her a stack of books. Books with pictures with bubbles carrying text. An old entertainment source of some kind. They were in miraculously good shape too! Seeing as she was interested in then, he gave it to her since she made something that was useful to him in his search. Not long after she decided that if no one else would find her father she would. She went out of her way to gather a weeks worth of supplies, water and make some devices. With that and some protective clothing, she descended into where the relics would be. The same place her father might be, an underground complex of sorts. She dove rather deep and at one point, she was just about to give up. There were many chambers and all were empty. Obviously, others had already looted these easy to access areas. Then she came upon something. A mark etched into the wall that she had seen only from one person, her father. It was something akin to a snowflake and there was an arrow pointing to a direction. Then another. And another and then she found herself in front of a hole in the wall. It was seemingly dug out some. Obvious indentations showed someone had tried to take a pick to it before. They were somewhat successful as there was hole. Small enough for someone of small stature to crawl through. On the otherside, she found a room that was mostly looted. There was, however, a capsule-like construct in the middle of the room. It was a machine of some sort. It still hummed with power, somehow, but it didn't seem to want to open. She had brought some tools with her so she took a look at it and, somehow, opened it. Inside was a bracelet of some sort. She took it. Perhaps… An artifact? She frowned and exited the way she entered. She stuffed it in her bag and explored a bit more though she did not find hide nor hair of her father. She turned back and safely returned home. When she got home, she met someone. A rather well endowed woman who seemed interested in her skills and the ability to collect an artifact herself. Her name, Fuuka. And, as Erika learned later, one of the sages. Due to her expressed skills, Fuuka took her in as a disciple. After she was taken in, Erika started to imitate the style of the girls in those books the old man had given her and started to respect Fuuka as a teacher and came to appreciate her as mother figure, or perhaps even more than that… Skills In her heart, Erika is an engineer before anything else. That said, there's a part of her that just loves delving into ruins and other places to find Artifacts. It's even better if she can mix both of these passions into one thing. She's honed herself as an engineer, fighter and searcher. Almost comically, she's also quite skilled at parkour, starting training in this after she was taken in by Fuuka. She's very good at keeping up or keeping away from people. Abilities: Erika has pretty good reflexes and dexterity. What she lacks in fortitude and strength she more than makes up for with her control over her body. Equipment: Erika has one artifact that she just so happened to come across in her journeys. Her teacher, Fuuka, called it "Medusa" and it's a marvelous piece of machinery and magic. By first look, it's a rather fine looking bracelet. But once you put it on and funnel some magic into it, it produces an outfit around the wearer. It gives a feeling of having multiple forms, but there only seems to be one. A picture in an old book seems to describe the look as a "Ninja Outfit". As for what makes the outfit special, it increases physical strength through mechanical means and has a grappling hook in one gauntlet that can pull the user to the location the hook is as well as giving the user a rather cool look. In her free time, Erika likes to pick at the bracelet to discover its secrets. Outside of her single artifact, she has a more mundane magitech sword to defend herself with. Faction: "Totes, Fuuka!"</s> <\|message\|>Turel Valsyar @Searat @Rune_Alchemist Turel awoke early this morning, starting his day with some light exercise to loosen and ready his muscles for the day ahead. He then followed with a bit of mediation to clear his mind and sharpen his senses for the road ahead. In this world one wrong turn could mean a swift death was in your future. One must always be ready, but more importantly, one must be able to adapt and respond to sudden situations accordingly. Finished with that, he gathered some essential items in his bag - a few repair kits, medicine, emergency provisions, the usual. He then fastened the strap along his torso, along with taking out another interestingly long case. The case held his signature magictech twinblade, a weapon of his custom design that's seen him through countless battles - Yoake Mae. He opened the case and removed the blade, revealing the weapon as the blades glistened in the morning rays. "Mornin' partner." He mused to himself. With that he headed out of his room at the inn he'd been staying at and made his way to the reception desk, where he paid his tab. He gave a friendly farewell to the receptionist and walked out the front doors. It was time for the hunt! Procuring a temp license for the Hensia area the day prior was easy enough, thanks to the connections he had from his earlier days. He quickly made his way to the hunting site, not really that fazed by the ruins and overgrowth of plantlife. Having been to all sorts of places, it was a sight that Valsyar was all too familiar with. He greeted a few people while on the way, one of which was a blacksmith who thanked him for fixing some broken items and even giving him some more up-to-date tool sets. Eventually, he happened upon a man who appeared to be in his thirties dressed in gray with a top hat. "Greetings sir! I believe this is what you're looking for?" He quickly flashed his badge to the guard, and after receiving passage, made his way to the ruins. While he had high hopes for this trek, rumors are more often than not just rumors. Unfortunately, in lands that are at this point mostly uncharted, many times that's all one has to go off of. After reaching the chasm, he took notice of the other hunters gathered there. Among them, three in particular caught his eye. A young woman looked to be from the Fuso region, possibly had connections with the Burial Agency maybe? Another was a taller person who was covered head to toe in military gear, even complete with a gas mask. The nostalgia it gave off almost made Turel smirk, reminiscing on days long past. The third, however, was quite the shock to him. A little girl in cute goggles, probably no older than ten, was among the crowd of hunters. At first, he immediately thought that she was either lost or bidding farewell to her hunter caretakers. But, after seeing her official license, it was filled with even more surprise. They're letting children as young as her pass as artifact hunters? He thought to himself. But enough of that, the adults present had already introduced themselves and Turel was the odd man out. "Greetings! A pleasure to meet you, Leonard and Meixue. My name is Turel Valsyar: Freelance Artifact Hunter and Magictech Repairman at your service. I bid good hunting to you all, even the little miss joining us today. And your name is?" He said, turning to the little girl with a welcoming smile.</s> <\|message\|>Aerynne Aerynne --- The day began fine for Aerynne. It had been a while since she was able to sleep on even a mildly fluffy bed like the one from the family that took her in while she was staying in Hensia. Renting a room in a family house certainly beat a cheap inn any day of the week, especially when she could get some tasty freshly baked bread out of it. How was it, again? Bread and Breakfast... Aerynne certainly could get used to that. Or so she thought as she made her way to HAHL's headquarters. Thanks to having made her reservations a day before, it was no problem for Aerynne to just come and collect her temporary license. Openings of ruins like this one always attracted all kinds of crowds, from real hardcore pros to curious people just wanting to take a look. Case in point, the strange duo of a—seemingly—gritty old man dressed in what looked like surplus military gear and a small girl who looked like she could going out for a field trip. Since she had nothing better to do, Aerynne decided to observe it from a short distance. And then, as she did so, a couple more joined the previous two. "Party forming sure does look like a good idea. Maybe I should try doing it too?" Aerynne said to herself as she continued to observe the people around her while slowly plucking bite-sized bits of her bread and eating them. --- @VitaVitaAR@Rune_Alchemist@AzureKnight</s>	<\|message\|>Erika Frost Erika Frost and a Robot Catgirl leave for work --- Erika smirked at Tanja's purring. She found this robot somewhat adorable. Still, with her partner admitting her lack of knowledge of where they were going, "Well, it's a good thing I took a quick peak earlier." Erika mentioned with a slight giggle. She released the catgirl from her grasp and opened the door. "Come then, follow me." Erika was quick to pick up on the tradition of this town, the so called unspoken rule of never saying goodbye. As the two left, she saw the Innkeeper and gave her a quick wave to catch the woman's attention. "We'll be back today or tomorrow." With that, the woman smiled and return the phrase. "Then I'll see you then." With that, Erika and Tanja were out the door heading to where they would be hunting relics. Luckily, it wasn't a far walk. From where they were, they walked through a makeshift market and towards the also makeshift lift down to the hunting site. A guard stood there, always was one. Making sure people were authorized in the guild. Before he had a chance to ask her, she pulled out her pass from somewhere and showed it to him. "I sure am authorized my good man." She said with a smile on her face. "And this here is my partner, authorized as well." She added, patting the cat earred girl on her head. The guard was slightly taken aback, but noted that Erika seemed pretty eager to get down to work with her smile and let her pass. With her continued smile, she grabbed Tanja by the hand and took her to the lift. "We'll be back." She mentioned before the two disappeared down into the sinkhole. At the bottom, after departing, Erika let go of Tanja's hand and took a look around. "Tanja my girl, these are the first steps of our first, possibly last... Forey into some ruins together. We'll have to work hard together, today." She nodded before looking over and seeing a couple of hunters surrounding a lone girl. She was perhaps nine or ten. It really wasn't that different from the age when she started diving into ruins. She was nine when she went to search for her dad and Fuuka picked her up. She sighed. "Well, hope that girl gets lucky as I did." She muttered to herself and Tanja. "What do you think, Tanja? Talk to them?" She asked her cat-eared partner before patting her on the head.</s>
<\|description\|>Omega-Type Magitek Battle Automaton Prototype #7 'Tanja'. Or Tanja, for short. It's not a very catchy name. * Age: Pre-Cataclysm (She presumes) * Gender: Female * Only 4'6. * Personality: An odd combination of naive but flirtatious, it's quite clear that Tanja has minimal experience with the wider world--and absolutely none with the current state of it--but isn't really much of a child, even with the whale. Around pretty girls in particular. Overwhelmingly curious and reckless, she's probably too quick to trust people. Most people. She really doesn't like Rothschild. Although she doesn't show it too much, Tanja much prefers being indoors. The sky is just too big. * Brief Backstory: As her full name would suggest, Tanja is a prototype for a line of magitech robots--suggesting that at least some magic was present before the cataclysm, although as a robot who never left the lab she was created in, she can't really confirm it for anyone else beyond pointing out that one day the researchers stopped showing up and the exits were blocked with solid stone. Before that, they were testing her ability to manipulate magic and running various combat tests--and from her name, general accent, and the name of her plushie, it was probably somewhere in Germany. She was down there a very long time. Fortunately, it was a self-contained lab with its own power system, although inevitably all sources but magic directly dried up and more and more switched to a power-saving state. Occasionally, things somehow got in and Tanja was forced to deal with them, but they never left a clear way out--just forced use of high-power weaponry in what was slowly becoming some sort of magical dead zone. Inevitably, though, one person did manage to find his way down there. Unfortunately, Tanja had no idea that Rothschild was not some sort of monster and reacted violently despite her own lack of power. That ended... poorly for her, although all core damage was eventually fixed. The Sage, for his part, was unable to gather much of interest from Tanja or the now-wrecked lab and, for once, decided to not keep the newly discovered artefact. After naming and cataloguing it (and ignoring the complaint that she already had a name), Tanja was traded in Hensia for something--ostensibly--picked up near the new tunnel, and found herself gradually passed up to Alhein because nobody else could work out what to do with a combat robot. Despite looking fully operational to a casual observer, she'd estimate that only a quarter to a third of the damage is actually repaired and it's going to be a long time to do as she's never learned a way to accelerate her own repair process--and the tools she knows could help were rather destroyed. * Skills: Tanja's primary claim to being helpful is that she can use pre-cataclysm technology pretty well. She can't break through security or tell you how it works but she can turn it on and, perhaps crucially, read the instructions. Beyond that, she's small, extremely flexible, and weighs even less than she looks, and she's a surprisingly good shot with a gun. Albeit she insists that it should be better. * Abilities: Initially designed as a robot to harness magic directly for combat purposes, Tanja can, in fact, work on using it normally and without worrying about all the initial "learn how to feel and manipulate" it stages that plague most beginners. She just has no clue because she was also created with a large number of components that would automatically perform the necessary steps for her--magic items only useful to her, in other words. A few, such as the flight components, only manifest externally when in use. Unfortunately, they range in various states from atomised to simply offline, so her ability to act as a one-person laser weapons platform is curtailed to almost nothing, along with her aim. It's still enough to fire in extremis but that means doing most of the work manually. That she considers this temporary shows the real miracle in her creation, beyond combining these features in an artificial lifeform. Unless all the essential components in her body are destroyed (and she refuses to say how many there are, or if the information is distributed through all of it, for obvious reasons), then over time she can simply draw in magic and use it to power herself and repair anything necessary. Other power sources can also be used for this, up to and including eating. * Equipment: Technically, one could say that the artefact known as Angel of Destruction: Leo is in Tanja's possession, in the same way that you could say anyone else is in their own possession. But, as a rather willful artefact with no known access codes to force her co-operation and an unsurprising level of encryption, she's not really controlled. Beyond borrowing guns as needed, she owns a plush whale, imaginatively named Herr Wal. Although not one of her built-in components, he seems to have been built to test including external objects in the repairs. Given that it has been thousands of years without any fading or damage, the test seems to have been successful even if nothing else was completed. * Faction: Alhein (under observation)</s> <\|message\|>Imarui, or Ima for short --- Hensia Doesn't Say Goodbye --- Morning. Her small room contained a bookshelf, her bed, a small desk, and a few stuffed animals. Sitting on the desk was her backpack and a few other objects, a stone with a whirl in it she felt certain was some sort of fossil, a chunk of some ancient metal she guessed belonged to some pre-cataclysm device, and a weathered figure that appeared to be some kind of stone owl. None of them had been taken by the auction house, so she was permitted to keep them. They neither had any kind of mystical ability nor particular value as curios. The young girl had been awake for a little while now. She was on duty today. And it was going to be her first opportunity to go somewhere new. The tunnel had barely been touched yet, the Hensia League had only just cleared it for full exploration... and she was going to be one of the first Artifact Hunters in town cleared for full exploration! Needless to say, the white-haired girl was filled with excitement, but that didn't mean she forgot about how important preparations were. Food, water, tools, a flashlight... and of course... She placed one hand against her chest, clutching her necklace in one hand. For actually finding an artifact, it was the most important part. Imarui adjusted her hat, and pulled her goggles down over her eyes. She pulled on her backpack, smiling to herself. She wasn't going to be exploring old tunnels anymore today! This was all new territory! The silvery-haired young girl opened the door to her room and made her departure. "Good luck, Ima!" she heard one of her friends, a blue haired girl named Sana, call to her as she sprinted down the hall excitedly. Grinning, she waved towards her. Turning the corner, Imarui made her way to the front door. "We will be awaiting your return, Imarui." The source of the voice was a tall woman in a black dress with her dark brown hair in a tight bun. Valery was one of her caretakers, one of the two younger ladies who helped run the orphanage. Imarui always felt she was a little too strict, though. Still, she gave a bright and cheery nod. She'd heard that phrase plenty. It was customary in Hensia never to say goodbye, after all. Artifact hunting was dangerous, and many of Hensia's residents engaged in it. It was a part of their culture. So if you told someone goodbye, it implied you knew you might never see them again. So it was simple. You never said goodbye. "I'll be back!" Ima declared brightly. It was a sunny, bright day in Hensia. The orphanage was on the north side of the town, near a heavily overgrown old ruin that was impossible to see under all the plants growing over it. It was a large, rectangular building with a rounded roof, standing on stilts that angled outwards like many other buildings in Hensia. Surrounding town was the remains of ancient buildings, trees growing in and around them... to the west it was more open, but to the east the foliage and the ruins simply grew denser and denser. The east of Hensia was more dangerous. Imarui sprinted down the steps and into the street. The tunnel had opened up on the opposite side of town, so... She had a little ways to go! "Good luck, little hunter!" a familiar voice to her right called. It was the baker, a bearded older man hauling some flower home on the back of his Carrier Bird. The green and purple plumage of the large, long-necked, flightless bird was surprisingly brilliant in the morning sun. "Thank you, you too!" she called to him, before hurrying off down the street. Around her were people busying about their business... Carrier birds, a few small floating wagons... the local inn was bustling with all the hunters who had showed up from out of town, too. But there was no time to hang around and take it in! --- It looked like jaws had opened up in the earth. A yawning chasm down into the darkness, rimmed with jagged fragments of stone and ancient roadways. No matter how bright it was, there was no way you were doing to see to the bottom down there. There used to be a building where the chasm now was, one that thankfully no-one had been inside of at the time. The tunnels beneath Hensia were well known, but this was much closer to town then any of the others... and it had been the first collapse in... Imarui didn't even know when the last collapse had been. But it had been pretty long ago. Around the edge of the chasm, on the side closest to town, the Hensia Artifact Hunter's League had done what it could to ensure the hunters at least made it down safely by setting up small, chain-powered elevators. Each was big enough for one or two people, depending on their size, and could hold a great deal of weight. Given the size of some artifacts, that was important. She approached the nearest elevator. In front of it was a middle-aged man in a tall hat and grey clothing. "Your badge?" he asked. Proudly, Imarui fished her badge from a pocket on her backpack and raised it in her hand. Emblazoned with the abbreviation 'HAHL', it was a sure sign of one's membership of the league. Hunters from out of town would have had to obtain a temporary license, but that was definitely not going to be an obstacle when a potential bounty like this was on the line. "You may pass," he began, before turning to look at her as she walked by, "We'll see you again, won't we?" "Of course!" With that, she stopped just ahead of the elevator, looking around. While she was eager to explore, she was just as curious about the out of town hunters who were around as well. She hadn't seen this many people from outside Hensia for as long as she could remember... ... And maybe, just maybe, she was more nervous about descending into the darkness then she'd ever admit. Daze@Rune_Alchemist@KoL@Pyromania99@Searat@AzureKnight@ERode</s> <\|message\|>Erika Frost Erika Frost and a Robot Catgirl Ready Up --- Erika had took the early morning to gather her supplies. One could never know how long they would be stuck searching for Artifacts. Or, perhaps, if they would ever come back from searching at all. She scratched the back of her head and sighed as she stuffed a small amount of supplies into a backpack. Should be enough for the day, perhaps she could push it to tomorrow easily. Worst case, had to come back for a resupply. This would be easy enough. Well, it would be normally. The tanned girl looked over to the other inhabitant of the room. An odd... creature? No, what she was told was... Magitech Robot? Something of the sort. Omega... Something, something. Tanja was what she was sure this girl was called. Her teacher had mentioned an agreement with Alhein. One of her disciples would watch over the catgirl, the disciple in question being Erika herself. What Fuuka got out of it? Well, that was a good question. She was rather vague about it. Though, Erika might have been distracted by other things when she was told about it. There was likely something good for her master to agree to it. Well, either way, it was just her normal job with an extra person along. She fastened a couple of items to her belt. A light source that one could attach to their head, a small portable laser cutter and a flashbang device. Then, one of the more important items, her magitech sword. She attached the sheath to her side and pulled the blade out to check on it quickly enough. Yes, it seemed to be in fine condition. With a smile, she put it back in it's home and double checked. Yep, that was everything. After that she looked at the Artifact on her wrist, Medusa, and rubbed it with a small smile. Her partner for ten years or so now was one of the few constants in her life. She hoped it would stay that way. Either was, now wasn't the time to think on the past. She walked over to Tanja, hoping she'd be ready to head down into their new brand of hell. "You cute little thing." Erika said, rubbing the catgirl's head a small bit. The cat had seemed friendly enough so far and that was fine with Erika. "Hope you're ready to head down. It's the start of Tanja and Erika's big Artifact hunt. Our goal is at the very least ten." The girl said with a confident smile. Of course, it was most likely an unobtainable goal of course. One was lucky if they would find even one artifact, let alone ten. "Something tells me that we're up to a very good partnership!" Her arm wrapped around Tanja's head and pulled her close. "You know how to get to the site right?"</s>	<\|message\|>Omega-Type Magitek Battle Automaton Prototype #7 'Tanja'. Or Tanja, for short. It's not a very catchy name. Robot Cat, Ready and Waiting Tanja was gaining an appreciation for what it was like to be some sort of incomprehensible work of art. First, that jerk had come and found her and made a big mess out of things... then an even bigger mess trying to work things out. Then she'd been traded off to Alhein after he gave up in exchange for something more practical. And then they had passed her off to some lady with glasses because nobody wanted to do any babysitting. That hadn't lasted any time at all before Tanja had once again been handed over to another stranger, though Erika didn't seem to be in a hurry to get rid of her. At least all this being shuffled around had given her time to learn the local language--and get hold of some sort of pistol given how she was apparently now a tagalong explorer. Nothing too impressive or high-spec but... it was perfectly adequate for the time being. Way less interesting than the ID she'd been issued after some confused arguing, with Alhein finally being the ones responsible and some arguing about what on earth the details should be. Nobody had been receptive toawrds giving Herr Wal one, though. So mean... Tanja wouldn't deny being cute, though, nor reject the tanned girl's affection. Ah, that felt nice, and the taller girl was friendly... eyes closed, the robot missed most of her following statement, purring, quite loudly at that, under the attention. Though being roped into the hug brought her attention back to the conversation: "Ja! Ah... follow you!" Maybe she should pay more attention to details like that now she wasn't in some pass-the-parcel game.</s>
<\|description\|>Omega-Type Magitek Battle Automaton Prototype #7 'Tanja'. Or Tanja, for short. It's not a very catchy name. * Age: Pre-Cataclysm (She presumes) * Gender: Female * Only 4'6. * Personality: An odd combination of naive but flirtatious, it's quite clear that Tanja has minimal experience with the wider world--and absolutely none with the current state of it--but isn't really much of a child, even with the whale. Around pretty girls in particular. Overwhelmingly curious and reckless, she's probably too quick to trust people. Most people. She really doesn't like Rothschild. Although she doesn't show it too much, Tanja much prefers being indoors. The sky is just too big. * Brief Backstory: As her full name would suggest, Tanja is a prototype for a line of magitech robots--suggesting that at least some magic was present before the cataclysm, although as a robot who never left the lab she was created in, she can't really confirm it for anyone else beyond pointing out that one day the researchers stopped showing up and the exits were blocked with solid stone. Before that, they were testing her ability to manipulate magic and running various combat tests--and from her name, general accent, and the name of her plushie, it was probably somewhere in Germany. She was down there a very long time. Fortunately, it was a self-contained lab with its own power system, although inevitably all sources but magic directly dried up and more and more switched to a power-saving state. Occasionally, things somehow got in and Tanja was forced to deal with them, but they never left a clear way out--just forced use of high-power weaponry in what was slowly becoming some sort of magical dead zone. Inevitably, though, one person did manage to find his way down there. Unfortunately, Tanja had no idea that Rothschild was not some sort of monster and reacted violently despite her own lack of power. That ended... poorly for her, although all core damage was eventually fixed. The Sage, for his part, was unable to gather much of interest from Tanja or the now-wrecked lab and, for once, decided to not keep the newly discovered artefact. After naming and cataloguing it (and ignoring the complaint that she already had a name), Tanja was traded in Hensia for something--ostensibly--picked up near the new tunnel, and found herself gradually passed up to Alhein because nobody else could work out what to do with a combat robot. Despite looking fully operational to a casual observer, she'd estimate that only a quarter to a third of the damage is actually repaired and it's going to be a long time to do as she's never learned a way to accelerate her own repair process--and the tools she knows could help were rather destroyed. * Skills: Tanja's primary claim to being helpful is that she can use pre-cataclysm technology pretty well. She can't break through security or tell you how it works but she can turn it on and, perhaps crucially, read the instructions. Beyond that, she's small, extremely flexible, and weighs even less than she looks, and she's a surprisingly good shot with a gun. Albeit she insists that it should be better. * Abilities: Initially designed as a robot to harness magic directly for combat purposes, Tanja can, in fact, work on using it normally and without worrying about all the initial "learn how to feel and manipulate" it stages that plague most beginners. She just has no clue because she was also created with a large number of components that would automatically perform the necessary steps for her--magic items only useful to her, in other words. A few, such as the flight components, only manifest externally when in use. Unfortunately, they range in various states from atomised to simply offline, so her ability to act as a one-person laser weapons platform is curtailed to almost nothing, along with her aim. It's still enough to fire in extremis but that means doing most of the work manually. That she considers this temporary shows the real miracle in her creation, beyond combining these features in an artificial lifeform. Unless all the essential components in her body are destroyed (and she refuses to say how many there are, or if the information is distributed through all of it, for obvious reasons), then over time she can simply draw in magic and use it to power herself and repair anything necessary. Other power sources can also be used for this, up to and including eating. * Equipment: Technically, one could say that the artefact known as Angel of Destruction: Leo is in Tanja's possession, in the same way that you could say anyone else is in their own possession. But, as a rather willful artefact with no known access codes to force her co-operation and an unsurprising level of encryption, she's not really controlled. Beyond borrowing guns as needed, she owns a plush whale, imaginatively named Herr Wal. Although not one of her built-in components, he seems to have been built to test including external objects in the repairs. Given that it has been thousands of years without any fading or damage, the test seems to have been successful even if nothing else was completed. * Faction: Alhein (under observation)</s> <\|message\|>Erika Frost Erika Frost and a Robot Catgirl leave for work --- Erika smirked at Tanja's purring. She found this robot somewhat adorable. Still, with her partner admitting her lack of knowledge of where they were going, "Well, it's a good thing I took a quick peak earlier." Erika mentioned with a slight giggle. She released the catgirl from her grasp and opened the door. "Come then, follow me." Erika was quick to pick up on the tradition of this town, the so called unspoken rule of never saying goodbye. As the two left, she saw the Innkeeper and gave her a quick wave to catch the woman's attention. "We'll be back today or tomorrow." With that, the woman smiled and return the phrase. "Then I'll see you then." With that, Erika and Tanja were out the door heading to where they would be hunting relics. Luckily, it wasn't a far walk. From where they were, they walked through a makeshift market and towards the also makeshift lift down to the hunting site. A guard stood there, always was one. Making sure people were authorized in the guild. Before he had a chance to ask her, she pulled out her pass from somewhere and showed it to him. "I sure am authorized my good man." She said with a smile on her face. "And this here is my partner, authorized as well." She added, patting the cat earred girl on her head. The guard was slightly taken aback, but noted that Erika seemed pretty eager to get down to work with her smile and let her pass. With her continued smile, she grabbed Tanja by the hand and took her to the lift. "We'll be back." She mentioned before the two disappeared down into the sinkhole. At the bottom, after departing, Erika let go of Tanja's hand and took a look around. "Tanja my girl, these are the first steps of our first, possibly last... Forey into some ruins together. We'll have to work hard together, today." She nodded before looking over and seeing a couple of hunters surrounding a lone girl. She was perhaps nine or ten. It really wasn't that different from the age when she started diving into ruins. She was nine when she went to search for her dad and Fuuka picked her up. She sighed. "Well, hope that girl gets lucky as I did." She muttered to herself and Tanja. "What do you think, Tanja? Talk to them?" She asked her cat-eared partner before patting her on the head.</s> <\|message\|>Oribara Senjoushi 💀 "Hanh?! What's the hold up here?" A voice sounded from behind the others, belligerent and bold. The middle-aged badge inspector screwed his face up, still trying to make out whether the badge before him had all the necessary details and identification. It was bent out of shape, had more than a couple of dried stains on it, and the central 'A' looked more like an 'B' due to a deep slash within the surface. Undoubtedly, it was a badge of the Hensia Artifact Hunter's League, but was it that man's badge? One of those stains looked suspiciously like blood… "Fuck ya looking at?" The thug leaned in closer, jutting out his lower jaw. "Hensia's got dis-cri-mi-na-to-ry practices now or somethin'? Speak the fuck up, man!" "You don't live in Hensia, do you? I'm not certain where you got this badge from, but we're issuing temporary licenses as well, so i-" "Oh, this is RICH!" The thug snatched the badge out of the man's hand, stuffing it into his pockets before pushing pass. "I don't know what the fuck you're on about, but what I do know is that my badge is 100% clean! Go piss someone else off!" Without stopping, the red-haired youth powered on through…only to stop at the small crowd that had formed for absolutely no reason whatsoever. One…two…three…yeah, that's more than what he's willing to count up to. And with that tincan over there, there's not a rat's ass in hell that anyone could double up with him anyhow. "Dunno what sorta clown shit y'all are up to, but those elevators aren't gonna fit much more than tinman there. Get gone or step aside, yea?" He spat off to the side, then strode right towards the group. Either they'd part or he'd shoulder past; Oribara didn't give a fuck right now.</s> <\|message\|>Imarui, or Ima for short Since all the adults were introducing themselves, and she'd been asked directly, Imarui cheerfully raised her hand to the sky. "My name's Imarui!" she introduced herself brightly. Anyone with knowledge of such things would recognize it as a Navran name, which was unexpected somewhere as distant from the icy, unforgiving north as this little girl, "But my friends call me Ima!" She paused for a moment. She couldn't consider out of town artifact hunters her friends right away, and even her friends definitely didn't know about her necklace... but that didn't mean she couldn't consider making sure everyone here was going to be okay. Even that rude guy who just showed up and almost walked right into the big armored guy! ... Still, he was pretty rude... Imarui frowned at him for a moment. She was used to Artifact Hunters, at least Hensia's artifact hunters, being something like a community. She knew almost all of them herself. ... Ah, but that one girl... was she a beastfolk!? Imarui had never seen one before, but those were definitely cat ears! Eyes shining, Imarui almost asked... But it was at that moment that the elevator arrived with a resounding clank. Moments later, it was followed by several others. "Oh, they're here!" Imarui was quick to rush onto the nearest elevator, poised above the yawning abyss. Beyond the initial landing site where the elevators had been rigged up, there was nothing. Very little of the new tunnel had been explored... Whatever nervousness the little girl felt was being overwhelmed by how excited she was to explore. @Searat@KoL@ERode@Pyromania99@AzureKnight@Raineh Daze</s> <\|message\|>Leonard S. Fleming --- Leo briefly looked around the small group that was forming while they waited for the elevator to take them down. As expected, the hunters that were present came from all walks of life. Nodding his head slightly, he thinks that this will be a very interesting expedition. But before he could have his fun, his moral obligation demanded him that he ensure the little one's safety in this tunnel excursion. A boorish man made himself known. The loud and proud introduction just barely getting the armored man's attention as his five years of experience taught him that those with big mouths and even bigger personalities usually quickly find their way into a closed casket during missions. Leaning slightly to his right to avoid the thug's impatient gesture of getting to the elevator first, Leo kept the majority of his focus on the child's short but enthusiastic introduction and putting away his temporary license into somewhere safe and secure in his bag. He didn't want to do another repeat of this morning. "A pleasure to meet you all. Including you, young miss Imarui." Quite a peculiar name considering how far North they were located. But the man didn't dwell on the subject for long. The elevators were here! But, the ill-mannered redhead was probably correct. The elevators were unlikely to fit more than himself and his gear. So it was likely he'd solo an elevator himself. "If there is nothing left to discuss, I suppose I wish you all luck and hope to see you in the chasm below." Leo boarded a nearby elevator that creaked slightly from the weight. Even now, he could already feel his body slowly introducing adrenaline in his bloodstream. Oh how he missed this high. Skills: ◼ Uncanny Combat Prowess - From humble fisticuffs to complex magitech weapons, fighting comes to him as if second nature. ◼ Equipment Maintenance Proficiency - Take care of your gear and your gear will take care of you. ◼ Medical Ability - He's no doctor by any standard, but he can patch you up in a pinch. Abilities: ◼ Peak Human Ability - You don't really last very long in the business if you aren't. ◼ Enhanced Willpower - Willpower is significantly above average. It will take a lot to break him. ◼ Natural Navigator - Unless caused by magical means, getting lost will not be a concern. Equipment: * Modified T-35b Combat Armor Set - Segmented combat armor lightened enough to not hinder movement, but kept tough enough to withstand small arms fire and offensive spells to a reasonable extent. * Custom GK-4 Battle Rifle - A battle rifle modified with a shorter barrel for maneuverability in small areas and a fixed bayonet for instances Leo can't switch to his axe quick enough. * Type 5 LH Axe - A battle axe fitted with a device that layers the axe head with a disruptive field to significantly increase its cutting ability. Helps retain the edges to boot. * Durable Knapsack - A bag made from tough leather that contains tools, gadgets, supplies, and other goodies you wouldn't want to leave home without. Faction: Independent</s>	<\|message\|>Omega-Type Magitek Battle Automaton Prototype #7 'Tanja'. Or Tanja, for short. It's not a very catchy name. Robot Catgirls Aren't Sensible So many people around... including one super rude one! Hopefully she'd remember all their names later. Including that girl with the white hair; was that a normal hair colour now or was she some sort of albino? It would probably be a bad idea to ask, and she didn't look terribly sunburnt... "Uh... I'm Tanja!" she said as everyone started to go towards the elevators, cutting down on the full introduction. It didn't seem like Erika had done the best job of remembering it all, and Rothschilde hadn't even cared and come up with his own label. Alhein hadn't printed the full thing on her ID, either, so she was getting the feeling nobody really wanted the full designation. Maybe it was only scientists who wanted that? Taking a look at the elevators, the catgirl frowned. Rickety, not all that much space, she might need to wait for one to come back up if she couldn't squeeze onto Erika's. Blech, that was no fun, she really didn't want to wait. So, then, time to take the quick route. Nobody else was probably expecting to see the whale-carrying girl outright leap into the chasm without a care but, much further down, there was a brief glimmer of red... and once the elevators reached their destination, Tanja was just standing, waiting, and definitely not a smear on the chasm wall.</s>
<\|description\|>Omega-Type Magitek Battle Automaton Prototype #7 'Tanja'. Or Tanja, for short. It's not a very catchy name. * Age: Pre-Cataclysm (She presumes) * Gender: Female * Only 4'6. * Personality: An odd combination of naive but flirtatious, it's quite clear that Tanja has minimal experience with the wider world--and absolutely none with the current state of it--but isn't really much of a child, even with the whale. Around pretty girls in particular. Overwhelmingly curious and reckless, she's probably too quick to trust people. Most people. She really doesn't like Rothschild. Although she doesn't show it too much, Tanja much prefers being indoors. The sky is just too big. * Brief Backstory: As her full name would suggest, Tanja is a prototype for a line of magitech robots--suggesting that at least some magic was present before the cataclysm, although as a robot who never left the lab she was created in, she can't really confirm it for anyone else beyond pointing out that one day the researchers stopped showing up and the exits were blocked with solid stone. Before that, they were testing her ability to manipulate magic and running various combat tests--and from her name, general accent, and the name of her plushie, it was probably somewhere in Germany. She was down there a very long time. Fortunately, it was a self-contained lab with its own power system, although inevitably all sources but magic directly dried up and more and more switched to a power-saving state. Occasionally, things somehow got in and Tanja was forced to deal with them, but they never left a clear way out--just forced use of high-power weaponry in what was slowly becoming some sort of magical dead zone. Inevitably, though, one person did manage to find his way down there. Unfortunately, Tanja had no idea that Rothschild was not some sort of monster and reacted violently despite her own lack of power. That ended... poorly for her, although all core damage was eventually fixed. The Sage, for his part, was unable to gather much of interest from Tanja or the now-wrecked lab and, for once, decided to not keep the newly discovered artefact. After naming and cataloguing it (and ignoring the complaint that she already had a name), Tanja was traded in Hensia for something--ostensibly--picked up near the new tunnel, and found herself gradually passed up to Alhein because nobody else could work out what to do with a combat robot. Despite looking fully operational to a casual observer, she'd estimate that only a quarter to a third of the damage is actually repaired and it's going to be a long time to do as she's never learned a way to accelerate her own repair process--and the tools she knows could help were rather destroyed. * Skills: Tanja's primary claim to being helpful is that she can use pre-cataclysm technology pretty well. She can't break through security or tell you how it works but she can turn it on and, perhaps crucially, read the instructions. Beyond that, she's small, extremely flexible, and weighs even less than she looks, and she's a surprisingly good shot with a gun. Albeit she insists that it should be better. * Abilities: Initially designed as a robot to harness magic directly for combat purposes, Tanja can, in fact, work on using it normally and without worrying about all the initial "learn how to feel and manipulate" it stages that plague most beginners. She just has no clue because she was also created with a large number of components that would automatically perform the necessary steps for her--magic items only useful to her, in other words. A few, such as the flight components, only manifest externally when in use. Unfortunately, they range in various states from atomised to simply offline, so her ability to act as a one-person laser weapons platform is curtailed to almost nothing, along with her aim. It's still enough to fire in extremis but that means doing most of the work manually. That she considers this temporary shows the real miracle in her creation, beyond combining these features in an artificial lifeform. Unless all the essential components in her body are destroyed (and she refuses to say how many there are, or if the information is distributed through all of it, for obvious reasons), then over time she can simply draw in magic and use it to power herself and repair anything necessary. Other power sources can also be used for this, up to and including eating. * Equipment: Technically, one could say that the artefact known as Angel of Destruction: Leo is in Tanja's possession, in the same way that you could say anyone else is in their own possession. But, as a rather willful artefact with no known access codes to force her co-operation and an unsurprising level of encryption, she's not really controlled. Beyond borrowing guns as needed, she owns a plush whale, imaginatively named Herr Wal. Although not one of her built-in components, he seems to have been built to test including external objects in the repairs. Given that it has been thousands of years without any fading or damage, the test seems to have been successful even if nothing else was completed. * Faction: Alhein (under observation)</s> <\|message\|>Leonard S. Fleming --- "Wai-!" Leo yells out to the thuggish youth too late as he blindly rushes forward and deeper to the illuminated path without a care in the world; seemingly unaware to the dangers it may bring to him or, worst case scenario, to the rest of the group. The armored man ran after the fiery red-head with surprising speed and agility enough for him to notice the true danger of the path. Screaming slugs laid in wait. Nothing more than biological trip alarms, but what made them a proper hazard was the creatures it would notify that a possible meal was nearby. And Oribara was heading straight for a cluster of them. Leo had to think quickly before a possible catastrophe occurred. Re-slinging his battle rifle, two of his now free hands reached into the side pockets of his bag and pulled out a two day's worth of rations and threw them at the Screaming Slugs. Who would have known that those nutrition packed but tasteless food bars would see use other than consumption? If the plan was successful, it would have a cluster of the slugs focus on the food bars and hopefully give Oribara an opportunity to pass through without causing an alarm. If the younger man was skillful enough to avoid them. Skills: ◼ Uncanny Combat Prowess - From humble fisticuffs to complex magitech weapons, fighting comes to him as if second nature. ◼ Equipment Maintenance Proficiency - Take care of your gear and your gear will take care of you. ◼ Medical Ability - He's no doctor by any standard, but he can patch you up in a pinch. Abilities: ◼ Peak Human Ability - You don't really last very long in the business if you aren't. ◼ Enhanced Willpower - Willpower is significantly above average. It will take a lot to break him. ◼ Natural Navigator - Unless caused by magical means, getting lost will not be a concern. Equipment: * Modified T-35b Combat Armor Set - Segmented combat armor lightened enough to not hinder movement, but kept tough enough to withstand small arms fire and offensive spells to a reasonable extent. * Custom GK-4 Battle Rifle - A battle rifle modified with a shorter barrel for maneuverability in small areas and a fixed bayonet for instances Leo can't switch to his axe quick enough. * Type 5 LH Axe - A battle axe fitted with a device that layers the axe head with a disruptive field to significantly increase its cutting ability. Helps retain the edges to boot. * Durable Knapsack - A bag made from tough leather that contains tools, gadgets, supplies, and other goodies you wouldn't want to leave home without. Faction: Independent</s> <\|message\|>Erika Frost Erika Frost dresses up --- Erika just sighed as she watched that hoverboard guy spew foulness from her mouth. It's not that she never said anything uncouth, but geez, he must have woke up on the wrong side of the bed. She didn't really want to go down the same way he went and, if she gauged the conversation earlier, looked to another way into this ruin. Welp, now was as good a time as any. She reached into her pocket and grabbed an elastic band and used it to tie her hair back into a pony tail. After that, she clicked on her bracelet a few times and held that hand out. A light spread from the device and spread over her body. It fully covered her body at some point and an odd, skin-tight suit seemingly materialized into existence. It was fairly form fitting in certain areas and at least looked slightly armored in some other areas. The woman rubbed the back of her neck, though she didn't feel it much because of her outfit. She checked to make sure her other equipment was where it was suppose to be. Supplies, check. She strapped them closer to her body to make sure it didn't flop around as much. Weapon, check. "Alright, Tanja. We're going this way." She said, leading the small robotic girl by the hand to where the Hoverboard boy didn't go. She was mostly confident they could take care of themselves.</s> <\|message\|>Imarui, or Ima for short The left path shared some similarities with the right. Just as was the case on the right side, the glow proved to be the work of a multitude of glowcaps, covering nearly every surface in the tunnel. Joining them in this case were a multitude of vines hanging down from the ceiling, immediate recognition of the species rendered difficult due to the lighting and their generic appearance. Still, this implied potentially more lush growth deeper in the cavern. This time, however, it became apparent just why the glowcaps were so numerous. Roughly five meters on into the left path, was the relatively fresh corpse of a carrier bird. While it was still most certainly dead for more then a day or so, that was still fairly fresh given how difficult to access this part of the cavern must have been. The implication was obvious, there must have been another entrance to this cavern elsewhere... or the building that had fallen into the pit wasn't as empty as first expected. Glowcaps had already begun to grow on the body, but it was mostly still visible. On closer inspection, another grisly discovery would be made: The carrier bird's body was savagely torn open, much of the meat and internal organs gone. The entire underside of its neck had been torn away as well, and given the particular density of glowcaps there it was likely the animal had been killed by having its throat torn open. The presence of a saddle was also concerning, though no human body was present. @Raineh Daze</s> <\|message\|>Oribara Senjoushi 💀 Silvery strands were invisible in darkness; Oribara had a headlamp. As the Screaming Slugs flickered in the swath of fluorescent light from his forehead, the thug knelt down, one hand on his board and another reaching out into the ground. His fingers punched past glowcaps and dirt, snagging into the hardier rock underneath, and with a twist of his body, he wrenched a large slab of rock out of the ground, board skidding to a stop at the very edge of the first slugs. Still squatting on his board, Oribara pulled out two spray cans and shook them heartily. One was a pesticide, strong enough to dissuade any glowcaps from growing over top, while the other was a luminescent paint that would glow a striking red to contrast with the blue-white of the caps. And what did he spray atop the rock? Eyes up, fuckos! A flourish of his double-shotgun, double-bicep signature later, and Oribara rammed the stone warning sign into the ground, right in the center of the entrance to the cavern. Slugs were good for drawing out other predators, but Trailblazers didn't care for the dangers of opportunistic predators. Dens were easier (and more satisfying) to vandalize. Then, a couple of rations flew overhead. Snagged onto the sensory threads of the slugs. And was duly consumed by them. Oribara gazed backwards, one eyebrow cocked. "Didn't take you for a monster lover, tinman." And with that, he kicked off again, board churning up glowcaps underneath as the redhead swayed and snaked, evading the very visible freaks that clung to the ceiling. Someone with a flamethrower can handle 'em in the future. Oribara had a whole damn forest to sketch out!</s>	<\|message\|>Omega-Type Magitek Battle Automaton Prototype #7 'Tanja'. Or Tanja, for short. It's not a very catchy name. "Do you think there are underground wolves or something?" Tanja wondered aloud, crouching down to look at the grisly wound on the bird. They were pretty far down, so it wasn't like it could be normal wolves or the like making their way down. Unless wolves knew how to operate elevators? She wasn't sure that this was within their normal abilities but if they could disguise themselves as grandmothers, then... well, who knew what a particularly dedicate one might do. "Or did it come down here with its throat torn out and get killed by mushrooms?" "I'm still not sure what behaviour is normal in this time..." the robot wondered, standing up again and looking back at Erika.</s>
<\|description\|>Aerynne HEIGHT 156cm WEIGTH --- AGE --- GENDER Female --- DESCRIPTION A traveling scholar with a presence as fleeting as a midsummer breeze. Aerynne has a smallish, slender build—one could almost describe her as petite—befitting her avian characteristics. Said avian characteristics are primarily evident in the bits of plumage sprinkled around her silhouette—most noticeably her fluffy feather-like hair. Her sharp gaze isn't the only evidence of her raptor heritage but also of her wits. Aerynne's light clothing matches her amiable disposition as well as her sagely background. As an only child, daughter of a couple of relic hunters who took her on trips even before she was "out of the shell", it was only natural that Aerynne would follow her parents' footsteps. It was the only life she knew, after all, and one she couldn't help but love. In fact, the only things Aerynne might like more than relic hunting are her family, books, and freshly baked bread. She grew burrowed in a mountain of books, dreaming of knights and princesses, wisemen and realms of fantasy. Above all, she had a passion for history and relics of the past, as well as the smarts to figure out how they worked even before going out to study at a renowned academy. Once she concluded her initial training, Aerynne came into possession of a powerful relic 「Phantasmal Fang: Carnwennan」 a staff which's in actuality an advanced magical computer controlled by a basic AI. It's capable of assisting and speeding up all kinds of data processing, including the calculations necessary to deploy advanced magical spells. During her adventuring career, Aerynne received a proposal from many organizations—including, but not limited to, a constant courtship from Alhein research division—but she has yet to return a positive answer to any of them. However, she has to admit that having a salary beats having to eat dry bread and sleep on a bed of rocks more often than not. The thing is that, even with all the hardships, it's hard for Aerynne to give up the freedom of being an independent Relic Hunter. Though, she does dream of being a teacher for small children someday, so she might consider it when she's ready to build her own nest. SKILLS As an independent Hunter, Aerynne picked up several small skills in her life of adventure, at least enough to be able to fend for herself in the wild and ancient ruins. However, she's most notable when it comes to her perception acuity, especially when it comes to her sight and hearing. Thanks to her soft feathers she's very good at reading the direction and flow of even the faintest breeze. Furthermore, she's a very nice person who makes friends fast as she forgets enemies, as well as a knowledgeable scholar who absolutely adores taking care of children. ABILITIES Aerynne is an accomplished mage specialized in telekinesis and light-based magic like illusions, etc. She's quite adept at creative problem solving using her magical gifts. However, she isn't afraid of appealing to brute force when a hammer is the best tool for the job. Probably what's distinguishes Aerynnethe most is that she's capable of deploying healing and enhancement to bolster others', a talent that isn't all that common among spellcasters of any kind. EQUIPMENT Aerynne's most notable possession is a Relic named 「Phantasmal Fang: Carnwennan」, a hyper-advanced, staff-like computing device, controlled by a basic AI. Carnwennan assists in channeling and conversion of magical energy, as well as the calculations necessary for spellcasting, amplifying Aerynne's magical capacity many times over. It can also interface with other mechanical and electronic devices, and even work like a battery to power them up, as expected of such an advanced portable terminal. Speaking of which, Carnwennan does work as a comms terminal, providing utilities like instantaneous translation and telepathy. Carnwennan is capable of taking three different forms, the basic staff-like device, a dagger/shortsword-like weapon form, and a simple pendant-like gem, used for storage purposes. Last—but not least—while many would only see a Relic like Carnwennan as an invaluable tool, for Aerynne, it's her most trusted and beloved companion. Despite the ups and downs of the Relic hunting life, it's always there to help her get through the day and thus, Aerynne does the best she can to take good care of it in return. FACTION None/Independent.</s> <\|message\|>Erika Frost Erika Frost dresses up --- Erika just sighed as she watched that hoverboard guy spew foulness from her mouth. It's not that she never said anything uncouth, but geez, he must have woke up on the wrong side of the bed. She didn't really want to go down the same way he went and, if she gauged the conversation earlier, looked to another way into this ruin. Welp, now was as good a time as any. She reached into her pocket and grabbed an elastic band and used it to tie her hair back into a pony tail. After that, she clicked on her bracelet a few times and held that hand out. A light spread from the device and spread over her body. It fully covered her body at some point and an odd, skin-tight suit seemingly materialized into existence. It was fairly form fitting in certain areas and at least looked slightly armored in some other areas. The woman rubbed the back of her neck, though she didn't feel it much because of her outfit. She checked to make sure her other equipment was where it was suppose to be. Supplies, check. She strapped them closer to her body to make sure it didn't flop around as much. Weapon, check. "Alright, Tanja. We're going this way." She said, leading the small robotic girl by the hand to where the Hoverboard boy didn't go. She was mostly confident they could take care of themselves.</s> <\|message\|>Imarui, or Ima for short The left path shared some similarities with the right. Just as was the case on the right side, the glow proved to be the work of a multitude of glowcaps, covering nearly every surface in the tunnel. Joining them in this case were a multitude of vines hanging down from the ceiling, immediate recognition of the species rendered difficult due to the lighting and their generic appearance. Still, this implied potentially more lush growth deeper in the cavern. This time, however, it became apparent just why the glowcaps were so numerous. Roughly five meters on into the left path, was the relatively fresh corpse of a carrier bird. While it was still most certainly dead for more then a day or so, that was still fairly fresh given how difficult to access this part of the cavern must have been. The implication was obvious, there must have been another entrance to this cavern elsewhere... or the building that had fallen into the pit wasn't as empty as first expected. Glowcaps had already begun to grow on the body, but it was mostly still visible. On closer inspection, another grisly discovery would be made: The carrier bird's body was savagely torn open, much of the meat and internal organs gone. The entire underside of its neck had been torn away as well, and given the particular density of glowcaps there it was likely the animal had been killed by having its throat torn open. The presence of a saddle was also concerning, though no human body was present. @Raineh Daze</s> <\|message\|>Oribara Senjoushi 💀 Silvery strands were invisible in darkness; Oribara had a headlamp. As the Screaming Slugs flickered in the swath of fluorescent light from his forehead, the thug knelt down, one hand on his board and another reaching out into the ground. His fingers punched past glowcaps and dirt, snagging into the hardier rock underneath, and with a twist of his body, he wrenched a large slab of rock out of the ground, board skidding to a stop at the very edge of the first slugs. Still squatting on his board, Oribara pulled out two spray cans and shook them heartily. One was a pesticide, strong enough to dissuade any glowcaps from growing over top, while the other was a luminescent paint that would glow a striking red to contrast with the blue-white of the caps. And what did he spray atop the rock? Eyes up, fuckos! A flourish of his double-shotgun, double-bicep signature later, and Oribara rammed the stone warning sign into the ground, right in the center of the entrance to the cavern. Slugs were good for drawing out other predators, but Trailblazers didn't care for the dangers of opportunistic predators. Dens were easier (and more satisfying) to vandalize. Then, a couple of rations flew overhead. Snagged onto the sensory threads of the slugs. And was duly consumed by them. Oribara gazed backwards, one eyebrow cocked. "Didn't take you for a monster lover, tinman." And with that, he kicked off again, board churning up glowcaps underneath as the redhead swayed and snaked, evading the very visible freaks that clung to the ceiling. Someone with a flamethrower can handle 'em in the future. Oribara had a whole damn forest to sketch out!</s> <\|message\|>Omega-Type Magitek Battle Automaton Prototype #7 'Tanja'. Or Tanja, for short. It's not a very catchy name. "Do you think there are underground wolves or something?" Tanja wondered aloud, crouching down to look at the grisly wound on the bird. They were pretty far down, so it wasn't like it could be normal wolves or the like making their way down. Unless wolves knew how to operate elevators? She wasn't sure that this was within their normal abilities but if they could disguise themselves as grandmothers, then... well, who knew what a particularly dedicate one might do. "Or did it come down here with its throat torn out and get killed by mushrooms?" "I'm still not sure what behaviour is normal in this time..." the robot wondered, standing up again and looking back at Erika.</s> <\|message\|>Leonard S. Fleming --- "Huh. Guess he didn't need help after all." Leo says with a nonchalant shrug. He didn't expect the thug to actually notice the slugs but he did apparently. 'Good for him I suppose' he thought as he watched the skateboarder weave through the remaining slug tongues. Though sad that he used up two of his ration bars, it allowed him and the others to navigate the hazard with more ease now that a cluster of the slugs were happily digesting the food he threw. But still...two days worth of food gone could be an annoyance in the future. Just as he was deciding how to ration his remaining food bars, Imarui walked past him. Reminding the armored man that he should probably party up with the kid if he wanted to try keeping her safe during this delve. "Hey, Imarui. Overheard that you were partying up with Meixue and Turel. Mind if I tag along too?" Looking behind him to the ex-soldier and burial agent. "If they don't mind me tagging along, that is." @Rune_Alchemist@AzureKnight Skills: ◼ Uncanny Combat Prowess - From humble fisticuffs to complex magitech weapons, fighting comes to him as if second nature. ◼ Equipment Maintenance Proficiency - Take care of your gear and your gear will take care of you. ◼ Medical Ability - He's no doctor by any standard, but he can patch you up in a pinch. Abilities: ◼ Peak Human Ability - You don't really last very long in the business if you aren't. ◼ Enhanced Willpower - Willpower is significantly above average. It will take a lot to break him. ◼ Natural Navigator - Unless caused by magical means, getting lost will not be a concern. Equipment: * Modified T-35b Combat Armor Set - Segmented combat armor lightened enough to not hinder movement, but kept tough enough to withstand small arms fire and offensive spells to a reasonable extent. * Custom GK-4 Battle Rifle - A battle rifle modified with a shorter barrel for maneuverability in small areas and a fixed bayonet for instances Leo can't switch to his axe quick enough. * Type 5 LH Axe - A battle axe fitted with a device that layers the axe head with a disruptive field to significantly increase its cutting ability. Helps retain the edges to boot. * Durable Knapsack - A bag made from tough leather that contains tools, gadgets, supplies, and other goodies you wouldn't want to leave home without. Faction: Independent</s> <\|message\|>Erika Frost Erika Frost investigates --- This wasn't the first time Erika had seen a gruesome sight like this. Didn't mean she liked it any more. She winced at first seeing the sight of the mushrooms growing from the creature. She got a closer look at it. "It's missing quite a bit of, well, everything. Either something ate it or gutted it for later. There was a saddle here so... Hmmm. Maybe it did get killed by some killer mushroom monsters down here." She teased as her eyes flow over the scene a last time before standing up. "Who knows. Perhaps there are some underground wolves. Maybe a wolfman or something of the sort." She looked at Tanja and shrugged at her last words. "If there's anything I've learned from my travels, there's not really any normal. You'll get eyes on you as long as you're not someone people know." She took her weapon out of its sheath and kept moving down the path. "Regardless, we should keep moving. Keep your eyes and ears open. If you notice anything, let me know."</s>	<\|message\|>Aerynne The grimace on Aerynne's face said all that needed to be told about her interest in going down the way of the path filled with screaming slugs. In all of her years of exploration, she never got to terms with her dislike of the many creepy crawlies that filled many ruins. At most, she managed to reduce it from an instinctive phobia to a level where she could deal with them if she had to, but now wasn't the time for that. As such, she followed the strange duo with the exhibitionist and the feline girl down the left-handed path. Aerynne took notes of the many life forms in the ruins. Sometimes, the powers that emanated from certain relics influenced the kinds of beings that lived near them, causing them to evolve and change in the strangest of ways. Perhaps if they could cross-reference that with some other databases, there was a chance to have an idea of what might be waiting for them. Anyway, the fresh corpse and the duo's conversation pulled her attention away from her notebook. "Excuse me, but I couldn't not overhear your conversation from back there," Aerynne said as she approached them. "Whether or not this is the work of wolves or anything else, don't you think it's strange they came down here when there's supposed to have only one entrance?" "By the way, I'm sorry for being rude," she said when she realized she began talking to them without so much as introducing herself. "My name's Aerynne, a scholar of ruins. I'm glad I could find someone else who went down this route." </s>
<\|description\|>Jesse Standing at 6'1", in his mortal life Jesse weighed around 180 lbs. With dark brown hair that borders on black, and strikingly green eyes, he was an attractive creature even before his death. Prone to wearing practical clothing, he's often seen in tight jeans with his leather jacket over top of a short sleeved, grease-stained shirt. Current Hunger: 3</s> <\|message\|>Jesse Indianapolis By Night</s> <\|message\|>Jesse The central power of Indiana had never been completely certain among the world of the kindred. Last a prince ruled there, the man had been completely crazed. A life spent constantly at war had left him hating anything he perceived as alien, including things so simple as the race of the kine. At first, it was a simple eccentricity. When his racism carried over to the ranks of kindred, however, and he began risking the masquerade over his desire to 'purge the unclean' he was finally put out of the world's misery. Since that time, nearly fifty years ago, the throne of Indianapolis has gone empty. In the absence of the Camarilla's guiding hand, the Anarchs were eager to take hold. However, while their presence ensured the continuation of kindred within the state, their lack of resources led to a number of troublesome foes going unchallenged in the area. Local churches began turning to the ways of the Second Inquisition, creating small pockets of hunters with generation of experience to call upon. Protected by the power of true faith, they seek out kindred, and purge them from the world with zealous vigor. In a state so full of open land and large pockets of wilderness, one of the kindreds' greatest enemies could take hold; Lupines. Physically powerful, and willing to readily work together for the common good, these beast-men seek out the kindred, to kill them without hesitation. Seeing vampires as a blight on the land, they make it their personal mission to end that blight. Other threats also exist, from rumors of feral kindred who stalk the woods and risk the masquerade, to stories of powerful fey influencing the habits of those who live near them. There are even reports of a guild of mages, set up somewhere in the very heart of Indianapolis. Against all these odds, one kindred has stepped up to take the throne. A powerful, seventh generation ventrue who has managed to sweep into the state and assert himself as the prince of the capital. Very little is known about him, his name not even yet public to the world, but one thing is for certain; Though his empire is vast, he seeks allies among his own kind, as the threats that stand posed against him will eventually break down his walls. As powerful as his fortifications may be, no king can stand without subjects to give orders to.</s> <\|message\|>Stanley "Steel" Kowalski The night was a dark one, an eerie feeling befell most that walked about tonight. There were creature far removed from the natural forces of the world stalking through the shadows of man's perception. None of this mattered right now for Stanley "Steel" Kowalski however. The fresh vampire looked himself in the mirror, giving his face a light smack to get the blood back to it, only to remember his current predicament. Not that much in his life had changed since being "embraced" (he hated that word) given most of his awake time had been spent at night and sleeping in the day. The biggest change was mostly his pre-show rituals which had become mostly null at this point. All that said, he was saving a killing on white face paint to make his skin look pale for shows. Shaking the jitters out, Steel put on the rest of his costume: dark shoulder pads with fake spikes, gothic looking boots and a pair of aviators. The low rumble of chatter outside of the backstage of the bar he frequented got louder as he made his way up onto stage, guitar in tow. He gave a smile and nod to both Rose, his synth pianist, and Jared "Mathces" O'Neil, his drummer. Going to the mic, steel addressed the crowd, of which he now had their attention. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Tonight we'll be taking you on the ride of your life." Steel began as the rest of his band slowly began to bring in the beat for their first song. "A ride through the annals of time where the hair was long and the rock was hard." with the last word Steel stuck his guitar, letting out a single drowning note. "We are Rachit Jiraffe and we're here to rock. Your. World." Steel said calmly to the crowds delight as the band began playing their fist song of the night..</s> <\|message\|>Elizabeth Howard Elizabeth woke with a start as the sun crossed the horizon. After a brief stretch she threw a cursory glance at her clock, the face of which read 7:23. Perfect, she thought happily, shift starts at 10, I have more than enough time to do what I need. Even in the unlife she continued to leak any document she thought would turn the tide against the hospital - pricing schemes, markup margins, incriminating internal emails - and yet each day fewer and fewer new people seemed to chime in in agreement that the practices employed weren't just unethical but inhuman. Could these people not see that the system was broken, even when it was spoon-fed to them? It made Elizabeth's blood boil. An alarm went off in the background, a shrill two tone sound that alternated a few times before falling silent. Elizabeth drew a deep breath, knowing what was coming. Rising from her laptop she forced herself over to the fridge, a few bags of red fluid rested on the top shelf. She drew one out, throwing it in the microwave, heating it to a more bearable temperature. As she waited her fingers clenched the worktop's edge like claws. It was with her, perched, waiting in her throat. The Beast had come to know the routine, feed before a shift and fast until the next, even if it did love to try pushing Elizabeth over the edge. The gentle beep of the microwave drew Elizabeth back to reality, carefully handling the hot bag. As she bit through the plastic she could feel the warm ambrosia slip past her teeth and slake the fire at the base of her throat. Her talons gripped the bag tighter and tighter, eking any last remaining drips before discarding the wrapper. Again the discontent of the Beast could be felt, hating the bag diet as much as Elizabeth herself did, but nonetheless it was quieted for the moment as the girl regained her composure and control. A quick look in the mirror to check for bloody streaks on her face and collar, and she was out the door. At the vehicle depot everything was fairly quiet. A few of the EMT's were huddled in the communal room watching what appeared to be a rerun of a football game that had aired earlier in the day. Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the very idea of calling that football. As usual at the beginning of her shift she went through the ambulance she'd be working in, ensuring that various controlled medical supplies were indeed still in the vehicle after the previous crew had signed off. Finishing up, she threw herself into the passenger seat and closed her eyes just as the radio crackled to life. "One reported GSW wound, Cold Spring Road by the golf course. Shooter believed to have left the area. Will keep you updated". Elizabeth shuffled herself over into the driver's seat as her partner clambered into the passenger seat.</s> <\|message\|>Physical Description Each step echoed on the empty streets of Indianapolis, with a rhythmic clack clack clack upon the pavement as a man strode along the sidewalk of a rundown neighborhood towards a building with a sign above it's entrance. In big bolded letters the sign read St. Bartholomew's Orphanage, which easily stood out from the dreary look of the neighborhood around it. The building itself looked old and was made from bricks unlike most of the slums on the block where the poor lived in small dirty apartment complex's making a living by breaking the law or selling their bodies to those who would use them, no matter their appearance. It was a disgusting life that sickened Jose Georgio-Lorenzo Martinez, whose pace slowed to a halt beneath the light of a lone lamppost, his hand dipped into the pockets of his long overcoat and pulled a lighter out in one hand while the other flicked a cigarette out of a package, rolling it around in-between his index and his thumb before bringing the cigarette to his mouth. It was a bit billowy outside so he cupped his hands around his mouth as he lit his lighter with a shick shick shick, taking a moment for the fluid within his lighter to light his cigarette. He inhaled it afterwards and held his breath for a second as he tasted the tobacco then in a puff of smoke he exhaled slowly, flicking the ashes of the cigarette in his left hand. He smoked for only a moment longer before dropping the cigarette on the pavement, then ground it beneath the heel of his black slacks. Smoking wasn't the same anymore now that he was what he was, worse that he couldn't innoculate himself on the drugs he peddles but better he not get high on his own supply like he once did. However he had new goals in life now, one of which would take a long time to reach but still the smaller goals add up. An errant hand dipped into his inner coat pocket as he felt the wad of bills he carried. It was for the old lady who ran the orphanage, Jose had always had a soft spot for the elderly woman who looked after the children in the orphanage as she had raised him there after he was placed within her care. It was a shame she had lost some of her eyesight and equally her memory but deep down she was the same caring old woman who treated the children in her care kindly. Jose walked up to the door, pushing the old wooden door open with a loud creak and the bell rang above it to let the occupants know there was a visitor in the orphanage.</s>	<\|message\|>Jesse Jesse looked down the track, his fist gripping the steering wheel of the beat up old volkswagen. His knuckles would be turning white, if they weren't already. Traditional rally race rules required a co-pilot, to read off the map and make sure the driver got in all the necessary lap types. This crowd, though, did not mandate it. The track, while rough, had no lap types. That meant it was just Jesse in the car, which was exactly how he liked it. As soon as the engines fired, Jesse reached for his Beast. The power he pulled from it would cost him-he could feel himself grow hungry, as his skin tightened across his frame and his eyes briefly flashed crimson-but it would be worth it. Power flowed through him, his kindred blood rushing through his veins, filling him with speed far beyond anything a simple kine could hope to command. Within moments of the flag dropping, Jesse was shooting from the starting line. Gravel spat under his tires, dirt flying high as he rounded corners and passed every car in front of him. Gears shifted and the engine purred as his near-instant reflexes let him respond to the slightest kick and pull from the road and the old machine he sat in. To onlookers, it would be like watching a someone running practice laps, his competition almost non-existent around him as he flawlessly cornered and drifted past them. He finished nearly two full minutes ahead of the second place car. By the time he was done, the shocks on the old car were shot, and the transmission was close to giving out. Jesse had pushed the car to the limits with his powers, but it had won him the trophy. Really, that's all he had wanted. The thrill of victory, the desire to show people that he was better than them, was one of the few aspects of his humanity he had left. Even if the context for it had shifted. As he went to the parking lot, he saw someone-a gorgeous woman, no less-leaning on his bike. It was hardly a new occurrence, though she certainly wasn't dressed like the usual girls who begged him for a ride. Before he could say anything, though, he felt a sudden, overwhelming sense of fear wash over him as the woman's eyes locked with his. That alone was enough to tell him that she wasn't normal, and that the manila envelope she was holding likely held bad news for him. Tossing the trophy in the trash, he approached, silently taking the paperwork to see what his latest orders from his Sire were. To his surprise, it was not her name written across the top of the documents.</s>
<\|description\|>Jesse Standing at 6'1", in his mortal life Jesse weighed around 180 lbs. With dark brown hair that borders on black, and strikingly green eyes, he was an attractive creature even before his death. Prone to wearing practical clothing, he's often seen in tight jeans with his leather jacket over top of a short sleeved, grease-stained shirt. Current Hunger: 3</s> <\|message\|>Jesse The envelope was closed with a wax seal, a stylized 'R' printed over a crossed staff and scepter imprinted in the wax. Inside the envelope awaited a thick parchment, scented with a noticeable hint of fine cologne, with writing scrawled across. Clearly written by hand, and seemingly done with quill and ink. Not over the top, but the kind of work that would cost money these days. Salutations, It is my personal hope that this writing finds you in the best of health. I am writing to congratulate you on your recent good fortune, and to offer my respectful welcome into my community. In the past, leadership of this community has been inexcusable. For that, you have my deepest apologies. However, from this day forward, that changes. As the newly appointed head of this wonderful venture, it is my personal duty to ensure each of you know where you belong and what your responsibilities are. To that end, I have decided to host several meetings over the coming nights. Your presence is requested at the first of these meetings. Attendance is mandatory. Sincerely, Riccard Attached to the parchment with a paperclip was a business card. Thick and pristinely white, the card had only a time and date on the front, with an address on the back. Inquiry would show that the address belonged to an old bar, in the downtown area. The date was the following night, and the time was midnight. Written inside the envelope was a note, clearly meant to only be read by the recipient. "Destroy All Contents"</s> <\|message\|>Stanley "Steel" Kowalski Though he had cracked open the letter in the bar, Steel hadn't begun to read it until he hit the street. He made his way, reading the letter in between steps. Being new to the vampire game, Steel was the first to admit that the politics of it all weren't really his strong suit but what he did know seemed to fill in the gaps that this letter left. Those gaps mad him angry. Beast or not, rage welled up inside steel as he finished the note. With a loud grunt Steel took his guitar case by the neck and crushed it... much to the surprise of Jared his drummer. Jared was off to join Steel with some practice after their crummy show but the man stopped in his tracks as he saw his friend display such an inhuman act. He wasn't sure what to think of it, once the stupor wore off he began to cautiously head over to his friend. His stride was caught short however as something impossibly fast moved in and grabbed him by the neck. In the blink of an eye Jared "Matches" O'Neil was now the former drummer of Rachit Jiraffe, his body strew unceremoniously on the sidewalk. As Steel whipped around in rage, his eyes managed to meet that of Sarah's just before she took off, a smug look on her face and a nonchalant shrug. Steel's eyes then met that of his former friend and band mate. He felt something break inside as the beast was still in the driver's seat. unable to do much more, Steel stuffed the note back in his pocket and managed enough thought to bring his guitar case, full of his now destroyed guitar, with him as he took off.</s> <\|message\|>Elizabeth Howard With a bated breath, Elizabeth slipped a nail under the wax seal which let go with a soft crack. Despite Edwin's reassurance her hands were a little shakey as she unfolded the parchment nestled inside the envelope. As she read her eyes dragged across the page and she mouthed each word as she read, her sire tried to peer around the side of the letter to read her lips but a warning glare had him looking the other way quickly. "See? Nothing too bad" Edwin said, jovial warmth returning to his voice now that his job had been done. "Nothing too bad comes by letter, it's when they don't send a letter you need to be worried. Well?" He asked as he saw Elizabeth look away from the paper. "I... I don't really know how much I can say" she replied, stumbling over the words slightly. There was something about the letter, the way it was written, that unnerved her, that made her feel threatened almost. "It's nothing, I think." she lied, "someone just wants to speak with me". A derisive snort let loose from her sire's nose. "And this is why I don't like them. A secretive note here, secretive meeting there, and then someone ends up with a dagger to the back. Bastards. Let me guess, 'destroy all contents'?" Elizabeth glanced down at the envelope then nodded. As she stood processing the information Edwin slunk quietly into the kitchen, almost immediately the sound of running water could be heard throughout the flat. To double check her understanding, Elizabeth reread the letter in it's entirety. For the moment she seperated the business card from the parchment, leaving the former on her bedside table as she passed through the doorway to join Edwin, where she was met with a full sink of water. Throwing a bemused smirk he explained that the water would soak some of the ink away and simultaneously turn the parchment to mulch. "Surely burning it is the easiest method, no?" she replied innocently. He shook his head in silent disapproval. "No, not for us. Especially not for us" he exasperated, gesturing wildly with his arms. "Our conscious minds may be fine with flame, but our deepest instincts now are to flee or lash out at the sight if a single tongue. We've been through this!" "I'm sorry" she replied sheepishly, sounding dangerously close to crying, as she placed the parchment into the sink to soak for the time being. As Edwin proceeded to sink into her sofa, Elizabeth stood transfixed staring into the water, watching the ink bleed out from the note. With the actual words of the letter fading Elizabeth stepped back from the sink. She was left with an address to memorise and the envelope. Ignoring those for the moment, she sat next to Edwin; resting her head on his shoulder and feeling a supportive hand on her back drawing her closer. "How do you deal with these... games" Elizabeth asked, voice raw with a mixture of emotions. "It can be hard" Edwin admitted, pulling her a little closer, "just go through the motions and it's over soon enough. But it's one of the reasons I fight, this way of life just isn't sustainable or right". Edwin pulled her slightly tighter before letting go and standing up. "Unfortunately love, I need to get home before sun up. It'll be fine" he added, once again trying to be reassuring. "I'll see you again soon okay?" He said in goodbye as he showed himself out. Elizabeth returned to her bedroom, perching on the foot of the bed before lying backwards, reaching over to the nightstand to pick up the business card. The time was simple enough, but the address just seemed to be some place downtown that she didn't recognise. With a sigh filling the room, she threw it to the floor, hoping that she'd memorized enough of the address to remember it the following night. When she woke up she'd get around to disposing of this piece too.</s> <\|message\|>Merveille St. Claire The offices of Psychics 4 U, were, as perhaps to be expected from a phone psychic agency of dubious legality (although as pointed out in ads, only meant for entertainment purposes), not considered among the nicest buildings in Indianapolis. In fact, it probably ranked as one of the ugliest buildings in Indianapolis, but beneath it's crumbling facade, there was...not love, not exactly joy, or even hope, really, but there were people doing their job. Merveille was one of those people, currently in hushed whisperings with some man who was frantically asking about whether his wife had been unfaithful. She could already picture the man, balding, beginning to let his body go in pursuit of just one more promotion, as his wife was left alone at home to do what-or-whoever she pleased. So, was he looking for reassurance, either in his wife's faithfulness or in his manic deductions. "Well," Merveille began, in that patois she'd perfected when playing Tituba so many years ago. "I must first caution you: the answers I provide may not be the ones you want." Whether it was on stage or over phone, the concept of acting remained the same. You had to build up suspense. Let the audience's mind wander, piece together the puzzle they'd created in their minds, all while the silence hung heavy in the air. "So," the man asked, his whisper barely able to be heard over the tinny speaker. "What is it?" At that, she exhaled. Of course he wanted to know. That's why he was calling, of course, but keeping them waiting, kept customers all the more sure that what they were getting were true insights, gleaned from a true clairvoyant. Also, it was a form of stalling, considering money was made per minute, but that was secondary. If you could keep them calling, you could keep them paying. "The answer is no, your wife has not laid with another." Merveille could almost chuckle at the mighty release of breath she heard over the line, but with the harm that would do to her whole image, she simply kept her mouth shut until the man on the other end-Anthony? Andrew? fell silent. "However, you would do much good, my child, to look into your finances." While it was nice to assuage one fear, one always had to remember there was another lurking around the corner. And really, it wasn't that difficult. Anthony - yes, she was sure of it this time - had already spoken of leaving his wife at home, and while his mind may have wandered to her in bed, the ability to call up whoever she wanted, there was the possibility of her instead eyeing one of his credit cards. Finally concluding her "session" with a curt goodbye, Merveille put the phone down and sighed. Psychic was a role like any other now, even if the glimpses she saw in her sleep of screams and blood seemed to be getting more and more frequent. Here, at least, she could control what the vision of past or future was, or better yet, leave it obscured enough for others to make of it what they wished. Grabbing her purse after standing up from the chair, she opened the door and was about to leave for home, when she noticed a Post-It note on the opposite side of the office door. Raising her eyebrow at the receptionist's gall, Merveille made her way to the reception, found the key to the desk drawer (underneath the potted plant), and opened it to find an envelope embossed with a wax seal. This couldn't be good. With shaking hands, Merveille opened the envelope, and read the letter, eyes poring over the contents. Then, with her face steeled, she put the letter back in the envelope, the envelope in her purse, and got into her car. As she drove for home, she wondered whether this is what she had been dreaming of.</s>	<\|message\|>Jesse Jesse looked at the envelope, then cursed very loudly. He looked at it again, this time breaking the red seal. Once he read the letter, he cursed even louder. Getting on his bike, he would shove the paper into a side pouch, then bring the bike roaring to life with a swift kick. When the bike was nearing seventy down an old backroad, he would pull the paper out and feed it into the spokes of the front wheel, effectively shredding it and leaving it scattered across three miles of wet dirt and gravel. While he wasn't one for politics, his sire was. They kept in regular contact, and while he never understood why, she had gone out of her way to teach him about something she called the 'Camarilla.' Most of the lessons he had completely ignored, more interested in what they had been doing while she had been talking. One thing he did remember, though, was that most other places in the world had a local group of kindred that controlled things, acting as a sort of government for vampires. Indiana was special, because it did not have one, and supposedly hadn't for quite some time. To his mind, a letter like the one he'd gotten could only mean that things had changed. A message on his answering machine, from his sire, only confirmed it. ___________________________________________________ The building was old, and calling it anything less than rundown would be an overstatement. Blacked out windows and the smell of vomit accented by stale piss all added to the notion that no a dollar to their name had been there in years. Out front, a very nice bike was taking up one of four parking spots. At least, it would have looked nice, if it had wheels and handlebars. Jesse had been the first to arrive, having shown up nearly three hours ahead of schedule. He had spent his spare time waiting hiding in a nearby corner, taking the wheels and the handlebars off his bike. While there was a good chance it would end up defaced in this neighborhood, he intended to make sure anyone wanting to steal it would have to carry the damn thing. A nearby dumpster with a cockroach nest living inside made for a perfect hiding place for the spare parts. Anyone showing up would see Jesse, wearing a black leather jacket and greasy blue jeans, leaning against the board that covered the doorway. In his hand would be a burning cigarette, though it wouldn't take much to notice that he never took a drag from it. Apart from the board, there was no obvious means of getting into the building. The board in the doorway was stuck there, quite securely. Jesse knew, because he had tried to open it. There was a rather large dent in the middle of the board, right at knee-level, to signify his attempt.</s>
<\|description\|>Elizabeth Howard Elizabeth, sometimes nicknamed "Lizzie" by her friends before her embrace, stands at about 5'7". Her skin was usually amongst the first things that new people noticed about her, the extreme pallor that could only be blamed on the dreary weather in England. Her hair, a fiery mess of ringlets that hung loose around her face, certainly didn't help; all it did was draw attention to the lack of blush on her cold cheeks. Her dress varied heavily on whether she was on call or relaxing in her downtime. On-shift she wore the the standard EMT uniform of her company, a dark green jacket and trousers with reflective cuffs; off-duty her style tended to lean into wear into clothing much less formal, often a basic t-shirt of some sort combined with denim jeans and thick-heeled platforms of one recognisable brand or another. Hunger 2 Spent 1 willpower</s> <\|message\|>Elizabeth Howard Elizabeth woke with a start as the sun crossed the horizon. After a brief stretch she threw a cursory glance at her clock, the face of which read 7:23. Perfect, she thought happily, shift starts at 10, I have more than enough time to do what I need. Even in the unlife she continued to leak any document she thought would turn the tide against the hospital - pricing schemes, markup margins, incriminating internal emails - and yet each day fewer and fewer new people seemed to chime in in agreement that the practices employed weren't just unethical but inhuman. Could these people not see that the system was broken, even when it was spoon-fed to them? It made Elizabeth's blood boil. An alarm went off in the background, a shrill two tone sound that alternated a few times before falling silent. Elizabeth drew a deep breath, knowing what was coming. Rising from her laptop she forced herself over to the fridge, a few bags of red fluid rested on the top shelf. She drew one out, throwing it in the microwave, heating it to a more bearable temperature. As she waited her fingers clenched the worktop's edge like claws. It was with her, perched, waiting in her throat. The Beast had come to know the routine, feed before a shift and fast until the next, even if it did love to try pushing Elizabeth over the edge. The gentle beep of the microwave drew Elizabeth back to reality, carefully handling the hot bag. As she bit through the plastic she could feel the warm ambrosia slip past her teeth and slake the fire at the base of her throat. Her talons gripped the bag tighter and tighter, eking any last remaining drips before discarding the wrapper. Again the discontent of the Beast could be felt, hating the bag diet as much as Elizabeth herself did, but nonetheless it was quieted for the moment as the girl regained her composure and control. A quick look in the mirror to check for bloody streaks on her face and collar, and she was out the door. At the vehicle depot everything was fairly quiet. A few of the EMT's were huddled in the communal room watching what appeared to be a rerun of a football game that had aired earlier in the day. Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the very idea of calling that football. As usual at the beginning of her shift she went through the ambulance she'd be working in, ensuring that various controlled medical supplies were indeed still in the vehicle after the previous crew had signed off. Finishing up, she threw herself into the passenger seat and closed her eyes just as the radio crackled to life. "One reported GSW wound, Cold Spring Road by the golf course. Shooter believed to have left the area. Will keep you updated". Elizabeth shuffled herself over into the driver's seat as her partner clambered into the passenger seat.</s> <\|message\|>Physical Description Each step echoed on the empty streets of Indianapolis, with a rhythmic clack clack clack upon the pavement as a man strode along the sidewalk of a rundown neighborhood towards a building with a sign above it's entrance. In big bolded letters the sign read St. Bartholomew's Orphanage, which easily stood out from the dreary look of the neighborhood around it. The building itself looked old and was made from bricks unlike most of the slums on the block where the poor lived in small dirty apartment complex's making a living by breaking the law or selling their bodies to those who would use them, no matter their appearance. It was a disgusting life that sickened Jose Georgio-Lorenzo Martinez, whose pace slowed to a halt beneath the light of a lone lamppost, his hand dipped into the pockets of his long overcoat and pulled a lighter out in one hand while the other flicked a cigarette out of a package, rolling it around in-between his index and his thumb before bringing the cigarette to his mouth. It was a bit billowy outside so he cupped his hands around his mouth as he lit his lighter with a shick shick shick, taking a moment for the fluid within his lighter to light his cigarette. He inhaled it afterwards and held his breath for a second as he tasted the tobacco then in a puff of smoke he exhaled slowly, flicking the ashes of the cigarette in his left hand. He smoked for only a moment longer before dropping the cigarette on the pavement, then ground it beneath the heel of his black slacks. Smoking wasn't the same anymore now that he was what he was, worse that he couldn't innoculate himself on the drugs he peddles but better he not get high on his own supply like he once did. However he had new goals in life now, one of which would take a long time to reach but still the smaller goals add up. An errant hand dipped into his inner coat pocket as he felt the wad of bills he carried. It was for the old lady who ran the orphanage, Jose had always had a soft spot for the elderly woman who looked after the children in the orphanage as she had raised him there after he was placed within her care. It was a shame she had lost some of her eyesight and equally her memory but deep down she was the same caring old woman who treated the children in her care kindly. Jose walked up to the door, pushing the old wooden door open with a loud creak and the bell rang above it to let the occupants know there was a visitor in the orphanage.</s> <\|message\|>Jesse Jesse looked down the track, his fist gripping the steering wheel of the beat up old volkswagen. His knuckles would be turning white, if they weren't already. Traditional rally race rules required a co-pilot, to read off the map and make sure the driver got in all the necessary lap types. This crowd, though, did not mandate it. The track, while rough, had no lap types. That meant it was just Jesse in the car, which was exactly how he liked it. As soon as the engines fired, Jesse reached for his Beast. The power he pulled from it would cost him-he could feel himself grow hungry, as his skin tightened across his frame and his eyes briefly flashed crimson-but it would be worth it. Power flowed through him, his kindred blood rushing through his veins, filling him with speed far beyond anything a simple kine could hope to command. Within moments of the flag dropping, Jesse was shooting from the starting line. Gravel spat under his tires, dirt flying high as he rounded corners and passed every car in front of him. Gears shifted and the engine purred as his near-instant reflexes let him respond to the slightest kick and pull from the road and the old machine he sat in. To onlookers, it would be like watching a someone running practice laps, his competition almost non-existent around him as he flawlessly cornered and drifted past them. He finished nearly two full minutes ahead of the second place car. By the time he was done, the shocks on the old car were shot, and the transmission was close to giving out. Jesse had pushed the car to the limits with his powers, but it had won him the trophy. Really, that's all he had wanted. The thrill of victory, the desire to show people that he was better than them, was one of the few aspects of his humanity he had left. Even if the context for it had shifted. As he went to the parking lot, he saw someone-a gorgeous woman, no less-leaning on his bike. It was hardly a new occurrence, though she certainly wasn't dressed like the usual girls who begged him for a ride. Before he could say anything, though, he felt a sudden, overwhelming sense of fear wash over him as the woman's eyes locked with his. That alone was enough to tell him that she wasn't normal, and that the manila envelope she was holding likely held bad news for him. Tossing the trophy in the trash, he approached, silently taking the paperwork to see what his latest orders from his Sire were. To his surprise, it was not her name written across the top of the documents.</s> <\|message\|>Stanley "Steel" Kowalski Tonight's show wasn't the best. Despite his best efforts, Steel missed a few cords and wasn't emotive enough to keep the crowd engaged. The bad played well enough to still get paid but the boss man said he wouldn't be hiring them back for next week "diversify the talent" he said. Steel took his cut of the cash in pride and headed for the door before a familiar face caught his attention at the bar. He sauntered up to the bar where the out of place socialite sat, idly holding her glass of whiskey that they both knew she had no intention of drinking. "Didn't think I'd see you around here again. I thought grimey bars like this weren't your scene." Steel said, taking a seat next to the woman and laying his elbow on the bar. "I can assure you I wouldn't be here if I didn't need to be Stanley. I'm just a messenger tonight." the woman said, fishing around in a large handbag before pulling out a manilla envelope and handing it to Steel. "I'll be glad to leave this place behind for good after this." Steel didn't take the envelope initially, instead eyeing it and the vampire suspiciously. "What's this?" "Below me, that's what it is. Just take it so I can get on with my night alright?" the vampire asked, annoyed as she shoved the envelope a little quicker this time into Steel's chest. Steel finally took the envelope and the woman got up to leave. "See you next year Sarah." Steel said, watching the woman walk away as she ignored the rockstar. He couldn't believe it had been over a year since he'd kicked the bucket so to speak. The former mortal chuckled as he tore into the envelope and look at it's contents.</s>	<\|message\|>Elizabeth Howard By the time Elizabeth and her partner arrived at the scene a small crowd had gathered around the man with one attempting first aid whilst they waited for the ambulance. Taking over, she covered the wound with dressing, taping it down on 3 sides whilst keeping pressure on the 4th. The pair gently rolled the victim onto a board which allowed them to elevate him onto a bed then into the ambulance. As she was closing the doors Elizabeth caught the name of the location illuminated in bright light. Coffin golf course. That's not at all morbid she thought as the heavy doors slammed shut. On the way to the hospital Elizabeth stayed in the back with the man. The sound of his heartbeat rung in her ears, a rhythmic thud thud in the background as an eager Beast took the time to remind her just how hungry she was, just how much she was dying for one more mouthful of blood. Elizabeth could feel the pressure building beneath her hands as air trapped in the chest cavity tried to escape. Carefully she released some of the pressure off of the untaped side to allow it to leave, before going back to fighting with her inner demons. Elizabeth found herself in a daze as they handed over the man to the hospital's A&E department, rattling off everything the doctors needed to know to continue the treatment before finding a place to perch, breathe and bring herself back to reality. A small wave of relief washed over her, she'd pushed through once more without giving in. With a deep breath and a content sigh she returned to the depot with her partner, waiting for the rest of that night's shift to pass. Exhausted, as she was after every shift, Elizabeth rocked up to her apartment to discover her door slightly ajar; a light unease spread through her as she pushed the door open silently and tread over the threshold. Very little had changed since earlier that night, all the valuables and expensive items seemed to still be in place, however Lizzie could smell the drops of blood scattered periodically across the floor. The animal within her stirred from its slumber, parching her throat as she stalked the trail, swinging open another door to find a kindred sat at the foot of her bed. "Edwin?!" Elizabeth exclaimed, surprised to see the elder vampire there. It'd been a while since her Sire had dropped by to see how she was doing. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd grown tired of me" she added sarcastically with an exaggerated pout. As she finisher speaking Elizabeth realised where the blood scent was coming from. There was an oozing blood bag in his hands, with at least two of the corners torn up by teeth, and yet most of the blood remained in the bag. She made a mental note to steal an additional bag this week to replace the waste. A gentle chuckle escaped the kindred's mouth, followed by a smirk. "I don't think I could ever grow tired of you my dear". Edwin drew the bag close to his mouth again, recoiling away the moment his teeth dug through the plastic skin. "I just don't understand how you manage this, actual feeding is so much more convenient and, dare I say, fun". With a scowl he placed the bag down on the bed, beads of blood oozing from the bite marks in the corners escaped down onto the linens. "I assume that you're still..." "Yes, I'm still drinking from them" Elizabeth interrupted, "but some days are getting too close for my liking, I may have to think about finding somewhere else to acquire them from in addition to work". Edwin's face appeared to drop for a moment, seeming almost disappointed at the restraint she had been showing, but as fast as it has fallen the cheerful expression was restored, making Elizabeth ponder if she'd seen it at all. "What brings you hear today then? Have you forgotten that a certain technology called the 'telephone' exists?" She teased. "Its not a social call I'm afraid, this is mostly 'business'" he replied, his voice dropping most of the warmth she was used to hearing. A couple frantic pats of his coat later Edwin drew out an envelope, embellished heavily on one side with beautiful calligraphy that spelled out her name. "I was told to ensure that you recieved and read this" he said, passing the delicate item from his own pale hands into Elizabeth's. Seeming to read the expression on her face he continued with "I don't know what's in there either. It's probably nothing to worry too much about" he added, attempting a reassuring smile. Receiving the envelope, Elizabeth saw that there was nothing else to do. With tentative fingers she slid a nail beneath the seal.</s>
<\|description\|>Elizabeth Howard Elizabeth, sometimes nicknamed "Lizzie" by her friends before her embrace, stands at about 5'7". Her skin was usually amongst the first things that new people noticed about her, the extreme pallor that could only be blamed on the dreary weather in England. Her hair, a fiery mess of ringlets that hung loose around her face, certainly didn't help; all it did was draw attention to the lack of blush on her cold cheeks. Her dress varied heavily on whether she was on call or relaxing in her downtime. On-shift she wore the the standard EMT uniform of her company, a dark green jacket and trousers with reflective cuffs; off-duty her style tended to lean into wear into clothing much less formal, often a basic t-shirt of some sort combined with denim jeans and thick-heeled platforms of one recognisable brand or another. Hunger 2 Spent 1 willpower</s> <\|message\|>Stanley "Steel" Kowalski Tonight's show wasn't the best. Despite his best efforts, Steel missed a few cords and wasn't emotive enough to keep the crowd engaged. The bad played well enough to still get paid but the boss man said he wouldn't be hiring them back for next week "diversify the talent" he said. Steel took his cut of the cash in pride and headed for the door before a familiar face caught his attention at the bar. He sauntered up to the bar where the out of place socialite sat, idly holding her glass of whiskey that they both knew she had no intention of drinking. "Didn't think I'd see you around here again. I thought grimey bars like this weren't your scene." Steel said, taking a seat next to the woman and laying his elbow on the bar. "I can assure you I wouldn't be here if I didn't need to be Stanley. I'm just a messenger tonight." the woman said, fishing around in a large handbag before pulling out a manilla envelope and handing it to Steel. "I'll be glad to leave this place behind for good after this." Steel didn't take the envelope initially, instead eyeing it and the vampire suspiciously. "What's this?" "Below me, that's what it is. Just take it so I can get on with my night alright?" the vampire asked, annoyed as she shoved the envelope a little quicker this time into Steel's chest. Steel finally took the envelope and the woman got up to leave. "See you next year Sarah." Steel said, watching the woman walk away as she ignored the rockstar. He couldn't believe it had been over a year since he'd kicked the bucket so to speak. The former mortal chuckled as he tore into the envelope and look at it's contents.</s> <\|message\|>Elizabeth Howard By the time Elizabeth and her partner arrived at the scene a small crowd had gathered around the man with one attempting first aid whilst they waited for the ambulance. Taking over, she covered the wound with dressing, taping it down on 3 sides whilst keeping pressure on the 4th. The pair gently rolled the victim onto a board which allowed them to elevate him onto a bed then into the ambulance. As she was closing the doors Elizabeth caught the name of the location illuminated in bright light. Coffin golf course. That's not at all morbid she thought as the heavy doors slammed shut. On the way to the hospital Elizabeth stayed in the back with the man. The sound of his heartbeat rung in her ears, a rhythmic thud thud in the background as an eager Beast took the time to remind her just how hungry she was, just how much she was dying for one more mouthful of blood. Elizabeth could feel the pressure building beneath her hands as air trapped in the chest cavity tried to escape. Carefully she released some of the pressure off of the untaped side to allow it to leave, before going back to fighting with her inner demons. Elizabeth found herself in a daze as they handed over the man to the hospital's A&E department, rattling off everything the doctors needed to know to continue the treatment before finding a place to perch, breathe and bring herself back to reality. A small wave of relief washed over her, she'd pushed through once more without giving in. With a deep breath and a content sigh she returned to the depot with her partner, waiting for the rest of that night's shift to pass. Exhausted, as she was after every shift, Elizabeth rocked up to her apartment to discover her door slightly ajar; a light unease spread through her as she pushed the door open silently and tread over the threshold. Very little had changed since earlier that night, all the valuables and expensive items seemed to still be in place, however Lizzie could smell the drops of blood scattered periodically across the floor. The animal within her stirred from its slumber, parching her throat as she stalked the trail, swinging open another door to find a kindred sat at the foot of her bed. "Edwin?!" Elizabeth exclaimed, surprised to see the elder vampire there. It'd been a while since her Sire had dropped by to see how she was doing. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd grown tired of me" she added sarcastically with an exaggerated pout. As she finisher speaking Elizabeth realised where the blood scent was coming from. There was an oozing blood bag in his hands, with at least two of the corners torn up by teeth, and yet most of the blood remained in the bag. She made a mental note to steal an additional bag this week to replace the waste. A gentle chuckle escaped the kindred's mouth, followed by a smirk. "I don't think I could ever grow tired of you my dear". Edwin drew the bag close to his mouth again, recoiling away the moment his teeth dug through the plastic skin. "I just don't understand how you manage this, actual feeding is so much more convenient and, dare I say, fun". With a scowl he placed the bag down on the bed, beads of blood oozing from the bite marks in the corners escaped down onto the linens. "I assume that you're still..." "Yes, I'm still drinking from them" Elizabeth interrupted, "but some days are getting too close for my liking, I may have to think about finding somewhere else to acquire them from in addition to work". Edwin's face appeared to drop for a moment, seeming almost disappointed at the restraint she had been showing, but as fast as it has fallen the cheerful expression was restored, making Elizabeth ponder if she'd seen it at all. "What brings you hear today then? Have you forgotten that a certain technology called the 'telephone' exists?" She teased. "Its not a social call I'm afraid, this is mostly 'business'" he replied, his voice dropping most of the warmth she was used to hearing. A couple frantic pats of his coat later Edwin drew out an envelope, embellished heavily on one side with beautiful calligraphy that spelled out her name. "I was told to ensure that you recieved and read this" he said, passing the delicate item from his own pale hands into Elizabeth's. Seeming to read the expression on her face he continued with "I don't know what's in there either. It's probably nothing to worry too much about" he added, attempting a reassuring smile. Receiving the envelope, Elizabeth saw that there was nothing else to do. With tentative fingers she slid a nail beneath the seal.</s> <\|message\|>Jesse The envelope was closed with a wax seal, a stylized 'R' printed over a crossed staff and scepter imprinted in the wax. Inside the envelope awaited a thick parchment, scented with a noticeable hint of fine cologne, with writing scrawled across. Clearly written by hand, and seemingly done with quill and ink. Not over the top, but the kind of work that would cost money these days. Salutations, It is my personal hope that this writing finds you in the best of health. I am writing to congratulate you on your recent good fortune, and to offer my respectful welcome into my community. In the past, leadership of this community has been inexcusable. For that, you have my deepest apologies. However, from this day forward, that changes. As the newly appointed head of this wonderful venture, it is my personal duty to ensure each of you know where you belong and what your responsibilities are. To that end, I have decided to host several meetings over the coming nights. Your presence is requested at the first of these meetings. Attendance is mandatory. Sincerely, Riccard Attached to the parchment with a paperclip was a business card. Thick and pristinely white, the card had only a time and date on the front, with an address on the back. Inquiry would show that the address belonged to an old bar, in the downtown area. The date was the following night, and the time was midnight. Written inside the envelope was a note, clearly meant to only be read by the recipient. "Destroy All Contents"</s> <\|message\|>Stanley "Steel" Kowalski Though he had cracked open the letter in the bar, Steel hadn't begun to read it until he hit the street. He made his way, reading the letter in between steps. Being new to the vampire game, Steel was the first to admit that the politics of it all weren't really his strong suit but what he did know seemed to fill in the gaps that this letter left. Those gaps mad him angry. Beast or not, rage welled up inside steel as he finished the note. With a loud grunt Steel took his guitar case by the neck and crushed it... much to the surprise of Jared his drummer. Jared was off to join Steel with some practice after their crummy show but the man stopped in his tracks as he saw his friend display such an inhuman act. He wasn't sure what to think of it, once the stupor wore off he began to cautiously head over to his friend. His stride was caught short however as something impossibly fast moved in and grabbed him by the neck. In the blink of an eye Jared "Matches" O'Neil was now the former drummer of Rachit Jiraffe, his body strew unceremoniously on the sidewalk. As Steel whipped around in rage, his eyes managed to meet that of Sarah's just before she took off, a smug look on her face and a nonchalant shrug. Steel's eyes then met that of his former friend and band mate. He felt something break inside as the beast was still in the driver's seat. unable to do much more, Steel stuffed the note back in his pocket and managed enough thought to bring his guitar case, full of his now destroyed guitar, with him as he took off.</s>	<\|message\|>Elizabeth Howard With a bated breath, Elizabeth slipped a nail under the wax seal which let go with a soft crack. Despite Edwin's reassurance her hands were a little shakey as she unfolded the parchment nestled inside the envelope. As she read her eyes dragged across the page and she mouthed each word as she read, her sire tried to peer around the side of the letter to read her lips but a warning glare had him looking the other way quickly. "See? Nothing too bad" Edwin said, jovial warmth returning to his voice now that his job had been done. "Nothing too bad comes by letter, it's when they don't send a letter you need to be worried. Well?" He asked as he saw Elizabeth look away from the paper. "I... I don't really know how much I can say" she replied, stumbling over the words slightly. There was something about the letter, the way it was written, that unnerved her, that made her feel threatened almost. "It's nothing, I think." she lied, "someone just wants to speak with me". A derisive snort let loose from her sire's nose. "And this is why I don't like them. A secretive note here, secretive meeting there, and then someone ends up with a dagger to the back. Bastards. Let me guess, 'destroy all contents'?" Elizabeth glanced down at the envelope then nodded. As she stood processing the information Edwin slunk quietly into the kitchen, almost immediately the sound of running water could be heard throughout the flat. To double check her understanding, Elizabeth reread the letter in it's entirety. For the moment she seperated the business card from the parchment, leaving the former on her bedside table as she passed through the doorway to join Edwin, where she was met with a full sink of water. Throwing a bemused smirk he explained that the water would soak some of the ink away and simultaneously turn the parchment to mulch. "Surely burning it is the easiest method, no?" she replied innocently. He shook his head in silent disapproval. "No, not for us. Especially not for us" he exasperated, gesturing wildly with his arms. "Our conscious minds may be fine with flame, but our deepest instincts now are to flee or lash out at the sight if a single tongue. We've been through this!" "I'm sorry" she replied sheepishly, sounding dangerously close to crying, as she placed the parchment into the sink to soak for the time being. As Edwin proceeded to sink into her sofa, Elizabeth stood transfixed staring into the water, watching the ink bleed out from the note. With the actual words of the letter fading Elizabeth stepped back from the sink. She was left with an address to memorise and the envelope. Ignoring those for the moment, she sat next to Edwin; resting her head on his shoulder and feeling a supportive hand on her back drawing her closer. "How do you deal with these... games" Elizabeth asked, voice raw with a mixture of emotions. "It can be hard" Edwin admitted, pulling her a little closer, "just go through the motions and it's over soon enough. But it's one of the reasons I fight, this way of life just isn't sustainable or right". Edwin pulled her slightly tighter before letting go and standing up. "Unfortunately love, I need to get home before sun up. It'll be fine" he added, once again trying to be reassuring. "I'll see you again soon okay?" He said in goodbye as he showed himself out. Elizabeth returned to her bedroom, perching on the foot of the bed before lying backwards, reaching over to the nightstand to pick up the business card. The time was simple enough, but the address just seemed to be some place downtown that she didn't recognise. With a sigh filling the room, she threw it to the floor, hoping that she'd memorized enough of the address to remember it the following night. When she woke up she'd get around to disposing of this piece too.</s>
<\|description\|>Elizabeth Howard Elizabeth, sometimes nicknamed "Lizzie" by her friends before her embrace, stands at about 5'7". Her skin was usually amongst the first things that new people noticed about her, the extreme pallor that could only be blamed on the dreary weather in England. Her hair, a fiery mess of ringlets that hung loose around her face, certainly didn't help; all it did was draw attention to the lack of blush on her cold cheeks. Her dress varied heavily on whether she was on call or relaxing in her downtime. On-shift she wore the the standard EMT uniform of her company, a dark green jacket and trousers with reflective cuffs; off-duty her style tended to lean into wear into clothing much less formal, often a basic t-shirt of some sort combined with denim jeans and thick-heeled platforms of one recognisable brand or another. Hunger 2 Spent 1 willpower</s> <\|message\|>Merveille St. Claire The offices of Psychics 4 U, were, as perhaps to be expected from a phone psychic agency of dubious legality (although as pointed out in ads, only meant for entertainment purposes), not considered among the nicest buildings in Indianapolis. In fact, it probably ranked as one of the ugliest buildings in Indianapolis, but beneath it's crumbling facade, there was...not love, not exactly joy, or even hope, really, but there were people doing their job. Merveille was one of those people, currently in hushed whisperings with some man who was frantically asking about whether his wife had been unfaithful. She could already picture the man, balding, beginning to let his body go in pursuit of just one more promotion, as his wife was left alone at home to do what-or-whoever she pleased. So, was he looking for reassurance, either in his wife's faithfulness or in his manic deductions. "Well," Merveille began, in that patois she'd perfected when playing Tituba so many years ago. "I must first caution you: the answers I provide may not be the ones you want." Whether it was on stage or over phone, the concept of acting remained the same. You had to build up suspense. Let the audience's mind wander, piece together the puzzle they'd created in their minds, all while the silence hung heavy in the air. "So," the man asked, his whisper barely able to be heard over the tinny speaker. "What is it?" At that, she exhaled. Of course he wanted to know. That's why he was calling, of course, but keeping them waiting, kept customers all the more sure that what they were getting were true insights, gleaned from a true clairvoyant. Also, it was a form of stalling, considering money was made per minute, but that was secondary. If you could keep them calling, you could keep them paying. "The answer is no, your wife has not laid with another." Merveille could almost chuckle at the mighty release of breath she heard over the line, but with the harm that would do to her whole image, she simply kept her mouth shut until the man on the other end-Anthony? Andrew? fell silent. "However, you would do much good, my child, to look into your finances." While it was nice to assuage one fear, one always had to remember there was another lurking around the corner. And really, it wasn't that difficult. Anthony - yes, she was sure of it this time - had already spoken of leaving his wife at home, and while his mind may have wandered to her in bed, the ability to call up whoever she wanted, there was the possibility of her instead eyeing one of his credit cards. Finally concluding her "session" with a curt goodbye, Merveille put the phone down and sighed. Psychic was a role like any other now, even if the glimpses she saw in her sleep of screams and blood seemed to be getting more and more frequent. Here, at least, she could control what the vision of past or future was, or better yet, leave it obscured enough for others to make of it what they wished. Grabbing her purse after standing up from the chair, she opened the door and was about to leave for home, when she noticed a Post-It note on the opposite side of the office door. Raising her eyebrow at the receptionist's gall, Merveille made her way to the reception, found the key to the desk drawer (underneath the potted plant), and opened it to find an envelope embossed with a wax seal. This couldn't be good. With shaking hands, Merveille opened the envelope, and read the letter, eyes poring over the contents. Then, with her face steeled, she put the letter back in the envelope, the envelope in her purse, and got into her car. As she drove for home, she wondered whether this is what she had been dreaming of.</s> <\|message\|>Jesse Jesse looked at the envelope, then cursed very loudly. He looked at it again, this time breaking the red seal. Once he read the letter, he cursed even louder. Getting on his bike, he would shove the paper into a side pouch, then bring the bike roaring to life with a swift kick. When the bike was nearing seventy down an old backroad, he would pull the paper out and feed it into the spokes of the front wheel, effectively shredding it and leaving it scattered across three miles of wet dirt and gravel. While he wasn't one for politics, his sire was. They kept in regular contact, and while he never understood why, she had gone out of her way to teach him about something she called the 'Camarilla.' Most of the lessons he had completely ignored, more interested in what they had been doing while she had been talking. One thing he did remember, though, was that most other places in the world had a local group of kindred that controlled things, acting as a sort of government for vampires. Indiana was special, because it did not have one, and supposedly hadn't for quite some time. To his mind, a letter like the one he'd gotten could only mean that things had changed. A message on his answering machine, from his sire, only confirmed it. ___________________________________________________ The building was old, and calling it anything less than rundown would be an overstatement. Blacked out windows and the smell of vomit accented by stale piss all added to the notion that no a dollar to their name had been there in years. Out front, a very nice bike was taking up one of four parking spots. At least, it would have looked nice, if it had wheels and handlebars. Jesse had been the first to arrive, having shown up nearly three hours ahead of schedule. He had spent his spare time waiting hiding in a nearby corner, taking the wheels and the handlebars off his bike. While there was a good chance it would end up defaced in this neighborhood, he intended to make sure anyone wanting to steal it would have to carry the damn thing. A nearby dumpster with a cockroach nest living inside made for a perfect hiding place for the spare parts. Anyone showing up would see Jesse, wearing a black leather jacket and greasy blue jeans, leaning against the board that covered the doorway. In his hand would be a burning cigarette, though it wouldn't take much to notice that he never took a drag from it. Apart from the board, there was no obvious means of getting into the building. The board in the doorway was stuck there, quite securely. Jesse knew, because he had tried to open it. There was a rather large dent in the middle of the board, right at knee-level, to signify his attempt.</s> <\|message\|>Merveille St. Claire When she arrived home, Merveille immediately dashed to her home office, making for the paper shredder. Was it the most obvious place to dispose of documents? Yes, and she'd have to find a way to dump its contents somewhere obscure in some time, but it'd do wonders for the whole getting a document that looked like it could've been sent by the Dracula himself thing. Besides, focusing on how exactly to get rid of the letter helped take her mind off of other things. Such as what the letter meant for the present vampire situation in Indianapolis. While she wouldn't have considered herself a savant by any means, keeping abreast of the local politics in the area, for both mortal and vampire alike seemed like a reasonable thing to do. It had taken an incredible amount of wheedling to get James to tell her anything, and truthfully, she wasn't exactly sure if she could believe all of it considering his...instability. What she had learned, though, of Princes and Primogens and bloodlines, old money intent on keeping it that way, pointed to one conclusion: This Riccard was saying he was in charge now, and that she had best better attend. That night, Merveille dreamed of things to come. Blood, as always, but in the middle of that pool, a throne. ___________________________________________________ Pulling up to the building in her sensible 1991 Civic, Merveille took a look at the place and sighed. Charitably, the place could be described as a dumpster. Honestly, it looked like a hellhole. Parts of it reminded her of her childhood, and not in the way childhood was about wonder and warmth. More about having to share a single room with three siblings. The motorcycle lacking wheels and handlebars sitting in one of the parking spots only added to that perception. It also meant someone had arrived earlier than her, which didn't do much to lift Merveille's present frustration. She was planning on arriving here first, and, well, she hadn't arrived first. There was more important business to attend to, though, so she carefully parked her car, uttered a silent prayer to any higher power (if they did exist) to prevent anything from happening to it, before getting out. As she walked to the doorway, she saw a man with a cigarette in hand, leather jacket and tight jeans and all. If he hadn't been standing in front of the building and hadn't have looked like he'd been there for a while, Merveille would've thought him to be like any other drifter. Instead, he seemed to be one of the others called to the meeting. "Here for the meeting, I take it?" Merveille curtly asked, before taking up a spot a few feet away from the man. He didn't exactly seem to be in the mood for talking, but it was best to confirm such things.</s>	<\|message\|>Elizabeth Howard The street was quiet, it at least as quiet of an area in Indianapolis could get. As her platforms pattered down onto the pavement she kept reciting the address over and over in her mind, matching the rhythm of the words to the pace of her walking. Checking her watch the time was drawing closer, 20 minutes to midnight and she still hadn't found the place. If her heart still worked it woud be a flurry of beats as the anxiety built in her chest. It didn't help that she felt like she was being followed. A few times she thought she'd caught a glimpse of something trailing her. Maybe it was an associate of this Riccard keeping tabs on her, perhaps it was an opportunistic thief believing a young woman to be an easy target, or more likely the stress of the upcoming meeting was getting to her head, making her overly paranoid. 15 minutes to midnight and Elizabeth still felt horrendously lost as she walked around the long dark streets. The popular bars and clubs felt like they were a mile away as the buildings drew older, more decrepit and drab. Increasingly frequently windows were cracked or boarded. Elizabeth couldn't help but feel a shiver of involuntary fear at how rough this area of town felt compared to the warmth of the area she lived and frequently worked. Feeling a breeze she drew her jacket tighter, holding it together with an arm tightly clamped across her chest. With but 10 minutes before the meeting she believed she had found the place. There were two people loitering around outside. Kindred? The very thought put her on edge slightly. Outside of dealing with her Sire she'd never spoken to another one. It was a terrifying prospect. Edwin had thoroughly drilled into her how temperamental some clans could be, set off by the faintest faux par. As she gathered her courage she hung back, leaning against a building further up the street. In her head Elizabeth was practicing an exercise Edwin had designed to help her remember which clans to be careful about. Nervously checking her watch again, she had 7 minutes until the meeting. Looking over at the other two they didn't really seem to be interacting all too much. Perhaps they're here for the same reason I am, she pondered; beginning to pace gently nearer to the address as the hands drew closer to midnight. One of them, a man, lifted his head slightly as Elizabeth approached, giving a weary nod before returning to whatever it was they were doing. The other hasn't seemed to have noticed her yet, which Elizabeth appreciated, as she clung quietly to the shadows and waited for this meeting to begin.</s>
<\|description\|>Merveille St. Claire A somewhat matronly looking woman of Haitian descent, Merveille is most often seen wearing a headwrap and loose, colorful clothes. At 5'9, she cuts a fairly imposing figure. Hunger 2</s> <\|message\|>Stanley "Steel" Kowalski Though he had cracked open the letter in the bar, Steel hadn't begun to read it until he hit the street. He made his way, reading the letter in between steps. Being new to the vampire game, Steel was the first to admit that the politics of it all weren't really his strong suit but what he did know seemed to fill in the gaps that this letter left. Those gaps mad him angry. Beast or not, rage welled up inside steel as he finished the note. With a loud grunt Steel took his guitar case by the neck and crushed it... much to the surprise of Jared his drummer. Jared was off to join Steel with some practice after their crummy show but the man stopped in his tracks as he saw his friend display such an inhuman act. He wasn't sure what to think of it, once the stupor wore off he began to cautiously head over to his friend. His stride was caught short however as something impossibly fast moved in and grabbed him by the neck. In the blink of an eye Jared "Matches" O'Neil was now the former drummer of Rachit Jiraffe, his body strew unceremoniously on the sidewalk. As Steel whipped around in rage, his eyes managed to meet that of Sarah's just before she took off, a smug look on her face and a nonchalant shrug. Steel's eyes then met that of his former friend and band mate. He felt something break inside as the beast was still in the driver's seat. unable to do much more, Steel stuffed the note back in his pocket and managed enough thought to bring his guitar case, full of his now destroyed guitar, with him as he took off.</s> <\|message\|>Elizabeth Howard With a bated breath, Elizabeth slipped a nail under the wax seal which let go with a soft crack. Despite Edwin's reassurance her hands were a little shakey as she unfolded the parchment nestled inside the envelope. As she read her eyes dragged across the page and she mouthed each word as she read, her sire tried to peer around the side of the letter to read her lips but a warning glare had him looking the other way quickly. "See? Nothing too bad" Edwin said, jovial warmth returning to his voice now that his job had been done. "Nothing too bad comes by letter, it's when they don't send a letter you need to be worried. Well?" He asked as he saw Elizabeth look away from the paper. "I... I don't really know how much I can say" she replied, stumbling over the words slightly. There was something about the letter, the way it was written, that unnerved her, that made her feel threatened almost. "It's nothing, I think." she lied, "someone just wants to speak with me". A derisive snort let loose from her sire's nose. "And this is why I don't like them. A secretive note here, secretive meeting there, and then someone ends up with a dagger to the back. Bastards. Let me guess, 'destroy all contents'?" Elizabeth glanced down at the envelope then nodded. As she stood processing the information Edwin slunk quietly into the kitchen, almost immediately the sound of running water could be heard throughout the flat. To double check her understanding, Elizabeth reread the letter in it's entirety. For the moment she seperated the business card from the parchment, leaving the former on her bedside table as she passed through the doorway to join Edwin, where she was met with a full sink of water. Throwing a bemused smirk he explained that the water would soak some of the ink away and simultaneously turn the parchment to mulch. "Surely burning it is the easiest method, no?" she replied innocently. He shook his head in silent disapproval. "No, not for us. Especially not for us" he exasperated, gesturing wildly with his arms. "Our conscious minds may be fine with flame, but our deepest instincts now are to flee or lash out at the sight if a single tongue. We've been through this!" "I'm sorry" she replied sheepishly, sounding dangerously close to crying, as she placed the parchment into the sink to soak for the time being. As Edwin proceeded to sink into her sofa, Elizabeth stood transfixed staring into the water, watching the ink bleed out from the note. With the actual words of the letter fading Elizabeth stepped back from the sink. She was left with an address to memorise and the envelope. Ignoring those for the moment, she sat next to Edwin; resting her head on his shoulder and feeling a supportive hand on her back drawing her closer. "How do you deal with these... games" Elizabeth asked, voice raw with a mixture of emotions. "It can be hard" Edwin admitted, pulling her a little closer, "just go through the motions and it's over soon enough. But it's one of the reasons I fight, this way of life just isn't sustainable or right". Edwin pulled her slightly tighter before letting go and standing up. "Unfortunately love, I need to get home before sun up. It'll be fine" he added, once again trying to be reassuring. "I'll see you again soon okay?" He said in goodbye as he showed himself out. Elizabeth returned to her bedroom, perching on the foot of the bed before lying backwards, reaching over to the nightstand to pick up the business card. The time was simple enough, but the address just seemed to be some place downtown that she didn't recognise. With a sigh filling the room, she threw it to the floor, hoping that she'd memorized enough of the address to remember it the following night. When she woke up she'd get around to disposing of this piece too.</s> <\|message\|>Merveille St. Claire The offices of Psychics 4 U, were, as perhaps to be expected from a phone psychic agency of dubious legality (although as pointed out in ads, only meant for entertainment purposes), not considered among the nicest buildings in Indianapolis. In fact, it probably ranked as one of the ugliest buildings in Indianapolis, but beneath it's crumbling facade, there was...not love, not exactly joy, or even hope, really, but there were people doing their job. Merveille was one of those people, currently in hushed whisperings with some man who was frantically asking about whether his wife had been unfaithful. She could already picture the man, balding, beginning to let his body go in pursuit of just one more promotion, as his wife was left alone at home to do what-or-whoever she pleased. So, was he looking for reassurance, either in his wife's faithfulness or in his manic deductions. "Well," Merveille began, in that patois she'd perfected when playing Tituba so many years ago. "I must first caution you: the answers I provide may not be the ones you want." Whether it was on stage or over phone, the concept of acting remained the same. You had to build up suspense. Let the audience's mind wander, piece together the puzzle they'd created in their minds, all while the silence hung heavy in the air. "So," the man asked, his whisper barely able to be heard over the tinny speaker. "What is it?" At that, she exhaled. Of course he wanted to know. That's why he was calling, of course, but keeping them waiting, kept customers all the more sure that what they were getting were true insights, gleaned from a true clairvoyant. Also, it was a form of stalling, considering money was made per minute, but that was secondary. If you could keep them calling, you could keep them paying. "The answer is no, your wife has not laid with another." Merveille could almost chuckle at the mighty release of breath she heard over the line, but with the harm that would do to her whole image, she simply kept her mouth shut until the man on the other end-Anthony? Andrew? fell silent. "However, you would do much good, my child, to look into your finances." While it was nice to assuage one fear, one always had to remember there was another lurking around the corner. And really, it wasn't that difficult. Anthony - yes, she was sure of it this time - had already spoken of leaving his wife at home, and while his mind may have wandered to her in bed, the ability to call up whoever she wanted, there was the possibility of her instead eyeing one of his credit cards. Finally concluding her "session" with a curt goodbye, Merveille put the phone down and sighed. Psychic was a role like any other now, even if the glimpses she saw in her sleep of screams and blood seemed to be getting more and more frequent. Here, at least, she could control what the vision of past or future was, or better yet, leave it obscured enough for others to make of it what they wished. Grabbing her purse after standing up from the chair, she opened the door and was about to leave for home, when she noticed a Post-It note on the opposite side of the office door. Raising her eyebrow at the receptionist's gall, Merveille made her way to the reception, found the key to the desk drawer (underneath the potted plant), and opened it to find an envelope embossed with a wax seal. This couldn't be good. With shaking hands, Merveille opened the envelope, and read the letter, eyes poring over the contents. Then, with her face steeled, she put the letter back in the envelope, the envelope in her purse, and got into her car. As she drove for home, she wondered whether this is what she had been dreaming of.</s> <\|message\|>Jesse Jesse looked at the envelope, then cursed very loudly. He looked at it again, this time breaking the red seal. Once he read the letter, he cursed even louder. Getting on his bike, he would shove the paper into a side pouch, then bring the bike roaring to life with a swift kick. When the bike was nearing seventy down an old backroad, he would pull the paper out and feed it into the spokes of the front wheel, effectively shredding it and leaving it scattered across three miles of wet dirt and gravel. While he wasn't one for politics, his sire was. They kept in regular contact, and while he never understood why, she had gone out of her way to teach him about something she called the 'Camarilla.' Most of the lessons he had completely ignored, more interested in what they had been doing while she had been talking. One thing he did remember, though, was that most other places in the world had a local group of kindred that controlled things, acting as a sort of government for vampires. Indiana was special, because it did not have one, and supposedly hadn't for quite some time. To his mind, a letter like the one he'd gotten could only mean that things had changed. A message on his answering machine, from his sire, only confirmed it. ___________________________________________________ The building was old, and calling it anything less than rundown would be an overstatement. Blacked out windows and the smell of vomit accented by stale piss all added to the notion that no a dollar to their name had been there in years. Out front, a very nice bike was taking up one of four parking spots. At least, it would have looked nice, if it had wheels and handlebars. Jesse had been the first to arrive, having shown up nearly three hours ahead of schedule. He had spent his spare time waiting hiding in a nearby corner, taking the wheels and the handlebars off his bike. While there was a good chance it would end up defaced in this neighborhood, he intended to make sure anyone wanting to steal it would have to carry the damn thing. A nearby dumpster with a cockroach nest living inside made for a perfect hiding place for the spare parts. Anyone showing up would see Jesse, wearing a black leather jacket and greasy blue jeans, leaning against the board that covered the doorway. In his hand would be a burning cigarette, though it wouldn't take much to notice that he never took a drag from it. Apart from the board, there was no obvious means of getting into the building. The board in the doorway was stuck there, quite securely. Jesse knew, because he had tried to open it. There was a rather large dent in the middle of the board, right at knee-level, to signify his attempt.</s>	<\|message\|>Merveille St. Claire When she arrived home, Merveille immediately dashed to her home office, making for the paper shredder. Was it the most obvious place to dispose of documents? Yes, and she'd have to find a way to dump its contents somewhere obscure in some time, but it'd do wonders for the whole getting a document that looked like it could've been sent by the Dracula himself thing. Besides, focusing on how exactly to get rid of the letter helped take her mind off of other things. Such as what the letter meant for the present vampire situation in Indianapolis. While she wouldn't have considered herself a savant by any means, keeping abreast of the local politics in the area, for both mortal and vampire alike seemed like a reasonable thing to do. It had taken an incredible amount of wheedling to get James to tell her anything, and truthfully, she wasn't exactly sure if she could believe all of it considering his...instability. What she had learned, though, of Princes and Primogens and bloodlines, old money intent on keeping it that way, pointed to one conclusion: This Riccard was saying he was in charge now, and that she had best better attend. That night, Merveille dreamed of things to come. Blood, as always, but in the middle of that pool, a throne. ___________________________________________________ Pulling up to the building in her sensible 1991 Civic, Merveille took a look at the place and sighed. Charitably, the place could be described as a dumpster. Honestly, it looked like a hellhole. Parts of it reminded her of her childhood, and not in the way childhood was about wonder and warmth. More about having to share a single room with three siblings. The motorcycle lacking wheels and handlebars sitting in one of the parking spots only added to that perception. It also meant someone had arrived earlier than her, which didn't do much to lift Merveille's present frustration. She was planning on arriving here first, and, well, she hadn't arrived first. There was more important business to attend to, though, so she carefully parked her car, uttered a silent prayer to any higher power (if they did exist) to prevent anything from happening to it, before getting out. As she walked to the doorway, she saw a man with a cigarette in hand, leather jacket and tight jeans and all. If he hadn't been standing in front of the building and hadn't have looked like he'd been there for a while, Merveille would've thought him to be like any other drifter. Instead, he seemed to be one of the others called to the meeting. "Here for the meeting, I take it?" Merveille curtly asked, before taking up a spot a few feet away from the man. He didn't exactly seem to be in the mood for talking, but it was best to confirm such things.</s>
<\|description\|>Kaneko, Ohta Kaneko Ohta "Lemme think on that."Overview --- Age 19 Gender Male Occupation Office WorkerCharacterization & Conceptualization --- What Do They Look Like? Ohta's sallow skin and gray eyes give off the impression of someone who had aged beyond just the nineteen years he had lived so far, and that issue is compounded by how his eyes are perpetually half-open, bagged with dark circles. A heaviness clings onto his frame, grounding him to the earth even as he breaks into a sprint to catch the last train home. Deliberate in his movements, careful in his language, there's a constant sense of slowness with him. His slender hands are often stained by pencil smudges or ink stains, while his brown hair gives off the impression that he's just gotten out of bed, regardless of how long he actually spends in bed. At a height of 5'7, with a diminutive frame that naturally hunches into itself, Ohta's just another face in the crowd, another file in the company's folder. The fingernails on his left hand are cut painfully short; the ones on his right feature deep crescents. What Are They Like? Ohta watches, listens, and keeps his thoughts to himself. Introverted, he's made it a habit to repress his emotions out of necessity, keeping people at a distance while he plugs along with his tasks. It's convenient, to be thought of as a cold person, a distant person, so that's what he leans into. Praise or encouragement for the work he does is strange, after all, and having coldness and distance be the norms for his attitude means that he can bow out of drinking parties without it being remarked upon. It's good if people just think of him as naturally strange, an overly serious, boring anomaly of a youth. And if people begin thinking about him that way, that would create a Pygmalion effect. If he was perceived of as serious and hard-working, that's what he could become. If he was perceived of as cold, he would not be hot. And if he was not hot, then he was not… …passionate, desperate, and so, so, so furious. At the lost twilight of childhood. At the decisions others made. At the burdens he bore alone. At the costs of living for two, when only one brought in income. At the days that never seemed to end. At the assignments that he took so his managers kept him around. At unfairness, built into the very grain of the machine he served. At powerlessness, only able to fold inwards rather than lash outwards. But when he finds the time to meet her, Ohta figures that he could remain cold, just a little longer. He can't meet her anymore. What's Their Story? Duty. Responsibility. Obligation. At 18 years, on the cusp of graduation, Ohta came home to his family's three room apartment suite to find it empty. The lock had not been broken. No sign of anyone rummaging through cabinets or shelves. The housewife next door saw the silhouette of his parents at 11:30 AM. They had left no letters, only taken what was theirs and disappeared. He was numb when he picked up Tamimi from school. He was lying when he told her they would be back. If he'd known what was coming, he'd have been a better student. Had picked up skills on his own time. Invested in crypto, started a Patreon, made a Soundcloud, done anything. But he hadn't. Strangers came two nights later. Loan sharks. He hid in the bathroom with his little sister. In the morning, it was obvious why they had come. As obvious as paint and pigs' blood could make it. Ohta missed out on his graduation. He pawned off most of what remained in the home. Sat on the money for a while. Considered his options. Decided that he didn't trust his relatives more than he trusted the government. Had a chat with the men that his parents borrowed money from. Decided that it was better to lie again. Orphaned Tamimi. Her parents were dead. He would work to pay off their inherited debts. After that, they should be able to live together again. Just four years, no, three. They can live together in three years. And then, once again, they can dream. Office work with only a high school diploma was a miracle with a steep cost, but Ohta paid the cost regardless. Paid it with his body and his mind and did so willingly. Willingly? Out of necessity. Debts to pay. Costs to pay. Rent to pay. Utilities to pay. His cheap suit hung from his body; he was losing weight. His eyes could never focus and always itched; he was losing sleep. His life slipped away even as the days never seemed to end; he was losing time. Sometimes, he found himself standing in front of the office of those loan sharks, a cheap lighter in hand. Sometimes, he found himself alone with his boss, nails biting into the flesh of his palms. But he had a duty to fulfill. A responsibility he could not abandon. An obligation to realize the dream he had spoken of. The decision is no longer his to make. Now, Ohta can only pray. Why Did The Wish Choose Them? Righteous and dedicated, a person who could endure the weight of the world, who could think to dream still, no matter how many times he had to rearrange, reimagine it. An idealist who would contort himself to whatever shape necessary to realize his goals. A man who would sacrifice what he loves for who he loves. A hero, perhaps, who would work within the boundaries of whatever society he existed in, no matter how much he hated it. That was what the wish was drawn towards, a hero who could draw back his instincts and ruminate longer on the consequences of swift action. But… What "Hero" Will They Embody? Why? …the wish did not realize that such restraint was found in a sense of powerlessness. A sense that drove an earnest, crushing desire for power. For might. For the ability to break, rather than bend, to inherent unfairness, enforced bondage. Magma rages beneath the permafrost, willing, always willing to surge out and burn everything to ash. Ohta is willing to sacrifice, but he's just as willing to take, whether with words or with violence. So long as he can get away with it. So long as it gets him closer to his goals. He does not want to endure. He wants to fight. What Belongings Will They Take With Them? A business suit. It does not fit well, and the tie is a boring blue-with-gray-stripes. A smartphone. The battery is at 53%, and it holds an agenda of meetings and deadlines that no longer matter. A Tupperware container and chopsticks. Barley rice, mixed with corn. A preserved plum sits in the center.Talents & Abilities --- Mundane Talents Ohta was an acoustic guitarist, but now, he's just a run-of-the-mill office worker. Administrative tasks and note-taking have become second-nature to him, and he can enter data and make calculations with a swiftness expected of someone who's gotten accustomed to their job. He learned to sew on his own time, first to patch the holes in his clothing, then in hopes of making a gift for Tamimi. He doesn't care for it, but he understands business etiquette. Achieved Abilities & Knowledges His efforts have achieved nothing.</s> <\|message\|>Iyasu Kaito --- "Right, that about does it. Your next appointment is about a month from now. Yes. Yes, I can send you an e-mail. Good bye." Silence had remained in the air until the familiar ring of a client ending the call signalled another day of work coming to an end. His exhale was heavy enough to alter his posture, and his finger and thumb soon dug their way around the bridge of his nose where a pair of computer glasses rested only seconds ago. It didn't take long for his irritated eyes to start rejecting the incandescent white of a computer monitor. Kaito was a tired man. It would have felt childish to be honest to himself about it, but even such a physically undemanding job had a way of psychosomatically draining him. During nights like these he'd typically get away from the comfort of his padded chair as quickly as possible, before his arms spread towards the computer desk and the hard wood felt like the most comfortable surface in the world to sleep on. Today hadn't been one of those days. He struggled to even lift his head from his arms, with a yawn seemingly cementing it in place. He was going to lose the fight today. His body felt instant relief upon thinking that, to his disappointment. This wasn't his office. Earth and air. Crisp, unpolluted, breathable air. It should have been a pleasing experience to his body, but Kaito's instincts only felt repulsion at the overwhelming atmosphere of his surroundings. It was the body of a man who had adapted to the unadaptable, to food that came in bags and train rides where he couldn't even turn his head. He had no reaction, no past experiences to draw from, nothing at all that could have framed any sort of context around the untouched nature around him. He dragged himself up, picking leaves out of his long hair. "Hmm..." he searched the contents of his bag and pockets before letting out a soft sigh. "My phone isn't on me, apologies." He had his journals with him at least. They were worthless outside of his office, but it felt reassuring in a visceral sort of way to have something familiar alongside him. The more he tried to piece together the events he could recall, the more they drifted around in his head like a foggy dream. There were other people around him, also stumbling around. Another pang of reassurance. Whatever had just transpired, he wasn't alone. "My name is Iyasu Kaito." His fingers slid in the pocket of his dress shirt for a business card, but he corrected himself before taking one out. This wasn't an appropriate situation to do that. Then again, he couldn't exactly figure out what sort of situation this was at all. "'Whoever threw us out'... is that what happened?" His voice was soft, but its prodding was as strong as ever. Having been tossed here along with others would have explained some things, at least.</s> <\|message\|>Arima Junichiro --- Junichiro stirred awake at last, his eyes fluttering open to the starlit sky. Between the smell of fresh air and the grassy bed that he had awoken upon, the freeter had a feeling he wasn't quite in Osaka anymore. Before he stood up to look around, Junichiro quickly closed his eyes once more when he heard the sound of others awakening. He wasn't quite sure where he was, but he also didn't want to deal with strangers after having a rough night's sleep like this... not without first having an idea where he was. Junichiro tried to think back to his last memory, hazy as it was. He was definitely at that FamilyMart, clenching his false weapon tightly and pointing it at the cashier before a sharp pain struck the back of his head, and... "Shit..." A whispered expletive left the young man's lips as he pondered his situation more. Was there a thug in that store that he pissed off? Or, worse, was it protected by the yakuza? Whatever it was, Junichiro's heart couldn't help but thump quickly as he realized the ramification of his actions. He's heard the stories, after all. A part of him wanted to get caught, to be punished for his actions, but a larger part wanted his fingers and his toes intact. Emptying the contents of his bladder, Junichiro thought to himself just how in the hell was he supposed to get out of this. Hearing them talking amongst themselves, the young man thought they were distracted enough for him to make a run for it! Sitting up, Junichiro was surprised to feel that one of his jacket's pockets still had that familiar weight to it. Junichiro still had his gun, it seemed. Without a second thought, Junichiro quickly stood up to face the rest. For a very brief moment, he'd be surprised at how quickly he was able to get up, given his condition. After all, his bad leg hurt the most in the morning, when he would first stand up for today. Chalking it up to adrenaline, the freeter clumsily pulled his false armament out, pointing it in the direction of the flashing smartphone lights. Assuming they were naught but thugs and criminals, and not taking any more time to get his bearings, Junichiro held his airsoft M1911 tightly in both hands in a way that would make a gun enthusiast shake their head. He then shouted to the top of his lungs, ignorant of whatever other dangers may lurk deep within these woods. "Don't fuck with me!"</s>	<\|message\|>Kaneko, Ohta Shit message, if that was the case. Why didn't those slimey bottomfeeders keep the messaging subtle when they went after the suite? Kept it private, personal. Not blown it up so much that it was impossible to find a relative that hadn't heard of his parents' misdeeds. Ohta simmered quietly, his gaze focused nowhere in particular. The consuming darkness and the stark, electronic light made it easy to zone out, even as he regarded the others in the same light. A girl? A woman? Something inbetween, someone also stuck with the sharks, if messages were what she made of this. A foppish man, well-kept with long hair. Performer, perhaps? Musician or idol. Had that sort of feel to him. And the last... "Don't fuck with me!" A gun. A real fucking gun. Right here. Outta nowhere. Pointed at them. Ohta froze, the terror and aggression on the man's face amplified by the shadows cast by the smartphone. His mind churned. His heart burned. Out here, in the middle of nowhere. Two strangers, one enemy. No light in sight other than his own. Close range. Fuck this guy. Turn off the light, tackle his legs, wrestle away the gun, and then bash his fucking skull in. It'll be easy. It'll be clean. Who here would report him to the cops? With four words, it became us versus him. And Ohta felt great. He felt energized. He felt as if he could do it. No hesitation. Take his hands and pull that fucking subhuman's face into two meaty pieces. But a gun was a gun. And murder was murder. What were the optics? Could he risk it? Didn't have medical for bullet wounds. Worse off if this punk was one of the higher ups' relatives. Was this just the high from having somehow gotten proper rest? Was this just the straw of bullshit that burst his dam? Ohta shifted his gaze down, away from the gunman's face. He couldn't risk it. Couldn't even risk being pissed about it. "No one's fucking with you, man," came his sycophant voice, traitorous and serpentine. "Lower your gun, please? We're not even sure why we're here." But if the gunman did, if the chances of getting shot out of the blue decreased, would that tilt the scales in Ohta's decision-making? Make his initial response more reasonable? He didn't know. Not yet. So he kept his smartphone's light trained on the man, waiting for those eyes to adjust, to grow accustomed to light. Accustomed to seeing, until it was turned off.</s>
<\|description\|>Kaneko, Ohta Kaneko Ohta "Lemme think on that."Overview --- Age 19 Gender Male Occupation Office WorkerCharacterization & Conceptualization --- What Do They Look Like? Ohta's sallow skin and gray eyes give off the impression of someone who had aged beyond just the nineteen years he had lived so far, and that issue is compounded by how his eyes are perpetually half-open, bagged with dark circles. A heaviness clings onto his frame, grounding him to the earth even as he breaks into a sprint to catch the last train home. Deliberate in his movements, careful in his language, there's a constant sense of slowness with him. His slender hands are often stained by pencil smudges or ink stains, while his brown hair gives off the impression that he's just gotten out of bed, regardless of how long he actually spends in bed. At a height of 5'7, with a diminutive frame that naturally hunches into itself, Ohta's just another face in the crowd, another file in the company's folder. The fingernails on his left hand are cut painfully short; the ones on his right feature deep crescents. What Are They Like? Ohta watches, listens, and keeps his thoughts to himself. Introverted, he's made it a habit to repress his emotions out of necessity, keeping people at a distance while he plugs along with his tasks. It's convenient, to be thought of as a cold person, a distant person, so that's what he leans into. Praise or encouragement for the work he does is strange, after all, and having coldness and distance be the norms for his attitude means that he can bow out of drinking parties without it being remarked upon. It's good if people just think of him as naturally strange, an overly serious, boring anomaly of a youth. And if people begin thinking about him that way, that would create a Pygmalion effect. If he was perceived of as serious and hard-working, that's what he could become. If he was perceived of as cold, he would not be hot. And if he was not hot, then he was not… …passionate, desperate, and so, so, so furious. At the lost twilight of childhood. At the decisions others made. At the burdens he bore alone. At the costs of living for two, when only one brought in income. At the days that never seemed to end. At the assignments that he took so his managers kept him around. At unfairness, built into the very grain of the machine he served. At powerlessness, only able to fold inwards rather than lash outwards. But when he finds the time to meet her, Ohta figures that he could remain cold, just a little longer. He can't meet her anymore. What's Their Story? Duty. Responsibility. Obligation. At 18 years, on the cusp of graduation, Ohta came home to his family's three room apartment suite to find it empty. The lock had not been broken. No sign of anyone rummaging through cabinets or shelves. The housewife next door saw the silhouette of his parents at 11:30 AM. They had left no letters, only taken what was theirs and disappeared. He was numb when he picked up Tamimi from school. He was lying when he told her they would be back. If he'd known what was coming, he'd have been a better student. Had picked up skills on his own time. Invested in crypto, started a Patreon, made a Soundcloud, done anything. But he hadn't. Strangers came two nights later. Loan sharks. He hid in the bathroom with his little sister. In the morning, it was obvious why they had come. As obvious as paint and pigs' blood could make it. Ohta missed out on his graduation. He pawned off most of what remained in the home. Sat on the money for a while. Considered his options. Decided that he didn't trust his relatives more than he trusted the government. Had a chat with the men that his parents borrowed money from. Decided that it was better to lie again. Orphaned Tamimi. Her parents were dead. He would work to pay off their inherited debts. After that, they should be able to live together again. Just four years, no, three. They can live together in three years. And then, once again, they can dream. Office work with only a high school diploma was a miracle with a steep cost, but Ohta paid the cost regardless. Paid it with his body and his mind and did so willingly. Willingly? Out of necessity. Debts to pay. Costs to pay. Rent to pay. Utilities to pay. His cheap suit hung from his body; he was losing weight. His eyes could never focus and always itched; he was losing sleep. His life slipped away even as the days never seemed to end; he was losing time. Sometimes, he found himself standing in front of the office of those loan sharks, a cheap lighter in hand. Sometimes, he found himself alone with his boss, nails biting into the flesh of his palms. But he had a duty to fulfill. A responsibility he could not abandon. An obligation to realize the dream he had spoken of. The decision is no longer his to make. Now, Ohta can only pray. Why Did The Wish Choose Them? Righteous and dedicated, a person who could endure the weight of the world, who could think to dream still, no matter how many times he had to rearrange, reimagine it. An idealist who would contort himself to whatever shape necessary to realize his goals. A man who would sacrifice what he loves for who he loves. A hero, perhaps, who would work within the boundaries of whatever society he existed in, no matter how much he hated it. That was what the wish was drawn towards, a hero who could draw back his instincts and ruminate longer on the consequences of swift action. But… What "Hero" Will They Embody? Why? …the wish did not realize that such restraint was found in a sense of powerlessness. A sense that drove an earnest, crushing desire for power. For might. For the ability to break, rather than bend, to inherent unfairness, enforced bondage. Magma rages beneath the permafrost, willing, always willing to surge out and burn everything to ash. Ohta is willing to sacrifice, but he's just as willing to take, whether with words or with violence. So long as he can get away with it. So long as it gets him closer to his goals. He does not want to endure. He wants to fight. What Belongings Will They Take With Them? A business suit. It does not fit well, and the tie is a boring blue-with-gray-stripes. A smartphone. The battery is at 53%, and it holds an agenda of meetings and deadlines that no longer matter. A Tupperware container and chopsticks. Barley rice, mixed with corn. A preserved plum sits in the center.Talents & Abilities --- Mundane Talents Ohta was an acoustic guitarist, but now, he's just a run-of-the-mill office worker. Administrative tasks and note-taking have become second-nature to him, and he can enter data and make calculations with a swiftness expected of someone who's gotten accustomed to their job. He learned to sew on his own time, first to patch the holes in his clothing, then in hopes of making a gift for Tamimi. He doesn't care for it, but he understands business etiquette. Achieved Abilities & Knowledges His efforts have achieved nothing.</s> <\|message\|>Ikazuchi Hiroko --- Unnamed Forest - ??? --- Hiroko nodded at Kaito, pleased with his introduction and a name to add to the face. She rolled her shoulders in a shrug. "Don't know. Can't remember anything." She admitted. From the confused reaction from Kaito, it would seem that he didn't know anything either. What a strange coincidence. Her hand reached up to the back of her neck, turning to the torii. "Can't think of anyone who can-" Cut off by the final man in their group, eyes wide with surprise and horror as a gun was trained right at the man who held the light. Could it be that he was part of the group that decided to teach them a lesson? Though, from his reaction, some part of Hiroko's brain argued that he was probably just as lost as they were. But he was armed. And they weren't. He was up in arms and ready to pull the trigger at them. Hiroko had never been in a situation like this before. She's faced customers who would scream at her face for doing things according to policy or because of a misunderstanding. Those, she can handle with no problems. But this? This was beyond her paygrade. Most of her instincts were telling her to duck, take cover somewhere. But all around her were just grass and she doubted that the torii could cover herself fully. Besides, what's stopping the man from unloading an entire clip on them while they were scrambling for cover. Hiroko was itching to have something on hand to at least fight back with but she doubted a lighter would make a difference. The other man began speaking to try and defuse the situation. A brave choice considering the gun was pointing at him. "We're just trying to figure out where we are so we can get back." Hiroko added, her tone a lot softer and more genuine than the flashlight holder. "We're not going to hurt you." Or well, she was speaking for herself for the most part. It wasn't like she knew any moves besides the basics to fight someone off with anyway.</s> <\|message\|>Arima Junichiro --- A bead of sweat rolled down Junichiro's forehead as he kept his gun trained towards the light. Whoever these people were, whatever is going on, he couldn't help but feel as if perhaps they were in the same situation as himself. Maybe they've all crossed the yakuza, and they were all thrown here to "disappear." Maybe this was some sick joke by some underworld boss and they're all being secretly filmed. Regardless, Junichiro did not falter in his stance. "Just stay back, all of you!" The freeter exclaimed, stepping backwards slowly. He waved his gun at each of them, although he kept it particularly pointed at the two who spoke to him. As he did, he took quick glances of his surroundings, getting a better idea of where they were at. In particular, Junichiro was interested in that giant torii, thinking it would lead back to civilization. Taking a breath and regaining his composure, Junichiro would open his mouth to speak once more, his arms faltering slightly. Before he could utter a word, however, the light from the man's smartphone would give out. Did it run out of batteries? Whatever the case may be, the young man knew he lost most of his leverage with that light away. He could barely see in the dark, and that bright light didn't help. Knowing full well that he would lose control of the situation soon, especially without some sort of warning shot, Junichiro would instead do exactly what was expected of someone whose first actions after waking up in an unknown place would include pissing themselves. The freeter ran off, beelining for the torii. Using the rush of adrenaline to push through the somewhat absent feeling of pain in his legs, Junichiro would pass through the gates, abandoning those he had woken up with. Sure, there was strength in numbers especially in a remote place like this, but sticking with the rest seemed futile to the nihilistic young man. If anything, knowing his luck, Junichiro would just end up getting the rest of them killed as well. And besides, he still didn't trust any of them.</s> <\|message\|>Iyasu Kaito --- So they hadn't been thrown out. Kaito could only give Hiroko a small nod, not wanting to plunge the odd mood into a more negative direction. He figured it got engulfed by the darkness around them. Another awkward interaction. No matter, the silence was more than enough. It was the most comfortable option when one had no idea what was happening. It didn't last. A shout from one of the others made his head whip to face directly towards the sight of a gun. An actual, real life gun. Had the man not been wielding it with a desperation that radiated throughout his entire body, Kaito could have probably tried to reason it was a prop or similar. But the look across that man's eyes couldn't be imitated. "N-no need for that, now," he said, hands placed tensely in front of him. The smooth voice he employed during therapy was out in full force, albeit with cracks forming all over. This was far beyond his range of expertise, and far removed from any experience had with a client. What did this man want? Was it respect? Answers? Money? Was that it? There were too many variables, too many things he didn't know. Ideas came and went yet none were strong enough for him to unclench his jaw. The man ran off before he had anything resembling an answer. Kaito wanted to approach him, but his legs stayed rooted in place. He instead filled his lungs with the forest air and shouted. "Aren't you also lost?!" Mutual survival. The kind of condition that made one wild animal work with another. In this strange forest with no civilization in sight, it made sense in a gloomy sort of way. He could only hope the man would realize that.</s>	<\|message\|>Kaneko, Ohta The problem solved itself. If only all problems could do that. Ohta let out a breath as the gunman, perhaps driven by some irrational fear of the dark, ran off into the distance, taking himself and his gun far, far away. Maybe he'll be a problem in the future, but for now, they could all breathe a bit more clearly. He shook his head, then stood up, allowing his own eyes to adjust to the darkness. Only 50% or so left for his charge. Shouldn't waste it until they got somewhere with reception. The direction the gunman went was annoying though. He didn't really want to head in the direction of the torii, in case that fucking idiot took that as a sign of pursuit and started shooting, but if there was going to be any paved path out of here, it would be from the torii. So he suggested instead. "Maybe, uh, we should go after him?" He pocketed his phone and clutched his lunchbox to his chest. "At least up to the torii there. Might be, mm, a path out from there." One thing convenient about the gunman: his scene meant that self-introductions could be delayed for a bit longer. More time to judge whether it'd be a truth or a lie that Ohta used to identify himself to these strangers.</s>
<\|description\|>Iyasu Kaito K A I T O "In order to communicate one's feelings properly, one should make a conscious effort to use the passive voice less. Huh, why do I always use it then? That's... not funny."Overview --- Age Twenty-four Gender Male Occupation TherapistCharacterization & Conceptualization --- What Do They Look Like? Kaito's appearance has been likened to that of a prince throughout various points in his life, although whether the people saying such things were mocking him or not is something he's never been sure about. His long, flowing hair trails farther than that of most men, and his eyes always seem to be sporting a gentle sheen over their green irises. His body is just as delicate, with smooth skin over a tall, thin frame. He pays little attention to his clothing, often wearing dress shirts too large for him. Unbeknownst to him it only accentuates his slender features more, draping across his body in a style reminiscent of a flowing blouse someone would have worn in another age. What Are They Like? At the edge of dusk when his working hours are done, Kaito often finds himself collapsing over his bed, his hair spilling out in tendrils like the dead plants surrounding him in his cramped apartment. The sight looks like the sobering ending to a particularly depressing fairytale, one in which the prince finds himself at a dead end job, pestered by his family to carry their legacy and marry. But he doesn't mope. He thinks, hard. It's in moments like these his gentle disposition shifts towards a far bolder one, one where his eyebrows rock to the steady beat of his thoughts and his legs find themselves crossing and uncrossing an untold number of times. Problems are distressing to him, but solving them is what keeps him going. People trust him with theirs, and guiding his patients through them is the source of his momentum. Kaito is passive, although not the least bit reserved in sharing his thoughts. His neverending anxiousness at the world at large never wanes, but he's grown skilled at weaponizing it to deal with problems. If he's not analyzing something, he's reflecting on a previous analysis. If he's not doing either of those things, he's finding something new to worry about. The beat of his drum is slow and sometimes misaligned with the speed of the rest of the world, but it never stops. What's Their Story? Born as an only child to strict parents in Yokohama, Kaito's life was never truly calm. There was always some chore or task to be fulfilled, be it some test to pull an all-nighter for or an overcrowded train to board. He felt like a lab rat racing along to a never ending circuit of alarms and authority figures, gaining nothing but fleeting approval from his parents and pieces of paper with signatures on them along the way. A lifetime's worth of these experiences rendered him into somewhat of a hermit, one with no interest beyond his small office and the most underwhelming of life's pleasures. He is now twenty-four years old, satisfied with life yet too displeased to fully enjoy it. It was as if his parents' voices had permanently ingrained themselves inside his mind, scrutinizing every minor aspect of the things he found joy in. Why Did The Wish Choose Them? Kaito's knowledge of pop culture and video games begins and ends with public advertisements and whatever distraction of the month has found itself in his cellphone. He is, in the eyes of his parents and extended family, a failure with little to no chance of ever achieving a respectable career or a dignified marriage. There is no sane reason to ever consider him a potential hero. And yet… there is a desire within him, one to not only directly confront the world around him, but even help others along the way. What "Hero" Will They Embody? Why? As the hero of sorcery, Kaito has a penchant for the mental rather than the physical. Taking apart the elements of anything that wasn't a solid object had always been something of a second nature to him, so even something as bizarre as the arcane has an odd familiarity to it. What Belongings Will They Take With Them? * A shoulder bag for men. The light design is enough for just the essentials. * A pair of ragged journals that have been through years of being tossed around and scrawled on. They serve as a general reference guide for certain topics, although their contents range from messy to nearly indecipherable to anyone that isn't him. * A stuffed mouse plush. One of the many small trinkets he used to decorate his office with to create a calmer atmosphere. He won it from a crane game a long time ago. Talents & Abilities --- Mundane Talents * Good at arcade games - Kaito considers himself a naturally lucky person, but it's in arcade games meant for a younger audience where he truly feels that shine. * All of the general knowledge you would expect a licensed therapist to know. Achieved Abilities & Knowledges N/A</s> <\|message\|>Arima Junichiro --- A bead of sweat rolled down Junichiro's forehead as he kept his gun trained towards the light. Whoever these people were, whatever is going on, he couldn't help but feel as if perhaps they were in the same situation as himself. Maybe they've all crossed the yakuza, and they were all thrown here to "disappear." Maybe this was some sick joke by some underworld boss and they're all being secretly filmed. Regardless, Junichiro did not falter in his stance. "Just stay back, all of you!" The freeter exclaimed, stepping backwards slowly. He waved his gun at each of them, although he kept it particularly pointed at the two who spoke to him. As he did, he took quick glances of his surroundings, getting a better idea of where they were at. In particular, Junichiro was interested in that giant torii, thinking it would lead back to civilization. Taking a breath and regaining his composure, Junichiro would open his mouth to speak once more, his arms faltering slightly. Before he could utter a word, however, the light from the man's smartphone would give out. Did it run out of batteries? Whatever the case may be, the young man knew he lost most of his leverage with that light away. He could barely see in the dark, and that bright light didn't help. Knowing full well that he would lose control of the situation soon, especially without some sort of warning shot, Junichiro would instead do exactly what was expected of someone whose first actions after waking up in an unknown place would include pissing themselves. The freeter ran off, beelining for the torii. Using the rush of adrenaline to push through the somewhat absent feeling of pain in his legs, Junichiro would pass through the gates, abandoning those he had woken up with. Sure, there was strength in numbers especially in a remote place like this, but sticking with the rest seemed futile to the nihilistic young man. If anything, knowing his luck, Junichiro would just end up getting the rest of them killed as well. And besides, he still didn't trust any of them.</s> <\|message\|>Iyasu Kaito --- So they hadn't been thrown out. Kaito could only give Hiroko a small nod, not wanting to plunge the odd mood into a more negative direction. He figured it got engulfed by the darkness around them. Another awkward interaction. No matter, the silence was more than enough. It was the most comfortable option when one had no idea what was happening. It didn't last. A shout from one of the others made his head whip to face directly towards the sight of a gun. An actual, real life gun. Had the man not been wielding it with a desperation that radiated throughout his entire body, Kaito could have probably tried to reason it was a prop or similar. But the look across that man's eyes couldn't be imitated. "N-no need for that, now," he said, hands placed tensely in front of him. The smooth voice he employed during therapy was out in full force, albeit with cracks forming all over. This was far beyond his range of expertise, and far removed from any experience had with a client. What did this man want? Was it respect? Answers? Money? Was that it? There were too many variables, too many things he didn't know. Ideas came and went yet none were strong enough for him to unclench his jaw. The man ran off before he had anything resembling an answer. Kaito wanted to approach him, but his legs stayed rooted in place. He instead filled his lungs with the forest air and shouted. "Aren't you also lost?!" Mutual survival. The kind of condition that made one wild animal work with another. In this strange forest with no civilization in sight, it made sense in a gloomy sort of way. He could only hope the man would realize that.</s> <\|message\|>Kaneko, Ohta The problem solved itself. If only all problems could do that. Ohta let out a breath as the gunman, perhaps driven by some irrational fear of the dark, ran off into the distance, taking himself and his gun far, far away. Maybe he'll be a problem in the future, but for now, they could all breathe a bit more clearly. He shook his head, then stood up, allowing his own eyes to adjust to the darkness. Only 50% or so left for his charge. Shouldn't waste it until they got somewhere with reception. The direction the gunman went was annoying though. He didn't really want to head in the direction of the torii, in case that fucking idiot took that as a sign of pursuit and started shooting, but if there was going to be any paved path out of here, it would be from the torii. So he suggested instead. "Maybe, uh, we should go after him?" He pocketed his phone and clutched his lunchbox to his chest. "At least up to the torii there. Might be, mm, a path out from there." One thing convenient about the gunman: his scene meant that self-introductions could be delayed for a bit longer. More time to judge whether it'd be a truth or a lie that Ohta used to identify himself to these strangers.</s> <\|message\|>Ikazuchi Hiroko --- Unnamed Forest - ??? --- The gunner bolted past them and ran through the torii and disappeared from their sight thanks to the darkness around them. She let out a ragged breath. First, waking up in some unknown forest and next being held at gunpoint? How could this possibly get any worst? Still, the threat was gone and maybe they could properly recollect their thoughts this time. At the very least, the other two were cooperative - maybe it was because they understood that right now, their best bet was staying with each other... even if none of them particularly knew each other. Kaito, perhaps in an act of empathy or harboring the same thoughts as her, called out to the gunner but he was already long gone. Hiroko wondered if there were any animals that were attracted to the commotion. Hopefully not, she wasn't carrying any tools with her that would serve as any sort of defense mechanism. "Yeah, that way is our best bet." Hiroko sighed. As much as she also didn't want to follow the agitated man, they did have little choice in the matter. "Hopefully, he already made some distance. I just want to get out of here..." She looked between the two of them before moving forward to take the lead. Hopefully, that'll ease both of them to a more comfortable state. They needed a little more trust between them after all.</s> <\|message\|>Arima Junichiro --- Junichiro ran deeper into the forest, putting a fair bit of distance between himself and those he had woken up surrounded by. While it was dark, the night's sky offered enough light for the young man to not run into a tree. Still, traversing these wooded lands in the dead of night was not an easy task, especially for one who lived in a suburban environment their whole life. With this in mind along with the fact that there seems to be no sign of civilization aside from that torii, the runner would soon stop and get back his bearings. The freeter sat himself behind a tree, leaning against it as he did his best to focus on his breathing. While he didn't get too far off from everyone else, Junichiro still ran a significant distance away. As someone who doesn't jog regularly, it really does feel like he should have been more exhausted from that sprint. Was this adrenaline, or are those long hours doing hard labor starting to bear fruit? Whatever the case is, Junichiro thought about his position more. He was lost in the wilderness and it's the middle of the night. He has no cellphone, no map, and no idea where he could be aside from being somewhere in Japan. Maybe hearing the others out was a good idea, after all? They seemed just as lost as he did, with one even showing some concern when he started booking it. Junuchiro sighed at his hastiness once more before gazing up to the stars. He wasn't really one to pay attention to things like constellations and their meanings, but he did remember something about dippers and how they pointed north. What even is a dipper, anyway? Kaoru would have probably known. "Kaoru." That name left his lips solemnly as he started to think of simpler times. Times when all his problems could have been answered by simply asking his best friend. Knowing him, Kaoru would have rallied everyone together and found them all a way out of the woods by now. But Kaoru isn't here anymore. He's been gone for a long time, and Junichiro had to rely on his own knowledge, to make his own decisions. Looking up to the sky, Junichiro traced his fingers along the assortment of stars, trying to make some sense out of them. While he wasn't going to try and remember what any of the constellations are, much less if he could recognize any, he was simply trying to find the brightest. Something constant he could refer to, so that he wouldn't be walking in circles. Once that was found, it was only a matter of following it...</s>	<\|message\|>Iyasu Kaito Kaito sighed. The movement caused a gulp of pure forest air to rush into his lungs, causing a momentary lapse of thought. It felt pleasant, but far too out of the ordinary to grant him any sort of relief among the darkness. It was just another bullet point on the growing list of idiosyncrasies to be tracked and questioned. "It's the only recognizable landmark." An obvious statement. Not the least bit satisfactory to him. He hated uncertainty, and this felt like less of an answer and more of a path to more questions. He started thinking of all the possible things they could encounter upon nearing the torii, with his mind naturally getting more creative with the negative outcomes. Among the majority of those were dark and wild streaks of a desperate man with a firearm and no certain location. When no one what a person was doing, not even themselves, predictions had the tendency to get muddled. He followed the other two at a cautious pace, subconsciously taking faster strides whenever the snapping of a twig or any other noise would sound among the forest. "Going after him could be... dangerous. He asked for some space, so the best course of action should be to respect that." Asked was too soft of a word. Force of habit, he supposed. "But, hm... nevermind. He'll probably also go near the torii since it's the only option available." He brushed away a couple of loose strands of hair near his face, and took a hard look at the darkness surrounding them. "So we should keep going." The words made perfect sense. There certainly was reasoning behind them, and the average person could have agreed that it was the smart thing to do. And yet a certain pain gnawed at him from the inside. A certain desire to help others, not only ignored but intentionally suppressed. The man could find his own way home. He just had to convince himself that it would be the case. It wasn't working.</s>
<\|description\|>Arima Junichiro J U N I C H I R O "So what if I'm throwing my life away? We're all going to die at some point, so just make things easier for the both of us and put the money in the bag."Overview --- Age 20 Gender Male Occupation FreeterCharacterization & Conceptualization --- What Do They Look Like? A completely bland and unassuming young Japanese man, sporting long black hair normally tied into a ponytail, and an otherwise unremarkable face if not for the permanent scar on the bridge of his nose. Standing at 5'9", Junichiro sports a rather average physique, with a bit of notable musculature due to working in menial labor for a while. Junichiro's way of dress makes him look somewhat slimmer than he actually is, sporting long-sleeved shirts and jackets to hide scars both self-inflicted and received from an accident. Junichiro also walks with a very slight limp, although it is unknown to him if they are from injuries his body still has failed to heal, or his own overwork. What Are They Like? A nihilistic and rebellious youth who chafes against tradition. A quiet freak who's depressing to be around. An impertinent brat who says what he wants and doesn't respect his elders. All these things easily describe Junichiro on a surface level. A lot of Junichiro's current issues stem from his survivor's guilt, which did little to help his low sense of self-worth. Prone to self-destructive hobbies and posting on dubious message boards, it could be said that Junichiro is the epitome of all that is wrong with Japan's youth. What's Their Story? Living a quiet life in Kyoto, Junichiro's upbringing was quite average, obtaining average grades and doing all the normal things boys his age did. Having no drive to do anything extraordinary or groundbreaking, he was content to live an average life so long as it was with his childhood friend, Kaoru. To Junichiro, Kaoru was a shining beacon in his otherwise dull life, an outstanding student with dreams to one day become a doctor. Junichiro knew he needed to tell Kaoru his feelings at some point, but he never could quite find the right time to. Sadly, nothing in life was guaranteed, no matter how mundane, and Junichiro would find that out the hard way, months before graduation. Junichiro awakened, almost sandwiched between two bus seats with shards of glass sticking out of his arms, and one of his legs bent at an unnatural angle. He called out Kaoru's name in the chaos, but to no avail, crying out for him to the point of exhaustion. When help finally arrived, Junichiro was already losing consciousness, the last thing he saw was Kaoru giving him a dull and lifeless stare. The lone survivor of a violent bus crash, the news called it a miracle, but Junichiro saw it all as unfair. Why did he have the right to live when there were others on that bus who lived more meaningful lives than he did, who were able to contribute more to the world than he ever would? Their deaths, all of them haunted Junichiro, but none more than Kaoru, his corpse forever burned into Junichiro's mind. Even after his recovery in the hospital, Junichiro never quite healed from that crash. He stayed home every day after that, too afraid to come out of his shell, not out of fear for the world at large and its many dangers, but instead to avoid the attention his story entailed. Junichiro even missed his graduation, having more or less dropped out of high school after that. His family was worried, although there was little they could do to help him. Not wanting to trouble them any longer, Junichiro moved to the big city. To Osaka, where nobody would know him as "the one who lived." In Osaka, Junichiro changed. Rather than the quiet background character, Junichiro developed into a punk who was not afraid to say what he wished, silently regretting the fact he could not say the one thing he yearned to. He became a laborer, doing odd jobs that were hard on his already broken body so that he could distract himself. No matter what he did, however, Junichiro still could not keep those memories, their faces, out of his mind. Junichiro felt he needed to be punished, to atone for the sin of living. It was because of this that lead Junichiro to walk into that convenience store, wearing a face mask and clutching a fake gun tightly in his jacket pocket... Why Did The Wish Choose Them? As scum of the Earth who could not conform to societal norms, those who knew Junichiro would be completely bewildered to hear he was summoned as a hero. However, despite his self-loathing and inability to move on from past trauma, Junichiro carries within deep him a spark to live on, an inborn desire to survive for the sake of those who had fallen. A rather contradictory sort, isn't he? What "Hero" Will They Embody? Why? Possessing a will to endure and a body that has already been broken before, Junichiro is unafraid of putting himself in harm's way for others, believing that he is better off taking any injuries in their stead. Junichiro also possesses the decisive courage of a knight, to do what is required and say what is needed, as he knows the pain of being unable to say what his heart truly yearned for. A survivor in both body and mind, Junichiro's very being resembles the Hero of Defense. What Belongings Will They Take With Them? - An airsoft M1911, painted black to resemble a real gun. Unloaded and without gas. - A black, ragged facemask. - A baseball cap with the logo of an American punk rock band.Talents & Abilities --- Mundane Talents As a freelancer who gravitated towards less glamorous ways to make a living, Junichiro possesses the physique of a laborer. That is to say, it is not quite impressive, and those who actually care about fitness would scoff at how much he could actually lift. Nonetheless, it would be a mistake to refer to Junichiro as merely "weak." Junichiro also possesses minor knowledge in construction work and waste management, well aware of Japan's complex garbage disposal laws. Achieved Abilities & Knowledges Zero.</s> <\|message\|>Arima Junichiro --- Junichiro stirred awake at last, his eyes fluttering open to the starlit sky. Between the smell of fresh air and the grassy bed that he had awoken upon, the freeter had a feeling he wasn't quite in Osaka anymore. Before he stood up to look around, Junichiro quickly closed his eyes once more when he heard the sound of others awakening. He wasn't quite sure where he was, but he also didn't want to deal with strangers after having a rough night's sleep like this... not without first having an idea where he was. Junichiro tried to think back to his last memory, hazy as it was. He was definitely at that FamilyMart, clenching his false weapon tightly and pointing it at the cashier before a sharp pain struck the back of his head, and... "Shit..." A whispered expletive left the young man's lips as he pondered his situation more. Was there a thug in that store that he pissed off? Or, worse, was it protected by the yakuza? Whatever it was, Junichiro's heart couldn't help but thump quickly as he realized the ramification of his actions. He's heard the stories, after all. A part of him wanted to get caught, to be punished for his actions, but a larger part wanted his fingers and his toes intact. Emptying the contents of his bladder, Junichiro thought to himself just how in the hell was he supposed to get out of this. Hearing them talking amongst themselves, the young man thought they were distracted enough for him to make a run for it! Sitting up, Junichiro was surprised to feel that one of his jacket's pockets still had that familiar weight to it. Junichiro still had his gun, it seemed. Without a second thought, Junichiro quickly stood up to face the rest. For a very brief moment, he'd be surprised at how quickly he was able to get up, given his condition. After all, his bad leg hurt the most in the morning, when he would first stand up for today. Chalking it up to adrenaline, the freeter clumsily pulled his false armament out, pointing it in the direction of the flashing smartphone lights. Assuming they were naught but thugs and criminals, and not taking any more time to get his bearings, Junichiro held his airsoft M1911 tightly in both hands in a way that would make a gun enthusiast shake their head. He then shouted to the top of his lungs, ignorant of whatever other dangers may lurk deep within these woods. "Don't fuck with me!"</s> <\|message\|>Kaneko, Ohta Shit message, if that was the case. Why didn't those slimey bottomfeeders keep the messaging subtle when they went after the suite? Kept it private, personal. Not blown it up so much that it was impossible to find a relative that hadn't heard of his parents' misdeeds. Ohta simmered quietly, his gaze focused nowhere in particular. The consuming darkness and the stark, electronic light made it easy to zone out, even as he regarded the others in the same light. A girl? A woman? Something inbetween, someone also stuck with the sharks, if messages were what she made of this. A foppish man, well-kept with long hair. Performer, perhaps? Musician or idol. Had that sort of feel to him. And the last... "Don't fuck with me!" A gun. A real fucking gun. Right here. Outta nowhere. Pointed at them. Ohta froze, the terror and aggression on the man's face amplified by the shadows cast by the smartphone. His mind churned. His heart burned. Out here, in the middle of nowhere. Two strangers, one enemy. No light in sight other than his own. Close range. Fuck this guy. Turn off the light, tackle his legs, wrestle away the gun, and then bash his fucking skull in. It'll be easy. It'll be clean. Who here would report him to the cops? With four words, it became us versus him. And Ohta felt great. He felt energized. He felt as if he could do it. No hesitation. Take his hands and pull that fucking subhuman's face into two meaty pieces. But a gun was a gun. And murder was murder. What were the optics? Could he risk it? Didn't have medical for bullet wounds. Worse off if this punk was one of the higher ups' relatives. Was this just the high from having somehow gotten proper rest? Was this just the straw of bullshit that burst his dam? Ohta shifted his gaze down, away from the gunman's face. He couldn't risk it. Couldn't even risk being pissed about it. "No one's fucking with you, man," came his sycophant voice, traitorous and serpentine. "Lower your gun, please? We're not even sure why we're here." But if the gunman did, if the chances of getting shot out of the blue decreased, would that tilt the scales in Ohta's decision-making? Make his initial response more reasonable? He didn't know. Not yet. So he kept his smartphone's light trained on the man, waiting for those eyes to adjust, to grow accustomed to light. Accustomed to seeing, until it was turned off.</s> <\|message\|>Ikazuchi Hiroko --- Unnamed Forest - ??? --- Hiroko nodded at Kaito, pleased with his introduction and a name to add to the face. She rolled her shoulders in a shrug. "Don't know. Can't remember anything." She admitted. From the confused reaction from Kaito, it would seem that he didn't know anything either. What a strange coincidence. Her hand reached up to the back of her neck, turning to the torii. "Can't think of anyone who can-" Cut off by the final man in their group, eyes wide with surprise and horror as a gun was trained right at the man who held the light. Could it be that he was part of the group that decided to teach them a lesson? Though, from his reaction, some part of Hiroko's brain argued that he was probably just as lost as they were. But he was armed. And they weren't. He was up in arms and ready to pull the trigger at them. Hiroko had never been in a situation like this before. She's faced customers who would scream at her face for doing things according to policy or because of a misunderstanding. Those, she can handle with no problems. But this? This was beyond her paygrade. Most of her instincts were telling her to duck, take cover somewhere. But all around her were just grass and she doubted that the torii could cover herself fully. Besides, what's stopping the man from unloading an entire clip on them while they were scrambling for cover. Hiroko was itching to have something on hand to at least fight back with but she doubted a lighter would make a difference. The other man began speaking to try and defuse the situation. A brave choice considering the gun was pointing at him. "We're just trying to figure out where we are so we can get back." Hiroko added, her tone a lot softer and more genuine than the flashlight holder. "We're not going to hurt you." Or well, she was speaking for herself for the most part. It wasn't like she knew any moves besides the basics to fight someone off with anyway.</s>	<\|message\|>Arima Junichiro A bead of sweat rolled down Junichiro's forehead as he kept his gun trained towards the light. Whoever these people were, whatever is going on, he couldn't help but feel as if perhaps they were in the same situation as himself. Maybe they've all crossed the yakuza, and they were all thrown here to "disappear." Maybe this was some sick joke by some underworld boss and they're all being secretly filmed. Regardless, Junichiro did not falter in his stance. "Just stay back, all of you!" The freeter exclaimed, stepping backwards slowly. He waved his gun at each of them, although he kept it particularly pointed at the two who spoke to him. As he did, he took quick glances of his surroundings, getting a better idea of where they were at. In particular, Junichiro was interested in that giant torii, thinking it would lead back to civilization. Taking a breath and regaining his composure, Junichiro would open his mouth to speak once more, his arms faltering slightly. Before he could utter a word, however, the light from the man's smartphone would give out. Did it run out of batteries? Whatever the case may be, the young man knew he lost most of his leverage with that light away. He could barely see in the dark, and that bright light didn't help. Knowing full well that he would lose control of the situation soon, especially without some sort of warning shot, Junichiro would instead do exactly what was expected of someone whose first actions after waking up in an unknown place would include pissing themselves. The freeter ran off, beelining for the torii. Using the rush of adrenaline to push through the somewhat absent feeling of pain in his legs, Junichiro would pass through the gates, abandoning those he had woken up with. Sure, there was strength in numbers especially in a remote place like this, but sticking with the rest seemed futile to the nihilistic young man. If anything, knowing his luck, Junichiro would just end up getting the rest of them killed as well. And besides, he still didn't trust any of them.</s>
<\|description\|>Arima Junichiro J U N I C H I R O "So what if I'm throwing my life away? We're all going to die at some point, so just make things easier for the both of us and put the money in the bag."Overview --- Age 20 Gender Male Occupation FreeterCharacterization & Conceptualization --- What Do They Look Like? A completely bland and unassuming young Japanese man, sporting long black hair normally tied into a ponytail, and an otherwise unremarkable face if not for the permanent scar on the bridge of his nose. Standing at 5'9", Junichiro sports a rather average physique, with a bit of notable musculature due to working in menial labor for a while. Junichiro's way of dress makes him look somewhat slimmer than he actually is, sporting long-sleeved shirts and jackets to hide scars both self-inflicted and received from an accident. Junichiro also walks with a very slight limp, although it is unknown to him if they are from injuries his body still has failed to heal, or his own overwork. What Are They Like? A nihilistic and rebellious youth who chafes against tradition. A quiet freak who's depressing to be around. An impertinent brat who says what he wants and doesn't respect his elders. All these things easily describe Junichiro on a surface level. A lot of Junichiro's current issues stem from his survivor's guilt, which did little to help his low sense of self-worth. Prone to self-destructive hobbies and posting on dubious message boards, it could be said that Junichiro is the epitome of all that is wrong with Japan's youth. What's Their Story? Living a quiet life in Kyoto, Junichiro's upbringing was quite average, obtaining average grades and doing all the normal things boys his age did. Having no drive to do anything extraordinary or groundbreaking, he was content to live an average life so long as it was with his childhood friend, Kaoru. To Junichiro, Kaoru was a shining beacon in his otherwise dull life, an outstanding student with dreams to one day become a doctor. Junichiro knew he needed to tell Kaoru his feelings at some point, but he never could quite find the right time to. Sadly, nothing in life was guaranteed, no matter how mundane, and Junichiro would find that out the hard way, months before graduation. Junichiro awakened, almost sandwiched between two bus seats with shards of glass sticking out of his arms, and one of his legs bent at an unnatural angle. He called out Kaoru's name in the chaos, but to no avail, crying out for him to the point of exhaustion. When help finally arrived, Junichiro was already losing consciousness, the last thing he saw was Kaoru giving him a dull and lifeless stare. The lone survivor of a violent bus crash, the news called it a miracle, but Junichiro saw it all as unfair. Why did he have the right to live when there were others on that bus who lived more meaningful lives than he did, who were able to contribute more to the world than he ever would? Their deaths, all of them haunted Junichiro, but none more than Kaoru, his corpse forever burned into Junichiro's mind. Even after his recovery in the hospital, Junichiro never quite healed from that crash. He stayed home every day after that, too afraid to come out of his shell, not out of fear for the world at large and its many dangers, but instead to avoid the attention his story entailed. Junichiro even missed his graduation, having more or less dropped out of high school after that. His family was worried, although there was little they could do to help him. Not wanting to trouble them any longer, Junichiro moved to the big city. To Osaka, where nobody would know him as "the one who lived." In Osaka, Junichiro changed. Rather than the quiet background character, Junichiro developed into a punk who was not afraid to say what he wished, silently regretting the fact he could not say the one thing he yearned to. He became a laborer, doing odd jobs that were hard on his already broken body so that he could distract himself. No matter what he did, however, Junichiro still could not keep those memories, their faces, out of his mind. Junichiro felt he needed to be punished, to atone for the sin of living. It was because of this that lead Junichiro to walk into that convenience store, wearing a face mask and clutching a fake gun tightly in his jacket pocket... Why Did The Wish Choose Them? As scum of the Earth who could not conform to societal norms, those who knew Junichiro would be completely bewildered to hear he was summoned as a hero. However, despite his self-loathing and inability to move on from past trauma, Junichiro carries within deep him a spark to live on, an inborn desire to survive for the sake of those who had fallen. A rather contradictory sort, isn't he? What "Hero" Will They Embody? Why? Possessing a will to endure and a body that has already been broken before, Junichiro is unafraid of putting himself in harm's way for others, believing that he is better off taking any injuries in their stead. Junichiro also possesses the decisive courage of a knight, to do what is required and say what is needed, as he knows the pain of being unable to say what his heart truly yearned for. A survivor in both body and mind, Junichiro's very being resembles the Hero of Defense. What Belongings Will They Take With Them? - An airsoft M1911, painted black to resemble a real gun. Unloaded and without gas. - A black, ragged facemask. - A baseball cap with the logo of an American punk rock band.Talents & Abilities --- Mundane Talents As a freelancer who gravitated towards less glamorous ways to make a living, Junichiro possesses the physique of a laborer. That is to say, it is not quite impressive, and those who actually care about fitness would scoff at how much he could actually lift. Nonetheless, it would be a mistake to refer to Junichiro as merely "weak." Junichiro also possesses minor knowledge in construction work and waste management, well aware of Japan's complex garbage disposal laws. Achieved Abilities & Knowledges Zero.</s> <\|message\|>Arima Junichiro --- A bead of sweat rolled down Junichiro's forehead as he kept his gun trained towards the light. Whoever these people were, whatever is going on, he couldn't help but feel as if perhaps they were in the same situation as himself. Maybe they've all crossed the yakuza, and they were all thrown here to "disappear." Maybe this was some sick joke by some underworld boss and they're all being secretly filmed. Regardless, Junichiro did not falter in his stance. "Just stay back, all of you!" The freeter exclaimed, stepping backwards slowly. He waved his gun at each of them, although he kept it particularly pointed at the two who spoke to him. As he did, he took quick glances of his surroundings, getting a better idea of where they were at. In particular, Junichiro was interested in that giant torii, thinking it would lead back to civilization. Taking a breath and regaining his composure, Junichiro would open his mouth to speak once more, his arms faltering slightly. Before he could utter a word, however, the light from the man's smartphone would give out. Did it run out of batteries? Whatever the case may be, the young man knew he lost most of his leverage with that light away. He could barely see in the dark, and that bright light didn't help. Knowing full well that he would lose control of the situation soon, especially without some sort of warning shot, Junichiro would instead do exactly what was expected of someone whose first actions after waking up in an unknown place would include pissing themselves. The freeter ran off, beelining for the torii. Using the rush of adrenaline to push through the somewhat absent feeling of pain in his legs, Junichiro would pass through the gates, abandoning those he had woken up with. Sure, there was strength in numbers especially in a remote place like this, but sticking with the rest seemed futile to the nihilistic young man. If anything, knowing his luck, Junichiro would just end up getting the rest of them killed as well. And besides, he still didn't trust any of them.</s> <\|message\|>Iyasu Kaito --- So they hadn't been thrown out. Kaito could only give Hiroko a small nod, not wanting to plunge the odd mood into a more negative direction. He figured it got engulfed by the darkness around them. Another awkward interaction. No matter, the silence was more than enough. It was the most comfortable option when one had no idea what was happening. It didn't last. A shout from one of the others made his head whip to face directly towards the sight of a gun. An actual, real life gun. Had the man not been wielding it with a desperation that radiated throughout his entire body, Kaito could have probably tried to reason it was a prop or similar. But the look across that man's eyes couldn't be imitated. "N-no need for that, now," he said, hands placed tensely in front of him. The smooth voice he employed during therapy was out in full force, albeit with cracks forming all over. This was far beyond his range of expertise, and far removed from any experience had with a client. What did this man want? Was it respect? Answers? Money? Was that it? There were too many variables, too many things he didn't know. Ideas came and went yet none were strong enough for him to unclench his jaw. The man ran off before he had anything resembling an answer. Kaito wanted to approach him, but his legs stayed rooted in place. He instead filled his lungs with the forest air and shouted. "Aren't you also lost?!" Mutual survival. The kind of condition that made one wild animal work with another. In this strange forest with no civilization in sight, it made sense in a gloomy sort of way. He could only hope the man would realize that.</s> <\|message\|>Kaneko, Ohta The problem solved itself. If only all problems could do that. Ohta let out a breath as the gunman, perhaps driven by some irrational fear of the dark, ran off into the distance, taking himself and his gun far, far away. Maybe he'll be a problem in the future, but for now, they could all breathe a bit more clearly. He shook his head, then stood up, allowing his own eyes to adjust to the darkness. Only 50% or so left for his charge. Shouldn't waste it until they got somewhere with reception. The direction the gunman went was annoying though. He didn't really want to head in the direction of the torii, in case that fucking idiot took that as a sign of pursuit and started shooting, but if there was going to be any paved path out of here, it would be from the torii. So he suggested instead. "Maybe, uh, we should go after him?" He pocketed his phone and clutched his lunchbox to his chest. "At least up to the torii there. Might be, mm, a path out from there." One thing convenient about the gunman: his scene meant that self-introductions could be delayed for a bit longer. More time to judge whether it'd be a truth or a lie that Ohta used to identify himself to these strangers.</s> <\|message\|>Ikazuchi Hiroko --- Unnamed Forest - ??? --- The gunner bolted past them and ran through the torii and disappeared from their sight thanks to the darkness around them. She let out a ragged breath. First, waking up in some unknown forest and next being held at gunpoint? How could this possibly get any worst? Still, the threat was gone and maybe they could properly recollect their thoughts this time. At the very least, the other two were cooperative - maybe it was because they understood that right now, their best bet was staying with each other... even if none of them particularly knew each other. Kaito, perhaps in an act of empathy or harboring the same thoughts as her, called out to the gunner but he was already long gone. Hiroko wondered if there were any animals that were attracted to the commotion. Hopefully not, she wasn't carrying any tools with her that would serve as any sort of defense mechanism. "Yeah, that way is our best bet." Hiroko sighed. As much as she also didn't want to follow the agitated man, they did have little choice in the matter. "Hopefully, he already made some distance. I just want to get out of here..." She looked between the two of them before moving forward to take the lead. Hopefully, that'll ease both of them to a more comfortable state. They needed a little more trust between them after all.</s>	<\|message\|>Arima Junichiro Junichiro ran deeper into the forest, putting a fair bit of distance between himself and those he had woken up surrounded by. While it was dark, the night's sky offered enough light for the young man to not run into a tree. Still, traversing these wooded lands in the dead of night was not an easy task, especially for one who lived in a suburban environment their whole life. With this in mind along with the fact that there seems to be no sign of civilization aside from that torii, the runner would soon stop and get back his bearings. The freeter sat himself behind a tree, leaning against it as he did his best to focus on his breathing. While he didn't get too far off from everyone else, Junichiro still ran a significant distance away. As someone who doesn't jog regularly, it really does feel like he should have been more exhausted from that sprint. Was this adrenaline, or are those long hours doing hard labor starting to bear fruit? Whatever the case is, Junichiro thought about his position more. He was lost in the wilderness and it's the middle of the night. He has no cellphone, no map, and no idea where he could be aside from being somewhere in Japan. Maybe hearing the others out was a good idea, after all? They seemed just as lost as he did, with one even showing some concern when he started booking it. Junuchiro sighed at his hastiness once more before gazing up to the stars. He wasn't really one to pay attention to things like constellations and their meanings, but he did remember something about dippers and how they pointed north. What even is a dipper, anyway? Kaoru would have probably known. "Kaoru." That name left his lips solemnly as he started to think of simpler times. Times when all his problems could have been answered by simply asking his best friend. Knowing him, Kaoru would have rallied everyone together and found them all a way out of the woods by now. But Kaoru isn't here anymore. He's been gone for a long time, and Junichiro had to rely on his own knowledge, to make his own decisions. Looking up to the sky, Junichiro traced his fingers along the assortment of stars, trying to make some sense out of them. While he wasn't going to try and remember what any of the constellations are, much less if he could recognize any, he was simply trying to find the brightest. Something constant he could refer to, so that he wouldn't be walking in circles. Once that was found, it was only a matter of following it...</s>
<\|description\|>Ryder Drake --- Art by Merwild Age: 24 School Year: 4th Specialty/Apprenticeship: Combat Magic Affinity: Hex Magic Class: Hex with a side of Arcane * Ryder focuses mostly on buffing himself with hexes and taking down his opponent the good old way of melee combat. He also dabbles in some arcane magic for the occasional shield and utility he might need. Though he's not particularly used to the much higher mana cost of arcane spells, which can become a bit of a problem when you also factor in his tendency to not be conservative with his mana in general. Good thing mana stones exist. * Casting aide: Spear \| Element: Fire Home Country: Soria Personality: Ryder is a calm and disciplined person, at home with falling in line with the chain of command and putting his pesky feelings and morals aside for the good of the mission. Or that's what he aspires to at least. He has a bit of an impulsive streak he aims to keep under wraps but nonetheless finds himself acting before thinking in the heat of the moment. After which he often resorts to second-guessing whatever rash actions he took and kicking himself over it, sometimes regardless of whether the consequences were good or bad. Similarly, he has a habit of trying to keep his feelings in check in day-to-day life as well, wary of building connections with people even though he'd very much like to make some friends. Even though it may be a bit irrational in the current climate, Ryder has taken Soria's philosophy of the needs of the many too much to heart and is thus afraid of the looming possibility he'd have to put the collective above a possible individual friend. The uncertainty of whether he'd be able to do that is of course an added layer of scary. Everyone is expendable and it's easier if the expendables aren't important. Unfortunately or fortunately, Ryder's better at following his own advice when it comes to just himself. Thus, Ryder can come off as slightly cold and stand-offish to many people as he tries to keep people at arm's length. However, he sees no gain in being downright hostile to people or making enemies so he's generally polite to most and open to lending a hand when needed. He's also rather averse to talking back to his superiors. In fact, he may or may not have developed a bit of a reputation as an ass-kisser or teacher's pet in some circles during his studies in Isunia. There is one subject that tends to have greater success at making Ryder's discipline and defences around his emotions slip: Magic technology. Despite his choice not to pursue the craft himself, he's rather fascinated and excited by different magical gadgets, especially any he hasn't seen before. His first year in Isunia was therefore quite the journey of wonder and discovery. In general, Ryder's rather open to exploring new things and experiences if they catch his interest, he just tries not to be too obvious about it because enthusiasm is apparently a childish trait or whatever. Notes: * In addition to a flying stone, makes sure to have some mana stones rattling around in his pockets. * A heathen who likes raisins in cookies. * Has claustrophobia. History: Born into a somewhat well-known and well-off military family, Ryder's path in life was always implicitly and explicitly influenced by the location of his birth. Growing up with tales of Soria's good old days and immediate role models in his family, most notably his older brother, the little rascal's sights were set on a military career from early on. Despite being ten years Ryder's senior, Marcell didn't mind entertaining his baby brother and encouraging the occasional mischief when the strict disciplinary eyes of their household were away. As a child, Ryder wanted nothing more than to be just like his big brother. Marcell's departure for his responsibilities as an adult was thus rough for Ryder at first, but it also served as a great dose of motivation to catch up. Which he did do and then went beyond. He served his two years of mandatory military service and decided to take a chance at applying to Isunia before continuing his military career. Isunia was a milestone Marcell had also taken a shot at but wasn't accepted so of course he couldn't have been prouder when the little gremlin he calls his brother surpassed him in that regard. Upon finding his affinity, Ryder's choice of class and later specialization was a no-brainer. It'd be a waste to go against what was in his very blood, right? He was content with following the path laid out in front of him. If he best serves the well-being of his people by putting his body through the wringer with close combat and hex-abuse, so be it. Relationships: Parents: Aidric and Farrow Drake * On the surface level, Ryder and his father are on good terms. However, due to Aidric's domineering and strict nature, their relationship has never been particularly warm or close. Aidric can be rather demanding and not the most forthcoming with fatherly praise and Ryder would rather not disappoint him. * Ryder's relationship with his mother is even more distant in nature. Farrow has always been more career oriented than a homemaker and probably wouldn't have had kids if it had been entirely her own choice. She agreed on one so she had even less patience with playing mother for the second unplanned one. They're cordial but overt displays or declarations of affection are not to be expected. Brother: Marcell Drake * The closest relationship Ryder has. Once Marcell was in his teens, he had a large hand in raising his little brother. Having grown up under the same strict roof with expectations, Marcell was happy to provide his brother what he had wished he'd had in his childhood: A safe place for frivolous play where messing up only nets you light teasing. They're still in frequent contact despite life and responsibilities having stolen a lot of their time and attention. * Ryder nicknamed him Marcy as a child, which he was never fond of but let it slide nonetheless. He'll still let Ryder get away with teasing him by using it.</s> <\|message\|>Emrin Carth The 10 Masters of Isunia sat at a semicircular table staring at the images of eight students floating in front of them. It was the early hours of the morning; most students had long gone to bed. "Are we all in agreement that it will be these eight?" Emmaline asked. "I still think they are too young," Zayla said, "But they are the best of the volunteers." "We've been over this a million times," Abindra replied wearily, "The other countries will be less suspicious of a group of students than they would a group of professionals." "They are skilled enough," Sylvain said. "But not so skilled that we would have to worry about any one of them taking the stone for themselves." "As long as Isac does his job properly." "Excuse me! When have I EVER failed at this kind of work? These kinds of binding hexes are my specialty." "That's enough! Are we all in agreement then?" The Masters all nodded and Abindra waved her arm and the images disappeared. "Then I'll summon them right away." Adrissa closed her eyes, sending out a telepathic summon to the students. "Most of them will be asleep now. Shouldn't we go in person?" "Not to worry. I made sure to make the message loud enough to wake them." --- Emrin had been working when the message came booming into her head. COME TO THE MASTERS' ROOM NOW. The shock caused her to knock over her third (or was it her fourth?) cup of coffee all over the notes she had been painstakingly making. Emrin swore loudly and cast a spell to dry the papers, but in her tired state, only succeeded in blowing them off her desk and scattering them about her room. Emrin sighed and rubbed her eyes tiredly. What time was it? Late. Or early, depending on how you saw it. She quickly gathered the ruined notes and stacked them in a messy pile on her desk. She'd have to wait until her return to deal with them. Emrin entered the Masters' room and bowed politely, trying not to let her annoyance show on her face. Master Sylvain saw her disheveled state and grinned, "Another late night Emrin? I hope we didn't interrupt you." Master Sylvain was the only professor teaching Rune Theory at the university. He knew all of his students well. "No worries, Master Sylvain. It wasn't important." She replied curtly. "Take a seat," he said gesturing to seven chairs arranged in front of the Masters. "You're the first one here."</s> <\|message\|>By Rhivenx Liah was sleeping quite soundly with her arms and legs wrapped around a large pillow, if one were in the room they could hear the soft mumble of her speaking in her sleep, along with an occasional cute snore. The snore wasn't her though. That was Rascal. Wedged in between Liah and her pillow. Their peaceful rest was rudely interrupted by the yell in Liahs head, causing her to jolt awake and consequently… fall off her bed with a loud thud. A soft whine came up from the cold floor, and then nothing for a moment or two. Rascal, who was wide awake now… watched with its head on the pillow as he heard grunting, groaning and straining while a loud slap of a hand could be heard on the hard floor multiple times, as if liah was stretching for something while still on the floor. Then silence. Another flurry of movement, Rascal watched as liah's legs shot straight up with pants on the end of her feet, groaning more as she reached up and pulled them down, tying them off once on. Before crawling to her knees and pulling herself up slowly. Her eyes still closed as she did. Now she was grumbling, irritated and uttering curses and whines under her breath as she searched her room looking for her warmest cloak. Tossing clothes all around her, some landing on Rascal as she did. Finally finding it, she made her way to the door, slipping on her shoes while hopping, her grumbling now even louder. Rascal could hear now, "Why do they HAVE to.. She grumbled angrily as she pulled her final shoe on. "Couldn't they wait Just... She said before opening the door and slamming it behind her. Rascal let out a puff of breath before nuzzling under the pillow. Content that it didn't have to go with... The door slammed open again "Oh no, if I can't sleep, you are not getting any." She said to him as she pulled him out from under the pillow and into her arms. Then finally making her way to the masters room. Opening the door with one eye open, as the lights were still too bright, she saw all the masters there, along with Emrin who was still standing. If she knew Emrin, it was most likely was already awake doing her research as usual...well, really she hadn't even gone to bed yet. The masters and Emrin would have easily seen how Liah got dressed in the dark, with a pink tunic, tan pants, black shoes, and brown cloak. Her hair was a rats nest and hastily half way put up as she made her way from her room. Rubbing her closed eye with her free hand slipping out from under her cloak she gave a short bow. Her annoyance was not as well hidden as Emrin. But it was under control enough she had stopped cursing well before she got to the masters door. "I just want to say, I'm innocent…of...whatever it is we were called here...for." Liah said cautiously. Clearly confused and still waking up.</s>	<\|message\|>Ryder Drake It had taken Ryder some time of tossing and turning before sleep finally welcomed him that evening, so the sudden wake-up call wasn't exactly a pleasant surprise as he jolted awake. However, he only allowed himself a fleeting moment of annoyance and a single displeased grumble before prying himself up from his bed. Grabbing a collection of clothes from a chair where he had neatly folded them not too long ago, Ryder let his minder wander to the possible reasons for such a summon as he proceeded to quickly dress himself on autopilot. A mix of excitement, nerves, and dread coiled in his gut as he thought back on the mission application he had sent in. If that's what this is related to, then, well... Focus. Ryder cleared his throat, the sound piercing the quiet small space as he pulled on a jacket over his grey sleeveless shirt and brushed off a speck of dust or dirt that may or may not be truly there off one sleeve. Stopping to glance at himself in a mirror, he smoothed the few wrinkles from the front of his simple black pants even though it was mostly futile and straightened up the hem of his jacket. The core of his outfits tended to be dominated by practicality for a good tumbling around, accompanied with something discardable to keep him warm, but not too warm, and give him a semblance of formality. It was good enough for this sudden meeting as well. He'd be good to go if it wasn't for the persistent fog of sleep trying to cling to his mind. But for that, he had a remedy. Running through the familiar calculations in his head, he placed a hex to boost his alertness on himself, forgoing a magic circle. He doubted he'd be needing that bit of wasted mana from the direct cast that night and he regretted nothing. This way he'd be ready to face whatever the masters had to throw at him without spending time guzzling down pots of coffee. So he had better not waste that saved time dillydallying around. Into his boots his feet went and he was out the door, jogging down the hall to make up for the time spent getting dressed. Before entering the room, Ryder hurriedly ran his fingers through his hair to smooth it back and fix it in place the best he was able to without proper tools. Stepping onto the other side of the door, he acknowledged the masters with a bow before straightening his back, keeping his arms tucked behind himself as he awaited further instructions. Although, he did give the other apparently summoned students a glance from the corner of his eye, finding himself raising an eyebrow at the blue otter in one of the girls' grasp. From the looks of it, she had just grabbed whatever was within reach on her way out of her room, her beast included. He couldn't say he knew her or the other girl already present, which wasn't particularly surprising. But if he were to have anything to do with them in the near future as a result of this sudden meeting, he'd have to get to know them on a basic level at least. He furrowed his brows at that notion, redirecting his focus on the masters instead. Getting to know people was dangerous.</s>
<\|description\|>-The Missing Students- Ikeru Mineri \| Chousuke Makoto \| Natsuhime Hanami \| Nakano Reiji \| Daijirou Kudan Ikeru Mineri was a first-year who went missing. Previously having lived alone, not much is known about her family. She was an active participant in the Choir Club, having an enchanting voice best suited for classical songs. That said, she often hopped from club to club helping out whenever members were short. Those that knew her noted that she was a charming if a little airheaded girl who cherished her friendships. Chousuke Makoto was a second-year who went missing. A cheerful, soft-spoken young man who was always open to help others, his family used to own a bakery in town. After his disappearance, the bakery closed down when they decided to move away from Kyoto. He was a popular member of the school's Cooking Club and was said to be able to cook and bake better than even most adults. He wished to travel the world to sample foreign cuisine. Natsuhime Hanami was a second-year who went missing. A popular and kind-hearted girl, Hanami would have been the current student council president. She believed heavily in doing her part as a member of society and strode to help everyone in her power. She treasured her friends dearly, though she was just as likely to strike up a conversation with any stranger. Her mother is desperate to find her to gain some closure. Nakano Reiji was a third-year who went missing. Known throughout Kyoto for his skill in kendo, he has practiced since he was young and placed in several championships. While he kept mostly to himself, it was obvious that his talent extended to nearly everything he tried. He was always open to challengers and loved participating in matches. He doted on his younger sister, balancing a good work-home life and ensuring the house was always taken care of. Daijirou Kudan was a first-year who went missing. A boisterous kid infamous among the staff, it was clear he had issues with authority and following rules. Still, he behaved long enough to participate in basketball, being good enough to be placed as a starter despite being a first-year. He was attached to his friends due to a lonely home life; despite being the son of Daijirou Ken, a councilman, it was obvious he was neglected and acted out for attention. --- School Related NPCS --- Faculty Momoji Aya Class 2-A Teacher Suzuki Keiko Class 3-B Teacher Wada Fujitaka Principal Taniguchi Honda Vice Principal Students Yamamoto Kenta 3rd Year \| Valecditorian Ichinose Kaede 2nd Year \| Queen Bee Maeda Takeshi 3rd Year \| Queen Bee BF Yoshizawa Banri 3rd Year \| #thuglife Watanabe Junko 2nd Year \| Queen Bee BFF Nakagawa Chika 2nd Year \| Queen Bee BFF #2 Mizuame Rin - "Linda" 3rd Year \| Cooking Club Leader Maeda Kaito 2nd Year \| Cooking Club Maeda Ichigo Middle Schooler Sanada Yukimura 3rd Year \| Kendo Club Captain Kogoro Anzu 3rd Year \| Archery Club Captain --- Townspeople --- Kinoshita Sora 1st Year \| Student Council Secretary \| Photography Club Natsuhime Himawari A middle school student and younger sister of Natsuhime Hanami. The loss of her sister has caused Himawari to become reclusive despite her previously cheery demeanor. Her mother, Natsuhime Haruka, is currently searching for a tutor to help her keep up with her studies. Kogoro Ichiro A private investigator hired by Natsuhime Haruka to find her missing daughter. He has often butted heads with the Kyoto Police, finding it difficult to believe their incompetence in the missing students' case. Yamazaki Sadakuno A detective working for the Kyoto Police who had been previously assigned to the missing students' case. After months of nothing, he has deduced that the students caused the arson and accidentally killed themselves after finding no evidence of foul play. Yamada Taro A convenience store owner who speaks very little. He mostly cares that the job gets done and will hire just about anyone. That being said, he's quick to correct disrespect and doesn't tolerate violence. Rumor has it that he is a former gang member, although it's disagreed which gang he was a part of. ---</s> <\|message\|>-The Missing Students- --- --- 'Don't worry about it' nearly always meant there was something to worry about. While the urge to argue bubbled up like a fizzy soda, Sakuya promptly kept her mouth shut. At least he finally backed away, giving her space to let out a tiny huff of disproval. If he was going to invade her space like that more often, then she needed to better handle it. Strange, she was used to getting yelled at until people's faces were blue, but this kid was...weird. Really, really weird. Admittedly, she wondered why she had such a reputation for being intimidating if an outsider clearly didn't have any issue challenging her. Though, once again, he decided their conversation was over, capping it off--again--by mentioning lunch. Sakuya's scoff was much more audible, shooting Noriaki a glare of disproval. "I'll have to see what I have in my fridge, you mention food so much that I wonder if you're secretly starving yourself," She huffed out a mediocre comeback. Once he began to walk, however, she made it clear that she was definitely walking with him. "I'll see you out since I'm going home as well." She stated, not wanting any misunderstandings. Once the two reached outside, the sun barely hung over them. It looked like there was going to be an early sunset today, the weather turning crisp as a chilly wind blew throughout the town. Letting out a sigh, Sakuya tried to judge where Noriaki would be walking so she wouldn't get accused of following him. However, she came to a stop once she noticed a young girl standing on the sidewalk. Her light brown hair almost looked golden in the sunlight, and as she turned around, her bright, brown eyes widened considerably. Her uniform was that of a nearby middle school, though she didn't look much older than a seventh year. "Himawari?" Sakuya openly questioned the girl. Unfortunately, said girl was deaf to Sakuya's call, letting out a gasp. Without warning, she ran over to Noriaki, dropping her bag and hugging him tightly. "Nakano-senpai! You came back! You really came back!" She cried, her tiny voice relieved. --- --- Anzu let out a small sigh, leaning back against the table as she looked at Yori. She wasn't entirely sure how to reply at first, though she figured she may as well get the second thing out of the way. "I'm not sure we would be able to get much help from any teachers in time. They step in if things are unfair and you have the proof, but generally, they try not to interfere since we students should handle our issues properly." Her fingers tapped her arm, though she ended up uncrossing them. "That isn't to say I'll be taking a 'no' lightly. But I don't want any unnecessary friction, either," She gave the girl a pointed look. "Diplomacy can take you a long way if you're willing to use it. We go prepared for the worst and hope for the best." --- ---</s> <\|message\|>HOSHINO NORIAKI HOSHINO NORIAKI \| \| \| \| xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx D A T E --- April 11th 2018 L O C A T I O N --- Hinotori Highschool T A G S --- \| "I'm just making your job easy for you. What kind of senpai would you be if your poor underclassmen go without a homecooked meal?" It wasn't exactly his best banter, but the little huffs and puffs that his words garnered made it clear he was achieving his goal. If he managed to worm his way under Nakano's skin, maybe she would stop showing up to pester him about this and that for her own self-satisfaction. He had enough women to answer to as it was, between the cat-girl and his parole officer, so he certainly didn't have the patience to placate her desire to live up to expectation. His japes must not have been sharp enough to see her off entirely, as he found her trailing after him, although she made some lame excuse as to why she needed to do so. It was almost lame enough as to be believable. The outside world provided a much needed reprieve, thankfully. It was unusually cool for a spring day, an unfortunate affair after the previous day's incessant down-pour. He could at least be grateful that chill of the air helped him clear his head; something Noriaki found himself sorely in need of, his week having been what it was. As the two of them cleared the school's gates, he briefly wondered whether or not they would be walking in the same direction—the absolute last thing he needed was the president tagging along on his daily commute home. It was bad enough that the little white she-devil from the mirror world would inevitably be accosting him on the route more often than not, and he didn't want to explain the cat's strange attachment to him to his huffy upperclassman. In lieu of the cat, it seemed another would be accosting him that particular day. He didn't think too much of the middle schooler until she took to staring at him with wide eyes. Nakano seemed to call out to her, but it fell on deaf ears. Before he knew it, the girl was throwing herself into his chest and squeezing him with all her might. It was certainly a bizarre happening, and the only clue as to why lay in her muffled cries. Nakano-senpai? If she had meant to hug the class president, she had missed by a country mile. Of course, it didn't seem at all like this Himawari was calling out to the irritating girl who had made herself his companion for the afternoon. It stood to reason that she may have mistaken him for another Nakano—a brother, perhaps—but that would mean bearing a familial resemblance to his tag-along, and that was not something he wanted to ponder on for too long. Not with how often people pointed out his grim expressions. But those thoughts were secondary to the situation at hand. The poor girl currently clung to him seemed to exude an awful amount of relief, and while he certainly wasn't the person she was looking for, he couldn't exactly rebuff her immediately. He instead opted to place a hand atop her head, gently patting it as he spoke. "Fond as she is of me, I don't think we're quite ready for marriage yet, kid," He said, if only to earn Sakuya's ire, "I think you've got the wrong guy." \|</s>	<\|message\|>-The Missing Students- Sakuya's expression went from concerned to irritated in record time, the girl throwing yet another scathing glare at him. He sure liked to get under her skin, didn't he? She bit her tongue for the moment as she focused instead on Himawari, who seemed surprised to hear Noriaki's voice. The realization hit her as she looked up at him, backing away with her hands raised to her chest. The change from surprise to disappointment was as quick as Sakuya, albeit she took it much harder. "I'm sorry for my rudeness," She apologized in a quiet, exceedingly formal voice, losing all her previous energy as she gave Noriaki a polite bow. Once she straightened, however, she looked up at him with teary eyes. "I thought you were Nakano-senpai..." Sakuya pulled out a handkerchief, offering it to her. "Silly," She gently chastised her. "Why would you think that?" Letting out a hiccup, she took the handkerchief and held it for a moment. "They're both tall, and they both have dark hair, and blue eyes," She finally spoke, looking back at Noriaki. "My name is Natushime Himawari. I thought that...that Nakano-senpai came back, and that meant..." She trailed off, dissolving into tears. Sakuya's expression softened, though she pinched Himawari's cheek. "Nii-san wouldn't want you crying like this," She said gently, straightening up. Surprisingly, Himawari's tears ceased immediately, albeit she was still a little sniffly. She stared at Noriaki for a moment, frowning. "I'm sorry, Senpai," She apologized. "Apologize to Nii-san, Hoshino doesn't resemble him at all. Come on, I'll take you home, pretty sure your mother's wondering where you are," Sakuya replied, taking her hand before deciding to address him. "Don't think too harshly of her, she's been through a lot." --- --- Both Oka and Sora were talking when Maki entered, albeit the pair fell quiet. Letting out a sigh, Oka gave Maki a wary look, unimpressed by her words. Sora was more open-minded, though he did throw Oka a look before deciding to greet Maki. "You must be Ito-san," He assumed. "Thank you for coming! Nakano-senpai had a previous engagement, but we're here to welcome you regardless!" "I'm surprised you bothered to show up at all," Oka outright admitted, though she didn't linger on the thought for too long. "Going forward, you'll be part of the Disciplinary Committee. This includes logging and responding to students' complaints when it comes to issues that may arise." Sora tried not to laugh but instead decided to err on the side of caution. "So, basically, you patrol the halls and if anyone comes to you, you try to help them," He explained. "Simple, right?" </s>

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<\|description\|>Hanako Moriyama I R L Age - 19 Place of Origin - Japan Occupation - University Student A V A T A R Character's Name - Rael Pathos Affiliation - Draethir Role - Agility-based Tank Profession - Collector Weapon of Choice - Spear Domains - Lightning, Wind; Alteration, Enhancement, Conjuration - P E R S O N A L I T Y Greedy Specifically in the sense of materialism. It's not greed if she's the strongest and smartest person in the group. She deserves taking more than her share. She's stolen from other groups, she's tricked her own. It comes with the territory. It is a Dog Eat Dog world that is called Pariah Online, after all. Her own selfishness seems to ebb and flow, however; it's whether she wants to get something or someone else has tasked her to. Irreverent On a base level, Rael appears to not care about anything at all. Not in the sense of a slothful do-nothing, but more of a smug inciter. She loves stirring the pot and saying things without worry of eggshells. This goes into believing the virtual world gives her freedom to be who she wants to be without all of the traditional Japanese traditions and niceties. Self-Centered The expression "the center won't hold" doesn't apply to Rael. She loves having the spotlight on her. Being in her parents and her peers shadows her whole life has resulted in a wanton need to be respected, feared, or hated. It is why she trained herself to be a threat-generation character instead of taking the role of an elusive or supplementary damage role. The monsters will notice her. People will notice her; whether it's in or out of combat. B E N C H M A R K S Breaker of Storms Rael often finds herself at the eye of the storm. Effective with the primordial element of lightning, Rael has unlocked advanced spells when utilizing it with her weapon of choice. This includes access to agility buffs, weapon-casted storm bolts, and a shockwave of sound reminiscent of thunder itself. She is also resistant to lightning spells as a result. Elusive Combatant Rael's playstyle is about creating constant pressure to keep the attention of her enemies away from the view of others. She is dexterous, using her agility and attack awareness to duck and weave through combat. Doing this enough times in conjunction with her advanced combat abilities with the spear has allowed her to see things a step faster and react quicker; almost like a sixth sense. Herbal Savant For toxicologists and alchemists, herbalism is the key to understanding the world; for Rael she just rather know if a field of flowers are toxic, carnivorous, or a non-issue and while she has little interest in making potions, she does find the creation of poisons a bit more apt to her interests. As such Rael has a basic fundamental knowledge of the common and uncommon variants of herbs that grow throughout the world. Venomous Apprentice The study of poisons is fundamentally to manipulating your opponent in the long term and Rael knows it. Whilst she has not put countless of months into the creation of poisons and other toxins, she has put some time into it and thus can create decent grades of the craft with some competency. \| Physical Description Hanako Moriyama is a normal Japanese girl. Standing at 5'2" she is spectacularly average among her peers at Tokyo University. Her frayed, unkempt brown hair has been dyed a sharper red-brown, though it hasn't made her stand out at all. Just another face in the crowd. Often seen with her head buried in a tablet or laptop, most people find Hanako concerning. Her family worries that she'll fall into the habits of a NEET. She certainly has the look; wide-brimmed glasses and all. However, in Pariah Online the meek, shy, introverted Japanese girl is not present. In her place is Rael, a shifty thief and dungeoneer, who takes pride in everything she does. No glasses. An athletic build in place of a meek one. Still short, but agile. It's pretty much the ultimate fantasy. Where some people envision themselves as someone taller or some other thing, all Rael wanted to see herself was the personification of a fantasy world chad. Bold, promiscuous, cunning, dangerous. Her irreverent personality is her default mode in the world of Pariah Online, often insulting others or trying to provoke them with a smug smile across her lips. The ideal, true inner self. Character Conceptualization Rael is a problem. But she's also a problem solver. Very early into the first year of the virtual world Rael discovered the denizens, the NPCs that inhabited the world, had many needs. This was where she found herself in lieu with unsavory characters such as Malacius Secre who had a desire for the dungeons to not only be dealt with but for certain items inside them be transferred to his hands instead of that of any fraternity or noble house. This pissed off many people, whom Rael often bragged to before making off with many items. Eventually it led to Rael having a black mark on her name, but guilds who refused to group up with her found themselves soon realizing that she was quickly becoming one of the more adept dungeoneers in the world. Rael certainly believed she was the best and it cemented her reputation further. The reputation of the wayfarer everyone hated, but intrinsically always wanted on their side. It became a strange double-sided sword of sorts. When she saw a double-cross coming, she enjoyed the thrill of it. She was a 'tank' who focused on agility and dexterity. To dodge and weave as her spear did short work of anyone who tried anything funny. Rael was confident she would always win a battle of attrition and while such a thought is hilariously overcompensating, it seems so far she has been mostly right. It always seems to be she's there… right when she's needed. She likes that. She likes that a lot. Spells & Spell-like Abilities Bolt TBD Heaven's Impact TBD Recall Using the little Alteration Magic she knows, Rael calls out to her weapon, returning it to her hands. Spring Step An Enhancement Magic ability that draws from ambient arcane energy to be drawn into the caster's legs for quick cat-like reflexes in a pinch. Allows a user to do an uncanny dodge or advance that is increased by the amount of magical energy used. Rael can use up to level four of this ability. Stormbreaker TBD Storm's Lament TBD Thunder Clap TBD Titan's Wrath TBD Other Information \|</s> <\|message\|>Hanako Moriyama Location: The Laughing Worg Tavern, The City-State of Thorinn, Aetheria --- Rael had placed herself a few seats down from Kalie and the direct end of the bar. She was trying to avoid larger groups and more talking about the dungeon; the goal was to order food and drink, have her anxieties even out, and move forward when Graves dragged her over to Kazuki. She had not expected Alja to lumber toward Kalie. There she was again. Being loud. Kalie was nearly crying as she rambled about her not-so-secret anxieties. 'Typical Americans' she thought as she scowled as a pitcher of grape juice was retrieved for her. It was an intentional choice for the red-haired girl. She remembered the saki-like effect of the wine and ale from the Wayfarer's Hall and it was way too early to be consuming alcohol. Rael wanted a clear head and some peace and quiet. That's partially why she had picked the tree outside. The humidity and temperature inside the tavern didn't help. She eyed a group at a common table where a wayfarer was creating ice cubes with their fingers. Nothing was making Kalie's whining bearable, but as far as she could tell there were no seats in a corner open. She poured the juice into her tankard as she heard it. It echoed. She blinked and then she wasn't sitting down—she had moved closer to Kalie and Alja. "Stop crying like a baby." She said, before she realized it. "We didn't lose any friends yesterday. They did." Ironically, Hanako couldn't stand people who made things about themselves. Yeah, everybody was scared but you didn't need to cry and make a show of it. It was disrespectful to everyone around you. She didn't expect Kalie, or rather, Dawn to understand this. Gaijin always had a habit of doing this. At least when Hanako wanted the spotlight to be on her it wasn't highlighting all your problems like it was the end of the world. She thought back to Aaginim and Enos. They had created memories and friendships. Herself and Dawn had done nothing but acted out of self-interest. Dawn was being melodramatic and disrespectful. "Show a little fucking respect to the dead." The red-haired girl thought about how harsh her words were to someone she had basically reassured in the dungeon that she was okay and she'd make sure she wouldn't die. She looked at Kalie's and Alja's expressions and for a second she felt a tinge of guilt. But not enough to show it. If they didn't want to be scolded they wouldn't do things that warranted it. - - - Location: The Laughing Worg Tavern, The City-State of Thorinn, Aetheria --- Sif felt herself become flustered and red as Benkei called her brilliant. Like, obviously she was smart; she knew that. Her GPA was ridiculous. People were constantly calling her a "whiz kid", but nobody had directly called her brilliant to her face. It was a nice feeling. She let the feeling pass, however, as she took to Benkei's comments. About unifying a group of wayfarers with advanced real-world knowledge and about his particular theory about the living system. "Do you really think anyone is going to be the right state of mind to be consolidating knowledge like that?" She put her finger to her lips for a moment as Benkei considered her response. "I think your theory is correct, though. Its like the game's framework was protecting us from conventional limitations that the rest of the world has to work by. With that gone, we're basically on the same playing field as the NPC's."</s> <\|message\|>Kelly Anne Mackay --- Rael just... How dare she?! Alja murmured to Kalie: "Sorry about this." Then a growl began to build in her throat. She did her best to swallow it back down, but her voice was still burred by it. Her control over her accent slipped as she spoke, and it rasped out in an aggressive, guttural Edinburgh brogue: "Oi, Rael. Bitch. Quit'cher shit-talkin, ay? Jes' cuz ya don' seem to feel emotion like the rest'a us don' mean ya gotta take yer sociopathy out on someone who's clearly no' gonna respond to it well." Her brows furrowed and she stood, getting into the smaller woman's face as her frustration and fear began to boil over. She had a headache, god damnit, and she didn't want to listen to this shrimpy little bitch talk shit for one second longer. "I mean, come on! LOOK at her!" She motioned to Kalie--Dawn--in the beginnings of a full mental breakdown. "What're ya tryin' to accomplish? Makin' her feel even worse? Or ya think yellin' at her like that is gonna make this BETTER somehow? Ya seem ta forget, Rael," she continued, voice steadily rising in volume even as she tried to clamp down on it, "this has never been real. How old d'ya think she is, hmm?" Eventually, she couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't hold herself back. And she thundered at Rael: "It's always been a game ta her, goddamnit! D'ya think she's ever seen a man die violently? Been in the same room when it happened? Heard his loved ones screamin'? She wants ta be a teacher, for Chrissakes! I dinnae what kinda pampered life you've lived out where ya think it's alright to yell at someone for that!" With some effort, she crushed her voice back down and sat heavily, this time on the opposite side of Kalie, between the two of them. "I dinnae--I just don't know what you're trying to accomplish." A heavy sigh. "So piss back off, ay? I'd rather not have any more bad blood between us than there needs ta--to be."</s>	<\|message\|>Hanako Moriyama Location: The Laughing Worg Tavern, The City-State of Thorinn, Aetheria --- Sociopath. Bitch. Heartless. Alja was in her face. Screaming. But Rael couldn't hear her. Hanako couldn't. As she remained stone-faced as the woman criticized her for her comments in her head there was a lot more going on. "See, I told you they hate you." She heard. "Everything about you is rotten. How does it feel to have the real world be exactly the same as the virtual world? How's your escapism going to work?" She clenched her fists as a reflex as the numbness seemed to go away in seconds. She looked up at Alja and there was no cocky smirk or attitude. Just defiance. Her comments about bad blood made sense, but she had no interest in placating to a broken down child. Kalie was not all that much older than she was. Yet Alja didn't consider her own age. Her own experiences. Did she think she had seen bodies mangled and ripped apart before? That she experienced death in anything but a passing way? It wasn't her fault Kalie was weak. It wasn't her fault Alja was weak. Better to be seen as unfeeling and strong than emotive and weak. She went to say something but then someone else decided to interject. Clank! Dariel dropped the plate on the counter as he moved in a flash behind the larger woman who was the same height as he was. "That's enough." He said, as enhancement magic surged in his body and Alja was lifted off the ground before he put her down in a seat a few paces back. For Alja this would be a new experience in many ways, but also in that a NPC—a denizen had touched her. As she found herself seated he looked at her and pointed point blank between her eyes. "What do you think this is? The gladiatorial arena in Theremia? Have you lost your goddamn mind, girl?"</s>
<\|description\|>Eli Gender: ♂ Age: Unknown (Forgotten) (Adult) Race: Demon A devilish race with pointed ears, horns, wings, and a tail. Faster, stronger, more durable, and quicker to recover from injuries than the average human. Similar to an olympic athlete in many categories. Capable of flight, though wings are built for speed and maneuverability rather than endurance and will tire him out quickly. Could probably fly continuously for only a minute, though gliding takes considerably less effort. Flight speed depends on wind but is typically faster than sprinting. As is the norm for fliers, very high speeds can be achieved out of an aerial dive. Resistant to dark-element attacks. Appearance: Equipment: None Personality: Straightforward and light-hearted. Although he can be a bit impulsive, he's good at keeping calm should things not go as expected. Highly sociable and loves attention, but will often prioritize others before himself. Background: As an amnesiac, Eli has no idea where he comes from or who he used to be. Seems to be the only one in the Nexus that doesn't have a room. Accordingly has no token or living quarters and needs to rely on the good graces of others for food that wasn't gathered from rooms. Favorite Food: Steak Ability: Appears to have none? Weaknesses/Limitations: Weak to light-element attacks. His tail is physically sensitive. (Hidden under clothes, not to be confused with the fake tail coming out of his belt) Theme: Hero's Promise</s> <\|message\|>Eli Eli You wake up alone in the center of a huge circular room, leaning against a pedestal resembling a short marble column. Most of the room is a sterile light gray, but the walls in all directions are lined with bizarre doors with colorful door frames. You stand up and stretch, but as you look around you realize that every door other than the one you were facing had pedestals in front of them not unlike the one you were leaning against. Each pedestal bears oddly shaped indentations, as if specific objects were meant to be placed atop them. There is only one exception; the pedestal in the center of the room, the one you were leaning against, which instead bears a large red button just begging to be pressed. You resist the temptation, unsure of the consequences. Try as you might, you can't remember how you ended up here, or anything in the past for that matter. You start to worry you have brain damage or something, but you don't seem to have any trouble remembering your multiplication tables or how the water cycle works. You know your name is Eli, and that your favorite food is steak, but for anything beyond that you draw a blank. You start to look through your clothes for some kind of clue, but besides the discovery that your belt is made to look somewhat like a tail, there's nothing to give you any indication of who you are. Turning your attention outward for clues, you walk up to the door without a pedestal. Upon closer inspection, it's completely flat without a knob or any apparent mechanism to open it. You look around and realize all the doors are like this, but this one seems different. The door and door frame are pitch black, and unlike the other doors, it bears a large lock connected to numerous chains which lead off into the edges of the door. You reach past the chains to the black surface, but it just seems like a solid wall. The other doors seem to let you see through them a bit, with a blurred preview of what lies beyond. You pick a random one with a blue frame and move over to it. You reach out your hand, expecting to be able to lean on it so you could look closer, but it instead phases through, and you almost fall right in. You pull your hand out on instinct, but after confirming you are unharmed, you venture a peek inside only to see a pitch black void. You hesitate for a while, pacing about the room and occasionally eyeing the big red button in the center, but since you still don't trust the button, and you have nothing else to do, you eventually go back to the blue-framed door and cross its threshold entirely. After but a moment of inky nothingness, you suddenly find yourself on your back, on a bed of sand, staring directly up at the sun. Your memory is pretty foggy right now, but you're pretty sure you've seen the sun at least once before. This sun... isn't the same. You can look straight at it without any issue. It just doesn't seem nearly as bright, not even as taxing on the eyes as a simple lightbulb. In spite of that, the sand and the rest of the beach you are just now becoming cognizant of lights up beneath it. As you examine it curiously, you notice a slim wedge cut across its radius. You try to figure out what it is for a while, which is made easier as you notice it slowly growing bigger. Yes, this must be… a distraction. Where the hell are you exactly? As far as you can tell, you're just on a beach near some kind of resort, except there's enough ocean visible in enough directions to know you're on an island. Who builds a resort, or anything for that matter, on a tiny island like this one? You get up and start taking a not so long walk on the beach. Even if there was more beach upon which to walk, you want to check out the resort. You were just in some place that was clearly indoors, so there are only so many ways to reconcile how you got here. Still, as unreliable as your memory may be, you're pretty damn sure there wasn't any interim between stepping into that blue door frame and waking up on the beach. As you get to the lobby, you find it's pretty mundane, if tropical. It seems like a standard hotel lobby, albeit with an open air design that makes the waiting area furniture stick out a bit. You don't see any guests, but there are a few human receptionists available for you to accost with your arrant inquiries. They don't acknowledge you as you walk up to them, simply staring off into the distance unblinkingly. It's pretty weird after a couple of seconds, but the nearest one immediately turns to face you when you try to get their attention. "...Hello?" "Welcome to the Last Resort, the Last Resort you'll ever need! Can I get you a room?" "No thank you. Could you tell me about this place and how I got here?" "The Last Resort is a beach-front luxury resort. We aim to provide our guests with everything they need for a restful and relaxing vacation. You got here by walking." He speaks matter-of-factly, without a hint of sass. He radiates customer service to the point that it's slightly disturbing. In any case, he doesn't seem to know anything, so you sit down in one of the surprisingly comfy chairs, considering your next course of action.</s> <\|message\|>Layke 🦀Layke🦀 Soft bedsheets and air conditioning, is a combo Layke never expected to wake up to. She'd been given the world's shittiest job, and even she could see it past all the fancy titles they'd given her. She wasn't the smartest fish in the pond, but she definitely could tell when people thought she was one of them. Unfortunate as it ended up being, working alone and away from society had the benefits of not actually having to do the job she was assigned. After all, it wasn't even real in the first place. Comfy bed could only last so long, because waking up in a strange new place was exactly how her last assignment ended up being given to her, and finding out if this was another "spontaneous" shift in duties was on the more important side of matters to uncover. She'd recognize a bog standard hotel room easily, and the place didn't seem like it was meant to be her new permanent residence. "Why" and "where" were the next questions to enter her mind, as no matter how hard she tried, remembering where she was last was difficult to say the least. Everything about her was the same, so unless she was in the best dream of her life, she could come to no other conclusion. "Holy shit I've been kidnapped, and now I'm probably gonna get sold to some crazy person and they've probably locked me inside this room and this entire hotel is some illegal trafficking site for hundreds of people and they're just gonna take all my organs and sell them off and then I'm gonna be dead and gone forever and then oh god where am I wanna go home have to escape--" Layke rolls off the bed towards the window, parting the window curtains aside to reveal a comforting sight, a wide view of the ocean past a long stretch of sandy beach. Water meant swimming, which meant freedom and not being "captured" anymore. But now the hardest decision had to be made, should she run now and hope no one notices the sprint towards the beach? Or should she gamble on sneaking out quietly and also hope no one would notice her, slowly creeping along the sand. During the rough mental process of calculating these incredibly dangerous odds, her mind blanks as she looks at the rest of her room to notice her prized possession, her hat! Nice. This newly acquired item did nothing to reassure her of where she was, but with this, she could now conceal her face as she went out, so stealth was now a more viable plan. It's not like much can hurt her anyways, right? And maybe, there was a chance she didn't actually get kidnapped, but acting under the impression that it could be was much more thrilling. Immediately testing the door and finding out it wasn't locked either took a lot more of the excitement out of her head. Yeah, it probably didn't make sense for her captors to bring along her hat... The hallway had no other exciting reveals either, just a brightly lit passageway with room numbers dotting the walls, with some plaques indicating the direction of the lobby. Second theory came to her mind: drowning and washing ashore in a strange new land. Much more likely. At least to her. Maybe call to the lobby would be a safe option to start off with before leaving. She could only hope the list of numbers had someone with answers. beep beep phone noises dial tone "Last Resort, The Last Resort you'll ever need! How can I help you this morning!?" Layke immediately slammed down the receiver. That had to be a joke of a name, and she was getting pranked. Hallway time. The first person she came across in the lobby wasn't the worst sight to see, but the problems arose pretty quickly when she realized her disguise wouldn't do much here. That man in the chair was pretty flesh looking, and she was pretty watery looking. Glancing around the room to see several other fleshy looking yet robotically stiff humans was just downright disappointing. The fact that none of the workers were raising a fuss at the sight of her was good, but then again, the man sitting down had horns and wings, also kind of wacky. Yeah, she could probably take him in a fight anyways if he was mean, like what's he even gonna do? Fly away indoors? All she could do now was walk around into his vision and hope his face was more inviting than his clearly devilish features.</s>	<\|message\|>Eli As you find yourself spiraling down an existential concrete staircase like a tangled slinky hurled with great force, a flash of blue begins oscillating in your peripheral vision not unlike a runaway pendulum with nothing to lose. You look up to find what appears to be an animate puddle standing in front of you, wearing clothes and a straw hat. You try and immediately fail to not let the confusion show on your face as you notice the living crab swimming inside of her. "What-" You stop yourself. Maybe that's the wrong question. Given how you got here, making sense of every little thing isn't actually that big of a deal, and she may not even be able to give much of an answer. "I've never seen anyone quite like you before. I'm new here, so could you tell me about this place?" You stand up before the allure of your seat's soft embrace convinces you to never stand up again. ...And about yourself?</s>
<\|description\|>Niko Watanabe Age: 17 Appearance: Niko is 6 feet tall, ane has a slim build. He has fair skin that does not tan easily. His hair is messy and pink, and his eyes match his hair color. He dresses in ways he considers cute. Generally there will always be something pink on him. Besides just his hair. Personality: Niko acts like a happy go lucky kid. He smiles and laughs and acts like nothing bothers him. He tries not to show his negative emotions around others. He has a hard enough time making friends as it is. If they see him cry or be sad, it will only push people away even more. He likes the color pink, cute things, and generally stuff that is considered girly by most people. Backstory: Niko is half Japanesse half American. He travels back and forth between the two areas with his parents often. He always had a fascination for cute things. He played with stuffed animals while other boys played sports. For this, he was often bullied. While Niko always wore a smile on his face, and acted like the bullying never bothered him, deep down it does. He wants to make a friend that likes him for who he is. He tries his hardest to be friendly, but often his attempts come off as overbearing. So far, the only place he's been able to find it is in video games. Digimon partner: Lopmon Digivice color(s): Baby Pink, Baby blue, White Species: Lopmon Nickname: Coco Default Level: Rookie Attribute: Data Attacks:Tiny Twister, Blazing Ice, Spinning Slap Other forms: Conomon, Kokomon, Lopmon, Turuiemon</s> <\|message\|>Niko Watanabe `Yoyogi Park, Shibuya Ward, Tokyo - 21:36` After school that day, Niko went out playing DTW searching for cute Digimon. Time really did fly because now it was dark, and well past the time a kid should be out on a school night. Niko thought about how he was going to explain this to his father when he got home. He knew what his dad would say. "You're too addicted to video games, you need to get a real life." Or whatever it was that dad's said when they didn't like something their child did. There wasn't a single soul in the park. Why would they be? Considering how late it was? Niko hoped maybe his parents would have gone to bed early, and then he wouldn't have to explain anything to them. He could quietly sneak home and play it off as if he'd been there the entire time. Hel-! Young Ta--er, can --ou hea-- e? Niko stopped dead in his tracks, and looked around. He could have sworn he heard the sound of a girl's voice. Though it sounded staticky... He didn't see anyone around though. "Hellooooooo! Is someone there?! Come out come out wherever you are. I don't bite! Promise!"</s> <\|message\|>Yasashiku Tsuzuki (Yaya or Yasa) --- Yoyogi Park, Shibuya ward "Pull the car over, Iori." Convincing Iori to leave was impossible, instead he had demanded that the mature woman walk atleast a few paces behind him. Her duty to ensure his safety would be in reach, while his desire for privacy was also fulfilled. He'd told her he was playing Digimon: Tamers' World but in all actuality his curiosity and instincts had driven him to, what he assumed, was insanity. A voice in his head, neither Haru's or his own, distorted yet alluring... pleading myabe? he wasn't sure but he would never allow another person's potential plea for help to go unanswered. As he strolled along through the park entrance, tall lights shone softly overhead, Iori's shoes stepping in perfect tune with his own, Yasashiku paused. Iori paused in the same moment. The gold of his phone paled in comparison to the bright light of the homescreen. "I'm going crazy..." he muttered. "I'm out here cause I thought I heard a voice. In my head. I'm not even sure if it came from here." "But it feels like I should be here." he thought, the minute noise of nature an odd accent to his slight-mania. After a short pause she stepped forward. "Young master, perhaps we should head home now," Iori suggested matter-of-factly. Yasashiku sighed in acceptance and defeat. "Maybe... give me five more minutes."</s> <\|message\|>Akira Kobayashi Yoyogi Park, Shibuya Ward, Tokyo - 21:37 Akira was laughing with his more recent friends as they passed by the park. They had just spent the last hour and a half out chasing Digimon, as they had been swept up into the craze. For Akira however it was not going good, only finding the most common Digimon this evening. Meanwhile his friend Koji had found a rare gold variant of Veedramon. So Akira was feeling a little jealous of him. As such, Akira wasn't ready to call it a night as he still wasn't satisfied with his Digimon catching. Akira turned to his friends, "I'm just pop into Yoyogi. Anyone wanna come along?" "Man, it's just insect types in there," Koji laughed, "Plus it's getting late, so I'm going home." The others nodded and agreed, siding with Koji as usual. Akira just waved them off, entering the park. Luckily for Akira, he loved insect type Digimon, though he wasn't sure why. Plus with how dismissive his friends were being, he didn't feel like telling them the rumour that DTW might be adding rare Digimon at certain landmarks, like Yoyogi Park. Akira took out his phone and began using its AR feature to try and find Digimon. Initially finding nothing, he figured that he should go a bit deeper into the park. As he did so, a ping sounded on his phone, indicating a nearby Digimon. Akira walked toward the Digimon, only to hear a strange voice. Hel-! Young Ta--er, can --ou hea-- e? "The hell," Akira muttered. Akira spun around trying to find the source of the distorted voice, but couldn't see anyone around him. Maybe Koji was right and it was late, and Akira was probably tired. He heard that if you are overly tired you may hallucinate these kinds of things. But thinking deeper on the subject, Akira remembered that usually only happens after multiple days with no sleep. So he wasn't overly tired, which meant that maybe it was a brain sickness. The prospect of being crazy was not appealing to Akira, so he decided to pursue the alternate course of thought. That the voice was real. Akira kept his phone ready in his hand just in case this situation was dangerous, as he walked deeper into the park, searching for whoever's voice he had heard.</s> <\|message\|>Hana Izumi Brillia Tower Yoyogi-koen, Shibuya, Tokyo - 21:35 The door handle to Hana's family apartment clicked open, Hana herself stepping into her home. The lights were all off, unsurprisingly. Despite how late it was, neither of her parents were back yet--one of the downsides of high-paying jobs. They seemed to be happy to provide their daughter a comfortable life, but the girl wished they'd be able to enjoy their own money more. Hana rubbed at her eyes as she made her way to her room. After turning the light on, she carefully placed her bag on the foot of her bed, pulling out her laptop and moving it to the desk next to her desktop computer. Turning both machines on, she booted DTW on the laptop and on her phone, frowning to herself. She hadn't had the chance to play at all today, having worked a shift. Her gaze shifted to her window that lead to an impressive view, the desire to head outside beginning to grow in her. No, it was too late. Hana sighed and turned her attention back to her desktop, spending a few minutes clicking around and skimming the latest posts on a DTW-related forum. Hel-! Young Ta--er, can --ou hea-- e? Hana yelped, jumping out of her seat to look around quickly. Her heart rate had just spiked. Despite the voice she could have sworn she had just heard, she was alone in her room. She quickly looked back to her computer, noting her headset laying on the desk. A fast check later, she confirmed there was no audio playing, so it couldn't have come from that. Really, it had sounded like it had come from further away. The hallway outside her door? Or maybe even further than that? Hana swallowed, nervous and confused. She grabbed the closest thing to a weapon she could find--her schoolbag filled with heavy books--and crept towards the door to her room. "M-Mom?" she called out, to no response. She waited for a few seconds longer, holding her breath. It didn't sound like there was any movement outside. Before she could psyche herself out, the girl quickly opened the door. There was no one, as it should've been expected. Her grip on the strap of her bag loosened a bit. Hana began to slowly breathe again, feeling silly, but not completely relaxed yet. She quietly walked into the living room, noting again there was no one, and nothing was misplaced. The girl did pause with a blink though, her eyes looking through the curtains that covered the glass door leading out to the balcony. Somehow... it felt like maybe the voice had come from there? If it hadn't just been in her head, which it probably had. Hana bit her lip gently, before steeling herself again to make her way over. The balcony door was unlocked and slid open, and she stepped outside into the late night, above the rest of the neighborhood. Directly ahead of her was the edge of Yoyogi Park. Hana leaned onto the railing, her gaze drawn to the park, eyes widening after a moment. The voice had come from there. Maybe. She... was drawn towards it though. Hana pulled up the front of her hoodie over her nose, her brow furrowing as she tried to make sense of what was happening.</s> <\|message\|>Kazuma, Shodo (goes by Kaz) --- `Yoyogi Park, Shibuya Ward, Tokyo - 21:36` "Come back here!" The sounds of whistles and hollering security guards were becoming less ear-blaring the further Kaz ran through Yoyogi Park. The darkness that the night provided clouded their view of him. The clouds overhead hid the stars, which in turn also hid the light they'd provide. Even though the lights of the park may have allowed for some light to reveal parts of the park, what those idiotic and nearsighted guards didn't anticipate was on Shodo Kazuma's natural athletic ability - or at least as natural as one could be when that feeling of getting caught passed through his entire body. Just about fifteen minutes earlier, Kaz had the brilliant idea of sneaking into the NHK Broadcast center. It wasn't a bright idea, that much Kaz realized now, but at the time of deciding it, he was neck-deep into half of an idea of trying to see if he could find some different Digimon there. He had found most of what he could around the neighborhood and even on the outskirts, but he never went inside the broadcast center. So he figured why not? What's the worst that could happen? As it turned out, a couple of by-the-book security guards would take that very literally. And now he found himself hiding out up in one of the cherry blossom trees as the two security guards talked amongst themselves. "Gah! He must've run off somewhere!" One of them said. He was an overweight Japanese guy with what appeared to be dark hair and an affinity for sweets based on his gut. Yeah! Really top shelf security, aren't you, big boy? "Come on, Takeda. We should get back to our post. Boss will have our head if we don't." Yeah, Takeda, go wheeze somewhere else. This branch is starting to climb up my ass. They went back and forth for a few minutes and eventually, Takeda came to his senses and Kaz watched them as they left the park. And he couldn't have felt any prouder for how he not only escaped them, but managed to climb his ass up in this tree. Letting out a sigh, he made an attempt to adjust himself so his legs were hanging off the thick branch he was sitting on. "Alright! In one, two thr--" Hel-! Young Ta--er, can --ou hea-- e?-- "--What?" Whether it was the slightest hint of static or what he figured was a girl's voice, Kaz was distracted and hadn't caught himself in time as he fell out of the tree and his ass broke his fall. "Goddamnit!" He cursed, feeling all sorts of numbness and soreness course through his waist and lower back. It was as if the force centered around there and he knew he was going to feel that in the morning. As he got up, he looked around. "Whoever said that is gonna pay for my comfort rice ball! I mean it! I like mine jelly-filled!"</s> <\|message\|>Umiko Mizushima --- I do--much time. My--eople need help! You m--ave them! Umiko was thoroughly freaked out now. Whoever this girl was, she sounded distressed. "I should call the police," she decided. She pulled out her cell phone, and frowned. The battery was down to five percent. But it would have to do. Umiko started dialing 110, but stopped when she something out of the corner of her eye. A few dozen meters away was a pond and fountain. She'd passed it maybe a hundred times before. However, there was something there that was abnormal: a bright, glowing light. Smaller than a football, and roughly spherical in shape. But what was even odder was that it seemed to be radiating a kind of energy; on closer inspection, Umiko could see holographic 1s and 0s emulating from the light like a fog. Something about it made her want to come closer, and against her better judgement, Umiko did. What in the world is this?</s>	<\|message\|>Niko Watanabe "Yoo hoo!" Niko called out to the voice. "It's ok! You can come out! Don't be shy!" Of course, the mysterious voice only answered with more staticky responses that didn't make sense. No one came out to reply or anything.What is going on? The pink haired boy wondered to himself. Then, he saw a bright glowing light. It was stood out amongst all the trees, and was shining not far from where he was. What was even weirder was all the ones in zeroes running through it. That definitely wasn't normal, and Niko felt the urge to run torwards it. "Wow, this is getting weirder by the second. Awesome!"</s>
<\|description\|>Akira Kobayashi Age: 17 Appearance: Akira stands at 5'10'' and is built like a beanpole. While his face could be called plain, what with his hazel eyes, Akira has varied it up by growing out his hair and dyeing part of it blond. Clothing wise, Akira doesn't wear much colour, preferring plain black, grey, or white shirts and pants. Personality: Akira is a fun loving guy, very easy to be around. This mostly comes from the influence of his father, who is a major part of his life. Always down to try something new, Akira can be adventurous and impulsive. Akira can appear to be a little air headed, but that is because he keeps his more deep thoughts contained to himself, as he fears revealing insecurities could cause people to stop liking him. Backstory: Akira was born in Osaka, the first of two children of the Kobayashi family. Akira's father was a small town fisherman who had moved to the city to be with Akira's mother. His mother was an up incoming politician, running for office in Osaka. Growing up Akira was always closer to his father as his mother was often busy with work. The pair of them had a lot of fun, which was only added to when Akira's sister Miyako was born. Akira immediately became a protective big brother, beating up anyone who bullied Miyako. This would earn him the praise of his father and the scorn of his mother. Things between Akira's parents weren't great, with lots of fights happening in the family home. Akira's mother viewed her husband as a deadbeat dad, while he said she was a distant parent. Things would eventually boil over when Akira's father packed his bags and left. Akira remained with his mother and sister, as his father moved to Tokyo. For almost a year Akira remained in Osaka, secretly keeping in contact with his father. When is mother found out she got mad, causing Akira to run away. After two days on his own, the police found Akira and brought him home. However things would never be the same with his mother. A few weeks after running away, Akira got permission to move to Tokyo to live with his dad. While he was excited about this, Akira also felt bad leaving Miyako who wished to remain with their mother. Upon moving to Tokyo, Akira took some time getting used to the city, eventually finding a friend group. It was on the insistence of this new friend group that Akira made an account for Digimon: Tamer's World. While he had a passing knowledge of the Digimon franchise before hand, Akira quickly became enamoured with the game. He would soon join discussion forums on the game, where he would first hear rumours of actual Digimon appearing. While initially dismissive of these claims, Akira would become intrigued by the sheer volume of people saying they've seen real Digimon. Digimon partner: DoKunemon Digivice colour(s): Black, Dark Green, and Crimson. ——————————————————————————————————————————————————— Species: DoKunemon Nickname: Cho Default Level: Rookie Attribute: Virus Attacks: Worm Venom, Electric Thread, Poison Ride Other forms: Yuramon -> Budmon -> DoKunemon -> Stingmon</s> <\|message\|>Umiko Mizushima `???, Tokyo - 21:33` "Ma'am, we're picking up those EM signals again. Trying to pinpoint their location now." A small group of people worked at computers. Monitors displayed maps and CCTV footage of various locations around Tokyo. The person in charge made her way to the employee who spoke up. "Do we have a general area?" she asked. "Yes, ma'am. Shibuya Ward." The map on his monitor outlined the area before dialing in on a specific spot. "Got it. The signal is originating from Yoyogi Park. It's a small breach, from the look of it. I'd be surprised if anything bigger than a Class-III got through." The woman took a sip of her coffee, peering at the monitor over the rim of her glasses. "Have an operative dispatched to monitor the rift. If it's something small, we can contain the situation. Capture is preferable, but elimination or returning it through the rift isn't out of the question." "Yes, ma'am. Sending the message out now." "Let's hope we don't have a repeat of the Namiyoke Incident. The paperwork alone would be a nightmare." --- `Yoyogi Park, Shibuya Ward, Tokyo - 21:35` Mom's gonna kill me! Umiko Mizushima sprinted along the path as if her life depended on it. After training with her school's swim team, she'd called her mother to let her know she'd be out playing DTW. She was supposed to be home a half hour ago, and the battery for Umiko's phone was almost dead. She'd been so wrapped up looking for Digimon and items out in the parks that she'd lost track of time. Though she paid it no mind, the park was devoid of people. Most of the birds and other small creatures seemed to be hunkering down for the night. Umiko was trying to come up with an excuse. Ran into some old friends? She wouldn't believe that? A run of bad luck with traffic? She wouldn't buy that again. Trying to help an old lady cross the street? She wouldn't believe me even if I did! Maybe she could-- Hel-! Young Ta--er, can --ou hea-- e? Umiko froze. Where was that voice coming from? It sounded like a girl, but her voice was broken up, as if by static. "Hello?"</s> <\|message\|>Niko Watanabe `Yoyogi Park, Shibuya Ward, Tokyo - 21:36` After school that day, Niko went out playing DTW searching for cute Digimon. Time really did fly because now it was dark, and well past the time a kid should be out on a school night. Niko thought about how he was going to explain this to his father when he got home. He knew what his dad would say. "You're too addicted to video games, you need to get a real life." Or whatever it was that dad's said when they didn't like something their child did. There wasn't a single soul in the park. Why would they be? Considering how late it was? Niko hoped maybe his parents would have gone to bed early, and then he wouldn't have to explain anything to them. He could quietly sneak home and play it off as if he'd been there the entire time. Hel-! Young Ta--er, can --ou hea-- e? Niko stopped dead in his tracks, and looked around. He could have sworn he heard the sound of a girl's voice. Though it sounded staticky... He didn't see anyone around though. "Hellooooooo! Is someone there?! Come out come out wherever you are. I don't bite! Promise!"</s> <\|message\|>Yasashiku Tsuzuki (Yaya or Yasa) --- Yoyogi Park, Shibuya ward "Pull the car over, Iori." Convincing Iori to leave was impossible, instead he had demanded that the mature woman walk atleast a few paces behind him. Her duty to ensure his safety would be in reach, while his desire for privacy was also fulfilled. He'd told her he was playing Digimon: Tamers' World but in all actuality his curiosity and instincts had driven him to, what he assumed, was insanity. A voice in his head, neither Haru's or his own, distorted yet alluring... pleading myabe? he wasn't sure but he would never allow another person's potential plea for help to go unanswered. As he strolled along through the park entrance, tall lights shone softly overhead, Iori's shoes stepping in perfect tune with his own, Yasashiku paused. Iori paused in the same moment. The gold of his phone paled in comparison to the bright light of the homescreen. "I'm going crazy..." he muttered. "I'm out here cause I thought I heard a voice. In my head. I'm not even sure if it came from here." "But it feels like I should be here." he thought, the minute noise of nature an odd accent to his slight-mania. After a short pause she stepped forward. "Young master, perhaps we should head home now," Iori suggested matter-of-factly. Yasashiku sighed in acceptance and defeat. "Maybe... give me five more minutes."</s>	<\|message\|>Akira Kobayashi Yoyogi Park, Shibuya Ward, Tokyo - 21:37 Akira was laughing with his more recent friends as they passed by the park. They had just spent the last hour and a half out chasing Digimon, as they had been swept up into the craze. For Akira however it was not going good, only finding the most common Digimon this evening. Meanwhile his friend Koji had found a rare gold variant of Veedramon. So Akira was feeling a little jealous of him. As such, Akira wasn't ready to call it a night as he still wasn't satisfied with his Digimon catching. Akira turned to his friends, "I'm just pop into Yoyogi. Anyone wanna come along?" "Man, it's just insect types in there," Koji laughed, "Plus it's getting late, so I'm going home." The others nodded and agreed, siding with Koji as usual. Akira just waved them off, entering the park. Luckily for Akira, he loved insect type Digimon, though he wasn't sure why. Plus with how dismissive his friends were being, he didn't feel like telling them the rumour that DTW might be adding rare Digimon at certain landmarks, like Yoyogi Park. Akira took out his phone and began using its AR feature to try and find Digimon. Initially finding nothing, he figured that he should go a bit deeper into the park. As he did so, a ping sounded on his phone, indicating a nearby Digimon. Akira walked toward the Digimon, only to hear a strange voice. Hel-! Young Ta--er, can --ou hea-- e? "The hell," Akira muttered. Akira spun around trying to find the source of the distorted voice, but couldn't see anyone around him. Maybe Koji was right and it was late, and Akira was probably tired. He heard that if you are overly tired you may hallucinate these kinds of things. But thinking deeper on the subject, Akira remembered that usually only happens after multiple days with no sleep. So he wasn't overly tired, which meant that maybe it was a brain sickness. The prospect of being crazy was not appealing to Akira, so he decided to pursue the alternate course of thought. That the voice was real. Akira kept his phone ready in his hand just in case this situation was dangerous, as he walked deeper into the park, searching for whoever's voice he had heard.</s>
<\|description\|>Akira Kobayashi Age: 17 Appearance: Akira stands at 5'10'' and is built like a beanpole. While his face could be called plain, what with his hazel eyes, Akira has varied it up by growing out his hair and dyeing part of it blond. Clothing wise, Akira doesn't wear much colour, preferring plain black, grey, or white shirts and pants. Personality: Akira is a fun loving guy, very easy to be around. This mostly comes from the influence of his father, who is a major part of his life. Always down to try something new, Akira can be adventurous and impulsive. Akira can appear to be a little air headed, but that is because he keeps his more deep thoughts contained to himself, as he fears revealing insecurities could cause people to stop liking him. Backstory: Akira was born in Osaka, the first of two children of the Kobayashi family. Akira's father was a small town fisherman who had moved to the city to be with Akira's mother. His mother was an up incoming politician, running for office in Osaka. Growing up Akira was always closer to his father as his mother was often busy with work. The pair of them had a lot of fun, which was only added to when Akira's sister Miyako was born. Akira immediately became a protective big brother, beating up anyone who bullied Miyako. This would earn him the praise of his father and the scorn of his mother. Things between Akira's parents weren't great, with lots of fights happening in the family home. Akira's mother viewed her husband as a deadbeat dad, while he said she was a distant parent. Things would eventually boil over when Akira's father packed his bags and left. Akira remained with his mother and sister, as his father moved to Tokyo. For almost a year Akira remained in Osaka, secretly keeping in contact with his father. When is mother found out she got mad, causing Akira to run away. After two days on his own, the police found Akira and brought him home. However things would never be the same with his mother. A few weeks after running away, Akira got permission to move to Tokyo to live with his dad. While he was excited about this, Akira also felt bad leaving Miyako who wished to remain with their mother. Upon moving to Tokyo, Akira took some time getting used to the city, eventually finding a friend group. It was on the insistence of this new friend group that Akira made an account for Digimon: Tamer's World. While he had a passing knowledge of the Digimon franchise before hand, Akira quickly became enamoured with the game. He would soon join discussion forums on the game, where he would first hear rumours of actual Digimon appearing. While initially dismissive of these claims, Akira would become intrigued by the sheer volume of people saying they've seen real Digimon. Digimon partner: DoKunemon Digivice colour(s): Black, Dark Green, and Crimson. ——————————————————————————————————————————————————— Species: DoKunemon Nickname: Cho Default Level: Rookie Attribute: Virus Attacks: Worm Venom, Electric Thread, Poison Ride Other forms: Yuramon -> Budmon -> DoKunemon -> Stingmon</s> <\|message\|>Kazuma, Shodo (goes by Kaz) --- `Yoyogi Park, Shibuya Ward, Tokyo - 21:36` "Come back here!" The sounds of whistles and hollering security guards were becoming less ear-blaring the further Kaz ran through Yoyogi Park. The darkness that the night provided clouded their view of him. The clouds overhead hid the stars, which in turn also hid the light they'd provide. Even though the lights of the park may have allowed for some light to reveal parts of the park, what those idiotic and nearsighted guards didn't anticipate was on Shodo Kazuma's natural athletic ability - or at least as natural as one could be when that feeling of getting caught passed through his entire body. Just about fifteen minutes earlier, Kaz had the brilliant idea of sneaking into the NHK Broadcast center. It wasn't a bright idea, that much Kaz realized now, but at the time of deciding it, he was neck-deep into half of an idea of trying to see if he could find some different Digimon there. He had found most of what he could around the neighborhood and even on the outskirts, but he never went inside the broadcast center. So he figured why not? What's the worst that could happen? As it turned out, a couple of by-the-book security guards would take that very literally. And now he found himself hiding out up in one of the cherry blossom trees as the two security guards talked amongst themselves. "Gah! He must've run off somewhere!" One of them said. He was an overweight Japanese guy with what appeared to be dark hair and an affinity for sweets based on his gut. Yeah! Really top shelf security, aren't you, big boy? "Come on, Takeda. We should get back to our post. Boss will have our head if we don't." Yeah, Takeda, go wheeze somewhere else. This branch is starting to climb up my ass. They went back and forth for a few minutes and eventually, Takeda came to his senses and Kaz watched them as they left the park. And he couldn't have felt any prouder for how he not only escaped them, but managed to climb his ass up in this tree. Letting out a sigh, he made an attempt to adjust himself so his legs were hanging off the thick branch he was sitting on. "Alright! In one, two thr--" Hel-! Young Ta--er, can --ou hea-- e?-- "--What?" Whether it was the slightest hint of static or what he figured was a girl's voice, Kaz was distracted and hadn't caught himself in time as he fell out of the tree and his ass broke his fall. "Goddamnit!" He cursed, feeling all sorts of numbness and soreness course through his waist and lower back. It was as if the force centered around there and he knew he was going to feel that in the morning. As he got up, he looked around. "Whoever said that is gonna pay for my comfort rice ball! I mean it! I like mine jelly-filled!"</s> <\|message\|>Umiko Mizushima --- I do--much time. My--eople need help! You m--ave them! Umiko was thoroughly freaked out now. Whoever this girl was, she sounded distressed. "I should call the police," she decided. She pulled out her cell phone, and frowned. The battery was down to five percent. But it would have to do. Umiko started dialing 110, but stopped when she something out of the corner of her eye. A few dozen meters away was a pond and fountain. She'd passed it maybe a hundred times before. However, there was something there that was abnormal: a bright, glowing light. Smaller than a football, and roughly spherical in shape. But what was even odder was that it seemed to be radiating a kind of energy; on closer inspection, Umiko could see holographic 1s and 0s emulating from the light like a fog. Something about it made her want to come closer, and against her better judgement, Umiko did. What in the world is this?</s> <\|message\|>Niko Watanabe "Yoo hoo!" Niko called out to the voice. "It's ok! You can come out! Don't be shy!" Of course, the mysterious voice only answered with more staticky responses that didn't make sense. No one came out to reply or anything.What is going on? The pink haired boy wondered to himself. Then, he saw a bright glowing light. It was stood out amongst all the trees, and was shining not far from where he was. What was even weirder was all the ones in zeroes running through it. That definitely wasn't normal, and Niko felt the urge to run torwards it. "Wow, this is getting weirder by the second. Awesome!"</s> <\|message\|>Kazuma, Shodo (goes by Kaz) --- I do--much time. My--eople need help! You m--ave them! Okay, Kaz. You're hearing things. Someone doesn't need help and they definitely don't want you to -ave them -- save them. Kaz sighed, taking in and expelling out deep breaths. Sometimes you just had to take a minute to collect yourself and clear out the voice of the clearly-imaginary voice of some girl in your head. Kaz, you weren't hearing any voices. You're just hungry and frustrated. And maybe a little high from the adrenaline of nearly getting caught by some glorified mall cops that couldn't run a 100m dash if it saved their life. There was nobody in need of your help. The only lack of time you had was getting home before your parents did. As he made his way down the park, alongside the pond, there was ...something that caught his attention. Blue eyes caught the sight of...some bright light. That was strange, especially considering that there weren't normally any sort of light show in the park and especially at night. So what then? Kaz wasn't usually the type that would ask himself so many questions about the unknown. Usually, he'd just rush right into the danger with eyes open and a bit of stupidity pushing him full speed ahead, but tonight was proving to be anything but the usual night for Shodo Kazuma. He was hungry, had the close run-in with the law barely behind him, and he was hungry. So, he was being just a little cautious right now. He stirred that particular pot for a few moments later until he saw a couple of others make their approach towards the towering pillar of bright ones and zeroes. "Oh hell no," he cursed. "No way I'm gonna be beaten towards the strange thing by anyone else!" The idea that he wouldn't be the first one there motivated Kaz enough to take off into a sprint. It didn't matter to him how out of breath the silver-haired teen was or how little energy he had due to being hungry for a jelly-filled rice ball - he just ran. And as he did, in the back of his mind, he was terrified and equally thrilled for what might happen when he reached his destination.</s> <\|message\|>Yasashiku Tsuzuki (Yaya or Yasa) --- Yoyogi Park, Shibuya ward "I do--much time. My--eople need help! You m--ave them!" A warmth blew through him and he, for a instant, knew he was insane. His usual stoic expression, flinched. His lips shivered with the image of Haru's fleeting smile, the smile that uttered defeat and wished desperately for help. Fading as it was, the memory brought an unwanted familiarity to the cool night. It was warmer that horrible night, he realized. A snarl tightened his lips and the grip on his phone, even as Iori's shaky words of returning to the car drew closer to him. I can't do that now, what if I'm the only one who can help this person. Out of character for him and fully expected from her, from anyone really, Iori refused to chase after the sprinting boy. He rushed headfirst, gilted eyes wide-open, towards the humming, unnatural light in the park. "Shit! Young Master come back!" she yelled. Coming out into the open, stopping a reasonable distance but far closer than sane, Yasashiku shouted. "Where are you? I hear you, I'm here to help!"</s>	<\|message\|>Akira Kobayashi Akira continued deeper into the park, determined to find the source of the voice. After a few minutes he decided that he was getting nowhere, seemingly going in circles around the park. It didn't help that he didn't know the layout of the park at all as he was new to Tokyo. After another minute of fruitless searching, Akira sat down on a park bench. Pulling out his phone and looking at the time, Akira considered heading home. Then he heard the voice again. "I do--much time. My--eople need help! You m--ave them!" Akira sprang back up onto his feet. The voice sounded closer this time, and a lot more urgent. Believing now that he knew the direction it was coming from, Akira began to run toward the voice. As he made his way through the trees, he found himself in front of a water fountain. Initially he just saw the few other teenagers gathered around, but then he saw it, some sort of an energy ball. And rising from the ball was many faint images of ones and zeroes. The strange sight caused Akira to stop running, standing a few feet behind the others. His mind raced as he tried to find a logical explanation for what he was seeing. Maybe it was a prank, and they were all secretly on camera. Or maybe some sort of promotion using holograms. But if it were those things then why would it be in this almost empty park and not someplace with more people. Akira just didn't get it. "So, what are we looking at?" Akira asked no one in particular.</s>
<\|description\|>Hana Izumi "Y-yeah, I-I... I can help out, it's fine..." 1. ♫ \| 2. ♫ Age: 17 Digimon partner: Lunamon Digivice color(s): White phone, pale pink back details, and navy blue backing. Terribly edited image for reference --- [APPEARANCE] Hana's 163cm hourglass frame is most commonly hidden beneath hoodies, jackets, skirts, leggings, and boat shoes, leading to her giving off a sense of effortless beauty--though she very much puts effort into her looks. A mole sits beneath her left eye, and the only accessories she is ever seen with are hairpins in her bangs, mostly meant for style. She has a terrible poker face and when she blushes, it is extremely clear on her cheeks. Due to this, she's developed a habit of hiding her face when embarrassed, deep in thought, or even just tired, among other things. She most often does this by pulling up the front of her hoodie or jacket when she's wearing one over her nose and holding it there. At times when this is not possible, she'll either throw on a hood, cover her face with a hand, or simply just turn away. [PERSONALITY] Hana can give off an unapproachable aura, often looking annoyed or tired. This shell, though, is very easy to get past. The slightest bit of kindness--even sometimes a simple compliment--can quickly melt away her icy demeanor. Despite her best efforts to be aloof, Hana is shockingly clingy and soft-hearted. Though she often has difficulty communicating with words, her expressions and actions do more than enough to show her true nature as a caring ally and friend. Hana is one to nearly never pin blame on another, always being the first to apologize. A tendency to overanalyze little things can often control her, and that is especially true when something goes wrong--she will immediately look inward and pick apart every mistake she believes herself to have made, which can quickly sour her mood. Just as quickly, though, kind words can pick her back up--she becomes attached to others easily. The girl is very quick to sacrifice for the sake of others, finding happiness in doing so through the happiness of those she aids. This trait, along with her general disposition, makes her a very easy soul to manipulate and take advantage of. Hana has recognized this 'doormat' aspect of herself, and it is the primary reason she tries--and fails--to be distant. Realizing she's been used is a crushing feeling to the girl, not helped by the fact that she can hardly even think to say 'no' without feeling herself panic. Upsetting others, even if they've upset her, paralyzes her. When she speaks, she is rather slow and deliberate, needing to be focused on being clear with what she means, and to avoid excessive stammering. [BACKSTORY] At a very young age, Hana was a loud and outgoing child--one with a stuttering issue. Predictably, this lead to many years of teasing, dampening her free spirit. As she aged into and past her tween years, she worked on her stuttering and kept mostly to herself, spending long hours on the family computer. As a young teen, she started to put herself out more again, finding some success, but also finding the struggles that came with her personality--kids this age were smart enough to take advantage of her inability to refuse. There was no particular big incident that jaded her--she simply found herself with less and less time to herself, being pulled around every which way by people who wanted her help. Growing tired of having people upset with her for not being around when she was busy assisting someone else, but still lacking the courage to just say 'no,' she slowly began to simply make herself less available, and less openly friendly. This was most effective when her family moved to Tokyo the year she started high school--all new faces around her that had no expectations of her to help them. And, with her practiced sharp, annoyed default expression, few thought to even engage her in conversation. That... sucked in its own way. Living somewhere new with no one to talk to was lonely. It was for the best though, Hana told herself--at least until she could fix her own flaws that caused the problems she was hiding from. To pass the time, Hana worked at a hip clothing store part-time, her first big purchase with her saved money being a nice laptop of her own. When working neither on her schooling (which she was and is diligent at) nor at her job, she began to spend her free time playing Digimon: Tamers' World. It was fun and popular, and talking to people online about the game was a nice way to stifle some of her loneliness, without all the extra burden in-person conversations potentially brought. Many of the creatures were super cute too, and interacting with them also helped, even if they were just monsters in a video game. One day when talking about the game online, she heard of a few rumors regarding the game for the first time--the one in particular that caught her attention being the one that said Digimon were appearing in the real world. That was absurd, of course... but Hana couldn't help but begin to look into it just a bit more. A digimon would probably make a good friend for her. It made her feel silly, so she didn't dwell too much on the reason why she was hoping such an impossible rumor was true. --- [DIGIMON] Species: Lunamon Nickname: Lulu Default Level: Rookie Attribute: Data Attacks: Tearing Shot, Luna Claw, Lop-ear Ripple Other forms: Yukimi Botamon -> Nyaromon -> Lunamon -> Lekismon</s> <\|message\|>Niko Watanabe `Yoyogi Park, Shibuya Ward, Tokyo - 21:36` After school that day, Niko went out playing DTW searching for cute Digimon. Time really did fly because now it was dark, and well past the time a kid should be out on a school night. Niko thought about how he was going to explain this to his father when he got home. He knew what his dad would say. "You're too addicted to video games, you need to get a real life." Or whatever it was that dad's said when they didn't like something their child did. There wasn't a single soul in the park. Why would they be? Considering how late it was? Niko hoped maybe his parents would have gone to bed early, and then he wouldn't have to explain anything to them. He could quietly sneak home and play it off as if he'd been there the entire time. Hel-! Young Ta--er, can --ou hea-- e? Niko stopped dead in his tracks, and looked around. He could have sworn he heard the sound of a girl's voice. Though it sounded staticky... He didn't see anyone around though. "Hellooooooo! Is someone there?! Come out come out wherever you are. I don't bite! Promise!"</s> <\|message\|>Yasashiku Tsuzuki (Yaya or Yasa) --- Yoyogi Park, Shibuya ward "Pull the car over, Iori." Convincing Iori to leave was impossible, instead he had demanded that the mature woman walk atleast a few paces behind him. Her duty to ensure his safety would be in reach, while his desire for privacy was also fulfilled. He'd told her he was playing Digimon: Tamers' World but in all actuality his curiosity and instincts had driven him to, what he assumed, was insanity. A voice in his head, neither Haru's or his own, distorted yet alluring... pleading myabe? he wasn't sure but he would never allow another person's potential plea for help to go unanswered. As he strolled along through the park entrance, tall lights shone softly overhead, Iori's shoes stepping in perfect tune with his own, Yasashiku paused. Iori paused in the same moment. The gold of his phone paled in comparison to the bright light of the homescreen. "I'm going crazy..." he muttered. "I'm out here cause I thought I heard a voice. In my head. I'm not even sure if it came from here." "But it feels like I should be here." he thought, the minute noise of nature an odd accent to his slight-mania. After a short pause she stepped forward. "Young master, perhaps we should head home now," Iori suggested matter-of-factly. Yasashiku sighed in acceptance and defeat. "Maybe... give me five more minutes."</s> <\|message\|>Akira Kobayashi Yoyogi Park, Shibuya Ward, Tokyo - 21:37 Akira was laughing with his more recent friends as they passed by the park. They had just spent the last hour and a half out chasing Digimon, as they had been swept up into the craze. For Akira however it was not going good, only finding the most common Digimon this evening. Meanwhile his friend Koji had found a rare gold variant of Veedramon. So Akira was feeling a little jealous of him. As such, Akira wasn't ready to call it a night as he still wasn't satisfied with his Digimon catching. Akira turned to his friends, "I'm just pop into Yoyogi. Anyone wanna come along?" "Man, it's just insect types in there," Koji laughed, "Plus it's getting late, so I'm going home." The others nodded and agreed, siding with Koji as usual. Akira just waved them off, entering the park. Luckily for Akira, he loved insect type Digimon, though he wasn't sure why. Plus with how dismissive his friends were being, he didn't feel like telling them the rumour that DTW might be adding rare Digimon at certain landmarks, like Yoyogi Park. Akira took out his phone and began using its AR feature to try and find Digimon. Initially finding nothing, he figured that he should go a bit deeper into the park. As he did so, a ping sounded on his phone, indicating a nearby Digimon. Akira walked toward the Digimon, only to hear a strange voice. Hel-! Young Ta--er, can --ou hea-- e? "The hell," Akira muttered. Akira spun around trying to find the source of the distorted voice, but couldn't see anyone around him. Maybe Koji was right and it was late, and Akira was probably tired. He heard that if you are overly tired you may hallucinate these kinds of things. But thinking deeper on the subject, Akira remembered that usually only happens after multiple days with no sleep. So he wasn't overly tired, which meant that maybe it was a brain sickness. The prospect of being crazy was not appealing to Akira, so he decided to pursue the alternate course of thought. That the voice was real. Akira kept his phone ready in his hand just in case this situation was dangerous, as he walked deeper into the park, searching for whoever's voice he had heard.</s>	<\|message\|>Hana Izumi Brillia Tower Yoyogi-koen, Shibuya, Tokyo - 21:35 The door handle to Hana's family apartment clicked open, Hana herself stepping into her home. The lights were all off, unsurprisingly. Despite how late it was, neither of her parents were back yet--one of the downsides of high-paying jobs. They seemed to be happy to provide their daughter a comfortable life, but the girl wished they'd be able to enjoy their own money more. Hana rubbed at her eyes as she made her way to her room. After turning the light on, she carefully placed her bag on the foot of her bed, pulling out her laptop and moving it to the desk next to her desktop computer. Turning both machines on, she booted DTW on the laptop and on her phone, frowning to herself. She hadn't had the chance to play at all today, having worked a shift. Her gaze shifted to her window that lead to an impressive view, the desire to head outside beginning to grow in her. No, it was too late. Hana sighed and turned her attention back to her desktop, spending a few minutes clicking around and skimming the latest posts on a DTW-related forum. Hel-! Young Ta--er, can --ou hea-- e? Hana yelped, jumping out of her seat to look around quickly. Her heart rate had just spiked. Despite the voice she could have sworn she had just heard, she was alone in her room. She quickly looked back to her computer, noting her headset laying on the desk. A fast check later, she confirmed there was no audio playing, so it couldn't have come from that. Really, it had sounded like it had come from further away. The hallway outside her door? Or maybe even further than that? Hana swallowed, nervous and confused. She grabbed the closest thing to a weapon she could find--her schoolbag filled with heavy books--and crept towards the door to her room. "M-Mom?" she called out, to no response. She waited for a few seconds longer, holding her breath. It didn't sound like there was any movement outside. Before she could psyche herself out, the girl quickly opened the door. There was no one, as it should've been expected. Her grip on the strap of her bag loosened a bit. Hana began to slowly breathe again, feeling silly, but not completely relaxed yet. She quietly walked into the living room, noting again there was no one, and nothing was misplaced. The girl did pause with a blink though, her eyes looking through the curtains that covered the glass door leading out to the balcony. Somehow... it felt like maybe the voice had come from there? If it hadn't just been in her head, which it probably had. Hana bit her lip gently, before steeling herself again to make her way over. The balcony door was unlocked and slid open, and she stepped outside into the late night, above the rest of the neighborhood. Directly ahead of her was the edge of Yoyogi Park. Hana leaned onto the railing, her gaze drawn to the park, eyes widening after a moment. The voice had come from there. Maybe. She... was drawn towards it though. Hana pulled up the front of her hoodie over her nose, her brow furrowing as she tried to make sense of what was happening.</s>
<\|description\|>Kazuma, Shodo (goes by Kaz) "But did we die?" Age: 16, Dec. 1st Digivice color(s): Silver case \|\| Blue frame (Back) \|\| Purple buttons Appearance: Kaz is described as a somewhat average 16-year-old with neck-length silver hair and electric blue eyes. His skin is fair and no paleness, which may indicate he doesn't spend every hour of his time in his room. He has a skinny-lean figure, which also indicates he physically active in some respect but not to the point where he would be considered for sports teams. At a height of 5'8, one can assume he is fairly average and doesn't experience the troubles that a short boy his age would. Kaz chooses comfort over style most of the time, so one might find him in oversized hoodies, shirts that might be one or two sizes too big, and some kind of shorts or jeans. He's a fan of sneakers, but specifically Vans or Nike. Yeah, just because he looks average doesn't mean he dresses like it. Top shelf for him, please! Personality: Kaz is what you would call something of an adrenaline junkie. This doesn't mean he seeks danger but he doesn't run away from it, either. All his life, Kaz has enjoyed the thrill of taking risks, never knowing if they paid off or not. He likes the feeling deep in the pit of his gut he always seems to get when he's so close to failing or when he does fail, he knows what not to do next. If taunted or dared to do close to anything, he'll never back down no matter how stupid it is, but that doesn't mean Shodo Kazuma himself is stupid or unintelligent, it just means that he, for a short time, he suspends that part of his brain that might tell him what is or isn't wise to do for the sake of his physical well-being. As a person and how approachable he is, Kaz is somewhere between intimidating and friendly. He can make friends easily cause he seems to have this aura about him that allows for people to feel his warmth, but there have been times where his impulsive behavior and love for danger may have alienated his old friends from him. It bothers him, but he'd never let anyone close to him know that. At the very least, around Kaz, you have a lot of fun. Backstory: Shodo Kazuma was born and raised in Tokyo, Japan. His parents, for all intents and purposes, were pretty normal and didn't possess any extraordinary traits or jobs. His father is a car salesman while his mother is a nurse. The only exceptional thing that one could say about Kaz's upbringing was how it was mainly him on his own for the majority of his life. His neighbor, who was roughly four years older than him, babysat him for the majority of his late childhood and well into teenhood. By the time she went to college, Kaz was old enough to take care of himself. And that's exactly what he did, but at some point in his life, he had developed the habit of breaking rules: curphew, the law - basically anything he could do to get that thrill. It wasn't even about the abandonment he faced at the hands of his parents due to their busy jobs (okay maybe a part of it was). He just always enjoyed the thrill, but then about a year ago, he discovered online gaming. His parents weren't too thrilled about it, but they figured better he cause trouble in a fictional world than in the real one, so they let him play his games. It started out with the usual mmorpgs, but it wasn't until Digimon: Tamer World came out did he find his calling. His parents didn't know about it. Every time he left the house, he always said he was meeting friends, but little did they know, he was out and about. This augmented reality game took him places he didn't think he'd go. First, it was around his neighborhood -going to the park, some back alleyways, but then he went back to old habits. Eventually, Kaz was back to traspassing on private property, ignoring the "do not enter" signs of abandoned warehouses. Within the last month, however, the rumors of Digimon appearing in the real world starting circulating. Kaz figured it was some 4chan conspiracy nuts or Redditors just wanting some insta-karma, but the idea made him smile. He wasn't one of those wackos that dug ultra-deep into conspiracy theories, but with all of the free time he had to spare, Kaz couldn't pass up the chance for an adventure in finding out if these rumors were real or not. If they were, then he'd get a bitchin' digimon partner for real! And they weren't real, he'd still have fun. It was a win-win for him! Digimon partner: Monodramon --- Species: Monodramon \|\| Dragon's Roar(rookie only), Metal Empire, Nature Spirit, Wind Guardian (Ultimate and Mega only) Nickname: Ryu \|\| Moron (unoffficial/informal/used when frustrated with him) Default Level: Rookie Attribute: Vaccine Attacks: Beat Knuckle \|\| Crack Bite \|\| Shadow Wing Other forms: Ketomon → Hopmon → Monodramon → Strikedramon</s> <\|message\|>Hana Izumi Brillia Tower Yoyogi-koen, Shibuya, Tokyo - 21:35 The door handle to Hana's family apartment clicked open, Hana herself stepping into her home. The lights were all off, unsurprisingly. Despite how late it was, neither of her parents were back yet--one of the downsides of high-paying jobs. They seemed to be happy to provide their daughter a comfortable life, but the girl wished they'd be able to enjoy their own money more. Hana rubbed at her eyes as she made her way to her room. After turning the light on, she carefully placed her bag on the foot of her bed, pulling out her laptop and moving it to the desk next to her desktop computer. Turning both machines on, she booted DTW on the laptop and on her phone, frowning to herself. She hadn't had the chance to play at all today, having worked a shift. Her gaze shifted to her window that lead to an impressive view, the desire to head outside beginning to grow in her. No, it was too late. Hana sighed and turned her attention back to her desktop, spending a few minutes clicking around and skimming the latest posts on a DTW-related forum. Hel-! Young Ta--er, can --ou hea-- e? Hana yelped, jumping out of her seat to look around quickly. Her heart rate had just spiked. Despite the voice she could have sworn she had just heard, she was alone in her room. She quickly looked back to her computer, noting her headset laying on the desk. A fast check later, she confirmed there was no audio playing, so it couldn't have come from that. Really, it had sounded like it had come from further away. The hallway outside her door? Or maybe even further than that? Hana swallowed, nervous and confused. She grabbed the closest thing to a weapon she could find--her schoolbag filled with heavy books--and crept towards the door to her room. "M-Mom?" she called out, to no response. She waited for a few seconds longer, holding her breath. It didn't sound like there was any movement outside. Before she could psyche herself out, the girl quickly opened the door. There was no one, as it should've been expected. Her grip on the strap of her bag loosened a bit. Hana began to slowly breathe again, feeling silly, but not completely relaxed yet. She quietly walked into the living room, noting again there was no one, and nothing was misplaced. The girl did pause with a blink though, her eyes looking through the curtains that covered the glass door leading out to the balcony. Somehow... it felt like maybe the voice had come from there? If it hadn't just been in her head, which it probably had. Hana bit her lip gently, before steeling herself again to make her way over. The balcony door was unlocked and slid open, and she stepped outside into the late night, above the rest of the neighborhood. Directly ahead of her was the edge of Yoyogi Park. Hana leaned onto the railing, her gaze drawn to the park, eyes widening after a moment. The voice had come from there. Maybe. She... was drawn towards it though. Hana pulled up the front of her hoodie over her nose, her brow furrowing as she tried to make sense of what was happening.</s> <\|message\|>Kazuma, Shodo (goes by Kaz) --- `Yoyogi Park, Shibuya Ward, Tokyo - 21:36` "Come back here!" The sounds of whistles and hollering security guards were becoming less ear-blaring the further Kaz ran through Yoyogi Park. The darkness that the night provided clouded their view of him. The clouds overhead hid the stars, which in turn also hid the light they'd provide. Even though the lights of the park may have allowed for some light to reveal parts of the park, what those idiotic and nearsighted guards didn't anticipate was on Shodo Kazuma's natural athletic ability - or at least as natural as one could be when that feeling of getting caught passed through his entire body. Just about fifteen minutes earlier, Kaz had the brilliant idea of sneaking into the NHK Broadcast center. It wasn't a bright idea, that much Kaz realized now, but at the time of deciding it, he was neck-deep into half of an idea of trying to see if he could find some different Digimon there. He had found most of what he could around the neighborhood and even on the outskirts, but he never went inside the broadcast center. So he figured why not? What's the worst that could happen? As it turned out, a couple of by-the-book security guards would take that very literally. And now he found himself hiding out up in one of the cherry blossom trees as the two security guards talked amongst themselves. "Gah! He must've run off somewhere!" One of them said. He was an overweight Japanese guy with what appeared to be dark hair and an affinity for sweets based on his gut. Yeah! Really top shelf security, aren't you, big boy? "Come on, Takeda. We should get back to our post. Boss will have our head if we don't." Yeah, Takeda, go wheeze somewhere else. This branch is starting to climb up my ass. They went back and forth for a few minutes and eventually, Takeda came to his senses and Kaz watched them as they left the park. And he couldn't have felt any prouder for how he not only escaped them, but managed to climb his ass up in this tree. Letting out a sigh, he made an attempt to adjust himself so his legs were hanging off the thick branch he was sitting on. "Alright! In one, two thr--" Hel-! Young Ta--er, can --ou hea-- e?-- "--What?" Whether it was the slightest hint of static or what he figured was a girl's voice, Kaz was distracted and hadn't caught himself in time as he fell out of the tree and his ass broke his fall. "Goddamnit!" He cursed, feeling all sorts of numbness and soreness course through his waist and lower back. It was as if the force centered around there and he knew he was going to feel that in the morning. As he got up, he looked around. "Whoever said that is gonna pay for my comfort rice ball! I mean it! I like mine jelly-filled!"</s> <\|message\|>Umiko Mizushima --- I do--much time. My--eople need help! You m--ave them! Umiko was thoroughly freaked out now. Whoever this girl was, she sounded distressed. "I should call the police," she decided. She pulled out her cell phone, and frowned. The battery was down to five percent. But it would have to do. Umiko started dialing 110, but stopped when she something out of the corner of her eye. A few dozen meters away was a pond and fountain. She'd passed it maybe a hundred times before. However, there was something there that was abnormal: a bright, glowing light. Smaller than a football, and roughly spherical in shape. But what was even odder was that it seemed to be radiating a kind of energy; on closer inspection, Umiko could see holographic 1s and 0s emulating from the light like a fog. Something about it made her want to come closer, and against her better judgement, Umiko did. What in the world is this?</s> <\|message\|>Niko Watanabe "Yoo hoo!" Niko called out to the voice. "It's ok! You can come out! Don't be shy!" Of course, the mysterious voice only answered with more staticky responses that didn't make sense. No one came out to reply or anything.What is going on? The pink haired boy wondered to himself. Then, he saw a bright glowing light. It was stood out amongst all the trees, and was shining not far from where he was. What was even weirder was all the ones in zeroes running through it. That definitely wasn't normal, and Niko felt the urge to run torwards it. "Wow, this is getting weirder by the second. Awesome!"</s>	<\|message\|>Kazuma, Shodo (goes by Kaz) I do--much time. My--eople need help! You m--ave them! Okay, Kaz. You're hearing things. Someone doesn't need help and they definitely don't want you to -ave them -- save them. Kaz sighed, taking in and expelling out deep breaths. Sometimes you just had to take a minute to collect yourself and clear out the voice of the clearly-imaginary voice of some girl in your head. Kaz, you weren't hearing any voices. You're just hungry and frustrated. And maybe a little high from the adrenaline of nearly getting caught by some glorified mall cops that couldn't run a 100m dash if it saved their life. There was nobody in need of your help. The only lack of time you had was getting home before your parents did. As he made his way down the park, alongside the pond, there was ...something that caught his attention. Blue eyes caught the sight of...some bright light. That was strange, especially considering that there weren't normally any sort of light show in the park and especially at night. So what then? Kaz wasn't usually the type that would ask himself so many questions about the unknown. Usually, he'd just rush right into the danger with eyes open and a bit of stupidity pushing him full speed ahead, but tonight was proving to be anything but the usual night for Shodo Kazuma. He was hungry, had the close run-in with the law barely behind him, and he was hungry. So, he was being just a little cautious right now. He stirred that particular pot for a few moments later until he saw a couple of others make their approach towards the towering pillar of bright ones and zeroes. "Oh hell no," he cursed. "No way I'm gonna be beaten towards the strange thing by anyone else!" The idea that he wouldn't be the first one there motivated Kaz enough to take off into a sprint. It didn't matter to him how out of breath the silver-haired teen was or how little energy he had due to being hungry for a jelly-filled rice ball - he just ran. And as he did, in the back of his mind, he was terrified and equally thrilled for what might happen when he reached his destination.</s>
<\|description\|>Kabir Singh Appearance: -may add later- Age: 27 Bio: Responsible and practical "left-brained" personality. Works as an accountant for several small businesses in Warlington. Like his parents, he strives for personal prestige and propriety, but he is less strict and critical of others than the previous generation. Role in the story: Aaranya's brother</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya Singh Aaranya kept pressing against the lone tree, more for emotional than physical need at this point. She stayed a still silent statue for a moment. "...I don't know," she murmured. "I did everything I was supposed to. I did my best." Aaranya gazed off to the horizon. A slice of orange danced with mid-dawn blue. Soon more would rise and roam the roads. The bedraggled woman lightly pushed off the tree and resumed her original path home. She passed by Danielle with barely a glance. As Aaranya shuffled a few feet past, she kept her eyes straight on the road while speaking to the woman behind. "I have to go home. If you want to follow, I can't stop you. But be quiet."</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle blinked. She tried to follow after her. She frowned, very very worried. "Aaranya....." The name was said in a whisper. She was starting to resume her usual quiet tone and such. She did not run so much at the moment. But, she did her best to keep Aaranya within her line of sight. "W....wait up...." Her tone of voice did not change.</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya Singh Aaranya picked up the pace, spurred on by the watchful eye of the waking sun. She left the streets to power-walk through the shadows of an orchard. The girl was about to leave the shelter of nature when she froze like a doe, eyes twitching around her environment. She swore she was being followed.... oh yeah, it was Danielle. Okay. Aaranya took one more side street to avoid passing by the library (did those people ever sleep?) and nearly sobbed as she rounded the corner to her own rustic cobblestone road. Her feet rushed forward of their own accord until she found herself tapping at the door. Aaranya stood there for an eon, or perhaps two minutes. Her eyes caught Danielle's at this time, and Aaranya responded with a nod, grateful that the woman chose to stay close rather than tell the whole town what she saw. Worry rose like floodwaters near the end of the eon. This was not like Kabir, ever polite and formal. She pounded on the door this time. Finally, some muffled evidence of movement filtered through the walls. A minute later, a disheveled man in his mid-twenties opened the door with a look of exhausted indignation. His expression turned to blank shock when he registered the woman. "Aaran... WHAT?" Both siblings tried to think of words to say. Neither got a chance before Kabir embraced his sister, face remaining a mask of shock. Aaranya's own face scrunched up in tears, her limbs grew heavy and soft, finally able to let her guard down in safe harbor. "Come- come inside," Kabir breathed, halfway dragging Aaranya across the threshold. His wide eyes seemed to look through Danielle rather than at her, but he acknowledged her presence and left the door open for the other woman who accompanied his sister for who-knows-what reason. "What happened?" Kabir asked as he led Aaranya to the couch. "You're... of course, it's wonderful that you're here, but you're supposed to..." Both Singhs were wordless, one seeking a proper way to speak the unspeakable, one struggling to make any sound other than squeaky sobs. Kabir directed his eyes toward something, anything else, and noticed his other guest again. Proper hospitality... that was an easier way to help. "...You look like you had a rough night," Kabir addressed Aaranya, a little warmth returning to his voice. "Why don't I get you some breakfast, and then we can talk about it?" Kabir breathed a sigh of relief as Aaranya answered with a silent nod. He gave his sister a kiss on the forehead and then headed to the kitchen. His racing thoughts slowed to a more manageable pace as the mundane task gave his mind something productive to do. At least, that's what Kabir tried to tell himself. Even as his quivering hands caused the bowl of oatmeal to harshly clink against the bottom of the microwave.</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle followed closely. Luckily, it seemed as though Aaranya was slowing down now. That was good. Running tended to tire her out pretty often. She always hated gym class in school. All the running they had to do was just one reason for that, but still. Anyway, that was not important at the moment. Her friend and the fact that she was alive was the important thing right now. Danielle would follow her all the way back to that house. She stayed quiet when the door was opened. She gasped, almost loudly, when her brother hugged her(Aaranya) and that exchange followed. She turned when when she finally acknowledged, and realized, how loud she had gotten. She quickly glanced around to make sure that no one had heard her. She sighed in relief when that was the case. She raised an eyebrow when she saw the door left open for her. She had not expected to be invited inside. She had assumed some people, or most, would assume she was amongst those who wanted the girl to be sacrificed. She frowned as she thought about that. Anyway, she went inside. She had a seat in a small chair. She looked between the two of them as those questions and, possible, answers were exchanged. She sighed a bit. She could not help it. Anyway, she had no answers herself. Why HAD the creature left her....alive? That was quite....odd. She watched as the brother walked off to fetch something, breakfast she thought she had heard him say. Then, she glanced at Aaranya.</s> <\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel Melissa's hazel gaze held Creed's blue one as her heart raced and her cheeks flushed. He was no longer an awkward teenager, then again neither was she. "You... you're not dead?" Blinking a couple of times, she pushed him away as she rose back up to her feet and ignored the shattered coffee mug. "Six years, Creed! Years!" She couldn't put any other words together, completely caught not only off-guard but also a bit flabbergasted. The redhead threw her hands up in the air, huffing, and shaking her head at her old friend. Her presumed dead friend not actually dead and with no contact whatsoever to let her know otherwise in six years! Glancing at the children, as that's what they both still were in his eyes, Alek nodded to Jim and motioned towards another aisle. It was likely best to leave the pair to reconnect without on-lookers. "I have all records of the town since its creation, though it never was Native lands. From what I can tell of the records, it was avoided by the Native American Tribes. Should have been a fair warning to the settlers that something was up, but here we still stand."</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya Singh Aaranya continued to gaze downward, but she could feel Danielle looking at her. After a minute, the former Sacrifice looked around for something. Aaranya stretched her arm and craned her neck in an awkward position in order to just barely reach a tissue from the end table without needing to actually move from her small claimed corner of the vast world. The woman cleaned up her eyes, blew her nose, and took a deep breath. "I don't know what you're expecting," Aaranya mumbled to Danielle. "I said I don't know anything. I was at the fountain. I guess I fell asleep at some point. It's hard to tell what really happened and... what was a dream."</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle sighed. "I am....still in shock." She took a deep breath. then, she continued. "You were supposed to be sacrificed. I wanted to help you, after all you're my friend, but my parents and family would not let me anywhere near you. They kept a distance between us. The next morning, this morning, I was in mourning thinking you were....you know, but then, I saw you and, well, now I don't know what to think. I wonder what happened though. Did the creature change his mind and go back on our ancestors deal? Are we doomed after all? It's all....nerve-wracking." Danielle, then, looked down at the floor, at her feet.</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya Singh Danielle had... wanted to help? "How could you help?" Aaranya responded. "I was going..." The woman had to take a centering breath before continuing. "I was going to die. There's no way to help with that." There was a long pause. Her feelings about Danielle's confessions were coffee. A sprinkle of longing sugar stirred in a bitter cup, enough to just taste the sweet before it dissolved into darkness. Aaranya didn't like coffee. A plain glass of water would be a nice change of pace. "I guess I'm alive now, though," Aaranya slowly continued. "Maybe you can help figure out what to do next. If there is a next." "Tea will be ready in a couple minutes," Kabir declared as he walked back into the main room. He gently handed Aaranya a bowl of oatmeal with blackberries and cream. The woman immediately started gobbling down the meal. The oatmeal felt a little less warm than expected... it seemed Kabir had prepared for the possibility of Aaranya cramming it in with reckless abandon.</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle sighed. "If I could have, I would have snuck you out of town. Either way, no matter what, I felt....helpless. I was practically dragged off before I could do anything anyway. I...." She started to tear up for a moment. She paused for a time when her friend seemed to ask about figuring out what to do next. She took a deep breath. "Well...We need to think, firstly. We can not just run out, who knows what might happen. We...well...we need a plan." She wiped away a tear just as Aaranyas' brother returned with the food for her. She blinked when she saw her gobble it down like that. She could almost chuckle a bit at the sight. She remembered her doing that when they were kids. It was a cherished memory.</s> <\|message\|>Creed Rollins "Six long years, for me too you know, I didn't really have a way to call you." "Sheriff Kirby threatened to kill you and your dad, he knew how much I cared for y'all. "Creed said looking at her eyes. "Honest Melissa, I didn't have a chance or a way to call you, living with Jim on the reservation, there are no telephones. " "Half the time I was in caves sweating my ass off trying to contact my inner self or something like that." "What, I'm really trying to say...Is, I'm sorry." Jim Thunderhawk poured thru the pages of Warrington (?) history, trying to find anything that would aid them in the battle against the evil that looms over the town.</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya Singh Aaranya was numb to the world. She was so starving. All of existence is but oatmeal. Kabir caught the end of Danielle's comment. He nodded solemnly in agreement. "It's almost broad daylight now," Kabir added. "If anyone sees you, there will be mass panic. People could get hurt, you could get hurt, and that's even without the Creature itself doing something terrible. We'll have to lay low and plan until tonight at least." The man frowned. He glanced around the room, at the windows, as if he expected someone to be peeking in. "But if anyone has a reason to suspect anything is off, the first place they'll look is here. We might have to think of another place to hide." Aaranya's brown eyes widened, she registered the conversation as the world began to filter back into view. "We?" she blurted. "N-no. It's my problem, my fault. I can't drag anyone else into the forest, especially not now."</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle looked and saw him nod. She listened to what was said. "......" She was not sure what to say, not at first anyway. She frowned, unsure and feeling helpless, saddened even. She noticed him glancing around and wondered if he saw anything. She nodded at what he, her friends' brother, said after that. She looked over at her friend and saw her wide eyes. She took a deep breath and tried not to sigh. "It is too late. People will suspect we, him and me, helped you, as we were the ones that are, or were in their minds, actually close to you. They would come here or to where I live first thing." She allowed herself to sigh for a moment after that.</s>	<\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya & Kabir Singh Aaranya curled in on herself, limbs and thoughts, a blade of grass touched by fire. One spark undoused fates the field ablaze. No faded leaf could ask the great tree to fall with it, yet here they were, swirling twisting in the wind, unseverable stem. Kabir left to get the tea. He used that separation as an excuse to pace the kitchen, wring his hands, run through a whiplash of emotion. Of course he was panicking, of course he was swirling with guilt and shame over uprooting his life, abandoning family, responsibilities to the town, the ever-muffled voice of what Kabir wanted. But he couldn't be those things in front of the young women. It was time to take a breath, man up, be a stable solid rock. As Kabir took the Darjeeling tea off the stove and gathered some mugs, he ran through some options for hiding Aaranya. Who owed him a favor? ...That big of a favor? Kabir worked as an accountant and tax advisor for a few small businesses in town. Maybe he could bribe them with free services or otherwise convince them to hide his sister for one day. "If we want a building," Kabir began as he reentered the living room, "I can think of two slight maybe options. There's a diner that I helped survive a complicated tax mishap a couple years ago. The diner itself is too public, but one of their houses might do. There's also the library. They don't have as strong of a reason to owe me a favor, but I have worked with them a few times, and there are some hidden areas for more valuable books in case we're more worried about searches." The man paused and looked between the quiet women. "Do either of you have any better ideas? And how many sugars in your tea?"</s>
<\|description\|>Kabir Singh Appearance: -may add later- Age: 27 Bio: Responsible and practical "left-brained" personality. Works as an accountant for several small businesses in Warlington. Like his parents, he strives for personal prestige and propriety, but he is less strict and critical of others than the previous generation. Role in the story: Aaranya's brother</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle followed closely. Luckily, it seemed as though Aaranya was slowing down now. That was good. Running tended to tire her out pretty often. She always hated gym class in school. All the running they had to do was just one reason for that, but still. Anyway, that was not important at the moment. Her friend and the fact that she was alive was the important thing right now. Danielle would follow her all the way back to that house. She stayed quiet when the door was opened. She gasped, almost loudly, when her brother hugged her(Aaranya) and that exchange followed. She turned when when she finally acknowledged, and realized, how loud she had gotten. She quickly glanced around to make sure that no one had heard her. She sighed in relief when that was the case. She raised an eyebrow when she saw the door left open for her. She had not expected to be invited inside. She had assumed some people, or most, would assume she was amongst those who wanted the girl to be sacrificed. She frowned as she thought about that. Anyway, she went inside. She had a seat in a small chair. She looked between the two of them as those questions and, possible, answers were exchanged. She sighed a bit. She could not help it. Anyway, she had no answers herself. Why HAD the creature left her....alive? That was quite....odd. She watched as the brother walked off to fetch something, breakfast she thought she had heard him say. Then, she glanced at Aaranya.</s> <\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel Melissa's hazel gaze held Creed's blue one as her heart raced and her cheeks flushed. He was no longer an awkward teenager, then again neither was she. "You... you're not dead?" Blinking a couple of times, she pushed him away as she rose back up to her feet and ignored the shattered coffee mug. "Six years, Creed! Years!" She couldn't put any other words together, completely caught not only off-guard but also a bit flabbergasted. The redhead threw her hands up in the air, huffing, and shaking her head at her old friend. Her presumed dead friend not actually dead and with no contact whatsoever to let her know otherwise in six years! Glancing at the children, as that's what they both still were in his eyes, Alek nodded to Jim and motioned towards another aisle. It was likely best to leave the pair to reconnect without on-lookers. "I have all records of the town since its creation, though it never was Native lands. From what I can tell of the records, it was avoided by the Native American Tribes. Should have been a fair warning to the settlers that something was up, but here we still stand."</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya Singh Aaranya continued to gaze downward, but she could feel Danielle looking at her. After a minute, the former Sacrifice looked around for something. Aaranya stretched her arm and craned her neck in an awkward position in order to just barely reach a tissue from the end table without needing to actually move from her small claimed corner of the vast world. The woman cleaned up her eyes, blew her nose, and took a deep breath. "I don't know what you're expecting," Aaranya mumbled to Danielle. "I said I don't know anything. I was at the fountain. I guess I fell asleep at some point. It's hard to tell what really happened and... what was a dream."</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle sighed. "I am....still in shock." She took a deep breath. then, she continued. "You were supposed to be sacrificed. I wanted to help you, after all you're my friend, but my parents and family would not let me anywhere near you. They kept a distance between us. The next morning, this morning, I was in mourning thinking you were....you know, but then, I saw you and, well, now I don't know what to think. I wonder what happened though. Did the creature change his mind and go back on our ancestors deal? Are we doomed after all? It's all....nerve-wracking." Danielle, then, looked down at the floor, at her feet.</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya Singh Danielle had... wanted to help? "How could you help?" Aaranya responded. "I was going..." The woman had to take a centering breath before continuing. "I was going to die. There's no way to help with that." There was a long pause. Her feelings about Danielle's confessions were coffee. A sprinkle of longing sugar stirred in a bitter cup, enough to just taste the sweet before it dissolved into darkness. Aaranya didn't like coffee. A plain glass of water would be a nice change of pace. "I guess I'm alive now, though," Aaranya slowly continued. "Maybe you can help figure out what to do next. If there is a next." "Tea will be ready in a couple minutes," Kabir declared as he walked back into the main room. He gently handed Aaranya a bowl of oatmeal with blackberries and cream. The woman immediately started gobbling down the meal. The oatmeal felt a little less warm than expected... it seemed Kabir had prepared for the possibility of Aaranya cramming it in with reckless abandon.</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle sighed. "If I could have, I would have snuck you out of town. Either way, no matter what, I felt....helpless. I was practically dragged off before I could do anything anyway. I...." She started to tear up for a moment. She paused for a time when her friend seemed to ask about figuring out what to do next. She took a deep breath. "Well...We need to think, firstly. We can not just run out, who knows what might happen. We...well...we need a plan." She wiped away a tear just as Aaranyas' brother returned with the food for her. She blinked when she saw her gobble it down like that. She could almost chuckle a bit at the sight. She remembered her doing that when they were kids. It was a cherished memory.</s> <\|message\|>Creed Rollins "Six long years, for me too you know, I didn't really have a way to call you." "Sheriff Kirby threatened to kill you and your dad, he knew how much I cared for y'all. "Creed said looking at her eyes. "Honest Melissa, I didn't have a chance or a way to call you, living with Jim on the reservation, there are no telephones. " "Half the time I was in caves sweating my ass off trying to contact my inner self or something like that." "What, I'm really trying to say...Is, I'm sorry." Jim Thunderhawk poured thru the pages of Warrington (?) history, trying to find anything that would aid them in the battle against the evil that looms over the town.</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya Singh Aaranya was numb to the world. She was so starving. All of existence is but oatmeal. Kabir caught the end of Danielle's comment. He nodded solemnly in agreement. "It's almost broad daylight now," Kabir added. "If anyone sees you, there will be mass panic. People could get hurt, you could get hurt, and that's even without the Creature itself doing something terrible. We'll have to lay low and plan until tonight at least." The man frowned. He glanced around the room, at the windows, as if he expected someone to be peeking in. "But if anyone has a reason to suspect anything is off, the first place they'll look is here. We might have to think of another place to hide." Aaranya's brown eyes widened, she registered the conversation as the world began to filter back into view. "We?" she blurted. "N-no. It's my problem, my fault. I can't drag anyone else into the forest, especially not now."</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle looked and saw him nod. She listened to what was said. "......" She was not sure what to say, not at first anyway. She frowned, unsure and feeling helpless, saddened even. She noticed him glancing around and wondered if he saw anything. She nodded at what he, her friends' brother, said after that. She looked over at her friend and saw her wide eyes. She took a deep breath and tried not to sigh. "It is too late. People will suspect we, him and me, helped you, as we were the ones that are, or were in their minds, actually close to you. They would come here or to where I live first thing." She allowed herself to sigh for a moment after that.</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya & Kabir Singh Aaranya curled in on herself, limbs and thoughts, a blade of grass touched by fire. One spark undoused fates the field ablaze. No faded leaf could ask the great tree to fall with it, yet here they were, swirling twisting in the wind, unseverable stem. Kabir left to get the tea. He used that separation as an excuse to pace the kitchen, wring his hands, run through a whiplash of emotion. Of course he was panicking, of course he was swirling with guilt and shame over uprooting his life, abandoning family, responsibilities to the town, the ever-muffled voice of what Kabir wanted. But he couldn't be those things in front of the young women. It was time to take a breath, man up, be a stable solid rock. As Kabir took the Darjeeling tea off the stove and gathered some mugs, he ran through some options for hiding Aaranya. Who owed him a favor? ...That big of a favor? Kabir worked as an accountant and tax advisor for a few small businesses in town. Maybe he could bribe them with free services or otherwise convince them to hide his sister for one day. "If we want a building," Kabir began as he reentered the living room, "I can think of two slight maybe options. There's a diner that I helped survive a complicated tax mishap a couple years ago. The diner itself is too public, but one of their houses might do. There's also the library. They don't have as strong of a reason to owe me a favor, but I have worked with them a few times, and there are some hidden areas for more valuable books in case we're more worried about searches." The man paused and looked between the quiet women. "Do either of you have any better ideas? And how many sugars in your tea?"</s>	<\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya & Kabir Singh The trio sat to drink some tea for one moment of calm on the edge of a gritty swirling hourglass. Some vague thoughts and plans stirred the silence at times. But for the most part the people were... quiet. What words existed for such a time as this? Aaranya could think of none in English, Hindi, French, or Russian - though it's possible that learning any more than basic Russian could reveal one with time. Kabir finished his tea quickly. He stretched as he stood up and looked at the women. "Well, you keep thinking about where to go. I'm going to pack. Aaranya, gather anything small that's really important to you. Danielle... help us pack some things for you, too. Maybe you'll be able to stop by your house later... I'm sorry." Aaranya took a little longer to finish breakfast while Kabir began to find out how many survival items he could cram into a formal business suitcase. She could barely look at Danielle, unfortunate enough to get swept up in this mess. "Sorry too," Aaranya mumbled, gazing just past Danielle's face. Then she went to her room and closed the door. It was strange... standing in a dead woman's room. The blankets, the collection of candles, the bookshelf. It seemed like her things should be covered in dust and cobwebs, ancient artifacts of a long gone civilization. Only yesterday had they been lived with, and let go. And after Aaranya had already said goodbye to all her possessions, she somehow found herself in the same situation just about 24 hours later. What could she have the right to reclaim now? The only thing Aaranya really wanted from her room was a change of clothes. She changed out of her formal sari, fit for a special occasion, and hung it in the closet. As if it mattered at all where she put it. She then donned a casual pink sweatshirt and jeans, a more typical and practical outfit for her. She swapped her dressy gold shoes (thank the gods) for some grey tennis shoes. As Aaranya took one last look around her room (again), she noticed something new on her desk. The overflowing collection of poems she had left by Kabir's door the previous day. The woman breathed deeply as her arms were drawn to the precious journal like a magnet and she held it to her chest. <Are you really going to take that thing with you? It's big and heavy and worthless.> Aaranya's eyes squeezed shut and she hugged the book of poems even harder. So nice to know the voices had evaded the grave, as well. <You're so selfish. Everyone knows you're selfish. Are you seriously going to add even more burden for them to carry?> Aaranya furrowed her brow and took a shaky breath. Well, he did have a point. The journal was big and heavy, and they needed to pack for survival. The woman slowly lowered the poetry collection back to the desk and walked away with a quivering frown. <...You're still selfish, you know.> The small woman stopped in her tracks right before the door, frown morphing into gritted teeth. Aaranya stormed up to her desk and grabbed some pages between two clenched hands. MAYBE the voice had a point, MAYBE she shouldn't bring such a big journal, but that didn't mean she had to throw away every last ounce of joy in her life! Like a monstrous wave crashing over a doomed boat, Aaranya forcefully ripped a dozen or so pages out, some filled, some blank. She took the pages and a pen and left the room before she could change her mind. "Thank you, Vishnu, for trying to protect me with your great wisdom," Aaranya whispered. "I can take it from here." Aaranya sat down on the living room couch with the new, very loose leaf version of her poetry notebook. She looked over her chosen poems to represent the previous few days. From another lifetime ago. Then, Aaranya turned over a new page and began to write. --- Day -1 Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each tomorrow Find us farther than today. -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "A Psalm of Life"</s>
<\|description\|>Aleksander Rudel Age: 43 Bio: Aleksander's family was one of the first to settle in Warlington centuries ago, unbelieving of the folklore surrounding the forest until the fateful night when the nightmare fuel made itself known. The Rudel family has since kept the town library well kept over the years. They reside on the second floor of the building. Aleksander is a kind man, even after the loss of his wife 10-years ago. She was selected and sacrificed like so many others before her. Role in Story: Library Owner Other: Widower and Single Father of Melissa Name: Melissa Rudel Age: 18 Bio: Born to a family of librarians, Melissa seems to always have her nose in a book. After the loss of her mother at the age of 8, this young redhead has taken it upon herself to learn as much as possible about the creature to little avail. Centuries of rumor and speculation have left very little in the way of actual facts the girl can get her hands on. Still, her quest continues as she attends yet another year of festivities surrounding the offering of one of their own. Role in Story: Librarian's Assistant/Daughter. Assists with research regarding the creature. Other: Fascinated by the occult.</s> <\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel Flickering candles in the dark shadows of the woods moved, the creature that haunted Warlington over the centuries was awake. It rose from its lair and strolled through its forest at a leisurely pace as the sun set beyond the horizon. It had no little care for this monotonous tradition these days. They celebrated the sacrifice with a festival, the creature could hear the sounds echoing through the trees. The humans feared death more than they feared its wrath, how very different the new generations were from the ancestors who made a pact with the monster of the woods. The ancestors who had the decency to fear the unknown. A large skeletal maw unhinged itself to left out a dull croak of noise. The sky would render itself dark for the creature soon and as the bright glow of the sun cast its red hue on the town, the birds fled their nests and screeched across the skies above Warlington. At least they knew fear, they knew to flee the very sound of the awakening. What even was the point in accepting this sacrifice? The creature wondered as it passed through the forest. Darkness fall and the festivities ended. The town went dark shortly there after, save for the circle of candles around the fountain at the center of the main road. A supernatural darkness followed, should any civilian attempt to peer through their window to catch a glimpse of the horned beast all they would see was shadow, not even the candles could penetrate the shade cast upon them. The beast entered, as it always had, from the forest and across the fields to the welcome sign at the front of town. It drew breath, the black cloak masking its physique billowing despite there being no breeze. The air was eerily still. It moved forward, its pace unhurried, the sacrifice wasn't going anywhere. Wait, was the sacrifice was crying? That was new, they hadn't done that in many years. Large skulled head tilted as amber eyes peered down at the sobbing thing. It had crumbled to the floor, this one was different. The beast rose and looked about the silence of its surroundings. No noise, save for the quiet sobs of its sacrifice. What was the beast to do with this? Already hesitant to accept this year's offering and perhaps cause a bit of chaos for the humans who had taken over its lands, the creature slipped back into the shadows. Why not change things up? It could be fun, something different, something new. He left the girl to cry herself to sleep, leaving behind only a bone pendant to mark that the beast had even been there.</s> <\|message\|>Creed Rollins Creed drove the old beat up green Ford truck down the gravel road, radio blasting country music. His Native American friend, Jim Thunderhawk looked at him with puzzlement. "You sure are in a hurry to get there, it's not going anywhere, you can slow down." Creed let up on the gas pedal and slowed down, turning the music down as well. "Sorry, I'm just...I dunno how to explain it Jim. " " We have to stop the killings, we gotta kill this damn thing, not just for Molly , but for all that have been sacrificed." Jim nodded his head in agreement, "But, we have to be very careful , we are dealing with an ancient evil." He shook the medicine bag around his neck, "It's gonna take a lot more than this or me to defeat it." Creed looked over at him, "We have to try Jim, no matter what happens, we gotta stop it." The young man turned left and down a paved road, only a few miles now from his hometown. "So, you think he will let us stay?" Asked Jim. Creed snickered, "who? My old man, that son of a bitch is nothing but a drunkard, his ass will be so far up Jack Daniels , the end of the world could happen, and he wouldn't give two sheets in the wind." "It might come to that. " Jim said. Creed glanced over at him, "Huh?" The old medicine man looked at Creed with a blank face and said, "End of the world."</s> <\|message\|>Creed Rollins NPC Bobby Duncam Jr. The flashy transam pulled off to the side of the road, and the driver door opened, a few beer cans fell out onto the pavement. Bobby Duncam Jr stepped out and shook his medium length blonde hair from his eyes. He gulped down another beer, before tossing the empty behind him, letting out a loud belch. Bobby reached back into the car, grabbing a flashlight and the remaining two beers from the six pack. He clicked the light on in his eyes to check the brightness, "Shit!" Bobby blinked his eyes a few times, trying to get his vision back. Taking his phone out, he looked at the directions Steve gave to him. "Alright, so I just cut thru the cemetery and I should be able to find the boogeyman, hahahahahaha." He shut the door of the transam, and walked around to the other side. Unzipping his pants, he relieved himself on the cemetery gates, and even spelled his name out on the dirt. Laughing , Bobby entered the cemetery , popping open another beer. As he walked along , not caring if he walked over graves or not, and even kicking a few headstones over, he finally reached the back fence of the cemetery that lead into the haunted woods. "I bet anything the guys already out there and they are gonna try and scare me, but I got them, they'll get it good." He said pulling a can of mace from his jacket. "THE JOKE IS ON YOU, ASSHOLES!" Bobby yelled at the top of his lungs. He climbed over the fence as best as one could being not fully sober, and managed to rip his pants near his crotch. " Son of a bitch!, damnit! " Bobby nearly lost his footing but managed to stay up right, "Damnit you guys, you're gonna pay for this, literally. " He walked for what seemed to him like hours until he came upon some weird Blair witch looking symbol made out of sticks and a deer head. "What the fuck?" Bobby pulled his phone out to take a picture, but heard something , like a branch break. " Oh ha ha I get it, you guys think you can scare me? "</s> <\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel The creature was on its way back from the town, leaving behind the sacrifice with a token to be found in the morning when the ruckus had been heard. Who dared!? The creature picked up pace, feeling the pull of some fool upon its lands. The creature moved through the woods with great agility and silence until the misfortune of a branch crunched beneath a hooved foot. The mortal laughed, looking about with a phone in his hand and a tear in his pants. Croaking deep and dull the eerie sound echoed around the unfortunate drunk who thought this all a joke. This, the creature thought as it observed, this was far more interesting than some dedicated sacrifice aware of its impending doom. This could be fun. In a swirl of mist the creature vanished, retaking form. A dark haired young woman approached and it had to be the alcohol in Bobby's system that made her eyes appear red in the dim lighting of the forest. She seemed to be caught off-guard, looking up shyly as the boy looked about and questioned the friends that were not present. The creature had observed humans long enough, it could speak their tongue and take their shape. "Are you lost and scared?" The girl questioned in a gentle voice that was just a touch off, again nothing the copious amount of alcohol coursing through the man's body couldn't misinterpret.</s> <\|message\|>Creed Rollins Whoa, where did you come from baby?" Bobby asked as he finished off his fifth beer. He dropped the phone into his jacket pocket,"Steve and the guys put you up to this?" Bobby lightly touched her cheek, and then moved in for a kiss, pushing himself up against her, his hands felt all over her body. "Mmmmmm baby, if this is what nightmares are made of, terrorize me" he joked, as he kissed her neck.</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle Wolfe was attending a booth during the festival/ceremony preparations. She was actually in slight tears over it. She had actually considered the sacrifice to be a friend, but had never been able to voice it out loud. Mainly because her voice was always cut off or drowned out by others. But, another big reason, was that she was never allowed to be friends with her. Her parents had always told her to stay away from the girl. Her father, to this day, sent goons to keep an eye on her and keep them away from each other. Danielle sighed and fought to keep from showing how upset she was around her family when the time came. She was forced to watch as it happened. When no one was looking at her, a tear rolled down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away before anyone could see it. Luckily, no one had, not even her parents. She looked up at the red moon.... it would soon be time...... She was dragged off by her parents and others since the creature was arriving...... That was the last thing she saw before she had to leave. She was now pacing in her home, thinking the girl was.....She did not finish that thought.</s> <\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel Well, it thought this would be fun but this fool of a mortal was worse than the creature could have fathomed which was saying something. Its female form tilted her head to the side, seeming to permit the man access for his affections. Her head turned, lips near his disheveled hair as the voice begun to twist. "You are not nearly frightened enough," The body beneath Bobby's hands contorted, bones rising up through skin in a visceral crack and pop of joints. If the human hadn't stumbled backwards, he would have been torn by the change. A root rose up and tripped Bobby onto his arse as the creature shook out its mangy black mane. "Foolish child, daring to come tread away from your town and into my woods? Is it not enough that I permit your kind access to my lands, my fields?" The angry low-octave voice wrapped around the area with a snarl. The creature reached out with one long black hand to grab the human by his hair with its clawed fingers. He severed the man's head from its body with one thorough upward jerk of its arm. The creature devoured the meat of the man, leaving the shredded body at the edge of the woods along the field leading back into the town as a warning. It may not have taken its sacrifice, but it would not tolerate further trespassers.</s> <\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel Melissa and her father, Aleksander, manned the library's booth during the festival though the young adult spent the majority of the time with her nose in a book like always. This one was about the very beast that was to come as the red moon rose to claim its sacrifice. The historic tale was convoluted, at best. There was cohesion between the accounts of centuries prior and none of the more recent generations had every laid eyes on the beast. The moon rose and, just like the rest of the town, the families returned to their homes. Melissa paced the windows facing the center of town on the second floor of the library, eager to try and catch a glimpse at the thing that had taken her mother a decade ago. The thing that had taken her childhood friends from her. The night went dark, unusually dark. Even pressing her face against the window, she couldn't see a thing. Not even the candles. How strange. The redhead turned to click on the flashlight of her cellphone but even that seemed to fail. She scrambled, tripped over the couch and thudded to the floor. That would leave a bruise. At least it was comfortable on the couch. A yawn escaped her lips and she felt a wave of unexplained tiredness take over. The couch was comfortable, the night was dark, and in moments she fell into a soft slumber.</s> <\|message\|>Creed Rollins Creed pulled into the driveway of his old home, his dad's mustang was there. He remembered when him and his dad used to work on it, before his mom died and his dad turned into a drunkard. He turned the pickup off, and got out, closing the door quietly. Jim on the other hand slammed the passenger door shut. Somewhere down the street a dog barked. The two of them walked to the front porch and a motion light came on, shining in their faces. The front door opened, "Who's there? Who...my God, Creed?" Creeds father stepped onto the porch and hugged his son, kissing his neck. For once , his father didn't smell of cheap booze, his father smelled like old spice and car grease. "Dad." They hugged for several minutes on the porch, Jim was glad , this was a good omen. "Come on in son. Jim good to see you again." Said Martin as they shook hands. " Does anyone else know your back?" Asked his dad. "Nah, this is our first stop, was hoping to stay the night." "Just the night?" " We didn't wanna put you out dad." "Creed this is your home to, have y'all eaten, I got some tv dinners." "Sounds good dad, I'll go put our things away." Creed grabbed Jim's bag and went to his old room, it hadn't changed since he ran away. He sat the bags on the floor and sat down on his bed, he was looking around the room and saw a picture of his best friend Melissa. Creed picked up the phone, " What's the chance their home number is the same?" He dialed Melissa's number, and it rang once, then twice, and then someone picked up and creed chickened out, and hung the phone up.</s>	<\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel Aleksander had awoken well before sunrise yet well after the time the sacrifice was to be taken. The older gentlemen stumbled from his bed with a long yawn and stretch, making his way from the bedroom down the hall towards the kitchen. Spotting his daughter asleep on the couch, he shook his head and detoured to pull a blanket over her as she slumbered. The landline connect phone rang, something it didn't do often. He made no rush to answer, given the time of morning and the likelihood of it being a junk call. "Rudel Residence, hello?" The light haired man answered, waiting, shook his head, and hung up. Another answerless junk call, he assumed and continued on to make a pot of coffee.</s>
<\|description\|>Aleksander Rudel Age: 43 Bio: Aleksander's family was one of the first to settle in Warlington centuries ago, unbelieving of the folklore surrounding the forest until the fateful night when the nightmare fuel made itself known. The Rudel family has since kept the town library well kept over the years. They reside on the second floor of the building. Aleksander is a kind man, even after the loss of his wife 10-years ago. She was selected and sacrificed like so many others before her. Role in Story: Library Owner Other: Widower and Single Father of Melissa Name: Melissa Rudel Age: 18 Bio: Born to a family of librarians, Melissa seems to always have her nose in a book. After the loss of her mother at the age of 8, this young redhead has taken it upon herself to learn as much as possible about the creature to little avail. Centuries of rumor and speculation have left very little in the way of actual facts the girl can get her hands on. Still, her quest continues as she attends yet another year of festivities surrounding the offering of one of their own. Role in Story: Librarian's Assistant/Daughter. Assists with research regarding the creature. Other: Fascinated by the occult.</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya Singh Aaranya's heart beat faster at the woman's question. She was seen! The voice sounded shaky... was the quake of fear or fury? Either one could be likely. She also heard people moving, waking and walking inside the shop on which she sheltered. It was stupid, stupid to walk this road -- everyone would see! And, of course, there were no voices to goad her on in this time they could actually be helpful. Aaranya had to be her own voice of fearful force. Run, NOW! Aaranya burst from her hiding place, supposedly dead girl sprinting for her life, attire whirling down the street like a lily in a hurricane.</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle gasped. She was startled by the sudden movement. She froze in place for a time. She was not sure what to do, not at first. She took a deep breath. She decided to do something. "Well....here goes nothing." She began to run after the shadow, a human-like shadow, that had sped off. "Wait! Stop!" She gave chase. She hoped that she would not become out of breath before she caught up to them.</s> <\|message\|>Creed Rollins Creed shook hands with Melissa's dad, "It's good to see you sir." Jim stepped forward, and introduced himself as well. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions you wanna ask, and I'll be happy to answer them." Creed said. He looked over Martin's shoulder, and saw the most beautiful girl he has laid eyes on, and then it hit him, "Melissa is that you?" Jim Thunderhawk asked if they could come inside, "We need your help."</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya Singh Aaranya broke into a cold sweat as the woman shouted and chased after her. She envisioned a mob of torches and pitchforks forming behind her as she ran. Shoes clack clacked too loudly on the street. She had a head start, but her dizzy legs, her shoes. Torches. They were too fancy for running as the thing shouted and chased after her she had a head start clack clack but the distance between faded Aaranya breathed in sharp gulps. Exhausted, thirsty, pitchforks. After a few minutes, Aaranya had to stop and lean against a gnarled tree to prevent herself from falling over. She turned halfway toward the following woman, attempting to use her frayed braid to hide her face. "STOP! Don't come... uh... I'm a GHOST! St-stay away!"</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle gasped. She tried to run faster. "I said wait up!" She shouted as loud as she could. Her eyes went wide when she heard how loud she was. But, she kept running. She was only able to catch up when the form suddenly stopped. This caught her off guard for a moment. She was surprised, confused even. She was hesitant to step closer at first. This could be a stranger. But, then she heard the voice. She gasped, even louder than before, when she was close enough to see who it was in the light. "Aa.......Aaranya??!!"</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya Singh Aaranya flinched at the figure's shout. This was the exact opposite of what she needed... all to hear, to know. She recognized the woman, though, drifted near in the daybreak. Danielle. Aaranya had hoped to be friends with this former classmate, unfortunately met shortly before the time of hearing and watching. They rarely spoke several seasons, but they had managed to pass notes from time to time. Danielle's eyes heard her poetry. Though the revelation of Danielle brought comfort - this one would likely not harass - Aaranya still wished not to interact with anyone until she reached home. She decided to double down. If anyone in history was ever in a position where 'I'm a ghost' seemed a believable story, it was Aaranya. She widened her eyes and sloooowly turned to Danielle with a stony stare, doing her best impression of a haunting gaze (and it was actually pretty good). "Husshhh, mortal. I am the ghoooost of..." Aaranya trailed off mid-sentence. She stared ahead for another second, then looked down at her feet in shame. "...No, I'm not a ghost," she mumbled faintly. "That's a problem. Don't tell. I have to go home."</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle blinked when the other girl had done a failed attempt to be a ghost. She frowned. "Aaranya......" She froze. She did not know what to say. Her friend was alive?! But how?! She was supposed to be sacrificed! That creature was supposed to take her away! What happened?! What was going on?! She was more confused than ever. She was quite scared too. "You...you're alive?!" Her eyes were quite wide. She stumbled a bit. Her eyes were fixed on her friend. "H....How?!"</s> <\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel "Of course, please come in." Alek answered as he opened the door a bit further for the pair and stepped aside. The redhead's gaze leveled on the figures as her father stepped to the side at Jim's request to enter. She was confused for a flash of a moment, it couldn't have been her childhood friend. He was dead. Then those blue eyes met her own hazel gaze. The books and coffee cup she'd been holding slipped and collided with the ground with a loud crash and a splatter of hot liquid. Alek abandoned the door, and the guests, immediately to rush over to his daughter. "Are you ok?" Melissa blinked as her father neared, his presence filling her viewpoint and snapping her mind back. Hot. Ow. Her mind hissed as the recognition that she had dropped the items which had been in her hands hit. Her eyes went wide as a flush of color rushed her cheeks. "Y-yea, sorry. I.." Melissa took a few steps back, kneeling down just as her father had to beginning cleaning up. She lowered her head to fetch shards of broken ceramic as her father tended to the books. Neither were attempting to be rude to the newly arrived guests, though some would have considered their abandonment of polite conversation to attend to books to be impolite. Creed would recall how much the books meant to the father-daughter pair, how proud they were to continue on their inherited position as the keepers of history within Warlington.</s> <\|message\|>Creed Rollins Creed walked over to help Melissa, bending down he said "Hey let me help ya." His hand touched hers as they both went to grab the same broken piece. Creed didn't pull his back, instead he lifted her chin up, so they could look each other in the eyes. "Hi, I know this has to be a shock to you and your dad." Jim followed Alek, and asked him if they had any books or documents dating back at the beginning of when this town was built, and if this was ever native American land. " I know you have a lot of questions, and you probably would also like to punch my face in for not ever calling or writing, and I don't blame you if you did." Creed said smiling.</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya Singh Aaranya kept pressing against the lone tree, more for emotional than physical need at this point. She stayed a still silent statue for a moment. "...I don't know," she murmured. "I did everything I was supposed to. I did my best." Aaranya gazed off to the horizon. A slice of orange danced with mid-dawn blue. Soon more would rise and roam the roads. The bedraggled woman lightly pushed off the tree and resumed her original path home. She passed by Danielle with barely a glance. As Aaranya shuffled a few feet past, she kept her eyes straight on the road while speaking to the woman behind. "I have to go home. If you want to follow, I can't stop you. But be quiet."</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle blinked. She tried to follow after her. She frowned, very very worried. "Aaranya....." The name was said in a whisper. She was starting to resume her usual quiet tone and such. She did not run so much at the moment. But, she did her best to keep Aaranya within her line of sight. "W....wait up...." Her tone of voice did not change.</s> <\|message\|>Kabir Singh Aaranya Singh Aaranya picked up the pace, spurred on by the watchful eye of the waking sun. She left the streets to power-walk through the shadows of an orchard. The girl was about to leave the shelter of nature when she froze like a doe, eyes twitching around her environment. She swore she was being followed.... oh yeah, it was Danielle. Okay. Aaranya took one more side street to avoid passing by the library (did those people ever sleep?) and nearly sobbed as she rounded the corner to her own rustic cobblestone road. Her feet rushed forward of their own accord until she found herself tapping at the door. Aaranya stood there for an eon, or perhaps two minutes. Her eyes caught Danielle's at this time, and Aaranya responded with a nod, grateful that the woman chose to stay close rather than tell the whole town what she saw. Worry rose like floodwaters near the end of the eon. This was not like Kabir, ever polite and formal. She pounded on the door this time. Finally, some muffled evidence of movement filtered through the walls. A minute later, a disheveled man in his mid-twenties opened the door with a look of exhausted indignation. His expression turned to blank shock when he registered the woman. "Aaran... WHAT?" Both siblings tried to think of words to say. Neither got a chance before Kabir embraced his sister, face remaining a mask of shock. Aaranya's own face scrunched up in tears, her limbs grew heavy and soft, finally able to let her guard down in safe harbor. "Come- come inside," Kabir breathed, halfway dragging Aaranya across the threshold. His wide eyes seemed to look through Danielle rather than at her, but he acknowledged her presence and left the door open for the other woman who accompanied his sister for who-knows-what reason. "What happened?" Kabir asked as he led Aaranya to the couch. "You're... of course, it's wonderful that you're here, but you're supposed to..." Both Singhs were wordless, one seeking a proper way to speak the unspeakable, one struggling to make any sound other than squeaky sobs. Kabir directed his eyes toward something, anything else, and noticed his other guest again. Proper hospitality... that was an easier way to help. "...You look like you had a rough night," Kabir addressed Aaranya, a little warmth returning to his voice. "Why don't I get you some breakfast, and then we can talk about it?" Kabir breathed a sigh of relief as Aaranya answered with a silent nod. He gave his sister a kiss on the forehead and then headed to the kitchen. His racing thoughts slowed to a more manageable pace as the mundane task gave his mind something productive to do. At least, that's what Kabir tried to tell himself. Even as his quivering hands caused the bowl of oatmeal to harshly clink against the bottom of the microwave.</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle followed closely. Luckily, it seemed as though Aaranya was slowing down now. That was good. Running tended to tire her out pretty often. She always hated gym class in school. All the running they had to do was just one reason for that, but still. Anyway, that was not important at the moment. Her friend and the fact that she was alive was the important thing right now. Danielle would follow her all the way back to that house. She stayed quiet when the door was opened. She gasped, almost loudly, when her brother hugged her(Aaranya) and that exchange followed. She turned when when she finally acknowledged, and realized, how loud she had gotten. She quickly glanced around to make sure that no one had heard her. She sighed in relief when that was the case. She raised an eyebrow when she saw the door left open for her. She had not expected to be invited inside. She had assumed some people, or most, would assume she was amongst those who wanted the girl to be sacrificed. She frowned as she thought about that. Anyway, she went inside. She had a seat in a small chair. She looked between the two of them as those questions and, possible, answers were exchanged. She sighed a bit. She could not help it. Anyway, she had no answers herself. Why HAD the creature left her....alive? That was quite....odd. She watched as the brother walked off to fetch something, breakfast she thought she had heard him say. Then, she glanced at Aaranya.</s>	<\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel Melissa's hazel gaze held Creed's blue one as her heart raced and her cheeks flushed. He was no longer an awkward teenager, then again neither was she. "You... you're not dead?" Blinking a couple of times, she pushed him away as she rose back up to her feet and ignored the shattered coffee mug. "Six years, Creed! Years!" She couldn't put any other words together, completely caught not only off-guard but also a bit flabbergasted. The redhead threw her hands up in the air, huffing, and shaking her head at her old friend. Her presumed dead friend not actually dead and with no contact whatsoever to let her know otherwise in six years! Glancing at the children, as that's what they both still were in his eyes, Alek nodded to Jim and motioned towards another aisle. It was likely best to leave the pair to reconnect without on-lookers. "I have all records of the town since its creation, though it never was Native lands. From what I can tell of the records, it was avoided by the Native American Tribes. Should have been a fair warning to the settlers that something was up, but here we still stand."</s>
<\|description\|>Anna Smith Appearance(if able): age(if applicable): 22/23 bio(optional): may reveal in rp. role in the story: She runs a small diner at the edge of the town, a local place for everyone to enjoy themselves....when the creature isn't around. other(optional): unknown</s> <\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel Flickering candles in the dark shadows of the woods moved, the creature that haunted Warlington over the centuries was awake. It rose from its lair and strolled through its forest at a leisurely pace as the sun set beyond the horizon. It had no little care for this monotonous tradition these days. They celebrated the sacrifice with a festival, the creature could hear the sounds echoing through the trees. The humans feared death more than they feared its wrath, how very different the new generations were from the ancestors who made a pact with the monster of the woods. The ancestors who had the decency to fear the unknown. A large skeletal maw unhinged itself to left out a dull croak of noise. The sky would render itself dark for the creature soon and as the bright glow of the sun cast its red hue on the town, the birds fled their nests and screeched across the skies above Warlington. At least they knew fear, they knew to flee the very sound of the awakening. What even was the point in accepting this sacrifice? The creature wondered as it passed through the forest. Darkness fall and the festivities ended. The town went dark shortly there after, save for the circle of candles around the fountain at the center of the main road. A supernatural darkness followed, should any civilian attempt to peer through their window to catch a glimpse of the horned beast all they would see was shadow, not even the candles could penetrate the shade cast upon them. The beast entered, as it always had, from the forest and across the fields to the welcome sign at the front of town. It drew breath, the black cloak masking its physique billowing despite there being no breeze. The air was eerily still. It moved forward, its pace unhurried, the sacrifice wasn't going anywhere. Wait, was the sacrifice was crying? That was new, they hadn't done that in many years. Large skulled head tilted as amber eyes peered down at the sobbing thing. It had crumbled to the floor, this one was different. The beast rose and looked about the silence of its surroundings. No noise, save for the quiet sobs of its sacrifice. What was the beast to do with this? Already hesitant to accept this year's offering and perhaps cause a bit of chaos for the humans who had taken over its lands, the creature slipped back into the shadows. Why not change things up? It could be fun, something different, something new. He left the girl to cry herself to sleep, leaving behind only a bone pendant to mark that the beast had even been there.</s> <\|message\|>Creed Rollins Creed drove the old beat up green Ford truck down the gravel road, radio blasting country music. His Native American friend, Jim Thunderhawk looked at him with puzzlement. "You sure are in a hurry to get there, it's not going anywhere, you can slow down." Creed let up on the gas pedal and slowed down, turning the music down as well. "Sorry, I'm just...I dunno how to explain it Jim. " " We have to stop the killings, we gotta kill this damn thing, not just for Molly , but for all that have been sacrificed." Jim nodded his head in agreement, "But, we have to be very careful , we are dealing with an ancient evil." He shook the medicine bag around his neck, "It's gonna take a lot more than this or me to defeat it." Creed looked over at him, "We have to try Jim, no matter what happens, we gotta stop it." The young man turned left and down a paved road, only a few miles now from his hometown. "So, you think he will let us stay?" Asked Jim. Creed snickered, "who? My old man, that son of a bitch is nothing but a drunkard, his ass will be so far up Jack Daniels , the end of the world could happen, and he wouldn't give two sheets in the wind." "It might come to that. " Jim said. Creed glanced over at him, "Huh?" The old medicine man looked at Creed with a blank face and said, "End of the world."</s> <\|message\|>Creed Rollins NPC Bobby Duncam Jr. The flashy transam pulled off to the side of the road, and the driver door opened, a few beer cans fell out onto the pavement. Bobby Duncam Jr stepped out and shook his medium length blonde hair from his eyes. He gulped down another beer, before tossing the empty behind him, letting out a loud belch. Bobby reached back into the car, grabbing a flashlight and the remaining two beers from the six pack. He clicked the light on in his eyes to check the brightness, "Shit!" Bobby blinked his eyes a few times, trying to get his vision back. Taking his phone out, he looked at the directions Steve gave to him. "Alright, so I just cut thru the cemetery and I should be able to find the boogeyman, hahahahahaha." He shut the door of the transam, and walked around to the other side. Unzipping his pants, he relieved himself on the cemetery gates, and even spelled his name out on the dirt. Laughing , Bobby entered the cemetery , popping open another beer. As he walked along , not caring if he walked over graves or not, and even kicking a few headstones over, he finally reached the back fence of the cemetery that lead into the haunted woods. "I bet anything the guys already out there and they are gonna try and scare me, but I got them, they'll get it good." He said pulling a can of mace from his jacket. "THE JOKE IS ON YOU, ASSHOLES!" Bobby yelled at the top of his lungs. He climbed over the fence as best as one could being not fully sober, and managed to rip his pants near his crotch. " Son of a bitch!, damnit! " Bobby nearly lost his footing but managed to stay up right, "Damnit you guys, you're gonna pay for this, literally. " He walked for what seemed to him like hours until he came upon some weird Blair witch looking symbol made out of sticks and a deer head. "What the fuck?" Bobby pulled his phone out to take a picture, but heard something , like a branch break. " Oh ha ha I get it, you guys think you can scare me? "</s> <\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel The creature was on its way back from the town, leaving behind the sacrifice with a token to be found in the morning when the ruckus had been heard. Who dared!? The creature picked up pace, feeling the pull of some fool upon its lands. The creature moved through the woods with great agility and silence until the misfortune of a branch crunched beneath a hooved foot. The mortal laughed, looking about with a phone in his hand and a tear in his pants. Croaking deep and dull the eerie sound echoed around the unfortunate drunk who thought this all a joke. This, the creature thought as it observed, this was far more interesting than some dedicated sacrifice aware of its impending doom. This could be fun. In a swirl of mist the creature vanished, retaking form. A dark haired young woman approached and it had to be the alcohol in Bobby's system that made her eyes appear red in the dim lighting of the forest. She seemed to be caught off-guard, looking up shyly as the boy looked about and questioned the friends that were not present. The creature had observed humans long enough, it could speak their tongue and take their shape. "Are you lost and scared?" The girl questioned in a gentle voice that was just a touch off, again nothing the copious amount of alcohol coursing through the man's body couldn't misinterpret.</s> <\|message\|>Creed Rollins Whoa, where did you come from baby?" Bobby asked as he finished off his fifth beer. He dropped the phone into his jacket pocket,"Steve and the guys put you up to this?" Bobby lightly touched her cheek, and then moved in for a kiss, pushing himself up against her, his hands felt all over her body. "Mmmmmm baby, if this is what nightmares are made of, terrorize me" he joked, as he kissed her neck.</s> <\|message\|>Danielle Wolfe Danielle Wolfe was attending a booth during the festival/ceremony preparations. She was actually in slight tears over it. She had actually considered the sacrifice to be a friend, but had never been able to voice it out loud. Mainly because her voice was always cut off or drowned out by others. But, another big reason, was that she was never allowed to be friends with her. Her parents had always told her to stay away from the girl. Her father, to this day, sent goons to keep an eye on her and keep them away from each other. Danielle sighed and fought to keep from showing how upset she was around her family when the time came. She was forced to watch as it happened. When no one was looking at her, a tear rolled down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away before anyone could see it. Luckily, no one had, not even her parents. She looked up at the red moon.... it would soon be time...... She was dragged off by her parents and others since the creature was arriving...... That was the last thing she saw before she had to leave. She was now pacing in her home, thinking the girl was.....She did not finish that thought.</s> <\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel Well, it thought this would be fun but this fool of a mortal was worse than the creature could have fathomed which was saying something. Its female form tilted her head to the side, seeming to permit the man access for his affections. Her head turned, lips near his disheveled hair as the voice begun to twist. "You are not nearly frightened enough," The body beneath Bobby's hands contorted, bones rising up through skin in a visceral crack and pop of joints. If the human hadn't stumbled backwards, he would have been torn by the change. A root rose up and tripped Bobby onto his arse as the creature shook out its mangy black mane. "Foolish child, daring to come tread away from your town and into my woods? Is it not enough that I permit your kind access to my lands, my fields?" The angry low-octave voice wrapped around the area with a snarl. The creature reached out with one long black hand to grab the human by his hair with its clawed fingers. He severed the man's head from its body with one thorough upward jerk of its arm. The creature devoured the meat of the man, leaving the shredded body at the edge of the woods along the field leading back into the town as a warning. It may not have taken its sacrifice, but it would not tolerate further trespassers.</s> <\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel Melissa and her father, Aleksander, manned the library's booth during the festival though the young adult spent the majority of the time with her nose in a book like always. This one was about the very beast that was to come as the red moon rose to claim its sacrifice. The historic tale was convoluted, at best. There was cohesion between the accounts of centuries prior and none of the more recent generations had every laid eyes on the beast. The moon rose and, just like the rest of the town, the families returned to their homes. Melissa paced the windows facing the center of town on the second floor of the library, eager to try and catch a glimpse at the thing that had taken her mother a decade ago. The thing that had taken her childhood friends from her. The night went dark, unusually dark. Even pressing her face against the window, she couldn't see a thing. Not even the candles. How strange. The redhead turned to click on the flashlight of her cellphone but even that seemed to fail. She scrambled, tripped over the couch and thudded to the floor. That would leave a bruise. At least it was comfortable on the couch. A yawn escaped her lips and she felt a wave of unexplained tiredness take over. The couch was comfortable, the night was dark, and in moments she fell into a soft slumber.</s> <\|message\|>Creed Rollins Creed pulled into the driveway of his old home, his dad's mustang was there. He remembered when him and his dad used to work on it, before his mom died and his dad turned into a drunkard. He turned the pickup off, and got out, closing the door quietly. Jim on the other hand slammed the passenger door shut. Somewhere down the street a dog barked. The two of them walked to the front porch and a motion light came on, shining in their faces. The front door opened, "Who's there? Who...my God, Creed?" Creeds father stepped onto the porch and hugged his son, kissing his neck. For once , his father didn't smell of cheap booze, his father smelled like old spice and car grease. "Dad." They hugged for several minutes on the porch, Jim was glad , this was a good omen. "Come on in son. Jim good to see you again." Said Martin as they shook hands. " Does anyone else know your back?" Asked his dad. "Nah, this is our first stop, was hoping to stay the night." "Just the night?" " We didn't wanna put you out dad." "Creed this is your home to, have y'all eaten, I got some tv dinners." "Sounds good dad, I'll go put our things away." Creed grabbed Jim's bag and went to his old room, it hadn't changed since he ran away. He sat the bags on the floor and sat down on his bed, he was looking around the room and saw a picture of his best friend Melissa. Creed picked up the phone, " What's the chance their home number is the same?" He dialed Melissa's number, and it rang once, then twice, and then someone picked up and creed chickened out, and hung the phone up.</s> <\|message\|>Aleksander Rudel Aleksander had awoken well before sunrise yet well after the time the sacrifice was to be taken. The older gentlemen stumbled from his bed with a long yawn and stretch, making his way from the bedroom down the hall towards the kitchen. Spotting his daughter asleep on the couch, he shook his head and detoured to pull a blanket over her as she slumbered. The landline connect phone rang, something it didn't do often. He made no rush to answer, given the time of morning and the likelihood of it being a junk call. "Rudel Residence, hello?" The light haired man answered, waiting, shook his head, and hung up. Another answerless junk call, he assumed and continued on to make a pot of coffee.</s>	<\|message\|>Anna Smith Anna Smith was about to open the doors to her little place of business, if only for the evening/a short time. She thought she was doing alright with it despite the threats that loomed over it. However, this was not the most important thing on her mind. When it had been time for the festival/ceremony to start, she felt a great weight against her heart. She felt guilty that she was not trying more to stop it. She may not have been friends with the girl in question, but even SHE felt that this was wrong. Anyway, she mainly sighed as she thought about that.</s>
<\|description\|>Cormac McIntosh Factory Overseer Bio Age: Never gives the same answer twice Gender: Male Factory and Functionality: The Mór Brionnú (literally The Big Forge); Perhaps the hottest factory in all of the Infactorium, the Mór Brionnú is filled with pipes leading to various ginormous steel forges and anvils of varying sizes for beating metal of various sizes into shape. Tools are left out in seemingly random places, however Cormac seems to know where they are at all times. Personality: Cormac can act grumpy and irritated, but he actually does care about the other occupants of Infactorium, always crafting the best possible equipment for them when it's requested. He might grumble and complain, especially when given tasks outside of forging and blacksmithing, but he can always be expected to get it done to the best of his ability. He'll never admit that he does it because he likes people though, insisting that it's because he wants to be proud of his work. Creator: B;oodAndGuts93 --- Overseer Build Level: 75 Racial Levels: * (H) Giant lvl 10 * (R) Fire Giant lvl 5 * (R) Fomorian lvl 5 Job Levels: * (B) Fighter lvl 5 * (B) Armor Smith lvl 15 * (B) Weapon Smith lvl 15 * (B) Blacksmith lvl 15 * (R) Berserk lvl 5 Stat Block: * HP: 70 * MP: 20 * PHY. ATK: 70 * PHY. DEF: 70 * AGI: 20 * MAG. ATK: 20 * MAG. DEF: 20 * RESIST: 43 * SPECIAL: 42 Stat Total (Power): 375 --- Overseer Inventory and Powers * Hephaestus' Hammer: Awarded to any warrior who can successfully quell the rage of Typhon in the heart of a raging volcano. For saving Hephaestus' forge from destruction, increase your crafting abilities with this divine tool… or flatten your enemies into pancakes, whatever your preference. * Elderstahl: A sword said to be wielded by a great fire giant who would help to bring about the end of the world along with a frost giant, a wolf, a serpent, and a trickster. * Gae Assail: A magical spear, capable of being thrown and returning to the wielder's hand afterward. Gained through the favor of a silverhanded stranger. * Fire Resistance: Thanks to Cormac being a Fire Giant, he is completely resistant to even the highest of temperatures * Ríastrad: When Cormac goes into a berserker state, it is referred to as a Ríastrad, or Warp Spasm. His attacks receive a damage multiplier while his defense is decreased. He also finds it difficult to tell apart friends and foes. Cold water tends to bring him back to his normal mindset. * Balor's Eye: Cormac may appear to be blind with his colorless eyes, though that's only half true. He can in fact see through one of his eyes, though he seems to give conflicting answers when asked which it is. Either way, through this still working eye, he also has the ability to somewhat slow his opponents' movements when directly looking at them. * Surtr's Blessing: When wielding any sword, the blade shall always begin to grow hot and bright until bursting into flame, adding a flame modifier to any damage he does with the weapon. * Raiders of the Sea: Like most Fomorians, Cormac also has ties with the sea. This allows him to walk upon water as if it were solid Earth. * Fomorian Constitution: Cormac passively heals faster than most races, though at the drawback that it takes more time after his previously taken damage to begin healing. * Fortress: Offsets the enemy's attacks. * Heavy Blow: Raises a weapon's crushing capability. * Strong Assault: Increases Cormac's attack power, allowing him to increase damage against enemies with heavy armor. * Body Strengthening: Temporarily increases Cormac's strength. * Weapon Metallurgy: Can use nearly every known metal with a reasonable melting point into any weapon imagined or requested. * Armor Metallurgy: Can use nearly every known metal with a reasonable melting point into any piece of armor imagined or requested. Theme</s> <\|message\|>Gammaton Gammaton couldn't help but agree with Faetalis' decision; Hivehill thrived on food, and Gammaton could feel her host becoming a bit peckish. But one sad truth remained unspoken; if Faetalis was this willing to tear down so much of the guild, it heavily implied the absence of the other Supreme Beings, or at least, the ones whose domains were being reduced to scrap. Though Gammaton was long used to GrillBears' absence, she could tell that this sudden and violent event may have awakened in her comrades the vain hope that their masters would return. She didn't want to see them disappointed, but she feared it would be a hard truth they would have to face sooner or later. "I hear, and obey, My Lady," Gammaton's host said in his characteristically deep, smooth voice and bowed bombastically in an attempt to hide the regret of having to deface years of Infactorium's progress and infrastructure. With the meeting concluded, Gammaton paced back to Hivehill, deep in contemplation. Once she had arrived, she went into some of the deeper areas that more resembled research labs than a giant anthill to find some parchment and a quill. Gammaton quickly penned some instructions for Levia in case she forgot how the ants behaved. Pasting the instructions to the randomly chosen 'leader' of a handful of worker ants, she ordered them to aid Levia in her duties, bringing a trunk of pheromone bottles that had fortunately survived Infactorium's violent transport. Sure, she probably didn't need any help when it came to deconstruction, but the ants would spare Levia the banal task of moving the material to their destinations, allowing her to continue doing what she loved with minimal interruptions. Gammaton took the remaining workers and headed to the opposite end from Levia of the parts of Infactorium that were slated for destruction. As an Insect Master, Gammaton could command the workers with her thoughts...well, not exactly. Her commands to her minions were converted into intricately woven pheromone signals. The trunk she had sent to Levia was a simplistic version that involved three types of vials representing three signals, color-coded for ease of use: red for harvest - to break down into small chunks, blue for move - to pick up without destroying, and green for destination - the location where objects marked with red or blue pheromones were to be moved to. Applying a pheromone to the antennae of an ant let it know it was about to receive orders relevant to that type of pheromone, leaving the vial let the ant know that it is to perform its task at that location. Marking a pile of inorganic material with red, and marking a trail of green that led to The Big Scrap Alley and Mór Brionnú would be sufficient to have the workers carry out the automated task of deconstructing and carrying the material to the where they were intended. The same could be done by marking a pile of organic material with red and a green trail to the Gorging Trough. With this, Gammaton and Levia could work efficiently at deconstructing the 'unnecessary' parts of Infactorium, though Gammaton had no illusions that she would finish her task before Levia. Though Gammaton could feel the pangs of nostalgia stabbing her heart, she understood the need to excise unneeded parts for the better health of the whole.</s> <\|message\|>Tungsten Jazz "As you command, Creator Faetalis. We will proceed with operations immediately!" Tungsten saluted Faetalis after she had given the Overseer their orders. Whatever concerns and regrets Tungsten had were immediately washed away: Now he had orders and planed to follow them without hesitation. Indeed, there could be no hesitation as their goal was simple: repair the guild. Whatever was broken needed to be fixed, and if it didn't need to be fixed it needed to be recycled. There was no time to mourn what was lost and instead they must focus on what can be saved. Tungsten in particular needed to be quick about repairing the Big Scrap Alley: even if it won't be at 100% efficiency anymore, with so much destruction and recyclable materials that are about to come his way he must return to operation. "Do not let perfect be the enemy of good, as they say." Tungsten and his soldiers would return to the Big Scrap Alley quickly, and once he did reach his area Tungsten was quick to divvy out orders. All Cyber Skeletons were to immediately begin repairs to one of the generators. Just one will be able to ensure the Big Scrap Alley can resume operations at 80% efficiency for a week, more than long enough to get the other generators going and enabling the Big Scrap Alley to maintain steady operations for up to even a year if they lower energy costs. Additionally, he commanded the skeletons to take and destroyed or damaged nonessential Bigs to be scrapped: they simply do not have the resources to maintain and repair all the Bigs in the Titan Fleet right now and they must prioritize quality over quantity. What few essential Bigs they have which aren't scrapped may be kept, but even those could very well be fed to the Infernal Engine if necessary. Additionally the entirety of the Boneyard will be cannibalized to repair the damages to the Big Scrap Alley. Even if this means that his facility cannot produce any more Cyber Skeletons for now, that was a small sacrifice to pay for the good of the guild. Of course, Tungsten doesn't plan to sit around and do nothing. Even though most of the operation will be carried out by Cyber Skeletons, they will work harder and faster as long as Tungsten leads them. And lead them he shall. Firstly, he had all damaged Cyber Skeletons work alongside him as he moved rubble from the ruins and transported them to various carts and trolleys to be moved. He was singing as he did so, to activate his Song of Rest as well as his Aura of Vitality to heal his minions so they too can work at full efficiency. It was here that the Cyber Skeletons truly shined: because each were helping each other, their Helping Hand ability allowed them to easily repair damages simply with tools and materials on hand. And because each Cyber Skeleton was being assisted by fellow skeletons, their Teamwork ability also activated, increasing their overall speed and ability to work. And as destruction and repairing the facility was nothing unusual for these Cyber Skeletons, Standardization would be active and ensure that the Cyber Skeletons and Tungsten will have one of the generators repaired and powering the Infernal Engine within the hour. An astonishingly fast feat considering the sheer damage the whole Big Scrap Alley has been inflicted with. At this rate all three generators will be repaired before the day's end, and Tungsten can ensure the facility is recycling and producing materials for the guild in short order. However while the Cyber Skeletons worked, Tungsten knew there were a few tasks only he had the ability to handle. As the Cyber Skeletons really were only good in both mass, and focused on a single project. Repairing the Big Scrap Alley was important yes, but there were other facilities that needed help as well. And thus, once Tungsten was certain that the Cyber Skeletons would be able to repair the Auxiliary generator without his oversight, he took a handful of Cyber Skeletons around to other parts of the guild to repair other damaged infrastructure, such as communication towers, power stations, and automated entrances. These locations were easy for a few skeletons to fix, but they needed the speed that Tungsten can grant them via his Aura of Alacrity and fast movement. Physical infrastructure such as walls and floors would be left in the hands of Cormac. While Tungsten's minions are certainly capable of basic repairs like that, Faetalis had ordered Tungsten to focus on more delicate electronics first, and that is what he will do. With any luck within a day, once the Infernal Engine comes to life and can begin sharing power with the guild, much if not all of the guild's technological devices ought to return to working order, if only for a while.</s>	<\|message\|>Cormac McIntosh Breaking down the domains of the other overseers was far from ideal. Even Cormac, with his sometimes rather abrasive and grouchy personality, seemed to furrow his brow upon hearing this plan from Faetalis. He understood plenty though that practicality outweighed sentimentality. As much as he might miss the other factories, their own survival mattered the most, and that meant repairing the most vital areas and bringing necessities like food production back online. Hearing Faetalis' orders for Levia though, Cormac couldn't help but worry that his reptilian coworker would go overboard, even if she was told to only recycle and not to melt everything down. It wouldn't be the first time. Seeing the excitement in her eyes, the blacksmith said, "Just remember that we have a job to do and don't get lost in de fun." With everyone's orders now received, the hulking brute of a man turned to his designated partner, Tungsten, only to watch the automaton leave for Big Scrap Alley, most likely to coordinate his army of Cyber Skeletons. For a second, Cormac considered if doing things on his own as he always had was really the best way to go about things. Having mobs like the other overseers could come in handy. At the very least, maybe an apprentice to pass down his knowledge to? The second passed though. A silly thought, especially with the dire state Infactorium was in. Perhaps it was something to look into once the guild was back to operating at peak efficiency. If that wasn't possible, at least the best it could be in their bizarre, new circumstances. Lumbering back to The Mór Brionnú, Cormac would collect the tools necessary, searching the floor for his scattered things, before going about and fixing whatever he could on the floors above him.</s>
<\|description\|>Cormac McIntosh Factory Overseer Bio Age: Never gives the same answer twice Gender: Male Factory and Functionality: The Mór Brionnú (literally The Big Forge); Perhaps the hottest factory in all of the Infactorium, the Mór Brionnú is filled with pipes leading to various ginormous steel forges and anvils of varying sizes for beating metal of various sizes into shape. Tools are left out in seemingly random places, however Cormac seems to know where they are at all times. Personality: Cormac can act grumpy and irritated, but he actually does care about the other occupants of Infactorium, always crafting the best possible equipment for them when it's requested. He might grumble and complain, especially when given tasks outside of forging and blacksmithing, but he can always be expected to get it done to the best of his ability. He'll never admit that he does it because he likes people though, insisting that it's because he wants to be proud of his work. Creator: B;oodAndGuts93 --- Overseer Build Level: 75 Racial Levels: * (H) Giant lvl 10 * (R) Fire Giant lvl 5 * (R) Fomorian lvl 5 Job Levels: * (B) Fighter lvl 5 * (B) Armor Smith lvl 15 * (B) Weapon Smith lvl 15 * (B) Blacksmith lvl 15 * (R) Berserk lvl 5 Stat Block: * HP: 70 * MP: 20 * PHY. ATK: 70 * PHY. DEF: 70 * AGI: 20 * MAG. ATK: 20 * MAG. DEF: 20 * RESIST: 43 * SPECIAL: 42 Stat Total (Power): 375 --- Overseer Inventory and Powers * Hephaestus' Hammer: Awarded to any warrior who can successfully quell the rage of Typhon in the heart of a raging volcano. For saving Hephaestus' forge from destruction, increase your crafting abilities with this divine tool… or flatten your enemies into pancakes, whatever your preference. * Elderstahl: A sword said to be wielded by a great fire giant who would help to bring about the end of the world along with a frost giant, a wolf, a serpent, and a trickster. * Gae Assail: A magical spear, capable of being thrown and returning to the wielder's hand afterward. Gained through the favor of a silverhanded stranger. * Fire Resistance: Thanks to Cormac being a Fire Giant, he is completely resistant to even the highest of temperatures * Ríastrad: When Cormac goes into a berserker state, it is referred to as a Ríastrad, or Warp Spasm. His attacks receive a damage multiplier while his defense is decreased. He also finds it difficult to tell apart friends and foes. Cold water tends to bring him back to his normal mindset. * Balor's Eye: Cormac may appear to be blind with his colorless eyes, though that's only half true. He can in fact see through one of his eyes, though he seems to give conflicting answers when asked which it is. Either way, through this still working eye, he also has the ability to somewhat slow his opponents' movements when directly looking at them. * Surtr's Blessing: When wielding any sword, the blade shall always begin to grow hot and bright until bursting into flame, adding a flame modifier to any damage he does with the weapon. * Raiders of the Sea: Like most Fomorians, Cormac also has ties with the sea. This allows him to walk upon water as if it were solid Earth. * Fomorian Constitution: Cormac passively heals faster than most races, though at the drawback that it takes more time after his previously taken damage to begin healing. * Fortress: Offsets the enemy's attacks. * Heavy Blow: Raises a weapon's crushing capability. * Strong Assault: Increases Cormac's attack power, allowing him to increase damage against enemies with heavy armor. * Body Strengthening: Temporarily increases Cormac's strength. * Weapon Metallurgy: Can use nearly every known metal with a reasonable melting point into any weapon imagined or requested. * Armor Metallurgy: Can use nearly every known metal with a reasonable melting point into any piece of armor imagined or requested. Theme</s> <\|message\|>Levia Vishap Within the ever-busy-bodied-brain-in-body Levia Vishap resided the ever present desire to do good for those she respects. To be praised by them, work beside them, do her best for them, and to ever strive to be worthy of her father's their love. When Havern's claw descended upon her head, Levia felt time grow to a stand still, almost certain that now, since she'd destroyed everything she'd been asked to, it was her time for permanent firing. Violent permanent firing. But just when she closed her eyes, the talon turned into the warm hand of her guild leader. For what might be the first time in... Forever. Forever was how long it had been. Forever it has been since she felt such warmth and gratitude. Forever had it been since she was praised so wholeheartedly. Forever would it be that she served this warmth. Tears streamed down Levia as she stood in stunned silence. Were it not for her respect for Faetalis, the guild leader would find herself victim to a dragonic four armed hug and wailing fest. Instead, Levia controlled her self. One of her back arms reached down and picked up the displaced hat that had fallen from the gigantic talon touching it. Adjusting her hat once Faetalis's hand had left her scalp, the chimera before Faetalis would wipe her tears of joy and clench her fists. She had a job to do, to continue to do, and whatever Faetalis could order, Levia would follow. "Lady Faetalis, thank you for your praise," Levia said, bowing as she took a knee, trying to hide her excitement even as her tail batted one of Tungsten's CSo4 Units out of the room they were in with a happy flick. Standing, the dragoness's eyes were hardened once more, reptilian slits narrowing as she realized the implications of the words "set upon". Life forms. Hostility. Bad guys. The almost too lizard-like brain of Levia only heard that their territory needed defending, and was liable to storm off to meet this threat were that task not assigned to Mae. Draconic. Nesting. Protection. New instincts and new chemical pathways burned within that told her that the guild absolutely must be protected at all costs. Oddly, this involved Levia breaking a pathway. "Whatever needs to be broken shall be, Lady Faetalis." Levia would clench her fists and pound the larger set together, while adjusting the gloves on her scaled human-like hands. "And, if you ever need the invasion permanently broken, I can melt down whatever Mae leaves, if it comes to that." "I am SO telling Gammaton that I got praised later! Ooh, I gotta bring her something nice! Maybe if a human's stuck up on the mountain, I can get her a new host. Or a snack. Either way, its thanks to her help that I got praised, so I'll have to work hard to make sure she gets plenty of praise next!" Despite her cool posturing and threatening tone, any could see that Levia was, once again, excited to work, and happy to work. Gammaton would hear all about it later. Maybe it'd be a Girl's Night. They could invite Mae for snacks!</s> <\|message\|>Tungsten Jazz Tungsten knelt in silent respect as he listened to Faetalis praise his work. He almost wanted to speak out and humbly admit he simply did as he was told, but withheld his comment, as he was not asked to speak and he knew that Faetalis meant only good things by giving him such praise. More importantly however, she had a task for him, and confirmed some suspicions he had about the area. Namely that the flames he saw in the distance was that of the locals, coming to investigate their arrival. While none can be certain of their intentions, Faetalis has done an excellent job suggesting that regardless, they secure the Infactorium's safety. One cannot be too cautious in these unknown lands after all. Faetalis has also given him, as well as Levia, a vital task. Once more the machine would be called upon to use his sensors to detect and determine the physical structure of the area around them, but instead of utilizing this ability for resource gathering (as was their original function), Faetalis intends to use it for fortification and destruction. Namely to cut off any paths to the guild while it is still undergoing reconstruction. "An excellent idea, Creator Faetalis. Your wisdom shines even in these dark times, and your mercy to both your loyal servants and those who would come to investigate us truly shows your steady hand. Indeed, lesser minds would think to attack blindly against the unknown, risking death and danger to all, but a cool head shall prevail over boiling blood." Truthfully, Tungsten would have preferred to take on these strangers directly, if only to confirm their intentions, but he knows he lacks the manpower to do so despite his desires, which is why Faetalis is the leader and he is not. Conveniently, Levia knocked one of the Skeleton Soldiers out of the room. While critically damaged, it could still move, so Tungsten turned to it. "Receive Io." The machine did it's best to pull itself together and left towards Big Scrap Alley. Tungsten then turned towards Levia, nodding to her now that they had an objective. "As soon as I receive my weapon I will be ready to embark with you and Creator Faetalis. With her guidance and your strength, we will protect the Infactorium." Tungsten's words were filled with encouragement, despite being a machine entity. A hint of his bardic powers granting Levia a slight boost in power, as once Tungsten really gets his performance going Levia would need to be careful not to go overboard with the new strength he is able to grant her.</s>	<\|message\|>Cormac McIntosh Time passed... A lot of time... Oodles and oodles of time. Honestly, Cormac hadn't a clue how much time. For more time than he realized, he had been doing his best to turn what should have been scrap metal for Tungsten's domain into it's original purpose as a piece to a large boiler. No one but him would have probably been able to figure out that's what it had been, but somehow, through a long process of hammering and heating, he had returned it to it's original shape. For the most part. There was one small dent that really wasn't going to reduce the boiler's efficiency, but it could easily be ignored by anyone sane. Something the giant lacked. Wham! "No," he grumbled. Turning it over, he slammed his hammer down on the opposite side to flatten the curve, only to return it back to how it had been the previous smack. Wham! Another grumble, another disappointed, "No." Finally though, he'd find the perfect amount of strength to get the job done, and with the help of a Cyber Skeleton or two who just so happened to be walking by, reapplied the piece where it belonged. Only then would he notice the lights in the distance that the rest of Infactorium's occupants had already seen and discussed without him. At first, he chose to ignore it, intent on finding something else to fix and busy his hands with. Recalling though how their home had devolved into its current state, Cormac found himself mumbling to himself as he went about looking for Faetalis, wanting to hear what instructions she might have for him. Any comments she might have on his being so fashionably late were well-deserved, if/whenever he managed to track her down.</s>
<\|description\|>Cormac McIntosh Factory Overseer Bio Age: Never gives the same answer twice Gender: Male Factory and Functionality: The Mór Brionnú (literally The Big Forge); Perhaps the hottest factory in all of the Infactorium, the Mór Brionnú is filled with pipes leading to various ginormous steel forges and anvils of varying sizes for beating metal of various sizes into shape. Tools are left out in seemingly random places, however Cormac seems to know where they are at all times. Personality: Cormac can act grumpy and irritated, but he actually does care about the other occupants of Infactorium, always crafting the best possible equipment for them when it's requested. He might grumble and complain, especially when given tasks outside of forging and blacksmithing, but he can always be expected to get it done to the best of his ability. He'll never admit that he does it because he likes people though, insisting that it's because he wants to be proud of his work. Creator: B;oodAndGuts93 --- Overseer Build Level: 75 Racial Levels: * (H) Giant lvl 10 * (R) Fire Giant lvl 5 * (R) Fomorian lvl 5 Job Levels: * (B) Fighter lvl 5 * (B) Armor Smith lvl 15 * (B) Weapon Smith lvl 15 * (B) Blacksmith lvl 15 * (R) Berserk lvl 5 Stat Block: * HP: 70 * MP: 20 * PHY. ATK: 70 * PHY. DEF: 70 * AGI: 20 * MAG. ATK: 20 * MAG. DEF: 20 * RESIST: 43 * SPECIAL: 42 Stat Total (Power): 375 --- Overseer Inventory and Powers * Hephaestus' Hammer: Awarded to any warrior who can successfully quell the rage of Typhon in the heart of a raging volcano. For saving Hephaestus' forge from destruction, increase your crafting abilities with this divine tool… or flatten your enemies into pancakes, whatever your preference. * Elderstahl: A sword said to be wielded by a great fire giant who would help to bring about the end of the world along with a frost giant, a wolf, a serpent, and a trickster. * Gae Assail: A magical spear, capable of being thrown and returning to the wielder's hand afterward. Gained through the favor of a silverhanded stranger. * Fire Resistance: Thanks to Cormac being a Fire Giant, he is completely resistant to even the highest of temperatures * Ríastrad: When Cormac goes into a berserker state, it is referred to as a Ríastrad, or Warp Spasm. His attacks receive a damage multiplier while his defense is decreased. He also finds it difficult to tell apart friends and foes. Cold water tends to bring him back to his normal mindset. * Balor's Eye: Cormac may appear to be blind with his colorless eyes, though that's only half true. He can in fact see through one of his eyes, though he seems to give conflicting answers when asked which it is. Either way, through this still working eye, he also has the ability to somewhat slow his opponents' movements when directly looking at them. * Surtr's Blessing: When wielding any sword, the blade shall always begin to grow hot and bright until bursting into flame, adding a flame modifier to any damage he does with the weapon. * Raiders of the Sea: Like most Fomorians, Cormac also has ties with the sea. This allows him to walk upon water as if it were solid Earth. * Fomorian Constitution: Cormac passively heals faster than most races, though at the drawback that it takes more time after his previously taken damage to begin healing. * Fortress: Offsets the enemy's attacks. * Heavy Blow: Raises a weapon's crushing capability. * Strong Assault: Increases Cormac's attack power, allowing him to increase damage against enemies with heavy armor. * Body Strengthening: Temporarily increases Cormac's strength. * Weapon Metallurgy: Can use nearly every known metal with a reasonable melting point into any weapon imagined or requested. * Armor Metallurgy: Can use nearly every known metal with a reasonable melting point into any piece of armor imagined or requested. Theme</s> <\|message\|>Levia Vishap Levia was a bit worried that Tungsten was approaching to get revenge on the accident that happened moments ago with his subordinate, but instead Tungsten Jazz's words, as inspirational as ever, stirred a fire in Levia's stomach as she clenched her draconic hands and grinned. "Her guidance, my strength, and your awesome bardic powers. Let's make sure nobody can ever harm our home, Tungsten!" Levia's tail raised in alarm as Faetalis's arm transformed into a cannon, the chimeric dragoness dropping to all four's, ready to incinerate a plethora of wildlife to keep her mistress safe. Only for it to be a single deer. ...Were it not for the awkwardness of the moment, Levia would chase it down and beat it to a pulp for startling their guild leader. Levia didn't have time to say anything before once again their leader had a minor freakout. ...Their guild leader seemed to be really high strung, for some reason. That awkwardness faded though once Levia saw the serious, monstrous eyes looking back and demanding that the humans not be harmed. Levia had to wonder why, but also didn't care enough about why to question it. As such, why would forever remain why, while who was all she knew. Then she started complimenting Levia! "Ohhh my god she said I'm brilliant! AND NOW SHE'S TOUCHING ME!" Levia screamed internally, cheeks lighting up a pale green from her noxious blood flooding to her cheeks at her hand being in contact with Faetalis's. "Y-Yes! Anything for you Lady Faetalis!" Levia would march at a merry pace, ecstatic at having been used more for her intended purpose in the last twenty four hours than she'd ever been used in... ...What was it? ...Seven Hundred Years? Yggdrasil time? Either way, Tungsten would find he'd need to give Levia very specific instructions, lest her eager innocence cause her to level most of the area around the mountain. She loved feeling useful.</s> <\|message\|>Tungsten Jazz It was not long before a Cyber Skeleton, a different one from the one he sent, returned to Tungsten with Io. The weapon of his Master, his creator, AlphaQ. For a moment the giant hesitated. He has never touched her belongings without her permission ever since she had left. She gave him and the Cyber Skeletons specific orders, and never returned. Her mission was surely important that... That she couldn't be here. All that was left was memories of her. "Hesitation doesn't suit you." Tungsten snapped out of his trace as he looked to the axe as it spoke to his mind. He picked up Io, slinging the axe onto his back where one of his magnetic plates ensured she was secured to his body despite lacking a sheath or strap. He turned and began to leave, following Faetalis and Levia out. "Of course. I am glad to see you are well." "Creator AlphaQ made sure that even in the face of total global annihilation, I would be safe. I am more interested in knowing how you had survived the calamity." "So you know. I... Cannot say. We were simply doing our duty when this cataclysm occurred. Creator Faetalis has given us orders and we have been following them since." There was no response from Io, so Tungsten assumed that she had no more questions about the matter. After all she was fairly intelligent and would know that Tungsten has no answers himself. As curious as they both were about their circumstance they wouldn't be able to find out much just by chatting to one another, not to mention Tungsten had a job to do. He'll debrief Io later once he returns to the Big Scrap Alley. The two joined Faetalis and Levia, silently following her out of the guild and towards the forest. It was uneventful aside from the deer, which Tungsten had picked up upon and identified it as not a threat. Though Faetalis didn't realize this and nearly blasted it, making Tungsten make a mental note to remember that not everyone shares his level of perception. Shortly after Faetalis asked Tungsten to have a Cyber Skeleton message Gamma about her tasks. Had Tungsten been alone, he would've had to awkwardly explain how he would be unable to do so, considering he didn't bring any Cyber Skeletons with him and they were all back at the guild. But fortunately he had the foresight to bring Io along. "Of course Creator Faetalis. The message has already been delivered." On his back Io had heard Faetalis' message and relayed it back to the nearest Cyber Skeleton relative to Gamma's location. He would immediately drop what he was doing and would head to the hive to ensure Gamma received the message. Soon after Faetalis left to continue her scouting, and thus it was time for Tungsten and Levia to begin their operation. Though Tungsten had passively been scanning the area since he got out here, he took out Io and flourished his weapon. Focusing his sensors on the area around him, expanding it further than usual, he was able to get a geographical layout of the area. It was a good location for a fortress, and perhaps once the guild is fully operational what would have been a cursed would become a boon as their Guild becomes an impenetrable bastion against those who would seek to harm them. But for that to happen there was much work to be done. "Overseer Levia. Follow me over here. This area is most efficient at reaching us, and thus it needs to be destroyed. I recommend that you cause a landslide over there, so that the resulting destruction will make the path hazardous." --- Meanwhile, a Cyber Skeleton received orders from Io. He would make a beeline straight towards Gammaton, making his presence known with his footsteps as he knelt down to deliver his message. "Orders from Creator Faetalis for Overseer Gammaton." Sticking his hand out the Cyber Skeleton produced a hologram of Faetalis giving her order as Tungsten and Io heard it. Afterwards the Cyber Skeleton would remain in case Gammatron had any further orders for it, or until she dismisses or leaves him behind. "Tungsten, can you pass a massage on to Gamma with a Cyber Skeleton? I need her to, once she and Mae are done, if she choose to go, start having her colony dig an elevator shaft to the bottom of the mountain, and tunnrl door outwards from the centermost point of Infactorium. However, I need the entries to be made discreetly; a door for us to know, and no other. Another thing, have Mae and Gamma both understand, the humans aren't to be physically harm by them, but if any should harm themselves and be left for death, they thusly spoils of war. They deserve something in return for being used in such a vile way by my hand. That's all."</s>	<\|message\|>Cormac McIntosh After several minutes of searching, Cormac would come to realize that Faetalis had already left Infactorium. In fact, it seemed that he was alone with nothing else but Tungsten's Cyber Skeletons. He considered that perhaps later, when the others returned, he would make a remark about leaving him behind without notice. However, even he realized that it was no one's fault but his own that he hadn't noticed any summons. Best to avoid bringing the whole thing up instead. Cormac would take a seat at a nearby window, looking out upon the distant lights. It was doubtless that the others left to investigate them. Did they need his help? Should he go and grab his sword and spear? Charge toward the invaders and join the fray? Or would that only make things worse? Would he unknowingly ruin any plans the Overseer of overseers had made and only make things worse? The answer was obvious, to wait until he was given a sign to make a move, but it didn't make the waiting any more bearable. Rising from his seat, the giant would begin to pace around the room, his restlessness rising without anything to keep his hands busy. However, in case anything went wrong, he wanted to be able to see it from this chosen perch, meaning he couldn't return to The Mór Brionnú where he wouldn't be able to see a thing. With a 'hrumph' he looked back out into the unknown outside and peered into the darkness, trying to see if there was anything he could make out.</s>
<\|description\|>Cormac McIntosh Factory Overseer Bio Age: Never gives the same answer twice Gender: Male Factory and Functionality: The Mór Brionnú (literally The Big Forge); Perhaps the hottest factory in all of the Infactorium, the Mór Brionnú is filled with pipes leading to various ginormous steel forges and anvils of varying sizes for beating metal of various sizes into shape. Tools are left out in seemingly random places, however Cormac seems to know where they are at all times. Personality: Cormac can act grumpy and irritated, but he actually does care about the other occupants of Infactorium, always crafting the best possible equipment for them when it's requested. He might grumble and complain, especially when given tasks outside of forging and blacksmithing, but he can always be expected to get it done to the best of his ability. He'll never admit that he does it because he likes people though, insisting that it's because he wants to be proud of his work. Creator: B;oodAndGuts93 --- Overseer Build Level: 75 Racial Levels: * (H) Giant lvl 10 * (R) Fire Giant lvl 5 * (R) Fomorian lvl 5 Job Levels: * (B) Fighter lvl 5 * (B) Armor Smith lvl 15 * (B) Weapon Smith lvl 15 * (B) Blacksmith lvl 15 * (R) Berserk lvl 5 Stat Block: * HP: 70 * MP: 20 * PHY. ATK: 70 * PHY. DEF: 70 * AGI: 20 * MAG. ATK: 20 * MAG. DEF: 20 * RESIST: 43 * SPECIAL: 42 Stat Total (Power): 375 --- Overseer Inventory and Powers * Hephaestus' Hammer: Awarded to any warrior who can successfully quell the rage of Typhon in the heart of a raging volcano. For saving Hephaestus' forge from destruction, increase your crafting abilities with this divine tool… or flatten your enemies into pancakes, whatever your preference. * Elderstahl: A sword said to be wielded by a great fire giant who would help to bring about the end of the world along with a frost giant, a wolf, a serpent, and a trickster. * Gae Assail: A magical spear, capable of being thrown and returning to the wielder's hand afterward. Gained through the favor of a silverhanded stranger. * Fire Resistance: Thanks to Cormac being a Fire Giant, he is completely resistant to even the highest of temperatures * Ríastrad: When Cormac goes into a berserker state, it is referred to as a Ríastrad, or Warp Spasm. His attacks receive a damage multiplier while his defense is decreased. He also finds it difficult to tell apart friends and foes. Cold water tends to bring him back to his normal mindset. * Balor's Eye: Cormac may appear to be blind with his colorless eyes, though that's only half true. He can in fact see through one of his eyes, though he seems to give conflicting answers when asked which it is. Either way, through this still working eye, he also has the ability to somewhat slow his opponents' movements when directly looking at them. * Surtr's Blessing: When wielding any sword, the blade shall always begin to grow hot and bright until bursting into flame, adding a flame modifier to any damage he does with the weapon. * Raiders of the Sea: Like most Fomorians, Cormac also has ties with the sea. This allows him to walk upon water as if it were solid Earth. * Fomorian Constitution: Cormac passively heals faster than most races, though at the drawback that it takes more time after his previously taken damage to begin healing. * Fortress: Offsets the enemy's attacks. * Heavy Blow: Raises a weapon's crushing capability. * Strong Assault: Increases Cormac's attack power, allowing him to increase damage against enemies with heavy armor. * Body Strengthening: Temporarily increases Cormac's strength. * Weapon Metallurgy: Can use nearly every known metal with a reasonable melting point into any weapon imagined or requested. * Armor Metallurgy: Can use nearly every known metal with a reasonable melting point into any piece of armor imagined or requested. Theme</s> <\|message\|>Tungsten Jazz Taking a seat alongside the other overseers, Tungsten listened to Faetalis' decree. It... Surprised him. Excited him. But it also made him feel something he's never felt before. As a Cyber Skeleton, emotions are a somewhat foreign concept to him. Strange considering his musical abilities are all about stirring up emotions, but he himself has not felt anything that was not simply programmed into him. And thus those emotions are little more than social indicators that he must act upon based off stratagems and probability. But this emotion he felt right now... He had no response to. It was not the war against the Nyll Empire that made Tungsten feel this way. He frankly cared very little towards them. While he hopes to facilitate some sort of short war that ultimately ends with peace, Tungsten was also fully prepared to wipe out every single person in that empire if that is what Faetalis commands him to. And doing so would not even trigger any more of an emotional response than if he had to kill one. Really the only thing that concerned him was sending a few more of his agents into the Empire in order to gather more information. No, there was a different thing that worried Tungsten. As Faetalis produced the Soulbound Keys his body tensed. "Thank you, Creator Faetalis. I will be worthy." After taking his key Tungsten had already sent a command through Io to his Cyber Skeletons to begin construction. For now production of more BIGS and the Excavator Big would have to halt, as those resources will now need to be spent fortifying the floors he now Supervises. He intends to make his floors killing zones. A place where no hope passes through, only allies of the Infactorium. Because once in his existence, Tungsten... Tungesten felt a dark emotion. The feeling of sorrow and dread. Looking down at the key Tungsten closed his hand tightly. If he was capable of tears he would have shed a single droplet. Due to the attunement of these Soul Bound keys, Faetalis would no doubt be able to feel Tungsten's pain. Maybe even his thoughts. "Long have I awaited for your return, my creator... AlphaQ. When will you return to us? Why have I heard nothing from you, after all this time? Only the Creators would know and none will speak. Creator Faetalis is the only one with us but... Surely, you will return. That is my wish. My desire. But this key... This Authority... This is yours. This was your duty. For me to take up your mantle would mean that... You will not return. Why. Where did you go? Why did you forsake me? What must I do to bring you back?" The Darksteel Colossus sat so absolutely skill, one could mistake him as merely a statue. Whether or not Faetalis knew how Tungsten felt or if she was prepared to tell him, she would know the truth. The truth that no one, not Tungsten, nor any other creator knew. AlphaQ had died. The mortal player was killed in a car accident. In reality, AlphaQ was but a young woman working a harrowing office job, and one her way home she was struck by a drunk driver. Her insurance wasn't able to cover the cost of the surgery needed to save her life. With what little life she had left, she had told her family not to saddle themselves with the debt of saving her life. It was at the same time she told Faetalis about her fate. She passed shortly after, having never had a chance to try and settle her accounts with the rest of the guild or Tungsten. The whole time, Tungsten simply waited for her. She told him she would return and that he simply needed to continue his duty until her return. When she comes back she'll start working on what she left off on. But now she'll never return, and Tungsten must continue where she left off. This terrified him. But Tungsten would not tell Faetalis his thoughts. That was not a burden he would share. Even if he knew the truth, even if he had his suspicion, the only thing that keeps him going is that false hope and the duty he was given. Faetalis has given him job and this will give him purpose. The hope of his creator's return is what drives him to live. But the emotions he felt, that is what is going to guide his hand as he designs these floors. His love, his hate, and all of his sorrow, channeled into the creation of these two floors. He will create a wall of guns that will destroy any enemy that arrives, and the remains of their blasted corpses will be the only refuge for any invader. Yes, this is what Tungsten felt. This was the only way Tungsten could cope. "Our enemies will be grease for the machine."</s> <\|message\|>Canology Mae Once everyone arrived, the meeting could begin in earnest, and though she managed to keep herself quiet, Mae couldn't help but be a little excited. Any meeting with Lady Faetalis or the other supreme beings was naturally of utmost importance by default, but those occasions that called for the presence of every Infactorium Overseer at once were truly a cut above. Since the guild's arrival in these unknown lands a couple such gatherings had come and gone, but still they never lost their luster, at least for Mae. While her eccentric but endearing family of Maneaters meant that she never felt lonesome, she seldom had occasion to visit -or even hear from- the other factories beyond what little she could glean from the idle chatter of those who came and went in the Gorging Trough. That meant being around her peers -not to mention her betters- always felt special. And yet, today the headless horror had a certain, inexplicable feeling that this meeting would be more extraordinary still. As such, when Faetlis got started, the immense chef took the biggest seat that the room had to offer and listened at rapt attention, her arms rested atop her belly with her hands clasped. Her boss's first order of business was to disseminate some big news, namely that big things were going to start happening very soon, in one way or another. By sheer bad luck, the sudden introduction of the guild to this particular mountaintop had led to a disruption in the supply of a vital local resource, without which the nearby vassal kingdom would quickly incur the wrath of its imperial overseer. The whole thing went a bit above Mae's pay grade as a humble chef, but it sounded like no matter what Faetalis chose, conflict would be inevitable. Like the true professional she was, however, the supreme one already had plans in the works, and wasted no time presenting them. A mere moment later, without neither an excess of preamble nor exposition, Mae found herself endowed with a heaping portion of extra responsibility. Supervisor? Floors? My command?! If Mae had a forehead she might have drawn the back of her head across it, or nervously scratch her neck, but with no such facilities she could do little more than wring her hands as the details poured in. It was a lot to take in, but a kitchen expert like Mae could boil the blueprint down to its essential components. Right now Infactorium existed as a cluster of factories atop the mountain, but now the core of the mountain itself would be hollowed out and developed into a series of floors, each one being the essence of an existing factory writ large. But this was more than just the chance for a bigger workplace. This time she wouldn't be just the one brought in to operate the facility that Lord Sugi the Hammer designed; she would be the designer, in charge of the place from top to bottom, bearing both the power to make decisions and the weight of delivering results. Having creative control over a cake was one thing, but a factory? She was just one monster! But no. Though inner conflict roiled her guts like a bad stew, she swallowed her fears and with a ginger hand accepted her key. As much as she needed him, Sugi wasn't here right now. Instead, Faetalis stood before her, and placed in Mae her wholehearted trust. She hadn't just bestowed upon Mae the honor of defending the guild, but also made her the penultimate defender, with the new Gorging Trough to be situated directly below her own eminent Domain. Not the ravenous swarms of Gammaton, not the machined might of Tungsten, not the inexorable breaker Levia, not even the venerable forgemaster Cormac...her. A morbidly obese monstrosity without a single kill to her name. She would be the last line of defense, the one in whom Faetalis trusted to put down whatever threat all the others could not. It was an incredible responsibility, and though it made Mae a little afraid, it also made her incredibly proud. Her fist closed around the tiny key in her hand, and she beat it against her clavicle. "You got it, ma'am! We won't let ya down, I swear it!"</s>	<\|message\|>Cormac McIntosh As Faetalis brought up the situation in Anzelgard, Cormac began stroking his chin in thought. Looking at things practically, annexing them or leaving them to their own devices had their benefits and downsides. On one hand, bringing them under their protection would give them more resources to work with as well as more soldiers. Though with Tungsten's Cyber Skeletons, one could make the argument that they already a vastly superior source of foot soldiers, the giant felt that a diverse army could only be beneficial as long as they had the resources to support it. However, while conflict with Nyll was inevitable, taking Anzelgard was sure to bring war upon them much sooner. Sacrificing Anzelgard could give them valuable time to prepare. Looking at it practically was a tough decision. However, Cormac was not some compassionless machine (no offense to the automatons and androids of Infactorium). He was a giant and one that still had a heart. If they could save Anzelgard from destruction, he would plead their case to the other Overseers as best as he could. Before Faetalis would begin listening to their thoughts on the matter though, she would announce to them the intention to grant them even more responsibilities. It was a great distinction, the giant couldn't argue with that, as he said, "I'm honored, lass," already switching to referring to his former supervisor informally to better grow used to the change in position. However, ever the crotchety old geezer, he couldn't help but still have some complaints. Would becoming a supervisor further pull him away from his metalworking? Most definitely. For now though, the great reward for his service outweighed his preference for isolationism, and he made no verbal remarks. His large hand would wrap around the key as he took it from Faetalis, unintentionally testing its durability despite his best attempts to be gentle with it.</s>
<\|description\|>Neh'miah He'ron Level: 1 Class: Common thief Currency: 1G, 27bits Ammunition: none Armor: None Vitality: 10 Status: Wanted Basic Info: Gender: Male Age: 22 Race: Human, Rovanni Origin: Guillan Relgion(s): Ka'a Alissi Attire: Rather expensive and well kept clothing consisting of a white silk shirt, black linen vest with matching belt. All complimented by black pants and black leather boots. On the rainy days his attire is often complimented with a brown leather coat. Demeanor: Playful, chatty, shrewd and a tad bit arrogant. ATTRIBUTES: Awareness: 2 Intelligence: 3 Strength: 2 Wit: 3 Dexterity: 2 Willpower: 1 Charisma: 3 Luck: 1 SKILLSETS: Pick pocketing: 2 Lock Picking: 1 Sleight of hand: 2 Extortion: Evade: 2 Familiar weapon Bribery Bludgeoning Scamming: 2 Lying: 2 FLAWS: Neh'miah is obsessed with status and craves recognition. He will do whatever it takes to gain status and notoriety. Often doing elaborate schemes in broad daylight and then boasting about it to anyone who is around. The young thief has a habit of portraying himself way better than he actually is. Even going as far as to cook up elaborate and fantastic backstories about himself. BACKGROUND: Neh'miah was born in the slums of Guillan. His mother was a whore from Bavoria and his father? Well, who knows. Could be a sailor, a merchant or some member of the black hands. Nobody can really tell when you see a few dozen clients a day and none of them would ever care for a brat that might be their child. Prostitutes have always played a special role in every town's hospitality and are often recognized for that. However that does not mean that being a prostitute is viewed as an honorable and respectable profession. Whores in Guillan are still viewed as dishonorable and sinful women who often seduce the proper gentlemen in exchange for coins. An act that would rank them among the lowest of lowlifes. As much as society looks down on prostitutes there is one group that ranks even lower, their children. Women could be forced into prostitution by circumstances, however their children are born out the the sinful act itself. Neh'miah would grow up devoid of any form of social status. However Neh'miah's mother did care. She spends all her earnings on getting her son as much education as possible. That way he would surely escape Guillian's slums and have a brighter future. However finding someone who was willing to educate a son of a whore was not an easy task. Most scholars did not want to associate themselves with such lowlifes, afraid that it would hurt their status. There was one scholar who was willing to take this kid from the slums up in his class. It was here that the young Neh'miah got confronted with life beyond the poverty of the slums. Surrounded by the children of wealthy merchants, landowning nobility and highly skilled craftsmen he truly learned what it meant to be looked down upon. Ignored, ridiculed and ostracized by his peers because of his rather humble origin, Neh'miah vowed to himself that he would rise above them all, no matter what the costs. PERSONAL EFFECTS: Parchment Writing Quill and ink Spyglass Set of lockpicks Leather pouch Rapier - DMG: 1d6 (+1 to piercing blows) CRIT: 18-20 (X2) RANGE: 5ft Ornate Pistol - DMG: 2d6 ( Flintlock mod dropped to -1, fine pistol) Single-Shot CRIT: 18-20 (X2) RANGE: 30m (bewerkt) roleplayerguild.com/campaigns/802</s> <\|message\|>Y'vanna Ravana'dan Y'Vanna was just finishing her last horn as Solange nudged the glass of wine towards her. She took one look at it and scowled. "Eww... wine, I never touch that stuff... hate that shite..." she said, slamming her horn down on the table and swiping for the glass of wine. She took a healthy sip before she continued. "Well, a sailor we may have, and aye, ye sound confident in your own right, but just how can ye be certain things will run so smoothly, eh?" She could feel the warmth of the alcohol flooding her face and belly, oh the sweet embrace... A dance she had danced nearly every night for as long as she could remember. The bluntness of her speech was a dead giveaway. "I mean, eighty kilometers is a good bit of distance to be traveling with people I just met, and to be trusting them takes it even further out to sea for meself... Especially when I'm to me making deal with Vargas... or his business partner either." Y'Vanna had barely got the words out as Vargas came through the open doorway and into the room. Percival followed him in as well with a broken look about his face and his shoulders sloping off in a sulking manner. Vargas's attire was well over the top, A beautifully gilded royal blue frock with gold threading, exceptionally tailored. His shoes and gloves, both of black leather and very well kempt. His mustache and facial hair was waxed and groomed, and that smell... she couldn't put her finger on quite what it was but it stung at the nostrils. The room fell eerily silent for a moment, the only sound was the hardened leather bottoms of his shoes as they fell on the planks below. Even the ambience of the tavern seemed to muffle slightly. "What's this I am hearing about a proposition, hmmm?" he said, placing a gloved hand to his face inquisitively. "It had better be lucrative, whatever it is. I don't take kindly to intrusions... especially at MY OWN TABLE!" he said rather loudly in Percy's direction, but did not turn. "Well, then ye're gonna love this one Varg- Lord Vargas." Y'Vanna said with a bit of a shaky voice. "I was just telling your business partner-" "Partner?" Vargas said abruptly, cutting her off before she could continue. He looked to Solange as Y'Vanna was gesturing at her when she spoke. "Oh, right.. aheheh.. Yes indeed, my partner." He said, a warm smile gathered on his face as again locked his gaze on her. "Please, do continue. It's no secret that my associate and I are quite fond of the prospect of making a bit of money... Percy, get your worthless ass downstairs and get us a few rounds for everyone. I'll foot the tab if this takes to my liking" he said, snapping a finger before moving to take his chair, which he graciously eased into. He clasped his hands in front of him on the table, eager to hear this tale. "Aye, yer partner was saying that she could get us a ship to Gnok island, some eighty kilometers west of here." Y'Vanna said as she tore through the glass of wine. "Oh, and Percy. Fetch Nora for me while you're at it." Vargas added "Please, continue." Percival nodded and took his leave, and not soon enough after what he had just endured...</s> <\|message\|>Skarsat Ma'dawc SkarsatThe Faded Lantern Inn It took an agonizing while, but ultimately even the nose of a Tork man was able to adapt to things that simply didn't exist among the nomads: the scent of sweat, vomit and cheap ale concentrated in a badly ventilated, enclosed space way too tiny. Nothing against the hearth though -- that thing was rock solid, burning much better than an open fireplace and would likely provide a lot of warmth well after the flames had ceased. Unfortunatenly it had to be incredibly heavy, so no tribe could afford to move such a thing around... Anyway. His clothes had become dry, which meant Skarsat could start concentrating on other things. Saving himself from a nasty cold and an empty stomach were not the only reasons why he had decided to come here, but while the first issue was already solved and the second problem was about to find its end in the form of a enticingly good looking barmaiden delivering a large piece of roasted meat, his bosses' boss still was not showing up. Or was the man actually Lord Ivor's boss ? Lord Ivor had claimed so with a mixture of both reverence and fear, but who was a simple Tork to know for sure ? It could just as well be a trick to influence his whole mindset in advance about this 'Lord Vargas'. Skarsat kept waiting. First until he had finished his meal, then until the card of games he had been watching from the distance had ended in yet another brawl and then an uncounted number of minutes further... Enough! Whoever this Vargas guy was, he'd have to talk now! Luckily mister Ivor had given him a hint about the bartender. The wooden chair creaked with a lot of relief as Skarsat raised himself to his towering height again and moved over towards Percival. The latter appeared to be in a bit of a hectic move and certainly looked like this was not the best evening for him, but Skarsat happily ignored this fact for the moment. "You..." One really couldn't say that Skarsat would have been the most charismatic person, but rather one whose dark voice and overall appearance gave reason to feel intimidated. Running a place like The Faded Lantern however was not an easy job either and unpleasant approaches were more like an everyday business, so combined with the fact that Skarsat actually tried to provide a friendly intonation Percival perceived the man's method of addressing him without feeling too much disturbed. He instead presented as much of a gentle smile as he could muster after what had happened earlier this evening. "Someone told me that the man behind the bar knows more about a certain Lord Vargas. Now if my eyes don't betray me the man behind the bar is you. So could you tell me more ?" Maybe it was a good thing that Skarsat lacked the ability to read other people's minds, otherwise he would have been able to witness an entire stampede of thoughts about his kind going off in the bartender's mind right now: often big, often bad, and more often than not even not so nice looking. Also Percival didn't hesistate to make an internal statement about the Tork standing in front of his counter being a good example for all of those aspects. None of this could be seen on the bartender's face however. He, after all, was somewhat prepared by this not being the first occasion of its kind. "Could be, yes. Who wants to know ?" "Skarsat. I have an... erm... what it's formally called ? Appointment! Yes, I have an appointment with Vargas!" Percival let go of a sigh he didn't even bother to try and hide somehow. Lord Vargas was a busy man and even someone as miraculous and cunning as him could not just divide himself and keep up to several appointments simultaneously. Yes, he had told him something about another rendezvous with some Tork guy, but right now Vargas was upstairs with a bunch of people and it didn't look like that things would be over in that room anytime soon! One of the perks of being a Lord was that it was clear who'd have to wait in such cases, but unfortunatenly it was not the perk of a simple Tork man to know that, was it ? "The schedule has gone a little haywire today, so please accept the Lord's apology for letting you wait. Nobody of us expected the king's soldiers to show up today! I'll take you to the Lord once he's ready!" Percival kept smiling. He had survived Lord Vargas not having a good opinion about his actions earlier this evening, so an unnverved Tork could not do any harm to him! He cut off any further potential of interrogation by just turning away from Skarsat, instead firmly dedicating himself to the lot of drinks people upstairs were waiting for. Yet the stare didn't go away. The tork man kept nailing Percival with his glare and started to tap his fingers on the table. His lips more and more narrowed down to a thin line and his facial muscles started to flex slightly. As Percival did his best to resist, Skarsat grabbed himself a stool for comfort and watched the bartender dashing around and piling up beverages on his plate at a rather bewildering speed. As interesting as this was to watch, as little did it help Skarsat's interests though. "You know, I can search for Vargas myself. Thanks for services not rendered!" Percival's body felt as if one had tossed him from the overheated atmosphere of the tavern right into the cold waters of the harbor. No, not another session with Vargas just like the one before! If this guy would just stumble into that room... With one quick move that told a story about his experience as a barman since none of the drinks on his plate lost a single drop, Percival positioned himself in front of Skarsat before the latter could reach the stairs. Just... just how big was this walking tower of a man ? "No need to, I am ready! I just need to pick up someone else, too! You know... you're not the only one he wants to talk to today!" He had almost forgotten about Nora! Hopefully she was somewhere around here, too...</s>	<\|message\|>Neh'miah He'ron Location: The Faded Lantern "Yes, the one and only. No better thief on this side of the ocean then me." Spoke Neh'miah joyous. As he looked at Y'vanna while listening to her sarcastic remark "You're Y'vanna, the head that consumes more grog than an entire brigg crew on a daily basis, right? Anyway, I don't have a ship…...yet. We could always steal one" Spoke Neh'miah confidently as if he was stealing ships on a regular basis. However before the thief could cook up some elaborate scheme to steal a ship, his attention was attracted by the other women at the table. Neh'miah did not know the woman who introduced herself as Solange and yet there was something familiar about how she spoke, her mannerisms and her body language. In a way, it reminded him of his mother. For a moment Neh'miah followed her movements with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. There was something off about what this woman said, however the young thief could not entirely pinpoint out what it was. However, Solange was right about one thing. Having Neh'miah on your team is more valuable than the gods. As Solange traced her finger around the young thief's shoulder, he could not help but to feel that she was playing him. This kind of behaviour Neh'miah had seen many times before. Solange shared the profession of his mother. And yet while knowing this, he still bought kinto her game. "Oh? Vargas wants to pay for a ship? That could be interesting, depending on what the man, I mean lord of course wants in return for his investment." roleplayerguild.com/rolls/21143</s>
<\|description\|>Neh'miah He'ron Level: 1 Class: Common thief Currency: 1G, 27bits Ammunition: none Armor: None Vitality: 10 Status: Wanted Basic Info: Gender: Male Age: 22 Race: Human, Rovanni Origin: Guillan Relgion(s): Ka'a Alissi Attire: Rather expensive and well kept clothing consisting of a white silk shirt, black linen vest with matching belt. All complimented by black pants and black leather boots. On the rainy days his attire is often complimented with a brown leather coat. Demeanor: Playful, chatty, shrewd and a tad bit arrogant. ATTRIBUTES: Awareness: 2 Intelligence: 3 Strength: 2 Wit: 3 Dexterity: 2 Willpower: 1 Charisma: 3 Luck: 1 SKILLSETS: Pick pocketing: 2 Lock Picking: 1 Sleight of hand: 2 Extortion: Evade: 2 Familiar weapon Bribery Bludgeoning Scamming: 2 Lying: 2 FLAWS: Neh'miah is obsessed with status and craves recognition. He will do whatever it takes to gain status and notoriety. Often doing elaborate schemes in broad daylight and then boasting about it to anyone who is around. The young thief has a habit of portraying himself way better than he actually is. Even going as far as to cook up elaborate and fantastic backstories about himself. BACKGROUND: Neh'miah was born in the slums of Guillan. His mother was a whore from Bavoria and his father? Well, who knows. Could be a sailor, a merchant or some member of the black hands. Nobody can really tell when you see a few dozen clients a day and none of them would ever care for a brat that might be their child. Prostitutes have always played a special role in every town's hospitality and are often recognized for that. However that does not mean that being a prostitute is viewed as an honorable and respectable profession. Whores in Guillan are still viewed as dishonorable and sinful women who often seduce the proper gentlemen in exchange for coins. An act that would rank them among the lowest of lowlifes. As much as society looks down on prostitutes there is one group that ranks even lower, their children. Women could be forced into prostitution by circumstances, however their children are born out the the sinful act itself. Neh'miah would grow up devoid of any form of social status. However Neh'miah's mother did care. She spends all her earnings on getting her son as much education as possible. That way he would surely escape Guillian's slums and have a brighter future. However finding someone who was willing to educate a son of a whore was not an easy task. Most scholars did not want to associate themselves with such lowlifes, afraid that it would hurt their status. There was one scholar who was willing to take this kid from the slums up in his class. It was here that the young Neh'miah got confronted with life beyond the poverty of the slums. Surrounded by the children of wealthy merchants, landowning nobility and highly skilled craftsmen he truly learned what it meant to be looked down upon. Ignored, ridiculed and ostracized by his peers because of his rather humble origin, Neh'miah vowed to himself that he would rise above them all, no matter what the costs. PERSONAL EFFECTS: Parchment Writing Quill and ink Spyglass Set of lockpicks Leather pouch Rapier - DMG: 1d6 (+1 to piercing blows) CRIT: 18-20 (X2) RANGE: 5ft Ornate Pistol - DMG: 2d6 ( Flintlock mod dropped to -1, fine pistol) Single-Shot CRIT: 18-20 (X2) RANGE: 30m (bewerkt) roleplayerguild.com/campaigns/802</s> <\|message\|>Nora Harah Fifrawi Nora --- "A distraction would be most welcome," Nora said, nodding towards Sheri. "I am sure the good Sheriff will relish the pleasant company. It has been said that he is a man of many great appetites and boundless greed." The hand resting on her sword finally relaxed as the carefully collected words left her mouth. Nora could feel the warmth of anger in her chest. The whirlwind of emotion whipped across her skin like sharp kernels of sand. She watched Skarsat carefully. He had made his point. That was fair. That was the risk Solange courted when she played her games. But he had gone too far. She would not defend Solange. The woman had to defend herself. However, Nora could not ignore the bitter taste in her mouth. She had limits too. And the Tork had danced on the very blade's edge of what she would tolerate. Violence was a weapon. Violence was a useful weapon. Still, like all weapons it had to be wielded properly, carefully even, and it had to be applied in just the right amount. There was an art to violence. A gentle dance, skillful footsteps matched to the rhythm of blood. Disappointment was a bitter draught to swallow and Nora considered for a moment what sort of people Vargas had bound her to. The giant Tork had a temper. Tempers were a problem. Tempers had a habit of leading to problems. Problems inevitably lead to violence. And violence. Violence meant death. She hoped for his sake that Vargas would not hear that he had touched Solange or see the damage he had caused for that matter. There were rules. There were rules of conduct expected of all that entered the Faded Lantern. Unspoken as they might be, they were no less fatal if broken. Vargas was protective over his property. And more importantly Vargas had his own reputation to consider. There were consequences to damaging the property of the Lord without proper cause. "I trust that we can all conduct ourselves as professionals? Yes?" Nora said with a cold glance that settled first upon Skarsat and then on Solange. A frown danced across her lips as her eyes lingered and she resisted a sudden urge to shake her head. It was too early for fools. It was too early for foolish bravado. And it was far too early to bloody her blade. "You may settle any disputes after we return." "May you find cool water," Nora said in parting with a warding sign as she left the room, not quite managing to shake off the shifting dunes of anger she felt as she turned away from her two colleagues.</s> <\|message\|>Skarsat Ma'dawc Skarsat Skarsat's eye twitched in silence just like a vulcano's walls bent and shifted ever so slightly when in reality, pressure was building up inside and waiting to break free. Finding cool water ? Yeah, maybe just swimming alongside the ship instead of sharing his free time with one of the more... exotic... members of their little party was indeed a good idea. Though, a neutral observer from outside the fourth wall might object, an idea that came along with the risk of the ocean just evaporating as the vulcano swam in it. Today however would not turn out to be eruption day. Or would it ? After all it had only just begun. Yet at least for the moment Skarsat decided there were higher priorities that presented themselves in form of a 'sheriff Gerranti'. So the city's forces responsible for law and order were looking exactly for the one person he was supposed to wake up ? Skarsat found that, if not anything else already, to be a good call to leave the main hall and get the job done. He heaved himself up the staircase and down the corridor he believed the room in question was accessible from, then knocked on the door -- hard. He could still feel a great amount of irritation trying to smother his attempts to calm down and at the same time he could feel the urge to act quickly because who knew how long those down in the main hall could keep this Gerranti busy before he'd give the order to start searching ? As he was thinking about the ifs, whens and hows of talking to his boss, Nora, about any of the most recent events, he knocked at the door a second time. Still he didn't openly call out Neh'miahs name or even just say anything else. If there was anything he had learned then probably that his voice could easily be heard. Normally not much of an issue, but if this sheriff down there would hear the name of the one being searched for and could associate it with some frantic efforts to wake up the man... Anonymously knocking at the door and opening it by force if needed was bound to be much more effective in this case. The giant did seriously hope though that Neh'miah would get out of bed by himself by the second though. The man needed some time left to leave the place, too -- and preferably not completely naked or with a prostitute making a loud fuzz about his sudden departure!</s> <\|message\|>Solange Belgard --- Solange - The Faded Lantern Tavern & Inn Lies aren't needed when others make the excuse for you. --- "We must run in different circles, honey. All I ever heard about the Sheriff was that he was a man of strange taste and disappointing stamina," said Solange with a half-smile that faded quickly as Nora's icy stare flashed like a dagger from Skarsat over to her. The redhead stood up straight and cupped her hands together to stand like a proper, professional young lady with no hint of irony in her disposition. She nodded in acknowledgment to Nora's departing statement, Solange's tongue twisting in her mouth as she swallowed the desire to return the Zherpanian saying with a similar one she'd heard uttered by the followers of Voi—something about making water once the passions cooled. Neither, she realized, would be advice that would need to be followed at this moment. "Any disputes? Darling, can you believe Miss Sunshine thought we were having a...darling?" Solange craned her neck to search for Skarsat, but her plaything had already slipped away. She exchanged a glance with Sheri and smiled sweetly. "Let's head to the kitchen. After you." Solange had the misfortune of dealing with Sheri before, who'd taken it upon herself to explain the lives of every member of the staff to Solange like some kind of proud, doting mother. It amazed Solange how Sheri was able to know so much about the others, considering she never took a single moment to let someone else get a word in. However, seemingly the stress of dealing with the Sheriff was enough to silence the suffocating gossip who, much to Solange's relief, fretted with her frock more than anything. Sheri held the swinging door to the kitchen open for Solange, who stepped through after telling the woman to wait outside. The kitchen of the Faded Lantern was normally well organized but currently in complete disarray due to the prep done to provide the would-be treasure hunters with a bountiful feast that now would go unenjoyed by half of their party. Solange eyed a tower of dirty dishes, her tongue pressing into her bruised cheek as she fought the urge to send them cascading to the ground, porcelain shattering everywhere and ruining the day of some young kitchenhand who'd be forced to scrub it all up. Perhaps if the floors weren't already dirty the temptation would be too much for her. She peeled herself away and found what she'd come looking for: an iron kettle filled with black, muddy coffee. Its bitter flavor would do well to mask the taste of the leaves of iris that Solange had squirreled away for a day when her sister had deeply annoyed her. She pulled the leaves out of her tiny herb pouch, casting a glance over her shoulder to make sure that none of that staff was poking their head around. Grabbing a bowl and a wooden spoon from the pile of dirty dishes, Solange pulverized the leaves until they made a fine paste, loosened it upon with a bit of water, and mixed it in with the coffee. It might add a bit of grit to the brew, but it'd be difficult to differentiate between it and loose coffee grounds. The poison wasn't lethal—killing her sister was out of the question, and killing the Sheriff would be bad for the local businesses—but it would ruin the better part of the morning by keeping him contained to the loo. Most likely the Sheriff would reason that the cooking was bad or that he had too much to drink the night before and not even consider that someone would dose him. She stashed her makeshift mortar and pestle in with the rest of the dishes and grabbed the wooden handle of the kettle. Popping out of the kitchen, she nodded to Sheri and followed the woman's gaze up to the balcony. Her nose wrinkled as she caught sight of Sheriff Gerranti gesturing with a piece of bacon to one of the guards seated with him. Solange adjusted her dress and sashayed her way up to the pig trough. She heard a bark of laughter and paused outside of the sliding door, taking a moment to come up with a story. Nerves steeled and a phony smile painted on her face, Solange pulled on the handle and found three men with crumbs on their lips staring at her. She stepped gracefully through the threshold with her chin high, casting a quick glance at the two nobodies before focusing her gaze upon the Sheriff. Normally she'd move to a spot where she could have her eyes on the door, but she needed to be able to see the main hall. "Gentleman, I am so pleased our staff saw fit to serve you breakfast after my partner so quickly turned you away the other night. It is always so wonderful to see them take ownership, especially when it comes to taking care of a respectable man of the law. My name is Solange Belgard, Lord Vargas's new business partner. Sheri took it upon herself to inform me of everything. I'm afraid we'd be here well past supper if we were to wait for Lord Vargas, but I may answer what questions you have in his stead. However, before that…" She placed her hand on the back of an empty chair and leaned forward, squeezing her chest up as she raised the tainted kettle, her blue eyes narrowing. "...who needs more coffee?"</s>	<\|message\|>Neh'miah He'ron Location: The Faded Lantern Neh'miah found himself sitting on a throne on top of a mountain formed out of gold coins while rivers of wine seemed to flow out of the endless sky. Before him lay the endless green meadows filled with scantily dressed women chanting his name as the greatest thief that ever lived. Ofcourse dreams that are too good to be true lead to rude awakenings. The sound of a heavy fist knocking on a door suddenly filled the pleasant imagery that was captivating the young thiefs mind. For a moment he was looking around for a door only to realize that it was a sound from beyond his drunken slumber. Slowly Neh'miah opened his eyes only to realize that he was back in the real world. A rather modest sleeping accommodation known as the Faded Lantern. As he pulled himself out of the bed the room spinned around him. Clearly the wine from last night hasn't left his system yet. Quickly he reached for the bucked in the corner of his room to empty what little contents his stomach still holded after a night of heavy drinking before making his way to the door barely dressed. As the young thief reached for the doorknob he spoke a little agitated "What's the ruckus this early in the morning" before staring at the rather large Tork chest at the other side of the door. As his eyes went up Neh'miah realized that Skarsat was standing there and he was supposed to wake up early.</s>
<\|description\|>Skarsat Ma'dawc Level: 1 Class: Mercenary/Thug (novice) Currency: 99G, 39 bits Ammunition: 44 arrows Armor: +1, heavy leather Vitality: 9/10 Status: normal BASIC INFORMATION Gender: Male Age: 31 Race: Tork Origin: Great plains of the Marth (nomadic, so no distinct location) Religion(s): Su-Mar-Kaan, the council of nature spirits Attire: Simple gray-white linen cloth, furs and boots for everyday life, armor for when it's needed. Demeanor: Sarcastic, rough and reckless at times, but also honest and straightforward ATTRIBUTES Awareness: 2 Intelligence: 2 Strength: 3 Wit: 2 Dexterity: 2 Willpower: 3 Charisma: 1 Luck: 1 SKILLSETS Archery: 3 (familiar weapon +2, archery +1) Brawn: 2 Hand to hand: 2 Intimidation: 2 Knock-out: 1 Extortion: 1 Horseback riding: 1 FLAWS Skarsat has a serious tendency to go forward without putting that much effort into planning ahead. It has gotten him into more trouble than would have been necessary to achieve his goals in the past and is bound to do the same in the future. Also his Tork nature and physiology brings its own bunch of major and minor problems with it, such as his unfamiliarity with the details of what many consider 'civilized' customs or his sheer, extraordinary size. BACKGROUND Skarsat was born into a tribe called 'The Vanyr' as one of three childs, two brothers and a sister, of his father Marrask and his mother Cafol. The tribe, just as many Tork, follows a lifestyle of never settling down too long in one place, and thus Skarsat's early life follows pretty much the story the average western or eastern citizen might tell about them: He learned how to ride from early on, soon had to help picking up and dissecting hunted down animals and then got trained in the art of archery himself. There was no such thing as a real settlement, just an allotment of tents that were placed down near water and then picked up again some days or weeks later when there were no more local resources to collect. However there is a small twist to the Vanyr that ultimately forced Skarsat to learn the concept of town and cities after all. Each and every child, once having reached the age of 17, has to go on a two-year journey on his or her own that has to lead outside of the Tork's native soil and go either west or east, the further the better. It is there for them to learn about the world and to respect it and the others living in it, but of course also a test of both survival and character as noone is actually strictly obliged to return to the tribe. However those who don't are either assumed dead or, should it become known that they are still alive, scorned. From that point of view Skarsat has failed the test. He tried to return, but life isn't easy and he got stuck in affairs that ultimately forged him into what he is now. However the Vanyr are just one tribe of many, and others might have entirely different views on things and not care about his past in the same way. PERSONAL EFFECTS * Simple linen cloth, fur and leather boots for everyday life. * Heavy leather armor for those rugged times * DMG: 1d8 + Strength CRIT: 18-20 (X3) RANGE: 110ft * 39 common steel broadhead arrows (+1 to piercing damage) * Bow and a makeshift quiver with some arrows, adjusted to his large size * DMG: 1d3 + Strength CRIT: 18-20 (X2) RANGE: 5ft * Leather bag for personal belongings that can't be carried otherwise, such as his spare coins Dice campaign: roleplayerguild.com/campaigns/807</s> <\|message\|>Solange Belgard Percival arrived moments later as if Solange had summoned him by his name alone. She began to shuffle in her seat to stand and assist the dogged barkeep but stopped and sunk down ever so slightly at the sight of the woman behind him. Solange's lips parted the tiniest of slivers as a curse gasped its last breath right upon the tip of her tongue, escaping her mouth as nothing more than an almost silent rattle. She didn't really know Nora, but she'd spent plenty of time around another person like Nora that she knew loyal lap dogs were the most likely to snap off the hand of anyone beside their owner, regardless of the type of treat it had offered. She was a complication to any future plans that Solange had yet to even partially process. The large Tork man behind Nora, Skarsat apparently, normally wouldn't intimidate Solange in just about any other scenario. Men weren't nearly as simple as some of her peers told her they were, but most had similar weaknesses and none were as terrifying as a woman like Fontaine could be. Plus, his name was one she'd never heard Vargas mention before, which meant Skarsat was either a total stranger or regarded as small time by someone who he himself was already small time. Normally this would be a good thing, but if he was Nora's man then that meant he was dangerous, especially depending on what kind of man he was exactly. Solange gave him a smile, but held back on tossing a hook out at him before fully understanding his connection to Vargas's enforcer. "Impeccable timing, sweetie. We were all dying of thirst. Thank you," said Solange to Percival, touching his elbow as he placed the pitchers and bumping him ever so slightly with her shoulder. The little bit of affection might stop him from throwing himself into the sea that night, but Solange had only been hoping it'd unnerve him enough to get him to drop a pitcher so they could all have another show. Shame. Perhaps next round. Solange eyed Y'vanna. At the rate she was going, there would be plenty of opportunities. ""I'll go with your offer. Even if the price is worse, it still beats getting on Nora's bad side. You don't want to know what that vixen does to people that piss her off," said Neh'miah. Solange returned the flirtatious smile and started to lean in to whisper something into his ear but Nora called him out like a schoolmarm shouting at the bad kids in the back of the schoolhouse. Solange couldn't help but grin, her eyes revealing that she was holding back a laugh as she abandoned the attempt to whisper and sat back in her chair. "I'm afraid I might witness it soon enough, dear. It appears you're already on her bad side," said Solange. She held up a finger to shush Neh'miah in jest and winked. "I would absolutely hate to see what she'd do to an asset such as yourself. However, if you truly did want to give up more of your share to Lord Vargas and myself then I'd be an idiot to refuse. Still, we can discuss it later." "Our apologies," she said to Nora and Vargas for getting sidetracked. She folded her hands on the table in front of her, and nodded to Vargas to show that he had their undivided attention. Solange had an inkling as to why Vargas had summoned Nora and her goon, and she was concerned that she was right. She glanced over at Neh'miah and reconsidered what he said as she peeled back her bottom lip. Solange was afraid that Vargas wanted Nora to join the expedition, but if she was here for another reason...shit. Now she was concerned that she'd read everything wrong. The faintest tap could be heard from her end of the table as she knocked on it, praying that Vargas wasn't about to remove her for that business partner comment.</s> <\|message\|>Maréngo Maréngo felt the newcomer's eyes on him and returned Nora's gaze with a smile of greeting and a friendly nod for her savage companion. He looked her over and found nothing wanting from the Zherpanian. A sword on each hip implied any number of hidden weapons and not to mention the ornately carved rifle across her back. A thing of beauty with few peers. There was little doubt in his mind it was either plunder or a gift; most likely the former. The pirate also recognized a fellow pirate when he saw one, even if she sailed dunes rather than waves. She had the sort of hardened look about her that only one who makes their living far from civilization has. Speaking of, the oak tree shaped like a Tork man accompanying her was an especially good example of such a look. A thought crossed his mind that if they tied a rope around the wild man's ankle and threw him overboard he would make a decent anchor by weight alone. "A perfect addition to the crew!" Maréngo thought to himself with an amused smirk. Jokes aside, his own experience told him there was rarely such a thing as too much muscle in a group of outlaws. Neh'miah's self assuredness gave Maréngo pause. Confidence was one thing, but his felt tainted with arrogance and he was not looking to almost get himself killed twice for the same brand of foolishness in the same month. He'd have to keep a sharp eye on that one to be sure. He caught sight of Solange attempting to make a mark of poor Percy and shook his head with a chuckle as he relieved the bar keep of a pitcher. "Temptin' a man as he works, Ms. Belgrad? Shame on you!" he admonished sarcastically, "Leave the poor man be and let's have that toast you mentioned earlier." Maréngo poured himself a horn and raised it up with a smile. "To health, wealth, adventure, and new friends!"</s>	<\|message\|>Skarsat Ma'dawc For a brief moment, Skarsat just kept standing right behind Nora and let Percival slip past him without doing as much as turning an eye towards the man. The scenery that unfolded right in front of him was just too interesting to process it in the time it took for Vargas to give his directives to Nora and for Nora to forward them. And, just as this happened, Skarsat's mind identified exactly this event and a major downer for his current mood: Had he just been demoted from someone having an appointment with Vargas under four eyes to a mere henchmen of a woman he had not ever met before ? Now that too was a way to make problems with one's miserably failed schedule disappear, but the Tork didn't like it. It all happened at his cost, be it one situated purely in the realm of morale and mutual respect or not! A castling a little too long for his taste. This Lord Vargas might be the king in this room, but the way he had pushed around the literal tower here before even speaking one word had quite some potential for inner outrage within Skarsat. What equally hurt was that he just couldn't point that out in the most straightforward way possible for even he had already heard about Vargas being dangerous. So Skarsat's face did not make much of a secret out of his mood even though it was not on purpose, but out of pure lack of interest to hide it. He watched the others in the room, mostly women, and listened in to more things not finding his approval. Judging by the various statements coming out of various mouths some kind of negotiation had already started and made significant process, 'your offer' being the most significant keyword. Now would anyone have the gratitude to fill him in on all of these facts in a chronological, non-fragemented order, or was being left in the dark a part of the job he'd have ? Weren't enforcers the most important people to know what was going on, just in case one had to reckon with unexpected competition or the like ? Some part deep inside the Tork man wished he could swap roles with the poor bartender, thereby gaining the luxury of a reason to just leave this snake pit of a rendezvous. At least it gave the first impression of being such for all the phony kindness dripping from the words exchanged here: 'I would absolutely hate to see what she'd do to an asset such as yourself.', 'sweetie', 'You don't want to know what that vixen does to people that piss her off.'... How long had this bunch kept him standing at the door before actually allowing him to sit down ? And, more importantly: How long would the owners of those kind words fare in a real, Torkanian snake pit ? Would they hope that some overabundancy of perfume and makeup left over from their dirty jobs would make the predators choke once they started to swallow the body parts attached to all those fake smiles with jaws unhinged ? Well he couldn't entirely rule out that possibility. Skarsat had no real interest in taking the seat offered anymore. He did not yet really know his role in all of this, but given what Skarsat knew about his own reputation and what he had heard so far in this room his best guess was that he indeed was to join whatever was going on here as some kind of guard or enforcer. And who'd be more important to protect here than Lord Vargas himself ? A real castling ended with the tower standing next to the king, didn't it ? Well... Vargas could have it all and with great pleasure! Ignoring the chair, Skarsat maneuvered himself to a spot somewhere behind Lord Vargas' seat and crossed his arms while he remained standing. Not exactly close enough to make the man feel the exhaust coming out of the Tork's nostrils, but close enough to be warmed by some body heat on the long run. Skarsat made himself no illusions about Vargas not being a hard-boiled fellow, but the latter had given him every reason so far to make the whole affair as difficult as possible. Also, if the women's palaver would go on for longer or the whole scenery would slowly descend into a bunch of drunkards maintained by some obedient Percival, this new position would allow for some fancy imaginations to prevent boredom: One of those certainly was taking Lord Vargas head and using it as a lever to wrap his neck around the upper edge of the back of the chair the man sat on.</s>
<\|description\|>Skarsat Ma'dawc Level: 1 Class: Mercenary/Thug (novice) Currency: 99G, 39 bits Ammunition: 44 arrows Armor: +1, heavy leather Vitality: 9/10 Status: normal BASIC INFORMATION Gender: Male Age: 31 Race: Tork Origin: Great plains of the Marth (nomadic, so no distinct location) Religion(s): Su-Mar-Kaan, the council of nature spirits Attire: Simple gray-white linen cloth, furs and boots for everyday life, armor for when it's needed. Demeanor: Sarcastic, rough and reckless at times, but also honest and straightforward ATTRIBUTES Awareness: 2 Intelligence: 2 Strength: 3 Wit: 2 Dexterity: 2 Willpower: 3 Charisma: 1 Luck: 1 SKILLSETS Archery: 3 (familiar weapon +2, archery +1) Brawn: 2 Hand to hand: 2 Intimidation: 2 Knock-out: 1 Extortion: 1 Horseback riding: 1 FLAWS Skarsat has a serious tendency to go forward without putting that much effort into planning ahead. It has gotten him into more trouble than would have been necessary to achieve his goals in the past and is bound to do the same in the future. Also his Tork nature and physiology brings its own bunch of major and minor problems with it, such as his unfamiliarity with the details of what many consider 'civilized' customs or his sheer, extraordinary size. BACKGROUND Skarsat was born into a tribe called 'The Vanyr' as one of three childs, two brothers and a sister, of his father Marrask and his mother Cafol. The tribe, just as many Tork, follows a lifestyle of never settling down too long in one place, and thus Skarsat's early life follows pretty much the story the average western or eastern citizen might tell about them: He learned how to ride from early on, soon had to help picking up and dissecting hunted down animals and then got trained in the art of archery himself. There was no such thing as a real settlement, just an allotment of tents that were placed down near water and then picked up again some days or weeks later when there were no more local resources to collect. However there is a small twist to the Vanyr that ultimately forced Skarsat to learn the concept of town and cities after all. Each and every child, once having reached the age of 17, has to go on a two-year journey on his or her own that has to lead outside of the Tork's native soil and go either west or east, the further the better. It is there for them to learn about the world and to respect it and the others living in it, but of course also a test of both survival and character as noone is actually strictly obliged to return to the tribe. However those who don't are either assumed dead or, should it become known that they are still alive, scorned. From that point of view Skarsat has failed the test. He tried to return, but life isn't easy and he got stuck in affairs that ultimately forged him into what he is now. However the Vanyr are just one tribe of many, and others might have entirely different views on things and not care about his past in the same way. PERSONAL EFFECTS * Simple linen cloth, fur and leather boots for everyday life. * Heavy leather armor for those rugged times * DMG: 1d8 + Strength CRIT: 18-20 (X3) RANGE: 110ft * 39 common steel broadhead arrows (+1 to piercing damage) * Bow and a makeshift quiver with some arrows, adjusted to his large size * DMG: 1d3 + Strength CRIT: 18-20 (X2) RANGE: 5ft * Leather bag for personal belongings that can't be carried otherwise, such as his spare coins Dice campaign: roleplayerguild.com/campaigns/807</s> <\|message\|>Solange Belgard Solange chuckled as Maréngo called her out for trying to trip up poor Percival. She gave him a playful little shush, complete with a finger to the lip and a knowing wink, as she joined him in his cheers. She lifted the wine glass of hers that Y'vanna had emptied. She'd already had two glasses earlier that night, and while she didn't mind bonding with her new companions she wanted to keep a clearhead—especially around that Maréngo. Twice he'd caught her in her little games. Perhaps she'd been too quick to think of him as yet another dull sailor whose sharpness had been eroded by the waves and salt of the sea. Her smile slipped as she pressed her lips close to the edge of the wine glass. She preferred dimwits. Clever people were always dangerous. A wave of relief hit Solange as Vargas revealed that Skarsat was a new underling for Nora. The large man didn't seem thrilled by the prospect judging by the look on his face, but he hadn't seemed thrilled since he'd entered the room. By the way he'd loomed over Vargas, Solange had half-expected the Tork to reach down and snap his neck like a stalk of celery. It was a dreadful thought—she still needed the man to finance the voyage. Once everything was paid for, however? Solange felt ice crawl up her skin as Vargas rested his hand on hers, yet gave him a look that could melt the mightiest of glaciers. She slid her hand free to grab the empty wine glass and kept it there. "A splendid idea," said Solange as Vargas suggested she help Neh'miah disguise himself. She thought it was a stupid idea. What, the thief couldn't part his hair another way and change his coat all by his lonesome? And why her? Percy couldn't grab a shirt? She batted her lashes at Neh'miah. "I am quite talented at getting men out of their trousers, so surely I must be skilled at fitting them in a coat." Solange felt Vargas take her hand again, lift it, and kiss it. She didn't like the way he called her his partner this time and his unblinking stare put a lump in her throat. Solange didn't pull away. Instead she leaned forward so that her breath was hot on Vargas's ear as she whispered, "You have my gratitude, darling. 'Tis a shame neither of us can afford to be up late tonight, but now we both have something else to look forward to once we are reunited." Vargas had given her quite the good offer. If she didn't find his controlling nature repulsive she might've begun to reconsider the way she was going to screw him. A shame. Perhaps she'd play her part a little bit longer still. Solange pulled back, gave him a smile, and turned her attention away from him. She eyed Nora and Skarsat as she leaned back in her chair and smoothed her dress. The sooner they were eating out of her hand, the better things would go for Solange. "I believe the two of you are invited to this feast as well. Please, have a seat and enjoy some pheasant," said Solange, getting out of her seat to offer it to Nora and playing the role of hostess. She grabbed the decanter, poured the two of them wine, and left it at their empty seats to be enjoyed as she refilled her own empty glass and set it down in front of Y'vanna again. "Empty again, are you? There's nothing wrong with letting loose every once in a while, love. Neh'miah, darling, I know you're excited for me to get you out of those clothes, but there's no need to rush through your food. Maréngo, any sage wisdom about the sea you're willing to part with for us neophytes? I'm afraid I'm more knowledgeable about sailors than sailing..." And so on.</s> <\|message\|>Y'vanna Ravana'dan Y'Vanna had been doing her best not to make too much eye contact with Maréngo, but she could certainly feel a lustful tension growing deep down in her belly. She had always had bad luck with men and she knew that making eye contact with a semi-burly, musclebound sailor was not in her best interests at the moment. It could be said that Y'Vanna wasn't known for her decision making skills, and when he spoke... she just couldn't do it. She looked right at him, and then immediately shifted her focus back to the pheasant, taking a large bite, mincing it voraciously. What the fuck are you doing Y'Vanna? - she thought. Solange interjected and Y'Vanna was glad she did. Y'Vanna shoved her glass over as soon as she offered to fill it. Then Vargas chimed in. "Of that I am most certain darling..." he said, Y'Vanna was unable to contain a snicker to the retort. He turned to acknowledge the party. "Goodnight to you all, and I bid you good fortune on your journey." And with that Vargas made his exit. He was a prudent man at times, but he was always about his money first. That was a given. He was also the sort of man who would walk out of the room and not give this affair another thought until they returned either, and that's exactly what he did. Vargas could be detestable at times, but there was a certain air of confidence about him that one had to admire, if nothing else. He had managed to accomplish a lot for one man, especially in a city such as Guillan, even moreso to be said about his line of work. The fact that he had managed to survive for this long was astounding in it's own right. Vargas was a smart man. He knew people, and more importantly, the right ones. He also knew how to implement them for a desired outcome. Why, if Vargas wasn't up to his neck in the black market and consorting with undesirables he be a perfect fit for a man of the courts. The man could literally plan kingdoms if he wanted to. The party would most likely not see him before they departed, and the tensions in the room seemed to leave alongside him. Y'Vanna rolled her eyes and bit another huge bite from the pheasant leg. Royal pheasants had been bred to produce a more plump fowl and were usually reserved for royalty or other important guests. Vargas having set forth two before them was just another way for him to flex on the party and it made the sweet poultry turn to ash in her mouth. It also fortified the notion that Vargas was not to be fucked with on the grand scale of things for his reach was long, very long. "Ugh, I thought he would never leave..." she said, letting off a sigh of relief. She took a drink of wine from her glass as she tipped it in gesture to thank Solange. "I suppose I owe you all a debt of gratitude on this. I hope I haven't bitten of more than I can chew... we can chew."</s>	<\|message\|>Skarsat Ma'dawc So Vargas was gone, a moment Skarsat had been looking forward to since he had been given the answer he had waited for. It was at this exact point of time however that the Tork man also realized how foolish a thought it had been to believe that this would actually make things so much better in the room. A little more air to breath, yes, but otherwise ? The others were free to spread their verbal wings even further! And by 'others' Skarsat primarily had the women in mind. Maréngo seemed okay so far and given his body he probably was an able fighter, but he could not see much of his qualities in the other persons so far, except for Nora perhaps whose attitude he had already been able to witness. Another slight detail that only now started to burn itself into his mind was how some people here had been touching each other... A more than professional relationship between employer and employees did not have to end in jeopardy per se, but this time there was a lot of coin on the table. Skarsat had to suppress the inner urge to envision some kind of betrayal just because somebody 'loved' somebody else more than the others... He stepped forward towards the table where Solange had poured him some wine, the wooden floorboards protesting against his weight with quite loud noises. In his calloused hand the wine glass almost seemed a little fragile, but it turned out it would not have to stay in that precarious place for long as Skarsat apparently followed a 'taste doesn't matter as long as you're fast'-approach. He craned his neck as if wanting to take a look at the ceiling that already was close to his scalp, but in fact he only wanted to use his face and beard as a means to catch any droplets of wine that would inevitably escape their death march out of the glass and into his throat. Also, of course, gravity was always useful when pouring things. And yet anybody who paid attention at the right moment would be able to see how his neck winced, thick veins bulging on its skin as some reflex desperately tried to override Skarsat's sheer will and to stop the influx of red fluid. That stuff was way too fruity! He needed something to fix this... wasn't there some considerable lot of pheasant around here ? Skarsat reached for a part of it with bare hands, separting it from the remainder with one swift move and guiding it to his mouth before too much liquid could come out of it and fall to the ground. Tork people were not the most mannered bunch from an Eastener's point of view in general perhaps, but when the need to eat was so urgent in order to wash away something else all other priorities receded! It was only after the first two bites that Skarsat dared to look for something like a plate and he also squeezed himself into the empty chair, continuing to eat. His response to Y'Vannas concerns about their capability to chew was the loud sound of his chewing. At least physically it seemed he could chew a lot, but in the metaphorical sense that was in question for this whole endeavour ? That was an entirely different matter still to be investigated...</s>
<\|description\|>Skarsat Ma'dawc Level: 1 Class: Mercenary/Thug (novice) Currency: 99G, 39 bits Ammunition: 44 arrows Armor: +1, heavy leather Vitality: 9/10 Status: normal BASIC INFORMATION Gender: Male Age: 31 Race: Tork Origin: Great plains of the Marth (nomadic, so no distinct location) Religion(s): Su-Mar-Kaan, the council of nature spirits Attire: Simple gray-white linen cloth, furs and boots for everyday life, armor for when it's needed. Demeanor: Sarcastic, rough and reckless at times, but also honest and straightforward ATTRIBUTES Awareness: 2 Intelligence: 2 Strength: 3 Wit: 2 Dexterity: 2 Willpower: 3 Charisma: 1 Luck: 1 SKILLSETS Archery: 3 (familiar weapon +2, archery +1) Brawn: 2 Hand to hand: 2 Intimidation: 2 Knock-out: 1 Extortion: 1 Horseback riding: 1 FLAWS Skarsat has a serious tendency to go forward without putting that much effort into planning ahead. It has gotten him into more trouble than would have been necessary to achieve his goals in the past and is bound to do the same in the future. Also his Tork nature and physiology brings its own bunch of major and minor problems with it, such as his unfamiliarity with the details of what many consider 'civilized' customs or his sheer, extraordinary size. BACKGROUND Skarsat was born into a tribe called 'The Vanyr' as one of three childs, two brothers and a sister, of his father Marrask and his mother Cafol. The tribe, just as many Tork, follows a lifestyle of never settling down too long in one place, and thus Skarsat's early life follows pretty much the story the average western or eastern citizen might tell about them: He learned how to ride from early on, soon had to help picking up and dissecting hunted down animals and then got trained in the art of archery himself. There was no such thing as a real settlement, just an allotment of tents that were placed down near water and then picked up again some days or weeks later when there were no more local resources to collect. However there is a small twist to the Vanyr that ultimately forced Skarsat to learn the concept of town and cities after all. Each and every child, once having reached the age of 17, has to go on a two-year journey on his or her own that has to lead outside of the Tork's native soil and go either west or east, the further the better. It is there for them to learn about the world and to respect it and the others living in it, but of course also a test of both survival and character as noone is actually strictly obliged to return to the tribe. However those who don't are either assumed dead or, should it become known that they are still alive, scorned. From that point of view Skarsat has failed the test. He tried to return, but life isn't easy and he got stuck in affairs that ultimately forged him into what he is now. However the Vanyr are just one tribe of many, and others might have entirely different views on things and not care about his past in the same way. PERSONAL EFFECTS * Simple linen cloth, fur and leather boots for everyday life. * Heavy leather armor for those rugged times * DMG: 1d8 + Strength CRIT: 18-20 (X3) RANGE: 110ft * 39 common steel broadhead arrows (+1 to piercing damage) * Bow and a makeshift quiver with some arrows, adjusted to his large size * DMG: 1d3 + Strength CRIT: 18-20 (X2) RANGE: 5ft * Leather bag for personal belongings that can't be carried otherwise, such as his spare coins Dice campaign: roleplayerguild.com/campaigns/807</s> <\|message\|>Skarsat Ma'dawc For the last couple of minutes, or rather for as long as the 'debate' between Solange and Nora had unfolded, Skarsat had done nothing but to remain on his seat and to continue eating. Nora's unexpected appearance, her orders and the fact that Solange had managed to suck the poor woman into yet another bloody mess of her making had actually saved Solange from a quite sudden and ferocious reaction of the Tork man, but demoted the latter to the role of a mere observer. A three-front war was going on in his mind, all participants being different parts and schools of thinking of himself. The first was the rational one: He had been given a clear instruction to wake up the others, so he should obey so not to make a bad first impression and to prove helpful for the party overall. Also, given how Nora had cornered Solange on a chair and her facial expression, it seemed that she was already getting things under control and would give that other woman a lecture well deserved. The second was the curious one: Solange had done more things wrong in a matter of minutes than he could ever have imagined previously, so what would come next ? That part wanted to stay, even if that would mean having to eat even more than the flabbergasting amount he already had just to have some kind of pretense. Solange was just bound to screw things up even more and in some way it was so ridiculous it was even funny! The third one was responsible for rage: It wanted to do the exact same thing as the second one, but not out of curiosity and a good laugh but because it hoped that Solange would turn her attention back towards him and just give that one, absolutely blatant, unmistakable, perfect reason for him to jump onto the table, run at and jump at her like a wild beast and ruin more than just this morning's hairstyle of hers! Unfortunately none of those three parts had shown any sign of winning the conflict. On the contrary: none had achieved even the slightest bit of a goal so far! He was still sitting here and waiting for his very own decision making... Enough! In a bold move, the rational part forged an uneasy alliance with rage: Maybe Nora would give Solange the lesson she derserved, but it would be Nora's lesson! So where was his lesson ? Could he really rely on Nora doing the dirty work for him and tell Solange that she had done wrong to him as well ? No, of course not! And if things went according to rage this Neh'miah would not need a personalized wakeup call after some special kind of Solange lesson anyway! Skarsat got up and approached the two women, coming so close that probably at least Nora could feel the floorboards buckle beneath a pair of Tork feet. He looked down at Solange and some minor parts of his face twitched. Then the giant lowered himself so he could look her in the eyes more easily, letting go of a prolonged, albeit artificial, sigh. He folded his hands in front of his face and rubbed his nose. Like said... it was an uneasy alliance between rational and rage... "Solange..." he started, rather calm at first. "So you think that handing someone a plate full of food because he asked for it equals 'feeding' that someone ? Or how did you suddenly get to this 'Shut up and feed me ?' thing." Quoting her, Skarsat also tried to mimic the voice of her words, but not without adding a lot of bitterness and personal disgust to his attempt. "Or, more generally asking... exactly what part of my drinking and chewing made you believe that I or anyone else in this room had actual interest in hearing your bedroom stories of personal superiority ?" And now rage backstabbed the rational and took over, immediately commanding Skarsat's right hand to try and hit Solange's cheek hard while his left hand was given the order to approach her head from the other side to prevent her from just escaping in that direction. However even before he could see whether he'd hit her or miss her his speech continued. Now much, much louder: "When we're in trouble, you run out of arrows and shout to me to hand you my quiver, will I then afterwards also just be one more petty man in the life of the great Solange who begged you to lie about the size of the thing between his legs ? You sound like you're the pinnacle of the world yet so far you've only spread doubt about your actual usefulness! Oh and before your crazy mind even dares to think about it: You will never 'feed' me! Not with a spoon and not with your breast if that's what you're imagining! Your milk is spoiled by your arrogance!"</s> <\|message\|>Solange Belgard For the briefest of moments, Solange thought that perhaps Skarsat was actually comforting her. She wiped away the traitorous tears with a flick of her finger and looked up to meet his gaze as he lowered himself to be almost face to face with her. She tried to muster up a flirty smile that faltered and slipped away through the floorboards as his words mocked her own. Solange caught a look in his eyes. Violent men wasn't something she dealt with often while working for Fontaine thanks to the protection she offered through the reputation of her enforcer alone, but there had been one altercation with a man from her hometown who happened to stop by the brothel. Unlucky that she was working that night, really. What were the odds? His eyes were forever burned into her mind. Skarsat's eyes didn't look so different. If she went back the momentum would take her to the ground, so she ducked forward instead. If Solange was quick, Skarsat's hand would run through the waves of her hair and she could try to weasel out from under his arm. She wasn't quick enough. The smack echoed throughout the room as his hand smacked across Solange's cheek so hard that if not for his other hand to catch her she would've been knocked from the chair by the momentum of her head whipping. She bit down on her lip so hard that it bled; her pained scream twisted in her mouth and morphed into a defeated chuckle. She squirmed in her seat and looked away from Skarsat, half her face covered by her hair where it had been knocked once he'd hit her, her cheek already changing like a chameleon to match it's reddish tone. A tear from her eyes lost a race to her chin against a droplet of blood from her lip. It was strange, but he didn't frighten her as much as Nora. Once the threat of violence was gone and all that remained was the pain it wasn't so bad. Pain was a dear, old friend. "Thank you, love. I was being hysterical," she said softly, the same defeated tone she'd given to Nora just moments ago. However, unlike with the bandit woman she looked up at Skarsat, a shimmer in her eyes that wasn't the tears. There was a certainty to her that shouldn't have been there, an undeserved sense that she was coming out of this exchange on top. Striking her would have consequences, even if not immediate. She smiled at him, her teeth stained red with blood and lipstick. "Now, would you like to continue telling me about how I'm the one imagining putting you to my breast like a suckling babe, or is mommy's big boy going to wake up Neh'miah like he was told?"</s>	<\|message\|>Skarsat Ma'dawc So his hand had made her bleed. Good! Not so good that this included the possibility than some of said blood, along with residual traces of cosmetic ingredients this damn woman certainly applied to her face every day, could have attached themselves to his palm. Skarsat had no real proof of that, but even without actually looking at his fingers he rubbed them against each other to get an estimation about how much of a smeary layer of shit there was on his skin. Otherwise though he just kept staring at Solange, his face being kinda stuck in a state of forced idling around because his mind was too busy thinking about... Defeat. How could this woman just keep doing shittalk all the fucking time ? 'Suckling babe', 'mommy's big boy', 'like he was told...'... for a brief series of moments all these nasty little provocations just did not seem to have any impact because Skarsat was just too flabbergasted by the initial 'love' which had already announced a lot about her overall reaction. Then however, with some noticeable delay, he caught up with Solange's queue of insults. "You know... I'm no arrogant fool like you who maintains an unshakeable belief in his own infallibility. I know that, despite my training and experience, some of my arrows can and will miss their intended target. I start to think that despite all the real hostiles we might encounter on this endeavour this might actually be a good message for you." Having said this, Skarsat raised himself to his full height again and looked down at her for a second or two. "Now if you'd like to turn this journey into a damned world of fear where a possibly growing number of people outright hates you, then just keep going!" Skarsat turned away from her, but not without trying to hit her foot with his own and put his full weight onto it. Upon success he'd express his regret, which of course would be entirely fake.</s>
<\|description\|>Skarsat Ma'dawc Level: 1 Class: Mercenary/Thug (novice) Currency: 99G, 39 bits Ammunition: 44 arrows Armor: +1, heavy leather Vitality: 9/10 Status: normal BASIC INFORMATION Gender: Male Age: 31 Race: Tork Origin: Great plains of the Marth (nomadic, so no distinct location) Religion(s): Su-Mar-Kaan, the council of nature spirits Attire: Simple gray-white linen cloth, furs and boots for everyday life, armor for when it's needed. Demeanor: Sarcastic, rough and reckless at times, but also honest and straightforward ATTRIBUTES Awareness: 2 Intelligence: 2 Strength: 3 Wit: 2 Dexterity: 2 Willpower: 3 Charisma: 1 Luck: 1 SKILLSETS Archery: 3 (familiar weapon +2, archery +1) Brawn: 2 Hand to hand: 2 Intimidation: 2 Knock-out: 1 Extortion: 1 Horseback riding: 1 FLAWS Skarsat has a serious tendency to go forward without putting that much effort into planning ahead. It has gotten him into more trouble than would have been necessary to achieve his goals in the past and is bound to do the same in the future. Also his Tork nature and physiology brings its own bunch of major and minor problems with it, such as his unfamiliarity with the details of what many consider 'civilized' customs or his sheer, extraordinary size. BACKGROUND Skarsat was born into a tribe called 'The Vanyr' as one of three childs, two brothers and a sister, of his father Marrask and his mother Cafol. The tribe, just as many Tork, follows a lifestyle of never settling down too long in one place, and thus Skarsat's early life follows pretty much the story the average western or eastern citizen might tell about them: He learned how to ride from early on, soon had to help picking up and dissecting hunted down animals and then got trained in the art of archery himself. There was no such thing as a real settlement, just an allotment of tents that were placed down near water and then picked up again some days or weeks later when there were no more local resources to collect. However there is a small twist to the Vanyr that ultimately forced Skarsat to learn the concept of town and cities after all. Each and every child, once having reached the age of 17, has to go on a two-year journey on his or her own that has to lead outside of the Tork's native soil and go either west or east, the further the better. It is there for them to learn about the world and to respect it and the others living in it, but of course also a test of both survival and character as noone is actually strictly obliged to return to the tribe. However those who don't are either assumed dead or, should it become known that they are still alive, scorned. From that point of view Skarsat has failed the test. He tried to return, but life isn't easy and he got stuck in affairs that ultimately forged him into what he is now. However the Vanyr are just one tribe of many, and others might have entirely different views on things and not care about his past in the same way. PERSONAL EFFECTS * Simple linen cloth, fur and leather boots for everyday life. * Heavy leather armor for those rugged times * DMG: 1d8 + Strength CRIT: 18-20 (X3) RANGE: 110ft * 39 common steel broadhead arrows (+1 to piercing damage) * Bow and a makeshift quiver with some arrows, adjusted to his large size * DMG: 1d3 + Strength CRIT: 18-20 (X2) RANGE: 5ft * Leather bag for personal belongings that can't be carried otherwise, such as his spare coins Dice campaign: roleplayerguild.com/campaigns/807</s> <\|message\|>Skarsat Ma'dawc Skarsat Skarsat's eye twitched in silence just like a vulcano's walls bent and shifted ever so slightly when in reality, pressure was building up inside and waiting to break free. Finding cool water ? Yeah, maybe just swimming alongside the ship instead of sharing his free time with one of the more... exotic... members of their little party was indeed a good idea. Though, a neutral observer from outside the fourth wall might object, an idea that came along with the risk of the ocean just evaporating as the vulcano swam in it. Today however would not turn out to be eruption day. Or would it ? After all it had only just begun. Yet at least for the moment Skarsat decided there were higher priorities that presented themselves in form of a 'sheriff Gerranti'. So the city's forces responsible for law and order were looking exactly for the one person he was supposed to wake up ? Skarsat found that, if not anything else already, to be a good call to leave the main hall and get the job done. He heaved himself up the staircase and down the corridor he believed the room in question was accessible from, then knocked on the door -- hard. He could still feel a great amount of irritation trying to smother his attempts to calm down and at the same time he could feel the urge to act quickly because who knew how long those down in the main hall could keep this Gerranti busy before he'd give the order to start searching ? As he was thinking about the ifs, whens and hows of talking to his boss, Nora, about any of the most recent events, he knocked at the door a second time. Still he didn't openly call out Neh'miahs name or even just say anything else. If there was anything he had learned then probably that his voice could easily be heard. Normally not much of an issue, but if this sheriff down there would hear the name of the one being searched for and could associate it with some frantic efforts to wake up the man... Anonymously knocking at the door and opening it by force if needed was bound to be much more effective in this case. The giant did seriously hope though that Neh'miah would get out of bed by himself by the second though. The man needed some time left to leave the place, too -- and preferably not completely naked or with a prostitute making a loud fuzz about his sudden departure!</s> <\|message\|>Solange Belgard --- Solange - The Faded Lantern Tavern & Inn Lies aren't needed when others make the excuse for you. --- "We must run in different circles, honey. All I ever heard about the Sheriff was that he was a man of strange taste and disappointing stamina," said Solange with a half-smile that faded quickly as Nora's icy stare flashed like a dagger from Skarsat over to her. The redhead stood up straight and cupped her hands together to stand like a proper, professional young lady with no hint of irony in her disposition. She nodded in acknowledgment to Nora's departing statement, Solange's tongue twisting in her mouth as she swallowed the desire to return the Zherpanian saying with a similar one she'd heard uttered by the followers of Voi—something about making water once the passions cooled. Neither, she realized, would be advice that would need to be followed at this moment. "Any disputes? Darling, can you believe Miss Sunshine thought we were having a...darling?" Solange craned her neck to search for Skarsat, but her plaything had already slipped away. She exchanged a glance with Sheri and smiled sweetly. "Let's head to the kitchen. After you." Solange had the misfortune of dealing with Sheri before, who'd taken it upon herself to explain the lives of every member of the staff to Solange like some kind of proud, doting mother. It amazed Solange how Sheri was able to know so much about the others, considering she never took a single moment to let someone else get a word in. However, seemingly the stress of dealing with the Sheriff was enough to silence the suffocating gossip who, much to Solange's relief, fretted with her frock more than anything. Sheri held the swinging door to the kitchen open for Solange, who stepped through after telling the woman to wait outside. The kitchen of the Faded Lantern was normally well organized but currently in complete disarray due to the prep done to provide the would-be treasure hunters with a bountiful feast that now would go unenjoyed by half of their party. Solange eyed a tower of dirty dishes, her tongue pressing into her bruised cheek as she fought the urge to send them cascading to the ground, porcelain shattering everywhere and ruining the day of some young kitchenhand who'd be forced to scrub it all up. Perhaps if the floors weren't already dirty the temptation would be too much for her. She peeled herself away and found what she'd come looking for: an iron kettle filled with black, muddy coffee. Its bitter flavor would do well to mask the taste of the leaves of iris that Solange had squirreled away for a day when her sister had deeply annoyed her. She pulled the leaves out of her tiny herb pouch, casting a glance over her shoulder to make sure that none of that staff was poking their head around. Grabbing a bowl and a wooden spoon from the pile of dirty dishes, Solange pulverized the leaves until they made a fine paste, loosened it upon with a bit of water, and mixed it in with the coffee. It might add a bit of grit to the brew, but it'd be difficult to differentiate between it and loose coffee grounds. The poison wasn't lethal—killing her sister was out of the question, and killing the Sheriff would be bad for the local businesses—but it would ruin the better part of the morning by keeping him contained to the loo. Most likely the Sheriff would reason that the cooking was bad or that he had too much to drink the night before and not even consider that someone would dose him. She stashed her makeshift mortar and pestle in with the rest of the dishes and grabbed the wooden handle of the kettle. Popping out of the kitchen, she nodded to Sheri and followed the woman's gaze up to the balcony. Her nose wrinkled as she caught sight of Sheriff Gerranti gesturing with a piece of bacon to one of the guards seated with him. Solange adjusted her dress and sashayed her way up to the pig trough. She heard a bark of laughter and paused outside of the sliding door, taking a moment to come up with a story. Nerves steeled and a phony smile painted on her face, Solange pulled on the handle and found three men with crumbs on their lips staring at her. She stepped gracefully through the threshold with her chin high, casting a quick glance at the two nobodies before focusing her gaze upon the Sheriff. Normally she'd move to a spot where she could have her eyes on the door, but she needed to be able to see the main hall. "Gentleman, I am so pleased our staff saw fit to serve you breakfast after my partner so quickly turned you away the other night. It is always so wonderful to see them take ownership, especially when it comes to taking care of a respectable man of the law. My name is Solange Belgard, Lord Vargas's new business partner. Sheri took it upon herself to inform me of everything. I'm afraid we'd be here well past supper if we were to wait for Lord Vargas, but I may answer what questions you have in his stead. However, before that…" She placed her hand on the back of an empty chair and leaned forward, squeezing her chest up as she raised the tainted kettle, her blue eyes narrowing. "...who needs more coffee?"</s> <\|message\|>Neh'miah He'ron Neh'miah He'ron Location: The Faded Lantern Neh'miah found himself sitting on a throne on top of a mountain formed out of gold coins while rivers of wine seemed to flow out of the endless sky. Before him lay the endless green meadows filled with scantily dressed women chanting his name as the greatest thief that ever lived. Ofcourse dreams that are too good to be true lead to rude awakenings. The sound of a heavy fist knocking on a door suddenly filled the pleasant imagery that was captivating the young thiefs mind. For a moment he was looking around for a door only to realize that it was a sound from beyond his drunken slumber. Slowly Neh'miah opened his eyes only to realize that he was back in the real world. A rather modest sleeping accommodation known as the Faded Lantern. As he pulled himself out of the bed the room spinned around him. Clearly the wine from last night hasn't left his system yet. Quickly he reached for the bucked in the corner of his room to empty what little contents his stomach still holded after a night of heavy drinking before making his way to the door barely dressed. As the young thief reached for the doorknob he spoke a little agitated "What's the ruckus this early in the morning" before staring at the rather large Tork chest at the other side of the door. As his eyes went up Neh'miah realized that Skarsat was standing there and he was supposed to wake up early.</s>	<\|message\|>Skarsat Ma'dawc Skarsat Quite a bit of a burden fell off Skarsat's heart as it turned out that he would neither have to grant himself access to Neh'miah's room by force nor carry the man around himself. It appeared that the thief was awake and able to walk on his own feet properly. Frankly speaking the Tork was looking forward to that actually happening as soon as possible just to get away from this room. That smell! There was more then just some residual wine to it. Had Neh'miah just emptied himself via his body's front door ? For a brief moment, Skarsat couldn't help but think at Percival. Not only was the tavern's helping hand, janitor or maybe even darling called 'facility manager' being shoved around my his boss all the time as it seemed, but he'd probably also have to clean up what their party had left behind. The Tork certainly did not want to know how things looked like in some other rooms as there had been plenty more people who had taken a very deep look into the wine glass. Yet there were more pressing issues at hand right now! "If you're quick at getting yourself dressed up and ready to go, then would be a good time for a demonstration! There's some person from the city guard down there and he's asked for you specifically! And before you ask: he's not alone." One could never know what kind of dumb idea people could come up with if they thought the threat was small and could maybe just be worked around by force. "Is there a second way out you know of ?" Hopefully it wouldn't be some kind of small-ish, high up window or involve some jumping action from roof to roof. While Skarsat definitely was familiar with physical exercise and such, he was not looking forward to some delicate acrobatics right this morning.</s>
<\|description\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson Picture Age: 23 Logos: • Criminal Connections • Ecclesiastical Affiliations Mythos: • Highly Destructive • Utterly Terrifying</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy Mist descends over a brightly lit city. Across the metropolis, some are snug in their homes watching TV, others are out drowning their sorrows, while even fewer are out on the streets, looking for trouble. People with powers, powers that shouldn't exist in reality, live in each of these scenarios. A Salamander resting at home after a long day fixing pipes, a wizard trying to drown out the voice of Merlin, or the Bogeyman hunting the wicked of the city. One such of these people, a woman, stands in a casino down on Fortune Row. Two hands on the banister in front of her, one made of flesh with painted nails, the other made of silver, watches the hundreds of people dancing, drinking, and throwing their money at brightly lit machines.</s> <\|message\|>Rollen Jorgunson Rollen could barely see anything as his senses were dulled from the heavy amount of whisky he'd been drinking but finished moments ago. "More beersh hic barman!" he slurred as he slammed his hand on the bar counter putting a dent in the wood.</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson A tattooed man entered the casino. With the way he was dressed, he looked somewhat out of place among the more well dressed patrons of the casino. But the man didn't care. He wasn't here to be a patron. The man looked around the ground floor of the casino, but couldn't find who he was looking for. Scratching his head, he turned his gaze upwards to the first floor. Eventually, he spotted who he was here for. A woman was standing on the stairway connecting the ground floor to the first. Both of her hands, one of which was made of silver along with the arm was connected to, rested on the banister in front of her. The man owed this woman a favor for past services and tonight the woman had called it in. She refused to go into details as to what the favor was over the phone, insisting instead that she tell him in person. Eager to hear what the woman had to say, the man walked over to the stairway and climbed up to her. "Heya." The man said in a friendly manner as he got in speaking range with the silver armed woman. "Here I am. Like you asked. I'm ready to even things between us. All you need to do is tell me how I do that."</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy The woman looked over at the scruffy, tattooed man that had walked over to her. "Ah Taz, so happy you were able to come. Care for a drink to warm that little tornado heart?" She said this as she began to walk towards the bar where the bartender had just filled up yet another glass for the extremely inebriated man sitting on a stool. "I have a bit of a, business proposition for you. I believe your destructive talents may come in handy."</s> <\|message\|>Rollen Jorgunson @rush99999 "Yuh hic Yuh know I used ta be married?" Rollen said drinking the glass placed in front of him and in between sips he noticed the shape of a person walking over to the bar so he lost his train of thought stared at whoever was coming with a frown "Whosh tha hell are you?" he asked the blurry figures.</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson "Have you ever known me to turn down a drink, Nuada?" Taz asked the woman as he followed her to the bar. Taz hummed approvingly when the conversation turned to a business proposition that concerned his affinity for breaking things. "That does sound like an interesting proposition already." Taz remarked before the drunkard sitting near them decided to start speaking with them. "Maybe we should talk about this somewhere else though. The bar seems a little busy right now."</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy @Dark Cloud She smiled. "In a moment, Taz, meet Beowulf, dragon slayer and high king." She said referring to the drunk man. "The two of you hold a specific skill set I need for a, quest, for lack of a better term."</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson "So he's a part of this as well?" Taz asked as he looked from the woman to, the other man at the bar, and then back to the woman. "Fair enough." He was a bit apprehensive about working with a drunk. But if Nuada thought the guy was good to bring along, then Taz wasn't about to argue. She had more than proven that she knew what she was doing in the time he'd known her for.</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy She nodded at him. "Yes, let's just say that there is someone in this town that has been very bad as of late." She placed a small baggy on the counter, on the bag itself was a symbol of three interlocked circles. Inside of the bag was a few greenish-blue pills. "I found a man in my casino attempting to sell these, and even after a week he refuses to say where he got them. I've heard from some of my contacts that pills like this have been popping up all over the city, as well as multiple Rifts disappearing. I'm uncertain if the group making this pills are also abducting people, but my gut says yes."</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson Taz raised an eyebrow when the baggy of pills was presented. "I've seen these before." He said once Nuada was done talking. "I saw a guy taking one of these at a party. The results were nothing to scoff at. And that came as quite a shock to me. The guy who took the pill was no lightweight and that was the first thing he'd taken all night, so there wasn't anything else in his system already." Taz looked up from the pills and back at Nuada. "So you wanna find out who's behind these pills and the missing Rifts?" Taz asked. "What comes next when you have? Do you just wanna run 'em off your turf? Do you wanna stamp 'em out altogether? What's your endgame here?"</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy "My endgame is to tear this weed out at the roots. I've seen what this drug does in the short run, a high like you've never seen. You haven't seen the long term yet." She pulled out two pictures, one of a large hulking beast with bone plating covering his skin, the other of a regular looking man wearing gym clothes. "An acquaintance of mine, Mitosis. His mythos allowed him to constantly adapt, causing him to look like this. After a few pills and a bit of time, it went away. Whoever is making these is suppressing Rift powers, possibly as a means to capture them."</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson "These things suppress Rift powers?" Taz asked as he looked at the two photos. "Damn. I wasn't happy about not being able to get one before. But I certainly am now."</s> <\|message\|>Rollen Jorgunson Rollen had the bartender serve him a tall glass of water as he drank it he dropped an asprin into the glass and took a long sip, as he did so the man only vaguely paid attention to the woman that he remembered seeing but couldn't remember her name and the other bloke with his tattooed arms as well as wild hair. He sobered up quickly which surprised even him yet the buzz was still there and slightly impaired him. "So your saying these pills make people...Normal? How is that a problem?" he rubbed his temples as he considered the possibility of being powerless and it didn't seem like a bad thing to him.</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson Taz gave Rollen a look that one would usually reserve for those who said or did something utterly nonsensical. Pills that made people normal... not a problem? Taz wondered if the guy was even speaking english at that moment. "You might want to call it quits on the alcohol for tonight." Taz said. "I think you're starting to get a little delirious."</s> <\|message\|>Rollen Jorgunson Rollen chuckled at the man's reply "Yeah delirious is one way to put it," he shook his head and rested his chin on his fist as he leaned against the surface of the bar counter "The ole noggin ain't what it used to be so I tend to think funny especially when I'm on the sauce" sighing he reached out a hand to Taz with a tired smile on his face "Nice to meet you. Oh nice ink by the way" Rollen didn't have any tattoos of his own but he appreciated the dedication it took to have something engraved in ones skin.</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson "Thanks." Taz said in reply to Rollen's words before taking the guy's hand and giving it a good firm shake. "It's nice to meet you too." Once the greetings were finished, Taz looked back at Nuada. "So, we've got some pictures, some pills, and a guy who won't talk." Taz said. "There anything else we should know about or is that all we have to go on?"</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy "The symbol on the bag is all I've been able to find, I think it's related to a Rift, but that's basic knowledge at this point, they wouldn't be able to make Rift drugs if they weren't one themselves," she replied to Taz. She then turned to Rollen, "The reason this is such an issue is what can happen to them. This man on this picture, he could survive a bomb with his Mythos, his body would adapt to it to save his life. Now, he can be injured by scraping his knee. Another person, I think she did the equivalent of OD'ing on these, she forgot everything about Mythos, Rifts, what have you. The two of you, and myself, are three extremely powerful individuals, especially being Borderline. We need to find the root cause of this and end it."</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson "And how might we go about doing that?" Taz asked when Nuada said they needed to put a stop to the pills. "What's our next step here?"</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy "The guy we have won't talk, yet," Nuada said to Taz, "I think that we need to find another one of these dealers and hope we find one who will talk."</s> <\|message\|>Rollen Jorgunson "Give em' time and with enough pressure your man may crack," Rollen shrugged "But it sounds like we don't have time to interrogate some bloke so where do you need us to go?" he asked eating a cracker from the tray of saltine's before him.</s> <\|message\|>Sayuri Mitsukasa "BANG!" A sudden gunshot had just silenced the whole establishment. The gamblers were distracted, and for a split second the quick hands of the hosts were ready to rig their games, ensuring the fortune for this casino. Yet they hesitated, a patron had just shot someone, a woman. She was one of the singers who routinely came to Fortune Row once a week, known by her name Sayuri. Her performance entertained the patrons with night songs as they tested their luck through their favorite games; blackjack, poker, and roulette among others. There was a visible shock on the Sayuri's face. Her hands clutched on her stomach, as if she tried to hold the blood flowing out of the gunshot wound. The shooter was quickly taken down by a bouncer, a regret could be seen on his drunk face. Panic ensued, as people saw the shooter being brought somewhere, they gathered in curiosity, wondering what might happen to their favorite singer. As Sayuri stood up, one could see her abdomen skin revealed among her two-piece party dress. The singer's gunshot wound on her stomach slowly closed itself and the bullet was ejected from it, clinked as it fell onto the floor. "I... I'm fine..." said Sayuri, "I don't know how, but I'm fine."</s>	<\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson "FUCK!" Taz exclaimed as he heard the gunshot go off. He turned in the direction of the noise to see what had happened. From what he could tell, some other drunkard had just gunned down one of the casino's singers. Sayuri Mitsukasa to be specific. Taz was shocked to say the least. Sayuri was one of his favorite singers. She never struck him as the sort who made enemies, much less drive someone to murder her. But as shocking as the shooting of his favourite local pop star was, seeing her shrug off the wound and stand up completely fine was even more shocking. "Sayuri Mitsukasa is a Rift." Taz said. "Never would have guessed from looking at her."</s>
<\|description\|>Sayuri Mitsukasa Appearance: Age: 25 Logos: 1. Dance instructor 2. Pop singer Mythos (Philosopher's Stone): 1. Healing 2. Power transfer</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy Mist descends over a brightly lit city. Across the metropolis, some are snug in their homes watching TV, others are out drowning their sorrows, while even fewer are out on the streets, looking for trouble. People with powers, powers that shouldn't exist in reality, live in each of these scenarios. A Salamander resting at home after a long day fixing pipes, a wizard trying to drown out the voice of Merlin, or the Bogeyman hunting the wicked of the city. One such of these people, a woman, stands in a casino down on Fortune Row. Two hands on the banister in front of her, one made of flesh with painted nails, the other made of silver, watches the hundreds of people dancing, drinking, and throwing their money at brightly lit machines.</s> <\|message\|>Rollen Jorgunson Rollen could barely see anything as his senses were dulled from the heavy amount of whisky he'd been drinking but finished moments ago. "More beersh hic barman!" he slurred as he slammed his hand on the bar counter putting a dent in the wood.</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson A tattooed man entered the casino. With the way he was dressed, he looked somewhat out of place among the more well dressed patrons of the casino. But the man didn't care. He wasn't here to be a patron. The man looked around the ground floor of the casino, but couldn't find who he was looking for. Scratching his head, he turned his gaze upwards to the first floor. Eventually, he spotted who he was here for. A woman was standing on the stairway connecting the ground floor to the first. Both of her hands, one of which was made of silver along with the arm was connected to, rested on the banister in front of her. The man owed this woman a favor for past services and tonight the woman had called it in. She refused to go into details as to what the favor was over the phone, insisting instead that she tell him in person. Eager to hear what the woman had to say, the man walked over to the stairway and climbed up to her. "Heya." The man said in a friendly manner as he got in speaking range with the silver armed woman. "Here I am. Like you asked. I'm ready to even things between us. All you need to do is tell me how I do that."</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy The woman looked over at the scruffy, tattooed man that had walked over to her. "Ah Taz, so happy you were able to come. Care for a drink to warm that little tornado heart?" She said this as she began to walk towards the bar where the bartender had just filled up yet another glass for the extremely inebriated man sitting on a stool. "I have a bit of a, business proposition for you. I believe your destructive talents may come in handy."</s> <\|message\|>Rollen Jorgunson @rush99999 "Yuh hic Yuh know I used ta be married?" Rollen said drinking the glass placed in front of him and in between sips he noticed the shape of a person walking over to the bar so he lost his train of thought stared at whoever was coming with a frown "Whosh tha hell are you?" he asked the blurry figures.</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson "Have you ever known me to turn down a drink, Nuada?" Taz asked the woman as he followed her to the bar. Taz hummed approvingly when the conversation turned to a business proposition that concerned his affinity for breaking things. "That does sound like an interesting proposition already." Taz remarked before the drunkard sitting near them decided to start speaking with them. "Maybe we should talk about this somewhere else though. The bar seems a little busy right now."</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy @Dark Cloud She smiled. "In a moment, Taz, meet Beowulf, dragon slayer and high king." She said referring to the drunk man. "The two of you hold a specific skill set I need for a, quest, for lack of a better term."</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson "So he's a part of this as well?" Taz asked as he looked from the woman to, the other man at the bar, and then back to the woman. "Fair enough." He was a bit apprehensive about working with a drunk. But if Nuada thought the guy was good to bring along, then Taz wasn't about to argue. She had more than proven that she knew what she was doing in the time he'd known her for.</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy She nodded at him. "Yes, let's just say that there is someone in this town that has been very bad as of late." She placed a small baggy on the counter, on the bag itself was a symbol of three interlocked circles. Inside of the bag was a few greenish-blue pills. "I found a man in my casino attempting to sell these, and even after a week he refuses to say where he got them. I've heard from some of my contacts that pills like this have been popping up all over the city, as well as multiple Rifts disappearing. I'm uncertain if the group making this pills are also abducting people, but my gut says yes."</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson Taz raised an eyebrow when the baggy of pills was presented. "I've seen these before." He said once Nuada was done talking. "I saw a guy taking one of these at a party. The results were nothing to scoff at. And that came as quite a shock to me. The guy who took the pill was no lightweight and that was the first thing he'd taken all night, so there wasn't anything else in his system already." Taz looked up from the pills and back at Nuada. "So you wanna find out who's behind these pills and the missing Rifts?" Taz asked. "What comes next when you have? Do you just wanna run 'em off your turf? Do you wanna stamp 'em out altogether? What's your endgame here?"</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy "My endgame is to tear this weed out at the roots. I've seen what this drug does in the short run, a high like you've never seen. You haven't seen the long term yet." She pulled out two pictures, one of a large hulking beast with bone plating covering his skin, the other of a regular looking man wearing gym clothes. "An acquaintance of mine, Mitosis. His mythos allowed him to constantly adapt, causing him to look like this. After a few pills and a bit of time, it went away. Whoever is making these is suppressing Rift powers, possibly as a means to capture them."</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson "These things suppress Rift powers?" Taz asked as he looked at the two photos. "Damn. I wasn't happy about not being able to get one before. But I certainly am now."</s> <\|message\|>Rollen Jorgunson Rollen had the bartender serve him a tall glass of water as he drank it he dropped an asprin into the glass and took a long sip, as he did so the man only vaguely paid attention to the woman that he remembered seeing but couldn't remember her name and the other bloke with his tattooed arms as well as wild hair. He sobered up quickly which surprised even him yet the buzz was still there and slightly impaired him. "So your saying these pills make people...Normal? How is that a problem?" he rubbed his temples as he considered the possibility of being powerless and it didn't seem like a bad thing to him.</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson Taz gave Rollen a look that one would usually reserve for those who said or did something utterly nonsensical. Pills that made people normal... not a problem? Taz wondered if the guy was even speaking english at that moment. "You might want to call it quits on the alcohol for tonight." Taz said. "I think you're starting to get a little delirious."</s> <\|message\|>Rollen Jorgunson Rollen chuckled at the man's reply "Yeah delirious is one way to put it," he shook his head and rested his chin on his fist as he leaned against the surface of the bar counter "The ole noggin ain't what it used to be so I tend to think funny especially when I'm on the sauce" sighing he reached out a hand to Taz with a tired smile on his face "Nice to meet you. Oh nice ink by the way" Rollen didn't have any tattoos of his own but he appreciated the dedication it took to have something engraved in ones skin.</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson "Thanks." Taz said in reply to Rollen's words before taking the guy's hand and giving it a good firm shake. "It's nice to meet you too." Once the greetings were finished, Taz looked back at Nuada. "So, we've got some pictures, some pills, and a guy who won't talk." Taz said. "There anything else we should know about or is that all we have to go on?"</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy "The symbol on the bag is all I've been able to find, I think it's related to a Rift, but that's basic knowledge at this point, they wouldn't be able to make Rift drugs if they weren't one themselves," she replied to Taz. She then turned to Rollen, "The reason this is such an issue is what can happen to them. This man on this picture, he could survive a bomb with his Mythos, his body would adapt to it to save his life. Now, he can be injured by scraping his knee. Another person, I think she did the equivalent of OD'ing on these, she forgot everything about Mythos, Rifts, what have you. The two of you, and myself, are three extremely powerful individuals, especially being Borderline. We need to find the root cause of this and end it."</s> <\|message\|>Tassilo 'Taz' Davidson "And how might we go about doing that?" Taz asked when Nuada said they needed to put a stop to the pills. "What's our next step here?"</s> <\|message\|>Riley 'Nuada' Murphy "The guy we have won't talk, yet," Nuada said to Taz, "I think that we need to find another one of these dealers and hope we find one who will talk."</s> <\|message\|>Rollen Jorgunson "Give em' time and with enough pressure your man may crack," Rollen shrugged "But it sounds like we don't have time to interrogate some bloke so where do you need us to go?" he asked eating a cracker from the tray of saltine's before him.</s>	<\|message\|>Sayuri Mitsukasa "BANG!" A sudden gunshot had just silenced the whole establishment. The gamblers were distracted, and for a split second the quick hands of the hosts were ready to rig their games, ensuring the fortune for this casino. Yet they hesitated, a patron had just shot someone, a woman. She was one of the singers who routinely came to Fortune Row once a week, known by her name Sayuri. Her performance entertained the patrons with night songs as they tested their luck through their favorite games; blackjack, poker, and roulette among others. There was a visible shock on the Sayuri's face. Her hands clutched on her stomach, as if she tried to hold the blood flowing out of the gunshot wound. The shooter was quickly taken down by a bouncer, a regret could be seen on his drunk face. Panic ensued, as people saw the shooter being brought somewhere, they gathered in curiosity, wondering what might happen to their favorite singer. As Sayuri stood up, one could see her abdomen skin revealed among her two-piece party dress. The singer's gunshot wound on her stomach slowly closed itself and the bullet was ejected from it, clinked as it fell onto the floor. "I... I'm fine..." said Sayuri, "I don't know how, but I'm fine."</s>
<\|description\|>Rowan Childe Rowan Childe {29M} Spiritual ⚝ Vegan ⚝ Perfectionist Bicurious ⚝ Junior Communication Major ⚝ Veteran Song: Blackbird - Fat Freddy's Drop Rowan is an older student and a veteran. He spent 8 years in the Marines before going back to school on his GI bill - unfortunately, average grades in high school meant he was only accepted into BCC. Though he was one of the "lucky ones" who never saw actual combat, his time overseas changed him. After experimenting with psychedelics during his first year at BCC, he had a spiritual awakening and has cut most ties with his old life. Now a nonviolent vegan, he is still struggling to find his place in the world and figure out what direction to take his life in. He doesn't feel like he's almost thirty, and rarely divulges his age, preferring to blend in among the younger students such as his flatmates. With his trademark dreadlocks and bright blue bicycle, he's a memorable figure around campus even though he rarely attends parties and has few close friends. Relationships: * Kalama Guynn: Roommate. Having only lived with Kalama for a few weeks, Rowan isn't quite sure what to make of her. He appreciates her passion for social justice and willingness to try his Vegan cooking, but found her messy breakup very disruptive to the peaceful energy he tries to cultivate around the apartment. * {Unfilled/NPC} Roommate Beta: * {Unfilled/NPC} Roommate Alpha: History: Rowan is originally from Georgia and still has a hint of the accent, although he tries to hide it. He doesn't talk much about his childhood, but it wasn't the happiest. Although his parents both loved them in their own ways, they were strict and devout people with little tolerance for perceived weakness or failure. He was a sensitive child and his father took it upon himself to make Rowan "man up" with frequent hunting trips, animal butchering, and manly activities like football and JROTC. Joining the Marines was as much to make his dad proud as to get him out of the house as soon as high school finished. Though he initially excelled and became close friends with the Chaplain, Rowan found it difficult to take leadership roles as he has little stomach for yelling at other people. During his second tour, his Chaplain was assaulted by her commander officer, resulting in her discharge and him being found not guilty at the court martial. This event rocked Rowan to his core and changed his opinion of the military for the worse. By the end of his eight years, he was thoroughly disillusioned with the military life and sought greater meaning. He initially hoped to find it in education, but ultimately found it in frequent LSD, psilocybin, and peyote trips instead. It was in his first year at BCC that he cut ties with the military, his family, and his religion. Though he has felt more at peace since that decision, he has also been profoundly lonely - a largely self-imposed isolation, as he has very high standards for himself and other people, making him difficult to get along with at times. Magic: Knack: Rowan has the ability to sense immediate danger to himself. As a kid, he called it his "Spidey sense". Though this ability won't tell him the source of the danger, any threat capable of killing or seriously injuring him within the next couple minutes will trigger a burst of adrenaline and let him know that something is wrong. This ability has prevented him from getting kicked by riled-up farm animals, stepping out in front of unseen traffic, and swimming in the ocean with a rip tide. Gift: Rowan has the ability to telepathically communicate in a limited capacity with animals. He can passively sense the intent of any animal within eyesight, and broadcast his intent to any or all animals within approximately one mile. While he cannot read their minds or control their actions, he can communicate basic concepts such as "I won't hurt you" or "this person is a bad person". After testing this on the campus squirrels, he used this ability to call a deer from the nearby woods into the student food court by broadcasting the intentions "I want to give you an apple" and "none of us will hurt you". The price of his Gift isn't too severe, but he is completely unaware of his surroundings while communicating with animals - he could be stabbed while communicating and not be aware of it until he returns to reality. Even once he does return, he is very disoriented once he comes back to reality and it puts a fog over his whole day similar to being hungover.</s> <\|message\|>Rowan Childe Posting order: @Laser Kiwi - @EurmalEye - @Blazion (except Tuesdays) - @alexfangtalon - @dabombjk Current plot arc: discover which Witch is the Supreme.</s> <\|message\|>Rowan Childe Briarwood Community College Background Community College isn't usually full of thrills and danger. The student body is the typical unassuming mix of high school underachievers, working class kids with a dream, and older people going back to class after years in the workplace. BCC, like the ox it has for a mascot, is a hardworking but unassuming campus. Most of the 62 students who signed up for Sociology 171: Witchcraft & Superstition were expecting a marginally interesting humanities credit. This semester is not going to go as planned. As per the syllabus, the third day of class involved a discussion of Covens & Supremes. To demonstrate the power of superstition, the professor had the class read aloud an incantation which, supposedly, will awaken any latent Supreme. Then the lights all went out. A few students screamed or shouted, and one or two people ran for the doors. The lights switched back on a few moments later and the the professor calmed everyone down, explaining that it was nothing more than a demonstration illustrating the power of superstition and suggestion. Most people laughed, went to sleep that night, and forgot about it. Most people, but not all. A few people had very strange dreams that night, and every night since. The days are little better. In the two weeks since that class, there have been a lot of strange incidents around town: A student's car burst into flames and he was badly burned before he could escape, a wild deer walked into the food court at peak lunch time, and several exams have been cancelled by fire alarms which were manually triggered despite security cameras showing empty halls. But things are about to get even weirder. The awakening Witches' dreams are getting more vivid and more powerful, and they're starting to sense each others' presence. As the new Supreme comes into their power, Briarwood may get its first full-fledged Coven in decades... unless everything goes terribly wrong. --- Friday 22 September 2017 4:10pm Sociology 171 has just ended and most students are leaving quickly, eager to start their weekend plans. The weather is overcast and cool, a brisk early autumn day. The ascendant Witches on campus are starting to really feel their magic, and sense the presence of other Witches in the area. Today, they are going to find out they aren't the only ones with powers. Currently, the group is headed to Poor Yorick's. Ostensibly this is for a study group, but magic has pulled them inexorably together.</s>	<\|message\|>Rowan Childe Kalama Guynn & Rowan Childe Central Courtyard It had been all but impossible to focus in class. Kalama was exhausted from several nearly-sleepless nights filled with guilt and longing. The lectue on the Salem Witch Trials could have put her to sleep, if she wasn't so afraid of what dreams may come if she dozed off. She took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air and pulled her puffy jacket a little tighter around herself, trying to decide if she wanted to go back home or grab a coffee. "Hey Kalama," Rowan greeted her, walking out of the building. She noticed dark smudges beneath his eyes and a certain desperation in his typically-peaceful demeanor. "Oh hey Rowan," She replied, feeling an odd sensation as he came closer. A magnetic pull, like the one that had been haunting her dreams recently. Was she going crazy? Hopefully it was just sleep deprivation. "I was thinking about getting a coffee at Poor Yorick's and going over my notes. You, uh... you want to start a study sess?" He hesitated for a moment. All of his instincts had been going haywire lately, ever since he convinced that squirrel to take an almond directly out of his hand last week. The deer incident would have convinced him he was losing his mind, if there hadn't been other students around to witness. Now his instincts were pulling him toward his flatmate, as relentless as the tide. "Sure," He accepted her invite with a strained smile. She didn't look too good either. Maybe the weird energy in the apartment was getting to her too. "Should we invite some of the others? My notes this week ain't the greatest." "Good idea," Kal answered, glancing around at the students trickling out of the lecture hall. They had all done introductions on the first day of class, but she was struggling to match names to faces. "Hey! If anyone is interested, we're going to be studying at Poor Yorick's," She called out, hoping that there would be some other takers. Being alone with Rowan might mean confronting the weird feeling between them, and she wasn't in any kind of mood for introspection with the shadow of what she'd done to Daria hanging over her head.</s>
<\|description\|>Rowan Childe Rowan Childe {29M} Spiritual ⚝ Vegan ⚝ Perfectionist Bicurious ⚝ Junior Communication Major ⚝ Veteran Song: Blackbird - Fat Freddy's Drop Rowan is an older student and a veteran. He spent 8 years in the Marines before going back to school on his GI bill - unfortunately, average grades in high school meant he was only accepted into BCC. Though he was one of the "lucky ones" who never saw actual combat, his time overseas changed him. After experimenting with psychedelics during his first year at BCC, he had a spiritual awakening and has cut most ties with his old life. Now a nonviolent vegan, he is still struggling to find his place in the world and figure out what direction to take his life in. He doesn't feel like he's almost thirty, and rarely divulges his age, preferring to blend in among the younger students such as his flatmates. With his trademark dreadlocks and bright blue bicycle, he's a memorable figure around campus even though he rarely attends parties and has few close friends. Relationships: * Kalama Guynn: Roommate. Having only lived with Kalama for a few weeks, Rowan isn't quite sure what to make of her. He appreciates her passion for social justice and willingness to try his Vegan cooking, but found her messy breakup very disruptive to the peaceful energy he tries to cultivate around the apartment. * {Unfilled/NPC} Roommate Beta: * {Unfilled/NPC} Roommate Alpha: History: Rowan is originally from Georgia and still has a hint of the accent, although he tries to hide it. He doesn't talk much about his childhood, but it wasn't the happiest. Although his parents both loved them in their own ways, they were strict and devout people with little tolerance for perceived weakness or failure. He was a sensitive child and his father took it upon himself to make Rowan "man up" with frequent hunting trips, animal butchering, and manly activities like football and JROTC. Joining the Marines was as much to make his dad proud as to get him out of the house as soon as high school finished. Though he initially excelled and became close friends with the Chaplain, Rowan found it difficult to take leadership roles as he has little stomach for yelling at other people. During his second tour, his Chaplain was assaulted by her commander officer, resulting in her discharge and him being found not guilty at the court martial. This event rocked Rowan to his core and changed his opinion of the military for the worse. By the end of his eight years, he was thoroughly disillusioned with the military life and sought greater meaning. He initially hoped to find it in education, but ultimately found it in frequent LSD, psilocybin, and peyote trips instead. It was in his first year at BCC that he cut ties with the military, his family, and his religion. Though he has felt more at peace since that decision, he has also been profoundly lonely - a largely self-imposed isolation, as he has very high standards for himself and other people, making him difficult to get along with at times. Magic: Knack: Rowan has the ability to sense immediate danger to himself. As a kid, he called it his "Spidey sense". Though this ability won't tell him the source of the danger, any threat capable of killing or seriously injuring him within the next couple minutes will trigger a burst of adrenaline and let him know that something is wrong. This ability has prevented him from getting kicked by riled-up farm animals, stepping out in front of unseen traffic, and swimming in the ocean with a rip tide. Gift: Rowan has the ability to telepathically communicate in a limited capacity with animals. He can passively sense the intent of any animal within eyesight, and broadcast his intent to any or all animals within approximately one mile. While he cannot read their minds or control their actions, he can communicate basic concepts such as "I won't hurt you" or "this person is a bad person". After testing this on the campus squirrels, he used this ability to call a deer from the nearby woods into the student food court by broadcasting the intentions "I want to give you an apple" and "none of us will hurt you". The price of his Gift isn't too severe, but he is completely unaware of his surroundings while communicating with animals - he could be stabbed while communicating and not be aware of it until he returns to reality. Even once he does return, he is very disoriented once he comes back to reality and it puts a fog over his whole day similar to being hungover.</s> <\|message\|>o Under Construction for Necessary Retcon Warning Read This Post at Your Own Confusion --- --- The alarm blared on the beside table almost begging for the person in bed to turn it off. Elysia groggily rolled over slamming the top of the clock. Looking at the time Ely groaned. After lunch, she had come home to rest before her next class but not for this long. Those stupid drawings. She still hasn't been able to get a full night's rest since they started. She got up from her bed to see two drawings laid on her desk one slightly crumpled. The first one she remembered drawing about a week ago. It showed her standing in Poor Yorick's and in front of her there was a table full of textbooks and some completely random objects. There were six dumbbells stacked on each other, a Hot Wheels with fire print on the side, a set of boxing gloves one being extremely worn down with the other looking brand new, a plush spider with dreadlocks, and a rat holding a Phillips head with a black grip. The drawing had one of those turning blocks that indicated dates on the counter but everything other than the day of the week was obscured. She had gone there last Friday but nothing stuck out to her that matched the drawing. What was really weird though was that the rat was identical to the one in the new drawing. In the top right was a street sign that she didn't recognize but a simple check of the phone would help with that. The center of the drawing showed her sitting on a park bench and beside her was that rat from the first picture. She looked back to the first wondering if it was more important than she had originally thought. She looked at the second to see if anything indicated when to be there. She saw nothing of the sort and got a little annoyed. Did that mean now? What were these drawings? It was so confusing. Grumbling to herself she gathered her things and left. Checking her phone she saw that the road wasn't too far away. She decided to go check it out. Her hope was that if she kept following these pictures she'd eventually figure out what was going on with her. It took a couple of minutes to get to the road. Finding the park bench was a little harder. She eventually saw a bench that seemed in the right position and the surrounding scenery was similar. The only thing different was that a guy was laughing on the ground by the swings. That was definitely odd. Ely didn't see anyone else around. There also wasn't a rat on the bench. Looking towards the guy Elysia's stomach started to churn and her hand began shaking. This park looked like no one had been here in a long time. Who was this guy? He seemed alone. Momentary doubt of going to the bench entered her mind, but the drawings hadn't lead her into bad situations so far. So, ignoring her gut instincts Ely, head down, walked over to the bench and sat down in the exact position designated from the picture. Avoiding looking at the guy she decided to pull out a sketchpad and began drawing the rat which had appeared in her past two drawings. Hopefully, this would help her be able to recognize it whenever it appeared.</s> <\|message\|>Kyle Hishamie Kyle Hishamie Interesting Fact about the Salem Witch Trials. There were actually more people accused of being witches in the town of Andover than in the town of Salem. Although most of the accused witches were women, some men were also accused. A majority of the people who claimed to be "afflicted" by witches were girls under the age of 20 Kyle, sitting at attention in class, managed to finish writing down the notes from the lecture right before the end of class. With a small bead of sweat running down the nape of his neck, Kyle realized something about himself he had not known before. It has been years since Kyle sat down in a classroom, and even longer since he felt like he needed to jot down serious notes. It isn't as if the Salem Witch trials were particularly hard to learn about, but the sitting still amongst civilians and learning about something other than his MOS turned out to be slightly more difficult than he remembered. At times he found he needed to force himself to snap back to reality when he caught his attention drifting away from the professors words. In truth, Kyle had not paid too much attention in the beginning of class. Almost as if he had just arrived on the scene. It would be easier to concentrate too if extremely hard to remember details of somehow vivid but easily forgettable dreams had not been the subject of his minds attention span. Get your shit together soldier, Kyle had said to himself with quiet trepidation under his breath and in the middle of class, Think of this as just another battlefield. Except....if you fail you wont die...Ok not a battlefield exactly but still get you're shit together man His discipline and mental fortitude could only take him so far though. Kyle kept his mind awake and on point by taking several small and quick gulps of water from his water bottle that he had brought with him and powered on until the end of the lecture. Kyle had not spoken yet to any of his classmates, but at the sound of many people leaving together to go to a study group he stayed in his seat for a few moments after everyone had left. The professor could see Kyle putting his notes together and into the binder he brought and getting ready to leave so the professor paid him no mind. As Kyle gathered his things and stood slowly he began to think to himself. I should...go to that study group thing with the others it was an open invitation after all. I mean, what if I missed something important in the moments my attention was not where it should have been? Kyle began to walk towards the class door, Binder in one hand and water bottle in the other, when he stopped right in front of the door hand outstretched. But...I shouldn't bother others, they don't know me and everyone was.....well no matter. I should at least attempt to exchange lesson information with at least one of them. Kyle left the classroom and walked with a purpose, shoulders broad and head held high even if inside of him he felt the complete opposite. I may not be worth the time it takes to exchange class notes but I missed parts of the lecture, that's on me and I need to take responsibility. The dreams he had been having as of late continued to burn in an insatiably curious way in his mind. Kyle could almost make out certain parts but just as he would start to remember the details would vanish from his memory. It was beyond irritating to Kyle but he tried his best to push the thoughts out of his mind. He had fallen behind the other students and did not want to get lost trying to find them. It was mostly a straight shot, or rather the way to the destined location was easy to get to, to Poor Yorick's. Kyle had never been, but learning more about the city he was in by reading maps was something he did every time he moved to a new city or base. It helped put his mind at ease for in the event of an emergency he wouldn't be completely lost at least. Although.......his sense of direction left much to be desired. It took a fair bit of time but pretty soon the group of students he has seen leaving together and more were in view at least. Kyle was wearing a V neck dark blue, long sleeve shirt with black jeans and slip on shoes with black socks. Not the most comfortable thing to run in but as his physique was in excellent condition since he kept up his army training regiment after been released Kyle had been able to catch up without breaking a sweat. It simply took awhile, to the point where they were almost at their predestined location by the time he had caught up. Kyle had not seen the rat, the injured man, or anything out of the ordinary besides some minor distress that he had no idea the cause of. When Kyle was within loud voice speaking distance he spoke up hoping at least on person would respond. Howdy, Kyle said in a loud enough tone to be heard but not loud enough to be considered shouting, Im..Kyle..From class. I was hoping I could join ya'll. Kyle rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand. Christ he hated talking to people. He was sure they would tell him to fuck off. He looked so out of place, a young muscular adult who just sorta came from nowhere. He had stayed silent the entire class so did anyone even notice him? Hopefully not.</s>	<\|message\|>Rowan Childe Kalama Guynn & Rowan Childe Sidewalk -> Poor Yorick's Forest horse. After all the tension and strangeness of the past few minutes, Valeria's statement was so delightfully incongruous that Kalama couldn't help but giggle. Even Rowan, trying his best not to offend their athletic companion, couldn't hold back a brief chuckle. Everything about the situation was surreal, and each of them was suspicious of it for their own reasons, but he could feel that some tension had subsided within the group. Despite Kal's initial hostility towards Caleb, Rowan could tell her guard had dropped a little after his actions. Of course, he could also tell that was exactly what Caleb had intended - all his time in the military had made Corporal Childe adept at reading group dynamics, and that was a skill that translated well here. "Thanks Valeria! I work at Poor Yorick's, so if I make our drinks we can get them half price," Kalama offered, well aware that her barista skills were way ahead of the evening's scheduled crew. And that gave her an opportunity to put a heart in Valeria's foam... not that it was the reason she offered, of course. There was much too much going on to be distracted by beautiful women, no matter how muscular. The arrival of another member to their party was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Rowan immediately made space for Kyle to walk beside them and offered him a kind smile. "Sure thing, Kyle. We can never have too many notes at a group study. I'm Rowan. That's Kalama, Caleb, and Valeria," he introduced, hoping the odd events of the past few minutes would quickly be forgotten. Especially the way he had almost tripped over his own feet when Valeria brought up the deer he had summoned. His newfound power felt so surreal he wanted to make sure he wasn't just imagining things, but he hadn't realized how much attention that would draw until he came out of his trance to realize that dozens of other students had just witnessed a deer come up and take an apple out of his hand while he appeared to be meditating. It was on Instagram almost immediately, and even though he didn't have social media he had heard enough whispers around campus to know he had fucked up. Luckily there was no time for the group to gossip before they arrived at the coffee house. Kalama lead the way to a more private table in back, leaving her bag and coat and rolling up her sleeves to get to work on the drinks. "So, let me guess. Rowan wants a chai with almond milk. Valeria, I think you look like a whole milk latte kind of girl. Kyle... brewed coffee with cream, no sugar? And Caleb - nonfat caramel latte with cinnamon. Am I close?" She asked, trying to lighten the mood a bit.</s>
<\|description\|>Rowan Childe Rowan Childe {29M} Spiritual ⚝ Vegan ⚝ Perfectionist Bicurious ⚝ Junior Communication Major ⚝ Veteran Song: Blackbird - Fat Freddy's Drop Rowan is an older student and a veteran. He spent 8 years in the Marines before going back to school on his GI bill - unfortunately, average grades in high school meant he was only accepted into BCC. Though he was one of the "lucky ones" who never saw actual combat, his time overseas changed him. After experimenting with psychedelics during his first year at BCC, he had a spiritual awakening and has cut most ties with his old life. Now a nonviolent vegan, he is still struggling to find his place in the world and figure out what direction to take his life in. He doesn't feel like he's almost thirty, and rarely divulges his age, preferring to blend in among the younger students such as his flatmates. With his trademark dreadlocks and bright blue bicycle, he's a memorable figure around campus even though he rarely attends parties and has few close friends. Relationships: * Kalama Guynn: Roommate. Having only lived with Kalama for a few weeks, Rowan isn't quite sure what to make of her. He appreciates her passion for social justice and willingness to try his Vegan cooking, but found her messy breakup very disruptive to the peaceful energy he tries to cultivate around the apartment. * {Unfilled/NPC} Roommate Beta: * {Unfilled/NPC} Roommate Alpha: History: Rowan is originally from Georgia and still has a hint of the accent, although he tries to hide it. He doesn't talk much about his childhood, but it wasn't the happiest. Although his parents both loved them in their own ways, they were strict and devout people with little tolerance for perceived weakness or failure. He was a sensitive child and his father took it upon himself to make Rowan "man up" with frequent hunting trips, animal butchering, and manly activities like football and JROTC. Joining the Marines was as much to make his dad proud as to get him out of the house as soon as high school finished. Though he initially excelled and became close friends with the Chaplain, Rowan found it difficult to take leadership roles as he has little stomach for yelling at other people. During his second tour, his Chaplain was assaulted by her commander officer, resulting in her discharge and him being found not guilty at the court martial. This event rocked Rowan to his core and changed his opinion of the military for the worse. By the end of his eight years, he was thoroughly disillusioned with the military life and sought greater meaning. He initially hoped to find it in education, but ultimately found it in frequent LSD, psilocybin, and peyote trips instead. It was in his first year at BCC that he cut ties with the military, his family, and his religion. Though he has felt more at peace since that decision, he has also been profoundly lonely - a largely self-imposed isolation, as he has very high standards for himself and other people, making him difficult to get along with at times. Magic: Knack: Rowan has the ability to sense immediate danger to himself. As a kid, he called it his "Spidey sense". Though this ability won't tell him the source of the danger, any threat capable of killing or seriously injuring him within the next couple minutes will trigger a burst of adrenaline and let him know that something is wrong. This ability has prevented him from getting kicked by riled-up farm animals, stepping out in front of unseen traffic, and swimming in the ocean with a rip tide. Gift: Rowan has the ability to telepathically communicate in a limited capacity with animals. He can passively sense the intent of any animal within eyesight, and broadcast his intent to any or all animals within approximately one mile. While he cannot read their minds or control their actions, he can communicate basic concepts such as "I won't hurt you" or "this person is a bad person". After testing this on the campus squirrels, he used this ability to call a deer from the nearby woods into the student food court by broadcasting the intentions "I want to give you an apple" and "none of us will hurt you". The price of his Gift isn't too severe, but he is completely unaware of his surroundings while communicating with animals - he could be stabbed while communicating and not be aware of it until he returns to reality. Even once he does return, he is very disoriented once he comes back to reality and it puts a fog over his whole day similar to being hungover.</s> <\|message\|>o --- --- Elysia sat in the corner of the coffee shop, eyelids slowly drooping as she felt sleep trying to pull her back in. Before she felt herself give in to the drowsiness she shook her head. She covered her mouth as a deep, silent yawn escaped her. Even the coffee she had beside her wasn't helping that much. She looked at the textbook laying open in front of her. The bland text wasn't making anything any easier. The young woman began mentally berating herself for falling asleep rather than going to class. She already had stopped enjoying the class after the demonstration by their teacher so keeping up with the class was already hard enough. She looked at her phone and started thinking that today may not be the right day either. She closed the book and started packing her things when she heard the door open and saw a bunch of familiar faces walk in. She looked at them trying to remember where she knew them from when one of them mentioned class and another mentioned notes. Her sleep-deprived mind took longer than normal to remember that she shared classes with these people. Then she realized they were all in the class she had just slept through. What a stroke of luck. Had this been what her drawing was guiding her to? But wait, it was because of the drawings that she fell asleep and missed class. This was so confusing. She shook her head trying to center her attention. She didn't have time to deal with the dumb pictures. She needed to try and get some help with this class. Elysia stuck everything except her textbook, notebook, phone, and coffee in her bag then cautiously started walking towards the crowd. As she got closer it felt oddly comforting. Like she was being drawn in towards a big warm hug. Before she reached them she quickly typed a message on her phone. Once she stepped up she waved trying to draw the attention of one of them. Once she got it she hit the play button on her app, "Hi. My name is Elysia. I share a class with all of you. I accidentally missed class. Do any of you have notes you could share?"</s> <\|message\|>Kyle Hishamie Kyle Hishamie Belief in the supernatural–and specifically in the devil's practice of giving certain humans (witches) the power to harm others in return for their loyalty–had emerged in Europe as early as the 14th century, and was widespread in colonial New England. Tension, confusion, hyper awareness. All of these feelings were running rampant all throughout Kyle. He himself made the decision to make himself a part of this group, even while unaware of the supernatural tug pulling him towards his classmates. He himself wanted to come out of his shell in some small way by following after this current group, even though not a single cell in his body truly wanted to interact with others. All he really wanted to do was see if he had missed anything important in class for his education may not have entirely depended on it but if history is anything to pay attention to even the small details matter. Kyle appreciated that he was welcomed easily enough, in Kyles head he had given himself plenty of reasons why they would not be as kind as they were. No matter how kind they were, Kyle could not shake that indescribable sensation that flowed throughout his entire being that he was not going to be welcomed soon enough. Within moments of entering the shop Kyle had pinpointed every point of entrance and every exit within sight of the customer side of the shop. If need be he could escape any situation that may arise or simply walk away if he wanted to. Kyle took his seat near the edge of the table closest to the walkway and put his binder and bottle in his lap. Thank you but I...I would prefer water. No ice. Kyles face was not filled with glee nor sadness, anger nor stiffness. If anything his expression was blank. Some might confuse it with some other emotion, but how can one correctly display emotionlessness or rather how do you display an emotion you truly do not feel. Have not felt in years. Numbness was his ally, it kept his secrets and kept his thoughts private. Thank you, Kyle said to Kalama. Kyle wanted to speak up and ask to see if anyone would compare notes with him but he could not move his mouth to speak at the idea of having to....socialize. It was what he was here to do and he was already failing. Mentally Kyle smacked himself, thinking how pathetic he was. He wasn't nervous or scared, not really. These people seemed very nice in fact. The others were beginning to exchange notes or at least offer to and were making small talk. Kyle grabbed his right wrist with his left hand underneath the table and squeezed himself with a fair amount of pressure. Using his muscles in his body was easier than using the muscles in his mouth to speak. When the piece of paper with peoples numbers were being written on was passed to him Kyle pulled out his pen, but paused before writing anything. Did he want everyone to have this type of information on him? Did he want to give out his cell number, only to not be invited again because he did something weird or silly? Was it worth the risk? Kyle rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand, his muscles clearly evident through his long sleeve shirt. He became slightly over himself, thinking on how dumb this was. Of course they wouldn't want to do this with him again, he was nothing and no one so what did it hurt. He wrote his real cell number down and passed along the paper. When the newest addition joined the group, and used her phone to communicate with the others, Kyle solemnly nodded towards her. This was his chance! He missed out on conversating at first but with a new addition he had an excuse to say something first. He would not waste this, Kyle knew he needed to seize the moment or just go home. Kyle raised his binder from his lap and opened it on the table. When he spoke he spoke to her and to everyone else. I....have notes. I took them....obviously....I believe I got most of the lesson but I may have missed a few sentences. Kyles notes, he believed, were pretty decent. He hadn't looked at the others notes yet but he believed his hand writing was legible and his notes were in order. Kyle believed in being one hundred percent prepared so just to be safe he wrote down everything that was said in the order it was said, with breaks in paragraphs for pauses and such. If anyone wants to....I mean....you know look at them....you guys can. Kyle took a sip of his drink and tried to meet everyone's eyes that looked at him as he spoke. Thankfully, while he speak not slowly but somewhat unwillingly and maybe even a little awkwardly, he could keep all of his personal thoughts and feelings to himself. Kyle assumed for the rest of the time spent with the group he would spend listening rather than talking which is what he preferred. That's when the first of many unusual events began to unfold due to Kyle. While he preferred to listen rather than speak, since a new arrival had joined and he had taken his chance to speak he believed why not continue? The class was...pretty easy huh? Kind of boring? He spoke to everyone in the group but when he focused his words on a single individual, Elysia, A weird feeling overcame Kyles entire body, a new sensation he had never felt before. If he had not been so hyper focused he probably would have missed it. Doesn't it make you happy that class wasn't very long? I doubt I could have stayed awake too much longer. This would be the very first case while in college of Kyle using his hidden power of Emotional Suggestion. Unintentional of course, and not in any way dangerous at least this time. Kyle suddenly felt a sharp pain behind his left eye, almost making him wince from the pain. Kyle held his composure nearly perfectly, having felt far far worse physical pain before. He had meant to speak to everyone both times but when he felt that weird sensation he suddenly felt pulled to speak to a single induvial, which had happened to be the closest person to himself.</s>	<\|message\|>Rowan Childe Kalama Guynn & Rowan Childe Poor Yorick's He added his number to the sheet and passed it on just as the latest addition to their group arrived. Feeling the same inexplicable connection, Rowan offered Elysia a small smile and wave. He couldn't help but be pleased when Kyle started the conversation so it didn't fall to him again. "Yeah, it was easier than most. I have some notes too, but I kind of faded out halfway through," the young man admitted, opening his binder to reveal only half a page. "I haven't been sleeping well lately and that lecture almost knocked me out." He played idly with one of his dreadlocks as he spoke, a nervous tick that seemed incongruous with his otherwise calm demeanor. Caleb's whistle did not endear him to Kalama, but otherwise the drink-making went smoothly. Rather than refuse Kyle's unusual request, she prepared a plain glass of water for him and also a mug of house blend herbal tea. Chamomile, lavender, and a handful of other herbs designed to soothe the nerves and calm anxious students. Maybe he wasn't anxious, exactly, but he looked like he could use the soothing. Distributing the drinks around the table, she set the two down in front of him with a little smile. "It's on me. No caffeine, no gluten, just a lot of flavor. If you don't like it you don't have to drink it... but I think you will," She explained. Though it seemed a stretch to call her drink-making ability magical, like her grandmother she had always associated sharing food and drink with family and coming together - which seemed mysteriously appropriate for this group, even if she couldn't put her finger on why. "Elysia, this is Kalama. Would you like anything to drink?" Rowan made the introduction in what seemed to be his permanent role now. He flicked a glance to Kal to see if she minded, but she was already looking to Elysia and seemed willing enough to get up one more time. While she was at the table, he passed her the group text sign up sheet and she quickly scrawled her number, maybe not realizing who had started the whole thing.</s>
<\|description\|>Rowan Childe Rowan Childe {29M} Spiritual ⚝ Vegan ⚝ Perfectionist Bicurious ⚝ Junior Communication Major ⚝ Veteran Song: Blackbird - Fat Freddy's Drop Rowan is an older student and a veteran. He spent 8 years in the Marines before going back to school on his GI bill - unfortunately, average grades in high school meant he was only accepted into BCC. Though he was one of the "lucky ones" who never saw actual combat, his time overseas changed him. After experimenting with psychedelics during his first year at BCC, he had a spiritual awakening and has cut most ties with his old life. Now a nonviolent vegan, he is still struggling to find his place in the world and figure out what direction to take his life in. He doesn't feel like he's almost thirty, and rarely divulges his age, preferring to blend in among the younger students such as his flatmates. With his trademark dreadlocks and bright blue bicycle, he's a memorable figure around campus even though he rarely attends parties and has few close friends. Relationships: * Kalama Guynn: Roommate. Having only lived with Kalama for a few weeks, Rowan isn't quite sure what to make of her. He appreciates her passion for social justice and willingness to try his Vegan cooking, but found her messy breakup very disruptive to the peaceful energy he tries to cultivate around the apartment. * {Unfilled/NPC} Roommate Beta: * {Unfilled/NPC} Roommate Alpha: History: Rowan is originally from Georgia and still has a hint of the accent, although he tries to hide it. He doesn't talk much about his childhood, but it wasn't the happiest. Although his parents both loved them in their own ways, they were strict and devout people with little tolerance for perceived weakness or failure. He was a sensitive child and his father took it upon himself to make Rowan "man up" with frequent hunting trips, animal butchering, and manly activities like football and JROTC. Joining the Marines was as much to make his dad proud as to get him out of the house as soon as high school finished. Though he initially excelled and became close friends with the Chaplain, Rowan found it difficult to take leadership roles as he has little stomach for yelling at other people. During his second tour, his Chaplain was assaulted by her commander officer, resulting in her discharge and him being found not guilty at the court martial. This event rocked Rowan to his core and changed his opinion of the military for the worse. By the end of his eight years, he was thoroughly disillusioned with the military life and sought greater meaning. He initially hoped to find it in education, but ultimately found it in frequent LSD, psilocybin, and peyote trips instead. It was in his first year at BCC that he cut ties with the military, his family, and his religion. Though he has felt more at peace since that decision, he has also been profoundly lonely - a largely self-imposed isolation, as he has very high standards for himself and other people, making him difficult to get along with at times. Magic: Knack: Rowan has the ability to sense immediate danger to himself. As a kid, he called it his "Spidey sense". Though this ability won't tell him the source of the danger, any threat capable of killing or seriously injuring him within the next couple minutes will trigger a burst of adrenaline and let him know that something is wrong. This ability has prevented him from getting kicked by riled-up farm animals, stepping out in front of unseen traffic, and swimming in the ocean with a rip tide. Gift: Rowan has the ability to telepathically communicate in a limited capacity with animals. He can passively sense the intent of any animal within eyesight, and broadcast his intent to any or all animals within approximately one mile. While he cannot read their minds or control their actions, he can communicate basic concepts such as "I won't hurt you" or "this person is a bad person". After testing this on the campus squirrels, he used this ability to call a deer from the nearby woods into the student food court by broadcasting the intentions "I want to give you an apple" and "none of us will hurt you". The price of his Gift isn't too severe, but he is completely unaware of his surroundings while communicating with animals - he could be stabbed while communicating and not be aware of it until he returns to reality. Even once he does return, he is very disoriented once he comes back to reality and it puts a fog over his whole day similar to being hungover.</s> <\|message\|>o --- --- lightseagreen The young woman thankfully nodded her head at the man who held the door open for her. Elysia felt her foot catch on the doorway but thankfully she caught herself. She was so tired. Why had she come out today? She took a few deep breaths and rapidly blinked her eyes to shake the dreariness away. When she refocused her vision, the man who had opened the door for her was standing there with a concerned expression. Maneuvering the things in her hands she used her phone to let him know she was alright. Just terribly tired. Soon leaving the awkward conversation Elysia made her way through the halls to where her new group was meeting. She could see all but Kyle. Well, hopefully, he would arrive soon. Otherwise, the coffee she had gotten for him would get cold. Approaching the growing number of students she waved and held up a notecard she had prepared earlier. I got everyone something to drink. I got mostly generic drinks so sorry if there aren't any you like. It was then that she noticed they were all still standing outside the classroom. That was odd. Was the TA not here yet? Puzzled she precariously balanced the coffee's again and using her phone. "Did she say she would be late?"</s> <\|message\|>Kyle Hishamie Kyle Hishamie Picking up and ending from the where we were last Kyle was nearly finished writing in his small notebook when he felt a cough about to erupt from his throat. Quickly Kyle grabbed a tissue from his pocket that he acquired earlier in the day and coughed into it, producing several soft but rapid coughs. He did not need to look to be able to tell that there was blood on the tissue, a problem he has been having for a good portion of the day. Using his powers was rather unhealthy for him, when used multiple times with a power suggestion that is, and caused him to bleed more than Kyle was comfortable with. That did not mean this impeded his experiments but rather forced him to take breaks from time to time. Rehydrating and eating helped so it seemed his body recovered in time if left alone but can also healed quicker by reinforcing the body with supplementation and nutrient. Using less powerful suggestions did in fact lessen the burden placed on his body and with time and practice Kyle could tell he could lessen that pain to almost nothing if he worked at it consistently. The fact that he had written this down was something he would most likely not share with his newfound companions, but the fact that a body can recover in multiple ways confirmed is a useful fact to know that he would share. The others might already know this but it is unlikely that everyone's magic worked the same way anyways. Flame Wonder seemed to be hurt by their flames if Kyle recalled correctly. Luckily he might be able to help in a very small way with that, he just needed to remember to say something at the group meeting. Kyle suddenly took his phone out at checked the time, sighing slightly when he saw he had a few hours. He had plenty of time so no way would he be late if he stayed where he was for awhile, is what Kyle thought to himself. Kyle was sitting on a brown metal bench next to the side of a building in a shopping plaza. Most people around where he was were walking around, going in and out of different shops, while having parked close by in a parking lot. Kyle liked to go to plazas like this when he wrote in his notebook if he could not do it at home, mainly because he would find a spot that had a convenient sitting area where someone could not catch him from behind. He would write, and ponder in thought, but kept one eye out with his head on a cholent swivel checking his three and nine. He had been sitting in a park earlier but was unfortunate to be there as the same time as several school children been running amuck in the park, acting as children do but were enough of a nuisance for Kyle to want to find somewhere else to write. If attractive surroundings were not available then a secure location was better. That being said, danger was always present. Kyle narrowly avoided a skateboard to the head by quickly and quite suddenly ducking down and diving forward, only being saved by seeing the oncoming threat out of the corner of his right eye. Kyle ended his roll by landing on one knee and looking towards the two young men running towards him. Stopping only a few feet in front of Kyle after retrieving his skateboard the first youth spoke. "Damn dude my bad, that was insane," exclaimed the youth in obvious shock, "Ya just...dodged my board dude. Like a ninja." Kyle rolled his eyes and sighed, wondering why he had to be bothered when he had done nothing wrong. Accidents happen though, Kyle thought. He stood up slowly and brushed himself off, eyeing the two youths. Kyle smirked, thinking how this could be a prime time to test something he had been meaning to but figured he could try tomorrow. "You ight dude", the second of the youths asked weirded out. To him this ninja guy was being awfully quiet and eerie. "YO you got sand in your ears dude", The first of the youths asked annoyed. Kyle held up his right hand in defeat and spoke. "Hey now, I have a great idea", Kyle spoke his voice filling the air with a sense of magic. Kyle looked directly into the eyes of the first youth and spoke. "Your friend next to you looks like her could kick your ass. Doesn't th-", Kyle tried say but was cut short by a sudden cough. More than a few droplets of blood were attached to the palm he covered his mouth with but Kyle wiped his hand on the bac of his pants and continued. "-Doesn't that piss you off even a little?" Kyle then turned to look the second confused youth in the eyes. "Your friend there has better brand clothes than you. Doesn't that make you green with envy?" The two youths looked momentarily confused then turned to look at each other. Youth number one spoke first. "This dude is fucking weird but......what? Why you looking at me bruh? You wanna kick my ass? You think you could?" The second of the youths replied, "Fuck you you think your better than me? Cause yo fat momma gives you money all the ti-," The second youth was cut short by the first youth suddenly slamming his fist into his friends face. For a minute they tussled in such a way, each exchanging blows with the other, while Kyle looked down in disapproval. His power did not make them fight, they were ready to fight all on their own. They just needed a little push, dumbass kids that they were. Kyle watched the two fight as others began to spectate or walk away, and after another minute Kyle stepped in. He kicked the friend on top of the other off with a swift kick to the ribs, the grabbed the second and hoisted him up to his feet. With a decisive blow Kyle gut punched the youth, knocking the wind out of him. Tired and in pain, the two youths laid on the ground in pain. Kyle walked in between the two and sighed. Kyle grabbed one of the youths head and opened his eyes, forcing eye contact. "Listen, woulndt you rather be feeling happy than in pain?" After a few moments and no responce Kyle again spoke a bit firmer. "Don't you notice how parched you feel more than the pain or anger?" Again Kyle waited a few moments but this time the youth quit writhing in pain and began to stand up, exclaiming how thirsty he was. Kyle smiled then proceeded to do the same with the one he suggested jealousy to. After a few moments the youths left in search of nourishment and the crowd dispatched but Kyle remained where he was, smiling. He could not control others actions but if he could find out or predict what makes someone tick he now knows he can influence their decision making if they are emotional like the youth of today are. Kyle winced as another headache came on strong just as suddenly as before. The pain was something he was used to, but he was a civilian now and had ways to deal with it. After a quick trip to a medicine store in the plaza and a quick bite to eat Kyle checked his phone and was alarmed to see how the time flew. He was going to be late to the group meeting! Kyle, as quick as he could, raced to the library. Library / 12:51 Kyle walked up to the group, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his head. He had tried to run as quick as he could but he had forgotten about the meeting in the commotion of his experiment and not all the pain from that had subsided yet. Kyle took a drink from a water bottle he had with him and sighed. "Sorry I am late, but I learned some amazing things about my magic in return."</s>	<\|message\|>Rowan Childe Kalama Guynn & Rowan Childe Kalama paled noticeably as Caleb brought up Daria, panic rising for a moment until she realized he still didn't know anything else about the situation. Guilt started to replace the panic, and then Rowan opened his mouth. "Are you sure she would want to see us, Caleb?" The veteran asked, scratching his short beard awkwardly. "I would be glad to visit, but I'm not sure seeing her ex would really be best for her healing..." Luckily for Kal, the others started arriving before that conversation could continue. She thanked the other girls for bringing treats, feeling a little guilty that she hadn't thought of the same. Maybe she should have spent last night testing her magic cooking instead of her fire, in hindsight "What did you learn, Kyle?" She asked eagerly, hoping there would be something he had learned that could help her out too. "Here she comes," Rowan interrupted, giving them a warning glance about the topic of conversation as the TA hurried towards them, the high heels on her black boots rapping sharply against the linoleum floors. "Sorry I'm running late," Bela Ward said to the group, shoving her armful of papers and folders into Rowan's open hands as she fumbled for her keys and unlocked the door, flipping on the lights and ushering them all inside. The TA was a tall and thin woman who looked maybe 25, with thin features and fine blonde hair in a messy pixie cut. She wore a rosey pink sweater dress and black tights, and Kalama couldn't help but notice that her makeup was impeccable: dramatic winged eyeliner, smokey eyeshadow, blood red lipstick without a smudge or flaw. "No problem, we were just discussing what questions we had," Rowan explained, setting her things down on the large round table before pulling up a seat across from her. It seemed to make more sense to have the people with emotionally tuned powers sit closest to their target. "I think we were all a bit confused about that one class over ritual and superstition. You know, the one where we did that chant or summoning thing." "The ritual of awakening? That's not on the midterm, I wouldn't worry too much about it," Bela advised, putting on a thick pair of glasses and sorting through her papers. "Fascinating to think that people used to consider things like that extremely powerful, isn't it?"</s>
<\|description\|>Denise Matheson Age: 27 Gender: Female Occupation in the group: Techie Fears: Experiencing intense pain, watching her loved ones suffer, bugs, Bio: Born and raised in a fairly strict household as an only-child, Denise was heavily disciplined from a young age. Her parents were well off, but that didn't mean they allowed her to slack off. Due to her upbringing, when she was in high school, Denise got drawn to the wrong crowd. She gained street smarts, that which is learned from experience. One of the kids in her group, Jason, had a crush on her. In order for him to spend more time with her, he asked her if she wanted a part-time job at the repair shop his dad owned. It was easy money, and the workload was extremely light, almost non-existent. Denise agreed, figuring she could use her own money without having to go ask her parents. Currently, Denise is working as an IT manager at the hospital. She stayed in the field throughout the years and she never looked back. Bored one evening, she saw an online post regarding a replacement needed for a tech position, Denise figured the experience might be fun, and decided to respond. Looks: A small-framed woman, Denise is not the least bit intimidating. She stands at 5'3 and weighs roughly 115 lbs. Despite spending quite a bit of time outside on a regular basis, her skin is fairly light. Denise has brown hair as well as brown eyes, though she may decide to switch up her look by adding some highlights to her hair depending on the time of year. She has no tattoos and no additional piercings aside from those on her ears. Her style can best be described as modern and comfortable with the occasional eye-catching accessory.</s> <\|message\|>Philip Martin "Joe's DEAD, Denise!" Philip said with eyes strained wide, "The trees ATE him. Do you understand?" He was making an immense effort to maintain control but loosing rabidly. "Your body was taken over already, there's no time to ask if this is real or staged like some kind of murder mystery." He snapped his head towards TJ, fear overwhelming his rational mind. "You keep stepping up like your still in charge of this fuck fest! This place is a goddam mouse trap! We are Walking Dead!" He grabbed TJ by the collar of his jacket, "I'm tired of your fucking 'reasonable' recommendations! I DON'T WANT TO FUCKING DIE!!!" He screamed into TJ's face and then dropped to his knees, his breath heaving in and out of his chest. Demons, that was his obsession. If demon's were real, then God was real, and then there was hope and meaning to life. Find the monster, find the hero, that was his plan, but everything was going so very wrong. In the video's and the training the monsters had always been distant, maybe affecting some poor innocent person by possessing them or making a book fly across the room; there was no precedent for the power of the evil of this place, and they had only seen the beginning! How could no one know what was possible? How could the church be so ignorant of the truth? Maybe, just maybe, evil kept the truth of its power a secret by killing everyone who ever saw it. That did not bode well for the team's chance of surviving through the night! "I'm sorry TJ," Philip said weakly from his position on the ground, "I'm so sorry... I'm just really scared, I... i.... don't know..." Philip moved to try and stand up.</s> <\|message\|>Pandora Blair None of the others seemed too concerned about Joe, but her vision weighed heavily on Pandora's mind for the entire walk back to the vehicles. It was easy enough for them to ignore, to choose to focus on the phenomena they had actually seen, but the young psychic had gotten a better look at Joe than even Denise. She could still hear the wet sound of freshly-peeled skin hitting the floor, hear his strained breathing, his screams... the sight of the vehicles finally pulled her from her dark thoughts with a shot of adrenaline. This was no time to be freaking out - like TJ said, this was life or death. Her powers weren't some party trick anymore, now they could potentially be the thing to save her life or the lives of her friends. Memories of the car accident all those years ago sprang into her head, but she pushed them down again. She could not, would not, dare fail again. "Denise will be my partner," She told their self-elected leader in a voice that wasn't taking any arguments. "She's the most vulnerable to psychic attack, and I'd rather pee in front of another girl, thanks." Trying to look braver than she felt, the blonde stepped over to the other woman, giving her a reassuring smile. Pandora couldn't imagine how she was feeling right now, but surely having another woman with her after such a traumatic event would be a little easier, not to mention having a psychic around in case it came back. Another vision came to her abruptly, disorienting her entirely with the smell of smoke & burning flesh and the sensation of heat against her face. When she finally managed to make out a clear image it was Maxwell's face, staring at her from one of the second story windows. The building was dark, illuminated only by Maxwell's burning body. In a matter of seconds hair and skin were reduced to ash, their body blackening and crumbling leaving only their eyes, which glowed a demonic red and hung in midair for a few moments even after their body was gone. Coughing and gasping for fresh air, Pandora came back to reality to find herself on her knees, trying to breathe through the thick clouds of smoke that were never physically there. "Maxwell," She sputtered. "Where's Max?!" She needed to warn them, to tell everyone what she saw so they could stop it from coming true.</s> <\|message\|>Dr. Thomas Jason McPherson ("TJ" or "Mac" or "Doc") Between what happened to Joe, Denise, Phillip and Pandora, the equipment being destroyed, and now with the more than likely scenario that Maxwell was dead (if he was lucky) TJ reached his breaking point. Without saying a word he went to the back of the SUV and pulled out his baseball bat. It was metal, black with gold lettering on it and TJ was twirling it along his right side. He found a large piece of equipment that was pretty much wiped out in the sabotage, and TJ decided it was time to finish the job. With a primal scream he let loose with five solid shots yelling with each blow and obliterated the broken tool into a pile of useless plastic and wires. The driver's window to the SUV was already smashed so TJ just threw his bat back into the SUV through it smashing what was left of it. TJ took a deep breath and looked over to Phillip and said, "So much for me being the reasonable one." He nodded and said, "You're scared? Join the club. I am scared out of my fucking mind Phillip! Anyone with three working brain cells would be scared. Hell I'd be more worried if you weren't, but we need to work the situation so we have at least a fighting chance to live." He looked over to Pandora and said, "You and Denise? Works for me." TJ closed his eyes and then reopened them and said, "Look, I know that when we agreed to this we knew somethings could go wrong even the possibility that one or all of us could die. I doubt though we thought that it would actually become reality, but it has. So now we all have to do something about it. I know that I'm being a jackass right now spouting off suggestions and so on but I wasn't hearing anyone else give any ideas." TJ exhaled and said, "If you got an idea then damnit say something! I don't have all the answers! We all bring something to the table. This thing got off the ground because we worked together, and now we have to do that again. I'm bankrolling this yes, but that doesn't mean I am the Dictator. We have to work together or we might as well go our separate ways right now and take our chances out in the woods." Looking around TJ said, "Before we left I called Beth and left her a phone number. It's to a friend of mine at the FBI field office. He and his partner like to dabble in paranormal studies. I told her if she didn't hear from me in three days she was to call them. Whether or not they come looking for us is an entirely different subject, but there are those who know where we are and Beth can be a force of nature." He showed his Fitbit and said, "This has a GPS embedded in it they would be able to find me. That's one reason I'm thinking we should stay together so that if I'm found they'll find you all as well." Walking over to the SUV he said, "We have three days to try and tough it out. I'm also aware that we might not last those three days. Hell we might not even last the next three hours but by God I'm not going down without saying I did everything I could to survive." TJ walked over to one of the bags and looked it over and said, "There's some salvageable gear in here." He slung it over his shoulder, walked over to the SUV and grabbed his bat, and said, "Here ends the speech. You can help me out by grabbing a bag or some gear and heading inside." He then gave a look as if to say "whatever" and said, "Or you can do whatever you want." With that he began to head towards the Orphanage.</s> <\|message\|>Philip Martin Philip, ashamed and red faced, dusted himself off and grabbed what he thought was one of the bags with infrared cameras and a display monitor. There might be time to set up some of the cameras and at least have something of an idea if things started going 'fucky.' He looked at the others in their turn, "I haven't seen Max," he said shyly, "I... i don't know what to think," then he turned and jogged to catch up with TJ. The forest was getting darker by the dusky evening but surprisingly there were no sounds of birds or insects. Philip's eyes shot from bush to bush, unsure if he saw movement, the only noise the crackle of leaves under his and TJ's boots. "I'm sorry I freaked out," he said, steeling himself, "you're right, we need to focus and remain rational. This is just.. this is my first.." he swallowed the lump in his throat, "I've never encountered anything real like this, only the reading. I thought I was prepared, but it's different when things happen that are like magic." He adjusted the bag to a more comfortable position on his shoulder, "I've read a lot about demons and the like, and I know they feed off negative energy, they like when people are afraid and suffering, it seems to give them... I don't know, it's like food maybe. I think the witch who was here might've summoned something that protects the land. I don't know why it doesn't just take us all unless it's limited on how much it can do at one time or maybe it's playing with us. It might've been saving the energy to take Joe and possible Max for a century, I just don't know." Philip looked serious, "I think maybe the strength you and Denise showed might have scared it away, or taken its battery away, which was me, I was feeding right into it." He looked back down at his feet as he walked. "I'll keep a cool head, I promise," he said, "and if I have any thoughts that might be helpful I'll share them. I'm sorry I fucked up, I'll keep it together from here on out." He stepped resolutely, assured by his own pronouncement that he was going to do better.</s>	<\|message\|>Denise Matheson "Hey, Pandora just breathe!" Denise rushed to her side, ignoring the pain shooting up her ankle. It seemed as if none of them could catch a break, with one event after the other. Denise started panicking even more—if that was possible—though this time she remained silent. It appeared as if bodies were dropping left and right, leaving those in the group feeling vulnerable, confused, and just about ready to lose their minds. In the midst of it all, Pandora had advised that them two would be pairing up. Denise noticed how it wasn't merely a suggestion, though she was fine with it and obviously was in agreement. She was, after all, someone that could keep Denise safe on some level. "We're sticking together in there then," she informed TJ. "You have GPS capabilities and that helps tremendously given our situation. We take shifts, with our partners of course, and keep all the equipment with us if we decide to make ourselves comfortable elsewhere." Denise then looked around. "The radios, were they destroyed?" She went on to one of the equipment bags, hoping that what she was looking for was still intact. "It's best we stay in communication if two of us go to the bathroom or something. To save battery, I suggest we keep one radio with the main group and the other one with with whichever two of us steps out of the room." Denise then picked up a back and swung it onto her shoulder. She also grabbed some more of the equipment to hand it off to Pandora, hoping that it would somehow help her shake off whatever she just experienced. "Hey, come on, let's head inside."</s>
<\|description\|>Dr. Thomas Jason McPherson ("TJ" or "Mac" or "Doc") Age: 27 Gender: Male Occupation in the group: Lead Investigator Fears: Being buried alive, toads, cockroaches, and rats. Bio: Thomas was born into a wealthy family in Pittsburgh, PA. His father was Robert McPherson C-E-O of McPherson Media, and his biological mother Rachel was Robert's secretary. She died giving birth to Thomas and Robert was going to put him up for adoption when Robert's wife Diana found out about it. She took one look at Thomas and instantly fell in love with him. Robert wanted nothing to do with Thomas, and Robert made sure that his step-brother and step-sister had nothing but contempt for him. Diana though loved Robert as though he was her own child. While he was in college Thomas began taking an interest in the paranormal, the occult, and unexplained phenomenon. He majored in psychology with a minor in religious studies, and then immediately began work on (and eventually graduated with) a PHD in Parapsychology. While he was studying for his PHD Robert would go Ghost Hunting with a group on campus, and he loved it. When he graduated he started off hosting a pod-cast with some friends he met at school as a hobby while dreaming of Ghost Hunting full time. He took a job working in a lab at the University studying the paranormal hoping to save up enough to finance a Ghost Hunting business. When his mom was killed in a car crash Thomas' world changed in many ways. It was revealed that Diana was the "power behind the throne" in that she was the majority shareholder of McPherson Media and the majority of the family assets were in her name. She also named Thomas the executor of her estate which meant it all went to him. Robert and the other family members were outraged and were going to contest the will, but Thomas suggested a compromise. He would let them have just about everything, but there would be three conditions. First, the company would bankroll Thomas' Ghost Hunting business no questions asked. Anything they need there would be a check waiting for them, and the equipment and their offices/labs would be top of the line. With a healthy budget to keep up with the latest gadgets. Second, the entire crew would be given medical, dental, vision, and life insurance with a 401K. Third, Thomas got to keep the house-boat to live on, and the family had to pay for the upkeep and expenses. The family grudgingly admitted to Thomas' terms. Looks: Thomas stands roughly six-one with jet black hair. Wears glasses which accentuate his brown eyes, and has a cross earring in his left ear. His lean build comes from his love of jogging. Loves wearing an old style bomber's jacket with a brown fedora (his friends give him an earful for trying to copy the Indiana Jones look, but he doesn't care). Frequently will wear a t-shirt with either something to do with "Star Wars" or a "super-hero" on it, and a pair of blue jeans with Nikes on the feet. Extra: Thomas drives a 1967 Mustang that his mom got for him for college graduation, and there is a reason he is so interested in Ghost Hunting. He believes that all spirits are linked together, and Thomas wants to meet Rachel just to say he met her once. He misses Diana more than he admits to anyone. His family wants NOTHING to do with him, but they are at least civil to him.</s> <\|message\|>Pandora Blair None of the others seemed too concerned about Joe, but her vision weighed heavily on Pandora's mind for the entire walk back to the vehicles. It was easy enough for them to ignore, to choose to focus on the phenomena they had actually seen, but the young psychic had gotten a better look at Joe than even Denise. She could still hear the wet sound of freshly-peeled skin hitting the floor, hear his strained breathing, his screams... the sight of the vehicles finally pulled her from her dark thoughts with a shot of adrenaline. This was no time to be freaking out - like TJ said, this was life or death. Her powers weren't some party trick anymore, now they could potentially be the thing to save her life or the lives of her friends. Memories of the car accident all those years ago sprang into her head, but she pushed them down again. She could not, would not, dare fail again. "Denise will be my partner," She told their self-elected leader in a voice that wasn't taking any arguments. "She's the most vulnerable to psychic attack, and I'd rather pee in front of another girl, thanks." Trying to look braver than she felt, the blonde stepped over to the other woman, giving her a reassuring smile. Pandora couldn't imagine how she was feeling right now, but surely having another woman with her after such a traumatic event would be a little easier, not to mention having a psychic around in case it came back. Another vision came to her abruptly, disorienting her entirely with the smell of smoke & burning flesh and the sensation of heat against her face. When she finally managed to make out a clear image it was Maxwell's face, staring at her from one of the second story windows. The building was dark, illuminated only by Maxwell's burning body. In a matter of seconds hair and skin were reduced to ash, their body blackening and crumbling leaving only their eyes, which glowed a demonic red and hung in midair for a few moments even after their body was gone. Coughing and gasping for fresh air, Pandora came back to reality to find herself on her knees, trying to breathe through the thick clouds of smoke that were never physically there. "Maxwell," She sputtered. "Where's Max?!" She needed to warn them, to tell everyone what she saw so they could stop it from coming true.</s> <\|message\|>Dr. Thomas Jason McPherson ("TJ" or "Mac" or "Doc") Between what happened to Joe, Denise, Phillip and Pandora, the equipment being destroyed, and now with the more than likely scenario that Maxwell was dead (if he was lucky) TJ reached his breaking point. Without saying a word he went to the back of the SUV and pulled out his baseball bat. It was metal, black with gold lettering on it and TJ was twirling it along his right side. He found a large piece of equipment that was pretty much wiped out in the sabotage, and TJ decided it was time to finish the job. With a primal scream he let loose with five solid shots yelling with each blow and obliterated the broken tool into a pile of useless plastic and wires. The driver's window to the SUV was already smashed so TJ just threw his bat back into the SUV through it smashing what was left of it. TJ took a deep breath and looked over to Phillip and said, "So much for me being the reasonable one." He nodded and said, "You're scared? Join the club. I am scared out of my fucking mind Phillip! Anyone with three working brain cells would be scared. Hell I'd be more worried if you weren't, but we need to work the situation so we have at least a fighting chance to live." He looked over to Pandora and said, "You and Denise? Works for me." TJ closed his eyes and then reopened them and said, "Look, I know that when we agreed to this we knew somethings could go wrong even the possibility that one or all of us could die. I doubt though we thought that it would actually become reality, but it has. So now we all have to do something about it. I know that I'm being a jackass right now spouting off suggestions and so on but I wasn't hearing anyone else give any ideas." TJ exhaled and said, "If you got an idea then damnit say something! I don't have all the answers! We all bring something to the table. This thing got off the ground because we worked together, and now we have to do that again. I'm bankrolling this yes, but that doesn't mean I am the Dictator. We have to work together or we might as well go our separate ways right now and take our chances out in the woods." Looking around TJ said, "Before we left I called Beth and left her a phone number. It's to a friend of mine at the FBI field office. He and his partner like to dabble in paranormal studies. I told her if she didn't hear from me in three days she was to call them. Whether or not they come looking for us is an entirely different subject, but there are those who know where we are and Beth can be a force of nature." He showed his Fitbit and said, "This has a GPS embedded in it they would be able to find me. That's one reason I'm thinking we should stay together so that if I'm found they'll find you all as well." Walking over to the SUV he said, "We have three days to try and tough it out. I'm also aware that we might not last those three days. Hell we might not even last the next three hours but by God I'm not going down without saying I did everything I could to survive." TJ walked over to one of the bags and looked it over and said, "There's some salvageable gear in here." He slung it over his shoulder, walked over to the SUV and grabbed his bat, and said, "Here ends the speech. You can help me out by grabbing a bag or some gear and heading inside." He then gave a look as if to say "whatever" and said, "Or you can do whatever you want." With that he began to head towards the Orphanage.</s> <\|message\|>Philip Martin Philip, ashamed and red faced, dusted himself off and grabbed what he thought was one of the bags with infrared cameras and a display monitor. There might be time to set up some of the cameras and at least have something of an idea if things started going 'fucky.' He looked at the others in their turn, "I haven't seen Max," he said shyly, "I... i don't know what to think," then he turned and jogged to catch up with TJ. The forest was getting darker by the dusky evening but surprisingly there were no sounds of birds or insects. Philip's eyes shot from bush to bush, unsure if he saw movement, the only noise the crackle of leaves under his and TJ's boots. "I'm sorry I freaked out," he said, steeling himself, "you're right, we need to focus and remain rational. This is just.. this is my first.." he swallowed the lump in his throat, "I've never encountered anything real like this, only the reading. I thought I was prepared, but it's different when things happen that are like magic." He adjusted the bag to a more comfortable position on his shoulder, "I've read a lot about demons and the like, and I know they feed off negative energy, they like when people are afraid and suffering, it seems to give them... I don't know, it's like food maybe. I think the witch who was here might've summoned something that protects the land. I don't know why it doesn't just take us all unless it's limited on how much it can do at one time or maybe it's playing with us. It might've been saving the energy to take Joe and possible Max for a century, I just don't know." Philip looked serious, "I think maybe the strength you and Denise showed might have scared it away, or taken its battery away, which was me, I was feeding right into it." He looked back down at his feet as he walked. "I'll keep a cool head, I promise," he said, "and if I have any thoughts that might be helpful I'll share them. I'm sorry I fucked up, I'll keep it together from here on out." He stepped resolutely, assured by his own pronouncement that he was going to do better.</s> <\|message\|>Denise Matheson "Hey, Pandora just breathe!" Denise rushed to her side, ignoring the pain shooting up her ankle. It seemed as if none of them could catch a break, with one event after the other. Denise started panicking even more—if that was possible—though this time she remained silent. It appeared as if bodies were dropping left and right, leaving those in the group feeling vulnerable, confused, and just about ready to lose their minds. In the midst of it all, Pandora had advised that them two would be pairing up. Denise noticed how it wasn't merely a suggestion, though she was fine with it and obviously was in agreement. She was, after all, someone that could keep Denise safe on some level. "We're sticking together in there then," she informed TJ. "You have GPS capabilities and that helps tremendously given our situation. We take shifts, with our partners of course, and keep all the equipment with us if we decide to make ourselves comfortable elsewhere." Denise then looked around. "The radios, were they destroyed?" She went on to one of the equipment bags, hoping that what she was looking for was still intact. "It's best we stay in communication if two of us go to the bathroom or something. To save battery, I suggest we keep one radio with the main group and the other one with with whichever two of us steps out of the room." Denise then picked up a back and swung it onto her shoulder. She also grabbed some more of the equipment to hand it off to Pandora, hoping that it would somehow help her shake off whatever she just experienced. "Hey, come on, let's head inside."</s>	<\|message\|>Dr. Thomas Jason McPherson ("TJ" or "Mac" or "Doc") TJ took a couple of steps in front of Phillip and stopped in front of him. He said with a great deal of focus in his voice and a scowl on his face, "Listen and listen good. You freaking out and all that crap I want you to remember two things." He held his right index finger and said, "First off, if you weren't freaked out by all of this I would be worried about you." He held up another finger and said, "I'm coming off cool and calm but I need you to realize something Phillip. My first time ghosting with a group the first time I saw something out of the ordinary. I didn't run away or freak out." He shook his head and said, "No I didn't." He very calmly and with great focus said, "I passed out." His scowl slowly melted into a smile and then laugh as he said, "That's right cool calm rational TJ went lights out. So man, I'm not judging you and what you said about whatever this thing might be feeding off of negative energy..." He nodded and said, "It's a plausible theory. I can't really disagree with you. That being said I'm more concerned about whoever trashed the vehicles and our gear. That's a bigger issue because it usually means someone is trying to make sure that the perfect cover up stays that way." He gave Phillip a couple of light taps on the shoulder and said, "You're all right Phillip. You're all right man. In fact you can partner up with me and we'll put Danny with us as well. We'll figure out the sleeping shifts amongst ourselves." TJ gave Phillip a quick wink and continued walking on. Hearing Denise's idea about the radio and partners TJ gave a couple of nods and replied, "Good ideas I'm on board with you on that. I think you and Pandora got things wired up pretty good amongst yourselves." In the back of his mind though TJ had an uneasy feeling that like in most horror movies the radios, despite the fact that they looked undamaged and had full charges, they weren't either going to work or they were going to die out suddenly when they needed them the most. For the time being though TJ wasn't going to give that possibility much thought. There was still much more pressing matters in front of them at the moment. As TJ approached the front door he said, "You know if I opened the door right now and the entire house collapsed, and only the door and the door frame remained standing..." TJ nodded and said, "I wouldn't be too shocked, and for some reason I actually find that scenario oddly comforting." TJ looked back at the group and said, "Once you go in here you're in this for the long haul and there's no backing out. We're in this together. We get in there I suggest we set up our main area in the living room close to the door. Any other ideas or suggestions let's hear 'em." Mentions/Interactions Kiwi</s>
<\|description\|>Bren Adalwolf Bren: means fire Adalwolf: noble wolf Nickname/Alias: None Age: 17 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance Description: Bren is tall and well built which makes him look slightly older than he is. This along with his fiery red hair and bright blue eyes makes him difficult to miss, even when standing in the midst of a crowd. He walks with a great deal of grace and confidence, as his parents taught him, that makes it clear he is comfortable in any situation (even if he isn't). He does try to make sure he is presentable in every sense of the word, despite this his hair is always a slight mess, though not for lack of trying. Clothing wise he is always dressed nicely, unless he is relaxing by himself, even if the situation doesn't necessarily call for it. While nice he does also make sure to keep practicality as the most important aspect of what he wears whether that be a convenient holster for his weapon or combat boots. No matter what he's wearing there is always a jacket or long coat over the top of it, though this is mostly out of habit from growing up in a colder climate. He mostly prefers lighter, monochromatic shades with a few splashes of color, very similar to his weapon. Allusion: Cerberus: Guardian of the Underworld Personality: Confident and approachable, Bren is an easy person to get along with provided you don't get on his bad side. If that's the case he tends to be harsh and snappish, but thankfully it takes a lot to get to that point. He is hard working at anything and everything, but mainly things that grab his interest completely. He can be somewhat easily distracted so if it doesn't work out every part of his brain and body he's more than likely to lose interest pretty quickly. However, if someone gets him talking about a topic he has a great deal of interest in it's difficult to get him to stop. He's strongly of the opinion that no one should be judged by who they are or where they're from, but rather the quality of their character. He'll take the time to get to know someone before really deciding if he wants to be their friend or not. Some people see this as putting in too much effort on things that mean very little, but Bren is of the mind that the types of people you spend time with reflect the type of person you are. Being an only child allowed him to really appreciate the company of other people his age, but it also had the side effect of making him somewhat unsure of how to interact with them. He's able to easily cover up his nerves for the most part unless someone catches him off guard. It does take some work to get him to care deeply about someone or something, not to say that he's against closeness by any means, but he wants to make sure it's worth his time. Like many of the other students at Beacon, training to become an amazing huntsman is something he throws himself into 100% and if someone seems like they're giving less than that he's not so inclined to put in the effort of knowing them. If he is putting the work to better himself, and those on his team, he expects others to do the same. This does make him appear disinterested at points, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. Once he gets to know someone well he loosens up quite a bit. He's much more willing to make jokes and hang around just because he enjoys the company of his friends. If he truly cares about someone he is strongly protective of them, a bit like a guard-dog. Likes: * Dogs * Music * Running * Sweets * Myths Dislikes: * Laziness * Unnecessary Violence * Writing * Loud Noises Motivation: Learn and grow as much as he can to protect the people he cares for Sexual Orientation: Bisexual Country of Origin: Atlas Bio: Bren was born in Atlas and is the only child of Emil and Isolde Adalwolf. His father works for one of the many technological companies in the city of Atlas and is a brilliant mind that is focused on the betterment of society for the people there, and he is stringently against the sorts of unethical practices that some of the other companies dabble in. His mother on the other hand is not the high society wife that one might expect of a wealthy businessman, but rather an accomplished huntress in her own right. She attended Atlas Academy and had little trouble holding her own. His father was elated when they had a son and he immediately wanted Bren to follow in his footsteps and learn the intricacies of science and technology for the betterment of Remnant, but Bren was much more interested in what his mother did. She would return from hunts all through his early childhood with fascinating stories of the battles she participated in sparking his love of mythology and stories. Not to say he didn't heed his father and learn some of what Emil did for a living, but he could never quite grasp the depth of mechs coding. Rather he asked his mother to teach him combat moves from an early age, and he found that was where his passion was. Once he got old enough he begged his parents to allow him to attend a combat school and, while his father was hesitant, his mother was all for it. Given prior experience with his family he was able to make a name for himself at the school, despite the highly competitive nature of it, and thoroughly enjoyed the time he spent learning and practicing both at school and at home. When he turned 17 his mother expected him to apply to the Atlas Academy, and he knew he would've been able to get in with little trouble, but Atlas always felt so closed off and insular to him. Living there had it's perks, but he wanted to know how other parts of the world differed from the one he grew up in. With his parents permission, though it was a bit of a fight to get, he was permitted to attend Beacon Academy where he hopes to learn what he didn't in Atlas. Weapon: Semblance: Void's Spirit-Allows for the summoning of three shadowy, lupine spirits that can be directed as allies in battle to attack and defend. Bren can choose to summon the spirits individually as the strength of them goes down with each additional one that is brought onto the battlefield. The spirits are free to act within the orders that Bren gives them whether that be to attack the nearest enemy or guard an ally or location, but they must remain within a certain distance of him or else they vanish. Each spirit has it's own personality that can make them a hassle to control when all three are summoned at once, but careful focus and training can make it manageable.</s> <\|message\|>Violet Skye Sfyri --- B E A C O N A C A D E M Y T H E G R E A T H A L L K I N G D O M O F V A L E --- Violet was relieved when Bren stepped into help her. He really was being nice. He was trying to scare them off with his giant cute shadow puppy. Now, though, she just hoped he or anyone else didn't get hurt. It looked like a confrontation was brewing and it made Sky nervous. "W-we're on t-the s-same, t-team..." She managed to say, so quietly it was hard to hear. Stupid. Stupid! This was so stupid! Sky couldn't help but feel like this was all her fault. This wouldn't have happened if she had just...well, she wasn't sure what Briar wanted her to do. She was still confused as to why he decided to have one of his friends take her arm. This whole thing just made her feel terrible. "Aah!" Sky cried out in surprise as a tall muscle man came screaming into her view. It was a ferocious drop kick! Briar was sent flying. "Oh no, oh no!" She continued to cry, antsily bouncing on her feet. A girl came up from behind and literally stabbed one of them in the back, causing Sky to gasp. "Please don't kill each other! Oh, no!" She guessed the woman's name was Mei, considering that's what she just called herself? It was hard to tell. Either way, her arm came rolling on the ground towards her and Sky scooped it up. Eagerly she attached it back onto herself, and she felt whole again. She clenched and unclenched her metal fist, and was grateful. "Thank you! B-but-..." She looked up at Mei, wiping the tears from her eyes. "I, I don't have a lot of money. Not in my p-pajamas. But I'll, I'll pay you back." She hid her eyes under her cap again. Thankfully it was easier since she was shorter than everyone else. She flinched as Mei suddenly turned her sights on Rowan. This one didn't feel like it involved her at all. Violet's eyes briefly searched the room for that poor Faunus girl those boys had been picking on earlier. "H-hey...are you okay?" She asked, taking a few steps towards her. Sky didn't notice Drongo preparing his counter attack, either. Her thoughts were scrambled and her heart was overwhelmed. Perception wasn't her strong suit, anyway. She also looked at Briar, laying on the floor. "Um... are you okay?" She asked. But she still kept her distance, moving towards the Faunus girl they had picked on earlier. She was mostly focused on her safety. But Briar had gotten kicked really, really hard. She glanced back over to the Faunus. "Sorry they were being so mean to you." She said. "Sorry no one came in to help." She averted her eyes, looking embarassed. Violet had very weakly tried to interfere, but she was too scared of confrontation to be successful. Also, she was probably the least intimidating person in the room.</s> <\|message\|>Fen Saffron --- Beacon Academy The Great Hall Kingdom of Vale --- Fen wasn't awake. He wasn't awake when his body reacted to a nearby sound, nor was he awake when his body moved towards the source of the noise. He moved with surprising alacrity in his state, clutching his knapsack to his chest. He stopped and crouched when he reached a certain distance from the commotion, glazed eyes observing the situation. It was a trait honed by spend his nights out in Vacuo. There weren't many safe places in the middle of the hostile desert, and he had to be wary of ambushes as he slept. His body would completely wake him up if it was a Grimm attack, but against bandits looking for easy prey? It wouldn't even bother, being on auto-pilot was good enough. He did have issues with this habit however, as an unaware dormmate would find out firsthand. But thankfully, Silas never reported him, and he eventually dulled his reactions to the point where Silas could wake him up without any problems. Well, as long as he didn't make any sudden movements when Fen's eyes opened. Unfortunately being in a completely different location, in a place where he wasn't expecting danger at all, caused him to react normally. Fen scanned what was happening, his half-conscious mind making small mental notes on who he saw. He judged that there were four assailants, going by their aggressive body language. Two appeared to be simply watching, one appeared to be their ringleader, and the last one appeared to be armed, although Fen in his state couldn't tell with what. They were against an injured girl, who had an ally with her. His muscles tensed as another participant entered, foot first into the leader. Another ally it seemed. Someone else jumped into the fray, who he recognized as someone he met. She took out the armed man, leaving only the other two spectators. It appeared to be under control by now, with the two active aggressors being taken out. But as Fen was about to move back to his original spot, he saw one of the remaining members prepared to bring out something out, something against the now retreating Mei. If Fen's subconscious mind had to explain what it was about to do, it would be something like be this: Throw knapsack at legs, to destabilize. Neutralize by grabbing arm, jamming thumb into wrist. Wrap other arm around neck, squeeze if necessary. Turn held body towards last enemy. It was formulated in an instant, as Fen lunged instinctively at the threat.</s>	<\|message\|>Bren Adalwolf B E A C O N A C A D E M Y G R E A T H A L L K I N G D O M O F V A L E --- Bren had to resist rolling his eyes at Briar's words, but still prepared himself to snap his fingers at Ajax and let the spirit run wild as his goons stepped forward. If that's how they wanted this to go then so be it. He didn't have the chance to though as another student slammed into Briar and sent him tumbling across the hall. "Well that solves one problem," at the same time the fox faunus he was pretty sure he'd seen at the feast stabbed, was that a toothbrush, into the shoulder of the bully who was holding Violet's arm and sent it rolling back to the smaller girl behind him. He didn't let himself fully relax even as Mei turned to shout at the other boy, there were still the other three that needed to be dealt with and he doubted they'd be taking kindly to their ringleader being knocked on his ass. He caught sight of Violet picking her arm back up and wandering over to the other faunus that had been dropped to the floor and even going so far as to ask Briar if he was ok. The brat wasn't worth her time. He was glad he'd kept paying attention to the bullies even as Mei continued to speak loudly with Rowan. The moment he noticed Drongo reaching into his pocket he snapped his fingers and gave a low pitched whistle to Ajax. In a flash of movement and shadow the spirit lunged towards the other boy and slammed his full weight against him; sinking sharp teeth into the arm that held, whatever it was he was trying to pull free from his pocket. So much for going one day without someone getting bitten. Oh well, better these guys than someone who didn't deserve it. The moment of distraction given to him by Ajax was all he needed to follow quickly after. He wished he still had Guardian with him, hand to hand wasn't exactly his specialty, but that didn't mean he couldn't take someone to the ground. He let his momentum carry him into a roundhouse kick directly to the side of Drongo's head as Ajax pulled downwards on his arm; the spirit's jaw firmly locked with no intention of letting go until he was told to. He caught sight of another figure moving in as he hit the ground, some other faunus it seemed to help out with this fight. He seemed cognizant enough despite the glazed look in his eyes, so Bren would take all the help he could get. "Watch your back," he glanced towards Mei, "Just because one is out of the fight doesn't mean the rest are gonna just lay down and take a nap." Hopefully the both of them who were arguing would pay more attention since it didn't seem like Briar's goons were going to go down without a fight.</s>
<\|description\|>Bren Adalwolf Bren: means fire Adalwolf: noble wolf Nickname/Alias: None Age: 17 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance Description: Bren is tall and well built which makes him look slightly older than he is. This along with his fiery red hair and bright blue eyes makes him difficult to miss, even when standing in the midst of a crowd. He walks with a great deal of grace and confidence, as his parents taught him, that makes it clear he is comfortable in any situation (even if he isn't). He does try to make sure he is presentable in every sense of the word, despite this his hair is always a slight mess, though not for lack of trying. Clothing wise he is always dressed nicely, unless he is relaxing by himself, even if the situation doesn't necessarily call for it. While nice he does also make sure to keep practicality as the most important aspect of what he wears whether that be a convenient holster for his weapon or combat boots. No matter what he's wearing there is always a jacket or long coat over the top of it, though this is mostly out of habit from growing up in a colder climate. He mostly prefers lighter, monochromatic shades with a few splashes of color, very similar to his weapon. Allusion: Cerberus: Guardian of the Underworld Personality: Confident and approachable, Bren is an easy person to get along with provided you don't get on his bad side. If that's the case he tends to be harsh and snappish, but thankfully it takes a lot to get to that point. He is hard working at anything and everything, but mainly things that grab his interest completely. He can be somewhat easily distracted so if it doesn't work out every part of his brain and body he's more than likely to lose interest pretty quickly. However, if someone gets him talking about a topic he has a great deal of interest in it's difficult to get him to stop. He's strongly of the opinion that no one should be judged by who they are or where they're from, but rather the quality of their character. He'll take the time to get to know someone before really deciding if he wants to be their friend or not. Some people see this as putting in too much effort on things that mean very little, but Bren is of the mind that the types of people you spend time with reflect the type of person you are. Being an only child allowed him to really appreciate the company of other people his age, but it also had the side effect of making him somewhat unsure of how to interact with them. He's able to easily cover up his nerves for the most part unless someone catches him off guard. It does take some work to get him to care deeply about someone or something, not to say that he's against closeness by any means, but he wants to make sure it's worth his time. Like many of the other students at Beacon, training to become an amazing huntsman is something he throws himself into 100% and if someone seems like they're giving less than that he's not so inclined to put in the effort of knowing them. If he is putting the work to better himself, and those on his team, he expects others to do the same. This does make him appear disinterested at points, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. Once he gets to know someone well he loosens up quite a bit. He's much more willing to make jokes and hang around just because he enjoys the company of his friends. If he truly cares about someone he is strongly protective of them, a bit like a guard-dog. Likes: * Dogs * Music * Running * Sweets * Myths Dislikes: * Laziness * Unnecessary Violence * Writing * Loud Noises Motivation: Learn and grow as much as he can to protect the people he cares for Sexual Orientation: Bisexual Country of Origin: Atlas Bio: Bren was born in Atlas and is the only child of Emil and Isolde Adalwolf. His father works for one of the many technological companies in the city of Atlas and is a brilliant mind that is focused on the betterment of society for the people there, and he is stringently against the sorts of unethical practices that some of the other companies dabble in. His mother on the other hand is not the high society wife that one might expect of a wealthy businessman, but rather an accomplished huntress in her own right. She attended Atlas Academy and had little trouble holding her own. His father was elated when they had a son and he immediately wanted Bren to follow in his footsteps and learn the intricacies of science and technology for the betterment of Remnant, but Bren was much more interested in what his mother did. She would return from hunts all through his early childhood with fascinating stories of the battles she participated in sparking his love of mythology and stories. Not to say he didn't heed his father and learn some of what Emil did for a living, but he could never quite grasp the depth of mechs coding. Rather he asked his mother to teach him combat moves from an early age, and he found that was where his passion was. Once he got old enough he begged his parents to allow him to attend a combat school and, while his father was hesitant, his mother was all for it. Given prior experience with his family he was able to make a name for himself at the school, despite the highly competitive nature of it, and thoroughly enjoyed the time he spent learning and practicing both at school and at home. When he turned 17 his mother expected him to apply to the Atlas Academy, and he knew he would've been able to get in with little trouble, but Atlas always felt so closed off and insular to him. Living there had it's perks, but he wanted to know how other parts of the world differed from the one he grew up in. With his parents permission, though it was a bit of a fight to get, he was permitted to attend Beacon Academy where he hopes to learn what he didn't in Atlas. Weapon: Semblance: Void's Spirit-Allows for the summoning of three shadowy, lupine spirits that can be directed as allies in battle to attack and defend. Bren can choose to summon the spirits individually as the strength of them goes down with each additional one that is brought onto the battlefield. The spirits are free to act within the orders that Bren gives them whether that be to attack the nearest enemy or guard an ally or location, but they must remain within a certain distance of him or else they vanish. Each spirit has it's own personality that can make them a hassle to control when all three are summoned at once, but careful focus and training can make it manageable.</s> <\|message\|>Fen Saffron --- The next day Emerald Forest Kingdom of Vale --- Fen flew as he propelled himself forward. He wasn't one of the first to be launched from the pad, so he was prepared for his turn. And as he began to descend, he fired shots from his tonfas at an angle, sending him further ahead and slowing his descent. When he felt that he could drop safely, he stopped shooting, letting himself land on a particularly sturdy branch. And as the leaves from the tree fell from the impact, he waited for any possible danger. Feeling that he was safe, he jumped down to the forest floor. Taking a deep breath, Fen looked around. Seeing the forest from the outside, and being in it now felt like two entirely different experiences for him. There was nothing around him, and he couldn't help but crack a faint smile as he took in the peaceful atmosphere for a moment. However, he had a objective to complete, and started to move. But he stopped as he thought about it more, and looked back, towards the cliff where he came from. Fen went further than the others, most of them at the very least. And by the Headmaster's words, it seemed like he needed a partner for the rest of the initiation. He walked back towards the cliff as he looked for a potential partner along the way.</s> <\|message\|>Zargun Nouri Zargun Nouri --- The Next Day Emerald Forest Kingdom of Vale --- Yes, Today is the day, Zargun thought happily as he made his way to the landing, having already changed into his normal clothes. It was a nice view of the Emerald Forest from atop the cliff. Just another thing he enjoys about his new home in comparison to Vacuo. Which while he does love his old home, the green and lively environment of Vale can't quite compare to the desert wasteland that is Vacuo. It made him wish he could have seen more outside of the capital but, having to care for two younger siblings whenever uncle was away meant there was no time for it. Still, nice to see more of what Vale has to offer during this initiation. Zargun eagerly listened to what Carlisle said and was slightly confused when Carlisle brought up having a landing strategy. Before he could wonder, a student got launched into the air. Uh, that is the surprise that uncle warned me about. Zargun thought as he watched more students get launched into the air. Giving himself some time to prepare before he was launched into the air. Flying through the air, Zargun could. When he started to descend, Zargun brought out Oathkeeper from his back. He started firing at an angle to slow him down. Once he was slowed enough, Zargun put Oathkeeper away and dodging some trees. He landed with a roll to break his fall and rolled a bit before coming to a stop. Getting up, Zargun took a deep breath and scanned his surroundings. That sure was something, and as far as he could tell, no one was near him. For the moment, at least, he was not paying attention to where the others had landed. Too focus on where he was going and coming up with a way to land on the fly. A thought came to him, and he let out a chuckle. "So uncle had to go through that too," letting out another chuckle. Now, what other surprises does this initiation, he wondered? But that will have to wait for now. He has to find a relic, and from what Carlisle said. A partner as well. Hopefully, they are not a prick. He thought as he took another deep breath. Unsheathing Oathkeep in his gun form and started walking towards the ruin while on the lookout for anyone that might cross his path.</s>	<\|message\|>Bren Adalwolf B E A C O N A C A D E M Y G R E A T H A L L K I N G D O M O F V A L E --- "Sure, if you say so," Bren shrugged in response to Mei as she went to check on the other Faunus. If she didn't want someone to step in and prevent her from getting shot then that was her business. He just wouldn't bother next time around. Maybe this would give Briar and his friends a moment of pause the next time they decided to try and mess with someone else though. He whistled and Ajax trotted back over to his side, shrinking a bit in size as he did so. "Good job," he patted the spirit on the head, "Get some rest alright, big day tomorrow." Technically the spirits didn't get tired, but it had become a habit at this point. It was getting a bit tiring keeping him present anyway, especially having him fight. He sighed as another loud voice called out. He was pretty sure she was from Atlas as well, some Dust family or something like that. Mei immediately shot back at her and he decided that was not something he wanted to get involved in. He couldn't help but agree with her a bit. How was it that so many of these people thought they could throw their status around when they'd just gotten here? It made little sense to him, but then again his family, while somewhat well known, didn't necessarily hold the same status. It wasn't worth it to get into another fight or argument so he wandered back to his spot against the well and took stock for initiation the next day. --- T H E N E X T D A Y E M E R A L D F O R E S T K I N G D O M O F V A L E --- He had to admit that Vale did have its nice spots. While it wasn't anything like the floating cities and snow covered lands of Atlas he found he quite liked the sea of green that stretched out into the forest below them. He was comfortably in his regular clothes, long coat over the top of everything and the familiar weight of Guardian at his side. Their headmaster's speech certainly felt a bit all over the place, but he supposed he understood well enough. Broke down to find a partner, get a relic, and make it back here. Easy enough. As the rest of the them began to get launched into the air, with a few exclamations from some of them, he prepped himself for the same. It certainly wasn't how he'd expected to get down the cliff and into the forest, but it seemed that Beacon was full of surprises. He crouched and waited, already scanning where the other students were going and picking a tree to aim for. The pad gave plenty of lift as he pulled Guardian free and let the rifle blast slow his speed enough that he could easily aim for the large tree he had picked out on top of the cliff. He easily changed his weapon into its bladed form and slammed it into the side of the trunk letting the sharp blade cut through and slow his descent even further. Once he got close enough to the ground he pulled the blade free and allowed himself to drop into a roll on the floor. He kept the blade of Guardian out, he had no idea what to expect to find in the forest here and he wasn't going to take any chances. He would wait to summon any of his spirits until something actually dangerous showed up, no need to waste energy on something trivial. He looked up to the canopy and through the trunks of the trees. Didn't seem like anyone was nearby, so he'd just have to wait a bit to pick up a partner then. He wasn't sure who would be best to get paired with. Violet was nice, if a little nervous and unsure, and the Faunus seemed capable enough in a fight. He didn't get much of an idea about any of the others in the Great Hall. He started in the direction of where the ruins were likely to be keeping an ear out for anything unusual.</s>
<\|description\|>Fen Saffron Fen Saffron --- Basics Fen: Shortened version of Fenrir, the mythological wolf in Norse Myth. Saffron: A shade of yellow/orange. Nickname/Alias: N/A Age: 17 Gender: Male Race: Wolf Faunus Appearance Description: Fen stands at 6 feet, but it can be hard to tell when he's in his usual hunched stance. His body is also surprisingly toned considering how lean he appears. His black shaggy hair is long enough to cover his wolf ears on the top of his head, and accentuates his yellow eyes. He usually keeps a disgruntled look on his face, but when he encounters something that amuses or excites him, he flashes a grin, showing his sharp teeth. For clothing, he prefers light clothing suitable for the desert. But he always wears his light yellow scarf, an old gift from his father. Allusion: Big Bad Wolf --- Personality Personality: At first, Fen seems lethargic. He seems disinterested in everything, and when he talks, he only speaks a couple words at best. Still, this makes him surprisingly approachable as he treats everyone with a casual manner. However, this outward demeanor is partially a facade to catch people off-guard. In truth, he loves riling people up, whether it's getting close up to people, or making the occasional acerbic remark amidst his listless comments. Fen's true personality is certainly more active. He prefers observing others, enjoys getting people out of their comfort zone, and engaging in banter. Despite this irritating behavior, Fen doesn't do this out of malice. He actually likes interacting with people, but feels like he can't help himself with teasing them. But at the same time, he wouldn't want to push someone too far with his actions, and dislikes people who do. He's loyal to anyone he considers a friend, and makes blunt remarks as he would hate to lie to them. While he isn't a bookworm, Fen enjoys learning about new things. He'll observe how people do things, and will listen intently to their words. Part of it stems from his perceived lack of purpose; Compared to others, he doesn't have any particular reason to be a huntsman, nor does he put any heavy effort in doing so. And it's because of that, that he wants to seek something more than fighting and aggravating people for fun. Likes: Eating Learning about new things Finding new hobbies Teasing people Things he finds cute Dislikes: Hunger People who abuse their power Being deceived Making cute things cry Having nothing to strive for Motivation: Because he's good at hunting. And he wants to find more meaning in it. Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual --- Biography Country of Origin: Vacuo Bio: As far as he could remember, Fen was always traveling with a person he called his father, an old huntsman known as Aramis Saffron. He didn't know his exact origins, whether Aramis was his actual father, or perhaps he was found after some Grimm attack as a sole survivor. His father never talked about it, nor did Fen ever care about where he came from. Whatever the case was. Fen simply followed his father wherever he went, generally in areas where Grimm attacked. His upbringing was a spartan one; His father taught Fen what he needed to survive, but he often had to endure on his own due to the perils of the Vacuo desert and his father's occupation. But despite this bizarre and dangerous life, Fen enjoyed it. Eventually however, his father enrolled him into the nearest combat school, only stating to Fen that he taught all he could to him. Fen never questioned Aramis, but he wondered what exactly he was suppose to learn in school. Anything involving fighting felt easy to him, compared to what he faced before. His feelings slowly changed however, as he began to communicate with the people around him. He was used to letting his father doing all the talking whenever they went to a settlement. But now, he had to do it himself. He found that people actually wanted to interact with him, whether it's to teach them something he did naturally, or just to get to know the aloof faunus. While he never fully connected with anyone in his school days, Fen felt a twinge of regret not doing so. But he also gained a sense of curiosity of the world. And it was seeing this newfound interest in new things that Aramis decided to transfer Fen to Beacon Academy, a place where Fen could broaden his horizons. --- Combat Weapon: Fen uses a pair of boxy-looking tonfas called Gjöll. They can fire rifle rounds through the long shaft, and the grips have separate triggers in them on each side, letting him either fire them normally, or use the recoil to strengthen his melee strikes. Additionally, he can combine the bottom sides of Gjöll into one, forming blades at the end and letting him use it as a axe. As the tip is uncovered, he can still fire rounds, and he can even load a more powerful dust bullet in axe mode. The axe can also unload a bipod in this form, in case Fen needs support for both aiming and the massive recoil from firing. Semblance: Fen's Semblance Devour, lets him absorb kinetic energy to empower him. As he gains more energy, his physical capabilities become stronger. He can even unleash all the energy at once for a single attack, although he has to use all of it. Fen has two different ways he can absorb energy. He can passively gain the energy made from his own movements, slowly getting stronger as a fight goes on. But the fastest way to gain energy is taking attacks head-on, using his aura to absorb most of the damage. There are several weakness to this however. Fen can't absorb attacks that would overwhelm him otherwise, nor can he defend against attacks he's completely unaware of. The energy also slowly dissipates when not in use.</s> <\|message\|>Bren Adalwolf --- B E A C O N A C A D E M Y G R E A T H A L L K I N G D O M O F V A L E --- Bren knew there was someone approaching him as he felt the quiet rumble of Ajax pressed against his leg. The previously slumbering, or as close to sleeping as one of his spirits could get, wolf-like dog now had his head raised and ears pricked forward; small tendrils of blackish energy flickering off his form. He rested a hand on Ajax's head, "Easy now, we're all friends here." The rumble stopped as Violet trotted up to them and he couldn't help the surprised chuckle at her calling his spirit cute, that was a descriptor he'd never heard used to describe them before. "His name is Ajax and yes he's one part of my semblance. There's two others, but it takes a lot of effort to keep all three of them from running amok." He kept one hand on the back of Ajax's neck, he wouldn't attack unless he was told to but they did sometimes have mind of their own, and he didn't want to start off his time at Beacon with someone getting a finger bitten off. Normally he didn't let people pet his spirits, since they weren't exactly real dogs, but she seemed harmless enough. He didn't think he'd ever met anyone this excitable in his entire life, but there were all sorts at Beacon. He shrugged, "Sure you can pet him. He's not completely corporeal so it might feel a bit weird." A simple downward hand gesture was enough to make Ajax's tensely coiled form relax into a more welcoming posture. The small pinpricks of yellowish light that burned in his eyes were still intently focused on this, as Bren now noticed, rather small girl in front of them. He set his reading to the side and sat up a bit straighter against the wall before holding out a hand to her with an easy smile on his face. "Name's Bren by the way. Bren Adalwolf. It's nice to meet you." His father had always taught him to be polite to everyone and just because he wasn't under the watchful eye of his family anymore didn't mean he was going to let his manners slip away. Besides, if he was going to succeed in the initiation the next day, it wouldn't hurt to have a few people who knew him by name.</s> <\|message\|>Violet Skye Sfyri --- B E A C O N A C A D E M Y T H E G R E A T H A L L K I N G D O M O F V A L E --- Violet must have had a strange perception of what cute was, because this little shadow creature was adorable. Indeed, she three metal spheres and legs in the rough shape of a dog was cute, and don't forget the massive armored truck. "Ooh, Ajax! That's a cool name." She said, doting over him, hands on her cheeks. "And there's two more. Wow." Grinning that she had permission, she used her soft fleshy hand to stroke the top of the dog's head. Her hand did sink in a little bit, prompting a retraction of her hand and a giggle. "Wow! Oohh," her voice went into a kind of baby speech mode. "Who's a wittle incorporeal twoublemaker? You are!" As Bren introduced himself, she seemed to remember he was there. "Oh, um," She backed up a step, straightening her back. She rubbed the back of her neck with her metallic hand. Clearing her throat she tried to compose herself. But it was clear she was still fawning over the adorable dog in her innermost mind. "Heh. Hi, Bren Adalwolf." She returned the handshake with her right hand, the one that was skin. "I'm uh, Violet. Violet Skye Syrfi. You can just call me Sky, though. There's an 'e' on the end of my middle name, but not on the end of my nickname. It's- it, uh, it doesn't matter. You can spell it however you want, really." She said. She returned the handshake a little too vigorously before disengaging from it. "So, you a, you a student? I mean, obviously, you are." She flattened out the edges of her pajama shirt. "I'm a student. I've- y'know. Wanted to be a huntress for a while. Ob-obviously." She cleared her throat. "Well, um. Wow, sorry. Nice to meet you, too, Bren! I'm just, uh, a little nervous, I guess." She grinned sheepishly. It was like watching a fish die on the sun-warmed wooden boards of a pier. "Are you, uh...from around here? I'm from Vale. Work at, uh, a garage kinda thing. Well, I will, I'm just apprenticing right now. Part time. Of course- my main job is gonna be, uh, Huntress. Hopefully. If I f-fail, then, I guess I'll be a mechanic full time!" Her voice got high pitched and she shrugged.</s>	<\|message\|>Fen Saffron Beacon Academy The Great Hall Kingdom of Vale --- Fen rubbed his mouth, as if contemplating a response. In truth, he expected simple shock, or even a violent response. He wasn't expecting such a cute reaction from the girl. He felt a little guilty because of it, and decided to stick around. When he was finished hiding his grin, he composed himself and spoke. "Too nervous." He pointed at the girl, emphasizing who he meant. "Thinking too much of the soon, upsetting your now." As he got a better look at the girl, it affirmed what he was saying. She seemed too exhausted to be up, but at the same time, too awake to sleep. Fen yawned, as if making a point. Taking a sitting posture similar to the girl, he pulled out something from his knapsack, a cloak meant for traveling in Vacuo. While it was mostly for protection from the sun, it was warm enough to sleep in those cold desert nights, and thus became his preferred sleep attire. Wrapping himself in the cloak, he noticed the girl was focusing intently on him, as if she was trying to ignore everyone else. "Relax, everyone else is." He pointed to the person closest to them. A few people were woken up by the brief commotion, but they quickly went back to sleep. At worst, one placed a pillow over his head. Feeling completely satisfied with the talk, Fen closed his eyes and dozed off, his body still facing the girl.</s>
<\|description\|>Fen Saffron Fen Saffron --- Basics Fen: Shortened version of Fenrir, the mythological wolf in Norse Myth. Saffron: A shade of yellow/orange. Nickname/Alias: N/A Age: 17 Gender: Male Race: Wolf Faunus Appearance Description: Fen stands at 6 feet, but it can be hard to tell when he's in his usual hunched stance. His body is also surprisingly toned considering how lean he appears. His black shaggy hair is long enough to cover his wolf ears on the top of his head, and accentuates his yellow eyes. He usually keeps a disgruntled look on his face, but when he encounters something that amuses or excites him, he flashes a grin, showing his sharp teeth. For clothing, he prefers light clothing suitable for the desert. But he always wears his light yellow scarf, an old gift from his father. Allusion: Big Bad Wolf --- Personality Personality: At first, Fen seems lethargic. He seems disinterested in everything, and when he talks, he only speaks a couple words at best. Still, this makes him surprisingly approachable as he treats everyone with a casual manner. However, this outward demeanor is partially a facade to catch people off-guard. In truth, he loves riling people up, whether it's getting close up to people, or making the occasional acerbic remark amidst his listless comments. Fen's true personality is certainly more active. He prefers observing others, enjoys getting people out of their comfort zone, and engaging in banter. Despite this irritating behavior, Fen doesn't do this out of malice. He actually likes interacting with people, but feels like he can't help himself with teasing them. But at the same time, he wouldn't want to push someone too far with his actions, and dislikes people who do. He's loyal to anyone he considers a friend, and makes blunt remarks as he would hate to lie to them. While he isn't a bookworm, Fen enjoys learning about new things. He'll observe how people do things, and will listen intently to their words. Part of it stems from his perceived lack of purpose; Compared to others, he doesn't have any particular reason to be a huntsman, nor does he put any heavy effort in doing so. And it's because of that, that he wants to seek something more than fighting and aggravating people for fun. Likes: Eating Learning about new things Finding new hobbies Teasing people Things he finds cute Dislikes: Hunger People who abuse their power Being deceived Making cute things cry Having nothing to strive for Motivation: Because he's good at hunting. And he wants to find more meaning in it. Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual --- Biography Country of Origin: Vacuo Bio: As far as he could remember, Fen was always traveling with a person he called his father, an old huntsman known as Aramis Saffron. He didn't know his exact origins, whether Aramis was his actual father, or perhaps he was found after some Grimm attack as a sole survivor. His father never talked about it, nor did Fen ever care about where he came from. Whatever the case was. Fen simply followed his father wherever he went, generally in areas where Grimm attacked. His upbringing was a spartan one; His father taught Fen what he needed to survive, but he often had to endure on his own due to the perils of the Vacuo desert and his father's occupation. But despite this bizarre and dangerous life, Fen enjoyed it. Eventually however, his father enrolled him into the nearest combat school, only stating to Fen that he taught all he could to him. Fen never questioned Aramis, but he wondered what exactly he was suppose to learn in school. Anything involving fighting felt easy to him, compared to what he faced before. His feelings slowly changed however, as he began to communicate with the people around him. He was used to letting his father doing all the talking whenever they went to a settlement. But now, he had to do it himself. He found that people actually wanted to interact with him, whether it's to teach them something he did naturally, or just to get to know the aloof faunus. While he never fully connected with anyone in his school days, Fen felt a twinge of regret not doing so. But he also gained a sense of curiosity of the world. And it was seeing this newfound interest in new things that Aramis decided to transfer Fen to Beacon Academy, a place where Fen could broaden his horizons. --- Combat Weapon: Fen uses a pair of boxy-looking tonfas called Gjöll. They can fire rifle rounds through the long shaft, and the grips have separate triggers in them on each side, letting him either fire them normally, or use the recoil to strengthen his melee strikes. Additionally, he can combine the bottom sides of Gjöll into one, forming blades at the end and letting him use it as a axe. As the tip is uncovered, he can still fire rounds, and he can even load a more powerful dust bullet in axe mode. The axe can also unload a bipod in this form, in case Fen needs support for both aiming and the massive recoil from firing. Semblance: Fen's Semblance Devour, lets him absorb kinetic energy to empower him. As he gains more energy, his physical capabilities become stronger. He can even unleash all the energy at once for a single attack, although he has to use all of it. Fen has two different ways he can absorb energy. He can passively gain the energy made from his own movements, slowly getting stronger as a fight goes on. But the fastest way to gain energy is taking attacks head-on, using his aura to absorb most of the damage. There are several weakness to this however. Fen can't absorb attacks that would overwhelm him otherwise, nor can he defend against attacks he's completely unaware of. The energy also slowly dissipates when not in use.</s> <\|message\|>Rowan Kuronuma --- @Vocab@PrankFox If Rowan were being completely honest, he'd actually stopped listening to everyone pretty quickly after he kicked the bully ringleader, by which he of course meant about five seconds. He briefly registered the fox girl who'd been challenging earlier complaining about losing the challenge, which he had considered calling her out for until she acknowledged his badass kick, at which point he decided to spare her the humiliation of losing an argument too. Not long after that, a bit more fighting had broken out, with another faunus coming in to help the red-haired guy as he took him down with the help of some kind of ghost dog. Kinda lame that it'd taken two of them to finish someone so weak, but he'd give them the credit of their styles at least being pretty cool, if nothing else... After that, not much of any real importance happened. Some weird girl started yelling at them over... honestly he hadn't been listening, but she mentioned something about fauna and making sure they wouldn't make it through to their second year. He'd been confused at first, because he didn't know what being fauna had anything to do with the current situation. Not making it to through initiation or to the second year though, well, that made her intentions crystal clear! "Oh, I get what you're sayin' now..." He said, a grin slowly spreading across his face. "You're sayin' you're aimin' to beat me outta the competition tomorrow, right?! Well, challenge accepted! Assumin' you're actually strong enough to put one up, that is!" And with that declaration of war, he went back to his sleeping bag, ready to try and get as much sleep as he could and be ready bright and early for the next day. It wouldn't do to disappoint his new rival, after all! --- He got maybe an hour of sleep. He'd gotten himself too hyped up. Damn it, he was glad he'd found a rival, but did she have to challenge him right before it was time to sleep? If she'd only done it before he'd kicked that guy, he could've poured all his excitement into that and slept like a log! As a result, he found himself moving basically on autopilot through most of his morning training, and then a few more things he didn't pay attention, and unfortunately only realised that he hadn't quite come back to reality until he noticed a student being launched off the cliff they'd wound up on. Which was unusual, but why would... Oh, this was the initiation. Well... shit, ok. He hadn't been listening at all to any instructions he was sure had just been given, but whatever, he'd just have to wing it. Heh. But yeah nah he'd just find someone else to get the gist of what the hell they were meant to be doing from. It was with that thought that Rowan was launched from the cliffside, barely even having to think as he activated his cape, decreasing his weight, and settling into a smooth glide over the forest. Thankfully, it had barely even been a few seconds before he caught sight of someone he... well, didn't really know, but had fought alongside, using his weapon to slide down a tree. He circled overhead for a moment, waiting for him to reach the ground, before adjusting his angle and weight and deactivating his cape to drop down in front of him, in what Rowan could safely call a satisfactorily awesome landing. "Yo, Dog Guy. Where you listenin' to whatever the headmaster guy said we were meant to be doin'?"</s> <\|message\|>Bren Adalwolf --- B E A C O N A C A D E M Y E M E R A L D F O R E S T K I N G D O M O F V A L E --- It didn't take as long as Bren had expected for him to find someone, or rather they found him. One of the other guys that had jumped into the fight with Briar, specifically the one who'd sent him flying, which Bren could appreciate, hit the ground in front of him. He didn't have anything that obviously gave him the ability to fly so either dust or his semblance then; he'd figure it out later. Or just ask but they didn't really have time for that at the moment. "Dog guy?" He grinned and propped Guardian up on his shoulder, "I guess you're not wrong, name's Bren though." A bit of a frown crossed his face at the question, of course it was the one person who didn't pay attention to the headmaster to find him. As long as he made a capable partner for this though he didn't really care. "We're supposed to get a partner, go to some ruin, and pick up an artifact then return to the cliff. You're the first person I've seen so I guess that makes us partners." The headmaster didn't bother to give them any idea of what direction the temple might be in though, but that probably counted as a part of the initiation. He gestured deeper into the forest, "I imagine the ruins are deeper in, no reason for it to be too easy and that's where everyone else is headed." He shrugged his blade back off his shoulder before taking off at a jog deeper into the woods. He figured this guy would follow after him. He got the impression that he liked to be in the spotlight judging by his immediate reaction to Briar and his goons was to dropkick the ringleader. "Better get moving, we don't want to be last to the ruins!"</s> <\|message\|>Zargun Nouri Zargun Nouri --- Emerald Forest Kingdom of Vale --- "Well, so far, this trial is..... going well, I suppose." Saying it softly to himself as he walked through the forest. So far, Zargun has not seen anyone or anything cross his path, which is both a blessing and a problem. Sure, not having to fight at the moment meant he could conserve his energy for when he needed it. Like if he encounters a Grimm but, Zargun felt uneasy. He needed to find someone to partner up with in order to pass this trial. Should he have seen someone or anyone by now? Zargun does not know for how long he has walked through the forest. He does not want to get ambushed or anything like that before he finds someone. Stopping in place and took a moment to look around once again. Still, nothing, and Zargun took a deep breath. Surely he is bound to find someone before it is too late. To feel more comfortable during his search, Zargun switched Oathkeeper to its sword form. The glaive form is not going to do much in the tightest of a forest, and he is better at slicing than aiming with a gun. Giving Oathkeeper a few twirls before stopping with a satisfied smile. Now he feels better but, the fact remains. Zargun needed to find someone and soon. He does not want to fail his first chance to be a Huntsman just because he could not find a teammate. That would just be.... humiliating, and Zargun shook at the thought. No, he will not fail this trial and go back to Aerion empty-handed. So Zargun started walking forward, now actively looking for any sign of a person. As Zargun was looking for a partner, it was then that he spotted someone. He stopped in this track took a good look at the man. It looked like a faunus judging by the ears, and it looks he is walking back to the cliff. Maybe he is looking for someone else, well, he thought. Why else would he be heading back? So with another deep breath and confidence in hand. All the while hoping that this guy is not a prick. Walked up to Fen with a friendly smile. Once he got close enough, "Hey stranger." Zargun gave a small wave with his left hand and locked eyes with him. "I am Zargun, and it looks like we are partners now. So what is your name?"</s>	<\|message\|>Fen Saffron Emerald Forest Kingdom of Vale --- As he continued walking through the forest, Fen grimaced as he bit an apple. It was something he pocketed while getting breakfast, a little snack for later. But he didn't expect it to be so sour. He continued biting into it anyway; It was wrong to waste food, and it kept his mind off the tranquility of his surroundings, which began to annoy him. There wasn't any immediate danger so far; Even so, he kept the inactive Gjöll in one hand, ready to be unsheathed at the slightest hint of a threat. But it wasn't long before Fen found someone far off into the distance. A man carrying what appeared to be a sword, all alone. It was safe to assume he was another student, and thankfully in need of a partner like himself. Fen walked at his casual pace towards the man; They were bound to meet up, and if the person was anything like Fen, he'd take running at him poorly. As he drew closer, Fen could make out more details about his possible partner. There was nothing that particularly stood out, except being slightly taller than Fen. It didn't matter much to him, he didn't know what kind of partner he'd personally like, not that he was given a choice. When they finally met face to face, the man introduced himself as Zargun. "Hey. Fen Saffron." Fen waved back and jutted his thumb towards himself, an apple core still in his hand. There was an awkward silence afterwards, as Fen had nothing else to say to Zargun, and the two apparently began a impromptu staring contest. Deciding to break the lull himself, Fen silently pointed back, towards their destination. He immediately did a 180 on the spot, and walked back.</s>
<\|description\|>Zargun Nouri Zargun Nouri Basics Zargun meaning Gold Hue Nouri meaning Light Nickname/Alias: N/A Age: 17 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance Description: Standing at 6'1, and has an athletic build. Zargun has short black hair with light beige eyes. Generally, he likes to wear loose-fitting clothes like hoodies and sweat pants. Personally, he prefers to wear a black sleeveless hoodie, grayish sweat pants, and white running shoes. Which he tends to only put on the hood during rain or when he wants to be alone. Along with a white undershirt underneath his hoodie, and has a black elbow brace on his left elbow. Allusion: Mithra Personality Personality: Zargun can be considered a laid-back individual, one that tends to go with the flow most times. Not wanting to be a problem or drawing unnecessary attention to himself. Despite this, Zargun can be stubborn at times on topics he cares about and once he sets his mind on something. Definitely, if it is about those he cares about and it can be hard to dissuade him from it. Which can be both a good and bad thing given the situation. Besides that, Zargun is someone that is friendly with people and is eager to learn more about those he meets. Zargun is rather mature for his age, mainly due to the fact that he had to take care of his younger siblings whenever their huntsman guardian was on missions. Taking the role of big brother seriously and helped around the house when he could. Often helping his younger siblings with things and is someone you can go to for help. For that, he is willing to give to those that ask it. Always willing to be there for those he cares about or sometimes strangers. Zargun can be quite brave if a situation calls for it, especially if it deals with people he cares about. One of the few things that will piss him off is if someone breaks an oath. As he takes taking an oath seriously and will see those that break an oath poorly. As he believes a person's word is worth a lot and is a sign of one's character. For what is the point of taking an oath if they just discard it on a whim? Likes: Animals, Nature, Sparring, Stargazing and His Family Dislikes: Bandits, Oath-breakers, The Cold and Bullies Motivation: To become strong enough to protect people and those he cares about. Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual Biography Country of Origin: Vale Bio: Born in a settlement called Skarn in deserts of Vacuo. Being the eldest of three and his parents were in charge of the settlement's animals. Something that Zargun was expected to handle once he gets older. Living in Skarn for Zargun was somewhat better than other settlements but still tough. Other than the occasional bandit raid, Skarn was stable, and that was all his parents could wish for in Vacuo. Growing up, Zargun was able to handle life in the desert fine and even start to thrive. Though things would change for the worse. It was when Zargun was ten did things change for the worse. When a friend of the family, Aeron, a huntsman from Vale, was visiting. A large group of bandits attacked Skarn, and while they were able to fight off the bandits. There were significant casualties among the townsfolk. Zargun's parents included, and it was only a matter of time before the survivors' negative emotions drew Grimm to them. It was too much for the survivors and during the chaos, Zargun's injured parents urged Aeron to take their children to safety. Using what energy they had left to cover their escape, did Aeron reluctantly agree to this. Leaving Zargun and his siblings one last tearful goodbye before being led to safety. It was after arriving at the capital that rather than hand the children off to an orphanage. Aeron decided on raising the children as his own in respect of his friendship with Zargun's parents. So Aeron brought them back with him to Vale. It was here under the care of Aeron that Zargun started to look up at the huntsman. Seeing how Aerion tried his best to save his parents and how he was able to save him and his siblings despite the Grimm overrunning Skarn. It impressed Zargun, and it was there, he decided that he wanted to be a huntsman like Aeron. Hoping to be strong enough to protect his family and help to prevent others from experiencing the same tragedy that befell him and his family. With help from Aerion, Zargun would train and eventually be accepted into Beacon Academy and hone his skills to be a real Huntsman like Aerion. Combat Weapon: Semblance: Blinding Radiance - Zargun is able to produce bright light from his body to blind those around him. He is able to control how bright and how big the light is, even in what direction the light is facing. Either in front of him or behind him or both at the same time. He is able to summon it in an instant though, for stronger lights, he needs to charge before he can unleash it. The brighter, bigger, and how long it lasts, the more aura he has to use. So he often uses it in short bursts to temporary blind foes. Also, able to use it as a flare and launch a bright ball of light from his hands. Which dissipates after twenty seconds. Zargun's semblance makes it that he is immune to bright lights. Not being fazed and able to see fine when exposed to bright lights but can still tell how bright his light is regardless.</s> <\|message\|>Bren Adalwolf --- B E A C O N A C A D E M Y E M E R A L D F O R E S T K I N G D O M O F V A L E --- It didn't take as long as Bren had expected for him to find someone, or rather they found him. One of the other guys that had jumped into the fight with Briar, specifically the one who'd sent him flying, which Bren could appreciate, hit the ground in front of him. He didn't have anything that obviously gave him the ability to fly so either dust or his semblance then; he'd figure it out later. Or just ask but they didn't really have time for that at the moment. "Dog guy?" He grinned and propped Guardian up on his shoulder, "I guess you're not wrong, name's Bren though." A bit of a frown crossed his face at the question, of course it was the one person who didn't pay attention to the headmaster to find him. As long as he made a capable partner for this though he didn't really care. "We're supposed to get a partner, go to some ruin, and pick up an artifact then return to the cliff. You're the first person I've seen so I guess that makes us partners." The headmaster didn't bother to give them any idea of what direction the temple might be in though, but that probably counted as a part of the initiation. He gestured deeper into the forest, "I imagine the ruins are deeper in, no reason for it to be too easy and that's where everyone else is headed." He shrugged his blade back off his shoulder before taking off at a jog deeper into the woods. He figured this guy would follow after him. He got the impression that he liked to be in the spotlight judging by his immediate reaction to Briar and his goons was to dropkick the ringleader. "Better get moving, we don't want to be last to the ruins!"</s> <\|message\|>Zargun Nouri Zargun Nouri --- Emerald Forest Kingdom of Vale --- "Well, so far, this trial is..... going well, I suppose." Saying it softly to himself as he walked through the forest. So far, Zargun has not seen anyone or anything cross his path, which is both a blessing and a problem. Sure, not having to fight at the moment meant he could conserve his energy for when he needed it. Like if he encounters a Grimm but, Zargun felt uneasy. He needed to find someone to partner up with in order to pass this trial. Should he have seen someone or anyone by now? Zargun does not know for how long he has walked through the forest. He does not want to get ambushed or anything like that before he finds someone. Stopping in place and took a moment to look around once again. Still, nothing, and Zargun took a deep breath. Surely he is bound to find someone before it is too late. To feel more comfortable during his search, Zargun switched Oathkeeper to its sword form. The glaive form is not going to do much in the tightest of a forest, and he is better at slicing than aiming with a gun. Giving Oathkeeper a few twirls before stopping with a satisfied smile. Now he feels better but, the fact remains. Zargun needed to find someone and soon. He does not want to fail his first chance to be a Huntsman just because he could not find a teammate. That would just be.... humiliating, and Zargun shook at the thought. No, he will not fail this trial and go back to Aerion empty-handed. So Zargun started walking forward, now actively looking for any sign of a person. As Zargun was looking for a partner, it was then that he spotted someone. He stopped in this track took a good look at the man. It looked like a faunus judging by the ears, and it looks he is walking back to the cliff. Maybe he is looking for someone else, well, he thought. Why else would he be heading back? So with another deep breath and confidence in hand. All the while hoping that this guy is not a prick. Walked up to Fen with a friendly smile. Once he got close enough, "Hey stranger." Zargun gave a small wave with his left hand and locked eyes with him. "I am Zargun, and it looks like we are partners now. So what is your name?"</s> <\|message\|>Fen Saffron --- Emerald Forest Kingdom of Vale --- As he continued walking through the forest, Fen grimaced as he bit an apple. It was something he pocketed while getting breakfast, a little snack for later. But he didn't expect it to be so sour. He continued biting into it anyway; It was wrong to waste food, and it kept his mind off the tranquility of his surroundings, which began to annoy him. There wasn't any immediate danger so far; Even so, he kept the inactive Gjöll in one hand, ready to be unsheathed at the slightest hint of a threat. But it wasn't long before Fen found someone far off into the distance. A man carrying what appeared to be a sword, all alone. It was safe to assume he was another student, and thankfully in need of a partner like himself. Fen walked at his casual pace towards the man; They were bound to meet up, and if the person was anything like Fen, he'd take running at him poorly. As he drew closer, Fen could make out more details about his possible partner. There was nothing that particularly stood out, except being slightly taller than Fen. It didn't matter much to him, he didn't know what kind of partner he'd personally like, not that he was given a choice. When they finally met face to face, the man introduced himself as Zargun. "Hey. Fen Saffron." Fen waved back and jutted his thumb towards himself, an apple core still in his hand. There was an awkward silence afterwards, as Fen had nothing else to say to Zargun, and the two apparently began a impromptu staring contest. Deciding to break the lull himself, Fen silently pointed back, towards their destination. He immediately did a 180 on the spot, and walked back.</s>	<\|message\|>Zargun Nouri Emerald Forest Kingdom of Vale --- That went.... well. If well means an awkward silence that only ended with the guy walking away. At least Zargun knows his name now, and Fen seemed fine for the moment. Hopefully, he is not someone that Zargun would hate down the line. Even if it is just for this trial, it will suck if Fen proved to be someone like a bully. Fen being a Faunus was not really an issue. Zargun has no problem with them despite some people that he has seen in Vale. In Vacuo, as long as you can survive in the wasteland, you are welcomed. A popular saying that Zargun remembers to be true while he lived in Vacuo. In Vale, it is a different story, it seems. As he was thinking about this, some time passed before he snapped to attention. Realizing that Fen was getting farther away and Zargun would say, "Hey, wait up," and ran to get to Fen. After reaching Fen, Zargun broke into a walk and gave a small smile to Fen. Before looking ahead and after some minutes of silence. Zargun tried to make some small talk to pass the time. Zargun spoke. "So Fen.... you ready to be a Huntsman? Zargun's free left hand went nervously behind his head. What the frick should he say? He already spoke, so it is too late unless he changes the topic fast. No, let's see what Fen's says and try to work from there.</s>
<\|description\|>Lucas Ross Age: 14 (01/11/13) Grade: Freshman Bio: Lucas Ross is an orphan living with Foster parents Theo and Amaretta Jackson. His birth parents had left him at the doorstep of a local firehouse and eventually he found himself shuffling about the system. He wasn't a bad kid, on the contrary he was a very quiet and meek boy, which is why he found himself being exploited by the man he'd been living with when his powers emerged. That had been a tough year, and in the end his guardian had abandoned him once he'd gotten everything he wanted. Social services never knew the details of his time with that man, and Lucas had been too afraid to talk about it. Theo and Amaretta had been a Godsend. The two of them were older, if not quite elderly, and had years of experience with stubborn youths. They've only spent a summer with him, but Lucas was beginning to open up to them, whether he likes it or not! Appearance: Lucas is a thin boy, Caucasian, raven haired with deep blue eyes that are half hidden behind a pair of large round glasses. His skin is often pale nfrom lack of regular sunlight exposure. A sedentary lifestyle has left him physically average, though his legs are fit due to his daily walks to and from school. He prefers denim shorts or pants, sneakers, and pullover hoodies that have varying lengths of sleeves depending on the weather. He is literally never seen without an odd old smart watch that appears heavily modified. Personality: The boy is a loner that prefers to sit quietly and people watch. His standoffish behavior and blunt analyses of observations can sometimes be misread as rudeness. Because there are so few people he actually cares for, he is viciously protective of them. The trauma of his past has instilled a fear in Lucas that makes him reluctant to utilize his gift, and he often finds his own traitorous mind calling himself a Freak. Gift: Technoturge: Like the Thaumaturgists of old who performed miracles with "magic" a Technoturge can perform near-miracles with almost any form of technology. With this gift any broken tech can be repaired with time and the right materials, no matter how severe the damage. Coding and programming languages come easily. The downside is that Technoturges tend to have less understanding of the chaotic nuances of the human condition, making it difficult to socialize.</s> <\|message\|>Alex Reid "Supergirl huh?, it's cool, I won't rat you out if you don't rat me out. " smiled Alex. He checked the window, agents were walking around outside gathering students and staff. "It's not clear outside, and going thru the halls could be risky." Alex looked up at the ceiling, "It's our best chance of not being spotted, but we'll hafta be extremely careful where we step or splat." He stood up on a desk, and pushed the ceiling tile up and out of the way, before pulling himself up. "Come on, give me your hand." "Remember, don't put any weight on the ceiling tile itself, keep your hands and feet on the frames." Alex warned. * I don't wanna use my powers in front of them, not until I can trust them*</s> <\|message\|>Lucas Ross 'Looks like the jig is up, Luke.' Those were the thoughts of Freshman Lucas Ross as he stared apathetically out the window of his Algebra classroom. He thought briefly of his foster parents and how disappointed they would be that he'd likely be missing Chili night. He remembered Amaretta painstakingly peeling countless beans from the fresh food market she often dragged him to on Sundays after church. He wasn't entirely sure why, but her sad face bothered him more than his impending incarceration. 'That's obvious. Being locked up is exactly where you belong.' There were those harsh words echoing in his mind as they always seemed wont to do. He hated how they sounded so much like him. He much preferred the gentle tones of Theo, the kind man who encouraged him to open up and feel. Those reassurances that he was not, in fact, a Freak almost made him believe it. Almost, but not quite. A series of soft beeps sounding from his wrist brought his eyes down to a dully glowing screen. There, he found an old touch-screen that displayed a swirling blue mist that, to most, would seem a simple animation. He knew better. "I know, I'll miss them too." Another round of beeps sounded out, this time giving off the distinct impression of an inquiry. Lucas rolled his eyes before glancing back at the window. The suited agents were closing up most points of exit from the grounds. "Not exactly an option now, is it? I wouldn't make it half a step out the door." His voice was heavy with defeat. 'They're finally going to get you, robot boy.' Beeping, this time furious and indignant, drowned out the sinister words feeding his doubts. The diatribe was so fierce that Lucas began to sweat under his collar. He lifted his free hand as if to ward off an advancing predator while simultaneously moving his watch away from him, though he quickly stopped when the beeps became even more erratic. He finally spoke up to try and put an end to the madness. "Okay, okay, I won't just give up. That being said..." He eyed the various, very clearly armed, agents with a critical eye, "... I may be open to ideas on how not to do that." With deft movements he emptied his bag of all non-essentials - text books, ream of paper, the annoyingly cumbersome student handbook - and set about leaving the, now empty, classroom. The halls were eerily silent save for the soft beeping of his little companion. He wondered briefly if he shouldn't just find a bolt hole and hide, but he knew that his name in the roster would arouse suspicion due to his absence in the gymnasium. His musings were halted when he heard an odd sound, something like metal being broken by a sharp impact, and he crept close enough to the nearest corner to spy a nearby door just swinging shut. 'Isn't that the upper year English classroom?' He thought back to orientation when the tour guide, a boisterous alumni named Appleby, had waxed poetic about his years wandering these halls. With clumsy stealth he made his way over to the room in question and pressed an ear to the solid wood, catching just the last few words of a startled question.</s> <\|message\|>Celine Lowery Celine had quickly grabbed the card from the desk that the teacher had left before looked up, moving her headphones to around her neck for a moment. She offered her hand to Alex, not wanting to be left behind. "Where are we going?" she asked in a whisper. She was impressed by Ashley's power- it seemed much more useful than hers. As she climbed into the ceiling tiles, she remained quiet and could feel each of the heartbeats of her friends. There was a new one she could hear however and looked down from the hole in the ceiling. She knew that there was something going on but she had never experienced something like this. She gulped as she took a deep breath and offered her hand down to him.</s> <\|message\|>Ashley "Ash" Parker Ashley didn't need to be asked twice. Though she frowned up at the hole in the ceiling, hoping it wasn't going to be full of crickets and spiders and other creepy-crawlies, she was definitely more worried about the agents outside. With Alex's help to boost her up high enough, she easily grabbed the frame and twisted herself up into the ceiling with one hand - his supergirl comment had inspired her to show off a little bit. While he helped Celine up, she turned her phone's flashlight on and shined it around, considering the various directions they could travel in. To her surprise, when she turned back around Celine was helping another kid in, one she didn't recognize. A freshman, maybe? "There's probably an agent watching the front parking lot where my car is. Does anyone know how to hotwire a car so we can steal one from the staff lot?" She asked with a nervous chuckle. "They might not be watching that one..."</s> <\|message\|>Lucas Ross As luck would have it, pressing one's ear against a door which had lost its locking mechanism was foolish. It was some grace of god which allowed Lucas not to fall flat on the floor. He wouldn't be admitting to anyone that he may have windmilled his arms a few rotations in his haste to maintain balance. Thankfully no one was around to witness it... No one was around...? At that moment a delicate hand shot down from a conspicuous hole above him starling him with its suddenness. Giving a quick look around the empty room, and hearing the distant sounds of movement in the building growing closer, he threw caution to the wind and hopped up on a desk so his shorter body could reach the hand up. Thankfully he wasn't much of a weighty kid, so he was up and surrounded by a gaggle of upperclassmen in no time. The social hierarchy being what it was he didn't know any of them, but having been a wall flower at lunch most days he was at least aware of them. The male he knew was supposed to be very popular. Rumor had it he was also filthy, stinking rich, but those comments had always been spoken by people with tones of jealousy. Of the two young women he was much less familiar. The one shifting around uncomfortably in the dark ventilation shaft was one of the more vocal protestors of the school's cellphone policy. Seeing the lit phone in her hand made the corner of his lips twitch. When his eyes scanned the girl who'd helped him up he couldn't help but notice the headphones she wore. His eyes briefly flashed an electric blue before he slapped a hand over them. 'Well done, little Freak, you've never been able to help yourself...' After a moment to collect himself Lucas glanced at Cellphone-girl with a small frown. Now wasn't the time for his insecurities. He took a deep breath, glanced around at everyone else, and then put up a reluctant hand, "If no one else can, I should be able to handle it."</s> <\|message\|>Alex Reid Alex looked behind him at the two girls, and then some dude was crawling up in the hole, saying something about he can't handle it...Oh gosh, hope he isn't claustrophobic. "Okay guys, I think we all sorta well know why we are up here, and um, I trust you, so freak out a little, don't scream, and try to keep up." Alex said as he shrunk down into a rat. He squeaked at them, then turned ,running along the metal frame as if it was nothing. He wasn't really paying much attention to them as he was Balancing as his first time as a rat. "I smell something....Mmmmm....cheese." the rat turned down the wrong corridor. He made his way to the kitchen, and stopped at the vent when he heard voices. Alex turned back into human, and brought his finger to his lips "Shhhhh" Listening he could hear at least two voices he didn't recognize, and they were saying something about gases.. He looked at the group, "Get out alive, I'll cover ya." Alex stepped on the time and fell thru the floor landing between the two BSI agents. When He rose up, he stood around twelve foot tall with a huge mouth full of razor sharp teeth,and massive bear claws, the Kodiak kind. The hulking bear swatted one of the agents thru a wall, as it roared at the other one inches from his face!</s> <\|message\|>Celine Lowery Celine grabbed her ears, the vibrations causing her eardrums to feel like they had ruptured. Her mouth opened to scream before she tucked her head down towards her chin for a moment until the pain passed. Slipping her headphones back on and nodding to the rest of the group. It appeared that Alex could handle the two Agents and she thought they should continue moving. "What do you guys want to do? Which way do we go?" she knew they needed to act fast and her headphones would allow her to keep up with everyone. She couldn't handle any type of noise interfering with her sensitive ears and prayed that they could get out quickly.</s> <\|message\|>Leto Ashley On a normal day, a meek-looking freshman casually offering to hotwire a car would get more than a terse nod of acknowledgement. Today was very much not a normal day. Following a rat was definitely weirder, but after breaking down a door Ashley decided not to make any snarky comments about anyone else's powers. Presumably they all had powers, at least - was the other girl some kind of psychic or something? There was no time for her to ask or speculate, as crawling through the vents was taking all of her concentration. Did this guy even know where he was going? Now he was stopped over the cafeteria, which was definitely not where they needed to be. "What are you-" She didn't get a chance to finish her question before he had dropped down. "Right, cool, that guy's a moron. Teacher's lot should be this way," she muttered, motioning for the other to follow her as she started crawling back down the vent. The sounds of fighting picked up behind them, growls and screams punctuated by loud thuds and then gunshots that made her flinch and crawl faster. --- Leto Assigned to wait with the team at the vehicles, Leto was one of the first in the doors when the team sent to clear the main building called in for help on the radio. Or, rather, when their radios crackled to life with the sounds of a fight, gunshots, and some kind of large animal. A bear, maybe? "Positions?" the team leader demanded on radio. "Team Delta, positions?" There was no reply over the radio, but the sounds of fighting drew them towards the cafeteria. Leto put up a shield around his team as they progressed through the hallway, but by the time they reached the doors to the kitchen it was eerily silent. Not having been issued a gun, he drew his taser as the shield nudged the big double doors open, not at all sure what they were going to discover inside.</s>	<\|message\|>Lucas Ross Not for nothing, seeing a teenager shapeshifting in front of his eyes was quite the, err, eye opener. He heard the little comment made by Cellphone-girl after the guy had gone full-on kodiak on the agents below. Quite the snarky one. The tittering little beeps issuing quietly from his watch let him know that someone liked their pseudo-leader. Quiet-girl had worried him for a moment when he saw her pained grimace, but seeing it pass set his nerves straight. Having seen the brief patronizing looks thrown his way when he'd volunteered to get their getaway car running he decided against speaking any further for the time being. These people didn't know him, nor what he was capable of, and as Theo had taught him early during his habitation with the Jackson's: actions speak clearer than words. Besides, the likelihood of his continued association with the other teens after their escape was even less likely than their escape plan actually succeeding. As if to punctuate those thoughts the sounds of battle behind them suddenly grew much too quiet. He hoped the guy had shifted into something to slip away, but he had a bad feeling these agents were prepared for just about anything.</s>
<\|description\|>Lucas Ross Age: 14 (01/11/13) Grade: Freshman Bio: Lucas Ross is an orphan living with Foster parents Theo and Amaretta Jackson. His birth parents had left him at the doorstep of a local firehouse and eventually he found himself shuffling about the system. He wasn't a bad kid, on the contrary he was a very quiet and meek boy, which is why he found himself being exploited by the man he'd been living with when his powers emerged. That had been a tough year, and in the end his guardian had abandoned him once he'd gotten everything he wanted. Social services never knew the details of his time with that man, and Lucas had been too afraid to talk about it. Theo and Amaretta had been a Godsend. The two of them were older, if not quite elderly, and had years of experience with stubborn youths. They've only spent a summer with him, but Lucas was beginning to open up to them, whether he likes it or not! Appearance: Lucas is a thin boy, Caucasian, raven haired with deep blue eyes that are half hidden behind a pair of large round glasses. His skin is often pale nfrom lack of regular sunlight exposure. A sedentary lifestyle has left him physically average, though his legs are fit due to his daily walks to and from school. He prefers denim shorts or pants, sneakers, and pullover hoodies that have varying lengths of sleeves depending on the weather. He is literally never seen without an odd old smart watch that appears heavily modified. Personality: The boy is a loner that prefers to sit quietly and people watch. His standoffish behavior and blunt analyses of observations can sometimes be misread as rudeness. Because there are so few people he actually cares for, he is viciously protective of them. The trauma of his past has instilled a fear in Lucas that makes him reluctant to utilize his gift, and he often finds his own traitorous mind calling himself a Freak. Gift: Technoturge: Like the Thaumaturgists of old who performed miracles with "magic" a Technoturge can perform near-miracles with almost any form of technology. With this gift any broken tech can be repaired with time and the right materials, no matter how severe the damage. Coding and programming languages come easily. The downside is that Technoturges tend to have less understanding of the chaotic nuances of the human condition, making it difficult to socialize.</s> <\|message\|>Celine Lowery Celine understood the signal and instantly covered her ears, even though they were shielded by the headphones. She watched as she disappeared through the opening and followed suit. They had to move quickly- while most of the agents were distracted, Celine was sure that the loud bang would have drawn some of their attention. She glanced around, looking for more agents. Her ears were perked, having already gotten used to the outside noises. Now, she was determined to make sure they stayed one step ahead and got out of there.</s> <\|message\|>Lucas Ross As his feet touched the rough carpeted floor beside his companions he tried to deny internally how embarrassing it was to be handled like a toddler by a teen girl. 'Come now Luke, this isn't really the time to let your chauvinistic tendencies get the better of you.' He readjusted his bag over his shoulder and in doing so caught the faint beeping coming from his watch. The little bugger had been getting a bit too snippy so he'd started ignoring it while they traveled the air ducts. He didn't respond vocally, God knew he didn't want to come off as some kind of crazy person in the middle of their crisis. Looking around the door, which was primarily used by staff, he took notice of the security panel. It was with a heavy heart that he noted this was a model he had already been... acquainted with. While the others were keeping their eyes and ears open for trouble, he slipped over to the panel, popped off the cover, and casually ripped two of the half dozen wires that connected the silent alarm to the power source. He popped the cover back in place almost as an after thought, "That should save us the trouble of alerting the entire building... and any cops they have watching the place too."</s> <\|message\|>Alex Reid When a couple of hours had gone by,Alex awoke from his slumber, he was sore all over, mainly from the rapid transformations. He saw Kasumi standing over him, she had obviously tossed bandages down at him. "Wow, did you have to go to school for that? Or does it come natural?" He reached out to grab the bandages, but noticed he was in still coyote form. Alex turned to normal, and wrapped the bandages around his wound. "You ll never make it as a nurse, so don't quit your day job." Standing slowly to his feet, "I Hope they made it out, I had made a little distraction for them, so they could." "But don't worry yourself any, us true friends will be there to help." He turned to walk away, "When I say us, I meant me, later loser." Alex took form of a Hawk and flew back to the school, circling high above in the sky, looking for his friends.</s> <\|message\|>Kasumi Tamaki Kasumi --- "Cool power, bad mouth, and not even a gratitude." Kasumi raised her hand. She took another breath and channel the warm energy to accumulate onto her stretched finger, pointed at the flying Alex who currently took shape as a hawk. She made a movement with her arm as if she was pulling a bow string, poised to make a direct release of her inner energy in a manner similar to a bolting arrow. Kasumi's eyes followed the movement of the hawk, her stretched arm served as the targeting guidance, anticipating the direction of the hawk's movement. "You know what, even without this new power, I can crush a bear's heart with this precise power control, and now I can do it in a distance." Kasumi said to herself. Kasumi took another breath, but for this time she did that to calm herself. "It's not worth it..." Kasumi put her power back into the reservoir core inside her body. "I can't risk myself afflicted by the blow back of this power... I better follow where that hawk is going." Another breathing allowed Kasumi to channel her power to her eyes, then another one to her legs. With such augmentations, Kasumi was able to follow the hawk's movement and her legs were quick enough to catch him up.</s> <\|message\|>Maximilian Sean MacDowell Maximilian Sean MacDowell Max walked into the school after parking and locking his motorcycle, he was excited for today because he and his bandmates were going to audition for their very first gig. He had texted his friend to meet him in the music room so they could rehearse. He was halfway down the hallway when he heard the P.A. going off, he didn't like the sound of BSI coming into the school to interrogate students. He was worried that he would be found out and experimented on by the government. Max didn't want to use his powers, but if he felt his life would be in danger then he would have to. But he didn't think that they would try to kill him, however, he was going to have to try and avoid them. Carefully walking along the hallway and towards the room where his third-period drama class was. His plan was to escape through the window and towards his motorcycle.</s> <\|message\|>Alex Reid .[The hawk landed on top of a security pole, and watched the excitement below him. He scanned the area looking for any of his fellow classmates, did they get caught already, or maybe they made it out. Alex thought he recognized a schoolmates being arrested or detained. He flew from the pole to the roof of the gymnasium, and morphed back into his normal self. He ran across the rooftop to the door, and opened it quietly, listening for any sounds of danger. When he heard nothing, he snuck back inside, quietly shuffling down the steps one at a time. Alex slinked down to the floor and crawled over to the balcony rail, and peaked over.</s> <\|message\|>Ashley "Ash" Parker "Wow. You have to teach me how to do that sometime!" Ashley complimented Lucas as they slipped through the disarmed door, keeping her eyes peeled for any agents in the staff lot. Luckily, it didn't look like the BSI had thought to keep someone there... or if they had been, they had left when a bear started ripping into their fellows, which she supposed was fair. As annoyed as she was by Alex's actions, she had to admit they were effective. "Let's see if one of these is unlocked, save us the time of picking the door then hotwiring," She suggested, then started trying door handles. Her eyes flicked over to the row of motorcycles - mostly students', she didn't really understand why the teacher's lot was also the motorcycle lot - but quickly dismissed them. If they were all going to get away, they'd need something more practical. Startled by the sudden arrival of a hawk, the pigeons in the lot suddenly took off abruptly, almost hitting Ashley as they flew between cars. "What the hell!" She exclaimed, jumping as one's wings brushed her hair. Unfortunately she was still holding a door handle when she jumped, and ripped it right off of the car. The car alarm immediately started blaring and the handle cracked and fell to the ground in tiny pieces as her hands balled into fists, frustration making it hard for Ash to focus. "Oh come on! Can one thing go right today? One stupid thing!" She complained, punching a hole through the car door.</s> <\|message\|>Maximilian Sean MacDowell Maximilian Sean MacDowell Max could see his bike parked in the parking lot, he was half way towards his bike when he was stopped by some men in black suits. "Stay where you are, you will need to come with us to be questioned." This made Max turn to face the group of men coming towards him. "Why? What is going on?" He asked, trying to play innocent. "That is confidential, we will tell you everything you need to know once you come back to HQ." One of the men trying to grab his arm, his instincts kicked in kicking one of the men in the stomach. Turning around and placing the man's chin on his shoulder, Slamming down on his butt hitting the stunner. Quickly spinning around and using his powers. Pointing his fingers at another agent, firing a telepathic bullet at his hand to disarm him. He was not going to kill anyone, so he was trying to incapacitate them. Trying to get back onto his feet while firing.</s> <\|message\|>Lucas Ross Lucas stood beside Quiet-girl watching Captain Subtlety add destruction of property to the list of charges the BSI jerks would be using to hold them. Honestly, he wasn't even bothered by her blunder so much as he was exasperated by the day, a sentiment she clearly shared. He heard the frightened little beeps his watch chimed out while they watched her take out her frustration on the poor car. Internally he hoped this was their cruel gym teacher's car. He walked over to the vehicle and found that she had successfully opened the door, even if the damage made the hinges difficult to move. After getting the door open wide enough he slid into the driver's seat. His eyes briefly flashed as he scanned over the interior, his mind flashing with an understanding of the make and model, down to the parts required to build it. Most of the information was the same as usual, so he focused on the important bits. With only a little pulse of his cursed powers the alarm was blissfully silent. He hopped out of the car and heaved a small sigh, his shaky fingers busying themselves with adjusting his glasses, "Before all the kings horses and men in black storm the lot, we should probably pick another one, sans holes." He nudged the debris that had been a door handle, "..and with working door mechanisms."</s> <\|message\|>Celine Lowery The car alarm had startled Celine, but she was ready to move quickly. She shifted forward, moving to another car that was not too far away and motioned for the group to follow. She didn't want to be the leader but knew that the agents would be moving quickly towards them. It was already far too late for another plan to take place. She hoped they could get into the car soon. Her head perked up for a minute- listening to all the sounds around them. There was the car alarm, other traffic from the highway- but more... something closer. Footsteps towards the outer doors. "We gotta move.... like now!" she said, her eyes getting wide as she realized they only had minutes left for their escape.</s> <\|message\|>Alex Reid Alex could hear a lot of commotion outside, as if more Agents were showing up. He quickly made his way back out onto the roof, just in time for a heavily armed black helicopter came into view. " Stop..right there, hands on your head." Alex did the opposite, and ran towards the edge of the roof, and jumped. He vanished before their very eyes. "Where the hell did he go?" Alex changed into the form of a humming bird and quickly flew towards his friends.</s> <\|message\|>Maximilian Sean MacDowell Maximilian Sean MacDowell When Max got back onto his feet, he looked around the parking lot seeing a couple of people noticing the commotion. He kept firing his "bullets" into the legs of the agents, He could see that he was lessening their numbers. "Hi can i get some help here?" He yelled out hoping that they would come rescue him. One of the agents pulled out a taser and was aiming to hit Max in the shoulder, Max trying dodging the taser, but it grazed him causing him to fall on the ground. "God damn it." The punk screamed as another agent armed with a baton came over to try and hit him in the leg.</s>	<\|message\|>Lucas Ross Lucas heard the shout for aide and only just caught sight of the commotion being caused closer to the building. He didn't recognize Mr. Buzzcock, but the fancy finger banger was obviously being overwhelmed. Luke wasn't a fighter, but Theo had taught him to never ignore someone in need. 'Do what you can, remember to use what God gave you, son.' The punk's shout of pain was the call to action. His glowing blue eyes scanned the vehicles near him in a blink. There wasn't much advanced tech to be found among the teacher's lot, so he settled on a moped that was parked among the motor bikes. He placed a hand on the seat and released a small pulse, eyes shimmering briefly. He whispered a short command, nothing complicated; the little thing was hardly capable of responding to his power. "Sick'em." With a roar of it's tiny engine, off went the little steed with all haste in a wobbly line toward the battle. Baton-man went down with a dull thud of metal-meets-bad guy. The collision sent him right into taser-bro, resulting in a heap of jerk bag.</s>
<\|description\|>Celine Lowery Age: 16 Grade: Junior Bio: Celine is close with her mother- she has never known her father. He left before she was born. She is healthy, smart and optimistic. She and her mom are middle-class and comfortable. Appearance: Celine has short brown hair that comes to about her chin. She has green eyes and often wears headphones with a white noise sound in them. She wears vintage clothes or jeans/t-shirts most days. She collects scarfs and wears them as an accessory to match her outfit. She often wears Chuck Taylors and carries a small blue backpack. Personality: Celine is very timid and shy. She used to be very outgoing but she has had multiple incidents of screaming when things got too loud for her. She now keeps to herself. Typically, she can be found reading about history, music, or art. Gift: Hypersensitive Hearing</s> <\|message\|>Celine Lowery Celine had quickly grabbed the card from the desk that the teacher had left before looked up, moving her headphones to around her neck for a moment. She offered her hand to Alex, not wanting to be left behind. "Where are we going?" she asked in a whisper. She was impressed by Ashley's power- it seemed much more useful than hers. As she climbed into the ceiling tiles, she remained quiet and could feel each of the heartbeats of her friends. There was a new one she could hear however and looked down from the hole in the ceiling. She knew that there was something going on but she had never experienced something like this. She gulped as she took a deep breath and offered her hand down to him.</s> <\|message\|>Ashley "Ash" Parker Ashley didn't need to be asked twice. Though she frowned up at the hole in the ceiling, hoping it wasn't going to be full of crickets and spiders and other creepy-crawlies, she was definitely more worried about the agents outside. With Alex's help to boost her up high enough, she easily grabbed the frame and twisted herself up into the ceiling with one hand - his supergirl comment had inspired her to show off a little bit. While he helped Celine up, she turned her phone's flashlight on and shined it around, considering the various directions they could travel in. To her surprise, when she turned back around Celine was helping another kid in, one she didn't recognize. A freshman, maybe? "There's probably an agent watching the front parking lot where my car is. Does anyone know how to hotwire a car so we can steal one from the staff lot?" She asked with a nervous chuckle. "They might not be watching that one..."</s> <\|message\|>Lucas Ross As luck would have it, pressing one's ear against a door which had lost its locking mechanism was foolish. It was some grace of god which allowed Lucas not to fall flat on the floor. He wouldn't be admitting to anyone that he may have windmilled his arms a few rotations in his haste to maintain balance. Thankfully no one was around to witness it... No one was around...? At that moment a delicate hand shot down from a conspicuous hole above him starling him with its suddenness. Giving a quick look around the empty room, and hearing the distant sounds of movement in the building growing closer, he threw caution to the wind and hopped up on a desk so his shorter body could reach the hand up. Thankfully he wasn't much of a weighty kid, so he was up and surrounded by a gaggle of upperclassmen in no time. The social hierarchy being what it was he didn't know any of them, but having been a wall flower at lunch most days he was at least aware of them. The male he knew was supposed to be very popular. Rumor had it he was also filthy, stinking rich, but those comments had always been spoken by people with tones of jealousy. Of the two young women he was much less familiar. The one shifting around uncomfortably in the dark ventilation shaft was one of the more vocal protestors of the school's cellphone policy. Seeing the lit phone in her hand made the corner of his lips twitch. When his eyes scanned the girl who'd helped him up he couldn't help but notice the headphones she wore. His eyes briefly flashed an electric blue before he slapped a hand over them. 'Well done, little Freak, you've never been able to help yourself...' After a moment to collect himself Lucas glanced at Cellphone-girl with a small frown. Now wasn't the time for his insecurities. He took a deep breath, glanced around at everyone else, and then put up a reluctant hand, "If no one else can, I should be able to handle it."</s> <\|message\|>Alex Reid Alex looked behind him at the two girls, and then some dude was crawling up in the hole, saying something about he can't handle it...Oh gosh, hope he isn't claustrophobic. "Okay guys, I think we all sorta well know why we are up here, and um, I trust you, so freak out a little, don't scream, and try to keep up." Alex said as he shrunk down into a rat. He squeaked at them, then turned ,running along the metal frame as if it was nothing. He wasn't really paying much attention to them as he was Balancing as his first time as a rat. "I smell something....Mmmmm....cheese." the rat turned down the wrong corridor. He made his way to the kitchen, and stopped at the vent when he heard voices. Alex turned back into human, and brought his finger to his lips "Shhhhh" Listening he could hear at least two voices he didn't recognize, and they were saying something about gases.. He looked at the group, "Get out alive, I'll cover ya." Alex stepped on the time and fell thru the floor landing between the two BSI agents. When He rose up, he stood around twelve foot tall with a huge mouth full of razor sharp teeth,and massive bear claws, the Kodiak kind. The hulking bear swatted one of the agents thru a wall, as it roared at the other one inches from his face!</s> <\|message\|>Celine Lowery Celine grabbed her ears, the vibrations causing her eardrums to feel like they had ruptured. Her mouth opened to scream before she tucked her head down towards her chin for a moment until the pain passed. Slipping her headphones back on and nodding to the rest of the group. It appeared that Alex could handle the two Agents and she thought they should continue moving. "What do you guys want to do? Which way do we go?" she knew they needed to act fast and her headphones would allow her to keep up with everyone. She couldn't handle any type of noise interfering with her sensitive ears and prayed that they could get out quickly.</s> <\|message\|>Leto Ashley On a normal day, a meek-looking freshman casually offering to hotwire a car would get more than a terse nod of acknowledgement. Today was very much not a normal day. Following a rat was definitely weirder, but after breaking down a door Ashley decided not to make any snarky comments about anyone else's powers. Presumably they all had powers, at least - was the other girl some kind of psychic or something? There was no time for her to ask or speculate, as crawling through the vents was taking all of her concentration. Did this guy even know where he was going? Now he was stopped over the cafeteria, which was definitely not where they needed to be. "What are you-" She didn't get a chance to finish her question before he had dropped down. "Right, cool, that guy's a moron. Teacher's lot should be this way," she muttered, motioning for the other to follow her as she started crawling back down the vent. The sounds of fighting picked up behind them, growls and screams punctuated by loud thuds and then gunshots that made her flinch and crawl faster. --- Leto Assigned to wait with the team at the vehicles, Leto was one of the first in the doors when the team sent to clear the main building called in for help on the radio. Or, rather, when their radios crackled to life with the sounds of a fight, gunshots, and some kind of large animal. A bear, maybe? "Positions?" the team leader demanded on radio. "Team Delta, positions?" There was no reply over the radio, but the sounds of fighting drew them towards the cafeteria. Leto put up a shield around his team as they progressed through the hallway, but by the time they reached the doors to the kitchen it was eerily silent. Not having been issued a gun, he drew his taser as the shield nudged the big double doors open, not at all sure what they were going to discover inside.</s> <\|message\|>Lucas Ross Not for nothing, seeing a teenager shapeshifting in front of his eyes was quite the, err, eye opener. He heard the little comment made by Cellphone-girl after the guy had gone full-on kodiak on the agents below. Quite the snarky one. The tittering little beeps issuing quietly from his watch let him know that someone liked their pseudo-leader. Quiet-girl had worried him for a moment when he saw her pained grimace, but seeing it pass set his nerves straight. Having seen the brief patronizing looks thrown his way when he'd volunteered to get their getaway car running he decided against speaking any further for the time being. These people didn't know him, nor what he was capable of, and as Theo had taught him early during his habitation with the Jackson's: actions speak clearer than words. Besides, the likelihood of his continued association with the other teens after their escape was even less likely than their escape plan actually succeeding. As if to punctuate those thoughts the sounds of battle behind them suddenly grew much too quiet. He hoped the guy had shifted into something to slip away, but he had a bad feeling these agents were prepared for just about anything.</s> <\|message\|>Celine Lowery Celine crawled after Ashley, keeping and hearing Lucas was directly behind her. She could hear the rumblings beneath them but was too concerned about the heartbeats around her and maintaining the speed of her own. She knew they all needed to be level-headed in order to get out of here. They continued through the maze of the ceiling, twisting and turning as they followed Alex. She stopped for a brief moment as she heard the sounds of the outside growing louder- cars passing by on the nearby freeway, birds chirping and the hiss of school bus brakes. She held her hand up, palm facing the group as she continued to listen.</s> <\|message\|>Kasumi Tamaki Kasumi --- Kasumi had to miss her classes today, she called in sick. She had never got ill before, but this day was different. It began in the night before. Kasumi suddenly felt as if the inside of her stomach was squeezed by an invisible hand and punctured with many blades. To add her misfortune, she was alone in her apartment with no one to attend her. Her parents had to be away for a whole week, leaving Kasumi by herself for several nights. Obviously, as she never had to call for any medical appointments previously, she didn't keep any contacts for clinics. Kasumi spent her whole night to calm herself with her breathing technique, but to no avail. Kasumi didn't sleep well and the abdominal pain inside her was still there as the morning sun rose. That evening, just around an hour before the pain began, Kasumi discovered another extent of her power. The exercise session ended quite late and Kasumi had to walk alone to get home. An unfortunate encounter with a potential rapist awakened the more advanced stage of Kasumi's energy manipulation. Not only she was able to gather nature energy and channel it to augment her muscular performance, Kasumi found that she could also unleash the raw form of her energy in a directed blast. The assaulter was hit by Kasumi's blast and launched for several yards. Kasumi worried that someone might had just witnessed her invoking the power. This incident might prompt an investigation by the BSI to the local school. As Kasumi reached her apartment, she was prepared to warn the people she had guessed as the fellow "gifted", after she finished her shower. Unfortunately, the side effect of Kasumi's power struck. The nature energy reservoir inside Kasumi was not ready for the burden of her new power. The debilitating pain paralyzed Kasumi for the whole night.</s>	<\|message\|>Celine Lowery Celine pointed down the side of the air duct. "There, I can hear the outside. It's gotta be our way out," she directed, surprised at how strong her voice sounded for the amount of fear she was feeling. She began to listen again, her headphones buzzing slightly with the white noise. They had to find a way out- if they didn't- who knew what would happen to them. Glancing towards Lucas and Ashley, she nodded again. "Are you guys with me?"</s>
<\|description\|>Maximilian Sean MacDowell Age: 16 Grade: Sophomore Bio: Max was born in Boston, in his youth he lived with his mother because his parents had divorced when he was young. As a kid was not very popular with other children his age, because of his anger issues and lack of social cues. This made his childhood quite lonely, he used his time alone to take singing classes and guitar lessons. As a teenager he had gained a small tight knit group of friends. However there are times where he likes to keep to himself. His dream is to finish high school and make it big as a punk rocker. Appearance: Personality: Max is a rough and tough kind of person, Not caring about what people think of him. Nor how tough a person thinks they are, Max is not one to back down from a fight, Especially when it is against someone he dislikes or being a bully. He has a tough guy personality, Breaking the rules when needed and not giving a crap about what people think of him. Also being friendly but that is mainly reserved for his friends and people he finds he can respect, He only respects people that he finds strong or resilient. Max does have a softer side but he barely shows it, Mostly because he does not want to look weak. Mostly showing this side towards his family and especially towards his father. Having a strong sense of justice against people who are wronging others. He is also deeply religious and superstitious, Being a hardcore Roman Catholic. Gift: Max has the power to fire telekinetic bullets out of his finger.</s> <\|message\|>Ashley "Ash" Parker Ashley "I'm with you," Ash confirmed, squinting through the ventilation duct. It looked like it opened into the hallway near the door to the teacher's lot, but from here she couldn't be sure if the coast was clear or not. Staying put wasn't an option, and with any luck all the agents were still busy figuring out what had happened in the cafeteria. She raised her fist then paused for a second, giving Celine a slightly guilty look. She seemed like the jumpy type, but there was no other option from this side. "This is going to be loud," Ash warned the others before punching through the vent cover, knocking it to the floor with one well-placed hit. She stuck her head through to confirm the coast was clear then jumped down, reaching up to help the others. At least super strength was handy for this kind of stuff, even if it was probably her powers that had alerted the BSI in the first place. They were so close to making it out of here, but she felt guilty about leaving the Alex behind. Stupid or not, his distraction meant all the agents were now focused in one place.</s> <\|message\|>Celine Lowery Celine understood the signal and instantly covered her ears, even though they were shielded by the headphones. She watched as she disappeared through the opening and followed suit. They had to move quickly- while most of the agents were distracted, Celine was sure that the loud bang would have drawn some of their attention. She glanced around, looking for more agents. Her ears were perked, having already gotten used to the outside noises. Now, she was determined to make sure they stayed one step ahead and got out of there.</s> <\|message\|>Lucas Ross As his feet touched the rough carpeted floor beside his companions he tried to deny internally how embarrassing it was to be handled like a toddler by a teen girl. 'Come now Luke, this isn't really the time to let your chauvinistic tendencies get the better of you.' He readjusted his bag over his shoulder and in doing so caught the faint beeping coming from his watch. The little bugger had been getting a bit too snippy so he'd started ignoring it while they traveled the air ducts. He didn't respond vocally, God knew he didn't want to come off as some kind of crazy person in the middle of their crisis. Looking around the door, which was primarily used by staff, he took notice of the security panel. It was with a heavy heart that he noted this was a model he had already been... acquainted with. While the others were keeping their eyes and ears open for trouble, he slipped over to the panel, popped off the cover, and casually ripped two of the half dozen wires that connected the silent alarm to the power source. He popped the cover back in place almost as an after thought, "That should save us the trouble of alerting the entire building... and any cops they have watching the place too."</s> <\|message\|>Alex Reid When a couple of hours had gone by,Alex awoke from his slumber, he was sore all over, mainly from the rapid transformations. He saw Kasumi standing over him, she had obviously tossed bandages down at him. "Wow, did you have to go to school for that? Or does it come natural?" He reached out to grab the bandages, but noticed he was in still coyote form. Alex turned to normal, and wrapped the bandages around his wound. "You ll never make it as a nurse, so don't quit your day job." Standing slowly to his feet, "I Hope they made it out, I had made a little distraction for them, so they could." "But don't worry yourself any, us true friends will be there to help." He turned to walk away, "When I say us, I meant me, later loser." Alex took form of a Hawk and flew back to the school, circling high above in the sky, looking for his friends.</s> <\|message\|>Kasumi Tamaki Kasumi --- "Cool power, bad mouth, and not even a gratitude." Kasumi raised her hand. She took another breath and channel the warm energy to accumulate onto her stretched finger, pointed at the flying Alex who currently took shape as a hawk. She made a movement with her arm as if she was pulling a bow string, poised to make a direct release of her inner energy in a manner similar to a bolting arrow. Kasumi's eyes followed the movement of the hawk, her stretched arm served as the targeting guidance, anticipating the direction of the hawk's movement. "You know what, even without this new power, I can crush a bear's heart with this precise power control, and now I can do it in a distance." Kasumi said to herself. Kasumi took another breath, but for this time she did that to calm herself. "It's not worth it..." Kasumi put her power back into the reservoir core inside her body. "I can't risk myself afflicted by the blow back of this power... I better follow where that hawk is going." Another breathing allowed Kasumi to channel her power to her eyes, then another one to her legs. With such augmentations, Kasumi was able to follow the hawk's movement and her legs were quick enough to catch him up.</s> <\|message\|>Maximilian Sean MacDowell Maximilian Sean MacDowell Max walked into the school after parking and locking his motorcycle, he was excited for today because he and his bandmates were going to audition for their very first gig. He had texted his friend to meet him in the music room so they could rehearse. He was halfway down the hallway when he heard the P.A. going off, he didn't like the sound of BSI coming into the school to interrogate students. He was worried that he would be found out and experimented on by the government. Max didn't want to use his powers, but if he felt his life would be in danger then he would have to. But he didn't think that they would try to kill him, however, he was going to have to try and avoid them. Carefully walking along the hallway and towards the room where his third-period drama class was. His plan was to escape through the window and towards his motorcycle.</s> <\|message\|>Alex Reid .[The hawk landed on top of a security pole, and watched the excitement below him. He scanned the area looking for any of his fellow classmates, did they get caught already, or maybe they made it out. Alex thought he recognized a schoolmates being arrested or detained. He flew from the pole to the roof of the gymnasium, and morphed back into his normal self. He ran across the rooftop to the door, and opened it quietly, listening for any sounds of danger. When he heard nothing, he snuck back inside, quietly shuffling down the steps one at a time. Alex slinked down to the floor and crawled over to the balcony rail, and peaked over.</s> <\|message\|>Ashley "Ash" Parker "Wow. You have to teach me how to do that sometime!" Ashley complimented Lucas as they slipped through the disarmed door, keeping her eyes peeled for any agents in the staff lot. Luckily, it didn't look like the BSI had thought to keep someone there... or if they had been, they had left when a bear started ripping into their fellows, which she supposed was fair. As annoyed as she was by Alex's actions, she had to admit they were effective. "Let's see if one of these is unlocked, save us the time of picking the door then hotwiring," She suggested, then started trying door handles. Her eyes flicked over to the row of motorcycles - mostly students', she didn't really understand why the teacher's lot was also the motorcycle lot - but quickly dismissed them. If they were all going to get away, they'd need something more practical. Startled by the sudden arrival of a hawk, the pigeons in the lot suddenly took off abruptly, almost hitting Ashley as they flew between cars. "What the hell!" She exclaimed, jumping as one's wings brushed her hair. Unfortunately she was still holding a door handle when she jumped, and ripped it right off of the car. The car alarm immediately started blaring and the handle cracked and fell to the ground in tiny pieces as her hands balled into fists, frustration making it hard for Ash to focus. "Oh come on! Can one thing go right today? One stupid thing!" She complained, punching a hole through the car door.</s> <\|message\|>Maximilian Sean MacDowell Maximilian Sean MacDowell Max could see his bike parked in the parking lot, he was half way towards his bike when he was stopped by some men in black suits. "Stay where you are, you will need to come with us to be questioned." This made Max turn to face the group of men coming towards him. "Why? What is going on?" He asked, trying to play innocent. "That is confidential, we will tell you everything you need to know once you come back to HQ." One of the men trying to grab his arm, his instincts kicked in kicking one of the men in the stomach. Turning around and placing the man's chin on his shoulder, Slamming down on his butt hitting the stunner. Quickly spinning around and using his powers. Pointing his fingers at another agent, firing a telepathic bullet at his hand to disarm him. He was not going to kill anyone, so he was trying to incapacitate them. Trying to get back onto his feet while firing.</s> <\|message\|>Lucas Ross Lucas stood beside Quiet-girl watching Captain Subtlety add destruction of property to the list of charges the BSI jerks would be using to hold them. Honestly, he wasn't even bothered by her blunder so much as he was exasperated by the day, a sentiment she clearly shared. He heard the frightened little beeps his watch chimed out while they watched her take out her frustration on the poor car. Internally he hoped this was their cruel gym teacher's car. He walked over to the vehicle and found that she had successfully opened the door, even if the damage made the hinges difficult to move. After getting the door open wide enough he slid into the driver's seat. His eyes briefly flashed as he scanned over the interior, his mind flashing with an understanding of the make and model, down to the parts required to build it. Most of the information was the same as usual, so he focused on the important bits. With only a little pulse of his cursed powers the alarm was blissfully silent. He hopped out of the car and heaved a small sigh, his shaky fingers busying themselves with adjusting his glasses, "Before all the kings horses and men in black storm the lot, we should probably pick another one, sans holes." He nudged the debris that had been a door handle, "..and with working door mechanisms."</s> <\|message\|>Celine Lowery The car alarm had startled Celine, but she was ready to move quickly. She shifted forward, moving to another car that was not too far away and motioned for the group to follow. She didn't want to be the leader but knew that the agents would be moving quickly towards them. It was already far too late for another plan to take place. She hoped they could get into the car soon. Her head perked up for a minute- listening to all the sounds around them. There was the car alarm, other traffic from the highway- but more... something closer. Footsteps towards the outer doors. "We gotta move.... like now!" she said, her eyes getting wide as she realized they only had minutes left for their escape.</s> <\|message\|>Alex Reid Alex could hear a lot of commotion outside, as if more Agents were showing up. He quickly made his way back out onto the roof, just in time for a heavily armed black helicopter came into view. " Stop..right there, hands on your head." Alex did the opposite, and ran towards the edge of the roof, and jumped. He vanished before their very eyes. "Where the hell did he go?" Alex changed into the form of a humming bird and quickly flew towards his friends.</s>	<\|message\|>Maximilian Sean MacDowell When Max got back onto his feet, he looked around the parking lot seeing a couple of people noticing the commotion. He kept firing his "bullets" into the legs of the agents, He could see that he was lessening their numbers. "Hi can i get some help here?" He yelled out hoping that they would come rescue him. One of the agents pulled out a taser and was aiming to hit Max in the shoulder, Max trying dodging the taser, but it grazed him causing him to fall on the ground. "God damn it." The punk screamed as another agent armed with a baton came over to try and hit him in the leg.</s>
<\|description\|>Jackson Drake Ryana Beckett Cheryl Blackwell-Carter Wesley Cross Sierra Young Alexis Parsons TBD TBD TBD</s> <\|message\|>Jackson Drake Table of Contents Prologue Episode I: Just Another Day at Camp Episode II: Strangers in a Strange Land</s> <\|message\|>Jackson Drake --- --- Alarms and sirens went off, flaring red and white and green in a room with nothing but computer monitors, showing various regions and sub-sections of the Digital world: Net Ocean, land masses and the continents, individual islands of the File archipelago -- all of which were close to being under siege. But as for the other regions of the digital world? Fire rained down upon them, armies of digimon came for them, and places that were safe, villages that once were safe havens for refugees were now a hotbed for the forces of evil. Above the monitors that showed all of the destruction was another, but this one was different. It didn't show any known location in the digital world nor did it show any location at all, but what it did show was a room. It was one with nine chambers, all a different color. Within them were nine digieggs, devices that looked like stopwatches, and necklaces each with a crest inside them. On the monitor was a timer. ``` 8:30:05 ``` Eight minutes and thirty seconds. Just under nine minutes until all hope was lost. That is, of course, if Jericho Watson wasted time. "Through all of the damage the world has been dealt, the losses of valiant warriors of both sky and land, they must live." A man with what could be described as a heavy English accent that the humans call said, standing next to a large Lion-like DIgimon. "Jericho, what are you planning?" Liamon asked in his deep, primal voice. As he leaned forward, fingers tapping away on the keyboard at such record speed that the older man had a focused look on his face. The moment he began typing away, the images of the Digital World under seige were replaced by a screensaver-like image, symbols and a myriad of ones and zeroes meshing together, connecting with each other, various sounds from beeps to subtle roars began to almost cancel out the impending doom from outside the room Jericho and Liamon were in. "Jericho!" Liamon spoke up once again, this time getting his attention. "I'm doing what I can to give us a chance." Jericho didn't look at Liamon, but rather the monitor above him with the nine digieggs. "Do you understand, Liamon? They are our only hope!" ``` 5:00:00 ``` "Five minutes left." bangbang "Liamon!" From behind them, the door to the laboratory opened up and three Knightmon burst through the door, metal swords aimed high as they came charging for Jericho. As they did, Liamon jumped in front of them, brandishing sharp fangs at all three, zipping through the air, digging his claws and fangs into the Digi-Chromzoid-clad digimon. Despite being ultimates, Liamon was too fierce of a digimon to have any difficulty with them. They were reduced to data before their swords even hit the ground. With a smirk, Jericho spent the next four and a half minutes writing over five-thousand lines of DIgiCode and in that time, it was slowly becoming apparent what he was doing. One by one, each mini-chamber that had those digieggs inside them were teleported out of the facility. They were being sent to a place far away from where they were. "Only three left to go…" Crash From above, unlike before where the Knightmon came barging in like amateurs, there came a shockwave that sent Jericho and Liamon flying in opposing directions. Where Liamon crashed into steel pipes, Jericho found himself back first against the solid steel wall. He grunted with agony as he saw Liamon lay what he had to assume was unconscious, but then he saw long, tendril-like arms with red nails. He knew that was the obvious sign of a Devidramon. "So, if Devidramon is here, that could only mean." Jericho narrowed his eyes, trying not to make any sudden movements. The thing about Devidramon, while he wasn't all that bright, the many eyes on his head could see all things at once. So if there was a hint of movement from any direction, he would see it. But this posed a problem because Jericho needed to get back to the computer. He had to make sure those last three were teleported away safely. If even one of them fell into the wrong hands, who knew what would happen… "Digi...Destined…" Devidramon's raspy voice always rubbed Jericho the wrong way like the acid dripping from its mouth. "Where are the DIgi-Destined!" It roared and its many eyes glowed a piercing red. "Liamon!" Devidramon turned its large, demonic body towards Jericho, lunging for him but then a zap of an electric shockwave hitting it from the back. It didn't make it budge, but Liamon now had the beast's undivided attention. Jericho used this opportunity to lunge himself to the computer. He cursed under a breath as he didn't have enough time. Another curse as he bit his lip, hiding back a scream that desperately wanted to come out. As the battle between the two digimon raged on, Liamon's grunts and roars met Devidramon's unholy screams, Jericho had to think. He couldn't get the other three out of here. He knew the last remaining three would likely be taken by the undead army, but that didn't mean they would be granted their power. With fast fingers, Jericho coded a barrier around all three that remained. In the moment it was activated, the three crests glowed brilliantly with the color each crest was unique with. After five seconds, ther would be a protective barrier that not even the Demon Lords could break. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more, but.." Jericho hit the enter key, sending an email to the Six DigiDestined. They wouldn't know what this meant, but… "Jackson, Wesley, Ryana, Cherrie, Sierra, Alexis - you're our only hope." As the message was sent, it also triggered something else. All of the monitors, which were all back to showing the scenes of carnage had all but been replaced with a countdown timer. ``` 00:00:25 ``` Jericho looked back, seeing Liamon nearly finishing off Devidramon. With a single swipe of his claws, Devidramon's form was reduced to data. Liamon hunched over, clearly exhausted from several battles over the course of the past ten minutes, but Jericho could only smile. Liamon wasn't his partner in the same way those Digimon would be to the Digi-Destined, but there was no denying that he cared for the Lion DIgimon as much as he could. And that's why he couldn't let him suffer the same fate - not if he was going to be of any help. "Liamon…" "So, this is the end of our partnership." Liamon smiled through his obvious pain. "Jericho, it has been an honor to--" "I'm sorry. You aren't done. I might be, but--" Jericho's hand was under the computer station and he pressed a button. Before Liamon could get in a single word, his form was surrounded by a bright light similar to the same light that teleported the DigiDestined's future partner's to an undisclosed location. "Liamon, please help them. Mentor them in ways that I could not. And if they prove to be worthy enough, tell them to look for the light in the sky. When the time is right, they will know what that means." He knew Liamon could hear him. He knew that his will would be carried on through his good friend. And when the timer reached zero, Jericho knew that it was all in their hands. BOOM A flash of light originating from the monitors consumed The Facility, taking all enemy digimon — and Jericho Watson — with them. It really was in the kids' hands.</s> <\|message\|>Jackson Drake --- --- As the sun began to set on Ridgewood Utah, the golden rays hitting the Great Salt Lake that separated Ridgewood from Salt Lake City, the backdrop of the Wasatch Mountain Range was given a brilliant mix of reds and oranges and yellows, traditional 4th of July festivities exploded all around town. Great displays of fireworks that would make Time Square jealous exploded into the sky, whistling, screaming, howling into the almost-night. But this was in the city. Up in Wasatch mountains, specifically at Camp Ridgewood that had over fifty adolescents, who officially were there for "special reasons", they might hear the faintest whisper from the city. Visually, they might have the best view in the house. Maybe there are a couple who enjoy being so far away from the chaos of the festivities. Maybe it's just the fact that they can watch it from afar that is enough for them. Or maybe there might be a couple who feel bummed out they aren't able to be up close. Whatever their opinion, Camp Ridgewood is about to undergo their own festivities as some campers will gather around an unlit fire. However, there might be a small group that have other ideas. As they prepare this, six campers specifically will receive a weird email. They won't know how this Jericho Watson got their private email - be it Yahoo, Gmail, or whatever they happen to have, but one thing will be clear: it's not an accident. And the moment they receive this strange E-Mail, that's when the real mystery begins.</s>	<\|message\|>Jackson Drake Seeing the fireworks jump to the sky and greet the clouds in loud splendor left a bittersweet taste in Jackson Drake's mouth. Again, he had been forced to attend Camp Ridgewood, separated from just about every potential for fun that he could be having in town. Right now, he would be on main street, enjoying a classic Ridge-Dog, a cheese-stuffed sausage on a brioche sandwich roll with grilled peppers, onions caramelized until they resemble jam, and topped with a special sauce that consisted of Japanese mayo and a slight drizzle of balsamic vinegar. Just that little hint of the tart, bitter, sour, sweet balsamic makes the whole thing come together. And of course, he would be hanging with his boys - his crew that he did everything with. Jackson was missing it because, of course, Felix Lopez, one of the more reputable teachers at the middle school he recently graduated from, had felt the need to put his name down. Jackson was getting older. Lopez knew this and he wanted Jackson to experience the camp life as much as he could. And it wasn't like Jackson hated being at camp. It wasn't far from town, so if he really wanted to go home, as much as he knew Felix would hate it, Jackson could just ride the trail down the mountain. It would be so easy to just head back home. But Jackson hated easy. Easy was the coward's way out. Easy was wearing floaties when you were learning how to swim. Easy was using Youtube when you struggled with a trick. Jackson hated taking the easy way out. If he didn't persevere, then how would he know what his limits were? Well, okay, he doesn't know his limits for everything. He doesn't know how many RidgeDogs he can eat in one sitting nor does he know how long he can go breathing underwater without wimping out. What Jackson does is this: as tempting as it was, he wouldn't go down the trail. Instead, he would sit at the edge of the cliff, phone in hand as his board was in his lap. He kept his eyes on the display of fireworks that continued. And that was when he heard his phone buzz in his hand and that immediately caught his attention for a few reasons. Maybe, the most jarring was how, recently, cell service had been in a fritz today. No matter how hard Jackson tried, he couldn't contact anyone that wasn't outside the camp. For some reason, one of those who were in his contacts that were on campgrounds currently could be reached. So, why of all times, was he getting an alert saying he got a fucking E-Mail? Opening the email, he read it and it made no sense. Jackson read the wordy email and it made no sense. Someone named Jericho Watson, who went on to talk about something that he clearly didn't know anything about. Did Jackson claim to see two giant ass monsters fight about six years ago? Yeah maybe. And did anyone believe him? Well, the local conspiracy theorist had a few ideas, but by the time Jackson's parents had him go through the motions of seeing kid-friendly therapists, they deduced that it was just his wild imagination. He was eight, after all. Who the hell would believe the wild and active imagination of an eight-year-old kid? Laughing, Jackson just closed the email and deleted it. "Whatever man!" Remnants of his laugh carried into a sigh and Jackson looked at the sky. "Yeah...It was made up." As he spoke, he blinked once and swore he saw something spark above the fireworks, the faintest sight of something...different than what he should be seeing. Like something flying that looked too...green to be anything in the sky. "Oh, great you're seeing things again." And when Jackson shook its head, it was gone. Gone, but what did that mean? Nothing. Because that's what it was. You were seeing nothing but your hunger getting the better of you. Maybe...Maybe Jackson needed to get some food. Yeah, that was a good idea. And that's what Jackson did. He got up and went to the mess hall, hoping an evening snack may just help him not pretend like he saw what he did six years ago.</s>
<\|description\|>Blaze Blaze is Sakura's Avatar.</s> <\|message\|>Kadomori Sora Sora took the bear-themed cup from Rui and took a sip from it. The guy had a huge smile on his face while he was being dragged from one exhibit to the next. It felt really good to spend time with his sister again. It had been so long that it felt like... like returning home after a long and boring business trip. "Oh, yeah! You're right! I guess they are good at hiding themselves. That's pretty interesting to watch." Sora said as he held Wolf's card close to the glass in order for him to see the snakes as well. Then suddenly, a guy that Sora didn't know walked towards him and his sister. "What does that guy want? Who the hell is that?" Sora whispered towards Wolf, who had an equally confused look onto his face. "I have no freaking idea. However, I don't like the way he looks." Sora whispered a 'me neither' before realizing that Rui had also recognized the guy's presence. A friend of Rui's? A BOYfriend of Rui's? She didn't look that happy to see the guy, so it couldn't be either of those two options. Then why did she feel the need to make the guy understand that Sora was simply her brother and not her date? "So she runs into him a lot, huh?" Then the guy suddenly turned to Sora instead of Rui. "Yeah, I am. So... What are you doing with my sister? Are you stalking her or something? You should leave her alone." Sora took a couple of steps, so he stood between Rui and Nanashi.</s> <\|message\|>Nanashi "A stalker...? Me?" Nanashi confusedly replied to Sora. He brought his fingers close to his mask, as if lost in thought, even though there was no mouth on it. "Does that mean I've met you two before...?" he muttered to himself. "Ahaha... this is bad, isn't it?" Lumia said with a nervous little laugh. "Actually, I don't think he's..." "You tell him, Sora!" Rui said as she hid behind her (younger) brother, sticking out her tongue at Nanashi like a little kid. Lumia let out a sigh. "You too, Nee-chan...?" The exasperation in her voice was clear. "...No. Nevermind. I have something to ask you," Nanashi spoke up again, turning his attention back to Sora. "Can I see that card you're holding?" he asked. "I found it strange your sister pulled out a card from her bag so suddenly. That's why I came over to talk to her." he explained, his mask shifting towards Lumia. Just like back at the card shop, a feeling of discomfort clearly washed over her. She knows he cannot see her, and yet this makes twice now that he'd singled her out. Nanashi's gaze looped back around to Sora. "And you're doing the same. Are you two admiring some rare cards? If so, I'd like to take a look. Maybe I could trade to power up my deck," he asked. Rui was, at that point in time, a bit too baffled by the request to give any input on the matter.</s> <\|message\|>Kadomori Sora Sora was dumbfounded that he didn't even seemed to remember his sister, even though Lumia said that the guy had seen and talked to his sister multiple times. What was up with that guy? He was so weird and mysterious that he even somewhat scared Sora. "You don't remember if you have seen or talked to us before? What's up with your memory, dude?" Sora almost screamed, possibly out of fear. He needed to get some answers. Who was that guy? What was he planning to do with them? Although he had weird feelings considering the guy, he felt good when his sister commented on his actions. It felt good to be able to protect his sister, to be able to be there for her, to have her encourage him like that. Then however, he suddenly got one answer. He came over... because he noticed Lumia and Wolf? Just for those two cards? It felt weird and unbelievable that a random Nexus fan would approach strangers in a zoo to take a look at their cards. Something was up with that guy. "These... These cards aren't... We cannot trade them for anything else." Sora muttered. He hesitated to say something further, but he knew that the guy wouldn't leave with just that one sentence. "The cards... They are... Euhm... More of emotional support... They won't be much good in your deck..." Sora continued, not even knowing if the cards would be of help to the guy. But the guy couldn't take either Lumia or Wolf away from them. Could he? "If you don't mind... I would rather spend some time alone with my sister... You know... Two siblings catching up... We only have the day and I would rather spend it with her than with... Well... A stranger like you." The last words escaped his mouth in almost a whispering tone.</s> <\|message\|>Nanashi "Emotional support, is it?" Nanashi commented, the suspicion clear in his voice. He turned his mask to the card Sora was holding. "...I see. It's an Avatar card. It must be the core of your deck," he said, pocketing one hand in his hoodie. Sora explained- well, whispered that he'd rather spend the day with his sister and Nanahi nodded in response. "Of course. It was rude of me to interrupt; you two have fun on your day." Nanashi turned around and took a step forward, then paused. He looked back over his shoulder at Sora. "Wolf, right? Take good care of that card," he said. After that final message, Nanashi walked off for real without looking back. "I really don't understand him," Rui told Sora after the other boy had left. "He shows up at weird times, says something cryptic and then walks off again..." "Aha, honestly, he kind of creeps me out too... it's almost like he knows something we don't," Lumia added. "Right? And why does he wear a mask like that, it's so weird!" Rui kept complaining. She looked up from Lumia and grabbed Sora's arm. "Hey, if I pretend to cling to you, do you think people will leave us alone?" she asked, and Lumia happened to end up near Wolf when Rui did so. Lumia quickly shifted gears and whispered something to Wolf while their commanders were distracted. "Wolf, did you feel it too?" she asked. "Another commander moving closer while Nanashi was distracting Nee-chan and Sora-kun."</s> <\|message\|>Wolf Sora sighed deeply out of relieve the moment the mysterious guy seemed to understand what Sora meant to say. However, he was rather suspicious of the fact that the guy knew Wolf's name. Sora turned Wolf's card back to himself and noticed that he had been covering Wolf's name with his finger. How did the guy knew that Sora's Avatar was named Wolf from just taking a look at his image? Sora opened his mouth in order to ask Wolf about it, but he seemed as confused as Sora was. "Who is that guy?" So Wolf didn't recognize him either. "Only other Commanders could have owned you before, right?" Wolf nodded. "Yeah, I guess. But that guy didn't seem much of a Commander to me." Sora sighed again. Well, it didn't matter much. The guy was gone and without him, they wouldn't get any answers to their questions. "He does that every single time? Man, that guy is a pain in the ass." Sora said to Rui. "Maybe he has an ugly face and is just trying to hide. In that case, I prefer him with the mask, I don't want to be traumatised." Wolf joked. Sora is very surprised by Rui's comment, but even more by her touch. "I guess they will." Sora answered Rui, scratching his head with his other hand nervously. Wolf focused his attention to Lumia in the meantime. "Yeah, i feel it too. I can still feel it. There is another Commander" Wolf said. The moment Wolf pronounced the word 'Commander', he noticed a little girl running towards Rui and Sora. "Hey! You're Commanders too, right?!" She said with a huge smile on his face. 'Children are so damn innocent', Wolf thought, already feeling sorry for the child that it had been chosen as a Commander and also a little bit angry at the Avatar. "My name is Sakura and this is my Avatar Blaze!" She screamed of joy. Sora scratched the back of his head and pushed Rui away from him, so he could squat down and talk to the little girl at eye level. "Yeah, we both are Sakura. But I am not exactly in the mood to battle. I am spending time with my big sister here." He said in his sweetest, most polite voice. However, Sakura didn't take 'no' for an answer. "But I need to battle and win to make my big sister very proud!" Sakura said with a huge smile. "And big sister will be very proud if you manage to win the battle, sweety!" Her Avatar added. Although Sora didn't know the girl's exact wish, it obviously had something to do with her big sister and he didn't want to interfere with her family. However, Rui seemed to disagree with his decision to the refuse the little girl's proposal to a battle. "Yeah, I know this could save me, but I don't want... I couldn't... Not with such a young child." He whispered to his sister. However, both Rui and Sakura started to encourage him to a battle and finally... He felt like he had no choice but to accept. Sakura and Sora opened the battlefield, colored in red and green. Although Sora had no confidence in his own capabilities when it came to Nexus, he had a pretty easy win over the child. It seemed like it was her first battle as a Commander, so she hadn't lost everything yet. However, at that moment he had put a little girl in the same dangerous situation as he himself was in. He switched places with such an innocent little child. "Sakura..." He began, trying to console the little child. "It's alright. Come on, Sakura. You're going to win the next battle for sure! And this battle was good training, right? Let's train some more on our own before the next battle." Blaze intervened. "You're right, Blaze! Thank you for the lesson, sir." Sakura said as she bowed thankfully to Sora.</s>	<\|message\|>Blaze "Hey, what are you getting all flustered for? Has my baby brother never had a girl cling to his arm before~?" Rui teased Sora when she saw how bashful he was being. She also said something along the lines of "C'mon, don't think I haven't noticed you spending time with... that..." but had trouble remembering who the person he'd spent time with actually was. It's not just the name; her face, her status, it's all gone. There was just a gaping hole of Rui being aware there was something there, but being locked out of accessing it. Before the situation got any more awkward, or rather, to make things even more so, a small child approached the sibling duo. She recognized both Rui and Sora as commanders, but Sora was quick to shoot her down. "Yeah, we both are Sakura. But I am not exactly in the mood to battle. I am spending time with my big sister here." he said. "What are you saying, Sora?" Rui chastised him. "This is the perfect chance! We practiced, didn't we?" she continued. Sora still seemed hesitant. "Yeah, I know this could save me, but I don't want... I couldn't... Not with such a young child." "She's a commander, just like us! It doesn't matter how old she is. C'mon, Sora! You can do this!" she tried convincing him. Rui didn't seem all too concerned, unlike her brother. She'd step in and take the challenge herself, but Rui was worried about him. He needed to get a win, to buy himself some time. Rui was strong; she could find and defeat opponents by herself... but Sora needed every edge he could get. Eventually, Sora was convinced by both her and Sakura. The three of them moved to a less crowded, more remote location and Sora opened the battlefield with his opponent. The child- Sakura- was clumsy. She didn't know too well what her cards did and often played them in the wrong order. Sora, while not the most experienced himself, had a basic idea of what his deck wanted to do thanks to practicing with his sister. He made sure to protect his life cards, slowly build up an advantage and never leave himself in a position to lose. A more experienced player could've exploited the holes he still left in his strategies, but Sakura was much too fresh to recognize and take advantage of them. Soon enough, it was Sora's victory, his previously blackened coin returning to its golden luster. "You did it!" Rui happily exclaimed, hugging her brother after his victory. He didn't seem nearly as happy as her, though. Sorra wrangled himself loose from Rui's grip and walked over to the child, crouching down to meet her at her height. He tried to console the small child, though the Avatar, Blaze, actually did the most of the work by saying: "It's alright. Come on, Sakura. You're going to win the next battle for sure! And this battle was good training, right? Let's train some more on our own before the next battle." Sakura seemed to cheer up pretty quickly after that. She thanked Sora and gave him a respectful bow. Rui clasped Sora's hand with both of hers. "See? She'll be fine. You shouldn't worry about her so much," Rui said, trying to be comforting even though her words were cold. "Wolf must be exhausted... so let's not worry about battles anymore today, okay? Let's just enjoy the rest of our day!" she cheerily said, trying to lift Sora's spirits. In the process, Rui ignored the little girl there with them. She didn't seem to care much about her, whether intentionally or not... it was hard to get a read on her like she was now, with her attention so squared on Sora. "You're being scary again, Nee-chan..." Lumia muttered to herself, unbeknownst to her commander.</s>
<\|description\|>Arn Appearance: Alias(es): Hellspawn Age:36 Gender: Male Description: Height-5'9 Weight-180 Skin: Tan Hair: darkish brown eye colour: dark brown, almost makes it seem like he has no iris build: Average build as fit as any regular military member special features, Magic Type: Mana Role: Battlemage Specialty: Elemental magic Personality: Quiet Studious knowlegable Lack of sympathy\ Loves sweets Hates Pirates, criminals, evil doers Explosive when angered Background: Born of Hell's Flames Arn was born to a mother who had been sold to a brothel by pirates. He never knew why he had been allowed to live when other females merely killed the embryo in utero. Perhaps it was his mother's need for somebody to truly love instead of the myriad of men who visited her bed. Whatever the case, Arn grew in the rough and deadly environment of vice and vile. Despite this, he still thought that life had more to offer. He grew up really quick, always wanting to take care and protect his mother. He spent his time running from bullies and just trying to survive really. While he hid from the older kids, he would spend his time reading random books he found in the trash. His favorite was of oriental stories of men of valor, strength, and honor. It was this mentality that steered him in the direction of trying to be a hero. It was one of time that a particularly violent customer visited his mother and he was hiding in the balcony that he attempted to act on his illusions of saving her from that life. He burst in while the man abused his mother. Arn tried to attack the man but ended up getting beat. His mother then tried to protect him and the drunk and angry man beat her unconscious. Thinking her dead, the young boy knocked the man down and in a feat of anger somehow activated his contact with Gea which manifested into an inferno. Flames engulfed his hands which in turn devoured not only the violent man, but his mother and the building with all in it. Authorities would later report finding the crying boy holding the charred body of a female, his own hands sporting serious burns. Learning to Temper the Fire Eventually, it was discovered that the sad angry boy was adept in magic. He was recruited by the military and sent to study at the academy in Belisio. He was too dark, sad, and awkward to be of good social standing. However, he was able to forgo this with the sanctity of the vast library. It was here that he fully threw himself into learning all he could of magic. He felt that in some way, his mother's sacrifice had unlocked this gift in him. It was a way for him to feel closer to her in a world where he felt alone. Due to his focus and innate gift, he was soon a top level student which meant he was in the focus of jealousy and bullying from less capable more influential students. Luckily for him, the military cared nothing for his lack of social know how. Instead, he went on to become the youngest battle mage so far. Forged in the Fires of War. Arn was no stranger to death and suffering even before he stepped into the battle field. However, he was too good of a killer even for his superiors. He specially seemed to be extra vicious against pirates or criminals. Many of his squad mates could swear they saw his dark eyes gleam with fire as he incinerated people who had been on the verge of surrendering. This and the fact he preferred fire attacks that earned him the nickname Hellspawn. He was headed towards a court martial when a Knight took him under his wing. The only reason why Arn listened to him was because the knight reminded him of the oriental warriors he had read in his novels. The Knight taught Arn self control, temperance, and peace. Interestingly enough, this made him an even more efficient killing machine. However, this new facet was much more focused. He still felt no remorse in killing bad people, but his incidents of friendly fire were all but none existent. He won the trust of his squad mates and superiors but the nick name never went away. Indeed, many in the underworld still say the name in hushed tones. Equipment: Samurai armor fashioned battle vest that is made of Kevlar plates able to withstand small caliber bullets and some explosives. Keeps Ornamental Daisho swords but that are still able to be used in battle Abilities: Flamethrower- His mana excites the atoms around him and engulfs his hands/feet in flame and able to expel it up to 15FT like a flame thrower Burst- able to produce an outwardly expanding flame ball with the force of a claymore mine. Produces fire and concussion damage. Rock Wall: Causes a concentrated seismic reaction that produces a rock wall up to 6ft tall and about 3ft thick. Avalanche: Able to deteriorate an area of ground by cutting the Aether strings which will cause a collapse of about 3ft deep to an area of a bout 15ft. Wind Bullet: Able to compress the air around him and fire it off at high velocities. Wind Cushion: Focuses a high air pressure to form an upward force to slow the rate of descent. Especially effective if used with parachutes or other such devices. Hydrocannon- synthesizes the moisture into a stream as powerful as a fireman's hose. Extra: (Optional)</s> <\|message\|>Eilis Tourmaline turned to Arn with purpose and speed. "I fear we have no more time to converse…for the now at the least…your presence is required as the Empire is closing in on its victory. Take my advice…take the girl and leave…there will be nothing but death for you and her here in this land." He started to fade back as Eilis's form within the Aether started to move again. "She'll come to in a minute, there is one more matter we must attend. You cannot tell her of your plans to free her from me, she'll think you a fool and would want to keep you safe. Softhearted creatures that women are, she won't allow you do attempt it if she knows. She's stubborn like that. Just thought I should tell you in case you're one of those idiots that thinks sharing everything with your friends and those you care for is a good thing." The being's tone dripped with sarcasm at that last particular point. "Now I will refrain from stepping in again, so she won't bleed to death, but you'd better keep her alive. There is still a war going on after all and innocent casualties can happen." The being ended as he returned their sights to them as Eilis's glowing stopped. Both were back in the chaos of the warzone, still on the back of their wyrm and just in time to watch the horror unfold in the distance as the palace was blown to pieces. Eilis cried out in horror at the sight wondering what the hell was happening to her as the guns smothered the silence and roared around them.</s> <\|message\|>Alexa Brightwind Tobi was used to free falling from the carrier ship unto their target like any other Shooting Star. However, this was usually done with jet packs or even fast roping. Being manhandled by the silver haired Knight Captain was not something he would call enjoyable. Alexa on the other hand was living the dream. Not only had she been able to fight alongside her hero on a daring and deadly assault but he was not holding her in his arms. The explosions and exploding salvo around them only seeming like spotlights for Tyrhallan's splendor. The young mage uttered a grunt as the trio landed. He stood up shakily and nodded at the praise and apology from the Venray Lord. "We are all warriors Captain Venray. My lads knew what they were doing and the price that is often paid. It just sucks we they could not take more of those sons of bitches down with them. I guess that falls on us" Alexa looked in Tobi's direction and he made a face and shook his head. He might be cut and bruised but he would be dammed if he let the haughty blonde nurse him like some pup. He had his pride and he was also a bit jealous of the way she looked at the Knight Captain but he would not allow himself to acknowledge that. Rolling her eyes at the rude grimace the young mage made the young lass popped tall and spoke clearly with a hint of happiness in her voice. "Captain Venray, we are both still able to perform. Please lead on." It was Tobi's turn to roll his eyes as he mockingly repeated what the girl said below his breath as he made sure he did not have any serious wounds. Other than some burns and flesh wounds he seemed to be ok. As the pair stepped up to stand next to the taller man, they heard his gasping no. Both looked up to see him with question in their eyes and looked back at the scene. At first it seemed just like any other battle that was being fought around them. At least to Tobi who could only make out two armored men going at it. It was not until Alexa echoed Tryhallan's gasp that the young mage figured it must be somebody important. So Important in fact, that Tyrhallan boosted away, the ripple of the Aether almost pushing the young mage away from sheer surprise. "What the fuck?" Tobin said as he caught himself from tripping. "Where the hell is he going?" the young man said trying to follow the blur that was Tryhallan as he jumped the great distance. Alexa was stunned for a second as she realized who the man was. She had studies and read books about Uilles Venray and her father had regaled her with valiant deeds. To see him so pressed in such a manner stole her breath. Add that to the shock of seeing the Knight Captain disappear amid the barrage of weapon's fire and she went white as death. Thankfully, Tobin's spunky attitude came to the rescue. Alexa felt a descent slap on the back of her head as the young mage wacked her to try and get her attention. "Hey love bird, snap out of it. What the hell are we going to do? Master Mage Arn needed us to bring him back. It seems the Knight Captain has a death wish." Alexa pushed the young mage away. "You insolent fool!" She yelled at him anger and concern mixing. "That man over there about to be killed was his uncle Lord Uilles Venray! What else can we do but try to help both of them." She pulled out a small whistle and blew on it. Hopefully her mount had survived the incessant air battle.</s>	<\|message\|>Arn Arn returned the stare of the shadow man who had identified himself as Troumaline. The master mage's eyes were devoid of any feeling though in the inside of him he there was confusion. History had recorded the man before him as a hero. There were a myriad of books in the library at the Academy that detailed exploits and even assumptions on the life of this mysterious mage who had appeared out of the shadows to become basically the savior of Ith. The men who stood before him, however, felt nothing like the merciful hero that he had read about and even had courses on. One thing the master mage could not deny was the fact that the power that emanated from the shadow man lived up to the legends and stories. The pressure he felt on the Aether was tremendous. It was almost as if the Thread itself was trying to escape from being too close to the man. What kind of fools or demented people would bind such a powerful being to a fragile girl like his Eilis, no matter how brave she was? He needed to find out more. Arn did not need the ancient mage to tell him that they could not easily liberate his protégé. The warning regarding the danger of attemptin such a procedure weight heavily on the Mage's heart. But he knew that perhaps it would be best for his blonde companion to die and be free than continue this life of slavery. She had on many occasions begged and had him promise that he would not allow her to become a tool of destruction. He shook his head, no there had to be a way to ensure not only a successful transfer but also keeping the young girl alive. "Master Tourmaline" The battlemage said respectfully. Not because he wanted to sweet talk the shadow man but because regardless of the current situation of the man causing harm to his charge, Arn truly felt respect for the shadow figure in a professional level, especially if the shadow figure was truly Troumaline. "I will do all I can and all I must to see Eilis free…" "I fear we have no more time to converse…for the now at the least…your presence is required as the Empire is closing in on its victory. Take my advice…take the girl and leave…there will be nothing but death for you and her here in this land." Arn was cut short by the shadow man. He nodded understanding and agreed that this chaotic battle sky was not the place to strategize or figure out how to proceed with liberating Eilis. "Very well, but you have my promise that this will not be our last talk and do not worry, I would not burned Eilis with worrying about the decision I already have made." It would hurt him to keep his lovely charge in the dark about transferring the shadow man unto himself but like Tourmaline had said, she would never allow it. Sometimes, it was more merciful to leave such things unsaid. Through his connection with Eilis he felt the powerful presence slowly fade. The Thread stopped throbbing and instead resumed its even hum almost as if it was taking slow deep breaths after being frightened. Regaining his senses, the din of battle was deafening. The mage even had to shake his head to shake of the shock. He felt the body of Eilis go a little limp. It made sense as the pressure that Troumaline had placed on not only her Thread but her body must have exhausted her. When she came to, her screaming reaction was understandable. Arn leaned in close as she spoke directly into her ear. "Eilis, Eilis, its ok. You are safe. We need to get out of here." The mage helped her sit back down and tried not to touch her open wounds. "WE need to get you healed up. I know you are probably weak but are you able to draw power from me to heal yourself." He looked around not only to identify any threats but looking for specific people. "Where the hell is Tobi and Tryhallan…" he muttered under his breath as he prodded this mount towards the part of the sky that looked like it had the least amount of fighting on it.</s>
<\|description\|>Venray Family. Lord Uilles Venray Lord Pharlan Auregin Venray Lady Leandra Hendreshy Venray</s> <\|message\|>Eilis Meanwhile Tyrhallan was flying up front, sticking to the clouds, to try and stay out of sight, but this did not mean their path was an easy one. Trying to avoid the chaotic winds created by the mages and the lightning called upon and weaponized meant they were literally in the line of fire. As they reached the frontlines Eilis couldn't stop from looking horrified at the scene below her. She wasn't sure where the sky began and the ground stopped, the forces collided in so many different ways that it was dizzying to behold. Dragonfighters chased Empire soldiers on strange contraptions, artillery was blasted at one another, literally carving their own path in both vessel and earth. Eilis looked at back at Arn with concern, knowing his friends were probably down there grabbing hold of his arm for a moment. She wanted to say so many things, to apologize for being the reason he wasn't with those he cared about, those he had fought with to protect his home. But she didn't get the opportunity as another blast of lightning cut off their path forcing Umbra to fly lower, catching the attention of a couple of Imperial soldiers. They send their flying machines up after them, thinking them soldiers running from the battlefield. Tyrhallan's eyes had scanned the battlefield seeing the clear struggle the Hearthguard had and cursed himself for not being able to be of any help. The lightning was making their path forward even more difficult, but still they had to try, they had to…wait. Tyrhallan's eyes had been drawn to a familiar form on the battlefield. "Uncle?" He had uttered aloud, before the humming of engines and shouts of Imperial soldiers came from behind them. Shit, they had been spotted. Turning Viscera around, he shouted to Arn. "Fly ahead, I'll deal with them! Take care of her!" As he flew past Umbra and towards the Imperial soldiers. He deftly made Viscera avoid their weapons, allowing the creature to loop and roll over and past them, this allowed Tyrhallan to draw his weapon and unleash his clasps. Dropping in and making short work of the first two before two more showed up, ramming the contraption to shake Tyrhallan off. One was taken out by Viscera coming up from behind it and slamming its own weight against it. It also allowed Tyrhallan to jump back onto the Wyrm as it allowed the winds to carry it upwards and away from the other, disappearing in the clouds so the other had to give chase.</s> <\|message\|>Arn Thobi was surprised at all the clamor regarding one single person when the Elder Venray arrived to the squadron. The man seemed not only old but injured. Yet, the way that people were celebrating, you would think that they had won the war. As cheers and shouts went up, he recognized the name, Venray. If he remembered correctly, the silver haired Knight Captain that had questioned him about Master Arn was also name Venray. If these two were kin, it would make sense. In the young mage's mind, any sort of morale boost that would rally the troops was a welcome event. So He joined in the cheer hoping that the increase in morale would translate into an increase in fighting power. They needed it. However, unlike the knights, an honorable death by the sword was not the young mage's final goal. He would fight honorable of course but he would be dammed if he were to just throw his life away so easily. Perhaps this one tenant was one of the reasons why knights and mages did not get along. They viewed honor in a different manner. For example, he would have never shouldered a shield against a dreadnought class warship. Thobi's mouth hung open as the ship opened fire on a lone man. Bit of an over kill, the young mage thought. His semblance did not change when his eyes alone could not follow the movements of the Elder Venray as he knocked down the bullet. As if watching a sporting event and not a life or death match, The young mage cheered as the black clad man landed on the brow of the ship. A small figure compared to the lumbering machine. This time the cheers that came from the young mage's mouth were real as the man moved through the upper deck dispatching his opponents. Thobi had always been a fan of knights despite his designation. So seeing one so skilled in action brought back childhood fantasies. His spirits lifted and a small glimmer of hope that the Belisian forces might still have a chance to win entered his heart. As the second figure appeared on the deck, an obvious challenger and champion, the young man could not help but get even more excited. The duel promised to be a fight no one would soon forget. The seconds were tense as the two fighters stood obviously exchanging words. Thobias almost fell off his mount's seat as he tried to lean closer to listen. Yet, the knights formation did not waver, they awaited the signal from their commander. ****************************************************************************** The sounds of the battle resounded throughout the heavens as Arn and his lovely protégé flew astride a Wyrm. His eyes scanned the battlefield not only to avoid any obvious dangers but also to wistfully locate any of his squad mates. Oh how the battle mage yearned to be there with them. There was a part of him that was made for battle. For the longest time, it had been his sole way of expression and his squad the closest thing to family. His eyes saw the flashes of lighting and flashes of artillery. Both producing their own boom. He sighed, hoping that the young fool Thobi was using his brain for once and came out of this alive. Though truth be told, the Master Mage did not know if he would ever see him or Belisio again. He cast a glance in front of him to their silver haired benefactor. Tyrhallan was more than likely suffering the same withdrawal. The closer the trio got to the front lines, the harder it was to avoid pockets of fighting and artillery fire. The surface to air bombardment may not be doing much damage to the big ships of the Viemese but they would be devastating to the riders. Eilis must have sensed Arn's misgivings for she grabbed his arm. The Master Mage was recalled from his surveying of the battles in hopes of catching a glimpse of his squad mates. He looked at her concerned face and offered her a reassuring and tender smile. He leaned in close to her ear and whispered loud enough to hear. "I am fine Eilis. My men know what to do and how to survive. You are my mission now. One I am glad to take." His other hand went across her small waist to pat her on the hand that was on his forearm. A wave of heat extending towards her to stave off any coldness travelling in the stratos might cause and to stave off shock. Suddenly, the battle came to them. Whether they had been spotted or happened upon by chance. The small group was now a target of the Imperial fighters. Trained and efficient as the mount they rode was, the air was more the Knight Captains territory. A field to which Venray took to gladly. "Fly ahead, I'll deal with them! Take care of her!" Arn nodded. He completely agreed with the lord that his priority was Eilis and the mission. He gave the knight a good luck sign and prodded their Wyrm onward. Umbra did as was asked and with a screech and mighty flap of its wings, the creature gathered speed leaving behind the Knight Captain and the Imperial patrol. They did not get far when out of the clouds another contingent came rushing out. Arn's eye became murderous. Not only where they blocking their path and putting his charge in danger, but he also wanted to avenge the men and women who had already lost their lives in defense of Belisio. Again he leaned forward and called out to Eilis. "Take the rains, keep the Wyrm straight." Using the strength of his legs he attempted to stand up. His eyes began to glow and a magic user like his protégé was sure to feel the manipulation of the Aether. Digging into the Thread, Arn utilized the already heavily charged skies. Thankfully, the Imperial patrol that came at them had more than enough metal to attract the arc of lighting that streaked from his hands towards the incoming Viemese. The lighting was hot blue and it them with enough charge to immolate them. Sitting back onto the saddle he took the reigns from Eilis and prodded their mount deeper in the skies past the barricaded of clouds for the open air. He looked back trying to catch a glimpse of Tyrhallan hoping that they would not be seeing the last of him.</s>	<\|message\|>Venray Family. Uilles readied himself as he watched the man in front of him with uncertainty. The fact that he had downed 'Dursa's Poison' was terrifying, it was a horrible potent drug. Though Uilles didn't know what it exactly consisted of he knew of the effects that it had on people. Consuming it gave one ridiculous power and a surge of energy that was highly addictive in nature. A couple of drops would give you the strength and ferocity of an adult Morgrave, it also was said to create a kind of madness and bloodlust. A violent need to kill. And Ravros had downed a whole vial of it. He watched the man in front of him softy snicker and the glint in the man's eyes change, one of unspeakable lust and desire, as the veins in the man's neck and face suddenly became visible as if the 'poison' showed itself travelling through the body as its effects started. From thin and wiry purple lines to those with an angrier shade of Mauve as his eyes darkened. They seemed unfocussed for a moment before they honed in on him and all hell broke loose. Just as Uilles had send ki down to strengthen his legs Ravros suddenly swung his blade recklessly towards him, with such power and speed that he had barely caught it with his own. Sparks had flown as the blades had clashed, with Uilles needing both his arms to hold his own weapon as the thunderous powerful one armed slams came crashing down upon it. Every time the offensive blade came closer to his face and neck and despite the amount of ki he had send down, he felt his own body be forced backwards with every blow. "What's the matter Venray? Where is your might now?" Ravros laughed mockingly as he hammered on easily casting aside a rare attack that Uilles could send back. The General was driving the knight backwards, towards the edge of the ship. He would make an example out of him. The whole of Belisio would see their hero for the weak fool he truly was. Uilles clenched his jaws and gritted his teeth as he desperately tried to hold his ground but realized that he wouldn't be able to keep this up. Feeling the strain on his lame leg sapping away his ki he felt he needed a way out, a way to swing things back into his favour. "Damn you!" Uilles growled forcing all his strength in a dive forward taking Ravros head on pivoting his body and grabbing Ravros's swordarm, bypassing the sword and throwing him half up and over him, allowing himself some necessary time to get back towards the center of the deck. Enraged at this clever move Ravros picked up a second blade from one of the fallen soldiers and charged back at Uilles, who now had twice the danger to watch out for. Though the swings were powerful they were less calculated and Uilles hoped he could use that as his advantage, provided he managed to block the offensive strikes and keep his ground. Ravros meanwhile was seething at the mouth, his teeth coloured in the same dark liquid he had drank but moments ago. "I am going to kill you Venray! I am going to hack you into pieces! Limb from limb!" "You're going to have to hit me first, Ravros!" He goaded replied before having to jump backwards from the swing at his legs, before catching the other aimed at his neck. He glanced the blow off but couldn't hold off the other blade that had moved upwards and dug into his armour at his side. A sharp pain follow as he watched the blade draw back, its metal painted red by his blood. Loud euphoric laughter rang from Ravros's mouth as he watched the knight grasp at his side with one hand, the red liquid dripping onto the deck. "I hope that wasn't a kidney Uilles." He cackled seeing the knight in pain. "Maybe now you realize your future, your life and that of Belisio are numbered and the clock is quickly counting down. Don't worry though, I'll take the pleasure of slaying you before your little kingdom crumbles. I'll make sure your legacy is erased…no one will believe you ever existed." Uilles breathed heavily as he watched Ravros like a hawk. "If I die, I will join my forebears my soul will be in tact unlike yours. I know who I am and unlike you I don't live for vengeance alone." "I will break your wings raptor." Ravros promised. "I will break your spirit and I will make certain your soul will be broken too!" He vowed as he raised both his blades. He would cut the man to shreds. He would finish this once and for all. Morgrave - An oversized Wolverine that will hunt and kill anything that moves. Its hide and fur so thick that simple swords get stuck in it or can't get through it.</s>
<\|description\|>Venray Family. Lord Uilles Venray Lord Pharlan Auregin Venray Lady Leandra Hendreshy Venray</s> <\|message\|>Eilis Tourmaline turned to Arn with purpose and speed. "I fear we have no more time to converse…for the now at the least…your presence is required as the Empire is closing in on its victory. Take my advice…take the girl and leave…there will be nothing but death for you and her here in this land." He started to fade back as Eilis's form within the Aether started to move again. "She'll come to in a minute, there is one more matter we must attend. You cannot tell her of your plans to free her from me, she'll think you a fool and would want to keep you safe. Softhearted creatures that women are, she won't allow you do attempt it if she knows. She's stubborn like that. Just thought I should tell you in case you're one of those idiots that thinks sharing everything with your friends and those you care for is a good thing." The being's tone dripped with sarcasm at that last particular point. "Now I will refrain from stepping in again, so she won't bleed to death, but you'd better keep her alive. There is still a war going on after all and innocent casualties can happen." The being ended as he returned their sights to them as Eilis's glowing stopped. Both were back in the chaos of the warzone, still on the back of their wyrm and just in time to watch the horror unfold in the distance as the palace was blown to pieces. Eilis cried out in horror at the sight wondering what the hell was happening to her as the guns smothered the silence and roared around them.</s> <\|message\|>Alexa Brightwind Tobi was used to free falling from the carrier ship unto their target like any other Shooting Star. However, this was usually done with jet packs or even fast roping. Being manhandled by the silver haired Knight Captain was not something he would call enjoyable. Alexa on the other hand was living the dream. Not only had she been able to fight alongside her hero on a daring and deadly assault but he was not holding her in his arms. The explosions and exploding salvo around them only seeming like spotlights for Tyrhallan's splendor. The young mage uttered a grunt as the trio landed. He stood up shakily and nodded at the praise and apology from the Venray Lord. "We are all warriors Captain Venray. My lads knew what they were doing and the price that is often paid. It just sucks we they could not take more of those sons of bitches down with them. I guess that falls on us" Alexa looked in Tobi's direction and he made a face and shook his head. He might be cut and bruised but he would be dammed if he let the haughty blonde nurse him like some pup. He had his pride and he was also a bit jealous of the way she looked at the Knight Captain but he would not allow himself to acknowledge that. Rolling her eyes at the rude grimace the young mage made the young lass popped tall and spoke clearly with a hint of happiness in her voice. "Captain Venray, we are both still able to perform. Please lead on." It was Tobi's turn to roll his eyes as he mockingly repeated what the girl said below his breath as he made sure he did not have any serious wounds. Other than some burns and flesh wounds he seemed to be ok. As the pair stepped up to stand next to the taller man, they heard his gasping no. Both looked up to see him with question in their eyes and looked back at the scene. At first it seemed just like any other battle that was being fought around them. At least to Tobi who could only make out two armored men going at it. It was not until Alexa echoed Tryhallan's gasp that the young mage figured it must be somebody important. So Important in fact, that Tyrhallan boosted away, the ripple of the Aether almost pushing the young mage away from sheer surprise. "What the fuck?" Tobin said as he caught himself from tripping. "Where the hell is he going?" the young man said trying to follow the blur that was Tryhallan as he jumped the great distance. Alexa was stunned for a second as she realized who the man was. She had studies and read books about Uilles Venray and her father had regaled her with valiant deeds. To see him so pressed in such a manner stole her breath. Add that to the shock of seeing the Knight Captain disappear amid the barrage of weapon's fire and she went white as death. Thankfully, Tobin's spunky attitude came to the rescue. Alexa felt a descent slap on the back of her head as the young mage wacked her to try and get her attention. "Hey love bird, snap out of it. What the hell are we going to do? Master Mage Arn needed us to bring him back. It seems the Knight Captain has a death wish." Alexa pushed the young mage away. "You insolent fool!" She yelled at him anger and concern mixing. "That man over there about to be killed was his uncle Lord Uilles Venray! What else can we do but try to help both of them." She pulled out a small whistle and blew on it. Hopefully her mount had survived the incessant air battle.</s> <\|message\|>Arn Arn returned the stare of the shadow man who had identified himself as Troumaline. The master mage's eyes were devoid of any feeling though in the inside of him he there was confusion. History had recorded the man before him as a hero. There were a myriad of books in the library at the Academy that detailed exploits and even assumptions on the life of this mysterious mage who had appeared out of the shadows to become basically the savior of Ith. The men who stood before him, however, felt nothing like the merciful hero that he had read about and even had courses on. One thing the master mage could not deny was the fact that the power that emanated from the shadow man lived up to the legends and stories. The pressure he felt on the Aether was tremendous. It was almost as if the Thread itself was trying to escape from being too close to the man. What kind of fools or demented people would bind such a powerful being to a fragile girl like his Eilis, no matter how brave she was? He needed to find out more. Arn did not need the ancient mage to tell him that they could not easily liberate his protégé. The warning regarding the danger of attemptin such a procedure weight heavily on the Mage's heart. But he knew that perhaps it would be best for his blonde companion to die and be free than continue this life of slavery. She had on many occasions begged and had him promise that he would not allow her to become a tool of destruction. He shook his head, no there had to be a way to ensure not only a successful transfer but also keeping the young girl alive. "Master Tourmaline" The battlemage said respectfully. Not because he wanted to sweet talk the shadow man but because regardless of the current situation of the man causing harm to his charge, Arn truly felt respect for the shadow figure in a professional level, especially if the shadow figure was truly Troumaline. "I will do all I can and all I must to see Eilis free…" "I fear we have no more time to converse…for the now at the least…your presence is required as the Empire is closing in on its victory. Take my advice…take the girl and leave…there will be nothing but death for you and her here in this land." Arn was cut short by the shadow man. He nodded understanding and agreed that this chaotic battle sky was not the place to strategize or figure out how to proceed with liberating Eilis. "Very well, but you have my promise that this will not be our last talk and do not worry, I would not burned Eilis with worrying about the decision I already have made." It would hurt him to keep his lovely charge in the dark about transferring the shadow man unto himself but like Tourmaline had said, she would never allow it. Sometimes, it was more merciful to leave such things unsaid. Through his connection with Eilis he felt the powerful presence slowly fade. The Thread stopped throbbing and instead resumed its even hum almost as if it was taking slow deep breaths after being frightened. Regaining his senses, the din of battle was deafening. The mage even had to shake his head to shake of the shock. He felt the body of Eilis go a little limp. It made sense as the pressure that Troumaline had placed on not only her Thread but her body must have exhausted her. When she came to, her screaming reaction was understandable. Arn leaned in close as she spoke directly into her ear. "Eilis, Eilis, its ok. You are safe. We need to get out of here." The mage helped her sit back down and tried not to touch her open wounds. "WE need to get you healed up. I know you are probably weak but are you able to draw power from me to heal yourself." He looked around not only to identify any threats but looking for specific people. "Where the hell is Tobi and Tryhallan…" he muttered under his breath as he prodded this mount towards the part of the sky that looked like it had the least amount of fighting on it.</s>	<\|message\|>Venray Family. As Ravros brought his sword up he watched the glare that Uilles cast at him. Hate me. He thought. It is no more then you deserve. A blur flashing in the corner of his eyes for a moment. As Ravros flexed his might to decapitate Uilles, bringing the final swing down he was met instead by the incoming knee of a raging Knight Captain. Ravros stumbled back, trying to regain his footing as the red and white blur became visible as Tyrhallan stood in between his Uncle and Ravros. Both quite surprised to see him. "Tyrhallan? You're supposed to escort…" Uilles started as he regained his composure. "We can argue about this later!" His nephew snapped at him, taking him a back again. Ravros however regarded the two with clear suspicion. They knew one another…that much was obvious and if the white hair wasn't a dead give away their emblems surely were. The Venray crest. "What's this? A son? A little family reunion?" He asked with curiosity allowing the two their moment to catch up, though they didn't bother to answer him. "Tyrhallan go… I order you to go… This doesn't concern you!" Uilles said as he attempted to stand up again. Tyrhallan cast a glance back at his uncle. The man could barely stand anymore and if the blood dripping from his armour was any indication the man was bleeding profusely. "Don't be ridiculous Uncle, you're in no shape anymore to fight him nor to order me about, call it disobedience or mutiny I don't care." Uilles eyes him with a pleading look, but Tyrhallan ignored it. "I am not leaving you here so you can die for the sake of your pride! Not when Belisio still needs you. When I still need you." He cut back. "All my life you trained me to be worthy of following into your footsteps. You told me to protect the innocent and defend the weak. To bring hope when there was none. To do what was right. And right now that means keeping you from making a stupid mistake. My place is here between you and him." Tyrhallan's words earning him a grin from Ravros. "Well, it seems the boy made his decision Venray. You'll just have to patiently wait your turn and in the meantime watch me rip his legs off of him, but rest assured, I will not forget about you. Your comeuppance will come." He promised darkly. Tyrhallan raised himself, taking his position and keeping a careful eye on the man. "Well we'll see about all that…After all you will have to catch me first." He replied with confidence. Ravros chuckled for a moment as he took his place, his large sword swinging about in order to loosen up again. "Bring it boy." Before Uilles could stop him, Tyrhallan dashed at Ravros. He avoided his slow and heavy swings and instead dove underneath it to kick his legs from underneath him. This attempt almost succeeded were it not for the grab Ravros did pulling Tyrhallan down as well, making him smack his head against the metal deck. He quickly spun away and out of range despite the pain and watched Ravros get up as well releasing a tuft of hair he had torn off of Tyrhallan's head in his attempted grab. "Seems you're not so fast after all boy." Tyrhallan narrowed his eyes and shadowstepped again, only to force himself to deflect and parry the blow Ravros send his way, allowing Fatebringer up close and nearly taking off his nose, but causing a proper cut across the cheek. Angered by the new pain and drawn blood Ravros send his other fist flying into Tyrhallan's direction, barely missing his face as he retreated and was forced on the defensive. Ravros's anger fueled the speed of his attacks and even with Tyrhallan's speed even he was having difficulty keeping up with the big guy.</s>
<\|description\|>Venray Family. Lord Uilles Venray Lord Pharlan Auregin Venray Lady Leandra Hendreshy Venray</s> <\|message\|>Arn The young mage and knight mounted her teal colored wyrm when she appeared out of the skies. A lot of training must have gone into the mount to enable it to return to her master even despite the hell that was happening around them. Distress was clearly painted on the mount's face as it reacted to every noise and explosion. Alexa gave it a thankful and comforting pat on the pretty teal scaly neck. "Damn, you got her trained good sweet cheeks. I don't know if I would have come back to get you if I was her." The blonde knight scoffed. "Well I am glad she does not think like you coward. Now come on, there is no time to loose. Captain Venray will need our help." In a practiced and efficient manner, the pretty knight jumped onto the seat. An exasperated look told Tobi that he needed to hurry up. "Alright, geez. Do you even have a plan? Infatuation and recklessness don't tend to hold up against guns and magic you know." He gave her sarcastic look. As soon as he was settled, his arms wrapped maybe way too tight around her midsection, the pair took off from the deck. The wyrm seemed to calm some with the strong, confident hands of Alexa on the reins. Her blue eyes searched the skies for hazards and looked towards the juggernaut of a ship where the two Venray lords were located. From behind her, Tobi asked again into her hear. "Seriously, do you have a plan?" Looking down, the two young soldiers saw the battle unfold under them. However, this was done in burst because they had to evade air to air explosions and the odd attack from a Viemese aboard one of those annoying air craft. Suddenly, Alexa had and idea so she turned to Tobi to be heard. "Mage, are you able to fly one of those?" She pointed to the small craft. "Yeah, I suppose so. and call me Tobi. That is my proper name you know." The young mage sounded not entirely sure despite his words. "Good, we will commandeer one. Neither of them will be happy about this but we are going to rescue them." Tobi rolled his eyes and exhaled exasperated. In his opinion, nobody ever thanked those that saved them against their will but Arn HAD asked them to retrieve Tyrhallan and apparently the silver haired knight would not leave without the older black armored knight. "Fine, but if you have been paying attention, we will only have one chance to do this. If that strong bastard they are fighiting catches us we will be dead meat for sure. Now lets go ahead and find us a ride you crazy girl." In his mind he wondered why the hot girls were always crazy. Soon enough their target came to them. One of the Vieamese single craft had them in their sights. While the wyrm was fast, it was not faster than the craft. However, even though no plan passed between them, the two pre-empted the other. Tobi shot a strong beam of light to blind the driver. A back flip of the teal wyrm and he fell upon the other man utilizing a burst of air to blow the armored enemy at the last second. "Ok blondie, now what?" Just as he asked, the two suddenly saw Tyrhallan on the grasp of the enhanced enemy. "Noooo!" Alexa shouted as she spurred her mount onward. Having a bit of difficulty, due to the unfamiliar controls, Tobi was a few moments behind the pretty Brightblade. "There she goes again…half cocked and all emotion." The young mage said but with an obvious smile on his face. Her reckless behaviour seemed to be alluring. Thankflly to all of them, Arn was not far behind. Through Eilis, he sensed Tyrhallan's life force flicker for a second. Like Alexa, he spurred his mount forward. Fate was bringing all of them together but would it prove to be their end?</s> <\|message\|>Eilis Eilis opened her eyes trying to focus on the specific targets before them. Letting out a shuddering breath she tried to steady her heart and tried to reel in her fear. This whole situation was madness, chaos and terror combined, a scene of ultimate horrific confusing where you simply charged into head first and prayed you would be either given a swift death or passed by by Death's scythe today. She cast a glance behind her at Arn who's gaze had focused as she could feel the build up of Aether through the man. The air crackled around his arms and hands, the energy gathering as it was called forth. She shivered at the aura of sheer power that started the engulf the master mage. Was she looking anything like that when she used her magic? She couldn't help but cast a glance at her hands and the fractured skin and the etched lines that had been carved into her. Maybe one day she would understand why this curse was placed upon her, but for now they all needed to get out of this nightmare. As her eyes focused on Tyrhallan again she took proper hold of the reins again. Giving Arn a quick glance she said. "You can't fight if you have to do two things at the same time that are equally as taxing. I'll guide Umbra, so you'll be able to do whatever you have in mind." She offered, before she sped the wyrm up, intending to join Arn's friend, Tobi. Ravros angrily roared in both pain and frustration, those two were more troublesome than he had first perceived. He always had known the old General, Uilles, had always been a stubborn, annoying and persistent pest, ever since he first met him. His son or nephew or whatever that hellspawn of his was proved to be equally trying. Were it not for the fact that they had cut his arm off Ravros had actually imagined himself placing their heads on spikes to parade through the capital city, not only as a show of dominance and strength, but also to prove to all those that dared oppose the empire that their time was running out. Now however…He wasn't sure the outcome would be in his favour. As he clenched his jaws shut he glared at the two of them. The poison certainly had helped, but to have been crippled to such a degree facing such experienced swordfighters such as the Venrays? It was a death sentence waiting to happen. Not even he would stand a chance… Ravros knew that all too well and it frustrated him beyond reason. Where was his justice? Where was the Karmic retribution that was supposed to come? It seemed the Goddess played cruel tricks on him, giving him a flicker of hope before extinguishing the flame by dropping it in an ice cold bath. So long as he kept trusting in Destiny and Fate, it would spit in his face and laugh at him, well he was done being laughed at. It was time to settle the score and even if it meant he would die in the attempt. But that didn't mean he couldn't bring at least one of them down with him. He eyed Tyrhallan who took his fighting stance once more, switching places with the old General. The bastard was quick as lightning, he already had been a pain when he still had had both arms, but he hadn't been undefeatable. In fact, he believed that it was perhaps even in his favour, considering the boy didn't know him. Saying a little prayer in the his mind he mirrored Tyrhallan's fighting stance, it was said that it was the worst kind of pain one could inflict on a parent was it not?</s>	<\|message\|>Venray Family. The two sisters overlooked the chaos and madness of the battlefield. Scylla sighed in dismay at the mess they were forced in. "Of all the people in the world I think I 'hate' her the most." She grumbled to her sister who snorted at it. "Only because she proved a difficult catch and the fact that she stands in the way of 'our freedom'. I remember not too long ago you and I both agreed she is a necessary evil regardless of the events that will unfold." "You so easily say such things sister, but you forget that I have to do all the heavy lifting here." Another sigh followed. "Whatever your feelings were for him let it go. You of all people should know not to form attachments, he took advantage of you it was as simple as that and like all those who went before him he too will get his comeuppance." Scylla remained silent glaring at her sister before relenting. "You're right. You're always right." Her eyes scanned over the many peoples fighting and dying. "You'd think they'd be easy to spot…" Scylla grumbled before a red flash pulled her immediate attention. The silvery hair...it was a Venray! And that meant that the girl would be nearby too…" Her eyes searched the surrounding area before stifling a cry of joy. There they were, the human torch and their slippery little target. Perhaps things would finally go according to plan after all. She sighed in contentment making her sister aware of her find by staring ahead at it smirking madly. Her sister noticed soon enough. "So that is her? She is somehow smaller then I imagined her…and the man with her would be that fire-mage you warned me about. Well, it seems they are headed for that frigate." A silence fell as she clearly noticed the others closing in. "This changes things…they…are still alive…" Scylla turned to her sister curiously. "Vilca, what do you mean?" The sister turned and pointed out the young blonde knight and the young man not too far behind her. "I saw them die in the blast… as well as the two other knights currently fighting…" She said pointing at the individuals. "They're not supposed to be alive…" "Maybe your visions were wrong." Scylla commented with a slight tease. "Sister! This is no laughing matter! This means that things have changed…something has happened that has influenced all of this." Vilca started pondering trying to visualize the visions she had seen. She had been quite certain... "Maybe the Great Mother finally took pity on her poor creations...and decided to lend a hand." Scylla blasphemed earning her a glare from her sister, but who remained quiet for the moment. Rolling her eyes Scylla then turned to the next obvious conclusion. "Do you think it is the fault of Tourmaline? That he's overcome her soul and taken over?" "I don't know, but it is most troubling indeed. If he has then it might spell trouble for us...the man after all had been able to outmanuever the Tahjai and aside from them no one really knew what he was up to." "Didn't your scrying give you any answers on the matter?" Vilca shook her head slightly, making the veil move. "Just because I can see visions doesn't mean I see them in the correct order or even related to one another. It is like being fed images. In order to understand them you must be able to connect them to certain events. Even the slightest of changes and make the greatest of difference and visions don't always come true...as people are able to change on a whim... Regardless, we must focus on the girl. Her capture now is of the utmost importance." Her sister's voice had an edge of ...desperation? to it. It gave Scylla pause and caused a slight shiver to run accross her back. "What do you suggest we do?" "I suggest we go in and snatch her at the most opportune moment. They clearly seem intend to aid one another…so let them…let them have their little victory, it will put them at ease and will be short lived when we swoop in and snatch her. Get in and get out. That's all we really have to do here." There the determination was back again...maybe she had imagined it. Scylla nodded, as she looked at the figures not able to suppress the sting of concern for one of them in particular. If he was supposed to have died...would that mean that it still was possible?</s>
<\|description\|>Madalyn Ellie Rivers Age: 21 years as a human, but she stopped aging a bit ago Gender: Female Species: Werewolf Traits: Bubbly, brutally honest, loud, charismatic, open-minded (but she only lets people see the happy and not the negative), creative Appearance: Shoulder-length thick blonde hair, golden-brown ears that are normally held perched on top of her head, she's 5'5", so a bit on the short side. She's naturally a slight tan. She has a shaggy golden-brown tail, and because of that she has to get her clothes specially tailored, or she fixes them herself. She has wide, innocent-looking dark blue eyes that invite others to gravitate towards her. She's not skinny, per se, but on the normal size scale for someone her height. Other appearance: When she shifts into wolf form, she has the same golden-brown fur as her tail and ears suggest, with a tint of red in the moon/sunlight. Her eyes are more slitted, and they hold an abnormal intelligence in them. Fears: Not being good enough, being a failure to those around her, being abandoned, accidentally hurting people, and her wolf side, (Because she gets more wild, less trustworthy, and has a different state of mind.) flowers with thorns. Extra info: In her wolf form, she obviously isn't the same. If you get in her way, she will hurt you. She will barely recognize you, and if she does, she only did because you're close to her.</s> <\|message\|>Madalyn Ellie Rivers This room is horrible… what have I done wrong? Madalyn stares at the faces looking back at her. Disgust and disappointment are the two emotions that are clearly written all over them. She hates it. She knows that she's failed them; she doesn't know how, she just knows she did. And now they'll leave her alone, because no one ever wants to stay. Sure enough, slowly, they disappear. And Madalyn is left standing alone in a quiet room, a twisting feeling in her heart, arms dangling limply by her side.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees Once Julius overcame the drowsiness that hindered his thoughts to think, his eyes surveyed the room that reeked of human blood. The scent stung his nostrils, not because he wasn't fond of the blood, but because it seemed like it had been painted across the wall for more than just two hours. How long had he been knocked out? And who thought of transporting him here. Julius' lips curl into a frown from irritation and he fixes the cuffs of his shirt while a whisper of feigned care breaks through, "What undignified place have we been brought to? Was it one of you that screwed over the rest of us? Because it seems, as though, the journey back will be painful."</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Razulkra opened his eyes slowly, his head felt numb and tingly. Blinking and rubbing his eyes, he stared around, gazing at all those ugly abominations. There was giant heart that said LOVE in huge letters on one wall, and next to it was tree, a very odd tree that spelled out an evil disgusting word that made Razulkra tremble with fear.....FRIENDSHIP. "BBbbuuuuuuaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!!!" The little gnome screamed as he ran around the room, screaming bloody murder. He looked around the room for anything that could hide him from these monstrous creatures. Razulkra hid himself under waste basket, repeating not so nice words, that kept getting louder and louder. "F#@$ this you sorry sh#$@ ,you bas$@#%@ can go f#@$ monkey #$@% and eat s$#@%"</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves Umbril looks around and continues to try figuring out how he could have possibly allowed himself to just appear here. TLDR: Lich suddenly finds himself in a room without any idea why or how. Him:</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves Umbril shrugged "Hmgh," and grumpily made his way over to a door, blasting it open with magic "Once I find out who did this I'll make them pay." he grumbled walking into the room.</s> <\|message\|>Price For Price And Julius, a door appeared on a wall, but one problem, they would have the cross human blood covered floor to get to it. Price looked up while covering his nose with his sleeve at what just appeared. A door? That's great, but how to get to it? He looked around and surprisingly found someone else in the room. Maybe that dude can get to the door without issues. --- A pot hole (the thing you would normally see on streets) appeared at the bottom of Ky's high block. A ladder also appeared on said block. He must climb down the ladder to the hole, but is Ky too scared? Ky looked at the two things that appeared below him, but was still standing still on the block. Lilly, however just flew down to the hole. Show off. He mentally said to Lilly.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves Umbril stepped into the room from the burning remains of the door and looked around to find himself in a room filled with blood, he was amused as he noted the vampire (@Letmehaveone2) and a devil (@alexakeehl) in the midst of figuring out this apparent puzzle, it put his own lair to shame. However he addressed the two rather aggressively. "You two!" he shouted sounding rather impatient "Explain how you got here immediately." he demanded quite vehemently.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees Julius's brow irked with disgust at the sight of blood pooling in front of him and the vampire besides him. Before the sanguine liquid could kiss upon the soles of his shoes, he took several steps back. He lifted his head to another annoying voice, one that seemed too demanding to for Julius to respond kindly to. "I will ask you the same, because perhaps it was your foolishness that has us trapped here." Julius looked between Price and Umbril, cocking his head to the side as fingers nervously messed with the cuffs of his sharp cut suit. "Anyhow, it is useless to question one another when none have an answer. Instead, let's brain a way to bust down the door across this pool."</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves "My foolishness? How dare a knave such as you speak down to someone who is currently the only one more capable than you at assisting you in this room..." Umbril ranted about how he was in a position and respect this and superior that. "...And that is why you should mind your forked tongue you belligerent imp!" he finished with a huff.</s> <\|message\|>Price Price just avoided getting into any conflict as he was far too busy keeping it under control. Then again, these two probably don't know about that side of him yet.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees "Have you got any better idea than a bone to pick with me?" Julius sneered at the skeleton-looking creature, a brow jumping at the following words and insults thrown. Julius only squinted when Umbril mentioned something of a forked tongue, and instinctively the devil ran the tip of his tongue along the inner side of his upper lip. It was perfectly a sharp point! "Then because you are no fool, and self absorbed enough to mask yourself from the unfortunate reality, would you like to race me to the door?" Julius didn't spare a look at Price either, "What about you? Do you plan to camp here?"</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves Umbril held out his hand and a staff appeared in his skeletal grip, an aura of unmistakably powerful necrotic energy surged throughout the room as he slowly made his way over to the door while skeletons rose from the pools of blood and clawed up to follow the lich. As he reached the precipice of the entryway Umbril turned to look at the devil and the vampire "Your wasting my time," he said grumpily as he tapped his staff against the floor, and about six skeletons stood idly awaiting some kind of command "Either follow me or don't, either way I don't care but I think you'd benefit from my company." he looked between them and waited.</s> <\|message\|>Connie Connie woke up in a maze-like corridor. A shed carapace of a giant parasitic bug laid in front of her. She had to look for an exit before the bug could find Connie and use her body as the host of its spawns.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees "I envisioned a longer meeting for the two of us, as there are questions which leave me curious. However, this must be the dream of your fantasies." Julius spoke to the vampire, stepping towards the surface of blood. It wasn't at all difficult for him, as teleportation was a luxury to him. But for him to be relying on his powers rather than his base self was an alarm for Julius. This place had more Hell than it really led on. "I find it an unfair deal. While it is company, there's no valuable quality in it." Julius chased Umbril's words with his own, surveying the creature once more that stood in expensive robes. A competitive tension growing before Julius disappears. It looked like he had glitched himself over the pool, standing on the step just underneath the door across from them. "Because I'm generous, I'll wait to see how you overcome this." Rather, Julius was hoping he'd get to see one of them slip and fall flat on their face.</s> <\|message\|>Price Price closed his eyes in hopefulness that he wouldn't turn as he waded his way across. I'll have to do my best like I always do. He kept wading and would only stop if he felt his demon reacting to the human blood. --- With the help of Lilly encouraging him, Ky turned his back to the ladder and made his way down the hole despite how fearful he was of heights. --- Jyden still had to wait for something to happen because the fact that his Dark Side only came out at midnight and it was day at the moment.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Razu peaked out from underneath the waste basket,the room hadn't changed. He quickly pulled the can back down safely with him inside. Suddenly the upside down waste basket began to move inch by inch. A few minutes later, clang . Razu had struck the wall, then the basket began moving again, but along the wall, as the evil little gnome searched the floor for a crack.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves Umbril cackled mockingly "The feeling is mutual hellspawn," then the lich gazed to the vampire who seemed to be struggling against something "Take your time and focus." the lich said in passing as he motioned causing the skeletons to clatter along behind him as he threw the door open purposely not waiting for the devil. "Umbril is my name by the way," he paused looking behind between the two "Now introduce yourselves." he told them.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara CLANG a much louder bang this time, and when he smacked into the large plastic Friendship tree, it knocked the waist basket free of him. Razu stared up at the smiling friendly tree and screamed as loud as he could "HELP ME HELP ME, SOMEONE PLEASE SAVE ME FROM THIS GOODNESS!!!" "LET ME DIE ALREADY!!!" Razulkra flipped ,flopped, rolled, and rolled, as if possessed or on fire.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees The door barely grazed by the sharp point of Julius' nose, causing him to scrunch it up a little. It was one Hell of a dusty door to say the least, heavy one too in fact. Julius' eyes curiously surveyed the skeletons skittering behind Umbril, stepping to stand in the middle of the doorway before looking over the shoulder to catch a glimpse of Price still struggling over the blood. "I'll allow you ten seconds to sprint across before I close the door. It's not my first interest to save either of you." Julius called out to Price, also taking another jab at Umbril since he almost broke Julius' nose by opening the door. "I figured your know-it-all personality would have you accustomed to my name. Rees, Julius Rees." There was a hesitant pause in between his words, since the memories of being taunted with Julie and Juliet swarmed his mind. "10, 9," Julius clears his throat.</s> <\|message\|>Price Once the door was opened, Price made his away across the floor and was about to dash right out of that door.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara "Yipppppppe! A crack, I found a crack, woooohoooo" exclaimed Razulkra. He pushed his foot thru, and then his other one, and then he got stuck midway thru the floor. "Son of a %$!!!" "HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!" "SOMEOME ANYONE HELP ME, I'M STUCK!" yelled the little fat gnome.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees As Price dashed through the door, Julius closed it behind the trio and immediately grabbed the back of Price's collar and tried to avoid grabbing his long hair. "You're staying with us. In fact, if we are faced with a monster, I plan to sacrifice you first. There is no telling when you'll go berserk and-" Before he could even finish, Julius glanced down to something itching his ankle. Upon realizing it was a mouse, the Devil turned as pale as printer paper. "M...M...Mou..."</s> <\|message\|>Price "I was trying to get away from the blood for a reason." Price tried to say in the nicest way possible. --- Ky tried to open the pot hole, but couldn't. He then tried zapping it open which flew the lid off to the side. He looked down the hole. It was dark down there. Did he have to jump down it? He hoped not.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees Unable to speak from the mere shock from the grand appearance of a mouse, Julius released Price's collar. He aggressively pointed at the ground without a word, hoping Price would understand what he's trying to hint at.</s>	<\|message\|>Madalyn Ellie Rivers Madalyn recovers from her wave of desperation with the optimistic thought that she will never get out of this horribly… silent room without looking for a way out. There's flower vines covering the walls, strangely, and when Madalyn tries to move one of the thicker ones out of the way, she jerks her hand back, hissing an inward breath. It seemed to have stung her, and when she looks at her fingertips, beads of blood are welling up on them.</s>
<\|description\|>Julius Rees Age: 25 human years, physically he ages a year once a century passes but as a recently turned devil, he definitely doesn't know the exact date. Gender: Male Species: Devil Traits: Guileful, honest, impatient, malevolent, sophisticated, reserved i.pinimg.com/564x/e9/b6/fe/e9b6fe7eeb… Fears: Failure, rodents (especially rats), deep ocean waters Extra info: Powers are limited to wind control and teleportation. He's the type of guy that doesn't trust cheese under $50, but in the same breath has the audacity to wash his hands with his sleeves down.</s> <\|message\|>Reginald "Reggie" Morrissey Cloud Jumping out of the coffin and looking around the room, "Where am I? Why was I trapped inside of a coffin?" He asked the strangers. He thought that they would have the answers to his question.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees Julius resisted the urge to pitch Razulkara like a baseball into the abyss of darkness in front. The Devil instead took a swift turn on the heel hearing numerous voices coming together mixed with Umbril's and another. He began to feel the presence of multiple people, creatures, lurking somewhere beyond the suffocating walls of this haunting place. "You are not blind, the darkness is inconvenient." Julius whispers with feigned concern, and approaches the place where they'd been before to find that another person had joined the chaotic trio. Julius shook Razulkara a little, mostly like a maraca, to get him to stop crying.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Razulkra's head wobbled back and fro like a bobble head, when his master shook him. His cheeks got puffy as he startled to hurle, the color of his face went from rosy pink to bright green, as he couldn't hold it anymore, and spewed green projectile vomit in Umbril's direction. Cloud</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees Julius had witnessed numerous humiliating encounters beforehand, though this encounter was one particular kind of embarrassing. The Devil had to stifle a smile of mirth, clearing his throat instead in attempt to regain his composure. He'd be sure to give Razulkara a treat for this, after they managed to escape from here. "How unfortunate, indeed. To reek of that, and look like it too."</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves Silence passed, it was a tense silence and slowly the lich turned and his demeanor emanated a silent rage. "I..." the skeletons marched towards the doors and stood guard effectively blocking escape "Will..." his staff appeared and the vomit was magically erased, however his gaze was set on the gnome and that petulant boy who had the audacity to speak "Teach you both a lesson that you'll soon never forget, you insolent churls will never speak as though your better than I am because you aren't!" he pointed his staff at the gnome. "Maybe you should apologize," his eyes were glowing red with anger and the point of his staff hummed louder and louder as a ball of black energy formed at it's tip "I hate you less than the imp but I'll kill you if you do anything like that to me again...APOLOGIZE NOW!" he shouted getting more angry.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Razulkra pointed his thumb at Julius and shook his head from side to side. "It wasn't my fault, jiggling makes me queasy, I'm so sorry....sticks his tongue out at the lich , please forgive me" The little Gnome scurried up higher around behind the back of Julius head. He peaked out and stuck his thumb on his nose and wiggled his fingers at the lich.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @Kenshi@Eviledd1984@Letmehaveone2 Suddenly the lich lowered his staff and sighed in exasperation at the situation "You know what? This is a waste of my time, your all a waste of my time." he begins to walk towards one of the exits.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara "Oh yeah, well don't let the door hit ya where your master split ya!" shouted the ballsy Gnome as he jumped up and down on the Devil's shoulders, shaking his fist at the lich.</s> <\|message\|>Stephen Parker Madalyn pulls on one of the thinner vines hard, and when it finally goes, she falls on the floor. She screams and shoves the vine off of her, a little whisper in her head telling her that its come to life, and now it'll wrap around her whole body, including her throat. She scrambles away from the innocent little green string-like line on the pale white floor. Her scream's echoes are finally gone, and she's reminded that she's completely alone. … Stephen darts behind the curtain as quickly as possible, but also trying to be slower. His throat feels swollen. He feels like he can't breathe, and he's not quite sure if he can or not. He sits down with his eyes scrunched tight against some wood holding the stage up. It doesn't creak at all, thankfully. Even in his state of panic, the part of Stephen's mind that constantly inquires of things wonders about when the stage was made.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves "You have yet to annoy me, come! We shall escape, without these ninny's."</s> <\|message\|>Price Narration: Little did these challengers know that if they could make it out of the scary rooms, they might find a place that has something they like or love somewhere. --- Price has yet to make it out of this place and the human blood smell was getting worse for him, he was even backed into a corner. He had no idea if anyone one here was a human, but if he does and ends up just drinking the blood from the room, at least he wouldn't be hurting a human in there, right? --- Ky was on in a garden on a cliff and who in their right mind would jump off a cliff? Ky sure wasn't gonna do that! Instead, he decided to look for another way down. No ladders or holes this time though.</s> <\|message\|>Reginald "Reggie" Morrissey Cloud "Where are we going? Do you know why and where the hell we are?." The zombie teenager followed behind the lich. He was still confused of why and how he got to his hellish place.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves "The only thing I know is that each of these rooms specifically held a fear for someone, I'm unaffected as my fears are simply superficial and mental." the lich explained as he made his way to a door they had yet to open "We simply appeared in this place, however I must admit I appreciate the layout. I'll use it in my lair once I leave this cursed place and kill whomever did this." Umbril said reaching another doorway.</s> <\|message\|>Reginald "Reggie" Morrissey Cloud Reggie glared at the lich, he wondered how someone could torture and kill other people. "Good for you, so how do we get out of here?" The zombie said following behind the lich. He looked at the many doorways that the two had to go through. "I wonder if this is hell." He thought out loud scanning the area of how they get out of here.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves "If my theory is correct we must face all of our fears," he said walking through the doorway before them, and the seven skeletons filed in behind them "Then we'll see what happens." he said.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees Umbril had a funky sense of humor for sure, and Julius dutifully noted it down. As the gnome adjusted his seating upon the Devil's shoulder, he flinched but realized that Razulkara was sitting as if he was gorilla glued to his coat. "For someone confident about finding the exit, you seem surprised." Julius called out after Umbril, having followed behind the skeleton leader.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Razulkra whispered in Julius ear, "That lich is a ding dong, you should have seen me , I was gonna kick his ass, but he was like, please don't hurt me Raz. "</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @Kenshi Umbril didn't turn, however the skeletons stood in the doorway and blocked Julius from following him "Find your own way out, your a clever little imp." he stood still betraying no movement as he listened to them converse.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Cloud @alexakeehl Razulkra began hopping up and down on Julius shoulder again, "He wants a fight boss, let me at 'em. " Raz raises his little fists up in a boxer pose, " I'll clobber 'em!"</s> <\|message\|>Reginald "Reggie" Morrissey Cloud "Oh great, what the hell did I do to deserve this." Reg shook his head in dismay. "I'm not really sure if I could face my fear, there a lot of fear's I would rather not face." He said following behind the lich. "So are we all dead and getting some sort of punishment, because of past sins?" He asked thinking about the reasons why he would be here.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees "Now, gnome, why would you waste your time on a person who creaks more than a cabin's rusty door. How amusing to find out he is unaware of moisturizing too. I do hear that Olay is good for cracks." Julius responds towards Umbril, then glances at Razulkara on his shoulder. He furrowed his brows, looking at his boxer pose up and done before returning his gaze towards Umbril. "I don't see your name carved in the exit, let me pass." Open says-a-me.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @alexakeehl@Kenshi "One moment," Umbril lifted a finger silencing the zombie "Fine," he snapped at the devil "You really are a pathetic if you so badly need to come with us, you really are the lowest kind of devil. I bet you were cast from your home plane because your people were ashamed to harbor you..." he cackled letting the skeletons move out of the way.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves "If we were dead I wouldn't be able to use necromancy." Umbril said simply without further explanation.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees "Badly? Well, someone has to babysit you don't they? My people were indeed ashamed, but I was more. Since I have to share the same air as wastes of spaces." Julius responded, not sparing Umbril a glance as he lowered his head to look at the silver watch hanging from the pocket.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Raz shook his fist at the zombie and Lich, "Yeah bonehead, you think the King of Hell is afraid of a peon like you?" " Your lucky , he is holding me back or I'd come over there and knock yer block off." Cloud</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @Kenshi@alexakeehl The lich paused for a second and he was about to let it all go before the gnome opened it's mouth, then his grip on his staff tightened making a creaky noise as he shook with rage, he had never been spoken to in such a brazen manner and never by an insignificant creature like a gnome. "Is that right Mr. Gnome? Do you know what's holding me back? Take a good look, because nothing nothing is holding me back at this moment..." slowly he walked closer to the devil and the cowardly gnome as he had the skeletons flank the two "You taunt, you speak to me with no respect and you make me look like a fool..." the lich shook his head slightly "I am done with letting you getaway with this behavior, now I will ask you once more: find your own way out and leave now..." he stepped in closer "I won't ask again." he stood stark still awaiting their responses, his rage was almost palpable.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Razulkra gulped hard,and did his best not to piss his pants, and not to wet all over Julius shoulder. He was scared a little, but the devil had his back, nothing would happen to him. Not to mention, looking good in front of the devil, could land Raz a special place in order. "Bite my ass, socket face!" said Raz as he turned, pulling his pants down and mooned the lich. Razulkra swung his naked butt cheeks from side to side, as if twerking.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees "I have come across many creatures in Hell, spoken and fought besides them. But never... Have I witnessed such ferocious, desperate bark," Julius whispered with feigned excitement, eyes surveying Umbril's brooding gaze burning into him. "With no bite. Spare me your empty promises of wrath, even the angels' hums have entertained me far more." The Devil moved a step to the side, turning his head once Razulkara swung his bare ass around. "You are the reason why shampoos have instructions."</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @Kenshi As the devil stepped aside one of the skeletons punched Julius in the gut with unnatural force, while the others converged upon Julius to rip the gnome from the devil's back bringing him to Umbril. "No bite? I'm a lich, you underestimated a lich! Fools, now Mr. Gnome you have nobody to hide behind and at my mercy!" he laughed hard before getting close to the gnome and grasping his wrist, and black tendils of necrotic energy enveloped his tiny body "And I am not merciful." he cackled.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Cloud The Gnome squealed and tried to wiggle away from those dark tendrils, but found that he was ensnared. "Noooooo, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, let me go!" Raz reached his hands to the devil, "Please master, don't let him kill me."</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Damn tablet</s>	<\|message\|>Julius Rees The punch lasted more in impact than Julius would have thought, making him double over for quite a bit. A desperate hand clenched the side as saliva pooled into the mouth. He expected no less from a skeleton, especially an irascible one. Before he was touched again, Julius leapt into the air and waved two fingers in the shape of half an 's' to pin himself there. The Devil didn't have the power to levitate, rather, he had taken afloat by wind and it was evident from the way his hair was waving with the breeze snaking through. "I expected nothing less from a creature with the intelligence of a wet cabbage. Did I sting you, a bit?" Julius sneered, almost. "Squeezing him until his eyes go pop won't do much to calm that fury, let the gnome go. I thought you and your muppets would find me as their opponent. Nonetheless, You really rather spend our time wrestling here? Shall we not be on our own ways before the exits close?"</s>
<\|description\|>Julius Rees Age: 25 human years, physically he ages a year once a century passes but as a recently turned devil, he definitely doesn't know the exact date. Gender: Male Species: Devil Traits: Guileful, honest, impatient, malevolent, sophisticated, reserved i.pinimg.com/564x/e9/b6/fe/e9b6fe7eeb… Fears: Failure, rodents (especially rats), deep ocean waters Extra info: Powers are limited to wind control and teleportation. He's the type of guy that doesn't trust cheese under $50, but in the same breath has the audacity to wash his hands with his sleeves down.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves "You have yet to annoy me, come! We shall escape, without these ninny's."</s> <\|message\|>Price Narration: Little did these challengers know that if they could make it out of the scary rooms, they might find a place that has something they like or love somewhere. --- Price has yet to make it out of this place and the human blood smell was getting worse for him, he was even backed into a corner. He had no idea if anyone one here was a human, but if he does and ends up just drinking the blood from the room, at least he wouldn't be hurting a human in there, right? --- Ky was on in a garden on a cliff and who in their right mind would jump off a cliff? Ky sure wasn't gonna do that! Instead, he decided to look for another way down. No ladders or holes this time though.</s> <\|message\|>Reginald "Reggie" Morrissey Cloud "Where are we going? Do you know why and where the hell we are?." The zombie teenager followed behind the lich. He was still confused of why and how he got to his hellish place.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves "The only thing I know is that each of these rooms specifically held a fear for someone, I'm unaffected as my fears are simply superficial and mental." the lich explained as he made his way to a door they had yet to open "We simply appeared in this place, however I must admit I appreciate the layout. I'll use it in my lair once I leave this cursed place and kill whomever did this." Umbril said reaching another doorway.</s> <\|message\|>Reginald "Reggie" Morrissey Cloud Reggie glared at the lich, he wondered how someone could torture and kill other people. "Good for you, so how do we get out of here?" The zombie said following behind the lich. He looked at the many doorways that the two had to go through. "I wonder if this is hell." He thought out loud scanning the area of how they get out of here.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves "If my theory is correct we must face all of our fears," he said walking through the doorway before them, and the seven skeletons filed in behind them "Then we'll see what happens." he said.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees Umbril had a funky sense of humor for sure, and Julius dutifully noted it down. As the gnome adjusted his seating upon the Devil's shoulder, he flinched but realized that Razulkara was sitting as if he was gorilla glued to his coat. "For someone confident about finding the exit, you seem surprised." Julius called out after Umbril, having followed behind the skeleton leader.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Razulkra whispered in Julius ear, "That lich is a ding dong, you should have seen me , I was gonna kick his ass, but he was like, please don't hurt me Raz. "</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @Kenshi Umbril didn't turn, however the skeletons stood in the doorway and blocked Julius from following him "Find your own way out, your a clever little imp." he stood still betraying no movement as he listened to them converse.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Cloud @alexakeehl Razulkra began hopping up and down on Julius shoulder again, "He wants a fight boss, let me at 'em. " Raz raises his little fists up in a boxer pose, " I'll clobber 'em!"</s> <\|message\|>Reginald "Reggie" Morrissey Cloud "Oh great, what the hell did I do to deserve this." Reg shook his head in dismay. "I'm not really sure if I could face my fear, there a lot of fear's I would rather not face." He said following behind the lich. "So are we all dead and getting some sort of punishment, because of past sins?" He asked thinking about the reasons why he would be here.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees "Now, gnome, why would you waste your time on a person who creaks more than a cabin's rusty door. How amusing to find out he is unaware of moisturizing too. I do hear that Olay is good for cracks." Julius responds towards Umbril, then glances at Razulkara on his shoulder. He furrowed his brows, looking at his boxer pose up and done before returning his gaze towards Umbril. "I don't see your name carved in the exit, let me pass." Open says-a-me.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @alexakeehl@Kenshi "One moment," Umbril lifted a finger silencing the zombie "Fine," he snapped at the devil "You really are a pathetic if you so badly need to come with us, you really are the lowest kind of devil. I bet you were cast from your home plane because your people were ashamed to harbor you..." he cackled letting the skeletons move out of the way.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves "If we were dead I wouldn't be able to use necromancy." Umbril said simply without further explanation.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees "Badly? Well, someone has to babysit you don't they? My people were indeed ashamed, but I was more. Since I have to share the same air as wastes of spaces." Julius responded, not sparing Umbril a glance as he lowered his head to look at the silver watch hanging from the pocket.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Raz shook his fist at the zombie and Lich, "Yeah bonehead, you think the King of Hell is afraid of a peon like you?" " Your lucky , he is holding me back or I'd come over there and knock yer block off." Cloud</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @Kenshi@alexakeehl The lich paused for a second and he was about to let it all go before the gnome opened it's mouth, then his grip on his staff tightened making a creaky noise as he shook with rage, he had never been spoken to in such a brazen manner and never by an insignificant creature like a gnome. "Is that right Mr. Gnome? Do you know what's holding me back? Take a good look, because nothing nothing is holding me back at this moment..." slowly he walked closer to the devil and the cowardly gnome as he had the skeletons flank the two "You taunt, you speak to me with no respect and you make me look like a fool..." the lich shook his head slightly "I am done with letting you getaway with this behavior, now I will ask you once more: find your own way out and leave now..." he stepped in closer "I won't ask again." he stood stark still awaiting their responses, his rage was almost palpable.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Razulkra gulped hard,and did his best not to piss his pants, and not to wet all over Julius shoulder. He was scared a little, but the devil had his back, nothing would happen to him. Not to mention, looking good in front of the devil, could land Raz a special place in order. "Bite my ass, socket face!" said Raz as he turned, pulling his pants down and mooned the lich. Razulkra swung his naked butt cheeks from side to side, as if twerking.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees "I have come across many creatures in Hell, spoken and fought besides them. But never... Have I witnessed such ferocious, desperate bark," Julius whispered with feigned excitement, eyes surveying Umbril's brooding gaze burning into him. "With no bite. Spare me your empty promises of wrath, even the angels' hums have entertained me far more." The Devil moved a step to the side, turning his head once Razulkara swung his bare ass around. "You are the reason why shampoos have instructions."</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @Kenshi As the devil stepped aside one of the skeletons punched Julius in the gut with unnatural force, while the others converged upon Julius to rip the gnome from the devil's back bringing him to Umbril. "No bite? I'm a lich, you underestimated a lich! Fools, now Mr. Gnome you have nobody to hide behind and at my mercy!" he laughed hard before getting close to the gnome and grasping his wrist, and black tendils of necrotic energy enveloped his tiny body "And I am not merciful." he cackled.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Cloud The Gnome squealed and tried to wiggle away from those dark tendrils, but found that he was ensnared. "Noooooo, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, let me go!" Raz reached his hands to the devil, "Please master, don't let him kill me."</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Damn tablet</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees The punch lasted more in impact than Julius would have thought, making him double over for quite a bit. A desperate hand clenched the side as saliva pooled into the mouth. He expected no less from a skeleton, especially an irascible one. Before he was touched again, Julius leapt into the air and waved two fingers in the shape of half an 's' to pin himself there. The Devil didn't have the power to levitate, rather, he had taken afloat by wind and it was evident from the way his hair was waving with the breeze snaking through. "I expected nothing less from a creature with the intelligence of a wet cabbage. Did I sting you, a bit?" Julius sneered, almost. "Squeezing him until his eyes go pop won't do much to calm that fury, let the gnome go. I thought you and your muppets would find me as their opponent. Nonetheless, You really rather spend our time wrestling here? Shall we not be on our own ways before the exits close?"</s> <\|message\|>Stephen Parker Stephen raises his head slightly and looks around the back of the stage area with blurry eyes. His sees something that catches his eye; a coat he commonly wears when it's cold outside. He frowns and wipes under his eyes carefully, after removing his glasses lest they fog up. He gets up into a crouch to go look at the coat, just in case something informative is around that area.</s> <\|message\|>Ky Moore Ky looked behind him and saw a cave entrance. That's better, but no telling what's in there. He thought to himself. He concentrated and got his lightning globe out to light the way. He was willing to do anything that didn't require jumping off dangerous heights. --- It took him awhile, but Jyden finally realized he was in a nightmare. He still couldn't shake it off however.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @Kenshi Julius's words brought pause to the lich as he realized that he had misinterpreted everything and was draining the essence of a gnome for no reason other than anger towards the two for their insults and trying to prove that his words weren't just empty threats. Except for some odd reason he suddenly felt like he had done something wrong, how odd a feeling it was for a heartless creature like himself to feel remorse for his ill-considered actions against the two. He let go of the gnome, dropping him to the floor and stepped backwards almost seeming horrified by what he was doing. It wasn't usually the way he dealt with others as it had been a millennia since he even had to interact with anyone.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees The shift in Umbril's nature was near impossible to miss, and even Julius was taken back feeling the sudden tension in the air disappear. Once Razulkara was dropped, Julius fell to the ground in place once more before turning to look towards the side. The silence was enough for Julius to continue on his own journey to get out of this hole. Umbril's change was none of his concern, and now that he was no threat, Julius went back to prioritizing his escape. "I sense faint presences rooms over. If you wish to come, you may follow behind." He spoke, running a hand down the walls of the room looking for a button, something that would easily create a shortcut.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Raz stayed knelt on the ground, his miserable life flashed before his eyes. So much hatred, evil mischief, and deadly pranks, so much he has not done. He turned his head and stared at the lich. Razulkra stood slowly to his feet, his eyes glowed red like tiny little fire orbs. "Bald werden die Feuer der Hölle für eure dunkle Seele kommen." Cloud</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @Kenshi Umbril looked down at the gnome, feeling that perhaps he might have upset the small fellow "I-I didn't know what came over me, you must forgive my thoughtless behavior." but his words appeared to fall on deaf ears and it seemed even the zombie had left him, probably at his violent outburst. He was a danger to all of them, but why did that matter? They were gnats...Right?</s>	<\|message\|>Julius Rees His stutters of forgiveness became more annoying than the fact the fabric on Julius' shoulder now had Razulkara's footprints. Tiny ones, but still visible whenever he turned his to look at them. Hearing the gnome start speaking German, it brought a sense of relief that the gnome was qualified for something more than the circus. The Devil's hands escastically patted down the walls before his palm was pushed inwards on a block. Julius started to scratch at it, hoping to get the edge out and have it fall out. He was curious to see what was behind it, all while Umbril and Razulkara had their little make-up meeting.</s>
<\|description\|>Stephen Parker Age: 17 Gender: Male Species: Vampire (newly-turned) Traits: Cautious, intelligent, closed-off Appearance: Long, black, thin hair that goes down to mid-chest. He has rectangular glasses, and narrow eyes that are always scrutinizing everything. A pale complexion. Slim fingers and wrist, that suggest a smaller skeleton. He's skinny and 5'7". Fears: Any supernatural being (which includes himself technically), others betraying him, trusting people, speaking in front of an audience, meeting new people, public settings, falling asleep, immortality Extra info: His closed-off personality keeps others at bay, because he seems cold-hearted, but if you're able to get to know him, you'll see that he's sweet and kind, patient and such.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Razulkra's head wobbled back and fro like a bobble head, when his master shook him. His cheeks got puffy as he startled to hurle, the color of his face went from rosy pink to bright green, as he couldn't hold it anymore, and spewed green projectile vomit in Umbril's direction. Cloud</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees Julius had witnessed numerous humiliating encounters beforehand, though this encounter was one particular kind of embarrassing. The Devil had to stifle a smile of mirth, clearing his throat instead in attempt to regain his composure. He'd be sure to give Razulkara a treat for this, after they managed to escape from here. "How unfortunate, indeed. To reek of that, and look like it too."</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves Silence passed, it was a tense silence and slowly the lich turned and his demeanor emanated a silent rage. "I..." the skeletons marched towards the doors and stood guard effectively blocking escape "Will..." his staff appeared and the vomit was magically erased, however his gaze was set on the gnome and that petulant boy who had the audacity to speak "Teach you both a lesson that you'll soon never forget, you insolent churls will never speak as though your better than I am because you aren't!" he pointed his staff at the gnome. "Maybe you should apologize," his eyes were glowing red with anger and the point of his staff hummed louder and louder as a ball of black energy formed at it's tip "I hate you less than the imp but I'll kill you if you do anything like that to me again...APOLOGIZE NOW!" he shouted getting more angry.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Razulkra pointed his thumb at Julius and shook his head from side to side. "It wasn't my fault, jiggling makes me queasy, I'm so sorry....sticks his tongue out at the lich , please forgive me" The little Gnome scurried up higher around behind the back of Julius head. He peaked out and stuck his thumb on his nose and wiggled his fingers at the lich.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @Kenshi@Eviledd1984@Letmehaveone2 Suddenly the lich lowered his staff and sighed in exasperation at the situation "You know what? This is a waste of my time, your all a waste of my time." he begins to walk towards one of the exits.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara "Oh yeah, well don't let the door hit ya where your master split ya!" shouted the ballsy Gnome as he jumped up and down on the Devil's shoulders, shaking his fist at the lich.</s> <\|message\|>Stephen Parker Madalyn pulls on one of the thinner vines hard, and when it finally goes, she falls on the floor. She screams and shoves the vine off of her, a little whisper in her head telling her that its come to life, and now it'll wrap around her whole body, including her throat. She scrambles away from the innocent little green string-like line on the pale white floor. Her scream's echoes are finally gone, and she's reminded that she's completely alone. … Stephen darts behind the curtain as quickly as possible, but also trying to be slower. His throat feels swollen. He feels like he can't breathe, and he's not quite sure if he can or not. He sits down with his eyes scrunched tight against some wood holding the stage up. It doesn't creak at all, thankfully. Even in his state of panic, the part of Stephen's mind that constantly inquires of things wonders about when the stage was made.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves "You have yet to annoy me, come! We shall escape, without these ninny's."</s> <\|message\|>Price Narration: Little did these challengers know that if they could make it out of the scary rooms, they might find a place that has something they like or love somewhere. --- Price has yet to make it out of this place and the human blood smell was getting worse for him, he was even backed into a corner. He had no idea if anyone one here was a human, but if he does and ends up just drinking the blood from the room, at least he wouldn't be hurting a human in there, right? --- Ky was on in a garden on a cliff and who in their right mind would jump off a cliff? Ky sure wasn't gonna do that! Instead, he decided to look for another way down. No ladders or holes this time though.</s> <\|message\|>Reginald "Reggie" Morrissey Cloud "Where are we going? Do you know why and where the hell we are?." The zombie teenager followed behind the lich. He was still confused of why and how he got to his hellish place.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves "The only thing I know is that each of these rooms specifically held a fear for someone, I'm unaffected as my fears are simply superficial and mental." the lich explained as he made his way to a door they had yet to open "We simply appeared in this place, however I must admit I appreciate the layout. I'll use it in my lair once I leave this cursed place and kill whomever did this." Umbril said reaching another doorway.</s> <\|message\|>Reginald "Reggie" Morrissey Cloud Reggie glared at the lich, he wondered how someone could torture and kill other people. "Good for you, so how do we get out of here?" The zombie said following behind the lich. He looked at the many doorways that the two had to go through. "I wonder if this is hell." He thought out loud scanning the area of how they get out of here.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves "If my theory is correct we must face all of our fears," he said walking through the doorway before them, and the seven skeletons filed in behind them "Then we'll see what happens." he said.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees Umbril had a funky sense of humor for sure, and Julius dutifully noted it down. As the gnome adjusted his seating upon the Devil's shoulder, he flinched but realized that Razulkara was sitting as if he was gorilla glued to his coat. "For someone confident about finding the exit, you seem surprised." Julius called out after Umbril, having followed behind the skeleton leader.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Razulkra whispered in Julius ear, "That lich is a ding dong, you should have seen me , I was gonna kick his ass, but he was like, please don't hurt me Raz. "</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @Kenshi Umbril didn't turn, however the skeletons stood in the doorway and blocked Julius from following him "Find your own way out, your a clever little imp." he stood still betraying no movement as he listened to them converse.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Cloud @alexakeehl Razulkra began hopping up and down on Julius shoulder again, "He wants a fight boss, let me at 'em. " Raz raises his little fists up in a boxer pose, " I'll clobber 'em!"</s> <\|message\|>Reginald "Reggie" Morrissey Cloud "Oh great, what the hell did I do to deserve this." Reg shook his head in dismay. "I'm not really sure if I could face my fear, there a lot of fear's I would rather not face." He said following behind the lich. "So are we all dead and getting some sort of punishment, because of past sins?" He asked thinking about the reasons why he would be here.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees "Now, gnome, why would you waste your time on a person who creaks more than a cabin's rusty door. How amusing to find out he is unaware of moisturizing too. I do hear that Olay is good for cracks." Julius responds towards Umbril, then glances at Razulkara on his shoulder. He furrowed his brows, looking at his boxer pose up and done before returning his gaze towards Umbril. "I don't see your name carved in the exit, let me pass." Open says-a-me.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @alexakeehl@Kenshi "One moment," Umbril lifted a finger silencing the zombie "Fine," he snapped at the devil "You really are a pathetic if you so badly need to come with us, you really are the lowest kind of devil. I bet you were cast from your home plane because your people were ashamed to harbor you..." he cackled letting the skeletons move out of the way.</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves "If we were dead I wouldn't be able to use necromancy." Umbril said simply without further explanation.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees "Badly? Well, someone has to babysit you don't they? My people were indeed ashamed, but I was more. Since I have to share the same air as wastes of spaces." Julius responded, not sparing Umbril a glance as he lowered his head to look at the silver watch hanging from the pocket.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Raz shook his fist at the zombie and Lich, "Yeah bonehead, you think the King of Hell is afraid of a peon like you?" " Your lucky , he is holding me back or I'd come over there and knock yer block off." Cloud</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @Kenshi@alexakeehl The lich paused for a second and he was about to let it all go before the gnome opened it's mouth, then his grip on his staff tightened making a creaky noise as he shook with rage, he had never been spoken to in such a brazen manner and never by an insignificant creature like a gnome. "Is that right Mr. Gnome? Do you know what's holding me back? Take a good look, because nothing nothing is holding me back at this moment..." slowly he walked closer to the devil and the cowardly gnome as he had the skeletons flank the two "You taunt, you speak to me with no respect and you make me look like a fool..." the lich shook his head slightly "I am done with letting you getaway with this behavior, now I will ask you once more: find your own way out and leave now..." he stepped in closer "I won't ask again." he stood stark still awaiting their responses, his rage was almost palpable.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Razulkra gulped hard,and did his best not to piss his pants, and not to wet all over Julius shoulder. He was scared a little, but the devil had his back, nothing would happen to him. Not to mention, looking good in front of the devil, could land Raz a special place in order. "Bite my ass, socket face!" said Raz as he turned, pulling his pants down and mooned the lich. Razulkra swung his naked butt cheeks from side to side, as if twerking.</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees "I have come across many creatures in Hell, spoken and fought besides them. But never... Have I witnessed such ferocious, desperate bark," Julius whispered with feigned excitement, eyes surveying Umbril's brooding gaze burning into him. "With no bite. Spare me your empty promises of wrath, even the angels' hums have entertained me far more." The Devil moved a step to the side, turning his head once Razulkara swung his bare ass around. "You are the reason why shampoos have instructions."</s> <\|message\|>Umbril, Caller Of Graves @Kenshi As the devil stepped aside one of the skeletons punched Julius in the gut with unnatural force, while the others converged upon Julius to rip the gnome from the devil's back bringing him to Umbril. "No bite? I'm a lich, you underestimated a lich! Fools, now Mr. Gnome you have nobody to hide behind and at my mercy!" he laughed hard before getting close to the gnome and grasping his wrist, and black tendils of necrotic energy enveloped his tiny body "And I am not merciful." he cackled.</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Cloud The Gnome squealed and tried to wiggle away from those dark tendrils, but found that he was ensnared. "Noooooo, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, let me go!" Raz reached his hands to the devil, "Please master, don't let him kill me."</s> <\|message\|>Razulkara Damn tablet</s> <\|message\|>Julius Rees The punch lasted more in impact than Julius would have thought, making him double over for quite a bit. A desperate hand clenched the side as saliva pooled into the mouth. He expected no less from a skeleton, especially an irascible one. Before he was touched again, Julius leapt into the air and waved two fingers in the shape of half an 's' to pin himself there. The Devil didn't have the power to levitate, rather, he had taken afloat by wind and it was evident from the way his hair was waving with the breeze snaking through. "I expected nothing less from a creature with the intelligence of a wet cabbage. Did I sting you, a bit?" Julius sneered, almost. "Squeezing him until his eyes go pop won't do much to calm that fury, let the gnome go. I thought you and your muppets would find me as their opponent. Nonetheless, You really rather spend our time wrestling here? Shall we not be on our own ways before the exits close?"</s>	<\|message\|>Stephen Parker Stephen raises his head slightly and looks around the back of the stage area with blurry eyes. His sees something that catches his eye; a coat he commonly wears when it's cold outside. He frowns and wipes under his eyes carefully, after removing his glasses lest they fog up. He gets up into a crouch to go look at the coat, just in case something informative is around that area.</s>
<\|description\|>Caramelle Tawne Huntsman Sheet"Fufufu~ What's wrong? Gonna cry?" Whereas her sister and mother are stoic and calm-hearted, Caramelle decidedly takes after her late father. The brown-haired girl has no patience or sense of time. Her blood runs hot and her tongue runs hotter. She's impulsive, headstrong, and arrogant with a sense of berating others for even the smallest annoyances and grievances. In Vacuo you speak your mind or you get run over, a sentiment she has continued to remind herself since she was a little girl. She absolutely detests that her older sister for all of her brilliance takes a lazy, slothful approach to life. After all, if you don't give 100% all the time do you even deserve to survive in such an environment? Her father had died for dropping his guard around the wrong people and she refuses to belittle his memory by lowering hers. Friends only end up stabbing you in the back. You don't need friends. You need walls. The more you keep people at distance the sooner you can predict their movements against you. Her mother obviously doesn't think such a belief bodes well, but the damage of their past has done what it has. She hopes that Caramelle can grow as a person and learn that trusting people isn't inherently stupid. Caramelle speaks louder than her diminutive height suggests. She's on the shorter end of students at Shade Academy with her sandy hair that resembles the desert environment around her strewn into two distinct tails with simple black wrappings. Her bangs are messy, though not unkempt. Her eyes are brown as well, though a scar runs down her right eye from a past altercation. She always appears to have one or two distinct expressions: one of amusement or one of annoyance. She is not stoic like the majority of her family. --- Aliases / Nicknames Mel Gender Femme Age 16 Kingdom of Origin Vacuo Race Human History Caramelle is the youngest daughter of famed huntsman, Walnus Tawne and retired huntress Hunie Merigold. Caramelle's childhood was situated going from place-to-place, always on the move after her father's untimely death by a rogue huntress when she was eight years old. Her mother took her and her older sister, Aes, from settlement to settlement as she tried to fill the void. Jobs were scarce, but her mother used to be a huntress so money wasn't too troubling to find, though food came and went. There were days when there wouldn't be enough food in the household and her sister would find ways to fill the void while their mother was out working. Caramelle was eight years old and her entire world had been taken from her. Her father had taught her about the huntsman academies, the responsibility against the Grimm, and the glory of protecting Vacuo from whoever tried to impose their will upon it. Every time he came home from collecting another bandit's feather in his cap he would tell her a story, a fairytale about a cool huntress and the things she'd do. After the funeral there was no one to tell the stories to her and her sister. There was only the cold corridors of whatever place they were living in at the time. Her mother sold the family home and tried to keep the girls together. Eventually, the reality of being a single parent on menial income hit all three of them and her mother sent the girls packing to her father who was working out of Coquina. Neither girl would see their mother again for years, only receiving their allowance with a conjoined letter in the mail. Oleum Merigold was not a kind caretaker. That aside, Caramelle didn't know much about her maternal grandfather. He was cold and ruthless in his diction and how he expected the girls to behave, though he never used physical discipline. The passing of his wife some years ago had left him bitter and solitary, though he earned a decent wage working out of Oscuro Academy as one of the long-standing instructors. While not students themselves, Caramelle's adventurous and curious nature made her shadow Oleum and his students, musing about weapons and how real huntsman and huntresses got their start at being heroes of Vacuo. Her sister took a passing interest with her, but ultimately it was mostly just her sitting on a rock observing the more outdoors-inclined instruction. Soon enough she found herself proclaiming herself to be a new "huntress recruit" long before she was of age as she annoyed the local townsfolk of Coquina. There was a lot of yelling. Sometimes older kids trying to put her in her place. Sometimes some thugs who thought the huntsman were too busy at the academy to bother in the town. Caramelle got hurt, but not before her own sister unlocked her aura before her to block the next strike. It would be enough to distract the thugs until a local huntress arrived on the scene and gave the two a lecture. A lecture that would be preceded by their grandfather's own later that same night. A lecture that would lead the old huntsman to begin training them informally until they were ready to join the academy proper—if they really wanted to waste their lives in following in their father's stupid shadow. Years followed. Caramelle and Aes entered Oscuro Academy. They got their weapon tools and their training. Eventually, it was enough to get them into Shade Academy. That's where Caramelle's story begins. Semblance Known as 'Terra Viribus', throughout the Tawne bloodline, Carobelle's semblance is about redirecting the kinetic energy in the earth into her body to strengthen her body or quicken her reflexes. While her sister uses this in a defensive manner, Carobelle looks to create creative offensive sets. The requirement is clear however that she has to either conserve the energy gathered from the earth or to be standing on the ground with at least one foot to utilize it effectively. Weapon & Fighting Style Carobelle wields Gravity's Spiral, dual swords that transform into a dual automatic revolvers. In terms of how she uses it within her fighting style, she prefers the close combat forte of Gravity's Spiral's melee form, though when she needs to fight from range she does so with rapid succession rather than slow precise strikes. This is extended to when she's using the melee form of the dual swords, relying mostly on a flurry of speed as opposed to how her sister uses her weapon with precision and strength. Strengths & Weaknesses * Talented Weapons Combatant and Melee Fighter. * Brave and Headstrong, capable at taking on enemies and adapting as the battlefield requires. * Keen battlefield awareness, though hindered by impulsive decision-making. * Visual learner; effective at learning from enemies and allies fighting styles by seeing it. * Capable of following orders despite personality issues. * Informal huntress training from age nine to fourteen and formal training at the combat school known as Oscuro Academy; making her a more refined combatant than those who are newer to the skillset. * Arrogant and Brash, leading to impulsive and insensitive decisions. * Prefers speed over power and precision; resulting in sloppy maneuvers. * Not book smart; struggles paying attention to technical data not presented like folktales. * Aura abilities are unlocked but only as the baseline level. * Does not trust or particularly work well with others. Is standoffish. * Paranoid. Will need character building and organic friendships to get past her trauma. Fatal Flaw Caramelle's greatest weakness is her paranoia. Compounded with her own prescient smug arrogance and attitude it leads the young huntress to make not only short-sighted and impulsive decisions but also refuse to trust people. She constantly suspects her peers are enemies-in-waiting, people who will pull out a knife and plant it into her back once it is profitable and convenient to do so. Her loud, prickly nature is a defense mechanism that certainly will make more enemies than allies.</s> <\|message\|>Personality --- This was Rio's first battle against the Grimm. No fantastical story or training dummy could have ever prepared him for the rush of adrenaline that he had felt just now. The tactics of teammates and his own quick trigger finger had seemingly won them the fight. No one was visibly hurt and, after inspecting himself for bite marks, he could include himself in that count. Yet, his heart was still racing even as the creatures in front of him started to dissolve from their fierce, monstrous figures into a shapeless ooze that looked like it belonged at the bottom of a saloon spit bucket. A sigh of relief would soon escape Rio's tensed body as it became clear that they had repelled the initial wave of Grimm but his fingers were still frozen in place as he gripped his weapon. Instead of easing his hold, his hands merely kept shaking even as he actively made an effort to relax. Soon enough, he had resorted to a few full breaths but this would come to a halt upon hearing Nivea's caution against the apparently toxic air. In his sudden panic, Rio instinctively covered his nose with his right forearm while rummaging through his pockets with his free hand for the kerchief that his mother prepares for his daily wardrobe. At least his vise on The Boatman's Due had loosen. Finally covering his mouth with his makeshift mask, Rio had to focus and inform his companions on the strict timetable that his Semblance had given him. "I'm all fer sticking away from walls but we need t' move if we wanna catch 'em." Protected by the thin strip of fabric and against the caution of their handler, Rio would take another deep breath to focus in on the runaway targets. A clayish rouge of energy would manifest and envelop itself around him as the distant pitter-patter of water droplets hitting the unlit distant ground of the abandoned bunker became as thunderous as a roaring river to the Huntsman-in-training. "My Semblance is tellin' me that they're less than a click away - I'll resume takin' point." Again, Rio's impatience would not wait for any possible objections from his team. They had a mission that needed to be accomplished and standing around this dark pit waiting to get ambushed again was not gonna get results. He would resume his earlier brisk pace once more, advancing towards the darkness in pursuit of the Grimm he managed to mark earlier.</s> <\|message\|>Huntsman Sheet Saffron Rupalfeather --- With the Grimm on the retreat, Saffron was satisfied that she had done an efficient job defending her side of the intersection - with Rio helping, of course. It definitely wasn't an easy battle, however; Whilst she had a little experience fighting the Grimm within primarily controlled training environments, the real thing definitely told her that despite how realistic the trainings had been at Signal they had definitely been holding back. The Signal Grimm had been fierce, but out in the real world, Grimm were ferocious. And whilst she was proud that she had managed to hold back the Grimm with her teammates, Saffron was also relieved about that fact. Hopefully things continued to be as successful as they were now. Saffron's eyes fixed upon a corpse of one of the fallen Grimm, observing the black smoke that was rising from it. Whilst it was interesting, the Faunus took care to follow Nivea's advice and try not to breathe in the smoke. Though, within a closed environment like this, Saffron wondered if it would soon become impossible to avoid doing so. She could see why Huntsmen would have such a problem clearing a nest, particularly in even more dangerous environments than this one. If they happened to get locked in by the degraded environment, either by collapse or mechanical failures in places such as this, she wondered what the consequences be, if it wasn't an ending of death. Taking a glance to Kohaku as she spoke, Saffron offered the girl a nod of agreement. "Good call," Saffron replies, shuffling herself to be more along the centreline of the room. She was, however, bothered by Rio's sudden wish to press on at speed - and slightly bothered by the fact that he was telling them that the Grimm were less than a click away. "Less than a kilometer? How big is bunker anyways?" She asks, starting to face Nivea, before reconsidering and turning back to the front. "Never mind, I don't want to know." She adds, starting to pursue Rio, mostly so that he wasn't running off on his own ahead of them.</s> <\|message\|>Huntsman Sheet --- --- The return of silence wasn't exactly comforting--Fiona half expected something else to jump out at them if they dropped their guard for even a second. Fiona backed away from the black smoke, double-checking her ammo. She did her best to be as efficient as possible, but she'd be lying if she said she hadn't wasted a few shots. The Grimm moved faster than she anticipated; she wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. The last thing she wanted was to end up being a burden on the team. Or worse--she'd end up being the weak point. She was snapped out of her thoughts as a strong guest of wind blew away the smoke. Letting out a sigh of relief, she figured she should get her head back in the game. "Thank you, Kohaku," Fiona thanked her first and foremost. At least that was one less thing to worry about. Rio was eager to take point again, with his semblance revealing that there were, of course, more Grimm. She seemed to have the same thought as Saffron as the girl expressed curiosity on how big the bunker was. "Regardless of the distance, it's best to stay on guard," She decided to remind them, taking her spot after Saffron. "This bunker seems to have been built some time ago, so there should still be a distance before reaching the depths of where the Grimm would house themselves." After a brief pause of thought, she added, "Whatever Rio senses is likely a wandering group. Let's stay in formation as we proceed." ---</s>	<\|message\|>Caramelle Tawne Caramelle rolled her eyes as Turq and Veloce went on to explain why they wanted to become a huntsman. Power. Strength. Money. Travel. A bunch of trivial reasons as far as she could tell, though Veloce's story about owing a debt to a huntsman was at least half-admirable. She wondered what the other member of their group would say, though frankly, she was only slightly curious about the reasoning behind it. The brown-haired girl raised a brow as she mused over her own thoughts. Was it really their business that being a huntsman was something that ran in her family? All they need to knew was she was a huntsman because she was a huntsman. "Does it even matter?" She groaned, "I'm a huntress because I'm good at it. Who cares?"</s>
<\|description\|>Personality Along with the rest of his cousins in the Redcliffe clan, Rio grew up venerating his great grandpa as a near-mythical hero figure from the time of the Great War. The Redcliffe patriarch was said to be brave, shrewd, generous, wily, and a whole bunch of other traits befitting a gentleman desperado. Though he had never met him in person, Rio wanted to become exactly like him. So at a young age, a burning sense of justice had ignited within the wannabe hero who sought to stand up against oppressors and fight for the downtrodden. While his intentions were good, his naivete got him into a lot of fights with kids that were often older than him. Coupled with an exaggerated confidence fuelled by chauvinism, Rio was an easy choice for schoolyard bullies though his bruised body always cashed cheques his tenacious spirit wrote. These childhood antics have largely shaped who he is today: a headstrong scrapper with ideals and courage that is hounded by insecurity and single-mindedness. A bit older now, he's been made aware of these issues and tries to keep his cool. However, if someone says the wrong thing about his friends or family, it'll be time to throw down. Appearance Rio stands at a height of 5'8" and at a weight of 71 kilograms. While his build is mostly on the lean side, this isn't immediately apparent as he is almost always wearing one of his sandstone rancher coats. Though, those coats do also cover the collection of minor scars he has accumulated throughout the years. The same coats also have his personalized symbol embroidered just below their left breast pocket. Said symbol is based on the Redcliffe's ancestral home village in Mistral is which known for its cherry blossoms. According to his parents, the deep hue of his blue hair and eyes were the primary reasons he had been given his name. To contrast this, Rio often wears red undershirts in an act of petty teenage rebellion though he draws the line at the comfy pairs of bleached blue jeans he wears daily. Lastly, he always has a pair of leather gloves on as it is practical to do so when out and about under the hot Vacuan sun. "I'll back down when I'm knocked down." \| N a m e: \| Rio Redcliffe \| Alias\|Nickames\|Titles: \| The Mistrali Kid, used earnestly by him and mockingly by his peers \| G e n d e r: \| Male \| A g e: \| 16 \| Kingdom of Origin: \| Born and raised in Vacuo \| Race: \| Human \| History: \| A legacy of roguish bravery hangs over the head of this hesitant Hunstman-in-training. While Vacuo is not as prosperous as the other kingdoms, its people are proud and the Redcliffe clan are a testament to that. Originally refugees from Mistral who fled during the Great War due to Mantle's encroaching influence, Rio's ancestors were quick to become patriotic partisans to their new home. When peace had finally reached the land, the Redcliffes were on the winning side of history and that victory could never be taken away from them. Yet, their other possessions could be taken away as famine, banditry, and Grimm attacks had left them destitute. Once again finding themselves displaced, Rio's parents and uncles and aunts had moved to the capital city just before he was born, living under a single leaky roof. Through their sheer determination and a couple of lucky breaks, the Redcliffe's were able to provide a stable albeit modest home to Rio and his extended family as ranchers on the city outskirts. While he did not have many luxuries as a child, he did have his family's legacy that his mother had fondly recounted to him every night just before bedtime. Being a hero was in their blood, he thought, and so it would be that he'd get into scuffles with the nosy neighbour kids, the stuffy schoolyard students, and even his older cousins when they forget to mind their P's and Q's. Naturally, this lead to Rio desiring for more in life and give even more back to his community. He couldn't be a ranch hand forever and so he would try his damnedest to get accepted into Shade Academy, eventually become a full-fledged Huntsman worthy to stand in the same family pantheon as those that have come before him. What came easy to others did not naturally come easy to Rio. Many nights were spent studying and doing drills on top of the daily chores he had to do after attending school. Yet, this made the day he got his acceptance letter all the more sweeter. He would be the first in his family to ever attend Shade Academy and this just had to be celebrated. Yet, he could not properly enjoy himself for he knew this was merely the beginning of the next great chapter in his life. Come wondrous dark or perilous light, Rio Redcliffe stands ready. \| Semblance: \| After a week long camping trip in the Vacuan wilderness, Rio's semblance manifested itself during an episode of extreme thirst under the scorching desert sun, which was soon followed by the tallest drink of his life. His mind's eye had visualized an oasis beyond the horizon and its existence was true. Dubbing it Water Wanderlust, the semblance allows Rio to locate concentrated bodies of water. The distance from and the size of the aqueous collections affect his detection ability as smaller bodies require more concentration to keep track of while further whereabouts become nearly impossible to precisely pinpoint. \| Weapon and Fighting Style: \| The Boatman's Due is a compact, Dust-fed railgun that can transform into a paddle-shaped halberd. Commissioned by Rio's father as his Shade Academy acceptance gift, this weapon is adorned with bronze and treated wood laminates which result in a light yet durable frame that is easy to maintain. The Dust storage compartment bears an ornamental skull to invoke fear in those that face Rio though that rarely occurs. The emergence of Rio's semblance has largely influenced his approach to combat. While he was always keen on being defensively opportunistic through the usage of cover and consistent movement, the ability to keep track of nearby people's intracellular fluid allows him to plan moves with near perfect intel. The most glaring flaw on this semblance reliance is the innate lack of water inside most Grimm. Regardless, Rio will always play it safe and keep foes at a distance while only going in for close quarters combat when all other options are exhausted. \| Strengths and Weakness: \| Strengths: * Courageous - Yes, he gets scared but Rio has never backed down from a challenge. * Nature Survivalist - Working on a farm and living off the land has given him many insights on foraging. * Ascetic - A life devoid of splendor has led him to steer clear of overindulgence. * Persistent - One can only fail when they give up and Rio Redcliffe knows not the meaning of surrender. * Loyal - Unless they've acted dishonourably, Rio will always stand by his friends' side. Heck, he'll even try to find a way to regain his friend's honour for them. Weaknesses * Quick To Anger - Passion often needs an outlet and Rio's tools of artistry are his fists. * Vindictive - Unless the grudge is settled squarely, he will not forget how you have crossed him. * Traditionalist - Rio has a hard time grasping concepts that go against what he has been taught before. * Intrusive - Due to his eagerness, Rio often inserts himself into the private affairs of others even without their knowledge or consent. * Proud - Though he is quick to help others, Rio prefers to do things by himself if it only concerns himself. \| Greatest Fear/Fatal Flaw: \| There is a lot of pressure mounting on Rio to succeed and it has dictated his lifestyle outwardly and on a subconscious level. While having some stress for motivation is healthy, Rio's quest for validation is always seeking for more problems to solve regardless of his ability to handle them. The impact of each failure gnaws at him far longer than it should, piling on to his anxieties that he actively avoids by keeping himself busy. Yet, success doesn't even bring him much reprieve as evidenced by his acceptance to Shade being eclipsed by the worriment of actually being in a prestigious Huntsman academy. One can only hope that reaching his ultimate dream of being a Hunstman will finally bring him peace. \| Miscs : \| Theme Song</s> <\|message\|>Caramelle Tawne --- "Caramelle." The young girl said bluntly as her supervisor asked her to introduce herself, eyeing the three men beside her. "I'm from Coquina. Not that it matters." The young brown-haired girl's hand moved to her side, to the handles of what appeared to be dual firearms. The older man had told them to "come at him" as they introduced themselves. Classic Vacuo. Uncompromising and unorthodox. This was certainly a step different from even Oscuro though Caramelle had been preparing herself for anything and everything after she was accepted into Shade Academy. Her entrance exams had gone well and her work at Oscuro certainly had helped. Besides, she had natural talent and skill. Maybe not as much talent as her older sister, but it was enough to prove herself! She smirked as she planted her feet firmly in the ground below, the tremor in the ground underneath her vibrating subtly through her bones. She wondered how her lazy bum of a sister went through this kind of trial? "So, are we supposed to attack you together or one-by-one like a bunch of brainless Grimm?" She remarked as she unholstered her firearms, spinning them around her fingers with finesse.</s> <\|message\|>Huntsman Sheet --- "Well this is just splendid, day one and already getting into a scrap. In a scrapyard no less, how fitting!" The faunus seemed far more pleased with the realization that his words made plainly clear, a loose grin resting on his face as crystal blue eyes scanned their surroundings first, before meeting the icy counterparts resting in that noggin of their overseer. Sir or overseer until proven, well that was no fun at all. Of course, during his scanning and bemused thoughts, the solitary lady of the four stepped forward, introducing herself as well as where she was from, while questioning whether or not they were all supposed to attack at once, or one at a time. Well, that left him with a wonderful opening to simply make his own move then, since she seemed determined to talk in spite of the figurative gauntlet thrown down. His own rather haphazard upbringing and training might show, but hell, what was learning without a few hard knocks along the way? He stretched while chattering as they would soon to find was the normal for him, remarking on her question as he reached behind him, apparently stretching still. "Way I see it Shortstop, either way this should be a good showing. And after its all said and done, imagine if he had a real weapon. Name's Veloce Argenti, by the by, I'm sure we'll all just get along nice and swimmingly." With that, rather than wait for an answer on one by one versus as a group, the Raven faunus launched himself forward, the apparent stretch really having been to arm himself, metallic gauntlet over his left hand and forearm catching light as readily as the gladius in his right, using his wings and a touch of his Semblance to launch himself forward fast and low and cover ground faster than he could have simply running. He would be lunging with his sword while keeping half an eye on the pipe, though his focus would be on pressing the assault as much as possible, meaning that he would be putting that gauntlet to good use should an opening present itself. If they were meant to fight as a group, well, given Shortstop was flashing her guns, he could argue it would create an opening for her to open fire. Of course he couldn't keep his mouth shut as he launched forward, as was his want in life. "Let's see how much hate we'll really need!"</s>	<\|message\|>Personality Rio Redcliffe was no stranger to a scorching trek across the forsaken trails of the Vacuan desert wastes. While this might sound like hell to most sane people, this was actually the leisure highlight of Rio's yearly summer camping trip with his extended family. However, this time was different. Treading on the dusty roads with an all-terrain jeep had given the country bumpkin motion sickness, seeing as this was among the handful of times he had been in a car. The assurance that it would only be a few more minutes until they reached their destination did ease his queasiness, though he was still glad that he had taken the rightmost seat of this open air vehicle in case he had an... emergency. Other than that though, Rio had been used to being crammed shoulder to shoulder into the back of a cart along with his cousins like a tin of sardines as his family ventured into the city market to sell produce every other fortnight. At least his teammates had the decency to use washing detergent moreso than his kin. Of course, that wasn't the only thing Rio had noticed about his teammates and his accompanying Overseer. How a raucous brute like him got chosen to be among those seemingly more refined was quite the mystery. As Nivea spoke and encouraged the rest to speak, an opportunity to lift that shrouded veil soon presented itself. Soon after their chaperone had finished her introduction, Rio cleared his airways with a brief cough before speaking about himself. "Ahem. S'rry about that, name's Rio Redcliffe." he would state, taking a quick glance at each of his teammates' faces before continuing on. "Like miss Lanatae, my family emigrated from one of the other kingdoms, in this case Mistral. How-ever, I'm as Vacuan as sand-spiced sarsaparilla on a scorching sunburner like t'day as I've been here all my life. It's a pleasure to make y'alls acquaintance." He had hope his earnest introduction had made a good impression on his team. After all, they were gonna look after each other from here on in.</s>
<\|description\|>Huntsman Sheet \| Please believe in me, as I will protect you to the end \| Personality Poised, graceful, and with one hell of a resting bitch face, Fiona is a quiet girl who prefers to keep to herself. So long as she keeps her mouth closed, she can be mistaken for a cold if somewhat distant person. She has no issues offering her opinion on a matter, and is generally open minded, making her easy to talk to and she is open to talk to just about anyone should she be open to conversation. The few times she does choose to talk she tends to keep things short. Still, she has a surprisingly positive deposition with an optimistic view on nearly everything, and likes to look for the silver linings in even the worst situations. Despite her quiet and gentle nature, however, she seems to avoid opening up to people even though she likes it when people confide in her. Her tendency to keep people at a distance is somewhat contradictory, often confusing people, and she has a lot of trouble expressing her thoughts properly. Should she be crossed, she keeps her gentle demeanor, though becomes exceedingly passive aggressive. Her observational skills are astute and she weaponizes it when she's angry or annoyed, taking an odd delight in honing in on people's weaknesses, addressing them with a misleading smile. Appearance Standing at an average height of 5"5', Fiona is a girl with fair skin and long, white hair. Her big, blue eyes are her most noticeable feature, her heart shaped face giving her a youthful look. She has a fairly slim body type with few curves, a modest bust and hips, and willowy legs. She tends to move gracefully, her reactions composed. Even when caught off guard her mannerisms remain perfect. Her clothing leans towards simple colors that don't draw much attention. "I'll do my best." \| N a m e: \| Fiona Myrsina Schnee \| Alias\|Nickames\|Titles: \| n/a Heiress to the Schnee Dust Company Vacuan Sector \| G e n d e r: \| Female \| A g e: \| 17 \| Kingdom of Origin: \| Vacuo / Atlas \| Race: \| Human \| History: \| There isn't much in her life that Fiona would consider notable. She considered her life boring and often dreamed of meeting her knight in shining armor who would whisk her away to a better life, though reality liked to remind her that her fantasies remained strictly in her head. Still, she knew how to keep her head low and avoid attention--all she needed to do was make sure she never drew any unneeded attention. Of course, she couldn't even do that right, and the first and only time she had ever dared to speak up resulted in regret, making her wonder if it was even worth it. She was shipped over to Shade and told to that if she couldn't learn her place then she would need to make her own path. Despite multiple apologies, she was brushed off, the path of a huntress being the only thing she could take. \| Semblance: \| None Schnee Glyphs \| Weapon and Fighting Style: \| Crystal Dream [DBCU] A Dust Bolt Crossbow Umbrella built to her specifications. Fiona's style comes off as flashy, though she insists its the dust she uses. The constitution of her weapon is much stronger than it looks, its versatility playing into her ability to adapt. She is flexible in her range, albeit has leaned into keeping her enemies at a distance recently. \| Strengths and Weakness: \| ✓ Agile ✓ Composed ✓ Knowledgeable on different types of dust and its usages ✓ Can get dust at will at any time ✕ Low constitution ✕ Little experience fighting people ✕ Relies on dust for battles ✕ Questionable heritage \| Greatest Fear/Fatal Flaw: \| Passiveness. \| Miscs : \| TBA</s> <\|message\|>Huntsman Sheet Saffron Rupalfeather --- In truth, the whole aspect of walking into a nest of Grimm worried Saffron. She was no stranger to fighting Grimm, however that had mostly occurred within closed environments with teachers watching. She knew that each Academy had their own selection process, and even knew a bit about how Beacon's own entry exams tended to work by talking to one of her classmates at Signal. This was just Shade's own exam, their test to the students. At the same time, Saffron knew that the exam benefited the kingdom as a whole, too; Instead of a closed-door environment like at home the team was going to be directly contributing towards the security of Vacuo, and the Faunus imagined that other student teams were doing the same. Another reason to solidify her mindset that Vacuo was the best decision, though she supposed other kingdoms were safe enough that they didn't need student teams to help as soon as they could. No bodies. It was a sight that Saffron was both thankful for and unsettled by. The Grimm didn't eat, at least to her knowledge. There was plenty of variety in them, so there perhaps was one or two types out there that gobbled up people as some form of attack - she could see a King Taijitu doing so, it was certainly big enough. No King Taijitu here, however, so that mental suggestion was worthless, and she preferred not to imagine the Grimm swallowing people whole. She paused to stare at a bloodstain from a respectful distance, as if trying to pick out if there was anything wrong about it, though she turned away after a moment. People had died here, and she didn't like it. Saffron was going to be happy when she and her comrades cleared out the bunker and avenged the fallen. Nobody deserved to die like this, even the bandits that had so obviously been the previous tenants before the Grimm had moved in. At the very least, the bandits' choice of furniture and aesthetics were of superior taste to that of the Grimm. Black sludge and tendrils weren't exactly Saffron's ideal taste. It reminded her of a nightmare that she once had as a child; Wandering through her home in the darkness of night, with zero power, and monsters roaming all throughout. It brought an odd sense of familiarity to the unfamiliar situation of the present. She was wandering through the dark hallways of the bunker lit only by Nivea's staff, with no apparent power in the bunker, and the Grimm roaming deeper within. The difference was that this time, Saffron had Nova Limbo with her, and equally armed comrades, ready to fight the monsters, not run away from them like Saffron had within the realm of the nightmare. Saffron's ears perked up as she heard the newest residents of the bunker. The Grimm, and their strange noises. The fact that they resided deep within the bunker made her wonder if they were choosing to stay within the depths or if they just hadn't expanded their little home to the entrance's floor yet. Anticipating their arrival, Saffron mentally and physically prepared herself, readying Nova Limbo. Fire and Lightning dust were the two types present within the weapon, though she knew to use them sparingly since she had arrived at Vacuo - whilst in Vale she could have obtained some more easily, that wasn't so much the case for Vacuo. Readying herself only took a moment, and once that was accomplished, Saffron set her eyes on the Grimm that were approaching. Kohaku yelled for them to take the left, and so Saffron did so, trusting that her teammate had something planned for the Grimm at the right and that they wouldn't be allowed to rush through claw at her back. Upon turning left to face the Grimm that approached, the sounds that came from behind her satisfied Saffron that she wouldn't be snuck up on. With the Grimm approaching fast, Saffron darted forward to meet them with no apparent regard for the fact that she was supposed to be the second line of defence, behind Rio. It wasn't like she wasn't protecting them, as she swung Nova Limbo at the first of the Grimm that entered her range slicing straight across it's belly and rewarding her with a snarl as it twisted to the ground in a deceased heap. She twirled, keeping momentum in her movement in order to deliver a hard swipe across the next Grimm's front, lopping off both of it's arms, and then doubled back to just before her strike. She ducked low with her still-present momentum, slicing through the Grimm's still intact legs. Saffron was thrilled to be in the fight, and to be winning.</s> <\|message\|>Huntsman Sheet Turq Beaufort --- Once again, the pipe was proving itself to be Turq's match in combat as the faunus boy found himself locked in bitter combat with something that, at one point in time, was a simple piece of building material that was now probably the most deadly swordfighter he'd ever met. ...That was something to be proud of, he supposed. Still, after the last barrage he'd gotten a little accustomed to the speed of the strikes, and the orbiting boomerangs would occasionally interrupt a swing as it went through, opening up small gaps that Turq used to launch his attacks on Auron from afar while Caramelle's head-on attacks pressured him. As a loud cry of thunder struck across the arid landscape, Turq smiled as he saw the shot from Jet cause the pipe to tear away from him. Now, he was free to attack with his full strength, his orbiters and Caramelle's strikes soon giving Veloce the chance to both knock Auron back, and chide him for his earlier statement. "You say that as if you'd ever have landed that shot if we weren't distracting him, Turq retorted, putting his hands on his hips and smirking, before looking at both the pipe and scrap metal around the yard. "Actually...I wonder if this means scrap is stronger than both," he would say, rubbing his chin with one hand while flicking one of his kusarigama at the pipe, sending it flying towards him before he caught it. With the countless pieces of junk lying around, Turq smiled as he realized something. He hadn't been fighting... creatively enough. A smile spread on his lips once more, before he asked: "So, is this the part where we pass whatever test this was supposed to be? Because at this rate, I think we're passing before lunch time, 'Sir'." Despite him using the agreed on term, Turq clearly wanted to see what else his new instructor had in store for him. If all it took to beat a trained huntsman was three novices and one EXTREMELY talented, powerful, outstanding genius fighter who's name started with a T and rhymed with "irk", then that was a fair bit disappointing.</s> <\|message\|>Jet Sullivan --- Auron's crouched figure was locked square within Jet's sights, his finger itching at the trigger in anticipation of the Hunter's next move. A half-assed compliment wasn't a satisfactory surrender. Not in his books, anyway. He wouldn't put it past the crafty geezer to fatten them up with sweet words before catching them off guard with another one of his wicked haymakers. Vacuans; trust 'em as far as you can throw 'em. Jet caught the salute from Veloce, lowering the rifle to return the gesture. Bird brain had gotten a nice, solid blow on gramps afterall. Everyone performed well. Not something to write home about; he had expected his teammates to be somewhat competent. Still, that small ounce of recognition was nice. He shook his head, perishing the thought. Things looked steady down below, the crowd's excitement over the bout washing over the group. Latching his hook onto the beam, Jet stepped from his perch and gently lowered himself to the ground. The wire reeled back into his wrist with a satisfying snap whilst he approached the group just in time to hear Turq running his mouth. "If nothing else, you made a good stepping stool." Jet snickered, readjusting his goggles back onto his forehead. He kept the rifle at the ready, but was otherwise relaxed when addressing Auron. "You ain't an easy mark, Gramps. Annoying as hell." He whined, thinking back to those lightning fast reflexes and movements. There was no doubt in his mind; Auron would have kicked his ass had he been up against him alone. Like the others, Jet was curious as to what their overseer would have them do next to prove their mettle.</s>	<\|message\|>Huntsman Sheet Fiona couldn't really stop herself from shuddering as they continued on--the place disturbed her, to say the least. To think that something like this could even happen in such a place was nothing short of terrifying. Bandits taking over was already bewildering enough, but even seeing that there weren't any around spooked her. There wasn't any sign of anything around, and for a moment, she genuinely wasn't sure what was worse. The anticipation and jumpiness was starting to get to her, though at least she recognized that it was her own nerves. In a weird way, this was exciting, too--scary, yeah, but it was hard to explain. Of course, the thought crossed her mind right when the Grimm actually appeared. It was strange, she had heard a lot about them, but seeing one for the first time was a shock. She had seen plenty of pictures, sure, but it was a lot more animalistic than she thought it'd be. Still, she had been expecting one, maybe two--not [this many! She'd be lying if she said she wasn't frightened, but what got to her first was hearing Kohaku's shout. Before Fiona could question what she was doing, the Faunus girl had sprung into action. "Wait--!" Her warning went unheeded as Kohaku went right and Saffron went left. What happened to staying in formation?! Saffron continued on the melee streak, and it looked like Kohaku's side was riddled with spikes--no, there was fire now. An attack of that magnitude may as well have rung a dinner bell letting all the Grimm know they were there. Unfortunately, there wasn't a lot of time to properly fix their formation and the best thing to do would be to adjust properly. Scoffing, Fiona pressed down on the button of her umbrella, spinning it as the metal clicked and slid into different places, bringing up its new form as a crossbow as she took a few steps backward. Saffron and Rio could take on the left with little issue, but she figured it was better to play it safe than sorry. Taking aim, Fiona waited for the flames to show any persistent Grimm, a bolt flying into the first one that decided to have the audacity to survive Kohaku's attack. Honestly, she felt like she was going to turn into a babysitter if these two were going to turn out to be the impulsive type. Wasn't it better to take these situations from a logical perspective? Then again, the difference came off as a little too obvious: clearly, they had experience that she didn't. </s>
<\|description\|>Huntsman Sheet \| Please believe in me, as I will protect you to the end \| Personality Poised, graceful, and with one hell of a resting bitch face, Fiona is a quiet girl who prefers to keep to herself. So long as she keeps her mouth closed, she can be mistaken for a cold if somewhat distant person. She has no issues offering her opinion on a matter, and is generally open minded, making her easy to talk to and she is open to talk to just about anyone should she be open to conversation. The few times she does choose to talk she tends to keep things short. Still, she has a surprisingly positive deposition with an optimistic view on nearly everything, and likes to look for the silver linings in even the worst situations. Despite her quiet and gentle nature, however, she seems to avoid opening up to people even though she likes it when people confide in her. Her tendency to keep people at a distance is somewhat contradictory, often confusing people, and she has a lot of trouble expressing her thoughts properly. Should she be crossed, she keeps her gentle demeanor, though becomes exceedingly passive aggressive. Her observational skills are astute and she weaponizes it when she's angry or annoyed, taking an odd delight in honing in on people's weaknesses, addressing them with a misleading smile. Appearance Standing at an average height of 5"5', Fiona is a girl with fair skin and long, white hair. Her big, blue eyes are her most noticeable feature, her heart shaped face giving her a youthful look. She has a fairly slim body type with few curves, a modest bust and hips, and willowy legs. She tends to move gracefully, her reactions composed. Even when caught off guard her mannerisms remain perfect. Her clothing leans towards simple colors that don't draw much attention. "I'll do my best." \| N a m e: \| Fiona Myrsina Schnee \| Alias\|Nickames\|Titles: \| n/a Heiress to the Schnee Dust Company Vacuan Sector \| G e n d e r: \| Female \| A g e: \| 17 \| Kingdom of Origin: \| Vacuo / Atlas \| Race: \| Human \| History: \| There isn't much in her life that Fiona would consider notable. She considered her life boring and often dreamed of meeting her knight in shining armor who would whisk her away to a better life, though reality liked to remind her that her fantasies remained strictly in her head. Still, she knew how to keep her head low and avoid attention--all she needed to do was make sure she never drew any unneeded attention. Of course, she couldn't even do that right, and the first and only time she had ever dared to speak up resulted in regret, making her wonder if it was even worth it. She was shipped over to Shade and told to that if she couldn't learn her place then she would need to make her own path. Despite multiple apologies, she was brushed off, the path of a huntress being the only thing she could take. \| Semblance: \| None Schnee Glyphs \| Weapon and Fighting Style: \| Crystal Dream [DBCU] A Dust Bolt Crossbow Umbrella built to her specifications. Fiona's style comes off as flashy, though she insists its the dust she uses. The constitution of her weapon is much stronger than it looks, its versatility playing into her ability to adapt. She is flexible in her range, albeit has leaned into keeping her enemies at a distance recently. \| Strengths and Weakness: \| ✓ Agile ✓ Composed ✓ Knowledgeable on different types of dust and its usages ✓ Can get dust at will at any time ✕ Low constitution ✕ Little experience fighting people ✕ Relies on dust for battles ✕ Questionable heritage \| Greatest Fear/Fatal Flaw: \| Passiveness. \| Miscs : \| TBA</s> <\|message\|>Huntsman Sheet --- So that was that, for now, Veloce, with a flick of his wrist, compacted his weapon into its portable state, and hooked it onto his belt, though it was out of sight now given the hooks were on the back of his trousers. Returning his hands to his coat pockets, the easy going smile remained faintly in place while Boss chattered on about evaluations and such. Shortstop got the worst of it, figuratively speaking, the man continuing to drill that whole teamwork angle of a, well, team of huntsman! Not much to be said for Snipes or himself though, apparently, then again he wasn't exactly in a position most of that back and forth to really get stuck in proper so he wasn't going to sweat it too much. Boss probably would have plenty to chatter on about as things progressed. Better teamplay but work was needed on aura enhancement. Right, that, though he offered a light shrug and remarked as a whole now that the man was done on the evaluation part of the spiel. "I suppose that means Shortstop needs to not take 'stepping stones to greatness' quite as literally in the future, eh?" Why'd they want to become Hunters? Well, now that was an interesting question and, despite his first gut instinct being 'lie through his teeth', of course Mr. Ego beat him to prattling on about power and something about the facts of life in this lovely waste they called home. Oh, and killing Grimm and seeing someplace that wasn't all sand all the time. Veloce grinned a bit at that remark, seems Mr. Ego really did double down on his general demeanor after all. Hated the idea of power coming from spiteful survival, but hated Grimm even more. Rather roundabout way of going 'gotta kick ALL the ass', but Veloce wasn't going to mince words about it. "What, you don't love what we have the most of? The fact its course, rough, and gets everywhere? Can't imagine not wanting to live with it all day!" "Now, as for me, normally this would be the part where I spin some bullshit fairy tale story about how I was bailed out from bandits at a young age by a huntsman passing through, mentoring while he was around, and following in his footsteps since in spite of the folks thinking it was a damn fool venture. That the old man of a Huntsman had gone and left some young buck starry eyed and eager to take on the world. But, since Boss said no fairy tales or bullshit, I regret to inform you its true. Got bailed out by a Huntsman and I intend to make good on that, and give the folks back home something to chew on instead of their own disbelief." Veloce, of course, made the whole thing sound ridiculous given his tone, doubly so given the fact that Auron had flat out said no bullshit or stories, but left just enough of a tone of bemusement that the other huntsman to be could find it unbelievable and he was just being a ridiculous Faunus making a mild mockery of the whole song and dance again. He shot Auron a loose grin, telling the honest truth in spite of his tone and general demeanor, and closed with one more remark. "Either way, this first day sure beats the hell out of that awful 'Introduce yourself and one interesting fact' song and dance, eh?"</s> <\|message\|>Huntsman Sheet Kohaku There was a level of satisfaction to be had as Kohaku's plan came to fruition—the wave on the right were unable to break through her earthen barrier, and countless of their number must have fallen to the torrent of flames that followed. Enough that it made them break and retreat back into the darkness from whence they came. That much surprised her; she had figured that the creatures of Grimm were mindless enough that they would have continued trying to charge through the barricade until she had burnt the last of them to ash. Disconcerting as their tactical awareness was, it was clear enough that her team had prevailed in the conflict as she scanned the left flank to see a similar state of withdraw. Of course, their trials weren't exactly over just because they had stemmed the tides of Beowolves. As dark miasma began leaking from the slumped corpses pinned against the roof and those beyond, Kohaku brought her scarf up to cover her nose and mouth. Their supervisor informed them of the dangers the substance posed if inhaled, and it spurred the Faunus into action. Another mechanical thunk came from her staff as she cycled through to another, as of yet unused canister and leveled it towards the encroaching fumes. A pale white glow encircled the projector at the tip of her weapon, and a strong gust of wind followed. She directed it first down the right passage, blowing away the wispy black fog in her immediate area before turning it down the left, allowing the gust to wash over her team mates harmlessly while also dispelling the remnants of their battle. Once she was content that it had been properly disposed of, she returned her staff to its resting position, rested against her shoulder to make balancing the unwieldy head most manageable. There wasn't exactly much to be said in this case, and so the girl chose to observe, watching as their instructor warily eyed the creeping tendrils that made the walls of the bunker their host. Staring at the vein-like flesh reminded her of the ill-fated Dust Devils and their complaints. Of sounds from within the ramparts. "We should avoid being too close to the walls as we go deeper." She suggested, although she couldn't well explain to them why. Nivea probably had a better idea than she did of whatever kept the men who once called this place home up at night. "Just in case."</s> <\|message\|>Personality --- This was Rio's first battle against the Grimm. No fantastical story or training dummy could have ever prepared him for the rush of adrenaline that he had felt just now. The tactics of teammates and his own quick trigger finger had seemingly won them the fight. No one was visibly hurt and, after inspecting himself for bite marks, he could include himself in that count. Yet, his heart was still racing even as the creatures in front of him started to dissolve from their fierce, monstrous figures into a shapeless ooze that looked like it belonged at the bottom of a saloon spit bucket. A sigh of relief would soon escape Rio's tensed body as it became clear that they had repelled the initial wave of Grimm but his fingers were still frozen in place as he gripped his weapon. Instead of easing his hold, his hands merely kept shaking even as he actively made an effort to relax. Soon enough, he had resorted to a few full breaths but this would come to a halt upon hearing Nivea's caution against the apparently toxic air. In his sudden panic, Rio instinctively covered his nose with his right forearm while rummaging through his pockets with his free hand for the kerchief that his mother prepares for his daily wardrobe. At least his vise on The Boatman's Due had loosen. Finally covering his mouth with his makeshift mask, Rio had to focus and inform his companions on the strict timetable that his Semblance had given him. "I'm all fer sticking away from walls but we need t' move if we wanna catch 'em." Protected by the thin strip of fabric and against the caution of their handler, Rio would take another deep breath to focus in on the runaway targets. A clayish rouge of energy would manifest and envelop itself around him as the distant pitter-patter of water droplets hitting the unlit distant ground of the abandoned bunker became as thunderous as a roaring river to the Huntsman-in-training. "My Semblance is tellin' me that they're less than a click away - I'll resume takin' point." Again, Rio's impatience would not wait for any possible objections from his team. They had a mission that needed to be accomplished and standing around this dark pit waiting to get ambushed again was not gonna get results. He would resume his earlier brisk pace once more, advancing towards the darkness in pursuit of the Grimm he managed to mark earlier.</s> <\|message\|>Huntsman Sheet Saffron Rupalfeather --- With the Grimm on the retreat, Saffron was satisfied that she had done an efficient job defending her side of the intersection - with Rio helping, of course. It definitely wasn't an easy battle, however; Whilst she had a little experience fighting the Grimm within primarily controlled training environments, the real thing definitely told her that despite how realistic the trainings had been at Signal they had definitely been holding back. The Signal Grimm had been fierce, but out in the real world, Grimm were ferocious. And whilst she was proud that she had managed to hold back the Grimm with her teammates, Saffron was also relieved about that fact. Hopefully things continued to be as successful as they were now. Saffron's eyes fixed upon a corpse of one of the fallen Grimm, observing the black smoke that was rising from it. Whilst it was interesting, the Faunus took care to follow Nivea's advice and try not to breathe in the smoke. Though, within a closed environment like this, Saffron wondered if it would soon become impossible to avoid doing so. She could see why Huntsmen would have such a problem clearing a nest, particularly in even more dangerous environments than this one. If they happened to get locked in by the degraded environment, either by collapse or mechanical failures in places such as this, she wondered what the consequences be, if it wasn't an ending of death. Taking a glance to Kohaku as she spoke, Saffron offered the girl a nod of agreement. "Good call," Saffron replies, shuffling herself to be more along the centreline of the room. She was, however, bothered by Rio's sudden wish to press on at speed - and slightly bothered by the fact that he was telling them that the Grimm were less than a click away. "Less than a kilometer? How big is bunker anyways?" She asks, starting to face Nivea, before reconsidering and turning back to the front. "Never mind, I don't want to know." She adds, starting to pursue Rio, mostly so that he wasn't running off on his own ahead of them.</s>	<\|message\|>Huntsman Sheet The return of silence wasn't exactly comforting--Fiona half expected something else to jump out at them if they dropped their guard for even a second. Fiona backed away from the black smoke, double-checking her ammo. She did her best to be as efficient as possible, but she'd be lying if she said she hadn't wasted a few shots. The Grimm moved faster than she anticipated; she wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. The last thing she wanted was to end up being a burden on the team. Or worse--she'd end up being the weak point. She was snapped out of her thoughts as a strong guest of wind blew away the smoke. Letting out a sigh of relief, she figured she should get her head back in the game. "Thank you, Kohaku," Fiona thanked her first and foremost. At least that was one less thing to worry about. Rio was eager to take point again, with his semblance revealing that there were, of course, more Grimm. She seemed to have the same thought as Saffron as the girl expressed curiosity on how big the bunker was. "Regardless of the distance, it's best to stay on guard," She decided to remind them, taking her spot after Saffron. "This bunker seems to have been built some time ago, so there should still be a distance before reaching the depths of where the Grimm would house themselves." After a brief pause of thought, she added, "Whatever Rio senses is likely a wandering group. Let's stay in formation as we proceed." </s>
<\|description\|>Donny Yang Appearance: Donny is 5'10 and weighs 224 pounds. He keeps his hair short and tries not to get his face hit too much. He's very pale due to living in the metro for most of his life, and even working the gunforges have failed to tan him since he actually wears all of his protective equipment when he works. He has a couple of scars on his arms due to training and from work so he tends to hide them with long-sleeve clothing. Age: 25 Occupation: Gunsmith History: Donny was a young boy when the calamity took his family. His parents were the first to die; they did everything they could to make sure he and his siblings survived the initial cold snaps, even at the cost of their lives. Afterwards Donny, his older brother, and his two sisters had to quickly make themselves useful in the underground colony located near the Great Lakes of old America. His little sister died of pneumonia when Donny was six. His older sister was murdered by a sick man who tried to have his way with her. His brother was sent into exile when he killed that man. This left Donny, at the young age of 9, the sole survivor of his family. He was noted for his quick hands and knack for tinkering, something that earned him his daily bread and got him a chance to raise his status in the colony. He was tasked to making bullets: without grand machines to pack and load power every bullet had to be hand made, and Donny's quick fingers made short work of most small calibers. As he grew older, he became more skilled at making these bullets, and even started making weapons, armor, and bits of technology. As his Colony grew so did their needs. Initially they survived via fishing, however thanks to the hostile weather above the colony was unable to sustain a fishing population that could meet their food demands. Rationing had to be done, and soon people had to turn to eating nutrient bricks made out of mutated insects and cave moss. But there was always a lot of guns and bullets in his colony. And it wasn't long before the colony started using those guns and bullets to steal from others. Initially they offered to trade, but when they couldn't get enough food they took it by force. Donny knew this was simply a necessity for the colony, but he couldn't help but feel less and less appreciative as his colony seemed to just be going to war with everyone around them. "Hasn't there been enough destruction?" He would often think. It wasn't long before Donny had thoughts of finding a new colony. He was spared from having to join a raiding force thanks to his gunsmithing skills, and he continued to use it for the colony. But every so often, he would make a gun that was missing a nonessential part. He'd pocket it and when he got back to his home, he would add it to a weapon of his own creation. He did this for years, going unnoticed as the colony grew and raided. The choking scent of the gunforge protected Donny from looking at the atrocities his colony committed. He couldn't even pretend they were doing what they did out of survival: they simply had the power to do whatever they wanted and no one around them could stop them. By the time Donny turned 25, he made a critical mistake. The new Warboss of the Colony commissioned Donny himself to create a big gun for himself. A Heavy Machine Gun so large that it needed to be mounted on wheels to use. Donny knew what he needed to do though, and made sure to request much more materials and parts than he actually needed so he could not only make the weapon, but also finish his own personal projects. Things were going well at first but during his time in the colony he had made a lady friend. A young girl who he saved from a life of slavery and tried to teach her his trade, and thought maybe he could even take her as a wife. But he let his guard down around her. She found out he was stealing parts from the colony and when he got home he was confronted by the Warboss's men. They promised they wouldn't kill him because of his skills, but Donny knew better. His colony was not a kind people. There was no such thing as mercy among them, and Donny had no intentions of becoming a slave. So he fought against these men, gathered his things, and escaped the colony before they could catch him. Donny was able to finish his weapon, even cobbled together some armor and other equipment, but he was living on borrowed time. It wouldn't be long before the elements or mutants got to him. He needed to find somewhere else to go. A new colony who wouldn't know who he was. He knew of such a place: supposedly there was a colony full of outcast exiles, even mutants, hoping to make a home for themselves near the remains of a blasted out city. Ordinarily such places were a death sentence due to high amounts of nuclear radiation but Donny didn't have much of a choice. Most other colonies near him were raided to death or under the authority of his old Colony. So Donny headed east to this fabled colony: Underhaven. Proficiency: Gunsmithing - Donny has been making weapons and firearms for years. He could make a bullet out of a tincan and some grease, and make a gun out of a pipe and some string. He's also been able to make other weapons and even armor, such as knives, clubs, breastplates, and even shields. If you can kill someone or if it can save you from being killed, Donny knows how to make it. Close Quarters Combat - While Donny never went on the raids, he was still made to train in case the Colony was ever under attacked. In particular he took up fighting in hand-to-hand as well as tight corridors very well. Probably helped that he did a bit of karate when he was still a child, before hell froze over. His near-sightedness makes him terrible at longer ranges though. Physical Strength - Donny is quite simply a very strong young man. He kept himself fed well enough that he isn't malnourished and working the forge kept his body in good physical shape. His preference for heavier armor has conditioned himself to have a great amount of stamina and to be able to take heavy blows and even deflect them with minimal movement. Against most other human enemies Donny could likely be a juggernaut to them. But he's still made of paper if he has to go toe-to-toe with a mutant, perhaps even worse since his fighting style doesn't exactly give him a great amount of agility and speed. Foraging and Cooking - One of Donny's secrets to having good health is being a good chef. Sure, Nutrient Bricks were basically 90% of his meals, but occasionally he was able to sneak some spices like salt and black pepper, even the occasional lemon, into a meal and make it half-way palpable. Not to mention he's come to learn how to make most of the mutated plants taste decent as long as he takes time to cook them instead of the usual method of chopping them up and packing them into a blender. Technical Tinkering - While most of Donny's crafting expertise is with guns and weapons, in his early years he also had to work as an technician. He's generally familiar with how most machines work and why they might be broken, and could even operate a computer as long as the keyboards are still functioning. However he lacks the true knowledge to actually make anything that doesn't shoot or hold an edge so at best he might be able to repair broken machines. Equipment: Hexduo Revolver Shotgun - Donny's pride and joy. It took him over ten years to put this together but he made sure it was perfect by the time he took it with him out of the colony. A double action revolver rifle that can load six 9 gauge shotgun rounds and three .50 caliber rifle bullets, made extra sturdy to the point that Donny can and has bludgeoned people to death with it. The bullets are difficult to make however, so he needs to conserve his ammunition and wait until he can get a proper set up to make more ammunition for himself. Runner Pistol - Donny's personal sidearm. A revolver chambered for .223 or even 5.56 rounds, both where are quite plentiful around the Metro. He calls it the Runner Pistol thanks to it's light weight and the 5.56 being plentiful ammo, allowing him to use it frequently "on the run". Largely a weapon for self-defense as he has .223 to deal with humans and AP 5.56 for dealing with armor. Crash Axe - Both a weapon and a tool. Donny didn't actually make this one, having brought it from a scavenger from the Colony when the handle broke off. After gathering the right parts and fixing up the tang Donny was able to repair it to his signature weapon of choice in a close combat encounter. Useful as an axe, yet precise enough to use like a knife, with a sharp pick to break glass and dig into stone or ice. Rebar Knife - Quite simply a knife made from a length of steel rebar. He carries quite a few of these for general purpose knife reasons, and often this is what he uses for trades. They're easy for him to make and useful enough that people would want them. Weighted well enough to also serve as throwing knives. Survival Armor - Donny's personal survival armor. He has a full metal helmet that can withstand small arms fire and help deflect rifle rounds from a distance, and his body armor is made of a mix of mutant leather (which is as tough as kevlar) and iron plates. The armor around his arms and legs are just thick mutant leather, and he unfortunately doesn't have any gloves. He wears thick insulated camouflage pants and sturdy snow boots. On the back of Donny's armor is a gas generator he sometimes fuels that connects to his helmet: it helps filter out radiation and toxic chemicals but is quite loud and requires oil to use. Fire Bombs - Also known as Molotov Cocktails, this is Donny's go-to weapon against mutants. Made from glass bottles he finds and whatever oil he can scrounge together into a flammable mix. Needs an external fire source to make deadly though. Gunsmithing Tools - A few tools Donny was able to grab when he escaped the Colony. They can help him maintain and repair guns as well as make some ammunition, though he still needs the raw materials to do so. A proper facility will allow him to make more complex weapons and higher quality ammunition. Rope - Handy length of rope to tie things up. Made of mutant leather for durability, though this also makes it prone to snapping under heat. Nutrient Bricks - Tasteless bars of bug bits and moss. Donny frankly hates eating these things but he'd rather not starve. Moss Wine - Hydration is necessary to survival, and unfortunately water freezes very easily even within the metros. So Donny has a canteen full of Moss Wine as it can keep him hydrated and doesn't freeze even at subzero temperatures. Tastes like blood and sweat though. Lighter - A relic from the old world. Still has enough fluid inside to work. Pack of Cigarettes - Also known as Old World Gold. Tobacco is in high demand all over the world and Donny is lucky enough to have found an unopened pack of menthol cigarettes when he was escaping the Colony. Donny's not much of a smoker himself though.</s> <\|message\|>Donny Yang It wouldn't be hard for Cat to catch up to Donny thanks to her agility, as well as the fact Donny was trying to enter doors that were locked or blocked off. If he wasn't in immediate peril he might have time to break through but alas, every second would count. The pseudogiant was indeed sluggish to climb the rules, but what it lacked in finesse it more than made up in sheer brutality. Cat and Donny would hear it leap from the bottom floor to their floor, tearing apart the walls and floor of the hospital to reach them. "Oh fuck." Eventually the two would cross the hall where the giant must've broken through. The mutant itself was barreling down the hall, giving both only a few seconds to brace themselves. But Donny had an idea seeing as you decided to follow him. He cupped his hands together and lowered himself to the ground. "I'll throw you across! Then you help me jump the hole! Hurry!" Donny said as the monster continued to roar and build speed.</s> <\|message\|>Catherine 'Cat' Serve "Why did I even come to the surface?" She asked herself as she ran after the man, turning the rope in a rope bundle as she ran. It was a trained subconscious action at this point since she often did it as a soldier. She saw him trying doors one by one, well why didn't he just shoot a lock of or something? Granted loud noise and all that, but with the snowstorm that would likely hit any time now outside, it wasn't likely to make any difference or allow anything to notice it too easily. In any case she felt the floor tremble as the thing fucking jump." How is that thing even moving underneath it's own mass let alone jumping?" She complained as she ran forward, seeing the man offering to jump her across. "Alright!" She called out to him as she ran, speeding her step even further, creating more distance between herself and the mutant as she ran at him, she jumped, stepping at the precise moment needed in his hands and pushed herself out to jump once more, using his movement to propell herself even further as she landed on the other side with little difficulty. She turned right away." JUMP! I've got you!" She called out to him as she reached over her edge of the hole, waiting to grab his arm, though she also still held the rope, just in case he didn't jump far enough to grab his arm, so she could toss him the rope and then pull him back up.</s>	<\|message\|>Donny Yang Donny needed a few steps to build moment. A few steps too many. As he jumped, the beast caught up to him and clipped his leg. His jump was thrown off but he did catch your hand, his massive weight nearly pulling you off your feet. Fortunately Donny caught himself on the ledge and was able to pull himself up. As for the mutant, its momentum was too great for it to slow down and crashed into the wall out of sight, the sound of cement and glass shattering bring the only indicator of its fate. Donny crawled away from the ledge and tried to stand up. However then he stumbled; his foot had barely grazed the pseudogiant but that alone was enough to bruise him. "Goddamn. Fuck. Ow." He said with heavy breaths as he looked around for something solid. There was the rotted remains of a wooden bench which he broke down until he got a straight stick and turned to you. "Can I have my rope back?"</s>
<\|description\|>Mortus 25 • Male • Human? School of Magic Specialization: Thaumaturgy Type: Ritualistic Description: Thaumaturgy is used to conjure miraculous effects and call upon the various mythological powers for aid. However it can be used to contact the vile powers of the worlds for those who seek to bargain with the malevolent forces of the universe, but without the proper artifacts and information regarding such evil's the use of Thaumaturgy is extremely dangerous to practitioners of the art of such magic. Inventory: - Cultist Robes: A set of robes worn by the followers of the Crimson Flame; a cult who worship the Lords of the Abyss. - Metal Mask: An intricately detailed mask that covers the face of the one who wears it, but the metal is of alien origins and without classification. It is cold to the touch and is of a hard shiny black material. - The Daemonis Artificron: A strange object that is composed of a material similar to the mask. Quests: World Domination! You can also add a personal quest if you wish. When a quest is completed rewards will be granted. Other: Anything else you want to share!</s> <\|message\|>Mortus New Rule! You must roll an action every 3 posts, or the GM will roll something for you, and it'll be based on ambient wild magic and probably go worse then anything you could of picked for yourself (although maybe you're into that, but then why not pick a wild magic character?)</s> <\|message\|>Mortus ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ You sit in the Grand Chamber of the Black Castle, located in the depths of the Blasted Land. This place has been the home base of the Council of Evil for over a thousand years, each successive generation of would-be evil mages building and adding and twisting the halls of their home to suit them. Beneath your feet roam miles upon miles of strange weaving corridors and rooms, descending into ancient alien ruins, and beneath the ground lie prisons and dungeons for magical reagents. The Blasted Lands themselves are a bastion of bizarre magical energy. A magical cataclysm back in the last age has left the magic here both potent and dangerous. No mundane would dream of living here if they had other options, as even basic beasts are warped or granted intelligence in this realm. This land grants a respite from prying eyes, and being Mages of Great Ambition, you fear not the wild magic that lurks, ready to change your spells. You're powerful, after all, aren't you? There is no need to fear such things... But none of that is important now. You gather together around a ridiculously large round table. There are various maps and empty tankards and fine china strewn across the thing as you had spent the day discussing your next move. The lands beyond yours had allied together, the villages in your reaches no longer paid you tribute, and people had all but forgotten your existence. It was time to remind them. It was time to take over the world.</s> <\|message\|>Promien The Rotting Promien The Rotting --- --- Location: The Blasted Castle \|\| Time: Morning \|\| Interactions: Anyone Nearby --- --- Promien scratched at his face languidly as he took his seat at the table, grunting out of what seemed to be exertion as he did so. A sign that he had either been up late performing some ritual the night before, thus causing some manner of increased physical strain, or that'd he'd simply tired himself out while walking the fortresses labyrinthine hallways. Whatever the case, he was here, and taking full advantage of this moment of solace before the others arrived and disrupted his peace with their plans of world domination, the subjugation of the masses, or whatever other half-cocked scheme they'd come up with to spite the lands beyond this time. And that wasn't even mentioning the bickering or grandstanding that was sure to follow, the very thought of which almost made him want to fling himself off of the nearest balcony. Almost. Sighing, he motioned for one of his skeletal servants to go fetch him a cup of tea. What they lacked in regards to combat, especially when pitted against loincloth sporting barbarians with a fetish for ridiculously large hammers, skeletons more than made up for by providing a cost effective source of menial labor.</s> <\|message\|>Ada Lovebound (To be expanded) Ada broke the awkward silence by commencing her presentation. She really took her time explaining the inner clockwork of a Golem Brain Micro-architecture, Golem Operating System, and the Artificial Neural Network model installed as the software inside the Golem Brain.</s> <\|message\|>Marina Cabral Marina was in the hallway outside trying to straighten out her leather vest she was wearing while one of her servants stood nearby holding her staff. The servant was a gnome creature about three feet tall, its skin made of diamond material. They looked up at her and sighed while rolling their eyes as she kept fidgeting with her clothes. "I can feel you rolling your eyes at me, Scara." Scara straightened their face back to a neutral one as Marina finally shrugged and reached out her hand for her magical staff. "We've come a long way Scara. To think that back home, we were forgotten by the masses as though we were a myth." "Master, you weren't popular, to begin with, though among the other myths in our home country." "Silence Scara. You will not speak of such insolence amongst the Council of Evil." Scara shook their head silently as they followed Marina to the doors. Marina pushed forward and stepped into the room, looking around at the Council's room's messy appearance only to realize that it wasn't impressive as she would have hoped. Biting her bottom lip, she frowned and spotted someone already sitting at the round table. She wasn't a popular or famous witch herself; in fact, she spent over a hundred years trying to make a name for herself in a time where it was impossible to rise above other legends. She noticed the man with a gaunt appearance and dark eyes dressed in robes and nodded her head once before pulling a seat out to sit down. She picked one opposite the stranger as she did not feel like making much small talk. Though she did want to make a good first impression... she leaned forward as though she were going to speak, but at the last second, she realized she had nothing to say. So there she was, leaning forward, mouth open and no words coming out. Scara, the servant, stood behind her and smacked themselves in the face with their palm.</s>	<\|message\|>Mortus 6 You motion to the skeletal servant to fetch you a refresher, but either you put too much power into it or the arcane energies inbued it a little too much. Soon you have every Skeletal servant in the room bringing you tea, each of them crowding around your chair, holding out saucers and mugs and appropriately named bone china teacups, all brewed to unnatural levels of ultimate perfection.</s>
<\|description\|>Promien The Rotting 27 • Male • Human "Evil? Necromancy is no more evil than ordinary magic is. It is pure survival, and my use of it is no more or less despicable than the mage who causes the warrior's veins to boil, or the king's bones to fall to dust." — Promien The Rotting Personality --- Promien could be best described as… unpleasantly opportunistic. Being a proponent of survival of the fittest first and foremost, he is not above using ordinary magic and necromancy alike to further his own goals or save his own hide, though he will not betray allies should they prove themselves worth working with. Unfortunately, as the Rotting himself has said, true allies are damn near impossible to come by for a necromancer. Even among their own kind, their own cadre if you will, tensions run high. As if there weren't enough overly nihilistic bastards looking to enslave the world already, living and dead alike, they'll always be the one who schemes for the sheer intellectual thrill of it. Pitting brothers and sisters-in-arms against each other in the name of an ultimately selfish and manipulative game. It is these same individuals that Promien-unsurprisingly-despises the most, even if he sometimes engages in the very same tactics they do on occasion. For they do nothing but sit back and watch as their plans gradually unfold, usually toward nothing but an utterly anarchic end. Speaking of ends however, Promien does not lack any of his own, the most pressing and desirable of which is to eventually transcend his lowly flesh to be reborn in the cleansing desiccation of lichdom. The ultimate mockery of life, and one that only two other necromancers before him actually managed to achieve, though even they did not get far before heroes stormed through their lifeless hordes and cut them down. As such, he is willing to do whatever it takes to succeed where those who went before him failed, if only to prove that he-out of everyone-actually could. What he intends on doing after this, however, is anyone's guess. Finally, Promien has quite the strong view on the dark arts in which he is immersed, scoffing at and ridiculing the idea that necromancy is an inherently evil or repugnant practice. To this end he has cited the many misuses of regular or white magic, most of which don't usually seem to come with a very high cost to the wielder, and asked why such abuses are not taken into account as well. Necromancy demands the permanent expenditure of one's own mana, which is thought to be manipulated fragments or threads of one's very own soul, after all. Which is far more dangerous than other magics comparatively speaking, for these used up fragments can never be regained and convey a lasting weakness to the practitioner, while most other wizards are seemingly able to ply their respective crafts with impunity. A caveat Promien claims can be quite easily abused. Therefore-or so he claims anyway-his opposition taking the stance they do is either the height of willful ignorance at best, or the bare bottom of hypocritical injustice at worst. Appearance --- As his epithet would imply, Promien casts quite the unusual figure for a man supposedly in the prime of his life. Despite being naught more than a scant twenty-seven years of age, his features appear yellowed, gaunt, and scarred; his eyes are nothing more than miniscule flecks of gleaming silver gathered at the bottom of two darkened pools that remain ever watchful... ever alert. The rest of Promein's also body does little to dispel the idea that he's slowly decomposing from the inside out, for he appears thin as a twig, and weak as one too, walking from place to place in an unbalanced hunch and using his gnarled wooden staff for support. Regardless of these traits, however, Promien is in possession of an almost inhuman level of physical and mental strength. He is more than capable of holding his own in a hand-to-hand fight if need be, not to mention capable of shrugging off most forms of physical and mental torment. Whether this is because of some-as of yet-unknown trauma in his past, his journey of discovery regarding the necromantic arts, or merely pure unadulterated will, is not known. When it comes to dress, Promien keeps his wardrobe simple. Although he has plumbed the graves of rich and poor alike in pursuit of life defying power, and created quite the nice horde for himself as a result, Promien does not dress in overly showy or ancient attire. He does not, as a matter of fact, even bother to dress in the traditional dark, hooded, and tattered garb one would expect an individual like him to wear, feeling that such things would only make his life even harder due to the sheer amount of unwanted attention such articles tend to attract. Rather, he wears clothes similar in nature to those donned by pilgrims, vagabonds, or monks, since such attire generally lets him access the cemeteries and mausoleums of the hamlets, towns, and cities he visits with relative ease. School of Magic --- Necromancy. An art perceived to be evil by many and reviled by most. Inventory --- The garb of what appears to be a pilgrim, drifter, or vagabond, and a gnarled old staff that seems to bear no magical properties whatsoever, at least to the untrained eye. Other than these items, Promien also carries a small leather pouch containing a pittance of coins, all the money one would expect a traveling pilgrim or vagabond to have. Quests --- World domination, while tempting, was never really Promien's style. Though perhaps it may become such should he successfully complete his personal quest to attain lichdom and eternal unlife. History --- Promien's story is one of misfortune and hardship. Being born to parents unknown, he was left to fend for himself at a very young age, the only companions he had were the rats that ran along the sludge-filled gutters and down deserted streets. It wasn't until his teenage years that he began experimenting with magic in general, with necromancy being the one school in particular that he took the most interest in. How exactly he managed to learn most of what he now knows without the aid of a mentor or professional schooling remains a mystery, however. Suffice it to say, Promien became highly skilled in this most twisted usage of his own mana, eventually changing his own appearance so much that he was given the moniker "Promien The Rotting" by those practitioners who knew of him. This was not enough for the young dread lord however, and he soon began to study ways in which he could cheat his own death, a feat only achieved by two of the most ancient dark lords. Thus was the long path to lichdom revealed, and it is one he has followed ever since. In this pursuit he began looking for several objects that could become potential phylacteries, and thus did his adventures across the lands truly begin. Other --- Necromancy, as stated above, requires the expenditure of one's own mana or soul essence in order for rituals to be considered successful or even function properly. This is permanent unfortunately, and weakens the practitioner in the process. On the bright side, servants made and corpses raised via this process are notoriously hard to put down, with some of the safest ways either being to undo the spellwork holding the dead body together on the mortal plane or simply destroying it to the point where it cannot reconstitute itself. Grinding the undead servant into dust, burning it to ash, or hacking off its limbs and separating them from each other are just a few of the most frequently used methods in regards to the latter option, with the choice to do each making it increasingly difficult, if not downright impossible, for the undead in question to reform depending on the circumstances. Holy magics and weapons, however, are the one hard counter to any undead form. While stronger undead typically require stronger blessings and artifacts to destroy or drive out, weaker undead such as the ones Promien might raise to aid him in combat are easily eradicated with naught more than a simple battle prayer. --- Maere the Bloodied 38 • Male • Human --- --- In fire and blood doth demon cleave unto man... School of Magic --- Enchanting technically, though Maere also has a great deal of skill with more demonically themed magics thanks to his symbiosis with Seggaroth. Inventory --- Although he does not carry any armor on his person, Seggaroth is more than capable of summoning a suit for him, which she refers to as the Blackstone Plate or Blackstone Carapace. Additionally he also wields Ashrune, the Bane of Eternal Rest. A crimson longsword that is interwoven with enchantments not only to keep it from breaking, but also to steal the souls of those it kills. Other than that he carries a pouch full of gold coins, and undoubtedly has more hidden elsewhere in the castle. Quests --- Unlike Promien, Maere does seek conquest, for it is only through bloodshed that Ashrune and Seggaroth's hungers may finally be satiated. Other --- Thanks to his symbiotic relationship with Seggaroth, Maere overall physical capabilities have been massively increased, allowing him to move incredibly fast when not covered by the Blackstone Carapace, and practically faster than the eye can follow with it. Furthermore, his strength has been boosted to a ridiculous degree, a trait that lets him take down foes much large than him with nothing more than his fists if he so chooses. Finally, his durability and senses have also been increased, making him incredibly difficult to take down or sneak up on, though both are obviously not out of the realm of possibility. While most mundane weaponry wouldn't be enough to inconvenience, let alone threaten him, enchanted weapons and magic in general are still more than capable of doing the job. Of course such measures only put one on equal footing with him and Seggaroth rather than higher ground, something that can't be said for holy magics and weaponry, both of which are more than capable of permanently ending the unholy duo provided one has the time, fortitude, effort, and boon of appropriate strength. It should be noted, however, that when wearing the Blackstone Carapace all of these attributes and resistances are massively enhanced. Ashrune is also capable of channeling Seggaroth's demonic power, or her demonic magics in general really, in addition to stealing its victims souls. This gives Maere a great deal of flexibility as far as combat goes, as he can now use the sword as a conduit for a plethora of style based ranged attacks. Some of these include sending out waves of Hellfire to scorch his foes, or piercing them to impart a massive dose of spiritual corruption that eats away at both body and soul, just to name a few. ---</s> <\|message\|>Mortus New Rule! You must roll an action every 3 posts, or the GM will roll something for you, and it'll be based on ambient wild magic and probably go worse then anything you could of picked for yourself (although maybe you're into that, but then why not pick a wild magic character?)</s> <\|message\|>Mortus ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ You sit in the Grand Chamber of the Black Castle, located in the depths of the Blasted Land. This place has been the home base of the Council of Evil for over a thousand years, each successive generation of would-be evil mages building and adding and twisting the halls of their home to suit them. Beneath your feet roam miles upon miles of strange weaving corridors and rooms, descending into ancient alien ruins, and beneath the ground lie prisons and dungeons for magical reagents. The Blasted Lands themselves are a bastion of bizarre magical energy. A magical cataclysm back in the last age has left the magic here both potent and dangerous. No mundane would dream of living here if they had other options, as even basic beasts are warped or granted intelligence in this realm. This land grants a respite from prying eyes, and being Mages of Great Ambition, you fear not the wild magic that lurks, ready to change your spells. You're powerful, after all, aren't you? There is no need to fear such things... But none of that is important now. You gather together around a ridiculously large round table. There are various maps and empty tankards and fine china strewn across the thing as you had spent the day discussing your next move. The lands beyond yours had allied together, the villages in your reaches no longer paid you tribute, and people had all but forgotten your existence. It was time to remind them. It was time to take over the world.</s>	<\|message\|>Promien The Rotting Location: The Blasted Castle \|\| Time: Morning \|\| Interactions: Anyone Nearby --- --- Promien scratched at his face languidly as he took his seat at the table, grunting out of what seemed to be exertion as he did so. A sign that he had either been up late performing some ritual the night before, thus causing some manner of increased physical strain, or that'd he'd simply tired himself out while walking the fortresses labyrinthine hallways. Whatever the case, he was here, and taking full advantage of this moment of solace before the others arrived and disrupted his peace with their plans of world domination, the subjugation of the masses, or whatever other half-cocked scheme they'd come up with to spite the lands beyond this time. And that wasn't even mentioning the bickering or grandstanding that was sure to follow, the very thought of which almost made him want to fling himself off of the nearest balcony. Almost. Sighing, he motioned for one of his skeletal servants to go fetch him a cup of tea. What they lacked in regards to combat, especially when pitted against loincloth sporting barbarians with a fetish for ridiculously large hammers, skeletons more than made up for by providing a cost effective source of menial labor.</s>
<\|description\|>Promien The Rotting 27 • Male • Human "Evil? Necromancy is no more evil than ordinary magic is. It is pure survival, and my use of it is no more or less despicable than the mage who causes the warrior's veins to boil, or the king's bones to fall to dust." — Promien The Rotting Personality --- Promien could be best described as… unpleasantly opportunistic. Being a proponent of survival of the fittest first and foremost, he is not above using ordinary magic and necromancy alike to further his own goals or save his own hide, though he will not betray allies should they prove themselves worth working with. Unfortunately, as the Rotting himself has said, true allies are damn near impossible to come by for a necromancer. Even among their own kind, their own cadre if you will, tensions run high. As if there weren't enough overly nihilistic bastards looking to enslave the world already, living and dead alike, they'll always be the one who schemes for the sheer intellectual thrill of it. Pitting brothers and sisters-in-arms against each other in the name of an ultimately selfish and manipulative game. It is these same individuals that Promien-unsurprisingly-despises the most, even if he sometimes engages in the very same tactics they do on occasion. For they do nothing but sit back and watch as their plans gradually unfold, usually toward nothing but an utterly anarchic end. Speaking of ends however, Promien does not lack any of his own, the most pressing and desirable of which is to eventually transcend his lowly flesh to be reborn in the cleansing desiccation of lichdom. The ultimate mockery of life, and one that only two other necromancers before him actually managed to achieve, though even they did not get far before heroes stormed through their lifeless hordes and cut them down. As such, he is willing to do whatever it takes to succeed where those who went before him failed, if only to prove that he-out of everyone-actually could. What he intends on doing after this, however, is anyone's guess. Finally, Promien has quite the strong view on the dark arts in which he is immersed, scoffing at and ridiculing the idea that necromancy is an inherently evil or repugnant practice. To this end he has cited the many misuses of regular or white magic, most of which don't usually seem to come with a very high cost to the wielder, and asked why such abuses are not taken into account as well. Necromancy demands the permanent expenditure of one's own mana, which is thought to be manipulated fragments or threads of one's very own soul, after all. Which is far more dangerous than other magics comparatively speaking, for these used up fragments can never be regained and convey a lasting weakness to the practitioner, while most other wizards are seemingly able to ply their respective crafts with impunity. A caveat Promien claims can be quite easily abused. Therefore-or so he claims anyway-his opposition taking the stance they do is either the height of willful ignorance at best, or the bare bottom of hypocritical injustice at worst. Appearance --- As his epithet would imply, Promien casts quite the unusual figure for a man supposedly in the prime of his life. Despite being naught more than a scant twenty-seven years of age, his features appear yellowed, gaunt, and scarred; his eyes are nothing more than miniscule flecks of gleaming silver gathered at the bottom of two darkened pools that remain ever watchful... ever alert. The rest of Promein's also body does little to dispel the idea that he's slowly decomposing from the inside out, for he appears thin as a twig, and weak as one too, walking from place to place in an unbalanced hunch and using his gnarled wooden staff for support. Regardless of these traits, however, Promien is in possession of an almost inhuman level of physical and mental strength. He is more than capable of holding his own in a hand-to-hand fight if need be, not to mention capable of shrugging off most forms of physical and mental torment. Whether this is because of some-as of yet-unknown trauma in his past, his journey of discovery regarding the necromantic arts, or merely pure unadulterated will, is not known. When it comes to dress, Promien keeps his wardrobe simple. Although he has plumbed the graves of rich and poor alike in pursuit of life defying power, and created quite the nice horde for himself as a result, Promien does not dress in overly showy or ancient attire. He does not, as a matter of fact, even bother to dress in the traditional dark, hooded, and tattered garb one would expect an individual like him to wear, feeling that such things would only make his life even harder due to the sheer amount of unwanted attention such articles tend to attract. Rather, he wears clothes similar in nature to those donned by pilgrims, vagabonds, or monks, since such attire generally lets him access the cemeteries and mausoleums of the hamlets, towns, and cities he visits with relative ease. School of Magic --- Necromancy. An art perceived to be evil by many and reviled by most. Inventory --- The garb of what appears to be a pilgrim, drifter, or vagabond, and a gnarled old staff that seems to bear no magical properties whatsoever, at least to the untrained eye. Other than these items, Promien also carries a small leather pouch containing a pittance of coins, all the money one would expect a traveling pilgrim or vagabond to have. Quests --- World domination, while tempting, was never really Promien's style. Though perhaps it may become such should he successfully complete his personal quest to attain lichdom and eternal unlife. History --- Promien's story is one of misfortune and hardship. Being born to parents unknown, he was left to fend for himself at a very young age, the only companions he had were the rats that ran along the sludge-filled gutters and down deserted streets. It wasn't until his teenage years that he began experimenting with magic in general, with necromancy being the one school in particular that he took the most interest in. How exactly he managed to learn most of what he now knows without the aid of a mentor or professional schooling remains a mystery, however. Suffice it to say, Promien became highly skilled in this most twisted usage of his own mana, eventually changing his own appearance so much that he was given the moniker "Promien The Rotting" by those practitioners who knew of him. This was not enough for the young dread lord however, and he soon began to study ways in which he could cheat his own death, a feat only achieved by two of the most ancient dark lords. Thus was the long path to lichdom revealed, and it is one he has followed ever since. In this pursuit he began looking for several objects that could become potential phylacteries, and thus did his adventures across the lands truly begin. Other --- Necromancy, as stated above, requires the expenditure of one's own mana or soul essence in order for rituals to be considered successful or even function properly. This is permanent unfortunately, and weakens the practitioner in the process. On the bright side, servants made and corpses raised via this process are notoriously hard to put down, with some of the safest ways either being to undo the spellwork holding the dead body together on the mortal plane or simply destroying it to the point where it cannot reconstitute itself. Grinding the undead servant into dust, burning it to ash, or hacking off its limbs and separating them from each other are just a few of the most frequently used methods in regards to the latter option, with the choice to do each making it increasingly difficult, if not downright impossible, for the undead in question to reform depending on the circumstances. Holy magics and weapons, however, are the one hard counter to any undead form. While stronger undead typically require stronger blessings and artifacts to destroy or drive out, weaker undead such as the ones Promien might raise to aid him in combat are easily eradicated with naught more than a simple battle prayer. --- Maere the Bloodied 38 • Male • Human --- --- In fire and blood doth demon cleave unto man... School of Magic --- Enchanting technically, though Maere also has a great deal of skill with more demonically themed magics thanks to his symbiosis with Seggaroth. Inventory --- Although he does not carry any armor on his person, Seggaroth is more than capable of summoning a suit for him, which she refers to as the Blackstone Plate or Blackstone Carapace. Additionally he also wields Ashrune, the Bane of Eternal Rest. A crimson longsword that is interwoven with enchantments not only to keep it from breaking, but also to steal the souls of those it kills. Other than that he carries a pouch full of gold coins, and undoubtedly has more hidden elsewhere in the castle. Quests --- Unlike Promien, Maere does seek conquest, for it is only through bloodshed that Ashrune and Seggaroth's hungers may finally be satiated. Other --- Thanks to his symbiotic relationship with Seggaroth, Maere overall physical capabilities have been massively increased, allowing him to move incredibly fast when not covered by the Blackstone Carapace, and practically faster than the eye can follow with it. Furthermore, his strength has been boosted to a ridiculous degree, a trait that lets him take down foes much large than him with nothing more than his fists if he so chooses. Finally, his durability and senses have also been increased, making him incredibly difficult to take down or sneak up on, though both are obviously not out of the realm of possibility. While most mundane weaponry wouldn't be enough to inconvenience, let alone threaten him, enchanted weapons and magic in general are still more than capable of doing the job. Of course such measures only put one on equal footing with him and Seggaroth rather than higher ground, something that can't be said for holy magics and weaponry, both of which are more than capable of permanently ending the unholy duo provided one has the time, fortitude, effort, and boon of appropriate strength. It should be noted, however, that when wearing the Blackstone Carapace all of these attributes and resistances are massively enhanced. Ashrune is also capable of channeling Seggaroth's demonic power, or her demonic magics in general really, in addition to stealing its victims souls. This gives Maere a great deal of flexibility as far as combat goes, as he can now use the sword as a conduit for a plethora of style based ranged attacks. Some of these include sending out waves of Hellfire to scorch his foes, or piercing them to impart a massive dose of spiritual corruption that eats away at both body and soul, just to name a few. ---</s> <\|message\|>Promien The Rotting Promien The Rotting --- --- Location: The Blasted Castle \|\| Time: Morning \|\| Interactions: Anyone Nearby --- --- Promien let out another sigh as he took a cup of tea before motioning for the skeletons to set the rest at various parts of the table for the other members that were currently gathered for their little meeting, one which had started without his knowing to boot thanks to that daft miscalculation on his part. Maybe they would drink, maybe not, at this point he really didn't care. He did have to force himself to suppress a chuckle upon hearing Shandris' remarks however, for it tickled him right to the bone. "Why what I planned to do from the very moment I joined this silly little gaggle of would-be conquerors..." He smirked, expression clear for all to see since he wasn't currently wearing his hood. "Become a lich. If there's one thing I've learned over the last couple of years, it's that taking over the world and spreading chaos is far harder in practice than it is in theory. But by all means, feel free to launch some foolish crusade at the greatest wane in your collective power." Promien paused to take a sip of his tea. "I still get the remnants after all."</s> <\|message\|>Shandris "They have men, gold, and plentiful defenses. We have a castle in the middle of nowhere and some ragtag minions. You'd have to be daft not to worry with or consider those odds." She replied to Ziebach, turning down a skeleton's offer of a mysterious, bubbling brew. Death by whatever-it-was was not something Shandris was willing to try. "It is like Promien says. We are without power. You speak of armaments, but I see none. Why should we give away what little we have to play silly games of courtship with some king or other noble as well?" "Although, if you do want to go that route, I would suggest we start small." Shandris pointed to a river on the map. "The Tooth; a river within the lands of the Kracanni nomads. Many of them depend on the river for survival, even more so for their cow herds that bandits prey upon. Help me take out the bandits, and I will give you an army."</s> <\|message\|>Promien The Rotting Maere the Bloodied --- --- Location: The Blasted Castle \|\| Time: Morning \|\| Interactions: Anyone Nearby --- --- Maere made his way into the room via a side stairway, his expression gruff as ever. Taking a mug from one of the skeletons, he moved to take a seat, his gaze drifting over those assembled. "Mornin." He brought the bubbling liquid up to his lips with one hand as he reclined in his chair, shifting slightly so he could prop his feet up on the massive table itself.</s> <\|message\|>Mortus 6 You turn down the offer of the suspicious bubbling brew. Crash! The chairs reverberate as every skeleton drops their drinks simultaeneously onto the floor, destroying the lion's share of the china collection and covering the floor in a thick puddle of mixing teas. Some of those items were ancient! Oh well. Who's cleaning this up? You look over to see the skeletons eerily backing away from you and standing in the darkened corners of the room. You are left seeing only the pinpricks of their eyes. Looks like they're a little overtuned today. 3 The drink is delicious, but it is a little on the uncomfortably hot side (if necromancers worry about such things?) You prop your feet up on the table, momentarily feeling as if the chair will fall backwards, but you quickly readjust your balance and find a very comfortable seating position. Who says you can't be evil in style?</s>	<\|message\|>Promien The Rotting Maere grunts as the liquid slides down his throat, before calmly setting the cup down, as though the entire hall hadn't just been filled with the clatter of crashing china. "Problem with your spells today Promien?" The demon-bound warrior cast a sideways glance at the necromancer, who sent him a level look followed by a friendly smile in return. "Why I haven't the slightest clue as to what you mean." The necromancer shifted his gaze back to the druid. "Much as I hate to agree with someone who walks the path most hypocritical, Shandris' plan is a sound one. If any of you are truly hellbent on conquest, you will need an army, and I can only provide so much as of the present. I say we help the peasants, if only so they may be further in our debt."</s>
<\|description\|>Promien The Rotting 27 • Male • Human "Evil? Necromancy is no more evil than ordinary magic is. It is pure survival, and my use of it is no more or less despicable than the mage who causes the warrior's veins to boil, or the king's bones to fall to dust." — Promien The Rotting Personality --- Promien could be best described as… unpleasantly opportunistic. Being a proponent of survival of the fittest first and foremost, he is not above using ordinary magic and necromancy alike to further his own goals or save his own hide, though he will not betray allies should they prove themselves worth working with. Unfortunately, as the Rotting himself has said, true allies are damn near impossible to come by for a necromancer. Even among their own kind, their own cadre if you will, tensions run high. As if there weren't enough overly nihilistic bastards looking to enslave the world already, living and dead alike, they'll always be the one who schemes for the sheer intellectual thrill of it. Pitting brothers and sisters-in-arms against each other in the name of an ultimately selfish and manipulative game. It is these same individuals that Promien-unsurprisingly-despises the most, even if he sometimes engages in the very same tactics they do on occasion. For they do nothing but sit back and watch as their plans gradually unfold, usually toward nothing but an utterly anarchic end. Speaking of ends however, Promien does not lack any of his own, the most pressing and desirable of which is to eventually transcend his lowly flesh to be reborn in the cleansing desiccation of lichdom. The ultimate mockery of life, and one that only two other necromancers before him actually managed to achieve, though even they did not get far before heroes stormed through their lifeless hordes and cut them down. As such, he is willing to do whatever it takes to succeed where those who went before him failed, if only to prove that he-out of everyone-actually could. What he intends on doing after this, however, is anyone's guess. Finally, Promien has quite the strong view on the dark arts in which he is immersed, scoffing at and ridiculing the idea that necromancy is an inherently evil or repugnant practice. To this end he has cited the many misuses of regular or white magic, most of which don't usually seem to come with a very high cost to the wielder, and asked why such abuses are not taken into account as well. Necromancy demands the permanent expenditure of one's own mana, which is thought to be manipulated fragments or threads of one's very own soul, after all. Which is far more dangerous than other magics comparatively speaking, for these used up fragments can never be regained and convey a lasting weakness to the practitioner, while most other wizards are seemingly able to ply their respective crafts with impunity. A caveat Promien claims can be quite easily abused. Therefore-or so he claims anyway-his opposition taking the stance they do is either the height of willful ignorance at best, or the bare bottom of hypocritical injustice at worst. Appearance --- As his epithet would imply, Promien casts quite the unusual figure for a man supposedly in the prime of his life. Despite being naught more than a scant twenty-seven years of age, his features appear yellowed, gaunt, and scarred; his eyes are nothing more than miniscule flecks of gleaming silver gathered at the bottom of two darkened pools that remain ever watchful... ever alert. The rest of Promein's also body does little to dispel the idea that he's slowly decomposing from the inside out, for he appears thin as a twig, and weak as one too, walking from place to place in an unbalanced hunch and using his gnarled wooden staff for support. Regardless of these traits, however, Promien is in possession of an almost inhuman level of physical and mental strength. He is more than capable of holding his own in a hand-to-hand fight if need be, not to mention capable of shrugging off most forms of physical and mental torment. Whether this is because of some-as of yet-unknown trauma in his past, his journey of discovery regarding the necromantic arts, or merely pure unadulterated will, is not known. When it comes to dress, Promien keeps his wardrobe simple. Although he has plumbed the graves of rich and poor alike in pursuit of life defying power, and created quite the nice horde for himself as a result, Promien does not dress in overly showy or ancient attire. He does not, as a matter of fact, even bother to dress in the traditional dark, hooded, and tattered garb one would expect an individual like him to wear, feeling that such things would only make his life even harder due to the sheer amount of unwanted attention such articles tend to attract. Rather, he wears clothes similar in nature to those donned by pilgrims, vagabonds, or monks, since such attire generally lets him access the cemeteries and mausoleums of the hamlets, towns, and cities he visits with relative ease. School of Magic --- Necromancy. An art perceived to be evil by many and reviled by most. Inventory --- The garb of what appears to be a pilgrim, drifter, or vagabond, and a gnarled old staff that seems to bear no magical properties whatsoever, at least to the untrained eye. Other than these items, Promien also carries a small leather pouch containing a pittance of coins, all the money one would expect a traveling pilgrim or vagabond to have. Quests --- World domination, while tempting, was never really Promien's style. Though perhaps it may become such should he successfully complete his personal quest to attain lichdom and eternal unlife. History --- Promien's story is one of misfortune and hardship. Being born to parents unknown, he was left to fend for himself at a very young age, the only companions he had were the rats that ran along the sludge-filled gutters and down deserted streets. It wasn't until his teenage years that he began experimenting with magic in general, with necromancy being the one school in particular that he took the most interest in. How exactly he managed to learn most of what he now knows without the aid of a mentor or professional schooling remains a mystery, however. Suffice it to say, Promien became highly skilled in this most twisted usage of his own mana, eventually changing his own appearance so much that he was given the moniker "Promien The Rotting" by those practitioners who knew of him. This was not enough for the young dread lord however, and he soon began to study ways in which he could cheat his own death, a feat only achieved by two of the most ancient dark lords. Thus was the long path to lichdom revealed, and it is one he has followed ever since. In this pursuit he began looking for several objects that could become potential phylacteries, and thus did his adventures across the lands truly begin. Other --- Necromancy, as stated above, requires the expenditure of one's own mana or soul essence in order for rituals to be considered successful or even function properly. This is permanent unfortunately, and weakens the practitioner in the process. On the bright side, servants made and corpses raised via this process are notoriously hard to put down, with some of the safest ways either being to undo the spellwork holding the dead body together on the mortal plane or simply destroying it to the point where it cannot reconstitute itself. Grinding the undead servant into dust, burning it to ash, or hacking off its limbs and separating them from each other are just a few of the most frequently used methods in regards to the latter option, with the choice to do each making it increasingly difficult, if not downright impossible, for the undead in question to reform depending on the circumstances. Holy magics and weapons, however, are the one hard counter to any undead form. While stronger undead typically require stronger blessings and artifacts to destroy or drive out, weaker undead such as the ones Promien might raise to aid him in combat are easily eradicated with naught more than a simple battle prayer. --- Maere the Bloodied 38 • Male • Human --- --- In fire and blood doth demon cleave unto man... School of Magic --- Enchanting technically, though Maere also has a great deal of skill with more demonically themed magics thanks to his symbiosis with Seggaroth. Inventory --- Although he does not carry any armor on his person, Seggaroth is more than capable of summoning a suit for him, which she refers to as the Blackstone Plate or Blackstone Carapace. Additionally he also wields Ashrune, the Bane of Eternal Rest. A crimson longsword that is interwoven with enchantments not only to keep it from breaking, but also to steal the souls of those it kills. Other than that he carries a pouch full of gold coins, and undoubtedly has more hidden elsewhere in the castle. Quests --- Unlike Promien, Maere does seek conquest, for it is only through bloodshed that Ashrune and Seggaroth's hungers may finally be satiated. Other --- Thanks to his symbiotic relationship with Seggaroth, Maere overall physical capabilities have been massively increased, allowing him to move incredibly fast when not covered by the Blackstone Carapace, and practically faster than the eye can follow with it. Furthermore, his strength has been boosted to a ridiculous degree, a trait that lets him take down foes much large than him with nothing more than his fists if he so chooses. Finally, his durability and senses have also been increased, making him incredibly difficult to take down or sneak up on, though both are obviously not out of the realm of possibility. While most mundane weaponry wouldn't be enough to inconvenience, let alone threaten him, enchanted weapons and magic in general are still more than capable of doing the job. Of course such measures only put one on equal footing with him and Seggaroth rather than higher ground, something that can't be said for holy magics and weaponry, both of which are more than capable of permanently ending the unholy duo provided one has the time, fortitude, effort, and boon of appropriate strength. It should be noted, however, that when wearing the Blackstone Carapace all of these attributes and resistances are massively enhanced. Ashrune is also capable of channeling Seggaroth's demonic power, or her demonic magics in general really, in addition to stealing its victims souls. This gives Maere a great deal of flexibility as far as combat goes, as he can now use the sword as a conduit for a plethora of style based ranged attacks. Some of these include sending out waves of Hellfire to scorch his foes, or piercing them to impart a massive dose of spiritual corruption that eats away at both body and soul, just to name a few. ---</s> <\|message\|>Ziebach Ziebach scowled as the druid shit down his plan, slumping in his seat. "Yeah, men, gold, defenses, they'll take them out for us. They're human, they're always looking for a reason to fight one another. I wasn't gonna say we fight them, you think I'm an idiot..." He didn't get long into his mutterings before all the china was violently thrown to the ground. He looked around as the skeletons as the tea spread across the floor. "Some of that was from the third century." He said, his voice stony again. "Some of that was Zandarian China. They don't make it anymore, because they don't exist." He got out of his chair, leaned down, and started picking up shards, trying to separate the valuable stuff from the rabble rubble for later repair. "I agree with Galeini," He shouted from his work as the conversation went on. Secretly he considered Galeini perhaps the most powerful of them all. "I could make arrows that could turn the Nomad's enemies to stone or make them grow snakes instead of hair. That would wow the hell out of them. We could use the nomads easy. I don't need them as skeletons, look at what the skeletons just did." As if the put an exclamation mark on the end of that sentence the entire room suddenly erupted in rattly clucking as Ziebach felt someone try to punch him in the brain. He stood up sharply and looked around, spotting the majority of his comrades also caught up in the clucking flew that had afflicted the skeletons. He locked eyes with the mind-flayer across the table, as though anyone wouldn't understand what had just happened when there was a mind-flayer in the room. "I get that mind flaying is your thing, but what is this?"</s> <\|message\|>Mortus Mortus --- --- Mortus opened his eyes and looked around at everyone in the room "Damn it, everyone evacuate the castle. I have received a vision that our keep is about to be assailed by a beast of epic proportions! Flee you fools!" in an instant he was standing, as he did he grabbed the strange object and rushed to the door and threw it open.</s>	<\|message\|>Promien The Rotting "Well, isn't this just a pickle? Still, looks like I'll still be getting fed today," Seggorath noted, the hunger in her tone evident. Maere shook his head with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose momentarily. "I'll grab the boy." And with that he promptly walked over to Promien, who was still clucking his blackened heart out, and swung right for his face. With the necromancer successfully rendered unconscious, Maere hoisted him over his shoulder. That done, he swiftly left the room, his body becoming enveloped in its demonic carapace in the process. After leaving the castle and placing Promien somewhere relatively safe, Maere summoned Ashrune to his hand, its form more akin to a flaming ember than an actual blade. Striding off, he went to lie in wait for the creature, planning on taking it down in one fell swoop.</s>
<\|description\|>Promien The Rotting 27 • Male • Human "Evil? Necromancy is no more evil than ordinary magic is. It is pure survival, and my use of it is no more or less despicable than the mage who causes the warrior's veins to boil, or the king's bones to fall to dust." — Promien The Rotting Personality --- Promien could be best described as… unpleasantly opportunistic. Being a proponent of survival of the fittest first and foremost, he is not above using ordinary magic and necromancy alike to further his own goals or save his own hide, though he will not betray allies should they prove themselves worth working with. Unfortunately, as the Rotting himself has said, true allies are damn near impossible to come by for a necromancer. Even among their own kind, their own cadre if you will, tensions run high. As if there weren't enough overly nihilistic bastards looking to enslave the world already, living and dead alike, they'll always be the one who schemes for the sheer intellectual thrill of it. Pitting brothers and sisters-in-arms against each other in the name of an ultimately selfish and manipulative game. It is these same individuals that Promien-unsurprisingly-despises the most, even if he sometimes engages in the very same tactics they do on occasion. For they do nothing but sit back and watch as their plans gradually unfold, usually toward nothing but an utterly anarchic end. Speaking of ends however, Promien does not lack any of his own, the most pressing and desirable of which is to eventually transcend his lowly flesh to be reborn in the cleansing desiccation of lichdom. The ultimate mockery of life, and one that only two other necromancers before him actually managed to achieve, though even they did not get far before heroes stormed through their lifeless hordes and cut them down. As such, he is willing to do whatever it takes to succeed where those who went before him failed, if only to prove that he-out of everyone-actually could. What he intends on doing after this, however, is anyone's guess. Finally, Promien has quite the strong view on the dark arts in which he is immersed, scoffing at and ridiculing the idea that necromancy is an inherently evil or repugnant practice. To this end he has cited the many misuses of regular or white magic, most of which don't usually seem to come with a very high cost to the wielder, and asked why such abuses are not taken into account as well. Necromancy demands the permanent expenditure of one's own mana, which is thought to be manipulated fragments or threads of one's very own soul, after all. Which is far more dangerous than other magics comparatively speaking, for these used up fragments can never be regained and convey a lasting weakness to the practitioner, while most other wizards are seemingly able to ply their respective crafts with impunity. A caveat Promien claims can be quite easily abused. Therefore-or so he claims anyway-his opposition taking the stance they do is either the height of willful ignorance at best, or the bare bottom of hypocritical injustice at worst. Appearance --- As his epithet would imply, Promien casts quite the unusual figure for a man supposedly in the prime of his life. Despite being naught more than a scant twenty-seven years of age, his features appear yellowed, gaunt, and scarred; his eyes are nothing more than miniscule flecks of gleaming silver gathered at the bottom of two darkened pools that remain ever watchful... ever alert. The rest of Promein's also body does little to dispel the idea that he's slowly decomposing from the inside out, for he appears thin as a twig, and weak as one too, walking from place to place in an unbalanced hunch and using his gnarled wooden staff for support. Regardless of these traits, however, Promien is in possession of an almost inhuman level of physical and mental strength. He is more than capable of holding his own in a hand-to-hand fight if need be, not to mention capable of shrugging off most forms of physical and mental torment. Whether this is because of some-as of yet-unknown trauma in his past, his journey of discovery regarding the necromantic arts, or merely pure unadulterated will, is not known. When it comes to dress, Promien keeps his wardrobe simple. Although he has plumbed the graves of rich and poor alike in pursuit of life defying power, and created quite the nice horde for himself as a result, Promien does not dress in overly showy or ancient attire. He does not, as a matter of fact, even bother to dress in the traditional dark, hooded, and tattered garb one would expect an individual like him to wear, feeling that such things would only make his life even harder due to the sheer amount of unwanted attention such articles tend to attract. Rather, he wears clothes similar in nature to those donned by pilgrims, vagabonds, or monks, since such attire generally lets him access the cemeteries and mausoleums of the hamlets, towns, and cities he visits with relative ease. School of Magic --- Necromancy. An art perceived to be evil by many and reviled by most. Inventory --- The garb of what appears to be a pilgrim, drifter, or vagabond, and a gnarled old staff that seems to bear no magical properties whatsoever, at least to the untrained eye. Other than these items, Promien also carries a small leather pouch containing a pittance of coins, all the money one would expect a traveling pilgrim or vagabond to have. Quests --- World domination, while tempting, was never really Promien's style. Though perhaps it may become such should he successfully complete his personal quest to attain lichdom and eternal unlife. History --- Promien's story is one of misfortune and hardship. Being born to parents unknown, he was left to fend for himself at a very young age, the only companions he had were the rats that ran along the sludge-filled gutters and down deserted streets. It wasn't until his teenage years that he began experimenting with magic in general, with necromancy being the one school in particular that he took the most interest in. How exactly he managed to learn most of what he now knows without the aid of a mentor or professional schooling remains a mystery, however. Suffice it to say, Promien became highly skilled in this most twisted usage of his own mana, eventually changing his own appearance so much that he was given the moniker "Promien The Rotting" by those practitioners who knew of him. This was not enough for the young dread lord however, and he soon began to study ways in which he could cheat his own death, a feat only achieved by two of the most ancient dark lords. Thus was the long path to lichdom revealed, and it is one he has followed ever since. In this pursuit he began looking for several objects that could become potential phylacteries, and thus did his adventures across the lands truly begin. Other --- Necromancy, as stated above, requires the expenditure of one's own mana or soul essence in order for rituals to be considered successful or even function properly. This is permanent unfortunately, and weakens the practitioner in the process. On the bright side, servants made and corpses raised via this process are notoriously hard to put down, with some of the safest ways either being to undo the spellwork holding the dead body together on the mortal plane or simply destroying it to the point where it cannot reconstitute itself. Grinding the undead servant into dust, burning it to ash, or hacking off its limbs and separating them from each other are just a few of the most frequently used methods in regards to the latter option, with the choice to do each making it increasingly difficult, if not downright impossible, for the undead in question to reform depending on the circumstances. Holy magics and weapons, however, are the one hard counter to any undead form. While stronger undead typically require stronger blessings and artifacts to destroy or drive out, weaker undead such as the ones Promien might raise to aid him in combat are easily eradicated with naught more than a simple battle prayer. --- Maere the Bloodied 38 • Male • Human --- --- In fire and blood doth demon cleave unto man... School of Magic --- Enchanting technically, though Maere also has a great deal of skill with more demonically themed magics thanks to his symbiosis with Seggaroth. Inventory --- Although he does not carry any armor on his person, Seggaroth is more than capable of summoning a suit for him, which she refers to as the Blackstone Plate or Blackstone Carapace. Additionally he also wields Ashrune, the Bane of Eternal Rest. A crimson longsword that is interwoven with enchantments not only to keep it from breaking, but also to steal the souls of those it kills. Other than that he carries a pouch full of gold coins, and undoubtedly has more hidden elsewhere in the castle. Quests --- Unlike Promien, Maere does seek conquest, for it is only through bloodshed that Ashrune and Seggaroth's hungers may finally be satiated. Other --- Thanks to his symbiotic relationship with Seggaroth, Maere overall physical capabilities have been massively increased, allowing him to move incredibly fast when not covered by the Blackstone Carapace, and practically faster than the eye can follow with it. Furthermore, his strength has been boosted to a ridiculous degree, a trait that lets him take down foes much large than him with nothing more than his fists if he so chooses. Finally, his durability and senses have also been increased, making him incredibly difficult to take down or sneak up on, though both are obviously not out of the realm of possibility. While most mundane weaponry wouldn't be enough to inconvenience, let alone threaten him, enchanted weapons and magic in general are still more than capable of doing the job. Of course such measures only put one on equal footing with him and Seggaroth rather than higher ground, something that can't be said for holy magics and weaponry, both of which are more than capable of permanently ending the unholy duo provided one has the time, fortitude, effort, and boon of appropriate strength. It should be noted, however, that when wearing the Blackstone Carapace all of these attributes and resistances are massively enhanced. Ashrune is also capable of channeling Seggaroth's demonic power, or her demonic magics in general really, in addition to stealing its victims souls. This gives Maere a great deal of flexibility as far as combat goes, as he can now use the sword as a conduit for a plethora of style based ranged attacks. Some of these include sending out waves of Hellfire to scorch his foes, or piercing them to impart a massive dose of spiritual corruption that eats away at both body and soul, just to name a few. ---</s> <\|message\|>Shandris Headache. Now that was a certainly a name for this group of fools, Shandris figured. Her head reeled from the incoming psionic attack, temporarily unable as the council began cluck like chickens and scream of an approaching giant beast. Wait. Giant beast? "Hold, you buffoons!" The druidess shouted, waving the magician's smoke away with her hand as she stepped with care over the broken china. But she was too late. Perhaps Shandris, being a druid, could've reasoned with the beast. They were both one of nature; one of the same. And yet it seemed her fellow council members were so eager for death that they forgot the advantage they held in their grasp. "I swear; why do I even bother..." Shandris uttered, approaching the now fleeing molerat. A shame. Such a creature would've made a fine war beast or some other boon to their cause. Kneeling downwards, the druidess' eyes grew a greenish hue as she began speaking in a foreign tongue, and harnessed her own magic with the elemental uncertainty of the land to bring life to nearby trees, hoping to drive their roots right through the beast's body. Even if they failed in their task, the druidess was in need for some treants or ents to join her cause anyway.</s> <\|message\|>Mortus Mortus takes a deep breath, while he reaches a hand towards his mask yet hesitates as his hand grazed the cold metal 'No not yet, the lords haven't demanded the mask.' instead the robed man disappears in the blink of the eye reappearing in the darkness of the hole "A fitting end," he laughs like a madman before his hands start emitting dark red lights "Daemoinin Vothai Vermanis..." he utters the beginning of the incarnation Abyss in my heart, with strength granted by the lords of the void..." raising a hand the energy within him begins channelling into his hand. "Your servant sends this wretch to the void as tribute for your strength!" and with that he punches the legendary mole-rat channelling the strength flowing through his veins, unleashing it all through the force of his strike.</s> <\|message\|>Ziebach Ziebach couldn't help but feel small next to Ada's monstrous war golem, especially after it blasted a big fat goopy hole in the legendary monster that had been ready to rip the castle to pieces moments ago. He have to go and collect some of that goop later. Silently he replaced the fancy shards he had gathered in his pockets as the others did their best to ward off the beast, though the most effective blow was the lightning that scared the monster underground. After pulling his hand out of his pocket the shards had been replaced with a metal and glass ball containing a clear, slightly glowing light. The beast was running away now, scurrying deeper and deeper into its tunnels. They couldn't have that, who knew what you could make out of the soul of such a monster. So he ran to the window, drew back his hand and gave his best pitch to land the magic bomb in the hole. He didn't know what magic he had baked into that particular bomb, but he sure hoped it was lethal or at least mentally scarring.</s>	<\|message\|>Promien The Rotting With the ghoul dealt with, Maere resumed his original quest, that being to help put an end to the massive beast assaulting the castle. Rushing through even more hallways, he eventually made his way outside. Glancing around, he searched for the beast, sword in hand.</s>
<\|description\|>Marina Cabral Female• Totally Human (Okay she's a witch!) School of Magic: The School of Evocation Inventory: Black leather vest and pants. Magical Staff. Quests: World Domination! To get rid of unworthy humans--Thanos style. Other: On the younger side, only 122 years old. While she hates individual unworthy humans, Marina is more of a bigotted Thanos because she doesn't want to destroy half of a randomly chosen population. No, she wants to be rid of unworthy people, whether that be thieves, liars, murderers, or just those that are annoying she has yet to decide the actual make-up (and most likely never will). Has three servants: Scara -- a magical gnome with diamondlike skin and a sparkly and shiny beard. Namwe -- TBD Hukot -- TBD Gain: Legendary BeastSlaye - You have contributed to the kill of a legendary beast and all that comes with it. Gain: Fragment of Soul - Minor: You have been morphed and now have a higher success rate of digging tunnels and sniffing out rare mining resources. Gain Fragment of Soul - Powerful: You have absorbed part of the essence of the legendary creature. Gain one of the following: Whiskered - Your spacial awareness is improved and you can sometimes sense slight tremors through the ground.</s> <\|message\|>Mortus New Rule! You must roll an action every 3 posts, or the GM will roll something for you, and it'll be based on ambient wild magic and probably go worse then anything you could of picked for yourself (although maybe you're into that, but then why not pick a wild magic character?)</s> <\|message\|>Mortus ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ You sit in the Grand Chamber of the Black Castle, located in the depths of the Blasted Land. This place has been the home base of the Council of Evil for over a thousand years, each successive generation of would-be evil mages building and adding and twisting the halls of their home to suit them. Beneath your feet roam miles upon miles of strange weaving corridors and rooms, descending into ancient alien ruins, and beneath the ground lie prisons and dungeons for magical reagents. The Blasted Lands themselves are a bastion of bizarre magical energy. A magical cataclysm back in the last age has left the magic here both potent and dangerous. No mundane would dream of living here if they had other options, as even basic beasts are warped or granted intelligence in this realm. This land grants a respite from prying eyes, and being Mages of Great Ambition, you fear not the wild magic that lurks, ready to change your spells. You're powerful, after all, aren't you? There is no need to fear such things... But none of that is important now. You gather together around a ridiculously large round table. There are various maps and empty tankards and fine china strewn across the thing as you had spent the day discussing your next move. The lands beyond yours had allied together, the villages in your reaches no longer paid you tribute, and people had all but forgotten your existence. It was time to remind them. It was time to take over the world.</s> <\|message\|>Promien The Rotting Promien The Rotting --- --- Location: The Blasted Castle \|\| Time: Morning \|\| Interactions: Anyone Nearby --- --- Promien scratched at his face languidly as he took his seat at the table, grunting out of what seemed to be exertion as he did so. A sign that he had either been up late performing some ritual the night before, thus causing some manner of increased physical strain, or that'd he'd simply tired himself out while walking the fortresses labyrinthine hallways. Whatever the case, he was here, and taking full advantage of this moment of solace before the others arrived and disrupted his peace with their plans of world domination, the subjugation of the masses, or whatever other half-cocked scheme they'd come up with to spite the lands beyond this time. And that wasn't even mentioning the bickering or grandstanding that was sure to follow, the very thought of which almost made him want to fling himself off of the nearest balcony. Almost. Sighing, he motioned for one of his skeletal servants to go fetch him a cup of tea. What they lacked in regards to combat, especially when pitted against loincloth sporting barbarians with a fetish for ridiculously large hammers, skeletons more than made up for by providing a cost effective source of menial labor.</s> <\|message\|>Ada Lovebound (To be expanded) Ada broke the awkward silence by commencing her presentation. She really took her time explaining the inner clockwork of a Golem Brain Micro-architecture, Golem Operating System, and the Artificial Neural Network model installed as the software inside the Golem Brain.</s>	<\|message\|>Marina Cabral Marina was in the hallway outside trying to straighten out her leather vest she was wearing while one of her servants stood nearby holding her staff. The servant was a gnome creature about three feet tall, its skin made of diamond material. They looked up at her and sighed while rolling their eyes as she kept fidgeting with her clothes. "I can feel you rolling your eyes at me, Scara." Scara straightened their face back to a neutral one as Marina finally shrugged and reached out her hand for her magical staff. "We've come a long way Scara. To think that back home, we were forgotten by the masses as though we were a myth." "Master, you weren't popular, to begin with, though among the other myths in our home country." "Silence Scara. You will not speak of such insolence amongst the Council of Evil." Scara shook their head silently as they followed Marina to the doors. Marina pushed forward and stepped into the room, looking around at the Council's room's messy appearance only to realize that it wasn't impressive as she would have hoped. Biting her bottom lip, she frowned and spotted someone already sitting at the round table. She wasn't a popular or famous witch herself; in fact, she spent over a hundred years trying to make a name for herself in a time where it was impossible to rise above other legends. She noticed the man with a gaunt appearance and dark eyes dressed in robes and nodded her head once before pulling a seat out to sit down. She picked one opposite the stranger as she did not feel like making much small talk. Though she did want to make a good first impression... she leaned forward as though she were going to speak, but at the last second, she realized she had nothing to say. So there she was, leaning forward, mouth open and no words coming out. Scara, the servant, stood behind her and smacked themselves in the face with their palm.</s>
<\|description\|>Avery Wildes Masquerade Guests Character Summary Pseudonym: Mister Violet Age: 37 Race/Ethnicty: White Gender: Male --- Physical Attributes Height: 5'10" Weight: 160lbs Build: Slender Eyes: Green Hair: Dark blonde Skin Tone: Tanned Character Summary Pseudonym: Miss White Age: 23 Race/Ethnicty: White Gender: Female --- Physical Attributes Height: 5'7" Weight: 130lbs Build: Slim Eyes: Blue Hair: Pale blonde Skin Tone: Pale Character Summary Pseudonym: Doctor Green Age: 47 Race/Ethnicty: White Gender: Male --- Physical Attributes Height: 5'11" Weight: 210lbs Build: Broad Eyes: Brown Hair: Auburn Skin Tone: Ruddy The Wildes Character Summary Relation to Edward Wildes: Widow Age: 53 Race/Ethnicty: White Gender: Female</s> <\|message\|>Avery Wildes In This Fine Town Of Arkham A Night At Wilde Hall --- --- "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown" - H. P. Lovecraft --- As the shadow of night falls over the city of Arkham, anyone with any sense flees for whatever respite their homes can provide. And yet, on this night, there are those who strike out into the darkness, whether by choice, or compelled by some greater purpose. Avery Wilde has issued her summons, and there are few that would ignore an invitation to a night at Wilde Hall. Whether through a meticulous sense of timing, or through sheer fluke, the first to set off for the ball is a figure that would not look out of place in the whispered rumours of the Wilde Woods. Drachen Steinboden is a hulking figure, heavily scarred not only from his work, but from those that are foolish enough to cross him. The invitation, dwarfed in his hand, instructs him to travel to the edge of Wilde Woods, the point where the city loses its fight against the twisting trees and the path to Wilde Hall itself winds into the shadows, and so it is to there that he walks. The mere sight of him attracts glances from those still braving the streets of Arkham, but the glances are brief, not wanting to risk angering this giant. As he nears the edge of the woods, he sees a black carriage waiting, a lone lantern casting a flickering halo against the darkness closing in. The coachman says nothing, and Drachen's experience as a fighter means that he can't help but notice the stocky frame beneath the formal black attire, or the shotgun slung from the carriage itself. The stony faced servant holds out a hand, and Drachen takes the prompt, holding out his invitation. The coachman casts a cursory glance over the writing, before looking up, and handing it back to Drachen, no hint of expression on his face. --- The parties of Avery Wilde have long courted the rich and powerful of Arkham, and although the invitations have found their way into more and more eclectic hands with each passing month, the masquerade balls still hold an impressive reputation. Perhaps that is what has prevented Rosanna Liang from concentrating on her studies, or perhaps there is something more at work. Whatever the reason, Rosanna also makes her way through the dark streets of Arkham, leaving her lodgings at the Miskatonic University dressed for the occasion. Just as Drachen did, Rosanna attracts glances from those that she passes, although these glances are more wont to linger. After all, Arkham is a dangerous city even in the light of day, and a slim, young woman setting out into the night is more than likely to raise a few eyebrows. Rosanna arrives at the edge of the woods just a moment after Drachen does, and she finds herself faced with a similar scene. She see's the carriage, the two dark horses waiting to be driven onwards, the coachman, and a silhouette that she almost took for a statue before she saw it move. The sheer size of the figure almost makes her falter, as he stands more than a foot taller than her, but Rosanna has never let her size stop her before, and she is not about to start now. Not when there is a party to go to. Striding up to the carriage, she holds out her own invitation, opening her mouth to greet the two men. One sullen glance from the coachman stops the words in their tracks, and as he stoops down to inspect her invitation, she decides that it may be better to bite her tongue for now. The coachman seems to be satisfied with the invitation, and straightens up, turning away from the pair as he takes up the reins, making it clear that he wants to be on his way. "You're early. But that's not my problem." --- Doing his best to smooth down the creases in his shirt, a third figure is travelling across Arkham. Simon Adam Hart stands out less than the two that have come before him, but then, that's the way he's always liked it. It is curiosity that always seems to drag Simon out from the peace and quiet, and into the world, and what is more curious than an invitation to Wilde Hall? For much of the day, his eyes have been drawn to the clock, counting down the painfully long minutes until he could feasibly make his way to the edge of the woods. Finally deeming it to be socially acceptable, he still can't stop the quick pace of his strides. It is perhaps surprising then, when he catches sight of two figures, presumably other guests, that have already reached the carriage. Something, some instinct at the back of his mind, causes Simon to hesitate, and as the coachman turns his gaze back towards Arkham, Simon ducks back into the shadow of an alley. He watches the carriage for a moment, trying to calm down and suppress whatever sense is stopping him from closing the final few dozen paces, and then he hears it. A footstep, muffled slightly and faint, but close behind him. Whirling round, Simon found himself face-to-face with a shadowy figure. Taking a hurried step backwards, back towards whatever safety the street might offer, the figure followed after him, and the light of the streetlamp fell onto a face, thin lips pulled into a snarl by a scar running across one cheek, and piercing blue eyes staring back at Simon. The voice was reedy and harsh, but the words were clear, even above the rush of blood in Simon's ears. "You shouldn't go into the woods. Not the Wilde Woods."</s> <\|message\|>Simon Adam Hart. Initial thoughts... I do not have any qualms with traveling outside of New York, I never have. I like the trains, I like the way they smell and I like the sounds. There's a nostalgic value in watching the world go by outside but being incapable of doing anything about what I see. Watching people is easy. This will not be easy and that makes me nervous. I feel weird and that's no surprise, I opened enough doors that the devil came knocking at mine. I am not one to ignore a rap at the door but for a moment I considered it. I'm not sure that chasing shadows is smart but it is what I've chosen to do. Violet might appreciate my fortitude. Too bad she does nothing but scream at those same shadows any longer. I bite my tongue as I consider what might face me and I find I can't reason why I shouldn't go. I'm not the brave sort but I am the curious sort and sometimes that is just as bad. It's important that I keep my wits about me despite this, although the idea of venturing into this lacks wits all itself. Oh well. Hell awaits, yes? Standing now at what he'd considered the point of no return, Simon was left to face down with a peculiar figure. His instinct was to go for a weapon but he could hardly bring himself to move. He had frozen in place shortly after his unsuccessful retreat, staring up at the cold blue eyes that stared back at him. His heart was hammering in his chest and he was stuck there, incapable of speaking or acting. His breath exhaled sharply and he tried to make note of as many details as he could about the individual although they were shrouded in gloom and that was no easy task. He could not make out much of their face but he could see the scar, a twisted, knotted thing that stretched across their cheek. He wanted to brush them off as some sort of vagrant, a nobody in the darkness who was hungry for a fight. He considered they could perhaps be a local who was too keen on superstition, he was familiar with the type. He did what he could to ease his posture as he stared them down, tried not to look threatening, just in case they were looking for a fight. If they were just a superstitious local then he doubted they'd strike him but it helped to be nonthreatening in these situations all the same. He did not want to consider them to be some sort of sign. The words they spoke rung too true with his own internal turmoil, they was too close for comfort. At the very least, this was an opportunity, wasn't it? He had wanted to ask questions anyway, his whole purpose for visiting was to ask questions. If this dark figure had some kind of answers then who was he to complain? He tried to reassure himself with this logic although it did little to qualm the fear in the pit of his stomach. He would quiz this strange person a little and then he'd retreat the carriage, preferably without sustaining any injuries. He struggled for one more deep breath, and exhaled through his nose before he managed to force a pleasant smile on his face. The change was almost immediate, he'd gone from cornered animal to friendly face in no time flat. He swallowed down the anxiety rising up the back of his throat and he forced his words out through his teeth, smiling all the while. "I don't know what you mean," he knew exactly what they meant but he would not show fear if he could help it. Fear was no use to him when he was engaging in investigative journalism, this wasn't the first shady figure he'd ever had to face off with and he presumed (or hoped) they would not be the last. His eyebrows drew together in an attempt to look confused. "What's to fear about the woods?" What wasn't to fear about the woods?</s>	<\|message\|>Avery Wildes In This Fine Town Of Arkham A Night At Wilde Hall --- --- "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown" - H. P. Lovecraft --- Selune Not all those that are travelling to Wilde Hall decide to take the streets. Perhaps it is caution, or perhaps it is an appreciation of the relative peace, but as the night draws in Renee Bellerose is to be found walking along the edge of the Wilde Woods. The city barely reaches out this far, only the occasional building serving as a reminder of civilisation, and in the peace, Renee can almost believe that she is back in France, back before the war, before all the horribleness that consumed her peaceful corner of paradise. Almost, but not quite. The past is behind her, for the better or for the worse, and Renee has not made it this far by wringing her hands together and fretting. No, she has made it this far by putting her best black-clad foot forward. The invitation clutched in her hand gives her purpose, and besides, she is not the sort to turn her back on good drink and pleasant conversation. And considering the wealth that the Wildes have no doubt accumulated, the drink should be good enough to make up for any lacking conversation. Renee has almost reached the point marked on her invitation when something catches her eye. The few gas lanterns that reach this close to the woods cast only dim light, but Renee has always had a sharp eye, and in the half-light, she makes out a gap in the trees. Curiosity getting the better of her, Renee walks closer to this gap, instinctively treading softly as she approaches. A narrow path, little more than a deer trail, dissapears into the darkness of the woods, but as Renee leans to get a closer look, she can see that there are fresh footprints in the mud, leading deeper into the depths of the forest. A local going for a late evening walk? The idea seems hardly likely, especially considering the dark reputation that the Wilde Woods has gained, but whatever reason, someone has come this way, and moved through the twisted trees. The footsteps are clear, even in the half light, and it would be no great task to follow them, but then again, the Wilde Woods does not have its reputation for nothing, and the party is waiting... --- The path that follows the edge of the Wilde Woods is proving to be a popular route, although the reason that Moses Reaves is taking the more scenic route is perhaps more obvious than the one that sees Renee taking the same route. Anyone in the line of business that Moses inhabits develops an aversion for streetlights, and for the curious glances that the streets of Arkham had in abundance. Heavy jacket pulled tight around him, he takes long strides through the shadows. Wilde Hall is an opportunity, and Moses is not the type to miss an opportunity, especially one that presents itself in the form of a fancy invitation. And then one of the shadows moves. Moses stops in his tracks, eyes straining against the half light. A figure, close to the edge of the forest. Moses has no shortage of enemies who could be lingering in the dark, but the figure doesn't seem to be looking at him. Instead, it seems to be focused towards the woods themselves. With the soft steps of a man that is no stranger to the rougher side of the law, Moses moves forward. As he gets nearer, he realises that the figure is smaller than he first though, standing a good few inches shorter than he does. Not only that, but the figure is a woman, dressed all in black. Moses is wise enough to know that that fact doesn't make the figure any less dangerous, but they seem to be fixated on the trees, or rather a gap between the trees. By the looks of it, Renee hasn't heard Moses approaching yet, but every step risks alerting her. Is it a trap, or a curiosity? --- Walking through the dark streets is far from the typical evening for Alvin Fennel, but then what is university, if not a chance to get out of your comfort zone? Even so, the shifting shadows put the student on edge, and he quickens his pace. And yet his intended destination is no more familiar to Alvin. The inevitable opulence that Wilde Hall promises is a far cry from what Alvin is accustomed to, and the idea of crowds of strangers does little to settle his nerves. But then, that is not the only thing about the invitation clutched in his hand that puts him on edge. Trying to push the thoughts from his head, Alvin pushes onwards. Turning the last corner, Alvin can make out the black carriage that sits at the edge of the Wilde Woods. Two figures are already standing by it, but by the looks of the coachman, they won't be waiting there for much longer. If he picks up his pace, he could probably reach them before they set off, or perhaps it would be better to wait. After all, Alvin has never been one to turn his nose up at the prospect of having time to think. Besides, other guests should be arriving soon, and they may look less intimidating than the hulking silhouette of Drachen, the other man's frame making Rosanna look like a doll beside him. Pick up the pace to join the unusual pair, or take his time, and wait for the next ride?</s>
<\|description\|>Avery Wildes Masquerade Guests Character Summary Pseudonym: Mister Violet Age: 37 Race/Ethnicty: White Gender: Male --- Physical Attributes Height: 5'10" Weight: 160lbs Build: Slender Eyes: Green Hair: Dark blonde Skin Tone: Tanned Character Summary Pseudonym: Miss White Age: 23 Race/Ethnicty: White Gender: Female --- Physical Attributes Height: 5'7" Weight: 130lbs Build: Slim Eyes: Blue Hair: Pale blonde Skin Tone: Pale Character Summary Pseudonym: Doctor Green Age: 47 Race/Ethnicty: White Gender: Male --- Physical Attributes Height: 5'11" Weight: 210lbs Build: Broad Eyes: Brown Hair: Auburn Skin Tone: Ruddy The Wildes Character Summary Relation to Edward Wildes: Widow Age: 53 Race/Ethnicty: White Gender: Female</s> <\|message\|>Drachen Steinboden Drachen's eyes had lazily wandered during his walk through the dark streets, small globes of light from the lamps that were quick to dim the further out the light went. During his lumbering, and lazy, stride he took note of the people. He wasn't famous per-se, but he was a rarity. A rarity that had no issues leaving a mugger broken in an alley. Leaving behind the mumbled shushed voices he approached the edge of town that bordered the Wilde Wood. A carriage, black and expensive looking, was there with a singular coachman. He didn't care about the mans attire, but that shotgun let him know things weren't peaceful in the woods. Most likely for coyotes. An exchange of invitation and glances was all there were. Neither man had any words for the other. With the invitation back in hand he tucked it into the inner chest pocket of his enormous coat. He was dressed decent, but he wasn't a materialistic man. Not to mention his size made it so everything he had was custom made, which jacked up the prices of clothing and footwear. He did move off to the side, lingering near the rear of the carriage instead of getting into it. Staying in such a small thing for a long time would destroy his knees. A brief wait and a well dressed woman came up the street. A different set of hushed murmurs and voices trailing after her. If he had been a vagrant he would have labeled her as the perfect target to hit for immediate money. Still she approached and handed the driver her own invitation before it was returned to her. The driver spoke, saying they were early. Well it was better to be early than to be late, right? The pair were left waiting in silence for any others to show. But the big man wasn't too fond of silences. "Evenin', miss..." He rumbled out. His voice matching that frame easily, like deep rolling thunder. If he owned a hat he might have tipped it, but he wasn't really fond of head gear. They looked silly and not to mention it made his wild mane sit funny when worn for too long.</s> <\|message\|>Madamoiselle Renee Adeline Desiree Bellerose The Woods grow around the walls of the House, but as any student of history knows, the House has no walls. The short phrase bounced around the woman's mind as she moved through the trees and along the path. This was not the Woods, and the Wilde Estate was not the House either... Although it did appear to have some mysteries of its own. The horsehair whiskers of her feline-styled masquerade mask quivered in the gentle breeze as she analysed the footpath. Muddy. Dirty. Leading off into the woods. Intruiging. Were she out for a normal stroll this was certainly something she would investigate, but tonight was not the usual night. Tonight she was properly dressed and, most importantly, was going to an event. This meant that one, her clothes found dirt and mud most disagreeeable, and two, them becoming muddy could quite easily become something of a scene. Adjusting her mask and hat a little, she turned away from the path and back towards the gaslit path ahead of her. Onwards to the party then. This curious little path would not be followed today.</s> <\|message\|>Alvin Fennel Alvin reached into his coat and clutched the small leather-bound notebook in his breast-pocket. Inside the journal lay his invitation to Wilde Hall, and perhaps answers that he had been seeking. In the distance, he saw the carriage that would ferry him to the party, and two figures ready to enter the carriage. Would they wait for him or leave him behind? Was this the only carriage going to the party? The thoughts raced Alvin's mind as his heartbeat began to increase, the ever-looming anxiety of the unknown already pounding his thoughts like the beat of a soldier's drum. Should he force himself to be sociable? Perhaps they would have more information on this soiree, perhaps they would turn their knows at the pale, skinny man attempting to rub shoulders with the elite. He definitely did not look the part of a well-to-do man around Arkham. His black coat seemed a size too large for his thin frame, and his dark mask, with a product, corvid-like beak, gave him the image of a thin, giant dying bird than that of a man. It wasn't that he lacked friends; it was that his usual group of friends all shared something in common: University Life. Alvin had spent many nights in the local bars with his college fellows, enjoying a glass of beer and stark discussion of their studies with one another. Alvin was studying linguistics at Miskatonic and specialized in strange languages that were offshoots of ancient tounges. He'd assisted Dr. Armitage as part of studies in translating strange books of the occult, something that more unnerved him than fascinated him. Professor Wilmarth, with who he'd done multiple classes, had him focused on differentiating the local Indian languages in their folklore of the area, trying to trace the stores back to some ur-narrative. That had been unproductive, but at the very least, interesting to Alvin. The professors at Miskatonic were by and far men of rationality and many had sought to instill their students with the understanding that all things in the world could be easily explained with sufficient evidence and understanding. Alvin wished dearly that this was true. He had made his decision. He stepped his pace to a faster procession, hoping to catch the carriage before it left. After all, this night was still young, and he had many questions that needed rational answers.</s> <\|message\|>Rosanna Liang --- The moonlight shines onto Rosanna Liang like she is a canary on broadway, her golden dress even shines like it was made of real gold. Even though she been through alot of parties ever since she became a student of Miskatonic University, this party was different however, instead of going there for a good time, enjoying some giggle juice, Rosie is going to Wilde Hall for a different reason, she is going to find some secrets in the halls of the Wilde residence. As she walks in the apple of Arkham, Rosanna can't help to feel everyone is looking at her and not in "You look so beautiful" way, more like the creepy way, it makes Rosie wish she would bring a knife with her instead of her makeup. There was somewhat mysterious ambience as Rosanna steps into woods, she looks at the tall, plenty rugged man while standing right next to him, makes Rosie a little small but doesn't bother her, not one bit. A black carriage that stands in front her and the tall gentleman makes Rosie feel uneasy but not too much, even if the coachman size almost makes her falter. Rosanna hands the driver her invitation and telling her and tall gentleman that they are early "Mhmm, my mother always say that my past life was a bird cause I get up so early in the morning. Get it? Early bird?" Rosie say with a giggle but then went quiet afterwords since nobody was laughing. As Rosanna and Tall man wait for other guests to arrived, a other man join the two and right off the bat, she recognize the young man as Alvin Fennel, she thinks that his name. The two shared the same class together and often she looks at his paper for some answers for quizs and tests. As the three wait for more guests to arrived once again, the tall gentleman finally spoke, his crooner voice makes Rosie jump a bit but at least there'll be no silence in the woods "Evening, good sir." Rosanna say to the tall man "Are you invited to the Wilde hall too?"</s>	<\|message\|>Avery Wildes In This Fine Town Of Arkham A Night At Wilde Hall --- --- "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown" - H. P. Lovecraft --- Cloud Arkham has a dark reputation, and Wilde Hall is no different. Perhaps it is that dark reputation that draws Morgan Eisenhorn to the house, like a moth is drawn to a flame. The invitation in his pocket is more than just a slip of paper, it is a promise. A promise of something, something that Morgan is not yet entirely sure of, but that he cannot resist. And so, the private investigator finds himself walking the streets of Arkham alone, as the evening stretches into the night. Or at least, he thought he was alone. He had written it off as a coincidence at first, just another pair of footsteps among those few that sill braved the streets of Arkham after dark, another figure moving through the shadows, but with each turn that Morgan makes, the hairs on the back of his neck stand up a little bit more. The streets are quieter now, as he moves away from the heart of the city, and out towards the edge of the Wilde Woods, but still, he can hear the footsteps behind him. Whenever he glances over his shoulder, the footsteps pause, and a few times Morgan has caught sight of a figure stepping into the shadows. And when he starts walking again, the footsteps resume. Morgan is still some distance from the meeting point designated on his invitation, and with each passing moment, the streets grow a little darker, and a little quieter. Perhaps it is just a coincidence, his paranoia creating a phantom, or perhaps Arkham is keen to prove that it's dark reputation is a fitting one... --- While many of the guests to Wilde Hall this evening may be awed by the opulence of the grand old house, Opportunity Knox is likely to feel almost at home. After all, the Knox family has a history that is as impressive and storied as the Wildes, and Opportunity is no stranger to impressive estates. Despite this, Arkham doesn't exactly excite the young dilettante. Too quiet, and altogether too slow. And yet, she has her reasons for making the journey to this corner of Massachusetts, and the words of her family still ringing in her ears. Just because Opportunity needs to reach Wilde Hall at some point, does not mean she is in any great rush. After all, the old house has stood for generations, it's not going anywhere. The Excelsior Hotel is an impressively grand lodging, and it is naturally the place that has drawn the adventuress. Not only does the bar offer a welcome distraction for the bleakness of the city, but it also allows Opportunity to rub shoulders with the Americans that she has such a fondness for. The British are too stuffy, but the Americans understand the rush of speed, the freedom of the air. Her evening is a whirl of conversation and drink, until that conversation suddenly subsides, and Opportunity turns to find a dark-clothed figure standing in the doorway. The man stands at around six feet, broad shouldered and stern-faced. She notices the crest of the Wildes on his chest at the same moment that he speaks, his voice booming. "Lady Dalrymple. Your carriage is waiting."</s>
<\|description\|>Avery Wildes Masquerade Guests Character Summary Pseudonym: Mister Violet Age: 37 Race/Ethnicty: White Gender: Male --- Physical Attributes Height: 5'10" Weight: 160lbs Build: Slender Eyes: Green Hair: Dark blonde Skin Tone: Tanned Character Summary Pseudonym: Miss White Age: 23 Race/Ethnicty: White Gender: Female --- Physical Attributes Height: 5'7" Weight: 130lbs Build: Slim Eyes: Blue Hair: Pale blonde Skin Tone: Pale Character Summary Pseudonym: Doctor Green Age: 47 Race/Ethnicty: White Gender: Male --- Physical Attributes Height: 5'11" Weight: 210lbs Build: Broad Eyes: Brown Hair: Auburn Skin Tone: Ruddy The Wildes Character Summary Relation to Edward Wildes: Widow Age: 53 Race/Ethnicty: White Gender: Female</s> <\|message\|>Avery Wildes In This Fine Town Of Arkham A Night At Wilde Hall --- --- "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown" - H. P. Lovecraft --- Selune@psych0pomp With the cursory introductions made, the figures of Renee Bellerose and Moses Reaves made for an unlikely pair. They were both bound for Wilde Hall, and they had both decided to take the quieter path, but that is as far as the similarities stretched. The narrow track into the trees behind them, the pair set off, tracing the edge of the Wilde Woods as they headed towards the point designated on their invitations. They had only made it a short distance before a voice called out behind them. "Ahoy there!" Turning at the sound, it quickly becomes clear that they are not the only ones to brave the path, or even the only guest of the Wildes. The man walking to join them stood a few inches shorter than Moses, and more slender, but he seemed to ooze confidence, and a wide smile was written across his handsome features. Sparkling green eyes looked out from behind a black and gold mask, and he was well-dressed. As he neared the pair, he nodded his head in greeting. "I take it from your fetching get-ups that we are all bound for Wilde Hall? Mister Violet, at your service. I must say, this whole thing really is the cat's meow. All this mystery, I dare say we'll be bumping into a Mister Holmes at this joint. Absolute berries!" The man had reached them by now, the smile unfaltering on his face. This close, both Moses and Renee would gauge his age to be in his late twenties, but he was boyish in his mannerisms. As he got closer, Renee's eyes caught on something. Despite the smartness of his attire, there was a distinct line of mud on his shoes. It was slight, and in this light, easy to miss, but the sharp-eyed Frenchwoman caught it all the same, a slight frown crossing her pale features for an instant. Before she could open her mouth to speak, Mister Violet continued. "It's dandy to bump into the two of you, these woods don't half-give me the heebie-jeebies. Like I said, Mister Violet is the name. What titles have the two of you been given?"</s> <\|message\|>Alvin Fennel Mr. Cobalt. More specific than red and far less regal than gold, Alvin assumed the moniker fit him well enough. He was too lost in his thoughts on his mission to take notice of the young Chinese woman joining him and the literal giant of a man. Had he been in a calmer mind, he would probably have recognized her from his own walks throughout the University on less-dreary days. Though the days of late had been exceedingly dreary, both in weather and in an emotional sense. The one thing he did focus his eye on as the coachman beckoned them to climb aboard was the shotgun, bathed in the shadows, but still noticeable with the lantern-light. Arkham was far from the safest town in America, of course, but what cause did a man need to carry a shotgun so openly? What exactly awaited them at Wilde Hall? Alvin snapped his mind back to the real world and nodded to the young woman and large man. "I would hardly be a gentleman if I did not allow the young lady on the carriage first," he remarked to Rosanna. That was something of a bald-faced lie. He came from working-class Irish immigrants, and their only claim to "gentle" behavior was not starting fights at Sunday mass and keeping quiet when their father came home red-faced and drunk. He then turned to the hulking Drachen, "and since I was the last to arrive, it's only right to climb aboard last." He tried to not let the man's enormous visage worry him too much. If they had all worked they wait to receive invitations to this party, they were all probably good sorts, even if some looked beastly. He did wonder how comfortable sitting in a carriage would be for a man that large. Still, there was something comforting about having a companion as dangerous looking as this fellow; if he stayed on his good side, he doubted anyone would try and start trouble around him.</s> <\|message\|>Madamoiselle Renee Adeline Desiree Bellerose --- --- Ah, now this gentleman was more her speed. "An absolute pleasure to meet you, Mister Violet. I am Madamoiselle Noire, and this gentleman has yet to introduce himself to me." Reaching up, the heiress would stroke the whiskers that jutted from the mask's nose, her black gloves almost invisible in the darkness of the night. "But yes, absolutely the..." She paused for a moment to make sure she had heard him right, before contining with a "cat's meow," the amusement in her voice highly evident. The joke would be finished with a quiet little "purr," and then the Frenchwoman would allow herself a small laugh. The man was odd, but she couldn't fault him for that. He was a bit of amusement and class, a welcome contrast to the one that had approached her previously. Still, the mud on his shoes left her with one question. "Say then, where have you come from Mister Violet? Are you a local to Massachusetts or have you travelled some distance?" Her mind flicked back to the footsteps going into the woods she had ignored, and then the dirt on the mans shoes. She was no experienced tracker, and her memory was hardly photographic enough to remember the exact shape of the footprints in the dirt, but when the equation was 2+?=5 and you were being presented with something that looked an awful lot like a three, it wasn't too hard to piece things together.</s> <\|message\|>Moses Benjamin Reaves So, the mysterious figure in the woods was a woman. That being said, Moses wasn't so regressive as to let his guard down. Anyone could be dangerous. A child with a knife and a well-placed view of one's legs and arms posed just an equal threat as a grown man with a pistol. But it seemed as if Mademoiselle Noir was, in fact, also a guest at Wilde Hall this evening. His shoulders relaxed under his coat, and he quickened his pace to fall in step with her. "Ah yes, let's," he said, agreeing that they should move a bit more briskly. Moses had to guess she was French given her accent, but he couldn't begin to decipher what she might say in her native tongue. The only bit of French he was familiar with was from rum runners out of the French Caribbean, but the accents and dialect were so vastly different he wouldn't know where to start. If she cursed at him, he'd know, but he couldn't imagine that she was prone to using a sailor's tongue. As soon as they'd traveled a ways on the tight wooden path, another figure joined them. Moses jumped. He blushed in embarrassment and hoped the cut of his jacket had hidden the scare. Attempting to wave that off, his fingers dived into his coat in hopes of fishing out his lighter. The next person in the woods seemed to be another guest. Mask, nice outfit, and a genteel nature that didn't suit someone that would be idly wandering the woods at night. He searched his pockets as the man, Mister Violet, introduced himself. His nature was immediately off-putting to Moses, and the older man tried not to sigh too loudly into his unlit cigarette. "Deacon Gray," he said, having been spoken over by both of the other party-goers and not given a moment to label himself. Finally, he'd procured his lighter from his coat, his fingers glossed over his small bit of "protection" to get to it. With a quick, very practiced motion, Moses flicked the top on the lighter—resembling a miniature candle snuffer—open. A few metallic cranks of the flint-wheel and a small flame erupted from the nickel box. He lit his cigarette in silence before flicking the top back down and pocketing it. It seemed as if he had all but been forgotten about as the Mademoiselle Noir honed in on Mister Violet. He let the smoke trail from his lips as he moved forward, taking the lead. @Lady Selune</s>	<\|message\|>Avery Wildes In This Fine Town Of Arkham A Night At Wilde Hall --- --- "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown" - H. P. Lovecraft --- Cloud The footsteps continued to trail him, seeming to match his own hastened pace, and as Morgan Eisenhorn turned onto a new street, his heart sank. The gas lamp that should be lighting the pavement in front of him has died away to a barely visible glow, plunging the street into deep, inky shadow. With the footsteps unrelenting behind him, the slight private investigator realised that he had no choice but to plunge into the darkness. Gritting his teeth, and picking up his pace even more, Morgan pushed himself onwards. And yet, as he moved further into the darkness, his own footsteps echoing against the buildings that loomed up all around him, the footsteps behind him seemed to grow closer and closer. Nerve finally breaking, Morgan practically broke into a run, the vague promise of safety that the light of the next streetlamp offered calling to him, even as the footsteps behind him seemed to match his pace. It seemed as if he was running through treacle, but he finally reached the corner, the footsteps almost on top of him now, Morgan not daring to turn back to see the phantom that was surely about to lunge. He burst around the corner, and a dark shape loomed up to block his path. He had no time to stop, let alone avoid the shape, and he collided into the figure, sprawling to the hard ground with a painful thud, the figure staggering backwards. The breath driven from his lungs by the fall, Morgan was still gasping for air when he felt strong hands grip his collar and pull him upright. He found himself looking into a stern face, pale brown eyes burning with annoyance, and a voice that was almost a growl. "What the hell do you think you're playing at?" --- The coachman led Opportunity Knox through the foyer of The Excelsior Hotel, busy with the bustle of the evening, and out towards the street beyond. As he walked, the tall dark-clad figure glanced over his shoulder to make sure that the well-dressed dilettante was following, and the initial sternness of his face seemed to soften as they moved through the crowd. Opportunity couldn't help but notice that the other patrons of the hotel seemed to scatter before the coachman as he moved, although whether that was because of the man's formidable physique, or because of the Wildes crest that he bore on his chest, she couldn't be sure. As they stepped out onto the street, Opportunity saw that a black carriage was waiting at the roadside, pulled by a single jet-black horse. Again, the Wildes crest was marked across the side. The coachman turned back towards Opportunity, nodding his head slightly towards her. "Apologies for the interruption, ma'am, but Lady Wildes wanted me to make sure that you made it to Wilde Hall safely. Arkham can be a dangerous - " A dark shape burst around the corner, slamming into the coachman before he could finish his sentence. The dark shape sprawled to the ground, and the coachman staggered backwards, before regaining his balance. Opportunity realised that the dark shape was a man, a few inches shorter than she was, and wearing a fox-like mask. Another guest, or something more sinister? Before she could open her mouth to ask, the coachman had strode over, and pulled the stranger back to his feet, growling out a question. "What the hell do you think you're playing at?"</s>
<\|description\|>Madamoiselle Renee Adeline Desiree Bellerose Renee Adelina Desiree Bellerose --- --- Character Summary Aliases: N/A Occupation: Independently wealthy Age: 24 Birthplace: Mont-Saint-Michel, France Race/Ethnicty: White/Northern European Gender: Female --- --- Physical Attributes Height: 172cm/5'6" Weight: 55kg/121lbs Build: Slight Eyes: Grey Hair: Deep black Skin Tone: Extraordinarily fair Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Four lobe piercings- nothing that would stand out as unusual. --- --- Psychological Attributes Intelligent * Dismissive * Curious * Curious * Experienced * Jaded Sexuality: Excellent question Relationship Status: Black clothing Likes:* Well stocked libraries * Good drink * Pleasant conversation * Gullible socialites * Peculiar finds * A good mystery Dislikes:* Rudeness * Poor quality goods * Being out of the loop * The European States * Mentioning the war * Carelessness Fears:* Oblivion * Forgetting * Artillery</s> <\|message\|>Drachen Steinboden Drachen's eyes had lazily wandered during his walk through the dark streets, small globes of light from the lamps that were quick to dim the further out the light went. During his lumbering, and lazy, stride he took note of the people. He wasn't famous per-se, but he was a rarity. A rarity that had no issues leaving a mugger broken in an alley. Leaving behind the mumbled shushed voices he approached the edge of town that bordered the Wilde Wood. A carriage, black and expensive looking, was there with a singular coachman. He didn't care about the mans attire, but that shotgun let him know things weren't peaceful in the woods. Most likely for coyotes. An exchange of invitation and glances was all there were. Neither man had any words for the other. With the invitation back in hand he tucked it into the inner chest pocket of his enormous coat. He was dressed decent, but he wasn't a materialistic man. Not to mention his size made it so everything he had was custom made, which jacked up the prices of clothing and footwear. He did move off to the side, lingering near the rear of the carriage instead of getting into it. Staying in such a small thing for a long time would destroy his knees. A brief wait and a well dressed woman came up the street. A different set of hushed murmurs and voices trailing after her. If he had been a vagrant he would have labeled her as the perfect target to hit for immediate money. Still she approached and handed the driver her own invitation before it was returned to her. The driver spoke, saying they were early. Well it was better to be early than to be late, right? The pair were left waiting in silence for any others to show. But the big man wasn't too fond of silences. "Evenin', miss..." He rumbled out. His voice matching that frame easily, like deep rolling thunder. If he owned a hat he might have tipped it, but he wasn't really fond of head gear. They looked silly and not to mention it made his wild mane sit funny when worn for too long.</s> <\|message\|>Madamoiselle Renee Adeline Desiree Bellerose The Woods grow around the walls of the House, but as any student of history knows, the House has no walls. The short phrase bounced around the woman's mind as she moved through the trees and along the path. This was not the Woods, and the Wilde Estate was not the House either... Although it did appear to have some mysteries of its own. The horsehair whiskers of her feline-styled masquerade mask quivered in the gentle breeze as she analysed the footpath. Muddy. Dirty. Leading off into the woods. Intruiging. Were she out for a normal stroll this was certainly something she would investigate, but tonight was not the usual night. Tonight she was properly dressed and, most importantly, was going to an event. This meant that one, her clothes found dirt and mud most disagreeeable, and two, them becoming muddy could quite easily become something of a scene. Adjusting her mask and hat a little, she turned away from the path and back towards the gaslit path ahead of her. Onwards to the party then. This curious little path would not be followed today.</s> <\|message\|>Alvin Fennel Alvin reached into his coat and clutched the small leather-bound notebook in his breast-pocket. Inside the journal lay his invitation to Wilde Hall, and perhaps answers that he had been seeking. In the distance, he saw the carriage that would ferry him to the party, and two figures ready to enter the carriage. Would they wait for him or leave him behind? Was this the only carriage going to the party? The thoughts raced Alvin's mind as his heartbeat began to increase, the ever-looming anxiety of the unknown already pounding his thoughts like the beat of a soldier's drum. Should he force himself to be sociable? Perhaps they would have more information on this soiree, perhaps they would turn their knows at the pale, skinny man attempting to rub shoulders with the elite. He definitely did not look the part of a well-to-do man around Arkham. His black coat seemed a size too large for his thin frame, and his dark mask, with a product, corvid-like beak, gave him the image of a thin, giant dying bird than that of a man. It wasn't that he lacked friends; it was that his usual group of friends all shared something in common: University Life. Alvin had spent many nights in the local bars with his college fellows, enjoying a glass of beer and stark discussion of their studies with one another. Alvin was studying linguistics at Miskatonic and specialized in strange languages that were offshoots of ancient tounges. He'd assisted Dr. Armitage as part of studies in translating strange books of the occult, something that more unnerved him than fascinated him. Professor Wilmarth, with who he'd done multiple classes, had him focused on differentiating the local Indian languages in their folklore of the area, trying to trace the stores back to some ur-narrative. That had been unproductive, but at the very least, interesting to Alvin. The professors at Miskatonic were by and far men of rationality and many had sought to instill their students with the understanding that all things in the world could be easily explained with sufficient evidence and understanding. Alvin wished dearly that this was true. He had made his decision. He stepped his pace to a faster procession, hoping to catch the carriage before it left. After all, this night was still young, and he had many questions that needed rational answers.</s> <\|message\|>Rosanna Liang --- The moonlight shines onto Rosanna Liang like she is a canary on broadway, her golden dress even shines like it was made of real gold. Even though she been through alot of parties ever since she became a student of Miskatonic University, this party was different however, instead of going there for a good time, enjoying some giggle juice, Rosie is going to Wilde Hall for a different reason, she is going to find some secrets in the halls of the Wilde residence. As she walks in the apple of Arkham, Rosanna can't help to feel everyone is looking at her and not in "You look so beautiful" way, more like the creepy way, it makes Rosie wish she would bring a knife with her instead of her makeup. There was somewhat mysterious ambience as Rosanna steps into woods, she looks at the tall, plenty rugged man while standing right next to him, makes Rosie a little small but doesn't bother her, not one bit. A black carriage that stands in front her and the tall gentleman makes Rosie feel uneasy but not too much, even if the coachman size almost makes her falter. Rosanna hands the driver her invitation and telling her and tall gentleman that they are early "Mhmm, my mother always say that my past life was a bird cause I get up so early in the morning. Get it? Early bird?" Rosie say with a giggle but then went quiet afterwords since nobody was laughing. As Rosanna and Tall man wait for other guests to arrived, a other man join the two and right off the bat, she recognize the young man as Alvin Fennel, she thinks that his name. The two shared the same class together and often she looks at his paper for some answers for quizs and tests. As the three wait for more guests to arrived once again, the tall gentleman finally spoke, his crooner voice makes Rosie jump a bit but at least there'll be no silence in the woods "Evening, good sir." Rosanna say to the tall man "Are you invited to the Wilde hall too?"</s> <\|message\|>Avery Wildes In This Fine Town Of Arkham A Night At Wilde Hall --- --- "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown" - H. P. Lovecraft --- Cloud Arkham has a dark reputation, and Wilde Hall is no different. Perhaps it is that dark reputation that draws Morgan Eisenhorn to the house, like a moth is drawn to a flame. The invitation in his pocket is more than just a slip of paper, it is a promise. A promise of something, something that Morgan is not yet entirely sure of, but that he cannot resist. And so, the private investigator finds himself walking the streets of Arkham alone, as the evening stretches into the night. Or at least, he thought he was alone. He had written it off as a coincidence at first, just another pair of footsteps among those few that sill braved the streets of Arkham after dark, another figure moving through the shadows, but with each turn that Morgan makes, the hairs on the back of his neck stand up a little bit more. The streets are quieter now, as he moves away from the heart of the city, and out towards the edge of the Wilde Woods, but still, he can hear the footsteps behind him. Whenever he glances over his shoulder, the footsteps pause, and a few times Morgan has caught sight of a figure stepping into the shadows. And when he starts walking again, the footsteps resume. Morgan is still some distance from the meeting point designated on his invitation, and with each passing moment, the streets grow a little darker, and a little quieter. Perhaps it is just a coincidence, his paranoia creating a phantom, or perhaps Arkham is keen to prove that it's dark reputation is a fitting one... --- While many of the guests to Wilde Hall this evening may be awed by the opulence of the grand old house, Opportunity Knox is likely to feel almost at home. After all, the Knox family has a history that is as impressive and storied as the Wildes, and Opportunity is no stranger to impressive estates. Despite this, Arkham doesn't exactly excite the young dilettante. Too quiet, and altogether too slow. And yet, she has her reasons for making the journey to this corner of Massachusetts, and the words of her family still ringing in her ears. Just because Opportunity needs to reach Wilde Hall at some point, does not mean she is in any great rush. After all, the old house has stood for generations, it's not going anywhere. The Excelsior Hotel is an impressively grand lodging, and it is naturally the place that has drawn the adventuress. Not only does the bar offer a welcome distraction for the bleakness of the city, but it also allows Opportunity to rub shoulders with the Americans that she has such a fondness for. The British are too stuffy, but the Americans understand the rush of speed, the freedom of the air. Her evening is a whirl of conversation and drink, until that conversation suddenly subsides, and Opportunity turns to find a dark-clothed figure standing in the doorway. The man stands at around six feet, broad shouldered and stern-faced. She notices the crest of the Wildes on his chest at the same moment that he speaks, his voice booming. "Lady Dalrymple. Your carriage is waiting."</s> <\|message\|>Moses Benjamin Reaves The light of Arkham was at Moses's back, literally and figuratively, as he made his way towards the Wilde Woods. He pulled his coat tighter around him. It had been his father's, but one couldn't tell looking at it. There was one thing that Callum Reaves had cared for as equally as his family, and it was this garment. And for good reason too, it was quite the bulwark against the elements. Moses dressed as well as he could. While not a rich man, he was one of decent means. It was like his wife, Magdalene, would always say, "one needs a nice suit for weddings, wakes, and getting back anything life takes." He smiled at that thought, his chapped lips growing tight. That motion ticked a little box in his head, and his fingers instinctually went for his cigarettes—neatly placed inside an ornate, metal carrying case. He slid one between his lips before clicking the container closed. Moses instinctually reached for his lighter when his fingers went still. Dark brown eyes glanced at a figure painted against the lights that hung in the woods. It seemed to be an odd place for lamps and an even odder place for a person. Wilde Hall was wreathed by the Wilde Woods, of course, but he hadn't expected anyone else to take the back road there. Moses had his reasons. While many people didn't know who he was those that did had a hard time not staring. He was a man of decent means. He slid his calloused hands through his black hair, salted at the temples and spilling into his tight beard. Moses hesitated. He had no reason to assume this was a move against him. If so, the person would have tended to their presence better. Another party-goer, perhaps? In his deliberation, the figure turned away from whatever they were facing and made their way down the well-lit path. Moses, realizing that he was staring and dawdling in equal measure, moved to catch up. He dropped his careful steps, letting his boots slap against the hard ground. "Ah good," he said, balancing the cigarette between his lips. "An audience to tell the tale of how I get eaten by wolves out in these woods. Make sure to add that I was brave before I shat myself and died." He chuckled. Moses's face was mostly hidden behind a plain, gray mask tied around his head with a thick cloth. It wasn't mean to be fancy, but it would stay in place. "Headin' to the Wilde Hall, too, I'm guessin'?" Selune</s>	<\|message\|>Madamoiselle Renee Adeline Desiree Bellerose She heard the footsteps behind her before she turned to see who they belonged to. For a moment, concern gripped her that she might be accosted by a footpad or vagabond, but when she did move to see the figure, she was pleasantly relieved. Another partygoer. One a little more rough around the edges than her. Not exactly a difficult feat though- she prided herself on how her edges had been smoothed down. Frowning a little, she made the barest gesture of a curtsey towards the man. "Madamoiselle Noire, a pleasure to meet you." Her voice was slightly terse and significantly accented, and the way she moved her head caused the whiskers of her mask to quiver slightly. "Mais oui, I was hoping to attend the festivities" she continued, continuing to walk slowly as she did so. Aside from the mask she wore, the rest of her clothing had been carefully and deliberately picked out. A woman's jacket, warm to fend away the evening chill and a wide brimmed hat, from beneath which the amber eyes of her mask peered out and in the shadows of which the true eye-holes of the mask were difficult to discern. Underneath were the usual assortments of petticoats, garters and other accoutrements required for a lady to look her best. "I suppose we ought to be going. Wolves there may not be, but there is no reason to dawdle."</s>
<\|description\|>Alvin Fennel Aliases: Alvy, Fen Occupation:Linguistics Student at Miskatonic University Age:22 Birthplace:Boston Massachusetts Race/Ethnicty:White Gender:Male --- --- Physical Attributes Height:5'7 Weight:161 lbs Build:Lanky and thin, with an almost underfed look to his face. Eyes:Pale Blue Hair:Light Brown Skin Tone:Pallid Tattoos/Scars/Piercings:Small scar under his left eye from a fishing trip accident when he was a boy. --- --- Psychological Attributes Knowledgeable * Paranoid * Creative * Naive * Kind * Indecisive Sexuality:Heterosexual, Asexual Leaning Relationship Status:Single, Married to his studies Likes:* Cheap Food * Old Books * Popular Music * The History of Language * His Family * Friends Dislikes:* Strangers * The Ocean * The cold * Grime * Ignorance * Elitism Fears:* Being submerged in deep water * Being trapped in the dark * Being Blind</s> <\|message\|>Simon Adam Hart. Initial thoughts... I do not have any qualms with traveling outside of New York, I never have. I like the trains, I like the way they smell and I like the sounds. There's a nostalgic value in watching the world go by outside but being incapable of doing anything about what I see. Watching people is easy. This will not be easy and that makes me nervous. I feel weird and that's no surprise, I opened enough doors that the devil came knocking at mine. I am not one to ignore a rap at the door but for a moment I considered it. I'm not sure that chasing shadows is smart but it is what I've chosen to do. Violet might appreciate my fortitude. Too bad she does nothing but scream at those same shadows any longer. I bite my tongue as I consider what might face me and I find I can't reason why I shouldn't go. I'm not the brave sort but I am the curious sort and sometimes that is just as bad. It's important that I keep my wits about me despite this, although the idea of venturing into this lacks wits all itself. Oh well. Hell awaits, yes? Standing now at what he'd considered the point of no return, Simon was left to face down with a peculiar figure. His instinct was to go for a weapon but he could hardly bring himself to move. He had frozen in place shortly after his unsuccessful retreat, staring up at the cold blue eyes that stared back at him. His heart was hammering in his chest and he was stuck there, incapable of speaking or acting. His breath exhaled sharply and he tried to make note of as many details as he could about the individual although they were shrouded in gloom and that was no easy task. He could not make out much of their face but he could see the scar, a twisted, knotted thing that stretched across their cheek. He wanted to brush them off as some sort of vagrant, a nobody in the darkness who was hungry for a fight. He considered they could perhaps be a local who was too keen on superstition, he was familiar with the type. He did what he could to ease his posture as he stared them down, tried not to look threatening, just in case they were looking for a fight. If they were just a superstitious local then he doubted they'd strike him but it helped to be nonthreatening in these situations all the same. He did not want to consider them to be some sort of sign. The words they spoke rung too true with his own internal turmoil, they was too close for comfort. At the very least, this was an opportunity, wasn't it? He had wanted to ask questions anyway, his whole purpose for visiting was to ask questions. If this dark figure had some kind of answers then who was he to complain? He tried to reassure himself with this logic although it did little to qualm the fear in the pit of his stomach. He would quiz this strange person a little and then he'd retreat the carriage, preferably without sustaining any injuries. He struggled for one more deep breath, and exhaled through his nose before he managed to force a pleasant smile on his face. The change was almost immediate, he'd gone from cornered animal to friendly face in no time flat. He swallowed down the anxiety rising up the back of his throat and he forced his words out through his teeth, smiling all the while. "I don't know what you mean," he knew exactly what they meant but he would not show fear if he could help it. Fear was no use to him when he was engaging in investigative journalism, this wasn't the first shady figure he'd ever had to face off with and he presumed (or hoped) they would not be the last. His eyebrows drew together in an attempt to look confused. "What's to fear about the woods?" What wasn't to fear about the woods?</s> <\|message\|>Avery Wildes In This Fine Town Of Arkham A Night At Wilde Hall --- --- "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown" - H. P. Lovecraft --- Selune Not all those that are travelling to Wilde Hall decide to take the streets. Perhaps it is caution, or perhaps it is an appreciation of the relative peace, but as the night draws in Renee Bellerose is to be found walking along the edge of the Wilde Woods. The city barely reaches out this far, only the occasional building serving as a reminder of civilisation, and in the peace, Renee can almost believe that she is back in France, back before the war, before all the horribleness that consumed her peaceful corner of paradise. Almost, but not quite. The past is behind her, for the better or for the worse, and Renee has not made it this far by wringing her hands together and fretting. No, she has made it this far by putting her best black-clad foot forward. The invitation clutched in her hand gives her purpose, and besides, she is not the sort to turn her back on good drink and pleasant conversation. And considering the wealth that the Wildes have no doubt accumulated, the drink should be good enough to make up for any lacking conversation. Renee has almost reached the point marked on her invitation when something catches her eye. The few gas lanterns that reach this close to the woods cast only dim light, but Renee has always had a sharp eye, and in the half-light, she makes out a gap in the trees. Curiosity getting the better of her, Renee walks closer to this gap, instinctively treading softly as she approaches. A narrow path, little more than a deer trail, dissapears into the darkness of the woods, but as Renee leans to get a closer look, she can see that there are fresh footprints in the mud, leading deeper into the depths of the forest. A local going for a late evening walk? The idea seems hardly likely, especially considering the dark reputation that the Wilde Woods has gained, but whatever reason, someone has come this way, and moved through the twisted trees. The footsteps are clear, even in the half light, and it would be no great task to follow them, but then again, the Wilde Woods does not have its reputation for nothing, and the party is waiting... --- The path that follows the edge of the Wilde Woods is proving to be a popular route, although the reason that Moses Reaves is taking the more scenic route is perhaps more obvious than the one that sees Renee taking the same route. Anyone in the line of business that Moses inhabits develops an aversion for streetlights, and for the curious glances that the streets of Arkham had in abundance. Heavy jacket pulled tight around him, he takes long strides through the shadows. Wilde Hall is an opportunity, and Moses is not the type to miss an opportunity, especially one that presents itself in the form of a fancy invitation. And then one of the shadows moves. Moses stops in his tracks, eyes straining against the half light. A figure, close to the edge of the forest. Moses has no shortage of enemies who could be lingering in the dark, but the figure doesn't seem to be looking at him. Instead, it seems to be focused towards the woods themselves. With the soft steps of a man that is no stranger to the rougher side of the law, Moses moves forward. As he gets nearer, he realises that the figure is smaller than he first though, standing a good few inches shorter than he does. Not only that, but the figure is a woman, dressed all in black. Moses is wise enough to know that that fact doesn't make the figure any less dangerous, but they seem to be fixated on the trees, or rather a gap between the trees. By the looks of it, Renee hasn't heard Moses approaching yet, but every step risks alerting her. Is it a trap, or a curiosity? --- Walking through the dark streets is far from the typical evening for Alvin Fennel, but then what is university, if not a chance to get out of your comfort zone? Even so, the shifting shadows put the student on edge, and he quickens his pace. And yet his intended destination is no more familiar to Alvin. The inevitable opulence that Wilde Hall promises is a far cry from what Alvin is accustomed to, and the idea of crowds of strangers does little to settle his nerves. But then, that is not the only thing about the invitation clutched in his hand that puts him on edge. Trying to push the thoughts from his head, Alvin pushes onwards. Turning the last corner, Alvin can make out the black carriage that sits at the edge of the Wilde Woods. Two figures are already standing by it, but by the looks of the coachman, they won't be waiting there for much longer. If he picks up his pace, he could probably reach them before they set off, or perhaps it would be better to wait. After all, Alvin has never been one to turn his nose up at the prospect of having time to think. Besides, other guests should be arriving soon, and they may look less intimidating than the hulking silhouette of Drachen, the other man's frame making Rosanna look like a doll beside him. Pick up the pace to join the unusual pair, or take his time, and wait for the next ride?</s> <\|message\|>Drachen Steinboden Drachen's eyes had lazily wandered during his walk through the dark streets, small globes of light from the lamps that were quick to dim the further out the light went. During his lumbering, and lazy, stride he took note of the people. He wasn't famous per-se, but he was a rarity. A rarity that had no issues leaving a mugger broken in an alley. Leaving behind the mumbled shushed voices he approached the edge of town that bordered the Wilde Wood. A carriage, black and expensive looking, was there with a singular coachman. He didn't care about the mans attire, but that shotgun let him know things weren't peaceful in the woods. Most likely for coyotes. An exchange of invitation and glances was all there were. Neither man had any words for the other. With the invitation back in hand he tucked it into the inner chest pocket of his enormous coat. He was dressed decent, but he wasn't a materialistic man. Not to mention his size made it so everything he had was custom made, which jacked up the prices of clothing and footwear. He did move off to the side, lingering near the rear of the carriage instead of getting into it. Staying in such a small thing for a long time would destroy his knees. A brief wait and a well dressed woman came up the street. A different set of hushed murmurs and voices trailing after her. If he had been a vagrant he would have labeled her as the perfect target to hit for immediate money. Still she approached and handed the driver her own invitation before it was returned to her. The driver spoke, saying they were early. Well it was better to be early than to be late, right? The pair were left waiting in silence for any others to show. But the big man wasn't too fond of silences. "Evenin', miss..." He rumbled out. His voice matching that frame easily, like deep rolling thunder. If he owned a hat he might have tipped it, but he wasn't really fond of head gear. They looked silly and not to mention it made his wild mane sit funny when worn for too long.</s> <\|message\|>Madamoiselle Renee Adeline Desiree Bellerose The Woods grow around the walls of the House, but as any student of history knows, the House has no walls. The short phrase bounced around the woman's mind as she moved through the trees and along the path. This was not the Woods, and the Wilde Estate was not the House either... Although it did appear to have some mysteries of its own. The horsehair whiskers of her feline-styled masquerade mask quivered in the gentle breeze as she analysed the footpath. Muddy. Dirty. Leading off into the woods. Intruiging. Were she out for a normal stroll this was certainly something she would investigate, but tonight was not the usual night. Tonight she was properly dressed and, most importantly, was going to an event. This meant that one, her clothes found dirt and mud most disagreeeable, and two, them becoming muddy could quite easily become something of a scene. Adjusting her mask and hat a little, she turned away from the path and back towards the gaslit path ahead of her. Onwards to the party then. This curious little path would not be followed today.</s>	<\|message\|>Alvin Fennel Alvin reached into his coat and clutched the small leather-bound notebook in his breast-pocket. Inside the journal lay his invitation to Wilde Hall, and perhaps answers that he had been seeking. In the distance, he saw the carriage that would ferry him to the party, and two figures ready to enter the carriage. Would they wait for him or leave him behind? Was this the only carriage going to the party? The thoughts raced Alvin's mind as his heartbeat began to increase, the ever-looming anxiety of the unknown already pounding his thoughts like the beat of a soldier's drum. Should he force himself to be sociable? Perhaps they would have more information on this soiree, perhaps they would turn their knows at the pale, skinny man attempting to rub shoulders with the elite. He definitely did not look the part of a well-to-do man around Arkham. His black coat seemed a size too large for his thin frame, and his dark mask, with a product, corvid-like beak, gave him the image of a thin, giant dying bird than that of a man. It wasn't that he lacked friends; it was that his usual group of friends all shared something in common: University Life. Alvin had spent many nights in the local bars with his college fellows, enjoying a glass of beer and stark discussion of their studies with one another. Alvin was studying linguistics at Miskatonic and specialized in strange languages that were offshoots of ancient tounges. He'd assisted Dr. Armitage as part of studies in translating strange books of the occult, something that more unnerved him than fascinated him. Professor Wilmarth, with who he'd done multiple classes, had him focused on differentiating the local Indian languages in their folklore of the area, trying to trace the stores back to some ur-narrative. That had been unproductive, but at the very least, interesting to Alvin. The professors at Miskatonic were by and far men of rationality and many had sought to instill their students with the understanding that all things in the world could be easily explained with sufficient evidence and understanding. Alvin wished dearly that this was true. He had made his decision. He stepped his pace to a faster procession, hoping to catch the carriage before it left. After all, this night was still young, and he had many questions that needed rational answers.</s>
<\|description\|>Moses Benjamin Reaves Moses Benjamin Reaves --- --- Character Summary Aliases: Reaves, Mister Rivers Occupation: a Hardworking Entrepeneur Age: 42 Birthplace: Arkham, Massachusetts Race/Ethnicty: White; Second Generation Irish Gender: Male --- --- Physical Attributes Height: Just under six-foot Weight: About 220, depends on the jacket Build: a Strapping physique that's gone to seed but still fills out a suit nicely Eyes: Dirty brown and a little bloodshot Hair: Black with salting at the temples and the beard Skin Tone: Average with freckling over the nose Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Inking under the cuffs and scarring from a busted nose --- --- Psychological Attributes Cunning * Habitual Liar * Thick Skin * Morally Bankrupt * Protective * Holds Grudges Sexuality: Overcompensating Heterosexuality Relationship Status: Married Likes:* a Good Irish whiskey * Talking Shop * Cheap Cigars * Overpriced Suits * Gambling * His Family Dislikes:* Law Enforcement * Classism * Clumsiness * Sweet Anything (Drinks, Food, etc.) * the Learned Society * Being Ignored Fears:* Burying his Family * Parasites * Losing a Limb</s> <\|message\|>Drachen Steinboden Drachen's eyes had lazily wandered during his walk through the dark streets, small globes of light from the lamps that were quick to dim the further out the light went. During his lumbering, and lazy, stride he took note of the people. He wasn't famous per-se, but he was a rarity. A rarity that had no issues leaving a mugger broken in an alley. Leaving behind the mumbled shushed voices he approached the edge of town that bordered the Wilde Wood. A carriage, black and expensive looking, was there with a singular coachman. He didn't care about the mans attire, but that shotgun let him know things weren't peaceful in the woods. Most likely for coyotes. An exchange of invitation and glances was all there were. Neither man had any words for the other. With the invitation back in hand he tucked it into the inner chest pocket of his enormous coat. He was dressed decent, but he wasn't a materialistic man. Not to mention his size made it so everything he had was custom made, which jacked up the prices of clothing and footwear. He did move off to the side, lingering near the rear of the carriage instead of getting into it. Staying in such a small thing for a long time would destroy his knees. A brief wait and a well dressed woman came up the street. A different set of hushed murmurs and voices trailing after her. If he had been a vagrant he would have labeled her as the perfect target to hit for immediate money. Still she approached and handed the driver her own invitation before it was returned to her. The driver spoke, saying they were early. Well it was better to be early than to be late, right? The pair were left waiting in silence for any others to show. But the big man wasn't too fond of silences. "Evenin', miss..." He rumbled out. His voice matching that frame easily, like deep rolling thunder. If he owned a hat he might have tipped it, but he wasn't really fond of head gear. They looked silly and not to mention it made his wild mane sit funny when worn for too long.</s> <\|message\|>Madamoiselle Renee Adeline Desiree Bellerose The Woods grow around the walls of the House, but as any student of history knows, the House has no walls. The short phrase bounced around the woman's mind as she moved through the trees and along the path. This was not the Woods, and the Wilde Estate was not the House either... Although it did appear to have some mysteries of its own. The horsehair whiskers of her feline-styled masquerade mask quivered in the gentle breeze as she analysed the footpath. Muddy. Dirty. Leading off into the woods. Intruiging. Were she out for a normal stroll this was certainly something she would investigate, but tonight was not the usual night. Tonight she was properly dressed and, most importantly, was going to an event. This meant that one, her clothes found dirt and mud most disagreeeable, and two, them becoming muddy could quite easily become something of a scene. Adjusting her mask and hat a little, she turned away from the path and back towards the gaslit path ahead of her. Onwards to the party then. This curious little path would not be followed today.</s> <\|message\|>Alvin Fennel Alvin reached into his coat and clutched the small leather-bound notebook in his breast-pocket. Inside the journal lay his invitation to Wilde Hall, and perhaps answers that he had been seeking. In the distance, he saw the carriage that would ferry him to the party, and two figures ready to enter the carriage. Would they wait for him or leave him behind? Was this the only carriage going to the party? The thoughts raced Alvin's mind as his heartbeat began to increase, the ever-looming anxiety of the unknown already pounding his thoughts like the beat of a soldier's drum. Should he force himself to be sociable? Perhaps they would have more information on this soiree, perhaps they would turn their knows at the pale, skinny man attempting to rub shoulders with the elite. He definitely did not look the part of a well-to-do man around Arkham. His black coat seemed a size too large for his thin frame, and his dark mask, with a product, corvid-like beak, gave him the image of a thin, giant dying bird than that of a man. It wasn't that he lacked friends; it was that his usual group of friends all shared something in common: University Life. Alvin had spent many nights in the local bars with his college fellows, enjoying a glass of beer and stark discussion of their studies with one another. Alvin was studying linguistics at Miskatonic and specialized in strange languages that were offshoots of ancient tounges. He'd assisted Dr. Armitage as part of studies in translating strange books of the occult, something that more unnerved him than fascinated him. Professor Wilmarth, with who he'd done multiple classes, had him focused on differentiating the local Indian languages in their folklore of the area, trying to trace the stores back to some ur-narrative. That had been unproductive, but at the very least, interesting to Alvin. The professors at Miskatonic were by and far men of rationality and many had sought to instill their students with the understanding that all things in the world could be easily explained with sufficient evidence and understanding. Alvin wished dearly that this was true. He had made his decision. He stepped his pace to a faster procession, hoping to catch the carriage before it left. After all, this night was still young, and he had many questions that needed rational answers.</s> <\|message\|>Rosanna Liang --- The moonlight shines onto Rosanna Liang like she is a canary on broadway, her golden dress even shines like it was made of real gold. Even though she been through alot of parties ever since she became a student of Miskatonic University, this party was different however, instead of going there for a good time, enjoying some giggle juice, Rosie is going to Wilde Hall for a different reason, she is going to find some secrets in the halls of the Wilde residence. As she walks in the apple of Arkham, Rosanna can't help to feel everyone is looking at her and not in "You look so beautiful" way, more like the creepy way, it makes Rosie wish she would bring a knife with her instead of her makeup. There was somewhat mysterious ambience as Rosanna steps into woods, she looks at the tall, plenty rugged man while standing right next to him, makes Rosie a little small but doesn't bother her, not one bit. A black carriage that stands in front her and the tall gentleman makes Rosie feel uneasy but not too much, even if the coachman size almost makes her falter. Rosanna hands the driver her invitation and telling her and tall gentleman that they are early "Mhmm, my mother always say that my past life was a bird cause I get up so early in the morning. Get it? Early bird?" Rosie say with a giggle but then went quiet afterwords since nobody was laughing. As Rosanna and Tall man wait for other guests to arrived, a other man join the two and right off the bat, she recognize the young man as Alvin Fennel, she thinks that his name. The two shared the same class together and often she looks at his paper for some answers for quizs and tests. As the three wait for more guests to arrived once again, the tall gentleman finally spoke, his crooner voice makes Rosie jump a bit but at least there'll be no silence in the woods "Evening, good sir." Rosanna say to the tall man "Are you invited to the Wilde hall too?"</s> <\|message\|>Avery Wildes In This Fine Town Of Arkham A Night At Wilde Hall --- --- "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown" - H. P. Lovecraft --- Cloud Arkham has a dark reputation, and Wilde Hall is no different. Perhaps it is that dark reputation that draws Morgan Eisenhorn to the house, like a moth is drawn to a flame. The invitation in his pocket is more than just a slip of paper, it is a promise. A promise of something, something that Morgan is not yet entirely sure of, but that he cannot resist. And so, the private investigator finds himself walking the streets of Arkham alone, as the evening stretches into the night. Or at least, he thought he was alone. He had written it off as a coincidence at first, just another pair of footsteps among those few that sill braved the streets of Arkham after dark, another figure moving through the shadows, but with each turn that Morgan makes, the hairs on the back of his neck stand up a little bit more. The streets are quieter now, as he moves away from the heart of the city, and out towards the edge of the Wilde Woods, but still, he can hear the footsteps behind him. Whenever he glances over his shoulder, the footsteps pause, and a few times Morgan has caught sight of a figure stepping into the shadows. And when he starts walking again, the footsteps resume. Morgan is still some distance from the meeting point designated on his invitation, and with each passing moment, the streets grow a little darker, and a little quieter. Perhaps it is just a coincidence, his paranoia creating a phantom, or perhaps Arkham is keen to prove that it's dark reputation is a fitting one... --- While many of the guests to Wilde Hall this evening may be awed by the opulence of the grand old house, Opportunity Knox is likely to feel almost at home. After all, the Knox family has a history that is as impressive and storied as the Wildes, and Opportunity is no stranger to impressive estates. Despite this, Arkham doesn't exactly excite the young dilettante. Too quiet, and altogether too slow. And yet, she has her reasons for making the journey to this corner of Massachusetts, and the words of her family still ringing in her ears. Just because Opportunity needs to reach Wilde Hall at some point, does not mean she is in any great rush. After all, the old house has stood for generations, it's not going anywhere. The Excelsior Hotel is an impressively grand lodging, and it is naturally the place that has drawn the adventuress. Not only does the bar offer a welcome distraction for the bleakness of the city, but it also allows Opportunity to rub shoulders with the Americans that she has such a fondness for. The British are too stuffy, but the Americans understand the rush of speed, the freedom of the air. Her evening is a whirl of conversation and drink, until that conversation suddenly subsides, and Opportunity turns to find a dark-clothed figure standing in the doorway. The man stands at around six feet, broad shouldered and stern-faced. She notices the crest of the Wildes on his chest at the same moment that he speaks, his voice booming. "Lady Dalrymple. Your carriage is waiting."</s>	<\|message\|>Moses Benjamin Reaves The light of Arkham was at Moses's back, literally and figuratively, as he made his way towards the Wilde Woods. He pulled his coat tighter around him. It had been his father's, but one couldn't tell looking at it. There was one thing that Callum Reaves had cared for as equally as his family, and it was this garment. And for good reason too, it was quite the bulwark against the elements. Moses dressed as well as he could. While not a rich man, he was one of decent means. It was like his wife, Magdalene, would always say, "one needs a nice suit for weddings, wakes, and getting back anything life takes." He smiled at that thought, his chapped lips growing tight. That motion ticked a little box in his head, and his fingers instinctually went for his cigarettes—neatly placed inside an ornate, metal carrying case. He slid one between his lips before clicking the container closed. Moses instinctually reached for his lighter when his fingers went still. Dark brown eyes glanced at a figure painted against the lights that hung in the woods. It seemed to be an odd place for lamps and an even odder place for a person. Wilde Hall was wreathed by the Wilde Woods, of course, but he hadn't expected anyone else to take the back road there. Moses had his reasons. While many people didn't know who he was those that did had a hard time not staring. He was a man of decent means. He slid his calloused hands through his black hair, salted at the temples and spilling into his tight beard. Moses hesitated. He had no reason to assume this was a move against him. If so, the person would have tended to their presence better. Another party-goer, perhaps? In his deliberation, the figure turned away from whatever they were facing and made their way down the well-lit path. Moses, realizing that he was staring and dawdling in equal measure, moved to catch up. He dropped his careful steps, letting his boots slap against the hard ground. "Ah good," he said, balancing the cigarette between his lips. "An audience to tell the tale of how I get eaten by wolves out in these woods. Make sure to add that I was brave before I shat myself and died." He chuckled. Moses's face was mostly hidden behind a plain, gray mask tied around his head with a thick cloth. It wasn't mean to be fancy, but it would stay in place. "Headin' to the Wilde Hall, too, I'm guessin'?" Selune</s>
<\|description\|>Morgan Rodrigo Eisenhorn Morgan Eisenhorn --- --- Character Summary Aliases: Mr. Eisenhorn or Horn Occupation: Private Investigator Age: 28 Birthplace: Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. Race/Ethnicty: Latin-Canadian / Caucasian Gender: Male --- --- Physical Attributes Height: 5'4" Weight: 145lbs Build: Short, with lean muscles and a thin frame. Eyes: Brown. Hair: Brown. Skin Tone: Slightly Tan, but barely noticeable. Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: N/A --- --- Psychological Attributes Inquisitive * Stubborn * Hardworking * Obsessive * Ethical * Opinionated Sexuality: Straight Relationship Status: Single Likes:* Social Gatherings * Fine Wine * Expensive Cigarettes * Punctuality * Solving Problems * Strange Phenomena Dislikes:* Layabouts * Blood & Gore * Cold Cases * Amorality * Stereotypes * Liars & Cheats Fears:* Dying from unnatural causes. * Rats and all other vermin. * Racial prejudice.</s> <\|message\|>Madamoiselle Renee Adeline Desiree Bellerose The Woods grow around the walls of the House, but as any student of history knows, the House has no walls. The short phrase bounced around the woman's mind as she moved through the trees and along the path. This was not the Woods, and the Wilde Estate was not the House either... Although it did appear to have some mysteries of its own. The horsehair whiskers of her feline-styled masquerade mask quivered in the gentle breeze as she analysed the footpath. Muddy. Dirty. Leading off into the woods. Intruiging. Were she out for a normal stroll this was certainly something she would investigate, but tonight was not the usual night. Tonight she was properly dressed and, most importantly, was going to an event. This meant that one, her clothes found dirt and mud most disagreeeable, and two, them becoming muddy could quite easily become something of a scene. Adjusting her mask and hat a little, she turned away from the path and back towards the gaslit path ahead of her. Onwards to the party then. This curious little path would not be followed today.</s> <\|message\|>Alvin Fennel Alvin reached into his coat and clutched the small leather-bound notebook in his breast-pocket. Inside the journal lay his invitation to Wilde Hall, and perhaps answers that he had been seeking. In the distance, he saw the carriage that would ferry him to the party, and two figures ready to enter the carriage. Would they wait for him or leave him behind? Was this the only carriage going to the party? The thoughts raced Alvin's mind as his heartbeat began to increase, the ever-looming anxiety of the unknown already pounding his thoughts like the beat of a soldier's drum. Should he force himself to be sociable? Perhaps they would have more information on this soiree, perhaps they would turn their knows at the pale, skinny man attempting to rub shoulders with the elite. He definitely did not look the part of a well-to-do man around Arkham. His black coat seemed a size too large for his thin frame, and his dark mask, with a product, corvid-like beak, gave him the image of a thin, giant dying bird than that of a man. It wasn't that he lacked friends; it was that his usual group of friends all shared something in common: University Life. Alvin had spent many nights in the local bars with his college fellows, enjoying a glass of beer and stark discussion of their studies with one another. Alvin was studying linguistics at Miskatonic and specialized in strange languages that were offshoots of ancient tounges. He'd assisted Dr. Armitage as part of studies in translating strange books of the occult, something that more unnerved him than fascinated him. Professor Wilmarth, with who he'd done multiple classes, had him focused on differentiating the local Indian languages in their folklore of the area, trying to trace the stores back to some ur-narrative. That had been unproductive, but at the very least, interesting to Alvin. The professors at Miskatonic were by and far men of rationality and many had sought to instill their students with the understanding that all things in the world could be easily explained with sufficient evidence and understanding. Alvin wished dearly that this was true. He had made his decision. He stepped his pace to a faster procession, hoping to catch the carriage before it left. After all, this night was still young, and he had many questions that needed rational answers.</s> <\|message\|>Rosanna Liang --- The moonlight shines onto Rosanna Liang like she is a canary on broadway, her golden dress even shines like it was made of real gold. Even though she been through alot of parties ever since she became a student of Miskatonic University, this party was different however, instead of going there for a good time, enjoying some giggle juice, Rosie is going to Wilde Hall for a different reason, she is going to find some secrets in the halls of the Wilde residence. As she walks in the apple of Arkham, Rosanna can't help to feel everyone is looking at her and not in "You look so beautiful" way, more like the creepy way, it makes Rosie wish she would bring a knife with her instead of her makeup. There was somewhat mysterious ambience as Rosanna steps into woods, she looks at the tall, plenty rugged man while standing right next to him, makes Rosie a little small but doesn't bother her, not one bit. A black carriage that stands in front her and the tall gentleman makes Rosie feel uneasy but not too much, even if the coachman size almost makes her falter. Rosanna hands the driver her invitation and telling her and tall gentleman that they are early "Mhmm, my mother always say that my past life was a bird cause I get up so early in the morning. Get it? Early bird?" Rosie say with a giggle but then went quiet afterwords since nobody was laughing. As Rosanna and Tall man wait for other guests to arrived, a other man join the two and right off the bat, she recognize the young man as Alvin Fennel, she thinks that his name. The two shared the same class together and often she looks at his paper for some answers for quizs and tests. As the three wait for more guests to arrived once again, the tall gentleman finally spoke, his crooner voice makes Rosie jump a bit but at least there'll be no silence in the woods "Evening, good sir." Rosanna say to the tall man "Are you invited to the Wilde hall too?"</s> <\|message\|>Avery Wildes In This Fine Town Of Arkham A Night At Wilde Hall --- --- "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown" - H. P. Lovecraft --- Cloud Arkham has a dark reputation, and Wilde Hall is no different. Perhaps it is that dark reputation that draws Morgan Eisenhorn to the house, like a moth is drawn to a flame. The invitation in his pocket is more than just a slip of paper, it is a promise. A promise of something, something that Morgan is not yet entirely sure of, but that he cannot resist. And so, the private investigator finds himself walking the streets of Arkham alone, as the evening stretches into the night. Or at least, he thought he was alone. He had written it off as a coincidence at first, just another pair of footsteps among those few that sill braved the streets of Arkham after dark, another figure moving through the shadows, but with each turn that Morgan makes, the hairs on the back of his neck stand up a little bit more. The streets are quieter now, as he moves away from the heart of the city, and out towards the edge of the Wilde Woods, but still, he can hear the footsteps behind him. Whenever he glances over his shoulder, the footsteps pause, and a few times Morgan has caught sight of a figure stepping into the shadows. And when he starts walking again, the footsteps resume. Morgan is still some distance from the meeting point designated on his invitation, and with each passing moment, the streets grow a little darker, and a little quieter. Perhaps it is just a coincidence, his paranoia creating a phantom, or perhaps Arkham is keen to prove that it's dark reputation is a fitting one... --- While many of the guests to Wilde Hall this evening may be awed by the opulence of the grand old house, Opportunity Knox is likely to feel almost at home. After all, the Knox family has a history that is as impressive and storied as the Wildes, and Opportunity is no stranger to impressive estates. Despite this, Arkham doesn't exactly excite the young dilettante. Too quiet, and altogether too slow. And yet, she has her reasons for making the journey to this corner of Massachusetts, and the words of her family still ringing in her ears. Just because Opportunity needs to reach Wilde Hall at some point, does not mean she is in any great rush. After all, the old house has stood for generations, it's not going anywhere. The Excelsior Hotel is an impressively grand lodging, and it is naturally the place that has drawn the adventuress. Not only does the bar offer a welcome distraction for the bleakness of the city, but it also allows Opportunity to rub shoulders with the Americans that she has such a fondness for. The British are too stuffy, but the Americans understand the rush of speed, the freedom of the air. Her evening is a whirl of conversation and drink, until that conversation suddenly subsides, and Opportunity turns to find a dark-clothed figure standing in the doorway. The man stands at around six feet, broad shouldered and stern-faced. She notices the crest of the Wildes on his chest at the same moment that he speaks, his voice booming. "Lady Dalrymple. Your carriage is waiting."</s> <\|message\|>Moses Benjamin Reaves The light of Arkham was at Moses's back, literally and figuratively, as he made his way towards the Wilde Woods. He pulled his coat tighter around him. It had been his father's, but one couldn't tell looking at it. There was one thing that Callum Reaves had cared for as equally as his family, and it was this garment. And for good reason too, it was quite the bulwark against the elements. Moses dressed as well as he could. While not a rich man, he was one of decent means. It was like his wife, Magdalene, would always say, "one needs a nice suit for weddings, wakes, and getting back anything life takes." He smiled at that thought, his chapped lips growing tight. That motion ticked a little box in his head, and his fingers instinctually went for his cigarettes—neatly placed inside an ornate, metal carrying case. He slid one between his lips before clicking the container closed. Moses instinctually reached for his lighter when his fingers went still. Dark brown eyes glanced at a figure painted against the lights that hung in the woods. It seemed to be an odd place for lamps and an even odder place for a person. Wilde Hall was wreathed by the Wilde Woods, of course, but he hadn't expected anyone else to take the back road there. Moses had his reasons. While many people didn't know who he was those that did had a hard time not staring. He was a man of decent means. He slid his calloused hands through his black hair, salted at the temples and spilling into his tight beard. Moses hesitated. He had no reason to assume this was a move against him. If so, the person would have tended to their presence better. Another party-goer, perhaps? In his deliberation, the figure turned away from whatever they were facing and made their way down the well-lit path. Moses, realizing that he was staring and dawdling in equal measure, moved to catch up. He dropped his careful steps, letting his boots slap against the hard ground. "Ah good," he said, balancing the cigarette between his lips. "An audience to tell the tale of how I get eaten by wolves out in these woods. Make sure to add that I was brave before I shat myself and died." He chuckled. Moses's face was mostly hidden behind a plain, gray mask tied around his head with a thick cloth. It wasn't mean to be fancy, but it would stay in place. "Headin' to the Wilde Hall, too, I'm guessin'?" Selune</s> <\|message\|>Madamoiselle Renee Adeline Desiree Bellerose --- --- She heard the footsteps behind her before she turned to see who they belonged to. For a moment, concern gripped her that she might be accosted by a footpad or vagabond, but when she did move to see the figure, she was pleasantly relieved. Another partygoer. One a little more rough around the edges than her. Not exactly a difficult feat though- she prided herself on how her edges had been smoothed down. Frowning a little, she made the barest gesture of a curtsey towards the man. "Madamoiselle Noire, a pleasure to meet you." Her voice was slightly terse and significantly accented, and the way she moved her head caused the whiskers of her mask to quiver slightly. "Mais oui, I was hoping to attend the festivities" she continued, continuing to walk slowly as she did so. Aside from the mask she wore, the rest of her clothing had been carefully and deliberately picked out. A woman's jacket, warm to fend away the evening chill and a wide brimmed hat, from beneath which the amber eyes of her mask peered out and in the shadows of which the true eye-holes of the mask were difficult to discern. Underneath were the usual assortments of petticoats, garters and other accoutrements required for a lady to look her best. "I suppose we ought to be going. Wolves there may not be, but there is no reason to dawdle."</s>	<\|message\|>Morgan Rodrigo Eisenhorn Morgan glanced behind him once more before taking a deep breath 'I can't shake the feeling something is very, very wrong here,' he thought to himself, straightening his collar as he exhaled and much to his chagrin nothing changed 'I can't appear distraught, I'll just have to make haste to the meeting place without delay.' Morgan sighed as he dipped his hands into his suit pockets, he felt odd about the circumstances that may have brought him to the mysterious town of Arkham but one such as he was not the kind of gentleman to pass up an invitation, even if it had been a long journey to arrive in town. Adjusting the mask to his face, bearing that of a fox's sly face the man picked up his pace and briskly walked up the pathway while doing his best to ignore the echo of footsteps behind him. It would simply not do, to be fashionably late or early no he was to be exactly on time and not to be distracted by further figments or phantoms that his mind tried to create, no it would not do at all.</s>
<\|description\|>Benjamin Marcus Zebrowski Benjamin Marcus Zebrowski ================================================================== Character Summary Aliases: James Roy Delehunt, Mr. Zebrowski, Ben, Asshole, The Polack. Occupation: Former Soldier turned Private Detective. Age: 27 Birthplace: Providence, Rhode Island Race/Ethnicity: Caucasian, Polish Gender: Male ================================================================== Physical Attributes Height: 6'2 Weight: 190 Pounds Build: Muscular Eyes: Blue Hair: Dark Brown Skin Tone: Pale Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Scars along his torso, hands and legs from his time in the war. ================================================================== Psychological Attributes * Empathic* Brave A Strong Sense Of Justice Rude* Racist* Misogynistic* Sexuality: Hetrosexual Relationship Status: Single Likes: -Coffee -Guns -Cats -Boxing -The bible -Nature Dislikes: -Germans -Smokers -Dogs -Alcohol -Loud noises -Criminals Fears: -Being in tight spaces -Death and the afterlife -The dark</s> <\|message\|>Avery Wildes In This Fine Town Of Arkham A Night At Wilde Hall --- --- "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown" - H. P. Lovecraft --- Selune@psych0pomp With the cursory introductions made, the figures of Renee Bellerose and Moses Reaves made for an unlikely pair. They were both bound for Wilde Hall, and they had both decided to take the quieter path, but that is as far as the similarities stretched. The narrow track into the trees behind them, the pair set off, tracing the edge of the Wilde Woods as they headed towards the point designated on their invitations. They had only made it a short distance before a voice called out behind them. "Ahoy there!" Turning at the sound, it quickly becomes clear that they are not the only ones to brave the path, or even the only guest of the Wildes. The man walking to join them stood a few inches shorter than Moses, and more slender, but he seemed to ooze confidence, and a wide smile was written across his handsome features. Sparkling green eyes looked out from behind a black and gold mask, and he was well-dressed. As he neared the pair, he nodded his head in greeting. "I take it from your fetching get-ups that we are all bound for Wilde Hall? Mister Violet, at your service. I must say, this whole thing really is the cat's meow. All this mystery, I dare say we'll be bumping into a Mister Holmes at this joint. Absolute berries!" The man had reached them by now, the smile unfaltering on his face. This close, both Moses and Renee would gauge his age to be in his late twenties, but he was boyish in his mannerisms. As he got closer, Renee's eyes caught on something. Despite the smartness of his attire, there was a distinct line of mud on his shoes. It was slight, and in this light, easy to miss, but the sharp-eyed Frenchwoman caught it all the same, a slight frown crossing her pale features for an instant. Before she could open her mouth to speak, Mister Violet continued. "It's dandy to bump into the two of you, these woods don't half-give me the heebie-jeebies. Like I said, Mister Violet is the name. What titles have the two of you been given?"</s> <\|message\|>Alvin Fennel Mr. Cobalt. More specific than red and far less regal than gold, Alvin assumed the moniker fit him well enough. He was too lost in his thoughts on his mission to take notice of the young Chinese woman joining him and the literal giant of a man. Had he been in a calmer mind, he would probably have recognized her from his own walks throughout the University on less-dreary days. Though the days of late had been exceedingly dreary, both in weather and in an emotional sense. The one thing he did focus his eye on as the coachman beckoned them to climb aboard was the shotgun, bathed in the shadows, but still noticeable with the lantern-light. Arkham was far from the safest town in America, of course, but what cause did a man need to carry a shotgun so openly? What exactly awaited them at Wilde Hall? Alvin snapped his mind back to the real world and nodded to the young woman and large man. "I would hardly be a gentleman if I did not allow the young lady on the carriage first," he remarked to Rosanna. That was something of a bald-faced lie. He came from working-class Irish immigrants, and their only claim to "gentle" behavior was not starting fights at Sunday mass and keeping quiet when their father came home red-faced and drunk. He then turned to the hulking Drachen, "and since I was the last to arrive, it's only right to climb aboard last." He tried to not let the man's enormous visage worry him too much. If they had all worked they wait to receive invitations to this party, they were all probably good sorts, even if some looked beastly. He did wonder how comfortable sitting in a carriage would be for a man that large. Still, there was something comforting about having a companion as dangerous looking as this fellow; if he stayed on his good side, he doubted anyone would try and start trouble around him.</s> <\|message\|>Madamoiselle Renee Adeline Desiree Bellerose --- --- Ah, now this gentleman was more her speed. "An absolute pleasure to meet you, Mister Violet. I am Madamoiselle Noire, and this gentleman has yet to introduce himself to me." Reaching up, the heiress would stroke the whiskers that jutted from the mask's nose, her black gloves almost invisible in the darkness of the night. "But yes, absolutely the..." She paused for a moment to make sure she had heard him right, before contining with a "cat's meow," the amusement in her voice highly evident. The joke would be finished with a quiet little "purr," and then the Frenchwoman would allow herself a small laugh. The man was odd, but she couldn't fault him for that. He was a bit of amusement and class, a welcome contrast to the one that had approached her previously. Still, the mud on his shoes left her with one question. "Say then, where have you come from Mister Violet? Are you a local to Massachusetts or have you travelled some distance?" Her mind flicked back to the footsteps going into the woods she had ignored, and then the dirt on the mans shoes. She was no experienced tracker, and her memory was hardly photographic enough to remember the exact shape of the footprints in the dirt, but when the equation was 2+?=5 and you were being presented with something that looked an awful lot like a three, it wasn't too hard to piece things together.</s> <\|message\|>Moses Benjamin Reaves So, the mysterious figure in the woods was a woman. That being said, Moses wasn't so regressive as to let his guard down. Anyone could be dangerous. A child with a knife and a well-placed view of one's legs and arms posed just an equal threat as a grown man with a pistol. But it seemed as if Mademoiselle Noir was, in fact, also a guest at Wilde Hall this evening. His shoulders relaxed under his coat, and he quickened his pace to fall in step with her. "Ah yes, let's," he said, agreeing that they should move a bit more briskly. Moses had to guess she was French given her accent, but he couldn't begin to decipher what she might say in her native tongue. The only bit of French he was familiar with was from rum runners out of the French Caribbean, but the accents and dialect were so vastly different he wouldn't know where to start. If she cursed at him, he'd know, but he couldn't imagine that she was prone to using a sailor's tongue. As soon as they'd traveled a ways on the tight wooden path, another figure joined them. Moses jumped. He blushed in embarrassment and hoped the cut of his jacket had hidden the scare. Attempting to wave that off, his fingers dived into his coat in hopes of fishing out his lighter. The next person in the woods seemed to be another guest. Mask, nice outfit, and a genteel nature that didn't suit someone that would be idly wandering the woods at night. He searched his pockets as the man, Mister Violet, introduced himself. His nature was immediately off-putting to Moses, and the older man tried not to sigh too loudly into his unlit cigarette. "Deacon Gray," he said, having been spoken over by both of the other party-goers and not given a moment to label himself. Finally, he'd procured his lighter from his coat, his fingers glossed over his small bit of "protection" to get to it. With a quick, very practiced motion, Moses flicked the top on the lighter—resembling a miniature candle snuffer—open. A few metallic cranks of the flint-wheel and a small flame erupted from the nickel box. He lit his cigarette in silence before flicking the top back down and pocketing it. It seemed as if he had all but been forgotten about as the Mademoiselle Noir honed in on Mister Violet. He let the smoke trail from his lips as he moved forward, taking the lead. @Lady Selune</s> <\|message\|>Avery Wildes In This Fine Town Of Arkham A Night At Wilde Hall --- --- "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown" - H. P. Lovecraft --- Cloud The footsteps continued to trail him, seeming to match his own hastened pace, and as Morgan Eisenhorn turned onto a new street, his heart sank. The gas lamp that should be lighting the pavement in front of him has died away to a barely visible glow, plunging the street into deep, inky shadow. With the footsteps unrelenting behind him, the slight private investigator realised that he had no choice but to plunge into the darkness. Gritting his teeth, and picking up his pace even more, Morgan pushed himself onwards. And yet, as he moved further into the darkness, his own footsteps echoing against the buildings that loomed up all around him, the footsteps behind him seemed to grow closer and closer. Nerve finally breaking, Morgan practically broke into a run, the vague promise of safety that the light of the next streetlamp offered calling to him, even as the footsteps behind him seemed to match his pace. It seemed as if he was running through treacle, but he finally reached the corner, the footsteps almost on top of him now, Morgan not daring to turn back to see the phantom that was surely about to lunge. He burst around the corner, and a dark shape loomed up to block his path. He had no time to stop, let alone avoid the shape, and he collided into the figure, sprawling to the hard ground with a painful thud, the figure staggering backwards. The breath driven from his lungs by the fall, Morgan was still gasping for air when he felt strong hands grip his collar and pull him upright. He found himself looking into a stern face, pale brown eyes burning with annoyance, and a voice that was almost a growl. "What the hell do you think you're playing at?" --- The coachman led Opportunity Knox through the foyer of The Excelsior Hotel, busy with the bustle of the evening, and out towards the street beyond. As he walked, the tall dark-clad figure glanced over his shoulder to make sure that the well-dressed dilettante was following, and the initial sternness of his face seemed to soften as they moved through the crowd. Opportunity couldn't help but notice that the other patrons of the hotel seemed to scatter before the coachman as he moved, although whether that was because of the man's formidable physique, or because of the Wildes crest that he bore on his chest, she couldn't be sure. As they stepped out onto the street, Opportunity saw that a black carriage was waiting at the roadside, pulled by a single jet-black horse. Again, the Wildes crest was marked across the side. The coachman turned back towards Opportunity, nodding his head slightly towards her. "Apologies for the interruption, ma'am, but Lady Wildes wanted me to make sure that you made it to Wilde Hall safely. Arkham can be a dangerous - " A dark shape burst around the corner, slamming into the coachman before he could finish his sentence. The dark shape sprawled to the ground, and the coachman staggered backwards, before regaining his balance. Opportunity realised that the dark shape was a man, a few inches shorter than she was, and wearing a fox-like mask. Another guest, or something more sinister? Before she could open her mouth to ask, the coachman had strode over, and pulled the stranger back to his feet, growling out a question. "What the hell do you think you're playing at?"</s>	<\|message\|>Benjamin Marcus Zebrowski Ben was sitting in his chair, holding a glass of orange juice in a whiskey glass. Taking a couple of sips from the glass, the citrus burning his throat. His radio was playing some jazz music, the singer was wailing over the frantic tapping of the piano. Looking around the dark room, he was still hazy from the nightmare he had just woken up from. The nightmare was of himself trapped in a small room, the room itself was composed of fleshy walls and teeths on the ceiling. The walls were pulsating and throbbing as if it was breathing. The images of faces embedded into the wall were quite disturbing. The scene then seemed to change to him inside of the trenches, the deafening sound of gunfire and tanks firing their cannons. He swore he could smell the dead bodies rotting in no man's land. The image of his former Sergeant screaming in his face to go over the trenches and into the oncoming gun fire. When he jumped over the border of the trench, he was not met with German soldiers firing at him. Instead he could see over the horizon was twisted creatures made out of flesh and metal. The sound that came out of their mouths were a mixture of a groan and a sound being in consent pain. Ben fired a couple of shots from his rifle into them, but they seemed to ignore the fact that they had been shot. The creatures kept lumbering over towards his platoon. Ben took aim for the creature's head, hoping to finish them off. But once again they seem almost immune to bullets. By this point his whole body started to freeze up, he couldn't even aim his gun at the creatures. The creature was close enough to him that he could smell it's rancid breath. It was enough to make Ben vomit. But before the creature could attack him he woke up thankfully from his nightmare. He looked around the room noticing a letter that was slid underneath his office door. Setting down his glass on the nearby table. He walked over towards the door picking up the letter. Opening up the letter and taking a quick read of the content of said letter.</s>
<\|description\|>Xara Travendour Age: 19 Gender: Male Sex Orient: Asexual Class Tree: Noble/Monk/Priest/Sage (Male Gremory) Personality: Xara is normally very casual and upbeat. He'll attempt to crack jokes, reference in universe memes, and have lightearted conversations with others. He takes great interest in magic theory and as many a mage, is an avid bookworm. He values creativity and problem solving, and values freedom above all other moral axis. However, Xara is a very sugar and ice type of person. Under the cynical jokes and happy go luckiness, Xara is extremely apathetic. He genuinely has no regard for the opinion and expectations of others, and hides out in his room all day if he feels like other people aren't worth his time, and can be outrageously argumentative. He also has very little in the regard to dreams or ambitions, learning for the sake of learning and keeping his status quo over having a positive impact on his own life, including fixing his own emotional negligence. History: Due his extremely thin stature, Xara was homeschooled by his single father, having worried his son would be the target of rampant bullying. However, while Atlas would attempt to send Xara to various daycares as a child, they always found his childlike personality impossible to deal with, and often switch providers. At the age of 10, Atlas felt Xara could be trusted by himself, however, as a single dad, Atlas was gone for hours on end working, leaving Xara alone to entertain himself, as Atlas would refuse to let outside alone, seeing his son as a very easy kidnapping target. Years of systematic isolation has left it's mark on Xara. At the age of 14, Atlas enrolled Xara into real adolescence schooling, and there Xara became best friends with a wolf Laguz named Aerion. Their friendship has helped Xara learn how to handle social situations better, and after finding out his home country is under the rule of a tyrannical leader, even he's decided enough is enough and is working to cause a revolution.</s> <\|message\|>Mikhail Feldunn Mikhail Feldunn Mikhail was satisfied as he watched Ashley scramble, especially considering from what little he knows about her she likes to always maintain her social grace and it was slightly funny to watch her rush to put herself back together again. Also kinda cute if he was being honest. Not that he'd ever admit that to her though. His expression instantly started to sour as she started using titles and manners and all of the things one is expected to do in the face of nobility. At least with the people he was practicing with they made no illusions that they hated him. But with nobles, you could never tell. He studied her face carefully as she spoke, just as he does with every other noble he meets who tries to make a good impression simply because of Mikhail's title. At first glance she seemed absolutely genuine, kind. But for some odd reason that was actually the problem. It was always an act. None of them cared for Mikhail as a noble just as a way of moving up the social ladder in one way or another. He had already received a couple of marriage proposals that he had outright refused. Of course without his father's knowledge. But he assumed Ashley was in a similar boat to say the least, faking her smile and everything about hearself right now. But even though there was something off about it compared to most that he couldn't put his finger on. Perhaps there actually was something else to her had yet to see. While he had never, as far as he knew, seen the real Ashley he feels he had gotten somewhere in that regard. During the last party when he had gotten thrust onto the stage for a match against her. Honestly he found the entire thing annoying and boring. If he had to guess, despite never seeing her actually fight before, that she probably used magic normally. While she was skilled in the sword for sure she didn't seem to be able to match him in stamina and strength. Of course he didn't hold back really, just enough to make sure he didn't break any bones by accident. She was still a knight captain overall, he wasn't going to underestimate her and risk getting his ass kicked to Irinoth and back. Of course the attack that drew blood was a slip up on his part not that anyone seemed to care. But that smile… honestly it chilled Mikhail a little bit. He couldn't tell if this is how she actually was underneath that but being able to bring out another side to her was oddly satisfying and was in all honesty the only fun part of that night. Of course he ended up excusing himself not long later that night. Parties were not his environment of choice. "I'll put up with it at those parties if it makes you feel better, but drop the 'milord' and all that anywhere else. Getting called that makes me want to gag." Mikhail held up a hand to signify to stop. He honestly hated those titles but if he tried to complain at one of those parties he would never hear the end of it. And seeing as Clive continued to drag him to those events he would end up suffering far… far more in the long term. "There's no need to butter me up and lie to me like that, but yes I am very interested in what's going on down in Irinoth. And it's a coincidence that I ran into you because I was going to ask you if you'd care to travel with me. After all I'm strong enough to hold my own but I need someone who's smart enough to figure things out once I'm down there. And of all the people I can stand in this city, you are definitely the smartest and most familiar with whatever potential evil is plaguing that damned island. So, what do you say?" Mikhail still wasn't entirely sure he could trust Ashley but it's not like he could go at it alone. Everyone else in this city that he knew was either going to backstab or leave him the moment things got scary. At least with her he knew she was strong enough, at least mentally, to not do the same.</s> <\|message\|>"Sir" Ashley Wycliffe Eh?! He'd invited her—no, moreover, he'd planned to from the start? Score! And of all the people he cared for, she was the smartest?! Yes, yes and yes! It's a date! Ashley wanted to scream, but now that she was on guard, she restrained herself. "Hoho... You're too kind," Ashley answers, turning the smile she couldn't hold back into a weirdly improvised smirk. "but I'm not lying, you know? Of course, I can't be completely honest, or I'll lose my edge... and I can't drop the 'milord' just yet, either," she says with a dour tone, looking around. "This isn't exactly a private setting—but if we do end up alone somewhere, I'll call you whatever you want. Heh." "Caught in my subordinate's web, my friend?" Clive interrupts with a false smile as he approaches the pair of sulky nobles. Behave yourself, won't you, my dear? his eyes seemed to suggest as he loomed over their table, looking at Ashley. Oh, screw you, she returned with a narrow-eyed glare. "If it isn't Lord Clive—the fly in my ointment. Too bad I can't catch you in my web," she says sarcastically. "That's very true, and also, not the slightest bit unfortunate," Clive replies, rubbing it in a bit. Mikhail wasn't privy to all of the details, but the two seemed to have a longer history together than they would let on. They bickered like siblings—for all the importance she seemed to place upon her conduct as a knight, she didn't seem too concerned about holding back against him. Ashley's face softens, though, when she remembers something important. "We have a situation. There are some... very dangerous criminals planning to stow away aboard the Santa Lyrica," she says in a low voice. Clive looks skeptical, and a bit confused. "Huh? Where does this news come from?" "Sources," Ashley replies flippantly. "Wind's foul—thirty knots from the southeast—so please, take your time looking for them." No one would have paid Ashley's comment about the weather any mind, especially not on a day like this with such grave news overtaking everyone's mind. Unless, of course, they were eager to sail to their death as quickly as possible. However... that wind report was wrong. Strangely, Clive's face seemed to indicate that Ashley's odd remark explained everything. "Right. I'll inform the knights," he says as he turns, leaving quickly. Ashley smiles wickedly. My sincerest apologies, Lady Madeline. Your ship is about to be delayed. She turns to Mikhail. "As you say, I'm the smartest woman in your life," she boasts, her words full of biased intent. "so I already have a plan in motion. Shall we?" --- Between the nods of beckoning sleep, Margot might have caught a glimpse of two fetching young gentlemen as they walked up to the bar together, the dark-haired one looking rather pleased with himself compared to his sulky blonde friend—and, in the warlock's over-tailored uniform, complete with a family crest and three bright red stripes on the armband signifying his rank, probably over-dressed, too. Retrieving a fully loaded coin pouch, he counts out the fee for his and his companion's drinks—plus a little extra—and slides the coins across the bar to the barkeep. This was unusual behavior for a noble. Many of them did not fully appreciate the value of money, and would simply lay down a pile of coins, in a showy fashion. If you made a particular face of mixed confusion and displeasure, you might even be able to trick them into increasing the size of the pile. Indeed, the barkeep was making just such a face. "Something amiss with your order, sir?" he grunts, glancing down at the giddy young lad. "Not at all. Please, send my regards to the staff—they have the best coffee and cakes in the capital," came the smooth, silky voice. With a line like that, the barkeep would have to take his loss like a champ. "It's our pleasure, sir. Good day to you." "Good day." Ashley honestly felt bad for her manners. They were good cakes. Didn't do the staff any favors, eating them like that.</s> <\|message\|>Margot, The Commoner Margot In the Tavern's bar Margot sat up. She felt something. Something strong within the magical currents. She had spent years cultivating a sort of detection skill that enabled her to "feel" when another magic user was nearby, and now this sense was tingling. It felt like... a tension so tangible she could cut it with a knife. It gave her energy when she had none. What is that? Who is that? She searched around the bar. She saw two grown men standing next to the bartender. Her eyes focused on these two men. One of them had very little magic, but the other one....... Whaaaa....??? No.... it's not possible. She sniffed it. That is some serious magic! Even without the magic, she knew she was in the presence of nobles. Just look at what they're wearing! Those are some seriously well dressed commoners. They look like fashionistas, or some type of costume showmen! As her eyes took them in, she labeled them as Mister Dark Hair @Emeth and Mister Blond Hair @TheDemonHound. She could not tell which one was better dressed. They all looked like showmen! The only difference was that Mister Dark Hair had a lot of magic, whereas Mister Blond Hair had little. Hmm.... nobles, huh? She smiled devilishly. Maybe if I mix with them well, they might pay for my trip to the southern islands? Maybe they'll pay for my night at the inn so I don't have to sleep in the stables or somewhere dirty? It never hurts to try. Maybe they're adventurers, too! Adventurers with deep pockets! Margot didn't consciously think of it, but she was well aware that it was necessary to band together with all sorts of people in her quest to earn all that money -- because she couldn't do it alone, even if she wanted all the money for herself. She was also well aware that she did not care about the world or the southern islands. She just wanted to go on exciting adventures and become famous. Even before she got up, her eyes already sparkled with the idea of glory, fame, and honor. Because of all this, she suddenly formulated a plan... to use these two guys so that she could get what she wanted in life, and to get paid for most of the 250,000 gold reward that she knew she deserved. Time for some serious sucking up. She tidied up her clothe, put on her best innocent expression of a young woman who just wanted to get help and to help others reach their goals -- whatever those goals were -- and said to the two men near the bar, "Hi, maybe you two know a way to get to the southern islands?"</s>	<\|message\|>Xara Travendour Xara followed Troe, genuinely interested into what he has to say. "Actually I personally know a sailor with a crew in this city, he owes me a favor after I saved his ship from capsizing one day. We could talk to him, of course, we're gonna need allies, but I've got that covered." Xara also decides to respond to the other comment Troe made, seeing it as it's related to his reason of going. "That's actually a reason I'm going, if the country is ruined than there's going to be old books and tomes that nobody wants anymore that've survived the assault, it's my personal duty to recover them, as a runesmith myself." Yah, that's right. Despite being so young, Xara is actually a very exceptional runemaster, after all, spending all your time indoors gives you plenty of time to sink into your hobbies, and for him, it was practically an obsession. Anyone who would give a good glance at him though could guess, he's got a custom utility belt that holds various engraved stones, as well as slots for 4 different types of tomes, all of which are filled with books of different languages. It's also unique of him that he's wearing a purple tunic, a teal cape going to the back of his knees, and solid black pants, he dresses like an extravagant noble despite very few ever truely knowing him. Xara, after making his comment to Troe, has an idea. He stands up on the table, trusting his weight will never be enough to break the furniture. "Hey, I've got a means to get to Rjaskav, all I need is companions!" Everyone stares at Xara, who doesn't seem bothered by it, strangely.</s>
<\|description\|>Margot, The Commoner Appearance: Age: 23 Gender: Female Sexual Orientation: Straight around hot guys, curved around everyone else Personality: She's a carefree adventurer who has an innocent dream of becoming famous by performing heroic deeds. She disregards safety for the pursuit of glory. She taught herself how to cast magical spells by reading the scrolls of Eventide from the library at Chosun (a city on the main island). She's independent, self-centered, careless, and somewhat narcissistic. Her only saving grace seems to be the fact that she has high faith and reason stats, allowing her to cast many elemental spells, particularly destructive spells like fire and lightning. Because she grew up with extremely protective parents, she fears nothing and hasn't really fought any hardship or pain in her life. She's just out there ready to get smacked in the face by the world. Class: Mage History: When she was young, she hated school. Her parents wanted her to grow up to become an academic, and there were all these lessons by her tutors, but she didn't listen to any of their boring dictations. She wanted to go on adventures, not harness the power of the arithmetic and the rhetoric! One of the things she was very passionate about as a kid was playing a game called Choka, where people threw balls into cups from far away. She was very good at that. She was a great bowler of Choka, and to this day she'd remember winning at a game that was seemingly difficult for other people. Her experiences with Choka taught her that she could do anything she wanted because she was exceptional. Her best friend in childhood was a girl named Emy, who lived next door to her. Her most hated enemy was another girl, who would constantly make up stories about her behind her back. She hated those types of people. To this day, she tries to live a dignified life with principles, despite her carelessness. Her fondest memories of her childhood are her sleepovers with Emy. On her 17th birthday, she left her parents and took a position at one of the biggest libraries she could find. There, she studied endlessly on how to be a great elemental mage, so she could finally defend herself and reach her dreams of becoming famous one day!</s> <\|message\|>Mikhail Feldunn Mikhail Feldunn With Mikhail left alone on watch duty things were very silent in the room. The sound of the waves and sea birds being his only company as he remained ever vigilant to the supposed pursuers that could come ashore at any moment. Even still he couldn't help but allow his mind to wander. One of the first things he thought about was what in the world his dad would say if he figured out he had ran off on some life threatening quest without permission. He'd probably kick Mik's ass to hell and back without remorse. That's already how most of the sparring sessions between the two went. It made him wonder about why he even went on this quest in the first place. He wasn't originally to be noble and figure out the problem and save everyone. It honestly made him feel a little pathetic, thinking that a grown ass man like him had to resort to these lengths just to get away from his father. And the worst part is this is the most fun he's had in a long time. Being able to travel, being around such… interesting characters, and even Ashley. It almost sickened him to realize this all happened simply to get away from his father. It made him feel so fake and he hated it. While he was busy debating whether or not he should be hating himself, his dad or both Ashley finally emerged from the bathroom. Looking and smelling much cleaner than she did before. "All right, your turn," she says to Mikhail, tying her hair up. Now with her mild bedhead sorted, she looked... a bit like a butler. It was kind of amusing how removing one piece of clothing could have such an effect. "Is there something on my face?" Ashley said sternly, having seemingly fully returned to "lady knight" mode. "Get a move on. If you hadn't noticed, you stink too." He didn't respond right away as he didn't expect to be chastised like that. But after smelling his arm and grimacing he realized he should definitely take a bath for himself too. "Yeah fine, I guess you're right." He didn't know how to feel about this sudden change in her demeanor yet again. She's actually changed a lot and shown him many different faces over this trip. From lady knight to seemingly lovestruck maiden and he was for the first time ever struggling to differentiate what was real and what was fake with her. Most nobles had an air about them, you can tell when they're full of shit when you've been around enough. The fake confidence and praise and talking up your own accomplishments. They were all just actors on a grand stage of bullshit in his opinion. But with her he really couldn't tell anymore. The only thing that truly seemed 'real' so far was when she leaned on him while he went to buy her coffee. Wait, why was he concerned about trying to figure her out? He wondered this to himself as he went into the bathroom and removed his clothes. There was no one he was going to get this attached to someone again. All it would do is lead to pain all over again. There were two many similarities that were causing him to become both too comfortable and very afraid. The love of coffee, the late night (or all night) studying and research, acting prim and proper but being able to let loose in private. It wasn't the same, he didn't care about Ashley in the same way, but it was reminding him of his brother. And in the mirror he was reminded of the dangers of caring too much. He saw the scars on his torso and arms from blades and other open wounds. After Casimir was brutally killed he was left for dead on the side of the road. His entire life was uprooted, the only person he cared about taken in an instant and he was left with permanent reminders. He was filled with intense desire to both protect her with his life and separate himself from her at the same time. As he finally let himself sink into the water he tried to let his troubled mind soothe itself but to no avail. He continued to wonder why he let Ashley bother him so much. He didn't understand any of her actions. Could she be legitimately flirting with him? But why would she flirt with him of all people? His father's words echoed in his mind. 'Worthless. Disgraceful. Disappointment.' All things he was called after Cas' death. No, there's no way she could want him. A knight like her, noble in a much truer sense of the word and brave. She seemed so strong to him. Maybe not physically in comparison to him or Tonka but mentally. At least, as far as he had seen. He had started to look up to her after seeing how much effort she put into this group. And what was he? A suicidal disgrace to his family who was ready to give up his life for strangers all in this glorified attempt to evade his dad. He scowled at himself in the mirror before turning away to finish his bath. After a little bit he was no closer to sorting through his thoughts but at least he was clean. He finally finished getting dressed without his jacket for now, seeing as that was probably most exposed to the fish smell, and left the room. "Anything show up yet?" He asked Ashley without looking at her as he went to sit on the bed.</s> <\|message\|>"Sir" Ashley Wycliffe Ashley sat in the windowsill, her back against one side and her right foot against the other while she waited for Mikhail. From here, she had a clear view of not just the ocean, but also the door to their hotel suite as well as the streets. Her bored gaze wandered between the room, the streets, and the ocean. With each ship that appeared on the horizon, Ashley's left hand instinctively reached for her pocket-sized book of scriptures, and remained there until she was sure that it wasn't the Santa Lyrica. There seemed to be some commotion in the streets about a pervert on the loose, but Ashley thought little of it. Wow. A pervert. Who could have imagined dressing like that would cause lewd men to come out from the woodwork, she thought self-righteously. A lady like her was above such brazen tactics as showing off her skin to strangers. Hers was an educated woman's game—one that worthless men like that would surely fail every time. Aside from her newest contestant, an exception whom she tries to push to the back of her mind for the time being. Realizing that she'd been impatiently looking at the door to the bath for a moment too long—as if expecting to see something—her slightly embarrassed gaze wanders around the room. Abruptly, she had a revelation: Ah. This is a couple's suite, after all. With every thing she noticed that wouldn't be in a normal hotel room, her cheeks became a slightly brighter shade of red. Okay, maybe I am a bit brazen myself. Suddenly, something breaks her train of thought—a bang, which would have been barely perceptible at ground level, in the noisy streets below. From her vantage point, she could see smoke rising in the distance, and as she watched it, she felt her heart beating faster. Had they disembarked higher up the coast, and approached on foot? It became apparent in that moment that Ashley didn't know what her pursuers looked like—she only knew what ship she needed to steer clear of. Eyes locked on to the smoke, she listens for another explosion, barely noticing Mikhail's return as she hopes desperately to be wrong. "Anything show up yet?" he asked, but received no reply. No second explosion. Either it was nothing, or the battle she imagined might be happening was already over—a bad sign. Various feelings—instincts, Ashley called them—waged a war for dominance in Ashley's mind. Torn between her desire as a knight to investigate and protect the peace of this place, and her duty to guard Mikhail, Aleria, and the mission, her face betrayed no emotions—only the urgent look of someone thinking fast. Underneath the darkness clouding her heart, there may have once been a scared, helpless girl who was in over her head, but now, she couldn't feel anything that she would call "fear." Instead, perhaps, there was a "weight" of responsibility. "I wish I could give a clear answer. Did you feel that?" Ashley asked Mikhail. Surely, she thought, the bathwater must have been shaken as a result of the explosion. "Either way, we've no more time for luxuries. We're regrouping," she says plainly, exiting the room and holding the door open for Mikhail. As she said this, she scowled at herself for not having given everyone some kind of signal to watch out for—or, at the bare minimum, a deadline to return to the ship. Remembering her remark to the captain about "herding cats," she couldn't help but wonder if she could be so lucky a second time. Everyone is counting on you. If you can't act like a leader—with or without coffee—you should just let Mikhail take over. As these thoughts are going through her mind, she almost forgets to toss the hotel key into the wooden bowl sitting on the desk at reception. That's when she remembers that Mikhail still has her money. She looks at him as if to ask for it back, but then turns away and keeps walking, as though now weren't the time to worry about it. Or perhaps, she thought their funds were safer with him, after all. Unfortunately, she only knew where one person was, and it was the person she considered the most dangerous of the nine. However, someone as tall as her would have a much easier time trying to find someone in a crowd than either of them, so Ashley felt it was her best move. "We know where Tonka is. Let's get her first. Lead the way," she said to Mikhail, drawing closer to him. One hand on her scabbard, she eyes everyone in the crowd warily, as if unsure who she were looking for. She seemed almost... no, she was definitely tense.</s>	<\|message\|>Margot, The Commoner MargotIn the stink boat's captain's quarters The wine bottle was either half empty or half full, depending on how one looked at it. Margot gazed at its delicious dark liquids swirling left and right in tune with the ship's toss and turn above the waves. The wine bottle felt warm in her arms, like a cherished baby, while she laid herself on the captain's hammock -- her tired yet restless eyes wanting more... always wanting more. With one dangling foot touching the wooden floor, and another foot caressing the captain's muscular chest, Margot was all aware that she had committed a pretty serious crime. But who would know? "Wine, wine, wine, you and I were made for one another. Life is so boring. Luckily, you are my best friend. Well, my second best friend," said Margot, as she took another chug from the wine bottle. Its sweet, sour, and salty flavor swirled in her mouth before she swallowed it. Quality wine that only a ship's captain could afford! "Are you talking to yourself, again?" said Captain Tedreus. "No, only to your wine bottle," said Margot, smiling. "Your collection is the best! We should try all of it!" Captain Tedreus grunted. "The occasion?" "Well, wasn't that fun?" said Margot. "Don't pretend like you didn't enjoy it." "I did," said Captain Tedreus. "Do you feel guilty? Having done this with a married man?" "Well, if you hadn't noticed, I have no morals," said Margot, smiling. "Isn't all is fair in love and war? What about you? Do you feel guilty?" "What we did... my wife would be mad at me." "No one has to know. We shared something special," replied Margot. "Why choose me?" "Well, the short answer is there was no one better. I love leaders." "How many boyfriends have you had?" asked the Captain. "Steady ones? Three, but I wouldn't count you as a boyfriend. This is still just a random fling," said Margot, grinning. The Captain rolled his eyes. Inwardly, Margot felt extremely satisfied. The Captain was another notch on her list of social conquests. It had not been easy, but she had wanted to experience him. "Let's do it again!" said Margot "So soon?" said the Captain. "I'm not sure if I'm ready." "I promise it'll be quick this time," said Margot, as she took two mushrooms from her time weed bag and began the process of making joints for both of them. As a magic user, she was able to create shared dreams with another person, and time weed made the best dreams. She was ecstatic. When she was done, she offered a joint to the Captain, which the Captain meekly took. "Flame," said Margot.</s>
<\|description\|>Q'Ral Dinrah Age: 46 Gender: Male Troll, hidden under a large set of furs and leathers to appear like a very large human Faction/Allegiance: Troll and Orc Clan Ixalarah from Northern Cellhád Relic Description: Ixalarah Sceptre - A sceptre or club made from a large double fist sized onyx stone, supported by a birch wood handle, reinforced by black iron loops around the handle and head. -Confers upon the wielder enhanced speed and agility. -Gives the wielder increased durability. -Allows the wielder to cast healing and support magics. The most powerful of which is an Aura of Well-Being that can bring a grievously wounded person back to their feet. This does not heal them but allows them to ignore their pain and wounds. Appearance: Standing a solid 7 feet and 3 inches tall. Q'ral is actually a rather non-descript Troll to be honest. There is very little to make him unique from the basic green-grey Troll variety he hails from. Tall, thick skinned, brawny bodies that make up the most of Troll and Orc physiology. When he's not trying to pass as a remarkably tall human, he wears the classic furs, leathers and hand stitched wool or cotton clothing that the Troll and Orc clans are known for. His colours of furs tend to be wolven grey, with leathers dyed black or grey. Currently to allow him to pass through lands where he may lose the relic of his clan, he's wearing an immense mantle and cloak of furs and leathers. Visible furs is one Dire Wolf, and a Kodiak bear. A hood with the wolf head sewn onto it shades his face. It's a disguise so he can safely move about the Human, Elven and Dwarven lands. Flaws: Troll-Orc Logic - Trolls and Orcs as a race operate on a more primal understanding of life. So alot of things that Humans, Elves and Dwarves do, well let's face it seem strange and down right odd to him. Sitting at a bistro or a restraurant and pay for food to be served to you for instance. Why not just go hunt, skin, gut and cook your own food? Something on the air - Having grown up in Troll and Orc country which is cleaner then most lands, well the scent of cities is odd. Makes him a little leery of entering cities and large towns. Personal space? - Trolls and Orcs are very tactile beings, they touch, and feel and worry at things to get an idea of their use or material, yeah suddenly having a large Troll paw reach up to stroke your cheek. Strange. Raaargh! - Even the most calm of Orc or Troll Shamans and Earthcallers will lose their temper sometimes. And a berserking Troll or Orc is something to behold. Skills: Trollish Earthcaller - The Priesthood of the Orc and Troll Clans. Trolls and Orcs who commune with the earth and the ancestors there to gain insight and answers to questions. Trained in living off the land Trollish sculptor - Using his claws and hands to mold and push stone, and mineral into shape. Orc/Troll Physiology - Orcs are hardy bastards, Trolls on the other hand are big powerful behemoths with the interesting ability to treat earth and stone like it's peanut butter, carving through it with claws and hands with ease. They are also prone to throw rages in times of great pain or danger, often to their own detriment, often leading to their own deaths, but in those moments of Super-Charged Fight or Flight, the Fight is so strong they can lay low dozens maybe hundreds before they fall under it all. Herbal Medicine - Living among the Earthcallers has given Q'Ral a knowledge of herbs that can heal, ease pain, and if mixed right cause pain. Biography: Q'Ral was brought up among the Orc and Troll Clans. One of the Beast Races of the world of Azukhar. Great groups of strong warriors, might shaman, deep delving miners and seekers of peace with land and magic. The great Orcs and Trolls don't shy from danger, but don't go looking for it most of the time either. Though there is always that black sheep who specializes in war and might. But Q'Ral is not like that. From day one he'd always found the quiet of a mountain meadow or cool of stone to be better companions then a hard sword or the feel of blood. His was a world of sculpting with marble and speaking with the ancestors through hard work and feeling the earth around him. As a young Troll he'd stride across his Clan's land to find new deposits of stone and minerals. And the Miners would come to look and dig forth great hunks of amethyst or semi precious metal to bring back and fashion into great works for the clan or sell to the finer folks in the cities. As Q'Ral grew he took more and more to the ways of the Earthcaller, the so called priesthood of the Trolls and Orcs. Those that would spend time in the mountain crags speaking with the Ancestors of Old Great Ages. Seeking wisdom and answers to Clan questions. It was well he was on a stroll in the mountains that he found his calling as an Earthcaller. He'd found a crevasse, deep and old, moss crawling all up and down it's sides, and way down below an old underground river raging. He'd started to climb down, his hands gauging great hunks of stone from the wall as hand and foot holds. But then he slipped. Perhaps it was a hidden hunk of iron he hadn't counted on. But something made one of his handholds not be a handhold and he plunged. Missing great spikes and sharp stone until he landed in the water below. And swept away in it's current. He worked to keep his head above water as the crevasse became a cave and then that cave closed up above his head. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't stop his tumbling in the water. Until as he feared he'd be carried into some angry Underdark. He saw a light. Above, he kicked and heaved, and thinking his air would run out before he reached it he thrust his hand up and through the darkened water and the light he thought he saw two Orcs and a Troll. They reached in and pulled him up. But he passed out. And when he woke a fire was beside him for warmth and a rough map showing him the way out, and a note reading, "We watched you. Would be a shame to lose such a good Earthcaller." Signed with the name of his clans founders Hadal Ixnal, T'ik Alarax and Brok Dinrah. The story he told when he returned, was almost unbelievable to the Clan, that their great founders fromm the early second age would come back to save one single Troll. Preposterous. But some of the other older Earthcallers. They knew. They understood. Q'Ral would find himself inducted into their ranks soon after. Soon being relative as it took four years of training. It was a decade later though at 40 that he would be gifted the Ixalarah Sceptre, for the next Great Earthcaller, first among peers. When the current one retired or passed, Q'Ral would take his place. But while he waited, he decided he wanted to travel abit. And despite some of his clanmates saying it wasn't a good idea he decided to head for Soft-folk lands. The lands of the Humans and Elves. Maybe visit the Dwarves. Fellow delving folk. Personality/motivation: Among Trolls and Orcs, Q'Ral is kind, watchful and caring. He takes his responsibilites as a healer and a Earthcaller seriously. But as there are usually many Earthcallers among a clan he is at the moment free of his duties. He is among the Passing Earthcallers, those who help with deaths and funerals and the clan is hale and hearty. He's also still got a little bit of wanderlust in him. So this has brought on the trip into the Soft-folk lands. Wanting to learn somethings about their lifestyles. Just to say he didn't spend his entire life int he hills and mountains of the Orcs and Trolls. Relations: Most of Q'Ral's family is back in Cellhád. So there are few Trolls and Orcs between Cellhád and Uk'Dhar that he may be related too. And even in Uk'Dhar there may be no Ixalarah Clansmates at all. Final Point - Secrets: -With the abundance of larger then normal people in the world, it would not be immediately obvious that the disguised Q'Ral is a Troll. (General Player base secret)</s> <\|message\|>Ozymandias "Oz" \| The Grim Jester Oz --- Greytry - Edge of the Circus, Kingdom of Etrid \| @Sep Ozymandias was walking about the very edge of the circus, his book no longer in hand but now stuff inside his satchel. Turned out the black beast was being particularly fickle, though that had less to do with the beast and more about Oz's inability to keep his excitement under wraps. He tried his best to keep the urge buckled and strapped down but it oozed in droves off him and the animals, sensitive as they were, reacted to it appropriately. Humans were different, they felt it, he had seen them, but their rational minds or bravado typically pushed them to ignore it. That was all the better for the Grim Jester and himself; his victims often left themselves wide open to him. Before he had realized it, he was amongst a crowd of people, animals, and odors. A tiger roared nearby, not too far, and some screaming or protesting had mingled in with the babbling rapture. It was much too loud but Oz had nearly perfected the art of seeming unbothered. His gaze flitted about him until he caught sight of man tossing a dark-skin woman over his shoulder. Her struggling groans reminded him of his last victim; it would be a month in three days. And that was pushing the killer in him a bit far. Maybe... And then he felt the most devious part of him come alive. It brought a sparkle to the detached calm in his eyes. It would be quick, he'd decided, cause he had everything he needed. His hand found the mask in his satchel. The crowd of people were manifesting a taste of chaos itself. People were dipping in and out of eyesight; large animals displaced noise here and there. Oz paused and through a shimmer of glass-like dust a knife formed in the palm of his hand. He smiled once more and with a deft hand, he flipped the tip onto his index finger. Conditions had been set upon creation; once the knife had stopped moving it was to vanish. The Mask often appeared on his face when he felt he could get away with it; the jester's face after all was divine. The joyous smile and malicious eyes were his soul's reflection. At worst, the girl will be blamed. At best, she will be saved. Your life hangs in the hands of chance. A grave laughter bounced in his head. The throw was quick, precise, strong. He had threw it through the opening sitting between three passing circus hands. It sliced through, a whisper on the wind as it aimed for the man's cranium. If it missed, he figured another try wouldn't hurt too much.</s> <\|message\|>Feng Not much changed with the view as Feng moved through the city at a slow pace. Shopping stalls, people, guards, armed men and women, the occasional horse or dog. Was it because this was a special day or was the city always like this? Who wanted to live with all of this damned noise?! Either way he was making his way to a rather enormous building, much larger than shops and houses. By now he had finished the meat on the ham he had and a shiny white bone was all that remained. Cracking it between his fingers he raised it up and sucked the marrow out as he took note of what was possibly an important person considering the guards around him. Shiny unblemished armor, atop a well kept horse, an old frail man trailing behind, and guards. Was this the soon to be king? He seemed...young and inexperienced. Well the only way to gain experience was to do things, the young man had his whole life ahead of him to become a good king. Still, it wouldn't hurt to follow along and possibly get to the coliseum. He kept his distance but his height didn't exactly let him blend in with the crowds. Although he could have fallen back further, there weren't that many people on horseback with shiny armor...</s>	<\|message\|>Q'Ral Dinrah It's a steady gait that takes the tall being to the grounds of the circus. And to it's untrained eye, no surprise really, he saw only the glitz and glamour of the circus, and no undertones if there were any. The tall person enters the edges of the circus with a rubber necking look as he peers about at the tent and any of the attractiosns about grounds. Truly could be an easy mark. Who knows in the end. The big man hums, hearing the sounds of beasts in the back, and the chatter of the circus crews. Yes this is one of the things that Q'Ral came to see. A soft-folk circus. Marches of the soft-folk style. Try and get an idea of the soft-folk culture and lifestyle. And since getting to Etrid, this is the most interesting these he's seen since watching a man several days to the south breaking a wild horse to the saddle. But this, this seemed quite nice indeed. Perhaps he'd get to see a show. A performance of some kind. Any kind really. Get to know these soft-folks amusements. Q'Ral himself could settle for an evening of sculpting but a circus sounded lovely. So he started to roam the grounds curiously, wanting to see the sights.</s>
<\|description\|>Raymond Morris Appearance: 5'11"; somewhat scrawny and pale-looking; wears thick glasses that hides blue eyes, and can't see well without them (~550 degree in both eyes); slightly hunched back from sitting too much; balding dirty blonde hair trimmed to a buzzcut; acute facial features including celetial nose and sharp jawline Skills: Programmer; very logical; decent with his hands, mostly tinkered with electronics for fun; Physical: Strength / RANK #0 Agility / RANK #1 Endurance / RANK #1 Meta-Physical: Intellect / RANK #2 Wisdom / RANK #1 Charm / RANK #0</s> <\|message\|>Current Survivor You awaken upon a sandy shoreline, wearing the tattered remains of your clothes. Your in pain but it's only minor and it seems to be coming from your head, like you may have hit it but you don't quite think you did. The shoreline is small and where the sand disappears the treetop lining of tall thick trees with vines hanging from the thick canopies of leaves, you can hear the faint sound of guttural noises and whistles within the trees. Status: Minor Conclusion, Amnesia. (Concusion is just thematic, your Amnesia will make remembering your life before this very hard. Until you can jog the memory)</s> <\|message\|>Joe "Smasher" Sullivan Smasher pushed himself up off the ground, sitting on his knees, he tried to get his bearings and remember what happened, but it's all foggy. He rubbed his aching head,felt like he got clobbered, but he can't remember if someone jumped him or not. Slowly standing to his feet,he surveyed the land, beach, ocean, and a jungle. "Definitely not the streets of Brooklyn. " he mumbled as he stumbled along the beach.. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, "HELLO ? CAN ANYONE HEAR ME ?" Smasher turned around and looked over the ocean maybe he was shipwrecked? The big man decided to follow along the shore, to see if he could spot some sort of wreckage, or maybe he wasn't alone, maybe there were people with him.</s> <\|message\|>Current Survivor 3% CRIT SUCCESS --- Joe walks for a few kilometers, barefoot on the hot sand yet in the distance he swears he can spot the prow of a ship of some sort, partially intact and perched between the bay where huge rocks block both water and gusting sea winds. Your heartbeat quickens as you begin to feel hopeful that you aren't alone, but you soon feel your hopes dashed at the sight of skeletal, sun-dried bodies laying in the sand. Your the only one here... EXP GAINED: +5 EXP WISDOM. DISCOVERY: Barge Wreckage, multiple skeletal bodies. STATUS: Amnesia.</s> <\|message\|>Joe "Smasher" Sullivan Smasher knows there is no time to panic, not in a situation like this. He ripped a piece of his shirt to tie around his nose and mouth. Smasher knew he had to check the bodies, maybe they had identification or other papers, something that could help him piece together what was happening. So, one by one, he checked them for ID, as well as supplies he could use, perhaps matches, or a watch to keep time. Afterwards, he would bury them further up on shore, but that would be after he examined the ship next for anything he could use to make weapons, maybe a club or spear. He was on island, he assumed. So there will more than likely be wild animals. Smasher looked up at the sky to see how much light he had left.</s> <\|message\|>Current Survivor A heavy darkness like a blanket upon your conscious weighs you down, like sleep is trying to take you yet a harsh light beats down from above and a distant shrill cry of some sort of alarm rings in your ears. As your vision clears you soon wish it hadn't, you sit lightly pinned beneath suitcases in the smoldering wreck of an aeroplane, corpses of other passengers strewn about it is horrific and panic strikes as you realize fire is eating it's way towards you slowly consuming the wreckage. An escape hatch is just in reach, you must get out before you meet a fiery death. CONDITION: Slightly Injured Sprained Ankle (You have sustained a minor injury, it will heal in a few days.) Pinned (Something/Someone has you pinned down, you can try to escape to end the condition.)</s> <\|message\|>Raymond Morris Raymond was taken aback by his surroundings, it was a scene he had seen many times in TV shows but never thought he would experience himself. There was a buzz in his head, and he could feel himself shaking. The increasing heat reminded him that he needed to save himself from the imminent doom. He was trying to bring his hands to his face, when he realized there were suitcases on top of him. They were heavy enough to dull the sensation in his mid- and lower-body, but posed no immediate harm. Deep breathes. Raymond said to himself. He was still shaking, but his head was clearer. He wiggled his arms free as he examined his location. He noticed the escape hatch close by, in fact, just within his reach. Now, he just needed to free himself. He tried shifting the various items on top of him to make room for him to wiggle out. He also looked out for loose tray tables, or boards in general, that he could insert between himself and the suitcase immediately on top to reduce friction.</s> <\|message\|>Current Survivor 27% SUCCESS --- With a little effort you push aside the baggage on top of you, the flames were beginning to get close however even with your sprained ankle the fact this was life or death made you push away the pain and the numbness helped too. You manage to in a rush muscle your way through the escape hatch and tumble out onto the ground below where you find yourself in an arboreal forest. EXP GAINED: +1 EXP STR STATUS: Sprained Ankle</s>	<\|message\|>Raymond Morris Now that Raymond was no longer cramped or restrained, he could clearly feel the pain in his ankle. Ice would be preferred, but it didn't look he would be able to get any. Especially not with a burning plane near by. A burning plane could explode at any time, all it needed was for the flame to reach the fuel tank. It was best to get away fast. Raymond limped forward, picking up a large fallen branch to use as a walking stick. His pace slowed as he left the immediate vicinity of the plane. The sprained ankle was hurting plenty, and putting too much pressure on it would only make it worse. He rested every few meters, marking nearby trees by peeling off some bark or snapping higher branches. It was forest as far as he could see. The airplane could be his only source of non-primal resources. He needed a way back once the danger of fire and explosion was gone. Of course, an explosion would be the worst case scenario-- not only would he lose resources, it could also start a forest fire. After a decent distance, Raymond rested on a fallen log. He ripped strips from his shirt using a sharp rock on the ground, and tightly wrapped his ankle. It was the only treatment he could do right now. The wrapping made the pain more consistent, but Raymond felt like he could walk a bit better. Raymond took this moment of rest to consider his situation. He didn't remember much from before waking up in the wreckage. The last clear memory was him meeting up with an old friend, but that didn't give him much information other than his name. Though, he had to survive and find a way back to society before his past mattered in the least. His top priority right now would be to secure drinking water. He knew, in theory, that he could follow animal tracks to find a water source, but it didn't seem like he knew how to do it. He looked around, trying to notice any clues or anything other than just trees everywhere. He was lucky that his glasses survived the whole ordeal without much of a crack. He'd be hard-pressed without them. Physical: Strength / RANK #0 1/10 EXP Agility / RANK #1 0/30 EXP Endurance / RANK #1 0/30 EXP Meta-Physical: Intellect / RANK #2 0/60 EXP Wisdom / RANK #1 0/30 EXP Charm / RANK #0 0/10 EXP</s>
<\|description\|>Marlowe Voltus Character Info Age - 20 Gender - Male Place of Origin - USA Type - (Newtype, Oldtype, Etc) Cyber-Newtybe Mobile Weapon Profile Suit Type -(Mobile Pod, Mobile Suit, Mobile Armor, etc) Mobile Suit Suit Style - (Federation, Zeon, Other) Other/Voltus Salvafe Custom Combat Role - Support/Range Striker Suit Armaments - HM-31 Custom Magnetized Rivet MW Rifle; Custom Heat Chopper - Pilot Personality Pacifistic Marlowe is not a soldier and escaped being forced to be one during the end of the Gryps War. Even though he's never seen true war, during his time as a Cyber-Newtype he saw the horrors inflicted on the fellow children and teenagers in the laboratories, and suffered the scars of their experiments himself. Because of that, he decided to escape the Earth and avoid all conflict altogether, choosing to help salvage instead of fight. Marlowe believes in the importance of life, regardless of which ideological side someone is on, and absolutely refuses to take another life, even if his own may be taken. Brash Just because he doesn't believe in killing doesn't mean he's a man of inaction. When there is a need for help, Marlowe is the first to jump into the fray. His strong beliefs in helping others tend to put him in worse situations and endanger himself and others. Still, he refuses to compromise his beliefs for anything, and to his detriment. Naive His belief that people are inherently good, which leads him to be used and abused by anyone looking to take advantage of that idealistic belief. \| Physical Description Marlowe is of average height, with dark hair and dark eyes. His build is rather slim, and he tends to wear thick, insulated clothes to deal with the harsh environment on The Cathartes, since the ship is roughshod and ramshackle, you never know if the temperature will drop into freezing due to heating coils needing to be replaced. The same issue happens in the cockpit of the junkpile, and his normal suit is insulated as well to deal with the lack of temperature regulation in the cockpit. Because of this, he will rarely pilot with his helmet off. The other reason constantly covering his body is to hide the various scars he has received from the Cyber-Newtype experiments he went through in U.C. 86-87. He considers himself lucky to leave the Augusta Newtype Labs. Character Conceptualization Marlowe fits the classic Gundam idealistic kid with a major exception: he's older and he has seen how bad things can get on both sides. Beneath his idealistic character is a person who has been heavily scarred by the sins of both the Federation and Zeon. His faith in the spirit of humanity will be tested throughout the story, as even though he has escaped the major influences of the Earth-based colonies, corruption, cruelty, and violence still exist out in the rim. And he still has no idea the dangers that the Jupiter Empire poses. Mobile Weapon Description His custom support mech, kindly named the Junkpile, is a hodge-podge of salvaged and re-purposed parts. The head module is that of a repaired Rick Dias from the Gryps War, and the body is of a GM-III. The arms and legs appear to be unarmored pieces of a GM-II or a Nemo. On the back of the suit is a large mechanical winch system; which can be fired and retracted. The back also has two smaller retro-boosters, allowing for some space maneuverability. However, due to its equipment, the Junkpile falls short of even a Zaku II in combat maneuverability. The one saving grace is the winch system, which allows Marlowe to rocket around debris fields with rapid speed, as long as he has something to tether his MS to. Since the Junkpile is meant for breaking down ships and debris, it is not armored for combat, and therefore is not suited for normal combat sorties. \|</s> <\|message\|>Disker Isaacs --- Among the personnel on board the Cathartes, perhaps there was none as valuable to the Federation and Zeon remnants as the boy currently in front of Disker. Technically, Marlowe was now an adult but the childlike wonder from his youth never faded. Disker had the displeasure to chronicle this when he was among the ranks of the Titans as an experimental mobile suit engineer. While he wasn't one of the doctors pumping the lad full of mind-altering chemicals or psychologically reprogramming him to push beyond his physical limits, perhaps he could have done something to stop it back then. Not just for Marlowe but also for the rest of the unfortunate souls bound to the greed of the fascist warmongers considered to be the Federation's elite. While he can't change the past, Disker can certainly try to make amends now. "Let's have a look kid." he would state with mustered enthusiasm. Upon a quick glance, it was clear that the spherical mechanism was more than just a juvenile's toy. There was too much circuitry and intricate wiring that laid beneath the surface panels. Fascinating to the inquiring mind but not enough to distract him from the matter at hand. Disker would hand back the deceptively heavy device to Marlowe before continuing to walk towards the salvage bay. "Tell you what, come along with me to salvage and we'll see if we can borrow the tools needed to get that thing back on." the engineer would state, already a few steps ahead of Marlowe. Said tools were already in his personal quarters but he needed to ascertain some overlooked details of the scavenging team's latest sortie. Ready to slip ahead even further, a muffled yet familiar voice from a nearby source had told someone to "grow up" that prompted Disker to respond with "Invite goes out to you too, Eibril." Marlowe probably couldn't recall everything Disker needed so he would rope any who had gone out during the sortie, including the nearby Amagaida Xerda. The enigmatic pilot had skills unmatched by even those her senior but this most likely the meant the worst. A common trend in the Augusta Labs recruitment efforts were to target traumatized youth, particularly orphans, for their research effort. Of course, it wasn't advertised as such. Under the guise of humanitarian relief efforts, the Titans had promised that they would help the abandoned children readjust to peacetime as part of their campaigns to maintain order in the Earthsphere. While Disker couldn't be sure, he had a feeling Amagaida's upbringing certainly had to have been similar. Still, he approached her with the trepidation in his voice as they didn't have much of a personal rapport. "Pilot Xerda, if I may ask you to accompany us to salvage. I have a feeling either we or the assailants missed something and hired guns usually come back to finish the job." By the time they would arrive at the ship's wreckage collection and processing area, the scrapper crew would have gone through most of the initial screening process. All the serviceable materials would be placed to one section of the holding bay while the the rest would be hoarded near the jettison port in case they needed to make room, in the hopes that they can either readily replace the damaged junk with better quality scraps or hold on to it to find a buyer desperate enough to spend money on melted ceramic composite. Regardless of either future scenario, the damage marks of the latter scrap heap was what Disker needed to examine. "Did any of you get a good look on what caused this?" he would ask, taking a closer look at the scorch marks on one of the melted alloys. His sharp eye once again quickly came to a conclusion. "Because who ever jumped our guests are certainly packing tech that shouldn't be in service right now."</s> <\|message\|>Leon Barlow Leon's mind came back to reality as the old man finished his speech to the survivors. None of this was his problem at the moment so, he decided it was to check up on his mobile armor. The focus currently was to keep the Gaplant ready for anything. The salvage unit would be crossing hostile space and pirates were always an issue. Leon didn't want to give himself away to those that seek to capture him; murder being the likely outcome by the people he's betrayed. He took his time making his way out of the mess hall, avoiding anyone who wanted to chat; his eyes landing on the man known as Disker and the kid known as Marlowe. Like the others on the ship, he didn't have many interactions with both men but, overhearing Disker piqued his interest. "Pilot Xerda, if I may ask you to accompany us to salvage. I have a feeling either we or the assailants missed something and hired guns usually come back to finish the job." "May I accompany you?" Leon was not posing an actual question as he planned on following the three regardless. They made their way to the salvage room and Disker looked over a bit of the wreckage. His words made Leon's eyebrow raise a bit, for he knew of only a handful of people with tech enough to do this damage.</s>	<\|message\|>Marlowe Voltus Olympia City, MARS NOW Offices "Councilman, the representative from Delgriz Corporation in Riah is on the line. Barrick Torres smiled at the news. Not that he never had a reason not to smile. Everything always went his way. He was the youngest Mars Councilman in the planet's short history, he was leading the biggest radical movement the planet had ever seen, and fairly soon, he would place himself squarely in the center of history in the Universal Century. With his guidance, Mars would become an important player in the universe, and both the Federation, the Colonies, and Jupiter would see how useful the red planet truly was. "That's excellent Ms. Gilman. I'll take the call in here." Laser-link communication was difficult with the number of asteroids moved between the belt and Earthside. He knew he'd only have a few minutes to press the weasels on the colonies, but he'd do it easily. The pressure from ARES in the area had everyone worried about Mars Space, and with the Jupiter Fleet now being targeted, questions were raised on if a safe supply chain could be made. After all, the closest military base to Mars was Luna II, and even then there was no guarantee supply ships could make the trip unescorted. But if the Mars Defense Force had access to better Mobile Suits, better weapons, and a stronger foothold in the sector, they could strengthen security in the region. It was simple logistics, after all. Most of the mobile weapons on Mars were ancient, dating back to the 80s. Or they had refurbished models from recent conflicts, repurposed, and barely any tactical use in combat. They needed real weapons. The kinds that several of his colleagues had brought during their Mars emigration after the Gryps Conflict and the Neo Zeon wars. And once the Earth Sphere weakened… Barrick grabbed his receiver, and spoke quickly, concisely, and with a sharp wit. He'd cornered men like then countless times. And he'd corner hundreds more before he was done. All he needed now were the tools. --- Salvage Area, Cathartes Marlowe smiled and nodded along with everything Disker said to him and the group. Disker had always remained quiet about himself and his past, and Marlowe was never someone rude enough to start digging for answers about people. It's why he had barely any knowledge of most of the crew's histories. He knew that they'd open up when they were ready, and he was always willing to listen to new stories of the places people had been and people they'd met. He'd extended the same respect to Gaida, Ezmy, and Leon. They'd all come to the crew with different skills and mobile suits, and he knew they all had their reasons for joining a crew like the Cathartes. Even he had his own reasons, beyond his grandfather running the entire operation. As others approached, he gave a friendly nod to everyone. Ezmy, and then Leon appeared. Disker invited them along, which was always a joy for Marlowe. Being around others made him feel better, even being around Ezmy, though when he was alone in a room with her, he felt something just being around her. Nothing hormonal, but...something he just couldn't quite get. Like a fuzzy, lost memory hidden behind something that needed to be jostled out of place. He assumed that he'd know exactly what it meant, in time. As the group entered salvage, Marlowe spied a man in a Federation uniform talking to one of the engineers. When Disker asked, "Did any of you get a good look on what caused this?" he knew he'd only seen the readings from the assailant's verniers in the distance. "They moved fast, that's about all I could tell," he noted, then eyed the Federation soldier and waved him over. "Excuse me, do you remember anything about the people that attacked you? "Yeah," the man grumbled. "They were piloting these souped-up mobile suits that looked like a Marasai. I'd seen one, a mothballed unit from the Gryps Conflict on display on Earth. But these didn't work like the mobile suits I'd read about. These struck fast and their weapons tore our ship apart in a matter of minutes. If that Zeon Freighter hadn't come along and took the next round of fire, I think we'd have all died then and there." Marlowe listened and wondered why the name Marasai felt so familiar. Another distant thought crept into the back of his head and then disappeared. He looked to the others, Disker, Gaia, Ezmy, and Leon, to see if they had their own take about the information.</s>
<\|description\|>Marlowe Voltus Character Info Age - 20 Gender - Male Place of Origin - USA Type - (Newtype, Oldtype, Etc) Cyber-Newtybe Mobile Weapon Profile Suit Type -(Mobile Pod, Mobile Suit, Mobile Armor, etc) Mobile Suit Suit Style - (Federation, Zeon, Other) Other/Voltus Salvafe Custom Combat Role - Support/Range Striker Suit Armaments - HM-31 Custom Magnetized Rivet MW Rifle; Custom Heat Chopper - Pilot Personality Pacifistic Marlowe is not a soldier and escaped being forced to be one during the end of the Gryps War. Even though he's never seen true war, during his time as a Cyber-Newtype he saw the horrors inflicted on the fellow children and teenagers in the laboratories, and suffered the scars of their experiments himself. Because of that, he decided to escape the Earth and avoid all conflict altogether, choosing to help salvage instead of fight. Marlowe believes in the importance of life, regardless of which ideological side someone is on, and absolutely refuses to take another life, even if his own may be taken. Brash Just because he doesn't believe in killing doesn't mean he's a man of inaction. When there is a need for help, Marlowe is the first to jump into the fray. His strong beliefs in helping others tend to put him in worse situations and endanger himself and others. Still, he refuses to compromise his beliefs for anything, and to his detriment. Naive His belief that people are inherently good, which leads him to be used and abused by anyone looking to take advantage of that idealistic belief. \| Physical Description Marlowe is of average height, with dark hair and dark eyes. His build is rather slim, and he tends to wear thick, insulated clothes to deal with the harsh environment on The Cathartes, since the ship is roughshod and ramshackle, you never know if the temperature will drop into freezing due to heating coils needing to be replaced. The same issue happens in the cockpit of the junkpile, and his normal suit is insulated as well to deal with the lack of temperature regulation in the cockpit. Because of this, he will rarely pilot with his helmet off. The other reason constantly covering his body is to hide the various scars he has received from the Cyber-Newtype experiments he went through in U.C. 86-87. He considers himself lucky to leave the Augusta Newtype Labs. Character Conceptualization Marlowe fits the classic Gundam idealistic kid with a major exception: he's older and he has seen how bad things can get on both sides. Beneath his idealistic character is a person who has been heavily scarred by the sins of both the Federation and Zeon. His faith in the spirit of humanity will be tested throughout the story, as even though he has escaped the major influences of the Earth-based colonies, corruption, cruelty, and violence still exist out in the rim. And he still has no idea the dangers that the Jupiter Empire poses. Mobile Weapon Description His custom support mech, kindly named the Junkpile, is a hodge-podge of salvaged and re-purposed parts. The head module is that of a repaired Rick Dias from the Gryps War, and the body is of a GM-III. The arms and legs appear to be unarmored pieces of a GM-II or a Nemo. On the back of the suit is a large mechanical winch system; which can be fired and retracted. The back also has two smaller retro-boosters, allowing for some space maneuverability. However, due to its equipment, the Junkpile falls short of even a Zaku II in combat maneuverability. The one saving grace is the winch system, which allows Marlowe to rocket around debris fields with rapid speed, as long as he has something to tether his MS to. Since the Junkpile is meant for breaking down ships and debris, it is not armored for combat, and therefore is not suited for normal combat sorties. \|</s> <\|message\|>Disker Isaacs --- Oh, to be young and fearless. The provocation from Ezmy would have definitely drawn a reaction from the more idealistic Disker during his youth in the Federation days but time has tempered his fire. Thankfully, he wasn't alone in thinking this as Leon had agreed with his sentiments. Though, perhaps Ezmy did have a point. The Cathartes was a sitting duck in this ocean of stars, tempting the jaws of a leviathan in waiting. Striking first would be a good option but where would they even start? Marauders didn't exactly advertise their hideouts with bright neon signs. Then again, this salvaging ship didn't either. As Marlowe spoke on about his opinion, a compromise popped in Disker's head. "You know, both of you bring up good points. We should set up a rearguard and a vanguard position that would intercept the enemy before they reach this ship. That way, the captain can evade an attack if it occurs." He then paused to gauge the reactions from each pilot present, before proceeding on to the pièce de résistance of his battle plan. "Good strategy, agreed? Of course, I'll stay on board the Cathartes to provide cover fire. Young master Voltus here just needs to convince the old man to let us sortie. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a... ball to repair." Regardless of how the others would react to his proposal, Disker would proceed out of the salvage bay while inspecting the device that Marlowe had given him earlier. If he was gonna be stuck inside his Mobile Suit's cockpit, he might as well have something to tinker with to pass the time. Before heading out to the hangar bay, Disker would need to retrieve the toolbox from his designated quarters. On the way there, Disker would come across an unfamiliar face on their way to the captain. Perhaps the captain was hiring extra hands to take up arms. While it didn't bode well for an uneventful voyage, this was definitely the prudent thing to do.</s> <\|message\|>Character Info --- Ezmy was a bit disappointed that Disker didn't take the bait, but she'd come to expect as much from him, boring as it could be. Sometimes she suspected a good chunk of the crew had been secretly lobotomized, but then she remembered people like Kellen and Irina, and decided maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Leon intervened on Disker's behalf, and she rolled her eyes. Fuckin' white-knight manlet, she thought, but decided it would be best to keep that to herself. Ezmy didn't usually shy from getting on people's bad sides, but pissing people off before a fight wouldn't do her any favors if they were pissed off at her. She wasn't going to lick any boots, but she could do her best to keep the snipping to a minimum. Maybe. "Vanguard," she said, staking her claim. Now that they had something resembling a plan, fucked if she was going to sit in the ass-guard while everyone else did all the hard work—she wasn't Disker. Ezmy shot Gaida one more venomous glance, and then hopped down from her pile as Disker wandered off with the toy. He'd be staying aboard on his usual roost, as far from harm's way as possible. Surprise. The only pilot who'd be safer than him was Marlowe, and though normally the good ol' Voltus-nepotism would have pissed her off, she never felt the urge to argue over this particular point. The truth was that she didn't want Marlowe out there with them. He wasn't cut out for it. He was just fine at picking up trash, but his incorrigible pacifism didn't just make him fucking insufferable, it also made him a liability to everyone else. "Yeah, something tells me it's not gonna be hard to get permission for this one," she said, starting off for the hangar. "Guess I'll suit up for the green light. Maybe we'll finally get some fucking action."</s>	<\|message\|>Marlowe Voltus Marlowe followed the other pilots into the hangar, as they traded barbs and quips with one another. Even though no one spoke of it, he could feel the tension in the air. It was like being outside before a heavy storm, as the winds began to pick up and the sky began turning dark. Calm, but the lurking knowledge that something was coming. When they arrived at the hangar, the engineers were already scrambling. Some of the suits were still in the hangar after the retrieval job; that included Marlowe's scrap heap of a mobile suit. It was being ignored as they loaded other suits into the hangar. The gravity had been turned off, and both Cathartes and engineers from the rescue ships were loading ammunition, outfitting suits and generally scrambling for combat. This was the first time Marlowe had ever seen everyone moving so quickly, laser focused on the task at hand. His fellow pilots, those who'd spent time in combat, would recognize it of course. Cornell Voltus was standing around, already wearing his normal suit and barking orders at others. When he saw the group making their way into the hangar, the old man beamed with a toothy grin."Excellent, I don't have to call you all down here." He motioned to the mobile suits on standby. "I'm pretty sure you're all aware that we'll most likely be receiving some visitors promptly. So I was hoping we could prepare a welcoming party for them, before they destroy our ship and our money." He motioned to the man next to him, the Geara Doga pilot they'd run into during the rescue. "Mr. Behrbeck has already dealt with our guests, and we've looked at information from the black boxes retrieved from both ships. They're piloting very fast mobile suits and they are equipped with anti-ship weaponry. Of course, that was all very apparent from the mess we ran into. Instead of waiting in the open for them to come in and tear the ship apart, I have Mr. Arks taking us deeper into the asteroid field. It will eliminate their speed advantage in an open area, but it also limits our maneuverability as well. I'm depending on everyone here to eliminate this enemy force, and to give us a chance to break into Mars Space. Once we dock with the colony orbiting the planet, we can unload our salvage, our passengers and make our way out of this region." The federation captain, Spare Infield was next to speak up. "We're also deploying our remaining mobile suits to assist you with this operation." Their suits were nothing special. Two Nemos and a GM III. To anyone who knew about the Federation's history with mobile suits, they would realize that this was nothing to be excited about. These suits were most likely just old suits fielded for convoy duty. The Nemo especially had a poor track record in the Gryps conflict, and while the GM III was on paper a solid machine, it had been being replaced for the past few years. The soldiers were either rookies or old soldiers past their prime. But at least more allies meant more support. "I can take my mobile suit out to-" Marlowe interrupted before nearly being backhanded by the old man. "You'll stay in the hangar and support the engineering team. The only thing you'll be out there is in the way," he said, his tone sharp and curt. He turned to the other pilots. "Go ahead and suit up and prepare for launch. Miss Xerda, Miss Eibril, Mr. Behrbeck and Mr. Disker, your suits are all prepared. The others will be launched afterwards. I'll be on the bridge with Captain Infield. Just be prepared for anything out there." The old man floated off with the Captain, and Marlowe stood there, his fist clenched. "If you can't pull the trigger, you can't be a pilot. Pilots have to kill. There is no mercy in a mobile suit. Your convictions mean nothing if you're dead. The thoughts ran through his head. He knew that they came from a place of care, or worry, or honesty. But all throughout his life, he'd seen people constantly at war with each other, constantly killing each other, and what had ultimately been the end result? Countless innocent lives, caught in the crossfire. Entire ecosystems destroyed. Entire cities worth of orphaned children, all left alone and forgotten. Like him. Marlowe looked at his Mobile suit in the hangar. It was still geared up for cargo retrieval. He then turned to the others, as they all got prepared to launch. They were all leaving him behind.</s>
<\|description\|>Amagaida "Gaida" Xerda Character Info Age - 27-28 Gender - Female Place of Origin - Munzo Type - New Type Mobile Weapon Profile Suit Type - General-Purpose Mobile Suit Suit Style - Zeon, Retrofitted Combat Role - Support Suit Armaments - Multi-Purpose Beam Cannons, Head-mounted Vulcan Gun, and a Beam Rifle - Pilot Personality Ruthless Gaida will fight until her last breath with a relentless fervor at any cost. While she is a survivor at heart, she sheds no tears for the people in her way to surviving or protecting the values (or people) she cares for the most. This can drive a wedge between people once she removes all pretenses of who she is pretending to be and showing who she really is: a child of Zeon. Calculated Being impulsive is a fool's death and the former Zeon ace knows this well. Even before stepping foot into the cockpit of a mobile suit the red-haired woman was distinctly intelligent and perceptive. She used these skills to survive Federation occupation and later various dogfights in her suit. She's well-read for what she has gotten a hold of and she has a keen eye and ear for things that prove crucial to survival. If she hears a pilot say something out-of-suit that is damning, she'll be sure to never forget it. Compromised Cynic People will do terrible things if afforded the orders to do so. In fact, "just following orders" was how her life got turned upside down by the Federation who couldn't leave well enough alone. She doesn't trust people unless they have staunchly proved to be on the side of the just. This can be kind of hypocritical given how she too fell into the same trope of a soldier just following orders under Zeon following her assignments inside a mobile suit. \| Physical Description Amagaida, otherwise known as "Gaida" in her new life, is slender and toned. Her hair is red like Mars and eyes a nearly golden amber. She keeps herself as fit and nurtured as possible, though this can be forgotten given the thick, insulated clothes needed to survive with the inconsistent temperatures on the Lightning Galleon. She's noticeably taller than even some men on the vessel, though not by much. Her attire often has a sense of being "all business" even in the most casual and less abrasive of environments. She rarely shows skin and often stylizes her hair in a relatively conservative fashion. In terms of her mobile suit equipment she keeps a old assortment of Zeon gear and while the brandings and adornments of the Principality of Zeon are faded or outright masked by new coats of paint, she often retools things in fond memory of when she flew against Federation forces for the good of her faction. Character Conceptualization Gaida is a former Zeon ace who has forced herself out of her old lifestyle in hopes of building something from scratch. Deceptively smart yet constantly in doubt of the universe around her she has yet to atone for her sins, though part of her feels she doesn't need to as she still fiercely believes in what she fought for: independence from the Earth Federation at all costs. She was a child when the Earth Federation occupied Munzo and has a burning loathing of the arrogance of Earth in her blood. This does not lend to her despising people from Earth, but it does lean toward her interacting with a sense of bias and contempt beyond a facetious mask of civility and kindness. Mobile Weapon Description Gaida pilots a retrofitted, personally modified AMX-011 Zaku III. As a former pilot for the Principality of Zeon and 'resistance fighter', this is not largely out of place. One could consider it a "Zaku III Kai" given its amount of customization. It has similarities to Mashymre's Zaku III customizations. The multi-purpose beam cannons that can be ejected and used as beam sabers, the beam rifle, and vulcan gun mounted on the head's chassis. Many of the armaments Gaida was once used to have been scrapped or sold as she attempts to find a new life beyond Zeon and the Federation. She has heavily modified the suit itself to better suit its sensory capabilities and civilian utilities. Utilizing her mobile suit for scrapper duties seems like a waste, but she has found nothing to fight for since the principality's downfall. Any new Zeon movements that have cropped up since she left have piqued her interest but nonetheless have not recruited her to their cause. \|</s> <\|message\|>Leon Barlow Leon's mind came back to reality as the old man finished his speech to the survivors. None of this was his problem at the moment so, he decided it was to check up on his mobile armor. The focus currently was to keep the Gaplant ready for anything. The salvage unit would be crossing hostile space and pirates were always an issue. Leon didn't want to give himself away to those that seek to capture him; murder being the likely outcome by the people he's betrayed. He took his time making his way out of the mess hall, avoiding anyone who wanted to chat; his eyes landing on the man known as Disker and the kid known as Marlowe. Like the others on the ship, he didn't have many interactions with both men but, overhearing Disker piqued his interest. "Pilot Xerda, if I may ask you to accompany us to salvage. I have a feeling either we or the assailants missed something and hired guns usually come back to finish the job." "May I accompany you?" Leon was not posing an actual question as he planned on following the three regardless. They made their way to the salvage room and Disker looked over a bit of the wreckage. His words made Leon's eyebrow raise a bit, for he knew of only a handful of people with tech enough to do this damage.</s> <\|message\|>Marlowe Voltus Olympia City, MARS NOW Offices "Councilman, the representative from Delgriz Corporation in Riah is on the line. Barrick Torres smiled at the news. Not that he never had a reason not to smile. Everything always went his way. He was the youngest Mars Councilman in the planet's short history, he was leading the biggest radical movement the planet had ever seen, and fairly soon, he would place himself squarely in the center of history in the Universal Century. With his guidance, Mars would become an important player in the universe, and both the Federation, the Colonies, and Jupiter would see how useful the red planet truly was. "That's excellent Ms. Gilman. I'll take the call in here." Laser-link communication was difficult with the number of asteroids moved between the belt and Earthside. He knew he'd only have a few minutes to press the weasels on the colonies, but he'd do it easily. The pressure from ARES in the area had everyone worried about Mars Space, and with the Jupiter Fleet now being targeted, questions were raised on if a safe supply chain could be made. After all, the closest military base to Mars was Luna II, and even then there was no guarantee supply ships could make the trip unescorted. But if the Mars Defense Force had access to better Mobile Suits, better weapons, and a stronger foothold in the sector, they could strengthen security in the region. It was simple logistics, after all. Most of the mobile weapons on Mars were ancient, dating back to the 80s. Or they had refurbished models from recent conflicts, repurposed, and barely any tactical use in combat. They needed real weapons. The kinds that several of his colleagues had brought during their Mars emigration after the Gryps Conflict and the Neo Zeon wars. And once the Earth Sphere weakened… Barrick grabbed his receiver, and spoke quickly, concisely, and with a sharp wit. He'd cornered men like then countless times. And he'd corner hundreds more before he was done. All he needed now were the tools. --- Salvage Area, Cathartes Marlowe smiled and nodded along with everything Disker said to him and the group. Disker had always remained quiet about himself and his past, and Marlowe was never someone rude enough to start digging for answers about people. It's why he had barely any knowledge of most of the crew's histories. He knew that they'd open up when they were ready, and he was always willing to listen to new stories of the places people had been and people they'd met. He'd extended the same respect to Gaida, Ezmy, and Leon. They'd all come to the crew with different skills and mobile suits, and he knew they all had their reasons for joining a crew like the Cathartes. Even he had his own reasons, beyond his grandfather running the entire operation. As others approached, he gave a friendly nod to everyone. Ezmy, and then Leon appeared. Disker invited them along, which was always a joy for Marlowe. Being around others made him feel better, even being around Ezmy, though when he was alone in a room with her, he felt something just being around her. Nothing hormonal, but...something he just couldn't quite get. Like a fuzzy, lost memory hidden behind something that needed to be jostled out of place. He assumed that he'd know exactly what it meant, in time. As the group entered salvage, Marlowe spied a man in a Federation uniform talking to one of the engineers. When Disker asked, "Did any of you get a good look on what caused this?" he knew he'd only seen the readings from the assailant's verniers in the distance. "They moved fast, that's about all I could tell," he noted, then eyed the Federation soldier and waved him over. "Excuse me, do you remember anything about the people that attacked you? "Yeah," the man grumbled. "They were piloting these souped-up mobile suits that looked like a Marasai. I'd seen one, a mothballed unit from the Gryps Conflict on display on Earth. But these didn't work like the mobile suits I'd read about. These struck fast and their weapons tore our ship apart in a matter of minutes. If that Zeon Freighter hadn't come along and took the next round of fire, I think we'd have all died then and there." Marlowe listened and wondered why the name Marasai felt so familiar. Another distant thought crept into the back of his head and then disappeared. He looked to the others, Disker, Gaia, Ezmy, and Leon, to see if they had their own take about the information.</s> <\|message\|>Character Info --- Ezmy was relieved to have traded the crowd of whining rescues for the usual junkyard entourage of the Cathartes' crew. They weren't that much better, but she'd found a begrudging comfort in their company over the months, especially compared to the people they usually did business with. Watching Cornell guile respect out of Feds and Zeons made putting up with all the creeps and freaks on his payroll worth it. There'd be no escaping war—that the Cathartes existed at all was proof of that—but meeting its horrors with self-serving indifference was a pretty close second, in her opinion. They came to what was left of the scrapheap. Ezmy hopped up onto a pile of flattened debris and watched as Disker went to work doing…Thinker things. To her it just seemed like he was obsessing over ash-marks and slag, but she'd come to understand that there was usually more going on behind those eyes than might appear. "…Because whoever jumped our guests are certainly packing tech that shouldn't be in service right now." Wow, or maybe not? "You mean the pirates are using illegal weapons?" she asked dryly. "Killer detective work there, Disker." Beside them, Marlowe dragged a Fed over to ask him some questions. She found herself scowling again, already—it never took long when Marlowe was nearby. The younger Voltus had an effect on her, like the effect a cheese grater might have on the side of someone's face. She could practically feel the headache coming on as soon as he opened his mouth. Sometimes he didn't even need to talk, just his presence was an irritant. When the Fed shut up, Marlowe looked to the rest of them. Ezmy rolled her eyes. "I don't get it," she said. "If we're worried about the pirates coming back, we should just suit up and get out there. The trash isn't gonna tell us anything that seeing them won't."</s>	<\|message\|>Amagaida "Gaida" Xerda "Normally, I'd say we don't have the numbers to play seek and destroy." Gaida smiled warmly as she put her hand on Ezmy's shoulder, "However... we aren't exactly lacking in people or suits." Gaida understood the logistics of tracking down pirates when their orders were contrary to that, but the red-haired woman would remind that she signed up to protect this junk-rig of a ship. Nothing more and nothing less. She didn't have any skin in the game with the pirates, though she knew the shortstock beside her most certainly had a sort of axe to grind. She was certain she yearned for action rather than protecting the ship or scanning around junk fields hoping that something interesting happened for once. She looked back toward Disker as she released her hand from the girl's shoulder. "I can power up my suit and join your group. At least, as long as our defenses here are ample enough. If we end up not doing little Ezmy's plan."</s>
<\|description\|>Character Info Name – Ezmy Eibril Age - 18 Gender - Female Place of Origin - Munzo Type – Cyber-Newtype Mobile Weapon Profile Suit Type - General-Purpose Mobile Suit Suit Style - Federation, junker Combat Role - Close-range striker Suit Armaments - Twin Beam Spear, Head-mounted Vulcan Gun, YHI YF-MG100 100mm Machine Gun - Pilot Personality Reckless Anger Ezmy has never been good at controlling her temper, a problem drastically exacerbated by Neo Zeon's conditioning. However, even before being brought in to the cyber-newtype experiments, her parents would have described her as a problem child, which might have been why there was so little fuss about giving her up. Within her is an ugly, angry, violent fire which refuses to be snuffed out, burning brightest in the heat of battle, and the cold of isolation. Grim Outlook Misanthropy was an ineluctable fate; people are disgusting during war, and there's always war. On the one hand, an almost cruel contempt for life made Ezmy a good soldier on paper, but on the other hand—everything else. To Ezmy, the only thing more demeaning than being human is being a tool for humans, but dignity was never the thing getting her out of bed in the morning. Autophobic A misanthrope with a longing for affection might seem paradoxical to some, or perfectly logical to others. Ezmy just finds it humiliating. The love of family, the comradery of friendship, even in her dreams these things are vague and ephemeral. She cannot describe how they feel—or would feel—or just why she wants them, but she does. She wants them more than anything, sometimes even enough to act like someone acting like a well-adjusted person. But being discarded again, this time by Zeon itself, has done little to change her belief that these intangible concepts, if they're real at all, are worth wasting on a tool. \| Physical Description Ezmy is a built like a spike; short, narrow, deceptively sturdy. Spotty diets haven't left her with much to build muscle on, but old exercise habits have at least kept her from wasting away. She wears what she can get her hands on, which usually means clothes that are baggy and too big for her, but which are at least insulated to handle the Cathartes' occasional temperature tantrums. Her hair is kept short out of reflex, and her eyes are a dim, earthy brown. Her boney skin burns easily and often, and the multitude of scars left over from childhood experimentation crawl across her arms and spine and up her neck. She's gone out of her way to rip out and stitch over the identifying Zeon crests of her mobile suit gear. The colors still disgust her, but there's an odd, familiar comfort to the suit that's kept her from tossing it in the airlock. Character Conceptualization Ezmy is Neo Zeon war-chaff brought up in the wake of one loss, and discarded on the eve of another. While initially a promising prospect due to how responsive she was to experimentation, her volatile personality and growing disdain for authority ultimately led to her dismissal after only a brief tour in conflict. Her home, which had so greedily sought her out, was now embarrassed by her, and at the age of eighteen she found herself living the life of a disgraced nomad. Neo Zeon coaxed the aptitude for violence out of her, and used it to feed her craving for conflict. Now, with the second war behind, Ezmy drifts listlessly in secret, desperate search of anything even resembling purpose. Time alone has awakened a new hunger within her as well, one for companionship. The feeling confuses her, disgusts her, and she does not know how to feed it, nor can she bring herself to ignore it. Mobile Weapon Description After her dismissal from Neo Zeon, Ezmy came into possession of a seized Federation relic, a nearly two-decade old GM Striker, and was sent on her way. The thing was hardly functional and took some time to adjust to, and the irony of having to pilot old Federation tech was not lost on her. While outdated in nearly every way, its close-range leanings were at least familiar to her. Passably mobile, with head-mounted vulcan cannons for minor cover, and a twin beam spear, which can be detached into two sabers, what the Striker lacks in range and defense it…well, it doesn't really make up for it, but it does well enough up close. \|</s> <\|message\|>Leon Barlow The mess was littered with people, salvagers of The Cathartes and the survivors of the recent battles. So many people seeking asylum and/or passage to a better place, relatively speaking. Away from these people sat Leon Barlow in his own little space near the wall. Just enough to hear the Captain speak on the matters at hand, but far enough anyone would know to leave him be. These people needed help and he could acknowledge that, the Federation being unable to help these folks as they hid behind their ideals to pretend they were good people. He knew it all too well, re-actively grabbing at the ring around his neck. His mind wandered for a moment, remembering he was wanted by the Federation and the moments he spent meeting a few people in the Federation. "Since the attacks from this mysterious pirate group have become more regular around these parts, we've been sent here to clean up, so to speak." Ares.... Leon had heard of them before from clients who had hired the mercenary to do business in areas that Ares had previously been. He had never faced them before in open combat, but he had escaped from a unit before. Fortunately it was a small thing that Leon hoped Ares didn't remember; regardless now they were causing far more trouble for Leon to be out in the open. Between the Federation, Zeon, Ares, and a few associates, he definitely was happy to hide among these group of upstanding individuals. He had zoned out completely from the rest of the Captain's speech to the refugees, he proceeded to lean forward with his hands under his chin. His mind went into a deep thought again, hair covering his right eye, giving him a far more serious demeanor than he was actually in. For now he would keep his head low, do whatever work was needed, and leave once the coast was clear for himself.</s> <\|message\|>Marlowe Voltus Near the Ares Asteroid Several Griffon mobile suits floated around a refuelling station attached to a large asteroid; though a better name for it would be something akin to a small colony. Mobile suits floated around the superstructure, as did various vessels moving in and out. Fuel, ammunition, supplies. Everything was being gathered at this point, ready to perform something incredible. The small squad of Griffons that had attacked the cargo vessels were busy refuelling, and the squad's leader seemed preoccupied speaking with his own commander. "So, you came back empty handed?" The voice inside the pilot's cockpit was dark, masculine and calm. But there was an undertone of disappointment from the voice. "Why?" "We were getting low on fuel and a new ship and mobile suits appeared. We decided it would be best to regroup and-" "And lead them back to our location?" "No sir, we weren't followed. They seemed more concerned with the wreckage than us." "Once you refuel, you need to double back and take care of that new ship. There's no need for survivors at this point. We're almost ready to move into the final stages of Commander Brinz's plan." "Yes, Lieutenant Odo." "Remember, these small sparks of conflict will fan the flames, and end the wretched story of all those who cling to the sight of earth." The pilot responded in the affirmative, but the idea of Commander Brinz's plan was...well, it bordered on insanity. Man of the pilots in ARES had some reason to hate the Federation, and others had reason to hate the weak politics of the colonies, but the concept of Brinz's plan scared many of the pilots who still had some tinges of loyalty to their old home. None of them ever had a reason to return, but to burn the bridge in this way… "Sir! We've finished refuelling." "Alright, let's head out! No more playing it safe. They all think that the worst is behind them, let's really ruin their day!" --- Marlowe walked through the halls of the Cathartes cradling something in his arms. He'd picked it up along with the rest of the salvage from the two destroyed vessels, though he was unsure exactly what it was or who it belonged to. It looked almost cartoonish, a heavy round sphere with two eyes, and little flaps on the sides. It was cute, like a child's toy. Who was the child, though? There were no children of families in the group of survivors they'd rounded up. Was the owner of this little thing lost out in the debris field? The idea made him shudder, and he wondered exactly who would do such a thing to such lightly defended freighters. How many years ago would he have played with something like this? Probably no more than seven or eight years probably. So how old had the owner been? His head began to hurt, another problem of his constant over thinking. He'd decided to skip his grandfather's "welcome" address to the survivors. He knew that there would be a sense of animosity and annoyance from these interlopers, after all, they didn't belong on the Cathartes. The vessel was home to outcasts, misfits and those that lived on the fringes of society, not to honest working people like those in the freighter. Still, Marlowe was excited, because new people meant new stories to hear. What was going on back towards Earth? He noticed Disker Issacs leaving the "mess hall", and stepped up his pace to approach him, before he nearly collided into one Gaida; apparently leaving the briefing as well, "Oh! Excuse me, Miss Gaida," he said with a hint of deference; another tick of his that tended to annoy many of his fellow pilots. He referred to everyone as "Miss" or "Mister" regardless of how few years separated them. The only two he didn't give the honorifics to were his grandfather, who he simply called "grandad" and to Ezmy, who simply was referred to by her own name. He waved to Disker, cradling the green sphere against his chest. "Mister Disker! Can I talk to you for a moment?" He motioned to the green toy in his arms. "I found this during the salvage run," he began, "And I wanted to know if you'd be able to repair it." He'd learned early on not to badger Irma with things of this nature, especially when there was actual salvage going on. Around her, he risked getting smacked in the head with a wrench. Disker was at the very least an affable sort, and less likely to cause grievous harm to Marlowe. --- "Well, if there are no questions, the crew will help you settle into your quarters. You'll be using the extra bunks towards the central hub of the ship. It'll be cramped, and usually uncomfortable, but it's better than floating in space." With that, many of the survivors shuffled around, some out, following Kellen as he led them to the bunks, others mumbled and talked amongst themselves. But one person approached Cornell, an older man wearing a Federation uniform. "Sir, I'd just like to thank you for assisting these people," the man said, extended a hand. "I'm Lieutenant Commander Spare Infield, from the EFSF." "You're welcome. But my suggestion is to relax the military attitude around here," Cornell noted, giving a knowing wink to Ezmy as she scowled in the corner. "My ship welcomes all people who've given up their homes. I'd like you to ignore any disrespect you'll probably get if you keep up with the stuffed shirt routine." The old man was wily, but he was damn honest as well. "I take it you have issues with the Federation as well? "I was the head engineer of a little colony named Texas back in the '60s, during the big economic bubble in the colonies. Of course, that didn't last very long, and by the time the 70's came around, I found myself out of the job until the Yashima company picked up the bill. But when you lot and those Zeons took up war, Texas and all of Loum got brought into it. You know the rest of the story." Cornell took a small tin of coffee and downed it. The Federation man stood there in silence, closed his eyes and sighed. "I understand. I promise that I nor anyone under my command will cause problems on your ship. Just get us to Mars safely." "Now that, I can do." The old man gave the officer a toothy grin.</s>	<\|message\|>Character Info As the captain finished up his spiel, and the survivors began to disperse, Ezmy found her interest waning. No one had tried to press their luck, or whined about their shitty accommodations—which were only marginally less-shitty than the crews' own—they all just seemed happy to be breathing. Which was stupid. They were attacked, stranded, and now they were essentially being robbed in exchange for their lives. The fact that a few of these idiots would consider the Voltus company heroes when they got to Mars was one part hilarious, and nine parts fucking annoying. Some Federation roach skittered up to Cornell and introduced himself as a Lieutenant Commander. The captain shot that shit down pretty quick, and Ezmy scoffed when he winked her way. She hopped down off the table and made her way to the back of the mess again, but did it without hurry so that she could still hear the conversation. There was no reason to eavesdrop; Cornell was just telling the same story all of them had heard before about his past rodeos, and the suit just groveled compliance. Nothing special. Besides, even if Spare Change or Tire or whatever-the-fuck his name was did say something interesting, even if he'd just started spilling Federation secrets, so what? Who was she gonna tell? Who was anyone on this bloated iron tub gonna tell? She quickly found herself tuning it out. Some of the survivors followed Kellen out of the mess to where they'd be bunking. He was easily one of the most aggravating people on the Cathartes and, probably, in the whole galaxy—an opinion shared by other crew-members, she was sure—however, through the doorway she caught a glimpse of first-place: Marlowe. He was badgering Disker about something, showing off a…toy? It looked like a toy. Had he picked it out of the wreckage? She felt herself growing annoyed with him already, a familiar feeling when it came to the lesser Voltus. Pirates ambush a pack of helpless traders, and Marlowe manages to salvage a toy rubble. With effort, Ezmy suppressed the urge to yell "grow up!" through the door, and chugged the last of her coffee instead. Her face twisted at the taste, and for a moment she thought she might not mind if the newcomers did drink it all. But the moment passed, and she went back for a refill. There were still enough people in the mess for her tastes; she'd stick around here until that changed, or until someone barked at her to make herself useful. No one ever got away with loitering on the Cathartes for long.</s>
<\|description\|>Character Info Name – Ezmy Eibril Age - 18 Gender - Female Place of Origin - Munzo Type – Cyber-Newtype Mobile Weapon Profile Suit Type - General-Purpose Mobile Suit Suit Style - Federation, junker Combat Role - Close-range striker Suit Armaments - Twin Beam Spear, Head-mounted Vulcan Gun, YHI YF-MG100 100mm Machine Gun - Pilot Personality Reckless Anger Ezmy has never been good at controlling her temper, a problem drastically exacerbated by Neo Zeon's conditioning. However, even before being brought in to the cyber-newtype experiments, her parents would have described her as a problem child, which might have been why there was so little fuss about giving her up. Within her is an ugly, angry, violent fire which refuses to be snuffed out, burning brightest in the heat of battle, and the cold of isolation. Grim Outlook Misanthropy was an ineluctable fate; people are disgusting during war, and there's always war. On the one hand, an almost cruel contempt for life made Ezmy a good soldier on paper, but on the other hand—everything else. To Ezmy, the only thing more demeaning than being human is being a tool for humans, but dignity was never the thing getting her out of bed in the morning. Autophobic A misanthrope with a longing for affection might seem paradoxical to some, or perfectly logical to others. Ezmy just finds it humiliating. The love of family, the comradery of friendship, even in her dreams these things are vague and ephemeral. She cannot describe how they feel—or would feel—or just why she wants them, but she does. She wants them more than anything, sometimes even enough to act like someone acting like a well-adjusted person. But being discarded again, this time by Zeon itself, has done little to change her belief that these intangible concepts, if they're real at all, are worth wasting on a tool. \| Physical Description Ezmy is a built like a spike; short, narrow, deceptively sturdy. Spotty diets haven't left her with much to build muscle on, but old exercise habits have at least kept her from wasting away. She wears what she can get her hands on, which usually means clothes that are baggy and too big for her, but which are at least insulated to handle the Cathartes' occasional temperature tantrums. Her hair is kept short out of reflex, and her eyes are a dim, earthy brown. Her boney skin burns easily and often, and the multitude of scars left over from childhood experimentation crawl across her arms and spine and up her neck. She's gone out of her way to rip out and stitch over the identifying Zeon crests of her mobile suit gear. The colors still disgust her, but there's an odd, familiar comfort to the suit that's kept her from tossing it in the airlock. Character Conceptualization Ezmy is Neo Zeon war-chaff brought up in the wake of one loss, and discarded on the eve of another. While initially a promising prospect due to how responsive she was to experimentation, her volatile personality and growing disdain for authority ultimately led to her dismissal after only a brief tour in conflict. Her home, which had so greedily sought her out, was now embarrassed by her, and at the age of eighteen she found herself living the life of a disgraced nomad. Neo Zeon coaxed the aptitude for violence out of her, and used it to feed her craving for conflict. Now, with the second war behind, Ezmy drifts listlessly in secret, desperate search of anything even resembling purpose. Time alone has awakened a new hunger within her as well, one for companionship. The feeling confuses her, disgusts her, and she does not know how to feed it, nor can she bring herself to ignore it. Mobile Weapon Description After her dismissal from Neo Zeon, Ezmy came into possession of a seized Federation relic, a nearly two-decade old GM Striker, and was sent on her way. The thing was hardly functional and took some time to adjust to, and the irony of having to pilot old Federation tech was not lost on her. While outdated in nearly every way, its close-range leanings were at least familiar to her. Passably mobile, with head-mounted vulcan cannons for minor cover, and a twin beam spear, which can be detached into two sabers, what the Striker lacks in range and defense it…well, it doesn't really make up for it, but it does well enough up close. \|</s> <\|message\|>Dustice Behrbeck Dustice lounged back in his chair smoking a cigar while sipping his father's favorite drink. The bottle of James Donnels reflected a twinge of the light from the room, but that wasn't his focus. He would puff on the fat cigar, take a sip from the whiskey, and lean back to enjoy the "view". His chair allowed him to look out the 'window' of his father's room, though it was really just a viewing monitor set up to mimic a window it still offered the same comfort of stargazing while enjoying a drink and a smoke. "How many people did you manage to protect?" Came a voice on the left side of the window. He glanced over to see the older figure standing beside him. Of course, this is how it always went down when he had this dream. His father, always there to confront him. "I haven't counted yet. We lost some good pilots but as far as I can tell none of the civilians were killed." "See kid? Being a bodyguard, it's in your blood!" The younger man furrowed his brow. "Don't. I'm exhausted." Even in his dreams, he felt the aches and exhaustion from days of constant piloting. He couldn't escape it, just as he knew where his father was about to steer this conversation. This dream always went the same way. The old man let out a raspy chuckle. He had been smoking those cigars since before the One Year War and it might have been catching up to him. But despite the advancements when it came to smoking, the old man preferred to smoke something natural instead of electronic. His son was less interested in ruining his voice but that particular night before the final battle of the Gryps Conflict of course he was going to share a smoke and a drink with the man he had been seeking out for over half a decade. "Just think...if you're able to protect a whole crew by yourself so easily.." "Drop it." "Imagine how easy it would be to protect one Zeon Princess?" The young pilot removed his cigar from his mouth and whipped it angrily at his father. Though in zero gravity it would be easy enough to not just dodge it, but catch it and safely put it out, which his father did. That was what made these dreams so weird, instead of the nice, nostalgic conversation he had with his father the night before the old man died during the war, his dreams kept returning to this strange argument that never really happened. An argument about the old man's last request. While Dustice has heard instances of people making contact with others from the afterlife, most of those anecdotes came from alleged newtypes. Plus, they said the spirits were friendly. While it could be argued that at the very least, the elder Behrbeck was not malicious if he truly was a ghost, Dustice never enjoyed the conversation because it always ended up coming back to Princess Mineva Lao Zabi. "You're absolutely right!" He'd bark at his father. "I'd do a damn good job at protecting the princess! But I'm not risking my life only to find out I've been getting shot at over a decoy ever again!! Do you know how humiliating that was?" "I understand that. It was wrong of Lady Haman to abuse your trust that way." "Yeah it was, but she did that to everyone that worked for her." "Well Commander Char did promise to--" That's when Dustice slammed his drink down and stood up. "Char Aznable is dead, vanished in that axis shock, and good riddance too! I'm sorry old man, I know you really wanted me to look out for her but I dropped a colony, an asteroid, and almost our former home onto the planet, all in her name. And the universe itself stepped in to stop that last one, I'm not doing it anymore. If you're gonna insist on bothering me about this, then give me names of former zeon buddies of yours that won't screw me over!!" *** Instead of an answer, he'd be rustled awake by a lady engineer. It looked like his power nap time was over. It was a good thing he chose the nap before the shower because he'd have had much less sleep if he took the shower first. The pilot politely gestured for the engineer to back away, he knew how he probably smelled. "Unfortunately the pirates weren't nice enough to give me bathroom breaks, or nap time." He grumbled, looking over his suit. It was one from the second Neo Zeon War, back when he worked for Char. Well, it didn't really hold any emotional value to him, truth be told he'd prefer to wear a normal suit that matched the grey of his Geara Doga but he had spent most of his budget on a beam tomahawk shield. "Uh..." He'd look around. "I should have a spare normal suit around somewhere. Where's your disposal? I think I'm just gonna pitch this suit, it'd be a waste of your water trying to clean it out." About half an hour later, Dustice was showered and in a spare normal suit and he managed to grab a fresh pair of undergarments and a black short sleeved undershirt, but he didn't really have time to get the rest of his casual clothes from the ship. Though he had a hunch that the pirates might try and come back so he figured his normal suit was fine for now. He kept it unzipped down to the waist to let his torso breathe for once. After all, this was a civilian ship. Who the hell cared about regulation? The pilot knocked on the door to the bridge, and when given permission to answer the first thing he would do is apologize. "Hi, I'm so sorry I just went straight to bed when you rescued us. But I didn't want to have any sort of business-related conversations on no sleep, I don't trust myself to not mess up the paperwork side of this job."</s> <\|message\|>Disker Isaacs --- Oh, to be young and fearless. The provocation from Ezmy would have definitely drawn a reaction from the more idealistic Disker during his youth in the Federation days but time has tempered his fire. Thankfully, he wasn't alone in thinking this as Leon had agreed with his sentiments. Though, perhaps Ezmy did have a point. The Cathartes was a sitting duck in this ocean of stars, tempting the jaws of a leviathan in waiting. Striking first would be a good option but where would they even start? Marauders didn't exactly advertise their hideouts with bright neon signs. Then again, this salvaging ship didn't either. As Marlowe spoke on about his opinion, a compromise popped in Disker's head. "You know, both of you bring up good points. We should set up a rearguard and a vanguard position that would intercept the enemy before they reach this ship. That way, the captain can evade an attack if it occurs." He then paused to gauge the reactions from each pilot present, before proceeding on to the pièce de résistance of his battle plan. "Good strategy, agreed? Of course, I'll stay on board the Cathartes to provide cover fire. Young master Voltus here just needs to convince the old man to let us sortie. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a... ball to repair." Regardless of how the others would react to his proposal, Disker would proceed out of the salvage bay while inspecting the device that Marlowe had given him earlier. If he was gonna be stuck inside his Mobile Suit's cockpit, he might as well have something to tinker with to pass the time. Before heading out to the hangar bay, Disker would need to retrieve the toolbox from his designated quarters. On the way there, Disker would come across an unfamiliar face on their way to the captain. Perhaps the captain was hiring extra hands to take up arms. While it didn't bode well for an uneventful voyage, this was definitely the prudent thing to do.</s>	<\|message\|>Character Info Ezmy was a bit disappointed that Disker didn't take the bait, but she'd come to expect as much from him, boring as it could be. Sometimes she suspected a good chunk of the crew had been secretly lobotomized, but then she remembered people like Kellen and Irina, and decided maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Leon intervened on Disker's behalf, and she rolled her eyes. Fuckin' white-knight manlet, she thought, but decided it would be best to keep that to herself. Ezmy didn't usually shy from getting on people's bad sides, but pissing people off before a fight wouldn't do her any favors if they were pissed off at her. She wasn't going to lick any boots, but she could do her best to keep the snipping to a minimum. Maybe. "Vanguard," she said, staking her claim. Now that they had something resembling a plan, fucked if she was going to sit in the ass-guard while everyone else did all the hard work—she wasn't Disker. Ezmy shot Gaida one more venomous glance, and then hopped down from her pile as Disker wandered off with the toy. He'd be staying aboard on his usual roost, as far from harm's way as possible. Surprise. The only pilot who'd be safer than him was Marlowe, and though normally the good ol' Voltus-nepotism would have pissed her off, she never felt the urge to argue over this particular point. The truth was that she didn't want Marlowe out there with them. He wasn't cut out for it. He was just fine at picking up trash, but his incorrigible pacifism didn't just make him fucking insufferable, it also made him a liability to everyone else. "Yeah, something tells me it's not gonna be hard to get permission for this one," she said, starting off for the hangar. "Guess I'll suit up for the green light. Maybe we'll finally get some fucking action."</s>
<\|description\|>Dustice Behrbeck Character Info Age - 31 Gender - Male Place of Origin - Munzo Type - Newtype Mobile Weapon Profile Suit Type -Mobile Suit Suit Style - Zeon Combat Role - High-Speed Fighter Suit Armaments - Beam Machine Gun, Beam Sword Axe - Pilot Personality Cool-Headed Enough years in combat have led Bareback to not allow his nerves to take over. He's a stoic veteran in combat and is the first to take charge based on his years of experience in war. Pragmatic Bareback is willing to do anything to survive in combat, and he has an extremely pragmatic approach to combat, using whatever advantage he can to win in a fight. Spiritual Seeing the Axis Shock firsthand had an incredible impact on Bareback. He believed the Axis Shock to be a sign to humanity, and he began to change his outlook on life after surviving the Second Neo Zeon War, deciding to do his part to make the universe a better place for mankind instead of propagating the endless cycle of war. \| Physical Description Bareback has shoulder-length, light brown hair, parted to the side. His eyes are tired, yet in combat, he keeps a certain sharpness that only a veteran of several wars can have. His face is perpetually turned into a frown, though he is not a cruel man. And while he is only in his early 30's, the obvious years of war have aged him. Character Conceptualization Bareback takes the role of the experienced veteran; a man who joined the Titans on the spot to search for his father, who'd joined the Zeon Remnants, who continually found himself working for those who committed atrocities throughout the various wars. After finally finding his father working for Hamon Karn during the First Neo Zeon War, Bareback defected the Titans after Jamitov Hyman's death and served with Neo Zeon until Hamon Karn's death. During the Second Neo Zeon War, he signed up to fight under the heroic Red Comet, Char Aznable. But history would repeat itself, as once more he found himself fighting on a side that only wanted to bring more destruction. Growing exasperated by the constant war and politics that corrupted good men, and seeing the miracle during the Axis Meteor fall as a sign, Bareback left fighting for a political cause and took up work acting as a bodyguard and mercenary, protecting freighters and civilians for better causes. Mobile Weapon Description Bareback pilots the AMS-119 Geara Doga which was his MS during the Second Neo Zeon War. It has since been repainted gray, to signify his neutral affiliation in the post-war. Bareback had done multiple modifications to the MS, increasing the Geara Doga's speed and mobility with added boosters. The Geara Doga's armaments remain the same as the standard model, but the increased mobility takes it from being a very middle-of-the-road mobile suit to a speedy combat MS capable of fulfilling many roles in battle. \|</s> <\|message\|>Character Info --- Ezmy's fists balled up on reflex the moment Gaida touched her, shuddering like the temperature had suddenly dipped into the negatives. She shot the woman a hard look, eyes flicking from her to her hand, as if, surely, it was just some tragic mistake that it had landed on her shoulder. But no, it wasn't, and Gaida went on to agree with her, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Ezmy might not have been a very socially-conscious person, but she knew when she was being patronized. "…little Ezmy's plan." Oh, she'd be paying for that one. "Gee Gaida, thanks." She said through teeth grated in the closest approximation to a smile that Ezmy could muster. When the woman took her hand away, Ezmy brushed imaginary grime off of her shoulder. She wasn't done with her, but Disker's sharp interjection reminded her that there was, in fact, an actual conversation of import going on. Fine. There'd be plenty of time for getting even later. "Okay, and?" she snipped back at Disker. "If the pirates come back, the options are run, or fight, and you're out of your mind if you think this hunk of junk is outrunning anything. Fuck's sake, you don't have to stall like this, you can just say you're scared. Not like anyone'd be surprised." That was a bit of a low-blow. Ezmy didn't have much respect for Disker's…"cautious" piloting style, but that didn't mean he was useless; he was a coward, she thought, but even cowards could be good shots. Still, with how quiet the man usually was, it was worth snatching at the opportunity to get a rise out of him. "The real question is whether or not we're gonna sit around scrapbooking until they get the jump on us."</s> <\|message\|>Leon Barlow Leon stood at the back of the pack as the Federation man described what happened to the survivors. He didn't know if this man would be able to identify him and did not want to take that chance. Despite the fact that the survivors were in a desperate situation, Federation members were as stupid as they come, Leon knew that much from experience. Instead he sat back, listening to Disker and the rest decide on what to do next. A hunt for pirates did not seem like a fun time for the mercenary but, it could give him a bit of assurance that this place would be safe for the rest of the journey, though he had a different worry about the existence of pirates with a Titan. "Fuck's sake, you don't have to stall like this, you can just say you're scared. Not like anyone'd be surprised." "Enough." Leon's voice was loud but, still gravelly. He took a few steps to Disker's side, his body language giving off a vibe of being a calm, emotionless robot. "He's a bit too cautious but, being cautious is smart. I'll join if we are going to do this instead of arguing about it." Leon scanned the few pilots who made this small ragtag group. He didn't know much of their skills besides what he saw, so he hoped this wouldn't be a death wish waiting to happen, especially with a kid among them.</s> <\|message\|>Marlowe Voltus Cathartes Salvage Ship The old man sat in his captain's chair, eyeing up the bridge crew. Remia was busy studying monitors, while Kellen seemed overly focused on navigating. It was obvious that there was tension in the air; everyone was just waiting for these pirates to return and attack them next. Cornell expected that, but to send out every available pilot to guard the Cathartes would only exhaust them by the time the enemy finally reached them. "Sir." Spare Infield walked into the bridge, nodding at Cornell. At the very least, he was being respectful. "I thought I'd do my best to give you whatever information I had on the attack. Cornell nodded. "Any help would be appreciated." Infield nodded. "The enemy attacked quickly and disabled our ship. They didn't give us a chance to fight back, and the few mobile suits that were able to launch were destroyed in minutes. If it wasn't for the Zeon transport and the pilot that kept them pinned for the fight, we'd probably all be dead." Cornell nodded. "I think we should talk to this hero pilot. Remia, go ahead and find out where he's hiding out and get him brought to the bridge." *** "Hey, Mr. Hotshot pilot." The female engineer shook the cot that Bareback was sleeping on. "The captain's asked to talk to you on the bridge. Wants to know about those suits you were fighting." She wrinkled her nose. "Maybe you could...also clean off first? You smell awful. --- Marlowe listened intently to everyone arguing about exactly what to do about fighting. He thought about it for a moment, wishing he could help in some way. But his grandfather refused to let him pilot in combat. It didn't help that even in the piloting sims, he refused to go for any actual killing blows. "You're too soft boy. If I let you pilot in a fight, you'd be killed in two seconds. The old man's words rang in his ears constantly. Why should his friends fight and risk their lives while all he could do was stand around and hope for the best? It just wasn't fair. "I know everyone has an opinion on what we should do about the enemy, but I think we should just be ready for when they come back. Because something tells me they are coming back." He knew it, somehow. As if he could see the tiny dots far in the eternal blackness of space, making their way towards the Cathartes as everyone argued.</s>	<\|message\|>Dustice Behrbeck Dustice lounged back in his chair smoking a cigar while sipping his father's favorite drink. The bottle of James Donnels reflected a twinge of the light from the room, but that wasn't his focus. He would puff on the fat cigar, take a sip from the whiskey, and lean back to enjoy the "view". His chair allowed him to look out the 'window' of his father's room, though it was really just a viewing monitor set up to mimic a window it still offered the same comfort of stargazing while enjoying a drink and a smoke. "How many people did you manage to protect?" Came a voice on the left side of the window. He glanced over to see the older figure standing beside him. Of course, this is how it always went down when he had this dream. His father, always there to confront him. "I haven't counted yet. We lost some good pilots but as far as I can tell none of the civilians were killed." "See kid? Being a bodyguard, it's in your blood!" The younger man furrowed his brow. "Don't. I'm exhausted." Even in his dreams, he felt the aches and exhaustion from days of constant piloting. He couldn't escape it, just as he knew where his father was about to steer this conversation. This dream always went the same way. The old man let out a raspy chuckle. He had been smoking those cigars since before the One Year War and it might have been catching up to him. But despite the advancements when it came to smoking, the old man preferred to smoke something natural instead of electronic. His son was less interested in ruining his voice but that particular night before the final battle of the Gryps Conflict of course he was going to share a smoke and a drink with the man he had been seeking out for over half a decade. "Just think...if you're able to protect a whole crew by yourself so easily.." "Drop it." "Imagine how easy it would be to protect one Zeon Princess?" The young pilot removed his cigar from his mouth and whipped it angrily at his father. Though in zero gravity it would be easy enough to not just dodge it, but catch it and safely put it out, which his father did. That was what made these dreams so weird, instead of the nice, nostalgic conversation he had with his father the night before the old man died during the war, his dreams kept returning to this strange argument that never really happened. An argument about the old man's last request. While Dustice has heard instances of people making contact with others from the afterlife, most of those anecdotes came from alleged newtypes. Plus, they said the spirits were friendly. While it could be argued that at the very least, the elder Behrbeck was not malicious if he truly was a ghost, Dustice never enjoyed the conversation because it always ended up coming back to Princess Mineva Lao Zabi. "You're absolutely right!" He'd bark at his father. "I'd do a damn good job at protecting the princess! But I'm not risking my life only to find out I've been getting shot at over a decoy ever again!! Do you know how humiliating that was?" "I understand that. It was wrong of Lady Haman to abuse your trust that way." "Yeah it was, but she did that to everyone that worked for her." "Well Commander Char did promise to--" That's when Dustice slammed his drink down and stood up. "Char Aznable is dead, vanished in that axis shock, and good riddance too! I'm sorry old man, I know you really wanted me to look out for her but I dropped a colony, an asteroid, and almost our former home onto the planet, all in her name. And the universe itself stepped in to stop that last one, I'm not doing it anymore. If you're gonna insist on bothering me about this, then give me names of former zeon buddies of yours that won't screw me over!!" *** Instead of an answer, he'd be rustled awake by a lady engineer. It looked like his power nap time was over. It was a good thing he chose the nap before the shower because he'd have had much less sleep if he took the shower first. The pilot politely gestured for the engineer to back away, he knew how he probably smelled. "Unfortunately the pirates weren't nice enough to give me bathroom breaks, or nap time." He grumbled, looking over his suit. It was one from the second Neo Zeon War, back when he worked for Char. Well, it didn't really hold any emotional value to him, truth be told he'd prefer to wear a normal suit that matched the grey of his Geara Doga but he had spent most of his budget on a beam tomahawk shield. "Uh..." He'd look around. "I should have a spare normal suit around somewhere. Where's your disposal? I think I'm just gonna pitch this suit, it'd be a waste of your water trying to clean it out." About half an hour later, Dustice was showered and in a spare normal suit and he managed to grab a fresh pair of undergarments and a black short sleeved undershirt, but he didn't really have time to get the rest of his casual clothes from the ship. Though he had a hunch that the pirates might try and come back so he figured his normal suit was fine for now. He kept it unzipped down to the waist to let his torso breathe for once. After all, this was a civilian ship. Who the hell cared about regulation? The pilot knocked on the door to the bridge, and when given permission to answer the first thing he would do is apologize. "Hi, I'm so sorry I just went straight to bed when you rescued us. But I didn't want to have any sort of business-related conversations on no sleep, I don't trust myself to not mess up the paperwork side of this job."</s>
<\|description\|>Leon Barlow Character Info Age - 27 Gender - Male Place of Origin - Type - Newtype Mobile Weapon Profile Suit Type -Transformable Mobile Suit/Mobile Armor Suit Style - Federation Combat Role - Skirmisher Suit Armaments - Long Blade Rifle, 2x Beam Sabers, 2x Shield Boosters - Pilot Personality Stalwart If there were ever a single word that could aptly describe Leon's character, it would be stalwart. Steady and sure, Leon stands as impassive as a looming storm cloud, towering and lumbering over all those around him, being as constant and power-exuding without the need to mutter a few words. While capable of antics of frustration or irritation, Leon's true emotions never surface unless he's truly sincere about his resolve in committing to it. Like the rumblings of ominous thunder, Leon would often quell arguments by brief flares of rising temper to settle meaningless debates even within a his crew. Bitter Idealism is the bane of Leon's existence. He contempt for those that spew useless dreams that do little help anyone. A notion crafted from the meaningless deaths of his brother and father, Leon bares his fangs to those that seek to face the universe with no real plan. He tries to distance himself from the idealistic, hero types as those always lead to pain and suffering. To go out of his way to attack these types is not like him, but he is not friendly. N/A [color=#807B84][/color] \| Physical Description Leon is what you would call a midget; standing at only 5'3', Leon is below the average height for a male. Despite his height disadvantage, he weighs at a whooping 150 lbs; the weight mostly coming from the muscle obtained through vigorous workout, a notion obtained from his father that the body should always match the mind. In combat, he wears a suit bought help with the G force and comfort within space. It is insulated as well. Outside of combat, Leon keeps his attire simple with a black T-shirt, blue jeans, and hi-top red/black sneakers. Around his neck sits a wedding ring attached to a chain, a memento of his late mother. Character Conceptualization Leon is a mercenary trying to hide from the Federation, Zeon, and all those in-between. He was born and raised to pilot a mobile suit, his father Leon Barlow had always intended for him to join the Federation. His father knew his son was a Newtype and his plans were lofty. Unfortunately these plans would crash and burn as Leon lost both his father and brother during the War of 0088. Already skeptical, Leon became quite disillusioned with the Federation and Zeon, stealing his father's Gaplant before racing off into the stars. For years he made a name for himself as the mercenary known as Red Scream; Red being the color of his Gaplant, and the scream heard from his engine. Leon made it a rule to hide his face behind a mask. Now he seeks to hide from those that want him dead or jailed, his mind overlooking the true threat in the depths of space. Mobile Weapon Description Leon acquired his Gaplant by stealing it from the Federation after his father's funeral. A variation of the mass-produced Gaplant, the TR-5 is a customized variation to increase the speed of the mobile armor with shield boosters. The Gaplant comes with the standard issue beam sabers stored in the legs but, it also comes with a Long Sword Rifle; a weapon that forms the main cannon for the Mobile Armor and a sword/rifle for the Mobile Suit. This suit is mainly an offensive tool used by the Federation for high-precision strikes. \|</s> <\|message\|>Amagaida "Gaida" Xerda --- It was a convenient fate, the red-haired woman supposed. She didn't comment as Isaacs shuffled out of the room that had been designated as Cathartes' mess hall of choice, though Gaida had always considered it more of a lounge. It was too small to be a proper mess hall and too ineffective to be a dining room. That about summed up the Cathartes and its unseemly captain. But she didn't forget when she had her own scuffle with federation hunters that it had been that very same unseemly captain that had taken her in and helped her with the repairs to her suit despite the Zeon engravings it had littered across its torso at the time. He had been charitable, but not generous. A former ace from the Principality of Zeon was something he couldn't look away from and all these months later she reflected on it often. "Could use some more muscle." He had commented casually at the time and here he was basically doing the same to a new motley group of individuals. As long as they didn't cause trouble she supposed it was wise enough of a decision. She very nearly corrected the old goat about calling Zeon a republic, not that it had never been one, she just didn't recognize the bones of the Principality being used for means that were not in line with a true successor. A neo-republic. Pretenders. She pondered the thought as the chattering continued until the old man gave them his ultimatum. Though it was less a ultimatum and more of a certainty unless they wanted to be spaced in the middle of the sector. She kept her arms crossed as she nodded, maintaining eye contact with the captain. "If that is all, I have a post to attend to." She commented, taking her leave as well.</s> <\|message\|>Character Info --- This sucked. Ezmy entered the mess hall just in time to hear captain Voltus say they were going to ferry the survivors to Mars. A forgone conclusion, but nevertheless, the thought of sharing what little, cramped space the Cathartes had with a bunch of weepy, paranoid space-mailmen did not, to put it mildly, excite her. More bodies to clog the narrow halls, more mouths to suck up all the air. There were already enough morons onboard as it was. And they were drinking the coffee, too. Great. "Move," she muttered, as she made her way to the long counter towards the back of the mess. Most of the survivors hardly registered her, even when she pushed past them; she was below their eyeline and wasn't exactly built to bowl people over. Still, a few indignant snorts and distasteful grumbles lingered behind her, something she wouldn't have taken so quietly if she weren't dead-tired. "…Your scrap is worth enough." A smirk tugged at Ezmy's lips as she swiped a mug from the table. What Voltus suggested would have sounded almost like charity to the stragglers, but she knew better. Was what he was doing nice? Sure. But people did nice things all the time—when there was something in it for them. This was just business, plain and simple, and their geriatric captain was nothing if not a good businessman. Most of the crew owed him in some way or another, that was how you earned a bed on the Cathartes. That or nepotism, she thought, and scanned the crowd briefly for the younger, dumber Voltus. Ezmy brought her mug to the jittery old coffee machine, shouldering past another clot of survivors, and filled it right to the brim. They had a bit of a journey ahead of them to Mars, and she wasn't sure there'd be enough for a ship actually full of people. That done, she hopped up to sit on one of the tables and listened to whatever else Voltus had to say, or whatever woes the people would throw at him. Someone would probably try to leverage their misfortune for recovered items. Hah. Good luck with that. Disker dipped out quietly, which wasn't a surprise. The man was usually reserved to a degree that even Ezmy found frustrating. He was a thinker, she didn't like thinkers. She didn't like anyone, really, but especially not thinkers. Gaida dismissed herself as well, though she did it like a soldier—asking permission even if she didn't actually want it. She was a bit like Disker; she was a thinker, too. Thinker and soldier. Blegh. There wasn't much for her in the mess, but she stayed anyway. She could have passed time rifling through the scrap, or finding one of the few quiet, secluded places onboard that would very soon no longer be either, but she didn't want to. Being alone was boring as fuck, and there were people here. They were miserable, and disgusting, and they probably wouldn't shut up about their bad luck as long as it took them to get to Mars, but fine, whatever. At least it was company.</s> <\|message\|>Dustice Behrbeck It had been at least a day and a half since they had gotten stranded. Dustice hadn't slept the entire time they had been in this situation either, as he was the only one left capable of defending what was left of the crew and the supplies. He had managed to stall the attackers by essentially holding the supplies hostage. The pirates were only here for what the ship was carrying, whatever it was, and for all he knew, they would be wiped out once the supplies were handed over, so he was making that difficult. The fact that they were all still alive, and that the ship hadn't been blown up, confirmed his hunch. But now? Things were unusually quiet. Communication with this so-called Ares had stopped, though the person he was in contact with sounded like he was worried about something right before he closed the line. He had killed the lights in the hanger and kept his mobile suit's mono-eye dimmed as he waited for something or someone to approach. He had wondered if maybe the pirates had opted for a more stealthy approach out of their mobile suits? If that were the case, they could certainly get a jump on him that way, deactivate his mobile suit and possibly take him out in the process. But he had his side-arm with him, he wouldn't be going down without a fight, he had to at least put that much effort in for the people he was guarding. When mobile suits did approach, his mono-eye lit up with a faint hum and he raised his beam machine gun. As they got closer they could easily figure out how this single pilot was able to hold a small group of pirates off...he had wrapped chain mines around the mobile suit, ensuring that one wrong blast would result in the packages being destroyed, possibly the entire ship as well. While his fellow crew members were reluctant about such a gamble, they all agreed that giving the deliveries up would likely result in their deaths, and given it was one pilot against who knows how many? It was a gamble they agreed to after some discussion. He would, however, lower his gun when they informed him that they were civilians. Well, sending a ball into this ship might have been a viable strategy, it was certainly a smaller target to hit compared to a mobile suit. That left the mobile suit a...Rick Dias? No...it only had a Rick Dias head, the rest of it was...just a mess of parts. Well, if it was the pirates, they pulled off a convincing trick, and Dustice felt the adrenaline leaving his body. When the ball's pilot mentioned verniers in the distance, that essentially confirmed their safety. "Alright.." Came his reluctant voice through their comms. The Geara Doga tossed his gun to the ball and 'Rick Dias' and brought its hands up to carefully remove the chain mines. He had never turned them on but he figured they would go off if his suit blew up or got hit by a stray beam. Once they started funneling everyone to the ship, he felt a little better knowing that there were survivors of the other ship. Perhaps his gamble saved them as well. As his Geara Doga docked into the hanger, he noticed that there were two blasts from his past. A Zaku III and a Hi-zack. Well, that put him more at ease, it meant that there might be former Titans working with former zeon, that could be...reassuring. And not just any Zeon, Zeon that was at least loyal to Mineva. Had it been a Doven Wolf instead of a Zaku, Dustice might have been more on guard. While he was sure that there were people that wanted to thank him for keeping them alive. The former Zeon was far too exhausted to enjoy any fanfare, he needed to have himself a nap. So as he made his way down to the hangar floor, he quickly asked to speak to whoever was in charge. "I appreciate the help but before I start making business calls I...need a nap, I haven't slept since the start of the attack. 'Probably betting on me just crashing and passing out at some point..." He'd be met by a girl that was a head shorter than him and a good deal more haughty. "You're seriously in the hangar looking for sleep?" She definitely spoke like she was in charge. "We have cots ready for you refugee-" A voice from behind her called out, "Hey Irina! He's the guy in the Geara Doga!" "You're a pilot?" She pointed to a dirty-looking set of cots set up near the wall. "They zip up so if we turn off the gravity in here you don't fall out, but they aren't comfy. We keep 'em ready if we need pilots on standby. And I'm sure the old man would make good use of that Geara Doga if we run into your friends out there." "Thank you." By the time the old man had properly welcomed the survivors to his ship, Dustice was already passed out in a small cot, he hadn't even changed out of his suit, which probably smelled due to having used it for as long as he did, but he could worry about hygiene once he had gotten enough sleep.</s>	<\|message\|>Leon Barlow The mess was littered with people, salvagers of The Cathartes and the survivors of the recent battles. So many people seeking asylum and/or passage to a better place, relatively speaking. Away from these people sat Leon Barlow in his own little space near the wall. Just enough to hear the Captain speak on the matters at hand, but far enough anyone would know to leave him be. These people needed help and he could acknowledge that, the Federation being unable to help these folks as they hid behind their ideals to pretend they were good people. He knew it all too well, re-actively grabbing at the ring around his neck. His mind wandered for a moment, remembering he was wanted by the Federation and the moments he spent meeting a few people in the Federation. "Since the attacks from this mysterious pirate group have become more regular around these parts, we've been sent here to clean up, so to speak." Ares.... Leon had heard of them before from clients who had hired the mercenary to do business in areas that Ares had previously been. He had never faced them before in open combat, but he had escaped from a unit before. Fortunately it was a small thing that Leon hoped Ares didn't remember; regardless now they were causing far more trouble for Leon to be out in the open. Between the Federation, Zeon, Ares, and a few associates, he definitely was happy to hide among these group of upstanding individuals. He had zoned out completely from the rest of the Captain's speech to the refugees, he proceeded to lean forward with his hands under his chin. His mind went into a deep thought again, hair covering his right eye, giving him a far more serious demeanor than he was actually in. For now he would keep his head low, do whatever work was needed, and leave once the coast was clear for himself.</s>
<\|description\|>Leon Barlow Character Info Age - 27 Gender - Male Place of Origin - Type - Newtype Mobile Weapon Profile Suit Type -Transformable Mobile Suit/Mobile Armor Suit Style - Federation Combat Role - Skirmisher Suit Armaments - Long Blade Rifle, 2x Beam Sabers, 2x Shield Boosters - Pilot Personality Stalwart If there were ever a single word that could aptly describe Leon's character, it would be stalwart. Steady and sure, Leon stands as impassive as a looming storm cloud, towering and lumbering over all those around him, being as constant and power-exuding without the need to mutter a few words. While capable of antics of frustration or irritation, Leon's true emotions never surface unless he's truly sincere about his resolve in committing to it. Like the rumblings of ominous thunder, Leon would often quell arguments by brief flares of rising temper to settle meaningless debates even within a his crew. Bitter Idealism is the bane of Leon's existence. He contempt for those that spew useless dreams that do little help anyone. A notion crafted from the meaningless deaths of his brother and father, Leon bares his fangs to those that seek to face the universe with no real plan. He tries to distance himself from the idealistic, hero types as those always lead to pain and suffering. To go out of his way to attack these types is not like him, but he is not friendly. N/A [color=#807B84][/color] \| Physical Description Leon is what you would call a midget; standing at only 5'3', Leon is below the average height for a male. Despite his height disadvantage, he weighs at a whooping 150 lbs; the weight mostly coming from the muscle obtained through vigorous workout, a notion obtained from his father that the body should always match the mind. In combat, he wears a suit bought help with the G force and comfort within space. It is insulated as well. Outside of combat, Leon keeps his attire simple with a black T-shirt, blue jeans, and hi-top red/black sneakers. Around his neck sits a wedding ring attached to a chain, a memento of his late mother. Character Conceptualization Leon is a mercenary trying to hide from the Federation, Zeon, and all those in-between. He was born and raised to pilot a mobile suit, his father Leon Barlow had always intended for him to join the Federation. His father knew his son was a Newtype and his plans were lofty. Unfortunately these plans would crash and burn as Leon lost both his father and brother during the War of 0088. Already skeptical, Leon became quite disillusioned with the Federation and Zeon, stealing his father's Gaplant before racing off into the stars. For years he made a name for himself as the mercenary known as Red Scream; Red being the color of his Gaplant, and the scream heard from his engine. Leon made it a rule to hide his face behind a mask. Now he seeks to hide from those that want him dead or jailed, his mind overlooking the true threat in the depths of space. Mobile Weapon Description Leon acquired his Gaplant by stealing it from the Federation after his father's funeral. A variation of the mass-produced Gaplant, the TR-5 is a customized variation to increase the speed of the mobile armor with shield boosters. The Gaplant comes with the standard issue beam sabers stored in the legs but, it also comes with a Long Sword Rifle; a weapon that forms the main cannon for the Mobile Armor and a sword/rifle for the Mobile Suit. This suit is mainly an offensive tool used by the Federation for high-precision strikes. \|</s> <\|message\|>Character Info --- As the captain finished up his spiel, and the survivors began to disperse, Ezmy found her interest waning. No one had tried to press their luck, or whined about their shitty accommodations—which were only marginally less-shitty than the crews' own—they all just seemed happy to be breathing. Which was stupid. They were attacked, stranded, and now they were essentially being robbed in exchange for their lives. The fact that a few of these idiots would consider the Voltus company heroes when they got to Mars was one part hilarious, and nine parts fucking annoying. Some Federation roach skittered up to Cornell and introduced himself as a Lieutenant Commander. The captain shot that shit down pretty quick, and Ezmy scoffed when he winked her way. She hopped down off the table and made her way to the back of the mess again, but did it without hurry so that she could still hear the conversation. There was no reason to eavesdrop; Cornell was just telling the same story all of them had heard before about his past rodeos, and the suit just groveled compliance. Nothing special. Besides, even if Spare Change or Tire or whatever-the-fuck his name was did say something interesting, even if he'd just started spilling Federation secrets, so what? Who was she gonna tell? Who was anyone on this bloated iron tub gonna tell? She quickly found herself tuning it out. Some of the survivors followed Kellen out of the mess to where they'd be bunking. He was easily one of the most aggravating people on the Cathartes and, probably, in the whole galaxy—an opinion shared by other crew-members, she was sure—however, through the doorway she caught a glimpse of first-place: Marlowe. He was badgering Disker about something, showing off a…toy? It looked like a toy. Had he picked it out of the wreckage? She felt herself growing annoyed with him already, a familiar feeling when it came to the lesser Voltus. Pirates ambush a pack of helpless traders, and Marlowe manages to salvage a toy rubble. With effort, Ezmy suppressed the urge to yell "grow up!" through the door, and chugged the last of her coffee instead. Her face twisted at the taste, and for a moment she thought she might not mind if the newcomers did drink it all. But the moment passed, and she went back for a refill. There were still enough people in the mess for her tastes; she'd stick around here until that changed, or until someone barked at her to make herself useful. No one ever got away with loitering on the Cathartes for long.</s> <\|message\|>Disker Isaacs --- Among the personnel on board the Cathartes, perhaps there was none as valuable to the Federation and Zeon remnants as the boy currently in front of Disker. Technically, Marlowe was now an adult but the childlike wonder from his youth never faded. Disker had the displeasure to chronicle this when he was among the ranks of the Titans as an experimental mobile suit engineer. While he wasn't one of the doctors pumping the lad full of mind-altering chemicals or psychologically reprogramming him to push beyond his physical limits, perhaps he could have done something to stop it back then. Not just for Marlowe but also for the rest of the unfortunate souls bound to the greed of the fascist warmongers considered to be the Federation's elite. While he can't change the past, Disker can certainly try to make amends now. "Let's have a look kid." he would state with mustered enthusiasm. Upon a quick glance, it was clear that the spherical mechanism was more than just a juvenile's toy. There was too much circuitry and intricate wiring that laid beneath the surface panels. Fascinating to the inquiring mind but not enough to distract him from the matter at hand. Disker would hand back the deceptively heavy device to Marlowe before continuing to walk towards the salvage bay. "Tell you what, come along with me to salvage and we'll see if we can borrow the tools needed to get that thing back on." the engineer would state, already a few steps ahead of Marlowe. Said tools were already in his personal quarters but he needed to ascertain some overlooked details of the scavenging team's latest sortie. Ready to slip ahead even further, a muffled yet familiar voice from a nearby source had told someone to "grow up" that prompted Disker to respond with "Invite goes out to you too, Eibril." Marlowe probably couldn't recall everything Disker needed so he would rope any who had gone out during the sortie, including the nearby Amagaida Xerda. The enigmatic pilot had skills unmatched by even those her senior but this most likely the meant the worst. A common trend in the Augusta Labs recruitment efforts were to target traumatized youth, particularly orphans, for their research effort. Of course, it wasn't advertised as such. Under the guise of humanitarian relief efforts, the Titans had promised that they would help the abandoned children readjust to peacetime as part of their campaigns to maintain order in the Earthsphere. While Disker couldn't be sure, he had a feeling Amagaida's upbringing certainly had to have been similar. Still, he approached her with the trepidation in his voice as they didn't have much of a personal rapport. "Pilot Xerda, if I may ask you to accompany us to salvage. I have a feeling either we or the assailants missed something and hired guns usually come back to finish the job." By the time they would arrive at the ship's wreckage collection and processing area, the scrapper crew would have gone through most of the initial screening process. All the serviceable materials would be placed to one section of the holding bay while the the rest would be hoarded near the jettison port in case they needed to make room, in the hopes that they can either readily replace the damaged junk with better quality scraps or hold on to it to find a buyer desperate enough to spend money on melted ceramic composite. Regardless of either future scenario, the damage marks of the latter scrap heap was what Disker needed to examine. "Did any of you get a good look on what caused this?" he would ask, taking a closer look at the scorch marks on one of the melted alloys. His sharp eye once again quickly came to a conclusion. "Because who ever jumped our guests are certainly packing tech that shouldn't be in service right now."</s>	<\|message\|>Leon Barlow Leon's mind came back to reality as the old man finished his speech to the survivors. None of this was his problem at the moment so, he decided it was to check up on his mobile armor. The focus currently was to keep the Gaplant ready for anything. The salvage unit would be crossing hostile space and pirates were always an issue. Leon didn't want to give himself away to those that seek to capture him; murder being the likely outcome by the people he's betrayed. He took his time making his way out of the mess hall, avoiding anyone who wanted to chat; his eyes landing on the man known as Disker and the kid known as Marlowe. Like the others on the ship, he didn't have many interactions with both men but, overhearing Disker piqued his interest. "Pilot Xerda, if I may ask you to accompany us to salvage. I have a feeling either we or the assailants missed something and hired guns usually come back to finish the job." "May I accompany you?" Leon was not posing an actual question as he planned on following the three regardless. They made their way to the salvage room and Disker looked over a bit of the wreckage. His words made Leon's eyebrow raise a bit, for he knew of only a handful of people with tech enough to do this damage.</s>
<\|description\|>Leon Barlow Character Info Age - 27 Gender - Male Place of Origin - Type - Newtype Mobile Weapon Profile Suit Type -Transformable Mobile Suit/Mobile Armor Suit Style - Federation Combat Role - Skirmisher Suit Armaments - Long Blade Rifle, 2x Beam Sabers, 2x Shield Boosters - Pilot Personality Stalwart If there were ever a single word that could aptly describe Leon's character, it would be stalwart. Steady and sure, Leon stands as impassive as a looming storm cloud, towering and lumbering over all those around him, being as constant and power-exuding without the need to mutter a few words. While capable of antics of frustration or irritation, Leon's true emotions never surface unless he's truly sincere about his resolve in committing to it. Like the rumblings of ominous thunder, Leon would often quell arguments by brief flares of rising temper to settle meaningless debates even within a his crew. Bitter Idealism is the bane of Leon's existence. He contempt for those that spew useless dreams that do little help anyone. A notion crafted from the meaningless deaths of his brother and father, Leon bares his fangs to those that seek to face the universe with no real plan. He tries to distance himself from the idealistic, hero types as those always lead to pain and suffering. To go out of his way to attack these types is not like him, but he is not friendly. N/A [color=#807B84][/color] \| Physical Description Leon is what you would call a midget; standing at only 5'3', Leon is below the average height for a male. Despite his height disadvantage, he weighs at a whooping 150 lbs; the weight mostly coming from the muscle obtained through vigorous workout, a notion obtained from his father that the body should always match the mind. In combat, he wears a suit bought help with the G force and comfort within space. It is insulated as well. Outside of combat, Leon keeps his attire simple with a black T-shirt, blue jeans, and hi-top red/black sneakers. Around his neck sits a wedding ring attached to a chain, a memento of his late mother. Character Conceptualization Leon is a mercenary trying to hide from the Federation, Zeon, and all those in-between. He was born and raised to pilot a mobile suit, his father Leon Barlow had always intended for him to join the Federation. His father knew his son was a Newtype and his plans were lofty. Unfortunately these plans would crash and burn as Leon lost both his father and brother during the War of 0088. Already skeptical, Leon became quite disillusioned with the Federation and Zeon, stealing his father's Gaplant before racing off into the stars. For years he made a name for himself as the mercenary known as Red Scream; Red being the color of his Gaplant, and the scream heard from his engine. Leon made it a rule to hide his face behind a mask. Now he seeks to hide from those that want him dead or jailed, his mind overlooking the true threat in the depths of space. Mobile Weapon Description Leon acquired his Gaplant by stealing it from the Federation after his father's funeral. A variation of the mass-produced Gaplant, the TR-5 is a customized variation to increase the speed of the mobile armor with shield boosters. The Gaplant comes with the standard issue beam sabers stored in the legs but, it also comes with a Long Sword Rifle; a weapon that forms the main cannon for the Mobile Armor and a sword/rifle for the Mobile Suit. This suit is mainly an offensive tool used by the Federation for high-precision strikes. \|</s> <\|message\|>Character Info --- Ezmy was relieved to have traded the crowd of whining rescues for the usual junkyard entourage of the Cathartes' crew. They weren't that much better, but she'd found a begrudging comfort in their company over the months, especially compared to the people they usually did business with. Watching Cornell guile respect out of Feds and Zeons made putting up with all the creeps and freaks on his payroll worth it. There'd be no escaping war—that the Cathartes existed at all was proof of that—but meeting its horrors with self-serving indifference was a pretty close second, in her opinion. They came to what was left of the scrapheap. Ezmy hopped up onto a pile of flattened debris and watched as Disker went to work doing…Thinker things. To her it just seemed like he was obsessing over ash-marks and slag, but she'd come to understand that there was usually more going on behind those eyes than might appear. "…Because whoever jumped our guests are certainly packing tech that shouldn't be in service right now." Wow, or maybe not? "You mean the pirates are using illegal weapons?" she asked dryly. "Killer detective work there, Disker." Beside them, Marlowe dragged a Fed over to ask him some questions. She found herself scowling again, already—it never took long when Marlowe was nearby. The younger Voltus had an effect on her, like the effect a cheese grater might have on the side of someone's face. She could practically feel the headache coming on as soon as he opened his mouth. Sometimes he didn't even need to talk, just his presence was an irritant. When the Fed shut up, Marlowe looked to the rest of them. Ezmy rolled her eyes. "I don't get it," she said. "If we're worried about the pirates coming back, we should just suit up and get out there. The trash isn't gonna tell us anything that seeing them won't."</s> <\|message\|>Amagaida "Gaida" Xerda --- "Normally, I'd say we don't have the numbers to play seek and destroy." Gaida smiled warmly as she put her hand on Ezmy's shoulder, "However... we aren't exactly lacking in people or suits." Gaida understood the logistics of tracking down pirates when their orders were contrary to that, but the red-haired woman would remind that she signed up to protect this junk-rig of a ship. Nothing more and nothing less. She didn't have any skin in the game with the pirates, though she knew the shortstock beside her most certainly had a sort of axe to grind. She was certain she yearned for action rather than protecting the ship or scanning around junk fields hoping that something interesting happened for once. She looked back toward Disker as she released her hand from the girl's shoulder. "I can power up my suit and join your group. At least, as long as our defenses here are ample enough. If we end up not doing little Ezmy's plan."</s> <\|message\|>Disker Isaacs --- Disker's inquiry was met with the standard fare he had become accustomed to from the Cathartes' pilots: Scaling from solo sincerity to ludicrous dismissal, with confident caution in between. At the extreme latter end of the scale was, of course, Ezmy but Disker already knew to expect that from her. He played along with her quip, smiling and nodding at her before breaking into a scowl. "Not illegal weapons, you muppet. I meant they're using old weapons. Think post-30 Bu- Mid 80s." A slip of the tongue, Disker had to bite his lip. The incident he was about to refer to was never made public knowledge but would definitely incense any Spacenoid that knew of that massacre. A legacy treasured only by the Titans in their suppression of dissidents. As Disker suspected, their Federation guest confirmed that it was indeed an early Titan mobile suit that committed the assault. "Titan Marasai, huh?.." While this piece of information did answer his early question, a dozen more took its place. "I mean, I guess that shouldn't be a problem for our MS team if we went but we'd need the old man to sign off on it." Disker would state, acknowledging the pilots' proposal to sortie out for a hunt. He was confident their combined experience would make short work of any jag piloting a discontinued mass production unit. However, wherever there's cannon fodder, there's bound to be an opposing cannon aimed directly at you. "My only concern is the fact that our future playdate might be packing more Titan relics, some of which we are not able to deal with. Not with our current firepower." The exotic arsenal designed by the mad geniuses of the purged Federation elite was deadly. Some were able to blast targets with beams beyond the horizon, some able to precisely dissect targets with wire-guided beams up close, and even some more nullified beam attacks altogether. Who knows what they were gonna encounter but Disker suspected it was coming for them soon.</s> <\|message\|>Character Info --- Ezmy's fists balled up on reflex the moment Gaida touched her, shuddering like the temperature had suddenly dipped into the negatives. She shot the woman a hard look, eyes flicking from her to her hand, as if, surely, it was just some tragic mistake that it had landed on her shoulder. But no, it wasn't, and Gaida went on to agree with her, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Ezmy might not have been a very socially-conscious person, but she knew when she was being patronized. "…little Ezmy's plan." Oh, she'd be paying for that one. "Gee Gaida, thanks." She said through teeth grated in the closest approximation to a smile that Ezmy could muster. When the woman took her hand away, Ezmy brushed imaginary grime off of her shoulder. She wasn't done with her, but Disker's sharp interjection reminded her that there was, in fact, an actual conversation of import going on. Fine. There'd be plenty of time for getting even later. "Okay, and?" she snipped back at Disker. "If the pirates come back, the options are run, or fight, and you're out of your mind if you think this hunk of junk is outrunning anything. Fuck's sake, you don't have to stall like this, you can just say you're scared. Not like anyone'd be surprised." That was a bit of a low-blow. Ezmy didn't have much respect for Disker's…"cautious" piloting style, but that didn't mean he was useless; he was a coward, she thought, but even cowards could be good shots. Still, with how quiet the man usually was, it was worth snatching at the opportunity to get a rise out of him. "The real question is whether or not we're gonna sit around scrapbooking until they get the jump on us."</s>	<\|message\|>Leon Barlow Leon stood at the back of the pack as the Federation man described what happened to the survivors. He didn't know if this man would be able to identify him and did not want to take that chance. Despite the fact that the survivors were in a desperate situation, Federation members were as stupid as they come, Leon knew that much from experience. Instead he sat back, listening to Disker and the rest decide on what to do next. A hunt for pirates did not seem like a fun time for the mercenary but, it could give him a bit of assurance that this place would be safe for the rest of the journey, though he had a different worry about the existence of pirates with a Titan. "Fuck's sake, you don't have to stall like this, you can just say you're scared. Not like anyone'd be surprised." "Enough." Leon's voice was loud but, still gravelly. He took a few steps to Disker's side, his body language giving off a vibe of being a calm, emotionless robot. "He's a bit too cautious but, being cautious is smart. I'll join if we are going to do this instead of arguing about it." Leon scanned the few pilots who made this small ragtag group. He didn't know much of their skills besides what he saw, so he hoped this wouldn't be a death wish waiting to happen, especially with a kid among them.</s>
<\|description\|>Imarui, or Ima for short * Age: 10 * Gender: Female * Appearance: A small, slight little girl with pale blue, almost silver eyes and silvery hair. She has pale skin and her clothing is largely tan in coloration. * Personality: Imarui is an endlessly inquisitive young girl who seems to largely possess little in the way of fear. This isn't to say she is completely lacking in caution, as even a young artifact hunter will quickly come to understand you need to be at least somewhat cautious at the potential expense of their own life, but her ability to ignore her own fear and press onwards is what fuels her ability to explore. Indeed, Imarui has a reputation among the children of Hensia for being the first among them to go exploring any new and exciting locations found around the settlement. An enthusiastic and cheerful child, in spite of her lack of a family Imarui has a bright and friendly outward approach to others, and is quite eager to meet hunters and all kinds of other people from outside of her hometown. That being said, this sunny disposition is not the sum total of her character. Her curiosity and boundless desire to explore is born in part from her desire to learn about her family. She is also deeply protective of her necklace, given that it is the only thing she has from her family, and thus is quite unwilling to share its secret. Deep down, Imarui feels some jealousy towards those who have gotten to grow up with their families, even if she tries not to show it. When upset, she is prone to recklessness, forgetting her own sense of caution and trying to explore to cheer herself up. Willing to do anything to learn more about her family, there's no doubt Imarui would be swift to follow even the slightest potential trace of them. * Brief Backstory: Imarui arrived at the Hensia orphanage courteously of what can only be presumed to be her mother. A beautiful, almost ethereal woman who had appeared as an artifact hunter from Navra suddenly dropped off a bundle at their doorstep, and departed just as quickly as she seemed to appear. On investigation, the bundle was a newborn baby, with a note attached to her blanket simply reading "Please take care of Imarui" and a necklace with a blue gemstone inlaid in it. It was here she was raised, and came to be a part of Hensia's young artifact hunters. Located near an old city with an almost infinite number of deep tunnels beneath it, Hensia's population is distinct in its high number of artifact hunters. It also has some of the youngest artifact hunters, in spite of the danger inherent in the profession. Artifact hunting is viewed with considerable reverence in Hensia, and therefore in spite of the danger and her young age a combination of this reverence and Imarui's own adventurous nature spurred her to throw herself into it. Besides, if her mother was an artifact hunter, maybe she could learn more about her by doing it herself? It was quite quickly that Imarui discovered the properties of her necklace. That it could detect artifacts and guide her to them. Amazed by this, but fearful that it would be classed as an artifact and taken away from her if she told anyone, Imarui has kept it a secret ever since she first learned about it. Not only is it her only link to her mother, but perhaps it will let her discover something that could lead her to learn more... * Skills: Imarui has a high level of energy and is good at climbing and squeezing into small spaces. She is also fairly knowledgeable about local flora and fauna around Hensia, as any artifact hunter in the area should be to avoid tragic circumstances. She's capable at running and hiding, but her only self-defense abilities beyond that are knowing how to stab things with her small knife. * Abilities: Imarui is an ordinary ten-year-old girl in capabilities. She does not know magic nor does she possess any supernatural strength in any way. * Equipment: Imarui carries with her a back full of basic supplies for an artifact hunter. Food, water, a few small knives and excavation tools, and flares. She also carries her Hensia Artifact Hunter's League badge. Most important, however, is her necklace. Not only is it the only thing connecting her to her family, but it is also an artifact in itself. A strange type, nameless as it was never registered with the auction house, it seems to function only by detecting other artifacts and guiding the user to them with a shaft of light. This is the only ability Imarui knows it has. * Faction: Hensia Artifact Hunter's League, the guild which all local hunters work out of.</s> <\|message\|>Erika Frost Erika Frost and a Robot Catgirl Ready Up --- Erika had took the early morning to gather her supplies. One could never know how long they would be stuck searching for Artifacts. Or, perhaps, if they would ever come back from searching at all. She scratched the back of her head and sighed as she stuffed a small amount of supplies into a backpack. Should be enough for the day, perhaps she could push it to tomorrow easily. Worst case, had to come back for a resupply. This would be easy enough. Well, it would be normally. The tanned girl looked over to the other inhabitant of the room. An odd... creature? No, what she was told was... Magitech Robot? Something of the sort. Omega... Something, something. Tanja was what she was sure this girl was called. Her teacher had mentioned an agreement with Alhein. One of her disciples would watch over the catgirl, the disciple in question being Erika herself. What Fuuka got out of it? Well, that was a good question. She was rather vague about it. Though, Erika might have been distracted by other things when she was told about it. There was likely something good for her master to agree to it. Well, either way, it was just her normal job with an extra person along. She fastened a couple of items to her belt. A light source that one could attach to their head, a small portable laser cutter and a flashbang device. Then, one of the more important items, her magitech sword. She attached the sheath to her side and pulled the blade out to check on it quickly enough. Yes, it seemed to be in fine condition. With a smile, she put it back in it's home and double checked. Yep, that was everything. After that she looked at the Artifact on her wrist, Medusa, and rubbed it with a small smile. Her partner for ten years or so now was one of the few constants in her life. She hoped it would stay that way. Either was, now wasn't the time to think on the past. She walked over to Tanja, hoping she'd be ready to head down into their new brand of hell. "You cute little thing." Erika said, rubbing the catgirl's head a small bit. The cat had seemed friendly enough so far and that was fine with Erika. "Hope you're ready to head down. It's the start of Tanja and Erika's big Artifact hunt. Our goal is at the very least ten." The girl said with a confident smile. Of course, it was most likely an unobtainable goal of course. One was lucky if they would find even one artifact, let alone ten. "Something tells me that we're up to a very good partnership!" Her arm wrapped around Tanja's head and pulled her close. "You know how to get to the site right?"</s> <\|message\|>Omega-Type Magitek Battle Automaton Prototype #7 'Tanja'. Or Tanja, for short. It's not a very catchy name. Robot Cat, Ready and Waiting Tanja was gaining an appreciation for what it was like to be some sort of incomprehensible work of art. First, that jerk had come and found her and made a big mess out of things... then an even bigger mess trying to work things out. Then she'd been traded off to Alhein after he gave up in exchange for something more practical. And then they had passed her off to some lady with glasses because nobody wanted to do any babysitting. That hadn't lasted any time at all before Tanja had once again been handed over to another stranger, though Erika didn't seem to be in a hurry to get rid of her. At least all this being shuffled around had given her time to learn the local language--and get hold of some sort of pistol given how she was apparently now a tagalong explorer. Nothing too impressive or high-spec but... it was perfectly adequate for the time being. Way less interesting than the ID she'd been issued after some confused arguing, with Alhein finally being the ones responsible and some arguing about what on earth the details should be. Nobody had been receptive toawrds giving Herr Wal one, though. So mean... Tanja wouldn't deny being cute, though, nor reject the tanned girl's affection. Ah, that felt nice, and the taller girl was friendly... eyes closed, the robot missed most of her following statement, purring, quite loudly at that, under the attention. Though being roped into the hug brought her attention back to the conversation: "Ja! Ah... follow you!" Maybe she should pay more attention to details like that now she wasn't in some pass-the-parcel game.</s> <\|message\|>Leonard S. Fleming --- Waking up early did not help with the number of people who thought of the same thing lining up and waiting inside the Hensia Artifact Hunter's League's main administrative building for their temporary license to be issued. The line nearly reached all the way outside of the plant-covered building! Leo couldn't blame them though. A practically untouched and recently cleared tunnel looking for hunters to explore it? Too sweet a deal for any self-respecting hunter to pass up. Well, maybe too sweet a deal considering the number of hunters present. Looking on the bright side of the situation, at least the line was moving and there was no point in waiting while doing nothing. Leo unscrewed a respirator tube from his mask and let it fall limp on his shoulder as he prepared to light and smoke a stick while waiting. But an abrupt cough and an irritated-looking staff member pointing to a 'no smoking' sign cut him off just as he was to enjoy the wait. "Figures." He says with a disappointed tone as he put away his cigarette and reattached the respirator tube. This was going to be a long wait. [One hour later...] Now with his temporary license, he can finally go to the tunnel and get this party started. The quick walk through the sun-filled streets of Hensia was quite uneventful. Other than the odd peddler trying to vie for his attention and interest in the wares they were selling or the interesting looks from the locals, Leo wouldn't mind staying a few extra days here. A soft smile graced his hidden face when he remembered the equally peaceful and tranquil streets of his hometown. His musings were cut short when a middle-aged man clad in grey and a tall hat asked him for his badge. While handing over his temporary license, he noticed a peculiar thing to the chasm that made him raise an eyebrow in confusion. A little girl, no older than ten, stood ahead of him. Waiting for the elevator and looking around to pass the time. "Hey...uh...kid? You lost or something?" Leo asked. His voice muffled as it may be from the airtight mask, was with concern for the seemingly random chid. Skills: ◼ Uncanny Combat Prowess - From humble fisticuffs to complex magitech weapons, fighting comes to him as if second nature. ◼ Equipment Maintenance Proficiency - Take care of your gear and your gear will take care of you. ◼ Medical Ability - He's no doctor by any standard, but he can patch you up in a pinch. Abilities: ◼ Peak Human Ability - You don't really last very long in the business if you aren't. ◼ Enhanced Willpower - Willpower is significantly above average. It will take a lot to break him. ◼ Natural Navigator - Unless caused by magical means, getting lost will not be a concern. Equipment: * Modified T-35b Combat Armor Set - Segmented combat armor lightened enough to not hinder movement, but kept tough enough to withstand small arms fire and offensive spells to a reasonable extent. * Custom GK-4 Battle Rifle - A battle rifle modified with a shorter barrel for maneuverability in small areas and a fixed bayonet for instances Leo can't switch to his axe quick enough. * Type 5 LH Axe - A battle axe fitted with a device that layers the axe head with a disruptive field to significantly increase its cutting ability. Helps retain the edges to boot. * Durable Knapsack - A bag made from tough leather that contains tools, gadgets, supplies, and other goodies you wouldn't want to leave home without. Faction: Independent</s>	<\|message\|>Imarui, or Ima for short "Ah?" The voice from behind her sounded funny... sort of unclear and muffled, like they were wearing something over their mouth. And when Imarui turned to face them, she discovered that was exactly the case. It was a figure much larger then herself, completely covered in metal. For a moment she thought he must be some kind of machine, but that didn't seem very likely when she thought about it. His voice didn't sound like it was a robot's voice... not that she knew what that sounded like. "What do you mean?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, "I'm going down to look for artifacts, just like you are!" Realizing that just saying that might not be enough, she quickly reached into her bag and retrieved her league membership badge to show off. To be honest, she hadn't registered herself. It was an automatic process that had been done for her, just like many of the other children at the orphanage. It was perplexing to Imarui why she'd been asked in the first place. There were artifacts hunters all over, right? So surely she wasn't the only child who did it, right? Of course, Imarui had no idea that child artifact hunters were not only very rare outside of Hensia, but not even legal in many territories.</s>
<\|description\|>Erika Frost Age: 19 Gender Female Appearance: It's easy to pick out Erika in a crowd for the most part. She has rather impressively tanned skin and bleach blonde hair. While a bit on the taller side, the woman definitely isn't anything impressive in that department. She's rather well endowed in a few select areas and tends to wear outfits that emphasize that aspect. Personality: There's an old, archaic term used to describe one aspect of her. Gyaru. Her speech mannerisms, for the most part, tend to be odd and likely to garner her a few looks of curiosity. Outside that, however, she's a rather out-going and friendly girl though with a small competitive streak. She likes to make friends with most people she sees unless they give her bad "vibes". When it comes to her job however, she's more than happy to make it a competition if it comes to it and she can be a bit on the aggressive side with trash talking, though she seems to calm down when she wins or loses. "Brief" Backstory: At a young age Fuuka lived with her father, an artifact hunter, near a rather active artifact hotspot. He had a few small but interesting pieces that may or may not have been actual artifacts, it was hard for her to tell. But, he showed her how to work on said pieces to make them work and it sparked a passion in her. Some years later, he went on an artifact hunt to the nearby spot and she never heard from him again. She asked some of the hunters that knew him if they had seen him and they all told her that they hadn't. Years passed until she was almost nine years old. She lived in the same dilapidated house that she had lived with her father in. She became somewhat well know, at least among the orphan population and some of the poorer folk, as someone who could fix things for some food if there was no other choice. She took scraps she found and worked them together with some of her father's weathered and beaten equipment to make a few small, simple gadgets. Simple things that she could sell off to some of the artifact hunters for a small price and telling her if they found a clue about her father. Not that there was any of that ever found. One, however, an older man brought her a stack of books. Books with pictures with bubbles carrying text. An old entertainment source of some kind. They were in miraculously good shape too! Seeing as she was interested in then, he gave it to her since she made something that was useful to him in his search. Not long after she decided that if no one else would find her father she would. She went out of her way to gather a weeks worth of supplies, water and make some devices. With that and some protective clothing, she descended into where the relics would be. The same place her father might be, an underground complex of sorts. She dove rather deep and at one point, she was just about to give up. There were many chambers and all were empty. Obviously, others had already looted these easy to access areas. Then she came upon something. A mark etched into the wall that she had seen only from one person, her father. It was something akin to a snowflake and there was an arrow pointing to a direction. Then another. And another and then she found herself in front of a hole in the wall. It was seemingly dug out some. Obvious indentations showed someone had tried to take a pick to it before. They were somewhat successful as there was hole. Small enough for someone of small stature to crawl through. On the otherside, she found a room that was mostly looted. There was, however, a capsule-like construct in the middle of the room. It was a machine of some sort. It still hummed with power, somehow, but it didn't seem to want to open. She had brought some tools with her so she took a look at it and, somehow, opened it. Inside was a bracelet of some sort. She took it. Perhaps… An artifact? She frowned and exited the way she entered. She stuffed it in her bag and explored a bit more though she did not find hide nor hair of her father. She turned back and safely returned home. When she got home, she met someone. A rather well endowed woman who seemed interested in her skills and the ability to collect an artifact herself. Her name, Fuuka. And, as Erika learned later, one of the sages. Due to her expressed skills, Fuuka took her in as a disciple. After she was taken in, Erika started to imitate the style of the girls in those books the old man had given her and started to respect Fuuka as a teacher and came to appreciate her as mother figure, or perhaps even more than that… Skills In her heart, Erika is an engineer before anything else. That said, there's a part of her that just loves delving into ruins and other places to find Artifacts. It's even better if she can mix both of these passions into one thing. She's honed herself as an engineer, fighter and searcher. Almost comically, she's also quite skilled at parkour, starting training in this after she was taken in by Fuuka. She's very good at keeping up or keeping away from people. Abilities: Erika has pretty good reflexes and dexterity. What she lacks in fortitude and strength she more than makes up for with her control over her body. Equipment: Erika has one artifact that she just so happened to come across in her journeys. Her teacher, Fuuka, called it "Medusa" and it's a marvelous piece of machinery and magic. By first look, it's a rather fine looking bracelet. But once you put it on and funnel some magic into it, it produces an outfit around the wearer. It gives a feeling of having multiple forms, but there only seems to be one. A picture in an old book seems to describe the look as a "Ninja Outfit". As for what makes the outfit special, it increases physical strength through mechanical means and has a grappling hook in one gauntlet that can pull the user to the location the hook is as well as giving the user a rather cool look. In her free time, Erika likes to pick at the bracelet to discover its secrets. Outside of her single artifact, she has a more mundane magitech sword to defend herself with. Faction: "Totes, Fuuka!"</s> <\|message\|>Turel Valsyar @Searat @Rune_Alchemist Turel awoke early this morning, starting his day with some light exercise to loosen and ready his muscles for the day ahead. He then followed with a bit of mediation to clear his mind and sharpen his senses for the road ahead. In this world one wrong turn could mean a swift death was in your future. One must always be ready, but more importantly, one must be able to adapt and respond to sudden situations accordingly. Finished with that, he gathered some essential items in his bag - a few repair kits, medicine, emergency provisions, the usual. He then fastened the strap along his torso, along with taking out another interestingly long case. The case held his signature magictech twinblade, a weapon of his custom design that's seen him through countless battles - Yoake Mae. He opened the case and removed the blade, revealing the weapon as the blades glistened in the morning rays. "Mornin' partner." He mused to himself. With that he headed out of his room at the inn he'd been staying at and made his way to the reception desk, where he paid his tab. He gave a friendly farewell to the receptionist and walked out the front doors. It was time for the hunt! Procuring a temp license for the Hensia area the day prior was easy enough, thanks to the connections he had from his earlier days. He quickly made his way to the hunting site, not really that fazed by the ruins and overgrowth of plantlife. Having been to all sorts of places, it was a sight that Valsyar was all too familiar with. He greeted a few people while on the way, one of which was a blacksmith who thanked him for fixing some broken items and even giving him some more up-to-date tool sets. Eventually, he happened upon a man who appeared to be in his thirties dressed in gray with a top hat. "Greetings sir! I believe this is what you're looking for?" He quickly flashed his badge to the guard, and after receiving passage, made his way to the ruins. While he had high hopes for this trek, rumors are more often than not just rumors. Unfortunately, in lands that are at this point mostly uncharted, many times that's all one has to go off of. After reaching the chasm, he took notice of the other hunters gathered there. Among them, three in particular caught his eye. A young woman looked to be from the Fuso region, possibly had connections with the Burial Agency maybe? Another was a taller person who was covered head to toe in military gear, even complete with a gas mask. The nostalgia it gave off almost made Turel smirk, reminiscing on days long past. The third, however, was quite the shock to him. A little girl in cute goggles, probably no older than ten, was among the crowd of hunters. At first, he immediately thought that she was either lost or bidding farewell to her hunter caretakers. But, after seeing her official license, it was filled with even more surprise. They're letting children as young as her pass as artifact hunters? He thought to himself. But enough of that, the adults present had already introduced themselves and Turel was the odd man out. "Greetings! A pleasure to meet you, Leonard and Meixue. My name is Turel Valsyar: Freelance Artifact Hunter and Magictech Repairman at your service. I bid good hunting to you all, even the little miss joining us today. And your name is?" He said, turning to the little girl with a welcoming smile.</s> <\|message\|>Aerynne Aerynne --- The day began fine for Aerynne. It had been a while since she was able to sleep on even a mildly fluffy bed like the one from the family that took her in while she was staying in Hensia. Renting a room in a family house certainly beat a cheap inn any day of the week, especially when she could get some tasty freshly baked bread out of it. How was it, again? Bread and Breakfast... Aerynne certainly could get used to that. Or so she thought as she made her way to HAHL's headquarters. Thanks to having made her reservations a day before, it was no problem for Aerynne to just come and collect her temporary license. Openings of ruins like this one always attracted all kinds of crowds, from real hardcore pros to curious people just wanting to take a look. Case in point, the strange duo of a—seemingly—gritty old man dressed in what looked like surplus military gear and a small girl who looked like she could going out for a field trip. Since she had nothing better to do, Aerynne decided to observe it from a short distance. And then, as she did so, a couple more joined the previous two. "Party forming sure does look like a good idea. Maybe I should try doing it too?" Aerynne said to herself as she continued to observe the people around her while slowly plucking bite-sized bits of her bread and eating them. --- @VitaVitaAR@Rune_Alchemist@AzureKnight</s>	<\|message\|>Erika Frost Erika Frost and a Robot Catgirl leave for work --- Erika smirked at Tanja's purring. She found this robot somewhat adorable. Still, with her partner admitting her lack of knowledge of where they were going, "Well, it's a good thing I took a quick peak earlier." Erika mentioned with a slight giggle. She released the catgirl from her grasp and opened the door. "Come then, follow me." Erika was quick to pick up on the tradition of this town, the so called unspoken rule of never saying goodbye. As the two left, she saw the Innkeeper and gave her a quick wave to catch the woman's attention. "We'll be back today or tomorrow." With that, the woman smiled and return the phrase. "Then I'll see you then." With that, Erika and Tanja were out the door heading to where they would be hunting relics. Luckily, it wasn't a far walk. From where they were, they walked through a makeshift market and towards the also makeshift lift down to the hunting site. A guard stood there, always was one. Making sure people were authorized in the guild. Before he had a chance to ask her, she pulled out her pass from somewhere and showed it to him. "I sure am authorized my good man." She said with a smile on her face. "And this here is my partner, authorized as well." She added, patting the cat earred girl on her head. The guard was slightly taken aback, but noted that Erika seemed pretty eager to get down to work with her smile and let her pass. With her continued smile, she grabbed Tanja by the hand and took her to the lift. "We'll be back." She mentioned before the two disappeared down into the sinkhole. At the bottom, after departing, Erika let go of Tanja's hand and took a look around. "Tanja my girl, these are the first steps of our first, possibly last... Forey into some ruins together. We'll have to work hard together, today." She nodded before looking over and seeing a couple of hunters surrounding a lone girl. She was perhaps nine or ten. It really wasn't that different from the age when she started diving into ruins. She was nine when she went to search for her dad and Fuuka picked her up. She sighed. "Well, hope that girl gets lucky as I did." She muttered to herself and Tanja. "What do you think, Tanja? Talk to them?" She asked her cat-eared partner before patting her on the head.</s>
<\|description\|>Omega-Type Magitek Battle Automaton Prototype #7 'Tanja'. Or Tanja, for short. It's not a very catchy name. * Age: Pre-Cataclysm (She presumes) * Gender: Female * Only 4'6. * Personality: An odd combination of naive but flirtatious, it's quite clear that Tanja has minimal experience with the wider world--and absolutely none with the current state of it--but isn't really much of a child, even with the whale. Around pretty girls in particular. Overwhelmingly curious and reckless, she's probably too quick to trust people. Most people. She really doesn't like Rothschild. Although she doesn't show it too much, Tanja much prefers being indoors. The sky is just too big. * Brief Backstory: As her full name would suggest, Tanja is a prototype for a line of magitech robots--suggesting that at least some magic was present before the cataclysm, although as a robot who never left the lab she was created in, she can't really confirm it for anyone else beyond pointing out that one day the researchers stopped showing up and the exits were blocked with solid stone. Before that, they were testing her ability to manipulate magic and running various combat tests--and from her name, general accent, and the name of her plushie, it was probably somewhere in Germany. She was down there a very long time. Fortunately, it was a self-contained lab with its own power system, although inevitably all sources but magic directly dried up and more and more switched to a power-saving state. Occasionally, things somehow got in and Tanja was forced to deal with them, but they never left a clear way out--just forced use of high-power weaponry in what was slowly becoming some sort of magical dead zone. Inevitably, though, one person did manage to find his way down there. Unfortunately, Tanja had no idea that Rothschild was not some sort of monster and reacted violently despite her own lack of power. That ended... poorly for her, although all core damage was eventually fixed. The Sage, for his part, was unable to gather much of interest from Tanja or the now-wrecked lab and, for once, decided to not keep the newly discovered artefact. After naming and cataloguing it (and ignoring the complaint that she already had a name), Tanja was traded in Hensia for something--ostensibly--picked up near the new tunnel, and found herself gradually passed up to Alhein because nobody else could work out what to do with a combat robot. Despite looking fully operational to a casual observer, she'd estimate that only a quarter to a third of the damage is actually repaired and it's going to be a long time to do as she's never learned a way to accelerate her own repair process--and the tools she knows could help were rather destroyed. * Skills: Tanja's primary claim to being helpful is that she can use pre-cataclysm technology pretty well. She can't break through security or tell you how it works but she can turn it on and, perhaps crucially, read the instructions. Beyond that, she's small, extremely flexible, and weighs even less than she looks, and she's a surprisingly good shot with a gun. Albeit she insists that it should be better. * Abilities: Initially designed as a robot to harness magic directly for combat purposes, Tanja can, in fact, work on using it normally and without worrying about all the initial "learn how to feel and manipulate" it stages that plague most beginners. She just has no clue because she was also created with a large number of components that would automatically perform the necessary steps for her--magic items only useful to her, in other words. A few, such as the flight components, only manifest externally when in use. Unfortunately, they range in various states from atomised to simply offline, so her ability to act as a one-person laser weapons platform is curtailed to almost nothing, along with her aim. It's still enough to fire in extremis but that means doing most of the work manually. That she considers this temporary shows the real miracle in her creation, beyond combining these features in an artificial lifeform. Unless all the essential components in her body are destroyed (and she refuses to say how many there are, or if the information is distributed through all of it, for obvious reasons), then over time she can simply draw in magic and use it to power herself and repair anything necessary. Other power sources can also be used for this, up to and including eating. * Equipment: Technically, one could say that the artefact known as Angel of Destruction: Leo is in Tanja's possession, in the same way that you could say anyone else is in their own possession. But, as a rather willful artefact with no known access codes to force her co-operation and an unsurprising level of encryption, she's not really controlled. Beyond borrowing guns as needed, she owns a plush whale, imaginatively named Herr Wal. Although not one of her built-in components, he seems to have been built to test including external objects in the repairs. Given that it has been thousands of years without any fading or damage, the test seems to have been successful even if nothing else was completed. * Faction: Alhein (under observation)</s> <\|message\|>Imarui, or Ima for short --- Hensia Doesn't Say Goodbye --- Morning. Her small room contained a bookshelf, her bed, a small desk, and a few stuffed animals. Sitting on the desk was her backpack and a few other objects, a stone with a whirl in it she felt certain was some sort of fossil, a chunk of some ancient metal she guessed belonged to some pre-cataclysm device, and a weathered figure that appeared to be some kind of stone owl. None of them had been taken by the auction house, so she was permitted to keep them. They neither had any kind of mystical ability nor particular value as curios. The young girl had been awake for a little while now. She was on duty today. And it was going to be her first opportunity to go somewhere new. The tunnel had barely been touched yet, the Hensia League had only just cleared it for full exploration... and she was going to be one of the first Artifact Hunters in town cleared for full exploration! Needless to say, the white-haired girl was filled with excitement, but that didn't mean she forgot about how important preparations were. Food, water, tools, a flashlight... and of course... She placed one hand against her chest, clutching her necklace in one hand. For actually finding an artifact, it was the most important part. Imarui adjusted her hat, and pulled her goggles down over her eyes. She pulled on her backpack, smiling to herself. She wasn't going to be exploring old tunnels anymore today! This was all new territory! The silvery-haired young girl opened the door to her room and made her departure. "Good luck, Ima!" she heard one of her friends, a blue haired girl named Sana, call to her as she sprinted down the hall excitedly. Grinning, she waved towards her. Turning the corner, Imarui made her way to the front door. "We will be awaiting your return, Imarui." The source of the voice was a tall woman in a black dress with her dark brown hair in a tight bun. Valery was one of her caretakers, one of the two younger ladies who helped run the orphanage. Imarui always felt she was a little too strict, though. Still, she gave a bright and cheery nod. She'd heard that phrase plenty. It was customary in Hensia never to say goodbye, after all. Artifact hunting was dangerous, and many of Hensia's residents engaged in it. It was a part of their culture. So if you told someone goodbye, it implied you knew you might never see them again. So it was simple. You never said goodbye. "I'll be back!" Ima declared brightly. It was a sunny, bright day in Hensia. The orphanage was on the north side of the town, near a heavily overgrown old ruin that was impossible to see under all the plants growing over it. It was a large, rectangular building with a rounded roof, standing on stilts that angled outwards like many other buildings in Hensia. Surrounding town was the remains of ancient buildings, trees growing in and around them... to the west it was more open, but to the east the foliage and the ruins simply grew denser and denser. The east of Hensia was more dangerous. Imarui sprinted down the steps and into the street. The tunnel had opened up on the opposite side of town, so... She had a little ways to go! "Good luck, little hunter!" a familiar voice to her right called. It was the baker, a bearded older man hauling some flower home on the back of his Carrier Bird. The green and purple plumage of the large, long-necked, flightless bird was surprisingly brilliant in the morning sun. "Thank you, you too!" she called to him, before hurrying off down the street. Around her were people busying about their business... Carrier birds, a few small floating wagons... the local inn was bustling with all the hunters who had showed up from out of town, too. But there was no time to hang around and take it in! --- It looked like jaws had opened up in the earth. A yawning chasm down into the darkness, rimmed with jagged fragments of stone and ancient roadways. No matter how bright it was, there was no way you were doing to see to the bottom down there. There used to be a building where the chasm now was, one that thankfully no-one had been inside of at the time. The tunnels beneath Hensia were well known, but this was much closer to town then any of the others... and it had been the first collapse in... Imarui didn't even know when the last collapse had been. But it had been pretty long ago. Around the edge of the chasm, on the side closest to town, the Hensia Artifact Hunter's League had done what it could to ensure the hunters at least made it down safely by setting up small, chain-powered elevators. Each was big enough for one or two people, depending on their size, and could hold a great deal of weight. Given the size of some artifacts, that was important. She approached the nearest elevator. In front of it was a middle-aged man in a tall hat and grey clothing. "Your badge?" he asked. Proudly, Imarui fished her badge from a pocket on her backpack and raised it in her hand. Emblazoned with the abbreviation 'HAHL', it was a sure sign of one's membership of the league. Hunters from out of town would have had to obtain a temporary license, but that was definitely not going to be an obstacle when a potential bounty like this was on the line. "You may pass," he began, before turning to look at her as she walked by, "We'll see you again, won't we?" "Of course!" With that, she stopped just ahead of the elevator, looking around. While she was eager to explore, she was just as curious about the out of town hunters who were around as well. She hadn't seen this many people from outside Hensia for as long as she could remember... ... And maybe, just maybe, she was more nervous about descending into the darkness then she'd ever admit. Daze@Rune_Alchemist@KoL@Pyromania99@Searat@AzureKnight@ERode</s> <\|message\|>Erika Frost Erika Frost and a Robot Catgirl Ready Up --- Erika had took the early morning to gather her supplies. One could never know how long they would be stuck searching for Artifacts. Or, perhaps, if they would ever come back from searching at all. She scratched the back of her head and sighed as she stuffed a small amount of supplies into a backpack. Should be enough for the day, perhaps she could push it to tomorrow easily. Worst case, had to come back for a resupply. This would be easy enough. Well, it would be normally. The tanned girl looked over to the other inhabitant of the room. An odd... creature? No, what she was told was... Magitech Robot? Something of the sort. Omega... Something, something. Tanja was what she was sure this girl was called. Her teacher had mentioned an agreement with Alhein. One of her disciples would watch over the catgirl, the disciple in question being Erika herself. What Fuuka got out of it? Well, that was a good question. She was rather vague about it. Though, Erika might have been distracted by other things when she was told about it. There was likely something good for her master to agree to it. Well, either way, it was just her normal job with an extra person along. She fastened a couple of items to her belt. A light source that one could attach to their head, a small portable laser cutter and a flashbang device. Then, one of the more important items, her magitech sword. She attached the sheath to her side and pulled the blade out to check on it quickly enough. Yes, it seemed to be in fine condition. With a smile, she put it back in it's home and double checked. Yep, that was everything. After that she looked at the Artifact on her wrist, Medusa, and rubbed it with a small smile. Her partner for ten years or so now was one of the few constants in her life. She hoped it would stay that way. Either was, now wasn't the time to think on the past. She walked over to Tanja, hoping she'd be ready to head down into their new brand of hell. "You cute little thing." Erika said, rubbing the catgirl's head a small bit. The cat had seemed friendly enough so far and that was fine with Erika. "Hope you're ready to head down. It's the start of Tanja and Erika's big Artifact hunt. Our goal is at the very least ten." The girl said with a confident smile. Of course, it was most likely an unobtainable goal of course. One was lucky if they would find even one artifact, let alone ten. "Something tells me that we're up to a very good partnership!" Her arm wrapped around Tanja's head and pulled her close. "You know how to get to the site right?"</s>	<\|message\|>Omega-Type Magitek Battle Automaton Prototype #7 'Tanja'. Or Tanja, for short. It's not a very catchy name. Robot Cat, Ready and Waiting Tanja was gaining an appreciation for what it was like to be some sort of incomprehensible work of art. First, that jerk had come and found her and made a big mess out of things... then an even bigger mess trying to work things out. Then she'd been traded off to Alhein after he gave up in exchange for something more practical. And then they had passed her off to some lady with glasses because nobody wanted to do any babysitting. That hadn't lasted any time at all before Tanja had once again been handed over to another stranger, though Erika didn't seem to be in a hurry to get rid of her. At least all this being shuffled around had given her time to learn the local language--and get hold of some sort of pistol given how she was apparently now a tagalong explorer. Nothing too impressive or high-spec but... it was perfectly adequate for the time being. Way less interesting than the ID she'd been issued after some confused arguing, with Alhein finally being the ones responsible and some arguing about what on earth the details should be. Nobody had been receptive toawrds giving Herr Wal one, though. So mean... Tanja wouldn't deny being cute, though, nor reject the tanned girl's affection. Ah, that felt nice, and the taller girl was friendly... eyes closed, the robot missed most of her following statement, purring, quite loudly at that, under the attention. Though being roped into the hug brought her attention back to the conversation: "Ja! Ah... follow you!" Maybe she should pay more attention to details like that now she wasn't in some pass-the-parcel game.</s>
<\|description\|>Omega-Type Magitek Battle Automaton Prototype #7 'Tanja'. Or Tanja, for short. It's not a very catchy name. * Age: Pre-Cataclysm (She presumes) * Gender: Female * Only 4'6. * Personality: An odd combination of naive but flirtatious, it's quite clear that Tanja has minimal experience with the wider world--and absolutely none with the current state of it--but isn't really much of a child, even with the whale. Around pretty girls in particular. Overwhelmingly curious and reckless, she's probably too quick to trust people. Most people. She really doesn't like Rothschild. Although she doesn't show it too much, Tanja much prefers being indoors. The sky is just too big. * Brief Backstory: As her full name would suggest, Tanja is a prototype for a line of magitech robots--suggesting that at least some magic was present before the cataclysm, although as a robot who never left the lab she was created in, she can't really confirm it for anyone else beyond pointing out that one day the researchers stopped showing up and the exits were blocked with solid stone. Before that, they were testing her ability to manipulate magic and running various combat tests--and from her name, general accent, and the name of her plushie, it was probably somewhere in Germany. She was down there a very long time. Fortunately, it was a self-contained lab with its own power system, although inevitably all sources but magic directly dried up and more and more switched to a power-saving state. Occasionally, things somehow got in and Tanja was forced to deal with them, but they never left a clear way out--just forced use of high-power weaponry in what was slowly becoming some sort of magical dead zone. Inevitably, though, one person did manage to find his way down there. Unfortunately, Tanja had no idea that Rothschild was not some sort of monster and reacted violently despite her own lack of power. That ended... poorly for her, although all core damage was eventually fixed. The Sage, for his part, was unable to gather much of interest from Tanja or the now-wrecked lab and, for once, decided to not keep the newly discovered artefact. After naming and cataloguing it (and ignoring the complaint that she already had a name), Tanja was traded in Hensia for something--ostensibly--picked up near the new tunnel, and found herself gradually passed up to Alhein because nobody else could work out what to do with a combat robot. Despite looking fully operational to a casual observer, she'd estimate that only a quarter to a third of the damage is actually repaired and it's going to be a long time to do as she's never learned a way to accelerate her own repair process--and the tools she knows could help were rather destroyed. * Skills: Tanja's primary claim to being helpful is that she can use pre-cataclysm technology pretty well. She can't break through security or tell you how it works but she can turn it on and, perhaps crucially, read the instructions. Beyond that, she's small, extremely flexible, and weighs even less than she looks, and she's a surprisingly good shot with a gun. Albeit she insists that it should be better. * Abilities: Initially designed as a robot to harness magic directly for combat purposes, Tanja can, in fact, work on using it normally and without worrying about all the initial "learn how to feel and manipulate" it stages that plague most beginners. She just has no clue because she was also created with a large number of components that would automatically perform the necessary steps for her--magic items only useful to her, in other words. A few, such as the flight components, only manifest externally when in use. Unfortunately, they range in various states from atomised to simply offline, so her ability to act as a one-person laser weapons platform is curtailed to almost nothing, along with her aim. It's still enough to fire in extremis but that means doing most of the work manually. That she considers this temporary shows the real miracle in her creation, beyond combining these features in an artificial lifeform. Unless all the essential components in her body are destroyed (and she refuses to say how many there are, or if the information is distributed through all of it, for obvious reasons), then over time she can simply draw in magic and use it to power herself and repair anything necessary. Other power sources can also be used for this, up to and including eating. * Equipment: Technically, one could say that the artefact known as Angel of Destruction: Leo is in Tanja's possession, in the same way that you could say anyone else is in their own possession. But, as a rather willful artefact with no known access codes to force her co-operation and an unsurprising level of encryption, she's not really controlled. Beyond borrowing guns as needed, she owns a plush whale, imaginatively named Herr Wal. Although not one of her built-in components, he seems to have been built to test including external objects in the repairs. Given that it has been thousands of years without any fading or damage, the test seems to have been successful even if nothing else was completed. * Faction: Alhein (under observation)</s> <\|message\|>Erika Frost Erika Frost and a Robot Catgirl leave for work --- Erika smirked at Tanja's purring. She found this robot somewhat adorable. Still, with her partner admitting her lack of knowledge of where they were going, "Well, it's a good thing I took a quick peak earlier." Erika mentioned with a slight giggle. She released the catgirl from her grasp and opened the door. "Come then, follow me." Erika was quick to pick up on the tradition of this town, the so called unspoken rule of never saying goodbye. As the two left, she saw the Innkeeper and gave her a quick wave to catch the woman's attention. "We'll be back today or tomorrow." With that, the woman smiled and return the phrase. "Then I'll see you then." With that, Erika and Tanja were out the door heading to where they would be hunting relics. Luckily, it wasn't a far walk. From where they were, they walked through a makeshift market and towards the also makeshift lift down to the hunting site. A guard stood there, always was one. Making sure people were authorized in the guild. Before he had a chance to ask her, she pulled out her pass from somewhere and showed it to him. "I sure am authorized my good man." She said with a smile on her face. "And this here is my partner, authorized as well." She added, patting the cat earred girl on her head. The guard was slightly taken aback, but noted that Erika seemed pretty eager to get down to work with her smile and let her pass. With her continued smile, she grabbed Tanja by the hand and took her to the lift. "We'll be back." She mentioned before the two disappeared down into the sinkhole. At the bottom, after departing, Erika let go of Tanja's hand and took a look around. "Tanja my girl, these are the first steps of our first, possibly last... Forey into some ruins together. We'll have to work hard together, today." She nodded before looking over and seeing a couple of hunters surrounding a lone girl. She was perhaps nine or ten. It really wasn't that different from the age when she started diving into ruins. She was nine when she went to search for her dad and Fuuka picked her up. She sighed. "Well, hope that girl gets lucky as I did." She muttered to herself and Tanja. "What do you think, Tanja? Talk to them?" She asked her cat-eared partner before patting her on the head.</s> <\|message\|>Oribara Senjoushi 💀 "Hanh?! What's the hold up here?" A voice sounded from behind the others, belligerent and bold. The middle-aged badge inspector screwed his face up, still trying to make out whether the badge before him had all the necessary details and identification. It was bent out of shape, had more than a couple of dried stains on it, and the central 'A' looked more like an 'B' due to a deep slash within the surface. Undoubtedly, it was a badge of the Hensia Artifact Hunter's League, but was it that man's badge? One of those stains looked suspiciously like blood… "Fuck ya looking at?" The thug leaned in closer, jutting out his lower jaw. "Hensia's got dis-cri-mi-na-to-ry practices now or somethin'? Speak the fuck up, man!" "You don't live in Hensia, do you? I'm not certain where you got this badge from, but we're issuing temporary licenses as well, so i-" "Oh, this is RICH!" The thug snatched the badge out of the man's hand, stuffing it into his pockets before pushing pass. "I don't know what the fuck you're on about, but what I do know is that my badge is 100% clean! Go piss someone else off!" Without stopping, the red-haired youth powered on through…only to stop at the small crowd that had formed for absolutely no reason whatsoever. One…two…three…yeah, that's more than what he's willing to count up to. And with that tincan over there, there's not a rat's ass in hell that anyone could double up with him anyhow. "Dunno what sorta clown shit y'all are up to, but those elevators aren't gonna fit much more than tinman there. Get gone or step aside, yea?" He spat off to the side, then strode right towards the group. Either they'd part or he'd shoulder past; Oribara didn't give a fuck right now.</s> <\|message\|>Imarui, or Ima for short Since all the adults were introducing themselves, and she'd been asked directly, Imarui cheerfully raised her hand to the sky. "My name's Imarui!" she introduced herself brightly. Anyone with knowledge of such things would recognize it as a Navran name, which was unexpected somewhere as distant from the icy, unforgiving north as this little girl, "But my friends call me Ima!" She paused for a moment. She couldn't consider out of town artifact hunters her friends right away, and even her friends definitely didn't know about her necklace... but that didn't mean she couldn't consider making sure everyone here was going to be okay. Even that rude guy who just showed up and almost walked right into the big armored guy! ... Still, he was pretty rude... Imarui frowned at him for a moment. She was used to Artifact Hunters, at least Hensia's artifact hunters, being something like a community. She knew almost all of them herself. ... Ah, but that one girl... was she a beastfolk!? Imarui had never seen one before, but those were definitely cat ears! Eyes shining, Imarui almost asked... But it was at that moment that the elevator arrived with a resounding clank. Moments later, it was followed by several others. "Oh, they're here!" Imarui was quick to rush onto the nearest elevator, poised above the yawning abyss. Beyond the initial landing site where the elevators had been rigged up, there was nothing. Very little of the new tunnel had been explored... Whatever nervousness the little girl felt was being overwhelmed by how excited she was to explore. @Searat@KoL@ERode@Pyromania99@AzureKnight@Raineh Daze</s> <\|message\|>Leonard S. Fleming --- Leo briefly looked around the small group that was forming while they waited for the elevator to take them down. As expected, the hunters that were present came from all walks of life. Nodding his head slightly, he thinks that this will be a very interesting expedition. But before he could have his fun, his moral obligation demanded him that he ensure the little one's safety in this tunnel excursion. A boorish man made himself known. The loud and proud introduction just barely getting the armored man's attention as his five years of experience taught him that those with big mouths and even bigger personalities usually quickly find their way into a closed casket during missions. Leaning slightly to his right to avoid the thug's impatient gesture of getting to the elevator first, Leo kept the majority of his focus on the child's short but enthusiastic introduction and putting away his temporary license into somewhere safe and secure in his bag. He didn't want to do another repeat of this morning. "A pleasure to meet you all. Including you, young miss Imarui." Quite a peculiar name considering how far North they were located. But the man didn't dwell on the subject for long. The elevators were here! But, the ill-mannered redhead was probably correct. The elevators were unlikely to fit more than himself and his gear. So it was likely he'd solo an elevator himself. "If there is nothing left to discuss, I suppose I wish you all luck and hope to see you in the chasm below." Leo boarded a nearby elevator that creaked slightly from the weight. Even now, he could already feel his body slowly introducing adrenaline in his bloodstream. Oh how he missed this high. Skills: ◼ Uncanny Combat Prowess - From humble fisticuffs to complex magitech weapons, fighting comes to him as if second nature. ◼ Equipment Maintenance Proficiency - Take care of your gear and your gear will take care of you. ◼ Medical Ability - He's no doctor by any standard, but he can patch you up in a pinch. Abilities: ◼ Peak Human Ability - You don't really last very long in the business if you aren't. ◼ Enhanced Willpower - Willpower is significantly above average. It will take a lot to break him. ◼ Natural Navigator - Unless caused by magical means, getting lost will not be a concern. Equipment: * Modified T-35b Combat Armor Set - Segmented combat armor lightened enough to not hinder movement, but kept tough enough to withstand small arms fire and offensive spells to a reasonable extent. * Custom GK-4 Battle Rifle - A battle rifle modified with a shorter barrel for maneuverability in small areas and a fixed bayonet for instances Leo can't switch to his axe quick enough. * Type 5 LH Axe - A battle axe fitted with a device that layers the axe head with a disruptive field to significantly increase its cutting ability. Helps retain the edges to boot. * Durable Knapsack - A bag made from tough leather that contains tools, gadgets, supplies, and other goodies you wouldn't want to leave home without. Faction: Independent</s>	<\|message\|>Omega-Type Magitek Battle Automaton Prototype #7 'Tanja'. Or Tanja, for short. It's not a very catchy name. Robot Catgirls Aren't Sensible So many people around... including one super rude one! Hopefully she'd remember all their names later. Including that girl with the white hair; was that a normal hair colour now or was she some sort of albino? It would probably be a bad idea to ask, and she didn't look terribly sunburnt... "Uh... I'm Tanja!" she said as everyone started to go towards the elevators, cutting down on the full introduction. It didn't seem like Erika had done the best job of remembering it all, and Rothschilde hadn't even cared and come up with his own label. Alhein hadn't printed the full thing on her ID, either, so she was getting the feeling nobody really wanted the full designation. Maybe it was only scientists who wanted that? Taking a look at the elevators, the catgirl frowned. Rickety, not all that much space, she might need to wait for one to come back up if she couldn't squeeze onto Erika's. Blech, that was no fun, she really didn't want to wait. So, then, time to take the quick route. Nobody else was probably expecting to see the whale-carrying girl outright leap into the chasm without a care but, much further down, there was a brief glimmer of red... and once the elevators reached their destination, Tanja was just standing, waiting, and definitely not a smear on the chasm wall.</s>
<\|description\|>Omega-Type Magitek Battle Automaton Prototype #7 'Tanja'. Or Tanja, for short. It's not a very catchy name. * Age: Pre-Cataclysm (She presumes) * Gender: Female * Only 4'6. * Personality: An odd combination of naive but flirtatious, it's quite clear that Tanja has minimal experience with the wider world--and absolutely none with the current state of it--but isn't really much of a child, even with the whale. Around pretty girls in particular. Overwhelmingly curious and reckless, she's probably too quick to trust people. Most people. She really doesn't like Rothschild. Although she doesn't show it too much, Tanja much prefers being indoors. The sky is just too big. * Brief Backstory: As her full name would suggest, Tanja is a prototype for a line of magitech robots--suggesting that at least some magic was present before the cataclysm, although as a robot who never left the lab she was created in, she can't really confirm it for anyone else beyond pointing out that one day the researchers stopped showing up and the exits were blocked with solid stone. Before that, they were testing her ability to manipulate magic and running various combat tests--and from her name, general accent, and the name of her plushie, it was probably somewhere in Germany. She was down there a very long time. Fortunately, it was a self-contained lab with its own power system, although inevitably all sources but magic directly dried up and more and more switched to a power-saving state. Occasionally, things somehow got in and Tanja was forced to deal with them, but they never left a clear way out--just forced use of high-power weaponry in what was slowly becoming some sort of magical dead zone. Inevitably, though, one person did manage to find his way down there. Unfortunately, Tanja had no idea that Rothschild was not some sort of monster and reacted violently despite her own lack of power. That ended... poorly for her, although all core damage was eventually fixed. The Sage, for his part, was unable to gather much of interest from Tanja or the now-wrecked lab and, for once, decided to not keep the newly discovered artefact. After naming and cataloguing it (and ignoring the complaint that she already had a name), Tanja was traded in Hensia for something--ostensibly--picked up near the new tunnel, and found herself gradually passed up to Alhein because nobody else could work out what to do with a combat robot. Despite looking fully operational to a casual observer, she'd estimate that only a quarter to a third of the damage is actually repaired and it's going to be a long time to do as she's never learned a way to accelerate her own repair process--and the tools she knows could help were rather destroyed. * Skills: Tanja's primary claim to being helpful is that she can use pre-cataclysm technology pretty well. She can't break through security or tell you how it works but she can turn it on and, perhaps crucially, read the instructions. Beyond that, she's small, extremely flexible, and weighs even less than she looks, and she's a surprisingly good shot with a gun. Albeit she insists that it should be better. * Abilities: Initially designed as a robot to harness magic directly for combat purposes, Tanja can, in fact, work on using it normally and without worrying about all the initial "learn how to feel and manipulate" it stages that plague most beginners. She just has no clue because she was also created with a large number of components that would automatically perform the necessary steps for her--magic items only useful to her, in other words. A few, such as the flight components, only manifest externally when in use. Unfortunately, they range in various states from atomised to simply offline, so her ability to act as a one-person laser weapons platform is curtailed to almost nothing, along with her aim. It's still enough to fire in extremis but that means doing most of the work manually. That she considers this temporary shows the real miracle in her creation, beyond combining these features in an artificial lifeform. Unless all the essential components in her body are destroyed (and she refuses to say how many there are, or if the information is distributed through all of it, for obvious reasons), then over time she can simply draw in magic and use it to power herself and repair anything necessary. Other power sources can also be used for this, up to and including eating. * Equipment: Technically, one could say that the artefact known as Angel of Destruction: Leo is in Tanja's possession, in the same way that you could say anyone else is in their own possession. But, as a rather willful artefact with no known access codes to force her co-operation and an unsurprising level of encryption, she's not really controlled. Beyond borrowing guns as needed, she owns a plush whale, imaginatively named Herr Wal. Although not one of her built-in components, he seems to have been built to test including external objects in the repairs. Given that it has been thousands of years without any fading or damage, the test seems to have been successful even if nothing else was completed. * Faction: Alhein (under observation)</s> <\|message\|>Leonard S. Fleming --- "Wai-!" Leo yells out to the thuggish youth too late as he blindly rushes forward and deeper to the illuminated path without a care in the world; seemingly unaware to the dangers it may bring to him or, worst case scenario, to the rest of the group. The armored man ran after the fiery red-head with surprising speed and agility enough for him to notice the true danger of the path. Screaming slugs laid in wait. Nothing more than biological trip alarms, but what made them a proper hazard was the creatures it would notify that a possible meal was nearby. And Oribara was heading straight for a cluster of them. Leo had to think quickly before a possible catastrophe occurred. Re-slinging his battle rifle, two of his now free hands reached into the side pockets of his bag and pulled out a two day's worth of rations and threw them at the Screaming Slugs. Who would have known that those nutrition packed but tasteless food bars would see use other than consumption? If the plan was successful, it would have a cluster of the slugs focus on the food bars and hopefully give Oribara an opportunity to pass through without causing an alarm. If the younger man was skillful enough to avoid them. Skills: ◼ Uncanny Combat Prowess - From humble fisticuffs to complex magitech weapons, fighting comes to him as if second nature. ◼ Equipment Maintenance Proficiency - Take care of your gear and your gear will take care of you. ◼ Medical Ability - He's no doctor by any standard, but he can patch you up in a pinch. Abilities: ◼ Peak Human Ability - You don't really last very long in the business if you aren't. ◼ Enhanced Willpower - Willpower is significantly above average. It will take a lot to break him. ◼ Natural Navigator - Unless caused by magical means, getting lost will not be a concern. Equipment: * Modified T-35b Combat Armor Set - Segmented combat armor lightened enough to not hinder movement, but kept tough enough to withstand small arms fire and offensive spells to a reasonable extent. * Custom GK-4 Battle Rifle - A battle rifle modified with a shorter barrel for maneuverability in small areas and a fixed bayonet for instances Leo can't switch to his axe quick enough. * Type 5 LH Axe - A battle axe fitted with a device that layers the axe head with a disruptive field to significantly increase its cutting ability. Helps retain the edges to boot. * Durable Knapsack - A bag made from tough leather that contains tools, gadgets, supplies, and other goodies you wouldn't want to leave home without. Faction: Independent</s> <\|message\|>Erika Frost Erika Frost dresses up --- Erika just sighed as she watched that hoverboard guy spew foulness from her mouth. It's not that she never said anything uncouth, but geez, he must have woke up on the wrong side of the bed. She didn't really want to go down the same way he went and, if she gauged the conversation earlier, looked to another way into this ruin. Welp, now was as good a time as any. She reached into her pocket and grabbed an elastic band and used it to tie her hair back into a pony tail. After that, she clicked on her bracelet a few times and held that hand out. A light spread from the device and spread over her body. It fully covered her body at some point and an odd, skin-tight suit seemingly materialized into existence. It was fairly form fitting in certain areas and at least looked slightly armored in some other areas. The woman rubbed the back of her neck, though she didn't feel it much because of her outfit. She checked to make sure her other equipment was where it was suppose to be. Supplies, check. She strapped them closer to her body to make sure it didn't flop around as much. Weapon, check. "Alright, Tanja. We're going this way." She said, leading the small robotic girl by the hand to where the Hoverboard boy didn't go. She was mostly confident they could take care of themselves.</s> <\|message\|>Imarui, or Ima for short The left path shared some similarities with the right. Just as was the case on the right side, the glow proved to be the work of a multitude of glowcaps, covering nearly every surface in the tunnel. Joining them in this case were a multitude of vines hanging down from the ceiling, immediate recognition of the species rendered difficult due to the lighting and their generic appearance. Still, this implied potentially more lush growth deeper in the cavern. This time, however, it became apparent just why the glowcaps were so numerous. Roughly five meters on into the left path, was the relatively fresh corpse of a carrier bird. While it was still most certainly dead for more then a day or so, that was still fairly fresh given how difficult to access this part of the cavern must have been. The implication was obvious, there must have been another entrance to this cavern elsewhere... or the building that had fallen into the pit wasn't as empty as first expected. Glowcaps had already begun to grow on the body, but it was mostly still visible. On closer inspection, another grisly discovery would be made: The carrier bird's body was savagely torn open, much of the meat and internal organs gone. The entire underside of its neck had been torn away as well, and given the particular density of glowcaps there it was likely the animal had been killed by having its throat torn open. The presence of a saddle was also concerning, though no human body was present. @Raineh Daze</s> <\|message\|>Oribara Senjoushi 💀 Silvery strands were invisible in darkness; Oribara had a headlamp. As the Screaming Slugs flickered in the swath of fluorescent light from his forehead, the thug knelt down, one hand on his board and another reaching out into the ground. His fingers punched past glowcaps and dirt, snagging into the hardier rock underneath, and with a twist of his body, he wrenched a large slab of rock out of the ground, board skidding to a stop at the very edge of the first slugs. Still squatting on his board, Oribara pulled out two spray cans and shook them heartily. One was a pesticide, strong enough to dissuade any glowcaps from growing over top, while the other was a luminescent paint that would glow a striking red to contrast with the blue-white of the caps. And what did he spray atop the rock? Eyes up, fuckos! A flourish of his double-shotgun, double-bicep signature later, and Oribara rammed the stone warning sign into the ground, right in the center of the entrance to the cavern. Slugs were good for drawing out other predators, but Trailblazers didn't care for the dangers of opportunistic predators. Dens were easier (and more satisfying) to vandalize. Then, a couple of rations flew overhead. Snagged onto the sensory threads of the slugs. And was duly consumed by them. Oribara gazed backwards, one eyebrow cocked. "Didn't take you for a monster lover, tinman." And with that, he kicked off again, board churning up glowcaps underneath as the redhead swayed and snaked, evading the very visible freaks that clung to the ceiling. Someone with a flamethrower can handle 'em in the future. Oribara had a whole damn forest to sketch out!</s>	<\|message\|>Omega-Type Magitek Battle Automaton Prototype #7 'Tanja'. Or Tanja, for short. It's not a very catchy name. "Do you think there are underground wolves or something?" Tanja wondered aloud, crouching down to look at the grisly wound on the bird. They were pretty far down, so it wasn't like it could be normal wolves or the like making their way down. Unless wolves knew how to operate elevators? She wasn't sure that this was within their normal abilities but if they could disguise themselves as grandmothers, then... well, who knew what a particularly dedicate one might do. "Or did it come down here with its throat torn out and get killed by mushrooms?" "I'm still not sure what behaviour is normal in this time..." the robot wondered, standing up again and looking back at Erika.</s>
<\|description\|>Aerynne HEIGHT 156cm WEIGTH --- AGE --- GENDER Female --- DESCRIPTION A traveling scholar with a presence as fleeting as a midsummer breeze. Aerynne has a smallish, slender build—one could almost describe her as petite—befitting her avian characteristics. Said avian characteristics are primarily evident in the bits of plumage sprinkled around her silhouette—most noticeably her fluffy feather-like hair. Her sharp gaze isn't the only evidence of her raptor heritage but also of her wits. Aerynne's light clothing matches her amiable disposition as well as her sagely background. As an only child, daughter of a couple of relic hunters who took her on trips even before she was "out of the shell", it was only natural that Aerynne would follow her parents' footsteps. It was the only life she knew, after all, and one she couldn't help but love. In fact, the only things Aerynne might like more than relic hunting are her family, books, and freshly baked bread. She grew burrowed in a mountain of books, dreaming of knights and princesses, wisemen and realms of fantasy. Above all, she had a passion for history and relics of the past, as well as the smarts to figure out how they worked even before going out to study at a renowned academy. Once she concluded her initial training, Aerynne came into possession of a powerful relic 「Phantasmal Fang: Carnwennan」 a staff which's in actuality an advanced magical computer controlled by a basic AI. It's capable of assisting and speeding up all kinds of data processing, including the calculations necessary to deploy advanced magical spells. During her adventuring career, Aerynne received a proposal from many organizations—including, but not limited to, a constant courtship from Alhein research division—but she has yet to return a positive answer to any of them. However, she has to admit that having a salary beats having to eat dry bread and sleep on a bed of rocks more often than not. The thing is that, even with all the hardships, it's hard for Aerynne to give up the freedom of being an independent Relic Hunter. Though, she does dream of being a teacher for small children someday, so she might consider it when she's ready to build her own nest. SKILLS As an independent Hunter, Aerynne picked up several small skills in her life of adventure, at least enough to be able to fend for herself in the wild and ancient ruins. However, she's most notable when it comes to her perception acuity, especially when it comes to her sight and hearing. Thanks to her soft feathers she's very good at reading the direction and flow of even the faintest breeze. Furthermore, she's a very nice person who makes friends fast as she forgets enemies, as well as a knowledgeable scholar who absolutely adores taking care of children. ABILITIES Aerynne is an accomplished mage specialized in telekinesis and light-based magic like illusions, etc. She's quite adept at creative problem solving using her magical gifts. However, she isn't afraid of appealing to brute force when a hammer is the best tool for the job. Probably what's distinguishes Aerynnethe most is that she's capable of deploying healing and enhancement to bolster others', a talent that isn't all that common among spellcasters of any kind. EQUIPMENT Aerynne's most notable possession is a Relic named 「Phantasmal Fang: Carnwennan」, a hyper-advanced, staff-like computing device, controlled by a basic AI. Carnwennan assists in channeling and conversion of magical energy, as well as the calculations necessary for spellcasting, amplifying Aerynne's magical capacity many times over. It can also interface with other mechanical and electronic devices, and even work like a battery to power them up, as expected of such an advanced portable terminal. Speaking of which, Carnwennan does work as a comms terminal, providing utilities like instantaneous translation and telepathy. Carnwennan is capable of taking three different forms, the basic staff-like device, a dagger/shortsword-like weapon form, and a simple pendant-like gem, used for storage purposes. Last—but not least—while many would only see a Relic like Carnwennan as an invaluable tool, for Aerynne, it's her most trusted and beloved companion. Despite the ups and downs of the Relic hunting life, it's always there to help her get through the day and thus, Aerynne does the best she can to take good care of it in return. FACTION None/Independent.</s> <\|message\|>Erika Frost Erika Frost dresses up --- Erika just sighed as she watched that hoverboard guy spew foulness from her mouth. It's not that she never said anything uncouth, but geez, he must have woke up on the wrong side of the bed. She didn't really want to go down the same way he went and, if she gauged the conversation earlier, looked to another way into this ruin. Welp, now was as good a time as any. She reached into her pocket and grabbed an elastic band and used it to tie her hair back into a pony tail. After that, she clicked on her bracelet a few times and held that hand out. A light spread from the device and spread over her body. It fully covered her body at some point and an odd, skin-tight suit seemingly materialized into existence. It was fairly form fitting in certain areas and at least looked slightly armored in some other areas. The woman rubbed the back of her neck, though she didn't feel it much because of her outfit. She checked to make sure her other equipment was where it was suppose to be. Supplies, check. She strapped them closer to her body to make sure it didn't flop around as much. Weapon, check. "Alright, Tanja. We're going this way." She said, leading the small robotic girl by the hand to where the Hoverboard boy didn't go. She was mostly confident they could take care of themselves.</s> <\|message\|>Imarui, or Ima for short The left path shared some similarities with the right. Just as was the case on the right side, the glow proved to be the work of a multitude of glowcaps, covering nearly every surface in the tunnel. Joining them in this case were a multitude of vines hanging down from the ceiling, immediate recognition of the species rendered difficult due to the lighting and their generic appearance. Still, this implied potentially more lush growth deeper in the cavern. This time, however, it became apparent just why the glowcaps were so numerous. Roughly five meters on into the left path, was the relatively fresh corpse of a carrier bird. While it was still most certainly dead for more then a day or so, that was still fairly fresh given how difficult to access this part of the cavern must have been. The implication was obvious, there must have been another entrance to this cavern elsewhere... or the building that had fallen into the pit wasn't as empty as first expected. Glowcaps had already begun to grow on the body, but it was mostly still visible. On closer inspection, another grisly discovery would be made: The carrier bird's body was savagely torn open, much of the meat and internal organs gone. The entire underside of its neck had been torn away as well, and given the particular density of glowcaps there it was likely the animal had been killed by having its throat torn open. The presence of a saddle was also concerning, though no human body was present. @Raineh Daze</s> <\|message\|>Oribara Senjoushi 💀 Silvery strands were invisible in darkness; Oribara had a headlamp. As the Screaming Slugs flickered in the swath of fluorescent light from his forehead, the thug knelt down, one hand on his board and another reaching out into the ground. His fingers punched past glowcaps and dirt, snagging into the hardier rock underneath, and with a twist of his body, he wrenched a large slab of rock out of the ground, board skidding to a stop at the very edge of the first slugs. Still squatting on his board, Oribara pulled out two spray cans and shook them heartily. One was a pesticide, strong enough to dissuade any glowcaps from growing over top, while the other was a luminescent paint that would glow a striking red to contrast with the blue-white of the caps. And what did he spray atop the rock? Eyes up, fuckos! A flourish of his double-shotgun, double-bicep signature later, and Oribara rammed the stone warning sign into the ground, right in the center of the entrance to the cavern. Slugs were good for drawing out other predators, but Trailblazers didn't care for the dangers of opportunistic predators. Dens were easier (and more satisfying) to vandalize. Then, a couple of rations flew overhead. Snagged onto the sensory threads of the slugs. And was duly consumed by them. Oribara gazed backwards, one eyebrow cocked. "Didn't take you for a monster lover, tinman." And with that, he kicked off again, board churning up glowcaps underneath as the redhead swayed and snaked, evading the very visible freaks that clung to the ceiling. Someone with a flamethrower can handle 'em in the future. Oribara had a whole damn forest to sketch out!</s> <\|message\|>Omega-Type Magitek Battle Automaton Prototype #7 'Tanja'. Or Tanja, for short. It's not a very catchy name. "Do you think there are underground wolves or something?" Tanja wondered aloud, crouching down to look at the grisly wound on the bird. They were pretty far down, so it wasn't like it could be normal wolves or the like making their way down. Unless wolves knew how to operate elevators? She wasn't sure that this was within their normal abilities but if they could disguise themselves as grandmothers, then... well, who knew what a particularly dedicate one might do. "Or did it come down here with its throat torn out and get killed by mushrooms?" "I'm still not sure what behaviour is normal in this time..." the robot wondered, standing up again and looking back at Erika.</s> <\|message\|>Leonard S. Fleming --- "Huh. Guess he didn't need help after all." Leo says with a nonchalant shrug. He didn't expect the thug to actually notice the slugs but he did apparently. 'Good for him I suppose' he thought as he watched the skateboarder weave through the remaining slug tongues. Though sad that he used up two of his ration bars, it allowed him and the others to navigate the hazard with more ease now that a cluster of the slugs were happily digesting the food he threw. But still...two days worth of food gone could be an annoyance in the future. Just as he was deciding how to ration his remaining food bars, Imarui walked past him. Reminding the armored man that he should probably party up with the kid if he wanted to try keeping her safe during this delve. "Hey, Imarui. Overheard that you were partying up with Meixue and Turel. Mind if I tag along too?" Looking behind him to the ex-soldier and burial agent. "If they don't mind me tagging along, that is." @Rune_Alchemist@AzureKnight Skills: ◼ Uncanny Combat Prowess - From humble fisticuffs to complex magitech weapons, fighting comes to him as if second nature. ◼ Equipment Maintenance Proficiency - Take care of your gear and your gear will take care of you. ◼ Medical Ability - He's no doctor by any standard, but he can patch you up in a pinch. Abilities: ◼ Peak Human Ability - You don't really last very long in the business if you aren't. ◼ Enhanced Willpower - Willpower is significantly above average. It will take a lot to break him. ◼ Natural Navigator - Unless caused by magical means, getting lost will not be a concern. Equipment: * Modified T-35b Combat Armor Set - Segmented combat armor lightened enough to not hinder movement, but kept tough enough to withstand small arms fire and offensive spells to a reasonable extent. * Custom GK-4 Battle Rifle - A battle rifle modified with a shorter barrel for maneuverability in small areas and a fixed bayonet for instances Leo can't switch to his axe quick enough. * Type 5 LH Axe - A battle axe fitted with a device that layers the axe head with a disruptive field to significantly increase its cutting ability. Helps retain the edges to boot. * Durable Knapsack - A bag made from tough leather that contains tools, gadgets, supplies, and other goodies you wouldn't want to leave home without. Faction: Independent</s> <\|message\|>Erika Frost Erika Frost investigates --- This wasn't the first time Erika had seen a gruesome sight like this. Didn't mean she liked it any more. She winced at first seeing the sight of the mushrooms growing from the creature. She got a closer look at it. "It's missing quite a bit of, well, everything. Either something ate it or gutted it for later. There was a saddle here so... Hmmm. Maybe it did get killed by some killer mushroom monsters down here." She teased as her eyes flow over the scene a last time before standing up. "Who knows. Perhaps there are some underground wolves. Maybe a wolfman or something of the sort." She looked at Tanja and shrugged at her last words. "If there's anything I've learned from my travels, there's not really any normal. You'll get eyes on you as long as you're not someone people know." She took her weapon out of its sheath and kept moving down the path. "Regardless, we should keep moving. Keep your eyes and ears open. If you notice anything, let me know."</s>	<\|message\|>Aerynne The grimace on Aerynne's face said all that needed to be told about her interest in going down the way of the path filled with screaming slugs. In all of her years of exploration, she never got to terms with her dislike of the many creepy crawlies that filled many ruins. At most, she managed to reduce it from an instinctive phobia to a level where she could deal with them if she had to, but now wasn't the time for that. As such, she followed the strange duo with the exhibitionist and the feline girl down the left-handed path. Aerynne took notes of the many life forms in the ruins. Sometimes, the powers that emanated from certain relics influenced the kinds of beings that lived near them, causing them to evolve and change in the strangest of ways. Perhaps if they could cross-reference that with some other databases, there was a chance to have an idea of what might be waiting for them. Anyway, the fresh corpse and the duo's conversation pulled her attention away from her notebook. "Excuse me, but I couldn't not overhear your conversation from back there," Aerynne said as she approached them. "Whether or not this is the work of wolves or anything else, don't you think it's strange they came down here when there's supposed to have only one entrance?" "By the way, I'm sorry for being rude," she said when she realized she began talking to them without so much as introducing herself. "My name's Aerynne, a scholar of ruins. I'm glad I could find someone else who went down this route." </s>
<\|description\|>Jesse Standing at 6'1", in his mortal life Jesse weighed around 180 lbs. With dark brown hair that borders on black, and strikingly green eyes, he was an attractive creature even before his death. Prone to wearing practical clothing, he's often seen in tight jeans with his leather jacket over top of a short sleeved, grease-stained shirt. Current Hunger: 3</s> <\|message\|>Jesse Indianapolis By Night</s> <\|message\|>Jesse The central power of Indiana had never been completely certain among the world of the kindred. Last a prince ruled there, the man had been completely crazed. A life spent constantly at war had left him hating anything he perceived as alien, including things so simple as the race of the kine. At first, it was a simple eccentricity. When his racism carried over to the ranks of kindred, however, and he began risking the masquerade over his desire to 'purge the unclean' he was finally put out of the world's misery. Since that time, nearly fifty years ago, the throne of Indianapolis has gone empty. In the absence of the Camarilla's guiding hand, the Anarchs were eager to take hold. However, while their presence ensured the continuation of kindred within the state, their lack of resources led to a number of troublesome foes going unchallenged in the area. Local churches began turning to the ways of the Second Inquisition, creating small pockets of hunters with generation of experience to call upon. Protected by the power of true faith, they seek out kindred, and purge them from the world with zealous vigor. In a state so full of open land and large pockets of wilderness, one of the kindreds' greatest enemies could take hold; Lupines. Physically powerful, and willing to readily work together for the common good, these beast-men seek out the kindred, to kill them without hesitation. Seeing vampires as a blight on the land, they make it their personal mission to end that blight. Other threats also exist, from rumors of feral kindred who stalk the woods and risk the masquerade, to stories of powerful fey influencing the habits of those who live near them. There are even reports of a guild of mages, set up somewhere in the very heart of Indianapolis. Against all these odds, one kindred has stepped up to take the throne. A powerful, seventh generation ventrue who has managed to sweep into the state and assert himself as the prince of the capital. Very little is known about him, his name not even yet public to the world, but one thing is for certain; Though his empire is vast, he seeks allies among his own kind, as the threats that stand posed against him will eventually break down his walls. As powerful as his fortifications may be, no king can stand without subjects to give orders to.</s> <\|message\|>Stanley "Steel" Kowalski The night was a dark one, an eerie feeling befell most that walked about tonight. There were creature far removed from the natural forces of the world stalking through the shadows of man's perception. None of this mattered right now for Stanley "Steel" Kowalski however. The fresh vampire looked himself in the mirror, giving his face a light smack to get the blood back to it, only to remember his current predicament. Not that much in his life had changed since being "embraced" (he hated that word) given most of his awake time had been spent at night and sleeping in the day. The biggest change was mostly his pre-show rituals which had become mostly null at this point. All that said, he was saving a killing on white face paint to make his skin look pale for shows. Shaking the jitters out, Steel put on the rest of his costume: dark shoulder pads with fake spikes, gothic looking boots and a pair of aviators. The low rumble of chatter outside of the backstage of the bar he frequented got louder as he made his way up onto stage, guitar in tow. He gave a smile and nod to both Rose, his synth pianist, and Jared "Mathces" O'Neil, his drummer. Going to the mic, steel addressed the crowd, of which he now had their attention. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Tonight we'll be taking you on the ride of your life." Steel began as the rest of his band slowly began to bring in the beat for their first song. "A ride through the annals of time where the hair was long and the rock was hard." with the last word Steel stuck his guitar, letting out a single drowning note. "We are Rachit Jiraffe and we're here to rock. Your. World." Steel said calmly to the crowds delight as the band began playing their fist song of the night..</s> <\|message\|>Elizabeth Howard Elizabeth woke with a start as the sun crossed the horizon. After a brief stretch she threw a cursory glance at her clock, the face of which read 7:23. Perfect, she thought happily, shift starts at 10, I have more than enough time to do what I need. Even in the unlife she continued to leak any document she thought would turn the tide against the hospital - pricing schemes, markup margins, incriminating internal emails - and yet each day fewer and fewer new people seemed to chime in in agreement that the practices employed weren't just unethical but inhuman. Could these people not see that the system was broken, even when it was spoon-fed to them? It made Elizabeth's blood boil. An alarm went off in the background, a shrill two tone sound that alternated a few times before falling silent. Elizabeth drew a deep breath, knowing what was coming. Rising from her laptop she forced herself over to the fridge, a few bags of red fluid rested on the top shelf. She drew one out, throwing it in the microwave, heating it to a more bearable temperature. As she waited her fingers clenched the worktop's edge like claws. It was with her, perched, waiting in her throat. The Beast had come to know the routine, feed before a shift and fast until the next, even if it did love to try pushing Elizabeth over the edge. The gentle beep of the microwave drew Elizabeth back to reality, carefully handling the hot bag. As she bit through the plastic she could feel the warm ambrosia slip past her teeth and slake the fire at the base of her throat. Her talons gripped the bag tighter and tighter, eking any last remaining drips before discarding the wrapper. Again the discontent of the Beast could be felt, hating the bag diet as much as Elizabeth herself did, but nonetheless it was quieted for the moment as the girl regained her composure and control. A quick look in the mirror to check for bloody streaks on her face and collar, and she was out the door. At the vehicle depot everything was fairly quiet. A few of the EMT's were huddled in the communal room watching what appeared to be a rerun of a football game that had aired earlier in the day. Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the very idea of calling that football. As usual at the beginning of her shift she went through the ambulance she'd be working in, ensuring that various controlled medical supplies were indeed still in the vehicle after the previous crew had signed off. Finishing up, she threw herself into the passenger seat and closed her eyes just as the radio crackled to life. "One reported GSW wound, Cold Spring Road by the golf course. Shooter believed to have left the area. Will keep you updated". Elizabeth shuffled herself over into the driver's seat as her partner clambered into the passenger seat.</s> <\|message\|>Physical Description Each step echoed on the empty streets of Indianapolis, with a rhythmic clack clack clack upon the pavement as a man strode along the sidewalk of a rundown neighborhood towards a building with a sign above it's entrance. In big bolded letters the sign read St. Bartholomew's Orphanage, which easily stood out from the dreary look of the neighborhood around it. The building itself looked old and was made from bricks unlike most of the slums on the block where the poor lived in small dirty apartment complex's making a living by breaking the law or selling their bodies to those who would use them, no matter their appearance. It was a disgusting life that sickened Jose Georgio-Lorenzo Martinez, whose pace slowed to a halt beneath the light of a lone lamppost, his hand dipped into the pockets of his long overcoat and pulled a lighter out in one hand while the other flicked a cigarette out of a package, rolling it around in-between his index and his thumb before bringing the cigarette to his mouth. It was a bit billowy outside so he cupped his hands around his mouth as he lit his lighter with a shick shick shick, taking a moment for the fluid within his lighter to light his cigarette. He inhaled it afterwards and held his breath for a second as he tasted the tobacco then in a puff of smoke he exhaled slowly, flicking the ashes of the cigarette in his left hand. He smoked for only a moment longer before dropping the cigarette on the pavement, then ground it beneath the heel of his black slacks. Smoking wasn't the same anymore now that he was what he was, worse that he couldn't innoculate himself on the drugs he peddles but better he not get high on his own supply like he once did. However he had new goals in life now, one of which would take a long time to reach but still the smaller goals add up. An errant hand dipped into his inner coat pocket as he felt the wad of bills he carried. It was for the old lady who ran the orphanage, Jose had always had a soft spot for the elderly woman who looked after the children in the orphanage as she had raised him there after he was placed within her care. It was a shame she had lost some of her eyesight and equally her memory but deep down she was the same caring old woman who treated the children in her care kindly. Jose walked up to the door, pushing the old wooden door open with a loud creak and the bell rang above it to let the occupants know there was a visitor in the orphanage.</s>	<\|message\|>Jesse Jesse looked down the track, his fist gripping the steering wheel of the beat up old volkswagen. His knuckles would be turning white, if they weren't already. Traditional rally race rules required a co-pilot, to read off the map and make sure the driver got in all the necessary lap types. This crowd, though, did not mandate it. The track, while rough, had no lap types. That meant it was just Jesse in the car, which was exactly how he liked it. As soon as the engines fired, Jesse reached for his Beast. The power he pulled from it would cost him-he could feel himself grow hungry, as his skin tightened across his frame and his eyes briefly flashed crimson-but it would be worth it. Power flowed through him, his kindred blood rushing through his veins, filling him with speed far beyond anything a simple kine could hope to command. Within moments of the flag dropping, Jesse was shooting from the starting line. Gravel spat under his tires, dirt flying high as he rounded corners and passed every car in front of him. Gears shifted and the engine purred as his near-instant reflexes let him respond to the slightest kick and pull from the road and the old machine he sat in. To onlookers, it would be like watching a someone running practice laps, his competition almost non-existent around him as he flawlessly cornered and drifted past them. He finished nearly two full minutes ahead of the second place car. By the time he was done, the shocks on the old car were shot, and the transmission was close to giving out. Jesse had pushed the car to the limits with his powers, but it had won him the trophy. Really, that's all he had wanted. The thrill of victory, the desire to show people that he was better than them, was one of the few aspects of his humanity he had left. Even if the context for it had shifted. As he went to the parking lot, he saw someone-a gorgeous woman, no less-leaning on his bike. It was hardly a new occurrence, though she certainly wasn't dressed like the usual girls who begged him for a ride. Before he could say anything, though, he felt a sudden, overwhelming sense of fear wash over him as the woman's eyes locked with his. That alone was enough to tell him that she wasn't normal, and that the manila envelope she was holding likely held bad news for him. Tossing the trophy in the trash, he approached, silently taking the paperwork to see what his latest orders from his Sire were. To his surprise, it was not her name written across the top of the documents.</s>
<\|description\|>Jesse Standing at 6'1", in his mortal life Jesse weighed around 180 lbs. With dark brown hair that borders on black, and strikingly green eyes, he was an attractive creature even before his death. Prone to wearing practical clothing, he's often seen in tight jeans with his leather jacket over top of a short sleeved, grease-stained shirt. Current Hunger: 3</s> <\|message\|>Jesse The envelope was closed with a wax seal, a stylized 'R' printed over a crossed staff and scepter imprinted in the wax. Inside the envelope awaited a thick parchment, scented with a noticeable hint of fine cologne, with writing scrawled across. Clearly written by hand, and seemingly done with quill and ink. Not over the top, but the kind of work that would cost money these days. Salutations, It is my personal hope that this writing finds you in the best of health. I am writing to congratulate you on your recent good fortune, and to offer my respectful welcome into my community. In the past, leadership of this community has been inexcusable. For that, you have my deepest apologies. However, from this day forward, that changes. As the newly appointed head of this wonderful venture, it is my personal duty to ensure each of you know where you belong and what your responsibilities are. To that end, I have decided to host several meetings over the coming nights. Your presence is requested at the first of these meetings. Attendance is mandatory. Sincerely, Riccard Attached to the parchment with a paperclip was a business card. Thick and pristinely white, the card had only a time and date on the front, with an address on the back. Inquiry would show that the address belonged to an old bar, in the downtown area. The date was the following night, and the time was midnight. Written inside the envelope was a note, clearly meant to only be read by the recipient. "Destroy All Contents"</s> <\|message\|>Stanley "Steel" Kowalski Though he had cracked open the letter in the bar, Steel hadn't begun to read it until he hit the street. He made his way, reading the letter in between steps. Being new to the vampire game, Steel was the first to admit that the politics of it all weren't really his strong suit but what he did know seemed to fill in the gaps that this letter left. Those gaps mad him angry. Beast or not, rage welled up inside steel as he finished the note. With a loud grunt Steel took his guitar case by the neck and crushed it... much to the surprise of Jared his drummer. Jared was off to join Steel with some practice after their crummy show but the man stopped in his tracks as he saw his friend display such an inhuman act. He wasn't sure what to think of it, once the stupor wore off he began to cautiously head over to his friend. His stride was caught short however as something impossibly fast moved in and grabbed him by the neck. In the blink of an eye Jared "Matches" O'Neil was now the former drummer of Rachit Jiraffe, his body strew unceremoniously on the sidewalk. As Steel whipped around in rage, his eyes managed to meet that of Sarah's just before she took off, a smug look on her face and a nonchalant shrug. Steel's eyes then met that of his former friend and band mate. He felt something break inside as the beast was still in the driver's seat. unable to do much more, Steel stuffed the note back in his pocket and managed enough thought to bring his guitar case, full of his now destroyed guitar, with him as he took off.</s> <\|message\|>Elizabeth Howard With a bated breath, Elizabeth slipped a nail under the wax seal which let go with a soft crack. Despite Edwin's reassurance her hands were a little shakey as she unfolded the parchment nestled inside the envelope. As she read her eyes dragged across the page and she mouthed each word as she read, her sire tried to peer around the side of the letter to read her lips but a warning glare had him looking the other way quickly. "See? Nothing too bad" Edwin said, jovial warmth returning to his voice now that his job had been done. "Nothing too bad comes by letter, it's when they don't send a letter you need to be worried. Well?" He asked as he saw Elizabeth look away from the paper. "I... I don't really know how much I can say" she replied, stumbling over the words slightly. There was something about the letter, the way it was written, that unnerved her, that made her feel threatened almost. "It's nothing, I think." she lied, "someone just wants to speak with me". A derisive snort let loose from her sire's nose. "And this is why I don't like them. A secretive note here, secretive meeting there, and then someone ends up with a dagger to the back. Bastards. Let me guess, 'destroy all contents'?" Elizabeth glanced down at the envelope then nodded. As she stood processing the information Edwin slunk quietly into the kitchen, almost immediately the sound of running water could be heard throughout the flat. To double check her understanding, Elizabeth reread the letter in it's entirety. For the moment she seperated the business card from the parchment, leaving the former on her bedside table as she passed through the doorway to join Edwin, where she was met with a full sink of water. Throwing a bemused smirk he explained that the water would soak some of the ink away and simultaneously turn the parchment to mulch. "Surely burning it is the easiest method, no?" she replied innocently. He shook his head in silent disapproval. "No, not for us. Especially not for us" he exasperated, gesturing wildly with his arms. "Our conscious minds may be fine with flame, but our deepest instincts now are to flee or lash out at the sight if a single tongue. We've been through this!" "I'm sorry" she replied sheepishly, sounding dangerously close to crying, as she placed the parchment into the sink to soak for the time being. As Edwin proceeded to sink into her sofa, Elizabeth stood transfixed staring into the water, watching the ink bleed out from the note. With the actual words of the letter fading Elizabeth stepped back from the sink. She was left with an address to memorise and the envelope. Ignoring those for the moment, she sat next to Edwin; resting her head on his shoulder and feeling a supportive hand on her back drawing her closer. "How do you deal with these... games" Elizabeth asked, voice raw with a mixture of emotions. "It can be hard" Edwin admitted, pulling her a little closer, "just go through the motions and it's over soon enough. But it's one of the reasons I fight, this way of life just isn't sustainable or right". Edwin pulled her slightly tighter before letting go and standing up. "Unfortunately love, I need to get home before sun up. It'll be fine" he added, once again trying to be reassuring. "I'll see you again soon okay?" He said in goodbye as he showed himself out. Elizabeth returned to her bedroom, perching on the foot of the bed before lying backwards, reaching over to the nightstand to pick up the business card. The time was simple enough, but the address just seemed to be some place downtown that she didn't recognise. With a sigh filling the room, she threw it to the floor, hoping that she'd memorized enough of the address to remember it the following night. When she woke up she'd get around to disposing of this piece too.</s> <\|message\|>Merveille St. Claire The offices of Psychics 4 U, were, as perhaps to be expected from a phone psychic agency of dubious legality (although as pointed out in ads, only meant for entertainment purposes), not considered among the nicest buildings in Indianapolis. In fact, it probably ranked as one of the ugliest buildings in Indianapolis, but beneath it's crumbling facade, there was...not love, not exactly joy, or even hope, really, but there were people doing their job. Merveille was one of those people, currently in hushed whisperings with some man who was frantically asking about whether his wife had been unfaithful. She could already picture the man, balding, beginning to let his body go in pursuit of just one more promotion, as his wife was left alone at home to do what-or-whoever she pleased. So, was he looking for reassurance, either in his wife's faithfulness or in his manic deductions. "Well," Merveille began, in that patois she'd perfected when playing Tituba so many years ago. "I must first caution you: the answers I provide may not be the ones you want." Whether it was on stage or over phone, the concept of acting remained the same. You had to build up suspense. Let the audience's mind wander, piece together the puzzle they'd created in their minds, all while the silence hung heavy in the air. "So," the man asked, his whisper barely able to be heard over the tinny speaker. "What is it?" At that, she exhaled. Of course he wanted to know. That's why he was calling, of course, but keeping them waiting, kept customers all the more sure that what they were getting were true insights, gleaned from a true clairvoyant. Also, it was a form of stalling, considering money was made per minute, but that was secondary. If you could keep them calling, you could keep them paying. "The answer is no, your wife has not laid with another." Merveille could almost chuckle at the mighty release of breath she heard over the line, but with the harm that would do to her whole image, she simply kept her mouth shut until the man on the other end-Anthony? Andrew? fell silent. "However, you would do much good, my child, to look into your finances." While it was nice to assuage one fear, one always had to remember there was another lurking around the corner. And really, it wasn't that difficult. Anthony - yes, she was sure of it this time - had already spoken of leaving his wife at home, and while his mind may have wandered to her in bed, the ability to call up whoever she wanted, there was the possibility of her instead eyeing one of his credit cards. Finally concluding her "session" with a curt goodbye, Merveille put the phone down and sighed. Psychic was a role like any other now, even if the glimpses she saw in her sleep of screams and blood seemed to be getting more and more frequent. Here, at least, she could control what the vision of past or future was, or better yet, leave it obscured enough for others to make of it what they wished. Grabbing her purse after standing up from the chair, she opened the door and was about to leave for home, when she noticed a Post-It note on the opposite side of the office door. Raising her eyebrow at the receptionist's gall, Merveille made her way to the reception, found the key to the desk drawer (underneath the potted plant), and opened it to find an envelope embossed with a wax seal. This couldn't be good. With shaking hands, Merveille opened the envelope, and read the letter, eyes poring over the contents. Then, with her face steeled, she put the letter back in the envelope, the envelope in her purse, and got into her car. As she drove for home, she wondered whether this is what she had been dreaming of.</s>	<\|message\|>Jesse Jesse looked at the envelope, then cursed very loudly. He looked at it again, this time breaking the red seal. Once he read the letter, he cursed even louder. Getting on his bike, he would shove the paper into a side pouch, then bring the bike roaring to life with a swift kick. When the bike was nearing seventy down an old backroad, he would pull the paper out and feed it into the spokes of the front wheel, effectively shredding it and leaving it scattered across three miles of wet dirt and gravel. While he wasn't one for politics, his sire was. They kept in regular contact, and while he never understood why, she had gone out of her way to teach him about something she called the 'Camarilla.' Most of the lessons he had completely ignored, more interested in what they had been doing while she had been talking. One thing he did remember, though, was that most other places in the world had a local group of kindred that controlled things, acting as a sort of government for vampires. Indiana was special, because it did not have one, and supposedly hadn't for quite some time. To his mind, a letter like the one he'd gotten could only mean that things had changed. A message on his answering machine, from his sire, only confirmed it. ___________________________________________________ The building was old, and calling it anything less than rundown would be an overstatement. Blacked out windows and the smell of vomit accented by stale piss all added to the notion that no a dollar to their name had been there in years. Out front, a very nice bike was taking up one of four parking spots. At least, it would have looked nice, if it had wheels and handlebars. Jesse had been the first to arrive, having shown up nearly three hours ahead of schedule. He had spent his spare time waiting hiding in a nearby corner, taking the wheels and the handlebars off his bike. While there was a good chance it would end up defaced in this neighborhood, he intended to make sure anyone wanting to steal it would have to carry the damn thing. A nearby dumpster with a cockroach nest living inside made for a perfect hiding place for the spare parts. Anyone showing up would see Jesse, wearing a black leather jacket and greasy blue jeans, leaning against the board that covered the doorway. In his hand would be a burning cigarette, though it wouldn't take much to notice that he never took a drag from it. Apart from the board, there was no obvious means of getting into the building. The board in the doorway was stuck there, quite securely. Jesse knew, because he had tried to open it. There was a rather large dent in the middle of the board, right at knee-level, to signify his attempt.</s>
<\|description\|>Elizabeth Howard Elizabeth, sometimes nicknamed "Lizzie" by her friends before her embrace, stands at about 5'7". Her skin was usually amongst the first things that new people noticed about her, the extreme pallor that could only be blamed on the dreary weather in England. Her hair, a fiery mess of ringlets that hung loose around her face, certainly didn't help; all it did was draw attention to the lack of blush on her cold cheeks. Her dress varied heavily on whether she was on call or relaxing in her downtime. On-shift she wore the the standard EMT uniform of her company, a dark green jacket and trousers with reflective cuffs; off-duty her style tended to lean into wear into clothing much less formal, often a basic t-shirt of some sort combined with denim jeans and thick-heeled platforms of one recognisable brand or another. Hunger 2 Spent 1 willpower</s> <\|message\|>Elizabeth Howard Elizabeth woke with a start as the sun crossed the horizon. After a brief stretch she threw a cursory glance at her clock, the face of which read 7:23. Perfect, she thought happily, shift starts at 10, I have more than enough time to do what I need. Even in the unlife she continued to leak any document she thought would turn the tide against the hospital - pricing schemes, markup margins, incriminating internal emails - and yet each day fewer and fewer new people seemed to chime in in agreement that the practices employed weren't just unethical but inhuman. Could these people not see that the system was broken, even when it was spoon-fed to them? It made Elizabeth's blood boil. An alarm went off in the background, a shrill two tone sound that alternated a few times before falling silent. Elizabeth drew a deep breath, knowing what was coming. Rising from her laptop she forced herself over to the fridge, a few bags of red fluid rested on the top shelf. She drew one out, throwing it in the microwave, heating it to a more bearable temperature. As she waited her fingers clenched the worktop's edge like claws. It was with her, perched, waiting in her throat. The Beast had come to know the routine, feed before a shift and fast until the next, even if it did love to try pushing Elizabeth over the edge. The gentle beep of the microwave drew Elizabeth back to reality, carefully handling the hot bag. As she bit through the plastic she could feel the warm ambrosia slip past her teeth and slake the fire at the base of her throat. Her talons gripped the bag tighter and tighter, eking any last remaining drips before discarding the wrapper. Again the discontent of the Beast could be felt, hating the bag diet as much as Elizabeth herself did, but nonetheless it was quieted for the moment as the girl regained her composure and control. A quick look in the mirror to check for bloody streaks on her face and collar, and she was out the door. At the vehicle depot everything was fairly quiet. A few of the EMT's were huddled in the communal room watching what appeared to be a rerun of a football game that had aired earlier in the day. Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the very idea of calling that football. As usual at the beginning of her shift she went through the ambulance she'd be working in, ensuring that various controlled medical supplies were indeed still in the vehicle after the previous crew had signed off. Finishing up, she threw herself into the passenger seat and closed her eyes just as the radio crackled to life. "One reported GSW wound, Cold Spring Road by the golf course. Shooter believed to have left the area. Will keep you updated". Elizabeth shuffled herself over into the driver's seat as her partner clambered into the passenger seat.</s> <\|message\|>Physical Description Each step echoed on the empty streets of Indianapolis, with a rhythmic clack clack clack upon the pavement as a man strode along the sidewalk of a rundown neighborhood towards a building with a sign above it's entrance. In big bolded letters the sign read St. Bartholomew's Orphanage, which easily stood out from the dreary look of the neighborhood around it. The building itself looked old and was made from bricks unlike most of the slums on the block where the poor lived in small dirty apartment complex's making a living by breaking the law or selling their bodies to those who would use them, no matter their appearance. It was a disgusting life that sickened Jose Georgio-Lorenzo Martinez, whose pace slowed to a halt beneath the light of a lone lamppost, his hand dipped into the pockets of his long overcoat and pulled a lighter out in one hand while the other flicked a cigarette out of a package, rolling it around in-between his index and his thumb before bringing the cigarette to his mouth. It was a bit billowy outside so he cupped his hands around his mouth as he lit his lighter with a shick shick shick, taking a moment for the fluid within his lighter to light his cigarette. He inhaled it afterwards and held his breath for a second as he tasted the tobacco then in a puff of smoke he exhaled slowly, flicking the ashes of the cigarette in his left hand. He smoked for only a moment longer before dropping the cigarette on the pavement, then ground it beneath the heel of his black slacks. Smoking wasn't the same anymore now that he was what he was, worse that he couldn't innoculate himself on the drugs he peddles but better he not get high on his own supply like he once did. However he had new goals in life now, one of which would take a long time to reach but still the smaller goals add up. An errant hand dipped into his inner coat pocket as he felt the wad of bills he carried. It was for the old lady who ran the orphanage, Jose had always had a soft spot for the elderly woman who looked after the children in the orphanage as she had raised him there after he was placed within her care. It was a shame she had lost some of her eyesight and equally her memory but deep down she was the same caring old woman who treated the children in her care kindly. Jose walked up to the door, pushing the old wooden door open with a loud creak and the bell rang above it to let the occupants know there was a visitor in the orphanage.</s> <\|message\|>Jesse Jesse looked down the track, his fist gripping the steering wheel of the beat up old volkswagen. His knuckles would be turning white, if they weren't already. Traditional rally race rules required a co-pilot, to read off the map and make sure the driver got in all the necessary lap types. This crowd, though, did not mandate it. The track, while rough, had no lap types. That meant it was just Jesse in the car, which was exactly how he liked it. As soon as the engines fired, Jesse reached for his Beast. The power he pulled from it would cost him-he could feel himself grow hungry, as his skin tightened across his frame and his eyes briefly flashed crimson-but it would be worth it. Power flowed through him, his kindred blood rushing through his veins, filling him with speed far beyond anything a simple kine could hope to command. Within moments of the flag dropping, Jesse was shooting from the starting line. Gravel spat under his tires, dirt flying high as he rounded corners and passed every car in front of him. Gears shifted and the engine purred as his near-instant reflexes let him respond to the slightest kick and pull from the road and the old machine he sat in. To onlookers, it would be like watching a someone running practice laps, his competition almost non-existent around him as he flawlessly cornered and drifted past them. He finished nearly two full minutes ahead of the second place car. By the time he was done, the shocks on the old car were shot, and the transmission was close to giving out. Jesse had pushed the car to the limits with his powers, but it had won him the trophy. Really, that's all he had wanted. The thrill of victory, the desire to show people that he was better than them, was one of the few aspects of his humanity he had left. Even if the context for it had shifted. As he went to the parking lot, he saw someone-a gorgeous woman, no less-leaning on his bike. It was hardly a new occurrence, though she certainly wasn't dressed like the usual girls who begged him for a ride. Before he could say anything, though, he felt a sudden, overwhelming sense of fear wash over him as the woman's eyes locked with his. That alone was enough to tell him that she wasn't normal, and that the manila envelope she was holding likely held bad news for him. Tossing the trophy in the trash, he approached, silently taking the paperwork to see what his latest orders from his Sire were. To his surprise, it was not her name written across the top of the documents.</s> <\|message\|>Stanley "Steel" Kowalski Tonight's show wasn't the best. Despite his best efforts, Steel missed a few cords and wasn't emotive enough to keep the crowd engaged. The bad played well enough to still get paid but the boss man said he wouldn't be hiring them back for next week "diversify the talent" he said. Steel took his cut of the cash in pride and headed for the door before a familiar face caught his attention at the bar. He sauntered up to the bar where the out of place socialite sat, idly holding her glass of whiskey that they both knew she had no intention of drinking. "Didn't think I'd see you around here again. I thought grimey bars like this weren't your scene." Steel said, taking a seat next to the woman and laying his elbow on the bar. "I can assure you I wouldn't be here if I didn't need to be Stanley. I'm just a messenger tonight." the woman said, fishing around in a large handbag before pulling out a manilla envelope and handing it to Steel. "I'll be glad to leave this place behind for good after this." Steel didn't take the envelope initially, instead eyeing it and the vampire suspiciously. "What's this?" "Below me, that's what it is. Just take it so I can get on with my night alright?" the vampire asked, annoyed as she shoved the envelope a little quicker this time into Steel's chest. Steel finally took the envelope and the woman got up to leave. "See you next year Sarah." Steel said, watching the woman walk away as she ignored the rockstar. He couldn't believe it had been over a year since he'd kicked the bucket so to speak. The former mortal chuckled as he tore into the envelope and look at it's contents.</s>	<\|message\|>Elizabeth Howard By the time Elizabeth and her partner arrived at the scene a small crowd had gathered around the man with one attempting first aid whilst they waited for the ambulance. Taking over, she covered the wound with dressing, taping it down on 3 sides whilst keeping pressure on the 4th. The pair gently rolled the victim onto a board which allowed them to elevate him onto a bed then into the ambulance. As she was closing the doors Elizabeth caught the name of the location illuminated in bright light. Coffin golf course. That's not at all morbid she thought as the heavy doors slammed shut. On the way to the hospital Elizabeth stayed in the back with the man. The sound of his heartbeat rung in her ears, a rhythmic thud thud in the background as an eager Beast took the time to remind her just how hungry she was, just how much she was dying for one more mouthful of blood. Elizabeth could feel the pressure building beneath her hands as air trapped in the chest cavity tried to escape. Carefully she released some of the pressure off of the untaped side to allow it to leave, before going back to fighting with her inner demons. Elizabeth found herself in a daze as they handed over the man to the hospital's A&E department, rattling off everything the doctors needed to know to continue the treatment before finding a place to perch, breathe and bring herself back to reality. A small wave of relief washed over her, she'd pushed through once more without giving in. With a deep breath and a content sigh she returned to the depot with her partner, waiting for the rest of that night's shift to pass. Exhausted, as she was after every shift, Elizabeth rocked up to her apartment to discover her door slightly ajar; a light unease spread through her as she pushed the door open silently and tread over the threshold. Very little had changed since earlier that night, all the valuables and expensive items seemed to still be in place, however Lizzie could smell the drops of blood scattered periodically across the floor. The animal within her stirred from its slumber, parching her throat as she stalked the trail, swinging open another door to find a kindred sat at the foot of her bed. "Edwin?!" Elizabeth exclaimed, surprised to see the elder vampire there. It'd been a while since her Sire had dropped by to see how she was doing. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd grown tired of me" she added sarcastically with an exaggerated pout. As she finisher speaking Elizabeth realised where the blood scent was coming from. There was an oozing blood bag in his hands, with at least two of the corners torn up by teeth, and yet most of the blood remained in the bag. She made a mental note to steal an additional bag this week to replace the waste. A gentle chuckle escaped the kindred's mouth, followed by a smirk. "I don't think I could ever grow tired of you my dear". Edwin drew the bag close to his mouth again, recoiling away the moment his teeth dug through the plastic skin. "I just don't understand how you manage this, actual feeding is so much more convenient and, dare I say, fun". With a scowl he placed the bag down on the bed, beads of blood oozing from the bite marks in the corners escaped down onto the linens. "I assume that you're still..." "Yes, I'm still drinking from them" Elizabeth interrupted, "but some days are getting too close for my liking, I may have to think about finding somewhere else to acquire them from in addition to work". Edwin's face appeared to drop for a moment, seeming almost disappointed at the restraint she had been showing, but as fast as it has fallen the cheerful expression was restored, making Elizabeth ponder if she'd seen it at all. "What brings you hear today then? Have you forgotten that a certain technology called the 'telephone' exists?" She teased. "Its not a social call I'm afraid, this is mostly 'business'" he replied, his voice dropping most of the warmth she was used to hearing. A couple frantic pats of his coat later Edwin drew out an envelope, embellished heavily on one side with beautiful calligraphy that spelled out her name. "I was told to ensure that you recieved and read this" he said, passing the delicate item from his own pale hands into Elizabeth's. Seeming to read the expression on her face he continued with "I don't know what's in there either. It's probably nothing to worry too much about" he added, attempting a reassuring smile. Receiving the envelope, Elizabeth saw that there was nothing else to do. With tentative fingers she slid a nail beneath the seal.</s>
<\|description\|>Elizabeth Howard Elizabeth, sometimes nicknamed "Lizzie" by her friends before her embrace, stands at about 5'7". Her skin was usually amongst the first things that new people noticed about her, the extreme pallor that could only be blamed on the dreary weather in England. Her hair, a fiery mess of ringlets that hung loose around her face, certainly didn't help; all it did was draw attention to the lack of blush on her cold cheeks. Her dress varied heavily on whether she was on call or relaxing in her downtime. On-shift she wore the the standard EMT uniform of her company, a dark green jacket and trousers with reflective cuffs; off-duty her style tended to lean into wear into clothing much less formal, often a basic t-shirt of some sort combined with denim jeans and thick-heeled platforms of one recognisable brand or another. Hunger 2 Spent 1 willpower</s> <\|message\|>Stanley "Steel" Kowalski Tonight's show wasn't the best. Despite his best efforts, Steel missed a few cords and wasn't emotive enough to keep the crowd engaged. The bad played well enough to still get paid but the boss man said he wouldn't be hiring them back for next week "diversify the talent" he said. Steel took his cut of the cash in pride and headed for the door before a familiar face caught his attention at the bar. He sauntered up to the bar where the out of place socialite sat, idly holding her glass of whiskey that they both knew she had no intention of drinking. "Didn't think I'd see you around here again. I thought grimey bars like this weren't your scene." Steel said, taking a seat next to the woman and laying his elbow on the bar. "I can assure you I wouldn't be here if I didn't need to be Stanley. I'm just a messenger tonight." the woman said, fishing around in a large handbag before pulling out a manilla envelope and handing it to Steel. "I'll be glad to leave this place behind for good after this." Steel didn't take the envelope initially, instead eyeing it and the vampire suspiciously. "What's this?" "Below me, that's what it is. Just take it so I can get on with my night alright?" the vampire asked, annoyed as she shoved the envelope a little quicker this time into Steel's chest. Steel finally took the envelope and the woman got up to leave. "See you next year Sarah." Steel said, watching the woman walk away as she ignored the rockstar. He couldn't believe it had been over a year since he'd kicked the bucket so to speak. The former mortal chuckled as he tore into the envelope and look at it's contents.</s> <\|message\|>Elizabeth Howard By the time Elizabeth and her partner arrived at the scene a small crowd had gathered around the man with one attempting first aid whilst they waited for the ambulance. Taking over, she covered the wound with dressing, taping it down on 3 sides whilst keeping pressure on the 4th. The pair gently rolled the victim onto a board which allowed them to elevate him onto a bed then into the ambulance. As she was closing the doors Elizabeth caught the name of the location illuminated in bright light. Coffin golf course. That's not at all morbid she thought as the heavy doors slammed shut. On the way to the hospital Elizabeth stayed in the back with the man. The sound of his heartbeat rung in her ears, a rhythmic thud thud in the background as an eager Beast took the time to remind her just how hungry she was, just how much she was dying for one more mouthful of blood. Elizabeth could feel the pressure building beneath her hands as air trapped in the chest cavity tried to escape. Carefully she released some of the pressure off of the untaped side to allow it to leave, before going back to fighting with her inner demons. Elizabeth found herself in a daze as they handed over the man to the hospital's A&E department, rattling off everything the doctors needed to know to continue the treatment before finding a place to perch, breathe and bring herself back to reality. A small wave of relief washed over her, she'd pushed through once more without giving in. With a deep breath and a content sigh she returned to the depot with her partner, waiting for the rest of that night's shift to pass. Exhausted, as she was after every shift, Elizabeth rocked up to her apartment to discover her door slightly ajar; a light unease spread through her as she pushed the door open silently and tread over the threshold. Very little had changed since earlier that night, all the valuables and expensive items seemed to still be in place, however Lizzie could smell the drops of blood scattered periodically across the floor. The animal within her stirred from its slumber, parching her throat as she stalked the trail, swinging open another door to find a kindred sat at the foot of her bed. "Edwin?!" Elizabeth exclaimed, surprised to see the elder vampire there. It'd been a while since her Sire had dropped by to see how she was doing. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd grown tired of me" she added sarcastically with an exaggerated pout. As she finisher speaking Elizabeth realised where the blood scent was coming from. There was an oozing blood bag in his hands, with at least two of the corners torn up by teeth, and yet most of the blood remained in the bag. She made a mental note to steal an additional bag this week to replace the waste. A gentle chuckle escaped the kindred's mouth, followed by a smirk. "I don't think I could ever grow tired of you my dear". Edwin drew the bag close to his mouth again, recoiling away the moment his teeth dug through the plastic skin. "I just don't understand how you manage this, actual feeding is so much more convenient and, dare I say, fun". With a scowl he placed the bag down on the bed, beads of blood oozing from the bite marks in the corners escaped down onto the linens. "I assume that you're still..." "Yes, I'm still drinking from them" Elizabeth interrupted, "but some days are getting too close for my liking, I may have to think about finding somewhere else to acquire them from in addition to work". Edwin's face appeared to drop for a moment, seeming almost disappointed at the restraint she had been showing, but as fast as it has fallen the cheerful expression was restored, making Elizabeth ponder if she'd seen it at all. "What brings you hear today then? Have you forgotten that a certain technology called the 'telephone' exists?" She teased. "Its not a social call I'm afraid, this is mostly 'business'" he replied, his voice dropping most of the warmth she was used to hearing. A couple frantic pats of his coat later Edwin drew out an envelope, embellished heavily on one side with beautiful calligraphy that spelled out her name. "I was told to ensure that you recieved and read this" he said, passing the delicate item from his own pale hands into Elizabeth's. Seeming to read the expression on her face he continued with "I don't know what's in there either. It's probably nothing to worry too much about" he added, attempting a reassuring smile. Receiving the envelope, Elizabeth saw that there was nothing else to do. With tentative fingers she slid a nail beneath the seal.</s> <\|message\|>Jesse The envelope was closed with a wax seal, a stylized 'R' printed over a crossed staff and scepter imprinted in the wax. Inside the envelope awaited a thick parchment, scented with a noticeable hint of fine cologne, with writing scrawled across. Clearly written by hand, and seemingly done with quill and ink. Not over the top, but the kind of work that would cost money these days. Salutations, It is my personal hope that this writing finds you in the best of health. I am writing to congratulate you on your recent good fortune, and to offer my respectful welcome into my community. In the past, leadership of this community has been inexcusable. For that, you have my deepest apologies. However, from this day forward, that changes. As the newly appointed head of this wonderful venture, it is my personal duty to ensure each of you know where you belong and what your responsibilities are. To that end, I have decided to host several meetings over the coming nights. Your presence is requested at the first of these meetings. Attendance is mandatory. Sincerely, Riccard Attached to the parchment with a paperclip was a business card. Thick and pristinely white, the card had only a time and date on the front, with an address on the back. Inquiry would show that the address belonged to an old bar, in the downtown area. The date was the following night, and the time was midnight. Written inside the envelope was a note, clearly meant to only be read by the recipient. "Destroy All Contents"</s> <\|message\|>Stanley "Steel" Kowalski Though he had cracked open the letter in the bar, Steel hadn't begun to read it until he hit the street. He made his way, reading the letter in between steps. Being new to the vampire game, Steel was the first to admit that the politics of it all weren't really his strong suit but what he did know seemed to fill in the gaps that this letter left. Those gaps mad him angry. Beast or not, rage welled up inside steel as he finished the note. With a loud grunt Steel took his guitar case by the neck and crushed it... much to the surprise of Jared his drummer. Jared was off to join Steel with some practice after their crummy show but the man stopped in his tracks as he saw his friend display such an inhuman act. He wasn't sure what to think of it, once the stupor wore off he began to cautiously head over to his friend. His stride was caught short however as something impossibly fast moved in and grabbed him by the neck. In the blink of an eye Jared "Matches" O'Neil was now the former drummer of Rachit Jiraffe, his body strew unceremoniously on the sidewalk. As Steel whipped around in rage, his eyes managed to meet that of Sarah's just before she took off, a smug look on her face and a nonchalant shrug. Steel's eyes then met that of his former friend and band mate. He felt something break inside as the beast was still in the driver's seat. unable to do much more, Steel stuffed the note back in his pocket and managed enough thought to bring his guitar case, full of his now destroyed guitar, with him as he took off.</s>	<\|message\|>Elizabeth Howard With a bated breath, Elizabeth slipped a nail under the wax seal which let go with a soft crack. Despite Edwin's reassurance her hands were a little shakey as she unfolded the parchment nestled inside the envelope. As she read her eyes dragged across the page and she mouthed each word as she read, her sire tried to peer around the side of the letter to read her lips but a warning glare had him looking the other way quickly. "See? Nothing too bad" Edwin said, jovial warmth returning to his voice now that his job had been done. "Nothing too bad comes by letter, it's when they don't send a letter you need to be worried. Well?" He asked as he saw Elizabeth look away from the paper. "I... I don't really know how much I can say" she replied, stumbling over the words slightly. There was something about the letter, the way it was written, that unnerved her, that made her feel threatened almost. "It's nothing, I think." she lied, "someone just wants to speak with me". A derisive snort let loose from her sire's nose. "And this is why I don't like them. A secretive note here, secretive meeting there, and then someone ends up with a dagger to the back. Bastards. Let me guess, 'destroy all contents'?" Elizabeth glanced down at the envelope then nodded. As she stood processing the information Edwin slunk quietly into the kitchen, almost immediately the sound of running water could be heard throughout the flat. To double check her understanding, Elizabeth reread the letter in it's entirety. For the moment she seperated the business card from the parchment, leaving the former on her bedside table as she passed through the doorway to join Edwin, where she was met with a full sink of water. Throwing a bemused smirk he explained that the water would soak some of the ink away and simultaneously turn the parchment to mulch. "Surely burning it is the easiest method, no?" she replied innocently. He shook his head in silent disapproval. "No, not for us. Especially not for us" he exasperated, gesturing wildly with his arms. "Our conscious minds may be fine with flame, but our deepest instincts now are to flee or lash out at the sight if a single tongue. We've been through this!" "I'm sorry" she replied sheepishly, sounding dangerously close to crying, as she placed the parchment into the sink to soak for the time being. As Edwin proceeded to sink into her sofa, Elizabeth stood transfixed staring into the water, watching the ink bleed out from the note. With the actual words of the letter fading Elizabeth stepped back from the sink. She was left with an address to memorise and the envelope. Ignoring those for the moment, she sat next to Edwin; resting her head on his shoulder and feeling a supportive hand on her back drawing her closer. "How do you deal with these... games" Elizabeth asked, voice raw with a mixture of emotions. "It can be hard" Edwin admitted, pulling her a little closer, "just go through the motions and it's over soon enough. But it's one of the reasons I fight, this way of life just isn't sustainable or right". Edwin pulled her slightly tighter before letting go and standing up. "Unfortunately love, I need to get home before sun up. It'll be fine" he added, once again trying to be reassuring. "I'll see you again soon okay?" He said in goodbye as he showed himself out. Elizabeth returned to her bedroom, perching on the foot of the bed before lying backwards, reaching over to the nightstand to pick up the business card. The time was simple enough, but the address just seemed to be some place downtown that she didn't recognise. With a sigh filling the room, she threw it to the floor, hoping that she'd memorized enough of the address to remember it the following night. When she woke up she'd get around to disposing of this piece too.</s>
<\|description\|>Elizabeth Howard Elizabeth, sometimes nicknamed "Lizzie" by her friends before her embrace, stands at about 5'7". Her skin was usually amongst the first things that new people noticed about her, the extreme pallor that could only be blamed on the dreary weather in England. Her hair, a fiery mess of ringlets that hung loose around her face, certainly didn't help; all it did was draw attention to the lack of blush on her cold cheeks. Her dress varied heavily on whether she was on call or relaxing in her downtime. On-shift she wore the the standard EMT uniform of her company, a dark green jacket and trousers with reflective cuffs; off-duty her style tended to lean into wear into clothing much less formal, often a basic t-shirt of some sort combined with denim jeans and thick-heeled platforms of one recognisable brand or another. Hunger 2 Spent 1 willpower</s> <\|message\|>Merveille St. Claire The offices of Psychics 4 U, were, as perhaps to be expected from a phone psychic agency of dubious legality (although as pointed out in ads, only meant for entertainment purposes), not considered among the nicest buildings in Indianapolis. In fact, it probably ranked as one of the ugliest buildings in Indianapolis, but beneath it's crumbling facade, there was...not love, not exactly joy, or even hope, really, but there were people doing their job. Merveille was one of those people, currently in hushed whisperings with some man who was frantically asking about whether his wife had been unfaithful. She could already picture the man, balding, beginning to let his body go in pursuit of just one more promotion, as his wife was left alone at home to do what-or-whoever she pleased. So, was he looking for reassurance, either in his wife's faithfulness or in his manic deductions. "Well," Merveille began, in that patois she'd perfected when playing Tituba so many years ago. "I must first caution you: the answers I provide may not be the ones you want." Whether it was on stage or over phone, the concept of acting remained the same. You had to build up suspense. Let the audience's mind wander, piece together the puzzle they'd created in their minds, all while the silence hung heavy in the air. "So," the man asked, his whisper barely able to be heard over the tinny speaker. "What is it?" At that, she exhaled. Of course he wanted to know. That's why he was calling, of course, but keeping them waiting, kept customers all the more sure that what they were getting were true insights, gleaned from a true clairvoyant. Also, it was a form of stalling, considering money was made per minute, but that was secondary. If you could keep them calling, you could keep them paying. "The answer is no, your wife has not laid with another." Merveille could almost chuckle at the mighty release of breath she heard over the line, but with the harm that would do to her whole image, she simply kept her mouth shut until the man on the other end-Anthony? Andrew? fell silent. "However, you would do much good, my child, to look into your finances." While it was nice to assuage one fear, one always had to remember there was another lurking around the corner. And really, it wasn't that difficult. Anthony - yes, she was sure of it this time - had already spoken of leaving his wife at home, and while his mind may have wandered to her in bed, the ability to call up whoever she wanted, there was the possibility of her instead eyeing one of his credit cards. Finally concluding her "session" with a curt goodbye, Merveille put the phone down and sighed. Psychic was a role like any other now, even if the glimpses she saw in her sleep of screams and blood seemed to be getting more and more frequent. Here, at least, she could control what the vision of past or future was, or better yet, leave it obscured enough for others to make of it what they wished. Grabbing her purse after standing up from the chair, she opened the door and was about to leave for home, when she noticed a Post-It note on the opposite side of the office door. Raising her eyebrow at the receptionist's gall, Merveille made her way to the reception, found the key to the desk drawer (underneath the potted plant), and opened it to find an envelope embossed with a wax seal. This couldn't be good. With shaking hands, Merveille opened the envelope, and read the letter, eyes poring over the contents. Then, with her face steeled, she put the letter back in the envelope, the envelope in her purse, and got into her car. As she drove for home, she wondered whether this is what she had been dreaming of.</s> <\|message\|>Jesse Jesse looked at the envelope, then cursed very loudly. He looked at it again, this time breaking the red seal. Once he read the letter, he cursed even louder. Getting on his bike, he would shove the paper into a side pouch, then bring the bike roaring to life with a swift kick. When the bike was nearing seventy down an old backroad, he would pull the paper out and feed it into the spokes of the front wheel, effectively shredding it and leaving it scattered across three miles of wet dirt and gravel. While he wasn't one for politics, his sire was. They kept in regular contact, and while he never understood why, she had gone out of her way to teach him about something she called the 'Camarilla.' Most of the lessons he had completely ignored, more interested in what they had been doing while she had been talking. One thing he did remember, though, was that most other places in the world had a local group of kindred that controlled things, acting as a sort of government for vampires. Indiana was special, because it did not have one, and supposedly hadn't for quite some time. To his mind, a letter like the one he'd gotten could only mean that things had changed. A message on his answering machine, from his sire, only confirmed it. ___________________________________________________ The building was old, and calling it anything less than rundown would be an overstatement. Blacked out windows and the smell of vomit accented by stale piss all added to the notion that no a dollar to their name had been there in years. Out front, a very nice bike was taking up one of four parking spots. At least, it would have looked nice, if it had wheels and handlebars. Jesse had been the first to arrive, having shown up nearly three hours ahead of schedule. He had spent his spare time waiting hiding in a nearby corner, taking the wheels and the handlebars off his bike. While there was a good chance it would end up defaced in this neighborhood, he intended to make sure anyone wanting to steal it would have to carry the damn thing. A nearby dumpster with a cockroach nest living inside made for a perfect hiding place for the spare parts. Anyone showing up would see Jesse, wearing a black leather jacket and greasy blue jeans, leaning against the board that covered the doorway. In his hand would be a burning cigarette, though it wouldn't take much to notice that he never took a drag from it. Apart from the board, there was no obvious means of getting into the building. The board in the doorway was stuck there, quite securely. Jesse knew, because he had tried to open it. There was a rather large dent in the middle of the board, right at knee-level, to signify his attempt.</s> <\|message\|>Merveille St. Claire When she arrived home, Merveille immediately dashed to her home office, making for the paper shredder. Was it the most obvious place to dispose of documents? Yes, and she'd have to find a way to dump its contents somewhere obscure in some time, but it'd do wonders for the whole getting a document that looked like it could've been sent by the Dracula himself thing. Besides, focusing on how exactly to get rid of the letter helped take her mind off of other things. Such as what the letter meant for the present vampire situation in Indianapolis. While she wouldn't have considered herself a savant by any means, keeping abreast of the local politics in the area, for both mortal and vampire alike seemed like a reasonable thing to do. It had taken an incredible amount of wheedling to get James to tell her anything, and truthfully, she wasn't exactly sure if she could believe all of it considering his...instability. What she had learned, though, of Princes and Primogens and bloodlines, old money intent on keeping it that way, pointed to one conclusion: This Riccard was saying he was in charge now, and that she had best better attend. That night, Merveille dreamed of things to come. Blood, as always, but in the middle of that pool, a throne. ___________________________________________________ Pulling up to the building in her sensible 1991 Civic, Merveille took a look at the place and sighed. Charitably, the place could be described as a dumpster. Honestly, it looked like a hellhole. Parts of it reminded her of her childhood, and not in the way childhood was about wonder and warmth. More about having to share a single room with three siblings. The motorcycle lacking wheels and handlebars sitting in one of the parking spots only added to that perception. It also meant someone had arrived earlier than her, which didn't do much to lift Merveille's present frustration. She was planning on arriving here first, and, well, she hadn't arrived first. There was more important business to attend to, though, so she carefully parked her car, uttered a silent prayer to any higher power (if they did exist) to prevent anything from happening to it, before getting out. As she walked to the doorway, she saw a man with a cigarette in hand, leather jacket and tight jeans and all. If he hadn't been standing in front of the building and hadn't have looked like he'd been there for a while, Merveille would've thought him to be like any other drifter. Instead, he seemed to be one of the others called to the meeting. "Here for the meeting, I take it?" Merveille curtly asked, before taking up a spot a few feet away from the man. He didn't exactly seem to be in the mood for talking, but it was best to confirm such things.</s>	<\|message\|>Elizabeth Howard The street was quiet, it at least as quiet of an area in Indianapolis could get. As her platforms pattered down onto the pavement she kept reciting the address over and over in her mind, matching the rhythm of the words to the pace of her walking. Checking her watch the time was drawing closer, 20 minutes to midnight and she still hadn't found the place. If her heart still worked it woud be a flurry of beats as the anxiety built in her chest. It didn't help that she felt like she was being followed. A few times she thought she'd caught a glimpse of something trailing her. Maybe it was an associate of this Riccard keeping tabs on her, perhaps it was an opportunistic thief believing a young woman to be an easy target, or more likely the stress of the upcoming meeting was getting to her head, making her overly paranoid. 15 minutes to midnight and Elizabeth still felt horrendously lost as she walked around the long dark streets. The popular bars and clubs felt like they were a mile away as the buildings drew older, more decrepit and drab. Increasingly frequently windows were cracked or boarded. Elizabeth couldn't help but feel a shiver of involuntary fear at how rough this area of town felt compared to the warmth of the area she lived and frequently worked. Feeling a breeze she drew her jacket tighter, holding it together with an arm tightly clamped across her chest. With but 10 minutes before the meeting she believed she had found the place. There were two people loitering around outside. Kindred? The very thought put her on edge slightly. Outside of dealing with her Sire she'd never spoken to another one. It was a terrifying prospect. Edwin had thoroughly drilled into her how temperamental some clans could be, set off by the faintest faux par. As she gathered her courage she hung back, leaning against a building further up the street. In her head Elizabeth was practicing an exercise Edwin had designed to help her remember which clans to be careful about. Nervously checking her watch again, she had 7 minutes until the meeting. Looking over at the other two they didn't really seem to be interacting all too much. Perhaps they're here for the same reason I am, she pondered; beginning to pace gently nearer to the address as the hands drew closer to midnight. One of them, a man, lifted his head slightly as Elizabeth approached, giving a weary nod before returning to whatever it was they were doing. The other hasn't seemed to have noticed her yet, which Elizabeth appreciated, as she clung quietly to the shadows and waited for this meeting to begin.</s>
<\|description\|>Merveille St. Claire A somewhat matronly looking woman of Haitian descent, Merveille is most often seen wearing a headwrap and loose, colorful clothes. At 5'9, she cuts a fairly imposing figure. Hunger 2</s> <\|message\|>Stanley "Steel" Kowalski Though he had cracked open the letter in the bar, Steel hadn't begun to read it until he hit the street. He made his way, reading the letter in between steps. Being new to the vampire game, Steel was the first to admit that the politics of it all weren't really his strong suit but what he did know seemed to fill in the gaps that this letter left. Those gaps mad him angry. Beast or not, rage welled up inside steel as he finished the note. With a loud grunt Steel took his guitar case by the neck and crushed it... much to the surprise of Jared his drummer. Jared was off to join Steel with some practice after their crummy show but the man stopped in his tracks as he saw his friend display such an inhuman act. He wasn't sure what to think of it, once the stupor wore off he began to cautiously head over to his friend. His stride was caught short however as something impossibly fast moved in and grabbed him by the neck. In the blink of an eye Jared "Matches" O'Neil was now the former drummer of Rachit Jiraffe, his body strew unceremoniously on the sidewalk. As Steel whipped around in rage, his eyes managed to meet that of Sarah's just before she took off, a smug look on her face and a nonchalant shrug. Steel's eyes then met that of his former friend and band mate. He felt something break inside as the beast was still in the driver's seat. unable to do much more, Steel stuffed the note back in his pocket and managed enough thought to bring his guitar case, full of his now destroyed guitar, with him as he took off.</s> <\|message\|>Elizabeth Howard With a bated breath, Elizabeth slipped a nail under the wax seal which let go with a soft crack. Despite Edwin's reassurance her hands were a little shakey as she unfolded the parchment nestled inside the envelope. As she read her eyes dragged across the page and she mouthed each word as she read, her sire tried to peer around the side of the letter to read her lips but a warning glare had him looking the other way quickly. "See? Nothing too bad" Edwin said, jovial warmth returning to his voice now that his job had been done. "Nothing too bad comes by letter, it's when they don't send a letter you need to be worried. Well?" He asked as he saw Elizabeth look away from the paper. "I... I don't really know how much I can say" she replied, stumbling over the words slightly. There was something about the letter, the way it was written, that unnerved her, that made her feel threatened almost. "It's nothing, I think." she lied, "someone just wants to speak with me". A derisive snort let loose from her sire's nose. "And this is why I don't like them. A secretive note here, secretive meeting there, and then someone ends up with a dagger to the back. Bastards. Let me guess, 'destroy all contents'?" Elizabeth glanced down at the envelope then nodded. As she stood processing the information Edwin slunk quietly into the kitchen, almost immediately the sound of running water could be heard throughout the flat. To double check her understanding, Elizabeth reread the letter in it's entirety. For the moment she seperated the business card from the parchment, leaving the former on her bedside table as she passed through the doorway to join Edwin, where she was met with a full sink of water. Throwing a bemused smirk he explained that the water would soak some of the ink away and simultaneously turn the parchment to mulch. "Surely burning it is the easiest method, no?" she replied innocently. He shook his head in silent disapproval. "No, not for us. Especially not for us" he exasperated, gesturing wildly with his arms. "Our conscious minds may be fine with flame, but our deepest instincts now are to flee or lash out at the sight if a single tongue. We've been through this!" "I'm sorry" she replied sheepishly, sounding dangerously close to crying, as she placed the parchment into the sink to soak for the time being. As Edwin proceeded to sink into her sofa, Elizabeth stood transfixed staring into the water, watching the ink bleed out from the note. With the actual words of the letter fading Elizabeth stepped back from the sink. She was left with an address to memorise and the envelope. Ignoring those for the moment, she sat next to Edwin; resting her head on his shoulder and feeling a supportive hand on her back drawing her closer. "How do you deal with these... games" Elizabeth asked, voice raw with a mixture of emotions. "It can be hard" Edwin admitted, pulling her a little closer, "just go through the motions and it's over soon enough. But it's one of the reasons I fight, this way of life just isn't sustainable or right". Edwin pulled her slightly tighter before letting go and standing up. "Unfortunately love, I need to get home before sun up. It'll be fine" he added, once again trying to be reassuring. "I'll see you again soon okay?" He said in goodbye as he showed himself out. Elizabeth returned to her bedroom, perching on the foot of the bed before lying backwards, reaching over to the nightstand to pick up the business card. The time was simple enough, but the address just seemed to be some place downtown that she didn't recognise. With a sigh filling the room, she threw it to the floor, hoping that she'd memorized enough of the address to remember it the following night. When she woke up she'd get around to disposing of this piece too.</s> <\|message\|>Merveille St. Claire The offices of Psychics 4 U, were, as perhaps to be expected from a phone psychic agency of dubious legality (although as pointed out in ads, only meant for entertainment purposes), not considered among the nicest buildings in Indianapolis. In fact, it probably ranked as one of the ugliest buildings in Indianapolis, but beneath it's crumbling facade, there was...not love, not exactly joy, or even hope, really, but there were people doing their job. Merveille was one of those people, currently in hushed whisperings with some man who was frantically asking about whether his wife had been unfaithful. She could already picture the man, balding, beginning to let his body go in pursuit of just one more promotion, as his wife was left alone at home to do what-or-whoever she pleased. So, was he looking for reassurance, either in his wife's faithfulness or in his manic deductions. "Well," Merveille began, in that patois she'd perfected when playing Tituba so many years ago. "I must first caution you: the answers I provide may not be the ones you want." Whether it was on stage or over phone, the concept of acting remained the same. You had to build up suspense. Let the audience's mind wander, piece together the puzzle they'd created in their minds, all while the silence hung heavy in the air. "So," the man asked, his whisper barely able to be heard over the tinny speaker. "What is it?" At that, she exhaled. Of course he wanted to know. That's why he was calling, of course, but keeping them waiting, kept customers all the more sure that what they were getting were true insights, gleaned from a true clairvoyant. Also, it was a form of stalling, considering money was made per minute, but that was secondary. If you could keep them calling, you could keep them paying. "The answer is no, your wife has not laid with another." Merveille could almost chuckle at the mighty release of breath she heard over the line, but with the harm that would do to her whole image, she simply kept her mouth shut until the man on the other end-Anthony? Andrew? fell silent. "However, you would do much good, my child, to look into your finances." While it was nice to assuage one fear, one always had to remember there was another lurking around the corner. And really, it wasn't that difficult. Anthony - yes, she was sure of it this time - had already spoken of leaving his wife at home, and while his mind may have wandered to her in bed, the ability to call up whoever she wanted, there was the possibility of her instead eyeing one of his credit cards. Finally concluding her "session" with a curt goodbye, Merveille put the phone down and sighed. Psychic was a role like any other now, even if the glimpses she saw in her sleep of screams and blood seemed to be getting more and more frequent. Here, at least, she could control what the vision of past or future was, or better yet, leave it obscured enough for others to make of it what they wished. Grabbing her purse after standing up from the chair, she opened the door and was about to leave for home, when she noticed a Post-It note on the opposite side of the office door. Raising her eyebrow at the receptionist's gall, Merveille made her way to the reception, found the key to the desk drawer (underneath the potted plant), and opened it to find an envelope embossed with a wax seal. This couldn't be good. With shaking hands, Merveille opened the envelope, and read the letter, eyes poring over the contents. Then, with her face steeled, she put the letter back in the envelope, the envelope in her purse, and got into her car. As she drove for home, she wondered whether this is what she had been dreaming of.</s> <\|message\|>Jesse Jesse looked at the envelope, then cursed very loudly. He looked at it again, this time breaking the red seal. Once he read the letter, he cursed even louder. Getting on his bike, he would shove the paper into a side pouch, then bring the bike roaring to life with a swift kick. When the bike was nearing seventy down an old backroad, he would pull the paper out and feed it into the spokes of the front wheel, effectively shredding it and leaving it scattered across three miles of wet dirt and gravel. While he wasn't one for politics, his sire was. They kept in regular contact, and while he never understood why, she had gone out of her way to teach him about something she called the 'Camarilla.' Most of the lessons he had completely ignored, more interested in what they had been doing while she had been talking. One thing he did remember, though, was that most other places in the world had a local group of kindred that controlled things, acting as a sort of government for vampires. Indiana was special, because it did not have one, and supposedly hadn't for quite some time. To his mind, a letter like the one he'd gotten could only mean that things had changed. A message on his answering machine, from his sire, only confirmed it. ___________________________________________________ The building was old, and calling it anything less than rundown would be an overstatement. Blacked out windows and the smell of vomit accented by stale piss all added to the notion that no a dollar to their name had been there in years. Out front, a very nice bike was taking up one of four parking spots. At least, it would have looked nice, if it had wheels and handlebars. Jesse had been the first to arrive, having shown up nearly three hours ahead of schedule. He had spent his spare time waiting hiding in a nearby corner, taking the wheels and the handlebars off his bike. While there was a good chance it would end up defaced in this neighborhood, he intended to make sure anyone wanting to steal it would have to carry the damn thing. A nearby dumpster with a cockroach nest living inside made for a perfect hiding place for the spare parts. Anyone showing up would see Jesse, wearing a black leather jacket and greasy blue jeans, leaning against the board that covered the doorway. In his hand would be a burning cigarette, though it wouldn't take much to notice that he never took a drag from it. Apart from the board, there was no obvious means of getting into the building. The board in the doorway was stuck there, quite securely. Jesse knew, because he had tried to open it. There was a rather large dent in the middle of the board, right at knee-level, to signify his attempt.</s>	<\|message\|>Merveille St. Claire When she arrived home, Merveille immediately dashed to her home office, making for the paper shredder. Was it the most obvious place to dispose of documents? Yes, and she'd have to find a way to dump its contents somewhere obscure in some time, but it'd do wonders for the whole getting a document that looked like it could've been sent by the Dracula himself thing. Besides, focusing on how exactly to get rid of the letter helped take her mind off of other things. Such as what the letter meant for the present vampire situation in Indianapolis. While she wouldn't have considered herself a savant by any means, keeping abreast of the local politics in the area, for both mortal and vampire alike seemed like a reasonable thing to do. It had taken an incredible amount of wheedling to get James to tell her anything, and truthfully, she wasn't exactly sure if she could believe all of it considering his...instability. What she had learned, though, of Princes and Primogens and bloodlines, old money intent on keeping it that way, pointed to one conclusion: This Riccard was saying he was in charge now, and that she had best better attend. That night, Merveille dreamed of things to come. Blood, as always, but in the middle of that pool, a throne. ___________________________________________________ Pulling up to the building in her sensible 1991 Civic, Merveille took a look at the place and sighed. Charitably, the place could be described as a dumpster. Honestly, it looked like a hellhole. Parts of it reminded her of her childhood, and not in the way childhood was about wonder and warmth. More about having to share a single room with three siblings. The motorcycle lacking wheels and handlebars sitting in one of the parking spots only added to that perception. It also meant someone had arrived earlier than her, which didn't do much to lift Merveille's present frustration. She was planning on arriving here first, and, well, she hadn't arrived first. There was more important business to attend to, though, so she carefully parked her car, uttered a silent prayer to any higher power (if they did exist) to prevent anything from happening to it, before getting out. As she walked to the doorway, she saw a man with a cigarette in hand, leather jacket and tight jeans and all. If he hadn't been standing in front of the building and hadn't have looked like he'd been there for a while, Merveille would've thought him to be like any other drifter. Instead, he seemed to be one of the others called to the meeting. "Here for the meeting, I take it?" Merveille curtly asked, before taking up a spot a few feet away from the man. He didn't exactly seem to be in the mood for talking, but it was best to confirm such things.</s>
<\|description\|>Kaneko, Ohta Kaneko Ohta "Lemme think on that."Overview --- Age 19 Gender Male Occupation Office WorkerCharacterization & Conceptualization --- What Do They Look Like? Ohta's sallow skin and gray eyes give off the impression of someone who had aged beyond just the nineteen years he had lived so far, and that issue is compounded by how his eyes are perpetually half-open, bagged with dark circles. A heaviness clings onto his frame, grounding him to the earth even as he breaks into a sprint to catch the last train home. Deliberate in his movements, careful in his language, there's a constant sense of slowness with him. His slender hands are often stained by pencil smudges or ink stains, while his brown hair gives off the impression that he's just gotten out of bed, regardless of how long he actually spends in bed. At a height of 5'7, with a diminutive frame that naturally hunches into itself, Ohta's just another face in the crowd, another file in the company's folder. The fingernails on his left hand are cut painfully short; the ones on his right feature deep crescents. What Are They Like? Ohta watches, listens, and keeps his thoughts to himself. Introverted, he's made it a habit to repress his emotions out of necessity, keeping people at a distance while he plugs along with his tasks. It's convenient, to be thought of as a cold person, a distant person, so that's what he leans into. Praise or encouragement for the work he does is strange, after all, and having coldness and distance be the norms for his attitude means that he can bow out of drinking parties without it being remarked upon. It's good if people just think of him as naturally strange, an overly serious, boring anomaly of a youth. And if people begin thinking about him that way, that would create a Pygmalion effect. If he was perceived of as serious and hard-working, that's what he could become. If he was perceived of as cold, he would not be hot. And if he was not hot, then he was not… …passionate, desperate, and so, so, so furious. At the lost twilight of childhood. At the decisions others made. At the burdens he bore alone. At the costs of living for two, when only one brought in income. At the days that never seemed to end. At the assignments that he took so his managers kept him around. At unfairness, built into the very grain of the machine he served. At powerlessness, only able to fold inwards rather than lash outwards. But when he finds the time to meet her, Ohta figures that he could remain cold, just a little longer. He can't meet her anymore. What's Their Story? Duty. Responsibility. Obligation. At 18 years, on the cusp of graduation, Ohta came home to his family's three room apartment suite to find it empty. The lock had not been broken. No sign of anyone rummaging through cabinets or shelves. The housewife next door saw the silhouette of his parents at 11:30 AM. They had left no letters, only taken what was theirs and disappeared. He was numb when he picked up Tamimi from school. He was lying when he told her they would be back. If he'd known what was coming, he'd have been a better student. Had picked up skills on his own time. Invested in crypto, started a Patreon, made a Soundcloud, done anything. But he hadn't. Strangers came two nights later. Loan sharks. He hid in the bathroom with his little sister. In the morning, it was obvious why they had come. As obvious as paint and pigs' blood could make it. Ohta missed out on his graduation. He pawned off most of what remained in the home. Sat on the money for a while. Considered his options. Decided that he didn't trust his relatives more than he trusted the government. Had a chat with the men that his parents borrowed money from. Decided that it was better to lie again. Orphaned Tamimi. Her parents were dead. He would work to pay off their inherited debts. After that, they should be able to live together again. Just four years, no, three. They can live together in three years. And then, once again, they can dream. Office work with only a high school diploma was a miracle with a steep cost, but Ohta paid the cost regardless. Paid it with his body and his mind and did so willingly. Willingly? Out of necessity. Debts to pay. Costs to pay. Rent to pay. Utilities to pay. His cheap suit hung from his body; he was losing weight. His eyes could never focus and always itched; he was losing sleep. His life slipped away even as the days never seemed to end; he was losing time. Sometimes, he found himself standing in front of the office of those loan sharks, a cheap lighter in hand. Sometimes, he found himself alone with his boss, nails biting into the flesh of his palms. But he had a duty to fulfill. A responsibility he could not abandon. An obligation to realize the dream he had spoken of. The decision is no longer his to make. Now, Ohta can only pray. Why Did The Wish Choose Them? Righteous and dedicated, a person who could endure the weight of the world, who could think to dream still, no matter how many times he had to rearrange, reimagine it. An idealist who would contort himself to whatever shape necessary to realize his goals. A man who would sacrifice what he loves for who he loves. A hero, perhaps, who would work within the boundaries of whatever society he existed in, no matter how much he hated it. That was what the wish was drawn towards, a hero who could draw back his instincts and ruminate longer on the consequences of swift action. But… What "Hero" Will They Embody? Why? …the wish did not realize that such restraint was found in a sense of powerlessness. A sense that drove an earnest, crushing desire for power. For might. For the ability to break, rather than bend, to inherent unfairness, enforced bondage. Magma rages beneath the permafrost, willing, always willing to surge out and burn everything to ash. Ohta is willing to sacrifice, but he's just as willing to take, whether with words or with violence. So long as he can get away with it. So long as it gets him closer to his goals. He does not want to endure. He wants to fight. What Belongings Will They Take With Them? A business suit. It does not fit well, and the tie is a boring blue-with-gray-stripes. A smartphone. The battery is at 53%, and it holds an agenda of meetings and deadlines that no longer matter. A Tupperware container and chopsticks. Barley rice, mixed with corn. A preserved plum sits in the center.Talents & Abilities --- Mundane Talents Ohta was an acoustic guitarist, but now, he's just a run-of-the-mill office worker. Administrative tasks and note-taking have become second-nature to him, and he can enter data and make calculations with a swiftness expected of someone who's gotten accustomed to their job. He learned to sew on his own time, first to patch the holes in his clothing, then in hopes of making a gift for Tamimi. He doesn't care for it, but he understands business etiquette. Achieved Abilities & Knowledges His efforts have achieved nothing.</s> <\|message\|>Iyasu Kaito --- "Right, that about does it. Your next appointment is about a month from now. Yes. Yes, I can send you an e-mail. Good bye." Silence had remained in the air until the familiar ring of a client ending the call signalled another day of work coming to an end. His exhale was heavy enough to alter his posture, and his finger and thumb soon dug their way around the bridge of his nose where a pair of computer glasses rested only seconds ago. It didn't take long for his irritated eyes to start rejecting the incandescent white of a computer monitor. Kaito was a tired man. It would have felt childish to be honest to himself about it, but even such a physically undemanding job had a way of psychosomatically draining him. During nights like these he'd typically get away from the comfort of his padded chair as quickly as possible, before his arms spread towards the computer desk and the hard wood felt like the most comfortable surface in the world to sleep on. Today hadn't been one of those days. He struggled to even lift his head from his arms, with a yawn seemingly cementing it in place. He was going to lose the fight today. His body felt instant relief upon thinking that, to his disappointment. This wasn't his office. Earth and air. Crisp, unpolluted, breathable air. It should have been a pleasing experience to his body, but Kaito's instincts only felt repulsion at the overwhelming atmosphere of his surroundings. It was the body of a man who had adapted to the unadaptable, to food that came in bags and train rides where he couldn't even turn his head. He had no reaction, no past experiences to draw from, nothing at all that could have framed any sort of context around the untouched nature around him. He dragged himself up, picking leaves out of his long hair. "Hmm..." he searched the contents of his bag and pockets before letting out a soft sigh. "My phone isn't on me, apologies." He had his journals with him at least. They were worthless outside of his office, but it felt reassuring in a visceral sort of way to have something familiar alongside him. The more he tried to piece together the events he could recall, the more they drifted around in his head like a foggy dream. There were other people around him, also stumbling around. Another pang of reassurance. Whatever had just transpired, he wasn't alone. "My name is Iyasu Kaito." His fingers slid in the pocket of his dress shirt for a business card, but he corrected himself before taking one out. This wasn't an appropriate situation to do that. Then again, he couldn't exactly figure out what sort of situation this was at all. "'Whoever threw us out'... is that what happened?" His voice was soft, but its prodding was as strong as ever. Having been tossed here along with others would have explained some things, at least.</s> <\|message\|>Arima Junichiro --- Junichiro stirred awake at last, his eyes fluttering open to the starlit sky. Between the smell of fresh air and the grassy bed that he had awoken upon, the freeter had a feeling he wasn't quite in Osaka anymore. Before he stood up to look around, Junichiro quickly closed his eyes once more when he heard the sound of others awakening. He wasn't quite sure where he was, but he also didn't want to deal with strangers after having a rough night's sleep like this... not without first having an idea where he was. Junichiro tried to think back to his last memory, hazy as it was. He was definitely at that FamilyMart, clenching his false weapon tightly and pointing it at the cashier before a sharp pain struck the back of his head, and... "Shit..." A whispered expletive left the young man's lips as he pondered his situation more. Was there a thug in that store that he pissed off? Or, worse, was it protected by the yakuza? Whatever it was, Junichiro's heart couldn't help but thump quickly as he realized the ramification of his actions. He's heard the stories, after all. A part of him wanted to get caught, to be punished for his actions, but a larger part wanted his fingers and his toes intact. Emptying the contents of his bladder, Junichiro thought to himself just how in the hell was he supposed to get out of this. Hearing them talking amongst themselves, the young man thought they were distracted enough for him to make a run for it! Sitting up, Junichiro was surprised to feel that one of his jacket's pockets still had that familiar weight to it. Junichiro still had his gun, it seemed. Without a second thought, Junichiro quickly stood up to face the rest. For a very brief moment, he'd be surprised at how quickly he was able to get up, given his condition. After all, his bad leg hurt the most in the morning, when he would first stand up for today. Chalking it up to adrenaline, the freeter clumsily pulled his false armament out, pointing it in the direction of the flashing smartphone lights. Assuming they were naught but thugs and criminals, and not taking any more time to get his bearings, Junichiro held his airsoft M1911 tightly in both hands in a way that would make a gun enthusiast shake their head. He then shouted to the top of his lungs, ignorant of whatever other dangers may lurk deep within these woods. "Don't fuck with me!"</s>	<\|message\|>Kaneko, Ohta Shit message, if that was the case. Why didn't those slimey bottomfeeders keep the messaging subtle when they went after the suite? Kept it private, personal. Not blown it up so much that it was impossible to find a relative that hadn't heard of his parents' misdeeds. Ohta simmered quietly, his gaze focused nowhere in particular. The consuming darkness and the stark, electronic light made it easy to zone out, even as he regarded the others in the same light. A girl? A woman? Something inbetween, someone also stuck with the sharks, if messages were what she made of this. A foppish man, well-kept with long hair. Performer, perhaps? Musician or idol. Had that sort of feel to him. And the last... "Don't fuck with me!" A gun. A real fucking gun. Right here. Outta nowhere. Pointed at them. Ohta froze, the terror and aggression on the man's face amplified by the shadows cast by the smartphone. His mind churned. His heart burned. Out here, in the middle of nowhere. Two strangers, one enemy. No light in sight other than his own. Close range. Fuck this guy. Turn off the light, tackle his legs, wrestle away the gun, and then bash his fucking skull in. It'll be easy. It'll be clean. Who here would report him to the cops? With four words, it became us versus him. And Ohta felt great. He felt energized. He felt as if he could do it. No hesitation. Take his hands and pull that fucking subhuman's face into two meaty pieces. But a gun was a gun. And murder was murder. What were the optics? Could he risk it? Didn't have medical for bullet wounds. Worse off if this punk was one of the higher ups' relatives. Was this just the high from having somehow gotten proper rest? Was this just the straw of bullshit that burst his dam? Ohta shifted his gaze down, away from the gunman's face. He couldn't risk it. Couldn't even risk being pissed about it. "No one's fucking with you, man," came his sycophant voice, traitorous and serpentine. "Lower your gun, please? We're not even sure why we're here." But if the gunman did, if the chances of getting shot out of the blue decreased, would that tilt the scales in Ohta's decision-making? Make his initial response more reasonable? He didn't know. Not yet. So he kept his smartphone's light trained on the man, waiting for those eyes to adjust, to grow accustomed to light. Accustomed to seeing, until it was turned off.</s>
<\|description\|>Kaneko, Ohta Kaneko Ohta "Lemme think on that."Overview --- Age 19 Gender Male Occupation Office WorkerCharacterization & Conceptualization --- What Do They Look Like? Ohta's sallow skin and gray eyes give off the impression of someone who had aged beyond just the nineteen years he had lived so far, and that issue is compounded by how his eyes are perpetually half-open, bagged with dark circles. A heaviness clings onto his frame, grounding him to the earth even as he breaks into a sprint to catch the last train home. Deliberate in his movements, careful in his language, there's a constant sense of slowness with him. His slender hands are often stained by pencil smudges or ink stains, while his brown hair gives off the impression that he's just gotten out of bed, regardless of how long he actually spends in bed. At a height of 5'7, with a diminutive frame that naturally hunches into itself, Ohta's just another face in the crowd, another file in the company's folder. The fingernails on his left hand are cut painfully short; the ones on his right feature deep crescents. What Are They Like? Ohta watches, listens, and keeps his thoughts to himself. Introverted, he's made it a habit to repress his emotions out of necessity, keeping people at a distance while he plugs along with his tasks. It's convenient, to be thought of as a cold person, a distant person, so that's what he leans into. Praise or encouragement for the work he does is strange, after all, and having coldness and distance be the norms for his attitude means that he can bow out of drinking parties without it being remarked upon. It's good if people just think of him as naturally strange, an overly serious, boring anomaly of a youth. And if people begin thinking about him that way, that would create a Pygmalion effect. If he was perceived of as serious and hard-working, that's what he could become. If he was perceived of as cold, he would not be hot. And if he was not hot, then he was not… …passionate, desperate, and so, so, so furious. At the lost twilight of childhood. At the decisions others made. At the burdens he bore alone. At the costs of living for two, when only one brought in income. At the days that never seemed to end. At the assignments that he took so his managers kept him around. At unfairness, built into the very grain of the machine he served. At powerlessness, only able to fold inwards rather than lash outwards. But when he finds the time to meet her, Ohta figures that he could remain cold, just a little longer. He can't meet her anymore. What's Their Story? Duty. Responsibility. Obligation. At 18 years, on the cusp of graduation, Ohta came home to his family's three room apartment suite to find it empty. The lock had not been broken. No sign of anyone rummaging through cabinets or shelves. The housewife next door saw the silhouette of his parents at 11:30 AM. They had left no letters, only taken what was theirs and disappeared. He was numb when he picked up Tamimi from school. He was lying when he told her they would be back. If he'd known what was coming, he'd have been a better student. Had picked up skills on his own time. Invested in crypto, started a Patreon, made a Soundcloud, done anything. But he hadn't. Strangers came two nights later. Loan sharks. He hid in the bathroom with his little sister. In the morning, it was obvious why they had come. As obvious as paint and pigs' blood could make it. Ohta missed out on his graduation. He pawned off most of what remained in the home. Sat on the money for a while. Considered his options. Decided that he didn't trust his relatives more than he trusted the government. Had a chat with the men that his parents borrowed money from. Decided that it was better to lie again. Orphaned Tamimi. Her parents were dead. He would work to pay off their inherited debts. After that, they should be able to live together again. Just four years, no, three. They can live together in three years. And then, once again, they can dream. Office work with only a high school diploma was a miracle with a steep cost, but Ohta paid the cost regardless. Paid it with his body and his mind and did so willingly. Willingly? Out of necessity. Debts to pay. Costs to pay. Rent to pay. Utilities to pay. His cheap suit hung from his body; he was losing weight. His eyes could never focus and always itched; he was losing sleep. His life slipped away even as the days never seemed to end; he was losing time. Sometimes, he found himself standing in front of the office of those loan sharks, a cheap lighter in hand. Sometimes, he found himself alone with his boss, nails biting into the flesh of his palms. But he had a duty to fulfill. A responsibility he could not abandon. An obligation to realize the dream he had spoken of. The decision is no longer his to make. Now, Ohta can only pray. Why Did The Wish Choose Them? Righteous and dedicated, a person who could endure the weight of the world, who could think to dream still, no matter how many times he had to rearrange, reimagine it. An idealist who would contort himself to whatever shape necessary to realize his goals. A man who would sacrifice what he loves for who he loves. A hero, perhaps, who would work within the boundaries of whatever society he existed in, no matter how much he hated it. That was what the wish was drawn towards, a hero who could draw back his instincts and ruminate longer on the consequences of swift action. But… What "Hero" Will They Embody? Why? …the wish did not realize that such restraint was found in a sense of powerlessness. A sense that drove an earnest, crushing desire for power. For might. For the ability to break, rather than bend, to inherent unfairness, enforced bondage. Magma rages beneath the permafrost, willing, always willing to surge out and burn everything to ash. Ohta is willing to sacrifice, but he's just as willing to take, whether with words or with violence. So long as he can get away with it. So long as it gets him closer to his goals. He does not want to endure. He wants to fight. What Belongings Will They Take With Them? A business suit. It does not fit well, and the tie is a boring blue-with-gray-stripes. A smartphone. The battery is at 53%, and it holds an agenda of meetings and deadlines that no longer matter. A Tupperware container and chopsticks. Barley rice, mixed with corn. A preserved plum sits in the center.Talents & Abilities --- Mundane Talents Ohta was an acoustic guitarist, but now, he's just a run-of-the-mill office worker. Administrative tasks and note-taking have become second-nature to him, and he can enter data and make calculations with a swiftness expected of someone who's gotten accustomed to their job. He learned to sew on his own time, first to patch the holes in his clothing, then in hopes of making a gift for Tamimi. He doesn't care for it, but he understands business etiquette. Achieved Abilities & Knowledges His efforts have achieved nothing.</s> <\|message\|>Ikazuchi Hiroko --- Unnamed Forest - ??? --- Hiroko nodded at Kaito, pleased with his introduction and a name to add to the face. She rolled her shoulders in a shrug. "Don't know. Can't remember anything." She admitted. From the confused reaction from Kaito, it would seem that he didn't know anything either. What a strange coincidence. Her hand reached up to the back of her neck, turning to the torii. "Can't think of anyone who can-" Cut off by the final man in their group, eyes wide with surprise and horror as a gun was trained right at the man who held the light. Could it be that he was part of the group that decided to teach them a lesson? Though, from his reaction, some part of Hiroko's brain argued that he was probably just as lost as they were. But he was armed. And they weren't. He was up in arms and ready to pull the trigger at them. Hiroko had never been in a situation like this before. She's faced customers who would scream at her face for doing things according to policy or because of a misunderstanding. Those, she can handle with no problems. But this? This was beyond her paygrade. Most of her instincts were telling her to duck, take cover somewhere. But all around her were just grass and she doubted that the torii could cover herself fully. Besides, what's stopping the man from unloading an entire clip on them while they were scrambling for cover. Hiroko was itching to have something on hand to at least fight back with but she doubted a lighter would make a difference. The other man began speaking to try and defuse the situation. A brave choice considering the gun was pointing at him. "We're just trying to figure out where we are so we can get back." Hiroko added, her tone a lot softer and more genuine than the flashlight holder. "We're not going to hurt you." Or well, she was speaking for herself for the most part. It wasn't like she knew any moves besides the basics to fight someone off with anyway.</s> <\|message\|>Arima Junichiro --- A bead of sweat rolled down Junichiro's forehead as he kept his gun trained towards the light. Whoever these people were, whatever is going on, he couldn't help but feel as if perhaps they were in the same situation as himself. Maybe they've all crossed the yakuza, and they were all thrown here to "disappear." Maybe this was some sick joke by some underworld boss and they're all being secretly filmed. Regardless, Junichiro did not falter in his stance. "Just stay back, all of you!" The freeter exclaimed, stepping backwards slowly. He waved his gun at each of them, although he kept it particularly pointed at the two who spoke to him. As he did, he took quick glances of his surroundings, getting a better idea of where they were at. In particular, Junichiro was interested in that giant torii, thinking it would lead back to civilization. Taking a breath and regaining his composure, Junichiro would open his mouth to speak once more, his arms faltering slightly. Before he could utter a word, however, the light from the man's smartphone would give out. Did it run out of batteries? Whatever the case may be, the young man knew he lost most of his leverage with that light away. He could barely see in the dark, and that bright light didn't help. Knowing full well that he would lose control of the situation soon, especially without some sort of warning shot, Junichiro would instead do exactly what was expected of someone whose first actions after waking up in an unknown place would include pissing themselves. The freeter ran off, beelining for the torii. Using the rush of adrenaline to push through the somewhat absent feeling of pain in his legs, Junichiro would pass through the gates, abandoning those he had woken up with. Sure, there was strength in numbers especially in a remote place like this, but sticking with the rest seemed futile to the nihilistic young man. If anything, knowing his luck, Junichiro would just end up getting the rest of them killed as well. And besides, he still didn't trust any of them.</s> <\|message\|>Iyasu Kaito --- So they hadn't been thrown out. Kaito could only give Hiroko a small nod, not wanting to plunge the odd mood into a more negative direction. He figured it got engulfed by the darkness around them. Another awkward interaction. No matter, the silence was more than enough. It was the most comfortable option when one had no idea what was happening. It didn't last. A shout from one of the others made his head whip to face directly towards the sight of a gun. An actual, real life gun. Had the man not been wielding it with a desperation that radiated throughout his entire body, Kaito could have probably tried to reason it was a prop or similar. But the look across that man's eyes couldn't be imitated. "N-no need for that, now," he said, hands placed tensely in front of him. The smooth voice he employed during therapy was out in full force, albeit with cracks forming all over. This was far beyond his range of expertise, and far removed from any experience had with a client. What did this man want? Was it respect? Answers? Money? Was that it? There were too many variables, too many things he didn't know. Ideas came and went yet none were strong enough for him to unclench his jaw. The man ran off before he had anything resembling an answer. Kaito wanted to approach him, but his legs stayed rooted in place. He instead filled his lungs with the forest air and shouted. "Aren't you also lost?!" Mutual survival. The kind of condition that made one wild animal work with another. In this strange forest with no civilization in sight, it made sense in a gloomy sort of way. He could only hope the man would realize that.</s>	<\|message\|>Kaneko, Ohta The problem solved itself. If only all problems could do that. Ohta let out a breath as the gunman, perhaps driven by some irrational fear of the dark, ran off into the distance, taking himself and his gun far, far away. Maybe he'll be a problem in the future, but for now, they could all breathe a bit more clearly. He shook his head, then stood up, allowing his own eyes to adjust to the darkness. Only 50% or so left for his charge. Shouldn't waste it until they got somewhere with reception. The direction the gunman went was annoying though. He didn't really want to head in the direction of the torii, in case that fucking idiot took that as a sign of pursuit and started shooting, but if there was going to be any paved path out of here, it would be from the torii. So he suggested instead. "Maybe, uh, we should go after him?" He pocketed his phone and clutched his lunchbox to his chest. "At least up to the torii there. Might be, mm, a path out from there." One thing convenient about the gunman: his scene meant that self-introductions could be delayed for a bit longer. More time to judge whether it'd be a truth or a lie that Ohta used to identify himself to these strangers.</s>
<\|description\|>Iyasu Kaito K A I T O "In order to communicate one's feelings properly, one should make a conscious effort to use the passive voice less. Huh, why do I always use it then? That's... not funny."Overview --- Age Twenty-four Gender Male Occupation TherapistCharacterization & Conceptualization --- What Do They Look Like? Kaito's appearance has been likened to that of a prince throughout various points in his life, although whether the people saying such things were mocking him or not is something he's never been sure about. His long, flowing hair trails farther than that of most men, and his eyes always seem to be sporting a gentle sheen over their green irises. His body is just as delicate, with smooth skin over a tall, thin frame. He pays little attention to his clothing, often wearing dress shirts too large for him. Unbeknownst to him it only accentuates his slender features more, draping across his body in a style reminiscent of a flowing blouse someone would have worn in another age. What Are They Like? At the edge of dusk when his working hours are done, Kaito often finds himself collapsing over his bed, his hair spilling out in tendrils like the dead plants surrounding him in his cramped apartment. The sight looks like the sobering ending to a particularly depressing fairytale, one in which the prince finds himself at a dead end job, pestered by his family to carry their legacy and marry. But he doesn't mope. He thinks, hard. It's in moments like these his gentle disposition shifts towards a far bolder one, one where his eyebrows rock to the steady beat of his thoughts and his legs find themselves crossing and uncrossing an untold number of times. Problems are distressing to him, but solving them is what keeps him going. People trust him with theirs, and guiding his patients through them is the source of his momentum. Kaito is passive, although not the least bit reserved in sharing his thoughts. His neverending anxiousness at the world at large never wanes, but he's grown skilled at weaponizing it to deal with problems. If he's not analyzing something, he's reflecting on a previous analysis. If he's not doing either of those things, he's finding something new to worry about. The beat of his drum is slow and sometimes misaligned with the speed of the rest of the world, but it never stops. What's Their Story? Born as an only child to strict parents in Yokohama, Kaito's life was never truly calm. There was always some chore or task to be fulfilled, be it some test to pull an all-nighter for or an overcrowded train to board. He felt like a lab rat racing along to a never ending circuit of alarms and authority figures, gaining nothing but fleeting approval from his parents and pieces of paper with signatures on them along the way. A lifetime's worth of these experiences rendered him into somewhat of a hermit, one with no interest beyond his small office and the most underwhelming of life's pleasures. He is now twenty-four years old, satisfied with life yet too displeased to fully enjoy it. It was as if his parents' voices had permanently ingrained themselves inside his mind, scrutinizing every minor aspect of the things he found joy in. Why Did The Wish Choose Them? Kaito's knowledge of pop culture and video games begins and ends with public advertisements and whatever distraction of the month has found itself in his cellphone. He is, in the eyes of his parents and extended family, a failure with little to no chance of ever achieving a respectable career or a dignified marriage. There is no sane reason to ever consider him a potential hero. And yet… there is a desire within him, one to not only directly confront the world around him, but even help others along the way. What "Hero" Will They Embody? Why? As the hero of sorcery, Kaito has a penchant for the mental rather than the physical. Taking apart the elements of anything that wasn't a solid object had always been something of a second nature to him, so even something as bizarre as the arcane has an odd familiarity to it. What Belongings Will They Take With Them? * A shoulder bag for men. The light design is enough for just the essentials. * A pair of ragged journals that have been through years of being tossed around and scrawled on. They serve as a general reference guide for certain topics, although their contents range from messy to nearly indecipherable to anyone that isn't him. * A stuffed mouse plush. One of the many small trinkets he used to decorate his office with to create a calmer atmosphere. He won it from a crane game a long time ago. Talents & Abilities --- Mundane Talents * Good at arcade games - Kaito considers himself a naturally lucky person, but it's in arcade games meant for a younger audience where he truly feels that shine. * All of the general knowledge you would expect a licensed therapist to know. Achieved Abilities & Knowledges N/A</s> <\|message\|>Arima Junichiro --- A bead of sweat rolled down Junichiro's forehead as he kept his gun trained towards the light. Whoever these people were, whatever is going on, he couldn't help but feel as if perhaps they were in the same situation as himself. Maybe they've all crossed the yakuza, and they were all thrown here to "disappear." Maybe this was some sick joke by some underworld boss and they're all being secretly filmed. Regardless, Junichiro did not falter in his stance. "Just stay back, all of you!" The freeter exclaimed, stepping backwards slowly. He waved his gun at each of them, although he kept it particularly pointed at the two who spoke to him. As he did, he took quick glances of his surroundings, getting a better idea of where they were at. In particular, Junichiro was interested in that giant torii, thinking it would lead back to civilization. Taking a breath and regaining his composure, Junichiro would open his mouth to speak once more, his arms faltering slightly. Before he could utter a word, however, the light from the man's smartphone would give out. Did it run out of batteries? Whatever the case may be, the young man knew he lost most of his leverage with that light away. He could barely see in the dark, and that bright light didn't help. Knowing full well that he would lose control of the situation soon, especially without some sort of warning shot, Junichiro would instead do exactly what was expected of someone whose first actions after waking up in an unknown place would include pissing themselves. The freeter ran off, beelining for the torii. Using the rush of adrenaline to push through the somewhat absent feeling of pain in his legs, Junichiro would pass through the gates, abandoning those he had woken up with. Sure, there was strength in numbers especially in a remote place like this, but sticking with the rest seemed futile to the nihilistic young man. If anything, knowing his luck, Junichiro would just end up getting the rest of them killed as well. And besides, he still didn't trust any of them.</s> <\|message\|>Iyasu Kaito --- So they hadn't been thrown out. Kaito could only give Hiroko a small nod, not wanting to plunge the odd mood into a more negative direction. He figured it got engulfed by the darkness around them. Another awkward interaction. No matter, the silence was more than enough. It was the most comfortable option when one had no idea what was happening. It didn't last. A shout from one of the others made his head whip to face directly towards the sight of a gun. An actual, real life gun. Had the man not been wielding it with a desperation that radiated throughout his entire body, Kaito could have probably tried to reason it was a prop or similar. But the look across that man's eyes couldn't be imitated. "N-no need for that, now," he said, hands placed tensely in front of him. The smooth voice he employed during therapy was out in full force, albeit with cracks forming all over. This was far beyond his range of expertise, and far removed from any experience had with a client. What did this man want? Was it respect? Answers? Money? Was that it? There were too many variables, too many things he didn't know. Ideas came and went yet none were strong enough for him to unclench his jaw. The man ran off before he had anything resembling an answer. Kaito wanted to approach him, but his legs stayed rooted in place. He instead filled his lungs with the forest air and shouted. "Aren't you also lost?!" Mutual survival. The kind of condition that made one wild animal work with another. In this strange forest with no civilization in sight, it made sense in a gloomy sort of way. He could only hope the man would realize that.</s> <\|message\|>Kaneko, Ohta The problem solved itself. If only all problems could do that. Ohta let out a breath as the gunman, perhaps driven by some irrational fear of the dark, ran off into the distance, taking himself and his gun far, far away. Maybe he'll be a problem in the future, but for now, they could all breathe a bit more clearly. He shook his head, then stood up, allowing his own eyes to adjust to the darkness. Only 50% or so left for his charge. Shouldn't waste it until they got somewhere with reception. The direction the gunman went was annoying though. He didn't really want to head in the direction of the torii, in case that fucking idiot took that as a sign of pursuit and started shooting, but if there was going to be any paved path out of here, it would be from the torii. So he suggested instead. "Maybe, uh, we should go after him?" He pocketed his phone and clutched his lunchbox to his chest. "At least up to the torii there. Might be, mm, a path out from there." One thing convenient about the gunman: his scene meant that self-introductions could be delayed for a bit longer. More time to judge whether it'd be a truth or a lie that Ohta used to identify himself to these strangers.</s> <\|message\|>Ikazuchi Hiroko --- Unnamed Forest - ??? --- The gunner bolted past them and ran through the torii and disappeared from their sight thanks to the darkness around them. She let out a ragged breath. First, waking up in some unknown forest and next being held at gunpoint? How could this possibly get any worst? Still, the threat was gone and maybe they could properly recollect their thoughts this time. At the very least, the other two were cooperative - maybe it was because they understood that right now, their best bet was staying with each other... even if none of them particularly knew each other. Kaito, perhaps in an act of empathy or harboring the same thoughts as her, called out to the gunner but he was already long gone. Hiroko wondered if there were any animals that were attracted to the commotion. Hopefully not, she wasn't carrying any tools with her that would serve as any sort of defense mechanism. "Yeah, that way is our best bet." Hiroko sighed. As much as she also didn't want to follow the agitated man, they did have little choice in the matter. "Hopefully, he already made some distance. I just want to get out of here..." She looked between the two of them before moving forward to take the lead. Hopefully, that'll ease both of them to a more comfortable state. They needed a little more trust between them after all.</s> <\|message\|>Arima Junichiro --- Junichiro ran deeper into the forest, putting a fair bit of distance between himself and those he had woken up surrounded by. While it was dark, the night's sky offered enough light for the young man to not run into a tree. Still, traversing these wooded lands in the dead of night was not an easy task, especially for one who lived in a suburban environment their whole life. With this in mind along with the fact that there seems to be no sign of civilization aside from that torii, the runner would soon stop and get back his bearings. The freeter sat himself behind a tree, leaning against it as he did his best to focus on his breathing. While he didn't get too far off from everyone else, Junichiro still ran a significant distance away. As someone who doesn't jog regularly, it really does feel like he should have been more exhausted from that sprint. Was this adrenaline, or are those long hours doing hard labor starting to bear fruit? Whatever the case is, Junichiro thought about his position more. He was lost in the wilderness and it's the middle of the night. He has no cellphone, no map, and no idea where he could be aside from being somewhere in Japan. Maybe hearing the others out was a good idea, after all? They seemed just as lost as he did, with one even showing some concern when he started booking it. Junuchiro sighed at his hastiness once more before gazing up to the stars. He wasn't really one to pay attention to things like constellations and their meanings, but he did remember something about dippers and how they pointed north. What even is a dipper, anyway? Kaoru would have probably known. "Kaoru." That name left his lips solemnly as he started to think of simpler times. Times when all his problems could have been answered by simply asking his best friend. Knowing him, Kaoru would have rallied everyone together and found them all a way out of the woods by now. But Kaoru isn't here anymore. He's been gone for a long time, and Junichiro had to rely on his own knowledge, to make his own decisions. Looking up to the sky, Junichiro traced his fingers along the assortment of stars, trying to make some sense out of them. While he wasn't going to try and remember what any of the constellations are, much less if he could recognize any, he was simply trying to find the brightest. Something constant he could refer to, so that he wouldn't be walking in circles. Once that was found, it was only a matter of following it...</s>	<\|message\|>Iyasu Kaito Kaito sighed. The movement caused a gulp of pure forest air to rush into his lungs, causing a momentary lapse of thought. It felt pleasant, but far too out of the ordinary to grant him any sort of relief among the darkness. It was just another bullet point on the growing list of idiosyncrasies to be tracked and questioned. "It's the only recognizable landmark." An obvious statement. Not the least bit satisfactory to him. He hated uncertainty, and this felt like less of an answer and more of a path to more questions. He started thinking of all the possible things they could encounter upon nearing the torii, with his mind naturally getting more creative with the negative outcomes. Among the majority of those were dark and wild streaks of a desperate man with a firearm and no certain location. When no one what a person was doing, not even themselves, predictions had the tendency to get muddled. He followed the other two at a cautious pace, subconsciously taking faster strides whenever the snapping of a twig or any other noise would sound among the forest. "Going after him could be... dangerous. He asked for some space, so the best course of action should be to respect that." Asked was too soft of a word. Force of habit, he supposed. "But, hm... nevermind. He'll probably also go near the torii since it's the only option available." He brushed away a couple of loose strands of hair near his face, and took a hard look at the darkness surrounding them. "So we should keep going." The words made perfect sense. There certainly was reasoning behind them, and the average person could have agreed that it was the smart thing to do. And yet a certain pain gnawed at him from the inside. A certain desire to help others, not only ignored but intentionally suppressed. The man could find his own way home. He just had to convince himself that it would be the case. It wasn't working.</s>
<\|description\|>Arima Junichiro J U N I C H I R O "So what if I'm throwing my life away? We're all going to die at some point, so just make things easier for the both of us and put the money in the bag."Overview --- Age 20 Gender Male Occupation FreeterCharacterization & Conceptualization --- What Do They Look Like? A completely bland and unassuming young Japanese man, sporting long black hair normally tied into a ponytail, and an otherwise unremarkable face if not for the permanent scar on the bridge of his nose. Standing at 5'9", Junichiro sports a rather average physique, with a bit of notable musculature due to working in menial labor for a while. Junichiro's way of dress makes him look somewhat slimmer than he actually is, sporting long-sleeved shirts and jackets to hide scars both self-inflicted and received from an accident. Junichiro also walks with a very slight limp, although it is unknown to him if they are from injuries his body still has failed to heal, or his own overwork. What Are They Like? A nihilistic and rebellious youth who chafes against tradition. A quiet freak who's depressing to be around. An impertinent brat who says what he wants and doesn't respect his elders. All these things easily describe Junichiro on a surface level. A lot of Junichiro's current issues stem from his survivor's guilt, which did little to help his low sense of self-worth. Prone to self-destructive hobbies and posting on dubious message boards, it could be said that Junichiro is the epitome of all that is wrong with Japan's youth. What's Their Story? Living a quiet life in Kyoto, Junichiro's upbringing was quite average, obtaining average grades and doing all the normal things boys his age did. Having no drive to do anything extraordinary or groundbreaking, he was content to live an average life so long as it was with his childhood friend, Kaoru. To Junichiro, Kaoru was a shining beacon in his otherwise dull life, an outstanding student with dreams to one day become a doctor. Junichiro knew he needed to tell Kaoru his feelings at some point, but he never could quite find the right time to. Sadly, nothing in life was guaranteed, no matter how mundane, and Junichiro would find that out the hard way, months before graduation. Junichiro awakened, almost sandwiched between two bus seats with shards of glass sticking out of his arms, and one of his legs bent at an unnatural angle. He called out Kaoru's name in the chaos, but to no avail, crying out for him to the point of exhaustion. When help finally arrived, Junichiro was already losing consciousness, the last thing he saw was Kaoru giving him a dull and lifeless stare. The lone survivor of a violent bus crash, the news called it a miracle, but Junichiro saw it all as unfair. Why did he have the right to live when there were others on that bus who lived more meaningful lives than he did, who were able to contribute more to the world than he ever would? Their deaths, all of them haunted Junichiro, but none more than Kaoru, his corpse forever burned into Junichiro's mind. Even after his recovery in the hospital, Junichiro never quite healed from that crash. He stayed home every day after that, too afraid to come out of his shell, not out of fear for the world at large and its many dangers, but instead to avoid the attention his story entailed. Junichiro even missed his graduation, having more or less dropped out of high school after that. His family was worried, although there was little they could do to help him. Not wanting to trouble them any longer, Junichiro moved to the big city. To Osaka, where nobody would know him as "the one who lived." In Osaka, Junichiro changed. Rather than the quiet background character, Junichiro developed into a punk who was not afraid to say what he wished, silently regretting the fact he could not say the one thing he yearned to. He became a laborer, doing odd jobs that were hard on his already broken body so that he could distract himself. No matter what he did, however, Junichiro still could not keep those memories, their faces, out of his mind. Junichiro felt he needed to be punished, to atone for the sin of living. It was because of this that lead Junichiro to walk into that convenience store, wearing a face mask and clutching a fake gun tightly in his jacket pocket... Why Did The Wish Choose Them? As scum of the Earth who could not conform to societal norms, those who knew Junichiro would be completely bewildered to hear he was summoned as a hero. However, despite his self-loathing and inability to move on from past trauma, Junichiro carries within deep him a spark to live on, an inborn desire to survive for the sake of those who had fallen. A rather contradictory sort, isn't he? What "Hero" Will They Embody? Why? Possessing a will to endure and a body that has already been broken before, Junichiro is unafraid of putting himself in harm's way for others, believing that he is better off taking any injuries in their stead. Junichiro also possesses the decisive courage of a knight, to do what is required and say what is needed, as he knows the pain of being unable to say what his heart truly yearned for. A survivor in both body and mind, Junichiro's very being resembles the Hero of Defense. What Belongings Will They Take With Them? - An airsoft M1911, painted black to resemble a real gun. Unloaded and without gas. - A black, ragged facemask. - A baseball cap with the logo of an American punk rock band.Talents & Abilities --- Mundane Talents As a freelancer who gravitated towards less glamorous ways to make a living, Junichiro possesses the physique of a laborer. That is to say, it is not quite impressive, and those who actually care about fitness would scoff at how much he could actually lift. Nonetheless, it would be a mistake to refer to Junichiro as merely "weak." Junichiro also possesses minor knowledge in construction work and waste management, well aware of Japan's complex garbage disposal laws. Achieved Abilities & Knowledges Zero.</s> <\|message\|>Arima Junichiro --- Junichiro stirred awake at last, his eyes fluttering open to the starlit sky. Between the smell of fresh air and the grassy bed that he had awoken upon, the freeter had a feeling he wasn't quite in Osaka anymore. Before he stood up to look around, Junichiro quickly closed his eyes once more when he heard the sound of others awakening. He wasn't quite sure where he was, but he also didn't want to deal with strangers after having a rough night's sleep like this... not without first having an idea where he was. Junichiro tried to think back to his last memory, hazy as it was. He was definitely at that FamilyMart, clenching his false weapon tightly and pointing it at the cashier before a sharp pain struck the back of his head, and... "Shit..." A whispered expletive left the young man's lips as he pondered his situation more. Was there a thug in that store that he pissed off? Or, worse, was it protected by the yakuza? Whatever it was, Junichiro's heart couldn't help but thump quickly as he realized the ramification of his actions. He's heard the stories, after all. A part of him wanted to get caught, to be punished for his actions, but a larger part wanted his fingers and his toes intact. Emptying the contents of his bladder, Junichiro thought to himself just how in the hell was he supposed to get out of this. Hearing them talking amongst themselves, the young man thought they were distracted enough for him to make a run for it! Sitting up, Junichiro was surprised to feel that one of his jacket's pockets still had that familiar weight to it. Junichiro still had his gun, it seemed. Without a second thought, Junichiro quickly stood up to face the rest. For a very brief moment, he'd be surprised at how quickly he was able to get up, given his condition. After all, his bad leg hurt the most in the morning, when he would first stand up for today. Chalking it up to adrenaline, the freeter clumsily pulled his false armament out, pointing it in the direction of the flashing smartphone lights. Assuming they were naught but thugs and criminals, and not taking any more time to get his bearings, Junichiro held his airsoft M1911 tightly in both hands in a way that would make a gun enthusiast shake their head. He then shouted to the top of his lungs, ignorant of whatever other dangers may lurk deep within these woods. "Don't fuck with me!"</s> <\|message\|>Kaneko, Ohta Shit message, if that was the case. Why didn't those slimey bottomfeeders keep the messaging subtle when they went after the suite? Kept it private, personal. Not blown it up so much that it was impossible to find a relative that hadn't heard of his parents' misdeeds. Ohta simmered quietly, his gaze focused nowhere in particular. The consuming darkness and the stark, electronic light made it easy to zone out, even as he regarded the others in the same light. A girl? A woman? Something inbetween, someone also stuck with the sharks, if messages were what she made of this. A foppish man, well-kept with long hair. Performer, perhaps? Musician or idol. Had that sort of feel to him. And the last... "Don't fuck with me!" A gun. A real fucking gun. Right here. Outta nowhere. Pointed at them. Ohta froze, the terror and aggression on the man's face amplified by the shadows cast by the smartphone. His mind churned. His heart burned. Out here, in the middle of nowhere. Two strangers, one enemy. No light in sight other than his own. Close range. Fuck this guy. Turn off the light, tackle his legs, wrestle away the gun, and then bash his fucking skull in. It'll be easy. It'll be clean. Who here would report him to the cops? With four words, it became us versus him. And Ohta felt great. He felt energized. He felt as if he could do it. No hesitation. Take his hands and pull that fucking subhuman's face into two meaty pieces. But a gun was a gun. And murder was murder. What were the optics? Could he risk it? Didn't have medical for bullet wounds. Worse off if this punk was one of the higher ups' relatives. Was this just the high from having somehow gotten proper rest? Was this just the straw of bullshit that burst his dam? Ohta shifted his gaze down, away from the gunman's face. He couldn't risk it. Couldn't even risk being pissed about it. "No one's fucking with you, man," came his sycophant voice, traitorous and serpentine. "Lower your gun, please? We're not even sure why we're here." But if the gunman did, if the chances of getting shot out of the blue decreased, would that tilt the scales in Ohta's decision-making? Make his initial response more reasonable? He didn't know. Not yet. So he kept his smartphone's light trained on the man, waiting for those eyes to adjust, to grow accustomed to light. Accustomed to seeing, until it was turned off.</s> <\|message\|>Ikazuchi Hiroko --- Unnamed Forest - ??? --- Hiroko nodded at Kaito, pleased with his introduction and a name to add to the face. She rolled her shoulders in a shrug. "Don't know. Can't remember anything." She admitted. From the confused reaction from Kaito, it would seem that he didn't know anything either. What a strange coincidence. Her hand reached up to the back of her neck, turning to the torii. "Can't think of anyone who can-" Cut off by the final man in their group, eyes wide with surprise and horror as a gun was trained right at the man who held the light. Could it be that he was part of the group that decided to teach them a lesson? Though, from his reaction, some part of Hiroko's brain argued that he was probably just as lost as they were. But he was armed. And they weren't. He was up in arms and ready to pull the trigger at them. Hiroko had never been in a situation like this before. She's faced customers who would scream at her face for doing things according to policy or because of a misunderstanding. Those, she can handle with no problems. But this? This was beyond her paygrade. Most of her instincts were telling her to duck, take cover somewhere. But all around her were just grass and she doubted that the torii could cover herself fully. Besides, what's stopping the man from unloading an entire clip on them while they were scrambling for cover. Hiroko was itching to have something on hand to at least fight back with but she doubted a lighter would make a difference. The other man began speaking to try and defuse the situation. A brave choice considering the gun was pointing at him. "We're just trying to figure out where we are so we can get back." Hiroko added, her tone a lot softer and more genuine than the flashlight holder. "We're not going to hurt you." Or well, she was speaking for herself for the most part. It wasn't like she knew any moves besides the basics to fight someone off with anyway.</s>	<\|message\|>Arima Junichiro A bead of sweat rolled down Junichiro's forehead as he kept his gun trained towards the light. Whoever these people were, whatever is going on, he couldn't help but feel as if perhaps they were in the same situation as himself. Maybe they've all crossed the yakuza, and they were all thrown here to "disappear." Maybe this was some sick joke by some underworld boss and they're all being secretly filmed. Regardless, Junichiro did not falter in his stance. "Just stay back, all of you!" The freeter exclaimed, stepping backwards slowly. He waved his gun at each of them, although he kept it particularly pointed at the two who spoke to him. As he did, he took quick glances of his surroundings, getting a better idea of where they were at. In particular, Junichiro was interested in that giant torii, thinking it would lead back to civilization. Taking a breath and regaining his composure, Junichiro would open his mouth to speak once more, his arms faltering slightly. Before he could utter a word, however, the light from the man's smartphone would give out. Did it run out of batteries? Whatever the case may be, the young man knew he lost most of his leverage with that light away. He could barely see in the dark, and that bright light didn't help. Knowing full well that he would lose control of the situation soon, especially without some sort of warning shot, Junichiro would instead do exactly what was expected of someone whose first actions after waking up in an unknown place would include pissing themselves. The freeter ran off, beelining for the torii. Using the rush of adrenaline to push through the somewhat absent feeling of pain in his legs, Junichiro would pass through the gates, abandoning those he had woken up with. Sure, there was strength in numbers especially in a remote place like this, but sticking with the rest seemed futile to the nihilistic young man. If anything, knowing his luck, Junichiro would just end up getting the rest of them killed as well. And besides, he still didn't trust any of them.</s>
<\|description\|>Arima Junichiro J U N I C H I R O "So what if I'm throwing my life away? We're all going to die at some point, so just make things easier for the both of us and put the money in the bag."Overview --- Age 20 Gender Male Occupation FreeterCharacterization & Conceptualization --- What Do They Look Like? A completely bland and unassuming young Japanese man, sporting long black hair normally tied into a ponytail, and an otherwise unremarkable face if not for the permanent scar on the bridge of his nose. Standing at 5'9", Junichiro sports a rather average physique, with a bit of notable musculature due to working in menial labor for a while. Junichiro's way of dress makes him look somewhat slimmer than he actually is, sporting long-sleeved shirts and jackets to hide scars both self-inflicted and received from an accident. Junichiro also walks with a very slight limp, although it is unknown to him if they are from injuries his body still has failed to heal, or his own overwork. What Are They Like? A nihilistic and rebellious youth who chafes against tradition. A quiet freak who's depressing to be around. An impertinent brat who says what he wants and doesn't respect his elders. All these things easily describe Junichiro on a surface level. A lot of Junichiro's current issues stem from his survivor's guilt, which did little to help his low sense of self-worth. Prone to self-destructive hobbies and posting on dubious message boards, it could be said that Junichiro is the epitome of all that is wrong with Japan's youth. What's Their Story? Living a quiet life in Kyoto, Junichiro's upbringing was quite average, obtaining average grades and doing all the normal things boys his age did. Having no drive to do anything extraordinary or groundbreaking, he was content to live an average life so long as it was with his childhood friend, Kaoru. To Junichiro, Kaoru was a shining beacon in his otherwise dull life, an outstanding student with dreams to one day become a doctor. Junichiro knew he needed to tell Kaoru his feelings at some point, but he never could quite find the right time to. Sadly, nothing in life was guaranteed, no matter how mundane, and Junichiro would find that out the hard way, months before graduation. Junichiro awakened, almost sandwiched between two bus seats with shards of glass sticking out of his arms, and one of his legs bent at an unnatural angle. He called out Kaoru's name in the chaos, but to no avail, crying out for him to the point of exhaustion. When help finally arrived, Junichiro was already losing consciousness, the last thing he saw was Kaoru giving him a dull and lifeless stare. The lone survivor of a violent bus crash, the news called it a miracle, but Junichiro saw it all as unfair. Why did he have the right to live when there were others on that bus who lived more meaningful lives than he did, who were able to contribute more to the world than he ever would? Their deaths, all of them haunted Junichiro, but none more than Kaoru, his corpse forever burned into Junichiro's mind. Even after his recovery in the hospital, Junichiro never quite healed from that crash. He stayed home every day after that, too afraid to come out of his shell, not out of fear for the world at large and its many dangers, but instead to avoid the attention his story entailed. Junichiro even missed his graduation, having more or less dropped out of high school after that. His family was worried, although there was little they could do to help him. Not wanting to trouble them any longer, Junichiro moved to the big city. To Osaka, where nobody would know him as "the one who lived." In Osaka, Junichiro changed. Rather than the quiet background character, Junichiro developed into a punk who was not afraid to say what he wished, silently regretting the fact he could not say the one thing he yearned to. He became a laborer, doing odd jobs that were hard on his already broken body so that he could distract himself. No matter what he did, however, Junichiro still could not keep those memories, their faces, out of his mind. Junichiro felt he needed to be punished, to atone for the sin of living. It was because of this that lead Junichiro to walk into that convenience store, wearing a face mask and clutching a fake gun tightly in his jacket pocket... Why Did The Wish Choose Them? As scum of the Earth who could not conform to societal norms, those who knew Junichiro would be completely bewildered to hear he was summoned as a hero. However, despite his self-loathing and inability to move on from past trauma, Junichiro carries within deep him a spark to live on, an inborn desire to survive for the sake of those who had fallen. A rather contradictory sort, isn't he? What "Hero" Will They Embody? Why? Possessing a will to endure and a body that has already been broken before, Junichiro is unafraid of putting himself in harm's way for others, believing that he is better off taking any injuries in their stead. Junichiro also possesses the decisive courage of a knight, to do what is required and say what is needed, as he knows the pain of being unable to say what his heart truly yearned for. A survivor in both body and mind, Junichiro's very being resembles the Hero of Defense. What Belongings Will They Take With Them? - An airsoft M1911, painted black to resemble a real gun. Unloaded and without gas. - A black, ragged facemask. - A baseball cap with the logo of an American punk rock band.Talents & Abilities --- Mundane Talents As a freelancer who gravitated towards less glamorous ways to make a living, Junichiro possesses the physique of a laborer. That is to say, it is not quite impressive, and those who actually care about fitness would scoff at how much he could actually lift. Nonetheless, it would be a mistake to refer to Junichiro as merely "weak." Junichiro also possesses minor knowledge in construction work and waste management, well aware of Japan's complex garbage disposal laws. Achieved Abilities & Knowledges Zero.</s> <\|message\|>Arima Junichiro --- A bead of sweat rolled down Junichiro's forehead as he kept his gun trained towards the light. Whoever these people were, whatever is going on, he couldn't help but feel as if perhaps they were in the same situation as himself. Maybe they've all crossed the yakuza, and they were all thrown here to "disappear." Maybe this was some sick joke by some underworld boss and they're all being secretly filmed. Regardless, Junichiro did not falter in his stance. "Just stay back, all of you!" The freeter exclaimed, stepping backwards slowly. He waved his gun at each of them, although he kept it particularly pointed at the two who spoke to him. As he did, he took quick glances of his surroundings, getting a better idea of where they were at. In particular, Junichiro was interested in that giant torii, thinking it would lead back to civilization. Taking a breath and regaining his composure, Junichiro would open his mouth to speak once more, his arms faltering slightly. Before he could utter a word, however, the light from the man's smartphone would give out. Did it run out of batteries? Whatever the case may be, the young man knew he lost most of his leverage with that light away. He could barely see in the dark, and that bright light didn't help. Knowing full well that he would lose control of the situation soon, especially without some sort of warning shot, Junichiro would instead do exactly what was expected of someone whose first actions after waking up in an unknown place would include pissing themselves. The freeter ran off, beelining for the torii. Using the rush of adrenaline to push through the somewhat absent feeling of pain in his legs, Junichiro would pass through the gates, abandoning those he had woken up with. Sure, there was strength in numbers especially in a remote place like this, but sticking with the rest seemed futile to the nihilistic young man. If anything, knowing his luck, Junichiro would just end up getting the rest of them killed as well. And besides, he still didn't trust any of them.</s> <\|message\|>Iyasu Kaito --- So they hadn't been thrown out. Kaito could only give Hiroko a small nod, not wanting to plunge the odd mood into a more negative direction. He figured it got engulfed by the darkness around them. Another awkward interaction. No matter, the silence was more than enough. It was the most comfortable option when one had no idea what was happening. It didn't last. A shout from one of the others made his head whip to face directly towards the sight of a gun. An actual, real life gun. Had the man not been wielding it with a desperation that radiated throughout his entire body, Kaito could have probably tried to reason it was a prop or similar. But the look across that man's eyes couldn't be imitated. "N-no need for that, now," he said, hands placed tensely in front of him. The smooth voice he employed during therapy was out in full force, albeit with cracks forming all over. This was far beyond his range of expertise, and far removed from any experience had with a client. What did this man want? Was it respect? Answers? Money? Was that it? There were too many variables, too many things he didn't know. Ideas came and went yet none were strong enough for him to unclench his jaw. The man ran off before he had anything resembling an answer. Kaito wanted to approach him, but his legs stayed rooted in place. He instead filled his lungs with the forest air and shouted. "Aren't you also lost?!" Mutual survival. The kind of condition that made one wild animal work with another. In this strange forest with no civilization in sight, it made sense in a gloomy sort of way. He could only hope the man would realize that.</s> <\|message\|>Kaneko, Ohta The problem solved itself. If only all problems could do that. Ohta let out a breath as the gunman, perhaps driven by some irrational fear of the dark, ran off into the distance, taking himself and his gun far, far away. Maybe he'll be a problem in the future, but for now, they could all breathe a bit more clearly. He shook his head, then stood up, allowing his own eyes to adjust to the darkness. Only 50% or so left for his charge. Shouldn't waste it until they got somewhere with reception. The direction the gunman went was annoying though. He didn't really want to head in the direction of the torii, in case that fucking idiot took that as a sign of pursuit and started shooting, but if there was going to be any paved path out of here, it would be from the torii. So he suggested instead. "Maybe, uh, we should go after him?" He pocketed his phone and clutched his lunchbox to his chest. "At least up to the torii there. Might be, mm, a path out from there." One thing convenient about the gunman: his scene meant that self-introductions could be delayed for a bit longer. More time to judge whether it'd be a truth or a lie that Ohta used to identify himself to these strangers.</s> <\|message\|>Ikazuchi Hiroko --- Unnamed Forest - ??? --- The gunner bolted past them and ran through the torii and disappeared from their sight thanks to the darkness around them. She let out a ragged breath. First, waking up in some unknown forest and next being held at gunpoint? How could this possibly get any worst? Still, the threat was gone and maybe they could properly recollect their thoughts this time. At the very least, the other two were cooperative - maybe it was because they understood that right now, their best bet was staying with each other... even if none of them particularly knew each other. Kaito, perhaps in an act of empathy or harboring the same thoughts as her, called out to the gunner but he was already long gone. Hiroko wondered if there were any animals that were attracted to the commotion. Hopefully not, she wasn't carrying any tools with her that would serve as any sort of defense mechanism. "Yeah, that way is our best bet." Hiroko sighed. As much as she also didn't want to follow the agitated man, they did have little choice in the matter. "Hopefully, he already made some distance. I just want to get out of here..." She looked between the two of them before moving forward to take the lead. Hopefully, that'll ease both of them to a more comfortable state. They needed a little more trust between them after all.</s>	<\|message\|>Arima Junichiro Junichiro ran deeper into the forest, putting a fair bit of distance between himself and those he had woken up surrounded by. While it was dark, the night's sky offered enough light for the young man to not run into a tree. Still, traversing these wooded lands in the dead of night was not an easy task, especially for one who lived in a suburban environment their whole life. With this in mind along with the fact that there seems to be no sign of civilization aside from that torii, the runner would soon stop and get back his bearings. The freeter sat himself behind a tree, leaning against it as he did his best to focus on his breathing. While he didn't get too far off from everyone else, Junichiro still ran a significant distance away. As someone who doesn't jog regularly, it really does feel like he should have been more exhausted from that sprint. Was this adrenaline, or are those long hours doing hard labor starting to bear fruit? Whatever the case is, Junichiro thought about his position more. He was lost in the wilderness and it's the middle of the night. He has no cellphone, no map, and no idea where he could be aside from being somewhere in Japan. Maybe hearing the others out was a good idea, after all? They seemed just as lost as he did, with one even showing some concern when he started booking it. Junuchiro sighed at his hastiness once more before gazing up to the stars. He wasn't really one to pay attention to things like constellations and their meanings, but he did remember something about dippers and how they pointed north. What even is a dipper, anyway? Kaoru would have probably known. "Kaoru." That name left his lips solemnly as he started to think of simpler times. Times when all his problems could have been answered by simply asking his best friend. Knowing him, Kaoru would have rallied everyone together and found them all a way out of the woods by now. But Kaoru isn't here anymore. He's been gone for a long time, and Junichiro had to rely on his own knowledge, to make his own decisions. Looking up to the sky, Junichiro traced his fingers along the assortment of stars, trying to make some sense out of them. While he wasn't going to try and remember what any of the constellations are, much less if he could recognize any, he was simply trying to find the brightest. Something constant he could refer to, so that he wouldn't be walking in circles. Once that was found, it was only a matter of following it...</s>
<\|description\|>Ryder Drake --- Art by Merwild Age: 24 School Year: 4th Specialty/Apprenticeship: Combat Magic Affinity: Hex Magic Class: Hex with a side of Arcane * Ryder focuses mostly on buffing himself with hexes and taking down his opponent the good old way of melee combat. He also dabbles in some arcane magic for the occasional shield and utility he might need. Though he's not particularly used to the much higher mana cost of arcane spells, which can become a bit of a problem when you also factor in his tendency to not be conservative with his mana in general. Good thing mana stones exist. * Casting aide: Spear \| Element: Fire Home Country: Soria Personality: Ryder is a calm and disciplined person, at home with falling in line with the chain of command and putting his pesky feelings and morals aside for the good of the mission. Or that's what he aspires to at least. He has a bit of an impulsive streak he aims to keep under wraps but nonetheless finds himself acting before thinking in the heat of the moment. After which he often resorts to second-guessing whatever rash actions he took and kicking himself over it, sometimes regardless of whether the consequences were good or bad. Similarly, he has a habit of trying to keep his feelings in check in day-to-day life as well, wary of building connections with people even though he'd very much like to make some friends. Even though it may be a bit irrational in the current climate, Ryder has taken Soria's philosophy of the needs of the many too much to heart and is thus afraid of the looming possibility he'd have to put the collective above a possible individual friend. The uncertainty of whether he'd be able to do that is of course an added layer of scary. Everyone is expendable and it's easier if the expendables aren't important. Unfortunately or fortunately, Ryder's better at following his own advice when it comes to just himself. Thus, Ryder can come off as slightly cold and stand-offish to many people as he tries to keep people at arm's length. However, he sees no gain in being downright hostile to people or making enemies so he's generally polite to most and open to lending a hand when needed. He's also rather averse to talking back to his superiors. In fact, he may or may not have developed a bit of a reputation as an ass-kisser or teacher's pet in some circles during his studies in Isunia. There is one subject that tends to have greater success at making Ryder's discipline and defences around his emotions slip: Magic technology. Despite his choice not to pursue the craft himself, he's rather fascinated and excited by different magical gadgets, especially any he hasn't seen before. His first year in Isunia was therefore quite the journey of wonder and discovery. In general, Ryder's rather open to exploring new things and experiences if they catch his interest, he just tries not to be too obvious about it because enthusiasm is apparently a childish trait or whatever. Notes: * In addition to a flying stone, makes sure to have some mana stones rattling around in his pockets. * A heathen who likes raisins in cookies. * Has claustrophobia. History: Born into a somewhat well-known and well-off military family, Ryder's path in life was always implicitly and explicitly influenced by the location of his birth. Growing up with tales of Soria's good old days and immediate role models in his family, most notably his older brother, the little rascal's sights were set on a military career from early on. Despite being ten years Ryder's senior, Marcell didn't mind entertaining his baby brother and encouraging the occasional mischief when the strict disciplinary eyes of their household were away. As a child, Ryder wanted nothing more than to be just like his big brother. Marcell's departure for his responsibilities as an adult was thus rough for Ryder at first, but it also served as a great dose of motivation to catch up. Which he did do and then went beyond. He served his two years of mandatory military service and decided to take a chance at applying to Isunia before continuing his military career. Isunia was a milestone Marcell had also taken a shot at but wasn't accepted so of course he couldn't have been prouder when the little gremlin he calls his brother surpassed him in that regard. Upon finding his affinity, Ryder's choice of class and later specialization was a no-brainer. It'd be a waste to go against what was in his very blood, right? He was content with following the path laid out in front of him. If he best serves the well-being of his people by putting his body through the wringer with close combat and hex-abuse, so be it. Relationships: Parents: Aidric and Farrow Drake * On the surface level, Ryder and his father are on good terms. However, due to Aidric's domineering and strict nature, their relationship has never been particularly warm or close. Aidric can be rather demanding and not the most forthcoming with fatherly praise and Ryder would rather not disappoint him. * Ryder's relationship with his mother is even more distant in nature. Farrow has always been more career oriented than a homemaker and probably wouldn't have had kids if it had been entirely her own choice. She agreed on one so she had even less patience with playing mother for the second unplanned one. They're cordial but overt displays or declarations of affection are not to be expected. Brother: Marcell Drake * The closest relationship Ryder has. Once Marcell was in his teens, he had a large hand in raising his little brother. Having grown up under the same strict roof with expectations, Marcell was happy to provide his brother what he had wished he'd had in his childhood: A safe place for frivolous play where messing up only nets you light teasing. They're still in frequent contact despite life and responsibilities having stolen a lot of their time and attention. * Ryder nicknamed him Marcy as a child, which he was never fond of but let it slide nonetheless. He'll still let Ryder get away with teasing him by using it.</s> <\|message\|>Emrin Carth The 10 Masters of Isunia sat at a semicircular table staring at the images of eight students floating in front of them. It was the early hours of the morning; most students had long gone to bed. "Are we all in agreement that it will be these eight?" Emmaline asked. "I still think they are too young," Zayla said, "But they are the best of the volunteers." "We've been over this a million times," Abindra replied wearily, "The other countries will be less suspicious of a group of students than they would a group of professionals." "They are skilled enough," Sylvain said. "But not so skilled that we would have to worry about any one of them taking the stone for themselves." "As long as Isac does his job properly." "Excuse me! When have I EVER failed at this kind of work? These kinds of binding hexes are my specialty." "That's enough! Are we all in agreement then?" The Masters all nodded and Abindra waved her arm and the images disappeared. "Then I'll summon them right away." Adrissa closed her eyes, sending out a telepathic summon to the students. "Most of them will be asleep now. Shouldn't we go in person?" "Not to worry. I made sure to make the message loud enough to wake them." --- Emrin had been working when the message came booming into her head. COME TO THE MASTERS' ROOM NOW. The shock caused her to knock over her third (or was it her fourth?) cup of coffee all over the notes she had been painstakingly making. Emrin swore loudly and cast a spell to dry the papers, but in her tired state, only succeeded in blowing them off her desk and scattering them about her room. Emrin sighed and rubbed her eyes tiredly. What time was it? Late. Or early, depending on how you saw it. She quickly gathered the ruined notes and stacked them in a messy pile on her desk. She'd have to wait until her return to deal with them. Emrin entered the Masters' room and bowed politely, trying not to let her annoyance show on her face. Master Sylvain saw her disheveled state and grinned, "Another late night Emrin? I hope we didn't interrupt you." Master Sylvain was the only professor teaching Rune Theory at the university. He knew all of his students well. "No worries, Master Sylvain. It wasn't important." She replied curtly. "Take a seat," he said gesturing to seven chairs arranged in front of the Masters. "You're the first one here."</s> <\|message\|>By Rhivenx Liah was sleeping quite soundly with her arms and legs wrapped around a large pillow, if one were in the room they could hear the soft mumble of her speaking in her sleep, along with an occasional cute snore. The snore wasn't her though. That was Rascal. Wedged in between Liah and her pillow. Their peaceful rest was rudely interrupted by the yell in Liahs head, causing her to jolt awake and consequently… fall off her bed with a loud thud. A soft whine came up from the cold floor, and then nothing for a moment or two. Rascal, who was wide awake now… watched with its head on the pillow as he heard grunting, groaning and straining while a loud slap of a hand could be heard on the hard floor multiple times, as if liah was stretching for something while still on the floor. Then silence. Another flurry of movement, Rascal watched as liah's legs shot straight up with pants on the end of her feet, groaning more as she reached up and pulled them down, tying them off once on. Before crawling to her knees and pulling herself up slowly. Her eyes still closed as she did. Now she was grumbling, irritated and uttering curses and whines under her breath as she searched her room looking for her warmest cloak. Tossing clothes all around her, some landing on Rascal as she did. Finally finding it, she made her way to the door, slipping on her shoes while hopping, her grumbling now even louder. Rascal could hear now, "Why do they HAVE to.. She grumbled angrily as she pulled her final shoe on. "Couldn't they wait Just... She said before opening the door and slamming it behind her. Rascal let out a puff of breath before nuzzling under the pillow. Content that it didn't have to go with... The door slammed open again "Oh no, if I can't sleep, you are not getting any." She said to him as she pulled him out from under the pillow and into her arms. Then finally making her way to the masters room. Opening the door with one eye open, as the lights were still too bright, she saw all the masters there, along with Emrin who was still standing. If she knew Emrin, it was most likely was already awake doing her research as usual...well, really she hadn't even gone to bed yet. The masters and Emrin would have easily seen how Liah got dressed in the dark, with a pink tunic, tan pants, black shoes, and brown cloak. Her hair was a rats nest and hastily half way put up as she made her way from her room. Rubbing her closed eye with her free hand slipping out from under her cloak she gave a short bow. Her annoyance was not as well hidden as Emrin. But it was under control enough she had stopped cursing well before she got to the masters door. "I just want to say, I'm innocent…of...whatever it is we were called here...for." Liah said cautiously. Clearly confused and still waking up.</s>	<\|message\|>Ryder Drake It had taken Ryder some time of tossing and turning before sleep finally welcomed him that evening, so the sudden wake-up call wasn't exactly a pleasant surprise as he jolted awake. However, he only allowed himself a fleeting moment of annoyance and a single displeased grumble before prying himself up from his bed. Grabbing a collection of clothes from a chair where he had neatly folded them not too long ago, Ryder let his minder wander to the possible reasons for such a summon as he proceeded to quickly dress himself on autopilot. A mix of excitement, nerves, and dread coiled in his gut as he thought back on the mission application he had sent in. If that's what this is related to, then, well... Focus. Ryder cleared his throat, the sound piercing the quiet small space as he pulled on a jacket over his grey sleeveless shirt and brushed off a speck of dust or dirt that may or may not be truly there off one sleeve. Stopping to glance at himself in a mirror, he smoothed the few wrinkles from the front of his simple black pants even though it was mostly futile and straightened up the hem of his jacket. The core of his outfits tended to be dominated by practicality for a good tumbling around, accompanied with something discardable to keep him warm, but not too warm, and give him a semblance of formality. It was good enough for this sudden meeting as well. He'd be good to go if it wasn't for the persistent fog of sleep trying to cling to his mind. But for that, he had a remedy. Running through the familiar calculations in his head, he placed a hex to boost his alertness on himself, forgoing a magic circle. He doubted he'd be needing that bit of wasted mana from the direct cast that night and he regretted nothing. This way he'd be ready to face whatever the masters had to throw at him without spending time guzzling down pots of coffee. So he had better not waste that saved time dillydallying around. Into his boots his feet went and he was out the door, jogging down the hall to make up for the time spent getting dressed. Before entering the room, Ryder hurriedly ran his fingers through his hair to smooth it back and fix it in place the best he was able to without proper tools. Stepping onto the other side of the door, he acknowledged the masters with a bow before straightening his back, keeping his arms tucked behind himself as he awaited further instructions. Although, he did give the other apparently summoned students a glance from the corner of his eye, finding himself raising an eyebrow at the blue otter in one of the girls' grasp. From the looks of it, she had just grabbed whatever was within reach on her way out of her room, her beast included. He couldn't say he knew her or the other girl already present, which wasn't particularly surprising. But if he were to have anything to do with them in the near future as a result of this sudden meeting, he'd have to get to know them on a basic level at least. He furrowed his brows at that notion, redirecting his focus on the masters instead. Getting to know people was dangerous.</s>
<\|description\|>-The Missing Students- Ikeru Mineri \| Chousuke Makoto \| Natsuhime Hanami \| Nakano Reiji \| Daijirou Kudan Ikeru Mineri was a first-year who went missing. Previously having lived alone, not much is known about her family. She was an active participant in the Choir Club, having an enchanting voice best suited for classical songs. That said, she often hopped from club to club helping out whenever members were short. Those that knew her noted that she was a charming if a little airheaded girl who cherished her friendships. Chousuke Makoto was a second-year who went missing. A cheerful, soft-spoken young man who was always open to help others, his family used to own a bakery in town. After his disappearance, the bakery closed down when they decided to move away from Kyoto. He was a popular member of the school's Cooking Club and was said to be able to cook and bake better than even most adults. He wished to travel the world to sample foreign cuisine. Natsuhime Hanami was a second-year who went missing. A popular and kind-hearted girl, Hanami would have been the current student council president. She believed heavily in doing her part as a member of society and strode to help everyone in her power. She treasured her friends dearly, though she was just as likely to strike up a conversation with any stranger. Her mother is desperate to find her to gain some closure. Nakano Reiji was a third-year who went missing. Known throughout Kyoto for his skill in kendo, he has practiced since he was young and placed in several championships. While he kept mostly to himself, it was obvious that his talent extended to nearly everything he tried. He was always open to challengers and loved participating in matches. He doted on his younger sister, balancing a good work-home life and ensuring the house was always taken care of. Daijirou Kudan was a first-year who went missing. A boisterous kid infamous among the staff, it was clear he had issues with authority and following rules. Still, he behaved long enough to participate in basketball, being good enough to be placed as a starter despite being a first-year. He was attached to his friends due to a lonely home life; despite being the son of Daijirou Ken, a councilman, it was obvious he was neglected and acted out for attention. --- School Related NPCS --- Faculty Momoji Aya Class 2-A Teacher Suzuki Keiko Class 3-B Teacher Wada Fujitaka Principal Taniguchi Honda Vice Principal Students Yamamoto Kenta 3rd Year \| Valecditorian Ichinose Kaede 2nd Year \| Queen Bee Maeda Takeshi 3rd Year \| Queen Bee BF Yoshizawa Banri 3rd Year \| #thuglife Watanabe Junko 2nd Year \| Queen Bee BFF Nakagawa Chika 2nd Year \| Queen Bee BFF #2 Mizuame Rin - "Linda" 3rd Year \| Cooking Club Leader Maeda Kaito 2nd Year \| Cooking Club Maeda Ichigo Middle Schooler Sanada Yukimura 3rd Year \| Kendo Club Captain Kogoro Anzu 3rd Year \| Archery Club Captain --- Townspeople --- Kinoshita Sora 1st Year \| Student Council Secretary \| Photography Club Natsuhime Himawari A middle school student and younger sister of Natsuhime Hanami. The loss of her sister has caused Himawari to become reclusive despite her previously cheery demeanor. Her mother, Natsuhime Haruka, is currently searching for a tutor to help her keep up with her studies. Kogoro Ichiro A private investigator hired by Natsuhime Haruka to find her missing daughter. He has often butted heads with the Kyoto Police, finding it difficult to believe their incompetence in the missing students' case. Yamazaki Sadakuno A detective working for the Kyoto Police who had been previously assigned to the missing students' case. After months of nothing, he has deduced that the students caused the arson and accidentally killed themselves after finding no evidence of foul play. Yamada Taro A convenience store owner who speaks very little. He mostly cares that the job gets done and will hire just about anyone. That being said, he's quick to correct disrespect and doesn't tolerate violence. Rumor has it that he is a former gang member, although it's disagreed which gang he was a part of. ---</s> <\|message\|>-The Missing Students- --- --- 'Don't worry about it' nearly always meant there was something to worry about. While the urge to argue bubbled up like a fizzy soda, Sakuya promptly kept her mouth shut. At least he finally backed away, giving her space to let out a tiny huff of disproval. If he was going to invade her space like that more often, then she needed to better handle it. Strange, she was used to getting yelled at until people's faces were blue, but this kid was...weird. Really, really weird. Admittedly, she wondered why she had such a reputation for being intimidating if an outsider clearly didn't have any issue challenging her. Though, once again, he decided their conversation was over, capping it off--again--by mentioning lunch. Sakuya's scoff was much more audible, shooting Noriaki a glare of disproval. "I'll have to see what I have in my fridge, you mention food so much that I wonder if you're secretly starving yourself," She huffed out a mediocre comeback. Once he began to walk, however, she made it clear that she was definitely walking with him. "I'll see you out since I'm going home as well." She stated, not wanting any misunderstandings. Once the two reached outside, the sun barely hung over them. It looked like there was going to be an early sunset today, the weather turning crisp as a chilly wind blew throughout the town. Letting out a sigh, Sakuya tried to judge where Noriaki would be walking so she wouldn't get accused of following him. However, she came to a stop once she noticed a young girl standing on the sidewalk. Her light brown hair almost looked golden in the sunlight, and as she turned around, her bright, brown eyes widened considerably. Her uniform was that of a nearby middle school, though she didn't look much older than a seventh year. "Himawari?" Sakuya openly questioned the girl. Unfortunately, said girl was deaf to Sakuya's call, letting out a gasp. Without warning, she ran over to Noriaki, dropping her bag and hugging him tightly. "Nakano-senpai! You came back! You really came back!" She cried, her tiny voice relieved. --- --- Anzu let out a small sigh, leaning back against the table as she looked at Yori. She wasn't entirely sure how to reply at first, though she figured she may as well get the second thing out of the way. "I'm not sure we would be able to get much help from any teachers in time. They step in if things are unfair and you have the proof, but generally, they try not to interfere since we students should handle our issues properly." Her fingers tapped her arm, though she ended up uncrossing them. "That isn't to say I'll be taking a 'no' lightly. But I don't want any unnecessary friction, either," She gave the girl a pointed look. "Diplomacy can take you a long way if you're willing to use it. We go prepared for the worst and hope for the best." --- ---</s> <\|message\|>HOSHINO NORIAKI HOSHINO NORIAKI \| \| \| \| xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx D A T E --- April 11th 2018 L O C A T I O N --- Hinotori Highschool T A G S --- \| "I'm just making your job easy for you. What kind of senpai would you be if your poor underclassmen go without a homecooked meal?" It wasn't exactly his best banter, but the little huffs and puffs that his words garnered made it clear he was achieving his goal. If he managed to worm his way under Nakano's skin, maybe she would stop showing up to pester him about this and that for her own self-satisfaction. He had enough women to answer to as it was, between the cat-girl and his parole officer, so he certainly didn't have the patience to placate her desire to live up to expectation. His japes must not have been sharp enough to see her off entirely, as he found her trailing after him, although she made some lame excuse as to why she needed to do so. It was almost lame enough as to be believable. The outside world provided a much needed reprieve, thankfully. It was unusually cool for a spring day, an unfortunate affair after the previous day's incessant down-pour. He could at least be grateful that chill of the air helped him clear his head; something Noriaki found himself sorely in need of, his week having been what it was. As the two of them cleared the school's gates, he briefly wondered whether or not they would be walking in the same direction—the absolute last thing he needed was the president tagging along on his daily commute home. It was bad enough that the little white she-devil from the mirror world would inevitably be accosting him on the route more often than not, and he didn't want to explain the cat's strange attachment to him to his huffy upperclassman. In lieu of the cat, it seemed another would be accosting him that particular day. He didn't think too much of the middle schooler until she took to staring at him with wide eyes. Nakano seemed to call out to her, but it fell on deaf ears. Before he knew it, the girl was throwing herself into his chest and squeezing him with all her might. It was certainly a bizarre happening, and the only clue as to why lay in her muffled cries. Nakano-senpai? If she had meant to hug the class president, she had missed by a country mile. Of course, it didn't seem at all like this Himawari was calling out to the irritating girl who had made herself his companion for the afternoon. It stood to reason that she may have mistaken him for another Nakano—a brother, perhaps—but that would mean bearing a familial resemblance to his tag-along, and that was not something he wanted to ponder on for too long. Not with how often people pointed out his grim expressions. But those thoughts were secondary to the situation at hand. The poor girl currently clung to him seemed to exude an awful amount of relief, and while he certainly wasn't the person she was looking for, he couldn't exactly rebuff her immediately. He instead opted to place a hand atop her head, gently patting it as he spoke. "Fond as she is of me, I don't think we're quite ready for marriage yet, kid," He said, if only to earn Sakuya's ire, "I think you've got the wrong guy." \|</s>	<\|message\|>-The Missing Students- Sakuya's expression went from concerned to irritated in record time, the girl throwing yet another scathing glare at him. He sure liked to get under her skin, didn't he? She bit her tongue for the moment as she focused instead on Himawari, who seemed surprised to hear Noriaki's voice. The realization hit her as she looked up at him, backing away with her hands raised to her chest. The change from surprise to disappointment was as quick as Sakuya, albeit she took it much harder. "I'm sorry for my rudeness," She apologized in a quiet, exceedingly formal voice, losing all her previous energy as she gave Noriaki a polite bow. Once she straightened, however, she looked up at him with teary eyes. "I thought you were Nakano-senpai..." Sakuya pulled out a handkerchief, offering it to her. "Silly," She gently chastised her. "Why would you think that?" Letting out a hiccup, she took the handkerchief and held it for a moment. "They're both tall, and they both have dark hair, and blue eyes," She finally spoke, looking back at Noriaki. "My name is Natushime Himawari. I thought that...that Nakano-senpai came back, and that meant..." She trailed off, dissolving into tears. Sakuya's expression softened, though she pinched Himawari's cheek. "Nii-san wouldn't want you crying like this," She said gently, straightening up. Surprisingly, Himawari's tears ceased immediately, albeit she was still a little sniffly. She stared at Noriaki for a moment, frowning. "I'm sorry, Senpai," She apologized. "Apologize to Nii-san, Hoshino doesn't resemble him at all. Come on, I'll take you home, pretty sure your mother's wondering where you are," Sakuya replied, taking her hand before deciding to address him. "Don't think too harshly of her, she's been through a lot." --- --- Both Oka and Sora were talking when Maki entered, albeit the pair fell quiet. Letting out a sigh, Oka gave Maki a wary look, unimpressed by her words. Sora was more open-minded, though he did throw Oka a look before deciding to greet Maki. "You must be Ito-san," He assumed. "Thank you for coming! Nakano-senpai had a previous engagement, but we're here to welcome you regardless!" "I'm surprised you bothered to show up at all," Oka outright admitted, though she didn't linger on the thought for too long. "Going forward, you'll be part of the Disciplinary Committee. This includes logging and responding to students' complaints when it comes to issues that may arise." Sora tried not to laugh but instead decided to err on the side of caution. "So, basically, you patrol the halls and if anyone comes to you, you try to help them," He explained. "Simple, right?" </s>